this fragment remains

Here follows an excerpt from an old address, this fragment remains but we have lost the rest. “[T]hat We here assembled must ne'er again see such offensive, blatant, cruel brutality. Therefore let Us rise up and pass this decree, please hear to my missive and supplicant plea, so We in this innocent community shan't wallow in pity much robbed of our glee. Henceforth shall to Vagabonds entrance be barred, likewise to all peoples whose faces are scarred or pitted and wrought by the Traveling Pox, who go about barefoot without shoes or socks. Offenders of these Our justified laws will be forthwith chased down by Large, Vicious dogs and thrown into cellars where they'll surely rot, and howl out in madness and curse at their lot. These rules and conditions must be fully known, therefore let them be hung to gate, tree, and home, and posted where all Passers-By them can see; it is with Pure Hearts that We pass this decree.“

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

and brightest night

She won't be heard coming, with licks cleans herself, is curious, cunning, and likes a high shelf. She climbs in the treetops, has no fear of height, can see well in darkest day and brightest night. Her hearing's exquisite, her sense of smell too, she'll play with the laces that hang from a shoe, she is always watching and can simply vanish as if she'd been from this our universe banished. We honor her coming by petting her fur, by pulling out insects and prickers and burrs, we cherish our Goddess whose love transcends caste, come join us and celebrate slender Oumbast.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

the goddesses ten

Now here is a list of the Goddesses Ten, who help and assist many women and men. It starts with Amahamor love-filled and pretty who works in most every hamlet and city. Then cometh a long-time and bold favorite, the captor-escaping, lovely Aprodit. Dah'zhou is by alphabet the next in line; hers are those who make proper use of their time. There follows a goddess who laughs when we yawn – the maiden of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn. We'll throw roadways-goddess now into the mix, the ant-headed patroness, wise Ganestryx. Mu'untha she shines with the light of the moon, her rhythm and tugging sets our mortal tune. Nuuzstathena stands powerful, tall, there are few among us immune to her thrall. Oestre ushers in the first days of Spring, for female fertility is her main thing. Oumbast can be found in most bodies feline, she cleans herself often and purrs all the time. Majestic Steppe Mother, she's last but not least, her wards are growing things and wind-gusts and beasts. We've come to the end of our patroness list, it's not too extensive but provides some gist, they make a most beautiful, colorful blend, each one of our powerful Goddesses Ten.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

Ganestryx, ant goddess

Her body is human but here's a strange slant – her head's been replaced by the skull of an ant. Her mother she did it a long time ago, did knock off her head with a single swift blow, to prove to the daughter just who was the boss, then into hellfire the dome-piece did toss. Soon Ghali felt sorry to cause such cruel harm, did reach out with one of her thousands of arms, did pluck from an army of ants passing by the shapeliest carapace that she could spy. Then she placed said carapace on the bare stalk and told poor Ganestryx to stand up and walk, then breathed some life into her daughter's limp form whose heart started pumping whose flesh became warm. Ants are known as masters of roads and pathways; the moving of resources consumes their days; they undertake projects regardless of size; to protect each other they lay down their lives. Ganestryx she shelters and watches over vagabonds, travelers, all types of rovers, all persons who venture beyond hearth and home, who leave, bounce, skedaddle, who wander and roam. So next time when planning to head for the hills, to leave behind worries, possessions, and bills, remember to include in your prayer mix a plea to our patroness, fair Ganestryx.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

Ұ•Ψ¤_ƗƆïºɅȯɅºïCƗ_¤Ψ•Ұ

the waves were way massive; they churned, broke, and sped; through all of the chaos though no one got dead

two great lands

We're over-excited hereby to proclaim a new research project, a bright knowledge-flame. It is a joint venture between two great lands, both ready and willing to meet the demands that pure, honest science requires and needs to bring forth hard data and satisfy creeds. Within the next fortnight our rocket will fly from a floating platform up into the sky, the waters are managed by Indonesia, that fine, willing partner to Grigovia. The vessel is not manned but steered by remote, its systems will analyze tiny space-motes for traces of metals (titanium, gold), soon space and its riches will be ours to hold. We're planning on mining the asteroid field – who knows what vast treasures its members might yield? – this daring endeavor we'll do by robot as we sit here watching from couch, chair, and cot. The robots are programmed to set up a base for meeting and gathering in near-Earth space all of the materials, fragments, and chunks that will be poured over by our science-monks. For more information log onto our site; tune into our broadcast that runs day and night; rejoice with us as we soar into the skies where what might await us remains a surprise.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

in camouflaged boots

Our Self Defense Forces are taking recruits, come march with them proudly in camouflaged boots. They don't stand on outward appearances much but value persons who work well in a clutch, who use their resources with daring and grace, who are not afraid to smear mud onto face. Their weapons are rifle and garrote and knife, they do not seek war but are ready for strife, they hack and they hamper, disrupt and confuse, there are but few tools they're not willing to use. They thwart Rus and Ynki, our two greatest foes, they harass and badger and bloody the nose of any imperial superpower before which most other nations shake and cower. Enlistment is open so please stop on by; Huzzah For Grigovia will be your cry; now onwards, dear comrades, once more to the breach, we've many more lessons these tyrants to teach.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

a crawling fright

I do love the tunnels when it's late at night – they fill me with shudders and a crawling fright. There's no way of knowing just what is the time down deep in the caverns were hewn from the lime. Vast numbers of spiders and rodents abound, way down in the regions so far underground, but also a ghost and a spirit or two appears from the darkness without much ado. Please come with me next chance I get to descend and hold my hand as we our way through there wend, adventure is calling and more than one scare, accept this bold challenge and join in this dare.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

such damnable stuff

The maiden of massive and circular girth was certain that she had been cursed upon birth. Uungla Olenda was her simple name, she found in it reasons for anger and shame. Then early one morning she had had enough of sadness and other such damnable stuff, threw off her bed-covers and flicked on the light, said: I have the power to make myself right. With one simple sentence Happiness began, to love herself fully was her new life's plan, she stood up and dressed in her favorite things – a dress made of silk and some pink fairy's wings – then sallied out into the wide world around, delighted that she had her confidence found. She shared her new wisdom with people who'd ask, and sternly refused to hide behind the mask that she had once chosen when just a young pup, with nine simple words did she lift herself up.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

