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…

Fingertip Stories…

It is the duty of us all to ensure that our society remain one of which we are proud, not a society wary of immigrants and intent on their expulsion or a society that disputes the welfare state or a society in which the media are controlled by the wealthy. We would oppose such things were we true heirs to the National Council of the Resistance.”— By Stephane Hessel

We are émigrés of this sphere. In a blaze of mystery or notions or nicks or knacks or reasons or rhymes, we move through time and place and home and toward one-to-another. We are the directors ‘blood of red’ same air and the singers of fictional truths drawn by spirits same and the dreamers of courage and the chance of hopes. We are the past, the present and the days of future gambols. We are the virtuosity Gods!  We are life, all growing and all walking and all crawling and all swimming. We are Life; perfect and unstoppable. And! It is always better to fall in love than to fall in battle!

‘The young man goes out looking for the diamond in the sea
the old man rows his boat to shore and falls with twisted knees

And you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in

The feeling that I feel the most is the one that follows me
all across the starry coast from sea to diamond sea

Says you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in

I think the thing I wanted most was just never meant to be
a thousand waves, a thousand ghosts their sorrows follow me

And you’ll drown before the water lets you in
Yeah, you drown before the water lets you in’…
“The Water Lets You In”by Book Of Fears

These are the salty ways of salted seas and flecks of foam scatter along shore-sided shifts of sand from wet to dry and dune rise above and beyond watered edges before ruined boardwalks remind nothing of something once savored and watched and known by forgotten ones—once upright writers of the times and the sounds of ‘days of a future’s past.’ Still! We all cross spaces along these places of the races in time gathered and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

Lights at the end of the world. Now! See those lights across these thousand worlds—welcome home to places you have started and places to begin again or again or on another day’s end and another night’s beginning. Drums to market those marks of time we call our own as heart beats begin again and ticks for a while of wills, coming around the corners of spaces in places seen or forgotten or found once for many crossings of spaces and races and time.

Steel Riders pause by waterside as tides of water kiss shoreline’s wavelength along with one hundred sounds and as gulls ride the dips of above and around piers of ruined wood and splintered ages where once the seaside existed and tide changes mattered to boat anchored and ships sailing against the evening lines. The water’s edge and the skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow turn as earth spins sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky lighted canvas sheets the blue gray into darkness and stars light the sailor’s way along the caverns of space and place and the race of time.

Entity Religion is in constant enmity with one another? Satirizes self-contented morality and suggests that in the end all religious groups are going to engage in violent and selfish acts regardless of their professed moral teachings. Just another Government and ‘governing whimsy’ is corrupt, nasty and destructive. Religions’ immaculate contortions, ‘American Style’ twist in-out of ‘the Separation of Church and State’ producing a ‘Governmental Right to Legislate Morality?  Wrong! For only Lovers-have-Lovers’-sacred-right-to-Love. Love is being! Morality is a selfish word…

Portion-for-us and scatter across understanding, simplicity and the variances in relativity either linguistically determined or silenced by rain loud along with gentle beginnings or the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting. Wait! Eyes closed and listen to the thunder rolling ‘cross separated skies as unseen flashes knight the ocean and crash booms into that silent space between raindrops and life. Science eternally dances with superstition. Once and often either momentarily wins something-of-else or another choice-to-follow. Crossroads to matter, chances to spark and destiny always flirts with other, up-and-about or perhaps.

Real Sea, we will see and another and another; of water-ships up, and places far away. This is here and between landings another beach to reach quickly discovered then thrown away. Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise as waves dash high into moonless sky and crash along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting. So! Forever ‘surf’s up’ on the eternal sea, so alive and just for me!

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

 

Home Waves Ahead…

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.

A rational response to a rational insanity. 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.

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.

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Life Shouted—Never Doubted…

“Like the empires of the world unite
We are alive
And the stars make love to the universe”
— by Shakira Isabel Mebarak Ripoll

Walk now, mind walk and follow. Shadow smoke curls and the echoes of sing-song-choirs along the line where sea meets see and sky appears above a forgotten shimmer of water stretching beyond eye watch and body wait. Stride upon the salty waves of a dead sea tucked down between actions and melody’s refrains. Then melt into mists and sea sounds and into another dawn. Those little matters matter-less. Conclude and then proceed once more.

