Amerrycountry- Called a ''masterpiece'' by Dr. Bahram Meghdadi

Amerrycountry

AmerrycountryAutorAbiogrAphy

By Zadmehr ToraBi Penemy of Pignorance

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© 2012 by Penemy of Pignorance. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/08/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5909-2 (sc)ISBN: 978-1-4772-5908-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: pending

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according to Holy Books, we are Lordered to “donate” to the poor. So let’s not be sindifferent to them, and let’s develoaf, textpand, and penhance the theme.

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as writers tribute their works to family members, friends, or patrons, if i can be considered a fledgling writer, i would like to torabiute this textperiment to those whose memories have always pencouraged me: my wife (although she is sindifferent to this), my daughter Paria, and my professors. also, i would like to torabiute this wholly autorabiographical textperience to the following writers and poets whose books have pendowed many hatching writers like me and, of whom many of us novice writers have been penvious: the eliterachairman Shakespeare; the championeer James Joyce, who showed the rabbit hole to me by his Winofguns Fake; the prolifictionist Victor Hugo; Le clezio; and also to the populartist Kevin carter.

and as eliterachairmen (l do not selfistly include myself), quote sentences from eliterature at the

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openings of their books, i have quoted four sentences that give most of the themes of this textperiment:

1. The civilized world, discharged all over the earth, in the course of four and twenty hours, one hundred and fifty thousand useless shots. at six francs per shot, that comes to nine hundred thousand francs a day, three hundred million a year, which vanish in smoke. This is a mere detail. all this time the poor were dying of hunger.—Les Miserables

2. Words are a source of misunderstanding . . . the eyes are blind. one must look with the heart.—The Little Prince

The third is an epigram by an unknown writer:

3. The poor are evapoorating.

and the last one is part of one of my poems:

4. Who was Shakespeare? He shook the sphere.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

for whom do i write? for you who read me.

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in the third millennium, and long after Plato’s Republic, more’s Utopia, and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, we are still worlds and millennia away from amerrycountry; still there are many emaciating kids world-wilde, and the world is similar to dysturopias like Manimal Farm, and 1984, and all of us are responsinle for these. nevertheless, we’d better hope to explore the universal state of amerrycountry.

about the diction of this textperiment, i textplain that if you can imagine “nuncle” Lear lost in a motel in a smoggy and slithy area around oxbridge, you will not face any difficulty in textploring this textperience, that intends to give you a little refreshmentality. i hope you do not become pentrapped, pencaged, and penraged by my penigmatic diction.

Some readers will interpret me accurately, some will sinterpret or misinterpret me accusingly, many will not read me more than this sentence. However, i beg you to read this textperiment without characterorizing or sinsulting me at the end.

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i was born in neither an aristocratic nor an aristocrabic family; it’s not bad to be born aristocratic, but it is not good to be aristocrabic. of course, here the word


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aristocratic has a limited reference and does not textend itself to an entire class. my ancestorabis, who were povertorabis, had lived in Queenglondowntown for near two centuries, and my poorigin has had its own fruitfoolness for me. However, i would like it if i were born as a lordinary Londonatorabi or a londonatorphanager.

my father, James originatorabi, born and grown up in Queenglondowntown, was very interested in Queenglish eliterature, but unfortunaturally, because of his poorigin, had not been able to get oxfortunate and attend oxbridge or any other university in Queengland.

as you notice, since this textperience is half autorabiographical and half the child of my heart, original names are revealed.

my father was a tailor whose tales gave refreshmentality to his customers and me. He never taught me sewing coats and dresses with the sewing machine in his small workshop; instead, he encouraged me to become a populartist. and he pencouraged me a lot to become a righter, that is, a writer who writes to bring humaniy to the right path, one who is not sindifferent to the global issues and sympathizes with the weak, one who

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donates something valuable to humanity, even if it is one epigram or one short poem.

To help me become such a writer, or righter, he used to tell me it’s not enough just to be a simple narratorabi of insignificant events passing around me and my thought, because this will ultimately waste my flourishing pendowment that otherwise could be used for discovering and depicting detrimental human flaws in the world. He had named this general error of wasting of writers’ pendowment or wasting of artistic and scientific opportunities and talents on insignificant issues a sinsignificance. He told me one should be an initiatorabi, by which he meant a good writer should initiate some good intention or thought in the hearts and minds of his or her readers that might lead to some good actions for the benefit and betterment of humanity and the world. To become a good humanitarian writer, or righter, he believed one should be an originator or an avant-garde, a championeer who is not afraid of any textperience and who is not grammarred, one who is ready to sacrifice himself or herself for the benefit of the african’t kids. African’t kids was his portmantorabi expression for the poor kids of africontinent that can’t kid around and have fun, as kids of americontinent or other continents do. He believed a righter is any writer who is ready to sacriface himself and his reputation as a novice writer to the african’t kids and the poorphans.


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He believed a writer should be a procreator, that is creator of one’s own unique tales, diction and even terms. also he believed a writer should have a sense of humor. He had two jokes about himself that he would often tell his customers to entertain them or to give them refreshmentality, as he said. first about his job, as a fun he would say he is a stailor, or a stylor, and then he would explain his queer word by saying that he is a tailor who is a designer of new dress and coat styles as well and one who is not limited by the already existing designs or fashions. at first, his styles did not have any fans; later on, some of his styles reached a universale and became universold.

Second, he would pengraft some nouns used above and others that end in the suffix—tor, like originator, narrator, and creator to our family name Torabi and come up with funny words. for example when he preached to me as a child, he would use the term pastorabi for himself, which i liked very much.

He frequently told me that it’s not an easy engagement to be pengaged for the Queenglish ladies and the kinglish and lordinary gentlemen of the Queengland, he believed one should be pendowed for them.

now you, dear Queenglish, americanadian, africamerican, africanadian, americaustralian, new

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Zenglanders, and fritish engliterate readers, at the end of this textperiment will be the best referees to see whether i, as the humble sketcher of this romantorabic autorabiographical storaby, which is my manifesto for novice writers (like myself), and my message and gift to the world, have succeeded in becoming a good initiatorabi.

my father believed in four other necessities of a righter: ability to discoverb, by which he meant to discover new verbs, actions, ideas, and concepts for the betterment of humanity; second, having a latinterest, by which he meant familiarity with Latin; third, ability to etymologize; and finally, being Oxfortunate, what i have not become yet.

He believed a righter must spend all these quabilities, and all his or her pendowment and penergy to penlighten the world; that means to help europe metamorphase into eurotopia and the universe into the universal state of amerrycountry.

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Some years ago i had a friend, not among us anymore, by the name of Herzodmehr Humpty Torwell, who tried to become a writer. He wrote the following punish story and wanted to publish it before his sudden death.


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Please, if you are not in a hurry to do some other urgent work and if you are not tired, read his story below and see if it deserves publication. if yes, can you suggest a good publisher? maybe in this way i can do a favor to the memory of my friend, its deceased writer.

Herzodmehr Humpty Torwell, who always before his death insisted on remaining anonymous, gave this story to me to know my idea on it, before he one day very accidentally was shot in the head in Queenglondowntown while passing in front of a police station where a harmed policeman was standing on guard. The policeman’s trigger finger had inadvertently, maybe sinadvertently, touched and pressed the trigger; a bullet was shot and pierced into Herzodmehr’s forehead and upon his left eyebrow; he passed away on the spot; his friends and i were shocked; his little brother wept a lot; and his mother and father became prematurely old and withered. When i saw his mother the next day, she asked me, “Do you think the policeman must be considered innocent, sinnocent, or sinful?”

after that tragic event, i could not help wishing: if only harms were not sinvented; or if only now that they are sinvented, we could say a farewell to them; and if only the time could come when nobody works for wartillery and warmament production sindustries.

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Let me etymologize that actually harms, wartillery, and warmament had been the original terms for arms, artillery, and armament, but nearly two millennia ago, some people who were known as manimals, well-known to be wardent warmongers, by a machination or sintrigue with the worders of their land, which was called manimal farm (let me add that in the argot of manimal farm worder was the current term for lexicographer), bribed the worders with a very large number of heavy gold bars, and in this way tricked the obedient worders to do just a simple work on their dictionaries, and to delete the w of wartillery and warmament with the aim of hiding the wolfish cruelty and wrongness of the root war in the two words; and also of their frequent wars and their large amount of hidden wartillery and warmament, and forged artillery, which suggests art, as a euphemism for wartillery and armament for warmament. This was done without much notice and objection from the people of that time, who seldom were welliterate. in this way, the wardent sinhabitants of manimal farm tricked their foolhardy people to make artillery and armament in their large hidden sindustrial (sindustrial shortened into its euphemism industrial by the worders) companies, and then to use them, sometimes against each other, and sometimes against the people of the neighboring lands. it is said that according to a rare banned chronicle or annals called Mannals of Manimal Farm, after just one year


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and one war with a neighboring land, the wardent warmongers captured twenty times more gold bars than the number they had spent as a bribe to their greedy worders.

also, according to the same banned Mannals of Manimal Farm, another secret contract had been signed between the warmongers on one side and their worders on the other side. according to this contract, the worders took three thousand heavy gold bars to change worders into ordereds and totally give up their jobs to the warmongers. in this way, worders became ordereds and no more dealt with working on words. next the warmongers, believing themselves to be good war artists, or wartists, as well as warmongers, became pengaged in faking words to their own benefit and as they pleased.

after a while, in manimal farm—which was undergoing a big transformnation—no dictionary contained wartillery, warmament, sinsult, sinstead, sintrigue, or harmy. Artillery, armament, insult, instead, intrigue, and army, which were less repugnant and actually euphemisms for the worriginal (turned into original) terms, had replaced them and became very common words in manimal farm. now people of manimal farm would very easily and without worry sinsult one another and people of other lands, and use wartillery against

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each other and also against other lands. meanwhile, the warmongers and the wartillery sindustry owners were getting richer and richer, while the poor were evapoorating.

Wartillery to artillery is what sinsult is to insult, sintrigue to intrigue, humanimal to human, manimal to man, and my relation to man is what Darwin’s was to man.

it is also mentioned in the Mannals of Manimal Farm that during one wintry night attack on the luxurious mansions of the ordereds (previously worders), some men, around thirty, who were disguised by masks of animals—pigs, dogs, cows, sheep, and mainly wolves, and who were harmed with machetes and machine guns, killed all the ordereds and took away all the gold bars they had received and had treasured in their castles and mansions, just to delete the letters w, s, b, h and some other letters from some words of dictionaries of manimal farm like wartillery, sinsult, harmy, and harms.

Little by little, the dictionaries of manimal farm were textperiencing a big metamorphasis, and its people were undergoing a big transformnation.

old dictionaries were collected, shredded into pieces, burned, or thrown into rivers by special manimal farm


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agents who wore uniforms with constantly changing and vague badges. These agents considered themselves to be the mental workers of manimal farm. Under the pretext that some words in omf dictionaries—that is, old manimal farm dictionaries—were harmful for the mental health of their meek kids because they contained detestable roots like war, sin, dic, or harm, they would arrest, tormentalize, and suffocage anyone that had the old original version of animal farm dictionary.

They had published thousands of their own newly-created dictionaries without words like wartillery, sinsult, sinstead, and sintrigue, and would freely furnish two of these dictionaries to anyone who would give them one omf dictionary, as they were trying to make it the current omf sicktionary. also, as they sinterpreted (sinterpret changed into the euphemism interpret) to their sheepish people, the first syllable of the older term dictionary sounded obscene and a case of impoliterature to ears, therefore these agents had coined a new name for their new version of dictionaries: kidtionary, which, as they said, was more kid friendly because the main users of dictionaries in manimal farm were kids, and by sinserting kid, the kids would easily become encouraged to read them dulligently day and night at homes and at schools. at schools, little kids were burdened with scurriculums to

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memorize the whole kidtionary within three months. any kid who could accomplish this assignment would be given the praising title of “bestudent of manimal farm,” a title for which most kids sheepishly strived. any kid who could not or would not do the assignment for any reason would be given the belittling title of “beastudent of manimal farm,” to be tormentalized.

These next generations of kids were not familiar with many concepts and terms that existed just some years ago, before they were born. To this list, which already penlists harmy, wartillery, warmament, sinsult, and sinstead, other terms like atombic bomb (which worders camouflaged into its euphemism atomic bomb), transformnation (turned into transformation in kidtionaries) and warrest (turned into arrest), warganization (turned into organization), and evapoorate (turned into evaporate) can be added. The target of all these changes in language was the strictly banned term: transformnation. it meant to transform the meek kids of manimal farm to the most cold-blooded wardent warchitects and wartists of the world, and to prepare them for the warganization of the biggest harmy of the world. anybody who dared to pronunce the term transformnation would be warrested on the spot and would never be seen after that.

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now let’s hope we really experience and not just textperience the time when it is regarded with disdain to be dangermaniac and when no longer any hungermaniac person germanipulates or hitlermanipulaes the world and commits religionocide and finally suicide. Let’s hope the time comes when nations do not warticulate against each other and no wargot exists. Let’s hope we experience the time when guns are gone, dollar is not idolized, euro eulogized, pound hound, no lad rushes to put in himself in a semi-permanent presidency position, and no lad rushes to put in democrassy and democrushy sinstead of genuine democracy.

Let’s hope the time comes when people do not have neologiphobia or neolexicophobia, and do not consider me fancifool.

Let’s hope the time comes when inhabitants of the world do not sinsult and characterorize each other.

Let’s hope the time comes when nobody gets undeservedly frajailed and suffocaged for ordinary things, nobody gets tormentalized in unknown dungeons, necktied (a euphemism for hanged), and let’s hope the time comes when no scientist like galileo gets torchurched and no heroine like Joan of arc becomes crucifired.

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Let’s hope the time comes when being reasonable does not mean to be impreasoned, when there is no religionocide, no relijealousy, no new clear pandemoranium, no sinfantry and no brutalibanism.

Let’s hope the time comes when there is no sexcision of little girls in africontinent, no sexploitation, no misunderstanding between couples because it may cause misundersleeping and misundersleeping causes bedmaterialism, and sextramarital and sextracurricular sintercourse.

Let’s hope the day comes when no drugly person is seen in Queengland, wargentine over the paradisland ends, bigger profit shares of our industries like gindustry, owned by our kind londonatorphanagers, reach the poorphans in our orphanages, and europe becomes eurotopia.

Let’s hope now that Bombladen is Baracknocked out, and checkobamated, we explore an orderly borderless world, a universal cosmopolitean depoluticized country, a merry country—let’s say amerrycountry with amerryculture.

Let’s hope the time comes when aspiring, unacknowledged, no-vice writers easily become oxfortunate and oxfoportunate without getting


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oxphobia and taxphobia by oxforemen and can continue to write penergetically, and penthusiastically for humanity’s sake, especially for the emaciated african’t poorphans and in order to amerrycontribeautify the world.


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if these portmanteaus had already been created or creafacted, this responsibility would have been taken off me; and if i do not venture this penterprise and textperiment here in my small home in Queenglandowntown and in Queenglandguage, that unlike some lingucaged universitting languished professors i believe is a very potential landguage, and which is like a fertile farm for futuristic philanthropic findings, another person in another part of the world and in another era may do it.

Languages are live phenomena, in which ideas and words grow fortunaturally. every language is a mine that sooner or later will be textcavated. our task is to rejuvenate Queenglandguage and not to let it languish and become chinannihilated.

christopher columbus explored america; some people are interested in sexploration and sexaggeration, some are sinterested; and i am interested in textploring and textcavating terms in Queenglandguage.

Words facilitate thoughts; new words facilitate new thoughts.

now let’s begin Herzodmehr’s story:

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The Pignorants in Manimal FarmBy: Herzdodmehr Humpty Torwell

The poorphans are evapoorating.

To the rich.

i apologize to the poor for dedicating this story to the rich and not to them. i have two excuses. first, how can the poor read this book when they do not have sufficient sustenance, clothes or shelter, or if they have these they are not engliterate, at least some rich might buy books to decorate their library. Second, i promise to donate the revenue of this book to poor children, especially african’t kids. finally, if these textcuses do not suffice, i will dedicate this story to the rich that once were poor. all the rich at first have been poor, but few among them remember this. So i correct my dedication: To the rich when they were poor.

i am a twenty-five-year-old boy named Herzodmehr Humpty Torwel. i live with my parents in Queenglondowntown, have a studentist sister, Beny, in


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Sweden, and two brothers in canada: Bernard, who is studying engineering, and Bob, who is educatering. He wants to become a hotel manager.

my grandfather, a robust old man, passed away ten years ago at the age of seventy-six, because of some sinjuries he suffered during World War ii, or as he termed it, “World Wild ii,” “World Wrong ii,” “World Worse ii,” and “World Wolves ii.” His name was James Humpty Torwell, better known as general Torwell.

He led a celibate life after his wife’s—that is my grandmother’s—tragic death during the atombic bombings (or as he said atombombings) of Queenglondowntown in World Wrong ii. He kept a couple of her pictures in a notebook, sinside which he had written his memories of the wars in which he had fought wardently. on the notebook he had written, “my World Wrong ii memories.” as he used to tell us before his death, during his wardent life, first he had been a wardent wartillerist, next a sinventive and singenius warchitect, and finally and suddenly, after my grandmother’s tragic death, he left the war fronts and wished he had been wartless. once he told me to read his memories and try to fictionalize them to magnify the ugliness and fogginess of war in both cases of defeat and victory. To this request i replied that to pengage in such an important humanitarian

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theme, pendowment of prolifictionists like Dickens, Tolstoy, or Hugo is needed, which i lack, certainly and unfortunaturally. ever since, i have wished: if only i could do what my grandfather asked me; and i have been regretting a lot of sinsignificant academonic publications of different sorts and amounts that are a waste of penergy, penthusiasm, paper, talent, time, and money, without solving any tangible and significant humane problem.

Last christmas, my father called me to his room and told me:

“Herzodmehr, i want to tell you a secret, but you should promise me not to reveal it to anybody without my consent as long as i am alive.”

His gaze into my eyes forced me to answer:

“okay Daddy, i promise.”

“i want to give you a priceless gift that my father gave me before his death. He gave it to me and asked me not to tell anybody anything about it, and . . .”

He stopped and drank a little water, more as if to moisten his lips and tongue for a fatherly talk than for quenching a thirst.


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He went on very quietly, as if he was afraid my mother, who was in the hall, could hear him.

“The gift that i want to give you is a treasure map. you should try to go and find the treasure or keep the map for your future kids. But the sooner it is found, the better it will be for us. i have always believed that you could do it better than me, because you like adventure. moreover, i never had the chance to go to africontinent.”

“africontinent? you mean the treasure is in africontinent?” i said in wonder, but trying to reveal no tone of fear or sign of disagreement in my voice or eyes. rather, i wanted it to sound as if i liked it.

“yes, africontinent. you should manage it anyhow, the sooner the better. When can you go?”

“Daddy, i have always wanted to see africontinent, especially the monumentall Pyramids in egypt. maybe i can set off after two days.”

“That’ s great.”

He took an old, light brown wooden box that was not very big, unclasped it, opened the lid, took out an atlas, opened it, took out two brownish leather sheets from

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inside the atlas that were actually two old treasure maps, and showed them to me.

i sat nearer to my father and took the old maps in my hands. They were without any smell, as if the smell had disappeared during many decades or maybe centuries.

“Wow. are they real? Does the treasure really exist? We can become tycoons, Daddy,” i said.

“i hope so. it depends on you. one of these maps, this bigger one, takes you to the desert city in South africontinent where the treasure is hidden, and this smaller one shows the site of the village, the hill there, and the exact spot of the buried treasure.”

“okay, i’ll do my best; i will not return empty-handed if any treasure exists there.”

“or if it still exists there.”

“yes, if it still does.”

“Let’s join your mother in the sitting room now before she comes here and sees these maps.”


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He took the maps, carefully put them back in the atlas, carefully put the atlas in the wooden box, went to the other side of his room, pushed aside a small table, and lifted an old carpet that was spread under the table. i saw a hole a little bigger than the light brown, wooden box. He put the box there.

“This hole has been here since my father gave the maps to me ten years ago, before his death. i dug it myself. When you are ready to go to africontinent, i will give you the maps and the talisman and will also tell you the talisman sentence. They will always be here till that day. Do not tell anybody about them, or you will spoil our plan.”

He covered the hole with the carpet, put the small table upon it, and i followed him out of the room to join my mother.

Briefly, this is what happened after i went to my bedroom that night till i set off to South africontinent two days later, reached the treasure desert, the treasure village, found the treasure, and took it. This is what occurred next on that night:

Back in my room and bed, i couldn’t fall asleep till late at night. eyes closed, i tried to sleep but couldn’t. my inward eyes saw mixed things, including african’t kids,

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africontinent, beautiful birds and babies, bananas and banana trees, coconuts and coconut trees, crocodiles camouflaging to catch cows, a corpse of a child, traditional dancers, Desmond Tutu, dogs, donkeys, egyptian elephants stepping on frogs, giraffes, a goat that was the only possession of a poor old woman, lots of gold, guns, gyroscopes, a group of hyenas, insects, idols, idle children, jungles, knives, kids begging for alms, a lizard running away into a hole from leopards and lions in Libya, moroccan monkeys and other mammals, mandela (nelson), the nourishing nile with olive trees and pitons on its bank, The Pyramids in egypt, pheasants, the poorphans evapoorating, quilts, queer rhinoceroses swimming in a river near a railroad, salamanders and snakes in Sudan, stone pieces thrown with slingshots in Syria streets toward the police and their accompolices, strange trees, Tunisian tigers, a treasure, undernourished children, underdeveloped countries, vans, vipers, a vulture waiting to feast on a small, feeble corpse, wart hogs, wonderful wildlife, excision, youths yelling in yemen streets, zebras, and finally i imagined i found my treasure. i asked myself what would i do with this wealth, and this question brought many pleasant answers. i was already feeling myself to be among the top five richest men of the world. certainly i would buy luxury hotels, houses, cars, watches, and of course a personal ship and airplane. i


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could spend lots of money freely and without worry. Up to then, buying expensive things made me pensive.

on the other hand, i was worried this treasure would not be used in the best way possible if i spent it just on luxuries and did not londonate part of it to londonatorphanages and to anyone who is an individual Desiring Service patient. However, my insomnia—partly sinsomnia—subsided, and i slept.

i am an easy dreamer, and that night i dreamt this scary hallusination:

i had dug a deep hole in a remote desert in africontinent and found a treasure there, but couldn’t climb out of the big, dark hole. i was even ready to give up the treasure and go out of the hole empty-handed just to save my life from the bites of the numerous worming boas and pithons, vipers, three headed cobras, strange spiders, and scorpions that were crawling and marching down toward me from the top of the hole. That hallusination could make anyone sick from fear. When i looked at the frightful creatures more carefully, i saw there were other frightening creatures among them: rattlesnakes, snakes with scorpion tails that could bite both with their fangs in their snake-heads and with their scorpion tails. i also saw big, black, winged spiders with colorful snake tails.

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a black boa that was ahead of the lethal group crawling toward me talked to the other scary creatures:

“Look. Here comes another greedy manimal in search of the treasure.”

Then he looked at me and said: ‘‘Who are you?”

although i was scared to death, i answered:

“Herzodmehr Humpty Torwell,” and then i said: “i have never seen or heard about a snake that talks. you are very mysterifying.”

it answered:

“you manimals have always selfistly thought you know everything and that everything you know is correct. you are partly to be excused, of course. The human race has always considered itself higher and better than we animals. all these snakes, spiders, scorpions, snake spiders, and snake scorpions that you see around me can talk. and you humanimals think yourselves to be the epitome of creation, while you are very imperfect. you should know that all creatures understand men completely; it’s you who do not understand the other creatures, and if we never talk to you men, it’s because we do not want to lower ourselves.”


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Surprise was added to my horror, and gulliver came to my mind.

The talking snake continued:

“Whenever creatures—for example, birds, fish, dogs, or insects—see a person who seems to be a good person and understands them, they talk to him. So do not wonder if one day you see, for example, a parrot, a salmon, a puppy, or an ant talking to a man.”

i said:

“and does your talking to me show that when you and the other scary creatures around you saw me you found out that i understand your language?”

“exactly; animals have abilities of which you men are both incapable and unaware.”

“Like what?”

