Francisco d'Aconia speech

Is money evil?
An exploration thru the writings of Ayn Rand's: Atlas Shrugged
Pauly Hart
6/19/2017

Below are three section from Atlas Shrugged, where she talks about money. The fist is speech which Francisco d'Aconia, one of the anti-contagonists, speaks at a party. It is one of the most highly decorated concepts in all of Ayn Rand's philosophies. I've been highly criticized for believing the below section. But to understand it you have to first of all understand some basic concepts:

1) Christ said: "The love of money is the root of various kinds of evil." He never said money was evil. This is the chief misunderstanding and (I believe) led Ayn to write this speech in the first place.

2) Money is vastly different from fiat currency. Money is backed by physical substances, namely, precious metal and never participates in fractional reserve lending.

3) Money lenders, money changers, and bankers (when practicing fractional reserve lending) demolish the power of money, usually always turning it into fiat currency.

4) Fiat currency is essentially, worthless. It is often less valuable than the raw resource of paper and ink it is made from. The only power it has is from the agreement that the buyer makes with the seller.

5) One of the discussions in this book deals with the "Makers vs. Looters," a concept in which the book boils down all humanity to two types of men. Those who loot take everything from those who make and those who make create wealth themselves from raw resources.

6) Money, a great system of demanding value upon a predetermined amount of work, can be likened to a calorie: The amount of energy needed to raise 1 gram of water 1 degree C. Money is a set weight that values your labor.

7) Inflation is caused by many factors, chiefly among them in the United States is the production of more currency. If we each only had $1.00 and suddenly the Federal Reserve Bank gave us all another $1.00, then our first dollar would be worth (at or very close to) $.50. The goods and services haven't changed, but the power of the currency has been halved.

8) Would actual money be something else than a receipt for the phycial product it represents? Yes. Ayn makes that clear in the book and I have placed two quotes about the "dollar bill" vs. "The Dollar." Many economists believe that physical money is the only way to show actual money value. That we should have coinage that represented monies as money itself. That gold would become, not decorative in primary use, but money in primary use and decorative if only we could afford it.



     "So you think that money is the root of all evil?" said Francisco d'Aconia. "Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can't exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

      "When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears nor all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor – your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money. Is this what you consider evil?

      "Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your food by means of nothing but physical motions – and you'll learn that man's mind is the root of all the goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth.

      "But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean? It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think. Then is money made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made – before it can be looted or mooched – made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can't consume more than he has produced.

      "To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no power to prescribe the value of your effort except by the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss – the recognition that they are not beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery – that you must offer them values, not wounds – that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods. Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men's stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best your money can find. And when men live by trade – with reason, not force, as their final arbiter – it is the best product that wins, the best performance, then man of best judgment and highest ability – and the degree of a man's productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you consider evil?

      "But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality – the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.

      "Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants; money will not give him a code of values, if he's evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with a purpose, if he's evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him, drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

      "Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth – the man who would make his own fortune no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him. But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve that mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

      "Money is your means of survival. The verdict which you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men's vices or men's stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment's or a penny's worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you'll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of your hatred of money?

      "Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money?

      "Or did you say it's the love of money that's the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It's the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is the loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money – and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it.

      "Let me give you a tip on a clue to men's characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it.

      "Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil. That sentence is the leper's bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need means to deal with one another – their only substitute, if they abandon money, is the muzzle of a gun.

      "But money demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no courage, pride, or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich – will not remain rich for long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will hasten to relieve him of the guilt – and of his life, as he deserves.

      "Then you will see the rise of the double standard – the men who live by force, yet count on those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money – the men who are the hitchhikers of virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them. But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law – men who use force to seize the wealth of disarmed victims – then money becomes its creators' avenger. Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they've passed a law to disarm them. But their loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter.

      "Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money. Money is the barometer of a society's virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion – when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing – when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors – when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don't protect you against them, but protect them against you – when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice – you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that it does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot.

      "Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men's protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to produce it. Paper is a check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch for the day when it becomes, marked: 'Account overdrawn.'

      "When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, 'Who is destroying the world?' You are.

      "You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization and you wonder why it's crumbling around you, while you're damning its life-blood – money. You look upon money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of your cities. Throughout men's history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor of slaves – slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody's mind and left unimproved for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer. Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers – as industrialists.

