Purple Night—Denver Light…

NA_149“For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin….
I am the barren one, and many are her sons….
I am the silence that is incomprehensible….
I am the utterance of my name.”
‘The Mother of Creation’A voice of Feminine Divine Power

Purple lights—fading into—night dark—and ribbons of—coming and going highways—somewhere between Colorado bound—along I-80 and I-76—and a southwest slant ‘cross—Nebraska nights and into—Denver’s lights. Arrives—those machined boxes—machine-sweet and together—in minds of same or alternates—where we twirl—the whirl and call the laugh—or—two as boxes open and away we—they separate into some things or less or the loneliness of crowd bridges or twin screw moments of those spaces of time without seconds. And! We—search blood and find taste good in mingle – tingle moments—touch-amazing—touch—not those imagine sources of unnecessary wariness and one—becomes another—brief the flashes—together spread the separate into—singularity—no more than once…

Touch now…And! Feel the intimacy of rhythm or rhyme as touch–speak hides deep—inside—the formality of syntax creep and syntax crawl—where ear-here—hears—echoes bury—an idiom—not conveyed by—dictionary’s spaces—between word-speak and why…The share of poet-touch and story-spin—of exile’s faith—of disaster’s private pain—as speech native—fails—creative spirit—often maims—creature-speak and often confuses the never-place-of-everywhere. Still! Sweet Witches-of-Creation—smile—womb-spun life—comes and goes—without road-speak and Interstate shriek…

Our nature to run—with—or—from—the many or the few…See often—through curved ceilings of doorway—when curved light enters—twenty-one windows round—these openings—to escape places and leave regions. Still! More spirit than body proper—until chemicals—those of doubt and satisfaction rule body—self ending—sometime—in time—without reasons to be except—a rhythm to complete. We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive—simple and true—except when suppressed—through layers—distortion—or flashes of fear—tears…We are the eternity of spirits—never having to begin and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life.

Twilight and Dawn departure and gates to swirl through—go-to-spaces—between places—both here or there or again back to another here—to fear—to find—to die or to live again—in places without time-signs in parts—or sums to hold again…Ecliptic twirl and galaxy cross—spaces when composite—forms appear-to-disappear—Serpent speak and Eagle reach—Ophiuchus—holder—or bold—once again— Quetzalcoatl boys and fair Gaia girls—wander star-gates through—and touch-find—found reaches—useless rhythms and trouble—times. Or— Ophiuchus high— stands above sun—rises—feet crossed—Galactic wider and planetary—substance filled from brim-to-rim and back-again…

The circle safely closed—the web building starts—the markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guide—folded into original shape— until it is—again required and opened to read and follow—‘cross sky-bridge….Bang-Bang-Bang and let the game begin—again…‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine—Re-wind. Again to be—to see…of loving the loving…of hands joined-to-body moving…of swings and wings and…Spirit-singing and peaceful sighing…Creation—the Witch smile and for this instant within a moment of Time—‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this time—this Twine Re-wind. ‘While I breathe—I Hope…’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘America’ by Simon and Garfunkel

Mimics—We—Robots Be…

44“Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight
In an everlasting kiss…” Bruce Springsteen

We are those everlasting—over-again—Robot folk—little once—remembered little—learned—forgotten and then remember—all over-again—Robot folk—we be. And! Sometimes a useful life—is not grand—nor big—is just—a continuation of Spirit Dance… Concerned or just ‘how now’—the highest international authority on Planet Spin—called the ‘International Court of Justice’—did offer a precedent to how law abiding States—respond to—International Terrorism.

Between the beginning and the ending of the US war against—Nicaragua (1970-1987)-tens of thousands—sweet bodies were destroyed—and their country ruined…Call the ‘Contras’ and America will seed decay—into the subliminal shapes of non-recovery—destruction and ‘Fears into Tears.’ A Nicaraguan dictator—Anastasio Somoza—falls—proxy scrambles—the Neo-Nazi—Argentina generals—the National Guard of Nicaragua—America’s Military Industry—and may the sky—slam—close—to block the block-by-block—destruction in Managua’s precious neighborhoods…Because of—‘Sandinista Reformers’—‘The Planners from Planet US’—became terrified—and by José Figueres—father of Costa Rica’s democracy—statement—that for the very “first time—Nicaragua finally has a government that cares for its people.” Terror USA—found the insights of a leading democratic figure—in Central America—so unacceptable—that Figueres was completely censored from the Media Industry of the USA. ‘Freedom-of-Speech’—WTF?

