In Doctrin’s Nation

Nov.15,2023

There were horse hairs covering the table,
because this guy was making a violin bow.
He dyed his horse hairs white for effect,
and everybody noticed the difference.
Why can’t you do it right,
Said his favorite customer.
But you know, he was only playing dead.
This was why he was called Doctrin.

Doctrin was made out of plastic.
He didn’t think that would change much.
Everything he did was a scourge.
He shouted down the nations,
“Don’t leave me alone!”
But they made him clean up at the end of the day.
They didn’t worry that everyone else had gone home.

Doctrin had his own dream,
he wrote it out on a piece of 9 by 10 inch paper.
He personalized every part of his story.
“In my world, everyone will believe as I do,
“They will be in Doctrin’s nation.”
Do you mean they will be indoctrinated?
“No, I believe in freedom of expression.”

In the end no one knew where he was.
He turned into a giant mist above their heads.
He was gathering while the rest were sleeping.
They forgot to never leave him alone.

The fog was billowing up higher,
and suddenly a man felt himself changed.
He woke up the same, but saw something else in his way.
He saw a man like a dream, a dusty dream of yesterplace.
“Does this man know the true Doctrin?”
He was too compliant to understand.
Dr. Doctrin took him under his wing.

The world was created for you and me,
but truly it serves the final Doctrin.
There was a sense of emotion about him,
His face carried a finality and emptiness.
But they forgot to leave him a companion.

Is this a first world problem?
But it was none of their concern.
Doctrin developed his own set of rules,
hammered out over thousands of years.
He firmly handled their souls to the treadle wheel.
They were threaded into a new confection.

In Doctrin’s nation everything is precious,
Everything is carried in its rightful way.
The mild major is filled with contentment.
Exact change is counted out every time,
Because he believes it will be the Last Time.

The yellow coated arms of his door heaved down.
They clung to the specter of dignity.
Doctrin wrote out the recipe for success,
and many followed it to the letter.
He thanked them with golden medallions,
and he awarded them on his nightly radio show.

Doctrin laid down 418 rules for life.
He was structured to the core of his being,
he was fruitful while these men were being fruitless.
He was pacing while others were licentious.
And his word was law above all else.

The mansions were built to hold lions,
and he stood on top of the lions in his Brinks hat.
He escorted vials of eternal life to the shelf,
and he smiled kindly upon the eternal old ones.

They broke bread upon a surface of clear fluid,
almost like water, but more expressionable.
Souls wandered among the dust,
And Doctrin traded them for hockey cards and pucks.
His eyes narrowed now, onto his new town,
They gave him lozenges to stifle the dusty air.

A banker was making the journey to meet him.
He met him halfway, almost to the sticking point.
These men were united in a common empathy,
Their eyes were passionate upon the world order.

He rose upon a chock of wood,
and embraced the values of Doctrin’s nation.
“All those who believe on these, so be it.”
Life says otherwise, so don’t be too formed to order.

Grey hairs were covering his violin bow.
All of his literature was fierce,
it was extending its hand from the foggy tow,
For without music he was grafted to a tree,
Which grew in spite of itself to meet me.

“Bankers never grasped Doctrin’s self,
“Until they spilled getting bored.”
They spilled it overboard,
Spellbound, they were twice pre-poured.

Advantageous citizen, he helped them listen within.
He poured out Doctrin’s nation into the soup bowl.
“It helps to keep a handle on the special things.”
His was a flavor without,
While Doctrin’s was a flavor within.

The Dead Time

Nov.15,2023

It was a spatial world of underlying pretensions. Millions of people looked out of their windows only seeing dust. They were introduced to the dead time. Horald Millice was made out of hope. He hoped all the time. But one morning he woke up in the dead time. “I can see nothing will be accomplished today.” Listless bums threw cardboard boxes over their heads. They smelled out the fakers on their street. But they never cared to look in Horald’s direction. “It’s something about the shape of his soul.”

Color my direction, honestly, and with some seasoning. It was a world of seasons, and a world of time. But they had entered into a zone far from any accountability. They were walking through a haze of junk infested corridors. They looked down hall ways of sightless men. They sat in rooms filled with astringent wallpaper. It was a sign which pointed its way to the sea.

