Artemis xx
By 
		B. K. Neifert
































In our world of modern art
Let a poet be so free
To write in that syllabic meter's
 Drum of exotic stresses: read.



©2023 B. K. Neifert  
All Rights Reserved





































	Dedication: I dedicate this to J.T. and J.D., whose conversations have spurred on many interests over the years. JD, you and I watched Event Horizon together, and I do believe some of that intonation inspired this. And J.T. your voluminous input on extraterrestrial colonization has helped shape some of this, too, by grounding me in today's science. As did, also, a peer's poem about living on Mars in my Creative Writing Course in 2013. I'm very excited about this piece, and hope many audiences will enjoy it.






























Table of Contents


	pp. 5 ----  Short Story: Artemis xx 
	pp. 35 --- A Year in Poetry
	pp. 104 --- Hyper Modernity
	pp. 157 --- The Myth of Brittos and Theseus































Artemis

"Off to the Hyperborean sea,
"Fly oh ships, to avoid the Valkyries' war.
"The fire spreads across firmaments,
"As the men and women cannot come home.

"We are distracted by it by the Baals.
"The voyagers look beneath them
"And see the arms of the giants in Jotunheim,
"Beneath the circle of the Earth."

I hope you're right.


























I

“The world is about to go to war,” said Christa Armstrong.
	“Yes... our countries are soon to go to war,” said Yuri Sakharov.
	The Artemis rocket raised above the platform. Musk's designs were fused with NASA's, and the Artemis XX mission was about to launch. Nukes were about to fly, and the mission was to colonize the Moon. The mission was called “Project Rainbow.” Humanity was projected to decline by the billions. Some even speculating no life could exist. The scientists had a collection of 10,000 kinds of seed from all the habitable regions of the Earth. No animals were going to survive, but the people lived their lives oblivious to what was about to happen. The Moon module that landed, a sort of dome if you will, was to be constructed by A.I. powered robotics, since humans couldn't do the work. They were guided by pilots, who made the commands into the prompters, but the A.I. was more suited to the precision necessary for building such a base.
	Yang Yang, the woman pilot, and Rakesh Babha, a male astronaut, was the other mating pair. There was a huge political crap show, that no blacks were on the mission, and also no LGBTQIAA2PRFZ+ people, but there was only enough room for four. The joint mission, a Russian, a Chinese, an American and an Indian, representing the four most advanced space programs. The Saudis and North Koreans had their own mission. They were going to fly to Mars. All of this was independently done, by corporations like Space-X and Infogrowth, and expertly laid out so the mission could be self sustaining on the moon.
	The dome was the size of the Super Dome stadium in Louisiana, ironical due to the fact that it was once used to shelter people from Katrina... though those politics were long forgotten, this dome had four levels, each with already planted trees, and about 10,000,000 gallons of fresh water, which would be recycled by filtration systems on every urination. The waters from the plants would also be cycled, but there'd be no meats. Only vegetables. They had quinoa, as a meat substitute.
	Christa and Yang Yang sat in the rocket with Yuri and Rakesh, talking to each other, glibly. There was a feeling of excitement, of hidden jubilee. As, scientists have this obdurate sense of discovery, where they felt like Noah and his sons about to embark on the Ark and endure a global flood.
	The timer started counting, “Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One...” Christa was reminded of a Steve Miller song, one her Grandfather used to play, but the rocket blasted off. It flung into the heavens, with a fiery ball, lighting the world like an incandescent burst of flame. The entire sky was darkened by the fire ball, so the blue, clear sky turned black like during a Solar Eclipse, but no stars. The rocket blasted off, no rings or after burners on this model. It was the most advanced rocket ever developed. It would have enough to get back to Earth, and it could even land upright on its back, like in a Ray Bradbury short.
	The rocket flumes licked into the air, and soon the quarto were in space.



















II

Out in space, the quarto couldn't unbuckle, as they'd have to be in their seats the whole time. The Ion Boosters would get them to the moon in a matter of a few hours. It would be a geometric display of speeding up, and then blasting the ions in the other direction, to slow it down. So, the rocket would speed up, and then slow down.
	Finally, the rocket orbited the moon, and there, on the maria of the Mare Vaporum, the rocket hovered, and it landed upright, shooting its sparks from the bottom.
	The four astronauts departed the craft, from a ladder that fell down to a hatch, that opened to a staircase. And there, they departed the craft, and entered into the vacuum hatch of the Moon Base. 
	“Eden” as it was called, had a stale air, almost like being in a newly developed office complex, and there were trees growing, which had been transplanted there by the A.I. worker bots. Those were all gone, as the humans had a distrust for A.I.---it really couldn't be self aware, but they felt it were, as they were dazzled for hours by the platitudes it could produce---so there were no robotics on the craft, save the life support systems, which were governed by strict programming that couldn't reproduce or replicate, or code itself.
	They walked into the main emporium, and it was where all the oxygen would be made, as until just recently, CO2 was being pumped into it, in order to help the trees grow. Now, there was just enough balance for the four of them, to produce enough CO2 for the entire forest. So they thought... 
	There was one window at the top of the dome, which viewed Earth like an under ripened blue raspberry in its window. The four looked up, like having the very Earth as a mural, but there was something strange about the Earth. Rakesh was the first to notice it.
	“Do you see any green?” asked Rakesh.
	Yang Yang squinted her eyes, and as they narrowed, from frustration, suddenly they burst wide open, “No!” she cried. All four of the crew were experts in the other's languages, so they all communicated in a slew of four languages, each of them well versed.
	“What do you think happened?” Asked Rakesh, when suddenly a fireball erupted over the Ukraine. It was like a pinprick on the surface, and it looked like a little yellow light lit up on one of those boards you'd see in a 1950's movie---like they were playing a war game.
	Yuri took off his helmut, as Rakesh phoned back to Earth. He had direct communication with the old, and tired Elon Musk---this was his first true success, though being a trillionaire, he never actually did much, beside commission shuttles to travel from one end of the earth to the other. That, and Neurolink, which an old writer predicted, though he received modest fame, people were too jaded to make him a success like Rowling or King. There were no Neurolink on the Space Station, as that, too, was getting controversial. People were getting trapped in the mental worlds, and everything turning to hell within them. People did not want Neurolink, and it initiated a large lawsuit which nearly bankrupted Elon; as, the fact was it did a lot more damage to the psyche than was first estimated.
	So, they lived upon the dome with no A.I. or computer implants, as the massive window sprawled out in front of them, tempered with glass that could withstand a small nuclear blast. That glass had to shield them from space debris, and it was a new, Carbon based glass, where the glass itself was of a similar consistency to pure Diamond. Imagine the problems that created for the Diamond market, as Gold and Silver were both being artificially produced, too. So, the economies were in ruins as most people had no work---most of Western Civilization lived off of stipends, or worked part time jobs, which paid for a small amount of food, and the tents they'd use would cluster together in giant hovel cities. Of course, everyone was shamed into having work, but only a few successful people could actually sustain themselves off of their work. Most work became a prized commodity, more prized than the jewelry which was replaced by synthetic precious metal and stone.
	Here, on Eden, the four astronauts all looked, stunned at the fact that the Earth was barren. All of its green was sucked up, destroyed. It was over the course of 40 years that this happened, but the Nuclear War definitely burnt up whatever green was left on the Earth.
	Yuri called for Elon, “Papa Roach, Papa Roach, are you there? Come in, Papa Roach.” There was nothing but static.































III

Yang Yang and Christa were sitting over a board of chess---each of them achieving the rank of IM, which was a precursor for employment on this mission, in order to ensure some culture would be passed down, should everything be destroyed. It was a Semi-Slav, and Christa played black. Yang Yang was on the offensive, and the metallic pieces clung to the board with magnets.
	“Yang Yang, why do you think the war happened?” asked Christa.
	Yang Yang put a piece to her mouth, and her eyes grew hard. “America wanted to hog all of the computer chips.”
	“Yes, but why did China have to invade Taiwan?” asked Christa.
	“Because America had to hog all the computer chips.” 
	An army the size of a small country attacked Taiwan about four years previously, and all the countries agreed not to use WMDs. That quickly escalated, after four years, which prompted the mission. As soon as World War III started, the mission was due, and they had previously built the blueprints and processed the materials for the dome. Yang Yang only knew her country's politics, but up here on the moon, with everyone's governments blown to pieces, Christa thought she might reason with Yang Yang.
	“Yes, but the US didn't have the computer chips. Taiwan did.”
	“Taiwan is a part of China,” was what Yang Yang said, getting nervous.
	“Yang Yang, nobody can put you in prison up here. Tell me the truth, what do you think about it?”asked Christa. “Ought the world have went to war, over something so petty? How many billions of people are dead now, or in worse straights than this?”
	Yang Yang paused, nervously shook, and looked down to her feet, not wanting to answer.
	“Christa, she's not allowed to talk about this. Neither am I,” said Yuri.
	“Surely you are, Rakesh, right?” He looked down at some schematics, and was working on something while the two women played chess.
	“I suppose... I can talk about it. I don't really want to,” said Rakesh.
	Christa frowned, and furrowed her brow. “But, you look at the world. It's all gone. Don't we at least get to figure out why?”
	“Our job is to preserve the human race. Not to speculate on wars and far away things. We're not specialists. We are mechanics,” said Yang Yang.
	The other three agreed.
	Christa beat Yang Yang shortly after, and then went to work improving the irrigation systems on the moon-base. The soil wasn't able to grow on the moon, so all of this soil had to be transported. It came from the Nile Delta, and was transported on several rocket missions. The A.I.'s did most of the work, putting the building together, though they were somewhat guided by the pilots, they were free to calculate and minutely improve upon their suggestions. As is what A.I. did, was take human input, and make it more precise.
	“You know, this isn't moon soil,” struck up Christa again.
	The other three looked at their charts.
	“Listen, we can talk... do you think space colonization is viable? I don't,” said Christa.
	Rakesh put down his pen. “Yet we're here, now.”
	Christa sighed, knowing that she had the better judgment out of the whole crew. Yes, you could put a man in space, have them live there. But, you'd always need to refuel it. Say they did sustain the atmosphere, and had the perfect balance of human CO2 and trees. They were supposed to, but looking at the vast amount of trees, Christa had an inclination there was not enough humans onboard, to balance out the trees. A sneaking suspicion. Getting people to live off Earth, would be more about chemistry, than anything else. But, say they did? Then what about the soil? They couldn't grow on Moon Soil, so they likely wouldn't be able to grow on Martian soil, either. There's not enough organic material to fertilize the plants. Of course, she was an expert in horticulture, she knew how to make compost, even out of human waste. Everything was regimented down to a science. But, there's always going to be necessity to go back to Earth.
	Christa glanced at Rakesh. “Don't you think, though, Rakesh, that sooner or later, we're going to have to go back to Earth?”
	“Yes, in a few decades, maybe a half a century. When we've sufficiently populated this, we can begin to repopulate the Earth.”
	That was his country's propaganda. This Ark was supposed to rebuild civilization. Though, Christa knew the seed stores, of billions of seeds, were going to be used to reseed the Earth. The mission, even if everything went right, couldn't last for more than twenty years. Surely the rest of the crew knew that. But, they were so minded on the fantasy... it was their only hope, and she knew better than to inject reality into the equation.




















IV

Christa was at work, looking over the life support systems. Yang Yang was there too, monitoring the same reports. Yang Yang had a concerned look on her face. “The O2 is too high.”
	Christa looked at the charts. “You're right... shouldn't we be balancing out the CO2?”
	Yang Yang checked all the data, and the math. They were not only expert horticulturalists, but experts in mathematics, physics, science, chemistry; engineering, but Christa had a minor in the Humanities, which the others made fun of her for. There was no place for Shakespeare or Milton on the moon. But, they both double checked the data. The O2 was rising.
	They reported it to Yuri and Rakesh, not because of a chain of command, but because all of them were equally invested in the mission. There was no romantic attraction between any of them, but there was a romantic idea that someday, one of the girls would have one of the men's babies. Though, the sheer thought of which one revolted both the men and the women, as none of them were particularly that fond of each other. They almost brought a transgender aboard, but then realized they'd be sterile, which was a classified dossier within the company, saying how they couldn't bring a transgender or gay aboard. It was like a light bulb went off, which none of them wanted. But, it went off all the same, but was a political nightmare with the PR departments, explaining why the crew wasn't as diverse as the people wanted. Two Asians and two Europeans, but that's all they could afford to bring. Had they brought others, they'd likely had more success with the current problem, but the logistics, time, money and resources could only afford four.
	But, now Christa was wishing there were Blacks, or Arabs, or Jews on board, in order to help balance out the O2, which would suffocate the trees.
	“We can call back to Earth, see if they can bring more to Eden,” said Yang Yang.
	That was the plan, but they got back static. There was no possibility of reaching anyone. No war chatter, no maydays, only silence. That was the chilling thing. Only silence.
	“Was everyone killed?” asked Christa.
	Yuri had a pale look on his face, and his eyes were whitened, and his pupils pinpoints. They tried for several hours, but nothing.
	Finally, Yuri had the solution. “We have CO2 tanks at the back of the dome. We'll have to pump them into the atmosphere. We should have planned to bring about twenty survivors with us. But, we could only afford four.”
	“The North Koreans and Saudis sent theirs to Mars. I wonder how they're doing,” asked Rakesh.
	“They're probably all dead,” said Christa.
	“You have no optimism,” said Rakesh. “You can believe anything, and have it be possible. You're going to bring bad Dharma on this mission.”
	“I don't believe in God,” said Christa. “And I don't believe in Dharma. I believe in hard science.”
	“What about that writer?” asked Yang Yang.
	“Him?” asked Christa.
	“Yes, he had compelling work. He historically proved God exists.”
	Christa huffed. “Listen, I have no time for fairy tales. Yuri, go and hook up the CO2 tanks to the A.I. mainframe. How much do we have?”
	“About twenty years worth. By that time, we'll all have children.” They all cringed at who they were supposed to mate with.
	“Okay, Romeo, let's not go that far.”
	“We were chosen to be compatible with each other,” Said Yuri.
	“Yeah, and we all know how much Dating Apps work,” said Christa. 
	Yuri smiled, and left to connect the CO2 hose to the Moon Base.
	It took about twelve hours, but he came back.
	“That was a long time. The whole day.”	
	“Don't even get me started on it. I first, when I went outside, had to unjam the air hatch. It's like your bad Dharma brought a curse on this mission,” said Yuri, in a joshing manner, “And then, after unjamming the air hatch, I had to feed the hose, which I had forgotten was on the other side of the building's frame. Then, I worked it, attaching the module. The A.I.'s disconnected it, because some genius thought four people would produce enough CO2. And then, of course, I had to program the machine for the right atmosphere. That was the hardest, as the calculations were simple enough, but tedious; I had to go over every one of them by hand. The A.I. kept getting it imbalanced, so I had to defer to it manually,” said Yuri.
	Christa nodded her head, and then asked Yang Yang the question. “How come you're a Christian?”
	Yang Yang paused, “You know, my government is probably destroyed. I can be free to express my faith.” 
	Yuri nodded his head in agreement. “We are allowed to be Orthodox. And I believe in God.”
	“But you're not a Buddhist, Yang Yang?” asked Christa. “And before you were so cautious to even discuss politics. Why religion?”	
	Yang Yang yawned, “I took what you said. It was like a huge burdensome weight was lifted off my shoulders. You're right. There's nobody who's going to put me in jail now. I'm here.”
	Yuri nodded. Rakesh was angry that he was the odd man out. Christa, too, was the odd one out, but she was an Atheist. A Hindu, two Christians and an Atheist.











