North Korea plays up Kim Jong un as a worthy recipient of a Nobel Peace Prize. And the possibility that the two may share, that high, honor.

Surprisingly though the two may have just eliminated themselves from a piece, of peace’s, iconic, honor.

An iconic Prize. Alfred Nobel’s, Peace Prize. Near all, covet it. Near everyone. And their brothers. Such, the allure of adding that, highest honor. Prizes

had they, in their pockets. But opening fat mouths may be costly, if it means, losing Prizes.

Spinning in their graves are past winners of the planet’s most iconic and coveted Prize. Alfred Nobel’s, Peace Prize. They had their invaluable Prizes,

in their pockets. But fat mouths may be costly. And the cost may well be, losing, invaluable … Prizes.

Russia’s shamster-in-chief: Vladimir Putin. Witness, not only this past presidential campaign in the United States of America, but a sham,

too, in Brexit, in Britain. A brawny bear is Putin’s Russia. Not above, assassination. Not above … shams.

Leave it to the children. Just not, the Beaver. For children, just like everybody else, are different from, everybody else. Most may follow where

the leaders, lead. So follow the leaders of tomorrow, today. Leaders like Greta. And David. They may get us, in 280 characters, there.

Just a misunderstanding. A lovers’, quarrel, if ye will. For jealous men are The Kim and The Don. Given, to rages. And ‘tis true that Mr. Alfred Nobel’s

brothers, are given, to rages. But Arthur’s brothers, noble wannabes, need nobility from Alfred Nobel.

Wisdom. It’s as if imbedded in poetry. And its power comes from its content. And from its cadence. Content. And cadence. The words, Penemue (Pen),

The Watcher, told man made for powerful words of beauty. Persuasion, not from a sword but rather, from a Pen.

MAYDAY 1334: WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2019: Says Art today: Just as in Helsinki, as usual, there appears to be more going on, under

the tables in Hanoi, than usual. As Art leaks, by tweeting this. In twists of irony, Art’s blackmailing … the blackmailers.

MAYDAY 1334: WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2019: Says Arthur today, what may play, tomorrow. Comes a 3rd summit, maybe, ending

the Korean, Conflict. But, as in Helsinki, as usual, there’s a lot going on under the table, never intended for, any, public, viewing.

Dualities. Matter. Anti-matter. Light. Darkness. Good. Evil. Truth. And on misguided, Urantia, ubiquitous, lies.
Prevarications, pandemic.

And ironic. On convening sessions at the U.N. No confidence, motions. But it’s not, happening. A truth … sardonic.

Masters of the universe (not), universally, ruling. For, evolutionary, are ye. Not crowning creations, but rather, developing, beings. Urantia’s perennial

lying, acts like a brake. Against, further evolving. To make of man, a footnote in annals, universal.

Calling on all critics of the sovereignty, paradigm. Fanatics, of brotherhood. But brotherhood, not, internecine. Not limited, to tribes of men,

Jewish, Christian and Muslim. But brotherhood, rather, everywhere, on the planet and between, all men.

Peace and prosperity. And brotherhood between all men. Everywhere, on the planet. Mark, Art’s words. Kim and Don are needy,

of Nobels. Like nobles, nobility, need. Nothing but nothing is impossible, for two men, in love, so deeply.

Peace and prosperity. And brotherhood between all men. Everywhere on the planet. Mark, Art’s words. Kim and Don need, Nobels. Like nobles, nobility,

need. Nothing is impossible for two men so deeply in love and needing to stay out of jail … indefinitely.

Kim and Don need Nobels. Like nobles, nobility, need. After loving The Don, Kim can never love another. The Don, in turn says that Kim is his first, truly,

true love. Nothing is impossible for two men deeply in love and needing to avoid jail, indefinitely.

To avoid jail, indefinitely. And to be true, to one another, The Kim and The Don, need their Nobels. They need them like nobles, their nobilities,

need. But nobility takes a back seat to expediency when prison’s, in issue. Like for the lovers, Kimmy … and Donny.

For passes from indefinite detention, The Kim and The Don, need, their Nobels. To avoid jail-time. And, oh yeah, be true … to one another. Noble

blessings bestowed, the Russian Vladimir and the Chinese Xi are rigging, the 2018, Peace Prize, Nobel.

