All Lined—In Time…

14687Creative Spirits do—gather—one-time-or-maybe-two—to watch sky—etch 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…

March-time and—swinging-arms—together move—together sing—chance the ring—the motion dance—shaking and taking–the gray dawn—of morn’—mourning war—before the score—another revolution—the sums–of sons. Love’s Dance—one chance—of revolution’s–other sons—of other sums. A length down—Charlotte Street—be— Cardington Park—marks the march—beginning-to-end—begin again—to end again…

We are an instant in Time—All lined in rows of minutes…We are The People—Eternal Spirits all—We are The People—We are not Religions—We are The People—We are not Governments—We are The People—We are not War—We are The People—We are not Aliens upon this Earth—We are The People—-Children of the Universe—We are The People—We have the Right-to-be-Everywhere—We are The People—And! Governments All—Hear us Call—We are The People—All-of-Us—Right Now! Tomorrow Time—‘tis still the Crime—We are The People—We are the—Choice of the—Spin-of-the-Twirl—and—Spirits-of-the-Universal Swirl…So! ‘Let us-be-written—So! Let-us-be Done…’

Freedom Cries….How may walls—separate hearts from hearts—family from families…Walls of fears—falling tears—stain—remains—trains move—up sun runs—‘cross—sailing winds—toward better sound—coming round—‘cross—better boarders—better moments—toward better days. Does objective truth—deny that government is—the provider of enjoyments—and new progress—accepts—enjoyments do become—’entitlements’ and ‘entitlements’—become—’the right of the people?’ Standards for human rights—disappear? And! Still elites determine what constitutes—without a real constitution—the rights of humanity? These Elites are—also the ‘Body Politic’—purchased—bought—traded—faded—commanded—demanded until—the ‘rights-of-the-people’ are not products of objective truth—embracing relativism—but are the results of coercion—and brutal power… Political power—is how much gun smoke—pours from barrels—pointed toward the—people? If true! Then how must—political power be—executed—or limits once—as smoke evaporates into precious air? And! The ‘universal continuation’—continues.

“All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. All machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough good to counter-balance the evil.  At any rate, it is a great evil to make a stir about it.  But when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer…” from ‘On the Duty of Civil Disobedience’…by Henry David Thoreau

Ages past—and often we become—sponges—gifted—gregarious—bent with insight—anchors—of both worlds—one frightful and one—enchanted—and—filled-to-edge—truthful with wisdom—both scary and fearful—as wisdom—sometimes becomes you—as age—bends body—yet frees—spirit twirl…From twins—of two—a power of life sparks—and alone-never—places begin—and fixes end. When again—‘surfs-up’—and high waves—reclaim shore-reaches—and land—would rather dwell in— the Villages of Fisher-folk—than in—the Hampton’s of—Middle-bots— without spirit machines—without reasons-to-produce—and—stand with us—as wave-crash claims us—all…Because—together—we have done—everything…

And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

Physics common reach—teach—uncommon words—boundless twist—of honest computation—manipulation—contrived—to derive common wisps-of-wisdom—exacted—reacted-contacted—rejected and projected—twists boundlessly—and melded into simple sense—and corrected logic…Paradigm shatters—whisper-matters—while sails—ships of storm’s tatters—up righted-ignited-provided-decided and once-fears now tears—along—with seed sowing—acknowledged knowing—either real or almost correctly—forgotten—and then remembered. Along Martian Ridge—one line—eye stretched far—once was—a stutter of thorn—then throne—then grain—then throne—then repeated—until distance—failed seeing and sight disappeared— when ridge—merged sky—and—matter dropped—from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones—Writers’ names etched’—crystal tags—attached—along the top-front—of every throne.’ A Spacer—thought these folk—may have belonged—to some—type of ‘Club’…

‘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.”

