Dominance Games: An Essay on Power
A Novel
Installment Four
Babe Kenny was facetious. Her mother had left her.
She loved not too wisely but too well, Babe Kenny.
She eluded the grasps of wild eyed men, Babe Kenny.
Queen of sustenance and honor reaped by fucking worship, Babe fucking Kenny.
She baited and cooed, Babe fucking Kenny. She, laughed, darted, promised lusts with her hips, said goodbye with her lips, Babe fucking Kenny. She, inspired trust, Babe Kenny, her voice aching want. Specters, false bravados, itinerant needs, Babe fucking Kenny. A past that wished only to collect on its debt to itself, Babe fucking Kenny.
She liked doing business with men who would conquer the fucking world, Babe fucking Kenny, liked helping flies lose their wings, Babe fucking Kenny; liked helping megalomaniacs get stronger, liked getting with those cynical, perverse to a point, Babe fucking Kenny.
She dealt with policy makers, Babe fucking Kenny. It behooved her to skepticism. She reserved special insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities, Babe fucking Kenny. She saw and did intelligent things. In matured and intelligent splendor she found time to exhibit depths of understanding, sharpness of vision. Demure and outstanding, Babe fucking Kenny was fascinated. She was tempted to throw herself at the feet of all overriding capacities, all overriding capabilities. Her honor easily marshaled, her awe easily overcome, she was a rotten hostess to money and power.
Babe fucking Kenny, a young woman of twenty five. When not pursuing the ferocious games she was involving herself in, she was involving herself in what she thought to be conditions in her world which could justifiably be called wanting. She did not usually throw off the gains and relics of a misspent past. She did not put on herself the mantel of St Joan, cloaks of sack cloth and ashes, purposes enmeshed with deep burning desires to right all of the inequities, the inequalities, of mankind. She did not commit herself to the creation of a new and better world, did not place altruism upon the list of virtues towards which she aspired.
Much curious as to the nature of the United States, her country, her people, the well from which Daddy sprung, his problems sprung, Babe fucking Kenny, involved herself with some groups involved in aspects of the coming social upheaval. She involved herself with some groups which had primary interests in preventing evil, in maintaining right.
She traveled much, also, in those years, Babe fucking Kenny. She established for herself a satisfactory ability to survive, neatly, efficiently. As a means of continuity, she involved herself with the fields of publishing, running errands, doing some light research for friends connected with national organizations.
She was able to produce what was asked of her without making undue demands, Babe fucking Kenny. She established satisfactory loose relationships that served adequately the aims and desires of all parties involved, Babe fucking Kenny. She went often to Washington. Often she stayed for protracted periods. She did not find herself over weaned, overwhelmed. The many bright young things, the many bright young smiles ran up and down the highways and byways of goodness and charm. This was not a heaven to capture Babe fucking Kenny’s fancy.
An occasional congressman, an occasional sterling thing from State, Justice, tried to convince Babe fucking Kenny of the goodness of his heart, the warmth of his purpose. Babe fucking Kenny was not overly eager to be in the clutches of the idealistic, the cynical wonders who smiled so brightly, worked so feverishly, championed so greatly the dignity of justice, of man, of mankind.
There were media people, there were those with the key to god’s own plan for good and clean living, the revelation of his wonders. In their hearts they knew that they were blessed with vision. Truth and beauty followed in their wake. All would lead the way ever after to the foundations of the noble and true. All bright young things were of firm beliefs. They all saw through sham and injustice.
Babe fucking Kenny, also in Washington, met many of the many who lobbied for the cause of all things great, all things which would make all things greater, all things which would be guaranteed to be great. She met those representing things that had made America what it was.
They were bright and they too were young, the heroes of Babe fucking Kenny. Anxiety jumped upon practicality, strength triumphed reason, disorder was a mother. Disunity fomented. Spring was cherished. The earnest and so pure. Babe fucking Kenny liked them best. Babe fucking Kenny dealt with policy makers. It behooved Babe to skepticism. She reserved insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities. They saw and did intelligent things. Charmingly lucid. In matured and intelligent splendor they found time to exhibit the depths of their understanding.