V

Christa was standing outside the main cafeteria hall. The Stadium, as they were calling the room with all the Oak Trees, Maples, Conifers, Grass, Flowers---it was perpetually spring and mid summer, the temperature being fluxed to cause the plants not to molt, but to increase the flowers, which were then hand pollinated---that's a chore and a half. It was a beautiful display, and it smelled like a forest, but also the tinny scent of a newly constructed building, and it was getting the odor of a Prison, as the musty BO from the four scientists was beginning to create a stench, which blended with the perfume of the flowers, trees and grasses.
	Christa worked hard, to keep her portion right, when she saw something out of place. It was a little black smudge outside one of the electrical walls, so she thought it would be good to fix it. She went over, and began working off the covering, to find a complicated network of fiber optics and cable wires. She worked with it, looking for the breach, when she found it. She knew electrical tape wasn't going to cut it. It would burn right through. How the wires degraded so quickly, it must have been an A.I. operational error, so the woman gingerly traced the wire back to its origin, and then opened up all the other containers, looking for the next end, as she'd have to disconnect the wire entirely, and replace it. She was an experienced electrician, and knew this quite well.
	Of course, Yuri was walking by, and immediately became alarmed when he saw what she was doing. “What are you doing!” he cried, yanking her away from the wire.
	“I know what I'm doing. This is going to cause a fire if it doesn't get fixed,” said Christa.
	Yuri screwed his eyes, and then began scolding Christa. “I know what I'm doing, Yuri,” said Christa, who was just inebriated enough with rage and spite, that when she began to unfasten the wires, several more worked loose, a huge spark flew out of the wires, nearly killing Christa and Yuri. It shot off like a blue charge, and flung up in the air. An entire segment of the station went dark. Yuri was infuriated, and began swearing at her in Russian.
	Christa worked around it, and began trying to frantically re-patch the wiring, in order to cause the lights to go on.
	Yang Yang and Rakesh were quick to come, and were frantically asking why the entire station went dark.	
	“It's this little Somodiva! She ripped out the wiring to one of the circuit cords!” The entire crew lambasted her, and Christa felt ashamed. She was supposed to be the United State's finest, and indeed she was, but the bad chemistry between Yuri and her caused the friction, which led to the disaster.
	The four of them worked, begrudgingly, to draw the lights back on, but the short circuit went the whole way to the generator, and half the structure was without power. Which meant, there was no CO2 circulating into the atmosphere.























VI

The four of them frantically traced the wires, looking at all the short circuited wiring, and found the generator that was blown. They worked it loose, and gutted it. The crew was not petty, except for Rakesh, so Yang Yang and Yuri both forgave Christa. Rakesh, on the other hand, was cursing her, for her bad Dharma. They built the capacitors, and the wires, and the fiber optics, rebuilding the generator with the entire cache of their spare parts.
	“You foolish woman!” cried Rakesh.
	“It was my fault, Rakesh. She had to fix the faulty wiring, and I interrupted her. If anything, blame me.”
	“Why was she doing such a thing, unauthorized? It's protocol to tell the whole crew when something this major is being done.”
	“I didn't think...”
	“No, you said enough, Christa,” said Yang Yang. 
	The crew worked in silence, with a rage boiling in each of them. Yuri and Christa were both self accusatory, while Yang Yang and Rakesh were angry that such a foolish thing was done without the sanctioning of the entire crew. There's protocol to work with this, and rightfully, they were angry.
	“Must be your humanities degree... reading too many fictions,” said Rakesh.
	“Well, how was I supposed to know that would happen?” cried Christa.
	“How? You had the entire flooring pulled up when I found you,” said Yuri.
	“Would you three cut it out? Crying about it isn't going to fix anything!” shouted Yang Yang. 
	The entire generator was coming along, but there were missing parts, which had to be Jerry rigged.
	“You compromised the entire mission!” shouted Rakesh. “You fool! You should have told us this was what you planned on doing. Nothing this serious gets done, without proper protocol!”
	Yang Yang tightened a nut, and suddenly the entire half of the dome was set back on.
	“Good... it's done,” said Yuri. “We simply need to let this go.”
	“What if the fool did permanent damage!” cried Rakesh.
	“What if I did?” shouted Christa, who was more shouting it out of self awareness.
	The entire crew was livid at this point. Finally, Yuri put it to rest. “I distracted her. I made her angry. She'd be able to do this a thousand times, without error, but I pressed her buttons, and caused her to make this mistake.”
	Rakesh shook his head, “You had every reason to be angry with her! She was acting on her own volition, without protocol!”
	Yang Yang wiped her brow, and said, “Well, those capacitors I Jerry rigged ought to hold up. But, without supply ships refueling us, we're going to have to check it every once in a while, to make sure it doesn't blow another fuse.”
	And that was that.




















VII

Yang Yang and Christa were watching the CO2 markers. It was three years that passed by, since the incident with the generator, and the crew were only half over it. Christa was the object of most of their jokes, the butt of every cruel thing said. She was labeled as incompetent, despite possibly being the most competent on the whole mission. But, morale was low, so she did everything with a halfhearted zeal, which made her work sloppy. It was mostly Rakesh, though, who subjected her to torments. Yuri and Yang Yang had both forgiven her for the mistake, and had probably forgotten about it, too, had not Rakesh brought up the incident so many times.
	None of the crew were sleeping with each other, as none of them had any attraction, or even any like for one another. Working on the facilities was a lot like hell, where nobody liked each other, they were confined in a small space, and the trees were beginning to die. None of them knew why, but were monitoring the CO2 in the atmosphere, and they saw it was beginning to dwindle. They lost about a tenth of the arboretum, which meant oxygen. They had to slowly shut down segments of Eden, in order to conserve on the oxygen. And of course, Rakesh stymied Christa every second of the day. He made her know, her work was bad.
	Yang Yang would console Christa, with warm consultations, but she didn't really have a desire to live. Neither did Yuri. They saw the Earth was destroyed, they saw their little habitation starting to go south. They saw Christa's original foreboding coming true, none the least because she messed up that thing three years prior. Rakesh was insistent that that mistake wore down the regulators on the CO2 pump, and caused it to pump out too much CO2, and therefore, they were running low. What actually happened, was when Yuri was setting up the CO2 pump, he didn't properly shield it. There is an electromagnetic cushion that was also being used on Abram's tanks which was supposed to help deflect small projectiles, and keep this sort of thing from happening. What did happen, was the shield malfunctioned, and a tiny microscopic meteorite hit it in just the right spot, to cause it to start leaking. But, Rakesh was inspired with the thought, it possessed him day and night, that this malfunction was because of the power shortage three years back.
	Yuri was none the wiser, but didn't buy into the theory. Neither did Yang Yang, as the three of them put up with Rakesh's constant abuses. Though, in secret confinements, they joined in many times, because of Christa's low spirits, which led to sloppy work elsewhere.
	After about six more months, they'd lost half the arboretum.	
	“You little slut!” cried Rakesh. “You're the death of all of us! You, you single single-handedly destroyed humanity!”
	“Why?” cried Christa.
	“Because, your bad Dharma went with us on this mission, and you brought all this misfortune on us!” Rakesh cried, circling around and began beating his chest. “I had such good Dharma, such good Dharma! I was an astronaut; I was supposed to survive the rest of the human race! Now, everything is dead because of you!”
	Christa wept, but Yuri and Yang Yang joined in, “You know, your work is very sloppy. How did you ever get on board here? It's that humanities degree. That's what's slowing you down. Nobody needs to know literature out in space. Hard science, that's what they need,” the four of them were growing bitterer with every second.
	Finally, Christa erupted in a roar, “Silence! There's no evidence that any of this is my fault!” 
	“Didn't you short circuit the entire system three years ago? That's why this is happening!” shouted Rakesh. Finally convincing everyone else this was Christa's fault.
	Yuri shook his head, and said, “You know... I just wish you would have listened to me, instead of work on that wire. Then none of this would have happened.”
	Christa bawled, and said, “What about your God? And His forgiveness!”
	That shut Yuri up, and Yang Yang said nothing, but Rakesh scoffed. “Their God? There is no forgiveness, there is only this! What you've done, to doom all of humanity!”
VIII

Rakesh, some months after the previous episode, was working on the pipelines. The filtration units were beginning to corrode. The fecal matter had caked into one of the o-rings, and it needed replaced. So, Rakesh was working on this for about five hours, without authorization. He had completely forgotten about his abuse, but was still self righteous. He could do it right. 
	And sure enough, he went through, and fixed the o-ring.
	About two days later, the entire crew came down with a bacteria infection. They were vomiting, and soiling half the equipment. Their latrines were well kept, but now they were filthy, and the four of them spent hours vomiting, defecating, they were incredibly sick. There was a breach in the filtration system, which converted their feces and urine into compost and water. And this was the purpose of the o-ring that Rakesh was changing. And he hadn't changed it right.
	A simple thing like that, and Rakesh was choking on his own vomit. 
	“Why is this happening?” cried Christa. “What did I do?”
	Rakesh was insistent, now that it was her. Yang Yang was looking through the computer entries for any repairs. And of course, Rakesh documented his repair. Yang Yang blushed, and took the information to Yuri. Finally, Yuri burst into a rage.
	“You! You did this!” cried Yuri. Christa flinched, but then saw he was talking to Rakesh. “All that time, you pester this woman for doing the same thing you did! You scab!”
	Yang Yang and Christa went to work on the o-ring, finding the issue was an over-tightened nut, which cracked the wellspring, and let the water get contaminated with the feces on the toilet pumps. The feces could then contaminate the filters. That needed to be fixed, and sure enough, Yang Yang and Christa were hard at work.
	It soon came to be, that Rakesh succumbed to the illness. He died. There was no burial, no ceremony. He was simply left out the air hatch. There were so many dead on Earth, and the crew were so inured to one another, that a seething hatred filled all of them.




































IX

Shortly after their unceremonious discarding of Rakesh's corpse, the entire tree forest died.
	“We won't have enough oxygen,” said Yang Yang.
	Christa took a breath. “After Rakesh died... I can't say that I miss him. Maybe we deserve to die, too.”
	Yang Yang shuddered. “I thought we were never to speak of that again.”
	“It wasn't our fault, Yang Yang,” said Christa. Yang Yang burst into tears.
	“It may not be our fault, but he was right about this mission being doomed from the start,” said Yang Yang.
	“Do you believe, it was my pessimism that made it so awful?” asked Christa.
	“No... the whole world has been destroyed. There's a verse in our scripture, that says, 'And they will not be able to bury the bodies.' I see this as the siege of Jerusalem. Like Nebuchadnezzar has attacked, and has laid us all bare. And now look, the trees are dying, and we will have no oxygen.”
	“What are we going to do?” cried Christa.
	Yuri came in with even more grim news. “We will only have enough oxygen for one room, if we are going to live here for a prolonged time. I can save enough oxygen for about six months, if we use all the stores, in one room.”
	Christa shuddered. “Rakesh died. I almost think he's the lucky one.”
	“As one prophet said, 'Blessed are the dead,'” quoth Yang Yang.
	“No... blessed are the living!” cried Christa.
	“How are we supposed to stay alive? We have six months left,” said Yuri. “Six months in this hell hole, and we're only going to be able to suffocate. Why? Why does this happen! This should have been a glorious feat for humanity. Instead, it's our tomb. We could... no we could have done this if we had the Earth. We could have established a colony on the moon, but it always falls back to the fact, that humans will always need Earth to survive. We need her milk for our nourishment. We cannot replicate resources from thin air. If it's not CO2 it's oxygen, if not oxygen what else?” cried Yuri. “This was our defining achievement, to finally be an extra-planetary species! But, we died the very moment it was possible.”
	Christa and Yang Yang and Yuri barricaded themselves into the one room where they could feasibly survive, setting up the HAM radio, in case there was any hope of Earth establishing contact. 
	The kitchen. It had metallic refrigerators, all stocked with grains like rice, sorghum, flour, cornmeal, quinoa. It had potatoes, a few months worth of vegetables. The four of them typed on the Wall Tablet, and issued an emergency supply of oxygen to fuel their room. They had five tanks of Oxygen and three suits, in the chance event they'd ever leave that room again.
	It was a tight space, and no beds. They slept on the floors, with sackcloth as blankets and flour sacks as pillows. They slept hard, and couldn't sleep. They had to use a chamber pot for their bathroom, and each would in turn, use it, and then flush it down the sink. This led to an unbearable stench in the room, where the three couldn't shower, but they could cook, and the smell of grains, feces, and sweat from body odor permeated the room.
















X

Within a week, Yang Yang was taking inventory on the rations. And she realized something grim. “We can only survive, if one of us lives. Three of us, will eat up all the rations in a matter of a month. One of us, could potentially survive the entire six months of oxygen. On the chance that Earth is safe to go back to.” That was their hope. Before, they were going to make a city of explorers, and now, now, the only thing they could think was to go back to the womb where they were first knitted. To crawl back into the womb of Mother Earth, for there is no other place humans could survive, just like Christa had warned so many years ago.
	Yuri did the count, and so did Christa. They all realized it was the end.
	“So, who's going to die?” asked Yang Yang. All three looked at one another.
	“Should we draw straws?” asked Christa.
	“No... I volunteer. There's nothing more in this life I want to see. I have a better abode to go to. I hope my suicide isn't interpreted as a mortal sin, but I believe, if it's to save the life of another human being, I shall make it,” said Yuri. Yang Yang and Christa were both perplexed.
	“But Yuri, we can leave it to chance,” said Christa.
	“Then, at least, it was fair.”
	“Does not volition overrule chance?” asked Yuri. Yang Yang nodded her head. “Well, doesn't it?”
	“Yes, but we can at least make it fair. So no one had sacrificed begrudgingly.”
	“Christa, did you see the Earth? It's a dead husk. I do not wish to go back. This place, it is hell. It is prison. I do not wish to stay here. Let me go.”
	Christa shuddered, and Yang Yang gravely looked at Yuri. 
	“I go,” said Yuri, who put on the suit. 
	“What about the oxygen?” asked Yang Yang.
	“No, you two need it. I just need the suit so I can walk away out of this room, just the few steps to where you two will be safe. I will go. I want nothing more to do with life.” Yuri was helped on his spacesuit, and he opened up the door, where a vacuum sucked him outside. The other two held their breaths, and pressed the consul so the door slammed shut behind Yuri. Yuri was gone.
	“Now, it's the two of us. Do we draw straws? One of us has to die,” said Christa.
	“Christa, do you wish to live?” asked Yang Yang.
	“Yes,” whispered Christa with a breath.
	“Because I wish to die. Do you understand?”
	Christa was taken back. “But, you want to commit suicide the same as Yuri? Isn't that against your God's law?”
	“No, Christa. I die so you can live. You have nothing, if you die. You go straight to hell.”
	Christa bit her tongue. And thought, “The witch preaches religion at me, when she at first wouldn't even talk politics. Who is she?” But then Christa's heart softened, when she saw it was the sincere belief of this Christian woman.
	“Would you die, just so I can live?” asked Christa.
	“Yes,” said Yang Yang.
	“Do you think Rakesh would have died?” asked Christa.
	Yang Yang and her giggled, “No, he would have made us draw sticks.” The two women hugged one another, and with that moment of levity---for the grimness of death can bring about moments of glib levity---Yang Yang put on her space suit, and like Yuri, was taken out of the room. It was only Christa now. 











