To: All whom having wisdom in the palms of their hands, clutch it not, to their hearts
From: The Zoo Crew (aka, The Sexy Six, aka, The Council)
Re: Visions in Nutshells: A Proposal and Request for Further Proposals for a jump start
Date: Today and tomorrow, ‘til Kingdom comes .. when it will

That dear Emily not so long ago wrote poetry which she christened her letter to
the world that had never written to her presupposes
that she too, previously, hadn’t ever gotten around to writing to
the world. Accordingly, The Council … composes.

Presumably too, few replied to Emily’s heartfelt, vibrant verse. Unprecedented
verse, but verse, nonetheless, not responded to. The Sexy
six aspire (with His help), to stand upon Emily’s shoulders, and be responded
to … quickly, and … world widely.

And so came to pass upon Milky Way dreams that delightful interchanges ensued;
the setting … cyberspace; the pressing subject matters …
education, peace and prosperity. Six lives intertwined when somehow so summoned,
the subjects … on cue … all dreamed together.

Far more goes on here than any one pair of eyes (but One) can Omnipotently
comprehend. Art, ever one eager for getaways
and pick me ups, purposelessly drank and dreamt and then drank some more. He
escaped escapes … the Bohemian way.

Say what? The Bohemian way? That’s no way, it seems, to kick a habit. Seemingly
so; but since being Bohemian means alternatively
being from Bohemia, being a gypsy, or being also, an unconventional literary.
Art chose, finally, that last one … to be.

It’s said that a pessimist is just an informed optimist. Keep that adage in mind
as what the Council recommends is critically
read; and to balance things, remember also, “Out of thought, out of mind”;
it’s always wise to plan … for contingencies.

It’s very much key that we approach the future pragmatically. We can’t do it all
at once, but, given all that we’ve done, not even the heavenly sky
has been, frankly, all that much of a limit. What if, concertedly, we all
just ask, “What if”, as we all wave … to a lab in the sky?

Dreams being dreamy, they oft tire before life’s onslaught and prematurely expire.
Yet visions may, if timely, become ripe.
For if you’ve discovered the power of fire, and a wheel’s utility, then aspire,
to forge a destiny …. The time, is ripe.

Dreams do ethereally dissipate. Effectively, it is as if, they never were;
keeping them alive to, perhaps, some fine day ripen,
is the gist of what this epic is about, albeit there are, important others.
Dream your way … to a Way … egalitarian.

We of the Council do indeed believe that treasure is, where our hearts are. We
believe we were made for selfless service to our communities.
We believe in the alchemically transformative power of selected inquiries.
We believe too that absent plans … planned is … anarchy.

This ‘Big Picture’ temporal existence; ‘life’ as we have come to know it, ought to be
a hit on big screens. Sold as Grecian zoological
tragi-comedy: its past, present and futures vignettes, surreally tragi-comic are really,
and damningly … eschatological.

Ever look for a hat already on your head? Or glasses on bridges just under your
eyes? Or otherwise not clearly observe what you look
for? Changes in perspective oft bring into view what’s unsuccessfully, sought for.
When looking for hats, don’t God … overlook.

Council member meetings over the years since 2004 reveal that the Scriptures,
the internet, our will, our numbers, and our letters,
united, may be both remedy and means of transmission of a larger picture,
whereby brotherhood … we better foster.

The sublime fact of the matter then … is that whether or not … we act wisely
going forward, where individual destinies
are purposefully forged … ipso facto … so may be forged … a collective destiny;
transcendence too … just much more … grandly.

Eventually, time’s tickers, take us all. One (Arthur’s), skips a beat, and
throbs, even as Art writes. Only somewhat ironically,
(given history’s panorama), he’ll likely not live to see through the planned
forging of a more global … destiny.

Bold plans, audaciously planned and executed, augur possible victory, even
sometimes, against odds, seemingly insurmountable,
are among history’s best lessons. A naked Jew’s escape, from a Nazi prison
camp, by ‘becoming’ a corpse … is but one such jewel.

David’s bout with the Philistine, Goliath, is another; it was a mismatch alright,
but not as expected. Ethiopia’s wispy
Selassie’s outwitting of a warlord rival is a classic story. Wise foresight’s
key. Beyond dreams and means, end planning … is key.

The implausibly impossible dream: Killing not one, nor two, but three
Goliaths .. with but a stone. Move forward.
The vision is: To make pens mightier even than swords we need only
acculturate. Toss in kilns … swords. Forge them into … words.

Life and death, sooner, or later, in big pictures, are matters, disquietingly belittling. Accordingly, the Zoo Crew has been moved to
write as Ovid, once, long ago wrote, “… to sing of shapes turned into new bodies …”;
It’s the song … and the vision … we’re so moved … to.