The earnest and pure. Babe fucking Kenny liked them best.
* * * * * * * * * *
Johnny boy, Rachel. I trusted them as much as I could, as much as circumstance allowed.
Johnny boy found himself to be the attenuated hero of his dreams.
He had landed in New York at the age of six as had many before.
He hustled. He was a smart boy, in his element.
Johnny boy was three years old, stuck in the hell hole of North Africa. One who once knew the captain of the ship that brought him there spotted Johnny boy, claimed him, made arrangements for his custody. Johnny boy, a much traveled little boy, made his way from the steppes of central Asia to a house on a hill outside of Washington, D. C. He had a set of neighbors at great pains to insure his happiness. He had a home, a maid. He had an abundance of friends who knew not why they liked him so. Life was good. New York City. The city was magic, then, the place to be. Wonder, madness, darkness, light, dreams. Johnny boy came shortly.
Johnny had been graduated from college with a degree in Mathematics. There was a comparative ease of economic pressures in those years. The school offered him necessity, not fellowship which he did not crave. The students with whom he came in contact were nice enough, a bit banal, some naïve. Mirrors of sophistication, they offered little more than the continuation of the sophomorics he found so prevalent.
Johnny boy found no particular use for them, no particular need to sift through the chaff to get to the wheat. Johnny boy was quite content to let college boys and girls be college boys and girls and he was quite content to allow them all to exist as happy little children, knowledgeable and all knowing, the cream of god’s creatures on his green little earth. There was chatter and interests. Tonics. Flatulence.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
There were times when they had felt themselves very much apart of each other’s lives. There were times when the thought of the other brought no more than a nod of recognition, a remembrance of pain. Together Johnny boy and Rachel had finally conquered the devil, so it seemed. Too wise they were to be running around like two little horses asses. Johnny boy would not be bothered with demonic nonsense. There were more and more liabilities to deal with, situational liabilities.
Rachel had done, seen. She too loved the help. Marriage was something. It could exist without having to immerse itself into the world of eternal indulgence. They would run the game for a while. They would be romantic.
Johnny boy fought a war. It was a mean little war. It was everyone’s favorite little war. He had enlisted in the Army. The life he found after college was not overpoweringly fertile
Emiliana Garcia, his maid, had died. He was left with no one that he cared for. Emiliana Garcia was his family.
He was empty, Johnny boy was. There were no great distractions. There was a lot of noise. Johnny wanted to do something with himself, to fight. He wanted to be a proficient killer. The knowledge and the discipline would not hurt him. He might spend his life drifting. For this he was not ready.
He learned. He served. Johnny fought a mean little war. It was a dirty little war. It was everyone’s favorite little war. He was enlisted in the Army. Life was an indulgence.
He went. He returned. A commissioned man. He learned a great deal, Johnny boy.
Soon after he went to France, then to Africa. He served. Mercenary life was an indulgence. He acquired some money. He went to enjoy the offerings of the Mediterranean coast. It was warm. There was sun. In Spain he watched searchers of truth and beauty cover the southern coast. Exotic pleasures offered much. Pleasures, dreams.
Johnny boy did not begrudge the new order of the lost, their fun, their enjoyment, their style. Pleasant in some ways, interesting, the grasp at life. He had knowledge of many things, Johnny boy. Not yet the full degree of greatness promised. Banal predecessors had managed to cross his path. Emiliana Garcia was his maid, was his family.
He bade his time, Johnny boy. Johnny boy found in the companionship of some of his friends some understanding of the trials of man that he did not find elsewhere.
There was the understanding of the way of life that went with trial, trouble when it was a constant. The world had many sides to offer the lovers of all things porous and knowing. Johnny boy had reservoirs of mean confrontations in his wake, reservoirs of mean kills.
Johnny boy left from Spain and returned to the United States, to New York, to the Village which had been his home. He stayed only a short while. He moved to Washington. D.C. He knew people in government work. He found an apartment. He looked for things to do. The cynical and the snide. The adventurous and cruel. The smart and the just. Nonchalance and complacency. Simpatico. Virtue shined upon the great unwashed in the lands of dreams.
