They did actually look around the natural cave at Clear Creek, to no avail. So I was wrong, but they didnt keep any dialogue open with me & moved on to another location. But if they’d have contacted me from Wyoming, I would have said, well guys, if its not in the natural cave, it really does have to be in a nearby wood. I would have also said ‘I must admit there was one clue which i left out, that the chest was’exposed’ to rain and snow, and could be scorched in a forest fire, which didnt quite fit into clear creek cave – sorry about that – but i just ignored it cos i was so excited about all the other clues – i was imagining flames licking into the cave for example to scorch the chest- but he does say in the wood, so..
The wood is described on a web page. which reads, ‘about a half mile from the Slide Creek junction, our trail cuts across the northwest edge of the meadow through an open grassy area filled with wildflowers. You can find blue harebells, cinquefoil, yarrow, subalpine daisy and a variety of other colorful flowers. Beyond here, the trail enters the charred burns of an old lightning burn from 1988. These old snags provide wildlife habitat for many wildlife species including a variety of woodpeckers and cavity-nesting birds.’ So. I was too obsessed with the natural cave, the chest being wet & the fact you had to go in it really blinded me. However, a chest hidden in or by Clear Creek in the charred burny bit of the woods now fits all of the clues entirely. I also love the fact that it was in 1988 that Fenn was struck by kidney caner (which he eventually beat).
There’s also this turned up recently which negates the pinion pine clue. Fenn wrote, ‘I just watched that New Mexico Tourism video again and must say that I didn’t say what I was thinking. You cannot smell a pinon nut, but those who pick them know that in doing so you get pine pitch all over your hands, and pine pitch smells about the same no matter what kind of pine tree you are talking about. Looking back I think I wanted to say I could smell pine needles, not pinon nuts. Sorry I kicked a hornet’s nest with that comment. There is no clue there. Incidentally, when I get pine pitch on my hands I rub butter on the spots and that solves the problem. Of course then I have trouble getting the butter off.’ Some have thought the treasure cant be in Wyoming as Pinion Pines don’t grow that far north – but we can now see that info is not relevant.
The past week has trundled along with a great pleasancy. The Mumble was busy, The Tinky Disco Show is almost edited & finally there was Spud’s 50th, which was all jolly good fun. It was a surprise do down Leith Cricket Club, with Erb & Ting doing their bit, & Ben djing, & Victor Pope & that – it was a big gang night oot.
Back in the creative world, Im not far off finishing the new language, plus The Chisper Effect should be finished this week – I might even drive up to Aberdeenshire this week to take some photos. Also in the pipeline are 3 bits of Springtime poetry composition. The Honeymoon is the elder-sister poem to The Grand Tour, & blends my holidays with Emily last year to Italy, Paris & Seattle. I’m also shaping up to complete No Nay Never, & if Burnley stay up this season , which is looking likely, then it’ll be a great ending for the poem. The third piece is also gonna be interesting, but I don’t wanna rattle on too much about it yet. It feels good to be composing again, I am a poet & this is my natural state, & there is nothing like a Keatsian spring to rouse the sensibilities.
Its been a while since I wrote a blog, but the last few days have provided an interesting slice into my life. Last week I sent out a link to various poetry people across the world, offering to send out a free copy of Axis & Allies which I uploaded onto Completely Novel.
Its the second release of my Pendragon Collection, a ten volume set incorporating a great deal of my work thus far. Not much interest, of course, & it would be while visiting StAnza poetry festival a few days later. That was one of several cultural events I attended & reviewed since last Tuesday. Two operas, a play, a classical concert & whole heap of poetry has been served up into my psyche for absorbing & assessment, & i the process, of course, my poesis banks have been filling up.
Last Tuesday there was Edinburgh Studio Opera’s Marriage of Figaro, while Wednesday afternoon saw me drive through to Glasgow to catch a Play, Pie & a Pint set in a dominatrix sex pad. After this I wrote the review & then went up to Colin’s who proceeded to fill me in on his retirement plans in India – setting up a Casteaway creative arts space – with Irene selling haggis for £20 to Indians not happy with Colin’s ‘git tae fuck’ attitude to his caste-free policy. There was also something about a machine wandering the villages of Kerala changing coconut husks to charcoal, some of which he’d use as a smokie. ‘Your creative arts space will be like a cultural hot-pot,’ I said, ‘nah Damo, a cultural curry.’ After a couple of hours with Colin I drove back into Glasgow for Peleas & Melisande, an opera at the Theatre Royal. Driving back at night I began to muse on Axis & Allies, & skimmed though it on my return home, noticing a few mistakes here & there, including repeated stanzas, a gnawing worry for my sleepdrift. Next day I spent in St Andrews, at StAnza, an account of which you can read here, & it was in the early hours of the next morning that I corrected my Axis & Allies errors, pretty much finalising the book. I think, perhaps, I’ll print it out in the summer for a perusal while we are in Thalian Crete. The filling poesis banks also helped me to focus on creating moderen musical, mult-muse masques for Charlies & Malmaison & maybe others for next year.
This week has also seen a great deal of progress in my as yet un-named universal language. Listening to the opera, well reading the subtitles more like, gave me a bit more vocab & the new poesis helps fire my mind into organising it all. There’s to be about 500 word, not enough for detailed conversation, but complex & flexible enough for most everyday situations. Combining words can also be possible – such as arm-joint being elbow & leg-joint being knee. The creation of a language – which is the raison d’eter of all poets really – also ties in with my approbriation of the Pendragon title. For me, it will be up to my successor to introduce a new letter & the vocab surrounding it, & thus the language may evolve slowly & surely as these things ought to.
Friday & Saturday were spent writing reviews up, driving aboot & then saturday night heading back to St Andrews with the wife, an account of which you can read here. During the week Emily had also been hacked somehow & via air B&B & Paypal lost £833 quid to some Russian. She got the money back, but the whole thing was funnily timed cos the tangerine nightmare is suddenly in the middle of the throes of a scandal involving Russian hacking. Other things of note in the week were me & climbing a hill — well Arthur’s Seat, but it got him out of the house – I even let him drive the car a bit along the one-way circuit about the slopes. I’ve also begun editing the Tinky Disco Show, with Steve. I’d filmed the band with a loose storyline recently, & the final format is gonna be a four-part series; Episode 1 – Rise o’ The Tink / Episode 2 – Kenny Beards / Episode 3 – Pond Life / Episode 4 – ????
As for my wee poetic epiphany, it began with, I guess, the first ‘critical response; if you can call it that. A certain gentleman (GS) was unhappy I centralised my stanzas. The chat went;
GS: I think you’re very hopeful when you ask people to manage 1000 pages of centred text. I managed two before giving up.
ME : Its a dipper, folk have got a lifetime to read it
GS : I spend quite a bit of my lifetime avoiding centred text. Try that on some other readers and see what they think. I edit a poetry magazine, and know from reader reactions that most people strongly dislike centralised text, unless there is a strong reason for it – and even then only in small doses. Am I right in thinking that you yourself don’t read much poetry? Have you ever tried reading a long centred piece by someone else?
ME : The stanza (ive called it a tryptych) looks like a candlestick, i like it – its my epic
While up in StAnza I finally & truly understood how todays poets write for other poets not for the people. The reason is rhyme… if you go up to the vast majority of people & say what are the first tihings that come to mind when I say the word poetry, rhyme will undoubtedly be first or second unless they are a poet or a member of a literary community conditioned to believe that rhyme is unessential for poetry. It is this cutting of the chord that has left the poet bereft of the public at large, sat on a little raft wandering the ocean of word-art, while the world waits to hear some proper poetry – that rhymes. OK, Paradise Lost is blank verse, & there are some excellent Free Verse, but these should stand out as curious strokes of genius rather than as standards to the norm. ‘No-no-no – no-one does that anymore,; balk the critics, but our biggest selling poets; Burns, Kipling, Pam Eyres even – were rhymers, & that some of our so-called greatest living poets are lucky to sell 2000 copies shows a massive detachment between the people the poets, a general malaise that is only getting worse, driven by a back-scratching poetry establishment who are actually the reason why the poetry world is dying on its arse. People are shying away from poetry because it’s exclusive and high-brow – & it should be given back to the people as storytelling, painting a vivid and human picture to entertain & teach. Of course, Axis & Allies is a prime example.
I found this essay bu Fred Chappell called Chronicling the Culture: The Poet and the Modern Epic Ambition (May 1989), which has a great insight into the mindset of a poetry world beginning to disintegrate into itself towards the end of the 20th century. Where he says, ‘there are certain readers for whom The Bridge is an entertaining performance and it is to these readers that poets must address themselves, partly because they must find their audiences where they can, and partly because American culture, for all its self-vaunting anti-intellectualism, still does not consist entirely in pizza and rock and roll,’ perhaps it would have been more for Hart Crane to have composed an epic poem about rock n Roll, with a bit of pizza thrown into the mix. In the same essay, Chappell also wrote, ‘when the epic poem about George Washington is written at last, it will not contain the story of the cherry tree. But it will tell us, using the materials that we already know almost by heart, a story that we have never heard before, a story large, majestic, and truthful, ‘which I found to be rather interesting, as I have been slowly beginning top muse on such an epic – as if to paint the perfect president as a counterfoil to the tangerine nightmare.
