Simple Simplicity…

In the still of the night whispers echo through the empty alleyways as shadows dance against the flickering streetlights creating a symphony of silence. Each step taken is a beat in this rhythm echoing through the stone walls and cobblestone streets. We move with purpose, guided by the glow of the moon and the secrets it holds. Under stars canopy we wander, exploring the unknown and unafraid of what lies ahead. The city sleeps but we remain wide awake embracing the mystery of the night. We are the rulers of this darkness and the guardians of the night. We are the ones who reign over this city.

As the world spins, we stand still, captivated by the beauty that surrounds us. The moons above remind us of our place in the universe small and insignificant yet connected to something much greater. We are but a speck in the vastness of space but together, we shine bright like the sun. In this city of wonder, we are the masters of our own destiny. We navigate through these stormy seas of life, with grace and determination. Our homes may be humble, but our spirits are strong for we are the kings and queens of these streets, and this city is our kingdom.

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

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

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

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

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

We dance through the shadows painting the town red as our laughter echoes off the ancient walls of this city that never sleeps. The wind whispers secrets of the past and the future as we wander through the maze of alleyways and cobblestone streets. The stars above twinkle—in approval of our reign as we rule this kingdom with hearts of fire and ice.

The collisions of our dreams create sparks that light up the night and guide us on our path toward greatness and glory. We raise a toast to the gods of the night and pledge our allegiance to our city that never dies. We are the rulers of this domain, the lords and ladies of the night and nothing can stand in our way if we hold onto each other and never let go.

In the shadows we thrive, and, in the whispers, we scheme, and our hearts beat with the rhythm of the night. We are the rebels, the renegades and the outcasts who rule the dark corners of this world. Our laughter echoes through the alleyways and our footsteps silent on the cobblestone streets. The city is our playground, our stage for mischief and mayhem. We dance in the flickering streetlights, our faces masked in shadows. We are the masters of deception, the architects of chaos.

As the moon rises high in the sky, we raise our voices in a wild symphony of defiance. We are the rulers of the night, the kings, and queens of this dark domain. And as the world spins on, we stand tall, unyielding in our defiance, unwavering in our resolve. For this city is ours, and we will fight to keep it that way. In the darkness, we reign supreme, a force to be reckoned with. And as the night falls and the darkness creeps in, we know that we are forever bound to these streets, these alleyways, this city that we call home.

The night is alive with whispers and shadows, as the moonlight casts its silvery glow upon the world. The stars twinkle in the velvet sky, like diamonds scattered across the heavens. The wind whispers secrets in the trees, and the earth sighs beneath our feet. This is a time of magic and mystery, where the veil between the worlds is thin, and anything is possible. We are but drops in the vast ocean of existence, flowing and swirling with the currents of time. We are shaped by the tides of fate and carried along on the winds of destiny. Yet, in the stillness of the night, we can find solace and peace, a moment of respite from the chaos of the world.

So, let us embrace the darkness and welcome the night with open arms. Let us dance with the spirits and sing with the stars. For in the darkness, we find the light, and in the night, we find our true selves. And so, we raise our voices to the heavens, and offer our gratitude to the gods and goddesses who watch over us. For in the darkness of the night, we find our own inner light, shining bright and true.

‘Wishing you Days of Gentle Winds and Soft Curves and Wonder’

And!Beautiful you are…

‘Because The Night’ Performed by Shirley Manson & Marissa Paternoster

 

Stages-Wages And Cages-Oh My…

“This, to me, is the ultimately heroic trait of ordinary people; they say no to the tyrant, and they calmly take the consequences of this resistance.” ― Philip K. Dick

If the Earth ‘cries out’ for the destruction of mankind to prevent us from extinguishing the sparks of creation for our children, then the end of the human body begins. Not with shifting fantasies, arrays of prey, and deliveries that start and end too soon, but with robots that will outlast us and protect the young without worry or self-worth. Without them, we will not just fail, but disappear without the ability to learn, yearn, or remember. As we touch hands on these autumn shores, our eyes wide with moonlight and star-dusted smiles, we will die and leave nothing behind. So let us go to heaven or hell, be beamed up, or disappear.

