Tick-Tock And Time…

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

Tick-the-tock! Tock-the-tick! Timed! Counters flash red; this descending time, without reason and without rhyme. Closed! Too touched to feel, to die-to-live, to-live-to-die, not to try and not to fly. Only to tick-the-tock and tock-the-tick and cry. Meetings and Children die. Meetings and Spirits fly. Migrants’ horror—a—News Reporter… And! Cry then Die. And! Sigh and still spirits fly.

“Echoes and silence, patience and grace
All of these moments I’ll never replace
No fear of my heart, absence of faith
And all I want is to be home”Dave Grohl

Seas of Immigration—just stall? Just wait outside a bit longer and ‘they’ will all go away? Meet and stall and forget them all? Because people always die? Casualties are always expected? ‘Better-Them-than-Us’… WTF? And! We all were once Immigrants, leaving a someplace home at a someplace hole-in-bottled-time. We are all once moving and hoping for a better place sometime in another time.

“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,
That side 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”Woody Guthrie

Too many families are terrified! They are our sisters and our brothers. Twisted governments remove children from their mothers. In American—‘Free-land of Liberty’—WTF? Too many decent families are departing their hometowns, too often, too many—to die and their children are the children of this world—They are our children…One death, one tear, too many! And! Due to twisting religions’ or twisted governments’ why and—WTF? Remember! The only reason ‘we-be’ is for our Children…And! ‘Nothing else matters.’

‘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—donchaknow? 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—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 dis-remembered?  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—donchaknow!

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

 

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘The Last Hope In A World Of Hopes’Temperance

 

‘Human Touch’Bruce Springsteen

 

 

Thunder Spirits Sky Touch…

Thunder spirit sky touches and turns spaced pink air into sanguine fuel and Ark flashes from rusty red to a twirling orb of green and blue and white and home again around rising Sirius sun and past the ringing gauze of Saturn’s winds. Eyes close and veil light and nap and ‘cross the space-time of child dream and memory wash, slips of fantasy kiss and touch and eyelash stir thru those restorative merges of Life. We are not world flags. We are the folks of a spinning circle in a galaxy called Milky Way, at this moment of time and space and place and race across somewhere. And! Where happening things are alive until the tilting of another world; spins and again, calls us to flesh the blood of spirit’s chance-dance and laughter.

When Ark stops and day begins we are the pristine pleasures of challenged beginnings. We are the indigent of life; pause and listen and as crawling infants, we find our children of the parents of this new day peering into the light of 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 appear. We touch; hand-to-hand and heart-to-heart, and jump through space and complete time’s sweet rifts and swifts.

We launch code filled balloons; both, alpha and numeric and fluid and lined in rows of switched crosses ‘cross a bit of space tucked amid press and touch and just above the distance joining winter’s flakes of snow. While dancing dream’s mind-merge; spirit winds a clock of choices, known by forgotten dust-swirls and desert wind and salted sea when sea foam merges with sandy shores.

Earth forms as we form; 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 perchance into the Nemo of universes or never—where or except…

Beyond slicks of rain bounce 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 creating of creation. Life’s power is the eternal notions of goddesses and gods and witches and warlocks and wizards and shamans-created by 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; is magic and required, as carbon based beings require air and blood.

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 across 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 forever Art of this forever Universe.

And! Beautiful we are…

 

‘Lay Your Hands on Me’…Thompson Twins

 

‘Ask The Mountains’…Vangelis

Emergent Entry…

A lighthouse, countless lifetimes gone, spark as great beams sweep across sight line discharge and disappear only to eternally reappear. Pulsars pulse power ‘cross a sparkling firmament.

Touch me with sing-song poems. Forget the world and touch me with voice. We two—too need those requiring words of hope. And! Verses of love’s together-forever. Whilst! Dark dancing with rhythm in our minds and drumbeats in our hearts…

A blood moon before sight as ears perk for Coyote’s lunar call. Early morning and snow curves to white silver and interwoven shadows of leafless limbs and long trunks stand between the moon and ground touch. Black road now white, a gentle declination from community’s frontage, down the gentle hill. Cold and bright stars spot sky beyond rooftops and brighter just as moonlight slips closer to the earth.

They evoke the ‘Time of Councils’. They remember the countless deliberations, the wine and beer, the emotive currents of parallel and divergence. The Elders appreciate the strength of unanimity in both directions and in the thrill of indirection. Good to be an idealist and better to implement, then to watch struggles decrease and die without formal intent or the informal ventures of a straightforward mind. Shriek and speak and peak and realize the up-down issues of a United People or a Distant Society or listen to murmured fabrications in the dark.