      "To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money – and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man's mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being – the self-made man – the American industrialist.

      "If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose – because it contains all the others – the fact that they were the people who created the phrase 'to make money'. No other language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static quantity – to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted, or obtained as a favor. Americans were the first to understand that wealth has to be created. The words 'to make money' hold the essence of human morality.

      "Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters' continents. Now the looters' credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards, and your magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide – as, I think, he will.

      "Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction. When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. Blood, whips and guns – or dollars. Take your choice – there is no other – and your time is running out."

Atlas Shrugged, Part 2 Section 2, Ayn Rand

The idea of money is mentioned a couple more times.

Dagny Taggart, the protagonist talks to another of the books anti-contagonists: Owen Kellogg.

“I know that this stands for something.”

“The dollar sign? For a great deal. It stands on the vest of every fat, piglike figure in every cartoon, for the purpose of denoting a crook, a grafter, a scoundrel—as the one sure-fire brand of evil. It stands—as the money of a free country—for achievement, for success, for ability, for man’s creative power—and, precisely for these reasons, it is used as a brand of infamy…. Incidentally, do you know where that sign comes from? It stands for the initials of the United States.

“[This] was the only country in history where wealth was not acquired by looting, but by production, not by force, but by trade, the only country whose money was the symbol of man’s right to his own mind, to his work, to his life, to his happiness, to himself. If this is evil, by the present standards of the world, if this is the reason for damning us, then we—we, the dollar chasers and makers—accept it and choose to be damned by that world. We choose to wear the sign of the dollar on our foreheads, proudly, as our badge of nobility—the badge we are willing to live for and, if need be, to die.”

Later, closer to the end in the book, we see true money emerge. It's not a counterfeit receipt, but actual gold.

[He] reached into his pocket and dropped two small coins into the palm of her hand. They were miniature disks of shining gold, smaller than pennies, the kind that had not been in circulation since the days of Nat Taggart; they bore the head of the Statue of Liberty on one side, the words “United States of America—One Dollar” on the other, but the dates stamped upon them were of the past two years.

“That’s the money we use here,” he said. “It’s minted by [banker] Midas Mulligan.”

“But…on whose authority?”

“That’s stated on the coin—on both sides of it.”


I hope this explains something of the matter to you. For as I see it, thru her viewpoint, money is good and men are evil.

Uncle Pauly's Birthday Dash Game

This is a little game I created with drawings from my niece and nephews... Hilarious fun.


This was the inspiration:



New book soon

I have been working on my next flat earth book, entitled: "My Flat Earth." It will be featured here. It will feature my testimony, along with proofs of God's wonderful flat plane earth. It will also feature short testimonies from:

Adam Gray
Brad Pubwaite
Brengle JC Lalhimpuia
Chris Bowen
Dallas Quinley
Dan'ial Amatyahu
Gary Dubhda
Jamison Deguc
Jessica Loewen Mason
Mallory Freedom
Mark Fruci
Thomas Thompson
Travis Seidenstriker

I hope to see this complete soon. It's a labor of love.

The Last Time

Pauly Hart
The Last Time
28th May, 2017


I can honestly say it wasn’t the last time. It was the time before that really. I work at a third shift job. Actually... It’s the chronological first shift really, because I start after midnight. It’s an easy job and it pays well, and I’m always done by six in the morning. So Sundays is no exception. And it’s like kind of a boring morning. There’s nobody out and about and I have the whole world to myself. So on Sunday’s I would head over to the church where I was in attendance for seventeen years and police the lot. Sometimes the pastor’s truck would be there, but more often than not it wasn’t. I had done it for a month and was really neat. I would walk around, picking up litter and whatnot and pray. It was peaceful and serene.

I had gotten out of the habit of attending church because of our move out of town. My wife wasn’t a morning person and it just never seemed to happen that our schedules coincided with one another. I would be sleeping when she was up. She would be sleeping when I got home. When her weekend was just beginning, for me it was like a Monday. Truth be told, she didn’t like that church. I had been in attendance off and on for so long and had never bothered with her opinion. Anyway, after I would get off work, I began not even bothering to invite her. She wasn’t interested in “worshiping” in a building on the day after the Sabbath. So I let her sleep. But I went, I went early, I went often, and I went happily to serve.

