Man and Wo; A Long Poem

Book I: Man

Chapter 1: The Celtic Inspiration

 

Like the bagpipes of Ireland

Or the flutes of Scotland

A rebel’s tune, to the marching choirs

A battle hymn for a republic.

 

There, in the simple villages,

In the grassy knolls

And water fed heaths,

There, o’ the weights of balance

Did the copper get weighed.

 

Chapter 2: The Sun Barges

 

There, the sun barges flew

Which man has yet forgotten.

The Sequoias grew strong

And men roamed free.

O’ the waters ran clear

And the grass grew tall.

The wheat in the field

Rolled with the endless knolls

Of blue skies.

 

My dream is like this:

The horses were drawn by carriages

And the flying ships

Traversed the stars.

Gold shillings and copper

Nickle and precious stones

The rolling hills of cotton and wheat

And the jade grass underneath our feet.

 

Our rockets were pulled by the suns

Of a trillion stars

And a field, and a cobbler

And a banker, and a store for games.

We mine the ores of the moons.

No television, no phones

No wires.

 

Chapter 3: A Frontier of Free Men

 

A frontier of men free

To till the fields and make the pastures.

Across the clouds flew the barges

Several miles wide

With towns of beach wood

And no tall towers.

The animals roaming,

And vast expanses of wildlife.

Music, and art and every form of discipline

Practiced, and all men being masters of their trade.

 

The local cobbler sold his ten shoes a month

And fed his family with the outlying foods

Which traversed his skies.

The local librarian tended to her books

And the medical nurse did practice her trade.

The men and women were fed

The children happy

Playing with their toys

Which were sculpted by the local sculptor

Of silicon; to which he made the most resplendent toys.

 

Men slept on their hammocks, and sailed the endless skies.

The churches were filled with their local congregations

As the hills rolled with the wheat

Amber, in the replenishing rains.

The houses with their electricity

And plumbing, and aqueducts

And their farms atop the oceans

On floating nets, filled with soil

Tilled by men whose houses sailed the oceans.

 

Chapter 4: Harnessing the Earth’s Tides

 

The seas of hurricanes and whirring winds

Were harnessed by wind turbines

And the deserts were turned to fields

Of solar ice. The roaring waves

Were pushed our turbines,

And rather than fear a storm

Men praised it.

For the turbines, yes the turbines

Did pull aught when the winds stormed.

 

The lightning was harnessed

And men in their parlors put on plays

Instead of watch their television;

They played charades.

The oceans were farmed, and then restocked.

The trees were cut

But then replanted.

The populations lived in cities surrounded by parks

Filled with treameat

And the rain did fall.

 

Men learned not how to control their planet

But harness it. The gravitons they used

The photons they used.

 

Chapter 5: The Photon Sails

 

Men learned how to sail upon the light;

Men and women loved, made love three times a day

Had their fill of children who produced in their fields

Learned their trades, and brought the family their income.

 

The music was like choirs of angels

Where they flew through the air in radios.

They had their electronic beats, and their electronic music

But men played their fiddles, and their drums

And their electric guitars.

Men did listen, and love,

And had their great feasts.

They had no gods

Save the one LORD Jesus Christ.

They did not give their children to the Baal.

Their children were their portion

To see them grow, and eat.

 

Chapter 6: The Cuisine

 

The roastlings were fat

And lived off the land,

And each man, woman and child took up their trade

In the local economies.

The babies cried

And drank deep of their mother’s milk

As the rolling sounds of thunder cracked.

 

The crops were diverse

Thousands in the local markets

Sold, all colors

All varieties

All climates

Brought in by the sun barges.

 

The children swam in the local lakes

The peoples had horse races in the countryside.

They boarded the Magnetic Bullet Trains

Without any acronym signifying what they are

And did ride through continents in hours.

They took the skilds, those massive skilds

And sunbarges, across oceans

And did traverse the skies.

 

I ate, I drank, I had Roasted Beef

Roasted Chicken

Roasted Capybara

Roasted Suckling

Mashed Chickpeas

Spiced with garlic

Onion, thyme tarragon

Fenugreek, and Coriander

Cumin and Cinnamon

Potatoes, and cottonseed oils

Hemp oils, safe tobacco to smoke,

Fennels and Green Beans

Peas and Corn

Maple syrups and honey

Cane sugars and ample salts.

