Tag Archives: Tampa Bay Times

Jul 19 2021

Images and Collective Minds…

“You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still…You turn me on”. ‘You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

We are the wonderful images and collective minds of maybe, might be or almost happening together as shifts in minor or major measures collect along with morning rain drops and evening’s star heavy lights and distant echoes of woodland mortals and quieting hush. We shift into objects of alternative daylight with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land. While above these hills; walkers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pinecones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

Plato wrote in ‘The Republic’ “that men are chained at the bottom of a dark cave and only see shadows cast upon a wall by a fire behind them. They think that this is reality. One of them frees himself, leaves the cave and discovers the light of the Sun, and the wider world. At first the light, to which his eyes are unaccustomed, stuns and confuses him. But eventually he can see and returns excitedly to his companions to tell them what he has seen. They find it hard to believe.”

Dragging the lines of surf’s collapse and climbing as waves dash lofty into moonless sky then fold along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea’s inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting.

Are we possessed with humanity? We discover pasts, revise mindsets, twist sensibilities and redefine divinities. Considerable realization revolves ‘round us. Are ‘We’ the greatest beings in space? We are not subjecting apart. We are a fragment of something whole and constantly changing. By noticing, we realize that the undiscovered is greater than the established. To learn is to determine novel ways to realize additional encounters. Some are immediate. And! Some are creations gone. To recognize is to see we are not a universal’s majority. Space is curvilinear and our cosmos is spun from juddering quantum granules. We are currently extant within these fabrications. We are lighting at nightfall. We swiftly vanish.

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world must kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the particularly good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these, you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” ―by Ernest Hemingway…

Wait! Senses closed to thunder rolling ‘cross divided skies as secrets streak the sea and roll into the silent spaces between raindrops and life. ‘Fix your standard on fact.’ Science perpetually gambols with belief, doctrine, delusion, and dogmatic obliviousness. Once and frequently; these momentarily wins, something-of-else or another choice-to-follow. Crossroads-to-chance, sparks-to-light and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about or perhaps-maybes. Real sea, we will see with additional water-ships and a multitude of places far away.

Ages past we became sponges; gifted and gregarious and bowed through insight and anchored to two worlds, one frightful and one enchanted. We are filled-to-edge with truth and with wisdom? Both’ are scary and fearful as wisdom sometimes becomes you, as age bends body yet frees spirit twirl. From the twins of two a power of life sparks, and alone-never places begin and fixes end. We together have already accomplished everything. And! Magically we all pass on!

Dreams-then-dream quest cease and increase those creases in time as curtains’ climb and paces die. Visit and speak of ways of star-side streak of starlight sweet of gentle unions and love. Life lives and mingle-tingles thru heart touch good as ring-circles and fancy, dances into love’s rhythm and rhyme. We are of the emerald seas. We belong to the black sands and tides that pull ‘gainst current as the alignment of this moonlight is perfect while stepping across another dustless night. Creations’ Witch creates those perfect notions and motions as she rewrites truth and confuses lies. The necessity of fire and cave to survive this night and live into another day is now, and through tomorrow’s light will create another constraint.

“Among the stars
there is a place to where 
my heart always returns.” – from ‘Home’ by Unsun

 And! Beautiful you are…

Jul 6 2021

Celestial Circles…

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

‘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.”

There are stellar smoking rings of nothing in a cosmos of anything. There are gateways into portal slips and distance trips when stars come together and never collide. We tell of the sometimes vast separation quickly traversed between quick inhales and slow exhales. We appear through open doors tucked behind grey colored clouds and blue skies. Now! Where are we in this most distant place away from Earth-ship and home? 

Shangri-la and immorality and vipers, oh my! We are the confirmation of far-flung people. Demigods could have decided to create women and men in countless locations about Sirius and Mars and Earth and back again? Our rulers and our dominated and our voices and our religions have rewritten our starting points in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that our truth and fiction has blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is eternally approaching. ‘And! 

