Trump the Woman-Hating Racist, Neo-Nazi, White Trash, Klan Suck-Up.

Has Trump screwed the pooch,finally? It appears he’s screwed everything and everyone else with just as little care.
Yes, this version [link below] has all the “dirty words.” You didn’t care about him summoning up every white trash supremacist piece of shit in the country; you did not care he summoned up every neo-Nazi in America AND Europe; you don’t care he hates Muslims; you do not care he hates Latinos; you do not care he hates black people; you do not care he is the most openly racist candidate since Strom Thurmond, if not more so and casually.

He is an authoritarian.

He is in love with dictators, including Putin.

He has elevated conspiracy “theorists” — liars and mythologists –to high levels in his party.

He has destroyed the RNC and converted it nearly completely into a party of White Nationalism.

Mike Pence, the ultra right-wing Conservative Evangelical theocrat, pretends he doesn’t say or do things that are on video and taped — probably so he can run next go ’round, being as opportunistic as Trump. And you were STILL going to vote for this shithead.

But “dirty words” and obvious misogyny — as if we haven’t seen 16 tons of misogyny out of him for 40 years — that’s going to be the “last straw”? I doubt it. I don’t have that much faith in humanity or “white” Americans, to be honest or them who suck up to them.

He’ll fake an apology and you’ll say, “but Bill Clinton” — as if Bill Clinton is up for office in this election, and you’ll say “Hillary is horrible” — as if that’s not the outcome of 35 years of right-wing propaganda mixed with Hillary’s occasional fuck-up… even though, morally and in terms of character and judgment, she’s STILL a paragon of virtue and intelligence when compared with the bully boy in the 70 year-old body.

I hope he doesn’t drop out. I hope he and your worthless white trash party loses, goes on the junk-heap of history, and you conservatives come to your senses. Reform your party. Purge the Tea Party, the nihilists, the Nazis, and go back pre-Goldwater and start all over looking to Eisenhower for something like guidance. Or maybe Lincoln, but, of course, he’s too damn liberal for you, so let’s take it slow.

7 October 2016

Richard Van Ingram



You have asked for forgiveness and I will assume your intentions are adequate if not pure; we are human and humans are not perfect, neither you nor me.

You are forgiven. I bear you no malice. I never did and I forgave you weeks ago. As for reconciliation, there can be none between us, It is not required and I see nothing beneficial for myself or my family, for whom I am responsible, coming from that — just the opposite. So, formally, aloud, I forgive you and take full responsibility for my role in the wrong, and I am deeply sorry for it and for playing a role in the confusion.

Yes, I am working to convert, to become a Jew and, no, I will never be good at it and yes, I will always in some sense be between two worlds. I will never be “Jewish enough.” But I can try and I do so.

You will see this as a) my FB account is public and b) you use other accounts to read my page. While this is odd if not manipulative, I forgive that, too. This will also appear on my essay page which you have referenced, so I know it is read.  I have nothing bad to say about you or your work and will not. It is admirable. So, there will be no point in further letters or emails. I say what I say and attempt to mean what I mean given what I am shown as reality. I will have nothing more to say about the matter to anyone. It is as if it never happened with the exception of the fact I cannot risk reconciliation. HaShem understands my history and limits and that is good enough.

So go your way and be at peace. I wish you well, good health, and continued success. Shanah Tovah Umetukah.

Richard Van Ingram

A short summary of the rabbinical teachings I am following is quoted below and was written by Aron Hirt-Manheimer based on the writings of Dr. Solomon Schimmel:

“What does Judaism teach us about how to seek forgiveness from someone we have wronged?

“First, we must recognize we’ve wronged another human being. Second, we should try, whenever possible, to apologize to the person whom we’ve injured. It is not enough to apologize with words, because words can be cheap. It’s very important that the apology also includes, where possible, actions of reparation (repairing the hurt) and restitution (restoring the situation to where it was before the misdeed). For example, if we have caused financial loss, we have to be willing to pay compensation.

“The highest form of repentance requires a fundamental transformation of one’s values and behavior. For example, a person who has lived his or her life narcissistically may need to realize there is more to life than just satisfying the self. He or she may then resolve to focus on helping others. In Judaism, we refer to a shift of such magnitude as t’shuvah, literally a returning to Jewish values.

