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…

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…

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

 

A Lower Winter’s Light…

The word “solstice” is derived from the Latin words “sol” (sun) and “sistere” (to stand). Winter solstice is also known as “The Day the Sun Stands Still.”

Goddess and Gods dance inside snow fall, desert sands, hills, moors and within soft lights tonight. Beiwe and her daughter Beiwe-Neia, Tonantzin, Bheru, Horus, Louhi, watch while the Kallikantzaros count colander holes and return to somewhere underground.

And! Maybe once or twice a modest breach in our Universal Vault emerges and, on that star-filled night, magic happens. The ‘Witches of Nature’ gaze upon this Worldly-Twirl and pause for a second to watch lights dance across the heavens. For that moment they smile, and one-plus-one equals two.

And! Beautiful you are…

Stories of Life and Joyful Sounds…

“When it can be said by any country in the world, my poor are happy, neither ignorance nor distress is to be found among them, my jails are empty of prisoners, my streets of beggars, the aged are not in want, the taxes are not oppressive, the rational world is my friend because I am the friend of happiness. When these things can be said, then may that country boast its constitution and government. Independence is my happiness, the world is my country and my religion is to do good.” by Thomas Paine

No secrets on a lucid walk. A proposal of mystery so different as thinking not so much mystery as only plain plans and sweet whispers. Dawn slips away and day’s almost lightest and slightest sights commence. Gentle rain not storms are best although lightning and thunder is sometimes missed.

Now and then as the laughter of strings from harps’ sings transpires, as poetries dance along these leaves of parchment and thin tin portraits. Dust spreads across this land as too much wind and too late water cannot increase fast trickles and tickles of streams and lakes into oceans of fresh liquid ‘cross another salt-less-sea. And! On this sandy shore we will caress soft sounds and acquiesce to our sweetest songs.

Dancing glides of wheels and those of ice rails arrive via feet and our ancient selves of balance and twists of turns and freedom without the gravity of graves. And! Again, singing strings of violins and cellos and bass satisfy twilights with song and rhythm and rhyme. Fiddlers play music late into evenings and dancers form circles near fires of light and far from darkness empty space and silence.

Here and hear now heart calls and sobs sans light and waiting without notice then just waiting begins wanting again. What happiness happens is possibly happening on dust speckled earth-side through goals higher than justified. Please maintain happiness for dust speckled us. Is a dust-speckled ride a stand-alone stride a solitary goal without end and without beginning or without purpose, but-to-be-point free?

Together words of joyful life thru songs and sweet harmony and true balance, are melodies of love. Tales and lies and glories’ deceits and tall words, historic speak and heroic praise are not required when the fiddlers play. Then arises exact strings of liquid verse and those actions toward peace. Seek hopes’ beginning in fires of spirit strengths and life’s power.

Together, our story of magic life and world love just is…We venture into drying air and cross wet sands and blooms of desert flowers and fresh air. We rejoice with a firm knowledge of knowing thru almost certainty another night and an added brighter day. And! We appreciate the erudition of virtue and of wonderful desire and of noble love.

“A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason. by Thomas Paine

Gather now for rooms-to-find-to-fill have crowded again, and nourishment is consumed as others line sidewalks where grate-covered warmth wafts upward from Calimesa’s underground to ground and around those standing watch or asleep with one side-warm and one side cold or one side dead and one side gone. Again, the living and dying and the thinking of dying and praying of leaving or staying another moment or second or minute or hours of night-time’s twinkles or mornings’ wrinkles, remain.  Once flesh was fresh and spirit smooth and times of ages changed as faded lights start and stop and start again.

“May you hear every song in the Forest…And if ever you lose your own way…Hear my voice like a breeze whisper soft through the trees… May you stay in the arms of the Angels.”  From— ‘Lullaby for a Soldier’ by Dillon O’Brian

And! Beautiful you are…

Approaches of Articulation…

There is an easy slip-slide escalation in curving path shifting from horizontal to a moderate acclivitous ascent. About ‘these parts’ are levels and soft hills then abrupt driveways and mountains. The foothills originate beyond the driveways and rise to forty-nine hundred feet o’er the conurbation named Windsweep. We happen twelve miles away in a town called Creeshrugs. We are governed by traditional rhythms; intricately and spiritually fused with the natural world. And! The lights dim as the shadow dance begins.

Sing-Song sounds as specters sway ‘round twilight flames adrift in a far-off time. We start with the stars and concurrently we vanish into the mist. With gentle voice in silent rooms with stemma stroked throats and emptied tombs. Passage move toward skylight’s scream while choosing sight of sinking dream. Warming suns of days ago. Salted mist and taste of tongue within lights of passion and times of rain. Wolf cries shout of sands and home. Across this universal stretch window shine in candle’s light. And let us touch another piece of safety sleep and lover’s reach.