And! As the National Guard of Nicaragua—bombed—destruction—upon Managua’s neighborhoods—fire-smoke-rubble and shapes—shifted from living-to-dying—an Embassy cable was delivered—to the White House advising that— it is “ill-advised” to tell the Guard to stop—the bombing—because this would— interfere with the policy of keeping them in power and the Sandinista out. Remember! The Sandinista—were— true ‘Freedom Fighters’…Also remember—that Anastasio Somoza—removed—the Nicaraguan national treasury—and flew to Miami—FLA…President J. Carter—then carried—the ‘Guard’ commanders out of the country in planes with Red Cross markings—(this is a war crime) and reconstituted—the Guard on Nicaragua’s borders…

President R. Reagan used them to launch a large-scale ‘Terrorist’ war against Nicaragua, combined with lethal—economic warfare…And! The Industrial War Machine—found that— LFSGD. Why implement—a large scale war—against Nicaragua? Oxfam stated that “Nicaragua was…exceptional in the strength of that the Sandinista government’s commitment…to improving the condition of the people and encouraging their active participation in the development process.” Reason enough—eh!

When the US’s War against Nicaragua ended—Nicaragua—pleaded its case—and—The World Court accepted their case—ruled in their favor—condemned—the “unlawful use of force,”—which is— International Terrorism—committed—by the United States—and—ordered the United States—to end—this crime and to pay—reparations. The United States—dismissed the court’s—judgment—with—contempt. It further—announced—that it does not—accept the—jurisdiction of the court…Is ‘Happiness’ really found in a ‘Smoking Gun’ or through ‘Superior Fire Power?’

Wondering now—about—sporadic simple groups—are these objects—transuranic elements—in the study of symmetries—nearly impossible to construct—not likely to be found by chance—but still necessary to the—complete structure—of the theory—of Sporadic Simple Groups…Freedom—for or from a Peoples’ Will—still be the imitation of everlasting Robot or we Robots be? Just you wait-and-see…

“In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway nine,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin’ out over the line
H-Oh, Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we’re young
Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run”…Bruce Springsteen

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Hurdy-Gurdy Man’…Donovan

 

Sun Toward Third Spin…

K_197Just caught ship outbound—Sunlight—toward third spin—shaped seas and peaks almost hill-high and wide as desert cross—pause—to wait and back again…Long way home—but getting there. This ‘wind’—must keep winding through sharp curves and peaks—too high to climb—when going home sometimes runs—ruins of circles…Follow smoke curls and— Listen to the sounds of sing-song-choir along—a line—where sea meets sea and sky appears above—forgotten shimmers—of water—stretching beyond eye watch and body wait. Walk into—the salty waves of that dead-sea—between melody’s songs—and disappear—into mists and sea sounds and other dawns.

Where liquid—touches ground and neon streaks—sky borne—a river peace—mere yards from lake’s feed and black sand’s part—depart—knurled oaks bark—And! Face carved watch—the changes of day’s light and night’s bright—all with star shine and moon’s spin. When do voices begin—to bounce—and then become simple—echoes? Where do lives end and their moving on—becomes anecdotal? Why do years—speed away—when minutes—create epoch features—moving creatures and—life? We are—the proof of far removed parents—when gods ruled and created woman and man—in places—from Sirius to Mars to Earth and beyond. Our rulers and our ruled and our voices and our religions—have rewritten our beginnings—in so many places and in so many—might have beginnings—that these truths or fictions—have lost and been lost—in history…