“What if, after all this, the victim still refuses to forgive?

“Then you have the right to say, “I’ve done everything I can. I don’t have to go on with this guilt. I feel bad that the victim is not forgiving me, but there is nothing more that I can do. I forgive myself.” In such cases, the process of self-forgiveness is very therapeutic.

“Can there be forgiveness without reconciliation?

“You can forgive somebody and not want to be reconciled. For example, if you’ve been in an abusive marriage, you might take pity on your abusive partner and be willing to forgive, but not necessarily want to continue living with that person.

“Is there a prescribed period of penitence on the Jewish calendar?

“Our tradition specifies that we do t’shuvah during the 10 days between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, but not only on those days. We are supposed to be engaged in this process every day, every minute, asking ourselves, “How can I improve myself?”

“This teaching is reflected in the rabbinic aphorism: “One should always repent the day before one dies.” Not knowing when that will be, we are obliged to repent every day.”

3 October 2016

Richard Van Ingram


Free comix

Remember, I’m sharing many of my underground comix and pamphlets free online at the above link.  What the hell.  Just go and scroll down the page until you see something interesting.  Enjoy.

23 September 2016

Richard Van Ingram

Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016

So, I got interviewed…

Well, there it is, kids. The one and only interview with me that got published from the RNC Convention in Cleveland. Go see what dozens of major news outlets that interviewed me missed out on and an excellent high school paper in Michigan, The Blaze, chose to notice. Not too shabby if I do have to say it myself. To be absolutely truthful, I’m happier I reached young people than adults — USA adults these days strike me, largely, as a lost cause.
“If I am not for myself, who will be? And if I am only for myself, what am I?”
#art #politicalcartoons #protest art #Cleveland #FlushingHighSchool
#Trump #Election2016 #ComixCast #RichardVanIngram #TheBlaze

Human Wisdom, Hard Won

Monday Confessions:

I am an idiot at times, completely naive. Under normal circumstances, I am not manipulable, being highly suspicious of people I do not truly know, no matter their reputation, no matter how much I admire them. This is not paranoia — this is the nature of trust. Up front, even if I like or even love someone in any fashion, I will only feed out enough rope to see how far the person runs with it, what they’ll do. Because even the best of people are capable of unimaginable weirdness, yes, including me. Me, far from being “the best of people.”

Often enough, this general practice has saved me from finding that metaphorical rope tied around my neck and me swinging from a tree — even for what seems to the other the best of intentions or desires. Or tied up in someone’s basement in indentured servitude. Had they known me better, as my friends do, they would not have bothered: I do not follow commands well. While a good sheepdog, I am an independent one with no human master; I was granted the freedom to be my own and to make right use of that freedom.

In conversation, I may say things such as, “Yes.” This does not imply agreement at all times. Rather, it means I hear what you’re saying. I’m listening closely. I’m looking for patterns which may be beneficial or harmful. Please, speak more so I can better judge with whom and what I’m dealing. I’m feeding you the rope and assume you are as well.

And I am patient — which is a skill and an activity. It means I do not often make snap judgments or decisions; nor do I make decisions, if possible, that do not include escape clauses. Plan B, C, D, and so on. I plan for the worst possible outcomes — if they do not arise, I am thankful; if they do, I am thankful I planned ahead.

Knowing what I do about people, reality is, anyone could turn out to be dangerous in some sense or not truly working towards even a similar destiny or calling. Sometimes, discovering this amazes me and I see the idiocy in me for travelling along as far as I did with such a person. Because I desired things to be good and different,

But desires and feelings are not reality, not outer reality: At best, under examination, they tell me about myself, my beliefs, assumptions, values; but nothing about another person and nothing about whether my beliefs, assumptions, or values are good or truthful. No, that requires a great deal of meditation and self-doubt. And time. And that requires the skill of patience to overcome the default setting of impatience we are all born with.

So, though made an idiot, I do not remain one. My naiveté is subsequently diminished just a bit. And I am rarely surprised. Overtaken for a moment, maybe, but not surprised it happened.

One can trust a person to the degree of the worst thing they’ve done to you or habitually do. And that to the point trust may have to be completely withdrawn, regardless of cost; sometimes, it may be earned back; sometimes, the better part of human wisdom demands that it never be offered again.

