10,000 and One…

Often, a gentle shift replaces everything!

We shift into objects of alternative daylights 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 of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or…In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire!

Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams see war. To fight and to find death. There be gods in this place? So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

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

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

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

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

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

Have I been blind, have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized.” —Natalie Merchant

The Walker is a silhouette pushed low beneath Grand Moon rising and carved carefully ‘cross sky too close to be real and too real to be proximity’s cost, close to-shapes-to-shift-shape and nearer to buildings tossed across landfall along sea-line to skyline. Tide comes in, evening time and changes along season’s alteration same as sunrises and sunsets and shadows play beneath twin moon season with splashes of textured cloud color or star twinkles too far to see or too close not to catch eye, notice in brain and spirit touch at the same time.

The memorial gardens are filled and filled again and do cover many miles. Parks surround these gardens. Statues cover these parks. These are sacred places and areas and spaces and graces where families gather and depart.

And! The Walker glides across a jumble-tumble of dusted stones made by rain visible as digging once moved dirt above rock faces and dragged these weighted ones from place to necessary places for buildings built or buildings removed-restructured-replaced or destroyed. Needed things at required times when places were homes and buildings ruled land-side. And! Little killer pills be, only notions of Lizard Kingdoms where the notions of you ‘peel’ums’ available and are needed from the glory of car-trunks, pushers and such, supply for profit as price swings with demand or your supply? How about today? Or! Tomorrow, maybe too late for profit or always taxed almost and with a wonder of when the next shipment arrives?

She is a Walker Warrior and claims the Bridge above the ruins of ‘City.’ Below the places of spaces, once a great tangle of yards and rails carried the price of commerce commercially to and away and beyond her bridge and dirty sea ships sailed toward one another. They bounced the line; black shadows, slowly creeping beneath an injured sky. No wind! Masts no sails. Crude! Not fueled cold furnaces and boilers empty drums with warm air. She now adjusts eyes and turns and follows silent ships passing one another. They ride the line with no wake. They do not disturb the oiled sea or change silt-less shoals beyond an invisible channel. She watches and waits for their return.

She forgets to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing an evening rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through her nose and mouth. Sea odor and her eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. She searches sea. She swears the line has moved closer to shore. And! Those ships are gone.

“Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That, baby, you’re the best.

I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big beauty queen style
High heels off, I’m feeling alive

Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore”—Lana Del Rey

Red-winged Beatles and cousin Greensacks live and die during words and butterfly life just above Cave-land around cutout doors of steel and rusted tacks and salt-soaked wood where (X) marks most spots and braces require nails to hold together both life and doors. Cave-land stores many for outside a plague dances a two hundred year-long-sing-song and with sickness, death and destruction forever-follows. Watch the next fire begin and end as another begins and ends until tower eyes can never see the next and the next and the eternity of signals that mean absolutely nothing to ‘City’ people framed against that August sky.

Move along! Always move toward fear among these places of reasons-to-be or reasons-to- move-along? No and yes or not really or really scared of the mixes in the yes and no—until ‘run together’ forgets to be afraid. Little ones grow old and die inside hundred-year-old lyrics just outside tomorrow. And! When holding yourself very still, red beetle wings are loud and their textured lights will guide your motions through the night. Red beetle cousins sing and those born-to-die select their own sing-songs. High above the Towers-of-Bridges, Watchers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pine cones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

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

 And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Carnival’ —Natalie Merchant

 

‘Lola’— Lake Street Dive

 

 

Eye Needle And Space….

“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

Eye Needle is a fourteen mile plunge to blue aperture. An immediate dash and slight-in-travel maybe more-of-less and ‘cross time-mines and star twinkles before twinkles begin. Thread thin and long stretched in color and distance and change and certainly certain of ending somewhere or another here or there or a concluded or anxious everywhere. Eye of needle is a passage. It is the permanent expectation of homeland’s differentials and discovering similar situations. A sanitized gateway to the suggestions of home and of space and a place—to body shape and shift and survive.

There is a river of twisting stations and the mysteries of death silenced by injured variations in flight and deviations in shoreline distances from blood allotted and the location of spirits and of group-touch. Once lost inside these memories, a struggle-to-remember-forgotten places continues behind the twisting pines of needled trees and safely beyond the influences of iron spears and burning tears…

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”—First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.

‘Congress’ is the First word in our First Amendment. Words are shielded against all governmental officials and their agencies. All means protection from: Federal, State and local—Legislative, Judicial and Executive! So! ‘Let Freedom Ring.’

