Category Warmth without Fire

May 3 2023

Accepting Fate Together…

Our children and we, child-speak and drink and think and with dancing songs and rhythm beats of drum and spirit and smile; do search the identity of identity searches 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. We all are never Machines…

Four main types of artificial intelligence are:

  • Reactive machines. Reactive machines are AI systems that have no memory and are task specific, meaning that an input always delivers the same output. … 
  • Limited memory. The next type of AI in its evolution is limited memory…
  • Theory of mind?
  • Self-awareness?

“The term “inference” in AI refers to the process of deriving conclusions from data or evidence”. “In other words, inferencing is using the information at hand to make logical deductions and predictions. There are two main types of inferences: inductive and deductive”.

We all are Never Machines…We are all Self-Aware.

From genetic profiles spinning webs into calculations inherited and dancing traits and the merging of urging begin beginnings of tiny robots’ 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 stops for Eternal Spirits to slower whirling twirls and once again come blood dance and double body.

Witches formed the twirling-whirl. Enchantresses will revisit and revive their designs. So! Return now. Perhaps, this is a suitable time? Beware the twirl of haunted paramours. Each motion is a dance with unreal realities. They delight in the child’s discovery; of life, without opaque details and sans those sundry levels; unknown, behind crafted shells and the ruined confines of age. This substitute; when discovered, is grief for a reduced lover while crying sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the recollections of chance? Appearing in cloud early, we perish within a jumble-muddle of dusted rain and rust. In transition and pursuing the flash-ride; to spiral and skip, we frame time and often miss but never-ever fall.

From this harbor, there once sailed great ships of crystal sent across the seas of space toward small spinning places three steps from a little yellow sun dancing lights and heated waves vibrating life chances and starts and beginning of ends in exploded variations of home and conducive to blood-fleshed creations and our creature-selves.

Are we living proof of the something-of-else far from planet here to there where once and often Gods ruled the what-of-ever-forever-for-more-or-less and created woman and man inside the worlds of Sirius and Nomad Gods dragged life’s sweet creations to Mars and Earth and another beyond in hinged fringes and the bright light of golden ships of purple sails and silent engines? Improved and less and by the joint endeavors’ of sin and survival we remained alive?

These ships of crystal and filled to brim with living mischief and the odd whimsy of god-speak  and legend lurched forward toward features reversed or continued or extinguished. Titans created the creations of presences and histories and current fallacies. And! Since wars among Titans raged heaven’s high and length, ‘tis simple why creatures created in images or by production of accidents’ industrial strength and robotic renovations determined little more than continued strife and strike and stupidity and suffering through little success successfully executed and always lost.

However: The created creations lost an ‘Eden’ place when the ‘She’ and ‘He’ of the ‘It’ either happened by an accidental accident or fell from or was pushed out of the wonder of ‘Immaculate Contraptions’ and through construction divine discovered the ‘other than’ robotic being and joined the ‘Spirits of Twirl’ while discovering choice is better than and more difficult than the straight-in-line-crawl toward golden lights and cave dwelling and scrawling dots or dashes against walls without reasons or rhymes or the ‘Rhythm of Love.’

The created ‘Something’ became Creators’ images. Titans both liked and did not like those new some and toothsome robotic creators and out of the Martian splendor again Crystal ships left and those Wars of Heaven started again and ended again with a bang of clang and thunder as flashed bright light streaked to ground and again to sky shapes and sweeping clouds. Natures’ way and the wary way of being a meek part of some partial particle of the ways of Natural processes or nature’s no reasons to whimsically past time became new  ideas and shapes always simple and called ‘grand schemes’ of things discovered and ways-to-live again…

Again: The concepts of Alpha’s fade into sunlight’s setting in a western sky or an eastern place where Suns counter-twirl the clock’s faced sweep of hands out-of-motion in the used-to-be circle and night still happens and daylight is always measured in products produced and profits lost or gained. Must be the Gods of creation.We created them and ‘they’ must earn a return for their creation ‘so let it be written?

