Category Archives: Warmth without Fire

May 15 2013

Solar Life and Flashes…

Sun_532Solar Lighting begins late in the evening sky and continues through the following weeks; first scorching the million-acre-land around Calimesa City and ultimately damaging the domes of cover across the skies above those made at home. Life ends and life begins. A different life also creates-stop-start inside several thousand—where water begins and evaporates.

Rulers gather and die.  The death of middle worlders on surface is many and rarely varied. A renewal of the hidden memories of power in times of sorrow and danger and fear prevail.  Wealth again moves and poverty descends from above the sunlight and below the ground levels of cave dwellers and their children.

Across spaces of lighted atmosphere and spaces absent of everything except views above and across an angled galaxy, war of rearranged arrangements begin and end in victories and losses. Some obtain more of less and some lose everything to those others dwelling above these spaces and below this ground—stretched places of caves and cave-ins and areas where life hides from death and awaits the end of silent lightning and the reaches of flash.

Once again upon these skies, a spinning whirl of land and seas of salt and lakes of salt less liquid, warriors stage the wars of rearranged arrangements and wealth distributes where the winners rejoice and the losers lament. The dead are discarded beneath the soiled blood and inside rocky renditions of those of victories in death and legend. Quickly forgotten are the response of battle and the rhymes that end with hunger and rearranged arrangements.

For these days of peace remember pleasant moments of above ground splendor and days of night and night of days as knights begin an uncertain dance of daze. Swords and shields never rust and the lightning of solar ruins again gather in place of suns and along a galactic twirl of swirling earth filled with the salt of sea and the breaking winter waves along the shorelines of a billion lakes without salt and filled with many lights of star sparkle and life.

These are the days of women and men and children and reaffirmation and survival’s rearranged arrangements and offerings. These are creators of ways and means and love and care in heart shaped reasons and certainty. The responsibility of these creations are moments before another war and the death of songs forgotten from those last days battled when reasons were few yet responses necessary. Always…Rearranged arrangements? Blood feeds the form and those forms cease flesh without it? Let it be written so let it…

And! Beautiful you are…

Apr 25 2013

Whatever Storms—Wherever Gods…

We watch Storm Gods…We! Tucked inside this swirl of trash and tin bobbles and cardboard homes of glass and stone wait the confusion to rise and winds to wind these narrow streets of matchbook stories and matchstick people…After the roar and the wetting and the flashes, the god of storms dart-departs to dash and trash another world apart from our own. Begin then the song of flowers. Without wails—those sweet tales with soft music and misty touches and peace are moment songs. 

We venture into drying air and as we cross wet sands and a bloom of desert flowers and freshening air—rejoice we of ourselves and our certain knowledge of knowing certainty for another clearer night and a brighter morning. And! We understand the knowledge of the good of something necessary and good. Together; our story of life is magic and our world is… 

s81These twisted places and the rust of metal frames and broken concrete stretch before our eyes toward sights ending and evening’s growling gloom where boxes of movement use to wind along ribbons of silent construction before tears filled the eyes and wind dried water. Home is protection from bombs’ early light and for those requiring protection, home is both sanctuary and safety space. 

By the fire light of these dwindling tribes, children marvel at both the dancing flames and the warmth of these lights against the nights and outside shadows beneath their eyes. They listen as stories tell the beginning of things now gone and of those grand places not started but imagined and seen in minds’ own spaces and in their most desired regions of just before a dream and just after ‘wishing this was true.’

Paint now a picture that loves these caves and these walls and these tribes of we and me and us and them and before the storm and after the end of rains and winds and bumping things and silent shrieks once loud now absent from ear and fear and tear. Sounds of life drawn across a million miles of rock and rolling till another day of storms and another night of passion shadow dance beneath a star-lighted ceiling. Once again, share moments and lives and the power of life. Blood and love is the matter of the matter and the survival of these survivors of wherever gods and whatever storms.