There was poetry in the spirit that loved to implement for all the best of all possible worlds, the spirit which so nobly implemented the hopes and dreams of mankind with devotion to duty, with little implementations of fond little wants.
It was very good, John had grown to think, that there were so many who were so assiduously spending so much of their time looking out for gross deployment of noble honor. The domesticated pets were facile and they were happy. They were domesticated. They were frivolous creatures who opposed the good. They were all around.
Johnny boy had often seen the dregs of unbridled, beloved ignorance valiantly go into battle, time after time, with the greater dregs of same. Johnny boy, in America, was becoming more and more fascinated by unvarnished confrontation, unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat, beat of bloodshed, the beat, beat, beat of beloved ignorance.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Surprise, not necessarily delight. Rachel was a wonderful girl in her way. Rachel was smart, he had met few smarter. She was good, very, very good. Rachel demanded much in return for her goodness. She wanted much in the way of hard and cold reserve. She was warm when she had to be warm, Rachel. She was not always to touch. She could be ice, ice which well protected vestiges of movement.
Rachel was good, very, very good, but Rachel was wary and Rachel was one who liked being wary, one who could manage to be wary. Rachel was good, very, very good, but Rachel would not let the thoughts of her heart come out and play. Rachel did not care to be among those who demanded that she be wise, very, very wise.
Rachel was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to let anyone prevent Rachel from following the paths she set out to follow. Rachel was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to open up her little heart for the sake of anything or anyone because Rachel shared her little heart with none and nothing and Rachel maneuvered from the outside looking in. Rachel was sublime.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Rachel was not happy.
Johnny boy was true, very, very true. Johnny would stick. Johnny would stay and do what had to be done. Johnny would be there if needed. He could leave if not. Johnny boy was true.
Johnny was a cynical bastard who was rotten and self centered to the core but Johnny boy was true. He was a wanderer, a panderer, a bum. He was lazy and he cared not to move. He was unimpressed by the joys of interaction. Johnny boy was intent on being left alone. He wanted his peace. Johnny boy wanted not to be put upon by anything or anybody. Johnny was what his god had made him. The world was full of poor lost bastards. Johnny boy owed his god a fine steady trek through his world, sneered at the conversations of man, was not about to be anybody’s helper, chose his company carefully.
Johnny boy did not care to be to be anyone’s holy redeemer. He didn’t trust the beautiful. He worshipped the damned. He thought that he was a fucking idiot for even opening his eyes in the morning.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. Johnny boy was true. Johnny boy was good. Johnny boy would stick. He would stay and do what had to be done.
Sometimes the mirror got too ugly, sometimes too nice.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. God’s gift to each other. Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. There were more and more liabilities to deal with, situational liabilities. They would run the gamut for a while. They would be romantic.
They were exhuming the dead, Johnny boy, Rachel .
Rachel provided experience, experience pressed with flowers in the photograph album of my life. Johnny boy, in America, more and more fascinated by unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat, beat of his heartstrings.
My Rachel was a moment in time. She was a quick fix of a moment and she was open to challenge and she was the sweet young song playing, a riff in mood, a haunting melody, a delicate tune..
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Sucked the life out of each other.
Sucked the death out of each other.
“I will be lusts depository for you, Johnny boy,” Rachel said to Johnny boy to make him smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dominance Games / Politics…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…https://dominancegamespolitics.com/
books… http://bschiff.com/
http://twitter.com/BSchiff2
refer
http://www.etalkinghead.com/
http://thewashingtonfancy.com/
http://www.thejeffersontree.com/
To donate for post or site as you may wish….. sin is sin
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LH7MUZR79N29E
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This entry was posted on January 19, 2012 at 8:55 pm and is filed under Commentary,, Drama, literature, political fiction, political novels, political philosophy, Politics, writing with tags analysis, political analysis, political drama, political education, political fiction, power, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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Dominance Games / Politics 
Dominance Games: An Essay on Power A Novel…Installment Four
Dominance Games: An Essay on Power
A Novel
Installment Four
Babe Kenny was facetious. Her mother had left her.
