Thursday, March 29, 2018

Flat Out of Ideas

Flat Out of Ideas
March 31: Before I start, you may see how I apply my favorite history lessons to the production of comedy, as I continue adding to my hypothetical talkshow, The New Don't Steal Show: Episode XVI. And Mike Myers may read about music that is over his head in my statement, Changing Times. April 4: And if I inadvertently rewrite any old propaganda parodies, I hope I am given the full benefit of the doubt as to their ownership.

Since World War Two, there hasn't been very much real technological progress. We have made quantitative advances, but their underlying science remains, more or less, unchanged. Almost all of our modern inventions, for example, depend on the one key invention of the Tesla coil to power them. Tesla, in this sense, single handedly brought us into the current age of computers.

Jets, rockets, mobile phones, and remote control devices all got their start in World War Two. And nuclear fission offered a new power source by the war's end. Nothing really new has come along since. Why?

I love this war documentary about Ultra. (See my comedy script: The Code Breakers of Stanley Park.) Ultra was the program to crack the 'unbreakable' German code in WW2. Machine encryption was thought by the Germans to be invulnerable, but they failed to consider the weaknesses presented by faulty human operators, as well as to imagine the quite human invention of a machine that could decipher their machine. Their Nazi anti-intellectualism would cost them dearly.

This idea of weaknesses existing by the operators of a system has me thinking of weakness of a copyright protection system if it were administered by such people as the hosts of Dateline. The greatest copyright protection system in the world can't save an artist if the operator is corrupt.

Oddball intellectuals, facing SS death squads, united to break the German code and to develop the atomic bomb. Einstein wrote a letter to Roosevelt, which led directly to the Manhattan Project. But what would have happened to Einstein if he had not escaped to Switzerland in 1933?

Had Einstein not escaped, he would have been gassed for being too old to work as a railroad labourer. God knows how many Einsteins and Teslas perished in the camps. Leading intellectuals were the first to go in every occupied country. They died by the train load. This may well explain the technological plateau leading from then to the present.
  
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Wednesday, March 28, 2018

About Victim Bashing

About Victim Bashing
Why was I such a target of fraud? I think it was because of my gentleness, which shows in my blogs and poems, and was perceived as a weakness by every predator in show business. Then look what happens when I try to make a firm stand on my copyright claims, they call me a jerk. I'm just trying to stop a crime, but this victim bashing by the perpetrators of fraud continues every day because they'd have to replace everyone in show business, from top to bottom, to put an end to it.

What kind of jerk am I? That's easy, the kind of jerk who deserves to have all his music and comedy ripped off and be left to die at the hands of a hateful mob of his music's and comedy's biggest fans. Sure, don't question why I'm being bashed, just start thinking the way a bunch of criminals with cameras want you to think.

It's a good thing I'm older now because I don't think I would have survived this crime if I were younger. When you get older, you are more able to cope with loss because you've had some experience with it. I haven't worked much on my music lately, but it's not because I can't. Jerks who stole my music think it made my comedy popular. And jerks who stole my comedy think it made my music popular. But some people out there only care about my discussions on God, or even war. I care about all of my work.
  
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Monday, March 26, 2018

More than Words

More than Words
I was thinking last night about how eye catching those costumes were that they used for my sketches. What kind of costumes did they use for their own sketches? It helps to be eye catching on television, right, network people? If you manage to be eye catching, like with shiny, elaborate costumes, such as the ones they used to steal my Madame Pompadu sketch, then when a person is flipping through the channels, they are more likely to stop and try to gather up what is going on. My sketches would often demand costumes because of my fondness for history. Were they fond of history, too?

On the other hand, sometimes an eye catching event will help to draw in viewers. More viewers means more profits, right, network people? In this instance, a sketch like my End Quote, which has uniformed SA tossing books into a fire would catch a lot of channel surfers. Wars tell history, of course, but they also grab viewers.

I present my work in words, but the words create compelling images. A good example is in how the poems in this blog were so successfully turned into images on television. Many of them, like the Obelisk, the Marathon, the Herald, the Heavenly Escapade, and the Mammals called for eye catching costumes that helped to boost NBC's ratings. The Heavenly Escapade even demanded eye catching special effects. The situations were always very engaging. Viewers stumble on a marathon, for instance, and they want to keep watching to find out who wins.

What would the cast of SNL written on their own in its place? Would it have been as eye catching? Would it have been as engaging? Would it rhyme? Would the dialogue have been as good? Would they have grabbed as many viewers? In answer to the last question, they obviously didn't think so. And yet, the networks won't permit me even the slightest respect now after their stars grabbed so much of my money and success.

I'm afraid my respect does depend a lot on how I'm treated on the public airwaves. If I am disrespected on the public airwaves, it encourages the crowd to disrespect me. I digress a bit, but a good example of being disrespected on the public airwaves, aside from the support for bands that ripped me off, was Tina Fey's You Sock video. Did everyone see that? When was that? Has everyone heard what I had to say about Tina?

By 2007, Tina Fey and her show stole had stolen mountains of my comedy scripts and poems. Apparently she was incarcerated in late 2007, along with many other star copyright offenders, but I was not informed. The networks pretended they were free and had us all quite fooled. Then after catching another of what had been hundreds of violations of my work on TV, I flipped out and erased my account to stop the fraud. Did you hear what the networks did to me after I erased my account?

