all too little

Just three rows and bushels of corn were laid in before the white snowflakes to fall did begin. The young men had little to keep them afloat, a handful of acres, a small flock of goat, a stand of tall willows from which they could weave a basket or two in the darkening eve. What kept them all going however was that they had once been promised by a talking cat to be the recipients of vast treasure so much that they'd dare not its outlines to measure. They knew all too little, and much less than most, and trusted a cat (which not many can boast), and kept right on working through darkness and rain in hopes that their fortunes would turn round again.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

birds of spring

Soon there will be laughing the new birds of Spring with whom we shall dance and shout, frolic and sing. Their plumages will dot the lingering snow, their voices will lift and make our spirits glow, their long wintry silence now comes to an end – please do welcome with us our feathery friends.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥​

god of thunder

Oh great god of thunder whose deep peals now shake the souls of the innocent, making them quake and cry out for mercy and beg sue for pause – we welcome your coming and give you applause. You send the fast lightning that springs from your ax that all our tall buildings and trees does attack that delights onlookers and lights up the sky while with rains you wet our fields, leave nothing dry. The ancients they called you by different names, by Djophat and Thiruur and He Who Light Tames, which echo your majesty glory and might; they prayed for your blessings to help with their plight. Now we of Grigovia once more erect a shrine in your honor, ask you to protect our small mighty nation from all of the foes whose threat to our sovereignty day by day grows. All hail then this mighty and life-giving power whose force we now measure in kilo-watt-hours; please ask him to return to our tiny land and help us in making our valiant stand against foul imperialists, Ynki and Rus, who are e'en now planning their demon to loose.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

come quickly anon

Now up from the caverns come quickly anon – the battle for Grig is not over or won. Now take up your rifle now grab you a knife, now arm you your children your mother your wife, and send them forthwith to the trenches to fight through bright sparkling day and through long darkest night. Remove quick from each of those foreign devices the battery, hardware, and surveillance license allowing such spies as are used by Ynki to track what you're doing to watch what you see. Our dear hard-won freedoms for which we gave much must now be protected from forces that clutch and grab at and tear down our defensive walls – if we act together we'll prove we have balls. If not though mere slaves to the Ynki we'll be and chained to their whimsical senseless decrees and bombed by their airborne death-dealing machines – mocked, despised, and ridiculed, hated, demeaned. When we fight aggression both here and abroad we garner eternal ancestral applause and honor the sacrifice our fathers made when they and our mothers refused to obey the dictates of massed and imperial brutes whose aim was to poison our deep-tendriled roots. We've taken our case before United bodies and met with our enemies in their own lobbies and sued them for clemency mercy and peace to which they however responded like beasts and sent through the wires that connect us all a whole host of viruses – damn them their gall! So now to the ramparts we dutifully march in processions piercing our victory arch once more now for glory be sure to reload come one and all defend our humble abode.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

ten foreign firms

Full three score decades seven years in the past was Grig liberated from danger, at last. That was when the remnants of ten foreign firms were shown to our borders (those wide earthen berms). These foul corporate entities had until then diluted our waters and poisoned our fen had pulled from the earth many mountains of gold had enslaved our man-folk both youthful and old. These firms had headquarters in lands far away where most of their profits and our wealth did stay, they paid but a pittance to some greedy chaps who cared not if their siblings ate or collapsed. These rank politicians had worked with the Huns when for all of Europe their quest had begun, they used cruelly stolen and ill-begot gains to get re-elected again and again. Then after the cease of armed hostilities did our strongest legions return from o'erseas and promptly with fighting at home they began against these intrusions to take a brave stand. The Wellspawn is Watching; their bold slogans went, and: Pay Out A Living Wage Taxes And Rent; and: Hands Off The Yiptlong – It Is OUR Massif; to which many foreigners answered aggrieved with complaints and missives submitted to court and threats that they'd call in some nasty cohorts. Soon main streets and avenues across the land were choked up by babushkas who would then stand and block every truck carrying fine pay-dirt with limbs linked together and knives in their skirts. The drivers of these trucks were quickly replaced with others who had no affection for our nation's mothers but who were contractors both hard-faced and cruel who heeded not our own but a foreign rule. One driver got angry and mowed down a crowd was pulled from his cabin by women in shrouds was taken to a cell to sit and to wait for judges and lawyers to discuss his fate. He confessed to being a corporate spy and fingered some highly-placed government guys whom we drove from office the very same night to Justice's lasting and constant delight. Reforms were then passed to keep greedy thieves out, to bar them from entering this high redoubt, after which the people of Grig and the like did witness and revel in livelihood spikes which saw every citizen content and pleased to live lives devoid of poverty's disease.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