fortune and love

The girls place their presents on rock or stone chairs in hopes that a Goddess should come to roost there. The maidens they do this perhaps twice a day, much like in the time-tested Balinese way, but men also perform this fine holy rite when women are bleeding both daytime and night. Lit incense now rises upon a light breeze, to dance in the rafters and lick at the eaves, with luck it will reach vast Grigung high above and bring down upon us good fortune and love. These shrines grace the portals to house and abode, their backs mostly facing the Great Divine Node where many a Patroness goes back to rest as soon as the sun falls to sleep in the West. So long as the rituals keep happening Grigovian people will find cause to sing, if they are not followed though bad things occur, this is not a guess – of these things we are sure. Huzzah for the majesty of the Goddesses for they do forgive us our faults and trespasses, both now and forever we shout out in praise and marvel at their most harmonious ways.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

under the hoofs

Great salvos impacted on turret and gate, each one a reminder of perilous fate. We were few in number, who had stood our ground, who in Nuuzstathena much courage had found; through hell and high water she'd been at our side while peoples around us had crumbled and died, crushed under the hoofs of the Mungul invaders or sold out by cowards and dastardly traitors. Pushed back to our fortresses in the Yiptlong we'd watched as our enemies jumbled and thronged and pulled down our temples and destroyed our homes and defiled most everything that we'd known. With food supplies shrinking and hope running low there came a most sudden and Summertime snow that covered our mountains and enemies too, who watched as their fingers turned dark shades of blue, then watched as their digits went black and fell off and consumed their horses or ate from their troughs. The Goddess appeared at one morning's first light and spoke to us, saying, Don't give up the fight but fall on your enemies during this night dressed up as crazed demons awaken their fright. The Munguls were weakened by cold and disease, they broke with a sickly and half-hearted ease, we drove them straight down to our great river's banks where we took a moment to give sincere thanks. With swords in our clutches and light in the sky we stood up and sounded a great battle-cry, then rushed at the ranks of our once-mighty foes, destroying their spirit while they wept and froze. They begged us allow them to run from our lands, they stepped on their weapons and threw up their hands, we marched them immediately to our border with pride in our bosoms and fine marshal order. To honor the wisdom of 'Thena divine we built of some rockfall a victory shrine right there on the border at the very spot where Mungul invaders our people forgot. The shrine is still standing these many years on, we go once a year at the first light of dawn with handfuls of flowers and flagons of wine, we would love to see you there – join us next time.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

our many bees

We do love our many bees because they pollinate our trees and all our flowers – blooms and such – without them we would not have much. Endlessly they flit and wander, here and there and even yonder, spreading life and love around so that our plates with food abound. Bright they are in mood and color similar to but few others for they drink from mountain streams and built mud hives in rafter-beams. When they come to share our spaces we rejoice and thank the Graces, Nuuzstathena, and Thriae, goddesses of work and play. To help bees sow plants of your own deeply into the spongy loam, add some bone-meal and much water, teach your son, nephew, or daughter, that the bees are our allies and not just stinging things that fly. Pesticides and toxic poison leave alone – this things please shun – for they kill things large and small that benefit us, one and all. (Brought to you by Friends of Bees (Grigovia edition), help us save our tiny friends and join us in our mission.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

blessed steppe mother

Our own modest steppe-land is not like another – watched over, protected, by blessed Steppe Mother. She shelters all animals under her wing and cares for the smallest and biggest of things, for field-mouse and springbok and furry cave-bat, for lizard, mosquito, and tiny sand-cat. Her colors are azure and ocher and gold, of her glory is in old stories much told, she makes all the grasses and midget trees bloom with dazzling blossoms and miniature plumes. Her watch never wavers through daytime and night, her justice is brutal and sudden and Right, her worshipers leave very few lasting traces to prove that they've been to the offering places. Her voice can be heard in the strong piercing winds that blow away evil and erase our sins, that race down the Yiptlong so steep and so high, as soon as the summers begin to turn dry. So come seek her presence, it is always near, it makes the soul vibrate and brings men to tears while women and babies just laugh with delight quite devoid of sorrow and empty of fright.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

empty cocktail glasses

We people of these great Grigovian lands are here and now taking a heels-dug-in stand. The foe we are facing has lots of foul faces, it's practiced in private and in public places, it robs us of Happiness and makes us lazy, drives women to madness and men to be crazy. While most persons like it in bits at a time to quaff at some whiskey or lap up some wine there are many others who booze to excess then wake up to find that their life is a mess. We're offering workshops and after-dark classes to any who get lost in their cocktail glasses, who want to lead lives filled with love, joy, and calm, who would like to sample a different balm. The meetings are nightly, in towns near and far, no need to get fancy just come as you are, it is our intention to provide assistance to anyone seeking to go the full distance. Together we can beat this wasting disease that drives many people down onto their knees, when they just as well could be standing up tall with faces exhibiting ruddier palls.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

great holy Grigung

At three thousand one hundred forty two meters our most holy peak is this country's sun-greeter. Higher than all other mountains around great Grigung she rises straight out of the ground and stretches her summit up into the sky, the bright rays of morning she is first to spy. Sent down from her cloud-swept and snow-covered summit fall cool rushing waters with dashing swift plummet that nourish our rivers and fill up our streams, to climb her is every Grigovian's dream. Much like to Mount Fuji or Gunung Agung are the countless praises that we've to her sung, she ignites our passions and lifts up our hopes with craggy defiles and perilous slopes. To us she is more than the House Of The Gods, her majesty strengthens us against the odds that greet us and meet us day in and day out, she helps us stay centered and drains us of doubt. Her outline it graces our largest bank-note, we're often heard with her sweet name in our throats, beloved by natives and people far-flung is our dearest mountain – great holy Grigung.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

goat-flesh and cactus

We few humble people of the northern Iysh would like to share with you a regional dish. It's composed of goat-flesh and tender cactus that live in the Dune Sea not too far from us. The meat is first simmered three days on a fire of wood that is brought down from regions much higher, from up in the foothills of the Yiptlong steep where grow many forests and perhaps some sheep. We toss in the cactus at the very end, then add to the mixture a strong herbal blend of wheat-grass and parsley and fennel and clover, pull pots from the fire and let them sit, covered. These pots are then buried for nearly ten days, to keep them from rusting we make sure they're glazed, we dig them and lift them with care from the soil whereupon we enjoy the fruits of our toil. The meat is quite tender and bound in a jelly that leaks from the cactus and slicks to the belly, the herbs lend a flavor not sour or sweet that makes the concoction quite nearly complete. Some factions then bake on a sourdough crust but most of us reach for utensils and just dole out the admixture to earthenware plates and eat it until hunger-pangs do abate. If you'd like to try it then now is the time, we've brewed many barrels of sweet honey-wine, to share with our neighbors and all our friends too, leave tonight, act swiftly – we're waiting for you.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