The Metamorphoses echo across ages. To a largely illiterate world (to
the entire world of his age), Ovidius wrote, “Gods,
inspire my undertaking (for you have changed it too).” Who knew he wrote, as well too,
to us? Virgil and Homer, no doubt (approvingly) … nod.

Augustus banished, bitter cold Romanian winters humbled him. Still, wine rations
chopped into servings, left him defiant. He wrote,
“… art … my companion … joy …” … “Over that Caesar could not get jurisdiction.”
Volumes spoken, in but two … pithy quotes.

Some times we find what we’re looking for; the sundry hats, specs, wallets, keys,
and souls; sometimes we don’t; but fret not earthly
losses. Rather, recognize what’s of utmost importance. The soul’s key, to heavenly
homes promised, in Scripture(s) … literally.

Dear lector may think, “Overlook God? Surely, not I, the oft devout?” But, if you’re not
selflessly serving Him, or His children (your kin), in
a significant way (from His perspective, not yours), part of the solution you’re not;
rather, you’re part, of a fatal … problem.

The Council emphasize: Ne’er a one of the Crew ever heard, much less saw, Almighty
God …. We imagined the call … We imagined it all.
Thoughtful, profound critters are plot devices intended to allegorically
tell tales …. We mean no offense … none at all.

‘ON LIVING … FOR A WRITING’; that title’s no typo. What would be sheer joy is, in
the absence of writing for a living …

… soft labor; a welcome respite from the hard labor that is, earning a living.
Missed two days of #NaPoWriMo. So, today… three poems … are posting.

Modesty aside, the logic of Zoo Crew co-authors of the ‘Wine and Cheese Miracles …
An Atlas … Tweeted’ … is unassailable.

This tribal-like, nation thing’s not working. We’ll need to find a way to acculturate,
before, at this late date … it’s far … too late.

Scriptures, Rick’s ‘A Purpose Driven Life’, Tony’s tomes on instantaneous, positive,
change and Nelson’s Commission, auger solutions … palliative.

Rick, Tony and Nelson augur hopeful realities; for if destinies individually may be
purposefully forged, ipso facto, so may we forge … a global destiny.

The Wine and Cheese Miracles is a manuscript that begs all … “To be or not to be?”;
it is a question that is, as a plan in itself, an insightfully …

… wise way to inter-connect, to help, to get help, to learn, earn and prosper … to be
in peace. To so be … be … connectedly.

The ‘Miracles’ is a clarion call to action; it’s an all-points-bulletin… for Bohemians;
‘global’ citizens … not ‘national’ citizens.

Why then, ‘… an Atlas … Tweeted’? It’s all about whether to be … or not to be,
notwithstanding … Tower-of-Babel-like languages … and nationalities.

This poem is intended, within a larger work, to introduce you to a
menagerie of Art’s dear friends; a cynical
housefly, a blowhard ape, a (hypo) critical lemming, a vapid chupacabra,
and a sheep, insufferably … egotistical.

And, the dreamer, Art. Dreams, do dissipate fleetingly, as if they never
were; keeping them alive to, perhaps, some fine day ripen,
is what this, is all about; bringing about a hopeful new order,
to a Way … more egalitarian.

Whether one deems it quixotic, romantic, or, altogether fancifully, unrealistic,
matters not. What matters most is that it’s doable;
if we believed we could, we would. That’d be better than eating the slick
doo-doo, we’re oft served … as palatable.

It’s doable all right; imperative actually; shall we act concertedly
in time? Maybe, just maybe; maybe a book
of letters Art wrote, when he naively gave a damn. Nah! Only,
indeed, those letters, in time, metamorphosed … into a book.

Seemingly, we may need another book like (wo)men need holes in heads. No
wonder then, that the Council paid careful attention
to dissemination of its product, not wanting what once happened to Art, so
happen to them. Required is … ATTENTION!

Publicity; strategic news conferences, a UN book distribution and more; all
had their calculated effect. Destinies well may
be ably forged. Apt then that a trans-species, trans-cultural, trans-national,
trans-doctrinal band of brothers gainsay …

… the powers that be with a cogent plan; more efficaciously using wisdom’s
knowledge (education) and us (numbers, letters,
hearts and minds; the power of ones) and the virtually free airways of the Kingdom;
connecting us quickly … safely … better.

Arthur now writes for chachomanopapa and through that invention, to everyone.
Leaving Margaritaville to Jimmy and its fate,
Art’s unlikely return from, notably, forty years under deserts’ searing suns
means faith and prayer may … forge fate.

