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…

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…

Sporadic Simple Sets…

‘Memories that fade away
Have not left their mark
But you live on, every single day
In many ways.

It is the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny.

Suddenly we have lost the force
To close our cursed doors
No one seems to realize
That wolves are in disguise.

It is the truth between his cunning lies
That hands him his suspicious alibis
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny.

Your engine was so strong
But the road was just too long
Hope is not the end
So never lose the faith.

If we can say
They can never take away
Our freedom, the most precious thing we have ever had
The reward from the blood, we have ever shed.

His quest for higher truth, life of eternal youth has just begun,
despite being on the run
Many virgins wait for him to come
Persuading with your force will never be the way
To our destiny
Our destiny’… ‘Safeguard to Paradise’ by Epica

The Glass Beaker Folk are glass managers. All gathered ‘round petri dish and dishing out samples of small fleshy beings as large bark folk decided to mix, and their creations are forms-of-forms and other-forms, of twin-spin shapes ‘cross planets’ twirl of simple complexities arriving with baby cries and little howls. And! Pondering if one stares into eyes-of-disarray one finds an honest illusion without confusing-disillusion or solution keep-seek or chose-to-lose? Deliberating, if the deities of Beaker Folk create creations with wrong formula uses and mixes of humor and myth. Immaculate contraptions birth and dissonance for every-other-sun; sister-brother, reasons and rhyme along with bottled time working cords of yesterday’s todays and tomorrows’ sighs.

The word ‘Honor’…Many descriptions and quantifiers involving this word…Honor is not just a word. It is a singular way of life. It is without description and not reserved for Military motions. It is not an Executive twirl or a Legislative swirl…Though legal twist and turns, it is not a Judicial term. Honor is a simple way of Life.

Sky films block pearl light as an evening of workers’ failed strengths; home bound as, the ‘Nighters’ replace the ‘Dayers’ and continue as work begins ends and starts along the edges of digital clicks and analog clacks. Time cataloged into spreads of pages indexed assorted stuff straightened arranged packed for space-spin or unpacked to go consumers consumed with curiosity; hunger required, needed or fulfilled desires. Oppression succeeds triumphs when its legitimacy is internally assumed. The freedom to write it right or write writing toward the right cross of sails unfurled and imagined as sea’s endless might and distance ‘tween stars ‘tween galaxies and ‘tween the universal folds of space. There be books here and just listen to these stories from spirit-speakers of volumes long and voltage sweet. We change everything with ‘Blue Planet Waste’.

“Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight
In an everlasting kiss…” Bruce Springsteen.

It is our nature to run with and from the many or the few. We often see through the curved ceiling of high doorways only when curved light enters tiny windows. Animation is symmetry without structure, save winds and rains and those foolish storms of chaos and belief.

Speculating currently concerning infrequent simple sets? Are these objects transuranic elements in the study of symmetries nearly impossible to construct, not likely to be found by chance but still necessary to the complete structure of the theory of Sporadic Simple Groups. Freedom for or from a Peoples’ will still be the imitation of an everlasting Robot. Or! We Robots be. Just you wait-and-see.

‘The most heroic word in all languages is ‘Revolution’–Eugene Debbs

“In the current phase of intellectual corruption, it must be stressed that, like democracy and human rights, the economic doctrines preached by the rulers are instruments of power, intended for others, so that they can be more efficiently robbed and exploited. No wealthy society accepts these conditions for itself, unless they happen to confer temporary advantage; and their history reveals that sharp departure from these doctrines was a large factor in development.”—Noam Chomsky.

A historian once wrote that future’s Child, did not need to be told that the angel of death had passed over the land; they had heard the beating of its wings’. So! Wondering if; ‘The reason the Dead do not return nowadays, is the boredom of it.’ One fare-to-fix and one fix-to-fair. Life is precious in every form. Life animates every style-type of flesh, smooth or fur and sweet life goes—becomes and ends and becomes again…’Tis good donchaknow…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Letters From The Sky’ by Civil Twilight

 

Home Waves Ahead…

A universe of angular momentum is turbulent from dust to black holes. Notches of rotation are slight, are massive and just happen. What splendid adhesive preserves the whirl-of-the-twirl?

We and the dust of us are voyagers. We are scattered ‘cross places of everywhere? We are not timed or blessed or wonderful or gifted or fortunate or meant-to-be ‘something else.’ The dust of us is without a price-tagged-branded-commodity of enhanced steroidal surgically modification. We create cartoon fashions and lip-stick mouths pouted and picture perfect when replicated glossy imitations of sport models swish as a dish of corruption and a wiggle of splash-dash hope and fanatic fantasy.