“Out beyond this water, beyond the perfect place, I have found my accompaniment.” So they were gathered in the brain damaged place. It was a vortex of guerrilla warfare. They were savages of the highest sort. One wore a crown of lettuce leaves.

“My faith has leveraged me to live in the dead time.” It was a time of comprehensible servants. They only had what they had earned before. There was no time to learn anything on dead space. The small table was set out for him. “It is here that you will learn the intricacies of the Third World.” It was a world unlike his first introduction to the natural sciences. The Lizard People loved to hear him learn, but they were intemperate, and very fierce. “I don’t recommend holidaying with the lizard people.”

His eyes were reptilian, and he crossed a circumference in no time at all. They were suspended upon chalk circles in the air. Their faces were over lined in a display of rapid whiteness. The fuel for their dreams was thrown heedlessly upon the fire pit.

“Take no notice of Horald. He will learn our ways at his peril.”

Tolomus Bainsbridge, the scourge of the seventh zone, was placed in charge of the dead time. He ruled over all men with a giant fist. “There can be no mercy or exception for those who wallow in the dead time.” He was taken there against his better judgment.

The yellow crane doors were opening around him. A silent crooner was standing beside the entrance way. “There is currently no way to step through, unless you have a special exemption.” No need for details, this man has everything he needs…

There were specialists everywhere. They monitored their life signs with invariable vulnerability. They looked through portholes onto the cooking spaces. “This chef will know what’s coming to him.” But in the end it was a certain message beyond life. These were souls that wandered through little pikes of dead trials. They were sentenced to a living purgatory. They were the Interns of the World. “Tell me about life.”

LIFE: THE MOVIE – A stunning motion picture from the producers who brought you ESCAPE FROM THE DOUGH SHOP. Meet Horald Millice. He’s your ordinary man. But he’s taken one step too far on the promotional cycle. Meet Bermice Tolack, his boss. He simply won’t cut anybody any slack! But Horald is about to take a journey from which he will never be the same. He is about to enter into… THE DEAD TIME. And you know what? It almost fits within our new motion picture, LIFE: THE MOVIE, so it will remain as a special feature on the DVD. Get it now while supplies last!

These guys were personable. They produced movies all day. “You like the show Mumby?” Mumby was a small clay man who ran around and went to the planets. He walked around in a spaceship. He walked so much that he needed a horse to carry him. “It’s alright.”

THE BIBLE SAYS: ANYONE WHO IS NOT WARM, I WILL SPIT OUT!

Director: “Alright, shoot the scene again, but with more Expression!”

He sounded like Fritz Lang, but he had forgotten his spectacles in the laundry bin. “Oh wife of mine, have you seen my spectacles?” “They’re in the laundry bin where you last misplaced them.” How does she know where everything is? “Call it a woman’s intuition.”

This guy was very interesting. They called him Horald Millice. But you know, I want to understand what this story is all about. Are you guys just trying to fool me? “No Mr. Bond, we are trying to fool the world.”

Watch out for those guys, they wear a Rolex on each arm… but the policy of containment is not enough for them. Enough! Keep George Muskie out of it! And if you want George McGovern on your ticket, you had better file enough press credentials to make up an army…

They were German Expressionists. They waltzed through 1918 into the Dead time. There were men hanging on trenches. They looked up and hoped to see something truly amazing. But instead they were faced with dis-ease and a lack of judgment. “Who will save these men from their moral turpitude?” Only the actor, the clergyman, indeed!

It was the highest point of the year. Men were standing around consulting their watches. They wanted to know what time it was. “Is it time to go yet?” No, not nearly enough time has passed us yet. But you still may be useful to our cause. They thought they were living real life – but real life eluded them. Instead they were stuck living on dead time. “All aboard the dead time merry go round of life.” But it was no real life, it was only the game of death. “I keep playing, and I keep losing, but I won’t give up until it’s all gone away from me.” There was something about Horald that they couldn’t stop.