She loved not too wisely but too well, Babe Kenny.
She eluded the grasps of wild eyed men, Babe Kenny.
Queen of sustenance and honor reaped by fucking worship, Babe fucking Kenny.
She baited and cooed, Babe fucking Kenny. She, laughed, darted, promised lusts with her hips, said goodbye with her lips, Babe fucking Kenny. She, inspired trust, Babe Kenny, her voice aching want. Specters, false bravados, itinerant needs, Babe fucking Kenny. A past that wished only to collect on its debt to itself, Babe fucking Kenny.
She liked doing business with men who would conquer the fucking world, Babe fucking Kenny, liked helping flies lose their wings, Babe fucking Kenny; liked helping megalomaniacs get stronger, liked getting with those cynical, perverse to a point, Babe fucking Kenny.
She dealt with policy makers, Babe fucking Kenny. It behooved her to skepticism. She reserved special insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities, Babe fucking Kenny. She saw and did intelligent things. In matured and intelligent splendor she found time to exhibit depths of understanding, sharpness of vision. Demure and outstanding, Babe fucking Kenny was fascinated. She was tempted to throw herself at the feet of all overriding capacities, all overriding capabilities. Her honor easily marshaled, her awe easily overcome, she was a rotten hostess to money and power.
Babe fucking Kenny, a young woman of twenty five. When not pursuing the ferocious games she was involving herself in, she was involving herself in what she thought to be conditions in her world which could justifiably be called wanting. She did not usually throw off the gains and relics of a misspent past. She did not put on herself the mantel of St Joan, cloaks of sack cloth and ashes, purposes enmeshed with deep burning desires to right all of the inequities, the inequalities, of mankind. She did not commit herself to the creation of a new and better world, did not place altruism upon the list of virtues towards which she aspired.
Much curious as to the nature of the United States, her country, her people, the well from which Daddy sprung, his problems sprung, Babe fucking Kenny, involved herself with some groups involved in aspects of the coming social upheaval. She involved herself with some groups which had primary interests in preventing evil, in maintaining right.
She traveled much, also, in those years, Babe fucking Kenny. She established for herself a satisfactory ability to survive, neatly, efficiently. As a means of continuity, she involved herself with the fields of publishing, running errands, doing some light research for friends connected with national organizations.
She was able to produce what was asked of her without making undue demands, Babe fucking Kenny. She established satisfactory loose relationships that served adequately the aims and desires of all parties involved, Babe fucking Kenny. She went often to Washington. Often she stayed for protracted periods. She did not find herself over weaned, overwhelmed. The many bright young things, the many bright young smiles ran up and down the highways and byways of goodness and charm. This was not a heaven to capture Babe fucking Kenny’s fancy.
An occasional congressman, an occasional sterling thing from State, Justice, tried to convince Babe fucking Kenny of the goodness of his heart, the warmth of his purpose. Babe fucking Kenny was not overly eager to be in the clutches of the idealistic, the cynical wonders who smiled so brightly, worked so feverishly, championed so greatly the dignity of justice, of man, of mankind.
There were media people, there were those with the key to god’s own plan for good and clean living, the revelation of his wonders. In their hearts they knew that they were blessed with vision. Truth and beauty followed in their wake. All would lead the way ever after to the foundations of the noble and true. All bright young things were of firm beliefs. They all saw through sham and injustice.
Babe fucking Kenny, also in Washington, met many of the many who lobbied for the cause of all things great, all things which would make all things greater, all things which would be guaranteed to be great. She met those representing things that had made America what it was.
They were bright and they too were young, the heroes of Babe fucking Kenny. Anxiety jumped upon practicality, strength triumphed reason, disorder was a mother. Disunity fomented. Spring was cherished. The earnest and so pure. Babe fucking Kenny liked them best. Babe fucking Kenny dealt with policy makers. It behooved Babe to skepticism. She reserved insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities. They saw and did intelligent things. Charmingly lucid. In matured and intelligent splendor they found time to exhibit the depths of their understanding.
