on stellar beauty

Behold ye the comely and paint-less visage, of our local beauty, the lovely Tahlahdg. She comes from a proud line of capable tarts, her sweat tastes like honey and she never farts, her timing's exquisite, her knowledge is great, her skin looks like parchment and she's rarely late. She's been groomed and fitted, her outfits are neat, her training has made her a person complete. Her eyes how they sparkle, and light up the night, she's not had a drink yet but finds this all right, her passions are oil paints, hacking, and cars, she's almost too perfect, as bright as the stars. We find her quite lovely, we know she'll excel, at all the activities she does so well, we'll fête her and make a big deal of her gifts, until a young stallion should conquer her rift.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on useful undies

Our garments are more than just stitching and thread, they obviate duty and hassle and dread, they cover the body, not too loose or tight, make water from urine nearly overnight. They don't absorb feces but feel free to pee, whenever the urge to should overcome thee, your fluids will enter a sandwiched-in pouch, that flexes whenever you bend walk or crouch, which uses osmosis and deep filtration, to produce fresh water from human urine. After 30 hours the filters are done, from foul wasted fluids clean moisture they've won, to access it peel back the outer leg-cuff, then flip up the nozzle and pour out the stuff, that keeps all things going, awake and alive, without which we humans cannot long survive. A blow-valve allows you to shoot out the junk, the oozing and noisome and yellowish gunk, the crap that your kidneys had pulled from the blood, which smells like a cow grabbed and drowned in a flood. We put all our garments, through rigorous tests, to make sure we ship out nothing but the best, our products are guaranteed top of the line, so wear them in orbit, surgery, and mine. Thanks for your attention, alas we must go, not off to the toilet but to the next show, good-bye now to gentleman, child, and lady, you're all free to wander and go have a pee. Adieu.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on thermal exchangers

Our thermal exchangers, pull power from soil, increasing net leisure, decreasing net toil. They work because temperatures deep underground, differ from those of the air all around, which causes trapped fluids to move out and in, which makes then a turbine built within to spin. This turbine's a motor, that rotates swiftly, it makes non-polluting electricity. We didn't invent it, but our type is grand – it powers communities across our land, it lights up our cities and hamlets and towns, its ease and efficiency are world-renown. Small ones are built into every new home, buried, forgotten, but never asleep, they recharge big batteries and mobile phones, they cool down our foodstuffs yet don't make a peep. To install them dig up a long and deep trench, then lay in some pipes of corrosion-less steel, adjust for the rate of drop, don't yet back-fill, go slowly and tighten each nut with a wrench. Now drop in a power-box to match your needs, and check every foot of pipe for cracks or bleeds, and check your connections – make sure they are sound – then bury the pipe six good feet underground. A portion stays outside, exposed to the air, built into a crawl-space or under the stairs, to feed precious energy into your wires, without fuel deliveries or noxious fires. Components are costly but tax-breaks abound, it's cheap now to make your own power from ground. So call up your regional government rep – to most this one seems to be the hardest step – then measure an area fifteen by three, an open space made clear of trees and debris, then sit back and watch as your system's installed, tasting of freedom and glad that you'd called.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

swift she sallied

Swift she sallied, sped, and dove, while we few from up above, watched her wrest and pull and heave, quick to save and slow to leave, one by one she dragged them clear, from the wreckage laying near. How they'd come to rest below, none of us will ever know, we just saw their fuel on fire, paused our journey to inquire, if our help they could well need, then with dash and brash and speed, Nuuzstathena did her deed, suddenly she was just there as if she'd sprung out of the air. Each and all she moved away, from the shadows into day; from the long and blessed slumber back to lives of hope and wonder; from a burning, metal grave those forsaken souls she saved. With a light and healing hand, she with joy and love began, to mend the wounds that were sustained, fixing bone and soothing pain, soon the rescue was complete, then she vanished fast and neat, once again into thin air, praise her graceful, golden hair, and the wings upon her feet.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on laden grasses