least to lose

There is an old saying among Yaelong tribes: do business with he who pays the biggest bribes then turn 'round and prop up those whose need is vast for then you'll be wealthy in honor and cash. In this way they've helped keep our nation this free, by using their caches of quick blood-money to nurture a friendship and love for the poor who will then too gladly repay them, in scores. The persons with least to lose have most to gain; their methods are simple and honest and plain; they make due with little and pick up used goods that the more affluent just toss into woods. When items that still have some utility are simply discarded sans ceremony their worth is then wasted unless they are saved by persons called cur wanker peon or slave. These then use such items in ways other won't, and see in them value that rich persons don't, and raid them for pieces to fix other things or strip them of parts to mend weld repair dings. This raw ingenuity is an ideal that's shared by the Yaelong for they also feel that in modern cultures and ones long ago when people got lazy they suffered the blows of foreign invaders who simply walked in to harass and murder neighbor sibling kin. The Yaelong they sleep often under the stars and avoid the confines of brothels and bars and wander the hillsides as if homeless too with burrs in their britches and stones in their shoes. In this way they scout monitor check the routes that could be exploited by bloodthirsty brutes who'd come in and take from the sons of this land the daughters and riches now Grigovian. To rid oneself of lust temptation and greed; to practice obeisance to the common need; to craft in the head-space a temple to Right – these factors will help us to maintain the lights that shine from within the torch of Liberty and stand as a beacon for mankind to see.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

weighty and fraught

One things that enables the Wellspawn of Grig to act with a power both outsize and big is a wide-spread system of social communes that meet in halls streets alleys and living-rooms. The people who volunteer in these small clubs are mostly good citizens, oftentimes shlubs – regardless they sit down together and talk, outlining conclusions with pen-ink and chalk. They discuss the needs of both neighbor and not as well as some issues more weighty and fraught with risks to the fabric of life in their 'hood; they seek not to do harm but the greatest good. They plan local gatherings, setting the dates, when all who live close-by can party 'til late and rejoice in living under such a plan that's open for everyone to lend a hand. There's traffic-controllers and those who make sure that social divisions do find a swift cure, there's people who roam through the dark streets at night who bring back lost children and help break up fights. The standards set forth by these ohmba'ahndjar allow us to be safe from foes near and far, allow us to stay closely bound to each other and care for our feeble and sick dads or mothers. We control ourselves and only call police when there is a serious social disease like racist attacks on minorities who appear to some simpletons foreign and new. Other than when great evil raises its head and threatens to make friend and neighborhood dead do we seek assistance from forces without; until then we figure our own business out.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

taken to test

Unearthed in a meadow not far from Brouhm Square was a tattooed mummy who'd still lots of hair. Some samples were taken to test whence she'd come, through high-tech machinery these were then run were peered at and prodded and sequenced until a whole new library the results could fill. They revealed that hers was a life short but clean, that she'd eaten well and possessed of the means to keep maintain protect her short-statured self for she did appear to have died in good health. Her DNA matched that of a local clan who gladly conceded to official plans that called for more studies of flesh kit and bone after which her remains would be returned home. She'd stumbled (on accident?) into a bog, did then get her ankle trapped under a log, was pulled deep down into the cold sticky ground, twas not till much later that she would be found. Among her belongings were tackle and bow, were flint-stone and snowshoe, a dozen arrows, a cloak made of rabbit fur, necklace and socks, and strange crystal fragments packed in a pine box. Her tattoos were those of some stars and a moon, three figures arranged in a telling cartoon, a deer without antlers and many straight lines that ran from her neck-bones down to her behind. Her hair shone like amber, might once have been black, her bosom was ample (she'd likely been stacked), her hips bore the tale of a child or two, and she wore a good pair of finely made shoes. After she had been scanned from head-crown to feet the Yaelong were told that the tests were complete; they picked her up gently, with due solemn grace, and laid her to rest in their most holy place.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

