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Jerilyn Bowen's Avatar

Jerilyn Bowen

21 Aug, 2017 01:50 AM

I'd like to submit for publication on Daily Kos the attached piece that I wrote in response to what happened in Charlottesville. Would you either do that for me (and let me know you have) or tell me how to accomplish this?

Thanks muchly,

Jerilyn Bowen

Article doc attached; also pasting text in below:

Post-Charlottesville Trip to the Love Hospital

As I lay sleeping, I had a dream. I saw a band of Nazis marching down Main Street in my town carrying Tiki torches and chanting Blood and Soil! in the falling dark.

Another band of people gathered. Friends, neighbors, local citizens of all hues, I there with them. In stunned silence, we stretched out along the sides of Main Street to watch the Nazi parade.

Then someone behind me giggled. Before we knew what was happening, the giggle triggered another and another and another, until the sound of laughter rolled up and down Main Street, rumbling through our crowd like an ocean wave. Peels of laughter, squeals of laughter, belly guffaws, ho-haw-hees, one setting the other off by spontaneous combustion at the spectacle of grown white men veritably waving their cocks, impersonating scary Storm Troopers, and pretending to be superior to the rest of us.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

Time for Bed, we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

Bad Boys
Sad Boys
Mad Boys
We Love You Anyway,
we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

Your Sorrow Is Our Sorrow, we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

Your Tribe Is Our Tribe, we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

You are Us
We are You,
we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried.

Get a clue
It’s the 1%
Who Robbed You,
we cried.

Blood and Soil! they cried, their steps slowing.

Undrink the Kool-Aid.
Break the Spell
And Be Well,
we cried, slowly encircling the now stationery band of wannabe Nazis clutching Tiki torches that burnt so very bright in the dark of night.

Blood and Soil, they murmured.

From out of a woven basket, one of us pulled Indra’s fabled net, sparkling with jewels at every knot. All hands took an edge and heaved as together we cast the magic net over the manboys and gently dragged our catch to the Love Hospital, a not-for-profit enterprise buried deep in the hills of Idaho.

As day dawned, the Tiki torches lost their glow. The boys tumbled out onto a patch of damp red dirt to make mudpies under the morning sun until it was time for breakfast. After scarfing down hot flapjacks, each was given a full body massage, then lay down for a long morning nap. When they awoke, they were led to the Hall of Man Clothes to pick out a costume to wear that day. Each got to be whatever his heart desired. One by one they transformed into medieval knights, pirates, bandits, spies, explorers, firemen, superheroes, and line backers. Each then got to join with likehearted lads to perform imaginary exploits of derring do to his heart’s content.

When it came time for supper, the tired troopers were herded to a field surrounded by a forest of towering Ponderosas. There they built a roaring campfire, ate hotdogs, roasted marshmallows, and sang bottle-of-rum songs in one mighty male voice.

Before bedtime, a battalion of big soft weathered women trudged in, followed by a battalion of old wooden rocking chairs. Each woman took a boy onto her lap and cuddled him close and rocked him to sleep while humming his secret tune. When all the little Adolphs were fast asleep, the women softly laid them in a bed and covered them up with a handmade quilt of many colors.

In the days that followed, the boys were marshaled to plant a grove of oak tree saplings and learn to play Scrabble. Between plantings and word contests, they attended classes in emotional intelligence, history, literature, cooking, and foot massage. After being administered their daily dose of Psilocybin, in the sunset glow they were led back to the campfire site to light a new fire. There men in feathers taught them how to play the drums, dance around the fire, and compose vision quest songs while their feet flew.

One day the aspiring champions of the Master Race were brought on tiptoe to a secluded inner chamber of the hospital. There they beheld a 71-year-old orange-hued infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying on a bed of straw, slumbering peacefully as he sucked his thumb to the comforting refrains of Braham’s lullaby.

On their way back to the rec hall, the gang was allowed a peek through the chickenwire glass windows of the Ethical Rehab Center. Inside they spied a host of good old boys in red jumpsuits with GOP emblazoned in big white letters across the back. The brotherhood boys watched the weathered crimson-clad patients biding their time in a long snaky line as they waited to receive treatment for addiction to domination and wealth and spinning lies. Through the locked double door, strains of the old All you need is love anthem seeped out into the hallway where we stood in silence.

As I woke, I rubbed my eyes. The Apprentice Nazis had vanished. No Tiki torches in sight. No war chants thrombing the air. Before me in the still morning light I saw a band of strong men streaming out of the Love Hospital, making jokes and laughing in all seriousness as they reassembled and marched on, their faces aglow with the valiant mission of saving the world from themselves.
~ ~ ~

Jerilyn Bowen
18 August 2017

  1. Support Staff 1 Posted by Daily Kos Staff on 23 Aug, 2017 11:18 PM

    Daily Kos Staff's Avatar

    Hello, Jerilyn --

    Thanks for asking.

    The short answer is that anyone can create a user account here (as long as they're complying with the Terms of Service) and post a story.

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    But the long answer is that there's no surefire way to guarantee that a story will be recommended, let alone be recommended often enough to qualify for the Daily Kos Recommended compilation.

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  2. Daily Kos Staff closed this discussion on 23 Aug, 2017 11:18 PM.

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