Of Elephants and Peanuts and Hay…

C_2Christ’s conception—wiz-bang—through Sky God to Earth Woman is a curious ‘why?’ Holy Triad—Father-Son-Spirit—and Star-Beings always need Earth’s Women-Folk to wiz-bang into fleshy-form—WOW? Required question mark is huge and the reason is another Novel…The Socialist teachings of Jesus and his group of many—are True—”Do unto others as you would have others do unto you”—Good-Better-Best?…Twist and Bop through religion’s gov…into just another control of Capitalism—”Do unto others before they do unto you”…Pay your people in peanuts and become a new Billionaire…In this world of Circus and Show—elephants do require more than peanuts to survive—donchathink?

Hope: When the brain envisions humanities’ finest moments…Love and Peace and Touch and Trust…No charges or gains or losses—Flashes between the realities of reality and those sweet spaces just an instant before lips touch as co-mingled breath warms the cold evening air.

Hope: A rational response to rational insanity. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star ship passing between light-speed and arrival—silently appear. When everyone—everywhere and in all places between sky and ground realizes what we do not have does not mean anything…

Hope: Feeling color through both the eyes and with our fingers. Hearing a lover’s voice touch our heart before substance becomes words of meaning or reason or another notion. Or when silence—completely fills all senses with thunder and noise and music and notes chaotic or symphonic simplicity as duality ceases and singularity melts into universal unity and truth.

Hope: When the you of me becomes a never enemy mine and boarders between living and dying fade away as the greed of destruction destroys the greedy nations of earth-sky and the trade of imbalanced balance earth-ceases and decreases the rich or the poor or the education of stupidity or…the ad infinitum of better-me-than-you-god-meaner-than-your-god or…my way and your way is not a direction apart—instead; just another direction…

Hope: Are we not all travelers scattered across someplace-somewhere? We are not timed or blessed or wonderful or gifted or fortunate or meant-to-be a ‘something else’ without a price-tagged-branded-commodity of enhanced—steroidal—surgically modified—blast of cartoon fashion or lip-stick mouths—pouted and mounted on another pictured perfect and replicated glossy imitation of sport manned—model swish of a dish of corruption or a dash of hopeless fanatical fantasy.

A Different Hope: To all the people of our sweet twirl of a whirling world—We are not the names of branded folks and slaves to the wages of our filthy governments of violence and of infections by a thousand virulent religious markets scattered among the blood of people-speak. Those magical hands quickly fill with currency and the tongues of many, fear-spewed lies against people, creatively mingled among a thousand creative gods called too many names both feared and forgotten.

Not Forgotten: Is the love of man and the love of woman and of freedoms not divided by the capital of greed and the power of stalled legislation—an impotent executive branch—and a purchased judicial robe—incumbent and complete with sugar and a belief that all men are created through an equal mixture of both men and women—rich or poor and beyond the borders of a wherever boarder for non-reasons and never judged by the fallacies of color—big guns—atomic—and an eternal diatribe of isolation—individuality and Fear…

Planets Away: A World once existed where women would walk that planet in day/night safety and men did not know a word called ‘war’…Where love was love and force never existed…Wherever—Whatever—Was never called heaven or hell…A place where life belonged and life was good everyday…Heaven or Luck… No! We create worlds—we maintain worlds and we Love our Children—The Government of Gods are never required…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive’ by Darrell Scott—performed by Kappa Danielson


Sing Me—Song Life…

H_327Again 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.

