Buildings and Lines…

1631“It glittered and it gleamed
For the arriving beauty queen
A ring and a car
Now you’re the prettiest by far

No party she’d not attend
No invitation she wouldn’t send
Transfixed by the inner sound
Of your promise to be found

“Nothing or no-one will ever
Make me let you down”

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, if I am delayed

It’s divoon, oh it’s serene
In the fountains pink champagne
Someone carving their devotion
In the heart shaped pool of fame

“Nothing or no one will ever
Make me let you down”

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed

On the road to New Orleans
A spray of stars hit the screen
As the 10th impact shimmered
The forbidden candles beamed

Kiss them for me, I may be delayed
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed

Kiss them for me, kiss them for me
Kiss them for me, I may find myself delayed…”

“Kiss Them for Me” written by—Susan Ballion and Peter Clarke

Buildings without prestige? Are structures rich or without form—do they appear—a wealth of shape and of rhythm and rhyme? Often—the eyes of Spirits—active are tiny orbs of specks—flecks of—gold and silver coats many—or layered but still seen—by both beholder and by the blind.  Lines hard and simple—revealing and hidden by few turns and curves. Harmony of sound—clear of body wraps—substance of the—perfection of bone and of muscle. Ice streams descending—long straight lines—from roof angle to—concrete sidewalks. Planes and plain models—streaks of many colors—colored glass—long pass nightfall—and—long out of sight–right?

Civil Layers never completely die…As traditions slip away—layers are forgotten—in time—as are—dances and songs. Touch your lips—finger kiss—yours to mine—time space—moments’ race…And! Silence—careful sight—tonight—as sail catches—spark and runs—to sea—see? What word means—“perfect competition”—and—“optimal allocation of resources”—and— “efficiency”? Perfect competition—is perfect for—a winner—Optimal allocation of Resources—are never fairly distributed…Efficiency costs—somewhere in time—some reason gone—some ration—divine…

Do neoliberals believe-in-truth? While promoting—demoted forms of deregulated—regulations—speculation-in-ruin—penetrating permissive—and pervasive—invasions—of individual greed so powerful—as to completely—dismiss all values—and—the strength of—Collective efforts…Real wages—gone—the influences of Societies’ Unions gone—and a Right—Wrong shift—in Economics—in Politics—in Labor’s market—and in—the Anglo-American—progressive Culture—‘All gone.’ ‘Trickle down’—a damned—everlasting lie! And! Remember—‘there are no Blue Color Billionaires…’ Hey Now! Celebrate Capitalism—when it has become ‘Greed—Sorrow—Inequality—Persecution—Quicksand Power—and—the ‘Real Enemy of—The People.’

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-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…”

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Kiss Them For Me’…performed by Siouxsie and the Banshees

‘Highwayman’…performed by The Highwaymen

Pixel Light and Thunder Rolls…

21687Thunder rolls or the sound of it—somewhere out there—both distant and near—moves along lightning ridges—somewhere—between ground level places—and a sky mix of—-gray and dark gray and scattered light. Weather changes—thunder and lightning right now—and season’s end—begin another’s matter. The changing grays—the raining ways—and crispy streaks of—darkening days—giving night’s—chance-to-stay…And! Do we dream of love—as a sense-to-scents—because of love—or—do we do or not do—what we do—had we been or not been in love—ones-time or again? And! In death do we really cure—love’s cure—as love begins or never ends?

Pay attention to Life—call it a modern Life—and all this modernity—simply wears a body— completely out…Call a Life—themes and structures and verbs and existentialism and authenticity—unreal and where you ‘be’ and who you ‘is’—stories be—unfinished collection—rejection—objection—subjection—detected—inspected and revealed. And! Many writers have fashioned varieties of these—“That art is the attempt to render the highest justice to a visible universe”: Wondering if this justice is rendered with and without sunlight? Still a visible universe is visible without sight-to-see? Why not?

