Ribbons Of Peace And Names…

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

Grass—carpet floors of high to sky mountain flats—red sand shifts—when raining seasons begin—the fall of liquids both silver-clear and diamond-splash—across the drinking desert of sand and sea—as jungle sleeps. Once hearted fears—did not exist—within the laughing times of fearless pursuit and the unrequited necessities of being—the beginning of—being the life of long summer moments and winter shorts—when snow covers the dreaming spaces of—sands and purple seas.

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

Shift into the object of another day with—accepted expectations—extraordinary moments—original thought and lights of splendidly created—creations through perceptions of flashing— preconceived originality and overloaded repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…in the becoming of a notion—immortally important and into legacy’s realm—repeated and recalled and repeated…Amen! Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

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

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

We—live only—along this stretch of sand and—along with the catching up of tide flow—believe the ice and water before and behind us are—our ground—our chapter of seasons lived and written against the sands of shifting grain and the wind. Care for life and alive and steeped in the reality of earth-beat and washed in the eternity of spirit and—even alone—never lonely or forgotten with passing days or endless years of grooved space and the distance between here and there and everywhere.

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

And! Beautiful you are…

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

Sparks of Starship Angels…

I_151“Over Bridges of Sighs
To rest my eyes in shades of green
Under Dreaming Spires
To Itchycoo Park, that’s where I’ve been

What did you do there? – I got high
What did you feel there? – Well I cried
But why the tears there? – I’ll tell you why – yyyyy
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful

I feel inclined to blow my mind
Get hung up, feed the ducks with a bun
They all come out to groove about
Be nice and have fun in the sun

I’ll tell you what I’ll do – What will you do?
I’d like to go there now with you
You can miss out school – Won’t that be cool
Why go to learn the words of fools?

What will we do there? – We’ll get high
What will we touch there? – We’ll touch the sky
But why the tears there? I’ll tell you why
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful

I feel inclined to blow my mind
Get hung up, feed the ducks with a bun
They all come out to groove about
Be nice and have fun in the sun
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful
It’s all to beautiful, It’s all to beautiful”’Itchycoo Park’—written by Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane…

Fred Hoyle—the astronomer—once said; “that the act of assembling the simplest living organism from simple molecular ingredients was as unlikely as a tornado whipping through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet. Yet somehow it happened. Was it blind luck? And if it somehow happened here, could it happen somewhere else?”

Stephen Crane wrote…’A man said to the universe:’ “Sir I exist” “However,” replied the universe, “The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.”

The prodigious size and the age of a universe is eternal-speak…Rage and range and contractual—contracts—of contractions—expansions—as endless as day-night and mind-time—rewind—refine—and that sense of rhythm or rhyme…Planets and Stars and Nebulae and Space are creations of countless moments of being—ceasing and again being—for minutes of seconds—or the ever—being of forever hours in times’—mind. Special is this contract—of life’s contractions—expansions—of being—of ending—and of Life’s—purposed—Life’s—meaning or—Lives of just—Living…Now and then—won’t that be cool?

Angels fly in starship to scout where next to stop-land-wait-end-and begin again-begin. In star-ships the folds of space shortens the distance between star-light and star-bright and the day of night. In starship—galaxy edge and galaxy center matters only to the standing one at waters’ edge on planet-fall. Small is a matter of size and nothing less than sky-lights and heaven’s length. We dance Universe…you and I—hand-to-hand-shoulder-touched-lips-to-eyes and never tears. Eternal Spirits cannot cry and never Universes’ end and we—Spirit—and—Spirits never die. Robot once—then again and again and… Now and then—won’t that be cool?

But Love! Is the spirit of heart and soul—does not require name or title or reason or permission or through the grace of… No! Things called government nor religious-named or senate or congress or court or king or country has right or reason to legislate or forbid the strength of Love between anyone…And! Stop the builders of weapons! Too late? For—sword grow as shield grows—as bomb-to-drone-to—the shrieks of madness—drown-too—silence the gentle swish and swoon of love and touch and care and taste and the sweetness of dove’s morning cry and the living sound of baby cries and gurgles and… Now or then—won’t that be cool?