“Is it the end of an era?
Is it the end of America?
Is it the end of an era?
Is it the end of America?

No, oh
It’s only the beginning
If we hold on to hope
We’ll have a happy ending
When the world was at war before
We just kept dancing
When the world was at war before
We just kept dancing”—
by Lana Del Rey

Words! Articulated and scripted are either correct or incorrect. The beauty of language is the spins and twirls of words both; associated or separated from; thought, emotion, intention, rhythm, rhyme, prudence, attentiveness and the day-to-day; Who, What, When, Where, Why and How.

In both; fiction or non-fiction, words swirl and whirl from lips, from minds and from tools-to- record. Pens and pencils and keyboards do suggest other ways-to-think, to interest, to animate and to crash within the awareness of readers in all domains tucked just outside the start of simple and the end of perplexity.

To perceive and conceive and absorb and substantiate every notion and motion known or just beginning to develop something real or unreal is suitable. With no restraint to communicate every notion and motion either known or just discovered, is sacrosanct. Freedom of Speech and Freedom of the Press is the motion of all notions correct or incorrect. So! ‘Let Freedom Ring.’

Words are not always genuine or insincere. Context is often a cover for lies or truths. Readers determine validity or invalidity. Often this determination is not objective. Whimsy may not be independent. Reactions often supplant logic. Interpretation often discounts emotions. Habitually words spoken are received as the listener wishes to perceive those words and understand what is said or meant or imagined or desired or needed as fact or fiction. Often the silence between each word, communicates everything.

We shift into objects of alternative daylights 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 of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or…In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire! Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

The ‘where-in-the-world’ we emerge is no irritant to the matter-of-the-matter. The ‘I’ of us never survives without the everywhere-of-everyone-in-everyplace within the sky and beneath and beyond the lights of moon—stars and sun 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.

We are all émigrés of this Universe. Since an explosion of mystery or notions or nicks or knacks or reasons or rhymes, we step through time and place and dwelling and one-to-another. We are the administrators ‘blood of red’ equal ‘air’ and the performers of fiction and truth, drawn by spirits same; the dreamers-of-hope and the hopes-of-dreamers. We are the ancient, the existent and the days-of-yet-to-come. We are the gods of virtuosity!  We are life—all growing and all walking and all crawling and all swimming—We are Life—perfect and unstoppable.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘When The World Was At War We Kept Dancing’—Lana Del Rey

 

‘Bohemian Like You’—The Dandy Warhols

 

Sky Towers And Sunshine…

“If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you’re going to San Francisco
You’re gonna meet some gentle people there

For those who come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there
In the streets of San Francisco
Gentle people with flowers in their hair

All across the nation
Such a strange vibration
People in motion
There’s a whole generation
With a new explanation
People in motion
People in motion

For those who come to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there

If you come to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there”…by John Phillips

A ‘Jet Show’ begins late this morning. A loud display of thunder-death-from-the-sky and the technology brought to us by another Military Industrial Complex. Do not wish to go—so bow head and when eyes close—remember Golden Gate Park and walking; both, Haight and Ashbury streets. Briefly; tears well and dry’ before a trickle path stains the face just below eyes’ blink.

Another jet drops from the sky and out falls imaginary bombs along its path…It is very quick and then nothing; but, quick-fading-engine-sounds and the imagined bah-boom-booms left behind. Nothing changes when ‘War’ is a dollar’s best friend.

This disease is not one; but, a ten-in-one-destroyer. This killer is infinite in variety and of undeniable power. Presently, nothing prevents or breaks its destruction across a country already destroyed by ‘war-stacking on’ and repetitive devastation. What was forest is no more. What was farmland is inhospitable soil. Unlimited infirmaries are absent. Accumulations of ability are vanished. Healers are in short supply. Farmers are few and their tools-to-farm are gone. Machines of commercial quantities now rust from ‘Oil City’ rains and country nothing. Presently, there are scattered boneyards for one billion soldiers. And! Funeral pyres for five billion men-women and children…’Innocence always dies before the fall is final.’

