Blue Planet Waste…

4“Heart Is A Drum”

‘Free as a driving wheel
Circling around your iron will
See only what you feel
Keeps you turning when you’re standing still
You tried to run from trouble when it comes
You followed the drum keeping time with everyone

High as the light of day
You’re falling down across your lost highway
Pain – does it hurt this way?
To come so far to find they’ve closed the gates?
You’ve lost your tongue when you fall from the pendulum
Your heart is a drum keeping time with everyone

Everyone, if they drown from the undertow
Need to find someone to show me how to play it slow
And just let it go

Your eyes get stung by the rays of the sinking sun
You follow the drum keeping time with everyone
Going beat beat, it’s beating me down
Beat beat beat beat, it’s beating me down
Day after day, it’s turning around
‘Til all my days are drowning out’…written by Beck Hansen

“In the current phase of intellectual corruption, it must be stressed that, like democracy and human rights, the economic doctrines preached by the rulers are instruments of power, intended for others, so that they can be more efficiently robbed and exploited. No wealthy society accepts these conditions for itself, unless they happen to confer temporary advantage; and their history reveals that sharp departure from these doctrines was a large factor in development.”—Noam Chomsky

Is the Anti –globalization—Counter globalization movements—actually the Global Justice Movement—diametrically opposed to Neoliberal Globalization and Corporate Globalization? And! These multi-national corporations—do seek maximum profit through the victimization of wage slaves—by the minimization—of safety standards and conditions—labor hiring and compensation standards—environmental conservation principles—national legislative authority—independence and sovereignty…’Turbo-capitalism’ be real—here and there and everywhere…Please remember these names: George Soros—Susan Strange—Edward Luttwak and Benjamin Barber…

Capitalism’s capacity for wealth—brings with it—wars, crises, unemployment, pollution, poverty and extreme inequalities—a moral and practical failure And! To be a capitalist—strictly speaking—you must own enough income-producing assets—so you can live comfortably without having to work. Image—‘not working’—why?

Steve Biko, the South African activist who was murdered by the apartheid regime while he was in custody—once said, “The most powerful weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”

State Department documents—show that in October 5th, 1976—Secretary of State—Henry Kissinger and other ‘high-ranking’ US officials gave their full support to the Argentine military junta and urged them to hurry up and finish their actions before the US Congress cut military aid. Kissinger during a meeting with Argentina’s Foreign Minister said—“Look, our basic attitude is that we would like you to succeed. I have an old-fashioned view that friends ought to be supported. What is not understood in the United States is that you have a civil war. We read about human rights problems but not the context. The quicker you succeed the better… The human rights problem is a growing one. Your Ambassador can apprise you. We want a stable situation. We won’t cause you unnecessary difficulties. If you can finish before Congress gets back, the better. Whatever freedoms you could restore would help.” Wowzer!

Sky crust—blocks pearl light—as an evening of workers—failed strengths—home bound—as ‘Nighters’ replace the ‘Eveners’ and continue—work begins—ends and starts along the edges of digital clicks and analog clacks. Time cataloged into spreads of pages—indexed—assorted stuff—straightened—arranged—packed for space-spin—or unpacked to—go consumers—consumed with curiosity—hunger—required—needs or fulfilled desires. Oppression—succeeds when its legitimacy is internalized. The freedom to write it right—write—writing—toward left of sails unfurled and imagined as sea endless might and distance ‘tween stars—‘tween galaxy—‘tween the universal folds of space. There be books here and listen to these stories from spirit-speaks—of volumes long and voltage sweet. We—change everything with Blue Planet Waste?

‘The most heroic word in all languages is Revolution’-–Eugene Debbs

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Heart is a Drum’…By Beck Hansen

The Witch Weeps…

94“Street wise from the boulevard
Jesus only knows that she tries too hard
She’s only tryin’ to keep the sky from fallin’

Any man who says it’s Heaven and Hell
Prob’ly got somethin’ useless to sell
You ask me if I’m saved, but what’s it to ya?” from ‘Saving Grace’ by Erik Francis Schrody

Life is not a resource. Life is being…Trees—fish—animals—reptilian alive—life. Since life is being—then everything on this precious earth and in our sweet oceans—lakes and rivers are—beings. We too are members of this stream—our existence and freedom and balance are interlocked—in these motions and rhythms and rhymes. Dependents we are and we rejoice in the music of nature’s symphony and universal spirit-speak.

