The Drone of War…

D2When the taking of a warrior’s life becomes a mechanical judgment call, what happens to humanity? When the cost of a life is determined by a machine—is life reduced to nothing? How much cost to dispose of the body…How much to incinerate—no records required? How about the family? How about a warrior’s spirit? Machine has no family—Machine has no soul; unless—we, robots are robots advanced beyond Drone’s current program.

What is an appropriate method or measurement of the use of force through a Drone’s sensors? Presently, humans use determinations called appropriate judgment to ‘correctly’ respond with proper uses of force over combat enemies in battle. How many deaths are necessary? How many mothers cry? How many children go without a mother or a father? How many types of collateral? The innocent die in battle!

The reasons for going to war are the reasons determined or imagined by Humanity…Drone does not imagine. Drone does not determine. Drone searches-kills-destroys. Drone follows configurations-paradigms-and the logical/illogical responses of human beings—Presently…

We; beings are able to use inferences to survive our determinations. Artificial intelligence at the end of a ‘joystick…Works? Call this warfare by Robotic proxy. Call it murder through autonomy. We enjoy the mischief and results of warfare executed several thousand miles away from the battlefields in the safety and air conditioned splendor of an IT construction…

Warfare without blood—a Computer-generated action game—no screams, no gaping wounds punched into the precious life of an almost enemy—no cries of the women or men left behind…Easy—simple power!

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

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

Once upon a time, Dome Iron protected beings of flesh, since these beings were progressive robots. Presently, the Iron of Dome destroys without interference from sentient beings. It is an autonomous warrior and crafted to defend and to destroy. Dome/Drone programmed to defend…

It does not require sentient input and it protects sentient life from attack and death—Morally sound! When do the Domes of Death go offensive? When does defense become offense? How soon will Robot-flesh sublimate reason and judgment to Iron Drone and twin-step dance toward its own destruction?

Is a 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 a Society to do to ease itself into an obvious oblivion? Scientific Theories are predictive. Societies’ songs prohibit most predictions…


“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…

Our Pathetic Government…

1…Infantile America has finally completed the commercial of a Forward-Backward dance called a Presidential Election…No wait! It’s a movie—no a comedy—no a drama—no-no-no. Step-right-up and bring us the truth! Winners are losers and losers are winners and the real winner is greed and the losers are ‘we’ the world. Wait again—this is not a Game…This is about People; their immediate lives and the lives of their Children—both; here and around our World.

2…Is the Earth on the edge of a Fiscal and Environmental cliff? Talk about it? No fix it! That is why we elected you… The Middle East—without the whores and pimps of religion and did I mention Greed or colonialism-gone-wild; please understand truthfully the problems of these precious people and places on earth. Fix it! That is why we elected you. During the revolutionary war of America, were the continental fighters against England; patriots or insurgents? A revolution for freedom or a terrorist action against? History is written by the winners of war. Yesterday people died—today people died and tomorrow people will die…People destroying Life does not follow—don-cha-think!

3…Extra-Extra…Read-All-About-IT…Poster boy boink girl—Wow…Do we care about the sexual exploits of anyone? It does not matter! We all do it—much the same way and without a touch of truth and love it is actually worthless—blah-blah-blah. Define worth it; David and the Babe and some splendor-in-the-grass…Not worth a splatter of lie-news or bullshi…The November 7th (2012) Times Mag…listed buttons, clothing, gaffe-o-meter results, and Election garbage and waste and trash—oh my!

4…The NYT cannot or will not stop writing pre/post election drivel…Would rather study the Obituary columns…at least these beloved and departed folk did something worth re-telling. How about the true and un-biased results of history…History is news…Obituaries must be true…Families pay for Obits. Advertisers pay for News.

Now! The Fiscal cliff faces us in about—how many more minutes? Together we win—divided we…Only history/news will tell us how it goes? Congress and the Senate must come together—immediately-don-cha-think? Thankfully, we are not a mass of barn-yard creatures about to plunge over this cliff behind a government of pathetic and elected creatures of who—what—why—when—and how much! Oh wait! Just sit back and read/watch all about It.