“We can smell water and food from afar; can foretell earthquakes, weather changes, and many other natural events long beforehand; we are more sympathetic to each other than many of you manimals are towards each other; and we naturally know if a creature who is facing us has a pure or a bad soul within him.”

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“oh, and of which class am i?” i asked.

“you see? you are used to classifying and segregating everything. among us, unlike you, class has no meaning. However, to answer your question, i should say that tu es pur; that’s why we have not already stung and devoured you.”

“excuse me! i didn’t get you.”

“i mean you are pure.”

The snake stopped, widely opened its mouth, and made a hissing sound. i saw its mouth and fangs.

Then it continued: “you have come here and dug this hole to take away the treasure which belongs to the poorphans of the world, but you didn’t know that it has a thousand and one guards like us, right? Do you have the talisman? Do you know the talisman sentence? What will you do with it if we do not bite and kill you and let you take it out to Queenglondowntown?”

i couldn’t bear the terror of these strange creatures and the surprise that the boa knew that i come from Queenglondowntown. i was moaning out of horror. in dreams, one’s perceptions become more exact and


12

sharper. Had i been awake to see such scenes and creatures, my fear could not have been greater.

i was tongue-tied for some moments.

“answer soon,” it said.

“i don’t know,” i said, and continued: “i do not want the treasure. Just let me go out of this hole. my parents are waiting for me. They will die if i die.”

“Parents! He loves his parents,” the snake said to the other mysterrifying creatures, and continued: “as you know, humans and snakes have been eternal enemies, and they are destined to kill each other, but we will not kill you and will let you take the treasure to Queenglondowntown to let you know that we other creatures are not what you think we are. But know that before you, other greedy manimals have been killed here, and you should promise us to spend the treasure as we order you, okay?”

my horror diminished.

“Be sure, be sure,” i said. “How should i spend it?”

“first of all, know that if you disobey our command once you are let out of this hole with the treasure, one

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of us will find you one day and kill you. Second, you should use it for africare.

“okay. i will spend it for africare.”

it said: “Since you understand our language, we are sure that you are the right person to whom we should give the treasure. you are safe, and the treasure is yours to be used as you promised us. Don’t forget skinny african’t kids and poorphans of the world. Take the treasure and leave here.”

These frightening pithons, boas, cobras, vipers, spiders, scorpions, winged snake spiders, winged scorpion snakes, and dragon-like snake scorpions that finally allowed me to take the treasure for the sake of poor kids of the world were the guardians of the treasure, and they pitied the poor children of the world and africontinent more than many of us do! Had they truly come from the animal kingdom? Were they a mixture of animals and humans? could they truly be called animals in a negative sense? could they be called manimals? can a term like animaltruism be coined for them?

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Suddenly, i heard my father wake me up. He had heard me talk in extreme anguish. my mother also came to my room and fetched me a glass of water. i drank some, then told them, “i saw a hallusination.” They left the room, and i tried to sleep again.

The next morning i prepared myself for flights to africontinent. i packed some necessary things, including my passport, pounds, dollars, euros, a credit card, a glass, spoon, fork, knife, a lighter, some matches, shampoo, shirts, shorts, shoes, pants, some fruit, a map of africontinent, a camera, sunglasses, the two treasure maps, and the talisman.

i went to the nearest travel agency in Queenglondowntown, booked the next day flight to Spain, from there to nigeria on the same day, and from nigeria to Johannesburg after one day of rest and excursion. Then i took a flight to cape Town, the city where the bigger treasure map led me.

africontinent, with its people, tribes, and natural wildlife was amazing. it’s rich in resources, but unfortunately, i saw many african’t barefoot kids fending for themselves. Some poor people were sitting near a clinic; they had a banner or sign in front of them on which i could read “an individual Desiring Service.” one has to see africontinent.


16

The day after i arrived in cape Town, i found the treasure village. i introduced myself as a scientist wanting to do research on nocturnal insects in africa, and rented a small house close to the treasure hill. The work brought dangers to me, including threats of wild animals, snakes, and strange, dangerous insects. Thanks to special sprays, they did not harm me. The sprays would spread out nearly six meters, and the animals died or flew back in dismay.

after seventy-eight days of mainly secret activities, i found the treasure exactly in the place shown on the map, after digging a five-meter hole with my spade and a few other tools. it was in a big, cracked piece of pottery, and included a thousand gold coins, and a hundred gold-engraved manuscripts in the form of plates. i imagined how happy and proud my father would be of me, of how rich we would get, and what luxury houses and cars and so on we could own. The whole treasure was neither too heavy nor too big for me to carry to the small house. There i put all the treasure in my bigger backpack, and slept. The next day i vacated the house. its owner was a kind, old farmer. already feeling rich, i paid him a good sum of money and also one of the gold coins, then drove a car to cape Town, and from there took the soonest flight to Johannesburg.

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i tried never to part from the backpacks, especially the one containing the treasure, but for nearly two hours i left them in a hotel room in Johannesburg, went out without them to have a walk, look around, and buy some souvenirs for my parents. next i returned to my room in the hotel, picked up my backpacks, and took a cab to the Johannesburg airport.

from Johannesburg, i flew to madrid, Spain. in madrid airport i found out that somewhere and sometime during the trip the bigger backpack, the one with the treasure inside, had been emptied, and some rubbish—a pair of old shoes, a pair of slippers, some shirts and trousers, a box of cigarettes, and some stone pieces, with the same weight and size as the treasure—had been put inside to create the illusion that nothing had been touched or taken out of the backpack.

Where was i robbed? in the Johannesburg hotel, when i made the foolish mistake of going out of the room to the streets? During the flight, when the backpacks were not with me? or in the madrid airport, before i received the backpacks?

Which humanimal had dared to totally rob me of what was my right? What answer could i give to my father now? in such cases, one cannot easily go to the


18

police. no words could express my anger and sadness. i was shocked and about to collapse. i took a drink. moreover, as i had promised the speaking boa, i had really intended to spend the treasure in humanitarian ways, for africare and Londonation, and for the poorphans of the world. now the thieves who stole it from me would spend it just for their own sinjoyment.

i checked the other backpack. it seemed untouched; my camera and other things were in it. once, disappointedly, i decided to throw them all into a trash can, but fortunately didn’t.

The flight back to Queenglondon was very tiring, and when i reached home and my father heard the story, he shouted at me, nagged a lot, fell sick for two days, and didn’t talk to me for a week, but later on in his room, when my father and i carefully watched the films and pictures of the one hundred gold manuscript plates and the coins i took while i was at the rented house in the village near cape Town, our grief diminished. my father read the manuscripts from the films at a slow speed, and i wrote them down. The next pages are the story that were engraved on the gold plates:

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The HumanimalsKevin righter

Je suis Kevin Righter means: “i am Kevin righter.” Nous vivrons a Londres means: “We live in London.” although i am fritish, i am learning french. my father is British, my mother french, but since they never spoke french together, the reason for this being obviously my father’s lack of knowledge of french, i did not learn it in my childhood.

Three years ago, i had a part-time student job in the library of the college of Languages, in one of the Universities of Queenglondowntown. There i studied Queenglish eliterature. Ten hours a week i sorted and loaned books to classmates, collegemates, and professors, and did other related work. one day the nice manager of the library called me.

“Kevin, can you please go to the central library stockroom, check out the books there, and see if good books on english eliterature exist there? if yes, please bring them here. everything you need is arranged.”


20

“of course mr. richardson. When should i go?”

“Tomorrow, if possible!”

“Sure it is.”

Then he handed me a bunch of six rusting keys. The next morning i went to the stockroom of the library. it was in a rather large, underground room. i tried the keys one by one. The last key i tried rotated in the lock and opened it. i slowly pushed and opened the not-clean door with my right foot. it squeaked to complain that it was oil-thirsty, and in answer i promised the next time i went there i’d take oil to quench its thirst. i stepped in and cast an overall glance at the whole room first, to see whether any scary creatures existed there, i didn’t see any, but there were a lot of spider webs, on the corners of the walls and the ceiling, on the corners of the walls and the ground, on the windows, on the old, brown, wooden bookshelves, and even on some books. a mouse heard my steps and ran away.

fortunaturally, i had taken a pair of disposable gloves. To start and finish the work as soon as possible, i wore them. it was 8:00 a.m., and at 11:00 a.m. i had to attend the Queenglish novel class. We were reading Tristram Shandy. moreover, the conditions of the book stockroom were not very pleasant. The electric light

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switches were covered with dust. i tried them, but no lights went on. i tried the switches on the opposite wall, but just one lamp in the whole saloon turned on. Thanks to the wide windows, welcome sunlight came in, and i started to check out the books. There were books on many fields.

i found the section for Queenglish eliterature books, which consisted of twenty bookshelves.

one by one i had to take the books out, read their titles and authors’ names, and then i had to decide if they were worthy of joining the company of other books in the main library of the college. if they were, i put them in a medium-sized package to carry. if not, i put them back on the shelves. if a book was badly damaged, i could throw it out.

i selected some well-known novels, anthologies, comedies, and tragedies with safe and sound covers and pages. already i selected some good books like King Lear, Romeo and Juliet, Gulliver’s Travels, The Canterbury Tales, John Donne’s Anthology, Paradise Lost, Oliver Twist, Winofguns Fake, and Animal Farm to be taken out of this dark, dirty stockroom into the library. i saw machiavelli’s The Prince; i put it back on the bookshelf.


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in the next moment, something happened that at first looked very unimportant, but later on changed my destiny. my eyes spotted the remaining sheets of a torn book, and my right hand carelessly took out those coverless sheets that were in a bad condition. The cover with the first few pages, including the introduction and contents, were missing. at first, it didn’t seem to be a good book, so i threw it almost three meters away, on the pile of books that were to be discarded. in the last second before throwing it away, i wished i hadn’t done this. my hands wanted to reach and catch it in the air, but it was flying in the dusty and musty air. it fell on the pile of the unwanted books. a voice inside me told me to walk, find and pick up the book, and this time to check it carefully. after all, a book shouldn’t be cover-judged.

i reached the pile on the ground of almost a hundred small, medium, and big books, looked for it in this pile, found it, picked it up, blew away some of the dust on it, and began to read the first page, which fortunately was the beginning of the main part. i read the first two pages standing up, and wanted to read more, but checked the time. it was 10:20 a.m., so i put it at the top of the package, on top of the other selected books. i picked them all up together, walked over and turned off the lamp with my right elbow, walked out of the

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stockroom, closed the oil-thirsty door with my feet, and never did afterward what i had promised it.

i took and delivered the books to the main library, where i told mr. richardson about them. next i checked out the unknown book using my own library card, registering it as “an unknown old book,” and walked from the library to our class.

Until this day, that coverless, unknown book, whose name i haven’t found out yet, has been the best book i’ve ever read. it gave me a new view and way of life. Unfortunately, a friend to whom i loaned the book to read (i always lend good books to close friends), died in a car crash, and since then i’ve seen neither her nor the book. i wish the crash hadn’t happened and that i didn’t miss my friend. and i wish i knew the name of the book so i could find it in a bookstore. To find it, i have already talked about its content, plot, style, and characters to many librarians, booksellers, professors, publishers, and bookworms, all to no avail.

after many sleepless nights of thinking, last night a solution came to mind by which i hope to find the book or its title: i’ll go to a quiet place, listen to the piece of music that i used to listen to when i read the unknown book, kissmell some daffodils, concentrate, and try to remember as much as i can of it, and


24

penergetically write it as faithfully as possible, hoping that you welliterate engliterate readers might have read it before, and that after finishing this book you will help me find that book. if you have read that book, or know a person who might have some information about it, please inform me. i am ready to spend a lot of time, energy, and money to find it.

in the next pages i have intentionally imitated that lost book. if, with your help, this book reaches a universale and is universold, not for its financiallow profit to me, of course, i may find the book, read it many more times, and return it to the library. it is still registered in my name. i pensure you that in the case of universale and universelling, all the profit of this book will be wholeheartedly (not holeheartedly) donated to the emaciated african’t kids, or poorphans of any part of our world, or to the people with aiDS (an individual Desiring Service), or to other needy people. Let me add that due to so many diligent readings of that book when i had it, my diction of writing willy-nilly has become similar to the diction of that book. Words like African’t kids, poorphan, evaporating, pensure, universale, and Amerrycountry, if they seem new to you, are not originally mine; they are borrowed from that book. now fare you well, my dear readers. read me carefully, please.

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The unknown book began with the following epigram:

We should discover new verbs to help humanity reach Amerrycountry, so let’s discoverb.

Foreword

This pentrepreneur, who is pentitled as Creafactorabi Londonator with this penterprise and textperiment, wishes to pentertain his dear coterie of friends, including you, and hopetimistically more readers in future, if this poor textperience is allowed to penter Queenglish eliterature and reach a universale, although he does not have selfist financiallow sinterests. Part of his aim is to penrich, penliven, textpand, and rejoice Queenglish landguage and eliterature. recently he has become oxfortunate; he studies Queenglish eliterature at oxford University and is a literateacher in a Queenglondowntown high school. now i let you alone with the penamored creafactorabi Londonator, who hopes to present and presend some penjoycement to you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


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all the dear readers of this textperiment are welliterate, so i have allowed myself to penjoy a little bit of poetic freedom. if you like refreshmentality, you will read on to the end, and in this case i apologize for a few sexplicit sexcellent sexpressions you will find ahead. if you don’t like refreshmentality, i beg you to continue to read on a few more pages. maybe you will get penjoycement little by little, and then if you still don’t like this textperience, we can say goodbye to each other. Please in that case do not sinsult me.

This autobiography is a textperiment and textperience by which i still do not consider myself a genuine writer or righter, and you, dear readers who are reading me, please excuse and textcuse me and my text if it is not very different from many other books that already have pentertained you.

Here you will see Queenglish terms pengrafted and penjoined to each other, and if you are patient enough, you will be the honored guests to a wedding ceremony of words. if you cannot wait, but would like to attend it and find an attendancer for yourself in the ceremony right now, go to page one hundred two and be welcomed in the wedding ceremony. i hope you can find pentertainment, penjoyment, penjoycement, and sextreme sexcitement there.

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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

my wife sneers whenever she sees me working on this autorabiography. She believes that instead of wasting time and money on this story and sacrifaceing myself, i’d better prepare an academonic i Search income (iSi) pay-pair, or any other form of academonic pay-pair, because she needs money. regarding my foxford scurriculum, she is more demanding and dementing than my oxfortunate professors. Let me textplain that in the jargon of my oxfortunate classmates and collegemates, Foxford is a term for Oxford.

She also makes fun of my creafactivity; she can’t see the terms creative, fact, and activity in it; also, she has not heard of a story using penjoined words like Joyce’s Winofguns Fake, Lewis carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Brian aldiss’ Barefoot in the Head.

i was just reading robert frost’s poem “mending Wall.” in the middle of it, the following line reminded me of my wife’s mocking my autorabiography with pengrafted and penjoined words in it:

He will not go behind his father’s sayings, . . .


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She thinks writing this story wastes my time, which should be spent on my foxford scurriculum and writing pay-pairs.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

now i am in the class, and our oxfortunate professor is textplaining postmodern literature:

“Some features of postmodern literature are intertextuality (unintentionally, from intertextuality i reach intersexuality, and then sintersexuality), mixing languages, inclusion of episodes from the author’s life (creafactorabi’s life), mixture of dream and reality, open-endedness (open-pendedness) . . .”

i usually take the subway to commute between my small rented Queenglondowntown apartment and foxford University, and during this trip sometimes i listen to relaxing music or audio books in french.

yesterday i was sitting on a comfortable seat. With closed eyes, i was trying to take a nap but couldn’t. my mind was too busy to permit it. Different ideas entered the depth of my mind and wrestled one another in winning mind’s agreement and permission to be written in a je ne sais quoi form for you. mind was busy testing and evaluating the ideas one by one, some of

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which were satisfactory, and i wrote them down for you when i reached home.

now again i am on the subway back from foxford to the apartment. The subway is not very crowded. i am listening to an audio book of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Since it’s night and dark, i do not follow the lines of the book, which is in my brown leather bag. i am concentrating half on the novel and half on ideas that deserve your refined tastes. minutes ago a conversation between mind and Heart and i happened in my head.

i was thinking of why some writers like Hugo, Shakespeare, and Tolstoy become great righters and eliteratchairmen, and why their names get eternally pengraved in the literary scenes.

mind answered: “maybe because they knew how to write.”

This was too general. i was not convinced so i questioned mind: “What do you mean?” and mind answered:

“i mean they were great thinkers as well as writers.”

Still i was unconvinced:


30

“Why are their books still read in this age, which is very different from that of theirs? Be clear please!”

The subway reached the station and i got off. i saw an old man wearing a frock coat and his old wife with an umbrella. They were taking a walk. i passed them without much noticing them. it seemed as if i was in a dream. i took a cab for the little remaining way to the apartment. i was in a hurry to reach home and write my ideas. Then mind spoke to me:

“They are considered real eliterachairmen and good righters because they were good people and good members of society, because they pitied the poor, the weak and the downtrodden.”

i considered this almost a good explanation, but still i wanted more, so mind went on:

“moreover, they were great writers because they knew writing techniques and because . . .”

i did not look out of the cab window; instead i was trying to concentrate.

mind had stopped, it seemed as if he couldn’t give more answers to convince me, and as if to give a more convincing answer, he needed some help from

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somewhere else, so he invited Heart to help him in the conversation between him and me:

“Heart, creafactorabi asks me why some writers remain everlasting, and he seems unconvinced by my answer. can you help me with your answers, please?”

Heart, turning toward me, said:

i’d be glad to. you are asking a good question. you are covering many books in your foxford scurriculums, including literary criticism, comparative literature, and so on. But as you see, they are not helpful in answering basic questions.

i said, “i’m all ears to hear you.”

i was too preoccupied with these conversations in my head to notice the streets, the shops, and the people from the cab.

Heart said, “Those righters you named, along with many others, remain everlasting because they were spokespersons for the whole of humanity, and not just for a limited group or a special class of people. They dedicated their pendowment to the whole of humanity and wanted to keep it on the right track. They sympathized with the poor and the weak. Those


32

righters considered it their duty to help humanity by their penthusiasm. They did not write for money, to get university jobs and promotions, or for prestige, which means they were not universitting academonic writers.”

The cab stopped near the apartment. i paid, thanked the young driver, and walked toward the apartment.

it was nice to see that on the pavement a beautifully clean white poodle and its owner, a beautified young woman in her early thirties, wearing a pink cap, white sports suit, and sneakers were jogging.

an old man using a chic, brown, wooden cane to help him to stand near a newsstand was reading a newspaper. as i walked slower, some headlines caught my eyes: “Barracknocked out and checkobamated Bombladen,” “another africontinent Dicktator Dangerousted,” “monsterrorist Brutaliban Killed in Topium country,” and ‘‘Worriental Syrial massadacres,’’ and then i saw a sports newspaper on the newsstand. its big headline said: “european football Teams got manchesterminated.”

my Heart spoke with a rebuking tone to mind and to me:

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“all those great writers were really humans and not just a bunch of moneyed writers.”

He stopped. mind was also all ears. instead of taking the elevator, i walked up the steps to my apartment on the third floor. i could think and imagine better while walking up the steps.

i was convinced by Heart’s explanation about great authors and righters. Then i asked Heart’s idea about myself:

“What’s your idea about me?”

i rang the bell, and then remembered my key in my jacket pocket, took it out, opened the door, and stepped inside the apartment. my wife was coming toward the door. i said hello and smiled.

Talking to Heart, i did not dare to use words like my book, my diction, my terminology, and my story. i knew Heart would mock me if i used these words for myself.

i entered my den and prepared to write carefully the notes and drafts i made on the subway and the cab.

Heart answered:


34

“instead of judging you, i will give you some helpful tips, because if i pencourage your writing you may be misled, and if i show your faults, you may lose your self-confidence.”

i said, “i appreciate your advice. Please go on.”

“yes, please,” mind added. He was all ears, like a good student listening to his favorite teacher. “your explanations are so clear and tangible.”

my wife entered the room, saw me writing, and mockingly said:

“Writing?”

“yes.”

“Would you like tea?”

“yes, thanks.”

She went back to the kitchen.

Heart’s tone became less reproachful to me, and he seemed rather like a kind friend.

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“creafactorabi, remember what i tell you. Look into yourself and ask yourself, ‘What is my reason for writing?’ Then answer the question sincerely, without lying to yourself. if you are writing for money and that’s why you wish a universale, you deserve not to be pentitled even an amateur writer, let alone a righter.”

my wife brought me a cup of tea.

Heart was gazing into my eyes as if waiting to see my reaction. i said:

“if that was a bit of my sintention up to this moment, god knows it will not be so from now onward.”

He went on:

“you have taken a good step. also, if you are writing for prestige, you’d better not to do that.”

Heart was outwitting mind and me. mind couldn’t help nodding positively. it was clear that what Heart told me was without any prejudice.

my left hand picked up the teacup too late. i drank it. it was cold, so i put it down. i did not call my wife for another cup of tea. a man must not be burdensome to his wife.


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i wanted to hear more from Heart. it seemed to me that i could use his humanitarian ideas as a theme in my writing.

Heart spoke to me like a good literary critic. i risked asking him another question:

“Heart, when can i call myself a righter?”

He seemed not to like this question. i wished one thousand times i had not asked this. He resumed with a reproachful tone:

“it seems that your goal is to become a famous academonic writer and not a humanitarian righter. if you proceed like this, maybe when the hell freezes.”

“i didn’t mean that; excuse me please.”

mind intervened to help me:

“creafactorabi will use his fame in humanitarian ways if ever he becomes so . . .”

“yes i will,” i said.

Heart went on:

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“The world does not need academonic writers with fame-fury and name-need. Writers have to know that their contribution in leading humanity toward genuine humanity and amerrycountry is the biggest of all. righters will lead the world to amerrycountry, academonic writers will lead it to armorycountry.”

i wished at that moment that Heart did not notice one of the portmanteaus that you, dear readers, have read till now in this textperiment that from now on i do not dare call a book, because Heart has deflated me with his high standards. But it seemed to me that he has noticed something dissatisfactory about me; i saw anger in his beautifully sober eyes. He said:

“i used the terms name and fame, and unfortunaturally they reminded me that you are one of those sindividuals sinfected with fame-fury.”

“Who? me?”

“yes, of course,” he said. His look was now that of an angry father toward his vicious son. He continued with a clear mockery in his tone, which disappointed me. “you, mr. creafactorabi Londonator, deserve not to be pentitled a writer, at least not until you have regretted creafaking terms with corrupting sinfluences.”


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“Who? me? Why? Like which one?” i dared ask the strict Heart.

“you’d better say ones and not one because there are many. Do you want me to condemn you with your own creafactivity and creafaketivity?”

“yes,” i said timidly. i know i have not been flawless.

Universale shows your greed for fame.

i remembered one sentence by Hugo in Les Miserables that can serve me here. it said: “Je entendit sortir de ma poitrine un soupir profonde,” or, “i heard a deep sigh come out of my chest.”

for some moments i covered my face with the palm of my hands. i couldn’t see Heart and mind clearly. Teardrops were wetting the surface of my eyes. i said:

“Heart, for the second time i promise to use . . .”

“i do not need your promise,” he said. “Promise it to yourself.”

i was weeping noiselessly. Sour teardrops flowed down from my eyes. at that time, i promised myself to really use my penthusiasm and pendowment in

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humanitorabian ways, especially for african’t kids, and for paving the way for amerrycountry, however small it may be. Heart continued:

“Just remember that if you do not notice what you are writing and what your intention is, your dear engliterate readers, most of whom are distinguished university professors, will think that your sintention of coining selfistly funny words is to pendorse and sindicate your foolishness. Haven’t you read and taught Pope’s Essay on Criticism to your students?”

“yes i have.”

“How many times?” he asked.

Still i was weeping noiselessly.

“a few times,” i said

He said:

“Then don’t you think you might be one of those of whom he says:

‘Some have at first for wits, then poets passed,

Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.’?”


40

at this moment, my noiseless weeping turned into a loud sobbing. again i hid my face in my palms. mind again helped and defended me:

“Heart, creafactorabi is just a fledgling pentrepreneur. you can’t expect too much from him now; you are too strict on him. moreover, his aim of creating universale has been humanitarian, and for him financial issues are financiallow. as you can see and hear, he is helplessly weeping; he is an easy weeper. Soothe him now.”

“no-vice writers should become prepared for the thorns of different attacks. if i do not vaccinate him against them, who will?” Heart said.

