1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th

On World Hijab Day, which was on February 1, you didn’t have to be a Muslim to wear one. The designated day was first announced in 2013. Founded by activist Nazma Khan, the story behind World Hijab Day is an emotional one which speaks of the bullying, prejudice, physical and racial abuse Khan endured as a young child who migrated to the US from Bangladesh. These unkind imputations were all because she wore a hijab.

Since launching an online store in 2010 to sell hijabs, Khan has received an outpouring of support from hijab-wearing women across the globe who have shared with her their own terrifying stories because of their headscarves.

Today, World Hijab Day is celebrated in 116 countries around the world. Although the declaration received negative criticisms from some who saw it as a “well-financed effort by conservative Muslims to dominate modern Muslim societies,” others respect the day. One such person was New York Assemblyman David Weprin, who in his feature address on World Hijab Day, said: “As the prime Assembly sponsor of the Religious Garb bill in New York State, A2049, I stand with all Americans of faith, regardless of their choice, to wear a hijab, kippah, turban, or cross. All Americans of all faiths should be allowed to freely exercise and display their religious choice without the fear of violence and bigotry.”

Here at home, women’s rights activist and model Naballah Chi has not been quiet about her love and honour for the true meaning of the hijab. In an interview with the T&T; Guardian, Chi explained the meaning of the hijab and why it’s worn.

“The literal meaning of hijab is to veil, to cover, or to screen. Islam is known as a religion concerned with community cohesion and moral boundaries, and therefore the hijab is a way of ensuring that the moral boundaries between unrelated men and women are respected,” said Chi.

She added, “In this sense, the term hijab encompasses more than a scarf and more than a dress code. It is a term that denotes modest dressing and modest behaviour. Wearing the hijab is a commandment from Allah. The majority of Muslim women wear hijab to obey God, and to be known as respectable women.

“The basic requirement of the hijab is that a Muslim woman should cover her head and ***** (chest) and her body. So in the last 30 years, hijab has emerged as a sign of Islamic consciousness and women’s assertion to obey their lord. A woman wearing hijab becomes a very visible sign of Islam.

“The aura of privacy created by hijab is indicative of the great value Islam places upon women. Therefore, hijab is not a symbol of oppression. The hijab does not prevent a woman from acquiring knowledge or from contributing to the betterment of human society. While those who seek to ban hijab refer to it as a symbol of gender-based repression, the women who choose to don a scarf, or to wear hijab, in the broadest sense of the word, view it as a right and not a burden,” she explained.

She said wearing the hijab has given her the freedom from constant attention to her physical self.

“My appearance is not subjected to scrutiny, my beauty, or perhaps lack of. Instead it has been removed from the realm of what can legitimately be discussed,” she said.

Chi comes from a world of beauty pageants where she once felt pressured to put down her hijab in exchange for a crown.

After understanding the true meaning behind the hijab, and why she wore a hijab as a Muslim woman, she decided to design a fashionable collection called Classic Woman—not the conventional headscarf, but rather, beautifully coloured pieces which bear intricate artwork. They can range from embroidery to sequins or even tie-dye. The sky is the limit when she puts her fashionable sense into motion.

Chi said the collection was inspired by both The Great Gatsby and the Renaissance eras of power dressing.

“My collection features designs showcasing the powerful but elegant and well-tailored woman.

Chi Collection’s trademark fabrics are soft, beautiful silks, chiffon, sequins, embroidery and bridal laces. Distinctive attributes are the colours scarlet red, white and black, in keeping with the classic fashion palette and to pay homage to my country as a Trinbagonian designer,” said Chi.

Her collection was launched in November 2015 at the Red Runway Fashion Gala held in Port-of-Spain. The collection will be available for purchase via Chi’s upcoming website.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

The IRS, King George and United States Connection

 

