MORONS AND ALIENS

An asteroid flew by this past Sunday. This one, we actually knew was coming. This is an only seemingly nonfictional, tall tale. There is GREAT value — in that. There is great value — in that.

On Sunday an asteroid flew by Earth at 77,000 mph. My tweets reveal, in real time, streams of consciousness; there’s is GREAT value in that. I wonder how great may be, the value — in that.

I’m no prophet and no seer, remarkably, tho, powers extraordinary, have I. Art has taught me extraordinary things; like how to convert with utilitarian TwittereZe, prose, into poetry.

The conversion of prose into poetry; it’s an ancient art. Sappho, Homer and Rumi were ancient practitioners of it. Today the aspiring poet, with Twitter’s algorithm, converts, easily.

I wonder whether Christie’s and Sotheby’s will help get me to auction, in the interests of art; in the interests of Arthur and in the interests of Arthur’s alchemically, transformational poetry.

I wonder; because, I’m no prophet. And I’m no seer. Still, I have powers, extraordinary. Art has taught me some extraordinary things; like how to convert, using TwittereZe, prose — to poetry.

Real time streams of consciousness in tweets, are revealed. There’s value in that. I wonder how great may be the value in that. I wonder if Beeple and Sotheby’s see the value — in that?

My tweets reveal in real time, as if in a single stream of consciousness revelations and epiphanies. There is GREAT value in that. Verily, I wonder how great may be — the value in that.

I wonder whether Christie’s and Sotheby’s will help get me to auction, in the interests of art; in the interests of Arthur and in the interests of Arthur’s alchemically, transformational poetry.

No visual artist am I. I tend, Mr. Beeple, to be far more wordy. I wonder whether Christie’s and Sotheby’s will help me to auction, in the interests of art; and Arthur — and Art’s poetry.

Help me Beeple get to auction; to auction in the interests of art generally and Art and his poetry particularly. Using every character in Twitter’s algorithm imbues with soul — Arthur’s poetry.

Beeple: No visual artist, am I. I tend to be, more wordy. Serially, I have linked my tweets; tens of thousands of them, at @chachomanopapa. And the proof is in the pudding there, as ye can see.

No visual artist am I. I tend, Beeple, to be more verbose. And so I would be remiss not to ask ye to intervene in the interests of art; and Art. And take advantage of Art’s — alchemical — poetry.

This is a tale of morons, aliens and aspirations. Since I descended from a golden tower, I have secretly and serially linked, tragi-comic tweets; some few — tens — of thousands — of them.

A cautionary tale is this tale of morons, aliens and aspirations. Since descended from a tower, golden, secretly and serially have I linked, my tweets; more than a few — thousands of them.

I present to Earth a gift. Whilst MORONS AND ALIENS is satire, beyond a prescient satire it may be for Pangaea, a panacea. Take not too lightly, a cautionary tale, MORONS AND ALIENS.

Take not lightly my cautionary tale; a tale, of morons and aliens — and aspirations. Since I descended from on high, secretly, I’ve tweeted tens of thousands upon — thousands of them.

Each of Art’s tweets is an NFT by itself. More than a mere satire, for Pangaea, MORONS AND ALIENS is a panacea and in addition a hefty, blockchain prize. Art’s art, promises, bonanzas.

Presents are gifts — whether gift-wrapped or tenses, in time. Presents are gifts, as is, this tweet. Each of Art’s tweets believe it or not is an NFT all by itself. It may by itself, be bonanza.

Each of my tweets is an NFT all by itself. More than a mere satire, for Pangaea, MORONS AND ALIENS is a panacea and in addition a hefty, blockchain prize. Art’s art, promises, bonanzas.

Presents are gifts — whether gift-wrapped or tenses, in time. Presents as gifts; like this tweet. And each of Art’s tweets, believe it or not is an NFT, all by itself. It may, by itself, be a bonanza.

