A question that should be on
Your mind this evening is why?
Why are the people of Greece--
Why is the nation of Greece--getting
Spanked & punished by their EU
German & French economic overlords?
We should be saluting tonight’s
Referendum NO vote results,
The Greek electorate voting against another
Devastating round of economic sanctions,
Voting NO on more years of austere living.
In fact, it should be U.S. foreign policy to
Support complete Greek withdrawal from
The European Union. That’s right:
“Euro No, Drachma naí!”
The EU is fiscal tyranny,
Led by the EU autocrats,
Angela Merkel & whomever is sitting in the
French baby high chair these days.
Isn’t it a strange coincidence that the
EU whip, always seems to be cracking on
Their swarthier brethren,
Their southern European members,
The Spaniards, Portuguese, Italians &,
The Greeks.
The Greeks have had enough.
One would expect nothing less from
These fiercely independent
Hellenistic people.
And you can **** the Greek people
Up their ***** all you want &
Many of them might like it, but
The Greeks will survive,
Survive as they have for nearly 3,000 years,
Give or take a Kalamata olive or two.
We breathe the air of Greek culture,
Deep respiration of so much of
What we still call learning these days.
We owe the Greeks: it was
Greek inception of so much
Math & science &
Countless other right-brain
Spatial ability & logical precision; not to
Mention so many left-brain contributions in
Sociology & ethics,
Politics & democratic government,
Geography & religion,
Education & philosophy,
Sculpture & art, philosophy,
Live theater & literature.
We owe the Greeks.
Had we interceded with the Brits on Greece’s behalf,
Reminding them that we bailed out their sorry ***-cheeks
After two 20th Century world wars, perhaps
The British Museum might have Fedexed
The so-called Elgin Marbles--
Those boosted friezes,
Jacked right off the
Parthenon façade,
Should have Fedexed them back to
"Eleftherios Venizelos,"
Decades ago.
George’s wife, that foxy babe
Amal Clooney sure thinks so.
We owe the Greeks.
The world owes the Greeks.
Let us all help the Greeks.
Let’s encourage them to quit the EU.
To Greeks I say: trust & patience,
You’ve got the sun.
You’ve got the sea.
A clean white landscape,
Ouzo & Retsina,
Spanakopita & Moussaka.
The Greek Islands:
Crete & Mykonos,
Santorini & Corfu,
Rhodes & Ios
Samos & ****** . . .
We owe you.
We love you.
We will come to you.

My hands are trembling more than usual,
so I have altered my coffee to a camomile tea.
I administer everything as if it were medicine;
a chemist punctuating his day with
guilty cigarettes and vague homoeopathy.
It's all *******, I know-
but whatever gets you through the day...

In the season of advent, my fingers are bitten
down to the quick; throat seared with
half-functioning lighters and fragile matches;
I can scarcely operate either in this state.
The fairy-lights turn the high-street to a runway.
But all I see are charity shops
interceded with bookies and coffee houses.

This home-town exists to keep up my interest
in finding some purpose. A path to eventual escape
from all of these old bonds and ties,
pinning me down with memories of ***,
and all of the street-names I have learned by rote.
*I'm treading water here-
living in the comfort of a sink-hole.

Wrapped round in swaddling clothes,
I saw her bright beaming face.
Lying helpless, still in a trance,
I sensed her soft soothing touch.

Warm it was when huddled tight,
Glad it was to be held close,
Pleasure it was to be lifted up,
And Heaven it was to be in her lap.

She took me in her gentle hands,
She fed me with her nourishing milk,
She made me sleep with lullabies sweet,
And kept alert on day and night.

As time slowly glided past,
I grew myself into a tiny tot.
Crawled around in sweeping haste,
Reaching out to all I could touch.

It left my mother so hardly pressed.
She never had even time to sit,
Cut down she, her afternoon nap,
Cast aside she her rest and respite.

My teething time – a real hard time!
For reasons none, I grew so irritable.
Itchy – fidgety, I cried on end,
Futile it went all her tricks to tame.

This made my mother grow jittery.
Consulted she every quack and doc,
Administered she every harmless dope,
And interceded to all divine help.

It was only a passing phase,
With consistent care, I grew to a buxom babe.
My childish pranks delighted all.
Too glad grew my mother to see me fare.

Soon I learnt to steady myself up,
The Toddler placed the first faltering step.
It was always with bated breath,
My mother watched my growing up.

She ever remained a pillar of strength,
In whom I saw a never failing friend.
She led me through the devious turns of life,
Always there to lend her helping hand.

In complex issues too hard to solve
Wise it was to seek her counsel
Sane and sound, she ever remained.
To trials of life, she never surrendered.

She taught me the quintessence of life,
She showed me the route to tread,
Her zest for life, never once cease,
Her trust in God ever on the rise

Now my mother ceases to exist,
But sure she will continue to live,
In my hearts domain, she reigns supreme.
No force on Earth can cast her out.

As I look back to days of yore,
All I wish is to conjure up the past,
To be reborn a second time,
To be my mother’s darling child!

The real me, the spiritual me, break's free
From mine corpse;
Stepping into reality.

A rushing sound filleth mine head
A popping sound, mine spirit's above mine body, aloft the ground; I'm dead.

I seeith the nurses, the doctor's art frantic
Mother's praying outside the door;
Father's nerves art shot, he's panicked.

I couldst heareth mother interceding to the lord
On mine own behalf, the operation was over;
Tis mine blood got cold and fast.

The scalpel was thrown into a glass
I heardst the surgeon's word's, we couldn't save him, we tried ourn best, I kneweth he didst all he can, he worked harder then the rest.

At that thought of mind, I shot through space and time,
In a tunnel I ended up in, mine sin's hadst crossed mine mind;
The wormhole I was in, was dark, at the end; a pinhole of light.

I felt none worry, distress, nor unease, I kneweth this was living, as I was floating, without walking nor running, an unseen presence carrying mine feet: I felt the calm and light warm me.

I hadst read of this, from mine Christian belief's, and the spiritual book's and video's I hadst studied; the other's account's were true of this tube, we move freely, towards the brightness with none toe's nor feet coming.

I ended up inside the light, it engulfed me, it taught me, this is where all wouldst be alright; I stood at a gate, not with Pearl's, but as other's saidst, Pearlescent by heavenly view and sight.

There were no demon's like at mine abode, no stress filled hour's, no Pain nor Human insight; I was met at the entryway by mine great grandmother whom hadst passed after me and mother left her side during her death.

Granny saidst Brandon " we hath been waiting for thee, I sawest generation's of mine kin; French, English, Scottish, Greeks, natives, swiss, Irishmen.

