The giant fin whale swam along with the tide
A nineteen-foot calf was swimming by her side
They were swimming away from her mate’s now dead shell
Trapped in a lagoon and then all shot to hell.

She’ll raise her young calf on her own from now on
Not mating again as they only take one
Her mate had followed a herring shoal in with the tide
And for a short while there were those who had tried
To help him turn and head back to sea
But the cruelty of nature would not let it be
At eighty feet long and a shallow cliff lea
It could not turn around to escape and be free.

And then a vile streak in the locals took hold
A most wicked shooting match began to unfold
The most handsome of whales was trapped and revealed
As shooters took aim and young children squealed.

They fired and they fired and they fired and they fired
Stopping only to reload and then when they got tired
They even drove speedboats across his shot back
Leaving deep deep prop cuts as a further attack.

And when they were done and the whale was no more
His body burst open and in death he’d now score
For the stench of his now rancid corpse was so rotten
This beautiful creature wasn’t easily forgotten.

There was a man who tried hard to get him free
But one man alone is as a wood with one tree
And by the time he had got national press all aware
The whale was now dead, so bored, they’d not now care.



©Joe Wilson – A Whale shouldn’t die like that 2014

Many years ago I was enthralled by the work of Farley Mowat the renowned Canadian environmentalist who died last month. From reading his book, based on real events ‘A Whale for the Killing’ published in 1972, I took to studying whales as a hobby and I quickly realised just what a perfect creature the Fin Whale is. It is the only whale that is match coloured along both sides giving it the same symmetrical beauty as a dolphin and is the second largest creature to live, the Blue Whale being the only creature bigger. It is so amazing it can lift its entire body out of the water. Why on earth would you fire thousands of rounds of ammunition into a creature so beautiful? Why?

This is a small tribute to the memory of Farley Mowat (May 12, 1921 – May 6, 2014) and to people like him who try so hard, such as the Sea Shepherds who try to stop the massacre of bottle-nose dolphins each year in Taiji, Japan ostensibly for food, even though most Japanese people shun the whale-meat.

there was a little dolphin he got lost at sea
he miles away from his family
caught up in a storm that was far to strong
took him from the place that he did belong
dolphin he was sad and he began to cry
noticed by a whale who was passing by
dolphin told the whale how he had got lost
and into the storm the dolphin he was tossed
whale he said dont worry i know what to do
i  will guide you back to the home that you once knew
whale he led the way to get  the dolphin back
when suddenly he saw some dolphins in a pack
he had found the place where dolphin he should be
happy once again with his family
dolphin thanked the whale for all that he had done
and swam of with his family underneath the sun

RAINBOW FAIRY FLOSS BY THE SEASHORE    
From the 4th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.    
      
We had a whale of a time last weekend on a trip with my family to the seaside resort named Slipslopslap Bay. It is located about three hours from my home.    
     
Once we arrived at our rented holiday wood cabin put our clothes away in the wardrobe and placed our food in the fridge, we all decided as a family what we would do next.    
     
My Mum, Flo, took my younger brother, Lemmy, to the local carnival for rides, drinks and even some pink coloured fairy floss and warm apple pie. My two much older, identical twin sisters, Emma and Jemma, went to the shops looking for souvenirs and some new summer clothes to wear. Dad, Smoochy and I went down to the pier by the seaside to do some fishing and to look at the large ships passing by.    
     
After a bit of fishing, and catching a slimy piece of seaweed, we spent time viewing the large ships with the help of Dad's trusty, homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars. Dad was getting tired after such a long drive, so he nodded off to sleep on a deckchair by the seaside.    
     
I stood on the fishing tackle box to get a better view of the very large ships. A huge wave crashed over the bow of a large ship, and then several of its cargo boxes, fell off the side and into the ocean.    
     
Zooming in with Dad's trusty, homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars, I could read the words on the outside of each crate. They spelt out the names of colours, such as: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and even Violet.    
     
On the bottom of each crate, was the name Fairy Floss, which was the funniest thing of all!    
     
From the corner of my right eye I saw a large whale swimming towards the floating crates. The whale began to smash all of them apart, with its very powerful long tail. The whale then swallowed up all of the different colours of the floating fairy floss in one huge gulp.    
     
It then emerged from under the water, but accidentally hit a shipping buoy marker that was floating nearby, flipping it into the air and back down again, right into it's blowhole.    
     
