Copyright Gene L. Gillette
60 Second Spot
‘Save the Children of Beverly Hills’
You may think growing up in an affluent neighborhood, living in a beautiful home and having wealthy parents is everything a child could ask for......... but it isn’t...........Every year hundreds of children in Beverly Hills go without Psychotherapy.................Though their parents could afford several therapists....... the children are denied this precious gift.
Over the years ‘Save the Children of Beverly Hills’ has, with your generous help, made a huge difference in many young lives............... ‘Save the Children of Beverly Hills’ has helped offspring such as Drew Barrymore........ the Menendez brothers and Robert Blake..............
People often ask, why should I care?...........The reason is simple........ someday these same children will be your bosses, spouses and leaders..................Children, who when grown up, can make your life a living hell.
Won’t you help? For only two-hundred and fifty dollars a week, you can sponsor a Beverly Hills Child.
Call today and find out how you can make a difference..........call one eight hundred, B H C - K I D S
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Light Points
‘The Light Points’
Fiction
by
Gene L. Gillette
Copyright Gene L. Gillette
Star light, star bright---
“Oh God, what a glorious sight—the light points.”
“You there! What’re you doing?”
“Oh I’m sorry officer; I was looking up at the ---the---.”
"Well!”
“I was looking up at the light points.”
“Where do you live son?”
“Number twenty, building six, thirty-second section, Upper New York.
“Where do you function?”
“Paper paste plant six, New York.”
“Identification?”
“Male, number four-seven-six, Third Century.”
"What were you looking up at the points for? You can barely see but one or two.”
“I was pasting down in the sixth level today. That’s a level we hardly get into anymore--I discovered this book. It was called something--as---strah---, yes-astronomy. It had many pictures in it. Pictures of the points, only there were millions of them. It got my attention.”
“So you thought you’d catch a look on your way home?”
“Yes--I’m guilty.”
“And you should be--Actually I don’t know if you know it or not, but this is one of the few places in the whole New York section where you can see the light points anymore. The incandescents on the glass domes have all but blinded our view.”
“Yes, I know.”
“--I don’t make the laws.”
“Why is that? Why can’t we look at the light points?”
“Well, I’m not sure but I suppose it’s to protect us. The owners didn’t want us to become depressed or restless—to brood about the past. The past is dead. It can be no more. Why remind people of what used to be and can be no more?”
“But the past isn’t completely dead. The points are still there. It’s like the grass.”
“Son!, have you been on the grass?”
“No, but I’ve been tempted. Late at night, I’ve been tempted to sneak out and go over to the Grass Enclosure. I was going to climb the steel fence and run all over the damn stuff.”
“You better watch what you say.. If you were talking to some of the men on the squad right now, you’d be headed for the interrogation chamber.”
“--I can remember my Grandfather talking about it. The ‘Great Sacrifice’ he called it. He talked about the ‘Great Fire War’ and how our people came to live inside these domes. He told me of how the owners promised that things would be worked out. That someday we could live outside again. My Grandfather never lived to see that day--I wonder if I will?”
“Now young man, I think you’ve said---.”
“You know what my grandfather asked for on his death bed? He wanted to feel some dirt. That’s all. He just wanted to feel some real dirt. I think you know what I’m talking about because you’re on the squad and you have to know about these things in order to deal with people like me.”
“I’m warning you now son, you’ve gone too far. The things you say are true enough,once man was free to walk about the planet, walking wherever he chose; planting his feet wherever he wanted. But it came. The only people prepared for it were the people that owned the blast shelters. They were the ones that survived and built the cities. The owners. We owe them a great deal. They took our forbearers into their shelters and protected them--fed and clothed them. Their way was right and we have followed their ways ever since.”
“But what kind of a life is this? Living inside a---a prison?”
“A prison that protects you my boy.”
“But from what? From what?”
“I think you’ve said enough. You’d better run along now. I’ll just forget I saw you here tonight.”
“If you don’t mind I think I’ll just stand here a minute longer and look at the points.”
“Son--you see that point over there? That’s Sirius.”
“I see it officer. I see it.”
------first star I see tonight.
Fiction
by
Gene L. Gillette
Copyright Gene L. Gillette
Star light, star bright---
“Oh God, what a glorious sight—the light points.”
“You there! What’re you doing?”
“Oh I’m sorry officer; I was looking up at the ---the---.”
"Well!”
“I was looking up at the light points.”
“Where do you live son?”
“Number twenty, building six, thirty-second section, Upper New York.
“Where do you function?”
“Paper paste plant six, New York.”
“Identification?”
“Male, number four-seven-six, Third Century.”
"What were you looking up at the points for? You can barely see but one or two.”
“I was pasting down in the sixth level today. That’s a level we hardly get into anymore--I discovered this book. It was called something--as---strah---, yes-astronomy. It had many pictures in it. Pictures of the points, only there were millions of them. It got my attention.”
“So you thought you’d catch a look on your way home?”
“Yes--I’m guilty.”
“And you should be--Actually I don’t know if you know it or not, but this is one of the few places in the whole New York section where you can see the light points anymore. The incandescents on the glass domes have all but blinded our view.”
“Yes, I know.”
“--I don’t make the laws.”
“Why is that? Why can’t we look at the light points?”
“Well, I’m not sure but I suppose it’s to protect us. The owners didn’t want us to become depressed or restless—to brood about the past. The past is dead. It can be no more. Why remind people of what used to be and can be no more?”
“But the past isn’t completely dead. The points are still there. It’s like the grass.”
“Son!, have you been on the grass?”
“No, but I’ve been tempted. Late at night, I’ve been tempted to sneak out and go over to the Grass Enclosure. I was going to climb the steel fence and run all over the damn stuff.”
“You better watch what you say.. If you were talking to some of the men on the squad right now, you’d be headed for the interrogation chamber.”
“--I can remember my Grandfather talking about it. The ‘Great Sacrifice’ he called it. He talked about the ‘Great Fire War’ and how our people came to live inside these domes. He told me of how the owners promised that things would be worked out. That someday we could live outside again. My Grandfather never lived to see that day--I wonder if I will?”
“Now young man, I think you’ve said---.”
“You know what my grandfather asked for on his death bed? He wanted to feel some dirt. That’s all. He just wanted to feel some real dirt. I think you know what I’m talking about because you’re on the squad and you have to know about these things in order to deal with people like me.”
