A Total Love Of Motions…

Shangri-la and Immorality and Death, oh my! We are the confirmation of a far-flung people. Demigods decided to create women and men in countless locations about Sirius and Mars and Earth and back again? Our rulers and our dominated and our voices and our religions have rewritten our starting points in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that our truth and fiction has blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is eternally approaching. ‘And! 

Why do routines and understanding collapse the possibility of peaceable processes? Inspirations rely on just how to reach and where you are as flare striae before haze stinks and eyes burn. Tears and fears and by the warps of notions; peace ceases, just prior to small recollections developing into nice content and bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail set-to-wind rail balance ‘neath ruined ‘the bridges of seven’ or on one more earth-fall underneath one more sky. Dwellings to construct and caves to clean and for a little while landing life reaches mountain homes. Be better than missile’s explosions and sites too far gone to search for hazardous sanctuaries. Please pray for Peace…I certainly do!

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

Contracts are work and work is survival and support. Support is Love and Care and Responsibility, responding to our day-to-day needs too necessary to and a (nine-to-five) becomes a (six-to-six) then a Wowzer and rest begins and ends too quickly too. No complaints, just missing the touch of Creative Spirits in mind’s eyes, in eye’s mind and in heart beats and spirit seeks and pleasure.

Dancing with Code, a Creative Spirit walks into spaces between zero and one and one and zero. And! Those spaces between Yes and No are too small and too large to miss. Often never noticed. ‘Time flies’ when busy’ and the pulls tug both hearts and minds diverse and confused solutions both; simple and complex lost and found and again lost only to be found regarded or discarded or implemented or compiled and again Code Balloons fly ‘cross million wires into simple ‘Yes and No’…’No and Yes’  while surprises simple often operate the complexities of surprise and survival.

  • Why use dashes? A little wig-waggle, a stop and a start is simple fun scratching the itch of grammar, the rules of composition while those dash-dot-dash-dots—go Code Balloons into a sky filled with ‘Yes and No.’

“Love is the force that binds together and moves everything in the universe—creatures and objects are part of a total motion without top or bottom, gravity or resistance” … Chagall

“But time has no beginnings and history has no bounds

As to this verdant country they came from all around

They sailed upon her waterways and they walked the forests tall

And they built the mines the mills and the factories for the good of us all”…by Gordon Lightfoot

Is it Leadership or just the US requiring change and thinking solidarity—And! Needing Love. What is the ‘Cost of Poverty’ and the Charge for ‘Disappearing the Middle Class?’

The ‘Administrative Government’…According to Philip Hamburger (a constitutional scholar and winner of Manhattan Institute’s Hayek Prize) is Unlawful—“Our government can choose to proceed against (You) in a trial with constitutional processes, or it can use an ‘administrative’ proceeding where (You) don’t have a right to be heard by a real judge or a jury and you don’t have the full due process of Law. Our fundamental procedural freedoms, which once were guarantees, have become mere options.” (taken from the ‘Opinion’ page—A13 of the WSJ—June 10-11, 2017 by John Tierney)

‘Bon Voyage’ and diversifies into smaller hopes and greater fears. Such is the evil-of-Greed and the exchange of Freedom for Less…and Farewell’ to our Bill of Rights and as our ‘Lady of Liberty’s’ tears continue to fall, the strength of Immigrants (now called aliens) arriving, diminished from a hopeful flood of honest labor and dreams—into Code Balloons of ‘Yes and No’…Thinking that; Diversity is Great, All Color is Life and All Life is Creation.

The rhythm of Zero and One is not the rhyme of  “Ghosts in the Machines’…Empathy is the only variable machines fail to match—or— Understand…Doncha Know!

And! Beautiful you are…

Let Liquid Pour…

“I thought then I should save one small warm true thing from the flood.”—Zbigniew Herbert, “Elegy for the Departure of Pen Ink and Lamp”

Our lives are fluid: liquid pour, consume, replace, replenish and then recalled. Surprise! How we shift our habits and ways, allowing for empty space of balance to be restored. Darkness seeps slowly into day and ends bright. Night fills lighted places and turn-on bulbs share grays and shades many while always simulating and always failing 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 of soaks.