Each one hopes that if he feeds the crocodile enough, the crocodile will eat him last
White, Evangelical Protestants
Jesus of Nazareth Donald Trump
The Sermon on the Mount The Sermon from Trump Tower
He got too famous. He started believing his own shit. He got way too famous and, you know, people were telling him he was great and he was buying that. He started thinking that he walked on water, he really did … Now, I don’t think he respects anybody. I don’t think there’s a person alive that he respects, because he thinks he’s God
Jesus of Nazareth Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven
I’m trying to lead a life where I don’t have to ask God for fogiveness. Why do I have to repent? Why do I have to ask for forgiveness if you’re not making mistakes? Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth False Christs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and miracles to deceive even the elect
I’m gonna save this nation like Jesus saved the Christians. Except, I’ll be able to save you without some silly cross. I don’t like guys who let themselves get nailed to a cross. Real saviours don’t need crosses, they need know-how. And know-how is what you’ll get with President Trump. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you
When you get these terrorists, you have to take out their families. They care about their lives, don’t kid yourself. When they say they don’t care about their lives, you have to take out their families Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed: a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.
The point is, you can never be too greedy Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful. I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything. If I told the real stories of my experiences with women, often seemingly very happily married & important women, this book would be a guaranteed best-seller. In the history of the world, nobody has gotten more beautiful women than I have. If Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her… Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Whosoever shall put away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adultery
Often I will tell my friends whose wives are constantly griping & bitching & nagging them about this or that that the’re better off leaving & cutting their losses. When a man leaves a woman, especially when it was perceived that he has left for a piece of ass – a good one! – there are 50 percent of the population who will love the woman who was left Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.
Sorry losers and haters, but my I.Q. is one of the highest -and you all know it! Please don’t feel so stupid or insecure, it’s not your fault.Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Love your neighbor as yourself
I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending the best. They’re sending people that have lots of problems and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bring crime. They’re rapists. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal
Part of the beauty of me is that I’m very rich Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.
How to get rich? Whenever I meet people, that’s usually what they want to know from me.You ask a banker how he makes bread. You ask a billionaire how he makes money. It’s a talent. Some people have a talent for piano. Some people have a talent for golf. I just happen to have a talent for making money. All over the world I make money. It’s very possible that I could be the first presidential candidate to run & make money on it. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of god
I like money. I’m very greedy. I’m a greedy person. I shouldn’t tell you that, I’m a greedy – I’ve always been greedy. I love money, right? Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Blessed are the poor, for they will inherit the kingdom of heaven.
My entire life, I’ve watched politicians bragging about how poor they are, how they came from nothing, how poor their parents and grandparents were. And I said to myself, if they can stay so poor for so many generations, maybe this isn’t the kind of person we want to be electing to higher office. How smart can they be? They’re morons. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Judge not, that ye be not judged.
Black guys counting my money! I hate it. The only kind of people I want counting my money are little short guys that wear yarmulkes every day. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also
When people wrong you, go after those people, because it is a good feeling and because other people will see you doing it. I always get even Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy
When they’re shooting, when they’re chopping off the heads of our people and other people, when they’re chopping off the heads of people because they happen to be a Christian in the Middle East, when Isis is doing things that nobody has ever heard of since Medieval times, would I feel strongly about waterboarding? I have spoken with people at the highest level of intelligence and I asked them the question ‘Does it work? Does torture work?’ and the answer was ‘Yes, absolutely’. They chop them off and they put them on camera and send them all over the world. So we have that and we’re not allowed to do anything? I will rely on Pompeo and Mattis and my group and if they don’t want to do it that’s fine. If they do want to do then I will work toward that end. I want to do everything within the bounds of what you’re allowed to do legally but do I feel it works? Absolutely I feel it works. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth If any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also.
I don’t settle cases. I don’t do it because that’s why I don’t get sued very often, because I don’t settle, unlike a lot of other people. Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
I’m the most militaristic person there is Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth
You know what I wanted to. I wanted to hit a couple of those speakers so hard. I would have hit them. No, no. I was going to hit them, I was all set and then I got a call from a highly respected governor. I was gonna hit one guy in particular, a very little guy. I was gonna hit this guy so hard his head would spin and he wouldn’t know what the hell happened. I was going to hit a number of those speakers so hard their heads would spin, they’d never recover Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth When thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.
When I go to church and when I drink my little wine and have my little cracker, I guess that is a form of forgiveness. I do that as often as I can because I feel cleansed Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye
I have a running war with the media. They are among the most dishonest human beings on Earth Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.
While disabled veterans should be given every opportunity to earn a living, is it fair to do so to the detriment of the city as a whole or its tax paying citizens & businesses? Do we allow Fifth Ave., one of the world’s finest & most luxurious shopping districts, to be turned into an outdoor flea market, clogging & seriously downgrading the area? Donald Trump
Jesus of Nazareth Blessed are those who are persecuted, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
I’m putting the people on notice that are coming here from Syria as part of this mass migration, that if I win, if I win, they’re going back Donald Trump
We won with poorly educated.
I love the poorly educated
What have they done? What have they done?
Ten decades since the Kaiser
Trump played the fuckwit card… & won!
Our world seems none the wiser.
There’s never been a stranger case,
Of human race gone wrong,
His dodgy fringe, his stodgy face,
His podgy lips among.
He’d sprung up like toxic fungi:
That damp & darkling mould
Which tightens chests, that frightens eye,
Which bites the creaking old.
Girls ogling under-age,
A failure in his businesses,
His lard-ass takes the stage
To utter such banalities
From such a flacid front,
That muppet, Donald Trump, he is
An ugly, fuckin’ cunt!
He dodged the draft with daddy’s help,
Then made his name in housing,
Now brawling, with a verbal scelp,
He’s turn’d to rabble-rousing
& caught the vote thro’ fractious chants
Divisive to the the state;
Those rabid, pussy-grabbin’ rants
Of prejudice & hate.
A flabby, fake-bake chicken hawk
Neath flappy, scalp reduction,
I listen’d, gobsmack’d, to his talk;
His lies, his misconstruction.
What fools swoon’d to his vitriol?
Base instincts prick’d, while fears
By stress fleas spread bacteriol,
Thro’ clueless volunteers.
Out of a second Wall Street Crash,
Out of the devastation,
False prophet promises real cash,
His will can save the nation.
This messianic demagogue
Is more a toad than man,
Painting himself Pepe the Frog
To please the Klu Klux Klan.
On facts easy refutable
He based a black campaign
Of slurrs & words unsuitable,
All serv’d with worse disdain.
He’s raped his wife, with double-face
Calls Mexicans all rapists,
Then daubs the Pope a dumb disgrace,
Outraging all the papists.
Among his racist rhetoric
Swells Mein Kampf’s gory warnings,
He keeps a copy by his bed
To study in the mornings.
Herr Hitler? Or Hitler with hair?
With him our world’s peace lies,
Both grotesque beam a cut-throat stare,
Both demons in disguise,
Both understand the media
When masses gullible
Are brainwash’d by hysteria,
Then buried in the rubble.
Both courted white supremacists,
Both found scapegoats – both curs’d
& villified – to slit their wrists,
To slake bloodlusty thirst.
As Hitler forc’d the Jews in camps
Trump, too, yearns to intern
Hispanic immigrants in clamps;
Shall books & bodies burn?
Our opponents, the media and the whole world will soon see as we begin to take further actions, that the powers of the president to protect our country are very substantial and will not be questioned.”
For when such monstrous men may be
Quite legally elected
Then tightening their tyranny
Deflate the disaffected
They’ll slander stories as fake news
Whenever these strike bullseye
For men like these can never lose,
For men like these men die
This lunkhead with a wee boy’s voice
Tones soft as wafting bluebells
Becomes the honorary choice
Of voters, tho’ his hotels
More than a billion dollars lost
Bankruptcy twice declared
Into such stormy chaos toss’d
The world goes unprepared
There never was no maggot hated
More than his mind’s microbe
The day he was inaugurated
Rallies around the globe
Profess’d their love of liberty
Vocal, in alliance,
Urging group defiance
While in the streets of Washington
The stands were all but empty
But egos cannot be undone
Alternate factoids dreamt he
The media, he screams, in tweets
Dishonest every fibre
Tho’ tumbleweed thro’ empty streets
The capital the Khyber
Happy New Year to all, including to my many enemies and those who have fought me and lost so badly they just don’t know what to do.
As soon as he was thro the doors
Of office, with a smug wish
He started ripping up the laws
Lipsopen like a stonefish
One is an ugly , venomous, low-intelligence creature, bottom-feeding : the other is a Stonefish
& started sucking freedom up
& turning it to spittle
Upon raw steroids, all pumped up
All protests did belittle
This gross moron gross incompetent
Reach’d the creek without a paddle
He coudn’t raise a pop-up-tent,
Run a two car funeral
But signed executive orders
Like he signs his dodgy cheques
How he loves to gall & gaud us
What appalling moment next?
