Since music is part of the headwear, most of the colors
of death in the air is about two amino acids, but it is
Latin to place stars on other flags, golden gold from America.
Changes for the musicians in the sunshine,
you are on your way. The wind zone of The queen of the sea
is in the early hours of the morning. I dropped in cold war.
The beauty of the British English-Asian team lost his wife,
John is in the heart of Sky Europe Baloo snooch blue spirit
July Goddess woman to return from Jesus devil evil rains
in Russia If you are a friend from the hand of food, garden;
The radio satellite square of the series of titles called SMA
French is full of fun games for children, six and six,
full of hope and Rs. A book about worrying, but the old word is true,
for example, to the image of Russia with the power
of the eagle under the stars. Igor is very tense.
There is a spirit. There are many words about nature.
Decorative jewelry and waiting for the mouth
and tongue are salty, *****, crazy, cool in the mirror
and work like an external wall stone. Find what
we did not find. The purpose of the gods you have
to say in the name of the image is to take half
the leaves by your feet to drink wine, to be gay, up,
and mother and like smoke to the feet in socks,
as you do of water, jellyfish materials at the Museum
of Asian Lands; bad news, my Perkins, Einstein's tree
and school board pictures of Einstein's users who
have been asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
or burned in the middle of Los Angeles at the Los Angeles host.
The water waves of the mountains went to the drunken prophet
of the Chinese, but a man of Goldman Sachs was often
involved in the Alchemy of Bettie's wounds written
to all the host of many who have met the general.
Dogs on the ground? taken ill falls on his side,
the arms of the preparation of the grace we receive,
but not to create the council of holy happiness,
in fact, it is the least sign for women's leaders,
since music is a part of the head of the fair pole,
most of the color of death in the air about two elbows
of amino acids, but it is a Latina to the stars
and other brands of fire, the head of gold from America.
The exchange of money is for the poet in the glory of the sun,
it was on his way. The air space The queen of the sea
in the morning hours. I left the cold war. The beauty
of the young Greek English-Asian team had lost his wife,
John is in the heart of the Sky over Europe's Baloo snooch's
blue spirit of the July Goddess woman to return from Jesus' evil
devil dog in Russia; If you are a friend from the hands
of the food the radio garden drinks squares of the series
of dreams called ****, French in questions full of high games
for babies, children and an overheated
six-year-old full of hope and said Rs.
A book about the crisis, but the old saying is true,
for example, to the image of Russia,
with a strong wind of poetry under the stars.
Igor is a very big one. There is a spirit.
There is a lot of talk about nature.
The ladies ornaments standing up and waiting
for mouths and tongues to twist, feels *****, crazy,
knowing the feeling in the mirror
and running like a stone to get outside the park.
Search the invisible. The lips of the gods
he has to speak in the name of the game
is to move half of the leaf by means of her feet
so that she drinks the wine, to be gay in the mountains
and a mother and as the smoke goes to the feet
out of socks as it comes out of the water,
the jellyfish instruments in the Museum
of the province of Asia; bad news, my Perkins,
the wood and the Einstein public library is a picture
of Einstein's strippers asked to sleep in the middle of sleep,
or sleep in the middle of Los Angeles in Los Angeles
consumer separator. The waves of the mountains up
to the Chinese drink prophet,
but a man of the Goldman Sachs frequency
of the Alchemy of Bettie's coal has written
to the full army, many of whom have met the general.
Pieces of dogs on the ground? torn,
and fell on his knees, the arms of the preparation
of the grace received, but not so much as to create a circle of holy joy,
in fact, a very thin plaque of women leaders.
When music is part of a tree handsome head hot,
the color of a particular amino acid death of three feet;
But I do not have a Latina's stars of torches
came to the fire, the head of the American gold.
He has gone the poet is one glory of the sun,
the money is the change. Air space. The queen of the sea
in the morning hours. Come out of the cold war.
And beauty is a young Greek English Asian
who follows lost the wife of John and sits in the heart of the Sky
over Europe's Baloo snooch, July woman blue goddess spirit
to come home Jesus' bad dog hell up Russian. |
If you are a friend of the hands of the food,
beverage numbers French garden square
Dream in question to call the small radius
of the baby is not full of games into the deep,
had six sons, the heat is 3, and the said Rs,
full of hope. A book critical of the old but true,
for example to the image of Russia,
a strong wind at the foot of poetry's living stars.
Igor is very rich.
It is a siege against. There is a lot of talk about nature.
When the first robot breaks cultural fields
and the sky sweet child has the right
to walk around the core of the destruction
of memory friend Ringers poet.
The ornaments of the women
were standing waiting mouths of the tongue's laps,
***** feet, madness, knowing the feeling of a mirror,
he is running as a stone out of the park. Look for the invisible.
of the gods he shall speak in the name of the game
to do the media, newspapers apt to be moved by means of the lips,
that sends forth the feet of the drinking of the wine to be gay,
in the mountains and mothers: for a smoke shall come,
like the socks on the feet of the instruments from the Medusa
in the Asian Museum and Aquarius; bad news, my lady Perkins,
a tree, and Einstein's library has asked for the public image
of Einstein's sleep in the middle of the strippers
from the sleep of the Angels in the central dream
of the Los Angeles painted stripper. Hills wet with the waves of the
came to the prophet, came to drink, they began to perfect
the Chinese writing on the inside Alchemy of Bettie,
was filled with a crowd came up to meet with the man
of Goldman Sachs computation to many Gen.
the feet of the monster of the city and led him to **** a Christian
and had taken of the origin of some other thing,
and the color of the flame and brought him
to Rattan. The dogs pieces of country? torn, and fell upon my knees,
fell in love with the kind of the institution
of the arms of the holy women also, your joy,
far and near, that of all of the world revolution
and the leaders' present an infirmary
and a very thin plate. Since it is part of the running rings,
the majority of dead memories of death in the air
are two amino acids, but the stars and other artifacts
are the Latin American golden gold.
Changes to musicians in the solar radiation are:
You're on your activity. The Queen's Queen is awake in the early morning.
I stopped the Cold War. English, English, English, English,
English, French, English, French, English, French, English,
French, English, French, French, Spanish, French and Spanish,
And six, hope and despair. The book about depression,
for example, the old word is the correct Russian language,
with the power of the stars. Jiang is very hard. There is a spirit.
There are several words about nature. Stunning jewelry
and glazes, *****, crazed, crystal-clear lamps,
and the exterior walls are awesome. Find what we have not obtained.
The purpose of the gods you speak of in the name of the image
is to take part in your hands, become homosexuals,
and mothers, and even to your feet like water works,
Museum of Asian Art Museums, Bad news, my Pentecens,
the stereo tree and the school board were asked to sleep
in the sun or in the city of Los Angeles, USA,
incinerated by fire. The waves of the mountains
are moving to the screams in China. However,
adult male Sheik Aged was generally a bipolar ulcer
with a large group of people. Dogs on Earth?
The gifts we have received are not at the expense
of the weak, but on the side of the oppressors,
not the creation of God's love, but at least a symbol
of women leaders. Since music is part of the headgear,
most of the color of death in the air is about two
amino acids, but it is Latin to stars and other flags,
golden gold from America. Changes are for the musicians
in the sunshine, you are on your way. The wind zone;
The queen of the sea in the early hours of the morning.
I dropped in cold war. The beauty of the British English-Asian team
lost his wife, John is in the heart of Sky Europe
Baloo snooch blue spirit July Goddess woman
to return from Jesus' devil
evil rains in Russia If you are a friend
from the hand of the food garden; The radio satellite
squared of the series of titles called  French is full of fun
games for children, six and six, full of hope and Rs.
A book about worrying, but the old word is true,
for example,
to the image of Russia, with the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very tense. There is a spirit.
There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry
and waiting until the mouth and tongue are salty, *****,
crazy, cool in the mirror and works like an external
wall of stone.  Find what we did not find. The purpose
of the gods you have to say the name of the image
is to take half the leaves by your feet to drink wine, ||
to be gay, up and a mother like smoke to the feet socks,
as you do of water, jellyfish materials at the Museum
of Asian Lands; bad news, my Perkins, Einstein's tree
and school board are pictures of Einstein's users who
have been asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
or burned in the middle
of Los Angeles at the Los Angeles host.
The water waves of the mountains went
to the drunken prophet of the Chinese,
but a man from Goldman Sachs was often performing
Alchemy on Bettie's wounds written
to all the host of many who had met the general.
Dogs on the ground? has taken ill, and falls on his side,
the arms of the preparation of the grace we receive,
but not to create the council of holy happiness,
in fact, the least sign for women's leaders.

