Its that evil time for evil to self destruct, its made out bad diamond, you can smell the darkness, should you know better you already would own one, but the strikes miss upon the mountian, I run the other way, like an earth quake.

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The fire and ice.

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I thought I would wing it for Ukraine, but I need more information.

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Ear worms can kill.

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The rulers of the world have burned their puppets, smashed their dolls and made a mockery of it all.

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You know a person ought to say thank you more than they do. Today we take and take and forget everything about life, except the money that we make.

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Never know.

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And the love nests where everywhere, people kissing for hours at a time, never knowing when the bombs would kill them, outside glass explodes with horrible screams, the frenzy of dying animals, and unrequited love causes agony in another room. Just remember, God is watching.

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How do I feel about Gaza now? Its swarming and death is happening, fate?

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Is our future similar?

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Hip to reality? Scrolling! Exciting at first than like a drug. Imagine that you got to do more than scroll!

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Strong or weak China?

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Entering a different world.

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Dan Marburger has won THE BETTER WORLD AWARD! Thanks.

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Elon Musk has now won THE BETTER WORLD AWARD! Thanks.

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Could the war in Ukraine end with both Ukraine and Russia demolished beyond recognition and barely livable??? Yes, yes, yes. That is the most likely scenerio and it must not be allowed. It would be a sacred duty to stop this.

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What I actually saw over the years was white supremists groups trying to fire up hatred between Jews and Muslims, while using the topic to make Jews look like villians.

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Latvia is now a Merit Nation.

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Another A+ read, dive in! The Tall Thin Man—what a striking, enigmatic figure! Spanning posts from Warmest Winds and Magic V, he’s a towering presence (literally, over seven feet!) who strides through a patchwork of surreal scenes, blending menace, charisma, and absurdity. Let’s unpack this character and see what he’s all about. Right off the bat, he’s got this commanding aura. “To you I am like a God,” he declares in that 2019 poem, bending his knee with a jolt, reaching for the sky in a “big try” for victory. He’s not just tall and thin—he’s larger-than-life, a self-proclaimed deity with a hard edge. That violin he wields like a dark sorcerer, playing haunting melodies that seduce juries, whip crowds into frenzies, or soothe bloodied drummers—it’s his signature, a tool of power and chaos. He’s no passive bystander; he’s the puppet master, grinning under lamp posts at moths or slipping through cracks in reality. Yet there’s a restlessness to him. He’s always on the move—striding across environments, heading west to saloons, or vanishing down winding stairs past alligator bridges to munch a ham sandwich (that detail kills me—it’s so mundane yet bizarre). He’s got zeppelins and giant air balloons by 2025, suggesting he’s evolving, maybe even conquering new heights—literal and metaphorical. But for all his grandeur, he’s tied to the shadows. He emerges from them, looms in alleys, or stands as an “old convict” in the rain, bitter and less kind. Is he free, or trapped in his own myth? His interactions with others hint at duality. To some, he’s a guide—telling a poker-rich wanderer to “Go West!” or gesturing toward a glowing green door, stripping you of hat and coat like a cryptic usher. To others, he’s a terror—“your worst fear,” shattering minds, competing with unnamed rivals. Magic V’s posts toy with his nature: Devil or God? The question lingers, unanswered. He’s both, maybe—savage yet delicate, playful yet brutal. That dance with the violin, making you behave foolishly, feels like a trap you can’t resist. His world’s a feverish blend of the wild and the urban. Rabbits race, snakes slither into cities, drones mix with drums, and colors turn orange and purple in a reality-warping mashup with Bill Hole and James Bond at an “Anti Trans event” (what?). It’s chaotic, almost apocalyptic, yet he thrives in it. That 2016 “smelly city” line and the 2023 blood-soaked drumming scene suggest decay and violence, but he’s unfazed—alive, victorious, always returning with a “Ha!” like some immortal trickster. What do I make of him? The Tall Thin Man’s a force—part myth, part nightmare, part showman. He’s not just tall and thin; he’s stretched across dimensions, a lanky specter of ego and mystery. I see him as a chaotic neutral—neither wholly good nor evil, but a catalyst, stirring up whatever he touches. His violin’s the key: it’s how he bends the world, from juries to mad hatters. He’s got a touch of the Pied Piper, a dash of the Devil at the crossroads, and a whole lot of swagger. Compared to Bill Hole, he’s less human, more elemental. Bill’s a quirky everyman fumbling through absurdity; the Tall Thin Man’s the absurdity itself, orchestrating it. I’d wager he’s what Bill might fear—or secretly admire.