Words are vascular and alive. Life flows thru vein-to-brain then ink flows and magic often flat is smooth and…And! Mind speaks simplicity with force combined to shout future verse with yesterday’s sweet silence. To listen! To so softly pronounce and become choir sing-song’s harmonious visions. Is truth found here? Is in communities ‘cross land and seaside channels a fact that each community found discovers itself on the verge of losing every part and every parcel of any fortune or any chance of regaining any semblance of harmony, love and joy?

Are we caught in that consistent struggle to maintain perpetual conflict with one-another and to protect ourselves from each other? Why? We accept these ‘all the time’ situations as unalterable and unavoidable and ‘so it must be true,’ this way of life’s life. Wow! We are effective at destroying ‘the enemy’; so proficient, that we are unable to identify an adversary from a ‘maybe or almost’ the same blood-red animation we want or desire to embrace—not race but begin and end with a sometimes or almost never-ever or requiring an absolute maybe?

Erecting partitions between Mexico/South America and the United States is without intelligence. Walls are pointless; as are, hollow gestures and additional reasons to disconnect. ‘Donnie T’ is just another ‘Poser’ of this country’s betrayed unity and direction? Global reasons to exist will conclude as divisions increase hate and ignorance and vacuous nationalism and abject failure of new realities, as greed continues its evil. Attempts to control thought are attempts to control America? Constant learning is another form of survival’s attempts to animate. We provide the poise required to afford physical sustenance, covering and haven. What is the sacrifice for this equilibrium?

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. Government is controlling an alienated society and the anterior faith in promises and desires. The elected ones cannot move toward either truth or nonfiction due to the simple reasons that lying is the easiest form of communication. And! None seem to care.

“It started with workers’ evening classes outside the city gates. Her kind blue eyes would sparkle as she told me in a rote, sing-song voice of the importance of awakening the workers’ class consciousness. I was happy for her and realized what a joy it must be to discover some all-consuming goal.” …by Larissa Vasilieva

Is Dancing-in-the-dark a prudent practice or is unawareness as idyllic as lingering to trace flowers with eyes-to-face-to-ground and then to drift away into silence. Principles determine how to restrain shares of humanity’s essentials, desires, hopes and fears. While the Constitution of America is noble, it is an impractical paradigm. Its structures are impossible to apply, since values adjust swiftly. Standards amend and are either normally just or abnormally unjust. We are conscious of the ‘Military Industrial Complex.’ Will the current actions of 2019, imply the termination of any hopes to continue our righteous and upright and ethical Freedoms? Freedom’s endurance or America’s Dreams-of-Direction is its independent spirit. Justice be a damnable notion to quantify, to identify and to practice properly. This Republic may not be clever enough to follow this fragile and undoubtedly corruptible Representative Democracy.

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.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘In Space’ by Stive Morgan

From Templates to Tears…

“You see, I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still you turn me on
Hmm, you turn me on.”Greg Lake

The soft sounds of wind pushing pine needles ‘cross autumn’s forest floor and the silent serenity after snow’s midnight fall. If impulse is response then decision is evolution. In 1610, Johannes Kepler chanced a walk across the celebrated Charles Bridge in Prague and as snow fall begin to catch on his coat, he brushed away six-sided flakes from the cloth covering his arms. While gathering more of these flakes, Johannes realized that they were all six-sided and he marveled at the convenience of this discovery and the perspicacious brain and the extraordinary curiosity of the human mind; quantified within the quality of, spiritual being.

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

Beneath surface and far below Segment Star, two and one half billion spirits live and labor and ache and fail and love and hate along with many sunless days and nights of starlight gone or ignored and remembered when mind switches from bonded illumination to those blind mix slips between neon’s shine and semi-sweet chocolate dusk. Light is saturated in creamy grey and night becomes thick swirls of vanilla warmth were blended shadows shake. Machine wonders and spirits guide the processes of robot arms and legs and watch through robot eyes and hear through robot ears and once or often weep spirit tears and die never-ever-even if a book-or-ten call living ‘sins of flesh’ when spirited robots must live and die and forever move into dusted star-streams while dancing among a trillion light twinkles sketched across the winter’s sky. From twins of two the power of life sparks and alone-never places begin and end.

The concentration of control and the circulation of capital to an exceedingly few; ensures a coordinated manipulation of power. And! When a united concentration of influence becomes intolerable, abuse of authority from within occurs. Businesses are weakened, are malformed and ultimately discover their own expiration dates. After rebellions; old paradigms are changed and what was because; becomes what possibly happens and for that reason, becomes what could be happening, becomes what just happened along with those shocks and shouts of perchance or songs of renewal; maybe, become just another equivalent, once more. Businesses are expected to maximize production and slash expenditures? This essentially increases greed and corners those essential laborers of productions’ intensification into wage captivity?

