on molting carapace

This 'rapace is ancient, compared to my peers, I've lived in rust-buckets for nearly five years. A new one will scamper, it will shine and dash, I need to find funding – I'm lacking in cash. In debt to the lenders, I'll have to take work, I'll maim blast and tunnel, I'll stab with my dirk. The jobs will be nasty, my soul it will rot, I'll barely be able to keep what I've got. My son will inherit, the system I molt, which calms my deep worries but fuels his revolt. He claims he is ready, to join me afield, he's trained in our tactics, a gun he can wield. He's spent a small fortune, his implants are sound, he begs me to let him put boots on the ground. His mother is silent, she turns in her grave, if only she knew of the choices I've made. Sometimes I'm called monster, because of my deeds, I serve faceless bidders, I tend to their needs. The lifestyle is brutal, it fills me with glee, I am cut-throat mechanized mercenary.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on mighty Ohrus

Now ruffle those feathers now put on wool socks, now join us in honoring the equinox. The night is stupendous, the darkness is long, we fill it with visits and dancing and song. We miss old man Ohrus, the shepherd of light, whose rhythms compel us to batten down tight. His wanderings vary, he scours the earth, his disc in this season gives us a wide berth. His sister fair Luna, she shines night and day, her phases say Harvest now or Plant today. We know he's returning, that he'll warm us soon, we yearn for those golden rays that make things bloom. The evenings shorten, the days they expand, the springtime shoots will all too soon fill the land. Now tend to the fire, now bank up the coals, discuss with us present needs and future goals. We've stored enough bounty, to give lend and share, you'll want not your worries and cancel your cares. The warmth is returning, to grace each of us, so dress up a tree-bough – all hail great Ohrus. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

oh towering spires

Oh towering spires that ring now with song, oh majestic, basaltic, wondrous Yiptlong. You guide our endeavors, we lend you our eyes, your peaks and white snow-caps do blot out the skies. You stand there unmoving, eternal, and stout, your depths they embrace us, you are our redoubt. We mine you for metal, we take of your hide, we venture down fissures that rend you inside. Your waters are fertile, your minerals warm, you give us both springtime rains and harvest storms. You keep the unwanted outsiders at bay, you shelter the friendly and welcome their stay. From you spring forth rivers, that run east and west, we cherish your waters, we love them the best. We vow to protect you, from threats large and small, we've slashed our emissions and built windmills tall. Your waters are sacred, we need them to thrive, they help us feel joyful, triumphant, alive. We lift up our voices, with sentiments strong, and honor you father, who art the Yiptlong. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

Grigovian coat armor - 19 DEC 2013

 

(from left to right the symbols mean: spirituality [moon], creativity [pen], watchfulness [eye], learning [scroll], commerce [the Y, or yindt], independence [beast holding own tether], and victory [laurels]. the symbol in the upper left is from Grigovian folklore, the swirl on the right is to represent the Golden Spiral - and thereby the Golden Rule - that permeates all aspects of the universe.)

brave, laudable Yutu

Now douse your surroundings now look you for clues, oh softly alighting fair sister Yutu. The surface marks easy, please reeve with light touch, now taste with your earphones at strata and such. Sans company wander, the surface of lunar, the Ynki you follow, he whom Russo beat, a long march behind you – of rainbows is rumor. Your patroness kingdom – she lies at the middle – our knowledge you buoy, our heartstrings you fiddle, of wonder elixir is not hide nor hair, not ever returning, back at us you stare. We soar with you gazing up at the same star, your comrades, as always – love Grigovia.

huzzah*huzzah*huzzah

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

to Luna

Traversing the skyscape with a soothing glance, behold her majestic and proud countenance. She is our bright sister, she waxes and wanes, she loves us through conflict and laughter and pain. Her touch pulls the oceans, it tugs at our veins, her glory for weeks we shall not see again. Her time is not fleeting, she does not know rush, she bathes us in whiteness, sometimes she can blush. Without her there would be no life on this rock, for that we do thank her, our hurtling clock. Now lift up your sockets, and watch the progress, of our dear friend Luna, sweet mother – goddess.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

read-hard

He fights at his level, he maintains his guard, his test scores are low because he's a read-hard. Big words don't come easy, letters don't make sense, enraged by this lacking he'll gnash cry and flense. It's not of his doing, he is not to blame, maternal malfeasance did foul up his game; his mother ate nothing but sweets chips and junk, she cursed his brain circuits, she caused him to flunk. She failed in her efforts, a task poorly done, knew not of good eating or sound nutrition. Please help this young fellow, deal him a new card, he's not just a dummy, he don't just read-hard. His Spirit is massive, his goodness is great, he gives to the needy and rarely comes late. Solutions are easy – his food is to blame – it's damaged his thinking and made his mind lame. So feed him a carrot, an apple and chard, to jump start his learning and cure his read-hard. Thank you now for reading, you wonderful beast, whose thinking comes easy, whose eyes here do feast. Please heal yourself also, don't eat things refined – your stomach will thank you, your essence will shine. Mahalo.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

