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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

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