Tag Archives: Harley-Davidson

Jan 7 2023

Spirits Walk And Spirits Talk…

—In your sounds of music—in your works of art-touch and your words of rhythm and rhyme; I taste and feel the strength of your presence—Past and Today and into the Future and ‘wow’ light does exist…Everyone! Thanks for sharing!

When eternal spirits visit body magic, please protect the ‘ghosts in these machines.’ Open arms and rejoice in this welcoming of life, body embraced touched senses to ground and as sky flight races across sky’s grand lengths remember there are no gates of heaven. Body form, blood and love and hand-to-hand and hip-to-hip and to and from the Mother-Ship…

Find no balance to bible-speak or the ramblings of government kings or the priests of wealth and babble for they are the attempted ‘evil’ of control and failure. Eternal Spirit touches Eternal Spirits. Simple and refined and fair in logical truth and requiring no ‘men-of-middle-claims’ or endless fancy killings or…

Presidents, Premiers, Dictators, Popes, Imams, Chieftains, Generals-of-Death, Politicians-of-Control and Preacher Kings, when you fly by as simple sky birds without metal form and blame; we may just for an instant, look up into the sky and smile. Then we will continue the protection of little ones and our spinning world. Is not the purpose of us to help the small ones grow into the large ones?

When the call of heart gives up eternal spirits never end. Eternal Spirit never waits to gain permission and access to the Universe. Life is unstoppable and everlasting. No Judgment awaits, no future calls for horror, no memories of past or present or future physical constructions are not required or necessary. Gods created spirit-sparks and spirits together to dwell in the whenever time of wherever places for whatever reasons.

Call spirit-dance! The naming of name-times quantify mysteries of understanding heart-touch inside flesh-times when body-survival purposes daily pursuits or interests same as food to stomach and sleeping in those arms-of safety. Mother holds baby close and Father embraces in his arms; hope and love and protection. She and he together once more family-dance the form of strength social and fabricated continuum.

So! Visiting Spirits stop and animate walking, flying, swimming and crawling flesh. No tests and no required reasons. True Gods create no wars on earth or in the above places of the wherever or ever been. True Gods do not allow horror or death or strife or pain or happiness or grief or destruction. The ‘Gods’ do not judge the fallibility or fragility of flesh and whimsy. Why? Poverty and Greed and Control and Governments and Religions equal the Terror/Horror of this immediate now and this immediate place.

Life is Eternal Spirit and we are these spirits. One or many across a star field of many star-filled nights and days. Stars do not dim in the light-of-dawning bright. Eyes often see more than eyes discover and understanding may stop at birth or continue until stopped heart begins Spirit-walks again across a Spirited-Sky, beyond and below and maybe again on a ‘whirly twirly’ world somewhere in another time or place or race. Nothing matters except Love and Life and Peace?

And! Beautiful you are…

Aug 16 2022

Witch Magic And Spells…

These Idols are shams of illusory pain, unknown over spans of turmoil and wars of courses, ’til days without war are times wasted and blood not tasted. They fall to earth in conveyances not yet realized and always fighting over splits, of DNA and genes spliced to design to slave and swiftly die. And! We imagine these creations are creators, to shadow—to covet and too; to emulate, ‘til death parts our ways and past deaths still correctly resolves from among the graves? Oh, hell no? This ring around never follows unless correct premise concludes that the correct choice is but; a wig-waggle away from, conclusive logic and “still love me some logic-eh.”

Witches formed the twirling-whirl. Enchantresses will revisit and revive their designs. So! Return now. Perhaps, this is a suitable time? Beware the twirl of haunted paramours. Each motion is a dance with unreal realities. They delight in the child’s discovery; of life, without opaque details and sans those sundry levels; unknown, behind crafted shells and the ruined confines of age. This substitute; when discovered, is grief for a reduced lover while crying sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the recollections of chance? Appearing in cloud early, we perish within a jumble-muddle of dusted rain and rust. In transition and pursuing the flash-ride; to spiral and skip, we frame time and often miss but never-ever fall.

“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

Arrange now! Inside the ruin-runes of this roadhouse of crumble stone and moss and rubble and ruined wooden benches and tables twisting into ground. Life begins and life ends as inhalation starts and exhalation stops. Not a cloud fall missed, but a spark’s charging headlong into channels of paradise and kiss-loves before the night ends and life trashes to light. We are robots of life scattering and of live jamming ‘cross one thousand worlds; set to twirl the galaxy, all lost and found and discovered and discarded. A million mines of unique ones whirling just inside zero drops of rain and trillion-acre seas of salt and water and giant crashes of life’s sparking rattles and battles in the birth of baby eyes and infant sighs.