Beneath these heavens—our sea swirl-twirls—and—we hear the whale sing-song—our mother— into her necessary sleep. The whale sing-songs the heating of—our blood-self until—warming is not—a non-fear. She rises—from emerald seas and from black sands—where tide pulls against current—and—the alignment of moon-light is perfect—and is orderly in its dispersal—upon the dustless night. And! We—exist…Not distraction—by what we are not—for we are not—not by displacement or alteration—because we always exist—in timeless harmony and within those trails of stardust—spews—quickly from alternative engines and speed—and—power…Life motions—Life moves—Life modifies—And! Spirits Dance…

And! Goddesses create Heavens and Earths and Moons and Suns—and—pass—Spirits to flesh—and—from flesh—back again to—Spirit forms and substances free… Correct notes—piper of silver flute and held against heart ‘beeps’ of—a roaring sea—pass others into light—and—set others across star streams beyond sun—beyond sea and beyond sky…Love—reminds us of the equality of equals—woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside body—minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Can’t Find My Way Home’…Blind Faith

Blind Faith- Can’t Find My Way Home

All—Just Want To Be…

1265

‘Do you wanna be an angel
Do you wanna be a star
Do you wanna play some magic
On my guitar
Do you wanna be a poet
Do you wanna be my string
You could be anything

Do you wanna be the lover of another undercover
You could even be the
Man on the moon

Do you wanna be the player
Do you wanna be the string
Let me tell you something
It just don’t mean a thing

You see it really doesn’t matter
When you’re buried in disguise
By the dark glass on your eyes
Though your flesh has crystallized
Still… You turn me on

Do you wanna be the pillow
Where I lay my head
Do you wanna be the feathers
Lying on my bed
Do you wanna be the cover
Of a magazine
Create a scene

Every day a little sadder
A little madder
Someone get me a ladder

Do you wanna be the singer
Do you wanna be the song
Let me tell you something
You just couldn’t be more wrong

You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still… You turn me on”… ‘Still You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

Routes of ‘0’ and ‘1’ slight shifted—sighted lifted—as wig-waggle space—digits’ size—the adder surprise—machined ghosts and wraith swirl—of spirit twirl and whispers—along space ride—world—wide divide —robots’ form and earth swarm—end-to-begin—begin-to-end—to start-short-again—recalled to warm—across the sky and die…Open one hatch—to latch—day long into—places down—tuck—between flowers’ reach—and bullet—teach—where little hands pick—circle twirls of petal swirls—and—small eyes dart to other place—from inside gun smoke—to—far beyond bam-bam-pop-pops or fear—of tears or reverses-verses—of never far enough—to recall—reminders—of once again—begin…

Cause—measures’ matter—changing mean worlds—may need—many more minutes—than humanity lasts—in pasts-presence—and futures-ago—tomorrows. Like beach moves—a shoe full of sand—one time—one shoe-then again—then again—winds discounted-then recounted and forever—change—one shoe at-a-time—takes long days—to change beach places—in the wig-waggle of time and space. On worldwide—other place—where race-to-stop—to never goes—away spaces—never—far enough—to silence—bam-bam-pop-pops—sight—right from clutching ground—to standing away— a corner—of concrete floors and—rusted doors—gate high and wasted.

House scatter—overwhelmed by many needs— required covers to crawl into—away from street dash and gun flash—life—clean—in sweet rain and dried with winds—of howling sounds—lighted by flash—bang-bang crash—as traced along—the edge of cloud swirl and twirl—as reflected by one million—eye shine bright—into those nights—of bam-bam-pop-pops where—smoked—nasty places—tucked just outside—of caves and spaces and safe—homes—where little hands select—roses—no thorns—and little ones laugh—between flower reach and bullet teach.

