Did We Once—Only Paper Be?

R_169“Someone ought to do it, but why should I?” — “Someone ought to do it, so why not I?” “Between these two sentences lie whole centuries of moral evolution”…Annie Besant

“The fake gods sat down in a circle
As if around a three-legged table
it was necessary to reach the last extremes
it was necessary that the air burn in whispers
for the pencil to start moving
There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
the voices are the same the thunder
is the same roaring in our ears for
on one side and the other of the paper it said
there is no death
There is death though in the paper where
the muffled pencil moved
Only in the paper only in the shrouding paper”… Annie Besant

Did we once—character dance across these lines? Booked volumes away—to go—stay—in place of other ones—or other twos—or threes—more or less than begin—to end and back again—to place—race along pages—seeks-to-keep—story from too-soon-to-end—and—then again—back—again. We are—chronic spirits—place roamers—‘cross round-about—earth space—spaced—just-so—as to touch—and never run—‘smack into others—over faces—of earth twirl and planet whirl…Instinctively we—never slam—we touch face—sometimes lips—hand swish—just to express being—and never—to announce passing-to—other sides and other rides. We never mean—to rise—arrivals here—when there may seem better—than rather—though we simply happen—to be us—as weather often happens to—us all—everyone. And! Sometimes we are recognized in rhythm—and in rhyme—sometime—but not until we understand—the words—we sing—and these pieces—that peace—chunks varied—in bringing—ringing-to-ears—inclined to decline—war-riches as violence—reminds us—to leave these races—and migrate—to bloodless shoreline—and new chance—dances—just slips—rides before us—as we leave dying—behind…Strange—Western shores—are sometimes doors—away from wars—that colonization—delivered to us—mere—scant—rants—only a few years ago…

Socialism is not a creation of death—Socialism is simply another way to handle money—to not horde—to not lord—too simple—to understand—when Capitalism—damn-dam—most-of-us—to slaves of wage—with nothing to give—as we end—and they continue. And! If the Mediterranean Sea—is drained into—farmland—would the land be everyone’s profit or just the Drainers-of-their-Containers? Is it also—possible—that a-way-of-life—call it an—Industrial War Machine—maintains—Laws-of-Capitalism—Evils—be—either—Democrats or Republicans—in a faraway country called—the United States of America…And! South America—is just as important—as—North America…Though—the Industrial—War Machine—is the—-‘destabilize r’—of everything good—honest—democratically elected—rejected—inspected and dejected…Capitalism—has destabilized—the non-western world—and—destroyed the lives of—millions of good—honest—families—and why—and where—and why again—to—begin-an-end-only-to-start-it-all-again…

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

Abusing—the Rights—of the Workers-of-the-World—is a Crime—against Humanity…Like—Genocide and Sociocide—Speculators—destroy—Life and Freedom of People—everywhere—On this sweet planet. We are—free if we—are wage-slaves—anyway?

On Carta-Spin—a twirl of world-look—a revolution of sunshine—moonshine—tucked between—dusk or dawn and—somewhere outside—Sol-speak and near—Star shine—Police—the—Political Group—only serve—to—self-servitude—hating all—without real power—rich—were they—and elect—by them…Their roll—vast—their rock—solid and while—supporting—a demon—democracy—of token—spoken—lies and spies—nothing “of the people—for the people—or by the people—never-ever existed—no matter how—spin-spun—fought-thought—taught—or sought—And! While hungry folk—began to understand—their representation—accounted—for no—accountability and hope—was—viewed by arrogance—lies—bravado and skies—slime’d’ freedom—existed in words—not deeds-of-needs—that elites-of -few could-would obtain everything—anything—anyway…Realizing this…again Revolution follows—the followers—‘cross Cart-Spin’s heaven’s dark and sunless days…Again—hope—stops—blood flows…

‘La Liberté éclairant le monde’

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

“Never forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown country, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle.” by…Annie Besant

We are all—Universal Children…We have the Right to be—Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born to Run’…by Bruce Springsteen

Love—Life—And Back Again…

London_1073‘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.’

The death of ‘middle warders’ on surfaces—are many and rarely varied. Renewal—of hidden—memories and power—in times of—sorrow—danger—and fear must—prevail. Wealth—again moves—poverty descends—from above—as sunlight firms—and from—this ground—levels of those—dwellers and their children. Life—ends—as—life—begins. Life—also creates-stop-start—inside—thousand world reach—where liquid—spins and evaporates.

