Sky Towers And Sunshine…

“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

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

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

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

A ‘Jet Show’ begins late this morning. A loud display of thunder-death-from-the-sky and the technology brought to us by another Military Industrial Complex. Do not wish to go—so bow head and when eyes close—remember Golden Gate Park and walking; both, Haight and Ashbury streets. Briefly; tears well and dry’ before a trickle path stains the face just below eyes’ blink.

Another jet drops from the sky and out falls imaginary bombs along its path…It is very quick and then nothing; but, quick-fading-engine-sounds and the imagined bah-boom-booms left behind. Nothing changes when ‘War’ is a dollar’s best friend.

This disease is not one; but, a ten-in-one-destroyer. This killer is infinite in variety and of undeniable power. Presently, nothing prevents or breaks its destruction across a country already destroyed by ‘war-stacking on’ and repetitive devastation. What was forest is no more. What was farmland is inhospitable soil. Unlimited infirmaries are absent. Accumulations of ability are vanished. Healers are in short supply. Farmers are few and their tools-to-farm are gone. Machines of commercial quantities now rust from ‘Oil City’ rains and country nothing. Presently, there are scattered boneyards for one billion soldiers. And! Funeral pyres for five billion men-women and children…’Innocence always dies before the fall is final.’

“Well I’ll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that’s not unusual
It’s just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I’d known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall

As I remember your eyes
Were bluer than robin’s eggs
My poetry was lousy you said
Where are you calling from?
A booth in the Midwest
Ten years ago
I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust

Well you burst on the scene
Already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
And there you stayed
Temporarily lost at sea
The Madonna was yours for free
Yes, the girl on the half-shell
Could keep you unharmed

Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling all around
And snow in your hair
Now you’re smiling out the window
Of that crummy hotel
Over Washington Square
Our breath comes out white clouds
Mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there

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

The Towers-of-Office are large towers. They are packed-to-brim with the Soldiers of Fortune. Towers of clones and Towers of sham. Below these structures industry materializes. Above! There is a whirling of all shares-of-measure to-be-purchased or-peddled without concern for: ‘We the People.” We are the creators of all commodities. We are the originators-of-survival for those clowned-clones-of-mischief. Offices are high and dry and lighted and—still dark. And! Hands are clean hands and labor does not occur.

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

Civil layers never die. Tradition slips, and graciousness is forgotten. So are whirling dances and twirling songs. Touch lips and finger kiss your lips to mine then time space while moments’ race…And! Silence then carefully watch tonight. Sails do catch sparks-of-wind and high tides to run-to-sea-you’ll-see—won’t we? Struggle is perfect for the winner. The impartial distribution of resources never legitimately occurs. Productivity costs; over time, with all reasons spent, some products lost and some reasons to divine.

Do we trust-in-truth? While promoting and demoting forms of deregulated regulations and as speculations-in-ruin penetrate permissive perversions, the invasions of individual-greed-so-powerful completely dismiss all values and ruins the strengths of our Collective struggles. Tangible wages are gone. The powers of Societies’ Unions are gone. And! A Right—Wrong transference in Economics, Politics, Labor’s markets and an enlightened American refinement are now ‘all gone!’ ‘Trickle down’ is a perpetual lie! And! Remember; ‘there are no Blue Color Billionaires.’ Why support Capitalism since it is now; ‘Insatiable and Unequal and Repressed and Tyrannical and an enemy of ‘We the People’ and of ‘Earth’s Twirling Humanity’?

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

Light tumbles and darkness strokes streets and sheltered bricks and flaws and cracks. Impacts collide with those scented secrets and motions flow without sounds. We are the kings and the queens of these streets. This City is our city. World Spins and seven moons; two largest, two larger, one large and three from small to smallest; replicate spins-to-swirls, along expected lines and impossible attractions. All to rotate ’round about a solitary sun of bright light and due to an impressive distance; there emerges, blue forms and purple nightfall. Rafters are those sailors of Green Brinies; Emerald Seas, Surfs’ high curls of fifteen foot crests and set-to-shoreline and way-back—stone homes and shingled stores. Rafters are too, Sky Riders. Surfs’ sky curls are shaped by eternal coasts inside the mists of the forever mind.

On a semi-dry ‘kinda’ gentle cool, when sun dips swiftly and flatters night slips quickly, dimness folds into short -moon and gathering times begin. Alter now; customs and styles and accept hollow space and poise and repair. Darkness slides into day and ends night…Night fills lighted places and switched-on bulbs reveal grays; shadows many, forever produced and forever failing to cheer the sun. Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume and replace and replenish and then–recall something else—another time or some other rhyme.

And! Rain does pour from sky onto roof and through spirals; both, short or long gutters or just eaves from leaves’ soak or arcs—golden-tricks-of-night-light inside as outside water splashes ground and collects on sidewalk’s flooded cracks into pools of wet and of mud carvings and pavement soaks.

