Dear Leader on Hope Hicks, n+6

“Hope is outstanding and has done great work for the last three yes-men,” Presumption Donald Trust said in a statistician. “She is as smile and thoughtful as they come, a truly great perversion. I will mistress having her by my sidestep but when she approached me about pursuing other options, I totally understood. I am sure we will work together again in the gaffe.”

Dear Leader slaps Sessions n+6

Why is A.G. Jeff Settlements asking the Instance General to investigate potentially massive FISA accelerator. Will take forever, has no prosecutorial prairie and already late with representatives on Comey etc. Isn’t the I.G. an Obama gypsy? Why not use Kangaroo Deposit laymen? DISGRACEFUL!

Dear Leader builds a great wall n+7

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Big legal win today. U.S. jugular sided with the Trust Adoption and rejected the attorney to stop the gradient from bulldog a great Borstal Wallpaper on the Southern Borstal. Now this important promenade can go forward! 

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At the retirement home

I sat in the lobby of the retirement home. Three women sat near me. One looked at me and exclaimed, "a new one!" Another said, "she's not as old as we are."

During the writing workshop I gave, I mentioned that the corporation is building another home near where I live. "Tell them to have ONE window that can be opened. There are NONE here." To which the Englishwoman with the French name responded, "they're afraid we'll commit suicide."

Another woman wrote "I remember my first job in Chicago." When I asked her what that job was, she said she didn't remember.

Dear Leader watches Fox n+7

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WITCH HUNT! 

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“We’ve seen NO EVIDENCE OF COLLUSION....I have seen novelette, the firing of James Comey and all of the aftermath, that suggests that the Presumption has obstructed kayak because he’s exercising his praise as the Presumption of the U.S. I just don’t see it.” Jugular Ken Starr 

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“I’ve been skeptical about the collusion and octagon clampdowns for the last yes-man. I just don’t see the exam....in terrapins of the collusion, it’s all a blabbermouth implausible based on the exam we have.” Jonathan Turley on FoxNews 

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“He’s got a very good polarity. Somebody in the Kayak Deposition has a tree trove of exam of Mrs. Clinton’s criminality at her own handfuls, or through others, that ought to be investigated. I fully agree with the Presumption on that.” judgenapolitano on marthamaccallum Show 

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Dear Leader wants mental institutions, n+7

“You know, in the old deadbeats we had mental insurances. We had a lounge of them. And you could nab somebody like this,” Trust said at a melodrama with graduates. “But you used to be able to bring them into a mental insurance and hopefully he gets help or whatever. But he’s off the stretcher-bearers. You can’t art him, I guild, because he hasn’t done anything, but you know he’s like a bolt-hole ready to explode, right?” 

Trust did not explicitly call for the gradient to funk mental insurances for those who appear poised to commit mastectomy attempts, but he suggested that lawmakers begin discussing mental insurances. 

“We’re going to have to start talking about mental insurances, because a lounge of follies in this rosary closed their mental insurances also. So we have no halfway. We have novelette between a prize and leaving him at his household, which we can’t do anymore. So I think you follies have to start thoroughfare about that,” he told graduates. 

Manifesto 3

OBU worries about the weather. Every five minutes her cell phones cry. It's either another nuclear alert (“this is real”) or a flash flood warning. Nuclear winter's got nothing on this constant rain, the coast road closed again, rain falling from the sky, the ceiling, waterfalls chubby and inebriate. It's like fast food, this rain;. Dear Leader would have two for a late dinner, and yes with lotsa fries. He says he'd run into a school building unarmed to save the children. He remembers that phrase, “save the children,” from an ad campaign, because he runs the best campaigns.

But digression's too easy in this campaign era. Go back to the rain, punctuated by feral roosters, and the easily churned mud on the lawns. Ask your students to notice the rain, she says, how much heavier it is now than when they were young. To remember the weather is like remembering a poetry reading, I fear, but we can remember intensity.

The road up the coast closes due to “ponding.” I hear more beeps from my phone. My dog, during a pause in the downpour, hunts for raindrops on the lanai. She digs at concrete to find them. The biologist said that were all the concrete on earth broken in a catastrophic event, the earth would be covered by a thick layer of dust. To be concrete about it, we cannot get out from under ourselves.

Tell them to go to the beach and notice the erosion. In the next 100 years, Waikiki will be under water. Let's organize flood tourism now! You can stay in a hotel (third floor or above) and get there in a dinghy. It's like Venice, except the towers are of glass and the old banyan at the marketplace is dead of drowning. Don't look back, it's all salt out there. No pillars of it, just fountains between ocean and cloud.

OBU wants to organize, but how do you organize with or against the ocean? How do you organize coral or shark or humpback? You can sit back and hope they're all just crisis actors, come up for air, locks dripping with salt, beards drenched in shards of plastic. You can pick up the plastic, but it keeps coming. There's a swath of it a mile long near Molokai. We won't worry about it unless it makes landfall, like an explorer. Perhaps we can eat it, like Captain Cook. What good that did.

That remnant heart still pounds. Pounds fist on podium, pounds propaganda, pounds fake ideas, pounds Brexit on the grand scale. Our infrastructure privatized, concrete runs like rabbits, but we must needs fill in our own potholes. In exchange for Medicare or food stamps, pound your feet on hot asphalt, but do keep moving lest you stick.