We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of neoteric plug-ins; unedited and banned and far away from the standards of whisper’s folly and inside a net of lost souls and flounder bodies. All totaled must dwell within this symmetry of stop and starts and the ones and the zeros of reasons and verses and songs. However; we are unfamiliar automata, powerless to locate or spare chaotic notions beginning or ending without result.  We are never noted by previous androids! We are simple chips within other chips and notions beyond the loops that loop, ad infinitum. We are the celebrations of the mourning after and spawned in the backseats of an auto or two and occasionally former and eternally imminent, when taverns crumble and bridges fall.

“The modality of novelistic enunciation is inferential: it is a process within which the subject of the novelistic utterance affirms a sequence, as conclusion to the inference, based on other sequences (referential – hence narrative, or textual – hence citational), which are the premises of the inference and, as such, considered to be true.” JULIA KRISTEVA–‘Desire in Language’

By the fire bright of these dwindling tribes, children marvel at; both, the dancing flames and the warmth of these lights ‘gainst the nights and outside shadows beneath their eyes. They listen as stories tell the beginning of things now gone and of those grand places not started but imagined and seen in minds’ own spaces and in their most desired regions of just before a dream and just after ‘wishing this was true.’ We eternally return and find another home. This is where monsters cannot reside, aside from the secret of childhood sing-songs and glee. We return to spaces where bombs cannot splinter thoughts or disturb the determination of freedom, its folly and its lies. This is our place without borders.  Only the religions of kings attempt to divide and conquer spirit wings and fiddlers speak. Everlasting is this spirit and life begins and ends as the fiddlers play.

And! Beautiful you are…

Jan 29 2021

Often Empathy Is Survival…

Empathy determines the variety of groups’ survival and through the artistic impressions of all things determined and created. Landing places are measured by the spaces between Zero and One. Computer’s shrug in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Where one arrives is never known until travel ends and arrival begins. To Heaven—to hell? Perspective is varied and determined again by ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

After a ‘No’ these trees are antithetic. Some are smooth as chrome piped pieces and many times harder. These trees cannot be destroyed. These trees are one thousand feet high and sometimes two hundred feet across. They are the color we see. They are also able to individually change or exchange colors. Some people believe through changing colors, the trees communicate with one-another. Sometimes and far out and away from Rebekka Bends City, it is imagined that folks worship these great steel trees. They are the Charm Collectors. When leaves of many colors fall from chrome limbs; they collect these leaves, great and heavy slabs of an indestructible fashion. When these folks first settled far north of the city and along the shorelines of Calimesa Sea-to-sea-wall-to-street, where the shoreline bends away from land and moves outbound around two hundred and ninety-six miles from the Calimesa Hills, they became the Mountain People.

‘No gentle times better than the dreams of children safe, lovers’ serenity, pictures on walls with no forms, tracks without stars and cars without spaces to move while empty ribbons of dark pavement disappear over a hill. 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’.

The trip to see the sea is a long walk or a short gradual ride downhill on Long Slide Slope for twelve and one-half miles and then another three miles to where land ends. Then a boat ride across two miles of inland water. Then three miles of land and then another two miles of water and again land for one and one-half miles. When reached, Calimesa Sea begins and land ends. This is a word chase ‘cross screens and about getting to the Seas of Calimesa and the traveling of space folded by volition and distances flexure through passageway spaces and creature races.

The uniformed ones come and some are removed and some are passed quickly. To be proper is good and very wrong, when the persecution of others transfers from fear-to-hate-to-war. And! Hatred is galore, purposed and ends before realized peace is quickly changed to the ‘the quick or the dead.’ To seek and destroy others due to divergences in shape, in scope, in tint, in notions or faith is intention with no ‘assonance or intelligence’. The colored fibers of an arras must be many and without reason for life has no meaning if lacking variety and noise and without sing-song choirs and time.

Circle globes inside and just outside the globes’ entertainments feature: winged cloud-clowns squared by twine stringers, double singers and cicada bands with twirling-whirling claws and slashed gashed blood drinkers, and absinthe thinkers. Inside globes: Collector throngs and crisscross laces of thrumming and the high-pitched squeals of acoustic irritation and the harmony of pleasant sounds joined with thud-thud drums as heartbeat speeds and changes dimensions from thick-to-thin and back again. This is the inside space domed by outside. This is inside; expensive outside and only known as the place to gracefully travel through tunnels of space as folded space lace and lengths are shorter ways to crisscross distance once vast; now as liquid as sea water and lakeside foam. Outside distraction while inside; tranquility and chill-pills are a short space between inside and the blanket cover of a car’s trunk. Opened not much for much less. Inside-to-outside is one galaxy wide and one universe long. Sphere reach is anywhere in anytime by rhythms and rhymes.