 

Dinners were scrumptious

And restaurants were places to go

And spend an entire day with family.

Sprawling vineyards of all fruits

Pomegranates, grapes

Kiwis, melons and bananas

Apples,

Fuji, Crispin

Lady Pink, Honeycrisp,

Granny Smith, Red and Golden delicious,

Jonagolds and Braeburns,

Tart blueberries and blackberries

And strawberries, made into pies

Made into tarts, made into creme brulees,

Eggs in abundance, ostrich

Chicken, Peahen and Guinea hens;

Bugs fried in oily fats, so that even the leeches were delicious

And a Parasite a delicacy;

An ant covered in chocolate

And a mosquito fried in cottonseed oils.

 

Chapter 7: The Pastimes

 

Deer roamed for hunting,

Elephants for game,

Rhinoceroses and Zebras

Were plentiful on the African Serengeti

Because men stocked them, and a million other varieties.

Every one killed, men stocked them

With two or three.

Snake Venoms were used to cure all ailments

And science was believed

And Christ was also believed.

 

Men knew the world wasn’t flat

Because everyone had been in space.

Men knew evolution existed because they could see it

Pain enough, men had lived so long

And cataloged everything in books

So detailed, without a single pixel.

Just art, rendered by photo-realistic art

Which people were all paid to draw.

All talents were paid, enough to live

Enough to eat.

 

Chapter 8: The Living Arrangements

 

Men lived in three room houses, all tucked around one another

Sometimes three stories high, no taller.

The cities sprawled over vast continents

But within those cities were even vaster

Pockets of enclosed forests, and deserts

And wild-life preserves.

Men, in their wisdom

Created habitats rather than destroyed them.

Men could create a self sustaining ecosystem

With a hundred gallon tank

With seven different species of live creatures

And plants; they had bonsai gardens

And even gardens of oak forests seventy square miles wide.

 

Chapter 9: Various Miscellaneous

 

Men did not destroy.

Men did not pillage.

Men did not war.

They had no reason to.

The animals they ate

And felt no shame.

Because they hadn’t murdered.

They hadn’t stolen.

To them, a man’s life was a man’s

An animal’s an animal’s,

But the animals ate and fed on the grasses

And on the wheats, and in the fields they roamed

To be hunted, to be photographed;

No… they did not film.

No, they did not take a photo

Except with silver photocells.

They took and if any wanted a photograph

They developed it in their homes.

A hundred thousand distributors of silver

Made a hundred thousand varieties of photo chemicals

And each were special, specific, local

And men were fed.

 

Chapter 10: The Fat Cats

 

No man could save more than a million dollars

U.S. After that point, even kings had to give up their

Kingdoms. Kings were elected, for terms

And countries abounded, several thousand of them.

They warred with trade, not with weapons.

And never to a point of famine.

For, to war meant rape, killing, pillaging,

Destroying, and pogroms.

They did not scorn this

If it meant preserving the happiness.

If one country were to destroy the ecosystem

They laid forth

It was to be destroyed, and every man woman and child within it.

 

Chapter 11: Excursion

 

No… this is not a Utopian dream.

It is rather the practice

Of the first burgeon of Civilization.

Nebuchadnezzar’s Kingdom.

 

Do I know if it can be created?

Men… I dare say we cannot necessarily come close.

It is rather my dream… I am entitled to it in thought.

Am I radical enough to bring it into practice?

No.

 

The men played with their puzzles, and games

And fine art was patronized.

Great methods were made to make the peoples happy.

Rulers ruled benevolently

Because to do otherwise

Meant utter destruction.

Men, like the Persians,

Had honor, and sacrifice.

There were no disgusting sex practices

Because men were fed with the meat

Of their lover’s gentle wombs.

The women were fed with

Sex understandings ten times

More advanced than our so called

Kama Sutra, and it was not

Mind you, religious.

It was simply hedonism

And a benign form at that.

