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    Frederik Magle


N.A.S.A. N.O.T.I.S.T. Scientists: a nuclear organ peace project.

John Watt

For the Nuclear Organ for World Peace, this first snowfall allowed radiant traction,
and its builders are now dreaming of coming down all the chimneys around the world.
For this winter organ, there are no stops or stopping at all, no-one can rein it in.
This looks like a drone action, or an attraction to all the presents under your tree.
It's a frozoid pathway across the skies, riding on a fall of the new, sticky snow.
Now, you don't have to look as hard, trying to find two snowflakes that are alike,
because now, most of them are all nuclear-eyesed the same, most made in China.
It's the Santas that have changed.

By the way, the new C.I.A. Christmas drone missile is called "The Holy Moley".

The authentic Royal Stuart tartan could be worn by a Stuart King,
or an Elder, visiting homes during the season of worship and remembrance, of Him.
He's not smiling, slightly abhorred at the sights of those living below Hadrian's Wall,
with a mild fear of all the Dark Ages diseases that he's never been exposed to.
That's how the sixth King James, of the Scottish clan system, walked to the throne of England.

The sack is symbolic, not gifts, but the talents of those he can discern,
helping people to find their most successful place in society.
That is a lamp that radiates lamp rays, not the glowing flame of a candle.
That's what makes him a king more than any other, having devices like this,
and revealing them to the world.
This is an original ceramic by the talented Welland artist, Fortunato Scolara.
It's supposed to be me, if I was walking around dressed in Royal Stuart winter tartans.
The heavy, loomed red wool overcoat, is considered to be tartan, being of the blood.
That's one of my wool blankets as the background.
The Watt Clan can wear any tartan, and that's not just because there is no Watt tartan.

I'm sure you can see where Coca-Cola got their visuals to make Santa Claus,
who is supposed to bring free presents, the wishes of your heart, down your chimney,
late at night, in the dark, when you are supposed to be sleeping in your bed.
This concept, like the addictive Coca-Cola it represents.
only created a new expectation of greed for Americans that spread around the world.
And it's up to parents to break their children's hearts, by telling them the truth.
Milk and cookies, give milk and cookies, give the little children milk and cookies,
and invite them into your home.

And that's a one, and a two, and a three..
God bless you merry soda pop, let's drink and not dismay,
for all the cocaine's taken out, with substitute caffeine,
we'll boil and sit and shoot the wit, as we long for gifts today,
oh oh, drinking and buzzing round the house, no comfort or joy,
oh oh, it's the same memory for girls and boys.

Royal Stuart.JPGSanta2.jpg

John Watt

The Nuclear Organ for World Peace has found a digital cloud partner,
and the music it's beaming down into retail establishments is getting retro-hetero.
That means it's old and so am I, only now I'm catching mutational moments in public.

I was shopping at Dollarama, if having to resist so many laser-etched items at 1 to $4,
can be called shopping. I was even asking staff if they had a rest area,
for seniors who are over-come by items that are wonderful, if not under-priced.

When suddenly, an "easy-rock" song came on, or what is called "classic rock",
and it was one I used to sing onstage in the seventies.
As I was quietly trying to experience that kind of popular, substance abuse induced music,
as the professional stage performer I still could be, always good at imitations,
I saw a young mother and her even younger daughter (this is Welland, sometimes it's different)
listening to me singing along, so I had to ask.
"If I'm singing a hard rock song from the seventies, here in this store in 2016,
does that mean I'm cool or am I just an elevator music musician?"
Right away they said, "no, that sounded really cool".
Just then, a sub-clouded, even heavenly, frequency that frequently phases in,
the voices of my parents, were heard saying, "John, he always likes to ham it up".
I felt compelled to buy the next product I saw.

I just hope the 16% meat protein content didn't come from The Bog People Corporation.