Music is a part of a hat, so most of the color of the death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids,
but Latin is Latin in American gold and stars.
Changes are to you for the sunlight musicians.
The area of ​​the wind The queen of the sea
is in the early morning. I fell into the Cold War.
British English - the beauty of the Asian teen lost his wife,
John Sky Europe Baloo Snooky Blue Spirit
In the heart of the goddess of July the Russian devil
is in the heart of the goddess' If you are a friend
from the Garden's SMALL Radio Satellite Square
in a series of titles called French is full of fun and games
for Hope and R Full Kids, 6 and 6. Although it is a book
on worry, the old words are the truth, for example,
the image of Russia, the power of the eagle under the stars.
Igor is very nervous. There is a spirit. There are many
words about nature. Waiting for decorative jewelry,
her mouth and tongue works like salty, *****, crazy,
mirrored, exterior wall stone. I will find what we did not find.
The purpose of God you have to say in the name
of the image is to drink wine, become gay, up, and mother,
take half of the feet like water like smoke in foot socks,
Asian Jellyfish materials at the museum of land, bad news,
my Perkins, Einstein Tree and Board of Education
were asked to sleep in the middle of the sun,
Einstein's user photos, or in the middle of Los Angeles
at Los Angeles host It is a baked picture.
The wave of the mountain water went to a drunk
Chinese prophet, but the man of Goldman Sachs
was often an alchemist of Betty scars,
written to many people who met the shogun.
Is the dog on the ground? We took the weapon
of the preparation of grace; we received
and dropped it to the side but in fact
it was not able to recreate the council of sacred happiness.
Music is a part of a hat, so most of the color of the death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids, but Latin is Latin
in American gold and stars. Changes are to you
for the sunlight musicians. The area of ​​the wind
The queen of the sea is in the early morning. I fell into the Cold War.
British English - the beauty of the Asian team lost his wife, John Sky Europe's Baloo Snooky Blue Spirit In the heart of the goddess
of July the Russian devil is in the heart of the goddess'
If you are a friend from the Garden of SM Radio's Satellite
Square in a series of titles called French is full of fun games
for Hope and R Full Kids, 6 and 6.
Although it is a book on worry,
the old words are the truth, for example,
in the image of Russia, the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very nervous. There is a spirit.
There are many words about nature.
Waiting for decorative jewelry and
mouth and tongue works like salty, *****,
crazy, mirrored, exterior wall stone.
I will find what we did not find. The purpose of God
you have to say in the name of the image is to drink wine,
become gay, up, and mother, take half of the feet
like water like smoke in foot socks, Asia Jellyfish
materials at the museum of land, bad news, my Perkins,
Einstein Tree and Board of Education were asked
to sleep in the middle of the sun, Einstein used photos,
or in the middle of Los Angeles at Los Angeles host;
It is a baked picture. The wave of the mountain
water went to a drunk Chinese prophet,
but the men from Goldman Sachs were often alchemists
of Betty's scars, written to the many people
who met the shogun. Is the dog on the ground?
We took the weapon for the preparation
of grace we received and dropped it to that side ||
but alas, it was not able to recreate the Council of Sacred Happiness.

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng:

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold,
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old;

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme,
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime.

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band,
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde’s hand;

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian’s praise.

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art:
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart;

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust;

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare,
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air.

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart,
ived and labored Albrecht Dürer, the Evangelist of Art;

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land.

Emigravit is the inscription on the tomb-stone where he lies;
Dead he is not, but departed,—for the artist never dies.

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair,
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air!

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal lanes,
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains.

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild,
Building nests in Fame’s great temple, as in spouts the swallows build.

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme,
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil’s chime;

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom
In the forge’s dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft,
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed.

But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor,
And a garland in the window, and his face above the door;

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman’s song,
As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long.

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care,
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master’s antique chair.

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye
Wave these mingled shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry.

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world’s regard;
But thy painter, Albrecht Dürer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler bard.

Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away,
As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay:

Gathering from the pavement’s crevice, as a floweret of the soil,
The nobility of labor,—the long pedigree of toil.

There’s always been a counter-culture.
And by counter-culture
I do not mean the CPAs or CEOs,
Or those money **’s at Goldman-Sachs,
Nor do I conjure up a ****** of Brooklynese,
Some De Niro or Pacino, or
Bobby-come-lately Cannavale--
This decade’s guinea strunz--
Standing on the back of the truck
Checking his hand full of dollar--
As in Almighty Dollar--bills.
Another hour’s pay & time to
“Count duh money.”
Nor do I mean Harvey Korman
In his greatest film role:
“Count De Monet,”
Part 1 of Mel Brooks’
History of the World:
Harvey as French fop, 1789,
And we may as well throw a
Sop to Cerberus with nary a
Bean Counter around, to be found.
And if you are with me thus far,
You may as well stick it out to the end.

What one word defines the counter-culture?
For me: RESISTANCE,
Any kneecap reflexive swim against the tide.
For Count DeMonet:  La Résistance.
When hair is short,
They grow theirs long,
Or shave their heads,
Pierce their tongues & *******,
Inka-dinka-dooing their epidermis,
Mere skin-deep commitment to Liberté,
Always the least tangible of
French tripartite banner slogans.
The French:
As always, putting up a good show,
Masters of illusion & flexibility
When it comes to ethnic integrity,
Captain Louie Renault, Vichy stooge,
Exemplar extraordinaire,
Double shocked to find gambling
Going on at Rick’s Café,
His morality to the wind,
Tacking strategically,
Playing it safe, as always, a
Fickle-finger to the weather.
The French: girlie men, bent over
Presenting bidet-puckered rectums,
For *** and Viet Cong humiliation,
Once again, declaring victory,
While slipping out the back door,
Wearing nothing but their socks.
But I digress.

The Counter-Culture,
A mile wide and a centimeter deep,
Putting up a good front,
A Potemkin still life,
In it for appearance sake,
Like Billy Crystal doing Fernando Lamas:
“It's better to look good
Than to feel good.”
Looking marvelous, of course,
All the girls want to be
The Dragon Tattoo girl,
Haunted & smart,
Solitary & suspicious,
Cybercrime wealthy.
Cashing in, raking in affluence;
The guys all with Bobbitt night sweats,
***** shriveled, shrunken ball-sacks,
Count De Monet
Counting duh money.

vote for nobody
because nobody cares
that you're a wage-slave
that healthcare is astronomical
and college is unaffordable

nobody tells the truth
about global warming
nobody gives a ****
about smashing the patriarchy
nobody understands that
black lives matter

and since nobody
has an ounce of
integrity it's in our
own best interest
to let nobody have
all the power

if nobody can stop
the endless war and
ubiquitous surveillance
apparatus that subjects
the world to invasive
violations of privacy
then i will give
nobody my support

nobody pledges allegiance
to all brothers and sisters
and organisms on planet Earth
and feels the weight
of each life crushed
by the gears of capitalism

nobody sits alone in
the school cafeteria
nobody begs for change
on the front-steps
of Goldman Sachs
nobody pirouettes atop
a Charging Bull

nobody stares
back at you
in the mirror

a vote for nobody is
a vote for everyone

We, the rescued,
From whose hollow bones death had begun to whittle his flutes,
And on whose sinews he had already stroked his bow-
Our bodies continue to lament
With their mutilated music.
We, the rescued,
The nooses wound for our necks still dangle
Before us in the blue air-
Hourglasses still fill with our dripping blood.
We, the rescued,
The worms of fear still feed on us.
Our constellation is buried in dust.
We, the rescued,
Beg you:
Show us your sun, but gradually.
Lead us from star to star, step by step.
Be gentle when you teach us to live again.
Lest the song of a bird,
Or a pail being filled at the well,
Let our badly sealed pain burst forth again
And carry us away  -
We beg you:
Do not show us an angry dog, not yet -
It could be, it could be
That we will dissolve into dust
Dissolve into dust before your eyes.
For what binds our fabric together?
We whose breath vacated us,
Whose soul fled to Him out of that midnight
Long before our bodies were rescued
Into the arc of the moment.
We, the rescued,
We press your hand
We look into your eye-
But all that binds us together now is leave-taking.
The leave-taking in the dust
Binds us together with you

**Nelly Sachs

IV

Dear Frank,

My father, who was the wisest man I ever knew,
thought it the duty of every man, young & old,
to keep an account of his money;
& I very unwillingly obeyed him;
for I was not always so bothersome
an old fellow as I daresay I appear to you. . . .

My dear Father,

I have sent cheque to a repeated bill from Griffin.
A thermometer has come from Kew,
For which I have also paid.

I go on maundering about the pulvinus,
& from what I have seen roughly
in the petioles of the Cotyledons of oxalis,
I conclude that a pulvinus
must be developed from ordinary cells.

I have tried watering Porliera out of doors,
I gave four small cans full in the day
& next morning it was wide open
though for several days before it had been shut.
The ***-plant is very unhealthy I am afraid
As its leaves are dropping off at the stalk.

I was very glad to find that Sachs is dead
against all the people that find
the Descendenz theory in
Ray, Lamarck, Goethe &c.;
Sachs says that he believes some ferns
of the family Marratiaceae sleep . . .

Dear F,

I have finished the long chapter on Sleeping Plants
& sent it to Mr Norman to copy & diagrams to Mr
Cooper.

I am now looking over piles of notes on Heliotropism.
I am more perplexed than ever about life of Dr. D:
Hen thinks it very dull, & wants it much shortened &
otherwise arranged. Erasmus likes it.
Your mother wants parts shortened.
I shall take it on Aug. 1st to the Lakes
& finish it there.

I am tired— Ever yours
C. Darwin

When something snaps
The ****** all bolt
Dogs out the traps
We all collapse
Down the plughole
Like turned on taps
Jaded expats
Bourbon, poker
All throw craps
Black top hats
Line the road
Like mourning bats
Marital spats
Crystal prisms
Where love refracts
Wear navy slacks
Stare out to sea
As mars attacks
Nightmares hide facts
Flattened like focaccia
Under fifteen all-blacks
Fuss over Goldman sachs
You know we only blink
When it's the shirt on our backs

During the election campaign, Trump        
Railed against Cruz and Clinton for
Their connections to Goldman Sachs--
Something we were supposed to abhor.

This week Donald Trump announced
His FIFTH high-profile hire
From Goldman Sachs to join his team.
Hypocrites are hard to admire.

If Trump's Goldman Sachs complaints
About the others helped you decide
To vote for him, well, sucker,
You were taken for a ride.

- by Bob B (1-13-17)

Like war
Marching on
In and endless trudge
Towards an abstract end goal
Persevering through
Battling the insults and abuses
Stuck in the trenches
Fighting until you make it
To the end
And you retire from the life of war
Left with a fractured mind
Only able to take commands
Swift with knee-**** reactions
Contemplating a life sacrificed for another
Was it worth it?

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Chapter 4

Bian and Jon began studying together in Butler Library. They read, they wrote, they laughed together. They got to know each other increasingly well. Their relationship, seemingly effortlessly, became romantic. They began to spend more time in Jon’s apartment. They became lovers.