They barricaded twenty hotels. They tossed dynamite in his way, but nothing phases him. “You think your tools can stop me? I’ve had Professional Training.” He was an army of appliances. Machines hid under his coat. He had a device for every occasion.

“There is nothing more for you here than the dead time.” and you know, it was like living in a video game. In a moment of sudden lucidity, I realized I was living through a Call of Duty simulation. “The world has become the waste basket of the programming engineers.” It was sublime, and it was personable. But something about this man smacked of the dead dream.

“If you can see through him to our mind, then let it go. They are all virtual anyway.” - General George Patton, 2023

It was how the world was created – the dead world. And in that world, the world of Luciphone, there was the dead time. And on that time there lived a little man, Baelzaman. And he played his Tuppence daily. “My mind is a mouth which devours all hapless souls who wander into the dead time.” and he was crouching at midnight, and standing at the door of all leaderless souls. “And who shall find your soul when all others have deceived it?”

Perhaps the warden of information will grasp it. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. “It’s Horald Millice.” I was hoping he would bring me some good news from the Real World. “The real world?” “Yes.” “It doesn’t appear to be reachable from the dead world.” Dead time was grasping them like a miser reaching for his gold coins. “No, I don’t care much for this dead time.” But all the same, you have it! And you must deal with it, in your way...

Revelation Mile

Nov.13,2023

Hundreds of men were looking inside.
"Do you suppose that's where we're supposed to go?"
They were looking down into a giant tunnel.
All their freedoms were lurking down there.
"I don't think it's safe."
So, you finally make your voice heard?
Yes, that's how it should be.

These guys were giant lawmen.
They smiled while walking forty foot cages.
This one guy had breath like a lion.
He stood up tall, and left his arms to hang at his sides.
"You don't see me, I'm on revelation time."

Lower him down into the pit, and see what comes up.
There were five firemen there, all of them on acid.
They shouted for more music, but there was none.
Only the sound of dying jets.
"Put that firehose out, right now!"
But there was no one to obey his orders.

The master of the world - in silk tie and suit,
Fresh from the conquest of Ecuador,
Full of the flavors of Rome,
and totally committed to his course,
Flew up in the face of Random Salesmen.
"Mr. Salesman, you must under stand your place in life."

They made him stand under a giant pillar,
he was made to stand below the halls of Justice One.

These men were content, they were secure,
they were happy, and they were peaceful.
Everything was fine, until...

This guy broke the fourth wall - Larry Summers.
He was making his own smoothie,
and he didn't have a guess as to why.
"I'm just here, but don't mind me."
These men didn't understand physics.
They were floating around as if they were flies.
"I'm the flyest fly of them all."
Mighty fly, muzhna mushka, my old nemesis.

This was the moment for a sublime revelation.
He rode in on the roller skates of doom,
he was a plantation worker,
and he was a strike breaker,
and he was a dock builder.
But he never did anything without his payment.

There are fields full of good things,
there are arms filled with glad tidings,
but all of you were wondering why,
and why was the band playing your song?
How did he reveal the secret of his compression?
but he was a composer after all...

His keyboard didn't have any give,
it didn't have any take,
but it had limited abilities.
He said, let me work with what it has.
This was how he found hope.
This was a memory of things trusted in.

*Interlude*

The past was only formed out of old containers.
This man was standing there looking at the pieces.
"No, that can't be right."
He was personable, and very bright.
Many people thought he would help them.

These containers are valuable.
He saved all of his cartons and all of his plastic dishes.
These were the pieces that helped him save things.
"This life is filled with reusable pieces."

Small trees were hopping over his cartons.
"Ah, you won't mind these trees hopping over here."
It's a very simple way of working it.
Red Skelton knew how to make them laugh.
"Just pull my nose, it's no trouble."

He was a man of a supreme value.
He smiled a mile wide, and walked through a tall moat.
This was the castle of proud beginnings.
It was high and wonderful,
Filled with wonderers and flounderers,
And you know, it was nothing to remark upon!

THE ULTIMATE BEGINNING

Call him Green Grosse, the man of fire,
who burns before all memory,
"Aha, you have found a writer!"
And he was a fresh man of the water.