1. The IRS is not a U.S. Government Agency. It is an Agency of the IMF. (Diversified Metal Products v. IRS et al. CV-93-405E-EJE U.S.D.C.D.I., Public Law 94-564, Senate Report 94-1148 pg. 5967, Reorganization Plan No. 26, Public Law 102-391.) <p> </p> 2. The IMF is an Agency of the UN. (Blacks Law Dictionary 6th Ed. Pg. 816) <p> </p> 3. The U.S. Has not had a Treasury since 1921. (41 Stat. Ch.214 pg. 654) <p> </p> 4. The U.S. Treasury is now the IMF. (Presidential Documents Volume 29-No.4 pg. 113, 22 U.S.C. 285-288) <p> </p> 5. The United States does not have any employees because there is no longer a United States. No more reorganizations. After over 200 years of operating under bankruptcy its finally over. (Executive Order 12803) Do not personate one of the creditors or share holders or you will go to Prison.18 U.S.C. 914 <p> </p> o wait theres more <p> </p> 6. The FCC, CIA, FBI, NASA and all of the other alphabet gangs were never part of the United States government. Even though the "US Government" held shares of stock in the various Agencies. (U.S. V. Strang , 254 US 491, Lewis v. US, 680 F.2d, 1239) <p> </p> <p>"SOCIAL SECURITY FRAUD!! SSI was made to monetize the soul of every human being</p> and to think it didnt even exist until 1935 and ratified by congress in 1936 well we pay homeage to private corporations and to think we live under this illusion called "freedom" <p> </p> 7. Social Security Numbers are issued by the UN through the IMF. The Application for a Social Security Number is the SS5 form. The Department of the Treasury (IMF) issues the SS5 not the Social Security Administration. The new SS5 forms do not state who or what publishes them, the earlier SS5 forms state that they are Department of the Treasury forms. You can get a copy of the SS5 you filled out by sending form SSA-L996 to the SS Administration. (20 CFR chapter 111, subpart B 42 2.103 (b) (2) (2) Read the cites above) <p> </p> 8. There are no Judicial courts in America and there has not been since 1789. Judges do not enforce Statutes and Codes. Executive Administrators enforce Statutes and Codes. (FRC v. GE 281 US 464, Keller v. PE 261 US 428, 1 Stat. 138-178) <p> </p> 9. There have not been any Judges in America since 1789. There have just been Administrators. (FRC v. GE 281 US 464, Keller v. PE 261 US 428 1Stat. 138-178) <p> </p> 10. According to the GATT you must have a Social Security number. House Report (103-826) <p> </p> 11. We have One World Government, One World Law and a One World Monetary System. <p> </p> <p>12. The UN is a One World Super Government.</p> 13. No one on this planet has ever been free. This planet is a Slave Colony. There has always been a One World Government. It is just that now it is much better organized and has changed its name as of 1945 to the United Nations. <p> </p> 14. New York City is defined in the Federal Regulations as the United Nations. Rudolph Gulliani stated on C-Span that "New York City was the capital of the World" and he was correct. (20 CFR chapter 111, subpart B 422.103 (b) (2) (2) <p> </p> 15. Social Security is not insurance or a contract, nor is there a Trust Fund. (Helvering v. Davis 301 US 619, Steward Co. V. Davis 301 US 548.) <p> </p> 16. Your Social Security check comes directly from the IMF which is an Agency of the UN. (Look at it if you receive one. It should have written on the top left United States Treasury.) <p> </p> 17. You own no property, slaves can't own property. Read the Deed to the property that you think is yours. You are listed as a Tenant. (Senate Document 43, 73rd Congress 1st Session) <p> </p> 18. The most powerful court in America is not the United States Supreme Court but, the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. (42 Pa.C.S.A. 502) <p> </p> <p>19. The Revolutionary War was a fraud. See (22, 23 and 24)</p> <p>20. The King of England financially backed both sides of the Revolutionary war. (Treaty at Versailles July 16, 1782, Treaty of Peace 8 Stat 80)</p> ...and as history repeats itself, Prescott Bush, father of George HW Bush and grandfather of George W. Bush, funded both sides of World War II. The Bush family have been traitors to the American citizens for decades. <p> </p> "Sarah, if the American people had ever known the truth about what we Bushes have done to this nation, we would be chased down in the streets and lynched." <p> </p> George Bush Senior speaking in an interview with Sarah McClendon in December 1992 <p> </p> 21. You can not use the Constitution to defend yourself because you are not a party to it. (Padelford Fay & Co. v. The Mayor and Alderman of The City of Savannah 14 Georgia 438, 520) <p> </p> 22. America is a British Colony. (THE UNITED STATES IS A CORPORATION, NOT A LAND MASS AND IT EXISTED BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR AND THE BRITISH TROOPS DID NOT LEAVE UNTIL 1796.) Respublica v. Sweers 1 Dallas 43, Treaty of Commerce 8 Stat 116, The Society for Propagating the Gospel, &c.; V. New Haven 8 Wheat 464, Treaty of Peace 8 Stat 80, IRS Publication 6209, Articles of Association October 20, 1774.) <p> </p> <p>IRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p> 25. A 1040 form is for tribute paid to Britain. (IRS Publication 6209) <p> </p> 26. The Pope claims to own the entire planet through the laws of conquest and discovery. (Papal Bulls of 1455 and 1493) <p> </p> 27. The Pope has ordered the genocide and enslavement of millions of people.(Papal Bulls of 1455 and 1493) <p> </p> 28. The Popes laws are obligatory on everyone. (Bened. XIV., De Syn. Dioec, lib, ix., c. vii., n. 4. Prati, 1844)(Syllabus, prop 28, 29, 44) <p> </p> 29. We are slaves and own absolutely nothing not even what we think are our children. (Tillman v. Roberts 108 So. 62, Van Koten v. Van Koten 154 N.E. 146, Senate Document 43 & 73rd Congress 1st Session, Wynehammer v. People 13 N.Y. REP 378, 481) <p> </p> <p>30. Military Dictator George Washington divided the States (Estates) into Districts. (Messages and papers of the Presidents Vo 1, pg 99. Websters 1828 dictionary for definition of Estate.)</p>

ill be back for more peace n blessing folks

 

31. " The People" does not include you and me. (Barron v. Mayor & City Council of Baltimore. 32 U.S. 243)

 

32. The United States Government was not founded upon Christianity. (Treaty of Tripoli 8 Stat 154.)

33. It is not the duty of the police to protect you. Their job is to protect the Corporation and arrest code breakers. Sapp v. Tallahasee, 348 So. 2nd. 363, Reiff v. City of Philadelphia, 477 F.Supp. 1262, Lynch v. N.C. Dept of Justice 376 S.E. 2nd. 247.

 

34. Everything in the "United States" is For Sale: roads, bridges, schools, hospitals, water, prisons airports etc. I wonder who bought Klamath lake. Did anyone take the time to check? (Executive Order 12803)

 

35. We are Human capital. (Executive Order 13037)

 

36. The UN has financed the operations of the United States government for over 50 years and now owns every man, women and child in America. The UN also holds all of the Land in America in Fee Simple.

 

37. The good news is we don't have to fulfill "our" fictitious obligations. You can discharge a fictitious obligation with another's fictitious obligation.

 

38. The depression and World War II were a total farce. The United States and various other companies were making loans to others all over the World during the Depression. The building of Germanys infrastructure in the 1930's including the Railroads was financed by the United States. That way those who call themselves "Kings," "Prime Ministers," and "Furor."etc could sit back and play a game of chess using real people. Think of all of the Americans, Germans etc. who gave their lives thinking they were defending their Countries which didn't even exist. The millions of innocent people who died for nothing. Isn't it obvious why Switzerland is never involved in these fiascoes? That is where the "Bank of International Settlements"is located.Wars are manufactured to keep your eye off the ball. You have to have an enemy to keep the illusion of "Government" in place.

 

39. The "United States" did not declare Independence from Great Britian or King George.

40. Guess who owns the UN?

Like

Suffering from cabin fever, I raided my cache of end-time sardines and went slipping and sliding down to the dock to feed the near-shore birds.

One lone Repelican sat upon a bollard by the boat launch seeming frozen to the spot.  He was looking pretty grimm.

Taking pity on this cold, hungry waterbird former Marine-turned-Feeb, and apparently not stuck on I-275, this kindhearted Democrab was soon out of end-time sardines.

Telling him that I was sardine-poor but had one question I would like to ask concerning an investigation into questionable publicly financed bollard homesteading practices, the repugnant Repelican was not happy with me and stuck his long bill in my face while threatening to break me in half (like a boy) and throw me off of the effing dock before flapping away in a huff.

He called me later and asked to do lunch next week. Sardines on him.

r. ~  29Jan14

who, US?
by Michael R. Burch

jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild

... and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn ...

under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same —
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:

“who’s to blame?”