Still here beneath these heavens our sea swirls-twirls and we hear whales sing-song. Whales sing-songs the heating of blood-self until warming begins non-fear. She rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls current and the lines-of-moon-light are perfect and disappear into the dustless night. Now! Touch the Dancing One, the Witch of life and taste her creations. Goddesses do create Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns while passing Spirits-to-flesh and back again. Spirits do form and substances are free.  Correct notes! Pipers of those—golden flutes held ‘gainst heart ‘beeps’ strong as fair, seafarers often pass others-into-light as others 

As Frantic! This talk ‘America’ speaks and ‘Failure’ reeks long lengths-of-rhythm ‘Lies’ as ‘Freedom’ dies or never was, does-as-trouble, duel-entertains prior to longer-nights and shortest-lights are still counting times, as errors made and ever-never correct when realization is always too late. Never! Allow the Government to destroy our achievements and our history and our language and our dreams. Happens! And we then become ‘winds-of-ash’ then gone. We! Then never exist. For Genocide does destroy flesh and more than bone. Genocide destroys Blood-Rivers-of-Life.

Run well with the wolves of Reach River Park. Face tastes those days of oiled rain and as a cougar’s heart survives, remember those ancient days and smiles. Watch a pageant of brute humans fill crowds; of those both, burning rights and torching wrongs, as fights frenzied and short combine with bursts-of-peace too long to notice as sun-scarred and dusted fill forests’ green and summers’ too as leaves fall and another season begins. Bargaining old with new, the contentions of earth-speak and necessary sadness are necessarily weighted and heavy burdens carried, too fierce and too varied and multiplied by conditions-of-humanities’—weights and survival’s moments and the need-for-greed.

And! Love whispers to our spirits and touches us beyond the flesh-of-resistance and through layers of life within walls too high-to-climb or under or around or about the shout of daily doubt and flight. Listen, just listen. And! Love reminds us of the equality-of-equals, woman and man and their spirits -all trapped and living sentient sentences of life inside the body.

“Together! We know nothing exists without Love’s Power Tower Flower and Life. Life ignited, united, delighted and excited. We touch hand-to-heart-to-spirit and our Eternal Dance begins.”

And! Beautiful you are…

Beyond Slicks Of Rain…

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.

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.

Finally detected! A subway into this wig-waggle-universe and accessible for everyone. Again, migration into and on top of unfamiliar places and different spaces and additional races; forever, to be the first to enter and the last to exit. Is Humanity comparable to merchandise crammed on shelves in an eternity sized store (FIFO), inventory acquired and audits certified? Are we the solitary ‘first-in-first-out’ genus in an aged and precocious whirly-twirl?

“Let us be lovers

We’ll marry our fortunes together

I’ve got some real estate here in my bag

So we bought a pack of cigarettes

And Mrs. Wagner’s pies

And walked off to look for America”Simon and Garfunkel

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.

‘What’s done in the dark soon comes into the light’Author unknown

Thomas Hobbes once wrote in his book Leviathan:[in nature] there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

And! ‘Let there appear (A Market Free), government not required? Without government—‘A Free Market—cannot exist?’ It cannot exist without a civilization! ’True competition’ is a wild ‘dance of survival’ and only the largest and the strongest win. Oops! Civilization is defined by rules. Rules create markets and ‘Oh-No’! Governments’ are the ‘Rules Generator.’

Please! Do not believe; when your paycheck is too small to survive without (2)+ jobs, you really deserve this ‘governmental oops’! And! When a small percentage of ‘personae’ receive billions-of-dollars for your labor with no (blood, sweet and tears) required and they deserve this? No way!

Rules have been altered and all governmental ‘oops’ are calculated—forever and for one and for all.  Systems are skewed and our American administration is our liability. Meanwhile; this error, is the ‘Government of the People and For the People’ and have ‘we’ the People, been forgotten?  

It must not intrude—on a ‘Free Market’—since it must—create that—‘Free Market’? Oops and Wowzer! The American Government creates all ‘free market rules thru Our Legislatures, enforces these rules by using our Administrative Agencies and rules may often be tested by our Courts. An Unholy Trinity—absolutely!