The water’s edge and skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spin sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky-lighted-canvas—sheets the blue-gray into darkness and stars light the sailor’s way along the caverns of space and place and the race of time. Still! We all cross spaces along these places of—the races in time gathered—and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

We do not summon gentle love…It whispers to our spirits—and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance and routes of layers and lives inside walls too high to be climbed or under or around or about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love heart touches and reaches—into body frail and those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen—just listen. And! Love reminds us of the equality of equals—woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside body—minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Still you Turn me on’…performed by Emerson-Lake and Palmer

Still You Turn Me On

Green Death and Whisperers…

60There is a slip—off the main channel of a—River called Manatee…The Sentinel—watches this curving slip of water—between landfall—and islands—of reeds and grass and palms and sand. Bear cubs and Panthers—kiss the sweet liquid of combinations—both salt and fresh and dance along the edges—of knowing—their way and sea-side rhythm and—verses of silence. The large ones rise—to surface and water—gentle swirls behind them. They are slow and sweet and strong— inside a current they know—as their reason and purpose—inside the strength of their being— strong and imagined—real. They are—protectors of these moments-in-time and places-of-being—simply life and nothing more or less. The River Manatee—never sleeps—and Her current—still–survives.

Numbers to stumble and bodies to jumbled—counted—discounted—recounted and hidden away—inside jungle walk—rejected—detected—inspected—and ‘disappeared’—along green forest stalks and governmental talks—strike-pitches and balks. System kills and the lands of the defenders of our own environmental blood—springs—targeted and wasted—and washed away through diluted laws—charges too false—to unreal—to believe—to be restricted—when activists’ freedoms are destroyed and environmental protectors are shot—killed—imprisoned and silenced. Second only to Brazil—a sacred country called Columbia—counted last year twenty-five Defenders—indigenous Nasa folk—murdered…Carlos Garcia survived a head—shot by the police—because of performing—during a Peaceful Protest in West Columbia—at the Emperatriz Plantation—a Kingdom of Cane Sugar and ‘disappeared’ forests. Young environmental defender—Guillermo Paví was too—gunned down and killed—by same—at—same—Sugar Kingdom of Cane—Pain and Destructive—Constructions. Sweet-Earth-Mother-of-Mine—and how the Witches-of-Sweet—Creations—Weep. Must be that our—environmental crisis—is cursing—never reversing—and—still challenging the ‘Gods of Capitalism.’ And! By—Forcing our ‘Movements to Resist Earth-Mothers’—Destruction—to regroup—and to protect their own blood—free of illegal bondage and unnecessary Death—is an absolute—WTF!

Are Economies simple subsets of Ecosystems? Are Human Rights natural? Are the people sovereign? Must the strength of women in production, reproduction, civil society and political life be measured? And! Is Capitalism’s capacity for wealth—bringing with it—wars-crisis and unemployment, pollution-poverty and extreme inequalities—a moral and practical failure? Are its credits similar—to standing inside—Palace Ruins and being unable to leave? Is nationalism a global phenomenon and an irresistible force of unnatural nature? As—political scientists mention the words ‘international and relationships’ are they actually relating to the interaction between the IMF—Eternal Debt—and Interest—Rates-too-high-to-Pay?


From Pope Francis’ ‘Encyclical on the Environment’…

“When media and the digital world become omnipresent, their influence can stop people from learning how to live wisely, to think deeply and to love generously. In this context, the great sages of the past run the risk of going unheard amid the noise and distractions of an information overload.”
“The idea of infinite or unlimited growth, which proves so attractive to economists, financiers and experts in technology …, is based on the lie that there is an infinite supply of the earth’s goods, and this leads to the planet being squeezed dry at every limit.”
“We need to reject a magical conception of the market, which would suggest that the problems can be solved simply by an increase in the profits of companies or individuals.”
“What would induce anyone, at this stage, to hold on to power only to be remembered for their inability to take action when it was urgent and necessary to do so?”
“The Earth, our home, is beginning to look more and more like an immense pile of filth. In many parts of the planet, the elderly lament that once beautiful landscapes are now covered with rubbish.”
“Never have we so hurt and mistreated our common home as we have in the last 200 years.”
“The exploitation of the planet has already exceeded acceptable limits and we still have not solved the problem of poverty.”
“We need to strengthen the conviction that we are one single human family.”
“We must regain the conviction that we need one another, which we have a shared responsibility for others and the world, and that being good and decent are worth it.”