What is happening to Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank is a crime against humanity, financed by American taxpayer dollars. Keywords/Tags: Palestine, Palestinian, children, Gaza, West Bank, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Jesus, Christ, meek, mild, lamb, lambs, kids, Herod, Trump, Bibi, slouching, Beast, American, Christians, shame, blame

some nights
I dream of worlds
that must have come from childhood fairy tales

people work happily in various trades
politicians are actually fighting for their citizens
    to make life easier and more rewarding

skin color does not matter
    nor does religious orientation
a person’s character creates distinction

women don’t live in fear of getting *****
nobody is sold into slave labor or prostitution
education is of high quality and free
    from grade school to college
financed by affluent corporations
whose shareholders just get a bit less

when I wake up
I recognize
the dream was just a dream

our reality is different

Friends, Part Two will get posted after a break. I have added short notes at the end, for appreciation of all Jazz lovers. To know how the word 'Jass' became 'Jazz', - kindly read the Foot Notes below. Best wishes, - Raj, New Delhi.

    THE STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC IN VERSE:
                         PART- ONE

                      INTRODUCTION
Before writing about this true Jazz Story,
I had delved into its long checkered history!
I had plowed through many articles and
books,
Making personal notes to make Jazz better
understood.
My love for this music flows in my veins,
From writing this true story myself I could
hardly restrain !

THE ATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE
The story begins some four hundred years
ago in History,
Drenched in the blood and sweat of the black
slaves which was no mystery,
Painting a sorrowful background to our Jazz
Story !
It was a time when the English , Spanish , French ,
Portuguese and the Dutch became frantic , -
To gain control of the slave trade across the vast
Atlantic !
Slave trade those days was a very profitable
business proposition;
The funds generated had also financed Britain’s
Industrial Revolution!

In 1619  a Dutch sailing ship had carried the first
lot of fifty slaves from West Africa, -
To work in the cotton, tobacco, and sugarcane
plantations of English Colony of Virginia !
Only twenty slaves had survived that hazardous
Atlantic journey;
And here my friends lies the roots of my Jazz
Story !
While it is true that in New Orleans Jazz got
cradled and also nourished;
But it had taken birth in the regions of Western
Africa where slave traders had once flourished!
Later, many more slaves were transported across
to work in the plantations of the Southern States
of America,*  (see notes below)
And in their hearts one could hear the tom–tom
and drum beats of native Africa ! * (notes below)

HOLLERS AND WORK SONGS
Those slaves took no musical instruments with
them,
And worked under the whip lash of their white
Overseers bound in chains !
But they had cherished their ancient music which
fed their hope and the will to survive;
And from the depth of their sorrow and suffering, -
sprung the rhythm and beat of their life !
While at work they were forbidden to talk to each
other,
So they sang in a rich sing-song voice and called
out to one another;
Which was not understood by their whip-wielding
Overseers.
They also called out and communicated to other
working gangs in the distant fields,
Who also replied back in a similar fashion to
make their communication network complete.
The ‘hollers’ and ‘work songs’ also did help,
To lighten the burden of their treacherous fate.
This ‘call and response’ later formed one of Jazz
Music’s basic elements,
As ‘improvised music’ got composed with Jazz
providing a proper vent.
From their tormented soul they sang to wipe away
their blues,
Giving birth to ‘blue notes’ later , for WC Handy
to pay his many handsome tributes !
The slaves longed for freedom and emancipation,
Singing their ‘spirituals’ with faith and devotion !
While singing they often got into a trance,
And felt like the Israelites in ******* in Egypt,
ordained by fate and chance !
The Mississippi was like the River Jordan across
which they hoped to see, -
A band of Angels coming in their chariots to set
them free,  @
From their suffering, drudgery, and captivity !
Thus ‘improvisation’ becomes a vital ingredient of
Jazz Music;  $
For ‘freedom of expression’ is its distinguishing  
feature, which Jazz music forever seeks.

CONCLUDING  MY PART ONE
‘Jazz’ had come to America in chains, buried
deep inside the black man’s soul.
With a longing for freedom from torture and pain,
Which was then beyond their control!
The tom-tom beats, work songs, Spirituals and the
Blues, -
Were all precursor to Jazz, and here I pause to
pay my homage and heart-felt dues,
To those valiant predecessors who had come in
chains ,
Giving a painful birth to ‘jass’, - from which Jazz
gets its name ! # (notes below)

FOOT NOTES:-
Slaves were sold at 15 dollars per head. Early 1700s saw 75,000 slaves auctioned! By1800s there were one million slaves in US alone! Slaves came from Senegal, Ashantis, Gold Coast, Niger Delta, Dahomey, & the Congo; with a variety of beats and music buried in their minds and hearts !
** The Drums were an essential form of communication in Africa. They believed their Gods communicated through their beats . Those drums provided the basic beats of Jazz Music.
+ 'Blue Music' = became a part of cultural landscape of Southern US by early 1900s, but had remained unnoticed till W.C.Handy published his song –‘Memphis Blues’ in1914.
@ I refer here to the famous ***** Spiritual song -‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’ ! I use to sing this song in my Missionary School in Calcutta in the 50s !  Slaves had sung them in plantation ‘Praise Houses’ during their weekly prayer meetings.
# "JASS" = originally an Africa-American slang meaning ‘***’! Born in the brothels of Storyville (New Orleans)  & the Jasmine perfumes used by the girls there; one visiting them was  said to be 'jassed-up' ! Mischievous boys rubbed out the letter ‘J’ from posters outside announcing -"Live Jass Shows'', making it to read as ‘'Live *** Shows'’! So finally ‘ss’ of ‘jass’ got replaced by 'zz' of JAZZ !
$ “Improvisation” = is the process of spontaneously creation of fresh melodies over the continuously repeating cycle of chord changes of a tune, which distinguishes Jazz from all other musical forms - raising it to its own great Individualistic Heights !
….ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI---
E-Mail : rajnandy21@yahoo.in

thunder cackles in the morning
a witch is a woman
with any amount of wisdom
your words are as bland as coffee
and the dandelions are talking
for i am permanently amused
by vicissitudes and antelopes
and aggregates of moods
feelings and isotopes
hanging by psychotropic ropes
firmly financed by our fingertips
lifetimes triangulated in transitions
farm the fallow fields
and try to heal the poppies
dropping numbers
and putting aside our copies
a simulacrum of similes and shortages
as field mice and farmhands
dance on saturn’s rings
despite all of jupiter’s complexities
your complexion is never shallow
and i swallow seawater
to embrace the sweet finality of life

Let us hold hands,
experience the connection
between the food
we are about to eat
and all those
that made this meal possible.
The farmer and his work hands,
the lawyers and bankers
that drew up the contracts
and financed the crops,
the truckers, the truck makers,
the road builders, bridge builders,
the buyers, distributors,
the cullers, wrappers,
and food handlers including
a vast myriad of ancillary
support troops engaged
in nearly every occupation imaginable.
We, who are about to eat,
give mindful thanks.