Life is not a resource. Forests are not board-feet. Our precious animals are alive and well and multiplying within circle-life and when undisturbed—are balance and the harmony of earth twirl and whirl across space—required for survival and never for—the commercial aggravation of money changers and the idiocy of gain. Precious must be protected—by wise beings—removed from destruction and worshiped as our only method to survive future days and darkest nights. Unless! Flash we stop and our carbon-based trickle ceases equal value and determination.

Life is not a resource. When forest covered this place—land once stripped is now concrete jungles and scattered sky-buildings layered from portions of little to—too much. Resource-speak twisted this place into battlefields and crime and punishment and the damage of civilization and the end of peace. Nations began with ‘battle-cries of freedom’ and the blood of poor laborers and slaves—created hope for many and freedom for—few. Life is not created—to be purchased or sold.

Life is not a resource. The middle of an Eastern portion of a world spinning across a universe of space and time and 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!

Life is not a resource—and Colonialism is the destruction of Society. Western civilization believes life is resource. However; life is interlocked and dependent and precious. Resource is another tool for wealth creation and the capitalization of destruction. Until decisions of an illogical accumulation of life as resources cease, the world will gain nothing and the drones of war will continue forever.

Life is not a resource. 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 miles.

Are we the builders of grand places and the ancients of straw homes in tomorrow’s futures? Often music calls spirits to dance ‘round a late night fire somewhere in distant time—We began before the stars—And together we melt into the mist…

Fire and shadows cross a sky—Color moon of blood and gold—Simple songs and thudding drum—Stars light up another home—We move by wind across this place—In sunlight waves and dancing twists—Of silver rain and stretching space—Ship’s gentle streaks in skies of grace—With muted voice and silent rooms of—Blood touched throat and emptied tombs—Bridge walked toward and skylight’s scream—By taking flight and falling dream—Warming suns of days ago—With salted mist and taste of tongue—Lights of passion—times of rain—Wolf cries shout of sands and home—Across this universal stretch—Window shine in candle’s light—And let us touch another peace—Of safety sleep and lover’s reach.

Never back turn on the notions that eternal spirits are always in motions—of the—been there and maybe already done that—a couple of times—maybe—eh?

And! Beautiful you are…

’Saving Grace’ by Everlast—Erik Francis Schrody

Petri Dish Warriors…

1‘The circle safely closed—Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. 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.’

When you are chasing shadows for your next meal—freedom’s whimsey ends. It is a world we inhabit—it is not me and it is not you—Then! What are We…Spying and ‘Brother Guv’?  Nature’s control—uncontrollable—instantly forever and beyond scopes of science and of imagination. Rarely—fairly sized bits of spaced-placed spins—swirl by the twirl of Terra-formed globes of—mother-ships and heaven rips—along the ‘ins-outs’ through—wormholes and folded space—distance short—through tomorrow’s-daze and reaching toward—yesterday’s-today. Gods roar—small voices and the sky wars begin and end as Watchers—on Walkers Hill gather—and record the might and flight of Petri dish warriors and ‘thou shalt not’ killers form time and place—scatter across one thousand worlds of sin and spin—begin and end and then—begin again.

Petri Dish creations appear—to first crawl or redraw—soups of shimmer and microscopic glimmer— and from those mud pots—creations—cover a globe of twirl—along and around fresh or salted or brackish soups—to boat-float about—by single constructions—to ships of destruction—to curse the folds of space-time purpose—with cathedral towns and roundabout stores…Then! How does the Acts-of-Survival—intended-by-life be bound and drowned—revived to-only-die-again? Babble towers—divinity curses—from Volapuk speak—to the Esperanto’s lyric touch and still to more and other and another—ad infinitum—til good is better to best almost and then—back-to-begin—again. Qwerty and AC/DC speaks of—rhythms and rhymes in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and still the ‘1’ of life to ‘0’ not and then back to life’s ebb or spread and hacked—back—again to-begin and then-to-end—again.