This soothed me.

Then, Heart wiped away my tears with a handkerchief in his hand, hugged me, and said:

“Dear creafactorabi, my intention in rebuking you was to give you a lesson which nobody else could. Before others make fun of you, i have to warn you that although you have had no sintention by creafacting your terms, still there are few academonegative critics with a PermanentHeaDamage degree in belittling and criti-seizing no-vice writers’ books. These few PermanentlyHeaDamaged critics will try to critilittlisize

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you as few critics of literature, or in short, cliteritics, who tried to critilittlisize other writers before you. you should not easily get pentired by them.”

at this point his tone turned into a kind father’s tone, and he smiled when he said:

“although you have intended to pentertain your readers by your creafactivity, know that there are many more better entertainments for them. your pentertainment is not enough for them. you should have something remarkable to tell them.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and went on:

“creafactorabi, know that writing is a holy act, that book is a holy term, and that you can’t name yourself a writer or an author as long as you have nothing good to say to your dear readers, or as long as you have no sympathy for the whole of humanity; and you can’t do this if you are not really humane yourself first.”

i stopped weeping, my chest stopped heaving, and it seemed to me that this admonishment had been very necessary for me. He continued:

“now promise to use your penthusiam to soothe the pains and sorrows of the poorphans and poor people


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of the world who are evaporating. a good writer’s ideas and penthusiasm can be very effective in helping europe reach eurotopia, and the world explore the universal state of amerrycountry. good writers and thinkers are one reason that humanity has progressed to this stage of improvement, and the other way round.”

although i guessed i understood what he meant by “and the other way round,” i preferred to hear an explanation for it:

“Please be more clear.”

Heart said, “i mean on the other side, one of the reasons that humanity still has not grown weary of this dystopian way of life has been lack of enough penthusiastic, pendowed, and imagenius righters, poets, and thinkers who could tell humanity that he deserves to live in better conditions, or in amerrycountry; that he should essay and search to deserve paradise again; and that this world can easily change into the universal state of amerrycountry. it can happen if he knows all this; and good writers or righters are one of those few groups that can carry home this holly message to humanity and can bring him back to the right path. creafactorabi, we leave you alone to continue your writing. i know you have a lot to write now. But always

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remember that a writer who does not penlighten his readers with novel, humanitarian ideas, after a few years is not considered a writer at all, even if he has written dozens of universale megatitles. Bye. Let’s go, mind.”

Heart and mind went hand in hand. i was left alone. i decided to write in the hope of becoming a righter who writes for the sake of the poorphans of the world, especially the african’t kids, and for the sake of those who are grieving the loss of a dear family member, friend, or beloved, and to amerrycountribeautify the world.

i went to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of tea.

my wife saw my swollen eyes:

“Have you wept? may i ask why? may i ask for whom?”

i remembered a short sentence from Les Miserables:

“Je pleure sur tous.”

“Translate it. you know that i don’t like french Language.”


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“i weep for all.”

it’s past midnight and i will continue tomorrow morning. good night.

Before going to bed i kissmell the daffodils in the bedroom.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Today i continued the conversation with Heart and mind.

Heart said:

“creafactorabi, do you know that you have a long way to become a righter? first you should simply but really be a good person, which is impossible if you do not sincerely love humanity. To do this you should have sympathy for all humanity, and this cannot be done as long as you are a selfish or even selfist person.”

“What does selfist mean?” mind asked.

Heart looked at me.

“i guess i know what you mean, but please explain it.” i said.

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Heart said: “a selfist person is less selfish than a selfish person. actually, everybody is allowed to be a little selfist, but not more; otherwise he becomes selfish.”

“Heart, do you mean i am selfish or selfist?” i asked.

He answered:

“i have noticed that you are childishly worried about how to continue, finish, and publish this textperiment. you worry that it will not be published. you are afraid nobody will read it and that the sum you have borrowed to publish it will not return. Those eliterachairmen you named previously were not worried about themselves at all, but you are worried about yourself. all these worries show that you put yourself first, that you are selfist, that your aim is not purely humanitarian. not everybody who writes some pages deserves to be pentitled a righter. There have existed books by selfish and selfist writers that caused wars directly or indirectly. Wouldn’t it be safer if their writers had not written them?”

“yes, of course,” i agreed.

“if your aim is not purely humanitoabrian, then in a telepathic way, your selfist sintention and sentiment becomes textplored by the first readers of your work.


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Then they label you as a notorobious writer, and nobody will read the ravings of your mind, although you yourself call these your contemplations and meditations. But if your aim in writing and then typing these thoughts, words, lines, and pages were really humanitoabrian, the readers would fortunaturally and telepathically textplore your good intention; this might bring a humanitarian universal acceptance for your textperiment.”

i couldn’t help smiling. i thought of Universale, African’t kids, londonation, poorphans, Amerrycountry and Africare.

“now creafactorabi, promise me to use this penthusiasm and pendowment in any reasonable and practical way to soothe broken hearts, hearts of those who are lonely, maybe because they have lost their beloveds, friends, children, parents, brothers, or sisters and are grieving for them. Promise me to use your creafactivity for depicting humanitarian facts that have been pignored, whether sintentionally or unintentionally. Promise me never to give up your humanitarian creafactivity.”

He stopped and gazed into my eyes.

“i promise.”

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it was the first time Heart and i talked so easily with each other.

i was not paying attention to anything around me in my room.

Then i remembered that in this autorabiography i had initially wanted to depict the treason of somebody who had sinjured me in my youth. What should i do now? can i find an indirect way of doing it, or shall i forget it? i decided to consult Heart for this, to let him take the responsibility and have the freedom to choose and decide for me, and thus liberate myself from the dilemma:

“But i’ve read that alexander Pope somehow criticized or took revenge from those who criticized him and his poetry in his Essay On Criticism. Didn’t he?” i asked.

“Poor creafactorabi, are you comparing yourself with eliterachairman Pope? How dare you? you can’t compare anybody with anybody else. moreover, i know what your intention is. you penjoy alluding to a girl (i said vulgirl to myself) who ended her betrothal to you by betrayal. isn’t that what you mean?”

“That’s it,” i said.


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“Well, although she did it, and did it in a nasty way, you should be able to forgive her if your aim is to become a righter. a righter needs an innocent and pure heart more than anything else. Did you forget all the things i have already said? Pens, sheets of paper or notebooks, laptops, literary journals, knowing aspects of novels, and writing techniques are the last things necessary for becoming a righter.”

“i forgive her then.”

“good. Promise me to never use your pendowment for personal penmity against anybody and anything, unless for penmity agaist deprivation and poverty—especially if it is in the form of poverty of thought or pignorance, selfishness, stupidity, superstition, treason, and many other sins and corruptions. Know that poverty of thought is more harmful than economic poverty, and know that every apparent misery, poverty, and lack of food and water in any remote spot of the universe reflects absence of sympathy of the whole of humanity.

“creafactorabi, have you seen a heartrending photo by a philanthrophotographer named Kevin carter that shows a lonely emaciated african’t kid fallen on the ground in a desert and a big vulture waiting for her complete death to feast on her feeble corpse? The

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black vulture with its head looking up and with its strong wings ready to fly over the african’t kid looks like a hyena ready to seize its prey. it is sure of its own success and of the helplessness of the prey, so it does not hurry at all. The nude african’t kid who is unable to stand up, and who seems to be a girl because of a plastic necklace around her neck and a bracelet on her wrist, is at the mercy of the vulture. Do you think the vulture is guilty? no! Both the fallen down african’t kid and the vulture are totally innocent here; but who do you think is guilty and sinful in this survival of the fittest and fattest photo? my answer is the wall-chaired responsinles and gouvernementeur offishals of the world who see such photos, but nothing stirs the depth of their hard hearts, for which a coinage like heardts is needed. The term is hard to pronounce because their hearts are so hard to pity.

“This is our world! Kevin carter received the Pulitzer Prize for this photo, but he, like the african’t kid, had a sad end. Three months later, due to depression that was the result of tangibly experiencing and feeling poverty, and witnessing lack of sympathy on the side of humanity or humanimality to african’t kids, the sympathetic Kevin couldn’t live in this exhausting world, but could easily leave it; he carterminated his life. Let’s go, mind.”


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Heart and mind unexpectedly went away, and i was left alone again with many thoughts.

i guessed Heart went away suddenly because he couldn’t help weeping. His voice became shaky, and his eyes wet before he went. He was sentimental like me.

another thought in my head was this:

in next millennia, if residents of the world do not sympathetically start to take actions to find solutions to solve their real problems, is it possible that life in the world disasterminates? a general suicidal disastermination like dear Kevin’s?

and still other thoughts in my head were:

isn’t it time for humanimality to grow up and come out of his sinfantile stage? aren’t two millennia of humanimality enough for us? Don’t we people of the world need a general humanitarian transformnation? isn’t it time to turn our heardts into hearts?

Shouldn’t humanity feel responsible for trying to discoverb and dream of new ideas and find fine philosophies and not foul phoolosophies? Philosophies that give him what he lacks: sympathy? isn’t it the time for humanity to review himself to find his weak points

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and maybe his advantages? Does humanity have any advantages?

Some pseudo-scientists in the past performed much research to make atombic bombs, but nobody researched why and since when our hearts turned into heardts.

isn’t it better for mankind to leave harsh reality and just dream nice dreams? can mankind have nice dreams? is he able to? isn’t it hard for him?

Sometimes the easiest things become very difficult for humanimality because he gets used to the most difficult things. manimality has gotten so used to his harsh reality that he cannot simply dream anymore.

good dreams are what humanity needs. But humanimality has caged himself in reality and cannot fly into the realm of hopeful dreams. Dreaming has become very difficult and close to impossible for him. He cannot dream or imagine a world where no child dies because of lack of some loaves of bread and some water. That’s why we have millions of emaciated children worldwilde. Warchitects cannot imagine a world without war, so there are wars. Humanimality cannot dream of a world without poverty, segregation, racism, relijealoucy and religionocide, so there are poverty,


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segregation, racism, relijealoucy, and religionocide. He cannot imagine a borderless world and a world so there are borders like cage walls for animals. He cannot imagine a world without Bombladenism so there are bombladens one after the other. What is worse is that mankind does not even wish to explore the universal state of amerrycountry because he is so used to living in his current state of armorycountry.

Humanity is perfectible, and humanity’s knowledge and sympathy have not reached their highest degree of maturity. all of us should try to help humanity explore amerrycountry. To explore it, philosophers and moralists should discoverb new helpful ideas, and linguists should try to give names to those ideas. oh! can this be done? i doubt they can find something unnamed, while they still have troubles and misunderstandings with each other’s named ideas, ideologies and philosophies!

Perhaps it’s better our lexicographers and linguists find new humanitarian names first. can they? “new names for what?” they may ask. How can they name something when they don’t know what it is, and while they have confined themselves in cages called specialization? How can they do this, while to some of them what already exists is sufficient, and they just want to preserve our Queenglish landguage in its

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current condition forever? However, they should find names for new humanitarian ideas, although they might disagree that this is not their specialty, that they are not philosophers, and that they have nothing to do with other fields even if a million african’t kids and other poorphans die in one day, and even if Queenglish landguage is under the threat of chinannihilation.

These few linguists do not let others comment on our landguage as if Queenglish landguage is their prerogative! These few believe no new term should be allowed to enter Queenglish landguage, and some of them look at these neologisms and portmantorabis as faked step words. The question is this: can such linguists help humanity by discoverbing while some of their most distlinguished langucaged ones are not ready to read these portmantorabis and chomscape them? my aim is not to characterrorize, of course.

Shouldn’t we all forget these self-imposed restrictive boundaries between fields of knowledge and in our minds? not only we have segregated our landguages and ourselves; we have segregated fields of knowledge as well.

Let’s everybody make contribeautions to the world to explore the universal state of amerrycountry.


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Here i try to textplain what i mean by new ideas.

Some of these portmantorabis are new names for things or concepts for which no term of any sort exists in our Queenglish landguage. maybe nobody has thought of these concepts yet. i think our dictionaries lack thousands of undiscovered words, which means the word stock that we have inherited from our ancestors is incomplete, and we are pignorant of this big lack. it has become easy for humanimality to fly into space with spaceships, but it has become difficult for him to sit down on an armchair, drink a cup of coffee, listen to a pleasant piece of music, and just dream a flight in his own mind, heart, and feelings. There are many handy, undiscovered things in his emotions and in his mind. i will show you some of the unnamed things or ideas. They are insignificant, of course, but they exemplify what i mean. i’m sure your imaginative minds can continue the rest of this dream discovery (or discovery dream).

Humanity needs good dreams. Dreaming has become difficult for us because our minds have become rough from solving formulaic problemathematic issues to fly to space and our minds have lost their sympathy and flexibility. We do not know the names of thousands of sympathetic things and concepts in the world because we have caged our dream and language, which means

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we have become langucaged. and the reason for all this is that we do not know that we can go far beyond the small steps taken by our damncestors. also, we do not have the courage to explore ourselves. Holeheartedly we are afraid to look into ourselves. We look at the outer skies with telescopes, but we are afraid to look inside, because we might discover holes sinside our heardt, or we might discover nothing.

Do we need our damncestors’ permission to discoverb and find helpful humanitarian ideas to explore amerrycountry? our damncestors are not here. if they were, they would let us do it. We should discover yet unnamed undiscovered good concepts. We should dream. We should let the doors of our minds hopen so dreams can easily fly into them. We have closed our minds and heardts to good dreams, concepts, and names.

moreover, why should just scientists be free to mix chemical elements to discover new molecules? Why shouldn’t we have such innovations in our potential Queenglish landguage? Why can imagenius sinventive engineers mix airplanes and cars, or mix cars and motorboats, or even mix the three together to make antimanistic missile and warmament, but it is very risky to blend some harmless letters on a piece of paper to make terms like langucaged, warmament


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universale, Londowntown, harmy, humanimal, humanimality, manimal, manimality, Dystouropia, Eurotopia, sinvention, drugly, African’t kids, poorphan, Amerrycountry, armorycountry, academonic writing, gouvernementeur offishals, and American’t dream? isn’t it because some of these terms reflect the hidden ugliness of our sinsides to us? isn’t it because they truly reflect our world of which we are pignorantly proud? isn’t it because they prove we have a long way to amerrycountry?

of course, we should be careful to discover safe ideas; that is, we should discover humanitarian ideas and names. Having sincreased our lust for finanshallow materialistic needs, we have lost most of our courage of discovery. We need a discovery recovery.

To textpress myself more clearly, let me present you some of the recently discoverbed terms that beautifully (or for your penjoyment and pentertainment, beautifoolly) flew into my head one night, when i had forgotten to close and double-lock the windows of my mind, fortunaturally, of course:

Do we have a term for a sudden unconscious jerk or shaking of one’s arms, legs, or any part of our body during sleep? (Usually at the beginning minutes of

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sleep—maybe because the soul is releasing itself free from the body.)

if not, then how about sleap, which is simply made of sleep and leap? of course you might argue sleap is not entirely satisfactoraby, because it will create pronunciation problems. it will sound very close or even the same as sleep. What i want to hint is that there are many undiscovered things about ourselves right here around us.

for living better, we shouldn’t forget ourselves by discovering other new planets, universes and twenty thousand leagues under the seas.

if Jules Verne were here, he might write a fantabulous story like Two Thousand New Thoughts in Our Heads, or a story pentitled: From Dystouropia to Amerrycountry in Eighty Days.

mankind has not discoverbed all his potential sympathetic capacities yet. Let’s try to discoverb them, although they are unnamed yet. Humanity is perfectible, so let’s h-open-mindedly and hopetimistically dream and find new concepts, wishes, emotions, hopes, and ideas that can help us explore amerrycountry.


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Let’s invoke apollo to help our poets find new themes that might help humanity move forward to amerrycountry.

Why should mankind be obsessed with mere scientific and technological advancements? as long as this is the case, innocent children—especially african’t poorphans—will die of malnutrition and there will populartist philanthrophotographers depicting them and there will be Kevin carterminations.

necessity is the mother of sinvention. Humanity still lacks many positive concepts whose names or whose nature i, a foxford student and a Queenglondowntown high school literateacher, do not know. i can just call them “yet unnamed and undiscovered good concepts.” They might help us reach real maturity. otherwise, we stagnate and stag-mate forever in this current sinfantile phase of our metamorphasis. Humanity’s iQ has grown, but his emotional Quotient has atrophied.

Let’s hollyheartedly ask the Lord to penliven all our writers with pendowment to become righters who can take us to amerrycountry.

i’ll give more examples to illustrate my intention better, without boldly claiming that i have new concepts that

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might help humanity! i just say that undiscovered, yet unnamed good concepts certainly exist for us to find.

What is a young boy who dives into oceans or seas to come up with oysters? Would your refined tastes agree with boyster?

Does computerminate satisfy you, so that one day microsoft might use it instead of shutdown? is it very long or funny? Let me defend my poor, polite client computerminate against its arrogant rival shutdown:

although computerminate is rather long, it is melodic and not as harsh as shutdown.

Do we really shut our computer down and not off or up when we turn it off? Do we shut our computer up when we start or turn it on? Shutdown is a word that is used millions of times by our compusers every day and night. Shut means to close a door, or some such object. now, my dear readers, what is the opposite of down? isn’t it up? Simply replace down with up; what do you get? isn’t it a case of impoliterature that might unconsciously and like a virus corrupt our young compusers?

Words have subtle, unconscious effects upon our minds. at least they do on me. i think the impolite expression


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we got as a result of replacing down with up might come to the mind of many of our youngsters every day and night, while shutting down their computers or laptops.

The sound of the word shut is close to the sound of another swear word which is more unpleasant than the first one and one that i prefer to textpurgate.

Shutdown sounds harsh and explosive. Shut is close to the word shoot, which is often deadly. However, all these words are just names composed of letters and are neutral; it is we who give them meaning. Computerminate is easier to pronounce, because in the case of shutdown, the closeness of t and d, both enunciated in the front part of the mouth, make it difficult to pronounce.

moreover, computerminate, as i already said, is melodic and rhythmic. one of the most euphonious sounds, p, exists in computerminate. The vowel e after t helps the rest of the term float fluently, so this long term ends more swiftly than shutdown does. Just suppose before the birth of shutdown, computerminate could be born, would it be accepted?

my intention is to implore humans to try to dream to find better new ideas or concepts to live better. To do this, we should hopen our inward eyes.

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and i want to hint that humanity needs to revise many of its achievements and ideologies, to delete many of its already existing sinherited prejudiced ideas, and discoverb new better ones.

if one day a term is born in your minds instead of shutdown and computerminate, a word that is better than both, it should be given advantage and priority over these both, without prejudice. our aim should be to explore the universal state of amerrycountry, already it is textplored.

What’s your idea about australianated? an australian or an emigrant in australia who has become alienated or homesick in australia.

Wouldn’t you sneer at bedmaterialistic for a materialistic bedmate who sponges off you?

Don’t you consider me hallucinatoraby for Londonator? a benevolent, humanitarian, generocitizen and donator from London. or for londonatorphanager, a Londonator who runs an orphanage with many poorphans in London? i myself like to be a Londonator.

Does loverbalize convince you? i hope so. it means to talk with one’s sweetheart or beloved and to kissmell him or her.


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Do you think oxford students and professors are Oxfortunate? or Oxfopportunate?

a languaged person is both aged and has a lot of knowledge about a language. He or she has spent a lifetime working on a language or languages. am i right?

a langucaged person has limited himself and others in the current state of a language; he believes what already exists is enough, and it’s taboo to change it a little bit, even for humanitarian reasons. am i right?

Do you, like me, wish to live in a world where nobody gets necktied, a euphemism for hanged? i wish for the day to come when nobody gets punished, or i’d rather say when nobody does anything to be punished or tormentalized. i wish very soon the day comes when no burglar exists.

Do you think manchester United fans and supporters might like manchesterminator for their goal scorers whose goals bring victories for them?

Do you think that in the past some scientists like Kepler and galileo were torchurched (or torturched) because they said the earth is round and circles around the sun?

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Do you think one day this book you are reading now (which is not originally mine, because i just remember and write it from that lost book), will reach a universale and be universold? in the case of universelling, all its profit will be spent on africare and african’t kids and other global humanitarian necessities like an individual Desiring Service patients.

i hope these strange portmantorabis i have discoverbed are pentertaining and not penmeshing and pentangling you.

Do you accept prolifictionist for great fiction writers with many books?

i humbly ask each philosopher, lexicographer, doctor, linguist, professor, teacher, student, thinker, and every person who reads these lines to find at least one new helpful concept and to donate it to humanity. Donations and good dreams are what the humanity needs most these days.

again i confess: i have donated nothing and no idea or concept yet. To do that, this creafactive (or creafaketive) book needs to be universaled or universold by your help!


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i do not believe all the things, ideas, concepts, and emotions that mankind has the potential to possess have been explored yet. Step by step they might get explored. Let’s speed up the steps. most of the ideas and names we are using at this age were born centuries and ages ago and we have not been much productive since then.

Lord! grant us the day when words like torture become deleted from dictionaries, and from our minds, because they never occur and never materialize themselves in reality, and instead terms composed of the root donate abound in them. otherwise, i’m afraid human life on the world might end as it ended in one of my strange sad dreams:

i dreamt about a lonely, ill old man in a strange land. To treat his illness, which he guessed to be ulcer, he had travelled to an area that previously was named China, but the only remaining doctor there had died some months ago. china had become totally detopulated. Then he had returned to his land where no specialist physician or surgeon existed. He had other sicknesses as well, but ulcer was what tormented him most. He had gone to another previously existing country that might contain an ulcer specialist, india, but even there he couldn’t find a doctor to cure him. The indian doctor had been attacked and killed by strange animals. now

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india had become totally depopulated too. actually, most of the world had been.

Last year, to treat his toothache, he had walked for nearly a month to see the only live dentist in the world, or Endland, as it was then called.

Stretched on the bed in his badly damaged old house, he thought that one of those very days he would get rid of life. one of those days he would go out of this world full of hound and fury signifying nothing. He was not afraid to die.

He turned on his old radio. it took him nearly one minute to find the only remaining radio station. overlapping radio programs did not exist anymore; also, there remained no radio program in any language other than Queenglish. many years ago, radio programs in chinese, indian, french, german, and all other languages had ended. all those languages were dead.

after millennia, people of the world had come to the conclusion that borders, population and diversity of landguages are the root of most evil, and a millennium ago, all the people of the world, to solve their unending problems caused by misunderstanding, had agreed to speak only one common language: Queenglish.


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although at first this solved a lot of troubles and enmities, after passage of a few centuries, people all over the Queenglish-speaking world or endland again witnessed wars, murders, patricides, matricides, dicktatorment, gouvernementerie, sinfanticides, sinfantricides, religionocides, and other hideous crimes. even the unity of landguage had not been able to help humanimality turn into complete humanity.

The old man tuned in to the only remaining radio program on the world, named Endland. The announcer was saying, “The Lord expelled adam and eve from east of eden because they disobeyed him and ate what was forbidden. They committed the first sin, and after that, humanity was cursed and turned into humanimality. cane killed his brother and committed the first murder . . .”

The voice of the announcer, who was an old woman, was very weak. Sometimes she coughed during the program. after some minutes, the old announcer started a new episode called End, which was about the population of the remaining areas of the world. She was saying that china’s area had been totally detopulated, and the land where this old man lived had only thirty people. all the other areas had been detopulated too. after three thousand millennia of futile effort to explore amerrycountry and inhabit it, since a millennium ago

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humanity had become disappointedly tired of life and existence and had decided to give birth to fewer children and then gradually no children at all. People would not get married, and if a man and woman loved one another very much, the two would get married but would not expect children. ironically, humanity was doing well in this case and was making progress. only thirty breathing people remained on earth.

Since a millennium ago no warticulation, wargument, and warbitration had occurred between detopulating and depopulating areas that previously were called countries, and nobody had been killed in any murder. no mass murder wartillery and warmament for example TnT, was sindustrialized. The depopulating world had successfully militerminated itself. no longer did any encaging borders exist between the existing areas because nobody lived in them, and the word country had lost its sense. The humanimals had not been able to erase their borders before then. Since nearly two centuries ago, most of the live people tended to gather in places with good climates and food to live off the rest of their lives. To do this they would use horses, mules, camels, donkeys, cows, elephants, and occasionally bicycles and boats. airplanes, cars, ships, and other such forms of transportation had lost their meaning or their significance for people. Humanimality had lost


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its interest in inventions, or we can say its sinterest in sinventions.

