Is Utility The Highest Moral Good?

The grey architecture of the Apparatus was monolithic and perpetually controlled. It was not created by laws or treaties, nor economic necessity but by a precise and chilling understanding: that Objective Truth was a Crippling Liability. In the high halls where the air was thick with the scent of recycled paper and ‘quiet ambition’ the foundational doctrine was unambiguous:

Truth was unimportant and entirely subordinate to tactics and psychology.

It was a philosophical position arrived at not through reckless nihilism but through managerial calculation. Truth was static and stubborn and often inconvenient. It demanded deference carry the baggage of history and insisted upon a restrictive definition of reality. ‘Reality must always be fluid and a perpetual construction site where the necessary narrative of the afternoon superseded the verifiable fact of the morning.’ Utility was the highest moral good. If a lie consolidated power, secured compliance or galvanized the collective will, then that lie was not merely acceptable; it was mandatory and possessing a utility that the fragile integrity of fact could never match.

The State did not fear inaccuracy; it celebrated the pliability that inaccuracy provided. History was not a chronicle of what occurred but a psychological tool—a malleable reservoir of symbols and lessons that could be re-edited and redeployed faster than the original events could be forgotten. Memory was systematically dismantled and replaced by the collective state of mind required for the next tactical move. To ask ‘Is this true?’ was to commit an ideological blunder revealing a dangerous preoccupation with the irrelevant past and a failure to grasp the dynamic and evolving needs of the present operation. The only relevant question was: ‘Does this work?’

But utility alone was insufficient. Fear while effective in the short term was a generalized corrosive emotion that bred apathy. It did not focus the collective energy; it dispersed it. A population unified only by shared terror was unstable and prone to lashing out at random ill-defined targets including the Apparatus itself. What was required was dedication and passion and directed malice.

This necessitated the second and equally vital pillar of the psychological doctrine: Hatred and contempt must be directed at particular individuals.

Hatred when diffused became an abstract grievance. When personalized it became a powerful and simplifying force. The Apparatus understood the human need for villains and for tangible breathing receptacles of collective failure. To blame an amorphous system or an un-quantifiable economic force was intellectually demanding and emotionally unsatisfying. But to hate the specific face of the Enemy—the corrupt bureaucrat with the weak chin or the ideologue across the border with the nervous tick or the former comrade whose defection symbolized all personal doubt—this was simple and visceral and profoundly unifying.

Every failure of the collective—the shortage of grain, the faulty machinery, the stifling grayness of existence itself—could be traced instantly and efficiently to the specific and documented malice of a singular person. This individual became the anchor point for all anxiety. They were designated the repository of wickedness and the required sacrifice for the maintenance of ideological purity. The contempt felt by the masses was not generalized societal fatigue but a moral righteousness channeled surgically at the designated target.

There was a profound and chilling efficiency in this system of personalization. It allowed the State to perform dramatic ideological shifts without ever admitting fault. When an old policy failed it was not the policy that was flawed; it was the treasonous official who implemented it. The official was erased and the underlying structure remained sacrosanct. The public was given not an explanation but a victim—a specific and detestable figure upon whom all pent-up hostility could be violently discharged. The catharsis was immediate, the energy renewed and the System preserved.

The most profound tragedy of this arrangement lay in the psychological decay of those tasked with its maintenance. The men and women who fabricated the necessary lies and assigned the necessary targets—the functionaries and the propagandists and the keepers of the narrative—lived within a permanent state of cognitive dissonance. They were forced to exist in two worlds simultaneously: the verifiable world of empty promises and material scarcity and the required world of ideological certainty and perpetual triumph.

They became masters of the ‘double-think,’ not merely believing two contradictory things but mastering the act of believing based solely on utility. They knew, in the silent and unacknowledged core of their minds, that the person they condemned today might be the hero they lionized tomorrow. They saw the detailed dossiers proving innocence that were discarded in favor of fabricated evidence proving guilt. They witnessed the deliberate insertion of small and easily memorable lies into the public narrative—liabilities added not for strategic deception but to test and reinforce the population’s willingness to surrender their own senses.