“I’m warning you now son, you’ve gone too far. The things you say are true enough,once man was free to walk about the planet, walking wherever he chose; planting his feet wherever he wanted. But it came. The only people prepared for it were the people that owned the blast shelters. They were the ones that survived and built the cities. The owners. We owe them a great deal. They took our forbearers into their shelters and protected them--fed and clothed them. Their way was right and we have followed their ways ever since.”
“But what kind of a life is this? Living inside a---a prison?”
“A prison that protects you my boy.”
“But from what? From what?”
“I think you’ve said enough. You’d better run along now. I’ll just forget I saw you here tonight.”
“If you don’t mind I think I’ll just stand here a minute longer and look at the points.”
“Son--you see that point over there? That’s Sirius.”
“I see it officer. I see it.”
------first star I see tonight.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Humor Break
‘The Birnbaum School for Making New friends’
60 Sec. Spot Copyright Gene L. Gillette
Do you have trouble meeting new friends? Is the UPS man the only one who shows up when you throw a party? Do you spend too much time arguing string theory with your cat? You need to meet new friends.
The Birnbaum school of Making New Friends is the answer.
Our staff, whose winning ways have made friends for them all over the world, include the affable Bill O’Reilly........ and Paul Wolfowitz, whose magnetism enchants those he meets....... . and, as a special treat this year, guest lecturer, Donald Trump, will share his tips on hair grooming.
The Birnbaum School also teaches you valuable business techniques such as ‘The Pretend Smile’, and ‘The fake handshake’.
One of our most popular classes, ‘Talking to Strangers in Malls’. will teach you incredible opening lines such as “Hi, I had cancer last year but I love a good wine” or the line that never fails “I hope I’m not standing so close my B.O. offends you.”
Start making new friends today.........For The Birnbaum’s school’s brochure call one eight hundred new pals.
60 Sec. Spot Copyright Gene L. Gillette
Do you have trouble meeting new friends? Is the UPS man the only one who shows up when you throw a party? Do you spend too much time arguing string theory with your cat? You need to meet new friends.
The Birnbaum school of Making New Friends is the answer.
Our staff, whose winning ways have made friends for them all over the world, include the affable Bill O’Reilly........ and Paul Wolfowitz, whose magnetism enchants those he meets....... . and, as a special treat this year, guest lecturer, Donald Trump, will share his tips on hair grooming.
The Birnbaum School also teaches you valuable business techniques such as ‘The Pretend Smile’, and ‘The fake handshake’.
One of our most popular classes, ‘Talking to Strangers in Malls’. will teach you incredible opening lines such as “Hi, I had cancer last year but I love a good wine” or the line that never fails “I hope I’m not standing so close my B.O. offends you.”
Start making new friends today.........For The Birnbaum’s school’s brochure call one eight hundred new pals.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
In The Beginning
‘In the Beginning’
(Fiction)
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright Gene L. Gillette)
“I just don’t know what the world’s coming to Lenny,” the older man said, wiping the
noonday sweat from his forehead. The young man he was addressing angled his chin
upward and read the sign above their storefront.
Katz & Son
We Still Care
The younger man looked down from the sign and gazed out into the near empty
street. It seemed that nowadays Lenny and his Father stood out in front of their business-
-arguing-- more than they spent inside working. The talk was always about the same
thing. The way their profession was changing.
It wasn’t the lack of product that kept them out in front of the store: God knows
there was plenty of product. Rather it was the way their competitors were
operating their businesses that was at the core of their heated discussions.
Lenny stared silently out into the empty street. Perhaps the old man simply couldn’t
adjust to the changing conditions. After all, sixty years ago, when the old man started the
business, people had a certain ‘reverence’ for the merchandise. He chuckled out loud.
The old man looked sharply at him. “What are you smirking about?”
Having had this conversation again and again, and getting nowhere, Lenny decided to
speak as bluntly as possible. “I was just thinking of the merchandise. Junk would be
more like it”.
His father bristled beneath seventy-five years of rugged individualism. “Lenny, that
merchandise inside, as you so heartlessly called it is not junk and as God is my witness, it
never will be.”
Lenny sighed heavily. “Dad, please! Times change. Our profession has changed.
What worked fifty years ago, doesn’t work today. We have to face facts. The shop is
down fifty percent from last year. We can’t go on like this and stay in business.”
“Business?” the old man bristled, “business? We have more than a business, Lenny.
you of all people should know that. We provide a needed service and we do it with
dignity and God’s help.” Lenny looked awkwardly down at the sidewalk—beaten
back again by his father’s argument.
As neither man could think of anything else to say, they stood in silence on the
sidewalk. Towering all about them, the cold impersonal world of glass and concrete
stretched skyward; reaching for a God who for most people no longer existed. Girder,
glass, steel and concrete; humanism was being crushed by the weight of it.
Desperately wanting his son to understand, the senior Katz tried yet again to reason
with him. “My son let me ask you a question. Do you know the way our competitors are
running their businesses?”
Lenny looked quizzically at his father. “Well, I know that most of them have
diversified”.
“Ah hah”, replied the elder Katz. “Diversified you say? Diversified?”
“Well yes, there’s no more land. The laws have been changed and people have
accepted the change. It’s the way things are done.”
The point—the very point. The old man’s passion boiled to the surface. “ Change you
say? Change? When we die, we die? That’s it? Because people do things a certain way,
that makes it right?”
Lenny thought for a long moment and then, desperately wanting his father to
understand, tried once again. “Dad, you’re talking about the dog kennels again. All the
other mortuaries have built them at the rear of their buildings. It’s an expedient way of
handling the merchandise.”
The old man shot back. “No open ground--no cemeteries--change in attitude? Lenny,
Lenny--such an age” He looked down at the sidewalk with great weariness. If Lenny
didn’t understand—his own son. What chance did the old man have against the whole
new order of things? But no, he would not give up. There was a right way to do things—
God’s way. And he would try one last time to make Lenny understand.
He looked up at Lenny and spoke with all the strength he could muster. “When your
Mother died, that was it? We could feed her body to the dogs? No Lenny. No! That’s not
the way it should be. Even though the soul, the spirit is gone, a reverence must be paid to
the body. God made the body as well as the spirit. That intricately made mechanism that
surpasses all the marvels in the universe. God’s greatest miracle. That body is precious—
we must respect that”.