The last two car factories, general motors, and BmW, had stopped their production nearly three hundred years ago because of lack of workers and materials. no telephones and no mobile communications existed. no sinternet existed to defame innocent people and to rip off people’s bank accounts. of all technologies, only radio had been maintained, because it was necessary to make sure the final human program to end human life without force and violence and without bloodshed was getting on well. certainly very soon radio also would become extinct and turn into a useless thing.

Because of the lack of human population, various sorts of wild animals—for example, rhinoceroses, elephants, wild horses, lions, hyenas, tigers, monkeys, zebras, giraffes, crocodiles, vultures, poisonous snakes, and unknown insects were frequently seen. These wild animals and a lack of healthy food were two main reasons for rapid depopulation of the world.

During the previous millennia, humanimality had reached the zenith of wealth, technological improvements, scientific sinventions, philosophy, and many other fields of human knowledge, yet he did not feel satisfied with himself and his world, because

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prejudices and many other humanimal faults still existed. Therefore, all humanity and humanimality became like a dejected person who, in the deepest level of misery, wishes his parents had not given birth to him and had not brought him to this drugly world full of hound and fury. This solution, not giving birth to any child and decreasing global population, had become the final solution for ending atrocities. actually, this was not a genuine solution at all. it looked like a fake one, but humanity had come to the conclusion that the universal state of amerrycountry is impossible to explore. at the same time, humanity couldn’t give up his hope or dream.

once a good concept or dream is presented to humanity, he should explore it even at the cost of many lives, for instance, the dream of cruising around the oceans, seeing under the deep oceans, the dream of flight, the dream of speed cars, space race, electricity, radio, radar, telephone, mobile phone, internet (which turned into sinternet), satellite, and lasers. The only dream that remained unattainable for humanity and humanimality was amerrycountry, and this had deeply disillusioned him.

yet if you consider this dream carefully, you will see that compared to many of the dreams listed above that finally became realities, amerrycountry had been


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not only very easy, but the easiest dream to achieve, if only humanimals had tried to attach themselves more to the first part of the Darwinian term humanimality, that is, human, and not to the second part, animality; and if instead of amassing wealth and then leaving it behind sooner or later, more of our tycoons had donated some of their wealth to the poor, especially to african’t poorphans; and if, instead of taking pride in corporeal things, they could have learned to take pride in the number of emaciated african’t kids they fed in africontinent; or if they had learned to engage in africare and worldonation; and if, instead of committing prejudiced religionocides, the few religiously prejudiced knew that the aim of all religions was originally the same; thereby leading us to felicity and amerrycountry, and accordingly no need to fight over them at all.

after some months, the old man moved to another building near the last few living people in the whole world.

He had taken his radio with him. He turned it on and searched for the only remaining program but didn’t find it. certainly the last radio announcer was sick or had died. He turned the radio off and threw it out the window among some bushes. Some rhinoceroses

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came toward it, sniffed it, and then went away. at last, like other technologies, radio became useless too.

He washed and ate some vegetables, a boiled egg, and some strange food, and then went to bed.

The next morning, the old man went out of his room into the yard to find bird eggs for breakfast, which could now easily be found in many nests, holes in the ground, and in trees. after he found and picked four eggs and put them in a small basket, he looked around and saw three older men carrying a corpse out of the yard to bury, or maybe to throw away somewhere away from the house. The three men were older than him. one of the older men came near him and said:

“another one of us has died, and now we four are the only remaining people of the world. We should be together till we also die and the world becomes totally depopulated of humanimality.”

“amen,” another old man said and continued:

“Let’s go inside and have boiled eggs.”

after they had breakfast, the only four people on the world went out to rest in the sunshine and talk. after an hour, they decided to take a walk around. The area


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was green with many trees and bushes. The first old man told the other three: “Let’s not go too far. Wild animals may find and attack us.”

“We will not go too far, don’t worry,” one of the other three men said.

Trees had become very tall and out of shape. Some long branches were broken during winter snow and were leaning upon the branches of the nearby trees.

Wild bushes had grown very tall. Strange animals, birds, insects like grasshoppers, and the hissing of snakes could easily be heard.

after some time, a group of nearly ten big animals came running at high speed toward the weak old men. They tried to run and go back to their house quite a distance away, but the three older men fell down one after the other and were trampled to death by the wild animals. The first old man ran away and didn’t dare turn back to look; he only heard their excruciating cries of pain. He reached the house, locked the door, and entered his room.

Dead tired and scared to death, he went to bed in the corner of his messy room, lay down, and drew a white sheet upon his body. Under the sheet he could

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not forget the wild animals that killed the other three old men and their painful cries. now he was the only living man upon the earth, and this thought was very fearsome to him. He closed his weak eyes. His breath was getting slower and slower; he was falling into a deep sleep. Before falling asleep, all the remarkable events of his life passed in his memory, and he reviewed them at a high speed.

He heard the growling of some large animals in the yard, but he didn’t dare stand up and look out of the window. now they were hitting the door of the room. He was frightened to death, felt himself sleaping, and after a few seconds he fainted.

He felt dizzy and felt his body remain on the bed while a part of his existence that did not have any weight or mass, the main essence of his existence, was separating itself from his body and half-noticeably flying upwards and out of the room. as a snake renews its skin and leaves the old skin back on the ground, he felt as if his old mass was remaining on the bed, and his inside, his soul, his identity, his essence, his true self was taking a new form, being reborn, and was entering a new world where many other people whom he knew were awaiting him. Some of these people were his friends waiting to welcome and talk to him, and some were those whom he had sinjured in the previous material


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world. all these were somehow familiar to him, as if he were watching a repetitive film.

Death was close to him; now it was inside him. Unnoticeably, it had entered his body to take his soul away with itself. and now he was dead. How easily death killed him!

as the body lets X-rays pass through itself, it had let death inside without any obstruction.

Death to body is dream to head, light to glass, water to sand, and smell to air.

endland or the world became totally depopulated of manimals and was left for animals.

i kissmell the daffodils in my room before going to bed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

now i’m on the subway home from foxford. it is not very crowded, and i am sitting in a cozy seat. Two little headphones are sending my favorite songs through my ears into my head. Some seats away a young couple are loverbalizing and kissmelling each other.

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Various ideas present themselves to me and i meticulously select the best ones deserving your attention to write here.

Today after our class my classmates and i killed some time universitting in the campus and kidding with some campussy cats, and then i read one part of my story to some foxfortunate classmates and collegemates:

‘‘. . . i hope i have not penvenomed my dear readers, and i hope i have been pentirely pentertaining . . .”

i was trying to get their ideas. Some faces revealed no emotion or reaction either of agreement or disagreement, of neither like nor dislike, and some showed few signs of approval. among them, one friend kiddingly said:

“it is nonsense.”

i became resentful, yet responded with nothing.

now on the subway home, comfortably perched, i humbly welcome the entrance of the well-known Queenglish eliterachairman alexander Pope into my thoughts.


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i have always enjoyed his Essay On Criticism. i look up its e-book in my notebook and begin to read:

‘‘Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill

appear in writing or in judging ill;

But of the two less dangerous is the offense

To tire our patience than mislead our sense.”

in these lines Pope is criticizing some critics of literature or cliteritics.

i am reaching the station; i take my backpack, look around to be sure i have not to have forgotten my bag or notebook, and take out my hat and wear it. outside it is very cold. i take a cab the rest of the way. The driver, seeing my smile, starts talking:

“Very cold, isn’t it, boy?”

“yes, it’s freezing.”

near the apartment i pay him and walk away. i reach it, and after drinking a cup of coffee milk, i start to type these lines whose drafts i had written on the subway.

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Usually i go to bed at midnight and not sooner, because if i get a good sleep in the beginning hours of my sleep, i might wake up and remain awake till morning.

also, my daughter often watches TV till late at night. if we insist that she go to bed earlier, she cries, and if we insist more, she cries more. may god bless all the children of the world including, of course, the poorphan african’t kids.

Tomorrow at foxford i have a lecture on The Waste Land. i ask myself: What disappointed eliot in this poem? This thought carries me away into the realm of dreams that for me are more acceptable than many statesticles. gouvernementerie statesticles are not tangiball.

on a smoggy morning, eliot’s and Joyce’s souls had come to the earth for a tour of the twenty-first century. in every country they had selected a tour guide. in Queenglondowntown somebody had given Joyce my number without telling him my name, and in this way i got to be their tour guide.

When we first met, they didn’t seem to be interested in knowing my name; i thought certainly my name is unimportant to them, so i didn’t tell it.


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They looked desolate and disappointed by the world when we met. They had visited many places and countries in different continents and finally had come to Queengland.

i wanted to ask them some questions regarding their works: eliot’s The Waste Land, Joyce’s Ulysses, Winofguns Fake, and short story Eveline. after greeting them, i spoke to Juice. (eliot addressed Joyce as “Juice” and i did so.)

i said: “mr. Juice, i have tried to read one of your masterpieces, Winofguns Fake and understand it, but didn’t understand any single paragraph of it!”

He cast a belittling look at me and then said:

“it is very sun (he meant soon and important like the sun) for you to understand it. first you have to read a simpler Winofguns Fakean book pentitled Amerrycountry, or Auntmarycountry, written by a no-vice, creafactfoolishfakinghumptorwellondonatorabi, that prepairs you for my Winofguns Fake.”

i was very surprised to hear these titles and names from Juice. How up-to-date in the book sindustry he was!

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“Thank you very much,” i said. Then i asked eliot:

‘‘mr. eliot, can i ask you questions regarding your works as we walk? i have a lecture on The Waste Land and would appreciate it if you could kindly give me some firsthand notions about it.”

“Please do not bother us. otherwise we will say ta ta to thee,” eliot said.

“Sure. excuse me. Then please just tell me why do you two look so unhappy?”

eliot answered:

“How can we be happy when we saw many females of the world avoiding what they called illogicalory (but nutritious) food, and throwing it out into trash cans just to look appealingly slim for sexposition? and some male athletes—the spelling of athletes needs verification and revision—rep-eatedly devour food and pills and do sinjection just to sexersize their bodies for sextracurricular sexaggeration? and at the same time, many african’t kids, especially the poorphans are innocently dying of lack of a little bread, butter and water? one such kid was a little african’t kid whom Juice named evelyn. We saw her in a photo by a philanthrophotographer named Kevin carter. Poor,


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emaciated evelyn was dying of malnutrition, while some meters away a big vulture was waiting to start its feast upon her. With so many inventions and sinventions, still we see humanimality sinferior and closer to the Darwinian term manimal.”

Juice said: “How can we be happy when the poor are evapoorating while the aristocrabs and capitallists are getting capitaller and capitaller? How can we be happy when we see humanitarian efforts are humilitarian? How can we be happy when we see sinnocent b-oxers b-ox each other’s head in a cage?”

“With many sinfants and sin-fans sincouraging them with sinterest,” eliot said.

Juice added: “Human mentality has atrophied; mankind’s greed and lust have doubled; and compared to our time, more humans have turned into humanimals and hooliganimals. instruments are sinstruments and installations sinstallations. in the macrocosmopolitan Big apple and near the Vampire State Building we saw pictures of innosent people who were brutalimanimally disasterrified and even disasterrifired and bombladened in a turm-oil.”

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To give them some hope i said: “fortunaturally and fortunaturabily Bombladen got Baracknocked out and checkobamated.”

eliot lit a pipe, took a deep puff, and exhaled the smoke. The breeze brought it toward me. i didn’t stand back.

They started the tour from Queenglondon Tower.

“Before we came to the surface of the earth we fancifoolishly fancied to see a magnificentury but we just see a sinnocentury. in africontinent we saw african’t kids. in america people were in search of amerrycountry, but they were american’ts. in europe pandemeuronium and gouvernementerie were eurobiquitous,’’ Juice said.

“Somewhere else we saw people brutalibanized and frajailed,” eliot added.

“Suffocaged.”

“Tormentalized.”

“necktied,” Juice said.

“in most parts of the world, the manimals’ intellects have metamorphased into sintellect, intellectuals


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into sintellectuals, and institutions into sinstitutions. Let’s see how Queenglondowntown, Singland, and Songland have metamorphased!” eliot said.

We saw the police wearing masks and harmed with electric sticks, tear gas, shields, and police dogs.

“inventions are sinventions,” eliot continued.

“innovations are sinnovations,” Juice added.

They saw a bookstore and entered it. They took a few books, opened, and browsed through them. Juice picked a dictionary, opened it, looked inside, began to read a few entries, took it near eliot, showed it to him, and said:

“Queenglandoners are not much better than the others; it’s clear from their dictionaries, which are sicktionaries and kidtionaries. They have not discoverbed humanitarian terms like africare, african’t kids, an individual Desiring Service patient, amerrycountry, evapooration, eurotopia, Londonation, Londonatorphanager, millitermination, and poorphan. They have sintentionally closed their eyes upon many terms. The landguage we put so much effort into is getting chinannihilated.”

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“Human knowledge sinvolves sintermolcular physics,” added eliot, who was browsing a book.

They put the dictionaries and books back in the shelves.

We came out of the bookstore, walked on, and saw a movie theater, movie ads, and people entering the theater. eliot said:

“Humanimals sinjoy sinteresting sinterludes and movies. Their hearts have metamorphosed into heardts and into sinternal combustion engines.”

next we entered a mall. eliot and Juice inspected it closely. When we came out, Juice said: “Trade has become sinternational, yet in africontinent we saw many undernourished african’t kids dying of lack of bread and water.”

eliot, looking at me, was in a hurry to talk:

“Humanimals’ hearts are badly sinfluenced.”

i bit my lower lip and pressed my fingernails into both my palms because of shame.


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Juice continued: “Holeheartedly they are not ashamed of their sinside.”

eliot again was lighting a pipe.

Juice went on: “They are confusedly sinjured, and they sinjoy sinhaling. The world has metamorphased very strangely. Some have manimaled down to the lowest phases of Darwin’s ewolfolutionary ladder. chastity has turned into ch-ass-tity.”

There was a traffic jam. after some moments Juice continued: “Urbanization is perturbanization.”

“and disturbanization,” eliot said.

i was extremely sad. Juice wanted to light a pipe. eliot offered him a light.

in a street i prefer not to name, we reached a crowd of people who had caused a traffic jam in front of a courthouse. guessing its cause, i wanted to find an excuse to evade it, but the other two insisted on walking to see what was going on there. We walked on till we reached the crowd. Juice was cleaning his glasses with a tissue. We had reached the crowd. eliot asked a vulgirlish woman:

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“excuse me, what is going on here?”

She looked surprised. i guessed she did not know the two gentlemen and did not like the question:

“How is it that you don’t know? are you a foreigner here? Don’t you know about the couple who kidnapped little kids, tortured them, recorded their excruciating crying voices, killed them, and then sent their recorded crying voices to their parents?”

eliot and Juice both became pale, turned toward me and gazed into my eyes as if by then they guessed why i had wanted not to take them there; or maybe they were asking me why i had not told them about something so humanimalistic in Queenglondowntown.

eliot said: “We did not expect to see so much of manimality and this sintuation in Queenglondowntown. manimals are stagnant, stag-mating and sexpanding in a wasteland and have not been able to improve.”

We sadly walked on, and after some time we entered a university. after they talked to some professors and students, Juice said, “most university sinstructors and students, like sinhabitants of sinferno, are just universitting.”


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They walked out of the university, and i followed them. The two preferred to take a seat in a quiet public park to rest a little bit. i took them two cups of coffee and cigarettes.

eliot went on: “We expected to see Queengland at the top of eurotopia. Before coming to this world we imagined Queengland is not only engleading europe to eurotopia but also the world to amerrycountry, but now we see that it is getting Queenglanguished along with the rest of the world.”

i was biting my lower lip in order to stop weeping.

Juice said: “We expected to see many Londonators in Queenglondon but we see very few. Worse, the Queenglondoners expect the Queengland to totally londonate itself for them, and Queenglanders expect the UK to englandonate itself for them.”

eliot said: “The role of Queengland in engleading the world to amerrycountry and contribeautifying it has been terminated.”

Juice said: “eliot, let’s return.”

eliot said: “yes, let’s return to where we came from. at least there we can rest in peace.”

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Then i accompanied them back to their hotel room. i tried to console them with some hopetimistic remarks, but they were too disappointed with the world and Queengland to be consoled.

We entered the hotel lobby. Some young guys were loverbalizing, some eating, some drinking and smoking; some were busy with their laptops, notebooks, cell phones, books, and magazines. eliot and Juice were somehow indifferent to my presence.

in the room, they sat down, Juice on an armchair, eliot at the side of his bed. eliot’s voice was shaking when he said to me:

“Take a seat.”

“Thank you,” i said. Seeing teardrops in his eyes, i went to sit near him at the other side of his bed.

i said: “are you . . . ?”

i couldn’t finish my question.

i sat closer to him. He turned his face toward the window. maybe he was weeping slowly.


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after nearly two minutes of silence, he turned toward Juice, then toward me, and with a trembling voice he asked:

“are there pandemoraniums still? Be honest please.”

“There are pandemoraniums, warmongers, and wartillery sindustries.”

They both seemed dejected, eliot more so. a teardrop found its way out of his left eye upon his left cheek. He didn’t wipe it. i wanted to do it but i didn’t dare. again i drew myself closer to him. He was looking out of the window at the smoggy sky. He looked at me, then at the floor. His voice was trembling when he said:

“after so many years, i expected to see better people, cities, lands, many lordinary londonators, lords who would like to be in touch with poor people, but all are immersed in luxuries.”

He paused and then continued:

“i expected to see no borders between the countries of the whole world, including in africontinent and asia. i expected to see many genuine humane improvements and achievements like militermination, not just childish and sinfantile improvements in apparatuses.

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Unfortunately, the dictionaries do not even include militermination, or the names of many other good notions. They have not been discoverbed yet.”

i asked eliot: “What is militermination?”

Belittlingly, he said: “See? you even cannot imagine the clear meaning of such a simple portmanteau. of course, you alone are not to be blamed for this. The societies in which you have grown up have not had the ability and the courage to imagine and to discoverb it. Let me tell you what it is.

“after the next millennia, when humanity has passed his sinfantile phase, and when environmentalists have been able to save the environment, when politics is no more polidirtics, and polidirtricks and politicians are no more polidirticians, then it will be time to sense or see no need for costly and ex-pensive militarism. Then one night some mature hopen minded imagenius Queenglish championeers of Queengland or enginland will have a pleasant dream of amerrycountry and will try to establish it. To do this, they will start to think of saving money by not spending sinormous budgets on unnecessary wartillery that fortunately remains unused in ammunition and warmament caches forever. Then they will share this dream with europe and with all the world, then gradually the sinternational military


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trade will terminate, and in this way Queengland or Queengineland will englead the world toward amerrycoutry and englead the second renaissance, genuinely speaking, the first renaissance of the world, because the first renaissance, as you know, after centuries led to the World Wilde dystouropia. So it was not a perfect renaissance. The second one will lead to a perfect amerrycountry that includes the entire world. Simultaneously, the terms militermination and militerminism will be used by creafactive lexicologists and righters who aren’t afraid of some langucaged languists and lexicographers, and the people of the entire world will unanimously decide to terminate all expensive militarism. Then the two philanthropic (i said philantorabic to myself) terms, militermination and militerminism, will replace the manimalistic military and militarism, and very soon these new coinages will abound in books, newspapers, magazines and on the internet.”

Juice was nodding positively and pouring himself a cup of coffee. next, he spoke with a sarcastic tone to me:

“your academonic writers and poets are sinspired and sintoxicated. They sinvoke Satan for sinspiration. The few good ones get sinterrupted. your phoolosophers have sintuition, and your news agencies sell sinformation.”

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i wished i could record their poem-like conversation.

eliot went on:

“i didn’t expect to see any military, harmy, officers, soldiers, guns, wartillery, police, courts, or such stuff in the whole world, let alone in Queengland. i expected to see a paradisland in Queengland.” from his shaking voice it was clear that he was weeping inside.

He went on:

“i wish we hadn’t taken this tour upon the earth. i want to return.”

They both burst into tears, i hugged eliot and touched his shoulders to console him, but he almost pushed me aside. i approached Juice to console him. He didn’t want it either. at this scene, i, an easy weeper by birth, couldn’t control my tears from flowing. even a simple picture of an african’t kid dying of hunger and a vulture ready to feast on the corpse can make me weep.

Juice told me:

“if only somebody could tell me why your souls are frozen and dead! and why your hearts have metamorphased into heardts!”


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i was loudly weeping and almost sleaping. my wife’s voice woke me up:

“Wake up! Whom are you crying for?”

“Je pleure sur tous. i weep for all.”

She slept again.

for nearly a minute after i woke up, tears were still flowing down my face.

Poor eliot and Joyce, i thought. How disappointed they were by the world and Queengland. and i thought the humanitarian poets, writers, philosophers, and scientists of the past did their best to lead humanity to amerrycountry and to true improvement, but we have reached sinprovement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

i am lonely in my room. mind sees me sitting idly, so he asks me:

“Why aren’t you writing anything?”

“i want to write, but i do not know what,” i answer.

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“Why?”

i question mind: “What should i write? Which of my ideas or experiences deserves to be written for my dear readers? Have i done anything noteworthy during my life?” i ask.

“no.”

“How many needy people have i helped?”

“none.”

“Have i ever donated anything to the needy?”

“no.”

Heart takes part in this conversation. He asks me:

“Have you ever desired to become a Londonator or worldonator?”

“of course, yes!” i answer rapidly. But it seems that Heart is not satisfied with me today. Have i done anything wrong? i’ll review my day:

Today i saw one of my students from last year in Queenglondowntown. He was very weak in his lessons


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and failed the class. This semester he had the same course with me. He was not much active again, but this time i helped him pass with a c grade.

Today we met by chance in Queenglondowntown. We had not met each other after the final test and the announcement of the final marks. i wanted him to appreciate that i helped him pass. He is a young man of about twenty-two. When he saw me, he smiled and said:

“Hello, mr. creafactorabi, how are you?”

“fine and you?”

“fine,” he said, still smiling. i could see satisfaction in his eyes and his smile.

Seeing his happiness, i remembered my help, and seeing some passersby, some of whom looked at us, i loudly said:

“How did you like your grade last semester? i helped you with that.”

“Very much, thank you sir.”

i went on almost loudly:

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“you were not a participant in the classes, and you blew the test again; yet i gave you a c.” i noticed another young person who was standing nearby and watching and listening to us more than i was paying attention to my ex-student. it was clear to me that i wanted the other young person to know that i am a university instructor, and also to know that i’m a very helpful one.

“good luck” i said as a goodbye.

“good luck to you too, sir, and again thank you very much,” my ex-student said.

Then Heart questioned me:

“if you were helpful, why did you let him fail last semester? couldn’t you help him with a passing mark then? Wouldn’t this be more helpful to him? Wasn’t your greeting and speaking to him a clever way of showing off? Don’t you detest yourself for this? you have wiped away your help with your talk. maybe the only thing that he will learn from you is showing off and hypocrisy.”

i thought: “am i myself a sinnocent or sinfant?”

Heart was running a trial against me.


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“are you really satisfied with your own behavior toward your family, especially your wife? are you a perfect father for your daughter? are you a good instructor for your students, or are you a sinstructor?”

Heart questioned me more:

“isn’t a little bit of greed in everything you do?” He paused and then went on:

“What is your first aim in writing? Do you want a universale? Why do you read episodes of your writings to your oxfortunate classmates, friends, students, and professors? and why do you expect them to praise these episodes? How do you feel when they do not show approval signs? How do you feel toward them then? is there any humanitarian element in your writing? isn’t your writing just the raving of your troubled mind? Will anything be missing from the world if this textperiment does not reach publication? Will it have any benefit for anybody in the world?”

Heart was condemning me for being vain and selfist. Under the burden of these questions, mind was trying to appease Heart. mind said:

“creafactorabi will try to be helpful to others, and from this moment on he will no longer be selfist, but will

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donate his penthusiasm to humanity and to highlight the needs of the forgotten needy to the world.” again Heart answered:

“isn’t this a bluff?”

mind and i had to release ourselves from Heart’s tight grip. The only way for me was to promise again to use my pendowment for wholly humanitarian causes. But the strict Heart again answered:

“This promise in itself has a sign of selfistness. i am willing to cooperate with the rest of your writing on one condition.”

