on Californian secession

Following the example of Britain’s exit from the European Union, citizens’ groups within the Republic of California began exploring the steps required for it to drop out of the Union of American States. According to legal scholars, a people’s referendum will be needed for the West Coast industrial and agricultural powerhouse to secede peacefully from the confederation it joined in the year 1850. The U.S. Constitution prohibits violent secessions, but ones proceeding in a calm and peaceful manner are permitted. Proponents of California’s Exit from the United States, also known as Calexit, say it will allow the residents of that state to determine their own future without undue influence from bureaucrats in far-off Washington, D.C. According to the movement’s official website, Calexit is about “California [...] standing as an equal among nations.” The world’s sixth largest economy, the Golden State has long been a haven to which forward-thinking and enterprising individuals have flocked. Another effort under way is to establish the State of Jefferson in parts of northern California and southern Oregon.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

☽·Ĥ☐ꜛ⟳且⥢ī⥤且⟲ꜛ☐Ĥ·☾

cloudy and lacking lustre, pickled yet in botanist’s gin, his mind fired sluggishly

ungovernable citizens coalesce

In response to the election of a billionaire fascist to the Presidency, a loose assemblage of persons calling themselves at times the Ungovernable Citizens Coalition (UCC) has begun to organize across the United States. Coming together with the apparent aim of causing such disruptions to the legislative, judicial, and commercial aspects of the American republic as to bring the entire system to a screeching halt, the UCC urges Americans to peacefully assemble and assert their Constitutional rights. There will be no requests made for permits to assemble, as they are not needed. There will be no muzzling of free speech by the U.S. police state’s violent thugs, as such action fly in the face of this nation’s basic and founding principles. (Here is an article that asks if the current U.S. federal government acts in a manner nearly identical to a past king of England, from whom we cut loose in a war for independence.)

Foremost among the goals of these #ungovernable people is to resist the Dakota Access Pipeline, a petroleum infrastructure project in which Trump is financially invested. When the supposed ‘leader of the free world’ pursues public ventures that benefit his personal portfolio; when these public ventures threaten the continued existence of the human race on planet Earth; when human-induced climate change is viewed by the various U.S. and international defense experts as a threat to national security: then it is the duty of all self-respecting and forward-thinking citizens to take action, to speak out, and to make it hard for their plutocratic overlords to get continue with business as usual; then it is the duty of the People to protect their water, their air, and their land from rock oil and its poisonous byproducts using all peaceful means at their disposal.

The UCC is urging all citizens to join in its efforts to safeguard the protections won by minority populations over many generations past, protections that under President Obama were seriously eroded, protections that will vanish further under President Trump. It is the duty of any person who honors and respects this American experiment to stand up, speak out, and become ungovernable. Why? Because such acts of peaceful civil disobedience are just about the only form of power the masses have left.

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Chump - Beta Centaurian

Citing in its abstract the Seditious or Unreasonable Speeking & Pondering Act of 1794, sitting U.S. President Chump signed an executive order today banning public expression of opinions that appear to criticize him or the legitimacy of his presidency. “Today, we return America to the tremendous days of our tremendous forebears,” Chump typed, mumbling into a half-eaten tuna sandwich while having his humanoid skin-suit professionally steamed by a member of his alien race. “Make sure you hit the eyeholes hard, X’x’chuuuukkkkk, they’re all wrinkled and white,” the commander-in-chief said, his six insectile walking-limbs waving lazily up toward the ceiling of the Oval Office. Returning his attention to the handheld communications device gripped weakly by his tiny left foreclaw, the Beta Centaurian spoke aloud whilst preparing to post to a popular micro-blogging website. “Anyone who says anything bad about me is going to jail, just like our fantastic Founding Fathers - really, really fantastic people, I gotta tell you - would have wanted it.”

Distracted for 32 minutes by a cluster of lice that was busy colonizing his anal tract, Chump then finished chirping about his new executive order by claiming, “I’m the best, the very best, the most awesome and good human being (I’m 100% human, by the way) that’s ever lived, and if anyone doesn’t agree with any of my statements he totally needs to go to jail or be shot, whichever comes first.” After word of the dissent ban leaked to the public, 17 university professors across the country died publicly of purposeful self-immolation. Upon hearing of the nearly two-score suicides, the 45th President vibrated his eating-mandibles with apparent, sickening glee.

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

ꜛƸ⬍ᛦ\_₳˙☐˙☐˙₳_/ᛦ⬍Ʒꜛ

shining Sol his face a gleaming burning disc bore mighty witness to our wobbly plastic flight-paths

this soon lessen

Far the rhythm of her gaze that pierces through the gathered haze
Of gross injustice done to they who have no place to rest or play
Bright her torch of golden light that shreds such gloom as harshly bites
Upon the heels of Liberty as she protects her huddled seas of
Lowly and downtrodden wenches lost in economic trenches
Whose short lives made shorter still by rich men taking mighty swills
From wealth that’s made by each and all men and women bending tall
Against the weight of harsh oppression
Liberty please this soon lessen.

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Grigovian vagabond song

Oh for the high banks of the Yalung river
That place for which I yearn with a small part of my heart
Where the soils are host and giver to the teeming multitudes
Such a song my heart exudes in honor of the deep and fertile
Plains of our flash founder Old man Grig who settled valleys
Where bright blooms and soft winds mix
Forming for each weary passer tiny bosoms where to rest
From the sight of beast and stranger
There on the high banks of the Yalung river
A small glen with mountain view will for tonight surely do

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

on privatized police

In his book Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson writes about a world in which the territory of the former United States of America is run by [!!!spoiler alert!!!] multinational corporations that have their own armies and police forces. The federal government owns only a few parcels of land, their main hub being a property near the 405 freeway in Westwood, California.

