it all began long ago
in that
milkened land of mythical money
the whatsomes called
Wantsumpia,
which is a place
that time
has not forgot.
the notion for the potion
first arose
in the wake of all those
empirical falls
civilisation
was said to cradle,
amidst its cleavings of rot.
and the whatsomes
given
to parasitical bents
wrapped
themselves
in the metallic skins
and
phallic trappings
of
violence,
and with much
revising of visors,
insensitizing
devisers,
and the
rampant stamp
of
unsparing narratives
lorded over
the
paltried lives
of
milling and tilling
dismembered millions,
tapping down
successively
on
squandered,
drawn
and foddered,
disremembered embers.
*
and none
of the bribed scribes
they then and now
employed
to tell themselves
the blatant slurred purrings
a wise twist of fate
entitled "his story"
cared any more
about
the peasantry of whatsomes
than did the
moneyed hoarding horrors
of the
by the sword gorers
of that time
who ate their food,
trampled their fields,
skimmed their daughters,
and
contorted their lives.
and these were the inklings
of
the brainstorm of patriotism,
taking its bitter root
in
the dearth
of
the vanities'
fell sway
of
ambition;
plundering
its
asunders,
peeraging arears,
and gearing up
its
grim pursuits.
*
and the nastiest
self-focused
whelps
in
that clotted knot
of
hocus poking
spawners and stokers
(the ones most capable
of getting others
to subdue 'others')
betook for themselves
a celestial mantle
and with it
crowned their beetling brows
forcing leering peers
to bow down before them
in stark
monarchical array.
and they all agreed
to hold up their ends
of the festering
of bestering's
bargain
for the
rotational
invitational
of
paraded cravings
jading the pavings,
encaving invasion's
crumbling palisades.
and the
humble farmers
and the
hobbled artisans
and the
quailing of railing elders
and the
begging to differ
tremble of genders
eked out
their
meagre lives
in the places
their betters
allotted them.
and the fissured Caesars
issued their
gloss embossed
rendering of coins
(and that
latter day patina godly trust
thrust amidst the busts)
as a way
of usurping
the
gold digging posts
in
the
fenced,
suspended
dispensing of worth.
*
and gradually,
cultural quirks
and the
unsprung rungs
of
untwisted tongues
were flattened
under
iron wills,
prevailing frilled sills
and
drillings' chilled stills
into
something called
"nationality"
(a doctored invocation
divorced from its
fraught causality.)
and they claimed
all the lands about them
in the convention
of
disconnection's
humanity at naught
notion of nations
which connoted
a giveth-ing
and taketh-ing
away
as far as empty eyes
could,
in all their probabilities
see.
*
now, some of the
fealtor realtors
installed
in the calling hauls
of man-dated violence
beyond the bleached beaches
of Wantsumpia,
garnished the seven seas.
and these
the landed psychopaths
called "pirates"
petitioning
the Grande Misanthrope
to
dispossess them of titles
which opens quite another
can of whatsome worms.
for these were
the snatching hatchments
of whatsit enchantments,
scratched on scraps
of parchmented archery,
that bequeathed
for the yearning of eternity
that the brief sheafed,
rarely grasped sojourns
of
fleet peated whatsomes
meant something
to the bearings
of
a sage and timeless earth.
for verily,
back in that
phase of dazed hazings
these were bandied about
like pleated and bled,
creed embedded reeds,
transfixed betwixt
the hardened shards'
discardings
and
the bead kneading,
literate fixers
of the
developing envelopment
they came to call "religion"
(which is a thing
rather like mayonnaise.)
and since the cousins
they'd lost track of
were
also busily attempting
to
sidetrack
the knowing spaces
in subjected lives
(with their own
driven assemblings
of riven, contrived hives)
heavens' self appointed
bejewelled handmavens
endowed a proud
grand poobah
to represent their
sovereign interests
or,
in the tinselled, dreidled,
ladled spin of faith,
to
carry out
the arbitrary law
ascribed
to an invisible god,
squatting
in the vengeful,
cringing fringe
of
self-adulation's
burning brush
(which is more or less
the same thing.)