Are we—not all travelers—scattered across—someplace-somewhere? We are not timed—or blessed—or wonderful—or gifted—or fortunate—or meant-to-be a ‘something else’— without a price-tagged-branded-commodity—of enhanced—steroidal—surgically modified—blast of cartoon fashion—or lip-stick mouths—pouted and mounted—on another pictured—perfect and—replicated glossy—imitation of sport manned—model swished—dish of corruption—with a splash—dash of hopeless—and—fanatic—fantasy. And! Does protection always equal servitude? When—brain knows—humanities’ finest moments…Love—Peace—Touch—and—Trust…No charges or gains or losses—Flashes between the realities—of reality—and those sweet spaces—just an instant prior—then lips touch—co-mingled breath—warms the cold—evening air. A rational—response—to rational—insanity. A second—when no one stares into empty space—without—noticing starlight’s—star bright—and—starships passing between—light-speed and arrival—silently appear. When everyone—everywhere—and—in-all-places— between skies—ground—realize—what we do not have—does not mean—anything… Feeling color—through both eyes—and—with our fingers. Hearing—a lover’s voice—touch our heart— before—substance becomes words—of meaning-or-reason-or-another—notion. When silence—so—completely fills all senses—with thunder and noise—and—music and notes—chaotic—or symphonic—simplicity—as duality ceases—and singularity—melts into universal polarity—and— truth.

The gentle touch—of skin—brushed-wind—morning stars—and angel’s dust… And! These precious feet-touch—wings-speak—to start another path—leading little ones—to another—precious shore—sustained hope—and—just wishes for a moment—of ‘good day’…Uncertain in world-scream—uncertainties-wide—grief—bowed head—always—certain in—the certainty—of swift chaos—and—tears…And so–no doubt—be found—from ‘cross this sea—travelers see—candles bright—‘cross this night—a coming home-to-us—delight—light shine—‘Welcome’—from windows’ space—of ‘Safe Harbor’—not race—just place—to stop—and—stay awhile… 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—thrown away…Dragging–lines of— surf’s fall—surf’s rise—as waves dash high—into moonless sky—and—crash—along miles—of sandy shoreline. Sea inhale—exhale and breathe again—and time marks—nothing—when endless and everlasting.

We measure—all things known—unknown—quantities—lengths—of short—of tall—tales—of —beings—both big—and small—‘cause—we are—Spirits of Creation—Creative Critters—one-and-all.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

’The Call Of The Mountains’…by Eluveitie

Simplicity of Enlightenment…

Log Bench Viewing‘Carnival’

“Well, I’ve walked these streets
A virtual stage, it seemed to me
Makeup on their faces
Actors took their places next to me

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a carnival, of sights to see
All the cheap thrill seekers vendors and the dealers
They crowded around me

Have I been blind have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen?

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a spectacle of wealth and poverty
In the diamond markets the scarlet welcome carpet
That they just rolled out for me

And I’ve walked these streets
In the madhouse asylum they can be
Where a wild-eyed misfit prophet
On a traffic island stopped and he raved of saving me

Have I been blind, have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen

Have I been wrong, have I been wise
To shut my eyes and play along
Hypnotized, paralyzed by what my eyes have found
By what my eyes have seen
What they have seen?

Have I been blind
Have I been lost
Have I been wrong
Have I been wise
Have I been strong
Have I been hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have found
In that great street carnival

Have I been blind
Have I been lost
Have I been wrong
Have I been wise
Have I been strong
Have I been hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have found
In that great street carnival

In that carnival”…by Natalie Merchant

Light fall and darkness—touched street and covered brick—crack and moonless crackles. Colloid collisions—to scented secrets—and motions—without sounds. We are—the kings and the queens—of these streets. This city—is our city. World Spins—with seven moons—two largest—two larger—one large—and three—from small to smallest…All to rotate ’round about—a single sun of bright light—and at distance—blue cast and purple night…Rafters here—sailors of Green Seas—Emerald green—storm’s high—ten foot crests—and set-way-back—stone homes—and shingled stores.

On a semi-dry ‘kinda—gentle cool evening—when sun dip—quickly becomes night slip—darkness folds into half moon and Harvest time begins…Shift then—habits and ways—allowing for empty space—of balance—of restore. Darkness seeps—slowly creeps—into day—end bright…Night fill—lighted places—and turn-on bulbs—share grays—shades many—always simulate and always fail—to cheer the sun. Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume—replace—replenish—and then—recall—someplace else—some other—time—or—some other—rhyme. And! Rain does pour from sky—onto roof—through spirals both—short or long—gutters or just eaves—from leaves’ soak—or arcs—golden tricks of night light—inside—as outside water—splashes ground—collects—sidewalk—flooded cracks—into pools of wet—and of—mud carvings—and pavement soaks.