amah, the mystery

We see it in livestock from Pryaghdoyest, as well as in wooden goods carved in the west. It sparkles in glass made from the Great Dune Sea; it vibrates in fiddles played perched on the knee. We taste it in homemade stews like arght and tchuirff, we praise it when landlocked Grigovians surf. It always surprises, it's never too much, we're never without it – so far does it touch. The Uzbeks don't have it – a pox on their lands! – it cannot be purchased or squeezed out of glands. It guides now the actions of honest and brave, it blesses the virtuous – girl king or slave. It fuels and forgives us, it helps us know right, we live in its shadow, we dress by its light. To find it stop looking, to know it know not, it fits neither pigeonhole, cranny, or slot. Instead strike a balance, reduce what you need, want nothing but freedom from sickness and greed. By these simple guidelines you too might yet be, amah the all-powerful great mystery.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

valiant lovely Nuuzstathena

Gaze north on a clear night from eastern Nuuzsh Gar, and look for the light that floats but is not star. With keen eyes you'll glimpse it (rejoice! it's good luck) the maiden picks wisely – not any old schmuck. Have done then with seeking, cast no further glance: the goddess is quick to lash out with her lance. She doesn't mind peeking but hates those who stare, at her shining breastplate and resplendent hair. The winds are her vessel, in dunes she resides, she calls forth the new moon, comfort she provides. She curses the greedy, blesses those who share, has made great kings cower with her flashing glare. Her wards are the artists and weavers and they, who charge into battle their foes there to slay. Look not at her Gorgon's head that Hercule won, or you'll turn to marble-stone and weight a ton. Her trusty companion is burrowing owl, who rides the high thermals always on the prowl. She watches us mostly, touches here and there, sometimes she is brutal always she is fair. To praise her be crafty and industrious, avoid wasteful shortcuts and don't make much fuss. Her feast-day is one week past Mid-Winter's night – spend time with friends, eat well, right wrongs, light a light. She welcomes all comes, from near and from far, fair goddess, wise patroness: Nuuzstathena!

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

a winter rhyme

Snows sit silent, wood and plain, 'till Springtime frees their prisms. Fires rise up well-kept flues now warming bones now heating stews of darkened early evenings. With mittens thick and scarves tucked in the young ones screech and scamper, their eyes spread wide their souls alight at magical shape-shifting. Now hunker down now bank the coals for it is time for reading, and making friends and singing songs and ginger-bread-dough kneading. The winds will lessen, times will change, and soon we'll be to planting, now crack a smile now grab your mate for it is time for dancing. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

salvia arkhangelskiya blooms

With a green and brownish shoot that pushes through frozen soil to form a squat whitish blossom the plant species salvia arkhangelskiya has begun to bloom. White is the Yiptlong massif with its blossoms, white too is the Grigovian High Plain. Eschewing animal-assisted reproduction the species spreads instead its pollen on the strong and bitter winds that lash the region during the winter months; pollinated blossoms fall off within the day, the squat stalk soon shrivels, but the wide and hairy leaves last for at least a fortnight, during which time they contain the highest concentrations of micro-nutrients and beneficial trace-minerals. Pick them before the wind tears them from the ground and flings them into the high heavens, and make of them a tea to cure head-sickness or a compress for cut and burned flesh. When steeped and drank they boost the human circulatory system and help to flush the kidneys. Put them in the shoes to cut noisome odors and wash your rooms with their smoke, which neutralizes the air and chases away dark spirits. Praise be unto the Great Spirit for blessing us with this plant. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

soup saves solar

Building on years of research conducted at solar farms from Qatar to New Mexico, scientists at schools such as the Eastern Grigovian Technical College (EGTC) now store the sun's energy in thick stew. Unlike other solar reactors that sequesters the rays of Sol in molten salt, the Grigovian system uses rich broths filled with nutritious seasonal ingredients such as carrots, beets, leeks, parsnips, and garlic. Sociologists praised the decision to use edible liquids, saying that such systems could be used to both fight hunger and store sustainable energy. “It is delicious,” said Theggorast Yu'uyendt, professor of poverty studies of Pylta the Terrible University, while eating his third bowl of tchuirff and yellow curry goulash. A mobile version of the system is in development for use in areas stricken by natural disasters or wherever access to piping hot, tasty soup threatens to be disrupted. “The system was originally built to run on plain water,” said Y'annina Hourthogarst, 19, of University of Grigovia, Gar Nuuzsh, “but someone loaded it with an assortment of tasty tubers and healthy herbs, and it not only stored solar power more efficiently but via swift circulation and high heat made a delectable stew. Fascinating.”

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

yucca leaves shoot

With similarities including ones of climate and geological composition the Grigovian High Plateau hosts readily plants from America's Southwest. Amorphously clustered plots seeded with agave already parallel Highway 7 as it bisects the Glorious Republic from Iysh to Pryaghdoyest, and yucca stalks are joining them – a useful and hardy variety is the soapstone yucca; at least a dozen local cooperatives in Gar Nuuzsh are employed in pounding the soapstone's root for soap and shredding its bark for fire-starters. And the redolent evergreen shrub salvia arkangelskiya grows thickly throughout the Arid High Plateau and is closely related to salvia apiana, the holy bee sage. Local histories resound with stories of its healing abilities. Grigovia flourishes under the weight of liberty. Syntathena be praised, deep is the bounty of the land. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