Are we as a nation heading in that very direction? Does the rise of private contractor armies in the wake of America’s (illegal and disastrous) misadventures in Iraq and Afghanistan bode well for the Ynki experiment? With plans to federalize the current police forces already nearing completion, is it a far grasp to imagine that after federalization these pillars of putatively civilized society might be privatized? Other elements of the once publically-owned criminal injustice system such as prisons, bail bonding, and parole services are already in private hands. Why not privatize those bodies that are currently doing a piss-poor job of protecting and upholding the parameters of the U.S. Constitution? American police today are not beholden to the opinions or rights of the citizens they were designed to protect; they work by rules of their own design, granting themselves the power to kill and imprison without fear of retribution or, failing that, even hints of criticism.

Perhaps if the police forces were privatized, their shareholders would be able to force them into abiding by the guidelines of due process, restraint, and respect for life that were long ago codified in the U.S. Constitution. Should a citizen be treated unfairly by a privatized police force, he could convince his neighbors to divest from that force’s stock portfolio or attend a shareholder meeting to voice his concerns. Today, however, anyone who dares to speak out against police brutality and intimidation - in a borough or community meeting, for example - will be ostracized and labelled as a pariah. Likely, his efforts will be met with further retribution, additional intimidation, stalking, veiled threats, loss of liberty, targeted ticketing, and more. The privatization of America’s police forces is all but inevitable; if done correctly, it might just serve the People well; if done incorrectly, however, it will bring this nation’s already wobbly house of cards crashing down. Sic semper tyrannis.

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Caribbean cabinet complains

Representatives of a filing cabinet today filed an official complaint against the United Nations, claiming their client has been unfairly targeted. Sitting in a decrepit office building located in the capital city of a small island nation in the eastern Caribbean, the filing cabinet contains the paperwork of various multinational corporations such as Multinational Back Gold Limited (MBGL), which owns 60% of all petroleum-producing rigs worldwide, as well as top political and business representatives of major Western powers. “The persons we stand for enjoy positions of great power; they must be allowed to hide their monetary earnings however and wherever they see fit,” said Ghadesh Rimn’alawan (esq.) of Mimir Partners LLC, the team of attorneys that manages the filing cabinet. “United Nations findings that criticize or otherwise bring to light the illicit offshore tax avoidance schemes that our clients engage in [through us] are damaging to the fabric of trust and transparency that underpins occidental economies.” Between 7 and 25 trillion dollars are hidden from tax authorities by unscrupulous businesspersons who benefit from the redistribution of wealth from the working classes to their entitled overlords.

In a tweeted statement, a group of American businessmen with ties to the filing cabinet voiced their concern. “We rich few need yachts and vacation estates more than the poor many need hospitals, roads, or schools,” said Sayied alHammour, owner of the Rust Best Roughnecks, an American professional sports team. Selected by his co-conspirators to put a positive spin on the potentially damaging findings, alHammour stated that “job-creating entities should not share the wealth generated by the persons [at the bottom] who actually work to create that wealth. Rather, such entities are entitled to keep all of those profits - in offshore holdings, if need be.”

“We suspect that many of the individuals and organizations named in the Panama Papers have a skewed view of the social contract,” said Thorrir Thamlundsson, a Norwegian U.N. Independent Expert on foreign debt and expert on offshore tax shelters. “So long as the citizens of the affected nations allow these criminal acts to continue unchallenged, these injustices will continue.”

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

⌒*.☐ЇⰔ⏣🝱⏣ⰔЇ☐.*⌒

after a cold walk we did sit down to rest enjoying a rowdy Pineapple Express

freeloaders face music

Following a failed attempt to gut the Office of Congressional Ethics, Senate Republicans shifted their attentions elsewhere. Next up are the bloated salaries and outsized benefits packages enjoyed by all members of America’s legislative bodies. “We entered civil service not for riches but for power,” said a Republican senator leading the charge whose name was withheld upon his request. “Therefore, my colleagues and I will take the steps necessary to pay all legislators the minimum wage of their respective state. In addition, we will get rid of wasteful taxpayer spending on generous benefits packages, transferring legislators to the MedicAid system.”

The proposed move caused consternation among members of both the House and Senate, with a number of Republican Congressmen offering clandestine challenges. “How are we supposed to live on the minimum wage?” said an elected official from America’s South who also asked us to withhold his name. “I’ve got a mansion to keep up and a couple of luxury cars to look after. How am I supposed to do this on $7.25 an hour?” The proposed changes will require legislators to clock in and out using an electronic punch-card system and wait their turn in line to see a doctor - just like a majority of Americans must do. Citizen watchdog groups have applauded the move, among them American Civil Liberties Union, Institute for Justice, and Taxpayers of Common Sense. “We view this as a necessary first step in reining in Washingtonian greed and forcing our elected officials to witness firsthand the harsh realities most underprivileged Ynki face,” said Rheinhold D. Julout-Graham, head of Project on Government Oversight. “It has long been our opinion that once members of the House and Senate understand the inadequacies of our current minimum wage standards, they will take the steps necessary to raise or abolish them.”

Although no timetable has been set for banishing the practice of moving from the public directly into the private sector commonly referred to as the revolving door system, watchdog groups remain hopeful that Americans will soon rest assured that their elected officials are actually working in the best interest of the People instead of just a corporate bottom line.

JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

storm clouds gather

Over the past weekend, an ungodly mass of black cumulonimbus started gathering above Washington, D.C. Arriving primarily from the South and Midwest, the floating harbingers of portend rumbled and shook, threatening to shatter the last vestiges of Ynki democracy. Their first casualty was the formerly independent Office of Congressional Ethics, a body that once served to reduce corruption in the Senate but that now lies stricken, and dying. Next, the ill winds aim to destroy the protections put in place by the Constitutional Emoluments Clause, allowing a narcissistic kleptocrat to assume the country’s highest post. After these crimes are committed, the swirling heaps of rotten air will ramp up their assault on America’s minority groups - among them persons homosexual, sick, and poor. Scientists studying the clouds indicate that only the dazzling of light of unbridled Truth might scare off these thunderheads, allowing Liberty and Justice to once again shine down on the struggling masses yearning here to be free.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑

NM legalizes drugs

Citing the successful test of drug legalization in Portugal as its guiding influence, the American state of New Mexico decriminalized all drug use and possession within its border. The Return to Freedom Act, or RFA (SB-04472.7.65), has been approved by both houses of the state’s legislature and should arrive on the governor’s desk shortly. “Our residents and visitors are sick of being harassed and imprisoned for exercising their Constitutional right to get blasted on any substance they choose so long as they are not infringing upon the Life, Liberty, or Property of another person,” said Hailyie Darmstadder, 49, deputy New Mexico governor and mother of two state police sergeants; “and our police forces desire to spend their time keeping their communities safe from violent crime rather than working as strongmen who exist primarily to enforce blanket prohibitions enacted by a tyrannical federal government.” Critics have condemned the passage of RFA, saying that the potential risks to children outweigh the benefits arising from the normalization of drug-using behavior. Margit Lopez-Westinghaus, head of the New Mexico chapter of Catholic Mothers for Safe Streets, was concern that “it will become easy for a child to walk into a pharmacy and buy a marijuana cigarette.” Thomaz H.N.E. Gutierrez Jr., a Republican legislator who helped write the bill’s final draft, confirmed that the new legislation will make recreational drugs available to legal adults only, much as are cigarettes or alcohol. “For many generations now, Americans have been able to walk into any of a thousand convenience stores across the Land of Enchantment and pick up as much booze and as many smokes as they could carry, and look at the damage that has wrought,” state congressman Gutierrez said. “My ancestors used marijuana in ceremonies as a method for becoming one with the Great Unknowable, whereas alcohol does little more than pollute the mind, and nicotine does little more than make people sick.” Police unions across the state are wary about RFA, with most of them saying they’ll miss the millions of dollars they receive from Washington for putting non-violent drug users behind bars. “The gravy train is over, I guess,” said Captain Youlisees Sharlto-Macks of the West Mesa City Police department. “On the other hand, prohibition of alcohol didn’t work in the 1920s - why the hell did we think it would work with other drugs?”

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

stewed thighs splatter

Following a violent encounter the evening before in which they were separated from an avian torso at knifepoint, a pair of turkey thighs hit a new low. When the plate they were resting in was jostled by an overweight sous chef walking past, the thighs fell three and a half feet down onto the grimy red tiles of the greasy spoon’s kitchen, below. Due to their meaty heft, the thighs hit with such force that they threw up twin plumes of gravy, some of which entered a nearby storage cabinet, soiling the clean plates stacked therein. “Ah man, would you look at that,” said Thomassina Morninggale, a nearby diner. “Two perfectly good turk legs, ruined.” Without additional fanfare, the on-duty dishwasher bent down, scooped up the tainted meat, wiped up the residual gravies, and went back to work. ‘Daggone it,’ he thought; ‘I was looking forward to eating those.’

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑

Daesh ambassador arrives

A new ambassador arrived at the United Nations this morning, to little fanfare. Representing the ‘Islamic State’ in Syria and the Levant (Daesh, or ISIL), Iqbad al-Khyber plans to fight for the right to spread a caliphate over all known peoples of the world. “By referring to my group as a state, high-ranking members of the United States gave us legitimacy and allowed us to gain access to this international body,” al-Khyber said, updating his profile on the jihadist Twitter account he runs. Appointed to his position by a Daesh ruling body that is in the process of fleeing the Syrian and Russian forces liberating Aleppo, the ISIL ambassador finished taping his terrorist group’s flag to the inside of his hotel window then ventured out into the streets of New York for a look around. “It’s surprising to me that we have made it this far,” he said, his eyes dancing across the opulent skyscrapers and clothing boutiques rising from Manhattan bedrock. “If only the Palestinians would catch on and pledge to fight the sworn enemies of America while in actuality battling the Ynki imperialist and his blood-drenched cohorts. We are foreign outsiders who gained official American recognition within a few years by committing horrible atrocities and subjecting large swaths of central Asia to Sharia law, whereas the Palestinians, the Ynki Dakota Sioux, the Iraqi Yazidi, or the Burmese Kachin are native peoples primarily yearning to choose their own path in life. Who knew that all a group of people had to do in order to gain recognition as such was call itself a state?” After a few hours of aimless wandering, al-Khyber reached the memorial raised in memory of the 11 September 2001 attacks, where he wept in honor of the 15 Saudi Arabian hijackers who had died in the process of reducing the World Trade Center’s twin towers to rubble.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

drone-hairdresser opens

The world’s first beauty salon in which semi-autonomous robots perform most of the tasks opened today in a suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio. Referred to in popular culture as drones, partially self-aware machines will apply nail-polish, wash customers’ hair, and sweep up fallen clippings at ‘Automated Beauty’ on Chestnut street in downtown Rappsville. Until fully self-directed robots are developed that can all the work a living salon agent normally performs, the tread-mounted machines at ‘Automated Beauty’ will be directed by human operators stationed in New Delhi, India. “At first, we were worried about the potential safety risk of allowing machines fitted with sharp scissors to cut the hair of our many wonderful clients,” said Rasheed M. Blattersmied, 37, who owns the salon. “But after a few successful test runs and in light of the positive feedback we’ve received, we plan to have have six more robots up and running by early next year.” Affiliated Appearance Management Specialists International, a beauty-salon-worker trade union with members in 14 countries, decried the arrival of robots in a field long thought immune to automation. “Our affiliates will fight whitened tooth and sparkly nail against this assault on such a storied institution as beauty management,” said Theodora U’Unaha, the union’s sitting president. “This field is founded on artistic ability, not source code. What’s next - robotic wig-makers? Automated plastic surgeons? Sheesh.”

