President Obama is not Working in America's Best Interest

Just Another Thought...

What will it take for the President of the United states to act like he is leader of a modern industrialized country?

This question is being asked by millions of people around the world. With crisis revolution in the Middle East, earth quakes around the world, other natural and UN-natural disasters; what is Obama thinking? Who cares about his picks for the final 4? The civilized is under attack by the uncivilized - radicalized, opposition.

He does not confront problems in the manner of a leader, rather as a puppet. Are the puppet masters pulling his strings for the benefit of America or for the benefit of the global elitist? This question is important because of the plunging reputation and respect towards the formerly "Great USA".

The American people are the laughing stock of the world. America is the big joke because we elected one of the most unqualified men in America to be President of the United States. Those responsible for vetting candidates, did nothing to inform America of the true Obama. They did nothing to reveal his radical Muslim doctrine. And, they did all they could to hide, disguise and discredit anyone desiring to expose the true nakedness of Barrack Hussein Obama. Are they betting on the down fall of a once powerful America?

YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT.
A top shelf Presidential response has been hard, if not impossible to find. If there is any doubt, go to http://news.yahoo.com/ and read his supportive responses for yourself. What Obama and Sec. of State Clinton have to say sounds like "the idiots in the basements" of academia. Chatter, chatter, And more chatter, but nothing said of value. They are worthless to the good name of America and totally supportive to anything UN-American. Who are they and the majority of the Democrat Party working for? Someone other than the USA.

Bursting Open Writers Block

Just Another Thought...

Here it comes again, writers block. No, it’s arrived already. How dare it arrive uninvited, unwanted, unrequested, and by all means, unsummoned and gravely unwelcomed. How often must I suffer the presence of the most undesirable of all the cursed things to lay itself upon the mind and hand of a crafter of words. Unwritten words demanding life and liberty to liberate the inner most expressions and inhibitions of man, and woman kind alike.

I pray, suffer me not the drudgery of a blank page, patiently awaiting the arrival of my first word. That first word so illusive yet, my blankness waits’ mockingly on paper and screen. Oh that blank space of whiteness, or worse yet, its very near relative; the computer monitors screen. Just as the blank page, the cursor first mocks me with that continuous blinking of its presence.

I look at it as I do the page of nothing. They both offer no hint of what I should say or, how I should go about saying it. I wait on them – they wait on me - neither of us willing to yield the first hint of breaking.

However, I have the advantage. I, the writer, the crafter of sentences and paragraphs, do indeed have the advantage. The master of written mistakes and student of beloved rewrites, have the advantage of leaving them where they lay and sit. I can escape to task less defined, less rewarding and less accomplishing. Rather than take the cowards way out, I wait in hopes my rescue will soon arrive.

Finally, in the furthest recesses of my mind, something moves. I know it is there because, I had fallen asleep. My rescuer, that portion of my mind so well empower with the ability to deny my presence, as well as my absence, has offered me a grain of incentive.

Though I am not fully awake, I feel it approaching. A word, or was it a thought? I cannot recall, and at the time, I dared not interfere. It started much as a pebble would from a sling-shoot. From its launch, it began small. If you were standing on the opposite side of a plate glass window, and have unobstructed view of its approach, you would understand.

Slowly I watched this pebble of a thought approach. As it gained its arch, it began to grow slightly. Coming nearer, it grew only slightly larger.

Suddenly slamming into the window, that small idea exploded into a spiders web of possibilities, all connected. My rescue had arrived. I needed only to pick and choose the course I would take to accomplish my writing task.

Ready and armed with baskets of thoughts and directions, I returned my attention to the monitors screen and blank white paper ready to write. Then the electrical power failed, and again I was plunged into the dark. Now, I must try and remember where I put my candles and matches. Oh the life of a writer.