Notions Of Motions Often Move…

“If you must leave,
Leave as though fire burns under your feet
If you must speak,
Speak every word as though it were unique

If you must work,
Work to leave some part of you on this earth
If you must live, darling one, just live”…by Keaton Henson

The time to listen…It arrives when snow begins to fall. Space between snowflakes apart—not far and universes at first wide—-soon collide. What we know often changes—often rearranges—-as trust comes and beliefs go—-are remembered, reevaluated and situated between silence and noise. Tonight, moonshine—-gauze sky and above those trees without leaves—small flocks move—-V-shaped—bottom-less—-angels of purpose—motion—fixed in mind and traveling south for in their sky—there be pathways worn—-since the beginning of their—time.

‘We’—determine—destiny—sometimes? Angry Gods—do not exist. Angry men—matter little—except to scrubs—of scurry selves—beings—just spinning matter—of expressions. Rude—the kings and queens—of foolish speak—when angles fall—toward earthbound trivial…Moment Gods—require no explanations—when fear rules—these angled angels. As flesh—we return—turned peace—to war and gash—slash ‘cross—another spin of earth. Battle— disturbs the strength—of peace and the balance of life. We war—against nothing—save ideas and the—ideals of anti-life. Remove religions and governments and kings and queens!

Better-to-fall-in-love—and not—fall-in-battle—donchathink?

Survival moves existence from space-to-place—from cave-to-cavern and always backward or forward over again and again over—-be whimsy or need—or—combinations of both do or do not and motions never stop—always moving, always coming and forever going—no matter where—for the getting there is—-ingrained—-as a billion minutes of time start and end again. We turn now toward—forked road—ways beyond sighted-righted places—and our stars of guiding trails—twisted—misted—shakes and quakes—push-pull us—toward left trails or right paths…Guiding compass—lodestone—or stars—point the way—only one direction—to go and to return—toward—this direction taken—always pointed—is pointed—toward us…

The extent of inequality is relevant for policy making…Policy making is forever addressing the reasons for inequality but never-ever changing the imbalance of balance…Revolution always; changes motions-of-these-notions for a little while and then imbalance again pushes—-against equilibrium.  And! Sometimes; the distinction between what is politically convenient to believe and the objectives facts no longer exist.

Flying ‘cross a sky without atmosphere is vacuous, too.

Is it a truth—that ‘there be’ people in the USA; each one—- making more in one year than the entire population of the House of Representatives? Wondering about the imbalance—and believing that Wealth rules everything? Wondering if anti-monopoly laws can—-balance-the-power now exerted daily—-by Companies—-called Alphabet—-Amazon—Apple—Microsoft and Facebook? Wondering— H.L. Mencken said, “it is difficult to get a man to understand something when his income depends on his not understanding it.”

Lies often feed hungry stomachs—donchaknow!

We are not means to an end—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—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

Candle light—warms ‘cross tables—rooms—windows-to-windows and sometimes just east-north of darkest—planet spin—where night grin—grim news— ‘cross space wig-waggle and eyes search sky—die—search and die—until star-ship light—lights—night and candle light fosters— hope—before freedom ends—then begins—again. ‘One Thousand Tears’ are longer time—than years of fears—pass star night and moonlight fails. And! You and I are not—ever—born to be wasted—right?

Embrace the shivers that tearing eyes—begin heated wraps of—word twist-to-mist and the weight of knowing these—often are and are not—often understood or—would be—see changes—little known for time—sometimes escapes—this place when hearing precedes—knowing anything at all.

And! Sometimes—we just cry—tears.