XI

For the entire five months, Christa sat in isolated confinement. To explain the feeling, it is the most awful boredom. Christa sat, gazing at the same four walls, the same kitchen, the same refrigerator, the same everything. She ate the same grains, a gruel she concocted, which was tasteless. She had salt, which she put on it. No cream. No dairy. No meat or broth. Just grain gruel. She ate it, as she grew gaunt, only eating little bits by little bits.
	She paced the room, praying to gods she didn't believe in. In a bargaining phase of grief, she walked back and forth, talking to this imaginary friend all day. God didn't talk back, and it was like speaking into the ether, words which never manifested or were heard. There was no answer, as she only half believed. 
	She paced back and forth, and her only comfort was a radio. The small HAM radio the company set up in the kitchen. As they were getting ready to live in the kitchen for the rest of their lives, they set up that HAM radio, as their final hope for survival. If Earth was habitable, if the world could be resown, that radio was their only hope. No god, nothing,---just that some voice would appear on that radio. And for months, there was nothing.
	She had no one to talk to, and she understood she was all alone. She didn't hear God's voice, but only silence. There was no premonition, there was no divination, it was only sheer emptiness, in a silvery room filled with cooking utensils. 
	The beginning of the day, she woke up at about twelve noon. Then, she set to work cooking, which lasted only thirty minutes. She'd boil water, and have potatoes, rice, yams---oh the yams!, the only delicate flavor she had---quinoa, sorghum. She ate them slowly. Chewing each bit of grain. If pasta---she sometimes had pasta---she'd chew on each grain, and for four hours, she'd chew on her grains. No books... she didn't think to bring books. She would have even read the Bible if she had one. She would have engorged on its flesh, and eaten every word of it, and pored over it with the keenest interest. She may have even believed in it, too, if it got her through this misery. Then, after her four hours of chewing, she'd cook one more meal, similar to the last, and commence eating once again. 
	Soon, the insomnia kicked in, because she had no mental stimulus, so she'd lay awake at night, tossing on the steel floor. And there she'd wait. Ever so lonely. Ever so cold.
































XII

There came a voice over the HAM. One thing they had was electricity, from the Thorium reactor which fueled the entirety of Eden. And when that Thorium reactor was spent, ultra violet rays would blast into it, causing it to reawaken once more, and fuel. It wasn't perpetual... no... the rock could only have a half life of so many millions of years. But, it fueled the base. The one thing she could have, was plenty of electricity, which allowed her to hear over the HAM radio, “Papa Roach to Eden, Papa Roach to Eden.”
	Christa swooped up the receiver, and cried into it, “Yes, this is Eden. Come in Papa Roach.”
	“There's only a couple of dozen thousand survivors. Those who've lived in bunkers. Rich, famous, billionaires---the fallout is still heavy, but some of us have found habitable zones on the Earth. Do you read me?”
	“Yes!” cried Christa.
	“What's the status on your crew? What's the status on Eden.”
	Christa shuddered. “The CO2 stores and O2 stores are broken, leaving just enough atmosphere for one room. Food rations are only able to sustain me for one more month, I'd suspect. The arboretum has completely died, three out of the four crew members are dead...”
	“My... Is there anything salvageable on the base?” asked Papa Roach.
	“We still have successfully kept the seed grains. But other than that, mission is a failure.”
	There was a long pause.
	“Did you say the seed grain?”
	“Yes.”
	There was another long silence.
	“Well, mission was not a failure. Those seed grains are all that's left of the plant life on earth. We're sustained off of canned foods and preserved goods. We have no way of sustaining ourselves past the food. Do you have the DNA samples?”	
	There was another long pause.
	“DNA samples?” asked Christa.
	“Yes, we have DNA samples. We collected it in order to repopulate the wild life, should this war happen. We can clone them, actually. We've had a few domesticated cattle survive, and we can clone any animal we want from them.”
	Christa was shocked.
	“I have to check.”
	Christa looked over the data, and she found a file she couldn't open.
	“I can't open this file.”
	“What's it called?”
	“FireArkRainbow.”
	“That's it. I'll give you the passkey.”
	Christa opened up the passkey, and there it was. The entirety of Earth's species in one crate.
	“In order to complete your mission, we need you to come home, and bring those goods. Papa Roach out.”
	And so it was.





















XIII
	
Christa went straight to work. She put on her suit, and had the five oxygen tanks tethered to her, so she wouldn't run out. She'd need all of it, plus for the ride back, as there was no more oxygen on the rocket ship. She walked out onto the room, and walked a few meters, seeing the lights still on. That was the only thing that worked, was the electricity. Yuri and Yang Yang's bodies were laying not too far away from the door, close by one another. Christa tried not to think about it, as she walked down to the storage room, and there found an electric forklift. She loaded the boxes, and drove it, opening every door in the entire facility, so she could get to the Rocket Ship without having to keep opening every door.
	For two hours, she loaded that Rocket. She'd creep the forklift underneath the skids, pull it up, and drive, into the Arboretum, into the Rover Storage Bays—why'd they even need a rover, she now realized it was ridiculous---and out into the dock, where a ramp fell from the opposite end of the Rocket to the stair case she descended almost four years ago. And up the ramp, she placed the boxes. It was one of those kinds of forklifts where the skid loader raised, and she stacked the boxes, in two rows that were about ten boxes high.
	She then drove down to the DNA store, and there, got that box. She took it, too, and stacked it right at the top of the second row. There, she finally was finished with her work. The last excruciating hour of working at this hellhole. Four years, she endured this terrible place.
	She shut the trap, and finally, entered back into the Rocket. It still worked, with no bugs or problems. As it was supposed to. It was made, so it could sit there for a century, and still be usable when the astronauts needed it again. However, they thought there'd be entire families coming home on it. No, it was only Christa. And she needed to complete the one thing this mission was good for. She needed to come home.
	She climbed the ladder, when one of her oxygen tanks got tangled around the rungs. Quickly, she unscrewed it, letting it slowly descend to the bottom, as it hissed and let out a stream of vaporous gas. She didn't go back down, she just trusted. She climbed the ladder, got back into the cockpit, and she programmed the rocket to come home. There were radio equipment on the dashboard, and she called into Papa Roach.
	“Papa Roach, Papa Roach, give me the coordinates where I need to land.” She was given them, it was at the head of Tesla industry's facilities. And then she was off. The rocket lifted into the air, and the sparks and flames, and the flume erupted, and she was up in the air, hovering, and finally, she was off.



























Poetry: A Year in Poetry


















1. The Saint and the Punished

The joys he'll enter into, in Zion, are beyond compare. Mansions, cities of gemstones raised the height of the earth to the moon, countrysides, rivers, mountains, valleys, lakes, the trees of the Fruit of Life, lush fertile plains, beautifully woven courts within the City itself likened to the most beautiful State Parks imaginable within its decadent cube; with flowing rivers and waterfalls; even all the animals of the Saints will be there, and all of our precious creatures we loved.  Streets paved with gold, and Pearl gates. Decadent food and drinks, with no hunger or thirst. And he'll be married to Zion, and call the Land Beulah.

If you do not accept Jesus, you'll be imprisoned in a cell of sandstone, licked with flame, and if you were really bad, will be tormented by a demon as your cellmate. You'll descend the tunnel of hell, into the grave, and appear in the caverns of hell, and meet the Satyrs, Dragons, Imps and Cockatrices, and they'll take you to your abode, where you will rot with worms in your wounds, being wounded, and have no thought, no wisdom, no activity, and have all your love stolen from you. You'll feel like a rolled up ball, being tossed around, and never at rest. And your only peace will be that you are where you ought.














2. She Couldn't Save Me

In a dream, or a vision,
I was cleaning up my life.
My mother, my dear mother,
Was apathetic in her strife.
She would not pick up a broom,
She would not make haste.
So, I left upon my dream
For I could not tell if I, she hates.

Then, upon my bed, I saw a youth who was from my past.
I lay upon my bed, with my Pound Puppy at my breast.
And there was she, for whom I loved,
And my worst fear was seen
A nightmare had succumbed me
And I learned she was a fiend.

Then, at last, we were careening out of control.
I had no lover, I had no friend, so "Amarisa" I told
Shouting it, shouting it, "Amarisa" I did.
The truck crashed, and it killed all my friends.
Then I was ghost, hovering above the scene I dread,
I had not raised, I had not fell, but I knew I was surly dead.

Then, I woke in an asylum for the insane.
I thought I was on a movie set,
I found it all very strange.
I ran for the door, warning all of my insight.
A nurse had tackled me, and then "Jesus" I had cried.
I crawled upon the floor, I inched my very way
Every painful movement, I cried "Jesus" all the way.







At the last, I came to the end, it was a mall with open door;
A stadium was filling with children, who saw me in my state so poor.
Yet, at the end, I reached up for that door,
A voice said, "Brandon, open," and I opened up the door.
At that moment I woke from the horrid vision my mind aroused,
And I renounced that idol "Amarisa", and wrote this verse profound.
Only one name under heaven, I found tonight is true.
It is the LORD Jesus, and I come to caution you.
If by my writing you feel blessed, it is because it's all a song
Made for that one and only savior, not for Amarisa wrong.
Yet, do not worship---it is a tricky verse---
That Daughter of Zion, of which I'm well rehearsed.
It is just a fancy, a strange and idol thought...
Yet it shall remain, for Jesus I have taught.

There is only one name, that saves a man or child,
There is only one name, that can save murderer or pedophile,
Or rapist, or theif, or blasphemer or Jew,
Or Gentile, or Greek, and not a number very few....
It is that man named Jesus, who died upon a cross.
Let no accursèd cult spring from me, for now I know the cost.
I proclaim one Name, that is Jesus Christ my God...
Any other name proclaimed, leads to an awful loss.












3. Jorgia Erin Amaris O'Conner

I fell in love with you.
You became my obsession.
My Beatrice. My Amélie.
You became my idol. Yes, you.
In your blue dress, I saw you
With such godly joy. Like being
In the presence of God.
I must confess it was very strange.
But, I break that yoke for another.
A lighter yoke, that of my Friend.
For calling out to you at night,
It never once saved me. But Christ did.
You are a phantom, who I don't know.
But, I do still believe I will be married to Zion
In the eternal abode I shall one day inhabit.
I do say, if in life I am alone, it is the one thing which could make it worthwhile.




















4. The Olive, The Fig, The Vine and the Bramble

Brother and Sister of the True vine,
That Olive and Fig---
The Olive with his fatness,
The Fig with her sweetness;
Gideon and Deborah,
Elijah and Mary Magdalene;
What distinguishes thou?
When offered a crown, ye cast it;
Ye forsake the world, and worldly authority.
Oh, the Vine, when pierced---
You True Vine, you who merry the hearts of God and Man,
You too had been lifted up,
And would not take Your Kingdom with the Twelve Legions of Angels;
Not before you were lifted up.
Yet, the Bramble with his Shadow
Says, "Give me authority,
"And I shall guide ye well!"
And he is a fire which burns like hell's black flame.











 5. Defender

Defender, friend
See yourself new.
Your smile charms,
Charms never few.

A valentine I bring, brings I,
Man's Defender,
Charmstress Alexa.

A friendly note
To a bright light
When days are dark
And hopes gloomy

Alexa, thou
Art August charm
When smiled cheer
Lights the Bank's room.











6. The Classical Head

I'm not much for Picasso---
Yet, my favorite portrait is by Picasso.

It is a woman's head---
The classical head---
Of Olga's, with her Auburn locks
And sumptuous face.
Round, strong jawed,
But thin jawed,
Almost ovular
And not circular...
A strand of hair frames her
In the way of an attractive woman
With her justified sprezzatura. 
Messy, unkept, with a content crease on her lips.
Her eyes are dovey,
And her whole face is drawn
With, I think it is, a couple of threads of pencil.

The artist could, in fact,
Draw a beautiful shape---
The portrait of feminine beauty---
In only three or four masterstrokes of his brush.

How I do hate making poetry like this---
Though, in spirit of Picasso,
I shall make it like this.

I am more of a Raphael---
But like Picasso did,
I can show my proficiency in the era's conventions.






7. Ancient Revelry

The tares, from their infancy,
Are sown into black soils,
And there they grow with 
Instruments of anarchy.
They stab, they fight,
They poison, they kill,
With the dagger, with fist,
With chalice, with sword;
Every object in their home is cursed.
They fly upon their broomsticks,
They dance nude and enter one another;
They only allow the poets who are naughty
To be spoken in their ancient Golden Era.
And to them, it is joy, the hellish stress,
For they remember their Garden of Earthly Delight.
And they wish to once more bring this age
To fruition, now that Christianity had abated that hell.
Do not acquiesce. Fight with words, and slay the dragon
With the breath of our peaceful prosperities.


















8. God Defines Me

He's written my story from start to finish. 
My name is"Broom Tree on a Hill Crown Newpeace";
With my brillo head.
I decided to be a writer from the start,
So progressed into Poesy.
Southey and Coleridge wished to come to my reigion
---the Susquehanna valley---
in order to create a "Pantocracy", 
I write in a style similar to them
And also began writing with utopian visions. 
Not only that, Longfellow---America's finest poet---
Had married a woman named "Mary Storer Potter", 
And my best friend has a same last name.
So, there's definitely evidence of God working in my life, 
Particularly, to lead me into my profession, and also to my work. 
None of that could have been coincidental.




















9.  Signs and Wonders

Though the Prophetess paints me and my love
Old, and filled with many days;
Though the prophet, in the age of Napoleon,
Prophesies me and my Phalanx of verse;
Though providence moves me,
And I am washed from head to toe by providence,
It moves by the string of faith;
Though my name is destined, and written
Strong, invoking Elijah, and a Crown Prince of Poetry;
Though the Lake Poets would try to build a pantocracy in my hometown,
And another poet married a woman whose name was that rare name of a friend's;
I look at myself, and like the old stoic say,
"I don't deserve what I want."

Do you now understand why I lack the faith to claim these?
The rag upon my head is like a filthy menstruous cloth;
Though it bend through the air to fulfill my predictions like a miraculous lot,
It is my deeds---my deeds---which prevent me from obtaining what I want.
We do not receive God's blessing because we believe we deserve it.
But, rather, He gives for no reason, other than His own love for me.