And! On this day ‘smaller’ Titans create crystal ships against the blue of sky day and sail east into a setting sun as orange/red disappears along the line. No profit for created creations. No bill to pay for a piper of songs of long ago sounds or for an eternal drum-lined-march-to-war…Just peace and sunset’s sweet and crystal ships on these waters sail along a line where sky meets sea and light fades into a very fine night. Watch for those purple sails and listen for the distant sounds of silent engines and ‘Oh Yeah—Baby’

And! Beautiful you are…

Apr 1 2023

Celebrate Spin World

Spin World is celebrated. World is good; as is balance of wheel, syncopation true, symmetry of cut grass-to-lawn-to green-grow-too-to- ‘from’ then cuts again to match eye’s sight either wrong or right. Needs to cheat each-to-other, one or two then more too many score before others-do-to-you survival required to win to lose too many to count or rout before the ‘over-of-out’ begins again? Then spin us twirls of balance-speak of world perfections of balance squeak when one thing dies while others survive the lies of imperfect Gods’ whirls, imperfect twirls from nothing losses and nothing gains. Then ‘we all’ again remain…

Your eyes get stung by the rays of the sinking sun
You follow the drum keeping time with everyone
Going beat beat, it’s beating me down
Beat beat beat beat, it’s beating me down
Day after day, it’s turning around
‘til all my days are drowning out’…written by Beck Hansen

What causes happiness? Who dares control happiness, a government or person, or a religion? Our innermost voices clarify what and what not to do. Just listen! Mind washed since birth; tis the survival of ‘a’ pack. However, all packs ubiquitously run same, eat same, same be-we; fast-slow, weak-strong-hungry-not-smarter than a what and still love our young ones. And! Maybe only reason ‘We’ be, donchaknow. Imagine! Just make believe that when we wake-up, Love-Peace and Understanding is always the world of reality and we have accidentally been watching a horror film in a theater from hell and for our entertainment only.

Illustrate now those pictures; of these caves and these walls and these tribes of we and me and us and them and before the storm and after the end of rains of winds and bumping things and silent shrieks, once loud and now absent from ear and fear and tear. Sounds of life understood ‘cross a million miles of rock ‘n’ roll till another day of storms and another night of passion shadow dance beneath a star-lighted ceiling. Again! Share moments and lives and the sovereignty of animation. Blood and love are the matter of the matter and the survival of survivors from whatever gods and from wherever storms.

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.

We labor in these fields beneath sing-song wires and lengths of wave grain toward the forever of sight while out or in and back again. Brushed wind and white tunics and seagull wings waving over soil black and breeze, seeded with hands to-bags-to-sky-to-flip ‘cross ground rich, water ditch to return ‘til tunic loss shapes and disappear into the bluest evening mist of planet wash and evening spin.

We circle now toward forked roadways beyond sighted-righted places and our stars of guiding trails twisted, misted, shakes and quakes push-pull us toward left trails or right paths. Guiding compass, lodestone or stars point the way in only one direction to go and to return toward this direction taken always pointed and pointing toward us…

Remember that we have the right to be Everywhere.

And! Beautiful you are…

Mar 8 2023

And! Beautiful You Are…

“But he who loves riches sits on a shaky limb; a little breeze comes—and it enters his head to steal, to practice usury, to drive hard bargains, and other such evil practices, all of which serve him only to acquire the riches of the devil and not those of the Gods.”—Paracelsus, ‘Liber prologi in vitam beatam’ (1533)

Trail signs run up and down the south ridge side of this hill-high and below mountain tall. Tracking the organic beast disguised to survive and tending to inorganic challenges and when a snow fall blankets everywhere and everything ‘tis mountain tall that becomes the safest refuge.

Nothing corrodes any longer. Well-oiled and fine, shimmer suits of almost steel reflects sunlight’s glare and deflects invectives and damages and wounds-to-destruction. And! When tucked inside gleam suits, those hidden ones may be Organic or Inorganic or maybe both. Either ‘Runners or those Running’ can think can wit and outwit both sides equally well and equally fast and similarly furious and eternally deadly as trail cyphers appear and vanish from lighted genesis ‘til opaquest nightfall.

The paradoxical motion of ‘man-steel form’ and ‘steel-formed man’ are quickly well-defined and impossible to divine. Notions are motions of head shakes as land-side changes rearranges from highest hills to darkest low valleys and reverse flows as streams-to-rivers shines.

‘This Land Is Your Land’

“This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway
I saw above me that endless sky way
I saw below me that golden valley
This land was made for you and me.

