The Sound History Makes is Echoes.

—Corrected from Original—

If you live in the west, you know the cliche, history repeats itself. And, if you have read anything, anything at all, in the discipline of history, you know this proverbial warning rings true. In fact, you can say history echoes with the cries of mankind’s folly. Times change, but people do not.

Look I’m not writing in the abstract. I have a clear case to make. Today, I’m talking about the resurgence of fascism inside the U.S.A.

A very wealthy man, mentor, and close friend of mine once told me a new rise in fascism will be the inevitable by-product of late-stage capitalism under threat. When those who hold power have to share their power with the common people, and a time will come when the people, average citizen, no longer accepts the ineptitude of their government. The powerful at the top will begin to feel threatened by those demanding their nation put people before profits. That’s how society collapses into authoritarianism. Hence, the rise of Mussolini, Hitler, etcetera. Today, we call fascists in America white nationalist, because their views and rhetoric closely mirror the Nazi party of 1930’s and 40’s Germany, which by the way, actual Nazism, by its name, also thrives inside the ideology of white nationalism here in the U.S.

These people aren’t even clever enough to rebrand. They still blame minorities for their angst, immigrants for their disenfranchisements, society’s progress for brainwashing their children—ironic that one—, and like all terrorist ideologies, they rank and file behind false patriotism and twisted scriptures—regardless of religion. These fascists, although many of them are too close to the fire to see that they are indeed fascist, believe they will be counted on the right side of history. Well, they have that last one partly right: the right, when it shifts too far right, always ends up on the fascist side of history, which is to say, the wrong side. A democracy not slipping into chaos is indeed a walk across the tightrope.

A big difference between Isis and Q is Isis didn’t target baby boomers with propaganda.

These people are not patriots, they are terrorists; they are intellectually manipulated, susceptible to lies, and readers, mostly watchers, of fake news. The problem isn’t they have their own fake reality, but their false ideology threatens the stability of our democracy. The only smart one’s in their movement are the leaders, because they know full well what they are doing. If you think might proves right, chances are, you fall in line with this budding American fascism.

Think about this: how many grandparents, parents, and friends have you heard say the press/media should be filtered? That’s a violation of the first-amendment. How many of these same people complain protestors should be shot? Protesting is the foundation of our democracy—Boston Tea Party, American Revolution, Civil Rights, etcetera anyone? How many of these people go on and on about how the use-of-force will solve their problems. Name one time in history where getting tougher on people actually worked. Go ahead and name one. Don’t be shy. I’ll give you a hint: they weren’t democracies. Comment your findings below. Come on. Do it! Yes, that’s right, I’m coming for you QAnon believers.

Fascism, historically speaking, is rarely elected but arrives in watershed moments of turmoil, and takes the form of a coupe, which can be election fraud, or sewing doubt in election integrity, or more likely, fear politics—that’s when people are told their false reality, which they believe is real, cannot be compatible with their leaders and experts.

The latest fascist threat we faced was January 6, 2021—the Capitol building riot. Another key marker of fascism, and remember: we are using the historical method to look back and use comparable events, is disinformation. Or, better put, misinformation, a.k.a. fake news and false narratives. No one falls in love with a dictator style government, but they do fall in love with a person, and that’s how you get dictators. 100% of the time that’s how you get dictators. Hitler is famous for saying, “if you tell a lie loud enough and long enough, it will become truth.” You don’t need me to draw a line from Nazi Germany propaganda to today’s election lies from the Q’s and other Trump supporters to know the power of misinformation. Book burning is around the corner—the first cancel culture. Albeit, today, it will look more like not allowing certain books to be taught because it doesn’t work with many of the false historical ideologies they use to uphold their worldview. But trust me, their world is built on sand. It will not last. We just have to outlast them.

Fascism roots in the minds of those who can’t reasonably connect with reality. Therefore, fascist governments are infamous for attracting those who believe in simple answers for complex problems.