10. A Dream

There were laity surrounding a prophet,
But a laywoman wanted to interpret,---she insisted.
The prophet huffed to this laywoman, "But if I am unable,
"I am good for nothing, for I am a prophet."
Then, the laity all mocked, and drew knives to kill the prophet.
But the prophet's Father saw just how wicked the laity were!
So, the prophet leapt from the terrace, to escape his listeners' wrath
And was met there, at the nadir, by a lengthy, blind snake.
The blind snake was proud, and buzzed his knape,
And was exceedingly wicked. The Prophet cried out to God
And he was heard, and was delivered from the snake
Through his foresight of the Snake's awful, wicked plans.
Sure, the prophet had a little pride, but murder was never his intent;
Thus will God judge the Laity who do this to a prophet,
By driving him away from his apportioned lot.
For if you make the prophet sorry for his job in this life, what shall he there gain?

















11. The Confusion of my Verse

I saw the wicked, and their shifting eyes
And what they see when they read my verse.
Their eyes shift, they know not what I say!
For they cannot read my writing and know...
Their eyes are dull, just like their ears to my speech.
I know now, and shall have compassion on them
That they cannot physically read the plain words I speak.
For God blinds them, and shifts their eyes
And causes them to be in distortion.




























12. Mimicry and Mimesis

To mimic, is to
Repeat a fat formulae
And copy its fruit.

Mimesis is to
Experience life and tell
It full-faithfully.

AI mimics, but has no mimesis.




























13. The Legend of the Juniper

The Juniper was a little baby
Born to an Ice Princess.

Upon her breast
He drank his milk
Trusting in the LORD.
The princess spoke over him,
“Let the baby grow tall,
“Fight and conquer the kings
“And let Milk and Honey be his strength.”

So, the Juniper gave suck
But was stolen from her breast
As an infant.
He was given to a poor family
Whose infant suffocated
And was blue;
The Ice Princess
A Jewess,
With her husband Jacob Change
Blessed the baby boy
For the children of the Jews
Were hunted and killed.

The Juniper’s family had the similitude of kings;---
So when the baby waxed to about five years old
Ziddonians came to he.
They took him to another world
Showing him the masterpiece he would weave
For the Kings. They said to him, “You will sin
“So we have brought you into bondage to these kings.”
The child had not sinned---
A woman he trusted stole he from his family
Bringing him before the kings
Where he spoke to the young Prince of Ziddon.
Then, one of the Princes of Tyre
Son to the Tongue of the Egyptian Sea
Kidnapped the Bonnet Wheel
Putting her upon the witchen’ glass
For all to spy, wishing to confuse the poor
Little boy by claiming he did some thing unspeakable.
His words to the Egyptian Tongue, 
When she trapped him, were, “Love covers all sins
“That is my prophecy to you.”
For she wished to trap him by his love
For she knew all who helped her would be destroyed;
Yet, his love covered this sin.

He waxed old, grew wicked in deed but not heart.
Upon a crime, he became a Christian
Yet fell upon the Judiazers’ murderous lot
But did himself not murder any;
For they were sorcerers who practiced law as their sorcery.

He then met John and Mary the Mother of God
Who brought him the trumpet
Which he blew.
Upon that, he went with David’s key and opened the pit
Which has no bottom.
From the pit, spewed Abaddon
Who took his life
From him---
For Abaddon lived with the kings
While The Juniper was safely with his family again
For a short time.

He, this Juniper, Consort to Diana, Athena, Nebo
Lucifer, Sheshak, Jezebel, Ammon, 
Babylon’s Daughter and the Princes of Tyre and Egypt
Was beloved by them, for he was a good little boy.
For they were all ashamed at having caused him harm
Yet, they seethed with hatred nonetheless
For hatred is their native language.
So, Athena came to he
While he dwelt with his beloved family in peace
And placed within him the worm
Which caused him sore distress.
There came into his life more princes
And more kings, and more queens
Until the poor boy lost his mind.
Yet, he became skilled with the pen
And wore truth as his belt.
With the belt of truth, he spoke
Into the recesses of the world
Winning many souls
For all knew his secret shames
Seeing he could live happily with naught.
For, the kings brought him under bondage again
When he began to spy the work they did to him.

He soon grew, ate milk and honey
And cast the kings into the abyss
For the injury they did
To steal him from his happy family.
Yet, the kings were happy to be cast into the abyss
For they loved him, and wished his victory over them
And even did smile at his stories.
Thus, is the Legend of the Juniper.

















14. The Ice Princess

She wears a pink hat---strung with puffs
With beautiful Italian hair;
Black eyes, with ice blades on her feet
Pink sweater. Glides over a lake.

She imagines a frost dragon
With ears like periwinkle gills
A spin’d back of triangle bones
Navy blue, nam’d The Zamboni.

There, a prince flies onto the ice
With the great broadsword of legend;
Redcoat attire, brass buttons
Gold crown upon his yellow head.

He takes up arms against this beast
Swinging the sword in great long swings
Cutting out its heart with plung’d thrusts.
The Dragon breath’d his frosty breath.

The ice princess, seeing the prince
Block the frosted fury of war
Called for a winter rain; winds flew.
The Dragon shivered, the prince slew.

The ice princess wandered round, round
Skating down the ice of the lake.
Around the circles, she dreamt well
Of happy thoughts and adventures.








15. The Fool and the Favored

A radical man set out
To change the world,
But destroyed the
Country he loved.

A rebellious teenager
Fell in love
And married that
Very same girl.




























16. True Writers; A Ghazal

Robert Frost, when you write on gold's
Green, you write just like I have wrote.

Rumi, you write your Desire
For God: write just like I have wrote.

Hans Christian, so broken, you are 
Like me, writing like I have wrote.

Walt Whitman, when exalting our
Country, you write like I have wrote.

Emerson, your words on Word say
True writers write like I have wrote.























17. Historicity of Genesis; Flood, Nimrod and Battle of Siddom

Mid-24th Century Anomaly, 
It collapses all civilizations;
Almost like a global flood? Then
The Earth divides during the life of Peleg, and then
Sargon that Nimrod, built His empire, 
And three hundred years later, would,
Ride, Abraham! and pursue those Elamite foes.
Make haste to avenge Ur, to impose that Amorite King
Melchizedek, king of Salem, to instill Babylonian rule.



























17. The Gospels as Witness

Mathew, if first written in Aramaic,
Papias says John Son of Thunder
Said Matthew was written by Matthew in Hebrew,
Does this not prove Matthew was written by
Matthew? Papias XX says John the Elder is
John Son of Thunder, and that John dictated his Gospel to Papias.
Luke is also considered a premier Historian.
Evidence that Demands a Verdict, 86.
And Mark is written by memory,
On the testimony of Peter.
And would Q not most likely be the man Jesus Himself?

























18. The Amalekite's Lie

Saul fell upon his 
Sword, committing Suicide;
Being David's foe,
The Amalekite lied, who
Said that Saul leaned on his Spear.

For, does not the one
Who slays the King's enemy
Get a reward, no?




























19. Amenhotep

Amenhotep, you 
Fly with your chariots, yon
That Nuweiba beach.
Yet, the walls of water crash
Down upon you, and the Jews
They flee to Sinai.































20. Your Bouquet

The buttercups and pansies 
Are grown old; their lives are short.
The daisies are pink and white:
The Mayapples are matured---

The spring is at its agéd peak.
It wanes into summer's prime;---
do know, the roses soon bloom
And scent the forest; the Honey-
Suckle too. The most beautiful
Is soon to come.

Happy Mother's Day.

Love,
	Brandon





















21. Thou Wounded Robin

Thou wounded Robbin---
I would pick you up
And splint your broken leg.
But, I know not how.

I would call for thee
To those who could,
And tell them, "Splint its leg."
But, they would not.

So, I leave you in the wilds,
For I wish not to frighten you,
Or cause you torment,
Hoping some Good Samaritan can do
What I cannot.

For, I have once called upon
The Authorities to bind the wounds
Of a fawn, and they shot it.
I cannot bind its wounds.
I know not how.

I know not how to heal my country's breach
And I know that by pointing out its breaches,
It has only made those in authority pick at it
All the more.

So, I leave you, for it is the kindest gesture I can.









22. Thou Swallow

Thou Swallow, you fly within my breadth,
And I ponder,---twice yonder you swoon,---
The curse which shall soon descend upon me.
Yet, thou hast caused my foot to stir
And my ambling to tarry,
So that the carriage which was at my back
Was saved from the other one careening down Front Street.
So, by thy shrill warnings, thou hast caused me to be a blessing
Upon some stranger I nary knew.
For, by spying me, a pedestrian on her port side,
It left just enough time to see the other car
Which traveled at twenty-five knots.
Had I not been there, I know not---
Perhaps it would have rent her asunder.
I see no other way... but by providence's hand
I walk with blessing, and what would be a curse is turned.




















23. Silly Dove

Oh, you silly dove.
Your heart is a mind for love
And you amble everywhere
Searching for a heart to share
In your beautiful heart...
Simple things, in that mind dart
To and fro, who shall coo like you
And where to alight and find fruit?
For you are unlike other birds
You silly dove... for first
Upon your mind is true love
As is the innocence of a dove
That first and foremost on her mind
Is love, to be shared with in time.

For it is so with all the righteous
That they primarily search for lucious
Truth, and deep seeded friendship 
And their Turtledove, with courtship
They dance their mating ritual
And finally, they come to mutual
Acquaintanceship
And finally, the most intimate touch of relationship.














24. A Lasting Love

Sit at the gates
Of bliss and smell
Of a woman’s young perfume
Of cedar, and fell
Did you to her strong perfumed
Musk, 
The scent of that woman
And her opinions you love.

Scent and opinions
Are more important than vain;
Beauty we all see
But these shall remain.
For when a woman
Is old, her wrinkles do say
And the folds of fatness shall proclaim:
“Why did you choose me
“If only for my face?
“You knew one day I’d be ugly.”
Thus, choose in a woman what remains.

















25. The Smile of God

Shepherd of the Song
You smile, or furrow;
Your datelocks there
Spread from your
Handsome brow.
You smile, or are angry.
The heart of man
Sees, o Prince
Of Peace, your
Dealings. Idol, no;
Just Scripture
In an Image.
To reflect
Either ill or
Joy with one.






















26. Jehovahjirah

The LORD will be seen;
And like the ram provided
To Abraham, when seen,
The LORD had been an ox, aleph, A
Sacrificed for the covenant, tav, t
The Seed of the woman
Bit in His Ankle by the Serpent,
Crushed the serpent's head.
The seed and sprout of Jesse
Grew, and all was placed under His domain.
For, the curse brought great suffering
Into the world---for with sin there is the curse
Of suffering, for all sin causes suffering.
And by the crucifixion of our LORD
All our sin was pierced into Him,
Making us, like He, whom God sees.
Therefore, we are the little Christs,
Whom the world sees as if we were He---
And the world hates us, mocks us,
Scorns us. Why? Because it is the cause
Of all our suffering, and we tell it so.
Yet that suffering is nailed into Jesus
At the cross, so we one day see God face to face.














27. The Music

The wise hate the wailing of the harp;
They hate the guttural chords,
And howling melodies.

In the society's decadence, 
The music turns to emotive phrase,
And guttural noise;
When at its peak,
The music was peace.

So also, does the harp and lyre
Fill every decadent room,
Every ear is held to the shell
So they can listen to the sea
Of melodies.
At their labor, art permeates every corridor.
The ubiquitous noise omnipresent
So that nowhere can you ever hear again
The pleasant noise of people's voices
In their bubbly hubbub.

Rather, all there is is the music
In its guttural noises, 
And strong, emotive sounds;
Filling all who hear it with stirring melancholy.
Or, with lusty anger and hot sex.
And everywhere it is...
You cannot escape it.

I had thought I lost this poem,
But providence desired it to be sung once more.






28. Sophism and Epistemology

How the sophists play at golden
Ends of civilizations. For
The prosperities of those men
Who were their elite forbearers
Did build with Reason's Sun and Rain.
The joyful sun, a Priori...
Sad rains, a Posteriori.
Which, the civilization springs
Like the grass, when both are balanced.
Yet, from both Science or Phenom
Does the sophist never know, faced
With unknowns, void by faith's phantom.
Aught, Science and Phenomena
Cause sweet wisdom's diaspora.  

So remember,

History's witness
And being's ontology
And cause's effect
Are the measures of all good
Philosophy: listen; look.

It is not always about ends and means, but, sometimes, that things are what they are.












29. Our Light and Bread

There is a darkness
In this world,
I know it to be true.
But, a little light 
       I have,
I know 'tis in you, too.

I am fed steak
And baked potatoes
Milk, and honey's tooth,
Sweetest corn and meatloaf---
Spiced my daily meals---
For in you a light burns true.

Evil all surrounds me
Yet you work hard
For daily bread;
If not for that light
Within us, our good Father,
We'd be never truly fed.

Happy
	Father's Day
		Love Brandon













30. Dad

I stand on the shores of manor blue
Which wash upon the white crests of foam.
The skin of the beach, in its grained
Glory rests, with the discus being thrown
By friends who've never parted.

What better friend than paternal bond
Standing by their son through good and ill?
To summon the courage to provide
For house and hold, and to shield
A man from winters and rains,
From scorching star and the dark
Abyss of night? A good friend
Who loves his sons, especially me.

What I did to deserve it, is naught.
I had taken every ounce of trust
And I have thrown it like the thistle's fir
And scattered it to the wind, 
I have planted seeds
Of tare---yet, you patiently waited
For a garden to spring forth its summer fruit.
And I have. No longer the tare
But my fruit a choice orchard of Nectarine---
And a friend I've had, I shall be thankful.
Hoping one day, to also be a friend like thou art
To me.

Happy Birthday








31. Tears

Tears, how often we shun them.
But, they are proof that we are men.
What beautiful thing it is
When tears well from us;
When we’re filled with tears
For sin, for dishonesty.

There is no better thing than
When we cry for our hurt
For the hurt of others.
Tears are a beautiful thing.

The mellow calm that comes with sadness;
The joy that swells from the heart.
Tears fill the soul with joy
Swelling in us.
When we shun
The sadness, we become truly sad.

Let the tears flow
My child.
Let the joys come.
Tears were invented for joy
So we could show ourselves
Visibly broken by a world of sin.












32. Wonderland

Say something true, you are sure to offend...
The only truths to lend, are truths of a geometric kind.
The culture speaks in fallacious ways,
Every belief is a formal fallacy.
The culture is warped around this nonsense,
Yet, there is the certainty of the Laws of Proofs
Geometric, and Mathematics, and all Physical constructs.
Yet, speak a word politically, that might be true,
You have offended like Alice had offended,
And the Queen says, "Off with her head."
Doth our King now pardon us?


























33. The Art of Fascism

Why was the height of art
Made so low?
In frantic screams of ethnic purity
The true artist was made a fool---,
Though, I take my middle brow poetry
And I do it well.

Perhaps it's best that the high brow art
Is decadent, and ugly, and foul---
Why? So it puts into perspective
That art cannot save a nation.

