Spinning Triangles…

5from the ‘Thunder—Perfect Mind’

“For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin. . . .
I am the barren one,
and many are her sons. . . .
I am the silence that is incomprehensible . . .
I am the utterance of my name.” (a feminine power divine)

We End…Storm-side fury—then gone…Quick-to-die and always—short to live. Snow— drinking blood. Wind shifting sands—the path always found—footsteps always gone. Come and go—never footsteps just paths beginning and footsteps—gone. Pictures supply—by the pushers— drugs—be free and around every curve something still-stands—still-falls—still-prays—still raptures and always fades. And! I will love you until—the wheels finally come off… “The world is an indecipherable-essentially absurd but fascinating spectacle.” (From Joyce Carol Oates):

‘The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his “natural superiors”, and has left remaining no other nexus between man and man than naked self-interest, than callous “cash payment”. It has drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervor, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, unconscionable freedom — Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation. The reason the bourgeois exist and exploit the proletariat with low wages is private property, “the accumulation of wealth in private hands, the formation and increase of capital” and that wage labor is created entirely by competition among the workers…’ (Friedrich Engels)

Why compete—when together—we can ‘Over-Come.’…Xenophobia is fear of self…We have a right to be everywhere. When the rich become too rich—the wealthy—become selfish… Capitalist—classes abound…Now! On this earth too few people control the wealth—slave to wage folk are losing…Distribution of America’s wealth—Maybe—‘an only way to survive’ donchathink?

The Siden war of occupation and terror continued for too many generations. Unfair war! Unity Central participated across planet distance from Siden World…Memory slipping of why supported; however, wealth and greed and the war-breed-slide collided with the like-minded. Historians now practiced the slice/dice recording of the winner of the Siden War. The destruction of a people include the body-spirit and the ways of people. Gone from prime memory—their art and their language and their reasons-for-love…Gone—their family traditions—their celebrations and their reasons—of-living-life. Siden—gone.

History spins tales—of warrior-world and of victory spoils. Truthful-liars create their world and into sand and dust go everything else. The spinning of ‘truth-creep’ bumps into pages of ‘Urgent News—Read all about It.’ Attacks—are always proper and necessary. People destroy—always the enemy-mine. And! Let their story end…so we can forget all about it.

Not all people are warriors—Our little ones and our women and our elders (the teachers of tradition—life—wisdom—hope and continuation) also die. They are societies’ survival and their names and their lives must be remembered—Correctly counted and reported and cherished in the present and the future. The People of Siden? Ultimately—religion’s mad wiggle becomes the rhyme and the reason for an unfair world…Religion always kills…Death of life is wrong…When death seizes a life may death be a natural ending and not a war-forced sorrow. Then—‘We may not be born to be wasted.’

And! Beautiful you are…

Roads

“Ohh, can’t anybody see
We’ve got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say
How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong
Storm.. in the morning light
I feel
No more can I say
Frozen to myself
I got nobody on my side
And surely that ain’t right
And surely that ain’t right
Ohh, can’t anybody see
We’ve got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say
How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong
How can it feel, this wrong
This moment
How can it feel, this wrong
Ohh, can’t anybody see
We’ve got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say
How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong” (written and performed by Portishead)…

Sail Songs—Then Gone…

Somme_33“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” ― from ‘A Farewell to Arms’ by Ernest Hemingway…

Is there a formula or a discussion in the Scientific World for the existence of ‘conscious’—‘spirit’? Are there only three dimensions? Is ‘time’ added to those dimensions? We— physicals—have five senses. Normally—Normal? Why is everything beyond normal—considered or called—nonsense–hallucination—superstition or miracle? Our world is a magnificent construction of many constructions. We believe—or do not believe—in derivations of inclined-living or higher-self or soul’s purpose—or spirit or great beyond-the-mean- averages of life and death.

Do we simply wish better—’Self’ or ‘Angel’ beyond the physical? Do we remember other self—before birth and after death? If we do—then are ‘We’ Eternally universal Spirits? Do we see outside our rejections and failures—as learning to be better or do we forget—We-be-We? Remember when warmth was without fire—Remember when our mother’s blood fed us and whispered love into our blood-hungry spirits before we became—Scientific?

What of spark that travels into the light of—joining life inside and outside the days of pasts’-present’s—future. Behold Spirit Dancer! Do remember—when warmth was without fire and strength absolute without—the Science of dimensions and senses and all was: nonsense-hallucination-superstitious-religious—without name. Before time—wig-waggled across universal spirits—began—‘We-Be’.