Bian brought Jon a sense of happiness into his life that he had never experienced before. Not surprisingly, the same was true for Bian in a similar way, who previously, but not consciously, had always felt somewhat on the periphery of life in America. They complemented and enjoyed each other, so much so that full-blown love blossomed.

This is how the rest of the semester flowed. When Christmas break came, they decided to fly to Paris and spend the holidays there. Of course, they visited the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. They strolled down Champs-Elysees and through Montmartre, ate mostly at bistros, and took a trip to see Versailles.

Among other excursions, they traveled to Amiens to see the famous cathedral there. Overlooking the Somme River, the Amiens Cathedral was built between 1220 and 1270. It was the largest cathedral in France, twice the size of Notre Dame. Jon said the skyscrapers in New York City paled in comparison to Amiens Cathedral.

Back to Columbia, New York City, and Spring semester. When the weather warmed, they spent many week-end afternoons in Central Park, visited many other sites, ate all kinds of ethnic foods, and, of course, had breakfast at Tom’s often. Furthermore, Bian’s parents were flying from Hanoi to New York City to attend Commencement.

But the highlight not only of the moment, but also, and most importantly, of the rest of her life, was Jon proposing marriage to her the week before they were to graduate, which, in a state of both shock and pure joy, she accepted. He gave her a diamond engagement ring he had bought at Tiffany’s.

“It is such an honor and a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Ly,” said Jon. Mr. Ly translated for his wife who knew no English.


Commencement at Columbia was always a transcendental exercise. That evening, the four of them celebrated by having dinner at Eleven Madison Park, courtesy of Mr. Minh. Three days later, Bian and Jon were married in St. Paul’s Chapel on the Columbia campus.

Bian and John rented a cottage on Cape Cod for the summer. A summer of love it was. Sailing, relaxing, chatting, making love–all that two human beings could wish for.

Early on, Jon had called Chad Willington, his roommate for all four years at Columbia, to thank him for coming to the wedding.

“Jon, I just have to ask you this one question,” said Chad. “Is Bian’s father, by any chance, Minh Ly?”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Jesus, Jon! Did you know that Minh Ly is one of the richest men on the planet?”

Silence.

Finally, Jon said, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Not only is Minh Ly one of the richest men on Earth, but he is one of the most connected in the entire world. But most people, even the richest, don’t know how internationally influential he is. He keeps an extremely low profile.

More silence.

“I didn’t know any of this, Chad. Bian never mentioned to me even an iota of what you have just told me,” said Jon.

“Well, Jon, I had to ask,” said Chad. “I hope you’re not disconcerted.”

“No, no, Chad. I guess I’m just flabbergasted,” said Jon.

“I found out about Minh Ly when I was invited to join members of the top brass at a Goldman Sachs luncheon and Minh Ly’s name popped into the conversation for a minute or two. That’s all,” said Chad.

“Fine, Chad. Thanks for telling me this,” said Jon, then hung up.

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in
the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time.

“My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.

Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
      Well he's certainly no wussy
      When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?

In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
       "Global warming's a myth"
       But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence

We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
      A trained atomiser
      No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin

The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
      Hating free education
      Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.

The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
      He seemingly cares
      More for foreign affairs
While forgiving ****'s toxic transgressions.

Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
      The Goldman Sachs Bankster
      Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon

Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
      (His work as denier
      Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"

The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
      With boundless expense
      For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis

The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought ****** -
       Now set in the saddle
      They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby

Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
      The Mafia boss
      Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes

The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear

Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair

It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.

Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild

And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch

The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock

Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile

‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood *****
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect

His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids

The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau

And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.

Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh

As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”

His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!

Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice

With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell

Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.

Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome

Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Preamble:  I hope you will read LOVE AND LOVERS. I believe love is the only way to save Earth and all creations upon it. That includes you, your family, your friends, and all that you prize. One person can begin to save all that one loves. Let it be you. Best wishes, TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Chapter 2

Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time. My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.



Chapter 3

Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.

“Bian?”, asked Jon.

“Yes,” replied Bian.

“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bian.

“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.

“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.

“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.

“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.

“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Santiago Pena, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.

“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.

“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.

“I look forward to both,” said Bian.

“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”


Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had written his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.

“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.

“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.

“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.

“I am,” said Bian.

“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.

The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Santiago Pena would be speaking.  

The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.

“I found President Pena’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.

“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.


“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”

They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.

“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.

“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.

“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.

Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.

The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”

When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.

"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.

Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.

“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”

Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.

After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”

He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.

“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.

“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.

Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.

“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.

After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.

“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.

“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.

“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.

I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN

I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.

THERE WILL COME A TIME

There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.


The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.


“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.

It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.

“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.



Chapter 4


Bian and Jon began studying together in Butler Library. They read, they wrote, they laughed together. They got to know each other increasingly well. Their relationship, seemingly effortlessly, became romantic. They began to spend more time in Jon’s apartment. They became lovers.

Bian brought Jon a sense of happiness into his life that he had never experienced before. Not surprisingly, the same was true for Bian in a similar way, who previously, but not consciously, had always felt somewhat on the periphery of life in America. They complemented and enjoyed each other, so much so that full-blown love blossomed.

This is how the rest of the semester flowed. When Christmas break came, they decided to fly to Paris and spend the holidays there. Of course, they visited the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. They strolled down Champs-Elysees and through Montmartre, ate mostly at bistros, and took a trip to see Versailles.

Among other excursions, they traveled to Amiens to see the famous cathedral there. Overlooking the Somme River, the Amiens Cathedral was built between 1220 and 1270. It was the largest cathedral in France, twice the size of Notre Dame. Jon said the skyscrapers in New York City paled in comparison to Amiens Cathedral.

Back to Columbia, New York City, and Spring semester. When the weather warmed, they spent many week-end afternoons in Central Park, visited many other sites, ate all kinds of ethnic foods, and, of course, had breakfast at Tom’s often. Furthermore, Bian’s parents were flying from Hanoi to New York City to attend Commencement.

But the highlight not only of the moment, but also, and most importantly, of the rest of her life, was Jon proposing marriage to her the week before they were to graduate, which, in a state of both shock and pure joy, she accepted. He gave her a diamond engagement ring he had bought at Tiffany’s.

“It is such an honor and a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Ly,” said Jon. Mr. Ly translated for his wife who knew no English.


Commencement at Columbia was always a transcendental exercise. That evening, the four of them celebrated by having dinner at Eleven Madison Park, courtesy of Mr. Minh. Three days later, Bian and Jon were married in
St. Paul’s Chapel on the Columbia campus.

Bian and John rented a cottage on Cape Cod for the summer. A summer of love it was. Sailing, relaxing, chatting, making love–all that two human beings could wish for.

The first thing Jon felt he needed to do was to call Chad, who had been Jon's roommate at Columbia, to thank him for coming to the wedding. They had a nice chat, then Chad asked the question below:

“Jon, I just have to ask you this one question,” said Chad. “Is Bian’s father, by any chance, Minh Ly?”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Jesus, Jon! Did you know that Minh Ly is one of the richest men on the planet?”

Silence.

Finally, Jon said, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Not only is Minh Ly one of the richest men on Earth, but he is one of the most connected in the entire world. But most people, even the richest, don’t know how internationally influential he is. He keeps an extremely low profile.

More silence.

“I didn’t know any of this, Chad. Bian never mentioned to me even an iota of what you have just told me,” said Jon.

“Well, Jon, I had to ask,” said Chad. “I hope you’re not disconcerted.”

“No, no, Chad. I guess I’m just flabbergasted,” said Jon.

“I found out about Minh Ly when I was invited to join members of the top brass at a Goldman Sachs luncheon and Minh Ly’s name popped into the conversation for a minute or two. That’s all,” said Chad.

“Fine, Chad. Thanks for telling me this,” said Jon, then hung up.


Chapter 5


Jon sat in the stuffed chair by the fireplace for a long time. Bian had driven into Hyannis to do some shopping.

When Bian had mentioned during one of their chats she had wanted to “heal the Earth” during her life, that phrase–that particular phrase–had pierced his being, bringing fully into his consciousness the same overpowering sentiment.  Once she had uttered those three words, Jon’s life had been profoundly and permanently affected. He had even written what he considered to be a “commentary,” a brief, concise pathway that humankind could follow to save the world, to create Peace on Earth forever. He had had no intention of ever sharing it with Bian, until now. Jon rose from his chair and went into the bedroom and opened the closet door and pulled out the big cardboard box in which he kept all of his poems. Near the top, he saw his commentary. He lifted it out and sat down on the bed and began to read it again.

PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE

Turning the World Rightside-In

by

Jon Witherston


PREAMBLE:  All we have is our little planet, Earth. For the vast majority of my life, I have thought, “What would it be like to have Peace on Earth?” But for only two, maybe three, weeks every year, usually around Christmas, I would see the phrase “Peace on Earth," usually on Christmas cards. But after Christmas, I would not hear or see that sanguine notion for 11 more months. The longer I lived, the more this annual ritual bothered me. At Andover, I had studied European history. At Columbia, I had majored in American history. Over time, I increasingly came to the realization that in both prep school and college, I had essentially been studying about wars on top of wars and their aftermaths:  millions and millions and millions of human beings being killed. Then, when I got curious, I used my computer to find out that, according to many scholars, only a little over 200, out of roughly 3,400 years of recorded history, were deemed “peaceful.” Humanity, I concluded, had a horrible track record when it came to effectuating “Peace on Earth.” And during my lifetime things have not gotten any better.  
      
SPIRITUAL ECOLOGY:  There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divide us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. John Donne was prescient. Earth is as impoverished as its poorest Citizen, as healthy as her sickest, as educated as her most ignorant. If we pollute the upper waters of the Mississippi, then ineluctably we shall pollute the Indian Ocean. If we continue to pollute our air, the current 8,100,000,000 Citizens on Earth will die. All species will be accorded the same concern and care as Citizens of Earth. The imminent threats of nuclear holocaust and catastrophic climate change we need urgently to prevent. This is the truth of Spiritual Ecology.  

CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH:  If we can wage war, why should we not wage peace? Nations are anachronistic;  therefore, there will be none. There will only be Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen of Earth will devote a 10 years between 18 and 60 of her/his life to the betterment of humankind and Earth. All military weapons--from handguns to hydrogen bombs--will be destroyed, and any future weapons will be prohibited. All jails and prisons will be closed, replaced by Love Centers (see below). Automation and other technological advances will enhance the opportunity for all Citizens of Earth to realize exponentially their potential, personally and spiritually. There will be no money. All precious resources and assets of Earth will be distributed equally among all Citizens of Earth. The only things each will own are the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat Earth and all its Citizens well. All Citizens will be free to travel anywhere, at any time, on Earth. All Citizens will be free to choose their own personal and professional goals, but will do no harm to Earth or other Citizens. All Citizens will be afforded the same resources to live a full, safe, and satisfying life, including the best education, health care, housing, food, and other necessities throughout Earth.

LOVE:  The only way to change anything for the good, for good, is through love. Love is what every living creation on Earth needs. Love Centers are for those Citizens who were not loved enough, or at all, especially at their earliest of ages. Concomitantly, they act out their pain hurtfully, sometimes lethally, often against other Citizens. Citizens who are emotionally ill will be separated from those who are not. Jails and prisons only abet this deleterious situation. Some Citizens in pain may need to be constrained in Love Centers humanely while they recover, through being loved, so they do not hurt themselves or others. In some extreme cases, Citizens may be in so much pain that they remain violent for a long time.  Thus, they may need to be constrained for the rest of their lives, but always loved, never punished. In time, Citizens, when loved enough, will only have love to give, and the need for Love Centers will commensurately decline.

EARTH:  In 1948, Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the commission that wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. UDHR, with some updates and revisions, will serve as the moral and legal guidepost for Earth.

GENERAL ASSEMBLY:  Earth will be divided into sections of approximately the same size. One Citizen of Earth from each section will be elected only for one five-year term as members of the General Assembly. Every five years, new Citizens of Earth will be elected.

FIRST VOTE:  The first vote of all Citizens of Earth will be to establish CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Majority rules. All Citizens will have access to Internet voting, as well as access to cell phones and other types of computers. Citizens of Earths will have her/his own secured ID codes. Citizens of Earth will have to be 18 or older to vote. Citizens of Earth will be encouraged to bring before the General Assembly all ideas and recommendations, as well as any concerns or complaints, which will be considered and responded to promptly. Citizens of Earth's ideas and recommendations will be formed into proposals drafted by members of the General Assembly. Citizens of Earth will vote on these proposals of each month during the first two weeks of the following month. Citizens of Earth will be Earth’s government. Members of the General Assembly will be facilitators who will work with millions of volunteers. There will be no president of Earth.

THE FUTURE:  There will be no money.  All items on Earth will be given  shares of worth. Each Citizen of Earth will receive equal shares of worth. All shares in excess of what’s needed reasonably by each Citizen of Earth will be saved for future generations. No violence of any kind will occur during the transfer of these shares. Citizens of Earth will take these steps because they are the moral, the right, steps to take to save all living creations on Earth, and Earth itself.

CELEBRATE AND SHARE: If one were to take a photograph of humanity and gaze at it, one would see a beautiful mosaic of mankind of different, beautiful colors. If one could step into the photograph, one would hear a melody of languages and dialects. One could have a worldwide picnic with all your sisters and brothers and experience different customs and taste different, delicious foods. And in moments of silence, all of you could pray in your different religions, separate but together at the same time. One would also share the same human laughter and joys and feel the same sorrows and cry the same tears, all in Peace on Earth eternal. All would come to delight in these differences, not dread them. All would look forward to celebrating and sharing with your fellow Citizens of Earth, not killing them. The spiritual whole would be larger than the sum of its sacred parts.

A QUANTUM LEAP:  The world, over millennia, kept evolving. Over 3,400 years of recorded history, powers, nations, kept shifting, sometimes seismically. Now is the time for not only the grandest seismic shift ever, but also the one that will save Earth and all living creations upon it. It is time for Earth to become one Earth--not a scattering of over 200 nations with artificial borders. Technology, with its innumerable advances, has made us into a world when all can become one. We are free to be our real selves, to spend our variegated lives, not aggrandizing, but sharing and giving. Rather than dreading our superficial differences--our different skin colors, our different cultures, our different religions, our different languages--we can explore and enjoy them. Let us finally be what we truly have been forever, one big, worldwide family of humanity. No more wars, no more weapons, no more killing. No more hunger, no more homelessness, no more hopelessness. No more ignorance, no more illnesses, no more social classes. This is the quantum leap of which I speak.

PEACE ON EARTH:  Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving and being love is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens of Earth will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on love-based personal relationships and professional activities. No longer will human beings be able to profit from another’s pain. With love at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth forever.

Copyright 2026 Jon Witherston.


Jon heard the front door open and shut.

“Bian, I’m in the bedroom,” said Jon. “I’ve got something I want you to read.”

Bian came into the bedroom. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s something you inspired,” replied Jon.

Bian kissed Jon on the cheek then sat on the bed.

“Read it, then we’ll chat,” said Jon. He handed the commentary to Bian who began reading.

“Jon, when did you write this?” asked Bian.

“I wrote it after you shared with me your desire to spend your life trying to heal Earth,” said Jon. “At Tom’s. Do you remember?”

“I’ve always dreamed of this ever since my father told me about the war,” she said. “What I remember about Tom’s is when I told you I was majoring in Human Rights, you said the whole world should be majoring in Human Rights.”

“Of course, I remember that, too,” said Jon.


What Bian came to realize about her father as she grew up was he had become anti-war. He had come to hate it. But there were two things she had never known about him, though. First, her father was one of the wealthiest men on Earth. Yes, she knew he was well-to-do:  she had grown up, after all, in a large, comfortable home, and her father had had the money to pay for her expensive educations,  Second, he had belonged, for almost two decades now, to a secret, worldwide group of extremely wealthy and influential men and women who wished for, and were working toward, a world that would never know war.

Jon did not dare tell Bian about what Chad had shared with him over the phone, about her father’s megawealth. Bian had never known about her father's pursuit of eternal Peace on Earth. She always had thought all those trips had to do with his businesses.

“I’d like to elaborate a bit on what you’ve read in my commentary, Bian, if you care to,” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“I’m thinking about the poor,” Jon said. “The poor, and the extremely poor, on Earth, as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund have put it,” Jon said, with more than a tinge of contempt. “Out of 8 billion human beings on Earth, roughly 2 ½ billion fall into these two ‘statistical’ categories. That’s more than 1 out of 4 human lives on Earth desperately trying to survive day-to-day.

“Here’s my idea, Bian,” said Jon.

“There are more than 7,000 languages and dialects spoken on Earth. Most of the poor speak those dialects. How to communicate with them is our biggest challenge. In broad strokes and succinctly, this is what I have in mind. I want to share this with you and hope you’ll be my partner.

“I want to travel Earth with you. I want to meet first the poor of Earth with you, speak with them, eat with them, live with them, answer all their questions about creating one land, one sky, one sea, one people. I want to talk with them about all Citizens of Earth cooperating with, not competing against, one another, creating Peace on Earth through love forever. If ever we can create a vote on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, I’m sure the vast majority of them would vote for it.

“We would start in Mexico, then visit the nations of Central America, then those of South America. Then we would go to Africa where there are so many poor and do the same thing. Then the rest of the world.

“Does all of this sound audacious, Bian? Well, it should, because it is,” said Jon. “Logistics will be beyond enormous, but in my heart, I believe there will be eventually millions and millions and millions of volunteers around the world who will wish to join in.”

Bian had sat on the bed taking all of this in, paused, then said to her husband whom she loved and admired so much, “Jon, you are a genius, but all of this does sound audacious. My first idea is to share all of this with my father and get his reaction to your commentary and what you’ve just shared with me. He knows the world probably as well, if not better, than any other person on Earth.”

“A great idea!” said Jon.

“I’ll call him at 10 p.m. tonight. It will be 9 a.m. in Hanoi,” said Bian excitedly.



Chapter 6


Bian spoke with her father that evening. Bian thought she had detected a good measure of surprise, if not excitement, in his voice. He would be in Toronto on business in mid-September. He could meet his daughter and Jon at 10 a.m. at the Ritz-Carlton on Monday, the 11th. He said he would leave a note at the front desk telling them which room he was staying in. He told Bian he always used aliases when he traveled, a fact she had not previously known. Understandably, Bian was thrilled.

Bian and Jon had enjoyed immensely the rest of the summer, as only on Cape Cod one can. They flew from Logan Airport to Toronto the morning of Sunday, 10 September. They arrived at the Ritz-Carlton around 9:45 Monday morning.

“I believe you have a note waiting for Bian and Jon,” said Bian.

“Just a minute, please,” said the clerk.

“Here,” said the clerk and handed it to Bian.

“Thank you,” said Bian. “Father’s in room #715.”

The two took the elevator to the 7th floor, found the room, and knocked on the door. In a moment or two, Minh Ly opened it.

“My dear daughter, Bian! How are you?” said Mr. Ly as he gave his daughter a big hug. “And you, Jon, how are you?”

Jon shook Mr. Ly’s hand as he entered the room.

“So good to see you, sir,” said Jon.

“Come in. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Mr. Ly.

“Mr. Ly, the first thing I would like to share with you is my commentary. It is an overview of what I would like to pursue with Bian,” said Jon.

“Let me read it,” said Mr. Ly.

It took a couple of minutes for My Ly to finish reading. He paused for several moments, then exclaimed “Jon, this is extraordinary!”

“Bian inspired me,” said Jon. “You know, Mr. Ly, I’m a poet, not a financier. It would take untold amounts of money and the best technology on Earth--unbelievable amounts of it--to realize this dream.”