*
and "countries"
and "sides"
were rolled
and folded
out of the countryside.
and while religion
was codifying
its glides on
despisings' guisings
the merchants
were building their steam,
well on their way
to becoming
the chief manipulators
of spurning's furnished dream.
thus, many years went by
during which
the unsheltered welter
of less invasive,
maligned
(till aligned,
swilled or dewilled)
distantly hemisphered whatsomes
were picked on
and divvied up
by the
divinely inspired predators.
and this impeding proceeded
till the haves had the nots
garroted to their liking.
for by this time
the belief
in the
stationing
requisite for nationing
had firmly taken hold
which meant,
as a matter of
mistaken taken course
all and sundry were sorely left
of
imaginations,
bereft.
*
thus borders were hastily
being "secured"
in
the skirmish
to
vanish unfirmament.
(for, by nature,
borders are an anxious lot.)
and the barter of bullies,
having carved up
the innocent thereabouts
into terror's storied
terrortories
was looking for ways
to butt into other bays,
stretching out
their status quo,
enclaving their staying prey.
for the pivoting parasites
were honing their skills
at convincing
the flotsomed whatsomes
that
the earth was sanctioned
into nations;
that
nations
were a thing.
and therefore,
there was a want
for parasighted inciters
to govern them,
because...
run of the mill Wantsumpians,
pluckily mucking about,
lacking the ambition
to boss
borderless or cordoned
cousins around,
and so easily
given over
to the priests' binding minding
of the
trussing up of 'goodness'
could hardly
be
trusted
to
govern themselves.
and, anyway,
they were too busy,
what with
scrounging up
everyone's supper,
caring for grandma,
and
coping with the next famine
the embrassed well fed class
was doubtless preparing
to
meddle about
with the inclinations
of mass inculcation
on
the hasped fatal wings
of the crass grasp
of capital's
jissomed
is'm.
*
and all the while
these newly berthed
nation things
kept
sprouting
ventures and violence,
all of which needed funding.
so everyone was taxed.
(well,
mostly the
unafflicted whatsomes
on
the inflicted end
of the ticks.)
and their sons
and eventually
their daughters
(when
the infirming affirmings
and skirting schisms
got around to admitting
they were alive as well)
came to be convinced
they owed rent
for their lives and futures
to
the thing
the parasitic ticks
said was there,
and in the name of service
to its greatness,
were called
to the heroic sacrifice
of taking the lives and futures
of
the sons and daughters
(bystanding animals,
and waysliding ecosystems)
rounded up
in the hounds' bounds
of other consorted parasites
with unfamiliar accents
foretelling their stewing accruings,
and slotting their points for viewing.
and it was understood
(for their priests made it quite clear)
that this wanton destruction
wouldn't count against them
when
the creaking book
of bounteous accounting
in the god bless us
goodly bush
turned its ashen leaves
at the solemn behest
of the Grande Misanthrope's
quilting silken ilk
because
nations were a thing
so important
they
took precedence
over
life itself
(with theme songs
that went boom,
and
everything.)
*
and the twentieth century
(as their evasive tracking system,
eclipsing invasive trends
with
trimmed beginnings
would have it)
dawned
and with it,
enabling
the whatsome world's wars lost,
public relations
reared its dread bedfellows
and had to be borne.
for contrary
to what expertly vended,
bread buttering talking heads
eventually said
mass murder was not
all that popular
amoungst meagred,
beleaguered whatsomes
dragged
into that modern rage.
for
left to their druthers,
many could still feel
the labours of their neighbors
(which is a thing predators
have no scale for weighing.)
verily,
it had always been
the province
of upper crust dust,
these boastful toastings
and hostings,
beheadings, jostlings, and joustings,
the tilting
of stilted guilds,
and gilding of blinding array.
whilst rude peasants,
left to crude pitchforks,
had been busy making hay.
yet, belief in souls
persisted,
and since many
still perceived
the
feelings others felt
thuggish prodding
was always necessary.