Still here! Beneath this heaven our sea swirl-twirls and we hear whale sing-song our mother into-necessary-sleep. Whale sing-songs the heating of blood-self until warming is good. She rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls current  and lines of-moon-light are perfect and disappear into the dustless night.

Now! Touch the Dancing One. Now! Touch the Witch-of-life and taste her sweet creations. Goddesses do create! Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns while passing Spirits-to-flesh and back again. Spirits do form and substance is free.

Correct notes! Pipers of those silver flutes held ‘gainst heart beeps’ strong as fair seafarers often pass others-into-light as others ‘cross star-streams-to-suns above sea and beyond sky.

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Comfortably Numb’—Pink Floyd

 

‘San Francisco’—Scott McKensie

 

“Diamonds and Rust’—Joan Baez

The Routes—Of Our People…

“Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.”by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels

“Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my eyes want to follow
when I’m far far away,
when life brings me sorrow,
into silence I escape.

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

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

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

There I always have some time
to heal every wound,
to help the life’s shine
long forgotten, return.
There is such a place,
my own little space,
after each lost battle
its power remains.
There I always have some time
to heal every wound,
to help the life’s shine
long forgotten, return.
There is such a place,
my own little space,
after each lost battle
its power remains.
Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

There is always some room
When the world brings me gloom”…by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

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

The Iron Rider—horse less—‘Strider’—covers grounds—where white drifts climb—frozen bits—of rhythm and rhyme—together—mingle—tingle and shape—another surface—against earth—propped just—beneath the sky…Her booted steps—quick now— disappear—underneath—winter fall—frozen wet—quick cover—to hide—both shadow—walk—and her sword—and shield…And! Within moments—and motion—she disappears…

“We forget that many people feel they must act even if they don’t want to or are afraid to,” said Charles Haynes, the vice president of the Newseum Institute’s Religious Freedom Center. “They feel that the highest authority in their lives is not the state; it’s not the ICE. It’s their conscience, their God.”

Called a Populist Revolution—not formed—not aware—scattered notions—neither right—often damaged and very wrong…Global cause—formations—cause Global pause! To deport—our people present—in the here and now—is cross-laced—in this place—and intimately connected—to a planetary movement—of both—important people and important goods—Our people create. Deportation is no longer an issue of domestic policy…To move—a force of good work—and honest labor—to deport our people—from a United-Scatter-of-States—-inches close—ideals-miles-apart—ruins life’s functions—when perhaps—globalization and—a restructuring of—everywhere—economics have— created the global migration—now-objects-of—‘stupid’—racial—radical—ridicules—righteous—rhetoric—repeating—mid-century’s last—failures and bloody wars…Please too—remember—that fear of displacement—directly affects body—complete with exhaustion—defeat-of-immune systems—and family life…Increased inequality causes our people to become both unhappy and unhealthy….Restrictions of hope—and Greed achieves—momentary success…Momentary success—never-ever—lasts forever…Transition—thinking—creations—of common enemy—always destroys—the common futures—of Common People…And! We are all—everyone—the Common folk—of this—Place—this World—and of— this Moment-in Time…

‘Deportation Forever Continues this Illegal and Wicked—Course of Global Separation and Global Apartheid’…We are all Children of this Universe and We all have the Right-to-be—Everywhere…

“cross desert sand landings—every eye is weeping…”author unknown…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Home’…by UnSun

 

Creatures Apart-Different Frequency-Different Sight…

picrelated.com

“Like grapes, we have always accompanied the vat.

From the view of the world, we have disappeared.

For years, we boiled from the fire of love

Until we became that wine which intoxicated the world” …. DR. NURBAKHSH

Is it true ‘that’—“Ignorance is no bar to reason—for it is often a reasonable reverse?” A Society of Modern Thought and Venture is not totally immune from the social force of religions? What of the conditions of ‘human freedom’ and the challenges required by Capitalism and an obsolete system of political economy? And! How has mechanized labor affected individual laborers—restraining the union of voices—apart and in part because of coded words and the efficient destruction of blood-flesh-sweat and blood—again?

Note:

  • A Japanese haiku has 6-8-6 words per line.
  • An Italian Sonnet contains—8 and 6 combination…
  • Is a metaphor—a poet’s essential tool: X “is” —“Y “is like” …

Linking words by alliteration…

  • Semicolon usually divides two clauses, each with a verb—two halves that could stand as a complete sentence…However, by using a semicolon one may both separates and unite two lines.
  • Good poetry combines concision and suggestiveness.