We as the people; are not interested in epic battles amongst right-wing-left-wing soldiers of…and nasty history by reporters and radio babblers! And! Is the American Tea Party—America’s Taliban? If one percent of America has everything—then give it back to us and avoid having it removed and redistributed—Oh no! Are we demanding results and solutions?

Job shortages; we own an infrastructure that is devolving into trash…Evolution-not-religion is the forward movement of Society. Government bills of forward motion and improvement are jammed between legislative bodies of stupidity and speculation. Come-on- Now!

Foreign policies destroy People…Do not add misery to the People of Iran because their government is as corrupted as our own government. These folks do believe in Peace—Love and Understanding…They also love their children as much as we love our children. The people of Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Libya and many other countries, are violently dying from a ‘pathetic government action’ or because of________fill this in. You! Leaders fix this Now…

They are the children of this Universe and we have no choice but to be here—right now. So! This evening, switch on your tube, flip open your day-light or rustle your print substrate…Watch/read the show—the drama and the comedy and the truth and the lies…Do remember—your entertainment is history—including our pathetic government.

And! Beautiful you are…


Peace Harbor and War…

Once there was a Great Lake called Michigan and a harbor placed north of Milwaukee. While walking across a series of bridges, flocks of birds perch or take wing either nervous or called south by late summer’s notions of warmth. On beach-side rocks are scattered both large and small across sand and into the water. Lake calm—neither a ripple nor waves. Remember! Brain-cry to cross this lake and pass thru the Saint Lawrence Seaway then onto the North Atlantic and to sail away and to go home…

We walked these piers dressed as Naval Officers and as civilians and as warriors. We walked along the water-fronts in both Annapolis and in London. We stood on the bows of ships-of-sails and of merchant steamers and on the wooden decks of sinking ships damaged from fire-fight with broken masts and crater sized openings in both hull and deck. We survived and we physically drowned from war. We neither required air to breath nor understood fear beneath one hundred feet of water.

We listened while both fiddler and accordion played harmony on Bourbon Street without those cars and those trucks and those noises—too loud and too distracting. Cajun violins and songs of both happiness and of sorrow still dance and wail through the night and through these dreams.

We rounded the Horn of Africa and we watched those light-housed flashes bounce off Cape Hatteras. We traded cannon fire and death along the European Coastline and onto seas and ports protected by forts and friends and foes. We sailed from the great northern oceans as adventurers and ports away called us to find something unusual or new.

We gained shores with strong forces and off-loaded horses and infantry of sailors and marines of combat strength from five hundred ships. We marched and rode toward those carefully engineered and magnificent castles. There, became a leader of warriors and a master of nothing except  war and impending death. Time warps and the fires of arrows as skies darken with too many shafts and feathers and blood. The launch of spears and  skill opens great wounds and both men and horses combat one another and death. Life does stop and start without the knowledge of living or the hope of peace. This finality continues with ruin and the slap of spear to flesh and a fall from beast to sand and the continuation of living inside and outside the body. We gain the freedom of watching battle unattached and the non-fear of living and of dying. The fall ends and life stop/starts and freedoms continue through the strength of billions and the songs of battle and of the harmony of peace.

Still the fiddlers play on into the night and the drums cause those millions to dance and swirl and twirl and mock death until it all begins again and ends and begins and ends and begins…ad infinitum. Simple choice? Not to fall in Battle—but to fall in Love?

And! Beautiful you are…


Dream Touch and Curves…

He dreamed of you. He dreamed of you last night or this morning. You and there in a room off the main restaurant-bar place. Not real except in memory, in imagination and in places of sound and silence. For a few minutes, they were hiding as they always did, away from everyone. He searched through the few moments of privacy, where women and men or women and women or men and men go to touch, to smile, to whisper, to share and to be alive. In those precious moments of time touch and heartbeat, he was never a lonely soul in a dying world. You were life for a few heartbeats.