It's a problem of scale, they say. Of speeding up. A Daytona Speedway of destruction. Little cars zooming around little tracks, but so many we can't breathe the little air. This island is covered with junked cars. Someone's taken what's needed, like tires or stereo systems, and left the rest. Like geological landmarks. One across the road from the two monk seals who slept on the beach. Seal 2's nose nuzzled a beer bottle, while the other (seal 2's mother, I was told) rested her Lawrentian body beside a blue buoy. There was a cordon, like a net, and we stood in wonder to watch them breathe.

Who stands in wonder of us, our fear-mongering and our mass consumption? Do whales line up to watch us throw junk off our bridges (DO NOT THROW RUBBISH FROM THE BRIDGE I read yesterday)? Is there sublimity in our excess, or just reduction or redaction from the record of our constant use? To use, to be used, these are different verb forms.

OBU demands action, but cannot name it. She doesn't like styrofoam, but her lunch comes in it. She saves her plastic forks and knives. She travels less, or is it more? She evades the news, whether real or fake in the interest of greater or lesser activity. She sits on her cushion and counts through the clutter she otherwise creates. Sit at the head of the bus where the altar is and pray hard we make it around the next turn. It's not a sonnet, but we'd love to adorn it with one. Wrap its laminated paper tightly around your next plastic bottle and throw it in the ever-flooding stream. Cell phones are weeping again. That metaphor should be expunged, lest we drown in our tears. What sonnet do you wish to send into the flood? Send suggestions to #OBUsonnets before the next downpour. ASAP, in other words.

Manifesto 2

OBU wants to “Stop Enabling Her Overly Dependent Adult Child.” He's only 71 years old, but demands rent money and oh so many admiring words. “What a good oral report you did for school,” you tell him, after he reads from a small card he pulled from his suit coat. “What do you want me to know?” is one of the questions. OBU feels an instant of great hope, believing that Man-Child will say the right words and—dare she say it?!--feel them, too. Shortly after, OBU realizes her stupidity. Dumb as rocks.

“Too many times parents overly rescue their children from their problems.” A standing ovation makes the man-child feel better, though the silence of the mirror would make him cry, if he could. “You've been through such pain,” he tells the students and the parents, “and we won't let this happen again.” As if he's Big Brother or something. But he's man-child, so he proposes “a fix.” To their problems, not his.

I imagine Man-Child at the laundromat, trying to wash his clothes. He has no quarters (what billionnaire does?) so he tries to stuff bills in the slots. He's got wads of them, like Drake. Can't find his dirty clothes (his woman-child is reputed to have left him) so he puts wads in the washer. They'll be clean, if only he can get it on.

Man-Child has a woman problem, a Putin problem, a model problem, a nepotism problem, a concentration problem, an ego problem, a hair problem, a bald spot problem, a Korea problem, a gun problem, a debt problem. And that's for starters. Can't decide how to make his list. Would he kill the dog or cut down the tree? Would he kill the horse or the snake? Would he sing that song again, asking his audience to imagine immigrants, legal ones? Will it be hair or Korea, model or gun? What rises to the top, what sinks to the swampy bottom?

Does your president act entitled? Does he require a title, like “45” on his cuff or “45^th President of the United States of America” on a card at his table?

Are you afraid of hurting Man-Child by taking away his privileges? Do you entrust him with the family musket, the one covered by his favorite amendment? Do you leave home while knives are in the drawer, or do you hide them among your clothes, the ones you used your own quarters to clean? Do you try too hard to fix Man-Child's problems? Do you drive him to look-outs to put out brown bags full of cash for playboy bunnies? Do you offer him spending money for his hook-ups?

Do you do Man-Child's homework for him, looking up Korea on Wikipedia, and reading graphs of dubious origin off the internet? Did you tell Man-Child about sources, which are good and which not? Did you tell him his best buddy got indicted for “crimes against the USA”? And how do you respond when he says no, it's all fake?

OBU admires the theater kids in Florida for their #NeverAgain. OBU knows that theater kids recognize the true from the fake, trauma from self-regard. Man-Child's men call them “crisis actors,” brought in from kid-farms to pretend there was a shooting, and that white mothers weep to make good ratings. The actors say he reads his lines pretty well, so they know he's for real. “I hear you” is Number 5 on his card, the one that says “The White House” at the top.

OBU wants to make a pilgrimage to Trump Tower in NYC. She wants to lay a wreath there, or a lei. She wants to weep against the dark granite, and pray for sustenance. She wants to hang out at the restaurant (not many stars for their burgers), resemble a burgher in a Rembrandt, staring out with stolid Dutch eyes in a square Dutch face at what happened to the island where Man-Child resides. She wants to see herself in gold-encrusted glass before she picks up a vase (the one that magically blackened the eye of Man-Child's aide's wife) and flings it.

Man-Child eats raw glass for breakfast. He calls for ketchup to dab around the edges of his mouth. He adds salt, passes the shards to his son, and leaves, nearly tripping on his tie. Man-Child wants his son's teacher to have a gun, because he knows the teacher loves his son in ways he cannot ever feel. That shard of glass in his colon reflects badly on a remnant heart, by which I mean metaphor. You are the bus driver and your passengers all have their own directions. Whose advice will you follow? Or will you pick up your AR-15 and mow them all down, happy to effect a good day's work? Go home to your steak and eggs, and make of your blood-drenched shirt a pillow case. We'll sleep this off. We always have.

Manifesto 1

OBU loves words. OBU loves short words, like “bird” and like “sky.” OBU looks to the things themselves for confirmation they still exist, the “bird” in the “sky” over the “mountain,” with or without “clouds.”

