Side of heavenly Sputnik;
Chang’e lifts her veils
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
We explore the dark
Side of heavenly Sputnik; Chang’e lifts her veils [ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
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Sing, goddess, the hope
Of everyone who ever Failed but tried again [ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ] The city of Elizabeth, New Jersey, United States, recently secured state funding to construct a processing plant for horse-meat. A lean, tender, and slightly sweet meat, the plant plans to ship its culinary delicacies to populations in the greater New York metropolitan area whose cultures and traditions embrace it. Although the use of horses for food is illegal in several U.S. states, Edible Equine Holdings Ltd., which will operate the plant, says that it’s time opinions changed. “There’s no rational reason to eat cows and goats but not horses,” according to a company press release. The plant’s slaughtering facility will receive shipments of horses from farms in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, and New York.
“In 732 C.E., Pope Gregory III banned the eating of horses in an effort to stamp out Germanic pagan ceremonies,” said food scientist Dr. Shiu Wen Ha of the American School of Gastronomy and Culinary Design, in Wanborough, Connecticut. “Now, in the year 2017, in the USA, it’s time to set aside Early Medieval notions and embrace the consumption of flesh from all animals.” Priestesses of Epona, a horse goddess of ancient Europe, could not be reached for comment, as they no longer exist. americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan There was little she could do to help, Nuuzstathena reminded herself, whereupon she settled back onto her shield, legs crossed in full lotus, or shuang-pan.
She knew that some of her sister goddesses, especially Guanyin, were better able to penetrate the layers of suffering that gripped the hearts and clouded the minds of humans alive during this dark age, the compassion of the many-eyed one a bright beam to pierce the seas of darkened woe. Nuuzstathena excelled at wisdom, trickery, and the use of force to benefit mankind; quiet words and soothing touches were largely beyond her ken. Which is why the grey-eyed one sat the way she did, waiting for man to set aside his love of the blind wrath of Ares, waiting for him to choose a brighter path, one not bathed in rivers of blood. Perched upon her lap was her spear, Reason, to which all men must eventually listen. americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan This one will be short and this one will be brief - three cheers for our goddess Denta of the Teeth! Her tools are tongue scraper and toothbrush and floss; of wisdom’s rear molars she’s long been the boss; she rewards each person who’s good at mouth-cleaning by helping him live a long life filled with meaning. Now lift up those bristles that mouthwash raise high in hopes that our tooth-loving goddess will spy these good daily efforts with which we do hope to reach the smooth side of life’s slippery slope.
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑 She’d bring hope in segments - one scrap at a time - then sit back to watch her good work there unwind. At first it was laughter just one or two bits that soon led to everyone balled up in fits. Second she sent fuzzies to warm and delight that did seem to linger most all through the night. Third it was deep restfulness during which she’d tend to each and every hurt thirst want and need. Her labors completed she would hurry back to perch in her high-mountain chilling-time shack and wait there for the crack of next morning’s dawn when back down amongst us she’ll hurry and come.
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑 Her temple’s a cubby or similar nook done up with white fabric and at least one book into which is then placed a candy or two a lit stick of incense and one ribbon (blue). Do reuse the ribbon (the goddess won’t mind so long as if too frayed it’s replaced in kind) and keep clean this space - it’s a thought-arena endowed to her majesty Nuuzstathena. From such a small space she’s been known to lend aid upon persons who to her prayers just made as well as to others who know of her not who never turned to her a moment of thought. Impartial and courteous, truthful and still, she helps us to swallow life’s more bitter pills she treats all us humans as objects of love which she does watch over from her perch above. With chant and bell-ringing with dance and with song her followers prance leap and frolic along their voices adoring their ribbons unfurled to share her good teachings with all of the world.