battle and travel

When once came a rajah to us from the East we soon lay before him a welcoming feast. There were but few followers left in his train whose garments did not bear the horrible stains of battle and travel and many weeks spent asleep in the open with nary a tent. They'd fled from the Munguls come down from the plains, as our friendly rajah with patience explained, left all their belongings as booty and plunder and vanished while all that they'd known burst asunder. They wanted to pay for the things they'd ingested – we refused and refused but they just insisted – it was not their money or jewels we wanted but all of the knowledge their brain-pans yet haunted. With learning the wisest among them were brimming, in wisdom and genius we all soon were swimming, to honor common generosity we all got together and planted a tree. That plant is still growing in Queen Pylta's Park, it shelters both scholar and brightly-plumed lark, it's kept getting bigger these two-hundred years, since we fed the rajah with lamb-chops and beers. We still welcome people from far Hindoostan, there are exchange programs for woman and man, so sign up to take part in one of your own or just fill a backpack and start off alone. There is room for all sorts and types in our land, to learn about graphics and mammary glands, about astrophysics and effluvia, with welcome all persons to Grigovia.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

before it began

Our ancestors stuck like a thorn in the side of many empires that lined up and tried to make us and force us to work as their slaves, to give up our freedoms and die in their graves. It started with puny Iksander the Great, who showed up one morning but didn't stay late, who called off his action before it began, who witness our magnitude, turned tail, and ran. Then came many Persians, Xerxes and Mehmed, who likewise when seeing their mountains of dead, decided that our dear small patch of earth was not for their taking and had little worth. The Byzantines themselves did not even dare, to venture to within a day of our borders but wisely retreated behind stone and mortar while making great claims about not being scared. Of Ottoman cavalry there was once rumor but that threat we excised like doctors a tumor and sent all those horsemen back home on their feet to tell to their master brave tales of defeat. The British and Russians we also made flee with fear in their livers and blood in their pee, to highness and leader, to lordship and czar, they made heartfelt warnings from us to keep far. Now these days we stand tall and do what we can to protect our country from Americans who violate all of the standards and norms that meet the world's children the day they are born. We've measured the bloodthirstiness of our foe, from this our own soil we shall not soon go, these threats to our sovereignty we too shall meet with steadfast devotion and methods discreet.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on the profleshional

Immune to the lure of a priestly confessional she is the consummate, hardy profleshional. Taken to earning some bread on her back hers is a prodigious but plasticized rack. She takes local currency, euros, and dollars, she's loads of addicted and regular followers paying to bed her both daytime and night, like moths they are drawn to her subtle, red light. Starting mostly likely before time began her ilk has provided much pleasure to man, to soldiers and sultans, to peons and kings, she fancies much makeup and big hoop earrings. Known to cop, student, accountant, and sailor she conveys much pleasure to people who nail her, just make sure to wrap up that jimmy for sure before you're expose to her heady allure. To find her hit Bangkok or fair Amsterdam, don't go there with girlfriend of long-term madame, if there is one lesson this poem should teach, it is not to ever bring sand to the beach.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

through selfless devotion

The girl caught a fever while tending to sheep and falling high up in the meadows asleep. Through selfless devotion to each in her flock she'd built up a vast and deep love-karma stock so much so her actions the Goddess did please who saved her from death during a sudden freeze. The maiden awoke to spy frost on the ground where hours before only flowers she'd found and straddled above her with short-sword unsheathed was vast Nuuzstathena stood there on the heath. A wolf was approaching, his nose in the dirt, he looked up and glanced at the bight flashing skirt that girdled the loins of our Patroness fair whose green eyes were flashing amidst her dark hair. The beast turned and vanished with palpable hurry, his footfalls churned frozen mud into a slurry, the flock then came shivering back to her side as Nuuzstathena for the young girl cried. The tears of the Goddess rained down from on high – 'twas nary a thundercloud seen in the sky – they landed and mingled in eye, mouth, and nose of that blessed child who lay there and froze. The magical fluid soon entered her system and filled her with fortitude, honor, and wisdom, while deep in her body the blood it did boil with such intense heat that it softened hard soil. Now during this time of great bodily danger the maiden thought mostly of getting to manger the weakest and lowliest sheep in her care, about her own peril was barely aware. To teach her the Goddess then filled her with visions of methods for healing deep social divisions, for bringing together such humans as might prefer to be angry and constantly fight. Her missions accomplished the Goddess then sped and left Erya Rovend asleep on a bed of bright and green heather in a sea of frost, the young girl who'd gained much at so little cost. To see her just stop by New York's own U.N., where she stands to battle tyrannical men, and fills our Grigovian hearts with such pride, young Erya upon whom the Goddess once cried.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on archipedoptosaur ulricherii

It lived many millions of winters ago and has lain a few years just under the snow. It was first discovered by two Yaelong boys who kept mostly quiet despite profound joy; they'd spoken but briefly with a village elder who had built around it a permanent shelter. Named archipedoptosaur ulricherii, this small, flightless dinosaur lived below trees and built complex shelters with only its feet, Ulrich was the first boy its fragments to meet. What was once obscured has become a sensation, it's bringing much glory to our land-locked nation, now experts and researchers flock here in droves, enjoying Grigovia's vast treasure troves. We've fossils and artwork, food, dance, and song too, we are never bored as there's so much to do, if upon this reading your interest is piqued then come to Grigovia, stay here for weeks.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

tea for centuries

Please meet us out under the bainnoyendt tree – you're welcome to join our tea ceremony. We've known tea for centuries as the Silk Road did venture to pass by our humble abodes, we steep and we brew it, we treat it like gold, we maintain traditions preserved by our old and sage-like grandparents who live with us still, we'll never allow them old-folks-homes to fill. First comes some tea tasting, that is how we start, then follow fine pastries and dried figs and tarts, whereupon we fill all the teacups again and toast to the majestic Goddesses Ten. Try any and all of the wonderful flavors from spicy to earthy to ones that are savory, ones that make sleepy and those that are bland, ones that enliven the lymphatic glands. Some teas are quite bitter and others are strong, they keep up the drinker all day and night long, they're used by ship-captains and people on watch, they gain with time flavor, like any good scotch. So come when you're ready to sit back and chill, we've many more cups atop saucers to fill, this is one decision you won't soon regret, hold onto your ponies – you've seen nothing yet.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

all ancient rows

The walls of the temple do resound and glow with each of the old songs of power we know. We're calling to all of the Goddesses Ten and asking them kindly to heal and to mend the schisms that plaque us and cause us to weep, that rob us of honor and long, blessed sleep. Their teachings provoke us to let go of grudges, to forgive all errors and missteps and fudges, to stay in the present, the here and the now, to clear from our memories all ancient rows. With them we can manage to keep our thoughts righteous, to speak only kind things to those who might fight us, to maintain our truthfulness and not to waver when tempted with rich and delectable flavors. Our bodies are made but for a short-term stay, our spirits just renting this weak, mortal clay, that's composed of star-dust and suns long burnt out, that's given to sicknesses – cancer and gout. In truth we're eternal, we shan't know an end, so lay down your arms and come hug us, dear friends, and share with us a peaceful moment or four, and praise with us patroness – matron or whore.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

