When States Avoid Plagues…

1265“If a state is to avoid the greatest plague of all—I mean civil war, though civil disintegration would be a better term—extreme poverty and wealth must not be allowed to arise in any section of the citizen body, because both lead to both these disasters.”Plato regarding the dangers of inequality…

In fundamental stages, atoms occur in shapes, in assemblies and via the methods through which they coalesce. We! Atoms ‘gone wild’ write by mingling the letters of our alphabet in unique ways to construct tragedies, epic poems, comedies and outlandish legends. The combinations of rudimentary iotas fashion our world in its own limitless diversity.

These are the ‘Coming In’ times. The ides of moments ready-to-flash and center-of-day-to-ready-play and anticipate reasons. Then discover that life does happen covalently. No rejoice to understand or withstand and never required and still Ok. Momentum drinks to spill before air or fear tastes and waste’s rush before shriek-spear-kill where motion ends as hanging cloth covers wired thorns along ruined ditches of rain fill and maybe flows from boot smooth flat-to puddles of blood-mud waiting for sun-play and dry air and wiz-bangs and death.

Creative Creatures do gather one-time-or-maybe-two to watch sky etched 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…

Plato wrote in ‘The Republic’ (Book 7): “that men are chained at the bottom of a dark cave and only see shadows cast upon a wall by a fire behind them. They think that this is reality. One of them frees himself, leaves the cave and discovers the light of the Sun, and the wider world. At first the light, to which his eyes are unaccustomed, stuns and confuses him. But eventually he can see and returns excitedly to his companions to tell them what he has seen. They find it hard to believe.”

“We took the blood of the earth
and fell in love with death
with life itself as an excuse.

Black is the sunlight shimmering below;
it flows through life and the guilt we share

We are hiding in chorus as starry eyes close,
and seasons part in farewell;
‘because we drained her blood, then forgetting her face
to hide from everyone” …from ‘The Last Hour of Ancient Sunlight’ by Draconian

Burn with this exceptional song as extraordinary fog ‘cross liquids edged with split sanded reeds as from hill high vantage; pieces of fractured stone, as the broken rims of splintered faces silently shriek of spoil, of harm and of destruction. Three ships obscure the ternary ceaseless slivers of shiver war to collect or to evade again. Two townships too pounded, still need needless sorts to find forms alive or fallen upright. And! From waterside cannons a fortress sky high, twins slam shells and balls as death upon us falls. They; then us and not and again, they fall with and upon us. Ship pitches wood and steel and spirits toward sinking side with mast blast splinters and holes enough to die.

We paint and then leave for the ‘Coming In’ time. Neon glitters and shape-shifters-sighted-one’s blend against leafless limbs where standing trees fall and scatter ‘cross Viaduct’s crumbled-tumbled stretches of stone tops, cream colored rocks and pieces of dust and rust and the shadows of ruin or waste. Choirs race wagons of faded reds and oranges and brown streaks of muted yellow splash; again blend and rend groomed clones of oiled twilight clouds and fading light as the protector moons of three rise alongside globe line and stain shorelines ahead of the lubricious briny; fill with salted rains without sounds, and deprived of life.

Water and butterflies and beetles with purple shades and birds emerge from mist and race about lofty heavens or nethermost luminosities. Straightway, touch the life that flies, and from colors of lavender light into gull-white gray and totally liquid beside a sparkle of shoreline polish and moonlight bright. We! From spiritual linkage promptly to Earth, and now once more to rush into struggle to situate and into competition. Observe the exhausted and the dying ones. They come this way and fly away. Then! Gather here the shaped-shifters and one-sided sighted eyes to watch till wizards of crashes and dashes cease games of pieces on ground as our Witches appear or disappear into smoke and mirrors and magic shaped ghosts. Toast those; by those lifted glasses, memorized memorialized and as quickly forgotten as recalled.

“You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still… You turn me on”… ‘Still You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

And! Beautiful you are…

Controlling Cybernetic Creations…

Are we possessed with humanity? We discover pasts, revise mindsets, twist sensibilities and redefine divinities. Considerable realization revolves ‘round us. Are ‘We’ the greatest beings in space?