It’s the Shiite Protestants we fear the most.
It’s the neo-**** Christians
Scaring the **** out of us now.
It’s those John Birch Catholics
Making us fill our boots with ***,
As in shaking, quaking in our boots,
Complete loss of bladder control
(BLAD-CON MED AD HERE.
I invite Pfizer, Merck and GlaxoSmithKline
To get in on this poem:
The poet continuing to reject the
Dying in the gutter-artist track,
Making poetry pay at last, that’s right:
A commercial right in the
Middle of a ******* poem.
Hey Big Pharma:
What are you selling?
What you got for incontinence, Babaloo?)
But I digress.
I was making a point about
Far-right Christian evangelicals,
A significant demographic within the
American electorate.
Jesus was an Aryan, they believe.
Degenerate Art, Literature, Music & Jews must go!
It’s time to purify the race again.
Time for the Huns &
Other Teutonic tribes to
Broadcast insidious seed.
Anti-Semitism rebooted.
Jew-bashing in America 8.0.
Need I remind the Tea Party that
Haym Solomon-- a Philadelphia Jew--
Financed the Revolution.
What about Bernie Madoff?
When a smart Jew goes to jail in America,
Anything could happen.

They approached self-corrections with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candelabra or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira, immediate to the bags of the Fasmatémporos or breadbaskets, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-correcting in the parallel line of the slip, doubly marked as a sin of omission, and a concessionary violation of the desire to correct oneself in the completely empty desert, holding hands with wax from the Kerós spell candelabrum or wax made by Aristeo's bees, for the pleasure of the avatars of presence in this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the Gethsemane bees, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. When night fell from the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of knots of arachnid legs, which mated with the spider's trochanter, bathed in milk and Corinthian wine. The precautions did not wake them up from the third dream, when they had just broken bread and made the libation for the first time with jugs that glowed superimposed on the icons of the Attic vessels, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of spiders overloaded in the Mataki, and this overloaded on the oak inn that supported it, towards the entire Tagmati in conformation of a model of hoplite spiders, which would gradually transform into specialized units, formed by the precautionary of Aristeo's bees when balancing the unevenness of the tables, Attaching them to the beards depicted in the icons of the vessels, where they saw these images of the future and the past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II providing funding for the new military uniform of the hoplites, completely financed by the coffers Greeks, naming him hegemon of Amphibiousness, after Philip entered central Greece winning at bat Alla de Queronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenians allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies, graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with iconic images of Philip "Lover of the Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses, and in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias de Oréstide as a royal guard.

Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the hindrance of the cornucopia, and in the majolica that classified the blood represented right there, on free floors to self-correct for the entire ****** campaign executed by Filipo, and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies, unworthy to sit at the historical table of the Amphibian, remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second the blood, which was drained by the description that was made of the hoplite representatives, which for the first time sat next to the close history of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Delphic Herophilus, they were served wine of conjectured reverse blood of the Mataki, but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propitiation equipment, which made ties of amnesty where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposia, where nothing did. take into account what would happen with the stipend of Vernarth, who still watched delightedly as more guests soared from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.
The ashamed gods hid behind the chandeliers that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristeo, and the polis that made the grape harvest of Sponde, drinking the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the songs with her mother, pouring out the earthy gynoecium that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and self-correct. Dew-water poured down from Aegean swells with gorges plagued by a voracious and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter broke into, on flat and monumental glasses so that all those who arrived with dexterous fists, could give rise to the mixed drink of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table together al Mataki, who was beginning to replenish himself with the pure essence of necromancy, to begin with, the suppressions of evil eyes, on the hoplites that began to horde them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.

I have bad dandruff
And oh gosh my feet don't dance,
But Lord does my heart.
I can feel it fire-stepping away
On red-hot ants abound
In this anthill of a school.
Stacked molecule to molecule
In undeveloped hives and grottoes not financed,
Forgotten subterranean in the failing facilities
Of a school underbudget are the insects,
The maggot-child students who wriggle
And worm their way from pest to drone,
Caught up in fates not fully grown.
Queen comes down from throne up low,
Where creatures come and villains go,
Slow moving in their ridiculous pace
Of immense inhuman waste.
These people come and itch their heads
(For lice these make most perfect beds),
Made sick in clinic ***** and small
While countless others roam the halls.
I scratch my head and snow, fast, falls,
Though white are floors and bleached are walls.
Cacophonous laughter soon erupts
Volcano bursts from ant-like huts
Of dirt and cave and molecule
Which packs us austere ants in school.
To you poor slaves of Mother Queen,
Who hates to think and hates to dream,
I say, "Have faith, eyes down high,
Though Queen's abode may up low lie.
Look, I lie at the bottom of the chart,
Though way up high in place of heart.
You think these feeble strata last,
From age to age and pasts not cast?
You think when all will leave these halls
That anyone will remember the *****,
That white will be those same walls
That mockingly, to you, still call?
Youth does not ever stay,
No matter nay nor if you pray;
All kids become oppressive Queen
And forget their wild and childish dreams
Where ants go to school and snow comes from hair
And not a single ant can bear
How they recall this place they mark,
Lost in caverns winding and dark.
I may not dance but I still see
How things in future times will be."
These words exit with black contrast,
"Nothing here will last."

Fashion is a female-fueled business. Many glossies have mastheads filled with women; there are tons of female designers; public relations, a key cog in the fashion-industry machine, is two-thirds women. Yet gender inequality is still a legitimate issue in the field — very few European design houses arehelmed by female talent, and women have only recently begun to catch up in terms of top-level executive roles at places like LVMH.

We’re still a ways off from having gender parity in the most influential roles in fashion, not to mention equal pay, and better parental leave policies. But there are some advantages to being a female designer — an innate understanding of the female body and what women truly want to wear, for starters. In honor of International Women’s Day on March 8, shopping app Spring gathered 33 of its female-led brands — including some of our favorite forward-thinking names in the biz — for a campaign called #SpringStories. The original shoot, lensed by Diego Uchitel, explores dozens of designers’ experiences in (and contributions to) the fashion industry.