“What is it?” mind asked.

Heart stipulated that he does not want to be pentitled a writer if our penthusiasm does not help humanity move at least one millimeter forward. He wants our writing to have a humanitorabian share in the world, to which mind and i agreed unanimously. after this he gave us a sermon like a pastorabi:

‘‘Writing is a holy act. What’s the use of being known as a universale writer without trying to be a righter? Deep in your heart and thought you aim to reach fame or wealth. it’s a pity to have been pendowed but to use the


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pendowment in a sinartistic and sinsignificant way, so i plead for the writers, especially the creafactive writers, if they read these lines, to use their penthusiasm and creafactivity for the benefit of humanity.”

mind and i promised Heart:

“We promise to try to write the best that has ever been thought and said. We hope to never get langucaged, and that we will always use our pendowment for the benefit of the african’t kids, the poorphans of the world, and all the downtrodden.”

Heart said: “also try not to use your creafactivity in a way that arouses penemity!”

i said: “already some words have been generated in me with humanitarian aims, but i’m afraid some people might condemn me by them.”

Heart said: “Please be more textplicit. of course, i know words come into your thoughts fortunaturally, but tell me which words you mean?”

mind said: “for example: crucifired, torturch, religionocide, tormentalize, suffocaged, and to necktie somebody.”

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He thought for a moment and then asked:

“What was your aim in creafacting these terms? i know they come to you so unsintentionally.”

i said: “my aim was to highlight and penbolden to humanity his past mistakes, in the hope that he never commits them again in future!”

mind added: “you see what a humanitorabian writer creafactorabi is.”

Heart said: “nobody will condemn your words if this has been your intention; rather, everybody will appreciate them. good luck.”

i noticed a shade pass over the face of mind. He and i intended to be a little pentertaining to the dear readers, after so many somber pages, and after getting Heart’s agreement about our writing.

mind asked Heart:

“Would you like to hear a joke?”

“yes.” Heart said.


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“are you sure?” i asked Heart, because i knew what joke it is. it’s related to some of my new portmantorabis.

“yes, i am sure,” Heart said.

mind asked: “Do you mind if it includes some sexpressions?”

“no, i don’t. come on, it’s not bad to hear a joke once in a while.” Heart said.

mind looked at me as if to know my idea about this. i nodded affirmatively to tell him to go on, although i knew his joke already. mind and i had made it together.

But i wondered whether all readers accept that my process of producing words, combining or blending them, is so fortunatural and not sintentional at all?

i said: “i hope . . .”

Heart said: “a joke should be brief. you are not pentertaing at all.”

at this, mind said: “okay, hopetimistically i think you do not condemn me of having paranoia, obsessions, or complexes.”

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Heart said, “Would you please not waste time? forget about the joke and don’t tell it at all. We have more important things to write about.”

at this moment, mind wishing to pentertain Heart and the readers, to prove the capacity of Queenglish landguage to double the size of its lexicon, and to prove that it can be penlivened and penriched, to exemplify what i previously explained as finding “yet unnamed good concepts,” and not to remain langucaged, started his joke in this way:

“Humanity is perfectible and should try to explore amerrycountry. He has the potential to do it. To do this he needs a vaster lexicon. if we accept most people are creative, active, and aware of facts, and that they just need to mix the three to become creafactive, and if we accept that most people are imaginative and geniuses, and that they just need to mix these two to become imageniuses, then please allow me to do a texperiment: to mix some terms together and see the result. certainly it will not be dangerous like the invention of machine guns and TnT. i apologize to the african’t kids and the poorphans of the world for whom all writers should write if they want to be righters and not just universitting academonic iSi (i Search income) writers, and if they don’t like to be pentitled sinsignificant writers. i apologize to the


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african’t kids and the poorphans, because in the next lines i’m going to deviate from their theme in order to pentertain the readers as i had promised them. Who knows? maybe i’ll pentertain the african’t poorphans in the future when they have been Queenglondonated and live, grow up, kid around like other kids, and get Queengliterate or engliterate. maybe some of them will read this textperiment one day and become truly creafactive and imagenius to help the world explore amerrycountry.

“in a dream there was a word wedding or pengrafting ceremony. all Queenglish terms of the dictionaries were invited as guests to this ceremony. There were some Queenglish words as brides and some as grooms. first let me introduce (some might say sintroduce) the grooms, who were easier to introduce, because although they had different last names, they had one common, easy-to-remember three-letter first name. This first name began with S and was synonym of conjugation, and copulation. That’s it—you hit the nailhead.

“and now the brides. There were many brides, as many as there were grooms. interestingly enough, all the brides’ names began with the prefix Ex-. i will introduce some of the couples to you as pentertainment and to sexpand our lexicon.

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“To better remember the names of the couples, i made portmantorabis of the names of every groom and his bride. i did this by putting, inserting or sticking the groom’s initial capitall S into the bride’s initial name beginning with Ex-. To introduce them to you, i will use those portmantorabis. i hope you excuse my sexplicit sexpressions and textcuse me for not sexpurgating this part. i hope they are pentertaining and sexcellent.

“The couples were:

“Sexaggeration. This couple loved one another very much. They were happy and very active in their matrimony.

“Sexcess. Lady excess was sister of bride number one (exaggeration.)

“Sexcellent. This couple was very happy together and had no misundersleeping. They were sexemplary for many people who wished to be in their shorts.

“Sexchange. This couple separated very soon.

“Sexcise. The bride was born in a remote part of africontinent.


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“Sexcursion. This couple were always enjoying themselves on tours.

“Sexcuse. This couple had misundersleeping. The quality of their relationship gradually decreased, and the sextent of their suckcess dickreased too.

“Sexercise. This couple was always busy loverbalizing. They solved their initial misundersleeping little by little.

“Sexhibit. This couple liked sexposing for each other.

“Sexistentialist. This couple was philosophically phallusophic minded; their phoolosophy was just to enjoy themselves.

“Sexpire. This nostalgic couple were in their late sixties and were sexhaustedly sexterminated, yet they had occasional oldgasms and poorgasms and wished they were in other couples’ shorts.

“Sexperienced: This lucky couple had no misundersleeping, and in short, they were lickily suckcessful.

“Sexpert. They looked very much like the Sexperienceds. They had complete satisfaction.

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“Sexploited. This couple looked pale.

“Sexplorer. This couple liked variety very much; they were sexperimentalists.

“Sexport. This couple were illegal sinternational traders.

“Sextramarital. This couple was very secret; they always looked as if they were hiding something from one another.

“Sextraordinary: This couple looked gorgeous and was envied by many people. The Sexpireds especially wished to be in their shorts.

“Sextravagant: This couple was kin to the first two couples.

Sextreme. This couple was similar to the first and second couples and to the Sextravagants.”

The joke pended and mind stopped.

“What is your idea?” mind asked.

Heart neither smiled nor frowned. He tried to hide his emotions and said:


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“it was pentertaining and the blendings will penrich and textpand our Queenglandguage.”

“and sexpand its lexicography and sexicography,” mind said.

mind wished he had introduced—or maybe sintroduced—some more couples that i met in the dream, such as the Sextracurriculars and the Sexcruciatings.

Then Heart asked himself this question about me:

“isn’t creafactorabi actually a crea-foolish-factorabi, creahypocrifaketorabi, or creatrivial?”

i asked myself these questions about Heart:

“Does he consider me fancifool? or does he consider this diction a good example of creactivity? if yes, is it creafactive as well? or is it impoliterature?”

mind and i wished we had not pentered or written this joke here. maybe it pendamages me. maybe it penvenoms my dear readers. But no, certainly the readers are not langucaged and impreasoned and will not misinterpret or sinterpret me. By the way, now that the hopen minded readers have honored me and have

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read this textperiment up to here, i needed to treat them by this pentertainment.


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Today one of my friends came to see me. We drank coffee, ate apple pie, and talked about my story. i took Snow White, a novel by Donald Bartheleme, to show him Snow White’s desire for new words, which is a common point between Snow White and me. on page eight i saw another common theme: the idea of the perfectibility of mankind. Didn’t i implore my readers, philosophers, hopen-hearted and—minded linguists, writers, teachers, students, all thinkers, and all people to find novelties, thoughts, or yet unnamed, undiscovered good concepts to help humanity move forward faster and explore amerrycountry?

on page ten i read these lines: “now she’s written a dirty great poem four pages long, won’t let us read it, refuses absolutely, she is adamant. We discovered it by accident.”


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and here Snow White and i differ; i show and read most of my writing to my oxfortunate professors and friends to learn their opinions. now i will read my next episode to my friend:

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Manimalogy in Manimal Farm

The term manimal has its own etymology.

Darwin believed man has affinities with some physiologically developed animals, and that the two overlap in some aspects. for example, man belongs to the mammals, omnivores, and warm-blooded creatures. not only is their manatomy very close to some animals’ anatomy; the two’s behaviors are sometimes similar.

While we consider ourselves as the epitome of creation and the other creatures as animals or beasts, and their behavior as animalistic, the first people who created and used the terms man and animal, without prejudice let these two terms easily overlap and show the affinities and overlappings between man and animal. The two terms can easily overlap and get pengrafted into each other to give us terms like manimals, humanimals, manimalistic, and humanimalistic. accordingly, the aim of the following few pages is to textpand and penhance a twenty-first sinnocentury humanalysis and


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humanimalysis, and not to textperience a mysterrifying ghostory that needs special creative writing skills which i lack. i hope this century soon turns into a magnificentury, although its beginning (with so many worriental Syrial massadacres) does not look like the beginning of a magnificentury.

Last night i was reading Winofguns Fake, but couldn’t progress much. Unfortunaturally, something that i think can be considered an example of a huamanimalistic sincident or a proof for the term humanimalism happened that shocked me.

Do you think if one day a thief breaks into the house of an innocent person, of a fledgling writer, for example, the thief should be considered a man or a manimal, a human or a humanimal? innocent, sinnocent or sinful? Do you think at his birth the thief was born as an infant or a sinfant?

Do you think a human might secretly enter another human’s home for evidently hideous targets and without permission? What about an animal? if both answers were positive, then what is the difference between a human and an animal?

Sometimes, unforgettable bad events in some people’s lives constantly tormentalize them. These events might

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include the horrible death of a family member caused, for example, by a catastrophic war, car crash, drowning in a river or sea, a deadly earthquake or flood, one’s own bad sickness, unfortunatural financial breakdown, being unjustly characterrorized by some humanimals around, being unjustly imprisoned and suffocaged by the gouvernementeures, being betrayed by a suitor, and being sinjured in a sincident caused by a manimal burglar that shocks a no-vice writer to death in the middle of writing his autorabiography. This last sincident will be textpanded in the next pages.

Last night, a manimal’s burglarious sinsomnia shocked me to death. moreover, it worried me, because the sincident and the tormentalization that it sinflicted upon me might abort my flourishing creactivity and creafactivity that i intend to spend on humanitoabrian ways. So if from now on the quality of my diction deteriorates and is not satisfactoraby, blame it not on me; rather blame it on the manimal burglar who was bear-glaring at me in the backyard last night.

i doubted whether the sincident is fit for this textperiment. at first i decided to textpurgate it, but at last i changed my mind, because this textperience is half autorabiographical and half the child of my heart; and it supports the Darwinian idea of manimalism, and that humanity, with a nature fluctuvacillating between


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humanity and humanimality still has a long road to explore amerrycountry.

for the fun of keeping pets, i have two hens in the left side of the back yard of the apartment i rent in Queenglondowntown for this year: a black hybrid and a white leghorn. i feed them, and they support the family economy by laying eggs. Because it’s recently been getting cold, they’ve stopped laying, and it’s only me who sympathetically continues to feed them. But who knows? maybe seeing the burglar in the backyard last night is the indirect benefit of keeping the hens there.

The backyard is almost large. a wild tree, whose name i do not know, has naturally grown in the right side, without anybody planting or watering it. Previously i had planted vegetables in the small garden there, but recently, because of becoming an oxfortunate student and being busy with my scurriculums, i stopped it, so the back yard looks like a dark wasteland. it’s dark because the increased cost of electricity has made it a waste of money for me to keep a lamp on there. So at night, the backyard gets very dark unless it is moonlit.

Last night was a very cold, and windy December night. i had to go to the backyard and cover the nest of the poor two hens with some material. But poor me as

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well! guess what happened? entering the pitch-dark backyard, i heard a very weak noise near the tree on the right side. Was it the hens that had got away from their cage? impossible. Was it the tree branches, shaking by the wind? no. What could it be then? my head turned to the right side, and a meter and a half away from me i saw that a big, black manimal figure, blacker than the surrounding night, was crouching toward the front yard.

Who was it or who was he? it was impossible to detect from his black stocking covered face. Both his hands were glove covered as well, i think. He was totally disguised. What did he want?

i became frightened to death.

The manimal was like a black apparition or ghost who had somehow snaked his way in through the backyard wall, until unexpectedly—for both of us, i think—we faced each other there. first i imagined catching him bravely and empty-handed. But soon fear overcame me, and the thought of catching him empty-handed seemed quixotic to me. in our vicinity, thieves are always armed with daggers, machetes, tear gas, or even revolvers, and are ready to commit any crime or sinjury to avoid being arrested.


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moreover, wasn’t it manimalistic and foolish to fight with him empty-handed? could i? Would the manimal stand and wait for me to beat and arrest him? Besides, the darkness of the yard would not let me see anything clearly. How could i be sure the thief was alone and did not have an accomplice, or maybe accompolice, hidden in another corner of the yard, maybe behind the tree? i couldn’t be sure either if the damned figure facing me was a sinnocent human who, because of poverty and hunger, came to my backyard. a sinfant humanimal? or a sinful animal? a small wrong move from any side or any one of us could end in a catastorabic sincident. and according to the law of our vicinity, you are not allowed to quarrel and beat a burglar or thief that comes to your home!

i thought of all these things in one tenth of a second. Horror had forced my mind to work and think faster. also, horror forced itself toward my rapidly beating heart, instead of toward my tongue. i mean, though i was terrified and close to a heart attack, i was not tongue-tied:

“Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief! . . .”

i shouted the bloody word thief several times. i began to flee to the front yard and to the street to get some

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help, but they were empty on that dark, cold night. in the street i kept shouting: “Thief! Thief! . . .”

Two young guys came, then two neighbors. “Where?” one of the young guys said.

“come! in the backyard.”

i took them to the now empty backyard. The thief had run away by jumping over the wall. The two guys left. i remained alone in the pitch-dark yard with many thieves watching me from different corners. The other nights i pitied the hens in the cold. now i couldn’t pity myself enough, because i had become the victim of a manimal’s cold cruelty.

i couldn’t remain in the yard out of fear. also, i had forgotten that i came out of home just with a t-shirt on. i went inside, where i was alone. my fear was not diminishing; i was perishing. my mind and eyes could not imagine anything other than the scary cursed moment that the black, sinnocent, humanimal or sinfant manimal burglar was bear-glaring at me just one and a half meters away.

inside the apartment, the thief was even closer to me: on the sofa and watching TV, even as if he were inside me. i couldn’t help envisaging him sitting relaxed on


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the sofa, enjoying the warmth inside and the movie on the newly bought LeD TV, while i was still afraid to death.

oh my god! Why? Why did this sinsident happen to me, and why do such sinsidents happen every day to many others? can’t the academonic researchers do research on these issues sinstead of sinsignificant things?

Why had the thief surreptitiously snaked sinside? What did he aim to do? What did he plan to steal? my bike, carefully double chained to the wall in the front yard? my hens in the back yard? or did he have another evil aim? That night i was vigilant out of horror, and only near morning could i sleep a little. The two seconds of seeing the devillain (evil, devil, and villain separately do not textpress my real hatred or emotion) in front of me suddenly speeded up my aging; i aged and withered four years in those two horribly long seconds. The next morning, when i saw myself in the mirror, a large portion of my hair had whitened.


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my lecture for our next foxford fiction class is on Snow White. on page six, Snow White says:

“oh, i wish there were some words in the world that were not the words i always hear!”

i have just begun to read the novel, and i don’t know much about it yet, but i feel i understand what Snow White means.

maybe she is full of some powerful passion like love that has filled her soul and mind full of hope and energy, to the extent that the outer or external world seems smaller than her inner world, and this is the fault of her language that has not provided her enough terms to clearly express her vast feelings, emotions, views, or ideas. maybe Snow White feels that Queenglish landguage, with all its flexibility, does not serve her as a perfect language any more. People’s mentalities grow rapidly, while the growths of languages are turtle-movement-like.

mankind is subjugating the world. remote aspects of nature that used to be like dark, undiscoverable caves to him are gradually being explored, turning into familiar fields of science, now in books for researchers, teachers, and students; after some years, those aspects become crystal-clear facts known to many teenagers


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even through their textbooks. So it’s not nonsense to pose these questions: “Has Snow White’s intelligent mind become so accustomed to her language and lexicon that they are too familiar and boring for her? Does she need a defamiliarized Queenglish language? Have Queenglish dictionaries become like kidtionaries for her and for people like her? Does Queenglish language need rejuvenation or penriching?”

if only i could show these defamiliarized portmantorabis to Snow White! Would these terms please her? at least a few of them? Would she like African’t kid, evapooration, languaged, langucaged, Londowntown, poorphan, sinvention, sleap, suffocaged, compusers, kissmell, and tormentalize?

it seems that languages langucage us! or rather, we let ourselves be langucaged. Languages, after many years, limit and numb us, although at the start they empower us. no new words and no new interesting subtleties exist in them!

To me, Snow White seems to be langucaged! maybe Snow White and people like her need another Shakespeare to create and discoverb new terms to penrich and textpand Queenglish landguage. maybe for better living and exploring amerrycountry, humanity needs to review itself and discoverb

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humanitarian verbs. i hope one day the world, after textperiencing militermination, really experiences it. i hope the twenty-first century becomes a magnificentury. Humanity has not reached what it deserves yet.

oh my god! instead of preparing my lecture on Snow White for my foxford scurriculum, which includes sixteen novels for the fiction class, here i am in my rented apartment in Queenglondowntown, secretly textpanding what Heart and mind tell me! i said secretly, because my wife strictly opposes this textperiment and believes i’d better write for academonic i Search income pay-pairs and pair-pays because she needs money! Without letting me tell her what themes i am textpanding and develoafing, she believes i am foolishly wasting my money and time on this textperiment and on these as she says . . . ; i need a euphemism, bullsheets, to fill the gap. She is sindifferent to african’t kids and poorphans of the world and doesn’t let me even explain Kevin carter’s famous photo depicting evelyn to her. and she pissimistically and pussymistically predicts neither she nor anybody else will read me!

if she were right, all humanity and i would be deprived of exploring amerrycountry and reaching militermination. if she were right, i doubt i could survive in this universale state of armorycountry. if


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she were right, i don’t know what would happen to millions of emaciated african’t kids and poorphans, like evelyn all over the world. if she were right, her sarcaustic (Sarcastic and caustic separately do not textpress the level of her sarcastic tone) and unending naggings would tormentalize me until the end of our catastorabic marital life. and finally, if she were right, i might one may night (i was born in may) prefer to use my euphemism necktie and Kevin carterminate myself. in that case, you few dear readers of this humanimalitorabian textperiment know that this textperience would serve as my will as well:

if possible, please do me a favor and tell my daughter that i want her to become a humanitorabian populartist or a righter in future and tell her to marry some one who isn’t sindifferent to the african’t kids and the poorphans of the world and tell her to befriend Kevin’s daughter, megan. Tell my family to bury me near Kevin carter and plant some daffodils on my grave. Tell them to engrave one of these epitaphs (or all of them if you like, the choice is all yours) in light brown color on my tombstone:

1. Here lies the one with fancifool humanitorabian intentions, but we accused him of animalitorabian sintentions.

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2. Here lie the ones who fancifoolishly believed in the perfectibility of mankind, and who wished the world would metamorphase into an amerrycountry where there are no african’t kids and no poorphans.

3. Here lies the one who said he would spend all his profit on african’t poorphan kids and on an individual Desiring Service patients if we had not been sindifferent to his textperiment and had helped it reach a universale.

4. Here lies the one who fancifoolishely believed his Amerrycountry and portmantorabis will be satisfactoraby, and victorabious over humanimality and pignorance, but humanimality and pignorance necktied and cartorminated him.


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mind asks me:

“Will anybody really notice this wholly time-and mind-consuming penergetic writing?”


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Heart answers mind before i can answer:

“i hope so, but no problem on the contrary. What we write is ‘heart for heart’s sake,’ and this suffices.”

and i continue: “That’s right. Like the Little Prince, i look for friends.”

Before sleep, i kissmell the beautifiring daffodils.

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Today i read some pages of Snow White until i reached the part where Snow White is writing a poem. again i sensed a similarity between us in writing. She writes a poem and i an autorabiography. The first similarity is that both of us long for totally new words; also both of us believe in perfectibility of mankind. i hope that tonight, in a dream, some nice new terms come to my mind so i can present them to her. i said “in a dream,” because the first new term that freely sprang up in me was in a dream. and that was misundersleeping. in a dream i saw a friend. He looked sad. i asked him:

“What’s wrong?”

“We quarreled.” He meant with his wife.

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“Why?”

“We have misunderstanding and misundersleeping.”

i kissmell the beautifiring daffodils before sleep.

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Today i was preparing a lecture on matthew arnold for one of my foxford scurriculums. i liked his idea: “There is not a creed which is not shaken, not an accredited dogma which is not questionable, not a received tradition which does not dissolve.”

i ask myself: “are we langucaged?”


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The Portrait of the Heartist as a young Literateacher

Today i had a literary terms class with my students. i tried to make them familiar with allegory, fable, symbolism, public symbols, private symbols, magic realism, and portmanteau words. examples of allegories are Everyman, Pilgrim’s Progress, and Animal Farm; for a fable, Animal Farm; for magic realism, markez’ novel


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One Hundred Years of Solitude; for Queenglish symbolic poetry, Wordsworth’s and Shelley’s poetry; for french symbolic poetry, charl Baudlaire’s The Flowers of Evil; and for portmanteau, i introduced some well-known ones.

a quarter to the end of the class, to exemplify more portmanteaus and to encourage my Queenglondowntown bestudents to become imagenius and not to remain langucaged, i wrote some of my portmantorabis on the whiteboard. instead of Snow White, i presented my portmantorabis to my students.

a student named gerald said he didn’t like imagenius, and i said, “Does that mean you like the rest?”

instead of answering yes or no, he said morosely:

“Linguistically speaking, if the process of making portmanteaus were as rudimentary as yoking any two heterogeneous words together, and if each one of our ancestors had created or faked just one cheap term during his or her lifespan up to now, our english language would not have its current high international status. in that case, we would have anarchy of words or language anarchy in our disciplined language and land. These words that you have faked do not fit into

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our esteemed language; they spoil it. moreover, they may exist individually, but they may not be applied in any context. i bet no journalist, poet, or writer can use any of them in any of his articles, poems, or writings. frankly speaking, only two of your portmanteaus please me.”

“Which ones?” i asked.

“Two by which your portmanteaus can be described.”

“Which ones, please?” i asked gerald.

Without any hesitation he said:

“Languagitation and sinvention.”

Some of the students let out an “ah,” some an “oh,” some smiled, and one laughed. He asked me another question when the class became quiet:

“What is your aim in bringing these uninvited, faked words into our language?”

i was calm with a ready answer, because i had already thought of this question and answered it many times in my mind:


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“By doing this i hope to do my duty to increase the speed of humanity’s improvement toward the universal state of amerrycountry, and toward genuine humanity; and to suggest that humanity still has a long way to reach those ideals; to suggest that humanity is perfectible and must not get langucaged; and of course but not finally, to penrich our Queenglish landgauage; and to prove its potential to develop more.”

one of the other students, Samuel, whose eyes are weak, and who had been quiet, participated in the discussion. fortunaturally, his ideas supported me.

“may i?” He asked permission.

“Please, Samuel!” i said.

“gerald, i think two of our literateacher’s other portmanteaus befit you.” Samuel said.

Let me textplain that literateacher is my portmantorabi for a literature teacher, and most of my students normally use it and the other portmantorabis in the class. gerald almost never did so.

“Which ones? i’d like to know,” gerald asked.

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“can i be sure you’re really willing to hear them?” Samuel sarcastically asked.

“Please go on,” gerald said.

“Two for which i do not find any other synonyms in our esteemed Queenglish landguage,” Samuel said.