Often a magic key or sets of those unlocking instruments are an imagined tool to escape or find and prevail only to become again lost in secret recesses—accesses known only to a favorite few or in the plain-view of everyone. There are so many secrets discovered and so little time for those secret solutions.

The way to hearts is always through hearts.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Orinoco Flow by Enya

Nov 16 2020

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…

 

Nov 1 2020

A Connected Condition…

    Inside the remnants of this roadhouse, crumbled stones and moss and rubble and trashed benches and twisted tables turn into dust. Life starts and life ends as inhalation stops and exhalation concludes. Not a cloud tumble ignored as spark’s rush headlong into channels of paradise and kiss-loves before the night ends and animation ruins illumination. We are androids of life scattering and live jamming ‘cross one thousand worlds set-to-twirl a cluster all lost and found and discovered and discarded. Locate an exclusive few whirling beyond zero drops of rain and trillion-acre seas of salt and water and giant crashes of life’s sparking rattles and battles in the birth of baby eyes and infant sighs.

    William Benthrows never walked through this portion of Calimesa Bay Park. It was the furthermost point East of the park’s expansive place of lost statues, of crumbly sidewalks and dilapidated buildings. Homeless people occupy and light fires from dry wood stacked underneath concrete ledges away from oily rain. Whilst there, they eat bread and cheese and drink adult beverages, soda pop and water. They sleep inside canvas shacks scattered across Proper Hills. And! They employ greyish woolen coverings to ward away cooler night air once the bonfires transform to embers and expire.

    Will’s initial view of her was adjacent the bottom of Proper Hills. Due to an approaching dusk her white dress was all he could see. As she passed him, she called, ‘follow me?” And! Promptly he began because she was quickly moving away from him. She began to run, and he changed speed from a quick-walk-to-run. At the peak, she continued down the other side and as he crested, the woman was gone.

    Out of breath, he stopped and leaned against the only oak tree standing before the next hill started. From everyplace, an unknown space starts as time stops and reason vanishes, an oak limb razor-sharp cut through his heart and lifted him upward. It was a painless intrusion that should have probably transpired anyway. William joined the tree. His body disappeared replaced by bark, and leave-less limbs. She was smiling! Her beautiful expression was shapeless.  Will recognized her and returned the smile as the tree swayed without wind in a valley soon covered by the shadows of another hill.

    We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of neoteric plug-ins, unedited and banned and absent from the standards of whisper’s folly and inside a misplaced net bursting with lost souls and flounder bodies. All totaled must dwell within this symmetry of stop and starts and the ones and the zeros of reasons and verses and songs. However, we are unaccustomed robots, powerless to position spare chaotic notions beginning or ending without result.  We are never noted by previous androids! We are simple chips within other chips and notions beyond the loops that loop, ad infinitum. We are the celebrations of the morning after and spawned in the backseats of an auto or two and occasionally former and eternally imminent, when taverns crumble and bridges fall.

    By the fire bright of these dwindling tribes, children marvel at; both, the dancing flames and the warmth of these lights ‘gainst the nights and outside shadows beneath their eyes. They listen as stories tell the beginning of things now gone and of those grand places not started but imagined and seen in minds’ own spaces and in their most desired regions of just before a dream and just after ‘wishing this was true.’ We eternally return and find another home. This is where monsters cannot reside, aside from the secret of childhood singsongs and glee. We return to spaces where bombs cannot splinter thoughts or disturb the determination of freedom, its folly and its lies. This is our place without borders.  Only the religions of kings attempt to divide and conquer spirit wings and fiddlers speak. Everlasting is this spirit and life begins and ends as the fiddlers play.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

Oct 4 2020

Stories of Life and Joyful Sounds…

“When it can be said by any country in the world, my poor are happy, neither ignorance nor distress is to be found among them, my jails are empty of prisoners, my streets of beggars, the aged are not in want, the taxes are not oppressive, the rational world is my friend because I am the friend of happiness. When these things can be said, then may that country boast its constitution and government. Independence is my happiness, the world is my country and my religion is to do good.” by Thomas Paine

No secrets on a lucid walk. A proposal of mystery so different as thinking not so much mystery as only plain plans and sweet whispers. Dawn slips away and day’s almost lightest and slightest sights commence. Gentle rain not storms are best although lightning and thunder is sometimes missed.

Now and then as the laughter of strings from harps’ sings transpires, as poetries dance along these leaves of parchment and thin tin portraits. Dust spreads across this land as too much wind and too late water cannot increase fast trickles and tickles of streams and lakes into oceans of fresh liquid ‘cross another salt-less-sea. And! On this sandy shore we will caress soft sounds and acquiesce to our sweetest songs.