John Watt

The sad statics of the spread of electrical pollution in Niagara Falls, all that Teslage,
the emanations from the Nuclear Organ for World Peace, all that radiation,
are also co-mingling with direct current residue as ionic frost, giving it all a real whitening.

These are the first and only photos of this phenomena to be grouped online.
The creatures are trying to grow with only synaptic connections, no flesh, just electronic.
And they only light up and come out at night.
What is going to be especially grievous, is the tropical environment that's trying to coalesce.
All the recent hip-hop broadcasting has to have mingled with the cries of Marineland whales,
to have manifested something deep down jungle like that.

A lot of people know what it's like to see a Buffalo, or Bison, from a distance.
They don't know what it's like to see one as an apparition before them,
whiter than the white Buffalo, or Bison, hidden by the lightest snowfall.

When that couple came up the sidewalk closer to me,
I asked them if they saw the rams up on the stones,
looking like they were ready to jump down on them.
I asked if they felt afraid, and they laughed and said no.
Sure, that was just the rams. They didn't know how wired it will get.


John Watt

It just felt good, sensing the uploading current of this great, uh, plains animal.
I had to get closer, thinking it's not ready to move fast enough to surprise me.
But then, maybe I went native in an electrical way, but I felt the flow as it rose,
and suddenly I had to see life from the eyes of a great plains creature, a big one.
I couldn't get out. People in cars stopped at first, but then drove away quickly.

I was starting to get a little frantic, trying to push my way out,
and I was getting poked a little all over my body, all those pointy lights,
and when I tried to grab the horns for some leverage, with both hands,
I must have grounded myself out even more,
because a huge surge caused heart palpitations, I felt faint,
and as I hung my head to the ground, I had a George Michael Careless Whisper thought,
and felt that I saw that hard that would soon be mine, all the love of that hard of mine,
and as I rattled that cage it started moving, and I finally got exited out,
without causing any hard-break between the two of us, as we said our last goodbyes.

I thought if I went back to Niagara Falls above the Falls, I could re-ionize myself,
but the new Niagara Falls after the new bypass and record low water levels,
didn't have enough mist to rise up above the Falls.

That girl asked if she could have a picture of her with my bicycle,
and while her friend took some I managed to get my camera out.
The more I ride that bike, the whiter that seat gets.
That's what quality personal static can do. Just ask the Bison-Buffalo big-range animal.

The polar bears, two of them, were still the same old ones covered with white outdoor carpeting,
now looking dingy and grey, and the bears never looked good.
These are those frames being rebuilt to be white with little white lights.

That's the shoreline towards Point Abino, where the lighthouse is.
This is all the Lake Erie ice that's being swept into the bay,
before it goes down and turns left and becomes the the Niagara River.
I shouldn't have to point out that Lake Erie isn't frozen.
There aren't any cars, fishing huts, abandoned snowmobiles, nothing.
It's not nice with nothing but being on ice.


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John Watt

Niagara Falls, ever-flowing, ever-changing, ever-generating, getting lower every time,
and it looks like it's getting lit up more than ever, in every way.
No longer a lighting display, the new lights are always changing, lights are flowing,
and I should have made a video.

It was below freezing, one of the few days like that, and my new camera is tiny.
I was getting mist on me, taking over 150 photos with only 24 non-shaky ones.
This was a long distance bike-hike.

Yes, I'd like to dedicate these photos to the as-yet-untitled Frederik Magle.
When I got my new disc player that plugs into the modem, online,
I looked at YouTube to hear Frederik Magle and subscribe, the least I could do.
He had "Ragnarok", called "dark piano", yeah, so I watched some "dark organ" too.
It took a while, trying to tell a visual story and end with...

So this is my first dark Niagara Falls, NightFalls, soon to be followed by NiteFalls,
and FallsLite.

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Chief assistant to the assistant chief
Crikey I thought our fires in Christchurch were bad but that is frightening at least it eventually put itself out

John Watt

What is slightly disorienting, is watching them changing all the time,
top and bottom, side to side, coming from more directions.
And they're florescent colours, not very natural.
I'm not even sure what this new electricity or lighting is called.