And! Beautiful you are…

 
Apr 18 2013

The Caves of Sheep…

W231Asleep and safe from the howls of the wolves as the sheep often run with them…It is our nature to run with and from the many or the few. See often through the curved ceiling of doorway when curved light enters twenty-one tiny windows round these openings to escape places and leave regions. Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?
Life is the antithesis of Order…Symmetry with no form except wind and rain and careful storms of chaos and figure. Go figure the here or the now and still history is not preformed or manufactured except through the controllers of spins and twists and the thrill of the lie. Or go to figure with the smile of Leonardo or the Lady’s laugh or the chatter of many minds or just a few of many hearts.

Drapes created by the highest and lowest psychodynamic psychological mechanisms and the shell of survival or a child with no walls or shells to crawl inside other than a closet space of playful fantasy or physical safety…Still more a spirit than the body proper until chemicals of doubt and satisfaction rule body self ending sometime in time without mere reasons to be except a rhythm to complete.

Is societies’ perspective of behavioral aberration a result of deterministic qualities of controllers or the eat-do-not consume behavior dependent upon economic conditions and the fragility of physical conditions? Is sharing a conscious choice, a group survival dynamic, a desire to belong or a non-physical reaction? Isn’t Social construction a further strength of spirit and the power of individuality?

Seen as persons of whole society completely though not outside eyes but through the eyes of society both behaving and deep into their own and necessary revolution of comforts and places and restrictions. Society is not a realm of a government. Thankfully! Government begins and ends quickly—especially when it shifts; as it always shifts, away from the people and becomes it own animation.

We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive—simple and true except when suppressed and distorted for unnecessary gains and a perversion called wealth…We are the eternity of spirits—never having to begin and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Apr 7 2013

Contradiction-Imbalanced…

21aWhat would we do if those ‘famous changers’ of Earth came back as promised and joined again to tell everyone, they are Socialists? Were the founders of Buddhism—Christianity—Islam— also the Founders of Socialism? The Religions that quickly followed and varieties of these religions soon became War machines and Kingdoms of Profit.

America is still committing crimes against humanity to further the lust of profit and the horror of Capitalism…Sort through the history written by the people— not by the winners of war and find worlds different and still imbalanced. Examine South America and ask why during the 20th century dictators where fashioned and favored in these places. Why was Socialism the enemy of the people? It is not a crime nor is it against the rights of People everywhere.

In non-free countries still practicing Capitalism (USA, etc.) the means of production are not the property of the people. Very few people own the land and materials required for manufacturing, factories, machines and other instruments of production…Therefore; if you are not one of these few folks, you are a slave—a wage slave.

We must work to survive. We are many and our wages are not a decent return for the cost of our lives, skills, family and ambitions. A few believe ambition will set them free. Majority cases—ambition is another hopeless-hope. Capitalist do not have to work.

Non-working Capitalist are; rich-lazy and ignorant of history. They are government and cowards and never-to-be-trusted and speculators and the living worthless sector of our Societies anywhere and everywhere. They create wars to both decrease excess populations and to increase their wealth…

Few of these types go to war…If they do, it is to further their power locks over Labor…They control ‘newsy-news and expensive entertainment and have very little to offer Society. Their control over management is the few extra dollars they toss to ‘bosses’ and the lies they spin.

Corporate ‘cultures’ easily translated mean—profit at all cost and all of the Working Class is an expense…Eliminate every expense to further our profits! La Serrata—Separation?

One class lives by owning; the other class lives by working. Capitalist receive or steal income by employing people to work for them. The working/labor class receives income in the form of wages for this work. Since labor is necessary to create goods, the laborer should be rewarded or paid well for these hours’ spent-spinning products.

However; wages are never fair or just rewards for these necessary efforts. Why? To a Capitalist; lust-for-profit is more powerful than truth, justice, love and life.