A ‘Free Market and Civilization’ in harmonious simplicity? Until this is re-calculated—-‘Nothing else matters’.

“There are two modes of invading private property; the first, by which the poor plunder the rich…sudden and violent; the second, by which the rich plunder the poor, slow and legal.”Author unknown

Wondering now, if Preachers-of-Fear and Creatures-of-Hate and a Collection of Hope Frauds and Reality-Show-Freaks and Presidential ‘Wanna—Maybes’ are nothing more-or-less than distractions and entertainment-to-lure-both-you-and-me away from Legislature failure?

Everyone knows—(Love Is or ‘Nothing else matters.’)

“If you’re going to San Francisco

Be sure to wear

Some flowers in your hair

If you’re going to San Francisco

You’re gonna meet

Some gentle people there

For those who come

To San Francisco

Summertime

Will be a love-in there

In the streets of San Francisco

Gentle people

With flowers in their hair”Scott McKenzie

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…

My People And Steeples And Shadows…

“In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people
By the relief office I seen my people
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me” …by Woody Guthrie

Along Martian Ridge one line eye stretched far. Once was a stutter of thorn then throne then grain then throne then repeated until distance failed seeing and sight disappeared when ridge merged sky and matter dropped from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones Writers’ names etched’ crystal tags attached along the top-front of every throne.’ Round-about pinpricks and holes into space race the flights of gulls ‘cross sky where ending starts, and reason begins…We do remove those ‘for granted’ blinders’-of-right-sight and often skyward search and find light. Wormholes, 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 ‘warp drive’ may span distance ‘cross space, time wonders wandering about wilderness speak ‘til speed crease cease and earth-lock unblock free, ‘childhood’s end’ and into space we seek, and creep and star-child begins again.

A little Galaxy up line along ridges circling the ‘Giants of Milky’ at angles right to the main disc of stars containing everything even a Sun of our shines not scattered at random but ordered and held together a swarm by a cosset halo of matters-dark rarely seen but always present. And! A well-stocked mind is never bored.

World begins green lights, blue corn stocks across a giant ridge five hundred miles and stopping just because height stops, and sky begins. “Tis reach, to stay and say this place is climbing high and growing large from a spinning barge ‘cross this sky bright and eternal night. Everywhere snow large flakes and small, swirl ‘round this alley wide middle dark to light muffled both ends where streets begin and alley’s end. Cold away from streetlights. And! Silent away from rider less paths where foot high white bounce lands and covers asphalt ways and concrete walks. Quiet so! Go no shadow pale wall crawl or dark creep light speak too scattered to form round interruptions of snow motion descend and bounce.

Trail signs run up and down south-ridge-side of hill-high below mountain tall. Tracking the organic beast disguised to survive tend to inorganic challenges and when snow fall covers everywhere and everything ‘tis mountain tall the safest refuge. Nothing rusts any longer. Well-oiled and fine gleam suits of steel reflect sunlight’s glare and deflects insults and injuries and wounds-to-destruction. And! When tucked inside gleam suits, those hidden may be Organic Inorganic or both. Either ‘Runners or those Running’ can think can wit and outwit both sides equally well equally fast equally furious and always deadly, as trail signs appear and disappear from light dawn ‘til night. The paradoxical motion of ‘man-steel form’ and ‘steel-formed man’—are quickly defined and impossible to divine. Notions-are motions-of head shakes as landside changes and rearranges hills-to-valleys and reverse flows of streams-to-river glows. Armored trains passed through snow mountains of tree mix fallen leaves and save rumbled echoes silence. Where do these trains go? These are armored trains and go toward battle. Out of sight out of mind and unless this war comes our way, this war does not exist.

Paley’s watch ticks and Universal continuation continues. Our world of right now words worldwide so many too many and too often, are persecuted imprisoned suffer sub-human disadvantages and are killed for religious reasons and beliefs political; their race, their sex, their loves and still the wisdom of engagement on behalf of human rights is not only a moral imperative but eternally required everywhere every moment ‘cross the continuum universal and still Paley’s watch keeps ticking and ‘too often’ occurs eternally.

“Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my rush of thoughts
in oblivion drowns
to forget the evil lot
I will sleep in safe arms.

Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns” … by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

The gentle touch of skin brushed-wind morning stars and angel’s dust. And! These precious feet-touch wings-speak to start another path leading little ones to another precious shore sustained hope and just wishes for a moment of ‘good day.’ Uncertain in world-scream, uncertainties wide, grief, bowed head always certain in the certainty of swift chaos and tears. And so, no doubt be found and from ‘cross this sea travelers see candles bright across this night a coming home-to-us, delight light shined ‘Welcome’ from windows’ space of ‘Safe Harbor’ not race, just place to stop and stay awhile. Real Sea we will see and another and another of water-ships and places far away.

This is here and between landings another beach reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away. Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise as waves dash high into a 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! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

Is Dancing-in-the-dark a safe practice or ignorance as blissful as stopping to touch flowers eyes-to-face-to ground and into oblivion? And! The scent of inorganic flowers never compares to the scent of a Rose…

So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

And! Beautiful you are…

Cymbals To Symbols Return…

Stand outside the rain-side storm. Watch washed sands and dune walls wet as water-waves mix and crash against shoreline in salt and foam and disappear quickly within the rain and wind. World team and spirited robots, we all bear the barest of notional influence and the together of worlds await everyone.

As the piper plays, children dance into this ragged sorted night and as they dance the Goddess flashes and those dashes of darkness and thunder disturb the claps of little hands and rings joined songs and laughter only as children laugh or angels sing. The calls of pipers and of drummers’ thunder and the sorting days of Coven calls and repeat the roll of rolls and the answered ones again dance; behind and beside, the players of flutes and of the simple dancing songs.

Deep Communion with the Clown. Watch and dodge ‘Wiz-Bangs’ bright and step inside the fright of night. Barbed-wire reach beyond this ditch and as we climb, embrace the Witch. The truth is about speaking as love touch rides those flashes. Wiz-bang deep to lip kiss life sweets, asleep. ‘Love is an exception to what we usually see. Watch the umbrella two-to-share. Arms around first shoulder and then to waist. Lean each toward each other. A cheek and a brush of mouth-to-skin. Walking! Hair-to-hair and hip-to-hip. And! Ready we, the mother-ship…

Love is the only power that matters-the-matter. Spirit Fleshed and Body Spirited in Time and the distance between heaven spaced and drops of rain. ‘Tis good love, this place, this now, this then and again across reaches and spaces beyond time measure. Moments eternal. Love eternally an internal an external and forever now then forever eternally ours. Without-within as together we begin and end and begin again. Face touch and heart thump and we know for a moment the twirl we belong to-two-too…’And! ‘Tis good to again belong.

‘Daylight breaks the night today. Night time takes the fear away. Sing-Song now and Sing-Song then. Let the counting time begin. As we fall away and fall away and begin these songs again.’

And! Beautiful you are…

Reflections Released…

If deities are androgynous and we created, are creations of fantasies dreamed and beamed to radiated radiation we spirit-dance sounds without vibrated vibrations or derivations, anarchy there be, then we see and be both the life of songs and silence and as societies, discover these to be good. Falling trees in dawn lights at the center of creation’s place vibrate notions and sounds among illusive illusions and illustrated illustrations. We! Gods and Goddess of these creations do find these to be also good.

Run with the wolves of Sity Park and appreciate days of oiled rain with a cougar’s heart. Beware of visceral humanoid hordes, those scorching 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 tumbling leaves. Giveaway hoary with unfamiliar, 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, no silence can 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 move into the light of joining living 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.

What is the measure of air between the dancing of leaves and fairy’s dust; tossed or gently sprinkled then forgotten? Puppet 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.

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 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?

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 example that is not intelligent computation, however; survival necessary…’Been-there-Done-that and Oops’ we learn something all the ‘live long’ day…

Classes of problems requiring intelligence do 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…

Across A Whirly and Twirly Day…

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

Throughout the whirly-twirly of a solitary day many folks start; consume, work, consume again, and care and think and dream and make love and weary or tired fall asleep. Others spend times away and copy daytime dances into night-long-labors and dreams and love and thought and twirl-the-whirl of short nights and sleepless days.

