Gods of Alien Replacements…

P_95‘We cannot despair of humanity—since we ourselves are human beings’…Albert Einstein

Walls to build—too high to climb and the healing cliffs are for far fewer than require the magic man and the doctors of witch power and re-lifting structures—strictures—scriptures and ‘scripts.’ Branches and olive leaves and healing brews boil from green leaf and tea bag and mushroom blossoms and grass helping the blinding eyes to see and the broken ones to crawl—to run and to race again on also nights into soaking rains—bright lights and softener days. She is young and must live again—strong alive—medicine magic more and her chance increases the missing hits or errors of judges above the need to live where money written is a world apart and another chance of life or the liberty of living or the right-to-be an almost grown-up self ceases too soon…Poverty’s child has as much to righted life as those golden touched—few godless players of children’s games—born to—too much and fathered inside those mothers of greed and destruction.

Children born into struggle and war—our children—golden spirits among the uselessness of greedy ones and those ones just above understanding—that lines of separation are transitional momentary spaces between sharing shares of bread and revolution. And! Even on the highest ground— blood will fall across those lines between humanities’ humanity and descendents of these troubles and struggles will prevail until these also–separate by drawing transitional spaces between needing and wanting and working and flaunting and living and surviving and bleeding and dying in both doubt and revolution.

Build for those few humans—fortunate ones—leisure spaces and places and races and tastes and wastes and notions of better than…And! Worlds colliding will place smash and grab and death-kill in motions so bloody—that taste-the-blood-fever will rage until left in ashes and ruin—ruined humans shall crawl from that cleared wound to again rebuild the past of future’s hopes for another tomorrow until power again seals away attempts by many to survive another day-to-day and the ad infinitum of struggle—war—death—the glory of war and the industry of one nation under whatever—corrupts the notion of freedom for all into—subjection of all but a few ‘good-men.’

And! When those ‘few good men’ turn many guns toward the people—the concentration of their fire destroys the nations they are duty-bound to serve and protect. How can a flying robotic—machine controlled—creation of war—justify the nobility of protecting one home against evil? Why would a little child die and be the center of a General-of-Warrior-with-no-honor’s empty apology and worthless notions of peace and prosperity—when that coward’s notion of righteous war is collateral damage and alien weapons discharged into the home of life—innocent life?

Power corrupts and corruption is the strength of any government. Lift sword and if must—battle man-to-man into—the ‘one left standing’ doctrine…Call this a noble notion if destruction is the glorious path to the heavenly-worlds of evil’s good successes-excessively-expressed successively and please leave the little ones and their mothers alive—Leave their homes undamaged and their crops intact.  Better! Together destroy all walls of separation—share the wealth of nations—labor long days in the heat of sunshine and destroy all machines!

Oh well—not to happen in lifetimes combined into another thousand years of greed and destruction. The governments of religion—plunder and pillage and rape and murder are the evil of death…Corrupt be government! Life is Love and Eternal is Spirit…No religion or God notions required…Nothing here but words…However— May Love and Hope and the Hope of Love-words and Touch-speak in another ten centuries—be another Song for the Peaceful—as voiced by Earthy folks across a less-than-barren world—and someday may these folks-of-planet-twirls never know of Robot-kill and Drones…Keep wishing—eh?

” I’ve been to so many places-
I’ve seen some things…
I know— love is the answer
Keeps holding this world together
Ain’t nothing better-
Ain’t nothing better-
And all the answers to our prayers
Hell—it’s the same everywhere.
Nothing ever breaks up the heart—
Only tears give you away”—
Borrowed from ‘Miracles‘ by The Jefferson Starship.

And! Beautiful you are…

Long Hair and Smiles…

IMGP6458“One pill makes you larger and one makes you small and the ones that your mother gives you—don’t do anything at all”…from (‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane…

However: The kisses of sunlight touching soft skin and trail lighted moon-dances in the dark or into the night of delighted confusions fade and trade without bargained sound and the wonders of soft star-touch also reflected from lake glass and sweet eyes…be always home.

We all are—the only way away from this war—gone for so long only to come back home to speak the name of the only reason to fight another war in another land and to imagine opposite times or family spaces placed in quick memory time—beyond sky-whistles—damaged structured—smokeless ruins without rhymes of symmetrical management or steeped in once fashionable reasons to motion—imagine—or discover.