Why do routines and understanding collapse the possibility of peaceable processes? Inspirations rely on just how to reach and where you are as flare striae before haze stinks and eyes burn. Tears and fears and by the warps of notions, peace ceases just prior to small recollections developing into nice content and bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail set-to-wind rail balance ‘neath ruined ‘the bridges of seven’ or on one more earth-fall underneath one more sky. Dwellings to construct and caves to clean and for a little while landing life reaches mountain homes. Be better than missile’s explosions and sites too far gone to search for hazardous sanctuaries. Perhap a faraway chance for another dance before smoking tears and tomorrow’s sorrow. Death and peace and good Life. Countless routes forgotten, recalled, then gone. And! As long as I breathe, I Hope.

And! Still the rest is eternally approaching.

Misusing the right of the Workers-of-this-World is a Crime against Mankind. Similar to liquidation, opportunists destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere. Are we free if we are wage-vassals, still?

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

Jun 4 2021

Spins Without Time…

“Poetry can communicate before it is understood” —T.S. Eliot

Speculating at Earth’s center if life ends? Liquid center or rock or a combination? Is the epicenter too lifeless to explore or too far to travel or too uninteresting to understand? So much of our Sea is unfamiliar. It is closer than Mars and alive with treasures still not revealed. Why?

‘The strength of humanity is not found in simple machines.’

We have technology to stop the allowance of carbon dioxide to billow and blow and seep and reek and fill our polluted air as it remains, better now, but not best. Greed is the price of oil. Energy from the sun and wind is not yet a generation of profit. We must change this greed into prosperity for everyone. Do not hide riches behind the needs of non-enemies. Immigration made America what it demands to be and immigrants from everywhere must continue this purpose.

‘The strength of humanity is not found in simple machines.’

We constantly create workarounds. Until there are fewer folks, machines are never required. Profits come from slavery. Profits are portions of wages not paid and needed. Stop creating enemies that are not the enemy. And! Racism is eternal slavery. Brown and white are the same. We have struggled to become better. We have combined strengths to overcome daily injustice and wars against one another. Prevailing winds, strong sails and people cross oceans and soon will reach-out, touching first planets and then the stars.

‘Together we survive and together we thrive.’

Believe in the strength of humanity. Together we survive. Together we thrive. Together we face tomorrow’s miracles and challenges and fears and tears. Together we live and together we die. QuickTime and we move on as Eternal Spirits we were and as Eternal Spirits we are yesterday, today and tomorrow—ad infinitum. Mankind creates Gods of fear and retribution. Visitors from the heavens are these Gods. We create Eternal Spirits, housed by fleshy points but only for a brief time.

Words flow and designed to express or depress thought flow and in pour, poor-to-great with mean truth or bent to lies, exaggerations or pour more…The covers here leak and reach high into the colder places of Calimesa City. Dreams caught between waking and sleeping, to mind-speak and sometimes dreams are easy and difficult to share. There is another language used in Dreaming. Understanding and not is still learning a path toward wisdom! Please believe in ‘humanity’s strength’ for together we survive and together we thrive! Together we face tomorrow’s miracles and challenges and fears and tears. Together we live and together we die.

‘Imbalance destroys too much!’

We live on an orbiting motion groove. It is a large Mother-ship capable of supporting our species and many other lifeforms. Our spaceship is a dangerous place. Uncivil in many areas. Cruel because imbalance destroys so much. We are the caretakers of this orb. We destroy more than we create. We are a ‘throw-away’ species. We are a sad group of consumers with too many choices and greed infused into everything we cherish.

Block universes spin without time and without dimensions three. As occurrences occur and may never be where changes never-were and within blocks must find pasts presents and presents in future’s long-time ago. And! Is it faster if we move thru space or if space moves through us? We move toward mountain or mountain moves toward us? Illusions-in mind spin are as real as memories of futures moving ahead, out-of-sight, but still inside kept…So! Together links of gravity strong nuclear electromagnetic weak into unified theory and still linking the theory of gravity to the theory of quantum mechanics fails eludes mind skips to time slips.

‘Wandering to wondering about Moses.’