He stood until tall trees would grow,
and then he would walk some more.
the beginning of the world was taking place.
He held out his hand to catch it.
"Don't let it fall."

Then there was a drawer there,
He had a giant pencil.
His paper was white, his expression was clean.
"See how well I can draw!"

a New revelation for a revelation mile!
the smiling popper eating his cheese,
the curled hair, and the whipoorwill,
the singing stranger, and the annointed one.

"Now, don't be afraid of those beginnings.."
It was a high hour, and a tall prayer,
For these men it was one and the same thing,
They opened their baskets, they had peaches and pears.

A perfect perfection, a created conception,
the miles and miles of traveling,
and the man of days, who has been on the dial...

"Look, and be fulfilled!"
This ageless man was standing at the brim,
he pulled his coat in, he pulled his fire on,
he was like Moulard Pouter, and very fierce.
"Ah, my dear, what a way to live!"

And so it was, they were all disciplined.
These were the hours of their life:
From one to two, they sang,
from two to three, they worked,
from three to four, they washed,
from four to five, they cooked,
from five to six, they ate,
and from six to ten, they observed nature.
for the other hours, they consulted their booklet.

"Always make an allowance for the cold eyes."

Aha, you make me laugh even now!
And so, you have seen the brightest time of them all.

And they walked down the mile of revelation,
and they saw the many hooded beast,
they worked out its many heads,
they sent it a letter to cease and desist.

Its rider was the Boar of Babylon,
which tore Baldur down to the floor.
What a beating and attack it gave him,
and his eyes shone with bright intensity.

The stars were shining, and the sky was red,
the horsemen were riding to defeat them.
"Beware you scoffers, you men of lower places!"
Harvest what you may expect, and carry what you will allow.
The pain of this earth was plain upon his face.

Ifen and the Rook

Oct.30,2023

Humanitas, Gravitas. All things once considered a part of this life. A mural across the billboard of the sky. And so perfect, an offering in perfection.

This was the world of Surdom Sam. He closed his meaty fists around the Perdom Guard. They were visible by their prostrations.

“Oh Surdom Sam, save us from the world of perfidy!”

But he was silent.

Half-awake, he was central to the surfeit of deliction. There was a comb which he used to cross the stage.

“All of the world is a stage, and more-so is that of Ifen.”

Hyphen, Ophen, and Ifen. There is a close voiced man who sits on the stage. He is a writer of stage plays. He practices communication. “Not for your sake, but for the sake of all time.”

These things being close, they were gracious. These were the things which stood of all the world.

There is an unconscious vortex which swings under this heavenly gait. So you seek it, and you obtain the vale of soul peelings.

The world was spectral and funeral. It was futural, and it was neutral. But it was spare.

Man and wife, look at the world the Lord has made for us. This world, its knives sharpened to recycle the pencils, is cleft from top to stern. All things being equal, and you have had your share.

The Valdei should speak a little to the purposes of this gathering.

Altar of the Sun – First Movement

Oh my soul, let me speak out,

Let me hear the prophesy of old,

Let me know the movement of your time,

And let this be a lesson to you.

Final, and with good respect, I could see this great mass of Man. in his table he kept an earner. A little man who collected the coins at the end of the speech.

“And you are Ifen?”

He had an Aromatic scent to his soul. He was pressed by twenty Irish constables. But it was to no purpose. He was clean as a whistle.

“Go about it then.”

There was no call for him. He was the gravest censor in the history of speech. He told men never to take their deeds for granted.

“Admonished now, and forever questioned.”

Why not bring back a song? And a world? And the portable men.

THIS WORLD, SO GRAND, AND FILLED WITH STRANGERS!

I could see the world. The rook was swinging from its branches. And men and women, and the total station. And the Advocate.

“How precious this world is. If I could pretend, I would live in it forever.”

Thrasymachus, how you are adored.

He was friended by many, and unfriended by the NPC. But don’t take it from me.

And now a world for the Sponsor:

Here it is, at last – a world fit for living in. and you wanted a world fit for precious angels…

So the more it shall be.

Witness the artist in his final days of living. Has he learned the answers to life’s biggest questions?

