The word ‘Honor’…Many descriptions and quantifiers regarding this word…Honor is not 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.
“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
Sky crust—blocks pearl light—as an evening of workers—failed strengths—home bound—as ‘Nighters’ replace the ‘Eveners’ and continue—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—needs or fulfilled desires. Oppression—succeeds when its legitimacy is internalized. The freedom to write it right—write—writing—toward left of sails unfurled and imagined as sea endless might and distance ‘tween stars— ‘tween galaxy— ‘tween the universal folds of space. There be books here and listen to these stories from spirit-speaks—of volumes long and voltage sweet. We—change everything with Blue Planet Waste?
‘The most heroic word in all languages is Revolution’-–Eugene Debbs
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? Perspectives are various and determined again by ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Empathy determines the variety of groups’ survival and through the artistic impressions of all things determined and created.
Light Fall and Darkness touch street and cover brick crack and moonless crackles. Colloid collisions—to scented secrets—and motions without sounds. We are kings and queens of these streets. This city—is our city. Listen! Our streets vibrate with good life—sweet blood and the strength of poverty covering America…’Feed my People’—strong words—weak wills to solve and still solutions are apparent and ready to use for many willing to share and to simply end greed. And! Please remember that a Police State is allowed when governments—desire only—to protect and maintain—Societies’ Hierarchy—and be damn the People…The Wealthy have forgotten with whom they once danced—and from where their worth began—developed and multiplied…Why are the many sounds of Poverty silent—when greed deafens—growls of hunger and the pleas of need—in the Mystic— ‘Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave?’ Protest and Speech Politic—twirls now toward the swirls of grenades that flash and crying sprays and Robocop of ‘all-dressed up’—and still—the You and I of—Us against each-other…
We are a place where laws were enforced by us without ‘dress-up’ and the notions of ‘bodily harm’ or the invasions of street-to-street—places with threats of harm by ‘other eyes’ conditioned to see our neighborhoods and us (‘We the People’) as their Enemy…People-Person-You and I—We still are…
Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume—replace—replenish— and then—recall. Surprise! How we shift—habits and ways—allowing for empty space—of balance—restore. Darkness seeps—slowly into day—end bright…Night fills lighted places and turn-on bulbs—share grays—shades many—always simulate and always fail—to cheer the sun…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.
This dot-dash in time is not America’s ‘darkest hour’…” Donnie T.—Be” not darkness; just a candle no- spark, no-match-to-wick—quick—foolish words—entertainment—more criminal than ‘ever clean.’ A fox in a ‘house-of-hens’— is honorable…’Donnie T. a Poser Be’—loss unity—without integrity. “A cloud of cicada on acid. A thrumming high-pitched squeal of acoustic irritation.”
Pay attention to Life—call it a modern Life—and all this modernity—simply wears a body— completely out…Call a Life—themes and structures and verbs and existentialism and authenticity—unreal and where you ‘are’ and who you ‘are’—stories be—unfinished collections—rejections—objections—subsections—detected—inspected and revealed. And! Many writers have fashioned varieties of these— “That art is the attempt to render the highest justice to a visible universe”: Wondering if this justice is rendered with and without sunlight? Still a visible universe is visible without sight-to-see? Why not?
We do not summon gentle love…It whispers to our spirits—and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance and routes of layers and lives inside walls too high to be climbed or under or around or about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love heart touches and reaches—into body frail and those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen—just listen. And! Love reminds us of the equality of equals—woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside body—minding body.
And! Beautiful you are…
‘What We Do’…Oh Wonder
‘Crimson and Clover’…Joan Jett and The Blackhearts