Within a week he ends the day
With cronies, over dinner
Orders a raid, bullish, blaze
A raid that had no winner
& so that vampyre he sent his drones
To Sanaa in the Yemen
Ignored the weeping mother moans
For caught-in-cross-fire children
& by them lay a Navy Seal
His comrades called him ‘Ryan’
& all his murderer could feel
For this young, noble scion
Was tweeted without empathy
I’ll give it here & whole,
That Donald Trump, its clear to see
Aint got a human soul
Ryan died on a winning mission ( according to General Mattis), not a “failure.” Time for the U.S. to get smart and start winning again!
The tentative peace of the world
Obscured by midnight smoke
The heave of the hate that is hurled
The squeeze of a neck and the choke
Of a child of aleppo as high
Above them Russian planes
Destroy in the blink of an eye
While to their bloody remains
And relatives Trump closes doors
And borders, pity free
Ignoring America’s wars
For human liberty
The bright world mutters at each lurch
From sanity & progress,
Lacking the brickwork of research
Carjacking proper process
Three hundred Spartans held the gates
Led by brave Leonidas
So when our freedom dissipates
His bravery shall guide us
Somebody needs to beach this whale
This fat fuck needs impeaching
Else moral decency shall fail,
Else centuries of teaching
Our children how to think, & act,
Be warped by some vile leader
Who insults folk, denies the fact,
Clogs up the chicken feeder
This confidence trickster at best
Flim-flam showman to the core,
Will turn the world against the West,
Craves glories won in war,
Calling brave NATO obsolete,
As if the League of Nations
Were browbeaten into defeat
By Fascist machinations.
He’s tweeting to ‘increase’
Deadly nuclear deterent,
Shredding thirty years of peace.
Friends, if he shakes his stick at you,
Like Heydrich did the Czechs,
Somewhere along 5th Avenue,
Somebody like Old Tex,
Who’d fallen for his bag o’ lies,
A helpless, desp’rate man,
But slowly come to realise
Trump sure don’t give a damn
About Old Tex, false promises
Blown skyways, ticker-tape,
From ‘Donald Trump the Tyrannous’
There’s only one escape;
Go find one o’ those gun-free zones
& when he comes, O bless yer bones,
For this the world has waited,
Shoot bullets through that dull pig’s head,
Parting his crude comb-over,
Then dart off swift, not back to bed,
But park yer boat in Dover,
Where ye shall live a second spring,
Where ye’ll be prais’d as Martyr,
We’ve never stood no lying king
E’er since the Magna Carta,
And all your kinsfolk o’er the Pond
Shall ever be crowdfunded,
With them we’ll form an honest bond
Til all the world has wonder’d
Whyever did America
Raise bullies brash & blunt -
‘Donald Trump,’ they’ll rave together,
‘Was an ugly, fuckin’ cunt!’
But even if that slug survives
He’ll live his life in fear;
From ev’ry shadow, with long knives
Assassins might appear,
Until the better bullet comes
To end this sorry saga,
Si’ahl batters battledrums,
While rattling massasauga
Add to the ever-growing sound
Of global jubilation,
Pushing this perfect moment round,
Parties in every nation!
THE FALSE TRUMPET
The United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the world comes to its senses. Let it be an arms race. We will outlast them at every pass & outlast them all
One of the most astonishing things about Donald Trump & his administration is the cardinal fact that it has been long foreseen by the very best of our ancient seers. When we combine certain prophecies made by Saint John of Patmos island & Michel Nostradamus France, we are able to paint an uncannily accurate picture of the way Trump came to power & how in less than four years time he shall lose the presidency. To tell the story we must examine four quatrains of Nostradamus & chapter 13 of the Book of Revelations.
The great Senate will ordain the triumph
For one who afterwards will be vanquished, driven out:
At the sound of the trumpet his adherents there will be
Put up for sale their possessions, enemies expelled
Here we have the acceptance of Trump as the American leader, whose presence on the throne sees a culling of the anti-trumps, whether people leaving America in disgust, or being tossed out of the country by his gestapo like nonsense. He’s then gonna stand for re-election but thankfully be ‘vanquished, driven out,’ probably through some impeachment concerning treacherous dealings with Russia or dodgy financial deals using his presidency. It is inevitable, for the man is a fool.
The false trumpet concealing madness
will cause Byzantium to change its laws.
From Egypt there will go forth a man who wants
the edict withdrawn, changing money and standards
Trump’s anti-immigrant policy should spread to Europe, along the lines of if you stop the immigrants, you will prevent ISIS getting through. The main scene of recent activity is Turkey – ie Byzantium – & it appears that the edict, change of laws will prevent immigration – that ‘changing money and standards.’ Someone in Egypt, however, is gonna kick up a fuss, who’ll begin to fill up with African immigrants trying to reach Europe. Flavio di Giacomo tells us the state of play at the moment. ‘EU parliament chief Martin Schulz has called for an immediate deal with Cairo to close down the possibility of a sudden and massive rush for Europe. He said Brussels should strike a similar agreement to the one it has with Turkey, where all migrants arriving in Greece are immediately sent back across the Aegean Sea. And he threatened to pull the plug on aid funding to the impoverished North African country if it refuses to play ball and help the EU dig itself out of its migration hole. Egypt receives billions of pounds in loans from the International Monetary Fund and is also a recipient of EU foreign aid. Calling for a “comprehensive” migrant agreement with Egyptian leaders, he said: “This is the path we must take. The Egyptian route is used mainly by migrants coming from Eastern African countries – Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan – and some coming from the Middle East.’ The ‘man from Egypt’ could well be the same person as prophisied by the 20th century seer, Jeanne Dixon. She describes his birth as occuring shortly before 7:00 A.M. (EST) on February 5, 1962, & his lineage being connected to the Pharaohs. She also states how he from his humble peasant birth somewhere in the Arab world, he would rise. The good news is that according to Jeanne Dixon something like an armageddon will take place in 2020. If Donald Trump is both the False Trumpet of Nostradamus, & the False Prophet of St John, then the fact his reign of 42 months ends in 2020 should serve as a relief to many people of the world. With such an egotistic narccisist involved, one expects a disastrous reign being met by complete voter dissaffection & Trump resigning in 2019 while he is ahead, so to speak.
The republic of the great city
Will not want to consent to the great severity:
King summoned by trumpet to go out,
The ladder at the wall, the city will repent
The Republic of the Great City is a direct reference to the USA & New York. The mention of a wall can only refer to Trump’s bombastic bullyish stance on Mexcio. It appears that a wall will begin to be built, but never finalized – when ‘the city will repent.’The cost of a wall across the 1,800 mile border is about $10 billion dollars, & its effect would be neglible, for wherever there are walls to keep people out, there are tunnels dug to let them back in again.
The trumpet shakes with great discord.
An agreement broken: lifting the face to heaven:
the bloody mouth will swim with blood;
the face anointed with milk and honey lies on the ground
This may connect with the previous stanza – the bloody mouth being the Nile delta, whose waters do turn red. It could also mean that assassination of Donald Trump himself, whose own ‘bloody mouth’ would then fill with blood.
The Beast out of the Sea : The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name. The beast I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion. The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority. One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, “Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?”
The beast was given a mouth to utter proud words and blasphemies and to exercise its authority for forty-two months. It opened its mouth to blaspheme God, and to slander his name and his dwelling place and those who live in heaven. It was given power to wage war against God’s holy people and to conquer them. And it was given authority over every tribe, people, language and nation. All inhabitants of the earth will worship the beast—all whose names have not been written in the Lamb’s book of life, the Lamb who was slain from the creation of the world.
The Beast out of the Earth Then I saw a second beast, coming out of the earth. It had two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon. It exercised all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose fatal wound had been healed. And it performed great signs, even causing fire to come down from heaven to the earth in full view of the people. Because of the signs it was given power to perform on behalf of the first beast, it deceived the inhabitants of the earth. It ordered them to set up an image in honor of the beast who was wounded by the sword and yet lived. The second beast was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that the image could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed. It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads, so that they could not buy or sell unless they had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of its name.
This calls for wisdom. Let the person who has insight calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man That number is 666.