hollow and brook

The deserts are fertile, the mountains are green, the rivers are rushing – with fishes they teem. The steppe-land is verdant, the marshes abound with leaves in the treetops and vines on the ground. In every valley and crevasse and nook, in snowbank and furrow and hollow and brook, are coming alive many manners of thing, from plants with root networks to insects with wings. It is not our duty to ask who or when did populate meadow and rock-face and glen, with vibrant and incessant diversity, it's ours but to praise all these things that we see, and some of them that from the eyes often hide, occluded by greediness, sadness, and pride. So up with the voices and let the tones ring, it's not so much what but how often one sings, with voices uplifted and honest and bright, alive with the Spirit both daytime and night.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on paver panels

As part of its efforts to be independent the powers that govern Grigovia splendidly OK'd a program to repave most roads with panels that carry electrical loads. These panels can capture the rays from the sun, convert them to power for everyone, they heat up in winter to keep the roads clear, allowing us safely upon them to steer. In summertime when the sun's rays are most full, and panels experience maximum pull, they shuttle on wires the juice they have won, to run our refridges and fans and air-cons. In shape they are that of a full hexagon, they're coated with substances, a special blend, that keeps them intact and allows them to mend, such cracks, dents, and fissures that mar them with time, there's little can foul them but harsh, caustic lime. For more information and to take a peek, peruse these here documents that have been leaked, then watch as your electric bills fall and plummet and sound aloud praises from the highest summit.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on finding trash

While expanding Grig's subterranean mass transit system, the Rapid Person Transport or RPT, workers recently discovered the remains of an ancient settlement near the banks of the Yalung river. “In just the last few days we have found a trash pit, a burial grounds, a ceremonial or religious center, and signs of possible human sacrifice,” said Dr. Eidyon Prunggan, director of research for the Grigovian National Museum. “Preliminary evidence suggests this site is from the period of Grig's second period of growth into the areas surrounding the river, which occurred around 220 Common Error.” Instead of completely rerouting the path of the metro in order to avoid the site, the IV Engineering Battalion of the Grigovian National Defense Force, which designed and is spearheading work on the expansion, has announced plans to add a museum to a nearby underground station, with the intention of house there the discovered artifacts and reconstructed architectural remains.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

the Yiptlong blooms

Summer is arriving, please come when you can, great wonders wait for you in glen and mountain. Where in snowy seasons people slide and ski are now blooming meadows, a green landlocked sea, it's ideal for trekking and all things outdoor, for biking and climbing and oh so much more. There's waterfalls, caving, and hang-gliding too, the whole Yiptlong massif stands open to you, the lodgings are many and don't cost a lot, the locals are friendly and share what they've got. It's legal to set up one's camp anywhere, to dally awhile without fret or care, upon the low grasslands or on the high steppe, on sun-blasted rock face and places wind-swept. Each roadway runs parallel to a footpath, where mounts and bike riders pedestrians pass, upon which not one motor-vehicle goes, to these swift contraptions the footpath is closed. Our spires, escarpments, and lake country too, will give any visitor enough to do, Grigovia gladly extends her welcome, to all and to many, to everyone.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

mass of gray

Caught up in the middle of outside confusion the man settled on just one single conclusion: that it was his duty to well harmonize the mass of gray tissue stuck behind his eyes. He was not sure whether to take or start fighting the hurled accusations constantly alighting upon his own psyche where they'd never to stick, where they'd never make his emotions get sick. He lifted his eye-sockets up the Goddesses, filled his soul with their love and smelled their tresses then steeled himself forthwith for unending battle – at least till the day when he'd sound his death-rattle. Long was his Happiness, deep his devotion, to spirit and ancestor, Mother and ocean, to Truthfulness and to what he saw as Right, with these things he struggled, though, daytime and night. In time he lost surety and most conviction while making improvements in posture and diction, on some of his words those around him did choke, while laughing straight at him and not at his jokes. This, then, was his destiny, purpose, and lot, to sit alone, silent, unblinking, and not to let the distractions of mortal existence assist in or dampen his steady persistence in search of elusive and shadowy clues that lead to the great and unknowable Wu.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

nothing to lose

Oh Goddesses help me to clear out this dross, to mourn for my vast gentle innocence lost, to forgive those people who harm and abuse, to know that I've truly got nothing to lose. I now count my blessings, and cherish my health, I'm learning to be kind to and love myself, for that is the purpose of life, I have found, all that one must learn prior to bedding down, in a piney box six feet deep underground. Please carry me, Ladies, along this my path, and stay for the moment Fate's powerful wrath, for I am your servant, your ward, and your son, a dastardly fool if there ever was one. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

portals that point

A feast-day is coming to honor the goddess who keeps our hearts healthy who constantly blesses the whims and the actions of all of us mortals as we made decisions and venture through portals that point us toward riches or into harm's way – her touch is far-reaching, this much we can say. Therefore in the last week of this month of June, shed all of your worries and concerns and gloom, pour out some libations and raise up a song, to that blessed goddess who knew all along, the errors and joys that we'd see on our way, all hail Nuuzstathena, who brightens each day.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on flying kites

Bright kites how they flutter, on wind draft and breeze, they rise to the heavens with visible ease. They serve many purposes, more than just show – they hamper and confound, they disrupt and slow all but those rank warplanes that fly really high, that fuck with our airspace and peer through the sky. The flying of kites started out as a game, it was once just child's play, merely a jest, but now that the Ynki's foul tyranny grows, this pure, simple hobby is serious business. Kites come in all colors, that make the rainbow, they help bring sweet blessings to us down below, for they are an avenue up to the gods, to help hapless mortals who stumble and plod. Join a kite flying club, or found one new, to raise a bright kite is the cool thing to do, you'll defend the nation and coddle the powers that shelter us humans through all of our hours. This is our tradition here in well-planned Grig, hoist aloft a flying-thing, not small but big, and watch as your fortunes and Happiness grow, so long as the earth it turns and the winds blow.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on burning sandals

