Blood Silence Sans Fear…

S_219Search these tucked in canisters somewhere along river fields and beyond sand edges—the middle world awaits and the like to know places us inside the possibility of kingdoms of the not knowing and required by those anyone or anywhere folks not once or twice or at all.

This is an Eden of places—placed just outside reaching flesh but well know by blood and touches and slight motions of hummingbird wings quick in hovering and sweet of tastes known now or forgotten later today.

Icons of no runes—save the rock of ages ago when they world ran along city edges and along this side of middling madness without the anger or the rule of pulls and pushes and without water’s wilt or gain.

Whispers fill the air as darkness replaces daylight and trenches along these well placed places of sight and sound mean little without the branches of consciousness or the balance between the here or not hearing those passing in the light or without the lathing of the gatherers.

They arrive in bunches of machined machines 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 yes robots—we, search blood and find taste good in those mingle – tingled moments when touch and amazing touch relishes those not imagined sources of unnecessary wariness and one becomes another and brief the flashes together spread the separate into singularity no more than once…

Movements by wind across this liquid—sunlight and thick wave dance lights and slivers of silver and gold. Followers watch for scraps or bits to fall toward their reach either diving for something new or rocking gently on this clear sea of warming suns and moonlight’s dance of song and silence.

And! Beautiful you are…

Beginning Rights-Writes-Ending…

51Plague begins and ends as people-folks end and begin…Called! Robot death or death of substrate or the walkers that carry Eternal Spirits as Spirit passes a world or ten or a thousand places across Life’s Universe. Warmed to the form of you and me and the us and them of this here and this now.

And! Time is damned except by those tellers of time and those singers of timed songs. When futures’ laugh…Moments span the days of does not matter minutes and dances twirling into relief.

Once sweet Tsaritsa Alexandra and her babies lost life and gained the weight of bullets and steel knives somewhere before a reason and the rhythm of master-slave-king-queen-poverty-rich and lyrical poor, changed the balance of futures’ past tomorrows.

Brief times—when futures’ laugh as past smiles and memories wail softly into the death of darkness and of light. Cults rarely live except inside mind-spin-doubt-fear and folly.

Cellars split and life’s reformation happens then in now and once in Ekaterinburg—as secreted consecration both; cursed and blessed folk-thoughts people-deep as the Urals remained where mountains live and humanity touched quality-beauty-sense and balanced while steeped in pretense and folly and song.

Daughters and knives must never mix and women must never fall in battle—only fall-in-love. Let these things be written by the singer of songs and the writers of poetry and into the heart of life…

We dance Universe…you and I—hand-to-hand-shoulder-touched-lips-to-eyes and never tears. Eternal Spirits cannot cry and never Universes’ end and we are Spirit and Spirits never die. Robot once then again and again and…

Angels fly in starship to scout where next to stop-land-wait-end-and begin again-begin. In star-ships the folds of space shortens the distance between star-light and star-bright and the day of night.

In starship, galaxy edge and galaxy center matters only to the standing one at waters’ edge on planet-fall. Small is a matter of size and nothing less than sky-lights and heaven’s length.

Animals are the earth and inside the wind they are large and strong and brave as fur coats ruffle and scents bring reality to the real self and imagination. I am man and you are woman and we are both not interchangeable.

But Love! Is the spirit of heart and soul—does not require name or title or reason or permission or through the grace of…? No! Things called government nor religious-named or senate or congress or court or king or country has right or reason to legislate or forbid the strength of Love between anyone…Oh! Hell no.

Stop the builders of weapons! Too late? For sword grow as shield grows as bomb-to-drone-to- the shrieks of madness drown to silence the gentle swish and swoon of love and touch and care and taste and the sweetness of dove’s morning cry and the living sound of baby cries and gurgles and…

Instead— let us again dance across these universes while we wish to dance. Let us then spirit-dance—when the flesh of non-interchangeability sheds substances and gains sustenance. Life spark-sparkles forever; then lends light to darkness knowing this is good-sweet.