The older man had made his point. There was nothing more to say. He turned and
walked back into the shop. Lenny stood silently in the noonday sun, thinking of what his
father had said. Although he loved and respected his father, he knew that his father was
living in the past. In this age of science and technology the only place for mythology was
on the flicker screen. Men were no longer afraid of the unknown, because now the
unknown, through science and technology, would become the known. Science and
technology would answer all the fundamental questions of life. Religion was as dead as
the dinosaurs.
* * *
The basement of their shop was dark and quiet. A few yellow candles flickered with
the only light: The glow causing apparitional shapes to move about the walls. In the very
center of the room a single large candle illuminated an elderly woman. The old man stood
next to her, a heavy book in his hands.
The woman was staring down at the dirt floor, tears running gently down her cheeks.
She raised her face and looked at the old man. She spoke softly, almost whispering. “I
want you to know Mr. Katz how much I appreciate what you’ve done. I just couldn’t take
him to one of those—“
He stopped her by gently laying a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Renkov, a business is
a business, that’s one thing. But Mrs. Renkov, for a business to mean something—to
genuinely mean something, it has to be run a certain way. A man has to care about the
merchandise.” He paused and looked down at the pile of freshly mounded earth at their
feet. “You know Mrs. Renkov, when I die I want to be buried just like Mr. Renkov. I
don’t want to be eaten by those hounds. Those Godless hounds.”
She placed her hands on the book he was holding--the illegal Torah.. They
respectfully lowered their heads and repeated words remote from the world they lived in.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. ”
Their heartfelt words soaked into the cold basement walls and vanished--
evaporated as if they had never been spoken. Little did it matter--had these
compassionate words managed to escape into the outside world, it would have been for
naught. No one would have heard or understood them. This brave new world was much
too busy trying to escape the frightening reality of what their science and technology had
created.
(30)
(Fiction)
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright Gene L. Gillette)
“I just don’t know what the world’s coming to Lenny,” the older man said, wiping the
noonday sweat from his forehead. The young man he was addressing angled his chin
upward and read the sign above their storefront.
Katz & Son
We Still Care
The younger man looked down from the sign and gazed out into the near empty
street. It seemed that nowadays Lenny and his Father stood out in front of their business-
-arguing-- more than they spent inside working. The talk was always about the same
thing. The way their profession was changing.
It wasn’t the lack of product that kept them out in front of the store: God knows
there was plenty of product. Rather it was the way their competitors were
operating their businesses that was at the core of their heated discussions.
Lenny stared silently out into the empty street. Perhaps the old man simply couldn’t
adjust to the changing conditions. After all, sixty years ago, when the old man started the
business, people had a certain ‘reverence’ for the merchandise. He chuckled out loud.
The old man looked sharply at him. “What are you smirking about?”
Having had this conversation again and again, and getting nowhere, Lenny decided to
speak as bluntly as possible. “I was just thinking of the merchandise. Junk would be
more like it”.
His father bristled beneath seventy-five years of rugged individualism. “Lenny, that
merchandise inside, as you so heartlessly called it is not junk and as God is my witness, it
never will be.”
Lenny sighed heavily. “Dad, please! Times change. Our profession has changed.
What worked fifty years ago, doesn’t work today. We have to face facts. The shop is
down fifty percent from last year. We can’t go on like this and stay in business.”
“Business?” the old man bristled, “business? We have more than a business, Lenny.
you of all people should know that. We provide a needed service and we do it with
dignity and God’s help.” Lenny looked awkwardly down at the sidewalk—beaten
back again by his father’s argument.
As neither man could think of anything else to say, they stood in silence on the
sidewalk. Towering all about them, the cold impersonal world of glass and concrete
stretched skyward; reaching for a God who for most people no longer existed. Girder,
glass, steel and concrete; humanism was being crushed by the weight of it.
Desperately wanting his son to understand, the senior Katz tried yet again to reason
with him. “My son let me ask you a question. Do you know the way our competitors are
running their businesses?”
Lenny looked quizzically at his father. “Well, I know that most of them have
diversified”.
“Ah hah”, replied the elder Katz. “Diversified you say? Diversified?”
“Well yes, there’s no more land. The laws have been changed and people have
accepted the change. It’s the way things are done.”
The point—the very point. The old man’s passion boiled to the surface. “ Change you
say? Change? When we die, we die? That’s it? Because people do things a certain way,
that makes it right?”
Lenny thought for a long moment and then, desperately wanting his father to
understand, tried once again. “Dad, you’re talking about the dog kennels again. All the
other mortuaries have built them at the rear of their buildings. It’s an expedient way of
handling the merchandise.”
The old man shot back. “No open ground--no cemeteries--change in attitude? Lenny,
Lenny--such an age” He looked down at the sidewalk with great weariness. If Lenny
didn’t understand—his own son. What chance did the old man have against the whole
new order of things? But no, he would not give up. There was a right way to do things—
God’s way. And he would try one last time to make Lenny understand.
He looked up at Lenny and spoke with all the strength he could muster. “When your
Mother died, that was it? We could feed her body to the dogs? No Lenny. No! That’s not
the way it should be. Even though the soul, the spirit is gone, a reverence must be paid to
the body. God made the body as well as the spirit. That intricately made mechanism that
surpasses all the marvels in the universe. God’s greatest miracle. That body is precious—
we must respect that”.
The older man had made his point. There was nothing more to say. He turned and
walked back into the shop. Lenny stood silently in the noonday sun, thinking of what his
father had said. Although he loved and respected his father, he knew that his father was
living in the past. In this age of science and technology the only place for mythology was
on the flicker screen. Men were no longer afraid of the unknown, because now the
unknown, through science and technology, would become the known. Science and
technology would answer all the fundamental questions of life. Religion was as dead as
the dinosaurs.
* * *
The basement of their shop was dark and quiet. A few yellow candles flickered with
the only light: The glow causing apparitional shapes to move about the walls. In the very
center of the room a single large candle illuminated an elderly woman. The old man stood
next to her, a heavy book in his hands.
The woman was staring down at the dirt floor, tears running gently down her cheeks.
She raised her face and looked at the old man. She spoke softly, almost whispering. “I
want you to know Mr. Katz how much I appreciate what you’ve done. I just couldn’t take
him to one of those—“
He stopped her by gently laying a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Renkov, a business is
a business, that’s one thing. But Mrs. Renkov, for a business to mean something—to
genuinely mean something, it has to be run a certain way. A man has to care about the
merchandise.” He paused and looked down at the pile of freshly mounded earth at their
feet. “You know Mrs. Renkov, when I die I want to be buried just like Mr. Renkov. I
don’t want to be eaten by those hounds. Those Godless hounds.”