As part of #SpringStories, users on the e-tailer’s app will be able to “swipe” to donate to I Am That Girl, a charity that aims to “help girls establish physical, emotional, and mental well-being and transform self-doubt into self-love by providing a safe space to have honest conversations about things that matter,” according to the organization’s site. Spring will then match all contributions to the charity.

A handful of the app’s featured designers shared with Refinery29 the ongoing challenges they face as women in the fashion industry, as well as the highlights of getting to design for other women.

Getting the necessary capital to put out collection after collection is tougher for female talents, according to Laura Cramer, cofounder of Apiece Apart. "To build a grounded business poised for growth, you either need to raise money or have deep pockets. The uphill battle for women raising money is much steeper, particularly if you look at data around VC funding, where women-led companies get less than 5%," Cramer says. "Early in our pitching days, I was pregnant and would watch eyes fall to my enlarging belly as we described our road map to success. A man will never know the feeling of people calculating your age, your marital status, and your child-bearing readiness."

And once funding has been achieved, some designers feel a lack of support between women in the industry. “I think a lot of women don't support each other in the ways they should, and it always blows my mind that support and love isn't people's default setting all of the time," says Aurora James of Brother Vellies. "There are a lot of women in this industry, and there is enough success for all of [us]."

Camaraderie is important, certainly, but it's necessary to have women installed in powerful, well-financed creative director roles at the biggest fashion conglomerates to truly work toward having equal opportunities in the industry. "There are many female designers, but not in the top tiers of fashion," says Becca McCharen of Chromat. "The brands backed by companies like LVMH and Kering are predominantly run and owned by men."

Women are especially adept at "designing for changing bodies, with curves, and incredibly diverse days," Cramer explains. Yet there's a (albeit, generalized) contrast in what drives designers' ideas, according to Tanya Taylor: "Men design for desire and women design for purpose," she says. "The biggest challenge is how you make purpose desirable."

Though there certainly are ways to make clothing that elicits desire without being overtly ****. "Becca [McCharen] from Chromat — she has an incredible understanding of the female body in all of its many incarnations and she designs for that; she basically builds scaffolding for the body," James raves. "She supports women both ideologically and literally. It's lingerie, but it's not about *** — show me a man who has done anything like that."

#SpringStories' eclectic roster also includes labels like Negative Underwear, Misha Nonoo, Marcia Patmos, Rebecca Minkoff, Outdoor Voices, and Eileen Fisher.See more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

Pushing back occlusions,
opening the shame shed,
I said, If I could, I would, love my enemy...
Our... inspiring wedom myth or mystery
bring your least worthy self, knowing
only we
prayers, never having heard me prayers,
save from dying folks on telly,
pray…
------------- times and time, and a half a time
memorial days to come,
during some poor soul's error,
finding I am as alive as ever was,
thinking we imagine life without us
is as if no life were, but we know better.

Ersatz Earth and Star maps from Griffith Park.

Life with no beat, buzzing, humming cicada rate
when do we assume the mind frame, cicada rate

cycles subterranean, staggered emersions, cosmic
clocks synchronized, some when, once, aha, we all,

us cicada, concentrations, thinking we don't have
cicadas where I live, so my ears are in a realm older,

if, in fact, fiction is not an art, fitting future hope
where now, hate and envy and incredulity hold hostage

truths we never speak of in church.

One way I have told the greatest story ever told,
the story bound within the covers on the book of life.

Lo', a bystander waves, signaling all clear. Tabula rosa.

Right on, some where, higher on the pain share meter,
O, Danny Shapiro, the pain, the pain, a toothache in 1873.

As the conditions were, but for a rural farm project 'lectric,
one light bulb, one refrigerator, one resistance coil burner.

A rather Spartan lifestyle, as reported,
in the Washington Star, the Moonies Newspaper,
sa sa lederlin sa, we lost our way in 1983, woke here, as
ware
with python variables accessible by original Hypercard scripts.

Imitating Life, the entirety of living things, non-infinite things,
ones,
onces upon times,
not this one, then those days,

solitude, subtlest fortitude, iron cage, bricked in,
put away in penance in some hyper holy cult of killers.

Here he comes, to save the day!
That means that Mighty Mouse, is on the way!

Who financed Snidely Whiplash?
Who floated Wiley Coyote's single satisfaction source
of never ending creative means to fail, for a laugh,

Slap stuck without the embarassment you see in comics,
assment so wise it feels too cheap, freedominion wedoming.

Give me the children, for three hours each Saturday,
I'll give you certified boomer level consumers, trust me.

Three Musketeers was big enough for you and two chosen.
Who is it who gets it,
the girls, boo, old advertising boom repercussing, whamo!

No fee poetic licentiousness' eh? Free for the reader's attention

in the realm of musing minds joining when winds tighten
to force a flush from the wetlands to feed the fish,
who feed the people who feel better thin than fat.

I would not refuse to *******.
not on a mere ethical technicality
a cursed dialectic sheared and far less pretty
than the contents of your *******
smooth as oysters lips from where your barraged ocean
falls on salty fingertips

you shall bathe in this warm artifice of my adoration
and be my play waif,
my relief from the wristed finesse
that I have become so used to

and I shall take you away from this place
where the chill of a boneless glass sustains
the shadows and fog of a self-financed ******
and Eurydice might still be expected to rise
from beneath a carpet of stone blossom

but in the sober morning a killer may raise
the bones of dead eyebrows and watch the moping steam
evanesce from the wet heart bed
bled full of drowning lungs,
the mangled target of perspective reduced
to something so blessed

How come we fight for our country and put our lives on the line, for a corrupt political system and officials that lie.

We fight overseas for our freedom, and we do so with honor. Yet how can we be free, when our government is secretly keeping all of its citizens monitored. Its no secret Americas broke, so its a joke that we still spend, billions of dollars a year on our nations defense.

I guess when your obsession is power, the best direction is war. When were face to face with recession, how can we justifiably spend more.

We stand by our leaders. We expect their actions to  honor there name. Only to be left with corporate corruption, financed for political gain. Now a days the word justice, fails to hold its function. When big business contributions, purchase the people that govern us.

So how do you tell the people, that our debit is so vast. That our currency is becoming worthless, without panicking the mass.