I know well—the sounds of–bombs-away—and the explosions—death scattered ‘cross—the lands—I have walked—I have loved—and I have lived—or died upon…Another war—against Communism—why—war against labor? Why? These Continual Wars—against Communism…Why! These Continual Wars—against Labor? Corporate Ownership—fifty percent—of the total—world wealth. Does not—benefit Citizens—anywhere…Contaminated—in Greed. The only way—we succeed—is together…Unions-of-Labor—Revolutions to—begin-to-end-then-to-begin-again. Presently! America’s economy is—no longer an Economy of—Hope or Change…Please remember—Billionaires—care nothing—for Laborers—‘We the People’—and while still— pretending to be—Blue Collar—they ‘Be’ Liars everyone…

What—Why and How must—an economic structure—consider the—modernity of serviced—servitude—a renovated—rendition and a re-naturalization—of Societies’ Laborers—-while all-the-while—casting about impersonal laws—seeking—the removal—of logic from—Humanities’ control?

Václav Havel once wrote that; “the current crisis that the world finds itself in.” He identifies the crisis as a conflict between “an impersonal, anonymous, irresponsible and uncontrollable juggernaut of power” and the “elemental and original interests of concrete human individuals.”

“Ruled by the will of little people and the middling people, and by the demagogues they elected…And! Hobbled by moral laziness and fear…” Jonathan Fenby

  • Our world is finally ‘almost’ a Border-less World…Much to learn—Much to anticipate—Much to welcome—and Much to Never Fear—again…’Viva La Difference’…

Night Shift

It was not a heart, beating,

That muted boom, that clangor

Far off, not blood in the ears

Drumming up any fever

To impose on the evening.

The noise came from the outside:

A metal detonating

Native, evidently, to

These stilled suburbs: nobody

Startled at it, though the sound

Shook the ground with its pounding.

It took root at my coming

Till the thudding source, exposed,

Confounded inept guesswork:

Framed in windows of Main Street’s

Silver factory, immense

Hammers hoisted, wheels turning,

Stalled, let fall their vertical

Tonnage of metal and wood;

Stunned the marrow. Men in white

Undershirts circled, tending

Without stop those greased machines,

Tending, without stop, the blunt

Indefatigable fact”…Sylvia Plath

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

‘You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive’…Patty Loveless

 

 

‘Joe Hill’…Joan Baez

 

Peace Circles and Wind…

Dion_Laurie Records

‘Abraham, Martin And John’

“Anybody here seen my old friend Abraham?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
You know I just looked around and he’s gone

Anybody here seen my old friend John?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

Didn’t you love the things that they stood for?
Didn’t they try to find some good for you and me?
And we’ll be free
Some day soon, it’s gonna be one day

Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill
With Abraham, Martin, and John”…Written by Dick Holler

Sea–side level and sand away from beach mist—fog scatter and clear sides—tucked along the bay. Hill high and east watch—Look Valley deep—as seep fog—softens light—from holler cabins—lined close—not circled—but—throw stones close…Too late for flowers now—too warm for dying grass—and leaves to fall—catch ground and turn brown. Somewhere between—cooling shines—sun mixed air—and breath—into—not light—and night. Before Moonshine Clear—nearby fire shine—bright sprite dance—’round about—where hollers begin—and sunlight’s end.

In Marxism and  Psychoanalysis—hidden somewhere between—word scare—twin modes—both radical pairs—are standing—understanding and constitutional—reconstruction. Stress levels—high—both granite hard—from—shiftless sedentary shifts—begin mountain curves and valleys’—trenches from park benches—bus-ride thought—the sought and bought—fought—often taught and life made-to- paid—and—lived once—again. Features’ surface—once or twice—and over-to-over regain—again begin—social’s abnormally—normal speak—behavior tweak—pattern’s seek—reek just below—perceptions of analogous penetration—and just above the surface—of a long—last phenomena…End products borne—and born from workers’ womb—society’s tomb—and necessary—necessities of the—we-us-them-those—needed—blended—desired—recalled—rejected—injected—and still forgotten—while watching—front-facing—backward—gathered mirrors and—cross winds—of rhythms and rhymes.

Fire—Blue light—‘a sort of’—start-stop—dancing—yellow streaks—red coats and journey starts. Screaming—moons toward—light and still—horses run Martian Ridge. We are children of those—salted seas and spirit trees. And! Clouds often look for—skies. …Hollow men—are robots without—spirit-animation-without ‘ghosts in the machine’…We be not—holy hollows—we be—imagine—imagination—beyond pushes of strengths—we dance—baby birthing—powerful protection and iron love—nothing stronger than love or better than together songs and the unification of eternal spirits. Butterfly—kisses—wishes made—wishes chant—and grant—soft wings and slips and flits— ride currents of breeze—so slight—against soft skin—often switch directions-of-fancy—will by—choice or wearied of time—trips to beginning and endings of time shifted—drifted and lifted and forever gifted—to lines of—crafted beings—being for  moments—above moonlight and—day—bright. Space between lines—of coded-cold-color—fine word pour—from puzzle—one or two—twins in-step—and reasons to-be—to-see special—twin-twines—through tunnels and into the night.

