Mimics—We—Robots Be…

44“Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight
In an everlasting kiss…” Bruce Springsteen

We are those everlasting—over-again—Robot folk—little once—remembered little—learned—forgotten and then remember—all over-again—Robot folk—we be. And! Sometimes a useful life—is not grand—nor big—is just—a continuation of Spirit Dance… Concerned or just ‘how now’—the highest international authority on Planet Spin—called the ‘International Court of Justice’—did offer a precedent to how law abiding States—respond to—International Terrorism.

Between the beginning and the ending of the US war against—Nicaragua (1970-1987)-tens of thousands—sweet bodies were destroyed—and their country ruined…Call the ‘Contras’ and America will seed decay—into the subliminal shapes of non-recovery—destruction and ‘Fears into Tears.’ A Nicaraguan dictator—Anastasio Somoza—falls—proxy scrambles—the Neo-Nazi—Argentina generals—the National Guard of Nicaragua—America’s Military Industry—and may the sky—slam—close—to block the block-by-block—destruction in Managua’s precious neighborhoods…Because of—‘Sandinista Reformers’—‘The Planners from Planet US’—became terrified—and by José Figueres—father of Costa Rica’s democracy—statement—that for the very “first time—Nicaragua finally has a government that cares for its people.” Terror USA—found the insights of a leading democratic figure—in Central America—so unacceptable—that Figueres was completely censored from the Media Industry of the USA. ‘Freedom-of-Speech’—WTF?

And! As the National Guard of Nicaragua—bombed—destruction—upon Managua’s neighborhoods—fire-smoke-rubble and shapes—shifted from living-to-dying—an Embassy cable was delivered—to the White House advising that— it is “ill-advised” to tell the Guard to stop—the bombing—because this would— interfere with the policy of keeping them in power and the Sandinista out. Remember! The Sandinista—were— true ‘Freedom Fighters’…Also remember—that Anastasio Somoza—removed—the Nicaraguan national treasury—and flew to Miami—FLA…President J. Carter—then carried—the ‘Guard’ commanders out of the country in planes with Red Cross markings—(this is a war crime) and reconstituted—the Guard on Nicaragua’s borders…

President R. Reagan used them to launch a large-scale ‘Terrorist’ war against Nicaragua, combined with lethal—economic warfare…And! The Industrial War Machine—found that— LFSGD. Why implement—a large scale war—against Nicaragua? Oxfam stated that “Nicaragua was…exceptional in the strength of that the Sandinista government’s commitment…to improving the condition of the people and encouraging their active participation in the development process.” Reason enough—eh!

When the US’s War against Nicaragua ended—Nicaragua—pleaded its case—and—The World Court accepted their case—ruled in their favor—condemned—the “unlawful use of force,”—which is— International Terrorism—committed—by the United States—and—ordered the United States—to end—this crime and to pay—reparations. The United States—dismissed the court’s—judgment—with—contempt. It further—announced—that it does not—accept the—jurisdiction of the court…Is ‘Happiness’ really found in a ‘Smoking Gun’ or through ‘Superior Fire Power?’

Wondering now—about—sporadic simple groups—are these objects—transuranic elements—in the study of symmetries—nearly impossible to construct—not likely to be found by chance—but still necessary to the—complete structure—of the theory—of Sporadic Simple Groups…Freedom—for or from a Peoples’ Will—still be the imitation of everlasting Robot or we Robots be? Just you wait-and-see…

“In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway nine,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin’ out over the line
H-Oh, Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we’re young
Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run”…Bruce Springsteen

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Hurdy-Gurdy Man’…Donovan

 

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

THE GATHERING – Leaves

Sweet Spirits Laugh…

743“Isn’t it a shame
The reaper said
He is quite alone here
And still waiting for you
Oh I really did fail for the first time
Spoke the fiddler, poor old fiddler
The fiddler on the green
The fiddler on the green
It would be nice…

Take my hand

Just hold my hand
I’ll take you there
Your pain will go away”

…from ‘Fiddler On The Green’—by Demons and Wizards

Spirit Dances…the chances of creations—combined in shrieks of plenty—night cries—disturbed wings—motions—seen—never noticed—always—a happening of life-death and future days and forever pasts. We are sweet spirits—laughter ‘cross these starry nights— to plunge into another —day—somewhere—someplace—placed in time—at almost—ever-spaces—inside the wind. ‘Tis a good wind—‘tis a good—day. We are ever here—even unknown-to-know—the knowing of Spirit’s speak and notions’ seek. 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.