Here the eternal spirits swim and wait for day’s beginning and star-light’s fade. Somewhere—the familiar are new and the same and—also very different. Watch now as we pass—swimming in deep water—clear and blue and green. We breathed same air…We share—space above and below the sea. Together all of us—forever spirits—Never cease—we are alive! We are verses of the same universes—we have the right to be everywhere…

We are aware—of self—however—all creatures are aware of being…Sweet paws of moving life—are perfect. They—do—and they are perfect—without single mistake—or confusion. Being a life—is not a judgment calling or bleeding-the-greed of out-of-control-meetings—of self or me without the—we of all of us—without four sweet paws to quickly move—or—twin fine wings to fly—or—fins—or—dorsal ships—or—shapes of magic tucked safely—beneath the morning sea. We—walk or crawl or fly or swim—we are life… And! Remember…These varied shapes of life are too—Eternal Spirits—created—debated—accepted—rejected—imagined—imaged in creations—either by divine accidents or notion’s whimsy or just… Strange fictions! We—have been killing and destroying and suffering—since when? We are very good at waging war…Hate—always corrode the container it is carried in… For a New Day—try a Different View! It is good to be a Spirited Robot…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Broken’ by Esther Maria

Esther Maria – Broken

Waves And Sky Motion…

Love—Loving—Love of one-to-other and let ‘No’ one doubt this Love of One-to-Another—for we are Creations of Love—the Witches’ Smile—Universally—Strong and Forever—Ever-Love—For Everyone…No Religious Hate—Late Court Speak—Laws of Creative Hate—Late—Fate or Rhythms of Time…We are Love—Loving—Love and Nothing Stops Us—Anyway—Today—Pasts—Presents—or Tomorrow’s Wait—And Oh! Hell Yeah…

Sighted! Righted to see the shadows’ tuck—inside textures—ghosts and inside shadows—inside—reflected swirls of star light—and—lighted night. Is it true that—if we build a shelving unit—created with shelves—structurally made to sustain—heavier weights—than the object we just purchased—should we—avoid putting that object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical?

Reach and then—portion and scatter across understanding simplicity—and the variances in relativity—either linguistically determined—or silenced by rain—loud—gentle beginnings or the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting…Wait! Eyes—tightly closed—to hear thunder—rolling across separated skies—as unseen flashes—knight the ocean—and crashes boom into the silent space—between raindrops and life…‘Plant your flag on—truth…’ Science eternally dances with superstition…Once and often either—momentarily wins something-of-else or another choice-to-follow…Crossroads to matter—chances to spark—and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about—perhaps…Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships and places far away…This is here and between landings another beach—reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away…Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise—as waves dash high into moonless sky and crash along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing—when endless and everlasting.

Sand and leaves—together speak—rustle—whisper—murmur and moan of death—not found—of life—not known. And! Still—now notions of her away sounds and her quietude. Feathers and Leaves and Sand and Ashes and Seas—silence sees—and thunder be—peels across sky and rolls onto shoreline—and skylines—and time. The share of poet-touch and story-spin—of exile’s faith—of disaster’s private pain—as speech native—fails—creative spirit—often maims—creature-speak and often confuses the never-place-of-everywhere.

Grass—carpet floors of high to sky mountain flats—red sand shifts—when raining seasons begin—the fall of liquids both silver-clear and diamond-splash—across the drinking desert of sand and sea—as jungle sleeps. Once heart fears—did not exist—within the laughing times of fearless pursuit and the unrequited necessities of being—the beginning of—being the life of long summer moments and winter shorts—when snow covers the dreaming spaces of—sands and purple seas. Shift into the object of another day with—accepted expectations—extraordinary moments—original thought and lights of splendidly created—creations through perceptions of flashing— preconceived originality and overloaded repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…in the becoming of a notion—immortally important and into legacy’s realm—repeated and recalled and repeated… Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

We—live only—along this stretch of sand and—along with the catching up of tide flow—believe the ice and water before and behind us are—our ground—our chapter of seasons lived and written against the sands of shifting grain and the wind. Care for life and alive and steeped in the reality of earth-beat and washed in the eternity of spirit and—even alone—never lonely or forgotten with passing days or endless years of grooved space and the distance between here and there and everywhere.