Why am I ranting about fascism today? It’s ugly face continues to show up in my life. I have family, friends, and members in my own community bathing themselves every night in the lies they read on the internet, swallowing every fear-written piece of propaganda they can find, and fact-checking their stuff only with the information they already agree with. Terms for this phenomenon are coined confirmation bias, naive realism, and, of course, cognitive dissonance. It’s scary and heartbreaking. What’s worse, is these folks think they are truly right. They are in a political cult. Another by-product of fascism.

I want to make one point clear, before I finish. I am not accusing the Republican party of fascism. I am a Democratic-centrist, but before that I was a Republican, and I live with that, like an inmate lives with the memory of his crimes. There are Republicans who do not pledge their allegiance to any single man, but continue to serve the greater ideals of our great country—meaning, the Constitution comes before politics. The problem is there are few of them left. The Mitt Romney’s of the world are out of any real power.

Yes, I know there are Democrats that are so far left, they get confused with Communism, but that’s not only a false narrative, it is one that will require a different post. One, I am unlikely to write, because I hope this is the only political post of 2022. No, anyone with two-brain cells rubbing together knows Communism and Socialism are not allies, but, economically and politically and historically speaking, they are enemies. Whether you support one of the other, has nothing to do with reality. And, that’s my point. Half of our nation has decided to create their own reality—hence, the slip towards fascism. Again!

Do you think Germany elected Hitler as Chancellor because they wanted a World War? No, he promised to make Germany Great Again. I kid you not, he said it over and over and over, “Make Germany Great Again.” Go inside any holocaust museum, and chances are you will see those words stitched or printed to old propaganda—some of it in English. Their blame victims: the Jews. Our nation’s blame victims: immigrants.

History indeed repeats itself, and in our case, it hasn’t even changed from the same old tactics. Like I said, these people didn’t even rebrand. They will say, well, we don’t believe in concentration camps. To which I reply, children and mothers are in cages all along our borders. That’s when they usually attack me on a personal level. “You think you know everything,” kind of arguments. Remember, personal attacks are the refuge of the simple. Violence is the refuge of the simple when angry. Aristotle said, find the man that yells he is right in assembly, and never allow him to achieve his ambitions. Meaning—he is a threat to peace.

Facts do not, in themselves, have the capacity to convey emotions. If you or someone you know gets frustrated with reality, it is because reality doesn’t fit with yours or their worldview. I already mentioned how reality becomes distorted through propaganda, which is the purpose of such tactics.

All this said, however, does not change the fact they these people are human beings and deserve respect, even if they cannot or will not show it back. We must love our neighbors, but we cannot continue to allow them to believe every belief has equal weight. It does not. Slavery for example is wrong, and few would say otherwise. But, the person who does believe slavery is okay has the right to believe that, but their belief is not an equal opinion to that of the abolitionist. Truth and justice is not relevant to an individual. Reality is sculpted by reason, justice, and a respect for all peoples and all histories.

So, stand firm on truth, but always meet hate with love. For love is the only way to penetrate the minds of those lost to false causes. They want violence. They want control. They want to force the world to make sense to them, but you, I, and everyone else must reach out and offer them your arm, praying they will allow you to pull them back into reality. Until they do so, if they ever do, you are under no obligation to share your life with them, but, by God’s decree, you are to love them, forgive them, and pray for their return to sanity. For hell, if it is real, is full of those who bear false witness. Proverbs 6.

Or, as my grandfather once said, a Democrat will come clean about not knowing what to do, a Republican will do it anyway and blame the Democrats if it fails. Whoever sits in the middle is the experiment.

That makes me a nail between hammers. Oh well! It is the price of living with my eyes-wide-open.

Next time, we will get back to writing.

God bless you all forty-thousand of you who read me regularly. You are more than a number.

