Images and Collective Minds…

“You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still…You turn me on”.
‘You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

We are the wonderful images and collective minds of maybe, might be or almost happening together as shifts in minor or major measures collect along with morning rain drops and evening’s star heavy lights and distant echoes of woodland mortals and quieting hush. We shift into objects of alternative daylight with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land. While above these hills; walkers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pinecones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

Plato wrote in ‘The Republic’ “that men are chained at the bottom of a dark cave and only see shadows cast upon a wall by a fire behind them. They think that this is reality. One of them frees himself, leaves the cave and discovers the light of the Sun, and the wider world. At first the light, to which his eyes are unaccustomed, stuns and confuses him. But eventually he can see and returns excitedly to his companions to tell them what he has seen. They find it hard to believe.”

Dragging the lines of surf’s collapse and climbing as waves dash lofty into moonless sky then fold along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea’s inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting.

Are we possessed with humanity? We discover pasts, revise mindsets, twist sensibilities and redefine divinities. Considerable realization revolves ‘round us. Are ‘We’ the greatest beings in space? We are not subjecting apart. We are a fragment of something whole and constantly changing. By noticing, we realize that the undiscovered is greater than the established. To learn is to determine novel ways to realize additional encounters. Some are immediate. And! Some are creations gone. To recognize is to see we are not a universal’s majority. Space is curvilinear and our cosmos is spun from juddering quantum granules. We are currently extant within these fabrications. We are lighting at nightfall. We swiftly vanish.

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world must kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the particularly 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…

Wait! Senses closed to thunder rolling ‘cross divided skies as secrets streak the sea and roll into the silent spaces between raindrops and life. ‘Fix your standard on fact.’ Science perpetually gambols with belief, doctrine, delusion, and dogmatic obliviousness. Once and frequently; these momentarily wins, something-of-else or another choice-to-follow. Crossroads-to-chance, sparks-to-light and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about or perhaps-maybes. Real sea, we will see with additional water-ships and a multitude of places far away.

Ages past we became sponges; gifted and gregarious and bowed through insight and anchored to two worlds, one frightful and one enchanted. We are filled-to-edge with truth and with wisdom? Both’ are scary and fearful as wisdom sometimes becomes you, as age bends body yet frees spirit twirl. From the twins of two a power of life sparks, and alone-never places begin and fixes end. We together have already accomplished everything. And! Magically we all pass on!

Dreams-then-dream quest cease and increase those creases in time as curtains’ climb and paces die. Visit and speak of ways of star-side streak of starlight sweet of gentle unions and love. Life lives and mingle-tingles thru heart touch good as ring-circles and fancy, dances into love’s rhythm and rhyme. We are of the emerald seas. We belong to the black sands and tides that pull ‘gainst current as the alignment of this moonlight is perfect while stepping across another dustless night. Creations’ Witch creates those perfect notions and motions as she rewrites truth and confuses lies. The necessity of fire and cave to survive this night and live into another day is now, and through tomorrow’s light will create another constraint.

“Among the stars
there is a place to where 
my heart always returns.” – from ‘Home’ by Unsun

 And! Beautiful you are…

Celestial Circles…

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

‘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.”

There are stellar smoking rings of nothing in a cosmos of anything. There are gateways into portal slips and distance trips when stars come together and never collide. We tell of the sometimes vast separation quickly traversed between quick inhales and slow exhales. We appear through open doors tucked behind grey colored clouds and blue skies. Now! Where are we in this most distant place away from Earth-ship and home? 

Shangri-la and immorality and vipers, oh my! We are the confirmation of far-flung people. Demigods could have decided to create women and men in countless locations about Sirius and Mars and Earth and back again? Our rulers and our dominated and our voices and our religions have rewritten our starting points in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that our truth and fiction has blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is eternally approaching. ‘And! 