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world must kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these, you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” ―by Ernest Hemingway…

We are creations emergent into alternative maturities. While discovering novel advances to the previously known, we have gathered quarks, black holes, particles of light, the waves of space and virgin molecular assemblies in unfamiliar organic units. We are not subjecting apart. We are a fragment of something whole and constantly changing. By noticing, we realize that the undiscovered is greater than the established. To learn is to determine novel ways to realize additional encounters. Some are immediate. And! Some are creations gone. To recognize is to see we are not a universal’s majority. Space is curvilinear and our cosmos is spun from juddering quantum granules. We are currently extant within these fabrications. We are lighting at nightfall. We swiftly vanish.

Dragging the lines of surf’s collapse and climbing as waves dash lofty into moonless sky then fold along miles of sand and shoreline. Seas inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting.

Early daybreak calls are soft ‘gainst ear and progress darts and goes and stops or starts. Ponder no thought and chance as being ensues in sweet drifts of quiet seashores and moonlight bright. Waves gently subtract sandcastles and winds wane as eastern stars’ twinkle and today’s day traces future pauses and beginnings. We are barefoot children of yesterday’s todays and tomorrow’s sunlight bright. We allow dances and little pawmarks in semi-wet sand cool and without ever-care-never. Pipers play and kids dance into ragged-sorted-nights and when they swirl-twirl, Goddess flashes smiles as thunder those claps-of-tiny-hands and rings join little songs and glee as youngsters laugh and sing. A piper of the raggedy sorting day, the role of rolls and the rejoinder some; to ‘follow dance’ behind-beside and before, the flute of silver crafts and the simple-dancing song. ‘A better day,’ they shout, and everyone agrees—if you please.

Survival’s portion portioned and scattered across accepting simplicity and variances in dependence linguistically controlled or by muted shower, gentle starts or rumors of fire-fly wings and quiet lighting. Wait! Senses closed to thunder rolling ‘cross divided skies as secret streaks the sea and roll into the silent spaces between raindrops and life. ‘Fix your standard on fact.’ Science perpetually gambols with belief, doctrine, delusion, and dogmatic obliviousness. Once and frequently; these momentarily wins, something-of-else or another choice-to-follow. Crossroads-to-chance, sparks-to-light and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about or perhaps-maybes. Real sea, we’ll see with additional water-ships and a multitude of places far away. This is here and landings on different beaches reached are promptly neglected.

And! Beautiful you are…

Ascending Wind-up Stairs…

Walking hulks sulk and climb ending stairs skyward to beyond this rabble-rouse and quiet noise. When money creeps and changes; news leaks near power peaks alongside east-west motions and of the upward downs of truths returned. Word crests someplace in this somewhere time when twirling letters rhyme and time-to-know-to-yes remain-the-same. Confusions great relate to money swap and hanging pauses while causes of creation sells and souls pursue uninformed uniformity.

Touch me with Sing-Song poems and forget this world and find me with voice as we two too need those requiring words of hope and verse of love’s together-forever in dark dancing with rhythms in our minds and drumbeats in our hearts…

Demons and Angels dance same pin-top-tip-stop, one fall and catch below and climb those ending stairs and bop atop short pins with needles threaded truths dreaded and ever-speak thru noise and sporadic song. Sing speak the swirl-of-twirling lies. Truth man says he is and not-the-same and this time plain, and this fact not creations-to-entertain or too confused. So! Believe in the truth man and the bogus man and the bogey man and the politics of fearless lies. Believe in fearless fates and drown in something to purchase and throw away. And!  Acquire those accepted trusts in the end or assemble again, products to buy and this time keep-and hold and tossed away as ‘we’ proceed in need of failures and of successes.

Brush eye-lash-to-face and form dance in dreams and seems as long pause with no cause are without voices. Just breath-to-breathe and see tiny freckles and lips to laugh and eyes to quest together. Visions and quiet word songs with gentle space and no race and blends of silence and whisper-speaks. Dreams-then-dream quest cease and increase those creases in time as curtains’ climb and paces die. Visit and speak of ways of star-side streak of starlight sweet of gentle unions and love. Life lives and mingle-tingles thru heart touch good as ring-circles and fancy, dances into love’s rhythm and rhyme.

We are of the emerald seas. We belong to the black sands and tides that pull ‘gainst current as the alignment of this moonlight is perfect while stepping across another dustless night. Creations’ Witch creates those perfect notions and motions as she rewrites truth and confuses lies. The necessity of fire and cave to survive this night and live into another day is now, and through tomorrow’s light will create another constraint.