He swam towards the beach's safety swimming poles, and I thought, 'How I can help this whale with a shipping buoy marker stuck in its blowhole'!    
     
I fetched my fishing rod and cast it towards him, trying to hook onto the top of the buoy. But I couldn't quite get the hook attached under the top part of it.    
     
So I felt around in my back pocket and found my, very super sporty, single-shot, stylish slingshot that my Dad had made me last year. I shouted out to my new grouse pet mouse, Smoochy, you'll be right mate. Ready, set, go! whoosh went Smoochy, sailing through the air, luckily he landed on the whales back, first shot.    
     
I placed some cheese that Mum had made us for an afternoon snack, onto the hook and cast it again. On the third try, it hovered above the shipping buoy. Smoochy caught a whiff of Mum's cheese on the dangling fishing hook.    
     
He grabbed at the cheese and amazingly, placed the hook under the top part of the shipping buoy. I don't know if Smoochy knew what he was doing or if it was just an almighty lucky fluke.    
     
I pulled as hard as I could and wound and wound in that fishing line string. The stuck shipping buoy, came off with a pop. and sent Smoochy along for the ride.    
     
The force made me fall off the fishing tackle box and I landed on my behind. All of a sudden the whale blew a massive blast of multi coloured fairy floss up into the sky. It looked like a colourful rainbow haze just above the waves. Lots of people ran onto the pier to see what was going on.    
     
The whale then took off for the deep sea ocean, but I swear, as he turned his head towards the seashore, he looked directly at me and gave me a friendly thank-you wink.    
     
My dad woke up from the loud cheering noise of the excited crowd, but didn't believe me when I told him that I had hooked such a large catch with the help of Smoochy on our whale-of-a-time fishing adventure.    
     
Smoochy popped back into the safety of my top left-hand side pocket, and I thought I heard him say to me, as quick as a blink, 'please don't do that to me again'.    
     
I knew the fall backwards made me a bit sore, but boy I knew what I heard, and I will listen more carefully, to see if he talks anymore, for he is my, new pet grouse mouse Smoochy, after all.

Giant whale
Lying on the beach
What have you come to show us?

For years you quietly graced
This blue planet
And now
You spend your final hours
Exposed to the world
Naked
Helpless
Dying

Far from the familiarity
Of the deep
Separate from the safety
Of your pod
What courage you have
Great whale
In delivering your message
For all to see

Sharing your final suffering
Motionless
Dignified
Giant and sad

Great whale
Great whale

People have learned
To fly away
To distant planets
To drill great holes
Beneath the earth
To join the elements
And build mighty towers

But for all we have done,
We cannot return you to safety
We cannot do a thing to save you

All we can do is watch
Dumbstruck by your presence
Hoping for the tides to restore you

In vain
In vain

Great whale
I wish that I could talk to you
Understand your secrets
Hear your wisdom