“Well I’ll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that’s not unusual
It’s just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I’d known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall

As I remember your eyes
Were bluer than robin’s eggs
My poetry was lousy you said
Where are you calling from?
A booth in the Midwest
Ten years ago
I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust

Well you burst on the scene
Already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
And there you stayed
Temporarily lost at sea
The Madonna was yours for free
Yes, the girl on the half-shell
Could keep you unharmed

Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling all around
And snow in your hair
Now you’re smiling out the window
Of that crummy hotel
Over Washington Square
Our breath comes out white clouds
Mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there

Now you’re telling me
You’re not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
‘because I need some of that vagueness now
It’s all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly
And if you’re offering me diamonds and rust
I’ve already paid”…by Joan Baez

The Towers-of-Office are large towers. They are packed-to-brim with the Soldiers of Fortune. Towers of clones and Towers of sham. Below these structures industry materializes. Above! There is a whirling of all shares-of-measure to-be-purchased or-peddled without concern for: ‘We the People.” We are the creators of all commodities. We are the originators-of-survival for those clowned-clones-of-mischief. Offices are high and dry and lighted and—still dark. And! Hands are clean hands and labor does not occur.

These towers are buildings without prestige. They are rich structures without form. These places appear a cornucopia of shapes with no rhythm or rhyme. Lines both; hard and simple, reveal and complicate turns and curves. Synchronization of positions and flawless of construct. Elements of precision and of mischief. Often the eyes of Spirits active are miniatures. Often specks and flecks of gold and silver coats. Many are layered but still seen by beholder and beholden. Ice streams descend in slow straight lines—from rooftop slopes to solid sidewalks. Planes and plain models are soon streaks of many colors-colored glass and permit-in transitory twilight. Then, out-of-sight and with this bright-city-light appears an ‘almost-maybe’ night.

Civil layers never die. Tradition slips, and graciousness is forgotten. So are whirling dances and twirling songs. Touch lips and finger kiss your lips to mine then time space while moments’ race…And! Silence then carefully watch tonight. Sails do catch sparks-of-wind and high tides to run-to-sea-you’ll-see—won’t we? Struggle is perfect for the winner. The impartial distribution of resources never legitimately occurs. Productivity costs; over time, with all reasons spent, some products lost and some reasons to divine.

Do we trust-in-truth? While promoting and demoting forms of deregulated regulations and as speculations-in-ruin penetrate permissive perversions, the invasions of individual-greed-so-powerful completely dismiss all values and ruins the strengths of our Collective struggles. Tangible wages are gone. The powers of Societies’ Unions are gone. And! A Right—Wrong transference in Economics, Politics, Labor’s markets and an enlightened American refinement are now ‘all gone!’ ‘Trickle down’ is a perpetual lie! And! Remember; ‘there are no Blue Color Billionaires.’ Why support Capitalism since it is now; ‘Insatiable and Unequal and Repressed and Tyrannical and an enemy of ‘We the People’ and of ‘Earth’s Twirling Humanity’?

“The circle safely closed—the web building starts—the markers of builders old and builders new. Star Guide—folded into original shape— until it is—again required and opened to read and follow— ‘cross sky-bridge. Bang-Bah-Boom-Bang-Bang and let the game begin—again… ‘Tis’ good this Loving Rhyme. So! Follow this Time—this Twine—Re-wind. And! While I breathe—I Hope…

Light tumbles and darkness strokes streets and sheltered bricks and flaws and cracks. Impacts collide with those scented secrets and motions flow without sounds. We are the kings and the queens of these streets. This City is our city. World Spins and seven moons; two largest, two larger, one large and three from small to smallest; replicate spins-to-swirls, along expected lines and impossible attractions. All to rotate ’round about a solitary sun of bright light and due to an impressive distance; there emerges, blue forms and purple nightfall. Rafters are those sailors of Green Brinies; Emerald Seas, Surfs’ high curls of fifteen foot crests and set-to-shoreline and way-back—stone homes and shingled stores. Rafters are too, Sky Riders. Surfs’ sky curls are shaped by eternal coasts inside the mists of the forever mind.

On a semi-dry ‘kinda’ gentle cool, when sun dips swiftly and flatters night slips quickly, dimness folds into short -moon and gathering times begin. Alter now; customs and styles and accept hollow space and poise and repair. Darkness slides into day and ends night…Night fills lighted places and switched-on bulbs reveal grays; shadows many, forever produced and forever failing to cheer the sun. Our lives are fluid—liquid pour—consume and replace and replenish and then–recall something else—another time or some other rhyme.

And! Rain does pour from sky onto roof and through spirals; both, short or long gutters or just eaves from leaves’ soak or arcs—golden-tricks-of-night-light inside as outside water splashes ground and collects on sidewalk’s flooded cracks into pools of wet and of mud carvings and pavement soaks.