Across time—lighted atmosphere—with spaces—absent of everything—save—views above and across the—angled galaxy—war of rearranged-arrangements begin—and—still end—in victorious—losses. Some obtain—more-of-less while some—lose everything to—other dwellers above—these spaces—or below this ground—stretched places—caves and cave-ins—where life hides from death—and—waits the end—of silent-lightning and the reaches-of-teaches—flash.

Once again—against—these skies—spinning whirls—of land and seas—of salt and lakes of salt—less spree—warriors stage—wars of rearranged-arrangements—act and actions—where—wealth distributes—to winner’s joy—and to—losers—sorrow. The dead—discarded beneath soiled blood—inside rocky notions—victories of death and legend. Forgotten—are response to—battle—and the rhymes that end—in hunger and rearranged—arrangements.

For these are—short days of peace—remember pleasant moments—above ground splendor—and days-of-nights and nights-of-days—as knights begin—an—uncertain dance of—daze. Swords-shields—never rust and the lightning—of solar dust—gather in place—of suns—along a galactic twirl of swirling—world—filled brim high—with the salted seas—as—breaking winter waves—on shorelines’ length—a billion lakes—without salt—yet—filled with many lights—of star sparkle and life.

Do the religious—measure by rank and legend—higher than reason and world happiness—also become—the first practitioners of—Totalitarianism?—When—reason is rejected—as faith demands and self-interest becomes self-sacrifice—then—give up reason for—thought control—genocide and starvation—why? An infallible ruler—a declination of life expectancy-life-spans-hopes-dreams—and the elimination of unapproved thought by a church and the inquisition—fancy living—or maybe—be—‘never-‘evers’? ‘Nearer my Gods-to-Z’s.’

These are—days of women—of men—and—of children. Days of—reaffirmation and survival’s rearranged—arrangements and—of offerings. They are—creations of ways—of means—of love-hate—and care—in heart shape—reasons and certainly—uncertainty. The times—of these creations—are tiny—moments before—another war and death songs—are always—gentle moments—just after those last days—battled—when reasons are few—and responses—always necessary. Always! Rearranged—arrangements? Blood feeds form—and those forms cease—flesh without it?

Peace—happening-happens—future-present and learned from past touches—brushes—painted blood—flood of regrets—endless wars—sorrow worship—dead—dying all the time—without rhythm—without rhyme…Still reach-teach—beached and—still. Woman—Man! We stand—equally on this—hilltop rise—same battles to fight—same hungers—same pleading—needs—together…And Warrior—She! —We need—most—because without—we do not exist…Remember?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘London Calling’…by The Clash

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

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

Paper Write and Rights …

M_154All Paper Rights are worthless—the writing paper more precious—if no mechanical—mechanisms are already in place to hold all Rulers accountable—to those Paper Write—Rights. Yul Brynner once—with hand flourish—committed—RamesesII-Speak—and said; “So let it be written—So let it be done.” From Pharaohs—to King/Queen Speak to the Magna Carta—to the—American ‘Constitution’ of Speak—and still no realized—Speak of—‘Freedom and Liberty’—until every living thing—is ‘free-to-live’—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other.

Still! Burdened Beasts—and too many-for-Less and More—for just a wig-waggled few and ‘the beat goes on’—donchathink? The United States of America began in a whimper of ‘freedom for those same few’ and through the blood of—many—lesser folks—still continue today—failure for the multitudes and stolen—by anyone—claiming a ‘Runaway—Machined-War-Mechanism’—is prosperity and Death is Freedom’s Sacrifice. American Genocide began when first—Native Americans dared believe and were—slaughtered for —Well! ‘Long Live-that-Crazy and All—Mixed-Up—Dream Me Up—a Paradise or Two.’

Today! Just like another yesterday—Tomorrow just like another Today—doesn’t fade away—just pray—and pick a stone or two and wait long enough—another life to slew—and maintain few—in silver castles just—miles above Planet—spin—still not reached by ground-bound—Us—dying and living without rhythm or rhyme…Monuments carved in blood—masses starving. Temples mounted and delivered by—century’s blood—stained pasts and shattered futures. Mud huts fall when built beside gated compounds—until blood covered gates—rust away and grass fills cracked walls where palaces once defined—Rulers’ failure to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with hungry people.

