Juche’s tenets are economic self-sufficiency, military self-reliance and foreign
policy of foreign interests, independent.
Arthur’s poetry is, a la Emily’s, a letter to the world, a la Willy’s, plays on words
and, a la Rumi’s, ruminations on Words.
Kim’s power flows from his fathers’ militaries. Don’s from his fathers’ monies.
Art’s power flows from this last, soliloquy.
For Kim Jong il’s un is the Kim Jong whose power flows from fathers’ militaries.
As he is the brother of Art, and of Donny.
Arthur knows the poverty of juche (self-reliance), and the power of the songun
(military first), dynasty of Kim Jong il’s …un.
Only Arthur Everman, of all the men on earth acknowledges Kim’s point of view.
At stake: North Korea’s sovereignty, or a coup.
Empathetic alone amongst the megalomaniacal brothers is the weakling, Arthur.
He knows juche’s poverty, and songun’s power.
Kim Jong un’s accused the Donny of a lack of understanding of the Dear Leader,
This last soliloquy of Hamlet, nominally from Kim Don and Arthur, is intended
to make man’s future, more open-ended.
But unlike many, his empathy is extraordinary.
Empathetic alone amongst the megalomaniacal brothers is the weakling, Arthur.
He knows juche’s poverty and songun’s power.
Witness too that he has the ear, so to speak, of both of his brothers via a twitter
lifeline to negotiation and compromise on Twitter.
Now Syria, AND Koreas. And, if irony had sound, its sound aught render humanity
speechless ’til all hear Art’s soliloquy, timely.
A synchronicity of events pursuant to a grand plan has brought three brothers grim,
Don, Art and Kim to do, what’s bidden by Him.
Now what? For two brothers, a planet, threaten.
Three problems. Two brothers. One story. A tiny subplot of the one story, His story,
is man’s history. A subplot of creation, are we.
The POTUS has made clear that he’ll deal with Kim Jong-un with or without the help
of Xi,’s China. He’ll warmonger, without help.
If Xi does, that’ll be good for China. If they don’t it won’t be good for anyone, verily,
seemingly, hissed the shape-shifter, Donny.
If Xi’s China is not going to solve North Korea, then we will. That’s all I’m telling you.
Except, that I’m building a wall for all to view.
OF TWITS AND TWEETS
The planet’s richest tongue (by word count), owes its wealth to its liberal borrowing,
from other languages, and history’s mystical, timing.
English is the Earth’s second, lingua franca. Now spoken globally, its rich vocabulary
is at home in song, psalm, prose, tweet … or poetry.
It may be there are more English-speaking Chinese, than Americans. More Chinese
than Americans may discern a twit … from a tweet.
Tweet is oft understood; but twit? Not as often. Twits are taunts. To twit is s to titter
or taunt. Hmm; why then Twitter, and not, Tweeter?
Alternatively, a twit is a silly, annoying, person, or fool. How appropriate that a twit
tweets on Twitter; a fool has fooled us, sans wit, albeit.
Why Twitter, and not Tweeter, albeit an intriguing riddle, is not the point, in debate.
The point is the twit, that has been, a tweeter of late.
“What ten words do ye bequeath to humanity?” A daunting, haunting question;
ever since, Arthur’s been haunted; by both answer, and question.
Thus began the dreamy soirees whence revelations begat veritable epiphanies,
begetting an epic quest, to answer burning questions, poetically.
Why poetically? Easy; while poetry’s harder to compose than prose; it’s elegantly
far more emotive than one may ever aspire to be … prosaically.
Of earthly forms of written expression most like (Art imagines), heavenly hymns,
between chapter and verse ’tis verse that’s most favored by Him.
Art composes on 3 levels, using 140 character tweets to metamorphose into 980
character blog logs … to a manuscript … a poor man’s, publicity.
Twitter’s 140 character algorithm’s been, for Art, a useful revelation, surprisingly
utilitarian in marketing … education … and in composing poetry.
So, Arthur Everman’s Free School of Poetry; art,
@chachomanopapa, on Twitter;
poetic epigrams … no matter the languages … of the tweeters.
Peace has rarely been, but ironically, it may be some day once again, if ever we
all commune as a family. Build not, more walls.
Why pen human history, poetically? It is because only poetry far more elegantly
emotes, than anyone may aspire to, prosaically.
A twit that tweets promises that if he dupes the US, the American, people, a wall,
he’ll build, women, he’ll cherish and books, he’ll sell.