You talk about the horror. Look at the new economy of Lundy's Lane.
This is just before the corner by Clifton Hill.
Here's the same Falls with the new and old lighting.
Less horror, a Canadian winter with no snow,
and if there isn't any snow in the valley here,
there isn't any snow anywhere else.

With my new camera, for the first time I caught some wings flapping.
And after Niagara Falls, there's Fort Erie.

downFalls25.JPGnightFalls23.JPGnightFalls24.JPG2'21'2.JPGtaking off.JPGpiece'a bridge.jpg

John Watt

The radiations of high end notes are getting more than upscale,
they're affecting the abilities of humans to make higher level decisions,
kinda like a little radiation surge in the brain that makes you unobstain,
not keeping to the scale, but getting scaled, all the way up.
However, don't worry, you won't feel like you're being scraped by.

I'm so sorry to see it's affecting New Zealand, even if it turns me on a little,
and even if it makes opening my bag of lip-chips a little, uh, difficult.
no... no... no chip-lip-dip humour for you! Get your own Lays.

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John Watt

Some new free-release harmonics are happening,
and they're starting out as a new acoustic phenomena.
This is creating a new combination of historic, global and biblical content,
with a mysterious tool, for me, now seen as a weapon of mass destruction,
in the biggest empire on earth, the disUnited States.

It took more than radiation from the nuclear organ for world peace, to carry this chocolate bar over the ocean.
yeah, this is energy food for me, and as proof that my brain has been satellite micro-waved for too long,
I've got to stop singing "Nicolo" and "Nicola" instead of "Ricola".



John Watt

The enforced realities of surviving in Welland must be channeling nuclear organ for peace radiations,
because it's too early for these kinds of enforced realities to be in full bloom,
and by that, I mean it's not even an election year.
When you see what this document says, I hope you'll be thinking, one year, that can't be right.
What harshes me out a little, is seeing May 19, not the end of the month when my senior's pensions arrive,
and looking like May 1, my birthday.


John Watt

Obviously, stresses and strainings are bumping more than my belly with this acoustic guitar,
when obdurate emanations create string sensations of mutating inventions,
singing about my electric semi-solid-body guitar with a little acoustic parlour guitar,
with the accompanied too quiet singing.

"Can I play you to see if you're real, these are new harmonics,
and what's with all this feel?
Can my amp take the strain, it will never sound the same again.
These frets I sense the quavers,
they never reached up four octaves.
These frets slant left, they're so easy,
to get sustain... and play so busy".


John Watt

At least these two photos align, even if the guitars don't.
This is what happens when a right-handed and left-handed guitar collide,
as being owned by the same guitarist.
Of course, the lefty loses out, and it lost a lot.

This Epiphone Junior came my way today, a nice trade.
I can move the upper body strapholder to in the middle,
under the neck, where S.G.'s and 335's have them, a Gibson thing.
That way, it can be my beater guitar, not even wanting a case,
and a right-handed player visiting me can use it to jam.

This also means I won't be using my acoustic parlour guitar,
having this electric instead.
And I can get up to the second octave A,
when the acoustic won't let me get up to the second octave E.

Eventually, I'll make a pickguard and move the Humbucker to the end of the neck,
where it should be, and put a couple of single coils pickups on it, Strat-style.
Having a solid bridge, not individual bridges for each string,
means it will never be a serious player for me.
I'm going to file some new grooves in the bridge,
to space the strings out closer to the edge of the neck,
and make a new nut or have a used one,
as soon as I finish looking around here.

That's what's left of a previous right-handed conversion,
so I could have an electric lefty, using authentic parts,
now destined for my second semi-solid-body.
This new, fall colours tartan wool blanket, with fringes,
also came my way today, a thicker weave than most.