He loves her and She loves him. She loves her and she loves Her…He loves him and he loves Him…Love is correct—Love is life—Love is the only power that matters…The matter of Spirit Flesh and Body Spirit—Time and the distance—between heaven spaced and drops of rain…

“Courage is grace under pressure”…from ‘The Old Man and The Sea’ by Ernest Hemingway

 

And! Beautiful you are…

Of Balance—Of Checks…

Near Fort McHenry— began ‘The Battle of Baltimore’ and from a poem “Defence of Fort M’Henry”, Francis Scott Key developed what ultimately—would become “The Star-Spangled Banner.” In 1931, this song would become this Nation’s anthem… Francis watched the battle from a British ship called, the HMS Tonnant. ‘By dawn’s early light’ while still aboard the HMS Tonnant, F.S. Key caught a glimpse of the large and tattered Garrison flag still moving in the gentle wind… Resilience and Triumph; while celebrated through songs and stories, these notions are twin-twined—salted ropes—bondage chains—hunger—fear—gun-powdered air—laws unfair and—always War…

“Defence of Fort M’Henry”

“O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,

What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming,

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight

O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket’s red glare, the bomb bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that

our flag was still there,

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream,

‘Tis the star-spangled banner – O long may it wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,

That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion

A home and a Country should leave us no more?

Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand

Between their lov’d home and the war’s desolation!

Blest with vict’ry and peace may the heav’n rescued land

Praise the power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,

And this be our motto – “In God is our trust,”

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”—Francis Scott Key

Francis Scott Key used his office as the District Attorney for the City of Washington from 1833 to 1840 to defend slavery, attacking the abolitionist movement in several high-profile cases.” WTF?

We go to war for many-many reasons…And! Not often, but just once-in-a-while—we ‘the people’ almost become free people—but never-ever free of War. One can still love one’s country and hate War…One-can-still-love-one’s-country and Hate the war of ideologies—divisions of colors (‘red and blue and tattoo you’) …We share—we care and Governments must never separate the ‘We the People’ from the ‘US’ of America…And! If the Executive and Legislative and Judicial branches—treetop high—dance without harmony—hopefully—they will always—dance—check the balance and balance the check—donchaknow? Because of this dance—we may—be free for just a-little-bit—longer…

“Sign—sign everywhere a sign—blocking out—the scenery—breaking my mind—Do this don’t do that—can’t you read the sign”… by Les Emmerson

Venezuela: How do positive steps—Socialist reformation, a people’s transformation, a government of wealth redistribution—founded on the peoples’ needs—dreams of better days and hope for a long-term future become a failure? Venezuela has trillions of dollars in petrochemical wealth…It also proof of greed’s ruin and prosperity climax—ruin and end.

Spin this among a million worlds across thousands of sun/stars. Calimesa had once known riches…Crystal rich planet of star-drive fuel for thousands of Star ships…Colonial power cast about one thousand worlds…A rich center—wealth—work for everyone—educated—protected peoples…All good until greed destroyed Calimesa completely in one thousand years…Among the stars Power lives and dies much quicker—than Black Sun twirls—whirls of long-life and death fast—Explode and move on…Crow-man’s old world name, his Calimesian name—is Theodis—Carmelt-Shiamotory…Theodis was born wealthy—was born a beautifully shaped baby—grew into a beautiful being—moved beyond green water and green diamond foam— shaped-to-shift—to other shapes—another heartbeat—heat—bother body to another—space-place-race and graced to forget everything…Not an Earther—still earth-bound—gravity ground—added—pound—adapted to see—to be—to flee and survive another dive—spaced—race—paced—too fast-to-be-so-slow…

“Walls appear—Fear—No! Climb those Walls and Welcome Home.”

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Of Deadlines And Dancing Code…

Missing so—Our Wonderful Creative Spirits and Life’s’—wonderful sharing—of Writing—of Drawing—of Painting—of Thoughts—of Dreamscapes and…

Contracts are work and work is survival—and support. Support is Love and Care and Responsibility—responding to our—day-to-day—too necessary—to—and a (nine-to-five) —becomes a (six-to six) then a…Wowzer and rest begins and ends too quickly to…No complaints—just missing—the touch of Creative Spirits—in mind’s eyes—in eye’s mind—in heart beats—spirit seeks and pleasure…

Dancing with Code—a Creative Spirit—walks into spaces—between—zero and one—and one and zero. And! Those spaces between Yes and No—are too small—too large—to miss and often never noticed. ‘Time flies—when busy’ and the pulls—tug both hearts and minds—diverse and confused—solutions both; simple and complex—lost and found and again lost only to be found—regarded—discarded or—implemented—compiled—and again—Code Balloons fly—‘cross million wires—into simple ‘Yes and No’…’No and Yes’— while surprises—simple—often operate complexities of—surprise and survival.

