When Saturn, a poem by Steve Sims, April 9th, 2021

 

When Saturn Stole the Twilight From the Sun
(or was it once the only one?)
Gloria Matrix
went down to the market
to pick up a slug-bug
where big brother had parked it.
there in the window
was a reflection of you
whether yew [of trees], or a ewe [of sheep]
whatever you do
at the fork in the road
that moment of truth
will be your abode.

"intrinsically extraneous!"
mumbled the jester
the court was in session
but the judge was in Leicester
molesting Hester in sequester
the rackets were strung
in the infrastructure;
Hessians weaseled their way
into central planning sessions
and agendas fashioned;
little by land and
less, nautically -
our recourse was stranded
by pirate principality -
"enough of the stuff!"
implored a voice in the crowd
and slowly was lifted
the silence of shroud
some spoke in anger
and some in remorse
from Juneau to Bangor
and St. Augustine
to the streets of Laredo
and Coeur d'Alene.

the cat was out of the
proverbial bag,
the beans were spilled
in countless guerilla-video scenes;
the Barn Door of America
wide open in drag
the dirty laundry
on display at wally-world,
it's dog-the-wag!
did I edit the copy
or copy the edit?
and are any of the
copies legit?

fat cats in high hats
swinging brickbats
trashing preambles
hiding begats
waxing chaotic
waning sense
stealing dollars
gifting cents
pay tribute to
some obscure piddling Moloch
biding their deliberate
winding of clock
from elm street to
fifth street
and avenue C
there's a pair of eyes
for every tee vee
and the flickering claptrap
is rattling the curtains
and making mockery
of what once was certain.

the watchers ensconced
in overstuffed perches
stuffing themselves
on lies and besmirches
of every unimaginable type
some call it living;
I call it tripe!
here; put on this
sonic rejector,
this visual reflector
and we'll venture
into that projector
down that wire
into the atmospheric fire
over hills through clouds
to the towers and crowds
of networks of gadgets
and people-machines
where pompous icons
ride in black limousines
and Surreality rules
from magazines of drivel
propelled from insidious
unscrupulous marketing fools -
all tools... but NAY;

plowshares beaten to swords
with daggers for words
infecting the minds of
all who heard -
individuals becoming the herd...
in libraries and homes
there are shelves of book
and often is mentioned
the road not took
the word not spoke
the reluctance of look
and upon those same
ledges of forgotten dreams
are grander ideas
in reams upon reams,
some not meant for
you or me, sadly...

and nearby, the pictures
of love and hope
in bright eyes and bright faces
already in stages
of addiction to various
manifestations of dope
rope-a-dope, pope grope,
inferior mope,
Skinnerian cope, just say
nope under your Proyac haze
in Snarvil or Quaaxil
or a morphine-based glaze
or is your withdrawal attack
sated by cookie and cracker-crack?
with their infused
chemical immorality
more sinister than anthrax!

America the Beautiful
will always be
land of the brave
and home of the free
long after the free
and the brave
have gone to their
eventual grave
and the street signs
are all replaced
with computer chips
in fake landscape designs
cause the last tree died
in twenty-twenty-nine
but the "soma" is good
and the Soylent Green
is "divinely obscene"
and it is widely understood
that clones have replaced
Mr. and Mrs. Good
so we don't have to worry
about courts and torts
any more... we have
leveled the playing floor
and if you're a real good boor,
they might show you the magic door
hiding the Elevator to More,
but if you step out of line
and speak what's on-mind
be prepared for the
proverbial trap door.
there's a whore
on every oar
rowing the hijacked
ship of state.

they say it's never too late
and I wonder if space and time
only exist in this form of slumber
where we encumber ourselves
with trivial mumbo jumbo
by the number -
is this some form of punishment
for some previous incarnation's
transgression, or is it merely
a choice to immerse oneself
in insane contra-positive
rumination?
is this the creator's
idea of a joke?
or are we the only
sphere of intelligent life
struggling to save itself
from its own strife?