#WeTakingSwaziBack

There's an ancient symbol that few people see – it is the venerable, holy swazi; it's found on this Isle of the Gods (fair Bali) but not since the 40s in far Germany. In fact that Teutonic and rational state did long ago ban forbid defenestrate the swazi regardless of which way it turned because droves of innocents long ago burned. The symbol itself though did do nothing wrong, was used by a madman to whip up his throngs – they mounted it atop their tall wooden poles under which they murdered Slavs Jews gays and Poles. Since placing my boots though upon this dark ground I have on occasion seen swazis around and realized they were not the foul racist type – instead they were beautiful; fuck all the hype. It's known as swastika or sewastikasyu; it deals with awaking clean and brand-new; here it is ubiquitous, come have a look, then read learn about it in leather-bound books. The symbol is indeed a very old one and represents the crooked rays of the sun and represents rebirth and hope that some day our different-skinned children together will play. Now take back its meaning from racists and thugs and sweep its majesty from under the rug – foul Nazis debased it and made it seem cruel but theirs was a pitiful, life-sucking rule. The swazi is revered by Hindu, Buddhist; it brings about deep calm and spiritual bliss; it's not the property of hate-spewing hacks wherefore we hereby taking our swazi back.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

old angry giant

There stood on a mountain not far from her home an old angry cyclops who'd frozen to stone. One peak was his massive and man-crushing arse that was now not flesh and bone but rock and karst; another stark feature that reached to the sky was his dome-like forehead with its central eye. There was a long ridge made from his spinal tract that his rocky rump with his head did connect, upon which but foolhardy wanderers went – too many their blood and lives to it had lent. Regardless, the maiden – Lalu, to her friends – (she was a bit foolish) did not comprehend, the dangers and perils of fog and weather that lived in that high haunted wind-swept heather. She crossed the formation in one solid run then came to her senses (and nearly undone) when she saw the day's eye sink quickly below the high western mountains and their hats of snow. She started to shiver, remember a class that she had once taken as a pig-tailed lass, then found an outcropping that sheltered her some where she did then huddle and try to stay warm. Instead of just waiting in that spot to freeze she ripped up nearby moss and gathered some leaves and used them to make for herself a mattress so that on the rock the would not have to rest. To stoke up a fire was not an option and she had forgotten to bring her hand-phone – therefore she then prayed to the gods of her tribe and asked them to help her the night to survive. The message arrived in the eardrums of fair wise Nuuzstathena, who vanquishes fear, who sent out a legion of furry field-mice that swarmed upon Lalu and warmed her up nice. They crept in her pockets, invaded her coat, were thickest at ankles and kidneys and throat, and kept the young person alive through the night, but vanished as soon as they espied first light. The girl made it back home in time for breakfast, told all who would listen about her dire quest, then went to a temple where the Goddess lived where she many blessings and thank-yous did give.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

truth honor wisdom

A specter is haunting this steppe heath and wold – its outlines are shadowed its origins old. It's sprung from a foetid not-yet-barren womb and must be sent straight down to an earthen tomb to keep it from poisoning minds big and small or letting it sound out its beckoning call. We speak here of hatred and anger and woe that in hearts affected by sadness soon grow, that in hearts exposed to just one or two thoughts will spring up as quick as teenagers' spots. To combat this menace we gather discuss and talk about issues important to us, and talk about keeping our minds and souls free of racism and extreme relig'osity. Now read from a dozen or more holy books and search in the crannies and cubbies and nooks for Truth Honor Wisdom for Simplicity and rejoice in mankind's vast diversity. We urge all to do this and gently command the people of this fine Grigovian land to embrace each other regardless of creed with patient and loving, deliberate speed.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

fourth chakra hearts

Arise and be merry – the Goddess alights; she's come now to cure us of hate want and fright. We open our 3rd eyes and 4th chakra hearts; a few here are advanced, some stand at the start; it's crucial to know that all healing takes time, that decades of habit don't stop on a dime. To sacrifice daily of time wealth and love helps each one among us to rise up above the dictates of greediness sadness and fear which in modern cultures are always too near. We thus turn to One with a new agenda, to mighty and majestic Nuuzstathena; She teaches compassion and patience and care, for Hers is a glory merciful and fair. Sit therefore down quietly, utter no sound, but make the breath deep with the rump on the ground and curse not the vagrant or negative thought – instead keep the present with all that you've got. The anus should be loose not clenched or pulled up, the fingers and toes should be spread not balled up, then after a day or a month or a year you will start to notice the retreat of fear, the ending of dark thoughts and long sleepless nights, the dawning of clarity calmness and light.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥​