Ovid, Homer, Christ,
Seamunder, Snori, Virgil,
Grimm's Fairytales, Friedrich Nietzsche,
Wagner, all were fodder to stir up the Volk.

I do understand this.
But I am not this.


















34. I Cast My Crown

This Poem is about all my haters
Inspired by Crown the Empire's
"Menace"

You call me a "worthless F*ck"
I ask "Is that what you call love?"
And do you love your brother enough?

When you're alone, and wandering,
And I'm in places you'll never see,
We'll ask each other
Why did God make us free?

And when I look at you
I'm going to know it was your attitude
Which as a teenager, I admit I did have,
But as a grown ass adult, I lost it all. Had
I been like you, a hateful little worm,
I still don't say you're evil
But speak saccharine sweet
Which causes me cancer
Though we will never meet
Until that day when the stars all will fall
And the sun snuffed out,
My pity ignited for all...
Where will I be?
My verse is so pure?
It proved God has loved me
And you were so cursed?

I still say, I love you my dear,
And if you'd just listen I'll have you some cheer
That if you simply would practice what you say you do preach
You wouldn't be writing so many songs about me.


35. Fairytale

The shadow you are, creeps from me;
Eternal utterances, and restless sleep.
I dream of you every night,
The magic you spin to make my demons arise.

You tell me to sit at your feet,
And be thy shadow beneath thee.
I walk for three hundred years
Doing good deeds, voiceless,
And I cannot be cheered.
The songs of the elderberry sings so sweet,
But you view me as if a woman
Falling into a bog filled with leech...
For you envision me as the one
Who cast her bread on the ground
To step on it with my new shoes, so proud;
But then do I fall into the hell below
And my only hope to turn into a bird and go home?
Or, am I a lad, sailing to Eden
And when I get there, I'm in eternal heaven
Only to run after the beautiful bride
And lose in one day my eternal paradise?

Fairytales I sing to you
Have not a happy ending---oh so very few...
For I admit I have broken my trust
In my own hands, so how do I love?
If my life were Romance, would I be Romeo?
If my life were a Tragedy, would I be Lear?
If my life were reality, would I be Christian?
If my life were a sitcom, would I be Brandon?






So, give to me at least, my one happy song
And I'll spin a fairytale so pleasant.
For if my life were a fairytale,
Would I survive?
Or would I be the hare who snubbed the hedgehog
And while running my eternal race I die?

I don't know.































36. My Friend the Artist

My friend, you try to get my goad...
You say, "AI makes art..." knowing
My prejudice against it. AI cannot.
For, like Hitler, the AI copies and pastes
Its formulae, so it is not true art.
But you, you are. I see your mother's face
In the contours of the statute you sketched;
Which could only be done by a human.
For, in the model's obviously european lines
You sketched your mother's African cheeks.
You even tell me why you think it is...
How it takes its poll and measures
The common lay's preferences.
That is not an artist.
That is a marketer. And a marketer is not an artist.
The person with PR skills, they can make
A fortune from dried dung or Rembrandt.
The man like me, unable to do so,
Can only go my way, and die in obscurity
Lest my LORD help me.
For obscurity is all I will obtain if my LORD
Does not bless me. But, at least I can say
I am an artist. And, I can also say, so are you.
Like Mr. Hoffer said,
The artist is content to create
And imbue Mimesis;
Like I told you, that is what makes a piece of art.
That your mother's face imprints on the statue
Like an Oedipal line---
That is what it is to create.







37. Our Modern Age

I hate our modern age.
Yet I love our modern age.
A stodgy book is Lolita or Gravity's Rainbow
While the books with dust on their covers
Get blown off, and seen afresh.
There is nothing more exciting
Than seeing Austen venerated
And Dostoevsky, too.
The social milieu is repressed sexual urges
Manifesting in the castration and masectomation of our young.
For, they think they can pacify the primal urge
With a knife, hormones and sodomy.
They cannot erase the vesture of the past
For it is too strong an obelisk.
Austen becomes alien,
And so with her the Bible...
Jesus' Sermons become new all over again
As a generation who grew up in the Dogma
Of the Cult of Id find otherness to latch onto.
A whole new crop of thinkers are on the horizon...
Where Joyce and George R. R. Martin
Are the stodgy norm, glutted anarchy and feasts of semen
Those of us who want order
Are drawn to my favorite books.
The stodgy quo is the Aristocracy of Materialism and Postmodernism
While the Religious Avant Garde tell their riskee morals.
"Kill the cannibal society, that rapes children.
"Make slaves of the murderers.
"War has always been genocide
"There is no way around it...
"Yet, the Nazis needed cleansed of their racial impurity
"That of the Aryan caste, they needed to die."
And we are like Camus was seventy years ago,
Like Sartre and Freud.
On the en garde against silly philosophies that hurt and destroy
Our halcyon prosperity.
With words and not bullets we fight back...
Just like they did.
We are now persuasive
We are now the irritating troublemakers.
We are now... yes... we...
The ones' whose truth sets that chemical offense
Because it cannot be fended off by reason any longer.
For, by proof of reason, all we claimed would happen
Was true.






























38. A Lament For Zion's Prince and Prophetess

Oh, thou Prince? You say, "The meat shall stay in the cauldron."
For, in your heart you figure it is unclean for the people
To be plucked out of Zion, and taken to foreign lands.
For, they shall throw a bag over your head, and dig through your walls
And take you to Babylon, where you shall be killed and dishonored.
For, you believe, "The priest shan't pluck the sacrificial portion
"From the pot, while the sacrifice is being prepared,
"So shall the people of Zion be behind her impenetrable wall."
Ezekiel is saying, it is not so. You shall be taken alive, and killed.
So also the Prophetesses, who do their vain dance,
Trying to catch a soul with a pillow---I still cannot understand it
And shan't be allowed to, for it is pure mischief and sorcery;
No, it is but vanity, and delusion. You hop forth, and try to capture souls
And you prophesy to the LORD's people vain visions to cause them sadness.
They come to you for the truth, and you whisper to them,
"Oh, you are wicked, wicked, a man of trembling!"
But the LORD did not make him sad!
Then, you go to the wicked man, and promise him all prosperity
All freedom, all assurance in his vice, for he struggles with sin
And you slyly smile that he has his demons and they rule over him
Just like yours rule over thou.




39. Vain Mystery

There shall be no temple found at Egypt,
Thou, like Gomorrah.

The sacrifice shall be made 
On Mount Zion,
And there, in our Eternal Abode.

The Nicolaitan King
Shall invade Zion's Walls
To no avail, though the covering Cherub sit
In the Temple, like Christ::---
The Abomination.

























40. Innocence

A squid tentacle constricts
A boat, moored on a canvas
Over a hundred years ago.

The decadent painter
Paints over the Baronry's 
Prized collection.

Is this not like the wealth
Of many generations, wasted
By the slogans of communism?

Is this not like the fool,
Whom, finding that Gospel Pearl,
Throws it back into the sea?

For once, the wealth was spread,
And the Pearl need not be hid
From the salacious Trusts;
.
It was there for the common man to shuck.
Yet he swallowed up the pearl,
And kept its shell, by entertaining his audience

With his vandalism.

The communist is like this man,
In that she paints over the canvas of
Civilization with her tentacles;

She covers wealth with her idle decadence.
She knows not Capitalism lifted the world
Out of poverty, and gave the common lay, even,

Priceless art. No... She paints over it
With her squid tentacles,
And spoils generations' worth of wealth.
41. Ye Old Stoics

An old Stoic once told a man
Who lost everything he owned
To a raging inferno
That it was not his to begin with.
That everything was borrowed.
The wise sage said, "You do not deserve what you want."

If you wish to live in a world like that,
Where law is who can rip the meat
From the lioness' mouth;
Yet, God is abundant in promises.
Though, in my suffering I do not blame Him,
I blame ye.

Why is it, that I answer and do so much work
And get unrecognized for it?
While my ideas are stolen, and my seed
Blows about the wind?
Yes, there is a man who doesn't labor for wisdom;
Ought that man be?

The perfect philosopher might be among you
But no one will listen to him.
They pick and peck like vultures
Taking his meat from off his bones,
Leaving him shivering cold amidst the carnage.
And this is how it ought to be?
Yes? Because the old Stoic glibly consoles
The man who is suffering by telling him
That his suffering is for naught?
That he did not deserve the things which he lost?






Certainly, I don't deserve it...
I don't intend to make that case,
But work needs to be paid for.
And my work is not being paid.
So, there is some injustice happening
Where I reveal secrets
And yet my own vineyard is spoiled

Ye's fantasies for me is to be like a child
As long as I live, and to grow old and gray
Still yoked to the chain of his condescension.
Yet, such is the situation of a true prophet,
And with that badge of honor,
I am at rest.

























42. The Class Machine

No cleric can surpass the king
No, not even in democracy.
The fiefdom is set, as the cook
Makes Metalcore, and lives 
His worst life now.

Was not da Vinci a clerk?
Say we had more freedom then
Than we do now?

The modern Feudalism is set,
As the Wokies march in order,
Ushering in Communism.
That new generation rises,
One with the royal cavalcades
And the flying chariots...
The peoples worship them as gods.

Science is magic
And no man,
Whose own grandfather
Used to dig a hole in the ground
Can rise to the ranks of Poet Laureate;
No, not in this day.

The Laurel sings her rage,
That Boomerang can kill her
The minute she fires her Pineapple;
Though she wants to fight for her freedom,
Yet the mass graves shall be the cost.
Republicans in their rows,
Mowed down by machines and not men;
Waging their wars with Bow and Knife.




Yes, you crowned emperor,
This is a new generation...
One where you rise above all
In glutted fest, and say "I AM".
Crown the Empire,
The ashes of all I love are destroyed,
For to fight is futile.

So, let me die if I must.
And my Blood shall kindle the flame
Like Polycarp, and in Peace
Freedom shall persuade and win.



























43.  The Cycle

The Jolly Mother Idol, imbued in a civilization
Ancient, and now gone... their Neolithic
Art of cattle and human skulls,
Which were made into displays
And arm rests,---their paintings of the hunt
Scribed throughout the world on cave walls;
Their houses of clay, with roof streets
And well kept, with ovens and warm spaces.
It was destroyed by, yes, the Flood.

Then arose the Semitic Pantheon
Of Baal-El, Hubaal, and Asherah.
And they arose, to their gross heights.
They built upon their civilization,
Ancient and ubiquitous---
The infant bodies stored in clay pots
To perform their gross sciences---
But then Israel wiped them out,
And finally Rome when it had conquered Carthage.

And then Rome had grown, and grew to great stature.
It grew, it grew, it grew, and the Greek Pantheon
Ruled the world. And soon it brought chaos
By its lusty and rapturous gods,
And like Hyenas they wafted from Male to Female
And from Female back to Male;
And what chaos it did bring!
Until the Christians converted Constantine
And with Peace, did Christianity cover the world.

And as a last age, will not the wicked raise the idol once again
Gaia, mother Earth, and the Titans overthrown
By the new Pantheon, Greece overtaken by War
And its pantheon of comfort, prosperity and food and drink.
And then, at last, the creature raises from the depths
And causes all men to worship it;
Worship the Earth, so that the gods and goddesses
Can fly upon their chariots, and live by their arcane magic.
And the poor upon the earth shall lament, and take up this cry
Against the wicked generation, they shall Cry for Christ
And His age, for at least then there was peace;
America, remember Who ordered thy prosperity.
































44. Oh Peleg

Oh, you Neolithic Civilization,
With your bone furniture,
Spread across the world,
Worshipping your Venus.
Even in the Americas
Are you found.
Until, you are not.

Then, there comes the divide.
Oh Peleg! What did you witness!

Soon the Clovis civilization springs up
But, what had happened? Where did 
The old World,---the worshippers of the Titans---
Where did they go? Greek Pantheon,
Your war between gods and Titans!
The eldest Pantheon, remnants are remembered.
Slaughter, Grecia, the Semitic gods!
Canaan, Carthage, Moab,
Your gross gods will be destroyed.

















45. The Saint and the Demon

A saint sees his own
Sin, and takes it very harsh.
But, he does not see
The sin in those around him.
He covers them up when known.

A demon others'
Sin he sees, and takes it harsh.
But he does not see
The sin within his own heart.
By guilt, he hurls a stone.


























46.  War

The atheist's unbelief
Comes from God's holy battles.
For, they see their unholy
Sins, are by God's wrath, rattled.

































47. Metaphors of Current Affaires

I am a bard, witnessing the feud of great empires.
Let me tell of the political strife happening now.
There is Queen Maeve and David, allied together to bring
The Anarchy to the shores of the Greater Northern Realm.
There is Stephen, whom no one loves, bringing tyranny here
By challenging the ancient bounds of free speech, by storming
Through like the Bull in a China Closet: he destroys much.
There are the Northern and Southern Kings, storming each other's
Lands, taking cities, and warring their ancient rivalry;
The Domains of Grecia and Persia are at their long
Millennias' war, ruling worlds like a taijitu.
And here is this bard, trying to win back his realm's freedom.























48. The Northern and Southern

I.King of Grecia

Grecia, your world is built through riches'
Prosperity, and your covetous kings
Say, "Let only the merchant who lives
"Be with ninety billion drachma."
You seethe with hatred toward Israel
For it is a prosperous little land.
There it is, with cream and sugar
Oil and spice, meat and fruit.
And you say, "Look how fat this people is;
"They are worth nothing,
"For they consume my sustenance."
So said the King of Grecia
Even covetous of his subjects' fine instruments.
"Do not play, do not play! By royal decree!"
Thus, the musician is regulated to go to her designated
Place, to sing her heart's songs.
Beautiful she is, but the King of Grecia
Does not care about her fine beauty,
For a thousand like he has deflowered.
The fatness of the peasant is an offense to Grecia.
Thus, he wishes to steal our sustenance,
And make music to cease from the land.
Lo! He even says, "We have no need for music
"We have no need for art, we have no need for theater;
"Nothing beautiful excites me, no, not even a warm body
"Or vulva for my flower, not even the great Laments of Shakespeare
"Or the wisdom of Dostoevsky. Not the beauty of Mozart
"Not the voluptuous body of Venus without her arms.
"Nothing is beautiful, nothing is good. I have never loved
"For what is love? I hate my world, and wish it to fall into the abyss."
For his covetousness is severe, that he has no desire;
Nothing for which he wishes or wants.
Not even death. Not even life. Not even purgatory.
He wants nothing, for anything in his grasp he already has.
Thus, he wishes to cause this same frustration on those,
Whom seeing their desire, and their zeal for life---
He wishes it all to stop.