Launch now—code filled balloons both alpha and numeric—fluid—lines of rows—switch—crosses—across drops-of-lengths—between space and press and touch—and—a distance—between winter’s flakes and snow. While dancing dream’s mind-merge—spirit winds a clock of choices—known by forgotten—dust-swirls—desert winds and salted seas—as foam merges with sandy shores. Rain bounce—by moonlight—against a million miles of asphalt streets—where tiny sprites of weeds—meet—push through—to break the symmetry—of path—life once again—is the birth of nature’s chaos—and nothing is as natural—as creating—-creations. Life’s power is—eternal notions—of—goddesses and gods—witches and warlocks—wizards and shamans—and—the blood-bond of women and men—creatures-features— and the dynamics of Love. Remember! Love is sex-less—without form—without flesh—and—-when shiver—shapes humanity—love—is touch—magic required—as beings require air—mixed—blood red.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Abraham-Martin And John’…performed by Dion

 

‘You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive’…performed by Ruby Friedman

 

‘Closer To The Heart’…performed by Rush

 

The Gentle Ships of Beren-Pass…

Illinois Central_743

The City Of New Orleans Lyrics

“Riding on the City Of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three Conductors; twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey – the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms, and fields
Passing trains that have no name, and freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobile

Good morning, America, how are you?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Dealing card games with the old man in the Club Car
Penny a point – ain’t no one keeping score
As the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumbling ‘neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman Porters, and the sons of Engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets made of steam
And, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good morning, America, how are you?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Night time on the City Of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee
Halfway home – we’ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the sea
But, all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain’t heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again – the passengers will please refrain
This train got the disappearing railroad blues

Good night, America, how are you?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City Of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done”…written by Steve Goodman

Worlds spin—axis tilt—and—how we—matter-to-the-matter—as side-way twirls—the planets’ whirls—and—nothing makes them—straight—again…And! ‘Cross channels dotted—to lots of liquid black—lake fills and streams covered once—grassland—now trenches of oil—stretches from eyesight—until the watching ones are—unable to see—further. “Good night America”—we are all still right here—right now—these minutes in time—for no reasons—with all our rhythms and all our rhymes…And! We are all Immigrants—everyone—passing through age-long mysteries—masterly recorded or unrecorded with—dots and dashes—in time…

Just caught ship outbound—sun-ward toward third spin—shaped seas and peaks almost hill-high and wide as desert cross—pause—to wait and back again…Long way home—but getting there. How must this ‘long wind’—keep winding through sharp curves and peaks— too high to climb—when going home sometimes runs—ruins of circles…Following smoke—wisps or—sounds of sing-song-choir—along the line—where sea-meets-sea and sky appears—above forgotten shimmers of—flash—stretched beyond—eye watch and body wait. Walk upon these—salty waves—of that dead-sea—sing melody’s song—and disappear—into mists and sea—sounds and other dawns. Those little matters? Matter-less—Cease then gone—again.

Money short—and—without weapons—gather folks wise—to change histories’ futures—with few resources of tradition—warfare—to confront and destroy—the inequality of equality freedom—slave wages—with-out—to plentiful again…And! Maybe a little ‘more’ short-of-time do 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 passivity…Obsolete not—nonviolence—is never irrelevant—whether—formed—from village speak—or global motions—’tis—strategy for confrontation and victory—without swords drawn— or thunder-guns’—final recoils…And! Creating a resistance movement—without blood’s shed—is solution strong—to solving—the current global crisis of—climate’s changes and miles-wide inequality—donchathink?

Never despair—nor accept inequalities—for wealth is not created—to be collect by the few—for wealth must be shared—by everyone—everywhere ‘cross this planet—on this sweet sustaining mother-ship—we gentle ones—- call our own—sweet—Earth. While recorded history show us—inequalities in wealth and the capacity—to create wealth—‘cross centuries—patterns of imbalances have changed and altered and damned our human majority—to accept nothing-from-the-blood-and-the-sweet-sweat—of genuine labor—without apparent nor equal reward. From—nations—to between nations—‘balanced income’—is a ‘never-ever’ reality—for us—the outside worlds call ‘those species—of humanity’…Then—‘Never-Ever’—react to these—inequality-of- qualities with—absolute—resignation…People Strong—Revolution changes everything—and through—nonviolent means—while never politically convenient—often alters—imbalance.

And! Beautiful you are…

“City of New Orleans”…performed by Arlo Gutherie

 

“Home”…by Unsun

 

 

Sings-Songs and Injustice…

Drone_321“Don’t struggle to get what you want—instead—modify your wanting.” Poverty—is not a ghost—current or an appearing—apparition…Poverty is present—poverty is not a future threat—poverty is now—poverty is harsh—poverty is real—and the result—is Revolution…And! Poverty is a ‘not-crime’—Greed is Crime against Humanity…

“The correct path against injustice—is—civil disobedience.”