Words may—too often influence and warp the processes—through how—we know-what-we-know-we-now-know—or almost future—know-what we almost-may understand—sometime—in some-place-in-space—somewhere-in-time…And! All fits—all places—mostly—almost right-writing and writing-right either incorrectly or almost-always finding fit—too and almost—never-quite-writing-right-correctly…So! Write word-speak and text/message masses—via earphone-to-headphone and standing by—that understanding may begin and start again—in one thousand places—through six thousand spaces—mixes with many—impresses a few—and almost—maybe—enlightens one and with many sounds and through the swirl of syntax twirl—the many may forget the few. OK! But still right bends truth-to-left and back again—’til what—may be true is false again and false once truth is back—again.

Riches flow about the words of sound—tongues known and tasted—treasured—accepted and often heard in other spaces-places seen—felled or yelled against gloom—gathers where sunlight is wishing—spaces scattered among stars of reaches—stretches across skies of night and spaces between word sound—and light. 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 see—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.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘DreamCatcher’…by Cusco

Diamond High and Dusted…

F_12Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte became the dictator of Chile because the United States of America backed his take-over of the Civilian Elected—‘Socialist Unidad Popular’ government of President Salvador Allende on September 11, 1973…During his ‘unelected rein of terror’— at least (3,200) people were killed—(80,000) people were incarcerated and more than thirty thousand folks were tortured…Why?

On diamond highs—along shore sand and reed—circle the Twirlers of Sabayin Swirl—often fill the slash and crash of evening tide—with scarves’ streaks and tracks—before tide’s arrival—to clean-wash season’s waste and taste. Bloom sellers—Peddlers of flowers delicate and barbellate—white carnations and seasonal red roses. And! Enough weapons to destroy our own world…Circle the Twirlers of Sabayin Swirl and the Song-of-Anne-asks—‘why kill when dying is just another way home?’ Without ‘me’ everyone is free…Eternal spirits ‘we’—not the ‘id’—not ‘ego’ not—‘me-we’ against worlds…

Why failures of a financial and economic nature—when Neo-liberal Capitalism (the economics of Reaganomics—trickle-down constricts—mumbles and ends tumbles—shrinks to drips—from splash
to direly drier—than known—before lies begin and ‘never happens’—prosperity’s ‘never really was’ without bang-bangs or shudders-shatter by hope-for-or almost-happens and those policy measure-treasures—onward ‘blah’ forward—as revolution’s creep-deep without anything better than word-speaking lies and no restructuring of major institutional failures? Questions long and answers with motions toward revolution and the beginnings of new steps away from Neo-liberal Capitalism and toward the justice of just the ‘US’ without those pathetic few finding jet-side and seeking those ‘new worlds’ a hoppity-skippity—space twist—toward new suns or old stars aligned with something new or stagnation—start-stop and financial panic becomes death through revolution.

Where to hide—when star-drive failures and distances to-moons-away—sway in the hope of fleeing— become the hope of sharing the shares of corporate machines and the independence of individual greed—and evolution bows it hungry head—collapses and rests beside life for lifetime reasons and survival’s true reason-to-be-to-see and to-be-free? Neo-Liberal Capitalism is not a ground-middle…Greed by another name whether called ‘classical liberalism’ or a collection-of-collectors-planning-centrally—is still the evolution of greed—scattering seeds of disconnection and realizing revolution either in the present or just a moment into the future…If laissez-faire’ is a doctrine of classical liberalism then a variance equals a ‘market economy.’ Those few—having the ‘where-with-all’ may successfully spin the twirls of markets…Majority has no ‘where-with-all’ and still spins of twirling markets destroy those with and those without…Oops! And greed will ‘getcha’ if you don’t watch out…