On March 11, Beeple, aka Mike Winkelmann, auctioned a piece of crypto art at Christie’s for $69 million. Mike’s the winning bidder, as per a digital record, conferring the art’s, ownership.

A fetish for collectors is the digital record and a Certificate of Authenticity conferring upon the art’s work’s collector (for collectors of originals), the art work’s very uniquely limited, ownership.

On March 11 Beeple sold a piece of his art at Christie’s for $69 million. That begs a question, a revelation and an epiphany. If Mike’s art sold for that much how much more is worth my art?

If Beeple‘s art 5000 images sold for $69 million, how much more is worth, my art work? Beeple sold his art at Christie’s for $69 million. Pray tell, much more is worth, Arthur’s — fine, art?

In epic-styled poetry, I present to Earth, a gift. And whilst technically MORONS AND ALIENS is satire, beyond satire it is for Pangaea, panacea. Take not, too lightly — MORONS AND ALIENS.

Ethereum isn’t just for digital money. Anything you can own can be represented, traded and put to use as non-fungible tokens (NFTs). And tokenizing one’s art begets handsome royalties.

Tokenizing one’s art, makes for, sometimes, handsome royalties. And isn’t just for digital money. Anything you can own can be shown traded and put to use as non-fungible tokens.

If Beeple‘s work’s sold for $69 million, how much more valuable Arthur’s? How much more valuable than Beeple’s art is Art’s art? Art’s art is in bare, unadorned words; invaluable, Art’s art.

NFT art is in a bubble said the newly rich, digital artist who this month sold a non-fungible token of his piece “Everydays: The First 5000 Days” for over $69 million. That is one hell — of a bubble.

THE PRESENT’S — A GIFT

I present to Earth, MORONS AND ALIENS. It’s a satire. For Pangaea it’s a panacea and it is, in addition now a blockchain prize; such are the tweets comprising my MORONS AND ALIENS. 

In epic-styled poetry, I present to Earth, a gift. And whilst technically MORONS AND ALIENS is satire, beyond satire it is for Pangaea, panacea. Take not, too lightly — MORONS AND ALIENS. 

The gist of the plot is that Art and I (once upon a time, ex-womb-mates), are reunited, Don having once upon a time, kicked Art from their mother’s womb-space clear into a future, alien.

Everybody knows that no matter how much I stink up a joint, in retrospect, the smell’s always rosier. And everybody knows that how many die does not come into play, as a political point.

I’m blessed that way. Everybody knows that. Everybody knows that I am the most famous face on Earth. And I am, therefore, the most able to unite the morons against — the aliens.

I am absolutely the most able of all of us; the one person that’s been destined to unite us against the aliens. What’s not to believe about that? Why not write about morons and aliens?

What’s not to write, given what’s happening? I suspect the aliens may be renegades, taking advantage of the primitive and technologically unsophisticated species of beings — on Earth. 

The most able of all of us, I’m the one person, destined to unite us against the aliens. What’s not to believe, about that? And what’s not to write about — morons and aliens — on Earth?

Through a portal and along an elongated path lies the Pilgrims Progress. Paths that run to our galaxy’s black hole, run largely, in parallel. A primrose path marks the progress, of pilgrims.

Through a portal and down an elongated path lies the Pilgrims Progress; paths that run to a black hole and back. Pilgrims trudging along it, see primroses, lining the paths, of the Pilgrims.

Through a portal and down an elongated path lie the paths that run to a black hole and back. Pilgrims trudge along it; and primroses, line it. Long and desperate, is the way, of the Pilgrim.

Long down a long path to a black hole and at times, back. Someday, long along that path, desperation shall yield to the joy of salvation. That is the inexorable — way — of the Pilgrim.

To and fro we go; to a black hole; sometimes, back. Someday, long along that dangerous path, desperation shall yield to the joy of our salvation. That is the way — of the Pilgrim.

In a miraculous intervention, Arthur, in the nick of time from the future has returned to help me save planet Earth in spite of ourselves and indeed in spite of — threatening, illegal, aliens.