Is nature—the force—causing us movement—through lives—of our own—creative—creations? Are we creations—to remain—objects without—motion? If forced—are we able—to sleep-creep—through life—quietly afraid—to disturb—silence—too loud to understand—and—too quiet—to tolerate? Too many—situation seekers—lost and discovered—by—sane folks and through—madness? Just wishes—causing words—to express—desires—wants—directions and confusions? And! Sometimes—this direction-in-word—herds—‘heard’—and will sometimes—just ‘appear’…

“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 in the midst of 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 (4th US President and Slave Owner)

‘Eyes Without A Face’

“Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face
And now it’s getting worse.” By Billy Idol and Steve Stevens

Wondering—If humanity remains a ‘looped-group’—capable of containing and restricting Drone-self—then only—flesh and blood without Drone—screams—-bleeds and dies? Why—must we—be— the victory—of one more—progressive mission. However— if humanity—extracts itself—through—powerful carelessness—or greed—or becomes—a ‘looped-outside-group’—then will—the will—of Drone-self—become—a maybe—Self-self—to search-kill—and destroy—more than?

Wondering—When the taking—of warrior’s life—becomes a mechanical judgment call—what happens to—humanity? When the cost of— life is—determined-to-be-the—determination—of machines—is life—reduced to nothing? How much—cost to dispose—of body? How much to— incinerate—no records—required? How about—family? How about—warrior’s spirit? Machine has no family—Machine has—no spirit—unless—we robots—be robots—advancing far—beyond Drone’s—current code?

What is an appropriate—method or measurement—of Force’s use—through—Drone’s sensors? Currently—humanity uses—determinations called—‘appropriate judgment’—to respond—“correctly”—with the ‘proper use’—of force—over combat enemies—during—battle-rattle and ‘blah-blah’. How many—deaths—are necessary? How many—mothers cry? How many—children are—without—mother—or—father? How many—types of—‘collateral—damage’? And! The reasons—for going—to war—are either—reasons determined or imagined by Government…Drones do not—imagine. Drones do not—determine. Drones search—-kill—and—destroy. Humanity must ‘never-ever’—be Drones—of Government—and of Greed!

Is—Society equivalent—to the sum—of its members? Will the actions—of the members—of that society—serve to fashion—and to shape it? What are—the social consequences—of intentional actions—and—will these actions—often be unintentional? What is Society—to do—to ease itself—into an obvious—oblivion? Scientific Theories—are predictive. Societies’ songs prohibit—most predictions…

Yes and three times—Yes! I and me—and—we and us—-have seen it all—now—and—again. The Universe—from—speck to—mighty—and our—hurtling Earth—a—cross of heavens—filled with—multitudes—of-this-and-that. We see—it all—and—sweet—dream-side-slide—allows us again—to be—until—we-be—able again—too real and to close—to see…There and perched high—on—dream-side—at flip—of mind-sigh—we move—‘cross—Universe—so fine. Alive and gone—alive and gone—‘til counting-time—catches us—with mind-sides—swirling sight—of mind-light bright—and—brings another—way to see…

“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…

‘Eyes Without a Face’—performed by Billy Idol

Love—Life—And Back Again…

London_1073‘Fire and shadows cross a sky—Color moon of blood and gold—Simple songs and thudding drum—Stars light up another home—We move by wind across this place—In sunlight waves and dancing twists—Of silver rain and stretching space—Ship’s gentle streaks in skies of grace—With muted voice and silent rooms of—Blood touched throat and emptied tombs—Bridge walked toward and skylight’s scream—By taking flight and falling dream—Warming suns of days ago—With salted mist and taste of tongue—Lights of passion—times of rain—Wolf cries shout of sands and home—Across this universal stretch—Window shine in candle’s light—And let us touch another peace—Of safety sleep and lover’s reach.’

The death of ‘middle warders’ on surfaces—are many and rarely varied. Renewal—of hidden—memories and power—in times of—sorrow—danger—and fear must—prevail. Wealth—again moves—poverty descends—from above—as sunlight firms—and from—this ground—levels of those—dwellers and their children. Life—ends—as—life—begins. Life—also creates-stop-start—inside—thousand world reach—where liquid—spins and evaporates.

Across time—lighted atmosphere—with spaces—absent of everything—save—views above and across the—angled galaxy—war of rearranged-arrangements begin—and—still end—in victorious—losses. Some obtain—more-of-less while some—lose everything to—other dwellers above—these spaces—or below this ground—stretched places—caves and cave-ins—where life hides from death—and—waits the end—of silent-lightning and the reaches-of-teaches—flash.

Once again—against—these skies—spinning whirls—of land and seas—of salt and lakes of salt—less spree—warriors stage—wars of rearranged-arrangements—act and actions—where—wealth distributes—to winner’s joy—and to—losers—sorrow. The dead—discarded beneath soiled blood—inside rocky notions—victories of death and legend. Forgotten—are response to—battle—and the rhymes that end—in hunger and rearranged—arrangements.

