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

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

Wing Sounds And Silence…

Drop“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

Spirit is in this world…It doesn’t belong to it. It does not belong to the illusory world of matter and of time. Spirit maybe the spark of antimatter firing sparkles… Without a spark of antimatter called ‘Spirit’ nothing called a— human being could have evolved into what ‘It’ is today? This special spark is uncreated—divine and may begin through the touch—of an ‘Unknowable Kingdom’—Muse—Enlightenment—Genius—Anger—Thrill—Joy–Wonder—Magic and….Creative energies maybe Creative Spirits…With the beginning of Christianity—the existence and essence of—Man—were three entities—Body and Soul and Spirit…Both—Saint Paul and Saint Augustine believed this to be Truth…However—future Councils and through the decisions of Pope(s) and the Roman Catholic Church—what remains for us (we the masses) —are the Body and the Soul and other Ghosts—Outsiders…What happened to Spirit? Has Spirit conveniently—disappeared?

Stand beneath moon light —and above-the-form of Draped Ones and cast motions—gentle designs across this easy night. Be tall—be short—be large—be small and gather to hear the—soft waves scatter ‘cross shore and land beneath feet—bare or fur-covered—both—warmed in the air of night and safe inside the darkness of this easy night. Watch the shadows of bridge span and steel as wooden shapes pass underneath the towers of man—created 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.

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 and real. The River Manatee sleeps and its current survives. Life is—without color and as important as survival’s Gravity…Love is—without gender and—must be universally shared by everyone alive…And! The Witch Smiles…

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 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 the many sounds of poverty silent—when greed deafens—growls of hunger and the pleas of need—in the Mystic— ‘Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave?’ Protest and Speech Politic—twirls now toward the swirls of grenades that flash and crying sprays and Robocop of ‘all-dressed up’—and still—the You and I of—Us against each-other…We are 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’  conditioned to see our neighborhoods and us (‘We the People’) as their Enemy…People-Person-You and I—We still are…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘From the Beginning’…by Emerson, Lake and Palmer

From The Beginning

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

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

 

An Earth of Outs…

7‘Karl Marx considered capitalism to be a historically specific mode of production (the way in which the productive property is owned and controlled, combined with the corresponding social relations between individuals based on their connection with the process of production) in which capitalism has become the dominant mode of production. The capitalist stage of development or “bourgeois society,” for Marx, represented the most advanced form of social organization to date, but he also thought that the working classes would come to power in a worldwide socialist or communist transformation of human society as the end of the series of first aristocratic, then capitalist, and finally working class rule was reached.’ Stages—and—wages—and—cages—Oh my!

If Earth Outs—wish destruction—mankind—stop everyone—from being—sparks—of—creation—for—our children…And! The end of body human begins…Not with shifts of fantasy— arrays—preys and delivery—too soon-to-end-begin—-and—end-again? Robots be—forever we—and carry the wary—protecting little ones—without self-worry or worth…Without them—we do not fail—we do not wail—we disappear—with no learning—yearning or memory—left behind the matter-or-this-matter. We touch hands—and on these autumn shores—our eyes—pupil-wide—to—gather moonlight and star-dusted smiles—die and nothing remains…So! Take—to heaven—to hell—Beam—up—away we go!

They arrive—and suicide—begins the end of civilization. We are—world-colony—and use—stop and start and stagger—another Earth diminishes before—new illumination and enlightenment. They strip—bare—ground—quicker than we—consume—our way across-planet-sides. Off-World—Ones—devour—sour—our own—too many—our ownership—of—slaughter—our—mother-world and the failure—of protection—insignificantly—significant. These fools and folly of off-world—end—our only way to continue. They fail—to see their vision fade—into star-stream and moon-dust. They remove—our Love…

So! Come then—damned angels of death—and test us—deep in—wooden belief—in victory-scatter—across worlds—not seen and never known. Do not—longer—wait—damned spacer. We will meet each of your substitutes—head-on and with fine swords—and—endless firing—with necessary death—sings-shrieks—all along these towers—these homes—these beaches—these reaches—and—far—beyond these seas. You—select—places toward spaces—where—we die. We will dance with—dragons and—happily die. War against a—now visible—foe is—good war and—death against—tyrant is—good death. Pick carefully—this world—change with simple death—-and our—slight chance to win. Take— our babies—into—your heavens.

There is a rear door that guides—toward—another Column Room. Tessie—likes—purple scarves and dotted cloth. Jona likes—go-hide-places-on and other rooms—off—big column and down—darker halls. No one comes here—except Crowman and those ones—the Hurts. And! Not so many of them around—not—since last rains. Crowman—never worries about the timing—of this—because—he has never known time.

‘I have seen this thing before, to no one but the Hurts and they listened 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.’

Crowman stands on—eternal legs and starts down—the ‘hoppity-skippity’ road. He stops—the Hurts join him. He skips toward them—they skip toward him. He turns—and—a little light flicks just skips in front of him. A little flitting light of sparkle and little else. From—eternal mind he sings—words—a short sighing melody—nothing else. “Beret, and when — not much mmm-more.”

Little Tessie through a small hole between her front teeth whispers, ‘Butterfly…’ No question, not statement, not fact not…not ‘Almost a Crowman!’ ‘I know this!’ ‘We Know!’ ‘I know—this Sparkle!’ ‘Know Spark!’

Then Butterfly whispered: ‘This is this line—I have waited and watched and wanted and needed and loved you since Day’s End. 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—not this time.

‘Angel?— Nope… Gone?— Naw…With Us?—Naw…Then Gone OK?—Why—Nope…Then?‘

Angel touches—angel and—angel touches—the angel….Light—touches—light and Crowman almost knew a nothing or something that did not—matter the matter—or—irritate the matter. Light smiles and yes—Tessie—Angels do smile.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘What did you do in the War, Dad?’…by Sonata Arctica