Kim, as you know, a 2014 documentary, aptly entitled, “Camp 14: Total Control

Zone,” details life inside labor camps you control.

Guards at these gulag-style prison camps, serve as judge, jury and executioner.

You killed them, Kim.  You’re the Supreme Leader.

Upon Milky Way dreams, strings connect, a trinity of lives. Three lives, incredibly,

intertwined; three lives lived, so megalomaniacally.

Art wants his brothers Don and Kim to let HIM, barter with THEM. Not Rodman.

Not diplomats.  Simplify this. Just Art, Don and Kim.

The @POTUS is having @dennisrodman open a secret line to @uriminzok’s, Kim.

Art wants his brothers to let HIM, barter with THEM.

The Don is thinking of Kim. Kim, likewise, is thinking of him. And Art, is thinking

and writing of both, of them. All of them are plotting.

For newly-weds in North Korea, it is traditional to go to Kim Il-sung’s statue after

their nuptials to lay, in lieu of their love, lovely flowers.




It is a felony to lie to the FBI.  Ironically, lying to yourself, your wife, your party and

to the people is OK.  But, lying is bad, for your brand.

Donny:  Lie to yourself, your wife, your party and to the people.  Do not, Donny, lie,

to the FBI.  For ’tis a felony to lie, Donny, to YOUR, FBI.




Have you heard the one about the Jew, the Christian and the Muslim in Jerusalem?

It’s a real riot!  In it one says, to the other, two of them:

“Yo, bro!  So long as there’s peace amongst nations, Armageddon cannot ever be,”

said the one to the other two of the oft brotherly three.

The three in unison prayed. “If peace ever comes, by definition, then, Armageddon

cannot be.” And the bombs to Jerusalem, did not come.

Peace has ne’er been but it may yet be, if we but presciently act as a unitary family.

That is if ever all at once in reality communes humanity.

Insight’s blind.  Hindsight’s 20-20.  Peace to flow from algorithmic, action.  Wise up

(wo)man (homo sapiens sapiens)!  (WO)MAN!  WISE UP!

If peace ever comes by definition then Armageddon cannot be.  Alas a riot may be,

funny or tragic.  A right, alternative history, yet, may be.

Words to the wise among self-named twice-wise homo sapiens, sapiens:  CHANGE





Donny:  Lie to yourself, your wife, your party and to the people.  Do not, Donny, lie,

to the FBI.  For it is a felony, Donny, to lie, to YOUR, FBI.

Donny is in need of a distraction.  For distraction is in his nature.  For more reasons

than one.  For Don reflects we, not wont, to well reason.

Another; he is a septuagenarian whose juvenile comportment belies his maturity;

childish ere all these years.  I Hamlet, do fear the Donny.

Another; notwithstanding his spectacular, coiffure, Don lacks, presidential, timber.

In his missile crisis, what now?  More threats, on Twitter?

I, Hamlet, fear Donny.  Willy and Rumi, fear him too.  Ditto, Pen, Art, Kim and Don,

himself.  Ditto, the poets and visionaries.  We, fear, Don.

Don?  Afraid of himself?  Verily ’tis so.  We are afraid of him.  He’s afraid of himself.

No one knows why.  No one but Vladimir Putin, himself.

No one knows but Vladimir Putin.  He’s, a villain.  He’s, a bad actor.  He’s, a baddie,

in this tiny subplot, of this incredibly, tragi-comic, story.

The Donny is in dire need of a big-time distraction.  It’s second nature to him.  Kim

ought not, lower his guard.  The Don, is thinking of him.




Kim’s trigger finger itches.  Donny’s, too.  Arthur worries as he writes knowing that

rookies make rookie mistakes.  It’s like a last time at bat.

Kim has near as many missile launches in this year alone, as overseen by his father

— 16 — during, 17 years of power, come from his father.

From poetry peace and from peace prosperity.  Three megalomaniacals; Kim, Don,

and Arthur do, as Ovid and Emily, would be, wont, to do.

Oh, bittersweet, irony!  Today, terror visited the Iranian Parliament in Teheran, Iran,

and Ayatollah’s Memorial.  Seven dead.  Hostages taken.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice, to deceive.  Judged by all;

the Donny but he listens, not.  Not to anyone.  Not at all.