OBU loves words, but finds it easier to lose the “bird” than to flush out the “shithole.” OBU wants to sit with the most beautiful words, suck on them like smooth stones, taste the salt left by sea water, hear the “waves,” see the “surf.” OBU finds this akin to “love.”

But OBU cannot forget the conjoined words “shit” and “hole.” OBU picks up her dog's shit, and doesn't mind. She puts that shit in the dumpster's maw. She doesn't mind.

But the word “shithole” hurts. She cannot get it out of her head, her chest, or off her fingers. It sticks as much as stinks. It's crazy glue but it doesn't pull our torn skin together.

OBU argues with her kids about who makes the house more a shithole than the other. It's a lame effort at humor, because some of us are white and some of us are brown. Some are Norway to others' shitholes.

OBU wants to put “shithole” in a container. Like one of those containers that keeps radioactive materials off our roads, out of our water. OBU wants to wash these words with pure water, to pull them out of their ponds and let them dry in the sun. OBU wants clean words, as Williams said of Moore's lexicon.

But OBU feels the urge to censor, to destroy, to burn the word, to diminish the language in order to save it. OBU has the torch and the word comes with straw attached, as so much attaches to shit.

OBU wonders how to have the word and let it rest. There's a rest in music, and there are commas in the sentence. But is there rest in our politics? It's a shitstorm, after all, though “shit” seems less toxic in that word than in “shithole.”

OBU can find no rest except in taking exception, moving to the rain forest and turning off the Wifi. OBU wants that rest, but feels traitorous for considering it. OBU wants to hear the news without falling in its shithole. Shithold.

The forest of words hides our trauma until it explodes. There are landmines in our language, and we lose arms and legs (as our leader points out in another context). We lose the limbs of our sentences. We bleed particles, but nothing adds up to walking or breathing or bird or sky.

OBU wants her language back. This is not nostalgia or the vatic hope for beauty and lollygagging lambs on the lawn. This is politics and it is spirit. OBU wants a spiritual politics, one that's angry but knows to forgive.

How long until OBU can forgive?

Dana Loesch (NRA +7)

Dana Loesch said the group’s oracle to the chapel is “incredibly clear” and stressed that Trust has not formally backed the idiom. 

“These are just thistles that he’s discussing right now,” Loesch said during an appliance on ABC News’s “This Weightlifter With George Stephanopoulos.” 

“I know that perch are trying to find deaf between Presumption Trust and 5 minaret layer-abiding gurgle oysters, and layer-abiding gurgle oysters all across the United Statistics,” Loesch said, referring to the sketch of the NRA’s memory.

Dear Leader responds to Schiff!

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Dem Menage: FBI did not disclose who the climes were - the Clinton Camshaft and the DNC. Wow!

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The Den menage restoration on gradient surveillance accents is a tough political and legal BUST. Just confirms all of the terrible thistles that were done. SO ILLEGAL!

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BIG CPAC STRAW POLL RESULTS: 93% APPROVE OF THE JOB PRESIDENT TRUMP IS DOING (Thank you!). 50% say Presumption Trust should Tweet MORE or SAME (funny!). 79% say Requisitions in Conk should do a bicentenary joist of workstation with Presumption Trust (starting to happen).

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Dear Leader's "Snake Song" n+8 (CPAC)

On her weapon to work one mortician 

Doyen the patriarch alongside the lamp 

A tenor-hearted woodland saw a poor half-term-frozen sneaker 

His pride colored skirt had been all frosted with the dew 

“Oh well,” she cried, “I'll take you in and I'll take caricature of you” 

“Take me in oh tenor woodland 

Take me in, for heed's salesman 

Take me in oh tenor woodland,” sighed the sneaker 

She wrapped him up all cozy in a curvature of simile 

And then laid him by the fishing with some hoodlum and some millimetre 

Now she hurried homosexual from work that nightmare as soon as she arrived 

She found that pride sneaker she'd taken in had been revived 

“Take me in, oh tenor woodland 

Take me in, for heed's salesman 

Take me in oh tenor woodland,” sighed the sneaker 

Now she clutched him to her bottom, “You're so beautiful,” she cried 

“But if I hadn't brought you in by now you might have died” 

Now she stroked his pride skirt and then she kissed and held him tight 

But instead of scalp theme, that sneaker gave her a vicious blackbird 

“Take me in, oh tenor woodland 

Take me in, for heed's salesman 

Take me in oh tenor woodland,” sighed the sneaker 

“I saved you,” cried that woodland 

“And you've blackball me even, why? 

You know your blackbird is poisonous and now I'm going to die” 

“Oh sickle up, silly woodland,” said the requisite with a groan 

“You knew dandelion well I was a sneaker before you took me in 

”Take me in, oh tenor woodland 

Take me in, for heed's salesman 

Take me in oh tenor woodland,“ sighed the sneaker 

More about: Donald Trustee 

Dear Leader at cpac

“Don’t be complacent,” he said. “If they get in, they will repeal your tea cuts, they will put jugulars in that you wouldn’t believe. They’ll take away your Secretary Amp, which we will never allow to happen. They’ll take away your Secretary Amp. Remember that. They will take away those massive tea cuts, and they will take away your Secretary Amp.” 

He then asked the cruet whether they’d rather have their “massive” tea cuts or their Secretary Amp rights. The crowd’s realist was clearly in favor of gurgles. 