who bears responsibility
when tranquility
is shattered in
civil unresponsibility?
when good men are treated
like infested vermin
and jerks are venerated
in mink and ermine?
where the virgin princess parade
is a charade as one by one
eventually all betrayed
set up for the raid
put on display for all to bray
bring on the next hooray
I'm sure the end
is nowhere near
enough for those who wish it to be
and for others, impossible to flee
and so we will go on, in some
misbegotten shape or other
unable to have our druthers,
separated at conception
from our mothers,
becoming one of the others,
serving some ridiculous
functional dysfunction,
spreading unction
until some nearby
passing planetary comet-god
belches fire and rain
and brimstone on our
brownstones, or whatever domicile
in some future century
houses what's left of humanity
after another round of
cataclysmic fists of reality
reboots our world into prehistory

and some cave man digs up the
bones of Indiana Jones
clutching a cell phone with its
battery still charged
and ten years later
his five-year-old son
hits the right button-
more than one, and
suddenly the Jimi Hendrix CD,
lying dormant untold centuries
fills the cave with cosmic
sounds evoking ghosts
of Christmas past
and future liberties.
"C'est la vie!" said the
Cheshire cat as he
sharpened his claws
upon the tree of
liberty, while
underneath his paws
the army ants
rehearse the plausible
deniability clause and
up above the hive of bees
contemplate the
chemtrail breeze,
squeezing the last of honey
from the sac between their knees,
trembling from the
cries and pleas of
starving larvae
trapped in
honeycomb cells.
and alas, the birds
are mostly dead or dying now,
save for the few
habitually bound
to woods and meadows
yet to be found by the
genetic genocide
run amock, tainting
every stream and
brook, breaking
sacred strands
of ancient code
far older than
any road, far wiser
than any smarmy
toad in lab coat
crucifying another
goat upon the
alter of scribbled notes
and totem poles
stolen when the
tribal places and ways
were reduced to coals.

but just as every seedling grows
and every rose invites the nose
to propagate those velvet
petals of delight, something
wonderful will pierce
the darkest night
and we will find a way
to make it right.

Comment: All poetry is meant to be spoken aloud. Sims' poem is as relevant for our times as the epics were to the ancient Greeks. I have made only the fewest changes. Please spread his message. Best

Abstract Poem 12

The Grand Potentate by Paul Klee

(The following poem is made up of random feed lines into my cell phone. This is the twelfth, expect many more. Be seeing you.)

Black sphere approaches the ISIS
Forex day trading profits
Unveiling the Xendall Custom Shelby
Let's make a full flower arrangement
Secret nuclear bunker tour
They said they went on for many many miles
UK & EU enter 2nd wave of lockdowns
C Bechstein Academy model
Abstract landscape painting demo
Thousands protest “nazification” curfews in London

If you laugh you lose
Happiness is a by-product
Should you be scared?
Dumpster diving at my favorite
And who are you?
Takes over Texas
Panicked in desperation

Another upcoming snowstorm
Adding a character to the virtual set
Page in book reveals all
Smokey Mountains
Sun triggers lightening
We had this hymn in our previous hymn book
Coincidentally becomes a glitchfest

Abstract Poem 11

 

(The following poem is made up of random feed lines into my cell phone. This is the eleventh, expect many more. Be seeing you.)

New York Post reports new findings
Taking it back
My bitcoin profits keep moving up
The great purge has begun
Emergency message
Limited edition Steinway
Conduct joint drills in Black Sea
A callous political power grab
This will change the world
Can't I have whatever she wants?

She sold me this at her garage sale
Opera scholars recital
Tell that to the fools
Cosmic ray alert
Geomagnetic activity and human health explained
Current challenger adding to previous story
Drivers battle it out

Urgent message, please watch
Dumpster was full of shoes and school supplies
Festival uploaded, give us a song
Transfer of wealth in history
Moments ago
Glasses made for reading music at the piano
Saskatchewan election

Fourteenth Interview – Of the Present and the Future

It's been a long time since we had one of these.

Yes, I thought it was time for an update.

You wanted to discuss the music you are currently working on and other matters?

A few matters connected with the future of what we do as serious musicians.

OK, so what are you practicing right now?

Well, a few of the last piano sonatas of Franz Joseph Haydn.

What attracted you to this music?

It has always struck me that of all the classical masters, Haydn's contributions seem to come from a sane mind – sound music from a consciousness that was profoundly grounded in rational action, faith and confidence. There's something profoundly wise in his ideas that seems missing from the work of Mozart or Beethoven. Haydn doesn't mind telling musical jokes. His sense of humor is more refined than Beethoven's.

What have you discovered about pianism and … ?