—W. Alexander

Beat the Boy; Destroy the Man 

W. Alexander Dunford  I will never forget the television’s blue light that night fifteen years ago. Leonardo DiCaprio’s Blood Diamond played. Outside, beneath black skies, rain pelted our windows and the house’s bones braced against high winds. Thunder shook the walls.  It was Father’s idea to watch the movie. He loved violence, and I loved…

The Day God Died: Chapters 1 &2

“…in that moment my fear retreated. I discovered I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born to. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”


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One Thankful Adventure

Our Family at Carowinds: Charlotte NC.

My post is short this weekend. My time is reserved for friends and family, especially since I haven’t seen either in a very long time. Next week, I promise to share the next events in Ishaq’s journey. Tell your friends about this live writing experience.

Start reading The Day God Died here:

Back To Workshop

I’ll be done with my degree in a few months, and that means my workshop classes will be history. This breaks my heart, as I fear without the structure of “deadlines,” I won’t write as much. I have my local writer’s group, and without school’s work load, I will be able to attend far more regularly. Not to mention, I will attend national conferences, and by spring my book will be finished.

Fortunately, also in the spring, our new car will be delivered.

However, I’m still going to miss my professors. This is why, per my last workshop at school, I’m going to use my project to apply for grad-school—An MFA.

Yes, I’m still weighing attending seminary. My stomach turns and flips and twists and yanks itself as I discern the future. Fortunately, the decision does not need to be made today, tomorrow, or even six-months down the line. Pray for me!

Also, Quick Life Update:

I got my new tattoos. Eeek!

My baby girl’s name & D.O.B.
Jerusalem Cross—hand

The hand hurt like…🏒🏒

To Live Is To Never Aim For Gentle Death

Aristotle said, “Memories are the scribes of the soul.” Okay, fine, this is my paraphrase of my own transliteration of his Greek, but this fact remains: Aristotle is right. The purpose of life is not to arrive safely into old-age, but to live presently. Each of us measures our lives in profound highlights. Time flies because we forget the spaces we lived between big moments.

Jesus shared this same point-of-view. The Christian Scriptures—New Testament—teaches us not to even worry about the clothes on our backs and not to worry about tomorrow. These aren’t abstract ideas; these are excerpts of wisdom. They are guideposts on how to live one’s life, if they have the privilege, to live fully.

I cannot and will not count all the times I have failed to live in the present. The task alone would send me into an early grave. However, if I cannot count all the times I have failed to live in the present, I can choose to count when I do live in the here and now. Journaling, for me, is the key.

I have, for as long as I can remember, always wrestled, unable to accept easy answers, life’s grand, unanswerable questions. I am an armchair philosopher, and a man obsessed with the same question ten-year-old Alex asked his grandmother twenty-two-years ago: how do people die happy?

She was stunned, and no clear answer came from that conversation. But I can remember, having now grown up and cut my teeth in this chaotic space we call Earth, a few things she did not say.

She never said money would make me happy. Though, the lack of it was guaranteed to make you miserable. She never said, the right spouse would make you die happy, or even kids that grew up to accomplish feats unimaginable. No, she never, that day over peppermints and coffee, said anything regarding the right job or the right influence. But she did do something, she grabbed her Bible and began teaching me the Lord’s Prayer—KJV version. She did not preach. She demonstrated. She never forced religion. She left the invitation open.

If it wasn’t for her, and for her doing this, I would not be counted among the ranks of the faithful today.

For a long time, every time my sister and I would stay the night, she would help us recite this prayer before bed. See, she knew she didn’t have the answers, but she knew who did, and instead of empty phrases and cliche responses, she pointed me and my sister toward the only one who could help a person to one-day die happy.

Faith is the secret to joy. Service is the key which unlocks heaven’s front gate.

Selfishness, greed, gluttony, and the rest of the deadly sins aren’t sins in abstract, but actual soul killers. In other words, joy stealers. If you live only for yourself and yours, regrets stalk you like shadows.

There are many paths to true joy, but none of them can be walked alone. We must live and love our neighbor and not worry over the future. We need to plan, sure. That is wise, but we cannot make decisions on how we treat one-another based on how it affects our wallets and lifestyle.