  • Why use dashes? A little wig-waggle—a stop and a start is simple—fun scratching—the itch—of grammar—the rules of composition—dash-dot—goes Code Balloons—into a sky—filled with ‘Yes and No.’

“Love is the force that binds together and moves everything in the universe—creatures and objects are part of a total motion without top or bottom, gravity or resistance” … Chagall

“But time has no beginnings and history has no bounds
As to this verdant country they came from all around
They sailed upon her waterways and they walked the forests tall
And they built the mines the mills and the factories for the good of us all”…by Gordon Lightfoot

Is it Leadership or just US—requiring change—requiring solidarity—And! Needing Love…What is the ‘Cost of Poverty’ and the Charge for ‘Disappearing the Middle Class?’

The ‘Administrative Government’…According to Philip Hamburger (a constitutional scholar and winner of Manhattan Institute’s Hayek Prize) is Unlawful—“Our government can choose to proceed against (You) in a trial with constitutional processes, or it can use an ‘administrative’ proceeding where (You) don’t have a right to be heard by a real judge or a jury and you don’t have the full due process of Law. Our fundamental procedural freedoms, which once where guarantees, have become mere options.” (taken from the ‘Opinion’ page—A13 of the WSJ—June 10-11, 2017 by John Tierney)

‘Bon Voyage’ diversity into smaller hopes and greater fears. Such is (be) the evil-of-Greed and the exchange of Freedom for Less…and Farewell’ to our Bill of Rights and our ‘Lady of Liberty’s’ tears continue to fall—the strength of Immigrants (now called aliens) arriving—diminished from a hopeful—flood of honest labor and dreams—into Code Balloons of ‘Yes and No’…

The rhythm of Zero and One is not the rhyme of these “Ghosts in the Machines’…Empathy is the only variable machines fail to match—or— Understand…Donchaknow!

And! Beautiful you are…

Close Eyes—Then Gone…

93467Interior Space—Exterior Place—matched floors and streets—flat—long hauls—of halls—ways to connect—carpet flat—and—city blocks—round rooms—not matched—latched doors—open floors—walls of tree lines—bricks’ high and open sky…Copy—rob—and steal—the steel of round house—church mouse—and dwell with a well—of deep means—and always seams. ‘Tis grey couch—reclining chairs—and poster songs—four corner beds—break the way—from street side moans—to safety homes—still space—sidewalk place—straight lines—curves and sky…

“And it disintegrates, literally,” Bahia says. “Dust! Dust amid dust. All of Aleppo, by now, is a monument to unknown citizens.”

 Rising from Green Sea and lights…Black sand—gatherers by thousands—year-tears—and covers—for century’s waste—taste—more than less. We are little—tucked underneath—schemes of earth—still larger—together—than the stars—of giant size—and burning sights.

Our Governments destroy our achievements—our history—our languages—our futures—our dreams—happens—and we become—the winds—of ashes—then gone—we never exist. Genocide destroys flesh—and so much more than bone—destroys Blood Rivers of Life…City—now a monument to—someone no one knew—beginning in ruin—and—ending in rust..And! Will Monument—people sweep up—the dust—when Blood Rivers and rust—are gone—in a daylong—tomorrow steal..

After war—is there—anywhere left—to plant flags of—fundamentalism–dust covered parks—graveyards of market—marks—death—child widows—and–rivers of blood? Walk— Now mind walk—Follow?  Following smoke wisps—or the sounds—the sing-song-choir—along—line—where sea-meets–sea and—sky touch be—above—forgotten shimmers—water stretch—beyond eye watch—while body—waits. Walk upon—these salty waves—of dead-seas’ roar—as melody pour—disappears into mists—into sea sounds— and—dawn. Those little matters? Matter-less—Cease then gone—again.

There are times—when good silence—makes ways for righteous noise—when sound-speaks another word-or-two—then makes way—for—good silence—behind night-lights—and morning’s hush. Of Freedom! No concrete meaning—attached—to the word. Freedom—as idea—must have definition? If Freedom—is principle—it must have—definition—to allow implementation…Opened-Eyes—Opened Mind? And! Seek protection—from ‘taking-a-stand’—refuse to admit—the nature of—what is accepted—is accepting—plans designed—to achieve serfdom?