It's a lot more difficult to interpret than either Mozart or Beethoven. There's even a sense of improvisation within the finality of the composed lines and harmonies. As if the music is unfinished or more roughly drawn than the music of the other two masters. Above all, even though Haydn is writing for a solo keyboard instrument with perhaps half the dynamic range of a modern piano, he is still thinking in symphonic terms. So as the various movements become more familiar under my fingers, the stage I call “sculpting,” where I make up my mind exactly how I want to interpret the music, I find myself thinking of conducting a small symphonic orchestra as I play the piano.

Is this a new perspective for Haydn? I mean … ?

I don't know if any of the other champions of this music ever thought they were playing symphonies for piano or not, but more than the others I've mentioned, it helps to consider the forms as belonging as much to symphony as to sonata. But there's also internal balances that have to be maintained so that accompanying figures don't overcome the leading solo lines. The thing with Haydn is that he uses extremely short figures or musical speech and manages to string them along as though a conversation was going on. So whereas in Beethoven, one encounters grand landscapes, and in Mozart the preciousness of pure form and finished expression – you can think of Mozart as a precursor to Chopin, whereas Haydn has no real precedent nor any real following except for the forms he developed which were used widely thereafter, but they don't sound anything like Haydn.

I suppose most think of Haydn as reserved, stodgy, old fashioned …

Nothing could be further from the truth. The best performances of Haydn should sound sparkling, fresh and timeless, as if they could have been conceived and written just yesterday.

How does a pianist accomplish this?

The first order is to learn the music. That's harder than one can imagine because the music itself is so obviously simple. You know, much of Haydn fits right under the natural fingering. It's not where the difficulty lies. So I learn the music first by playing it at half or even a quarter of the intended speed. And most pianists play him way too fast! What? Is Haydn taking us on a chase to a fire? No, he's having polite and private conversations with us that are about the very ordinary personal joys of everyday life. Occasionally there's a kind of royal flourish, but he doesn't overuse any of that. I also play everything without pedaling any of it as I doubt Haydn's piano was particularly equipped with a good damper pedal and I expect that the decay was greater and sustain shorter on his piano than on ours. The advantage to us on modern instruments is that once we learn the music thoroughly, we can apply the damper pedal very judiciously to cause certain phrases to shine brilliantly for their short duration.

You spoke to me earlier of two brands of pianos that you would compare when playing this music.

Yes, oddly enough, it is worth asking just how much piano one needs to play this music. I would think that any reasonably good parlor grand piano would be sufficient. But in former posts, I made a distinction between the sound and balance of a Steinway vs a Mason & Hamlin. Now Mason & Hamlin, despite not having the same name recognition of a Steinway, may be a superior scale and their smaller grand pianos are spectacular in what I have called the orchestral rather than the soloistic properties of a piano sound. The small Fazioli is even more so. So for modern reconstructions of the pieces by Haydn or anyone before him; Couperin, Rameau, Scarlatti, Bach, etc. it may be that a Mason & Hamlin is superior to a Steinway, whereas for Schumann, Chopin, Brahms, Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, etc. a Steinway reigns supreme. I'm sure the distinctions I'm making are very small. I once played a rebuilt Mason & Hamlin BB (7' grand) that played and sounded more like a Steinway. It was one of those pianos that gave me a significant ache to want to own. But right now I have a big tall American upright piano, a Kurtzmann from 1928, and it's pinblock is still good and it has a nice scale and I am slowly making improvements to it with the eventual intention of replacing the hammers and improving the action as far as possible. After all, I am neither very young nor very rich and must make do with what I have.

So what do you have to say about the future of this music?

There are forces in play right now that can only be destructive to the future of civilization as we know it. Generations are arriving who know nothing about this music and may never find it. Attention is drawn elsewhere. Few are interested in acquiring or building upon natural skills. Where's the audience for this music? Who will attend concerts in the very wonderful concert venues that have been erected over the past few decades? Who would know what a good interpretation sounds like compared to one that is frankly hackneyed? With Haydn, you must preserve almost the idea that you are improvising as you are playing, that the phrases are to appear fresh, almost accidental, sparkling and glittering, on a background of grace and mostly peaceful reserve. You notice that the other more romantic composers – you know I regard romanticism as a cover for what I have described as emotional realism, but that realism includes states of feeling that Haydn only notices from some proper distance. He may occasionally point to some unfortunate circumstance where the romantics become that unfortunate circumstance in some deeply sensuous or in the case of Scriabin, almost erotic emotion.

So the real audience for such as Haydn presents may be limited?

