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basically BECKY blog

  • Rebecca Branle

Updated: Mar 18, 2021

Money makes the world go round.

And it makes small people sell their souls, and their country, for more. More money, more power, more money, more power - the cycle of the sick. So if they say follow the money, I say cut off the flow. If those of us who value democracy want to save this country, we'll put our money where our mouths are...we'll talk in cash.

Because healing comes in steps, and we can't break into any kind of stride until we unify in truth. Every single Republican lawmaker needs to say what they've known to be true all along. They need to stand together, alongside their Democratic colleagues, and say without reservation that this election was free and fair. There is no evidence to the contrary. Never has been.

So why won't they, after everything, tell the truth in unison? It seems they should have by now, for the sake of the country. I hear it explained that they're afraid of losing the 70 million Trump voters, but friends, people don't come first to these folks, the same way that the country never came first. Money comes first. So if we want to end Trumpism, and I truly believe that a significant portion of those 70 million Trump voters are now done, we have to cut off the crooked. Every major PAC, corporation, billionaire and business needs to loudly and proudly state their intention to stop the flow. No more cash until the truth is told, not a penny more to lawmakers and to their lying megaphones, including FoxNews, NewsMax and OAN.

I know what you're thinking - how do you get those PACs and businesses and billionaires to care? The answer - money. Always, money. If the seditionists get their way and end our democracy, it won't mean healthy stock market gains. It won't bring profitable trade. The smart and rich but morally bankrupt people and entities that propped up this presidency and this party over the past 4 years have to fold their cards now. They got their deregulation. They got their tax cuts. They got so. much. richer. Now, it's time to call the game. Even they stand to lose if this rebellion wins.

So, let's do it. Let's tell the rich to cut the cash. Let's remind them why it behooves them to do so. And where the rich go, Republican lawmakers will follow. Why? Because it was the rich that funded the propaganda that spread the lies that closed the eyes of Americans who would have been done with this traitorous president years ago. They need that money to fund the rhetoric that will rebrand the party, that will make even the most cynical Republicans get back on board. Without money, the Republican party is over. If the Rebellion succeeds, the rich lose it all. They're backed into a corner, and we need to tell them we know.

Then, when the money is gone, the traitors will stand alone. The Republicans will need to get on board and do what they know they must - vote to remove and criminally prosecute this president and his cronies, including every lawmaker who voted against certification and every lawmaker who used rigged election and incitement rhetoric.

Is it a perfect fix? No. But it's a start and we can't heal until those who are culpable are held accountable, until the confused in our country are told the truth, finally. We won't get there by asking the lawmakers who enabled the creation of this mess to do the right thing. They don't speak that language. They speak in cash. So let's bankrupt the party whose moral compass has been spent for years.

Then, let's build back better.

Minus the racism.

Minus the misogyny.

Minus Trump.

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  • Rebecca Branle

Updated: Dec 24, 2021

I wish I could wash this party off my skin,

There’s no such thing as a day-after glow.

The hangover hangs on,

but now I’m ready to go.

I want to wash this party off my skin.

Because this party isn’t what they said.

It’s not about the military and honoring their dead.

It’s not about pulling up my bootstraps,

And working hard to get ahead.

Because not everybody got the same bootstraps,

The same dough handed down for making their bread.

Oh, it’s all about the dough,

They knead it and they need it

To keep their power propped up high,

To rise above the needy, hands waving at the sky.

Blame the others, they demand,

For your hunger, your pain, your withering land.

They point to a caravan.

Blame the black and the brown

And cling tight to the white.

Blame the poor and the poorer

Gather your arms when they incite.

They were never quite right.

Even before 45 took a bite.

I need to wash this party off my skin.

I need to scrape it out from under my nails,

Their dirty words and crooked phrases and empty exhales.

They traded God for 45’s grossly gilded tales.

They said they were the party of Christ,

But pussy grabbing was alright.

As long as everything was all white,

They knelt for the bully at the pulpit

And fucked the calls to unite.

So when the plague came they let it in,

Called it the flu and masks a sin,

Said his loss was a win,

Marched to the capitol and forced their way in.

I gotta get this party out from under my skin,

Out from under our country’s worn skin.

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  • Rebecca Branle

Updated: Apr 22, 2023


Dear Brenda,

Dear Sheryl,

Dear Shane,

Dear Jane,

I’m just a little girl who tripped and fell in love

With the golden boy who loves God,

And isn’t it odd,

That you want to destroy me in His name?

I’m just a little girl

And all I want is love,

HIS love and his love and yours, too.

I’ll do what it takes, bend into shapes,

Just for a nod from you.

But my light is your fire.

Your hymn says to let it shine,

But for you it casts a devil’s glow,

You demand I let Him into my heart,

I try again and again and still you say no,

We need to let it go.

Because I’m just a little girl,

Once a chubby baby dressed in white,

Dipped in holy water under Trinity’s golden light.

The Baptism was wrong, you fight.

I’m still pure but I’ll never be quite right.

I want to be alright.

You spoiled your son and now I hold a gun,

Too weak to pull the trigger,

But as you pull him away from me,

His lies get bigger and bigger.

Stories of the heathen girl make him a sympathetic figure.

He lies, he cheats,

He films his deceits,

And yet the fault lies squarely with me.

The heathen girl from another world

Who wouldn’t let him be.

Why won’t you let me be?

I don’t have the courage to die,

But I don’t have the will to love myself either.

Brenda’s words are Jesus’s words

And I’ll always be beneath her.

Does God believe her?

I believe her.

I believe the sight of me makes Him sick.

It makes Shane sick, too,

This heathen girl with her desperate cries,

Loving me was the worst thing he could do.

So he closes his eyes and tells me more lies

And, eventually, we’re through.

I sit in the dark and I cry in the dark

And I dye my hair black and blue.

If I’m evil I’ll look evil

And I’ll make their claims ring true.

I’ll brand myself bad with a tattoo.

But the ink is no match for the mark made by Shane, by Brenda and Sheryl and crazy-eyed Jane,

The ones who Jesus spoke through.

So I picked the men who’d cause the most pain,

And my pain only grew and grew.

I chose it because it was what I knew.

But now it’s decades later and I can’t hate her,

That hell-headed, heathen girl.

Somewhere inside I knew.

She knew.

That God’s love for her sweet soul was true.

So Brenda and Sheryl and Shane and Jane…

Fuck you.

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