She placed her hands on the book he was holding--the illegal Torah.. They
respectfully lowered their heads and repeated words remote from the world they lived in.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. ”
Their heartfelt words soaked into the cold basement walls and vanished--
evaporated as if they had never been spoken. Little did it matter--had these
compassionate words managed to escape into the outside world, it would have been for
naught. No one would have heard or understood them. This brave new world was much
too busy trying to escape the frightening reality of what their science and technology had
created.
(30)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Humor Break
What if different story lines had developed in Famous Motion Pictures?.
What if Mildred Pierce’s first restaurant failed?
What if Michael Douglas had crossed his legs in Basic Instinct?
What if John Travolta and Uma Thurman had danced a polka in Pulp Fiction?
What if Janet Leigh had taken a bath in Psycho?
What if Lawrence had gone to Philadelphia instead of Arabia?
What if Mildred Pierce’s first restaurant failed?
What if Michael Douglas had crossed his legs in Basic Instinct?
What if John Travolta and Uma Thurman had danced a polka in Pulp Fiction?
What if Janet Leigh had taken a bath in Psycho?
What if Lawrence had gone to Philadelphia instead of Arabia?
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Radio Spot: Food for Lane County
Radio Spot 60 Sec ‘Take A Scan Against hunger’ Food For Lane County Conceptualized and written by Gene L. Gillette Produced and aired. Copyright Gene L. Gillette
Cast: (1) Announcer , Store Manager, Woman checker, Woman Customer
Sd.Fx: General Walla of busy store. Carry throughout spot.
Store Manager (Over loudspeaker) “Welcome shoppers. Today’s special………..in the produce department………four heads of lettuce….one buck.”
Woman Checker: (pleasant) “Paper or Plastic?”
Woman Customer: (New York and nasal) “Paper.”
Woman Checker: “Did you find everything?”
Woman Customer “Pretty much…(pause)…are these pickles on sale?”
Woman Checker: “Let me scan them.”
(Sd Fx: Old time cash register rings up sale.)
Woman Checker: “What’s that?”
Woman Customer: “Oh that’s Roger, he was a checker in the old days.”
Woman Checker: “So he brings that cash register every time you go shopping?”
Woman Customer “Yeah, pretty stupid huh?”
Woman Checker: “Well whatever………(slight pause as she returns to checking)…..Let’s see now, these are on sale.”
(Sd Fx: Old time Cash Register.)
Woman Checker: (continuing) “………produce special”
(Sd Fx: Old time Cash Register.)
(Sd. Fx: Old time Cash register. For the second time in a row.)
Woman Checker: “I didn’t scan anything.”
Woman Customer: “He’s ringing up these coupons. Take a scan against hunger.”
Woman Checker: “Oh the Food for Lane County Coupons………..…….you know for every dollar they get, that equals one meal for a family of four?”
Woman Customer: “Sounds good.”
Woman Checker: “I think so and it’s tax deductible………(pause)……okay, your total is thirty-one dollars…….(slightly longer pause)……. Say are you folks from out of town?………….I’ve never seen you in here before?”
Woman Customer: “Yeah, we’re here for the convention.”
(Sd Fx: Multiple old time cash registers going off, all up and down the check out stands. Stagger slightly and do perspective.)
Announcer: “Next time you’re shopping at Oasis, Price Choppers or Sundance Natural Foods, look for the ‘Take a scan against hunger’ coupons”
(Sd Fx: Old time cash Register.)
Announcer: “Brought to you by Food for Lane County and KUGN.”
Cast: (1) Announcer , Store Manager, Woman checker, Woman Customer
Sd.Fx: General Walla of busy store. Carry throughout spot.
Store Manager (Over loudspeaker) “Welcome shoppers. Today’s special………..in the produce department………four heads of lettuce….one buck.”
Woman Checker: (pleasant) “Paper or Plastic?”
Woman Customer: (New York and nasal) “Paper.”
Woman Checker: “Did you find everything?”
Woman Customer “Pretty much…(pause)…are these pickles on sale?”
Woman Checker: “Let me scan them.”
(Sd Fx: Old time cash register rings up sale.)
Woman Checker: “What’s that?”
Woman Customer: “Oh that’s Roger, he was a checker in the old days.”
Woman Checker: “So he brings that cash register every time you go shopping?”
Woman Customer “Yeah, pretty stupid huh?”
Woman Checker: “Well whatever………(slight pause as she returns to checking)…..Let’s see now, these are on sale.”
(Sd Fx: Old time Cash Register.)
Woman Checker: (continuing) “………produce special”
(Sd Fx: Old time Cash Register.)
(Sd. Fx: Old time Cash register. For the second time in a row.)
Woman Checker: “I didn’t scan anything.”
Woman Customer: “He’s ringing up these coupons. Take a scan against hunger.”
Woman Checker: “Oh the Food for Lane County Coupons………..…….you know for every dollar they get, that equals one meal for a family of four?”
Woman Customer: “Sounds good.”
Woman Checker: “I think so and it’s tax deductible………(pause)……okay, your total is thirty-one dollars…….(slightly longer pause)……. Say are you folks from out of town?………….I’ve never seen you in here before?”
Woman Customer: “Yeah, we’re here for the convention.”
(Sd Fx: Multiple old time cash registers going off, all up and down the check out stands. Stagger slightly and do perspective.)
Announcer: “Next time you’re shopping at Oasis, Price Choppers or Sundance Natural Foods, look for the ‘Take a scan against hunger’ coupons”
(Sd Fx: Old time cash Register.)
Announcer: “Brought to you by Food for Lane County and KUGN.”
Thursday, September 17, 2009
My Foxhole
My Foxhole
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright: Gene L. Gillette)
Courtesy of BostonPoet.com
Fresh wounds, decomposing flesh and body parts.
Musty rations, vomit, excrement and one’s own
unwashed body odor mix with searing jungle heat.
Nostrils burn and clog.
Limited sight, from a hellish thousand legged centipede
to six feet into the jungle, crawling with much more
than foxhole insects. Laying next to me, my newly dead best friend.
His youth forever wasted.
Men scream as searing ballistics rip through
bodies god meant for love, not war.