Hey! Hey! I thought it was getting warm in here, without the blanket.
It's Wolfy, hovering around me, and yes, okay, I see the spelling error.
I'll edit it out before I submit my reply, okay, back off, okay?
Stop sticking me with your quill.
Nah-nah-na-nah-nah! You never had photo-shopping...
nice darker green with white highlights wig.

all right.jpgnot right.jpg

John Watt

Oh no, the unexpected, the unknown, has risen, has been brought to me,
given to me, and my beater electric guitar has gone through a huge, huge upgrade.
The Nuclear Organ for World Peace has struck a chord in a basement in Welland.

When I plugged in the Epiphone, after using my foot to press down the neck,
to soften it up and make it adjustable again, messed up just for me,
so were the electronics, extra wires making volume noise turned up and turned down.
The only original wiring that still worked was the wire that grounded the strings.

I took it to my friend Pete, owner of "Old Speakers", a retro store with big album sales,
so he could use his soldering gun with parts I have.
He heard my complaints about the strings being too high off the body,
having a solid bridge, not individual, two way adjustable bridges for each string,
the strings being not spaced wide enough on the neck,
how thin the neck was, not expanding towards the body,
having a plastic nut, not having a pickup at the end of the neck,
which meant no finger-rest for me.
And it was black, my least favorite colour for anything.
While the Gibson Les Paul shape let me get higher up the frets than my acoustic,
the non-cut-away only let me reach up to the A fret.

He said wait a minute, and went downstairs and came up with this cherry red Ibanez,
saying he'll trade it even for mine. I said that's a crazy deal, I'm not a charity case,
but he talked me into it, showing me a photo of one of his custom guitars, so I threw in $20.

I spent over four hours sanding three different pieces of wood down,
to press in the Graphtech nut I cut, tapping it down, spreading the strings out,
and getting the most string to neck resonance possible, with the special Graphtech quality,
of loosening molecules as you bend or move the strings, so they don't break.
I used some rubber from an outdoor fish pond to put pieces between the bridges,
to spread them out as much as I wanted, getting an eighth of an inch wider at the neck.

That's a piece of a plastic Dollarama spoon for a finger rest, yeah, translucent red, very reflecting.


I told him I liked the idea of having an Ibanez, and Pete didn't know the story.
When Fender first went offshore to build a factory to make Fender guitars, in Japan,
they betrayed the contract when the factory was half-way built,
and went to another country.
The original factory people kept building, and called their guitars Ibanez.
The Ibanez Roadstar, the Stratocaster remake, was a very popular guitar,
seen as not only a lower costing guitar, but better overall as a build.
I probably saw more Roadstars in bar bands than Strats in the late sevenities, early eighties.
They also featured nice, natural wood bodies and finishes,
when a Stratocaster, if painted, could be blocks of wood glued together.

I'd like to add that Graphtech endorsed my semi-solid-body, coming from Vancouver, B.C.
When I change the strings I'll install Graphtech bridges.
They're wider, so I won't need any rubber in between.
I had parts in another box, kind of a mistake, not installing them right away.
I just topped up the filler in the old pickguard screw holes, painting them red tomorrow.
yeah, I'll be drilling little holes on the lefty side of the neck and filling them in,
looking at those more than the fret-markers on the neck.
I kept asking if a Magle.dk member in Germany could chip some wood off Beethoven's piano,
in the the museum, and send me some for an inlay, but that never happened.

John Watt

The continuing propagation of the world wide web,
has finally conflagrated with the Nuclear Organ for World Peace,
distending a thread out into time and space,
as mutational ionizations of technology and past events,
continue to be uploaded, published and sent around the world.
yes, yes, this is a Jimi Hendrix concert narrative coming new to you,
a link not to think, but to sink, back into 1969, from your new global view.


This link was originally powered by the pure power of Niagara Falls,
now coming soon to you, as some drip drip drops of wonder where the water went,
as the diverting becomes a diversion for you.

