Yeah... that's real. I don't think the sun switching its poles is anything but a joke. It's just distracting people, so they can usher in their next bout of corruption, and then "Prove" to Christians they were right all along. Although, the fact is, stuff is about to get real.



The strategy behind this, is to wear people down every so often, and get them used to the idea of there not being a God. And they do this every so often in waves, wearing down your constitution toward Gay Marriage, and Transgender, getting you used to it, so they can then prove their Utopia was better all along. While you have no freedom, except who you like to screw, And then after a while, you don't even have that anymore---which is how they normally do it.  They slowly strangulate your freedom, and your liberty, and your morals, they can usher in their Beast System, which will catalyze the entirety of the world. Just be vigilant. And let them do away with you if you have to.

What a queer character
Which nobody likes---
Why would he be one?
Yet, he does the cooking
For the Mouse and Bird
And dies when he gets displaced.
A very base story is this Grimm's Fairytale...
But important nonetheless,
Because we each go about our business.
And no matter how big or small it is
It is essential to the survival
Of not only households,
But entire nations.
Therefore, if you do more work
Covet not the position of the one who does less,
As you might find the whole system breaking down
As a result of it.

My ship sets sail by the Son's
Cheerful countenance upon the stormy waters
Which draw forth winds.
If I walk upon the seas, I shall fall
And thereby be plucked up out of them by Him.
My tongue a rutter for the carriage;
Curse for curse, blessing for blessing---
There is no supernatural agency behind words
Not ordained by God,
But affect weighs heavy upon our hearts and a hearer's soul---
Warnings for repentance, and not for our own silly vanities.
Unchain the captive with your words and deeds,
And all will be well; for words and deed
Proceed from hope and faith; from our desire to also bear good fruit
And only such hope can; which said desire springs forth the pomegranates' berry.
When I fall shipwreck, I trust in He
Who calms the seas, and brings the fish.
When bitterness envenomates me
I think upon my LORD and His cross.
When sin and temptation disturb my mind, and come nigh
I think upon Him...
For by Hope of Salvation and nothing else
Are we called to in this life...
For by hope, at our failings
We look upon the Bronze Serpent
And are healed; our sins forgotten
And our righteousness remembered by God for eternity.
Not to become Him,
But to be made like Him;
He Who is the Only Begotten
And the Firstborn of All Creation...
We, simple heirs by adoption and right.

Sweet Jonathan, I saw your shrewd grimace
At the hypocrite's sermon. Remember
It is love in the heart that stays God's wrath
And binds you to God's Covenant, and no 
Other thing. For at once the hypocrite
Hid such stark, and naked judgement at his
Daughter, and at once, when reconciled,
Did depart immediately from faith.
For he just went from one vile manner
To another... and replaced a cold heart
With a cold heart. So, store up mercy, friend
And know the hypocrite shall lose his faith 
At the last---though pious, he never once 
Understood, and that was why there is wrath.
For the good heart it chooses Christ alone;
'tis compelled to, by ministry of Grace.

I spoke to you as if one given that name.
I gave you that benefit, but you threw
Our fellowship away as a filthy rag.
"Humility" you say? You want me to be humble?
Yet, you, I thought you were a Russian Orthodox Priest;
That's how humble I am, that I approached you as a man
But you treated me as a babe.
What Iranian or Indian has blonde hair?
Did I speak to an authority of the faith?
Or did you? Repent, I say it again.

No. We are Placers.
We are Judges.
We have a place in ordering God's design
When in heaven,
But shall not be an object of Worship.
Only God is.

The city bus arrives,
I see the children need coats.
The stop has a shop
Which has five.
He will only give me one
If I work for him,
And in return
His mannequin, she says, "Shut up, don't complain,
"Don't talk, never speak another word, and 
"For ten cents a day
"That shall be your reward."

At the time I thought it pretty fair
As I pled with the lifeless doll,
For to have my work, and give the orphans coats
I must give my very all.
My voice, my honor, my every hour,
Then I woke up, and saw the vision was glower.

I am enraged too.
But not enough to destroy liberty.
Not enough to do away with the American Dream.

Let it be for all people, rather than for none.
Is all I'm saying.

There is a world beneath us
That the farmer would be proved
A filthy rotten liar, 
For all men would have food.
By whose trowel would it come
It would come from that AI
And art and work and all activity
Would be done by artificial eyes.

The little lamb was grazing
The Fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox knew it well,
He wished to go to Valhalla
To that underworld's hell.

The men had waged their wars
The Irish rebels lost,
The unpatriotic poet
Had marvelled at the cost.
For now men were so idle
To dote upon their jewels,
Any form of eve they'd spy
They could boon in her womb too.

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He wished all to go to Valhalla
That strange world the lamb called hell.

"The Root and Birch Beer flowing
"Amble through the sugary ways,
"There are no rules, here, showing
"What thing I ought but can't say.
"For you have your nude liberties
"But none to write this poem;
"For all are there so silent,
"And can only touch a flower with foam."

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his wooled body,
For it was very bare.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He gave the Lamb his visions
Or did he? No, God did, well.

Gabriel's trumpet blasted,
Michael and David's too;
The men in their vessels
Did fly to worlds new.
Thus was all speech ended
And men only talked with moans,
At last the foaming flowers
Were forbid by hearts of stone.

What is fiction is for the moral soul
To show them in stark nakedness, like a
Runway model, in her sumptuous form
With exposed breasts, and a sack of wheat
Her naked body is there, sumptuous---
For in the real world, such things entice
But in the literary world, they teach.
For the sex between two conjugal mates
Is more beauteous than the lust of two
In heated throws of whoredom's pink passions.
Yet it is in the mind's eye they make love
So flower does not meet flower, fluid
Does not mix with fluid, nor seed with womb;
And what's never seen cannot be exposed.
For the mind creates only from matter
It has understood, and without which, no
Thought can be lucid, or knowledge there known.
For what is wrong can be called wrong, but right
Called right, as heroes and villains fight wars
And the limb crushed cannot be known, 'tis hard
To imagine what eye hath never seen.
Thus, the book can do no harm, but rather 
Elucidates the crux of moral wisdom.
For it can do no harm, but teaches when
A man is wrong, or when a man is right
Such is a story's use, and only that.