Battles explode upon us like earthquakes,
then disappear, leaving a silence that one’s own heartbeat
pounds and pounds and pounds.
Alone, I touch the foxhole dirt to find reality.
In disbelief, my fingers gently probe my dead friend’s chest,
his Saint Christopher resting lightly on my hand.
Before I go insane, I touch myself, sweet flesh of Miriam.
.
Swallowing abnormal fear saliva
and sucking an open wound
mixes a sweat, saliva and blood cocktail.
This hell is my universe, my reality.
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright: Gene L. Gillette)
Courtesy of BostonPoet.com
Fresh wounds, decomposing flesh and body parts.
Musty rations, vomit, excrement and one’s own
unwashed body odor mix with searing jungle heat.
Nostrils burn and clog.
Limited sight, from a hellish thousand legged centipede
to six feet into the jungle, crawling with much more
than foxhole insects. Laying next to me, my newly dead best friend.
His youth forever wasted.
Men scream as searing ballistics rip through
bodies god meant for love, not war.
Battles explode upon us like earthquakes,
then disappear, leaving a silence that one’s own heartbeat
pounds and pounds and pounds.
Alone, I touch the foxhole dirt to find reality.
In disbelief, my fingers gently probe my dead friend’s chest,
his Saint Christopher resting lightly on my hand.
Before I go insane, I touch myself, sweet flesh of Miriam.
.
Swallowing abnormal fear saliva
and sucking an open wound
mixes a sweat, saliva and blood cocktail.
This hell is my universe, my reality.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
'Rejection Letters'
‘Rejection Letters’
Humor
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright Gene L. Gillette)
Virtually everyone writes something: emails, letters to friends--- simple thank you notes. But there are those among us who write for a living: Some quite well known. However, there are prominent men and women, who are not writers who have on occasions, taken pen in hand. For all writers of fiction and non-fiction, famous and otherwise, a special kind of hell exists: Rejection Letters. These letters from editors and publishers are as common as Mormons in Utah:
Most are form letters, but sometimes the editor will write a personal note. We’ve spent years collecting (where possible) letters of rejection from around the world: We’ve included some letters addressed to well known writers, but the most interesting letters are the ones addressed to people who are prominent in areas other than writing. Here’s a sampling from our collection: Enjoy.
* *
Dear Mustafa Efendi:
Your manuscript, ‘Memoirs of a Suicide Bomber’ was read with great interest here at Insight. Thanks for shedding light on a unique way of life. We are accepting your manuscript, and your check will be forwarded to your next of kin.
Wish we could see more of your work.
Sincerely,
C. D. Ated
Insight.
New York, NY
* *
Dear Pope Benedict (Your Holiness):
Your Holiness, we want to assure you that your manuscript, ‘Parish Wars’, received the highest priority in our evaluation process. It was an honor that you considered our publication. As reluctant as we are to write you this personal refutation letter, we regretfully must do so. Unfortunately your manuscript has many characters and sub-plots that are identifiable, existing characters and plots from the Star Wars movies. (Just asking Your Holiness, have you ever seen the Star Wars movies?)
Your characters, Father Obi-Wan Kenobi and Sister Organa were mesmerizing, but filmmaker George Lucas has already used those names. Also, using the Death Star as a metaphor for The Christian Church would undoubtedly bring on an unwanted lawsuit. On the positive side, the comparison of Dan Brown to Darth Vader was a nice touch.
Thank you, your eminence for the privilege of reading your (otherwise) radiant work.
Sincerely,
Randolph Scott
Most Senior Editor
Majestic Publishing
* *
Dear Mr. Gotti:
Your manuscript, ‘Sex Behind Bars: A Behind the Scenes Probe’, was unusually well done, but we are snowed under with stories about sex. Poke is currently seeking stories that illustrate the positive character traits of inmates. (See ‘I Don’t Know Where the Knife Came From’ in our July issue.)
Sincerely,
Eric The Moose, Handleman, Editor
Poke Magazine
* *
Dear Ms. Pigeon:
Your story of a lesbian that joins a circus has some great moments, but having her marry the Bearded Lady is, in our opinion, unromantic (and frankly, somewhat disgusting). Unfortunately your story failed to deliver the romance our readers have come to expect from Short Hair Romance Novels
Kismet in placing your manuscript elsewhere.
Virginia Hill
Short Hair Romance Novels
* *
Dear Mr. Golden:
Your manuscript, ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ is not a bad piece of writing, but it’s very difficult for an American audience to Identify with Japanese culture. (Especially after what they did at Pearl Harbor.) So, finding no audience for your novel, we reluctantly must turn it down.
Good luck,
Chris Middleman,
No Clue Novels
* *
Dear Mr. Wittenberg:
Thank you for your submission.
Yesterday was quite a day for us. Four of us who read material were going through manuscripts, when suddenly Helen, our senior reader, burst into laughter. (This is unusual because Helen rarely even smiles.) She laughed so hard; tears were streaming down her cheeks. We knew she was reacting to the manuscript she was reading. (We won’t keep you in suspense. It was yours.)
Bill, who was closest to Helen, reached over and took the manuscript. He was only a sentence or two in when he too burst into laughter---laughter so loud it caused Joyce and myself to join them. As we read your manuscript, we could not help but join in the hysterical laughter. Frankly, our sides were splitting from your most cleverly disguised story. It was extremely subtle. Everyone agreed it was the funniest thing that we had ever read.
Then, somehow, it dawned on us---we had made a terrible mistake. Your manuscript was not a comedy, but rather a serious work. You could hear a pin drop. Silently we all went back to work---embarrassed and humbled.
Thanks for sending us ‘The Day my Wife was Eaten by a Shark’ (Sorry)
Gordon Chase
3rd Reader
The Story Magazine
* *
Dear Jesus:
Your manuscript, ‘They Let Me Down”, is a brilliant work. We would like to publish the novel. (We took note of your request to publish using only your first name---hence our informal salutation to you. And to state the obvious, your name alone makes the novel most marketable.)
There are some areas that need work. The list is not long, and we can discuss the problem areas when you appear in New York, but for now here are two areas you might be thinking about. We need to rethink The Last Supper. You write that it was catered by a local delicatessen. We think the source of the meal should be left a mystery.
And lastly, your chapter that describes the fellow that was on the cross next to you---the one that has a book deal with Random House?--That’s a problem.
Looking forward to your appearance.
