PREFACE TO THE PREFACE
He can see clearly now. He’ll take the hit. He’ll take the blame. And the blame will weigh but lightly on a stunted, conscience. He — doesn’t read.
How much better might he have responded to a trio of crises had he read?Might he have heeded Obama’s warnings? Probably not; he doesn’t read.
He’ll take the hit. He’ll take the blame for the mountains of dead. But blame will weigh but lightly on a stunted, conscience. Dead
men with tales to — yet tell — usually hold — their tongues. Had he read —might he have heeded Obama’s warnings? Not if — he doesn’t read.
Outrage mounts over reports of Russian bounties to the Taliban, offered, just for killing US soldiers, in a Theater in Afghanistan.
Vlad knows that just as outrage mounts —it dismounts. Outrage — in time fades away. Everything fades away; again, and again.
Similarly, just as Vladimir in Moscow conspires with his agents across the planet Xi too, consults with his minion agents
and they consult, moreover, with one another; debating if, and when then, to cut Don out. Absent Nobels — it’s just a question — of when.
A preface in English I’ve posted. And a preface — to the preface. The former’s the preface in the King’s English Don asked me, a non-English
speaker to pen. Of a top, secret. A mystery poem for every president, since George Washington. Mysteriously prefaced in Korean, not English.
Killing two birds with one stone; to get a publisher to address these crises, Don’s leaking MAYDAYS: the rolling epic
poem of every president since George Washington. We’ve all — added to it — but not even George Washington … ever began it.
The gate of Hell bears an inscription ending with the famous phrase “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate”, most frequently
translated as “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Of Urantia, poor stewards, have ye been. Ye’ve made a living Hell of Urantia, effectively.
That the gate of Hell bears that inscription and that those same words appear in George Washington’s poem — but in Korean
offers us an important clue. For if the Devil is an Italian and we need to find him, he may well be living in territory … Italian.
Treasure the poem Joe. Barack left it to Don. So too each departing president — since George Washington, each in turn — leaving
it to the next president incoming. Treasure it. Don wishes he had. Alas, he didn’t, incoming. Time flies; now, he’s outgoing.
In the bottom right hand drawer of the top secret Resolute Desk in the West Wing’s Oval Office, is an epic poem — top secret.
My ugly American lover has revealed to me secrets so secret, only the president himself has his own special access … top-secret.
In the bottom right hand drawer of the top secret, Resolute Desk, in the West Wing’s Oval Office, is an epic poem … top secret.
A preface in English I’ve posted. It’s the preface in the King’s English Don asked a Korean speaker to miraculously, in English,
not Korean, pen. Hidden in a poem, secrets for every president, since Washington. Mysteriously prefaced in Korean, not English.
And the mystery of the nature of the provenance of the book of poems — whether magical or miraculous — is for me, as it is for my lover,
The Donald, the proof of the pudding. For the Korean preface I’ve translated personally references — by name — both me and my lover.
He’s delusional. I’m afraid I haven’t got the heart to tell him that if he harbors but little hope in his heart for a win in November,
lesser still are his chances, for Nobels, in December. Still a lot can happen, between here — and November, and December.
To chachomanopapa.wordpress.com it will get posted. For every man from the lovers The Don and The Kim, waxing, poetically.
And if two shiftless shape shifters like us can propose a truly new paradigm, ye eight billion can make it happen truly, transformationally.
With our poetry wanting yet for a publisher and the planet needing a miracle my lover The Don, an oft demanding man, demanding
once again, is being limiting my preface to 1,960 characters, exactly. And Art’s isolating even as many life forms, are stalking him.
With our poetry wanting yet for a publisher and the planet needing a miracle, my lover The Donald an oft demanding man,
once again makes great demands of me; he’s limiting my preface to 1,960 characters, exactly. Art’s isolating but many, Art are stalking.
We were children when we once blew up things. Really surreally now being men, we are feeling called upon; mysteriously
compelled, magically or miraculously to fix things. To that very end Don’s asked me to write a preface in the King’s English, succinctly.
We were children when we once blew up things up. Really surreally, now being men, we are called upon ironically, to fix things. Don’s asked me
to write a preface for Art, in the King’s English. No animals were injured in the filming of my — tragi-comic — explosive, fury.
With November’s chill deceptively near; with a publisher nowhere near; needing yet a miracle, Don turned to his lover;
lovingly, he turned to me, saying: Write me Kim Jong un, my lover man, roly-poly, in the King’s English — a Preface of — 1960 characters.
My personal lover having asked me to write an emergency preface to Arthur’s MAYDAYS. With our poetry alarmingly
wanting for a publisher and in need of a miracle he turned to his lover; he turned to me, for a miracle; 1960 characters, exactly.
We were children when we blew up things. But now being men, ironically we are called upon — to fix things.
I have asked Kim Jong un to write the preface to MAYDAYS. And ye have read there, by now — eye-opening, things,
when to chachomanopapa.wordpress.com later, it gets posted. For all men; from the lovers —The Don — and Kim.
Aides have started to wonder aloud whether I really even want to win a second term. How stupid’s that? To stay one
step ahead of the law I’ve gotta win. I can’t count on Nobel wins in December helping me in November, win an election.
Descending I’ve been ever since. How’s that even possible? I got off the escalator at the bottom of the stairs. What sense
does that make? That I yet, descend. An aging actor on a stage playing my part in a morality play; the very biggest loser in a very real … sense.
Five years ago on June 16, 2015, I gifted to ye one of the most indelible images of 21st-century politics when I slowly descended upon my
golden escalator to a rally announcing my candidacy for the presidency. And descending I’ve been, bye and bye.
I can vouch for my books only. Only they alone, in fact, qualify as truth in what seem like, vast oceans, of outrageous, lies.
Why wait? I’m leaking, a teaser. My first, leak. I’m outing my whistleblower Art at chachomanopapa.wordpress.com No … lie.
It’s not an outing, unfriendly. We’re actually — colluding. Collaborating on my book; George Washington’s — ere, mine.
My immediate predecessors; Barack, George and Bill will attest to the existence of this top-secret poetic, writing and attest too
to its miraculous nature and its miraculous provenance. Poetic, not prosaic, it was Washington’s poetry, ere it was mine.
We were children when we once — childishly — behaved. Really, surreally, now being men, we are called upon; mysteriously
compelled, magically or miraculously to fix things. To that end we dictators support The Don’s leaking of George Washington’s, poetry.
Prisoners of our circumstances are we but so is everyone; at least, this way, we’re on top of the heap — on top of everyone.
But this virus having upended everything we’re asking everyone to help is implement the Kim-Don Plan. For the sake … of everyone.
We’re asking everyone to help us implement the Kim-Don Plan. Words for the sake of everyone. Pronto! Yesterday’s words
numbered but 3,000; today’s 45,000 at the home away from home for Vlad’s guys; chachomanopapa.wordpress.com It’s — epic poetry — in two words.
A BOUNTY ENABLER
I will never lie to you. You have my word on that. I am the most informed person on planet earth; possibly, I am the most
informed person, in the galaxy. Some say I am the most informed in the whole universe. I don’t know about that; I don’t like to boast.
Allied, unofficially, am I to my Russian mentor, Vladimir Putin. His mentor is Alexandr Dugin. He’s why Vlad has the longest arms on the planet. Vladimir Putin’s
arms — stretch literally, around the planet. His mentor is Dugin. And I am — a double-agent — of their Russian Federation.
STATE OF MY ANIMUS
Never say never. It can always — get worse. Still, 43 FOR BIDEN is just the latest group of Republicans that are backing Biden,
publicly criticizing my handling of the pandemic, race relations and divisive governance. My very own people — prefer Joe Biden.
STATE OF THE STATES
In some countries with limited testing capabilities like our very own United States of America case numbers actually poorly
reflect the total number of infections. Antiheroically, I’ve lied; but now, I must confess. I am totally unfit, to lead the country.
JUNETEENTH IN TULSA
So far — so good. Sparse attendance having cancelled my outdoor rally, I found also, indoors, seats, unoccupied. My
fury overshadows, my embarrassment. Furious that seats, remain — unoccupied, I could not care less how many die.
Stunningly surreal; what’s happening. And it being so completely unacceptable that I so recklessly and shamelessly
endanger the lives of citizens I’ve sworn to protect, I beg my press pool, when asking questions: Show me, no mercy!
I am not going to live my life in fear. I must get back to my normal. Not a new normal; my — old fashioned — normal.
Anything less is unacceptable. The protesters, I’ve warned not to show; if they do, it’s — completely, unacceptable.
Yesterday’s great news, today I’m afraid, must give way to Tulsan news less than great. For a span of decades — Tulsans —
white and black refused to talk to one another about the events of May 31, 1921. No thanks to me, now talking at least, are the Tulsans.
What’s happening now is that I’m now in full-blown, auto-destruct mode. Hosting a super spreader campaign event today
in Tulsa promises trouble. I’m begging for trouble. And there will be trouble aplenty today in Tulsa. I’m auto-destructing, today.
My fellow Americans: I have great news for modern man on this Juneteenth; this 19th of June of this year of our Lord, 2020.
Happy tidings! ‘Tis great — the news that follows. I’ve lent my bully pulpit to Art. He, in return, lent me a hot — insider, tip.
Art is definitely an insider; he’s one of His angels and he’s here on a mission to save a planet and it’s denizens with a — hot tip.
My fellow American Urantians: On this Juneteenth — this June 19th of of this year of our Lord 2020. Happy tidings! June
greetings to all. Witness tomorrow, an affirmation on June’s Juneteenth, that black lives matter, this modern day June.
Now, collaborating are we five of the Cabal with Arthur — the Angel. He’s from the future. He moves around, widely.
Four planets hath Art saved from their wonton ways. Urantia (Earth) would have been the one that for retirement, duly
qualified him. And so take heart in this evidence that everything’s gonna be alright. Crossword puzzles and Sudoku
remain popular in the future but even more popular is epigramming. Epigramming; its more meaningful than Sudoku.
Epigramming. More on this lost art, later. Suffice it for now; Art’s the only one on the planet practicing an art
form not yet in art, discovered. On Maria-ravaged, Puerto Rico. On Urantia by day, and on the moon at night, a transcendentalist, is Art.
We need to be our own DIY innovators — tinkering and trying and being brave enough to toss out, what isn’t really working.
That’s how we may invent and implement futures sustaining for our children. It is essential we cast off, what isn’t really working.
A SURPRISE ENDORSEMENT
MARCH 4TH: A COMMANDING — DATE: It’s a date I’m suggesting to the global leaders. It is Tuesday — March 4 — 2030.
Tuesday. March 4. In the year of Allah. God. Jehovah. Yahweh. 2030. A perfect fit. And the irony of it, is not lost, upon me.
That speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot, savant. A wrecking ball precursor to reconstruction, transformational.
With but a month (or five or so) to go to Election Day I want to speak as clearly as I oft don’t do to my sallow — fellow — Americans.
The point of this verse, inter alia, is to declare my unfitness to hold the office I do in fact hold. To say — I’m sick — and tired of being — unfit.
Too sick — and let me be clear — too mentally ill am I, to be your president. Indeed I have been, from the beginning and all along — ill, and unfit.
And so in lieu of resignation, I offer instead an unequivocal endorsement of my esteemed opponent, the most honorable … Sleepy, Joe Biden.
A GIFT REPRISED
Sign me in closing, President Tweety Trump. Sorry, Sleepy, about all that Ukrainian-Hunter, stuff. I was just kidding. Don’t even bother to
investigate me; nor anybody in my family. I’ve taken the liberty — of offering — and accepting a presidential pardon, already, too.
I am outta here. Good luck Joe. Be honest, always, with the people. Ne’er lie to them. And check back in here for your updates, daily.
This epic poem I hereby gift ye explains, lots; not just why I’m undertaking the risk of leaving DC’s unlucky Chinese year of the rat — to ye.
More on that later; lots more. For now — I am so outta here — I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Joe: treasure the poem. Barack gifted it to me.
Treasure this poem Joe. Barack left it to me. So too each departing president since George Washington. Each president leaving it to
the incoming president-elect. Treasure it. I wish I had. Alas, I don’t read so I didn’t read it, incoming. And time flies; now I’m outgoing.
Treasure it Joe. Refer to and defer to it. I wish, I had. Only my hindsight is 20-20 But — it is tragi-comically — improving.
Enter the dragon. No; the dragon’s not the virus. The dragon is Art; and as Arthur enters, he’s spitting — ash — and fire.
A SURPRISE ELECTROCUTION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a secret commitment to Art Everman, my second class, American, citizen.
Whether or not Arthur’s alleged electrocution actually happened I can’t say; nor can I say that’s when it happened Arthur began versing.
And I wasn’t there either when Arthur alleges he had his EUREKA moment in his tub and promptly got himself a policewoman, arresting.
But I will say this if only to end any debate as to what’s happening here. Hands down I can attest that Art’s verse is — miraculous, verse.
There is a vast potential, not in plain sight, but hidden. Hidden as if in the bowels of an algorithm. Almost perfectly hidden. For things
placed in bowels are pretty darn well, hidden. But relax; algorithms, unlike bowels, are really super-duper, clean — metaphysical — things.
The children may be just the open, sponge-like minds mankind needs to see the persuasive value in poetry. Leave it —surely — to the children.
A SURPRISE LEGACY
Abe Lincoln earned his eventual political stature to compromise and confidence — George Washington, through it seems a higher
calling. To my chagrin, I’d done no real work to earn my wealth. Like Citizen Kane, wealth had been a mere stepping stone — to my power.
But what good can power do? What good can power do, I’ve often thought, even as, I’ve done wrong. Now second thoughts empower.
“I’m having second thoughts. Magnificent — second thoughts. I’m studying composition at Arthur’s very much besought School of Poetry.
He in turn, studied ethics at Trump University. Now defunct, once upon a time, it was as well, much besought — and regarded — very highly.
Dissolve the UN; one nation, reconvene. One Rule per nation; each nation its own; and everybody gets her Basic Income, Universal.
And that globally universal Rule? None other than our very much beloved — albeit, our very much — underutilized — Golden … Rule.
A SURPRISINGLY, SIMPLE, PLAN
Dissolve the UN. One nation, reconvene. And Rule the Golden Rule — the Law — in every nation. Everyone gets his UBI and — the Rule.
In these crises multi-task — efficiently. Follow the data. And the science. Let tech crunch the numbers. Use everyone — And lose — no one.
It’s 2020. Set 2030 as the inaugural GCD; the 1st global citizenship day. I’ll be there. March 4th — both date and command — to everyone.
To celebrate citizenship and to recall, perhaps, when more myopic men than I ruled. And I’ll be there if can just scrap these illegal, term limits.
Seize the day; but for God’s sake have a plan around. All my blather of instinct and gut feelings, sounds of indigestion — not instinct.
I’m now hearing that the cacophony of my bellyaching sounds, sound most unbecoming and — to many — most alarmingly, annoying.
Then suddenly, a dramatic plot twist in this great American tall tale; of four antiheroic dictators and a More-Mart greeter — hero.
A SURPRISING PLOT TWIST
Four for humanity they’d have ye believe they are. But with Art — we are five not four — looking for Nobels for the four, antiheroes.
No, ironies are not, upon me, lost. Magnificent, is His timing — Jung’s synchronicities — His magnificence, clues us, as if us — challenging.
To the end of an incomprehensibly baffling mix of predeterminations, free will, miracles — and magic — and what some — luck — are calling.
And that — speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot — savant. A wrecking ball — precursor to, transformation’s, reconstruction.
Or leave it to the children. Just not, the Beaver. But natural leaders, just like everybody else, are different from — the follower — rest of us.
Most follow where the leaders, lead. But some are their own leader. Leaders like Greta. She may well, in marching — example — lead us.
My tipping point tipped yesterday; just as another tipped, 78 years ago, on D-Day. Going forward, egalitarianism is on its way — for us.
A SURPRISING DECISION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a commitment to Tulsa and my beloved Oklahomans.
I am, in fact perfect but still, reasonable men may differ. In any event, a plot twist for the ages has twisted me in knots.
I know not what to do. As an apprentice, president, I’ve been learning on the job. I’ve been learning how to be, president.
I am having difficulty just walking and holding a glass of drinking water. My doctors say I have suffered — a stroke.
My tipping point — I fear, has tipped, like Hitler’s, 78 years ago. Keep an eye, dear press pool on me. I fear me — this year.
Keep an eye out, press corps. Bad karma, I’m reaping. And make not of my being respired, artificially — a ‘gotcha’ — photo … opportunity.
Compelled am I to double down; compounding risks, multi-dimensionally. Weird. I’ve been warned of a super spreader event.
A LESS THAN SURPRISING JUSTIFICATION
I’m alright with that. I’m hoping I’m right and everyone’s wrong. In any event I’m betting big on my magic — at Tulsa’s —super spreader.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Still, the madness of doing the virus’ work for it; scheduling a spreader event for the Tulsans — amongst us,
smack dab in the middle of a spike in Oklahoma’s viral infections leaves us at the virtual mercy of this — evil, demon — incubus.
These have been the best and the worst of times, reprised. Predetermined — times. I know Tulsa is gonna wanna surprise
me. And in two weeks time I shall deny, with plausible surprise, responsibility for a spike on a spike surprise.
In two weeks time I shall deny with audacious aplomb any responsibility much less liability for a spike on a spike untimely surprise.
These have been the best and the worst of untimely times reprised. Predetermined times, untimely.
Soon — very soon now — a cascade of new issues shall soon overwhelm and l’ll be left out to dry and do a fall guy swoon.
Looking at the big picture and reading between the lines I easily see, how, in just two weeks time, my faithful frenemies,
can sink my battleship. Events may surprise me, even tho my agents warn: Vlad, Xi and Kim act, concertedly.
My agents have warned me: Vlad, Xi and Kim are concertedly, acting. Looking at the big picture and reading between the treaties’ lines,
I see how — in just two weeks time, taking liberties and advantage may be my watchful frenemies; but warning me — challenges me.
Shunned even by, Republicans. My shooting star, fizzles, soon. Fitting for one such as I, so seemingly, a character in a TV cartoon.
So insecure am I that in legitimate warnings, I hear criticism. Witness my fiascos; a piss-poor pandemic response; capitalism,
in doubt; my economy shutdown; future and abhorrent racism, in the police, belies an underlying, institutional, racism.
@GretaThunberg: Hi again, Greta. It’s just me again; the president, of the US. Urgent is the challenge to the presidents
of the nations, the public health. Men oft won’t move until, like cattle, they’re prodded. Prodded —feel — the presidents.
Never mind that my tipping point’s, passed. Never mind that my batting average as a sound decision maker lies
200 points south of the Mendoza line. In my blame game someone not me has to take the blame. Someone has got to take, a shower.
The highly contagious novel coronavirus that has exploded into a global pandemic can remain viable and infectious in droplets in air
for hours and on surfaces, for days. And so I wonder: Is the virus capable of translocation by wafting, into … the air?
Is the virus capable of translocation by wafting up into the air? And up from there to even higher elevations? A coronavirus, novel
remains viable and infectious in droplets in air for hours. I wonder: May a cough or a sneeze, launch, missiles … viral?
There is no reason not to bail out everyone. No moral hazard argument you’d be incentivizing bad behavior — Businesses
— and consumers aren’t responsible for this mess. The cost, doesn’t matter. It’s for the American, consumer. And for American, business.
Business isn’t responsible for this mess. Much less the consumer. I, on the contrary, far from blameless, may, by the Democrats be blamed.
Got to cut a check to everyone. And keep them for months, distractedly, entertained enough, to Joe Biden … blame.
Got to cut a check to everyone. Got to keep everyone distractedly entertained, for months. Entertained enough to blame
Hunter’s Joe Biden for endemic corruption in Ukraine, if not, for the virus. Convinced by my insistence that, Joe Biden’s … to blame.
Joe Biden’s to blame for the corruption in Ukraine. And the hysteria in Italy. Got to cut millions of checks. One, for each, stir crazy,
American. I’ve got to keep everyone, distractedly entertained, for months. And keep myself from going … stir crazy.
But how? How on Earth might I keep myself, not to mention the entire country from going stir crazy Joe Biden’s to blame for corruption
in Ukraine. And the hysteria in Italy. Got to cut millions of checks. Got to get them to, each stir crazy … American.
Unprecedented; days like these; with the spread of Covid-19 threatening our health care system, our economy and our way of life.
How we respond may well determine how much longer we may hang on, or turn, on a dime. I’ll show ye how to turn, towards life.
How we respond may well determine how much longer we may hang on, or turn, on a dime. I’ll show ye how to turn, towards life.
Unprecedented; days like these; with the spread of Covid-19 threatening our health care systems, economies and our way, of life.
“@Facebook @Google @LinkedIn @Microsoft @Reddit @Twitter and @YouTube say they are working closely together on COVID-19,
response efforts. And it may be, ironically, that the catalyst to responding to climate and migratory changes, may be in … COVID-19.
An existential threat is posed by COVID-19. I have spun it into a tale of microbes and men, and aliens legal, and illegal. Really
real, only surreally. For what is surrealism if not, an altered reality? Yours, different from mine unless it isn’t, really.
For what is surrealism, if not, an altered reality? Yours, different from mine, unless it isn’t, actually. The threat posed by COVID-19
I’ve spun into a tale of microbes and men and aliens, legal, and illegal. And borders surreal overrun by … COVID-19.
Two major factors fuel this pandemic in US; that people with no symptoms can easily spread the virus; and problems with testing,
in US. It’s critical. Everyone: Even those who don’t feel sick; stay at least 6 feet from others and avoid social gatherings.
I cynically prayed: God help us. And let not new cases ever number in the thousands, daily. And send me some panaceas or opium
or opioid prescription. And just like that an FDA-approved hydroxychloroquine fell into my lap, as if manna from, high Heavens.
I prayed. And just like that an FDA-approved drug fell into my lap, as if manna, from Heaven. ‘As if’; that’s when what’s happening
may be, not real, but surreal. It’s hard to tell what’s really happening. But it doesn’t bode well that we’re not testing.
It doesn’t bode well that we’re way behind in testing. It’s hard to tell what’s happening when carrier citizens walk about freely,
sadly, foolishly oblivious to the proximity of death. Indeed I fear what death may do, to my presidency … and my, legacy.
Just a little social distancing between our rapacious, rapist and drug smuggling Mexican brothers, and US; very similar, actually, to
what’s agreed to, on the northern, border. Critical is social distancing and isolation, between the borders, of the two.
Worst-case scenario: 1.1 million deaths. That model envisions an overwhelming of the system. Doctors agonizing over who
—ventilates and who — dies. Some doctors dying, alongside, their patients. Still, I share the people’s confidence in me as does, WHO.
Breaking; California just went into lockdown. We’re living in a global public health crisis moving too rapidly. We’ve got to, lockdown.
Lockdown the nation! Medical and financial systems are folding, like the houses of cards, they are. Lock … her down!
California just went into lockdown. We’re living in a global public health crisis, moving, way too rapidly. The nation, most regrettably,
I’ll have to, lockdown. Our houses of cards, are folding. Still, Vladimir and I see in the virus, great opportunity.
“Where have you been? With whom have you been in contact? Lest we forget whilst we are overwhelmed by a novel coronavirus microbe
matters of life and death go on, unabated. Human migration and climate change, go on, no matter, the coronavirus … microbe.
My fellow Americans: As I lay me down to tweet, do as I say. Be like me. Don’t worry. Be happy. Everything’s going to be, alright.
Everything’s going to be, alright, even if we lose sight of one another for a year or so. Even so, it’s gonna be, alright.
Everything’s gonna be, alright. Even if sight of one another, we lose. Even if in sacrifice, we sacrifice, community. Take my hand.
Everything’s gonna be, alright. Life goes on. And if in town … come to the rally. Jostle … with the crowd. And shake … my hand.
Gone are the rope lines, selfies with supporters and entourages of traveling press. Replaced, for now, with new digital, words:
tele-town halls, virtual fundraisers and livestreamed speeches. But I can’t imagine a full life without hearing, my own words.
Which patients get beds. And ventilators. Which patients, die. Like clockwork … cycles of denial … devastation and a shared
community response, belated, followed by inevitably, mutual, finger-pointing as blame is apportioned. To each … their share.
Alternatively, fortunate it has been that this virus thing got out of control. So it came from China. So what? I know President Xi. He’s
done right by his people. I know he’s learning even as I tweet … he’s got billions of brothers who aren’t, Chinese.
Facebook Google LinkedIn Microsoft Reddit Twitter and YouTube say they are working closely together on COVID-19,
response efforts. And it may be, uber ironic if a catalyst to responding to climatic and migratory changes, were to be found in … COVID-19.
About 75 million residents of Connecticut, Illinois, New York and California have been directed to sequester. Only essential workers
may be away from their homes. Social distancing measures not emulated by me essentially, to keep working … the workers.
I’m battling an outbreak of a new coronavirus called COVID-19. It started in China and has been spreading around the globe, killing
thousands. WHO says it’s now, pandemic. Still, I dither about locking down the country, because of the election, upcoming.
I’m battling the novel virus and COVID-19, the disease, caused. I don’t rush to judgment. I’m presidential. WHO says it’s now,
pandemic. Still, I dither about locking down the country and tanking the markets. After all … I’m our wartime president, now.
Rapidly arising levels of infection and illness have begun to overwhelm health care systems. Testing’s restricted to health care
workers and people who are, hospitalized. They say the battle to contain the virus, is lost. And they say that, I don’t care.
They say that I don’t care. But I do care. Of course, I care about the pandemic and it’s ravaging effect on the economy and on our society,
generally. It’s not that I don’t care about anyone, but me; it’s just that I care, even more, about my presidency.
Throwing cash at societal problems; that’s been the oft problematic behavior of the Democratic Party. Hardly, Republican. Lately
tho, Cotton’s at the heart of the economic stabilization package, whose price tag is swelling, beyond $1 trillion … lately.
Although there was no reason to believe that the Pences had been exposed, given his unique position, they were tested, anyway.
The Pences know, by the way, that this first test may be the first test of many. Ditto, me. Thanks to me; in part … anyway.
WHO says Russia’s doing well. But WHO knows that that’s just for the moment, tho. For WHO knows President — Vladimir Putin
— has 36,540 people who are being monitored for infection. And Vladimir Putin knows he can’t make fiction — of this … nonfiction.
Vlad, knows. Indeed he’s painfully aware that there’s no amount of plausible deniability nor sovereign immunity to dismiss as a fabrication
of his enemies, a coronaviral, stigma. It’s a virus that takes pains, not to discriminate between … its victims.
We of the Cabal: Vlad, Xi, Kim, Mo and me, note, with alarm: The microbe only seems to take pains not to discriminate between us;
evidencing it’s not an intelligent, extraterrestrial invader come to conquer but be a teacher in playing the villain for us.
Only surreally real must feel every man woman and child on the planet.
Knowing this was coming, we did nothing. Not until @GretaThunberg
happened along. Playing the microbial villain for us is the coronavirus. And the heroic, heroine is Greta Thunberg.
The unemployment rate may be 30 percent come April and June due to mass layoffs; worse than what occurred during the Great
Depression. No supplies for our responders. Still, my chances of re-election to a second term seem, implausibly, incredibly, great.
Chilling; Fauci’s telling somewhat fuzzy, choice of words; specifically the certainty of the outbreak clashing … with the clearly
uncertain mitigation issues he says may go a long way to prevent us from becoming, an Italy. A fuzzy choice of words, clearly.
My condolences to Italy. Who imagined a second Vesuvius in a coronavirus and that the bad luck of the Ides of March this year comes
with an extension beyond China and Italy to the world? Beware, Urantia (Earth): The coronavirus, with a vengeance, comes.
Beware Urantia (Earth): The coronavirus, with a vengeance — cometh. And the virus may run roughshod, overrunning, nations.
With a vengeance, it seemingly, cometh. But I naysay those who say the coronavirus may overrun President Vladimir Putin’s, nations.
My grandiloquence, actually, my eloquence in the art of language may be, in part, what may make, compelling, my MAYDAYS.
MAYDAYS aims to infect everyone with a medicinal art, in the holistic, tradition. Poetry. An essential part, of a well-balanced, day.
Can my campaign for re-election be revived when so much is so suddenly going, so wrong? I won’t accept any reality, at any time,
not in my best interests. For the moment I’ll just deny the possibility of jobless claims into the millions, buying … time.
Time; except for me, it waits for no man. But denying the possibility of millions of sure fire, jobless claims won’t buy me, very much time.
Still, the hero of Vietnam’s Bone Spur Ridge, won’t need much time to beat the virus, to a calypso beat, in time.
Most folks overcome the illness; unless they’re older; or have an underlying condition. Like my brother Art, from Puerto Rico. Iris’
brother is a mess. Arthur shan’t survive contact with it, if he contracts it. Rest in peace … dear brother … of Iris.
Rest in peace Arthur, dear brother, of Iris. Most folks overcome the illness; unless they’re older or have an underlying condition. Like my misfit
brother Art. Iris’ brother’s a mess. Art shan’t survive contracting the virus if he contracts an infection.
Art shan’t survive contracting the virus if he contracts an infection. Rest in peace Arthur, dear brother, of Iris. Most overcome it unless
they’re older or have an underlying condition. Like my misfit brother Arthur: Iris’ brother. He’s … a real mess.
The disease is spreading because many people especially our young people are not abiding by my wise guidance to stay home.