Still! Love and believe—in Freedom…What crime—committed—if ‘crime’—is not crime—and has not—occurred—in memory-man…What crime when ‘no—law’ provides—for an action? And! Still—inside ‘gainst outside—we know—these things to be—either right—or wrong—knowing strong—the rhyme—of crime—truth-to-lies—to mix–those twin—motions—into convenient—the inconvenience–of life and strife…Vapor we—exist…We are—not distraction by—what we are not—for we are not—not—by displacement—or alteration—for we exist—in timeless harmony—within trails of stardust—falling from—other—wind-songs-spin-speed—and power…Life motions—Life moves—Life modifies—And! Spirits Dance…

Flakes—light falls—‘gainst cover ground—sparkle trees—little square—village core—quiet save—church choir—practice and season’s sound—round yon  hill—above memory—shape—and silent night. We walk—pace slow—sidewalk cover—snow flake–no more. Without wind—snow fall—without sound—lands where—it could—when it should.

“They said There’ll be snow at Christmas
They said There’ll be peace on Earth
But instead it just kept on raining
A veil of tears for the Virgin’s birth
I remember one Christmas morning
A winter’s light and a distant choir
And the peal of a bell and that Christmas-tree smell
And their eyes full of tinsel and fire”…by Peter Sinfield

Still here—beneath heavens—our seas—swirl-twirls. We do hear—whale sing-song—our mother into—necessary sleep. The whale—sing-songs—the heating of—our blood-self—’til warming is—non-fear. She is—from emerald seas—from black sands—and  tides do pull— ‘gainst current—and—alignment of—moon-light—is perfect—is orderly—as it moves—across—another dustless night.

And! Beautiful you are…

Flip-Flop And Vacuum…

4583“Hey you out there in the cold
Getting lonely getting old
Can you feel me?
Hey you standing in the aisles
With itchy feet and fading smiles
Can you feel me?
Hey you don’t help them to bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight

Hey you out there on your own
Sitting naked by the phone
Would you touch me?
Hey you with your ear against the wall
Waiting for someone to call out
Would you touch me?
Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I’m coming home

But it was only fantasy
The wall was too high
As you can see
No matter how he tried
He could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain

Hey you, out there on the road
Always doing what you’re told
Can you help me?
Hey you, out there beyond the wall
Breaking bottles in the hall
Can you help me?”…by Roger Waters

And! Still the flip-flop shriek—wind sound—slips round—colder spaces between—broken brick corner—and crumbled mortar—time aged and weather worn—and–since-time-began—nature is never fond of vacuum. Crowman stumbles—sandal worn strap—from right side notion—of footwear—broken—a thousand years ago—causes flip-flap noise—skyward shrieks—bombers ‘cross—inside clouds—so thick from sky-to-almost-ground—as to hide nose rounds—fired—as jumps—loud then quietly—as pronounced—as gone… Statues—broken—some scattered round—park-of-lost—times—before the mime’s danced—unbroken and bending to—purpose—unfounded-unknown—or lost with—the rhymes of times—recorded-forgotten—and gone.

Arrives—those machined boxes—machine-sweet and together—in minds of same or alternates—where we twirl—the whirl and call the laugh—or—two—as boxes open and—away we—they separate into—some thing-or-less or—the loneliness of crowd—bridges twin screw moments—of those spaces-of-time— without seconds. And! We—search blood and find–taste good—in mingle-tingle moments—touch-amazing—touch not those—imagined sources of—unnecessary wariness—and one—is another brief—the flashes together spread—the separate into—singularity—no more than once… Feel intimacy—of rhythm-or-rhyme—as touches—speak hides deep—inside the formality—of syntax creep and syntax crawl—where ear-here—hears echoes bury—idiom not—conveyed by—dictionary’s space—between word-speak and why…The share of—poet-touch and story-spin—of exile’s faith—of disaster’s private pain—as speech native—fails—creative spirit—often maims creature-speak—and often confuses—the never-place-of-everywhere. Still! Sweet Witches-of-Creation—smile—womb-spun life—comes and goes—without road-speak and without—interstate shriek…