The earnest and pure. Babe fucking Kenny liked them best.
* * * * * * * * * *
Johnny boy, Rachel. I trusted them as much as I could, as much as circumstance allowed.
Johnny boy found himself to be the attenuated hero of his dreams.
He had landed in New York at the age of six as had many before.
He hustled. He was a smart boy, in his element.
Johnny boy was three years old, stuck in the hell hole of North Africa. One who once knew the captain of the ship that brought him there spotted Johnny boy, claimed him, made arrangements for his custody. Johnny boy, a much traveled little boy, made his way from the steppes of central Asia to a house on a hill outside of Washington, D. C. He had a set of neighbors at great pains to insure his happiness. He had a home, a maid. He had an abundance of friends who knew not why they liked him so. Life was good. New York City. The city was magic, then, the place to be. Wonder, madness, darkness, light, dreams. Johnny boy came shortly.
Johnny had been graduated from college with a degree in Mathematics. There was a comparative ease of economic pressures in those years. The school offered him necessity, not fellowship which he did not crave. The students with whom he came in contact were nice enough, a bit banal, some naïve. Mirrors of sophistication, they offered little more than the continuation of the sophomorics he found so prevalent.
Johnny boy found no particular use for them, no particular need to sift through the chaff to get to the wheat. Johnny boy was quite content to let college boys and girls be college boys and girls and he was quite content to allow them all to exist as happy little children, knowledgeable and all knowing, the cream of god’s creatures on his green little earth. There was chatter and interests. Tonics. Flatulence.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
There were times when they had felt themselves very much apart of each other’s lives. There were times when the thought of the other brought no more than a nod of recognition, a remembrance of pain. Together Johnny boy and Rachel had finally conquered the devil, so it seemed. Too wise they were to be running around like two little horses asses. Johnny boy would not be bothered with demonic nonsense. There were more and more liabilities to deal with, situational liabilities.
Rachel had done, seen. She too loved the help. Marriage was something. It could exist without having to immerse itself into the world of eternal indulgence. They would run the game for a while. They would be romantic.
Johnny boy fought a war. It was a mean little war. It was everyone’s favorite little war. He had enlisted in the Army. The life he found after college was not overpoweringly fertile
Emiliana Garcia, his maid, had died. He was left with no one that he cared for. Emiliana Garcia was his family.
He was empty, Johnny boy was. There were no great distractions. There was a lot of noise. Johnny wanted to do something with himself, to fight. He wanted to be a proficient killer. The knowledge and the discipline would not hurt him. He might spend his life drifting. For this he was not ready.
He learned. He served. Johnny fought a mean little war. It was a dirty little war. It was everyone’s favorite little war. He was enlisted in the Army. Life was an indulgence.
He went. He returned. A commissioned man. He learned a great deal, Johnny boy.
Soon after he went to France, then to Africa. He served. Mercenary life was an indulgence. He acquired some money. He went to enjoy the offerings of the Mediterranean coast. It was warm. There was sun. In Spain he watched searchers of truth and beauty cover the southern coast. Exotic pleasures offered much. Pleasures, dreams.
Johnny boy did not begrudge the new order of the lost, their fun, their enjoyment, their style. Pleasant in some ways, interesting, the grasp at life. He had knowledge of many things, Johnny boy. Not yet the full degree of greatness promised. Banal predecessors had managed to cross his path. Emiliana Garcia was his maid, was his family.
He bade his time, Johnny boy. Johnny boy found in the companionship of some of his friends some understanding of the trials of man that he did not find elsewhere.
There was the understanding of the way of life that went with trial, trouble when it was a constant. The world had many sides to offer the lovers of all things porous and knowing. Johnny boy had reservoirs of mean confrontations in his wake, reservoirs of mean kills.
Johnny boy left from Spain and returned to the United States, to New York, to the Village which had been his home. He stayed only a short while. He moved to Washington. D.C. He knew people in government work. He found an apartment. He looked for things to do. The cynical and the snide. The adventurous and cruel. The smart and the just. Nonchalance and complacency. Simpatico. Virtue shined upon the great unwashed in the lands of dreams.