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

on crushing ants

Him lumbering beast paused on his way across the sunken meadow, turning to see why his packmates barked. Ants were attacking their legs and paws, tiny things that stung hard. For years, the beasts had stood by while the ants multiplied - in hopes that the tiny threats would attack anything the beasts didn’t like. Now, though, the insects were latched onto the beasts’ own sensitive bits, tearing out skin, digging into orifices.

A juvenile beast went down, her pelt a carpet of stinging mandibles. In moments, she was dead. Outraged, the other beasts vowed to destroy the ants once and for all. Normally, the ants kept to themselves, but him lumbering beast had been stirring around in the stand of bushes were the crawling biters lived. Incensed at his audacity and upset that he had crushed many of their mates whilst in the throes of his stirrings, the miniscule moving mouths had decided to fight back.

“This is an outrage,” the beast bellowed, his voice hoarse and choking. “Cease this assault on my brethren!” He raised up on his hind legs, his broad back bathed in the light of a setting sun.
“You brought it upon yourself,” the ants cried back in unison. “You came to our lands and destroyed our cities, crushing the weak and the defenseless. You are reaping what you sowed - death, violence, and pain. We have too long stood by as you made your stirrings amongst the other insects, the weaker ones that could not or would not fight back.”
“But I was just trying to help my pack, to make the bushes easier for us to harvest!” the lumberer roared.
“You help no one by messing in our affairs, by crushing our people with every step. Enough is enough!”
With a sordid squeak, the ants launched a thousand and one assaults.

The beasts bled. And died.
Yet him lumbering beast - he who lead the entire pack - pledged he would continue to intervene where he saw fit. “I am exceptional, and this world needs me to show the way forward. So long as no one proves badder than me, it is my destiny to ignore the lessons of history and keep repeating the same mistakes with insane abandon. No one but my friends and I deserve to live well. Behold my terrible power, and shudder.”

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

grapefruit orchard hacked

Unknown assailants breached the firewall of SolDelicious Grapefruit Growers Ltd. (SDGG) this morning, installing ransomware to hold the company’s data hostage. Covering most of northern Florida and southern Georgia, SDGG produces more than sixty percent of the world’s grapefruit. Popular on all continents, the company’s sun-dappled grounds regularly produce delicious and juicy produce - until today, that is. “Nothing’s working,” said SDGG chief technical officer Dr. Gharnn Y. Badel. Laboring to get a cavernous packing and shipping warehouse back up and running, Dr. Badel expressed hope that the board of directors would pay the sum demanded. “We need to get this equipment working. The world needs our juicy fruits.” On the New York Stock Exchange, SDGG stock skyrocketed upon word of the breach. Rumors are spreading that the attack was a false flag operation initiated by majority-shareholding shadow corporations.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

a western find

A trove of letters dating to World War One was found yesterday in the ruins of an old fort. Made secure in the late 1600s by Yaelong tribespeople seeking to fend off Rus invaders, the area saw little conflict during the War to End All Wars. It served instead as a transfer-station for the intelligence wing of the Krukuv Anarchist Legion, a people’s army that defended the nation until 1956, when it was all but crushed by Warsaw Pact (Soviet) forces. Nestled in the western fringes of the Yiptlong massif, the Chach’rrash pass - where the letters were found - is a windswept, nightmarish climb through fields of boulders and loess beds alike. The pastoral highland regions nearby feature many attractions, among them prehistoric cave paintings, winter sports, and a number of winter solstice festivals. Due to the age and condition of the letters, few details have emerged about what they contain. Researchers at the Grigovian Institute of Cultural Studies, where preservation efforts are underway, hope to know more soon.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

den of many

Into the den of many lions shall this whorphan go tonight - will he find true voices any or just anger fear and fright? No one knows and none can predict how the rally will go down perhaps there will be book burnings over there in Hershey-town. Swiftly down a rabbit-hole of pageantry and hollow talk will he and his second venture with a strong but measured walk.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

skinheads reach America

Early Monday morning, a raft carrying around 60 members of various European national-socialist groups landed on the southern coast of Long Island, New York. Bedraggled but apparently well-nourished, the racists had set sail from the west coast of France in the first days of November, braving the frigid North Atlantic during its volatile winter season in what by all accounts was an improvised and shoddily built vessel. Welcomed by members of the Ynki president-elect’s Commission on Domestic Reawakening (CDR), the neo-Nazis were quickly wrapped in blankets and lovingly spoon-fed hot soup. Shadowed and at times assisted by the U.S. Coast Guard during the final stages of their arduous journey, the white supremacists are expected to take up leadership positions in alt-right community organizations across America. Their president-elect approved mandates include the subjugation of dark-skinned peoples, the erosion of civil rights and liberties, and the propagation of “half-truths and misinformation,” according to Randall T. Weissensieg, sitting chairman of the CDR. “We thank the heavens for bringing these proud Aryans to our blessed shores,” he said, “and hope for a swift return to the days when the white race alone shone brightly at the apex of world society.” The raft used by the national socialists will be displayed alongside the now-defunct Constitution of the United States of America, whose essential tenets the Ynki long ago abandoned in favor of short-term corporate profit-making.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑

dispatch 5 - sisterly affection

She was appalled by the seas of ‘Stump for President’ flags she had seen flying through the bus’s windows as she made her way through the small towns of central New Jersey. Erya Rovend had studied history and read or watched every snippet she could find featuring this ‘red’ candidate. In Grigovia under Soviet occupation, ‘red’ candidates had been party hardliners with little concern for the needs of the common man, hardliners who worked to make themselves and their friends rich at the expense of the rest of society. The Ynki, it seemed to her, were too falling for one of the oldest tricks in the oldest of books; they were enamoured with a supposed outsider who voiced simple solutions to complex problems, one who seemingly obscured or denied the truth about his shadowy past in order to win over the hearts and minds of simple people yearning for a better life. A charismatic and quick talker, Stump appeared to be gaining ground no matter how brash and offensive his statements, no matter how checkered and criminal his life had been, previously. ‘A flock of sheep will follow the strongest ram, even if he is a rapist asshole,’ she thought to herself as the bus pulled up to its assigned berth in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Erya retrieved her backpack and headed into town, distracted by the comparisons her brain was making between candidate Stump and Romania’s Nicolae Ceausescu, Italy’s Benito Mussolini, and a previous Ynki president, Lyndon Johnson. Each of these eventually brutal and oppressive dictators had taken power on promises of moderation and restraint but had quickly turned autocratic, their fascist policies of military intervention overseas and at home needlessly staining the good Earth with blood. It was still relatively early in the day, and so after checking in at the Grigovian Traveler’s mission and dropping off her bag, she walked over to the buildings in which the Declaration of Independence was housed. There, she wept upon reading the list of reasons that had compelled the supporters of that now-marginalized text to fight for freedom. To her, each reason in that list was something the Ynki regime had been doing to its own and to foreign people since shortly after the ink was dry on its Constitution. ‘The Ynki has come full circle,’ she thought; ‘he is the tyrant he once aimed to oppose, a belligerent beast that violates the principles he once held high, no better than the worst of mankind’s worst oppressors.’ Out of apparent motherly concern, a middle-aged woman sidled close to her, offering her a tissue. “It’s terrible, isn’t it,” the woman said, her dark-brown skin glowing under the bright lights illuminating the Declaration, looking over at the text and releasing a deep sigh. “Let it out, darling. We’ve been fighting for so long we don’t know what peace even feels like, anymore.” Erya sniffled, wiped tears from her cheeks, and said thank you. The older woman nodded in response, walked confidently out into the gathering gloom of a rainy Pennsylvania afternoon, and disappeared into the passing crowds.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

on elliptical effects

Eight months after purchasing it at a curbside yard sale, local resident Harry D. Bhagg, 47, dragged his once-prized elliptical workout machine back out into the street. “I have had a hard time finding the motivation to exercise alone,” the man said, the tendons in his forearms creaking and straining. The elliptical would be in his life for many weeks to come, however, as its massive bulk meant it was too large for the municipal trash collectors and too unwieldy for private services to pick up. After receiving a fourth warning letter from city hall, Harry D. Bhagg dragged out his wrench set and spent three hours tearing apart the machine, which proved to be the workout he’d long been hoping for. “Phew, I’m spent,” he said whilst putting away his tools. “Time for a beer.” He then proceeded to consume 2000 calories worth of hopped malt and frozen pizza, ruining his short-lived streak of healthy living and plunging headlong back into a vicious cycle of self-loathing, regret, and poor decision-making. “Such is life,” he said, climbing into bed, where he slept until his bursting bladder forced him to wake up an hour later.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

ᚈ˙Ɵ_ꜛ|•⚚⬌⚚•|ꜛ_Ɵ˙ᚈ

there sit in the grasp of a soft comfy loge two wonderful puppers two tail-wagging doge

point a potus

A sidelong look was all it took to get her juices flowing - she had no need for motor-steeds or sizeable wads showing. She’d jump into the sack forthwith at just a moment’s notice with men of stature men of note and at one point a potus. As time wore on her woebegone and tattered wizard’s curtain lured in not high and mighty lads but lowlife scum and cretin. She was not bothered in the least though for into the sheets she’d still go with each sidelong looking chap who had a mind to probe her trap.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Iktomi touches all

Spread Iktomi wide and well from windy peak to sodden dell that web you weave to bind together atom-groups with spindly tethers keeping all in concert woven in a way that time’s still proving. Chaos theory shows it’s true the influence of what you do with tiny strands spread near and far connecting each and every star. Bless his presence praise be told of his great gifts both new and old much thanks to Iktomi let’s speak - for ‘van der Waals’ and the force ‘weak.’

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

⌶+￬.=ī¡⥞¤⥟¡ī=.￬+⌶

there’s not much a fellow might strive for in life than knowing his artwork and love will survive

an intolerant quirk

Americans of Bigoted and Racist Inclination (ABiRacIn, pronounced ‘aberration’), a confederation of white-supremacist with thousands of splinter-cells nationwide, held its final cyber-meeting of 2016. Organized by subgroup leaders in primarily rural areas of the American South and Midwest (with new cells opening throughout the Mid-Atlantic), ABiRacIn aims to intensify and perpetuate tendencies present in the Americas since Christopher Columbus set foot on Hispaniola in 1492 - hatred, greed, and a thirst for human blood. “We Americans of European Descent, we white people, are the only ones who deserve to receive the bounty of this great land,” said Harold Theodor Thomas Hammrsmeed, the group’s co-founder, at a press conference held afore the columned portico of his decrepit estate in southern Georgia. “We built this great land, we farm this great land, our forefathers fought and died for this great land, which means we and we alone ought bask in the fruits of America’s blessings. It doesn’t matter that coloreds whose skin-tones are slightly darker or more tan than ours worked as hard or harder to make this country rich and powerful; it doesn’t matter that the good soils we plant with grain to keep beef cheap, the tall mountains we tear apart in search of our beloved coal, were for millennia watched over and protected by red savages; the white man was, is, and forever shall be the only man who matters.” Emboldened by the election of Ronald Stump, who clawed his way to the presidency on a splintery plank of anti-immigrant and Islamophobic rhetoric, ABiRacIn has recently emerged from the shadows of the dark web, holding press conferences and staging rallies in small towns across the Ynki heartland. Labeled a hate group in 2003 by the Southern Poverty Law Center, ABiRacIn has voiced loud support for a right-wing activist recently selected to be incoming president Stump’s senior policy advisor.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Grigovia offers asylum