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥 Long has she watched over fair Grigovia – our welcoming mother bright Ma'atronya. She holds to her bosom great bundles of wheat and full cornucopia lie at her feet and a healthy child sits there on her lap who looks like he'd just woken up from a nap. First mentioned in the ancient Edda of Grie from one thousand thirty and two B.C.E. her rein's not been shaken by harshness or drought or when there was bounty and plenty about. With blessings and mercy she comforts the weak and few are the comforting words that she speaks but when they are spoken they can't be unheard for hers are some lasting and powerful words. In every home altar she takes up a space she helps us our problems with fortitude face she helps us remember what we've long forgot – that none of our efforts are ever for naught. We praise and uplift her on every full moon for hers is a fertile mysterious womb where dream hope and passion do enter and stay and go grow to fruition with each passing day. On the equinoxes we praise her once more by draping bright garlands from window and door by hugging each other and passing out food to each needy mother to each vagrant dude. Come join in the warmness of this quiet mother who loves and protects us like no one no other in this land of happiness this patria whose glory endures thanks to Ma'atronya.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Arise and be merry – the Goddess alights; she's come now to cure us of hate want and fright. We open our 3rd eyes and 4th chakra hearts; a few here are advanced, some stand at the start; it's crucial to know that all healing takes time, that decades of habit don't stop on a dime. To sacrifice daily of time wealth and love helps each one among us to rise up above the dictates of greediness sadness and fear which in modern cultures are always too near. We thus turn to One with a new agenda, to mighty and majestic Nuuzstathena; She teaches compassion and patience and care, for Hers is a glory merciful and fair. Sit therefore down quietly, utter no sound, but make the breath deep with the rump on the ground and curse not the vagrant or negative thought – instead keep the present with all that you've got. The anus should be loose not clenched or pulled up, the fingers and toes should be spread not balled up, then after a day or a month or a year you will start to notice the retreat of fear, the ending of dark thoughts and long sleepless nights, the dawning of clarity calmness and light.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There once was a goddess, the Maiden of Spring, who did a most curious and mischievous thing – she holed herself up in a dank sodden cave enraptured by a handsome, dastardly knave. He'd spied her when life was beginning to teem, out walking in snowbanks from which budded green, and trapped her with cunning and love's sweet promise without even gracing her lips with a kiss. Forthwith to his light-starved and troglodyte lair is where he then took her, the Maiden so fair, and fed her with roots that grew deep down below until field and mountain was covered in snow. Our heroine then yearned to make her escape, to see the broad sunlit vast upper landscapes; she slipped from the grasps of her erstwhile lover to walk in the snowy fields sewing clover. As soon as the hot sun and warm winds did blow she longed her dark paramour once more to know and crept without making e'en one undue sound back down to his hidey-hole far underground. It's there that she winters and shelters from Fall until she is tugged pulled compelled dragged and called once more to the surface her deeds there to do, to make life erupt again, verdant and new.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 She won't be heard coming, with licks cleans herself, is curious, cunning, and likes a high shelf. She climbs in the treetops, has no fear of height, can see well in darkest day and brightest night. Her hearing's exquisite, her sense of smell too, she'll play with the laces that hang from a shoe, she is always watching and can simply vanish as if she'd been from this our universe banished. We honor her coming by petting her fur, by pulling out insects and prickers and burrs, we cherish our Goddess whose love transcends caste, come join us and celebrate slender Oumbast.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Now here is a list of the Goddesses Ten, who help and assist many women and men. It starts with Amahamor love-filled and pretty who works in most every hamlet and city. Then cometh a long-time and bold favorite, the captor-escaping, lovely Aprodit. Dah'zhou is by alphabet the next in line; hers are those who make proper use of their time. There follows a goddess who laughs when we yawn – the maiden of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn. We'll throw roadways-goddess now into the mix, the ant-headed patroness, wise Ganestryx. Mu'untha she shines with the light of the moon, her rhythm and tugging sets our mortal tune. Nuuzstathena stands powerful, tall, there are few among us immune to her thrall. Oestre ushers in the first days of Spring, for female fertility is her main thing. Oumbast can be found in most bodies feline, she cleans herself often and purrs all the time. Majestic Steppe Mother, she's last but not least, her wards are growing things and wind-gusts and beasts. We've come to the end of our patroness list, it's not too extensive but provides some gist, they make a most beautiful, colorful blend, each one of our powerful Goddesses Ten.