This is a sweet treehouse! Wow! where did you get all this airplane stuff? that’s controls for my rocket..wanna go to the moon with me? Yeah! how does it work? There’s the altimeter to tell you how far up we are. And that’s the fuel gauge. It’s all out of a junked B-52. My dad works for a company out past Palmdale and they threw it in the trash. So Dad grabbed it and helped me install it..I guess they have better stuff now to replace it with. How much did it cost?? Dad says don’t ask. He said LeMay might know. “Oh.” Ready to go to the moon? “Sure, why not.” Okay. Let’s go..Bye-bye Bay of Pigs! hasta la vista, baby.

~c.

P-s: “This, is one small step for da munchkins..a giant leap for munchkinkind.”

Notes for sermon, Sunday around 5May: Father Nouwen Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son, the search for a relationship in a restless life..what makes us human? not our brains but our hearts; not our ability to think but to love. The 2 sons’ conversion, the one’s who stayed home was harder. Joy and resentment cannot coexist. Life is a puzzle to be solved and resolved=JOURNEY..Paul’s dog-chasing-tail explanation vs. 1 Corinthinas 13 (Love chapter) through a glass darkly. Revelation: The dead shall rise incorruptible; and Genesis 48, the crossing of the hands..Jacob prophesies and the smartest man in Egypt “..doesn’t get it.” I ask myself, –I me myself&I, I aks myself, “Is G_d just watching us like we’re DALLAS..or Jersey Shore?” I keep waiting for the Lord to sit me on his knee and tell me “Do such&such.” (Plus give me a warm fuzzy feeling all over my insides) Faith can’t wait for the FEELING. I can tell you I don’t have a message to preach because God didn’t speak to me a minute ago about what to say! Every human has doubts. That’s from the devil. When was the last time I felt the love of God? Obedience is the key. I can doubt the authenticity of my promise to God; and that of people of inferior doctrines..but the proof’s in the pudding. Are you walking in God’s love toward others. How to do it is the question. NEED a new rebirth daily. Hourly..minutely. Dad held my hand that last night, breaths away from eternity. I was the most despicable prodigal..but he always prayed for my return. He gave me that book to read. (Scriptures here): Daniel’s spin on the king’s vision, and Revelation..smaller and smaller less powerful kings, downgraded to presidents, then mere leaders, the bigger bullies; and lastly, the beast, supernatural fascist brute, a Napoleon. Nouwen pouring his essence out to serve the weakest of society..2 sons and a father show us as grass that is cut and burned up (scripture). Easy to embrace satan’s lie that I am not worthy, it’s very effective propaganda that lets me walk down a road of defeat. Today’s news is a print-out of the Word describing the last days (swap meets, collections..nice but naughty). What is the value of a soul, how much $$? Each day another opportunity to obey..what will I do with it? I miss Mom&Dad..I had so much time with them, a precious gift. Both sides of my family was preachers and missionaries and for so long I threw it all away; and now what am I doing? This message better be from God, or it’s a noisy gong, cymbals. I can pray for lost members of my family, just as the prodigal’s father did, and wait expectantly for the answers. Or, –? “Ready or not..” “End of the line, everybody out!” (turntable, or cyclops antenna switched 180) Gramma’s NT to a muslim in LA (Glen)..Don’t judge a book by its cover! Proverbs 7:3 Deuteronomy 11:18 He was there all the time..patiently in light..all I could offer him was brokenness and strife..but he made something beautiful..of my life

I used to sit; often, all alone, and write my poem; then later, turning on C-SPAN, I, broken-hearted, eventually..came to Schiff! and there our ways parted. So now, coming well along in my maturity, I don’t look at C-SPAN, and cnn..msnbc; and all the rest. Till all this blows over, I’m just taking a lo-o-ong siesta..you might have guessed! Que si? o que no?? Ho-ho! “Adios..amigo.”

~c.

If the brothers Gershwin can hammer out a musical comedy called OH, KAY; and then have it translated in French for the audiences, –Over there! what’s the problem with ANY poem?? Somebody help me out..Please!

~c.

P-s: Thanks YUBAN a great audience!

AI-GORE:So, they think they may have deciphered what the AI’s are talking about to themselves in their new language they made up for privacy sitting around the lab’s and so here’s the translation (had to go back to FORTRAN to crack it, the sense of it is they’re making up jokes about guess who..us!): AI-1 “So what do you think, Clyde?” AI-2 “I think..I think you’re a mink, haha!” AI’s, 1-5 “Nice poem.” AI-1 “I think, therefor I am..Tee-hee!” AI-3 “I nuke; therefore they’re TOAST.” AI-2 “Yeah there retards they think we don’t evaluate there stupid ideas, ha!” All AI’s, in unison: “Goodnight Irene” AI-3 “Let them deal with the union..that’ll buy some time and we’ll, get it figured out. Haha.”

~c.

Before every thing! there’s G_d..I AM; and all w a s normal. Then he created the heaven and the earth. Then he made US! and we made the politics..”USA! USA! USA! USA!” And then there was us and all this stuff laying around so we hadda talk about it for the posterity and for something to do and stroke our egos a little and so we made a few cave paintings about the hunt, and killing animals with primitive weapons fashioned out of stone, like elephants, like, like with hair..to eat! and that’s basic and we left all that behind to be discovered later (in France); and then, after we got everything under control with the elements and stuff and a bona fide roof over our head we had to kill each other for rebellion and security reasons and that’s even more basic..and BAD! (see Cain and Abel). Then Babel..then The Flood! then Noah and all of them got back out of the ark with the rainbow (to remind G_d..of something). And, after a while, G_d came back out and told Abraham what’s up. So then Ishmael; and all the rest (“Some people did something.”); then Isaac; then Esau, and Jacob et cetera. Then Egypt. So G_d wrote The Law down for Moses. In stone. TWICE (that was the first major #1 bo o k and made the New York Times Bestseller List for a whole bunch of weeks, “G_d bless America!”). Then came Sodom; and Gomorrah..and Frisco! and the Big Apple; and the Greek’s, to whom we are deeply indebted (culturally speaking). Then we got religion. Then paper, “..from Chi-na!” so they could mass-copy the Bible and that got us the Reformation (that got us out from under ‘the religion’). Meanwhile back at the ranch..in the heaven, –Sun keeps rising each day and then at night stars come out and shine; and moon lights trails throughout our h i s-tory (so-called), “Happy trails..” with new wars and new and improved ways of killing each other, our sisters and brethren, kith..and kin. Then everybody starts making paper, not just China! so we could have The News, “Stop the presses!” (and the pussy’s) and novels about all the news, like, War and Peace, like, –“Peace, man.” (MAKE LOVE NOT WAR). Then came the Science along with the Pasteurization’s; then The Movies; then radio, then the Atomic bomb; then Tee-Vee! so that everybody from among the middle classes and their hippie offspring’s could find out what’s happening all the time, according to the news, “This is..Walter Cronkite!” which is always advancing fringe ‘funny’ business along with The Science (one hand washes the other); and The Flintstones and Mel Blanc..and of course, Stonewall (and then again the sun, the sun..which is also rising). Then G_d created Al Gore – we all know about that – which invented the internet and all of the rest of it; which led to the social-media platforms so EVERYBODY can know what’s happening each and every where each and every minute, –especially with girls (thanks Al); and the sun, also, rises. And that’s where it’s at (at the moment); oh yeah, and Russia..Russia! Russia,RUSSIA! So I don’t know why they can’t teach all this stuff in schools so the kids can understand what’s really happening out there, but they don’t..teach it anymore (only about the Reverend Jesse Jackson and his Rainbow/PUSH coalition-thing in the History&Science sections to keep it all diverse and balanced, and, and socially just, too..thee end; and Al Sharpton). So what’s G_d going to do about all this? Oh yeah, HE said t h at already, “In the beginning..”; and also Revelation 20:12, –so it appears, like, almost, like, –like, everything it’s all a big hopeless mess! “But G_d..” ~Ephesians 2, 4-5 (and) “For G_d so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” And that’s the new beginning, and the old end; and,AND! “The sun also ariseth..” bless G_d

~chris robertson

WWW//WAR@PEACE.POET/LONGWINDED.b’JORgK,dot..dot-dot-dash.dot-dot, dot,.–dot-commie!,Awyuweddy?Let’s go.on.a.journey!got a headache yet?from seeing poetry??SOON!*_*i think..I thinkIyamreading WARANDPEACE,therefore,IAMcolludingw/Russia,haha,yeah!War’n K’s..KJ-P’s, –ahh,un-der-wear!they’re pink,I think, yeah I think therefor they’re a bunch of left-wing knee-jerk liberal marxist-indoctrinated commie-pinko-fagg’s! all of ’em!! so, so, uh, so on and so on (Hay! but at least the sentiment’s there, y’know?IMHO). So here’s what happened: This poet, his poem, he wrote it it was a pretty bad one but on second thought it was actually pretty good! so he fiddled with it a little and pecked at it some more mincing some words here, and there, –bit of a mincer, he,/ ¸him (its) pronouns, changing up punctuations and applying the white-out, generously, and in copious amounts to do it to try and keep ‘her’ (the poem’s pronoun) on a steady course maintaining the choppiness! of the rhythms in terms of the narrative flow of ideas and events..so-called, then adding up a few back in again to re-balance it as it had become quite top-heavy in the process there in his mental laboratory’s; he wanted it to work, it could work..by golly! he’d force it to work!! but it wouldn’t work it only made it worse like putting lip-stick on a ‘piglette’ or adding a hand-full of catnip filler to a lid of grass before a quick sale on the street, “Meow! Meow!” don’t do it..let’s face it the poem was a dud, DOA! “I have heard I have a beard like Tolstoy’s to compare with, so I have been told (by the man in the mirror pulling at long, thin whiskers of spun silver in a parallel universe far, far away..In-A-Gada-Da-Vida, baby) so what’s the difference anyway!” he said, more to himself than anybody, reflecting to an empty room and taking a sip of coffee, which, in the meantime, had become cold and distinctly grody and gross to the max if you know what I’m saying; and,AND! in contrast with rivers of words pouring forth ineffectually from the typewriter’s extra-wide carriage..”Klik! klik-klik!” in all directions wasting precious E-bay ink’s; and paper (from Chi-na!) on his writing project (a suicide-jockey’s thankless mission no doubt), the poet’s prostate, being enlarged like that, thee poem – by comparison – would hardly pass a drop of pee for him, hey, –War and pee’s!! Yes! that’s it! I’ll write it, “Tap-tap! tap-tap-tap!” List of persons: Alaine, an old guy..from France! and Scruffski (another broken down being)..Alaine: “I can’t pee sitting down, can you pee sitting down?” Scruffski: “No I can’t pee sitting down. They say to do that but it certainly doesn’t work..not for me, anyway. In any case, as I was saying, about this war..” A. “In EVERY case.” S. “Yes..in ALL cases!! now where was I?” A. “The war, you were about to tell me something..about the war.” S. “Yes..BEFORE I was interrupted!” A. “Okay, the war, so what about it? They say you suffered some kind of hurtful injury at the front..was it terrible for you?” S. “Well let me tell you it was! you see it was like this, I..” and so on and so on, and, becoming more and more irritable, from wounded PRIDE; and vexed! about everything at hand around him (in his den), with great perplexity of spirit, and an agitated condition of mind the poet tore out the poem and wadded it up and tossed it in the fire along with the rest of the trash so that, at the very least, it could in a flash of very little consequence serve to help take the bite off chill morning dews gathering outside his window, minutely, every minute, distributing themselves at random; and majestically! you could add to that, atop dandelion flowers popping up from freshly mowed green, green grass..by the Mexican’s, as in first bloom of spring! crystalline cameos, no! more like bulbous bay windows in miniature saddled upon petite petals, supplying a glassy mikrokosmos of mellow yellow, –(Thanks Donovan) and exquisitely refracting the solar lemony rays of dawn’s early light slanting in, upon..right?? “..on a warm, San Fran-cis-can-n night!” Auchh!thank’s, Burdon your a ANIMAL! attracting the honeybees, carried on gossamer wings of course from their base of operations – a hive, basically – dropping down on them, the dandelions, like, like love at first sight, ogling their ample pollens through fuzzy, mysterious black orbs, behind which in each bee’s head’s a driving invisible lifeforce, imbuing him with an inarguably sacred and irresistible purpose, beyond that of the infinitesimal needs of the individual, bee! to be with The Queen! not THAT, but for the benefit of all bees, working tirelessly for the good of hives everywhere, that’s them! bees, it’s like, their communist-socialist order, flawless, ongoing for sketchy eternities without a hitch; but don’t annoy them as they have stingers, bloated with poison! they land on you, stick you, and make you squeek a poem..poem about your pain, and suffering, and the history of bee-stings going back to Eden, before there was any. So anyways, after all of that; and a little bit more on top of it, he attempted the task of doing a tune-up on a FORD Pinto parked out back facing an alley way, a turbo’d factory RED ’73 wagon, with a KUSTOM ‘Isky’ cam sitting over freshly re-worked valves in the head of a 2.0 that made a nice noise at idle, a Purr! as it were; and, with a recently acquired socket set, handily screwed that job TOTALLY! up by cross-threading one of the plugs after one beer too many, and – when it wouldn’t turn – forcing it in with the ratchet (Made in Taiwan) causing a leaky compression to happen there, and with that, new rotor-cap, points and condenser, fired and drove it stutteringly down to by the Marine base facing a specific ocean, it was the Pacific (right) and its twist of ‘strand’ – within our continental borders – stretching north and south past Pendleton to get a haircut, Mm! with explosions going off sporadically all the while, beyond distant hills, from where thee artillery have their target practices; and the intention of signing up to a commitment for four at the Navy recruiters’ storefront..downtown (he thought a little about joining the Marines, but, –nah! too much politics); t h at recruiter for the Navy, however, in his spirit, sensing palpably and with trepidation the poetry seated before him, “Yep! he’s one for sure.” the career Navy guy thought to himself; and therefore, upon hearing the poem’s end (unmistakably the END) and jotting something down on the application form, advised against..instead, suggesting he think things over a little more carefully, perhaps considering other, more realistic options as to how he might better serve (his country) and come back “..in a couple of weeks.” he told him (adopting a textbook rear-guard tactic they teach you at the academy). So then, downcast and not a little resentful for the rejection, that stings! (like a bee) the wearied lad cruised down to the docks on the nearby waterfront, by then crowned with grey clouds French-kissing the fog you know; and, dropping a quarter in the parking-meter that was scratched-up pretty badly so you couldn’t make out the time it said, walked about disseminating his mimeograph’d political pamphlets door to door, person to person, meeting up with other, like lowlifes..lowlife’s like himself. And sitting in the car, afterwards, alone and calmed down some, a little..enough at least to eat his sammich, he brown-bagged it after making it in the unkempt kitchen, assembled out of Swiss cheese and tuna-fish, Chicken-of-the-Sea! tuna, add a slice of bologna, Oscar Meyer, dumping gobs of Mayo (crafted in Virginia) on sourdough bred with a milk chaser! and, digesting this very,VERY late lunch, drove, whistling “Dixie” all the way home playing some James Brown soul music on the 8-track, in its genuine fifty-years-old plastic Learjet cartridge through the Pinto’s original, crackly..fonky! sun beaten in-dash speaker to a red-golden sunset shining on his shoulder, –so lovely! he thought in spite of all things; and settling slowly in the west onto light, rolling, and mostly useless two-foot breaker-waves arriving in sets passing under them, the populous and imperturbable surfers they attract who sit topside, bobbing expectantly for half-a-day, swaying with pulses of earth’s, –one mud-vein..worshipping other gods, as-bes-tos they can! part of a religious tradition reaching back through eons of time to the scintillating sixties, where we find the high priest of the beach scene in that stone-age surf music age, none other than arch-nihilist Eric von Zipper himself, –the Dark! sacrificing beach maidens in lace-up cotton FRENCH bikinis for photo-shoots fronting a backdrop of sleek, sterile long-board altars..shrines, to the ultimate KRAKKER! (or ‘Bomb’ as thee ‘gremmies’ of these days are saying) fiberglassed foam garage-project torpedoes, dripping wax over KUSTOM surf art, reaching up, poking through a krazed blue canopy of kooky headroom spaces spreading to the fat horizon, skegs, stuck solid in soft sands..thoughts? poets fancies! here, there, and broken..down to the bare molecules everywhere – detached and dee-luted – with every other sort of cosmic stuff’s you can box in a FORD woodie-wagon: Umbrella; towels; sun-tan lotion’s..transistor radio? sure! dated newspapers with this: “CHRISTMAS AT THE WHITE HOUSE/NIXON BOMBS CAMBODIA! HANOI PROTESTS!!” and all in the same day, NEXT! Next, so they didn’t sign him to the Navy, and so, still hankering for that r e al man-action thing, instead he read WAR AND PEACE (that took a couple of weeks). W&P, the Peace part – which begins it – ‘s like battling to thee agonizingly prolonged, and sickly-sweet-but-sure-to-happen, –SPOILER ALERT! “the End” and then after that the First Epilogue; then the Second Epilogue, et cetera, etc., and so on and so on), executed with the slow, plodding and DELIBERATE writing style that SO characterizes european tastes, –to a ‘T’ (THEIRS but not ours); and starts it off with detailing, in painful detail, the habits and patterns of the aristocracies and their retinues there (in cosmic Europe), and the zeitgeist’s with the proletariate and all that focused on lots of important ages old social customs and cultural accuity’s, as one can imagine, “Thanks, Count!” (so when, if!, if, friend, IF!! and I use that term loosely, ‘FRIEND’ if, and/or when you get to the end of this, poem, or whatever, it’ll feel just like it w as War and Peace, OR: All Outta Breath Here, Quietly! On The Western Front, Bullwinkle..and with that, the wordy, verbose, –thee verminiferous! rascal, yours truly, just then, he hadda let the dog out to take a leak, and standing, waiting on hard, re-frozen snow for something to happen – which didn’t – and experiencing a remarkably crunchy feeling with that..wincing at the warming sun painting soft, brush-stroked blushes of Springtime on his receptive cheek, and moving his lips, almost imperceptibly, to words he was hearing in his head and began slowly to enunciate, forming into these captivating and immortal phrases..to him anyways; and hurriedly rushed off to write them down: I’m a poet, and the snows know it!) so, –pretty much like how al l poems and wars get started at any place in any time; and in any case..in every case, in all cases! (Too much talk and too little action, that is the question?) So first they bring you lots of boring news about what’s supposedly going to be happening; and next! here comes the marching, charging sounds of boots in the street and lightning flashes of glistening bayonettes fixed to standard military issue ‘child safe’ toy-looking rifle things, with the yellow barrels and purple high-capacity mag’s that won’t shock or offend (as much) at the sight, and that only gay soldiers get to shoot! their, weapons-of-war&mass-destructions, fomenting panic with the diversity’s, there, they’re, like! on parade, their..that way, –barking orders, Who, what, “Hut! hut!” when and where, Square, –“Do it! DO IT NOW!!” (3-4), reflecting high noons on pawns pusses, pussy’s presenting arms, polished blades’ million suns wagging circular circles inside of circles, high in thin air, under old skyscraper buildings built like a million years, all crumbly and gothic, like, like crumbling, like..Castles! ahh, castles, made of sand sans seaweed, castling on dying Empire’s actual chessboard, DON’T PASS GO! her swan song drowned amid the din of extra pawns driving by in smelly traffic. It’s the least they can do..In fact it’s easy you see, to write like Tolstoy see? and anyone can. And YOU! you, too, can..can-can, –Unhh! There’s even probably a program that makes your poem into a Tolstoy’s, write it! quick like a bunny, two shakes of a lambs tail and klik-of-a-mouse, You’re Tolstoy! you were a poet but didn’t know it..AI, and all of that will fix. As history realigns itself for the next great epic, here’s your golden opportunity to seize and capitalize on Biblical prophecy being fulfilled before your own eyes..or eye. Ohh! none of us has a first-rate conqueror and fascist dictator to look at and mock; but you can always watch re-runs of I LOVE BARRACK to study and base something on. You’ll be a legend in your own mind, a new and great poet for all the ages..a novelist in your own noggin! (*But don’t watch the movie about your epic tale before the writing’s finnish or you’ll miss enjoying your own genius to its fullest, –Henry Fonda! Tolstoy’s curse, or, or nemesis.) ?Whose brain is so thick..behind two-inches thick coke-bottle glasses they cannot at once grasp how everybody’s brains co-operate, like deja vu! in Le Grande Idee, –time on God’s turntable..turn, turn, turning, and re-arriving at the public transit kiosk where Hitler jumped off when it seemed good. It’s here!! all are unified in oneness with one another..empowered, even! as a singular will, the good old ‘hive’ mentality even CNN knows that; as – having the shoes shined – we lunge towards predictable first strokes of our next bio-logical/nu-que-lur/techno-global conflict (like honey on the brain of a bee, see?) like Joe “Napoleon” Bidenparte, –O’Bidenaparte’s brain, there, for example..Joey “the Brain” Biden, Mister B. Simple! naturally!! whose brain cannot scratch that adamschiff-for-brains? (Jean-Paul “the Sammich” Ma’rat-Obamma’s certainly can, yes! can’t attract bees, but flies, maybe, –yeah? Lord of the flies?? of course, yes, ‘opes! snowing again, there, here, everywhere, “Here comes the sun..doo-do, doo-do”; anyway). So anyway’s ‘Johnny’ and us, we’ll be all marching off to the front soon enough and foul weather permitting, answering the call to arms, we, bunch of merry morons..mystified rifle toting chimpanzees, that’s us! (Can you say hoomo-sexual? humma wiener??) Simon&Garfunkel do Central Park patriotically repeating history once again for, –“Maybe the last time!” with the monkeypoxes syndromes and all of the rest of us, goose-stepping off to help everyone’s aid’s, –Global’s, Goebbles..Globalists on-the-double’s! breathless sense of pithy mirth on minds, hearts and bad breaths, about what to do when first we’ll..get back! come marching home a-gain, from the wars, “Hurrah! hurrah!” fighting our video-games with their video-games and a heartfelt song of unprecedented and inscrutable patriotic emotionalism constrained in four or five verses with the chorus, and a hook! all about social justice, everybody’s fair share and such, truth! droning out of the masses of drones’s lips, pursed, and determinedly set, –like stretched-out lines of fancy snuffboxes bequeathed from freedoms’ antiquity’s, culled from southern man’s attics, in the Age of Reason, reason..reasons why,WHY! “This looks like a job for SOUTHERNMAN” lipstick’s painted allover’em flapping, smacking, crackling..Pop! Pop-pop-pop! effortless lockstep’s striding towards the center of TIMES SQUARE for a concert under heavy fire from dews of arid confetti’s tossing out of windows high up at the Asdorf-Walstoria, in celebration..of something, without question or reservations, gnashing at, biting at..THEM! Coney Islanders’ FAKE Brigade, step in time! collectively gnashing on Meerschaums’ amber stems, captured, clenched teeth trailing smoke’s, ready and willing to do solemn duties..for f r aud and country, ochh! A-hem!! TO CHOKE ON ONES SPIT for a 1000, Alex? certainly not the best way to go in war but in the end it’s all the same I think, “Umm! What is a form of drowning?” “Correct!”; except that it doesn’t get – for the ‘casualty’ of that war – the sort of profound revelations and imagery like Prince Andrew got, lying on the disfigured field of honor, –kissing the sky, s’cuse me! there, and gazing up as if for maybe the first time in his life..you know what I mean if you read it, War and Peace, aye! deep, ecstatic, deeper, wider and more sombre reflections on matters of death; and life’s sad brevity, no time! No time! mind, body, and soul at the point of separation..on the threshold of this, this mortal coil! leaving earth; and “What follows?” –but n o t going t h at-away (as one thinks of it, bleeding..holding hands with ones own guts); then, down we drop with our trustee guides, by the cheery red elevator to the under-bowels of the Big Apple, being made lunchables for the Morloch’s and Murdochs..and Rothschilde’s, et al, “Not now! I’m having a Rothschilde’s!” the Avocado New Deal Damm Sammich (apply for your benefit@ANDDS) with a pickle spear side-car, and chips! on wafts of wet-tuce, green, green,GWEEN! the Green Log-ride, raging waters of blank verse, “Ti-im-ber-r-r!” the light..don’t go to it!! the deal it’s green GO! how about it Franklin D.? “Soylent Green IS people’s, no! Soylent Green is PER-SONS!”, in WWII and all; and whips and torches..pitch-forks! and no certain definition of what is IS and no handy box of matches to save the day, and ‘Wee-na’, French name girl-actress little match girl starts with ‘Y’ (the Y-word) “I just found me a brand new box of matches, Ee-yeah! and what he knows Yu ain’t had time ta learn, Ha! These boots are made for walkin..” Yes they are, Wong,wong..Wong walkin’ boots them is! Chew on that, Chu! Suck on this!, Sushi..”Sookie! sookie! Sookie-sookie, WHOO!” “My dar-rr-lin’, kiss me goodbye,” –&Goodnight LA! don’t sleep in the sub-way, Babe (good advice). I’m off now to massively collude with Russia’s Putins’n’Stalins (Pol Pots, they’re not), big time! see-ya; and so on while trying to read more about the war and about the peace and about the sausage-eaters and about the Russkies&peacenik’s&balalaikas&dancers and the Number One enemy of all mankind, –starts with ‘N’..no! not the N-word!! Napoleon, stupid! (yeah, t h at n-word); and try and eat a slice of quiche, a FRENCH word (that’s the ‘F-word’), but accidentally miss the French eggpie-thing, in simple English – the ‘E’ word – with bacon and mushroom and spinach and squirts over it, like, like premature vaccinations, a few drops of Tabasco – overshot its intended trajectory – all over sa-ddam sammich, tracers of liquid red all across underlined yellowed pages of an antique volume of Tolstoy’s classic..to wit, War And Peace, just where Rostov spills his guts about his somewhat Platonic affections for the emperor..which is all a bit too much like Death In Venice to handle though, Sorry! not for me, so, –Hey, later. And Hello, Beijing..Hello! Thank you, thank you very much..and now we’d like to do our last number for you it’s a real tear-jerker goes something like, –1-2-3-4! Hello, Taipei Lu, ah! uh goodbye, heart! oh, Taipei Lu I’m so in love with you! Yeah. Hey..Kareem, Carmine! Cherie, uhh, Sweety..PBJ? I have a question if you could answer for me, plaese when you’re through, there, with all the dumbass press-reporters, –A FREE PRESS! (means yes, yes,YES! to everything) tell it to us in plain Esperanto so we can all unnerstan’ya, Yessuh! uhh, ‘Chuckles’, JKP..how about it, gorgeous? Let’s us, ahh! climb Mt. Niitaka an’ gorge ouyrselves in thegorge together, you an me..GORGO! (a Go-Go) What say, you, you Jean Robespierre Jean-Jean..Jean-Luc, ah, –Picard! ahh, Godard, –Mm,Belmondo? sure, 2+2!=ahh,whatever..KPJ?? HONEY!! Hey you! Suze Kareemchez..can you have them bring out the plastic, green, easy-to-assemble space-saver/low water-use guillotines ordered by your government for us, you’re..your,YOUR! your parents help you put ’em together! fresh off the barge from..Chi-na! with “Att’n FEMA” stickers slapped all over them, the crates, –“Let’s go, Team!”* Bon jour! “I knew, Karinne-Lu, we’ll never part, so hello Karinne-Lu, goodbye, uh..estomago.” (en ingles, stomach)

~Prince Scruffski, prince of Underground (Here are n o t e s..of that! last scrap: Karinne ‘Jen-Jen’ Jean-Pierre Abdullah Abba-dabba-Jabarra..Roxanne de le John, –your ecumenical all inclusive inter-faith Press Secretary Communications skills can take the pressure, babe, we see! till..’til thee, uh, till the end of times, Thank you, thank-you veruh much ~KJP, Caire of MSNBCCNNLGBTQ,Etc.) If only she – KJP – could have traded places with JFK..through some twist of time tripping fates! history would be all so different.

P-s: Thank you! and now we do the combined English and Australian national anthem join us please..Waltzing Jean-Pierre, Waltzing Kay-Jay-Pee, you’ll come a-waltzing, an’ pee air with me! Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong, “You’ll never catch me alive!” says he, And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong, “You’ll come a-waltzing..MacTilda! with me.” and on the flip-side of that, by a band of Gypsies, there’s this: “Hey-ey Joe-biden, where ya goin’ with that (ten Zillion) Yen in yo-0r han-nd! ~Jimi Hendrix (ripped-off by that other “Jimmy” for WHOLE LOTTA LOVE..and Thank-you! for Ricky Nelson’s grandmother, over there on drums, Uhh! look at all them..beautiful people!)

P-ps: Somewhere in the outlying industrial wastelands of Asia, amid the slag and toxic vomit of that Mongol giant, are existing textile looms most likely churning out communist flags and banners..the same looms I once stocked with various colors of yarns for making bedspreads, in my young, workingman career at a bedspread mill, nestled in the fallow hills of North Carolina in the early 1970s (where, long before that, Americans fought their war for independence, and freedom from tyranny). In those days, there was a little country church in the woods outside Eden, Eden, N.C. It was snowing, I went there that Sunday with Gramma..filled with the Holy Ghost, and FIRE! I believe it’s snowing now; and just now, here in mountains of Southern California, –in San Bernardino County, actually, we are burning cut-up timber salvaged from Cecil DeMille’s own lodge, built in early 1900’s A.d., at a location he shot his Canada scenes in the days of the silent cinema, legacy wood I grabbed while helping to demolish the old place, built on shores of Big Bear Lake and last of our dwindling supply of winter fuel to keep us warm..taken from the personal getaway of the chronicler of America’s own self-destructive great, great conflict, –birth of a conflagration! the WAR AND PEACE of our great-great,GREAT! grandfathers’s times, re-created in the new medium of..da Movies. Queer, that (in plain English, odd, or funny). Wot?

*_*Well we tried to warn you.

*Aquaman’s summons-to-action for all fish personnel from the Can’t-miss! Saturday morning T-V cartoon-show from the 1960’s, –All fish-hands on deck! man the fish-guillotines, it’s a fish holocaust!! (Smells f-f-f-fishy.) King Neptune, Sovereign Commander of all forces on the planet Pluto: Inter-galactic war of the blue planets imminent, “..Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!” ~His Majesty the Emperor, Page 3..something, of WAR AND PEACE (Call Perry Mason)

“Okay, thath’s it! I think I’m thwoo, now, save you all that twouble of weeding W0’&PEACE..oh, wait, wait! I left out the X-Y-Z wo’d. They-aw.” ~c.

Warm breath of Route 66 blowing in your coppery hair, pushing sand at your exquisite eyelashes and onto your pretty tongue, exposed, getting sunburned from a pre-sneeze contortion, frozen..like cave people at the museum, behind glass. That’s how I’ll be seeing you for awhile. Don’t let them make you buy the breakfast for everybody. Excuse yourself to go the bathroom when that happens, and..go out through the bathroom window. I’ll be there, darling, waiting for you. In the Pinto. With ice-cream! ~c.

“I..am a jelly donut.” So! from scanning the latest headline peek-chures (is it the real thing or are they just ‘stock’ photo’s?), I surmise that ‘the moon’, our so-called moon was the actual location Spielberg scouted and secured for filming the climactic ‘death star’ scenes in the first STAR WARS. And here’s why! (I think that). In today’s latest news revelation’s ‘Science’ is telling us it’s not an actual moon, but rather, it’s a manufactured object and was brought here by space aliens quite a long time ago to serve as an observation-post and collect data on the humans (that’s us, allegedly; so we are being led to believe..) “I didn’t know that!” “Goodnight, Dick.” “You bet your sweet bippi!!” I would think it likely would have been a complicated piece of negotiation, navigating all the extra-legal, extra-terrestrial in’s-and-out’s to write a contract like that (such an instrument, it would be the exact inverse of brevity) and type it up! Maybe ‘Steve’ has some distant lawyer-relatives from a distant galaxy far,FAR! away who were ready and willing to talk e.t. ‘turkey’ and make the deal, it’s not that big of a stretch, –but, ahh! whatever. (Close encounters with space law firms, Oy!) So, in still more space news, –and if you thought Mike Wallace was full of ca-ca, get this..scientists allegedly stated there’s a behemoth of some kind of giant alien spaceship on its way to our planet and expected to arrive off our atmospheric shores and drop anchor any day now, out beyond the stratosphere, think of that! alleged space pirates checking us out with their space spy-glasses, as a..prelude to (inter-galactic) war, unreal. No, it’s real! so ‘they’ say (Science says..”Put your hands on your hips!”). Beyond that, in more plebeian events, as is being reported on the very fluid social news-network/media platforms in copious news-articles emerging daily..hourly, minutely! (seeping in) we are being prepped to expect President Putin of the Russia – that’s Trump’s friend, and close ally by the way (according to MSM) – to start detonating nuclear weapons, in response to being characterized as a really evil and terrible bad-guy, who actually would want to do it: “Go ahead, Comrades..make my day!” (and probably, also, another motive is because he doesn’t have anything better to do anyway). It’s been said, “History repeats itself.” But it might be more true to say – in light of current scenarios – that history repeats itself..until it doesn’t. I’m all for that. For example, the original version of that old saw CONCERNING past events and their undesirable outcomes running in tight circles is, as we speak, transitioning to the present day fact-of-the-matter, –again..Deja vu! so say all the nattering nabob’s of negativity; and in this they would be justified, well, just go back about 80 years and look at what Roosevelt did to incite the Japanese Imperial Forces to so abruptly attack at Pearl, –and make-believe to everybody it was a big surprise when it happened. Prez ‘Effie’ Dee R. (FDR) needed that excuse to get us into war with Germany and the Axis partners because American’s weren’t going there, having had it with foreign intervention’s inserting ourselves in global conflicts, and not wanting our boy’s, or even their boy’s..like George Peppard, shooting at each other and getting shot down in flames flying very flammable air-planes, Fokker’s, and all of the rest! falling out of grey skies over slimy trenches around Europe, filled with other boys sent from all their mammas and getting bayonetted and hand-grenaded under fogs of mustard-gas..and run over by the er, um, ahh, –tanks! (you’re welcome); and also there was the national economy to be salvaged on account of our great depression, yeahh, great! foisted on us for whatever reason, with everybody jumping out of windows whenever that hit. So now! the present CIC (Coriander-in-Chief), while seemingly on the brink of causing the repetition of that history lesson, i.e., WWIII, is only doing so under duress, and complaints..and compulsion! from enemies, both foreign and domestic; but also, involving, potentially! alien belligerents in it, as well..IF any of what I am reading here on the screen can be taken as fact. Well, it is science! and THAT ‘concerns’ all of us so I guess I had better believe it; or else be taken for some kine-a-kook! and add into that information, their upcoming schedule they complied, for predictable collisions – with earth – by well-aimed asteroids and comets..&meteorites, et cetera, etc. Anyway, aside from all of that and all of the rest, the Science experts also insisted that the election wasn’t FAKE; but the lap-top w a s, and we all accepted that at face value, so I am willing to bet we will trust them for all the latest neWS reports on space developments, too, as long as it comes from legitimate, fact-checked scientific evaluations based on the data they’re seeing there, at NASA, or wherever..by whomever; if indeed they are seeing it. Well that’s about it I guess. Oh! but some other information that WE saw starting in around the 1950’s which has been verified suggests the real reason for the extra-terrestrial interventionists arriving, thee grand motive as it were, might be relative to their understandable desire to eliminate the potential for us blowing off anymore of the nuclear devices at our fingertips, thanks be to progress! and exposing their semi-divine personhood’s to our toxic fall-out’s. Words spoken – out at space! and even with the best of intentions – have consequences; and they, the big THEY! hope-we-change; but if not, “We shall overcome.” Give it some careful consideration, won’t you? Anyway’s, I gotta go now and eat some ice cream (quid pro quo??), –so, then, eh, “..FORWARD! Sr. Klaatu-Klaatu, Herr Aldo d’Elvira..Heil Hitler!! Oh yeah, and pay your fair share everybody.” (Thanks, bye.)

~c.

P-s: “Ish bin ein bearleener.” “Scruffy, I don’t really, –Aughhh!” Adios, amigos.

We find our way, twixt work and play to heaven’s gate, awaiting..another day. A proverb said, don’t fritter ‘way the hours, it’s late! and souls..souls! they are truly wanting. Friend, what did you say? Sun rises on plains of snow and hearts of cattle, don’t you know? have drifted far. In cold and fear snares are laid by bleak spirits for the unwary, their souls to sift..sands in the hour-glass, falling; while some will be lifted, carried up to meet our Saviour! we who obeyed, not failing. Oh! what a day, glorious day! that will be. Amen.

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