Stands the man and watches the slow up and down of water’s edge out toward the line as sea touches sky and sky layers—stacked above vision quests and heart beats. He walks ground-fall—down among slabs of stone mined and shapes made—mortar-steel and rusted lines—scattered behind him until backward—falls statues of Heroes Twenty-Eight and crumbled monuments—of warriors once live and stories dead. Swindle Park is seven miles of hill—of cliff—of ruined edge and oiled dirt. West-end of October City and well above seashore’s trenched runes and dunes high sand reach—less now—removed-to-somewhere windless and quiet. Stands the man—cliff high above shorelines of oil and streaks of gray foam and canals of—current dead—collapsed stone walls and dust. Watcher he is and Speaker he has been—quiet now except…

He is Preacher Lost—Teacher of Cost…When forgetting purpose—his words bounce along ruin—places and echoes—with occasional truthspeak and rhythm. Almost hearing—is almost praying—is almost living—is almost dying and the sighing in his ‘wordspeak’ is devoted to once wind-times and bell-chimes and air without oily tears—fears and devotion. His is soft voice— slow to quicken—to rise and fall—once practiced—practical—moneyed-honey sweet and ability-able to earn salvation—bred—by those pretend gospels of man—Godspeak rhythms of love and hate and death and destruction from beyond the norms of sky-fall and cliffs high above seashore’s sand. Godspeak Destroys—However—Warriors pull triggers and push life-defying ‘live and let-die’ buttons…

Mumble-Tumbles across Swindle Park—’cross go—skies ago—as together and custom and life and speech and reason to think and thought and living and dying immediately stop…Reverses gone! Visions—homeward motions and little lights in windows at world’s ends or beginnings—extinguish and lost to never-light. Flashes light never-sky and star twinkle beyond layered sheets of gray-grayer and darkness without the twin-of-moons disappear—above earth-spin-sky-hide and die. Strip bare–ground and devour-quick ways around the planet one or two or three or… We—Worlders destroy our own—too many and our own—slaughter mother-world and failing to protect becomes insignificant. Mumble-Tumbles and Swindle Park is ‘falling down’.

Layers often diminish and the going inside wounds—cry for sweet peace. Peace—is never-last and leaves the day and by life’s end—flits ghost-shaped quickly across dream-side. Just before the worn die—worn smiles and body sighs—silence—more time and more and more and…Concert ends after air-breeder-body-stops then—ready Guide—Soul Breeder leaves behind damage—places of many names and Nemo travels ‘cross skies toward—-anywhere. Long sky visits or short sky freedoms—then trapped by anything and bang—bang—Sky-spirit drops and body stirs in good places. Then—born—star traveler sleeps in safe arms. And! Infant loved—is robbed of star knowledge and memories of past life and the future—memory of sleep and again… Primal-side begins in Mumble-Tumbles ‘cross Swindle Park.

The circle safely closed—the web building starts—the markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guide—folded into original shape— until it is—again required and opened to read and follow—’cross sky-bridge….Bang-Bang-Bang and let the game begin—again…‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine—Re-wind.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘It Was A Very Good Year’—written by Ervin Drake and performed by Frank Sinatra


Park of Echoes…

133“Well, won’t you lend your lungs to me?
Mine are collapsing
Plant my feet and bitterly breathe
Up the time that’s passing.
Breath I’ll take and breath I’ll give
Pray the day ain’t poison
Stand among the ones that live
In lonely indecision.” from ‘Lungs’… by Townes Van Zandt

We be ‘coming in’—right now and write-right there and here and when and where and… Ok? When alright is ‘right now said’ and done and placed in those put-away places—OK? We are the dreams of everything or more than less…It is not the riddle of life. It is the living of this day. We are not born to die. We are not created by accident or purpose or reason or rhyme. We are life and we rule universal spaces between drops of rain and among flakes of snow. Those coming of fire—of ice be—already here—be we—to stare—dare—be fair—fare together and come in and leave and together again begin and walk legendary ledges—to end….OK?

We spin just right—of whales with horns and the unicorns of ages ago and futures from earth. We spin inside the great shadows of tucked beneath suns-of-light and night and moon silver twirls upon the magnificence of between-times when drenched in golden dreams and diamond wolves of today’s-day-night. Not a middle riddle called Life…We! Middle-folk be—we crawl and walk and run—we swim—we fly-sky-high—we nude—with thumbs—we balanced—twin feet…We four of feet and strength and coated—no thumbs required—feathered—scaled—seas of twirl and swirl from coming in to ‘heading out’ or crawling back again—OK? All—Eternal Spirit—All the Time—Everywhere and Everything—OK? Alright-then-back-again—OK?