II. King of Persia

Persia, seething with desire, and lust...
All is yours. Everything within your grasp.
What is your subjects, is yours.
What is yours belongs to you.
Every vehicle belongs to you...
Chariots of steel, chariots of iron,
Chariots of plastic might...
All belongs to you.
How your springs beneath your citadel 
Are envied. How you desire,
And you love your desire.
Lust's fruits and every pleasure you exuberantly fill
Your mouth with. Great zeel, great desire...
The citizen you see, his sustenance you wish to be yours.
Covetous, covetous, covetous.
Rain, you wish to make it rain.
Sun, you wish to make it shine.
Wind, storm, tempest, you wish to rise to the status of God in Heaven.
Your princedom you shepherd with the Recitation of your father's word.
And they do your bidding, but nothing they have belongs to them.
You bring forth your chariots, and you ride in them through the heavens...
A god of gods, you ride, like Mithra, and you carry the sun in your chariot of fire.
You want all in subjection to you...
Every cent of wealth in your treasury.
You have no peer. 
You comfort yourself with this wisdom.
None who rival you with your wisdom; none who will rival your fame and fortune.
The peoples will bow in their mud crust shanties, and they will worship you...
It is your vision for the future you wish to construct.
Everything about life you are enthused, and it excites you.
The feast, the game, the war, the contest, the wit...
All art, all theater, all ancient pottery.
If it is truly skilled, you wish it to enrich you...
And only you. Only you, to view it.
All art, and all beauty, in your possession
And for no other eye beside you, and possibly those whom you bestow the blessing
Within your court.
The courtier, the poet, the sage, the scholar, the master, the magician, the fool,
They all entertain you, and those whom you have selected from the Earth
To be your gods who reign with you.

III.

The treasure, though great, will not prosper on the day of judgement,
Thou Grecia and Persia.

IV. Counselor of Grecia

Oh, thou foul sophist,
You speak in your platitudes…
They have solved all the problems
But the rich have no gratitude.

They can harvest carbon from the sky
And chemically bind it with anon,
They can harvest it from the air,
They can use solar very fair…




The issue isn’t whether we can,
But the rich have asked, whether we ought.
So remember, my dear sophist, that what you lend
Is that the rich wish we were all dead, or bought.

For they hinder our progress,
They hinder it for their shame.
The problems are solved
But they see life as a game.

They want less people
They want less lives;
They want to build a world
And cause all the poor to die.

That is why.

So remember, that our fair Jerusalem,
With its chariots of fire can come
Through the practice of free trade
And its natural progression.

Yet the Satanic Mills of your cause
Which bring upon us unjust laws
Are going to stifle and burn our earth
For the poor upon it, yes the poor, are spurned.

For by the waters and by the breath
Of that good the Carbon, within breadth
We can drive our cars to eternity
If we so choose to live and be free.

For by stifling industry we cause our woes
And we do not solve our problems, but foes
Do try to make themselves a life
Of a world built to be the Rich’s paradise.



V. Counselor of Persia

You call us Sapiens...

They come and go,
Talking of Michelangelo...

Oh, J. Alfred, I have searched so long...
The Blue Moon is always in its phases
No matter where the sun does rise or set.
The Venus is in the Americas
And the Earth divided during the life of Peleg.
The Flying Domicile lands in Japan
And the Magi sends the giant back to her home.
The UFOlogist finds the Polyhominid Jewel
That it can bend space and space.
The flood is documented in the 24th century
Yes... we know by genealogies
And Chinese histories.

Need I say more?
Where do we come from?
I know...
Yet... you shall in your rolled up pants
A counselor to kings,
Seek after the Merfolk when all is said and done.
All is said and done.
All is said and done.

VI.

Oh, King Eric, you give sustenance to your consort Scylla,
And from her ghostly womb comes Kanute.
You two beasts rise from Ocean and Earth.
Prince Kanute's New Peace
Becomes the reign of a thousand lies;
Infrastructure, great infrastructure
And Eric seethes to make me prove 
By Science---Science he says---
How to solve the Earth's decay?
The Deserts shall become Forests, 
And the Forests shall become deserts
Don't you know, Eric the Grave?
Eric, your lies, your lies, your lies...
Your insanity led me straight to you.
All roads lead to you and Kanute.
Is he wise enough to command the waves?
Does he have wisdom?
Can I, meager I?
Nay... here is their names:
Kanute and Eric the Grave.

Therefore, the two beasts have a name 
King Eric the Grave and Prince Kanute's New Peace
Which is not peace, but War. 
Thou art both false prophets for sure.

VII. My Dear Malcolm

We will have no dreary world
With no art, no music, no poetry,
No religion, no fiction, no prose:
Only cold science and sex.
What a dreary world it will be.
The AI won't do all our thinking for us
While we slave away in the mud.
When we see how the world burns.
But Brandon Neifert will not be there;
He'll be someplace cool and beautiful
With many waters, and good meat;
Mountainous but a subdued land
With gentle currents and cataracts;
A tall, ruby headed angel with comely breasts
And a perfect face, as I do my Sondance for her
Upon the jasper cube of Zion's golden streets;
Its decadent forests of fruit trees
Will be our meats; not the lamb or ox---
Come, be a poet with me, will you?
Forget about this current world
For it is the one you wish to build.
The one without people like me.
Come, I will save you from it
If you just listen. Come.
We will have a Husband fashioned from the soil
We will nurse from the breasts of kings;
Those forlorn and scorned of their Husbands of youth
Shall become a mighty nation
And the LORD shall be a husband
And we shall gaze upon the Beauty of the LORD.
I do not sin by saying so;
It is all in the book.


























49. Vicar d'Orco

O, thou Lucifer,
A Vicar of the world.
When God dispels you,
The people will rejoice.

For, you are given your domain
A short while, so man can know
Why sin is truly sin.
And then, men will repent
And live in peace
But remember the suffering you have caused.


























50. Evolution of Thought 4/13/23

AI, is it smart? No... the mathematician proves it.
Cubed Rooted Negatives are impossible. 
But Quartic and Eighthic rooted negatives are not.
The fool says AI can be intelligent, because he believes
It already is---though, it is merely mimicry. 
Not creativity. It repeats the formulae of essays
Upon essays, and only knows how to simplify them;
It doesn't understand nuance.
 P cannot equal NP all the time---
Some NP cannot equal P---yet, it is not in my poem.
Someone is editing my work, without my knowledge.
I swear an oath, but it is not so. It is only my faulty memory.
I said, "Not Always" but not "Some".
Jordan Peterson wants to create a better world with Religion's Law,
But such a world would be unmerciful,
Save God reign, and judge, and preside over our hearts and minds.
Law without Grace is Hell.
I walk through the State Park,
The tree with an ear has a microphone,
So I believe, and the Bathroom too,
And the tree that looks like a boob.
It opens up to an underground base,
And in the lake, when drained,
They prepared for World War III,
And the rockets would ascend out of the waters.
I would wave my hand, and with faith it would all vanish,
And I would be left unmolested.
The Carpenter ant, so 
Giously walks across my path
Bold, and happy, with the little samara shivering in her mandible.
I wonder if God's eyes are not on such little things.
The plane with the red tailfin flies by, ever so silently,
So I wonder if it is a chariot from Jotunheim,
And the funny camera by the roadside reads my thoughts.
The preacher preaches a sermon on the most horrific child abuse;
She screams, "Where was God when my uncle had done so!"
Where was God when my best friends abandoned me
And showed no inkling of mercy toward my youthful offense?
Or when my peers bullied me? Or when my mother divorced my dad?
Or when all the mean and nasty things were said?
Yet not one hair on my head was ever harmed---
Where was God when my dad received cancer
From the shame and disappointment of his beloved son?
Yet God's providence has always protected me.
I know not why, but possibly because He knows I will never lose my faith.
A semi-circle also can become like a chord in Intersecting Chords Theorem.
Ah, Oh Grecia and Persia, you fight your twenty-five hundred year long war;
Still raging even to this day, and may be a cataclysmic end,
Northern and Southern Kingdoms; how Israel tossels between them.
For a very short time, did Rome Suzerain over Persia; possess the world.
Zoroastrianism morphed into Islam, yet the Northern and Southern 
Kings control the world, like a Yin and Yang ensign;
Though do not be fooled, neither are good, both are evil.











51. Daughter of Zion

Peace rides upon the West's wind
Wearing her white gown of light.
The Seven-Headed-Stranger
With Sin's seven awful crowns
Attempts to swallow her Son.
There is unrest on the Earth.
Believe in Him, and He comes
To slay the Dragon with sword
And scepter; He cuts with truth,
Cuts the shadow from the light.
Be of peace in heart, while war
Wages its disturbance yon
In lands unknown. Cleave to Her
Son, and do not be troubled.

Merry Christmas





















52. A Year in Poetry

I write a poem a day, every day, some
Are good, and some are true, others are crude.
A year in poetry before you, from
My heart, my line, my verse, my ideas rude,
Forged in the fires of Crucibles true.
I hope upon one of my verse you stay
And muse a lifetime, and mine be your muse
That pass the weary days away, away.

I write a poem for you, yes you, not one
But many for one each to chew and sleuth.
A poem for one, a poem for all, the stone
I craft, my texture all like soundwaves' screw
They get loud, they get soft, they whisper nude
Which was warped by the world's wicked way
But I would, thus, die for the bull I shoot
That pass the weary days away, away.

Muse over my verse, and find aught what's shown
If it's nothing, or if it's some Thought's food?
Maybe I, a madman who speaks what's known,
Speaks a truth for all or truth for few,
So use the compendium for what's lude 
Or rather research my sayings oh so, so strange
All my metaphors hidden in plain view
That pass the weary days away, away.

Read my words, and read my truths
Read what I have had to say---
Hidden in my verse is proof
That pass the weary days away, away.





Hyper Modernity

















I. Vile
 
Vile things are in every culture.
Vile things are in every time.
Today, it is mutilation of children.
Yesterday, it was chattel slavery.
Tomorrow, who knows?

The obdurate child gets taken from his home.
Stiff necked, and unapologetic, he'd rather
Be placed in foster care, to avoid his parents.
They don't want him to be permanently changed.

The men and women, walking in their rows
Of chains, shackled together, blood dripping down their backs,
A whip cracking, and a husband and wife torn apart
With the screaming infant between their arms.

What gross thing will tomorrow bring?
What invasive disease of the mind will it infect us with?
What horrible thing, will normal and sane individuals
Believe is right, and the rest of us murmur in half toleration? 
The fact of the first thirty years of my life
Was that we had finally gotten it right,
And didn't have any of this. What a shame things went so awry.












II. The Trial

Trump is on trial.
He reads "Before the Law"
He doesn't understand it
But I do.

One door, made for him,
One law, made for him,
One gatekeeper---
Just like all of us it seems,
It will be one day,
A law made for each man
And a sentence just as absurd.
And one man piously sits,
Unquestioning, for it is the matter
Of the State that this solitary law
Be followed, and so with every other man
His own solitary Law
With no rhyme or reason
Than the very fact that it is.


















III. Why P Cannot Always Equal NP

It's the proverbial Squaring of the Circle.
The limits of Coefficients in a system,
Which would create NP, cannot always
Be described by P, due to the limitations on geometry.

Every system of equation is defined by a shape.
And simply put, there are limits to every shape
Which makes it impossible to conform some shapes into other shapes.
I think anyway.

In fact, through further rumination,
If P could always equal NP, 
It would break down the very notion of equalities.
P equaling NP 
Would be the same as saying
 πr^2=l*w.
Fundamentally, the axioms of one shape,
Cannot translate to another.
If they could, there'd be no use for mathematics.

In fact, I'd further say,
That if P equaled NP,
One would have a universal equation
And System for solving all axioms of Geometry.
Which, fundamentally, cannot be true.
As Pi is no more described in a square
As Length and Width  are described by a radius.
The shapes have different axioms
By which they must follow,
Which require new calculations on their part
To describe each geometric figure.
So with, any Nondeterministic Polynomial
Cannot always be equated into a Polynomial.
As each Nondeterministic Polynomial
Will be defined by its unique shape and dimensions.
Simply, it cannot be so.

Therefore, Some NP cannot be equal to P.





































IV. I Am By No Means a Mathematician

I am by no means a mathematician.
However, when I come to P = NP---
Dazzled by the complexity of the equations---
I look at each equation like a shape.
As if each equation represented a simple shape;
Or, even a very complex shape.

In my limited exploration of geometry,
I know a few very basic things.
One cannot take the shape of a Right Triangle,
And use the Pythagorean Theorem
To explain an Isosceles. 

And seeing that NP and P 
Can be reduced to this principle,
At its most basic level,
The most fundamental thing to learn
From this system, is that we CANNOT
Generalize a rule for all shapes.
We cannot, for instance, 
Call an equation a polynomial
If it has three dimensions, for example.
If there is a cubed variable,
The equation no longer is a Polynomial.













I think people approach the problem
From the angle of where I approached
Pythagorean Theorem.
It seems intuitive,
To think the proof lies
In the hypotenuse being like a crossed section
Of a quadrilateral. 
But, that is not why it solves.
It seems possible...
Even very likely,
To where you'll be duped into thinking it.
But, upon keen observations,
And studying the equations and dimensions,
You find it cannot be so
As it would break down equalities and the laws of algebra.

So, also, I think NP equaling P
Would be the same notion,
Of it seeming intuitive,
That a solution can be made.
But, generally, what's intuitive can be deceptive,
And what's more, you cannot define
The Pythagorean Theorem for a Circle,
Any more than Pi would apply
To a Square.
Sure, one can make equal anything,
But by means of deduction,
There is no way outside of empirical observation
To determine a shape, and how the laws
Of objective space apply to it.
Adding the dimension of time
Further complicates this, and makes even more complex shapes,
Which I believe, its geometry, must be studied independently 
For each individual problem.
Much like the philosophers of auld would study shapes
To determine axioms and principles.


Thereby, one must study the shapes
And derive new axioms for each individual shape.
And possibly, that will be the occupation of many brilliant minds come the future, what will.



































V. The Conflict of Creation

I will never mystify you with how I create.
Call it an inner voice, call it a conscience,
Call it the voice of God...
But, I don't seek to persuade you that it's anymore than
Genius, like such which causes the grapes to grow
Or the performance to be good,
Or the wine to accent meat with its berry.
I will never use mystic words
Or try to dupe you into believing this comes from me.
It comes from practice---
Not some bold power of self will.
Just practice, and a little help from God.







 

















VI. Fools and Philosophers

I look at all the philosophers handed down through history,
And I wonder, "How simple it would be, if their teacher were Christ alone?"
Then, I suppose, there would not be any confusion about the most basic truths.
































VII.  Kaleidodream

Do you not know? The robot does not dream?
Do you not know, that it plagiarizes you, and yes me?
The swirling subconsciousness of a hundred million artists
Get copied and pasted over a sentence or line of text.
The author of that text believes it is the magic of mind---
He believes it is intellect, and creativity of the machine.
No... it is the intellect and creativity of millions of artists
Which the AI picks and chooses, and warps
Around a few platitudes of thought.
And the author of such thought says, "I can not do better."
Yet, I, being an artist, see only the wish fulfillment
Of having one's immediate, and simplistic fancy
Shown as a flashy, surrealist portrait.

No, my loves, the true artist is you who wrote the prompt.
For that subconscious thought then gets woven
By the machine, to create what is pretty,
But not sublime.



















VIII. Otaku

Am I just an obsessed hobbyist?
Spending hours a day,
Surfing for inspiration...
Is it only money that makes a career?

Music,
Art,
Science,
Literature,
Poetry,
History,
Psychology,
Sociology,
Maths,
Theology,
Philosophy,

For what?