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Her body is human but here's a strange slant – her head's been replaced by the skull of an ant. Her mother she did it a long time ago, did knock off her head with a single swift blow, to prove to the daughter just who was the boss, then into hellfire the dome-piece did toss. Soon Ghali felt sorry to cause such cruel harm, did reach out with one of her thousands of arms, did pluck from an army of ants passing by the shapeliest carapace that she could spy. Then she placed said carapace on the bare stalk and told poor Ganestryx to stand up and walk, then breathed some life into her daughter's limp form whose heart started pumping whose flesh became warm. Ants are known as masters of roads and pathways; the moving of resources consumes their days; they undertake projects regardless of size; to protect each other they lay down their lives. Ganestryx she shelters and watches over vagabonds, travelers, all types of rovers, all persons who venture beyond hearth and home, who leave, bounce, skedaddle, who wander and roam. So next time when planning to head for the hills, to leave behind worries, possessions, and bills, remember to include in your prayer mix a plea to our patroness, fair Ganestryx.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The walls of the temple do resound and glow with each of the old songs of power we know. We're calling to all of the Goddesses Ten and asking them kindly to heal and to mend the schisms that plaque us and cause us to weep, that rob us of honor and long, blessed sleep. Their teachings provoke us to let go of grudges, to forgive all errors and missteps and fudges, to stay in the present, the here and the now, to clear from our memories all ancient rows. With them we can manage to keep our thoughts righteous, to speak only kind things to those who might fight us, to maintain our truthfulness and not to waver when tempted with rich and delectable flavors. Our bodies are made but for a short-term stay, our spirits just renting this weak, mortal clay, that's composed of star-dust and suns long burnt out, that's given to sicknesses – cancer and gout. In truth we're eternal, we shan't know an end, so lay down your arms and come hug us, dear friends, and share with us a peaceful moment or four, and praise with us patroness – matron and whore.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Oh Goddesses help me to clear out this dross, to mourn for my vast gentle innocence lost, to forgive those people who harm and abuse, to know that I've truly got nothing to lose. I now count my blessings, and cherish my health, I'm learning to be kind to and love myself, for that is the purpose of life, I have found, all that one must learn prior to bedding down, in a piney box six feet deep underground. Please carry me, Ladies, along this my path, and stay for the moment Fate's powerful wrath, for I am your servant, your ward, and your son, a dastardly fool if there ever was one. Huzzah.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There's not much more to it, I daresay I've found, than sticking a bit of wood into the ground, or erecting monoliths, small though they be, or hanging some rolled-up twigs onto a tree. Grigovian goddesses take what they can, knowing that all the best efforts of man do sometimes fall short of the outcomes intended, for they only care that the homefront's defended. The goddesses fancy not churches or pageants, priests droning on and on chasing down tangents, sycophants, hangers-on, gem-stones or gold, groups of new converts or ones getting old. All our fair maidens, the Goddesses Ten, who shelter the lowly and brighten our ken, are simple to pray to and easy to please, preferring us standing to down on our knees. It is hard to battle and drive away foes, when wearing too fancy or delicate clothes, so leave off with fashion and don something that you don't care gets torn, ripped, or covered with scat. To please them be watchful, and ready to act, against us the odds will most surely be stacked, so open those peepers and keep your hand steady while praising their greatness, always at the ready.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Grigovian goddesses, everywhere, in meadows and treetops and under the stairs, so many that even the priests can't keep track, fair beauties who make up for what humans lack. They simply keep coming, and showing up new, which leaves us poor mortals but one thing to do: accept them and puzzle out some of their ways, then set aside for them their own holidays, then keep up with sacrifice, prayers, and chants, while wearing our jackets and cravats and pants. We preen and we dress up, we wear well-made threads, lest goat tractor sibling should one day fall dead, struck down by a goddess, her confidence flawed, whom we'd never worshiped, who'd not left us awed. We labor to please them, we do all we can, we hang fragrant garlands and strike up the band, we hope though that one day there may be enough, that we might get back to our business and stuff. We love them regardless, we're glad that they're here, the new ones and those that have blessed us for years, we'll lift to the heavens vociferous praise, until our last moments, the end of our days.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There is an old story, I know just a bit, about an old goddess, Grig's own Aprodit. Brought up in a valley immune to stray gazing she'd learned about friendship and animal grazing from an older shepherd-girl who stealthily could run across rockfall and swiftly climb trees. (This older companion could easily be, her shape-shifting highness, the fair Athene.) While seeking a lamb-chop swept off in a gale, our young Aprodit left her protective vale, got waylaid by wood-fellers, knotted and roped, abused with foul language and sat on and groped. 