The gentle touch—of skin—brushed-wind—morning stars—and angel’s dust… And! These precious feet-touch—wings-speak—to start another path—leading little ones—to another—precious shore—sustained hope—and—just wishes for a moment—of ‘good day’…Uncertain in world-scream—uncertainties-wide—grief—bowed head—always—certain in—the certainty—of swift chaos—and—tears…And so—no doubt—be found—from ‘cross this sea—travelers see—candles bright—‘cross this night—a coming home-to-us—delight—light shined—‘Welcome’—from windows’ space—of ‘Safe Harbor’—not race—just place—to stop—and—stay awhile… Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships and places far away…This is here and between landings another beach—reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away…Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise—as waves dash high—into moonless sky—and crash along miles—of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again—and time marks—nothing—when endless and everlasting. So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

When the—you-of-me—becomes—a-never-ever—enemy-mine—and the boarders—between living and dying—fade away—as the greed-of-destruction—destroy—the greedy nations—of earth-sky—and—trades—of imbalanced—balance—earth-ceases—and—decreases—the rich-or-the-poor—or—the education of stupidity or—the ad infinitum of—better-me-than-you-god meaner-than your god—my way and your way—is not—a direction apart—instead—just another direction…Are we—not all travelers—scattered across—someplace-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 and mounted—on another pictured—perfect and—replicated glossy—imitation of sport manned—model swished—dish of corruption—with a splash—dash of hopeless—and—fanatic—fantasy. And! Does protection always equal servitude? When—brain knows—humanities’ finest moments…Love—Peace—Touch—and—Trust…No charges or gains or losses—Flashes between the realities—of reality—and those sweet spaces—just an instant prior—then lips touch—co-mingled breath—warms the cold—evening air. A rational—response—to rational—insanity. A second—when no one stares into empty space—without—noticing starlight’s—star bright—and—starships passing between—light-speed and arrival—silently appear. When everyone—everywhere—and—in-all-places— between skies—ground—realize—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—so—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. And! Does protection always equal servitude?

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

And! Beautiful you are…

“I’ll Stand By You”

“Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now
Don’t be ashamed to cry
Let me see you through
’cause I’ve seen the dark side too
When the night falls on you
You don’t know what to do
Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less

I’ll stand by you
I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you
I’ll stand by you

So if you’re mad, get mad
Don’t hold it all inside
Come on and talk to me now
Hey, what you got to hide?
I get angry too
Well I’m a lot like you
When you’re standing at the crossroads
And don’t know which path to choose
Let me come along
’cause even if you’re wrong

I’ll stand by you
I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you
I’ll stand by you
Take me in, into your darkest hour
And I’ll never desert you
I’ll stand by you

And when…
When the night falls on you, baby
You’re feeling all alone
You won’t be on your own

I’ll stand by you
I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you

I’ll stand by you
Take me in, into your darkest hour
And I’ll never desert you
I’ll stand by you
I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you
I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you
I’ll stand by you”…written by Chrissie Hynde

“I’ll Stand By You”…The Pretenders

Tick-Tock-Time…

78946

‘Home’

“Wish I were with you but I couldn’t stay
every direction leads me away
Pray for tomorrow but for today
all I want is to be home

Stand in the mirror, you look the same
Just lookin’ for shelter from the cold and the pain
someone to cover, safe from the rain
and all I want is to be home

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”by Dave Grohl

Tick-the-tock—Tock-the-tick—Timed—counters red—flashing—descending time—without reason—without rhyme. Closed—too touched—to feel—die-to-live—to-live-to-die—not to try—not to fly—only to—tick-the-tock—and—tock-the-tick—and cry. Meetings—Children die—Meetings—Spirit fly—Migrants’ horror—News Reporters’—Cry—Die—Sigh—still spirits’ fly… Seas of Immigration—Wait—just wait longer and it will all go away—because people will always die…Casualties are always expected? ‘Better-Them-than-Us’… WTF? So many—good folks—are continually afraid—in danger—facing violence and unnecessary death—So many good people—leave Their Homes—too often—too many—to die—and children—Our world of—Children…WTF? Because of religions—governments—WTF? And! The only reason ‘we-be’—is for our—Children…And! ‘Nothing else matters.’

  • From Norm Chomsky during an interview with Simone Chun…

“Do you believe that Americans would support another war?”

Chomsky: “The public is easily amenable to lies: the more lies there are, the greater the support for war. For instance, when the public was told that Saddam Hussein would attack the U.S., this increased support for the war.”

“Do you mean that the media fuels lies?”