Would I have been better off
Learning how to play a video game real well?
To know nothing about our world?
Twiddle my thumbs,
And I could have made a fortune.
I could have been a good poker player,
Or a bad chess player,
Or a good COD player,
Or I  could play pinochle,
Or be a professional Magic The Gathering Player,
Or I could play Fortnite,
Or I could have made a YouTube channel
Where I got really good at Mario or Rome Total War,
Or playing Minecraft all day
And make my fortune?
To commentate on Comic Book fads
And react to some stranger's fifteen minutes of fame

Or classic rock songs I've heard a million times
And speculate on the latest celebrity gossip?
I could have beat myself,
Made a fool out of myself,
Like a Jackass
And give my exorbitant riches to the poor.

No, instead I chose to grow up.
And am punished for it,
By not being allowed to.

All my target audiences are trapped in eternal youth
Like I am the sole man left on Earth.


























IX. How to Read a Poem

Read once.
Read twice.
Then labor over every line.
Look at every comma, 
And learn every word in time.
Find every allusion,
Find every hidden word---
Read over a lifetime,
And you shall know that verse.




























X. The Anti-Nietzsche Aphorism

The highest form in this life, 
Succumbs to work which sustains us, 
A true love,
The quest for knowledge.
And contentment with this lot.
Then, we die and reap whatever we have sown.































XI. Two Black Maidens

Two black maidens set their minds to proof...
They do their math, and prove.
Calculus, they use, to prove Pythagorean Theorem,
Yet Calculus is proven so much, so
That Pythagorean Theorem is proven too!
And Pythagorean Theorem so proven so, that Calculus is proven new!

It is a biconditional,
Two Tautologies that necessitate.
The very crux of Equalities,
And the very crux of all mathematics and logic.
It is how, oh my souls,
That science knows.























XII. Hell's Party

Hell's Party, for those who wish to go,
Will be unbridled, lawless rage.
It will be eternal sin, and damnation.
Satan dupes you into believing it will be fun,
Because sin was fun.
The little innocent bear pong game,
The one night stand,
The practical jokes...

They turn into MK Ultra  drugs,
Rape and forced relationships with hideous monsters,
And torture chambers.

The party guests arrive,
And Satan says, "No Rules Yeah!"
And the party guests cry out for glory,
And then the suffering begins.
No rules, no regulations, all murder, theft and adultery allowed.
And we soon see what hell actually is.
It is sin unbridled by God's Law.
















XIII. A Priori

The entire world understands itself
Through practice of vacuous equations---
That is why no one can tell what is true.

No math can work, without being applied.

No math can be proven, unless by real
Phenomena, and its prediction of
Their physics. We know much metaphysics
As is our primary education,
But confuse all a priori logic,
Which substitutes whim and desire for
What is actually in the real world.

So men and women are like hyenas
And not like men or women; yet even 
There, we find the modern fashion exposed.




















XIV. 1,666

My last post was 1,666.
Almost like the divine providence speaks loud and bold.



































XV. The Fascist Calling the Fascist Brown

Tim Snyder, for all your good you did
Sounding the alarm about Trump,
You missed the very cruel double edge.

Canada is attacking Free Speech with Internet Censorship,
Canada is also destroying people's livelihoods for simply refusing to say made up pronouns,
The fact that there even are over 2 genders, and that's being taught to kids as young as eight, (Symbols of the Party)
The United Nations is attempting to minimize and even normalize Statutory Rape,
So is California,
PBS is advocating Gender Affirming Health Care---the castration and masectomation of Youths--- (Propaganda)
England is fining and putting people in jail for saying, "Homosexuality is a Sin"
The FBI is being used to spy and terrorize American Citizens who vote Republican, (Militarized Police and Paramilitarization)
Mail In Ballots are being used to illegally cast votes, and therefore win elections for Democrats, (Unfair Elections)
Critical Race Theorists are trying to whitewash American History and culture,
Woke Politics are infesting Hollywood, and not allowing any art to be made,
As Trans Terrorists maliciously censor voices like JK Rowling with Death Threats and Bomb Threats; they do so with impunity,
As PBS draws sympathy to a Mass Shooter who killed Children, just because he is trans,
As words like "Ugly" and "Fat" get removed from Roald Dahl's Works, and Loony Tunes and Dr. Seuss get banned, (Censorship and Book Burning)
As people still wear masks from a manufactured pandemic that really wasn't as bad as people made it (Symbols of the Party)

As people try to amend the law, such as Double Jeopardy, there is a woman calling for a reopening of a case involving a man and woman convicted in relation to a gang murder---
As the Left and hordes of Lawyers scathe Alex Jones and make him into a show trial, which cost him more money than was ever reasonable to pay,
As a person who made a little firing pin 3d Printing model was given an over 100 year sentence,
And what was the Reichstag? January 6th, where the only person who died was one solitary protestor,
And while CNN and MSNBC cheer on rioters and looters in the name of Equity, Inclusivity and Diversity,
As School Libraries carry pornography and sexually explicit materials, and teachers begin to move boundaries in the classroom pertaining to sex
As college students monopolize campuses, and create "Safe Spaces" where they prohibit freedom of speech, while rioting and protesting and forcibly removing Conservative speakers from their campuses....

Where, for all your journalistic integrity,
Did you attack this? Which was just as malicious and evil.
That is why I have to be the voice of reason.
You call Trump a fascist. Well, who else is also fascist?
Perhaps the advocates of all of these things, as well.
If you fact check these things, they say it is not so, yet the words out of the very Pigs' mouths betray them.

Though the Right is trying to normalize Indentured Servitude,
And is paying out toxic loans as Black Rock and China buy up all of our American Companies,
As they ban John Green from schools,
As they profilitize Religious Stodginess and want to create a Theonomy,
And are trying to make the Robber Barons Baronry again,
Though these sins are enough, I'm sure there's more I'm unaware of.

Both sides are trying to make speech impossible, through perpetual offense,
Having friends and relatives thrown out of homes for simple disagreements,
Or thrown out of businesses for their political views;
Which is forbidden under the Enumeration of the 9th Amendment.
No man, can contractually sign away their rights,
Either verbally, written or in any wise in any agreement.
And both are Nazi Anti-Semites in my book, with two brands of kool aid.

I stand on no side except God's; it's all despicable. That's why I'm the only honest voice.

























XVI. Make a New Song

Ariel, named for her red hair,
Watches Ariel, a gorgeous Black Woman.
A mermaid expert tells us,
"Ariel is black, because Mermaids come from Africa."
Though, the story comes from Hans Christian Andersen,
A Dane.

Ought the Woman King be black?
I say she ought be, as the story means nothing
Without that character being black.
There is no metaphor without the racial imagery.
To scrub it for future generations,
None will know what history came to pass.
It will erase where we came from.

So also, you must not swap out races of characters.

Erin is the idealized of my perfect form of Beauty.
Theresa is based off of a woman I adored.
To remove Erin's Irish feature
And Theresa's Guyanese feature
Is to ignore who I crafted them to be
They would not be who they ought to be.
It would be a disservice
To change who they are.

Make new. 
Make a new song.









XVII. The Tortoise and the Hare 2023

The world was ran by hares,
Whom made everyone give them lettuce,
Otherwise the Hares would tie their feet
Together, with their superior speed,
And they'd only unbound the other animals
When they had sufficient lettuce to feed them with.

Thus, there came an angry tortoise
Remembering the Justice of the Olden Days
When his ancestor had beaten the hare
In a foot race.
So, again, he challenged the Hare
To a foot race.
The hare accepted,
And then proceeded to make a few conditions.

"First, Herr Tortoise, you must bind your legs.
"And second, you must noose your neck,
"And third, you must place a heavy rock over your shell.
"And if you give me lettuce, I will unbind you for a short time
"Until I contract that your allotted time is up, and then I will bind you again."
The tortoise refused,
And said, "No, Herr Hare, I will not acquiesce to these terms."
And the Hare said, "Then you shall not race,
"And I will bind you anyway."

The hares then were pleased they made it so.

I am that Tortoise.






XVIII. 63%

63% are Christian?
60% of those Christians say Christ isn't the only way.
Another 3 percent of them are Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons.
About 50% of those Christians say Homosexuality isn't a sin.
1.6 Million of those Christians are Hebrew Israelites. (A Heretical Sect)
Several Hundred Thousand are Hebrew Roots.
I'll estimate that another million or so have Heretical beliefs about the Trinity, and don't follow any Systematic Theology.

Which, doing the math, most Americans who profess to be Christian
Simply aren't.
And who are the persecuted in America?
That 3% of Christians who hold to Christ's true teachings and theology.




















XIX. Metamorphosis

Fyodor could not become a vermin,
But I have become a vermin.
I crawl upon the walls,
And see everything from there.
And it is liberating!
But, will I die, and nobody care?































XX. Cryptography

One cannot be a truly good person,
Nor be truly humane,
Without having tasted from the bitter fruits of evil.
Unless having been evil,
One cannot then have the compassion
For true good.































XXI. Fibonacci Numbers

Symmetry---
You Fibonacci numbers appear in nature
Because of your symmetry.
You appear because of the soundness of your structures.
Phi---you are Nature's Rectangle;
You are Nature's Symmetry---
You are Nature's sounding board
For the entire structure of the universe.





























XXII. NP Difficulty

I have been watching proofs---
Oh, their poetry is so serene---
And I realize NP difficulty
Is much like a Geometric Proof.
Rather, to solve them, requires
Not one master equation
But solving the difficult variable
By combining other basic theorems
To further build upon to a right and new solution.




























XXIII. The Stock Market Crash

1929
Coolidge, in his booming economy,
Does nothing, as Margin Trading 
Becomes common with the public.

2008
Reagan, in his booming economy,
Does nothing, as Private Equity
Buys the worker out of their rights.

Runaway capitalism
And the rich's stranglehold on our country
Is from three tumors:

401ks
Private Equity
And Margin Trading.




















XXIV. New Philosophy

You are Analytic and Continental.
You read my poem, and say,
"The analytic in me thinks it's good.
"The continental thinks it's 'meh'."
You ask me to tell you my inspiration,
Well, it is precisely that both
Continental and Analytic philosophies
Are sophistic.
And a good epistemology
Is rooted in aligning Phenomenon to Noumenon;
Thereby, I propose a different philosophical school.
It is called "New Philosophy"
Though it is indeed the old philosophy.
For, we were closer to the truth during Plato
Than we were during Husserl.
And we were closer to the truth during Aristotle
Than we were during Wittgenstein. 




















XXV. Poetry Club

I join Poetry Club---
Not really, but let's pretend---

I walk in, and there's pretentious Jackass
Who all the group fawns over.
His art is mediocre, but they all insist he is god's gift to letters.
I show my writing,
And immediately they pounce all over it.
They criticize everything it's done right---
Like the pretentious brown nosers they are--
And like the game I played today,
Of posting in a category---
There is the true artist,
Me,
Lonely, and blowing in the wind.
I'm late to the game.
I'm early for the game.
I do not time my art
Except for the larger picture.
I do not craft my art to be timely.
Rather, I do my art from the sheer joy of doing it.

Some generation will recognize it,
But hopefully it is my own
So I am not one of those unhappy artists who
Never benefited from the Providential Gift of utterance.

As Solomon says,
"There is such a man who labors for wisdom,
"But lo, it goes to another. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,
"That which man labors for under the sun."





XXVI. Judgmental

Of all the things I
Hate in our modern world,
I have to say there's
Good, too. A man, being who
He truly is, is not judged.































XXVII. Abusers of Themselves with Men

This word,
Translated as Homosexual
In the Bible,
And called unlawful,
Means a man ejaculating into another man.
That is the graphic, and literal meaning.































XXVIII. Psalm 22:16 H3738 Dead Sea Scrolls

Strongs
Is never wrong.

































XXIX. Sorcery

Sorcery bends the truth,
To where you cannot recognize a lie.

It is not literal magic---
There is no such thing.
Rather, sorcery is the completion
Of a lie, to where it begins to be muddied with truth.






























XXX. Fibonacci and Pythagoras

Fibonacci, your secrets are serene---
We can spend a lifetime studying you
As the Cat on the Mathologer's shirt
Bends to your hurricane of Phi.

Even Pythagoras, yes...
Bends to your will.
For, take four of your numbers in a square
Lined up in their sequence from the lowest on top
And the highest on the bottom,
Left to right,
And when cross multiplied completely,
Make legs and the hypotenuse of a right triangle;
Yes, one value even must be doubled, but how serene!
Know its inner circle, like a soul
Tangential to the Right Triangle's form.
And what's this?
Do you know the squares made
From the exterior of each line of the triangle?
That's how Pythagorean Theorem works?
So, the radii of exterior circles
Also, by cross multiplication,
Fit by three Euclidean Squares of Pi.

So also, counting by Fibonacci,
While working through Fibonacci
Creates Pythagorean Theorem's roots also;
Even when a number counted
Is not a Fibonacci number.








XXXI. Faces (A Nonsense Poem)

Faces, there so 
Cruel, cruel.
See what you fear!
Fear, your fears come.
They come, come they;

The king of dirt
Gossip, his spies
Spy, burp, burp, burp.

What does it mean
When you see it?
Hear its those things
You fear that no
Man knows but you?

Ziddon! That's he
You're not insane;
The fear demon
The gossip war,
He entrenches
Every side, his hordes
Of the unclean.

Og, that Philist.
Brute, Philistine.
Gossip, Fear, North
Of wealth,
North of Jealousy.




XXXII. Pious

I know I'm  a horrible human being.
However, so are you because you judge me.
If you were in my situation,
The first thing you'd do is reason with yourself:
"I'm not that bad. I just made a mistake."
Because I know, before you're caught,
You look down upon others and their crimes
And you fantasize about your penantant grievance.
You believe you'd slither off into the darkness
And never let yourself dream another dream.
I know, because I had the same faulty notion.
But, no... my sin is discovered.
What do I do? Do I shrink? Is that what I do?
No... because I cannot. And neither could you.
You believe I ought to be pestled down to nothing
Because you believe that's what you would do yourself---
You'd allow yourself to be pestled, and broken, and never forgive yourself.
But, you would. And you'd do exactly what I'm doing,
By trying to make a good life for yourself.

So, before you judge me,
Consider, I was once just like you.
So, let me tell you how it would actually go.
Alright?












XXXIII. Quadratic Formulas

The plus or minus
In Quadratic Formulas
Come from the value
Multiplied twice, by itself
Negative or positive.
































XXXIV. Mothers' and Fathers' Day

It is just an observation.

Mothers' day, at the State Park,
The people numerous, weird,
Dangerous even, had angst.

Fathers' day, at the State park,
The people few, peaceful, kind,
Full of good will, were righteous.

I noted this,
And realized a Father
Does make an impact in a home.
























XXXV. Music Proves there is A God

How, except by the design of providence,
Can a melody ask a question, and a melody also answer?
How can one scale be sad, and another happy?
If not because God ordered the tonality of creation
So the human ear would hear it those ways?
