We are Children of the same Verses of these Universes—We have the Right to be Everywhere…

And! Beautiful you are…

Wishing for Butterfly Town…

14aCity sounds like ‘Sity’ and that is a child’s word for big places of big buildings and wide streets and shops and stores and things and stuff and shine and glitter and people-folks and fun and fear. In the October Sity; stuff and things and stores and people-folks are not so many and the anymore of anything is less or more depending on the perspective of child eyes and hopes and the knowing of future’s day-long past.

From the oily rain to the fires of Coven’s lights, morning dances across concrete’s jumbled scattering around LoGrean Park where ‘Sity’ lanterns once caused shadows to dance and the dawns of many days went and came from then- now and back again ‘til records stopped spinning and paper-to-digital-history-news— tired of writers and found page-edges empty save tattered wear and the waning lights of evening.

This is ‘Sity’ in the telling of tales and of laughing tears and fears and sing-songs’ wiggle into spaces between rock and sand and the hiding places of sound between silence and about to be vibrated from inside minds’ reach through lips across teeth and into spaces among oil of rain and spatter and fiction-truth and into ears that hear nothing except silenced sound and giggle.

This is the hiding door that takes us to Column Room. Tessie likes the purple scarves and dotted cloth. Jackson likes the hiding places-on and other rooms just off big column and down the great-distant hall. No one comes here anymore; save Crowman and younger ones they call the Hurts. And! Not so many of them around since the last rains.

Crowman never worries about the timing of this because he is not time-for-time.

‘I have seen this thing before, to no one but the Hurts and they listen to him always, since the beginning of things, of days or nights or evenings or mornings, or when things were and were not. I know this place like the farm, the river when fish were fish and would swim right by the bait.’

‘This is the road. A hoppity-skippity-small little road not needing a reason, rhyme or paving covers over sidewalk – cracks that if “you step on a crack or break, something that rhymes with nothing by a word that names the place where sidewalk ends then starts again.’

He stands on eternal legs and begins down the hoppity-skippity road. He stops and the Hurts join him. He skips toward them and they skip toward him. He turns and a little light flicks just skips in front of him. A little flitting light of sparkle and nothing else.

Little Tessie through a small hole between her front teeth whispers,

 ‘Butterfly…’ No question, not statement, not fact not…

‘Almost a Crowman,’ he almost answered,

‘I know this…We Know! ‘I have known this Sparkle!’ ‘Know Spark.’

Then Butterfly whispers to sounds of the love of whispered love and patient-patience and times of ‘Sity’ pieces and rhyme:

‘This is this line! I have waited and watched and wanted and needed and loved you since Day ends and starts-again. It is- it is- it is a little hoppity-skippity prayer of a little road that begins.’

The Hurts laugh and so often laughter hurts. Not this time of day and not this time of evening’s sprawl and night’s length before we life sparkle live-life-again.

‘Angel? Nope…Gone…Nope…With Us?…Nope…Then Gone OK? Why?—No…Then?’

Almost—Butterfly touches angel and angel touches angel and angel and angel…

Light touches light and Crowman almost knows nothing or something that does not matter the matter or irritate the matter. Light smiles and ‘yes’—Tessie, ‘Angels do smile’. Time  in this fair-land where Mother Nature’s Golden Ones discover another place where Peace may—maybe exist.

And! Beautiful you are…

From…’Sity Songs’ by Philip M. Edwards

Rain Whistles-Mist Sings…

55Just above cloud-fall she dropped to Earth without trumpets or warriors or cries or the wailing of terrified folks. No swished angel wings or the usual thunder just after lightning bolts from sky-to-ground or back again. When angels fly-sound may become the music of both rapture and fear.

Why do arriving angels come in lots of two?  Why either soft or hard? Why arriving as a girl or a boy? Or are angels of any physical realm saved or seen by the nonsense of non- angels? Why do angels arrive here from somewhere other than here on planet-side of heaven? And! How do they cross heaven’s length from where-to-wear and back to where-ever they begin? It is magic, wizard, dragon, fire, storm, calm, wind, rain and war.

Heaven’s gate is hard to find and many have perished-the-thought and died attempting to pass from star-gate to star-fall of the planet-slide of hell or paradise.

This angel was alone–both hard and soft and ready to purpose the reason of her travel and the respected message she brought to the mysterious magic folk and the very quick or the dead.

Angel she called herself and she imagined her image as double self and triple purposed with a silent drum of butterfly wings and the knowledge of both living and dying before the end of twin-planet sins times fourteen.