right to reside

Our meeting creeps closer, we're happy to say, the one that will allow all our people to stay within these tight borders of which we've grown fond, among vast rice-paddies and swaying palm-fronds. We twelve have been granted the right to reside here where our forefathers they struggled and died defending the honor of this tiny fleck that is with rich temples and fine shrines bedecked. The first delegation to land on these shores did come here to learn about the daily chores that all these proud people do without much fuss – mostly 'cause they want to not just 'cause they must. As soon as they got here they joined right on in, and taught a few youngsters to twist rope and swim, and married some daughters and some sisters too, and made a few babies (that's what people do). Then came the invasion by him nasty Dutch whose patience was little whose anger was much who tore out the hearts of the neighboring kings (the proud Balinese though would have no such thing). Our people they fought against Dutchie and Jap, with spear knife and rifle, with spring-loaded trap, and threw those foul outlaws back into the sea and hung up their entrails – like garlands – from trees. The Balinese people did not soon forget the wee contribution from Geriguv'yet and welcomed us back to this magical isle where we do believe we shall stay for a while.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

not a waver

There was not a waver that swept through their ranks for they had already prayed and given thanks to each of the gods that they'd known since birth – instead they just waited in silence and mirth. Then there came the signal and up they all sprang, a deep-throated cry was what most of them sang as they charged tore slashed at their most-hated foes while followed by many a murder of crows. A handful among them did perish that day but not before making the intruders pay for taking and raping western Pyltagrad (our boys sent those vermin to meet their foul god). So off with your head-wear and make not a sound for we are remembering, here on this ground, the sacrifice, honor, and valiant stand of brave and bright warriors who died for this land.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

brave harried handful

Outnumbered, exhausted, quite thirsty and hot, the brave Harried Handful examined its lot. We need to keep moving, the shortest one said, Lest we rise tomorrow not living but dead. I concur, said he whose roots lay in the East, We must make the top of that mountain, at least. Right-O, said the tallest, whose name was unknown, We rouse in five minutes our too-weary bones and follow the lead of our Eastern compat, with eyes like the fox and with ears like the bat. And soon they'd refilled from a swift little stream their goatskin and glass-lined and metal canteens; then obscured each footprint and other such trace that proved they had been in that watering place; leaped up, quit with sitting, and made for the peak; each took a turn helping to carry the weak. Halfway to the summit they heard much clamor erupt from the spot where they had been before, did not turn to look but kept creeping along, the noises below were those of a vast throng. As the sun was setting they arrived atop the cool windy mountain and made a brief stop to drink from their pouches and prepare for night when in a far valley they espied a light. The techie among them took out his own torch and flashed out a pattern, the darkness it scorched, the far light then blinked back a hurried response that the nerdy soldier translated at once: The foe is behind us and on our left side, we shan't on this mountain be able to hide, therefore to the source of that light we must speed – there await us friends with a some fresh ready steeds. They lit out and rushed to their comrades-in-arms who'd been holed up in an abandoned old farm, and finished escaping from possible hell each with his own harrowing story to tell.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

from further west

In the early springtime of 1804 an enemy stood in our foothills and moors, it was not a Russian or from further west, instead it was sickness – the dreaded Black Pest. It marched on the heels of a deep prolonged drought, it tore at all people (priest midwife and lout), it was a tenacious and deadly disease that all but had forced us down onto our knees. Some doctors from Iysh that lies in the north discovered the Sharpstand's medicinal worth, applied it to boils that covered the skin, infused it in tonics that healed from within. They shared their new knowledge with peers far and wide, who watched as the skins of their patients soon dried, soon ceased with rank seeping, soon lost their red hue, within but a fortnight the weak sprung up new. The Pest it was vanquished by what was once weed, lowly Mountain Sharpstand met our greatest need, and saved us from decades of hardship and woe, we now still turn to it and make sure it grows in valleys and households, hospitals and fields, who knows just what benefits it may yet yield.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

