Many daze in the rippsy tav the Nates will hiber by their Glit
'N sometime prea with the gigaslav and there zellgreth betwit.

Now once there was a Tilly Stoet who'd paineram in the dippserill
Nifty Nates would knowet and greal it's very Tips-a-Prill

A day or more had passed in tyme till one day the gigaslav broke
Now Tilly Stoets speak of brine 'n the merryjaunah they'd smoke.

Oh they'd **** there poppers 'n slop their drippers
'Till one day the pole greasemen came.

The Tilly Stoets acted like poets and that was really O.K.
But the buzzers were fuzzers and wouldn't ya knowet

They took all there pots away.

i try to fall asleep to the sound of atmospheric tones and rain

yet nothing can seem to dull the pain
of what i've always felt for you
what i'll always feel for you,
don't tell me this **** isn't new for you
too

i try to fall asleep to the sound of atmospheric tones and rain
but my mind remains
disturbed
i think i am quite
perturbed

i fell asleep to the sound of atmospheric tones and rain
my mind quietly hiber-
nates

---october, same year, after the bomb,

How should we train the surplus of boys?
We can't use them to sweep chimneys any more.
Nor work in Nike's winged victory factory,
child labor's not a means to an end
any more.
A seller must sell such as toys in Thailand today.

There are too many to waste efficiently in war.
A global conundrum beating time in our global brain.

A conundrum beating cadence for the dancers on parade.
Proud dancers with a vision...

Utopian distanty visiony,
since nought left ought as our only
understood shelter,
from the storm. Cower under ought, my child,
every thing is under control.

You are welcome in our safe place,
was once the reply to thanks, in essence, that was meant.

Now, it's no problem, serves and means nothing, in return.

Why should any boy grow into man? Let them play.
Entertainment's all that needed,
that'n' bread, with sugar,
that'll fixit, do the trick, keep the boy in hero role, virtually
forever, never growing
wiser.

Virtual virtue. Tech them that.
Virtually anyone can see the connection,
virtue, virtually means

What? Exactly. The act is outed.
Virtue went forth from Jesus, there's the bomb.

What does virtue being drawn through thy very e-sense
feel like?
Would we know, you or I, the feeling of virtue going out,
escaping?

A shocking short circuit? or a buzzer triggered by alarming
outflow of essential immaterial
stuff. Unnamed, unspeakable stuff?

Immaterial. The judge declares. The clar-if-ication
means look
elsewhere.

Virtue is too dangerous for little boys at play.
'Tis a cept, signified, perhaps
that
is what a sceptre does, officially it de-sig-nates who got it,
when virtue first
appeared needing shelter in the storm.
lightning lightening,
immaterial. Nonsense, can you sense immaterial matter.
You can't touch it. The judges believe.
Nor can mortals
even imagine immaterial matters reserved for Kings and king builders.

So why seek whys, when nothing matters more than...
why? what? who? when? where?
altogether on the six o'clock news.
All-in-one, all the knowing needed. Be joyfully entertained.
Sing along, meaningless songs,
doo-dah day.
Hallelujah (wait, did you say that? Out loud, ever? In a song?

What if... never mind.. could be a trap. Don't think it means anything. An old fashion past, that's all, now.
No magi utterance that changes
matters, in real time.
Not words and ideas, but
Clocks rule this domain, it's minions are the yoke bearers pulling
loads declared worthy of laboring incessantly happy.
The yoke is on you. (Take mine, it's light.) Carry on.

Take Sisyphus, for ensample. He's as happy as a clam, they say.
Those who live near the see declare the wee bivalves happy as pi.
We don't know why.
That's all.
At this particular point in time, as the ped-ants say.
Let patience perfect that which concerns you.
Let simple morph to sublime.

See, Jesus winked.