Why do routines and understanding collapse the possibility of peaceable processes? Inspirations rely on just how to reach and where you are as flare striae before haze stinks and eyes burn. Tears and fears and by the warps of notions, peace ceases just prior to small recollections developing into nice content and bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail set-to-wind rail balance ‘neath ruined ‘the bridges of seven’ or on one more earth-fall underneath one more sky. Dwellings to construct and caves to clean and for a little while landing life reaches mountain homes. Be better than missile’s explosions and sites too far gone to search for hazardous sanctuaries. Perhap a faraway chance for another dance before smoking tears and tomorrow’s sorrow. Death and peace and good Life. Countless routes forgotten, recalled, then gone. And! As long as I breathe, I Hope.

And! Still the rest is eternally approaching.

Misusing the right of the Workers-of-this-World is a Crime against Mankind. Similar to liquidation, opportunists destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere. Are we free if we are wage-vassals, still?

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

Spins Without Time…

“Poetry can communicate before it is understood” —T.S. Eliot

Speculating at Earth’s center if life ends? Liquid center or rock or a combination? Is the epicenter too lifeless to explore or too far to travel or too uninteresting to understand? So much of our Sea is unfamiliar. It is closer than Mars and alive with treasures still not revealed. Why?

‘The strength of humanity is not found in simple machines.’

We have technology to stop the allowance of carbon dioxide to billow and blow and seep and reek and fill our polluted air as it remains, better now, but not best. Greed is the price of oil. Energy from the sun and wind is not yet a generation of profit. We must change this greed into prosperity for everyone. Do not hide riches behind the needs of non-enemies. Immigration made America what it demands to be and immigrants from everywhere must continue this purpose.

‘The strength of humanity is not found in simple machines.’

We constantly create workarounds. Until there are fewer folks, machines are never required. Profits come from slavery. Profits are portions of wages not paid and needed. Stop creating enemies that are not the enemy. And! Racism is eternal slavery. Brown and white are the same. We have struggled to become better. We have combined strengths to overcome daily injustice and wars against one another. Prevailing winds, strong sails and people cross oceans and soon will reach-out, touching first planets and then the stars.

‘Together we survive and together we thrive.’

Believe in the strength of humanity. Together we survive. Together we thrive. Together we face tomorrow’s miracles and challenges and fears and tears. Together we live and together we die. QuickTime and we move on as Eternal Spirits we were and as Eternal Spirits we are yesterday, today and tomorrow—ad infinitum. Mankind creates Gods of fear and retribution. Visitors from the heavens are these Gods. We create Eternal Spirits, housed by fleshy points but only for a brief time.

Words flow and designed to express or depress thought flow and in pour, poor-to-great with mean truth or bent to lies, exaggerations or pour more…The covers here leak and reach high into the colder places of Calimesa City. Dreams caught between waking and sleeping, to mind-speak and sometimes dreams are easy and difficult to share. There is another language used in Dreaming. Understanding and not is still learning a path toward wisdom! Please believe in ‘humanity’s strength’ for together we survive and together we thrive! Together we face tomorrow’s miracles and challenges and fears and tears. Together we live and together we die.

‘Imbalance destroys too much!’

We live on an orbiting motion groove. It is a large Mother-ship capable of supporting our species and many other lifeforms. Our spaceship is a dangerous place. Uncivil in many areas. Cruel because imbalance destroys so much. We are the caretakers of this orb. We destroy more than we create. We are a ‘throw-away’ species. We are a sad group of consumers with too many choices and greed infused into everything we cherish.

Block universes spin without time and without dimensions three. As occurrences occur and may never be where changes never-were and within blocks must find pasts presents and presents in future’s long-time ago. And! Is it faster if we move thru space or if space moves through us? We move toward mountain or mountain moves toward us? Illusions-in mind spin are as real as memories of futures moving ahead, out-of-sight, but still inside kept…So! Together links of gravity strong nuclear electromagnetic weak into unified theory and still linking the theory of gravity to the theory of quantum mechanics fails eludes mind skips to time slips.

‘Wandering to wondering about Moses.’

We do remove those ‘for granted’ blinders’-of-right-sight and often look skyward to search and find a light. Those wormholes or cosmic cross universes near and far and still ‘we’ see the vast of power blast possibilities of relativity’s loopholes and just hope-know-now that ‘warp drive’ may span distance ‘cross space, time wonders while wandering about in Moses’s time wilderness speaks ‘til speed crease cease and earth-lock unlock free ‘childhood’s end’ while into space we seek-creep as star-child begins again.