pile and heave

They rested a fortnight upon the Great Stair: of game there was plenty; the weather stayed fair. As soon as the stormheads did pile and heave they packed their belongings and took their due leave and trod from the summit which they had called home, took pelt spear and rations left nothing but loam. Through little-known passages they made their way with nary a waver and not much delay they crept through the Wilds and dodged the patrols of dark King Luzari and his hated trolls. There was but one victim (he died of old age), they lowered him into a too-shallow cage of rock stone and earthen clods out on the heath with coins on his eyelids and sage in his teeth. Then upon returning they found their stead burned by bastard Luzari and his churlish worms, did stay for a while and searched high and low, let not foul impatience nor cruel worry grow. Marked deep in a cavern a message they found it said that their kin had fled to higher ground, they rushed to the Heights with deliberate speed rejoicing at finding the well-hidden lead. They found there their clansmen and clanswomen too and whipped up a rabbit and venison stew and performed their customs and prepared a feast and prayed to the Father who's born in the east. They stayed there the winter, as snow the trees bent, then off to the high Land of Plenty they went where their dark-haired children grew tall great and strong, made merry and hunted, spun yarn tale and song.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

oh nameless Mother

All hail now the mighty compassionate one whose horse is a nightmare who flies with the sun who visits us when we are lonely and small who lifts up the spirits and helps us stand tall. We call her but Mother, we won't say her name, we ask that she shelter strong weak wild or tame, great puny or powerful, hirsute or short, with skins quite unblemished or covered in warts. Her gaze is far-reaching her mercy is vast, she touches all peoples regardless of class, regardless of heritage lowly or proud, she pierces cloak disguise lie falsehood and shroud. There is not another her power can beat wherefore she's the queen of all pathways and streets, of home hearth tree meadow stair village and town, so know of her glory and sing her renown.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

in the sty

Her bed was a mat made of tightly-wound straw; a mud-splattered pigsty was all the girl saw. She lived in the sty by her stepmother's choice with no human contact with no right to voice her daydreams and passions and all she'd been taught by pig ant and horsefly (of which there were lots). She'd wait for the swine to eat their daily fill of watered-down muesli and other such swill then scraped at the corners of their wooden trough – it kept her alive but was barely enough. Her clothes became tattered and worn through and through while her young half-sister got threads bright and new, was dressed in fine silken and shimmering robes and got tiny diamonds put in her earlobes. The sty-bound first daughter was ugly, you see, by her deceased mother's genetic decree, whom father had knocked up when he was a teen with salt in his currents and rage in his spleen. The newer addition was beautiful though with raven-like hair and skin as white as snow; her older blood-sibling would twitch shake then seize and splay her webbed toe-joints whenever she sneezed. The outcast grew slowly, her muscles were weak, although with her beasts she soon enough could speak, could see by each habit and movement and walk more than most mere humans convey when they talk. Her kindness was massive her compassion too her spirit and mercy they blossomed and grew, she then started praying (to whom she knew not), was thankful for her pitiful meager lot. A Goddess did hear her, sleek silent Oumbast, did send out a pussy to visit at last, its soft furry body did warm comfort feed the sty-bound first daughter in her time of need. On mouse rodent bunny the girl then grew strong and fled from the confines she had known so long, and became a healer of animals all, of horse cow and donkey of beast great and small. Her sister however was naught but a pest, swore at her own parents and tore every dress, then fled with a sailor to his foetid shore and lived in the manner of a spoiled whore.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

hill and woodside

She slipped from her swaddle and rushed out the door and of her fair countenance was seen no more. The deep woods did swallow her, the mom would say, while wailing and pleading to all who would stay e'en for a few moments at her home's front stoop through which her young daughter had once flown the coop. There was a search party that sallied in vain that combed hill- and wood-side through hail snow and rain that of the wee maiden found not hide nor hair while chased through the brush by wolf boar and brown-bear. Like all young and innocent who just vanish in ways unexplainable and outlandish the girl felt not anything akin to fear for Nuuzstathena was suddenly near and saved the sweet child and took her afar and transformed her weary bones into a star. It sparkles and shimmers most nights in the east just below Orion's still-struggling beast; weep not for the little ones – Goddess keeps watch and hers is a gentle and merciful touch.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