But no words of comfort
Do you speak
Great Whale
No words

Your quiet message
Your being
Here
Grips our silence

ESSAYS ON
LEADERSHIP FRONTIERS OF AFRICAN LITERATURE
By
Alexander   k   Opicho




Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents                                                                                                                Page
TABAN MAKITIYONG RENEKET LO LIYONG AND PREFECTURE OF AFRICAN LITERATURE 4
THE CURRENT EAST AFRICA IS NOT A LITERARY DESERT 27
AFRICAN WRITERS HAVE CULTURAL RIGHTS TO FORMULATE AND CREATE ENGLISH WORDS 31
LIKE PUSHKIN, AFRICAN WRITERS MUST CREATE THEIR OWN PROFFESSION OF LITERATURE 35
THERE IS POWER IN THE NAME ‘ALEXANDER’ 40
KENYAN COURTS AND PARLIAMENT ARE BETRAYERS OF HUMANE GOVERNANCE 47
AFRO-CHRISTIAN RESPONSE TO RADICAL LITERATURE IS GOOD AND SWAGGERISH 50
YUNUS’S SOCIAL BANKING IS A GOOD BENCHCMARK FOR THIRD WORLD ENTREPRENEURS 54
HEROISM IS NOT GREATNESS BUT HUMILITY IN SERVICE TO HUMANITY 57
KENYAN STUDENTS; YOUR MOBILE INTERNET CULTURE IS ANTI- ACADEMICS 61
WHAT IS THE MAGIC IN THE WORD ‘DRINKARD’ OF AMOS TUTUOLA 63
SOCIETIES IN AFRICA HAVE TO MENTOR BUT NOT CONDEMN THE LIKES OF JULIUS MALEMA 66
AMERICA WILL NOT WIN THE WAR ON GLOBAL TERRORISM 69
AFRICA CAN OVERCOME A MENACE OF **** IN EVERY 30 MINUTES 71
COMPARATIVE ROLES OF AFRICAN-BRAZILIAN LITERATURE IN THE POLITICS OF RACIAL AND GENDER DEMOCRACY 76
NEO-COLONIALISM IS NOT THE MAIN VICE TO THE GAMBIAN POLITICS 85
RELATIVE MEDIA OBJECTIVITY IS ACHIEVEABLE IN AFRICA AGAINST POWER CULTURE AND TYRANNIES OF TASTE 89
READING CULTURE IS GOOD FOR BOTH THE POOR AND THE RICH 96
VIOLENT DEATH IS THE BANE OF AFRICAN WRITERS AND ARTISTS 100
AFRICAN WRITTERS AND ARTISTS MUST ASPIRE BEYOND A NOBEL PRIZE 104
WHAT ARE CULTURAL RIGHTS OF AFRICAN ENGLISH SPEAKERS? 109
WHY IMPRISONMENT OF WRITERS CONTRIBUTED MOST TO AFRICAN LITERATURE 113
DORIS LESSING: A FEMINIST, POET, NOVELIST, WHITE-AFRICANIST AND NOBELITE UN-TIMELY PASSES ON 121
Amilcar Cabral: Beacon of revolutionary literature and social democracy 127
How the State of Israel is brutally dealing with African refugees 131
Historical glimpses of language dilemma in Afro-Arabic literature 146
THIS YEAR 2013; IS THE YEAR OF GREAT DEATHS 153
AFRICAN LITERATURE WITHOUT POETRY IS LIKE LOVE WITHOUT VAGINAL *** 156



















PROLOGOMENA
BARRACK OBAMA READS MOBY ****
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
American president is reading Moby ****
Ja-kogello is reading Moby ****
Ja-siaya is reading Moby ****
Ja-merica is reading Moby ****
Jadello is reading Moby ****
Ja-buonji is reading Moby ****
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took his father
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took his mother
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death to his brother
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took the grannies
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman  
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Baba Michelle is reading Moby ****
Baba Sasha is reading Moby ****
Baba Malia is reading Moby ****
Baba nya-dhin is reading Moby ****
Sarah’s sire is reading Moby ****
Ja-sharia is reading Moby ****
The ****** is reading Moby ****
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes audacity of hope
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes dreams of fathers
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes yes we can
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes American dream
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you readings?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because American president is like whale hunting
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Obama is a money making animal
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because hunting Osama is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because hunting Gaddaffi is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because coming to Kenya is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Guantanamo prison is a bay of whales
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Snowden is a Russian whale
Because launching drones is whale riding
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading, Moby ****?