“go on, Samuel,” one of the students said.

“Langucaged and impreasoned,” Samuel said.

Some students smiled.

“may i?” a girl named carol asked.

“yes, please,” i said. She wanted to talk to her classmates.

“i think another one of these portmantorabis also fits gerald’s way of speaking to our litearateacher as well,” carol said.

“Which one?” said a girl named elizabeth.

“Impoliterature.”

most of the students burst into laughter.


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Samuel said:

“gerald, naming these portmanteaus sinvention or languagitation is a misnomer, because they cause no harm to anyone, they sinjure no one, they kill no one. Sinvention is proper for the invention of atombic bombs, by means of one of which tens of thousands of people are entombed. Sinvention can be used for TnT and machine guns. How can blending of just some terms on a piece of paper with the clear aim of penriching our potential Queenglish landguage and for our pentertainment be termed languagitation or sinvention?

“Let’s not forget that new words give us new thoughts, and new thoughts help us explore eurotopia and amerrycountry. i believe our dictionaries innocently, if not sinnocently; in an infantile way, if not a sinfantile way; and ignorantly, if not pignorantly, do lack Africare, Amerrycountry, Armorycountry, Eurotopia, langucaged, manimal, militermination, Oxfortunate, studentist, wartillery, warchitect, and many other terms. We are so immersed in already existing things, ideas, concepts, and words that we have pignored that other undiscovered good ideas and concepts can be imagined and discoverbed; and that other ways of life could have been lived and experienced after the first man and woman were born or stepped on earth; and

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that humanity could have dragged himself to reach a better destiny by now. maybe it could have even explored amerrycountry.

“Dear classmates, i think somebody needs to give us a new view of ourselves, especially of our hearts and insides, and maybe of our heardts and sinsides, and then of our world. and to do these, new terms are needed.”

all of the class except gerald clapped for Samuel, and this made Samuel pause. When the clapping stopped, Samuel thanked his classmates and went on:

“and after listening to our literateacher’s explanation of his portmanteaus, and grasping the simple process of making them, i made two other portmanteaus which i think dictionaries have been lacking since the day they were compiled because nobody in Queengland or engineland has discoverbed them. i will share these two with the class momentarily to suggest that languages need development and to learn your opinions about the two terms. These are two words that hopetimistically speaking and fortunaturally no longer are applicable to our current world, because with growing civilization and urbanization, these two terms will not occur anymore; so i am happy to say that our dictionaries no longer need them. But if it


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were several centuries ago, maybe they could have a lot of application.

“moreover, i think not only are our literarteacher’s terms not uninvited, but we’d better welcome their pentrance into our Queenglish landguage if we do not want to be langucaged.”

Samuel’s face reddened a little bit. He was beating around the bush, maybe to avoid revealing his terms, or maybe to prepare the ground for the class to hear his terms.

i thought, “Why should he avoid telling them, or why should he prepare the class for the terms?”

“Please tell us your portmanteaus now,” carol said.

“consider Africa and America and then, as our literateacher has demonstrated, one by one pengraft the names of the two continents onto the humanimalistic action of cannibalism. What do you get? Africannibalism, and Americannibalism. These two had not been discoverbed by our ancestors. fortunaturally, nowadays we do not encounter those actions or verbs, so we do not much need them. you see, as time goes on we need to discoverb to help our landguage remain as universal, universold, flexible, and

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user-friendly as before, and not call this languagitation or sinvention,” Samuel said.

again Samuel’s classmates clapped for him.

“Bravo!” i said to him and continued: ‘‘a recent case of cannibalism in cannifornia shocked the world,’’

carol told me: “i found a portmanteau for you, sir!”

“i’d be glad to hear it,” i said.

“Tutorabi,” she said.

most students laughed and some clapped for her.

“That’s cool,” i told carol.

‘‘What is your most importmanteau,?’’ Samuel asked.

i said: ‘‘an amerrycountry without pignorance.’’

elizabeth asked me, “Why don’t you publish your portmanteaus?”

“first of all, i’m not sure if they would satisfy the good tastes of our generocitizens and Queenglandonators; second, i’m afraid they might be rejected by


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some impreasoned and langucaged pub-leashers. However, if any one of you knows any hopen-hearted and—minded publishers, please tell me. and third, because it would be expensive for me, and i do not like to worry pensively over financial matters; it disturbs my concentration on writing,” i said.

fortunaturally, from a class with ten students, three of them could help me in publishing my portmanteaus: elizabeth’s father; Samuel’s uncle, who is an oxfortunate professor; and carol’s grandfather, who is a Londonator, are all publishers. We fixed dates to see them during the following days.

The class time ended.

We said good-bye to each other, parted. Then the class, its whiteboard, its chairs, walls and windows were released from our presence there.

“Did you notice the show off tea-chair?” said the whiteboard to the empty chairs.

“yes we did,” agreed the chairs. They all laughed together.

“The janitor is coming,” said the whiteboard.

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“Sleep time,” said the walls.

The janitor stepped in the class, turned off the lights, and slowly walked out.

“good night,” the chairs, walls, and whiteboard said together.


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Today i presented forty of these new terms to two of my friends who are Queenglish landguage and eliterature lecturers in a university. Talking on the phone, both said they like most of them.

Being pencouraged by them, i took some of my portmantorabis to a linguist who is a hopen-hearted and—minded oxfortunate professor.

With permission, i entered his office where he was busy writing something. He is not just a universitting professor or a bench warmer. He liked some of my portmantorabis. He said Shakespeare at the time of Queen elizabeth i also created terms. and he said once, while walking in Queenglondowntown, he had seen a big billboard advertising a brand of cat food


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and the blending Catisfaction written in big letters on it, with the picture of an aristocat spilling and rejecting some milk because it preferred the processed cat food. i like the professor and his comment, but regrettably, this aristocatisfaction business reminds me of Kevin and evelyn.


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Today at foxford University we had a class in philosophy of literature where we read Jean-Paul Sartre’s Qu’est-ce que la littérature? (What is Literature?) in the book he argues that one writes for others, that the writer needs others or readers to appreciate his or her writings; therefore, as readers need writers, writers also need readers. The act of writing is a give-and-take-an invitation by writers to readers to read their writings.

chapter three of Sartre’s book is pentitled “for Whom Does one Write?”

after classes, my two oxfortunate classmates, robert and William, and i enjoy killing some time on kidding with some campussy cats and then we talk about the lessons, and then shift to other personal topics. Today’s conversation is written below:

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“i think imagenius righters should write for humanity’s sake.” i said.

William, a man of about twenty seven years of age, said:

“These discussions about who one writes for remind me of my brother’s personal life.”

“How?” my other classmate, robert asked.

William went on:

“in Queenglondowntown, my brother, george, who was twenty-three and a student of Persian literature at that time, fell in love with a young Persian girl who was about eighteen, named nsrin. Her father, a customerchant, purchased and imported carpet and pistachio from Persia to Queengland. after a while, george, who was pengaged in Persian poetry, proposed to nsrin; They became engaged, but they postponed getting married until george finished his education in Persian eliterature (which he believes is beautiful and enchanting). gradually, by about the fifth month of their engagement, and for no reason clear to george, their relationship was not as warm and friendly as it had been, and the two no longer loverbalized as they had before. To prove his love to her, george, who had become very good at Persian


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language and poetry, and who could even recite some short Persian poems, composed and dedicated some short poems in Persian to her.”

“How romantic!” robert said.

William, who had been taught to read Persian by his brother george, took out his notebook, opened and browsed it, found a page containing two short Persian poems, and showed them to us. He read the first one, a poem in three couplets. He textplained it to us a little bit by saying:

“george, to prove his love to his fiancée, wrote this acrostic Persian poem, which makes his fiancée’s name at the end. The beginning letters of each line, put together at the end read nsrinm, which means ‘my nsrin.’ it shows george’s true emotion toward his fiancée. The last two lines mean their love is a way or step that will lead to love of god.” Then William read george’s poems to his fiancée to us. i have included the first one here:

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“How are the two poems related to Sartre’s ideas in ‘for Whom Does one Write?’” robert asked.

William said, “after the sixth month, george’s fiancée ended their betrothal by betrayal, and soon afterward got married to a rich person. Later on, george found out that his unfaithfool fiancée (as george called her) and the boy had been singaged in cons-piracy, and sintrigue for a long time before. Since that event, george has always said one should be aware of who he is sp-ending or textpending his pendowment on. one should write for those who know the value of writing and poetry, not for those who end a betrothal by betrayal just for finanshallow sinterests.”

i felt upset by george’s story.

robert and i finished our coffees. William’s had gotten cold, so he didn’t drink any more of it.

after William finished, i said:

“now that you traced your brother’s life story to Sartre’s ideas in ‘for Whom Does one Write?’, i’ll try to do the same thing with Shusterman’s ideas on the benefits of writing. i’ll write something on that and will read it to you next week.”


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“okay. We’re eager to hear you,” they said.

it was getting late, so we shook hands and parted until the following monday, when we would see each other and enjoy universitting in a beautiful spot in foxford, killing some time on the campussy cats.


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Today i taught Queenglish poetry to my Queenglondowntown bestudents. Before telling them about poetic terms and techniques, and before working on any specific poem, to encourage my students’ creativity, and as an introduction, i read them a simple poem i had written last may. The poem is in the form of questions and answers:

—Will Queenglish languish?

When the world will relinquish.

—Who was chaucer?

i can’t find a poet nicer.

—Who was marlowe?

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He didn’t make Shakespeare low.

—Who was Shakespeare?

He shook the sphere!

—Who was Dryden?

eliterachairman in London.

—Who was Pope?

To write like him is my hope.

—Who was Thomas gray?

His sky was gray.

—Who was Blake?

not a member of the Lake.

—Who was Wordsworth?

He had the world’s worth.

—Who was Browning?


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at his duchess he was frowning.

—and Thomas Hardy?

His men so hardy.

—William Butler yeats?

for him the world waits.

—george orwell?

He knew the world well.

—James Joyce?

Whom we rejoice.

—and Hemingway?

To me, he showed the way.

after the class, i took the subway to my small apartment in Queenglondowntown. on the way, while half-listening to music, i concentrated the other half of my attention on how one can trace a connection between benefits of writing, creative writing, and one’s own life. i had promised to prepare something to read

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to robert and William the following monday when we went foxford universitting.


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Today, after our philosophy of literature class, robert, William, and i again went kidding with the campussy cats, and then we went universitting and talked about creative writing and about Shusterman’s ideas on the benefits of writing. We took drinks and three seats around a table beside an oak tree and some daffodils. i went near the daffodils and kissmelled one of them, came back to my friends, and took a seat. William looked at me and said:

“Did you link your autorabiography to Shusterman’s ideas?”

“yes i did and wrote it in my notebook. Would you like to hear it?”

“of course,” said William.

“go on. We have enough time to listen to you,” robert said.


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i said: “according to Shusterman, writing has many benefits. in addition to those that he penlisted, i think it may help to favorably reunite old childhood friends who have lost each other because of a small misunderstanding.

“i had a very lovely childhood friend, cinderella, whose beautifiring eyes sparkled with kindness. i loved her platonically. She liked fairy tales and Daffodils very much. When we walked in gardens and parks, daffodils willingly offered themselves to be kissmelled by her. She would gently hold and kissmell some of them and then we would pass on. When we were together, i forgot all my problems, and all the world seemed beautiful to me.

“But unfortunaturally, because of a misunderstanding that happened between us in our childhood, cinderella is not on good terms with me. of course, i am sure she doesn’t dislike or hate me; she just avoids our friendship. i hope, since she liked fairy stories a lot and would read any story she could get, she might read my apologetic fairy and romantorabic storaby one day, remember me, and convince herself to excuse me and befriend me again. i have no news of her; i don’t even know where she is. But if this story i am going to read you reaches a universale and is universold, with your help of course, she might read it fortunaturally one

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day when she is resting near daffodils in a park or one evening near a seashore. i want her to know that my days are solitary and gloomy as long as i do not see her beautifiring eyes.”

William said: “i didn’t know you are so romantorabic and nostalgic.”

i took my notebook out of my bag. on the notebook i had written “my romantorabic fairy Storaby Torabiuted to cinderella.” i took a deep breath while i looked at the daffodils, then i opened the notebook and began to read my foxfortunate classmates the tale i had written to help me find cinderella:

“i torabiute this storaby to my childhood friend cinderella, and i hope she might read it one day, remember me, and then forgive me.

Last night i felt very lonely and tired again. To fall asleep sooner, as is my habit, i took a poetry book and read a few poems. i read John Donne’s “Valediction forbidding mourning,” in which these lines remind me of cinderella:

our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though i must go, endure not yet


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a breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

next i read emily Dickinson’s poem that says:

There is no frigate like a book

To take us lands away . . .


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When i finished the poems, i put the book aside, turned off the lamp, and closed my eyes. after a few seconds, as i was very tired, i fell into a very deep sleep, and the memory of cinderella’s beautifiring eyes insfired me to see the following dream:

it was may, and i was in a magical paradisland. There were a lot of trees and beautiful evergreen flowers there. i could easily kissmell daffodils, roses, posies, violets, and myrtles in the fresh air. There were streams and gently flowing rivers. There were many beautiful birds too: canaries, cuckoos, ducks, finches, geese, larks, parrots, colorful peacocks, pelicans, pheasants, white pigeons, sparrows, and turkeys. fortunaturally there were no vultures. Some of the birds were singing on tree branches, some near daffodils and rose bushes, or near the streams, some around me, and amazingly, i understood their singing and language. even more amazingly, they understood me as if i were one of them. Some of the smaller birds would perch in my hands if i had some little crumbs to feed them. However, all the birds were happy there except one colorful talking parrot, which was sitting alone on the branch of a tree as if afraid to be caught by me. i told it:

“Tell me, beautiful parrot, why are you so sad and lonely up there?”

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When it saw that i speak in its own language, it was no longer afraid of me. it came down to a nearer branch and said:

“Hunters might hunt me.”

“Then what would they do to you?”

“They might sell or kill me.”

“How cruel they are! To whom might they sell you?”

“To those who like birds and keep them in cages.”

“Why?”

“Because i am beautiful and can talk and for their own sinjoyment, they encage me.”

“Do they feed you?”

“yes, regularly, but i want to be free.”

“What else do they do to you besides feeding you?”

“They talk to me, caress me, kissmell me as their own child, and sometimes take me on trips in their automobiles.”


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“and you don’t like all that?” i asked the beautiful parrot.

“not at all. i like to be free.”

i remembered cinderella. i said:

“But i’d like it if i could become caged by one of those people. i wish i were a magician, to . . .”

The parrot stopped me and said:

“i know what you wish. i can do it.”

“you can do what?” i asked the parrot.

The parrot had read my mind.

“i can turn you into a parrot and turn myself into you. i was looking and waiting for a human who would be willing to turn into a parrot and let me turn into him. i would like to become a human and find a kind lady who once saved my life when i was lost in a city, and who released me here. She also liked daffodils. are you ready to turn into a parrot?” The parrot asked.

“of course. Do your magic right now, please.”

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“first i should know why you want me to turn you into a parrot.”

i answered: “i had a lovely childhood friend named cinderella who is not on good terms with me anymore. She is rather angry with me because of a misunderstanding. i want to . . .”

again it read my mind and stopped me:

“To be disguised as a parrot, and to be caught and encaged by her at her home. oh, it shows how much you miss her.”

“yes, that’s right. and then to teach me how to talk, she would loverbalize to me, touch me, kissmell me, feed me, and take me on trips. oh, what a nice, dreamy dream! Beautiful parrot, please do your magic, right now. i have long been trying to find a way to find cinderella,” i said.

“Don’t hurry, close your eyes.”

i closed my eyes. in the next moment i heard the parrot fly a little closer to me, and i felt it sit on my left shoulder. after a while, i opened my eyes and saw myself as a beautiful parrot, exactly like the one talking to me and standing in front of me a little while ago. i


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was so glad of this metamorphasis. The first thing i saw was a man walking away in search of a kind lady who also liked daffodils. Without hesitation i flew out of the beautiful paradisland, into the blue sky, and began to look everywhere for cinderella in hopes of finding her.

from far up in the sky, the manimals looked tiny. But birds’ eyes are strong and can see more colors than people’s eyes. The earth from up there appears much more beautiful and cleaner than from down here. i could see and hear things that humanimals usually can’t see and hear. i could see and witness some secret humanimalistic activities that i prefer not to textpand here and not to make you disappointed of humanity!

for seven years i flew over all the continents, countries, and cities of the world. i gradually grew weak and old, and also became afraid that i might die before finding and seeing cinderella’s beautifiring eyes, and before kissmelling her hands.

Some lands were very cold and some very hot. Several years passed in this way, and i suffered many troubles. Hunting birds tried to prey on me. also, many people wanted to hunt me. children threw stones at me. near the end of the seventh year of searching all over the world, at last, one day i saw cinderella in her garden,

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watering her daffodils and kissmelling them. i flew down and perched on a tree there. She saw me and murmured:

“What a beautiful parrot! Some time ago another beautiful parrot was lost here. i took and released it in a paradiseland.”

She didn’t know that i understood her and could talk to her:

“Thank you very much for calling me beautiful.”

Surprised, she said to herself, “oh, it can talk too!”

i waited eagerly for her to come and take me with her hands, but she said:

“Poor parrot, what are you doing here in this crowded city? Have you flown here from a jungle or escaped from your owner’s cage? People might catch you again and encage you. you must fly to some far jungle or garden and save yourself.”

“But i have looked for you for seven years, and i want to be encaged in this home which is yours.”

“oh, do you know me?”


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i didn’t know what would happen if i revealed the true answer. i kept quiet.

“But i cannot keep beautiful birds in cages,” she said.

She didn’t know how much i desired to be her caged pet, but i was afraid to reveal my true identity. if she knew, that would destroy the whole plan.

i said: “i will not move away from your house.”

“i will gently take you and give you to abigail. She will take you to the lost pets care center and ask them to send you to your natural habitat.” abigail, a middle-aged woman, was cinderella’s servant. i wished i were cinderella’s Torabigail or janitorabi.

There would be no difference between flying away from cinderella or remaining on the spot. my plan didn’t work because of cinderella’s kind nature. There was not even an atom of cruelty in her heart.

When abigail came to the yard and saw me, she said, “This parrot is unique. People will pay a lot for it. Will you let me sell it?”

“no. We can’t be so cruel.”

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finally, i lost my best friend, cinderella, after seven years of ceaseless search. abigail delivered me to a man who gave me to another man, and after many long voyages, again i found myself in the same beautiful paradiseland with rivers, colorful birds, and nice-smelling beautiful flowers, especially daffodils.

There i was no longer a parrot; i had somehow turned into the same lonely and disappointed person that was me at first. all my efforts and all the troubles and sufferings i had undergone ended in vain. i had grown old, sick, and weak. i couldn’t help weeping aloud and shouting hopelessly into the sky. i wished for my death and thought about how easy it would be for me to give up my life and disasterminate myself. i was fallen on the ground and weeping near a stream with many beautiful fish in it, especially salmon. my breath had become short because of so much loud weeping. When my breathing relaxed a little, and i put both my hands into the water to bring up some fresh water to drink and wash my face, a small salmon came into my hands, with some water. Soon i put it back in the stream water, but the salmon put its head out of water and said:

“i want to talk to you, poor old man. The other fish and i were watching you from the water. Why are you so sad? Why are you weeping so loudly?”


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now, it was not unbelievable to me to see a fish talk; i had become used to such magical things.

my weeping had completely stopped. i took a deep breath into my lungs. my eyes were looking at the eyes of the salmon. i told it about my best childhood friend, cinderella, how i lost her because of a misunderstanding between us, how i turned into a parrot, found cinderella after seven years of continuous search, desired to be encaged by her, felt fortunate for some short moments in her hands, how kindly and generously she didn’t want to sell me, even at a very high price, and how i was sent back to the paradiseland where i was weeping so desolately and where the fish saw me.

The other fish and salmon were all listening to my story from near the surface of water. i guess i saw some of them quietly weeping. Why were they weeping? is it possible that my catastorabic destiny had made them weep? Had they missed their friends some time?

The salmon in my hand said: “Listen, i think i can help you find your friend again.”

“really? That would be so kind of you. How? Please do it this moment. i will not forget your kindness.”

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it said: “are you really ready to give up your life and your humanity and turn into a salmon just to see your friend?”

“Humanity? What humanity? By the way, she is more than a simple friend to me. i know i will perish without her. i am even ready to turn into a piece of stone on the ground in her doorstep so every day she steps on me several times.”

The salmon said: “i don’t like being a fish because many people come here for fishing, and i might sooner or later get caught and be cooked or fried by them, or be put into their aquariums. So if you agree, i will turn you into a salmon, in hopes that one day cinderella may catch you. By the way, if i become a human, i can find a kind lady who once saved my life when some others had caught me. She liked daffodils. are you sure you are eager to turn into a salmon?”

“yes i am, and any of those destinies which befalls me in her hands pleases me.”

“Then close your eyes and put your hands in water.”

When i did, i felt a number of gentle touches or bites on both my hands in the water. after opening my eyes, i saw i had turned into a happy salmon swimming in


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the stream. The very first moment after i turned into a salmon, i saw a man walk away out of the water. Soon i started to search for cinderella among the people who come to streams, rivers, lakes, seasides, and ocean shores to enjoy fishing and have fun.

i swam most of the waters of the world in hope, some of them even more than once, till near the end of the seventh year i had become an old, weak, and disappointed fish who had escaped many fishing nets and baits, and i had seen millions of faces, but never the one i was looking for.

Several times i was swallowed down by whales and sharks, but managed to escape when they reopened their mouths. Then one day a big fishing net caught a lot of fish, and i was among them. many fish escaped from the net back into the ocean water, but i couldn’t do it this time. The fishermen sold us in the fish market, and we were placed in aquariums to be sold to others.


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one day a family named Smith came to the market, bought me, took me to their home, and put me in a medium-sized beautiful aquarium with many other beautiful fish and a thermometer in it. They had a puppy, too, which they loved very much. They washed, dried, and fed it carefully, and took it to parks every day.

When i first entered this home, the puppy came near the aquarium and let out a bark. it seemed like a nice puppy. i talked to it:

“you are a beautiful puppy. What’s your name?”

it barked again and then said: “Pip.”

“What do you think the Smiths might do to me?”

“i’m not sure. They might keep you for a while, and then they might fry you in oil upon the oven, eat you, and then maybe a piece of your meat will become my share.”

i couldn’t help weeping, not for fear of being fried or cooked in any form and eaten, of course, rather for giving up the hope of seeing cinderella. Tears rushed down my eyes into the aquarium water till they almost overflowed the room. Pip could swim, but if my tears

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filled the home they would drown the Smiths in the other room.

Pip said: “Stop weeping, or else your tears will drown my masters.”

“if you want me not to weep any more, you should agree to turn into a fish and let me turn into a puppy. That’s serious.”

“it seems there is no other choice but that i should turn into a fish. But please tell me why? Who are you?”

my weeping stopped. a deep breath went down my gills; my eyes looked into the eyes of the puppy. i told it about my dear childhood friend and our platonic friendship; how i lost her because of a small misunderstanding; how much i missed her; how a parrot helped me and disguised me as a parrot; how i found cinderella after seven dangerous years; how i offered myself to be caught and wished to be encaged by her; how i felt fortunate for some moments; how kindly and generously she didn’t want to sell me, even at a very high price; and finally, how i found myself in the beautiful paradiseland where i wept so desolately, and where the fish saw me weeping; and next how a kind salmon helped me and turned me into a salmon; and how for seven years i searched all the waters of the


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world and escaped hundreds of fishing nets and bites and saw millions of faces, but not that of my friend’s; and how the Smiths bought me and brought me to this aquarium in Pip’s presence.

“and now if you turn me into a puppy and yourself into a fish, the Smiths will be saved from drowning, and i can escape out of the house the next time the Smiths take me walking in the park. Then i might find my friend one day,” i said.

Pip came near me, opened his mouth, and ate me with some water; in the next moment i was a beautiful white puppy exactly like Pip, and i saw a fish swimming in the aquarium. it almost looked like me when i was a salmon.