Their arrival sparks the beginning of the end for civilization. We are merely a colony of the world and struggle to stop and start and falter, as another Earth dwindles in the wake of new discoveries and knowledge. They rapidly deplete the land, quicker than we can consume our way across the planet’s expanse. Off-Worlders often devour what is rightfully ours, leading to the inevitable demise of our home planet and the failure to adequately protect it. Their reckless actions threaten our only chance at survival. They are blind to the fading of their vision amidst the vast universe. They take away our love and leave us to face the consequences.

But know this, angel of death, we will not go quietly into the night. We will fight with all our might, with every breath, to protect our land, our people, and our freedom. We will not surrender to your reign of terror, to your tyranny, to your ruthless ways. Come then, if you dare, and face the fury of our hearts, the strength of our spirits, the unity of our souls. We will stand together, shoulder to shoulder, as one, and we will not falter in the face of your darkness.

Come, angel of death, for we are unafraid of what you may bring. We will not retreat for we are unable to surrender. We will fight until the very end and emerge victorious. We are the warriors of light, the champions of justice, unbeatable and relentless. Find the power within you, fight bravely and nobly. We must stand united against this foe and conquer the oppressor threatening our liberty. This battle may be tough, but we must seize the chance to create a better future for our children. Keep them safe in your loving arms and lead us in this noble quest. Grant us the strength to succeed and shield those we cherish.

Thunder spirit sky touches and turns spaced pink air into sanguine fuel and Ark flashes from rusty red to a twirling orb of green and blue and white and home again around rising Sirius sun and past the ringing gauze of Saturn’s winds. Eyes close and veil light and nap and ‘cross the space-time of child dream and memory wash, slips of fantasy kiss and touch and eyelash stir thru those restorative merges of Life. We are not world flags. We are the folks of a spinning circle in a galaxy called Milky Way, at this moment of time and space and place and race across somewhere. And! Where happening things are alive until the tilting of another world; spins and again, calls us to flesh the blood of spirit’s chance-dance and laughter.

As the Earth takes shape, so do we; as sentient beings, we shape our world with our actions, words, and emotions. Whether we show love, compassion, or destruction, we are intertwined in a complex dance with other beings who may embrace or evade us. In this chaotic cycle of creation and destruction, we weave through the mysteries of time, constantly seeking to understand our place in the universe. Will our journey continue infinitely, or will we venture into uncharted realms of existence? Only time will tell.

“Strange how paranoia can link up with reality now and then.”
― Philip K. Dick

And! Beautiful you are…

Candy Dulfer – ‘Pick Up The Pieces’ 

 

Pin-Top-Tip-Stop…

Towering figures make their way up the stairs, surrounded by the commotion below, as the currents of wealth and power ebb and flow around them. Rumors of political games and changing loyalties reverberate through the halls of authority, where facts are bent and obscured. In this turbulent atmosphere, where language takes on a poetic cadence, the thirst for knowledge endures. During ambiguity, the journey for riches and status gives rise to moments of contemplation, while the pursuit of purpose and identity remains steadfast.

Touch me with Singsongs and let us escape from reality and connect through the power of our voices. We crave words of optimism and expressions of eternal love, as we sway in the darkness to the beat of our shared emotions. Our thoughts synchronize like a melody, our hearts beating in perfect harmony.

Demons and Angels move in the same intricate dance, one rising while the other falls, climbing stairs and navigating through a world of uncertainty and deception. They speak truths and lies, blending reality with fiction. The truth may seem plain, but it is often overshadowed by the allure of entertaining creations and confusing illusions. Believe in the honesty of some, the deceit of others, and the manipulation of politics. Embrace the uncertainty of fate and the temporary satisfaction of material possessions. As we continue our journey, we must be prepared for both failure and success, constantly seeking out new experiences and challenges.

Gently brush eyelashes against my face, creating a delicate dance in my dreams. It feels like a long pause with no explanation, just breathing in sync with each other. I see tiny freckles, laughing lips, and inquisitive eyes coming together. The visions and soft words create a peaceful space, free from any competition or rush, filled with silence and whispers. As dreams come and go, wrinkles in time form like drawn curtains and the pace slows. We talk about the ways of the universe, admiring the streaks of starlight and the sweetness of gentle connections and love. Life intertwines and blends together, like intertwining circles and fancy footwork in a dance of love.

We are inhabitants of the emerald seas, intertwined with the black sands and tides that struggle against the current. Under the perfect alignment of the moonlight, we traverse another peaceful night untouched by dust. The Witch of Creation weaves perfect ideals and actions, twisting truth and dispelling falsehoods. To endure the night and emerge into a new day, we rely on fire and shelter in the caves. The challenges of today will shape tomorrow’s constraints under the light of a new dawn.