When I erased my Blogger account in 2007, I inadvertently released all the star copyright offenders from their places of confinement. With network support, they immediately embarked on a path of vengeance against their victim. The star who stands out the most in my mind at this time is Tina Fey. They put her on the Tonight Show to talk about her new movie Mean Girls, which she was shooting at a high school. I guess they wanted to appeal to youth. Maybe they thought that youth would respond favourably to them because of the kind of material they were going to build their next five seasons out of, material which had already proven itself online, in my old account. In other words, when she thrilled high school students with her production and made herself available as a hip role model for the younger generation, she had only just got out of jail for plagiarizing my blogs. And she was about to receive all the time in the limelight she needed to make youth reject me for the next ten thousand years, along with a host of other big stars.

As for high school girls, I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice the bigger ones. (But it's their fault and they know it. Sorry, joke.) They like to share information with each other. I wonder what information they got from Tina Fey after Tina had just got out of jail and wanted everyone to think I went to jail. This was around November 2007. Did a malicious rumour start from a high school and spread like wildfire through the whole youth population? Well, we all know what followed up to 2012. And then Dateline threw Tina in jail, right? Then she had to be released and I threw them all in jail, including Dateline. Let's keep it straight.

And as long as the public doesn't know about this, such convicts stay poised to have another go at their victim as soon as they get out of jail or prison. I hope I don't have to come back to this page and say I told you so.
  
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Saturday, March 17, 2018

Shared Suffering

Shared Suffering
I don't want to spoil the party here too much with bitter sentiments, especially on Saint Patrick's Day, so I'll try to keep this post away from topics that upset me. I have been living quietly and working on new projects. I can always create, no matter how much of a fuss anyone else wants to make out of it. I do it to please myself, too, after all. I think I have many years of productivity ahead of me, many, many years.

It's funny how the ones who stripped all the credit and payments for my work want me to somehow be ashamed for reproducing it. Shouldn't that shame them? And how are we to interpret their apparent indignation? If I were lying about my copyright claims, they'd be doing more than stamping their feet and making angry faces about it, they'd have me in prison and force me to erase my accusations. They can't, so why are they allowed to pretend their innocence when it hurts their victim? Haven't they done enough harm with their years and years of fraud? Wasn't it enough to turn all my fans against me, to turn parents and teachers and children against me when I was innocent? Wasn't it enough to make everyone love the band that stole the largest number of my songs to the point that an angry mob formed that wanted my blood? That was in 2010. What's been going on ever since, over one post or another here in this account? Why is it allowed to reach such brutal proportions?

As for these arrests and incarcerations of major stars I've been hearing about over the last five years, the ones I brought up here and are still online from the day I posted them: why was I never included in any of these proceedings? How did Dateline manage to throw Jon Stewart in jail with my evidence and subject me to the pressures of a televised trial against him all behind my back? I gather that they weren't allowed to do that, but it didn't stop them. I wonder what other horrible, totally illegal plans like that they have in store for me.

I've been watching some more modern movies lately. The one about Elvis and Nixon was pretty good. Almost surreal, that encounter. And I love the soundtrack. One of the actors looks and sounds a bit too much like Tom Hanks, but I don't want to discriminate against him unfairly. Another movie I like is the Queen. I think this is an important movie for anyone who wants to understand the media.

When Diana was killed, the population at large felt a keen loss. Many had established an intimate relationship with her from her appearances in news reports and tabloids. (I didn't. I pitied her family, but I didn't grieve.) Everyone wanted to mourn and were insulted that the Queen was not more eager to join them. The public needed someone to blame for Diana's untimely death. How did Diana die? She was chased into a concrete wall by a posse of newspaper photographers. So who must we blame for this? If you would have read any of the newspapers at the time, you might have suspected the Queen of foul play, but not the media, never the media.

I feel like I can personally relate to the character of the Queen as she squirms in front of the television set to hear the intimate details of Diana's affairs blasting out to the whole wide world. Then the media turned her into a figure of suspicion on top of it. Imagine being accused of not showing enough grief over the abrupt loss of a close acquaintance by people unknown to both of you. Isn't that rather insulting and unreasonable? But the Queen had to take such accusations seriously.

Thanks to the influence of stars and the media, it hasn't been easy for me to get people to take my side in this fight, even though I'm in the right. I originally wanted to post things that would help to improve my image. I wanted to look good with my talent. But how can I look good with it when all these stars need to look good with it, right? I think it's unreasonable and probably illegal to treat me like that.

There are other ways to make money with my work than by going through the business if all the business is going to try to do is cheat. I'll figure something out one day that I can rely on, one that won't demand that I surrender seventy-five percent of my work over to my competitors, the way the business wanted to deal with me in 2011.
  
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Wednesday, March 14, 2018

About Memory Loss

About Memory Loss
5:49pm: I've just made a couple changes to the Host. I've decided to make the title for Chapter XII Super Suzie. I like having a girl hero. Sort of meant to be an Alice or a Dorothy, I guess. And I've changed the last line of this chapter's fifth verse to In a spot where she'd not see where thought waves ought to go. I couldn't resist. Did SNL steal any of this epic? How about the Simpsons? Great way to make children hate me.