This is why a religious devotion to capitalism or any man-made philosophy will always lead us to alienating ourselves from our tribes—our neighbors.

So, again, how do we die happy? I don’t know that answer, but I believe in my heart-of-hearts that if one dies with Jesus on their mind, service and love in their hearts, one dies with profound hope, and, therefore, everlasting joy.

—I’m thinking of writing a poem or series of poems off of this idea. What do you think?

Big Moments Count

Photo: W. Alexander, 2021

Hello, and welcome my readers, followers, subscribers, cyber stalkers, Russian hackers, and anyone else who finds themselves reading my blurb. Like you, and every other humanoid, I’m just as self-obsessed and self-consumed with my life and reality, and, like you, I steady my aim toward that-ever-close-or-distant American, white-boy success, dream. So, engage and celebrate with me and forgive my little boast. For, I request a toast.

Above, a rare photo of me wearing the latest in I have yard work to do fashion: work boots, Star Trek: Next Generation socks—out of laundry, sweat soaked old-man-polo and, of course, featuring accents of grass. My hobo looking ass is sitting where my driveway meets the street. Seconds before my wife captured this moment, I grabbed the mail and read a package-slip from the publisher. My heart stopped. To hell with the yard, I thought to myself. I sat down and tore through packaging. Inside it was my poem. Well, the poem is on page 15, but it is not about the poem, it’s more than that: it’s my first writing ever published in a book and people can buy this book. Is this some grand accomplishment? No, but damnit I feel grand, and I want to enjoy it, and I want to share this moment with you—yes, You! It’s no small feat to trust that people really want to hear my voice.

I set a goal in January that I would be published twice before 2022; I am halfway there. So, go ahead and imagine Bon Jovi level excitement at my house. I feel gratified, even relieved.

Trying to publish, so far, feels like dating. Shew! So, please, help me give myself a bathroom-mirror-thumps-up. My publishing virginity is taken. Big Moments Count.

Now, I promise not to annoy you any longer, but a major part of accomplishing something is to bask in it with your friends. I lack those, but I have readers and that is sort of the same thing but better. Thank you for allowing me, and helping me make possible this giant, little step in my career as a writer. This blog is, after all, about my writing journey.

—W. Alexander. I wrote this high—on life, lol.

P.S: I just don’t know how to explain the feeling I felt when I first read my name, my words, on a physical, published book. The best I can do is say it felt like those moments in life where we sense magic; those days where every bone in your body feels good, and there is laughter and love overflowing, and you know how great that feels. I feel that.

You’re welcome to subscribe and follow me if you haven’t yet. I’m not always charming, but I like to think I share interesting things.

A Nod To Derry’s Son

Derry, New Hampshire was the longtime home of Robert Frost. This poem is in dedication to my favorite poetry book: North of Boston, and his poem October.

Paradise and Achievement: A Week in Acadia

Hello, friends and followers, I am back from vacation. I climbed summits and traversed ocean waters—harbor to harbor. I watched seals nap, Bald Eagles fight Seagulls, and I even kissed, yes kissed, a fresh caught lobster. If you know me, you know a week in nature isn’t my vibe, but, now, I am inspired to make that change. Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor fills a man, this man, with a thirst for natural beauty. I believe I am becoming a true New England artist, lol.

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Of course, a much needed, much enjoyed, week in a national park isn’t all that I experienced. My poem, the one recently accepted to be published printed. It is found in Poets’ Choice’s new Anthology Its Not Easy.

I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of the progress I have made as a person and as an artist. I am finally, successfully, living my true self. Cheers, friends, to all whom have the courage to be their honest selves.

Below are pics of our family on vacation. For my email followers: You may have the best viewing experience if you open your email to the webpage.

I’m Published in The Closed Eye Open

Hi, friends and readers, subscribers and first-time-site clickers. I have big, beautiful news to share with you. I published in The Closed Eye Open, which is an impressive literary journal boasting beautiful art and great writing. If you’re looking for something new, creatively speaking, to delight and inspire you, I recommend reading The Closed Eye…


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