Seriously; practice, social distancing. There are not enough people taking this seriously. Please … everyone: Please … go home!
It took 67 days from the first reported case to reach the first 100,000 cases; eleven days for the second 100,000 and just four days for the third 100,000, WHO says.
Over 367,000 people have been diagnosed. And the pandemic is accelerating … WHO says.
We’ll see. I can do two things at once. Multi-tasking, I call it. We’re not going let a simple medical problem, microbial, turn into — too
long a treatment and financial problems, long, lasting. I’m not looking at locking down months, I can tell ye, too.
Some say social distancing is vital to slowing the spread of the virus which has already infected more than 40,000 people in US. I say
that the shock to the economy could hurt the country more than deaths from the virus. What … pray tell — do ye — say?
Consider @TeamJoe for @JoeBiden made to order platforms. Useful, generally but especially useful, now. It’s no pulpit, bully, surely
but it might be helpful going forward, towards the comeuppance, richly deserved of a habitual, some say, criminal, bully.
Useful generally but especially useful now. Now with the coronavirus front and center and climate change and human migration
abreast of the microbe on either side. Joe Biden: Ye are in need of an additional platform to stand upon; one for all, Americans.
This emergency I’ve declared must not drag on for even one month, longer. My own health professionals warn that viruses predictably,
quickly, spread. But I’m, the chosen one. I know what to do; when to do it; and how to do it, safely … and effectively.
Dr. Fauci has grown bolder in correcting the my falsehoods and overly rosy statements about the spread of the coronavirus the past
two weeks and he has become a hero to my critics. My patience wears thin. Not even one week more, may my patience … last.
Over the past 24 hours 85 percent of new cases have been in Europe and the United States; 40 percent were in the United States.
Britain’s Boris, resisted locking down Britain, but changed his mind. Modi’s locked down India. Not tho … the United States.
The United States is a harbinger for the rest of the planet. Just look at us today. Where we are today, you will be in four, five or six weeks,
time. Take a long hard look at where the United States is today. ‘Tis where ye may very well be, in six weeks.
Consider Urantians, predestination. Consider the purpose predestination serves in administration of His seven Universes.
Septuplet Universes comprise the vast Kingdom of our Almighty Creator. Consider, dear lector, the predestination I consider in verse.
Shutdowns and school closures will slow the virus’ spread but when lifted, we’ll be right back where we started. Hospitals shall be
overwhelmed. Get thee to a grocery. There has already been too much community spread to prevent this tragic inevitability.
Volatile am I, to be sure. Recklessly impetuous and indecisive, I alternate between the two. But volatility, no matter how sliced, remains, volatile.
Penny wise and pound foolish are the businessmen on Wall Street and President Me, at the White House, so volatile.
Italian doctors have begun rationing care, making heart-wrenching decisions about who gets treatment and who is left — to die.
Obituaries are running, dozens of pages in the local, nrwspapers. Piles of coffins, stacked, in parking lots, for those, just left … to die.
Obituaries are running dozens of pages in the local newspapers. And with piles of coffins stacked in parking lots for those left to die,
Italian doctors have begun rationing care; making decisions about who gets treatment … and who … is just left … to die.
Who gets treatment? Who’s just left to die? Rationing care; making heart wrenching decisions about goes on who living and who
dies. Too many for the crematory to burn. What’s happening in Italy won’t happen here. I just won’t do what WHO recommends I do.
If I get lucky with a virus, it won’t matter who the Democrats run against me. I admit I’m concerned that the Democratic nominees be
@NYGovCuomo and his long time friend @JoeBiden. Those two might well be … most formidable. They indeed do … worry me.
Especially @NYGovCuomo. @JoeBiden has been the good soldier. He’ll head the ticket, eventually. Those two might well be,
formidable. They do worry me. Not no such, Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mo. Everyone’s tired of my tired apprentice act. Everyone’s tired of me.
Everyone’s tired of my tired, apprentice act. And @JoeBiden’s been the good soldier. He shall head the ticket, eventually. Those two
might well be, formidable. They do, worry me. Not Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mo, tho. Tired of my shtick, they back … those two.
A refrigerated truck outside Elmhurst Hospital in Queens stores the bodies of the dead. On Tuesday alone, 13 died there.
Queens accounts for 30 percent of New York City’s confirmed coronavirus cases. More than any borough; far more, than its fair, share.
To pen an epic, tragically compelling and funny, at once. Such is my MAYDAYS. A history of Earth. And my birthplace Queens, like me,
for the moment, is at the epicenter of the epicenter. Poetry in motion, am I. Nobody moves and nobody writes … like me.
Antonio Guterrez: This is war. To win we’ll need a war-like, wartime, plan. To figure out how to surround and defeat an enemy,
already us, surrounding. In soirée last night I turned to my Carthaginian General Hannibal and my Chinese Sun Tsu, to help, me.
In soirée last night I turned to my Carthaginian General Hannibal and my Chinese General Sun Tsu to help me. This is war. To win we’ll need war-like wartime plans.
To surround and defeat an enemy already surrounding us, we’ll need an extraordinary, plan.
In soirée last night, I turned to Generals Sun Tsu and Hannibal. And their extraordinary advice was carpe diem. Seize today,
the day. They certainly won’t be expecting to be surrounded, when it’s ye, who are surrounded. Carpe … diem. Seize … the day.
What a difference a day may make. What a difference makes, passage, of time. Patients later than these won’t feel as lucky as these.
These may make antibodies and recover. Not so for those I have destined to be sickened … later, in time … than these.
Many already have I destined, to nightmarish ends, scarcely imaginable a month or even a week ago. What a difference a day
— may make. What a difference makes, passage, of time. Patients after these, are flat out of luck. We’re in, disaster mode, today.
We’re in disaster mode It’s just that I act like I don’t know it yet. I know tho that we may well be tanking, in more ways than just one. I lie,
easily But there aren’t enough lies on the whole of the Earth, that will save anyone who didn’t need, to die.
We’re in disaster mode. I just act like, I don’t know it yet. I know tho that we may well be tanking in more ways than just — one. I lie
— easily. But there aren’t enough lies on the whole of the Earth (Urantia) that will save anyone who needn’t so, die.
I lie easily. Not glibly; sloppily, actually. But there haven’t been enough lies on the tip of my wicked tongue that might lessen the grief
and the anger at losing, all at once, loved ones and jobs and a way of life for a life of unprecedented … grief.
Chaotic. My administration is chaotic. Time heals not all wounds, equally; and not all men are equally created, no matter what laws say.
What have ye done for me … lately? Will two trillion be enough and … in time? Will Republicans … stand by me? No … I’d say.
What have ye done for me lately? Two trillion might have been enough. It might have been in time. Will Republicans stand by me? No
way, no matter what I say. Mark my words. By next week my star will be shot. No matter what they may dutifully say, I know.
The outbreak that’s overwhelmed New York City hospitals in recent days is just the first in a wave of local outbreaks happening,
nationally as per CDC models; striking our cities, especially in coming weeks. What’s happening, mirroring, what’s happening.
Greater than The Art of The Deal, MAYDAYS may be. And I say ‘may be’ only because I’m humble. As a news flash flashes before me
informing me we already have the most cases, I see the handwriting on a wall, I once upon a time, might have built, surreally.
Greater than The Art of The Deal, I’d started to tweet last tweet MAYDAYS may be, making a splash, when I was reminded by a news
flash of our sudden surge into the lead among, infected, nations. And I see handwriting on walls and even on my … Fox News.
I see handwriting on walls and I hear things. And I see dead people, not on TV, all around me. White-robed ones seem friendly; less so
the hospital-gowned ones; although they reach toward me as if to shake my hand my Secret Service guys, won’t let me go.
In nightmares I’ve been having, zombie-like, hospital-gowned ones, reach toward me as if to shake my hand then suddenly lunge at me,
not wanting not to let go of me. With mouths wide open, as if wailing, I hear no sound from them, but they seem, unhappy.
So experts dispute my claim that an economic downturn would be more deadly than a pandemic. So — what? I dare say
— who cares? Anyway, from the looks of things we’re getting both, anyway. And who pray tell, elected ye the president of US like me, anyway?
People are dying. And with each day that passes I dare think to myself, tho I dare not publicly say, that the community spread virus
is both terrifying and terrifyingly, inevitable. Far more terrifying tho, is that I am still … the President … of US.
Sad. Sad to see the televangelist-in-chief leader of the free world offer a hazy tale of a miraculous cure. Offering hope so cynically
ought be considered an abuse of power. Fodder for an impeachment in the future against me. But Scotus, may protect me.
As the televangelist-in-chief of US and a really smart and rich guy, I have access to miraculous, cures. I’ve acquired, corruptly
— coronavirus, test kits. One of my duties is to offer ye hope. I suggest all encourage @JoeBiden to tap @NYGovCuomo for VP.
Joe Biden ought tap Governor Cuomo for VP. As huckster-in-chief and a really, powerful guy I, also as well — the motion — second.
Why now? To offer hope, tying up plot lines at the end of my MAYDAYS, ending internecine conflict … in cosmic … nano-seconds.
To offer hope to humanity, please do, not as I do but rather, as I say. Take a moment to visit with my brother Arthur — at WordPress
— Art fears he’s not long for the world. He’d appreciate it if ye’d visit at, chachomanopapa.wordpress.com Defeat, the virus.
The economy is in deep recession; echoing the Great Depression in the way it has devastated our once great businesses
— triggering — mass layoffs; threatening to set off chain reaction bankruptcies; losses for companies large and small, bad for business.
Curiously, in this Chinese year of the rat, it appears that the Italian Ides of March, has been extended, into the rest of the year
of — this year. Astonishing irony — purposeful — seemingly. How could it not be purposeful that all of this happen this year.
Evidence of intelligent, design. It’s evident, everywhere. How could it not be purposeful, that all of this is happening — in the year
2020, year of our Lord? In 2020, I say to all of ye: President Me, this year, even more, than the virus … ye need fear.
Unemployment. Death. The scale of the devastation wrought to the economy and the national psyche is now, clear. Millions of US
filed for unemployment. The jobless may file for unemployment, but if already dead, ye can’t file for unemployment … from US.
There is a disconnection between me and the governors and mayors. They beg folks to stay home, even as I hope the economy will be raring
to go by Easter. Socially distant, President Me gives lip service only. The governors and mayors, he is … ignoring.
One month after predicting we were but days away from being near zero in coronavirus cases I have, in recent days increasingly tried,
shifting the blame to state and local leaders as the spread tops more than 100,000 cases nationwide. 1,500 … have died.
As is my wont, in recent days, I’ve tried to shift the blame to state and local leaders as the case count now, nationwide, tops more
than 100,000. In 1,500 cases, the patients have died. Many more in store, has the coronaviral, Covid-19. Many, many more.
I felt it was pandemic long before it was called pandemic. And albeit I have minimized the pandemic’s effect on my United States,
verily, I don’t lie. It’s all just … truthful, hyperbole. I resent the insinuation that I’d lie for … the United States.
When will things return to normal?
The answer is simple, if not, satisfying: when enough of the population is resistant to the air
borne Covid-19 to stunt spread from person to person. That’s the end goal. No one knows how long it may take, to get there.
The virus presents an opportunity. An opportunity for a new normal. And Vlad and his guys and I would indeed, most happily,
take ye there. There is where ye physically are already but metaphysically, ye’ll have to move a long way to get ye some normalcy.
I present to ye — opportunity — opportunity in the calamity that is this novel, virus. ‘Tis opportunity for a novel, normal. And a novel,
novel, It’s Robert Frost approved fiction, nonfictional. 280 character tweets, serially, linked into a novel, novel.
Fiction, seemingly nonfictional. Tweets, 280 characters long, serially linked into Grecian, poetry, epic. Tragic. And comic. And ironic.
Ironic, is the story of the wise man, who, deeming himself … wise … names himself … Homo sapiens … and then … disproves, it.
The sickened, often, still can’t get done the testing that might have saved them had it been done, on time. Whether or not fair,
where doctor’s orders consign the critically to palliative care — to death, they might, resign; and to, its palliative, care.
Everyone knows flus kill more Americans every year than Covid-19 has, so far this year. Some panicked residents of my New York,
fled the city before an order that might trap them in the epicenter. Confusion leads to panic. And there is panic in … New York.
Panic not, New York. Follow, my lead. And don’t worry. Just be happy if it seems that I’m just making it up, as I go along. And, ironically,
because I see in calamity, opportunity … I am tagging, by this tweet … the Nobel, Committees.
Public health experts warned that flirting with the idea of a travel ban for one of the most populated parts of the country was too
likely to backfire, causing residents to flee being stuck, potentially, dreadfully, taking the virus along with them, too.
Reconsidering I flip-flopped, judiciousness being, one of my great, attributes. Dreadful would have been — microbial — hitchhikers,
hitching a ride with the City’s citizens; fleeing, the germaphobic leader of US. A bad idea, I’m flip-flopping, on Twitter.
Mixed messaging; a common tactic in Earthly interpersonal, relations. I only appear to be abruptly abandoning the proposal I on
no notice proposed, Saturday morning and backtracked on, hours later. I’m incompetent in planting tactical … misinformation.
I suggest Trumpian, relief. Let’s create the special purpose vehicle the African ministers have already, previously, requested. One in
which sequestered interest payments on sovereign bonds, support, African nations, regardless of their limited, incomes.
Meanwhile back in America, deaths from Covid-19 may reach 200,000 as New York, New Orleans and other cities warned, soon,
they’d run out of medical supplies. And soon; all too soon may my support in the Congress, like a virus, in warm weather … swoon.
200,000 to die. But I am a wise man. The very wisest, some say. Even as New York, New Orleans and others, run out of supplies,
my support in the Congress, like a springtime virus may swoon too soon if it’s by my antiheroic role, that … I, myself, belie.
My support in the Congress, like a springtime virus, swoons too soon if it is by my antiheroic role, that I, myself, belie. 200,000 to die,
they say. But I am a wise man. The very wisest, some say. Even as the cities, run out of supplies, Even as, I lie.
‘Tis Easter week. The week we’ll be striking a balance between social distancing measures and measures taken to restart and grow again
the economy of the nation. The week we’ll be, flattening, the curve. The week I’ll prove to be, uniquely, inept, again.
‘Tis Easter Sunday week. The week we’ll be striking a balance between social distancing measures and measures taken to grow once
again the nation’s economy. The week we’ll be flattening the curve. The week I’ll prove to be prescient and clueless at once.
Millions of Christians tuned into online church services on Sunday in lieu of attending their usual places of worship. In some places,
clerics kept the doors of some of their places of worship, open. Wise is the man … worshipping, in online … places.
Wise is the man worshipping in a crisis like this one in online places. Millions of Christians tuned into online church services on Sunday,
in lieu of attending their usual places of worship. In some places tho, clerics kept their doors, open … Sunday.
In too many places too many folks flaunted for reasons sundry, Sunday social distancing measures. Distancing measures intended to
— protect. Measures I’m extending in this year of the rat and an Ides of March extended, through the month of April … too.
The timing; the timing of The Creator Author of this foreordained tragi-comedy in this year of the rat and an Ides of March by leap year,
extended. I extend through the month of April the social distancing measures I top-secretly feel may last for years.
Impeccable the timing of The Creator Author of this foreordained, tragi-comedy in the year of the rat, by a leap year, extending, this year,
the Ides of March. I extend through April the social distancing measures I top-secretly know, may last for years.
Beginning this week hospitals reach their max capacities, cases rise exponentially and ventilators and beds become, invaluable.
Models project April will be a hellish public health catastrophe unlike any other, ever before. Still, I see for me … Nobel.
What a difference a week makes.
Last week’s pie in the sky, happy talk having given way less to hard facts than to body
bags. Today, Sunday, I’m singing a brand new, tune. What a difference a week makes. And the sight of really dead, cadaverous, bodies.
What a difference, indeed, makes, time. Last week’s pie in the sky, happy talk having given way less to — hard facts than to — bodies,
black-clad. It’s a brave new world, out there we’ll be living in, a while. Keep your distance from one another and me.
More and more, with each passing year, it seems that it’s a brave, new world, out there, we’ll be living in, a while. Keep your distance from
one another and me. What a difference indeed, makes time. Last week’s pie in the sky happy talk, done … gone.
But is it a brave new world, really? Or the same, cowardly old world, cowering ever more, more, unseemly. Cowering now from an
invisible foe. A foe that has him completely surrounded and has him moreover wondering, what on Urantia (Earth), just happened?
What just happened? And why is this happening? And what is going to happen to my children? I feel powerless to protect them
and helpless to help them confront this brave new world they’re inheriting from me and that I just can’t begin to explain to them.
What say ye to the children? Begin by saying that unfair as it is it is what it is. The forbears of the children, bad stewards of Urantia
(Earth) have been. Call on technology’s algorithms and artificial intelligence. For paradigm … shifts, on Urantia.
Conflicts of interest, malfeasance and corruption taint and give a bad name to, bad, governance. What say ye, to the children? Begin
by telling them that — unfair as it is — it is what it is. With the forbears of the children, the bad stewards … begin.p
Begin with bad stewardship of a planet, entrusted. Conflicts of interest, malfeasance and corruption taint and give a really bad
name to, bad governance. As bad as it, bad governance suddenly is, the least of our problems. We got a virus … really, bad.
We got a virus. We got it, bad. We got other, bad problems, too. But as bad as it, bad governance is just one of our problems.
Ironically, if we but flip a switch, we might well a paradigm … shift. Just flipping a switch, may resolve, all our problems.
I declare that if but 100-200 thousand Americans die from the virus then I will have done for ye, a good job. A job well done — I
will have done if I can defeat the coronaviral microbe before it gets done infecting us; causing us, perhaps, maybe, to die.“
I would lie to ye if I told ye that I failed to see in the virus an opportunity for change so transformational, a paradigm shift,
it’s tantamount to. Witness Vlad sending medical supplies to US, to help US survive, Covid-19; beginning, a paradigm shift.
This is going to be a rough, two-week period. A very, very painful, two weeks. And they’ll hurt me — believe ye, me — this, time
— around; unlike, the last time. It’s painful; and hurtful; to have all your loved ones all dying on me … at the same time.
I leveled today with ye Americans; on one level; I warned ye to brace yourselves for a rough, two-week, period. On another level, I
lied once again to ye. Verily, I easily, lie. And He works, mysteriously. That’s why MAYDAYS’ — lying — chosen one … am I.
Preview 2020’s Nobel-winning, MAYDAYS, Arthur’s serial tweets, ghostwritten by me. Unlike Art I have, in a bully pulpit, a platform.
It is the platform, Art lacks. And I’ve agreed to trumpet MAYDAYS because I have in that pulpit a self-serving, platform.
In Africa and India, men like flys, shall drop. Africans, Indians and Americans all dying on me; and all, concurrently, at the same time.
India’s locked down; Africa’s on alert. Everybody knows, we’re on notice, about the imperative shift, of a paradigm.
Verily, too few believe we are on any such notice; about the shifting of any paradigm. If indeed ye believe that then ye are a fool’s,
fool. But in Africa and India, men like flys shall drop. Africans, Indians and Americans all dying on me, the … fool.
We’ve been fools. Me, especially. Just witness, my shift in attitude. To accept as reality, what was a hoax. I’ve been a fool’s, fool.
Now April, the Ides of March extended, are ended. On Earth, men like wingless flys, shall drop. But … Arthur Everman’s, no fool.
Actually, that Arthur’s no fool isn’t true, either. In his time on Earth, he’s been a fool, near exclusively. But like me, eventually,
he’s come around and had an adjustment of attitude. I’ve accepted as reality my hoaxes. Fools have been we … Art and me.
The downturn may be far more punishing and long lasting than feared by many, enduring, perhaps, into next year — apace.
Beyond, even, as governments amp up restrictions to halt the spread of the contagion. As fear of the virus redefines … public space.
A baby, with bathwater has been, thrown out. But the sell-off provides ambitious and visionary managers with some opportunities,
far more, visionary. Investing in artificial intelligence may be for more prescient investors … an enterprising … opportunity.
DeSantis spoke with me about the cruise ship dilemma just this morning. And I told him to keep his numbers, down. He only reluctantly
ordered a lock down. He’s been doing a great job resisting those who wold ally with the coronavirus to slow the economy.
A grim-faced war-time president is coming to grips with a reality he’s long refused to accept. 100,000 to 240,000 Americans die.
Many more, if the nation abides not, social distancing. And as we die so too my dying hope, that my candidacy, does not, die.
No matter what I say, my Surgeon General says that in 30 days, we’ll follow, the data. We’ll go on, based on what, the data tells us.
If we’re playing whack-a-mole with the virus in 30 days we’ll just have to extend, the social distancing that’s already, separating, us.
No matter what I say, if in 30 days we’re still playing whack-a-mole with the virus, we’ll extend the social distancing, separating, us.
Separating socially, to socially, reform. Saving our larger get togethers for later, maybe. Someday, after the virus.
If asked to grade myself I’d rate myself a 10. I think I’ve done a great job. Reasonable men, might, however, disagree. And although I
— am in fact unfit and lie routinely, I shan’t resign. I shan’t resign my office, no matter how many Americans may die.
It may be as simple as poetry — for us. Arthur’s taught me that. And I’ve bought into it too. Poetry hath music — calming — to us;
to the beasts, within us. There is great power in lyric, poetry. And a virus — maybe — may draw it out, from … within us.
Just yesterday I told ye that we were in for a rough, two weeks. Well, we topped 1,000 coronavirus deaths in a single day,
Wednesday for the first time. Ye can’t say I lied about that. I don’t care what on Earth ye say — or what ye may belie, or naysay.
Ye can’t say I lied about that. Or maybe it depends. It depends on what I said and when. We topped 1,000 deaths in a day, Wednesday;
we’re well into the first wave of the contagion. And beware China: For a second wave, ye’d better get ready — even today.
China’s not the only country with suspect public reporting. Iran, Russia, Indonesia and especially North Korea on the Chinese border,
with not a single case of the disease, are likely, under-counts. Saudi Arabia and Egypt may be, also, editing, numbers.
With the novel coronavirus causing a surge in work-from-home activity Zoom’s become the video meeting app of choice. So — Zoom
it if ye can. Get by with conferencing, by video. Be socially distant. Dispense with meeting with viral … carriers — on Zoom.
Be socially distant. Dispense with meeting with carriers of the virus by conferencing on Zoom. Don’t take it home — to your family.
Zoom it, if ye can. Get by, for the time being, with video. And get used to a new normal, for the sake … of your family.
For the sake of your family. get used to the new normal. Be, socially, distant. Dispense with meeting with carriers — of the virus.
Don’t, by all means, take it home to your family. Talk to them about the threat to the human family, posed … by this … virus.
Death comes in waves; the first wave followed in the fall and winter, by even more waves, posing a threat to us — later — again.
I’ll talk to Jared; to see how he feels about running the country for me if my base abandons me and I think, about resigning.
Be not alarmed ye ever-Trumpers; ye who would stand by me even if ye were an eye witness to my infamous, 5th Avenue, murder.
Grooming for the presidency have I been, my Barbie and Ken, daughter and son-in-law. As I tweet to Jared, to confirm, on Twitter.
Indeed I am here now, but not for long, it seems. Indeed it seems that no matter what I may say — that was then — and this is now.
Now is when by the Grace of God, I am here. @Marvel at the breakneck speed with which I make things happen, surreally, now.
Marvel at me; President Me, to ye. Marvel at the phenomenon of nature that I am. And marvel at ground swelling, earth shaking, plot
twists. I am here now but not for long. Indeed it seems that no matter what I may or not say, verily … it matters, not.
To get ahead of a virus like this one we must use projections of what may happen in the future — to act — in the present. Predictions,
fraught with error, oft because of error in their assumptions. A thankless profession, the epidemiological, profession.
To get ahead of a virus like this one we must project what may happen in the future; and make predictions, oft fraught with error
because of errors, in assumptions. And assumptions kept secret, invite doubt and invite embarrassing, speculation, of error.
Verily imagine that my theory that reality is inversely proportional to surreality is true. Ergo, eureka. The missing link, Holy Grail. Fiction’s
inversely proportional to nonfiction. A unified theory of metaphysics born of my antiheroic infidelities and my affinity, for lying.
Witness the world marking a grim milestone Thursday; more than a million corona cases when in reality that mark, was made — when
— God only knows. Clearly, there is a lag time between — reality and surreality — and between fiction … and … nonfiction.
Witness too, the UN General Assembly unanimously approving a resolution Thursday, recognizing the unprecedented devastation
wrought by the viral pandemic and the cooperation needed amongst the member nations, to foster cooperation and discourage, competition.
I don’t understand why every state hasn’t issued stay-at-home orders. Why isn’t that happening? But, that it’s not happening,
bodes poorly. It’s hard to see anything positive from this calamity, arising. Implausibly tho — near incredibly — it’s, happening.
I’ve got good news for ye. A real surprise for a modern man, reprised. Nothing less than a miracle is the opportunity this virus
— presents. Poetry to heal US and show US how to shift paradigms we need shift to implausibly, near incredibly, transform US.
Poetry may well heal US and show US how to shift the paradigm we need to shift to transform US, albeit belatedly, into the men
we were intended to be. Nothing less than a miracle is the opportunity this virus, presents. An opportunity to go, viral. Amen.
Art has taught me that, except incidentally, it not about the poetry; nor whether what’s happening on Earth — is fiction
or nonfiction — nor whether it’s real or surreal. It’s about communication. And the opportunity for Kim-Don’s Plan to go viral, Amen.
Invading men? No problem. And Mother Nature’s, too slow. But the crisis this novel virus presents, promises to be — a tragically
real, game-changer. Ironically, I loathe, microbes. It’s not about poetry. It’s more about communications, so … newsworthy.
The crisis this virus presents promises to be a game-changer. Because, I loathe microbes. Content without cadence makes for, poor poetry.
I believe in the importance of communication and the power of persuasion. Got content? Add cadence. As in my … poetry.
Got milk? water? Toilet paper? And Lysol? I believe in communication and the understated power of poetry, in the art — of persuasion.
Got content? Add cadence. As in my poetry. Arthur has truly taught me, about the time-honored art, of timely, persuasion.
Jared. Again. ‘Squeaky’ Kushner, whom I’ve been top-secretly grooming to be a future president, is at it, again. He’s been making too
many, rookie mistakes. Now he’s gone and done it again. Patience. Unlike me he’s not perfect, and he’s a simpleton, too.”
States and cities are restricting movements in response to a fast-spreading pandemic likely to claim, worldwide, millions of lives, possibly.
But others remain defiant that the devastation unfolding elsewhere, should not curtail life … in their … communities.
Call it what ye will. Defiance; stupidity; stubbornness; some like, American, exceptionalism. Whatever ye may deem it,
it seems that I may have, once again, spoken too ignorantly, too soon. I’ve got to stop doing that someday. That’ll be the day, I quit.
The day I quit. Call it a day of karmic retribution or American exceptionalism. Call it what ye will. Whatever ye deem it, it seems
I’m leaving sooner rather than later. Beaten by a dirty, viral, microbe. For these deaths I’ll surely be blamed it seems.
Coming to a theatre (of war) near ye. Protocols to follow in Spain to decide, absent euthanasia, who lives and who dies.
Euthanasia, sanctioned in some countries, remains illegal, in Spain. We in the United States must also decide who lives and who dies.
Who lives and who dies. Coming soon to a theatre (of war) near ye. Protocols about the sanctity of life, aside, a Darwinian businessman
such as I, suggest, on behalf of the living, that letting the dying die, saves resources for living men … and women.
Speaking as a Darwinian with vast experience in matters of life and death, verily, I can wisely speak to who lives and who dies.
Do as I order. Be, like me, socially, distant. Stay at home. Protocols about the sanctity of life aside, let the dying, die.
I’d be uncomfortable, wearing a mask as I met with presidents, prime ministers, dictators, kings, queens. I — don’t know. I
don’t — see it for myself. And that is I’d say, as it should be my fellow Americans. Ye are to do as I say and not as I do, say I.
I’m out. I’m gonna leave shortages in supplies to the states. I’m leaving it to them to decide whether to shut down their states. I
don’t want to be the center of attention. I’m a wartime president. Leading the battle against … an invisible enemy … am I.
More than once, I’ve falsely claimed that the federal stockpile of emergency medicine and supplies I inherited from Obama, was empty.
I’m getting, increasingly, desperate; my lies so transparent, everybody, sees right through them. I have no, credibility.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, conflicts, more or less, lessen, with flare-ups and dust-ups, ongoing. Natural disasters sometimes even occasion,
rivals, working together. I’m sorry. I didn’t sign up to fight no stinking, microbe. I am The Don, antihero, American.
Natural disasters sometimes even occasion rivals, working together. I’m sorry. I didn’t sign up to fight no stinking, microbial, virus.
Donny, antihero American, am I; the hero in Vietnam, of Bone Spur Ridge. I won’t fight no stinking, invisible, virus.
In Ecuador’s Guayaquil, dead bodies are being left in the streets. Hospitals have no beds left to accept sick patients. Morgues,
cemeteries and funeral homes are full. With no place left to put them the dead are left on the street, not taken, to morgues.
As the world knows I ignored, downplayed and dismissed the coronaviral outbreak problem ‘til it became one of the worst crises
in our nation’s history. I’m a fish out of water. Unfit to be the president in the best of times; dangerously unfit, in crisis.
