So Strikes—The Minds of Us…

333“Courage is grace under pressure”…from ‘The Old Man and The Sea’ by Ernest Hemingway

We—determine—destiny—as spirits and as flesh? Angry Gods—do not exist. Angry men—matter little—except to scrubs—of scurry selves—beings—just spinning matter of expressions. Rude—the kings and queens—of foolish speak—when angles fall—toward earthbound trivial…Moment Gods—require no explanations—when fear rules—these angled angels. As flesh—we return—turned peace—to war and gash—slash ‘cross—another spin of earth. Battle— disturbs the strength—of peace and the balance of life. We war—against nothing—save ideas and the—ideals of anti-life. Remove religions and governments and kings and queens! Better-to-fall-in-love—and not—fall-in-battle—donchathink?

We work these fields—beneath sing-song wires and lengths of wave grain—toward the forever of sight—out-in and back again…Brushed wind—white tunics—seagull wings—flapping over soil black and breeze seeded—hand to bag—to sky—to flip ‘cross ground rich—water ditch—return again—‘til tunic—lost shapes—into the bluest evening mist of planet wash and evening spin…

We turn now toward—forked road—ways beyond sighted-righted places—and our stars of guiding trails—twisted—misted—shakes and quakes—push-pull us—toward left trails or right paths…Guiding compass—lodestone—or stars—point the way—only one direction—to go and to return—toward—this direction taken—always pointed—is pointed—toward us…

Look—ahead—we heart ask—to find a way—anyway and without voice touch—we know those traveled roads—of desert keep and ground soaked reach…Our hands are covered—centuries deep—dust—with must-do-to-will-not-be—and secrets of the good—of evil—and the surest evil of—good—too great—to see—forgotten heart fears—drying tears—gone voice—silent with—pretty pity and reverence silly-speak—squeak folly—or death…

We cannot know—standing here—if earth twirls at universal core—or still stranded and branded—dust ships swirl across a patch of dark grey—dawn and waiting for rainfall—to clean-wash us and our perch—we hear—here balance upon. Here—hear now—heart cry—sobs—without light—and—waiting without warning—then—just waiting—just begins—to want—again. And! What happiness—happens—is possibly happening—on dust speckled earth-side—through goals higher—than justified—to vindicate happiness—for dust speckled us? Or? Is a dust-speckled ride—a stand-alone stride—alone goal without end—without beginning—without purpose—but-to-be-point—free?

We are not means to an end—others—may wish to accomplish…We are not tools—to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed—or bandages for other wounds—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

Candle light—warms ‘cross tables—rooms—windows-to-windows and sometimes just east-north of darkest—planet spin—where night grin—grim news—‘cross space wig-waggle and eyes search sky—die—search and die—until starship light—lights—night and candle light fosters— hope—before freedom ends—then begins—again. ‘One Thousand Tears’ are longer time—than years of fears—pass star night and moonlight fails. And! You and I are not—ever—born to be wasted—right?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born To Be  Wasted’…by Alexander Perls

Fancy Us A World Today…

1147‘The young man goes out looking for the diamond in the sea
the old man rows his boat to shore and falls with twisted knees

And you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in

The feeling that I feel the most is the one that follows me
all across the starry coast from sea to diamond sea

Says you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in

I think the thing I wanted most was just never meant to be
a thousand waves, a thousand ghosts their sorrows follow me

And you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in’…“The Water Lets You In”—by Book Of Fears

Would ride—music—out-to-place-where-music-be-then—note-pop—toward—cease-crease time—then quietly—wade away? Tis Ok—alright—donchathink? Once we—held hands—jumping us—from flying whirl—to spinning-twirl—then—back-again. Good falling—when landing gently happens—just before the fall ends and begins—again. What is both exciting and scary—Life? Are we defined by choices of our own desires? What if—‘We-Be’—once crossed a length of space—wig-waggled—from planet-side to earth-ride—Mother Ship—deep in splendid—Petri-dish—love and to form—‘we-do’—from Zoo land reach and gravity teach—among the WTF of creations’—relations—with ‘We-Be’ and ‘They-See’? And! Is life often scattered among the illusions—of perceptions or reactions—to perceptions’ folly—in this ‘runaway—alternating dream.’