CHAPTER ONE
TABAN MAKITIYONG RENEKET LO LIYONG AND PREFECTURE OF AFRICAN LITERATURE

I am writing this article from Kenya on this day of 23 September 2013 when the Al shabab, an Arabo-Islamic arm of the global terrorist group the Al gaeda have lynched siege on the shopping mall in Nairobi known as the West Gate where an average of forty people have been killed and a hundreds are held hostage. The media is full of horrendous and terrifying images. They have made me to hate this day. I hate terrorism, I hate American foreign policy on Arabs, I hate philosophy behind formation of the state of Israel and I equally hate religious fundamentalism. Also on this date, all the media and public talks in Kenya are full of intellectual and literary tearing of one Kenyan by another plus a retort in the equal measure as a result of the ripples in the African literature pool whose epicenter is the Professor Taban Lo Liyong .He is an epicenter because he had initially decried literary mediocrity among the African scholars and University professors, Wherein under the same juncture he also quipped that Kenya’s doyen of literature Ngugi wa Thiong’o never deserved a Nobel prize. Liyong’s stand has provoked intellectual reasons and offalities to fly like fireworks in the East African literary atmosphere among which the most glittering is Chris Wanjala’s contrasting position that; who made Liyong the prefect and ombudsman of African literature? This calls for answers. Both good answers and controversial responses. Digging deeper into the flesh of literature as often displayed by Lo Liyong.
Liyong is not a fresher in the realm of literary witticism. He is a seasoned hand .Especially when contributions of Liyong to east African literary journal during his student days in the fifties of the last century during which he declared east Africa a literary desert. In addition to his fantastic titles; Another ****** Dead and The Un-even Rips of Frantz Fanon, Professor Taban Lo Liyong also humorously called Amos Tutuola the son of Zinjathropus, what a farcical literary joke? I also want to appreciate this Liyong’s artfulness of language in this capacity and identify him in a literary sense as Taban Matiyong Lo   Liyong the son of Eshu. He is an ideological and literature descended of the great West African Eshu. Eshu the god of trouble which was dramatized by Obutunde Ijimere in the imprisonment of Obadala and also recounted by Achebe in the classical essays; Morning Yet of Creation Day. I call him Eshu because of his intellectual and literary ability to trigger the East and West Africans into active altercation of literary, cultural and political exchanges every other time he visits these regions. Whether in Lagos, Accra or Nairobi.
Now, in relation to Ngugi and intellectual quality of Kenyan University literature professors was Liyong right or wrong?  Does Liyong’s stand-point on Ngugi’s incompetence for Nobel recognition and mediocrity in literary scholarship among Kenyan Universities hold water. Are Liyong’s accusations of East Africa in these perspectives factually watertight and devoid of a fallacy of self-aggrandizement to African literary prefecture as Professor Chris Wanjala laments. Active literary involvement by anyone would obviously uncover that ;It is not Liyong Alone who has this intellectual bent towards East Africa, any literary common sense can easily ask a question that; Does Ngugi’s literary work really deserve or merit for Nobel recognition or not ? The answers are both yes and no. There are very many of those in Kenya who will readily cow from the debate to say yes. Like especially the community of alumni of the University of Nairobi who were Ngugi’s students in the department of English in which Ngugi was a Faculty during the mid of the last century. Also the general Kenyan masses who have been conditioned by warped political culture which always and obviously confine the Kenyan poor into a cocoonery of chauvinistic thought that Ngugi should or must win because he is one of us or Obama must win because he is one of us or Kemboi must win because he is the son of the Kenyan soil. These must also be the emotional tid-bits upon which the Kenyan Media has been based to be catapulted into Publicity feat that Ngugi will win the Nobel Prize without reporting to the same Kenyan populace the actual truths about other likely winners in the quarters from the overseas. I am in that Kenyan school thought comprising of those who genuinely argue that Ngugi’s literary work does not befit, nor merit, nor deserve recognition of Nobel Prize for literature. This position is eked on global status of the Nobel Prize in relation to Ngugi’s Kikuyu literary and writing philosophy. It is a universal truth that any and all prizes are awarded on the basis of Particular efforts displayed with peculiarity. Nobel Prize for literature is similarly awarded in recognition of unique literary effort displayed by the winner. It is not an exception when it comes to the question of formidability in a particular effort. However, the most basic literary virtue to be displayed as an overture of the writer is conversion of theory into practice. This was called by Karl Marx, Hegel, Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire, especially in Freire’s  pedagogy of the oppressed as praxis.History of literature and politics in their respective homogenous and comparative capacities has it that ;There has been eminent level of praxis by previous Nobelites.Right away from Rabitranathe Tagore to Wole Soyinka, From Dorriss Lessing to Wangari Mathai.Similar to JM Coatze ,Gao Tziaping,Alexander Vasleyvitch Solzhenystisn and Baraka Obama.This ideological stand of praxis is the one that made