I was recently asked by a physician if I've ever suffered memory loss. This whole Blogger account documents my lost memories from previous years. My memories were tied in with my old music, comedy, and poetry posts, so that reconstructing these old works restored my memories from the time of their birth, 2007 or earlier. Since I am being myself in my writing, I can only repeat myself if I am rebuilding some forgotten work from the past. Each time I choose a line for my poems, it is the very best line I can put together for that spot, which means that I would find it again by elimination if I am forced to rewrite it from scratch. In short, the work repeated, in each instance, to its own peculiar level of perfection.

I would not be a 'hack' for posting all these verses which appeared on television and saying I wrote them if I did not. I would be in prison for fraud and the broadcasters would be coming to visit me in prison every day to make sure everyone knew. But many stars went to prison for stealing my things and they hid it from you so you'd reject me as a liar when I'm telling the truth.

When you must face an evil bloodthirsty enemy like the modern mass media with all their evil technology, chances are you will suffer from bouts of memory loss. Being attacked through the public airwaves can be deeply traumatizing. Obviously, the first time it happened to me, I couldn't cope with the memory for very long.

I think that in 2010, as the Crystalids fraud came to light, the broadcasters decided to let me take the band's place, but it now looks like they wanted me to open for Nickleback or Blue Rodeo, and appear as a musical guest on Saturday Night Live, on a show entirely comprised of my own sketches and poetry. They wanted to take advantage of my memory loss to get me to endorse their fraud with my work. I'm glad I steered clear of them.

Memory loss alters one's opinions and plans, of course. My Chronoblog would let you contrast the earlier, clued out me with the more enlightened me of the present. For instance, if I was ever saying nice things about stars who ripped me off, it was at a time when I couldn't recall their crime. As soon as such a memory came back to me, usually as a result of reconstructing some old work, I publicly disowned the star[s] here.

I disown any star I catch committing fraud with my music. I'm not like the radio, I don't just disown the lesser established ones. So that means I disown the Rolling Stones. I don't want to hear them anymore. I can't trust them anymore. Just a few, mate? How many songs of mine did they steal? How much money did they make? I won't miss them - as long as I don't get them shoved up my ass by someone else's radio, right local rock stations?

And when the radio station wants you to love someone who steals my music, they want you to reject me. I'm so sick of this stupid media and its stupid hate campaign. I'm an innocent crime victim and look how they get to make stars and heroes out of the criminal pricks who assail me. And are they trying to make some kind of cool trend out of filthy crime like music fraud? Disgusting. Why don't they sell piss as perfume while their at it? Now they want to soil all our ears with their fraud celebration. I can't believe they can get so far in such an illegal enterprise. And it must take a lot of amnesia to do so much lawbreaking and then have to make such a show of decency in front of their cameras.

As such, memory loss can also be an asset. That's what ECT's are used for, isn't it? To help the patient recover from a trauma by inducing memory loss? The broadcasters seem to have induced a memory loss on the population over the voluminous fraud I've exposed in this account. What a waste of God knows how many years of tuning in to them. I'm glad I find other things to do.

My own memory loss was, I think, meant to spare me pain and stress. It's regrettable that the pleasant time I had creating my work the first time, which I've been so eager to repeat these last nine years, had to be tied in to such a traumatic episode, or maybe I'd have been able to remember more of my work from that period. It would also have helped if they would have let me keep my disk and cassette and drawing pad where I had most of my work stored. From now on, I hope I can limit my amnesia strictly to the undesirable, such as most of what I've had to live through for the last nine years. This time, however, I'll still have my blogs online to remind me.

The truth about all this fraud may take a long time to become widely accepted. I could have sold out and played along with their fraud, I guess, and I'd be a lot more comfortable right now. But I would have grown to hate myself for supporting such an unholy lie. Now at least I can move forward with the comfort of knowing that I have done all I can to keep the record straight for history. One day in the future, when there is no risk to saying that such big stars as Jay Leno and the Rolling Stones were frauds, my accurate account of such things will still be here for the world to read.
  
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Monday, March 5, 2018

Afterthoughts

Afterthoughts
So it's nice to know I'm into new epic poetry. I now recall my first attempt to complete the Host in late 2007. I gave up somewhere halfway. I probably burned out from all the other rhyming I did that year.

The stars who stole it wouldn't know about such problems. The way they grabbed it, they must think it's easy to write, but it's actually very hard and time consuming. We don't speak in rhyming verses; we have to struggle to reorganize the words. It's a challenging struggle. I did it to pass the time when I was unemployed and to try to improve myself. I try not to think about what I got for it.

It's my work and if someone else was paid for it, that's really a shame. Writing poetry is generally thankless, at least, when it comes to being thanked by others. On those rare occasions when people want to thank a poet by paying him, it's just too bad that we have such rotten people on TV who need to intercept that thanks for themselves. And they didn't need the money as much as I do either.

I'm not blaming you for leaving me unthanked. I'm sure you like to thank people who please you, but the TV and radio made you thank someone else for my efforts. I understand. Why should you thank me for my work when the TV already made you thank everyone else for it? After all, I wouldn't want to be greedy.

I recall now what one of the lawyers asked me here in Vancouver last year when I visited a local firm over my copyright. Remember? It was while Blue Rodeo was coming to the Queen Elizabeth last year, when the children were treating me so poorly and I was having nightmares - shortly before I inadvertently rewrote Mischief. About all these stars ripping me off, he only asked, did you not clue in?