We do remove those ‘for granted’ blinders’-of-right-sight and often look skyward to search and find a light. Those wormholes or 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 that ‘warp drive’ may span distance ‘cross space, time wonders while wandering about in Moses’s time wilderness speaks ‘til speed crease cease and earth-lock unlock free ‘childhood’s end’ while into space we seek-creep as star-child begins again.

Instead warp drive space folds as space-time continues and arrives for us as distortions bends and separations wide are right ‘next door.’ “More is less and less is more.” Bubble-ride the twirling whirl and glide inside safe as spaces-of-space fabric rich move our bubble ships wait-not-wait as space-time expands then contracts and relativity’s restrictions fades alongside trails of star-dust–must and space knows ‘no’ rules or reasons only rhythm and everlasting rhyme…

 ‘And! Bubbles do move across Space.’

The ‘Universal-Limits-of-Speed’ is applicable to ‘Bubbles-Moving-Through-Space’ not applied to Space itself. During space’s inflationary moments did Space-Time manage speeds through infinite accelerations infinitely faster than Light Speed-ride-glide and slide? The continuation of the Space-Time Continuum may also suggest that Large Bangs of Starts and whimpers of stops are possibly ‘End of Time’ as Inflationary moments fade as star dust trails begin and end as we ‘too-twos’ also always ‘do.’

‘Ancient Light and Ancient Stars.’

If time real does cease in a few more billions-of-years, the Universal Everything may also halt-grind-to-slow to stop. Could Would the Energy-of-Darkness the anti-gravitational singsong provide proof of the positive-of-the-negative? What if we are ‘looking backward’? What if the expansion of ‘Universe Accelerating’ is actually ‘Time’—slowing down? Unnoticed everyday yet so obvious when cosmic-scale-measures universe-tracking over billions of years? Ancient Light and Ancient Stars and the everlasting trails of Magic Dusts across the Eternal Sky…

We measure all things known and all things unknown. We treasure quantities, lengths of short, of tall and tales of being beings both big and small ‘because we are ‘Spirits of Creation’ we are ‘Creative Critters’ one-and-all.

And! Beautiful you are…

Jan 29 2021

Often Empathy Is Survival…

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

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

‘No gentle times better than the dreams of children safe, lovers’ serenity, pictures on walls with no forms, tracks without stars and cars without spaces to move while empty ribbons of dark pavement disappear over a hill. Being afraid to exist; is the notion of moving through, a barely recollected time of future’s fate and prior to another trip-in-time’.

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

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

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

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

The way to hearts is always through hearts.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Orinoco Flow by Enya

Jan 14 2021

Imagination and Wrinkles in Space…

“We took the blood of the earth
and fell in love with death
with life itself as an excuse
Black is the sunlight shimmering below;
it flows through life and the guilt we share
We’re hiding in chorus as starry eyes close,
and seasons part in farewell;
‘because we drained her blood, then forgetting her face
to hide from everyone” by Draconian

Imagine! If we could create wrinkles in space-time, we may be able to manage to bring a distant location much closer to us, so it would be possible to reach it without breaking the light speed barrier.

Swirling whirls of smoky fires to cook and fog mist touches life from mountain high to valleys of twirling-spirits and folks-of-flesh spreading across a triangle called Kalints. This may be considered life or love’s memory and the almost real of a now to then and back again. Creators speak and touch canvas with lines and circles a dot of dash as songs play and laughter reaches to diners’ corner and open doors call to inside secrets of ink motions and canvas wet with colors and the scent of orange and green and brown and yellow and perfume inside a night of air and dare and wear and fare or the future of moments again without the layers of walls climbed and discarded.

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 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.”

Abusing the rights of the Workers-of-this-World is a Crime against Humanity. Like Genocide, speculators destroy life and the freedom of people everywhere on this sweet planet. Are we free if we are wage-slaves, anyway?

‘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.”

This garden is hilltop high and we come here in season to plant flowers and remember some time ago with voices today. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life crosses path resting inside good woods as we look toward cattle and fence and trees and fields and a creek bed dry except for trickles of little waters caught by pools and deposited by rains covering this hill and the valley just last evening.