Freedom weeps. How may walls separate hearts’ hope and families? Walls of fears and falling tears stain and remain as trains move up sun runs ‘cross these sailing winds toward better sound coming round ‘cross these faded boarders toward better moments and toward better days. Does objective truth deny that government is the provider of enjoyments and new progress accepts enjoyments that may become ’entitlements’ and ‘entitlements may become—’the right of the people?’ Why! Do the standards for human rights disappear? And! still elites determine what constitutes without the ‘Constitution’ the Rights of Humanity? These Elites are also the ‘Body Politic’ purchased and taught-bought, traded and faded, commanded and demanded until the ‘rights-of-the-people’ are not products of objective truth embracing relativism but are the results of coercion and brutal power. Political power equals how much gun smoke pours from barrels pointed toward the people? If true! Then how must political power continue or be limited as smoke evaporates into precious air? And! Must this ‘universal continuation’ continue.

Ages past we became sponges; gifted and gregarious and bowed through insight and anchored to two worlds, one frightful and one enchanted. We are filled-to-edge with truth and with wisdom? Both’ are scary and fearful as wisdom sometimes becomes you, as age bends body yet frees spirit twirl. From the twins of two a power of life sparks, and alone-never places begin and fixes end. We together have already accomplished everything. And! Magically we all pass on!

Physics common reach and teach uncommon words with boundless risk and honest computation, manipulation contrived and derived through common wisps-of-wisdom exacted, reacted, contacted and rejected or projected. Creations twists boundlessly and meld into simple sense or corrected logic. Paradigm shatters as whisper-matters while sail ships and storm’s tatters, up righted-ignited-provided-decided and once-feared now tears along with seed sowing acknowledged knowing either real or almost correctly forgotten and then remembered.

Are we not all travelers scattered across someplace-somewhere? And! Does protection equal servitude? We know humanities’ finest moments.  Love and Peace and Touch and Trust.

And! Beautiful you are…

A Common Collective of Creations…

‘Deportation Forever Continues! This is an immoral and illegal and wicked course of Global Separation and Global Apartheid.’ We are all Children of the Universe and We have the Right-to-be Everywhere…

“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.”by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

 “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

Realm begins and Emerald Beams blaze. Blue corn stocks are piled throughout Giant Ridge, for five hundred miles across and stopping because height stops, and sky begins. “Tis reach to stay and say this place is climbing high and growing large while from spinning barge we ‘cross this sky bright and into eternal night. Everywhere snow: large flakes and small swirl ‘round this alley wide and middle dreary to hushed elegance on both ends where streets begin and alley’s end… Bitter away from streetlights. And! Silent away from rider less paths where foot high white bounces lands and covers asphalt ways and concrete walks. Quiet so! Go no shadow pale wall crawl or dark creep while light speak is too scattered to form round interruptions of snow motion descending to bounce and to stop.

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

“Cross desert sand landings and every eye is weeping…” author unknown…

If the prescience and means to a concrete and inevitable series of immediate twinkles disappear than mankind’s lost of vision and goal-oriented proximity results in intellectual and moral collapse. Constructs vanish from our conceptual progressions and from our communal distresses. Perception separates as the incapacity to reason and proceed with principles disappear. A principle equals something primary or a general truth or a fundamental. All integrities and essentials are contingent upon these standards.

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

Called a Populist Revolution not formed and not aware of scattered notions; neither right, often damaged nor very wrong. Global causes are formations and often cause Global pause. To deport our people, present and 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 that our people create. Deportation is no longer an issue of domestic policy. To relocate the energy of reliable effort and trustworthy labor, to expatriate our associates from a United-Scatter-of-States inches close but ideals-miles-separated; ruins life’s functions, when globalization and the restructuring of ubiquitous economics, creates a just and beautiful and very purposeful need for global migration.

Recall the terror of displacement? Shifts immediately influence the perfect essence. Exhaustion defeats the human both; physically and psychically.  Amplified inequity causes angry and discontented societies. Restrictions of hope and greed achieves nothing. Fleeting feats cannot continue indefinitely and forever is unimaginable. Transition thinking! Creations of conventional competitors forever abolishes the collective prospects of common people…And! We are the common people of this home and of this world and of this ephemeral flash-in-time…

—-Maybe we are born comprehending everything and due to becoming a corporeal being, all is forgotten then gradually recollected within brief lifecycles. Visualize what we might recall over one thousand years of incessant existence?