Dancing glides of wheels and those of ice rails arrive via feet and our ancient selves of balance and twists of turns and freedom without the gravity of graves. And! Again, singing strings of violins and cellos and bass satisfy twilights with song and rhythm and rhyme. Fiddlers play music late into evenings and dancers form circles near fires of light and far from darkness empty space and silence.

Here and hear now heart calls and sobs sans light and waiting without notice then just waiting begins wanting again. What happiness happens is possibly happening on dust speckled earth-side through goals higher than justified. Please maintain happiness for dust speckled us. Is a dust-speckled ride a stand-alone stride a solitary goal without end and without beginning or without purpose, but-to-be-point free?

Together words of joyful life thru songs and sweet harmony and true balance, are melodies of love. Tales and lies and glories’ deceits and tall words, historic speak and heroic praise are not required when the fiddlers play. Then arises exact strings of liquid verse and those actions toward peace. Seek hopes’ beginning in fires of spirit strengths and life’s power.

Together, our story of magic life and world love just is…We venture into drying air and cross wet sands and blooms of desert flowers and fresh air. We rejoice with a firm knowledge of knowing thru almost certainty another night and an added brighter day. And! We appreciate the erudition of virtue and of wonderful desire and of noble love.

“A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason. “ by Thomas Paine

Gather now for rooms-to-find-to-fill have crowded again, and nourishment is consumed as others line sidewalks where grate-covered warmth wafts upward from Calimesa’s underground to ground and around those standing watch or asleep with one side-warm and one side cold or one side dead and one side gone. Again, the living and dying and the thinking of dying and praying of leaving or staying another moment or second or minute or hours of night-time’s twinkles or mornings’ wrinkles, remain.  Once flesh was fresh and spirit smooth and times of ages changed as faded lights start and stop and start again.

“May you hear every song in the Forest…And if ever you lose your own way…Hear my voice like a breeze whisper soft through the trees… May you stay in the arms of the Angels.”  From— ‘Lullaby for a Soldier’ by Dillon O’Brian

And! Beautiful you are…

Sep 7 2020

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…

Aug 25 2020

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…

Jul 26 2020

Feeling Profound Tempo…

‘Morning Song’

“Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your foot soles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.” by Sylvia Plath

Sighted! Righted to view the shadows’ tuck within surfaces and specters and secret spirits in mirrored swirls of stellar light and lighted night. Is it true that if we build a shelving unit created with shelves structurally made to sustain heavier weights than the object we just purchased, should we avoid putting the object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical? Earth is around (4.03 +/-) billion years old. Since initiating moment how extensively has our Mother Ship journeyed? Voluminous narratives have begun and ended. Conceptions constructed and inventions innovated. Dispositions devastated and creations confounded. And! Always life simple and vivacious and confidently dynamic. Awareness ascending and realization’s reputation is regularly rearranged as required. Senses appreciate countless choices. Dawn’s calm minus bend and sans movement of the gentlest woodland sprays offer delight.

Higher than the tallest mountains, impressive birds descending from the outermost sky reaches our rain-soaked shoreline in the here and in the now. In a domain occupied by fantastic fowl, to surround yourself with tall folks and well-built large houses is a “good thing”. Thoughts clear and precise. Additional editorialization and quantification if necessary, allowed when thoughts become translated into the fashions of truth or fiction both substantial and ethereal.

It is Ok! When scented moments mind trick memories through start-stop and pause-causes light-years ago to change to present places and races to mind front and almost touch-tease slight, flight-of-forms to know love-touch-spirit twirl. When love is mind’s eye strong and after-kisses taste, last longer when form-is-warm and need less than want is long and lingers until night cease-crease softens into sleep-sweet. Remember?

Taste of you in mind rhyme our time and ever-dream moments deep twilight keep and never-ever traces of endless touch no rush just together ‘us’ and the harmony of ‘We’ remembered. Walk and talk and now us; hand reached, and fingers clasped inside near Needles Park, and beneath Bent Bridge’s dark hedge and ridge where green grass gone brown cooled, and the waves below lake shine bounce moonlight.

Stop and later measure and scatter across accepting simplicity and the variances in relativity, either linguistically determined or silenced by downpour louder then those gentle beginnings, the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting with no sound. Wait! Eyes tightly closed and heed thunder rolling across separated skies as unseen flashes knight the ocean’s night, and crashes boom into those silent spaces between raindrops and life. Science eternally dances with superstition. Once or often either momentarily wins, something-of-else or another choice-to-follow toward those crossroads that matter. Chances to spark and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about perhaps. Real Sea we will see and another and another of water-ships and places far away.