The next day, when mr. and mrs. Smith entered the room, they didn’t notice any change. They took me to the park near their house for a walk. Since they had no hold on me, i escaped from them and very soon started looking for cinderella all over the world.

it was a difficult life to be a wandering dog. Some people called me names. Some people whose eyes resembled wolves’ eyes chased me in streets. Some others whose eyes resembled bears’ eyes wanted to torture and kill me. Some children threw stones, sticks,

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and empty bottles at me, and many of them hit and sinjured my head, belly, and legs. once two young men whose eyes looked like hyenas’ eyes wanted to cut my ears and tail, and one of them suggested even roasting and eating me. fortunately, i bit their hands and escaped just in time.

i passed many wintry snowy days and nights without eating anything. many times, some men wanted to catch me and deliver me to the lost animals care center. food and shelter would be provided there, but i escaped to continue my search for cinderella.

Some manimals sinjoyed putting me in fights against their own mastiffs, curs, bulldogs, and even Dobermans. many of them bit me and left the mark of their bites and teeth on my shoulders and legs. i was always the underdog. once a drunkard wanted to sintentionally sinjure me with his ca, but i ran and saved myself.

i could smell, see, and hear things that humanimals usually can’t smell, see, and hear. i could see and witness some secret humanimalistic activities that i prefer not to textpand here and not to make you disappointed of humanity!

not all people were bad to me, though. Some children, women, and men would call me by their favorite names,


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talk to me, touch me, and feed me. Sometimes they took me to their gardens, garages, and homes. There they fed me and were nice to me and didn’t chain me. Some beautiful girls reminded me of cinderella, but i didn’t stay with them.

in search of cinderella, i had sniffed millions of daffodils in all the continents, countries, cities, ports, and many villages of the world, till gradually i turned into a thin, weak, old dog. finally, after seven years of nonstop search, on a very cold and snowy christmas night in a big mall, i sensed a familiar, nice smell. i sniffed till i found the source of the nice daffodil smell, and it was she—i saw cinderella shopping. She bought some christmas gifts, and story books. i wanted to go close and introduce myself to her, but that might have blown all my efforts away. i thought of a better plan.

She finished shopping, and i followed her to her light brown BmW. She drove away, and i ran after her car. When a drunkard’s speeding car was about to hit her car, i increased my speed and put myself in between the two cars before the accident could happen. She braked when she saw me in front. no accident happened. She drove on and reached her home, got out of the car, and saw me behind her. i made a faint sound, wagged my tail, and sat down.

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Three teenagers were passing across the street. They were throwing snowballs at each other. When they saw me, one of them said:

“Let’s hit the dirty old dog.”

“i’ll hit its head first,” another one said.

“and i’ll hit its back next,” the third one said.

They bent down, picked up some snow with their gloved hands, and made snowballs to throw at me. i got worried—not for myself, but for cinderella, because a snowball might hit her light brownish jacket instead of me. cinderella told them:

“Don’t do it boys! He’s weak and old. We should be kind to all creatures.”

as they went away, they hit each other with snowballs.

“Poor old dog. you must be very cold and hungry. come into the yard,” she said.

Turning into a dog was a good metamorphasis for me, too. all the troubles and sufferings of being a dog, all the sinjuries sinflicted on me by cruel manimals,


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the dog bites and the hungers i suffered—all were forgotten during these happy moments when my eyes saw cinderella and my nose smelled her daffodil smell.

She rang the bell and abigail opened the door.

“Bring him inside,” my friend told abigail, and continued: “it’s freezing cold, and he might die tonight if he stays out.”

abigail took the shopping from cinderella, who looked at me, and said:

“Poor old dog. you must have been a nice terrier in the past.”

i made a slow moaning noise and wagged my tail. Those were some of the most unforgettable moments of my catastorabic life; no words or expressions could describe my infinite joy in them. Wholeheartedly, i entered the yard.

“What shall i do now?” abigail asked.

“Take him to the corner of the garage. it’s warm there. Then bring him some food.”

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Without waiting, i went there to show that i am a tame dog. from there i could see a green house in the yard where fresh flowers could be seen: daffodils, red roses, and lilies.

This corner could be my heaven until the end of my dog life. i was the most fortunate dog on earth. i was even more fortunate than many manimals. i was content with this metamorphasis.

cinderella went inside and abigail followed her.

The night passed like a nice dream. it was one of the best nights of my life. next morning, when cinderella and her servant came to the yard, i understood this paradise would be lost. i heard them talking:

cinderella said, “although i pity this poor old dog, i can’t keep him. i’m too busy, and i cannot give him enough care. Somebody else might take better care of him.”

i moaned to myself: “i can take care of myself here. Please let me remain your Torrier. i’d rather die here than go out and live elsewhere. i am old, but i can guard well. i will not bark much, mess around, and will not be Torablesome.”


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“Telephone the lost animals care center and tell them we have found an old dog and want to deliver him.”

“okay, my lady,” said the servant, who took out her mobile phone and dialed the number.

my friend watered the flowers, kissmelled the daffodils, and then went inside. i wished those moments could be extended forever.

i was happy to see her, but at the same time, afraid of missing her again. my eyes recorded her nice beautifiring eyes in my mind and memory. She went inside and i never saw her again.

next i heard a car stop in the street. abigail opened the door. a man stepped in the yard, looked around, saw me, and came near me. He had leather gloves on his hands and a leather leash in his right hand. i wanted to resist, but this would resist cinderella’s order, which i would rather die than do, so i didn’t move away. He wanted to hold me on the leash, but abigail said:

“Take him out without your leash, please.”

after some moments, i was out of the yard and on the street. i saw a van with cages and animals in them. i saw a bulldog, a terrier, and a french mastiff. There was

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a box containing some other little animals, all found and taken off the streets on cold winter days.

i didn’t like being imprisoned. as long as i was alive, i wanted to be free to keep looking for my friend—if i could survive the winter. if the agent took me to the center, i would be provided with food and warm shelter, but i neither would nor could give up the hope of finding my friend again.

The agent had not leashed me. When i saw the cages with the dogs and the box from which i heard some fluttering sounds, instead of jumping up into the van with the words Lost Pets care written on it, i released myself from the agent’s grip on my neck, jumped away, ran to the other side of the street before a car reached me, escaped. in a few seconds, i disappeared from that street, ran down another one, then near a highway and a park. finally, i reached the top of a hill in the outskirts of the unknown city where my friend lived. i stopped and looked back at the city, took some deep breaths, and continued to run, passing through many unknown lands, and swam a lot, until, to my own amazement, i reached the same beautiful paradiseland with many beautiful trees, daffodils and other flowers, streams, rivers, birds, and animals where the parrot turned me in to a parrot and a salmon turned me in to a salmon. i found a quiet place in the sunshine, stopped there, and


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laid down. cinderella’s beautifiring image and memory was with me during this long escape.

What could an old, forlorn dog do then? i began moaning. This turned into a quiet weeping, and soon i began to weep aloud. Sometimes cinderella’s name came to my tongue, and i said it to myself slowly. This was pleasant, so i shouted her name loudly to the heavens and to the angels and to god. i wanted them to witness the pains and defeats i face. Who knows? maybe they could take some weak frequencies of my voice to cinderella’s heart and remind her of me at those moments when i shouted her name from the depth of my heart. Such things could happen. Just because they are not scientifically proved does not mean we should reject them.

my weeping became mixed with a soothing emotion, as if weeping over the memory of cinderella could increase the chance of finding her again. i hoped some supernatural and telepathic quality of creation could take my weeping voice and shouting to her.

in the sunshine where i was, i saw two parallel lines of small black ants busily moving in opposite directions. Some of the ants were carrying little pieces of food to their nests in a hole some meters away. Some of them slowly bumped their tiny black heads into the

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heads of the other ants coming from the opposite direction, mingled their black antennae together for a short moment, as if for exchanging information about some food source they had found somewhere nearby, and then continued on their way, reached another ant, mingled their black antennae, exchanged information, and then again moved on.

one of the ants that was bigger than the others and that had ventured to come upon my tail, then to my back and head, said with a weak voice:

“Poor dog, your weeping is so loud. Why are you doing that? Have you been hit? are you sick? Hungry? Who are you? Where have you come from? i have seen many dogs but i have never seen a dog that weeps and talks. Who is cinderella, whose name you shout to the heavens? The other ants and i pity you. can we help you? Would you like some of our food?”

i had wept a lot, so i stopped to answer the ant’s question, which required a long tale as an answer. The other ants had stopped working and were listening to the talking ant and me. my voice was loud enough for them.

i took a deep breath and began to tell the ants about my life: that at first i was a young man, not a


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sick old dog. i told them about cinderella, my lovely childhood friend; how i loved her platonically; how i lost her because of a small misunderstanding; how much i missed her after that; how a parrot helped me and disguised me as a parrot; how i found my friend after seven years of continuous search, desired to be encaged by her, and felt fortunate for a few minutes; how kindly and generously she didn’t want to sell me even at a high price; and how i found myself again in the form of a man in the paradiseland, where i wept so desolately, and where the fish saw me weeping near a stream, heard my catastorabic destiny, and pitied me; how a salmon helped me and turned me into a salmon to fine cinderella; and how for seven years i swam all the lakes, rivers, seas, and oceans of the earth, and saw millions of people, but not cinderella; how i was caught, sold, the Smiths bought me and took me to their aquarium in the room with their puppy Pip; how Pip helped me turn into a Puppy and escape from the Smiths and look everywhere for my friend, first as a nice puppy, then as a dog, and later on as a weak old dog. and i told the ants all about the sinjuries and tortures that some people whose eyes looked like the eyes of wolves, bears, and hyenas sinflicted on me, and finally, how on one christmas snowy night, i saw my friend in a mall, followed her to her home, jumped in front of her car and another one, to stop an accident that could harm her. also, i told the ants that cinderella

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sheltered me for one night, that the next day the agent wanted to encage me, but i escaped and ran away until i reached this sunny, quiet spot in the beautiful and mysterious paradiseland in the presence of the good, sympathetic ants.

“i can help you, poor old dog,” the ant said again in a weak voice.

“really? How?” i said in eager surprise.

“you know that different creatures are good at different things. for example, parrots are good at speaking, fish at swimming, dogs at sniffing, and we ants at digging narrow holes and opening the way wherever we like—for example, to people’s homes or houses, without doing any harm to them. if you turn into an ant, you can enter cinderella’s house without doing any harm to her or to yourself.”

“That’s great! Please do it right now. i will not forget your help.”

“okay. To do that, i should bite you. aren’t you afraid of my bite?”

“no my good ant, i’m not. many dogs, wolf dogs, wolves, and hyenas have bitten me during my life. and


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many people with wolf, hyena, and bear eyes have sinjured me as well. your bite will be the best one for me. Bite me as hard as you like. your bite may help me find cinderella.”

“Then close your eyes and wait.”

i closed my eyes and felt a very weak bite on my back. Then i turned into an ant. as an ant, i understood that fortunately ants, like dogs, have a strong sense of smell, and maybe i could use this to find my friend’s daffodil smell.The first thing i saw was a huge dog running away. also, as an ant, i saw the world very differently, and less colorfully. around me were numerous little black ants. one of them bumped its head into my head and asked me why i was standing lazily. He told me there was a huge amount of food twenty centimeters away, and that i should go there and carry a piece of it to our nest because winter was close. However, i went out of the line of the ants and started to smell and look for cinderella. But i had escaped far from cinderella’s house after being taken by the lost pets care agent, and now that i was an ant, i would have to move for many years to find and reach her house again.

as an ant, i could see and witness some secret humanimalistic activities that i prefer not to textpand here and not to make you disappointed of humanity!

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after seven years of nonstop search and surviving many dangers: being trodden upon by people, being eaten by other insects and birds, and surviving insecticides, finally one christmas Day i smelled a familiar daffodil smell through some parks, and streets. The smell led me to my friend’s home. i stopped at her door and waited till the door of her house opened and abigail, who had gone out, entered. i entered after her. She didn’t see me. i spent the night in a corner of the yard near the green house with daffodils.

next morning, abigail came to the yard to do some work and by chance saw me, then she went inside. after afew minutes, cinderella and abigail came to the yard, and close to me. cinderella came closer, and looked at me. i saw her beautifiring eyes, and suddenly, all the world became very beautiful to me. it looked like cinderella had been reading, because i saw a book in her hand. i tried to read its title, but my small eyes could not read from that distance of one meter between the book and me. i wanted to know what sort of books and tales she was interested in at that time. i moved closer to cinderella, and then i could read the title: Metamorphosis, by Kafka.

“We must not kill these innocent creatures. Who knows? maybe in the past they lived as other forms of creatures,” cinderella said.


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“you are so kind,” abigail said.

Those moments were some of the best and most unforgettable moments of my painful life. i had reached half of my goal—to see cinderella. The other part was to apologize and to get her forgiveness. Would it be easy to do? Would she forgive me? could such a kind person not forgive me? Did i deserve her forgiveness? During those few moments, i forgot all the troubles and difficulties i had suffered during the seven difficult years of being an ant. i wished to remain an ant in her yard till the end of my life.

“We have never had ants in this clean yard. it seems to be a lonely, lost ant, and it’s so hard to be lonely in this world. i pity lonely creatures and people. Sometimes i myself feel lonely,” cinderella said.

i said, “i am a weak, poor, lonely ant. Please let me stay in your yard. i’ll not be Torablesome.”

But my voice did not reach cinderella. i shouted what i had to say several more times, but unfortunaturally, she could not hear me.

abigail said: “What should i do now?”

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“Put a piece of bread in front of it. When it bites and mounts it, pick it up and put the piece of bread and the ant out of the yard in the small garden on the sidewalk. it will be better for it there. Here is too clean for it. Take care; ants are feeble.”

abigail did what she was ordered, but i was unwilling to bite or mount the piece of bread. abigail pushed me upon the piece with a movement of her right index finger while she held the piece of bread with her left hand and began to walk out of the yard onto the sidewalk. i felt a pain.i wanted to fall down from the piece of bread, but it was late, and the next moment i was in a small garden on the sidewalk out of cinderella’s home.

This short happiness did not last long either. i felt myself very weak and devastated. i couldn’t move four of my six legs, because they were broken. only the front pair of legs moved, but they were not strong enough to carry me even for two millimeters. my brain could not send commands to my two black short antennae.The left one was broken from the middle joint, and the other one was moving freely in different directions without my intention. They were insensitive; i could neither move nor smell. only my eyes could function well. although they were wet with tears, they saw bicycles, cars, some children playfully walking away,


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and some friends loverbalizing and happily passing hand in hand. Some sparrows were sitting on the small garden, some upon a tree, and some on bushes. at that moment, i wished one of them would come, pick me up, eat me, and disasterminate me. Without cinderella, life had no beauty, color, taste, or meaning for me. i was indifferent to death—rather, eager for it. my mouth opened unintentionally. Then i heard the following words pronounced: “oh, cinderella!” and next, “Death, come.”

my tears rushed down my small, weak eyes. When i stopped weeping, it was getting dark. Hopelessly tired, i fell asleep.

The next morning i understood that during the previous night wind blew me to a faraway land, to the same beautiful paradiseland garden with daffodils, roses, trees, streams, gentle rivers, and beautiful singing birds where i had turned into an ant. i was in front of a poor old man with shabby clothes and long hair. He had heard me weep and talk to myself. He asked me:

“Why were you weeping? i have never seen an ant that mourns and talks. Do you need help? i am Vitalis.”

i told him about cinderella: how we loved each other platonically; how because of a misunderstanding

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between us we lost each other; how a beautiful parrot helped me to find cinderella, by turning me into a parrot; how i found cinderella after seven years; and how kindly she didn’t encage me, but sent me back to this paradisland. i told him how the fish and salmon heard my weeping for cinderella, pitied and helped me become a salmon, how i saw Pip, who turned me into a puppy and escaped from the Smiths, and after seven years, i, as an old dog, found cinderella, who kept me for one night, and delivered me to the lost pet care agent; how i escaped to the same magical paradiseland, ants heard me weep, pitied me, heard my catastorabic destiny, and turned me into an ant to find cinderella, and i found my friend after seven years; how she and her servant neither killed nor kept me, how wind brought me again to this magical paradisland in front of this old man, Vitalis. When i finished, Vitalis, who seemed very moved and impressed by my destiny, told me:

“Poor ant, i can help you find your friend again.”

“really? Please do it. How can you do it?”

“i am a poor but honest old man. and i have no home or family. Some people call me a beggar. although i am lonely and have a poorigin, i do not disturb or bother anybody. i never steal any food or money from


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anybody. once i found a large amount of money in a wallet in a trash can, searched in the city till i found its owner, and delivered it to him. i can sleep anywhere i please, under the blue sky during the day, or under the starry sky at night, near shores, in parks, or in gardens. if you want, i can turn you into me, and myself into you. Then you, in the form of a beggar, can finally find cinderella and see her again and i can get rid of humanimals that have sinjured me. Being an ant is better than living with humanimals.”

“Vitalis, please turn me into you, and yourself into me at this very moment. Please.”

i didn’t understand how he turned me into a weak old man. The first thing i saw, after noticing my shabby clothes and long hair, was a small black ant slowly moving away from me toward a line of busy ants. When it reached the line, another ant slowly bumped its head into the head of the ant that was Vitalis a few seconds ago. They mingled their antennae, and each followed its own way.

Without wasting time, i started looking for cinderella. as i went from village to village, city to city, country to country, and continent to continent, i found cheap food and shelter on the way. after seven years of continuous search, tiredness, hunger, thirst, sickness,

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being beaten by hooliganimals, and being unjustly arrested or kept in police stations and camps, finally i saw a street that seemed familiar to me. yes, it was the same street where i had passed several times and on several occasions, and where cinderella lives. Here i could hope to see her.

i looked like a beggar, so i thought of a plan—to be a beggar and spend the rest of my life begging there, near cinderella’s house. That would work; nobody would beat or chase me as they did when i was a dog. People would donate alms to me, maybe give me some food and fruits, and best of all, every day i could see cinderella. certainly she was not the sort of person who does not let beggars stand close to her house and beg, and certainly she herself would kindly give me food and alms every day.

a few days passed in this way. most people donated coins or even bills; a few of them spoke to me sympathetically and asked me why i was so poor and begging or if i have any children or family. Some believed my wife or children forsook me and left me in the streets, or kicked me out of my own home. many kind people talked to me, but the kindest person i met was cinderella, who every day near lunchtime, or if i was there near supper time, would send abigail to bring some food and fruits to me. abigail was kind,


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too; certainly she was influenced by cinderella to be so. and cinderella didn’t know that the old beggar in front of her house was i, her childhood friend, and i did not dare tell her. i, an old beggar, couldn’t even think of revealing my true identity to her. Having gotten used to my miserable, errant life, i couldn’t imagine myself fortunate enough to befriend her again. merely seeing her was enough for me.

once abigail came to me and said that her lady could take me to stay in a good nursing home and pay all the costs—if i would like, of course. i didn’t accept this. my kind cinderella didn’t know that the best place in the world for me was the corner of the sidewalk near her house, and that seeing her beautifiring eyes would nourish my soul, so i could bear any hardship.

once two policemen came and told me it’s forbidden to stand on the street and beg; they wanted to take me away. fortunately, abigail saw this sincident, ran and told cinderella, and soon cinderella came and talked to the policemen and convinced them not to take me away.

one day, a pet care ambulance came near cinderella’s house and stopped. a vet and his assistant, a young woman in a white uniform and a white cap, came out of the ambulance, walked to the door, and rang the

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bell. a moment later the door opened. They didn’t go inside. after nearly a minute i saw cinderella walk out of her house onto the sidewalk, and a beautiful, white puppy, a cavalier King charles spaniel, followed her to the sidewalk. cinderella picked him up and gave him to the vet, who took him inside the ambulance. The vet and his assistant worked on him for almost half an hour in the ambulance. Then they came out with the puppy in the vet’s hands. They looked very surprised. The vet gave him to cinderella and said:

“your puppy has a strange disease.”

i walked two steps closer to hear them better.

“What is it, please?” cinderella said.

He answered: “We tested his blood and found out that it must be changed. Then we tested several blood samples on him, but none of them matched.” The vet still looked very surprised.

cinderella was sad. She asked the vet:

“Please do your best to cure him. i’ll pay for that.”

The vet said:


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“Bring your puppy to the clinic tomorrow. We will do our best to save him. i will call two of the best vets in the world, who are my friends, to fly here and help me in this unique case.”

The vet and his assistant went back, and cinderella and her spaniel entered her house. The rest of that day i was not in a good mood.

The next morning i saw cinderella take her white spaniel out. certainly she was taking him to the clinic. Two hours later i saw her come back without him. When she passed me, she gave me a note. i thanked her and asked:

“Where is the spaniel?”

“He is in the surgery room at the clinic,” she answered sadly, and went to her house.

i prayed for her puppy from deep in my heart. in my shack that night i thought about cinderella and of a way to help her.

The next day, when i saw cinderella and asked her about her spaniel, she said she had been at the clinic, and that the vet had told her:

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“it’s very strange that no dog blood matches the blood of your dying spaniel. By mistake, some human blood samples were tested, and strangely, a sample that was positive a matched. your spaniel needs positive a blood.”

The vet continued:

“But we are not allowed to use human blood on animals. Blood donors do not let us use their blood for animal treatment.”

Telling her own blood group, she had suggested giving some of her own blood to which the doctors answered that her blood group does not match. The puppy needed human positive a blood.

The next few days, cinderella looked sad whenever i saw her pass by me. She never evaded my questions about the spaniel’s health. She gave me some coins or notes, i thanked her, and then she entered her house.

The next day, when she was coming back from the clinic and passing by me, i greeted her and asked about her spaniel, and she answered:

“i have requested positive a blood in different newspapers. many volunteers have called me, but


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when they find out that their blood will be used for my spaniel, they hang up.”

i told her: “Will you accept my blood if it is positive a?”

“But you . . .” She stopped.

i said: “i’d be happy to help you. although i am an old beggar, i think my blood is clean and healthy.”

“oh, thank you very much. But, . . .” She stopped.

“But what?”

“you are so kind, Vitalis. But first we should see if your blood is positive a.”

next day we went to the clinic. The doctors took my blood sample, checked my blood group, which was unknown to me until then, and fortunaturally for me, for cinderella, and for her spaniel, it is positive a. Then the doctors took some more of my blood, which i gave wholeheartedly, and they used it for the spaniel in their surgery room.

after two hours, they brought the spaniel out of the surgery room. He looked lively when he saw cinderella and ran toward her. She smiled and thanked me with

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her beautifiring eyes. Those memorable moments were some of the few best moments of my catastorabic life.

We went back, and she invited me to her home for lunch. But i refused and went to my place near her house. a few minutes later, abigail brought me some warm food, drinks, and fruit. i asked her:

“is the spaniel okay?”

“yes, of course. my lady is very thankful to you and is thinking of a gift for you.”

“Tell her that she has already given me many gifts, the best one of which is her permission to let me stay here and beg. i didn’t donate my blood for gifts. i did it just to make her happy. i was overjoyed when i saw her smile. That was the best gift for me.”

She went back without knowing what already and many gifts implied. in fact, i meant a few little gifts that cinderella gave me during our childhood friendship.

The next day cinderella came to me.

“How are you?” i asked.


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“fine. i’ve brought you something, Vitalis.” She said.

She handed me a tray containing fresh food, drinks, and fruits, and when i thanked her and took the tray, i saw a packet on the tray.

“What is this?” i asked.

“it’s for you. open it.”

When i did, i saw a check written for a large amount. Soon i put it back in the packet and put the packet in her hand.

“i didn’t do it for money.”

“of course; i know you are very kind, Vitalis, but why?”

“i did it for all the favors that you have already done to me, and in order to make you happy and see your smile.”

She smiled, thanked me and went inside. i can’t forget those moments.

years passed, and i continued my life begging in the place near cinderella’s house. i was content with my

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life, and i didn’t expect much from it till the end of my life. i never counted nor cared how much i got. The daily sight of cinderella, my lovely childhood friend, going out of her house and coming back to it was the best nourishment for my soul. my other necessities, including food, water, drinks, clothes, and hygiene were very easy for me to get. always i tried to keep my clothes and myself clean. my happiness didn’t depend on these trivialities; it depended on seeing cinderella’s smile and beautifiring eyes.

every day, she emptied her purse of coins and notes and gave them to me. She always answered me kindly whenever i asked about her or her spaniel.

if there was some rubbish thrown on the ground around her home, i would bend down, pick it up, and put it in a nearby trash can, because i wanted to make her place as clean as possible.

i spent my days gladly begging near her house, and in the evenings i took buses or subways to the slums to spend my solitary nights in a small self-built shack, thinking of cinderella.