And! Beautiful you are…

Reaching Summer Minds…

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

To look for and destroy others due to divergences in shape, in scope, in tint, in notions or faith is intention with no ‘assonance or intelligence’. The colored fibers of an arras must be many and without reason, for life has no meaning if lacking variety and noise and without sing choirs and time.

Recall younger days when single word shapes, we discussed with countless deliberation; is good in young minds, and it is also good to be an idealist and always better to implement, then to watch struggles decrease and die. Intent is formal rhythm as informal ventures and voices we share often, by a multitude of straight forward mind-speak. Shriek and speak, peak, and realize the up-down issues of a United People or a Distant Society, and just listen to murmured fabrications in the dark.

Is Dancing-in-the-dark prudent practice, or is unawareness as idyllic as lingering to trace flowers with eyes-to-face-to-ground and then to drift away into silence? Principles determine how to restrain shares of humanity’s essentials, wants, hopes, and fears. While the Constitution of America is noble, it is an impractical paradigm. Its structures are impossible to apply since values adjust swiftly. Standards amend and are either normally just or abnormally unjust. We are conscious of the ‘Military Industrial Complex’. Will the current actions of 2020, imply the termination of any hopes to continue our righteous and upright and ethical Freedoms? Freedom’s endurance or America’s Dreams-of-Direction is its independent spirit. Justice be a damnable notion to quantify, to find and to practice properly. This Republic may not be clever enough to follow this fragile and undoubtedly corruptible Representative Democracy.

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

A lighthouse, countless lifetimes gone, spark as great beams sweep across sight line discharge and disappear only to eternally reappear. Pulsars pulse power ‘cross a sparkling firmament. A blood moon appears, and ears perk for Wolf’s lunar call. Cold and bright stars spot night beyond rooftops and always brighter as moonlight slips closer to the earth. Early morning and snow curves to white silver and interwoven shadows of leafless limbs and long trunks stand between the moon and ground touch. Black way now white; a gentle declination from community’s frontage and down another moderate rise.

Being afraid to exist is the notion of moving through a barely recollected time of future’s fate and prior to another trip-in-time. Government is controlling an alienated society and the anterior faith in promises and desires. The elected ones cannot move toward either truth or nonfiction due to the simple reasons that lying is the easiest form of communication. And! None seem to care.

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

We are effective at destroying ‘the enemy’; so proficient, that we are unable to identify an adversary from a ‘maybe or almost’ the same blood-red animation we want or desire to embrace—not race but begin and end with a sometimes or almost never-ever or requiring an absolute maybe? Global reasons to exist will conclude as divisions increase hate and ignorance and vacuous nationalism and abject failure of new realities, as greed continues its evil. Constant learning is another form of survival’s attempts to animate. We supply the poise required to afford physical sustenance, covering and haven. What is the sacrifice for this equilibrium? Why? We accept these ‘all the time’ situations as unalterable and unavoidable and ‘so it must be true’, this way of life’s life.

‘Tulips’

“The tulips are too excitable; it is winter here.

Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly

As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.

I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses

And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons. 

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff

Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.

Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,

They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,

Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,

So, it is impossible to tell how many there are. 

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water

Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.

They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.

Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——

My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,

My husband and child smiling out of the family photo.

Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat

Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.

They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.

Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley

I watched my tea-set, my bureaus of linen, my books

Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.

I am a nun now; I have never been so pure. 

I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free——

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.  

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swaddling, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. 

Before they came the air was calm enough,

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself. 

 The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals.

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health”. — ‘Tulips’ by Sylvia Plath

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Spellbound’Lacuna Coil

Walker Places—Walker Spaces…

Light Fall and Darkness touches street and covered brick-crack and moonless crackles. Colloid collisions to scented secrets and motions without notions. We are the Queens and Kings of these streets. This ‘Sity’ is our City.

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

The Walker glides across a jumble-tumble of brushed footholds fashioned by rainwater visible; as digging, once moved dirt above rock faces and dragged these weighted ones from place to necessary place for buildings built or buildings removed-restructured-replaced or obliterated. Needed things at needed times where locations were homes and buildings-controlled landside. And! Little killer medications be, only notions of Lizard Kingdoms where the notions of you ‘peel’ums’ accessible and needed from the glory of car-trunks.