Chomsky: “The media is uncritical, and their so-called the concept of objectivity translates into keeping everything within the Beltway. However, Iraq was quite different. Here, there were flat-out lies, and they sort of knew it. They were desperately trying to make connections between Saddam Hussein and 9/11.”

“Do you feel that there will be any significant change in the foreign policy of the United States after President Obama?”

Chomsky: “If Republicans are elected, there could be major changes that will be awful. I have never seen such lunatics in the political system. For instance, Ted Cruz’s response to terrorism is to carpet-bomb everyone.”

“Why does the United States undermine efforts to reach an agreement with North Korea?”

Chomsky: “I don’t think that the United States cares. They just assume that North Korea will soon have nuclear weapons.” If you look at the record, the United States has done very little to stop nuclear weapons. As soon as George W. Bush was elected, he did everything to encourage North Korea to act aggressively. In 2005 we were close to a deal, but North Korea has always been a low priority issue for the United States. In fact, look at the entire nuclear weapons strategy of the United States: from the beginning, in the 1950s, the United States didn’t worry much about a nuclear threat. It would have been possible to enter into a treaty with the one potential threat—the Soviet Union—and block development of these weapons. At that time, the Russians were way behind technologically, and Stalin wanted a peace deal, but the U.S. didn’t want to hear the USSR’s offer. The implication is that the U.S. is ready to have a terminal war at any time.”

‘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—“Free Market”…Government—not required? Without government— No ‘Free Market—can exist.’ It cannot be—without civilization…’True competition’ is a wild ‘dance of survival’ and—only the largest and the strongest win? Oops! Civilization is defined by rules—Rules create markets—and ‘Oh No’—governments’ are— the rule ‘Generator.’ And! Please Do Not believe—that if your paycheck is too small to survive without (2) + jobs and your partner cannot be a ‘stay-at-home parent’ you deserve this—And! That if a precious few—earn billions-of-dollars—for your work—with no sweat or blood—they deserve this—No way! Rules have been altered…Rules have been skewed and the American Government is to blame—it can’t intrude—on a ‘Free Market’—since it must—create that—‘Free Market’…The American Government—creates all ‘free market rules from Our legislatures—Our administrative agencies and our Courts…And! Until they are 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—if Preachers-of-Fear—and—Creatures-of-Hate and a—Collection of Hope—Fraud—Reality-show-Freaks—and Presidential ‘Wanna—Mights’—are nothing—more-or-less—than—distractions—entertainment-to-lure-both-you-and-me—from Legislature failure? And! Pillage or plunder? And! Still—Knowing that—Love Is—or—‘Nothing else—will matter.’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Home’…performed by The Foo Fighters

 

Fluid As Liquid Pours…

14259

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

Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume—replace—replenish— and then—recall. Surprise! How we shift—habits and ways—allowing for empty space—of balance—restore. Darkness seeps—slowly into day—end bright…Night fills lighted places and turn-on bulbs—share grays—shades many—always simulate and always fail—to cheer the sun…And! Rain does pour from sky—onto roof—through spirals both—short or long—gutters or just eaves—from leaves’ soak—or arcs—golden tricks of night light—inside—as outside water—splashes ground—collects—sidewalk—flooded cracks—into pools of wet—and of—mud carvings—and pavement soaks.

Still here—beneath these heavens—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—non-fear. 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—the Witch of life—and taste—her creations…Goddesses do create—Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns—while passing—Spirits-to-flesh—and back again…Spirits do form—and 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…

‘These are summer’s small ones. Little boys—a lake—a sun—a length of blond hair—red hair— freckles and frogs. Brothers—little and younger—play in tiny waves-too small-to thunder toward sandy shore and pine trees. And wind—wanders through those pines—growing in rows above—rocky places where shadows of— fern and grasses cling and mingle with—swimming life—aquatic things—rainbow-colored trout and fish brothers—hoping to catch…These rafting days—orange and yellow circles—filled with air and noise across a quiet bay. These are singing days! Shouts and shrieks and whistles—‘cross the harbor call—where wood-hulled ships rest—bell claps—rocking waves and setting sails. Snake twins—those boys—brothers of blood and the eternal bonds—of water and of mud. Water children—held above the line—knowledge buoyant—unafraid and free—defeating for the playtime—gravity and restrictions of—a drier Earth. Sunshine—West-turns and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs have forgotten—paradise found—summer’s little ones. So small! Beneath the scheme—of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars! Filling lake—sparkles and silence—gems dancing and laughing diamonds…Tiny—brothers’ sleep fast and safe—within their dreams. And! A father listens—to the brief and passing sounds—of laughter.’