We are now at the center of the global pandemic. New York, the hardest-hit state, reported its highest daily rise in viral deaths.
My March jobs report points to, a market, collapse. And I shall certainly — unfairly — be blamed … for all these, deaths.
The relatively late start of both companies means the bulk of their production will come online in May.
There may still be a peak in May although most health officials expect it in mid-April. Worry not, about that. We shall still have peaks … come May.
I wonder whether I’m on the verge of a breakdown. Not one, governmental. A physical, spiritual and emotional, breakdown.
I’m wondering whether I might win from the people a vote of sympathy if — on, live TV — I go, to pieces, and hysterically, breakdown.
My failure echoes the period leading up to 9/11: Warnings were sounded, including at the highest levels of government but I was deaf
to them until the enemy had already struck. I keep my own counsel. Everyone knows that to sound advice, I am stone, deaf.
Turn to the tools we have. We must make them work for us, better. Like the wonders of video conferences, my Nobel-winning innovation,
Twitter Diplomacy and even, letters. It’s a brave new world. I’m the man; the only one that can, lead US, to innovation.
Meanwhile in New York City, crematoriums run, 24 hours a day. The city put out a wireless emergency alert Friday, asking
any licensed medical personnel to volunteer to fight the virus. Hell on Earth is New York City. And India. And Syria. And North Korea.
It took me but 70 days from my initial notification to treat the virus, not as a distant threat; some exotic flu strain, but as a force
that had outflanked America’s defenses and was poised to kill tens of thousands. I’ll be forced, to use, lethal force.
If ye only knew what’s being said —and shouted — in the halls of power. And homes, less, powerful. The virus dominates me, verily,
but I say, only seemingly. Don’t worry. Be happy. Even should millions die, I … shan’t be blamed, for such a catastrophe.
Pursuant to my orders, governors around the world further tightened limits on social activity as the death toll zoomed really fast
past, last hour’s numbers. In basketball, be like Mike but in facing pandemics, be like me. I’ll lead. Follow me. To last.
Follow me. To last. A purposeful choice of words. Do I mean for my fellow Americans to follow me to persevere or do I mean rather, follow me to last
place. I’ll leave it, my fellow Americans up to ye. Conflicted, I decline to opine one way, or the other.
I must admit: The previously estimated national death toll of 100,000 to 240,000 seems, more and more, like a low-ball, guess.
100,000 to 240,000, seems less than what shall be the final death toll. Would, that it were less. I’m so very sorry, I guess.
In crises, come moments that cry out for leadership. Heroes and anti-heroes, rise to the call. Might Jared have, a personality?
Thank ye Jared. For being here; for being, ye. A snake — squeaky — of voice. A snake in the grass, sly and cunning, naturally.
I warned today that America’s toughest week of the coronavirus crisis is coming up, predicting that there will be death, also. I’m
afraid — I admit — I’m afraid. I’m afraid that as the number of Covid-19 cases, surges — indeed — I’ve run … out of time.
Antonio Guterrez: Eureka! I have found it! It was in plain sight, hidden. But I have found it. And just in time. To change — the paradigms,
change the climate and the reasons for patterns of human migration. And I found it in Twitter’s algorithm, online.
I found Antonio, hidden in Twitter’s algorithm, space and time. Space enough for 280 characters. Time enough for rhyme,
which, when serially linked, may deliver a pithy message, or tell a story, sometimes. Engage the poets. Let my people’s poetry, rhyme.
Antonio: ‘Tis I, President Me, who tweets ye. I pray ye help me. Help me beat this microbial, invader. My people believe me not, no more. I lie
too much for them. In lieu of Giuliani I offer as proxy, Arthur. He suggests we engage young poets, as allies.”
Art’s an alien — yeah — that kind. He’s a real live, extraterrestrial, from the future. And what’s more — and this is where his story,
implausible, becomes impossibly, incredible. He says he’s here to kill a virus, save a planet and tweet, a great story.
That’s not the half of it. Like I said, Art’s story gets weird. He claims that killing the virus and cooling the planet and saving we
who live upon it, won’t earn him the wings he covets. He must replace with poetry, Sudoku too; tweeting, a great, story.
Do the math Don. 8,000 of us are dead from this, already. And ye don’t get from 8,000 to 100,000, much less, two million, in a month.
So get real Donald John Trump. We ain’t gonna be playing no ball in no month. Heck; ye may not even be a candidate, in a month.”
“So get real, Donald Trump. We ain’t gonna be playing no ball in no month. Hell, ye may not even be a real candidate — as well
— for president in a month. Ye forgot, Don, where ye came from. From a single celled beginning, ye may return … to a cell.
From single celled beginnings, complex organisms, we become. Social distancing measures, it seems, are important tools.
Foolishly … I shake hands. Foolishly … I won’t wear a mask. And uber-foolishly I boast that I am absolutely … nobody’s … fool.
Uber-foolish am I. I defy the virus. I shake hands. I won’t wear, a mask. And I don’t ask mo one I hug, if they have traveled these days
to China. Still, do as I say. With 1,344 new deaths reported Saturday, we had the most fatalities recorded, in a day.
Congratulations President. On your take-charge, take-overs of Mike’s news bites. That’s entertainment! But at what cost?
What’s it going to cost
— us — and ye? Shall democracy survive ye? And if indeed democracy should somehow, survive ye, at what cost?
Dems: Heed me. Tweet Joe. And task him with tasking Cuomo for VP.
Witness the words of a leader, unlike me:
‘… flex the system so that we take all hospitals, all hospital networks and we work together, as one system, which has never been done, says he.
Witness, my fellow Americans he also said, ‘Everyone says this is wartime. It is a war and the virus is the enemy. Help New York today,
and then nationally, we shift the resources to the next place that is most impacted.’ Cuomo said, all that, yesterday.
Witness, my fellow Americans that what he said, yesterday, I today, do hereby, order that the governors of every state communicate
— and coordinate — through Mike’s office, Andy’s Surge and Flex Plan. A good plan. And Andy’s, a good man. Heaven can wait.
Cuomo’s plan makes me look, ridiculously, bad. Like I’ve no clue about what to do against a threatening, virus. Flex And Surge.
It’s a good plan. And whether Cuomo’s good or not, the GOP may have to compose itself, for November, a … sad funeral, dirge.
November still seems a long ways away. Counting April, seven months away, still. Still it’s really never too early to plan strategy. How
might the GOP utilize the virus’ high death count? Maybe, characterizing the death count — as relatively … low … is how.
“What do I know? I’m not a doctor. But I have, common sense. And I have enough sense to know that, sometimes, ye have got to ask
yourself, what have I got to lose? If I were of Covid-19 dying, what have I got to lose — myself, I might, reasonably … ask.
I’m no doctor. But I’ve got, common sense. And I have enough common sense to know that sometimes ye have got to just — ask,
yourself — what have I got to lose? Hope is medicine, powerful. If I were dying … what have I got to lose, I might, myself, ask.
And so as I chronicle in MAYDAYS, the hero of Vietnam’s Bone Spur Ridge, an anti-hero in my MAYDAYS adopts a most cynical, strategy.
To play on my ability to inspire the nation — my cult of personality — to keep under 100,000 … the expected fatalities.
Info-wars feature the eternal battle of fiction, nonfiction and in the coming election, science fiction. Climate change — is science fiction,
I’ll say. Brace yourself for a 2020 campaign, dominated, and denigrated by — information and … disinformation.
It’s one thing to turn the water on full blast which is what Congress did with the $2 trillion stimulus. But that water, through the pipes,
must flow. And the pipes right now are clogged. With workers at home, socially distant … clogged are, the pipes.
I relish my reputation as a maverick; as a bull in a china shop, running, rampant. I enjoy the chaos that envelops me — protecting me,
from my, countless — frenemies. Verily, in my second term I shall propose that I be the president, of US, indefinitely.
“ACADEMY@ARTSANDLETTERS.ORG: MAYDAYS is my magnum opus, great. An algorithm hidden in plain sight, in 280 spaces, in time.
A panacea for Pangaea — in time, Earth, née Urantia. To save the planet and its people — use the enemy to come together … in time.
It’s hard. It’s hard to be humble when one’s as great as I am. It’s so hard I don’t bother, trying. I’m betting big on US — on business,
as usual. I’ve found an algorithm in 280 spaces, in time on Twitter, I believe can help us, get back … in business.
On the occasion and in commemoration of Passover, Easter and Ramadan I want to extend to all, Spock’s split-fingered gesture
and it’s warm greeting: Live long and prosper. Please; don’t shake my hand. And don’t hug me. Just kindly … return the gesture.
Live long and prosper. Just don’t shake my hand. And don’t hug me, either. Just kindly return, the gesture. In the upcoming
commemorations of Passover, Easter and Ramadan I want to extend to all, Spock’s split-fingered gesture and it’s … warm greeting.
With testing still lagging and 25 percent of those infected showing no symptoms but still spreading the novel coronavirus, understated,
is the enormity of the crisis. Even the surging death toll fails to capture the scale of our pandemic-infected states.
Be safe, my fellow Americans. Wait for a customer to leave ere entering a Walmart store. Walmart — began, recently — limiting
the number of shoppers allowed in stores in a push to promote social distancing. Walmart begins, its access to stores, limiting.
Hospitals across the country face dire shortages of vital medical equipment amid the coronaviral pandemic, with testing kits
and thermometers, in short supply. Hospitals can’t ensure the safety, of the health care workers needed, to adequately, treat it.
No one can ensure the safety of the workers; not the queen bee with her colony; and not even me with ye. I do my best to
plan and to, prepare. A failure to plan — is a plan — to fail. He Who creates everything, spares, nothing. Plan. And prepare … too.
I plan and I prepare. A failure to plan is a plan to fail. No one can ensure the safety of all the workers; no queen bee’s colony; not even me,
with ye. Survival of the fittest ought not be, our purpose nor of any purpose, corollary. Amen. Let … it be.
Amen. Let it be. And shout it from the mountaintops. Survival of the fittest ought not be our purpose nor of any purpose, corollary.
It’s no coincidence my plan all along was to not know things and still, save the day. Ye who mourn; cynically, I’m sorry.
To ye who mourn, cynically, I say I’m sorry. I’m not really sorry. Protocols call for me to say so. It’s good to have them — when one
just seems — not to know things. But this confluence of people and events, is less, coincidence, than predetermination.
Predetermination. In essence, I was meant to be. And ye too. But let’s get back to me. Not only meant to be but chosen to be. A great
white hope, to many. This confluence of people and events is less coincidence than His predeterminations holy and great.
Remember how angry I got at Xi last March? What with this virus, making its rounds and him blaming US. All that in the year of the rat,
Chinese, I endured, ere the Ides of March; bad luck this year, through the remainder of 2020. In the year, of the rat.
Dozens of grocery workers have tested positive for the coronavirus in recent weeks. A handful have died. And the dead,
once dead, get their obligatory, platitudes. But it’s the critical attitudes of the shoppers, that may help keep the living … undead.
My model now predicts that 81,766 people will die of COVID-19 through early August. Note that when I last updated the model it
predicted 11,765 deaths more deaths for a total of 93,531. Game-changing evidence albeit not proof that — I have so got — this!
Who can dispute I’ve been chosen And who can dispute my model now predicts as few as 81,766 people will die through early
August. My model suggests, keeping fatalities under 100,000 may be, a winning … electoral strategy. This, I may do … for ye.
“Keeping fatalities under 100,000. That’ll be the strategy that’ll win, elections. That, I’ll do. Who can dispute I have been chosen? Who
can dispute that my legacy, beyond Jared, and Twitter Diplomacy, may be, revampings of the UN, FBI, CIA and WHO, too.
Revamping national and international agencies and institutions. The deep state … never-Trumpers at the — FBI, CIA and the UN
— and WHO, too. But first things first. Keeping deaths, under 100 K. That’ll be the strategy. Then who’ll dispute, I have been chosen
Revamping if not eliminating, the agencies and the institutions. And that’s not the half of it. I shall still have to lead US — surreally
— through, destiny.’s clash … of civilizations. But first things first. Deaths, under 100 K. That’s, the strategy.
Keeping deaths under 100,000. That’s the strategy going forward. Leaving for later axing agencies, institutions and — destiny’s
clash of civilizations. I shall be our greatest president whose legacy includes, Nobels … like Obama’s … really … surreally.
Clashing civilizations unite in a self-destructive orgy of religious fervor and faith. Remember: Be like me. Don’t get close to me.
And do as I say and not as I do. Be socially, distant. And keep deaths under 100,000. Going forward, that’s the strategy.
Both Fauci the country’s leading health official and Birx, the White House’ coronaviral invasion response coordinator stated in error,
possibly, that continued mitigation efforts may well lower the death toll from 100,000 to a manageable, number, lesser.
Lowering the death toll from 100,000 to a more manageable lesser number. That’s my re-election strategy in a nutshell. My electoral
College advantage gives me a leg up on the bad guys. Whether I’ll win is debatable. But as ye know, anything, is possible.
As ye know, anything’s possible. Lowering the death toll from 100,000 to more manageable, lesser numbers; it’s my primary
strategy for re-election. I’ve got an Electoral College advantage. But I’ve got an even bigger advantage in my cult of personality.
“Shunning and shaming; I’m great at that. Those who shun and shame, in my name, especially, ought be considered — patriots.
Patriots —those, shunning and shaming foreigners, in my name. Blessed, are they. And martyrs, if … ashamed, one kills, a patriot.
I am indeed good, at shunning and shaming; I’m good at that. Those who shun and shame in my name, ought be considered — patriots.
Patriots are those who shun and shame foreigners, in my name. Blessed, are they. And martyrs if ashamed one kills a patriot.
Teaching: It’s hard for me. It’s harder to teach an entire community than it is to teach the only two I envisage duly taking the reins
of the country from me. In four years or so one of them takes the reins from me and begins their derivative, own reign.
I implied the inspector general was politically motivated. Why hadn’t she spoken to others in charge, ere penning, her error
— her — error-filled, libelous, report? Just another, fake dossier. Another lie and an assassination, of my … humble … character.
Art’s in isolation from a virus. Worse, he’s hiding out from agent assassins out to get him. Worse yet, he can’t just, do his duty.
His duty, to not worry and be happy; but his duty to say whatever’s not OK today will be OK tomorrow sounds, a lie, to me.
Everything sounds like a lie to me. Why would they sound, otherwise? As ye know I’ve told a lie or two in my time. Or, perhaps, times
a-many it’s hard to remember. It’s hard to remember — all the times — I’ve lied. I can’t remember … so many … times.
I’ve lied so many times it’s hard to remember all the times. It’s so much easier to say I can’t remember. So I oft say I just can’t remember.
It’s so much easier that way. And so ye’ll oft hear me say, so sorry but it’s surreally hard for me to remember.
I wasn’t exactly a ‘hands on’ leader with respect to social distancing. So it’s not clear that the country would respond if I begin
urging Americans to return to work and re-open their businesses while the virus is still, skulking … still, circulating.
Not having a plan for the rising uninsured yet seems to be a lingering blind spot for GOP strategists. They took the House in midterms
by having better answers on health care. Remember Darwin and the fittest. Against insuring — the uninsured — hold firm.
Instead of about 94,000 deaths as estimated just a week ago, my model now predicts about 82,000 by late — this summer. A hero
— I’ll be; an anti-hero, really, given, my defects, in character. I’ll save America First! Then Urantia (Earth). I’ll be … a hero.
I’m so vain I think this poem I’m writing’s about me. Don’t I? Don’t I? Yes, I do. I’m destined to never learn that it’s not about me
not about ye. It’s about us. I have been a fool. Everything’s about Him and our larger … interdependent … community.
Arthur’s lying low in New Jersey a state of 9 million residents and a federally recognized, coronaviral, “hotspot”. It’s suffered tragically,
44,416 cases and at least 1,232 deaths, more than any state but New York and more than all but, eight countries.
The whole world is in a bad state. As far as the future goes, nobody has much confidence. Nobody but me — I am confident.
l’m the cheerleader-in-chief for my country. So don’t expect the truth from me. I’ll protect ye from the truth. I am, the president.
Change. It seems constant. There may be stillness somewhere. Motionlessness. I don’t know. That’s beyond my pay-grade. But change
in the human experience is constant. In the future, if we don’t shake hands that’ll be a relatively, insignificant, change.
Giving up on shaking hands in greeting, pales, next to other changes, awaiting us, far more, significant. Like — climate change.
There may be changelessness somewhere. I don’t know. Spock’s gesture tho, makes shaking hands, but microbial carrier, change.
Giving up on shaking hands in greeting pales next to other changes awaiting us, far more, significant. Changes like — climate change.
Changelessness — nonsense. Spock’s gesture tho, makes sense. Shaking hands: A microbe’s way, to it’s carrier … change.
It’s a small world down there in the microbial world of my hands. And so when one microbe meets another down there they
often greet one another with a hearty, ‘live long and prosper!’ The Vulcan greeting would suit man well, perhaps, maybe, one fine day.
The Vulcan greeting would suit man well even as soon as today. It’s a tiny world down there in the microbial world, of my hands.
And so when one microbe meets another there they often greet one another with … ‘live long and prosper, shaking not, hands.
How did the tiger contract the disease that has infected around 1.4 million humans? It’s too — weird-science-like — science fiction
like weird to me. That the virus spilled from an animal to a human and back somehow to an animal. That’s, science fiction.
It’s too weird. Weird science like, science fiction, to me. That the virus spilled from an animal to a human and back somehow to an
animal. That, my fellow Americans, only seemingly seems, like science fiction. I am afraid, however, it is … nonfiction.
The coronavirus pandemic has crystallized several long-standing undercurrents of the president’s governing — ethos: His refusal
— to accept criticism, a seemingly insatiable need for praise and an abiding mistrust of independent entities and individuals.
I want to impose my version of events and discredit and disable any arbiters of fact who may disrupt a self-aggrandizing, story
line. That has been my instinct in business and in politics and ye can see it on full display, in this … coronaviral … story.
My instinct in business and in politics is to keep my intentions close to the vest; stick to my version of events — and questions parry
— regarding my plans and proposals if my plans and proposals I regard top-secretly as controversial, constitutionally.
It’s my way or the highway. I’m a dictator, see? Leaders like me see any questioning as a challenge; as a real threat to … my power.
It’s a crude mentality; either ye are with me or ye are against me. My advice: Don’t tread on me. Cede to me all power.
There are rumors of discontent in the GOP; it’s not discontent with me. It’s discontent with what some say is a hidden agenda,
friendly to foreigners. Too, egalitarian. Think, man! We’re all foreigners to most! Call on my cult of personality, on Urantia.
It’s my fault. Not the virus; the unpreparedness. In a plot twist for the ages, I’ll make it up to ye. For I am an egalitarian,
self-closeted. Now, hear this! I’m, coming out. To be, to everybody, fair. For I am a Urantian … self-closeted, egalitarian.
Indeed I am Urantian. And a proud American. And in a plot twist for the ages, the president of America. And I’m
proclaiming: Now, hear this! I’m, coming out! To rule by a Golden Rule, to run the planet. To be to all renters fair, on this planet, of mine.
Imagine a Golden-ruled planet. A planet where programs of artificial intelligence administer the planet. Leaving to its citizens
pursuits, spiritual and recreational. Sudoku-like pursuits, like epigramming. Epigramming; all the rage, for future citizens.
The howling; a primal affirmation, nightly: a momentary reprieve, each evening; a collective declaration that indeed, we
— shall prevail. A way to take back some of the control that a pandemic-forced social isolation has forced all to give up … wanly.
Not that we ever had any control anyway, in a world where all’s already, predetermined. If ye didn’t know ye had no control,
control ye’d swear, ye had. And even if like me, ye know it, still, it seems that making decisions shows, that one is in control.
It’s in the judiciousness of one’s decisions wherein one may evidence whether one’s decisions were, in retrospect — judicious.
Not that we were ever in control enough to be judicious, in a world where everything’s already predetermined, to be, judicious.
Expect alarming numbers of coronavirus deaths this week. Expect them, even as the number of new infections is flattening, in
New York state, epicenter, of our American outbreak. If we keep our deaths to less than 60,000, we‘l’ll have, this virus, beaten.
My first lady urges us to protect ourselves from the virus by wearing face coverings in public, a striking image, all the more striking,
because it contrasts with my messaging, tepid. But … my vanity gland, makes, wearing a mask, for me — embarrassing.
My fellow Americans: We shall not gather as usual to celebrate the holiday amid this local, and only temporarily — threatening,
outbreak. An outbreak that may indeed spike again if we too soon stop — being socially, distant. A good time, for epigramming.
We’re near a peak thanks to the social distancing star of my virus, response. My haphazard strategy, is working But dying’s
gonna spike again if we too soon stop, being socially distant and leaving, our homes. All in all … a good time, for epigramming.
It’s been heartwarming, Art says, to hear Barack opining on something — anything — at last. He’s been biting at the bit, ye know
To speak to us about empathy as the part of my governmental response that’s been, missing in action, in wartime … ye know.
It’s been heartwarming, Art says, to hear Barack opining on something, anything, at last. And if he speaks about my empathy
as a part of my governmental response that’s been missing in action I shall have to, most disagreeably, disrespectfully, disagree.
I’ve got problems with Obama. A ton of them, It’s not just his youth or the airs he puts on; the prize he won his first term really
sticks me in my craw. So if he speaks of a lack of empathy in my coronaviral response, a virtual, nobody, shall Barack be.
Usurping the plan of governors, former government officials, disease specialists and nonprofits pursuing a strategy that relies on
the three pillars of disease control; that’s my plan today. But by tomorrow I may unwisely supersede, that plan, of action.
I’m no prophet. I’m an astute businessman; a betting man. I’m nobody’s fool, no way. But Art Everman’s epigramming has me
convinced that his is an ideal way to build rapport and solidarity between parts of — or all of — the community. Networking, poetry.
Indeed, I’m no prophet. But Art’s epigramming has convinced me that his is an ideal way to build up solidarity within our communities.
To change the paradigm, poetry. Wisdom, in verse. To return to Earth, peace and prosperity. And to reprise, our poetry.
My anti-heroic mission: To pen the wisdom-infused verses that inspires man to change … by his attitude … his paradigm.
Wisdom, in verse. For peace prosperity and poetry. Art’s epigramming; an ideal way, to build up solidarity, within communities, over time.
MAYDAYS is a poetic love letter to every citizen of Earth, telling cosmic, geological and socio-anthropological history (politics)
with socio-political current events (politics) to save us from ourselves at least temporarily … by yet even more … politics.
To save us from us, a love letter I have written to every citizen of Earth (Urantia). In Emily’s honor for her … once upon a time,
writing one, also. Her letter to the world’s invisibly connected to my heart and everything along circuits in space and time.
Like Popeye, who I watched on TV as a boy, I ams what I ams. And as — it is what it is, too — it’s time to pray. Time to pray in time’s
space. There has come an answer. Let it be. To save us. A love letter to ye come from her letters, in space, and time.
Last night l as I laid my woman down, multi-tasking, I wondered whether switching from a success story pitch to a comeback pitch,
pitched to voters in November, might be better for me, given, the changed, circumstances. I’ll do it again, making US, rich.
I’m multi-tasking; juggling, issues of policy. It’s not easy being me. Especially, when one’s a genius. Worse when one’s a genius
germaphobic; with a microbial problem, complicating, everything. But If I reopen the economy too early I won’t be no genius.
The upshot of all the fallout from my near four year presidency predictably, depends, depending as it oft does, on swirling colors.
But this microbe’s colored everything. Stay closed? Or, reopen? But Vladimir and I have been blinded … to blinding … colors.
I have been blinded by blind fate to blinding, colors. But this microbe has colored everything. Reopen — the economy
or stay closed. Either way is a loser, with one likely, a bigger loser, than the other. I‘ll seek not for the GOP, the presidency, maybe.
Reopen a weakened economy or stay closed? Either way’s a loser. Either way, an economic disaster, in tandem, with death,
against me. I was warned, my wished-for Easter reopening of the country, wasn’t happening, and that I’ll be blamed, for every death.
I have learned a lot about autism from Arthur. Indeed, It seems I’m in the spectrum. And the spectrum is wide. Some tend to be
laconic — like Greta; some dramatic, like Art; some spasmodic, like me. But I ams what I ams, say Popeye, the comic … and me!
Verily I ams what I ams, I say. I have learned a lot about autism from Art. I’m in the spectrum. In the spectrum, some tend to be
laconic, like Greta; some dramatic, like Art; some clinically spasmodic, trash talkers, like me. But this ends badly for me.
Nothing less than Red Dawn on steroids; that’s what this is; with the Chinese beyond the Russians with designs on US. A virus
novel, invisibly lurks on the hands of who, knows who. I’m thinking this may end badly for US; worse, for me, this, coronavirus.
Indeed this looks to be ending badly, for US; worse, ending badly for me. This microbe lurks on US, invisibly. On the hands
of who, knows who. On whose hands, who knows? The novel coronavirus … spreads like wildfire … in the air … and on the hands.
The death toll has doubled from 10,000 to more than 20,000 in five days. Worldwide, confirmed cases, surpass — 1.75 million.
More than 100,000 people have died. Social distancing measures are working. My brave leadership is saving countless … millions.
There are a lot of things that go into a decision like that. And it’s going to be based on a lot of facts and instincts. Whether you
like it or not, there is a certain instinct to it. I hope I’m making the right decision, and no one, up and dies, on you.
I tell ye secrets: Normally humble, I put on airs sometimes. If I think I’ve insight into what’s really happening. Animal instinct
arisen within, a wartime president, defies good reason. Unwisely, to my war-ravaged citizens, I sell, my animal, instincts.
It’s time, we ally. So o/b/o Vlad and his guys, I proclaim the UN to be our one nation and egalitarianism’s Golden Rule, rule,
and law. Plots thicken, even as they twist; twisting too, those trapped in my MAYDAYS story, of lies — and allies — that rule.
On Passover this Easter during the month of Ramadan and thereafter, all who would be like me, heroic, now hear this: An epigram
per day keeps the doctor away, they say. I appeal to religious leaders to join forces. And say so too. Why not daily epigrams?
We’re all in shock. Still in denial of what has happened and what may be happening next act. My Mayday, May 1, target date is in fact,
unrealistic. But that I act like I’ve no clue is in itself a fact and a clue to what’s happening, as a matter, of fact.
Tough crowd; the Earthlings, I’m told. We’re all in shock. Still in denial of what has happened and what’s happening next act.
But that I act like I’ve no clue is in itself a fact and a clue to what’s happening … as a stone cold, hard, matter, of fact.
Why not, daily epigrams? On Passover and Easter and during the month of Ramadan and thereafter, all who would be, in time,
heroic, now hear this and do as I say and not as I do. See in my hypocrisies and a super flu virus, your mistake, once upon a time.
See, my fellow Urantians, in this super flu virus not just the grave mistake ye made with me once upon, a really, surreal time.
Why not, daily epigrams? On Passover and Easter and during the month of Ramadan, o/b/o children; that they, may love, in time.
See, my fellow Urantians, in this super flu virus not just the grave mistake ye made with me once upon, a really, surreal time.
See, in the virus, opportunity. On Passover and Easter and during Ramadan, o/b/o the children, that they may love … in time.
What the right hand giveth, the left hand taketh. I really surreally can’t help but say the self-defeating things I do, do, opine.
Too little comic relief, to offset the tragic events, ongoing. But an about face timely, may give the children, their time.
But an about face timely, may get back, for some of the children, some lost time. Often, what the right hand giveth a left hand, slyly,
taketh. The self-defeating things I say and do are too little tragi-comic, relief. And too late, maybe. We’ll … see.
We’ll see. Fates, alternative, are many. Imagine wildly, I feel so provoked by a reporter’s question, I throw my loafer at her
— or him. Who says I’m thin-skinned? As your anti-hero I’ll sinisterly cut, WHO’s money. And brag on it, in bad form, atwitter.
Herd mentalities whip us to and fro. It’s up to individuals not government to decide whether to exercise our right to work, to
worship and play; or even just staying socially distant, at home. These are our inalienable, rights. I’ve got it on paper, too.
No one knows what l’ll do with my power. Oft, not even me. But it’s hard to run a country run by deep state herd mentalities.
Avoiding taxes shall ever be hard, skirting and evading legal technicalities. But I am all … about me. I’m not … no groupie.
I’m no groupie. Just a gadfly; a, social butterfly, venomous, flitting table to table, at fundraisers, unable later, to arise. A Plan B
contingency plan is become necessary because, as everyone knows, no Plan A survives, first contact … with the enemy.
To whom much is given, much will be required. Luke’s wisdom at 12:48 means we are held responsible for what we have. If we
have been blessed with talents, wealth, knowledge, time, and the like, it is expected that we in turn, benefit others, accordingly.
I’ve been given lots. I’ve taken lots, also. And so I know that a lot, indeed, is expected of me. To whom much is given, much will be
required. Luke 12:48 means we are held responsible for what we have. I’ve been blessed. I’ll reopen our economy, slowly.
I’ll reopen our economy against my wishes, slowly. And, perhaps, it’s all for the best for sometimes, I want to move — too quickly.
— Now, tho, I’ve no choice. The virus, unlike me; smallish, unintelligent, and extremely rude has worn out, my hospitality.
