Little Robots Five Miles High…

imgprix.comLittle Robots become—because—Eternal Spirits re-enter—entry now—then starting—starts of blast off and crash—before burn—The newest giggle-to-wiggle-to-someone’s-sorting and another starting and ending and all alright—OK? Lucky we be—not Holy hollows—Imagine—Imaginations—Beside pushes of strong—Dances baby birthing—and the powerful protection—of—iron Love—nothing stronger—Love or better—than—together—songs– and mixes—of a trillion spirits—strong. Path reaches—‘cross one trillion—leaps-of-space-race—fills— twirling lights and—one-trillion-ground-bound souls.

To hold-To-Touch-Too-much—No! Forever—not long enough… And! Sweet Dance—indeed…together we—and with—no love—there is—no peace. So!  Ride waves with me— crashing ‘gainst— shorelines…We are these—Ghost-of-These-Gardens—toward space flying— where home’s—touch ‘n’ go—is just one planet—east of sunlight’s door— and below—ridges-of-long-space—in sky’s silent misty world. Concuana—with—fifty  generals—and—the one hundred thirty-nine—gather all—outside the Proper City—a place—placed well below—the ‘Five Hundred Mile High Mountains’. Some villagers outside—the domes of—City fearing—destruction—gather their gatherings—as others seek—to welcome her—a protector -gainst another—Watcher Army. Concuana watches also—gathers—her magic—her coven and shrugs. Placing armor beneath—ground reach and—good—sky-high-silver-search—silent slices motions—well above and race-space—still along sides—high rock-stacked rock—and—stacked rock—until far—out-of-reach and—far- out-of-sight…Proper City and Twisted Gate—domed—crystal and glass—fortification—of weapons—enchanted spectacles—and—doomed to either fall—or gather—their gatherings—while—standing still—fading smoke—into nights of ice and winds of pain—reign—the ring-wings—of golden pods and silent ‘copters.

Fire of Blue light—sorted beginnings—and dances—of yellow streaks—torn coats and journeys. Scream Toward Moons—light—the dark night— and still—Horses run—Martian Ridge. We are— children of—salted Seas—as seaside spirits—unify. Clouds do—look for skies—and house sounds are also—those leaving-kinds-of-sounds…Blue Butterfly and wishes—granted or—made and–those soft wings—of slips and of flits—ride currents of breeze—slight ‘gainst soft skin…Switch often– directions-or-fancy—willed once—or often—through desires-of-fancy or weary-of-time—trips-to-beginnings-ends-of-time—shifted—drifted—-lifted—and forever—gifted-toward-lines of carted—crafts—and— beings-being—for a moment—above-moonlight and just-below-daybreak.

Protection—must not—equal servitude? When—heart 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—-an instant before—lips touch—co-mingled breath—warms-a-cold—and—evening air. Rational response—and— rational insanity. A moment—and—no one dares-stares into—space—without—noticing starlight’s—star bright—and—starships passing between—light-speed and arrival—and—silently appear. When everyone—everywhere—in-all-places—between skies—realize—that—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-is-words—meanings-or-reasons-or-other—notions. When silence—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—almost—truth.

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

‘La Liberté éclairant le monde’

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

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

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Children of the Sun’….by Poets of the Fall

‘Stardust’….by DeLain

Simplicity of Enlightenment…

Log Bench Viewing‘Carnival’

“Well, I’ve walked these streets
A virtual stage, it seemed to me
Makeup on their faces
Actors took their places next to me

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a carnival, of sights to see
All the cheap thrill seekers vendors and the dealers
They crowded around me

Have I been blind have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen?

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a spectacle of wealth and poverty
In the diamond markets the scarlet welcome carpet
That they just rolled out for me

And I’ve walked these streets
In the madhouse asylum they can be
Where a wild-eyed misfit prophet
On a traffic island stopped and he raved of saving me

Have I been blind, have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen

Have I been wrong, have I been wise
To shut my eyes and play along
Hypnotized, paralyzed by what my eyes have found
By what my eyes have seen
What they have seen?