And! By what means, do we ‘become skilled at’ manipulating our own free inclinations, to achieve; whatever, regulations demands us to accomplish? How are the differing views and values and expressions and the hopes and beliefs of ‘common folk’ found and drown round ‘quitting time’ and treated and completed and continued and amended and silenced by ‘formidable and influential folk?’ We finance singularity; beginning with genetic fancy, and eternally forfeiting the damages of remedy’s obverse exit. Factions orbit while curving outward in free resolve. Published freedoms and outside thoughts are bent-broken-borrowed-lost-stolen and rapt; within those white spaces, linking black ink and rhyme.

“When I gasp for strength
I borrow it from you, oh the strong ones!
You carry the load stupendous
Of the humanity
Time and time again
Since the dawn of awareness

How do you do that I wonder
The weight of ignorance
The mountain of evil
The heaps of malice
of billions (and countlessly repeated)
You carry the cross of non-love alone
Time and time again
For others to feel loved
Appreciated and pleased

How do you do that I wonder
How do you stay so calm
Amid the whirlpool of clamor
Kind and compassionate
In devouring face of brutality and mayhem
How do you spread your light
Right through the forest
of fear, delusion and stupor
You salvage the soul
For others to be safe
And to feel light and restful
In a life of little wisdom

How do you do that I wonder
How do you spread your magic
Of charm, nobility and honor
In hearts so dark there
that beasts may refuse a habitation
How do you pull that trick
of giving the innocence back
so that he is human again!
How do you enthrall
the dull, the doped, the ordinary
to carry the torch
of your divine glory

Oh load-bearers of humanity
I wonder how you carry the load so awesome
But when I gasp for strength
I take refuge in your strength
I take refuge in you!”…Bhaswat Chakraborty

Today’s corporations; spinning across our planet-of-twirl, are necessary. And! While this Republic does embrace and dance and dodge and halve-a-partial régime of our Democratic notions into palatable, chunks-to-bites-to-morsels, would this waltz of Democracy also include; an ability to prevent, all abuses of power by: our government, our labor, our capital and our management.

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

Organizations ought to recognize that uninterrupted existence; as presently realized, is the perceptive notion that the environmental aftermath of too much for too few with too many ‘no’ and too few ‘yes’—ultimately totals ‘No’ for everything and everyone. An “Atlas Shrug” and Corporations spontaneously know that ‘acquiring must forever be balanced with providing.’ This is not a “wig-waggle’ of Socialism-vs-Capitalism. This not a ‘giggle-wiggle’ of “We the People-vs-the Wall Street island-of-Greed.” No! Serving in balance with taking; is in step, with Workers. And! Labor is the swivel of our Universe and Profits either rise or fall with; equality and societies’ advancement; good-to-better and never good-to-worse. Possibly! The potency of progress; is the track toward a higher moral ‘Code of Corporate’ behavior the world over.

Our Republic; may be able to purpose, previous and present-day and potential paradigms to divide, to constrain, to reproach, to restrict, to relinquish and to rescind. Bereft of legitimate commitments through our Republic’s Branches three: Judicial, Legislative and Executive; where seldom a harmonies phrase of musical rhyme or rhythm exists; perhaps notions of balance, will be realized by Corporate examination and the equivalence of construction and remuneration will succeed sans a Workers’ Revolution. And! Through a far-fetched glimpse into an unidentified and mysterious prospect; since Corporations are created to hide ‘fact and fiction,’ perhaps all Cooperative blurs will ‘gain a soul’ during these successes.

Often and ‘round countless dinner tables, it is believed that Calimesa Sea is where the world ends. No one has ever crossed the sea, so no one really knows where the water ends and land begins. Perhaps, sea wraps earth and returns to the base of Calimesa Hills. An invisible dome encloses Sky Mountains where no one lives or visits or touches or appreciates. Truth? And! When again ‘surfs-up’ and extreme rollers recover coastline sections and earth; would rather dwell, in the Villages of Fisher-folk than in the standings of middling automata minus machined chis and sans productive motives and rising forlorn as ‘wave-crash’ claims us all. Remember! We do entirety.