Well I got bored of doing lot policing, so I gradually began to dust spider webs with my broom (I always carry a broom with me, oddly enough). And that was more fulfilling than just picking up gum wrappers. I would hit spider webs and take out stink bugs and generally make the entrance a little more lovely for the early morning patrons. It was dirty, it needed to be done, no one else was doing it, and I was bored. And, look, even if they were doing it, they were doing it on an off day where no one would notice. As a former professional janitor, I can tell you that it only takes one night for some pretty crazy buildup to accumulate on your exterior windows.

I can trace back the beginning of the downfall to the time before the last time. I had policed, prayed, picked up, dusted, and still the outside doors were locked. I really wanted to take a good wipe to the window ledges but didn’t have any washing fluid handy. So, when the time came, the lady who unlocked the doors and I fell into a quick conversation about me just going over the ledges really quickly.  “Really quickly” was what I had thought. It was already eight and the first service started in thirty minutes. I had been patiently waiting for quite some time. I had to hurry before people started showing up. I had no desire to be seen by men. “To be seen by men” was a no-no in my book. I just wanted to get the job done, make it look pretty, and move on.

Well here she comes with a broom and a hand-towel and some windex and begins to tell me that she had to find it and get permission. “Get permission” sort of threw me for a loop, but, whatever. I got to work and twelve minutes later was finished. I gave her back the supplies and said: “Thanks.” Later that service the associate pastor told me thank you for doing that. I replied with: “Oh? I didn’t know you knew about that.” And that was all I really was aware of. Nothing more. Not until “the last time” as I began the story or, “next week” as we are here now in the telling. So, I show up, just like normal around two and a half hours early before service. The associate pastor’s car isn’t here but maybe that’s the pastor’s truck I see. Sure. No problem. He’s been here before with no problem. So I police the lot. Find some rocks that should be back over where the rocks go, put those all back. Find some litter, and pray. So I go to my back door on my car and, well... My broom is missing. That’s weird. The good news is, I still have my awesome telescoping window cleaning brush. It even has a pivoting head. I set to work on the windows. It’s actually much better than my broom! Wow! Who knew this thing would be so handy!

Well, there I go, off to work on these filthy window ledges, when along comes the pastor to unlock the doors. Clickity-click and they’re unlocked. He smiles at me and goes back inside. So that’s nice. I’m three quarters of the way done with the whole job and he reappears. He tells me that what I’m doing is stupid. He tells me that if I really want to help I need to come when there is proper authority to supervise me and that I should submit to his authority. I’m stunned. I tell him my goal is not to be seen by men. He responds with it’s his job to ensure the overseeing of the facility and that the building costs a lot of money and God made him the steward of it and how people can’t just come and do stuff without his permission or knowledge. So then I ask him if I can at least pray inside. He says I can go into the sanctuary and pray but to leave the windows alone.

I go back to the car and put up my weapon of destruction, (the miniature windshield broom) and sit in the car to think this over.

Well. I came to clean and pray and I won’t be deterred from doing the praying. No man can command my prayer life. But I guess, this is “his building” and if he wants dirty ledges, he can have them. The whole point of cleaning them right before service on Sunday is to have them be the most presentable when the greatest amount of people are there anyway. And wait. I wouldn’t tell him how to milk a cow, why would he tell me how to clean? Oh well. I get over my immediate knee-jerk reactions quietly, get my bible and go inside. The sanctuary is locked. He told me I could pray inside the sanctuary and now it’s locked. Whatever. Either he forgot or he didn’t unlock them on purpose because suddenly I am a nefarious thief who only wants to destroy the building.

So I pray in the foyer. And man, do I pray. I pray for him and for the building and for the people and mostly I pray that a spirit of humility and love would overtake him. Well when it’s all over around eight twenty and people are coming in and the sanctuary is finally unlocked, I go in and sit down and the service eventually gets going. The pastor is walking around and shaking people’s hands and he sees me and comes over and says: “Bless you.” Now his demeanor is really, really different. Is it repentance? Or is it the public fa├žade? I reckon it is somewhat of a little bit of both. Maybe he heard God, maybe he heard my prayers, maybe he heard the clock and it was time to shift pastoral gears. Meh. I say: “Thanks.”

And that’s the last time I was there. It will be the last time I ever go there as well. And it’s not from a heart of hardness. It’s not from an unwillingness to submit to authority. It’s the principle of the matter.