The Grigovian Office of External Affairs this morning announced an expansion of its immigration efforts geared toward Americans who are now (or will soon be) seeking political asylum from the upcoming reign of president-elect Ronald Stump. A candidate long on promises but short on policy, Stump - who rose to power on a gravy-train of petty but virulent white supremacy - appears to pose a threat to independent freethinkers such as journalists and artists as well as to women seeking the right to make decisions about their own bodily health. “Grigovia welcomes Ynki who desire to live in peaceful freedom and cooperative prosperity in a country that values and safeguards their liberty,” said Dr. Uoudya E. Eiyouust, head of the Parliamentary External Affairs Committee and architect of the expanded efforts. “In our Glorious Republic is room for individuals seeking to think as they see fit, who desire to write what they decide is best to write, who wish to be respected regardless of their gender or sexuality. Our integration and employment infrastructure provides immigrants with language classes, transitional housing, job placement assistance, and much more so that new arrivals can start enriching and enlivening our economy and culture instead of languishing in the shadows of pariahdom. If a Stump presidency scares you, friend Ynki, please consider Grigovia when making emigration plans. Our doors stand open.” For more information visit your nearest Grigovian embassy.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

whites only oenotheque

Tired of dark-hued, reddish wines? Looking for a place where only whites are served - the finest, most pure whites around? If so, come on down to Whites Only Oenotheque on Jackson Avenue and Union Street for a fine selection of Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Riesling, and Sauvignon Blanc wines. Rest assured - no coloreds dare darken our reclaimed barn-wood countertop, threatening to besmudge the white leather seats of our hand-made, wrought-iron barstools. It’s whites only all day from the first drop poured to the last sip taken. Most of our wines are grown, fermented, and bottled right here in the United States of America. Each of our wonderful domestic whites comes with a certified paper of origin, and all imported whites undergo thorough vetting and approval procedures at the hands of trained technicians before departure and upon arrival. Don’t bring anything into your home even a shade darker than the best, finest, provenly superior white! Travel-proof and inconspicuous ‘Bagged & Boxed’ white wines now available for discerning but economically disadvantaged customers who insist upon quality whites at a fair price. There’s something for every checkbook at Whites Only Oenotheque in downtown Durham, North Carolina - stop in today!

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Gran clicks link

After hours of careful deliberation, Des Moines, Iowa resident and septuagenarian Alice Hasenloch moved the cursor of her mouse over a bank of advertisements flashing brightly on the trailing edge of her cathode-ray-tube computer monitor. Whipping the mouse up and down so as to straighten out its cord, Alice took a deep breath, peered at the target advert one more time, took a moment to ponder whether or not she really wanted to receive a pamphlet containing information about the platforms and policies of one Bernard Sanders, depressed the left button on the mouse using her right index finger, and sat back to wait. As the election had already passed, however, and a fear-mongering nincompoop had been elected to the presidency, the link took her to a page that looked like but wasn’t the page she was trying to reach. Deeper and deeper she went into the dark core of the Internet until she started seeing pictures of people who weren’t wearing clothes, whereupon she pressed CTRL+F4 enough times to cause her left hand to cramp up. Once her computer displayed nothing but the desktop screen (a picture of her neighbor’s grandchildren), she initiated its shutdown procedures, got up, stretched, said, “Ah well, fuck it,” and took a walk that happened to take her past the corner package store.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

president recognizes Palestine

In a long-hoped-for gesture of respect for the existence of more than four million people, Mr. Barack Obama today officially recognized the State of Palestine. “For an ancient and proud people such as the Palestinian people to be forced into massive open-air prison camps and kept there without access to the infrastructures we’ve come to recognize as those necessary to live a fulfilling human life, that is a tragedy that defies the kind of basic decency we look for in one another,” the president said from amidst rows of frost-tipped roses planted near his residence. Speaking just after the crack of dawn on 8 November 2016 - election day, in America - Mr. Obama went on, saying. “I mean, people in positions of power here in the U.S.A. started calling the terrorist organization known as Daesh ‘Islamic State’ after those murderous thugs had been around for only a couple years and captured themselves a city or two.” At this point, the president chuckled, shaking his head and looking down. “And here we have the Palestinians, who’ve been living in the Middle East since biblical times, and for seven decades I and the presidents who came before me have not once recognized the right of Palestine to exist - nay, the right for it to be recognized as a state? And for what? So that religious zealots of a different stripe can occupy land and build settlements on that land with impunity and in stark violation of international law? If we can bring ourselves to call Daesh 'Islamic State’, then we can bring ourselves to refer to the self-organized people living in Israel’s concentration camps by-the-sea as the State of Palestine. It’s that simple.”

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑

ī⏛⍥⌒Ұ⚲Ұ⌒⍥⏛ī

a young one is screaming in the deep inside there next to the hovel of heartbreak and pride

woman shoots cop

Fayetteville, KY. Earlier this morning, from on the steps of the county courthouse, the jury in the Groeneveld v. Brownfield County case announced a verdict. After just two days of deliberation, it found Ms. Heraldine K. Groeneveld, the accused, innocent of wrongdoing in the shooting death of Sergeant Dwight G. T. Blaiseworth of the Chaumsville police department. Ms. Groeneveld, an American Person of Recent African Descent, had admitted to firing on Sergeant Blaiseworth, who was working an undercover assignment at the time, when he had approached her with his firearm drawn, at night, without identifying himself as a police officer. The following is an excerpt from her sworn deposition: “I was trying to find a set of keys I had dropped when I saw a man get out of his car, pull out a pistol, and start running toward me. He was screaming at me to ‘Get the f**k away from the car,’ but never once did he say he was a cop. I’ve been carjacked before, so when I saw his weapon, I feared for my life. I then pulled out my own weapon and shot him before he could shoot me.” Numerous police shootings across the U.S. have led to the deaths of scores of unarmed men, women, and children; Ms. Groeneveld was vindicated in her assumption that all citizens - not just citizens working as police officers - are allowed to fire upon an assailant should they feel their lives are in danger. Speaking for the jury, Allysson Y. Humnerloess said, “We hope our verdict will serve as a reminder to all American citizens - police officers especially - that pulling a weapon is a threatening act, to which violence is an appropriate response.” Police unions across the nation have issued formal complaints, citing their supposed right to kill unarmed civilians should those citizens even look at an officer in any way that could possibly be viewed as threatening. Unlike officers involved in shootings, Ms. Groeneveld will not get a paid two-week vacation or psychological counselling; she is no longer in jail, however, and will be able to return to her family, and job.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