‘You and I and life about and as we shout ‘Love’ skyward because nothing will stop our Dance. You and I forever together! We know nothing alone exists without love’s power, hour, tower, flower and life. Life ignited delighted and excited. We touch hand-to-heart-to-spirit and let the eternal dance begin again.’

Come now and twirl into the Spider’s Web. Enter East-side. Hold the nothingness of thought without form until substance becomes madness. And! Venture out beyond the bridge and find a different freedom. Align birth and moments before and moments after the being presented see lighting sky-flashes and hear thunderclaps as a gelatin combines with knowing vapor to travel those heavens in timeless mist and harmony. As vapor we exist. We are not distraction by what we are not; for we are not, not by displacement or alteration because we always exist in timeless harmony and within those trails of stardust spewing from alternative engines of speed and power. Life motions as life moves. Life modifies. And! Spirits Dance…

And! Still here while beneath these heavens our sea swirl-twirls and we see those Sirens rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls against current and the alignment of moonlight is perfect and is orderly in its dispersal upon the dustless night.

Our Goddesses create heavens and earths and moons and suns and pass spirits to fleshes and from fleshes back again to those spirited forms, substances free. Corrected notes, the piper plays silver flutes that holds heart ‘beeps’ of roaring seas. We pass into light and set others ‘cross star streams beyond sun and beyond sea and beyond the skies of eternal space. Never troubles what posterns we tumble through and matters not why stars blister us. Matters that gates open and matters that stars are hot.

These are singing days! Shouts and shrieks and whistles ‘cross harbor calls where wood-hulled ships rest with bell claps rocking waves and setting sails. 

We water children are held above the line by knowledge buoyant. Unafraid and free and defeating gravity and the restrictions of a drier Earth.

Sunshine west-turns and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs forgotten and paradise found by Summer’s little ones.

Small beneath the greater schemes of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars! Filling lake sparkles and silence with gems dancing and laughing diamonds…

Our house is a strong house, built of stout wood with skill and with love. The wind cannot knock it down. As this grand tempest expires, our house is still upright and salutes the lights of another way. Do not allow this government to destroy people’s achievements, their history, their language, and their future dreams. When this happens, we become a twist of ash. We cannot survive. Genocide destroys our flesh and so much more than Bone. Genocide destroys our blood rivers of Life…

“When we try to conceal our innermost drives, our entire being screams betrayal.” — by Frank Herbert

And! Beautiful you are…

Often Empathy Is Survival…

Empathy determines the variety of groups’ survival and through the artistic impressions of all things determined and created. Landing places are measured by the spaces between Zero and One. Computer’s shrug in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Where one arrives is never known until travel ends and arrival begins. To Heaven—to hell? Perspective is varied and determined again by ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

After a ‘No’ these trees are antithetic. Some are smooth as chrome piped pieces and many times harder. These trees cannot be destroyed. These trees are one thousand feet high and sometimes two hundred feet across. They are the color we see. They are also able to individually change or exchange colors. Some people believe through changing colors, the trees communicate with one-another. Sometimes and far out and away from Rebekka Bends City, it is imagined that folks worship these great steel trees. They are the Charm Collectors. When leaves of many colors fall from chrome limbs; they collect these leaves, great and heavy slabs of an indestructible fashion. When these folks first settled far north of the city and along the shorelines of Calimesa Sea-to-sea-wall-to-street, where the shoreline bends away from land and moves outbound around two hundred and ninety-six miles from the Calimesa Hills, they became the Mountain People.

‘No gentle times better than the dreams of children safe, lovers’ serenity, pictures on walls with no forms, tracks without stars and cars without spaces to move while empty ribbons of dark pavement disappear over a hill. Being afraid to exist; is the notion of moving through, a barely recollected time of future’s fate and prior to another trip-in-time’.

The trip to see the sea is a long walk or a short gradual ride downhill on Long Slide Slope for twelve and one-half miles and then another three miles to where land ends. Then a boat ride across two miles of inland water. Then three miles of land and then another two miles of water and again land for one and one-half miles. When reached, Calimesa Sea begins and land ends. This is a word chase ‘cross screens and about getting to the Seas of Calimesa and the traveling of space folded by volition and distances flexure through passageway spaces and creature races.