The contagion’s spread has made physical protests nearly impossible. Impossibilities and physical limitations, to The Watcher,
present obstructions but temporal. Poetry was, from Penemue, in days of yore, a gift to man, from the Watcher.
I’m special; irresistible; untouchable; irreplaceable. Still, a virus has put me in my place. Things are bad … and getting worse.
I’m not good, at death. It’s beyond me. Still, I’m getting blamed for death. Things are bad … and they’re getting worse.”
Things are bad and getting worse. I’m not good at death. It’s beyond me. It makes me sad. I’m getting blamed for all these deaths.
Things are bad and getting worse. Add to the rising rolls of the unemployed daily death tolls. Like clockwork, tolls death.
Don’t be alarmed. Just a trial balloon; a sure sign tho of my desperation; that I’m considering ordering the end of lockdowns
by May 1. And I have total authority to do so. It’s in the Constitution, somewhere; my total authority over national, lockdowns.
Republicans are joining Democrats in a growing backlash against comments from President Me Monday, asserting “total”
authority, over deciding when to lift stay-at-home orders. It’s my call all the way. It’s my authority. It’s mine. And so, it is total.
The emerging consensus: Had I embraced the multiple early warnings I received about a potential, coronavirus pandemic,
I probably would have saved lives, and won my election. As it is, I sing a song with an oh so sad refrain, lamenting, what a dope am I.
Had I embraced the multiple early warnings I received about a potential coronavirus pandemic, I likely would have saved lives,
and won my election. As it is I sing a song lamenting what a dope I am. Overseeing, and getting blamed for, this loss of lives.
A genius I once was and I am, still. But my genius, brother the news purveyors, use against me. Updating the state on its status, coronaviral,
mounting deaths makes me look, to blame for this tragic loss of life. Sheer genius; updates transformed into, rallies, political.
I want a detailed plan to reopen the country ready within days so I can issue suggestions for some states to reopen beginning on May
1. On Mayday of all days, fittingly, I, MAYDAYS’ author shall suggest to the states a best way forward to avoid, MAYDAYS.
Regardless of what I opt to announce, it will fall to governors and mayors to decide whether to reopen businesses and begin
returning to normal in their own jurisdictions. But many governors are treading more cautiously than me. And with … good reason.
Threatened is the reopening of my economy. I know reopening without an expanded testing capability is sheer lunacy.
Still, my monied reputation, I’ll bet on US. I’m a businessman. I’ve got a lot, at stake. Still, I’m betting on business, with your money.
Threatened is the reopening of my economy. I know reopening without an expanded testing capability is lunacy. Still,
I’ll bet on US my monied reputation. I’m a businessman. I’ve got a lot at stake. Still, I’m betting on business against the virus, still.
People live and lie a while and then they die. I’m a businessman. I’ve got a whole lot of skin at stake here. But I’m betting on time.
Threatened is my economy. I know it’s loco to reopen. But I’m on a mission to recast, in my image … a stately … paradigm.
“But viruses, like me — we act — and react. We don’t reason. We got something in common. So I’m betting on time. Time, shortened. I’m
counting on it’s shortness to force the cooperation needed to confront a common enemy. Genius uncommon, this common sense, mine.
The plot thickens. The Chinese reaction, I imagine shall be swift — and furious. Evidence that the so-called novel, coronavirus,
originated at a Chinese research facility in Wuhan is inconclusive, leaves the Chinese something less … than inscrutable … to US.
“The military is bracing for an indefinitely long struggle against the coronavirus. Looking for novel ways to maintain an edge,
tactically. Looking too, to sustain troops’ health without breaking their morale while all the while, sustaining the advantage.
And so it has come to pass in the Chinese year of the rat that a virus ‘born’ there, and borne thereafter, near everywhere, naturally,
or artificially, came to be. And if it came to be artificially, there’s gonna be, President Xi, hell to pay, naturally.
If a virus in China is ‘born’ and borne thereafter, near everywhere, there’s gonna be, Xi, naturally, investigations; legal
matters. It remains to be seen as a matter of law whether the wet markets of Wuhan or the research laboratory at Wuhan, is causal.
It remains to be seen as a matter of law whether the wet markets of Wuhan or the research lab at Wuhan is or are, causal.
Whether a virus born in China and borne thereafter near everywhere on the surface of the Earth, carries with it, connections, legal.
I’m obsessive-compulsive. And mad. Xi’s irate. But damn the torpedoes — full speed — ahead. From this coronaviral microbe,
distracting, I’ll be, from here on in. We’ll just work out later, WHO never gets the blame for this alien, coronaviral … microbe.
It’s the blame game. I blame ye and ye blame me, et cetera. I excel at the blame game. I want us, Xi, to move past that. Noble
Nobels await the men who may make us — once again — noble. And if we bring peace to man then … by definition, we’ll be noble.
Let’s speak Xi, as one. Ye and me and Kim and Mo, also. And Vlad, of course. Let’s speak as one. Accordingly, I hereby proclaim in our names
a United Nation, staking a claim to Nobels we’ll earn if we can end, these endless, horror stories, in our names.
MAYDAYS: O/b/o Art, my 1st foray, into ghostwriting. To Art’s dismay he’s found he’s no platform like a bully pulpit, for nonfiction,
posing, as fiction; a magnum opus, allegory. A story about a man; me, and a virus, implausibly, uniting, in nonfiction.
Folks are dying at home. These deaths are currently, oft unaccounted for because of a lack of testing — then — before they died.
Still lagging in our testing, this is chaos and this is karma. It’s on me — my everlasting legacy — those, who have so, died.
My everlasting legacy; all those who have died at the filthy hand, I’d say, of a microbe of provenance, so seemingly providential.
Providence; folks are dying at home. Still, if I holds deaths to a number below 100,000 — I’d vote, for me — for president.
A thought experiment being in order, I ordered a rally, political, tweeting a tweet to accompany it. Demonstrations endanger
people’s lives; because this is precisely how Covid-19, spreads. Thanks Albert Einstein for the experiment, I tweeted on Twitter.
I’m on your side, I say, laughing out loud. I’m on my side, really. But in a twist of fate — smacking of predetermination how many die
is in the hands of a virus that has stymied man. But it hasn’t, stymied me. Why, I’ll survive, no matter how many, die.
I’ll survive no matter how many die. Why’s another matter; a matter for my Maker or His designated, celestial, authorities.
Heed me. We live and we die; the why beyond the cause of death is none of our business. Get back to work. Leave the economy to me.
Mind your business. Leave the security of the nation and its economy to me. I shall survive no matter how many die. Why’s
another matter that happens to be none of your business. Get back to work. Get back to work ere ye start coughing and die.
My fellow Americans: It’s a brave new world. But the new normal’s not normal no ‘mo. Although we be free and we be brave,
still, we’ve got fear, to fear. Get back to work ere ye start coughing and die. Mind your business. Be a man. Buck up. And be brave.
Futures surged after a report said a Gilead Sciences drug showed some promise in treating the coronaviral microbe, giving hope
to investors, there could be a treatment solution at the end of the money tunnel. And a pot of gold buys, a whole lot of hope.
Online conspiracy theories are describing the COVID-19 pandemic as a government-perpetrated hoax. Blame for the pandemic
lies, they say, not with the Americans but with the Jews or the Chinese, raising the risk of violence against them, for the pandemic.
Thousands of Americans are dying needlessly because of my dithering. How many more around the world, shall have to die due to my scapegoating of the WHO
over my very own failures? But WHO knows along with China that I dropped the ball so I’m blaming WHO.
I’m blaming everyone. And WHO too. And why not. That’s always worked for me. If my followers know not civil disobedience from
armed insurrection then some continuing education is in order. Thousands, are dying here. Millions, globally. Come, the pogroms.
Come the pogroms. And God forbid they be like what happened to the Armenians in Turkey and the Syrian Yazidis. Insurrection
often begins with civil disobedience. I’m blaming everyone. WHO too. And why not. What’s always worked for me … is intimidation.
Pray tell. How many revelations to an epiphany? Feel not threatened if truth, ye know. For there is more. There is much more ye need know.
Begin on Urantia. At the Great Library at Alexandria ye wouldn’t find the Urantia Book (UB), ye likely, don’t know.
There’s enough coronavirus testing capacity to put in place my great plan to allow for a phased reopening of my economy
albeit officials and business leaders are raising alarms about shortages. I’m not, delusional. Lying are those who, disagree, with me.
Unwise it is to publicly, disagree, with me. Unwise, it is, indeed. And
I’ll call ye out on it, rest assured. I’ll call ye out on it, for sure.
Authoring MAYDAYS gives me some say over characterizing who’s who what’s what and what’s happening, for sure.
Authoring MAYDAYS gives me some say over characterizing who’s who — what’s what and what’s happening — for sure.
Unwise it is to publicly, disagree, with me. Unwise it is, indeed. I’ll call ye out on it — rest, assured. I’ll call ye out on it — for sure.
Who’s who, what’s what and what’s happening. I’ve been asked by Art to lend my bully pulpit to serve as platform for him.
I’ve agreed to ghost-write MAYDAYS, my Nobel winning verse — to be — publicly, disagreeing with me and publicly, agreeing, with Him.
Future Nobel winning verse publicly disagreeing with me and publicly agreeing with Him Who’s The Creator — these days.
He Who knows what’s what and what’s happening. I’ve agreed to lend Art my bully pulpit, to serve as his platform for my great, MAYDAYS.
This thread of mine now for ye, shall go viral. Because everything we say and everything we do, predetermined, is, was and will be.
My verse publicly disagreeing with me and publicly agreeing with Him Who’s The Creator these days is a Godsend, naturally.
Once the immediate crush of COVID-19 cases subsides, epidemiologists say a “post-peak” purgatory lies ahead, until a vaccine
is discovered and disseminated. One, allowing a return to some semblance of normalcy. We’ll have no normalcy, without a vaccine.
It’s one thing to be harmlessly delusional. As one In a daydream is. As we all at times do. But when one such as I — to such death,
am causal, then my confabulated reality shall collide with the American surreality of my responsibility, for these deaths.
I’ll own these deaths. I don’t mind lying. But lying’s a problem if no one believes ye. The bare cupboard Obama alibi — was a lie
— from the outset My responsibility for these deaths happened happening and happening, even into the future is, no … lie.
No end run is necessary. President Putin, my mentor, has taught me about governance and stood by me throughout my
impeachment. In my businesses, there’s two sets of books. One secret one hides criminal truths. The other, for public consumption, is a lie.
Tony: Help me help Arthur help us. He’s in a safe place. He’s in a safe house, at the moment. But just, from Vladimir’s assassins.
He’s in a hotspot, right now. Arthur as ye know is old and slow, and medically, compromised. Have ye a safe place, for him?
Have ye a safe place Tony, for Art?
Safe from Vlad’s assassins. And this new assassin, novel, they say. But he says he’s a novel, also.
As ye know he’s old, slow and medically compromised. But I’ve got to keep him alive somehow. We’ve got to live, also.
Women. Amazons when they so need be. But nurturers, mainly. And I suspect that if polled they would elect egalitarianism over
nationalism’s rule. Men as well see we need one nation and one Rule Golden and having run out of time we’ll need to start over.
Gather. Reorganize from the sovereign paradigm to the Golden-ruled one. Bring our vast artificial intelligence capabilities online
for solutions administrative as we concentrate on edification and recreation in individual passages through space and time.
In our individual passages through space and time pause daily to meditate upon purpose; His and ours and pressing change,
insistent. In governance, climate and human migration, due to a lack of time, these remedial, meditations are vital, to real change.
I tell ye Art’s story, the Watcher’s poetry, really. A story of determination and predetermination. Arthur mirrors
The Author of Scriptures and the Director of this morality play. Meditation’s key to modification of behavior. So says Arthur.
Did I say Art said that? I meant to say I said that. Art merely agrees with me. As do Vlad and his guys, belatedly realizing, epiramming’s
our last opportunity to, in one fell swoop, use the virus to save our skins, become one as a planet and Nobels win.
How many revelations to an epiphany? In truth, it varies. In a battle between a microbe and a germaphobe, a profile in courage,
is emerges. And so take this tweet as a spoiler alert only if ye determine whom is the already predetermined, profile in courage.
In this battle between a microbe and a germaphobe, a profile in courage, predeterminedly, emerges. Predictably, he’s me.
They say that people get the governors they deserve. My fellow Americans deserve, in crisis, a profile, in courage. Someone, like me.
Others, on the other hand say the opposite, whatever that may be, on whatever, occasion. A microbe and a germaphobe,
waging wits, battles; and one, a profile in courage, predeterminedly, emerges. Predictably, he’ll be me, the germ-killing … germaphobe.
For all the bipartisan agreement that testing must increase there are signs that the public’s patience with restrictive remain in
place orders and to stop working, is waning. All, a recipe for disaster, if … in favor of an early opening, I’m remaining.
White House Correspondents. They know better than anyone that I am accountable to no one. That it’s their job to ask me questions
— sometimes hard — sometimes, easy. And they know that at any moment I could have a coronary in response to a hard question.
Tread lightly on me when ye ask me about a report from a blue-ribbon panel of thought leaders across — political spectrums who
call COVID-19 a profound threat to our democracy not unsurprisingly to me comparable, to the Great Depression and World War II.
Michelle Obama: Imagine my fellow Americans hearing these hopeful words: Presenting: Vice-President Michelle Obama.
With First Gentleman Barack Obama, her spouse and senior adviser at her side, beside her. How could I ever counter our beloved … Obamas?
Presenting Vice-President Obama with her First Gentleman Barack Obama. Her spouse and senior adviser is at her side always. He
with her; she with him. He’s always near by if not, beside her. He’s beside her — even when — he’s not actually, there, really.
Just between we presidents, presidents, past, present and future with politics for the moment aside epigramming may be
invaluable as a teaching tool. Tons of fun — reading — when what the children are reading sounds so like, traditional, couplet, poetry.
Many are sticking by me in my time of crisis but that perception shall change depending on whatever may become of the outbreak.
Mitigation — if the response is successful from here on in — or exacerbation; it depends on what comes out, from the outbreak.
Dr Tedros: Ye are dangerous. Yes, this virus is dangerous. But alleging that the virus exploits cracks between presidents, attributes to the virus, innate, intelligence.
I’ve ordered WHO’s monies withheld until such time as ye show me, your intelligence.
I’m facing a series of fresh tests from the same old frenemies, near elsewhere in the world, including, notably from Iran, China,
has Russia and North Korea. And note that I’m warning them not to do what I myself would do, were I, say, Xi Jinping from China.
Art tells me of what seems, a dream within a dream. In his dream innocuous looking germs — looking not at all — like microbes
but people, reach out to him — as if to shake his hand. Art ran, only to be faced with the hands of yet, another handy, microbe.
My brother Art tells me of what seems, a dream within a dream. In his dream innocuous looking germs looking not at all like microbes
but people reached out to him as if to shake his hand. Art’s in isolation, but he fears he’s been killed, by the microbe.
My North Korean lover is fine. Actually, he’d left me in critical condition after our last love-making session. Fit as a fiddle is Kim.
Believe me: Ye can’t believe everything ye read in the mainstream media. Verily, I assure ye: Fit as a fiddle, is Kim.
If Melania knew, she’d flip her wig. Or mine. Women. We need them so bad. Leaving them high and dry tho, when done. The only
one for me is he who whispered to me he had surgery to mend a broken heart. Kim has a way with words. Kim is my one … and only.
I see children down there; and women; and men. And I see also, a microbe, wafting aerodynamically, in the air. I detect not the presence
tho, of any consumer confidence.
Testing supplies I see, haphazardly, insufficient. But I see no consumer confidence.
I’ve spurred the swift reopening of the economy. Three states moved toward doing so: South Carolina is letting its businesses
open with social distancing and the governors of Georgia and Tennessee also announced plans to ease restrictions, on businesses.
Surprising; that it took me so long to use the pandemic and the cause of public health as justification to achieve one of my policy
priorities. Then again I’m an apprentice still, still learning from crises I create to be in November, re-election worthy.
Learning is the apprentice. I especially love the excitement of crises I myself, create. Like this novel, existential crisis. But crisis
and innovation ne’er saw one like the master of Isis and Twitter Diplomacy. Prepared with unpreparedness, for crisis.
Be prepared. So say the Boy Scouts. I should have been one. Had I been one then … perhaps, I would not have been … so
unprepared. On the other hand, had I been better prepared, things wouldn’t be as exciting, as they are. Hillary was too, prepared, ye know.
One can never be too prepared, ye know. And so I revel in confounding the pundits … and the critics. Everyone knows — I’m no,
lover of reading; too passive, is reading, for me. I’m all about passion and action. @Marvel at me, your live-action … antihero.
Firefighters get what they need to go into burning buildings. They give policemen bulletproof vests — and guns — and tear gas
— and Tasers. What do we get? We, get sick! Not a bandanna or a scarf. If one needs a mask, one gets one for one’s, personal, ass.
Thickening plots compounded by plot twists, are as usual, duly happening. Sometimes plots like thick stews simmer slowly, slowly, thickening. Other
times sudden twists change everything in a hurry. My government made a movie. We call it, Dumb and Dumber.
It took around 75 days for the first 500,000 cases; just six for the last, 500,000. On that evidence, the virus yet spreads. A second
wave awaits us next fall, with next fall’s, flu season. The scientists were right, for once. Everything’s … connected.
WHO warned me. WHO knew everything’s connected. It took around 75 days for the first 500,000 cases; just six for the last
500,000. The Lord your God works in mysterious ways. I fear what He means when He says the last shall be first, and the first, last.
Somehow WHO knew; that the last shall be first and the first, last. And WHO warned me. WHO knew everything’s connected. It took
around 75 days for the first 500,000 cases; six for the last 500,000. Fearing what’s happening, I’m ghost-writing, Art’s book.
Unintended consequences and ripple effects flowing therefrom make for a slapstick parody of my governance. But WHO
knew; WHO knew what was happening. Now, I agree with WHO. Remind me to apologize to WHO. And to tell them, by the way … I’m on board too.
I ain’t no Boy Scout. I wasn’t prepared. But only ye believe in institutions; I, only in me, within the context of this, unholy, paradigm.
But WHO knew too. WHO knew what was really happening from the very beginning. WHO knew not tho, about the paradigm.
No, I ain’t the cub-scout-boy-scout type. I’m just an iconoclast; a destroyer of images — and institutions. A destroyer in no way
ideological; just self-serving. I once was a Democrat. Now, I’m not. My common sense, steers me. Believe me … we’ll be OK.
We’ll be OK. The world is facing multiple famines of biblical proportions in just a matter of months. Conflict, declines in aid,
disease, recession and a collapse in oil prices lead to food shortages. I‘ve urged action to avert disaster, so … we’ll be … OK.
We’re not OK. The world’s facing multiple famines of biblical proportions in just a matter of mere months. African conflicts,
declines in aid, disease, recession and a collapse in oil prices equal food shortages. I’ve urged action … in my Iranian … conflict.
Verily, what’s happening is
laughable; and alarming — at once — as intended. Forget not that all has already been, predetermined.
No we’re not OK, indeed. Indeed, we shan’t be OK until I come someday to save the day in a way already … predetermined.
Welcome to Twitter Ms Hua. And I would ask thee for America first, if there’s any way around China’s firewall? I do welcome thee
to Twitter o/b/o, Art. And ye may prove me, for once wrong, if ye follow Art and in so doing, engage me.
By the way, fair is fair. Is there any way around China’s, Twitter, firewall? To connect us. To strengthen — in our surrealism
— sutures, that bind us not; to fight a virus, reopen economies and promote egalitarianism over both, communism and capitalism.
Fair’s fair. Open up to Twitter. Make unnecessary the virtual private networks now virtually necessary. Between realism and surrealism,
the boundaries blur but clearly His egalitarianism towers over both of our systems; your communism and our capitalism.
“Now that we’ve struggled through tribalism, colonialism, capitalism and communism, some see now the promise in egalitarianism.
This virus may be the catalyst for change, to a Golden-ruled, paradigm. Egalitarianism, over both … communism and capitalism.”
Were we to poll everyone down there, asking them which is more fair; a system affording to all the same rights … or rather
one like we have, where it depends on where, precisely, you are? A novel virus may be a catalyst for real change, for the better.
It’s funny how even the Godless get religious when their immortality gets threatened. Don’t let my dumb looks fool ye. I’m a genius,
remember? A novel virus may be a catalyst for change for the better. I’m smarter than I look. Don’t forget. I’m a genius.
Fairness; it’s all I ever asked for. Fairness I never did, get. The unavoidable fatalities caused by this coronavirus may make
untenable my continued candidacy, for the presidency. My fellow Americans: God — help us. I have important decisions — to make.
If I don’t run it won’t matter who in the Hell runs. And the party itself won’t survive its life-or-death battle with this deadly microbe.
It’s Its future might be in conservative wings of the Democratic Party but the Grand Old Party, was ended by, a microbe.
I’ve lent my bully pulpit platform to Art and ghost-written too his implausibly, incredible, story. He says he’s here to save the planet
and us, with poetry. Implausibly, near incredibly, I’ve come to believe that he actually is here, to save the planet.
I have done these things as directed and I have written of the things I was asked to do — and the reasons why they were so done.
And I have come to believe that Art actually is here, to save my planet. And with poetry, no less. Epigramming, gets it done.
Things to do: Dissolve the United Nations; reconvene a United Nation. Institutionalize the Golden Rule and Universal Basic Income.
Enter everyone into a data bank to marshal troops against climatic, and migratory, changes, in income.
If ye say that’s pie in the sky, I say to ye then, have your fill of my delicious, humble pie. Eat, drink and be merry. In a virus,
opportunity, lies. To take advantage: Dissolve the United Nations, reconvening one Nation in it’s place … for all of us.
One nation … for all of us. In this virus, opportunity, lies. To take advantage: Dissolve the United Nations, reconvening, one nation,
only. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of hanging. So are Vladimir and his guys. Better than violence, a … Velvet Revolution.
I’m afraid of hanging. And, or, getting stoned. So are Vlad and his guys. We need a vaccine, a cure or in lieu thereof, microbial
disinfectants like Lysol, sunlight and heat. Something to kill, the infection, microbial. Not the patient … the microbial.
I was just being sarcastic. Because WHO doesn’t know science should explore whether injecting disinfectant into a virus,
physically within the bodies of people infected, might help them treat the respiratory illness caused by this … novel, coronavirus.
Like a con man peddling patent medicine, I dispense false hope. And crackpot remedies. I equate science with fiction.
One shudders that an unfit man is become a president, a possible, two-termer. For science I conjure into, unscientific, science fiction.
I equate science with fiction. Like a con man peddling patent medicine, I dispense false hope and crackpot remedies. Fiction,
unscientific, I conjure from science. As Walt Disney did in Fantasia I do as well now; conjuring, from science fiction, fiction.
Leave it to the fake media to irresponsibly take me out of context and run with their negative headlines. I have repeatedly said
Americans should consult with medical doctors regarding coronavirus treatment, a point, I ever repeat. Better red, than dead.
Better red than dead. I’m embarrassed it’s true. I’ll just have to cut back on my take to the daily coronavirus briefing that my
opponents turn, against me. The fake media irresponsibly allege me to be, a serial liar. But not all that I say is … a lie.
But not all that I say is a lie. Witness: Better red than dead. I’m embarrassed it’s true. I’ll just have to rely all the more on my
deference to Vlad Putin. The fake media irresponsibly allege me to be a serial liar. But who among ye has not told a lie?
I’m tired. Almost needless to say, I don’t sleep well. I’m a prime candidate actually for a massive coronary on national and live TV.
Great, for ratings; not so great, for me. But who amongst ye has not lied or exaggerated or said something … stupidly?
Verily who amongst ye has not lied or exaggerated or said something stupid? I’m tired. I don’t sleep well: a prime candidate
actually for a massive coronary on TV. Great, for … ratings; not so great, for me. I’m having to rethink … being a candidate.
I’m in grief; having to rethink being a candidate because of this virus; the sudden death of my economy and sudden deaths
— of people too are a bummer to my brand. Even if I resign, know, my fellow Americans that … I’m responsible for, too much death.
I’m blamed for too much death; a bummer to my brand. Death of an economy, death of a quality of life and the very sudden deaths
of all too many old people too. Hurting myself; such sweet pleasure. I’ll, be back. Someone else is to blame for these deaths.
Someone else is to blame for these deaths. Who? WHO. China. The fake media. All shall share in getting the blame from me, equally.
I’m getting blamed for too much death; my greatness, goes, unappreciated. But I’m a blabbermouth; I’ll be back in a jiffy.
Should reports of Kim Jong un’s death prove accurate there are a number of questions over who would succeed him. Kim
Yo Jong, Kim’s younger sister and one of Kim’s key lieutenants, many think would take as the Supreme Leader in place of the deceased Kim.
I know Kim would have wanted a Nobel Prize to commemorate his life of service to his people at the time of his iconic —
passing. It won’t matter much who takes his place. Let his passing serve as a warning. It is time to just, come together. Just, do it!
Just, do it! Set it … and forget it! Set the peace process on automatic — and forget it! Enter all logistical and tactical intelligence
into a number cruncher. Then let numbers, crunch. Artificial intelligence may save the day. Kim valued intelligence.
Joe’s burrowing in for the long haul, telling donors this month he does not anticipate holding traditional public events anytime
soon. But Joe would do well to employ poetry to effectively, emote. A little poetry, Joe,& goes a long way … sometimes.
Joe Biden would do well to employ poetry’s power of persuasion to more effectively, emote. Poetry’s empathy Joe Biden truly.
goes a long way sometimes. The ‘virtual’ rope line was a good idea. Hire tho, Joe, Arthur. He’s helping me ghost write his story.
Poetry’s empathy goes a long way most of the time. Joe; Hire Art. He helps me ghost write my story. With just Twitter’s algorithm,
I’m ghost writing Arthur’s story; a fictional, nonfictional, tragi-comic story. And the key is in, Twitter’s … algorithm.
Reuters is reporting that a South Korean source says that Kim is alive and would soon make a public appearance. Hong Kong
Satellite Television reported earlier that the supreme leader was dead, but this has not been officially confirmed, by the Pentagon.
The train’s presence at Kim’s compound doesn’t prove Kim’s whereabouts or indicate anything about his health. Kim’s death,
suspected as it is, won’t be confirmed until the funeral casket of The Kim, may be boarded upon it. That may evidence, Kim’s, death.
My intelligence tells me that Moscow is meddling in the 2020 presidential election campaign. Russia denies this and I believe
Vladimir. Why shouldn’t I? In whom should I believe? As between my agents and President Putin — it’s Vladimir Putin — I believe.
I believe in my mentor, Vladimir Putin. And in Vladimir’s mentor, Alexandr Dugin, I believe also. My agents tell me Moscow’s
meddling in the 2020 presidential election campaign. Russia, denies it. Why not believe then … implausible denials from Moscow?
I can’t get away from the dead. Kim, possibly, is dead. Coronaviral stories dominate the headline and airwave stories.
A coronary waiting to happen is a germaphobe who sleeps not and eats nightly French fries, as he is, by a virus, consumed, vicariously.
All kidding aside, time is on my side. The virus, if we’re lucky, won’t kill all of us. And my counter attack against them shall be, devastating.
Thereafter, I shall be rebuilding America first, then alphabetically, the nations … thereafter, following.
Just kidding. Time is neither on my side; nor ours. The virus, likely, shan’t kill us all. And I shan’t be rebuilding Urantia’s — America
first, then … other nations. If we view things from another perspective we shall have a brand new view of America.
Viewing things from another perspective, presents, an altogether brand new view, of America. Alas, time is neither on my side,
nor ours. The virus shan’t kill us all. I shan’t be rebuilding, first America, then other nations. We’re all, on the same side.
Looking elegant, Dr Birx said she has made it clear that my statement ‘was a musing’, not a or recommendation. My undermining of that defense by my
pretending to be confused about the meaning of ‘sarcasm’, speaks volumes about my genius … my education and my lies.
Dr Birx said my statement ‘was a musing’, not a suggestion, or recommendation. But I revived the controversy by my later injection
of doubt as to whether I even know the meaning of ‘sarcasm’. That speaks volumes about my genius and a so-called education.
Alive and well? Not so fast. Even if Kim were to jog from Wonsan to the Blue House in his jogging suit, still, he would be, unwell.
Physically, he’s not been well for a long time. Spiritually he’s not well also. And metaphysically he’s not well, as well.
I’ve had really good conversations with the governors. They understand the risk. And they insightfully say this not like simply
turning on a light switch but rather … slowly, turning up the dimmer. Don’t throttle up, full power. Throttle up … slowly.
The unemployment rate is going to jump to a level probably around 16 percent or even higher in the next jobs report due on May 8.
Providing April employment stats, it’ll have depressing numbers not seen since … the Depression. Look for it … on May 8.
Some men are born great; some are so made; others have greatness thrust upon them. A horrible unemployment rate,
cripples US, rippling, internationally. But I shall rise not to this occasion, not because I am not great but because I’m a victim — of fate.
A victim of fate am I. And I shan’t rise to this occasion not because I’m not great but because I’m become a victim of cruel fate.
Some men great are born; some, made; others have it thrust on them. The virus; the economy. And now, the unemployment rate.
My envoy to Afghanistan has called on the country’s feuding leaders to set their differences aside to combat the virus pandemic
and advance the agreement signed with the Taliban earlier this year. If we follow our advice to ye we may yetbeat, the virus.