This footwear's infected, it burns my dermis, I suffer its damaging, poisonous kiss. It's just on the right side, the left foot is fine, at one point I'd stepped on a shiny-leaved vine, or brushed up against a patch of poison oak, that promptly with oils my sandal did soak. I have tried to wash them, with liquid and bar, the next step I think will be clear vinegar, to cancel the compounds that ravage my skin, but if that too fails they'll go into the bin. It is just not worth it, to suffer and cope, to wash and to scrub them with vigor and soap, to try and eradicate chemical traces that lurk in the foam and hide under the laces. Last night I moved into a seedy hotel, these sandals they irritate and itch like hell, the dollars I spent renting a door that closes I could well have used to buy new shoes and clothes. That is in the past though, I have no regrets, I've learned not to hanker or worry or fret, therefore I will change out these horrible shoes, and cease with my endless and woebegone blues.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on crafting temples

There's not much more to it, I daresay I've found, than sticking a bit of wood into the ground, or erecting monoliths, small though they be, or hanging some rolled-up twigs onto a tree. Grigovian goddesses take what they can, knowing that all the best efforts of man do sometimes fall short of the outcomes intended, for they only care that the homefront's defended. The goddesses fancy not churches or pageants, priests droning on and on chasing down tangents, sycophants, hangers-on, gem-stones or gold, groups of new converts or ones getting old. All our fair maidens, the Goddesses Ten, who shelter the lowly and brighten our ken, are simple to pray to and easy to please, preferring us standing to down on our knees. It is hard to battle and drive away foes, when wearing too fancy or delicate clothes, so leave off with fashion and don something that you don't care gets torn, ripped, or covered with scat. To please them be watchful, and ready to act, against us the odds will most surely be stacked, so open those peepers and keep your hand steady while praising their greatness, always at the ready.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on abounding goddesses

Grigovian goddesses, everywhere, in meadows and treetops and under the stairs, so many that even the priests can't keep track, fair beauties who make up for what humans lack. They simply keep coming, and showing up new, which leaves us poor mortals but one thing to do: accept them and puzzle out some of their ways, then set aside for them their own holidays, then keep up with sacrifice, prayers, and chants, while wearing our jackets and cravats and pants. We preen and we dress up, we wear well-made threads, lest goat tractor sibling should one day fall dead, struck down by a goddess, her confidence flawed, whom we'd never worshiped, who'd not left us awed. We labor to please them, we do all we can, we hang fragrant garlands and strike up the band, we hope though that one day there may be enough, that we might get back to our business and stuff. We love them regardless, we're glad that they're here, the new ones and those that have blessed us for years, we'll lift to the heavens vociferous praise, until our last moments, the end of our days.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on making progress

The foodstuff is rotten, the hull springs more leaks, we've been at this voyage for too many weeks. Our compass was shattered, there's no land in sight, the stars help us navigate during the night, in daytime we mostly just jostle about, afflicted by scurvy, Bell's palsy, and gout. We pray for salvation and women in dresses, all made up and perfumed with dangling tresses; the ropes are all fouled and the rudder's a mess, at least though we're making some decent progress. If you find this message then please do send help, the last land we sighted was St. Maarten's Isle, from there to the west we've been drifting a while, at least for a fortnight plus one or two days, through downpour and cloud-bank, through strong winds and haze, we're all sick of staring at waves and sea-foam, and desperate to find a safe way back home.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on Amahamor

Hear now of the splendid goddess, she who heals those deep love-wounds, she who cares for saddened brides and likewise for heart-broken grooms. Hers are many charges, she works day and night, to mend and to bandage, to put things back right, to help lovelorn people find solace and pride, to get them back on their feet, looking alive. Find comfort in knowing that things aren't so bad, that you are worth loving (not hopelessly sad), that love comes to all of us, wealthy or poor, that one of its victors is Amahamor. So light her a candle and send up a prayer, and ask that Amahamor always be there, to lift and to shelter you from high above, while you play the treacherous game we call love.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

grigs own aprodit

There is an old story, I know just a bit, about an old goddess, Grig's own Aprodit. Brought up in a valley immune to stray gazing she'd learned about friendship and animal grazing from an older shepherd-girl who stealthily could run across rockfall and swiftly climb trees. (This older companion could easily be, her shape-shifting highness, the fair Athene.) While seeking a lamb-chop swept off in a gale, our young Aprodit left her protective vale, got waylaid by wood-fellers, knotted and roped, abused with foul language and sat on and groped. 'Enough,' she said calmly, 'release me anon.' Her captors they jeered though, made laughter, and fun. She gave no more warnings, she'd treated them fair, she summoned her courage and focused her glare, then with a quick gesture she cut through her ropes while grasping a tiny blade found in her coats, then leaped up and threw off her mantles and norms, revealing to mankind her beautiful forms. So awestruck and smitten were all the men there, that past and amongst them she moved without care. Taking in her new-found station she uttered a proclamation: 'There you tremble, little shits, amazed and awed at Aprodit, she whom you tried to rape and torture, kill and maim, feed to the vultures, who now stands before you strong, cursing you to love her form while night is long and days are warm – know no love from any other, not from sister, friend, or mother.' Cursed they were the foolish fellers to short lives consumed by fits, lost in amour, pining always, for radiant Aprodit.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

consider now Dah'zhou

Consider now Dah'zhou, who tends to the fate, of persons who snooze a lot and sleep in late. Her role is not major, she mostly stays in, for we in Grigovia find it a sin, to lounge and to slumber, to waste away days, to wake up hung-over, all curdled and dazed. Her culture is friendly, as is her one rite (perform it alone, just before bed, at night): clean up your area, tidy the room, then set aside cellphone and worry and broom, and take a few moments to calm yourself down, and start breathing deeply from anus to crown. While breathing and sitting then think of your day, of all of the labor and comfort and play, be thankful and grateful and say then aloud, with countenance lifted and voice strong and proud: 'Today is now over, tomorrow awaits, I'll spend it quite happily manning the gates, defending the homeland and neighbor alike, from mountain to valley, from rooftop to dike, or painting a picture, or writing a song, please help me, oh Dah'zhou, to wake up 'ere long, to welcome her majesty, rose-fingered Dawn, to spring to my labors and never complain, until to my slumbers I return again.”