Mother's and father's side both, hadst known I was coming, their already aware, as the lord telleth them there, the time and dates of their loved one's succumbing.

I was overjoyed, none word's to slip mine tongue, here I was an adolescent of knowledge, though all I wouldst learn in big sum's;
I kneweth this was safety, rest, peace, I felt with mine loved one's as one.

Mine kin stepped aside, the one I've begged for help was in mine vision, he hadst three robes, ivory white- with a purple sash, there were holes still in his hand's, though his beauty burned bright on his father God's behalf.

His eye's were as flame's, though his amour' was overwhelming, I felt mine body as a tuning fork, vibrating with his brightness, as if this was his second coming, the universe was seen through his core.

He grabbed mine shoulder, we walked farther in, I felt none sense of time,no age limit just a frame of mind; where the young and unborn were, as well as oldened in age, there was aloud none sin.

The messiah showed me the street's paved with literal gold, something unseen back on planet earth, a place where a river of life floweth from God's throne, everything's sharper, senses heightened, as well as sight, sound, feel, touch, taste. Holy grace.

Color's, tints, hue's, all loud, everything was alive, LIVING, I was aware of all,whilst I heardst angel's singing call's, they sung different song's, yet on Earth a million song's together wouldst be nonsense, this place the music all perfectly was fused.

There were mountain's, Hill's, real mansion's built, as if an acid trip back on earth we wouldst conjoin with the planet in a false trip; here this was what was, amazingly struck me how all was one, no illusion's like earthly drug induced fantasies, no if's, and's, why's, or because. Though question's flickered through me faster then I couldst speak.

Here there was no need to move mine Lip's, telepathically we knoweth all, no brain needed, none memory enhancer's, no need to speaketh with human Lip's, thought's talk back and forth, though by free will we canst use ourn mouth if desired.

Christ took me into mine creator's throne room, the amazing part is God and christ art one, no comprehension of that back on the blue globe, beneathe the sun; as God sat down on a tall structured seat.

A river of life flowing out of his feet, inside were seraph's, cherub's, a divine meet, Christ was on mine right side like another story of a man I hadst read, I was living, Christ interceded for me, I was far from dead.

Mine great architect spoke living word's from his mouth, he was pure light, not as if the bulb in thy house, he shined, gleamed,he was the reason the third heaven needed no sun nor moon.

He spoke to me , " Brandon mine son, thy work is not yet done, continueth in love, though go telleth more of mine forgiveness and grace, telleth man to love another, and to respect their whole race; as tis at that moment I turned to Christ next to me interceding, the lord christ cried next to me, we must remember Christ took human form on earth, tis he kneweth the feeling of bleeding.

At that moment I was out of God's sight, Christ took mine hand and body back into the tunnel light, I flashed shot like a bullet into that tube out of sight, mine great-grandmother took mine finger's and locked them, and took me back to mine carrion, I didst not want to go back though god spoke the day and dawn.

I felt as a glove mine soul slip back into that cold corpse, mine pastor I heardst around me praying with part of the church;
Mother held mine hand next to me, dad I listened to saying this he didst not deserve; at that moment mine eye's opened.

Mother didst not knoweth I saweth her praying outside of the room when I was out of mine body, she held me, felt me, a child again I felt. I sensed mother's love again, as I told mine mother granny saidst hello, and she's waiting for thou to, and I told dad that his father couldst breathe once again, his cancer's not in heaven, that dad's father was renewed.

As still earthly being's I kneweth mum and dad didst not yet understand all the thing's of the bible art true;
As tis when I left the hospital I thought of the one's waiting for me, generation's of family, as I was waiting for them to.

As tis the memory hit me
Of Christ's Tear's;
How he crieth like men
How he Hurt's when he seeith us turneth against him
How O' how I remembered freshly the hole's in his hand's and feet. He told me to touch them, as he didst to his disciples
I remembered how I bowed
To mine Christ
Mine savior,
I remembered god his father's strong word's
"Telleth man to love one another"
As tis men art forgetting the reason why we art here;
To love.
To love one another is God's purpose.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

The world is fast and reckless
Like a stampede of beasts and
Teenage ***.

We traded smog
For the roar of the city and
I am then reminded of my mobile life
Before atrophy set like plaster
In my bones.

Similarly, I lived above a bar,
And the roar of the crowds
Was compensated for
By the free drinks I would receive
To placate me,
To deafen me.

I remember heading out to the office
Already half-cut
Even before the banks had opened.

I remember everybody walking,
Not because the roads were too crammed,
But because it was so.

It was so, it was so,
And now that excuse is just not good enough
Anymore.

Neither am I.

I still walk the streets
And stop by outside windows.
It takes me a little longer these days
To read the signs and labels,
The mating rituals of the merchants;
Buy me, buy me, buy me!

They remind me of the girls I see these days,
The ones who live in semi-agony,
Lactic acid in their muscles and
A lack of sugar in their blood.

The way they walk so consciously nonchalant,
Impostered hair dragging in the wind,
Just living for the double takes
As they pass the men in the streets.

Nobody courts anymore.
Hands are held far too easily
And intimacy seems to me to have become
Just another commodity.

I remember my sweetheart.
The years we lived in absences,
Sleeping between lies and compromises
And lying awake at night,
Our bodies spent as our cheeks sunk into our pillows.
Our eyes staring past the darkness of the room
And beyond to something, somewhere,
Far from where we found our lives had laid.

I remember her so well, my dear coffee bean.
How desperate the years were
When we were apart,
Living out our lives and
Exchanging platitudes for company
In our loveless marriages.

I remember how bitterly disappointed I was,
To be bounded to the forever decreasing circles
I had to move within each day.
And I remember, so exquisitely remember,
The day I broke from them.

And we met.
We met over letters,
Recited by our eyes and written by the hands
Of our desires. Oh, the saliva of the stamp
Bringing us to a closeness
That was unbounded by geography.

These days,
Nobody understands the thrill of the postbox
And the dependent trust
You had to invest into the postman.

Nobody.

The welcome mat is now nothing
But a place to wipe the **** from your shoes
And to kick the bills away
From your footfalls.

It was once a pigeon hole,
An inbox and a faceless meeting point
For all of your dearest allies.

How I recall the excitement of the morning,
My sleep thinned to prepare for the slap of papers
And the return of my silent darling’s words.

Yes, today that has all gone
And so has she.

How I miss you, my dear
And the snort of your laughter.
How I miss counting out your imperfections;
Each another reason to love you
And to love you more.

Now that you are gone my darling,
My life is little more than an emptied school
In the endless weeks of summer.