Alfred Nobel himself to to stick to his gun of intellectual  values and deny Leo Tolstoy the prize in 1907 because there was no clear connection between rudimentary Tolstoy in the nihilism and Feasible Tolstoy in the possible manner  of the times .In a similar stretch Ngugi wa Thiongo’s literary works and his ideological choices are full of ideological theory but devoid of ideological praxis. Evidence for justification in relation to this position is found back in the 70’s and 80’s of the last century, When Ngugi was an active communist theoretician of Kenya. His stature as a Kenyan communist ideologue could only get a parallel in the likes of Leon Trotsky and Gramsci. This ideological stature was displayed in Ngugi’s adoration of the North Korean communism under the auspice of the Korean leader Kim Yun Sung. This is so bare when you read Ngugi’s writers in politics, a communist pamphlet he published with the African red family. By that time this pamphlet was treated equally as Mao tse Tung’s collected works by the Kenya government which means that they were both illegal publications and if in any case you were found with them you would obviously serve nine months in prison. And of course when the late Brigadier Augustine Odongo was found with them he was jailed for nine months at Kodhiak maximum prison in Kisumu ,Kenya .O.K, the story of Odongo is preserved for another day. But remember that, this was Ngugi only at his rudimentary stage. But when Ngugi got an opportunity to get an ideological asylum, he did not go to Russia, nor East Germany, Nor Tanzania, nor China but instead he went to the USA , a country whose ideological civilization is in sharp contradiction with communism; a religion which Ngugi proffessess.In relation to this choices of Ngugi one can easily share with me these reflections; is one intellectually  honest if he argues that he is a socialist revolutionary when his or her employer is an American institution like the university of California in Irvine ?
Ngugi was not the only endangered communist ideologue of the time. There were also several others. Both in Kenya and without Kenya. They were the likes of; Raila Odinga, George Moset Anyona, ***** Mutunga and very many others from Kenya. But in Africa some to be mentioned were Walter Rodney, Yoweri Museven,Isa Shivji,Jacob Tzuma ,Robert Mugabe and others. The difference between Ngugi and all of these socialist contemporaries of him is that; Ngugi went to America and began accumulating private property just like any other capitalist. But these others remained in Africa both in freedom and detention to ensure that powers of political darkness which had bedeviled Africa during the last century must go. And indeed the powers somehow went. Raila has  been in Kenya most of the times,Anyona died in Kenya while in the struggle for second liberation of Kenyan people from the devilish fangs of Moi’s dark reign of terror and tyrany.Walter Rodney worked in Tanzania at Dare salaam University where he wrote his land mark book; How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Later on he went back to his country of birth in Africa, Guyana where he was assassinated while in the revolutionary struggle for political good of the Guyanese people. Yoweri Museven practically implemented socialism by fighting politics of sham and nonsense out of Uganda of which as per today Uganda is somehow admirable. Isa Shivji has ever remained in Dare salaam University, inspite of poverty. He is now the chair of Mwalimu Julius Nyerere school of Pan African studies. Jacob Tsuma and Robert Mugabe they are current presidents of South Africa and Zimbabwe respectively. The gist of this reference to African socialist revolutionaries as contemporaries to Ngugi wa Thiong’o is that a socialist revolutionary must and should not run away from the oppressor in to a zone of comfort. But instead must remain and relentlessly fight, just like in the words of Fidel Castro; fight and die in the battle field as long as it is a struggle against the enemy of the revolution. This view by Castro is pertinent as it’s a Revolutionary praxis which actually is redolent of practice of an ideology that has to be held for ever above ideological cosmentics.Ngugi scores badly on this. So if the Nobel academy looks at Ngugi in terms of defending human rights then it must be reminded that Ngugi have no marks on the same because he only ran away from the practical struggle. Anyway, Politics and ideology has its own fate. But let us now come back to literature. Ngugi and his books. As at  this time of writing this essay  Ngugi has published the following works; Weep not Child, The River Between, A Grain of Wheat, Black Hermit, Petals of Blood, Devils on the Cross,Matigari,Homecoming,Decolonizing the Mind, Writers in Politics, Ngugi Detained, Pen Points and Gun Points, Wizard of the Crow,Globalectics,Remeembering Africa, Dreams in Times of War and I Will Marry When I Want as well as the Trial of Dedan Kimathi which he wrote along with Micere Githae Mugo.Out of this list the only works with literary depth that call for intellectualized attention are ;A Grain of wheat, Wizard of the crow and Globalectics. The Grain of wheat is simply a post colonial reflection of Kenyan politics. Its themes, plot, lessons and entire synechedoche is also found in Wole Soyinka’s Season of Anomie as well as Achebe’s Anthills of the savannah. My argument dove-tails with those of Liyong’s stand that rewarding Ngugi’s Grain of wheat and forgetting Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah and A man of the people would be a literary ceremony devoid of literary justice. Wizard of the Crow is indeed a magnum opus. I am ready to call it Ngugi’s oeuv