Are we ‘things’ removed from nature? By this removal, do we become no more than an abstract of potential products’ gain and loss? We are, however, information. That information can be changes of whimsy or chance? And! As thread widens, those center bubbles initiate decentering-self and as coding develops bubble self; once rarefied, can mature from a troubled singularity into social unknown starts to traverse zones of yes-to-no and no-to-yes.  Line them up and roll ‘em again?

Technical layers stop and start tucked somewhere between the zero and the one. Twin-spins into code is first autonomous self-centered bubbles along a there and not their thread. The thread in a feel-not-see then see-and not felt. A simple ‘yes or no’ suddenly is an absolute everything everywhere. And! No matter-the-type-of-matter we are or become; again, we are ‘small-tiny-great-or-not-matters-little-of-what-we-are,’ ‘cause our subjectivity is; no more than touches of awareness-becoming-aware-of-something-coming-our-way?

Abstracts we are and abstracts we are not.  We are poor or rich, sick, or well, big or small; all beings of magic, language, math, music as poets, scientists, artists, motions-in-time, rhythm-or-rhyme, kings or queens, servants, or slaves, we with fingers crossed are all abstractions at the gates of new worlds just waiting to be discovered.

Other ways are to turn speak into words spinning stories because the path is short-long and long-short. Twins speak the notion of new world words when strange tongues often confuse truth prominent in; to-day-to-day working words and pausing stops. One giant mother ship, a trillion samples of life and motion begins to seed a universe-so-fine. Orion! A moving point toward outside vacuums and inside fears. Always! Life inside these stories.

They gather arm’s length apart and touching yet never flesh feeling—just being the same as each cold breath catches and inhales exhales steam across a longer line of waiting and hoping and living and dying and thinking of praying of leaving or staying until few cents ago coffee warm warded away cold from form vision search, to begin again or end for the evening bright of Street magic and Star-ship’s light.

They gather here for rooms-to-find-to-fill have filled again and nourishment gone again, and others line the grates of grate covered heat blown from underground to ground around those standing watch or asleep in one side-warm and one side cold or one side dead or 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 twinkle or morning wrinkle where once flesh was fresh and spirit smoothed times of ages changes or faded lights start and stop and start again.

‘Tis good this time—‘Tis good this twine-rewind.

And! Beautiful you are…

When Animation Begins…

There is an informal slip-slide escalation in curving paths 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.

Signals are distorted, sibilant, and overly compressed.

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. Passages move toward skylight’s screams while choosing sights of sinking dreams. Warming suns of days ago. Salted mist and taste of tongue within lights of passion and times of rain. Wolf cries of sands and home. Across this universal stretch window shines in candle’s light. And let us touch another piece of safety sleep and lover’s reach.

A well-stocked mind—is never bored—donchaknow?

‘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 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 start with the stars and concurrently we vanish into the mist.

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 nights. 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.

When in love distance from the ‘Entity of one’s ‘Love’ is just formality. A spirit being “in-love’ takes no notice of Space, of Distance and of Time. And! Love is forever—donchaknow?

The tertiary processes comments that end in a sibilant or near-sibilant, and the last picks up everything else. Indicators 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 the 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…

Beneath Many Moons Tonight…

We, with adoring attention, create robots small, bundled rows of life about Earthrise and beneath Moon sparkle still altered-still same and always twirl-spaced ‘cross time bridged and rhyme. We inspire desire and require sweet diversity. Until shaped we shift created life, a fabricated slip and tanked in agile spark from womb-song-to-light-then-back-again-to-two-removed and started again.

We would have this no other way!

Genetic profiles whirling webs from calculations inherited and dancing traits and the merging of urging, originate the beginnings of tiny automata and mirrors of images and with simple complexity, children of love are born complete with slivers of magic beasties, portions of golden hearts and short stops between Eternal Spirits’ crossings. Blood dancers and double bodies and whirling twirls with once slower motions now come constant as light races day bright into night.

We would have this no other way!