It is clear that the two beasts mentioned above, the False Prophet who rose from the sea, & its companion who rose from the land, are Donald Trump & his son-in-law, the smiling, sphinx-like Jared Kushner. Kushner is a cabalistic Zionist Jew, as is now his wife Ivanka, Trump;’s daughter, who converted to Judaism before the marriage. These seem to turn up in the Book of Revelations, where St John writes of the, ‘Synagogue of Satan, who say they are Jews & are not.’ The Dragon seems to be a metamimesial imagining of the cabalistic forces behind a New World Order. ‘
‘The Kushner appointment is just a piece of a much larger puzzle,’ opines Richard Painter, ‘Now we’re starting to see the coalescence of financial power. With all the billionaires coming into the cabinet… all the wide range of concerns over appointees running agencies in which they may have financial stakes. If you put this all into perspective, that’s the pattern. Will public office be used for private gain?’ There is something satanically blatant & sickeningly obvious about the way Kushner acquired 666 5th Avenue in New York – for $1.8 billion dollars I might add – in 2007. The devil was literally coming home, so to speak. He now has President Trump’s ear on a daily basis, being appointed a special advisor rather like Rasputin was to the Tsars.
There is also this wonderful image from 2016 posted by Trump’s son on social media called ‘The Deplorables’ which shows the Klu Klux Klan symbol of Pepe the Frog among the Trump team. This leads us once more to Revelations, which reads; ‘I saw three unclean spirits that looked like frogs, coming from the mouths of the dragon, the beast, and the false prophet. These are demonic spirits that perform signs and go out to all the kings of the earth, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God, the Almighty.’ All these coincidences are simply far too many for Trump & Kushner NOT to be the nuclear-weapon-hungry, horned beasts of the Book of Revelations. What is most likely is that in their sick minds they are attempting to fulfill the prophecies in themselves – for after all, does Donald Trump not say himself, ‘Nobody reads the Bible more than me.’ I mean buying 666 5th Avenue, come on! –
Donald Trump is the Beast out of the Sea
The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.
The ten horns & their crowns upon which can be seen a blasphemous name are the businesses of Donald Trump, such as
The beast was given a mouth to utter proud words and blasphemies and to exercise its authority for forty-two months.
This seems to indicate that the Trump administration will last until July, 2020, 42 months after his January 2017 inaugaration.
It opened its mouth to blaspheme God, and to slander his name and his dwelling place and those who live in heaven.
One can here see Trump’s attacks on Islam, whose God to all extents & purposes is the same as that of the Judeo-Christian, just with a different name.
It was given authority over every tribe, people, language and nation.
Pretty much describes the position of the leader of the world’s foremost superpower.
Jared Kushner is the Beast out of the Earth
It exercised all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast… The second beast was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast
This tells us that Jared is the real force behind Trump, & accurately matches Kushner’s use of the media in order to brainwash the american electorate into voting for Trump
It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads, so that they could not buy or sell unless they had the mark
This is an excellent description of the FRID chip which certain cabalistic forces wish to implant in every person instead of using conventional money such as cards & cash. The bankers of the cabal would then have total control over individual finances, being abble to add or withdraw money at will at the press of a button, creating a global population of serf-like slaves. Lucent-Alcatel is the leading player in microchip technology, recently introduced the ‘Tikitag’ to the world, who just happen to have their home at 666 Fifth Avenue. Lucent Technologies is an etymylogical match for Lucifer, who these days are merged with a French company called Alcatel. The first company product was the inferno OS in 1997, to which components were attached names given by Dante Alighieri to certain aspects of Hell.
Jesus of Nazareth (on Satan) : When he lies, he speaks his native language, because he is a liar and the father of lies
Howard Stern : Are you for invading Iraq
Donald Trump : Yeah, I guess so. I wish the first time it was done correctly
Donald Trump : I was against going into Iraq. And it’s so well-documented
Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, and Abraham Lincoln, and many of our greatest presidents fought with the media and called them out oftentimes on their lies. When the media lies to people, I will never ever let them get away with it… In fact, Thomas Jefferson said nothing can be believed which is seen in a newspaper. Truth itself, he said, becomes suspicious when put into that polluted vehicle. DONALD TRUMP 2017
The people are the only censors of their governors: and even their errors will tend to keep these to the true principles of their institution. To punish these errors too severely would be to suppress the only safeguard of the public liberty. The way to prevent these irregular interpositions of the people is to give them full information of their affairs thro’ the channel of the public papers, & to contrive that those papers should penetrate the whole mass of the people. The basis of our governments being the opinion of the people, the very first object should be to keep that right; and were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter. But I should mean that every man should receive those papers & be capable of reading them. THOMAS JEFFERSON 1787
Him & his grotesque cronies like
That maniac mike pence
As morning coffees sneak & spike
Our days unrolling tense
His shots called by an ugly clique
Of reapers all around him
& when words fill each puffy cheek
He sounds so fuckin’ dim
Plans ill-conceived & ill-explained
& poorly implemented
Appeal only to those dumb-brained,
Those docile or demented
That bastard tried to tweet us blind
& fill the news with conflict
While knot by knot he tied they bind
To liberties constrict
He acted like a three-year-old
Threw tantrums at the judges
& stamping feet he’d bite & scald
Tears turning truth to smudges
Veins throbbing as he snarls & spits
His chubby cheeks turn purple
His eyes retract to sludge-cack pits
Black as his inner circle
Insisting night is really day
Commanding underlings to say
Red actually is blue
H.R. 610, aka the “Choices in Education Act of 2017,” would change how federal tax dollars are distributed to qualified states for education spending, mandating that all such monies be awarded in block grants, a portion of which must go into voucher programs for use by parents to pay for private and home schools. The bill was introduced by Rep. Steve King (R-Iowa), with three Republican cosponsors. Supporters say the legislation is intended to widen educational options for all Americans, though critics maintain it amounts to at least a partial defunding of public schools.
3 – H.R. 899: To terminate the Department of Education
Like H.R. 861, which would get rid of the EPA, H.R. 899 calls simply for the “termination” of the Department of Education by the end of 2018. It was introduced by Rep. Thomas Massie (R-Kentucky), with six Republican cosponsors (including Rep. Matt Gaetz, who introduced the bill to terminate the EPA). President Trump’s Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos, has stated she would be “fine” with having herself “worked out of a job.”
4 – H.J.R. 69: To repeal a wildlife protection rule in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge
House Joint Resolution 69, introduced by Rep. Don Young (R-Alaska) on 7 February 2017 and passed by the House nine days later, would negate U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service regulations prohibiting certain types of non-subsistence hunting for purposes of predator control on federally protected lands in Alaska. Supporters of H.J.R. 69 say the reversal is necessary to redress an “illegal jurisdictional power grab” by the federal government.
5 – H.R. 370: To repeal the Affordable Care Act
According to Reuters, Congressional Republicans tried more than 60 times to repeal or modify the Affordable Care Act (“Obamacare”) while Obama was still in office. Candidate Trump promised to rid of Obamacare if he won, and it was a major plank in the 2016 Republican Party platform. Not unexpectedly, Rep. Bill Flores, a Texas Republican, re-introduced H.R. 370, a bill to repeal the Affordable Care Act, on 8 January 2017, eight weeks after Trump was elected. It contained no details pertaining to what might be offered as an alternative to the ACA, or when.
6 – H.R. 354: To defund Planned Parenthood
Rep. Diane Black (R-Tennessee) introduced H.R. 354, the “Defund Planned Parenthood Act of 2017,” on 6 January. Like another version introduced (and passed by the House) in 2015, the bill would prohibit distribution of federal funds to Planned Parenthood Federation of America or any of its affiliates or clinics for a period of one year, unless they certify that no funds will go toward providing abortions (except in cases of rape, incest, or life-threatening conditions). H.R. 354 has 133 cosponsors (all Republicans), even though the use of federal funds for abortion services is already prohibited by law, and even though Planned Parenthood claims abortions comprise only 3 percent of its total services (a disputed figure) and only around 10 percent of its clients receive abortions.
7 – H.R. 785: National right-to-work legislation
Many states have enacted so-called right-to-work laws, which prohibit labor unions and employers from requiring workers to join unions to get or keep jobs. The National Conference of State Legislatures (NCSL) explains:
Currently, 28 states and Guam have given workers a choice when it comes to union membership. Labor unions still operate in those states, but workers cannot be compelled to become members as a requirement of their job. Kentucky became the 27th right-to-work state when it enacted HB 1 on Jan. 9, 2017. Missouri became the 28th by enacting SB 19 on Feb. 2, 2017.
Unlike many other items on their agenda, the Republican sponsors of H.R. 785 are keen on handing over the power to decide this matter to the federal government instead of the states. Opponents say passage of the bill would lead to lower wages and greater unemployment nationwide, not to mention create an unfair situation in which non-dues-paying employees reap the benefits of union activities.
8 – H.R. 83: Mobilizing against sanctuary cities
H.R. 83, introduced by Rep. Lou Barletta (R-Pennsylvania) and cosponsored by nine Republicans, would punish so-called “sanctuary cities” (such as San Francisco, Los Angeles, New Orleans, and New York City) who refuse to comply with certain federal immigration policies, such as handing over undocumented immigrants for deportation. The bill provides that any local jurisdiction that does not comply with federal immigration regulations “shall be ineligible to receive Federal financial assistance for a minimum period of one year.” Confusingly, two days after H.R. 83 was introduced on 23 January 2017, President Trump signed an executive order designed to do the same thing. Critics argue that the order is unconstitutional.
