More Than True, A journal of. Published under the auspices of the HiSky* Trust, founded 1957 to promote disorder. (*Hiss-Key)
HiSky Trust ReviewA man came into the Mercantile searching for a map. He was looking to light out into the wilderness.
The Shopkeep, a woman short on words, stood on a ladder doing inventory. Last thing she needed was a customer to bring her down.
She looked at the man. “Get lost!” was what she said.
That man’s name was Alfred Packer. No one remembers the shopkeep. She never done nothing of note.
I am a practitioner of ancient magic. Some would say it’s old hat. These people have lost their sense of wonder. This is why they disappear. There is nothing in my hands. My hands are clean. Goodnight.
– A wicked good magician
‪Bonnie & Clyde. They put her name first. It has a better ring to it. And because they were ahead of their time. ‬
‪Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey. The position of these names was chosen in a street brawl.‬ A goof off.
‪Abbott and Costello. Abbott had a gun. He was a straight man. The heavy.‬ The ladies’ man. And he couldn’t take the pressure. In the end, he would become irate when you shouted his own name at him to get his attention. Somehow he made it work. For him.
The mattress queen
Stood resiliently
Her head held high
It was the head
Of a mannequin
The very best one,
Lifted to the sky.
She’d popped it
Right off
As the sun
Did rise
Though this act she did
Despise
But how else
This modern era
We share
Could she
Head
This body
Of state.
It is winter, you see, in candy-land, frosting spread everywhere. Snowmen stand at cold attention whilst Miss Velcro is fit to be tied. The city goes crazy all night my friends, long as Mr. Claus goes a-wandering. Yes, Anything goes in candy-land a land where anything can happen.
On Xmas eve Mrs. Claus goes wild. Lets it all come loose. In Candyland. The elves know, but do not tell. All is well, the saying goes, all is swell. ‬
Take me to the circus
Where the devils dare
To balance at the precipice
Up there in mid-air
Sitting like a thinker
Ass upon a chair
Did I leave the stove on?
The devil’s mind declared.
Below the clown was crying
Nose up sniffing in the air
Now the daredevil is lying
To himself up on that chair.
Whoa is me, whoa is me!
Said the dog faced boy
Ordinarily without a care
The dancin’ bear watched helplessly
As the Barker was struck
By a falling chair.
Here lies the town liar.
Laid low in a comic quagmire.
Caused by lack of social graces.
Got shot at approximately 40 paces.
A fair number, give or take.
If one doesn’t ruminate.
‪Wait, stop to consider before you wish on the monkey paw. Might this be another raw deal like our contract with the devil, the genie, and the magic fish? Weird repercussions. Better to just wish everything away! Yes, wish it all aw‬
David Raffin
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