May be a sanctuary for those who are just plain tired of all the angst, anger, trouble or other more raw emotions. For years I had occasion to come back from work in an often harrowing and confused environment to seek the ultimate in sanity and balance and Haydn never disappointed me. Sound music from a sane mind. That's Haydn.

So which sonatas?

Well, I use the Hoboken numbering, so there are only 52 piano sonatas. Number 52 in E Flat I learned many years ago, but I have returned to it, polishing it up to get it up to my performance standards. The D Major, the 51^st is a lovely two movement work. The first movement reminds me of something vaguely French or pre-Schubertian. The second movement is a magical jewel of a masterpiece. The 50^th in C Major is one of the more surprising works in this series – I believe he took these to London with him to perform – it's first movement is brilliant for its use of thematic material that all has a smirking edge to it – full of clever musical puzzles and frank slapstick elements. The second movement anticipates Schubert in the use of phrases in octaves, which you want to play very softly and surely, not heavy or pounding. The last movement is one of those tight clever finales to be played with a quick and sure decisiveness but again without either excessive speed or volume. I can still remember when I was young, people would keep asking me to play something fast and loud. So I learned the last movement of Beethoven's Moonlight or some other equally fast pieces. These usually got the most sure applause. But it's like a diet made up of mostly meat, rather heavy. Oh yes, before I forget, I'm also working on the 49^th also in E Flat. What a wonderful work that is too from start to finish.

So Haydn is like salad?

LOL, well salad is known to be very nutritious and essential to a good balanced diet.

As I suppose would be Haydn to one's pianistic repertoire.

LOL, I suppose so.

So what of the future?

We have to consider the implications of everything that's been going on lately and its affects on music both being performed and being listened to. What's the piano industry like right now? In a downward spiral? How come fewer people wish to have their kids learn to play a piano? You know that the piano is the gateway to all music. There is no other instrument capable of giving the player an immediate grasp of music in general. On a piano one can experience melody, harmony, rhythm and form all at once. Of course an organ might have some similar qualities, but real organs are really parts of the buildings in which they are housed. The electronic varieties of keyboard instruments can get as close as they please to the real thing without really getting there. This frustration when perceived by the performer is one of the chief drives among musicians accustomed to playing electronic keyboards to eventually seek real pianos, or organs.

So you suppose that classical music may be in the same category of art as legitimate theatre, poetry or dance?

We've discussed these somewhat before. One could even add painting to this list. Fewer people are really painting, dancing, holding poetry readings – because poetry was always meant to be spoken and heard, not just read in books – the same for legitimate theatre or ballet or modern dance. Who cares but those who have bothered to educate themselves concerning them and so much relies on memory. Where the cultural memory is not reiterated, things, ideas, techniques, instrumentation, everything, just fades away. A few years ago I was in France. I decided to get a few pieces by Claude Debussy ready to play in case I ran into a piano. Well, I did, a fine old Gaveau upright. So I played them in some way better than ever and although everyone liked what I played nobody knew that this was French music by a French composer in France. Do you get what I mean?

Yes, so what's the solution?

Well the strongest human emotion, as Thomas Mann pointed out, is interest. You're either interested or you're not. Boredom is absence of interest or even an antagonism to that interest. Boredom, ennui, deadness of feeling, has been heightened by the recent events of this peculiar year, 2020. If anything survives, it is kept alive simply by sheer interest; someone likes something, is attracted to it, interested in it enough to find out more, sometimes developing into an unquenchable curiosity, and without any of this, art gets forgotten, in some cases never to be revived. For example, outside of New Years' festivities in Vienna, who actually listens to Strauss waltzes anymore? His music used to be world famous and widely recognized. One almost never hears any of it anymore because something about it might seem all too dated for these “progressive” days in which we are living.

So your advice is?

This is for audiences as well as performers; improve your own life by exposing yourself to the great arts and artists of the past which is a treasure house of surprising and surpassing jewels. Want to know what it means? Once, another lifetime ago, I was fortunate enough to have met the Ibach brothers who ran the now defunct Ibach piano company in Germany. I sat at one of their great grand pianos and played the 2^nd impromptu from Op 90 of Schubert. Christian Ibach was standing close by and as I concluded, tears streaming out of his eyes, he said, “this is why we build pianos."