Still here! Beneath this heaven our sea swirl-twirls and we hear whale sing-song our mother into-necessary-sleep. Whale sing-songs the heating of blood-self until warming is good. She rises from emerald seas and from black sands where tide pulls current  and lines of-moon-light are perfect and disappear into the dustless night.

Now! Touch the Dancing One. Now! Touch the Witch-of-life and taste her sweet creations. Goddesses do create! Heavens-Earths and Moons-Suns while passing Spirits-to-flesh and back again. Spirits do form and substance is free.

Correct notes! Pipers of those silver flutes held ‘gainst heart beeps’ strong as fair seafarers often pass others-into-light as others ‘cross star-streams-to-suns above sea and beyond sky.

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Comfortably Numb’—Pink Floyd

 

‘San Francisco’—Scott McKensie

 

“Diamonds and Rust’—Joan Baez

Tiny Bundled Rows Of life…

“The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love—your goal.” by Candy de Rouge

With care! We manufacture robots tiny—bundled rows of life about Earth-rise—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…

“It started with workers’ evening classes outside the city gates. Her kind blue eyes would sparkle as she told me in a rote, sing-song voice of the importance of awakening the workers’ class consciousness. I was happy for her and realized what a joy it must be to discover some all-consuming goal.” …by Larissa Vasilieva

By! Forcing our ‘Movements to Resist Earth’s Destruction—to regroup—and to protect their own blood—free of illegal bondage and unnecessary Death—is an absolute—WTF! Sweet-Earth-Mother-of-Mine, how the Witches-of-Sweet—Creations—Weep. Must our—Environmental crisis—be cursed–never reversed—and—always challenged by the ‘Gods of Capitalism’?

Petrie dishes’—life dollops’—creations dolls’—spirit robots’—and in the twisty-misty—mostly void—space dustless—mother ship rust-less—and wig-waggled miles to gain—before the ending day—just another way—realized—forgotten—remembered—embraced and replaced. At its most basic level all Life is ‘sanctity’ not in its mystical twirling—but in its endless swirling of supreme value. And! Androids do dance into Electric nights and love—does lead shifting-shapes—through—darkest frights and into those sweetest lights. Shadow-touch ‘cross ceilings of moon—dust and spaces—of time-without-races and inside—these moments—Life is an Almost-a Maybe.

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

A President?—‘Donnie T.’ just—another ‘Poser’ be—of country’s failed unity—and leadership?

Global reasons—to exist will end—as wars—spread hate—ignorance—vacuum nationalism and—abject failure of New realities—as Greed continues its evil—criminal and vile—Legacy… Any attempt—to control thought—is an attempt to—control mind? Constant learning—is another form—of survival’s attempt—to live…Often; we maintain balance—required to afford—physical nourishment (food-clothing-shelter) …What is the cost—of this maintenance—of balance?

“Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And the violence, caused such silence
Who are we mistaken?

But you see, it’s not me
It’s not my family
In your head, in your head, they are fighting
With their tanks, and their bombs
And their bombs, and their guns
In your head, in your head they are crying.” Dolores  ORiordan

Freedom! Speak must continue—with too much—too volatile—too dark—to see—for-if-not— punctuate the—perpetually fearful—failures’—of ‘Dreamscapes’ past—present and future—reminding ‘master-crafters’—of lost-words-towards—obvious terminations—while—loud voices destroy reasons—to be-to see—or closely resemble and assemble—coming together—with the discovery—of communal ‘Mindspeak’…Wondering if creations—the FCC—a Congress-of-mysteries—or the Government of Federal Speak will test—the ways-of-means to ‘abridge’ our already purchased—precious “Freedom of the Press.” This World of Fear—Created by Control—created by Money—and peopled by Ignorance will cause Freedoms to be ‘abridged’…Please Remember! Government is not created for ‘Freedom’—Government only exists to— ‘Control.’

Never! Despair—nor accept inequalities—for wealth is not created—to be collect by the few—for wealth must be shared—by everyone—everywhere ‘cross this planet—on this sweet sustaining mother-ship—we gentle ones—- call our own—sweet—Earth. While recorded history show us—inequalities in wealth and the capacity—to create wealth— ‘cross centuries’—patterns of imbalances have changed and altered and damned our human majority—to accept nothing-from-the-blood-and-the-sweet-sweat—of genuine labor—without apparent nor equal reward. From—nations—to between nations— ‘balanced income’—is a ‘never-ever’ reality—for us—the outside worlds call ‘those species—of humanity’…Then— ‘Never-Ever’—react to these—inequality-of- qualities with—absolute—resignation…People Strong—Revolution changes everything—and through—nonviolent means—while never politically convenient—often alters—imbalance.

