MAYDAY 1598: MONDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2019

“I don’t care for others. Everybody knows that. And I don’t care for Medicare, much less, Medicaid. Nor for social, and national, security,

much less security, international. I share not with anyone, anything. And what belongs to ye, really belongs to me.”

“In China, protests that started in June over a now-shelved extradition bill have snowballed into an anti-China campaign amid anger over

Beijing’s perceived, interference in Hong Kong’s, treasured, autonomy. But Xi is the one who, Hong Kong, watches, over.”

“Remember Xi what I said to ye last night in soirée on Luna. I’m counting on ye. And so I thank ye. Ye are the one and only who, over Hong Kong,

watches over. Help me — help ye win, Nobel Peace Prizes — for us. Thanks for all your restraint, in Hong Kong.”

“Help me help us win, Xi, Nobel Prizes, for us. Thanks for all your restraint in Hong Kong. Remember Xi what I said — to ye and — to Kim

last night, when thanking ye. Nobels are at stake for ye and for Vlad and Mo. And for Kim also; less so, tho, for him.”

“Nobels are at stake, guys,” I told them. “Nobel, Peace Prizes for ye and for Vlad and Mo. And for Kim also, although less so for him. Help

me help us win, guys, Nobel Prizes for us. Thanks for all your patience, in Hong Kong. Thanks, for all — your help.”

“Thanks Xi for all your patience in Hong Kong. And thanks Kim for all your help too. Nobels — gentlemen — are at stake,” I told them.

“Nobels. Maybe, for Peace; maybe for literature. The future of the planet and all living on it depends on winning Nobels.”

“A Nobel for Peace or literature. Our futures depends on one or more of us winning Nobel. Nobels are at stake,” I said, “Peace and prosperity,

too. I’m all about winning, whether the competition’s an election, a contest or a fake, impeachment … inquiry.”

“On Earth (Urantia, really) I’m all about winning; whether the competition’s an election, a contest or a witch hunt, styled, ignoble,

impeachment, inquiry. Our futures depends on our winning, one or more noble, Nobels. Why not bribe the Committees, Nobel?”

“MAYDAYS is The Cabal’s dreamy collaboration; epic poetry; revelations and epiphanies. Like the revelation of an algorithm,

hidden, in plain sight in Twitter’s algorithm. Eureka! I have found it! A potential panacea for Pangaea, were it not so … hidden.”

“Eureka! I have found a panacea for Pangaea in the Twitter Stream, hidden. MAYDAYS is The Cabal’s dreamy collaboration; epic poetry;

revelations and epiphanies; more than mere gossip and marketing. Hidden in secluded harbors, a top secret weapon — poetry.”

“In a sub-tributary of a rivulet of the Twitter Stream; hidden in a secluded harbor there, I have found a top secret weapon — in poetry

— Poetry, of all things. MAYDAYS is The Cabal’s, dreamy, collaboration. For more than gossip and marketing … poetry.”

“Witness each tweet’s 280 characters crafted into poetic couplets; fine craftsmanship in poetry; poetry so fine even Frost, approves. Witness in China, most

endorsing a protest movement and indicting the pro-Beijing establishment. And approving is the craftsman … Robert Frost.”

“We’ve seen Art’s videos and heard, in Arabic, Muslim prayers in the chilling, accompanying, audios. We now know full well what happens

in countless many, scenarios. What’s happening to Muslims in China mirrors what has always, on Urantia, been happening.”

“The institutions we’ve created can’t sustain us. They stunt our creativity; our agility to evolve to an egalitarian, paradigm. Not the paradigm,

sovereign we’re long overdue to have evolved from. And we don’t recall — what, we dream — at … night time.”

“We don’t recall what we dream at night on Luna. A plot device designed to make fictional interplay, between the dead and the living,

seem, eerily, nonfictional. Art thanked me last evening for my platform as an author and my credibility, with the living.”