Don doesn’t listen on Twitter, either.  He doesn’t listen, anywhere. He doesn’t listen

to anyone.  He just doesn’t listen.  And he shuns reason.




Angela on Don’s wall:  “A physical barrier won’t resolve any country’s immigration

issues.”  She is of the Resistance, like too, Mr. Macron.

Mr. Macron, aka, Emmanuel Jean-Michel Frédéric Macron is Co-Prince of Andorra,

Spain, and France, and the President of France, Europa.

Andorra’s citizens enjoy the highest life expectancy on the planet. Formed in 1278,

it’s headed by Presidents of France, and Bishops. Spanish.

Emmanuel Macron, the French Boy Wonder; a welcome check against the Donald;

He might form, along with Angela, a tandem, of angels.

With Angie, Emmanuel forms half of an angelic, tandem; champions of life, liberty,

fraternity, and the pursuit of happiness, in that, liberty.




For Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s …  “True, This!  Beneath the rule of men entirely great,

the pen is mightier than the sword [and great the state].

Cæsars: Strike the loud earth, breathless — Take away the sword — states can be

saved without it!” [love’s poetry may yet save the stately]

To the end of rendering Penemue’s plan to pen alchemical algorithms in poetry to

Humanity. Art, and his dead poet pals, want to, arm you.

Arthur Everman and his dead poet pals want to arm you, via your children’s poetry.

Only our children’s poetry may free us from surreal reality.

The plot, and the subplots. following, are the stories of three children of God, three

megalomaniacal brothers and billions of others, poetically.

Kim, Don and Art; three megalomaniacal brothers and billions of others, poetically.

This is their story. And this is your, schizophrenic, history.

For too long now it’s been feeling like humanity’s final, at bat.  For nuclear powers

cannot risk even a single old-fashioned conventional war.

To be, or not to be?  Humanity’s, threshold question.  High-technology algorithms

we dead poets agree, may well counter, authoritarianism.




The long, poem.  Like, ancient epics.  Like Homer’s, Iliad.  Like his, Odyssey.  Ironically,

at 1.8 million words, the Mahābhārata is, most lengthy.

Vyasa’s Mahābhārata, is Urantia’s lengthiest epic poem.  Its 1.8 million words, less its

prose, makes more than 100,000 couplet verses, iconic.

That makes Vyasa’s epic roughly ten times the combined length of Homer’s Iliad and,

Odyssey.  All along its length, compelling content, spans.

Is Daesh (ISIS/ISIL), winning?  Larger, and better, questions are:  Is humanity, winning?

“To be, or not to be?”  Is humanity its humanity, losing?

Arthur Everman’s 40 years in a delusional wasteland have been terribly educational; in

them he’s learned everybody’s crazy, everyone but him.

Everyone is crazy; everyone, but him.  The proof is in the pudding.  For that the nations

rule makes sense to near everyone.  Everyone, but him.

God, not any nations, rules man, notwithstanding, anything.  Mark, Art’s words:  Neither

Caliphate nor Jewlsh state’s, forever.  No state is forever.

All conflict on Earth is domestic violence, however, in this seemingly fictional,nonfiction,

it is militarized.  But, it has remedies, in real, nonfiction.

Domestic violence has remedies, in law, and in fact.  Among them, a few are separation,

reconciliation, toleration, and eventually, acculturation.

But acculturation takes time.  Generations sometimes.  Time is limitation.  A better query

than whether ISIS is winning is:  Whither goeth humanity?




Tri-fold may be epilogs of HAMLET’S LAST, SOLILOQUY:  Peace, prosperity and poetry,

if wise guy homo sapiens sapiens learns ‘Twitterese.’

History and prophesy mitigate against plurality rescuing and saving, a blind, humanity.

Reform from a sovereign, to a pawn-based humanity.

Behavior modification works well, in individuals.  It may work, even more dramatically,

for the fractious nations.  Ye must act, immediately!

Don’s a do nothing President.  Withdrawal from Paris’ Climate Accord make Nicaragua,

and Syria keep company, a United States of America.

Paris and Pittsburgh; and a Climate Accord, in stark disaccord with my amoral, brother.

Donny’s spoken.  Even Kim, the Paris Accord, favors.

HAMLET’S LAST, SOLILOQUY:  Toward behavior modification of the sovereign, nations.

In ironic reaction to conflict on Earth, reconciliation.