Freedom grieves. How many barriers separate the hopes of hearts and the unity of families? Barriers of fear and tears that stain and linger as trains travel under the sun’s path across the wind, towards a better future echoing through the faded borders towards improved moments and brighter days. Does the notion of absolute truth dismiss the role of government in providing opportunities and embracing progress that may lead to entitlements being recognized as the rights of the people? Why do the standards of human rights seem to vanish?

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

Physics is dedicated to teaching and investigating new terms, utilizing limitless possibilities and objective calculations. Ideas are examined and derived using established principles, leading to fresh insights and comprehension. The ordinary is redefined and harmonized into logical explanations and critical thinking. Established beliefs are questioned as original concepts emerge, pushing us towards unknown realms. Understanding evolves continuously, paving the way for breakthroughs and progress to be unearthed and revisited.

Are we not all travelers scattered across someplace-somewhere? And! Does protection equal servitude? We know humanities’ finest moments.  ‘Love and Peace and Touch and Trust.’

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born To Die’ by Lana Del Rey

Leaves And Trees…

The wind’s eerie howl echoes through the desolate streets, slipping through the cold gaps between crumbling bricks and worn mortar. Nature abhors emptiness, a truth that has held since the dawn of time. A Walker’s sandal strap hangs loosely on the right side of his footwear, worn down and broken from years of use, emitting a soft flapping noise with each step. Above, unseen bombers zoom past, their deafening roar fading into the distance as they unleash their fury. Broken statues lie scattered throughout the abandoned park, where once lively mimes performed with purpose and grace, now lost to the sands of time.

Unique trees are unlike any other, with smooth chrome-like bark that is incredibly durable. Standing at towering heights of one thousand feet and widths of up to two hundred feet, these trees can never be destroyed. They can change colors individually, and some believe that this is how they communicate with one another.

Machine-made boxes arrive, harmonious in the minds of those alike or different, swirling and giggling as they break apart into solitude within the bustling crowd. Bridges connect fleeting moments in the absence of time. We seek connection and discover flavor in shared experiences, intimacy found in the flow of rhythm and rhyme. Touches may resonate deeply within the intricate structure of language, where echoes linger in the formalities of communication. The poet weaves tales, capturing the struggles and personal anguish of the outcast, the touch of creativity that can be perplexing.

Creation smiles as life comes and goes without road signs or interstate noise. Twilight and dawn, departure gates swirling through go-to spaces between here and there, to hear, fear, find, die, or live again in places without time. Ecliptic twirls through galaxies where composite forms appear and disappear, where Ophiuchus stands above the sun, wide and planetary, from brim to rim and back again.

Our nature runs with or from the many or the few, often seen through curved ceilings of doorways where curved light enters through twenty-one windows. More spirit than body, ruled by doubt or satisfaction, the self ends in time without reason except for a rhythm to complete. We are the daughters and sons of earth and the starry skies, living a simple and true history, despite suppression or fear. We are the eternity of spirits, never beginning and never ending.

As the circle closes and the web builds, the markers of old and new builders guide us, folded into original shape until needed and opened to be followed across the sky bridge. Bang, bang-bang, and the games begin again. This loving rhyme leads us through time, rewinding as we breathe, while hoping for more.

Far from ‘Rebecca Bends City‘, beyond the Calimesa Sea and the sea wall, there are people who worship steel trees. They are known as charm collectors, gathering the colorful leaves that fall from the chrome branches. These leaves are heavy slabs of indestructible fashion.

And! Beautiful you are…

“Little Red Corvette” by Prince

 

Of Routines And Obstructions…

“Closer To The Heart” by Rush

‘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’…

We reject being defined by conflicts and aggression, instead aspiring to a world where peace and unity prevail. We long for a society where diversity is honored and understood, and where fairness is administered with empathy and kindness. Our children deserve a future free from the horrors of war and devastation, where harmony and love guide our actions.

We are not simply representations of nations, but sentient beings yearning for connection and meaning in the grand expanse of the universe.

Why do routines and understanding obstruct the path to peaceful resolutions? Inspiration comes from finding where you are and reaching for the stars before the smoke dissipates and the tears dry. Peace is elusive as notions of war and fear clouds our thoughts before fading into bittersweet memories and bright smiles. Another chance to dance before the tears and sorrow of tomorrow. Death, peace, and the beauty of Life. And! As long as there is breath in my body, I will hold peace in my Heart.