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on Kloacarla

Kloacarla was her own name, no one knows from where she came, just that she fouled a public pool with yellow squirts and solid stool. Many days have not gone by, since Kloacarla – neither shy nor slow to act – had emptied out her nether tract into a peasant's pleasant hut, with silent moans and door wide shut. Should she wander back again, to shit on us, our town and friends, we'll ambush her from hidden boat and strangle her in foetid moat.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

head held high

It is often that I find that happiness springs from the mind, that slowing down and breathing twice can transport me to paradise; that then I'm filled with oxygen – which buoys hopes and uplifts men – to live in peace then I'm allowed, with head held high and straight and proud, without much need or carnal yearning, abandoning theretofore learning.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

ours is hope

Greetings on this frigid morning, welcome now these solar rays, ours is hope and happy thinking, ours is confidence today. Gone are all the fears that plagued us, they can reach us nevermore, gone as well is discontentment and such things that hurt and bore. May the goddess Nuuzstathena shelter you and yours and ours, basked in morning's golden fingers she calls forth the Springtime flowers as well as bees that hum and sting, keeping balance is her thing. Light tonight at sun's departure many flames – a candelabra – say a word and keep in mind, her highness, lovely Nuuzstathena.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on common goal

Come wander in ocher, come bask in our sol, come join in our culture and share in our goal. It is monumental, enormous, and vast, it is a confounding and difficult task, that we take upon us through daytime and night, that we see as worthwhile and proper and right. We want independence, from intrigue and stress, from envoys and spies coming from the US, from unions and currencies destined to fail, from outside influence and petty hate-mail. We could seal our borders, imprison dissenters, turn into tormentors of soul and body, instead we'll stay open, keep welcoming strangers, while sounding this heartfelt decree: Do now unto others as you'd t'yourself do, get rid of possession but pant shirt and shoe, keep breathing and reading and chew up your food, stay moving, speak kindly, be helpful not rude; a torment is coming, shelter it with us, we mind our own business and don't make much fuss, if though invaded we'll rise up in synch, much faster than even computers can think, and drive out the forces that cause us all harm – our midwives are lethal, our grandmothers armed, our people are ready to fight to the death, until of our foes there are but few shreds left. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

today in BKK

Soaring towers all around, my feet are weary of the ground that punished them all morning long, the tuktuk drivers – how they thronged – enticing me to take a ride while just today the PM cried when high court rulings sent her sprawling, these mean streets may yet see brawling. I know not the creed or god of any pro-regime death squad that roams about this sweaty place, that waves its flags and yellow kerchief, here the mood is thick with mischief. Roadside stands serve the best food although the seating can be crude, broken stools and shaky tables but the cooks are quick and able, serving up thick beef-broth stew that dribbles down and stains my shoe. Bright possessions dot my room, my heart is clear of dross and gloom, for I now learn to love myself, which trumps dollar, yen, bhat – all wealth. A German maiden helped me hope, encouraged me back up the slope which I had slipped and skidded down, soon vagabond reclaims the crown that he'd abandoned long ago, with ruddiness his cheeks now glow. In Lombok she rejected me, her friendship now is all I see, but that is something I will cherish until such time as I shall perish, liberate of life's blood, face-down in cold and frozen mud. There is a blister on my toe, my pace won't be slowed for I shall wander, taking stock, of this great city, olde Bangkok. Maddening, her headlong pace, who shelters millions in her bosom, what a fierce but gentle race that sprawls from Bearing west to Chit Lom.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on leaving Kuta

I hold fast till the last day, refusing kids who beg and pray and badger me both day and night to buy a bracelet – brown, black, white? Then comes Mary, eight years young, whose pitch is crass, incessant, fun, who won't believe I'll buy one soon, whose mushrooms, “Take you to the moon”. I give her less than she asks for, I claim that I am very poor, I take her small and flimsy thing, she says “OK, better than nothing”. We leave fair Kuta before nine, our engines haul and buck and whine and drag us through the darkened hills, we take much care and do not spill. A storm has slicked our moon-lit path – great burst of light, a booming wrath – but now the night is calm and cool, a taxi driver hits his brights, can't seem to pass us on the right, we slow way down, give up the fight, I curse and yell that he's a fool. Great mounds of dirt cover the lanes, force us to slow way down again, as if from nowhere they appear, with naught to warn that they are near. Then I spy a red barrow whose owner causes me much fright, who interrupts our steady flow, out in the street – no warning light. We get waylaid by crafty men; they sneak us past the ticket pen; they bribe police and harbor boss; ours is not sting or pang or loss, for they defraud their government to feed their kids and pay the rent. No berth awaits us once aboard, no slightly bowing deck steward, we settle down right on the deck, avoiding many sticky flecks. Bali greets us pleasantly when something drops down from a tree and hits me square upon the head; I don't complain for I'm not dead. We make good time and maintain speed, for hurry there is never need, a road-side cop tells us to slow, I speak his tongue – he lets us go. I climb in through the side window, where only weeds and gravel grow, I have no keys for the front door, we settle down upon the floor, sleep for one hour, then awake, as violent screams the walls do shake. There's spitting blood, hurled accusations, this has been a strange vacation, full of laughs but violence too, oh fair Indo – I love you.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on highest hopes

Nearly home but barely there my hopes are highest in the morning, when the thoughts of yesteryear descend on me without fair warning. Swiftly they transport me back to times when I thought myself great, hide from me the brutal truth of what I have become of late. Such is life and such is longing, for the things that cannot be, stay the hand and still the sadness, born anew each day is me, there's no fun in self-destruction or in hanging from a tree. Quick to laugh and swift to punish, is the goddess of the mind, she but asks that I abandon all the things I've left behind – all the moments, dreams, and fancies; all the want and broken trust; all the greatness, heartbreak, beauty; gluttony and complex scheming; petty hatred, wanton lust. Raise the spirit, send it soaring, to the gates that never close, sing about it, paint a picture, craft a poem, write some prose – this one life is swiftly fleeting toward things that cannot be grasped, I must learn to be here – present – to let go and not to clasp. Holding on can deepen worry, strangle life, and breastfeed Fear, I prefer to keep the moment, focused just on what is near. Here now ends this solemn poem, writ for me and me alone, now I sit with heart unshielded, contemplating rock and stone, studying each moment's breaking, deep in blood and nail and bone.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

in Kuta Lombok

I went to town to look around and took in many things: I saw one cow – don't ask me how – and one bird with brown wings. It sang a song both loud and strong to flee its cage it sought, wreathed in a cloud of burning trash – sad things mankind has wrought. The ride this morn was swift and fleet we slept perhaps three winks, in captain's berth we sampled mirth, the ferry did not sink. Now through this cabin we explored while sleep into our brain-pans bored, we looked in cubby; cranny; nook; as wave and sea the vessel shook. There was the book by Chairman Mao – his lesson, guide, and rule – three fancy shirts, a dead cockroach, some bits of foam, a toilet brush, the AC vented cool. Then through the hills and sopping fields our caravan did wander, in search of places rich in surf from here to there and yonder. We quarter in a spartan room, the basics they are present, my company is quick to laugh – indeed she is quite pleasant. The waters glint with plastic junk, so much it can't be counted; now off to rest, to try this bed, with consciousness dismounted.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

land of Thai

Now I've reached the land of Thai, ask myself – You came here why? – walking down an endless street, wondering just who I'll meet. Pingpong shows and midget strippers, I just got a pair of slippers, so my feet won't roast alive when temperatures reach 35. Women grab me, I say – No, drop my arm and let me go – muscles strain and tug and flex, I refuse to pay for sex. Ladyboys and topless dancers, I call out but no one answers, heart and mind they flee from me, racing back to fair Bali. Now I trod this sweltered turf, wishing I were in some surf, paddling to clear the crests, giving it my very best. Here is madness, here is pain, massive struggle, little gain, I must simply keep in mind, the one that I left behind, hope that she'll embrace me yet, godheads laughed the day we met. Now to have my muscles pounded, so that I'll be calm and grounded, when it's time to test my stock, which is always in Bangkok.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on breaking leashes