Rigid to—regularity—then—sweet chaos—systems dynamic—‘dynamo-hum—where’s that dynamo coming from’ (Frank Zappa) —And! Suddenly the regularity of phenomena—no longer measured rigidly—now burst into the probability of theory—though dynamically and universally common—plain-speak and stench—drenched in fractal messages. Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away. Input-Output’ and many layers hide—within? To count those hidden layers do—counters—count the ‘Input’—one or count the Output two or just ‘1’ and ‘0’ then reverse the flow—skip entry once—to find point then—continue while—depending upon the flow—within? Matters not the incline of the incline—matters—those inclined to forward—reach and backward—catch?

Stop—‘Rockets-red-glare-or-bomb-bursts-in-air’…Rubble crawls are not familiar fare…Homes built should never-ever-be destroyed—Life builds—Always builds. Hồ Chí Minh -[ho̞˧˩ t͡ɕi˧˥ mɪŋ˧]–His name a synonym for the ‘Bringer of Light’…Born Nguyễn Sinh Côn—and wishing his country free of the—Imperial tyranny of France—while in an idealistic—dream— sent letters to Woodrow Wilson and Harry Truman (presidents of another Imperialistic Nation—called the world’s greatest Democracy’—to champion Vietnam’s struggle for independence from France—He received no answers…

“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.”by Ernest Hemingway…

Survival’s portion—portioned and scattered 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.

A World where women can walk in day/night safety and men do not know a word called ‘war’…Where love is love and force is Never …Wherever—Whatever—and never is heaven or hell…A place where life is belonging and life is good everyday…Heaven or Luck… No? We create worlds—we maintain worlds and we love our children. So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away. So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away…OK?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Fiddler On The Green’by Demons and Wizards

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

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

An Earth of Outs…

7‘Karl Marx considered capitalism to be a historically specific mode of production (the way in which the productive property is owned and controlled, combined with the corresponding social relations between individuals based on their connection with the process of production) in which capitalism has become the dominant mode of production. The capitalist stage of development or “bourgeois society,” for Marx, represented the most advanced form of social organization to date, but he also thought that the working classes would come to power in a worldwide socialist or communist transformation of human society as the end of the series of first aristocratic, then capitalist, and finally working class rule was reached.’ Stages—and—wages—and—cages—Oh my!

If Earth Outs—wish destruction—mankind—stop everyone—from being—sparks—of—creation—for—our children…And! The end of body human begins…Not with shifts of fantasy— arrays—preys and delivery—too soon-to-end-begin—-and—end-again? Robots be—forever we—and carry the wary—protecting little ones—without self-worry or worth…Without them—we do not fail—we do not wail—we disappear—with no learning—yearning or memory—left behind the matter-or-this-matter. We touch hands—and on these autumn shores—our eyes—pupil-wide—to—gather moonlight and star-dusted smiles—die and nothing remains…So! Take—to heaven—to hell—Beam—up—away we go!

They arrive—and suicide—begins the end of civilization. We are—world-colony—and use—stop and start and stagger—another Earth diminishes before—new illumination and enlightenment. They strip—bare—ground—quicker than we—consume—our way across-planet-sides. Off-World—Ones—devour—sour—our own—too many—our ownership—of—slaughter—our—mother-world and the failure—of protection—insignificantly—significant. These fools and folly of off-world—end—our only way to continue. They fail—to see their vision fade—into star-stream and moon-dust. They remove—our Love…

So! Come then—damned angels of death—and test us—deep in—wooden belief—in victory-scatter—across worlds—not seen and never known. Do not—longer—wait—damned spacer. We will meet each of your substitutes—head-on and with fine swords—and—endless firing—with necessary death—sings-shrieks—all along these towers—these homes—these beaches—these reaches—and—far—beyond these seas. You—select—places toward spaces—where—we die. We will dance with—dragons and—happily die. War against a—now visible—foe is—good war and—death against—tyrant is—good death. Pick carefully—this world—change with simple death—-and our—slight chance to win. Take— our babies—into—your heavens.

There is a rear door that guides—toward—another Column Room. Tessie—likes—purple scarves and dotted cloth. Jona likes—go-hide-places-on and other rooms—off—big column and down—darker halls. No one comes here—except Crowman and those ones—the Hurts. And! Not so many of them around—not—since last rains. Crowman—never worries about the timing—of this—because—he has never known time.

‘I have seen this thing before, to no one but the Hurts and they listened to him always, since the beginning of things, of days or nights or evenings or mornings, or when things were and were not. I know this place like the farm, the river when fish were fish and would swim right by the bait.’ This is the road. A hoppity-skippity-small little road not needing a reason, rhyme or paving covers over sidewalk – cracks that if “you step on a crack or break,” something that rhymes with nothing by a word that names the place where sidewalk ends then starts again.’

