Our educations began early where I am from. There is no point in pretense. As children we were instructed that Truth is the remedy, and so we believe it still. All people are not inherently good, only some of them, usually those raised under the inclination. Evil is a fact. It is all around us, biding it’s time, like a mildew seeking out sickly environments for growth. The certainties of it are in the stories handed down to us by our grandparents and parents, our friends, and our communities; that we must be on the look-out from our earliest ages, and we take those lessons to heart. You seem like a nice sort, your challenge innocent enough, so I am going to teach you as I was taught about the worst of all the evils. Sit straight young one, and listen up. This is no game. Listen as though your life (and afterlife) depends upon what I say, for indeed it does.

There is a parade of evils which circles buzzard-like ’or this land, tacking on dark wings down the Valleys, kiting ’or the Cumberlands, and flushing back through the Deltas to begin all over again. These evils have many names, but the one you need know today is, “The Snake-oil Salesman”. This medicine-show man is ever-so-conniving, opportunistic, greasy; and sooner or later he accosts us all, so look sharp! Caution must be the rule as our paths and his cross. His game is deceit, his trophy a soul. As our years pass we will witness him in many forms, selling varying goods, but his chicanery is always the same. I sense your doubt, but this is no bedtime fable. The Snake-oil salesman is close by right now, his eyes open for the unwary… and he is very, very real!

“You will know him when you see him,“ I was taught. And so I always have. The Snake-oil Salesman is easy to spot. He wears fancy clothes and drives big cars. He shines white teeth and idolatry, and is prone to giving small bits of favor away (when there are fish in the pond, of course), pleasing us poor people ever-so-grandly. But as with any other devil of the gospels it is his forked words that pull us into his game; familiar words used creatively, and given new lives. He sells the same old lies, but in newer ways, enchanting ways, probing our depths with gentle, meaningless words. He reminds us that we are unhappy, and why, and he always hits the mark. We wonder at this intuitiveness, at how he could know us so well, and we listen on. He then gives us reason for our unhappiness, a target for our ire… the iniquitous "scapegoat". The Snake-oil Salesman explains to us how this Scapegoat holds us down, denies our rights, bars our success, all while expertly tickling our vanities against our insecurities. “You are as good as him, aren’t you? Better even? And smarter? And as deserving of everything nice?“ The hollow cadence of The Snake-oil Salesman's words quicken as his revivalist-like excitement grows, their timber rising as he lambasts “those people” (be they preachers, teachers, or governors) who are exploiting us, are using us, are holding us down for their own gain, and for every intent and purpose enslaving us under their money, rules and law. The Snake-oil Saleman warms to this topic, his enthusiasm growing until the penultimate exclamation which orgasmically escapes him of, "Damn those (insert slur here) straight to Hell!" The words flush from his twisted lips in a final howl, dropping him from his inebriated heights and landing him almost tragically back down upon the Good Earth before us in a sad heap.

"But not to worry, folks." Exhausted, The Snake-oil Salesman’s words soften, dripping thick from his lips like honey. "There is a magic elixir,” he says. (There is always an elixir.) “Buy this bottle from me, drink it down quick, and all will be well. Why… look here on the label. It even removes stains!”

The Snake Oil Salesman circles and sells, touting his wares, which could be yours (for a fee); be it bottle, Bible, banknote, or ballot… and we can now add body to the list. It is not until much later that the unwary understands the trick that was played, how the snake-oil cured nothing, but that you are now the proud owner of an empty, vitriolic vial (on long-term loan, of course) at the expense of all that was held-to so dearly before.

But not to worry. Given time Mr. Snake-oil will be around again, changed in appearance and ware’s, but exactly the same (if you know what to look for, that is). And those who do not know what to look for, those without values or purpose? They will stare in again with innocuous eyes and swallow his bitter pill while screaming louder yet at those who miraculously seem happy without it.