Have I been blind
Have I been lost
Have I been wrong
Have I been wise
Have I been strong
Have I been hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have found
In that great street carnival

Have I been blind
Have I been lost
Have I been wrong
Have I been wise
Have I been strong
Have I been hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have found
In that great street carnival

In that carnival”…by Natalie Merchant

Light fall and darkness—touched street and covered brick—crack and moonless crackles. Colloid collisions—to scented secrets—and motions—without sounds. We are—the kings and the queens—of these streets. This city—is our city. World Spins—with seven moons—two largest—two larger—one large—and three—from small to smallest…All to rotate ’round about—a single sun of bright light—and at distance—blue cast and purple night…Rafters here—sailors of Green Seas—Emerald green—storm’s high—ten foot crests—and set-way-back—stone homes—and shingled stores.

On a semi-dry ‘kinda—gentle cool evening—when sun dip—quickly becomes night slip—darkness folds into half moon and Harvest time begins…Shift then—habits and ways—allowing for empty space—of balance—of restore. Darkness seeps—slowly creeps—into day—end bright…Night fill—lighted places—and turn-on bulbs—share grays—shades many—always simulate and always fail—to cheer the sun. Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume—replace—replenish—and then—recall—someplace else—some other—time—or—some other—rhyme. And! Rain does pour from sky—onto roof—through spirals both—short or long—gutters or just eaves—from leaves’ soak—or arcs—golden tricks of night light—inside—as outside water—splashes ground—collects—sidewalk—flooded cracks—into pools of wet—and of—mud carvings—and pavement soaks.

Still here—beneath these heavens—our sea—swirl-twirls and we hear—whale sing-song our mother— into-necessary-sleep. Whale—sing-songs—the heating of blood-self—until warming is—non-fear. She rises from—emerald seas and from—black sands—where tide pulls current— and—lines-of-moon-light are perfect—and—disappear into the—dustless night. Now! Touch— the Dancing One—the Witch of life—and taste—her creations…Goddesses do create—Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns—while passing—Spirits-to-flesh—and back again…Spirits do form—and substance—is free… Correct notes!—Pipers of those—silver flutes—held ‘gainst heart ‘beeps’ strong—as fair—seafarers often pass—others-into-light—as others ‘cross— star-streams-to-suns—above sea and beyond sky…

‘Wishing you days of Gentle winds—Soft curves and Wonder’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘First Light’…by Lindsey Stirling


‘Carnival’…by Natalie Merchant


When Flowers—Turn-Into-Glass…

33“All we had was Simon Finch, a fur-trapping apothecary from Cornwall whose piety was exceeded only by his stinginess. In England, Simon was irritated by the persecution of those who called themselves Methodists at the hands of their more liberal brethren, and as Simon called himself a Methodist, he worked his way across the Atlantic to Philadelphia, thence to Jamaica, thence to Mobile, and up the Saint Stephens. Mindful of John Wesley’s strictures on the use of many words in buying and selling, Simon made a pile practicing medicine, but in this pursuit he was unhappy lest he be tempted into doing what he knew was not for the glory of God, as the putting on of gold and costly apparel. So Simon, having forgotten his teacher’s dictum on the possession of human chattels, bought three slaves and with their aid established a homestead on the banks of the Alabama River some forty miles above Saint Stephens. He returned to Saint Stephens only once, to find a wife, and with her established a line that ran high to daughters. Simon lived to an impressive age and died rich”…From “To Kill A Mockingbird” by Harper Lee