Leashes break and hearts are mended, cultures mix, language gets blended. Tides they rise and fall in rhythm, twixt our friendship is a schism, yet we make a fancy feast, dehydration is a beast. Batur rises from the mist, I drive fast when I am pissed, she is silent, gets the gist, drop her off – she won't be missed. Waves are ridden, whitewash deep, drags me down to endless sleep, I shall miss these Bali days, can't begin to count the ways, cherish every minute here, where the breaks are fast and near.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on puppies' screaming

Nighttime comes and puppies whimper, right outside – feet from my head – I give them some milk and water, begging them to go to bed. Morning breaks and I'm exhausted, many trips have crushed my mood, taking care of tiny doggies, tending to a mewling brood. I wax up my surfboards well, making sure my foot will stick, then it's off to Pantai Berawa, scratching though an oil-slick. South of us is naught but water, then the snowy Antarctic, mine are waves that build and tumble, filthy water makes me sick. Bali magic all around me, dogs abound but where's their shit? floating on a three-finned long-board, I just wait and watch and sit. Oh the lovely island women, they take care and treat me well, up the coastline I will travel always searching for the swell.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on going nowhere

Our driver arrives exactly 4 hours late, at 10 pm, after the Spanish couple had flaked on us. We regretfully inform the man that we must cancel our trip, and pay him 500,000 rupiah for one day's car rental even though we never set foot in the car. We are greatly disappointed with the Spanish, who were the whole reason we agreed to go on the trip, as we could have split the cost between 6 people instead of just 4. Our driver says he will shower and change and then send us text message so he can lead us down to Kuta for make party. As soon as he leaves, we realize he had left the front gate open and allowed our host's new puppy – Kaya – to escape into the night. Exhausted from waiting hour after hour in the heat, we comb the neighborhood on foot and moped, calling the dog's name and searching rice paddy, ditch, unlit homestead, and trash-heap. After a solid hour, the German next door pokes his head over the wall and says, “Are you looking for a dog?” What joy, what joy, the prodigal pup has returned! We call the driver, tell him we go make party after all, and follow him to a lush compound down the street, where we quaff drinks and make friends with local surfers, Putu and Awi and others. At 1 am, our convoy of 3 bikes heads south-east, taking back alleys and flying between ancient city walls, our scooters low on petrol, running on fumes. In Espresso Club, I sing backup vocals on Paradise City by Guns & Roses, elbow-to-elbow with the Singaporean headman. For an hour, a wasted-drunk New Guinean aboriginal man with long dreadlocks rakes his fingernails across my sunburned back, grabbing and pinching Martin's forearms so hard they start to bleed, screaming in our ears in his native and incomprehensible tongue. Security tells him to calm down twice but does not kick him out, even though Martin has already sworn at him in Czech and very nearly knocked his block off. The aboriginal realizes how angry he is making us, and so for a while he tries to appease us with gifts proffered from a small black hand, cigarettes and crumpled 2000 rupiah notes, warm beers and handshakes, scraps of trash and an empty packet of rolling papers. We finish eight rounds of Jungle Juice and then head for the local surfer hangout, meet girls, talk and dance with them, fall in love, meet different girls, and deal with the ensuing jealous confusions. The lights come on in the dance club and I realize with horror that I have dropped my keys. I turn to the first broom-wielding employee and ask him if he found a set; he pulls them out of his pocket. The other workers start chanting “100,000! 100,000!”; my friends join in, and I hand over my last big note, which I will regret later when the Malaysian professional ballroom dancer with braces on her teeth tracks me down on the street but won't ride back to Changgu with me, as she feels I am too drunk to drive. For what it's worth, I am a millionaire in Bali.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

---

I retreat to warmer climes will update this when there is time

on Early Spring

The days they grow longer, the evenings wane, and outside the winds now grow warmer again. We've just had the festival of Early Spring, at which we the hopeful did dance shout and sing, and frolic and wrestle and fall into heaps, and tear through a banquet then go off to sleep. Our numbers weren't many – attendance was low – we worshiped fair Oestre in spite of the snow, we bathed in the moonlight and sang out in verse, we shook off the cobwebs of our wintry curse. Now off to our regular lifetimes we go, with bright beaming smiles that aren't just for show, all merry of spirit and buoyed with love, feasting on manna that falls from above.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

Cїĥī×-ш.ĦƸǂƟ¤ȱ¤ƟǂƷĦ.ш-×īĤЇƆ

enamored of flavor he increased his heft, and after his serving there was nothing left

on the calfity

Trust in your ears and believe in your eyes, this fine hollow leg is made solely for spies. It works best with persons, who are one leg down, if not though our surgeons are the best around. The risk it is worth it, the rewards are vast: imagine not having to just use the ass to hide and to contraband things of import, through dim vacant harbor or bustling port. The mission is crucial, as is its success, our products get ratings like Super and Best, they won't warp or splinter – this we guarantee – so order your very own new calfity. Its shinbone is hollow, so slide in some files, then walk on it for a good half dozen miles, then stuff some more goodies where no one can see, a flexible and fillable cavity, located right there on the leg's backward half, where most homo sapiens paw at a calf. Come in for a fitting, please do it today, our supply of calfities dwindles away. Impress your enemies, confound your friends, make every moment a means to your ends, but know that we only take serious guys, not persons whose stories are founded in lies. We do not take credit, just cash hard and cold, gems and stones and of course metals like gold, we're allies and confidants in the spy game, Darkmaster Outfitters of Grig is our name.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on being ready