 

Chapter 12: The Life Expectancy

 

Men grew to ten and twenty generations

In families, and most men saw their great, great grandchildren.

They swaddled the babes at the age of seventy

Already knowing two generations prior.

 

They made love at sixteen

And were not reproved for it.

They married at fifteen

And this was the norm.

They had abundant sex

And were taught by the Christian Pastors

How to make love…

As this was the priestly duties

As per the book of Song of Songs.

 

Chapter 13:

 

Do you want this world?

Do you want this earth?

This is the fruit of my religion.

 

Now let me show you the

Fruit of the World’s religion.

 

Book II: Wo

Chapter 1: My Name is Marc

My name’s Marc.
Marcus Krantz.
You might know me…
some people do.
I’m not so famous here.
We invented Quantum Computing,
Iron Man Suits,
all sorts of nonsense.
We’re actually in a dark age.
My parents are dead.
Brandon and Jorgia Krantz.
They died a long time ago.

On the quantum computers,
I can see him in an alternate timeline.
One where Hilary got elected.
Instead of Trump.
My dad never got published here.
World didn’t go to war
like he said it would.
That’s probably for
the better.
Instead, things got weird.
Augmented Reality
they call it.
Portals to other dimensions.
Street Magicians
showing their tricks were
future technologies.
That kind of stuff.

Chapter 2: So…

So…
the world never went to war.
That’s what they say.
Instead there are police
flying in Iron Man suits,
named after a Marvel Comic
strip that has since been banned.
They said it was
“Time Descriptions.”
They banned everything
that had any reference to future
technologies.
They thought my dad might have been
compromised.
He was…
it just wasn’t his fault.

To get into the gory details
would be awful.
Just, some gross thing was put in him.
Some call it a demon.
Some call it a Dream
Machine.
I call it a twist of fate.
He never asked for it.
Actually, everything he said would happen
did.
So, possibly he was a
prophet.
I don’t know.

Chapter 3: My Dad Lived a quiet Life

He lived a quiet life in
Pennsylvania.
Had a pretty notorious youth…
I’m sure you all know that.
But, he couldn’t write a
modern novel.
It was impossible for him.
That’s why he never
sold much in his life.
He died young,
about thirty-five.
He had a wife,
who had me.
She died.
Jorgia Krantz.
I lived.
I saw in his book
I had a sister named
“Cass”.
I’m an only child.
Had an uncle.
Had a grandfather.
Had a grandmother.
Had a whole family.
They all died.

Chapter 4: So…

So…
let’s catch any reader up to snuff.
It’s the year 2058.
I’m single.
No “Erin”.
I really wanted her.
I really do.
But, no.
I don’t seem to get her this time.
I don’t seem to have a love story
this time.
Instead,
I’m in my apartment,
302,
on the South Nebinger Block
of the city of Lewisberry.
My hometown
used to be sprawling farms.
Now they’re just rows of houses.

Rows,
and
rows,
and
rows
of houses.

I don’t work.
I get stipends.
About five hundred dollars a month.
I use it to eat.
Am I hungry?
No, not really.
Is the food I eat any good?
No.
Life isn’t really any good.

Chapter 5: Life’s Not Bad

Life’s not bad.
But it’s not good.
We’ve found some things
that were pretty weird.
You can look at the past
on computers.
Turns out electrons
and stuff
are like dimensions.
You can observe them.
Some are even going to find a way
to turn back time.

But…
Here’s the thing.
You shouldn’t be
able to turn back time.

I’m not allowed to own any animals.
They took them all away.
I spend most of my day
reading my dad’s old books.
He left me a quite impressive collection.
No wars.
But, there’s also no love.
There’s no friendship.
You go down to the neighbor
and he passes a glance at you.
He spends most of his days
on the hallucinogenic
“Fairy Stones”.
The iPhones now network
with your brain.
No implant.
No chip.
It’s like your brain
is an antennae.
People who’ve used them
say it’s like dreaming.
They wake up to eat.
They have control over it,
waking up and going back to sleep.
I don’t understand it because
I’m like an Amish person.
That’s what they call me.
“Amish.”