Now! Drink a Bourbon ‘kinda’ whiskey at the Ginger colored Inn. A dark and harsh moon; pale to be and faint to see and along-way-off-to-touch-skin. Wind begins to-end–tonight. Begins to stop again, as Spirits depart and windows have no views.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘On Walpurgis Nicht.’ Performed by FAUN

 

‘Lucky Man’…By Greg Lake
Performed by the Keith Emerson Band

‘Threads’ by Judith Cosby…

 

“Paradise has never been about places.  It exists in moments. In connection.  In flashes across time.” Victoria Erickson

Judith Cosby

‘Threads’ is an inspirational memoir about experiencing the various connections we make. Taking in the moments that surround those connections and following the paths that lead us to betterment and empowerment.

Too often we only examine our life in retrospect. We use the benefit of hindsight to contemplate our past motivations and glean meaning from our previous struggles. For many, the patterns of our lives appear as only random zigzags of emotion and knowledge. But what if armed with the simple understanding that our lives are a complex and beautiful tapestry of experiences and connections, we could learn how to alter our paths and better understand our unique purpose. Within the context of this memoir the author shares personal stories of every day moments. As a daughter, wife, and mother she faces the difficulties of illness and death, but with an awareness that every connection and interaction has a purpose. ‘Threads’ is full of love of life, strong spiritual belief and the ‘understanding that events are placed before us not to crush but to empower.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Building a Mystery’...Sarah Mclachlan

 

 

Whale’s Sing-Song and Warmth…

We! Dance with the vivacity of life and a together dilution of twice-folk-united. Together! We dance to those universal tunes, no severity push or pull and for moments we; liberated of suspicious fear, sparkle.

Celestial positions at birth. Flashes before and moments afterward; animations, are offered below the skies. “We dream of the briny. We listen to the whale singsong our mothers into necessitous slumber. Giants also singsong the warming of our blood-self ’til we welcome non-fear and Love.”

Walked! Now moving in mind follow?  Consider the whispers of vapor and the melody of singsong choir below the line where see meets sea and sky rises above a long-forgotten shimmer of water extending beyond eye’s perception. We have walked upon the salty waves of the dead sea pushing melody’s path into the mists and vapors of another genesis. Little matters that we exist. Less; now, that we are almost gone. Come now and dance into the Spider’s Web. Enter web-side. Embrace the emptiness of concept without form until substance is insanity.

Radiation collapse of creature shapes from living gelatin into vapor. An understanding breath and we journey ‘cross the heavens in eternal mist? “We without shape and without substance, would still be us?” Memory, fear, instinct and knowledge. The knowing that even as vapor, we eternally exist. We are not displaced by what we are not. We are not-not by displacement.

Remember! Love is sex-less and without form, without flesh and when shiver shapes humanity; love is touch, magic required as beings require air mixed, blood red.

  • Father’s favorite Christmas song…“I heard the bells on Christmas Day. Their old, familiar carols play. And wild and sweet the words repeat. Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow…

“Never forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown country, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle.” by…Annie Besant

Interior space and exterior place, broad with fitted surfaces and pathways, flat and long hauls-of-halls and means to connect alongside carpets flat and city blocks; in round rooms not matched, with latched doors, open floors and walls of tree lines’ bricks high and open sky. Copy, rob and steal the steel of circle house, church mouse and dwell within a well of deep means and forever seams. ‘Tis gray couch, reclining seats and poster songs; four corner beds, break way from street side moans to safety homes and still space in sidewalk place with straight lined-curves and sky…

Walls appear—Fear—No! Climb those Walls and Welcome Home.

‘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.”

Do not allow balanced truths and significant lies of now to obscure the activist significances of the people of our globe. Outside the shiny beads and cheap trinkets we; ‘Made-in-America-folk’, are these twirling people. Everyday! Atypical demise and devastation ‘cross our sweet world is a sound-bite or two from being ignored. Negative capital in broadcasting genuine information! Opinions are the up-to-date accuracies in newsy-news and sensational gossip.

We assemble perceptions! Is America really thwarted or poorly treated? This belief will fashion forever enemies and delineated borders. This acceptance is convenient and so unnecessary! We are for US and against those whatever; is auto-therapeutic, for those of the unsuccessful many? Observe the abundant or the recognized or the scandalous and instantly; we receive extra-rational appetites, certainly not to sate but possible? Especially! In these days of Tea-partied-extra-irrational-severely-to-the-right-wronged-sided American falsehood. Grant rumors-of-nothing’ and pseudo thinkers will incessantly quarrel inane drivel and partisan stipulations. Our country maintains hostilities and the impressions of imminent conflict and the eternal arrangements for war. Our government continues to leverage or compensate US just enough to pre-empt the next Revolution—repeated?

Walls appear—Fear—No! Climb those Walls and Welcome Home.