To be wise and watchful, to weather each storm, to keep bellies full and small fingertips warm, to stand up to chaos with confidence large, is the foremost yearning of persons in charge. They shop with us at one of our many spots, they buy hiking backpacks and flare-guns and pots, they heap up their shopping-carts until they're full, they come to us whose factories are local. We are The Suppliers, or Supp'lo for short, we fabricate items for hunting and sport, our things are long-lasting and good quality, they're made down the road and not over the sea. For all of our products are made here at home, they're cut from our forests and raised in our loam, and mined in our mountains and cured in our air, we're insured and bonded and pay wages fair, so don't get goods made in far Nigeria, or rely on gas shipments from New Russia, but come view our line of goods, then shout Huzzah!, and support our bountiful Grigovia.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

whore-o'-scope

Some men grasp and tickle, others paw and grope, the sly ones however use a whore-o'-scope. They boot up their laptop, they go lock their door, they massage the hollow tube under their core, they squeeze and they fondle it, until it's spent, they wonder aloud where the daylight has went. Some women prefer it, when men stroke alone, that way they don't have to endure lusty groans, or look upon mountains of moist manly meat, or pleasure boys only to watch them retreat. I download and stream it, I fill up hard-drives, it quickens my pulse and makes me feel alive, I wish to escape it, its contents forget, but nothing so far has been able to let me stand up and leave it for good far behind, through each waking moment it laps at my mind. What looks like The Answer is more like a slope, please help me get rid of this foul whore-o'-scope.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

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

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

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

Grigovia gives thanks

Adopting traditions made popular abroad, the people of the Glorious Republic of Grigovia today express their gratitude. They're thankful for food and bicycles, health-care and archery, rainbows and chocolate cake; they celebrate by sharing food with needy neighbors; they visit one another to say their thank-yous; they contribute to food pantries and charities, and assemble care packages that they then send to refugees of imperialistic overreach living in Turkey, Palestine, Europe, and North Africa. But unlike in the West, where wage slaves must show up at their jobs on a day called Thanksgiving or lose them, in Grigovia only emergency service personnel are allowed to work. Huzzah, then, for the gracious Banoyend, and let thankfulness reign.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

all accounts settled

For the fifteenth time since its self-liberation from the Union of Soviet Socialist States in 1988, the Glorious Republic of Grigovia balanced its national budget and imported exactly as much as it exported. “We consume no more than we make, our economy is modernizing rapidly, and our population is swelled with 20,000 refugees fleeing the crises in Syria,“ said Dr. Eleyina Uourendt, chief economist at the Grigovian Foreign Trade Council, a think-tank. “We are in a good spot, I think.” Researchers estimate that measures designed to dial back the nation's political and regulatory systems to levels conducive to the full exercise of Liberty have spilled over already into the economic sector, with a free market determining supply and demand in this Central Asian nation of some 4 million souls. “It is a lucrative and an efficient time to be doing business in Grigovia,” said Henri Rousseau-Riyennd, a French-Grigovian professor of macroeconomics at Pylta the Terrible University in Pyltagrad. “To us who call the Yiptlong home, the Global Recession is merely hypothetical.”

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

extra pocket invented

Building on the success of his Second Pouch line of sew-on sweatshirt additions, local inventor and entrepreneur Eugene B. Hsu recently patented the X-Tra Pocket. Critics denounce X-Tra Pocket a just a rectangular piece of cloth with a zipper sewn into one end that consumers buy and then sew onto the pair of pants of their choosing, and that if these seamstresses are already sewing bits of other cloth onto their clothes they can just as fucking well include their own zipper for a tenth of the cost, of which Mr. Hsu was having none. “We use only the finest zippers made using the highest quality materials,” the man said while typing away furiously on a battered laptop. “Plus, our zipper is configured to provide the consumer with efficient and noiseless access to the contents of her new pocket, therefore cutting down on the number of bags she has to carry and making her life more simple.” As part of a demonstration, the inventor yelled at a girl sitting at a sewing machine nearby in a language other than English. The girl shed a single tear and then quickly affixed using green thread an orange-colored X-Tra Pocket (complete with aggressively-styled logo and a prominently-placed copyright symbol) to a pair of maroon corduroy pants. Not wanting to further upset the visibly irate Mr. Hsu further, all in attendance clapped politely.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

greatly grounded Grigovia

From the marshes in the West down to the sands of eastern borders we of old and ancient blood do treasure all our soils. Rich in traces rare and true, mountain-ranges high and blue do hide the vastness of our wealth, we who share with all who need it, we whose skills are speed and stealth. Every sifting pans a mint now, every spadeful yields a trove, liquefied or still in nuggets, all are gifts from Yennd above. Now our mines do sing with labor, now they form a deadly tomb, years of toil wrought in iron, plentiful the earthen womb. Soil loamy, filled with promise, crops that leap to skies above, rich and endless is the feasting, livestock fattens in the stables, rain-soaked patterns paint the dirt. Oh fair Mother, endless giver, take this paltry offering, drink of blood and tears and sunshine, think of us when next you quiver, shaking mountain, bluff, and plain. Yours is mercy, rot and ruin, yours is fame and quick delight, you we praise now, Earthly mistress, see us through this one last night. Soon enough our bones we'll give you, soon enough we'll turn to ash, feeding then the creeping critters, we all merge with you at last. Keep us humble, founded, giddy, hold us when the skies turn gray, slay our doubts and ancient troubles, guide us on the smoothest way.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on mu'untha bright

Long she rises short she rides, she whose face now wax now wanes whom we all hope will sail again through inky even blackness. Here her face deep red does shine, there it sports an orange hue, as her cheeks with steady glowing through the shadows gladly pierce. Crisp the contours of her chin that one can follow with a glass, tracing patterns, mare to mare, from impact spot to ancient sea that surely she once cherished. Bright in day as through the night she trumps in power ocher Sol, shining always down upon us, never resting, never dull. How she does it we know neither, how her surface keeps on shining when her back is to the sun, how she does it in square rhythm, none can fathom, not a one. Cease with vexing thoughts and patterns and lay back to watch her work, spy her ferry shipwrecked souls straight back to harbors whence they came. In her glory she surpasses all the other bodies bright, for her tugging keeps our oceans and our rivers running right, oh elusive mu'untha darling, in your clockwork course of old, shelter with us hopeful mortals, silver-faced and always watching, never late and never due, always shining, always new.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

organic gardens grow

From Pyltagrad to Gar Nuuzsh, from Pryaghdoyest to Iysh, Grigovia blossoms and blooms. In the dead of winter, through the fiercest of wind, when the sun is barely shining, somehow the babushkas of the Banoyend coax life from the dark and the loamy soils. They eschew chemical fertilizers, using instead rotted leaves and manure; they do not weed but use ground cover, preferring to stop unwanted plants from growing instead of killing them after they have already sprouted. They are industrious and shrewd, resourceful and clever, humble and conscientious. If there is a better way to celebrate the Second Day of National Independence than by feeding oneself from one's own blessed soil, we have yet to discover it. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