Consider the everyday failure of notions to grasp the chance of peaceful portions. Depends on how-where you be when flash streaks with smoke reeks as eyes burns in the tears and fears and by the warps of notions, peace cease just before killer memories evolve into sweet substance and light bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail set-to-wind rail balance ‘neath ruined ‘bridges of seven’ or on another land-fall beneath another sky. Homes to build and caves to clean and again for a short while arrival life comes home. Better than missile speak, or places too far gone to seek bomb shelter, a chance for another and another dance before smoking tears or tomorrow-sorrow. Death and peace and good! Life! Ways forgotten remembered and gone. And! While I breathe, I Hope.

‘And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
The blacksmith and the artist
Reflect it in their art
They forge their creativity
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart.

Philosophers and ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
You can be the captain
I will draw the chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the heart’ by Rush

Speculative Capitalism is both non-social and immoral. It is an unproductive financial system that channels greed into speculation and usury. It is irrational and unstable and a Crime against Humanity. Oops! There goes the right to: Life, Liberty and our pursuit of Happiness…And! Due to this Incredible greed, the collapse of Capitalism is inevitable. Crisis investing causes the ‘markets, about this fine world to fluctuate; up-down and all around…A hundred plus points up or down—causes non-productive investors to jump up-down and all around. She or he becomes nervous and begins to whimsy buy and sell. Using sound financial practices becomes mute and the destruction of many billions and lives ensue.

Eden and sin and serpents, oh my! We are the proof of far-removed parents when gods may have ruled and created women and men in places from Sirius to Mars to Earth and back again? Our rulers and our ruled and our voices and our religions have rewritten our beginnings in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that these truths or fictions have blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is yet to come. ‘And! Why not?

We are all Children of this Universe and We have the Right to be Everywhere!

And! Beautiful you are…

Dec 6 2020

Genetic Contours And Spinning Complications…

“Academic freedom is very important—there are risks when it is occurring in places that don’t have that academic freedom, giving companies or governments the power to shut down research they don’t approve of” by Emily Bender.

Are we beyond the physical figures we virtually appreciate? An Eternal Spirit is a forever being with great substance and knowledge and wisdom and the mind of us…We are the illusions of all, and we are more than less. Existence is not the riddle of life. It is the living of this day. We are not born to die. We are not created by accident or purpose or reason or rhyme. We are life and we follow universal space  between drops of rain and amongst flakes of snow.

From genetic profiles and spinning webs come calculations inherited and dancing traits and the merging of urging begin the beginnings of tiny robots’ mirrors of images and with simple complexity children of love are born. They arrive complete with slivers of magic beasties, portions of golden hearts and brief stops between breaks for Eternal Spirits to slower whirling twirls and again become blood dances and double bodies…

We spin exactly right of our whales with horns and the unicorns of ages ago and futures from earth. We live inside the vast shadows of a trillion suns of light and night and moons’ silvery twirls against the magnificence of between times when drenched in golden dreams and diamond wolves of today’s day-night. Not a middle riddle called Life…

Walk these magic trails long before bombs turn soil red and chase air away from ground. We dance to piper sounds between green cliffs of magic and the forever of Ever-lands. Gods smile and we; you and I smile back and with boundless energies. We are the blood of substance for a minute. Then we rerun begin-again as now, and as then we go.

Do we determine our own destiny both as spirits and as the blood of flesh? Angry Gods do not exist. Angry men matter little except to the scrubs of scurry selves, being just before the spirits of after self and spinning matter of expressions. Rude the kings and queens of foolish speak when angels fall toward earth bound’s trivial moments and gods require no explanations and fear rules these angled angels.

With care we manufacture robots tiny, bundled rows of life about Earthrise and underneath Moon-sparkle; still altered, still same and always twirl-spaced across time bridged and rhyme. We inspire desire and require sweet diversity. Until shaped we shift created life a fabricated slip and tanked in agile spark from womb-song-to-light-then-back-again-to-two again. Would have this no other way required!