Twilight—Dawn—departure gates—to swirl through—go-to-spaces—-between places—both here or-there-or-back-again—to hear-to fear-to find—to die or to—live again—in places without time—signs-in-parts—or sums-to-hold-again…Ecliptic twirl—galaxy ‘cross—spaces when composite—forms appear-to-disappear—Serpent speak and Eagle reach—Ophiuchus—holder-or- bold—once again—Quetzalcoatl boys—and—fair Gaia girls—wander star-gates—through and touch-find-found—reaches—useless rhythms and trouble—times. Ophiuchus high stands— above sun—rises-feet-crossed—Galactic wide and planetary—substance filled—from brim-to-rim and back-again…

Our nature runs—with or from—the many or the few…See often through—curved ceilings of doorway—when curved light enters—twenty-one windows round—openings through—to escape places or—leave regions. Still! More spirit than—body proper—’til chemicals—those-of-doubt or-satisfaction body rule—self ending sometime—in time—without reasons to be—except—a rhythm to—complete. We are—the daughters—and—the sons-of-earth—and of—the starry skies. Our history–alive—simple and true—except when—suppressed—through layers—distortion or—flashes of fears and—tears…We are the eternity of spirits—never having—to begin—and—never ending. Such is—the sweetness of life.

“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…

‘Hey You’…written by Roger Waters—Performed by “Smooth Jazz All Stars”

Clock Moves And Rockets…

St. Charles_167 (2)

‘Back To You’

“This crazy world will keep on spinning—Clocks will keep on ticking ’till it’s time to watch it burn—Right from the very beginning—We’ve been celebrating past the point of no return—To the sounds that come when lonely planet’s—Gently falling in and out of time—But clouds of dust have broken into atoms—Brings a chill directly down my spine—Every legend I create—Every move I ever make—Every action and reaction in my life—Every moment I’m awake—Every chance I’ll ever take—Every dream and every sparkle in my eye—Every second of my waking hours—And everything I ever say or do—Beats me with or what’s within my powers—Directly home and always back to you—Always back to you—Back to you—Friends of young and often talking—Tripping out and walking—Roads that never seem to end—Like stars that sparkle in the morning—Come without a warning—Miracles are heaven-sent—From way up high like rain or even rockets—Exploding in a light of clear blue sky—Like rings of gold falling out of my pockets—Or actual pieces of paradise—Every legend I create—Every move I ever make—Every action and reaction in my life—Every moment I’m awake—Every chance I’ll ever take—Every dream and every sparkle in my eye—Every second of my waking hours—Everything I ever say or do—Beats me with or what’s within my power—Directly home and always back to you—Every legend I create—Every move I ever make—Every action and reaction in my life—Every moment I’m awake—Every chance I’ll ever take—Every dream and every sparkle in my eye—Every second of my waking hours—And everything I ever say or do—Beats me with or what’s within my powers—Directly home and always back to you—Always back to you—Back to you—Back to you—Back to you”…by Jacob Bellens

Ages past—and often we become—sponges—gifted—gregarious—bent with insight—anchors—of both worlds—one frightful and one—enchanted—and—filled-to-edge—truthful with wisdom—both scary and fearful—as wisdom—sometimes becomes you—as age—bends body—yet frees—spirit twirl…From twins—of two—a power of life sparks—and alone-never—places begin—and fixes end. When again—‘surfs-up’—and high waves—reclaim shore-reaches—and land—would rather dwell in— the Villages of Fisher-folk—than in—the Hamptons of—Middle-bots— without spirit machines—without reasons-to-produce—and—stand with us—as wave-crash claims us—all…Because—together—we have done—everything…And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

“All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. All machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough good to counter-balance the evil.  At any rate, it is a great evil to make a stir about it.  But when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer…” from ‘On the Duty of Civil Disobedience’…by Henry David Thoreau