‘Refusing to acknowledge an active force in things and instead “simply to absorb this force into a command of God’s – a command given just once in the past, having no effect on things and leaving no traces of itself in them is so far from making the matter easier to grasp that it is more like abandoning the role of the philosopher altogether and cutting the Gordian knot with a sword’– by Gottfried Leibniz—from ‘On Nature Itself’

We can climb and defy the Mountains of ‘Overworld.’ No demons’ depraved. And! No rhythm or rhyme nor times’ that happen when forgotten or acceptance is abandoned or uncovered via sets of eyes right-sighted, united, divided and shared ‘cross finale starts.  As inceptions finish single races and commence in other times; additional competitions, wind-curve-win or lose or race-place again and all over again, ad infinitum…

We sustain soul-touched shivers. Beneath drops and beyond opaque places, animation is born and form from kindle or care or wash or wear and never far away from strikes and sparkle. Coven Isles removed from ‘Martian’ Beach lives, and once recognized by diamond eyes, now dry of surface rain, though still alive and seen through other selves in other times and in other places. ‘Tis driest in desert winds away from dark sights and silent night. Sleepless slights and magic lights ‘cross crater crash and runners’ dash into caves where life is born where cycles form and disappear into light-slight and fright.

The third then handles those words that end in a sibilant or near-sibilant, and the last picks up everything else. Signals are distorted, sibilant, and overly compressed. ‘Sibilants are louder than their non-sibilant counterparts, and most of their acoustic energy occurs at higher frequencies than non-sibilant fricatives.’ Sibilance is a manner of articulation of fricative and affricate consonants, made by directing a stream of air with the tongue towards the sharp edge of the teeth, which are held close together; a consonant that uses sibilance may be called a sibilant, or strident.”

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…

Flights Recall—Remembered…

“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 counterbalance 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 do past and often we become; sponges, gifted, gregarious and often bent with insight. We are anchors of both worlds; one frightful and one enchanted and filled-to-edge, truthful with wisdom. This truth is both; scary and fearful, as wisdom sometimes becomes you as aged body bends and frees spirit twirl. And! From twins of two a power of life sparks and alone-never again places begin, and mends ends. When ‘surfs-up’ and high waves reclaim shore-reaches and land, would rather dwell in the Villages of Fisher-folk than where Mid-bots dwell, without spirit machines and without reasons-to-produce and stand with us as wave-crash claims our everyone. Together, we have already finished everything.

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

Beneath surface and faraway from a heating Sun, (7.9) billion people inhabit, function, endure and stop whilst perpetrating both permanent love, and incessant hate. Nights of starlight turn and returned. With forgotten reasons remembered, mind switches between laminated illumination and as blind stir slides, between neon’s shine and this semi-sweet chocolate named darkness. Light saturated in creamy grays and night, is thick swirls of vanilla and warmth blended with shadow shakes; machine wonder often guides the processes of robot arms and legs while watching through robot eyes and listening through robot ears. Often they weep robot tears and die ‘never-ever-even’ when a book or ten books call living ‘sins of flesh’ when spirit robots must live and die and forever venture along dusted star-streams and dance among a trillion light twinkles sketched across the evening’s sky.

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. Civil layers never die. Tradition slips, and graciousness forgets. So are whirling dances and twirling songs. Touch lips and fingers. Kiss your lips to mine, then time space while moments’ race. And! Silence, then carefully watch tonight. Sails do catch sparks-of-wind and high tides to run-to-sea-you’ll-see, won’t we? Struggle is perfect for the winner. The impartial distribution of resources never legitimately occurs. Productivity costs: over time with all intentions of some loss and some motives to divine.

The soft swishes of breeze gently shift pine needles ‘cross autumn’s forest base. If impulse is response, then decision is evolution? In 1610 Johannes Kepler chanced a walk across the great Charles Bridge in Prague, Czech Republic. As snow began to catch on his woolen coat, he brushed away the six-sided flakes from the cloth covering his arms. Catching more of these flakes he realized they were all six-sided. And! Johannes marveled concerning the convenience of this find and the very perspicacious brain and the extraordinary curiosity of the human mind quantified within the quality of spiritual being.

The lonely mountains o’re—And the resounding shore—A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale—Edg’d with poplar pale—The parting Genius is with sighing sent—With flowre-inwov’n tresses torn—The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.” by John Milton

Still here! Beneath this heaven our sea swirl-twirls and we hear whale singsong our mother into a necessary-sleep. Whale singsongs the heating of blood-self until warming is good. She rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls current and lines of moonlight are perfect and disappear into the dustless night. Now! Touch the Dancing One. Now! Touch the Witch-of-life and taste her sweet creations. Goddesses do create ‘cross Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns while passing Spirits-to-flesh and back again. Spirits do form and substance is free.