This constant fabrication was exhausting. It eroded personality by turning the enforcers into brittle and reactive shells. If truth was irrelevant then personal honor and integrity and genuine human connection were also rendered obsolete. How could one trust a colleague whose commitment to reality was known to bend instantly to the prevailing tactical wind? The somber mood of the regime was rooted in this atrophy of internal life, the cold and gnawing certainty that nothing—no memory, no promise, no love, no accusation—was genuinely real; it was all merely a phase in a larger and tactical calculation.

The System required not just compliance but the total surrender of the soul to its tactical mandates. It succeeded in making objective reality a luxury reserved only for the ideologically unsound. The somber silence that fell over the populace was not the quiet of peace but the quiet of exhausted doubt of a populace that had learned that certainty was a dangerous mistake. They had internalized the ultimate lesson: to survive one must direct hatred precisely as instructed and one must never inquire deeply into the truth. And the specific and personalized object of contempt cemented the tactical narrative by ensuring that the human spirit, starved of genuine reality, would always find its sustenance in a carefully prepared diet of directed malice.

The utility of the lie was the only truth that mattered.

And! Beautiful you are…

Still—Star Light Secrets…

…Please Note… (Not Poetry—in True Forms—However—Just For Me—Fun)…

Not everything that can be counted really counts, and not everything that counts can be really counted… Albert Einstein.

There and perched high on dream-side—at flips of mind-sigh—we move across—this universe so fine. Alive and gone and alive and gone—‘til counting-time catches us with mind-sides swirl—sight of mind-light bright—brings another way to see…And Oh! What a wave to see—to be—to know and again to have seen.

Yes! To have seen—so it seems and to see it all through Love! Again…

Sighted! Righted to see the shadows’ tuck—inside texture’s—ghosts and inside shadows—inside—reflected swirls of star light—and—lighted night. Is it true that—if we build a shelving unit—created with shelves—structurally made to sustain—heavier weights—than the objects we just purchased—should we—avoid putting that object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical?

“The moving power of mathematical invention is not reasoning, but imagination.”… A. De Morgan

Steel Riders pause by waterside as tides of water—kiss shoreline—wave length along with one hundred sounds—as gulls ride the dips of above and around piers of ruined wood and splintered ages where once—Calimesa City stood—and tide changes—matter to boat anchored and ships sailing against the evening lines. The water’s edge and skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spin sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky-lighted-canvas—sheets the blue-gray into darkness and stars light the sailor’s way along the caverns of space and place and the race of time.

Is a waste of strength practical?

These are the salty ways of salted seas and flecks of foam scattered—along shore-sided shifts of sand from wet-to-dry and dunes rise—above and beyond watered edges—before ruined boardwalks remind-nothing-of- something—once savored and watched and known by forgotten ones—once upright writers of the times—and the sounds of ‘days of a future’s past.’

Still! Still! Still! Still!

Slaves of speed—those things filling corners of—house scatter and caves overwhelmed by many needs— requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath—drenched in sweat and rain and dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams—traced along the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter—and later—mist lifts from a million places outside caves and houses and homes now forgotten and almost gone.

Still! We all cross spaces along these places of— races in time gathered—and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

We do not summon gentle love…It whispers to our spirits—and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance and routes of layers and lives inside walls too high to be climbed or under or around or about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love heart touches and reaches—into body frail and those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen—just listen.

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

And! Beautiful you are…

Leaving Noise Behind…

Freedom cries as roadblocks divide hearts and families. Walls made of fears and tears leave perpetual stains, as trains journey toward the setting suns and continue hopes for better futures. The winds carry whispers of change, as faded borders lead to moments and days that hold promise. But does the notion of objective truth deny that it is the government’s role to provide opportunities for enjoyment and progress? Do these enjoyments then turn into entitlements, and entitlements become the rights of the people?

How can we allow the standards for all humans to vanish?