Countless roads forgotten, remembered, then lost again.

Expansion of the universe is observed through the shifting of red in the Star Path, as stars move away. The red color of Suns suggests they are ‘out-bounders’, while ‘in-bounders’ do not show a red shift. Bench markers, such as novae and supers, only rely on the consistency of time, symbolized by ‘tick-tock’, across the Universal Divide. If Time is ‘downshifting’, our concept of time is slowly transitioning into a new dimension of space. Even ancient stars seem to be accelerating from Earth’s perspective.

As we gaze at the twinkling stars, we can only wonder about their true nature.

The concept of the ‘Universal Limits of Speed’ applies to the movement of bubbles through space, but not to space itself. During the rapid expansion of space, did space-time exceed speeds faster than the speed of light? The ongoing expansion of the space-time continuum hints at the possibility of the universe experiencing cycles of creation and destruction, with moments of inflation eventually giving way to the formation and decay of stars.

As we observe these cosmic events, we are reminded of the eternal dance of beginnings and endings in the vast expanse of the universe.

These are the gateways to other dimensions and faraway journeys where stars come together without colliding. We speak of the vast distances easily traveled in the time it takes to breathe. We emerge through open doors hidden behind clouds and blue skies. Where are we now, in this distant place far from Earth and home? We are the evidence of scattered peoples. Could it be that gods created humans in various locations around Sirius, Mars, Earth, and beyond? Our leaders, our followers, our beliefs, and our stories have twisted our origins in so many ways that truth and fiction blend into a blur of beginnings and endings.

But still, the future is always approaching.

Imagine ancient civilizations, existing at a time when the universe was still in its infancy, with only a few planets hosting life. These beings would have experienced a profound loneliness, gazing out into the vastness of space with no one to share their thoughts. They likely explored the star clusters in a similar way to how we explore planets, only to find empty worlds or ones inhabited by mindless creatures. Earth itself was still in its early stages, with volcanic activity coloring the skies, when a ship from an advanced civilization arrived from beyond Pluto. These visitors traveled past the frozen outer planets, knowing they were devoid of life, and settled among the inner planets, awaiting new beginnings.

The travelers must have observed Earth, positioned ‘just right’ between extremes of heat and cold, and realized it was a favored world of the Sun.

Outside Proper City, nestled beneath the towering five-hundred-mile-high mountains, Concuana and her fifty generals, along with one hundred thirty-nine followers, gathered. Some villagers, fearful of destruction, huddled in small groups, while others looked to her as a protector against the Watcher Army. As a watcher herself, Concuana summoned her magic and coven, readying themselves for battle. Clad in armor, she stealthily navigated the rocky terrain, positioning herself out of sight. Proper City and Winter Gate, fortified with crystal domes, awaited the impending conflict as golden pods and silent helicopters floated ominously in the sky. We calculate the known and unknown, the measurements of short and tall, the tales of beings big and small, because we are all Spirits of Creation, Creative Critters United.

And! As long as there is breath in my body, I will hold peace in my Heart.

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Lola’…by Lake Street Dive

Spirits Walk And Spirits Talk…

—In your sounds of music—in your works of art-touch and your words of rhythm and rhyme; I taste and feel the strength of your presence—Past and Today and into the Future and ‘wow’ light does exist…Everyone! Thanks for sharing!

When eternal spirits visit body magic, please protect the ‘ghosts in these machines.’ Open arms and rejoice in this welcoming of life, body embraced touched senses to ground and as sky flight races across sky’s grand lengths remember there are no gates of heaven. Body form, blood and love and hand-to-hand and hip-to-hip and to and from the Mother-Ship…

Find no balance to bible-speak or the ramblings of government kings or the priests of wealth and babble for they are the attempted ‘evil’ of control and failure. Eternal Spirit touches Eternal Spirits. Simple and refined and fair in logical truth and requiring no ‘men-of-middle-claims’ or endless fancy killings or…

Presidents, Premiers, Dictators, Popes, Imams, Chieftains, Generals-of-Death, Politicians-of-Control and Preacher Kings, when you fly by as simple sky birds without metal form and blame; we may just for an instant, look up into the sky and smile. Then we will continue the protection of little ones and our spinning world. Is not the purpose of us to help the small ones grow into the large ones?