Instead warp drive space folds as space-time continues and arrives for us as distortions bends and separations wide are right ‘next door.’ “More is less and less is more.” Bubble-ride the twirling whirl and glide inside safe as spaces-of-space fabric rich move our bubble ships wait-not-wait as space-time expands then contracts and relativity’s restrictions fades alongside trails of star-dust–must and space knows ‘no’ rules or reasons only rhythm and everlasting rhyme…

 ‘And! Bubbles do move across Space.’

The ‘Universal-Limits-of-Speed’ is applicable to ‘Bubbles-Moving-Through-Space’ not applied to Space itself. During space’s inflationary moments did Space-Time manage speeds through infinite accelerations infinitely faster than Light Speed-ride-glide and slide? The continuation of the Space-Time Continuum may also suggest that Large Bangs of Starts and whimpers of stops are possibly ‘End of Time’ as Inflationary moments fade as star dust trails begin and end as we ‘too-twos’ also always ‘do.’

‘Ancient Light and Ancient Stars.’

If time real does cease in a few more billions-of-years, the Universal Everything may also halt-grind-to-slow to stop. Could Would the Energy-of-Darkness the anti-gravitational singsong provide proof of the positive-of-the-negative? What if we are ‘looking backward’? What if the expansion of ‘Universe Accelerating’ is actually ‘Time’—slowing down? Unnoticed everyday yet so obvious when cosmic-scale-measures universe-tracking over billions of years? Ancient Light and Ancient Stars and the everlasting trails of Magic Dusts across the Eternal Sky…

We measure all things known and all things unknown. We treasure quantities, lengths of short, of tall and tales of being beings both big and small ‘because we are ‘Spirits of Creation’ we are ‘Creative Critters’ one-and-all.

And! Beautiful you are…

Of Places And Spaces…

In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire! We shift into objects of alternative daylight with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or.

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams see war. To fight and to find death. There be gods in this place? If-So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust. New-ways-to-win—we must be us!

Below the places of spaces, a great tangle of yards and rails carry the price of commerce commercially to and away and beyond this bridge with dirty sea ships sailing toward one another. They bounce the line; black shadows, slowly creeping beneath an injured sky. No wind! Masts no sails. Crude! Not fueled, cold furnaces and boilers just empty drums with warm air. Now adjust eyes and turn and follow the silent ships passing one another. They ride the line with no wake. They do not disturb the oiled sea or change silt-less shoals beyond an invisible channel. Then watch and wait for their silent return.

Forget to breathe as a foghorn moans and moans again just within the cone of hearing in an evening rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through nose and mouth. Sea odor and eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. Search the sea and see, those lines have moved closer to shore. Then nothing because all ships are gone.

Often, a gentle shift replaces everything!

Braces require nails to hold together both life and doors. Caveland stores many for outside, a plague dances for two hundred years of long-singsongs and with sickness and death and a quiet destruction forever-follow. Watch the next fire begin and end as another begins and ends until tower eyes can never see the next and the next, as eternal signals mean absolutely nothing to ‘City’ people framed against that August sky.

Move along! Always move toward fear among these places of reasons-to-be or reasons-to- move-along? No and yes or not really or really scared of the mixes in the yes and no—until ‘run together’ forgets to be afraid. Little ones grow old and die inside hundred-year-old lyrics just outside tomorrow. And! When holding yourself very still, beetle wings are loud, and their textured light guides your motions through the night. Sing and those born-to-die select their own singsongs. High above the Towers-of-Bridges, Watchers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pinecones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

 And! Beautiful you are…

A Walker’s Watch…

What happens when our recall takes us to an existent interval of narrations and of prospects? No past, no present and never a future. Constructs vanish from our conceptual progressions and from our communal distresses.  Perception separates as the incapacity to reason and proceed with principles disappear. If the prescience and means to a concrete and inevitable series of immediate twinkles disappear, than mankind’s loss of vision and goal-oriented proximity results in intellectual and moral collapse.