Witches are—the power of lives and life and choices and dictates and control. Witches are—fire builders—raining oils—falling from somewhere-to-there—without distractions…The Coven hurls great sounds and flashes across sky and through the clouds. In worlds—Cosmic Travelers visit and see—deserts and fertile valleys and green and salt and clear pools and the warmth of Blood-taste. Escape into this city—filled to brim with witches and ghosts and spokes in times’ harmony—choirs-of-one-chorus and harmonious—enchanters along with magic—made-of—lace.

This is the time of winged fire breathers and statues of motion and beaches of rocks without sand. Horses—without wheels spin and donkey flocks—carry unarmed soldiers into war covered places—blood without sound-shriek and taste. This is—mystery place. This is—dream stop—timed—clock without time. A minute starts without beginning or time or reason—rhyme—to begin—or end moments later—and cease—both—notion and substance. Realm call and words spoken are never—sound. These words flow ‘cross bands of bounded paper in font digital—and fashions—stitch upon silk cloth and imagination.

We form the notion of eternity and dance upon timeless patches of cover—underneath—blue of skies—before rain-dusted night drive us underground—to places of swings and scenes of grass covered deserts in light and sparkle. Escape to City—the Sity—of oil rain—crumble towers and rust color skylines—tucked just below sky ceiling. Walk upon the crusted sea and into days-of-nothing-less. Across skies ago—wails of the finish—of together and life and custom and speak and thought and reason and living—dying-to-stop.

Immediately—reverses gone. Motion and the familiarity of home-stop and vision of little candles burning in—windows—home lights—world end—extinguish and gone. Sailors without sail and soldiers without war and the need to succeed in twinkling flashes disappear—across sky above earth-spin. They disappear—we end. And! End civilizations. We became world-colony and use and stop and start and stagger and another Earth diminish before new illumination and enlightenment. Strip—bare–ground quickly—we consume our way across world sweet—planet fine. ‘Off-worlders’ devour our own too many and our own slaughter of mother-world and the failing of protection—insignificant.

Fools and folly of off-world stop our only way to continue. They fail to see their vision fade into star-stream and moon-dust. They remove—our Love…He looked up and said…”Scan the sky-sweet baby. Must leave… They will kill you. Somehow—Go to them. And you will not die.” She too looked and saw his face, “Without you, I am dead…Without us we end. Without you and me— no Baby and without—we are…” Bank wide and Somme River wet—fell—physicals—sixty thousand—spirits all and stories to-be-or-lost-to-see—inside smoke—wiz-bangs—life chokes—barbed wire and tears—‘cross ‘Crimson Fields’—sixty thousand—one day long —lives too—gone.

We are few and so many—Lost-Broken-and-Forgotten…War is now! War is yesterday! War is murder! War is ‘Crime against Humanity’…Ask—or—It does require time—however—today we free-fall toward acceleration and the annihilation of Everyday.

And! Beautiful you are…

“Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In”…written by James Rado—Gerome Ragni (lyrics) and Galt MacDermot (music)…performed by Digital Dagger…

Layers of Flash…

Star_735“Know I’ve done wrong,
Left your heart torn
Is that what devils do?
Took you so low,
Where only fools go
I shook the angel in you

Now I’m rising from the ground
Rising up to you
Filled with all the strength I found
There’s nothing I can’t do”…From the song ‘Love Me Again‘…written by John Newman and Steve Booker—

We are not layers of flash and fear and afraid of flash and a million directions without notions of where and how to go or leave or approach or fade away. We are not human…we are alive—life—simple of reason and always on our way away to leave or stay or afraid to simply fade away…Climb now— branches high—winter nigh—leaves not springing—sprung—prior budding and climbing high and tucked just below frost line—mountain soft and night-time slow. Tree high and not moving twin-spin—slower—motion still.

Foreign—not home and light-year long—away from places seen and spaces known before earth-fall—tunnel bright—tunnel sight—and—a space of place between real—and among the magic ones. Planet guided—peace pleased—run coming to streaks of night flash and day dash and a clash of two…And! They come by copter churn-twist-chop—by lorries-engines-rush—by cart-horse-pull—by men stretch-manned-carried—and all wounded ones or twos or many more or less and behind the layered flash of red-pink-nights—we wait and wonder and gather-to-elves notions—of life to stay or life to pass away—today.