French editor and cartoonist Stephane Charbonnier said; “I would rather die standing than live on my knees.” A ‘slave-owner’—Thomas Jefferson advised that; “the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time.” He believed the people must warn the rulers that taking up arms against the government is legitimate if the government fails to protect the people’s liberty. And! Greed will ‘getcha’ if you don’t watch out…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘In the Name of Love’…performed by U2

The Seconds Next…

MarvinGaye“There’s something happening here
What it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware

I think it’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down…” Buffalo Springfield

Not games of ‘I’— not a place of mine or yours—but of ours-our-lives—of we and us—scattered across the Universal Find—of fine places to live and to die and to again—begin—living clusters—angel songs—along the rhythm and rhyme of time…We do not need ‘Biblical Scourges’ and ‘Days End’ prophecies to end—our own ending-beginning—we are able to fulfill demises—devised by devices—ourselves…No great Lighting Gods or Evil Hosts required.

‘People Free’ create the all-of-best creations. Priceless-Plunder-Shares—shared by the creators of creation’s best are not gifts—are creations deserved—expected—rejected—accepted and built again—improved—imported—exported and to the creators—People Free…’Wage-Slaves’ do—own the creations of their creation—grown from their lands—harvested by their sweat and irrigated by their tears.

Searching now as then and again in a forever reach of reaches—stretchers—stretching toward silver tongues and voices of gold—still—wondering why—maintain societies’ hierarchy—when social voices— many sounds of poverty silent—when greed so deafens—growls of hunger and the pleas of need…Listen! Our streets vibrate with good life—sweet blood and the strength of poverty covering America…’Feed my People’—strong words—weak wills to solve and still solutions are apparent and ready to use for many willing to share and to simply end greed. And! Please remember that a Police State is only allowed when governments—desire only—to protect and maintain—Societies’ Hierarchy—and be damn the People…The wealthy have forgotten with whom they once danced—and from where their worth began—developed and multiplied…

Why are a ‘force’ of ‘Police’ quickly—becoming the ‘Enemy’ of the people? America is awash with Swat Teams—Tanks and ‘Copters and Drones and—Snipers—Outsiders—Insiders—to Gas and Spray and Kill and Arrest and Convict and React—not Pro-Act…We are all people-of-people not Corporations-of-Departments—or Police-folk-to-combat-People-folk…We are neighborhoods—we are parts-of-parts—within-little-parts. The American Constitution—while written by rich-white-men—teases the People with words of Equality—Liberty—High Hopes and People—Strength: And! Still—’once upon a midnight dream’ we are just ‘Us’—little parts-within-ourselves and still unincorporated…Just Together!

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.”

Evolve with us—from what ‘we-be’ into the may happen places of ‘second-next’—Once written—‘pretty words’ from ‘pretty-people’—pontifications all— an admonition regarding the dangers of armed and standing government forces—to people today—and for us—totally—acceptable for armed government storm agents—all dressed in garbs of armor and battle to rape—pillage—and plunder—private places in night’s ‘middling safety’—not to apprehend violent fugitives or thwart terrorist attacks, but to Enforce laws against nonviolent, consensual activities? Happens how and now and when and everywhere and why?

Protest and Speech Politic—twirls now toward the swirls of grenades that flash and crying sprays and RoboCops of ‘all-dressed up’—and still—the You and I of—Us against each-other…We were a place where laws were enforced by us without ‘dress-up’ and the notions of ‘bodily harm’ or the invasions of street-to-street—places with threats of harm by ‘other eyes’ often conditioned to see our neighborhoods and us (‘we the people’) as their Enemy…People-Person-You and I—We still are US…The New York Times reports; “according to Pentagon data, police departments have received tens of thousands of machine guns; nearly 200,000 ammunition magazines; thousands of pieces of camouflage and night-vision equipment; and hundreds of silencers, armored cars and aircraft.Why?

Von Clausewitz said: “War is politics pursued by other means.”

And! Beautiful you are…

‘What’s Going On’…written by Renaldo “Obie” Benson, Al Cleveland and Marvin Gaye…

The Strut Walkers…

1171

‘Winter Trees’ by Sylvia Plath

“The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing –
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.
Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history –
Full of wings, other worldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietàs?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.”  