Chapter 6: Outside the Troop Patrols Fly

Outside troop patrols fly
in the streets.
They have armored suits,
manned of course.
Robots were illegalized
after a series of serial killings
perpetrated by every one of them.
It was a weird phenomena.
Some guy was building them,
and they went on a massive killing spree.
All 110 of them.
Killed d_____ near 34,000
people, just those one hundred and ten robots.
The only reason more weren’t made
was because they were difficult
to create the brain software.
Intelligent machines,
we’ve found,
were not like Rosie.
But, seeing that we have
the Quantum Computers
to see, some were like Rosie.
Just, the people
these days
were so aggressive that
when they trained the robots,
they abused them so bad
that they all went crazy and murderous.

A lot of people are like that, too.

Outside my window,
the sky is tinted red.
We’ve lost a lot of atmosphere.
Global warming was fixed
with some kind of thing like
a NAC,
like J.D. had predicted.
He’s my uncle.
Him and I are pretty close,
actually.
He survived.
Survived what?
You might ask?
I don’t know.
Nobody really does,
actually.
It wasn’t an illness.
People just started
disappearing.
My dad.
My mom.
My parents.
My friends.
One by one,
they each started disappearing.

Chapter 7: Trump Wasn’t the Culprit

Trump wasn’t the culprit.
It was a democrat
when this started happening.
One you wouldn’t
have ever heard of.
He came out of nowhere
in 2026’s election.
My dad was 35.

The wall they built
was blasted down
by the Democrats.
They say that let in some people.
Who they were?
I don’t know.
Nobody knows
who runs the country anymore.
We have elections,
of course.
Just, no names
are on the ballots.
You either pick

Democrat
or
Republican.

Some other strange things
occurred.
There is no grass.
There are no trees.
You hear explosions from time to time.
Everyone says it’s a car backfiring;
they run on natural gas
now
because it’s cleaner.
But, once in a while,
if you get outside—
you have to wear an oxygen tank to breath—
you see a charred
building or two.
There was no war.
Or… was there?
I don’t know.
Nobody knows anything.

We eat tablets for dinner.
Get injected with vitamins.

Chapter 8: A Society Worth Preserving

A society worth
destroying in print is
one worth preserving in real life;
save one I read about a certain
Queen Jezebel Zarathustra,
to show how when society gets
too bad,
only God can destroy it.

A society sustained in print,
let the minds of the readers destroy it.

Chapter 9: We Don’t Have Showers

We don’t have showers.
We have little sonic rings
we stand in, and it makes us feel
like we’re having sex.
It’s kind of obnoxious
because the only way to get clean
you’ll also have an orgasm.
Sex isn’t forbidden,
but you never know
whether someone
is a man or woman these days.
There could be a man
with a perfectly rendered face
and vagina,
with a uterine transplant,
and you’d never know.
A man,
however,
couldn’t reproduce
if born as a woman.
The penises
are just not right.
But, you can get in huge
trouble
calling it a fake.
That’s an offense
punishable by
a steep fine.

Chapter 10: I Read a Story

I read a story
once about a guy
chained down
so he couldn’t move,
because he was strong.
And a woman
who wore a mask
because she was beautiful.
And at the climax,
they both danced.

Here,
if you’re beautiful,
it is hard to tell.
Most people have
switched their genders.
The ones who didn’t
just have sex with the
gender
they think is them.
So,
you never really know
if it’s a man and woman in a relationship
or not.
Babies are kind of just born
in test tubes.
They’ve gotten so confused
at who’s who,
that cloning is the
only way
to actually keep
the species alive.
And they keep cloning people.
I’m of natural birth…
Which make me rare.

Chapter 11: The People Who are Norms Like Me

The people who are
“Norms”
like me…
I’m called
“Norm”
by everyone…
people aren’t really that imaginative…
are typically held up consuming
countless hours
of hallucinogenic
pornography.
It feels like the real thing.
It tastes like the real thing.
It even smells like the real thing.
So I’ve heard.

Of course,
they eat
and drink
in these programs too.
But, they come out.
They have to.
To think that
they couldn’t…
it’d be scary.
It’s why I
never tried it.
I’d be too afraid
I’d get trapped inside
of the machines.