If anyone thinks that the stars were trying to help me, let me remind them that I received no notification or warning of any of their productions. I guess people are still fooled by how they act in front of the cameras, always so smiling and pleasant. If they were that human, they'd have offered me two tickets to New York for front row seats to the televised performance. Instead they made everyone think I stole my things from them and I still get called a hack for it today.

About the TV from 2010 to 2012, it should now be easy to figure out why they called me poet from 2010 to 2012: because they had all my poetry. They expected me to write new work. I would have if I'd have been able to remember all the verses from my first Storyblog in 2007, but the TV, which was regulated by George W Bush's administration, made it too uncomfortable for me to keep my poetry online, and shortly after I erased the account, I mysteriously lost the disk I'd saved everything onto. Once it was gone, I had no hope of consciously remembering it all, just like my 3 hour cassette of songs.

It sort of makes sense that I would rewrite the forgotten work first - if it was good. The new poems and songs they were waiting for in 2010 had to be developed from my older work. My quality improves as I go along, it doesn't rest on a flat line.

I'm staying Christian now because I want to remember where all that music came from in the first place. It gives you a sense of how evil the music business is when you consider how they turned my heartfelt expressions of faith in God into absolute witchcraft.

I mostly blame the internet for what happened. Without the internet, I never could have reached so many people that the stars would see me as a threat. There were probably other artists like me in the past, but they didn't have the web. Who knows how much we may owe them?

I'm glad I don't feel trapped into posting every day anymore. Just because I'm not here doesn't mean I've given up, though. I'm sure I'll have more to share, and maybe we can start looking forward to all new work again.

March 7, 2018: I didn't want to come back to type today, but I just wanted to tell you what happened on my way to the store about fifteen minutes ago. I finally got what I took to be on-the-street recognition of my recent posts. A group of teen-aged girls walked by me and one of them shouted the word 'sushi'. I'm not sure what it meant, but I couldn't help but compare the word to the name, Suzie. Was there a connection? Doesn't seem altogether a putdown or anything. Anyway, girls will be girls. Looks like I still have a lot of people reading out there. The last thing the broadcasters want, I'm sure.
  
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Sunday, March 4, 2018

The Host (Complete)

The Host (Complete)
I: The Crowd

In the crowd were mountain movers, titans through and through
Kings and queens of vast domains and superheroes, too
In a bulging wave they went, erasing all along
Each one's slim position giving proof of being strong

Divvying the workload into manageable shares
Left them with enough time to devote to private cares
Following the path presented by the neighbour's lead
For direction's calculations spared them of the need

Summoned by the spectacle to gather into rows
Thence to cast off differences where nobody knows
Absolute euphoria would pass among the lot
Equally distributed from elderly to tot

Only when the sun would set, decreeing sleep's withdrawal
Splintered by their ranging dreams, their confidence would fall
Motionless, they fancied courses dangerous and bold
For as long as darkness let them stray outside the fold

In the crowd were plump faced children, running to and fro
Eagerest to voice their thoughts and let their feelings show
Always close to parents, though behaviour would display
Their desire to be loved by strangers faraway

All the world was well and good, as far as they could see
Lots of games for them to play and time for fantasy
Unaware of fatal sentence, like a toothy shark
Standing by to swallow them and trap them in the dark

Scrambling to find their way home from the shopping sprees
Were the women, contours tucked in folds designed to please
More than half the world was theirs, with children on their side
Drinking brightly coloured lanes through eyes extended wide

Into tidy units, interlocking as a whole
Did each man, with wife and offspring, see his vital role
Likeliest to look upon the bachelor forlorn
As a kind of heretic, deserving only scorn

On the pedestal reserved for rulers high above
Showing virtue, said the sage, was how to procure love
Freeing up the people for a feral exercise
Neighbours bluntly trampled in the name of enterprise

Virtue could the wealthy rulers more afford to choose
Which they by their fortune's choice were just as soon to lose
Settling for images of decency's embrace
Forced upon submissive eyes through television's face

This made real integrity a thing to be destroyed
Certainly when manifesting in the unemployed
No chance for comparisons against a flimsy claim
Would be possible for those without a favoured name

So it was an ordinary father's sorry fate
To feed his dependents with a pirate's piece of eight
And let his superiors confuse his troubled mind
Until blind enough to be misguided by the blind

II: The Hermit

Perched upon a hilltop far from flattened avenue
Stood a simple cabin with a transcendental view
Occupied by he who had rejected life below
Ending up in isolation, scholarship to grow

Though brought up on common rites and taught to stand astride
From the great society, he'd chosen since to hide
Grievously equipped with such a penetrating gaze
He detected tragic faults in finest fellows' ways

Keen to cultivate his mind, he studied all he could
Drawing from materials unpopular but good
As a vicious irony, he presently would find
Himself by detachment bonded fast to humankind

He could tell the hour by the angle of the sun
And his daily chores were always to the fullest done
No misgivings would await to taunt him at his end
Precious heartbeats more efficiently he could not spend

Sometimes by a special sight his memory would haunt
Of the time before and of the life he used to want
Such as when a pretty robin hopped up to his door
Certain to have pleased his bygone lover even more

She was sweet and simple, from the consecrating farm
Floating over footfalls with a devastating charm
Curly locks unfolding like a masterpiece's frame
Rushes still upset him when they whispered out her name