Power at the end of wit and the beginning of the rhyme of substance’s cessation. She was both good and evil and her reason was either a knowing or a complete confusion to those able to see or hear or know or imagine her path from sky to planet-side. She saved a few and she lost a few and those lasting through her visit–survived.

No! Angel was the good witch of spectacular whimsy and crafted stories told by magic men and the disciples of both the Gods and of men. Once upon a moment, Angel did visited Earth-land and found it was missing a reason for being the place of promise or ruin. She existed and…She calls to us sometimes and sometimes through no sounds we understand.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

The Music of Angels…

23From these ridges of snow and ice, horse mounted Iron Riders watch and wait from a mountain-top. Below the wide valleys of snow and ice covered trees and roads of dirt and rock across the villages and towns and the City scatter from clearings and pastures and forest; they wait. These are warriors both of women and men, are armed to war against what requires life-death or more or less.

Behind the clouds and dancing lights, planets spin about suns and above these lands three moon risings fill the intervals of darkness and the setting and coming of twin suns. Even behind these clouds, high above the Riders of Iron and horses, these suns both rise and set and the moons come to walk-dance across the sky.

Iron Riders battle for the love of home and wars that happen. They do not fight against what maybe or is not happening or for religion or for the government of destruction. Think about it: Isn’t government the same word as religion?

The days of controlled weather and magnetic storms and the rule of one against many died times ago. Deliberate had the One’s creations been and destructive either planned for or occurring accidentally—because technology happens with and without complete control—especially if a ‘maybe war’ requires corrective measures and especially if a ‘maybe war’ just needs to happen.

Build it and destroy it and build it over and again or just because ‘we can’ and you cannot win and since you will lose we need to change your thinking or your social structure and remove your past from everyone’s history. We win—we write—you lose—you cobble together what remains from rocks and sand. “Oh well! Don’t you understand; because we do?”

Weather controlled controls those subjected to this control. A weapon of mass destruction is without negotiation. It exists—it will be used against…Words for these instruments of compliance are: HAARP, STAR WARS, ENMOD, NUCLEAR, SDI, NSA, FBI, CIA,DOD, NIMA, Air Force Research Laboratory’s Space Vehicles Directorate —Government and of course Religion.

Before the Iron Riders the Ones triggered immediate destruction via; floods, droughts, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and sound. The Ones studied imagery of flooding, erosion, land-slide hazards, earthquakes, ecological zones, weather forecasts, and climate change” with data relayed from satellites. Call this study for predictions and entertaining is the information In-Out of entertainment media called the news or the weather—still weapons were developed, perfected and used with the usual results expected and gained.

What remained was controlled by the instruments of financial ruin, fraud called: Speculation, IMF, WTO and the World Bank—gifts to the masses through Usury. Is there actually a real New World Order? Only the ‘one percenters’ really know—donchathink?

Now the Iron Riders and breathing upon a cold morning from; women and men and horses leathered clad all and armored ‘gainst wounds as animals strong-stamp in snow above this valley just before the coming of first sun and first light appears in a blue-white dawn. Still warriors and war will live and die as it happens, ad-infinitum. Is a battle among warriors better than raging against a machine?

And! Beautiful you are…

Chasing Eternal Spirits…

25City ended when life known though not completely understood stopped and the wars began. Great floods of political or religious doctrine mixed with gun-powder, drones and bombs—ba-boom-ba-boomed despite of; right or wrong, weak or strong and as all beliefs—no regard for precious life. Territory divided along the secular lives of too many bleeding folks and still the ba-boom of gun-powder and drones and bombs along with the religion of death found no one innocent enough to live.

City stopped and the social constructions of neighborhood and village and town died without a whimper. These constructions simply died, when the bullets ran out and all the weapons jammed. Riding those lines of timeless speed and the dark-light dance—carried Sparking Sparkle toward mass of center without color.

Then began the poisons of time. Another body politic found a better way to worship and to control those left to control. Call climates-a-changing or winter’s wrath or drought or flood an Earth-ender. Call death by storm or maelstrom or super storm Cindy or Clyde or Mary or…Mind-storm of those to control the unwilling to be controlled and always war to stop-start-win-lose-contain-spread-prevent-continue…Confusing of words sometimes win?