We have these Martian trails—Walked…Long before bombs turn soil red and chase air away from ground. We dance piper sounds between green cliffs of magic and the forever of Ever-lands. Gods smile and we; you and I— smile back and with the eternal energies of We—feed the land. We are the blood of substance—just for a little time and begin-again—we—as now and as then—ago.

We determine our own destiny—both as Spirits and as Blood and Spirited Flesh…Angry Gods do not exist. Angry men—matter little except to scrubs of scurry selves—being—just before the spirits of after-self and spinning matters-of-expression. Rude the kings and queens of foolish speak when angles fall toward earthbound- trivial-moments and gods ever-never—eternally require—any—explanation to live–be and ‘never-fear’ rules of angled angels. Fleshy Spirits—need not shepherds—we folk-of-fields-high—everyday graze—without fame—folly—fortune or blame.

‘What’s coming—round right now’…Move to an empty world? And! A place called America will still-kill in the name of Peace? Planet Protector—Is—Earth Destroyer? Religions—Governments—Regions—Flags—Banners—Controls—Causes—And! Pauses—Still; War and Rape is Murder—Grab a gun—A bomb—A tank—A chemical—Come by land or sea or air—No matter ’cause’—War and Rape is Murder…The Middle Home is Place…And! War is just a moneyed ‘slip-trip’…we die with every shot…One body slip-fall—we all slip-fall…Our sweet Middle Home slip-fall and more war—call? The great firing-killing-pointing—machine is again and again—We do hear our Angels sing—’Peace Now.’  Better to Fall In Love—Than to Fall In Battle… OK?

Angry men turn peace to war and gash—slash across another spin-of-earth. Battles disturb the strength of peace and the balance of life. We—as warriors—rattling-nothing. The ideas and ideals of war-speak are ‘Anti-life.’ Remove religions and governments and kings and queens!  Better-to-fall-in-love—not-to-fall-in-battle—OK?

And! Beautiful you are

‘Lungs’ by John Townes Van Zandt


World of Spirit Strong…

Song of Ukraine_12We drown—blood drawn—air capital spent—and forgotten save despair in the care of angels rare and the ‘Coming In’ time away from ‘bombs early light’ and the thrill-of-kill just before a time to come in from the cold and the end of sliver—shiver—write-rights and those spinners of gold just a few degrees above the freeze.

We combine those beings by many names. Technocrats and financiers and investors and politicians—poison the heirs-of-air and twist our worlds with formulas devotedly devoid of reason and passion and truth and a modern day reason to season today’s folly with yesterday’s almost maybe ‘may-have-been’ solutions and greed.

Our world is filled-to-brim with strength and spirit and bodies to work and pay—not a population of unemployable or  not insurable or unable to stable and clean swaths of dead highways—broken bridges—ruined miles of railway steel or peel the decay from City-sick and dying towns.

The distance between exact science and a hermetically sealed faith of notions and potions and the inclination of motivation—is the improbability of dreaming improbable things and the rare-dare of fare abundance with feast-found and devoured together—at-once and again…Aeolus and harps without finger touch—wind touches wires of copper and gold and silver—shimmers of cold sunlight—and starts the song—as wind carried notes cross—across fields turned—plow-broken and touched in powder snow frozen—driest air mix and sing-speak.

Altered Economic figures are sound-bites of lies and flies—must scourge—sour wastelands—rebellion touch and ‘excited financiers’ still image a world where corporations contribute little too—much needed tax as America’s politician twirl—spin—twin lies and towers of power fall—decay ensues… And! Still moving toward free markets as inequality and poverty and unrest move-most toward rebellion—antiquated or insane or just Greedy?