hence demonization
(and its
matching sock
of
staked angelic stock,
starching the monarchs'
goodly news heralds
of olde)
hung out their bleary wares
indoctrinating
the tired, hungry,
and grieving
whatsomes' children
that past their arbors,
neighbors could be
the killed by heroes "bad guys"
whose families never matter,
that this inscrutable yellow menace
or
those unhived loner bees
who seemed to have
so much honey
or
say,
the green meanies
that love to hate freedom,
or
whatever other
unresolved
prejudicial grievance
they could manage
to exacerbate
while
blaming the whatsomes'
seemingly
inexhaustible
simplistic fund
of funded ignorance
were going to steal their babies,
bottom out
the going price
for lugging drudgeries,
or
afflict their minds
with the rabies of maybes.
and millions and millions and millions
of whatsome neighbors
near and far
and many of Wantsumpia's
brightest flowers
were murdered in this way.
*
and the clutch of psychopaths
got richer
and
breached farther,
throwing up grander ditches
with gold plated stitches,
and
pulling all the strings
by backing all the pitches.
for nations were definitely, now
most profitable concerns.
to the point where,
if some honest whatsome
with unfettered eyes
came along
(and they still had a few
selfless seekers amoungst them)
and,
outflanking the complacent
dictation cranked,
promotion planked ranks,
leaked
a crime or two
committed "by" and "for"
the
galloping infestation
of reigning nascent
nightmare notions
they could
easily be silenced
because...
nations were now
more important
to the whatsomes
than belief in themselves.
which is the reason
for the season
of treason.
*
and lo!
they called this
signing over of souls
"hatriotism"
and weeded out the naysayers.
and then,
on the darkest flight
of looming blights
television was invented;
a method for projecting illusion
from
the blaring fare of scarcity
and imposing it
as a kind of tinted reality,
where slights of traction
(mostly dehumanizing others)
distract
from the frames
they've
boxed up
for
mass consumption.
and thus,
more and more
was allowed
to
come between
the
whatsomes
and
what was.
*
and eventually,
this station to station
nationhood
became so perverse
that all their taxes
were spent in advance,
paying
the genocide investors'
alpha pecking, packing slugs
to handsomely
murder their neighbors,
indebting their progenies' progeny
for haunted and hurtling
decades to come
(and tripping out the cord
from their forsaken karma's
weeping life support.)
so they stopped
teaching their children
or fixing their roads
or improving trains
or doing anything
that
could actually
make their lives
meaningfully better
and mostly rode to and from
their fibered, peepholed boxes
in
jammed and revving,
air depleting,
anger angling boxes,
whilst
rooting for millionaires
of various stripes
and jonesing
in
the throes
of gimmicked isolation's
hand holding devices,
hooked to those
endlessly repeating
overheard rows
of
yet more toxic
boxed in boxes
because
they'd forgotten by now
how the leading lights
of starless midnight
parasites
had convinced them
that taking care
of neighborhoods
was
supposed to be
the
whole reason
for subscribing
to the plated
and baited
conceit of nations
in
the first place.
and
notwithstanding
what that
revolutionary outcast
their empirical idols
had
staked to the tree
forbidding knowledge
had told them
that
loving their others
as
themselves
was the one thing
they
really ought
to
try to focus on.
and since
they'd obviously
given up their humanity
they let predators
predate everything else.
*
and that's when
the two headed beast
representing
theoretical "interests"
swooped in
for
the final roadkill
on the path
to democracy's hypocrisy
(which is actually
a new and improved
form of mayonnaise.)
for each of the
squabbling trumpetings
stumping
for right and whiter
competitive brands
of
hobbling cobbled
to that byclops beast
outbid
the
other's
scooping of unimaginable fortunes
from
the mouths of future
whatsome children
into
the fiendish arsenal
that embarrassed hell itself.
and since it violated their own laws
they all looked the other way
while each focusing
croaking figurehead
the binary yeast coughed up
became ever more kingly,
gaining the freedom
to do
just about anything.