Teleportation is to “Jaunt.” To move objects or people thru space at will. To move thru space and time is something ‘Special.’ Memories, even as infants are from our past experiences. We require no physical self to remember everything and from these memories our survivals begin, our cognition modifies, our reasons enchant, and through love our wisdom metamorphose into a truth we can accept.

“But I still believe
 
I still believe
 
Through the shame
 
And through the grief
 
Through the heartache
 
Through the years
 
Through the waiting
 
Through the years
 
For people like us
 
In places like this
 
We need all the hope
 
That we can get…by Michael Been / James Paul Goodwin

When the clocks move we do not always believe in the new time. We may be stuck-in-time. Maybe we move through it as physicals. Definitely we are not ‘stuck-in-time’ as Spirits.

Insects large and landing high in trees lining Lake Shore’s edge and stretching for one hundred miles. Giant fireflies appear for two and one-half weeks ‘cross a month that changes day-to-night and back again. Light’s flash and silver leaves reflect many colors that get-go and halt like a pulse and a deep breathing space. Passing through a chrome forest timbre dances from tree to tree. They are of many colors and of multiple shapes. Perception dreams and puppets change without balance and for no reason. Get/go switches as off-on and off again when shapes do not matter, and color is everything.

Memory should always serve as a mode of moral witnessing and protection

against tyranny. When it no longer does so, it signals a crisis of politics,

agency, and civic literacy.” —Henry Giroux

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

“Maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or should not we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe it is as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality, and he is not, but should instead say, His reality is so different from ours that he cannot explain his to us, and we cannot explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown in communication and there is the real illness.” —Philip K. Dick

Peace causes ‘measures’ the matter with changing ‘mean’ worlds. Peace may require more minutes than humanity lasts in pasts-presence and futures long-ago tomorrows. Like a beach moves one shoe full of sand, one time one shoe and then again and then again with winds discounted or recounted. And! Forever changing one shoe ‘at-a-time’ requires long days to change beach places in the wig-waggle of time and space. Worldwide other places, where stop-to-race never goes away, and space is never far enough to silence ‘bad-bad-pop-pops’ noise with sights correct and clutching ground is survival. Now run away to small corners of concrete floors and rusted doors, gate high or wasted.

And! Beautiful you are…

Fingertip Stories…

It is the duty of us all to ensure that our society remain one of which we are proud, not a society wary of immigrants and intent on their expulsion or a society that disputes the welfare state or a society in which the media are controlled by the wealthy. We would oppose such things were we true heirs to the National Council of the Resistance.”— By Stephane Hessel

We are émigrés of this sphere. In a blaze of mystery or notions or nicks or knacks or reasons or rhymes, we move through time and place and home and toward one-to-another. We are the directors ‘blood of red’ same air and the singers of fictional truths drawn by spirits same and the dreamers of courage and the chance of hopes. We are the past, the present and the days of future gambols. We are the virtuosity Gods!  We are life, all growing and all walking and all crawling and all swimming. We are Life; perfect and unstoppable. And! It is always better to fall in love than to fall in battle!

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

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

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

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

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

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

These are the salty ways of salted seas 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…

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 begin again and ticks for a while 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’s wavelength 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 seaside 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 turn 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.

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

Portion-for-us and scatter across understanding, simplicity and the variances in relativity either linguistically determined or silenced by rain loud along with gentle beginnings or the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting. Wait! Eyes closed and listen to the thunder rolling ‘cross separated skies as unseen flashes knight the ocean and crash booms into that silent space between raindrops and life. Science eternally dances with superstition. Once and often either momentarily wins something-of-else or another choice-to-follow. Crossroads to matter, chances to spark and destiny always flirts with other, up-and-about or perhaps.

Real Sea, we will see and another and another; of water-ships up, and places far away. This is here and between landings another beach to reach 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. So! Forever ‘surf’s up’ on the eternal sea, so alive and just for me!

And! Beautiful you are…

With Panther’s Heart…

Matters not what gate we fall through, matters not what star burns us. Matters that gates open, matters that stars are hot!