They get bombarded by pleasures,
though.
Nobody is
stupid enough
to play the games on it.
The games are like real war.
Real battle.
Real struggle.
It’s not fun,
and people actually feel getting shot
and stuff.
Then they wake up
when they die.
Traumatized,
so most people just stick

to eating
and
sex games.

That most people like.

But, a good amount of people
spend their days out of the contraptions.
Like me.
But, there’s nowhere to really go.
Everything is barren.
It’s not global warming.
There was no war.
I don’t know what caused it.

Chapter 12: To Be Honest

To be honest,
I spend all my days
getting vitamin vaccines,
then taking a gel tablet
that gives me my vital nutrients.
I’m bone thin.
Have almost no muscle mass.
When I go outside,
people are piled up
in massive orgies in the hallways,
like a pile of

human colored sticks.

I don’t know
what goes where,
or how they do it.
They look almost like creatures
from another planet,
but when looked at
close enough,
you can plainly see
they are

human beings.

Plastic implanted breasts,
often bigger than their whole bodies,
thumbskins made into foreskins,
died hair yellow and purple,
sometimes even strange colors
that look almost
alien,
until I realize
it’s just orange,
black,
violet or
green.

Sometimes I’m nearly
raped by them.
One time I was accused
of rape
for looking at a woman.

See…
if you identify as a woman,
you can claim
someone raped you
by looking at them.
But, if you identify as a woman,
it gives you the liberty
to do whatever you want,
even if it means…

People talk pretty weird.
It’s not like they’re retarded.
Have you ever heard two nerds
talk over a Card Table?
Or heard two intelligent
atheists talk?
It’s kinda like that.
Intelligible,
but always morally wrong.
On every occasion

they confuse
what is possible
with what is moral.

Chapter 13: In Fact…

In fact,
they remind me of penguins.
Penguins rape,
commit necrophilia,
steal each other’s young,
and even show homosexual tendencies.

Some metaphor is in that,
when Homosexuals
point to them
and say,
“Look we’re natural”
because two male penguins
nurture a rock.

But… you can’t convince them
it’s not.

God I hope this doesn’t become a reality.

 

 

Why I Love The United States

Here is why I love the United States.

I can listen to any song I want to.

I can write any book I’d like.

I can think, and therefore create.

I can say what I want,

And if I figure something out

I’m allowed to say it

Believe it, think it

Even practice it as my religion

So long as I’m not hindering other people’s welfare.

 

I am allowed to jump into the local creek

And swim.

It is clean.

I can build a fire right on the edge of said creek

And cook marshmallows if I wanted to.

I can get on a raft, and ride it for miles

Without anyone saying I can’t.

I can go camp in the mountains

If I wanted to

And nobody would be able to charge me a dime.

 

I have the ability to work

And eat from what I earned.

I have the ability to write any subversive message I want

Without fear of Government.

I can call Trump a bad man

Or Obama

Or Hillary.

I can even criticize other governments

Other world leaders.

 

I have no fear of government troops

Knocking down my door.

I have no fear,

Even though the CIA might investigate me

There ain’t a damned thing they can do to me

Because I’m a US Citizen

And haven’t broken any laws,

Haven’t committed any Espionage

Unless YouTube were illegal.

I can know about the government’s dirty little secrets

Because of reporters

Who are free to report on whatever is out there.

I am free to watch them, seek them out.

I can even seek out news agencies called “Russia Television”

Or “Info Wars” and they are free to exist

And do whatever insane thing they want to

Say whatever sane thing they want to.

And watch them without any fear of being oppressed by my government.

 

I can believe any conspiracy theory I want.

I can even say anything I want about the government

Good or bad.

I can speculate on my government’s dealings

I can criticize it

And there ain’t a thing the government can do.

 

And, what’s more,

These freedoms are not being hampered by my government.

They are being hampered by the very citizens it protects.

 

 

 

The Citizen’s Investigation

There once was a man

A US Citizen.

He came under investigation by

The agencies of his country

Because he did something he saw on the movies

When scared that someone might hurt him.