Plague—begins and ends as folks—end and begin…Robot death or death of substrate or the walkers that carry—Eternal Spirits at—Spirit—pass—a world or ten or a thousand places ‘cross— birthing—universes. Warmed—to the form of you and me—the us and them of this—here and this—now. And! Time is damned—except by those tellers—of time and those singers of timed songs. When futures’ laugh…Moments—span the days of—does not matter minutes and dances twirling into relief… Now or then—won’t that be cool?

Instead—let us again—dance across these universe—as we wish to dance. We—you and I—and spirit-dance—when the flesh of non-interchangeability sheds substances and gains sustenance. Life spark-sparkles forever–then lends light to darkness—knowing this—is good—is sweet. Now or then—won’t that be cool?

“Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters…” from ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, and Kirk Hammett of Metallica.

We are Children of the same Verses of these Universes—We have the Right-to-be-Everywhere… Now and then—won’t that be cool?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Itchycoo Park’-–performed by The Small Faces

Lemon Whirls and Gumdrop Twirls…

M_135“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’ by Draconian

Walked to once war—places—of warrior kill and spill of red along the sandy streams of green spaces—dreamed graces and where man—gun—marches—of rustle and rice mix—water—man—gun—to run—to stay and wait for the standing dream-scenes—plays and dances of red colors and life runes—places in ruins along sandy streams—of greener spaces—dreaming graces—places found and now not remembered—OK…We cannot kill a man’s family and expect forgiveness. Come by drone—by rifle—by bomb—by war or proxy—no one can forgive another for the murder of his own blood…Family by family—street-by-street—village—town—city—region—no matter and absolutely—no forgiveness. ‘And! While I breathe—I Hope…’

Planets of beginning’s end, and flashes within war clouds on high and on lighted skies for a trillion miles across the sky. The Alpha and the Omega—where Titans rule Atlantis—and—men of great—remove or rule places in time—now gone and a history of never was—on both the Earth and in the sky. We are—before Floods and long before parts of Genesis—that sometime happened—on—sometime worlds or other spaces—of other places and other times. Our Garden of Eden—not Sins—and then—tossed off-world? Eden could—have been better than ruining—by—T-Rex or consumed—by stronger uprights. Eden and sin and serpents, oh my! We are the proof of far removed parents—when gods may have ruled and created women and men—in places from Sirius to Mars to Earth and back—again? Our rulers and our ruled and our voices and our religions have rewritten our beginnings—in so many places and in so many—might have been accidents—that—these truths or fictions—have blurred the start of lost and the loss of—start. And! Still—the rest is yet to come—why not? ‘And! While I breathe—I Hope…’

This garden is hilltop high—we come here—almost twice—to plant flowers and remember sometime—with our voices. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life—crosses—path as—resting—inside good woods as we look down—toward cattle and fence and trees and fields and a creek bed dry—except for trickles of water caught by pools and deposited by rains covering this hill and that valley just last evening. ‘And! While I breathe—I Hope…’

These—everyday—fail to notion-grasp the chance—of peaceful notion—depending on how-where you be—when flash streak—smoke reek—eye burn—tear and fear and the warp of notions—peace cease—little ones die before—killer memories evolve—into sweet substance and light bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail—set-to-wind—rail balance—’neath ruin— bridges of seven—or on—another land-fall beneath another sky—homes to build—caves to clean—and again for a short while—arrival—life comes home. Better—than missile speak or places too far gone to seek bomb shelter—chance for another—another dance before smoking tears or tomorrow-sorrow—death—peace—good life—ways forgotten—gone. ‘And! While I breathe—I Hope…’

“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. 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.” ‘While I breathe—I Hope…’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Rebel-Rebel by David Bowie

Circus States of Stasis…

S_44“Love came to my door
With a sleeping roll
And a madman’s soul
He thought for sure I’d seen him
Dancing up a river in the dark
Looking for a woman
To court and spark

He was playing on the sidewalk
For passing change
When something strange happened
Glory train passed through him
So he buried the coins he made
In People’s Park
And went looking for a woman
To court and spark

It seemed like he read my mind
He saw me mistrusting him
And still acting kind
He saw how I worried sometimes
I worry sometimes