When the call of heart gives up eternal spirits never end. Eternal Spirit never waits to gain permission and access to the Universe. Life is unstoppable and everlasting. No Judgment awaits, no future calls for horror, no memories of past or present or future physical constructions are not required or necessary. Gods created spirit-sparks and spirits together to dwell in the whenever time of wherever places for whatever reasons.

Call spirit-dance! The naming of name-times quantify mysteries of understanding heart-touch inside flesh-times when body-survival purposes daily pursuits or interests same as food to stomach and sleeping in those arms-of safety. Mother holds baby close and Father embraces in his arms; hope and love and protection. She and he together once more family-dance the form of strength social and fabricated continuum.

So! Visiting Spirits stop and animate walking, flying, swimming and crawling flesh. No tests and no required reasons. True Gods create no wars on earth or in the above places of the wherever or ever been. True Gods do not allow horror or death or strife or pain or happiness or grief or destruction. The ‘Gods’ do not judge the fallibility or fragility of flesh and whimsy. Why? Poverty and Greed and Control and Governments and Religions equal the Terror/Horror of this immediate now and this immediate place.

Life is Eternal Spirit and we are these spirits. One or many across a star field of many star-filled nights and days. Stars do not dim in the light-of-dawning bright. Eyes often see more than eyes discover and understanding may stop at birth or continue until stopped heart begins Spirit-walks again across a Spirited-Sky, beyond and below and maybe again on a ‘whirly twirly’ world somewhere in another time or place or race. Nothing matters except Love and Life and Peace?

And! Beautiful you are…

Witch Magic And Spells…

These Idols are shams of illusory pain, unknown over spans of turmoil and wars of courses, ’til days without war are times wasted and blood not tasted. They fall to earth in conveyances not yet realized and always fighting over splits, of DNA and genes spliced to design to slave and swiftly die. And! We imagine these creations are creators, to shadow—to covet and too; to emulate, ‘til death parts our ways and past deaths still correctly resolves from among the graves? Oh, hell no? This ring around never follows unless correct premise concludes that the correct choice is but; a wig-waggle away from, conclusive logic and “still love me some logic-eh.”

Witches formed the twirling-whirl. Enchantresses will revisit and revive their designs. So! Return now. Perhaps, this is a suitable time? Beware the twirl of haunted paramours. Each motion is a dance with unreal realities. They delight in the child’s discovery; of life, without opaque details and sans those sundry levels; unknown, behind crafted shells and the ruined confines of age. This substitute; when discovered, is grief for a reduced lover while crying sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the recollections of chance? Appearing in cloud early, we perish within a jumble-muddle of dusted rain and rust. In transition and pursuing the flash-ride; to spiral and skip, we frame time and often miss but never-ever fall.

“There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
the voices are the same the thunder
is the same roaring in our ears for
on one side and the other of the paper it said
there is no death
There is death though in the paper where
the muffled pencil moved
Only in the paper only in the shrouding paper”… Annie Besant

Arrange now! Inside the ruin-runes of this roadhouse of crumble stone and moss and rubble and ruined wooden benches and tables twisting into ground. Life begins and life ends as inhalation starts and exhalation stops. Not a cloud fall missed, but a spark’s charging headlong into channels of paradise and kiss-loves before the night ends and life trashes to light. We are robots of life scattering and of live jamming ‘cross one thousand worlds; set to twirl the galaxy, all lost and found and discovered and discarded. A million mines of unique ones whirling just inside 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.

We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of neoteric plug-ins; unedited and banned and far away from the standards of whisper’s folly and inside a net of 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 unfamiliar automata, powerless to locate or 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 mourning after and spawned in the backseats of an auto or two and occasionally former and eternally imminent, when taverns crumble and bridges fall.

“The modality of novelistic enunciation is inferential: it is a process within which the subject of the novelistic utterance affirms a sequence, as conclusion to the inference, based on other sequences (referential – hence narrative, or textual – hence citational), which are the premises of the inference and, as such, considered to be true.” JULIA KRISTEVA–‘Desire in Language’

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 sing-songs 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…

Often Empathy Is Survival…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The way to hearts is always through hearts.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

Orinoco Flow by Enya

Life’s Fire And Warm Wine…

“Like grapes, we have always accompanied the vat.

From the view of the world, we have disappeared.

For years, we boiled from the fire of love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

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…