Eye Needle is a fourteen mile drop to sky opening—quick flash and slight in travel might to more of less and across timed mines and star twinkle. Thread thin and long stretched in color and distance and change and certainly certain of ending somewhere—another here or there or through an anxious everywhere. Eye of needle is passage toward the expectation of homeland’s differential and finding similar situations requiring sanities gateway to suggestions of home—of space—and place—to body shape and shift and survive.

Along a river of winding places and the secrets of death silenced by winged changes in flight and shoreline distances from blood left behind—discover the spirits of group-touch lost inside the memories of a something struggle to remember forgotten places behind the twining pine of needled trees and the safety beyond the reaches of iron spears and burning tears…

We shift into the object of another day with the accepted expectations of extraordinary moments of original thought and lights of splendidly created—creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and overloaded repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…in the becoming of a notion immortally important and into legacy’s realm—repeated and recalled and repeated…Amen! Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

The where-in-the-world we appear is no irritation to the matter-of-the-matter. The ‘I’ of us has never survived without the everywhere of everyone in everyplace across the sky and below and above the lights of moon—stars and suns’ dances beyond the imagined realms of universal distance and the figures of figures wrapped around a third planet from here-to-there and again to another planet of wondering folks alive in both spaces and places and time.

The ‘I’ ceased when the ‘we’ once began to sparkle into ‘the us’ of our flawless creations by love and art-life for a whatever reason to join the joining circle of everlasting lasting until an end begins something special or less or more—however; we are the greater sum of the ‘I’…eye-of-the-needle’s fourteen mile leap-jump into another space of places to land or leave a leaf behind and shift-tilt together into another world of sun—snow—long hair and laughing smiles…(Grace Slick—‘We do believe in Magic—We do believe in Dreams.’)

And! Beautiful you are…

(‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane…Woodstock-1969…)

Flute of Silver Crafts…

68Do believe and from those windows—across the bay dancers staged and caged beyond the believers of dawn and crossed these watered gates in boated crafts and anchored along the sandy shoreline. In these model times—love pushed swings without colored desires save to be and swing those roped contraptions higher and higher and higher and to fly among white billowed clouds and raindrops—dew-dropped in those spaces along these places.

Grass carpeted floors of high to sky mountain flats and red sand shifted when raining season began the falls of liquid both silver-clear and diamond-splash across the drinking desert of sand and sea and jungle sleep. Once hearted fears did not exist within the laughing times of fearless pursuit and the unrequited necessities of being the beginning of being the life of long summer moments and winter short when snow covered the dreaming spaces of golden sands and purple seas.

There was a city of Calimesa. A place of Crowman day and Crowman night and a place of haunted hunts and battles of no-foe. A timed place when jack-booted terror stood upon the sacred throats of freedom fighters and painted the ruined roadways with blood and mud and mired ditches with filthy ragged cloth and stained once cleaned spaces—being days before political crazy collapsed—died and disappeared.

He was a Crowman…His face known a century before sickness visited his story and around him the crowds of everyone disappeared and the burning witches forced fire to cleanse another place of sickness and sorrow and loss and start and another beginning of the ends of means or peace or reason to be another being. He piped a silver flute and little ones followed him across first—fields of dirt to concrete streets to rutted shapes of broken road to oiled seas and crumpled ceilings under skylights of grays and flashing streaks and thunder.

Behind his place were story lined message and words of substance and nothing and his something taken from places in days before or after the plague of fires and water and wine and hope-slopes where snow boards and sleds slipped along icy waves and his childhood danced against a dream or two or maybe three. These were the story of lives before and beyond the notions of list things done and lists to check off the hours of a day-a month as century years separated into segments of almost failed to realize the moments of living among the stars and beneath the sky fall of living or dying or living again.

As the piper played, children danced into a ragged sorted night and as they danced, the nothing of Goddess flashes or the darkness thunder bothered to disturb those claps of little hands and rings joined songs and laughter only as a child may laugh or sing. He was the Crowman piper of the raggedy sorting day when Coven called and Crowman repeated the role of rolls and the answered ones again danced behind and beside the flute of silver crafts and a simple dancing song. ‘A better day,’ he cried and everyone agreed.

