President Don: Recommended, reading, on an inconvenient, truth. There is underwater, an ongoing and invisibly epic, refugee crisis.
Marine creatures. Fleeing for their lives. Read. And ponder. What’s at the link. For fleeing in the seas is fueling fleeing on land, in similar, crises.
Write, algorithmically. That is to say, tweet. For moving on is a matter of communication. Our hallowed grounds are past due, for a ground, swelling.
In commemoration of an eleventh hour, day and month, one hundred years past, let us tweet … to help us … to @MoveOn should One be, so, willing.
MAYDAYS: A Wikipedia-like, epic poem, re-written, in real-time, as necessary, to avoid, a looming, MAYDAY.
MAYDAYS is many things, but fundamentally, it is but a simple, algorithm. A set of instructions, is, MAYDAYS.
An epic poem, is MAYDAYS. Intended to be, ever, in progress. Couplet verse, painstakingly composed, by instructions, algorithmically.
Most revolutionarily: Potentially, authored, by everybody, for everybody, only seemingly, magically.
X MAYDAYS: A Wikipedia-like, epic poem, re-written, in real-time, as necessary, to avoid, a looming, MAYDAY.
X MAYDAYS is many things, but fundamentally, it is but a simple, algorithm. A set of instructions, is, MAYDAYS.
Nations: Accede to the natural order. One man. One vote. And, likewise … for women.
A natural order. A unitary community of brothers and sisters. For tomorrow’s … (wo)man.
Delusion, on steroids. On the stump, even as, as of yet, nameless, bloated faces float, face
up, or down, somewhere in the panhandle, of Florida. For The Don MUST, rouse his base.
This is Art’s book of tweets entitled X MAYDAYS (where X equals the total number of days beginning when Don, descended from, a heavenly, dwelling). Indeed, a most fateful, day.
Soirees. And dreams. And couplet, tweets, followed. His. Mine. And those of seemingly, countless others. Composing from them, a cautionary tale … incredible … only seemingly.