Rush quickly with the wolves of Sity Park and realize days of oiled rain with a cougar’s heart. Beware brute human crowds, those burning rights and those torching wrongs. Fights: both frenzied and terse, with bursts of peace too short to notice sun-scars and dusted forests in green summers too with falling leaves. Bargain old with new, the contentions of earth-speak and a necessary sadness, necessity weighted in heavy burdens too fierce and too varied while multiplied by the conditions of humanities’ weights and survival’s moments and greed.

Through digital discharges worlds clash as commodities and perilous capitalism rushes to extinguish itself; greedy and selfish with bodies, purchased and sold on blocks of zero and ones. Fearing the spaces between and shivering within the world electric, silence cannot be purchased by ‘anybody out there.’ Either ‘yes or no’ is always the wayward reach of all commodities, unknown and found and consumed and never understood.

Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?

What of sparks that travel into the light of joining life inside and outside the days of past’s present’s future. Behold Spirit Dancer and remember when warmth was without fire and strength was absolute without the Science of dimensions and senses and all was: nonsense-hallucination-superstitious and religious without names.

Doll painted faces sold to entice ninety-nine percent of the unwanted, received never enjoyed and never knowing the way of knowing why or contemplated within unavoidable silence. Imagine a steady fall of snowflakes soft, of silent nights and early dawns, of inside just before birth and tiny spaces just after death. Gentle raindrops are correctly spaced ‘cross a springtime meadow. What is the measure of air between the dancing of leaves and fairy’s dust; tossed or gently sprinkled then forgotten?

We are the daughters and the 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 save by 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.

“All speech, written or spoken, is a dead language, until it finds a willing and prepared hearer.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson…

Do humans learn through perception’s ability or is perception an imprinted program already etched onto our brain’s chip? And! Does this ‘perception-of-perfect- imperfection slow our computer selves? Thinking that ‘I am’ often confounds knowing that ‘We be’ DonChaSee?

Then! Why do we characterize intelligent computation by the appearance of problems requiring solutions? Computers add the number two with another number two and solution four does not make for an intelligent computer…

However, performing the symbolic integration of…sin2x e-x is “ooh—aah” intelligent. Yes-No…No-Yes…’0’’1 ‘And! ‘While I walk through the valley-of-death-I shall fear no evil’ if only programmed not to fear, though not fearing would not be intelligent. Oops! Must be another (2) + (2) equals ‘a whatever’ program.

Class problems are classically human programming and machines of survival— ‘we be.’ Electric outlet and pin equals shock and artificially ‘we be’ learning, not to place pin in outlet—another lesson that is not intelligent computation, however; survival necessary…’Been-there-Done-that and Oops’ we learn something all the ‘live long’ day…

True! Classes of problems requiring intelligence does include inference based on knowledge. Everyday uncertain and incomplete information with varied forms of lessons learned and perception’s twirls and swirls along with those applications required to classify and predict and control chaos often require the optimal optimization of Yes—No—and ‘yep that will work—maybe’ and ‘once-in-a-fashion’ we may survive to ‘Oops’ another day.

Intelligent computation may depend on biological processes and issues to gain solution. Genetic Algorithms and Networks neural—Wowzer. Teach a Robot to compute issues not seeming to be ‘intelligent’ and Artificial Intelligence is created. And! Robots walk not into ‘the valley of death’ because the appearance of Us; planet-wide-carbon-based-squeakers, are not for ‘the faint-of-heart’…Be aware and be very-very-afraid…

And! Beautiful you are…

Sporadic Simple Sets…

‘Memories that fade away
Have not left their mark
But you live on, every single day
In many ways.

It is the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny.

Suddenly we have lost the force
To close our cursed doors
No one seems to realize
That wolves are in disguise.

It is the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny.

Your engine was so strong
But the road was just too long
Hope is not the end
So never lose the faith.

If we can say
They can never take away
Our freedom, the most precious thing we have ever had
The reward from the blood, we have ever shed.

