It takes strength, endurance, resignation and stomach to like Donald Trump. Not for what he actually is. Under the pen of Alexandre Dumas, for example, Trump may even appear as a not-dislikable Yankee D’Artagnan of sorts. Maybe with less finesse than the original musketeer, whose contained yet French swaggering captivated millions of readers, when reading was still ‘cool’.
Rather for some infamous things Trump did and for some unspeakable people he has endorsed or surrounded himself with.
As for things evil, I’ll refer, for one, to the disgraceful delivery of the stolen Golan Heights to the Zionist entity – proving that before the Arabs’ complaints were to be finally dismissed, all remedy should be hopeless. Continue reading
There is a history in all men’s lives (1), and in the history of their lives men often meet with mysteries, meaning events inexplicable via the resources of common sense and logic. Some mysteries are terrestrial, some metaphysic. Setting metaphysics aside, I’ll deal with the terrestrial.
Associating medicine with charlatanry smacks of ignorance and arrogance, two semantic relatives often found together. Perish the thought! But there is currently an exuberance of acknowledgment of a dubious medical pandemic, coupled with gross discrepancies in related statistics and fierce debates among disagreeing experts.
Sometimes ideas born out of an apparently sensible necessity evolve into something diabolically inevitable. On the other hand, the history of the formation of ideas is, or could be, what frees the mind from a blind search for explanations. For the alternative is to (dis)-content ourselves with effects without knowing their causes, other than attributing the faults of the system, for example, to the greed and covetousness of man. Which is as much as saying that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun (1) – or the equivalent of when medicine, unable to explain an illness or disease, says it is ‘genetic.’ 
Whatever busies the mind without corrupting it has at least this use, that it rescues the day from idleness, and he that is never idle will not often be vicious.
The Coronavirus phenomenon has left so many attired in wonder that they know not what to say (1) – including the undersigned who runs the positive risk of losing some or all of his 25 readers.
The life of peoples are a vague and inexhaustible subject, and I should tell the reader that I am not presenting here yet another opinion on the Coronavirus phenomenon and its broadened effects on society. For, when examining current affairs, I am eroded by subtle remorse, weakened by rationalizations, laden by perplexities and constitutionally prone to be a martyr of doubt. 
As the following content may be controversial, I do not pretend to truth, even to the truth of him whose thought and findings I report. My basic knowledge rests on the understanding that the property of rain is to wet and of fire to burn, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun.(1)
In all mass phenomena it is uncertain whether to believe the scientists as the infallible voices of truth, or if, in their explanation of some events, we see but the dimming of the light of reason. For in the current currents of the world, science is often an improper verbal expression, used by sundry technocratic dictatorships to suggest unquestionable infallibility, leading to the imposition of very questionable restrictive measures 
Men judge by the complexion of the sky, the state and inclination of the day (1). Yet, to the perplexed observer it was difficult, in 2013, to guess what Pope Bergoglio was up to. For one, the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI was puzzling. After all, the last Pope to resign, 719 years earlier, was Celestine V, five months after his election, in 1294 AD