“I daresay, I am only H.G. Wells. Ask me another question.”

No, he is not a swami, but he is a magic eight ball.

“Oh gracious, you’ve given me a number!”

This life was filled with fatal accomplices. They were making their arrangements. They stood in communion halls laughing through their sleeves.

“Never no more, and don’t forget to close off the shelving.”

Ah, what a gracious man he is!

Ifen was cooking some asparagus. He was pressing down on his manuscript page.

“This is Confessio Amatis, John Gower. You will read it forever.”

This life, precious life, which flows like the river of Jordan. Let it never ease off into nothingness…

Newmonia in a New Land

Oct.11 2023

Large clipper ships were fighting vast waves on the turbulent sea. This was a sea for all seasons.

It fell to Newmonia to chart a course for greener pastures.

Oh gracious, I have arrived on board a ship of vast explorations.

There were narwhals and whales that swam beside the ships. Every brush of wind and burst of air was cleanly set beside the gunwales.

Now, this man had better understand his place in the hierarchy.

Hundreds of Memnonian statutes were placed by the bulwarks of the galleon. They broke pieces of eight by the little fires of their cook stoves. Even in the glint of the sun their iron tools seemed precipitous.

This is the voyage on which you will make your fortune.

O Fortuna, Tell me what I will come to be?

So you will arrive, and suddenly sight the star to see.

These brave shipmen were tailing a bound wind by the tufts. It was not a good wind, but it was the only one they had at the moment.

So, you are Newmonia.

There was no question about it. This here was the latest monian.

I dont care if you are a Monian on a Monday. You are going to have to get used to this routine.

Rising at Six AM was not an issue for him. He was more concerned with the state of the rigging.

Do you think these ship hands understand the finer details of the plastic arts?

This is a question best suited for the officers club, but for the time being we will let it stand.

There was a man there, looking like a Tin Pot dictator, who ran his own card game.

Branmonia is the name. BUT dont wear it out.

A sudden emphasis on the feeling, but dont get carried away

O Fortuna, tell me what I will see in my lifetime?

In your life you will see the greatest and terriblest things come and crash together.

Ah Fortuna, you never cease to amaze me.

Avail me of this, What was Branmonias purpose there?

It seems that his purpose was one of immediacy.

Branmonia was like a writer, full of vinegar, and also of many salted tales. He was looking around for a proper message to deliver.

If I pray firmly enough, I shall see a message come down to me from the sky.

Ah, sweet deliverance! So you have heard my plea after all

Yes, I, Fortuna, have seen fit to deliver you to your reward

It was the year 20,712. I didnt see the point of writing down every detail, but he decided it was necessary.

When I was new, he was new. Whats that supposed to mean?

Well you see, its a tale about these eccentric circus performers. They are acrobats, and they have an ever increasing family of wonderous people.

I see, but can you put it on the evening Play for Today?

I havent quite figured that part out.

Youve got some thinking to do!

Captain Suporus, who was very trim, thought highly of Branmonias tale.

Well Branmonia, it looks like you will be filling out the Shipping News for today.

The Cats eye was shining like a crooked diamond. It was turning through the face of a sudden squall.

I dont need to remind you of the significance of that.

I could see in the distance a vast vision of Corporal Trim.

Ah, so thats what I wanted to see after all.

This man was singing the Lilibulero, and he thought he was pretty good about it.

Ah, so youre the Newmonian I was briefed about?

There was no question about it. (O Fortuna!)

But there was a dog there, and we named him Heinz.

Heinz 57, thats what well call you.

Now, it was a life on that ship. It was a life! And you know, it was almost like a story by Leonard.

DaVinci!

Elroy!

Stanislaus!

Almost.

But it was something like a cup of tea, but followed by a Beggar who knew the Pirates of Penzance by heart.

This man is a modern major general.

I dont doubt it.

Branmonia! Oh Branmonia. Your games have driven us to a new island.

The Island of Lost Blessings.

This here, was something to see.

They had given themselves to understanding the Pilgrimage of the World. It was something else. Branmonia was stepping into the little boat, and he was being taken to the New Land.

This is what youve been waiting for Newmonia.

