My Dream.

“Dedicated to DC, one of the most intelligent and beautiful young people I have ever had the fortune to meet.” Nyk

What wondrous form, my dreams invade?

A flame thought dying, did only fade?

Its glow, no ember, its form too pure

Illumes the night, of that, be sure!

What wraith be not, did appear to me,

With mystic orbs of azure sea?

Twas not fear I felt, nor tear did shed,

Judgment at peace within my head.

With no call to account, nor lie dispel,

Risen anew, did waif emerge from hell.

Past sleeping eyes, sweet smile did grace.

As slowly it neared, to touch my face.

Upon my lips, velvet touch did come,

Tender voice declare, “I am now someone.

Thank you.”

No Price on Humanity

Recently, I met a young person who is going through a very traumatic period of life that is quite similar to what I endured for a number of years. I do not want to embarrassed or cause any further issues so I will simply call refer to this person as DC.

While growing up, DC was subjected to a pretty rigid life in a controlled religious environs that stifled creativity and individual thinking. When my friend was able to escape the situation, DC was preyed upon by sexual predators and cast off like a used paper towel to end up living in a vehicle, rather than a home with love and caring.

One day, DC met someone who offered a place to stay in return for physical activities, none of which are important to this paper. I only mention them to set the proper tone. Desperately in need, DC agreed to the terms, a mistake soon regretted. However, not to be defeated, DC endured while establishing a community presence and finding work. All the while with the specter of home life demands weighing heavily. Predictably, those demands erupted into a very bad situation placing DC at risk for injury or worse, and once again homeless.

In the short time I have known DC, I’ve discovered a very sensitive and remarkably intelligent human being who has made some bad mistakes, none of which cannot be overcome. The problem now being an overabundance of advice confusing issues!

Yes, I said advice; DC is getting a lot of conflicting advice which is having a dramatically negative effect. It would be horrible for someone not in such a critical situation but is even worse for DC.

Who to trust?

Who to believe?

Who to turn to for help?

To the best of my knowledge, no one in DC’s group of friends has offered more than temporary assistance. It’s tragic, but true of human nature. Can I blame them? No, of course not, they think they are acting in DC’s best interests when in actuality, they are acting in their own by thinking theirs are the only answers to the problems.

This is the current state of many “humanitarian efforts” these days.

I think it great that people sympathize and are willing to help but unless they’ve walked the path, they can never empathize. To push someone such as DC to make life changing decisions at this time is almost an assault on emotions however necessary it may be. That may only be accomplished by one who has walked in DC’s shoes.

As I have done before with others I have promised DC housing, sustenance, help getting into college and whatever other things I can do to make life easier and more successful without unwelcome stipulations. DC alone must make the decision to accept or not. Whatever that decision is, I will not abandon DC as I was once abandoned by my family.

The problems being:

Who can DC trust?

Who can DC believe?

Who can DC turn to?

People who know me say Nyk, you’ve been crapped on before by people you’ve helped, why continue?

My answer is because I’m me.

I believe that if we do not try to help those in desperate need, we not only work against them, we may even be defeating ourselves. Imagine, perhaps DC might go on to create a cure for hunger or cancer; may become a great world leader or even possess the knowledge to end wars. We do not know, nor will we until we step up and believe in people like DC and keep our promises to help.

Hugs to all who need one today.

Papa Nyk

Never Read Half!

I’m curious, how many people do you know that will pick up a book, magazine, newspaper or other printed matter, read only half of it, then tell you they know the entire story?

I’d be willing to guess we all know lots of people like this.

Now, how many people do you know that will admit to doing this?

If you said none, nil, nada, zilch, or zero, you’re probably right on target.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Yet this is the philosophy of a large percent of people.

Now, think this through a little. What is propaganda?

According to the Cambridge English Dictionary, propaganda is: “Information or ideas that are spread by an organized group or government to influence people’s opinions, esp. by not giving all the facts or by secretly emphasizing only one way of looking at facts.