Dare we touch or dare to reach the inside spaces of code-genetics and count the current streams to spin to craft to be or to leave the untouched alone. Why not touch to feel? Some today’s we destroy both the wonder of wonder and sometimes we die in the fearing of fear. Sometimes, eternal spirits and the realm of nonsense physical do confuse and bewilder or cure the magic of life and the mystery of death.

The evangels of lofted higher Gods’ notion as something novel crawls our way those must haves have half twirling tales or songs of knowing knowledge that those highest Gods of swirl cannot contain life and the wag-of-wiggle of shaping-shifters and Androids are we.’ And! Oh, those ghosted machines are those spirited us. Tiny specks-to magic witch we survive all, to dance life across those many spaces of races and kiss storm stars known or stars remembered and forgotten.

Images created as mirrors reflect mortal moments to immortal spirits with motions from nothing to something and again back to those nothings of something that may have almost started or stopped and started again. ‘Would have or could have or should have’ may have been here or gone over and over ad infinitum. Life both of Robot creators and Creator robots forever last and through our eternal stretch and scratch, they too survive.

So! Let us watch those winged and those with fur and feet-of-four or those in deep oceans or sand or tiny against the ground. Womb songs we sing and as we, they eternity be. Eternal Spirits all.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

 

 

 

Nov 16 2020

Life’s Fire And Warm Wine…

“Like grapes, we have always accompanied the vat.

From the view of the world, we have disappeared.

For years, we boiled from the fire of love

Until we became that wine which intoxicated the world” – DR. NURBAKHSH

Is it true ‘that’ “unawareness is no restriction to reason for it is repeatedly a reasonable reverse?” A culture of contemporary contemplation and course is not completely resistant since the social strengths of convictions are confusions in emergence and solution. What of the conditions of ‘human freedoms’ and the tasks required by free enterprise and its obsolete system of a party-political economy? And! How has mechanized labor affected individual laborers restraining the union of voices apart and in part, because of coded words and the resourceful destruction of blood-flesh-sweat and blood again?

The commune of Paimpont is near the city of Rennes. Is Paimpont Forest Brocéliande? Magical mysteries of planet space a place where the Lady of the Lake and Merlin’s capture, a tree where imprisoned he may remain? Or! Mystery rich, Merlin’s tomb, the Val sans Retour an enchanted land where ‘Morgan le Fay’ casts spells to imprison her lovers? And! Remember that once Rennes was Condate, a tiny village of wonder spells and twisted whirls of twirling tells story rich and tame.

We begin before the stars—And together we melt into the mist…Fire and shadows ‘cross a sky—Color moon of blood and gold—Simple songs and thudding drums—Stars light up another home—We move by wind across this place—In sunlight waves and dancing twists—Of silver rain and stretching space—Ship’s gentle streaks in skies of grace.

Twirl and turn those verses and often speak actual words and chaunt only sincere songs to inspire our rituals and animate our shapes. Tell us legends and myths long before these scourges and pandemics seize our souls. Sing these songs before the lies of survival become the only melodies we understand or accept.

“The present state of our culture may be gauged by the extent to which principles have vanished from public discussion, reducing our cultural atmosphere to the sordid, petty senselessness of a bickering family that haggles over trivial concretes, while betraying all its major values and selling out its future for some spurious advantage of the moment.” – Ayn Rand

In these Times of Fear and Uncertainty please find Comfort in the Power of Love!

Angels glide ‘cross jumble-tumbles where stone dust is purple and initiated by invisible rainfall seen, as miners move dirt above rock facades and drag biased ones from place-to-special-place. Constructions are assembled and structures progressed; restructured, replaced, and ruined. Needed things as times require, and places are homes while buildings sheltered seaside and landslide. Reptile Nations are the motions available as requisite increases and variations conclude. Never troubles what posterns we tumble through and matters not why star blisters us. Matters that gates open and matters that stars are hot.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Nov 1 2020

A Connected Condition…

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

Oct 4 2020

Stories of Life and Joyful Sounds…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

Sep 7 2020

When States Avoid Plagues…

1265“If a state is to avoid the greatest plague of all—I mean civil war, though civil disintegration would be a better term—extreme poverty and wealth must not be allowed to arise in any section of the citizen body, because both lead to both these disasters.”—Plato regarding the dangers of inequality…

In fundamental stages, atoms occur in shapes, in assemblies and via the methods through which they coalesce. We! Atoms ‘gone wild’ write by mingling the letters of our alphabet in unique ways to construct tragedies, epic poems, comedies and outlandish legends. The combinations of rudimentary iotas fashion our world in its own limitless diversity.

