By Doug “Uncola” Lynn via TheBurningPlatform.com

For me, the proverbial glass is either half empty or half full contingent upon where I’m looking. When I watch the news, I get angry. And every day, as I experience the strange surreality of post-America, I have to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming like Rip Van Winkle waking up in a Tim Burton film.

For my own mental state, therefore, I have to look away at times and step into the brilliant day. It truly is a beautiful time of year. Even so, whilst out in the lush emerald environs, and under the warm sun, it’s hard to shake the sense of doom; as this may be the last good summer.

—-The Stage is Set

Society is wide open here currently and masks, for the most part, have been relegated to the lowly relevance of a bad memory.

It’s a trap, of course, that will likely spring shut this fall and winter. But, in the meantime, the people are celebrating their freedom-via-Big Pharma, and perfectly timed with good weather. It could not have been planned any better. This is because the Covid vaccinations have, apparently, “culturally misappropriated” the power of Vitamin D in the summer sun. Or stated another way: Big Pharma is stealing the immune system’s valor.

And SHAME on the Anti-Vaxxers® who now refuse to abide by the “honor system” of wearing their masks. Through their selfish disdain for others, and outright dishonesty, The Unclean are jeopardizing the lives of the elderly, the morbidly obese, and those with comorbidities, as well putting the societal liberties of the Fully Vaccinated® at risk everywhere.

Can you see what is about to happen?

—-Metaphorical Musings & The Inevitability of Time

In the above photo, the “you” on the beach could be compared to General Custer standing before a wave of angry Native Americans. Or, perhaps the person on the beach might represent the Native Americans… with the wave signifying Manifest Destiny.  Or, some might say the lone figure is a metaphor of mid-twentieth-century European Jewry facing the wave of Hitler’s SS. And others might say the picture portrays the last American patriot staring down the rising tide of globalism global Marxism The Great Reset®.

In my view, however, the lone figure exemplifies those who stand for truth before a wave of global deception that is about to deliver an ocean of consequences. The point, of course, is this: the honest remnant cannot stop what is coming. It is because time and tide wait for no one. Moreover, history has proven how collective madness has always run its due course.

The balkanization of the U.S. is underway and the fault lines are fracturing according to Covid delusions and Cultural Marxism.

In response, it has been interesting to see how red states with conservative governors and Republican legislatures, have taken action to forestall the Marxist wave. Some of the measures have included outlawing proof of vaccination requirements, rolling back mask mandates, giving back federal money in order to stimulate people back to work, enacting voting reform, and, even, passing open-carry legislation.

Certainly, the new political lines of demarcation are now at the state and local levels. Queue the politics of personal destruction paired to the just-in-time delivery of Dominion voting machines to a polling location near you.

Certainly, it is a war of information and a race against time.

—-The Sacrifice of Saint Fauci

It appears the Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, Anthony Fauci, is being publicly martyred so the public can be informed that Covid is a bioweapon.

Why do the Central Planners want the public to realize this now, at this stage of their plan?

First of all, it will likely increase the vaccination percentages among the hold-outs still sitting on the proverbial fence. After all, many may trust their immune system to fend off a virus from nature… but a bioweapon? That sounds dangerous. And think of how many movies have pre-programmed the public into accepting the narrative of an “accidental” deadly pathogen released from a military lab.

How else might the story of an “accidentally-released” militarized bioweapon benefit those who wish to rule the world?

At some point…. could it be used to demand mandatory vaccination?

Could it be used to politically leverage foreign powers?

Ask yourself if “weapons of mass destruction” has ever been used as a means to drum up public support prior to the bombing of another nation. It all seems so familiar, no?

Very soon, the high-profile flogging of Fauci will become yesterday’s news. Like Trump, his shelf life has expired. And that’s perfectly fine with the Central Planners because the next course is soon to be served.

The Covid bioweapon was made to generate political and economic outcomes. The vaccines are a baptism of sorts into the new theological order. A winnowing process, if you will. And, of course, during such transitions, many people must die.

Note the official start date for the countdown to The Great Reset:  Tuesday, November 3, 2020.

—-Looking Away: Random Musings Typed With Gratitude

Home Sweet Home

The town where I grew up is off the beaten path, a fair distance from the nearest city, and sits nestled among some hills and plateaus surrounding a river. Its downtown intersection divides like a cross between roads going north and south and east and west; with three-story brick buildings spreading out from the center, complete with a courthouse square and clock tower. The courthouse is a large brick building that was constructed before the turn of the century.