The Cambridge English Dictionary defines propaganda as: “Information or ideas that are spread by an organized group or government to influence people’s opinions, esp. by not giving all the facts or secretly emphasizing only one way of looking at the facts,”

If you look at this sideways, you might see a similarity between reading only half the book and getting only half the facts, right?

Yep, thought you would.

America is currently under attack by professional propagandists posing as various experts, news commentators and educators. Those who would question their positions are brow beaten and denied the Freedom of Speech those same propagandists laud as a given right.

The rights and responsibilities of the tax-paying American citizens are being usurped by foreign interventionists set on remaking our beloved country into a satellite of a globalist world empire.

We are being fed bits and pieces of a very large instruction manual designed for the overthrow of our Republic. Our Constitution, the basis of our laws and freedoms is being chipped away at; eroded with half-truths and outright lies.

Ask yourself one question, throughout our history, which political party has had more members commit assassinations and mass murders?

It’s an easy one; the Democrat Socialists. Think about that and read the whole book.

Sixteen Year Old Voters?

This morning, while attempting to enjoy my breakfast I heard a report on the news about the Democrat monarchy struggling to get new voters by demanding a change in our laws to allow sixteen-year-old, legal and illegals living in America to vote. Let that sink in a minute.

The argument was this: We allow seventeen-year-old citizens to join our military. We train them then send them into battle zones where they have to make life and death decisions. If we can do that, we can allow sixteen-year-old’s to vote. Again, let that sink in.

Ready for this?

Re-read both paragraphs carefully; see the problem with the claim?

One word sticks out like a large carrot shoved up my nose.

Did you find it?

Whether you did or not, I’m going to tell you. The one word that destroys the Democrat monarchy’s argument is “TRAIN.”

Enlistees in our military are rigorously trained in basic training (Boot) camps where their mental and physical skills are sorely tested. There is an average 10+% drop out rate for numerous reasons, not the least of which is an inability to work in a team. The successful ones are sent to other facilities to further their training in specialized areas.

The key to the success of our military is team work. Each successful enlistee becomes a part of the military team; each to know his or her role in the success of the team.

How, in the name of all that’s sacred in America, can anyone compare any one of our military personnel to a sixteen-year-old? What kind of stupidity makes them think there is a fair comparison?

For me, it is an another insult to the American voters to think that a sixteen-year-old has the life experience, training and maturity equal to that of seventeen-year-old American soldier, airman, seaman or marine.

In defense of sixteen-year-old’s, I know several and have, over my lifetime worked with a number of them through my religious affiliation. There’s no denying the knowledge and drive of these kids but most lack life experience and the basic principles of our Constitution and electoral processes. I blame our liberal controlled education systems for that.

Do I think Sixteen-year-old’s should be allowed to vote? NO! Not because they’re sixteen, because we have failed to teach them what they need to know to make logical choices for themselves and their future families.

Democrat Lebensborn Agenda?

Without fail, almost each and everyday, the Democrat monarchists show their true allegiances are not to America; their corruption is endemic.

Yesterday, the Democrats in our Congress blocked passage of a bill designed to save the lives of innocent babies. In essence, they declared that since babies who are strong enough to survive the butcher’s tools of the abortionists, had no right to live.

It made no difference to them that the child may have grown up to be another Marie Curie, John-Paul II, JFK, or MLK. No, it only meant a fighter had to die.

Was it fear of that fighter growing up to be another President Reagan or Trump?

When one adds the other actions of the Democrat monarchists such as

“Senate Democrats on Thursday blocked a bill that would fund veterans’ benefits and military construction, in an effort to push Republicans to negotiate a larger budget deal.”

“They issued press releases praising the bill, but they seem prepared to block the Senate from even debating this bill, too,” he said. “It’s all part of some half-baked Democratic scheme to get more money for the IRS and the Washington bureaucracies.” (Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McCconnell).

Here, I see the Democrat monarchy holding our heroic military veterans hostage for more money to fund their, the Democrat monarchy’s agendas. They are willing to allow our veterans to die on the streets and in the waiting rooms of our VA hospitals to get their way.

If one removes political bias from the scenario and closely examines the apparent agenda being followed, you may see similarities to those of the “great” Socialist leaders such as Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Pol Pot and so many others.