“All the guilty people,” he said
They’ve all seen the stain-
On their daily bread
On their christian names
I cleared myself
I sacrificed my blues
And you could complete me
I’d complete you

His eyes were the color of the sand
And the sea
And the more he talked to me
The more he reached me
But I couldn’t let go of L.A.
City of the fallen angels”…’Court and Spark’ written by Joni Mitchell

How sweet word sounds—worlds—as every utterance touches rhyme and rhythm speak—unlike—gathered watches of waiting and watching—a sky-speak of whispers—into the air of night—another spot of raindrop flight—landing ‘gainst—warming sands and salty seas…Riches flow about the words of sound—tongues known and tasted—treasured—accepted and often heard in other spaces-places seen—felled or yelled against gloom—gathers where sunlight is wishing—spaces scattered among stars of reaches—stretches across skies of night and spaces between word sound—and light. Trilingual editions both same or exiled—silence long and the knowing word—of these places—away from the sounds—of her and the notions of—her quietude. Sand and Leaves—together speak—rustle—whisper—murmur and moan of death—not found—of life—not known. And! Still—now notions of her away sounds and her quietude. Feathers and Leaves and Sand and Ashes and Seas—silence see—and thunder be—peels across sky and rolls onto shoreline—and skylines—and time.

Touch now…And! Feel the intimacy of rhythm or rhyme as touch–speak hides deep— inside—the formality of syntax creep and syntax crawl—where ear-here—hears echoes buried—an idiom—not conveyed by any dictionary’s spaces between word-speak and why…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.

Word—whirl and shoulder-speak—between things and folks—now world twirled and swirled—communicated—debated and always—translated…Why? When silence of touch—the space of race—cross the beast—of peace—and whispers of dare—chance the softest face to love—gain—lost and gained again. Word whirl…The masters-of-idiomatic usage-of-etymological-implications-of-an untranslatable language-discovered-said-remembered-to-be-forgotten-translated and written another way at another day-in-time. Samuel Beckett’s—‘Waiting for Godot’, ‘Endgame’, ‘Molloy’, ‘Malone Dies’, ‘The Unnamable’ and ‘Tetes Mortes’—first in French…Were then translated by the writer…Did Beckett first thrill-to-the-spill—the conception of these writings in English?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Court and Spark’…by Joni Mitchell

Joni Mitchell – Court and Spark

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

October City—Spring Flash…

132‘Shining candles and harbor flash…From sea today and follow tide…Come to harbor—sirens call…Shining candles and harbor flash…From sea to safety side tonight.’

Flash-Dash and Streaks touch world along these places called ‘Swindle Park’ and across those places tucked down-low between and below Triple Viaducts—twin ruined and one complete. Flash-Dash and Streaks ground to rounding shapes and sparks crash-burn among twin faced-tumble-rumble—crumbled slabs of once concrete-shapes and marbled disks and granite stones—marking graves of those more or less and always flesh-dead and flash gone.

Flash—Fear stir hearts and images dash among the ruins of loss-increase or additional decrease—not instructs of constructs-destructs—simply here and gone and back again. Way-of–life-facts-matter-more-less-import-export-unimportant—matters-little or lessons-less-scar—hearts stir—breathe—catch and release…Still—Animate-imitated life as the silent sounds of folk-scurry-hurry-worry cause days of notions known—and the motion of future wig-waggle prayer and intimate—initiate Life—mute-points—of stop-to-go and back-again. Wig-waggled stars—wig-waggled bars and scars of wig-waggled hope and strangled-wrangled strength.

Where does flash of light and lighted-fit-to-starts-to-end-to-back-again—begin-again or end-again? Light-to-lighted again-of streaks and flashes—bright-subdued-enhanced-increased ’til eyes—too bright-to-shine fill—spill and will darkness soft-to-see—to be as streak-flash-dash ‘cross Swindle Park and brighten October City again-to-end and back-again and rumble-tumble sound—’Say’—ground-to-clouds of layered sky and dawns of bright-grey—’Way…’

To hell with Lies-of-Government—and we really know these lies—don’t we Now? Leave those Lies-of-Religion ’cause—if the Goddess had written a true Bible of Books—She would never have walked steps behind men…Paternal—Maternal..WTF? Everyday—She and He stand side-by-side—before the mouth-of-caves and die protecting their little ones? God created ‘first’ Man…WTF? ‘Religions first created God…There are many—first or last…Must be written by Governments to control—to kill—to rule and Governments—Religions do create hellish creations—donchathink? Oh Yeah! Around this wig-waggle-world—We ‘scurry-hurry’-folk do—Love-our-Children-So…Religions of Governments—Are ‘Never-Ever’ Required.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘There must be some way out of here” said the joker to the thief
There’s too much confusion”, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.’