I’ve roamed and rambled, and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting
This land was made for you and me

As I went walking, I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said No Trespassing
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing
This land was made for you and me

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

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me”…by Woody Guthrie

We creatures be maybe or not human enough to see them, since countless Shimmer Suits trek street-long-miles in fine parades and onto war ‘too far-to-scar’ since consistent struggle to perpetually maintain conflict, is the industrial bonus and the application of survival’s amusements. Born to protect ourselves from one-another, our kind-of-mind and the most arduous idea to resolve and so easy to comprise? Refined destruction? Now so polished and well-defined the ‘killing so clean that the enemy’s identities are ‘must-be’ and ‘have-to-be’ so ‘they are’ evil and ‘we-be’ abundant? And! Justice, a damnable notion to quantify or identify and practice properly continues its fragile and easily corruptible practice. All the while we still build walls and still we climb those constructions high and wide cause, suits must gleam and bridges built are creations to cross wide seams and miles’-wide emptiness.

“They had invented a syntax of the eye, a grammar of pure kinesis, and except for the costumes and the cars and the quaint furniture in the background, none of it could possibly grow old.” —-from ‘Book of Illusions’ by Paul Auster

‘Recall then, because something somewhere in this contemporary state-of-society finds expressions in the crystallization of a past discovered in past words.’ Why not worship great battles. And! ‘payback is hell’ and old heroes of other ages and eternal war now or not immediately is permanently our future. I am a Person; I am not a Religion. I am Human; I am not a religion. I am a Freeman; I am not a religion. I am not A Religion; I am ‘Being’ and all dressed in suits of gleams, seams of rust and everlasting dust. I am true and I am false. I am ‘Yes-No’ switches— ‘On’ and switches ‘Off.’ Beginning at birth, a shining bright light and matches batches of baubles and rabble and babble ripped from Spirit touch to become a WTF of perplexities and rewards. And! Mixed with enough control and chases enough, to wear bodies into forever shame-same-tame-games and enough insane-pain-loss-gain until death move; is light and bright and wrong and right…And! I was never Government and never-ever a Religion…So! “Beam-Us-Up Scotty” —because we may simply be heading home…

“When the accumulation of wealth is no longer of high social importance, there will be great changes in the code of morals. We shall be able to rid ourselves of many of the pseudo-moral principles which have hag-ridden us for two hundred years, by which we have exalted some of the most distasteful of human qualities into the position of the highest virtues. We shall be able to afford to dare to assess the money-motive at its true value. The love of money as a possession—as distinguished from the love of money as a means to the enjoyments and realities of life—will be recognized for what it is, a somewhat disgusting morbidity, one of those semi-criminal, semi-pathological propensities which one hands over with a shudder to the specialists in mental disease” … Poggio Bracciolini’s dialogue“On Avarice,” written in the 1420’s…

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

And! Beautiful you are…

Jan 23 2023

Slicks of Wet Road…

Beyond slicks of rain bounced in moonlight against a million 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 creating of creations. Life’s power is the eternal notions of goddesses and gods and witches and warlocks and wizards and shamans and the sanguinity of woman and man and the dynamics of Love. And remember! Love is sexless and without form and without flesh and when shaped by humanity; it is magic and required, as carbon-based beings require air and blood.

Earth formed as we formed as precious life forms-form, and we name and speak and love or hunt and save or devour or spare or care as those others find us or avoid us or hunt or devour us in a chaos of circles dancing around a mystery of times beginning and ending and starting and stopping and chasing creation across an apparent universe of the known and the forgotten times of today’s yesterdays and tomorrow’s days of future’s stop/start. Ad infinitum or maybe into the Nemo of universes unknown or never where except…

When ark-stops and day begins the pristine pleasures of challenged beginnings; we the indigents of life, pause and listen and as crawling infants we find our children of the parents of this new day peering into the light or darkness. Now! Speeding to this place; to some new thing to some new tear or scent or sight, to a new blue sea or an isle of emerald, green we will touch; hand-to-hand and heart-to-heart and jump through space and complete time’s sweet rifts and swifts.

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…

We are not flags or notions or reasons to kill or die. We wear different packages of cloth and color and need, and we all bleed red same as liquid and air mix and body same moves across these places or other spaces in motions to exist together without pride or prejudice or of religions to-take-to-hate or to replace irreplaceable life. Also remember that Poverty is never a crime. Greed is, however, the Crime against all Humanity.