I lie in wait, coffee bean,
For each time you appear, a phantasm
In my day. I wait for those special moments
Where I assume you will be sitting there,
Ageing with irrefutable brilliance
In the chair you so stubbornly frequented
Every day of our retirement.

I’ll take the hit that comes with it.
I’ll accept the come-down
When I enter the room
And realise
That you are even less than a ghost,

A passing thought
That decays instantly in the air.

And the air darling,
The air is filled with noise in these streets.
Do you remember when you and I would stop
And listen to the busker by the bridge?

I do.

I think he is gone too now,
Though sometimes I still hear his music
As I pass above the river.

Now, I live on in near-silence.
It has been weeks since I last spoke to somebody
Who did not rush me through my sentences.
And so I’m learning the patterns of today
And instead bow my sad head
And just pay up for my goods.

I avoid home mostly.
It is okay once I am inside it,
But it is the returning that I am afraid of.

So I mostly walk the streets,
The same route each day,
Until darkness or hunger delivers me,
Confused at my door.

I stumble lethargically to the television set,
The one we bought together for our first apartment,
Do you remember?

I turn it on quickly to **** the breathless silence.

Now, whenever I do get to talk to somebody,
I feel my eyes blur to tears
For some inexplicable reason.
Oh! The ache in my guts

How often I must swallow panic
And all of those pills that do not work.
Instead they just fog my mind
And distort all of the anchors
And features in my life.

Even the television will shout at me.
Everything I watch is an advert,
And the news is getting uglier with each day.
Sometimes I will turn on the radio,
But music isn’t music anymore.

And so I’ve learnt to read above
The din of gameshows and the gunshots
From dramas full of anger and devoid
Of love.

I’ve learnt to read again,
As we did together in the warmth
Of the crackles that interceded
The crooners that used to play through the grooves
That my life is once again set between.

At times I feel I am the only reader left in the world.
That all authors write for myself,
Vying for my attentions.

Nobody reads anymore.

Though the depravity between us
Made our love all the more sublime,
I must admit I regret those absent, wasted years.

How wonderful it would be now,
To see your features mixed with mine
And hidden behind the faces of our children.

I would give all that I am,
Which admittedly is not much anymore,
To be able to see the pigments in your eyes
Again, in whichever form they took.

How I would kiss our daughter’s hands
If they resembled your’s.

How I would weep into the shoulders of our son,
If he resembled your heart.

And so now my darling,
I wander these thoughtless paths like a machine.
And though I look out at the opulence
Of the city streets, I am instead
Just walking through a memory,
Or some old doctored flicker show,
Where I cut out all of the ugliness
And leave just us.

Immaculate by daylight,
Atrocious at dark.
The stimulus for flesh makes them moonstruck,
Hidden away by an exploit pokerface.

Shades of red everywhere,
Roses and wine still can't satisfy the cravings.
With no guilt and no agony,
Everlasting crimes are on each corner.

The raven interceded in the turtle dove's life,
No longer singing the anomalous melody.
Deteriorated DNA samples and clues,
The oracle slayer whereabouts remain unknown.

Between last night and this morning,
Between the full moon and sunrise,
When dark descended like a sheet,
And heavy lids covered my eyes,

The stars emerged and receded,
Nocturnal hours ticked away,
A carpet of frost was laid down,
There between last night and today.

Ere dawn blackness interceded,
Taunting me, “Where is your light now?”
Yesterday had been locked away,
And I must start again somehow.

The nightfall came to curse the past,
I embraced it to block the shame,
Because soon the sun will come up,
And I will never be the same.

i came to you and you welcomed me.
i was with you only for a while and you understood.
i gave you all i had and you loved me more.

when i was happy you laughed with me.
when i was sad you encouraged me.
when i was curious you delighted me.

then came cancer and you were astounded.
then came doctors and you interceded for me.
then came knives and needles and you stayed with me.

i loved the water and you brought me dolphins.
i loved the blue sky and you coloured it with butterflies.
i loved you and you filled my final days with joy.

always remember our days together.
and, i really liked the balloons and bagpipes.

Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.


The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.

Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.

From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to ****, pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.

In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.