  • Wondering how disease (plague-times) affect civilizations—their rising and their falling…Rome (circa–AD 165)—passed through a plague-time called ‘Antonine’. This illness, was responsible for a decrease of approximately 30% of the Roman population by (AD 180)…This ‘Civilization Killer’ recorded as being carried by the Roman Army from the Far East—also destroyed most of the military…
  • Wondering if—Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t…Wondering if control is illusion? Will—Democracy become a dictatorship—‘as we in-fear’—watch these motions and movements—toward ‘Martial Law’…
  • Wondering why Believing in—Open Boarders-Amnesty-Immigration-Multi-culture’ism-Freedom-for-Everyone and Life is called being an ‘Elitist Socialist?’ Wondering why— America’s Constitution claims “That All Men Are Created Equal” and America’s Slaves built the White House?
  • Knowing that—‘We’—the People—must never again be slaves of thought or owned by the richest of Slavers. Redistribute the Wealth-of-our-World—and Wage Slavery ends…And! Blue- Collar-Billionaires’-do-not-exist!

Ending a this-or-such-stuff-or-thing—things gone and still remembered in hazes and clouds—sometimes thick or sometimes thin—or remembered when those reasons for ‘tick-tock’ recall is not ‘at all’ necessary. And! Still memories along with the knowledge of futures’ days or yesterdays’ stop-starts—sometimes wisdom stumbles—flash words appear—and sometimes are transposed from wiggle-squiggles—to-words-to-letters-to-numbers-or-other such scratches—black-blue ink—into shapes—on white paper. Small square boxes—rows across and stacked—checkerboard-graphic-white tiles—framed-square—first sides perfect—then added rules of thickness rectangles—jumbles-or-mumbles of thought—frowns and smiles. The confusions of simple symmetry—good boggles—good toggles—mind flashes-in—rhythm or rhyme. If one stares toward glares of graph motions—of rectangles and squares—of ink and white spaces—will one—feel-free-fall—and sometimes—just disappear?

A spot of ship—quick-to-appear—touch-down and secure—no sounds—no noise—just-here-gone and back again. So often completed and always—the same motion—the same silence—the exact drop-speed-entry-and stop. However! While content same remains—the extra mix-of-touch-kiss-score and life—end-in-the-time—taken to breath-in—Earth’s night wind and Life-to-begin…Wondering why—survival’s song—may also stop—with a single note—not pitch—not harmony—nor—sounds beyond—a single note? Chorus or Choirs not required—donchaknow?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘For What It’s Worth’—Buffalo Springfield

‘Sunset Purples’…Tony Godsey Band

Judith Point And Ice Cream…

IMG_0270Discover time! A little step back-to fro-to-forward and back-to-beginning—down Ocean Road ‘cross Old Ocean Road—and on toward Point Judith Light House—Judith Point and Camp Cronin Fishing Area…Just uphill from Iggy’s Doughboy & Chowder House is—a place—Aunt Carrie’s Ice Cream Shoppe (childhood—little guy—more ice cream than—a sandy-salty-sea-foamy carpet—or—great gray hulks of steel—a meal of—Nathan dogs—mustard and bun—just right—chips and Aunt Carrie’s—one scoop white—and one scoop chocolate without napkins and sticky hands-on a warm summer eve.

Adapts are Martian Blood—always upright—since time began and now—hurtle-turtle inside moon— and—outside of Earth borne—feet-of-four—and starting—a hell ride—world twirl—an adapted life. Launch—ride an Ark—massive wings and things—strong-fast-silent often wrong and never—incorrect—a change so small—that shadows tall—are gone and Martian’s world—never whirl—never forgotten—in curious minds—of New Men in—another—other times. Storm of sunshine began—late in the day of October 26th…Long strings—tendrils tall—licking sky for ten million miles—giant—great things-to-jam—slam space and homes from Mercury gone—to Venus and—Sun worship comes within the reach—teach that shine works—shine lives and light often kills. 

Seen Before or Used Again—OK?