The Working Strength of the USA, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Cambodia, Russia, China, Libya, Ukraine, Thailand, Venezuela, Portugal, Spain, Greece, England and many more are a restless power—tired of the reality of unemployment—underemployment—poverty points-of-exclamation—and governments of impotency and the Greed-of-Destruction. Politicians and Technocrats and Investors and Financiers—what have you done to our fair Detroit?

Across this sweet world; the ancient realms of post war horrors—create those powers of ‘the-few-left-standing.’  Presently; the USA determines national interests. How? By destabilizing governments ‘elected by the people.’ (Intelligence Agencies and Proxy Groups)… Ukraine? Venezuela? Syria? Lebanon? Bring on the NSA-eh? How does the USA ‘create and strengthen’ brutal regimes? A US Congressional—approved program is used by the US military—’Foreign Internal Defense.’ Brutal Regimes…Once across South America—Iran and now in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Bahrain and ‘so-on and so-on—bah-boom-bah-boom!

This length of twine—that is followed by too many—to discover the end of one strand and again new threads in an ever growing tapestry covering world folly and rancor swift—to renew-new strife and re-spin controlling lies and hopelessness—forever twins of faithless taste and wasted twists of truth. Acting within—actions of disguise and discourse and recourse and renewal when greed needs-need-be and never enough—control whims of chaotic seams—seemingly able to fend destructive machines from those results of greedy governments and very few against the purest treasures—of women and men.

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Right Down the Line’—by Gerry Rafferty


Something Listed—Something Gifted…

T146“We took the blood of the earth
and fell in love with death
with life itself as an excuse

Black is the sunlight shimmering below;
it flows through life and the guilt we share

We’re hiding in chorus as starry eyes close,
and seasons part in farewell;
‘cause we drained her blood, then forgetting her face
to hide from everyone”…from ‘The Last Hour of Ancient Sunlight’

They paint—leave for ‘Coming In’ time. Neon glitter—shape-shifters-sighted-ones and blended against leafless limbs where standing trees fall and scatter across Viaduct’s—crumbled-tumbled stretches of stone tops—cream colored brick pieces and dust and rust and shadows of ruin or waste. Wheeled chairs race and wagons of faded reds and oranges and brown stripes with dull  yellow splash again blend and rend  groomed clones of oiled evening clouds and fading light as moons—of—three rise along earth line and spot shorelines before a greasy sea of salted rains without sounds and without life.

These are the ‘Coming In’ times. The ides of moments—ready flash and center of day to ready play and anticipate reason—discover—life does happen covalently or not—rejoice—-not to understand—or withstand—not to require and still OK…Momentum—drinks to spill—before air or fear—taste and waste rush before shriek-spear-kill where motion ends as hanging cloth covers wired thorns along ruined ditches of rain fill—flow from boot smooth flat-to puddles of  blood- mud wait—sun-play and dry air—wiz-bangs and life…

Smoke—rare air as blinding fog ‘cross both water edged—split sanded reeds and hill high vantage will seize—piece of crack stone and marble rim—broken faces—silent shriek and damage. Three ships down and seven constant slivers—shiver war and win to lose again. Harbor towns—two and  needless souls search bodies—left alive or fallen upright. And! From waterside—cannons fortress high—twin–slam—shells and balls—as death upon us and they and us and not and again—upon us. Ship pitches—wood and steel and souls—toward sinking-side with mast blast splinters and holes enough to die.

Water—butterflies—beetles—purple colors and birds emerge—from fog and race toward size high heaven or lights. Join—flying life and from colors of purple light into gull-white birds and gray liquid along a sparkle of beach sand and moonlight—bright. We! From heaven join Earth and now—again fly from battle  to  place and war seen—dead and those dying come this way— to fly—to watch—to learn—to leave…

Then! Gather here the shaped-shifters and one-sided sighted eyes to watch till wizards of crashes and dashes—cease games of pieces—ground motion-bah-boomed to silence or death as witch either appears or disappears into smoke—mirrors and magic shape ghosts—toasted by those lifted glasses memorized—memorialized and as quickly forgotten as recalled.