If any possession comes between you and love, then that possession has control over you. A man cannot serve two masters, he will love one and hate the other. This pastor may be really good (and he is, trust me) at holding large conferences, and at doing business deals... But he is no “good shepherd” as the Bible commands him to be. So, see you in heaven dude, God bless you and be in peace, but I desire to see in you more of the fruits of the Spirit, and less of a land-baron.

You see, in the New Testament, we have a view of the body of Christ who worships in homes and at free venues. When the body (the biblical word is “ecclesia” which means: “assembly”) came together, they met at the temple, in an area called Solomon’s Porch. It was a large walkway that surrounded the Gentile Court. It was a free venue. They met at the local synagogues, they met in the school of Tyrannus, and they met in their homes. Hey, they even met in the streets when they couldn’t find another spot.

Why is it today that we build buildings and call them “The Church” when the only real “church” is people? Why is it that we get loans from the bank to repair these buildings? Why have these buildings at all? Wouldn’t it be wiser, better, smarter, more Godly to not do this? Would following the example from the bible guarantee us a better track with our faith? What is the guarantee that having a roof over our head to call our own makes us more holy? Is there a benefit to this practice? I say no. I say that it is a left-over relic from the cult of Catholicism that has tricked us into thinking that having a building makes us more acceptable to God. When the Catholics splintered away from the Orthodox, they became to themselves, a self-righteous and pungent odor before God. In the early days of the ecclesia, they met in houses. It wasn’t until after The Great Muddying, thanks to Constantine, that we saw buildings starting to go up in the name of the new (now legal) faith.

What Constantine did, to “restore the universal ecclesia of the Christians in all cities” both helped and hindered it. He gave land back, made ministers agents of the state, tied together the structure of the religious form of universal Christianity to the state of Rome, and in effect, pompously declared himself as the ruler of the religion under “The Deity.” He never really understood the power of Christ, and often referred to God as “The Divine Power.” Statues of Mars suddenly were Saint Peter. Lucky coins of Mithras were now Jesus Christ. Columbia, (or Libertas) was now “Virgin Mary.” Pantheistic study buildings became monasteries. Constantine never really relinquished his hold of his foreign gods of Helios (the sun) and Selene (the moon) and demanded that Christianity be set to worship on the first day of the week on the Sun Day... Sunday. Even after the schism of the Roman Catholic cult from the Orthodox, hundreds of years later, the Roman Catholics still worship the Sun. They build their buildings long and tall and ignore the teachings of the Bible.


So. What are the consequences of our “churches?” Do they help us or hinder us in our walk with Jesus Christ? Do they help us pray? Do they allow us to connect with God in a more meaningful way? Are they good? Are they holy? The answer is no to all of the above. Every dollar that you spend to build the steeple taller, or to revarnish the pews, or to redo the youth group basketball court is one dollar that is stolen from the true purpose of the Ecclesia. The true value and the true purpose of the body of Christ is to minister to people. To show people the good news of salvation, to preach the word and to proclaim the acceptable day of God. Not to build buildings and call people stupid.

what is poep

what is poep
stream of consciousness
writing exercise
wednesday, 24, may, 2017



a lean time
forsaken lust
i've forgotten
how to cope

today lists
tomorrow hopes
jungle apathy
lying in wait

wanton creeps
deciding naught
juxtaposed listen
i will tell you

i have everything
i have nothing
i am lying
telling to truth

tight white shirt
bound collar
striped tie
gold death

give me a desert
give me a stream
give me a mountain
let me believe

i am nothing
i am naught
every liar
will get caught

fret my love
sick as blood
teams of doves
droves of hugs

bound corrosive
letting off steam
goats on the left
sheep to believe

truth
truth
lies
truth

i looked down at the body
it was bruised and bloated
yellow purple spots lumpy
where the hypocrisy slumped

truthers and haters
and little boys hate Jesus
when their uncle rapes them
but Christ loves them anyway

do you seem to drown
in a lifeboat all your own
do the waves take you
does the sea shake you

i am not my own
i am bought with a price
i am the bride of
the Lord Jesus Christ

together listen
killing you means nothing
you were judged to be guilty
and i do my job with patience

the glistening dew
butterflies steal nectar
i am the spider
i wait i wait i wait

morning has come
like the lord to the manor
servants and workers shake
for the work is not ready