Adam Neve
Senior Editor
Christian History Publications
* *
Well that’s our collection, and to be fair, we should add our own rejection letter as a cap to this piece. So, as we say goodbye to you (this is not a rejection on our part), here is that letter.
Dear Mr. Gillette:
We normally send a form rejection letter, but in your case we felt compelled to write you a personal note. To say that we did not like your work is an understatement: It’s somewhat like saying; ‘some people were not fond of Nazi concentration camps’.
Also the work is not formatted properly. We wouldn’t read Ernest Hemmingway if it wasn’t formatted properly. (The Senior Editor might sneak a peek.)
Lastly, you have managed to offend everyone in our office. Have you ever heard the term ‘Politically Correct’? We suspect not. The writing itself is humdrum, irreverent and reeks of swamp gas. (Some of the punctuation was okay.)
Please don’t send us any more material.
Sincerely,
Niles Wadsworth
Senior Editor
Superior Publishing
Humor
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright Gene L. Gillette)
Virtually everyone writes something: emails, letters to friends--- simple thank you notes. But there are those among us who write for a living: Some quite well known. However, there are prominent men and women, who are not writers who have on occasions, taken pen in hand. For all writers of fiction and non-fiction, famous and otherwise, a special kind of hell exists: Rejection Letters. These letters from editors and publishers are as common as Mormons in Utah:
Most are form letters, but sometimes the editor will write a personal note. We’ve spent years collecting (where possible) letters of rejection from around the world: We’ve included some letters addressed to well known writers, but the most interesting letters are the ones addressed to people who are prominent in areas other than writing. Here’s a sampling from our collection: Enjoy.
* *
Dear Mustafa Efendi:
Your manuscript, ‘Memoirs of a Suicide Bomber’ was read with great interest here at Insight. Thanks for shedding light on a unique way of life. We are accepting your manuscript, and your check will be forwarded to your next of kin.
Wish we could see more of your work.
Sincerely,
C. D. Ated
Insight.
New York, NY
* *
Dear Pope Benedict (Your Holiness):
Your Holiness, we want to assure you that your manuscript, ‘Parish Wars’, received the highest priority in our evaluation process. It was an honor that you considered our publication. As reluctant as we are to write you this personal refutation letter, we regretfully must do so. Unfortunately your manuscript has many characters and sub-plots that are identifiable, existing characters and plots from the Star Wars movies. (Just asking Your Holiness, have you ever seen the Star Wars movies?)
Your characters, Father Obi-Wan Kenobi and Sister Organa were mesmerizing, but filmmaker George Lucas has already used those names. Also, using the Death Star as a metaphor for The Christian Church would undoubtedly bring on an unwanted lawsuit. On the positive side, the comparison of Dan Brown to Darth Vader was a nice touch.
Thank you, your eminence for the privilege of reading your (otherwise) radiant work.
Sincerely,
Randolph Scott
Most Senior Editor
Majestic Publishing
* *
Dear Mr. Gotti:
Your manuscript, ‘Sex Behind Bars: A Behind the Scenes Probe’, was unusually well done, but we are snowed under with stories about sex. Poke is currently seeking stories that illustrate the positive character traits of inmates. (See ‘I Don’t Know Where the Knife Came From’ in our July issue.)
Sincerely,
Eric The Moose, Handleman, Editor
Poke Magazine
* *
Dear Ms. Pigeon:
Your story of a lesbian that joins a circus has some great moments, but having her marry the Bearded Lady is, in our opinion, unromantic (and frankly, somewhat disgusting). Unfortunately your story failed to deliver the romance our readers have come to expect from Short Hair Romance Novels
Kismet in placing your manuscript elsewhere.
Virginia Hill
Short Hair Romance Novels
* *
Dear Mr. Golden:
Your manuscript, ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ is not a bad piece of writing, but it’s very difficult for an American audience to Identify with Japanese culture. (Especially after what they did at Pearl Harbor.) So, finding no audience for your novel, we reluctantly must turn it down.
Good luck,
Chris Middleman,
No Clue Novels
* *
Dear Mr. Wittenberg:
Thank you for your submission.
Yesterday was quite a day for us. Four of us who read material were going through manuscripts, when suddenly Helen, our senior reader, burst into laughter. (This is unusual because Helen rarely even smiles.) She laughed so hard; tears were streaming down her cheeks. We knew she was reacting to the manuscript she was reading. (We won’t keep you in suspense. It was yours.)
Bill, who was closest to Helen, reached over and took the manuscript. He was only a sentence or two in when he too burst into laughter---laughter so loud it caused Joyce and myself to join them. As we read your manuscript, we could not help but join in the hysterical laughter. Frankly, our sides were splitting from your most cleverly disguised story. It was extremely subtle. Everyone agreed it was the funniest thing that we had ever read.
Then, somehow, it dawned on us---we had made a terrible mistake. Your manuscript was not a comedy, but rather a serious work. You could hear a pin drop. Silently we all went back to work---embarrassed and humbled.
Thanks for sending us ‘The Day my Wife was Eaten by a Shark’ (Sorry)
Gordon Chase
3rd Reader
The Story Magazine
* *
Dear Jesus:
Your manuscript, ‘They Let Me Down”, is a brilliant work. We would like to publish the novel. (We took note of your request to publish using only your first name---hence our informal salutation to you. And to state the obvious, your name alone makes the novel most marketable.)
There are some areas that need work. The list is not long, and we can discuss the problem areas when you appear in New York, but for now here are two areas you might be thinking about. We need to rethink The Last Supper. You write that it was catered by a local delicatessen. We think the source of the meal should be left a mystery.
And lastly, your chapter that describes the fellow that was on the cross next to you---the one that has a book deal with Random House?--That’s a problem.
Looking forward to your appearance.
Adam Neve
Senior Editor
Christian History Publications
* *
Well that’s our collection, and to be fair, we should add our own rejection letter as a cap to this piece. So, as we say goodbye to you (this is not a rejection on our part), here is that letter.
Dear Mr. Gillette:
We normally send a form rejection letter, but in your case we felt compelled to write you a personal note. To say that we did not like your work is an understatement: It’s somewhat like saying; ‘some people were not fond of Nazi concentration camps’.
Also the work is not formatted properly. We wouldn’t read Ernest Hemmingway if it wasn’t formatted properly. (The Senior Editor might sneak a peek.)
Lastly, you have managed to offend everyone in our office. Have you ever heard the term ‘Politically Correct’? We suspect not. The writing itself is humdrum, irreverent and reeks of swamp gas. (Some of the punctuation was okay.)