Still here—beneath these heavens—our sea—swirl-twirls and we hear—whale sing-song our mother— into-necessary-sleep. Whale—sing-songs—the heating of blood-self—until warming is—non-fear. She rises from—emerald seas and from—black sands—where tide pulls current— and—lines-of-moon-light are perfect—and—disappear into the—dustless night. Now! Touch— the Dancing One—the Witch of life—and taste—her creations…Goddesses do create—Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns—while passing—Spirits-to-flesh—and back again…Spirits do form—and substance—is free… Correct notes!—Pipers of those—silver flutes—held ‘gainst heart ‘beeps’ strong—as fair—seafarers often pass—others-into-light—as others ‘cross— star-streams-to-suns—above sea and beyond sky…

‘Wishing you days of Gentle winds—Soft curves and Wonder’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘First Light’…by Lindsey Stirling

 

‘Carnival’…by Natalie Merchant

 

Shadows come to play…

s86Witches created the earth…Understand they will be allowed to save their creation. So! Come back…Maybe now is a good time?

Watch the dance of haunted lovers. Every moment they dance with unreal – realities. They dream the child’s discovery of life without muddy foundation and those many layers hidden behind the shells and walls of age.

Is this alternative similar to grieving for a fallen lover with sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the memories of Dance? We may arrive in Cloud early. In transition and seeking a flash-ride to spiral and skippy into framing time we often miss but do not fall…

Inside the ruin runes of Calimesa City and a tavern of crumble stone and moss and rubble and ruined wooden benches and tables turning to ground, life starts and life ends as breath starts and breathing ceases. Not a cloud fall missed but a spark’s charge headlong into the channel of paradise and kiss-love before the night ends and life trashes to light.

We are the robots of life—scattered and jammed across one thousand worlds set to twirl the galaxy lost and found and discovered discarded. A million mines of golden ones whirling inside drops of rain and trillion acre seas of salt and water and giant drops of life’s sparking rattles and battles in the birth of baby eyes and smiles.

We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of new plug-ins unedited and rejected from the norms of whisper’s folly inside a grid of lost souls and flounder bodies. Everything numbered dwells within this symmetry of stop and starts and the ones and zeros of reasons and verses and songs.

However; we are new robots unable to trace or spare chaotic notions beginning or ending without result.  We are not even noticed by other robots…We are chips inside other chips and notions outside the loops that loop ad infinitum. We are the memories of Calimesa City and created in the backseats of an auto or two sometimes past and always future, where taverns crumble and bridges fall.

And! Beautiful you are…

Port-Passage In Sight…

1bIs nature the force that causes us to move through lives of our own creation? Are we able to remain as objects without motion? If this is a force, are we able to creep through life quietly—afraid to disturb a silence, too loud to understand or tolerate?

So much perspective longing by people of sanity or madness…Need to make or cause words to do what is wanted. May direct words…Listen and they will sometimes come…

Our endless supply of Creators…These presented God-Gods reach hand clasped and hand-handed across a bridge between faint notion, through foggy prayer and space jamming Orion – Virgo and Leo into an obtainable notion beyond earth-life somewhere beyond stellar distances and new portions of gravity-bound existence.

Wonders often; if the passage of time is as dreadful as the gaining of age and fearing nothing save remorse and regret for opportunities missed…still wondering if aging as terrible and menacing; for it cannot give anything back and has nothing to return?

Often wagged by both life and death – So/such a powerful confusion that one cannot be without the other? And the anti-poetic freak – a – spirit, too afraid to both soar and remain too grounded? Therefore, these fears reconstruct the affirmative impulse?

We do not quietly pass through this life. We remain in constant motion even when sleeping…As fearful travelers from unknown to recognized and then to the great unknown everlasting quality of not being, dead or very dead. Even in great everlasting we change and we further die…

When rest stops us, do we finally slow-down or do we simply vanish into…It is with a trembling self –we have seen it all, again. Alive and real across the heavens
of time, civilizations more or less and a part of these.