9 – H.R. 147: To criminalize abortion in certain cases by making it a felony punishable by up to five years in prison
The Prenatal Nondiscrimination Act (PRENDA) of 2017, H.R. 147, was introduced on 3 January 2017 by Rep. Trent Franks (R-Arizona), with 59 cosponsors, all Republicans. The bill, similar to ones introduced in previous sessions of Congress, would not criminalize abortion per se (contrary to how it has been represented in some sources), but it would make it a crime under certain conditions:
This bill imposes criminal penalties on anyone who knowingly or knowingly attempts to: (1) perform an abortion knowing that the abortion is sought based on the sex, gender, color or race of the child, or the race of a parent; (2) use force or the threat of force to intentionally injure or intimidate any person for the purpose of coercing a sex-selection or race-selection abortion; (3) solicit or accept funds for the performance of such an abortion; or (4) transport a woman into the United States or across a state line for the purpose of obtaining such an abortion.
Violations or attempted violations shall result in fines and/or imprisonment for up to five years.
10 – H.R. 808: Sanctions against Iran
H.R. 808, introduced on 1 February 2017 by Rep. Peter Roskam (R-Illinois), places “non-nuclear” sanctions on Iran to (in cosponsor Lee Zeldin’s words) “assist with efforts to reduce Iran’s destabilizing activities, which included a missile test just this week that violated a UN resolution, as well as their continued work to overthrow foreign governments, pledge to wipe Israel off the map, chanting Death to America in their streets, and so much more.”
Its been a strange yet effective few weeks. On returning to the UK after my swift sojurn to Italy, I developed gout rather quickly – not long after helping my pal Bendrix move home. There were also incidents with our neighbour & her misguided sense of superiority & entitlement. Apparently her piece of paper which allows her to live i her property (the deeds) is more important than our piece of paper (the tenancy agreement). The tension began on the day after I passed my driving test, when she hurtled to my window screaming & shouting in the most barbaric fashion, like a zombie pressed against my window braying for blood. She then proceeded to hack away the vegetation about the grotto Id built at the front of the house – so i moved it along a bit & she hacked that vegetation down as well. So I pulled her up, told her that if she had a problem with my driving to treat me like any Lancastrian & talk about it in a calm fashion – her response being ‘why dont you get back to Lancashire.’ Absolute philistine. So I told her I was an epic poet, said not to scapegoat us for her strategic life error of buying a house with neighbours, made her shake my hand & a tenuous peace has broken out. The whole thing has inspired me to write a novel of sorts, the first chapter you can read here...
So, it all settl’d eventually, but my crippling gout & neighbourly distrust pinned me to the house – but I havent been idle. This weekend I am about to finish my Humanology – an expansion, modernization of the Thirukkural which I’m rather excited about. It feels like its my destiny – the boy from the back streets of Burnley about to create a text that good actually make the world a better place. Its been great fun finally slotting everything into place, making last many new kurals & sprinkling the others with words, sentiments & phrases from my library – a dash of Whitman here, a splash of Spenser there, & so on. But today I feel a little strange. The end of an epoch perhaps. The Humanology also represents the end of my Silver Rose Sonnet sequence. Tomorrow I shall attend to its finale a final read through, then I am done.
Elsewhere, Tinky Disco is working on some new tunes – Solarised, Jiggy Jiggy Gang Bang – which Mike insists is now called All Swap Places – Disco Gold, Daytona Beach (based on Tam Treanor’s Soul Feel) & a new tune called ‘Im A Driver Now.’ We’ve got a gig in a few weeks at Edinburgh’s Stramash – so it’ll be good to unveil them there. The Mumble is closed down til the New Year, when I get back from a festive season in Seattle – apart from Mumble Theatre, which I’m ticking over with some cool interviews. O, & Burnley are holding their own in the Premier League, & have just beat Everton 2-1 8 my gout seems to have FINALLY cleared Up —- so yins, & yangs & all that, & lets get Humanology on the road…
It is now 5AM, on the morning of the 28th Ocotober, 2016. Yesterday was a strange day, one oif signs & omens & the such like. As I was completing Humanology, Emily bought tickets to Seattle, & Sophie came to tell me that her sister was dining with ouyr landlord their brother) who said that after recent complaints he was going to give us our notice in a couple of weeks. Perhaps it was inevitable – I did find a dead bird plumb outside our crazy neighbour’s door the other day – but the timing is strange. A month ago, when the shennanigins broke out – I was set to compose my Honeymoon poem, but the psychic shock of dealing with such a high-minded reprobate compelled to get my head down & create a masterwork (Was my thinking). This then took a full month to do, so its apt that the fallback from the encounter from the other side would first raise its head the very moment or so I felt content with my book. This is the blurb I sent my agent in India (if they’re still alive) & one publisher in the UK;
Humanology consists of 1372 kural, being brief couplets of seven words originally used by a Tamil saint, Thuruvalluvar, about 2,000 years ago. His book, the Thirukkural (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tirukku%E1%B9%9Ba%E1%B8%B7) forms the core of Humanology, to which I have added a great deal of wisdom both modern & antique, then tailored the whole for the English-speaking western mind.
In essence, where most modern guidebooks a rather niche, specializing on parenting, business, etc, Humanology has something to say about everything – a universal guide to life from birth to funeral. Including my brief prelude, the text is exactly 10,000 words. The fourteen chapters are divided as follows;
Life / Mentalities / Conduct / Vice / Virtue / Money / Friendship / Passion / Coupling / Homestead / Society / Governance / War / Divinity
I first encountered the Thirukkural in 2002, when I visited Tamil Nadu for the first time. Seven years later I returned to Tamil Nadu in order to translate the text, & seven years after that I have finally worked up my modernized transcreation. The original was perhaps a little too ‘eastern’ for the west – but in my version I hope to have made the wisdom more accessible, understandable, & with the brevity of the kural form, memorable.
Interestingly, the whole essence of the Humanology is to give people advice – so last night we put it to the test, me & Emily in bed discussing our life & future the well-being of the girls. I remained strong, there’s a certain fulfillment of destiny occurring here, a chronic naturalness, if you will. Receiving that Tunbridge Wells HB overpayment in 2001, just as I was beginning Axis & Allies couldnt have happened to anyone else at such a significant time. A few months later I was in Kanyakumari seeing Thiruvalluvar for the first time. On the same trip I’m sure I was plucked out of the wreckage of a bus by Saraswathi herself. Fourteen years later, this uneducated illigitamate has finally worked up a version of the kural that should satisfy the western world, & also improve it – in the very same region where I was based (Heather Lodge) where I first began to translate the text. It all feels meant to be & the end of an era. What the future holds we do not know yet, but it should be embraced, & I told Emily as much. However, the little details do need working out & as life is game it must be played. The situation called for Composure & Planning, with the following kural being appropriate to our situation.
Where paranoia breeds panic
Hysteria feeds disaster
When equipoise fills minds
Words lilt untiltingly
Remain unruffled whenever effective
Even within infernos
Better tackling unspeculative actualities
Before gossipy suppositions
As rivers swallow stones
Composure absorbs hostility
As elephants arrows endure
Handle slander silently
About a year ago, I was indulging in a spot of Shakespearean scholarship, which showed how Shakespeare was connected to the Familists, & had also visited Douay in the 1570s where he seems to have studied with the English Jesuits. In recent days I’ve also been looking at another fellow who visited said College, a certain Thomas Watson, who we can make the most interesting connection to our bard in London, in the year 1589. His name was Thomas Watson, born in St Olave Parish in 1555. There is a record for him studying at Winchester College in 1567, & when he supplied verses to Greene’s Ciceronis Amor (1589), Watson signed himself an Oxford man – which means that he studied at the that university at some point. This is confirmed by the Oxford antiquarian Anthony à Wood (Athenae Oxonienses 1691) who stated, “Thomas Watson, a Londoner born, did spend his time in this university, not in logic and philosophy, as he ought to have done, but in the smooth and pleasant studies of poetry and romance, whereby he obtained an honourable name among the students of those faculties.” One of these students could well have been William Stanley, who was 6 years younger than Watson & who studied at St Johns.
Watson was a prolific poet, & in a verse preface to his Latin version of the Antone, he gives us more gloss concerning his life; I spent seven or eight years far from my homeland, and learned to speak in diverse tongues. Then I became well versed in Italy’s language and manners, and also thy our tongue and ways, learned France. Wherever I was wafted, I cultivated the Muses as best I could, and Justinian was especially dear. But often Mars troubled Pallas against her will, and wars often interrupted my study. Yet I shunned the camps, save for the camps of Phoebus, which contained the pious Graces together with the Muses. Bartolus, you were a great tome. I was not permitted to carry you about, nor your legal puzzles, learned Baldus. I took up Sophocles, I taught his Muses to grow gentle. I made Latin out of his Greekish verse. Thus, though disturbed, I spent my hours a useful man, I taught Antigone how to speak Latin.