‘No reason to get excited”, the thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.’

‘All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.’

‘Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.’…

‘All Along the Watchtower’written and performed by Bob Dylan

Martian At Eden’s Slip…

E_17

“the world is waiting for
a change within our hearts
the last card for us all, a new era starts
so hit the road out there
alight a new tomorrow
recall a far off time
step out here and follow”—
Edenbridge

Gaining speed-side-push-out into the swell and shove of beyond the bounds of pull down and racing to gate-less stars above Earth twirls and the edges of Eden’s slip and Martian descendants. Maybe-we-Be-descendants-of- the Martian family. Maybe-they-Be-the-travelers with Noah and an Armada of star-ships or an Ark called the Mother-ship—carrying the DNA of accidents or visions or hopes or fears to another place to adapt into have-to-want-to—creative creatures of rhythm and verse…Truth?—Religion-of-men…Prove that this is not Truth? Bible writers—Bring it on!

Humans—are creatures that should not exist within the laws of nature. Or—should we? Since life is Eternal Spirit; humans are in-step with all living creatures within the laws of nature…We are aware of self; however, all creatures of life are aware of being…Sweet paws of moving life are perfect. They do and  they are perfectly—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 quickly 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 or debated or accepted or rejected or imagined or imaged in creations either by divine accidents or notion’s whimsy or just…It is good to be a Spirited Robot—donchathink?

Nothing strange or different or odd or…Love is love and across our very own universe-verses of sweet song and sweet touches—music of  spirit fleshes a moment of maybe truth and be damned any religious trifling traps of the ‘oh-no’—’thou shall not’s’—knots of fool squeaks and man—churches—fear of live—living or giving or being and…bible books and book’s bibles—written by a few walkers—talkers of flesh—to control  everyone other than these few powers—too must be sinful to rule and to dictate to anyone of the ‘We’ folk—of the world-wide planet of women and men. We are the power and they are the few— hear us roar when fear becomes hunger and balance shifts too far away from family and tribal dances again move around bright firelight into the outside darkest sight of changing night.

Strange fiction—Gods from Heaven shall come back and destroy the Earth in fiery stuff and suffering? Except for a pathetic few—all will perish? Hells-Bells—must be man-speak…We have been killing and destroying and suffering—since when? We are very good at waging war…Hate—always corrodes the container it is carried in…So! For a New Day try a Different View!

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Alight A New Tomorrow’ —by EdenBridge

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’

Oceans of Crystal Ships…

Halo_123Bombs to feed our Children—WTF? ‘Swords to Plowshares’—How Simple and How Sweet…Worlds without Rape and Murder—Absolutely! And! ’ Sleeping in Safe Arms’ Wonderfully—Wonderful…donchathink?

From the harbor of Calimesa City there once sailed great ships of crystal—sent across the seas of space toward small spinning places three steps from a little yellow sun—dancing lights and heated waves vibrating life chances and starts and beginning of ends in exploded variations of home and conducive to blood-fleshed creations and our creature-selves.

Are we living proof—the something-of-else—far from planet here to there where once and often Gods ruled the what-of-ever-forever-for-more-or-less and created woman and man inside the worlds of Sirius and Nomad Gods dragged life’s sweet creations to Mars and Earth and another beyond in hinged fringes and the bright light of golden ships of purple sails and silent engines? Improved and less and by the joint endeavors’ of sin and survival we remained alive?