Beneath surface—and far below—Segment Star—two and one half billion—souls live and work—and suffer and die—and love and hate—along with sunless days—and nights of starlight—gone or both forgotten—and—remember when—mind switches—between laminated illumination—and blind stir—slips between neon’s shine—and semi-sweet chocolate—call darkness. Where light—is saturated—creamy greys and night—are thick swirls—of vanilla—and warmth with—blended shadow shakes…Machine wonders—spirits that guide—the process of robot—arms and legs and watch—through robot—eyes and hear—through robot—ears and once or often—weep robot tears and die—never-ever-even—when a book-or ten—call living—‘sins of flesh’—when spirit robots must live—and die—and forever move—along dusted—star-streams while—dancing among a—trillion light twinkles—sketched across the—winter’s sky. And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

The soft sounds of wind—shoving pine needles ‘cross—autumn’s forest floor—and peace after snow’s—midnight fall. If impulse is—response—then decision is—evolution—maybe? In 1610—Johannes Kepler chanced a—walk across the great—Charles Bridge in–Prague and as snow fall began-to-catch on—his woolen coat–he brushed away—six-sided flakes—from the cloth— covering his arms. Catching more of these flakes—he saw that—they were all six-sided—and—he marveled at the convenience—of this discovery and the—very perspicacious brain—and the —extraordinary curiosity of—the human mind—quantified within the quality of spiritual being. And! Magically—birds transform the air they breathe—into surprisingly sweet songs…

“The lonely mountains o’re—And the resounding shore—A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale—Edg’d with poplar pale—The parting Genius is with sighing sent—With flowre-inwov’n tresses torn—The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.” by John Milton

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Back To You’…performed by Jacob Bellens

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

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

Bent Twig Songs…

Dove in the air with wings wide open“Ain’t no mercy on the streets of this town
Ain’t no bread from heavenly skies
Ain’t nobody drawing’ wine from this blood
It’s just you and me tonight.”

“Tell me in a world without pity
Do you think what I’m asking’s too much?
I just want something to hold on to
And a little of that human touch
Just a little of that human touch”…by Bruce Springsteen

They do drop by Earth Twirl—donchaknow? And! Sometimes—not often—though—carry songs from—Outbound World…’Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Us All’…Family is never a burden—Family is always a privilege. Abstract Logic—spins—to make worlds— more—governable…Forests grow—with seed landing—symbiotic in mixtures—of soil—sweet fungi—insects and magic—resistant ways—and—protection from diseases—and—the pleases of mankind—governable desires…Life—always—in harmonious chaos—and eternally pleases Life… Even (imperfect) —perfect math—omits—variables…So! Our perfect future—can never be created—the matter—of-the-matter—will damn—‘us physicals’—every time?

Goddess is—the Dancing One—the Witch of life—Creation…And! Goddesses—create Heavens and Earths—Moons and Suns—and—pass Spirits to—formed matter—and—from forms—back—to Spirits’ rush—and substances’—free… Correct notes—piper of silver flute—held ‘gainst heart ‘beeps’ of—a roaring sea—pass others—into light—and—set others ‘cross star streams bright—and starlight’s sight—setting just—beyond sun—beyond sea—and—gentle morning—sky…

By the fire light—of—dwindled tribes—-children—marvel at both—the dancing flames and the warmth—of lights against—the nights and outside—shadows beyond—their eyes. They listen— and stories tell—-the starts of things—-now gone and of—-those grand places—-no start—just—imagine—and see—in minds’ ‘to be’—desired regions of—before dream—and after—‘wishing’ was true…’Painted pictures—loving caves—and walls—and tribes of—‘we’ and ‘me’ and ‘us’ and ‘them’ and—before storms and—after rains end— winds and bumping things— silent shrieks—once loud now gone—from ear and fear and tear. Once again—please 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. Instincts trust in…For anticipation may—often fail?

Walk around Village Square…A great man—takes his son’s hand—and—they wander the snow-covered—light-filled—place…Trees-huge-bright and sky-night-right. Hillside and just above them—choir calls—past songs—of moments—to be—and— future days—to see… “What do you hear?” Father asks. “Music” the boy answers…”And what else?”—Little children—hear the magic of sound—present—and questions—are never—answers…“What do you hear—Papa? I hear—the gentle wings—of middle angels—the thunder of snowfall —the twinkle of lights and…You”  he answers.

‘Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Everyone and Love for All Children’—would be sweet—donchathink?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘A Spaceman Came Traveling’…performed by Celtic Woman

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