Rigging is a strong word. Skewing, perhaps, being the better word to characterize the nature of the Russian and Chinese interventions, in Nobel,

affairs. Interventions impacting upon an Academy’s December presentation of 2018’s, noble, Peace Prize, Nobel.

Know ye then this, all ye gullible, Urantians. As usual, there’s a lot going on, under the table. Things said, never intended to become, of public. Art

pens today, what may play, tomorrow. Come a 3rd summit, ended may be, a Korean Conflict. So sayeth, Art.

In is in surreal twists of irony that The Almighty as if speaks to His wayward Urantian children. It is in these ironies, that wisdom is in plain sight, hidden.

He speaks to us, still. Between the lines of what written on walls. Of the human rights of men.

Read between the lines of what’s been, throughout history, written on walls. There’s where one may were one may metaphysically

commune, theoretically, if all are in the same place cybernetically with all one’s brothers. Eight billion of them … surreally.

Being so forearmed; with pens, keyboard keys and other hi-tech, word, weaponries, the word may very well become, mightier even than lies,

venerable. Albeit not, perhaps, steely swords. Count, on the children. And disarm not, before the venerable, lie.

Verily, disarm not, before the lie. Rather, arm yourselves, in self-defense. For even if truthful words became, by decree today, mightier than lies,

tomorrow, it would take, a generation, at a minimum to undo the effects, of countless generations, of lies.

Even if truthful words became by decree today, mightier than lies, tomorrow, it would take a generation, at a minimum, to undo the effects of lies,

countless, over the generations. Disarm not, before lies. Rather, arm yourselves against dehumanizing … lies.

Arm yourself against the dehumanizing lies that characterize, so disgracefully, life, on Urantia (Earth). Children, from

their parents, learn. Citizens, from governments. Decrying criminal presidents of nations is Art on behalf of the citizens, there from.

The criminal presidents of the nations are ruling, autocratically. And in the presidents, the citizens, have no, confidence. None. The presidents

soirée (dream) there because only on the surface of Luna, in this solar system is Truth spoken, in confidence.

Masters of the universe (not), universally, ruling.
For, evolutionary, are ye. Not crowning creations, but rather, developing, beings. Urantia’s perennial

lying, acts like a brake. Against, further evolving. To make of man, a footnote in annals, universal.

Shall the pen prove mightier than the sword, after all? Change may depend, on our children. And a formula Art follows to pen couplet verse,

algorithmic. 280 character ads, or stories. A new language, for communicating. On reversing, reversals … in verse.

Reversing reversals, in verse. Slowing a trend toward an increasingly, devolutionary, evolution. Shall Pen’s pens prove, mightier, than swords?

Change may depend on our kids. And a formula to follow to pen, couplet verse. Pens are mightier … than swords.

@GretaThunberg @davidhogg111:
May Pen’s pens prove mightier, than even swords? Change may depend on our children.

And a formula, for couplet verse. For pens in the hands of children may be mightier than swords. To reverse reversals, count, on the children.

@GretaThunberg @davidhogg111:
Change may depend on our children. And a formula for couplet verse. In the hands of visionary children far swords,

pale, next, to words. To reverse reversals, count, on the children. Pens are far, far, mightier … than swords.

Pens. And words. In the hands of visionary children, mightier than even, swords. To counter evolution’s devolution, count on our legatee,

children. Pens, mighty, may be! Change. Mighty may be the children. For armed, with words, children may be … mighty.

Armed with words, our legatee children, yet still, may be, mighty. On children, count! Forearmed with pens, digital and word weaponry, ironically

the word may yet be, mightier, than the sword. On children, count! Mighty the children armed with … poetry.

Mighty are the children who are so well armed. Forearmed with words, our children mighty, may yet, be. Forearmed with pens, digital and word,

weaponry, the word may very well be, mightier than the sword. On children count, literally. Allow them … a word.

Chronicling, an obsession. An addiction far more compelling than literary crosswords and the mathematical, Sodukus. On tweeting in exactly 280

characters, the story of The Don. Paralleling, the story, of (wo)man. And Plan Kim-Don. It is what is happening. Implausibly. Incredibly.

On tweeting in 280 characters the story of (wo)man. History. His story. Not to undo what’s been done with The Donald but to faithfully set stages

for what’s going to happen in a future, predictable, should (wo)man not reconsider, and … reset, the stage.