There was poetry in the spirit that loved to implement for all the best of all possible worlds, the spirit which so nobly implemented the hopes and dreams of mankind with devotion to duty, with little implementations of fond little wants.
It was very good, John had grown to think, that there were so many who were so assiduously spending so much of their time looking out for gross deployment of noble honor. The domesticated pets were facile and they were happy. They were domesticated. They were frivolous creatures who opposed the good. They were all around.
Johnny boy had often seen the dregs of unbridled, beloved ignorance valiantly go into battle, time after time, with the greater dregs of same. Johnny boy, in America, was becoming more and more fascinated by unvarnished confrontation, unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat, beat of bloodshed, the beat, beat, beat of beloved ignorance.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Surprise, not necessarily delight. Rachel was a wonderful girl in her way. Rachel was smart, he had met few smarter. She was good, very, very good. Rachel demanded much in return for her goodness. She wanted much in the way of hard and cold reserve. She was warm when she had to be warm, Rachel. She was not always to touch. She could be ice, ice which well protected vestiges of movement.
Rachel was good, very, very good, but Rachel was wary and Rachel was one who liked being wary, one who could manage to be wary. Rachel was good, very, very good, but Rachel would not let the thoughts of her heart come out and play. Rachel did not care to be among those who demanded that she be wise, very, very wise.
Rachel was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to let anyone prevent Rachel from following the paths she set out to follow. Rachel was good, very, very good but Rachel was not going to open up her little heart for the sake of anything or anyone because Rachel shared her little heart with none and nothing and Rachel maneuvered from the outside looking in. Rachel was sublime.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Rachel was not happy.
Johnny boy was true, very, very true. Johnny would stick. Johnny would stay and do what had to be done. Johnny would be there if needed. He could leave if not. Johnny boy was true.
Johnny was a cynical bastard who was rotten and self centered to the core but Johnny boy was true. He was a wanderer, a panderer, a bum. He was lazy and he cared not to move. He was unimpressed by the joys of interaction. Johnny boy was intent on being left alone. He wanted his peace. Johnny boy wanted not to be put upon by anything or anybody. Johnny was what his god had made him. The world was full of poor lost bastards. Johnny boy owed his god a fine steady trek through his world, sneered at the conversations of man, was not about to be anybody’s helper, chose his company carefully.
Johnny boy did not care to be to be anyone’s holy redeemer. He didn’t trust the beautiful. He worshipped the damned. He thought that he was a fucking idiot for even opening his eyes in the morning.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. Johnny boy was true. Johnny boy was good. Johnny boy would stick. He would stay and do what had to be done.
Sometimes the mirror got too ugly, sometimes too nice.
Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. God’s gift to each other. Johnny boy, Rachel. Rachel, Johnny boy. There were more and more liabilities to deal with, situational liabilities. They would run the gamut for a while. They would be romantic.
They were exhuming the dead, Johnny boy, Rachel .
Rachel provided experience, experience pressed with flowers in the photograph album of my life. Johnny boy, in America, more and more fascinated by unvarnished abilities to make magical the beat, beat, beat of his heartstrings.
My Rachel was a moment in time. She was a quick fix of a moment and she was open to challenge and she was the sweet young song playing, a riff in mood, a haunting melody, a delicate tune..
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Johnny boy, Rachel.
Rachel, Johnny boy.
Sucked the life out of each other.
Sucked the death out of each other.
“I will be lusts depository for you, Johnny boy,” Rachel said to Johnny boy to make him smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dominance Games / Politics…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…https://dominancegamespolitics.com/
books… http://bschiff.com/
http://twitter.com/BSchiff2
refer
http://www.etalkinghead.com/
http://thewashingtonfancy.com/
http://www.thejeffersontree.com/
To donate for post or site as you may wish….. sin is sin
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LH7MUZR79N29E
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This entry was posted on January 19, 2012 at 8:55 pm and is filed under Commentary,, Drama, literature, political fiction, political novels, political philosophy, Politics, writing with tags analysis, political analysis, political drama, political education, political fiction, power, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.