Rance looked at the speedometer. Set  at 65 and on cruise control ,which he was fully aware of - at least he should have been. He kept looking anyway.
   Every time he glanced at the speedometer , he had to lift the fingers of his right hand to see, as it was draped across the 12 to 1 o'clock Zone of the steering wheel in the most casual way ,causing his fingers, in drooping repose- to resemble an enormous back scratcher.
   His left arm rested on the window sill at the elbow as he was experiencing a slightly manic episode  of nerves,  therefore he was doing his best to stretch his left ear lobe  all the way down to his shoulder . Okay, maybe not that radical, but he was firmly  in danger of removing the inner layer of skin from his earlobe with his rubbing thumb.
    Quick glances to his right with darting eyes confirmed his fear .  He  also saw the absence of Largo's large grey head., so a quick backward glance into the rear of the camper- unintentional but habitual -allowed him to see that Largo was asleep beside stormy in the approximate territory each  had staked out
  It was as he was pulling his head back forward , that Piney glanced up from The Notebook to smile.  There in the co-pilot seat , she sat gracing him with a  warm smile , and as far as Rance could tell , those lips that  smiled at him- so friendly -/were totally natural and uncolored, and if she were wearing any makeup at all ,it wasn't enough to cover the four or five little freckles just above the tip of her nose.  The natural look  gave her face that timeless look.   She could have been anywhere from 18 to 25 or 30 he didn't really know and....he really didn't care .
    It was noticing  those walnut colored flecks, just outside the iris of her light ,hazel colored eyes that  started causing him such personal turmoil.  As it seemed - to his astonishment- that he seemed unable to detatch  his own vision from  those eyes.,  Until she looked back - that is.
    First happening to him when she had  accepted his offered ride and as she wss climbing into the copilot's seat. If it hadn't been for largo, who had instantly attached his chin onto her  thigh ,she might have noticed how he was staring .  Fortunately  he was able to break it off but he was still self conscious of that effect she was having on him.
   After he'd done the initial stumble in the parking lot , he had actually carried on with - amazingly enough  -surprising clarity. It was in those 10 minutes that he had learned of her hometown and  all of the time she had been on the road up to now. Which had been all of 30 miles.
    It was that nagging voice that  kept repeating - in the back of Rances mind- the thing that she had said. " I wasn't really planning to be stopping at that restaurant , but I had to get out of that car.   Although the rest of what she said mattered , it was that part that kept resonating .
  " Oh that guy ! "/She grumbled "was just getting creepier and creepier.  The farther we went down the road , the bolder he got ,as he began to get handsy.
First , puting his hand on my knee and then a little bit later a little higher up my thigh." She shuttered  as she spoke  , in a pantomime inspired gesture before continuing. "It was after he pulled out that bottle and then started taking swigs that things got really bad.   When we started coming around that long curve, just before we got to the restaurant he was unable to bother me and ,adjust  for the curve,  so he kept driving over into the other lanes. Then he over-corrected ,almost getting  us killed  by a semi that came barreling through in the slow lane.   Laying on the horn as it swerved away to miss us, and then I knew I had to get the hell out of that car. Anyway possible.
  " So right then I saw the restaurant sign and I tried to get the best lilt into my voice and the most calm that I could muster as I said  "Hey! there's the place  I'm supposed to play tonight. Pull over ..right here! RIGHT HERE!!!"
    But in his slow, befuddled ,drunk and almost run over  brain he stopped right in the middle of the slow lane . " Where we at?"
  "We're at the place I'm playing guitar music tonight " She said -that she told him this - to keep his attention so she could wrestle the guitar case out of the back seat ,over the seat back and out the doorway of the car.  Then just as she had it ready to pull through the open doorway she reluctantly said " Thanks for the ride." Then with a little thought and ****** attitude " yeah ...I'll be playing here tonight at 8 o'clock , so why don't you come by and listen" she lied
  A bit perturbed and confused but he was still able to find his inner creep as he spoke.... muttered .....gutterally.... whatever  "Yeah I'll do that and then me and you can have a drink and I got a little Coke " then he did that drunken kind of wink where they end up opening their mouth in  such a crooked fashion that it looks like a stroke victims Visage
  " Where is a fly when you need one ". Piney  said that then she pulled  the guitar case on through  the doorway , wrestling it the 10 feet over to the grassy apron of the road . Returning to close the door as  he asked "what did ja say?
   "Oh . I said I've always wanted to give Coke a try " and with that she closed the door -/just short of a slam.
 " You got it ba "...as he pointed his right forefinger like a pistol, but if it went off Piney never heard as she trundled her case across the grass area  in the most direct route towards the building and the safety of people.
  At this moment she was still in the process of confirming the abject fear that had Rances heart doing flip-flops, as he was aware that she was still sitting there ,reading his poetry.
    As soon as she had settled into the copilots seat, allowed Storm and Largo to introduce themselves and as they happily filed her smells away. Storm returned to his spot after just a half of a minute while Largo, on the other hand gently lay his head on her leg and for all appearances seemed to go into a trance.
     She confidently rubbed his head as she spoke in a slight cooing sound then looking up at Rance as he was guiding them out the parking lot and did the cruelist thing possible . As polite as a butterfly landing on the petal of a flower she asked if she might read some.
  To which Rance had said "Sure , go ahead " and then began trying to do damage to his left earlobe. After 30 miles he was beginning to catch up with his runaway thoughts.
   Any remnants of sua da vi that he had mustered up in the parking lot , now long gone -evaporated. Unfortunately now it was being  replaced by a carrousel of thoughts in poor Rances mind that spun to the cacophony of music from the most  sinister sounding Calliope.
   Though the music blasted a torrential sound wave throughout his mind it was not enough to silence the voice that kept repeating " oh man oh man oh man" - with annoying and echoing  persistance - from an obscure region--, somewhere beyond the Swirling carrousel.
   Then suddenly the crazy carnival and the voice came to a sudden mind shuttering stop.as piney's soft velvety voice interceded. " you wrote these...i mean ...all of them ?"
  A quick glance towards Piney was enough to.see this fresh faced girl with those magnetic eyes- now filled to overflowing  with tears -  was looking at him in a wonderfilled  way as she held the open notebook in right hand and with the other she stroked largos head.,Which had rematerialized.on her lap , just as soon as her voice had broken the relative silence.
    " He really likes you" remarked the reemerging Rance ,as he indicated Largo with his head. 'And yes I did ...write .....yeah all of them." Not really smooth he said to himself ..but okay.
    " This one " Piney pointed to a page that Rance could not take time to recognize " Somber Sunset. Its killing me....my grandmother just went ...and went through Alzheimer's before she passed. "
    Rance was still staring out the windshield, in silent astonishment - at her perception- when Piney gathered herself to the point of unbroken speech. " that is what its about ...right ?"
      Rance turned a full face ..straight on and confident gaze into her tear glissening eyes ( sua DA vi having returned full force) "Yes " he softly acknowledged her perceptivity" as I read it ...yes"
      Thats  when that annoying voice decided to reassert itself . "  There is always something about a damsel in distress that always brings  out even the most quivering coward ...." SHUT THE HELL UP!! Lance barked out at the voice as he stared out the windshield while making a slight adjustment to avoid.a small box in the road.
   At that very moment the sleeping Storm opened his eyes to stare forward with both ears and eyes , as if he had heard his masters voice call out in angry distress. With no danger detected as he scanned the area, he was about to resume his squirrel watching -which had just gotten good before the interruption -/Storm let his eyes scan around and land on Largo ." Humans "he spoke to himself " good thing they're smart enough to befriend dogs. Now that Largo...that's a dog that poor Rance could learn a thing or two from." Then he closed down his eyes and calling out "squorrely come on squirrel where'd ya go"  as his slight snore began and his right rear leg began twitching.

1 Who has believed what we have heard?
And who has the arm of the LORD been revealed to?
2 He grew up before Him like a young plant
and like a root out of dry ground.
He didn’t have an impressive form
or majesty that we should look at Him,
no appearance that we should desire Him.
3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of suffering who knew what sickness was.
He was like someone people turned away from;
He was despised, and we didn’t value Him.
4 Yet He Himself bore our sicknesses,
and He carried our pains;
but we in turn regarded Him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
5 But He was pierced because of our transgressions,
crushed because of our iniquities;
punishment for our peace was on Him,
and we are healed by His wounds.
6 We all went astray like sheep;
we all have turned to our own way;
and the LORD has punished Him
for3 the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet He did not open His mouth.
Like a lamb led to the slaughter
and like a sheep silent before her shearers,
He did not open His mouth.
8 He was taken away because of oppression and judgment;
and who considered His fate?
For He was cut off from the land of the living;
He was struck because of my people’s rebellion.
9 They5 made His grave with the wicked
and with a rich man at His death,
although He had done no violence
and had not spoken deceitfully.
10 Yet the LORD was pleased to crush Him severely.
When You make Him a * restitution offering,
He will see His * seed, He will prolong His days,
and by His hand, the LORD’s pleasure will be accomplished.
11 He will see it out of His anguish,
and He will be satisfied with His knowledge.
My righteous Servant will justify many,
and He will carry their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will give Him the many as a portion,
and He will receive the mighty as spoil,
because He submitted Himself to death,
and was counted among the rebels;
yet He bore the sin of many
and interceded for the rebels.

