“But he who loves riches sits on a shaky limb; a little breeze comes—and it enters his head to steal, to practice usury, to drive hard bargains, and other such evil practices, all of which serve him only to acquire the riches of the devil and not those of the Gods.”—Paracelsus, ‘Liber prologi in vitam beatam’ (1533)

Trail signs run up and down the south ridge side of this hill-high and below mountain tall. Tracking the organic beast disguised to survive and tending to inorganic challenges and when a snow fall blankets everywhere and everything ‘tis mountain tall that becomes the safest refuge.

Nothing corrodes any longer. Well-oiled and fine, shimmer suits of almost steel reflects sunlight’s glare and deflects invectives and damages and wounds-to-destruction. And! When tucked inside gleam suits, those hidden ones may be Organic or Inorganic or maybe both. Either ‘Runners or those Running’ can think can wit and outwit both sides equally well and equally fast and similarly furious and eternally deadly as trail cyphers appear and vanish from lighted genesis ‘til opaquest nightfall.

The paradoxical motion of ‘man-steel form’ and ‘steel-formed man’ are quickly well-defined and impossible to divine. Notions are motions of head shakes as land-side changes rearranges from highest hills to darkest low valleys and reverse flows as streams-to-rivers shines.

‘This Land Is Your Land’

“This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway
I saw above me that endless sky way
I saw below me that golden valley
This land was made for you and me.

I’ve roamed and rambled, and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting
This land was made for you and me

As I went walking, I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said No Trespassing
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing
This land was made for you and me

In the shadow of the steeple, I saw my people
By the relief office I seen my people
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me”…by Woody Guthrie

We creatures be maybe or not human enough to see them, since countless Shimmer Suits trek street-long-miles in fine parades and onto war ‘too far-to-scar’ since consistent struggle to perpetually maintain conflict, is the industrial bonus and the application of survival’s amusements. Born to protect ourselves from one-another, our kind-of-mind and the most arduous idea to resolve and so easy to comprise? Refined destruction? Now so polished and well-defined the ‘killing so clean that the enemy’s identities are ‘must-be’ and ‘have-to-be’ so ‘they are’ evil and ‘we-be’ abundant? And! Justice, a damnable notion to quantify or identify and practice properly continues its fragile and easily corruptible practice. All the while we still build walls and still we climb those constructions high and wide cause, suits must gleam and bridges built are creations to cross wide seams and miles’-wide emptiness.

“They had invented a syntax of the eye, a grammar of pure kinesis, and except for the costumes and the cars and the quaint furniture in the background, none of it could possibly grow old.” —-from ‘Book of Illusions’ by Paul Auster

‘Recall then, because something somewhere in this contemporary state-of-society finds expressions in the crystallization of a past discovered in past words.’ Why not worship great battles. And! ‘payback is hell’ and old heroes of other ages and eternal war now or not immediately is permanently our future. I am a Person; I am not a Religion. I am Human; I am not a religion. I am a Freeman; I am not a religion. I am not A Religion; I am ‘Being’ and all dressed in suits of gleams, seams of rust and everlasting dust. I am true and I am false. I am ‘Yes-No’ switches— ‘On’ and switches ‘Off.’ Beginning at birth, a shining bright light and matches batches of baubles and rabble and babble ripped from Spirit touch to become a WTF of perplexities and rewards. And! Mixed with enough control and chases enough, to wear bodies into forever shame-same-tame-games and enough insane-pain-loss-gain until death move; is light and bright and wrong and right…And! I was never Government and never-ever a Religion…So! “Beam-Us-Up Scotty” —because we may simply be heading home…

“When the accumulation of wealth is no longer of high social importance, there will be great changes in the code of morals. We shall be able to rid ourselves of many of the pseudo-moral principles which have hag-ridden us for two hundred years, by which we have exalted some of the most distasteful of human qualities into the position of the highest virtues. We shall be able to afford to dare to assess the money-motive at its true value. The love of money as a possession—as distinguished from the love of money as a means to the enjoyments and realities of life—will be recognized for what it is, a somewhat disgusting morbidity, one of those semi-criminal, semi-pathological propensities which one hands over with a shudder to the specialists in mental disease” … Poggio Bracciolini’s dialogue“On Avarice,” written in the 1420’s…

Is ‘Dancing-in-the-Dark’ a safe practice or ignorance as blissful as stopping to flower touch, eyes-to-face-to ground and into oblivion? And! The scent of inorganic flowers never compares to the scent of a Rose…

And! Beautiful you are…