‘Recessional’

“If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget”! by Rudyard Kipling

This is here and between landings by another beach reach 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. We are animals and fish and birds and reptiles and trees and flowers and skies and moons and suns and stars and planets across many miles inside universes of many smiles.

Forget to breathe. Fog horns groan and moan within cones of hearing on evenings rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through nose and mouth. Sea odor and eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. Search Sea! The Line shifts tighter to shore and ships disappear.

The share of poet-touch and story-spin and exile’s faith and disaster’s private pain; as speech native fails creative spirit, and often maims creature-speak and confuses the never-place-of-everywhere.

And! Beautiful you are…

Jun 28 2020

Dancing Along Space Edge…

“Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but a means by which we arrive at that goal.” – Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

The loves of men and the loves of women and freedoms’ sweetest notions must not be influenced or weakened by the principals of greed and the powers of dithered legislation, an impotent executive office or a purchased judicial robe. Pondering if America’s ‘founding-fathers’ did spin tales with double tongues and savage intentions since a mile-wide emptiness is emergent. Governance does not notice us or heed our cries and, they still await our deaths for causes and foundations and reasons and rhythms, we ultimately do not recognize. Sweet certainties are principles that all life is equal life that all women and men rich or poor are above borders of wherever boarders for nonreasons and never judged by color, big guns, nuclear death and the perpetual diatribe of segregation, inaccessibility and panic.

“Any man or woman who is willing to think. All those who know that man’s life must be guided by reason, those who value their own life and are not willing to surrender it to the cult of despair in the modern jungle of cynical impotence, just as they are not willing to surrender the world to the Dark Ages and the rule of the brutes.” Ayn Rand

First Amendment

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

  • On June 1, 2020 in Lafayette Park – Washington, DC…Wondering if tear gas and Stinger Ball grenades used to interrupt and hurt people peacefully assembled “to petition our government for a redress of grievances” was a significant contravention of our 1st Amendment? Of course! And to use this ‘illicit force’ for a ‘Donnie T’ photo-op? WTF?

 

To perceive and conceive and absorb and substantiate every notion and motion now or just beginning to develop something real or unreal is suitable. With no restraint to communicate every notion and motion either known or just discovered is sacrosanct. ‘Freedom of Speech’ and ‘Freedom of the Press’ is the motion of all notions correct or incorrect. Words are not eternally genuine or insincere. Context is often cover for lies or truths. Readers often determine validity or invalidity. Often this determination is not objective. Whimsey may not be independent. Reactions often supplant logic. Clarification often ignores emotions. Normally words spoken are received as the listener wishes to perceive those words and understand what is said or meant or desired or needed as both, truth and invention. Often the silence between all words interconnects everything.

We are not ideas to kill or fancies to perish. We reveal various packages of fabric and color and need and we all bleed red-same as liquid and air mix and body same moves across these places or other spaces in motions to exist together without prejudice or of religions ‘to-take-to-hate’ or to replace, irreplaceable life. We shift into objects of alternative daylights with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through the perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congestion repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…In becoming an impression immortally important and becoming another legacy repeated or recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both, the previously consummated and the just about to transpire! “Ashes to ashes and dust-to-dust.” New ways to win, we-must-be-us.

 “Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.” Albert Einstein

Our Mothership:

  • Spins at the Equator = (1000mph)
  • Around the Sun = (67,000mph)
  • Around our Galaxy = (490,00mph)
  • Toward the Great Attractor = (621.371/mps)

On Earth side’s moon, a great-walled plain called Mare Crisium- ‘the Sea of Crises’ is about three hundred miles in diameter and start-stop by a circle of colossal mountains. Once an ancient sea dried here and it took a thousand million years before the half mile deep water was gone? Dying achieved; right after life, animated upon another spinning World. We are all émigrés of this Universe. Since an explosion of mystery or reasons or rhymes or by sorcery, we step through time and place and dwell with one-another, together forever. We are the ancient, the existent and the ‘days-of-yet-to-come.’ We are the Gods of Virtuosity! We are life; all growing and all walking and all flying, crawling and swimming. We are Life. We are perfect and we are unstoppable.

Furnish us an Earth where women walk in day/night security and no one recognizes a conflict called ‘War’…Where love is love and where force cannot occur. Where there are no shadowy spaces called ‘heaven’ or ‘hell.’ A place where life does belong, and life is good every day. We construct worlds and we sustain humanities and we all Love our Children. For the magic and the mischief-of-life Gods are not required.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Zombie’ — The Cranberries