John Watt

Silent, rubber tread rubbings, with invisible, anonymous delivery,
has resulted in my coming into possession of my fathers' car, stolen the week he passed away.
That was 12 years ago.
A sudden eviction attempt, over-turned by legal provincial action,
has thwarted an attempt to seize all my possessions and make me homeless,
including this car. It was left here a day before I was supposed to be out.
I reported this car stolen at the time, when it was appraised at $3,500.
Other than looking it sat outside so snow rust could take out the underbottom,
which is in good shape, my father always getting an oil proofing,
the only real damage is gouges in the paint on the front right side,
where obviously the hood mechanism got bent so the hood pops open,
with the interior lever, but doesn't lift up in front.

I'm not a mechanic, so being unable to get a boost to try the motor is a bigge.
No problem, my Magle.dk friends.
The previous appraiser was a sign customer, and one call to him made a sale.
Here's a few of the photos I sent him.

I know Krummhorn and JHC would want to see the mileage,
even if they can't kick the tires.

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Chief assistant to the assistant chief
So now your immediate money problems are solved, what will you do now?

John Watt

JHC! It's good to see you again, even if it's getting worse. I need a friend.
What I'm saying as statements against me, were created by a property manager,
who was arrested last summer, no longer working here.
When other, low ability, residents began complaining to me, with me having the same,
I took a chance on losing my residence myself, calling the police on her.
This is where I'm at today. I see this as just getting too ridiculous.

I hope you believe me. I have a hard time seeing this as really happening.
I just made these scans to show what I have as proof for you.
The first eviction notice says I didn't pay rent for the last twelve months, a year.
That's a previous scan I used, putting it up here again, the one with the black bar.
That evicted me last Friday, half way through the month, when I have no direct deposits.
When I got a copy of my one direct deposit, this income tax statement,
it shows I received the income for the direct deposits for my rent.
That shows that up until last December, as far as that tax year shows, I paid the rent.
When I showed that to a staff member here who listened to me,
she consulted someone and I got this second eviction notice,
that took away last Friday and gave me until next Wednesday.
I was very happy with that, having time to pack up and move into storage.
I have offers of three storages within a three minute walking distance,
all friends, people I work for, did signs for, and hung out doing buy and sells.
My former sign customer who appraised my fathers' car at the time,
is also going to tow it away and pay me for it, another savior moment.

This is a big holiday, long weekend, not a good time to look for and move into an apartment.
That was another consideration, people saying why half-way through the month,
and why the weekend of the big holiday.

The grandfather of the Toronto owner of the building next door,
where I also hang out and do business Friday and Saturday, when they are open,
had an agreement with me about renting an apartment, available at the end of the month,
and having storage in the same building on the same floor, ground floor entrances.
His son runs the business, is the landlord, lives in Toronto, and came on Saturday.
We shook hands, made a deal, and everything was lining up as I kept packing up.
I built a fake dividing wall, shelves all over, book cases in every room,
having to dismantle my apartment as much as pack it up.

Another tenant here took my first eviction notice and showed it to my new landlord,
and he freaked out, saying why didn't I tell him, and won't rent me the apartment.
I still have the storage, so I'm still dismantling and packing up and moving.
Now I hear there are statements against me that I sexually assaulted other tenants,
at least saying they were female,
and have three fire hazard warnings against me.
Other tenants signed statements saying I'm off my meds and call other people criminals.
Now that I have to look for another apartment as an ordinary rental applicant,
non-payment of rent for a year, sexual assaults and fire hazard warnings,
mean I am untouchable anywhere in Canada as an apartment renter.
A new police officer did visit to look into my prior complaints, a good thing,
but that's not stopping the eviction, or changing things enough to help with looking.
Bad craziness.
The tenant that showed the copy is known for inviting other men into his apartment,
to watch amateur, teenage gay porn. He's such an addict-alcoholic, he can hardly walk sometimes.
He used to work for the City of Welland.