By consistently creating conflicts, that create a flow of cash.
This is how it all works, with the current system in play. The poor go to a war, that the the middle class pays, the people in power see a profit, and the soldiers feel the pain.

Yes, I am angry, *******,
******* and spitting
For people who annoy me
And really deserve hitting.
I rage against people who
Never did a thing to me
I want to jail some of them
And never let them free.

I’m angry because here I am
Getting older and I’m paying
For loafers and immigrants
Do you hear what I’m saying?
Trump said it right out loud
We pay more taxes than anyone.
So we can have a lady president?
Only fools would want that done!

Women and swishy guys
And bums in the streets.
You gotta be kidding me!
Wouldn’t that be sweet?
Taking all my money so they
Don’t ever have to work.
What are they thinking?
That I’m some kind of ****?

And here I am driving in
A ten year old automobile
When some welfare mom
Is driving brand-new wheels?
And now they’ve got colored folks
And gay shows on our TV.
That sounds like communism
And socialism to me.

So, yes, I am super mad
That only the GOP cares
Dems makes up lies and create
A bunch of libtard scares.
Our country seems worse to me
For the past ten years
And is busily pulling our great
Country down around our ears.

(I wrote this because I know
By first and last names
Acquaintances and family
Who preach this kind of shame.
They get their news from outlets
That are financed by the few
That give the gripers false issues
Then they do what they're told to do.)

Look at you   all pantsy Fants and dah Dee la
Itching your teeth  drying your eyes   Wiring Some Cash
       and clicking your camara
                        a baby aimed for the world at large
                                   reformed gormless
                             and clean for fresh intelligence

Look at you   all lancing the breeze and cancer free
Bewitching the trials of your enemies  
financed and careering
a duchess with ease
on the leash of some tremendous villainy

An Open Letter to the Governor of New York
and the Mayor of New York City.

Dear Sirs,

Why is it, year after year, you two insist upon keeping the sales
of the miracle herb cannabis in the hands of criminals. Do you Not
know the infrastructures that so desperately need to be repaired
could be financed by a state and city sales tax of this wonder-kind plant.
But, no!  You keep letting criminals gain power by letting them have all the profits.  Dear sirs, please open your minds for a moment. A state and city run controlled cannabis operation would not only generate enough income for bridge and tunnel repairs but, also aid in the education system. Most important if you legalize the miracle herb, you could have the police concentrate on the larger problem which is 5th graders hooked on ****** for LIFE! If you cannot see the progress this would create then, you surely have kickbacks from criminals. Allowing these lowlife **** to continue to reap profits from illegal sales is just plain insanity and a criminal act in itself. Please stop giving criminals power. And concentrate on the Real issues.

Thank you in advance,

A Poet

Some diadochi came escaping from the Vóreios of Zefian, the ships of Boeotia married the dynastic of the new progenies of their infants, who prepared them for the fourth Bestiary, which in turn also escaped from the third Bestiary of the bear that tore apart everything that presented itself, within its claws and its jaws. The third imperialist beast of the bestiary was Hellenistic; It had bear claws and crushed the fish of the Aegean Sea with its fangs, this, in turn, tried to grab the dragon's back with its snout with the bear's paws and the feline's steel claws to stretch them over its lion's jaws, unleashing the inter-bestiary that severed the parallelism of the Amphictyony and the Apocalypse, summoning Alexander the Great to revive him from his larnax in the highest Prophet Ilias, this will entail the ablution of his soul and appropriation of his new empire of the Seventh Heaven to atone for all the atrocities of his empire of Blood and Corruption. Alexander the Great was aware of the existential drama of eternity for him, in order to aspire to be anointed as a Converted King and dispense with the root of the inter-bestiary in the claws of the bear with the claws of steel of the lion of the fourth bestiary. They all sailed by one major mast starting from the Delphic prophecy of Herophile, which transfigured the Trojan chronology by more island resources into dramatic new deity cultures with over twelve deities which had to include one more of the demi-god Vernarth totally dissuaded from the plague of Aristaeus in great dishonor due to the taxonomic Animalia that was in its vanguard, re-leveling the nuanced skies, also the oceans that were erected mostly on the level of Hisarlik with thirty-three meters above sea level, plus as many from the cavern to 269, and under the Prophet Ilias of 798 as a consequence of parallel parapsychology with Troy. The theological transcendental civilizing mission trembled to the Tempe valley, Thessaly specifically in the small valley in the Agia Paraskevi church, for altars that will return the ancestral domains of the locality to their voices near the Arethusa fountain. From here they will triangulate the libertarian magnificence of the animality of the bees of Gethsemane for the reciprocal of the source of Castalia, up to the Source of life on Patmos as the second coming of Jesus. From where Eurydice will always flee as she once was away from Aristaeus, so as not to be bitten by the serpent. All this transcription of the double consequence of immortal Eurydice brought gifts for each component of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, making sure that Aristeo's bees did not die, being saved by Vernarth's bees, who redoubled submythology, hanging on it as a parallel classical narrative in the construction of the Duoverse under the Áullos Kósmos. The three sources were unified with Vóreios, becoming the patrimony of the Moshaic gods for the good of an outstanding Mythological virtue with sub-mythological parallelism, with gods conditioned in the rabbinic divinity. They undertook the glamorous descent with the vapors of Delphi with their ethanol, alleviating Alikantus towards the pilgrim resulting from his connotation of a taurine steed close to a ram, but of Delphic psychic magnetism saving potential victims with the repeal of the beekeeping world of Aristaeus.

The gods of Faith went hand in hand, in some cases, they did not recognize their gender or status, but rather the divine and ineffable condition of the unrepentant Seventh Heaven, ad libitum of Titania as a mental abstraction of pro-Olympic labyrinths, which have not born under the eaves of it. Spring and winter came arrogating themselves in all the rapes and abductions of the flowers that would not germinate, and that would go away due to the promiscuous twilight that was made of dawn in some flowers that did germinate on the defenseless edge. The converted Alexander the Great caressed the tunic that he looked at more than the one used by the maiden, he looked towards his own chlamys that did not make him helpless from his gaze in the ability to transform into a Converted King, almost like a beautiful celestial lion after leaving the libidinous gestures of Astarte as a foreign goddess and mother of the lift that made her doubt the rain that was refined as a gregarious hostess in celibate women who tried in outbursts of Alexander the Great by removing Astarte's veil of darkness, in cases of lost loves of the transcript Forest of Hylates, or in the awakening of the Apennines when it was the trophy of a felid winged tetra in the rooms of the runaway Bayard of Charlemagne.