HAMLET’S LAST, SOLILOQUY: On reality, surrealism, fiction, nonfiction and additionally,

neuro-scientific, nonfiction in epigrammatic, poetry.




Behavior modification; a human imperative; ‘cause conflicts on Earth are so commonly

domestic violence.  For resolutions, separate the parties.

History, prophesy and nature mitigate against humanity being somehow, miraculously

saved, from a tragi-comical, sovereign-based, humanity.

Accordingly, HAMLET’S, LAST, SOLILOQUY:  On ontology, realism, fiction and nonfiction,

and, in neuro-scientific, science-fiction, a ready, remedy.

What needs to be read by everyone on the planet ,can not be while bottled up in Twitter

Streams.  A tsunami becomes placid streams, of Twitter.

A thin veneer of civilization masks a savage beast lurking within the heart of every man.

Behavior mod works in individuals.  Why not for all men?




Behavior modification; a human imperative; ‘cause conflicts on Earth are so commonly,

domestic violence.  For ready resolutions, separate parties.

Separate, the parties. Because all violence is domestic violence, it demands the parties’

physical separation,  That’s true for spouses, and countries.

There are forks in the road in space-time in individual lives and in a collective humanity,

moments when our course we may alter uber-consciously.

Behavior modification is a proven commodity; so, Art mused, if it works for individuals;

maybe it may work even better for multiples of individuals.

Urantia now numbers 196 nations, 4200 religions and 6500 languages; too many labels,

divisive for a sub species so easily and naturally, homicidal.

Nationalism and ‘religionism’ are real twin threats to sub species homo sapiens sapiens,

in these most surreal, and near incredible, synchronicities.

Humanity is devolving too quickly too fast; far more quickly than it’s evolving; especially,

now that three, are converging, surreally and climactically.




Imagine then that when on 12-21-12, nothing cosmic happened, three wannabe authors,

Kim, Don and Jong, unwittingly became, cyber brothers.

Imagine too that while Kim Jong-un and ‘Donald John Drumpf’ know of the third, the third,

Art, knows they are far too fond of their political words.

Not hard to imagine; the three, do indeed, tweet on twitter; but the two brighter brothers’

world view isn’t as prescient, as a dimwit third brother’s.

Imagine too that words, those wondrous units, may be spoken, written and indeed, woven

into art.  Art to make poetry inspire, aspirations, human.

Imagine then. in dreamy reveries, Victorian, soiree-like, wine and cheese, parties.  History’s

luminaries, partying.  Eating,  drinking and making merry.

Imagine then that of all the earthly forms of written expression most like heavenly hymns,

‘Tween chapter and verse, ’tis verse that is favored by Him.




Pen’s commission, to Art:  Tweet.  Blog.  Pen to the children your epigrammatic, poetry.

Teach them an algorithm.  For there is alchemy, in poetry.

We Watchers, we rebel angels (known in Islam as Jinn), once, long, ago were defeated by

Creator Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh’s forces, long to laugh.

We Watchers, we the Nephilim, of Genesis, long to rest, at long last, finally; our lengthy

sentence is:  To view in chains, your re-runs, perpetually.

Watchers watching re-runs (in chains, no less), perpetually; sure sounds, like Hell to me,

Hamlet, but thankfully He is The All-Merciful, The Almighty.

We Watchers, we lovers of women have longed to rest.  So, implausibly, Pen helped Arty

Everman, to write dramatically gripping, novel-like, poetry.

The commission’s this one:  Write to the children of the nations. Let 140 characters be key

to best, President Kim, Caliph Abu, and President, Donny.

And so the founding of Arthur Everman’s School of Free Addictive Poetry. The composition

of epigrams is Art’s specialty, no matter the language medium.




The medium written of (in the prior tweet) refers to the tongue of the tweeter.

@Chachomanopapa‘s Art tweets in American English, on Twitter.

Arthur Everman’s School of Poetry @chachomanopapa; on poetic composition,

of epigrammatic, couplets … no matter the tongue, of the citizen.

Pen’s commission to Art:  Tweet.  Blog.  Pen, to children, epigrammatic, poetry.

Teach them an algorithm.  For there is alchemy, in poetry.

Money, it’s often said, is of evil, its root.  It makes the world go round.  Certainly,

much evil is done incident to money.  ‘Tis the devil’s, currency.