It’s a good thing; not that he’s alive and relatively well, nor that he hath
returneth from the desert’s duly desiccated
Margaritaville, nor that he feels thunder-stricken. It is that, perhaps, a path
through a desert’s way’s, the Way’s … path pointed.

From Gaza was Buzz, the cynically watchful housefly; from Kenya, humongous Kong;
from Tel Aviv, Lou, the Alps, Job, and from China, Abe.
Abe? Yeah, Abe; henceforth, Nerd. Initially, only he seemed philosophically strong
enough upstairs to pine on the charge … made.

Not that we weren’t all experienced and accomplished whiners. Arthur’s marveled,
in retrospect at how, no matter what happens, things
fall into place. Take this ad-hoc Council to which the six misfits were summoned,
“Anybody at the helm, Holmes”? Bringing …

… together the brain power of six of God’s lesser beings; having those odd-ball six
brainstorm on what humanity needs do to forge its
own destiny, then write a book placing in context their eclectic fixes;
their way forward … with but common sense … and wry wit.

Indeed, early meetings were dominated by the theme of why us and nobody
else. It happens, each of us is an alcoholic,
each, familiar with the Twelve Steps recovery program. He often has dramatically
used the weak … for His purpose … catholic.

The weak and the persecuted, representing all others by whatsoever means
humbled by nations and a plethora of doxastic religions
belittled by their actions and branded by their omissions to act within means;
the prideful and boastful … homo sapiens.

All that and more was to be found within the backgrounds of the Council members,
who preferred referring to themselves as the Sexy
Six, for short. The long and the short of it’s that it appears that the members
are, for humanity … an apt proxy.

Consider: Art, the sole human rep, is a bibulous alcoholic. The Christian,
Roman Catholic, Puerto-Rican-American-
faux-pas and self-styled planetary citizen boasts decidedly Bohemian
bents, and ideas … egalitarian.

Buzz, the fly is a bibulous alcoholic. The Gaza-born, former Muslim, Arab Palestinian
converted to a conservative sect of Orthodox
Judaism during the 2000 Intifadah uprising. An interior designer, he commutes to and
from dry Gaza to a lush Tel … and lox.

Kong, the ape is a bibulous alcoholic. The mountain-born Kenyan iconoclast
is an animist. In his youth, Protestant mission
schooled, Kong hatefully knows the ignorance of his brother and the tip of a whip’s lash.
Gold miner then … now a miner of men.

Louis Lippi, the lemming is a bibulous alcoholic. The Bethlehem-born
Muslim ‘Levi’, an Israeli Palestinian
crude oil trader; as part of service to Mossad, was a planted muhajadeen sworn
to the Taliban … in Afghanistan.

Job, the chupacabra is a bibulous alcoholic. The Bern-born agnostic diamond
cutter, there does skillfully cut crystalline facets
in the incubating safety of a private cubicle. To there does he abscond
to vicariously dream … of assets.

Abe the sheep is a bibulous alcoholic. The lowland valley-born Abe’s a low-
level mainland Chinese diplomat at Kathmandu.
Officially an atheist, the urban planner uses the net to raise his low-
level consciousness, with a few … new views.

One each from the Big Three, a Muslim, a Christian and a Jew; and an agnostic, an
atheist and an animist to balance the odd
ball six’s mix; moreover, all shared as hobbies, passionate obsessions. Education,
peace, prosperity, poets … and a merciful God.

And so it seemed, as the more each, into the others’ past, entered, the more profoundly
and eloquently the Creator as if spoke to
each, revealing in each, all evil and all good. Audio-visuals, obviously,
are secure … the movie’s … coming soon … too!

Yeah right! Good luck with that pie in the sky pipedream. Art and his pals from Animal
Planet can get bent. They’re all just asses anyway.
Who’d be nuts enough to learn from a nut who drinks toxic spirits, loves plants, animals,
hears them … and speaks to them … most every day?

It makes no sense! Are we going to listen to a wine and cheese-loving, tree-hugging,
animal-activist-ninety-nine-percenter? Say
it ain’t so! A wino? Time shall tell. Judge not the messengers but the happy tidings.
Strange things happen … or so they say.

What’s the world coming to? Indeed, what’s the world, the United States and Puerto
Rico coming to? Thoughtful and communicative
critters, as in Animal Farm, are plot device; they better show, we’re our worst foe.
To fix our fix, we’ll need be … creative.

Perhaps, the very need for a creative, paradigm-shattering solution to
our woes was what restored life-sustaining purpose to
the six humbled creatures of His creation whom, by mysterious invitation to
each, dreamed of humanity … and its due.

After all, one of the apparently few things we collectively know is that He
works in mysterious ways, sometimes via dreams. He
does as He will. We oft do too. But nothing’s about us. Everything’s about Him. He
surely made all for Himself … not for thee.