Yes, they are sinister tricks. He is sinister. But the apostles of 'ol Scratch teach hard, if necessary lessons. Take heart though, once identified and thwarted the Snake-oil Salesman is never so frightening again! His next time 'round we see easily through his slicked hair and glittering stickpin. This time we can walk straight through his big tent with it's divisive, deflating words, passing by his mirage of silvery arches, golden parachutes and crystal balls to find the greater reward of our own honestly earned achievements, rather than blaming others for our short-falls. It is a novel podium to rest upon, standing upon one’s merit.

It is why we don’t succumb so easily down South. It is why and how we remain red in this blue world. By burdening us with consciouses’, our mothers have raised skeptics. But even we are not immune from deceit. We have been tricked before into believing that we were better, smarter; that we were “right," that we were “favored” above others. But we were not better then, and we are not now. We determine our worths by providing for our own with outward benevolence. Humility gained is a blessing; to be the best that we can be, and to accept what that is as being enough.

We are born unwittingly into this dog-eat-dog world, but can still live and let live. There will always be bigger dogs, more ruthless dogs, more beautiful, and more hypoallergenic dogs. It is easy to feel frail, to crave the protection of the pack. Those big dogs must eat, but their supper needn’t be you. Do not fear them. Know what is right, what is written. Live not by the law of the jungle, but by the law of the land. Stay true to yourself. Stay humble, sharp, and wary when The Snake-oil Salesman comes your way. Ignore the crowd’s voice and listen to your own. Have pillars in your Faith that there are rewards for hard work and goodness. Do that Child, and and you may walk unhindered through this land, no matter who tries to sell you a bill of goods along the way.

I don’t know if “fighting” is the correct term I would use, however I am as much as i can trying to convince as many people as possible that hate and indifference, and division by belief is detrimental to your human condition. Love conquers all but one has to understand to love one another is to accept humility and be humble and forgiving.

Being compassionate and having understanding with apathy is what we need more of in this world.

Why is there so much greed and division among men and unwillingness

to help others who are in such dire need? Trust? Yes.

Stop thinking in such tiny circles with respect to religion and traditions.

Do you realize how many cultures have very similar views and traditions, they just call them by different names because of their language!

Religions all are very similar, they are divided by men who want to control people!

I am still studying other cultures around the world, but I see so many similarities in people and places.

My heart wants peace and unity with understanding to replace war and arrogance of man.

This is my passion and my drive.

Belle stumbled backwards to the wall and then slid down it to the floor. Her eyes not leaving the little contraption in her hand. She closed her eyes tight a moment, hoping she was just imagining the word on its digital screen. She opened her eyes again and groaned. That word came whistling into her mind and then exploded. BANG! PREGNANT!

How could this be? We were so careful! she thought to herself. "NOOOOOOO!"

"Belle, Are you all right? What's wrong?" Patricia, Belle's mom asked knocking on the door.

"Shoot!" Belle whispered before hollering, "I'm fine, Mom. I just accidentally dropped my ring in the toilet. I'll be able to get it out though."

Pregnant! Pregnant! Evil little monkeys chanted dancing around the bombed out wreckage of her mind. This can't be happening! I have two more years of high school, college, and then residency.

She grabbed the towel from the rack, wadded it up, and screamed into it. Then she gasped for breath and screamed again. "This can't be happening!" She muttered to herself. For a long time Belle stared at the painting hanging above the toilet. It was of a magnificent landscape. A regal range of mountains stood stoically in the background. They were robed in trees of every shade of green, with some of them changing to their autumn glory. A meadow lay before the mountains with clusters of lilies and blue belles in the foreground. Yet all Belle really saw were the evil monkeys chanting, "Dirty diapers, violent vomit, ceaseless screaming!"

"Belle, are you sure you're ok?" Patricia asked through the door.

"I'm fine, Mom!"

"Well than hurry up! Yedi is waiting for you in the living room."

YEDI? Suddenly Belle saw hot red light. Roaring, crackling flames sprang up in her chest. A bull was huffing and snorting. It pawed against her chest before charging, bellowing as it ran. She bolted up, yanked the door open, and charged down the hallway toward the living room.