History. It’s His story. He intervenes only as necessary to suit His Holy, purposes. To set the stage for what, in the future, may be happening, maybe.

Over the ages, the greatest story ever told in 280 characters is the story that Art’s tweeting … maybe.

Over the ages, the greatest story ever told in 280 characters is the story that Art’s tweeting, maybe. History. His story.

He intervenes only as necessary to suit His Holy, purposes. To set the stage for what, in the future, may … be happening … maybe.

For a global transformation, use Twitter’s algorithmic, formula, for couplet verse. For 280, character, stories. Or ads. As the case, may be. In

MAYDAYS, Arthur, in two settings, is extorting a cabal of his ruling brothers, to do, for us, the right thing.

In MAYDAYS Art, in two settings, exhorts (extorts), a cabal of our ruling brothers to do for us, the right thing. Change depends on Twitter’s

algorithmic formula, for couplet verse. 280, character ads, or stories. A new way of waxing poetic … on Twitter.

Art’s mission: To tweet man’s story. And to retweet it, as necessary. To suit, Holy purposes. To set stages for what in the future, may well seem, magical.

The greatest 280 character story ever told may well be, the story of the brothers of The Don … gone viral.

Chronicling, an obsession. An addiction far more compelling than literary crosswords and the mathematical, Sodukus. On tweeting in exactly

280 characters, the story of The Don. Paralleling, the story, of (wo)man. And Plan Kim-Don. It is what is happening. Implausibly. Incredibly.

Art resides in fear. That Russians, reach out, to him. On Urantia. Not, on Luna. And that’s a problem for Arthur. For Art Everman resides, not on Luna

with Vlad, but on Urantia. He only dreams with Vlad, on the surface of Luna. Art’s safe … only on Luna.

On discrimination against future immigrants. Like Art and Buzz, Art’s cyber, spy-fly. From Angel-Trainee Art Everman’s, muckraking, MAYDAYS,

both fiction and nonfiction. Nonfictional. In settings. In characters. In plot. What’s happening … is in MAYDAYS.

On Angel-Trainee Arthur Everman’s, muckraking, MAYDAYS. Both fiction and nonfiction. Nonfictional. In settings. In characters. In plot. Why

what’s happening, is happening! On discrimination against future immigrants. Like Art and Buzz, his … cyber, spy-fly.

Novichok. Just one of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s many agents, personal and impersonal. Assassins all, drawn from the pages of Arthur’s

muckraking, MAYDAYS. It’s intended to blackmail Art’s brothers. Expect someone to be sent, to ‘talk,’ to Arthur.

In case someone’s sent to ‘talk,’ to Arthur. Someone from Russia. With a heavy accent. Like Natasha’s, Boris. Someone bearing Russian nerve agent,

Novichok, to have his way. Just one of Vlad’s assassins from the muckraking MAYDAYS, penned by … His agent.

Art lives in fear of the Russian Puppet Master President Vladimir Putin. For the cabal of brothers know well from the minutes of their soirées, with Art,

on Luna, Art’s intent is to blackmail his brothers. So Art fears someone be sent … to ‘talk’ to Art.

Art’s intent in writing MAYDAYS is to blackmail the cabal that rules Urantia. A ruthless cabal of loveless brothers. And so it’s easy for Vladimir Putin’s

puppets to be less, than brotherly. Art lives in fear of a Russian. And it is Russia’s … Mr. Putin.

Arthur resides in fear, while on Urantia, of Vladimir. But Art fears him not at all, when they soirée, on Luna. A red flag for Art’s security. For on Urantia, Arthur

resides with Vladimir. And so, Arthur resides in fear. That Russians reach out, to Arthur.

What’s been happening for a long time now has Arthur’s brothers, for yesterdays, longing. Like a ton of bricks has been the global impact of @POTUS.

The news dawns on each of them. Don’s ides are the brothers’ ides as well. As well as also … Caesar, Julius’.

MAYDAYS: Poetry, epic. A panacea for Urantia’s Pangaea. At Penemue’s, behest. An algorithm. A set of instructions. From apprentice, Art,

Angel-Trainee. From a future recalled to counter Vlad’s Don-toxin against President Don, has been, his brother … Art.

MAYDAYS: Poetry, epic. Panaceas for Urantia’s Pangaea. At Penemue’s behest. An algorithm. From Arthur, an Angel-Trainee, apprenticing.