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

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

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

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams there be gods in this place where now only spaces remain. So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

These Memorial Gardens are filled and overflowing and encompass many miles. Commons frame these gardens. Statues cover these parks. Here are sacred places and areas and spaces and graces where families gather and depart.

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

And! Beautiful you are….

 

‘Can’t Find My Way Home’ by Steve Winwood Performed by — Rachael Price & Chris Thille

 

‘The Other Side’ by Ruelle (Margaret Eckford)

Life’s Fire and Warm Wine…

“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’ “unawareness is no restriction to reason for it is repeatedly a reasonable reverse?” A culture of contemporary contemplation and course is not completely resistant since the social strengths of convictions are confusions in emergence and solution. What of the conditions of ‘human freedoms’ and the tasks required by free enterprise and its obsolete system of a party-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 resourceful destruction of blood-flesh-sweat and blood again?

The commune of Paimpont is near the city of Rennes. Is Paimpont Forest Brocéliande? Magical mysteries of planet space a place where the Lady of the Lake and Merlin’s capture, a tree where imprisoned he may remain? Or! Mystery rich, Merlin’s tomb, the Val sans Retour an enchanted land where ‘Morgan le Fay’ casts spells to imprison her lovers? And! Remember that once Rennes was Condate, a tiny village of wonder spells and twisted whirls of twirling tells story rich and tame.

We begin before the stars—And together we melt into the mist…Fire and shadows ‘cross a sky—Color moon of blood and gold—Simple songs and thudding drums—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.

Twirl and turn those verses and often speak actual words and chaunt only sincere songs to inspire our rituals and animate our shapes. Tell us legends and myths long before these scourges and pandemics seize our souls. Sing these songs before the lies of survival become the only melodies we understand or accept.

“The present state of our culture may be gauged by the extent to which principles have vanished from public discussion, reducing our cultural atmosphere to the sordid, petty senselessness of a bickering family that haggles over trivial concretes, while betraying all its major values and selling out its future for some spurious advantage of the moment.” – Ayn Rand

In these Times of Fear and Uncertainty please find Comfort in the Power of Love!

Angels glide ‘cross jumble-tumbles where stone dust is purple and initiated by invisible rainfall seen, as miners move dirt above rock facades and drag biased ones from place-to-special-place. Constructions are assembled and structures progressed; restructured, replaced, and ruined. Needed things as times require, and places are homes while buildings sheltered seaside and landslide. Reptile Nations are the motions available as requisite increases and variations conclude. Never troubles what posterns we tumble through and matters not why star blisters us. Matters that gates open and matters that stars are hot.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Frail and Almost Maybe…

This time of days of times ago and present time; the old man vision touched, those other ones and whispered, “Not this time—Not this time—our children will not go to war.” Others knew that this time of times would not be the time for dead children and metal touch-to-flesh-madness. And! For these moments warriors are unnecessary and ‘Honor’ is a simple way of Life.

     We do not summon gentle love. It whispers to our spirits and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance. Gentle love moves ‘cross routes of layers to find many lives inside walls;  too high to climb, or too low or too wide or just about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love; heart touches and reaches, into body frail and into those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen! Please listen. And! Love will reminds us of the equality of equals of women and of men and the spirits of all; trapped and living, sentient sentences of life inside the body and forever minding body.

     “In the current phase of intellectual corruption, it must be stressed that, like democracy and human rights, the economic doctrines preached by the rulers are instruments of power, intended for others, so that they can be more efficiently robbed and exploited. No wealthy society accepts these conditions for itself, unless they happen to confer temporary advantage; and their history reveals that sharp departure from these doctrines was a large factor in development.”—Noam Chomsky

     We are not a means to an end that others may wish to accomplish. We are not tools to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed or bandages for other wounds. We are not  sacrifices to gods come whimsy or rushing wings or gift bearing things; beads, baubles, glitter or flash. We androids do dance into Electric nights. Love does lead shifting-shapes through darkest  frights and into sweetest lights. Shadow-touches ‘cross secret ceilings of moon dust and hidden space. Time sans race are inside moments like these and Life is an Almost maybe.

     This dot-dash in time is not America’s ‘darkest hour.’ This is not darkness; just a candle no- spark, no-match-to-wick. Just quick—foolish words—entertainment—more criminal than ‘ever clean.’ A fox in a ‘house-of-hens’— is honorable…This dot-dash in time is just loss unity—without integrity. “A cloud of cicada on acid. A thrumming high-pitched squeal of acoustic irritation.”.

