A Timeless ‘Ween War Poem

Allegory of the Politics of War and Self in Spiritual Downfall.

From folk inter-cultures of Great Lakes Tribes and Caucasians USA /Canada

By Mr. Kissy Face

saveurass@pondpoem.com

October 6, 2002 land of 15,000 lakes and 10,000 lakes.

Come fiddle with the Devil

and Dance Till Dawn.

Kiss the Horned Serpent

and Skate on the Pond.



Allegory of merry-making, association, and inebriations in conflict with ethics and identity leading to lost friends, family, life, health, belongings, and happiness from acculturation and forced inethics stress. By analogy applied to… and transformed… into a turntable allegory of leadership and war as good as such as when these events supposedly happened from the late eighteenth century to the early twentieth century.

Useful in gauging pre-war with a very sober Iraq drunk on the fundamentalist face of the horned serpent, a malevolent water spirit symbolizing mammon of the cycle of life and death used to by healers to cheat goodness out of evil and heal by proxy, but begging the question of whether either is ethically sound. Caught between cultural oppressive systems of origin and acculturative systems equally or more oppressive, living between both or living with either while bearding the lion (kissing the serpent/skating on the pond) is not always best. A striking out for group individualism ethics of humanitarianism and human rights is better, while a better solution escapes us.

‘Fiddling with the devil’ refers to all night fiddle (folk violin) parties thrown where group hallucinations occurred of the Devil himself showing–up or transfiguring from a striking stranger usually arriving with or grabbing a fiddle and dancing himself. Oral tradition reports that the enchanted and entranced party-goers could not stop dancing like someone was dancing and thinking for them; symbolizing possession take-over from bad association, attachment, or intention somewhere in accumulative supposed sin-debit among party-goers prior to the dance. Fiddle is hallow, a church if it were an instrument, wooden, recalling cathedral forests, instrument of strung ties (self, family, tribe, humanity, ect.) sweet and mournful at an inflection of the bow, the bow being the control by whim of elites. The player is of course the devil himself, ole scratch, para-noir, baba satan; the reflection of our collective evil in concentrate. The fiddle represents what the dance-goers are doing in the ecology of irresponsibility to self, family, tribe, humanity. The dance possession represents not being able to stop by forces that take-over and move and think for us while we panic at knowing it is not us in control. War is such a dance. The devil is a reflection of the party-goers or some association of theirs in concentrate, but more likely the one whom spiked the grog and his associations. Shaming, of course, isn’t always truthful.

‘Dancing till dawn’ is throwing caution to the wind. Kissing the horned serpent is at once accepting the evil and good of nature and all of our demise because both are stronger by human aid. Everybody hates when evil screws up a good time. Its ‘clockwork grog’ instead of ‘clockwork orange’! When did the devil show-up at an all night pow wow instead (that ones for the elders)?

At the foolishness of the irresponsibility of humans, the evil of the other-side spirit world comes thru to join-in for sake of fear-making, warning of ill soul-making in progress, warning of impending indenture with evil aura’ed beings like himself. Or it could have been a drug in the alcoholic beverage for purposes of fear-mongering and social control by the druggers toward the drugees. Marxist theory and traditional culture in the perspective of liberation theory might be a good inoculation against bathwater of two cultures.

Skating on the Pond refers to cosmology of the underworld separated by ice and only for one season per year may we skate upon it. Limnology is a science of inland and usually freshwater ecology of usually closed systems the are born, age, and die; that are pure or polluted; that are productive or sterile; that turn-over bottom strata (for nutrient mixing) to the top near equinoxes in great fecundal/fundal (great productivity) turbidity (murky water of suspended solid particles) usually and stay stratified near solstices; that describes dynamics of thermoclines (strata of heat), pictnoclines (strata of density), haloclines (strata of salt concentrations). For a time, a place where we can be king and queen of the soup inverted mountain of flux, and soup-free skate upon the soup on a frozen protective buffer. Inherent in metaphor, you can only beat the devil and home of the horned serpent for a time, at all other times you must engage him or stay away.

Should we shun war or kiss war, skate upon war or engage war,…… fiddle with war or dance with war. All paths do not lead to the great horned serpent, the pond of political unrest, reflected narcissisms, nor manipulative runaway wars. Also skating on the pond makes skaters too brave, sanguine-shared advice from experienced skaters.

But then I’m not offering you or humanity an alternative, just like the devil and the horned serpent. Maybe you can.

Happy Ween War! Trick or Retreat.

for your analogy:

i could be stinking

or i could be free

what al gore doesn’t know

is in W’s tea

W’s tea is full of rank

from dino arabeecia

to Columbian crank

so pull up your skirt

and kiss your fatigues

desert de’sert

trick or re-league.

trick or retreat

retreat or re-league

our moneys on you

for oil and meges.

savurass at tilde pond poem

tiny is muse at finale blow-upem

suicide bombers

humpty craft

the witch is loose

and up your ….

if mary popins could lead a barricade

we still have war but at a nicer ‘cade.



humpty bumpty to the pond we go

a ‘Ween War for you

from sombody’s snow.

a ‘Ween war for you

a ‘Ween war for them

all the dictator’s scare’abs

all the W’s free terr’abs.

whether jihad or bezhoo (secretive spying lynx)

water or land

a monsters a’loose

and it’s on more than sand.

stick to the taiga

run with the shoot

grab ur canoe

at da bottom of da moot.

don’t go enlist

don’t go fuel the war

learned bald men

need fodder and song.

fodder and song

make blood and tac’q

the windigos a’howling

for incredulous amounts of young sack.

(that’s multi-racial part)

if you’re a nob

if you’re a’kota

bed-arabs and oil sticks

has an endless quota (death count)

1 percent is encouraged to apply

to vacuum the dead and honor the fly

honor the fly that ate ur date

honor the fly to your disproportionate slate.

live long and prosper

pre-cambrian vulcans we’ll stay

the shield is a skull

with moss to no poe pot’s name

haunted a ween war

haunted you’ll stay

forever a limb

forever a day

when the fly sends children

instead of much older me

they’re sick little goslings

that nobody needs.