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

‘You and I—and life about—as we shout ‘Love’ skyward—nothing stops our—Dance—You and I— Together! We know—nothing exists—without Love’s Power—Tower—Flower and Life… Life ignited—united—delighted—excited…We touch—hand-to-heart-to-spirit—and—let Eternal Dance begin…’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Send Me an Angel’…by Klaus Meine and Rudolf Schenker—(Scorpions)

 

‘National Anthem’…by Lana Del Rey

Hordes of Rage Street…

Yusuf Islam“Peace Train’

“Now I’ve been happy lately
Thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be
Something good has begun
Oh, I’ve been smiling lately
Dreaming about the world as one
And I believe it could be
Some day it’s going to come
‘Cause out on the edge of darkness
There rides a peace train
Oh, peace train take this country
Come take me home again
Now I’ve been smiling lately
Thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be
Something good has begun
Oh, peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train
Come on the peace train
Yes, peace train holy roller
Everyone jump upon the peace train
Come on the peace train
Get your bags together
Go bring your good friends too
‘Cause it’s getting nearer
It soon will be with you
Now come and join the living
It’s not so far from you
And it’s getting nearer
Soon it will all be true
Oh, peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train
Come on the peace train
Peace train
Now I’ve been crying lately
Thinking about the world as it is
Why must we go on hating
Why can’t we live in bliss
‘Cause out on the edge of darkness
There rides a peace train
Oh, peace train take this country
Come take me home again
Oh, peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train
Come on the peace train
Yes, peace train holy roller
Everyone jump upon the peace train
Come on, come on, come on
Yes, come on the peace train
Yes, it’s a peace train”…by Yusuf Islam

When peering through keyholes—of anecdote and description—we may discover—scatters and bits-of-bytes—self—no self—us—not us—and always—a something—somewhere—tunnel version—or panoramic—exhaustively great—grated spreads—facts of fictions—truths and not— exactly correct. Along thin—streaks of asphalt—and concrete side-way—the sidewalks of ‘Rage Street’ fill—with howlers and prowlers—simple symphonies—fiddler bows—and drum-sticks—silver and crowds—of the comers and the goers—of the blenders—and the unwanted—the home folk—and the strangest—strangers—foreign—homecoming—and the giggle-of-mirth.

We are an instant in Time—Lined in rows of minutes…We are The People—Eternal Spirits all—We are The People—We are not Religions—We are The People—We are not Governments—We are The People—-We are not War—We are The People—We are not Aliens upon this Earth—We are The People—Children of the Universe—We are The People—We have the Right-to-be-Everywhere—We are The People—And! Governments All—Hear us Call—We are The People—All-of-Us—Right Now! Tomorrow Time—‘tis still the Crime—We are The People—We are the—Choice of the—Spin-of-the-Twirl—and—Spirits-of-the-Universal Swirl…So! Let us-be-written—So! Let-us-be Done…

And! Beautiful you are…

“Peace Train”…by Yusuf Islam…

 

“Dangerous Type”…by Ric Ocasek—performed by The Cars

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

Even Here—We Belong…

WL_591‘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.”

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

Our People—our many—our injured—our women—our children—our homeless? We are Refugees—the running ones— from—strategic Genocide…White towers—and—meetings—and planning—and—meetings—and planning—and—still we die. And—Still! We are—refugees—of Strategic Genocide—praying—dying—crying—and—again planning—denying—and more Ivory Tower—White-world—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 needed—for our blood—to inside flow—where blood belongs—and—to ‘synchronize-in-equivalence’—with—sweet—Earth-spin—and—with-each-other. We are—so many—bodies—Lost-Broken-and-Forgotten. War is now! War is yesterday! War is tomorrow! Today—‘we free-fall’—toward—acceleration—and—annihilation—of—Everyday. And! The Witches of Creations Cry!