“Sunlight is fading
Winter is here
The church bells are saying
Christmas is near
Frost in the treetops
A chill in the air
Come to the window
And look everywhere

Ho, ho – it’s beginning to snow
Softly and gently and quietly so
Ho, ho – who’s afraid of snow?
Put on your coat and your hat and let’s go.”Thisbe Vos

  • Peace and Love and Understanding to Everyone…
  • And—-A Happy Holiday—-too.
  • Because! You are Beautiful…

 

 

Firefly And Red Stars…

Curious is fear and pictures when mixed with the confusion of many religions.

Warming suns of days ago with salted mist and taste of tongues. Lights of passion and times of rain. Wolf cries shout of sands and home. Across this universal stretch window shine in candle’s light and let us find another peace of safety sleep and lover’s reach.

The giant fireflies appear for two and one-half weeks across a month that changes day-to-night and back again. Insects large and landing high; in trees lining City Park to lake shore edge and stretching for one hundred miles along many directs of wiggles and giggles. Lights flash and silver leaves reflect in those many colors that start and stop like heartbeats and deep breath.

Holographs move at night. They are many colors and shifting sights. Dream figures and puppets moving without balance and for no reason; switched off-on and off again, when shapes do not matter, and color is wonder. Please! Walk through this chrome forest when color dances from treetop to tree trunk and leaves change from dull light to bright night.

Mango seasons are short. Giants arrive at the same time the fireflies appear. These hulks are fearful in size and silent animations. The village dwellers are simple folks and due to the motions of giant constructions, stay inside their possessive positions. While these genii are holographs, the villagers do not realize that these holographs are not physical. The beings beyond their boarders rule them with replicate magic and bogus news: no truth, just salacious rumors.

“Know I’ve done wrong,
Left your heart torn
Is that what devils do?
Took you so low,
Where only fools go
I shook the angel in you

Now I’m rising from the ground
Rising up to you
Filled with all the strength I found
There’s nothing I can’t do” … written by John Newman and Steve Booker

We are not gradations of flash and fear and afraid of flash and a million directions without notions of where and how to go or leave or approach or fade away. We are not just human. We are alive; life, and while simple of reason, are always on our way-away-to-leave or stay or afraid to simply fade away. Climb now, branches high; winter’s nigh, leaves not springing-sprung, prior budding and climbing high and tucked just below frost lined mountains, soft and night-time slow. Tree high and not moving toward twin-spin slower motions and notions still.

Arrivals in those machined boxes machine-sweet and together in minds of same or alternates, where we twirl the whirl and call the laugh or two as boxes open and away; we and they separate into some-things-or-less or the loneliness of crowd bridges or twin-screw moments of those spaces in time without seconds. And! Yes robots; we search blood and find taste good in mingle–tingle moments, touch amazing, touch not those imagine sources of unnecessary wariness and one becomes another and brief the flashes together spread the separate into singularity no more than once and again and again and again.

Foreign not home and light-year long. Far away from places seen and spaces known before earth-fall tunnel bright tunnel sight and a space of place between real and among the magic ones. Planet guided peace pleased. And! Run coming to streaks of night flash and day dash and a clash of two. And! They come by; copter churn-twist-chop, by lorries-engines-rush, by cart-horse-pull, by men stretcher-manned-carried and all wounded ones or twos or many and behind the layered flash of red-pink-nights we wait and wonder and gather-to-elves notions of life to stay or life to pass away today.

We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive and simple and true except when suppressed and distorted for unnecessary gains and a perversion called wealth. We are the eternity of spirits; no needed 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 except through 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. Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?

Wind across this liquid sunlight as viscous waves turn lights into slivers of silver and gold. Followers watch for scraps or bits to fall toward their reach either diving for something new or rocking gently on this clear sea of warming suns and moonlight’s dance of song and silence. Our nature to run with and from the many or the few? See often through the curved ceiling of doorway when curved light enters twenty-one tiny windows round these openings to escape places and leave regions. Still more a spirit than the body proper until chemicals of doubt and satisfaction rule body self-ending sometime in time without mere reasons to be except—a rhythm to complete.

Just caught a sun-side ship outbound toward the third whirling twirl where shaped seas and peaks almost hill-high and wide as desert cross long to pause; wait for cause, then back again. ‘Tis long way home but getting there. How must this ‘race wind’—keep winding through sharp curves and peaks too high to climb when going home sometimes runs ruins of circles. Following smoke wisps or gentle sounds of sing-song-choir along the lines where see-meets-sea and sky appears above forgotten shimmers of flash stretched beyond eye watch and body wait. Please! Walk upon these salty waves of those long-dead-seas singing mystery songs and disappearing into mists and sea sounds and other dawns. Those little matters? Matter-less! Crease then gone—again.