The uniformed ones come and some are removed and some are passed quickly. To be proper is good and very wrong, when the persecution of others transfers from fear-to-hate-to-war. And! Hatred is galore, purposed and ends before realized peace is quickly changed to the ‘the quick or the dead.’ To seek and destroy others due to divergences in shape, in scope, in tint, in notions or faith is intention with no ‘assonance or intelligence’. The colored fibers of an arras must be many and without reason for life has no meaning if lacking variety and noise and without sing-song choirs and time.

Circle globes inside and just outside the globes’ entertainments feature: winged cloud-clowns squared by twine stringers, double singers and cicada bands with twirling-whirling claws and slashed gashed blood drinkers, and absinthe thinkers. Inside globes: Collector throngs and crisscross laces of thrumming and the high-pitched squeals of acoustic irritation and the harmony of pleasant sounds joined with thud-thud drums as heartbeat speeds and changes dimensions from thick-to-thin and back again. This is the inside space domed by outside. This is inside; expensive outside and only known as the place to gracefully travel through tunnels of space as folded space lace and lengths are shorter ways to crisscross distance once vast; now as liquid as sea water and lakeside foam. Outside distraction while inside; tranquility and chill-pills are a short space between inside and the blanket cover of a car’s trunk. Opened not much for much less. Inside-to-outside is one galaxy wide and one universe long. Sphere reach is anywhere in anytime by rhythms and rhymes.

Often a magic key or sets of those unlocking instruments are an imagined tool to escape or find and prevail only to become again lost in secret recesses—accesses known only to a favorite few or in the plain-view of everyone. There are so many secrets discovered and so little time for those secret solutions.

The way to hearts is always through hearts.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Orinoco Flow by Enya

Imagination and Wrinkles in Space…

“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’re 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” by Draconian

Imagine! If we could create wrinkles in space-time, we may be able to manage to bring a distant location much closer to us, so it would be possible to reach it without breaking the light speed barrier.

Swirling whirls of smoky fires to cook and fog mist touches life from mountain high to valleys of twirling-spirits and folks-of-flesh spreading across a triangle called Kalints. This may be considered life or love’s memory and the almost real of a now to then and back again. Creators speak and touch canvas with lines and circles a dot of dash as songs play and laughter reaches to diners’ corner and open doors call to inside secrets of ink motions and canvas wet with colors and the scent of orange and green and brown and yellow and perfume inside a night of air and dare and wear and fare or the future of moments again without the layers of walls climbed and discarded.

Per Pope John II—Centesimus Annus: “Ownership of the means of production, whether in industry or agriculture, is just and legitimate if it serves useful work. It becomes illegitimate, however, when it is not utilized or when it serves to impede the work of others to gain a profit which is not the result of the overall expansion of work and the wealth of society, but rather is the result of curbing them or of illicit exploitation, speculation or the breaking of solidarity among working people. Ownership of this kind has no justification and represents an abuse in the sight of God and humanity.”

Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-this-World is a Crime against Humanity. Like Genocide, speculators destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this sweet planet. Are we free if we are wage-slaves, anyway?

‘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.”

This garden is hilltop high and we come here in season to plant flowers and remember some time ago with voices today. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life crosses path resting inside good woods as we look toward cattle and fence and trees and fields and a creek bed dry except for trickles of little waters caught by pools and deposited by rains covering this hill and the valley just last evening.

Consider the everyday failure of notions to grasp the chance of peaceful portions. Depends on how-where you be when flash streaks with smoke reeks as eyes burns in the tears and fears and by the warps of notions, peace cease just before killer memories evolve into sweet substance and light bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail set-to-wind rail balance ‘neath ruined ‘bridges of seven’ or on another land-fall beneath another sky. Homes to build and caves to clean and again for a short while arrival life comes home. Better than missile speak, or places too far gone to seek bomb shelter, a chance for another and another dance before smoking tears or tomorrow-sorrow. Death and peace and good! Life! Ways forgotten remembered and gone. And! While I breathe, I Hope.

‘And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
The blacksmith and the artist
Reflect it in their art
They forge their creativity
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart.