When i first came to spend my nights in this slum area, it was not very clean, and a lot of rubbish was thrown around. it didn’t have any plants, either. But being


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lonely there, with a lot of time, and in order to make the environment clean, i collected all the rubbish and took it to trash cans that were far away. moreover, i planted a lot of daffodils and other flowers and trees there, which made the area look a lot better.

one day i saw a building over which a strange term was written: Buildung. i went closer and found out that it sold dung as fertilizer. So i bought some dung and carried it to the shack to fertilize the ground for the daffodils and other flowers. i eagerly took care of the environment, and thought: “after all, isn’t this the same city or world where cinderella lives? maybe someday she will pass here, see these daffodils, come closer, and kissmell them.”

one day, a class of oxfortunate agricultourist students with their oxfortunate professor came to see me and find out how i, a beggar without any gardening instruments, had been able to grow a lot of daffodils and other flowers on a piece of land that previously was barren.

another day, a customerchant florist came to buy the daffodils and other flowers to sell in the market. He looked at me strangely, and then returned empty-handed when i said: “excuse me, sir, these daffodils and flowers are cinderella’s.”

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on some nights, when the sky was clear, i would sit outside the shack near the daffodils and enjoy looking at the calm night sky and the stars.

as a kid, i had heard that everybody has a star in the sky, and i wondered which star could be mine. Then i would disappointedly answer myself, thinking that certainly none of those big, bright stars could belong to a poor, solitary child like me. Unfortunaturally, this self-underestimating habit remained a part of me during my lifetime, and made me lose some good chances, one by one.

from the shack on some nights i saw a weakly twinkling solitary star in a corner of the star-populated sky. only this star attracted me, because only this one had kindly agreed to be mine, as cinderella had kindly agreed to be my childhood friend. and also because it liked solitude, as i do. no other star in the starry sky had accepted to shine for me, blink or smile at me, and answer my greetings. Therefore, that star would be mine—my solitary nice star. in my soliloquies i called this far, solitary star my solitorabi, because besides suggesting my solitariness, the french word sol means soil, or my surname Torabi, and there can be no daffodils without sol or soil. and the penultimate reason i called it that is that it stands for my favorite music note: sol.


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The last reason will not be textplained and textpressed here, because i need cinderella’s permission to do it.

at nights, before going to bed, i always used to look at my solitary star and say, “good night, my dear solitorabi star; i still love you platorabicly.” and as cinderella and i used to practice french together when we were kids, i would say it in french: “Bon nuit ma chère etoile solitorabi; je t’aime platorabiquement encore.”

at that moment, i ended my tale. missing cinderella, salty teardrops flowing down my swollen eyes and wetting my lips, i didn’t dare look up at robert’s and William’s faces, encounter their eyes, and ask them what they were thinking about me and my romantorabic storaby, whether they thought this tale is satisfactoraby, whether they thought cinderella might like it if one day she reads it by chance, or whether they thought she would recognize me, and forgive me if she reads it.

missing cinderella, i knew the day will come when one of our Queenglondowntown generocitizens, perhaps named Philanthrop fog, will start a journey from Queenglondowntown with some forms of hyper-high-tech flights; he’ll pass parts of the world like Suez, Bombay, calcutta, Singapore, Hong-Kong, Sudan, yokohama, San francisco, Big apple, and

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Liverpool, and will return to Queenglondowntown on time, all in only eighteen hours, to win his bet that he could travel around the world in eighteen hours. But the following sentences will still be true about man and about all of us:

Words are a source of misunderstanding; the eyes are blind. one must see with the heart.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

for whom did i write? for you who read me.

in the third millennium, and long after Plato’s Republic, more’s Utopia, and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, we are still worlds and millennia away from amerrycountry. There are still many emaciating african’t kids like evelyn world-wilde. The world is similar to dysturopias like Manimal Farm, and 1984, and all of us are responsinle for these. nevertheless, we’d better hope in the universal state of amerrycountry.

Queenglondowntown, Dystouropia.

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Glossary of portmantorabis and other expressions and names used in Amerrycountry:

academonic writing: composed of academic and demonic. Some academic writings just for the sake of searching income. Write for money.

academonegative critics: academic, demonic and negative. Very few academic negative critics who are professional at belittling writers.

accompolice: a pun on a police who is accomplice to criminals (or a criminal who is an accomplice to the police.)

africamerican: african american.

africanadian: african canadian.

africannibalism: cannibalism in africa.

african’t Kids: poor african kids that can’t kid around and grow up like other kids.

africontinent: africa, continent.

agricultourist: agriculture students, engineers, farmers or gardeners who are on a tour visiting gardens and farms.

americannibalism: cannibalism in america for example in Brazil centuries ago.

american’t dream: failure in reaching american Dream.

americaustralian: american australian.


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amerrycountry: Different interpretations.

amerryculture: a merry culture, . . .

americannibalism: cannibalism in america.

americanadian: american, canadian.

amerrycontribeautify: contribute, beautify, amerrycountry. To contribute to beautify. the world to reach amerrycountry.

ancestorabis: ancestors, torabi.

an individual Desiring Service patients: a.i.D.S. patients.

animalitorabian:, animality, Torabi.

antimanistic missile: against humanity, it rhymes with anti-ballistic missile.

aristocrabic: aristocratic and crablike.

armorycountry: a term made of “armory”, “country”

and “amerrycountry” to emphasize the current state of the world and its arms race. atombic bombs: a pun composed of ‘atomic bomb’ and ‘tomb’. atombic bombs send many to tombs.

atombombing: atomic bombing, tomb.

attendancer: attendance, dancer. a good dance partner.

auntmarycountry: Joyce’s pun on amerrycountry made of aunt, mary, country . . .

autorabiographical: Torabi’s autobiography.

Barracknocked out and checkobamated Bombladen: Bin Laden got wiped out by the current presidency of america.

Bear-glaring: a pun on the burglar who was glaring at me like a bear.

Beautifiring eyes: cinderella’s beautiful eyes with a shine in them.

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Bedmaterialism: bedmate, materialism, mating for money.

Bestudent: best student.

Beastudent: beast student.

Belittlisize: belittle and size. To underestimate others.

Blake (William): an eighteenth century romantic poet.

Boyster: a boy who dives into sea or ocean water to find pearl oysters.

Browning (robert): in his poem My Last Duchess, the Duke is frowning at his duchess to stop her smile.

Brutalibans: brutal Taliban.

Brutalimanimaly: brutally, Taliban, manimally.

cannifornia: california, cannibal. referes to a case of cannibalism reported recently in california.

capitall: capital, tall.

capitaller and capitaller: to hint that some are getting

richer (and taller) and with more capital while the poor are evaporating.

carterminate: a refrence to Kevin carter’s suicide.

cartorminate: carter, terminate, Torabi.

championeer: champion pioneer.

characterrorize: character and terrorize.

chasstity: a pun upon chastity that has no value for some.

chaucer (geoffrey): fourteenth century english poet, considered to be the father of english poetry. author of The Canterbury Tales.

chinannihilation: china and annihilation. in the story english language might lose its universal status, compared to the past because of spread of chinese.

clitoritics: a rather unpleasant pun on very few literary critics made of


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‘critcs’, ‘literary’, and a part of the female reproductive organ.

compusers: users of computers.

cons-piracy: a pun on conspiracy that brings piracy to mind as well to emphasize its ugliness.

contribeaution: a term to mean that every one of us should contribute to beautify the world and turn it into amerrycountry.

contribeautify: contribute to beautify the world.

cosmopolitean: cosmopolitan and polite.

cartorminate: carter (Kevin), Torabi, terminate, hinting Kevin carter’s suicide.

creactivity: creative activity.

creafactivity: the activity of creatively showing universal neglected facts.

creafaking: creating and faking empty or corrupting terms.

creafaketivity: almost the same as above

creatrivial: creative in a trivial way. almost the same as sinsignificance.

critilittlisize: criticize, belittle, and size. To underestimate others unreasonably.

critiseizing: criticize, seize.few critics good at underestimating writers by (seizing and) misinterpreting their works.

customerchant: a person who buys something and then sells it at a higher price.

Damncestors: damn, ancestors. (Who did not their bests for humanity.)

Dangermaniac: danger, maniac, and german. Hitler.

Dangerousted: dangerously ousted.

Democrassy: pun on democracy. (with the emphasis on ass). democrushy: the same as

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above. (with the emphasis on ‘crushing people’) depoluticized: depoliticized and depoluticized.

Desmond Tutu (1931-)—Desmond Tutu reached fame during the 1980s. He was an opponent of apartheid. Tutu received the nobel Peace Prize in 1984 and the gandhi Peace Prize in 2005. He has done loads to promote world peace.

Detopulating: depopulation of countries with the most population like china, india . . .

Devillain: a combination of devil, evil and villain.

Develoaf: develop and loaf of bread. To donate to the poor.

Dicktatorment: a pun made of ‘dictator’, torment, and a taboo word.

Disasterrified: disaster, terrified.

Disasterrifired: disaster, terrified, burnt in fire.

Disasterminate: disaster, terminate.

Distlinguished: distinguished, languished, linguist.

Disturbanization: urbanization that is disturbing.

Discoverb: discover humanitarian verbs or concepts. To think innovatively and without prejudice to discover new ideas for the betterment of our world.

Drugly: drug, ugly. To suggest that drug addiction can make one ugly too.

Dulligently: dull and diligently.

Dystouropia: dystopia and europe.

educatering: educating, catering.

eliterachairman: elite, literature, chairman.

eliterature: elite, literature.


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empower State Building: a pun on empire State Building.

englondowntown: england, London, downtown.

engineland: england where the first engine was invented by James Watt.

engineous: genius engineer.

engliterate: english, literate.

eurotopia: europe, Utopia.

eurobiquitous: ubiquitous in europe.

evapoorate: a pun on evaporate to high light the condition of the poor in the world.

ewolfolutionary: evolutionary and wolf.

fancifool: pun on fanciful.

financiallow: financial, shallow and low.

fluctuvacillating: a portmanteau made of “fluctuating and vacillating”.

fortunaturally: both fortunately and naturally. (often fortunate or unfortunate events in our lives are natural. See unfortunatural.)

fortunaturabily: fortunately, naturally, Torabi.

foxford: a pun on oxford.

foxfortunate: a pun on oxford fortunate person.

foxphobia: a pun for fear of oxford University fees . . .

frajailed: fragiled in jail.

fritish: french, British.

fruitfoolness: fruitful and fool.

generocitizens: generous citizens.

germanipulate: manipulate the world like Hitler did.

ghostory: ghost story.

gindustry: gin industry.

gouvernementeur: a french portmanteau

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made of gouvernement (government) and “menteur” that means “lier”.

grammarred: limited and marred by grammar.

Hallusination: a pun on hallucination that emphasizes sinfulness.

Harmed: a pun on armed that emphasizes harm.

Harmy: The root of army to emphasize harmfulness of militarism.

Heardt: a term for hard hearts, hearts that are insensible and dead cold to the poor and the weak of the world.

Heart for Heart’s sake: an expression to hint to and rhyme with the art movement: art for art’s sake.

Hemingway: many writers imitate his style and also here his death by suicide is intended.

Herzodmehr: a combination of Saul Bellow’s Herzog, and Zadmehr.

Hitlermanipulate: manipulate the world like Hitler.

Hollyheartedly: wholeheartedly and holly heartedly.

Hopetimistically: a pun on optimistically to emphasize hope.

Hooliganimals: hooligans, animals.

Hound and fury: a pun on Shakespeare’s expression sound and fury.

Humanalysis: human analysis.

Humanimalitarian: humanitarian, animality.

Humanimalysis: human, animal, analysis.

Humanitorabian: humanitarian, Torabi.

Humilitarian: made of humiliate and humanitarian to mean humiliating and to rhyme with humanitarian.

Humpty: the source of this name is Lewis carroll’s


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Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. This story contains portmanteaus too.

Hungermaniac: hunger, maniac, german. refers only to Hitler.

illogicalory: illogical, calory. good food that many throw out and waste because it gives them weight.

imagenius: imaginative and genius.

impoliterature: impolite literature or language.

importmanteau: important, portmanteau.

impreasoned: imprisoned by reason, without sympathy.

insfired: a pun upon inspired and fired.

i.S.i. writers: a pun. i search income writers.

innosent: innocently killed and sent to Heaven.

Janitorabi: janitor, Torabi

Juice: a pun on “Joyce”.

Je ne sais quoi form: in some form, a french expression.

Kinglish: King and english. kissmell: kiss and smell.

Lake District Poets: refers to these romantic poets: William Wordsworth, S.T. coleridge, and robert Southey, in nineteenth century england.

Landguage: language and land.

Langucaged: caged by language.

Languagitation: agitating a language.

Languists: a pun on linguists.

Le clezio: Jean marie gustave Le clezio: french writer and professor. noble Prize in literature was awarded to him in 2008.

Lingucaged: language, caged, linguist. few people who have bound themselves and the others by the only current english terms.

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Literachairman: a great literary figure or chairman.

Literateacher: literature teacher.

Londonator: London donator.

Londonatorphanager: a London donator who donates to orphanages.

Londowntown: London downtown.

Lordinary: made of lord and ordinary. a popular lord who is not an aristocrab.

macrocosmopolitan: macrocosom, cosmopolitan.

magnificentury: magnificent century.

manimals: man, animals.

manchesterminate: victory of manchester United football team over other teams.

manatomy: human anatomy.

manimalogy: man, animal, logy.

mannals: man, annals (history book.)

marlowe (christopher): Shakespeare’s contemporary (and rival) poet.

metamorphased: combination of metamorphose and phase. every change is a new phase.

monumentall: tall monumental pyramids in egypt.

misundersleeping: a bad sexual gratification (taken from misunderstanding).

monsterrorists: monster terrorist.

necktied: a euphemism for ‘hanged’.

neolexicophobia: fear of neologies or new words.

neologiphobia: fear of new words.

new Zenglanders: new Zealanders, england.


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notorobious: notorious and Torabi.

nuncle lear: taken from King Lear, fool calls Lear so once.

offishals: a pun over officials.

oldgasm: old orgasm.

oxfopportunate: oxford, fortunate, opportune.

oxfortunate: oxford U fortunate.

oxphobia: oxford phobia.

oxforemen: oxford, foremen. also ox, foremen.

Pandemeuroanium: Pandemonium, euro, uranium.

Pandemoranium: pandemonium, uranium.

Paradisland: paradise, island.

Penbolden: highlight by writing.

Pencompassing: pen, encompassing (a writing that is encompassing).

Pendamage: pen, damage by writing.

Pendorse: endorse s.th by writing it down.

Pendowment: pen, endowment, writing ability.

Penemity: enemity aroused by writing.

Pengaged: pen, engaged. engaged in writing.

Pengraft: pen, engraft two words or more.

Penhanced: enhanced in writing (by pen especially).

Penigmatic: enigmatic writing.

Penjoy: enjoy writing.

Penjoined: joined by pen or by writing. pen and enjoined. The same as pengrafted.

Penlighten: enlight by writing.

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Penlists: pen, enlist, a written list.

Penmesh: pen, enmesh.

Penjoy: enjoy, pen.

Penjoycement: pen, enjoyment, James Joyce.

Penrich: enrich by writing (by pen.)

Penliven: enliven by writing (by pen.)

Penmity: pen and enmity. enmity that appears in writing to s.b.

Penraged: pen, enrage. To get enraged by my writing.

Penspiratin: pen, inspiration. Writing inspiration. The same as pendwment.

Pentangle: pen, entangle. entangle in a text.

Penter: pen, enter, include by writing.

Penthusiastically: pen, enthusiastically.

Pentirely: pen and entirely, totally by writing.

Pentitled: labled or known as.

Pentrapped: get entrapped by my writing.

Penvenomed: pen, envenom. Harm s.b. by writing.

PermanentHeaDamache: a pun on Permanent Head Damage, a joke on Ph.D.

Phallusophic: combination of philosophic and phallus.

Philanthrop fog: a reference to the main character of Jules Verne’s Around The World In Eighty Days.

Philanthrophotographer: philanthropic photographer. The length of the term is proper to attract attentions to Kevin carter, his photo, and then to african’t kids.

Philantorabic: philanthropic and torabi.

Pignorant: ignorant like a pig.

Pissimistically: a pun on pessimistically.


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Platorabicly: Platonic, torabi (in french Platoniquement).

Polidirticians: politicians, dirty.

Polidirtics: politics, dirty.

Polidirtricks: politics, dirty, tricks.

Politerature: polite literature.

Poorgasm: poor or weak orgasm.

Poorphan: poor orphan.

Poorigin: poor origin.

Populartist: popular artist.

The Portrait of the Heartist as a young Literateacher: alludes to Joyce’s autobiographical work: The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Povertorabi: a combination of poverty and torabi (also hinting the sound of power.)

Prepair: a pun upon prepare to hint that Amerrycountry like finnegans Wake uses

portmanteaus and tries to match (or pair with) it.

Presend: present, send.

Problemathematics: problematic, mathematics.

Prolifictionist: prolific fiction writer.

Pub-leashers: a pun on few publishers that do not support free speech. (certainly no one is intended).

Punish: having pun and punishment.

Purturbanization: urbanization that is perturbing.

Pussymistically: another pun on pessimistically.

Quabilities: made of qualities and abilities.

Queengland: Queen, england.

Queenglondowntown: Queen, england, London, Downtown.

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Queenglish: Queen, english.

Queengliterate: Queen, english, literate.

refreshmentality: refreshment, mentality.

religionocide: religious genocide.

rejoice: rejoice and Joyce.

relijealoucy: religious jealoucy.

responsinle: responsibles who commit the sin of ignoring their responsibility.

romantorabic: romantic, Torabi.

Samuel: is selected to allude to Samuel Johnson, the first english dictionary compiler.

Sacriface: to risk one’s reputation or name for good reasons.

Scurriculum: a very difficult or scary curriculum.

Sexpurgate: sex, expurgate (to remove improper passages from a book, etc).

Syrial massadacres: a pun on massacres in Syria.

Selfistly: a selfist person is less selfish than a selfish one.

Sexcision: excision of some little girls in remote parts of africa especially in the past.

Sexersize: what some men (maybe sportsmen) do to double the size of some of their muscles to get more sexual enjoyment.

Sexploitation. sex exploitation.

Sexpression: sex expressions.

Shusterman (richard): an american pragmatist philosopher who has ideas on the benefits of writing in one of his books.

Sicktionary: sick dictionary, suggesting that dictionaries are incomplete.

Sinadvertently: By chance a revolver is triggered and some body dies by its shot. How can you


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be sure the accident happened inadvertently and not intentionally or sinadvertently and out of enmity? Sinadvertently is almost close to sintentionally in meaning.

Sinartistic: sin, inartistic. it is intended to hint that by not using art for the benefit of humanity, an artist is commiting a sin.This term is close to sinsignificance and creatrivial.

Sincouraging: encouraging others towards evil.

Sindicate: an evil indication.

Sindividual: sinful individual.

Sinfanticide: sin of infanticide.

Sinfantricide: murder of people by infantries which is a sin.

Sinfected: badly infected.

Sinferior: a term that emphasizes the inferiority of men by including ‘sin’ at the beginning.

Sinflict: sinfully inflict pains on weak people or the sin of inflicting pains on others.

Sinfluence: something with an unpleasant or corrupting influence.

Singaged: engaged in evil and sin.

Singland: it is open to different interpretations like sing land, sin and england, sin gland.

Sinhabitants of sinferno: inhabitants of inferno.

Sinhaling: enhaling sin or evil.

Sinjection: injections for not good reasons like drug injection.

Sinjoy: enjoy evil things.

Sinjure: sin of injuring others.

Sinnocent: sin, innocent. To hint that often we do not know for sure what is sin and what is innocence.

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Sinnocentury: a century mixed with sin and innocence.

Sinormous: enormous budjets used for evil causes.

Sinprovement: improvement of evil or evil improvements.

Sinsert: sin, insert.

Sinside: a guilty inside or conscious.

Sinsident: an evil incident.

Sinsignificanse: sin, insignificance. Wasting energies or talents on insignificant things.

Sinsomnia: insomnia of a person who is going to do an evil.

Sinspirited: inspirited by evil.

Sinstead: commiting an evil or sin instead of something good.

Sinstructions: sin instructions.

Sinsult: insulting others which is a sin.

Sintention: a bad or sinful intention.

Sintercourse: sinful intercourse.

Sinterest: interest in sin.

Sinterludes: empty and evil interludes that detracts us from finding and solving world problems.

Sintoxicated: intoxicated by evil.

Sintrigue: sin, intrigue. To emphasize the negativity of intrigue.

Sintuation: sinful situation of the world.

Sleap: leaping or jerking in sleep.

Songland: song and england, also song land.

Sp-ending: a pun on spending. everything one spends, ends.

Stag-mate: a pun on stagnate and mate, to


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mean humanity is just mating and producing his generations without caring the condition of the poor who are evaporating . . .

Statesticles: a pun on false statestics. composed of statestics and testicles.

Storaby: story, Torabi.

Studentist: student dentist.

Sudan: to emphasize Sudan famine and Kevin carter’s famous photo taken there.

Suffocaged: suffocated and caged.

Sun for you: Joyce’s pun for ‘soon and important’.

Tangiball: a pun on tangible. composed of tangible and ball.

Ta ta to thee: good bye to you.

Tea-chair: a pun on teacher.

Textcavated: excavating a text or language.

Textend: text, extend.

Textpand: expand texts.

Textpending: text, expending.

Textperience: an experimental text, writing experience.

Textperiment: writing experiment.

Textplore: explore something in a text.

Textpress: express oneself in a text.

Textpurgate: expurgate a text, bowdlerize.

Topulation: top population of china.

Topium country: The country with highest opium production in the world, afghanistan.

Torabigail: Torabi, abigail.

Torabiute: a pun made of tribute and Torabi.

Torablesome: troublesome, Torabi.

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Torchurched: torture done by church.

Tormentalized: mentally torment some body.

Torrier: terrier, Torabi.

Torwell: orwell, Torabi.

Transformnation: transformation of a nation or of all the people of the world.

Turm-oil: a pun on turmoil, emphasizing “oil”.

Tu es pur: you are pure (from the talk between The Little Prince and the snake.)

Tutorabi: tutor and Torabi.

Unfaithfool: a pun on unfaithful.

Unfortunaturally: a combination of unfortunately, naturally and unnaturally. The word has the advantage of hinting that many unfortunate events are natural and predestined and at the same time unnatural to many others. as our destiny is not totally

clear, unfortunaturally is somehow proper for talking about fate. for example certainly there is a difference between an unfortunatural death by for example a thunder in a jungle, flood, or by an earthquake and an unfortunate death by an electric chair.

Universale: universal sale.

Universelling: universal selling.

Universitting: sitting in a university and not studying or working for the betterment of the world.

Universold: sold universally.

Unsintentionally: without any evil intention.

Vampire: a pun made of vampire and empire.

Vulgirlish: a vulgar girl.

Warganization: war organization.

Wargot: war, argot.


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Warbitration: war, arbitration.

Wargument: war, argument.

The Waste Land: T.S. eliot’s long poem that depicts the bad condition of modern societies in twentieth century.

Welliterate: well, literate.

Winofguns Fake: a pun on Joyce’s Finnegans Wake to mean: winning by force or gun is not humane and that we should say a farewell to arms.

Worldonation: world donation.

World Wilde ii: a pun on world war ii to emphasize wildness.

World Wolves ii: as above.

World Worse ii: as above.

World Wrong ii: also a pun on world war ii.

Worriental: Worry, oriental.

Worriginal: worry, original.

Wargentine: The issue of the falkland islands between england and argentina.

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About Zadmehr Torabi

Zadmehr Torabi was born in Tehran, iran, on may 22, 1977. His parents are of Turkish descent, and his father is a tailor. Zadmehr received his bachelor of arts and master of arts in english literature from Tehran University in 1999 and 2002. Since 2003 he has been teaching english literature as a lecturer in Sistan and Baluchestan University, and now he is a PhD student of english literature in Shiraz University. During his career he has studied the french language as well, and now he is an avid fiction reader in french as well as in english. most of these are reflected in his autobiographical Amerrycountry.

Amerrycountry- Called a ''masterpiece'' by Dr. Bahram Meghdadi

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