His quest for higher truth, life of eternal youth has just begun,
despite being on the run
Many virgins wait for him to come
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny
Our destiny’… ‘Safeguard to Paradise’ by Epica

The Glass Beaker Folk are glass managers. All gathered ‘round petri dish and dishing out samples of small fleshy beings as large bark folk decided to mix, and their creations are forms-of-forms and other-forms, of twin-spin shapes ‘cross planets’ twirl of simple complexities arriving with baby cries and little howls. And! Pondering if one stares into eyes-of-disarray one finds an honest illusion without confusing-disillusion or solution keep-seek or chose-to-lose? Deliberating, if the deities of Beaker Folk create creations with wrong formula uses and mixes of humor and myth. Immaculate contraptions birth and dissonance for every-other-sun; sister-brother, reasons and rhyme along with bottled time working cords of yesterday’s todays and tomorrows’ sighs.

The word ‘Honor’…Many descriptions and quantifiers involving this word…Honor is not just a word. It is a singular way of life. It is without description and not reserved for Military motions. It is not an Executive twirl or a Legislative swirl…Though legal twist and turns, it is not a Judicial term. Honor is a simple way of Life.

Sky films block pearl light as an evening of workers’ failed strengths; home bound as, the ‘Nighters’ replace the ‘Dayers’ and continue as 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, needed or fulfilled desires. Oppression succeeds triumphs when its legitimacy is internally assumed. The freedom to write it right or write writing toward the right cross of sails unfurled and imagined as sea’s endless might and distance ‘tween stars ‘tween galaxies and ‘tween the universal folds of space. There be books here and just listen to these stories from spirit-speakers of volumes long and voltage sweet. We change everything with ‘Blue Planet Waste’.

“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.

It is our nature to run with and from the many or the few. We often see through the curved ceiling of high doorways only when curved light enters tiny windows. Animation is symmetry without structure, save winds and rains and those foolish storms of chaos and belief.

Speculating currently concerning infrequent simple sets? 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 an everlasting Robot. Or! We Robots be. Just you wait-and-see.

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

“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.

A historian once wrote that future’s Child, did not need to be told that the angel of death had passed over the land; they had heard the beating of its wings’. So! Wondering if; ‘The reason the Dead do not return nowadays, is the boredom of it.’ One fare-to-fix and one fix-to-fair. Life is precious in every form. Life animates every style-type of flesh, smooth or fur and sweet life goes—becomes and ends and becomes again…’Tis good donchaknow…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Letters From The Sky’ by Civil Twilight

 

Home Waves Ahead…

A universe of angular momentum is turbulent from dust to black holes. Notches of rotation are slight, are massive and just happen. What splendid adhesive preserves the whirl-of-the-twirl?

We and the dust of us are voyagers. We are scattered ‘cross places of everywhere? We are not timed or blessed or wonderful or gifted or fortunate or meant-to-be ‘something else.’ The dust of us is without a price-tagged-branded-commodity of enhanced steroidal surgically modification. We create cartoon fashions and lip-stick mouths pouted and picture perfect when replicated glossy imitations of sport models swish as a dish of corruption and a wiggle of splash-dash hope and fanatic fantasy.

We build twelve inch wide maple shelves inclined and staggered up a soft and painted wall. Upon this vertical presentation, we place flea market choices, colored jars filled with copper and stones discovered. We decorate and we change as season alters sight and sound and scent.

We travelers internally detect or obtain from ‘reliable sources’ a sorta source sorted through search or lurch internally through structures only to reach and teach or bleach amid many throngs of wrongs as ‘sure truth’ is torn from snow-bright-right to lies-lily-white. Deceits detected or accepted or rejected or corrected from inside-out applicability is not workable until altered internally and externally prior to exposed or imposed upon the confusion of mass-squeak-speak. What a righteous cycle; when whispers, smiles and sighs and quiet nods could or would be better?

“So, does that mean we’ve got to rest contented

And say, ‘That’s how it is and always must be,’

And spurn the brimming glass for what’s been emptied

Because we’ve heard it’s better to go thirsty?” by Bertolt Brecht

This time of days of times ago and today, may the old man vision touch those other ones and whisper, “Not this time and never this time, will our children ever go to war.” Others know that this time of times will not be the time for dead families and metal touches-to-body-madness. For these flashes in time, fighters are not compulsory.