He was almost set to stand aboard this land, when a bird reached him with a trifle of information.

Birdmonia at your service. So it appears that Digital Dan has caused a ruckus. He is a disturbance of vitality. You dont have to listen to him.

Just then, Digital Dan emerged from his bunker on the island of New Land.

Oh HO HO HO, avast YE DOGS! I am Digital Dan. I live to place you inside of the machine!

What a trusty change of events! And none too soon, for the captain was despairing of getting any lines.

By Jove, I shall put you back in your pine box!

Not if Fortuna has anything to say about it.

For you see, Digital Dan had been holding Fortuna hostage.

All of my Fortunes are being told. I am being made the Hero of the Earth.

Newmonia, and you thought he was once left aside, but no, he was the real article.

Witness this stunning work of art, and you know, Newmonia is delivering them from Digital Dan.

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes are calling!

This is the world I had always dreamed about. There were wishing wells on every avenue. Every street was a potential Eden. And Digital Dan was back in his chambers.

They never know when I will strike them again.

The whole thing was like Treasure Island, but with twice the smoke.

It was at that time I met an islander. They were always smoking their trademarked Vapes.

Oh Sir, these are E-cigarettes, and I have trusted them since my Fijian expedition. They are trusty in a tight spot.

Lord, let this E-cigarette be clean from any evil or distant infirmity.

This was the New Land, and it was set for a New Monian.

Monians, what have you to say for yourselves?

And we witness Newmonia composing his notes.

I am Newmonia, and I am prepared to take charge of this land.

The general of Occupied Newlandia, Newmonia, who was a hero of the day.

Ah, witness these statues to a Memnonian icon.

At the break of day, listen...

The sonorous voice of the Memnonians was something to hear.

These were the building blocks of a true civilization.

Take these ears of wheat and place them around your thresholds. Let those who have ears to hear understand.

A great tidal wave, and the world was covered with the messages of Newlandia.

Monian Symphony in A Minor

Sept. 17 2023

There was a sharp intensiveness to his composing. It was Oldmonia, seated at his bench, deriving his usual qualities from the ethereal domain.

He looked down upon his desk. He had twenty nine parchments filled with musical notation.

Twenty nine bassoons, five timpani, four bass tubas, three Shofars, five marimbas, one Glockenspiel, two Xylophones, five Harps, seven Flutes, six conga drums, twenty violins, seventeen violas, thirty two cellos, and fifteen bass cellos

It was a start.

After all, Oldmonia had been planning his Symphony in A minor for several years.

It was a very clean room which he resided in. Oldmonia adjusted his glasses. His butler, Bluemonia, brought in his Tea and Biscuits.

It appears that your refreshments are now served.

Oldmonia received them with the graciousness of his station.

He had toiled for many eons at his work, which was the revival of the Oldmonian nation.

If I have to single-handedly compose twenty of these musical symphonies, then that is what I shall do.

His motivation lay in his reasoning that music had the ability to charm the savage monian.

Monians! Why are you so disobedient? Theres one way to cure you of your waywardness. I shall teach you the majesties of music.

Oldmonia had been born a Greymonian, but from some act of strange luck he had persevered in aging and outliving many of the others. His eyes were fixed with a fervor of definite focus.

I can almost feel the reverberations from the bassoons.

Oldmonia believed in Harmonic Resonance.

These Harmonian Resonances will deliver static fields which will change the colors of their Monian souls.

So it was a matter of developing the right ethic of feeling

Oldmonia continued his work until he felt that the time was right to take a break. Even in his timeless condition, he was still able to discern the right moment for the circle of necessary events.

He rose from his desk and walked into the hallway. From there he approached the door labeled, Rehearsal Hall.

Stepping into this room he was immediately surrounded by hundreds of Monians. They were eager to deliver their audition performances for a place in the Oldmonian Symphony Orchestra.

Now, now, you will all have your turn. Orangmonia will direct you to take your number.

Everything was a matter of patience. Redmonia quickly jotted that fact down in his notebook.

Always keep a sharp eye out for Oldmonias note pages. You never know when he might drop one.