“Don’t worry. I have friends,” said Mr. Ly.

"I envision Bian and I traveling around the world visiting the poorest sections of most of the biggest cities on Earth, using a translator when necessary to explain how we collectively can bring lasting peace to Earth. Furthermore, I expect not only the worldwide, but also the local, media to be informed of these gatherings," Jon said.

"You need to know I must always remain anonymous. Bian, you, and I shall need to meet periodically. I and my friends have developed ways always to be in touch, but will never be able to be detected. I wish not to elaborate. Jon. You inspire me the way Bian inspired you,” said Mr. Ly.


Chapter 7

“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.



Chapter 8


Bian and Jon began preparations with gusto.

Mr. Ly and his friends would pay all expenses;  they would handle all details, such as reservations for air travel and hotels and rental cars;  they would contact the best interpreters in each country and pay them; they would contact leading newspapers and other news organizations in the world, including, but not limited to, the New York Times, the Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, Los Angeles Times, Youimuri Shimbun, Asahi Shimbun, Bild, The Daily Telegraph,  Le Monde, Times of India, China Daily, Russian Today, BBC, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC, MSNBC, NHK (Japan), ZDJ (German), Univision, China Media Group, Telemundo, and they would contact the leading media–newspapers and TV and radio stations–in the largest city of each country prior to Bian and Jon’s visit there.  

Somewhat tired, but extremely gratified, they sat on the sofa in early evening to listen to Jon’s favorite Beethoven Symphony, #7. The Symphony’s second movement “was a jewel,” Jon said. Of course, he leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened.

When the recording was over, and after a silent pause, Jon slowly stood up, and without ever saying a word, reached down and picked up Bian, and holding her in his arms, carried her carefully into the bedroom where he stood her up beside the bed, then, slowly and softly, undressed her, and after he had pulled back the bed sheets, picked Bian up again and lay her on the bed. Then he undressed and got into bed beside her.

The room was dark and full of silence. Then Jon turned toward the woman who had brought limitless joy into his life and said to her, “Bian, who in the Heavens made you?” And then he kept leaning until he gently lay upon his wife, and these two lovers made love deep into the dark of night.


Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to transmute pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh Ly had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Minh Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save all of Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this goal, and many of them did join him. Now Minh Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Minh Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate her father. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan Airport.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.



Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius,. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, over time, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor--all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death--fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  


Chapter 10

“Do come in! How wonderful to see you both again! Your visits are becoming the highlight for me every month,” exclaimed Mr. Ly.

Bian, before she said a word, rushed forward into her father’s open arms to be hugged by him. For almost a minute, Bian stayed silent in her father’s arms. She did not want him to stop hugging her;  it felt so good. Finally, Bian stepped back and, almost in a yell, said, “I love you!”

“My dear Bian, I love you too, with all my heart,” said Mr. Ly. “And you, Jon, it is always special to meet a person like you. You are my only son and I am blessed to have you now as part of my family. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr Ly. I am honored now to be a member of the Ly family,” said Jon, then joined Bian on the sofa.

Jon spoke again.

“Mr. Ly, I have for you the information you will need to prepare the press releases you will send to all media and people you wish to inform about our imminent sojourn January 2027. Here it is,” said Jon, and handed the pages to him.

Mr. Ly continued.

“Bian and Jon, I need to share with both of you the following. My friends and I will create our own Starlink-like internet company so no Citizen of Earth--as you, Jon, call all 8 billion human beings on Earth–cannot be blocked when each votes on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Furthermore, we will provide cell phones to all CITIZENS OF EARTH.  And Bian and Jon, you will be able to visit safely in all the more than the 50 totalitarian nations. How is this possible, you ask? It is possible because I and my friends have our ways. In addition, we shall translate your commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE into all 7,000 languages and dialects and, beginning January 2027, will send it monthly to all media. This will continue until the vote on CAMPAIGN ON EARTH takes place during the first two weeks of 2028. And, as you have told me, Jon, only love can save Earth.”

“Mr. Ly, you are, with the exception of your daughter, the most intelligent, the most compassionate, the most self-effacing human being I have had the honor of ever meeting. You know, I’m sure, the difference between personhood and behavior. Everyone’s personhood is sacred, inviolable, intrinsic, whereas so many peoples' behavior is often uncaring or hurtful, or even much worse. It is not unusual to react to one’s untoward behavior with at least displeasure, if not outright hate, even on rare occasions with violence. But this latter response is unknowing. When one encounters bad behavior to any degree and wishes it were not so, do not exacerbate what is already deleterious by making it even worse through punishment. Instead, constrain this negativity and love this forsaken person. Love is the cure for all those who suffer pain. It may take a lot of love to heal a hurting soul, even a lifetime, perhaps even longer. But love is the antidote for all emotional maladies. But for one to be able to love others, one must first be loved preferably by one’s parents. This dilemma is what our world suffers from the most. Wealth, fame, power–all are illusory and therefore feckless. They are but unconscious efforts to compensate for lack of love, and that is why our world has been turned inside-out for millennia. Only being loved, and then being able to love, will we be able to turn our world right-side in. Then, and only then, will we have Peace on Earth forever, and for the first time.

“I lavish praise upon you, because you are a beyond-magnificent human being, Mr. Ly,” concluded Jon.

Mr. Ly sat in silence, stunned. Finally, he said, “Thank you, thank you, Jon.”


Chapter 11

Upon returning to Cape Cod, Bian and Jon packed everything they thought they would need for their long, long trip to Mexico, Central America, and South America. They then flew to Mexico City. Jon wanted to give a speech in Iztapalapa, one of poorest sections of the nation's capital. Jon gave his speech before a large crowd and a sizable group of worldwide media. Bian thought Jon's speech was well received. She sensed the crowd's reaction was positive. After the speech, the two spent an hour or so mixing with the crowd with the translator answering questions and telling each person he spoke to that that person could help realize Peace on Earth by chatting with friends about how love would change the world from killing to caring.

"Jon, you gave a great speech!," said Bian. "I'm so proud of you."

"We are co-pilots, Bian. We can't hope to succeed without both of us," said Jon. "On to the next nation!" They then flew to Belize, the only nation in Central America whose main language was English.

Jon gave his speech at the University of Belize. Many students gathered to hear him. Belize had a comparatively low percentage of poverty--about 25%. But as Bian and Jon ambled through the crowd, Bian, along with Jon, spent the better part of the afternoon enjoying not only chatting, but also found time to have long conversations with both the students and a number of professors.

Bian and Jon were a bit tired, so they decided to spend the night at the Inn at Twin Palms in Belmopan. They decided to eat dinner at the Paddle House Restaurant

Bian ordered first. "I'd like the Shrimp and Chorizo Soup. Then I'd like the Basil Pesto Paneer and Cherry Tomato Salad, Next, I'd like the Cream of Yucca Shrimp Pasta. Then for dessert, I'd like the Wild Berry Chocolate Cake."

Now it was Jon's turn. "First, I'd like the Seasonal Seafood Soup. Next, I'd like the Grilled Chicken Ceasar Salad. Then I'd like the
Chuleta de Cordero. For dessert, I'd like the Wine Poached Pear."

They ate their meals with gusto, then flew to Guatemala City.

Jon and Bian decided to go to Zone 3, one of the poorest sections of Guatemala City. In early afternoon, Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. An increasingly large number of worldwide media showed up. The crowed was large also. The fever Bian felt from the crowd was palpable. Bian and Jon even got word that their worldwide trip had gone viral on the internet. The two spent the night at Hotel Barcelono. In the morning, they flew to San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador.

One of the poorest sections of San Salvador was Benedicion de Dios. Its citizens faced severe hardships, including extreme poverty, lack of infrastructure, and frequent fire disasters, because most structures were built of wood, zinc, plastic, or cardboard. These people also suffered from unreliable electricity and gas supplies.Violence in Benedicion de Dios abounded. For the first time, a worldwide television network, BBC, interviewed Bian and Jon. The two stayed in the Intercontinental San Salvador Hotel that night, then flew to Tegucigalpa, Honduras.

The poorest section of Tegucigalpa was the community next to the Tegucigalpa Municipal Dump. Many families relied on scavenging through waste for survival. Violence was rampant. Interestingly, a large number of people had already heard about the CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, so an usually large crowd gather on the edge of the dump. This the kind of place Jon and Bian wanted to be, both to give his speech and to meet and talk with the citizens who daily tried to endure the unthinkable suffering. Even the media were increasing. Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. Despite the hell these citizens experienced continuously, the crowd roared almost after every sentence Jon spoke. And after Jon finished, the crowd swarmed him. Bian and Jon spent almost three hours meeting, answering, shaking hands, chatting with many in the crowd. Slowly the crowd dispersed. Bian and Jon then took a plane to Managua, Nicaragua.

Reparto Schick is one of the poorest neighborhoods in Managua. One of Bian's and Jon's nameless protectors came up to tell them that NHK, the Japanese television network, had aired an hour-long program of Jon's speech in Mexico City as well as commenting on his PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE speech in particular and CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH in general. "That is wonderful!" exclaimed Bian. Jon gave her a big hug. The reaction to Jon's speech was as enthusiastic, if not more so, than the Tegucigalpa crowd.

"I'm beat," sad Jon. "Let's spend the night in Managua."

"I'm with you," replied Bian.

"Let's spend tonight in Managua, then fly to San Jose, Costa Rica tomorrow morning, OK?" said Jon. Bian agreed. They stayed in the Globales Camino Real.

"Before we go to bed, would you read me one of your poems,?" asked Bian.

John looked through his poems and chose the poem he wanted to read.

"Would you like to hear a romantic poem?" asked Jon.

"I would love to hear a romantic poem, especially if you wrote it," replied Bian.

"Here it is," said Jon and began to read.