Yes, that applies to me as well.

22 August 2016

Richard Van Ingram


The Living Rorschach Test

All Along The Watchtower


“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief “There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

© 1968 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1996 by Dwarf Music

There he was.  Saw his helicopters coming in to the Quicken Building because, you know, he sleeps in New York, not podunk Cleveland, Ohio.  That would not sound sexy enough — that would tarnish the image, sleeping among the commoners, even of the political party he now owns, lock, stock, and two smoking barrels.

I was there on Day Zero, the new beginning, the deformation of the United States of America: Me, down in the streets drawing political cartoons and observational sketches of the goings on, trying to make sense of utter senselessness.  Which, of course, is my calling as a philosopher; so I was switching back and forth among three personas — the observer, the theorist, and the satirist.    Cleveland, Ohio, a beautiful place with wonderful people, interesting people, most of whom were in hiding or hustling “Hillary for Prison 2016” tee shirts on the sidewalks, not because they believed in that, but because they were going to fleece these sons of bitches for invading their town.

One of the guys I was with said he asked a vendor, a black man, why he was selling those shirts and worse.

“Leave me alone, man,” was the response, “you’ve got your hustle, I’ve got mine.”

“There’s a sucker born every minute” and those RNC conventioneers had “sucker” written all over them.  Marks, every last one of them.  And you, too, could see that, assuming you tuned in to any of the floor action from the convention.  Suckers for believing in the man with the weird hair who helicoptered in and out of the Quicken Center so he did not have to get up close and personal with his filthy flock or run the risk of being questioned by a reporter who may have had the audacity to press him for something more substantive than an off the wall, fact-free assertion or a slogan.

If I heard “build a wall” or “ban all Muslims” or “Make America Safe Again” once that week, I heard it a bloody blue million times.  What I did not hear was why those were good things, much less possible things, what they would accomplish, and, certainly, I never heard how it would get done.  Those latter things are above the pay grade of the citizen and voter: Trump will just do it.

Trust me.  Trust me,” as he says often and loudly.

Law and Order — you know, like Nixon, and the return of the Silent Majority.  Rip-off after rip-off, from Trump’s slogans to Melania’s plagiarized speech.  And the suckers don’t care while the rest of you have given up.  It doesn’t matter what the man says, truly — it punches the emotional buttons of frightened, angry white people; it keeps him the subject of every news and infotainment program 24 hours a day; it creates a shiny caucasian fantasy of a sparking, brown-free land where “foreigners” do not belong, where everyone is a certain, acceptable form of Evangelical Christian, where “our culture and heritage” are never again tainted by notions from alien sources.

Not that any of these people know any history or are cultured, in any meaningful sense.  Or else they’d know the strength of Western culture at its best was always that it would borrow and absorb ideas and beliefs from anywhere, adjust itself, correct itself.  That it was revitalized and saved by the Moors of Al-Andalus who preserved Greek learning for the world and a better form of mathematics and science and medicine.  Those Moors, black people, Muslim, reached the heights of civilized life and rescued, made possible… a future worthy of humans.

“Ban all Muslims” indeed.

These people know nothing of The Enlightenment that once fought to rescue humanity from superstition, religious enthusiasm, monarchical absolutism and despotism.  They know nothing of the hard-won Western value of “tolerance,” or the establishment of “human rights.”  They know nothing of Voltaire’s 18th c. war on “being put to the question” — torture, in other words — or the real meaning of his battle cry, “Ecrasez l’Infame!”

Torture the terrorists, even harsher this time!

Law and Order.  Make America Safe Again.  Build the wall.

Believe me.


He’s got his hustle, too, this Donald J. Trump.

By all appearances, he is a human, an all-too-human human.  But look closely and you will see what has become clearer to me over the preceding months, finally confirmed on the streets of Cleveland.

Trump is an empty space, a vacuum, a back hole.  An ink blot and, so, a walking Rorschach Test.  That’s the man’s interior — there is nothing meaningful in itself there at all.  There never has been.  He has no belief in anything of value beyond himself… whom he does not value enough to wonder at.  He believes in appearances, in gaudy material things, in the trophy wives, in his brand, “TRUMP,” which, for a nominal service fee can be and has been pasted on anything.  Because, in itself, it means nothing, stands for nothing, is nothingness.

