It Is Time

Chuck Schumer and other Democrats are foolishly laboring under the delusion that this is a presidential administration. Rather than being a run-of-the-mill administration, it is the textbook definition of a fascist regime.

Granted, they haven’t finished solidifying their position, but they are proceeding well within the necessary timeframe to finish the job. 

Never in the history of the United States has a president or a political party held so many Americans in such daily fear. The orange stain and the Republican Party are nothing short of a terrorist organization.

The majority of Americans fear for their safety and the safety of their families and communities. As long as Republicans remain in power, there is no faith in the American dream.

Words like fairness, protection, law, and justice have lost all meaning. The Democratic Party is trying to play by rules that no longer exist.

It does not matter whether one is playing chess or checkers. Once your opponent knocks the board off the table, you are no longer engaged in chess or checkers.

The idea of turning the other cheek only applies when one person slaps you across the face. If you choose to overlook the offense, it might be noble or admirable.

However, when it is not just you, but an entire nation being assaulted, there’s nothing noble about overlooking the offense. When it is not merely a simple slap across the face, but rather attempted murder through systematic imprisonment and class warfare, there is nothing ethical about “playing the long game.”

For God’s sake, the time for war is not only here, it is now well behind us. Will none of you exert any true stewardship or courage?

Anyone within the Democratic Party who is still sane should stand up and take action.

The Founding Fathers are shaking their heads in disgust, scowling at you from beyond the grave.

It is time to talk about secession. But before you say, “That’s utterly ridiculous. That would raze this country to the ground,” ask yourself this:

Is there any part of American ideology that is not already under direct assault by the Republican Party?

Will you never wake up and realize that you are being mugged? Will it never dawn on you that your attacker has no intention of stopping?

A sane person, one not completely paralyzed by cowardice would choose to fight, rather than to surrender to an attacker who is already in the process of murdering them.

I am not speaking as the typical citizen who might mean well but has a poor grasp of history. Since grade school, I have studied the art of war and the rise and fall of empires. I didn’t do it for school credit; I learned about these things out of fascination. 

When the Democrats began talking about Biden pulling out of the race, I scoured the history of American politics for any successful precedent of such a move. I found none. 

Because I have no mouthpiece or political clout, I could not persuade anyone that it was a horrible idea. But it was, and I knew it. Still, Democrats are spoiled children, and they got what they asked for. 

Even though we’ve never had a female President, and even though we already unsuccessfully attempted to run a woman against that disgusting orange stain the first time, we proceeded. 

Harris would have made a fantastic President. Still, it was the most ridiculous decision that Democrats have ever made to switch candidates so late in the race. Wait. I take that back. It’s the second. The first is Schumer and other key Democrats supporting the budget resolution. 

Because of the last few months, there is no longer the slightest inkling of doubt about the lengths to which Republicans are willing to go for complete authoritarian control.

I have been scrambling to find any historical precedent for removing a dictator from power without bloodshed or, at the very least, some serious behind-the-scenes coercion. I have found none.

The closest examples are:

  1. Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines. However, the military refused to fire on civilians, enabling them to prevail. I do not know whether Americans would be so lucky. 
  2. Daniel Ortega and the Sandinistas. Yet, the exit came after the CIA supplied the Contra guerrillas for years. Even then, Ortega publicly stated that he intended to “rule from below” if possible. 

South Korea was able to reverse its recent declaration of martial law only because the people of their congress were willing to scale the fences and face being shot by the military. I can’t even imagine our Congress officials doing anything like that.

One can find multiple “sources” that paint other regimes as ending peacefully, but they’re naive accounts. For example, I encountered an article that claimed Pinochet left power willingly. This retelling of events conveniently ignores such a staggering number of critical details that there is no time to get into it. Suffice it to say that these two I’ve mentioned are as close as it gets. 

The Supreme Court is a toothless guard dog with no power to enforce its rulings. The US Marshals are under the control of the Executive Branch. 

The Republicans hold the majority in both houses of Congress. 

They pulled the Alien Enemies Act card within the first hundred days. 

DOGE’s tampering with governmental software screams the setting up of fixing future elections. The bloodcurdling scream is loud enough for the people to hear it. So, why don’t you?

In 2020, the orange thing swore that the election would be fake unless we had all paper ballots and no mail-in ballots. Suddenly, in 2024, it was all excited about Elon Musk’s computer savvy and these “great new voting machines.”

Has no one in the Democratic Party ever played poker before? Are none of you familiar with the concept of a “tell?” The 2024 election was probably the first rigged election in American history. Yet it will not serve us to speak of this because we went to such great lengths to clarify that the 2020 election was secure.

We can’t discuss the likelihood of a stolen election; this would only bring scorn and mockery. It would achieve nothing without smoking gun evidence, evidence which I seriously doubt anyone possesses. Therefore, we must (as golfers say) “play the ball where it lies.” We must move forward from here.

Steve Bannon’s remark about “muzzle velocity” best summarizes the goal of all this chaos.