The evangels of lofted Deities’ notions as something unusual crawls our way. Those haves may have half twirling tales or songs or other psalms of other notions that those highest Gods of swirl cannot contain life and the wag-of-wiggle of shaping-shifters and Robots are We. And! Those ghosted machines may also be those spirited Us. Tiny speck-to-magic-witch and we survive all to dance life across those many spaces of races and kiss storm stars known or stars to remember and costars to forget.

We would have this no other way!

Dare we trace or dare-we-risk a reach inside spaces of Code-genetics and count the current streams to spin or craft to be or to leave the untouched alone. Why not touch to feel? Some today’s we destroy both the of wonder of wonder and sometimes we die in the fearing of fear. Sometimes, eternal spirits and the realm of nonsense physical do confuse and bewilder or cure the magic of life and the mystery of death.

We would have this no other way!

Images create as mirrors drift from mortal moment to immortal spirit with motions from nothing to something and again back to those nothings of something that may have almost started or stopped and started all over again. Would have and could have and should have may have already been here or gone over and over, ad infinitum. The life, both of, Robot Creators and Creator Robots forever last and through our eternal stretch and scratch will survive…

We would have this no other way!

And! Beautiful you are…

Wishing You Gentle Winds and Freedom…

This is the world of living things—where a lamb does sleep within the safe touch of lion strength and length and the roar of peace is the call of timeless harmony and another rhythm of another rock as stones roll toward valley deep and…Where no kills are justified and justice crosses no blind alley or fear or tear touches courted reasons to ‘shoot-not-shoot’—but to speak in the words of flesh same and blood red and compete completely through both understanding and care.

These are rich structures without form. These towers are buildings without prestige. These places appear a cornucopia of shapes with no rhythm or rhyme. Lines both; hard and simple, reveal and complicate turns and curves. Synchronization of positions and flawless of construct. Elements of precision and of mischief. Often the eyes of Spirits active are miniatures. Often specks and flecks of gold and silver coats. Many are layered but still seen by beholder and beholden. Ice streams descend in slow straight lines—from rooftop slopes to solid sidewalks. Planes and plain models are soon streaks of many colors-colored glass and permit-in transitory twilight. Then, out-of-sight and with this bright-city-light appears an ‘almost-maybe’ night.

“Now you’re telling me
You’re not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
‘because I need some of that vagueness now
It’s all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly
And if you’re offering me diamonds and rust
I’ve already paid” …by Joan Baez

Touch lips and finger kiss your lips to mine then time space while moments’ race. Civil layers never die. Tradition slips, and graciousness is forgotten. So are whirling dances and twirling songs. And! In Silence 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 reasons spent, some products lost and some reasons to divine.

“All across the nation
Such a strange vibration
People in motion
There’s a whole generation
With a new explanation
People in motion
People in motion

For those who come to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there

If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there” …by John Phillips

Why support Capitalism since it is now; ‘Insatiable and Unequal and Repressed and Tyrannical and an Enemy of ‘We the People’ and of ‘Earth’s Twirling Humanity’? Tangible wages are gone. The powers of Societies’ Unions are gone. And! A Right—Wrong transference in Economics, Politics, Labor’s markets and an enlightened American refinement are now ‘all gone!’ ‘Trickle down’ is a perpetual lie! And! Remember; ‘there are no Blue Color Billionaires.’

We are not creations of memorial mistakes and made markers by ‘bombs early light’ and gun flashes as bullets night-fly to shatter dreams and hopes and pride as life start/stops too soon and family through sorrow also flies away to something just beyond reaches and the notions of together days of tomorrow’s futures and memories of yesterday’s today. Our children and we—as child-speak and drink and think and dancing songs and rhythm beats of drum and spirit and smile; do search the identity of identity search as flesh survives despite the spirit’s knowing of the knowledge of a universe of time and space. We crawl toward accepting the acceptance of fate and the together strength in our cave homes. We also run toward the individual hope of ourselves without shells and reasons to become other than the self of us and me and you and I and justice time…

“The circle safely closed—the web building starts—the markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guide—folded into original shape— until it is—again required and opened to read and follow— ‘cross sky-bridge. Bang-Bah-Boom-Bang-Bang and let the game begin—again… ‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine—Re-wind. 

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

And! Beautiful you are…