We build twelve inch wide maple shelves inclined and staggered up a soft and painted wall. Upon this vertical presentation, we place flea market choices, colored jars filled with copper and stones discovered. We decorate and we change as season alters sight and sound and scent.

We travelers internally detect or obtain from ‘reliable sources’ a sorta source sorted through search or lurch internally through structures only to reach and teach or bleach amid many throngs of wrongs as ‘sure truth’ is torn from snow-bright-right to lies-lily-white. Deceits detected or accepted or rejected or corrected from inside-out applicability is not workable until altered internally and externally prior to exposed or imposed upon the confusion of mass-squeak-speak. What a righteous cycle; when whispers, smiles and sighs and quiet nods could or would be better?

“So, does that mean we’ve got to rest contented

And say, ‘That’s how it is and always must be,’

And spurn the brimming glass for what’s been emptied

Because we’ve heard it’s better to go thirsty?” by Bertolt Brecht

This time of days of times ago and today, may the old man vision touch those other ones and whisper, “Not this time and never this time, will our children ever go to war.” Others know that this time of times will not be the time for dead families and metal touches-to-body-madness. For these flashes in time, fighters are not compulsory.

A rational response to a rational insanity. The whole world appreciates humanities’ finest minutes. “Love and Peace and Touch and Trust” with no controls or advances or imaginations. Just connecting the realities of reality and sensing those sweet spaces, just an instant before lips touch with co-mingled breath and the cold nightfall warms. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star-ships’ passing between light-speed and arrival, silently appear.

When all and sundry realizes that what we do not have-does not mean anything. When hearing a lover’s voice touch our heart before substance becomes words of meaning-or-reason-or-another notion. When silence completely fills all senses with rumble and clatter and music and notes, chaotic or symphonic simplicity. Then duality ceases and singularity melts into universal polarity and truth.

The love-of-man and the love-of-woman must not be divided by the capital of greed. Consider! All are fashioned by the equal blending of us and beyond the borders of a-wherever-boarder for non-reasons and steeped in-the-fallacy of color, big guns, ‘atomic destruction’ and the perpetual diatribe of isolation, individuality and fear. Remember that we have the right to be Everywhere.

Love reminds us of the equality of equals! Of woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and living sentient sentences inside body while minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Life Shouted—Never Doubted…

“Like the empires of the world unite
We are alive
And the stars make love to the universe”
— by Shakira Isabel Mebarak Ripoll

Walk now, mind walk and follow. Shadow smoke curls and the echoes of sing-song-choirs along the line where sea meets see and sky appears above a forgotten shimmer of water stretching beyond eye watch and body wait. Stride upon the salty waves of a dead sea tucked down between actions and melody’s refrains. Then melt into mists and sea sounds and into another dawn. Those little matters matter-less. Conclude and then proceed once more.

‘You and I and life about and as we shout ‘Love’ skyward because nothing will stop our Dance. You and I forever together! We know nothing alone exists without love’s power, hour, tower, flower and life. Life ignited delighted and excited. We touch hand-to-heart-to-spirit and let the eternal dance begin again.’

Come now and twirl into the Spider’s Web. Enter East-side. Hold the nothingness of thought without form until substance becomes madness. And! Venture out beyond the bridge and find a different freedom. Align birth and moments before and moments after the being presented see lighting sky-flashes and hear thunderclaps as a gelatin combines with knowing vapor to travel those heavens in timeless mist and harmony. As vapor we exist. We are not distraction by what we are not; for we are not, not by displacement or alteration because we always exist in timeless harmony and within those trails of stardust spewing from alternative engines of speed and power. Life motions as life moves. Life modifies. And! Spirits Dance…

And! Still here while beneath these heavens our sea swirl-twirls and we see those Sirens rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls against current and the alignment of moonlight is perfect and is orderly in its dispersal upon the dustless night.

Our Goddesses create heavens and earths and moons and suns and pass spirits to fleshes and from fleshes back again to those spirited forms, substances free. Corrected notes, the piper plays silver flutes that holds heart ‘beeps’ of roaring seas. We pass into light and set others ‘cross star streams beyond sun and beyond sea and beyond the skies of eternal space. Never troubles what posterns we tumble through and matters not why stars blister us. Matters that gates open and matters that stars are hot.

These are singing days! Shouts and shrieks and whistles ‘cross harbor calls where wood-hulled ships rest with bell claps rocking waves and setting sails. 

We water children are held above the line by knowledge buoyant. Unafraid and free and defeating gravity and the restrictions of a drier Earth.

Sunshine west-turns and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs forgotten and paradise found by Summer’s little ones.