They are putting so much stress on the American people in such a short time that it’s clear what the goal is:

Incite riots in the streets and then invoke the Insurrection Act. The saber-rattling against China, Panama, Denmark, Greenland, Canada, and Mexico is an obvious sign of the intention to wage war solely to invoke martial law and suspend elections. 

The Mueller Report and the January 6th Committee were correct. The orange stain technically forfeited the right to run again; the Constitution forbids it. Yet Democrats failed to enforce this. 

Kilmar Abrego Garcia is but one of many who have been illegally sent to what we all know are essentially death camps. 

Robert King was arrested for no crime. He spoke the obvious truth, but no one is talking about him. 

You have allowed them to destroy Medicaid and attack Medicare and Social Security. How many planes have they crashed? There is no time to list the roster of human rights violations and financial catastrophes; we’d be here all night.

The oligarchs are waging class warfare against us. 

We, the American people, do not expect you, the Democrats, to do much of anything. It is evident to us that you all lack the fortitude, conviction, courage, and backbone to stand up and do the job that needs doing. 

However, you can at least admit that we will never have peace with the ruthless mad dogs of the Republican Party. 

Secede from the Union, for God’s sake. 

At least you would be giving us a fighting chance. I can assure you of this: Many Americans will begin acting on their own volition in the spirit of our forefathers, who, unlike yourselves, absolutely refused to bow to a tyrant. 

You are already at war; you cannot escape your incompetence long enough to accept that harsh reality. 

I don’t expect you to recall that Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge was a mere 50 years ago and that it resulted in the death of more than one and a half million Cambodians.

Nor do I expect you to recollect that their targets were the same as the modern-day Republican Party those such as journalists, political enemies (such as yourselves), teachers, artists, those who spoke multiple languages, engineers, etc.

However, I do expect you to be able to understand that the rule of law is gone. You must know that no one in Washington, DC, is following the Constitution anymore. You would be incapable of having gotten yourselves elected in the first place if you didn’t at least grasp that much.

We, the people, require wartime consiglieres. 

You owe us that much. Step aside and allow someone up to the task to do the job. We could literally roll the dice and do better than what the Democratic Party has given us. 

We will begin to act on our own orders.

This inevitability is apparent from the murmuring of the streets. You would be wise to understand that you will do better if you are in control of the Resistance. It’s much more difficult to control the chaos of a military rebellion when you are not communicating with the generals because they are merely citizens acting out of their own capacity. 

Do you want to orchestrate a second Civil War? 

Or would you rather have a modern-day Weather Underground scenario to the power of ten?

There is no third choice.

I have one ear to the ground and one to the wind. It is clear to me that the people of this great nation will not much longer stomach your fearful inaction and bellyaching. 

It’s time for secession. If you don’t proceed now, you will soon be unable to do anything. Our citizens will not even be able to flee the country safely. 

Secede. 

Do it NOW.


Sincerely,

Kevin Trent Boswell

Strange Leaf

“Strange Leaf” is a piece of poetry about multiple subjects. The largest topics addressed are the intelligence community and the various three-letter agencies, such as the CIA, FBI, NSA, DOD, CSS, DNI, and DHS.

“Strange Leaf” by Kevin Trent Boswell

All of the terminology used in this piece comes directly from historical examples of real-life spies and intelligence officers from US agencies, as well as the Brits, Germans, and French.

If you search any of the terms you hear in this poem and add the words “spy terms,” you’ll gain a much deeper insight into what I was getting at in the piece.

I wrote this poem sometime during 2020, leading up to the election. Not long after that, I recorded it as spoken word and set it to background music.

After January 6th, 2021, and the assault on the Capitol Building, I compiled a montage of photographs of events from the history of the United States that depict the famous and infamous acts of our three-letter organizations, alongside pictures of world conflicts and the recent madness inflicted upon America by the cult of MAGA.

I had shared the video here once before. However, it didn’t receive as many views as I had hoped for, and today, “Strange Leaf” is more relevant than ever.

One of the (much smaller) minor themes in this work is tobacco’s role in American culture, hence the title, “Strange Leaf.”

My family farmed tobacco and other crops for decades before they eventually moved away from farming. In the 1990s, I assisted my father in tearing down three tobacco-drying barns he had helped his father build as a young man.

America’s history is based on crops like tobacco, which were raised and harvested by slaves and indentured white servants. Some of my ancestors were indentured servants.

In spy circles, sharing a cigarette or a pipe was a regular method of “developing an asset.” The daily routine of “stepping out back for a smoke” offered the perfect opportunity to have a private conversation with someone and find out about them, learn their true allegiances, and ascertain their weaknesses for potential exploitation.

Today, intelligence officers’ methods have changed, both in the field and in the analyst round-rooms at Langley. The terms they use for keeping secrecy have evolved to keep pace with changing times and environments.

However, the basic principles of spy work, known as tradecraft, are the same. The basic premise is that there are always governments ruling over citizens.