Right now, I have easy, very secure, and friendly storage, only open Saturday and Sunday.
I can say there is an uprising of community support, governmental and residential.
I was offered the money to pay this back rent for a year,
but I said no, I'm not a charity case, and I don't owe it.
I was offered money I said should be a loan, to pay the first and last for new rent.
I said, as I did when I was made homeless three times before,
that if a provincial government agency that is my landlord is creating problems,
then a provincial government agency should solve these problems or provide another residence.
That is their job description, what they are guaranteed to provide for life,
once you move in.
That's why the provincial government agency that is now helping me,
is Niagara Regional Police.

However, JHC, I'm pretty sure you know my attitude and roll with it self.
I kept going over for a few hours every afternoon working on signs for a new business,
set up on the second floor as a workshop, priming and painting big plywood road signs.
That feels good, my birthday this month, the start of summer, getting nice work.
This is also associated with new City Hall staff, asking me to show paintings as part of it.
I'm going to take a chance with my growing reputation for typing perfect postings,
that I can submit without having to edit, and just submit my reply right now,
and read it myself.

yeah... this says it all, just no photos of my apartment as is.
I also had over twenty email taunting me about my eviction.
At least it's summer, my previous forced evictions being in winter.
And when I say forced, that's when I was only a victim,
hearing a knock on the door and being told to walk right out.
Someone who knows me said John, I heard what's happening,
I'll take your two turkeys and put them in my freezer for you,
what really, were the only thing I was worried about.
And JHC, again, just for you, I'm going to come out a little.
I always, always say, please, don't call me Sir, unless it's being called Mister.
I say I don't want to be a Sir or Mister, being Master as being of Scottish descent.
This letter from a Canadian Scottish lawyer shows my Canadian, English proper name address,
John Watt, Esquire.
Somehow, I feel entitled to visit you at your country estate for an extended visit.

new eviction.jpgincome tax.jpgeviction1.jpgEsquire.jpg
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John Watt

Oh! All of this unexpected hefting, no to van hefting, just hefty lifting and walking.
Yes, survival stress like this has not only activated the best Scottish survival instinct,
if I may say, masturbating a lot because I have no females to impregnate,
it also made me think, maybe for the first time,
that I'm not as smart as I think I am.
That prompted a furniture repairman to say I don't think I've ever made a mistake.

Hey, come on now JHC and every other in and on Magle.dk user.
This is bringing the poetic in me, just because I don't see a song here.
Oh! That previous comment?
My Flea Market owner friend Larry, half Irish, half Inuit,
looked up the 1995 Buick Century manual and saw some bucks.
He said too bad you don't have it.
I said wow, I never even thought to look in the glove compartment.
Not only was the manual there, as new, it had the supplemental manual,
just one page.

I dedicate this poem to Noto Von Heft, for his dedication to new, scientific musical instruments,
even if his hefting became lighter than air lifting, and, and, no, he'll have to describe the tragedy.

every rung I climb,
working the screwdriver,
to bring a painting,
to bring something down,
to put it flat on the floor,
and then,
down steps
of the stairs,
out of the door,
every step,
stepping to the dumpster,
every step,
stepping to my storage,
each rung,
each step,
each dismantled decor,
is a line,
a line I'm crossing,
from a shuttered, enclosed existence,
that was gradually enclosing me,
but now,
bare walls,
leaving behind intrusions, thefts, poisonings,
every movement I make,
lifts a weight.
The reactions I get as I surf the inland,
are the first rays of a new rising sun.

as always, John Watt, Esquire

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John Watt

The Nuclear Organ for World Peace, has finally tubed down,
as digging a hole straight through to China used to be called.
As a final log-in and posting from this soon-to-be former address,
this keyboard is melting,
but not my face, as I am saving grace.

The Gaelic spelling of water is watter. As I am.
Watch for your news source later on this summer,
for the broadcasting of me, as I walk the brink of Niagara Falls,
with a sign that says....