COME CLOSER

Come closer.
Touch me softly.
Look into my eyes.
Kiss me, then kiss me again.
Hold me.
Hug me tightly.
Unbutton my shirt.
Kiss my chest.
I feel your lips.
I feel your hair.
Undress me.
Take off your blouse.
Be naked.
Lie on the bed.
Take me to heaven.
I love you dearly.


"Oh, that was beautiful, Jon!," exclaimed Bian.

These two lovers made passionate love until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Lacarpio, Costa Rica is wedged between two highly polluted rivers and a massive landfill. The community struggles with high crime rates, especially caused by violent gang activity. There is limited access to education and health care. Women and children face hardships due to poverty, crime, and lack of resources.

Before Jon gave his speech to another large crowd, he and Bian were interviewed by the China Media Group. After his speech, the two spent again several hours mixing with the crowd, which they were enjoying more and more. Then they flew to Panama City, the capital city of Panama.

There are several extremely poor sections in Panama City:  Curundu; San Miguelito; and Rio Abajo. But the worst is El Chorrillo. The residents of this section suffer poverty, crime, and gang violence, as well as the destruction caused by the U.S. invasion of Panama in 1989.

Deregulation.
Deregulation.
That's what Trump says
Is going to save the nation.

To hell with the environment
And social media activist memes.
Let the coal industry dump
Coal debris in rivers and streams.

Forget greenhouse gas emissions.
There are rules to rearrange,
Repeal, expunge, delete, rescind…
Who cares about climate change?

Good-bye to banking restrictions.
Give tighter controls the ax.
Down with all consumer protections!
Three cheers for Goldman Sachs!

Who needs the EPA?
Why do all the activists seethe
When factories pollute the air?
The air is JUST something we breathe.

Caveat emptor--
That's the rule that's going to last.
Caveat venditor
Will become a thing of the past.

Benefiting the 1%
Has to be a worthwhile goal.
How else will those at the top
Keep the people under control?

Through rollbacks in regulations
Runs one common thread:
Relief for the corporations;
The rest of us can all drop dead.

Deregulation.
Deregulation.
That, according to Donald Trump,
Is going to save the nation.

- by Bob B (4-17-17)

They -
The Wolves of Wall Street
Wanted me to shine
Their shoes;
Wingtips, loafers and pumps
Dumped in a clear plastic bag
During lunch-break

Me,
The temp from Ghana;
Me,
The HBCU fast-tracker
With a college visa
And a massive crush
On Vanessa;

Before the scandal

Me,
The coffee-hued
Marketing Mgmt major
Schlepping
In the mail-room
At Sachs;

Goldman Sachs

Where future CFO's,
Hedge-fund Gurus
And Climate-Change Deniers
Are spawned

Where Guardians of the status quo
And the chasm
Between coffee and cream
Gather, stir and scheme;

The Clansman's dream
Of a perfect latte

Just grow them beans,
Jimbo

Just be the black sheep
Of your destiny,
Jimbo

And shine these fother muckin shoes...

AYO

~P

.......
Jamesgpaulsr.com (bio/portfolio)
Facebook.com/poetrybyPablo (poetry/digital art)

Stock cars crashed
Driving debt thrashed
Our urban decaying
Poor middle class
Left to rot
By Goldman Sachs
An evil plot
Inflation stacks
Gouged and slashed
By price whip cracks
That lashed
A housing bubble
Popped and cashed
In manufactured  
Congress acts
Only fractured
Breaks in tax
For the matador contacts
Bail out the stashed
Credit attacks
Even though they swung the axe
Of industry
Complex contracts
And bills are passed
Just as fast  
As their demands
Supply no dime of wealth
Back to our hands
No time for health
Or jobs
Or dreams
Or any of the in-betweens
Put all that last
Kick back, relax
Atop your new world order caste
Yet at the bottom of a gap
So vast
Is where we gather now
Amassed
Asking how
We are
The Crashed

Charles Brookfield - 1893
William Gillette - 1899-1930 - 1,300 performances in 30 yrs.
Sherlock Holmes movie Baffled - 1900 Silent/Short - Max Goldberg
John F. Preston - 1900
Charles Rice – 1904
Karoly Baumann - 1905
Maurice Costello - 1905
Viggo Larsen – 1908
Alwin Neub – 1908, 1911, 1914
Otto Lagoni - 1910
Holger Rasmussen – 1911
Mack Sennett – 1911-1912
George Treville - 1912
Harry Benham - 1913
James Bragington - 1914
Francis Ford - 1914
H.A. Saintbury – 1916
Hugo Fink - 1917
Sam Robinson - 1918
Eille Norwood - 1921 Silent short movie - The Dying Detective
Burt Lytell - 1921
Dennis Neillson-Terry - 1921
John Barrymore – 1922
Hamilton Deane – 1923-1932
Tod Slaughter – 1928, 1930
Richard Gordon – 1930-1933, 1936
Clive Brook – 1929/1930/1932
Arthur Wontner – 1931- 1937 – Movie Series
Raymond Massey - 1931
Robert Rendel - 1932
Reginald Owen - 1933
Felix Alymer - 1933
Louis Hector – 1934-1935, 1937
Bruno Guttner – 1937, 1939, 1942-1943
Orson Welles - 1938
Basil Rathbone - 1939-1946
Cedric Hardwick – 1945
Tom Conway – 1947
Howard Marion-Crawford - 1948
John Stanley – 1948-1949
Alan Napier - 1949
Alan Wheatley - 1951
John Longden - 1951
Laidman Browne - 1951
Carleton Hobbs - 1952-1969
Ronald Howard - 1954/55 (39 episodes)
John Gielgud - 1954-1955
Peter Cushing - 1959, 1968, 1984
Christopher Lee - 1962, 1970, 1992
Douglas Wilmer - 1964
John Neville - 1965, 1970, 1978
Robert Stephens - 1970
Stewart Granger – 1972  
John Cleese – 1973
Larry Hagman - 1974
Robert Powell - 1974
Rolf Becker - 1974
John Wood – 1974-1975
Leonard Nimoy - 1976
Douglas Wilmer - 1976
Roger Moore - 1976
Nicol Williamson - 1976
Kevin McCarthy - 1977
Christopher Plummer - 1977
Peter Cook - 1977
Paxton Whitehead - 1978
Barry Foster - 1978
Geoffrey Whitehead - 1979-1980
Graham Armitage - 1979-1980, 1985
Keith Mitchell - 1979
Charlton Heston - 1980
Frank Langella - 1980
Vasily Livanov - Russian T.V. - 1979-1981, 1983 & 1986
John Moffatt - 1981
Guy Henry - 1982
Tom Baker – 1982  
Ian Richardson - 1983
Peter O’Toole – 1983 (animated T.V. films – Australian)
Jeremy Brett - 1984-1994
Nicholas Rowe - 1984
Guy Rolfe – 1984
Dinsdale Landen - 1987
Tim Pigott-Smith – 1987
Anthony Higgins – 1987
Michael Pennington - 1987
Roger Rees - 1988
Ron Moody - 1988-1989
Clive Merrison - 1989-1998, 2002, 2004, 2008-2010
Edward Woodward - 1990
Simon Callow - 1990
Richard E. Grant 1992
Robert Powell – 1993
Patrick McNee – 1993
Anthony Higgins – 1993
1998-2019:  John Gilbert - Episodes 1-18
                     Lawrence Albert - Episode 20
                     John Patrick Lowrie - Episodes 21-65 & 67-until
                     Dennis Bateman - Episode 66
Jason Gray-Stanford – 1999-2001 – Animation
Matt Frewer – 2000-2001
Joaquim de Almeida - 2001
Richard Roxburgh - 2002
James D’Arcy - 2002
Andrew Sachs - 2004
Rupert Everett – 2004
Jonathan Pryce - 2007
Javier Marzan – 2007
Roger Llewellyn – 2009
Robert Downey Jr. 2009 & 2011
Ben Syder – 2010
Nicholas Briggs – 2010-2018
Igor Petrenko - Russian T.V. Series - 2013
Benedict Cumberbatch - 2010-2016
Christian Rode – 2010, 2014
Anthony P.D. Mann - 2011 (More like a thriller "spoof" by V Movies)
Samuel Tady – 2011, 2014, 2017-2018 (Tady Bros. Productions/on YouTube)
Johnny Lee Miller – 2012-2019
Benjamin Lawlor - 2013
Seamus Dever - 2014
Ian McKellen – 2015
Euan Morton – 2015
Gregory Wooddell - 2015
Paul Andrew Goldsmith – 2015-2016
Ewen Bremner - 2016
Jay Taylor – 2017-2018
Yuko Takeuchi – 2018 (HBO Asia – female ‘Holmes’)
Orlando Wells - 2018
Johnny Depp – 2018 (animation)
Will Ferrell – 2018
Nicholas Boulton – 2020
Henry Cavill - 2020
Ethan Bell – 2020 (Fan Film on YouTube)
Ethan Thomas Jung – 2020 Fan Adv.
      (Vagabond Repertory Theater Company—YouTube)

This list is not exhaustive. however, these are some of the
many actors who have played Sherlock Holmes on stage,
screen, radio and T.V. adaptations.

Heavily punctuated - hyphen
to embellish poetically
with bracing circumspection,
I markedly exclaim (parenthetically)
cumulative elapsed LXIII obits
around the nearest star
dashed by at lightspeed,
and quoting James Thurber
storied fiction titled
My Life and Hard Times,
me a period study courtesy Paul Sachs
(in concert with Elba Dorley)

diagnosed as Schizoid Personality Disorder
while thus far unnamed subject
felt his existence [bracketed]
courtesy profound social anxiety period,
but he (a long haired pencil necked geek)
did experience millstones
wrought and rung around his collar
described in his divine
comma dee of errors
elaborated within condensed and abbreviated 
Harris (apostrophe after the esse)
chronicles presented below.

Paramount pictures presents
the Harris' chronicles.

