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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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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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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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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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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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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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.