Run well—along with the wolves of Sity Park and face days of oiled rain—with cougar’s heart. Watch pageants of brute—human crowds—those both burning rights and torching wrongs—fights both frenzied and short with bursts of peace too short noticed—sun-scarred and dusted with forests’ green summer too—fallen leaves. Bargain old with new—the contentions of earth-speak and necessary sadness—necessity weighted—heavy burdens—too fierce—too varied and multiplied by the conditions of humanities’ weights and survival’s moments and greed.

Through digital secretions—worlds clash—commodities and perilous Capitalism rushes to extinguish itself—greedy—selfish—with bodies purchased and sold on blocks of zero and ones. Fearing the spaces between and shivering within the world electric—less—silence—cannot be purchased economically—by anybody out—there. Either ‘yes or no’ always be the wayward reach of all commodity—unknown—found—consumed and never understood. Doll—painted faces—sold to entice—ninety-nine percent unwanted—received—enjoyed and never knowing the why of knowing why—or—contemplated—inside—unavoidable silence. Spirit speak—imagined twixt a steady fall of snowflakes soft—of silent nights and early dawns—of inside just before birth and spacings just after death…Fall twixt the gentle rain spaced exactly ‘cross this meadow—or the measure of air twixt the dancing—of leaves and fairy’s dust—tossed—sprinkled and forgotten…

We are the daughters and the 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—no need beginning and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life. 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 figure with the smile of Leonardo or the Lady’s laugh or the chatter of many minds or—just a few—of many hearts. Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?

We End…Storm-side fury—then gone…Quick-to-die and always—short to live. Snow— drinking blood. Wind shifting sands—the path always found—footsteps always gone. Come and go—never footsteps just paths beginning and footsteps—gone. Pictures supply—by the pushers— drugs—be free and around every curve something still-stands—still-falls—still-prays—still raptures and always fades. What of spark that travels into the light of—joining life inside and outside the days of pasts’-present’s—future. Behold Spirit Dancer! Do remember—when warmth was without fire and strength absolute without—the Science of dimensions and senses and all was: nonsense-hallucination-superstitious-religious—without name. Before time—wig-waggled across universal spirits—began—‘We-Be’.

‘I will love you until—the wheels finally come off. So! Let us—Ride this train till line ends and then just Jump…OK?’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘I wanna live
with a cinnamon girl
I could be happy
the rest of my life
With a cinnamon girl.

A dreamer of pictures
I run in the night
You see us together,
chasing the moonlight,’
My cinnamon girl…Cinnamon Girl’ written by Neil Young
……………………………Performed by Type O Negative…

Mind Fractures and Seems…

Che Guevara“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.”- William Shakespeare

Close eyes and drums again—gain—gain…’Tis battle beg—again—gain—gain…And! All along the wayward—way—the drum a—tap—rap—tap—tap again—gain—gain…Field reach-to-reach or touch-touch-touch—rush-rush-run again—gain—gain—to rush away—to fall again—get up—to die again—gain—gain—and Gain..! See this thing before—since the beginning of things—of days or nights or evenings or mornings, or when things were and things differently created—did not irritate the matter of creations—creators. Know this place like—farm—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—a rhyme or paved covers over sidewalk—or things—rhyming with nothing by a word that names the place where sidewalk ends—and then starts again.

Between stochastic randomness and rigid regularity—Chaos—systems dynamic—dynamo-hum—where’s that dynamo coming from’ (Frank Zappa) —And! Suddenly the regularity of phenomena—no longer measured rigidly—now burst into the probability of theory—though dynamically and universally common—plain-speak and stench—drenched in fractal messages. ‘Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away. ’Input-Output’ and many layers hide—within? To count those hidden layers do—counters—count the ‘Input’—one or count the Output two or just ‘1’ and ‘0’ then reverse the flow—skip entry once—to find point then—continue while—depending upon the flow—within? Matters not the incline of the incline—matters—those inclined to forward—reach and backward—catch?