A rational response to a rational insanity. The whole world appreciates humanities’ finest minutes. “Love and Peace and Touch and Trust” with no controls or advances or imaginations. Just connecting the realities of reality and sensing those sweet spaces, just an instant before lips touch with co-mingled breath and the cold nightfall warms. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star-ships’ passing between light-speed and arrival, silently appear.

When all and sundry realizes that what we do not have-does not mean anything. When hearing a lover’s voice touch our heart before substance becomes words of meaning-or-reason-or-another notion. When silence completely fills all senses with rumble and clatter and music and notes, chaotic or symphonic simplicity. Then duality ceases and singularity melts into universal polarity and truth.

The love-of-man and the love-of-woman must not be divided by the capital of greed. Consider! All are fashioned by the equal blending of us and beyond the borders of a-wherever-boarder for non-reasons and steeped in-the-fallacy of color, big guns, ‘atomic destruction’ and the perpetual diatribe of isolation, individuality and fear. Remember that we have the right to be Everywhere.

Love reminds us of the equality of equals! Of woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and living sentient sentences inside body while minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Life Shouted—Never Doubted…

“Like the empires of the world unite
We are alive
And the stars make love to the universe”
— by Shakira Isabel Mebarak Ripoll

Walk now, mind walk and follow. Shadow smoke curls and the echoes of sing-song-choirs along the line where sea meets see and sky appears above a forgotten shimmer of water stretching beyond eye watch and body wait. Stride upon the salty waves of a dead sea tucked down between actions and melody’s refrains. Then melt into mists and sea sounds and into another dawn. Those little matters matter-less. Conclude and then proceed once more.

‘You and I and life about and as we shout ‘Love’ skyward because nothing will stop our Dance. You and I forever together! We know nothing alone exists without love’s power, hour, tower, flower and life. Life ignited delighted and excited. We touch hand-to-heart-to-spirit and let the eternal dance begin again.’

Come now and twirl into the Spider’s Web. Enter East-side. Hold the nothingness of thought without form until substance becomes madness. And! Venture out beyond the bridge and find a different freedom. Align birth and moments before and moments after the being presented see lighting sky-flashes and hear thunderclaps as a gelatin combines with knowing vapor to travel those heavens in timeless mist and harmony. As vapor we exist. We are not distraction by what we are not; for we are not, not by displacement or alteration because we always exist in timeless harmony and within those trails of stardust spewing from alternative engines of speed and power. Life motions as life moves. Life modifies. And! Spirits Dance…

And! Still here while beneath these heavens our sea swirl-twirls and we see those Sirens rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls against current and the alignment of moonlight is perfect and is orderly in its dispersal upon the dustless night.

Our Goddesses create heavens and earths and moons and suns and pass spirits to fleshes and from fleshes back again to those spirited forms, substances free. Corrected notes, the piper plays silver flutes that holds heart ‘beeps’ of roaring seas. We pass into light and set others ‘cross star streams beyond sun and beyond sea and beyond the skies of eternal space. Never troubles what posterns we tumble through and matters not why stars blister us. Matters that gates open and matters that stars are hot.

These are singing days! Shouts and shrieks and whistles ‘cross harbor calls where wood-hulled ships rest with bell claps rocking waves and setting sails. 

We water children are held above the line by knowledge buoyant. Unafraid and free and defeating gravity and the restrictions of a drier Earth.

Sunshine west-turns and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs forgotten and paradise found by Summer’s little ones.

Small beneath the greater schemes of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars! Filling lake sparkles and silence with gems dancing and laughing diamonds…

Our house is a strong house, built of stout wood with skill and with love. The wind cannot knock it down. As this grand tempest expires, our house is still upright and salutes the lights of another way. Do not allow this government to destroy people’s achievements, their history, their language, and their future dreams. When this happens, we become a twist of ash. We cannot survive. Genocide destroys our flesh and so much more than Bone. Genocide destroys our blood rivers of Life…

“When we try to conceal our innermost drives, our entire being screams betrayal.” — by Frank Herbert

And! Beautiful you are…