For these are—short days of peace—remember pleasant moments—above ground splendor—and days-of-nights and nights-of-days—as knights begin—an—uncertain dance of—daze. Swords-shields—never rust and the lightning—of solar dust—gather in place—of suns—along a galactic twirl of swirling—world—filled brim high—with the salted seas—as—breaking winter waves—on shorelines’ length—a billion lakes—without salt—yet—filled with many lights—of star sparkle and life.

Do the religious—measure by rank and legend—higher than reason and world happiness—also become—the first practitioners of—Totalitarianism?—When—reason is rejected—as faith demands and self-interest becomes self-sacrifice—then—give up reason for—thought control—genocide and starvation—why? An infallible ruler—a declination of life expectancy-life-spans-hopes-dreams—and the elimination of unapproved thought by a church and the inquisition—fancy living—or maybe—be—‘never-‘evers’? ‘Nearer my Gods-to-Z’s.’

These are—days of women—of men—and—of children. Days of—reaffirmation and survival’s rearranged—arrangements and—of offerings. They are—creations of ways—of means—of love-hate—and care—in heart shape—reasons and certainly—uncertainty. The times—of these creations—are tiny—moments before—another war and death songs—are always—gentle moments—just after those last days—battled—when reasons are few—and responses—always necessary. Always! Rearranged—arrangements? Blood feeds form—and those forms cease—flesh without it?

Peace—happening-happens—future-present and learned from past touches—brushes—painted blood—flood of regrets—endless wars—sorrow worship—dead—dying all the time—without rhythm—without rhyme…Still reach-teach—beached and—still. Woman—Man! We stand—equally on this—hilltop rise—same battles to fight—same hungers—same pleading—needs—together…And Warrior—She! —We need—most—because without—we do not exist…Remember?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘London Calling’…by The Clash

Green Death and Whisperers…

60There is a slip—off the main channel of a—River called Manatee…The Sentinel—watches this curving slip of water—between landfall—and islands—of reeds and grass and palms and sand. Bear cubs and Panthers—kiss the sweet liquid of combinations—both salt and fresh and dance along the edges—of knowing—their way and sea-side rhythm and—verses of silence. The large ones rise—to surface and water—gentle swirls behind them. They are slow and sweet and strong— inside a current they know—as their reason and purpose—inside the strength of their being— strong and imagined—real. They are—protectors of these moments-in-time and places-of-being—simply life and nothing more or less. The River Manatee—never sleeps—and Her current—still–survives.

Numbers to stumble and bodies to jumbled—counted—discounted—recounted and hidden away—inside jungle walk—rejected—detected—inspected—and ‘disappeared’—along green forest stalks and governmental talks—strike-pitches and balks. System kills and the lands of the defenders of our own environmental blood—springs—targeted and wasted—and washed away through diluted laws—charges too false—to unreal—to believe—to be restricted—when activists’ freedoms are destroyed and environmental protectors are shot—killed—imprisoned and silenced. Second only to Brazil—a sacred country called Columbia—counted last year twenty-five Defenders—indigenous Nasa folk—murdered…Carlos Garcia survived a head—shot by the police—because of performing—during a Peaceful Protest in West Columbia—at the Emperatriz Plantation—a Kingdom of Cane Sugar and ‘disappeared’ forests. Young environmental defender—Guillermo Paví was too—gunned down and killed—by same—at—same—Sugar Kingdom of Cane—Pain and Destructive—Constructions. Sweet-Earth-Mother-of-Mine—and how the Witches-of-Sweet—Creations—Weep. Must be that our—environmental crisis—is cursing—never reversing—and—still challenging the ‘Gods of Capitalism.’ And! By—Forcing our ‘Movements to Resist Earth-Mothers’—Destruction—to regroup—and to protect their own blood—free of illegal bondage and unnecessary Death—is an absolute—WTF!

Are Economies simple subsets of Ecosystems? Are Human Rights natural? Are the people sovereign? Must the strength of women in production, reproduction, civil society and political life be measured? And! Is Capitalism’s capacity for wealth—bringing with it—wars-crisis and unemployment, pollution-poverty and extreme inequalities—a moral and practical failure? Are its credits similar—to standing inside—Palace Ruins and being unable to leave? Is nationalism a global phenomenon and an irresistible force of unnatural nature? As—political scientists mention the words ‘international and relationships’ are they actually relating to the interaction between the IMF—Eternal Debt—and Interest—Rates-too-high-to-Pay?