It is true that Oldmonia was making notes constantly. He walked around his compound with hundreds of sheets of paper stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Sometimes a brisk wind from the ventilation shafts would blow some of his pages hither and tither.

Gracious, these pages are being delivered unto the four winds.

In those perspicious moments, it was incumbent upon Bluemonia to retrieve these pages. But sometimes Greenmonia would leap up and obtain these precious treasures.

Aha, now I can use this note to achieve my freedom.

Freedom itself was on the bargaining table.

Greenmonia suggested that in return for Oldmonias page, that he be allowed to step outside.

Oldmonia sternly appraised Greenmonia and decided that it was not worth the effort.

Nevermind that, you have to return to your duty of scrubbing the floors.

Redmonia was quickly put to good use in manufacturing the Clarinets and Bassoons.

He rolled out the copper and steel in his metal press. He looked after the shaping of the musical fittings and the sound valves.

All of this is in the service of Monianity.

Oldmonia created a virtual machine to produce dedicated simulations of his Symphonies.

This machine will deliver to me a perfect vision of my Symphony.

A Minor was currently his musical key of interest. He produced a Timbre which reminded him of the Sousaphone, but it also had the resonance of a Therimin.

Bring out the virtual audience.

The machine projected an audience based upon pre-arranged information. The virtual monians filed into their seats. The virtual conductor stepped up to the podium.

My dear Virtual Audience, you are now to be treated to the first ever Virtual Performance of Dr. Oldmonias Symphony in A Minor. This masterpiece may now be enjoyed with your total participation.

The Bassoons began to rumble out the thunderous message of total mobilization. Oldmonia was careful to include a Libretto which could inspire both Beauty and Patience, both qualities being evidently plain on the faces of the virtual audience.

The Librettist, Orangmonia, was mentally projecting his vision upon the virtual audience.

We are greeted by the tumbling waves of an internal time zone. The world is created, and Eggmonia is rolling upon the Creationary Sea. But suddenly he is assailed by Snakemonia, that dastardly serpent. The Powers must have their deliverance from this hasty confrontation!

The String Section began an ascending arpeggio of Chords alternating between C minor and F Major. The Timpanis rung out the message of Fire Breathing cane cutters. The Cutters were working hard on the threshing floor. They were turning Snakemonia into John Barleycorn.

Alas, Snakebarley Corn, but we hardly knew ye.

He was threshed into the ground like a piece of wheat. It was a perfect commandment.

The Harps and the Flutes sung their song of the Shepherds. They gathered the wandering Monians and delivered them into the Pen.

Oh Magnificent Oldmonian! You have brought us these visions which both inspire and delight. If only we could prolong your teachings for the next millennium.

Orangmonias interjection was precise, and it delivered Oldmonia to his next plateau.

From this staging point I shall deliver unto you my Masterpiece.

It was a promise which they would never forget.

Pinkmonia On Fire

July 27 2023

It was the highest point of the season.

Many curled flowers were walking along the roadside.

The Monians were tending their gardens.

Pinkmonia stepped forward.

He had something to say.

"Monians, I have just heard of a very interesting voyage.

"Bonmonia was flying through the little glass sea,

"He found a bear which took him to the Last Parade.

"So maybe we ought to go there as well."

Brownmonia did not like the sound of it.

"It sounds very dangerous."

Pinkmonia could not be persuaded to abandon his course.

"I must take this trip to the Last Parade."

Pinkmonia was full of energy.

He had just planted one hundred radishes in his garden.

He watered them carefully every day.

"Bluemonia, you must take care of my garden while I am gone."

Bluemonia was very willing to oblige.

The currents were very high at the glass sea.

Pinkmonia began surveying it with his field lenses.

"Ah, it appears to be accessible with my powers of observation."

Pinkmonia began building his boat to make the passage.

He used his powerful mind to shape the objects as they came into view.

Within a few hours his boat was assembled.

"It has never been so wonderful as today."

So that was how he saw it.

Pinkmonia used his horn to summon more Monians to help sail his ship.

"Tarmonia, you will take the wheel."

I don't know why he had to trust Tarmonia with such a serious duty.

In any case, that's the way it was.