He made a really bad mistake.

This was given to the local church

Where he went.

Then, he came under more investigation

Because it seemed he belonged to a cult.

 

For ten years they investigated him

And he thought he was being chased by gangsters

Being thwarted because of what he wrote.

He thought it was a conspiracy

Against him because he was

Writing something subversive.

So, he investigated the investigators.

He found them all murderers

Destroyers, thieves

Who broke into his house and spied on all his sustenance.

They broke the nation’s laws by unwarranted spying.

He found them, because they would follow him.

He saw them because they had claimed false identities.

He spotted them because they were liars

And he was surrounded by them

Even great warriors.

 

Every lie told against him,

He recorded it.

What should he say?

Should he give a good report?

Should he say that his nation is free?

Investigated for 10 years

For a misdemeanor.

Forced to confess his whole life’s story

Because he was pressured.

 

He has this one thing to say:

I am an American.

I am a Christian.

I will break you with my words.

A Study of Metrical Units; Expanded

A Study of the Metrical Unit of A Classic Nursery Rhyme:

First thing to say is that I mean nothing pretentious by doing this. I saw a spider in my bathroom, and for some reason I looked up the nursery rhyme from a random access memory of my Mom playing itsy-bitsy Spider with me.

I had this posted without giving a good reason… I then proceeded to lose a subscriber. So, I think some reason has to be given, which I meditated on all day after having written this piece.

My friend J.D. entertained a thought, one worth noting, how our modern children are without a strong, cultural foundation. Things like Little Red Riding Hood, Sleepy Hollow and of course The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

People tend to entertain America as a cultureless cesspool. Unfortunately, they might be right. But there is a strong culture rooted in mythologies, such as John Bunyan or Johnny Appleseed. Both of which I was steeped in in Nursery School. Of course Honest Abraham Lincoln who couldn’t tell a lie, and George Washington who chopped down the cherry tree—the only sin he’d ever committed. These are called Tall Tales. A part of American culture. So is the “Itsy-Bitsy Spider”. So is John Henry.

Modern kids have lost track of this. They are steeped in traditions such as “Sponge Bob Squarepants” or as of late South Park. They mistake Beyonce and Lil Wayne as cultural icons. I think somewhere in the Sixties we did this, when we mistook our Classic Rock as classically iconic. Not that there is anything inherently without merit in bands like the Eagles, or the Beetles. It’s just, something intelligent has been lost. Something in the Mythologies presented to kids. They’ve mistaken Sponge Bob as ancient. They’ve mistaken him with Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse.

When I grew up in the Nineties, Rugrats and Animaniacs were programs I watched. But, I had a historicity taught to me dating long before it, so I always knew its place. It was never ancient, time honored nor porous. It was always in its place—and well received by my childhood. I knew about Bugs Bunny and Popeye, I knew about Mickey Mouse and the Flinstones. These were ancient and time honored in my childhood, some thirty to forty year old traditions at the time I was a kid.

Then there were much older things I had learned, giving me a complete history. Itsy-Bitsy Spider was the Sponge-Bob square pants of the seventeen and eighteen hundreds. It was the programming we consumed. Along with mythologies surrounding George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. There was a tangibility to the culture that existed, rooting me in a long history of stories which were passed down from generation to generation, and Popey and Loony Tunes were just parts of that tradition.

Spongebob, modern episodes of it anyway, do not seem to be rooted or steeped in these traditions. They might make a mention of a famous piece of art, but the art of storytelling is fracturing and falling apart.

In the notes below, I mention the “Heroic Verse” of Itsy-Bitsy Little Spider. Because it was ultimately a heroic poem—and today I imagined the Itsy-Bitsy little spider making his way up the spout, in heroic fashion. He is being knocked down, but getting back up again. This is the content of our past. The premise of our economics. More importantly, there are thousands of traditions children learned of work ethic and heroism. Almost strangely enough, a lot of those traditions were not even on the political landscape of modern day.