Where are the values we learned from our mothers? Why is greed the prime motive of Industry and its future development? For the standards of friendship and family and our world, Capitalism is the antithesis. It adheres to competition at all costs. It dismisses cooperation, help for fellowman, responsibility to society, the benefits of others and love.

Capitalism is not freedom…It is slavery for us all…It is war and a savage waste of precious life…It benefits no one except a few. It destroys Society…It forces revolution and revolution is bloody. Why is Religion also an industry? Why not just…Lust of life—not of Riches?

‘We move by wind across this liquid—sunlight and thick waves of dancing twists and slivers of silver and gold. Pelican 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 chance of song.’

And! Beautiful you are…

//

Mar 26 2013

The Drone of War…

D2When the taking of a warrior’s life becomes a mechanical judgment call, what happens to humanity? When the cost of a life is determined by a machine—is life reduced to nothing? How much cost to dispose of the body…How much to incinerate—no records required? How about the family? How about a warrior’s spirit? Machine has no family—Machine has no soul; unless—we, robots are robots advanced beyond Drone’s current program.

What is an appropriate method or measurement of the use of force through a Drone’s sensors? Presently, humans use determinations called appropriate judgment to ‘correctly’ respond with proper uses of force over combat enemies in battle. How many deaths are necessary? How many mothers cry? How many children go without a mother or a father? How many types of collateral? The innocent die in battle!

The reasons for going to war are the reasons determined or imagined by Humanity…Drone does not imagine. Drone does not determine. Drone searches-kills-destroys. Drone follows configurations-paradigms-and the logical/illogical responses of human beings—Presently…

We; beings are able to use inferences to survive our determinations. Artificial intelligence at the end of a ‘joystick…Works? Call this warfare by Robotic proxy. Call it murder through autonomy. We enjoy the mischief and results of warfare executed several thousand miles away from the battlefields in the safety and air conditioned splendor of an IT construction…

Warfare without blood—a Computer-generated action game—no screams, no gaping wounds punched into the precious life of an almost enemy—no cries of the women or men left behind…Easy—simple power!

And! No honor—because Drone is programmed to search-kill and destroy without notion or reason or rhythm either justifiable or justified. A machine may cost less than one- tenth of the cost of a human, to place into harms-way. If the machine is destroyed we, robots do not care! Destroy and build again—a Capitalist dream-scene ‘if I ever did see one’? Such is war and the blessing of wars’ Industrial machine.

If humanity remains a ‘looped-group’ capable of containing and restricting Drone-self; then, only flesh and blood without Drone, screams-bleeds and dies. Such is the victory of another progressive mission. However; if humanity extracts itself through: power or carelessness or greed or…and becomes a ‘looped-outside-group’ then Drone-self may become Self-self and search-kill and destroy more than…?

Once upon a time, Dome Iron protected beings of flesh, since these beings were progressive robots. Presently, the Iron of Dome destroys without interference from sentient beings. It is an autonomous warrior and crafted to defend and to destroy. Dome/Drone programmed to defend…

It does not require sentient input and it protects sentient life from attack and death—Morally sound! When do the Domes of Death go offensive? When does defense become offense? How soon will Robot-flesh sublimate reason and judgment to Iron Drone and twin-step dance toward its own destruction?

Is 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…

 

“Go ahead and hate your neighbor—go ahead and cheat a friend.

Do it in the name of heaven— you could justify it in the end.

There won’t be any trumpets blowing—come the judgment day.

On the bloody morning after—One Tin Soldier rides away. “

—by Joni Mitchell

And! Beautiful you are…

Mar 17 2013

Sweet Songs and Whispers…

60Here 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 the same air and often we never surface. We do not require space above the sea. Together all of us—animals and fish and forever spirits….Never cease—we are alive! We are verses of the same universes—We have the right to be everywhere…

There 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 of verses of silence.

The GrefShane come this way…They are not frequent folk to line these shorelines; however, they love the Sentinel and the Festival of Bridges—occurring every thirty years. And! The GrefShane watch no sweeping clocked hands or sun’s pitch or star travels across a darkened sky. They are existence and they happen when they are timed to form and to appear.