Small beneath the greater schemes of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars! Filling lake sparkles and silence with gems dancing and laughing diamonds…

Our house is a strong house, built of stout wood with skill and with love. The wind cannot knock it down. As this grand tempest expires, our house is still upright and salutes the lights of another way. Do not allow this government to destroy people’s achievements, their history, their language, and their future dreams. When this happens, we become a twist of ash. We cannot survive. Genocide destroys our flesh and so much more than Bone. Genocide destroys our blood rivers of Life…

“When we try to conceal our innermost drives, our entire being screams betrayal.” — by Frank Herbert

And! Beautiful you are…

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…

A Lower Winter’s Light…

The word “solstice” is derived from the Latin words “sol” (sun) and “sistere” (to stand). Winter solstice is also known as “The Day the Sun Stands Still.”

Goddess and Gods dance inside snow fall, desert sands, hills, moors and within soft lights tonight. Beiwe and her daughter Beiwe-Neia, Tonantzin, Bheru, Horus, Louhi, watch while the Kallikantzaros count colander holes and return to somewhere underground.

And! Maybe once or twice a modest breach in our Universal Vault emerges and, on that star-filled night, magic happens. The ‘Witches of Nature’ gaze upon this Worldly-Twirl and pause for a second to watch lights dance across the heavens. For that moment they smile, and one-plus-one equals two.

And! Beautiful you are…

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…

 

 

 

 

 

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…

 

 

Of Silhouettes Angled Away…

Smiles are not forced, and laughter is not heard, not from or by our own design or madness. We are born of yesterday’s parents and tomorrow’s ruin. Even-steven gentle waves softly touch spaces where sandcastles fade and eastern stars’ faint twinkles await the rolls of today’s day, touches expectations, and ends. We are those barefoot children of yesterday. We assign the slightest of indentions in the sand, semi-wet and cooled by the absence of sunshine. We; the children of another dawn, touch hand or swish jacketed shoulder once or twice or often without the counting of times or steps or memories. We are the happening of breath and as silhouettes angle away from us caused by a western moon to fade or go away by whimsy cloud or art. However, right on this moment and now on this side of second slide, we start this minute or instance of day just past this night’s sweet hours. We live only on this stretch of sand and with the catching up of tides’ flow, we believe the ice and water before and behind us are our ground and our chapter of seasons lived and written against the sands of shifting grain and  wind.

In the 20th century, the USA preferred dictators over independence throughout South America. Nearby! Cuba is near, nearly Florida. Why is the existing embargo nonetheless the veracity of an ‘old-white-men’ régime? Another nuisance of Free enterprise? Why is Social democracy an enemy of the People? It is not a crime nor is it against the rights of People anywhere? Reallocate the costs of Cold Wars perpetrated against humanity during the twentieth century and individuals may succeed? Equality? Presently in America if you are not wealthy you are a slave? Wage slaves are universal? Wages are never reasonable because the lust-for-gain is potent? Truth, Justice, Love and Life is never finer than Yield?

Solar Lighting begins behind the evening sky. Stellar Illumination persists for fourteen weeks. From skylights to fire, one million-acre-lands are ignited, and fire ultimately damages the domes of cover crossing Calimesa City.  Life ends and life begins. A discrete life also creates-stops and starts for several thousand where water starts and then evaporates. Sovereigns gather and superiors perish. The death of middle ‘workers’ on shell-worlds are countless and seldom varied. The restoration of hidden memories and secret powers, in times of sorrow, prevail.  Prosperity changes and impecuniosity arrives suddenly, from above the sunlight and descends to below ground levels, where cave dwellers and their children survive.

Across spaces of agile atmospheres and places absent of everything except views above and across an angled galaxy, a rivalry of rearranged arrangements, begins and ends in victories and losses. Not many acquire more of less, and some lose everything to those dwelling above these spaces or below this ground in caves and cave-ins and areas where life hides from death and awaits the end of silent lightning and the reaches of flash. In the twirl of the whirl and amid the steps of Android Warriors, we activate unity and the hope of Earth’s renewal and the premised promises of days-to-better-the-inside-outside motions reached without notions-of-greed and the failure of ‘too-much-too soon and too often.’

Now open! Hearts and Spirits before the finale of fantasy as miracles craft an ancient dowry and the resonances of closing jeweled doors, prompt remainders of once was and will again be, behind these secret places and scattered among the norms of whimsy. Combine blood keys and unlock sites known and the undetermined knowledge of uncertainty forgotten and repeated as the  antediluvian ecclesiastics sketch the ruins of devices and seasons recollected.

And! Beautiful you are!