Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Friday, October 14, 2016

Kritik der Vernunft

Regard the polls: their numbers swell!
Behold their lofty heights!
For they proclaim my lofty name
And promise you your rights.

For Crooks upon the other side
(And also their machine
Of China, blacks, and media
And all those in between

Which preys upon--doubt not my word
I am Veracity
Made manifest in manly flesh
And so tremendously--

Which prey upon you ev'ry day
And ev'ry wretched night--
Their scandals, which, I must maintain,
Alone I brought to light

And which are true on ev'ry front
And some yet to be seen
Though I could tell you--I defer
For that may be thought mean.

The emails and the FBI
And Watergate, who knows?
And maybe worse, I hear such things
I know such awful woes.

I ask you but to give your vote
Into my tiny groping orange human open hands
I'll bring, like 2 Corinthians
New Justice to these lands.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Cutthroat

Cutthroat Kitchen 
Was dead.

It got 
Predictable.
Repetitive.

Boring.


Alton asked for

One 
More chance.

One
Last episode.


America tuned in.
Horrified.

As he sawed.


"Twenty-thousand dollars
To chop off

A competitor's
Arm?

That's a Cutthroat 
Record."


His grin was

Crazed.


"Now,

Who will start
The bidding,


To replace all of
One competitor's

Proteins


With the arm?"



Food Network ordered
Three more seasons.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Fairest in the Land I

Once upon a time, there was a sad and lonely lesbian who had been trapped in her metaphorical tower for far too much of her life. She had searched high and low for a worthy maiden with whom she could while away the hours, but there were so few to meet in her metaphorical tower that she soon exhausted herself in the search.

"Someday, I will find a maiden," she whispered to herself at night. "Someday, I shall know true love's kiss." But as the days turned into months and then years, she began to despair of it ever coming true.

One of these nights, the sad and lonely lesbian decided that she had had enough of being sad and lonely and simply whispering her wishes into her pillow. She pulled out her SmartMirror, tapped her reflection, and murmured, "Mirror, mirror, in my hand, show me the fairest in the land." Immediately, a host of maidens appeared on her SmartMirror: maidens who were fair of face, of words, of personality, of humor, of kindness - so much more than she had ever seen in her metaphorical tower!

The joyous lesbian - for she was neither sad nor lonely anymore - began to converse, to debate, to discuss with fair maidens from many lands with varying degrees of success. Though she did not immediately find a fair maiden with whom she could share true love's kiss, she did make many new friends. And, she reasoned, that could be enough, could it not? Finding others who understood, who had lived in similar metaphorical towers? Yet the more she tried to convince herself that this was all she needed, the more her secret desire to find a maiden grew. Each night, she asked to see the fairest in the land, but still to no avail.

Until one night, when her SmartMirror replied to her, "My lady, you've got mail." She tapped its surface and saw that someone had indeed sent her a message through their own SmartMirror. "I noticed you enjoy the works of Rebecca Sugar," the maiden wrote. "Might I inquire as to your favorite of her creations?"

"Surely Garnet, although I find Pearl to bear a remarkable resemblance to my own mind," the now even more joyous lesbian responded with a smile emoji. Waiting for her companion's reply, she began to wonder anew: could this be the maiden with whom I will share true love's kiss?"

Monday, October 10, 2016

Aufklärung

The good Lord shaped the skies above
And, loving, formed the earth.
He filled with life the nascent orb
Throughout its six day birth,

But did He err, this loving God,
To add but one cursed tree?
"If ye should eat," the Serpent said,
"Then ye shall be as He."

And so the Woman and the Man
Forgot their rightful place,
And learned of Good and Wicked things
and, knowing, lost His grace.

The ever-loving, ever-true,
Yet ever-righteous Lord
Forbade them now of Life to eat
Enforcing by the Sword.

Is knowledge then, the greatest sin?
Is learning then a curse?
Does steady gain bring steady loss
Does betterment make worse?

Would then a new Prometheus
Who steals for us new flame
Bring only new depravities
We cannot yet e'en name?

If Knowledge is the cursed fruit
To dash Life on the rocks,
Is then the Flame the Titan brings
Itself Pandora's Box?

We forge on ev'ry day ahead
And never dare look back
Where still the angel and the Sword
Stand ready to attack.

We take our gift from fallen gods
And leave them to their fate.
The Titan bound was soon forgot
Behind Man's speeding gait.