‘Daylight dorri’r noson heddiw — yn ystod y nos yn cymryd yr ofn i ffwrdd — Sing-Song awr ac Sing-Song yna — Gadewch yr amser dechrau cyfrif — A byddwn yn disgyn i ffwrdd-fall-i ffwrdd — i ffwrdd eto.’ (Daylight break the night today—Night time take the fear away—Sing-Song now and Sing-Song then—Let the counting time begin—And we will fall away-fall-away—away again.)

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Omnos’—by Eluveitie

Illusions of Freedom…

palestine_347She stands beside him, cave-side; children pushed behind them and when sounds roar across their place she throws her spear without fear save the saving of her little ones and she falls beside him…Death is swift on this little world of green diamonds and purple sea water. Quick death is free and for those left remaining; baskets of food—coal heat—wraps to body warm and the smiling time are costs of slavery and last as long as short life and hard work. Freedom is Illusion—Body free is Lie?

Global revolution and the reality of freedom’s notion are real and everlasting and deadly. Before ‘newsy’ motion and scattered screens across a distance of feet-to-inches incessant in headlines to bylines to lying truth and spin, mothers and fathers and sons and daughters have lined cave openings and died to protect the sacred freedom of home and community. Freedom is Illusion—Body free is Lie?

Again gathered before camera to drama-dance on stages—so a universal audience may witness both success and failure as trumpets of sound and fury nudge folks to march in directions of locked-step confusion contained by the armies of ‘lesser evils.’ And! Damn the army that dares to launch death and destruction against people. When does the army of a nation kill a nation of people? First bullet fired—first blood spilled and Freedom is Illusion—Body free is Lie…

A revolution of war is our war. We watch yet we also die. When our women fall we die. When our men fall we die. Their hopes for freedom and a better life is our hope for freedom and for life’s sweet moments to stretch into those minutes of sunset light as it kisses the line between water and sky. We gather and stand together because sight is not through eyes but observed as a gathering of eternal spirits and life. We protect body—because life is the forever time and we dance across a spectrum of color and desire to forever remain free… Freedom is Illusion—Body free is Lie?

Something better comes this way? Sometimes yes or no or in the many may-happens or would-have or could-have occurred on that warm summer breeze or in the cold-cleaned air of winter. Again, we gather and stand ready and our spears may fly and our arrows may both bounce or pierce the flesh of someone else or another brother or sister or mother or father. War ensues and even the winners die. In battle or through accident or by sickness death always sparks another change. Still; it is always better to fall in Love—than to fall in Battle… Donchathink?  Freedom is Illusion—Body free is Lie…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Time After Time’_Cyndi Lauper (2011 Human Rights Campaign Dinner)

Moon Color Red…

9A quotation repeated…”It is the duty of us all to ensure that our society remain one of which we are proud, not a society wary of immigrants and intent on their expulsion or a society that disputes the welfare state or a society in which the media are controlled by the wealthy. We would oppose such things were we true heirs to the National Council of the Resistance.”— By Stephane Hessel

We are immigrants of this world. Since a flash of mystery or notions or nicks or knacks or reasons or rhymes we move through time and place and home and one-to-another. We are the managers ‘blood of red’ same air and dancers of fictional truths drawn by spirits same and dreams of hope and the hope of dreams. We are the past—the present—and the days of future dances.

We are the art of the Gods!   We are life—all growing and all walking and all crawling and all swimming—We are Life—perfect and unstoppable…Needs fulfilled—Peace? Poverty is not a disease. Greed is disease and the antithesis of Peace. And! Better to fall in love than to fall in battle…

Medicine may assists us…Medicine never creates us…Medicine does not destroy us…Us…Life and the power of Love. Helping any life to heal must never be considered revenue. Must be without reason and to be applied without expectation of compensation…Medical—Life—Cost—Need—Always—Greed…

Ο Όρκος του Ιπποκράτη

“I swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hygeia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:

To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parents and to live my life in partnership with him, and if he is in need of money to give him a share of mine, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage and to teach them this art—if they desire to learn it—without fee and covenant; to give a share of precepts and oral instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him who has instructed me and to pupils who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the medical law, but no one else.