I grew up under an endless canopy of trees over ornate street lamps, and within walking distance of the town square. Our neighbors included the county veterinarian, hardware store owner, lumber yard owner, and publisher of the local paper. A little further down the street lived two competing attorneys who lived by the local funeral home.

As far back as I can remember, the distant train whistle would be the last thing I heard before I went to sleep at night. Even from where I live now, I still hear that same lonely sound echoing from the same set of tracks. In fact, were I to hop on one of those trains I’d be back in my hometown in less than a day’s ride.

Today, my hometown is clean and modernized; and it still retains its Camelot-style charm. I feel very fortunate to have grown up there, in the dying glow of Norman Rockwell’s America.  Home is where the heart is; and that special place will forever have my heart.

Voices in my Head

Last October, we had a few warm days in the fading light before late fall and winter. I noticed some wasp activity and, after tracking down the source, I decided to go find my wasp and hornet spray. On that shelf, I saw a can of Deep Wood’s Off (i.e bug spray) that one of my kids took to summer camp long ago. To be sure, this was a pretty aged can of Off because its label featured (in full color) some Caucasians walking in the woods. It actually looked like an amateur watercolor painting right there in front of me.

I began to consider how America was once so blessed and I heard an imaginary conversation occur in my head:

“Hey, Doug, you have a wasp problem? Let me help! Check out this mixture I made for you. The can shoots out over 20 feet, for your protection, and drops them little buggers right on contact.

And you say, you want to protect your offspring from those pesky bugs in the woods? Here is another can I made for you. It doesn’t smell overly bad and it will guard your kids, and save them misery, while they enjoy themselves at camp. Look here, see? I even made a nice little picture for you, right on the can. Isn’t that nice of me?”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, I asked in disbelief: “Who are you?”

It replied: “Just call me Capitalism.”

And when I realized I could NEVER afford to make all that magic stuff by myself , right then, Capitalism said: “Tell you what, just give me a few bucks and we’ll call it even”.

Indeed, Economy of Scale is a blessing. And if some readers don’t fully appreciate it now, they will. Quite soon.

Look Who’s Here

I’m at a graduation party and three of my best friends are there. One I knew since childhood through high school. Another one from college. And another who I met after college: A co-worker who became one of my best drinking buddies early in my career.  I have so many profoundly impactful memories with all of these men, but they barely know each other. And, ironically, each of them knew a different me. Not that my core values are any different, or that my perspectives have changed extensively through the years but, rather, they knew me under varied circumstances and times in my life – so the memories and context are linear for me, but, from my perspective, segmented and segregated for each of them.

Needless to say, it was a strange experience to have these three friends standing in a conversational circle around me. All of them were so involved in my life at different times but without each sharing the full detail and familiar context of my separate days.

It was great to have them all standing there; and if I were to caption the photo of us taken with my phone, these would be the words typed right next to a bright smiley-face: “A fortunate surprise!”

From Beyond the Electronic Horizon

I am also lucky to be acquainted with a small group of online bloggers, readers, and commenters.  You know who you are. I appreciate your thoughts and perspectives on current events as well as any of the daily various topics.  In fact, I find myself thinking of you quite often: while driving, mowing, sometimes before I sleep, and most often when I would least expect to.  I enjoy thinking of you all living your lives in three dimensions and conducting your daily business there.

I’m glad to know you are here.

The Graduates

Sitting in the football stadium of a large university during the college graduation ceremony of my beloved child.  It’s a beautiful day with low humidity and temperatures in the low seventies. Very few masks and an endless sea of smiles.  I’m so proud of you, Kiddo.

—————

A high school graduate who I watched grow up. She wanted a photo wall at her graduation party. Something she could stand in front of with friends and family to have their pictures taken. She texted me something similar which she saw on Etsy or TikTok (I can’t recall) but it had to accommodate large balloons on top, streamers, and be transportable in the back of either a mini-van or SUV.

So I acquired four lighter-duty pallets from a friend who owns a manufacturing concern, hauled them back to my shop, and sliced the tops off two of them.  Then I hinged the shorter cuts to the bottom pallets and installed slide-locks on the sides.  She wanted a rustic look so I figured we could angle the vertical display for stability and tie together the center with twine. In the event the floor might be uneven where it was to be placed, I had some ten-inch 2-by-4 cuts drilled and ready to mount as footers if necessary (I’m glad I did that, too).  And, at the top, I mounted a narrow wood strip for which to secure the streamers and balloons.