However, it needs it not.  For if anything makes the Earth go round, it is His love,

sweet love and not vile, evil.  Currency is moot, if one has love.

What ten words do you, to humanity, bequeath?”  It was a frightening, question;

the inception to introspection, transformation, and evolution.

That question, posed to Art Everman post 9-11, was asked of Art by a bright one.

“Who,” asked Art, “are you?”  “I am one of 400 fallen ones.”




“Your counterpart,” said he, “am I,” he cryptically, replied. “For I am, Art, the fallen

one; of 400; 200 princes and; 200 followers, long forgotten.

Nephilim, the giant men of renown in Genesis, improvidently, fathered.  Judgment,

reserved.  Of 400, all but three, in chains, await Judgment.

The chained are  fallen angels who married and commenced in unions with human

women. who taught them, knowledge, by Him, forbidden.

The unchained three married, but fathered not Nephilim; “We are the last Watchers,

We watch still.  And intervene.  To Him, we still, do answer.

To wit, while 397 of the fallen, lusted after, married, and procreated Nephilim, three,

albeit fallen, revealed to man knowledge, not forbidden.

Holy Scriptures, Rick’s tome regarding individual purposes, Tony’s, on changes in

behavior and Mandela’s case augur, we again, may act akin.

This last soliloquy of Hamlet, nominally from Kim Don and Arthur, is for evolution:

Make man less petty and more open-mindedly, egalitarian.


The planet’s richest tongue (by word count), owes its wealth to its liberal borrowing,

from other languages, and history’s mystical, timing.

English is the Earth’s second, lingua franca.  Now spoken globally, its rich vocabulary

is at home in song, psalm, prose, tweet and, poetry.

It may be there are more English-speaking Chinese, than Americans.  More Chinese

than Americans may discern, a twit, from a tweet.

Tweet Is often understood; but twit?  Not often.  Twits are taunts.  To twit is to titter

or taunt. Why then Twitter, and not, Tweeter?

Alternatively, a twit is a silly, annoying, person, or fool.  How appropriate that a twit,

tweets on Twitter; a fool fools, sans wit, albeit.

Why Twitter and not Tweeter, albeit an intriguing riddle, is not the point, in debate.

The point is THE twit that’ been a tweeter of late.

The twit that tweets promises that if he dupes US, for the American people, a wall,

he’ll build, women, he’ll cherish and books he’ll sell.




Indeed what is humorous may be gravely serious; to wit, an ugly-campaigner-in-chief

who aimed to be President, now is, the Commander-in-Chief.

What once seemed so preposterous as to be laughable, now is, no laughing matter;

that notwithstanding his tweets, and his golden showers.

But fear not, US, of America; for the mutant mouth that is the Donny’s outstanding

feature promises that, sooner, or later, him, we’ll be impeaching.

Earthlings: Humor Art. Imagine that ye, are brothers.  And, imagine that on Twitter,

Arthur, Kim and Donald John Trump, have all done gone, atwitter.

The three champion alchemical congruency of thought; as when Space Laboratory

crews wave to us and we wave to them, in orbit, in outer space.

Following is history past and present and the poetic prophesies of dimwitted Arthur

Everman.  It petitions ye to seek, alternative facts, and answers.




North and South Korea.  Pakistan and India.  Iran and Israel.  Three vexing, problems.

Now, what?  For two brothers of Art, a planet, threaten.

Three problems.  Two brothers.  One story.  A tiny subplot of the one story, His story,

is man’s history.  Tiny subplots of creation are ye tiny ye.

Seemingly surreally, Donny is the recently elected President, of US.  Kim, is the veteran.

Prez of the DPRK;  Art, 40 years drunken, his own barman.

Don has made it very clear that he’ll deal with Kim, with or without, China’s Xi,’s help.

Don will war without help.  He needs but enemy, not, help.

If Xi’s China is not going to solve North Korea, we will, says he.  And it shall be as easy

as ABC.  “Believe me,” he says.  “No one else can.  Only me.”

If Xi does help, that shall be good for China, Don has said; if Xi doesn’t, that won’t be

good for anybody.  Simplifying things, is twitter-diplomacy.

North and South Korea.  Pakistan and India.  Iran and Israel.  Three vexing, problems.

Enter three brothers megalomaniacal, with three quill pens.