Fools and folly—of off-world—stops—our only way—to continue—to—be. Foolish—they—fail to see—their vision—be—a fade—into star-stream—and—moon-dust. They remove—our Love…He looked—up and said—”Scan the sky-sweet baby. Must leave… They will kill you—So somehow—go to them—and you will not die.” She too looked—and—only—saw his face— “Without you, I am dead…Without us—we end. Without you—without me—no Baby—and without—we are…” Ivory Towers—bring—Strategic Death—and Plans—to meet—and—Meetings-to-Plan? Still! Bank wide and Somme River wet—falls—physicals—thousands more—spirits all—stories’ lost—to-be-or-too-lost-to-see—tucked inside—smoke—wiz-bangs—teach—life chokes—barbed wire fears—and—evening tears—‘cross—‘Crimson Fields’—a million—one day long—lives—too precious—too quickly—gone. And! The Witches of Creations Cry!

We began—before the stars—And together we melt—into the mist…”We-Be’—Fire and shadows—‘cross a sky—Colored moons—of blood—of gold—and—simple-songs and thudding drums. Stars ‘light up’—home—and—we move by wind—across this place…In sunlight waves and dancing twists—of silver rain and stretching space—and—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—failing dream. Warming suns—just—days ago—with salted mist—and—taste of tongue—and—passion light—and—times of rain—and—wolf cries shout—of sands and home. Across this universal stretch—window shine—and—candle’s light—and let us touch—another peace—of safety sleep—and— lover’s reach.

‘The Trail of Tears’

“The sunrise above them
As they make their way
In the early morning light
No backward glance
Frightened of tomorrow
On a lonely road
Shrouded in misted rain
The vanquished race
They felt the touch of loneliness
They felt the dread of fear
And found the path of wisdom
Along the trail of tears
So many ways of falling
A thousand barefoot tribes
Who trusted promises
No resting place
March into the wilderness
Time their fate decides
Leaving behind them
Treasures and gold
The sun sets before them
In another land
Withered in spirit
The struggle ends”…By Noel Ó Dúgáin

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Trail of Tears’…by Clannad

Natures of Spins Begins…

‘Siúil A Rún’

“Siuil, siuil, siul a run,
Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin
Siuil go doras agus ealaigh lion
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan”

“I wish I was on yonder hill
‘Tis there I’d sit and cry my fill,
And every tear would turn a mill,
I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,
I’ll sell my only spinning wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel
I’ll dye my petticoats, I’ll dye them red,
And ’round the world I’ll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead,
But now my love has gone to France,
To try his fortune to advance;
If he e’er comes back, ’tis but a chance,
I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I had my heart again,
And vainly think I’d not complain”…written by Clannad

What causes us—to be happy…Who would dare control happiness—a government—a person—a religion? Our own little inner fascist—tells us what and what— not to do? Brain washed since birth—tis the survival of ‘a’ pack…However—all packs—from everywhere—run same—eat same—same be—we—fast-slow-weak-strong-hungry-not-smarter than—a what—still—love little ones—And! Maybe only reason ‘We’ be—donchaknow…Imagine—just imagine—that—when we wake-up—Love-Peace-Understanding—always was the world—of reality—and we had accidentally been—watching a horror film—in a theater of hell…For entertainment?

Draw now—pictures that love—these caves—and—these walls and these—tribes of we—and me—and us—and them—and—before the storm—and—after the end—of rains—of winds and bumping things—and—silent shrieks—once loud—and—now absent—from ear and fear and tear. Sounds—of life drawn—‘cross a million miles—of rock—and rolling till—another—day of storms—and—another night—of passion—shadow dance— beneath a—star-lighted ceiling. Once—again share moments—and lives—and—the power of life. Blood and love—is the matter—of the matter—and—the survival of these—survivors of wherever—gods and whatever storms.