‘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.”

And! Beautiful are you…

 

“Back to You” …Jacob Bellens

 

“Human Touch” …Bruce Springsteen

Borrowing From Well Oil And Rust…

“In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people
By the relief office I seen my people
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me” …by Woody Guthrie

Along Martian Ridge—one line—eye stretched far—once was—a stutter of thorn—then throne—then grain—then throne—then repeated—until distance—failed seeing and sight disappeared— when ridge—merged sky—and—matter dropped—from surfaced rust. And! On these staggered thrones—Writers’ names etched’—crystal tags—attached—along the top-front—of every throne.’ Round-about—pinpricks and—holes into space—race the flights—of gulls ‘cross sky—where ending—starts—and reason begins…We do—remove those ‘for granted’—blinders’-of-right-sight—and often skyward—search and find—light…Wormholes—cosmic cross—universes—near and far—and still ‘we’ see—the vast—of power blast—possibilities—of relativity’s—loopholes—and just hope-know-now—‘warp drive’ may—span distance ‘cross—space—time wonders—wandering about—wilderness—speak—‘til speed—crease—cease—and earth-lock—unblock—free—‘childhood’s end’—and into space—we—seek-creep and star-child begins—again…

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

World begins—green light, blue corn stocks—stacked across—giant ridge—five hundred miles and stopping—just because—height stops—and sky—begins. “Tis reach—to stay and say—this place is—climbing high—growing large—from spinning barge—‘cross this—sky bright and—eternal night…Everywhere snow—large flakes and small—swirl ‘round this alley wide—middle dark—to light muffled—both ends—where streets begin—and—alley’s end…Cold away from street lights…And! Silent away—from rider less—paths where—foot high white—bounce—lands and—covers asphalt ways—and concrete walks. Quiet so—Go no shadow pale—wall crawl—or dark creep—light speak—too scattered—to form—round interruptions—of snow motion—descend and bounce.

Trail signs run—up and down south-ridge-side of—hill-high below mountain tall…Tracking the organic beast—disguised to survive—tend to inorganic challenges—and when snow fall—covers everywhere and everything —‘tis mountain tall—the safest refuge…Nothing rusts any longer…Well-oiled and fine—Gleam suits of almost steel—reflects sunlight’s glare—and deflects insults and injuries and wounds-to-destruction…And! When tucked inside Gleam suits—those hidden may be—Organic—Inorganic and both. Either —‘Runners or those Running’ can think—can wit and outwit both sides—equally well—equally fast—equally furious and always deadly—as trail signs appear—and—disappear from light dawn ‘til night. The paradoxical motion—of ‘man-steel form’ and ‘steel-formed man’—are quickly defined—and—impossible to divine…Notions-are motions-of head shakes—as land-side changes—rearranges—hills-to-valleys—and reverse flows streams-to-river glows. Armored trains passed through snow mountains of tree mix—fallen leaves and save rumbled echoes— silence. Where do these trains go? They are armored trains and they go toward battle. Out of sight—out of mind—and unless this war comes our way—this war does not exist.

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

“Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my rush of thoughts
in oblivion drowns
to forget the evil lot
I will sleep in safe arms.

Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns” by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

The gentle touch—of skin—brushed-wind—morning stars—and angel’s dust… And! These precious feet-touch—wings-speak—to start another path—leading little ones—to another—precious shore—sustained hope—and—just wishes for a moment—of ‘good day’…Uncertain in world-scream—uncertainties-wide—grief—bowed head—always—certain in—the certainty—of swift chaos—and—tears…And so—no doubt—be found—from ‘cross this sea—travelers see—candles bright—‘cross this night—a coming home-to-us—delight—light shined—‘Welcome’—from windows’ space—of ‘Safe Harbor’—not race—just place—to stop—and—stay awhile… Real Sea—we’ll see—and another and another—of water-ships and places far away…

This is here and between landings another beach—reach and as quickly discovered then thrown away…Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise—as waves dash high—into moonless sky—and crash along miles—of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again—and time marks—nothing—when endless and everlasting.