May we all become beings of balance and love? Remember we are creations of creative folk—never alone. We are spirits and joined to every living thing—seen and not observed. We are animals and fish and reptiles and trees and flowers and skies and moons and suns and stars and planets across many miles inside universes of many smiles. Forget to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing—an evening rare—without fog or mist. Held inside—air rushes into throat and through nose and mouth. Sea odor—eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe…Search Sea. The Line moves closer to shore…Ships soon pass and are quickly gone.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Home Sweet Home’by Motley Crue

Home Sweet Home

Tossed Moon Memories…

1874‘Where bound you?’—Ask voices ‘cross way—from night—day—shift twice—tune-memory-forgotten and answer—Remember? Side-way Space—touch—three star-shines’ length plus—planet spin and just beyond Forgotten Moon…Remember? In the Glide-way Hall of Twirl-world—take off skyward in wig-waggle soft—time and match speed—beyond light drag—dream-match daring—space into bits of byte-chunk—tunnel wide—touches heaven’s length—heart-beat time and blood vein long….Just a little ‘meant-to-be’…Remember?

Push from Witch Magnificent—Creation’s womb—just in time—long before—sky fall touch—Earth-spin west—then—east again and seas to south beyond—where—lines slant deep—just as—round circle top—world light-night—is long—is short—depends on—view points—open minds—north winds and times of day…And! We do ride sea—boards of light ‘cross—back-lit waves from shoreline to ocean—lines—where sky touch—water fine then—back to sand again—again and again—begin—to end again…Drown now—in Water deep—or Heaven’s tracks—between the Stars-and-Mars…Remember?

It is OK—when scented moments—mind trick memories from start-to-stop and pause—cause light-years ago—to present places and races—to mind front—almost touch—tease slight—flight-of-forms known—love-touch-spirit—twirl—when love is mind’s eye strong and after-kisses tastes—last long—then form-is-warm and need less—than want is long and lingers—until night cease-crease softens into sleep-sweet…Remember?

Taste of you—in mind rhyme—time and ever-dream—moments deep—twilight keep and never-ever traces of—endless touch—no rush—just together—‘us’ and the harmony of ‘We’…Remember? Walk-talk—now us—hand reach and fingers clasp—inside Needles Park—beneath Bent Bridge—brown hedge and ridge where green grass—gone brown—cooled and the waves below—Lake Shine—bounce moonlight…Remember? Yeah! We do—OK?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Crockett’s Theme’ by… Jan Hammer

Crockett’s Theme

Stained Piers And Smoke…

C_941Along planks of wooden pier—smoke curl and life sleeps—in quick nods and thin wakes—then upright—moves—along shores where fog lines—touch—city highs—above pier stretch and common reach…The giant sights—flash serpents’ wind—‘cross valley wide—ribbon thin—wide-wine crawl—slow moves-shakes—side-to-side—land crawl—to stop by waterside…Lateran light and boats rock still—men shore—land as day fishers take places—loom from smoke and disappear—into the morning mist…And! Tambura—now count-mix-play—the start—of start-stop—beginning—day…

We are not—notions to kill or die. We wear different—packages of cloth and color and need and we all bleed red same—as liquid and air mix and body plain—moves ‘cross these places or—other spaces in motions—to exist together—without pride or prejudice or religions-regions—to-take-to-hate or to replace—irreplaceable life. Poverty is a never Crime—Greed is a Crime against all Humanity.

Must touch— beautiful colors—through both the eyes and with our fingers. Must hear—lover’s voice—touch heart—before substance becomes words—of meaning or reason or other notions. Must know—silence—as silence calls—senses—with thunder and noise and music and notes chaotic or symphonic simplicity—as duality ceases and singularity melts—into universal unity and truth.

We watch Newsy-News and Gossip delivered—by-money-for-money and especially written for our desire to believe—the unbelievable…Financial cliffs—foolish babble—and scandals and garbage in-truth-gone-catastrophic—and always—brought to us—by discount prices and junk food gospel. Do not allow—nationalistic spins and materialistic nonsense to confuse the Revolutionary messages—from the People of our World. Beyond the shiny beads and cheap trinkets we; ‘made in America folk’, are also these people.