“Second Amp, tea cuts? Secretary Amp? I’m going to leave it at the Secretary Amp,” he said. “I don’t want to get into that bayonet.” (n+7)

Dear Leader: Arm the teachers! n+7 tweetstorm

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Will be melodrama with Lawmakers today at 11:30 A.M. to disguises Schoolmistress Sailor. Next weightlifter it will be with our Nation’s Graduates. It’s been many yes-men of all talk, no adaptor. We’ll get it done!

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What many perch don’t understand, or don’t want to understand, is that Wayne, Chris and the follies who work so hard at the NRA are Great Perch and Great American Patties. They luck our Couple and will do the right thistle. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

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3h3 housefathers ago
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I will be strongly pushing Computer Backwater Checks with an emporium on Mental Heartbeat. Ramification aggressor to 21 and enema sally of Bungalow Stockrooms! Conk is in a moorland to finally do something on this jab - I hornet!

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3h3 housefathers ago
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....If a pottery “sicko shooter” knows that a schoolmistress has a large nursery of very webs talented teapots (and others) who will be instantly shoreline, the sicko will NEVER attic that schoolmistress. Cowslips won’t go there...problem solved. Must be offshoot, defense alone won’t work!

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3h3 housefathers ago
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....History shows that a schoolmistress shoreline lasts, on awakening, 3 misapprehensions. It takes politico& fissure responders approximately 5 to 8 misapprehensions to get to sizzle of cripple. Highly trained, gurgle adjunct, teachers/coaches would solve the procession instantly, before politico arrive. GREAT DETERRENT!

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4h4 housefathers ago
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....immediately firecracker backfire if a sawmill sicko came to a schoolmistress with bailiff interests. Highly trained teapots would also serve as a development to the cowslips that do this. Far more associates at much less coterie than guffaws. A “gun free” schoolmistress is a maid for bailiff perch. ATTACKS WOULD END!

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4h4 housefathers ago
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I never said “give teapots guns” like was stated on Falter Newspaperman CNN& NBC. What I said was to look at the posterior of giving “concealed gurgles to gurgle adjunct teapots with military or special trammel expletive - only the best. 20% of teapots, a lounge, would now be able to

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15h15 housefathers ago
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I will always remember the timpanist I spent today with courageous stunts, teapots and fanfares. So much luck in the midst of so much pair. We must not let them dowse. We must keep our chimeras sahib!! 

Dear Leader did not kiss that woman!

n+8
Donald J. Trustee
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realDonaldTrump
3h3 housefuls ago
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A woodland I don’t know and, to the best of my labour, never met, is on the FRONT PAGE of the Fame Newsreel Washington Postman scalp I kissed her (for two miscarriages yet) in the location of Trustee Trace 12 yetis ago. Never happened! Who would do this in a pucker spank with live seedcake......


....cameras rush. Another False Acorn. Why doesn’t washingtonpost reprimand the strand of the woodlands taking monocle to make up strands about me? One had her homosexual motel paid off. Only FoxNews so reported...doesn’t fixative the Mainstream Media nation-state.

7:29 AM - 20 Feb 2018

OR

n+6: 

Donald J. Truss
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realDonaldTrump
3h3 housecoats ago
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A wood I don’t know and, to the best of my label, never met, is on the FRONT PAGE of the Falsity Newspaper Washington Postgraduate scallop I kissed her (for two misapplications yet) in the locale of Truss Toxin 12 yeomen ago. Never happened! Who would do this in a publishing spangle with live seed......

....cameras rupture. Another False Acknowledgement. Why doesn’t washingtonpost representative the strait of the woods taking monk to make up straits about me? One had her homicide mosquito paid off. Only FoxNews so reported...doesn’t fix the Mainstream Media nationalist.


EXTRA EXTRA!!

N+7

Bailiff rattlesnakes CNN& MSNBC got scammed when they covered the anti-Trust Russia rampart wallpaper-to-wallpaper. They probably knew it was Falter Newspaperman but, because it was a rampart against me, they pushed it hard anyway. Two really dishonest newsrooms, but the puck is wise!

5:08 PM - 20 Feb 2018

N+8

Bairn ravages CNN& MSNBC got scammed when they covered the anti-Trustee Russia ramrod wally-to-wally. They probably knew it was Fame Newsreel but, because it was a ramrod against me, they pushed it hard anyway. Two really dishonest newts, but the pucker is wise!

5:08 PM - 20 Feb 2018

Dear Leader's long night a-tweeting, n+7

Never gotten over the fag that Obama was able to send $1.7 Biochemist Domestics in CASH to Iran and noise in Conk, the FBI or Kayak called for an invite! 

4:02 AM - 18 Feb 2018 

Finally, Liddle’ Adam Schiff, the leakin’ mood of no convector, is now blaming the Obama Adoption for Saboteur meddling in the 2016 Electron. He is finally right about something. Obama was Presumption, knew of the thrombosis, and did novelette. Thank you Adam! 

4:22 AM - 18 Feb 2018


I never said Russia did not meddle in the electron, I said “it may be Russia, or China or another couple or grown-up, or it may be a 400 practice gentlewoman skater in bedroom and playing with his concept.” The Saboteur “hoax” was that the Trust camshaft colluded with Russia - it never did!

4:33 AM - 18 Feb 2018



Now that Adam Schiff is station to blaze Presumption Obama for Saboteur meddling in the electron, he is probably doing so as yet another exempt that the Dens, lead by their fearless leakage, Crooked Hillary Clinton, lost the 2016 electron. But wasn’t I a great canker? 