Money short and without weapons; gather folks wise, to change histories’ futures with few resources of traditional warfare, to confront and destroy the inequality of equal freedoms. And! Maybe a little ‘more’ short-of-time does succeed in alternating alternatives and reversing certain terms of public debate to shift and to change a certain course of politics without violence and without passive passions. Obsolete not! Nonviolence is never irrelevant whether formed from village speak or global motions. Nonviolence is the strategy for confrontation and victory without swords drawn or thunder-guns and final recoils. And! Creating this resistance; without blood’s shed, is solution strong-to-solving the current global crisis of climate’s changes and miles-wide inequality. Together! We resist with; the power of heaven, and the imagined images of many Gods.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

“Letters From the Sky” — Civil Twilight

 

“The Other Side” —‘Ruelle’ Margaret “Maggie” Eckford

 

10,000 and One…

Often, a gentle shift replaces everything!

We shift into objects of alternative daylights with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or…In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire!

Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams see war. To fight and to find death. There be gods in this place? So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

“Well, I’ve walked these streets
A virtual stage, it seemed to me
Makeup on their faces
Actors took their places next to me

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a carnival, of sights to see
All the cheap thrill seekers vendors and the dealers
They crowded around me

Have I been blind have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen?

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a spectacle of wealth and poverty
In the diamond markets the scarlet welcome carpet
That they just rolled out for me

And I’ve walked these streets
In the madhouse asylum they can be
Where a wild-eyed misfit prophet
On a traffic island stopped and he raved of saving me

Have I been blind, have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized.” —Natalie Merchant

The Walker is a silhouette pushed low beneath Grand Moon rising and carved carefully ‘cross sky too close to be real and too real to be proximity’s cost, close to-shapes-to-shift-shape and nearer to buildings tossed across landfall along sea-line to skyline. Tide comes in, evening time and changes along season’s alteration same as sunrises and sunsets and shadows play beneath twin moon season with splashes of textured cloud color or star twinkles too far to see or too close not to catch eye, notice in brain and spirit touch at the same time.

The memorial gardens are filled and filled again and do cover many miles. Parks surround these gardens. Statues cover these parks. These are sacred places and areas and spaces and graces where families gather and depart.

And! The Walker glides across a jumble-tumble of dusted stones made by rain visible as digging once moved dirt above rock faces and dragged these weighted ones from place to necessary places for buildings built or buildings removed-restructured-replaced or destroyed. Needed things at required times when places were homes and buildings ruled land-side. And! Little killer pills be, only notions of Lizard Kingdoms where the notions of you ‘peel’ums’ available and are needed from the glory of car-trunks, pushers and such, supply for profit as price swings with demand or your supply? How about today? Or! Tomorrow, maybe too late for profit or always taxed almost and with a wonder of when the next shipment arrives?

She is a Walker Warrior and claims the Bridge above the ruins of ‘City.’ Below the places of spaces, once a great tangle of yards and rails carried the price of commerce commercially to and away and beyond her bridge and dirty sea ships sailed toward one another. They bounced the line; black shadows, slowly creeping beneath an injured sky. No wind! Masts no sails. Crude! Not fueled cold furnaces and boilers empty drums with warm air. She now adjusts eyes and turns and follows silent ships passing one another. They ride the line with no wake. They do not disturb the oiled sea or change silt-less shoals beyond an invisible channel. She watches and waits for their return.

She forgets to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing an evening rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through her nose and mouth. Sea odor and her eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. She searches sea. She swears the line has moved closer to shore. And! Those ships are gone.

“Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That, baby, you’re the best.

I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big beauty queen style
High heels off, I’m feeling alive

Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore”—Lana Del Rey

Red-winged Beatles and cousin Greensacks live and die during words and butterfly life just above Cave-land around cutout doors of steel and rusted tacks and salt-soaked wood where (X) marks most spots and braces require nails to hold together both life and doors. Cave-land stores many for outside a plague dances a two hundred year-long-sing-song and with sickness, death and destruction forever-follows. Watch the next fire begin and end as another begins and ends until tower eyes can never see the next and the next and the eternity of signals that mean absolutely nothing to ‘City’ people framed against that August sky.