We pass over the clouds and leave the noise behind as giants sulk and climb those distance stairs to higher places. When money changes hands and secrets are leaked, those in power play their games and truth is twisted. In this strange time, where words rhyme and knowledge remains unchanged, confusion arises from the trading of money and the pursuit of conformity. Touch me with words that sing and let’s escape this world together, finding comfort in our voices and rhythms in our hearts. Demons and angels dance on a pin, falling and catching as they climb the stairs, speaking the truth and the noise. Believe in the truths and lies, in the politics and the games, in the purchase and disposal.

And in the end, gather again to buy and throw away.

We have been purchased and educated, traded and forgotten, commanded and demanded, to the point where the rights of the people are no longer based on the truth, but on coercion and brute force. Political power is measured by the amount of smoke that emerges from barrels pointed at the people. If this is true, how should political power be sustained or restrained as the smoke dissipates into the air we breathe?

And is this universal continuation truly necessary?

We have become sponges, possessing the remarkable qualities of being gifted and sociable. We have navigated through life with a deep understanding and remained connected to two contrasting worlds: one filled with fear and the other brimming with enchantment. Our minds and hearts are overflowing with boundless truth and profound wisdom. Both truth and wisdom have instilled in us a sense of apprehension and awe, for wisdom has the ability to define one’s identity as age shapes the physical form while freeing the spirit to dance. From the union of these two aspects, life’s energy ignites, and the places where we find ourselves never being alone become the starting points and destinations of our journey.

Together, we have already achieved great feats, and miraculously, we pass on our legacy to future generations.

Common words are used to explain complex concepts that carry endless risks and require honest calculations. These calculations manipulate ideas that are both contrived and derived from common knowledge, sometimes being exacted, reacted, contacted, rejected, or projected. Through this process, new creations are formed, which can either twist into a sense of simplicity or be corrected through logical reasoning.

This shattering of old paradigms are the sound of whispers, while sailing ships and stormy disasters bring about upheaval.

These upheavals also ignite progress and provide opportunities for decisions to be made. Once things that were feared, now rip through barriers with confidence and determination, just like seeds that are sown and acknowledged to be either true or almost forgotten but eventually are remembered correctly. In the grand scheme of things, aren’t we all travelers scattered across various places and somewhere in time? And does our protection of others equate to being in servitude?

And! We have witnessed humanity’s most remarkable moments, which are characterized by love, peace, physical touch, and trust.

And! Beautiful you are…

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…

 

 

Genetic Contours And Spinning Complications…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

 

 

 

Ascending Wind-up Stairs…

Walking hulks sulk and climb ending stairs skyward to beyond this rabble-rouse and quiet noise. When money creeps and changes; news leaks near power peaks alongside east-west motions and of the upward downs of truths returned. Word crests someplace in this somewhere time when twirling letters rhyme and time-to-know-to-yes remain-the-same. Confusions great relate to money swap and hanging pauses while causes of creation sells and souls pursue uninformed uniformity.

Touch me with Sing-Song poems and forget this world and find me with voice as we two too need those requiring words of hope and verse of love’s together-forever in dark dancing with rhythms in our minds and drumbeats in our hearts…

Demons and Angels dance same pin-top-tip-stop, one fall and catch below and climb those ending stairs and bop atop short pins with needles threaded truths dreaded and ever-speak thru noise and sporadic song. Sing speak the swirl-of-twirling lies. Truth man says he is and not-the-same and this time plain, and this fact not creations-to-entertain or too confused. So! Believe in the truth man and the bogus man and the bogey man and the politics of fearless lies. Believe in fearless fates and drown in something to purchase and throw away. And!  Acquire those accepted trusts in the end or assemble again, products to buy and this time keep-and hold and tossed away as ‘we’ proceed in need of failures and of successes.

Brush eye-lash-to-face and form dance in dreams and seems as long pause with no cause are without voices. Just breath-to-breathe and see tiny freckles and lips to laugh and eyes to quest together. Visions and quiet word songs with gentle space and no race and blends of silence and whisper-speaks. Dreams-then-dream quest cease and increase those creases in time as curtains’ climb and paces die. Visit and speak of ways of star-side streak of starlight sweet of gentle unions and love. Life lives and mingle-tingles thru heart touch good as ring-circles and fancy, dances into love’s rhythm and rhyme.

