The Muse's Advisory typed & spellchecked by Tom Riordan
Staying Afloat - Muse's Advisory, Aug 14 – Tom
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- Navigate this page:
- Divination - Muses Advisory, Aug 15 – Euterpe
- The Green Scapular 76 - Muses Advisory, Aug. 16 – Robert A. Macdonald, C.Ss.R. (approved by Pope Pius IX Cardinal Shehan), verbatim
- Timepiece - Muses Advisory, Aug. 17 – Polimnia
- What Became of Shaka (found poem) - Muses Advisory, Aug. 18 – Mr. Solomon Ndebele
- Busy Hands - Muses Advisory, Aug. 19 – John Cantell, on onionskin and Elizabeths diet pills
- Classified Transcript VL8364 (Israeli Intelligence Steering Committee) - Muses Advisory, Aug. 20 - Polimnia
- Purpose Honed by Perplexity - Muses Advisory, Aug. 21 - محمد محمد الأمير عوض السيد عطا Muḥammad Muḥammad al-Āmir ‘Awaḍ as-Sayyid ‘Aṭṭa:
- Everyone a Writer - Muses Advisory, Aug. 22 – Foxy Israeli Hackerchik 1 @fine_line@UPenUp.com / Foxy Israeli Hackerchik 2 @penzu.com
- Brothers - Muses Advisory, Aug. 23 – Saudi 1
- Brothers 2 - Muses Advisory, Aug 24 – Saudi 2
- Grand Opening I - Muses Advisory, Aug. 25 – Zeus
Staying Afloat - Muse's Advisory, Aug 14 – Tom: Nikos, Nikos, I've lost my impetus, 1800 lines into your opus— Odysséas still at home, his father walking in the morning with his nurse. (Half-hearted readers of this hunk-a-junk tiptoeing from the room.) I'll give it to the end of your Book II? If I'm still bored, we part as friends, like Laërtes and living? I hope Odysséas's son re-enters your poem. You had no kids, but Telemachus is the richest character. He appears! His bride arrives by boat
but the proud youth, stung, is ripe to take up arms and drain his father's life. They meet, trade speech, Odysséas acknowledges the kingly man whose fathering he shunned, then lays beside his luckless wife once more, and creeps down to his waiting ship at dawn. III.
God sent a gentle shower on earth to cool the hairy fists that pull at oars in open sea... Divination - Muse's Advisory, Aug 15 – Euterpe: Just 300,000 steps to the top of the line, Tom. We nine are throwing honing casting drawing flipping playing dice skills lots straws coins rock paper & scissors to decide who kisses you with that last wisp of inspiration. The jackals at the door are dead, odds-makers pulling in their shingles, milkmaids twiddling fingers at all hours of the night. The verdict is you just might win. The Green Scapular #76 - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 16 – Robert A. Macdonald, C.Ss.R. (approved by Pope Pius IX & Cardinal Shehan), verbatim: Years ago, before penicillin was in use... I was in a hospital with pneumonia. I began to hemorrhage... and a little nun came into my room. “Father, do you have great faith... in the Mother of God's Immaculate Heart? You can be cured... through the Green Scapular! I was once so filled with cancer... they sent me away to die. Then I prayed to Our Lady of the Green Scapular!” She put one over my head. Tremendous confidence poured into me. My bleeding stopped! Two days later, in the X-ray room... they asked when the hemorrhage stopped. When I told them... they expressed great surprise: “You have a wound that is six months healed... and there is no other mark!” Heretic's Note: Before penicillin was first used in the early 1940's, X-rays that could indicate when blood vessels had healed were miraculous indeed! Timepiece - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 17 – Polimnia: Menarche struck us rapid-fire like locusts hitting a cornfield under the same blue moon that embezzled Homer's vision. Again, in Byron's day, the two-faced tide returned to rip our wombs. What's left to aging spinsters now except extinction? We scan each waxing face for signs his hand is rising a third time, set to reap all nine of us with one sweep of thin surgical steel, but he hasn't reappeared. Unbearded boys have shone on us while poets howled as if their marble buttocks lent la lune its smirk. We'll know his murderous cheeks because they're cadmium, not chalk dust— his diction exact— bared fangs meticulous. It was 3,000,000 days between the first and second time he came to slit our viscera, so we have hope that many centuries remain for idling aesthetically. When he does shriek, keen to rake our eighteen haunches with his eyeteeth, there'll be no more subtlety. What Became of Shaka (found poem) - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 18 – Mr. Solomon Ndebele: Date: Tue 2/15/11 9:08 AM From: solo4400@att.net To: Mr. Tom Riordan Subject: Late Martin Ndebele's Refinery Co-operation Company in Zimbabwe Hello Dear, I found your contact address, using the Country search.