In certain conditions, when snows fall just right, the high wind-swept valleys they suffer a plight, a curse and a blessing, a confluence grand, attracting sight-seers from far and near lands. After a good helping, of light but steady flakes, so thick and dark and insular that bamboo bends and breaks, we venture out and pierce the veil, the surface tightly sealed, with snow and stalk and biting leaves, throughout with ice congealed. The shield reveals, a gate well hid, into the inner hall, we enter quick, our voices hushed, our footfalls too – come one by one not two by two – be still, don't rush, the footing's slick, in this bamboo cathedral.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on brave Yuzsillet

He fought off the Muskov, in 1805, he is the main reason our nation's alive. With musket and hand-ax, with daring and brash, he drove away evil and saved our fair Grig, in many small actions and one final clash; we honor him with the fleet Yuzsillet jig. He poured out his lifeblood, defending the pass, that runs through the mountains, which range tall and vast, which make up the backbone of all that we know, to which we for pleasure and resources go. This hero now celebrate, cherish, and fête, that fine local warrior, brave Yuzsillet.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on curable wants

Our doors they stay open, through hail wind and dust, we offer the services that addicts trust. To help cure addictions we delve to the root, we use lots of talking and leave nothing moot, we guide our lost siblings straight back to the light, we do it with love and not insult or slight. We serve up home cooking, we grow our own food, which we use to regulate temper and mood, there's no refined sugar, no soda or junk – these injure the body and therefore are bunk. For persons who wonder if they can get well, if they might escape their own personal hell, we tell them – Come yonder and stay for a while, we'll help you to turn that frown into a smile, to enjoy your life again in every way, to do it not next week but starting today. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on mighty Oumbast

Her whiskers now etch at now taste from the soul, her power is mighty and does not grow old. She works from the shadows, she shies from the light, her lives they are many, her footfall is slight. Her texture is moonlight and nightfall and dusk, she smells like rose petals tinged slightly with musk. Her fans they are legion, her cult it still grows, her temples get fashioned from palm leaves and snows. She loves to be petted, and to be picked up, come bask in her glory and drink from her cup. Although she is patient there's no time to lose, so cease with your slumber and strap on some shoes, so come to our party – we promise a blast – rejoice as we celebrate Lady Oumbast.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

perv-eyor par excellence

His past-time is naughty, it makes women sore, for he is a shameless and rude perv-eyor. He pervs out while walking or riding a bus, it is a compulsion, to do it he must. It starts with a fleeting glance that tends to linger, he watches eternal but won't lift a finger. It happens at airports and sidewalk cafés, it riddles his dream-scape and eats up his days. He hides his erections, this much he knows well, if he were to show them he'd land in a cell. Now pray for the error and fault of his ways, now hope that his habits don't become a craze. To some he is mendicant, egg-head, or nonce, to us he's a perv-eyor par excellence.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on robot buses

Silently gliding on thick rubber tires, our robotic buses don't have inner fires, instead they use batteries to get their power, which run all their motors and recharge in hours. Coached by algorithms that watch traffic move, these driver-less wonders their mettle have proved, by shuttling woman and child and man while following loosely their preordained plans. The buses serve capital, hamlet, and town, with punctual service they earn their renown, so if you've a distance to travel today, then use our bus service without more delay, regardless if dressed up in rags or a gown.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on her catliness

Bewhiskered and graceful and silent and fast, is our dearest goddess, the cat-like Oumbast. At hearth-side and gutter, from rooftop and stair, her friend felis catus now scampers, now glares, now curls up against us in one furry heap, now fills up its daytime with eating and sleep. We sacrifice entrails, the best and the last, to war-like, protective, and gracious Oumbast; her ointments we slather, her salves and creams too, they protect from diseases such as the flu; her vision we cherish, her watch day and night, she keeps away demons and lessens our fright. Now pet you a kitten now raise you your glass, and toast to magnificent Lady Oumbast.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