We are of the emerald seas. We belong to the black sands and tides that pull ‘gainst current as the alignment of this moonlight is perfect while stepping across another dustless night. Creations’ Witch creates those perfect notions and motions as she rewrites truth and confuses lies. The necessity of fire and cave to survive this night and live into another day is now, and through tomorrow’s light will create another constraint.

Freedom weeps. How may walls separate hearts’ hope and families? Walls of fears and falling tears stain and remain as trains move up sun runs ‘cross these sailing winds toward better sound coming round ‘cross these faded boarders toward better moments and toward better days. Does objective truth deny that government is the provider of enjoyments and new progress accepts enjoyments that may become ’entitlements’ and ‘entitlements may become—’the right of the people?’ Why! Do the standards for human rights disappear? And! still elites determine what constitutes without the ‘Constitution’ the Rights of Humanity? These Elites are also the ‘Body Politic’ purchased and taught-bought, traded and faded, commanded and demanded until the ‘rights-of-the-people’ are not products of objective truth embracing relativism but are the results of coercion and brutal power. Political power equals how much gun smoke pours from barrels pointed toward the people? If true! Then how must political power continue or be limited as smoke evaporates into precious air? And! Must this ‘universal continuation’ continue.

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 common reach and teach uncommon words with boundless risk and honest computation, manipulation contrived and derived through common wisps-of-wisdom exacted, reacted, contacted and rejected or projected. Creations twists boundlessly and meld into simple sense or corrected logic. Paradigm shatters as whisper-matters while sail ships and storm’s tatters, up righted-ignited-provided-decided and once-feared now tears along with seed sowing acknowledged knowing either real or almost correctly forgotten and then remembered.

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…

A Common Collective of Creations…

‘Deportation Forever Continues! This is an immoral and illegal and wicked course of Global Separation and Global Apartheid.’ We are all Children of the Universe and We have the Right-to-be Everywhere…

“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.”…by Anna Aya Stefanowicz

 “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

Realm begins and Emerald Beams blaze. Blue corn stocks are piled throughout Giant Ridge, for five hundred miles across and stopping because height stops, and sky begins. “Tis reach to stay and say this place is climbing high and growing large while from spinning barge we ‘cross this sky bright and into eternal night. Everywhere snow: large flakes and small swirl ‘round this alley wide and middle dreary to hushed elegance on both ends where streets begin and alley’s end… Bitter away from streetlights. And! Silent away from rider less paths where foot high white bounces lands and covers asphalt ways and concrete walks. Quiet so! Go no shadow pale wall crawl or dark creep while light speak is too scattered to form round interruptions of snow motion descending to bounce and to stop.

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

“Cross desert sand landings and every eye is weeping…” author unknown…

If the prescience and means to a concrete and inevitable series of immediate twinkles disappear than mankind’s lost of vision and goal-oriented proximity results in intellectual and moral collapse. Constructs vanish from our conceptual progressions and from our communal distresses. Perception separates as the incapacity to reason and proceed with principles disappear. A principle equals something primary or a general truth or a fundamental. All integrities and essentials are contingent upon these standards.

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

Called a Populist Revolution not formed and not aware of scattered notions; neither right, often damaged nor very wrong. Global causes are formations and often cause Global pause. To deport our people, present and 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 that our people create. Deportation is no longer an issue of domestic policy. To relocate the energy of reliable effort and trustworthy labor, to expatriate our associates from a United-Scatter-of-States inches close but ideals-miles-separated; ruins life’s functions, when globalization and the restructuring of ubiquitous economics, creates a just and beautiful and very purposeful need for global migration.