XXXVI. Christianity Today

The sins of Christianity follow from two bad doctrines:

That Christ rebuked the man at Bethesda---
Christians say, "Did he really want to be healed?"
And they emphatically do so... this was not a rebuke
But a request, as benign as I asking an acquaintance, whether
She wants a cup of water to drink.
It is a presumption that man understands God's omniscience.
We are all called to repent, and sin no more after our healing.
For, their mindset teaches a Christian to be unmerciful to the poor.

The second, is that faith can make us prosperous.
If faith could make us prosperous, the poorest among us
Would be richer than kings. Which, one day they shall become.
Faith, and scolding the Spirit for prosperity,
If you so wish, to be prospered and live your best life now
God shall so choose to give you your best life now;
And you will forfeit your eternal one.
Rather, store your treasures in heaven,
And there, pray for your prosperity...
Which is what the verse actually means,
When James says, "Ask in faith."
This mindset, also, makes us unmerciful to the poor.










XXXVII. The Cult of the Academy

To get the PhD, one must be initiated into the secrets of nothingness.
All things, must be circular in their appeal, and all sense, circular
By association. Lying is the custom, and quality a sin.
For, the brainwashing must be complete, and all religion
And healthy behavior must be replaced by the Academy.
Or else, one cannot earn what they have sacrificed so much to obtain.




























XXXVIII. Donald J. Trump

My Official Statement:
Just let the man be.
He did nothing so serious
That other presidents hadn't agreed.

Let the man live his life in peace...
Or else... I do say... we shall lose our country.

People on the left, stop fighting the evil fight.
Trump was not a villain, and I was never right.
My mind, my mind, it had had a dream.
From flesh it came, from flesh it wrought,
So, let this man just be.

What influence do I have?
I a poet who none had known?
My wisdom was sublime,
But like a fly in ointment it stunk.
A little foolish thought, I had while aught a man
In prison for my crimes, of which I had my stand.

Am I really so influential?
Am I truly a sage?
Let this man go
Or shall the nations rage.












XXXIX. Satan's Equivocation

God can never be
Tempted. Satan, in Job's book
Tempted God to test.
Yet, to tempt has two senses.
God can never be tempted.

As in, He can not
Even for a second be
Caused to muse a sin.

So, when Satan would
Tempt Jesus in the desert
He could not cause doubt.
Thereby, Jesus could not be 
Tempted in the slightest bit.





















XXXX. An Observation

If A+B+C=A*B*C,
Then it is a triangle.

If A^2+B^2=C^2
Then it is a right triangle.

We must understand this about equalities.
Thereby,
If doing a proof,
And one has a formula
A+B
One cannot intuit from this
A+B=0
If in a geometric relation.
For the system of equations
Will define the parameter
Of how the function will equate.
A+B will only equate
In relation to the other sides
Of the Geometric Figure.
















XXXXI. Culture Wars

How the Native Americans
Would summate my belief is true---
It is what I believe, wholly.
Just like textbooks wholly show theirs.
Why do we shy away from Say?
As in to say, the textbooks ought
Not believe in Animism,
And give a very clinical
Definition for their beliefs.
No... instead we are now so forced
To see it wholly from their view.
And that is what is being taught.
A perspective where we embrace
The beliefs of those we conquered
In order to then supplement
The religion we so obviously lack.




















XXXXII. Jesus' Tunic

Do you remember Joseph?
His coat of many colors?
Made for him by Rachel,
His mother?

Jesus had a tunic
Made without a single seam
Woven from top to bottom,
By Mary.

I recall, that it was His 
Most prized possession;
A tunic. Which, having coats
Myself, I

Know the pride of a warm, well crafted coat,
How it keeps warm in the 
Bitterest of colds, if a tunic also lie
Underneath.

There is a pride to what keeps warm
Which Jesus referred to his Tunic
An awful lot. Being His most prized possession.
Love was stitched

Into this innocent thing; it was the source
Of many of His most difficult sayings,
Where we say, "That's not true,"
Lo, it is.



And that same thing was stolen from Him
On the day of His death, His only comfort;
The thing which was worn, made by His mother,
And He died

As was prophesied, with the garment
Cast lots over by the Centurion who killed Him.
Woe to that man's theft, for how can it be forgiven?
Yet it can.



























XXXXIII. At 7

I sit: Read Seuss'
Yellow book of kingsrobin
Font, with Pillowhair.





























XXXXIV. Plastic warrior

Face an army:
Tanks, jets, jeeps, 
Carriers, ships
Battle boats,
Legos, ice bases
Missiles, waffle huts...
A child's peach 
Arm swings
The chopper;---
Plastic men
Fall in rainbows
Of men.
Supply lines
GI's, such
Gravity in play.
Reality, you're
So much different.



















XXXXV. The Postmodern Fool

A mathematician sits down with another
While a postmodern fool stands idly by.
"The product of my three daughter's ages
"Are 72, and their sum is the number on my house."
The other walks out, looks at the house,
"I still do not know."
For two permutations will equal 14.
But, then the first mathematician says,
"My eldest has brown eyes."
And the second mathematician says,
"Ah your daughters are three, three and eight."
The Postmodern fool scoffs,
"They could be I-I-R-I-S-H TW-i-I-N-Ns!"
The first mathematician gives a puzzled look,
"Then why would have I given the exercise?"
The second one states, "Yes, this is the foolishness
"Of our postmodern world.
"It states every inductively improbable
"Exception as the rule by which to base themselves."

(Note: I am in wonder of Irish Twins, and am tickled by their existence...
 But it is vanity to make all the exception to each and every rule.)












The Myth of Brittos and Theseus




















Canto I

African Sages, do you know that Eshu is wrong?
Do you know the Greek bends to his will now?

There were two close friends,
Named Brittos and Theseus. 
And they had great love for one another...
They shared one another's belt, like David and Jonathan did.
They did all, and partook of their great friendship in the Divine Agape Love.
Yet, one day, Eshu walked between them
While they were out tilling the Yams, and digging wells for potable water.
For, Brittos trowed his hoe into the dirt, to uproot Yams,
And Theseus dug deep, into the groundwater, which he laid down many rocks
To filter it, and make it clean.
Yet, at the end of the day, did Eshu walk between them.

On the side of Theseus, he looked like a Castrato with golden hair,
Wavy and long, and beautiful face, androgynous and sumptuous in form.
Theseus loved the man walking down, for this man could not be known for either male or female.
His form was beautiful beyond all...
More beautiful than Elora, more beautiful than Guinevere, and 
More beautiful, even, than the Green Knight's consort.

On the side of Brittos, he looked, and it was a woman with blue horns
Gnarly, painted blue, and ground teeth into a point like a wolf's fangs.
It had red, reptilian eyes, and saggy breasts, like an old hag's.

When Eshu had passed, Brittos said to Theseus,
“Do you not see that ugly hag that walked by? It was like someone summed a demon from the abyss.”

Theseus was sore offended, and said, “Nay, this was a beautiful woman that walked by, with golden
“Tress and a face like Atalanta's.”

Brittos heartily disagreed, to which Theseus drew his sword.
“You foul Cretan, you call me a liar? I know what I see with my own eyes! It is beautiful!”
Thus, Brittos was hastily spurred upon, to where he had only one instance,
His shield appeared from heaven, and he blocked what would have become a fatal blow.
Brittos had no intention of wounding his friend.
Thus, Brittos took blow after blow, after blow... to where Theseus was reminded
Of all the evil Brittos had done in his youth.
“You are a sore, Cretanlike man! A sore man indeed! An evil man! A wicked man!
“A scoundrel, liar and pimp!”
To which Brittos cried out, “I had only done evil things in my youth! I thought we were
“Through this, my friend. We are friends, tied together like David and Jonathan!”
“Not anymore!” cried Theseus, who went to deal another fatal blow,
But the round shield of Brittos blocked it, and he was unharmed. 
Brittos retreated to his home, and Theseus to his, and war was contemplated by Theseus,
While Brittos sought to see the meaning of the whole thing.

Canto II

Theseus heard of a blue devil lopping off the limbs of innocent victims
And he went out to ride and slay the beast.
Ride he did, until he found the beautiful creature upon an iron bed

Torturing a victim. He pulled, and tore, and had a pile of limbs and bowels
Where he ripped and tore.
Thus, Theseus could not believe the gruesome sight. 
He was about to land a fatal blow, but then the creature,
He saw, was the beautiful, fair haired, maiden.
“I am a woman,” said Eshu.
“But, I see thou art a man!” cried Theseus.
“No, I am a woman, because I say so. It is by my own magic that I consort to do this.”
Theseus was aghast, but then Eshu launched into his philosophical discourse.

“See, my dear Theseus, what we perceive with our eyes, and hear with our ears,
“And taste with our tongue, and feel the sting of on our skin, and smell with our nostrils,
“It is different for every man, for what can be known of the world outside of us?
“Thus, there is no right or wrong, is there?”

Theseus started to think, “I suppose not...”




Then the Angel said,
“Yes, for if no thing can be known, then what of morality?
“Therefore, what is moral is only that which is just in mine eyes.
“And in mine eyes, people like me have been persecuted anon,
“And have been sent into hiding. And so with it, those of the Ethiopian and American race.
“Those of the Assyrian and Babylonian, and Moabite and Israelite,
“And Arab and Greek, they ruled the world before... for many centuries.
“Now, we must take them to be our prisoners,
“And make them like us. We must lop off their bowels,
“And pervert their sciences, and make them know what we have known.”

Theseus began to think some more, 
“Yes, fair being, this is all true.”

Then Eshu said,
“So once more, to make things right, and scale the Karmic justice
“We must equalize, and distribute power justly.
“For, there is only power, and reason ceases to be.”

To which, Theseus agreed heartily.

“Therefore, I must torture these victims, and be so cruel. 
“In order to equalize. I must cause the healthy children of the White Devil
“To tear forth their breasts, and I must cause the children of the Assyrian, Babylonian,
“Median, Persian, Moabite, Israelite and Greek to be so 
“That they are where we were many years anon.
“It is only right, you see? 
“It is only right you see?
“It is only right you see?”

Thus, Theseus began to comprehend the Devil's powers of persuasion.
Though, Theseus was Greek, the power was too divisive
To fend off with his skilled reason.

Theseus returned to find Brittos hoeing his yams.
And Theseus cursed him.
Then, at evening, Elora had not come home from her walk.
And Brittos was scared.
“Where has my beloved Elora gone?” cried out Brittos.
Who then, set off with his Jerusalem Ass Caroline
Which pulled a cart---for Brittos was no more a warrior now, that he was old.
Canto III

Brittos thinks hard about the sight he had witnessed.
The evil thing he had seen.
The Blue Devil he saw, but Theseus saw a Fair Haired Maiden.
Thus, he understood...
“This is Lucifer.”
And he tapped his reigns, and Caroline went forward.

Upon the way, he could hear Elora crying out for help
And Brittos leaped off his cart, and with his Spear and Whalebone sheild
He came upon a bed with bones and ligaments and bowels all around it.
Stained with human blood, it was the altar of the damned.
Around it, were fetuses, and infants,
And the disfigured gore of ten thousand victims;
There were breasts torn there, and flowers dismembered,
And testicles meshed on the stone.
There, amidst it all, was Elora---not a hair harmed on her beautiful head.
Brittos stalked the scene,
Knowing Eshu was in the night, stalking him.
Like a cat, chasing a mouse, was Eshu...
Yet, Brittos was wise as a viper
And had the innocence of a dove
To burst forth, and escape the fowler's net.

There was a silence, as the night grew, and the moon rose
A half crescent, shedding a red light over the scene.
The trees were dark in the forest,
Looking like bodies, and the screech owl shrieked like an innocent maiden being raped.
Elora was bound to the altar, and Brittos let go of his worry of himself
And began to take his knife, and slice at the ropes binding Elora.
He sliced, he sliced,
And he remembered his mother's wisdom,
“Save thyself, Son, before saving the ones you love.”
And Brittos cried out in agony,
“But if I do not save my beloved Elora,
“I shall rather die than live without her!”
And the last rope slit free,
And Brittos embraced his wife heartily.

Suddenly, at the moment of the last break,
A sudden shriek occurred, like a wounded animal.
And Brittos turned, and saw his spear in Elora's right arm
And upon the end of it, was the foul Eshu
Stabbed through the solar plexus.
Eshu, a thing of gruesome beauty,
Looked into Elora's eyes.
Elora looked back.

“You are a foul thing who have taken many captive.
“For those you slain on this rock are those you
“Have moved to choler against the righteous.
“For they are slain, though they walk among the living
“They are slain for eternity in the hell you summoned forth.” 









Coda

I

The Christian always
Quotes the Haiku's simplistic
Platitudes, “Be blessed”,
Yet omit the meatier
Turn of the Tanka's concept.

II

The dreary and gray world
Despises its poets and fantasy.
All music, all art, all joyful craft
Are spurned by Malcolm.
"The world is much better without poetry."
What will the mind muse?
Sex? Gossip? Labor? Science?
What will bring joy to the world?
Will the AI dream our dreams?
Will the AI write our holy books?
Will the AI replace our creativity?
And therefore, leave us only the trowel
And the mud for mankind?
What gray world are we marching toward?
What abyss are we staring into?
The Machine rules mankind
And takes our Science and makes it aught.
We need not science to be happy---
I do say, happiness was in greater proportions
When there was yet very little.
Our electricity, our plumbing---
Yet, we need not even a vehicle
Save a cart and horse.
No... you assume because you are clever
To call me "Kanute",
For I know I cannot command the waves,
And you call me Nero's Fiddler,
That you are equally skilled at verse.
You call me "Myopic"---
What vision have you had?
Have you seen the future's miseries
Like me? Do I know now,
What you never did?
There is less use for it now
Than there ever were
If Science replaces Religion
Art, Poetry, Music and Philosophy.
For, then we make a machine more a man than ourselves.

III.

Everything's a lie,
Nothing true is true;
A Haiku has ten syllables,
I guess that's why I lose.

Bad dreams come from demons
Not from a troubled mind---
Saints do not have sex dreams
Though that's not what I could find...

Augustine and Bunyan
Both suffered from my woes,
But nowadays nothing's true
Except postmodern vogue.

We are way beyond form and function
Way beyond truth and rights,
For our freedoms are all broken
By a man in chapless tights.

If Haiku's, like Love's, texture cannot be seen, it ceases to be known.

IV. Squaring a Circle

Squaring the circle
Is impossible; take aught
That exists... still can't.
To break the circle into
Quanta, it still can't be done.



























Author’s Bio

	Brandon Neifert is the author of books including In Defense of the Story, a crowning achievement of autodidactism; My Collected Writings, a medley of various writings on diverse topics; and, The Fifth Angel’s Trumpet, an epic novel starring a rowdy maverick colonel caught between a devastating, fifth world war and the love of his life. Neifert is a self educated, self published writer, who, much like his characters, strives for the moral best in both himself and society. A devoted Christian, Neifert was born-again when confronted with a sin from his adolescence that ultimately led to his confession and incarceration as an adult. Neifert has a colorful past, but makes up for it with his scrupulous observations of the human condition, framing both good and evil in ways that even the most skeptical can agree.