It seems very much that Watson’s time on the continent was a surreptitious escapade in Catholic scholarship. The English College diary at Douay records on October 15, 1576, ‘Dominus Watson went from here to Paris.’ The following May he is back in Douay, where we read ‘August: on the seventh day Master Watson, Master Robinson, Master Griffith, and some others left for England because of the riots.’ It is likely that he met the Italian Jesuit Metteo Ricci during this period, for a system of local memory training he would publish as a treatise in 1585 was identical to the one used by Matteo to wow the Chinese when he was there.
In an earlier post, I also placed Shakespeare in Douay 1575-76, which gives us our first, albeit tentative, connection. Three years later, Watson is living in Westminster, which means he could well have encountered our even chaperoned our young Shakespeare, who was also living in London at the time. William Stanley may also have met Watson, in Paris 1582, for 14 years after then, in 1596, the anonymous author of Ulysses upon Ajax describes a certain, ‘Tom Watson’s jests, I heard them at Paris fourteen years ago: besides what balductum play is not full of them?”
We now come to the very distinct possibility that in 1589 – when Shakespeare was also in London – that Watson was sharing the same social circle as the bard. In 1589, he had become the tutor to John Cornwallis, son of William, a high-ranking, yet Catholic, advocate of the Queen’s Bench. William also explains how Watson could ‘deuise twenty fictions and knaveryes in a play, which was his daily practyse and his liuing,’ a theatrical bent confirmed in the Palladis Tamia Francis Meres in 1598, which places Watson amon such eminent company as Shakespeare, Marlowe, Peele, Kyd, Drayton, Chapman, Dekker, and Jonson as being ‘our best for tragedie.’ Only one of Watson’s plays survive – ‘The Trewe Misterie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke.’ 1589, with its obvious Shakesperean connotations.
That he influenced Shakespeare was also suggested in a sidenote in the Polimanteia (1595), where a certain W. C. describes a ‘Wanton Adonis’ (Shakespeare had just published Venus & Adonis) as ‘Watson’s heyre.’ Indeed, Watson’s 1585 Latin poem, Amyntas, end with their heroes transforming into flowers, while Watson’s translation of Coluthus’ erotic Raprus Helenae (1586) may also have influenced Shakespeare. One further significant influence Watson had on not just Shakespeare, but on English literature as a whole, was his ‘Passionate Century of Love’ (1582) – the first significant sonnet sequence of the age. These sonnets were actually three comblended sestets – ABABCC – the form which Shakespeare would us for his Venus & Adonis, the first stanzas of which were written, I believe, in the mid-1580s.
That Shakespeare was actually Watson’s friend can be discerned thro’ analyzing a line in sonnet 32, the full text of which reads;
If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bett’ring of the time, And though they be outstripped by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: ‘Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love’.
The key line is ‘ march in ranks of better equipage’ which connects to a statement by Nash, in his preface to Green’s Menaphon (1589) which expresses that Watson’s works, ‘march in equipage of honour.‘ Watson died in 1592, & if I am right, then this sonnet was written after that occasion, & when Shakespeare writes, ‘Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove,Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love,’ he is stating that tho’ better exist than Watson, the love he professes in his poetry is worth emulating.
Now then. In the National Archives (PROB 11/118/441 1), there is the Prerogative Court of Canterbury copy of the will of Sir William Cornwallis, from 1611. which tells us that he became owner of an enormous mansion known as Fisher’s Folly in 1588 (on the site of the present Devonshire Suare) described as a huge structure with ‘gardens of pleasure, bowling-alleys and the like.‘ In that same year he employed Thomas Watson as a tutor for his son and heir, John Cornwallis. Also that year we have his daughter, Anne, becoming the author – transcriber rather – of the short anthology of sixteenth century poetry known as the Cornwallis-Lysons manuscript(Folger MS V.a.89).
(Incidentally, another person in the household was Cornelia Cornwallis, one of the younger daughters, who would eventually – in 1601 – marry Sir Richard Fermor of Somerton, Oxfordshire. His auntie, Anne(d.1550), had been the wife of William Lucy (d.1551), & thus the mother of Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, Warwickshire, the very estate where the young Shakespeare was caught stealing deer!)
Back to the Cornwallis-Lysons book, James Orchard Halliwell-Phillips, the prolific nineteenth-century Shakespeare scholar and collector, became convinced that several poems were by Shakespeare. The fellow published the account of his acquisition of the russia leather-bound quarto bearing the large feminine signature, “Anne Cornwaleys her booke,” in a volume entitled, Catalogue of Shakespeare Reliques In the Possession of James Orchard Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S. in the year 1852.’ In it he compares the stanzas of one poem to those in the Passionate Pilgrim, a collection of 20 poems attributed to Shakespeare in 1599.
The lines by Shakespeare are an elegant little poem which appeared first in The Passionate Pilgrim, 1599, a surreptitious publication in which they are most incorrectly given. The present Manuscript offers not only a better arrangement of the stanzas, but also a far superior text, in proof of which we subjoin the last stanza:—
Now hoe, inoughe, too much I fear; For if my ladye heare this songe, She will not sticke to ringe my eare, To teache my tongue to be soe longe; Yet would she blushe, here be it saide, To heare her secrets thus bewrayede.
(Poem XIX, The Passionate Pilgrim, 1599) But soft; enough, too much I fear, Lest that my mistress hear my song; She’ll not stick to round me i’ the ear, To teach my tongue to be so long: Yet will she blush, here be it said, To hear her secrets so bewray’d.
In this (manuscript) reading, we get rid of the harsh and false metre of the third (printed) line, and obtain a more natural imagery; the lady wringing, her lover’s ear for betraying her secrets, being certainly a more appropriate punishment for his fault than that of merely whispering (to) him.
Invention has been racked to account for the utter disappearance of the poems of Shakespeare in his own hand. The Rev. Mr. Hunter, in his recently published New Illustrations of the Life and Writings of Shakespeare, ingeniously supposes that the last descendant of the Poet, Lady Barnard (granddaughter of the Stratford citizen) in her over-religious zeal, may have destroyed any writings that remained in her hands. Whatever cause it may be owing, it is a certain fact that, at the present time, not a line of (William Shakspere’s) writing is known to exist. In the absence of his (literary) autographs, any contemporaneous manuscript is of importance; and in this view the present (Cornwallis) one may justly be deemed a literary curiosity of high interest.
In conclusion, I may observe that during a search of ten years later extended to about fifty years and after a careful examination of every collection of the kind I could meet with, either in public or private libraries, the present is the only specimen of any of Shakespeare’s writings I have seen which was written in the sixteenth century. Scraps may be occasionally met with in miscellanies of a later date, but this volume, in point of antiquity, may be fairly considered to be unique in its kind, and as one of the most interesting illustrations of Shakespeare known to exist
The volume also contains an attribution to a certain WS. This fact, & all the others, really does reinforce a connection between Thomas Watson & Shakespeare that could well have been forged in Douay in the 1570s & carried on to London, 1589. Indeed, Fishers Folly, when Shakespeare came to London in the late 1580s, was originally the possession of the Earl Of Oxford, who made the place the, “headquarters for the school of poets and dramatists who openly acknowledged his patronage and leadership,” a fertile breeding ground indeed.
For me, the language, spelling & rhythms of the Shakespeare poem given above, ie;
Now hoe, inoughe, too much I fear; For if my ladye heare this songe, She will not sticke to ringe my eare, To teache my tongue to be soe longe; Yet would she blushe, here be it saide, To heare her secrets thus bewrayede.
Have an extremely similar ring to the language, spelling & rhythms of the poem attributed to WS in 1577, which I gave in an earlier post, ie;
W.S. in Commendation of the author begins
Of silver pure thy penne is made, dipte in the Muses well They eloquence & loftie style all other doth excell: Thy wisedom great & secrete sense diffusedly disguysde, Doth shew how Pallas rules thy minde, & Phoebus hath devisde Those Golden lines, which polisht are with Tagus glittering sandes. A pallace playne of pleasures great unto the vewers handes. Thy learning doth bewray itselfe and worthie prayse dothe crave, Who so thee knew, did little think such learning thee to have. Here Vertue seems to checke at Vice, & wisedome folly tauntes: Here Venus she is set at naught, and Dame Diane she vauntes. Here Pallas Cupid doth detest, & all his carpet knightes: Here doth she shew, that youthfull impes in folly most delightes. And how when age comes creeping on, with shew of hoary heares, Then they the losse of time repent, with sobbes & brinish teares. Thou Ambodexter playste herein, to take the first rebounde, And for to shew thy minde at large, in earth doth the same compound. So that Apollo Claddes his corps all with Morycbus clothes, And shewes himself still friendliest there, wher most of all he lothes
I’d had one a hell of a day at the University. The Dean, a grumpy old fart with a hair transplant & strangely orange skin had called me in for a ‘talk.’ His office stunk of peanuts, even though he didn’t eat them.
“Why is it, Donald, that every time there is a problem in my university, it can be somehow be traced to your faculty.”
