Lights at World End…

Ships_427‘Shining candles and harbor flash…From sea today and follow tide…Come to harbor  sirens call…Shining candles and harbor flash…From sea to safety side tonight.’

Lights at the end of the world. Now! See those lights across these thousand worlds—welcome home to places you have started and places to begin again or again or on another day’s end and another night’s beginning. Drums to market those marks of time we call our own as heart beats—it starts again and ticks for awhile of wills coming around the corners of spaces in places seen or forgotten or found once for many crossings of spaces and races and time.

Steel Riders pause by waterside as tides of water—kiss shoreline wave length along with one hundred sounds and as gulls ride the dips of above and around piers of ruined wood and splintered ages where once the Calimesa City existed and tide changes mattered to boat anchored and ships sailing against the evening lines. The water’s edge and the skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spins sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky lighted canvas sheets the blue-gray into darkness and stars light the sailor’s way along the caverns of space and place and the race of time.

These are the salty ways of salted sea and flecks of foam scatter along shore-sided shifts of sand from wet to dry and dune rise above and beyond watered edges before ruined boardwalks remind nothing of something once savored and watched and known by forgotten ones—once upright writers of the times and the sounds of ‘days of a future’s past.’ Still! We all cross spaces along these places of the races in time gathered and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

Slaves of speed and those things filling corners of house scattered and caves overwhelmed by many needs requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath—drenched in sweat and rain and dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams—traced along the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter and later—mist lifts from a million places outside caves and houses and homes now forgotten and almost gone.

Robot now and then and once again when creature walks splendid winds across another place of times remembered and the stories of this and that are told by any-to-any-listening to robot tales and adventures as the course of discourse is launched through songs of sailor’s speak and wig-waggled across a thousand skies complete with warrior legends and the strength of priestess kiss and home returns. We all sail here—the sailors of these moments—friends and family and the you of me and the me of us and all—eternal spirits we be the power of life—inside folded space or outside yonder rim-spin—we are…

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—For these moments in time—warriors were not necessary…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘The Islander’—by Nightwish

The Caves of Sheep…

W231Asleep and safe from the howls of the wolves as the sheep often run with them…It is our nature to run with and from the many or the few. See often through the curved ceiling of doorway when curved light enters twenty-one tiny windows round these openings to escape places and leave regions. Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?
Life is the antithesis of Order…Symmetry with no form except wind and rain and careful storms of chaos and figure. Go figure the here or the now and still history is not preformed or manufactured except through the controllers of spins and twists and the thrill of the lie. Or go to figure with the smile of Leonardo or the Lady’s laugh or the chatter of many minds or just a few of many hearts.

Drapes created by the highest and lowest psychodynamic psychological mechanisms and the shell of survival or a child with no walls or shells to crawl inside other than a closet space of playful fantasy or physical safety…Still more a spirit than the body proper until chemicals of doubt and satisfaction rule body self ending sometime in time without mere reasons to be except a rhythm to complete.

Is societies’ perspective of behavioral aberration a result of deterministic qualities of controllers or the eat-do-not consume behavior dependent upon economic conditions and the fragility of physical conditions? Is sharing a conscious choice, a group survival dynamic, a desire to belong or a non-physical reaction? Isn’t Social construction a further strength of spirit and the power of individuality?

Seen as persons of whole society completely though not outside eyes but through the eyes of society both behaving and deep into their own and necessary revolution of comforts and places and restrictions. Society is not a realm of a government. Thankfully! Government begins and ends quickly—especially when it shifts; as it always shifts, away from the people and becomes it own animation.

We are the daughters and sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive—simple and true except when suppressed and distorted for unnecessary gains and a perversion called wealth…We are the eternity of spirits—never having to begin and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life.

And! Beautiful you are…