Our advice to the Afghans: Set aside your differences. Combat together, a common enemy. Exchange then a paradigm,
sovereign for one, Golden-Ruled. The elite governors will I suspect acquiescence to a Purple — Gentile — Revolution, like theCzechs in ‘89.
I suspect that I may acquiesce to a Purple, Gentile, Revolution. Like the Czechs did to the former Soviet Union back in 1989.
Because beyond poverty I fear, germs. Beyond germs I fear hanging; swinging lifelessly, from a tree. I fear three fears of mine.
No sympathy, much less, empathy did I offer for the 2,081 Americans dead from the coronavirus on that day alone. It’s a rally.
Get used to it. What began as briefings meant to convey public health information have become de facto … political, rallies.
Medical experts warn the virus will remain with us until a vaccine is developed. The risk of a severe second wave — remains — high.
Social distancing too relaxed or testing and contact tracing schemes too insufficient, promise more, will needlessly, die.
While climate change is something no local, regional, or national policy can stop the lag time between emissions and legacy
— climate consequences — allow private actors and government to adjust their expectations — and plans. Singapore … is exemplary.
No one in America needs a miracle more than me. And actually not just one will do. Unless, in lieu of a miracle I might surreally
bring to bear my inexplicably magnetic personality and bring to bear too a deplorably … rabid … cult … of personality.
No one’s ever more worthy than me. And so no one in America needs a miracle more than me. Since just one won’t do and laws
keep me from just seizing power I wonder about my chances of winning re-election and staying one step ahead of a deep state’s laws.
Staying ahead of the lawmen. That means, getting, re-elected. Once re-elected, I’ll cement my power. Some feel I have power
already. And that’s a good thing. This way, when I seize power it’ll seem such a natural thing for our nation, to have such power.
And yet another opportunity for me to muddy the waters. My guidelines for faith communities and restaurants. Sharing menus, passing
the offering plate and crowding the members of a choir together; these behaviors raise the risk of Covid-19, transmitting.
When I grow up I want to be a restructuring specialist. They’re the bankers and lawyers who advise companies in distress. American
companies, now, are their best clients, following a long period in which good times consigned them to obscurity in America.
Sunday I rolled up my sleeves and really got to work, cranking out hour upon hour of tweets … tweeting, amongst other things
that the pandemic is actually an attempt at a coup … the third by Deep Staters to try to seize from me my power, by cheating.
Condolences? I might offer some; then again, I might not. It depends on whether I can keep from going off on my tangents,
neurotic. Tangents, both predictable and unpredictable. Tangents like the greatness of my leadership in crisis; a wartime president.
Verily who amongst ye has not lied or exaggerated or said something stupid? I’m tired. I don’t sleep well: a prime candidate actually
for a massive coronary on TV. Great for ratings; not so great, for me. I’m having to rethink being my party’s candidate.
Who, aside from WHO and nearly the entire scientific community, who, besides WHO astutely knew too what’s happening. Who knew?
Who knew a virus would transform me? And us? Who knew everything’s already, predetermined? Who knew WHO knew? I knew … WHO knew.
‘Tis time indeed to ask once again whether I am of sound mind. Or, as oft appears, I’ve lost it or am losing it. If ye ask me in truth,
the total truth, only He knows. I’m an instrument; an actor, fumbling, my lines, inexpertly. Ain’t it the awful truth?
I insisted on Feb. 26, publicly, that the number of cases within a couple of days was going to be down close to zero. I also said
the next day that like a miracle, it’ll disappear. In fact, we’ve exceeded a million cases and in excess of 56,000 are dead.
Rather than the more comprehensive surveillance testing sought by many public health experts, I’m focusing on a more
limited goal of “sentinel” testing of targeted sites that are particularly vulnerable like nursing homes and inner-city health centers.
Don’t panic my fellow Americans. Don’t panic! Albeit we’re in crisis, don’t panic. Keep in mind this mind-blowing possibility.
What we perceive to be real actually is, surreal except to the extent that it may have become real, for a time, metaphysically.
What we perceive to be real actually is surreal except to the extent that it may have become real, for a time, metaphysically.
Don’t panic my fellow Americans. Don’t panic! Albeit we’re in crisis, don’t panic. Keep in mind that mind-blowing, possibility.
Keep in mind — mind-blowing — possibilities. With respect with what we perceive to be our so-called, realities. Surrealities,
metaphysically, are they. Don’t panic. Albeit we’re in crisis, don’t panic. Everything’s, predetermined; He has sent ye … me.
He has, as is His wont, sent a weak man to guide us. Don’t panic. Albeit we’re in crisis, don’t panic. Everything’s — predetermined;
this apprentice president confesses, to everything. Inspector Clouseau is my hero; and everything’s, been, predetermined.
Everything’s been predetermined. He has, as is His wont, sent a weak man to guide us. Inspector Clouseau is my hero — he shall so
guide me so that I may so guide ye. Where, is my remote? And don’t forget to @Marvel at me, a larger than life … antihero.
The death toll has been revised. The model now projects, 74,000 Americans will lose their lives by August, up from 67,641 deaths
projected last week. The adjustment is partly due to people becoming, more active, again. And so active again, becomes death.
The Art of the Comeback was published a decade after The Art of the Deal. It followed my emergence from a series of bankruptcies
MAYDAYS tho, along with Twitter Diplomacy and the 2020 Nobels form a better part of my world-beating, world-changing, legacy.
Quarantine fatigue; the newly-named phenomenon was on display as people packed beaches on Southern California hot
Saturday despite pleas from public officials. And in New York, warmer, sunnier weather drew crowds to the parks, and to their homes … not.
I’m investigating Beijing’s handling of the pandemic. WHO’s too probably. And I’ll probably be blaming — WHO — too …
along with China. I’m suing China on behalf of ye for damages. If they allege my negligence we’ll go to war with China and … WHO too.
Recall my 3-fold mission: Save the planet and everyone on it; bring peace and prosperity to the planet; and revive, poetry.
I’m suing China. WHO too. Maybe in lieu of war we’ll instead compete in Sudoku and epigramming competitions; serenely, peacefully.
Epigramming; it’s story-based, poetry. Just divide your 280 characters in half — and start — versing, Poetry’s meter — is music
to the ear. My fortunes have taken a tumble this year but I’m coming back on the Comeback Trail. And poetry’s meter, is music.
In New York City records show that about 400,000 people live in public housing but advocates and city leaders believe the real
figure’s as high as 700,000. Nearly a million sweltering people amidst a pandemic in New York City. That is surreally … real.
I only wish that I cared as much about the lives of working people as I do about meat, pork and poultry products. For had I had,
meaningful safety requirements early on, as I should have and still must do this would not even have become an issue, I have.
Scattered, throughout cyberspace; buried, near bottoms of Twitter Streams. At great depth and in the vast breadth of space
— lots of information gets lost. Such was the fate of MAYDAYS tweets. Seen by many, ‘twas not dwelled on by any, of the human race.
AIRBORNE: The genetic blueprint of the virus has been found in the air. What scientists do not know is whether the virus
fragments are harmful. Or whether the tests just noted epidemiologically harmless fragments of a non viable and non infectious virus.
Antiheroically, immodestly, I’d like to announce that drug-maker Gilead is claiming positive data from — Remdesivir.
Just another possible game-changing medication in my battle against a coronaviraI invader I’ve found in the experimental drug, Remdesivir.
A second wave of infections is inevitable in the United States, Fauci says. At more than 1 million confirmed cases, nearly thirty-
three percent of the global total. It’ll be a bad fall and a bad winter says Fauci if we don’t get it together, immediately.
In poetry’s meter is it’s music; music, calming to beasts, within us. Divide your 280 characters in half and start … versing.
My fortunes have taken a tumble this year but I’m planning on making a big comeback, on campaign, Comeback Trails … versing.
As ye likely don’t know there’s more happening here than likely meets the eye. I’m going to blame China for the world’s ills.
And send them a bill. It’s not just the global pandemic and the deep recession. It is that … China wishes, my presidency, ill.
China caused an enormous amount of pain and loss of life by not sharing information they had in a timely manner. America’s
angry, and while much remains to be known, China … will pay a price, be it for treachery or be it for negligence, toward America.
And with a wink and a nod Xi and I engage in Twitter-diplomatic wordplay with each interplay predetermined by we parties.
America and China both will pay a price; a fair price. So shall we all. But China and America may yet see in the virus, opportunity.
Painting a pig’s lips pink makes a pig feel pretty. Everyone knows that. No other color will do. Albeit mysterious no other color but pink
makes pigs feel pretty. And all the pigs feel pretty in pink; pretty in the color of an ideologically tinted pink.
The research is fueling a scientific debate over one of the most basic questions about the coronavirus — how it’s spreading?
Outbreaks in outdoor environments may serve to warn us about the perils of economic reopening leading to an unintended, spreading.
The revelation of these new findings just as my grand reopening is being rolled out notwithstanding that there’s no
consumer confidence in the air, gives pause to my scientific advisers, Birx and Fauci. But not me. I have got an election to win, ye know.
The unemployment rate is likely to rise above 10% from a March level of 4.4% which counted a period before social distancing
policies went into effect. Not too bad; could be worse. Still, social distancing must give way to the economy’s grand, reopening.
Workers from Walmart, FedEx, Target, Instacart, Amazon, and Amazon subsidiary Whole Foods Market plan to go on strike to
protest what they say are conditions too unsafe amidst this viral pandemic. Jolly good show … mates. That’s what I’d have done too.
I’m betting that a handful of Southern and Midwestern states can reopen their economies without triggering, even deeper,
public health, crises. I’ve done everything else I can to insulate myself from my acts, and my omissions, to act … for the better.
Operation Warp Speed: That’s my program to pull together private pharmaceutical companies, government agencies and my
military to try to cut the development time for a vaccine by up to eight months. My fellow Americans: A coronaviral vaccine … is nigh.
The prospect of losing American military protection made the Saudi royal family bend at the knees, kiss my ring and bow to my
demands. And the apprentice excels in high diplomacy even more than his mentor, President Vlad Putin. In complete command, am I.
American officials are beginning to explore demanding financial compensation from — or otherwise punishing the nation of China
for its handling of the coronavirus pandemic. So say some with knowledge of how really pissed I am and my plans towards China.
With a grain — nay — a train full of salt, take whatever I say. And know that whatever ye hear me say is for public, consumption.
Financial compensation from the nation of China to US; for damages due to the pandemic. It is a real clash of civilizations.
I’ve never displayed a shred of empathy or grace towards a human being. There’s little effective way to pry open a closed heart.
Verily, it makes for a memorable, president. Alas I’ve got no thinking, brain; and I’ve got no empathetic, bleeding …. heart.
I’ve got no brain; and no heart. I’ve never displayed a shred of empathy or grace towards a human being. It takes heroic men,
to open, closed hearts. Such men make for memorable, presidents. I shan’t be one of them. I’m definitely an antiheroic … man.
Definitely a flawed man, I’ve got no brain — and no — heart. I’ve never, ever displayed even a shred of empathy or ounce of grace
— to a human being. It takes a heroic man, to open a closed, heart. I shan’t lie to ye. I’m an antihero. I‘ve got, no grace.
Body bag contracts; just one illustration of how sunny confidence about my delusional readiness in my economy’s early reopening
is openly in conflict with my own officials preparing for a far worse outcome. For all too many, fatal shall be this reopening.
From haves and have nots, a microbial invader, unbeknownst to us, forges a nation. And iconic Wall Street’s ironic split into
haves and have-nots mirrors, the planet, at large. Haves and have-nots on Wall Street and Main Street split, too.
From haves and have nots a microbial invader, unbeknownst to us, forges a nation. And iconic Wall Street’s ironic split into
haves and have-nots mirrors, the planet at large. The haves and the have-nots on are split. But one … often comes … from two.
Under the circumstances, highly suspicious; a vaccine; so quickly. A laboratory worker holds Coronavac. Thousands of shots of Coronavac
the vaccine already produced and packaged, in a white and orange case, emblazoned, with the catchy name — ’Coronavac.’
I’ve halted overnight service in order to clean train cars, a likely prelude to bigger changes as the largest mass transit system
works to rebound from a pandemic that has slashed its ridership. But fear not New Yorkers. I tweet, to work … this system.
May Day labor protests started in the 19th century in the United States. That’s where this week, the number of Americans duly
filing for unemployment surpassed a staggering 30 million and joblessness in April may see joblessness not seen since the 1930s.
Joblessness in April may see joblessness not seen since the 1930s. Strikes are expected around the country on Friday to
demand reform while on another hand too, others, organize rallies to protest stay-at-home orders they say are crippling economies too.
A new report offers stark warning: experts concluding the pandemic may be with us for as long as two long years of death
— until 60% to 70% of the population is immune. This, as states move toward reopening after a horrific April, of near, 60,000 deaths.
Gu foresees as many as 166,000 deaths by 8-4 signaling trouble ahead for states unaware of whether the virus has been
contained. It’s gonna be a rude awakening because … I’ve got no clue as to what’s happening. A riverboat gambler, I ought — have been.
A riverboat gambler, I’ve never been. Yet in a sense a riverboat gambler, I am. With your money I might add. Gratefully thanking
everyone for the money, I must say, I’ve no clue as to what’s happening. And no clue as to what to do about what’s happening.
McEnany, a Harvard Law School graduate comes to the White House with, except for her stint at CNN impeccable credentials.
No one shall catch her lying, she assured from the outset, then promptly began lying for me, about all my happenings, presidential.
I’m hoping for less than 100,000 fatalities from COVID-19; a higher upper limit than the 60,000 to 70,000 deaths I discussed days
ago, this past, Monday. Even one death is horrible. 100,000 is equally horrible, too. But, fear not. The days … fade away.
One death is horrible. 100,000; equally, horrible. The days fade away. And the pain with the passing of the days … fades away
too; seemingly. I’m hoping for less than 100,000 fatalities. 40,000 more deaths than I discussed, days ago, this past, Monday.
All’s well that ends well. Alas, I am not well. I am not fit. And I am unfit. And it being so typically human finding humor and even,
pleasure, in the misfortune of another, I’m ghost writing for Art, this kinda fictional, kinda nonfictional, epic … poem.
It being so typically human to find humor and even pleasure in the misfortunes, of others, I’m ghost writing for Art, this kinda
fictional, kinda nonfictional, poem. Lending, in consideration for my salvation, my bully pulpit, to save planet … Urantia.
It’s not just me. We’re all petrified. Vlad, Xi, Kim, Mo and me. Petrified, are we. We’ve seen futures, alternative, a many. In soirées,
lunar; eating and drinking and dreaming with Art. Dreaming these days of a Velvet, not a violent, revolution … in soirée.
Two of three Americans are uncomfortable with returning to their places of work, even as more and more states begin to reopen,
shuttered, economies. Even as the pandemic, grows. If they now die, their deaths shall … be on me. It’s too early, to reopen.
It seems that I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. Sometimes even when ye need it — ye are out — of time. And his timing
is magnificent. Witness all these plot lines converging; the exquisite timing of events, predetermined. Magnificent, His timing.
How uncivil of the Chinese was it; not to timely tell me about the coronaviral invader? Beyond uncivil, was the invasion intentional?
We don’t believe that. We believe WHO. Witness His timing. Witness: Climate; migrants; and … invasions … intentional.
Beyond uncivil was the invasion intentional? We don’t believe that. We believe WHO. Witness His timing and witness, moreover,
issues of climates, migrants and an invasion. Has Xi been uncivil to me? Yes. He should have told me about the invader, earlier.
Xi should have told me about the virus earlier than he did. That he didn’t do so, is troubling, to me. But negligence is a far cry
from terror. And crimes against humanity. Less than civil, was the invasion. But intentional? We don’t believe … Xi lies.
What a difference a year a month or a week makes. What a difference a day makes too. Remember when all that a sitting incumbent
had to ask was whether constituents are better off now, than … four years, ago? The White House; tailor-made for incumbents.
Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen; nobody knows my sorrow. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen; Glory, Hallelujah! Glory,
Hallelujah! Glory to God. Glory to Him, everywhere, in the heavens. Glorious is He Who would forgive one, as really unworthy, as me.
Nobody is as unworthy as me. Nobody, I know. That’s why I’m chosen. A weak man chosen to ghost write for Arthur, MAYDAYS.
An algorithm within an algorithm. A panacea for Pangaea. Featuring a Golden Rule. And love. I owe it all near incredibly to MAYDAYS.
My name is Art. Along with Vlad, Xi, Kim, Don and Mohammad, I am the unknown one among the well known, other, co-authors.
We are authors of an algorithm to save us. Epically, in poem. Of futures, trashed. Lest, we unify; becoming, of destiny, its author.
South Korea even has a name for the new practices: ‘everyday life quarantine’, recently releasing a 68-page guide offering
citizens, sound advice on social niceties like going to the movies (no, shouting) and going to funerals (bow, instead, of hugging).
A lot of things are not going to return to what they were anytime soon. Old standards — not good enough — any more. Distancing
is one thing, definitely here to stay. So, just relax. Don’t worry. Be happy. Vote for me. I’m an expert at … social … distancing.
I’m expert at social distancing. Witness my work, as president. Beyond affiliations of party, I’ve distanced my fellow Americans
from one another. Things won’t again, be what they ere, were. But social distancing, is here … to stay … my fellow … Americans.
The Chinese for too long denied human to human transmission and WHO may feel compelled to toe the Chinese line bottom
line about human-to-human transmission despite officials in Taiwan raising concerns as early as 12-31 as did experts, 1-4, in Hong Kong.
All play along. All staying, in their lanes. Feigning disappointment and surprise in the nations’, lack, of cooperation. Paradigms,
sovereign, betray us. Paradigms, I shall in time replace, with a … Golden-Ruled … paradigm.
cc: @antonioguterres @whca
I will be vindicated when poorer countries get left behind in the frenzied rush for doses. America First reflects Darwin’s
survival of the fittest. In my view of world affairs what’s happening is a thinning; a culling of the herd, consistent with Darwin.
On the tips of their forked tongues, men keep their lies, at the ready. Wet and slippery. And hard to pin down. I lie. Ye lie. We lie
too. Just puffery; truthful, hyperbole. But I’m changing our paradigm; unless, once again, with a straight face, I lie.
On the tips of their forked tongues, men keep their lies, at the ready. Wet and slippery. And ever so hard to pin down. Indeed, I lie Ye lie. We lie, too. Just puffing
truthful, hyperbole. But I’m changing our paradigm, unless — straight-faced, I’m again — lying.
April’s a busy month for white supremacists. There’s Hitler’s birthday: the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, And now, beginning just this past April,
there’s this virus and its disruption that have become an extremist battle cry to add to April.
I’m coming out. Top secrets, revealed. Paradigms, resistant to change are paradigms by my Father, disfavored. I’m in favor of my Golden-Ruled paradigm
and Kingdom. I’m the egalitarian antihero, come to make good your selfless sacrifice, in dying on time.
Egalitarianism: Relating to or believing in the principle that all people are equal and deserve equal rights and opportunities. I used to be a Democrat. I’m egalitarian
now. Egalitarian is she or he that believes in equality of Democrats and Republicans.
Both YouTube and Twitter are blocked in China although China’s diplomats have increasingly taken to global social media platforms to broadcast messages.
All’s fair — in love — and war. Never fear. I am here. And I have brought ye an egalitarian, message.
It’s one thing to have a different kind of leadership; another, to have no leadership at all. This thread shall go viral when there are, at last — too many dead.
When Tony — is too many? When, speak loudest the dead? Living is the legacy … of the dead.
When may speak loudest the dead? That may well happen when this thread of tweets gets spun into a yarn — viral. Making nary a sound it has been said —
that dead men tell no tales. Don’t believe it. Soon enough, women and men deceased, speak … tho dead.
As this thread of tweets gets spun into a viral yarn. Even as, concurrently, we’re dropping dead In America like flies, I count not on the old wives tale that dead
men tell no tales. Don’t believe it. Soon enough, women and men … gone, speak, tho dead.
Even as we drop like flies, I discount that dead men, tell no tales. And so I’m spinning threads of tweets, spun into, tall tale, yarns.
Threads, precisely measured — to harm, allay and reform, allow. My uncle was a great doctor. We doctors, do no harm.
Daily doses of death, isolation and fear generate widespread, psychological trauma. And the experts are warning that a wave of mental health problems,
cometh: Depression, substance abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder and suicide. Coronaviral, problems.
Multi-tasking, I’m looking good; and ad hoc running, the country. But I can’t very well keep it up, and that is, well to be expected. Contradictory
policies, implemented together make my monthly mortality, soar. The new bottom line is, 3,000 dead, daily.
More than a month has passed since there was a day with fewer than 1,000 deaths from the virus. At least 25,000 new coronavirus cases are identified daily
meaning that the total in the United States is expanding constantly, between 2 and 4 percent daily.
I’m undoing the coronavirus task force comes as the president has turned his attention almost entirely toward reopening the economy and even as the death
toll from the microbe continues to rise and it brings to new areas of the country, its novel, death.
I’m disbanding an ineffective, task force. In so doing, I’m turning my attention almost entirely toward the prioritized reopening of my economy. As the death
tolls from the microbe soars I would like to refocus on dollars and take the focus off of death.
As the death tolls from the microbe soars I would like to refocus on dollars and take the focus off death. To that end, I’m prioritizing my economy and disbanding
my task force; turning my attention almost entirely toward, my economy‘s, grand, reopening.
Marvel at my unbridled vanity and a narcissism that won’t permit the covering of my presidential countenance. Not wearing a face mask at an Arizona
face mask factory as ‘Live and Let Die’ blares in the background. It smacks — of planning … euthanasia.
Not wearing a face mask at a face mask factory as ‘Live and Let Die’ blares in the background. It smacks of euthanasia. And of Darwin’s survival of the fittest.
Fittest are they that have cash, on hand. I believe in Darwin’s, survival … of the fittest.
Survival of the fittest. I believe in the survival of the fittest. Fittest once upon a time were they who in battle, or by their counsel, were by peers, deemed fit.
Witness, me. The hero of Vietnam and a lion of Wall Street, am I. Still, I am most unfit.
There’s always a tension; a balance to be struck; between opening a shuttered economy and sheltering in place. But as bad
as a bad economy may be to a bad public health a bad president, in tandem with a deadly virus, has the United States, breaking, bad.
I’ve changed my mind. The coronavirus task force will keep working indefinitely. A mere day after suggesting it would be phased out in coming weeks, blowback
from my proposal has led to my abrupt about face. As if spit in my face — has been the blowback.
I’ve lost my face. Again. No problem. I’ll just find it and replace it in the space on the front of my head from whence it fell. Spit in my face, the blowback.
Working, shall remain, the task force. Embarrassingly tho, I’ve lost my face, in the blowback.
Even in Russia, Vladimir Putin admits, the coronavirus crisis in the country is getting progressively, worse and worse. In Russia, who knows who gets, from windows,
thrown. In Russia, even Vladimir lives in fear of invasive microbes and open … windows.
In Russia even Vladimir lives in fear of invasive microbes, albeit not, probably, open windows. He admits the crisis in his country is getting worse. Who
knows, in Vlad’s Russia, who gets from windows, thrown? President Vladimir Putin, knows; that’s who.
Who knows, in Vlad’s Russia, who gets from windows, thrown? President Vladimir Putin, knows; that’s who. Even Vladimir Putin lives in mortal fear of microbes,
invasive, albeit not, open windows. And he admits that his country, is crawling, with microbes.
A review of the China policies my administration’s 23 cabinet and cabinet-level officials reveals that nearly all of them have adopted adversarial policies that
curtail cooperation with the country. The die has been cast, in the Chinese year, of the rat.
The die’s been cast in 2020; in the Chinese year of the rat. Chinese good luck in the coming year may translate to corresponding bad luck for her neighbors.
In a clash of civilizations I’m making it policy to force China to better consider her neighbors.
I’m making it policy to force China to better consider her neighbors. The die’s been cast in 2020; the Chinese year of the rat. Good luck for her — and her
neighbors. Civilizations, I promised ye, once upon a time, shall clash once again, with neighbors.
When we see those numbers the question should be: Why can some women and girls access care in some contexts and why can’t they in others? What’s going
on? Everywhere it’s a problem that won’t, like the flu, just go away. We must know … what’s on going.
Domestic violence is a problem that won’t, like the seasonal flu, or this coronavirus, just go away. I must determine what’s going on. Already predetermined;
events that haven’t yet happened. Apparently everything’s already, magnificently, predetermined.
The West Wing’s really freaking out about my valet’s positive. I was upset to learn yesterday that my valet has tested positive. On retesting, my personal valet’s
test was positive, again. Positive have been, the coronaviral tests, of my personal, valet.
Herd immunity; as in Sweden, that’s my strategy. Such a strategy, epidemiologists believe may result in millions of deaths. Millions upon millions of deaths
even as I gas up the Death Star for my re-election. In herd immunity’s my strategy to use, death.
Implausible deniability will work with my base of deplorables but I can’t get over the fact that far too many Americans are dying and dying — on my watch.
For the life of me I can’t cover up the fact that all these people dying are … dying on my watch.
Beware @whca; beware these days of me. These people dying are dying on my watch. And I don’t want to talk about it. And while even implausible deniability
works for me, with my faithful deplorables, it works not as well with ye, ye guardians, of liberty.
I am an innocent man. I am a great gentleman. I was targeted by the Obama administration. And I was targeted in order to illegally and unfairly try, by lies,
overthrowing me. What they’ve done is a total disgrace. But I shan’t stoop to disgraceful, lies.
I shan’t stoop to disgraceful lies. It’s up to me to defend us from all enemies foreign and domestic. Especially, now that Vlad and Xi are losing their nerve.
It’s up to me to stand up to this virus, and reopen, our economies. I’ve got, a ton — of nerve.
I’m urging governments, companies and billionaires to contribute to a $6.7 billion appeal to fight the coronavirus in poor countries. I’m warning ye anarchy
— awaits but any two-week delay in food and water deliveries. But cooperation may trump, anarchy.
On the tip of my tongue, I’ve a lie. At the ready, so to speak. We need to TTIT. Test, trace, isolate and treat. I’m really sorry I said what I did about African shithole
territories, but I do hereby, apologize. I apologize for being … such an asshole.
I apologize for being what I called myself in the preceding tweet; a verse; a epigram. On the tip of my tongue, I’ve a lie. At the ready, so to
speak. We need to TTIT. Test, trace, isolate and treat. Sorry I said about Africa. I failed that test … too.
As many as 190,000 people across Africa could die in the first year of the pandemic if containment measures fail, WHO warns. Test, trace, isolate and treat.
Treat your neighbor and treat your visitor, as ye would have yourself, be equally, well, treated.
Treat your neighbor and treat your visitor, as ye would have yourself be well treated. Test, trace, isolate and treat. TTIT is the acronym. I’ve grown rather fond of it.
And a united opposition to the coronavirus may provide a lift to the future from it.
More concerned about surviving the fall election than I am the survival of my citizens, I’ve leapt on my trusty steed, Resentment, hoping to ride that trusty old nag
to victory, as I have, indeed, ere. To steal a victory, I’ll just bolt — like lightning — atop, my nag.
I reject the notion that the virus spreading among my White House staff is a warning sign about my push to reopen the nation where death tolls continue to surge.
77,000 in the US have died, already. Be patient. It’ll surge for a while, ere, it is purged.
It’ll surge for a while — ere — it is purged. I reject the notion that the virus spreading among my White House staff, surges
in harmony with my ill-advised, surges, reopening, economies. Death tolls … surge. Death tolls — human — and microbial, surge.
I am chosen. Still, I know not for whom the bell tolls. And I reject the notion that the virus karmically spreading among my White House staff surges in
harmony with reopening, economies. That’s just surreal. Get real. It’s just, death tolls … surging.
I reject the notion that the virus karmically spreading among my White House staff surges in harmony with the injudicious reopening of a — hobbled — economy.
That’s just, surreal. It’s just death tolls surging, not … poetic justice, working, surreally.
The White House is probably the safest place on the planet. No one here expects me to wear a mask. It’s just not necessary. Masks are worn preventively,
protecting, others not me. The president is tested regularly. He’s afraid masks make him look sickly.
Mass unemployment on a scale not seen since the Great Depression has erased the economic gains of the past decade and now threatens to linger for years,
fueling social discord and shaking, the shaky foundations, of an already polarized system, for years.
Lingering and fueling for years, social discord, mass unemployment is already shaking the shaky foundations; surreal parameters — of a real paradigm,
dangerously — anachronistic. My problem with older voters is a false narrative, vestige of our paradigm.
Never mind what the experts say. Dr Scott Jensen says that federal guidelines are coaching doctors to mark Covid-19 as the cause of death when Covid-19,
is not; inflating the death toll attributable to Covid-19; not to something … other than, Covid-19.
That Obama says my governance has been an absolute chaotic disaster sounds like high praise to me. Remember, one needs to take what Obama says
with a grain of salt. He says he was born in Hawaii but I know … where his parents were, on Obama’s birthday.
Telling. A strategy memo circulated by the National Republican Senatorial Committee recommends senators not defend my handling of COVID-19
responses but instead attack China accusing it, of responsibility. At fault — the Chinese — we’ve got … Covid-19.
Worldwide, four million confirmed cases of the virus. 277,000 deaths. The US remains the worst-hit country accounting for a quarter of cases; a third of deaths.