Please don’t send us any more material.
Sincerely,
Niles Wadsworth
Senior Editor
Superior Publishing
Sunday, September 6, 2009
A poem to Jessica
A few months or so back, a six year old girl, Jessica Lee Weinhold, of Yoncalla, Oregon was crushed to death on the family farm as she ran to give a cool drink to the operator of a tractor trailer.
To Jessica
A poem by
Gene L. Gillette
You hadn’t yet begun to sit comfortably in school
from there who knows what journeys
would await you on life’s stage.
Plans too intricate to understand six years
into your favorite bibbed overalls.
The ones that whispered farmer.
You trusted life but life had other plans.
A cool drink taken to a hired hand was happiness
to you. Your nimble legs moved as fast as your smile
as you ran with the drink toward the tractor.
Life was being an ingredient of farm life.
The tractor driver did not know
he put the tractor in reverse
and in an instant crushed and mangled
the life force from those coveralls and smile.
Little Jessica was gone from us forever.
If God has a plan it is lost on those left behind.
To Jessica
A poem by
Gene L. Gillette
You hadn’t yet begun to sit comfortably in school
from there who knows what journeys
would await you on life’s stage.
Plans too intricate to understand six years
into your favorite bibbed overalls.
The ones that whispered farmer.
You trusted life but life had other plans.
A cool drink taken to a hired hand was happiness
to you. Your nimble legs moved as fast as your smile
as you ran with the drink toward the tractor.
Life was being an ingredient of farm life.
The tractor driver did not know
he put the tractor in reverse
and in an instant crushed and mangled
the life force from those coveralls and smile.
Little Jessica was gone from us forever.
If God has a plan it is lost on those left behind.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Grammarians are the Darth Vaders of the Writing Galaxy
Grammarians are the Darth Vaders of the Writing Galaxy
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright by Gene L. Gillette )
A long time ago, in a publishing world far away, evil people called ‘grammarians’ made rules regarding our language. They decided what words were the correct words to use, and where to use them. They also told us which vowels and consonants must be used-- and where. Arbitrary of course, but they had the Death Star Publishing Company snookered, as well as most of the writers on a home planet some hundred million light years from Tatooine.
Unfortunately, their clout continues to this day. The only good thing I can say about grammarians is that they provide conflict, which is of course essential for writers of fiction. (Technical and article writers breath easy.) However I can co-exist with them until they get in the way of my characters, plot, or saving Princess Leia.
Personally I find grammarians a strange breed. I for one would never spend eight hours a day in a boiling-hot office, with no air conditioning; searching for the roots of Jedi.
Here’s some examples of their subjective regulations, and their accompanying inconsistencies. Why does the word ‘tomorrow’ only have one ‘m’? One could argue that it’s a ‘sound thing’. In other words, the two ‘r’s make sense because in terms of the way it ‘sounds’, you’re ending one syllable with an ‘r’ and beginning another syllable with another ‘r’. But if sound is the rational, why shouldn’t there be an ‘a’ after ‘tom—‘? Isn’t that an ‘ah’ sound as in the letter ‘a’? No it must be something other than sound. What would Ben Obi-Wan Kenobi say?
The list of troublesome words and ruled spellings is much too long to go into here, but a few are worth mentioning. (Mainly because without mentioning them, this essay would have no substance.)
Another word that troubles me is ‘tragedy’. Why not a ‘j’ instead of a ‘g’? From a sound point of view (and maybe useful as a visual tool) it seems that ‘j’ would do just as well as ‘g’. (It’s a trajedy that a fine actor like Chewbacca was type cast by his first film. There’s no reason he couldn’t have done some Shakespeare.)
And what about ‘communication’ (which, incidentally is what we writers are all about). Why ‘o’ and not ‘a’? If ever there was an ‘ah’ sound, it’s certainly here. But I guess as long as writers are c(a)mmunicating, who cares?
One could go on endlessly about words and what grammarians have shackled us with, but to paraphrase C-3PO , “this is madness--but we’re stuck with it.”
by
Gene L. Gillette
(Copyright by Gene L. Gillette )
A long time ago, in a publishing world far away, evil people called ‘grammarians’ made rules regarding our language. They decided what words were the correct words to use, and where to use them. They also told us which vowels and consonants must be used-- and where. Arbitrary of course, but they had the Death Star Publishing Company snookered, as well as most of the writers on a home planet some hundred million light years from Tatooine.
Unfortunately, their clout continues to this day. The only good thing I can say about grammarians is that they provide conflict, which is of course essential for writers of fiction. (Technical and article writers breath easy.) However I can co-exist with them until they get in the way of my characters, plot, or saving Princess Leia.
Personally I find grammarians a strange breed. I for one would never spend eight hours a day in a boiling-hot office, with no air conditioning; searching for the roots of Jedi.
Here’s some examples of their subjective regulations, and their accompanying inconsistencies. Why does the word ‘tomorrow’ only have one ‘m’? One could argue that it’s a ‘sound thing’. In other words, the two ‘r’s make sense because in terms of the way it ‘sounds’, you’re ending one syllable with an ‘r’ and beginning another syllable with another ‘r’. But if sound is the rational, why shouldn’t there be an ‘a’ after ‘tom—‘? Isn’t that an ‘ah’ sound as in the letter ‘a’? No it must be something other than sound. What would Ben Obi-Wan Kenobi say?
The list of troublesome words and ruled spellings is much too long to go into here, but a few are worth mentioning. (Mainly because without mentioning them, this essay would have no substance.)
Another word that troubles me is ‘tragedy’. Why not a ‘j’ instead of a ‘g’? From a sound point of view (and maybe useful as a visual tool) it seems that ‘j’ would do just as well as ‘g’. (It’s a trajedy that a fine actor like Chewbacca was type cast by his first film. There’s no reason he couldn’t have done some Shakespeare.)
And what about ‘communication’ (which, incidentally is what we writers are all about). Why ‘o’ and not ‘a’? If ever there was an ‘ah’ sound, it’s certainly here. But I guess as long as writers are c(a)mmunicating, who cares?
One could go on endlessly about words and what grammarians have shackled us with, but to paraphrase C-3PO , “this is madness--but we’re stuck with it.”
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
As a civilization have we failed?
.
Astronomers theorize that there are thousands of other civilizations in the universe—and that these civilizations have a ten-thousand year life-span.