He'd constructed lengthy odes to glorify her form
Passion bursting at the seams like thunder from a storm
Just for an untalented degenerate to steal
And to make a dirty lie from feelings felt for real

She succumbed to the deception, or so it appeared
Until came to light a truth too awful to be feared
Knowledge of enchanting verses torn from helpless heart
Had the woman kept her secret from the very start

First the pain of such a blow had set his anger loose
From committing murder was he safe as a recluse
With the passing seasons did his violence subside
Bitterness remaining in the wake of blood red tide

He resolved to not repeat the humbling mistake
Fuzzy dreams of fatherhood were better to forsake
Like a sturdy fortress were the bookshelves of his den
Fitted with a lens of telescopic acumen

Talent he could not suppress new works of beauty fed
Dedicated to a phantom in his lost love's stead
Hardly to be disappointed by the empty air
Or to find with highest hopes unfitting to compare

From his solitary station, great his wisdom grew
As the portals opened and the muses past him flew
For solutions he had only to explore within
As his own competitor, he best professed to win

III: The Animals

In the lofty overgrowth, the wild creatures flocked
Turning backs on lodges with their entrances unlocked
Families established by a unifying scent
Each of whose most prominent held stalls in parliament

A return to Eden was their elemental plan
This time wishing to escape the company of man
Contradicting instinct to assemble as a whole
By which they might expeditiously achieve their goal

They allowed the hermit to encroach upon their state
Knowing that he could not multiply without a mate
Kept as individuals, the humans were humane
Not enveloped by their own, inclined to good remain

By the burning venom of a double talking asp
Generations of the upright had escaped God's grasp
As was evidenced by their remorseless legacy
Wielding lethal power in a fearsome tyranny

God intended all his children to be down to earth
And to cherish property of more than passing worth
Ever since the human forbears drifted so astray
It had been the animals who rightly led the way

Now the woodland citizens positioning to thwart
The expansion of a road that cut straight through their court
Hoped by such a bold display to herald a new age
Which might free their kindred from the exhibition's cage

Eagles made the perfect lookouts, vision sharp and clear
They detected enemies before they could get near
Sounding off a signal as though screeching out in pain
Beavers slapped responses passed to bears along the chain

The construction workers hacked away to no avail
Little to impel them but the progress of a snail
Until dynamite was turned to out of their despair
Sending great reverberations pulsing through the air

To reclaim their territory were dispatched the boars
Commonly reputed as the fiercest on all fours
But a gross miscalculation pitted brawn with steel
As the failure of their charge proceeded to reveal

Overseeing operations from a rugged loft
Marshall Owell probed for where the enemy was soft
And the influenza victim shortly made him wise
To a better soldier of immensely smaller size

So the flying bugs descended on the hapless crew
Having filled up at a pond infected by the flu
On a kamikaze crash course, bent on breaking skin
And on laying low Goliaths with a pricking pin

Harmony returned before the summer sun would set
On the field of battle had the men their matches met
Carried off on stretchers to the remedy receive
As the rodents lined the road to watch the engines leave

IV: The Psychopath

Profit making summarized the corporation's aim
Any cost effective method practiced without shame
Taking on the likeness of an evil entity
Human rights awarded to what human could not be

Founded by a poker shark a century before
It had swallowed up the landscape to extend its store
Public legislation bending to its private need
Tentacles extending to accommodate its greed

Paralyzing holdings bore a spiritual stain
As the good was compromised for monetary gain
Persons paid on its behalf would lend an honest face
Certain to divert the glare provoked by its disgrace

Honoring the decadence to which the flesh is prone
Furnished it the grandeur of a figure cut from stone
Yielding to the nature of a predatory beast
Put it in an attitude to feed the poor a feast

From her conscientious mother, Suzie learned to weave
Taking to it at a rate ambitious to believe
To express her girlhood, she found polka dots the best
For the slippers that she gave a sleeping over guest

Once the guest had put them on, she wanted them to keep
Asking Suzie on the morning following her sleep
She said that her toes could tell a good thing had been found
Of the product, promising to pass the word around

Suzie was delighted to comply with such a wish
Doubling her weaving in a rapture feverish
To her love's appreciation many testified
Until polka dots would cover carpets region wide

Sales of indoor footwear fell as her successes grew
Which for her competitor would certainly not do
It was bad for business to be handing out for free
Items that improved upon commercial quality

First the fiend intruded on her novel new design
Calibrating great machines to weave a weave more fine
And flood shelves with counterfeits to let her sales clerk state
Homemade handouts transgressed to the style imitate

Hurtful as this might have been to somebody so sweet
The successful child stood up firm against defeat
Imperfections lent her work a real old fashioned charm
Far beyond the means of a robotic metal arm

So the corporation did the girl's repute assault
Finding in her overhead a vague accounting fault
It was such a menace to so flagrantly infract
Government authorities were called upon to act

Thus did little Suzie, at the tender age of ten
Almost pass directly from the cradle to the pen
Notches counted up the days of her unhappy spell
For the crime of giving what the psychopath would sell

V: The Fire

Banners bearing the depiction of a gentle dove
Guided to the entrance of the Festival of Love
All the people gathered for the summertime event
Pleased to know that charity was where its money went

Long haired bands performed warm anthems, jangling away
Children sacrificed their rides to let the needy play
Neighbours set aside their feuds to tearfully embrace
Even dogs for cats put on a sympathetic face