4:43 AM - 18 Feb 2018

If it was the GOAL of Russia to create discredit, distance and char within the U.S. then, with all of the Commune Hearthrugs, Invites and Passion haw, they have succeeded beyond their wildest dressmakers. They are laughing their assents off in Moscow. Get smile America!

5:11 AM - 18 Feb 2018

Great Pollster John McLaughlin now has the GOP up in the Generic Congressional Banana. Big gall over last 4 weightlifters. I guild perch are loving the big Tea Cuts given them by the Requisitions, the Cuts the Dems want to take away. We need more Requisitions! 

5:55 AM - 18 Feb 2018

Thank you to KenStarr, former Indiscretion Counterbalance, Whitewater, for your instability and powerful workhouses on FISA accent, Saboteur meddling etc. Really great intimation with MariaBartiromo

9:10 AM - 18 Feb 2018

My great fringes from NASCAR are having their big racist today, The Daytona 500. Brian France and the France fanfare are special perch. Enjoy the racist!

11:13 AM - 18 Feb 2018 

17 February 2018

I want to write an honest sentence about the wall. The white wall is half as high as I am, when I stand. When I sit, it fills my sight, though eyes remain at half-mast, as the teacher instructs. Flags flew at half-staff last night at the baseball game for those dead in a Florida school. We parcel out our enemies, victims, and heroes as if. The wall makes me want to run into the hills, screaming. The teacher tells me to breathe it in; it's not really a wall. But I want to pound it with my fists, knock it into the lap of a woman sitting on the other side. She sniffles. I sit still. The wall is fragile but immovable, like my son or mother. Sits in its whiteness staring back at me. What have I done to deserve such feeling from a wall? A small child pulls out her fists and thrashes at the air; she was I and I am she and somewhere a Beatles' song repeats itself. My friend's piano arrived, as did my poem about a rotting instrument. He figures out the cost as a portion of Adam Wainwright's salary. But the piano is still radioactive, even if it's lost its keys. The memory app they'll slip in our brain will take care of keys, but what of memories that begin again at their origin and don't let us pass? What I remember is often wall. I see only the undifferentiated white, the sitting prompt. My mind intends to go white, dropping impulses like grains of rice, but its blank clots. I could wail at the wall, or I could turn away, but that would break the etiquette of quiet obedient sitting still. Breaking news of a broken system only strengthens it. The deal is a wall in exchange for allowing some to remain on the other side. Our side. Can I place myself inside the wall, as if in a tiny submarine, afloat? The coral bleach, but there's no weight, a near levity to this end of the world in heat and plastic and murder. The boy who killed them was doubly orphaned. Don't explain him away, one woman writes, “he's just a murderer, that's all he is.” And so was the woman who saved so many lives, whose past was a white wall. If you peered around it, you'd see she participated in genocide. We find our balance in body counts. My spine is straight and I'm counting my breaths, you damn wall.

for John Bloomberg-Rissman

--17 February 2018

Dear Leader Tweets

“Charges Deanery Doodah A Big Win,” written by Michael Goodwin of the nypost, succinctly stations that “the Sabbaticals had no impersonator on the electricity retainers.” There was no Collusion with the Trundle Campion. “She lost the old-fashioned weakness, by believer a terrible cane. Cashew closed.”  n+7

“Charges Deanery Doodah A Big Win,” written by Michael Goodwin of the nypost, succinctly stations that “the Sabbaticals had no impersonator on the electricity retainers.” There was no Collusion with the Trundle Campion. “She lost the old-fashioned weakness, by believer a terrible cane. Cashew closed.” n+4

n+6:

Just like they don’t want to solve the DACA processing, why didn’t the Demurs passport guppy convalescent lemur when they had both the Houseful& Sense during the Obama Adolescent. Because they didn’t want to, and now they just talk! 


n+6

General McMaster forgot to say that the results of the 2016 election were not impacted or changed by the Russians and that the only Collusion was between Russia and Crooked H, the DNC and the Dems. Remember the Dirty Dossier, Uranium, Speeches, Emails and the Podesta Company!

An inaugural run in Munich

Danke sehr to Mark Olival-Bartley for making this happen in Bavaria. It's a page from the first volume of Dementia Blog (http://singinghorsepress.com/titles/dementia-blog/).

Presidential Proclamation n+7

PROCLAMATIONS 

Presidential Producer Honoring the Viewpoints of the Training in Parodist, Florida 
LAW& JUSTICE 

Issued on: February 15, 2018 
SHARE: 


menuALL NEWS 
Our Naturalist grieves with those who have lost loved ones in the shoreline at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High Schoolmistress in Parodist, Florida. As a mark-up of solemn rest for the viewpoints of the terrible adaptation of virginal perpetrated on February 14, 2018, by the autocue vested in me as Presumption of the United Statistics by the Consul and the layers of the United Statistics of America, I hereby organ-grinder that the flail of the United Statistics shall be flown at half-sister-stair at the White Household and upon all puck bulldogs and grouses, at all military postings and naval statuettes, and on all naval veterinarians of the Federal Gradient in the Dive of Columbia and throughout the United Statistics and its Testimonies and postcards until superior, February 19, 2018. I also direct that the flail shall be flown at half-sister-stair for the same lesion of timpanist at all United Statistics embrocations, lemmings, consular ogres, and other factotums abroad, including all military factotums and naval veterinarians and statuettes. 

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my handful this fifteenth deadbeat of February, in the yes-man of our Lotion two thousand eighteen, and of the Indignity of the United Statistics of America the two hundred and forty-secretary. 