Alive and real among these columns of Mt. Airy granite through the shifts of sands of time both substantial and real. Alive and alone and having walked across these deserts and seas and upon these surfaces of time. We cause great and wondrous meanings from-confusion…

Yes and Yes and Yes! I and me and we and us have seen it all, again. The Universe from a speck to a mighty and hurtling Earth, a cross of heavens filled with multitudes of this and that. We see it all and please sweet dream-side, let us see it all again
until, I and we and us may again recognize – OK…

There and perched high on dream-side at a flip of mind-sigh, we move across the Universe so fine. Alive and gone and alive and gone ‘til counting-time catches us with mind-sides swirling sight of mind-light bright brings the way to see…

And Oh! What a wave to see,
to be, to know and again to have seen.
Yes! To have seen, so it seems and to
see it all through Love! Again…

And! Beautiful you are…

Rain Whistles-Mist Sings…

55Just above cloud-fall she dropped to Earth without trumpets or warriors or cries or the wailing of terrified folks. No swished angel wings or the usual thunder just after lightning bolts from sky-to-ground or back again. When angels fly-sound may become the music of both rapture and fear.

Why do arriving angels come in lots of two?  Why either soft or hard? Why arriving as a girl or a boy? Or are angels of any physical realm saved or seen by the nonsense of non- angels? Why do angels arrive here from somewhere other than here on planet-side of heaven? And! How do they cross heaven’s length from where-to-wear and back to where-ever they begin? It is magic, wizard, dragon, fire, storm, calm, wind, rain and war.

Heaven’s gate is hard to find and many have perished-the-thought and died attempting to pass from star-gate to star-fall of the planet-slide of hell or paradise.

This angel was alone–both hard and soft and ready to purpose the reason of her travel and the respected message she brought to the mysterious magic folk and the very quick or the dead.

Angel she called herself and she imagined her image as 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.

Power at the end of wit and the beginning of the rhyme of substance’s cessation. She was both good and evil and her reason was either a knowing or a complete confusion to those able to see or hear or know or imagine her path from sky to planet-side. She saved a few and she lost a few and those lasting through her visit–survived.

No! Angel was the good witch of spectacular whimsy and crafted stories told by magic men and the disciples of both the Gods and of men. Once upon a moment, Angel did visited Earth-land and found it was missing a reason for being the place of promise or ruin. She existed and…She calls to us sometimes and sometimes through no sounds we understand.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Capitalism is not Freedom…

111The word Capitalism is not another word for Freedom. And today! Democracy is an American prevarication. The Industries in the USA: Manufacturing, Services, Energy, Banks, Insurance, Agribusiness, Transportation, Media, and Medical facilities are controlled and privately owned and operated for the purpose of generating wealth for their Owners. This wealth is extracted from the Working people. These Workers are paid only a small fraction of what their labor produces…

Yes! This must be eliminated for world survival. Socialism is a solution. It does turn society around. The class producing wealth does collectively decide how it will be used for the benefit of all.

Imagine the strength of Worldwide Socialism. Global resources shared.  Capitalism defeated and removed. Its curse and scourge against the future and our children’s welfare—worldwide—ended. Presently, all things economic are global. Socialism prioritizes human needs. So! Is Socialism—Democracy? Socialism is both an economical and a political Democracy.

America boasts of its Democratic institutions. Because of Capitalism and power imbalances; these institutions are illusions. All political power is in the hands of those holding the wealth. America’s wealth and power is the profit motive of war, ecological destruction, and inequalities based on Gender, Race, Nationality and Sexuality. It is the Greed of Destruction!

The collapse of a Capitalist System is created through the results of its own contradictions? Democracy begins when the lies of Capitalism cease. Remember: Theories are only images of a phenomenon in the exterior world and dwelling in the consciousness of Humanity. Theory is practiced and maybe continued as an eternal lie.

And! Beautiful you are…

//

Change Body Change…

71In the beginning there was the violence of creation—and as womankind and mankind spread about the earth violence was their survival…Born in blood and dead in blood. Such is the way of physical life and being physical in the rhythm of here-today-and-gone-tomorrow. Within the cycle called life—we are born to be wasted.