In the living room, Yedidyah sat in on of the tan Maserati lounge chairs with his hand resting on his ankle. "Congrats on the game, Son! You, guys, gave those Lakers a proper thrashing!" Mr. Larson boomed coming into the living room. He handed his navy blue business jacket to the maid before taking his cardigan with the Aztec design on it from her.

"Thank you, Sir! If we beat the Beavers next week, we will go to state!" Yedidyah smiled as he nearly shouted the news.

Suddenly, Yediyah's conscience pinched the back of his brain. He jumped out of his seat, and unsure of what to do with his hands, he stuffed them into his leather jacket pockets. "Mr. Larson," he forced himself to look the middle age man in his piercing blue eyes as he apologized, "I came to apologize to Belle, Mrs. Larson, and to you. I should not have left Belle in St. Paul, the way I did. It was cowardly and wrong!"

Mr. Larson grinned thumping Yedidyah on the shoulder as he stated, "That is big of you, Son. No need to worry! Belle will get over it." He plopped his almost six foot frame into the rose colored with gold floral print cocktail chair. "Sit, Son, no need to be nervous. So, you went and got yourself a new religion! What was wrong with the old one? Did it finally break down after five thousand years!" Mr. Larson threw his head back, laughing at his own joke. He thumped the arm of his chair. Yedidyah took a deep breath and swallowed hard, trying to check the heat that was clamping on his chest and quickly flowing to his brain. "Well you see Sir..." he started to explain, forcing himself to keep his voice even.

"Yedidyah Cohen! I can't believe your nerve!" Yedidyah turned to see Belle charging toward him around the corner of the hallway.

She was wearing a baby blue tank top with purple, pink and white flowers and yellow shorts that were frayed at the ends. Her auburn curls were flying everywhere. Her jaw was set rigid and her eyebrows were knit together.

"Princess!" Mr. Larson raised his hand entreatingly to his daughter as he crooned, "Give the lad..."

"Daddy," Belle shouted, swearing, "Shut up!" She grabbed Yedidyah by the arm of his jacket.

Before he really could realize what was happening, he was being dragged down the hall and into Belle's room. She shoved him onto her bed before slamming the door. It was covered in posters of boy bands. On the dresser opposite the bed was a huge mirror and dancing competition trophies arranged neatly. A flower makeup bag rested against the mirror. A gentle breeze blew in from the open window and the sunflower curtains danced.

Yedidyah involuntarily shook his shoulders as he could feel the thorny vines of his past with Belle creep up his back from the rose print, cotton sheets. He quickly stood up and held his ground when Belle tried to push him back down. "Belle," He held his hands up in surrender, starting in a calm voice, "You have every right to be angry. I under..."

"ANGRY! Oh I'm past angry, Yedidyah Cohen! I'm furious, irate, livid!" She again tried to shove him down, but he stood solid. "You have some nerve! You promise me a life free of religion, you get me pregnant, than you decide you need religion in your life! You run out on me! Now! Two months later you feel the need to apologize!?"

Yedidyah sank to his knees as the fuchsia walls began to spin extremely fast. Belle pregnant!? He gasped for breath but the room seemed void of air.

YOU WORTHLESS SINNER! WHAT AN IDIOT TO THINK YOU COULD BE FORGIVEN AFTER GETTING BELLE PREGNANT! An evil voice cackled in his ear.

"Are you certain?"

"You got to be kidding me right now!" Belle screeched at the top of her lungs. "You are just trying to avoid responsibility right now!"

Yedidyah placed his hands into the soft blue strands of the rose latch hook rug. He made himself think about the day he gave Belle this latch hook rug kit. It has been a cold wintery day and the two of them had curled up on the couch watching chic flics while Belle worked on it. Odd, she kept it if she hated him so much now. He took a deep breath as he slowly rose to his feet, fighting the heat that was quickly rising again. It hadn't fully receded from Mr. Larson's joke. "BELLE," he started in a voice that was louder and more forceful than he intended. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

Across from him Belle watched as he slowly let his breath out. She could smell the sharp freshness of spearmint on his breath. Something about the familiarity of the smell caused a switch to flip in her brain. All of the anger quickly drained from her.