Easing restrictions in place could easily lead to a second deadly wave of coronavirus deaths.
Resolutions need nine votes in favor and no vetoes by France, Russia, Britain, the US or China. The veto provision. A provision ill-suited to change a paradigm.
To change governance concurrent with changes in migration, and climate, change … the paradigm.
To change governance concurrent with changes in migration and climate, change, the paradigm. Needed are nine votes in favor and no vetoes by Russia,
France, Britain, the US or China. The veto provision. A provision well-suited to Vladimir Putin’s Russia.
At least 11 members of the Secret Service had the virus as of Thursday according to a DHS tally. The White House is a hotspot. A deep state White House
cleaning with Ajax is being considered to clean and sanitize an overmatched, and overrun, White House.
Flynn gets to keep his pension and he goes free too. There’s a lesson in all this for us. I’ve lent to Arthur, my bully pulpit platform. For, surreally, far more
in store has MAYDAYS to say than there’s an easy way to make of prose, poetry. There’s more.
Happy Mom’s Day to all ye moms out there. Happy Mom’s Day, on a seemingly different, Mom’s Day, this year. Public health experts are cautioning we’re not
ready to reopen. Premature lifting of measures means a death toll twice as high as I predicted, not.
Remember Mother’s Day, last year? Last year, when there was no such thing as Covid-19? Keep last year, near, in your memory, Mom. Last year
not this year. Mother’s Day, next year too, our dear mothers may … remember, that this year was, the first year.
My situation in the White House is no different from the plight of our patriot meat producers, doing what’s right. It’s a small and crowded place. A little bit, risky.
Ye do it because it’s your duty, to serve your country over … your family. Or — do ye?
My situation in the White House is no different from the plight of patriots everywhere — doing — what’s right. It’s a small and crowded place. A little bit, risky.
Ye do it because I say, it’s your duty, to serve your country over your family. Surreally?
Many describe an evolving free-for-all, spreading like a prairie wildfire even to countries with only rudimentary, cyber abilities. Stealing’s
— free. And so we steal, as freely as possible. Comes governmental regulation — of stealing.
Whether one steals or not, on Urantia, often depends on whether there are controls against theft, in place; controls like a supervisor and company, honesty,
policies. No fee stealing, is free. And so, we steal. Comes, governmental regulation, of larceny.
Comes now, governmental regulation, of larceny. Whether the larceny is of cash, bits of coin or information. Every commodity has its price. Nothing’s,
stock free. Whether one steals or not on Urantia often depends on whether the authorities are watching.
Whether one steals or not on Urantia often depends on whether the authorities are watching. Comes now, governmental regulation, of larceny.
Whether thefts be cash, bits of coin or information, every commodity has its price. Nothing is … stock … free.
Pandemics have two types of endings: a medical one which occurs when its incidence and death rates plummet — and the social one when the fear of dying
from the disease, wanes. When folks ask, ‘When will this end?,’ they’re asking about the social ending.
Grecian then Roman and thanks to me, American. Ye heard it here, first. First, it was American. Defining epigram, Samuel Taylor Coleridge — in his ‘Epigram’ —
wrote: ‘What is an Epigram? A dwarfish whole its body brevity and wit its soul’ (is an epigram).
Defining an epigram, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s in his ‘Epigram’, wrote: ‘What is an Epigram? A dwarfish whole, its body brevity, and wit its soul.’ Grecian,
then Roman, and now, thanks to me, American. Ye heard it here, first. First, it was … American.
The head of household has to stay at home going hungry with their family, Bolsonaro said Sunday in a tweet attacking the lockdown in Maranhao. Millions
already feel they are living in Venezuela, or America. But what’s a few million, among many, millions?
The court might well look for ways both to keep itself and to keep future fights like this out of the courts. Both sides urged the court’s on Friday — to duly weigh
in the on merits rather than invoke the evasive political doctrine question of yesterday.
Curious. The irony in an American hurry to build a great wall. And the Chinese hurry to be a lone superpower. Communist in name only, capitalist, it’s
become. A pandemic’s biggest lesson: China’s authoritarianism is come, on a Silk and Belt Road, ironic.
I doubt Andrew Yang doesn’t have any concrete proposals for Joe Biden. Yang’s greatest strength may just happen to be Joe Biden’s, Achilles’ heel.
Surreally, both my greatest strength and my very own Achilles heel, am I. Vulnerable, am I, in … my heel.
I was spooked that the valet who serves my food had not been wearing a mask. And annoyed to learn that Ms Miller tested positive. And increasingly growing
irritated with people who get too close to me, as over a paranoid nation … I’m unduly, presiding.
Football. That’s the perfect set up for spreading. I would think that if there is an infected football player on the field; a middle linebacker … a tackle … whoever
— as soon as they hit the next guy they’ll be shedding virus all over … other players.
I live and labor in a coronaviral, hotspot. One measure under consideration is that aides maintain a six-foot social distance during meetings, including all meetings
with me. And all White House personnel are discouraged from, upon one another, spitting.
Historians say this pandemic may be remembered as the first that spread from the affluent to the lowly, agitating class grievances in unequal societies. Adding
a dark twist to a pandemic, that’s killed more than 270,000 people … and is still, counting.
My fellow Americans: We’re not reopening based on science. We’re reopening based on politics, ideology and public pressure. Karmic, it’s going to end badly.
For US and me. Ask not what you can do for your country. By all means, please, don’t vote for me.
Chafing at questions from reporters during my briefing yesterday, I can’t help communicating that I’m mad. And sad. Sad that reporters — seem — not to like me.
I’m a candidate for a coronary. I wonder whether reporters would save my life, for the country?
Were I to fall from behind the podium into a heap on the floor of the briefing room, I wonder if my pool reporters would act to save my life — for the country?
Or alternatively, not resuscitate; a hypothetical, for I am a prime candidate, for a coronary.
Spiking infection rates suggest that the pandemic is spreading quickly outside major coastal population centers that were early hot spots. Governors of some
states are following my advice to them, to relax my stay-at-home restrictions, at least … some.”
”Sometimes a tweet is just a tweet. And sometimes it’s an advertisement for your business. And sometimes, when it’s me promoting my business on Twitter while
overseeing the response to a national emergency, it’s a financial conflict of interest, by a mile.
I sit at the head of the table of the Haves. I am the first and the last of them. Haves and Have Nots live less than peacefully in a dirty and off-white, White House.
I alone need not wear a mask when there, I sit. I am above the law in my house.
Only I need not wear a mask when at the White House. Because it’s my house. I’m the president. And as president, I am above the law when … in my house.
It’s important that I be recognized at all times when I’m in a coronavirally tarnished White House.
Pray tell Joe to attack my childishness. As a man, it’s my, Achilles heel. And see, in my antics; inane things I do and say, poetry.
Forget not poetry … if ye look to persuade, our fellow Americans, on crises, candidate Biden. Consider Joe, poetry.
The UN has predicted that the economic fallout from the worldwide coronavirus outbreak may end up killing more people than the actual disease,
itself, a report says. We’ve got to reopen notwithstanding the virus, notwithstanding, the disease.
We’ve got to reopen notwithstanding the virus, notwithstanding, the disease. The UN predicts that the economic fallout from the worldwide coronavirus
outbreak may end up killing more people than the actual disease; I may be an antihero against the virus.
There’s no maybe about it. I am indeed your antihero against the virus. And ye shall know me, albeit I wear not a mask, by my fake mane and the nonsense I say.
We’ve got to reopen, notwithstanding the virus and the disease, I do dare, nonsensically, say.
In ancient Greek religion, Nemesis is the goddess who enacts retribution against those who succumb to hubris (arrogance before the gods). There’s no maybe
about it. We’ve got to reopen notwithstanding the virus and the disease, I dare say, nonsensically.
None of this is inevitable. Some of it depends on public health questions outside of economic policymakers’ control but most of it is just a question
of program design. I have ample, fiscal resources. It is just a question of whether I dare, to use them.
Insurgents stormed a maternity ward in a hospital in the Afghan capital, today, Tuesday, leaving 14 people dead, including mothers, nurses and two — newborns.
Fifteen more, were wounded in the attack. God help me. Help me, help, the innocent … newborn.
Lockdowns in both Moscow and St. Petersburg have been extended to May 31. Vlad’s own spokesman has been on this day been confirmed to be yet another
tragic victim of the coronavirus, the pandemic and the disease, of Covid-19. Fear not, however, disaster.
Although the COVID-19 outbreak was slow to spread in Russia, the country has in recent weeks seen growth rates explode. As of Tuesday, it had registered over
230,000 cases of the virus — the second-largest reported outbreak after US. And it’s never … really … over.
One might ask why I claim we outpace the world in coronavirus testing when the numbers tell such a different story. It’s just that on the tip of my tongue I’ve
got a lie. Naturally, I’ve got to say something and so I lie. I am unfit. I can’t help but lie.
I am unfit. I can’t help but lie. One might ask why I claim we outpace the world in virus testing when the numbers tell such a different story. It is just that I lie
— naturally. On the tip of my tongues, I’ve got lies. I’ve got to say something so … I lie.
My failure to come up with even a semblance of a plan, good or bad, ought be no mystery to anyone who’s been even a casual observer of what’s been
happening, here. I make it up, as I go along. I just make it up, as I go along. That is what is happening.
I just make it all up as I go merrily, along. That’s the way it’s been, my whole, gilded, life. Up until now. Implausibly; near, incredibly, this microbe with nations,
surrounded, seems to be, moreover, stalking me … and the leadership, of the nations.
Incredibly, this microbe has the nations completely surrounded and seems to be moreover stalking me and the top leadership of the nations. The virus
seeming like a cat with its mouse, toying. Playing, with the mouse; relishing, it; all before … eating it.
The people who are getting sick right now are generally those people who are working. And the risk is going to increase the more that people are working.
Working never killed anyone my momma always told me. And ye can be a martyr if working, means dying.
There are many people who hate politics and politicians; independents — they’re swing votes. They broke for me when I ran against Hillary.
Joe’s benefiting from the phenomenon this time. Still, I can’t believe … I’ve been projected to lose … to Joe.
I don’t think you’re the end-all. I don’t think you’re the person who gets to make a decision. I am the one. I am in fact, the chosen one. I am the one and only, me.
Accordingly, damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead. Reopen my economy and the dead, bury.
In an evidentiary hearing the Judge could call witnesses such as Flynn, his investigators or even prosecutors to obtain more facts about how the case
was handled, why Flynn and the agents took the steps they did and what’s next in this embarrassing case.
What’s next? I must say, I’m no prophet. But I’ve got friends in high places in Vlad and the guys. There’s not a one of us that isn’t feeling like we might be hanging
from trees if food riots lead barbarian citizens, over gates, to witness, the hangings.
Somber warnings temper hopes about a fall return to school — and normalcy. I want decisions on when schools are reopening left to the local state governing,
authorities. Authorities that’ll get blamed, once our beloved children, predictably, start dying.
The latest cluster in Wuhan shows how hard it will be to measure whether any location is truly free of coronavirus. New cases there suggest the coronavirus
can flare up in patients up to 50 days after only apparently having been recovered from the virus.
Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead. Reopen, my economy. Bury, the dead. Nothing is an accident. On the contrary, everything’s been predetermined,
magnificently. And I get to play the magnificent antihero, of Aryan countenance and a jawline, determined.
I get to play a magnificent antihero; of Aryan countenance; and a jawline, determined. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead. Reopen, my economy.
Bury, the dead. Nothing is an accident. On the contrary, everything’s been predetermined, most magnificently,
Jared raised eyebrows Tuesday by suggesting that there was uncertainty about whether the presidential election would happen as scheduled in November,
because of the pandemic; and that he had a role in making, that determination. Stay tuned, for November.
Jared’s comments are particularly fraught because some critics such as former vice president Joe Biden, the presumptive Democratic nominee — were already
on high alert for an attempt by me to put off the election because of a novel coronaviral emergency.
In Jared’s interview with Time, he said that while it wasn’t his decision to make, he wasn’t sure he could say the election would actually happen this November,
should there actually be a second outbreak of coronavirus, come the fall, and this, November.
And the consternation in reaction was so universal that both Jared and the White House felt compelled to give follow-up statements, supposedly — clarifying,
what Jared knows and what he said. I dunno, he says, he knows. In other words … I know nothing.
I’ve written books. Bestsellers. A genius, tho a genius, still humble. I well know that some like me, are born great. Others are made, great. Others have greatness,
thrust upon them. Make no mistake about Jared. He’s been destined, like me, to greatness.
Should America get back to working? Put a mask on: Ye’ll be fine. Consuming? Yes please. Voting? Jeez, we’re not totally certain — we can commit — to voting.
That might be a bit risky. It’s best to exercise an abundance of caution with respect to voting.
I have issued an order for all White House staffers to begin wearing masks to help stop the spread of the virus inside the West Wing. But this stepped-up mask
— measure has, its limitations: It doesn’t apply, to me. I won’t wear even a designer … mask.
The European Union is pushing gradual reopening of borders within a bloc shut by the pandemic, saying it’s not too late to salvage, some — of the tourist season.
But public health experts say extreme caution is needed, to avoid new outbreaks this season.
Online researchers say they worry about false messages from extremist groups feeding what the UN has dubbed an ’infodemic’; making it hard to separate,
fact from fiction. But, never fear. I, am here. And I will help ye — fact — from fiction … separate.
Never fear. I am here. And I will help ye separate — fact — from fiction. That’s a distinction, no longer as clear cut as it once was, before. And it’s ironic. Time.
Pandemic. Infodemic. And rhyme. And a rhyme in time may save billions of humans … in time.
A rhyme in time may save billions of humans, in time. That’s my idea. Jared’s — actually. That boy has greatness in him. My brilliant Palestinian plan;
his plan — also; planning on debuting it in the Koreas, are we. Jared’s plan; it is, the Kim-Don Plan.
The biggest danger going forward is that disruption will affect not just existing food stocks but planting and harvesting, already occurring in parts of the world
— just as a swarm of locusts eats its way across African and Asian, parts … of the world.
Vlad’s guys and I; we know what’s happening. It’s a blitzkrieg, lightning war by our mutual invader. An invader, come — like the Cavalry
— in the nick of time. However we know that famine doth ripple across media … metaphysically.
Americans who previously had health insurance coverage through their employers will lose that coverage too. It is in the provenance of health benefits,
why Americans are suffering this pandemic worse, than Europeans. Europeans kept their health benefits.”
Most economists expect the employment picture to brighten as more areas begin loosening, restrictions. A rational rationale, usually; the thinking, conventional.
But this microbe that’s defying us, is denying us our globalization, most, unconventionally.
WHO cautioned Wednesday that the virus may never be wiped out, entirely. This virus may become just another endemic virus in our communities. This virus,
may never go away. HIV has not, gone away. We must come to terms, so to speak, with the coronavirus.
Convene that week. And dissolve. And reconvene as a UN, re-chartered. To institutionalize a Golden Rule, empathy and caring’s, sharing. Sharing information’s
easy; a good place to start changing in the face of change, existential. Share your information.
Folding chairs 6 feet apart — a far cry from a stadium, packed with thousands. Throngs of my fans lined the road and gathered outside the facility, many
standing, close together, mask-less — holding campaign signs and flags. Patriots, in a minute, ready.
This was all Obama. This was all Biden. These people were corrupt. The whole thing was corrupt, and we caught them. Some say I’m just making it up when,
anything, I say, gets said. And witness: I’m only saying it now, when we caught them, way back, then.
Oh well; Obamagate was a long shot anyway. No one has ever prostituted my office, like I have. And if I lose in November, I’ll expect Joe not be, a sore winner,
granting me, a pardon. Who knew, prostitution was a crime? Show some mercy Joe, to the loser.
We’re looking to get it by the end of the year if we can — maybe before. Before year’s end being an impossibility, anything less than a year would be,
incredibly, miraculous. My fellow Americans … keep your faith in me. And in November … vote for me.
The hacking of a major entertainment law firm by a known cybercriminal gang says it will release info on me if it doesn’t get $42 million in a week’s time.
Conducting my business will take a $42 million debit of mine within the space of one week of time.
In what would mark a massive shift in the timeline of the contagion’s spread, French researchers believe there is evidence that the microbe causing Covid-19
— has been in Europe, even before 2020. It’s been with us since as early as … November of 2019.
Nobody looks good on Zoom or FaceTime or any of the other online simulacra of human interaction that this unscheduled lockdown has forced upon us.
Perhaps, ye won’t need anything more than your basement and a microphone … to preside over us.
Too often, facial recognition programs have built into them a strong bias against black people of all genders, women of all races, and gender-bending — people. It
becomes obvious then, that the software is made primarily by — and for — white men, iconic.
The US is upping military pressure on China amid increased tensions over the South China Sea, accusing Beijing of seeking to leverage the coronavirus
pandemic to extend its sphere of influence in the region. And the plot thickens … along with, a virus.
Hundreds of villages in China’s northeastern Jilin province have been placed under immediate lockdown after a local cluster of new cases of the coronavirus
were reported in the region. The Chinese have got a nagging case of the novel, killer coronavirus.
I’ll take my chances with the extortionists. And hope that whatever gets released is just embarrassing; not anything, serious. I have got way too much on my plate
with the virus, Russia, China, North Korea and … the rest of the nations, and the states.
Such an action, transparently designed to protect Secretary Pompeo from personal accountability would undermine the foundation of our institutions
democratic and may be an illegal act of retaliation. Firing the Inspector General is an act of retaliation.
The speeches turned the national spotlight on Obama at a time when the former president is becoming a central figure, in the 2020, presidential, campaign.
Biden is the presumptive nominee and he’s embracing the Obama legacy in his own fledgling campaign.
In his commencement address to college graduates on Saturday President Barack Obama scathingly criticized the US response to the novel coronavirus,
saying that some leaders don’t even pretend being in charge. Hauntingly, haunting me … he looks out … for us.
A disease like this spotlights the inequalities and extra burdens blacks have had to deal with in this country. We see it when a black man goes jogging and white
folks feel like they can stop, question and shoot him, if he doesn’t submit to a man … white.
Militaristic tough-guy messaging, along with my refusal to wear a mask, it is hoped may encourage, ordinary men to be manly
men. At the risk of appearing less than manly — wear not a mask, for the sake of appearing — manly.
Since the pandemic began the issue of masks has further exposed America’s racial and gender prejudices. As cities began to require residents to wear
masks, police began targeting black men for covering their faces — profiling them as criminals — unfair.
All too often, to too many other peoples, criminal seems to be the complexion of a black man, masked. Seemingly, there’s nowhere on the whole of the Earth
with the exception of Africa where a black man, masked, is welcome … on this black hole … of an Earth.
Suspiciously I want Mike fired all the way to Kansas. To run there, for senator. His work here in Swamp Washington, helping me drain the deep state swamp
here, is over. With so many inspectors general in Washington we’ll fill in in no time … the swamp.
The condition of Russia’s provincial healthcare system is nothing less than shocking. In this sprawling country, time is not the only thing
that differs between the capital and the regions. Meetings in the countryside, are sickening.
Time’s not all that differs between Moscow and the far-flung regions. Meetings in the Russian countryside between the native Russians and the invading
microbes may be fatal. Then factor in the poor condition, of a Russian healthcare system … crumbling.
Already, cases of people wearing KKK style hoods and masks emblazoned with swastikas to go shopping. With social acceptance of masks, some commit crime,
for a first time. Hardened criminals become, even more emboldened. Who knew the virus … worsens … crime?
No longer; no longer do the truisms of elections past ring true. Truisms like it’s about the economy stupid and recalling if one indeed feels even more confident
— now than four years ago. Who knew this virus worsens crime and stunts consumer confidence?
Who knew this virus would worsen crime and heighten our sense of social isolation on what seems like a densely, populated planet. It’s hurting consumer confidence.
But It’s not just about the economy. Even those confident four years ago, feel less confident.
Urantia; Earth to ye; a planet seemingly over populated. But that’s not true. It’s just that too many live in coastal environs; too few — live inland
— and below land … where it’s safest. It’s just a matter of redesigning society. Earth … is my land.
Joe and the other Democratic leaders are racing to assemble a new governing agenda that meets the extraordinary times. They agree it’s got to be bolder
than anything the party has ever embraced, before. FDR’s new deal was bold. This must be, even bolder.
Too many live in coastal environs; too few live inland and below land where, literally, in the land, we may survive and thrive. A new deal sold by harsh, realities.
Joe Biden’s plan ironically may be … a transition — to a real — greatness. Amen. Let it be.
The conference is a virtual one. They’re not going to be able to go out to bars on Geneva at the end of it; they are going to have to deal with the reality of how
we get back to normal. I’m a geopolitical, genius. If saving the planet, I’ll show ye, how.
He’ll show ye, how. I’m endorsing Joe. The national and global economies would benefit from his new and improved modern, new deal. Deal me in.
I’m a geopolitical genius. Joe is how we get back to normal. Vote for Joe and pray for my pardon.
This economy will recover; it may take a while. It may take a period of time. It could stretch through the end of next year. We don’t know. And since we don’t know,
actually it’s implied — it might surreally take much longer. We really just, don’t know.
And in Bangladesh and India — where the first known Covid-19 cases were confirmed just last week — looming, is a catastrophically nightmarish — scenario.
One human rights advocate said that an outbreak in the Rohingya camp would be a nightmare scenario.
If a medicine can kill you don’t take it. Water is good for you but if you are under it, you can drown. If it’s too hot, heat can kill you. If it’s too cold, cold can kill you.
Everything in moderation. Drink red wine. It’s good for you, and your heart, too.
The burial was swift; so surreally so that they put him in the coffin in his hospital gown. So said the man’s daughter, speaking in anonymity for fear of reprisals,
governmental. At 5 in the morning, they buried him without dignity; without … a hymnal.
Swift; so surreally so was the burial that they put him in the coffin in his hospital gown. So said the man’s daughter, speaking in anonymity for fear of reprisals,
governmental. And so it goes in Nicaragua, Belarus and Brazil. And everywhere, reprisals.
And so it goes in Nicaragua, Belarus and Brazil. And seemingly everywhere, there are reprisals wherever inconvenient facts conflict with official governmental
policy; and my brothers must speak in anonymity for fear of brutal, reprisals … governmental.
In Nicaragua, Belarus and Brazil. Wherever inconvenient facts conflict with official governmental policy, reprisals are a common sense, self-defense.
Governmental reprisals; I’m good at that. Reprisals aren’t illegal if they’re employed, in self-defense.
China had previously opposed calls for such investigations from US in Washington and Australians in Canberra but Xi signalled today that Beijing may be
amenable to an impartial review once the contagion’s been, by the nations, contained. Amen. Let it be.
This whole Whistleblower racket needs to be looked at very closely as it is causing me great injustice and harm, I tweeted last night. I disdain whistleblowers,
intimidating them, whenever I suffer a blow to my ego. I sure do, hate … my whistleblowers.
Targeting Obama in a way that no modern sitting president has ever targeted his predecessor; accusing him of vague but unspecified crimes under a vague,
politically charged catchphrase, I’ve coined ’Obamagate.’ But it’s best Barr advises — we be vague.
“As the air sacs are infected and damaged this triggers the immune system which can lead to a dangerous condition called a cytokine storm. In such storms, cells
of the body are not distinguished from invaders by the immune system, killing … those cells.
A watchlist, authorized in 2017 through a classified Attorney General order may grow to well over one million names. It also allows me to track lawless
Americans without a warrant even when there is no evidence they’ve broken laws or are indeed, lawless.
Barr’s refusal to play ball with me in my new campaign accusing my presumptive general election opponent of criminal activity … an outrageous lie
… hurts my electoral plans. No problem; I’ll smear him myself. Barr or no Barr I’ll always rely on lies.
We have seen two different standards of justice emerge: one that applies to me and my associates and the other that applies to everyone else. We can’t allow
shenanigans like this to ever happen again. And so I urge ye to vote for Joe, and Biden, follow.
As as long as Barr’s my attorney general the criminal justice system will not be used for partisan political ends. This is especially true for the upcoming election,
this November. Don’t worry about a microbe. Trust me. And vote for me this election.
Stocks rally. A vaccine is looking promising. Hope springs eternal. That’s the spirit. It is however, not sustainable. Even in the case where miraculously,
vaccines become available, in September. But by then, suffering shall have worsened, considerably.
Hydroxychloroquine; I requested it from the White House physician. I’m no doctor. I’m a genius. The chosen one. Chosen, apparently, for my reckless
impulsiveness, I can’t consider, consequences, unintended. Nor death, beckoned by one so totally reckless.
More than 1.4 million people have been infected. Near 90,000 have died. Still, because everything’s predetermined, I’m extremely determined to get my
whole foot in my mouth. And I’ll succeed when people take hydroxychloroquine, as I’m determined, to lie.
Imagine no space; barely room to move, never mind, social distancing; imagine too, no hygiene; with temperatures, closing in on 100 degrees making it, life
threatening for people to stay indoors. And come soon, the monsoons. In India … cheap, is life.
Life indeed is cheap, in India. And cheaper still, elsewhere. Witness dictatorial, autocracies; witness, Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mo. But we have been changing
priorities. It’s gotten life threatening, lately, for we dictators. We don’t want to end up, hanging.
We don’t want to end up hanging. And indeed that is but one of the many alternative destinies that may await us, depending upon our decisions.
Decisions; decisions. An everlasting mystery; our already predetermined fates, determined … by our decisions.
With a listed height of 6 feet, 3 inches and a weight of 243 pounds I’m only marginally, not morbidly, obese. A lot of things get said
that just aren’t true. Better dead than red they say but that too, isn’t true. So I’m taking my drug, to get not, dead.
Better dead than red and vice versa. Neither is true. With a listed height of 6 feet, 3 inches and with a weight of 243 pounds — I’m only marginally
— not morbidly, obese. A lot gets said that just ain’t true — things, like — I’m not crazy.
A lot has been said, epigramming. It’s an art, largely lost. But the Watcher requisitioned from the celestial authorities that Arthur be returned from — his comfy
life in the future to this present, life. To save the planet, the people on it and poetry.
Epigramming; it’s an art, largely lost. But the father of poetry, the Watcher Penemue, asked that Arthur be returned from a future life to this present one. Heaven
awaits Art saving the planet, the people on it and poetry and earning his wings to Heaven.
The Watcher Penemue along with some others of the men of renown that along with men populated Earth, taught men then forbidden — things.
Occult things — the art of battle and, inexplicably poetry. Poetry, perhaps in error, was deemed … a forbidden … thing.
Poetry, somehow, perhaps in error, had been deemed, a forbidden, thing. Penemue, apparently, didn’t get the memo. And do he did woo one especially hot mama
with a few lines of poetry. Poetry and passion go well together, if ye like … rapping … to the mamas.
Poetry and passion go well together if ye like rapping, to the mamas. By the time Penemue got the memo, he’d wooed one or more, super hot mamas with a few
lines of poetry. Persuasive may be poetry; and useful if ever ye need to redesign, the Earth, anew.
Persuasive may be poetry. And useful if ever ye need to redesign, the Earth, anew. Poetry and passion go well together if ye like rapping, to mamas. By the time
Penemue heard about the memo, he’d wooed a few hot mamas with a few, fast … pick-up, lines.
Persuasive may be poetry. Useful to attract — a mate — or a date. Witness it’s soul, of passion. And useful as well if ever ye need to redesign, the Earth, anew.
Poetry and passion; together. Forget not. Everything’s been predetermined, once again, anew.
Forget not. Everything is generally predetermined. But there are always adjustments. Miracles. They’re more common than ye can possibly,
imagine. Poetry’s persuasive. It’ll help save Earth and redesign a renewed, and renewably, more sustainable, society.
Rivaling that of Narcissus, my hubris has attracted Nemesis to me. I feel also, attracted, to her. No mortal woman, she’s the goddess of retribution. The irony’s
telling. She whom I would use to enact retribution, against others, seeks it … against me.
As in the days of Nemesis and Narcissus, hubris attracts, attention. I feel attracted to her, also. No mortal woman — she’s the goddess — of retribution.
The irony’s telling. She whom I’d have used to exact my vengeance, plots my undoing, in retribution.
Nemesis, whom I’d have used to exact my various and sundry vengeances, plots my undoing, in her own retribution. Hubris attracts attention. Nemesis, mine.
I was attracted to her, also. No mortal woman, she’s a Greek goddess of retribution; and all, mine.
No mortal woman, Nemesis, the annals say, is Greek. So what does Nemesis have against me? Why seeks she, retribution, against me? The very ugliest American
am I. But that’s, no crime. Hubris attracts attention; Nemesis, mine. For over-valuing, Americans.
Imagine viewing Earthrise, concurrently. It’s an exercise we’d be wise to begin exercising, immediately. To get ye guys realizing —- that this paradigm
— sovereign, defines us and — limits us. Imagine all with a smart phone, all there, at, the same time.
A badge of honor; that we have more than 1.5 million cases of the virus. The total’s a result of the country testing so many millions of people … for infection. I
view it as a badge of honor; a great tribute to testing. America first! Why on Earth lie?
Why lie? Actually, it’d be a lie to say that only lies are said there; it’d be a lie; or an exaggeration. But a badge of honor? A badge of honor — so many more
cases — than any other country? Give me a freaking break; for I lie, like a rug, on the floor.
The lawsuit accuses me and my children of enriching ourselves by systematically defrauding economically marginalized people looking to invest in educations,
start their own small business, and pursue the American dream. They say we’ve been, racketeering.