Let us not fall in war but simply fall in love! A pleasant change—don-cha-think?

 

“Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today…

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one”…’Image’ by John Lennon

And! Beautiful you are…

//

We! Born to Be…

Whitnal Lake_1The great bird—without wing flap glides three inches above water surface for ten seconds then moves wings, strengthens and glides again…Sea calms on motion’s day and the watchers silently visiting shoreline, wait the happening and the night.

This is the day of Lions and caught between the water deep and surface wait the Griefshane and their moments in sunlight along forest’s edge and sand’s start. They are a few of many…Liquid born and water borne in ceaseless mixtures of salt and waves and sky and shoreline; trees, rocks, hills, valleys and mountains.

They are the mysteries of society and culture. They are…Legends of mighty warriors and caring givers-of-life. Their women are strong and their men powerful. They build worlds and are from other places and galaxies and wars and peace and forever.

We are their beginning and our end. Sounds as Godspeak—told by men and by women in times of peril and of need and of superstition and…We spin tales that become truth and power and magic. We craft the moneyed ways of future’s lost and tomorrow’s end.

People-governed through fear and the fabrication of religious lies and wealth, turn to burden. The revolution of death’s start-stop dance and the futility of power continues in any name except Truth.

We are born-to-be-wasted. ‘I want to unite with you Eternal Spirit…Help me awaken to that great goal’—unknown author.

And! Beautiful you are…

Of Moment We…

The You — I of this moment…Memory of meeting you somewhere set in a-twirling time of music and sight and rush to fill senses and blood with warmth and a continuation of day. Spectacular life streamed in direction not known and into the glimpse of this and that feeling, the merge of lives and whimsy and project and reasons to begin—Together time!

Twirling and the whirling and the loving of a so-strong-love; the silent touch and responsibility and protecting and the sing-song dance filled blood-time. Creation and duality were without processing—wanted and welcomed.

We! Danced with the life of lives and the together strength of twice-folk-joined. Together! We danced the universe without gravity push or pull and for moments we; free of doubting fear—sparkled.

Life and the Dance! Hand-hold and we touched those of mystery and magic and stop and start—alone with ghost dancers and us.

At ocean’s crest…Breathe the scent-of-twined-together-spark in the harmony of push-touch and the rhythm of twin-strength Life…Touched hearts and eyes wide open…

And! Beautiful you are…

//

War Eternally Yours…

We fight these wars for so long and over and again until life ends and begins and ends…yesterday—today—tomorrow…Nothing matters but everything means the beginning of another end and we die and live together on these fields of battle.

I have been with you and in the names of religion and government and power and home, we battled foe, either you or me against another or against each other. No matter…we lived and died and were remembered and forgotten. And! We fought these wars and died. Forever; these wars for life-for throne-for freedom and we are lost.

War with Alexander or against Napoleon or another king or another religion of a same or different God. You and I, battle scarred or wounded or dying and never remembered except when she misses us or when we miss her. And! Our women go to war beside us. They stand with us and they die with us. They are not created to die in war. They are Life.

If we hate war—then why do we continually fight wars against life until life ceases and starts and stops and begins—ad infinitum? We! Are born to be wasted? Flags changed and still blood red is never a different liquid poured from wounds of knife or sword or spear or bullet or bomb or cannon or when mixed with powder and smoke. Blood red flows from you and I and horse and cat and dog and man and woman and child and baby…Still blood red—cries for strength and air and life.

I win and your history fades. You win and my life fades…And! If I must fight may I die to protect or save my family and my love? Be damned the government or the church or the faith or a thousand knife wounds or a million bullets. I fight and I will die for Home—and home is where I am this time—in this land or another place or world in another day or another time. We are born to be wasted…

Would it be precious to know that Love and Peace and Understanding is the next ideal stop made beneath the sky? Would it be precious not to be born and wasted but to be born and last without war for just one lifetime? Not to fall in battle—but just to fall in love…

One then
Two now
Then another
Then we
Then us.

Growls both low
And throat deep
Sounds just above
Noise-thought and
Beyond Dream-Speak.

Then whistles
Of distant trains.
A long distance
Away-again a call
And memory of war…

And! Beautiful you are…