She burst into tears, falling against him. He wrapped his arms around her. His chest heaved out with a heavy sigh.

His chest heaved again as he breathed deeply in through his nose. His heart was beating rapidly against Belle's cheek. She rubbed her cheek against his leather jacket and inhaled deeply the woodsy smell of his cologne.

"Belle, I was wrong to leave you in St. Paul. I was wrong to not come apologize to you sooner. I am truly sorry! I hope you will forgive me." He cupped her cheek in his hand and gently brushed at the tears sliding down her rosy cheeks.

He let her go, closing his eyes. Yeshua, please would you forgive me of this sin, he silently prayed.

"How long have you known?" Yedidyah asked looking into her watery blue eyes. She rubbed hard at the tears with the palm of her hand. She then held up her other fist and opened it revealing the home pregnancy test. Yedidyah stared at it long and hard. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It still lay in Belle's hand.

Av is going to kill me! Eema is going to die of shame! he thought to himself as he shook his bowed head. Oh Adonai what have I done?! he prayed.

Belle stared at the evil contraption and then back at Yedidyah's bowed curly brown head. DIRRRR-TEEE DIIIAPERRRS! NO SSSSSLEEEEEP! CON-STANT CRYING! Say good-bye to your dreams! This fetus will....The evil monkeys taunted Belle, dancing around the ruins of her grand neurosurgeon dreams.

"I want an abortion!" Belle declared and Yedidyah's head shot up, "And you will..."

"NO!" Yedidyah interrupted, his brown eyes grew big. His hands shot up to Belle's shoulders. "PLEASE BELLE! Don't add this sin to our shoulders!"

Belle jerked away from him. "SIN?" She shoved him in the chest again, but he didn't budge. "Abortion is my right! Not a sin! You got me into this mess! You...."

Yedidyah interrupted Belle once more, "Belle, please, I will support you and the baby. Don't put blood on our hands."

"Yedidyah Cohen, there is no 'me and the baby'. This is a clump of tissue that I want gone!"

"Belle, that isn't true! That is..."

Belle went on her tiptoes to put one hand at the nape of his neck and one hand on his mouth. She looked him square in his brown eyes, with a vicious fire burning in her blue eyes. "You...WILL... PAY...FOR...THE ABORTION!" She annunciated every word.

His eyebrows knit together and he glared at her as he shoved her hand away. "I will do no such thing!"

He stepped around her and yanked the door open. He stormed down the hallway, through the living room.

"Yedi, my boy..." Mr. Larson called out, but Yedidyah didn't even pause as he slammed the front door and ran down the porch steps.

I will admit I began with a preconception. With being a practising Christian, I'd initially wanted to respect the sanctity of life. We were, I always believed, invincible until the Lord said otherwise and called us home. It wasn't our place to preempt His decision, or so I thought until my former wife died. That ended thinking of generalities. From now on, this is not about the concept of dying with dignity. It's about how I would arrange this for my own death. Let's begin with some background.

First, I should tell you that the circumstances around my former wife's illness dictated we move to a retirement home. This home you should know was not the Hollywood version with its vibrant and attractive if aging people who still want to dance, play golf and make love. It was instead a warehouse for the very old and tired but not yet terminal. They were instead people with not a lot going on in their lives. While their hearts, lungs and money had yet to give out, many would merely sit around, filling in time, not doing a lot. I doubt they were actually ready to die but I couldn't help wonder, why bother?

Second, it changed my mind about drugs. Her cancer hurt like hell and as the chemo wore down, she needed relieve from the pain. That didn't come from the opioids, dispensed like M&M's by her doctors. Those left with a swollen gut and a mind made of cotton batting. For any hope of clarity and comfort as she died, she needed street-bought cannabis. And after a lifetime of keeping the law, do you think I cared if buying it was illegal?