Creditors forgave their debtors, young held hands with old
Teachers for the poorest grade refused to even scold
Politicians heeded voters, bosses thanked their staff
Businessmen who never smiled broke into a laugh

Women glided topless, wearing skirts of floral hue
Offering their kisses to the men who loved them true
Never more contagious was the spirit of good cheer
But perhaps for Yuletide, at the closing of the year

The impressive schedule would brightly culminate
With the birthday of an orphan fit to celebrate
Portions of the current cake were cut and passed around
Heedless of a burning candle fallen on the ground

As the birthday music thundered to a jam packed stand
Fire first appeared as an illusion of the band
When the wise performers dropped their instruments and fled
Suddenly the calm, collected mass misplaced its head

Straight towards the nearest exit, in a heated rush
Did the former friends proceed to lagging neighbours crush
Terrorized by danger pushing out in flaming licks
Runners stooped to exercise the dirtiest of tricks

Children were compelled to make up for their smaller size
Clinging to the backs of brutes and clasping hands on eyes
Rendering dependent for directions through the dark
That they might be safely carried outside to the park

Women feigned distress to bring the men down to a slow
Then retreating from the spot, to front of throng would go
As the child bearers, they considered it their right
To escape a conflagration any way they might

Teachers fashioned torches, with an appetite to learn
The persuasive power of a second layer burn
Elderly were swept aside and tossed into a pile
As the youth advanced in an inexorable file

Businessmen used sidearms a new passage out to scare
Politicians teleported to a secret lair
Dogs and cats went back to fighting, nothing left to lose
Helicopters capturing the mayhem for the news

No more birthdays for the orphan caught in the stampede
To get past his body had his consciousness been freed
So much for fraternity, the will to love and share
Up against survival, it had never had a prayer

VI: The Ghost

In a search for lyrics that inspired him to sing
Did the hermit scan the archives of the great Sun King
Which alluded to a certain royal concubine
With an air depicted as more sparkling than wine

For her affectations had the king become so keen
Naturally, she'd provoked the ire of the queen
Who'd engaged professionals to terminate the threat
Of a usurpation by the best contender yet

Earliest convenience for the practice of foul play
Surfaced at a tournament of championship croquet
With the bearing of his mallet foremost on his mind
To the lady's disappearance, Louis would be blind

Someone slipped a grain of fatal poison in her snuff
For accomplishing its purpose, one sniff was enough
Straightaway, the corpse was transferred to an unmarked site
Priest prevented from administering the last rite

Terrified, the witnesses would whisper not a breath
To disclose the shameful truth about her sudden death
They said that she'd caught the plague en route to Albany
Whence her body was consigned to burial at sea

Disallowed the blessing of a priest, she lingered on
Though she'd hidden from the portal until it was gone
Knowing that she hadn't treated underlings so well
And afraid a punishment awaited her in hell

Centuries of drawing on the insights of a ghost
Gave her a clear reckoning of what she wanted most
Matter unto matter may exclusively belong
But she still could profit from a well constructed song

What the hermit fashioned from his solitary woe
Traveled out in waves for the invisible to know
By his secret tribute to the woman from the past
He'd been inadvertently into her clutches cast

Much as his song threatened to attract a living bride
She would make short work of any women who replied
Scaring them with warning cries or steering them astray
Causing them to items of significance mislay

As the common music lover's mood received a lift
To a state of melancholy he began to shift
With the spirit feeding on the impulse of his ache
Hoping that his will to live might for their pairing break

Sympathetic birds chirped out a sonorous refrain
Having means to compliment his elegant quatrain
Taking as an asset to the music of the wood
Bitter lamentations of a lonely hermithood

At such times, he came to see his talent as a curse
Since it only ever made his situation worse
Sharpening his senses for a self directed knife
Driving him to daydreams of a better afterlife

VII: The Plane

Planners for the auto-route looked down upon their scheme
Modelled in the miniscule proportions of a dream
And exchanged suggestions of the way they should proceed
Through an area that was so obstinately treed

Having quite exhausted the conventional technique
Radical developers were called upon to speak
One of whom proposed a tactic wonderfully rare
That of an approach from the outflanking open air

Armed with deadly buckets of incendiary gas
An airplane could penetrate in one efficient pass
Work could then commence securely on the broken ground
With no breeding places for the insects left around

Gentlemen across the floor to this plan gave their ayes
And collaborated to at once it realize
They possessed a reservoir of strong defoliant
Wide enough for planes to scoop from like a cormorant

Most of the discussion had been closely overheard
By a vigilant and unobtrusive little bird
With a major staple of its diet under threat
It beat its small wings back home as fast as it could get

At a crucial conference with philosophic fowl
Did the spy intrude on an astonished Marshal Owell
Tweeting unreservedly the bulletin of dread
To the venerable senior military head

They could still be saved as long as time was not too short
By a raid of crack commandos engineered to thwart
Sabotage committed by the lustre of the moon
Would demand the technical finesse of a raccoon

Four were airdropped on the runway where the bomber sat
Just as all the lights were turned off, landing rather pat
Stealthily they crept towards their stationary mark
Whites of eyes protruding out from visors in the dark

Straight into the cockpit did the mission chief ascend
On the shoulders of the rest who stood watch to defend
Underneath the cover of the navigation board
Fingers went to work rerouting an important cord