The rain bathed millennia that traveled from the boreal of Vóreios to the insane Argive spaces in the Peloponnese where the first maiden hangs her braids sixteen times to forty times more, before all the brides who stay awake in the hours that have not sworn eternal misogyny. Spring served winter mead with sweet late-harvest wine from the valley of the Sharon plain, they embraced by the chamsin, squabbling in the sand that Zefian had hoarded before enchanted by the interval of Delphi. The north and south forks dried up the cobblestones of the dusty ground, where the chamsin reverberated suffering for more than forty-six weeks, making light prey on the song of the three sources of Life, the Castalia and the source of Arethusa. A solemn red stain could be seen on the little sky that blinded the chairs that held the intramurals of the wind tunnel, breathing on the chamsin turning it into murals of dust forced to channel it and always be levitating in the gushes that shelled drops of rain, and sand in the disturbed electrical animations that made him possessed in the spiers at the mere tone of liquid marble in which they already spoke of Hellenic modernity of barbarism of the Ruah Qadím, banishing the spire from the east wind for fifty days. The lights and festivities could be seen illuminating from the feared height when descending from the diminished light of the amplified candle; everything resembled a dwelling where everyone was seated at a long table that had no end in the center of seven candlesticks, seven bread baskets, with a chalice, everyone gossiping along with the bees of Gethsemane that did everything in their glosses and nectars that they celebrated in the mansions gleaming with the transit of the muffins of San Juan and its Hexagonal. Raeder clung to the red and blue Gerakis with gold seams that talked of dining and their oblate.

They began to sit away from the cruel gods of those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this free table of the very well-valued elixir with the deities invited Phrygian women, who only laughed and favored the secrecy of the bread of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of who await a lavish banquet on a table in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective and tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They drank the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and the baking that altered the enzymes of some harsh dispute against Asia, which Leiak concocted with benevolent sorcery by giving it sip water from the drinking sea of Asia Minor. in front of illuminated Troy. The table is made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that was sprinkled by Persephone's strong winds as she fell hastily and longing to meet Demeter; she is picking it up from the gale with her feet pulverizing the soft grains of Hapalos Artos, with goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone of hers when cleaning them with white leaves of the dough fluffy It used to be called Cappadocia yeast until it reached the edges of the noble bread that were installed on the table as Lakhma bread as a metaphysic of the Eucharist that took place on the white tablecloth that shrank every time it was taken as domestic bread when rolled in the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue from the protective actions of those who take advantage of a good alliance of water, and the bread on the table with bad thoughts that anger the battered thick curtains of abundance and prosperity of the ill had. The Iaspis or Jaspers resembled supra scalded as of natural belonging and shimmering authenticity in the rarity that did nothing more than make buffoons from Southeast Asia and not from Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life at full strength to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian coming and gliding in the seasonal, holding on to some veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sipping from the dense spring that floated through the waves. The atmosphere of the Mataki, to later pour it into the chalices absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of superior lapses of any known numeral but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus secrete with the desire of a sommelier who sips the distilled water from the ravines over the chalices that lessened the badly criminal cruelty of those who do not taste the food for another dinner, congratulations if there was a failure of the Caucasus, where elixirs of mixed and sanctified muscatel wine are brought out under the table of San Juan. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver who coveted this table of Mataki for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace each other, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. All of those who let go of their shyness and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating deposed by paying sacred attention to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual taste, becoming effective in those who toast with muscatel for all the star maidens who followed him above, violating the seals that held them prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the karats for its recalculation, subjecting them to the safeguard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyélaios, and seven discopotira immediately to the bag of the phasmatemporos or Enchanted Paneros to taste Self-corrections were approaching with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candlesticks or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira immediately to the bags of the Fasmatemporos or bread basket, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-corrected in the parallel line of slip doubly marked as a sin of omission, and concessional violation of the desert's desire to self-correct fully empty having hands with wax from the candelabrum of Kerós' spell or wax made by the bees of Aristaeus to please the avatars present at this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the bees of Gethsemane, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. By nightfall of the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of leg joints from mating arachnids from the spider's trochanter drenched in milk and Corinthian wine.

The precautionary did not wake them from the third sleep when they had just broken the bread and made the libation for the first time with alcuzas that shone superimposed on the icons of the Attic vases, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of overloaded spiders in the Mataki, and it is overloaded on the oak inn that supported it towards the entirety of the Tagmati in the formation of a model of hoplite spiders that would transform into specialized units formed by the deprecation of the bees of Aristeo by balancing the unevenness of the tables by attaching them with the figured beards in the icons of the vases, where they saw these images of the future and past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II dispensing financing for the new military uniform of the hoplites completely financed by the Greek coffers, naming him hegemon of the Amphictyony after Philip entered central Greece and won the battle from Chaeronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenian allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with Philip's iconic images "Lover of Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias of Oréstide as royal guard. Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the drag of the cornucopia, and in the majolicas that classified the blood represented right there on free floors to self-correct for all the ****** campaign carried out by Philip and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies unworthy of sitting at the historical table of the Amphictyony remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second of the blood that was drained by the description made of the hoplite representatives, who for the first time They once sat next to the close track record of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Herophile Delphic, they were served wine of conjectured blood reverted from the Mataki but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propination equipment that made amnesty bonds where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposiums, where nothing made to have Bearing in mind what would happen to Vernarth's stipend, he was still delighted to see more guests come up from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.

The ashamed gods hid behind the candlesticks that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristaeus, and the polis that harvested the Sponde, sipping the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the canticles with her mother, pouring out the earthly gynaeceum that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and correct themselves. Spray water fell from tidal waves from the Aegean with throats plagued by a ravenous and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter burst upon, flat and monumental goblets for all who arrived with skillful fists to give rise to the mixed consumption of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table next to the Mataki, which began to replenish pure essence of necromancy to start with the suppressions of evil eyes on the hoplites that began to pierce them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.