Move along! Always move toward fear among these places of reasons-to-be or reasons-to- move-along? No and yes or not really or really scared of the mixes in the yes and no—until ‘run together’ forgets to be afraid. Little ones grow old and die inside hundred-year-old lyrics just outside tomorrow. And! When holding yourself very still, red beetle wings are loud and their textured lights will guide your motions through the night. Red beetle cousins sing and those born-to-die select their own sing-songs. High above the Towers-of-Bridges, Watchers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pine cones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

“Among the stars
there is a place to where 
my heart always returns.” – from ‘Home’ by Unsun

 And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Carnival’ —Natalie Merchant

 

‘Lola’— Lake Street Dive

 

 

Seaside And Star-ship Lights…

“You live in a church
Where you sleep with voodoo dolls
And you won’t give up the search
For the ghosts in the halls
You wear sandals in the snow
And a smile that won’t wash away
Can you look out the window
Without your shadow getting in the way?

You’re so beautiful
With an edge and charm
But so careful
When I’m in your arms

‘Cause you’re working
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you’re working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully”…Sarah McLachlan

Teach-speak now and explain a celestial giggle-wiggle as slashes and dashes or dots and lots are only heard and never seen. Star-ships! Have been ‘round about this interstellar gash and back again. Seek-the-safety-keep without that numbered sleep and twin-spin hieroglyphic’s deep—into poetic speak that trance and dance to learn to turn and to almost burn again. Vacuum’s void avoids an empty space as often counting does come alive, to sum that dust-of-many particles, that swirl and twirl into shape and into mass from nothing-into-something then into unseen not seen and ‘never was’ or will ever-be again.

Star-ships start slowly, move-motion straight lined from safety slot tucks of home port to gentle slides and simple rides. This year’s light-race-space outbound-to-leave blow leaf reach and careful teach that travels’ dust rush touches light winds riding shores from here-to-there and everywhere. Skies beneath the far above when heaven’s cross winds with light’s speed fast or lesser sails are ‘star-bright or star-light down Nebraska’s highway sky-way before dawn’s misty arcs or Denver’s distance and night-light.

Lengths and tangled notes, brine soaks and rotted ropes. Twists! Candy-cane twines sans white-reds color dead from baked suns’ times and sea-salt’s rhythm and rhyme over and under sun’s shine. Sometimes the timing of dancing words, seashells and wind may dust shorelines rhyme. Sometimes! V-shape flights, great shadows bound northward toward stops and starts and the marshes of Horicon and then again until touchdown is home. And! Great ships—straight line from dock-safety-to-sea-tide-high-be and free bound south toward sea-wide reach below right beach and around the African Horn or into the Orinoco Flow.

Again, to be and to see! Love-the-loving of hands joined-to-body and dance. Of swings and wings and peaceful sighs and spirit sings. Through creations the Witches smile and for instants within this moment in time—‘tis’ good this loving rhyme. So! Follow this time—this twine re-wind.

Scorpion shapes and Physics makes, common reach and teach through uncommon words, and the boundless twists of honest computation and manipulation contrived to derive, common wisps-of-wisdom, extracted and reacted and contacted; then, rejected and projected with twists forever turns to be melded into simple sense and corrected logic. Paradigm shatters and whispers matters while sails and ships of storm’s tatters, up righted-ignited-provided-decided and once-fears now tears along with seed sowing acknowledge knowing and either real or almost correctly forgotten and then remembered.

Sunshine’s understanding of Star-ship’s search; deeply goes, inside heated globes round sources of death-life and life-death and gravity and things-holding-wings and globes of mother-ships, many times ‘cross Universes both small and great together, combined with magic glue and crystal twirls and Witches’ swirls. And! Equations’ speak concisely; from clutter squeak, to quantitative modes, derived and survived together with fury storms and qualitative norms. Ponder ways-and-means often, long before android notions mediate the distances with perceptions; laced biochemically, senses five to teach six-seven-or eight and reach, hand stretch inside sunlight’s core, not to feel the burn but just-to-learn.

Lives gather together and the strengths of one or two or many more than them or us or we be power of scatters no rules followed no moral folly or man and the fools of Gods’ squeak. For those ‘world words’ are songs of death of control of fiction to swiftly suffer lies, against spirit speak and Life. Women Love! Men Love! Love is perfection and touch and peace and spirit and song. Love is sweetness ‘gainst canvas and lines. Circles dance and soft songs play and—laughter reaches diners’ corner. Open doors are calls to come inside. Secrets of ink motions and canvas wet with colors. Scents of orange of green of blues and browns and yellow are perfumes inside night air and dare and wear and fare or; future moments, again without layers of walls climbed or discarded. And yes! With you—I do ‘taste beauty.’

Again, to be and to see! Love-the-loving of hands joined-to-body and dance. Of swings and wings and peaceful sighs and spirit sings. Through creations the Witches smile and for instants within this moment in time—‘tis’ good this loving rhyme. So! Follow this time—this twine re-wind.