Thunderer-while-sitting, son of Menzi, He was the bird that preys on other birds. He was among the many blacks murdered in cold blood by President Robert Mugabe during the big land dispute that disturbs Zimbabwe. I need your urgent assistance because of a Sum Of US$11.5 Million that my late father deposited in a private securities company here in South Africa before his untimely death. Before being murdered by Mugabe, he owned a rich refinery company and ran a fruitful farm. Battle-ax sharper than other battle-axes, The long-strided pursuer, son of Ndaba, Who pursued the sun and the moon. I cannot transfer this money myself, since we Refugees here in South Africa are not allowed to operate accounts or do any business. You and I will be partners when you receive the total fund. A good friend of my late father is a bank Manager here and promises to transfer this fund to any Nominated bank account abroad as soon as I find an International partner to help me avoid losing the fund left by my father. Great hubbub like the rocks of Nkandla Where elephants gathered for shelter When the heavens frowned. l will send my refugee Identity Documents and my late father's Death Certificate, so you can verify everything about me and my family. l want you to be honest with me and to please reply to me using this email address: sol.ndebele@gala.net. I await your Response and I pray that you are an honest trustable Gentleman. Regards, Mr. Solomon Ndebele [slice/dice of scam email & traditional Zulu praise song, trans. E. Mphahlele] Busy Hands - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 19 – John Cantell, on onionskin and Elizabeth's diet pills: God said: Tonight I'd like to truly clarify who Jesus is. I know it's confusing to be told, both, that He is Me and that He's my son. Admittedly, He doesn't seem like Me to Me either. He has a distinct voice and look, and a very distinct point of view about your mutiny. It's easier to see Him as my son than as Me proper. But "both/and" and "either/or" do exist side by side. God said: In my state of quantum simultaneity, the Me who didn't assume a human body exists side by side with the Me that did assume a human body—Christ. Assuming a human body is purposeful, corporeal Me must differ from the simultaneous non-corporeal Me. You're not exactly the same when swimming as you are when reading a book, yet you were exactly one person before you decided which thing to do; you're exactly one person doing either activity; ergo, you're exactly the same person even when you're different. God said: OK, I'm boring the shit out of Myself here! This kind of lengthy lecturing is more Jesus's style. I should let Him finish it. I'm actually a bit pressed for time anyway. I still have to put away the dishes. Well, not Me, but actually John, who is writing this down for Me, because at this point in time, none of my three persons has an actual hand there on earth, though Jesus still does have a physical body seated right here at my right hand—which is metaphorical— because if I had hands locatable on any kind of axis, 'right' and 'left' couldn't describe the vast complexity of the sort of axis my hands would be locatable on. Jesus said: I thought He was doing pretty well there, didn't you?—for a God of so few words? The silent type, unused to public speaking? He's okay, actually. I'm okay, I should say, since I'm Him. I'm the talker, and He's a listener—well, quiet, anyway. The Spirit is also Us. He says nothing at all, but the folks He visits all get crazy talkative! Oops, I'm slapping My own knee now, look. All three of Our right hands are having a round-robin slapping One Another's knees. Aren't I actually droller than you were led to expect? Jesus said: So, Numero Uno pretty much covered it. I'm the one who had the human body, I redeemed you, I love and forgive you totally. Let's not get into what it is you did wrong. Yadda, yadda. The main thing now is just to wait for My display next month. I guarantee you, you're all going to be like, Whoa! Classified Transcript VL8364 (Israeli Intelligence Steering Committee) - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 20 - Polimnia: “M”: The last thing we need's a new loose cannon in the North American theatre. Sure, today it's just a modest smokehouse in a smallish city in the United States, but haven't we learned anything about front businesses and impeccable covers? We've got to neutralize him while we can. “B”:
technology is a very risky proposition both politically and militarily. What if it falls into American hands, or worse, Peace Now? And what about collateral damage— some Dutch Calvinist eating burnt tips, God forbid, gets caught in the crossfire? “Z”:
We have always been able to rely on Yeshua's word as the gold standard, no? Do you remember in 2006 when he vouched for the Black-Eyed Peas in Tel Aviv? Was that not a concert for the ages? Who saw Yossi Shalev's 'Headphone Party' video on YouTube? “M”:
will.i.am was a real threat to the State of Israel? Moron! But Zeus has made more fucking trouble already than all the hiphop stars and Arabs combined! We must do something to stop him at all costs! I have, right here in my hand, a recently commissioned White Paper from our Western Michigan Chamber of Commerce. It concludes—I quote—'There is zero' — that is their italics— 'zero market for another smoked ribs restaurant in Greater Grand Rapids.' Your harmless little old geriatric god? He's clearly playing all of us for fools! “B”:
The risk is simply too great to ignore. Let's use those ultra-foxy hackerchiks that took down the Iranians' atomics—I want to pin another fucking medal onto both their chests, you hear me? Tell them to pack their satin nighties. Gas up that airport limo with the Bose speakers and tinted bulletproof glass. We assemble at 6, codeword hickory. Purpose Honed by Perplexity - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 21 - محمد محمد الأمير عوض السيد عطا Muḥammad Muḥammad al-Āmir ‘Awaḍ as-Sayyid ‘Aṭṭa: I'm turning 33 in 10 more days. I won't grow much older. Yeshua gave up life at 33. As an infant He spent one night a hundred meters from the hut where I grew up in Nile-suckled Kafr el-Sheikh. The ancient Crocodilopolite who sold Yeshua's mother pita at the souk bore witness that He uttered verses at 3 months of age. Even then, He knew the hour of His death. He too could never take a bride. The Prophet, on the other hand, at 33 was just an ordinary husband. All-loving Allah candled him so long. When I tell my Saudi morons why skyscrapers are demonic, they nod their heads like cows— how pleasantly stupid they are! Strange that these are the men I am entering Paradise with. I can't wait to escape them. I look forward to rebirth in a place with less perplexity. I yearn for tamarisk bowls filled with fresh and savory home-cooked food again. Everyone a Writer - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 22 – Foxy Israeli Hackerchik 1 @fine_line@UPenUp.com / Foxy Israeli Hackerchik 2 @penzu.com: 1
I first met him in Haifa. I wanted a boat to Crete and went down to the port. It was almost lunchtime and dark, about to rain. Strong winds flung sea spray at the small café. Its glass doors were shut tight. Someone touched my shoulder, lightly, from behind. “Call me Ishmael,” he said, and grinned. “Are you looking for a boat?” he asked. “Heraklion,” I said. “That won't be cheap.” “Do I look cheap?” It was the start of a beautiful friendship. His real name, it turns out, was a state secret: he actually did go by “Ishmael”—Ishmael Levitz, owner-operator of an open-sea ferry for hire called the Saint Judith. He had the lightest blue eyes, set in the darkest tan, I'd ever seen. When he laughed, which he did pretty frequently, his face... You all can guess the rest of the story. Chock full of realistic details. Two hyper-patriotic agents team up to foil the Cypriot arms smuggler or the would-be Palestinian martyr who will settle for the bare cell of a common criminal—something like that. If you've read my other stuff, you know I actually am a commando in real life. This evening, I am starting a mission, and so I will be incommunicado again, for who knows how long. Who knows if I'll return at all? So this next paragraph may be the last. (What can it possibly say, to live up to that?) Feel free to finish it yourself, if I don't get the chance... ...assumed such a tortured shape, I felt a desperate urge to look away. It was the deeply sorrowful lines into which his face otherwise relaxed that would ultimately wring out every sort of moisture that my body hid. 2 Off we go to Xxx, cover story: xxx xxxs in our target's new xxx xxx in Xxx Xxx, Xxx. Xxx always flirts with Xxx so shamelessly in his pimped-out limo, and I as usual will be embarrassed for her. But when will she look my way? The target is Xxx. Why? Who ever knows? But these guys have kept the Xxx of Xxx afloat for many decades now, so they must actually know what they're doing. As usual, we will share a motel room. We always try to book two double beds, but the last time, they said all they could give us was one king. I said something like “Why fight it?” and Xxx looked at me thoughtfully, as if thinking, "Is there a double meaning?" I was so hot for her that night as we undressed, I thought, "How is it that she can't see it?" But