A real tweet 09/06/15, by ‘co’-author Tony Schwartz, on his book’s real authorship:
“I wrote The Art of the Deal. Donald Trump read it.”
Don’t be so sad. Look at the bright side; for Donny’s legacy may well be the liberal
and conservative wings, of a Democratic Party, multilingual.
Be careful what you wish for US of America, for the tweeting twit is an opportunist;
and he is, in this tragi-comedy, no mere apprentice.
Indeed, what is humorous may be gravely serious; to wit, an ugly-American-in-chief
who aimed to be President, now is, the Commander-in-Chief.
What once seemed so preposterous as to be laughable is now, no laughing matter;
that notwithstanding his tweets, and his golden showers.
But fear not, US, of America; for the mutant mouth that is the Donny’s outstanding
feature promises that, sooner, or later, him, we’ll be impeaching.
History is His story. Education’s alchemy. Hindsight’s 20-20. There’s wisdom in irony.
And behavior mod’s not limited to individuals, only.
Five pithy statements in one hundred and forty characters. And, in this ode to poetry,
to wisdom, and to peace, a final plea, for humanity.
Dreaming of what is, what was and what may be, the learned literati, of all of history,
luminaries like Plato, Aristotle Locke and Socrates …
… Shakespeare and Shaw in western lands and their eastern peers, Lao-zi, Kong-fu-zi,
Muhammad, Buddha and Gandhi, visionarily, see.
The luminaries see folly; their own, of course, but more importantly, that of humanity.
And lately they see, a still-born, twitter-diplomacy.
A still-born twitter-diplomacy? ‘Twitter-diplomacy’ is a term of only recent coinage. It’s
not taken seriously, notwithstanding its algorithms.
Algorithms are procedures or formulas for solving problems. They are quite simply, in
non-scientific jargon, step by step …instructions.
It happened that Penemue, a Watcher Angel fallen, for his own God-damned salvation’s
sake, googled for a weakling to propose to, his salvation.
It was Penemue who, the Bible says, “pointed out to them every secret of their wisdom.”
He taught (wo)men on using ink and paper for writing,
It has been Penemue (Pen, to us), who has been the master of ceremonies at the nightly
soirees, where deceased visionaries envision, via poetry.
In reveries, dreamy and soirees, Victorian, history’s philosophers, poets, and luminaries
with the megalomaniacs Kim, Don and Art, nightly meet.
He googled too for great poets to write in collaboration with the megalomaniacal brothers,
to all the nations, of an alchemical algorithm, on Twitter.
“Tweet, blog and write alchemically,” said Penemue, to the brothers, three. “Algorithmically
tweet epigrams, into transformational, BUT pacific, poetry.”
“Tweet blog and pen, Kim, Don and Art, in the ‘twitterese’ that I, Penemue, the last Watcher,
taught ye; an Esperanto-like hope, an Esperanto-like prayer.”
Twitterese came easiest to Art. Administration came easiest to Kim. Spelling was Donny’s
forte. Penemue organized his Liberation Force, accordingly.
To attend to national affairs of state, Kim and Don ceded to their weakling brother, Arthur
the penning of epigrams. Kim sees to invites; Don to humor.
Not that the fate of the cosmos and its non-earthling inhabitants isn’t important. It is, and
they are. But we’ll get to them later. First, the nation-lands.
Nations are the constructs by which men, in vain, attempt to govern themselves, a natural
evolution from nuclear families, clans and tribes, aboriginal.
The children of Lord Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh are your brothers and sisters before Him,
it mattering, not our religion, nationality, nor tribe, to Him.
“Pangaea’s nations number 196 (not including Taiwan and tiny Puerto Rico), 4200 religions,
and 6500 languages. Pangaea’s voice must be a single one.”
English is but Mother Earth’s second lingua franca. Its rich vocabulary rhymes easily, easily
feeling at home in song, psalm, prose and of course, poetry.
English isn’t just for Englishmen, any more. But no one language can end all of the babbling.
English’s Twitter, Art is betting, may languages be, connecting.
So 3 brothers write on 3 levels; 140 character epigrammatic tweets metamorphose into 980
character blogs, into a compendium; a poor man’s, publicity.
Art’s poetry acculturates! For the acculturation of (wo)man is but the modification, of behavior;
as applicable to group behavior as it is to individual, behavior.
Theoretically, behavior modification is not limited but to individuals; surely, our communities