How do we even sleep at night? They say we’ve been, racketeering. The lawsuit accuses me and my children of enriching ourselves by defrauding systematically
folks looking to invest. But I don’t sleep; a candidate for re-election and a coronary.”
I’m not petite. Some say I’m obese. That mean Nancy Pelosi, for one. With all these trials and tribulations, I don’t sleep; and so I’m a better coronary
candidate than one for re-election. And now, with hydroxychloroquinine, I’m campaigning, for a coronary.
This story is illustrative of the pressures workers face and how company actions often contribute to the spread of coronavirus and the death of workers.
Essential workers are heroes Ye ought not die needlessly. But everyone, gets called … their number.
Scientists still don’t understand if the virus is changing in significant ways; or if what Chinese doctors are seeing may be due to
being able to observe patients more thoroughly, and from an earlier stage, than in Wuhan they were earlier … able to do.
As those who have been stricken with the virus emerge from hospitals or home quarantine they are being forced to gingerly navigate a world that very
clearly, is not yet ready to welcome them back into a still-sheltering if not … an unwelcoming society.
I would not reopen unless unless my fellow Americans are safe. My gut is telling me that not reopening is a terrible idea. We’ve got to reopen. Pray for me and us.
Mostly though, pray for me … because I can’t imagine this is going to end well — for US.
I’m calling for international action to support Africa’s health systems and maintain food supplies. And in Brazil, Jair, has also promoted the use of anti-malaria
drug hydroxychloroquine against the virus, tho studies show, it has no benefit, on Urantia.
There have long been grounds for asking whether I have corrupted the process of doling out aid to states. Investigations have found big disparities in how states
are treated which has left some wondering, whether I play politics, with aid, to the states.
What’s to wonder? Of course I’ve played politics with the federal states; and the international states, also. But all these concurrent crises are but to set the stage;
it won’t be WHO … but rather me, who shall soon be saving — this planetary — stage.
Two swing states, Michigan and Nevada, are making it easier for more voters to cast their ballots — by mail, ahead of the November — election. Mail in voting
hurts my chances for re-election. So I call upon Nemesis, the Greek Goddess, of retribution.
Nemesis; she’s a looker; a Goddess, for sure. And I love her especially because, she’s the Greek Goddess, of retribution.
Two swing states, Michigan and Nevada are making it easier for mail in voting. I call upon Nemesis, the Goddess, of retribution.
Michigan and Nevada, are making it easier for mail in voting. So I call upon Nemesis, the Goddess, of retribution. Nemesis; she’s a looker; and I love her
especially because, she’s the Goddess, of vengeance and of, retribution. My God — how I, love her!
It’s hard to believe that, in Michigan, they’re in the midst of a 100-year crisis a global pandemic and a flooding event, that looks to be the worst in 500 years.
Believe it! Believe — your eyes 2020: Seems like the worst year, in thousands … of years.
What’s happening is not one crisis, but many interconnected ones. That connectedness makes it harder for us to bring the crisis — to heel. Harder still
shall it be to overcome the historical legacies shaping a patchwork so tragi-comically surreal, still.
Urantia (Earth) as viewed by Kim, Art and I, out of body. As virtually, can, anybody. Imagine: Getting all down there, up here. Communally. Concurrently.
Cybernetically. Were we to do so, we’d be better able to duly transform ourselves, transcendentally.
Superspreading events; especially dangerous because the virus has a longer period of incubation in which patients show no symptoms but infect, others.
Severe symptoms and a relatively more severe illness lead to … death tolls, proportionately, greater.
I have proposed hosting world leaders for the annual G7 to signal, normalization; wishful thinking, I’m afraid. More than 106,000 cases, just yesterday,
globally. WHO reported the largest single-day increase, in coronavirus cases, just yesterday.
Say it ain’t so. Social distancing measures, imposed a week earlier would have saved 36,000. And if the country had begun locking down cities and also,
limiting contacts two weeks earlier on March 1, 54,000 would have been saved. Please, say it ain’t so.
Social distancing measures, imposed a week earlier would have saved 36,000. If the country had begun locking down cities and also, limiting contacts two
weeks earlier on March 1, 54,000 would have been saved. Please say, it ain’t so. And comfort, me too.
While domestic quarantine has ended, bars must limit numbers to fewer than 100 people, enforce social distancing and note — record one’s personal details to
help contact tracing, in the event of outbreaks. Ye read that right; we’ll be watching ye, too.
A tablet inscribed with a portion of the story of Gilgamesh, a poem considered one of the world’s oldest literary works. Written thousands of years
before the Bible, its epic flood may have been the inspiration for a Biblical one … in Biblical years.
The optics look bad; social distancing measures imposed a week earlier would have saved 36,000. And had the country begun locking down cities and also
limiting contacts two weeks earlier, on March 1, 54,000 would’ve been saved. And, my re-election, also.
Almost 600 — 570 employees and contractors out of 2,244, from Tyson who were tested — came up, positive. The majority didn’t have symptoms. And they
wouldn’t have known they were infected if they hadn’t been tested. But testing, I dare say, is overrated.
Testing — for disease — is overrated. Finding a cure for the disease. That’s my aim. The cure; the vaccine. That’s what matters. Testing is for stone, cold, losers.
Almost 600 tested positive. Most didn’t have symptoms. Keep on working, poultry workers.
Testing in the United States is disorganized and needs coordination at the national level. Right now, testing is not accurate enough to use alone to make
most decisions including who should go back to work or to school. What a fine, fine mess, I’ve made.
What an extraordinary 2020! A pandemic, All manner of geopolitical shenanigans, low lighted by the aspiration of Khashoggi. My re-election
is in November; the Nobels, in December. And before too long, an exciting, hurricane, season.
Oxford Economics predicts I’ll lose to Democrat Joe Biden by a margin of 65% to 35%. Previous to the pandemic the Oxford model — had me winning — at
55% — not at all threatened, in my bid for reelection. But a Goddamned microbe, has changed … all that.
A Goddamned microbe’s changed everything. Now Oxford predicts I’ll lose to Democrat Joe Biden by a margin of 65% to 35%. The Oxford model had me
winning at 55% handily. Fatalities are killing my economy. A germ changed everything. And Goddamned, I’ll be.
Good news. Initial applications for unemployment insurance have now declined for seven weeks in a row. But the pandemic is roiling every
industry; witness, companies such as Uber and General Electric laying off, thousands of employees.
How is it possible that our front line personnel have a lower infection rate than the general population? It’s because, masks — work well. Wear — a mask.
Remember those pictures of folks in China always wearing masks? It’s because they work. Wear, masks.
The decision on whether to reintroduce restrictions in the event of a second wave would ultimately fall to state governors — not the — federal government. It’s
the governors’ call. They know I’ll be watching them, making sure, they do, nothing, idiotic.
I’ll be lowering the flags on all Federal Buildings and National Monuments to half-staff over the next three days in memory of Americans we have lost to the virus.
And in honor — also — of those in our military who, have sacrificed themselves … for US.
Actually, I have little leverage and even less influence with Xi and the Chinese at this point. Relations between the United States and Xi’s China are in a free
fall. Still, stay tuned. A virus I may use, in cooperation with Xi to unite us, mysteriously.
It’ll get worse — before it gets better. All this sheltering in place, isolation and loneliness are risk factors — for people not doing well psychologically
and powerful potential triggers to a premature demise, due to overdose, or suicide, tragically.
As if a ray of sunshine penetrating from the smoky residue of the Amazon’s, burning rain forest, is Jair. Brazil has emerged as the coronaviral,
global, epicenter. Good to have a young man to replace me. I’ve got a date to Happy Hunting Grounds, eternal.
Brazil has emerged as the planet’s coronaviral, global, epicenter. Good to have a young man to replace me and the rest of a tired, old, guard. Vladimir’s,
impressed. I’ve got a date to the Happy Hunting Grounds, eternal. Don’t worry. Ye’ll have Vladimir.
Barefaced: butt naked from the neck up, in front of men wearing masks and a large sign advertising the facility’s mask-making efforts — I didn’t want to face
the press while wearing it. The press wasn’t unhappy — having seen … so much less, of my face.
wore a mask in a back area but I didn’t want to give the press the pleasure of seeing me wearing one. I think I look real good in masks. It’s hard not to look
good, when one looks like me; even at my spry young age I still get hot — come hither … looks.
The nation nears 100,000 dead; far more than all our previous common tragedies combined or the Vietnam War. This Memorial Day, no sense of purpose;
no sense that we’re grieving together with a sense of purpose. Going forward, we’ll need a common purpose.
I’m demanding governors reopen churches, synagogues and mosques, now. I’ll override if ye don’t do so by the weekend. And I’m betting the whole damned house
— on a big bet; betting wishful thinking may well renew my permanent residency, at the White House.
We may have, an over count. We are in the process of exploring some machine learning and artificial intelligence techniques to try to make the coding more
efficient to get a better grip on coronavirus trends. As far as the count; if anything … it’s under.
Ever wonder about over-sized promotional checks? They omit sensitive account information normally found at the bottom of the check. Do — as we say
— not as we do. Keep account numbers to yourselves, so that when ye go to withdraw funds, ye very well … may.
In China, where the outbreak began late last year — finally, no new confirmed cases for the first time. Once again time has proven me infallible. Reduced to zero
have been new cases in China. Eventually, Americans too, may get new cases … down to zero.
Kim is oft out of the public eye. Some say he’s just lying low against a microbe, invisible. But I happen to know from our nightly lunar soirées … of more than
one alternative universe; in string theory a place to escape to when the shit, hits the fan.
In string theory, another universe; an ideal place to escape to when the shit here on Urantia, hits the fan. Kim’s been out of the public eye, lately. Lying low,
some say. Dying, others. More than that, it’s the reaping, of the sown. We need, to lie low.
It’s easy to blame my ham-handed response to the pandemic. After all a twenty pound ham as a hand just won’t do. But Kim and would stay, and rule,
beneficently and not escape to another universe if we’d exchange sovereignty for egalitarian Golden Rules.
My ham-handed response to a threat from Europe proved more consequential to the majority of the more than 94,000 people who have, subsequently, tragically died,
and 1.6 million infected. God only knows, how many, die. My cult and I; we live free, or die.
As summer approaches, temperatures are starting to rise in Europe and its citizens are looking forward to vacations after months at home, under lockdown,
restrictions. Ditto, here. Ditto, everywhere. But, as we become symptomatic, get ready, to lockdown.
One thousand obituaries a stark reminder; in case I ever forget of someone’s, loved one. The 1,000 obits reflect only 1% of the total deaths in the United States.
The 1,000 obituaries reflect only 1% of the total causalities, in Urantia’s, battled and bloodied … United States.
As the U.S. death toll from the coronavirus pandemic nears 100,000, the Sunday front page of the New York Times features 1,000 obituaries of those who’ve died
from the COVID-19 disease; in honor and — in memory of — those who have so needlessly … died.
As sections of the global economy tip-toe to reopening, it’s becoming clear that a full recovery from the worst slump since the 1930s will be impossible
until a vaccine or treatment is found for the deadly microbe. But actually nothing … is impossible.
Nothing is impossible for Him. But to save a planet and its citizens, miracles are in order. Miraculous it’ll be one day when we assemble, concurrently,
communally, and vote to dump a sovereign paradigm for a Golden Ruled one soon … if not immediately.
If you think about it!the face mask is the condom of my generation. The HIV epidemic made condoms mainstream in the US. No one was thrilled about it
but as the dangers of unprotected sex threatened, people came to accept them as routine, prophylactics.
China recorded three new confirmed COVID-19 cases on the mainland for May 23, following just the first day with no new cases, since the outbreak — began, late,
last year. They say that it is never too late to do the right thing … unless … it’s too late.
The virus has pervasively damaged our lives but its seemingly sadistic way of killing remains all too often hidden in the confines of ICUs, where only healthcare
workers see the trauma. Not for the faint-hearted — is a noble … career in … healthcare.
This striking shift in the voting landscape encompasses nearly every part of the country, red and blue states alike. But with November less than six
months away, it isn’t welcome. Accordingly, I will punish states where Democratic leaders facilitate it.
Indigenous rights activists warn that illegal mining and logging on indigenous lands, on the rise since Brazil’s pro-development President — Jair Bolsonaro
— was sworn now pose a greater threat to remote communities. Deadlier than the virus is Bolsonaro.
Bolsonaro; Brazil’s populist President; popular — in the extreme — by his supporters, sycophants and yes-men. Indigenous rights activists warn that illegal
folks mining and logging on indigenous lands and the virus itself are a perfect storm, lethal and legal.
Indigenous rights activists warn; illegal mining and logging on indigenous lands and the virus itself; a perfect storm, lethal and legal; and Jair Bolsonaro;
Brazil’s President; popular in the extreme with supporters are sycophants of Brazil’s Bolsonaro.
Some scientists have reacted with horror at the proposal to implement human challenge trials for a Covid-19 vaccine. These could cause serious illness
and maybe the deaths of volunteers who’d been less than ethically, deliberately infected, with a virus.
Some skip the rush back to restaurants and gyms, choosing to stay home instead; with isolation now in a third month, they do so because they are elderly,
medically vulnerable, skeptical of their government or just too afraid to venture back into society.
Since the start of the crisis federal drug agents in major American cities have seized substantially more illicit cash than is usual. Lockdowns disrupt the usual
ways the cartels do business. In way too many ways … it’s no longer business … as usual.
What many of us feel is an utter sense of exhaustion and grief and anger at being caught in the middle of senseless, wasteful and Godless conflict, nonetheless,
senselessly intensifying. Still I cling, hanging on to hope, nonetheless.
I’ve had a back-and-forth with the FDA on Twitter this weekend; about its warning and hydroxychloroquine, a drug that I have, in my unprecedented wisdom,
promoted. While the FDA has stressed clinical, trials, I have stressed … my unprecedented, wisdom.
The Landay; a traditional Afghan poetic form consisting of a single couplet. Mine syllables in the first line and thirteen syllables in a second. The poems
typically address themes of love, grief, homeland, war, and separation. In Afghanistan a Landay … is a traditional poem.
As for voter turnout, if a lying, devious and bigoted bully like me can’t bring voters out to the polls, then nothing will. That’s the truth. Since Inauguration Day,
to Jan. 20, 2020: a grand total of 16,241 untruths, averaging, 15 … untruths, per day.
I viewed the clip. Reasonable men may differ. Hundreds in swim wear, eating and looking like they’re having a good time at a pool party, on a Memorial Day
weekend, in Lake of the Ozarks. I’ll be in my house; socially distant, from them on Memorial Day.
The New York Times marked the horror by devoting Sunday’s entire front page to a long list of names of one percent of those who’ve died in the United States.
Unsurprisingly, I went golfing. I hadn’t played, for weeks. Life is great, in the United States.
Sometimes called Tropical Trump’, Bolsonaro regularly mocks social distancing guidelines, courting controversy during the pandemic, attending rallies,
going out for food and hosting his barbecues. Even as I impose restrictions against Brazil, he rallies.
In a now similar pattern as protesters swell, police fire tear gas and pepper spray; then, water cannon and armored vehicles are deployed as may be deemed,
necessary. Xi’s getting ready to put his foot down, on his fellow Chinese. Or so … it does seem.
@Jack: Ban me; better yet, suspend me, then, reinstate me; and hope that as a consequence, l’ll temper my more reprehensible communications.
Ironically, my very own father would’ve advised ye: Ye Take for a week … my favorite toy … for communication.
I won’t lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do. It turned out that Pompeo had refused to be interviewed by Linick about one of the probes. So he had lied
about the probe after all. He lied. I won’t. I have been lying, my whole life. Why not … lie?
100,000 dead. How dare anyone suggest that I don’t care. I lowered flags to half-staff at the White House and I’m often updated on the newly revised 100,000,
death toll. I don’t have to be told every minute that the death toll’s now, a round … 100,000.
Turkey and Russia have again announced their support for ending the fighting that has killed more than 2,000 people, a call, also called for, by me. I am a wartime
president. I’m at war everywhere, seemingly. Everybody wants to be on my side, at wartime.
The effigy bore a sign that read, ‘sic semper tyrannis,’ which means thus always to tyrants. After hanging for a short time while people snapped photos — I
— cut it, down. The effigy was condemned, bipartisanly, by leaders on both sides … of the aisle.“
Sic semper, tyrannis. Thus always, to tyrants. And had I been there I would’ve let it hang for a long time before I cut it down. I love my cult. My cult
loves me. Personality draws them to me — moths —to flames. Self- destructive; me and my cult.
As severe as this pandemic is, it’s not the worst problem. There will be recovery from the pandemic at a severe cost. There isn’t going to be any recovering
from melting of ice caps, the rising of sea levels, and the other effects, of … global warming.
I can take it — and I can dish it out — too. Joe lies. I tell the truth. Vlad is my mentor and Kim is my lover. Mo is my banker and Xi — for the time being, is my
enemy. Irony abounds. A round 100,000 have died. Had Joe been presiding —100,000 would be … a lie.
Joe lies. I tell the truth. Vlad is my mentor. Kim is my lover. Mo is my banker. A nice round 100,000 have died. Xi, for the time being, is my enemy. Ironies — abound.
Had Joe been presiding instead of me, the death toll surely wouldn’t be remotely anywhere around 100,000.
Joe misspeaks, sometimes. I, tell truth; but only in this space at Art’s, account. And my death toll is … 100,000.
100,000 have died. Xi, for the time being is my enemy. He has killed, 100,000.
Vlad. Xi. Kim. Mo. Thanks to a virus — and us — instead of hanging from a tree or languishing in prison, we may implausibly, go on ruling if for amnesty
we qualify and do implement the Kim-Don Plan, immediately.
A shocking new report estimates that 24 states have uncontrolled spread of the contagion even as the country reopens. Midwestern and Southern states
have rates of transmission that suggest the epidemic is not yet under control in half of a union’s states.
Out of control in near half of the states; and not really under control, elsewhere — except where it seems — under control. Controlling, am I. I now realize control
has neither the Pentagon — nor me. No man is in control. Only He’s completely — in control.
He is in control. It matters not that I am so seemingly, controlling. I’ve come to realize that what’s happening
isn’t a loss of control. No man is in control, all appearances, notwithstanding.
Nothing makes sense except as a morality tale. All appearances — notwithstanding — what’s happening is that (everything
being predetermined), this is a regularly scheduled, viral, intervention.
This invasion ye are experiencing isn’t a miracle, regularly scheduled; an intervention, timed. A miracle more in the spur of the moment. A miracle
unscheduled. God is great — at impromptu, miracles — still, miracles.
Cometh soon a miracle. God is great. Albeit invisible; invisible as a microbe, I hope all see in this microbe what I see. Opportunity, within these catastrophes,
lies, complete with antiheroes. Antiheroic men and microbes I see.
I see, in this microbe … opportunity.
Opportunity lies within this catastrophe. And cometh soon, a miracle. Great — is the Almighty Creator. Great — is He.
Invisibly, He is the Creator of both men, and microbial killers, tiny.
And by the way, I’m still here. To the best of my knowledge, here I am. WHO temporarily halted its global trial of the medication — hydroxychloroquine
— I took, citing a new study finding, a significantly higher risk of death, taking, hydroxychloroquine.
I’m still here. To the best of my knowledge, here I am. WHO halted a trial of a drug I was taking to keep at bay
the microbes. But WHO, embarrassed me. And WHO shall pay, tenfold. Let us, pray.
WHO halted a trial of a drug I was taking to keep at bay the microbes. WHO did! WHO — embarrassed me.
WHO shall pay, tenfold! Who in the press pool, in an emergency, ironically, saves me?
Why seeks Nemesis, retribution, against me? The very ugliest American, am I. But that’s, no crime. Hubris attracts undue attention; as has, Nemesis,
mine. My hubris, invites, retribution. I’m afraid, I’m to be stricken down … by my nemesis … Nemesis.
Jack: Do the right thing. Delete my baselessly — shameful — shameless, tweets. Ye need to go on record about this and not further this so widely
debunked conspiracy theory about his wife’s death. Do the right thing. Alleviate, this widower’s … misery.
I’m so old I remember in Burt’s Deliverance, Dueling Banjos. Great picking; and a great scene so illustrative of dueling optics. Even as officials, officially
urge, social distancing and deaths creep closer to 100,000 photos evidence — widespread — parties.
Even as my officials officially urge social distancing and deaths creep to 100,000 photos evidence, widespread parties. I remember Deliverance and it’s
Dueling Banjos. Great picking; and a great scene so illustrative of competing, and dueling … optics.
Globally, there’ll be a rise in rats; and in their aggressive, rodent-like, behavior. Rats that once relied on food and waste produced by restaurants hungry
still, will get, once their food supplies, dry up. And rats get aggressive when they get hungry.
The irony in everything is the proof of the pudding. It’s 2020; in China, the lucky (one should hope), year of the rat. But 2020 has been a year, uniquely, unlucky.
Lucky, she — or he — that hasn’t become ill. And rats get nasty … when they get hungry.
It is only bluffing, China’s state-run Global Times wrote in a Tuesday morning editorial regarding my threat to impose more sanctions against them. Xi says,
further sanctions against Hong Kong could be disastrous for China. So said China’s Xi … today.
No world leader gets as much slack. But tweets from Brazilian president, Jair Bolsonaro and Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro promoting, coronaviral
cures unproven, recently, were removed. Then from a clear blue sky, a lightning vaccine … viral cure.
In all the universes only here am I, the @POTUS, free. Free to tweet truth about a paradigm sovereign and my plan to dump it. A Golden-Ruled
paradigm has, say Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mo a window of opportunity for a Hong Kong, someday … Golden-Ruled.
A Golden-Ruled paradigm has say Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mo a window of opportunity for a Hong Kong, someday, Golden-Ruled. My plan: Dump a sovereign
paradigm in favor of my Godly, Golden-Ruled, one.
Twitter on Tuesday labeled as ‘potentially misleading’ two tweets of mine making false statements (lying) about mail-in voting; the first time, actually,
anybody has had me, checked. It’s bad optics. Try sanctions. They work, for me.
Republicans say they’re skeptical that a Democratic governor will allow them a mass gathering, Republican. Fueling the GOP’s angst: A perception that Governor
Cooper won’t lift restrictions, to accommodate them. How can I trust … a Democratic Governor?
But even before the ink on my threatening tweet to North Carolina had dried; a tweet, threatening to move the Republican convention,
elsewhere, Republicans were threatened: Produce a ‘written plan’ from the GOP, on coronavirus safety, for the convention.
I’ll ignore the anguished pleas of the widower. And I’ll reiterate my support for a baseless murder conspiracy theory involving the man’s deceased spouse and all
just to smear, Scarborough. I’ll thank ye Twitter, to mind your own business, is all.
The dramatic shift by Twitter which has tightened its policies in recent years amid criticism that its hands-off approach policy has allowed the internet’s
misinformation to thrive has me thinking they’re interfering. I’ll be regulating … the internet.
We Republicans feel social media platforms totally silence conservative voices. We will strongly regulate or close them down before we can ever allow
censorship to happen. This is America, for God’s sake. I won’t allow the Constitution, to ring, hollow.
It’s OK to post harassing tweets and falsely accuse someone of crimes — as long as you’re a world leader. It’s OK. It’s newsworthy. But maintaining said policy
going forward, seems untenable and unworkable given, the institutionalization, of my policies.
All hail AI. I’m joining a group advising companies and governments on the responsible development of artificial intelligence. It will comprehensively
study — and make recommendations encouraging AI technologies respectful of privacy and civil liberties.
It’s symbiotic. It’s a fact jack. Jack knows that. As a matter of fact we both know that we’ll settle into an arrangement of more mutually, advantageous lies.
Outrageous lies, without more quality not for a label. OK tho, are outrageous, newsworthy lies.
The death toll from the coronavirus passed that hard-to-fathom 100,000 marker on Wednesday, which slipped by like so many other days in this dark spring,
one more spin of the Earth … one more headline in a numbing cascade, of grim news … this spring.
Hoping for an escape — perhaps, not from Earth but from a drumbeat of devastating headlines the stormy skies above Cape Canaveral, belie — my
mood and my temper. 100,000 dead; 40 million, jobless. And I can’t escape the fact that I’ve … no more allies.
Everything that is happening in this morality play in a time immemorial, predetermined, a climactic
contagion, so timely, weighing in on — toxic climates; climatological and political climates.
Mere days after Twitter placed a fact check label on two of my tweets, and having consulted the annals to determine what Nemesis, the Goddess of retribution,
recommends, in condemnation against Twitter, I have issued an — Executive Order —in retribution.
Flu season is usually a very difficult time because there are so many sick people. Flu season in the face of Covid-19 — that’s going to be a challenge for real.
Really, Have I ever failed ye? And aren’t ye better off now than in Obama’s time … surreal?
Imagine pressuring the leaders directly; by Twitter-diplomatically tweeting them directly as ye can see, I’ve done. Doing so, @MoveOn, would be very,
newsworthy …. Newsworthy would be ultimatums from, the citizenry.
Newsworthy would be ultimatums from a rabble rousing citizenry demanding a coronavirally, induced, new paradigm. Ultimatums really ironically
uncanny In their timing.Doing so, @MoveOn, would be … very, newsworthy.
My lovely press secretary Kayleigh McEnany, asked today if I’d ever lied to the public, very incorrectly replied, lying — it’s my intent, always, to tell American
people, the truth. That is to say she lied, in her reply. Like me, another, pretty American.
Twitter flagged a tweet from me early this morning saying I violated its rules about glorifying violence after I tweeted that in Minneapolis — when the looting
— starts the shooting, starts. This after the death of George, by a cop on his neck, kneeling.
Everything that’s happening has been predetermined. Now it’s come to pass. Hoping all heed my dire MAYDAYS, warning; hoping that my vital — viral
thread, goes viral from a platform, globally, coronaviral.
He died after pleading, I can’t breathe while a white police officer pressed a knee into his neck. Death, I can take, but just not the looting of stores. The death,
one more killing of an African-American, citizen; four law men becoming, agents of death.
The death, one more killing of an African-American citizen; four law men agents of death. He died pleading, I can’t breathe while a police officer
pressed a knee, into his neck. Death I can suck up and take; but not, lawless looting, of stores.
I can’t breathe. And the irony in these twin crises, is breathtaking, I can’t breathe. It’s what someone dying of Covid-19 might say. And it’s what a man with a knee
pressed into his neck, might say. Death I can take but not lawless looting, of property.
Twitter unfairly targets me. It says says one of the tweets I tweeted overnight violated the company’s policies by glorifying violence. I must say: I didn’t do it.
And if I did it — so what? Our country was built atop, violence. But, I don’t condone it.
Twitter unfairly targets me and it’s saying one of the tweets I tweeted overnight violates the company’s policies by glorifying violence. I must say: I didn’t do it.
And if I did it — so what? Our country was built atop, violence. So, I must, condone it.
This viral invasion ye are experiencing isn’t a miracle, regularly scheduled; an intervention, timed. A miracle more in the spur of the moment. A miracle,
unscheduled; an impromptu … miracle.
Separating from WHO is in anticipation of our divorce; because, WHO‘s been cheating with China. I’m holding WHO and China accountable for their wrongful
conduct on a number of fronts, including trade, the coronavirus and it’s incursions, into, Hong Kong.
I’m holding WHO and China accountable for their wrongful conduct on a number of fronts including trade, the coronavirus and it’s incursions into China’s
Hong Kong. Cheating with WHO in anticipation of my divorce with her is my frenemy, capitalist, China.
As in Tianenmen Square, China, over Hong Kong will have its way. It’s vowing, moreover, to smash any Taiwanese independence move, even as, I weigh,
sanctions. I’m just posturing tho about Hong Kong — Hong Kong’s, goose — is cooked, no matter what, I say.
Twitter was built without any sense of the influence it might wield. It’s about connecting people and making money; there never was much interest in all the ways
in which the platform might be used and abused by people in power. People like me, nowadays.
A global pandemic has now killed more than 100,000 Americans and left 40 million unemployed in its wake. Protests — some of them violent — have once again
erupted across the country over long winked at, long standing police killings of black Americans.
Angela Merkel said she believes June is too soon to reopen and hold large gatherings with the virus still circulating. I’m furious at Angela’s refusal, to summit;
to thereby project an air of normalcy. But Angela’s, no hypocrite. She just, won’t fake it.
The Pentagon has taken the rare step of ordering the Army to put several active-duty military police units on the ready to deploy to Minneapolis, where the police
killing of George Floyd sparked the widespread protests against the man-killing … police.
The plot, thickens; the man-killing police in the United States make look tame the man-eating tigers and lions
and bears of India and Africa. I’m all shook up. And faster and faster, I’m lying.
The plot, indeed thickens; the United States has more man-killing wild animals, than wild India and Africa,
rivaling even man-killers in Saudi Arabia, North Korea, China and Vladimir’s, Russia.
Beware ye killers of men; in Saudi Arabia, North Korea, China, Russia; not to mention even, Iran,
Syria, Brazil and Hungary; not to mention just a few states, active in man-killing, on Urantia.
Remonstrations grew increasingly tumultuous throughout the night, Minnesota’s governor having pleaded for peace — after 48 hours — of anarchy.
None could be found. It’s time to rebuild communities and that starts with safety in our streets, not anarchy.