Voilà. Stackable. Portable. Compact.

Success. Although I’d definitely build it better, and more efficiently, next time.

Riding With Karen

Still helping out the ancient, long-retired fossils at the school bus barn.  The transportation supervisor asks if I could take a substitute driver and show her a route. No problem. Except she’s a Karen. On the bus, she asks me:  “You’re vaccinated, right?”  When I tell her no, she gives me a pissed-off look, pulls a mask from her purse, and puts it on. I gently tell her that I’m not sick, that we have enough data on Covid now and that there is no evidence of asymptomatic spread. She’s still sort of shaken and I just tell her that I’m very cautious with my health and “it seems like Fauci spins a Wheel of Fortune hidden in his office closet, or something”. And, after a few more quips, she lightens up a little. Turns out she has a Class A CDL and we talk trucking for a while.

Two days later, she sees me from a distance and walks over to chat me up like we’re old friends.  After a few minutes of conversation, I even get her laughing pretty loud. From behind her mask, of course.

Priceless Cargo

It was a pretty chaotic last week of school with the bus routes. It seemed even the transportation supervisor was unclear as to the testing schedules for the advanced math kids from the elementary schools to/from the junior high schools and to/from the junior high locations to the high school.  Anyway, on the second-to-last day of school I found out (in route) that morning that I would NOT be running my junior high kids back from the high school – so I was thinking I wouldn’t see them until, potentially, next year. Not a huge deal, but it would have been nice to have said goodbye.

On every occasion since last fall when I drove the kids, I would drop them off and say (something like) through the bus microphone:  “Don’t forget all your stuff and have a great day” or “Don’t forget all your things and have the best Thursday ever….”

Occasionally, a few of the kids would ask me to tell them a joke and I usually would have one or two simple lines ready… jokes they could tell their grandparents later if they wanted, like:  “What do you call a girl standing in the middle of a tennis court?  Annette.”  Laughter ensues.

Stuff like that.  Perhaps, for these reasons, some of the kids would call me the “good” bus driver.

Regardless, around mid-morning on that (second-to-last) day, as I pulled up to wait for some elementary math kids to come out from the junior high, the bus in front of me was letting out all of “my” math kids from the high school (because of the different schedules that day due to finals tests). So the 15 or so students get off the other bus and, as they were walking into the junior high, all at once, every single one of them stopped and waved at me with big smiles. It was a moment; and, for me, a pretty darn moving one at that.

As I waved back through the windshield, I realized I was only half-smiling. I found myself wistfully wishing those kids could have the same amount of time I had in front of me when I was their age. But they won’t. Not even close. Still, they stood there…waving. And smiling.

—————

I’m looking at a greeting card from a third-grade boy. He gave it to me on the last day of school just before he got off the bus to begin his summer.  The card showed a portable fan on the front along with the words “Blown Away”.  When I opened it up, it said on the inside: “No, really – I’m a big fan.  Thank You!”

At the bottom of the inside of the card the boy wrote in barely legible penmanship:

“Thank you for all you do to keep me and everyone else on the bus safe.”

In the space to the left, there was a note from the boy’s parents.  It said:

[name redacted] saw this card and said: “oh yeah, he’ll appreciate this one”

We hope you know how fond he is of you. He tells us how long you and your wife have been married and about your anniversary and what you went to college for! You made this strange and difficult year more bearable and actually enjoyable for him and we are so thankful to you!

Still Here, Right Back Where We Started

Now in the college town where I first met my soon-to-be wife over three decades ago.  Walking around the beautiful campus, we see lush green grass and brilliant flowers blooming all around. School just got out for summer, so no one else is here. Standing by a memorial overlooking the center campus and campanile, we look up to see what appears to be the fragment of a rainbow. This was very strange because it hadn’t rained at all that day.  I’d say it was a sun dog, except it was in the sky opposite of the setting sun.  I hoist her up so she’s standing on a concrete bench above me. I wrap my arms around her waist as she looks down at me and smiles. I remember our times here over 30 years ago and I am so glad she’s still with me, here in my arms. I love her now more than ever.

So much better than I expected. And more than I deserved.

By Doug “Uncola” Lynn via TheBurningPlatform.com For me, the proverbial glass is either half empty or half full contingent upon where I’m looking. When I watch the news, I get angry. And every day, as I experience the strange surreality of post-America, I have to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming like … Continue reading “Random Musings at The End of Life as We Knew It”
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