Lives—gathering together and—strength—of one or two or many more—than them or us—or we—be—power of scatters—no rules followed—no moral folly—or man rules—called God speak…For those ‘world words’—are songs of death—of control—of fiction—to suffer swift—lies against Spirit—Speak and Life. Women Love…Men Love…Love is Perfection—is Touch—is Peace—is Spirit—is Song …Sweetness—‘gainst canvas—lines and circles dance—and—soft songs play—and—laughter reaches—diners’ corner…Open doors—a call to come— inside—secrets of ink—motions and canvas—wet with colors—scents of orange—of green—of blues and browns and yellow—perfume inside—night air—and—dare and wear and fare or—future moments—again without—layers of walls—climbed and discarded…And yes! With you—I do ‘taste beauty.’

Sunshine’s understanding—manning star ship search—deeply go—inside heated globes—round source of death-life—life-death—and—gravity—things-holding-wings—globes of mother-ships—many times ‘cross Universes—both small and great—combined with magic glue—crystal twirls and witches’ swirls…And! Equations speak concisely—formed from clutter speak—into quantitative models—derived and survived from—fury storms and qualitative impressions. Weigh—the Ways-and means—often far before—human thoughts—mediate the distances among—perceptions—laced biochemically—senses five—to reach six-seven-or eight—and reach—hand stretch—inside sunlight’s core—not to feel the burn—but just-to-learn…

Teach-speak now—and explain—a cosmic giggle-wiggle—as slashes—dashes—dots and lots—are only heard and never seen—have been ‘round—about this universal gash—and back again. Seek-the safety keep—without that—number sleep—and twin-spin—hieroglyphic’s deep—into—poetic speak—that trance and dance—to learn—to turn and—to almost burn—again…Vacuum’s void—avoid—an empty space—as often counting—does come alive—dusts-of many—particles—do swirl or twirl into shape—into mass—from nothing-into-something—then into unseen—not seen and also—never was—or will ever-be again.

And! Beautiful you are…

Peace Circles and Wind…

Dion_Laurie Records

‘Abraham, Martin And John’

“Anybody here seen my old friend Abraham?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
You know I just looked around and he’s gone

Anybody here seen my old friend John?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

Didn’t you love the things that they stood for?
Didn’t they try to find some good for you and me?
And we’ll be free
Some day soon, it’s gonna be one day

Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill
With Abraham, Martin, and John”…Written by Dick Holler

Sea–side level and sand away from beach mist—fog scatter and clear sides—tucked along the bay. Hill high and east watch—Look Valley deep—as seep fog—softens light—from holler cabins—lined close—not circled—but—throw stones close…Too late for flowers now—too warm for dying grass—and leaves to fall—catch ground and turn brown. Somewhere between—cooling shines—sun mixed air—and breath—into—not light—and night. Before Moonshine Clear—nearby fire shine—bright sprite dance—’round about—where hollers begin—and sunlight’s end.

In Marxism and  Psychoanalysis—hidden somewhere between—word scare—twin modes—both radical pairs—are standing—understanding and constitutional—reconstruction. Stress levels—high—both granite hard—from—shiftless sedentary shifts—begin mountain curves and valleys’—trenches from park benches—bus-ride thought—the sought and bought—fought—often taught and life made-to- paid—and—lived once—again. Features’ surface—once or twice—and over-to-over regain—again begin—social’s abnormally—normal speak—behavior tweak—pattern’s seek—reek just below—perceptions of analogous penetration—and just above the surface—of a long—last phenomena…End products borne—and born from workers’ womb—society’s tomb—and necessary—necessities of the—we-us-them-those—needed—blended—desired—recalled—rejected—injected—and still forgotten—while watching—front-facing—backward—gathered mirrors and—cross winds—of rhythms and rhymes.