Brush to lids of my own eyes with sweet your lips and touch deep my heart with spirit dance your strength as my own—often fails. We—you and I—do spin worlds together and taste soft wine in starlight bright and setting moon so large that reflected eyes lock these mind spaces in forever memories of life. Tis—good this dream…Tis sweet this Night…Instincts trust in…For anticipation often does nothing..

And! Beautiful you are…

‘The Last Hour of Ancient Sunlight’ by Draconian


Analog Voices—Digital Sighs…

SW_95‘Sing-Song the voices now—the lines of chorus-sweet—likely lined in zero-ones—whispering ports—once harmony— single notes—noted often—repeat.’

Village Insis is one hundred and thirty seven miles from Calimesa City—reached by dry road and three forded rivers or one craft stretched across the Wall Hallenid and a flash-splash-paced-space of climb-drop onto Village-Center. Not far to run unless walking inside the sun’s noon-day heat and wanting to race— toward streamed liquid of silver drops and cooler rain. Aeolian Harps— line the wires of  stretches along creased ways eastward and away from town-side to City lights along many sparkles from river’s edges to sea shadows and piers.

Inside winds of charm—crescendos-decrescendos dance frequent harmonics—when night wind tosses  rhythms ‘cross lines—the bridges of viaduct and between the beginning of covered bridges and the ending of light beacons. The strings are both long or short and of many gauges and wind songs dance character—along a flat of land stretch—beyond eye reach—as Aeolus strums his harp. A mechanics of magnificence when the Wind God whispers songs across a thousand wiggles of wire and with a balance of motion and  contraption—night sings along an endless road of nowhere-to-here-and-there and back-again.

The distance between exact science and a hermetically sealed faith of notions and potions and the inclination of motivation—is the improbability of dreaming improbable things and the rare-dare of fare abundance with feast-found and devoured together—at-once and again…Aeolus and harps without finger touch—wind touches wires of copper and gold and silver—shimmers of cold sunlight—and starts the song—as wind carried notes cross—across fields turned—plow-broken and touched in powder snow frozen—driest air mix and sing-speak.

Curved rooms and softer edges conspire to selected whispers and little sighs sometimes dance across shortened distances from window wrap to door sill.

‘Hope-Pain-Patience.’ Please—Please protect our women in the Sudan—better—Everywhere… Our women—our Life! Without you Baby—there is no Baby…Always better to fall in love than to fall in battle—donchathink?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Fire and Rain’—James Taylor

Performed by Kappa Danielson


Witches of Creation…

Power_67

So Spirit Fly…We are all Angels! Spirit Fly—for Love protects Everyone and Love reminds us that We are the Everywhere of Everyone across Touch Universal—Spirit Dancing—Spirit’s Life. And-Oh-Yeah! Thanks for allowing this ‘Humanum Robot’ to Follow—You! Witches of Creation—for another Year…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘The Power of Love’—by Candy de Rouge—

“I’ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door

Feels like fire
I’m so in love with you
Dreams are like angels
They keep bad at bay-bad at bay
Love is the light
Scaring darkness away-yeah

I’m so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love your goal

The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love your goal

I’ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
When the chips are down I’ll be around
With my undying, death-defying
Love for you

Envy will hurt itself
Let yourself be beautiful
Sparkling love, flowers
And pearls and pretty girls
Love is like an energy
Rushin’ rushin’ inside of me

The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love your goal

This time we go sublime
Lovers entwine-divine divine
Love is danger, love is pleasure
Love is pure-the only treasure

I’m so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love your goal

The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
The power of love
A force from above
A sky-scraping dove

Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love your goal

I’ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door”—Performed by ‘Frankie Goes To Hollywood’


World Twirl—Star Light Bright…

Helen_Keller‘Alone we can do so little—Together we can do so much.’ —Helen Keller