John Henry was a hard worker, for instance, but he died against a Machine. The poem is both capitalistic and communistic at the same front. It honors John Henry’s work ethic, and his desire to work hard, and treat his family. It then scorns the engine of Capitalism which would throw him out of work. This is the American tradition, steeped throughout it. Casey Jones, Paul Bunyan. Johnny Appleseed is a story about environmentalism and capitalism. The man, Johnny Appleseed, by ingenuity challenges the bad laws by planting apple trees, and then proceeds to economize them; but, on the flip, his trees feed the local poor. There is something economical that transcends left and right.

Further, these traditions fight against the modern notions, on both left and right hemispheres of the political coin. They don’t fit on our modern ethos. Which is why they are being forgotten. The spider in the poem—eloquently, and in perfect Iambic Pentameter—gets knocked down, and then proceeds to climb back up the waterspout. Because that is the American spirit which neither Communism nor Capitalism can claim.

I want it to be clear that I’m not pretentiously posting “Itsy-Bitsy Little Spider” as some manikin pissing in a museum; some claim to artistic ingenuity or even mocking it. I’m simply pointing out how much better formed it is as a story and a poem, and how much better it works as a moral. I didn’t write this poem. My mom was the one who came up with this particular rendition of it, as it was sung over me a thousand and one times in my childhood. The game involved touch, as she’d do the motions on my back, and then tickle me.

There were so many stories I was steeped in as a child. And these stories were critical in developing my moral compass—I know right from wrong partly because of the stories ingrained in me. More than that, they were far better formed than modern day stories. This story, in its four lines is far more coherent than a modern Sponge Bob episode. It makes more plot sense. I was watching Sponge Bob with my brother the other day, and realized that they were filling four episodes worth of content into one fifteen minute time slot, and kids were probably watching this. Lots of them. It’s concerning to me because it seems almost disingenuous to call it good programming when I used to watch shows like Rugrats or Hey Arnold. And, having read Doctor Sues I understand what the children can do with these random stories; children at certain ages will imprint on the stories far more creatively than an adult does, and we as adults cannot understand it. So, we don’t know what damage we’re doing to the kids by letting them consume poorly construed art. There is a link between art and mental health—a profound link, that often gets shrugged at by professionals wanting to maintain a system that feigns capitalistic.

We need to be cautious in this field of creating art, and this nursery rhyme is far superior to the modern traditions being taught to children, which will be dissected below. In four lines there is already more literariness than in a full season of Sponge Bob. Literariness is not allusions, it is like a gear or cog that brings a story to coherence and brings together what the Theorists call “Internal Tautology.” That is internal logic.

 

The below is the Nursery Rhyme “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”:

 

This is how my Mom sung it to me:

 

The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout;—

Down came the rain and washed that spider out.

Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.

The itsy-bitsy spider, climbed up the spout again.

 

First thing to notice about the poem is its iambs, the unstressed going into the stressed syllables (uSuSuS). It almost perfectly follows its meter, using the whole word “Climbed” working as one long syllable. Second thing to notice is the heroic verse in Iambic Pentameter, and the “AA/BB” rhyme scheme, where “again” is spoken like “rain” with a slight different vowel syllable than the typical vowel used in conversation. It sounds more like “Ageyne” than “Agen”. The third thing to notice is the thirteen syllable lines on the edges of the poem mirroring, and the perfect iambic pentameter in the middle. It creates a sort of Chiasmic Metrical Couplet, making melodic sense. One is tricked into believing the pattern is the same, but close study shows the extra three syllables on the first and fourth verse gives musical emphasis on those lines. There is also an immediate repetition of the word “Out” which makes the poem less encumbered.

 

Why did I just do this? Why did you just spend six minutes reading it?

It’s hard to explain, but I would implore any reader to read Go Dog Go. There will be a confused look on your face with the absurdity of reading it. There seems to be no coherent story. Because there isn’t. And it’s beneficial to the child to read Go Dog Go. But, Spongebob is using this same psychological trick, to unknown levels, and what seemingly is random to an adult is shaping a child in ways we cannot understand because we are not children. Because children are stimulated by what’s on the television. It is a part of their upbringing, as much as the parent or the school.