And! Always those living or dying in-out times either today, tomorrow, in present condition or another future real or imagined. Watch the sky for ‘It’ will come and destroy us! This never happens because we destroy ourselves. Are war and the fighting of battles as genetic as the creation of our own children?

If we let them do…then this is what will happen…they are not able to govern…and let’s call those freedom fighters—Terrorist…they are not people…they must be contained…this is our war against Terrorism…yet; is their war a hope for Freedom and Determination? Those winning wars rewrite history and are remembered as Patriots-Noble-Courageous-Founding Fathers and…really Thomas Jefferson, are all men equally created; yet, slaves are owned?

After several weeks of warnings the ultimate destruction of our Solar system, commenced and in a little under one hour the sun and planets were gone…All men are created equally! Living changes everything and another adventure begins. Skipping into start-stop and without this motion all ends…Skippity-Hoppity-Peace-be-Peace.

At this bridge we jumped to safety just before our vehicle splashed into water below us. He leaps to safety, and then plunge-jumped into the swirling-twirl and chased the auto as it went to-bottom. We waited for him to surface…He re-appeared as a boy. However; why a small child? Anyway, we never saw the man again.

And! Beautiful you are…

//

We! Born to Be…

Whitnal Lake_1The great bird—without wing flap glides three inches above water surface for ten seconds then moves wings, strengthens and glides again…Sea calms on motion’s day and the watchers silently visiting shoreline, wait the happening and the night.

This is the day of Lions and caught between the water deep and surface wait the Griefshane and their moments in sunlight along forest’s edge and sand’s start. They are a few of many…Liquid born and water borne in ceaseless mixtures of salt and waves and sky and shoreline; trees, rocks, hills, valleys and mountains.

They are the mysteries of society and culture. They are…Legends of mighty warriors and caring givers-of-life. Their women are strong and their men powerful. They build worlds and are from other places and galaxies and wars and peace and forever.

We are their beginning and our end. Sounds as Godspeak—told by men and by women in times of peril and of need and of superstition and…We spin tales that become truth and power and magic. We craft the moneyed ways of future’s lost and tomorrow’s end.

People-governed through fear and the fabrication of religious lies and wealth, turn to burden. The revolution of death’s start-stop dance and the futility of power continues in any name except Truth.

We are born-to-be-wasted. ‘I want to unite with you Eternal Spirit…Help me awaken to that great goal’—unknown author.

And! Beautiful you are…

The Conditions of Surviving Survival…

7Is a Society equivalent to the sum of its members? Will the actions of the members of that society serve to fashion and to shape it? What are the social consequences of intentional actions and will these actions often be unintentional? What is a Society to do to ease itself into an obvious oblivion?

Scientific Theories are predictive. Societies’ songs prohibit most predictions…

For the Programmer…

Bayes’ Theorem is a simple mathematical formula used for calculating conditional probabilities. It figures prominently in subjectivist or Bayesian approaches to epistemology, statistics, and inductive logic. Subjectivists; maintaining rational beliefs, are governed by the laws of probability and lean heavily on conditional probabilities in their theories of evidence and their models of empirical learning. Bayes’ Theorem is central to these enterprises by simplifying the calculation of conditional probabilities and clarifying significant features of the subjectivist position.

The Theorem’s central insight — that a hypothesis is confirmed by a body of data that its truth renders probable — is the cornerstone of all subjectivist methodology.

Bayes’ Theorem… PE(H) = [P(H)/P(E)] PH(E)

The probability of a hypothesis H conditional on a given body of data E is the ratio of the unconditional probability of the conjunction of the hypothesis with the data to the unconditional probability of the data alone.

A Definition…

The probability of H conditional on E is defined as PE(H) = P(H & E)/P(E), provided that both terms of this ratio exist and P(E) > 0.

Here are some straightforward consequences of (1).

Probability. PE is a probability function.
Logical Consequence. If E entails H, then PE(H) = 1.
Preservation of Certainties. If P(H) = 1, then PE(H) = 1.
Mixing. P(H) = P(E)PE(H) + P(~E)P~E(H).