‘Not everything that is broken is meant to be Fixed.’ Even if we had a machine that contains all our memories and thoughts—that machine would not be us…For we are eternal spirits and body inside—we are the ghosts of these machines.’ And! It is not death-freeing to free Spirit Dance across spaces-of-time and races of distances among packed stars so close and so different and so scattered to fill heavens with clusters and trail dust and a tick-tick-a-tock rocking rhythm of together power and another hour of strength joined by need and want and love and care and the knowledge of knowing that together we can do…

Across the darkest dividing distances between world twirl and star lights’ twinkle—wrinkles space-form and  benders of light join—to twisting dances started once and ending twice only to start the stopping of eternal jolt and bolts of flashes across many skies of many places seen and known and started and stopped—only to again-begin and again to sweeten life together and  dance—with drum beats and racing hearts and together strength and the ‘I’ is welcomed into ‘we’ powers to be-a-sea of them and the gentle ends of ‘me.’

Machined wonders—spirits that guide the processes of robot arms and legs and watch through robot eyes and hear through robot ears and once or often weep spirit tears and die never-ever-even if a book-or ten call living—’sins of flesh’—when spirited robots must live and die and forever move into dusted star-streams while dancing among a trillion light twinkles sketched across the winter’s sky.

And! Beware of the middle of middling places where middle robots produce the non-productive station of stationary worlds and no twirl spots without the tops of fashioned—fastening clamps to fantastic swirls of chaotic creative creations. Spaces—without the creations of wonder and joyful productive productions  crease and cease along the ribbons in space-time and the continuation of any reason to be a being melding into together and universal power. We are the light and the darkness silenced but for a moment—then flash ‘we’  across forever—riding with those sweet Witches of Creation into midnight blue and Life…

From  twins of two the power of life spark and alone-never places begin and end. When again—‘surfs-up’ and high waves reclaim shore-reaches and land—would rather live in Villages of Fisher-folk than in the Hamptons of  Middle-robots without machine-spirits—without productive reasons—and standing alone as wave-crash claims us all…Together—we do everything…

And! Beautiful you are…

Silver Prayers And Ancient Stones…

A_72“Of all the enemies to public liberty, war is, perhaps, the most to be dreaded, because it comprises and develops the germ of every other. War is the parent of armies; from these proceed debts and taxes; and armies, and debts, and taxes are the known instruments for bringing the many under the domination of the few. In war, too, the discretionary power of the Executive is extended; its influence in dealing out offices, honors, and emoluments is multiplied; and all the means of seducing the minds are added to those of subduing the force of the people. The same malignant aspect in republicanism may be traced in the inequality of fortunes and the opportunities of fraud growing out of a state of war, and in the degeneracy of manners and of morals engendered by both…No nation could reserve its freedom in the midst of continual warfare. Those truths are well established. They are read in every page which records the progression from a less arbitrary to a more arbitrary government, or the transition from a popular government to an aristocracy or a monarchy.”—James Madison, “Political Observations,” April 20, 1795

James Madison was an aristocrat and slave owner. Wondering if—America’s founding-fathers did spin tales from double tongues and savage intentions…Mile wide emptiness and growing. Those few will soon not see us or hear our cries. Will they still expect our deaths for causes and foundations and reasons and rhythms we ultimately will not understand? The hungry and the sick and the tired sometimes raise to revolution and another chance for real freedom—not songs and bells and another war for no reasons but ‘maybe…’ America is the only nation on this sweet world to ‘nuke’ two living cities into rubble. Must have made a statement or two and when time becomes hard-times nothing better than another war to keep us regular folk; fearful-busy-sad-productive and confused.

Write now about the left-right write side of life and sometimes-some—days that go and leave and stay and come into worlds of our own self of self-sided dreams and other things all—better than good and also bad but not too bad to do again or leave behind in dusted bins of trash-can ways and dusted evening skies. And! Under moons of double lights as the fours of daylight fade into rising sun flash…dusted bins of trash searched through to save twin scraps—surviving again for use by others—then again discarded or lost to dust to rust and ruin.

