Login Register Our Team Submission Guidelines Contact FAQs Terms of Use

Netflix’s ‘Narcos’: Subtle Yet Deadly Anti-Americanism

As a writer, I’ve kept a close watch of Netflix dramas, keeping an eye on plot and dialogue while imagining what the script might look like on my own iPad. I’m doing this because I have the burning hope that Liberty Island and Taliesen Nexus arise like Netflix to become a cultural/entertainment colossus on the side of freedom and the American experiment of government serving the people.

I’ve greatly enjoyed watching Narcos, and thought the PC in the story was less nauseating than most… Until the other night, watching the close of season 3.

Robespierre’s Radical Liberalism: Reflections on Ruth Scurr’s Fatal Purity

Were Robespierre and the Jacobins Proto-Socialists?

Having recently finished Ruth Scurr’s biography on Robespierre, Fatal Purity, I have had my world turned upside down on the actions of Robespierre and the course of the French Revolution. Don’t get me wrong, I still think the French Revolution was a disaster, a massively overblown response to legitimate grievances against the ancien regime. But Scurr’s biography blew apart many preconceptions that I had about what the French Revolutionaries really wanted, the differences between the various revolutionary factions, and the conditions that lead to the infamous Committee of Public Safety that summarily executed thousands of innocent French citizens.

Like any biography, particularly one about a controversial figure such as Robespierre, Scurr’s biography is subject to different criticisms. She seems to me to try to be objective as possible, but of course, no history is perfect, and is always subject to different interpretations. This being said, the book seems to be generally favorably reviewed, and I am no expert on the French Revolution, so I am not going to review the book. Instead, I am just going to make some general observations about things I learned and what some valuable lessons from Robespierre’s life and role in the French Revolution could be.

I think the most important myth that Scurr’s book shatters is that Robespierre and the Jacobins were some kind of Proto-Socialists. This is a view held by both Robespierre’s admirers and detractors.

Faith In Our Fathers

The FBI and Journalists’ Collusion to Throw the Election Will Corrode America’s Soul

One of the best books you haven’t read is called Flags of our Fathers. Written by James Bradley, the son of Corpsman John Bradley, one of the six men who raised the flag on Iwo Jima, it is a gripping recounting of the little known fates and history of the men on Mount Suribachi in that most iconic of photographs.

As a boy, young James knew that his father was famous and respected in their little town for something, but since his father would neither talk about the mysterious event and even trained his children to deflect the telephone calls that continually came in asking for interviews, it was not until his father died that the boy learned his father was famous.

What You Believe Can Kill You… Or at Least, Kill Your Soul…

Last Thursday (June 6, 2018) was the 74thanniversary of World War II’s , the Allied invasion of Europe that began the final, inexorable push to get the Nazi foot off the neck of… well, the World.

Google (one of the most valuable companies in the world) decided not to feature a remembrance of that day on the splash page of their search engine. Apparently, it wasn’t important enough to note. On Sunday, June 10, 2018, this was featured on their splash page….

Why Child Sacrifice Is Easy to Imagine

Yesterday I read a shocking article by National Geographic detailing the methodical sacrificial killing of 140 children ages five to fourteen. The broken child remains were recently discovered and unearthed near Chan Chan, an archeological complex in coastal Peru. The event is estimated to be five hundred years old.

Young ones were donated by parents to be held down, sternums severed in half, and rib cages broken open so that the undersized hearts could be cut out of the bodies.  The article does not state whether the children were still alive during that procedure, but that all were killed at the same time –which tells me that there were at least 140 community members who systematically killed at once. The researchers also mentioned that there were few “false starts” in the cutting, indicating that ritual members were skilled with the procedure and ceremonial blades.

A Man, Measured

The newest installment in an ongoing series of essays on culture

Having a birthday this week lead me to some reflection.  Not on myself, of course, since I’m already too hip for the room. But I’d just seen the very decent 12 Strong the weekend before and I’d been contemplating why this enjoyable story of duty, heroism, and general smack-down of some very real, very bad guys had performed rather poorly at the box office after receiving the traditional golden shower from a lot of film critics.

To ask the question is to answer it: because it’s an enjoyable story of duty, heroism, and a general smack-down of some very real, very bad guys.

Johnny Tremain: Rites of Passage in Classical Literature for Boys, Part 4

And some of us would die – so other men can stand up on their feet like men. A great many are going to die for that. They have in the past. They will a hundred years from now – two hundred. God grant there will always be men good enough.”

Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes is an overtly moralistic tale, and an unabashed, old-fashioned ode to the patriotism and spirit of the founding generation. It was written in the afterglow of “the Greatest Generation’s” victory in WWII. Its protagonist begins the story as a uniquely talented and bright silversmith’s apprentice. Johnny was only too aware of his best qualities – which in turn brought out his worst. He lorded over and bullied the other apprentices, especially the older but duller Dove. The blowback was disastrous – literally crippling – and changed the course of a life Johnny had well planned.

Fiction: Sex, Love and a Soviet Obituary

         I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about how she died or where she died, bitter and surreal as the news struck me, and bare enough to make me feel cold, hollow, unclean. I’m really not sure if what I felt, or feel, for her is really what I would call love. Especially in light of what she did.

         Could anything be more perverse and despicable?

         We met at Columbia University before the War when we both majored in physics. I knew her from a class and we had spoken a few times and then I saw her at a jazz club and she held a cigarette aloft in the tight crowd, and we spoke over a drink, and then two drinks, over the course of hours, and even then she smoked too much. I realized all this after I made my way blearily back to my room on 112th and flopped into my lumpy bed seeing her lovely face in double vision wreathed in a dirty halo just like a movie shot.