‘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…

     Pay attention to Life—call it a modern Life—and all this modernity—simply wears a body. Wondering if this justice is rendered with and without sunlight? Still a visible universe is visible without sight-to-see? Why not? Love reminds us of the equality of equals—women and men and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside the body—minding body.

Touch me in Sing-Song poems. Forget the world and touch me with voice. We two; too need, those requiring words of hope and verse of love’s together forever. We are two; in dark dancing, with rhythm in our minds and drum beats in our hearts…And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Dancing Between Zero And One…

     

     Working Labor and dancing  between 0’s and 1’s. Between a No or Yes is a decision unsullied by dark white and light gray and maybe this and almost that and start with knowing or stop with forgotten disk swirls and the silence of saving Clouds and the grace of faraway recall. Deadlines are quickly met and quickly become those overnight successes when packages land upright on porch steps or tucked inside boxes of steel or plastic large or small with little red flags that signal pickup with those deliveries anticipated or tossed away.

Eastbound on I-84 while driving across and above the Hudson River; a head turn right to see where water meets ground, as it must. Machines are interesting only while spinning code-speak as it must and when it fails this spin-read, knowing compilation will eventually solve issues of jumps or right/left side swings-that-brings solution or balance.

 America brings wars-to-shores as travelers deplane, re-plane, arrive or land, embark-remark-recover-discover-take-remake-destroy and with another sign, begin this all again. Forever warriors create forever wars and die to fight again.

America dreams freedom’s dreams and almost seems to follow the Code of a simple Yes or No until the non-codes of dark white and light gray confuses-refuses-muddles-befuddles the true machine and delivers; instead, Enigma. America dreams of Peace-on-Earth and Good-will-to-Men. ‘Never happens’ However; it is still a good dream—A dream of Peace and the Simplicity of Truth-speak.

Why are narratives of Mythology; if ‘Abrahamic’ in religions, called a province of theology? Yes or No or Maybe or Might be justified-verified and just once-in-this-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt, just maybe the right light or the incorrect shadows of lighter shades of gray.

Code speak is eternal speak until machine fails to understand the processes needed-to be-to-see and the reason to follow this Code-to-Loop-to-Continue-or to-End.

“Let peace begin with me

Let this be the moment now.

With every step I take

Let this be my solemn vow.

To take each moment

And live each moment

With peace eternally.

Let there be peace on earth

And let it begin with me”…by Jill Jackson-Miller and Sy Miller

 

Of Earth Twirls and Swirls…

“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”Jack Kerouac

Earth twirlsswirls and fluctuations ensue; either heating or chilling, either simple or killing, and humanities’ whimsy can assist or resist or incline or decline to touch-the-hand-to-hand-to handle-to hearts in memory shifts. Shifts horrific or to include the wonders of new, of differences, of simple similarity of Peace, of Teach, of Reach, and to embrace the race of sweet life, of sweet love and Humanities’ Purest—Practices!

Difference same—same difference and always “Arms open are most excellent.”

In a couple of thousand years, the ‘Travelers’ again will spread wings-to-fly and cross space from a slender beginning to a Mother ship called Earth. With each arrival; many sorts, will term them Gods and Goddesses and Wizards and Angels and Men. The Travelers will unite and divide and arrange and re-arrange and construct and de-construct to originate and annihilate. Ones to worship and ones to fear. Too fearful to despise and each time, their comings and goings are recorded by written word, then word re-written and replaced. Always wars—always. Ever advanced to Earthlings and why these worshiped ones—do not know peace? And! If true; these, creatures of woe, are not true and are not life. No one wonders—why Earthlings are always at war…

Expansions and shifting reds to perceive a Star Path’s motions absent; while Suns’ rubicund color implies, ‘out-bounders’ while ‘in-bounders’ are not ‘red’ shifters. ’Bench markers’ nova enhanced only hinge on the invariability of moment, a ‘tick-tock’ throughout the Universal Split. If Time is ‘downshifting’ than our impressions of solitary tempo is on slow-bump-grind into a dimension of New Space? “Twinkle-Twinkle-Little Star”—how we marvel at what you are? And! Even ancient stars; by Earth-spin-twirl perspective, does seem to still be accelerating.