Religion has preempted the field of ethics—turning morality against man—and usurped—
the highest moral concepts—of our language—placing them outside this earth—and beyond the reach of We-Be’…‘Exaltation’—is taken to mean—an emotional state—evoked by contemplating the supernatural. ‘Worship’—is the emotional experience of loyalty and dedication—to something—high and—above man. ‘Reverence’—is the emotion of—sacred respect—to be experienced on one’s knees. ‘Sacred’—is superior to—‘not-to-be-touched-by’—any concerns of man or—earth side whines or whimsy. These concepts—do name actual—-emotions—though no supernatural dimension exists. These emotions are experienced—as uplifting or ennobling—without the self-abasement required—by religious definitions. What is their—source or reference in reality? It is the entire—emotional realm—of man’s dedication to—a moral ideal….It is this—level of emotions—that must be—redeemed from—the murk of mysticism and redirected at its proper object—‘we-be-us’ folks—donchaknow…

Entity Religion—is in constant enmity with one another? Satirizes self-contented morality and suggests that—-in the end—all religious groups are going to engage in violent and selfish acts— regardless of their professed moral teachings. Just another Government and ‘governing whimsy’ is corrupt—nasty and destructive. Religions’—-immaculate contortions—‘American Style’—twist in-out of ‘the Separation of Church and State’ producing a ‘Governmental Right to Legislate Morality?’ Wrong! For only Lovers-have-Lovers’-sacred-right-to-Love. Love is being…Morality is a selfish word!

Portion-for-us and scatter across—understanding—simplicity—and the variances in relativity—either linguistically determined—or silenced by rain—loud—gentle beginnings or the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting…Wait! Eyes—tightly closed—to hear thunder—rolling across separated skies—as unseen flashes—knight the ocean—and crash booms—into the silent space—-between raindrops and life…Science eternally—dances—with superstition…Once and often either—momentarily—wins something-of-else or another choice-to-follow…Crossroads to matter—chances to spark—and destiny always flirts—with other up-and-about—perhaps…Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships up—and places far away…This is here and between landings—another beach—reach and as quickly discovered—then thrown away…Dragging the lines—of surf’s fall and rise—as waves dash high—-into moonless sky and crash along miles—of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale—and breathe again and—time marks nothing—when endless and everlasting.

These are the salty ways of salted sea and flecks of foam scatter—along shore-sided shifts of sand from wet-to-dry and dune rise—above and beyond watered edges—before ruined boardwalks remind-nothing-of- something—once savored and watched and known by forgotten ones—once upright writers of the times—and the sounds of ‘days of a future’s past.’ Still! We all cross spaces along these places of—the races in time gathered—and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

Woman—warrior—Man—warrior…We will together—if required—die—protecting our children and our homes…Man Warrior—know—as you dine in candle-light with Woman Warrior—She is Equal—She is Everything…Isn’t it interesting—in this ‘paternal society’ of a ‘WTF’—‘Good old Boy’ world—that without Woman Warrior—‘We’—could not physically appear? With her gentle touch—She spins these spits of dancing DNA—touch and born—this day—across these Spinners…

‘Fancy Us’—a world where precious women—walk in day/night safety and precious—men do not know a word called ‘War’…Where—love-is-love and force is—‘Never-Ever’ …Wherever—Whatever—and Never is heaven or hell…A place where—life-is-belonging and where—life is—everyday—Good…Heaven or Luck… No! We create worlds—we maintain worlds and we love our children.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Black Water’…by The Doobie Brothers

Intervals Begin Anyway…

WS_621‘Wooden Ships’

“If you smile at me, I will understand
‘Cause that is something everybody everywhere does
In the same language
I can see by your coat, my friend
You’re from the other side
There’s just one thing I got to know
Can you tell me please, who won the war ?
Say, can I have some of your purple berries?
Yes, I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now
Haven’t got sick once
Probably keep us both alive
Wooden ships on the water, very free and easy
Easy, you know the way it’s supposed to be
Silver people on the shoreline, let us be
Talkin’ ’bout very free and easy
Horror grips us as we watch you die
All we can do is echo your anguished cries
Stare as all human feelings die
We are leaving, you don’t need us
Go, take your sister then, by the hand
Lead her away from this foreign land
Far away, where we might laugh again
We are leaving, you don’t need us
And it’s a fair wind blowin’ warm
Out of the south over my shoulder
Guess I’ll set a course and go…”

by David Crosby—Paul Kantner and Stephen Stills…

Intervals begin and—Gods of Greed—square pairs of—Hopes-Choice or Loss. Once again—little while—becomes longer time—Children of Earth-side spin—again—sleep—without hunger—and war birds—disappear—somewhere—inside morning mists…Is it true that—after body dies—devoured by vultures—land based physical creatures—finally free-fly? Language is our means of expressions—inverted—and succumbing to stranger contrivances? Are we speak-masters—sharpers—of too many twists of travel—to be true seekers—of peace? Expressions—happening—often degenerate—often decline—inclinations—to impression—without expressing—impressive—rhymes or reasons—anyway?