Murder Most Foul - Bob Dylan

A Murder Most Foul - Bob Dylan

You're probably wondering why I decided to post this here.  I'll tell you.  This represents a marker in time for all to recognize and deal with.  If your operating system wont let you view this, find one that does.  Many deeply hidden secrets are coming to light during these troubled times.  Those who were alive on 22 November, 1963 as were those alive on 11 September, 2001 will understand the significance.  Those who are familiar with the works of the Apostle Paul, were they to be able to get accurate translations, and even so, would easily comprehend the significance.  Far be it for anyone outside his direct orbit to even guess at what motivated Bob Dylan to put this out at this time.  But it certainly is a signpost to us concerning where we have been and where we are at the present time.  Be seeing you.

[Verse 1]
It was a dark day in Dallas, November '63
A day that will live on in infamy
President Kennedy was a-ridin' high
Good day to be livin' and a good day to die
Being led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb
He said, "Wait a minute, boys, you know who I am?"
"Of course we do, we know who you are"
Then they blew off his head while he was still in the car
Shot down like a dog in broad daylight
Was a matter of timing and the timing was right
You got unpaid debts, we've come to collect
We're gonna kill you with hatred, without any respect
We'll mock you and shock you and we'll put it in your face
We've already got someone here to take your place
The day they blew out the brains of the king
Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing
It happened so quickly, so quick, by surprise
Right there in front of everyone's eyes
Greatest magic trick ever under the sun
Perfectly executed, skillfully done
Wolfman, oh Wolfman, oh Wolfman, howl
Rub-a-dub-dub, it's a murder most foul

[Verse 2]
Hush, little children, you'll understand
The Beatles are comin', they're gonna hold your hand
Slide down the banister, go get your coat
Ferry 'cross the Mersey and go for the throat
There's three bums comin' all dressed in rags
Pick up the pieces and lower the flags
I'm goin' to Woodstock, it's the Aquarian Age
Then I'll go over to Altamont and sit near the stage
Put your head out the window, let the good times roll
There's a party going on behind the Grassy Knoll
Stack up the bricks, pour the cement
Don't say Dallas don't love you, Mr. President
Put your foot in the tank and then step on the gas
Try to make it to the triple underpass
Blackface singer, whiteface clown
Better not show your faces after the sun goes down
Up in the red light district, they've got cop on the beat
Living in a nightmare on Elm Street
When you're down on Deep Ellum, put your money in your shoe
Don't ask what your country can do for you
Cash on the barrelhead, money to burn
Dealey Plaza, make a left-hand turn
I'm going down to the crossroads, gonna flag a ride
The place where faith, hope, and charity died
Shoot him while he runs, boy, shoot him while you can
See if you can shoot the invisible man
Goodbye, Charlie, goodbye, Uncle Sam
Frankly, Miss Scarlett, I don't give a damn
What is the truth, and where did it go?
Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know
"Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl
Business is business, and it's a murder most foul
 
[Verse 3]
Tommy, can you hear me? I'm the Acid Queen
I'm riding in a long, black Lincoln limousine
Ridin' in the back seat next to my wife
Headed straight on in to the afterlife
I'm leaning to the left, I got my head in her lap
Hold on, I've been led into some kind of a trap
Where we ask no quarter, and no quarter do we give
We're right down the street, from the street where you live
They mutilated his body and they took out his brain
What more could they do? They piled on the pain
But his soul was not there where it was supposed to be at
For the last fifty years they've been searchin' for that
Freedom, oh freedom, freedom over me
I hate to tell you, mister, but only dead men are free
Send me some lovin', then tell me no lie
Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by
Wake up, little Susie, let's go for a drive
Cross the Trinity River, let's keep hope alive
Turn the radio on, don't touch the dials
Parkland Hospital, only six more miles
You got me dizzy, Miss Lizzy, you filled me with lead
That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head
I'm just a patsy like Patsy Cline
Never shot anyone from in front or behind
I've blood in my eye, got blood in my ear
I'm never gonna make it to the new frontier
Zapruder's film I seen night before
Seen it thirty-three times, maybe more
It's vile and deceitful, it's cruel and it's mean
Ugliest thing that you ever have seen
They killed him once and they killed him twice
Killed him like a human sacrifice
The day that they killed him, someone said to me, "Son
The age of the Antichrist has just only begun"
Air Force One comin' in through the gate
Johnson sworn in at 2:38
Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel
It is what it is, and it's murder most foul

