Itazuke Revelation

It wasn’t until that day in 1968 that I took the train from JASDF airbase Itazuke - recently made available to the Cotton Pickers - a squadron of RF 100s from an American Airbase on Okinawa - where I was doing American intelligence things related to the Pueblo Crisis, to downtown Fukuoka that I understood how special America is.

And why I love her so much.

As I left the train downtown in the city I saw a crowd of locals.

It was a sea of people, all about the same height, and all with black hair.

I never really understood America until that moment.

donnie never has gotten it.

Steven Miller is terrified of it.

A lot of "America" doesn't get it.

Japan doesn't get it either, but they are, nonetheless, a great country led by a great leader.

Unlike us.

We are a failing country, led by a Charleton, not a leader.

Duly elected, though.

How odd. 

In the case of the Japanese, they merely don't know why they should look like downtown Portland, or Seattle or St. Louis or Anywhere USA.

And that's OK.

But here it's consciously heinous.

donnie and stevie don't want those places to look like Anywhere USA.

They want to deny and negate the existence of such conditions.

And that's not OK.

Those places, and all of America, are already seas of heads with hair red, hair blond, hair green, hair purple, hair black, hair brown and hair brindle.

And more.

Colors.

Of hair.

And of blessed diversity.

They are Americans.

And their variety of height, hair color, talent, and indominable commitment to America boggles the mind.

They are already here, multi-generationally, or illegal,

They all are making America.

Move.

Forward.

As such, I can't see them as anything.

But Americans.

Like me.

Like you.

Like all of us.

If there is a god, they are a segment of God's people.

God Bless America.

And, please, God, give donnie and stevie insight.

So they might understand.

And become human.

Sent from my iPhone