nameless protector goddess

Her face was the last flames of sundown, her voice the grating screech of a loose and rusty hinge. She’d hide in the cracks of yesterday’s memories, where the darker fears live, but she herself knew not fear or thirst, hunger or want. She was the keeper of secret passions, the protector of lost and feeble souls. She had no name. As with a shadow, she was there yet not really there, present yet absent, unforgettable yet impossible to overlook. Hers are the hopes never spoken, the forgotten feelings rotting away behind fast-food-fat walls. And though most people meet her frequently, she sloughs from their minds with the breaking of the next day’s sun. Heed her call, and rejoice.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

dispatch 4 - NYC

In the foyer of the Grigovian Traveller’s Mission, some new arrivals were watching highlights of debate between D. Trump and H. Clinton. Earlier that morning, Erya had read on the news website Russia Today that there were at least four other legitimate presidential contenders but that the two most influential parties had locked all others out of nationally syndicated debates in order to maintain their hold on power. She didn’t trust Russia Today, but counted on it to at least show a different point of view on world affairs. Other sites she frequently perused were Democracy Now!, Al Jazeera, National Public Radio, and the Guardian. Slowly, it was dawning on her how the American people could appear to be so daft, so disconnected from the corruption and abuse occurring at the highest levels of their government - the people they trusted to spoon-feed them the news weren't talking about such things. Part of the preparation for her post of de-facto Grigovian ambassador to the United Nations, Ms. Rovend had studied the politics, history, and economy of the United States. Not that such studies were mandatory for an ambassador, but she had figured that someone from a relatively weak country such as Grigovia should know as much as possible about the relatively strong country that seemed to be bullying states and peoples around the world. No one had elected or appointed her to the post of ambassador - she had been approached by her country’s Foreign Office after having given a speech denouncing imperialism and the unequal distribution of wealth (especially in industrialized nations).

Pulling her coat tightly around herself, she wandered out of the Mission, turned left on Ninth Avenue, and walked slowly south. Some men whistled at her from a construction site, but she ignored them. She had learned long ago to not give men power of her by reacting to their sexist aggressions. Having trained in three forms of martial arts, her body was a lethal weapon. Not knowing exactly what she was looking for, she wandered aimlessly from one side of southern Manhattan island to the other, just another brown-haired girl in a denim jacket out for an afternoon stroll.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

dispatch 3 - NYC

She went to a public house, drank there a beer. Denied entry into a trendy looking club, she decided instead to wander the streets in search of friendly faces. Few were they and far between for many wore a sullen mien as they did drag themselves back home from jobs in banks - savings and loan. That second night, she discovered Washington Square Park, where she felt at least a bit at home. In that place as is most of Grigovia, people from all walks of life were taking the evening air, stopping to look at one another or to talk, walking dogs, playing chess, dancing, singing, being free. Erya Rovend check-mated a gentleman in ten turns then joined a group of university students heading toward Mamoun’s, a falafel shop. She discussed with them how strange it was that few Americans seemed to be aware that their country was at war (i.e. bombing targets with impunity) in five separate nations around the globe. “No one talks about such things, at least not on T.V.,” a young political scientist told her.

Erya bid the group farewell and started walking south, toward a place her folding map listed as Battery Park. On the way she paused at Wall Street, but kept walking when two heavily armed police officers started staring at her and whispering to each other. Such was her culture shock that she just then started to notice the profusion of closed circuit television (CCTV) cameras screwed into the sides of most buildings, unblinking eyes staring out on nearly empty streets. When she arrived, Battery Park was deserted but for a dozen or so homeless persons bedding down for the night. Leaning forward onto a length of cast-iron railing, Erya stared at the empty pedestal where the statue ‘Liberty Enlightening the World’ had stood until the Glorious Republic of Grigovia had bought it - to save it from the scrap-heap. Lost in thought, she was startled when a radio chirped loudly, just behind her. She turned to find a pair of heavily-armed police officers standing on a patch of darkness, a pile of old blankets at their feet. One of the officers, a male, kicked at the pile until the person sleeping therein woke up.
“No sleeping in the park, you. Get moving,” the officer said.
Clad in too few clothes for the fall weather, the painfully skinny man gathered up his rotting blankets, paused to pull up his belt-less pants, and started shuffling toward the brightly lit sidewalk at the edge of the park.
The two officers turned toward Erya. Shocked by the cruel way the officers had treated the homeless man, they caught staring at them, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
“You too - be on your way,” the female officer told her.
‘No wonder the U.S. sold us its statue of liberty,’ she thought to herself as she exited the park. ‘There are not enough freedoms left here, it seems, to in good conscious justify keep it up.’