They stand beneath moon light and within the form of Draped One and their motion casts gentle designs into an easy night. Tall and short and large and small and gathered to hear the soft waves scatter across the shore and just beneath their feet—bare and warmed in the air of night.

They watch the shadows of bridge span and steel as wooden shapes pass underneath the towers of man, built when young species roamed earth-bound and the constructions of shapes and water passages filled the world—before the tearing days and summer’s song. A night bird cries and another winged one settles protected within thick tree grasses inside the shadows of the moon.

The large ones rise to surface and water gently swirls behind them. They are slow and sweet and strong inside a current they know as their reasons and their purposes inside the strength of their being strong and imagined as real.

They rise to meet the GrefShane— protectors of these moments-in-time and places-of-being simply life and nothing more or less. The River Manatee sleeps and its current survives.

And! Beautiful you are…

Mar 9 2013

Assistance-Called-Revolution…

Camera 360People must follow leaders only after these leaders have earned the peoples’ confidence. Leadership must correctly interpret the people’s needs—desires and aspirations—and fulfill all promises made to the people and their struggles toward collective freedom and determination… The dedication of the People will triumph over Capitalism’s tyranny!

Is Social Democracy a mixed economy? Is it a mixture of the inequality of today’s capitalism, progressive taxation, social benefits, and civil liberties? Does this work? Why the declined conditions of the Working Class? A minimum wage increase, in today’s environment of speculation-unregulated capitalism-employment-out-sourcing, does not follow. It is a quick purchase of the People’s right to a proper wage and the pursuit of family security. Are minimum wage increases better than a nothing extra kick?

Presently—the economic situations of capitalistic greed have caused inequalities of wealth, income and opportunities. The current practice of Social Democracy has failed. The inequalities of Capitalism are wonderful for the wealthy, however; the middle-class retains poor-to-poor portions of ‘we-the-people’ and are worse-off in this financial cesspool comically mentioned as Labor verses the Welfare state.

Poverty is not a notion of any entertainment value. So; war is brought to us by the fantasy of television—cable news and newspapers brought to us by commercials and the Wealthy. Escape into the unreal reality of movies and sports and blah-blah-blah…When the People can no longer afford entertainment due to Hunger, revolution will happen in the ‘twinkling’ of their eyes.

Then appears radical changes required to re-distribute personal incomes, wealth, education, land, employment and maybe just after the blood-shed ceases; hope and a future for generations yet to come. Without these changes, socialist elements will always exist; and alway subordinate to the gross inequalities of capitalist elements.

Commodities and wages paid—equal the organization of production and the payment of labor. Any Social constructions under Capitalism such as; Social Security, Medicare, Welfare, Unemployment, Job-Training, etc. are financed by tax revenues extracted from the Workers and taxes paid by the purchases of these commodities.

Additional taxes—if not hidden—are extracted from profits. Those ‘hidden profits’ are called taxes not paid through tax avoidance (illegally-legal) in a capitalistic social structure…

Basic services and ‘welfare’ measures are dependent on the dynamics of a healthy capitalist sector and a strong tax base—Maybe the Workers of the World? Only thru a profitable and corruptible government growing rich, may a Social Democratic entity deliver ‘necessary goods’ to the People?

Damned therefore, is the ability of anything recently called a ‘Social Democratic government’ to reference socialism or to remotely shape a class structure. The practice of Democratic Socialism in the USA is inherently self-destructive.

If it attempts to redistribute any form of wealth it threatens to destroy the engines of a corrupt capitalistic-wealth-creation and greed maintenance government. Without true socialism the workers of the world always lose and remember… Socialism does not destroy the concept of individuality.

Is the time for Revolution near?

And! Beautiful you are…

Mar 3 2013

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…

Feb 28 2013

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

Feb 24 2013

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…