if she did, she kept it to herself, and in the morning we put our street clothes back on and went out like two robots and xxxed a xxx. What will happen in Xxx? Love? Xxx? Or will my heart give out this time from all its wondering and wanting? Brothers - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 23 – Saudi 1: I'm sick of watching Taxi Driver over and over. I know a comedy's too much to ask of Atta, but why not rent another film that cryptically exposes Jews like Silence of the Lambs or Grapes of Wrath, to break up the monotony? My brother says the cinema in heaven is unblemished by disgust. The camerawork is always dignified; the scores are riveting— you'd never dream of getting up to leave, even to piss— which, luckily, nobody must. The popcorn bucket top-to-bottom keeps a perfect saltiness, has no hard kernels, and replenishes itself. The Coca-Cola doesn't water down or lose its soft, sweet fizz. As the day creeps closer, I flush with a bliss known only to a younger brother who has promised to relieve his elder brother's spiritual distress. Allah was merciful, and the healer in Medina wise to recommend we contact Atta, a talib with vicious thorns inside his heart, but surely guides us toward paradise. For that, I obey him and call him a hero. Still, I don't know if I can bear another moment of De Niro. Brothers 2 - Muse's Advisory, Aug 24 – Saudi 2: Our donkey hates skyscrapers, like the movie guy hates cities. My brother says, “Keep focussed on jihad. We're almost there.” “We're almost where?” I ask. “Allah provides,” he says. Allah who provides everything. For 28 years, Allah has fed both pain and wonder to Waleed. It's not enough that he should live a modest, ordinary life. “In this existence,” Waleed says, “He gives us signposts to the next, where He'll provide the rest. We're almost there, Wa'il.” I hope he's right. Waleed has faith, but he was also sure about the ruqya healer in Medina. My pain is nothing next to knowing what he undergoes on my behalf. What kind of life is that? I hope it's true Allah prepares him something better. Grand Opening I - Muse's Advisory, Aug. 25 – Zeus: I'm glad the faithless floozie didn't show! The shamelessness of these Israeli mata haris turns me on like nothing else! That they are spies, even assassins, only blows a bellows on my passions! If I'm interpreting their brazen flirting right, I think tonight is going to be the night! They may know who I am—my dossier— but they have no idea what I can do. Assassin 2 has got a major jones for 1, but when I'm done with both of them the straightie's going to wish she'd let the lesbie lap her dish. Do they imagine I'm some doddering old lech? Let's open up the doors and sling our hash: come closing time, I'll tally up the cash, then teach my Shannon twins who's boss. The odor of the meats is sweet— an ideal avocation for a god, to bathe in blood and smoke and watch as humans sit and eat! Damn Jews have had it in for me for— how long now? Two dozen centuries? What did I ever do to them? It's my fault Romans occupied Jerusalem? The Jewess I deflowered was some gem, their princes lined up at her door? Why don't they bring the Christians down a rung: “It wasn't our Jehovah who made Miriam a mom— it was that infamous and loathsome Greek Don Juan!” It's like they're proud, in secret, that Yeshua their arch-nemesis arose full-blooded from their seed. Maybe it makes it less embarrassing, Jehovah being just a straw god they set up to feed their daydreams of superiority. I've roamed the earth and sky since Day 1 dawned. My brothers range the seas, and hell. There isn't any rival god unless his tent's pitched on the dark side of the moon or he's immured himself inside a benthic sulfur vent. Here come the girls. O, what a fine, fine day this promises to be! Not just for me, but for Grand Rapids too. Today it beats back Lansing and Toledo's pity: any local yokel west of Philly knows a town without a single smokehouse has a lot of nerve to call itself a city. Directory: files files -> Answer True False 2 points Question 2 files -> Integer programming and game theory files -> 4 Integer Programming files -> Bpa vehicle Window Repair Scenario #1 task: Procure vehicle window relacement. Objective files -> Pop Warner History files -> North Carolina Inclusion Initiative Mapping Where Children with ieps are Being Served Purpose files -> Fall 2013 Spring 2014 Program Data: Standard 1 Exhibit 4d files -> Hanban – asia society confucius classrooms network 2010 request for proposal files -> Northern England’s set-jetting locations Download 1.87 Mb. Share with your friends:
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