Pinkmonia was in his Navigation room.

He was charting a course for the Last Parade.

No, there was no need for action there.

Pinkmonia's hands reached out for the pistols.

"No one can take the Last Parade from me."

On the fifth day they spotted land.

It was an island filled with potted palm trees.

"These look almost as if they were edible."

Don't expect anything there - it will have to be boiled first.

The Monians rowed the ship closer to the island.

"This must be the island of the Last Parade."

Pinkmonia put on his Tricorner hat.

"Yes, this is what I have been waiting for."

Pinkmonia led the way down the steps to the shore.

His soul was filled with a fire of righteousness.

"I claim this land in the name of the Pinkmonian Empire!"

At just that moment, Eggmonia hopped out from some bushes.

"Pinkmonia, you're almost in time for the ceremony."

"Egggmonia, how dare you interrupt my claiming of this land!"

"Not so fast Pinkmonia. This is the Monian International Zone."

The International Monian Zone was created by Greymonia for a more law abiding universe.

"So, you want to abide by the law, eh?"

No.

Pinkmonia did not like that at all.

"Monians, am I your leader? Am I not handsome, and a genius?"

"Yes, you certainly are."

So Pinkmonia led the charge to find the Last Parade.

Orangmonia was sitting by his hut when he heard the sound of voices.

"Could that be Pinkmonia's party?"

Pinkmonia and his crew burst into the clearing.

"Orangmonia, so you're plotting against me as well?"

"Oh Pinkmonia, this land is made for all of us."

"No, no, no. That won't do."

Pinkmonia firmly planted his flag in front of Orangmonia's hut.

"See? This is Pinkmonian territory now."

Orangmonia didn't understand what he was on about.

Pinkmonia cut through the brush with his sword.

"I will find those paraders, if it's the last thing I do!"

His compass was buzzing with apprehension.

"Pinkmonia, be careful."

"Oh Compass, you're always so fretful."

Pinkmonia drew back the foliage to reveal a massive parade grounds.

For seventy miles in every direction there were uniformed Monians on the march.

Pinkmonia looked at the scene very carefully.

"Ah, so you're trying to carry on the Last Parade without me?"

Snakemonia was standing at the top of a tall pyramid.

He was looking down at the marching Monians.

He spotted Pinkmonia and frowned.

"That is not supposed to be there."

Pinkmonia also noticed Snakemonia.

He called for his cannons to be brought up.

"We are going to teach Snakemonia a little lesson."

He gave the order to measure the distance.

Five monians very assiduously took the necessary co-ordinates.

"You may fire when ready."

The cannon roared and Snakemonia was looking at them with some alarm.

"That's not very good at all."

He saw the cannon ball headed for him, and he dropped down.

It sailed just over his head and crashed into the small stones behind him.

"That's going to require some repairs..."

Pinkmonia was on fire.

He was by this time surrounded by Greenmonians.

"You Greenmonians, you don't have the right to approach me!"

The Greenmonians were saddened by Pinkmonia's tirade.

"Oh Pinkmonia, we're only following orders."

"No, that's not acceptable."

Pinkmonia pulled out a document of loyalty.

"You must all sign these papers - and obey me only!"

Some of the Greenmonians ran up to sign the papers.

Others were more reluctant to do so.

"Snakemonia will take all my biscuits if I don't listen to him."

"Never mind Snakemonia. Pinkmonia is the new law of this country."

Pinkmonia ordered several Bluemonians to begin making new biscuits.

"Serve these biscuits to the new recruits."

Snakemonia was trying hard to maintain his hold over the parade grounds.

"Oh you glassy monians, won't you listen to me?"

But they were deserting him.

Snakemonia put on his special glasses.

Then he saw the source of the trouble.

Pinkmonia's soul was burning with an incredible intensity.

"Ah, so Pinkmonia is on fire. Then we will have to turn him in another direction."

Snakemonia's eyes gleamed with fiendish joy.

"He will never know what hit him."

Back

The History of the Angelic Wars of the Monians

Newmonia in a New Land

Monian Symphony in A Minor

The Most Serious Man in the World

Pinkmonia On Fire