Dale "Boh" Beaulieu

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Dale "Boh" Beaulieu I taught myself to draw at age 52 [crayons, pastels, colored pencils] at the mental hospital. I wrest meaning, hope from my devastating PTSD and bipolar.

25/03/2026

"The mind can be your greatest friend, or your worst enemy." [Vedic Wisdom]

14/03/2026

"Prayer for the First Three-year-old Girl Killed in the USA-Iran War”

[collateral damage]

Little one,

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK,

Little One,

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors to take your breath away [without your permission, with you having any “say” in the matter]. We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than blood; we use phony words to accommodate our needless atrocities.

We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, war-torn, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in choral, sickening triumph, “God bless the USA!"

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, “Doesn’t ‘all’ include you, dear child?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart, soul and solar plexus, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and I would sing a song I play on the piano at Azria Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms-at-wartime, trash bins, Peter Hegsmith' peter, missile-bunkers, a slain goat and an equally murdered puppy, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of the W***e of Babylon, Donnie, [of course also, the brave Epstein, sexual-abuse survivor who bit Donald's Hamilton, which resulted in his seriously clobbering her in the face and keister], multiple sweat and gravel pits, and homes of all-human-beings lands. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

14/03/2026

Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, killed in the USA-Iran war”
[collateral damage],

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, without you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickeningly triumphant madness, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart, soul and solar plexus, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play on the piano for at Azria Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms at wartime, Peter's Hegsmith's peter, oceans, missile-bunkers, mendacious-press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of King Liar, Supreme W***e/Pontiff of fu***ng Babylon, Donald J. Trump, sweat pits, homes of all-human-beings and ***let freedom ring for the Epstein sex-surviving teen who bit Donnie's Hamilton and got whopped in the head and face for her trouble. Let freedom ring.***"

Epic Fury, my pattoobee

13/03/2026

Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, [collateral damage], killed in the USA-Iran war”

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, without you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickeningly triumphant madness, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart and heritage, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play on the piano for at Azria
Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms at wartime, Peter's Hegsmith's peter, oceans, missile-bunkers, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of King Liar, Supreme W***e/Pontiff of fu***ng Babylon, Donald J. Trump, sweat pits, and homes of all-human-beings. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

13/03/2026

“Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, [collateral damage], killed in the USA-Iran war”

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, with you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your body’s blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickeningly triumphant madness, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart and heritage, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play the piano for at Azria
Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms at wartime, Peter's Hegsmit's peter, oceans, missile-bunkers, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of King Liar, Supreme W***e/Pontiff of fu***ng Babylon, Donald J. Trump, sweat pits, and homes of all-human-being,s lands. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

13/03/2026

“Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, [collateral damage], killed in the USA-Iran war”

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, without you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickeningly triumphant madness, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart and heritage, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play the piano for at Azria
Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms at wartime, Peter's Hegsmit's peter, oceans, missile-bunkers, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of King Liar, Supreme W***e/Pontiff of fu***ng Babylon, Donald J. Trump, sweat pits, and homes of all-human-being, lands. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

13/03/2026

“Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, [collateral damage], killed in the USA-Iran war”

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, with you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your body’s blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickening triumph, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and kiss you, Then I would dig deep into my heart and heritage, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play the piano for at Azria
Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside - let freedom ring - down Iran's hills, oceans, oil-refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, conference-rooms at wartime, Peter's peter, missile-bunkers, mendacious press-briefings, the mudder-friggin' White House of King Liar, Supreme W***e/Pontiff of fu***ng Babylon, Donald J. Trump., sweat pits, and homes of all-human-lands. Let freedom ring.”

Epic Fury, my pattoobee.

13/03/2026

“Prayer for the first three-year-old girl, [collateral damage], killed in the USA-Iran war”

Daughter of Allah, sister of Mohammed [“Peace Be Upon Him”]

YOUR LIFE IS GREATLY AT RISK.

You will experience troubled waters that you may or may not survive. Who is responsible for your life, your nation, your family, your siblings, your Al-Batin? Well, our leaders have lied about the untapped freedom to unleash horrors that will take your breath away [without your permission, with you having any “say” in the matter].

We lie with haunting desperation. We love oil more than your body’s blood. We twist phony words to justify our needless atrocities. We use fancy words, in fancier-sounding songs to justify the bombs exploding near you, and the stressful thumping of your savagely beating, itsy-bitsy heart. Our voices sing in sickening triumph, “God bless the USA!

We are a country founded on liberty and justice for all. But I wonder, though no one’s asking me, doesn’t “all” include you?” I am a journalist. If I came across your form in Iran, dead or alive, I would comfort, cradle and caress you, Then I would dig deep into my heart and heritage, as I wiped away the tears and blood and sweat from your face, and sing a song I play the piano for at Azria Health Center, my nursing home:

“My country ‘tis of Thee, sweet land of liberty, land where no innocents die, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from ever mountainside - let freedom ring - down the hills, oceans, oil refineries, valleys, seas, deserts, porches, streets, alleyways, tanks, missel-bunkers, sweat pits, and homes of all-human-lands. Let freedom ring.”

Address

KS

Telephone

+17858560073

Website

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