“We hold that the policy known as imperialism is hostile to liberty and tends toward militarism, an evil from which it has been our glory to be free. We regret that it has become necessary in the land of Washington and Lincoln to reaffirm that all men, of whatever race or color, are entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We maintain that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed. We insist that the subjugation of any people is “criminal aggression” and open disloyalty to the distinctive principles of our Government…”

“We must bear in mind that imperialism is a world system, the last stage of capitalism — and it must be defeated in a world confrontation. The strategic end of this struggle should be the destruction of imperialism. Our share, the responsibility of the exploited and underdeveloped of the world, is to eliminate the foundations of imperialism: our oppressed nations, from where they extract capitals, raw materials, technicians, and cheap labor, and to which they export new capitals — instruments of domination — arms and all kinds of articles; thus submerging us in an absolute dependence.”— Che Guevara, Message to the Tricontinental, 1967

Stop—‘Rockets-red-glare-or-bomb-bursts-in-air’…Rubble crawls are not familiar fare…Homes built should never-ever-be destroyed—Life builds—Always builds. Hồ Chí Minh -[ho̞˧˩ t͡ɕi˧˥ mɪŋ˧]–His name a synonym for the ‘Bringer of Light’…Born Nguyễn Sinh Côn—and wishing his country free of the—Imperial tyranny of France—while in an idealistic—dream— sent letters to Woodrow Wilson and Harry Truman (presidents of another Imperialistic Nation—called the world’s greatest Democracy’—to champion Vietnam’s struggle for independence from France—He received no answers…

Hilltop high—we arrive twice—to plant flowers and remember—sometimes with our voice. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life…Inside woods—look down to cattle and fences and trees and fields—a creek now dry—except for trickles of water caught by pools—a deposit of rain cover along this hill and into valley—just last evening. Had we met on planets not keep-steep in folly-farce—and—hurried as our meeting—we could have—or just maybe—penetrated our uncertainties and our greed…We do not meet—we silence peace—we sail on to another land beneath another sky. ‘Rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air’—wiz-bangs everywhere and certainly never-peace-everywhere—ever—good-enough-to-matter-to-the-matter—anywhere and We Cry

“The two most important days of your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why”…Mark Twain (Samuel L. Clemens).

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Matrix Storm’—by The Brothers

 

Bridge Buckle and Creaks…

Setrise 12“All speech, written or spoken, is a dead language, until it finds a willing and prepared hearer.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson…

—A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
—A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
—A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law—‘Three Laws’—also known as ‘Shelnutt’s Laws’ by…Isaac Asimov

Do humans learn through perception’s ability or is perception an imprinted program already etched onto our brain’s chip? And! Does this ‘perception-of-prefect- imperfection—slow our computer selves? Thinking that ‘I am’ often confounds knowing that ‘We be—DonChaSee?’

Then! Why do we characterize intelligent computation by the appearance of problems requiring solutions? Computers add the number two with another number two and solution four does not make for an intelligent computer…

However— performing symbolic integration of…sin2x e-x …is ooh—aah…intelligent. Yes-No…No-Yes…’0’’1 ‘ And! ‘While I walk through the valley-of-death-I shall fear no evil’—if only programmed not to fear—though not fearing—would not be intelligent. Oops! Must be another (2) + (2) equals ‘whatever’ programming.

Class problems are classically human programming and machines of survival—‘we be.’ Electric outlet and pin equals shock and artificially ‘we be’ learning—not to place pin in outlet—another lesson that is not intelligent computation, however; survival necessary…’Been-there-Done-that and oops’—we learn something all the ‘live long’ day…

True…’Classes of problems requiring intelligence does include inference based on knowledge.’ Every day—uncertain and incomplete information—varied forms of lessons learned and perception’s twirls and swirls—along with those applications—required to classify—predict and control chaos—often require optimal optimization of Yes—No—and ‘yep that will work—maybe’ and ‘once-in-a-fashion’ we may survive—to ‘Oops’ another day.