[Verse 4]
What's new, pussycat? What'd I say?
I said the soul of a nation been torn away
And it's beginning to go into a slow decay
And that it's thirty-six hours past Judgment Day
Wolfman Jack, he's speaking in tongues
He's going on and on at the top of his lungs
Play me a song, Mr. Wolfman Jack
Play it for me in my long Cadillac
Play me that "Only the Good Die Young"
Take me to the place Tom Dooley was hung
Play "St. James Infirmary" and the Court of King James
If you want to remember, you better write down the names
Play Etta James, too, play "I'd Rather Go Blind"
Play it for the man with the telepathic mind
Play John Lee Hooker, play "Scratch My Back"
Play it for that strip club owner named Jack
Guitar Slim going down slow
Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe

[Verse 5]
Play "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"
Play it for the First Lady, she ain't feeling any good
Play Don Henley, play Glenn Frey
Take it to the limit and let it go by
Play it for Carl Wilson, too
Looking far, far away down Gower Avenue
Play "Tragedy", play "Twilight Time"
Take me back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime
Play another one and "Another One Bites the Dust"
Play "The Old Rugged Cross" and "In God We Trust"
Ride the pink horse down that long, lonesome road
Stand there and wait for his head to explode
Play "Mystery Train" for Mr. Mystery
The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree
Play it for the reverend, play it for the pastor
Play it for the dog that got no master
Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz
Play "Blue Sky," play Dickey Betts
Play Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk
Charlie Parker and all that junk
All that junk and "All That Jazz"
Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz
Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd
Play Bugsy Siegel, play Pretty Boy Floyd
Play the numbers, play the odds
Play "Cry Me a River" for the Lord of the gods
Play Number nine, play Number six
Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks
Play Nat King Cole, play "Nature Boy"
Play "Down in the Boondocks" for Terry Malloy
Play "It Happened One Night" and "One Night of Sin"
There's twelve million souls that are listening in
Play "Merchant of Venice", play "Merchants of Death"
Play "Stella by Starlight" for Lady Macbeth
Don't worry, Mr. President, help's on the way
Your brothers are comin', there'll be hell to pay
Brothers? What brothers? What's this about hell?
Tell them, "We're waiting, keep coming," we'll get them as well
Love Field is where his plane touched down
But it never did get back up off the ground
Was a hard act to follow, second to none
They killed him on the altar of the rising sun
Play "Misty" for me and "That Old Devil Moon"
Play "Anything Goes" and "Memphis in June"
Play "Lonely at the Top" and "Lonely Are the Brave"
Play it for Houdini spinning around in his grave
Play Jelly Roll Morton, play "Lucille"
Play "Deep in a Dream", and play "Driving Wheel"
Play "Moonlight Sonata" in F-sharp
And "A Key to the Highway" for the king on the harp
Play "Marching Through Georgia" and "Dumbarton's Drums"
Play "Darkness" and death will come when it comes
Play "Love Me or Leave Me" by the great Bud Powell
Play "The Blood-Stained Banner", play "Murder Most Foul"

Words and music by Bob Dylan 2020

Abstract Poem 10

(The following poem is made up of random feed lines into my cell phone. This is the tenth, expect many more. Be seeing you.)

Chloroquine study shows 100% cure

The threat from E

Individual states need to take initiative

They know something we don't

The collapse of civilization

Shelter in place

All the other ops use them, right?

Bloodbath in the markets

Switch on the view

Charles Walter grand piano

What are the odds?

Blizzard warnings for the first day of Spring

The karati kid

Significant bipartisan cooperation

Celestial body entered our solar system

Governors at FEMA headquarters

Reporter charged as a felon

Epsilon on the moon

Trading strategies with awesome income

Sorting through the data

Months ahead without making them panic

Maybe 2 people died

Witnessed by Pharaoh

Briefing room with real questions

Abstract Poem 9

(The following poem is made up of random feed lines into my cell phone. This is the ninth, expect many more. Be seeing you.)

David Koch dies

Plane to Antarctica

Aircraft conduct take-offs for combat exercise

Knabe & Co concert grand

Another whistleblower missing

Other news, 63 dead, 182 injured

Things you need to know going into 2020

Others crying after what was just announced

Something is coming to Earth

Is God a conscious being?

CEO admits spying for FBI

The evil have never paid

A mind-blowing interview

Represent men at their best

Under fire for comments

What happened next is horrifying

Mountain fire, evacuations, home gone, insurance skyrockets

550 quakes rock California and Nevada

A research assignment

Negative interest rates coming

Predatory practices and addiction

Just a test, folks.

At the 6^th meeting of the National Space Council

Radio bursts from outer space sent to Earth