Fire—Blue light—‘a sort of’—start-stop—dancing—yellow streaks—red coats and journey starts. Screaming—moons toward—light and still—horses run Martian Ridge. We are children of those—salted seas and spirit trees. And! Clouds often look for—skies. …Hollow men—are robots without—spirit-animation-without ‘ghosts in the machine’…We be not—holy hollows—we be—imagine—imagination—beyond pushes of strengths—we dance—baby birthing—powerful protection and iron love—nothing stronger than love or better than together songs and the unification of eternal spirits. Butterfly—kisses—wishes made—wishes chant—and grant—soft wings and slips and flits— ride currents of breeze—so slight—against soft skin—often switch directions-of-fancy—will by—choice or wearied of time—trips to beginning and endings of time shifted—drifted and lifted and forever gifted—to lines of—crafted beings—being for  moments—above moonlight and—day—bright. Space between lines—of coded-cold-color—fine word pour—from puzzle—one or two—twins in-step—and reasons to-be—to-see special—twin-twines—through tunnels and into the night.

Launch now—code filled balloons both alpha and numeric—fluid—lines of rows—switch—crosses—across drops-of-lengths—between space and press and touch—and—a distance—between winter’s flakes and snow. While dancing dream’s mind-merge—spirit winds a clock of choices—known by forgotten—dust-swirls—desert winds and salted seas—as foam merges with sandy shores. Rain bounce—by moonlight—against a million miles of asphalt streets—where tiny sprites of weeds—meet—push through—to break the symmetry—of path—life once again—is the birth of nature’s chaos—and nothing is as natural—as creating—-creations. Life’s power is—eternal notions—of—goddesses and gods—witches and warlocks—wizards and shamans—and—the blood-bond of women and men—creatures-features— and the dynamics of Love. Remember! Love is sex-less—without form—without flesh—and—-when shiver—shapes humanity—love—is touch—magic required—as beings require air—mixed—blood red.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Abraham-Martin And John’…performed by Dion


‘You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive’…performed by Ruby Friedman


‘Closer To The Heart’…performed by Rush


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”

A Cosseting Halo…

116732A little Galaxy up line—along ridges circling—the ‘Giant of Milky Ways’ always at angles right—to the main disc of stars—containing everything—even a Sun—of our shines—not scattered at random—but—ordered and held together—a swarm—by a cosset halo—of matters-dark—rarely seen—but always present…And! A well-stocked mind—is never bored—donchaknow?

When in love—distance from the ‘Object of one’s—‘Love’ is just formality…A spirit being “in-love’—takes no notice of Space—Distance—Time…Paley’s watch—keeps ticking—and—Universal continuation—continues. Our world of right now—words—worldwide—so many—too many—too often—are—persecuted—imprisoned—suffer sub-human disadvantages—and are killed—for religious reasons—beliefs political—their race—their sex—their loves—and still—the wisdom of engagement—on behalf of human rights—is not only a moral imperative—but eternally required—everywhere—every moment—‘cross the continuum universal—and still—Paley’s watch—keeps ticking and ‘too often’—occurs—eternally.

Does objective truth—deny that government is—the provider of enjoyments—and neo-progressivism—accepts that—enjoyments do become—entitlements and entitlements—eventually become—the right of the people? Standards for human rights—disappear? And! Still elites determine what constitutes—without a real constitution—the rights of humanity? These Elites are—also the ‘Body Politic’—purchased—bought—traded—faded—commanded—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—is how much gun smoke—issues from barrels—pointed toward the—people? If true! Then how must—political power be—judicially executed—limited once—as smoke evaporates into precious air? Paley’s watch—keeps ticking—and—Universal continuation—continues.