if words are rounds, then I̲'m gonna send
a bullet storm on sordid dictators
being, along with ro[ɑ]tten regimes
of theirs, a bunch of derm inflammations
on the body of the world; disgruntled & mean
I'm your personal Gray Hunt
[Grayson "Gray" Hunt who's a playable protagonist of the "Bulletstorm" game]
I'ma, like someO̲ne who was in—
—volved in spetsnaz & forcibly breaks ones
imprisoned for co[ɑ]nscience from clinks
one-two-three, then the bloodshed begins
[prisoners of conscience; "one to free"]
having heard "no smoking", harsh P—ayne
turned & smack—t Wayne with a "hopeless" ash-tray
["smoking" in the sense of "killing"; Max Payne & Bruce Wayne]
[Batman's "no killing" rule, which is hopeless, as well as Max's existence]
["ane" (one), "twain" (two), "trey" (three)]
————————————————————————————————
it would be nothing short of mendacious
to say I don't wish y'all misfortunate states of
affairs, like divorces & break-ups (crack!)
yeah, all the worst to dictators
hopefully, y'all ****** jerks will be faced with
infernal damnation
for every singular person paraded
civilly through streets in support of good changes
and been delivered brute force in repayment
people in jails & clinks mauled
and denied of med help, disinfo
unjustified wars, liquidations
of those subverting a heinous sociopol. course undertaken
of course, fabrications when it's time fO̲r legal cases
(and elections, of course)
and nowadays, you've got Y̲O̲U̲r pesky agents
working on breaking
the web like Bourne which is Jason (Webb, David)
here come my warm salutations
to that stupid web regulator
that serves the dang Craymlin (got it?)
like your walking shyotka tualetnaya, take a
["toilet brush" in Russian]
[another sobriquet fitting the rhyme scheme: "toilet predator"]
hike; Y̲O̲U̲r limitations
hitting media insubmissive ta
the sick regI̲me which y'all sustain by dint of digital
censorship, to individuals with a set of principles
and views akin/sim. to mine, are like pork to unwave[—]ring
[the word's supposed to be read/pronounced as "unwayvring"]
Muslims; in other words, we evade 'em
(what are you gonna do about it?)
as you were told, better block Y̲O̲U̲r **** BHs
you subservient A-licks
["buttholes"; "a##-lickers"]
————————————————————————————————
now, let's revert to the arch black hats
when you get a just backlash
or, like drinks allowed for thO̲se under eighteen
minor shots, y'all schmucks get sore, 'kin to nates
["shots for minors"]
of someone earned a good lacing
fO̲r misbehaving (just like y'all)
get yourself some butthurt-mitigative
stuff, you scO̲rn-ridden vain ******
you're worthless like an ****** absorbed medication
to you procured a gunshot gorge perforation
but first you'd get your arms
and legs shot in its hinge joint parts
[that is, elbows & knees]
that's some mean **** marks—
—manship; as you may've gathered
like a workforce undertaken
reaping, you depraved dastards
with your regimes are something I'm sU̲re not okay with
minus them paid guarders
with shoulder marks worn & you're Swayze
for when your brainwa[ɑ]shers
and other order-maintaining
tools no longer make masses
conform to the mainstream
acts of force are your last resort
like a semi-island-based palace
[sounds familiar]
housing some gorgeous gals craving
to have some unchaste practice
["lust resort"]
some of those going po[ɑ]liticians or power-wielders
are by then already sordid? like forgery traders
not the type to think so
that's humankind's horrible nature
evolved to a high degree, though
still animals, thus Earth's, in a way, a
jumbo jungle; got a shade sidetracked
like a train, my bad; I'ma explain, like that
Malaysian Boeing Ukraine skies'd had (ex-plane)
[had had]
before it got razed 'kin/sim.
to the outrage of folks storming a place which
a c#cks#cking usurper is based in
["raised"]
the earlier stated
"BFWID"; once you are no more animated
like a cartoon paused, the verdict is plain 'kin/sim.
to a suit that is mourning-related
a torrid vacation, metaphorically saying
yet no point in packing Y̲O̲U̲r freaking raiment
since Y̲O̲U̲r destination's nothing short of pure Hades (if there is)
["sins"]
in fact, unlike some of you, I'm irreligious, but
it doesn't mean I'm cold to medieval stuff
like a hedonistic brush with a chick replete with lust
in this realm, there may be a wicked **[ɑ]t
time for you; akin/sim. to witches stuck
to those stakes, you may end up lit as f#ck
like after a cig. with **** you are
in the garden of the post-en—lightenment time going
["thyme"]
which, in fact, is the reason I
["reason I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "reasoner"]
and others with opinions similar
to mine think Earth's in need of getting rid of ya
————————————————————————————————
chief authoritarian crooks worldwide
and all those contributing to their rule of vice
you know what have just come tO̲ my mind?
look, douchewads, why
don't y'all take a tiled-rooftop hike?

it gives my heart ease, to sit quietly
in the corner of your room
and watch you, as you sleep...

i sit in the chair
where not so long ago
you suckled at my *******

and marvel
at how the years have passed
at how you have grown.

i used to hold your feet
in the palm of my hand
and look down
on your little baby face

now you run and play,
you are daddy's little man
and nanna's goodboy
and tom and nates bestest buddy

this is the time,
sometimes the only time,
when i have you
all to myself,
this is the time when i spend
a few moments stolen from the world
to  watch you
curled up into a little ball
this is the time
when my womb calls to me
and i sigh and say;

"he was once ours but now
he belongs to a bigger, brighter place"

this is the time
when i kiss your sleeping brow
and give you
once more into the care of the god's
and then turn and go to bed.

Warhawk and Nate
The Warhawks took off and flew upwards
Like angry hornets looking for trouble
Covering the frail old biplane
A flying camera with brave crew
Tasked to look for enemy locations
Flying here and there warlanes they were
American flown Curtiss fighters
Guarding the Filipino crewed Stearman
On a mission of war in the second global war
The **** were ready and scrambled planes
Nates took off and headed for battle
Each side had skilled determined pilots
Men would die today and planes be wrecked
Like something from Hollywood they clashed
Vicious little snappers reeling about the sky
Rolling turning diving climbing shooting dodging
The battle went till fuel and ammo was gone
Two planes and pilots never made it back
Both fought like demons and paid the price
Each side lost a pilot and plane
They both came to grief on the same mountain
And left comrades and loved ones behind
Bits of broken airplanes on the mountain
Lost forgotten unwanted for decades
Till the wrecks were eventually found
Some answers revealed more questions posed
Only the pilots' ghosts and God knew the truth
In this Tarac Ridge battle February 9 1942
The day Stone and Kurosawa died...