We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive—simple and true—except when suppressed and distorted for unnecessary gains and a perversion called wealth…We are the eternity of spirits—no need beginning and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life. Symmetry with no form except wind and rain and careful storms of chaos and figure. Go figure—the here or the now and still history is not preformed or manufactured except through the controllers—of spins and twists and the thrill of the lie. Or—go figure with the smile of Leonardo or the Lady’s laugh or the chatter of many minds or—just a few—of many hearts. Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?

Arrives—those machined boxes machine-sweet—and together in minds of same or alternates where we twirl the whirl and call the laugh or two as boxes open and away we—they separate into some things or less or the loneliness of crowd bridges or twin screw moments of those spaces of time without seconds. And! Yes robots—we—search blood and find taste good in mingle – tingle moments—touch-amazing—touch not those imagine sources of unnecessary wariness and one becomes another and brief the flashes together spread the separate into singularity no more than once…Again—again and again.

Wind across this liquid—sunlight and thick wave dance—lights and slivers of silver and gold. Followers watch for scraps or bits to fall toward their reach either diving for something new or rocking gently on this clear sea of warming suns and moonlight’s dance of song and silence. Our nature to run with and from the many or the few? See often through the curved ceiling of doorway when curved light enters twenty-one tiny windows round these openings to escape places and leave regions. Still more a spirit than the body proper until chemicals of doubt and satisfaction rule body self ending sometime in time without mere reasons to be except—a rhythm to complete.

We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive—simple and true except when suppressed—through layers—distortion—or flashes of fear—tears…We are the eternity of spirits—never having to begin and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life.

And! Beautiful you are…

Love Me Again‘…performed by John Newman

Star-Dusted Moons and Chorus…

53

Walk the path of these days and past’s presence and today’s—tomorrow dreams. We are builders of grand places and the ancients of straw homes in tomorrow’s futures? Often music calls a spirit to dance ‘round a late night fire somewhere in distant time—We began before the stars—And together we melt into the mist…We are all Children of the Universe…We have the Right to be Everywhere!

By the fire light of these dwindling tribes—children marvel at both the dancing flames and the warmth of lights against the nights and outside—shadows beyond their eyes. They listen and stories tell the beginning of things now gone and of those grand places— no start—just—imagine and see—in minds’ own spaces—desired regions of before dream and after ‘wishing was true…’Paint now pictures—loving these caves and these walls and these tribes of we and me and us and them and before the storm and after the end of rains and winds and bumping things and silent shrieks once loud now absent from ear and fear and tear. Sounds of life—‘cross a million miles of rock and rolling—till another day of storms and another night of passion—shadow dance beneath a star-lighted ceiling. Once again—share moments and lives and the power of life. Blood and love is the matter of the matter and the survival of these survivors of wherever gods and whatever storms. Instincts trust in…For anticipation may—often fail?

We are not resource. Forests are not board-feet. Precious animals are alive and well and multiplying within circle-life and when undisturbed are balance—the harmony of earth twirl and whirl across space—required for survival and never a commercial aggravation of money changers and the idiocy of gain. Precious must be protected—wise beings—remove from destruction—as our survival of future days and future nights. Unless! Flash—we stop and our carbon-based trickle ceases equal value and determination…We are not resource. When forest covers this place—land once stripped—now concrete jungles—scattered sky-buildings and layers to portions—to little—to—too much. Resource-speak—twist these places into battlefields and crime and punishment and damage civilizations— and cease—peace. Nations—  ‘battle-cries of freedom’ and blood-pours—poor laborers and slaves create— hope for many and freedom for few. Life is not—a purchase or a product—sell. Eternal Speak—of—all Life—Eternal Spirit—Forever! Instincts trust in…For anticipation may—often fail?

Hear pitch perfect spirit chorus pushed from moon-side to earth-side and back across ear-to-ear and from throat-to-voice and again out into spaces of hearing voices and silence. Create listener—speaker—and the quiet times of silent-speak. Gods—we create—creation of images dreamed and beamed to radiated radiation—we spirit-dance these sounds without vibrated-vibrations or derivations’ chaos there be—than we see and be—both the life of songs and silence…Not so often—the choir of silence—sings-songs the gatherings and sweet rolls of honey bread and wine. Soft conversations—land’s across—diners where breakfast—breaks-fasts of night and sleep-ends in shrugs—stretched—muscles—twitched and sounds—reminding lives of living gently—cross clefts of treble wires and bass notes—tucked beneath a bottom line. Falling trees in dawn lights at the center of creation’s place—vibrate notions and sounds both of illusive—illusions and illustrated—illustrations. We! Gods of these creations—find this to be something good—that is part—Way… Instincts trust in…For anticipation may—often fail?