The loves of men and the loves of women and freedoms’ sweetest notions must not be divided by the capital of greed and the power of stalled legislation—an impotent executive branch—and a purchased judicial robe. Sweet truths are beliefs…that all life is equal life— that all women and men—rich or poor are above borders of  wherever boarders for non-reasons and are never judged by color—big guns—atomic death—and that eternal diatribe of isolation—individuality and Fear…

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

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

Give us a world—where women walk in day/night safety and no one understands a word called ‘war’…Where love is love and where force does not occur…Where there are no dark places called ‘heaven’ or ‘hell.’ A place where life does belong and life is good everyday…Heaven or Luck… No! We create worlds—we maintain worlds and we all Love our Children—For the magic and mischief-of-life—Gods are not required…

Philip K. Dick ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep’ may have discovered that without our machined ghosts we could not dream. With our Spirit-flight we do care that our sheep are electric and our dreams are android hopes and that our loves—do kiss away our sparkling tears and fears…And! Androids do dance into Electric nights and love does lead shifting-shapes through the darkest frights and into those sweetest lights. Shadow-touch across ceilings of moon dust and spaces of time-without-races and inside these moments—Life is an Almost-Maybe.

And! Beautiful you are…

Cold Stars and Sky Falls…

‘The Greater the Power—The More Dangerous the Abuse’…Edmond Burke

To hold—To Touch—Too much—No! Forever not long enough? And! The sweetest Dance—indeed…Together we—for without love there is no peace. And! Riding waves crashing into shore…Ghost of Gardens—flying into space and where home is just one planet east of sunlight’s doors and along ridges of long space in sky’s silent fog. Path reaches across one trillion leaps of spaces filled with twirling lights and a trillion ground-bound souls.

Fire of Blue light and a sorted beginning and a dance of yellow streaks—red coats and journey begins. Screaming Toward Moon—light and still—Horses run Martian Ridge. We are children of the salted seas and spirits unified. Clouds do often look for skies and house sounds includes those leaving kind of sounds…Hollow man is robot without spirit-animation-without ‘ghosts in the machine’…Lucky we be not holy hollows—imagine imaginations and beyond pushes of strengths— dancing of baby birthing and powerful protection and iron love—nothing stronger than love or better than together songs and the unification of a trillion spirits.

Blue Butterfly and wishes made and wishes granted—granted those soft wings and slips and flits ride currents of breeze so slight against soft skin—often switch directions-of-fancy either willed or through desires of fancy or wearied of time—trips to beginning and endings of time shifted—drifted and lifted and forever gifted to lines of carefully crafted beings-being for a moment above moonlight or day. Spaces between lines of coded rhythm and words pouring from the bewildered one or two or twins in-step and without reasons to be or to find that certain way through tunnels and into night.

Speculative Capitalism is both non-social and immoral…It is an unproductive financial system that channels greed into speculation and usury. It is irrational and unstable and a Crime against Humanity. Oops! There goes the right to: Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…The collapse of Capitalism is inevitable…And! Capitalists do eat their young.

Crisis investing causes the ‘markets, about this fine world to fluctuate; up-down and all around…A hundred plus points up or down—causes non-productive investors to jump up- down and all around. She or he becomes nervous and begins to whimsy buy and sell. Using sound financial practices becomes mute and the destruction of many billions and lives ensue.

Wealth and Whimsy and Luck—oh my! Speculation is a Crime against Humanity? Per Pope John II— Centesimus Annus: “Ownership of the means of production, whether in industry or agriculture, is just and legitimate if it serves useful work. It becomes illegitimate, however, when it is not utilized or when it serves to impede the work of others in an effort to gain a profit which is not the result of the overall expansion of work and the wealth of society, but rather is the result of curbing them or of illicit exploitation, speculation or the breaking of solidarity among working people. Ownership of this kind has no justification and represents an abuse in the sight of God and humanity.”

…Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-the-World is a Crime against Humanity…Like Genocide and Sociocide; speculators destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this sweet planet. Are we free if we are wage-slaves, anyway?

‘La Liberté éclairant le monde’

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

We are all Children of the Universe…We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…