I sit at the table too high for me,
Slipping the poison down my throat,
Sewn shut my mind through mouth,
As I feel the darkness bloat.

Yet I know it’s due to me alone,
My hand the wretched doer of the stab
Which rends my heart at my bequeath,
Yet how can I help who I am?

The invisible flame all too bright,
Casts my shadow invoking fear,
I willingly forget not to shun
The things I held most dear.

My mind falls deeper into the mire,
Shallower with each sinking death,
I tell them to ignore the silent screams
Though I cry for help under my breath.

And though these echoes are not heard,
They crash and boom and threaten to break
Innocence is swallowed whole again,
As I stand chained at the hand of fate.

A different man I stand today
Than the one who failed once before,
Yet I fail again, this time completely,
It is being me I must endure.

For leaping only leads to falling,
First time jumping interceded by floor,
Sitting in shame that isn’t mine
How can I hope to jump ever more?

I ask with a resounding
Question “Who am I?”
Praise from the edges of my view,
But never from the distant sky

Yet somehow the light appears ahead,
The rescuers lifting me from the shadows within
How could I have sought this ugly fate,
When there were others bright that could’ve been?

I’ve wasted time on distant stars
So shining, beckoning in my mind.
Why should I wait longer to start the rest of my life?
It’s time I left that path behind.

Illusory as this corporeal existence
        may be termed,
I am too glad sifting through
[This imagined existence of]
The interspaces of Time and Space.
Don’t need to be interceded for
To a space-less place-

The echoes of infinity
Tingle me, weaving infrasonic waves
Of life around me.

I can catch up with salvation
Some other day;
I'm here. Soaking in
The sun's tickle tingling me awake
The wind's whistle cooing on a dull day,
The patter of rains as it sings
A new rhythm into play.
A dog's wagging tail at my caress,
Smiles from faces familiar-unfamiliar,
Or a dance move I'd been tugging at to perfect.
Lapping up a home-cooked meal
After a long day, curling up in my bed.
Celebrating joys with an exultant jump
A high-five or a fist-pump,

Celebrating life more
Than fearing death.

Dear Lord,
Help our ministry flourish.
Help us to study and to learn.
Help us
Lay aside these early needs
And pray for your concern.
Help us always to be humble
Keep pride away from our goals,
Let us strive to do your will
And leave you in control.
Let us look past circumstances
And know that faith will lead us through,
Let us interceded along the way
For those that need us too.
Help us not to look back except to see
Just where you've brought from;
Let our lives be a testimony
As to just how far we've come.

Oh, we’d talked of other lives in other places,
But where would we have gone, anyway?
(It was rural Pennsylvania in the thirties,
And being well-off meant you ate three times most days
And could afford meat every other Sunday)
So we carried on in anguish and guilt as old-maids-in-waiting
As there were dinners to cook and cows to strip out,
Fireplaces to stoke, any number of chores to do
While our mothers and fathers waited patiently for that day
When we would, each in our turn, don a grandmother’s wedding gown
And march steadfastly down some acceptably Protestant aisle
While Gert Bauer, default church organist
Though she was past eighty and nearly blind,
Tortured the wedding march, flubbing notes and stomping pedals
The tune lurching forward at an inconsistent
And unusually adagio fashion.

As it turns out, Tojo and Adolph Schicklgruber
Interceded on our behalf,
For, as the young and able-bodied men of Elk County went off to serve
(Farm boys from Wilcox and Kersey, pool sharps from Ridgway,
Fully half the production line from the paper mill in Johnsonburg)
Someone needed to man punch presses and die casters,
So we were able to find work making propellers
In a windowless and airless factory
Which didn’t have women’s rooms
Until we’d been there for three months
Allowing us to set up house together
(We told our parents
It would allow us to save up toward our weddings,
And still let us give them grocery money each couple of weeks.)
Eventually, Johnny came marching home again
And back into his old job,
Which left us somewhat at sixes and sevens,
But, like Blanche DuBois,
We came to depend on the kindness of strangers
Who believed in the value
Of strong backs or the primacy of civil service scores
And so with our steady if unspectacular incomes,
We were able to carry on keeping house, as it was said,
(Our parents sadly unpacking hope chests.
Sullenly gifting us the linens
They’d purchased for our marital bed at Larson’s,
The hand-made quilt stitched and fussed over
For nine months by Aunt Jenny)
And maintain an uneasy truce with the good people of the town;
Indeed, we were all about “don’t ask, don’t tell”
Long before it was somewhat fashionable.

When it became apparent that she would not carry on much longer,
Or, as she put it, Now I’ve got an expiration date,
Just like a can of soup,
It was as if the populace had decided, after some sixty years,
To take their revenge upon our ******* of the natural order,
As if they were a pack of wolves,
Having identified the lame and the sick among a herd of whitetail,
Tightening the circle before moving in for the ****.  
In truth, I shouldn’t have been surprised,
But the pettiness and the tight, self-satisfied smirks
Were no less painful in spite of that.
And what was your relationship to the deceased?
They would say with their half-knowing, half-offended smiles.
I’d wanted to shout at the top of my lungs that for fully six decades
She had been the love of my life,
Without question and without deviation,
Not like the banker who dallied with his fat secretary,
Or the claims rep who, taking a personal day when her pipes froze up,
******* the plumber right on the kitchen floor,
But years of secrecy and compromise exact a toll,
So I simply, quietly, matter-of-factly would reply
I am the executrix, thank you.

We had talked of perhaps heading west
To make honest women out of each other,
And, later still, of burying her in Paris or San Francisco,
But tight times and walkers and wheelchairs
Made such plans unworkable;
It’s only parchment and granite, she said,
What do they mean at the end of the day, anyhow,
And so when the time came
She asked me to take her ashes up to the top of Bootjack Hill
And scatter her to the wind.
Make sure to go all the way to the top, she insisted,
*I want to get good and clear of this place.

I tried to draw the attention
of the disinterested God
who builds the weather.

“Send us snow - just a few feet -
make our Christmas fantasy complete”
I pleaded, but she never interceded.

Angels, that will-less posse of hers
only seem to watch earth’s slaughter
as the wind carries a warm disregard.

Louis took a cold shower
after sleeping in all afternoon,
thinking about those sweaty
summer bedsheets from last year.
Her skin was always soft
and he used to run his thumb
downward along her hip-bone,
setting vibrations along fault-lines
and stifling any sound with a kiss.