“Not recalling what’s dream at night is, as it happens, a fortuitous, happenstance. A plot device, utilitarian. Not to introduce dead

men to live ones but for the living to learn how to live with, the also living and as a species, postpone … being dead.”

“Monied people like Melania and I sometimes forget our humanity along with our manners. We don’t much care for others — fairly —

sincerely; a matter of principle; a matter of fact. We may learn from an orangutan named The Don and his ‘personhood’ victory.”

“I don’t care for others. Everybody knows that. And I don’t care for Medicare, much less, Medicaid. Nor for social, and national, security,

much less security, international. I share not with anyone, anything. And what belongs to ye, really belongs to me.”

“I share not willingly with anybody anything. Everybody knows that. What ye think belongs to ye really surreally actually belongs to the

face of America. America first is for my base. I don’t give a damn about anyone not wearing mine, or Vladimir’s, face.”

“America first; red meat for my base; great patriots, oft, deplorable. I’m the cult’s leader. Their, white nationalist leader. They shall follow

me. And if I say so, they’ll follow, Vlad. To Charlottesville and beyond, the face of a nation they’ll follow.”

The Supreme Court may opt to hold The Don accountable, unanimously. To demonstrate certitude in these very uncertain very partisan times.

An opportunity to strike a course setting a strong precedent in cases pitting presidents against the Court next time.”

“Alas for Don there shall ne’er be any next time. Recall that Job One has always been to unconditionally avoid any jail time for him; there’s no time

for his kin. Rudy’s copping a plea for Don. His kids may need to get their own lawyers to skip jail time.”

“My kids need their own lawyers, not mine. Should they opt not to do any hard time, jail time. As for me there ne’er shall be any next time. Verily,

Job One has always been to avoid jail time. And so kin can spend time with me, but none, with my attorney.”

“I am a Russian asset, not a Russian government agent. I have become, Vlad’s boy. His poodle. His man, Friday. Job One has always been

about not going to prison. But my press conference transcript and what my White House edited-out, causes, consternation.”

“Make no mistake. I am a Russian government — asset, not a Russian GRU — agent. My press conference transcript from my agent‘s

meeting in Helsinki and what my White House, edited, out is causing in the light of Ukraine, worry, that I am an agent, Russian.”

“Sun Tsu last night in soirée said, ‘view the battlefield from that view that offers the best vantage from which to consider the answer to why

matters of advantage and disadvantage, matter.’ My transcript with Vlad Putin … was edited. Why on Earth? Why?”

“Don McGahn must testify to Congress about his time as my top lawyer in my White House, a federal judge ruled today. It is a decision

that will put pressure on other reluctant Trump administration witnesses to testify about President Donald’s, decisions.”

“Tweet, Arthur says, in 280 characters to tell a story as if a song. Like a hymn of measured meter, ebbing, then, flowing;

transforming any prose, to poetry. This is to clue ye in to purposes your Maker’s proposing and what about them, ye ought, be doing.

“Eureka! I have found it! The Cliff’s Notes, to wisdom. Tell a story like a song. Like a hymn; a river of meter, ebbing, then, flowing.

Transforming any prose, to poetry. Your Maker’s proposing some renewed purpose for ye. Ye’d best be intently listening.”

“That bears, repeating. Eureka! I have found the Cliff’s Notes to wisdom. Tell a story like a song. Like a hymn; like a river of meter; ebbing; flowing;

transforming any prose to poetry. Your Maker’s proposing some renewed purpose for ye while yet living.”

“I propose today a renewed purpose for ye 8 billion. Tell stories, like songs. Like hymns. Like rivers of meter, ebbing and flowing. Be

fluid. Be water. Transforming any prose, as if magic, into poetry. So I win the noble Prize, let it be.”
cc: @NobelPrize

“Everyone knows I’m a certifiable something or other. I reiterate: Know this: My presidency and The Art of The Deal are just two of my stable,

of platforms. Genius oozes from my every pore. I’m ready, willing and able. No one knows I’m certifiably unable.”

 

 

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