When the taking of a warrior’s life becomes a mechanical judgment call, what happens to humanity? When is the cost of a life determined by a machine is life reduced to nothing? How much cost to dispose of the body. How much to incinerate no records required? How about the family? How about a warrior’s spirit? Machine has no family. Machine has no soul; unless—we, robots are robots advanced beyond Drone’s current program.

What is an appropriate method or measurement of the use of force through a Drone’s sensors? Presently, humans use determination called ‘appropriate judgment’ to ‘correctly’ respond with the proper uses of force over combat enemies in battle. How many deaths are necessary? How many mothers cry? How many children go without a mother or a father? How many types of collateral? The innocent die in battle! The reasons for going to war are the reasons determined or imagined by Humanity. Drone does not imagine. Drone does not determine. Drone searches-kills-destroys. Drone follows configurations-paradigms-and the logical/illogical responses of human beings.

And! No honor because Drone is programmed to search-kill and destroy without notion or reason or rhythm either justifiable or justified. A machine may cost less than one- tenth of the cost of a human, to place into harms-way. If the machine is destroyed, we, robots do not care! Destroy and build again, a Capitalist dream-scene ‘if I ever did see one’? Such is war and the blessing of wars’ Industrial war machine.

If humanity remains a ‘looped-group’ capable of containing and restricting Drone-self; then, only flesh and blood without Drone, screams-bleeds and dies. Such is the victory of another progressive mission. However, if humanity extracts itself through: power or carelessness or greed or…and becomes a ‘looped-outside-group’ then Drone-self may become Self-self and search-kill and destroy more than?

“Of all the enemies to public liberty, war is, perhaps, the most to be dreaded, because it comprises and develops the germ of every other. War is the parent of armies; from these proceed debts and taxes; and armies, and debts, and taxes are the known instruments for bringing the many under the domination of the few. In war, too, the discretionary power of the Executive is extended; its influence in dealing out offices, honors, and emoluments is multiplied; and all the means of seducing the minds are added to those of subduing the force of the people. The same malignant aspect in republicanism may be traced in the inequality of fortunes and the opportunities of fraud growing out of a state of war, and in the degeneracy of manners and of morals engendered by both…No nation could reserve its freedom during continual warfare. Those truths are well established. They are read in every page which records the progression from a less arbitrary to a more arbitrary government, or the transition from a popular government to an aristocracy or a monarchy.”—James Madison, “Political Observations,” April 20, 1795

 “Go ahead and hate your neighbor—Go ahead and cheat a friend—Do it in the name of heaven— You could justify it in the end—There won’t be any trumpets blowing—Come the judgment day—On the bloody morning after—One Tin Soldier rides away.”

—by Joni Mitchell

And! Beautiful you are…

Stardust Performed by Delain

Jan 7 2023

Spirits Walk And Spirits Talk…

—In your sounds of music—in your works of art-touch and your words of rhythm and rhyme; I taste and feel the strength of your presence—Past and Today and into the Future and ‘wow’ light does exist…Everyone! Thanks for sharing!

When eternal spirits visit body magic, please protect the ‘ghosts in these machines.’ Open arms and rejoice in this welcoming of life, body embraced touched senses to ground and as sky flight races across sky’s grand lengths remember there are no gates of heaven. Body form, blood and love and hand-to-hand and hip-to-hip and to and from the Mother-Ship…

Find no balance to bible-speak or the ramblings of government kings or the priests of wealth and babble for they are the attempted ‘evil’ of control and failure. Eternal Spirit touches Eternal Spirits. Simple and refined and fair in logical truth and requiring no ‘men-of-middle-claims’ or endless fancy killings or…

Presidents, Premiers, Dictators, Popes, Imams, Chieftains, Generals-of-Death, Politicians-of-Control and Preacher Kings, when you fly by as simple sky birds without metal form and blame; we may just for an instant, look up into the sky and smile. Then we will continue the protection of little ones and our spinning world. Is not the purpose of us to help the small ones grow into the large ones?

When the call of heart gives up eternal spirits never end. Eternal Spirit never waits to gain permission and access to the Universe. Life is unstoppable and everlasting. No Judgment awaits, no future calls for horror, no memories of past or present or future physical constructions are not required or necessary. Gods created spirit-sparks and spirits together to dwell in the whenever time of wherever places for whatever reasons.