He turned on the radio
and brushed his teeth, removing
the taste of sleeping pills and
last night's cigar.
A mono-brow was forming beautifully
and he had finally grown a beard.
Now it's beer for dinner,
wine for dessert, and John Coltrane
rasping loneliness in stereo.

Louis admired his backside
with the retractable mirror,
reminding himself that old lovers
could never forget that ***.
He reminded himself of his poetry,
his dog; his back-catalogue trivia
of white-boy lyrics was sure
to make him a desired object,
far away from her loving arms.

He turned on the ceiling fan
and dried out to the jingles and adverts
that interceded the music
he'd never cared to listen to before.
The sad guitar and Indonesian flute
spun webs of memories in hypnotic
circles, keeping pace with the motor above.

The picture ran clear in the half-lit room.
Louis burned all his notebooks,
for all the good it would do.

They say the black holes
Are all in outer space;
But I lived with my own,
Hiding behind my face.
There was never a night
As dark as in my mind
And from time to time
It was as if I were blind.

I couldn’t see reality
Or see what was right.
There was no truth
I was afraid to fight.
I heard the helpful words
Of friends worried for me.
But all their kindness
Only managed to bore me.

I told myself I was looking
For something true and pure,
And what that something was
I was never all that sure.
It was something about trust
And feeling I was needed
But drugs and alcohol always
Came in and interceded.

At first it was to help me
To relax and be what I was,
But soon it became a crutch
And I could not see the cause.
When I lost the ability to stop
Once the first drink was taken.
It seemed just a few months
Then my integrity was forsaken.

Still wanting someone to want me,
My heart missing a huge chunk,
I harbored a huge resentment that
Nobody wanted a hopeless drunk.
I kept ranting to God and the world
That I needed a lover to be found.
I never managed to realize
It had to be the other way around.

Then one day I saw that I
Was in a downward spiral.
The disease I was suffering from
Was not something viral.
And I would never get better.
This was how it would be.
The only soul to rescue me
Was me. Only me.

Winter let you down again.
Hidden in layers, still your thin skin
Breathes in every particle, every wave.

In the heat of every symbol of love
You grow cold and depraved.
Beleaguer every drum,
Every instrument of calm
Until you are left with your breath
And what happens when it is gone.

Smoke a cigarette
When your mind will not rest,
Unwind in the secondhand sheets,
The daily reminder
Of your ineffable lack of sleep.
The pills that you take;
The ache of routine.

The panic button,
The false alarm,
A new lease of life
That swiftly lost its charm.

The talisman of a heaven-sent sign;
Extinguish the stars
For the city light lullaby.
Hear the ocean in waves of traffic,
Hear the truth in interludes
Interceded with static.

Hold fast to the tracks
You have trod before,
The pyrrhic loss,
Each opened door

That seemed to close
Each time you reached out,
Each time you fumbled for change
In your pockets of doubt.

Winter let you down again,
A dalliance with autumn,
Your terminal friend.

In the heat of love,
You grew cold for shelter.
Away from your moods
That shift with the weather.
Away from the rain that follows the storm,
Another surrender;
Another false dawn.

Re-launches of the feet begin, the twelve Gigas Camels rise, with their even toes, they would begin to detach the ungulate nails with fat deposits of the six remaining camels. They ripped the epidermis with their nails to pour out the oil and grease lamps they need to distribute the Full Moon on each palm of each component. The moon was celebrating, wandering everywhere and picturing King David's court, slumbering in his cubicles as he fell into the first light of the second-morning dream. Undivided, they walked in procession through the source of the change in the social-mystical paradigm that held them together, they were Raeder and Petrobus, Alikantus with a golden mount on his small back, the Lepidoptera, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, who walked silently and on tiptoe over the first level of damp wind at dawn, many of them alighted on the backs of the immune camels, to advance with them to the restored Gethsemane cam point.

Its phylogeny collaterally imputes the taxonomy that belongs to the camelid genus, which is a taxonomic category that is located between the Judah family and the Middle East in the buried ecclesiastical species; promoting a genus of a group of organisms that in turn can be divided into several species. They being strictly herbivorous, the musculature differs from other ungulates, since their legs are attached to the body only in the upper part of the thigh, instead of being connected from the knee upwards by their skin and muscle, therefore they are It will make it very easy to connect with the flying insects so you don't have to kneel. While the six who sectioned off the warehouses of the other six, they will remain stationed and interceded, until their superficial wounds heal, before departing back to the port of Jaffa. On this long journey until dawn they must remain standing on their foot pads, to resist the final farewell rite of the twelve caverns, when they leave the placental sites that had been developed with the Primogeniture to empower themselves in the vestigial area of the Aramaic word rescued. This will be to consent and to scale the prosperity of having the signs of vitality intertwined, in each nostalgia of calls and responses of the messages for the "Propitius This Humanity" that is projected in the secular future. This will be generated by external stimulus every time the intention to communicate with the ceremonial of existence-life-deaths-fullness is presented, resembling the voice in greater incisive devotional forces, clinging or grasping in the most minimal terminologies, which may even pass through stop or not be understood when the Golden Gate of Jerusalem is inaugurated.

From the top, very high, you can see the Gigas species walking with six candlesticks, these species wading with their artiodactyl locomotion, towards a wave over the flames of the candelabra, ibid towards the rock of the Mashiach. While the other camels were recovering from their wounds, they looked with their serene eyes, very warned, for the proselytizing nunciature that will channel reactions in the Hexagonal Progeny, also being absolved of the commitment of the prayers by the new launch of the ceremonial of atmospheric systematization in Gethsemane. , with the Messiah signals with the frame, reverberated volume to flood with light, and sounds in all geographic areas that have not had a subscription. While the Gigas tread earthly with their ungulate nails, Vernarth and Alikanto, Saint John the Apostle, King David, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus (The Hexagonal Primogeniture), solemnly deprecated before such an episode. It was just a short time before dawn and even the moon disputed with other stars above shining brighter in such an exalted event ..., as it is to enchant them, at the moment when everything would seem placid and gestation of winged embryos, appearing from the top of Olivos Berna near the Cherubs. They came with the Mashiach, which brought them merciful news. They could be seen from a deep meadow, in two spots of their splendid white tunic, full and golden petals and blue tassels, with Lepidoptera around Him ..., by the perimeter distilling in the blue crimson iridescence.