Three clashes of countries.  Three problems. Three opportunities.  Kim, Don and Art

act out in this ‘live’ subplot of history, Art’s story, of history.

History is His story.  Education’s alchemy.  Hindsight’s 20-20.  There’s wisdom, in irony.

Behavior modification’s not limited to just individuals only.

Dreaming of what is, what was and what may be, the learned literati muse on ontology;

like luminaries like Aristotle, Milton, Locke, and Socrates,

Like too, like Shakespeare, in Manchester’s land. and eastern peers, Lao-zi, Kong-fu-zi,

Muhammad and Gandhi.  They, all see.  Hindsight is 20-20.

And they see folly; their own of course, but far more importantly, they see humanity’s

folly.  And they fear they see, a still-born, twitter-diplomacy.

Say what?  A still-born, twitter-diplomacy?  And Don’s to blame?  Sad; twitter-diplomacy

could have been a contender.  It could have been somebody.




A synchronicity of events, pursuant to His grand plan, has brought three brothers grim,

Don, Art and the Kim, to do, what’s been bidden by Him.

It happened that Penemue, a Watcher Angel fallen, for his own God-damned salvation’s

sake, googled for a weakling to propose to, his salvation.

It was Penemue who the Bible says, “pointed out to them every secret of their wisdom.”

He taught (wo)men on using ink and paper for writing,

It’s been Penemue (Pen, to us), who have been the master of ceremonies at every-nightly

soirees, where deceased visionaries envision, via poetry.

In reveries dreamy and at soirees Victorian, history’s philosophers, poets and luminaries,

with wannabe megalomaniacs Kim, Don and Art, meet.

He googled too for great writers of prose to collaborate with these unlikeliest of brothers,

to best inject prose-like drama, into epic-like, poetry.

“Tweet, blog and pen alchemically,” said Pen, to the three brothers, grim. “Algorithmically

tweet epigrams into transformational, BUT pacific, poetry.”




“Tweet blog and write, Kim, Don and Art, in the ‘twitterese’, I, Penemue, the last Watcher,

taught ye; an Esperanto-like hope, an Esperanto-like prayer.”

Twitterese came easy to Art.  Administration came easiest to Kim.  Spelling was Donny’s

forte.  Penemue, organized his Liberation Force, accordingly.

To attend to national affairs of state, Kim and Don ceded to their weakling brother, Arthur

the penning of epigrams.  Kim sees to invites;  Don to humor.

To wit Kim now tweets, albeit vicariously, to such world leaders as Xi Jinping and Vlad Putin.

Reactionary others look on, entranced, in rapt, anticipation.

Pithy statements.  One hundred forty characters.  And in this ode and last hurrah to poetry,

to wisdom and to peace, a final plea.  Please.  Heed my plea!.

This last of my soliloquies, this filibuster of tragi-comic, so to speak, Herculean, epic poetry;

is a ‘last call’ for alternative facts and an alternative, history.

This last soliloquy of Hamlet, nominally from Kim, Don and Arthur, is intended to make man

less narrow-minded and more open-minded and egalitarian.

Alternative facts.  And an alternative history.  To be or not to be?   To that end, alternatively,

consider, another paradigm.  Hail humanity, not sovereignty.




To be or not to be?  That is for humanity a threshold question. For high-technology algorithms,

we dead poets agree, may well counter, authoritarianism.

It is Scripture (the Testaments, Qu’ran, the Book of Mormon, et. cetera), wherein lives wisdom,

and the uncommonly common, and ubiquitous, Rules, Golden.

The very cross-cultural commonness of Golden Rules, evidences, their importance.  This repair

manual is in the spirit of that significance.  We dead poets, care.

Is to be or not to be, ever to be, the question?  Hamlet’s soliloquies were about nobility, tragedy

and comedy. The poets’ soliloquies herein, may be, revelatory.

The children of Lord Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh are our blood brothers and sisters before Him,

it mattering not, our religion, our nationality, nor our tribe to Him.

Arthur’s poetry acculturates!  For the acculturation of man is but the modification of hisbehavior

as applicable to group behaviors, as it is to individual behavior.

Theoretically, behavior modification is not limited to individuals only; certainly, our communities

too are subject to it as well. Why not test then, Arthur’s theory?




That is to say, behavior mod’s not limited just to individuals; communities too, are subject; to it.

‘Tis a relatively simple science, the time-tested science, of habit.

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