All Found And Again Lost…

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.

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.

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. A rational response to a rational insanity.

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

When States Avoid Plagues…

1265“If a state is to avoid the greatest plague of all—I mean civil war, though civil disintegration would be a better term—extreme poverty and wealth must not be allowed to arise in any section of the citizen body, because both lead to both these disasters.”Plato regarding the dangers of inequality…

In fundamental stages, atoms occur in shapes, in assemblies and via the methods through which they coalesce. We! Atoms ‘gone wild’ write by mingling the letters of our alphabet in unique ways to construct tragedies, epic poems, comedies and outlandish legends. The combinations of rudimentary iotas fashion our world in its own limitless diversity.

These are the ‘Coming In’ times. The ides of moments ready-to-flash and center-of-day-to-ready-play and anticipate reasons. Then discover that life does happen covalently. No rejoice to understand or withstand and never required and still Ok. Momentum drinks to spill before air or fear tastes and waste’s rush before shriek-spear-kill where motion ends as hanging cloth covers wired thorns along ruined ditches of rain fill and maybe flows from boot smooth flat-to puddles of blood-mud waiting for sun-play and dry air and wiz-bangs and death.

Creative Creatures do gather one-time-or-maybe-two to watch sky etched forms dissolve appear and disappear while often dancing ‘cross so many places to many races as often they appear only to disappear and reappear again once-in-a-while…

Plato wrote in ‘The Republic’ (Book 7): “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.”

“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 are hiding in chorus as starry eyes close,
and seasons part in farewell;
‘because we drained her blood, then forgetting her face
to hide from everyone” …from ‘The Last Hour of Ancient Sunlight’ by Draconian

Burn with this exceptional song as extraordinary fog ‘cross liquids edged with split sanded reeds as from hill high vantage; pieces of fractured stone, as the broken rims of splintered faces silently shriek of spoil, of harm and of destruction. Three ships obscure the ternary ceaseless slivers of shiver war to collect or to evade again. Two townships too pounded, still need needless sorts to find forms alive or fallen upright. And! From waterside cannons a fortress sky high, twins slam shells and balls as death upon us falls. They; then us and not and again, they fall with and upon us. Ship pitches wood and steel and spirits toward sinking side with mast blast splinters and holes enough to die.

We paint and then leave for the ‘Coming In’ time. Neon glitters and shape-shifters-sighted-one’s blend against leafless limbs where standing trees fall and scatter ‘cross Viaduct’s crumbled-tumbled stretches of stone tops, cream colored rocks and pieces of dust and rust and the shadows of ruin or waste. Choirs race wagons of faded reds and oranges and brown streaks of muted yellow splash; again blend and rend groomed clones of oiled twilight clouds and fading light as the protector moons of three rise alongside globe line and stain shorelines ahead of the lubricious briny; fill with salted rains without sounds, and deprived of life.

Water and butterflies and beetles with purple shades and birds emerge from mist and race about lofty heavens or nethermost luminosities. Straightway, touch the life that flies, and from colors of lavender light into gull-white gray and totally liquid beside a sparkle of shoreline polish and moonlight bright. We! From spiritual linkage promptly to Earth, and now once more to rush into struggle to situate and into competition. Observe the exhausted and the dying ones. They come this way and fly away. Then! Gather here the shaped-shifters and one-sided sighted eyes to watch till wizards of crashes and dashes cease games of pieces on ground as our Witches appear or disappear into smoke and mirrors and magic shaped ghosts. Toast those; by those lifted glasses, memorized memorialized and as quickly forgotten as recalled.

“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”… ‘Still You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

And! Beautiful you are…

Especially Special…

123“If you want money more than anything—you will be bought and sold. If you have a greed for food—you will be a loaf of bread. This is a subtle truth: whatever you love—you are.”—by Jalaluddin Rumi

JSOC (Joint Special Operations Command) and its lack of Congressional Accountability—and; of course, the might of ‘War-Machine USA’ is responsible for military actions either directly or by proxy across seventy-four sovereign (define—you pick ’em) nations on our sweet world. The Executive Branch drives this machine of ‘kill-drill’ and no country is ‘off-limits’ to the military forces of America…JSOC is the ‘armée privée’ of Elected Presidents reaching into a past of genocide and into the misty future of faultless ‘kill-drill’ and civilian destruction. Even the CIA is occasionally restricted and occasionally ‘the Pres’…must pass-along a hop-along smattering of metering—that ‘kinda almost truthful information’ to his hip-hoppity group of hand-lickers [(Intelligence Leaders of the Intelligence Oversight Committee(s)]. Bah-Boom and let Drone-spray begin…

Assassinations around the globe—never reported or snorted—unless the odor-of-the-ooze reaches a press of free writers accidentally sniffing the night air and tripping over the forgotten bodies of JSOC whimsy—rhyme—or reason. They do embrace drone strikes and night raids and missile attacks using special ordinance and cluster bombs—oh my…And! The US military is a worldwide Landlord…Based in Germany, Japan, South Korea, United Kingdom, Italy, Turkey, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Qatar and more… Licensed to ‘Kill-Drill’ in Afghanistan, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Lebanon, Oman, Pakistan, Syria, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, U.A.E., Uzbekistan, Yemen, Georgia, Ukraine, Bolivia, Paraguay, Ecuador, Peru, Yemen, Baluchistan, the Philippines, Colombia and Mexico…. And let US operate in: South Sudan, Libya, Yemen, the Congo, Uganda, Mali, Niger (AFRICOM)—hey now!

Special Forces for Special Surgery…Since the middle of 2010—Special Operations have been presently-presented-as-a-presence in at least seventy-five countries…Oh no! JSOC strikes again and bah-boom—let Drone-spray begin again and again ad infinitum…’Kill-Drill’ and Civilians Die—Men-Women-Children-Families-Neighborhoods-Villages and…Genocide? Folks—Die! People are actually murdered?

There’s something happening here
But what it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware

I think it’s time we stop
Children, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
Young people speaking’ their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind

It’s time we stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

What a field day for the heat
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly saying, “hooray for our side”

It’s time we stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
Step out of line, the men come and take you away

We better stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

We better stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

We better stop
Now, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

We better stop
Children, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?” written by Stephen Stills…

Forgotten singular—Me and as lips touch—the You and I often become US…Love? Eternal Spirits ‘Be—We’…melted into formless formality—form ‘We’ into a powerful creation of creative notions—motion we move and Life is good—OK?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘For What It’s Worth’—by Stephen Stills and performed by Buffalo Springfield (Neil Young, Stephen Stills, Jim Messina and Richie Furay)…