Descending through the foliage of the lighted olive trees, previously illuminated by the northeast ***** of the orchard, the Cherubs and Archangel Michael and Gabriel, came with the decided parallelism by sixfold the interpretations manifested by the Lepidoptera, in order to consolidate the institution of the north side of Gethsemane as a sanctified area from an Aramaic devotional invocation, of absolute naturalization of classification of Cherubs and Lepidoptera as winged tetra, and cultivators of phylogenetic transmission of the pollen-garden on the opening of the gynoecium of the Olivo Berna in the Valley of Olives, and of the taxonomic deliberation by the hierarchical precept of the georeferenced species of the aerosismic corridor, and the rectilinear passage between Bethlehem and Gethsemane.

On the tops of the olive trees were the Cherubim and the Lepidoptera, fluttering through flowery branches intertwined with the Messiah's tunic that had been descending with a hue of the Torah's handsomeness, then a light of pre-dawn fireflies re-blossoming in its mood. These brought millions of bundles of other thousand groups of other forges to be born among the first lamps of the day. The Lepidoptera ascended by oval intervals, in the spiral path through the petiole until the fifth generation of Rapa or Esquimo of forty flowers, with four white petals in phylogenetic simultaneity with Cherubim and Lepidoptera in four elemental portions, to deliver the fundamental membrane generating the physiognomy of the Messiah amidst the transposed and blonde scarlet lights of the Messiah's face, in the contextual crucifix of themselves, on the shoulders of the vapor of Capernaum. The Esquimo or the flowers would grow in clusters between ten to forty flowers in graceful series, depending on the variety, each flower would also have four Lefkí Zoí petals, a little pulpy, facing each other in the symmetrical cross. The flower will bring in the center a yellow-orange hue of an arboreal sphinx, which would be filled with strings that will gradually transform the appearance of the oily tree, giving white touches to the olive grove before the stinging looks of gallantry. Each flower will approximately dine on its captive septenary pollen so that the flowering phase of the olive trees will become in a brief duration, but of rabbinic slip, in the cyclical lives of Syriac Aramaic poetics. The hermaphroditic female caste will bring you the biblical universal pollen, with convulsive stamens and overloaded pistils traveling more than nine and a half miles from Bethlehem “Kafersuseh” to the orchard. Faced with the majestic pollination, the Archangels Michael and Gabriel will invade the dual percentage of the gynoecium of the flowers, giving way to the Meshuva or White Mantle, full of tremendous petals Lefkí Zoí or snowy life. Vernarth falls to the ground, and shudders between the petals, filling his entire body and face with thousandths of them, many of them being transmuted into the oily fruit of the Universe, palate between his ring finger, and the index finger with Purified cadence of the Mikvah. , floating in such an elliptical orbit of the neutrons of Relativity, and the Micro Universe to be ecstatic with the presence of the Messiah with its white robe of petals. Between Hippocrates and Aristotle, the scarlet air was twirled, full of fragrant gum resin, the iridescent of mental hallucination and Ektasis, came down with the tassels of Petals Berna in his tunic alba, the Mashiach rushes where Vernarth, takes it and indicates to him filially:

Mashiach: “Only you…, in each of these Lefkí Zoí cells you are…, and in which you are not in my memory, the fruit of the Berne Olive Tree is reborn. Over the glass of this species I heard your impetration, I know who you are and gratitude for resisting your lymphoma so nobly, I took it out of your soul when it was confused with the fresh breeze of grass that fed the fungi of pain. Mitzvah or "commandment", immerse yourself in this columnar Mikveh of Lefkí Zoí of petals Berna, here the voices and words of Aramaic, will run in a row to the right, to **** the target of my Evangelized thoughts, with your miraculous grace when redeeming John Apostle of his exile. Come to me walking from this unleavened bread of the elixir of the Bern olive tree, and let us drink the Hanukka wine in its vital dawn that boils with every sip, and in your sore streaky courage. I am panting, I come from a very remote distance, but I have taken this road from Emmaus to get you up. Get up and come to My Vernarth! ”.

Vernarth erects the column of him purified with the petals emulating the Mikveh "Purification", he predisposes himself to the Holy path of the Meshuva "Return to God". Thus from today Vernarth is born and revives to continue its journey back to Patmos ”. By the time he got up, the elliptical pollinations of Trifolium fragiferum clovers were crossed, with stolons frolicking from the obovate fragmenting ultraviolet. The inflorescences became globose to fall into the hands of the Messiah, between a golden hairy chalice that simulated the Vexillum from great lengths of eternal love, Lefkí Zoí; or Berne petals make indehiscent duplex of the fruit seedling, mostly yellowish-greenish with dark purple spots or spots. It has a deep main root, in cross-pollination favored by insects, with the necessary vernalization for the development of flowering with the exaltation between both.

Sibila Herófila sings (bis): “It is not the absence of good works in the book of life that seals the fate of the individual, but of his name. All sorrow is inviolable, the original Greek religiosity, with four gods Leitourgia Orama; Perseus returning the eyes of the Beautiful and hungry Graeae, delivering Vernarth's right vision in the captured catacombs of the corrupted resurrected bodies, before being corrupted. He was supported by Asclepios, the physician-god, Hermes, leading the souls in the wind tunnel in the 212 of the tubular level, the enigmatic Cabiros, and finally Prometheus, on the agora in the bonfire of humanity. On his twentieth birthday, the oracle at Delphi commanded Orestes to return home and avenge the death of his father. Orestes returned home with his friend Pílades, son of Estrofio. According to Aeschylus, Orestes met his sister Electra at the tomb of Agamemnon, where they had both gone to honor the deceased; they recognized each other and planned how Orestes was to carry out his revenge. But Vernarth goes ahead with the astonishing stolons of the Trifolium Fragiferum to docilize the trial on the Aeropagus or hill of Ares, Athena receives Orestes on the Acropolis of Athens and organizes a formal trial of the case before the Areopagus hill, a court formed by twelve Attic judges. The Erinyes demand their victim, Orestes alleges Apollo's mandate, the judges' votes are evenly divided and Athena, with her decisive vote, declares Orestes innocent with a bouquet of the resplendent hybrid of the Vernarth Mitzvah "

032020

You’ve let our doors close,
And one time I heard You
It was so quick but a banging in my heart...
As You say we still don’t know what we’re doing.

I thought it would be the end for us...
For us as one nation and one world
Fall short of Your glory each day
It was never boring in Your presence.

But Lord, here we are with our empty plans,
Still asking for Your undying grace...
You were never upset over us
But You interceded instead.

It was like Your uttered prayer in the Gethsemane,
You’ve proved Your power to heal,
You were so confident w/ Your might to save,
And yes, I will believe over and over again.

We have so much to offer
And we’re no longer counting stars each night,
But each day to rise again,
We’re counting on You.