Call spirit-dance! The naming of name-times quantify mysteries of understanding heart-touch inside flesh-times when body-survival purposes daily pursuits or interests same as food to stomach and sleeping in those arms-of safety. Mother holds baby close and Father embraces in his arms; hope and love and protection. She and he together once more family-dance the form of strength social and fabricated continuum.

So! Visiting Spirits stop and animate walking, flying, swimming and crawling flesh. No tests and no required reasons. True Gods create no wars on earth or in the above places of the wherever or ever been. True Gods do not allow horror or death or strife or pain or happiness or grief or destruction. The ‘Gods’ do not judge the fallibility or fragility of flesh and whimsy. Why? Poverty and Greed and Control and Governments and Religions equal the Terror/Horror of this immediate now and this immediate place.

Life is Eternal Spirit and we are these spirits. One or many across a star field of many star-filled nights and days. Stars do not dim in the light-of-dawning bright. Eyes often see more than eyes discover and understanding may stop at birth or continue until stopped heart begins Spirit-walks again across a Spirited-Sky, beyond and below and maybe again on a ‘whirly twirly’ world somewhere in another time or place or race. Nothing matters except Love and Life and Peace?

And! Beautiful you are…

Dec 24 2022

Peace on Earth…

“I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play

And mild and sweet their songs repeat

Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells are ringing

Like a choir they’re singing

In my heart I hear them

Peace on Earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head

“There is no peace on Earth, ” I said

For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on Earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing

Like a choir singing

Does anybody hear them?

Peace on Earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on Earth, good will to men

Then ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on Earth, good will to men

And the bells, they’re ringing

Like a choir they’re singing

And with our hearts, we’ll hear them

Peace on Earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells, they’re ringing?

The light, the angels singing

Open up your heart and hear them

Peace on Earth, good will to men”

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Nov 22 2022

The Faultless Whimsey Of Being

From genetic profiles spinning webs into calculations inherited and dancing traits and the merging of urging begin beginnings of tiny robots’ 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 stops for Eternal Spirits to slower whirling twirls and once again come blood dance and double body.

We, with loving care, manufacture robots tiny, bundled rows of life about Earthrise and underneath 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 glow from womb-song-to-light-then-back-again-to-two-removed and started again. Would have this no other way!

The evangels of lofted higher Gods’ notion as something novel crawls our way those must haves have half twirling tales, songs, or psalms or knowing knowledge that those highest Gods of swirl cannot contain life and the wag-of-wiggle of shaping-shifters and Robots are We. And! Oh, those ghosted machines are those spirited Us. Tiny speck-to magic witch we survive all to dance life across those many spaces of races and kiss storm stars known or stars to remember or forget.

Corporate ‘cultures’ easily translated mean—profit at all costs and all the Working Class is an expense…Eliminate every expense to further our profits! La Serrata—Separation? Where are the values we learned from our mothers? Why is greed the prime motive of Industry and its future development? For the standards of friendship and family and our world, Capitalism is the antithesis. It adheres to competition at all costs. It dismisses cooperation, help for fellowman, responsibility to society, the benefits of others and love.

Dare we touch or dare to reach the inside spaces of Code-genetics and count the current streams to spin to craft to be or to leave the untouched alone—Why not touch to feel? Some today’s we destroy both the wonder of wonder and sometimes we die in the fear 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.

Gods’ images created as mirrors may drift from mortal moment to immortal spirits with motions from nothing to something and again back to those nothings of something that may have almost started or stopped and started again. Would have, could have, should have and may have already been here or gone over and over ad infinitum. Life both of Robot Creators and Creator Robots forever last and through our eternal stretch and scratch they too survive…

Then let us watch those winged and those with fur and feet of four or those of sea or sand or smaller against the ground. Womb songs we sing and as we they be eternity. Eternal Spirits—All.

Stand out rain-side storm washed sand and dune walls wet as water-waves mix and crash against shoreline in salt and foam and disappear quickly with rain and wind. World team and spirited robots we all bear the barest of notional influence and the together of worlds wait for everyone.

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

Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-the-World is a Crime against Humanity…Like Genocide and Suicide, these abuses; destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this twirly-whirly planet. Capitalism is not freedom. It is slavery for us all. It is war and a savage waste of precious life. It benefits no one except a few. It destroys Society. It forces revolution and revolution is bloody. Why is Religion also an industry? Why not just…Lust of life—not of Riches?