Gratitude suffused LXIII old smart aleck
additionally modesty, nobility (ha)
and opportunity to interject good humor
when/wherever possible.

He (Matthew Scott Harris)
resorts to third person singular
briefly - greater than poetic paragraph
roughly converted into a
jiffy **** job in an attempt
to distill essential fundamental gratitude
extrapolated, viz his
present station (aery) life,
so (la ti do) rather than string you along
losing reader's attention in the process,

lemme take a nodding blink
applying non winking 20/20 hindsight,
thus far as of this writing
three score plus three orbitz,
whizzed, whisked and
cooly albeit miraculously
whipped him around the sun,
hence (no surprise)
appreciation prevails within him
toward gravity, and to a lesser degree

centrifugal and centripetal force(s),
and indirectly for the apple
that hit Sir Isaac Newton
on the head, thence
modesty and selflessness arose
when I tracked, transcended,
and traversed approximately
halfway thru chronological juncture
of my current existence courtesy
marriage and fatherhood which necessitated

the genesis (to one
emotional foreigner, qua survivor) of altruism
within this husbanded father figure
upon August fêted occasions,
which actually took place
December 22nd, 1996
and February 4th, 1999,
when first one then the other
born as full term healthy offspring
a beaming, choking,

and glistening tear of delight
espoused, infused, and
emotionally unmoored this then
newly minted dada,
cuz not til that moment
(id est birth of progeny
almost twenty six months apart)
this generic guy gave little thought
to cell braided miracle of reproduction,
when a priority powerfully
suddenly and voluntarily

required leveraging focus off self,
and unpopularly, unstintingly
and unwaveringly give one hundred percent
progeny yours truly helped beget.
whereby subsequent paternal kinship
quickly generated enjoyment,
more so, I felt like the most important person
atop the tallest mountain in the world;
pink bundles of genetic webbing
sugar and spice and everything nice,
especially after bath time.

Nothing compared within magnitude
engendering, kindling, and rearing
offspring, which linkedin joie de vivre
jump/kick started when significant other
imparts swell pregnant news
and with expectant newborn
in the offing untold poignant surprises
awaited procreative crafter of these words.

kapuzekopf...          hmm... i'm too tired to write
too tired to think too tired to even quench my thirst
with imagination... KAPTUR - hood...
certain words sound better in different languages...
kapuze - kaptur - ugh... hood...
   and head... sounds so much better in Deutsche: kopf...
i'd even say even better in ******...
    głowa - gwova -
              Darwinism keeps knocking
on my door... oh it's so *******
odiously not welcome... it's so pop culture so past
culture so... nothing to do with
the rigours of eugenics...
   if... we were going to study and apply it,
proper...
but no... just that same old carrot
on a stick... yawn...  a... gähnen-wahrheit...
              a yawn-truth...
                    men who do not reproduce
might as well be dead...
from an "evolutionary" blah blah... so i start thinking...
   hmm... well... technically...
none of the Teutonic Knights reproduced...
sure... they might have had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg...
              hell... i even have a name like one
of my favourite figures in history...
a Konrad von Wallenrode... did he?
did... Winrich von Kniprode... did they?
care? that they might... father... children?
hmm... i do wonder... if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i don't truly mind... not that i'm for the defence of the cross
mind you... something more... less...
less defined... borrowing from the Hebrews...
it's all a bit of a much of a *******
muddle... given the discovery of the Nag Hammadi library...
well... unless i had a profitable trade...
that could be ventured with trans-generationally...
sure... i know one example... Sam Hall...
Sam Hall was the son of an undertaker...
we went to school together...
what did Sam Hall become? a ******* undertaker...
those sort of men really do...
re... pro... duce... although... i'm not too sure with
Sam Hall... he was short, fat...
penguin-esque... with the advent of social
media... i guess... not even the certainty of
burying people will land you marriage...
would roofing run in my family?
for a while... two... three generations:
metallurgy... sure... but then... eh...
jack of all trades... hardly me coming from doctor /
lawyer / whatever Goldman-Sachs stock...
but... if i'm supposedly on my way out...
well... **** me... i'm going to make it grandiose!
kapuzekopf style... mit-kapuzekopf style...
sort of monkish... like a Winrich or a Konrad...
like i said: if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i'll keep to my own company...
              last time i checked... between me and them...
no animosity...
feed the body one hour... feed the mind
another... feed a deity that's so uncomfortable
for Christianity or the Greeks to burden themselves
with...
   quiet remarkable... this... demiurge...
sure... ah... sure... if only love: but if that love...
wasn't spewing whatever it was spewing
on a crucifix... mind you...
   a very famous method of executing rebellious
Cossacks in the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth
was to put them on a PAL...
     de cruce - crucifixion seems rather... boring...
impaled... imagine if the Romans refigured their
love for borrowed love of buggery from the Greeks
and though... hmm... let's extend the pleasure
to a torture and impale him...
       it would have taken... let's just say...
if he died on a Friday... no no... de cruce...
      it would have taken him... about the time of his
resurrection to actually die... if he was impaled...
his ******* smeared with duck-fat...
or is this, the sort of thought you need...
to defend yourself... against... the current...
Disney political *******?
                   may...be... both?!
                        eh... the world is hostile...
even if i'm just tired... i'm not going to exactly
think about counting sheep when
going to bed...
   chants of the Templars and ideas of
torture... or ***... in a brothel before mirrors...
when the ******* tells me...
like she already told me: to look into them
for the *******...
                nothing ever sheepishly coy ever made
me fall to sleep...
i don't mind horrors... i sort of wake up and think:
is that it? nothing more?
come to think of it... i'm sort of thankful
i'm not going to be a father... i try to imagine
the horror of raising my own Frankenstein...
but... not in this current environment...
             no... no good...
                                the Copernicus revolution went...
backwards... now the earth orbits the moon...
seriously... the world has become...
geocentric... heliocentric...
     ah... we're living in a lunacentric world...
the world's gone cuckoo itchy-coo...
  time to compete... for top spot in the asylum...
no need to lie... fake it...
                    hey... if i'm supposed to not get enough
from watching ****... today i felt my life return...
what did i do? check out ******* ****?
no... i ****** off looking at the cleavage of
an average looking, middle-aged woman...
that's it... nothing *****... nothing: odd...
       that's how i keep my sanity... and my hard-on...
i call it the reality-check-*******...
          well... i do sort of feel for the guys that
delve deeper into the medium...
that's what happens when...
as a kid... you never masturbated to a painting by
Bronzino (Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time) -
it's those lips... or the tender tongue of...
Cupid? or is it Venus... oyster...
   the origin of life story: via the tongue...
i must be getting tired... i'm being so unimaginative...
i can sort of see myself licking a mirror
in the next 20 minutes when i go and take a ****...
the dimmed lights and mirrors
and the ******* telling me all manner
of disinhibiting things about ***...
                  which... forever gratifying...
just the thought of those terrible dates with women
who want to **** drunk... in cocoons...
in the dark... not under dimmed lights before mirrors
but in the dark... under bed-sheets...
ugh... the mere thought of such antics shouldn't
make me think of being itchy... but...
i'm getting ******* itchy at the mere thought
of such terrible ****** hygiene...
   - because i'm not a pornographer -
i have to say... reading Marquis de Sade early on
in life really helped... notably ******...
what a fancy... what a novella! arguably his best work!
                  whatever it was...
i liked the biographical note...
when the Marquis was partially raised by his uncle...
some... bishop... who had a collection of books
that... ahem... 'you were supposed to read
using only one hand'... obviously the other hand
was supposed to go elsewhere... multitasking...
if you can get a hard-on when reading de Sade...
why would you need...
  o.k., o.k., fair enough... glory-hole ******* with
****** and too much cottage cheese...
that... that's my weak-spot...
or those clubs in Bohemia... where it's sort of in
reverse... you have the plump readied ****
of **** with legs wide open...
like that meme of the mermaid...
and the... bottom of a woman but a top of a fish...
for security reasons, what?
bash all her teeth out? grandma sucky-sucky?
but no, seriously...
it's a personal joke i should have kept:
personal... if only i could find one that would like
to dress herself in a massive ******
of a latex suit... i'd be giving a litany of cloud 9
and an eleventh heaven... or rather...
the added spice to Dante's Paradiso... or...
Inferno...
         because i could never believe in a benevolent
creator... very much impossible...
too many contradictions...
nothing could be spawned into existence
from goodness... out of evil: sure...
some deity became bored... well... there's nothing...
let's have some fun...
i could never warrant a moral authority
for anything to simply, merely, be...
          out of a joy of superiority...
that gods assembled and said:
imagine us, as mortals... let us imagine ourselves
as mortals... weak, feeble...
let's play this game...
                      now let's stop imagining that...
and... actually see what happens...
hey presto! us...
   why then... these high-airs...
these moral conducts...
   these... then again: but with a woman it's more
fun to break rules than it is to break rules
with a man: since the rules are already broken...
it's more fun with a woman...
i don't think i could ever satisfy myself
"breaking rules" with a man...
   since... i couldn't break the highest rule...
******... well... i couldn't reproduce with a man...
could i? so... that's a bit boring...
even if didn't reproduce with a woman...
there's the idea, the *****-count-of-potential
that i could... with a woman...
my "sin"... of being 4 or 5 or 6 or  7 years old
and having a bath with a girl a year prior to me...
and there we were, innocent...
looking at each other's parts...
and how... they were chiral...
                   fun times...
                                     like the time i taught a boy
my own age... 9? how to ******* in the bath...
because, like i said: there was this funny sensation
at the end of this rub-rub-rainbow...
i was early off the mark...
       i do... prefer to imagine that this world was
created from the advent of an eternal evil
that from: for the purpose of good...
        relative terms... like... if you were to equate...
space... evil? or good?
        claustrophobia... evidently... evil...
time... evil? or good?
oh... that's easy... time is evil... ask any woman...
but for me it's a quadratic:
evil/time             good/space
space/evil           time/good...
                  that's how i see it... or rather:
that's how i don't see it... that's how i heard about it...
this world is so evil it's joke is a choking
of laughter of the gods within the confines
of man trying to rationalise its purpose...
noble... that it is...
some higher idea... some transcendent idea...
which, nonetheless doesn't transcend... death...
except with dreams and wishy-washy carrot-on-a-stick
fetishes of afterlives or reincarnations...
sure... the zombie-brigade of...
a select number of souls...
roaming among a deselected number of...
cow-tow of zombie bodies... Hindu *******...
the Catholic "elect"...

now... i don't see any proper urge to do good...
unless it makes me feel superior...
that's why like Nietzsche... pity bothers me...
unless i pity for a sense of superiority of...
inhibiting my superiority...
     **** me... i should have revisited Nietzsche much
sooner... this world wasn't created out of a concern for
there being nothing...
    that a ******* bogus, priestly argument...
because there's nothing: there must be something...
tell that to someone who chronic pains...
you, *******, sadist...
  no... this world arrived from evil...
sure.... adamant the grace of there being some good
in this world... but... that's... sort of a paradox...
or... an inherent nature, so hidden, within animals that...
men... ought to not know about it...

i can't believe this world was created for
some omni- prefix suffixed with goodness...
no, it wasn't... there are malevolent forces at work...
why would men invent theatre or the mirror...
if... not looking for some higher powers having
presented this existence in a similar:
hidden fashion, of what's to be expressed via
a replication of ideas?!
  hell... what is that? fire? brimstone?
or... rather... smoke and mirrors?!

             right now... no... i'm not seeing delusions
of the geocentric model... that the sun orbits
the earth... that the matters of earth are all that's
important...
or the heliocentric model... that... sure...
we'll ******* adventure ourselves into outer-space...
to Mars... when... March 2100 comes...
by the current strand of psychology?
by the current talking-points?!
  neither... lunacentric "sensibility"...
the earth... orbits the moon... while the moon...
wait... if the earth orbits the moon...
either way: whether the sun orbits the moon
or whether the moon orbits the sun...
the earth... most assuredly orbits the moon;
the end.

while being quarantined
inside our own invisible bubble

Transcendent meditations
while athwart oblate spheroid
allow, enable, and provide
deft capability deciphering
snap, crackle and pop
accepted as mere static
to the untrained ear.

Each inaudible silent cerebral
deaf utterance doth ricochet
across avast heavenly expanse
broadcast far beyond the realm Hubble
telescope detects faintest sound
signaling when cosmos began.

Courtesy near futile results
after jogging me memory,
the following individuals
(unbeknownst if still alive)
helped diagnose mental faculties
concerning yours truly
approximately comprising last two thirds
of mortal male named Matthew Scott Harris;
Ray McNeil
OVR Counselor;
Paul Sachs
licensed psychologist;
Elba Dorley
her professional title unknown.

Unsure who if any among
three aforementioned named
specially trained persons
coined diagnosis (mine)
I accepted (until now),
and blithely communicate
Schizoid Personality Disorder,
and crafted oodles of previous poems
concerning said malady.

Nevertheless profound social anxiety
plagued my every waking and sleeping hour,
scuttling many (née countless) opportunities,
whether series of unfortunate events
encompassed academia or
string of abysmal employment endeavors.

Sequestration of self
most often housed
within bedroom walls
(defined narrow realm),
where alone within
emotional wilderness (mine)
branded passive aggressive lad
(appellation brainchild
of late mother dearest)
as the world turned,
he remained holed up
(except for bathroom needs
and meal times)
inside most secure space
since he exited the womb.

Back in the day Kripalu Ashram
Sumneytown, Pennsylvania location,
which intentional community
(no longer flourishing)
offered peace of body, mind and spirit
found writer of these words
relief from parents,
whose ultimatums couched decision
livingsocial among macrobiotic residents.

Although welcomed for brief hiatus
against domestic backdrop
of psychological torment and trauma
(yes verbally skewered
gratis those two people
who helped beget their sole son),
the tranquil physical environment
extensive acreage incorporated
wooded hillocks, which topography resembled
324 Level Road - boyhood home
(an abode long since demolished
to make room for vinyl city)
afforded consciousness expanding
sensory perception awakening.

Since spiritual immersion
fostered by Guru Dev (i.e. Amrat Desai),
(whose reputation sabotaged,
violated, and yanked off pedestal
by his own stealthy appeasement
unleashing hormonal secretion
granting call of the wild
concerning tenderloin temptation
read carnal concupiscence
(impossible mission to maintain celibacy)
flagged above iterated transgression
blatant barenaked lady
espied flagrante delicto,
amazingly enough, which fall from grace
explains reason residents abandoned facility.

Mindfulness philosophy toward existence,
especially listening to structures of silence
constitutes mantra that endured
since familiarity learning heightened vigilance
(more'n half my life time ago)
experiencing honing sensation
with laser like focus
that buffet five senses.

Brigitte Bardot Bardot, born in 1962,
born under the name of Brigitte
Anne-Marie Bardot September 28, 1934
(84 years) Paris, distribution of France.
Actress Girl Singer Dancer Activist
animal rights from 1952 to 1973
(actress) from 1973 to today (militant animal rights)
Wife Roger Vadim (born 1952, *** 1957)
Jacques Charrier (born in 1959, 1962)
Gunter Sachs (born 1966, 1969)
Bernard d'Ormale (born in 1992)
Partner Jean-Louis Trintignant (1956-1958)
Bob Zagury (1963-1965) Serge
Gainsbourg (1967)) Patrick Gilles (1968-1971)
Miroslav Brozek (1975) -79) Allain
Bougrain-Dubourg (1980-1985) children
1 parent Mijanou Bardot (sister)
Signature Signature Brigitte Bardot
Brigitte Bardot Anne-Marie (in French:
[bʁiʁit Bado, born September 28, 1934]
she is an actress, a singer, a dancer
and a French animal rights activist;
it was one of the most famous symbols
from the '50s and' 60s and was well known
in his initials, B. Bardot was a budding dancer
and began her career as an actress
in 1952, in 1957, she gained international renown
recognition for his role in the controversy
and God created women. Bardot drew
the attention of the French intelligence
conferences. It was the theme
of the Simone de Beauvoir trial of 1959,
****** syndrome, in which Bardot
he described himself as a "locomotive"
of women's history "and was based
on the existential reasons of his first
and the most recent woman released
of France after the war. . . After,
I played in the movie The Contempt
by Jean-Luc Godard (1963). For his role
in the 1965 film of Louis Malles
Long live Maria! Bardot was
nominated for a BAFTA award
for the best foreign actress. Since 1969
until 1978, Bardot was the official
Marianne's face (previously
anonymous) to represent
the freedom of France.

Bardot retired in 1973
of the entertainment industry.
He played in 47 films,
played in different musicals
and recorded more than 60 songs.
He was honored by the Legion of Honor
in 1985 but decreased. After his withdrawal,
I became an animal rights activist.
In the 2000s, it sparked controversy
criticize immigration
and Islam in France. She was sentenced
five fines for hatred against racial hatred.
1.1 Biography First years: 1934-1952 1.2
Career: 1952-1973 1.2.1 Star
Truth 1.2.2 1.2.3 1.2.4 international
Movies Movies 1.2.5 singers
End of career 1.3 Animal activism
well-being: from 1973 to today 2 employees
for the life of Madrague 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4
health policy and legal affairs 4
Filmografia 5 Discography 6 books
7 References 8 Literature 9 External Links
Biography The progress of life: 1934-1952
Bardot was born in Paris of a girl of one breast,
the daughter of Louis Bardot (1896-1975)
and Anne-Marie "Toty" Bardot (born
Mucel, 1912-1978). Louis studied
engineering and worked
with his father Charles Bardot
in the family business.
Louis and Anne-Marie married
in 1933. Bardot grew up in a Catholic
and attentive family.
Brigitte was admitted to Hattemer,
a private school. He went to school
three days a week and usually studies at home.
He gave three days a week
for classes in Madame Bourget's
dance studio. Brigitte's mother
also wrote her younger sister,
Marie-Jeanne (born May 5, 1938)
for the dance. Marie-Jeanne
finally gave birth to Brigitte,
who focused on ballet. In 1947,
Bardot was admitted
to the Conservatoire
Paris.                                      For three years,
I took dance classes with Russian
choreographer Boris
Knyazev. Leslie Caron
he was one of his classmates.
The other dancers are called Bardot
"Bichette" "Little doe".

1929. The same year, she is a model
for the fashion magazine "Jardin des Modes",
directed by journalist Hélène Lazareff.
At the age of 15, he appeared
on March 8, 1950
on the cover of Elle and was seen
by a young director, Roger Vadim,
while taking care of children.
Marc Allégret, who gave Bardot
the opportunity to play The Laurels
Are Cut. Although Bardot played
the role, the film was canceled.
His relationship with Vadim,
who participates in the hearing,
is involved in life and career.
Career: 1952-1973 Brigitte Bardot
at Cannes in 1953. Actor Bourvil
Le Trou Normand
(1952) Crazy for Love. I played
Manina, the director of *****
Rozier, the girl in a bikini (1953).
He played in The Long Teeth
(1953), played Vadim's wife,
and then starred in the Jean
Richard play, portrait of his father
(1953). Bardot had a small role
in a film funded by the Hollywood
Act of Love (1953) in Paris with
Kirk Douglas. I received
a half attention

when it was present.

Can't find no peace
Just cannot relax
Not in Ancient Greece
Not at Goldman Sachs

Jesuit astronomers
Chicago in the snow
Lonely isolation
Lonely don't I know

The guns are insanity
Exoplanets spin
Hope from the little brown chapel
Have to lose to win

Bangkok, Buddhadasa
Berkeley 29
Inner Harbor, Baltimore
World of Strange Design

                    Brown.