So Lord, let You will overcome our fears
For this world we never hold,
Even this time we choose to lose our grip
We are one in You.. and so be with us.

Life has never been the same since your last birthday
When I made that phone call one fateful night
You drove to my house, went out of your way
And served as my people's beacon of light.

You interceded with your stories of love
So beautifully to make them understand
that being true and genuinely happy
are the most precious gifts at hand.

You've taught me so many good things--
To be a good person is the loveliest of them all
This I take with me wherever I go
There's no battle to lose, we rise in every fall.

A thousand thanks may never be enough
To show you how really grateful I am
A family I am to you, you've always acknowledged
Know that I thank God for this strong bond.

Now that you're to set foot on a foreign land
There's nothing else I wish for you
but a strong, steady heart, an unbreakable spirit,
a love that lasts and dreams coming true.

For nearly a century, Grigory Rasputin, spiritual advisor to Russia’s last Tsar and Tsarina, has been unjustly vilified simply because history is written by the politically powerful and not by the common man.  A wealth of evidence shows that Rasputin was discredited by a fanatically anti-Semitic Russian society, for advocating equal rights for the severely oppressed Jewish population, as well as for promoting peace in a pro-war era.  Testimony by his friends and enemies, from all social strata, depicts a spiritual man who hated bigotry, inequity and violence.

In order to understand why the aristocracy depicted Rasputin as mad, or demonic, it is necessary to understand Russia’s attitude toward its Jewish citizens.  At the end of 18th century, Catherine the Great indicated that Jews would only be allowed to settle in an area called The Pale of Settlement, encompassing the general region of Poland, the Ukraine and parts of Latvia.  Jews were not permitted to leave the Pale, with few exceptions, depending on one’s occupation and many professions and occupations were off limits to Jews.  Only a small percentage of the Jewish population was permitted to attend schools and universities.  A female Jewish teacher or student, for example, could not leave the Pale to pursue those endeavors, but she could travel to any region if she were a *******.  Consequently, a number of women posed as prostitutes while they studied or taught in secret.

Generations of tsars, including the last one, Nicholas II, sanctioned regular raids, called ‘pogroms’, on the villages in the Pale.  In the course of these raids, homes and properties were ransacked and burned.  Entire families would be tortured and slaughtered.  Rasputin was horrified by this and, on many occasions, tried to persuade the Tsar to grant equal rights to the Jews.  He categorically refused.  Rasputin even stated, “instead of organizing pogroms and accusing Jews of all evils, we would do better to criticize ourselves.”  His position was that if a man believed in God, that was enough.  The way in which he chose to worship was, to his mind, personal and it was a sin to try to convert him or discount his way of believing.

There were many incidents where Rasputin intervened to help the Jews.  He alerted them whenever he knew of plans for a pogrom, even warning the Tsar to call them off.  He also interceded in legal cases, such as one where over 300 dentists were imprisoned and accused of becoming dentists just to have the right to reside outside the Pale.  He succeeded in freeing them.  He also tried to have the Mendel Beilis case dropped.  The latter was accused, in a blood libel case, of killing a young Christian boy to use his blood to make matzo.  Rasputin regularly petitioned the Tsarina to allow Jewish students to attend university or pursue certain professions, above and beyond the allowed quota, to allow Yiddish theater, and to free innocent men and families from prison or Siberia.  These are but a few examples of his many interventions.

Rasputin was also anti-war and advised the Tsar not to become involved in World War I, but to no avail.  He attempted, also, to have Cabinet ministers appointed who had promised him to advocate for the Jews and against war.  Many of these did not have the courage to adhere to their promises.

He made many other recommendations to the Tsar, regarding not sending men to war before the harvest, not sending them into battle without ammunition, and regulating the high black market prices on food.  The Tsar listened to none of these, demonstrating how little influence Rasputin had on him.  The Tsar’s only interests in Rasputin were as a healer for the hemophiliac tsarevitch and as a spiritual advisor, stating that he felt at peace whenever Rasputin spoke with him of God.

The clergy were often jealous of the number of people who attended his dynamic sermons which he made relevant to their everyday lives.  His hometown priest began the rumor that Rasputin was a Khlysty, a secretive sect of flagellants, in order to discredit him, and even had him investigated.  Several investigations, then and by the post-revolutionary Extraordinary Commission, cleared him of any association with that sect.  It is notable that political cartoons in the newspapers of his era portrayed Rasputin as demonic and evil, in the very same way Jews were portrayed in the media, in an obvious attempt to influence public opinion.

The aristocracy was rabidly anti-Semitic and, because of his widely known sympathy for the Jews, spread numerous rumors about him.  It is ironic that they chose to foster gossip about him being a womanizer and a drunk.  Russian society was extremely decadent and, as evidenced in newspaper ads for cures, venereal disease was rampant among them due to their own promiscuity.  With regard to alcohol, the nobility consumed French champagne and ***** by the case.  A number of historians and biographers assert that, had Rasputin been an aristocrat, the rumors of promiscuity and drunkenness would have been dismissed as normal behavior.  The Extraordinary Commission’s investigation declared that assertions of womanizing were unfounded and they could find no witnesses or complainants to substantiate these.

As many as 200 people a day lined up at his door for favors.  They included the poor and the Jews, as well as bureaucrats and military personnel seeking promotions.  He took the Jews and the poor first, announcing loudly to the others that since these people were treated so poorly, they deserved to be first in line.  He never took money for himself, but often had the rich empty their pockets to disperse the funds among the poor.  Sometimes these funds were used to bribe officials to grant a favor, or circumvent the restrictive laws.

Among his recommendations was a plan he proposed to the Tsar to buy land from the nobility, to give to the peasants to farm, creating an abundant food supply for the country.  In addition, he thought the nobility should invest the money from their real estate into factories, in order to join the industrial revolution and create jobs.  A number of scholars have suggested that, had Rasputin’s recommendations been followed, the 1917 Revolution might not have occurred.  In fact, after the Revolution, Jews were no longer required to live in the Pale and were granted equal rights; land was given to the peasants to farm; and an era of industrialization began.

It is ironic that, today, Tsar Nicholas II is deified while Rasputin is vilified.  The Tsar’s hands were tainted with the blood, based solely on hatred, of thousands of innocent people, while Rasputin was a healer and equal rights activist who never harmed nor killed a single soul.

We know from the world
Only what is interceded by our senses.
We are transparent to a whole metaphysics,
Collecting fragments of a reality
Extrapolating missing links.

It is terrible to know so little about the world,
But, thinking of it, it is much worse
To know that much of what we know
Actually isn't;
They're just loose, untied nodes.