Philosophers and ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
You can be the captain
I will draw the chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the heart’ by Rush

Speculative Capitalism is both non-social and immoral. It is an unproductive financial system that channels greed into speculation and usury. It is irrational and unstable and a Crime against Humanity. Oops! There goes the right to: Life, Liberty and our pursuit of Happiness…And! Due to this Incredible greed, the collapse of Capitalism is inevitable. Crisis investing causes the ‘markets, about this fine world to fluctuate; up-down and all around…A hundred plus points up or down—causes non-productive investors to jump up-down and all around. She or he becomes nervous and begins to whimsy buy and sell. Using sound financial practices becomes mute and the destruction of many billions and lives ensue.

Eden and sin and serpents, oh my! We are the proof of far-removed parents when gods may have ruled and created women and men in places from Sirius to Mars to Earth and back again? Our rulers and our ruled and our voices and our religions have rewritten our beginnings in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that these truths or fictions have blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is yet to come. ‘And! Why not?

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

Spinners of Right-Write…

We move ‘cross space this similar race, of four wheels beneath and ‘Sundown Serenade’ playing radio songs; behind us beach, while just before us, mountain reach. It is fine this twine, reline.

Imagine this world, our womenfolk walk in day-night safety and our menfolk cannot speak a word called ‘War. Where love is love and force is Never-Wherever or Whatever and neither heaven nor hell exists. A place where life belongs, and life is good every day. Heaven or luck why no! We create worlds. We maintain worlds. We love our children. So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away. Just! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away…Ok?

We drown, blood drawn, wealth gone and forgotten; save despair in the care of angels rare and an approaching age away from bombs speedy bright, a joy-in-the-kill and before a time to ‘come in’ from the cold and the end of sliver shiver and right write those spinners of gold, and just a few degrees above the freeze. We commingle those beings by sundry names. Technocrats and financiers and investors and politicians, the poison heirs-of-air twisting our worlds through formulas devotedly devoid of reason, and passion and truth and a modern-day reason-to-season today’s folly with yesterday’s almost jolly ‘may-have-been’ solutions and greed.

The distance between exact science and a hermetically sealed faith of notions and potions and the inclination of motivation is the improbability of dreaming improbable things and the rare-dare-of-fare abundance. A feast found and devoured together all at-once and then again. Congruence and harps without finger touch in wind rush ‘cross wires of copper and gold and silver in shimmers of cold sunlight and starting sing-song; wind carried notes across fields, turned plow-broken and touched in powder snow with frozen driest air mixtures and sing-speak.

Our world is filled-to-brim with strength and spirit and bodies to work, not a population of unemployable or unsteady or unable to rebuild ruined roads, broken-down bridges, worn-out miles of railway steel or simply peel the decay from city-sickness and dying towns. Altered economic figures are sound bites of lies and flies have previously scourged these bitter wastelands. America’s political whirly-twirly create twin lies and their towers of power fall as decay ensues. And! Still shifting toward additional regulators as inequality and poverty and unrest change to insurgence. Is revolution antiquated or insane, when need is forever necessitated by indulgence, decadence, luxury, intemperance and greed?

This length of twine that is followed by too many to discover the end of one strand and again new threads in an ever-growing tapestry covering world folly and rancor swiftly to renew-new strife and re-spin controlling lies and hopelessness forever twins of faithless taste and wasted twists of truth. Acting within actions of disguise and discourse and recourse and renewal when greed needs-need-be and never enough control of whims, of chaotic seams and seemingly able to resist destructive machines and the results of greedy governments and very few against the purest treasures of women and men. And remember! Love is sexless and without form and without flesh and when shaped by humanity; is magic and required, as carbon-based beings require air and blood.

Beyond slicks of rain bounced, visible by moonlight, against a trillion miles of asphalt roads where tiny sprites of weed push through and break the symmetry of path. Life is once again the birthing of nature’s chaos and nothing is as natural as the crafting of creation. Life’s power is the eternal notions of goddesses and gods and witches and warlocks and wizards and shamans-and created by the sanguinity of woman and man and the dynamics of love.

We are the goddesses, gods, witches, warlocks, wizards, magicians and creation’s creators. We are the spirit wind in the valley and the desert and ‘cross plains of grass and mountains both under the sea and rising into space. We of many names or descriptions are both feared and loved. We are Life. We are the evermore art of this evermore life.

Again! To be and to see the loving of loving of hands joined-to-body of moving of swings and wings and spirits-singing and of peaceful sighing. Creation! The Sorceress smiles and for this moment in time; ‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this time—this Twine Rewind.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Ode To My Family’ by The Cranberries

 

 

 

 

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…