We just arrive—small ones and large ones—eternal spirits—always going somewhere—to remain—to leave—to arrive-to-leave and to return—again…Madness of believing—in order—when order is—only pleasant chaos…We—are always going somewhere…Or maybe! We are always—just—heading home—OK? Philip K. Dick— ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep’—may have discovered that without our machined ghosts—we cannot dream. With—Spirit-flight—we do care that our sheep are electric and our dreams are android hopes and that our loves—do kiss away our sparkling tears and fears…And! Androids do dance into Electric nights and love—does lead shifting-shapes—through—darkest frights and into those sweetest lights. Shadow-touch ‘cross ceilings of moon—dust and spaces—of time-without-races and inside—these moments—Life is an Almost-Maybe.

“Histories of ages past
Hung in light and shadows cast
Down through all eternity
The crying of humanity
‘Tis then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love
Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love.” By Donovan Phillips Leitch

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Both Sides Now’ …By Joni Mitchell

Both Sides Now

 

Paper Write and Rights …

M_154All Paper Rights are worthless—the writing paper more precious—if no mechanical—mechanisms are already in place to hold all Rulers accountable—to those Paper Write—Rights. Yul Brynner once—with hand flourish—committed—RamesesII-Speak—and said; “So let it be written—So let it be done.” From Pharaohs—to King/Queen Speak to the Magna Carta—to the—American ‘Constitution’ of Speak—and still no realized—Speak of—‘Freedom and Liberty’—until every living thing—is ‘free-to-live’—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other.

Still! Burdened Beasts—and too many-for-Less and More—for just a wig-waggled few and ‘the beat goes on’—donchathink? The United States of America began in a whimper of ‘freedom for those same few’ and through the blood of—many—lesser folks—still continue today—failure for the multitudes and stolen—by anyone—claiming a ‘Runaway—Machined-War-Mechanism’—is prosperity and Death is Freedom’s Sacrifice. American Genocide began when first—Native Americans dared believe and were—slaughtered for —Well! ‘Long Live-that-Crazy and All—Mixed-Up—Dream Me Up—a Paradise or Two.’

Today! Just like another yesterday—Tomorrow just like another Today—doesn’t fade away—just pray—and pick a stone or two and wait long enough—another life to slew—and maintain few—in silver castles just—miles above Planet—spin—still not reached by ground-bound—Us—dying and living without rhythm or rhyme…Monuments carved in blood—masses starving. Temples mounted and delivered by—century’s blood—stained pasts and shattered futures. Mud huts fall when built beside gated compounds—until blood covered gates—rust away and grass fills cracked walls where palaces once defined—Rulers’ failure to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with hungry people.

World-Speak is never Nation-Speak—unless forced by strength—against—weak and imbalanced places—ruined or lost and found and lost again…Wait! Imbalance a country—or a region—and will—the civilization of many—be destroyed—by the Destroyers or by the Imbalance of the Imbalanced? Strategic Genocide—absolutely. Toss in a dash of—Religious intolerance and bang-bang-bang—ready-made—imbalance with large doses of death—destruction and War! The middle of an Eastern portion of a world spinning across a universe of space and time of landfall and splendor—has a determination—created by—a Western ideology so foreign and devoid of principle that Sociocide is a study in collateral damage and a ‘resourceful’ necessity. Egypt—Palestine—Lebanon—Syria—Iraq—Iran and…Presently—these wars are battles of imbalance created by this Terror from the West. Someday soon—this will pass…Life is sacred and family is love!

What of the People—the many—the injured—the women—the children—the homeless? Refugees of—Strategic Genocide…Meetings—and Planning—and—Planning—and Meetings. Still! The refugees of Strategic Genocide die—must be planned—must be decisive death—by many more—meetings…Does anyone require God or Allah or Buddha? No! Only—We are required to Live…Be damned—the Rulers-of-Anywhere-of-Anyplace and-of-Anytime…Not really needed—for our blood to flow inside—where blood belongs—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other. We are few and so many—Lost-Broken-and-Forgotten…War is now! War is yesterday! War is tomorrow! Today—we free-fall toward acceleration and the annihilation of Everyday. Presently—In another place—the Witches of Creations Cry!