And! Rain does pour from sky onto roof and 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 and collects on sidewalk’s flooded cracks into pools of wet and of mud carvings and pavement soaks. Night fills lighted places and switched-on bulbs reveal grays; shadows many, forever produced and forever not cheering the sun. Our lives are fluid; liquid pour, consuming, replacing, replenishing, and then recalling another choice in another time or with another rhyme.

The circles safely close. Web building starts. Markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guides are folded as intended. Original shapes until these creations are again needed and opened to read and follow across another Sky-Bridge. Sail this sea and let the games begin, again. ‘Tis good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time this Twine Re-wind. 

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Call Of The Mountains’…Eluveitie

 

‘Home’…Unsun

 

Inhale-Exhale—Inspire-Expire…

 

 

“Just for a minute
The silver forked sky
Lit you up like a star
That I will follow

Now it’s found us
Like I have found you
I don’t want to run
Just overwhelm me

I want to see you
As you are now
Every single day
That I am living

Painted in flames
All peeling thunder
Be the lightning in me
That strikes relentless

What if this storm ends?
And I don’t see you
As you are now
Ever again” …

The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends?)
Written by: Gary Lightbody, Jonathan Quinn, Nathan Connolly, Paul Wilson, Tom Simpson

Time begins a whatever sound of music never ending through the never ending starts of measures measured and notes sent bouncing across a five lined staff of tremble and rhythm, of rock and rolling as those tremulous ends of beginning starts and ending stops. An octave away and sound still rocks an ear or two toward silence; not to hear yet, still vibrating life and crossing spaces between sound and whispering wind without pine forests or desert sands.

And ‘coke-blow’ away the white lined wind and never ends the needles’ spin an unreal reality. Faded, the body walks and talks among those shimmers of blackness and along the edges of storms—blinks the kitten eyes and escapes to rooftop stars and window shines. There are no sounds of screams in silence. Music in mind sized levels are only inside mind sized ears to once be seen in scales of notes added to working-words-to-form-verses of sound mix and chorus touch. An often dream; or is this, a poem of poet-speak? And! Not knowing may sometimes create choirs in four-part harmony…

We are beings in this place of stress and salty tears.  We are the used-to-be folks and other things-in-place; where laws are enforced by us without ‘dress-up’ and notions of ‘bodily harm’ or the invasions of street-to-street spaces with threats of harm by ‘other eyes’  conditioned to see our neighborhoods and us (‘We the People’) as the Enemy…People-Person-You and I—We are these beings in this place of stress and salty tears.

‘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-in-time? We are scattered across a someplace time at a somewhere place. 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—corruption dished with a splash dash of hopeless and fanatic fantasy. And! Does protection always equal servitude? When brain understands humanities’ wonder, the wisdom-brain holds to Love-to-Peace-to-Touch and to-Trust…No charges-no gains-no loss-no rust. Then flash among the realities of reality and touch sweet spaces, an instant before lip touch and as co-mingled breath warms the cold evening air. Then discover a rational response to rational insanity.

Along Martian Ridge along one line, eye stretched far there once was a stutter of thorn then throne then thorn then throne. This 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 were etched, crystal tags attached along the top-front of each and every throne.

We measure all things known and all things unknown by quantities of lengths, of short and tall and of large and small. We sing-long-song-tales of beings and of being above and below and within and without and still we are the singers of verses loud and soft and often true and often false because; we are, Spirits of Creations—Creative Critters—one-and-all.

Sparks are in this world! Without a spark of ‘Sparkle’ — ‘Life’ couldn’t or wouldn’t evolve; as it has, during this moment of time or this place-in-this-space. The spark is special and often starts by touch or begins through an ‘Unknowable Kingdom’ of muse, of enlightenment, of genius, of anger, of thrill, of joy, of wonder, of magic or by accident. Watch from inside the shadows of bridge and steel. Watch as wooden shapes pass beneath the towers of man; created, when young species roamed earth-bound and the constructions of shapes and water passages filled their worlds before the tearing days and summer’s songs died. A night bird cries and another winged one settles, protected within thick tree grasses inside the shadows of the moon.

“For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin….
I am the barren one, and many are her sons….
I am the silence that is incomprehensible….
I am the utterance of my name.”
‘The Mother of Creation’…A voice of Feminine Divine Power

 

And! Beautiful you are…

‘The Lightning Strike’ (What If This Storm Ends?)..Snow Patrol