So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

Is Dancing-in-the-dark a safe—practice or ignorance—as blissful—as stopping—to touch flowers—eyes-to-face-to ground and into oblivion? And! The scent of inorganic flowers never compares to the scent of a Rose…

So! Pixel me a thought today and watch as pictures fade away.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Creek Mary’s Blood’…by Nightwish

 

‘Locked Within A Crystal Ball’…by Blackmore’s Night

 

 ‘Sleeping Sun’…by Nightwish

Creases In Time—Rhyme…

Wondering if the current wig-waggle of government—is attempting to swift change our distribution paradigm? Amazon’s purchases of Whole Foods—challenging FedEx and UPS as goods-to-consumer in reason—is a diversion of forces gathered to scatter—the rhythm as competitive realizations and dreams of small—all businesses—grind into troll’s dust and just as sealed diamond mine entrances—ends mineral searches and songs’ rhyme. The attempts to alter a distribution paradigm may—twirl and twist the structural and strategic foundations of Markets to win or to lose.

Last night was a ‘moving on kind of’ evening…Spirits do leave and head homeward—another place—another sun—places again where planet twirl does not matter and race-races—racing—starts ‘n’ stops do not exist—no time flavors or must do favors…Not an end—begin again—was always right along—side—’tis maybe that great mystery—we want to know and know anyway…Nothing judges—Eternal Spirits—no reason—no rhymes—not time to forgive—material needs—greed develop and disappear…Great church side—lurch forward—backward—more words of material gain—lost or found—still around—never necessary and always there…

“We must again become political equals lest we become an authoritarian society!  Openness and equality constitute a virtuous circle. Openness generate much better levels of prosperity. Prosperity allows prosperous peoples to invest in Superior Education—Universities and Schools. Basic Research leads to better health and healthy pursuits. Improved Infrastructures and Social Insurances…Adaption to change is easier when created within the righteous circle of Openness and Equality” …Author Unknown

Tired—Tried and Tested—rested and begins a moving away—a time to go—and a quick giggle before—looking back—is last time—a final rhyme—this time—and moving on—it is time to go…She saw that this time was good… Fire—Blue light— ‘sorta’—start-stop—dancing—yellow streaks—red coats and journey starts. Screaming—moons toward—light and still—and horses do run Martian Ridge. We are children of those—salted seas and spirit trees. And! Clouds often look for—skies. …Hollow man—robot without—spirit-animation-without ‘ghosts in the machine’…We be not—holy hollows—we be—imagine—imagination—beyond pushes of strengths—we dance—baby birthing—powerful protection and iron love—nothing stronger than love or better than together songs and ‘Us.’ We can move around—Universes—so deep and notions to keep—and safety shorelines forever wide—is good with or without the Sailing tide.

“Inequality, even among the educated—often leads to demagogues…Demagogues rejects Openness and blames ‘others’—immigrants, foreign manufacturers, news media, racial or ethnic or religious minorities. “Demagogues rejects openness and blames ‘others’—immigrants, foreign manufacturers, news media, racial or ethnic or religious minorities” …Robert Reich

We are not means to an end—others—may wish to accomplish…We are not tools—to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed—or bandages for other wounds—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

Is it true ‘that’—“Ignorance is no bar to reason—for it is often a reasonable reverse?” A Society of Modern Thought and Venture is not totally immune from the social force of religions? What of the conditions of ‘human freedom’ and the challenges required by Capitalism and an obsolete system of 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 efficient destruction of blood-flesh-sweat and blood—again?

What—Why and How must—an economic structure—consider the—modernity of serviced—servitude—a renovated—rendition and a re-naturalization—of Societies’ Laborers—-while all-the-while—casting about impersonal laws—seeking—the removal—of logic from—Humanities’ control?

Václav Havel once wrote that; “the current crisis that the world finds itself in.” He identifies the crisis as a conflict between “an impersonal, anonymous, irresponsible and uncontrollable juggernaut of power” and the “elemental and original interests of concrete human individuals.”

“Ruled by the will of little people and the middling people, and by the demagogues they elected…And! Hobbled by moral laziness and fear…” Jonathan Fenby

Brush—eye-lash-to-face—form dance in dreams and seems—as long pause—no cause— without voice—just breath-to-breathe—tiny freckles—lips to laugh—and—eyes to quest— together. Visions and quiet word—songs with gentle—space and no race—blends of—silence or whisper-speaks. Dreams-then dream quest—cease—increase those—creases in time—curtains’ climb—spaces die—and visit speak—of ways—of star-side streak—of starlight sweet—of gentle union—and love. Life—lives and mingle—heart touch good —as ring-circles—fancy-dance—into love’s rhythm—of love.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Never Enough’…Epica

‘Still You Turn Me On’…Greg Lake

Pino-Donaggio

Notions Of Motions Often Move…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lies often feed hungry stomachs—donchaknow!