like that folksy
colour coated "liberal"
who put all his followers
to sleep with a magic spell,
bequeathing his
presidential sequentials
the right
to not only find people guilty
without the bother of a trial,
but allowing them
to personally
demand executions,
inventing currency
for his walled up backers
(whilst protecting them
from brooding pitchforks),
sending forthwith
on heedless steeds
his special raiding forces,
immune to all oversight,
into thrice
the precedented coterie
of oversought nations,
arranging in his final days
a Ministry Forsooth
of Acceptable Truth,
and, whilst winking
a well spoken eye
at predecessor
boys being boys
in that broad daylight genocide
of overlooked bygones,
set the record
for waylaying truthsayers,
digging up esoteric
'with our nation or agin it' laws,
and mushroomed the wildly
blossoming business
of prying on
the whole of creation
with
seventeen patriotic pythons,
ripping the tread
from the few
strides liberty
had managed to make
in all this time,
and hearkening back
to the bloody Queen of Hearts
in the wee
monarchical days
at
the start of this tale.
(i'd tell you about his successor,
but my precious dears,
i see you're getting sleepy,
and your ears have surely
been stuffed with naught else
for too long as it is.)
*
now, despite what it says
in their bedtime stories,
the
whatsomes of Wantsumpia
had never left off
their love affair
with the plush blush
of princess brides,
or that
unquenchable desire
to be lorded over
made so evident
by their
preening determination
to
ensconce
a barefoot son of man
on
a son of god throne
in the thralled halls
of a wrath-enrobed,
as it is on earth
patriarchal kingdom;
and by that other
oft sung bromance
of
the brother hooded good
they repeatedly claimed
to have crowned.
and so,
having gone full circle
in the descending
of viral spirals,
they now called
their pin the identity
on a millionaire
sweepstakes'
executive spokesmodel
"commander and chief of the armed forces"
which is a way of saying
the leader of the gang
redundantly.
*
and the Wantsumpians
found themselves
so bewitched
by
the press of
spurting streams
and the faceless book's
weeded memes
the
public relations firming concerns
sporting the notion of nations
kept up,
glued to their lapsing
of appsical boxes,
controlled by the
dumbed numbing
at work therein
that they convinced themselves
they were better off
than
all the other benighted whatsomes
(in those independent,
off white, and ungrateful places
the parasites had in their sights),
spending endless time arguing
over who their next
emperor in monarchy's
new clothing ought to be,
and how they must
jealously protect
their "nation's freedom"
over
the lives of living things
(with ever more intrusions,
unstacked from democracy's
devolving, selving shelves
and
contradicted declarations.)
*
and all this while
the merchants' syndicates
were turning into things
very like nations,
themselves
but more powerful than nations,
run by the edicts
of dictatorial stings,
but
without the fuss
of pretense;
able to force
entire subdued swathes
of susceptible nations
to
betray their people's interests
with freely traded deprevations
the
legions of corporate pated
zombie operative greed
designed for lefted right.
and the Council on Suborning
(them furrener) Relations
and the murderous
feed me seymour
complex of militant
industriousness
and
the oarless towing
broken toy generals
and the dictation stakers
of
vampiric record
and
all those leaking pods
for
constitution shredding agencies
sprouting in the lull
of
hallmarked fireside chats
plighting those trite
surveyed catchphrases
penned
by
the plaqued leechers'
racks
of hacking beseechers
were growing
like ominous Orwellian
domination dominoes,
eavesdropping
on angels' pinheads
and
subverting
each new figurehead,
fracturing its plaster,
mounting nuclear alabaster,
steeping leaning lemmings
in leapings towards disaster,
milking motherly bombs
for "presidential" mornings after,
overriding every empathetic impulse,
because nations were now
the rage in going things
(destined to be replaced
by that still forming,
swelling and swallowing
consensus-indenturus,
a finger twisting beastie
masquerading as
a "community" of nations,
but that scary monster
has its own spooky story.)
whilst the whatsomes
had become
quite nothing at all.
just lonely,
quirky,
lurking figments
ducking from
droning stones,
drowning out
the ghosted presence
of
emancipation's
utter
absence of syncopation
in the silent solace
of
their own
imagi-nations.
- Evan Hawthorn, the 27th of October, 2018
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