Assuming their second supposition is correct; that would mean earth’s people have reached a point. (roughly five thousand years old) where, by any measurable means, we have the intelligence and ability to reorganize our collective way of governing ourselves: both politically and spiritually.
Tragically we have not done this. And any leader, in their political right mind, has ever considered doing things differently. Leaders of any nation never ‘lead the way’ to a new order of things. Their main concern is to keep things the way they are—to keep their power structure intact.
As a civilization our track record is not very good. We have fought wars endlessly with great dedication, but we’ve spent zero time trying to reorganize the way we live. Why?
One could argue we need more time to ‘grow.’ But I believe we are at that point where we know what we should do, but have failed to act upon our knowledge.
For example: A rational concept would be to have a one world government. But we have not done so: Why?
As the earth’s population has grown, ever so slowly, we’ve organized ourselves into nations. (And within the nations are sub-culture ‘tribes’ such as The Boy Scouts, The Masons, Republicans and Democrats.) Binding those tribes together is a never ending process, led by leaders and legislators. (And unfortunately approved by the populace). The most horrendous way tribalism is continued is by warfare and the perceived threat of war. (The truly great Science Fiction writers of our time have not been far off the mark.)
The other major organizations of people on this earth are religions. These religions are also part of the tribal culture mankind has adopted as a way of organizing our societies. They practice tribalism the same as governments do. They contend that their particular ‘organization’ i.e. The Catholic Church, Buddhism, Christianity, are the true faiths.
It is true that in the past forty or so years there has been an attempt on the part of church elders (of most religions) to acknowledge other religions, quite possibly because deep down they know there is only one God. (I believe the reason God spoke to so many different men, Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha, was because the cultures of the earth were separated and spoke different languages.) (That is of course if a ‘God’ really spoke to these men.)
The truth is that religions foster elitism. It may not be so ‘in your face’ as it was fifty years ago, but it’s still there. What churchgoer does not leave his or her church on Sundays saying to themselves, ‘I must learn to be tolerant of other religions, but thank God I have the true faith?’
What if there is only one God. What if the God of Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha and all the other descendants from heaven are simply the same God? (For that matter, what if there is no ‘God.?)’ What if all the faiths of the world are simply man’s craving to understand what existence is?
Leaders (by necessity) need to bind their people to them, and to make their ‘tribes’ special—the best. Within nations bonding is accomplished with ‘symbols;’ our flag, our uniform, our belief system, etc. (We’re better, or at the very least, better off than the other guy.)
Unfortunately by its very nature tribalism keeps us (the human race) from ‘coming together’ as a unified entity.
How can we do away with or modify tribalism? We need to do away with nations and borders: we need a one-world government. Individual nations with borders, rules and regulations cause numerous problems. We also need to bring all the religions of the world under one roof. If we, the human race, are to worship a God, we need to recognize that there is only one God. It doesn’t matter what we call this God, it is the force that created the universe, call it what you will.
To sum up, we need to eliminate tribalism.
This would not make it a perfect world: a perfect world may not be possible. But having a one-world governing body, and bringing all religions under one roof, would make it a better world.
We can accomplish these things. It just takes the vision and will to do them.
Astronomers theorize that there are thousands of other civilizations in the universe—and that these civilizations have a ten-thousand year life-span.
Assuming their second supposition is correct; that would mean earth’s people have reached a point. (roughly five thousand years old) where, by any measurable means, we have the intelligence and ability to reorganize our collective way of governing ourselves: both politically and spiritually.
Tragically we have not done this. And any leader, in their political right mind, has ever considered doing things differently. Leaders of any nation never ‘lead the way’ to a new order of things. Their main concern is to keep things the way they are—to keep their power structure intact.
As a civilization our track record is not very good. We have fought wars endlessly with great dedication, but we’ve spent zero time trying to reorganize the way we live. Why?
One could argue we need more time to ‘grow.’ But I believe we are at that point where we know what we should do, but have failed to act upon our knowledge.
For example: A rational concept would be to have a one world government. But we have not done so: Why?
As the earth’s population has grown, ever so slowly, we’ve organized ourselves into nations. (And within the nations are sub-culture ‘tribes’ such as The Boy Scouts, The Masons, Republicans and Democrats.) Binding those tribes together is a never ending process, led by leaders and legislators. (And unfortunately approved by the populace). The most horrendous way tribalism is continued is by warfare and the perceived threat of war. (The truly great Science Fiction writers of our time have not been far off the mark.)
The other major organizations of people on this earth are religions. These religions are also part of the tribal culture mankind has adopted as a way of organizing our societies. They practice tribalism the same as governments do. They contend that their particular ‘organization’ i.e. The Catholic Church, Buddhism, Christianity, are the true faiths.
It is true that in the past forty or so years there has been an attempt on the part of church elders (of most religions) to acknowledge other religions, quite possibly because deep down they know there is only one God. (I believe the reason God spoke to so many different men, Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha, was because the cultures of the earth were separated and spoke different languages.) (That is of course if a ‘God’ really spoke to these men.)
The truth is that religions foster elitism. It may not be so ‘in your face’ as it was fifty years ago, but it’s still there. What churchgoer does not leave his or her church on Sundays saying to themselves, ‘I must learn to be tolerant of other religions, but thank God I have the true faith?’
What if there is only one God. What if the God of Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha and all the other descendants from heaven are simply the same God? (For that matter, what if there is no ‘God.?)’ What if all the faiths of the world are simply man’s craving to understand what existence is?
Leaders (by necessity) need to bind their people to them, and to make their ‘tribes’ special—the best. Within nations bonding is accomplished with ‘symbols;’ our flag, our uniform, our belief system, etc. (We’re better, or at the very least, better off than the other guy.)
Unfortunately by its very nature tribalism keeps us (the human race) from ‘coming together’ as a unified entity.
How can we do away with or modify tribalism? We need to do away with nations and borders: we need a one-world government. Individual nations with borders, rules and regulations cause numerous problems. We also need to bring all the religions of the world under one roof. If we, the human race, are to worship a God, we need to recognize that there is only one God. It doesn’t matter what we call this God, it is the force that created the universe, call it what you will.
To sum up, we need to eliminate tribalism.
This would not make it a perfect world: a perfect world may not be possible. But having a one-world governing body, and bringing all religions under one roof, would make it a better world.
We can accomplish these things. It just takes the vision and will to do them.
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