Is Spin World—good—is good—is balance of wheel—syncopation true—symmetry—cut grass—to lawn—green grow—too-to-‘fro’—then cuts again—to match—eye’s sight—wronged—or right? Rip parts—animals do—due—to survival need—bleed—seed—then wronged—or corrected—detected—consumed—only to be replacements? Needs to cheat—each-to-other—one or two—then more—too many—score—before—others-do-to-you—survival required—to win—to lose—too many—to count or rout—before—the over-of-out—begins again? Then spin—us twirls—of balance-speak—world perfection—balance squeak—when one thing dies—to others—survives—the lies—of imperfect—Gods’ whirls—imperfect twirls—nothing loss and nothing gains…Then ‘we all’—again— remain…

“The family is the natural and fundamental unit of society and needs to be protected by society and the State.”(Article 16 (3) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights)… Slums are the creations of  Capitalist Elites…And! Maybe Truth is a Fiction of the Mind?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Siúil A Rún’…performed by Celtic Woman

Did We Once—Only Paper Be?

R_169“Someone ought to do it, but why should I?” — “Someone ought to do it, so why not I?” “Between these two sentences lie whole centuries of moral evolution”…Annie Besant

“The fake gods sat down in a circle
As if around a three-legged table
it was necessary to reach the last extremes
it was necessary that the air burn in whispers
for the pencil to start moving
There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
the voices are the same the thunder
is the same roaring in our ears for
on one side and the other of the paper it said
there is no death
There is death though in the paper where
the muffled pencil moved
Only in the paper only in the shrouding paper”… Annie Besant

Did we once—character dance across these lines? Booked volumes away—to go—stay—in place of other ones—or other twos—or threes—more or less than begin—to end and back again—to place—race along pages—seeks-to-keep—story from too-soon-to-end—and—then again—back—again. We are—chronic spirits—place roamers—‘cross round-about—earth space—spaced—just-so—as to touch—and never run—‘smack into others—over faces—of earth twirl and planet whirl…Instinctively we—never slam—we touch face—sometimes lips—hand swish—just to express being—and never—to announce passing-to—other sides and other rides. We never mean—to rise—arrivals here—when there may seem better—than rather—though we simply happen—to be us—as weather often happens to—us all—everyone. And! Sometimes we are recognized in rhythm—and in rhyme—sometime—but not until we understand—the words—we sing—and these pieces—that peace—chunks varied—in bringing—ringing-to-ears—inclined to decline—war-riches as violence—reminds us—to leave these races—and migrate—to bloodless shoreline—and new chance—dances—just slips—rides before us—as we leave dying—behind…Strange—Western shores—are sometimes doors—away from wars—that colonization—delivered to us—mere—scant—rants—only a few years ago…

Socialism is not a creation of death—Socialism is simply another way to handle money—to not horde—to not lord—too simple—to understand—when Capitalism—damn-dam—most-of-us—to slaves of wage—with nothing to give—as we end—and they continue. And! If the Mediterranean Sea—is drained into—farmland—would the land be everyone’s profit or just the Drainers-of-their-Containers? Is it also—possible—that a-way-of-life—call it an—Industrial War Machine—maintains—Laws-of-Capitalism—Evils—be—either—Democrats or Republicans—in a faraway country called—the United States of America…And! South America—is just as important—as—North America…Though—the Industrial—War Machine—is the—-‘destabilize r’—of everything good—honest—democratically elected—rejected—inspected and dejected…Capitalism—has destabilized—the non-western world—and—destroyed the lives of—millions of good—honest—families—and why—and where—and why again—to—begin-an-end-only-to-start-it-all-again…

Per Pope John II— Centesimus Annus: “Ownership of the means of production, whether in industry or agriculture, is just and legitimate if it serves useful work. It becomes illegitimate, however, when it is not utilized or when it serves to impede the work of others in an effort to gain a profit which is not the result of the overall expansion of work and the wealth of society, but rather is the result of curbing them or of illicit exploitation, speculation or the breaking of solidarity among working people. Ownership of this kind has no justification and represents an abuse in the sight of God and humanity.”

Abusing—the Rights—of the Workers-of-the-World—is a Crime—against Humanity…Like—Genocide and Sociocide—Speculators—destroy—Life and Freedom of People—everywhere—On this sweet planet. We are—free if we—are wage-slaves—anyway?