Her face and form danced within his dream. Tiny freckles, lips to laugh, eyes to dance and ears to hear the music of words and silence. Underneath a table and cloth they pressed together knee-to-knee. Then dream gone…Never explanations of nothing but life and why and gain and lost and oh…he thought you may have died and visited on your way star-side, just to let him know they were still…

Once upon a sailing ship, he saw her gown as the morning sun poured (if the morning sun can pour through anything) through a window and filled the doorway-sun-side framing her body as the opaque texture of her clothing changed because of the light, into a thin and transparent breeze across the shadow of her curves and her beauty and…never before had she been more naked or more clothed than she was on that morning.

Friends and caskets and funerals without flowers. Less mourners and small lines. What is left are folk circles talking and laughing and…Caskets usually look the same except for the little ones. These caskets are always too small and too heavy and hard to carry. A spiritual death?

This depends on the casket bearers and their knowledge of the little one. Inside those tiny boxes is a sorrow so; unexpected, unrequited, unresolved and not replaceable as the sorrow is unnatural. But here, inside the October City, the pressure of the cooker is a great and steaming beast as real as puppies in May and the death of a baby. It hurts and the parent so misses the child that is no longer with her.

However, puppy grows into dog and kittens lose interest in chasing streaks of yellow or green ribbon. Instead, they rest beneath the bright and benevolent sun, warm of bone and slowed with age. They live and they pass by naturally. They come into this world, into this cycle, into pleasure and into pain. And! With time their animation ends…

The mother cries against his shoulder and his shirt is damp because of her endless supply of tears. She is phantom. He fears that on this long walk down this even longer aisle  he may let her fall. This path has been followed too many times. The long walking aisle. There are those memories of other mothers and widows and fathers and of old men, and not so many of them anymore. He has never dropped anyone. Grief and grief and more grief and the gods listen to their cries and watch as tears enough fill basins as grows this insane sorrow.

No failure – because they lean against one another for balance and weakness and sorrow and memory and love.

Now! He walks with her down a carpeted aisle. It is an aisle-covered almost knee-deep in flowers that cannot be correct. They are too sweet a perfume to be real and they grow from metal stands and glass vases. Memory is a rattling frail movie without projector but still inside their minds. He has helped a few survivors through shattered hours of loss, of incredible loss, of baby loss, a sacred loss and a savaged proof that loss is not a sustainable reason for life. Loss is loss and hell is not replaced by heaven. It never disappoints those suffering the curses of death and sacred loss.

He is positive that he has never dropped anyone. Yes! Their precious sorrow and the gentle leaning into one another and following this worn carpet toward the words and tears that ends a little dream and begins another and well-oiled reality, is the now in this moment of life.

And! Beautiful you are…

Coming Soon: PME Radio Network

Dead Warriors – Just in Time…

Are we the tossed away ones, untouchable by hissed and missed sounds and by fates oft missed knock?

Be we man-husks? Are we the product of being puked up and out of a mother’s womb both a sin and a blessing? Are we the match of a mother’s cry of pain? Yet, we are still loved?

Sex without lust often creates a zygote equaling zero on a slanted/skewed number scale on both the (x) and the (y) axis. Zygote baby with thin points of less than zero and without a trace of a positive reason to live. Bless that Zygote before it bakes to human baby…

A modern sickness clings suction tight to the man-husk as strong as freezing snot clings to a frozen metal flagpole.

Travelers now somewhere tossed in time and alive somewhere near the center of dreams both dead and still alive. Air-breeders called by one god or the multitude of spacers that all at once claimed this place for their own sport and fun. We breed well and we number the many, soon to be destroyed or not slaughtered, because those once great warriors of old have since moved on to fight upon another world or died.

Air people still breath and dream and hope and live and die and remain in a strange yet familiar home. Air people have fought to be free, however, they still are but a notch in this eternal serfdom. And! Men should never die of age. These air-breeders must fight their way from existence into a proud and noble death; in battle and at war with…you pick an enemy.

Sail once again on dangerous seas where landfall is always just beyond that line where water meets the sky. To die at sea, is too a good death.

Anyway! We are Born-to-be-Wasted.

Seventh Seeker
In me
The wishmaster” from the “Wishmaster”…Nightwish