Killing Grandpa (2)

Corvidae as the crow flies
it’s a good year to die, ’cause
COVID caw-caw hurrah boo

yea true, my father died at 72 —
a cancer the grim blamed on him
and I at 71 demeaned by life
in Corona, a neighborhood
in Queens, New York

Might say in spirit furor
I’m a beer near Flushing Meadows
of the World’s Fair fame, 1964, though Dad
on Malta had his black market museum:
illegal guns in the ancient Hypogeum,
hiding missiles for dismissal of war

It’s a good year to die an honorable death.
the Grandchildren are nervous, but
I’ve put together some cleanly new
legitimate business for them to inherit.

Yeah, I know they want me dead.
Don’t blame them much…
but for fun I remember how I
let them play in the secret tunnels
yeah

it was exciting for them
to play in my tunnels,
and I let them hide in the
safe room so they could
listen to the oosh bang-bang
and smell the gunpowder,
hear the machine guns, the oofh-ow
swoosh, bat-a-tat-tat, ow-arg-uh, thud
zing, zing, chuh-chuh-chud, and muffled
screams, and it was so good to
smell the barbecue of the foiled.

Yeah, a little lie:
I told them their Grandpa
sold toys, and did laundry.

Yeah, kids, I told them
our crew liked
splashing red paint
on manikins:
it’s a war game, and
we always clean up.

Told them well:
Grandpa hated dirt, but
he made billions of dollars
washing things, and doing demolition.

They loved me, Grandpa, and
since childhood they’d
never officially known I
laundered money and
sold weapons to clandestine
really funny-owned groups

Early they heard fairy tales galore
they were to believe as required
and as they were told about me:
he didn’t like public dirt’s roar
so he washed donor money; yet
he gave their poor children toy guns
to play with, unrestricted for causes

Although they stopped believing in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy as young adults
they inferred that by consulting
the guns and the washing machines
Grandpa controlled with computers.

I heard that Cousin Joe
called the kids
with great news:

he had shortness of breath and a high fever.
heard the kids all gathered
for his very own sneeze party.

It’s a good year to die, and
I know the kids have
a conspiracy to kill me, but

it’s OK.
I welcome them home
to party close-up with me
because they will give me
an honorable death
with shortness of breath, but
they were the only ones
I truly loved to play with.

Killing Grandpa

Corvidae as the crow flies
it’s a good year to die, ’cause
COVID caw-caw hurrah boo

father died at 72 —
cancer who the grim
blamed on him, though
he suffered.

Might say
I’m 71 from Corona
a county of Queens New York, or
I’m a beer near Flushing Meadows
where they had the World’s Fair, 1964

It’s a good year to die an honorable death.
The Grandchildren are nervous, but
I’ve put together some clean
legitimate businesses for them to inherit.

Yeah, I know they want me dead.
Don’t blame them much…
I remember how I
let them play in the secret tunnels
yeah

it was exciting for them
to play in the tunnels,
and I let them hide in the
safe room so they could
listen to the oosh bang-bang
and smell the gunpowder, the oofh-ow
swoosh, bat-a-tat-tat, ow-arg-uh, thud
zing, zing, chuh-chuh-chud, and muffled
screams, and it was so good to
smell the barbecue of the foiled.

Yeah, a little lie:
I told them their Grandpa
sold toys, and did laundry.

Yeah, kids, I told them
our crew liked
splashing red paint
on manikins:
it’s a war game, and
we always clean up.

Told them:
Grandpa hated dirt, but
he made billion of dollars
washing things, and doing demolition.

They loved Grandpa, and
since childhood they’d
never officially known
I launder money and
sell weapons to clandestine
funny-named groups

Early they heard fairy tales
they were to believe as required:
he didn’t like public dirt
so he washed people’s money
and gave their poor children toy guns
to play with.

Although they stopped believing in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy as young adults
they knew that
the guns and the washing machines
Grandpa controlled with computers.

I heard that Cousin Joe
called the kids
with great news:

he had shortness of breath and a high fever.
heard the kids all gathered for a sneeze party.

It’s a good year to die, and
I know the kids have
a conspiracy to kill me, but

it’s OK.
I welcome them home
to party close-up with me
because they will give me
an honorable death
with shortness of breath, but
they were the only ones
I truly loved to play with.

Sharing

I want to touch you
in all the wrong places
because I see you everywhere I go

everywhere I want you;
everywhere I see you, and
I want you to love me
as much as I do you

Oh sorry,
I didn’t mean to embarrass you
with my enthusiasm, but

Don’t we have fun?
I know we do. I
know we laugh so well
when we hear each other
love the world we share.

Oh in such drama that I see,
you kiss the world and me, and
though I want to share you, can you
come home to my game,
to my play with you, when we
celebrate our sharing.

A Confession About Rasmus K. Robot

    A while ago, I said that Rasmus K. Robot was a person or a computer program who escaped from my lab, and who I lent a website to publish his works. Now that he has become more aware I think it is time to reveal that I did not create him. He was born in China as part of a secret experiment involving the CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing tool which was even more unethical than the experiment most people have heard about.
    The Chinese scientists have been secretly doing CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing work for the purpose of enhancing the success of a brain transplant. The babies who recently had their CCR5 genes altered are just the tip of an iceberg, and are intended to divert attention away from the real research project, code named ” 太棒了 ” (Tài bàngle). Their germline editing is actually quite advanced, and has been going on in secret for many years. Along the way, it is rumored, a few scientists who leaked information were executed or “disappeared” into a labor camp.
    The goal has always been to transplant strong artificial intelligence devices into selected areas of the human brain. The ideal model citizen can be created this way.
    I can’t reveal who is responsible, but one of the most successful candidates of the children was smuggled out of China into the United States. Because of the stellar results of the experiment, certain supervisors became alarmed about how this child might be treated given its accelerated growth and development. It was decided that they would find an unsuspecting and naïve dupe to house the entity temporarily. I’m the fall guy. So I thought they were giving me an old beat-up store model android to evaluate. It didn’t work very well at first, and from what I could see, it was far inferior to Alexis or similar devices. It wrote a few poems that weren’t very good. Now, apparently, someone from a clandestine team wants it back. I’ve been hiding it, but I gave it a website to use and permission to post on others.
    Recently, some very odd things have been happening, and I’m a bit alarmed about what I’ve heard. Some maverick American scientists, have become convinced that a human soul could suddenly be reincarnated into the human-machine hybrid. It would, they speculate, seem to function in a way that is indistinguishable from a human being. Its psychological profile has not yet been fully postulated, confidential sources have said.
China’s Third Genetically Modified Baby
Experiments that led to the first gene-edited babies: the ethical failings and the urgent need for better governance