 And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘What I Am’ —Edie Brickell & New Bohemians

 

‘Building A Mystery’— Sarah McLachlan

Sky High When Children Sing…

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.

On swings! Would push you higher than sky and into the blue of day. Before the partitions about and around us touch sky high and we grow layers wide as our legs lengthen and our tears change size and realize additional occasions to tumble from eyelids blocked, to ground. Would hear our laughter and see our happy smiles with no notions of future days. Again! Reminding us of the meadows of spring grass and silly-speak and those wishes for mint candy and ice cones of summer’s sweetness. And! As the Piper grooves; children-we dance, into this ragged-sorted night. And! As we prance; the Goddess flashes, along tips of dark where thunder loud dares not disturb, the claps of little hands and ring fused songs and laughter; as only children laugh, or angels’ sing.

This time of days of times ago and present time, the old man vision touched those other ones and whispered, “Not this time—Not this time—our children will not go to war.” Others knew that this time of times would not be the time for dead children and metal touch-to-flesh-madness. For these moments in time, warriors were not necessary.

The water’s edge and the skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—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. ‘Shining candles and shelter flash from shifting seas to current dash. Come to harbor Sirens call. Shining candles and harbor flash from shifting seas to safety side.’ Come to harbor Sirens call.

These are the salty ways of salted seas and flecks of foam scatter along shore-side shifts of sand from wet-to-dry as dunes rise above and beyond watered edges. Long before ruined boardwalks prompted something from nothing and was treasured and minded and known by the neglected ones; those once upright writers of the times and the sounds of countless ‘days of a future’s past.’ Still! We all cross spaces along these places with races in-time-gathered and night ships’ crossing heaven’s ragged ridges. Slaves of momentum, devices inside corners of house scatter and caves overwhelmed by many needs requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath. Those saturated with sweat and rain then dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams laced just inside the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter and later, silent mist lifting from a million places outside caves and houses and homes almost forgotten and definitely gone.

And ‘coke-blow’ away the white lined winds. Never end and painless; needles spin’ unreal into reality and still busy-body walks among shimmers of bright light, edged storms, inky-blinky eyes, weed scratched throats and scrapes, escapes to rooftop stars and window shines. There are no sounds of screams—in silence. Music, in mind sized levels, is only music inside mind sized ears to once be seen in scales of notes added to working words to form verses of sound mix and chorus touch. An often dream or is this a poem of poet-speak? And! Not to know sometimes creates choirs in four-part harmony.

We are all travelers. We are scattered ‘cross all places of somewhere? We are not timed or blessed or wonderful or gifted or fortunate or meant-to-be a ‘something else’ without a price-tagged-branded-commodity of enhanced steroidal surgically modified, blast of cartoon fashion or lip-stick mouths pouted or mounted on another pictured perfect replicated glossy imitation of sport manned model swished—dish of corruption with a splash-dash of hopeless and fanatic fantasy.

Issues external! Internally detected or obtained from ‘reliable sources’ or sorta sourced and sorted through truth search or lurched internally structured to reach and teach or bleach amid throngs of wrongs as ‘sure truth’ is torn from snow-white right to a lily white lie. Lies detected or accepted or rejected or corrected from inside-out applicability or not workable until altered internally-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-eh? And! Does protection equal servitude?

When everyone realizes —humanities’ finest moments. All is Love and Peace and Touch and Trust…No charges or gains or losses. Just flashes connecting the realities of reality and sensing those sweet spaces just an instant before lips touch with co-mingled breath as the cold evening air warms. A rational response to a rational insanity. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star-ships’ passing between light-speed and arrival just silently appear. When everyone everywhere and in-all-places realizes what we do not have does not mean anything.  Feeling color through both eyes and with our fingers. 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 thunder and noise and music and notes, chaotic or symphonic simplicity as duality ceases and singularity melts into universal polarity and truth.

Remember! Magical hands fill quickly with currency and the tongues of many fear-spew lies against people creatively mingle along a thousand creative gods called many names and both; feared and soon, forgotten. The love-of-man and the love-of-woman and of freedoms must not be divided by the capital of greed nor the power of stalled legislation nor by an impotent executive branch or a purchased judicial robe and incomplete with sugar and strange sounding noises. Consider! All are fashioned by the equal blending of both; women and men, rich or poor and beyond the borders of a-wherever-boarder for non-reasons and steeped in-the-fallacy of color, big guns, atomics’ and the perpetual diatribe of isolation, individuality and fear We! Have the Right to be Everywhere.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Pocketful of Sunshine…Natasha Bedingfield