From Pope Francis’ ‘Encyclical on the Environment’…

“When media and the digital world become omnipresent, their influence can stop people from learning how to live wisely, to think deeply and to love generously. In this context, the great sages of the past run the risk of going unheard amid the noise and distractions of an information overload.”
“The idea of infinite or unlimited growth, which proves so attractive to economists, financiers and experts in technology …, is based on the lie that there is an infinite supply of the earth’s goods, and this leads to the planet being squeezed dry at every limit.”
“We need to reject a magical conception of the market, which would suggest that the problems can be solved simply by an increase in the profits of companies or individuals.”
“What would induce anyone, at this stage, to hold on to power only to be remembered for their inability to take action when it was urgent and necessary to do so?”
“The Earth, our home, is beginning to look more and more like an immense pile of filth. In many parts of the planet, the elderly lament that once beautiful landscapes are now covered with rubbish.”
“Never have we so hurt and mistreated our common home as we have in the last 200 years.”
“The exploitation of the planet has already exceeded acceptable limits and we still have not solved the problem of poverty.”
“We need to strengthen the conviction that we are one single human family.”
“We must regain the conviction that we need one another, which we have a shared responsibility for others and the world, and that being good and decent are worth it.”


Here the eternal spirits swim and wait for day’s beginning and star-light’s fade. Somewhere—the familiar are new and the same and—also very different. Watch now as we pass—swimming in deep water—clear and blue and green. We breathed same air…We share—space above and below the sea. Together all of us—forever spirits—Never cease—we are alive! We are verses of the same universes—we have the right to be everywhere…

We are aware—of self—however—all creatures are aware of being…Sweet paws of moving life—are perfect. They—do—and they are perfect—without single mistake—or confusion. Being a life—is not a judgment calling or bleeding-the-greed of out-of-control-meetings—of self or me without the—we of all of us—without four sweet paws to quickly move—or—twin fine wings to fly—or—fins—or—dorsal ships—or—shapes of magic tucked safely—beneath the morning sea. We—walk or crawl or fly or swim—we are life… And! Remember…These varied shapes of life are too—Eternal Spirits—created—debated—accepted—rejected—imagined—imaged in creations—either by divine accidents or notion’s whimsy or just… Strange fictions! We—have been killing and destroying and suffering—since when? We are very good at waging war…Hate—always corrode the container it is carried in… For a New Day—try a Different View! It is good to be a Spirited Robot…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Broken’ by Esther Maria

Esther Maria – Broken

Paper Write and Rights …

M_154All Paper Rights are worthless—the writing paper more precious—if no mechanical—mechanisms are already in place to hold all Rulers accountable—to those Paper Write—Rights. Yul Brynner once—with hand flourish—committed—RamesesII-Speak—and said; “So let it be written—So let it be done.” From Pharaohs—to King/Queen Speak to the Magna Carta—to the—American ‘Constitution’ of Speak—and still no realized—Speak of—‘Freedom and Liberty’—until every living thing—is ‘free-to-live’—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other.

Still! Burdened Beasts—and too many-for-Less and More—for just a wig-waggled few and ‘the beat goes on’—donchathink? The United States of America began in a whimper of ‘freedom for those same few’ and through the blood of—many—lesser folks—still continue today—failure for the multitudes and stolen—by anyone—claiming a ‘Runaway—Machined-War-Mechanism’—is prosperity and Death is Freedom’s Sacrifice. American Genocide began when first—Native Americans dared believe and were—slaughtered for —Well! ‘Long Live-that-Crazy and All—Mixed-Up—Dream Me Up—a Paradise or Two.’

Today! Just like another yesterday—Tomorrow just like another Today—doesn’t fade away—just pray—and pick a stone or two and wait long enough—another life to slew—and maintain few—in silver castles just—miles above Planet—spin—still not reached by ground-bound—Us—dying and living without rhythm or rhyme…Monuments carved in blood—masses starving. Temples mounted and delivered by—century’s blood—stained pasts and shattered futures. Mud huts fall when built beside gated compounds—until blood covered gates—rust away and grass fills cracked walls where palaces once defined—Rulers’ failure to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with hungry people.

World-Speak is never Nation-Speak—unless forced by strength—against—weak and imbalanced places—ruined or lost and found and lost again…Wait! Imbalance a country—or a region—and will—the civilization of many—be destroyed—by the Destroyers or by the Imbalance of the Imbalanced? Strategic Genocide—absolutely. Toss in a dash of—Religious intolerance and bang-bang-bang—ready-made—imbalance with large doses of death—destruction and War! The middle of an Eastern portion of a world spinning across a universe of space and time of landfall and splendor—has a determination—created by—a Western ideology so foreign and devoid of principle that Sociocide is a study in collateral damage and a ‘resourceful’ necessity. Egypt—Palestine—Lebanon—Syria—Iraq—Iran and…Presently—these wars are battles of imbalance created by this Terror from the West. Someday soon—this will pass…Life is sacred and family is love!

What of the People—the many—the injured—the women—the children—the homeless? Refugees of—Strategic Genocide…Meetings—and Planning—and—Planning—and Meetings. Still! The refugees of Strategic Genocide die—must be planned—must be decisive death—by many more—meetings…Does anyone require God or Allah or Buddha? No! Only—We are required to Live…Be damned—the Rulers-of-Anywhere-of-Anyplace and-of-Anytime…Not really needed—for our blood to flow inside—where blood belongs—and to synchronize-in-equivalence with Earth-spin and with-each-other. We are few and so many—Lost-Broken-and-Forgotten…War is now! War is yesterday! War is tomorrow! Today—we free-fall toward acceleration and the annihilation of Everyday. Presently—In another place—the Witches of Creations Cry!