These ships of crystal and filled to brim with living mischief—and the odd whimsy of god-speak  and legend—lurched forward toward features reversed or continued or extinguished—Titans created the creations of presences and histories and current fallacies—And! Since wars among Titans raged heaven’s high and length, ‘tis simple why creatures created in images or by—production of accidents’ industrial strength and robotic renovation—determined little more than continued strife and strike and stupidity and suffering through little success—successfully executed and lost…

However: The created creations lost an ‘Eden’ place when the ‘She’ and ‘He’ of the ‘It’ either happened by an accidental accident or fell from or was pushed out of the wonder of ‘Immaculate Contraptions’ and through construction divine discovered the ‘other than’ robotic being and joined the ‘Spirits of Twirl’ while discovering choice is better than and more difficult than the straight-in-line-crawl toward golden lights and cave dwelling and scrawling dots or dashes against walls without reasons or rhymes or the ‘Rhythm of Love.’

The created ‘Something’ became Creators’ images. Titans both liked and did not like those new—some and toothsome robotic creators and out of the Martian splendor again Crystal ships left Calimesa City and those Wars of Heaven started again and ended again with a bang of clang and thunder as flashed bright light streaked to ground and again to sky shapes and sweeping clouds. Natures’ way and the wary way of being a meek part of some partial particle of the ways of Natural processes or nature’s no reasons to whimsically past time became new  ideas and shapes—always simple and called ‘grand schemes’ of things discovered and ways-to-live again…

Again: The concepts of Alpha’s fade into sunlight’s setting in a western sky or an eastern place where Suns counter-twirl the clock’s faced sweep of hands out-of-motion in the used-to-be circle and night still happens and daylight is always measured in products produced and profits lost or gained. Must be the Gods of creation…We created them—they must earn a return for their creation—‘so let it be written?

And! This day ‘smaller’ Titans create crystal ships against the blue of sky day and sail east into a setting sun as orange/red disappears along the line. No profit for created creations—no bill to pay for a piper of songs of long ago sounds or for an eternal drum-lined-march-to-war…Just peace and sunset’s sweet and crystal ships on these waters—along the line where sky meets sea and light fades into a very fine night…Watch for those purple sails and listen for the distant sounds of silent engines—Oh Yeah—Baby!

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Whispers’—by Unsun

Chasing Eternal Spirits…

25City ended when life known though not completely understood stopped and the wars began. Great floods of political or religious doctrine mixed with gun-powder, drones and bombs—ba-boom-ba-boomed despite of; right or wrong, weak or strong and as all beliefs—no regard for precious life. Territory divided along the secular lives of too many bleeding folks and still the ba-boom of gun-powder and drones and bombs along with the religion of death found no one innocent enough to live.

City stopped and the social constructions of neighborhood and village and town died without a whimper. These constructions simply died, when the bullets ran out and all the weapons jammed. Riding those lines of timeless speed and the dark-light dance—carried Sparking Sparkle toward mass of center without color.

Then began the poisons of time. Another body politic found a better way to worship and to control those left to control. Call climates-a-changing or winter’s wrath or drought or flood an Earth-ender. Call death by storm or maelstrom or super storm Cindy or Clyde or Mary or…Mind-storm of those to control the unwilling to be controlled and always war to stop-start-win-lose-contain-spread-prevent-continue…Confusing of words sometimes win?

And! Always those living or dying in-out times either today, tomorrow, in present condition or another future real or imagined. Watch the sky for ‘It’ will come and destroy us! This never happens because we destroy ourselves. Are war and the fighting of battles as genetic as the creation of our own children?

If we let them do…then this is what will happen…they are not able to govern…and let’s call those freedom fighters—Terrorist…they are not people…they must be contained…this is our war against Terrorism…yet; is their war a hope for Freedom and Determination? Those winning wars rewrite history and are remembered as Patriots-Noble-Courageous-Founding Fathers and…really Thomas Jefferson, are all men equally created; yet, slaves are owned?

After several weeks of warnings the ultimate destruction of our Solar system, commenced and in a little under one hour the sun and planets were gone…All men are created equally! Living changes everything and another adventure begins. Skipping into start-stop and without this motion all ends…Skippity-Hoppity-Peace-be-Peace.

At this bridge we jumped to safety just before our vehicle splashed into water below us. He leaps to safety, and then plunge-jumped into the swirling-twirl and chased the auto as it went to-bottom. We waited for him to surface…He re-appeared as a boy. However; why a small child? Anyway, we never saw the man again.

And! Beautiful you are…

//