one-roomed abode

The posse had lost him, below the last pass, with speed stealth and cunning he'd slipped them at last. Now pushing through snow-bank now hacking through brush, our man reached the valley to which he'd just rushed. Therein stood a cottage, a one-roomed abode, with a well-made ceiling and outside commode. He paused for a moment, before going in, and called up to Mercy, but deaf to his cries, she'd just stepped outside, so great was his sin. Forgive me, forgive me, he cried out aloud, consumed now by memory's blackening shroud. A goddess she heard him, and sped there forthwith, to sample his essence and read of his shrift. This mortal is guilty, his path ends tonight, said Nuuzstathena, her countenance bright; his death will be painless, I'll do it alone, by morning his lifeblood will pool on the stone. She watched as he entered and tidied the room, then showered his essence with feelings of doom. My life it is over, he said without fright; for just as my victims I shan't see next light. He worked up a fire, and took off his clothes, and bathed himself fully from forehead to toes; then dressed himself lightly and strapped on his sword, then put out the fire and made for a peak, to prove himself to be a man of his word. As if he'd been flown there he climbed to a ledge, an outcrop of granite, a perilous edge. He stood there defiant and out came his blade, at which point a beam of light pierced through the shade, and blinded and dazzled and clawed at his eyes, the last glimpse of sunlight to brighten the skies. And just then sang Nuuzstathena her song, to rob him of feeling and see him along. With nary a whimper and barely a thud, he mangled his body and poured out his blood, and soon came to rest on the rocks far below, made free of his torment, consumed by the snow.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on tunnel-sprites

Come witness the mystery with us below, down under the howling wind and blinding snow. We're speaking of tunnel-sprites, mischievous things, who move by silently and fly without wings. Their presence we recognize in broken jars, in base-of-neck tickles and static-filled tunes, in portends foreboding and feelings of doom, in yellowish pricks of light that look like stars. Now unwary travelers they lead astray, to starve in a dead-end far from light of day, now turned-around toddlers they shower with care, and lead them to safety straight back to warm lairs. Their stories reach far back, to times long since passed, their legends are sung about and set in glass. To please the sprites heap up some fresh apple-skin, upon a cave's doorstep, where homesteads begin, and set out a saucer of honey and wine, next morning the serving-plates empty you'll find. The sprites can be brutal, but sometimes they help, if lost and in trouble just call out or yelp, then let go of worry, selfishness, and spite, close eyes and sit calmly and wait for a sprite. But if one is angry or jealous or crass, if planning to capture or disrupt the flow, of tunnel-sprite glory then this one should know, that these little creatures of minuscule mass, will quickly abandon, confuse, and confound, and leave one for dead very deep underground.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on natural defenses

Our redoubts are lofty, our tunnels are deep, we don't threaten lightly or snore in our sleep. Winds from the Arctic pole make the skin chill, often they sicken and sometimes they kill. Our children get lessons, they learn how to fight, they know deprivation, they see by star-light. We learn them in history, tactics, and art, the path of the warrior they take from the start. Now on to our landscapes, the ones that impede, the progress of burdened beast and mounted steed. Deep are the gullies and sharp are the crags, that slow down invaders and cause them to lag. Hampered by driving rains and sudden squalls, our enemies falter, our foes quickly fall. Our Dunes swallow parties, our Swamps and Bluffs too, our insects and vermin still carry the flu. To this add the labyrinths underneath Grig, the ones that have taken us lifetimes to dig, then throw in the weather and flora and such, and understand why no one dares bothers us much. You're welcome if you mean no innocents harm, we kick out imperialists who spin yarns. So long as you're honest, though, come as you are, to glorious, peace-loving Grigovia.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

when goddess appears

In fog-bank she wanders, sometimes not alone, she vanishes as soon as her job is done. She sits with the lonely and shelters the weak, her ward is the selfless, the humble, the meek. Her owl it watches, both old man and kid, it reports and wanders as Odin's birds did. Her tools are adze, keyboard, paintbrush, pen, and gun; she's stern, fair, and gracious – no stranger to fun. To praise her raise banners of scarlet and gray, then take in a beggar and ask him to stay; be kind unto others, to those who need help, think more of your fellows and less of yourself; then roast you thick thigh-bones – some bovine ones please – avoid processed foodstuff and meats mixed with cheese; keep your body healthy, get out for a walk; fear little, don't worry, make no time to sulk. These guidelines are helpful, they will take you far, all hail our dear goddess – fair Nuuzstathena. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on stable eyes

She walks with high purpose, through troughs lows and highs, her one simple goal is to have stable eyes. Her hearing is solid, her sense of smell true, she withers when others tell her what to do. She's dabbled with lenses and had surgery, her dream is for stable eyes to set her free. With them she would look upon sea sky and star, her gaze would affix upon things near and far. Today though her peepers they wander and jump, they sap her willpower and cause her to slump. She's loyal and honest and says No to guys, now all that is missing are some stable eyes.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on crackling cold