Robot now and then and once again when creature walks splendid winds across another place of times—remember and stories of this and that—told by any-to-any-listening—of robot tales and adventures as the course of discourse launch comes—songs of sailor’s speak and wig-waggle ‘cross a thousand skies—complete with warrior legends and the strength of priestess kiss and home returns. We all sail here—the sailors of these moments—friends and family and the you of me and the me of us and all—eternal spirits we be—the power of life—inside folded space or outside yonder rim-spin—we are…Instincts trust in…For anticipation may—often fail?

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…

‘Winter Trees’ by Sylvia Plath

“The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.

On their blotter of fog the trees

Seem a botanical drawing –

Memories growing, ring on ring,

A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,

Truer than women,

They seed so effortlessly!

Tasting the winds, that are footless,

Waist-deep in history –

Full of wings, other worldliness.

In this, they are Ledas.

O mother of leaves and sweetness

Who are these pietàs?

The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.”  

 

And! Beautiful you are!

‘Stardust’ …by Delain

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

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’

Lights at World End…

Ships_427‘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.’

Lights at the end of the world. Now! See those lights across these thousand worlds—welcome home to places you have started and places to begin again or again or on another day’s end and another night’s beginning. Drums to market those marks of time we call our own as heart beats—it starts again and ticks for awhile of wills coming around the corners of spaces in places seen or forgotten or found once for many crossings of spaces and races and time.

Steel Riders pause by waterside as tides of water—kiss shoreline wave length along with one hundred sounds and as gulls ride the dips of above and around piers of ruined wood and splintered ages where once the Calimesa City existed and tide changes mattered to boat anchored and ships sailing against the evening lines. The water’s edge and the skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spins 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.

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…

Slaves of speed and those things filling corners of house scattered and caves overwhelmed by many needs requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath—drenched in sweat and rain and dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams—traced along the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter and later—mist lifts from a million places outside caves and houses and homes now forgotten and almost gone.

Robot now and then and once again when creature walks splendid winds across another place of times remembered and the stories of this and that are told by any-to-any-listening to robot tales and adventures as the course of discourse is launched through songs of sailor’s speak and wig-waggled across a thousand skies complete with warrior legends and the strength of priestess kiss and home returns. We all sail here—the sailors of these moments—friends and family and the you of me and the me of us and all—eternal spirits we be the power of life—inside folded space or outside yonder rim-spin—we are…

This time of days of times ago and present time, the old man vision touched those other ones and whispered, “Not this time—Not this time—our children will not go to war.” Others knew that this time of times would not be the time for dead children and metal touch-to-flesh-madness—For these moments in time—warriors were not necessary…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘The Islander’—by Nightwish

The Balance of Nations…

P_88In the twirl of the whirl and between the steps of metal warriors, Robots—us begin a step-lock of unison and the hope of…Earth renewal and the premised promises of days to better the inside-outside of motions reached without notions of greed and the failure of ‘too-much-too soon and too often.’

Freedom requires a society to alter a spread of nothing too many and too much to very few. Kingdoms? Governments? Religions—A name of control by a few over everyone? Prophets and Saviors have roamed this sweet earth and gently whispered of social worlds and caring among societies. Were these magic-folk the founders of Socialism? Did magicians of Buddhism or Islam or Hinduism or Christianity conjure the magic of Socialism?

The Religions that quickly chased—followed these Foundation Creators created War Machines and Kingdoms of Profit…Wars—Crusades—Reformation—Alteration—Reputation—Saturation and Infatuation— are ruler words…Bloodletting ensues and what is physical turns to dust in eyes-twinkle and agony…On the back of labor and slaves and wage-slaves…Governments are created—enhanced—and ultimately destroyed. ‘Blood—Sweat—Tears’ are people costs…Rulers advance and decline once they dismiss their origin of originality.