From the future. With missions, multiple. Counter Vlad. Save Urantia’s humans. Teach #Twitteze. AND earn … Angel Wings.

MAYDAYS: Epic poetry. Panaceas. For Urantia’s, Pangaea. At Penemue’s, behest. An algorithm, humbly authored by Arthur, the long apprenticing,

Angel-Trainee. From the future. With missions, a-plenty. Stop Vlad. Save the humans. And EARN his … Angel Wings.

MAYDAYS: An algorithm authored by Arthur Everman, the long apprenticing, Angel-Trainee. From the future, is he. With a plethora of top-secret missions.

Stop Vlad. Save humans. EARN, Angel’s, Wings. Panaceas, for Pangaea, upon Penemue’s (Pen’s), apparition.

MAYDAYS: On Art’s top-secret missions. Stop Vlad. Save humans. EARN, Angel Wings. Panaceas, for Pangaea, upon Penemue’s (Pen’s),

apparition. An algorithm authored by Art, the long apprenticing, Angel-Trainee. From the future, he. Come to tweet, His wisdom.

Funny. These, ironies. These things, that happen. Momentous things. Mundane, things. In pasts, presents and futures. Like, assassinations

and Russian, selection, of our President. Like all things, Russian and American. Like all things … Urantian.

Verily, the ides of March are, at last, coming. And so it remains to be seen. Are we ignorant sheep to be herded? Or are we men,

of reason? Know, men, then, this: The ides of March are coming. Stop already with all, the lying! This, Art did, yell, at them.

“Are we ignorant sheep to be herded? Or are we reasonable men. Know men this: The ides of March come. Stop the lying! Keep democracy from dying!”

Art yelled at them at the top of his lungs. Hoping against hope they’d reason that peace is … what’s happening.

Arthur yelled at them at the top of his lungs, “Are we ignorant sheep to be herded? Or are we, reasonable men. Know ye this: Coming, are … the ides

of March. Stop the lying! So Arthur said in soirée to his brothers, last evening. Come brothers, the ides!

“Come brothers, the ides of March!” At that, wide grew, the eyes of brothers. At the tops of lungs anew, screamed, an enraged … and apoplectic … Art.

“Are we sheep, Art asked, to be herded? Or reasonable … men? Come soon the ides of March!” said Art.

At that, wide grew, the eyes of the brothers. So Arthur reiterated, “Are we sheep,” Art asked, “to be herded? Or reasonable men? Come soon Caesar’s

ides of March!” said Art. And the brothers knew. That The Don’s ides, were their ides, as well as, Caesar’s.

The Don’s ides, were their ides, as well as, Caesar’s. Wide-eyed, at first, were the eyes of Art’s brothers when Art informed them of Bob’s report, finally,

finalizing. But they grew, wild-eyed. As it dawned on each of them. They are tied … to The Donny.

Like a ton of bricks. Such was the impact upon Arthur’s brothers as the news dawned on each of them. As each of them realized how yesterday’s

news might further, impact him. That Don’s ides are their ides as well as Caesar’s, make them long, for yesterday.

In training is Arthur. And while the Angel Trainee wins his wings with a planetary save, that, for store greeter Arthur, no conflicting interest, is. Art

must coerce them. By leaking the minutes, of meetings. Blackmailing his presidential brothers, is Art.

Publicly blackmailing, Arthur’s brothers. At first glance, a course of action near certainly suicidal given the proximity in Russia of Vladimir Putin’s

Novichok, to anyone on the planet. Going public here, feels safe. Unlike, in Russia, with Vlad Putin.

Going public here is safer than elsewhere. We’ve got more powerful, institutions. Less powerful, men. Here, words like freedom and liberty,

everywhere, empower. Unlike in Russia. China. Kim’s Korea. Saudi Arabia. Turkey. Iran. And Brazil following Hungary.

We need to be rid of leaders discriminating against humanity. Re-educating them. Imprisoning them. Executing them, with sovereign,

impunity. Unless they change like the climates do, why live under such men? Are we sheep, … to be so herded? Or are we … men?

Are we sheep, to be so herded? Or are we men? Arthur warned them last night. At last evening’s soirée on Luna, Art clearly warned them: “Know, men,

this: The ides of March are coming. Decry the sovereignties. Decry inhumanity. Decry!” he cried … to them.