World-Speak is never Nation-Speak—unless forced by strength—against—weak and imbalanced places—ruined or lost and found and lost again…Wait! Imbalance a country—or a region—and will—the civilization of many—be destroyed—by the Destroyers or by the Imbalance of the Imbalanced? Strategic Genocide—absolutely. Toss in a dash of—Religious intolerance and bang-bang-bang—ready-made—imbalance with large doses of death—destruction and War! The middle of an Eastern portion of a world spinning across a universe of space and time of landfall and splendor—has a determination—created by—a Western ideology so foreign and devoid of principle that Sociocide is a study in collateral damage and a ‘resourceful’ necessity. Egypt—Palestine—Lebanon—Syria—Iraq—Iran and…Presently—these wars are battles of imbalance created by this Terror from the West. Someday soon—this will pass…Life is sacred and family is love!

What of the People—the many—the injured—the women—the children—the homeless? Refugees of—Strategic Genocide…Meetings—and Planning—and—Planning—and Meetings. Still! The refugees of Strategic Genocide die—must be planned—must be decisive death—by many more—meetings…Does anyone require God or Allah or Buddha? No! Only—We are required to Live…Be damned—the Rulers-of-Anywhere-of-Anyplace and-of-Anytime…Not really needed—for our blood to flow inside—where blood belongs—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other. We are few and so many—Lost-Broken-and-Forgotten…War is now! War is yesterday! War is tomorrow! Today—we free-fall toward acceleration and the annihilation of Everyday. Presently—In another place—the Witches of Creations Cry!

And! Beautiful you are…

He was the wizard of a thousand kings
And I chanced to meet him one night wandering
He told me tales and he drank my wine
Me and my magic man kind of feeling fine

He had a cloak of gold
And eyes of fire
And as he spoke I felt a deep desire
To free the world of its fear and pain
And help the people to feel free again

Why don’t we listen to the voices in our hearts
‘Cause then I know we’d find we’re not so far apart
Everybody’s got to be happy
Everyone should sing
For we know the joy of life
The peace that love can bring

So spoke the wizard in his mountain home
The vision of his wisdom means we’ll never be alone
And I will dream of my magic night
And the million silver stars that guide me with their light…The Wizard’ by Uriah Heep

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

Motions of Life Forms…

147“I close your eyes with my mouth
Now you don’t see anything
But you feel my breath all over
I can feel you too

Although I don’t really know you
I don’t really care

Cry with me, make my day
Tomorrow all will be gone
All the sweetness and all the fun
No, I don’t wanna know…

Although I don’t really know you
I don’t really care

Now that you’re gone I don’t know
How to really feel inside
Baring the hope to see you again
I guess I never will

Now that I do really know you
Yes, I really care!”…from ‘Leaves’ by The Gathering

The Spacer Enoch was both an Eternal Spirit and a Physical Being? (Nothing more or less than special—since ‘We-be’—all this—and more.)…Did ‘He—be’ a Spacer or an Earth Guide? Was he another writer of songs and a singer of Goddess Speak—Life forms and Eternal Spirits…Again—Both? Or! Just another distant being or just another Martian? Physical lives do dance with eternal spirits—creations run—ruinous—roads to splendid wonders and premier horrors…Heaven’s gate is hard to find and many have ‘perished-the-thought’ and died attempting to pass from star-gate to star-fall on the planet-slide of hell and paradise. Angel is alone–both hard and soft and ready to purpose the reason of her travel and the message she whispers to mysterious magic folk and the very quick or the very—dead. Angel—she calls herself and she imagines her image as—a double self and triple purposed with a silent drum—of butterfly wings and the knowledge of both living and dying before the end of twin-planet sins times fourteen.

Do motions of poverty ‘cause-a-pause’ in ordinary behavior as quickly as money—free—working folks from necessary labor? 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? When political scientists mention the words ‘international and relationships’ are they actually relating to the interaction between states? Bolshevik communism worked with—instead of— repressing nationalism…And! Let the wars begin because—“My Dog is better than Your Dog?”

Schweickart’s definition of an ‘Economic Democracy’ is a community of workers controlled by ‘Market Socialism.” It is also a “transitional and mixed economy with a government operating in the interest and with the consent of a progressive majority—The Working Class.” Throughout the world—Economic Democracy has failed—because Modern Capitalist entities are now Polyarchies…And! Polyarchy is not Democracy…While many people are able to cast votes—the wealthy are simply—a privileged class and have the power of Hegemony—a power structure in which a single group leads the other groups in a country—or society or political or cultural dominance or authority over others—or the domination of a culturally diverse society by the ruling class…

And! 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 inside-outside these laws…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 or debated or accepted or rejected or imagined or imaged in creations either by divine accidents or notion’s whimsy or just… Strange fictions—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 corrode the container it is carried in…So! For a New Day try a Different View! It is good to be a Spirited Robot—donchathink?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Leaves’—by The Gathering


Blue Planet Waste…

4“Heart Is A Drum”