Across—dark dividing distance—between world twirl and star lights’ twinkle—wrinkles space-form—benders of light join—twisting dances start—once and ending twice—only to start the stop—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—dance—with drum beats—racing hearts and together strength. The ‘I’—is welcomed into ‘We’—powers-to-be-a-sea of them—and the gentle ends—of ‘Me.’ And! It is OK to ‘Dance the Night Away.’ Machined wonders—spirits that guide—the processes of robot arms—robot 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 ‘cross 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—no twirl spots without—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 ribbons in space-time and—the continuation of any reason to be—a being—melding into together and universal power. We are—light and darkness—silence—but for a moment—then flash ‘we’ across forever—riding with—sweet Witches of Creation—come—midnight blue and Life…

“Governments are power systems. They are trying to sustain their power and domination over their populations and they will use what means are available to do this. By now the means are very sophisticated and extensive and we can expect them to increase. So for instance, if you read technology journals you learn that in robotics labs for some years there have been efforts to develop small drones, what they call “fly-sized drones,” which can intrude into a person’s home and be almost invisible and carry out constant surveillance. You can be sure that the military is very much interested in this, and the intelligence systems as well, and will soon be using it.” by Norm Chomsky…

There are times—when good silence—makes ways for righteous noise—when sound-speaks another word-or-two—then makes way for again good silence—behind the tucks of night-light and morning’s hush. Of Freedom—with no concrete meaning—attached to the word. Freedom—as idea—must have definition? If Freedom is a principle—it should have definition—to allow implementation…Opened-Eyes—Opened Mind? And! Seek protection—from ‘taking-a-stand’—refusal to admit—the nature of what is accepted—is supporting plans—designed to achieve serfdom? Still! Love or believe in Freedom…What crime is committed—if ‘crime’—is not crime and has not—occurred—in memory-man…What crime when ‘no-law’ provides for it?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Wooden Ships’…performed by Jefferson Airplane

Blue Wrinkles of Code Balloons…

57We here—hear—waking sounds—music touch—ear-side before mind-side slides—sweet song—scent-speak and cradle squeak—and we hear—visceral seer—sans reason—also there—with care—memory spaced—raindrop wide—with memory tides and spiritual rides—tis OK—without sometime thoughts—donchaknow. And! Suddenly the regularity of phenomena—no longer measured rigidly—now burst into the probability of theory—though dynamics and universally common—plain-speak and stench—drenched in fractal messages. ‘Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.’

Fire—Blue light—‘sorta’—start-stop—dancing—yellow streaks—red coats and journey starts. Screaming—moons toward—light and still—horses run Martian Ridge. We are children of those—salted seas and spirit trees. And! Clouds often look for—skies. …Hollow man—is robot without—spirit-animation-without ‘ghosts in the machine’…We be not—holy hollows—we be—imagine—imagination—beyond pushes of strengths—we dance—baby birthing—powerful protection and iron love—nothing stronger than love or better than together songs and the unification of eternal spirits.

Butterfly—kisses—wish made—wish chant—and grant—soft wings and slips and flits— ride currents of breeze—so slight—against soft skin—often switch directions-of-fancy—will by—choice or wearied of time—trips to beginning and endings of time shifted—drifted and lifted and forever gifted—to lines of—crafted beings—being for  moments—above moonlight and—day—bright. Space between lines—of coded-cold-color—fine word pour—from puzzle—one or two—twins in-step—and reasons to-be—to-see special—twin-twines—through tunnels and into the night.

Launch now—code filled balloons both alpha and numeric—fluid—lines of rows—switch—crosses—across drops-of-lengths—between space and press and touch—and—a distance—between winter’s flakes and snow. While dancing dream’s mind-merge—spirit winds a clock of choices—known by forgotten—dust-swirls—desert winds and salted seas—as foam merges with sandy shores. Rain bounce—by moonlight—against a million miles of asphalt streets—where tiny sprites of weeds—meet—push through—to break the symmetry—of path—life once again—is the birth of nature’s chaos—and nothing is as natural—as creating—-creations. Life’s power is—eternal notions—of—goddesses and gods—witches and warlocks—wizards and shamans—and—the blood-bond of women and men—creatures-features— and the dynamics of Love. Remember! Love is sex-less—without form—without flesh—and—-when shiver—shapes humanity—love—is touch—magic required—as beings require air—mixed—blood red.