High. Grossly elevated to the point where only your bursting bunions can be seen by us commoners.
Don’t trouble your head in the clouds, us peasants will fan your warts and peel your pimples. You are so full of pus after all.
We have financed the altar with our pennies in the hope that it will lift us out of your corrupt oppression.
We will at a word carry your weight, thoughts and offspring.
Press down, go on, push hard, harder, bury us all in the dirt as you move up, high, higher. Altitude sickness? Ill. In sickness and in health you head explodes under the buzz of your unhealthy ego. The altar can be a hostile heaven.

2020 - day 181

Monday, June 29, 2020
9:39 AM

one new day with no agenda, plenty of water and fresh air,

I walk a mile according to GPS, encouraging me
one daring deed done,

what's next? Write readable words, breathe life into readers,
read them,
without you, there are no living words, dear reader, rare
as you can imagine you are,
unique, an itty bitty unique being, on the grand scale.

Living words live in living readers... hmmm, never imagined
that,
did we become farmers first or story tellers?
it's in the meme's
more than the genes, the giants men imagined in the past
memetics passed in spiced wine mulled with stones
from the edge of fire
where we entertain such strangers as come upon us
unawares

⌱⌱

the price of my attention is what I choose to pay.
is it mine?
my attention, yes,
it
is my own to pay with.
What am I buying?
Whence comes this
currency
most valued in my time?
2020 vision plainly placed to catch
those of us,
our kind, dear readers in times of performance art
acting right... as deemed
by the academy
of performing artificers...

Daedelus, make me an imaginary universe in which I may
be mayor.
May shall be
my word, but here, in mine and mr. hicks peaceful kingdom,
may is yours to use as you will,
dear reader role deafault mode,
may being the impetus in the petition we agree to re
petere
to pass those impearled palisades of instuted gnowns
holy-way-outer-otherwise
saints and disconnected, click
st. peter -- all those pearly gate jokes, those pearls financed
nuance novus ordum did dump dump dump

-- look what the pigs ate.
-- naquered NAND gates in series, shitcity wecan go any where, from here

we could build a Yeti world from yak turds, according to
grandaughter number two's review
of Smallfoot, the -- what is this? new truth to reveal the old truth
which is this truth re

presented as drama of original intention, aimed at children,
my grandchildren,
memes reinforcing heresy as a silly gift intended for kidding... poking
stuck in the mud old dudes into the now,
your now, my future...

nice

haecceity, I think is the term that yoosto mean uni-kitty,

quit. really, as real as you may imagine --- There is a character,

known well to my granddaughter noel,
Unikitty -- quit, you are kidding
(playing by saying an unbelievable thing, testing an olden
rule,

is this that, ex-act, post-done? only kidding, we yoosto say.}

to ti esti, as Aristotle is said to have said, in Wikipedia,

{beta galactic encyclopedia, eh, 2020 tech is enough,
we can finish art ify ing the substance of hope,
set a watchman,
build on that rock,   -- kidding, I see the key peter issue lock
spring open

in my future, may hap or no, who knows?
Eh?
He knows what grows, who knows what seed he sows.}

Were we to agree we listen to voices singing the same tune,
often in time with more mind in default
wandering mode, fretless, fectless functional bliss,

in some songs we get carried a way, a meme away a meme away
we
leavened a world with new hope ***, and boom,
babies, all over the world,

and war claims the reason... the worth to be set on historic scale,
of winning the power of the
cultural corporate mind's will to POWER, bogus sci-******* vision,

woe is us, the truth has been eradicated,

we stand, one nation, under God... since the summer of 1954.

But words and pictures, now, for history, we have witnesses
who, technically, cannot lie.

we have moving pictures in technicolor with grand artworks of music
tuning us in to to

to ti esti, the what it is question's answer. What it is?
Word, old dude, Blue Mountain Rastaman, to ti esti, be

******* way t'say what it is. Tiswhatis.

Watchadoinswatchadoin t'me. I'm fine. Made up m'mind t' be agreeable.
Jes' don' lie, fit me to d' T. {wink} AI mind if you mind, but not much.

Adolf ******

My mother had an Uncle Adolf who after the war changed his name to Dollen. He walked funnily because he froze his toes off in the Arctic. The real Adolf was an evil phenomenon life throws
at us, but he didn't exist in a vacuum.
After the First World War which he fought with bravery he
nevertheless was a nobody trying his hand as a painter
selling them in the street of Vienna.
He became interested in the National socialistic party
attended meetings and was asked to speak.
His voice was hypnotic when he spoke of injustice
and the bad influence the Jews had in the society he was
a man the masses understood, but he spoke of hate.
His dream was of a greater Germany, but the Jews stood
in the way he wanted a race clean Germany and approached
the mufti of Jerusalem to take them he refused to claim
Jews would destroy Palestine. But for him, the Jewish question
was a sideshow he wanted to rule Europe and defeat Russia,
millions of Jews were murdered as were Roma people
and Russians. He lost the war we should be grateful for that,
in the end, he shot himself and Germany in ruin.
A mystery remains, who financed this ****** to commit a crime
we must not forget because if we are not careful, it can
happen again, and we see the inception of this hate in Israel.
(Adolf ****** 1889 – 1945)

No need to drift away or dismiss you
You are not going anywhere
Here to stay you remain as close as my body
Your lips pressed to my skin I feel where you fit in
I am ready to stray in the shades of your symphony
We awake in limitless wonder as the thunder rumbles
We drown in laughter all too familiar
I observe the faces of welcomed falsehoods
All the systems that agree to disagree
Yet we still somehow believe in infinity
Life is love beyond the scope of our identity
So sit back and smile at the infinite perplexity
We are bewildered and filtered through our ego
Shadow shrouds and then tries to hound you
Why are we proud of the crowds
Who never move or think to refuse our gratitude
They just bruise themselves
With the truths they borrow but can’t uphold
We are bold like the gardens
Financed in the autumn
Love is warm like a pool in summer
We are tumbling down barren hillsides
I found my anima and now she guides my mind
Yet there is more death here
Than anyone could ever hope
To put a rhyme or reason to

Later then than now,
yesterday as we imagined,

so many things they think again,
and again
and again,

we passed this way my friends,
we made right now
into a happy place,
-just now, to remind you

we leave you photos of us
all at once,
taken from our robot eyes,

national pride financed projects.

Visible through this window,
go look, see the whole world,
in the cloud of all we ever knew

there is even one with the moon's

night side showing. We are small,

but I am in the red MAGA hat, waving.

I don't see you but you were there,

or possibly, would be if we took this shot
today, hook and loop, look at us, that's Earth.

That's where every prophecy was told from.