We are not means to an end—others—may wish to accomplish…We are not tools—to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed—or bandages for other wounds—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

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

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

And! Sometimes—we just cry—tears.

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

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

 

And! Beautiful you are…

‘You’…by Keaton Henson

‘The Crooked Kind’…by Radical Face

Of Balance—Of Checks…

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

“Defence of Fort M’Henry”

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

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

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight

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

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

Gave proof through the night that

our flag was still there,

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

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

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep

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

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

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

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

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream,

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

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

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,

That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion

A home and a Country should leave us no more?

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

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

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

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave

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

O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand

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

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

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

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

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

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Wooden Ships’…by David Crosby and Paul Kantner—performed by Jefferson Airplane

 

‘Volunteers’—by Marty Balin and Paul Kantner—Performed by Jefferson Airplane

 

Thru Thought—Visions Sweet…

Often have we—through visits and thoughts—immersed ourselves in others’— visions-of-many-cultures—so twin—blood same—the magic of knowing this—was discovery. To hold—To Touch—Too much—No! Forever not long enough. And! The sweetest Dance—indeed…Together we—for love without—there is no peace.

Earth twirls—swirls and changes occur—either warming or chilling—either simple or killing—and Humanities’ whimsy can assist—or resist—incline—or decline—to touch-the-hand-to-hand-to handle—hearts—in memory shifts—either horrific—or—embrace wonders—of new—of difference—of Simple Similarity—of Peace—of Teach—of Reach—and Embrace the Race—of Sweet Life—Sweet Love—and Humanities’ Purest—Practices! Difference—Same—Same Difference and always “Arms open—often are.

Taste now—liquids—of life and of death—while running from—bolts of steel poison—as darts—dart—or fly from bows—crossed or long… Pack—life and live—on nights—wolves’ runs—start-stops. Pack—hunters’ life—of streaking—runs-runes—‘cross full moon’s light-right—toward—kill-still—and sated—salty-taste-of-plenty-blood—spread—beyond the quick—and the dead… ‘Tis—good moment—to-live-and-to-die—in three quarter time’—and—it is hard to be— an——upright walker—and hard to be—an angel…at the same time? Would rather pack-run—and—drink—honest blood—at an honest pace. Rather to—forever moon-howl—than hide—inside truth—less self—of both—questions and fears. So! Follow now—wisps of vapor—the melody—of sing-song choir—below line where—sea meets sea—and—sky rises above—along forgotten shimmers—of water—stretching—beyond eye sight—and runners’ slight. Walk upon —salty waves—a dead sea—between melody’s notes—and—the mists—of another dawn.

‘From each according to Ability—to each according to Need’—Karl Marx…

Beware of any move—toward ‘Martial Law’ for those—will be moves toward—‘Trump-ism/Nixon-ism/Jackson-ism’—another—lean—mean—dictatorship in America—‘Home of the Wealthy—and—of the Afraid. Violent sputters—freedoms’ totters—Attacks-re-acts—recalls the falls of—heart-mists-tears-the-fears or the—‘WTF’—of thought sense—or are—the Nationalist ‘Whites’—another word for—‘Ignorant Hate’?

Just disappeared into a tidal pull of ‘no reason’— ‘To no doubt about It’

America’s women-folk—learning to defend—against—the violence—of America’s men-folk…And! When in ‘thoughts reasonable’—does mankind—have a single right—to rule-over—womankind? ‘WTF’—again—’ad infinitum.’ Domination—is—abomination! Be very aware—of ‘Executive Branches.’ The laws—of the land—must be our freedom-from-serfdom—donchathink?

