Sunday, April 20, 2014


Government is commerce; commerce is government.

The state props those pillars

and the publick?

(well, we’re the tillers)

“Ah so,” says I looking at the news, and who’s axe it grinds


ox it gores,

 “what else can do the job?”

I have no answer yet but the historical/DNA records.

And that, and that highlights the inbred insanity

inbred, of the same, from the same group we spread

legs walking from Africa to the tip of the Americas

the same family,

And, I wonder why? What’s wrong with me?

We keep doing the same thing and

We expect a change in the outcum?

And I am part and a partaker of this madness.

My commerce is meshed with all the others

as we entreat for peace and still go to war,

any difference?

Only electricity, only electricity.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Pesto Carbonarea


1 12 oz. bag of cranberries

1 bunch of cilantro

1 bunch of green onions cut into 3-inch lengths

1 jalapeno pepper seeded and minced

2 limes juiced

¾ cup of sugar

1 pinch of salt

 Blended in a processor fitted with a medium blade. Chop to medium consistency. 

Refrigerate if not using immediately.

Pesto Carbonarea looked at his mother’s most loved recipe. It was always a show 

stopper. The Pope was in a secret meeting between the ambassador from the alien 

invasion feet and one or two heads of state.

“Pesto,” said the Pope. “I need one of your best dips for this meeting. I’m not sure 

what will come of this but no matter we must save the Holy Church and its people. I 

have our cooks working on the best meals from each of their countries. You’re a bit 

different. You combine North America, South America and native America. Please 

make me a great dip that we all can love. Maybe they will take mercy upon us.”

Pesto Carbonarea presented his Cranberry Salsa with great flourish. It was perfect.


Pesto looked at the recipe again, the spilled dip and the alien ambassador dead on 

the floor. “Oh my lord I’m so sorry I had no idea my dip would kill it. Oh lord forgive 

me.” He was on his knees crying.

The Pope, his two military advisor-astronomers looked down at the dead 

ambassador. General Medici asked, “What did he say? Can anyone translate what it


The American president’s advisor looking up from his code book said, “The best 

I can make out is, “Shit, green spice food. They poisoned me. How did they get to 

know our secrets?”

The End