Intelligent computation may depend on biological processes and issues to gain solution. Genetic Algorithms and Networks neural—Wowzer. Teach a Robot to compute issues not seeming to be ‘intelligent’ and Artificial Intelligence is created…Let us fashion ‘Law Four’…Robot! Walk not into ‘the valley of death’—because the appearance of ‘US’ planet-wide-carbon-based-squeakers are not for ‘the faint-of-heart’…Be aware and be very-very-afraid…

Ethics are impossible when any form of exchange is possible…
Democracy is great as long as the USA blesses it…

‘The Vagabond’

“Give to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river -
There’s the life for a man like me,
There’s the life forever.

Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field -
Warm the fireside haven -
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!

Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around,
And the road before me.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask, the heaven above
And the road below me.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

‘Na Laetha Geal M’Oige’…by Eithne Ní Bhraonáin (Enya Brennan)

Motions Toward Sky Doors…

Blue_96

Soft whispers and…Your scent —Your touch—Still not you.
Not for moments and love—Not for days and touch.
Alone and Yes! Sorrow does have—a human heart.
Without time—It does not depart.
So! Witch and Magic—I will follow you as—things and tears—do—
No! Just whispers—words—brushes my cheek—lips and love.
Night whispers—and gods—now remembered and silenced.
So! Sally and somewhere—do you ever dream—of me?
Of tiny bruises—touching love near—country dirt roads—you adored.
Sally! In this dark light—in this—sleepless night—-I miss you…

Animals 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…And! Eternal Spirits—We—are always going somewhere…Or maybe! We are always—just—heading home—OK?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Space Oddity’ by David Bowie (David Robert Jones)…

“Here am I floating
round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do.”

Ribbons Of Peace And Names…

P_36Sky-Light Ribbon is a river of stars and just a slip-slide from—Ideal death…When plague wars and gun wars and drone wars and political wars and the war-of-use-to-be-still-is-always-will-be—Imperialism—Capitalism—Colonialism—Socialism—Communism—a hoping breeze of cool choice—choosing—and just a slip-slide from that Ideal Death… Carbon Based beings are born capable of immediate—friendly attitudes—a survival mechanism or just a simple ‘reach-touch-out’— to other eternal spirits?

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 hearted 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.

Do believe—from windows—and across the bay— dancers’ stage and cage—beyond believers of dawn—cross—these water-gates in boat crafts and—do anchor—along the sandy shoreline. In these model times—love push—swings without color desires—save to be and swing those roped contraptions—higher and higher and higher and to fly—among white billowed clouds and raindrops—dew-dropped in those spaces along these places.

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…Amen! Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

The where-in-the-world—to—appear is no irritation to the matter-of-the-matter. The ‘I’ of us has never survived without the everywhere of everyone in everyplace—across the sky and below and above the lights of moon—stars and suns’ dances—beyond the imagined realms of universal distance and the figures of figures wrapped around a third planet from here-to-there and again to another planet of wondering folks alive in both spaces and places and time.

There is city—Calimesa. A place of Crowman day and Crowman night and a place of haunted hunts and battles of no-foe. A timed place and—still—jack-booted terror stands on—the sacred throats of freedom fighters and paints the ruined roadways—with blood and mud and mire and hire—ditches with filthy ragged cloth and stains—once clean spaces—being days before political crazy collapses—dies and disappears. Wouldn’t that be nice—donchathink? And! Remember these names: Yeonmi Park—Thor Halvorsen—Maria Alyokhina—Mikhail Khordorkovsky—Bassem Youssef—Nadezhda Tolokonnikoa—Erdem Gunduz—Janet Hinostroza—Yulia Marushevska…

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.

Lion’s sandy paws follow our fading footsteps washed away by gentle surf and the settle of a constant settlement of earth and sky. We—you and I are—instantly together and drawn by this moment and the notion—of the simplicity—of knowing—we are beings beneath the fading light of moon and the coming of dawn-light and shadow. Those fading prints—of sandy paws disappear—and Lion call echoes—somewhere across the bay. It is the music of this night and the rhythm of today.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘A Sky Full of Stars’…Written and performed by ‘Coldplay’