I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice.

I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody who asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art.

I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work.

Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick, remaining free of all intentional injustice, of all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves.

What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself, holding such things shameful to be spoken about.

If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot.”

Words and reasons of and for oaths are altered by translations and by time… ‘Ο Όρκος του Ιπποκράτη‘ is ancient in the time of flesh, however; seconds in the time of Life. Magic words are spoken and promises are broken or changed or forgotten. However; when flesh cries from the pain of sickness or fear or anguish—magic must never be diminished by the filth of money-changers and by the Greed of Destruction…

And! Beautiful you are…

The Balance of Nations…

P_88In the twirl of the whirl and between the steps of metal warriors, Robots—us begin a step-lock of unison and the hope of…Earth renewal and the premised promises of days to better the inside-outside of motions reached without notions of greed and the failure of ‘too-much-too soon and too often.’

Freedom requires a society to alter a spread of nothing too many and too much to very few. Kingdoms? Governments? Religions—A name of control by a few over everyone? Prophets and Saviors have roamed this sweet earth and gently whispered of social worlds and caring among societies. Were these magic-folk the founders of Socialism? Did magicians of Buddhism or Islam or Hinduism or Christianity conjure the magic of Socialism?

The Religions that quickly chased—followed these Foundation Creators created War Machines and Kingdoms of Profit…Wars—Crusades—Reformation—Alteration—Reputation—Saturation and Infatuation— are ruler words…Bloodletting ensues and what is physical turns to dust in eyes-twinkle and agony…On the back of labor and slaves and wage-slaves…Governments are created—enhanced—and ultimately destroyed. ‘Blood—Sweat—Tears’ are people costs…Rulers advance and decline once they dismiss their origin of originality.

Western Civilization…Equals the commission of crimes against Humanity to further Profit Lust and the Terror of Capitalism. Moments in time, recorded by the people and not by the winners of wars and the concentration of wealthy words and lies; world variances and imbalances are discovered.  Imbalanced nations (currently in the Middle East)?  When people die—the wealthy win…Many people die—the wealthy win. When there are wars—the wealthy win.  Called Religious wars—Sectarian strife—and many other names. The destruction of balance—Yes–Yes—Yeah!

During the 20th century, the USA favored dictators over freedom throughout South America. Cuba is very close—almost ‘Florida close…’ Why is this present day embargo still the reality of an ‘old-white-men’ government? Another terror of Capitalism—Yes! Why is Socialism an enemy of the People? It is not a crime nor is it against the rights of People anywhere…Redistribute the costs of Cold and Hot Wars committed against humanity during the twentieth century and our world—prospers in a Social world. Equality—Yes—Yes—Yeah!

In countries practicing Capitalism (USA, etc.) the means of production are not labor’s property. Very few people own the land and materials required for manufacturing, factories, machines and other instruments of production…Therefore; if you are not wealthy you are a slave—a wage slave. Wages are never fair because the lust-for-profit is more powerful than Truth, Justice, Love and Life.

Corporate ‘cultures’ easily translated mean—profit at all cost and all of the Working Class is an expense…Eliminate every expense to further our profits! La Serrata—Separation? Where are the values we learned from our mothers? Why is greed the prime motive of Industry and its future development? For the standards of friendship and family and our world, Capitalism is the antithesis. It adheres to competition at all costs. It dismisses cooperation, help for fellowman, responsibility to society, the benefits of others and love.

Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-the-World is a Crime against Humanity…Like Genocide and Sociocide, these abuses; destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this twirly-whirly planet. Capitalism is not freedom…It is slavery for us all…It is war and a savage waste of precious life…It benefits no one except a few. It destroys Society…It forces revolution and revolution is bloody. Why is Religion also an industry? Why not just…Lust of life—not of Riches?

  • 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.”

So Again:  “Go ahead and hate your neighbor—go ahead and cheat a friend—Do it in the name of heaven— you could justify it in the end—There won’t be any trumpets blowing—come the judgment day—On the bloody morning after—One Tin Soldier rides away.”

by Joni Mitchell

And! Beautiful you are…