Just disappeared into a tidal pull of ‘no reason’— ‘To no doubt about It’

We imagine constant lights, with you there and here and almost everywhere. Viewpoints; angled or dangled or jangled or maybe still same ‘donchaknow’? What occurs when appearance shifts, to only deceive? ‘Shifters’ time lies and space-place and people-in-charge appearing to-be-in-charge are people being studied by people appearing to be ‘not-in-charge.’ So! Let another Dance-without-sound—begin!

We are children of those salted seas and spirit trees. And! Clouds do search for skies. Hollow man; robot be and sans spirit animation without ‘ghosts in machines. We be not holy hollows; we be imagined imaginations beyond pushes of strengths and we dance baby birthing and through powerful protection and iron love, we survive.

Nothing is deeper than love or better than together songs and the unification of interminable spirits. Tired and tried and tested! Rested and begin moving away, a time to go and a quick giggle before looking back. Is this a last time or final rhyme, this time against another line, and moving on? And! Is it finally time to go? Fire of blue light a ‘sorta’ start-stop, dancing right, then yellow streaks, red coats and journey starts. Screaming moons toward light and still; horses run Martian Ridges.

We are self-obsessed; everything us, our gods, our history, our philosophy and our psychology. Still! Cavern folks we may be; then see our ignorance, our prejudices, maybe weak sense and shadow selves and trying to learn to set us free; above ground, round where sunlight and shadows both, confuse and naturally mix. We are grains of elementary realities divided and cornered and pushed and pulled and colliding with one-another. We attract, we join, we couple and uncouple either; byby-product and always random and often accidentally. And! What happened to Democritus? Why is Aristotle’s ‘thought speak’ the foundation of Western normalcy? Why monotheism? Why the ‘anti-pagan’ movement powered by yet another belief ‘Christianity’? Why destroy all written proof not in accordance with ‘Christian Ideas’? Emperor Theodosius made Christianity ‘the only and obligatory religion’ of a once open-minded Empire and Ancient Schools in both—Athens and Alexandria. These schools were closed, and Democritus’ texts of ‘Naturalism’ destroyed. Why? Aristotle and Plato were both ‘Pagans’. They believed in the immortality of the Spirit and the possible existence of God and Gods, Prime ‘Directors’ and not in accordance with Christian’s baffling wanders, but close enough to be tolerated. Must be an Ark! Ships of wood could fool and could be; maybe, a Starship crossing another Sea-of-sky and those spaces between the Stars.

Always wondering doncha know!

Do Spirits depart and travel homeward; to other places, to other suns and spaces where planet twirl does not matter and race-races, racing and starts ‘n’ stops do not exist. No time flavors or must do favors. Not an end! Just a simple begin again and is always right along our side; ’tis maybe, that great mystery we want to know we know anyway. Nothing judges eternal Spirits. There are no reasons or rhymes, nor times to forgive, no material needs or greed. Nothing to develop or disappear. Great church sides lurch forward and backward and more words of material gains and losses and found always around and never necessary and always there.

Beware of any move toward ‘Martial Law’ for those moves will be motions toward another lean toward dictatorship in America; ‘Home of the Wealthy and of the Afraid. Violent sputters and freedoms’ totters, as attacks—re-acts, recalls the falls of heart-mists-tears-the-fears or the ‘WTF’ of thought sense or is the word ‘Nationalist’ another word for ‘Ignorant Hate’?

America’s women-folk learning to defend against—the violence of America’s menfolk…And! When in ‘thoughts reasonable’ does mankind have a single right—to rule-over—womankind? ‘WTF’—again—ad infinitum. Domination is abomination! Be very aware of ‘Executive Branches.’ The laws of the land—must be our freedom-from-serfdom—donchathink?

Just disappeared into a tidal pull of ‘no reason’— ‘To no doubt about It’

‘Brush to lids—of my own eyes—with sweet—your lips—touch deep—my heart—with spirit dance—your strength as—my own—often fails. We—you and I—do spin wheels—together—and—taste soft wine—in starlight bright—and—setting moon—so large that—reflected eyes— lock these—mind spaces—in—forever memories—of life. Tis—good this dream…Tis—sweet this Night…Shining candles—harbor flash—from sea-today-and-follow-tide…Come to harbor—sirens call…Shining candles—harbor flash… From sea-to-safety-side—tonight.’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’...Billy Joel

 

‘Candy’…Iggy Pop w/Kate Pierson