Communion deep with Clown does not flesh. Watch and dodge the Wiz-Bangs bright and step inside the fright of night as barbed wire rise above this ditch and as we climb embrace the Witch. Is truth about to speak 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. A lean each toward other. A cheek, a brush of mouth-to-skin. Walking hair-to-hair and hip-to-hip. And! ‘Ready we the mothership…’

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

‘Daylight break the night today—Nighttime take the fear away—Sing-Song now and Sing-Song then—Let the counting time begin—And we will fall away-fall-away and away again.’

And! Beautiful you are…

Oct 5 2022

All Found And Again Lost…

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.

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.

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. A rational response to a rational insanity.

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

Aug 16 2022

Witch Magic And Spells…

These Idols are shams of illusory pain, unknown over spans of turmoil and wars of courses, ’til days without war are times wasted and blood not tasted. They fall to earth in conveyances not yet realized and always fighting over splits, of DNA and genes spliced to design to slave and swiftly die. And! We imagine these creations are creators, to shadow—to covet and too; to emulate, ‘til death parts our ways and past deaths still correctly resolves from among the graves? Oh, hell no? This ring around never follows unless correct premise concludes that the correct choice is but; a wig-waggle away from, conclusive logic and “still love me some logic-eh.”

Witches formed the twirling-whirl. Enchantresses will revisit and revive their designs. So! Return now. Perhaps, this is a suitable time? Beware the twirl of haunted paramours. Each motion is a dance with unreal realities. They delight in the child’s discovery; of life, without opaque details and sans those sundry levels; unknown, behind crafted shells and the ruined confines of age. This substitute; when discovered, is grief for a reduced lover while crying sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the recollections of chance? Appearing in cloud early, we perish within a jumble-muddle of dusted rain and rust. In transition and pursuing the flash-ride; to spiral and skip, we frame time and often miss but never-ever fall.

“There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
the voices are the same the thunder
is the same roaring in our ears for
on one side and the other of the paper it said
there is no death
There is death though in the paper where
the muffled pencil moved
Only in the paper only in the shrouding paper”… Annie Besant

Arrange now! Inside the ruin-runes of this roadhouse of crumble stone and moss and rubble and ruined wooden benches and tables twisting into ground. Life begins and life ends as inhalation starts and exhalation stops. Not a cloud fall missed, but a spark’s charging headlong into channels of paradise and kiss-loves before the night ends and life trashes to light. We are robots of life scattering and of live jamming ‘cross one thousand worlds; set to twirl the galaxy, all lost and found and discovered and discarded. A million mines of unique ones whirling just inside zero drops of rain and trillion-acre seas of salt and water and giant crashes of life’s sparking rattles and battles in the birth of baby eyes and infant sighs.

We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of neoteric plug-ins; unedited and banned and far away from the standards of whisper’s folly and inside a net of lost souls and flounder bodies. All totaled must dwell within this symmetry of stop and starts and the ones and the zeros of reasons and verses and songs. However; we are unfamiliar automata, powerless to locate or spare chaotic notions beginning or ending without result.  We are never noted by previous androids! We are simple chips within other chips and notions beyond the loops that loop, ad infinitum. We are the celebrations of the mourning after and spawned in the backseats of an auto or two and occasionally former and eternally imminent, when taverns crumble and bridges fall.

“The modality of novelistic enunciation is inferential: it is a process within which the subject of the novelistic utterance affirms a sequence, as conclusion to the inference, based on other sequences (referential – hence narrative, or textual – hence citational), which are the premises of the inference and, as such, considered to be true.” JULIA KRISTEVA–‘Desire in Language’

By the fire bright of these dwindling tribes, children marvel at; both, the dancing flames and the warmth of these lights ‘gainst the nights and outside shadows beneath their eyes. They listen as stories tell the beginning of things now gone and of those grand places not started but imagined and seen in minds’ own spaces and in their most desired regions of just before a dream and just after ‘wishing this was true.’ We eternally return and find another home. This is where monsters cannot reside, aside from the secret of childhood sing-songs and glee. We return to spaces where bombs cannot splinter thoughts or disturb the determination of freedom, its folly and its lies. This is our place without borders.  Only the religions of kings attempt to divide and conquer spirit wings and fiddlers speak. Everlasting is this spirit and life begins and ends as the fiddlers play.

And! Beautiful you are…

May 16 2022

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…