beeping and chirping
the old jeep rumbled 
up into the forest 
full of bibles and medicine

and i woke from the dream
with shaking and sheets
stained from withholding
for the monthly coming came

forlorn and alone
on the mountaintop
you left me for him
you left me for good

ice cream cake and candles
a stained photograph
i remember being sick
sugar coma of cheer

an empty refrigerator
a bounced check
the trouble at school
the heart of regret

jumping out jumping in
lingering not wanting
to tell you anything about me
that would give you reason

i strive the mean stream
get bet a hard start
string things with deep peeps
heart chart my real deal

what is poep
said the class
jelly sat in the corner
dunce cap quavering

hunter hunting
the hunters hunt
prey is praying
the penitent prayer

shaken broken
pining trying
listen chasten
roofers trouble

i told her no
i told her again
again and again
pools of blood now

like the only time
like the first time
like one time
like never

i write nothing
i write nothing
i write because
i have to write

there is a lot on my head
my mind is full of ideas
but where do they go if i quit
the practice of remembering

poep poep i don't know
take a tiger by it's toe
tiger, tiger burning slow
holy holy is the Lord

rub it in
friend
take my
sin

but there were only dreams
that were worth remembering
and the three that have just left
tease the fourth with whips

i am not alone
i am never alone
there is always with me
the moon, sun, and wind

and i cannot willnot shallnot
become more than what i am
for in the am that i am is within
whatever scope of dreams that is

and yet she persisted
there were only two blades
the one in her hand
and the one in her side

the lemon
the lemon
the lemon
is a lie

the old man stirs the batter
pouring it out with care
it is time to make the pitas
his daughter will soon be there

i save the document so carefully
i do not want to lose the poetry
and yet it is a created thing
how can it ever become lost now

he drained the bathtub with regret
it was cold now. the soap was stale
the air was crisp. needle sharp.
the blood and water flowed... soon

awful tasting creeping nausea
hearing loss and the slow tilt
the world was on end
he vomited in bed again

there was no one else in the room
the flies circled around
he could tell she was lonely
by her petulant pencil tapping

they came into the prairie
two by two with blankets
on chestnut draw horses
it was time for the great choosing

she looked into the tree
and it stared back at her
she never spoke of it again
to anyone ever

doing by day
trying by night
we have fretful plans
no one is our guide

the arm hair stood up
the neck was chilled
the pen moved my itself
their camera was on

agag's head rolled to his feet
picking it up, he noticed the sneer
the bleating of sheep
still off in the distance

his ring and his cloak
were in her hands
she was the whore
he had met last week

hezekiah moved his lips
gad and nathan weren't there
it was growing late but
the sun moved anyway

what will it take
to get you to leave
i am tired of advances
i just need to sleep

timmy and alura
and all of the kids
we made our bed
she left me alone

the most planning we could do
would not stop me from plastering
all of those fliers around downtown
kim and pj were so mad at me

purple sweaty bangs dripped
weathered beaten hands dipped
cigarette smoke and drugs slipped
my heart broken, my life ripped

i alone will take you
i alone will make you
you alone will fake me
you alone will rape me

for if ever i kept subject
to the things that you offer
reasons come destitute
plying their wares asundried

up jumps the sun
down splashes moon
the garden of the ocean
the playful happy sea

red and spiny thoughtless love
june was the day that i kept hope
alive and spring fed
harpies circle above me

NAS and Damian Marley - Patience = Flat Earth?



Here is a song that makes fun of flat earthers, yet flat earthers think that it's a flat earth song.

"The Earth was flat if you went too far you would fall off
Now the Earth is round if the shape change again everybody woulda start laugh"

He is saying that it was flat until "science" came along and now we "know" the earth is a ball and if you want to say that it is flat again, people would laugh at you.

And later he mentions the planet earth.

"And what kind of spell is mankind under?
Everything on the planet we preserve and can it"

Something is amiss when those who look for truth too hard find fake truth in fake sentences that prove the opposite point they are trying to make. Are we that brainwashed into looking for flat earth evidence everywhere that we think that someone who is against you is actually for you?

We need to wake up from waking up and use our brain to comprehend the language.

Yankee breakfast

Yankee breakfast - Why is it all sugar, bread, and pig? I eat soup for breakfast. Screw the T.V. who taught me otherwise.