As we form—precious life—forms-form—we name—-speak love—hunt-save-spare-care—and as others—find us—avoid us—hunt—devour us—chaos of circles dance ‘round—mystery of times—begin and end—start-stop—while chasing creation—‘cross—apparent universes—known and unknown and the forgotten times—of today’s-yesterdays and tomorrow’s days of future’s—stop and start. Ad infinitum—or maybe ‘cross into Nemo Universes—of never-were—never was—or may still—never be… We are all Children of the Universe…We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Walking in the Air’ by Howard Blake—performed by Nightwish

All—Just Want To Be…


‘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

Waves And Sky Motion…

Love—Loving—Love of one-to-other and let ‘No’ one doubt this Love of One-to-Another—for we are Creations of Love—the Witches’ Smile—Universally—Strong and Forever—Ever-Love—For Everyone…No Religious Hate—Late Court Speak—Laws of Creative Hate—Late—Fate or Rhythms of Time…We are Love—Loving—Love and Nothing Stops Us—Anyway—Today—Pasts—Presents—or Tomorrow’s Wait—And Oh! Hell Yeah…

Sighted! Righted to see the shadows’ tuck—inside textures—ghosts and inside shadows—inside—reflected swirls of star light—and—lighted night. Is it true that—if we build a shelving unit—created with shelves—structurally made to sustain—heavier weights—than the object we just purchased—should we—avoid putting that object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical?

Reach and then—portion and scatter across understanding simplicity—and the variances in relativity—either linguistically determined—or silenced by rain—loud—gentle beginnings or the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting…Wait! Eyes—tightly closed—to hear thunder—rolling across separated skies—as unseen flashes—knight the ocean—and crashes boom into the silent space—between raindrops and life…‘Plant your flag on—truth…’ Science eternally dances with superstition…Once and often either—momentarily wins something-of-else or another choice-to-follow…Crossroads to matter—chances to spark—and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about—perhaps…Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships and places far away…This is here and between landings another beach—reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away…Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise—as waves dash high into moonless sky and crash along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing—when endless and everlasting.

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 sees—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.

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

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.

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 smiles. Forget to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing—an evening rare—without fog or mist. Held inside—air rushes into throat and through nose and mouth. Sea odor—eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe…Search Sea. The Line moves closer to shore…Ships soon pass and are quickly gone.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Home Sweet Home’by Motley Crue

Home Sweet Home

Tossed Moon Memories…

1874‘Where bound you?’—Ask voices ‘cross way—from night—day—shift twice—tune-memory-forgotten and answer—Remember? Side-way Space—touch—three star-shines’ length plus—planet spin and just beyond Forgotten Moon…Remember? In the Glide-way Hall of Twirl-world—take off skyward in wig-waggle soft—time and match speed—beyond light drag—dream-match daring—space into bits of byte-chunk—tunnel wide—touches heaven’s length—heart-beat time and blood vein long….Just a little ‘meant-to-be’…Remember?

Push from Witch Magnificent—Creation’s womb—just in time—long before—sky fall touch—Earth-spin west—then—east again and seas to south beyond—where—lines slant deep—just as—round circle top—world light-night—is long—is short—depends on—view points—open minds—north winds and times of day…And! We do ride sea—boards of light ‘cross—back-lit waves from shoreline to ocean—lines—where sky touch—water fine then—back to sand again—again and again—begin—to end again…Drown now—in Water deep—or Heaven’s tracks—between the Stars-and-Mars…Remember?

It is OK—when scented moments—mind trick memories from start-to-stop and pause—cause light-years ago—to present places and races—to mind front—almost touch—tease slight—flight-of-forms known—love-touch-spirit—twirl—when love is mind’s eye strong and after-kisses tastes—last long—then form-is-warm and need less—than want is long and lingers—until night cease-crease softens into sleep-sweet…Remember?