The Fruit and Flame we carry on
To new perversity.
Our Knowledge lighting with its Dark
Modern Prosperity.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

An Election's Carol II

"But wait!" Obama cried at the vanishing Foster. "How will I know who these spirits are?"

"You could just ask," said a bearded gentleman suddenly floating all spirity up in the President's bidness. He puffed a cloud of opium smoke into Obama's face.

"Who are you?" cried Obama.

"Do you not recognize me, Hussein?" asked Beardo McOpium.

"Of course I don't. Why would I-- wait! Yes! Charles Darwin?"

"Yes, it is--no, wait." The spirit frowned. "Why would you think I'm Darwin?"

"Well, there's the whole beard thing. And...I guess he makes sense because he killed God in the hearts and minds of the newly damned everywhere."

"He did, sure. But you should be able to identify me. Don't they teach anything anymore?"

"Not since Common Core, which I invented to replace education with tests."

"But you weren't taught under Common Core."

"Yeah, no. But during class I was always imagining I was off golfing instead of doing my job. And look at me now." Obama turned to face you, the reader of the story. "Follow your dreams, kids, and anything is possible."

"O...k," said the spirit.

"So, anyway, who are you, Mr. Undarwin?"

"I'm Karl Marx," remarked Karl Marx marxistly. "Mark me! I am the Ghost of Progressives Past. I have come to remind you of your duty to the gay islamist communist atheistic cult we all serve. Take a hit of this shit." He held the pipe out to Obama.

Obama took a hit of that shit.

"Woah," he said.

beat

"Was something supposed to happen?"

"Nah," said Marx. "But you just zoned for, like, an hour. If you go get Hillary elected, I'll give you some more next time I see you."

"Deal. See you in hell!"

"Praise Satan!" said Marx, evoking the progressive deity that they also denied the existence of.

Obama sat back and enjoyed the rest of the trip.

Saturday, October 08, 2016

Jacques

Jacques Cousteau threw himself down to avoid the razor sharp razors held in the hand of the Chimanticore. He rolled further along the branch to avoid the blow that was surely to follow, but none came. Leaping to his feet, he turned and realized what a mistake he had made. The beast had fooled him. It had not disembowled Jacques while he was vulnerable--perhaps because it knew what doing so would have released--and instead had repositioned itself on his other side. Now Jacques was being forced back away from it towards the very trunk of Yggdrasil itself. At the rate he was moving, he had only moments to find an escape. All he had managed to salvage after the shipwreck in the City Thirteen Leagues Aloft was the Sacred Katana of the Highbladed Greatknives, the Spellbook of Unmaking, and his baseball card collection. If the Ghostqueen of the Hegemony of the Anarchons hadn't taken his mint condition T206 Honus Wagner, he could have perhaps yet bargained for his life. But so incomplete, his collection wouldn't even distract the Chimanticore for a second.

Jacque glanced around, hoping somewhere there was something he missed. Two thousand feet above the clouds, though, there was nothing of use on the massive ash tree. There were a few leaves, thankfully still hibernating since their last feast, a handful of Darkmoths, and-of course!

Jacques sprinted to the Defense Canon. He scrabbled through his beard to find a quarter and quickly inserted it, while the Chimanticore turned to leap away. Before it could get eleven feet, Jacques had the cannon powered and he fired a single wolfsbane laced quicksilver shot. The beast exploded in a cloud of butterflies, which as one gave a scream. Jacques trembled at the sound.

For this would wake the leaves.

Friday, October 07, 2016

Reflection at the Victory Column

God bless the artistic degenerates,
Whose work half forgotten remains.
And God bless the writers whose courage ran free
While they themselves languished in chains.

God bless all the leftists who rose up in arms
To cast down congealed kings on cold thrones.
And God bless the lovers of men like themselves
Now buried beneath stinging stone.

God bless the displaced in a land not their own
Whose lands drove them out by the sword.
And God bless the preachers who stood by the truth
Condemning themselves by the Word.

God bless all the willows that stood in the winds
While their rivers were poisoned and dried.
May God let us never forget how the strong
Were chopped down--in martyrdom died.

Thursday, October 06, 2016

Delinquent

They tell us he's
"Delinquent."


He doesn't do
His homework.


He mocks
Teachers.



He smokes.

During class.


In
The classroom.



He has
Tattoos.


And swears at us.



They say we're
"Bad Parents."


We can't control
Our son.



But, I mean

God,
he's cool.