'Enough,' she said calmly, 'release me anon.' Her captors they jeered though, made laughter, and fun. She gave no more warnings, she'd treated them fair, she summoned her courage and focused her glare, then with a quick gesture she cut through her ropes while grasping a tiny blade found in her coats, then leaped up and threw off her mantles and norms, revealing to mankind her beautiful forms. So awestruck and smitten were all the men there, that past and amongst them she moved without care. Taking in her new-found station she uttered a proclamation: 'There you tremble, little shits, amazed and awed at Aprodit, she whom you tried to rape and torture, kill and maim, feed to the vultures, who now stands before you strong, cursing you to love her form while night is long and days are warm – know no love from any other, not from sister, friend, or mother.' Cursed they were the foolish fellers to short lives consumed by fits, lost in amour, pining always, for radiant Aprodit.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Consider now Dah'zhou, who tends to the fate, of persons who snooze a lot and sleep in late. Her role is not major, she mostly stays in, for we in Grigovia find it a sin, to lounge and to slumber, to waste away days, to wake up hung-over, all curdled and dazed. Her culture is friendly, as is her one rite (perform it alone, just before bed, at night): clean up your area, tidy the room, then set aside cellphone and worry and broom, and take a few moments to calm yourself down, and start breathing deeply from anus to crown. While breathing and sitting then think of your day, of all of the labor and comfort and play, be thankful and grateful and say then aloud, with countenance lifted and voice strong and proud: 'Today is now over, tomorrow awaits, I'll spend it quite happily manning the gates, defending the homeland and neighbor alike, from mountain to valley, from rooftop to dike, or painting a picture, or writing a song, please help me, oh Dah'zhou, to wake up 'ere long, to welcome her majesty, rose-fingered Dawn, to spring to my labors and never complain, until to my slumbers I return again.”
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Her whiskers now etch at now taste from the soul, her power is mighty and does not grow old. She works from the shadows, she shies from the light, her lives they are many, her footfall is slight. Her texture is moonlight and nightfall and dusk, she smells like rose petals tinged slightly with musk. Her fans they are legion, her cult it still grows, her temples get fashioned from palm leaves and snows. She loves to be petted, and to be picked up, come bask in her glory and drink from her cup. Although she is patient there's no time to lose, so cease with your slumber and strap on some shoes, so come to our party – we promise a blast – rejoice as we celebrate Lady Oumbast.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Bewhiskered and graceful and silent and fast, is our dearest goddess, the cat-like Oumbast. At hearth-side and gutter, from rooftop and stair, her friend felis catus now scampers, now glares, now curls up against us in one furry heap, now fills up its daytime with eating and sleep. We sacrifice entrails, the best and the last, to war-like, protective, and gracious Oumbast; her ointments we slather, her salves and creams too, they protect from diseases such as the flu; her vision we cherish, her watch day and night, she keeps away demons and lessens our fright. Now pet you a kitten now raise you your glass, and toast to magnificent Lady Oumbast.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The posse had lost him, below the last pass, with speed stealth and cunning he'd slipped them at last. Now pushing through snow-bank now hacking through brush, our man reached the valley to which he'd just rushed. Therein stood a cottage, a one-roomed abode, with a well-made ceiling and outside commode. He paused for a moment, before going in, and called up to Mercy, but deaf to his cries, she'd just stepped outside, so great was his sin. Forgive me, forgive me, he cried out aloud, consumed now by memory's blackening shroud. A goddess she heard him, and sped there forthwith, to sample his essence and read of his shrift. This mortal is guilty, his path ends tonight, said Nuuzstathena, her countenance bright; his death will be painless, I'll do it alone, by morning his lifeblood will pool on the stone. She watched as he entered and tidied the room, then showered his essence with feelings of doom. My life it is over, he said without fright; for just as my victims I shan't see next light. He worked up a fire, and took off his clothes, and bathed himself fully from forehead to toes; then dressed himself lightly and strapped on his sword, then put out the fire and made for a peak, to prove himself to be a man of his word. As if he'd been flown there he climbed to a ledge, an outcrop of granite, a perilous edge. He stood there defiant and out came his blade, at which point a beam of light pierced through the shade, and blinded and dazzled and clawed at his eyes, the last glimpse of sunlight to brighten the skies. And just then sang Nuuzstathena her song, to rob him of feeling and see him along. With nary a whimper and barely a thud, he mangled his body and poured out his blood, and soon came to rest on the rocks far below, made free of his torment, consumed by the snow.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 |
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