Western Civilization…Equals the commission of crimes against Humanity to further Profit Lust and the Terror of Capitalism. Moments in time, recorded by the people and not by the winners of wars and the concentration of wealthy words and lies; world variances and imbalances are discovered.  Imbalanced nations (currently in the Middle East)?  When people die—the wealthy win…Many people die—the wealthy win. When there are wars—the wealthy win.  Called Religious wars—Sectarian strife—and many other names. The destruction of balance—Yes–Yes—Yeah!

During the 20th century, the USA favored dictators over freedom throughout South America. Cuba is very close—almost ‘Florida close…’ Why is this present day embargo still the reality of an ‘old-white-men’ government? Another terror of Capitalism—Yes! Why is Socialism an enemy of the People? It is not a crime nor is it against the rights of People anywhere…Redistribute the costs of Cold and Hot Wars committed against humanity during the twentieth century and our world—prospers in a Social world. Equality—Yes—Yes—Yeah!

In countries practicing Capitalism (USA, etc.) the means of production are not labor’s property. Very few people own the land and materials required for manufacturing, factories, machines and other instruments of production…Therefore; if you are not wealthy you are a slave—a wage slave. Wages are never fair because the lust-for-profit is more powerful than Truth, Justice, Love and Life.

Corporate ‘cultures’ easily translated mean—profit at all cost and all of the Working Class is an expense…Eliminate every expense to further our profits! La Serrata—Separation? Where are the values we learned from our mothers? Why is greed the prime motive of Industry and its future development? For the standards of friendship and family and our world, Capitalism is the antithesis. It adheres to competition at all costs. It dismisses cooperation, help for fellowman, responsibility to society, the benefits of others and love.

Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-the-World is a Crime against Humanity…Like Genocide and Sociocide, these abuses; destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this twirly-whirly planet. Capitalism is not freedom…It is slavery for us all…It is war and a savage waste of precious life…It benefits no one except a few. It destroys Society…It forces revolution and revolution is bloody. Why is Religion also an industry? Why not just…Lust of life—not of Riches?

  • 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.”

So Again:  “Go ahead and hate your neighbor—go ahead and cheat a friend—Do it in the name of heaven— you could justify it in the end—There won’t be any trumpets blowing—come the judgment day—On the bloody morning after—One Tin Soldier rides away.”

by Joni Mitchell

And! Beautiful you are…

Echo of Rising Moons…

F102Walk the path of these days and past’s presence and today’s tomorrow dreams.

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

Fire and shadows cross a sky

Color moon of blood and gold

Simple songs and thudding drum

Stars light up another home.

We move by wind across this place

In sunlight waves and dancing twists

Of silver rain and stretching space

Ship’s gentle streaks in skies of grace.

With muted voice and silent rooms of

Blood touched throat and emptied tombs

Bridge walked toward and skylight’s scream

By taking flight and falling dream.

Warming suns of days ago

With salted mist and taste of tongue

Lights of passion—times of rain

Wolf cries shout of sands and home.

Across this universal stretch.

Window shine in candle’s light

And let us touch another peace

Of safety sleep and lover’s reach.

Echo starts and rising moon with daylight noises coming soon. Cross a spinning place of dare in city soft and city fare. Of touch and flesh and us tonight—As we begin this dance of light…

 And! Beautiful you are…

Life! Not Resource…

F141Life is not a resource. Life is being…Trees—fish—animals—reptilian alive—life. Since life is being then everything on this precious earth and in our sweet oceans—lakes and rivers are beings. We too are members of this stream and our existence and freedom and balance are interlocked in these motions and rhythms and rhymes. Dependents we are and we rejoice in the music of nature’s symphony and universal spirit-speak.

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

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

Life is not a resource. The middle of an Eastern portion of a world spinning across a universe of space and time and landfall and splendor has a determination created by a Western ideology so foreign and devoid of principle that Sociocide is a study in collateral damage and a ‘resourceful’ necessity. Egypt—Palestine—Lebanon—Syria—Iraq—Iran and…Presently; these wars are battles of imbalance created by this terror from the West. Someday soon—this will pass…Life is sacred and family is love!

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

Life is not a resource. May we all become an inspiration of balance and love? Remember we are creations of creative folk—never alone. We are spirits and joined to every living thing—seen and also not observed. We are animals and fish and reptiles and trees and flowers and skies and moons and suns and stars and planets across many miles inside universes of many miles.

Are we not everlasting spirit-life in an eternal place wherever these places remain? Now! Cover us with moonlight and star bright—as we angel-dance in misty air and yesterday’s futures—tomorrow.

And! Beautiful you are…