‘Free as a driving wheel
Circling around your iron will
See only what you feel
Keeps you turning when you’re standing still
You tried to run from trouble when it comes
You followed the drum keeping time with everyone

High as the light of day
You’re falling down across your lost highway
Pain – does it hurt this way?
To come so far to find they’ve closed the gates?
You’ve lost your tongue when you fall from the pendulum
Your heart is a drum keeping time with everyone

Everyone, if they drown from the undertow
Need to find someone to show me how to play it slow
And just let it go

Your eyes get stung by the rays of the sinking sun
You follow the drum keeping time with everyone
Going beat beat, it’s beating me down
Beat beat beat beat, it’s beating me down
Day after day, it’s turning around
‘Til all my days are drowning out’…written by Beck Hansen

“In the current phase of intellectual corruption, it must be stressed that, like democracy and human rights, the economic doctrines preached by the rulers are instruments of power, intended for others, so that they can be more efficiently robbed and exploited. No wealthy society accepts these conditions for itself, unless they happen to confer temporary advantage; and their history reveals that sharp departure from these doctrines was a large factor in development.”—Noam Chomsky

Is the Anti –globalization—Counter globalization movements—actually the Global Justice Movement—diametrically opposed to Neoliberal Globalization and Corporate Globalization? And! These multi-national corporations—do seek maximum profit through the victimization of wage slaves—by the minimization—of safety standards and conditions—labor hiring and compensation standards—environmental conservation principles—national legislative authority—independence and sovereignty…’Turbo-capitalism’ be real—here and there and everywhere…Please remember these names: George Soros—Susan Strange—Edward Luttwak and Benjamin Barber…

Capitalism’s capacity for wealth—brings with it—wars, crises, unemployment, pollution, poverty and extreme inequalities—a moral and practical failure And! To be a capitalist—strictly speaking—you must own enough income-producing assets—so you can live comfortably without having to work. Image—‘not working’—why?

Steve Biko, the South African activist who was murdered by the apartheid regime while he was in custody—once said, “The most powerful weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”

State Department documents—show that in October 5th, 1976—Secretary of State—Henry Kissinger and other ‘high-ranking’ US officials gave their full support to the Argentine military junta and urged them to hurry up and finish their actions before the US Congress cut military aid. Kissinger during a meeting with Argentina’s Foreign Minister said—“Look, our basic attitude is that we would like you to succeed. I have an old-fashioned view that friends ought to be supported. What is not understood in the United States is that you have a civil war. We read about human rights problems but not the context. The quicker you succeed the better… The human rights problem is a growing one. Your Ambassador can apprise you. We want a stable situation. We won’t cause you unnecessary difficulties. If you can finish before Congress gets back, the better. Whatever freedoms you could restore would help.” Wowzer!

Sky crust—blocks pearl light—as an evening of workers—failed strengths—home bound—as ‘Nighters’ replace the ‘Eveners’ and continue—work begins—ends and starts along the edges of digital clicks and analog clacks. Time cataloged into spreads of pages—indexed—assorted stuff—straightened—arranged—packed for space-spin—or unpacked to—go consumers—consumed with curiosity—hunger—required—needs or fulfilled desires. Oppression—succeeds when its legitimacy is internalized. The freedom to write it right—write—writing—toward left of sails unfurled and imagined as sea endless might and distance ‘tween stars—‘tween galaxy—‘tween the universal folds of space. There be books here and listen to these stories from spirit-speaks—of volumes long and voltage sweet. We—change everything with Blue Planet Waste?

‘The most heroic word in all languages is Revolution’-–Eugene Debbs

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Heart is a Drum’…By Beck Hansen

Petri Dish Warriors…

1‘The circle safely closed—Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. 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.’

When you are chasing shadows for your next meal—freedom’s whimsey ends. It is a world we inhabit—it is not me and it is not you—Then! What are We…Spying and ‘Brother Guv’?  Nature’s control—uncontrollable—instantly forever and beyond scopes of science and of imagination. Rarely—fairly sized bits of spaced-placed spins—swirl by the twirl of Terra-formed globes of—mother-ships and heaven rips—along the ‘ins-outs’ through—wormholes and folded space—distance short—through tomorrow’s-daze and reaching toward—yesterday’s-today. Gods roar—small voices and the sky wars begin and end as Watchers—on Walkers Hill gather—and record the might and flight of Petri dish warriors and ‘thou shalt not’ killers form time and place—scatter across one thousand worlds of sin and spin—begin and end and then—begin again.