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

Grigovian peace bonds

The Grigovian Ministry of Peace, Harmony, and Cooperation (MOPHAC) is proud to announce the return of Peace Bonds! Starting in March of [Gregorian 2017, Lunisolar 4714, Hebrew 5777], Peace Bonds will be available for purchase at any of MOPHAC’s two-score national chapters. Proceeds from the sale of Peace Bonds will be used to fund vocational training and other forms of education for the thousands of Syrian refugees resettled within Grigovia and our neighboring states, primarily Iran and Afghanistan. Unlike War Bonds, which are used by some Western countries to fund aggressive, illegal, and immoral incursions into the territories of sovereign foreign nations, Peace Bonds will be used to help lift displaced and otherwise impoverished persons - Grigovians and new arrivals alike - out of poverty by giving them the tools they need to live productive and healthy lives. Courses such as Community Gardening and Health Through Repetitive Application as well as Hacking Skills for Tomorrow’s Computing are on offer at all campuses of the Grigovian National Education System, free of charge. For more information about Peace Bonds or to volunteer to host a family fleeing war in Syria, please contact your local parliamentary representative, zheriph’s office, or Grigovian People’s Army agent.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

.⏄\♁␣ӫΘӫ␣♁/⏄.

the ones in the middle do drink of their fill; the rest on the outside must settle with swill

dispatch 2 - NYC

On her second day in New York, she got a ticket for drinking in public. She’d been on foot, exploring the southern tip of Manhattan island. She’d bought a can of beer from a corner shop and sat in the park to drink it. In Grigovia, she thought to herself, adults are allowed to make adult decisions. In front of her stood a pair of police-officers. Tall female, shorter male.
“Why am I being punished?” she asked them, her olive complexion turning slightly darker.
The cops shared a knowing glance, shook their heads slowly, and smiled. The taller officer showed her partner the ticket. He nodded, smiling, his hands resting on his thickly-studded weapons belt.
“The public consumption of alcohol is forbidden in New York City.”
Erya Rovend looked over at the sidewalk seating area of a nearby cafe. At a few of the tables, people were drinking what, to her, clearly appeared to be alcohol. Bottles of wine. Glasses of beer.
“Next time, maybe put it in a plastic cup,” said the woman as she tore a paper slip from her notepad and handed it to Erya. She took out her leather passport holder and slipped the ticket into it.
“You stay out of trouble now,” the man-cop said.
He and his partner sauntered away into the park.

Walking over a bridge later that same afternoon, the former Grigovian ambassador to the United Nations noticed a couple of young men scaling a chainlink fence nearby, dropping down onto the train tracks below, and rushing quickly out of sight. The way the men were dressed - their hooded sweatshirts and paint-stained backpacks - reminded her of friends back in Grig who did graffiti. She scaled the same fence as they had, dropped down also, and walked confidently into the gloom ahead. Soon enough, she could hear the familiar rattling of cans, the soft whooshing of paint being propelled out of steel cylinders. Pausing to look around at the walls of the tunnel, she found them to be covered in a riot of designs and shapes, words and figures blasted onto the surrounding concrete by countless former vandals.
“Now this is good stuff,” she said aloud, whistling quietly, in appreciation.
“You hear something?” one of the nearby artists hissed.
“No need to worry, friends,” Erya started to say as she turned to face their general direction, stepping accidentally onto a piece of broken wood that spun away to break a discarded liquor bottle.
There followed a flurry of zipping and cursing. The sound of people running. Then, silence.
Climbing over the train that had separated them, Era Rovend discovered that the men had vanished, their good graffiti work unfinished. An unfinished piece glistened in the faint light coming from the tunnel’s mouth. To her it looked like a group of citizens standing their ground against a phalanx of riot police. Under it was written in black and glaring letters the following statement:
Man The Barricades; Black Lives Matter.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥

dispatch 1 - NYC

She stepped off the airplane in New York and was immediately overwhelmed. It was years since she’d last been there, and certain things were a shock to her: the size of buildings, the width of highway lanes, the number of fat people around. In the distance she thought she could see the skyline of Manhattan, something she mostly ignored during her previous visits. She kept walking toward the adjacent terminal, and lost sight of that famous sawtooth silhouette, her mind turning to the task at hand - security check, passport check, customs check. All routine for a frequent traveler such as the former de facto Grigovian ambassador to the United Nations. A light traveler, she had packed one week’s worth of clothing into her carry-on bag. She’d toured both war-torn regions and peaceful metropolises, forged rivers and ducked gunfire. In her former post, she had addressed well-dressed heads of state and rag-bound orphans alike, sometimes both in the same day. There is little left, she thought, that will shock me. I’m ready.
“What’s the purpose of your visit?” the dark-skinned immigration agent said.
“Pleasure,” she replied. The man leaned forward to look at the computer screen in front of him.
“Is this your first time in the U.S.?” he asked, peering up at her.
“It is my first time here as a civilian.”
After a few more moments, and some thoughtful glances, the agent punched keys on his keyboard, slid a slim piece of paper between the folds of her cornflower-blue Grigovian passport, and handed it back to her.
“Welcome to America.”
Erya Rovend smiled in thanks, picked up her passport, shouldered her backpack, and started following signs to Ground Transportation. Within an hour, she was in midtown Manhattan, where she bought two cheap gravity knives and a wool scarf from a sidewalk vendor. Seeing something familiar in the man’s worn face, she greeted him formally in Pashto, a language common to Central Asia. His smile was so wide she was afraid it would split his head in two, the creases and cracks all running together at the corners of the eyes. Taking her hands in his, he blessed her, wishing her success on her path, wherever it would take her.
Swept along by a pressing mass of pedestrians moving by, she soon lost sight of the Afghan gentleman, losing also her patience for the touristik bustle of Times Square. She walked west, toward the setting sun. At a corner bakery she bought two sticky pastries, one for her and one for a homeless woman crouching in a nearby alleyway. Upon reaching the Hudson River she turned south, making for the Grigovian Travellers’ Mission on 8th Avenue and 14th Street.
Erya Rovend - civic leader, social philosopher, martial artist - had arrived in America. And she was going to find out what, as the Ynki tend to say, made it tick.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