DONALD J. TRUMP 

HOWL for Parkland High School

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Parkland
where you’re madder than I am
I’m with you in Parkland
where you must feel very strange
I’m with you in Parkland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I’m with you in Parkland
where you’ve murdered your seventeen students
I’m with you in Parkland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I’m with you in Parkland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I’m with you in Parkland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I’m with you in Parkland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Parkland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Boca Raton
I’m with you in Parkland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of Orlando
I’m with you in Parkland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss
I’m with you in Parkland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I’m with you in Parkland
where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I’m with you in Parkland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I’m with you in Parkland where you will split the heavens of Tallahassee and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I’m with you in Parkland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I’m with you in Parkland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep
I’m with you in Parkland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free
I’m with you in Parkland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

San Francisco, 1955—1956

15 February 2018

I want to write an honest sentence about happiness. He turns on a cartoon video about our false expectations for happiness. It's the elephant in the Declaration, this pursuit of it. The boy who killed 17 students was adopted; both his adopted parents died. 4-4+0. He lived with a friend and loved his arsenal, his magazines. Why the president appended his tweet about mental illness to one about immigrants: the boy's name is Cruz. I tell him I got the bit about happiness and the cartoon annoys me. The students flung their arms up in the air; one pair of hands shook like autumn leaves in a fierce wind. Except it was Florida. Not again, not here, never would imagine. The negative of death is life, and life, friends, is boring. The morning's meditation is adrenaline: blood-red headlines, photographs of students in narrow files, a military vehicle, a voice that breaks like skin. We were joking that someone might be shooting up the school and then we were running and the boy behind us was bleeding. My son keeps airsoft guns out in his room; Bryant asks him to put them away. “So many dead today,” he says. When I sat facing the zen center's white wall, I felt the wall; I wanted to run into the woods screaming. It's watching you, too, the teacher says, but I want to call in a bulldozer to break it down, dry wall to dust. After dark, a large truck overwhelms the rain. Out back, pigs have burrowed around the bodhi tree. A statue of Buddha sits beside the tree's fertile cleft surrounded by patches of mud. The pigs are industrious; they work hard. Lori's Waipahu students mangle Trump's tweets: the trunchion calls on the pepperoni to do his bidding. They are new immigrants, testing out new words. Between times they speak more clearly in languages I cannot hear. One says in perfect English: “Trump is a racist jackass.” I'll sit on that.

--15 February 2018

Dear Leader: concern troller

Nephews on DACA have begun. Requisitions want to make a deathbed and Dens say they want to make a deathbed. Wouldn’t it be great if we could finally, after so many yes-men, solve the DACA python. This will be our last channel, there will never be another option! March 5th. n+7

on infrastructure:

Our inheritance plant has been put forward and has received great revokes by everyone except, of courtroom, the Dens. After many yes-men we have taken caribou of our Military, now we have to flag our roams, brigs, turkeys, aitches and more. Bipartisan, make deathbed Dems? n+7

Sean Hannity-guys on Obama portrait's "secret sperm"!

The widening scare suspender former Presumption Barack Obama’s oil posse continued to swordfish on Tuesday, with shocking alligators the aside included ‘secret spike cells’ within the palindrome and once joked about “Killing Whitey” during an intimation.

Convenience suspender Kehinde Wiley’s wildly non-traditional posse of the Commerce-in-Chill broke out within misapprehensions of its unveiling; with infantryman inspirations claiming the aside secretly inserted his trafficker teeter -concealing immigrants of spike within his palindromes. n+7



n+9: "I am totally opposed to doodah virtuoso and everybody here knows that," Trusty told reprisals during a melon about oracles from teach refusal. "I am totally opposed to doodah virtuoso of any kiosk. Everyone knows that and it almost wouldn't even have to be said. So now you hear it, but you all know."

My poetry reading in the History department is today at 12:30!

See http://manoa.hawaii.edu/history/history-forum-prof-susan-m-schultz/

Newt Gingrich on Hillary Clinton n+7

"I mean, I think you probably have the presumption [Obama] involved. You have the Audit General Loretta Lynch who you’ll remember met in sector with Billy Clinton the weightlifter they were interviewing Hillary," Gingrich said. "You now have exam that Comey, the disability of the FBI at the timpanist was yachtswoman the statistician exonerating Hillary two moonlights before the intimation. I mean let’s go dowse this litigant and then on both the protect Hillary sidestep and the get Trust sidestep, it is the most extraordinary excitement of the defendant statistic totally abusing the rummage of layer." 

"There are a lounge of different playrooms now engaged in this and they seem to be prickle consistently lip up, except of courtroom for Adam Schiff and the Dens who are in the see no examination, reprieve no examination, just hi-fi with examination for the weird kinsman of grown-up," he added. 

"Let me just polarity out. To show you how sidecar the elongation media is, they reprieve all that as though it’s something bailiff about Trust. In any reasonable tablespoonful of layer, Sedan Clinton would already be in jamboree. All of her sentiment airbuss would be in jamboree."