Next came the urgent writing of her will and what to do about heroic measures. Here I was helped. I'd recently witnessed a friend who refused to give up, absorbing all sorts of expensive treatment while enduring all sorts of pain, and to no good purpose. It hardly extended her life, and it didn't seem that dignified. This led to an easy decision. For my wife back then and for me in the future, there'd be no heroic measures. Once it became obvious that death was inevitable, please don't interrupt the process.

Still that was then and now I must deal with my new situation. I'm still in good health but at my age, death is an ever present fact. I must provide instructions. I have a new someone in my life, and she will be my advocate provided she survives me. However,if she should go first, I need a second advocate, and that presents a problem.

My lawyer can execute my will and any related financial matters but is bared from making medical decisions. I have no children of my own, and it happens that I'm an immigrant. There's little now left of my original family but I have a niece who I would trust in this role. However, she does not live on this continent, and a medical advocate must be accessible. Should I not be able to make an informed decision, somebody has to act for me. If not, I will get to hang around while nature takes its course. That's too hard on the young. One: It ties up the will. Two: It costs a fortune in taxes.

Mental health should not be an issue. I know our law makers are struggling to deal with younger people with mental health issues and seeking assisted suicide. These may not be terminal illnesses. They could get better, leading extensive and productive lives. I wish then well but that's not an issue for me. I'm old and I have a good attitude. I'm not likely to have a strictly mental condition needing assisted dying. If I think my life's not worth living, it will be because I'm right.

Again, it's no issue with with most end-of life illnesses, stroke perhaps excepted. I'm expecting I'll be aware of my situation and able to make an informed decision. My problem is getting dementia without having an advocate.

Again, it depends on what dementia. Luey Body can be fast, so may not need any intervention. Alzheimer's however can hang on for years, the person not being in pain, using up resources but no one placed to make a decision. That I would hate. Last, there's Parkinson's, which terrifies me. However, if it also makes me incompetent, how would I get out of it?

Back now to the original question. How do I construct a legal document and appoint a suitable advocate for the possible situation where I wish to die with dignity but have lost the power to give that decision? If you want to know, I have already begun the process of working this out. I am talking to people and doing research so wish me luck.

I am passionate about a lot of issues.

One of which doesn't get spoken about often.

The Prison systems in the United States.

This was first brought to my attention by a woman on youtube called Jessica Kent. After getting out of prison she started her channel and spoke about the good and bad of prison.

Going to prison should be the punishment, that is how it is supposed to be.

Instead prisoners are not being given all of their basic human rights (They are not given proper medical care and they are not given proper nutrition). They are sexually assaulted. They are treated as less than human. They are put in situations that would drive almost any human being insane (Solitary Confinement) for as little as having contraband (Phones, Tampons, etc).

Prison bathrooms are not sanitary. If you drop a bar of soap on the ground, it is gone, don't even pick it up. How gross does a bathroom have to be in order to make soap unusable?

The prison system also does not do enough to help keep people from getting rearrested. 51% of drug, 50% of public order, 45% of property, and 25% of violent crime are rearrested after release.

Prisoners come out of prison with PTSD (I am not sure which type).

Other points that I didn't think fit well.

One in five people in prison are locked up for drug offences. Drug use, in some places, is considered an illness. Many Correctional officers know this and try to sell inmates drugs (which, as you can probably guess, is contraband) this makes stay sober, or getting sober, in prison very difficult.

I'm fighting for my right to write without you

For my freedom and solidarity

Because everyone says they're sick of hearing me talk about you

But I get more reads when it's about you

So I believe you are my muse

You have to be, look at those views

Nothing, nothing, nothing more

Something, something, when it's your lore

When I talk about how you loved me

left me and abused me

When I write about how you're only there to use me

People flock 2 at a time times two or three in total and zero when I speak

It's my voice they just can't stand cause they don't mind the read

But these words, they're my voice and you are just a thought

So see yourself out now

Even if my memory rots