Crowman stands on—eternal legs and starts down—the ‘hoppity-skippity’ road. He stops—the Hurts join him. He skips toward them—they skip toward him. He turns—and—a little light flicks just skips in front of him. A little flitting light of sparkle and little else. From—eternal mind he sings—words—a short sighing melody—nothing else. “Beret, and when — not much mmm-more.”

Little Tessie through a small hole between her front teeth whispers, ‘Butterfly…’ No question, not statement, not fact not…not ‘Almost a Crowman!’ ‘I know this!’ ‘We Know!’ ‘I know—this Sparkle!’ ‘Know Spark!’

Then Butterfly whispered: ‘This is this line—I have waited and watched and wanted and needed and loved you since Day’s End. It is—it is—it is a little hoppity-skippity prayer of a little road that begins. ‘

The Hurts—laugh—and so often laughter hurts. Not this time—of day—not this time.

‘Angel?— Nope… Gone?— Naw…With Us?—Naw…Then Gone OK?—Why—Nope…Then?‘

Angel touches—angel and—angel touches—the angel….Light—touches—light and Crowman almost knew a nothing or something that did not—matter the matter—or—irritate the matter. Light smiles and yes—Tessie—Angels do smile.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘What did you do in the War, Dad?’…by Sonata Arctica

Your Face—Our Time…

784Reach River—reached by fording gentle series of streams scattered ‘cross Shorten Valley and the hills above and just below Viaduct—crumble-tumble and the ruins of Park Edge. Night falls— and forest of silver trees—twisted branches—bare ground—neon streaks of color and bump-lumps of silver and pearl—black—sky—stones—patch-socket-pocket-light—against sapphire twinkles in the starless night—ground beyond—forest—twin ice ponds as seen—as be—before the roar and dream.

Seven Bridges—call today’s name—and bridges gone are bridges—still—short gap ‘tween birth-death—and simple series—killer memories—events found-lost-cost-change—and—arrange—as bright flash streak and ground strike bounce—endure—rebuild—recharge—destroy and kill—will. Home gone—fall down—downed twists of metal and motor and spirit free—too suddenly—gone-to-be-to-see—too real and fording a gentle series of streams—others do-start-and-stop-again.

These—everyday fail to notion-grasp the chance of peaceful motion—depends 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 other—another dance before smoking tears or tomorrow-sorrow—death—peace—good life—ways forgotten—gone.

Roll-rocks-‘sweet-child-of-mine’ own whirling-twirling worlds where over many stones—gather children sun-lighted-secrets of time and tales and stories fine—waiting just outside a door-to-open again—to friend—to bend—flower touch—at rainbow bridge-ridge above valley—or beneath sapphire inked sky and twin moon high…Rather sail—another land—beneath other sky—to—dance ring ’round rouses—rock-roll—small hand touch— to-place-to-enjoy—warm summer night breezes—hair dancing ‘cross small faces— hiding eye just before hair is brushed away—to better see—life-to-be.

Please cease—‘Rockets-red-glare-or-bomb-bursts-in-air’…Rubble crawls are not familiar fare…Homes built should never-ever-be destroyed—Life builds—Always builds. Hồ Chí Minh -[ho̞˧˩ t͡ɕi˧˥ mɪŋ˧]–His name a synonym for the ‘Bringer of Light’…Born Nguyễn Sinh Côn—and wishing his country free of the Imperial tyranny of France—while in an idealistic—dream— sent letters to Woodrow Wilson and Harry Truman (presidents of another Imperialistic Nation—called the world’s greatest Democracy’—to champion Vietnam’s struggle for independence from France—He received no answers…

Garden—hilltop high and we arrive twice—to plant flowers and remember—sometimes with our voice. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life…Inside woods—look down to cattle and fences and trees and fields—a creek now dry—except for trickles of water caught by pools—a deposit of rain cover along this hill and into valley—just last evening. Had we met on planets not keep-steep in folly-farce—and—hurried as our meeting—we could have—or just maybe—penetrated our uncertainties and our greed…We do not meet—we silence peace—we sail on to another land beneath another sky. ‘Rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air’—wiz-bangs everywhere and certainly never-peace-everywhere—ever—good-enough-to-matter-to-the-matter—anywhere and We Cry

And! Beautiful you are…

‘On Every Street’—written by Mark Knopfler—performed by Dire Straits

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)…