Taste of you—in mind rhyme—time and ever-dream—moments deep—twilight keep and never-ever traces of—endless touch—no rush—just together—‘us’ and the harmony of ‘We’…Remember? Walk-talk—now us—hand reach and fingers clasp—inside Needles Park—beneath Bent Bridge—brown hedge and ridge where green grass—gone brown—cooled and the waves below—Lake Shine—bounce moonlight…Remember? Yeah! We do—OK?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Crockett’s Theme’ by… Jan Hammer

Crockett’s Theme

Stained Piers And Smoke…

C_941Along planks of wooden pier—smoke curl and life sleeps—in quick nods and thin wakes—then upright—moves—along shores where fog lines—touch—city highs—above pier stretch and common reach…The giant sights—flash serpents’ wind—‘cross valley wide—ribbon thin—wide-wine crawl—slow moves-shakes—side-to-side—land crawl—to stop by waterside…Lateran light and boats rock still—men shore—land as day fishers take places—loom from smoke and disappear—into the morning mist…And! Tambura—now count-mix-play—the start—of start-stop—beginning—day…

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 plain—moves ‘cross these places or—other spaces in motions—to exist together—without pride or prejudice or religions-regions—to-take-to-hate or to replace—irreplaceable life. Poverty is a never Crime—Greed is a Crime against all Humanity.

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

We watch Newsy-News and Gossip delivered—by-money-for-money and especially written for our desire to believe—the unbelievable…Financial cliffs—foolish babble—and scandals and garbage in-truth-gone-catastrophic—and always—brought to us—by discount prices and junk food gospel. Do not allow—nationalistic spins and materialistic nonsense to confuse the Revolutionary messages—from the People of our World. Beyond the shiny beads and cheap trinkets we; ‘made in America folk’, are also these people.

We just 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…We—are always going somewhere…Or maybe! We are always—just—heading home—OK? Philip K. Dick— ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep’—may have discovered that without our machined ghosts—we cannot dream. With—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—darkest frights and into those sweetest lights. Shadow-touch ‘cross ceilings of moon—dust and spaces—of time-without-races and inside—these moments—Life is an Almost-Maybe.

“Histories of ages past
Hung in light and shadows cast
Down through all eternity
The crying of humanity
‘Tis then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love
Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love.” By Donovan Phillips Leitch

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Both Sides Now’ …By Joni Mitchell

Both Sides Now


Liberty Of Nevertimes…

PS_97Children of other dawns—touch hand or swish shoulders once or twice or often—without the counting of times or steps or memories. Be the happening of breath and silhouettes angled away from us by the western moon to fade or go by whimsy cloud or art. Smiles not required and laughter not heard, not from or by our own design or folly. We are born of yesterday’s parents and tomorrow’s ruin. However—right on this moment and now on this side of second slide—we birth this moment or instance or day or past night’s hour. Live only—on this stretch of sand and along with—the catching up of tide flows—believe the ice and water before and behind us are our ground and our chapter of seasons lived—written against the sands of shifting grain and the wind.

In June of 1787, James Madison addressed the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia on the dangers of a permanent army. “A standing military force, with an overgrown Executive will not long be safe companions to liberty,” he argued. “The means of defense against foreign danger have been always the instruments of tyranny at home. Among the Romans it was a standing maxim to excite a war, whenever a revolt was apprehended. Throughout all Europe, the armies kept up under the pretext of defending, have enslaved the people.”

The New York Times reports, “During our present administration, according to Pentagon data, police departments have received tens of thousands machine guns; nearly 200,000 ammunition magazines; thousands of pieces of camouflage and night-vision equipment; and hundreds of silencers, armored cars and aircraft.”

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.”

Silencers—Machine guns? Now! Why would local law enforcement need that sort of gear? No shot to ‘ring—out’ and body still falls? Bullet Gods—Kingdoms of Death—wondering where freedom was lost and found—began or—an end—of—ghosts’ whisper ‘Life—Liberty—and the Pursuit of Runners—running out of streets and roads and places free of ‘No—Don’t—will not and not going-to-happen’—Amen again—again and Amen again?’ When life—back turns—and runs away—when unarmed couples die inside anything—when does ‘Fear-of-Life’—End and when does Murder Begin?

Early morning when sounds are soft against ear and movement does not play darts and goes and stop and start. Reflect or not to think—but to happen as life happens—in the sweet flow of quiet seashore in bright moons—light. Waves—gently lick the places of sand castles—fading as eastern stars’ faint twinkle and the roars of today’s day—touch the future and stops. We are—barefoot children of yesterday. We leave behind—dancing—little paws—marks—in semi-wet sand—cool without sunshine.

Pipers play and—children dance into a ragged sorted night—and as they dance— Goddess flash—darkness thunders and—those claps of little hands and rings join songs and laughter—only as a child laugh–sings. A piper of the raggedy—sorting day and the role of rolls—the answer ones—dance behind and beside the flute of silver crafts and a simple dancing song. ‘A better day,’ they shout and everyone agrees.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Never Enough’ by Epica

Never Enough