“Perhaps it is because the literature students are passionate, sir.”
The dinosaur insisted on being called sir – a throwback to his army days ‘I was in Northern Ireland – bloody natives needed discipline, discipline, discipline. If we’d have given them discipline the Troubles would have ended a lot sooner than they did’ would be one of his typical outbursts. Today, however, was just that ice-cold stare you wanted to gouge out with a pick-axe.
“There is no need to be flippant, Donald. Just keep an eye on things. Cannabis smoking cannot be tolerated. It is a criminal offence.”
“You know I don’t smoke it anymore, sir.”
“Not you, your damn students. William Beauregard was found smoking on the campus grounds… again. One more time & he is out on his ears, expelled, you hear me Donald, expelled.”
I will have a word with him, sir.”
“Good… now would be an appropriate time.”
As I got up to leave, he flew a few words into the room with a creepiness that always gave my arms little fields of goosebumps. “How is Mrs Claymore?” Now Mrs Claymore is my wife, a lovely, patient creature & the mother of my two children. At 35 years old she still retains the face & physique of a woman 10 years her younger, but being married to an English literature professor has aged her mentally by about 50 years.
“She is well.”
“Do give her my regards!”
What he really meant by those syrupy syllable was, ‘I’d like to fuck your wife.’ The old sleazebag. On leaving his office I made my way to campus for my obligatory chat with Will. He wasn’t one of my best students, academically, but he was an ex-curricular whirlwind, who brought a load of good ideas & energy onto the course, & some really good squidgy black from Liverpool. Gold Seal – the real deal. This is the kind of cannabis you don’t need to burn, rolling it up into thin, black lines you just drop into the rizla papers. As I told the Dean earlier that afternoon, these days it was extremely rare for me to roll up a joint, but I don’t mind having a wee toke, as I did upon offered me by Will as I sat down on the swing-a-chair in his room. He was sat on his bed, flicking through an old copy of WB Yeats.
“I love this guy, he’s fuckin’ brilliant,” he said in a thick Scouse accent. He never talked like that in the lecture hall, but the Everton flag pinned on the wall always seemed to pluck the Scouse out of him.
“Yeah, bit of a wild one was Yeats in his youth.”
“Listen to this shit, its cosmic. Turning and turning in the widening gyre / The falcon cannot hear the falconer / Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world / The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned.”
“Yeah, great stuff Will.”
“So, I suppose you’ve heard I got caught by the groundsman smoking weed.”
“I have yes, that’s why I’m here, to reprimand you.”
“You really need to be more careful.”
“Yeah, yeah, boss, I’m on it.”
“Well do it – he’s on the warpath, the Dean, he says this is your last warning.”
There was a pause. I could hear Will thinking. He was destined for great things; he knew that, I knew that, but what they were only the gods knew. Maybe getting kicked off the course was part of that. He started skinning up. I started to speak.
“How much have you got, by the way, I’m seeing a pal later on, he’s a fan of your stuff?”
“I’ll take a quarter, then, usual price?”
“It is.” As Will began to rummage about under his bed, I took in a bit more of his room. It reminded me of my own student days – a bit dirty, a bit smelly, books & coffee stains everywhere. I identified with the lad a lot. Like me, he had been born in a working class district & had to work a hell of a lot harder in order to get to degree-level. When it came to making a bit of extra money from selling smoke in order to subsidise his studies there was no way I could object. Especially when his shit was that good.
Will pulled out a pair of old football socks, in which he kept his cellaphane-wrapped lumps of smoke. He tossed one across to me, I caught it, & lay a £20 note at his desk.
“No problemo, boss!”
“Well, I’ll be off then. Think about what I’ve said, & I’ll see you in lectures on Friday.”
“Sure.” Will nonchalanty returned to skinning up his joint & I left his room. Back outside in the campus grounds, the late April sun sprinkling genuine warmth onto my skin. May was just round the corner, & with that the summer holidays & a chance to finally finish my book. Two years previously I’d sent the first three chapters to a publisher, who’d practically wet their pants in excitement about the prospect of a possible bestseller. It had all the ingredients, & my writing was, & I quote, ‘pulsatingly modern.’ Roll on 27 months & I still hadn’t finished it. Young kids & a heavy workload at the university had consumed my time & sucked all creativity out of me. My publisher was losing interest in the project, as, perhaps, was I.
“I think its time for a change of scenery, Benny.” The guy sat across from me in the pub was my friend, well more of a father figure, I guess. Twenty years older than my own 40 years, he lived like he was twenty & could party anyone anybody the table. A self-confessed member of the Lucky Bastards club, this immortal effervescence had won him a woman almost three decades years younger than him, called Stella. Her grandfather – Benny loved to tell anyone that would listen – had been a friend of the king! Their family had once owned a series of steel mills in the Motherwell area, & made an absolute fortune. Then they were bought out by Scottish Steel in the 1960s, an aggressive take over by all accounts, & so the family decided to buy farmland near Mugdock Country Park, to the north of Glasgow, & lead a much more pastoral existence. I’d been out there a couple of times visiting Benny & Stella, & last summer my whole family had even done a spot of holiday house-sitting while they were touring Venezuela. I’d also managed to get a couple of chapters of my book done out there.
“Well,” smirked Benny with that semi-toothless grin of his, “its funny you should say that. One of the cottages at Boxwheel has just come available.”
“Yeah . Gayle’s mother has taken a turn for worse, so she’s having to move to Inverness to be with her. She’s gave her months notice in yesterday.”
“Think of it, mate, we’d have a great life up there. You could get some writing done, its an easy drive into the university, the kids would love it. You’ve got first dibs, the inks still not dry on the months notice yet. It would save Stella’s family a whole heap of hassle if you just slip in through the back door, transfer the tenancy.
“It does sound enticing, that… I’ll speak to the wife tonight.”
“You know it makes sense pal. Anyway, who’s round is it?”
I am writing this on a weirdly letter-spread out keyboard at the Le Clos , Notre Dam hotel, Paris, on a sunday morning. Emily is asleep upstairs. After a tres joli walk thro’ Paris we shall be returning to Edinburgh tonight! I feel refreshed & revitalized… Paris is a sensational & serene city – the kind of place folk would build if they actually gave a fuc£!
On wednesday morning, we arrived early in Rome from Edinburgh, where we walked to the Protestant Cematary. As I showed Ems the graves of Shelley & Keats & couldn;t help picturing me here as a 21 year old at the dawn of my career – now I’m 40 I’ve outlived them all – a strange sensation.
From Rome we idled up the coast to Castiglione by train, a lovely spot with a medieval burgo looking out over the island-dotted Meditterranean. We were met by Dario, an Air B&B guy, who gave us the top room in his lovely house on the outskirts of Castiglione for £50 a night. I got obsessed with his upper terrace floor, after spilling a bit of tuna oil, which I thought I’d clean & thus made more stains! This incident began our bonnie & clyde style rampage thro Europe, leaving a trail of minor breakages & spillages in our wake.
Thursday was spent all day on the beach – Ems really needed it, & I got the vibe that this was the Italian Goa. I’ll be back. I also filmed a couple of cantos of A&A in the locality, which was a swell thing to do.
Next day we set off again, calling in Pisa en route for more Damological pilgrimages. I showed Ems scenes from my busking domicile in the Pisa, & wrote a few stanzas for my Honeymoon poem, the finale to the Silver Rose sequence.
My Pisan streets, how I return to thee, This time a wife fix’d sweetly by my side, That like a muse comes merrily to me, Or is she you, who gaylie deified My youthful verse, turning to poetry, Ye urged me on the world to wander wide, From Tuscan marriage; Muse I sense ye still About my mind, my woman & my will.
That evening we arrived, via Lucca, in Pistoia. A lovely medieval-hearted place ran by the lovely Giovanni, in which we took rooms in an amazing room in an amazing house. We dined out for the first & only time on the tour – delicisoso Tuscan cooking – & reveled in the funky Pistoian ‘everyone-knows-everyone’ vibe. Our rooms were above the city’s main, narrow artery, so Saturday night was echoing all night. This & the wine bubbled us up into a romantic glow, & suffice to say our lovemaking was sweet.
The next morning we rose early, breakfasted, then took two trains to Bologona, thro extremely pretty & hilly countryside of the most luscious greens. Taking a flight to Paris, we landed 50 miles north at Beauvais, from where we caught a bus into Paris. Dropping us off near the Arc de Triumph, we both popped our Parisian cherry by conducting an epic walk along the Champs D’Elysee, thro’ the Tuileries Gardens, past the Louvre & onto Place Saint Michael, where our hotel was to be found.
After indulging in the free champagne at the hotel., we stepped out into the Parisian night, full of euphoria & fun. After the mega-busy hustle-bustle streets of the Latin quarter, we paused in front of the impressive Notre Dame cathedral on the Lutetian Isle. Then, the day & the tour hit us, & we went back to our hotel for a much needed repose.