And! While enjoying—enjoyments and—entitled to—entitlements—of the ‘rights-of-the-people—complexities ensue—informal institutions—are formal—non-state-states—markets—organizations—processes are mechanization—relationships—mechanics-of-similar-speak—citizens—rich—poor—inter-governmental—non-governmental—collective interests—duties—taxes—obligations—privileges—equality and inequalities—mediated—not mediated and—WTF…What continues—when Elite Professionals rule—not elected—just collected—inspected—rejected—corrected—enhanced—romanced—only rule—until complex issues align against—the people and another Revolution—smoking guns—and mirrors into—the past…Paley’s watch continues—ticking—matters-dark are—never seen—and when—aligned—properly—another ‘cosset halo’ appears—for another—little while…

“Round-about—pinpricks and—holes into space—race the flights—of gulls ‘cross sky—where ending—starts—and reason begins…We do—remove those ‘for granted’—blinders’-of-right-sight—and often skyward—search and find—the light…Those wormholes—cosmic cross—universes—near and far—and still ‘we’ see—the vast—of power blast—possibilities—of relativity’s—loopholes—and just hope-know-now—‘warp drive’ may—span distance ‘cross—space—time wonders—wandering about—wilderness—speak—‘til speed—crease—cease—and earth-lock—unblock—free—‘childhood’s end’—and into space—we—seek-creep and star-child begins—again…

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

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Saving Grace’

“One time around the block
Two times around the clock
Three times, don’t cross the little lady

So pretty and, oh, so bold
Got a heart full of gold on a lonely road
She said, ‘I don’t even think that God can save me’

Am I gainin’ ground
Am I losin’ faith
Have I lost and found my saving grace
Thankful for the gift my angels gave me

Born alone, we die alone
‘n’ I’m just sittin’ here by the phone
Waitin’ for the Lord to send my callin’

Street wise from the boulevard
Jesus only knows that she tries too hard
She’s only tryin’ to keep the sky from fallin’

Any man who says it’s Heaven and Hell
Prob’ly got somethin’ useless to sell
You ask me if I’m saved, but what’s it to ya?

Blow a quarter, cop another eight
You’re runnin’ out of high, you’re losin’ your faith
Throw your hands up and scream, “Hallelujah”

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

One time around the sun
Another year older and my work ain’t done
It’s time for me to write the final chapter

Deal the cards and roll the dice
Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll are my only vice
Tryin’ to figure out just what’s here after…

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
by Erik Francis Schrody

‘Saving Grace’…performed by Everlast

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




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

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

Echoes and silence, patience and grace
All of these moments I’ll never replace
No fear of my heart, absence of faith
And all I want is to be home”by Dave Grohl

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

  • From Norm Chomsky during an interview with Simone Chun…

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

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

“Do you mean that the media fuels lies?”

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s done in the dark soon comes into the light’… Author unknown

Thomas Hobbes once wrote in his book Leviathan: “[in nature] there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

And! ‘Let there appear—“Free Market”…Government—not required? Without government— No ‘Free Market—can exist.’ It cannot be—without civilization…’True competition’ is a wild ‘dance of survival’ and—only the largest and the strongest win? Oops! Civilization is defined by rules—Rules create markets—and ‘Oh No’—governments’ are— the rule ‘Generator.’ And! Please Do Not believe—that if your paycheck is too small to survive without (2) + jobs and your partner cannot be a ‘stay-at-home parent’ you deserve this—And! That if a precious few—earn billions-of-dollars—for your work—with no sweat or blood—they deserve this—No way! Rules have been altered…Rules have been skewed and the American Government is to blame—it can’t intrude—on a ‘Free Market’—since it must—create that—‘Free Market’…The American Government—creates all ‘free market rules from Our legislatures—Our administrative agencies and our Courts…And! Until they are re-calculated—-‘Nothing else matters’.

“There are two modes of invading private property; the first, by which the poor plunder the rich…sudden and violent; the second, by which the rich plunder the poor, slow and legal.”…Author unknown

Wondering—if Preachers-of-Fear—and—Creatures-of-Hate and a—Collection of Hope—Fraud—Reality-show-Freaks—and Presidential ‘Wanna—Mights’—are nothing—more-or-less—than—distractions—entertainment-to-lure-both-you-and-me—from Legislature failure? And! Pillage or plunder? And! Still—Knowing that—Love Is—or—‘Nothing else—will matter.’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Home’…performed by The Foo Fighters