And! Beautiful you are…

He was the wizard of a thousand kings
And I chanced to meet him one night wandering
He told me tales and he drank my wine
Me and my magic man kind of feeling fine

He had a cloak of gold
And eyes of fire
And as he spoke I felt a deep desire
To free the world of its fear and pain
And help the people to feel free again

Why don’t we listen to the voices in our hearts
‘Cause then I know we’d find we’re not so far apart
Everybody’s got to be happy
Everyone should sing
For we know the joy of life
The peace that love can bring

So spoke the wizard in his mountain home
The vision of his wisdom means we’ll never be alone
And I will dream of my magic night
And the million silver stars that guide me with their light…The Wizard’ by Uriah Heep

Motions of Life Forms…

147“I close your eyes with my mouth
Now you don’t see anything
But you feel my breath all over
I can feel you too

Although I don’t really know you
I don’t really care

Cry with me, make my day
Tomorrow all will be gone
All the sweetness and all the fun
No, I don’t wanna know…

Although I don’t really know you
I don’t really care

Now that you’re gone I don’t know
How to really feel inside
Baring the hope to see you again
I guess I never will

Now that I do really know you
Yes, I really care!”…from ‘Leaves’ by The Gathering

The Spacer Enoch was both an Eternal Spirit and a Physical Being? (Nothing more or less than special—since ‘We-be’—all this—and more.)…Did ‘He—be’ a Spacer or an Earth Guide? Was he another writer of songs and a singer of Goddess Speak—Life forms and Eternal Spirits…Again—Both? Or! Just another distant being or just another Martian? Physical lives do dance with eternal spirits—creations run—ruinous—roads to splendid wonders and premier horrors…Heaven’s gate is hard to find and many have ‘perished-the-thought’ and died attempting to pass from star-gate to star-fall on the planet-slide of hell and paradise. Angel is alone–both hard and soft and ready to purpose the reason of her travel and the message she whispers to mysterious magic folk and the very quick or the very—dead. Angel—she calls herself and she imagines her image as—a double self and triple purposed with a silent drum—of butterfly wings and the knowledge of both living and dying before the end of twin-planet sins times fourteen.

Do motions of poverty ‘cause-a-pause’ in ordinary behavior as quickly as money—free—working folks from necessary labor? Are Economies simple subsets of Ecosystems? Are Human Rights natural? Are the people sovereign? Must the strength of women in production, reproduction, civil society and political life be measured? And! Is Capitalism’s capacity for wealth—bringing with it—wars-crisis and unemployment, pollution-poverty and extreme inequalities—a moral and practical failure?…Are its credits similar—to standing inside—Palace Ruins and being unable to leave? Is nationalism a global phenomenon and an irresistible force of unnatural nature? When political scientists mention the words ‘international and relationships’ are they actually relating to the interaction between states? Bolshevik communism worked with—instead of— repressing nationalism…And! Let the wars begin because—“My Dog is better than Your Dog?”

Schweickart’s definition of an ‘Economic Democracy’ is a community of workers controlled by ‘Market Socialism.” It is also a “transitional and mixed economy with a government operating in the interest and with the consent of a progressive majority—The Working Class.” Throughout the world—Economic Democracy has failed—because Modern Capitalist entities are now Polyarchies…And! Polyarchy is not Democracy…While many people are able to cast votes—the wealthy are simply—a privileged class and have the power of Hegemony—a power structure in which a single group leads the other groups in a country—or society or political or cultural dominance or authority over others—or the domination of a culturally diverse society by the ruling class…

And! Humans—are creatures that should not exist within the laws of nature. Or—should we? Since life is Eternal Spirit—humans are in-step with all living creatures inside-outside these laws…We are aware of self—however—all creatures are aware of being…Sweet paws of moving life are perfect. They do and they are perfect—without single mistake or confusion. Being a life is not a judgment calling or bleeding the greed of out-of-control-meetings of self or me without the—we of all of us—without four sweet paws to quickly move or twin fine wings to fly or fins or dorsal ships or shapes of magic tucked safely beneath the morning sea. We—walk or crawl or fly or swim—we are life… And! Remember…These varied shapes of life are too—Eternal Spirits created or debated or accepted or rejected or imagined or imaged in creations either by divine accidents or notion’s whimsy or just… Strange fictions—Gods from Heaven shall come back and destroy the Earth in fiery stuff and suffering? Except for a pathetic few—all will perish? Hells-Bells—must be man-speak…We have been killing and destroying and suffering—since when? We are very good at waging war…Hate—always corrode the container it is carried in…So! For a New Day try a Different View! It is good to be a Spirited Robot—donchathink?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Leaves’—by The Gathering

THE GATHERING – Leaves