We don’t know the damage done by Sponge Bob or the other hundreds of programs being consumed by children. I know looking at the Itsy-Bitsy Spider it makes more sense than a modern Sponge-Bob episode. There is less seemingly random events, and the child will link those random events to create a story. This is how a child’s mind works. If you were to be honest, you saw a story in Go Dog Go that doesn’t appear today, without much effort. The children are doing this with Sponge Bob, to unknown effects.

Loony Tunes had a basic tautology of one character wanting to eat another character. There were no real question on either an adult’s mind or child’s mind what the plot was. And, it was significantly less suggestive to where a child would reasonably understand it. It didn’t borrow elements from the child’s culture, and then make suggestive provocations to them. It didn’t make those kinds of notions at all. It is still coherent today, and for some reason it diffused the aggression of its audience. I don’t know how it did, but probably by making our subconscious reflexes seem normal. It rather took the suggestive subconscious material of our day to day and dramatized it in a cartoon, where the audience could laugh, and therefore remedy the subconscious tension.

The modern cartoons aggravate those tensions. It rather augments reality’s most bitter annoyances, and then lays guilt traps on the audiences, catching culture cues such as the suggestive elements of a child’s day to day dealings with peers, not alleviating the frustration but aggravating it. How? Simply put, marketing. Which is how marketing works. The Trix Rabbit never gets the Trix, so the children must act out the Rabbit’s desire of obtaining the prize. Whatever prize is there in modern cartoons, that the child will want to obtain. It normally has some provocative nature, which must be understood by observing the child’s cultural climate. J.D. had pointed this out to me, and I had recognized it soon after with my own cousins.

How do we alleviate this? Simply put, with art. With Religion. With common sense. TV ratings are not enough to keep a child from watching a program. The rating systems are incompetent to understand the damage the program will do.

In short… there needs to be more research into how to construct movies and television programs to prevent children from growing frustrated. As, I see the art they consume only makes them frustrated. There needs to probably be researchers like Dr. Sues on every children’s network, firmly based in real psychology that makes the television producers produce good art.

Far reaching, it is the stories that the children are consuming which is creating the cultural climate we have today. Defiant. Angry. Bitter. Slothful. Entitled. Stories are impressively impactful on a child’s psychological state. I would rather more like “Its-Bitsy Spider” than even Hey Arnold. We need responsible artists, and that even for the adult population.

Songdefine

the beat,

Dance to the electronic base,

Swing to the saxophone,

Feel like the old country singer,

Immerse in the sounds of the choirs with their ardent notes.

 

Elvis Presley

2 Unlimited

Duke Elington

Johnny Cash

Chesnokov

 

How the music of my life

Shaped me… made such mellow melancholia

Have made me feel in love.

They have occupied my mind with vivid fantasies

Of futures hard to obtain.

They have satisfied me

Made me feel in love.

They have known my sorrows

And have touched my shame.

 

Music is God’s greatest gift to mankind

That man can make with his hands.

Second to that is the poem

Which music, in all her glory

Defined.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, Stood Upon the Walshon Road

So, stood upon the walshon road

The white stained facade clean and cold

Stands the voice of a lone protest.

He stands with ensign, flashed his crest

With colors of blue, gold and white.

He stands—paralyzed dreamer in the night.

Right is his goodly righteous cause

To save the Earth and keep strong laws

To bring the golden age of straw

Conjured in his bright, widowed mind.

He spends his time upon the brind

Of oceans and seas of strong words.

Those he speaks are the limpid lures

Wherewith he will strongly bait hawks

Whom he wishes to make to doves.

The message rather grinds a gear

Hunkering both into their fears.

Oh! Strong intellectual, spending all your years

In a dreamlike state, paralyzed

On the bleached white streets with your cheers.

Strong are your slogans, witty, thick

With the hypnotism you pick.

Yet, it is to none effect, love

For the words are like a paralyzed dreamer;

Conscience, they simply do not prick.

Abortion

Every argument says its right.

Every scientific fact.

Every morsel of intellectual property

Proves it to be ok.

Every credible scientist

Every credible scholar

Every credible individual

Says Abortion is ok.

 

I’ll be one of the dumb people

Who will call a life a life.