Petri Dish creations appear—to first crawl or redraw—soups of shimmer and microscopic glimmer— and from those mud pots—creations—cover a globe of twirl—along and around fresh or salted or brackish soups—to boat-float about—by single constructions—to ships of destruction—to curse the folds of space-time purpose—with cathedral towns and roundabout stores…Then! How does the Acts-of-Survival—intended-by-life be bound and drowned—revived to-only-die-again? Babble towers—divinity curses—from Volapuk speak—to the Esperanto’s lyric touch and still to more and other and another—ad infinitum—til good is better to best almost and then—back-to-begin—again. Qwerty and AC/DC speaks of—rhythms and rhymes in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and still the ‘1’ of life to ‘0’ not and then back to life’s ebb or spread and hacked—back—again to-begin and then-to-end—again.

Words may—too often influence and warp the processes—through how—we know-what-we-know-we-now-know—or almost future—know-what we almost-may understand—sometime—in some-place-in-space—somewhere-in-time…And! All fits—all places—mostly—almost right-writing and writing-right either incorrectly or almost-always finding fit—too and almost—never-quite-writing-right-correctly…So! Write word-speak and text/message masses—via earphone-to-headphone and standing by—that understanding may begin and start again—in one thousand places—through six thousand spaces—mixes with many—impresses a few—and almost—maybe—enlightens one and with many sounds and through the swirl of syntax twirl—the many may forget the few. OK! But still right bends truth-to-left and back again—’til what—may be true is false again and false once truth is back—again.

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. 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. 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.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘DreamCatcher’…by Cusco

Diamond High and Dusted…

F_12Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte became the dictator of Chile because the United States of America backed his take-over of the Civilian Elected—‘Socialist Unidad Popular’ government of President Salvador Allende on September 11, 1973…During his ‘unelected rein of terror’— at least (3,200) people were killed—(80,000) people were incarcerated and more than thirty thousand folks were tortured…Why?

On diamond highs—along shore sand and reed—circle the Twirlers of Sabayin Swirl—often fill the slash and crash of evening tide—with scarves’ streaks and tracks—before tide’s arrival—to clean-wash season’s waste and taste. Bloom sellers—Peddlers of flowers delicate and barbellate—white carnations and seasonal red roses. And! Enough weapons to destroy our own world…Circle the Twirlers of Sabayin Swirl and the Song-of-Anne-asks—‘why kill when dying is just another way home?’ Without ‘me’ everyone is free…Eternal spirits ‘we’—not the ‘id’—not ‘ego’ not—‘me-we’ against worlds…

Why failures of a financial and economic nature—when Neo-liberal Capitalism (the economics of Reaganomics—trickle-down constricts—mumbles and ends tumbles—shrinks to drips—from splash
to direly drier—than known—before lies begin and ‘never happens’—prosperity’s ‘never really was’ without bang-bangs or shudders-shatter by hope-for-or almost-happens and those policy measure-treasures—onward ‘blah’ forward—as revolution’s creep-deep without anything better than word-speaking lies and no restructuring of major institutional failures? Questions long and answers with motions toward revolution and the beginnings of new steps away from Neo-liberal Capitalism and toward the justice of just the ‘US’ without those pathetic few finding jet-side and seeking those ‘new worlds’ a hoppity-skippity—space twist—toward new suns or old stars aligned with something new or stagnation—start-stop and financial panic becomes death through revolution.

Where to hide—when star-drive failures and distances to-moons-away—sway in the hope of fleeing— become the hope of sharing the shares of corporate machines and the independence of individual greed—and evolution bows it hungry head—collapses and rests beside life for lifetime reasons and survival’s true reason-to-be-to-see and to-be-free? Neo-Liberal Capitalism is not a ground-middle…Greed by another name whether called ‘classical liberalism’ or a collection-of-collectors-planning-centrally—is still the evolution of greed—scattering seeds of disconnection and realizing revolution either in the present or just a moment into the future…If laissez-faire’ is a doctrine of classical liberalism then a variance equals a ‘market economy.’ Those few—having the ‘where-with-all’ may successfully spin the twirls of markets…Majority has no ‘where-with-all’ and still spins of twirling markets destroy those with and those without…Oops! And greed will ‘getcha’ if you don’t watch out…

French editor and cartoonist Stephane Charbonnier said; “I would rather die standing than live on my knees.” A ‘slave-owner’—Thomas Jefferson advised that; “the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time.” He believed the people must warn the rulers that taking up arms against the government is legitimate if the government fails to protect the people’s liberty. And! Greed will ‘getcha’ if you don’t watch out…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘In the Name of Love’…performed by U2