This morning, before dawn, I poured out some left over red wine & hit the streets. It was at the Pont Neuf Bridge that I found a perfect location for the final stanzas of the Honeymoon poem – & thus the Silver Rose. The idea is I leave two roses on a seat there, which will hopefully inspire future poets to leave two roses there also…
I am the Silver Rose this purple morn That clambers over Paris with set poise, This Seine, this celebration, seems reborn In me, a poet feeling first her joys, But amplified to grandeur by the horn Of mankind’s pearl’d advancement, what a noise! Shaking with thunderous force the vaults below – No! The latter was in fact the metro.
I took a seat upon the Pont Neuf Bridge & paus’d there like a panting cicerone - Sat in a semi-circle hermitage, I pinn’d my Silver Roses to the stone The summit of a perfect pilgrimage Thro’ which profund philosophies have grown Into this verbose effigy of me - Some Robin Hood, some Richard de la Lea.
Of future bards & artists who have felt, Their passions with my poetry entwine, Then find themselves in Paris; as I’ve knelt By Shelley’s tomb, with music & with wine, Unto this stone immortal let them melt & place a pair of roses as a sign To passing people, centuries apart - True poetry still gushes from the heart!
So, August’s Mumble marathon is over, towards the end of which I passed my dribving test. I’d done well, really. I’d only had one official two-hour lesson, by the end of which I’m like, ‘I dont wanna learn about manuals – automatic are just ssssooooo much easier!’ Then I took a test in Livingston in mid-July – failing on manouvres & general driving – a second test in Glenrothes – failing on manouvere- & finally a third test in Kirkcaldy, which I passed!
Also finished is the Tinky Disco album… it didnt quite end up as I would have liked – Mike said we couldnt use two of the tracks, & our producer turning into a nobhead. Still, its sounding great, & on itunes & spotify, so we got something out of the £1000 we spent. I’m also determined to get another album out by Christmas! We start in earnest after this Saturday, which is a big album launch at Studio 24.
Before then, Donna (Emily’s mum) arrives from Seattle, so me & the wife are gonna have a wee break in Italy. This, then, serves as the perfect finale to the Silver Rose – a Honeymoon to counterpoise the Grand Tour. With me also reading out Axis & Allies at the moment (I’m on Canto 13 next), & making some last minute corrections as I go, plus going through my memoirs, which I’ve recently entitled ‘Epistles to Posterity,’ plus finishing off the Humanology Kural (Lifeology perhaps?) – there’s a definite Deus ex Machina element to my work at the moment. I’ve earmarked November for recording the next album, with a launch in December perhaps. The plan, then, is to finish my epic, my memoirs, my Silver Rose stuff AND a classic album all by December. After the New Year I can then focus on finishing off my lectures for about April first, 20 years after first starting out on the Poet’s Path…
“If I was standing where the treasure chest is, I’d see trees, I’d see mountains, I’d see animals. I’d smell wonderful smells of pine needles, or pinyon nuts, sagebrush—and I know the treasure chest is wet.”Forrest Fenn
A few years ago, a certain octogenarian, Forrest Fenn, hid a treasure chest somewhere in the Rocky Mountains of America. Since then, many a puzzle-solver has attempted to crack the poem which contains clues to the treasure’s location. It reads;
As I have gone alone in there And with my treasures bold, I can keep my secret where, And hint of riches new and old.
Begin it where warm waters halt And take it in the canyon down, Not far, but too far to walk. Put in below the home of Brown.
From there it’s no place for the meek, The end is ever drawing nigh; There’ll be no paddle up your creek, Just heavy loads and water high.
If you’ve been wise and found the blaze, Look quickly down, your quest to cease, But tarry scant with marvel gaze, Just take the chest and go in peace.
So why is it that I must go And leave my trove for all to seek? The answers I already know, I’ve done it tired, and now I’m weak.
So hear me all and listen good, Your effort will be worth the cold. If you are brave and in the wood I give you title to the gold.
The poem is contained in an autobiographical sketch called the Thrill of the Chase, of which Fenn says, ‘ The chapters in my book have very subtle hints but are not deliberately placed to aid the seeker. Good luck in the search.’
So where to begin – well, in a case of x marks the spot, there are two crosses on the treasure map – one should be a decoy & one help to hone in on the treasure. So, the peak marked with a cross in Wyoming is Garret Peak, its the most central cross, so on a hunch we’ll begin our search there.
Begin it where warm waters halt And take it in the canyon down,
This is a reference to fishing on the Green River, which flows through a canyon & becomes too warm for the fish in the summer. Thus ‘Begin it where warm waters halt’ is a reference to fishing – in Fenn’s book his love of fishing, especially fly-fishing, is everywhere.
Put in below the home of Brown
‘Put in’ is a term for launching a small boat – this is a reference to sailing on Green River Lake, which sits underneath Osborn Mountain. Henry Fairfield Osborn was the man who assisted Barnum Brown’s search for dinosaurs in Wyoming – the first Tyranasaurus was found by them – & the bones were displayed in the American Natural History Museum paleolithic section founded by Osborn – thus Osborn is the home of Barnum Brown’s finds. In Fenn’s book, his love of artifact hunting & deep history is everywhere.
At the south east corner of the lake, Clear Creek begins – there is a trail to follow which leads through pinyon pine trees (rare in Wyoming) – along which one comes to Clear Creek Falls, which is described in Fenn’s third stanza;
From there it’s no place for the meek – The meek inherit the earth, thus we need to follow water
The end is ever drawing nigh – line evocative of a waterfall’s edge & the eternal movement of the water as it approahes the drop
There’ll be no paddle up your creek, – you cant paddle a waterfall & the movement is, of course, upwards
Just heavy loads and water high. – Water high is pretty obvious, heavy loads could mean the transporting your boat which Fenn clearly tells us has been ‘put in’ by rope – up the falls
If you’ve been wise and found the blaze, Look quickly down, your quest to cease, But tarry scant with marvel gaze, Just take the chest and go in peace.
This is a fun stanza. In 1988 – the same year Fenn was diagnosed with cancer – the forest around Clear Creek beyond the waterfall was charred by a blaze caused by lightning (Hiking Wyoming’s Wind River Range). Tarry scant with marvel is an allusion to Hemingway sending a copy of a short story (tarry scant) to Mcleish who wrote a poem to Andrew Marvell in the style of His Coy Mistress. In a letter to Mcleish, Hemingway calls Mcleish ‘Andy Marvell’ (Selected Letters 1917-1961, p.326) & in the Thrill of the Chase there is a glaring error made by Fenn concerning Hemingway, which I beleive was one of the subtle clues made to draw one’s attention to Hemingway. The short story was called ‘Wine of Wyoming’ in which we read;
‘Labour day we all went to Clear Creek.. Madame said.
‘Oh, my God, you ought to have been there all right. We all
w&it in the truck. Tout le monde est alle dans le truck. Nous
sommes partis le dimanche. C’est le truck de Charley.’
For me, Forrest Fenn has hidden his treasure in river-cave beneath Clear Creek Natural Bridge. When he writes, ‘As I have gone alone in there’ & ‘Your effort will be worth the cold,’ wading into the waters to reach the chest makes sense, especially when supported by two of the clues Fenn has given us over the past few years.
If I was standing where the treasure chest is, I’d see trees, I’d see mountains and I know the treasure chest is wet.
Take a flashlight and a sandwich.
The other hints Fenn has given us can check off one by one;
There’s no need digging in the old outhouses, the treasures’ not associated with any structure. CHECK
It is not in Nevada. CHECK
The treasure is not in a grave yard. CHECK
The treasure is higher than 5,000 feet above sea level. CHECK
If you had the coordinates, you would be able to find the treasure. CHECK
The treasure is not hidden in Idaho or Utah. CHECK
The treasure is not in a mine. CHECK
It is at least 8.25 miles north of Santa Fe. CHECK
The treasure is hidden below 10,200 feet. CHECK
It is more than 300 miles west of Toledo. CHECK
I never said it was buried, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. CHECK
Is it not possible to find chest without leaving computer & google earth – CHECK
There isn’t a human trail in very close proximity to where I hid the treasure.” CHECK
Not associated with a structure……CHECK
I would like to know if the blaze can be found during the day without a flashlight. “I would say yes. – CHECK
I made two trips from my car to the hiding place and it was done in one afternoon.”CHECK
I might be wrong, I might be right – perhaps – but many of the clues in my solution synch up with Fenn & his lifestyle, so I ‘m probably right. Fenn announced the treasure in 2010, & a few months earlier, in September of 2009, he attending the Black Bow Tie event in Cody Wyoming in his capacity as a board member of the Buffalo Bill Society. So he was definitely in the right area at the right time
As for me, I live in the UK, & I’m hoping that if I am right – which I most probably am – & someone in the US does find the treasure, then they’d give me a wee share. Indeed, just after I sent Fenn my solve he made a massive retreat from the chase, stating that on doctor’s orders;
“I’m cutting back on my activities, which means going to lunch, seeing people, and time on my computer. f”