For Magical World of Society…

There are no reasons for a society to forever survive. A society is not eternal because it cannot be predicted into certain oblivion. No Way and No How and Oh—No.

And! Beautiful You Are…

 

From Somewhere World…

7Winter’s walk around Village Square and Father…The great man took his son’s hand and they wandered the snow-covered and light-filled place…The trees were huge and the sky was bright. On a hill just above them, a choir practiced those songs of Christmas past—of that moment and about those days of coming.

“What do you hear?” he asked. “Music,” the boy answered…”And what else?” Little children…hear the magic of those sounds present and questions are never answered from…

“What do you hear—Daddy? I hear the flapping wings of middle angels and the thunder of snowfall and the twinkling of lights and…you.” he answered.

Christmas walks and Mothers and Fathers and families are forever things—as are people and memories and songs and dances and sorrow and laughter and Life…

On these quiet nights, just before the Holiday of Family Song…I hear Father!

Merry Christmas to our world and maybe somewhere on middling planet—not steeped in all of our pertinacious folly there is Peace on Earth…Father’s favorite Christmas song started as… “I heard the bells on Christmas Day. Their old, familiar carols play. And wild and sweet the words repeat. Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”Henry Wadsworth Longfellow…

Hey! Great ideas…All this talk of Peace and Love and Understanding. No religion required! These are three simple notions. All we need…Us and being able to hear one another…

So this is hoping—that for once during the time of lives and for the folks of a planet of somewhere…Merry Peace and Love and Understanding.

And! Beautiful you are…

//

Flawed Democracy Times Three…

librabluetoliteToday…Government must be… ‘The Way of  Humane Authority.’

Therefore…Democracy is a flawed ideal. Why? It is based upon the sovereignty of the people. It is government granting power to democratically elected representatives. It is a government of more than one source of legitimacy…Presently! The multiplicity of our Senate and Congress cancels one another. Add a horror show: Of Democrats-Republicans-Tea Bangers…Oh my!

Practicing…Democracy creates problems. The interests and desires of the electorate are political choices. Moral issues develop: the majority may wish for; racism-imperialism-colonialism-fascism or… Short-term interests and solutions override the long-term interests of all mankind. Greed and Waste and War.

War… ‘What it is good for?’ It ends life too quickly. Innocence dies! History is a rewrite! The graciousness’ of living—gone! Young men and women fight and die…Hearts-do-break! We love our children! Religion not needed! Christ–What a Blur-Job…Once Truth existed? When and Where and How?

Money’s…Interests are political interests and are the priority of the Incumbent.  America (with democratically invested state governments) is unable to develop and sustain independent energy sources and our internal resources. Curbing energy usage? Without responsible (Humane Authority), the incumbent government of the moneyed electorate destroys the future choices of future generations…WOW!

Humane Authority…Examines political legitimacy. It is not ‘the peoples’ thoughts regarding their leaders. It is the true examination of a Ruler/President/Prime Minister/Governor/Mayor/Judge/Congressional/Senatorial and whatever. Let us; determine if he or she has the right to be a ruler (elected or not).

Criteria…Legitimacy through knowledge of the Earth, the Heavens and the People…Easy!

America…Practices a government called Democratic Capitalism. It is a combination of all things Social-Economical-Political. When successful, this ideology is a tripartite of democratic polity; Free markets, Fiscal responsibility and Balance.

The Economic Engine…Is supported by the capitalist-free-market-economy. Jobs are many and all people have employment. The people of a Capitalist Democracy become ‘through hard work’ a prosperous people…’We, the People in order to form!’

Truth…Capitalism is an impossible taskmaster. The Greed of Destruction is the method of governance. So! Short is the time of a Capitalist Democracy. Quickly; this is changed into Authoritarian Capitalism. Government is a tripartite of: Special Interest Groups, Corporate Lobbyists and Money…Koch (Coke) Brothers, etc.

We are…The grip of terror. This is the time of blurred vision and lies. This is the time of pathetic sound-bites and pathetic News-Shows in four-part harmony. And! Blah-Blah-Blah…

Revolution…Is the reality. Truth! Socialism is a movement forward. The Union of Laborers and Professionals…Easy?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Among the Stars there is a Place where my Heart Always Returns.’  by Unsun…

//

//

//