The secret of Donald Trump is not that the emperor has no clothes; it’s worse: The emperor isn’t even really there.  He is a nihilist.  Power for the sake of power, attention for the sake of  attention — that’s his activity, his function.

He is a black ink splatter and you see in him whatever you project.

For the neo-Nazi, for the Klansman, for David Duke, for the white people afraid the Age of the White People is drawing to a close, he is a neo-Nazi, a Klansman, a reflection of David Duke’s life-long fantasies; he is the savior of racist, white, Evangelical Christian America.

For the greedy, the money-hungry, or the working aspirant to the higher classes he is “financial success,” he is “the art of the deal,” he is “the rebirth of the American Dream.”  No, his record bears none of this out, sketchy as it is.  But reality is not the point; it’s that Trump has become all things to all men because he, in his depths, stands for nothing in particular.  He is happy to seem to be whomever or whatever you wish… just as is a Rorschach Test.

For the Tea Party, he is a weird, irreconcilable mix of libertarianism and protectionism and the confusion of church with state.  He is the promised reaction to LGBTQ rights, the final judgment on Socialized Medicine — both extensions of justice and human rights, long overdue.   And which don’t fully exist here, but he’ll make certain they go away, nonetheless.  Because you are throwing your fears into that black center and he echoes them back to you, only louder.

On the streets of Cleveland I witnessed a carnival without the fun, a carnival of incivility and anger, a celebration of laughing hatred and monstrous beliefs.  Halloween minus the holiness, all tricks and precious few treats.  Dueling bullhorns blaring unadulterated bullshit.  Hope that hopelessness will tear this entire nation into warring groups, each thinking Trump supports them, each utterly incorrect.

Not that, given power, he won’t step back and allow each hateful, fearful group to have their orgy of violence and exclusion… all the better to ignore dear Trump as he lives it up on the public dole and commands the airwaves to say whatever will fill up the otherwise empty 24/7 news cycles.

That’s worked for him so far; until it doesn’t, he’ll keep it up.

He’ll get his attention, make his narcissist’s sociopathic pronouncements, build the financial value of his brand, “TRUMP,” and then cash it all in and leave us an ungovernable, uncooperative shambles.

Perhaps he will go live with Putin whom, today, he openly encouraged to spy on the Democratic Party.  Crooked as Nixon was, he at least was ashamed enough to keep his treasonous, illegal, immoral activities hidden.  Trump couldn’t and does not have the capacity to steal the microscopic shred of conscience that barely lived within Richard Nixon — because that would require him to stand for something beyond his own empty self.  No, he just takes the slogans: Law and Order, Silent Majority.

Empty words.  Emptiness emerging from his dark emptiness.

And you’ve missed it.  The media misunderstood they were being used and played like a cheap piano.

27 July 2016

Richard Van Ingram









ComixCast and the Republican National Convention

OK. I’m comfortable making this public now:
In a week I leave for Cleveland, OH. Why? What’s there? The Republican National Convention and all attending insanity in the streets. What will I be doing there for about 7 days as I am obviously NOT a Republican? Covering the action in the streets with a team of political cartoonists, political artists, and political writers led by Joyce Brabner (Harvey Pekar’s widow — a famous political comix writer). Our work will be live-streamed on a webpage, ComixCast, and on YouTube… and various media outlets.

For me, this is an honor as well as an unbelievable opportunity to share, in art and words, what I fear America is turning into — nothing good.

As forewarned months ago, though I had no idea anyone would be seeing or listening, eventually I would have something to say about this election. Well, the time has arrived with a vengeance.

I’ll post a link to ComixCast and show work when the time is here. I hope you enjoy what you see, if “enjoy” is the correct term.

7 July 2016

Richard Van Ingram

Donate to ComixCast to protest Trump and his party’s bigotry:


Imminent Doom & Other Vacation Spots

“An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence;

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.”