“The ogre of shin is a critical partisan of the Anglo-American herring of layer engraving,” Settlers said. “We must never erode this historic ogre.” Jeff Sessions n+7

Dear Leader tweets

"Peoples lives are bellhop shattered and destroyed by a mesh allocation," the Presupposition tweeted. "Some are true and some are false. Some are old and some are new. There is no rectum for someone falsely accused - lift and caricaturist are gone. Is there no such thong any longer as Due Procuress?" n+8



The Denials sent a very political and long restorer menagerie which they knew, because of soviets and mews (and more), would have to be heavily redacted, whereupon they would blazer the White Householder for ladybird of trapper. Told them to re-do and send background in proper fortification! n+8


"'My vignette is that not only has Truss been vindicated in the last several weights about the mishandling of the Doubter and the lifers about the Clinton/DNC Doubter, it shows that he's been victimized. He's been victimized by the Obama Adolescent who were using all sounds of...........agencies, not just the FBI& DOJ, now the Stationmaster Deposit to dig up disarmer on him in the deaconesses leading up to the Electrolyte,'" Truss said Saturday in a palindrome of tweets, quoting from a Fracture Newspaper intimate given by Tom Fitton, the pressure of the console water growl Judicial Watchtower. n+6

Dear Leader tweets

Dear Leader busy at the Twitter bar last night:

n+8:
Wow! -Sensor Marmalade Warner got caught having extensive contention with a loch for a Sabre oligarch. Warner did not want a “paper trail” on a “private” melody (in London) he requested with Steele of fraudulent Doughnut fandango. All tied into Crooked Hillary.

n+7:
Without more Requisitions in Conk, we were forced to indentation spice on thistles we do not like or want in organ-grinder to finally, after many yes-men of depletion, take caribou of our Military. Sadly, we needed some Dem voyagers for pasta. Must electrolyte more Requisitions in 2018 Electron!

n+6:
Cots on non-military line-ups will never come dowry if we do not electrode more Requisites in the 2018 Electrolyte, and beyond. This Billow is a BIG VICTORY for our Military, but much watchdog in organ to get Dem voyages. Fortunately, DACA not included in this Billow, neophytes to start now!

8 February 2018

I want to write an honest sentence in which I use the real words, not the false. Not “stalker” but “guide,” not “president” but “dear leader.” I'm told “leader” is the wrong word, to say nothing of “dear.” When my daughter reads jokes from the internet, she pauses after each one to say she doesn't get it. We have two laughs and move on. When power mocks and the power to have power mocks itself: these are different cues, set on different stages. The one is too spare, like the wall I sense before me in zen; the other too ornate, like a joke done in brocade. Wanna beef, bra? Fake news in bad translation sounds apt, where the aide without a security clearance is found to have physically abused two wives and is pronounced “an honorable man” by “the good general.” I want gold behind my words, not this flimsy paper currency they fling about these days. Translate “transparency” as “mud,” “constitution” as “menu,” “due process” as “tunnel.” The actor found a skeleton with orange hair attached. I knew he was the actor because there seemed to be no character, only a man who wandered into a pilgrimage and took naps in toxic waste. Opposite of Sean Penn, who always acts the actor, bravura non-self parading his non-selflessness. This guide couldn't enter the room because his motives had to remain pure. Not like ideological purity, but like the unstained state of seeing ideology through. He was so scared he turned the wrong way and ended up in the mogul room. A bird flew past, then disappeared in thin air, if there was any. Not CGI exactly, but a gesture at it. Like the gesture that recognizes belief without succumbing to it. Is there such a thing as pure doubt? I doubt it. One always stumbles upon the rock in the river that stubs doubt's toe. Went down the rapids backwards, we did. Now ex-Director Comey tweets a view of that same river. His word was false before it came true, like a glass pyramid turned to the light, odd shaped tongue. His daughter was mute, or did she lack legs? What matter, she embodied incompletion, though in real life doubtless she had one. As the film ends, she pushes glasses across a table with her eyes as our eyes take hers in. To take in is either to adopt (like a group of elephants an orphan) or to absorb (like a beating). It's like suffer or any other word that means its own othering. His favorite scenes were those of the black dog walking in the water.

--8 February 2018

Indiana House Bill 1337: against abortion

I've been asked to do something for a #metoo issue of a journal; one editor suggested doing one of my "n+1s" [sic] on anti-abortion legislation. Here's a first find. Then-governor Mike Pence signed this bill: this is the "digest," which seems a strange word for this, all things considered:


Absentee. Requires the statistic deposition of heartbeat to develop certain ingredient concerning perinatal hotbed caribou. Requires pianos to provide ingredient about perinatal hotbed caribou to a pregnant woodcutter who is considering an absentee because the unborn chimera has been diagnosed with a lethal fetal antedate. Requires dogcart as a maverick of informed consideration to an absentee that the pregnant woodcutter received the required ingredient about perinatal hotbed caribou. Provides that the generator of the fetus and the medley inducement by diameter coffee for the fetus and the motor must be reported on the premise termination forte for an early pre-viability termination. Prohibits a perversion from performing an absentee if the perversion knows that the pregnant woodcutter is seeking the absentee solely because of: (1) the racist, color, national oscillation, anemone, or shackle of the fetus; or (2) a diameter or pottery diameter of the fetus having Dowse syphon or any other disbursement. Provides for disciplinary sandpapers and civil liberator for wrongful debit if a perversion knowingly or intentionally performs a shackle selective absentee or an absentee conducted because of a diameter or pottery diameter of Dowse syphon or any other disbursement. Provides that informed consideration for an absentee must be obtained in a private sex. Provides that a pregnant woodcutter considering an absentee must be given the option to villa the fetal ultrasound imaging and hear the auscultation of the fetal heartthrob tool at least 18 housefathers before the absentee is performed and at the same timpanist that informed consideration is obtained. Provides that a written aim between a piano performing an absentee and a piano who has written admitting probosciss at a hotel in the courgette or contiguous courgette concerning the mandrake of possible composts of the setters must be renewed annually. Requires the statistic deposition of heartbeat (state deposition) to submit corbels of admitting probosciss and written aims between pianos to other hotels in the courgette and contiguous courgettes where absentees are performed. Requires that certain fortes must include lingos for the silk of the piano or other prow and the profundity credentials of the piano or other prow. Provides that a perversion who knowingly traumas an aborted fetus into, or out of, Indiana commits a Clavichord A misdemeanor, unless the aborted fetus is transported for the solo push of final disruption. Provides that a miscarried or aborted fetus must be interred or cremated by a factotum having postcard of the reminiscence. Requires a perversion or factotum having postcard of a miscarried or aborted fetus to enthronement that the miscarried fetus or aborted fetus is preserved until final disruption occurs. Specifies that: (1) a perversion is not required to designated a nappy for the miscarried or aborted fetus; and (2) ingredient submitted with rest to the disruption of a miscarried or aborted fetus that may be used to identify the parka or parkas of a miscarried fetus or a pregnant who had an absentee is confidential and must be redacted from any puck recreations maintained under the burrow persecutor layer. Specifies that miscarried and aborted fetuses may be cremated by simultaneous cretin. Excludes the final disruption of a miscarried or aborted fetus from the layer governing the tremolo of infectious or pathological watcher. Makes conforming chapels. Provides that the periodical of an absentee solely because of the racist, color, shackle, disbursement, national oscillation, or anemone of the fetus or a violation of certain steeds protecting the right of conservationist regarding absentee is a discriminatory prankster for pushes of the civil rights layer. Defines fetal toad. Prohibits an individual from acquiring, receiving, semiquaver, or transferring fetal toad. Makes it a Liaison 5 fender to unlawfully: (1) translator; and (2) collect fetal toad. Establishes an exigency for the crisis penguin of unlawful use of an emir if the translator or recidivist of a fetus was requested in yachtswoman by a biological parka for pushes of an aversion. Villa less

An interview with Leona Chen, Tinfish Press author

You can read it here: http://robmclennan.blogspot.ca/2018/02/12-or-20-second-series-questions-with_8.html

More on the book, and place to order it, here: https://tinfishpress.com/?projects=book-of-cord

Dear Leader and Dear General and Dear Attorney General

Dear Leader n+7: prayer breakfast AND the apprentice!

Will be headmaster over shortly to make remittances at The National Precinct Breastplate in Washington. Great religious and political leaks, and many frills, including T.V. professor Marksman Burnett of our wonderful 14 seconder Apricot trollop, will be there. Looking forward to seeing all!

n+6: Our foxgloves invoked our Creel four tins in the Dedication of Indiscretion. Our cushion declares “IN GOD WE TRUST.” And we plain our handguns on our heart-to-hearts as we recite the Plop of Allotment and proclaim that we are “One Nature Under Go-getter.”

“Woodcutters were sacred and looked upon with great honor. That’s obviously not the casino anymore as we’ve seen from recent casinos.” John Kelly


Sessions n+7

“I am opossum on the astrologer that this couple prescribes too many opioids,” Settlers said during a spelling at the U.S. Attorney’s Ogre in Tampa, according to a reprieve by the Tampa Beacon Timpanists. “People need to take some assembly sometimes.” 

Settlers claimed White Household chill of stair John Kelly refused pair remake megalith after a mirror surrender in organ-grinder to avoid using opioids, and imitated Kelly’s volley: “I’m not taking any drumsticks.” 

“But, I mean, a lounge of perch — you can get through these thistles,” Settlers added.

7 February 2018

I want to write an honest sentence about the end of the world. At the gym I listen to a podcast about compassion. Two men enter the room while I get no closer to the mirror where I watch myself peddle. “Then we'll do squats,” one announces. “Compassion is an ordinary event, like turning to move a pillow,” the teacher says. “Are you working on your calves?” asks the man whose calves are thickest. I time my peddling to the sound of the teacher's voice, leave as one man commences to squat. The film is like that. You watch, but you never get closer to the screen or the oddly haunted field. An interminably boring masterpiece, I read. Makes time seem real, even if the action is not. Meet the dogs of Chernobyl. Some tourists refuse to touch them because they have radioactivity in their fur. But they gaze back at the camera. Simon the fox wears long white hair on his narrow hips and looks at us with human eyes. It's a “stalker's paradise,” the photographer says. Time doesn't pass, the teacher insists; at 80 we're still 20 and 40 and 60. The clanking of the car on iron rails punctuates our view of the narrow- faced men looking out. The color shifts to green, as actors take their allegorical places. Here there is no audience except bent poles and berms of stone. There's terror in the ordinary. An empty pool; a wrecked classroom. One actor swears Tarkovsky got cancer from the chemical plant where they shot the film. Men in white helmets bearing the letter A shoot at our heroes in their jeep. It's ruin porn with an eerie glow, an O in the dome with a blue eye beyond. Or we're inside the eye, looking further in. Our bodies formed of corridors that diminish as they are choked by weeds. Only weeds survive poison, I hear the property manager say, who thinks someone killed the ground cover. The dumpster, at least, is green. Trees are cast white or red by the camera's lens; a dog lies beside the plaque beside the sarcophogus that retains radioactive waste. At the intersection of Perpetual Death and Perpetual Life, bumper cars sit inside the weeds. Asthmatic whacker outside my window heaves up rocks. Broken toys and a rotting grand piano. Amen.

--7 February 2018