Remember? We wish-list-aspire—to permanence—and–to the—permanent wish—of whispers. Spells cast—‘gainst unholy—Gods and priests’—scream away—the terror of life——be strength of truth—unknown-the-knowing—and—the eternal hunger of—sleep. Maybe—damned and maybe—never to walk—stooped shuffled—with age—doubled—with blood hunger—and the vampires’ wish—for—complete death. Legends—never die—alive with moon—howling—and—running with—the wolves—at night. Pine rooms—flower boxes—and—within sanctuary—the blood hungry—fear the light. So! Listen to the—Wolves—at night. Free? Why—Yes…

‘Brush to lids—of my own eyes—with sweet—your lips—touch deep—my heart—with spirit dance—your strength as—my own—often fails. We—you and I—do spin wheels—together—and—taste sweet wine—in starlight bright—and—setting moons—so large that—reflected eyes—lock these—mind spaces—in—forever memories—of life. Tis—good this dream…

Tis—sweet this Night…Shining candles—harbor flash—from sea-today-and-follow-tide…Come to harbor—sirens call…Shining candles—harbor flash… From sea-to-safety-side—tonight.’

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Nothing Else Matters’…Performed by Doro

 

‘All Along the Watchtower’…Composed and Performed by Bob Dylan

 

 

The Routes—Of Our People…

“Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.”by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels

“Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my eyes want to follow
when I’m far far away,
when life brings me sorrow,
into silence I escape.

Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

Alone I look for the way
hoping you are waiting for me
where the hostile world has no say
that is where I always want to be.
Where my rush of thoughts
in oblivion drowns
to forget the evil lot
I will sleep in safe arms.

Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns

There I always have some time
to heal every wound,
to help the life’s shine
long forgotten, return.
There is such a place,
my own little space,
after each lost battle
its power remains.
There I always have some time
to heal every wound,
to help the life’s shine
long forgotten, return.
There is such a place,
my own little space,
after each lost battle
its power remains.
Among the stars
there is a place
to where my heart
always returns.

There is always some room
When the world brings me gloom”…by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

World begins—green light, blue corn stocks—stacked across—giant ridge—five hundred miles and stopping—just because—height stops—and sky—begins. “Tis reach—to stay and say—this place is—climbing high—growing large—from spinning barge—‘cross this—sky bright and—eternal night…Everywhere snow—large flakes and small—swirl ‘round this alley wide—middle dark—to light muffled—both ends—where streets begin—and—alley’s end…Cold away from street lights…And! Silent away—from rider less—paths where—foot high white—bounce—lands and—covers asphalt ways—and concrete walks. Quiet so—Go no shadow pale—wall crawl—or dark creep—light speak—too scattered—to form—round interruptions—of snow motion—descend and bounce.

The Iron Rider—horse less—‘Strider’—covers grounds—where white drifts climb—frozen bits—of rhythm and rhyme—together—mingle—tingle and shape—another surface—against earth—propped just—beneath the sky…Her booted steps—quick now— disappear—underneath—winter fall—frozen wet—quick cover—to hide—both shadow—walk—and her sword—and shield…And! Within moments—and motion—she disappears…

“We forget that many people feel they must act even if they don’t want to or are afraid to,” said Charles Haynes, the vice president of the Newseum Institute’s Religious Freedom Center. “They feel that the highest authority in their lives is not the state; it’s not the ICE. It’s their conscience, their God.”

Called a Populist Revolution—not formed—not aware—scattered notions—neither right—often damaged and very wrong…Global cause—formations—cause Global pause! To deport—our people present—in the here and now—is cross-laced—in this place—and intimately connected—to a planetary movement—of both—important people and important goods—Our people create. Deportation is no longer an issue of domestic policy…To move—a force of good work—and honest labor—to deport our people—from a United-Scatter-of-States—-inches close—ideals-miles-apart—ruins life’s functions—when perhaps—globalization and—a restructuring of—everywhere—economics have— created the global migration—now-objects-of—‘stupid’—racial—radical—ridicules—righteous—rhetoric—repeating—mid-century’s last—failures and bloody wars…Please too—remember—that fear of displacement—directly affects body—complete with exhaustion—defeat-of-immune systems—and family life…Increased inequality causes our people to become both unhappy and unhealthy….Restrictions of hope—and Greed achieves—momentary success…Momentary success—never-ever—lasts forever…Transition—thinking—creations—of common enemy—always destroys—the common futures—of Common People…And! We are all—everyone—the Common folk—of this—Place—this World—and of— this Moment-in Time…

‘Deportation Forever Continues this Illegal and Wicked—Course of Global Separation and Global Apartheid’…We are all Children of this Universe and We all have the Right-to-be—Everywhere…

“cross desert sand landings—every eye is weeping…”author unknown…

And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘All We Do’…by Oh Wonder

 

‘Home’…by UnSun