With the panel to its former aspect reinstalled
Back into the forest were the brave raccoons recalled
Without confirmation it was difficult to guess
If their operation had resulted in success

Morning sun accompanied a loud propeller's drone
Which at first as panic struck the creatures to the bone
Up until it sharply veered away from slaughter's course
Back along a line in the direction of its source

Then, at last, the distant rising of a white hot plume
Let them know their enemy had met again with doom
Almost as impressive as the sun upon the sea
Was his reservoir of compounds, incandescently

VIII: The Riot

In the prison workshop, there were many skills to learn
To persuade an inmate to an honest living earn
And since Suzie's weaving basket had been seized away
An instructor showed her how to spin a pot from clay

From the very outset, she was able to produce
Apple shaped containers for her pomegranate juice
Straying from example to let manifest her flair
In the composition of some bold new tableware

Pepper shakers looked like mushrooms, mugs resembled stumps
Sugar bowls had hearts on them to measure out the lumps
Plates were turned to lily-pads, refreshingly askew
As the master potter made her dazzling debut

This appeared for her to be a favourable turn
Keeping her from weaving was the warden's main concern
And her spirit, with her hands upon the spinning wheel
Was as lifted as her weaving ever made her feel

Suzie's next-door neighbour at the penitentiary
Had just spent an interval at the infirmary
None of the receptacles in which they served his food
Had a healthy impact on his miserable mood

She gave him a special mug to welcome him back home
Lidded with a happy face that bulged out like a dome
It was perfect to reduce the swelling in his jaw
Helping him to smile and to stabilize his straw

At the cafeteria, the man exposed his prize
Of whose acquisition brought his peers to fantasize
Flooding his young benefactor with acute requests
For the kind of cup that they could show off to their guests

By this time, her wares were piled over three shelves high
From which it was possible to ev'ryone supply
Trays of prison food received a total overhaul
Seen as an improvement by consumers, overall

Then a lazy dishwasher resentfully complained
Of how ill placed pockets caused his fingers to be strained
Suzie's crazy cups were more than regimen could stand
And were duly deemed as a kaolin contraband

This was answered by a grumble clear from cell to cell
As is heard from those about to openly rebel
Sure enough, the first inspection to impound the barred
Finished with a hostage taking and an injured guard

Fuelled by the victory, an all-out riot spread
By the girl's most noted and devoted patrons led
After the negotiator heard the captives' case
He repeated what they told him to the warden's face

The reviled order would be put into reverse
To prevent the situation from becoming worse
And with ending threats of further outbreaks as the goal
Suzie was accepted for immediate parole

IX: The Host

On the AM dial for the motorists to tune
Was a program broadcast through the weekday afternoon
Styled as a talk show of contemporary fare
Hosted by the most compelling presence on the air

A religious firebrand, evocative of speech
Able to believers in remotest corners reach
He was always looking for another ear to bend
Certain that the world would soon be coming to an end

Prophecy's professor and astrology's adept
Influenced profoundly the direction that he stepped
And the latest breakthroughs at deciphering the code
Were among the items that he regularly showed

The abrupt appearance of a comet in the night
Brought his doomsday apprehensions to a newfound height
Through the mighty dishes would his panic multiply
Intercepted by antennas his address to spy

As malignant 'Wormwood' of Apocalyptic fame
Did the preacher take to be the interloper's name
Soon to follow would the great calamities begin
And the execution of the penalty for sin

Traffic turned to chaos on the cluttered thoroughfare
Lifelong wishes to fulfill without a bit to spare
While the survivalists' aversion to the grave
Drove them as a flock to take their chances in the cave

Trading on the stock exchange unfathomably fell
Values of commodities impossible to tell
Only in their churches did the population trust
Waiting tensely for the world to crumble into dust

Scientists attempted to anxieties allay
With a calculation to predict a path away
Then the object unexpectedly adjusted course
Hurtling towards the earth with terrifying force

For the inexplicable and eerie fireball
Wasn't just a comet or a shooting star at all
But a vessel from a distant heavenly domain
With an army vast enough to flood the Terran plain

Humans had possessed the earth for longer than was due
Now the time had come for the command of someone new
Natural prosperity had only gone to waste
On a race of troglodytes afflicted with bad taste

Fit for heavy labour in Utopia's ascent
Would they abdicate to an unearthly government
Rational enough to undertake what they are told
Would they aptest excavate great quantities of gold

Slowing to a halt above the urban scenery
Helped restore the frightened to their past serenity
Fiery apocalypse was not upon them yet
Outcomes undecided and too soon on which to bet

X: The Weapon

Overlooking happenings from safe atop his peak
For a fast solution the recluse began to seek
To repel this enemy in one decisive blow
He was just about prepared at any lengths to go

Still remaining in his den from his most bitter days
Was a weapon great enough the mighty craft to raze
One that on humanity he'd since declined to use
Now without a better choice, he reinstalled its fuse

It rose to its purpose with a disconcerting hum
To the angle that would bring its range to maximum
He would need to redirect its eager blinking tip
At the points of weakness it detected in the ship

Had the world's armadas all at once severely struck
Up against the heavy hull, they would have had no luck
Only from the trials of his isolated past
Had destructive power ever grown to such a blast

At his side, his grim admirer gathered up the scene
For the moment, she'd allow him leave to intervene
As a spirit, she knew she would make the perfect spy
So towards the target did she dutifully fly