Justice for George Floyd’ has more than 6.3 million signatures as of Friday night, making it an extraordinarily, fast-growing petition. I hope this helps
George and his family; and community. It should go without saying; black communities, matter. Help.
Members of the public who may have been in Backwater Jack’s, Shady Gators and Lazy Gators Pool or Buffalo Wild Wings, should be duly monitoring for
symptoms like fever, cough, shortness of breath, body aches, headache, nausea, and vomiting, on the floor.
This year is on track to be one of the hottest on record and public health officials worry that in cities across the US, summer heatwaves will collide with the virus
with poor consequences for poor, colored and older populations, too ill to kill, a virus.
Scorching heat has roasted Siberia during the past week, sending temperatures well above normal; setting new record highs. High temperatures in Siberia
ranging from 25 to 35 C (77 to 95 F), have been common across Russia, this May, in frigid … Siberia.
High temperatures in Siberia have been common this May, in a more often frigid, Siberia. Scorching heat has roasted Siberia this week — past, sending,
soaring temperatures, well above normal; setting new record highs. And Vladimir Putin … is panicking.
Vlad, is panicking. Ditto, Xi, Kim and Mo.
High temperatures in Siberia spark — zombie — fires. If it were only just that; but now, on top of zombie fires,
global warming, a microbial colossus and racism, set us … afire.
It’s a matter of life and death. In the face of it, Vlad is panicking. Ditto, Xi, Kim and Mo. But global warming, fleeing
people, a microbial colossus and racism, set a fire, uncomfortably, warming.
Vile and cross-cultural is Earthling-styled — racism and various and sundry, other measures — clear signs
of undesirability. I suggest my press pool correspondents ask me whether I ought … resign.
For a rally exceedingly ill-advised … I’ve called for; of all places outside my mansion; of all times, later.
Tonight, of all times. Even as Americans riot. Like all lives black lives matter.
The guys I’ve copied below and I anticipate, in a possibly very near future, society rending, riots. Riots
like we’re having here already, there. Albeit ill-advised I feel compelled to rally.
Twitter’s position is precarious. The company is grappling with charges of bias from the right over its labeling of my tweets. Yet Twitter’s critics lefty
correctly said leaving my tweets up and not banning me from the site, enables me, most, ironically.
But a hands-off approach by the companies has allowed harassment and abuse to proliferate online. So now the companies have to grapple with how to
moderate content and take more responsibility without, if possible, losing their legal protections … too.
Media platforms have achieved incredible power and influence. Moderation has been a necessary response. The greater risk to American democracy is in allowing
unbridled speech on these private, internet platforms; not unbridled speech, blithely, allowing.
I don’t know if my supporters will gather tonight at the White House. But I reject the suggestion that racial violence could be further inflamed by any such event.
Actually, I have no idea if they’re going to show. But I sure won’t be here, in any event.
Of course we don’t have a real leader. We just have me, a man so apparently unfit to be like us, a man
much less, a father. We just have me; an orange, white man; a seemingly, supremely, unfit, man.
I’m unfit. As far as a I know I’m as unfit as one can be, maybe. We don’t have a real leader. We have just me
and I’m unfit, to lead. An orange, white man … a man so orange, he must really, be me.
Recapitulating; the sometimes rational and always instinctive, Homo sapiens tends to symbiotic, be. Verily,
(wo)man can be cooperative if he has a mind to, so be. Let it be. Amen. Please, let it be.
I will stop mob violence. I’ll stop it cold. I will not allow radical left-wingers and angry mobs to dominate me.
I’m the alpha. I’ll dominate. A force of nature, I must dominate … naturally.
It started out like another 1998 with impeachment, then another 1918 with a pandemic combined with another 1929 given the shattering economic fallout.
Add another 1968, a year of deep social unrest. l’m a freaking, catastrophe. There can be … no doubt.
I understand the pain that people are feeling. I support the right of peaceful protesters. What we are now seeing on the streets of our cities is all about
justice and peace. And I don’t and won’t confuse lawful protesters with anarchists, milling about.
I’ve said I will strip Hong Kong of its special privileges. But ye know me. I was kidding. Alternatively,
negotiating was I. Better give up that dream and come back … to reality.
In lunar soirée we agreed to start walking back this sovereign paradigm — this that so obscenely — rules
us. Vital; a renewed UN, a Rule and egalitarianism to futures, Golden ruled.
Prayer’s not the means of bringing wills to pass, but the means by which He, in love, brings our will,
sublimely, to receive, His will. If ye ask me to will it, I will.
In a sweet tweet from Hua Chunying the Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson, China’s fired back
at my United States, tweeting, I can’t breathe. Ouch! Good comeback.
I can’t breathe. In a sweet tweet from Hua Chunying — China’s fired back, at me. Patience Xi. Joe Biden’s
not abnormal, like me. I’m voting for … Joe Biden.
Patience Xi. Joe Biden’s nowhere near as abnormal — and slimy — and orange — as me. I’m voting for Joe
Biden. Biding my time. I’m voting for the Democrats’ … honest Joe.
While not free to say so, Biden’s nowhere near as abnormal and slimy and orange as me. I’m biding my
time and I’m voting for Joe Biden if only not to hear more of my lies.
The mayor of Atlanta’s stark message for anarchists and demonstrators — alike. If protesting last night
ye may very well need to quickly go and get a COVID test tonight.
A stark message for anarchists and demonstrators, alike. Ye may need to go get a COVID test tonight
whether ye were just protesting or were, just raising hell, last night.
Ye may need to go for COVID-19 testing whether ye maliciously raised hell or just protested … last night.
And I shudder to think of the people infected, just last night.
Co-authoring with Vlad’s guys, an algorithm, in verse. Each tweet cast — with 280, characters. Verse, perfectly, couplet. Instruction. Tragi-comic verse,
Greek. Epigramming; it’s not just couplet verse.
Epigramming; not couplet verse — as we know it. Note its structure; roughly 1/3 of the couplet verse
lies in its content; 1/3 — the addresses. The last 1/3; audio or video links, if desirable, to the verse.
In the fifth month of the crisis, I’m increasingly shaken by a loss of control; I’m unable to offer more than cursory, sympathy; quick to blame others;
dismissive of health guidelines, and worried mostly — only by my own — reelection … polling numbers.
Protests over George’s killing went global over the weekend. Demonstrators in London, Berlin and Toronto — and elsewhere, gathered under banners there,
declaring Black Lives Matter. They called for an end to police brutality in the US … and everywhere.
From my bunker I was heard to say that this too shall pass. Like all the lynchings before this murder.
Demonstrators across the planet — gather to condemn — state, murder.
Mayhem and raw emotion — and blood —spill in the streets. Smashing into a nation — already dashed by
40 million unemployed, death tolls over 100,000 and torrents, of lies.
Videos show officers in recent nights using batons, tear gas, pepper spray and rubber bullets
on protesters, bystanders and journalists sans any warning, about bullets.
The cops in recent nights are beating — tear gassing — pepper spraying and shooting — rubber bullets
at protesters, bystanders and reporters sans warning, about bullets.
Algorithmically, instructions I’m tweeting, in verse. Each tweet precisely, 280 characters. It’s verse, perfectly, couplet. It’s perfectly tragi-comic verse,
Greek. I love Greek Goddesses and poetic verse prophetic, in verse.
Perfect verse writes, the genius, creative — that is me. I love especially, verse, prophetic. I’m tweeting, in verse. Each tweet metamorphoses into an edited look
in Art’s blog, a prelude to a forthcoming scandal-ridden, book.
Images of rioting’s widespread destruction it’s been suggested, I shudder (not really) to think, may rioting, quell. Why not reprise then, the ‘68 riots?
To fake that — I’m tough — and that Joe’s, soft on riots.
Images of rioting’s widespread destruction may rioting, quell. And even get me, re-elected. Why not
reprise then, the 1968, riots? Let’s reprise the riots and show — I’m tough, and Joe’s, not.
“@HuXijin_GT. Hi Hu. How are you? Hu is who in China is a puppet of Xi Jinping and WHO, maybe. Who — Hu — surreally, knows? Hu, trolls me. I’d have Hu
teach my governors of riots and hard hands, like Hu’s.
Barack Obama inferred that the next real turning point in American history might very well be effective — right now if we can channel anger into effective
action; like poetry. Nothing’s … as persuasive.
Barack Obama inferred that the next real effective turning point in history might very well be effective immediately if we can channel anger into effective
action; like my poetry. Nothing’s as persuasive.
An active duty military police battalion consisting of some 200 to 250 military police personnel is likely in the process tonight of deploying to Washington, DC,
and in the capital tonight likely will be.
“@whca: I’m calling on my press pool correspondents, even as I dispatch thousands of my military and law
enforcement personnel to stop the rioting, to have the guts to ask me to myself dispatch, pursuant to law.
Angered by reports depicting me as holed up underground as the protests raged outside I told my aides that I wanted a way for my public to see my
Bible outside. Flash grenades cleared my way, bye and bye.
White House correspondents: I used my military to shoot and gas and flash grenade folks; all for a photo
op; a lawful use of my power against citizens on an emergency, if I had to shoot, a campaign photo.
I did not offer any valid reason for this hellish, piece, of theatre; for violence against citizens and a brief
cameo appearance at a house of worship consecrated to … our most holy … Prince of Peace.
Hundreds of demonstrators, marching, chanting and carrying Black Lives Matter signs outside American
embassies in Europe and across the world, evidence … its impatience with these … ugliest Americans.
Let’s wait and see which of us encounters more chaos. Hi Hu; I regret to inform ye that ye have been infected; hopefully not with the virus; there is ye know,
no vaccine. The cynicism of your remarks reveals that ye’ve been infected, by my toxin, I know.
Again; Hi Hu; ‘tis I, Don who tweets to ye directly from my bunker. Ye’ve been infected with a toxin that in Moscow,
Vladimir infused in me in 2013, when I visited Moscow. I remember nothing about Moscow.
I have no convictions; none; and it doesn’t matter how ye — Hu — may define, that word. Whether ye may,
implausibly speak legally or morally, I have no convictions, as of today.
I have no convictions. Not even, one; not counting when my father and I entered into — a consent decree.
To right discrimination in housing against Americans blacks we ever practiced, pervasively.
A Secret Service task, already, gigantic, seems now, Herculean. But the American SS, Hitler’s SS, never
ought emulate. I remind my servicemen: One is obliged to refuse to carry out a superior’s … illegal, orders.
The American SS, Hitler’s SS, never, ought emulate. And so I’d remind my servicemen that one is obliged to refuse to carry out a superior’s … illegal orders. Mine,
as well, except when the superior, is me. And the orders, are mine.
When the superior is me and the orders are mine, anyone below me, in status or station, does well, steering clear of me. The law is clear. Disobey
affirmatively a superior’s, illegal orders. But if the superior is me, don’t, disobey.
Witness: A line of police rushed a group of protesters standing on H Street NW; many, standing still with their hands up, forcing the peaceful protesters, back.
Running away … some were stricken in the back.
Witness: A line of police rushed a group of black lives matter protesters many, standing still, back, with their hands up, forcing the protesters, back.
Running away some were stricken, tellingly, in the back.
A Secret Service task already gigantic, seems now, Herculean. Our SS, Hitler’s SS, never ought, emulate. Reminding, my servicemen: One is obliged to
refuse to carry out a superior’s, illegal, orders. Mine, indubitably, too.
Intelligence officials express dismay at the similarity between these events at home and the tell-tale signs
of decline they’re trained to detect in other nations. WHO knows, better than me. I may yet, resign.
Hu: WHO knows better than me? What I meant to tweet is: WHO knows better than me. How important — punctuation? It’s important
but not as important — as cooperation. Let us re-prioritize … what’s important.
”Earth. Home. Home to us and our legatee children. We’ve trashed her. She tires of us. Hu: Irony rules. We’d be sounder and safer if children ruled.
Irony teaches. Let legatee Greta Thunberg and the kids, rule.
Earth. Home. Home to us and our legatee children. We trashed her. She’s tired of us. And Golden Rules having been displaced by a gold rule
how we rule for children like @GretaThunberg … shall our fate, rule.
From frying pans into fires. Rousting peaceful protesters is a clear violation of the First Amendment and an Article II constitutional abuse of presidential
power, violation. There’s no amending the president.
I’m authoring with Vlad’s guys, an algorithm, in verse. Each tweet hath, exactly, 280, characters. Verse, perfectly, couplet. Instructions a la tragi-comic verse,
Greek. Epigramming; not just, fine verse.
This is, indubitably, the greatest story, ever told, bar Holy Scriptures and my — Art of The Deal. Arthur’s been tasked: With verse the Earth — save. Arthur’s
bent on saving a 5th, planet. To paradise, plans, on retiring Arthur.
I believe in the good book Bible. [thunder rumbles] Not so much in the others’ Books. My Bible’s power — higher
than mine, even, tho I find that, incredible — even. It’s because, of the Chiefs, I’m Commander.
Neither Hua nor Hu may follow Arthur. I prohibitively prohibit it. But they may do it just — to embarrass me.
Art is ill Hua and Hu. Art’s been isolated. He may be going, stir crazy.
Recapitulating: Calling on all populist visionaries who, Hu — in their wisdom, somehow, paradoxically know
we’ll progress faster if we don’t work together. Brilliant! Bravo … Jair Bolsonaro
March of the Volunteers … it is the national anthem … of the Chinese. China’s ‘March of the Volunteers;’
primary, and secondary school students, in Hong Kong, will sing. Hong Kong, doesn’t, volunteer.
Too late for George; and the others. Racism begs comprehension. To better understand parents, racism,
some recommended reading materials about racism generally and cross-cultural racism.
Social justice and progress are the absolute guarantors of riot prevention ML King said. Peace cannot exist without justice. A conviction with deep
roots in Christian thought it can be traced to the Bible’s authors and early Jewish and Christian communities.
Social justice and progress; guarantors of riot prevention, Martin said. NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE.
Conviction rooted in Judaea-Christian-Muslim thought. It is what it is. NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE.
Art’s mission; save — with poetic, verse, the Earth. Save also the (wo)men … and the children. Time, is of … the essence.
Tweet the greatest story, ever told. Time, is of the essence.
Time is of the essence Michelle if Arthur is to save the Earth with tweets jam-packed, with 280 characters, per verse. Verse linked serially into, tragi-comic, epic, verse.
“My dear, Michelle: I listened to ye read to the children on PBS. For ye and the children, Michelle. Forlornly,
we miss ye. We miss ye and your forever, first family.
My dear, Barack: Welcome back. Forlornly, we miss ye. Verily, we miss ye and your forever … first, family.
And we long, truly, for a Democrat, even a paler facsimile, of ye.
This pandemic, like past ones, will feed imaginations. History’s replete with great literature, of war, born. Ye
would think, ye can’t write about events, presently, happening. Let events, write, for ye.
Tall tales of tall (wo)men, short microbes and sovereignties, bloated. On thy skin color depends!accordingly — whether ye
live long and prosper or die penniless and miserably.
Art’s from the future, making this nonfictional. But Vlad’s lying guys; Xi, Kim and Mo and events happened and happening,
make seem, more nonfictional, this tall tale telling.
Happenings, implausible seem miraculous — if not magical. And I’m not sorry I’m gonna get trounced in November. Humble
pie in November, I‘ll make up for with December, Nobels.
Unremarkable. It’s unremarkable I’m objectIng to those speaking out against racial and police violence even as … anals,
I embrace if they’re gun-toting activists or white supremacists in Charlottesville. It’s unremarkable to me still, it’s, abominable.
Astonishingly abominable, have been my acts, as president. My hubris-filled act will draw the stares
of the Gods and their Goddesses, atop Olympus. From there, Nemesis glares.
Based on the way the disease is spreading there is every reason to expect that we’ll see new clusters form, forming
— potentially new outbreaks, my Surgeon General’s, warning.
What if 2020 implemented a 2010 decision changing one paradigm for another; changing, to a Golden-Ruled one?
Transitioning, over a 10 year interim; things get better, in 2021.
Science, my deplorable base of bigots knows — NONFICTIONAL — isn’t. It’s science fiction. WHO knows
I know … futures. Futures, I know — surreally — like no future, I’ll know.
What if 2020’s not cancelled? And we’ve got to forge a future; find a way to keep on, keeping on. Sure, I know futures;
futures, in stocks. But I’ll be gone in a near, future.
2020; it’s far, from over. A lot can still happen; magic; miracles; something, last moment; something miraculous
as Popeye once said, I ams, what I ams. I am … miraculous.
Today we were told we’ve made the biggest comeback in history. George had a great day. I’m a germaphobe. Microbes,
terrify me. Irony, slays me. I’ve been beaten, by a microbe.
What if 2020’s not cancelled? And we’ve got to forge a future; find a way to keep on, keeping on. I know — I know futures;
futures, are clear. I’ll be gone in a near, future.
Tasked with saving the Earth, Arthur tells me he had replied, why us? Why — were we only — chosen, The Watcher replying,
ye five — chosen, are, precisely because of your lies.
Jair says his drug’s back after sham studies of the treatment were retracted. A much maligned drug as a safe treatment
against Covid-19 the evidence is it’s quack, treatment.
Witness, Brazilians, Tropical Trump. Studies of treatments, were retracted. Jair regards it as an effective, treatment,
against Covid-19. Evidence shows, it’s quack treatment.
Egalitarians. Egalitarians already are many of us. Egalitarians. Famously, they are the bleeding heart liberals — egalitarian
giving shirts, off their backs. Such a man, is an egalitarian.
Make no mistake, Bill. I’m the President of the United States. Cooperate with me or Microsoft, I’ll shut down. States,
disunited, however, may be, united. On to … one state
Art needs some seed money; rent money, too. Living largely from check to check his whole life, now aged, he’s freaking
out. I’d give him money but I need it for, my laundering.
The problem is gee — freaking whiz — I’m in a freaking closet! I dare not, out myself. I’ll just keep presiding, from my closet.
And I feel surreally, lonely … in my closet.
AND HEAR THIS! Now, it really gets weird. His timing’s, magnificent. Carl Jung’s synchronicities, speaking of timing, insightfully hint — there’s more going
on here than meets the eye. Enter the dragons, the virus, and George. Magnificent, His timing.
Taking knees, banging drums and ignoring social distancing measures protesters from Sydney to London were protesting
Saturday against racism, brutality, war and — warmongering.
Tipping point D-Day; 78 years ago, just yesterday, MAYDAY-1692. Mark Art’s words. Going forward from yesterday’s
MAYDAY tipping point, yesterday, egalitarianism, is on its way.
On egalitarianism; reinventing ourselves to save or imprison Vladimir and his guys. Looking to save themselves, egalitarian
have become Vlad and his guys. Just to avoid prison.
“I’ve been busy with deals. Just ordered fries. I love my fries. And as I breathe, easily, so too, about virtually everything — do I easily, lie.
I lie easily. It is why, I lie.
I can’t breathe. Chilling — last words. Awful — last words, to gasp. In Australia the words
evoke the killing of David Dungay. In Britain, Jimmy Mubenga’s. Awful last words.
I can’t breathe. Terribly awful last words. God awful last words to grasp — one, gaspingly — speaking. The last spoken words,
of David and Jimmy were God awful … words.
Very mysteriously perhaps, magically even, I now really fear Vladimir’s dolls. They’ve brought me a truly — paralyzing fear
and three crises in but one fearful half year.
A tipping point in the pilgrim’s progress is come. Thanks to me and Vlad and Xi. And we
three see upstanding guys when we stand in front of mirrors promising … honesty.
An uneven and even — unnerving, staccato — the pilgrim’s progress; a reflection
of the back and forward of two dance partners preparing for a most important, competition.
Last year, 42.5 million visitors flocked to Las Vegas — Nevada. A little over one-fifth came from California; few from Nevada.
One fifth were foreigners. Only a small percentage of Nevadans,actually on the Strip, at any given time, in Las Vegas, Nevada.
In soirée last night with Vladimir and my frenemies, oft, adverse, we debated weaponizing with values citizen soldiers well versed
also in, persuasive, verse.
Epigramming. At the chachomanopapa School of Poetry, Reprised, Art crafts verse that soothes the savage beast poetically
And Frost has nodded a nod to Arty.
Epigramming. At the chachomanopapa School of Poetry, Reprised, Art crafts verse that soothes, savagery, poetically.
And Frost has duly … nodded a nod, to Arty.
Epigramming at Art’s School of Poetry, Reprised, Art crafts verse that soothe as well, our very own savagery. The craftsman
himself has lauded Arthur on his craftsmanship.
Egalitarianism: of all the words in the rich English language none defines the principles embodied in that noble language
better than egalitarianism. Happily, not in any language.
More than 136,000 cases worldwide were reported on Sunday the most in a single day so far, WHO said. My fun days; Sundays.
Sunday was MAYDAY 1692; my tipping point, pagan fun day.
Cynically, Vladimir and I don’t care about such flower power notions of social justice except if OUR own personal power’s
threatened. A tipping point is come, to flip, OUR power.
Allow me Tony to do ye the favor of moving Mr Everman if ye need to move him. And thanks for the safe house. It’s the only thing
keeping him alive. I call upon Nemesis. Art ratted me.She’s the Goddess of retribution.
All prose is potential poetry; likewise, all poetry is, potentially, prose. But what fun, is there in that? Especially,
in this lucky year of the rat, so God awfully, unlucky.
A key MAYDAYS plot device; the atmosphere of the settings with no air up here and lots of air, there.
I am inviting every citizen on the planet, to join the meditating, there.
As plot device, the airspaces; the airspaces of the two main settings; there’s no air in airspace here; airspace there remains,
airy. Meditate as if here but there … remain.
Remain on Earth (Urantia — really). Few others — Elon and me, to name but two; usually there’s no escaping gravity’s — surly
hold. View carnage, from the air, dispassionately.
View, when the time comes, carnage on Earth from our atmosphere, the bubble-like airspace —surrounding us. Our
God is Great. He lent us, home. An oven, in a rock, in a bubble.
“Defend Forward, baby! Cyber Command’s getting a new deputy commander; he’s a looker, like me, straight out of central casting. We, Xi and Vlad and about 8 billion sundry
other organisms need to move as one, presently. And Arthur’s present, is his poetry.
China and Russia, increasingly march — in goose-stepping, lock-step fashion. Frenemies make presenting
a united front against any common real enemy, an impossibility, ongoing.
NOW HEAR THIS: By executive order I am ordering my cyber warriors to be like me and Sun Tsu. Win by not fighting. No nation is destined to rule over others.
Peace … I order.
NOW HEAR THIS (Tweet #2): Cyber warriors: Unlike any other, Sun Tsu and I strive to win by not fighting. No nation’s ever destined to rule over others.
Live in peace brothers.
NOW HEAR THIS (Tweet #3): Cyber warriors: Sun Tsu and I strive to win, by not fighting. Indeed, no nation ought ever strive
to rule others. To live in peace — I now, strive.
To live in peace I strive. Striving, by not fighting, thereby, to win. Nations: strive not to rule nations. Win
rather hearts and minds as in Vietnam, I did to, surreally win.
To live in peace I strive. Striving, by not fighting, thereby, to win. Nations: strive not to rule nations. Win
rather hearts and minds as in Vietnam, I did to, surreally win.
Epigramming clubs are all the rage on many of the universes’ more cultured planets so widely dispersed.
Calming, verse, stimulating, verse. Like … no verse though, my verse.
There is no verse in the universes like your own great verse — I‘ll know. Edit til ye say what ye know ye wish — to verse
— exactingly in 280 characters of exacting … verse.
“Heartless is this ugliest American, who (out of mind and body) speaks of himself in the third person. Fake hair,
poorly toupeed, hides that there’s nothing, in there.
With peace and prosperity and the surprise reprise of poetry, on a planet in need, Art gifts. An angel, is he
and if implausibly, we save ourselves, Art gets to retire, early.
Art knows there’s no prose like my prose; like no prose I know. Arthur knows also that all prose
is poetry — potentially. Know, my Art of the Deal. No prose … like my prose.
All’s unraveled so quickly Vlad and his guys (Xi, Kim and Mo)
and me agreed to a last gasp (I can’t breathe, no mo) contingency plan if barbarians at gates begin amassing, mo.
It’s all unraveling so quickly. The polls say I’m losing my sway. But I’m not worried. I’ve got swag. And I’ve got Mace.
And Vlad and his guys and me have plans just in case.
I recall the good old days a long time ago six months ago now. Swag, had I then; and sway. Now
I’ve got a bunker and now, Mace … for the faces of citizens, in my face, now.
“The chachomanopapa School of Poetry. Who’d of thunk but that Art was crazed when he ran butt naked crying out — but
Eureka to all, all the while covering his pale-faced butt.
Art got electrocuted by ball lightning on a sunny day. Electrocuted — was Arthur. And it happened the next day.
A day after the night he dreamt he’d be stricken the next day.
That very day Arthur joined Twitter. Flash forward ten years. Holding up Bolton’s book even as Arthur publishes this year
when publication best promises headlines of the year.
Imagine Art’s vision from Luna. Imagine a site there on Urantia that captures the imagination of the progressives on Urantia
and that enraptures … the peacemakers, on Urantia.
Don’t be a fool. Be … an insider. Keep an eye out for this stock if and when, stock — gets issued. A School — of Poetry. Stock
to invest, long-term; invaluable, future stocks.
Imagine — an imagination capturing site, attracting peace loving bleeding heart do-gooders seeking prosperity’s peace
and not for gossip or face viewing but for seeking … prosperity’s … peace.
Netflix and Zoom seem ecstatic that we may be under house arrest, indefinitely. Netflix and Zoom today — beat the house.
And wailing sounds seem to emanate from the White House.
The wailing sounds seem to coming from my White House — safety bunker. Is my oft tarnished — off-white — White House
now too a torture chamber? Or just watching Fox at my house?
Flash forward 10 years. As supreme arbiter of what’s published and what’s not, I’ll effectively keep Bolton from being published,
helping Art publish only a 2nd poem, published.
Glasnost. Perestroika. Two Chinas in the interim in transition from a cacophony of societal and political disorder and disunion
to a more rational order. I do, order, our union.
It’s hard to tell who real authors are; witness my bestselling, Art of the Deal. And the conventional wisdom that’s prevailing
that nations never cede sovereignty … is ceding.
I can read between lines. Art’s from the future; living in times, between. He knows what happens. He won’t say but sometimes
… a loss is prequel to a win to come at Yule time.
Art’s from the future; living in times, between. He knows what happens. He won’t say but sometimes a loss is what happens.
What if no one martyrs themselves for me? What if I have a rally and nobody comes; no one braves Covid-19 to be with me.
And in a test of faith, no one gets martyred … for me?
What if I have a rally, and nobody, along … happens?
What if no one martyrs themselves for me; nobody to my rally, comes; no one braves deadly
Covid-19 to be, with almighty me? In tests of faith no one minds martyring themselves for me.
What if no one martyrs themselves for me; nobody comes to be with me; no one braves a germ to be with mighty,
me? And in a test of faith, no one dies and goes to Heaven, for me?
Disappointed am I @Jack in ye; with the powers that be ye, seemingly have decided, to side with. So ham-handedly
tampering with Arthur’s account is happening ye know, very, illegally.
By attending the Rally ye voluntarily assume all risks related to exposure to COVID-19 and voluntarily agree in addition, not to
hold me or my agents liable too. I’m covered; not you.
BREAKING GOOD, NEWS: I’m not perfect but reasonable men, may differ. In any event my commitment with American citizen
Arthur Everman is to sabotage my presidency … for its citizens.
A dramatic plot twist in this great American tall tale; of four antiheroic dictators and a More-Mart greeter, hero.
Four for humanity they’d have ye believe. With Art, five, not four.
Abe Lincoln earned his eventual political prowess, through compromise and confidence — George Washington, through peak battlefield strategy. I’d earned nothing to
gain through work, wealth. Wealth was all I needed to gain power. What good, power can do!
I’d done nothing. Wealth was all I’d needed; all I’d ever sought. Ironically — what good power might do — I’ve often thought
even as, I’ve done wrong. Now I’m having, second thoughts.
I’m having second thoughts. Magnificent — second thoughts. I’m studying composition at Arthur’s very much besought
School of Poetry; he studies ethics at a Trump University, besought.
Whether or not Art’s alleged electrocution actually happened I can’t say; nor can I
say that that’s when it happened, Art and I began versing. I can attest tho, it’s miraculous verse … aye.
Dissolve the UN; one nation, reconvene. One Rule per nation; each nationits own; Universal Basic Income.
Data banks to manage movement. Arrest change. Use everyone and lose no one.
It’s 2020. Set 2030 as the inaugural GCD; the 1st global citizenship day. I’ll be there. To celebrate citizenship
and recall when myopic men ruled. If I can just scrap term limits.
Seize the day; but for God’s sake …have a plan around somewhere. All my blather of instinct and gut feelings sounds,
of indigestion, not leadership. A most … unbecoming … sound.
Never fear. I am here. And as ye well know, I ams what I ams. It oft is what it is — except that all too often — it
isn’t. Masks — muss up my fake hair. I’ll fake, donning it, dammit.
Too much TV-watching has had tragi-comic effects on me.
That’s why I like to say I ams what I ams. That’s the comic part. Then there’s Iran. The 444 TV days. TV’s left its mark on me.
I have two boys at home; a young son and an ancient husband. Curiously, the one
that is too old to sleep with is — my young son. My husband is however, by far — way — too young.