Every government on Earth has an intelligence agency comprising many data collectors, data analysts, and field agents.

The size of the nation in question is of little concern. For example, Israeli intelligence is Mossad, and that is one of the most elaborate, effective, and widespread groups on the planet.

We see how Israel is currently acting with impunity against Palestine. Their success is directly attributable to Mossad’s efficiency.

We now live in a post-Patriot Act world where everything is monitored, recorded, and tightly controlled. Understanding the history of our intelligence community and how it operates today has never been more critical.

For anyone who is interested in the print version of this poem, I published it in my book remission, available on Amazon.

Hay Day

I tasted your harvest
Held you in the fall
I heard the strange changes
Saw no one at all

The tea leaves aren’t telling
The wax drips no words
The chords are atonal;
They’re not stacked in thirds

Hey, hey, hey
Play in the hay day
Swallow the bruises
The pain goes away

Hey, hey, hey
Today is a school day;
Just as tomorrow,
And every other day, too

Wheels will slow down,
And hammers go fall
The chains all fall off
There’s no reason to call

A mouth slams shut
For lack of a solver
Birdcage flies open
A willful revolver

Hey, hey, hey
Make rain on a sun day
All the swallows got bruises
A rose fades away

Hey, hey, hey
Today is a school day;
Just as tomorrow,
And every other day, too

I screamed at the empty
You clawed at the door
We kindled a fire
And burned out the floor

Pleading with empty
We gnawed a bit more
We ate the inferno
Lost sight of the score

There’s always more learning
What was already known
Lessons learned again
Are again to be shown


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell

Little Despot

Empty-headed blood scepter
Rails on about rights and privileges

But the angel-faced baboon
Will have none of it

Garrison bone hides
Rancid jowls in its ivory jar

Circus clown juggler
Tilts at the mills of wind,
Falls of water, and the
Endless static screen

Burn all that useless crap
In the trash barrel
Out back

Reach in the candy dish
And pull out a fresh squid

This tiny line of chalk
Guides the anchor to its resting place

Cranial trauma
This, too, shall never pass

But the not-subsiding
Should subside
Within a few thousand years or so

Your head only hurts because
We’ve removed it;
Imminent domain

The lumpy piece of flesh
That used to be inside of it
Is now an air freshener
Hanging from the rear view mirror
In the Devil’s Cadillac

He says it reminds him of home

One last thing,

Please sign here:

—————————————————


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell

encroaching

that taste
will not always
haunt the lips

or will it?

it is certain that
other hungers
will swarm the palate
and strangle
the familiar flavor

or is it?

the trail is littered
with the swollen corpses
of fabled monsters
and brittle heroes

the valley is cursed
and the sky is burnt

hedgerows of thorn bushes
quietly weep blood
in the shadows

they sing mournful songs
of blistered eyes,
salted fields full of silk roses,
wolfsbane and hellebore,
the broken teeth of clockwork dolls,
and a thousand crushed hearts
of little bluebirds
overflowing from the
mortar and pestle

beckoning mirage,
a courtyard fountain
that sprays only gossip,
a wishing well
of screaming sad sirens,
hungry to drown
all careless passersby

my history’s pages
are all made of dust

the cap is of old tile,
the gown is a shroud,
and the tassels are all
desiccated worms

guts of tapioca
and bones of papier-mâché

any junior scout
with a compass and a crayon
could’ve easily mapped out
my imminent demise

it would have
saved a great deal
of yet more useless time
had I set my fool’s course
directly for the rocks,
instead taking such
a circuitous route

surely, this was
how I stumbled;
once, at least

craving the honorifics
of a conqueror,
a king

chasing wispy legends,
a haunted city of gold
that lay in the heart
of an untamed jungle
on a remote little island
only rumored to exist

a gnarled patch of land
that only surged up
from deep ocean trenches
in the craven imaginings
of a syphilitic madman

a derelict scoundrel
who scrawled dark heresies
onto pages of black dust
in an ink made from octopus,
the dried blood of
slaughtered griffins,
slain wyverns,
and fallen angels

an El Dorado of oblivion,
always just over the horizon
swelling in the overheated
cranium of a lunatic
drunk on malaria
and a dry, bitter wine
made from red poison berries

any wobbly toddler
could have rightfully discerned
that it was only a cruel game of
peek-a-boo and goodbye

the face keeps disappearing,
disappointing, disapproving,
and daily disavowing

and never allowing
deeper mysteries
to be known

any toy soldier could have
made short work
of my defenses

the walls of my fortress
were destined to fail
and crumble
and be swallowed up
by the ruthless, ever-empty,
ceaseless cravings
of jaws that lust
for everything
and nothing

any busted clock
could have
told the tale
of how I was
out of time
before I ever
began

of how I would,
without doubt,
be swept from the decks
of the good ship of memory,
into the raging sea

it has always been a given,
that I would be erased
from the blackboard of thought,
and cast out of
the picture

it was always
understood,
a given,
a known

or was it?


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell