For in those dayes Might onely shall be admir'd,
And Valour and Heroic Vertu call'd;
To overcome in Battle, and subdue
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human Glory, and for Glory done
Of triumph, to be styl'd great Conquerours,
Patrons of Mankind, Gods, and Sons of Gods,
Destroyers rightlier call'd and Plagues of men.
Thus Fame shall be atchiev'd, renown on Earth,
And what most merits fame in silence hid.
Paradise Lost Book 11 (688-97)
I hate ice cream.
I hate television and the mail. Satan votes American bacon in the general election. It is 1914 over the black water. I hate ice cream and the Seat of God in all His myriad false forms.
Meditate me up some money.
We took to the UFO streets. We dance like an Israeli wedding day massacre. Dance means war. War means sausage divinity like bits and pieces of legs, arms, and fingers. Children burn in Christ’s fire, depleted uranium shells, and jingle bells–the War on Christmas is the Lead Story.
The powder puffers of smoke and trumpets blow. I ramble to and fro. I make black coffee. It is the witch's brew. Or Catholic Heaven served with beef stew.
The shock of panties and boxers writes the collective conscious of books worms and computer processors. Must I leave paradise for handful of dimes? For shit and shitty crimes?
Look up! The Notice reads: "Run faster, work harder, earn lesser!”
II.
So moved by shrill brass, the sheep snooze in the dead meadow and the cow munches the sad, sad grass [insert commercial break here]. This is an amazing opportunity! Live your life on no pay! Hurry! This offer lasts forever, so be sure to be the first in line to take advantage of whatever.
Footnote: the naturally speaking squatters who leave a void in our daily trip around the sun* are up for reelection. Ptolemy is yet in vogue–the Earth centered universe and Catholic child abuse is hardly a serious question for the serious theologian. It is long standing tradition. Case closed. Please hurry and donate your child’s last kidney to The Lobby.
God, the Great Goodness Foundation, is a man of battle and destruction, hag-ridden. His slaughter is beautiful. Cupid is the evil angel. Cupid bought a gun, and shot himself in the head.
Sang the lovely choral, “Economic Messiah,” like Mount Moriah, we stab each other’s personal, inner Isaac and any imagination who escapes a childhood beating. We enforce virtue to the point of nuclear annihilation.
Radiation poison is the gear that turns wheat into flour. Exposure to armor piercing rounds are grounds for holy calibration and celebration! Waves the flag! We are war heroes!
III.
And then the church had a church type outing and raised money
For our brothers and sisters to encourage pay incentive
The good old-time making war-values, money against the enemy!
And then [some commercial] between it, and next, they praise us
After all! The brothers and sisters in the television having a war!
So it is well known, waves the flag! We are war heroes!
We go to the war movies, with our voting awareness information!
However, then, at the war movie place, the other side started cheating.
And then some, including at the church, who were not as much
Smiling anymore said, foul, time out! Those dirty players keep playing
Hide and seek style and not good old proven soldier to soldier style
Our side suffers from more bullet holes square to the noggin!
And so it turns out it was our dearly held office space organizer all this time
Who are the responsible ones along with bigger desks and fancy parties?
Who said they would look into it and hold those accountable
In the name of justice, truth, and liberty for the right side players returning
The missing digits and minds. Get this! They were forced, as it turns out
Doing it for less pay incentive than the other side who
Observed not the proper ordinance of all things meek and mild,
On such and such an occasion, rules, lists, lobbies, and lunch
Now finally settled, it must be good enough for even an office space
Organizers in the great office of our East! Perhaps, also it would
Fit well with the grand office space organizer of the empire, maybe?
IV.
I have hopes and dreams to fellas!
It was just supposed to be that one night
With her and me and each man’s
Constant life-companion, lust--
She got the wind in the wrong direction or something--
Conspiracy approaches like a bandit!
It was never in terms I can understand
And told to me what went wrong
For me, for no-good reason
Just spacing out
From my fellows of the crowd
Now I am supposed to keep shops for the helpless
Me, a father so loved?
Those thoughts were almost born of this head
Nevertheless, The morning after pills came.
Now, I am done with that thinking business.
V.
We join now with Russia and take a bride for a sunset ride into the sweet waters of machine-gun fire. This is the precision resurrection of John Wayne on Easter Morn. That bunny is naughty and likes harsh tickles between the nipples.
I suppose Dungeons and Dragons and Metallica are no longer popular devils. We crave refined explanation when we cast our blame at this time. Until further notice, do not call us.
We saw the condition before “The Armageddon” and knew Christianity would eventually lead to the loss of nearly all Winston Churchill’s salvation. Shave and store Serbia, and her sister state, Sabrina, in the cupboard for tomorrow while Austria-Hungary walks into the mouse trap.
Donald Duck is a serial killer. Germany takes a nap. Mickey Mouse is a rat. Great Britain takes a crap. We look into the future and wonder; our laughter spills like jingle bells and witch’s spells. Cruel splatter and swine populate our mind-occupation–a serious potential danger to the natural order of the world banker.
Anybody with small butterflies and her interest in raspberries and little yellow flowers will be summarily shot on the spot by random determination. Vision is not tolerated. All thinking is suspended until further studies warrant. Eat the wine, and drink the eggs–we earn our guns with our bare brains.
And the tower cracks, and the steel comes crumbling down. For proof, look around the Island Japan–the obvious conclusion is Islam.
I publish orders to anyone including Jessica who said, "Hi boss, it is cold and cloudy here. France–they still advance. But how are you, dear?"
"Today I fall in love with Cleo. Today, I felt like history Lucifer, winning at the table, tinfoil, China, and most possessions North of the Equator.”
I feel like a victorious empire-builder eating brutal apples with a propaganda contraption, and your sly, sensual eyes. How do you feel?”
"Good dear, I am so happy I found you. You are the right man for the job. And my job aches for your sweet, sticky, release of sex-- sex and photocopiers– and other pleasures with black feathers..”
“I got bored posting trolls on news boards because the communists took my ink, and creativity is damned, like the politics of Saudi Arabia and breakfast cereals--so I thought I would try printing my picture about a dog I once knew. Therefore, I march on top of other areas, roofs, skyscrapers, swimming pool covers–who cares? I say Singtao, sucker! No Indian Ocean for you!
Time out of mind, and out of body, I imagined writing like your eyes and face–a complete failure I secretly knew like common sense. Our absurd existence like a diamond in the government contract for military applications.”
Dr. God be praised, He passes us all the proper paperwork and pharmaceuticals while giving us the coal mining disease and a pre-nuptial for the incoming divorce!”
“My muse wrote a lot lighter than censorship, and broke my mind with the whips and chains of passionate kisses. But how can I complain? Knowledge is like the moon, at first glance of An Eden, I want to work in a steel mill and drink alcohol by the drum barrel, forsaking my socks like a bomb throwing, sandwich eating, Gavrilo Princip. I, a video-game eater of broken, cracked, and split Tupperware planners.”
The End
Thank God.