She attempted access through the tiles in the roof
But the strange material was somehow spirit-proof
Up and down she tramped in fury, making not a sound
Breaking through a layer weakened by incoming round

Unseen by the aliens, she surveyed for a clue
As to where her escapades would the most damage do
Following the arrows to their energy array
Where she brought her talents into devastating play

The explosion caused a great disruption in the field
That effectively had acted as their outer shield
Pouncing on the opening, the great gun sharply spit
And won recognition with a penetrating hit

Loss of levitation brought a deep resounding thud
As the vessel sunk just like a bottle in the mud
Its resources were diverted quickly to subdue
That which unbelievably had overwhelmed its crew

Lashing out in desperation, they returned the shot
Vaporizing the offending weapon on the spot
Now their operation would depart from what was planned
As to travel overland was given the command

Stricken, their leviathan extended metal jaws
Out through which poured legions to continue on their cause
Mechanized beyond our means to readily repel
Like a fog upon the scape, their ranks began to swell

Powerless against the host, the ghost to man returned
And was pleased to see that her beloved had not burned
Any more resistance seemed unlikely to arise
Conquest by celestial foe a fact to realize

XI: The Planet:

Most adjoining wildlands had fallen to a hush
Laying bare the rustle of the breeze upon the rush
Not by any order or official bulletin
But by a survival program, guiding from within

Ever since the space intruders touched the atmosphere
Continental countermoves had gone into high gear
By the planet an infection had been clearly sensed
Which its forces were inclined to all align against

Though the animals knew not for whom they lay in wait
Any foe on less than fours was fit for them to hate
From the human enemy they'd finally been saved
By no other predator would they now be enslaved

Mother Nature had arisen to assume control
Her instructions felt across the ecosystem whole
Animal and element, responding each in turn
On a common mission to sustain a solid spurn

Absolutely quiet and uncomfortably still
Acting in accordance with the planetary will
As the sky began to darken, creatures braced for rain
Organized to hurl itself against the wayward train

Presently a vicious tempest cast its gusty net
Catching flyers by the fleet, with no escape route let
As a deluge fell upon the vehicles below
Wheels completely pointless in the paralyzing flow

Balls of electricity converged, with fearsome might
Overloading circuit boards and setting them alight
By the time the elements had finished with their mark
Its machine dependents had been thrust into the dark

Then emerged from countless broken boxes on the beach
Figures guaranteed to make a growler want to screech
Choosing only two legs had been by the baddest done
But these upstarts dared to hop about on only one

Snakes were first to take advantage, springing in a coil
Tripping skippers in mid-step to crash down on the soil
Elks commenced to bulldoze, with their antlers' paths to shave
On the way to seal the captives soundly in a cave

Porcupines adroitly infiltrated from behind
Or, at least, as those who tried to sit were sure to find
Albatrosses bombed with boulders, insects put up flak
The entire population joined in the attack

With the column decimated, victory led on
For as long as it still moved, the menace was not gone
Pressing in from all around to motion all but cease
Beast was almost ready to believe he'd won the peace

Suddenly a fierce eruption rose up in their core
And a holdout stood before them, 25-foot-4
In its tentacle it held a powerful device
In its eye the look of one who's through with being nice

XII: Super Suzie

Punitive incarceration leaves a person prone
Utterly depleted from the ages spent alone
When she served her sentence for her run-in with the stores
One day someone offered Suzie a nice trip outdoors

She consented eagerly and lightly stepped aboard
For a journey to a clinic, health to be restored
Sponsored by the military, who hoped soon to gain
Knowledge of how best to train for combat of the brain

Without her awareness, as she sat upon a chair
Head embedded in the dome they had for drying hair
Microscopic hardware was inserted secretly
To increase the level of her mental energy

Shortly after her release, a friend gave her a book
On the wonders of the mind we often overlook
She'd since in her concentration learned that she could trust
Having found no obstacle that she could not combust

She was making things move for her cat out in the yard
Just before this crisis that had hit her world so hard
And had managed, through the waves of pandemonium
To maintain a constant state of equilibrium

After the reversal of the foe's alarming rise
Panic cleared the battlefield for death defying eyes
So the giant faced her, with its weapon, taking aim
Which it might be possible to heat into a flame

She sent forth a burst of thought which centred on its box
As its holder cried in pain, it broke against the rocks
Catching the attention of the hateful with her dare
Put herself directly in the shadow of its stare

Sinewy retaliation instantly occurred
Never had a young girl's scream been quite so keenly heard
Taken by the ankle in a slithering advance
And dragged off against her will to where she had no chance

Squirming like a captive worm, she could not break the grip
Of what had arrested her and wrapped around her hip
Holding her an arm's length from what might have been a toe
In a spot where she'd not see where thought waves ought to go

Giving in to primal urge, she kicked with all her strength
Going to what would appear to be a pointless length
Yet a certain quiver ran across the looming frame
As if it had just been tickled to the point of shame

This encouraged further kicking, on a hope absurd
Which provoked a giggle that might drive away a herd
With the kind of system not designed for feeling good
Monster crumbled to a heap where it had vainly stood

Out of an injustice sprang the hero of the age
One whose name would with the hermit's share an honoured page
Liberty, however, had been saved much less by skill
Than by the persistence of the freedom lover's will

THE END

  
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© 2007, 2018. Verses by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.