.oh sure, just pass the mortgage payments, i might pay, when i pay off whatever life i lived, and the life i didn't... and some third-party-whatever... oh yeah... just fax me the existentialist details... overloaded with pop Darwinism for the simple answer of a complex question / mode of being... yeah... such the mode of being... give me the mean of non-being... the **** life once was, but became reduced to an epitaph... and only if, if! i am rich enough to afford a gravestone.

don't worry...
if we're just clausit instances
of humanity,
the whole closure chapter...
just wait for the Holocaust
survivors to die with the deniers...
and then you can come
after us...
i'm all up and arms for
en masse euthanasia schemes...
****... let's bypass
the ponces and cowboys...
i'm ready...
   so...
..........................................
tick tock tick tock
tick tock..........................
           missing *****?
****... they castrated you before
they gave you authority
to **** me ethically?!
the *******!
          idiots don't even understand
the whole...
   altar, sacrifice of water mammals...
a beached whale is not
a beached whale...
******* can't even allow
a whale to commit suicide...
even whales ingest a Kamikaze
mentality...
whales don't beach...
but what is the poor ******
going to do...
jump off a bridge?!
   i'm not buying it...
who needs to be saved,
if they can't even be considered
redeemable?!
how can you, "save" someone,
when you cannot provide
redemption for them?
the non-redemption clause:
can't redeem them,
subsequently can't save them...
all you're doing is
prolonging their suffering,
elevating the suffering through
the elevation of failure
in the failure of ending
the suffering...
  so... no one spotted that
the beached whales...
as mammals...
were attempting to commit suicide?
beached whales are whales suicides...
no one saw that?
it wasn't an eye-sore
staring back?
the suicide has already a conundrum
before him...
the lack of suspense,
or rather, the element of surprise...
at least homicide involves
a rush of adrenaline...
       adrenaline... surprise...
     suicide avenue...
     brave people...
                    brave because there is
no suspense of surprise...
absolutely no adrenaline...
          the aspect of consciousness,
the contradictory "choice"...
that contradicts the "choice" of
encountering esse per se,
  or qua vivo...
          i'm not about to solve
this noumenon...
i can't solve it,
because the noumenon of suicide
is already a phenomenon of
a million counter arguments
worth justification...
      but a beached whale?
a whale is a marine mammal...
a beached whale...
what is it? usually a young male...
don't you find it odd...
aren't dolphins intelligent?
aren't whales intelligent?
      so something stupid...
  couldn't exactly elborate the concept
of suicide... could it?
perhaps a stampede...
but surely not a suicide...
         god?
sure... intelligent animals came up
with with god...
but the same intelligent animals came
up with the paradoxical
contradiction, of suicide...
whales...
            beached whales?
you think they were stupid enough
to become, "beached"?
they were in the act of committing
to suicide...
and you were stupid enough
to make attempts at "saving" them...
whatever god is, within the focus of ideal...
suicide is, what god isn't,
within the basis of the inevitability of, will...
we're mortal!

Were I a whale, cartoon or
otherwise,

I would be for giving as good as I take,

and,
think, subject ob service
auto shifts,
if you know auto, yourself.
think
teeny weeny plankton by the ton
feed
me
as I cruise sans-effort, sans-trep
idation
egone into ideation,

you would be crazy as hello-happys
with no good bye

were you to agree to think with me,

is this your pa
in my belly?

Ambergris, remember this,

some aromas, sweet perfuma, you can't believe, sans
gnose blowing

during the withdrawals from 6 o'clock news

and recovery from Bernays Virii.

Behold how great a matter turns, under your
standing and above

and beyond
all a non-liar can imagine having known for sure. Okeh? Wit'me?

I knew this old guy,
one time talked me into daring
the deed, you know, it's hard
for a whale to
let some mind find time,

he said, in code... ditty dum dum and al,
banging on a bulkhead, starboard side:

LSMFT, once prompted me to choose
Lucky Strike, twen'yficent a pack, straights,
for the knowing announced with a note on a pipe,
the smoking lamp is
lighted, or lit (I forgit). It made a good smoke.

That's a whale of a comprefriendable story,
ex
cite ment to provoke a thought you never thught
possible, with no word
to express,
it past the flow, into the the ****** pool.

Life is a whale of a joke, don't you...

care. Okeh. You read, you'll survive.
If you can swallow a whale,

you can know common sense is unforgot,
get it. And with your getting,
get standing under, like a shower, you understand.

Whale of a feeling, eh?

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the *****-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
   the sea!

And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
   comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
   fathomless body.

And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
   wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
   forth,
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
   sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.

And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
   tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
   the beginning and the end.

And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!

and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.