And! Beautiful you are…

He was the wizard of a thousand kings
And I chanced to meet him one night wandering
He told me tales and he drank my wine
Me and my magic man kind of feeling fine

He had a cloak of gold
And eyes of fire
And as he spoke I felt a deep desire
To free the world of its fear and pain
And help the people to feel free again

Why don’t we listen to the voices in our hearts
‘Cause then I know we’d find we’re not so far apart
Everybody’s got to be happy
Everyone should sing
For we know the joy of life
The peace that love can bring

So spoke the wizard in his mountain home
The vision of his wisdom means we’ll never be alone
And I will dream of my magic night
And the million silver stars that guide me with their light…The Wizard’ by Uriah Heep

Liberty Of Nevertimes…

PS_97Children of other dawns—touch hand or swish shoulders once or twice or often—without the counting of times or steps or memories. Be the happening of breath and silhouettes angled away from us by the western moon to fade or go by whimsy cloud or art. Smiles not required and laughter not heard, not from or by our own design or folly. We are born of yesterday’s parents and tomorrow’s ruin. However—right on this moment and now on this side of second slide—we birth this moment or instance or day or past night’s hour. Live only—on this stretch of sand and along with—the catching up of tide flows—believe the ice and water before and behind us are our ground and our chapter of seasons lived—written against the sands of shifting grain and the wind.

In June of 1787, James Madison addressed the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia on the dangers of a permanent army. “A standing military force, with an overgrown Executive will not long be safe companions to liberty,” he argued. “The means of defense against foreign danger have been always the instruments of tyranny at home. Among the Romans it was a standing maxim to excite a war, whenever a revolt was apprehended. Throughout all Europe, the armies kept up under the pretext of defending, have enslaved the people.”

The New York Times reports, “During our present administration, according to Pentagon data, police departments have received tens of thousands machine guns; nearly 200,000 ammunition magazines; thousands of pieces of camouflage and night-vision equipment; and hundreds of silencers, armored cars and aircraft.”

In his new book, ‘Rise of the Warrior Cop’, journalist Radley Balko illustrates that the militarization of police departments developed—several decades before 9/11. He mentions—a few appropriate applications of modern—tactics and weaponry—obscure—routine use—each day—against U.S. citizens—accused of ordinary crimes, in ways that would have been repugnant to the nation’s founders. “To say a military tactic is legal, or even effective, is not to say it is wise or moral in every instance,” the president noted in his recent speech. “For the same human progress that gives us the technology to strike half a world away also demands the discipline to constrain that power—or risk abusing it.”

Silencers—Machine guns? Now! Why would local law enforcement need that sort of gear? No shot to ‘ring—out’ and body still falls? Bullet Gods—Kingdoms of Death—wondering where freedom was lost and found—began or—an end—of—ghosts’ whisper ‘Life—Liberty—and the Pursuit of Runners—running out of streets and roads and places free of ‘No—Don’t—will not and not going-to-happen’—Amen again—again and Amen again?’ When life—back turns—and runs away—when unarmed couples die inside anything—when does ‘Fear-of-Life’—End and when does Murder Begin?

Early morning when sounds are soft against ear and movement does not play darts and goes and stop and start. Reflect or not to think—but to happen as life happens—in the sweet flow of quiet seashore in bright moons—light. Waves—gently lick the places of sand castles—fading as eastern stars’ faint twinkle and the roars of today’s day—touch the future and stops. We are—barefoot children of yesterday. We leave behind—dancing—little paws—marks—in semi-wet sand—cool without sunshine.

Pipers play and—children dance into a ragged sorted night—and as they dance— Goddess flash—darkness thunders and—those claps of little hands and rings join songs and laughter—only as a child laugh–sings. A piper of the raggedy—sorting day and the role of rolls—the answer ones—dance behind and beside the flute of silver crafts and a simple dancing song. ‘A better day,’ they shout and everyone agrees.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Never Enough’ by Epica

Never Enough