The choke-hold of winter now strangles our eaves, it's cracking our knuckles and making us sneeze. For refuge we venture deep into the earth, where tunnels and crannies provide us with berth. With tubers and preserves our redoubts abound, perishables keep best when stored underground. Most homes have been shuttered, their pipes drained and dry, tasks performed with diligence, not on the fly. The caves we make cozy, with wood-fires and such, we're easy to pleasure and don't ask for much. Please stop being stubborn and come down below, we promise you'll be warmer than in the snow. It is our tradition, it is tried and true, we've picked out a splendid cave carved just for you. Set up your belongings, with whimsy unfurled, down in geothermally-warmed underworld.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

finger the lard

Now raise up your middle – go easy, retard – now hold it aloft pointed straight at the lard. One finger can say more than many words do, a timeless old chestnut that's always brand new. If one is not enough then lift middles two, the object will get it – he will smell a clue. Abandon all worry and be glad not cross, for this simple lesson will cure you of dross: when life it gnaws at you and just seems too hard, then lift middle finger straight up to the lard.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on the prostitot

Long of slender, silken thigh, never will the virtue die of our dear darling prostitot. Proud her bearing, bright her smile, whose supple body was defiled by men of ruthless, wanton groping – for her future we are hoping. Now she walks the avenues, in tiny skirts and worn-out shoes, her features by the year less hot, we love our darling prostitot.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

broken ax gap

Come open those peepers and fetch me mine map, and I'll tell a tale of the Broken Ax Gap. It started in Reno long before your birth, when I was a vagabond drunken with mirth. And whiskey and rotgut and slow-roasted bones, with whiz-bang and chutzpah, with elephant stones. It was me and Eddy, the Billygoat Crew, who together know more than fifty men do. We'd step into harness and make for high ground, we'd climb just about any tall thing around. Then one day came word of a peak far away, whose very existence I rue to this day. Its name is Tall Hatter, in Utah it be, it ended the friendship of Eddy and me. His aunt lived near Zion, we rode to her digs, with sacks full of walnuts and apples and figs. We climbed smaller, lesser peaks (which were all crap), then filled bag and belly and made for the Gap. A wind it did howl, some flurries blew in, a swirling white madness that ate at our skin. I then said to Eddy, Come now, friend, retreat! but he could not suffer to ever be beat. While I scraped for shelter he charged on alone, forever to vanish – consumed by the stone. The lesson here, for young and old: be sound and steady, truthful, bold, eat your veggies, smile and praise, these now are your golden days. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

orbital research success

The Near Earth & Orbital Telemetries Bureau of the Grigovian Exploration League (GEL) announced today the successful completion of an autonomously-operating prototype three dimensional (3D) printer. Mounted to an orbiting platform owned and operated by GEL the 3D device last night fabricated replacement parts and simple robotic limbs useful in the on-the-fly repair and maintenance of most any currently operating human space programme, at a fraction of the normal cost. “It is a proud day for Grigovia's mission beyond the surface of the planet,” said Yundoyest Ghebt, deputy director of product development at Theoduct Systems Inc., a materials manufacturer in Gar Nuuzsh that helped develop the new printer. “We can print items that deviate only a few microns from available production values. Nuuzstathena be with us as we reach for the stars.”

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

oh uhrburger

Its logo is clock-face its flavor is grand, the uhrburger is what we eat in this land. It is sourced from free-range and organic stock, it is lamb and chicken and beef and pork hock. It's plated with peppercorn and sourdough bread, add sauerkraut and a thick leafy green bed. We find it delicious and eat it year-round, try versions from city and hamlet and town. With beet it's delicious with kale and slaw too, its textures are hearty – they build and feed you. It's high time for juiciness and strong flavor, so sample the tender chunky uhrburger. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on eating school

Now sign up for eating, now come to our school, we'll help you learn how to use food as a tool. The machines we're fixing are human bodies, we'll wake up the liver and flush the kidneys. We do this with brassica, walnut, and herb, cravings regulated and habits disturbed. Admission is open, tuition is free, it's paid for by luxury import goods fees. Come break your addiction, to fat and sugar, come learn how to make pickled plums in a jar. We don't use aluminum or cook with steel, we coach you to cherish, appreciate, feel. Good health builds on consuming foods fresh and whole, that wake up the body and ignite the soul. These plants they grow freely, right in your own yard, it takes conscious effort but isn't that hard. Our students get starter kits of seed and soil, complete but for sunlight and water and toil. Come learn about calcium and manganese, come learn how to cultivate and eat from trees. Our lessons are founded, in traditions old, we share them with pleasure, to us they are gold. We welcome all comers, who yearn to be free, who cherish their Happiness and Liberty. Please cancel that order, of bacon and meats, unleash your potential, say goodbye to sweets. Your system is majestic, powerful, true, if treated right it will supercharge you.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