If my hypothesis is anywhere near correct, the next step, if not already taken in secret, will be the elimination of the unproductive elderly and disabled people of all ages.

Once this is all completed, what will happen?

I predict the creation of the Democrat Monarchy Lebensborn program; the selective breeding of Democrats to form a more “perfect union.”

It is easy to say, I’m full of shit, but just look at those supporting the Infanticide Agenda. Who are the leaders, who are the breeders and who are the ones declaring who may live and who must die?

I Remember Pauline


In 1963, I was nineteen and beginning to show some of the symptoms of, what I call, Childhood Trauma-Induced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (wow, a long title there). However, in retrospect, I am unable to give it any other name. It is, what it was and came at a very terrible cost.

I did not drink, nor do drugs back then, nor did I act out other than being very insecure, sensitive and lonely, those showed, at least to people who cared which excludes my family.

I met Pauline when I started working as a kitchen helper at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in Minneapolis, MN, where was the Dining Room supervisor, aka my boss. Almost from the first day, it seemed as though she hated me for some odd reason. It seemed, at least to me that I was her private punching bag when things went wrong. The dishes were not done correctly; I was using too many eggs, I was not overseeing the diet line, I missed a zillions spots on the dining room floor, and my hair was too long. You cannot believe how much I hated that woman. I wanted to kick her ass from one end of the hospital grounds to the other and back again.

Then one day, she assigned me to work in the small kitchenette on the 5th floor of the hospital. It was a room about twelve by twenty feet with a steam table serving line and small tables. I thought it was pretty cool, but I was a bit naïve; it was in the psychiatric ward, so I was a bit nervous. Fortunately, patients were not allowed in without the nursing staff, or so I was told.

            At noon, a sous chef would come up to help swerve, then leave when at one when the kitchenette was supposed to close. On this day, we only had four or five patients who were in and out fast, so we finished early. As I was cleaning up, a patient walked in with a bizarre look on his face. He stood in front of me and looking right into my face and said: “Do you know the president was shot?”

            The first thought that came to mind was, is he was going to tell me about President Lincoln? I did not need that, so I told him he had to leave, but of course, he was not about to leave; he took a chair by the window and started crying.

            Not wanting to upset him more, I quietly grabbed up all the sharp knives and slipped out the employee door only to find a woman in white, kneeling in the middle of the hallway. Now, since this was a men’s ward floor, I was now starting to get a little more nervous.

            I edged my way past this woman, and ran, not walked down the hall to the locked nurse’s station where a nurse (female) was sitting at the desk crying. As I attempted to tell her about the patient in the cafeteria, and the woman on the floor, she blurted out, “They killed the President.”

            Remember now, even though I had pretty much been on my own since age fifteen, and often neglected before that, I was still naïve in many ways. OK, I am lying, I was scared shitless.

            I ran back to the cafeteria to find the patient had left, so I quickly locked all the doors and ran down the back stairway to the main kitchen and dining room. You will never guess what I found there!

            I found more people crying and telling me the President has been shot and killed.

            Luckily for me, Pauline, the woman I whom I had thought hated me, stopped me, took me in her arms and hugged me.

            “It is going to be all right, baby.” She said, and she wiped away the tears I do not remember shedding.

            She held me close, as though I were her child; telling me that things I would be safe with her.

            After I had calmed down, she told me to go to the locker room, get into my street clothes and meet her out by the employee entrance.

            When I got there, she, and her husband were waiting for me. They took me to a local café where we had some coffee and watched the news. After about an hour, they took me home to the room I rented. Pauline gave me her phone number and told me to call her if I did not want to be alone.

            From that day, until I quit the hospital a year later, Pauline remained the tough, demanding boss. She made me do things over until I did them right. She made me admit my mistakes and make them right. She showed me color and gender make no difference in real friendship. To this day, I cannot help but wonder if, when she died, did she meet Nana and Henry, my best friend in elementary in heaven; they were so much alike.

Rest in Peace, President John F. Kennedy, May 25, 1917 to 12:30 PM, November 22, 1963