On Carta-Spin—a twirl of world-look—a revolution of sunshine—moonshine—tucked between—dusk or dawn and—somewhere outside—Sol-speak and near—Star shine—Police—the—Political Group—only serve—to—self-servitude—hating all—without real power—rich—were they—and elect—by them…Their roll—vast—their rock—solid and while—supporting—a demon—democracy—of token—spoken—lies and spies—nothing “of the people—for the people—or by the people—never-ever existed—no matter how—spin-spun—fought-thought—taught—or sought—And! While hungry folk—began to understand—their representation—accounted—for no—accountability and hope—was—viewed by arrogance—lies—bravado and skies—slime’d’ freedom—existed in words—not deeds-of-needs—that elites-of -few could-would obtain everything—anything—anyway…Realizing this…again Revolution follows—the followers—‘cross Cart-Spin’s heaven’s dark and sunless days…Again—hope—stops—blood flows…

‘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.”

“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

We are all—Universal Children…We have the Right to be—Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born to Run’…by Bruce Springsteen

Broken Glass And Beaker Folk…

4‘Memories that fade away
Have not left their mark
But you live on, every single day
In many different ways

It’s the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny

Suddenly we’ve lost the force
To close our cursed doors
No one seems to realise
That wolves are in disguise

It’s the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny

Your engine was so strong
But the road was just too long
Hope is not the end
So never lose the faith

As long as we can say
They can never take away
Our freedom, the most precious thing we’ve ever had
The reward from the blood, we’ve ever shed

His quest for higher truth, life of eternal youth has just begun,
in spite of being on the run
Many virgins wait for him to come
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny
Our destiny’… ‘Safeguard to Paradise’ by Epica

  • (Illegitimate: not carried out, made, or constituted in accordance with the law, the rules governing a specific activity, or social norms and customs…Unlawful—Illegal—Illicit—Dishonest—Prohibited—Criminal—Banned—Proscribed—Forbidden…) Wondering if—‘Being’—is Illegitimate?

The Glass Beaker Folk—glass handlers all—gather ‘round petri dish—dishing out samples—of small fleshy beings—and large bark folk—decide to mix—and their creations—are forms-of-forms and other-forms of twin-spin shapes—‘cross planets’ twirl—simple complexities—arriving with baby cries—little howl—-And! Wondering—if one—stares into eyes-of-disarray—one—finds an honest illusion—without confusing-disillusion—or solution—keep-seek—or chose-to-lose? Wondering if the gods of Beaker Folk—created—creations—with wrong formula—uses and mixes of—humor and myth…Immaculate contraptions—birth—and dissonance for—every-other—sun—sister-brother—reasons and rhyme—along with bottled time—working cords—yesterday’s—today’s and tomorrows’ sighs.

A historian—wrote that future’s Child— “did not need to be told that the angel of death had passed over the land; they had heard the beating of its wings”. So! Wondering if—‘The reason the Dead—do not return—nowadays—is the boredom of it.’ One fare-to-fix—One fix-to-fair…Life is precious through any form—Life animates…Every style-type of flesh—be stone—bark—smooth—fur—as sweet life goes—becomes and ends—and becomes again…’Tis good donchaknow…

Stand beneath moon light —before-the-form—of Draped One and cast motions—gentle designs ‘cross this easy night. Be tall—be short—be large—be small and Be—gather to hear the—soft waves scatter ‘cross—shore and land—beneath feet—bare or fur-covered—both—warmed—in the air of night—and—safe inside the—darkness of an easy—light. Watch shadows of bridge span—and steel—as wooden shapes—pass underneath those—towers of man—created when young species roamed—earth-bound and—the constructions of shapes and water passages—filled the world—before—the tearing days—and—summer’s song. A night bird cries—and another—winged one settles—protected within thick tree grasses—inside those shadows—of the moon.

Once Star Child said—‘That along a Martian Ridge—one line—eye stretched far—was a stutter of thorn—then throne—then grain—then throne—then repeated—until distance—failed seeing and sight disappeared when ridge—merged sky—and—matter dropped—from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones—Writers’ names etched’—crystal tags—attached—along the top-front—of every throne.’ The Spacer—thought these folk—may have belonged—to some type of ‘Club’…Creative Spirits do—gather—one-time-or-maybe-two—to watch sky—etch forms—dissolve—appear and disappear—while often dancing ‘cross—so many places—to many races—as often they appear—only to disappear—and reappear—again—once-in-a-while—you know…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Safeguard To Paradise’—by Epica