William Butler Yeats

from “Sailing to Byzantium”


Going within – the passage into dark, deep waters in the eternal night of the cavern of subjectivity. Will one arrive at Byzantium or any shores at all?  In the flashes of lightning the seas are rough, whitecapped, and in the gloom the sailor beholds monsters in the deep, some with shining eyes; they nearly surface menacingly and then dive down, down into the abysmal mysteries where all dreams and nightmares sleep.


Crises – will the wife leave or throw me out due to dissatisfaction?  Will I maintain what post I have from month to month teaching philosophy to the resistant and sometimes thoroughly uninterested?


 “What’s this got to do with computer technology?”



Or earning a living, if that’s defined in economic terms as Americans and nearly all the world, now is inclined to believe and believe fervently.  Come on – get the show on the road; we know nothing of this “Byzantium” or an “interior life” or retreat.  Nope.  We are storming the gates of the future and seizing whatever is there to be taken for booty.  By any means, let me tell you, and then we will be happy. 


Happiness, damn it, and nothing less, happiness and ease and progress.  What use is history, sir?  What point is all this nonsensical talk of “limit” and theory and value – value?  I’ll show you value: New car every year, fistfuls of cold Benjamins, big houses, vacations, and the corner office with the window.  Or whatever.  If I can touch it and spend it and use it, it is all the “value” I care to know anything about.  And, of course, old man, leftover from some dead age, you have nothing to teach me about that.




We have the monuments of our own magnificence – the skyscrapers and jets, the all-knowing oracle of the internet: science and its children, physical technologies.  Not that we know anything of science or the culture required to keep the enterprise alive; but we do know the value of antibiotics and facelifts and faster cars and air conditioning and the iPhone. 


No, I’ve little to add to the lists of what you already think you know.  No, I’ve less than nothing to tell you about making money or keeping it or attaining status of any sort, much less more than token and impermanent respect and its false substitutes.  How else to explain these “tatters upon a stick”?  It’s not as if I can afford a new suit and that’s not by accident.  Yes, I shop at the thrift store.  No, I never made enough at my art to pay the bills or fill the car with gasoline more than a few times.  Yes, it’s depressing.  No, I’m no one to envy.


If you’d only worked harder… or, my favorite, “Worked  smarter.”


God knows, I’m not smart or else I’d fit right in.  Even the cheapest village has a place for its idiot and I couldn’t even get that job and hold it long.  Adios, hit the road, Jack and don’t come back no more, no more, no more.


So, here I am, as happens more and more often, in retreat, gone within on the high, mean seas, sailing for a myth near my heart which, too, is probably a myth.  The world outside has gone mad, at last, or, as it would say back to me, I was always crazy to expect the world not to experiment with every form of drug, even fascism, even the destruction of civility and sociability and tolerance and, and, and….  Hell, we, as humans, have done this over and again for well over a hundred years – why not let America have its turn at the table of pure weirdness?  Cash it all in and eat to our bellies are full-to-bursting with satisfied paranoid strangeness and hatred, violence and death?


After all, we owe it to ourselves.  Mom and dad’s left us the credit card and gone on permanent vacation – let’s have a party and only invite “our  kind,” hire security to beat the hell out of any gate crashers and televise it all, just for fun and ratings.  Why not?


I got tired of saying, out loud, “How long, O Lord?  How long?”  Yeah, I still pray it, but deep inside while taking the night journey to Nowhere.  Or “Not-here,” at any rate.


You go on your permanent vacation and leave me to mine.  You’ll be more the missed.  Genuinely.  If we survive this savage and ugly period of history, perhaps I’ll come back out and sing my tuneless songs of philosophy and share other sorts of magical words and draw some pictures.  And maybe you’ll be interested then.  But not now.  I know and it’s not your fault – the pink slip was handed to me a long time ago, in childhood, and I was too much of a dunce to read it rightly:  the ticket to Byzantium, not the inaugural ball or even to any sort of position that would show… well, hell, not even something like my great-grandfather’s job as head of the custodial department at the local college.


He could at least raise a family off that and maintain property with some dignity.


Different age. 


Ages pass.  I was not born for the past and, I fear, not for the present.  My country is the one for old men who have passed, are passing, and are yet to be.


27 May 2016

Richard Van Ingram


Fun, American Style: What the Fuck Happened?

Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016
Richard Van Ingram, pen and ink, 2016