These are the ‘Coming In’ times. The ides of moments ready-to-flash and center-of-day-to-ready-play and anticipate reasons. Then discover that life does happen covalently. No rejoice to understand or withstand and never required and still Ok. Momentum drinks to spill before air or fear tastes and waste’s rush before shriek-spear-kill where motion ends as hanging cloth covers wired thorns along ruined ditches of rain fill and maybe flows from boot smooth flat-to puddles of blood-mud waiting for sun-play and dry air and wiz-bangs and death.

Creative Creatures do gather one-time-or-maybe-two to watch sky etched forms dissolve appear and disappear while often dancing ‘cross so many places to many races as often they appear only to disappear and reappear again once-in-a-while…

Plato wrote in ‘The Republic’ (Book 7): “that men are chained at the bottom of a dark cave and only see shadows cast upon a wall by a fire behind them. They think that this is reality. One of them frees himself, leaves the cave and discovers the light of the Sun, and the wider world. At first the light, to which his eyes are unaccustomed, stuns and confuses him. But eventually he can see and returns excitedly to his companions to tell them what he has seen. They find it hard to believe.”

“We took the blood of the earth
and fell in love with death
with life itself as an excuse.

Black is the sunlight shimmering below;
it flows through life and the guilt we share

We are hiding in chorus as starry eyes close,
and seasons part in farewell;
‘because we drained her blood, then forgetting her face
to hide from everyone” …from ‘The Last Hour of Ancient Sunlight’ by Draconian

Burn with this exceptional song as extraordinary fog ‘cross liquids edged with split sanded reeds as from hill high vantage; pieces of fractured stone, as the broken rims of splintered faces silently shriek of spoil, of harm and of destruction. Three ships obscure the ternary ceaseless slivers of shiver war to collect or to evade again. Two townships too pounded, still need needless sorts to find forms alive or fallen upright. And! From waterside cannons a fortress sky high, twins slam shells and balls as death upon us falls. They; then us and not and again, they fall with and upon us. Ship pitches wood and steel and spirits toward sinking side with mast blast splinters and holes enough to die.

We paint and then leave for the ‘Coming In’ time. Neon glitters and shape-shifters-sighted-one’s blend against leafless limbs where standing trees fall and scatter ‘cross Viaduct’s crumbled-tumbled stretches of stone tops, cream colored rocks and pieces of dust and rust and the shadows of ruin or waste. Choirs race wagons of faded reds and oranges and brown streaks of muted yellow splash; again blend and rend groomed clones of oiled twilight clouds and fading light as the protector moons of three rise alongside globe line and stain shorelines ahead of the lubricious briny; fill with salted rains without sounds, and deprived of life.

Water and butterflies and beetles with purple shades and birds emerge from mist and race about lofty heavens or nethermost luminosities. Straightway, touch the life that flies, and from colors of lavender light into gull-white gray and totally liquid beside a sparkle of shoreline polish and moonlight bright. We! From spiritual linkage promptly to Earth, and now once more to rush into struggle to situate and into competition. Observe the exhausted and the dying ones. They come this way and fly away. Then! Gather here the shaped-shifters and one-sided sighted eyes to watch till wizards of crashes and dashes cease games of pieces on ground as our Witches appear or disappear into smoke and mirrors and magic shaped ghosts. Toast those; by those lifted glasses, memorized memorialized and as quickly forgotten as recalled.

“You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still… You turn me on”… ‘Still You Turn Me On’ by Greg Lake

And! Beautiful you are…