Recall the terror of displacement? Shifts immediately influence the perfect essence. Exhaustion defeats the human both; physically and psychically.  Amplified inequity causes angry and discontented societies. Restrictions of hope and greed achieves nothing. Fleeting feats cannot continue indefinitely and forever is unimaginable. Transition thinking! Creations of conventional competitors forever abolishes the collective prospects of common people…And! We are the common people of this home and of this world and of this ephemeral flash-in-time…

—-Maybe we are born comprehending everything and due to becoming a corporeal being, all is forgotten then gradually recollected within brief lifecycles. Visualize what we might recall over one thousand years of incessant existence?—

And! Beautiful you are…

Reaching Summer Minds…

“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. Happy for her and realized what a joy it must be to discover some all-consuming goal”. …by Larissa

To look for 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 choirs and time.

Recall younger days when single word shapes, we discussed with countless deliberation; is good in young minds, and it is also good to be an idealist and always better to implement, then to watch struggles decrease and die. Intent is formal rhythm as informal ventures and voices we share often, by a multitude of straight forward mind-speak. Shriek and speak, peak, and realize the up-down issues of a United People or a Distant Society, and just listen to murmured fabrications in the dark.

Is Dancing-in-the-dark prudent practice, or is unawareness as idyllic as lingering to trace flowers with eyes-to-face-to-ground and then to drift away into silence? Principles determine how to restrain shares of humanity’s essentials, wants, hopes, and fears. While the Constitution of America is noble, it is an impractical paradigm. Its structures are impossible to apply since values adjust swiftly. Standards amend and are either normally just or abnormally unjust. We are conscious of the ‘Military Industrial Complex’. Will the current actions of 2020, imply the termination of any hopes to continue our righteous and upright and ethical Freedoms? Freedom’s endurance or America’s Dreams-of-Direction is its independent spirit. Justice be a damnable notion to quantify, to find and to practice properly. This Republic may not be clever enough to follow this fragile and undoubtedly corruptible Representative Democracy.

Touch me with sing-song poems. Forget the world and touch me with voice. We two—too need those requiring words of hope. And! Verses of love’s together-forever. Whilst! Dark dancing with rhythm in our minds and drumbeats in our hearts…

A lighthouse, countless lifetimes gone, spark as great beams sweep across sight line discharge and disappear only to eternally reappear. Pulsars pulse power ‘cross a sparkling firmament. A blood moon appears, and ears perk for Wolf’s lunar call. Cold and bright stars spot night beyond rooftops and always brighter as moonlight slips closer to the earth. Early morning and snow curves to white silver and interwoven shadows of leafless limbs and long trunks stand between the moon and ground touch. Black way now white; a gentle declination from community’s frontage and down another moderate rise.

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. Government is controlling an alienated society and the anterior faith in promises and desires. The elected ones cannot move toward either truth or nonfiction due to the simple reasons that lying is the easiest form of communication. And! None seem to care.

Life flows thru vein-to-brain then ink flows and magic often flat is smooth and…And! Mind speaks simplicity with force combined to shout future verse with yesterday’s sweet silence. To listen! To pronounce and become choir sing-song’s harmonious visions so softly. Is truth found here? Is in communities ‘cross land and seaside channels a fact that each community found discovers itself on the verge of losing every part and every parcel of any fortune or any chance of regaining any semblance of harmony, love and joy?

We are effective at destroying ‘the enemy’; so proficient, that we are unable to identify an adversary from a ‘maybe or almost’ the same blood-red animation we want or desire to embrace—not race but begin and end with a sometimes or almost never-ever or requiring an absolute maybe? Global reasons to exist will conclude as divisions increase hate and ignorance and vacuous nationalism and abject failure of new realities, as greed continues its evil. Constant learning is another form of survival’s attempts to animate. We supply the poise required to afford physical sustenance, covering and haven. What is the sacrifice for this equilibrium? Why? We accept these ‘all the time’ situations as unalterable and unavoidable and ‘so it must be true’, this way of life’s life.

‘Tulips’

“The tulips are too excitable; it is winter here.

Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly

As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.

I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses

And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons. 

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff

Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.

Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,

They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,

Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,

So, it is impossible to tell how many there are. 

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water

Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.

They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.

Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——

My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,

My husband and child smiling out of the family photo.

Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat

Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.

They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.

Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley

I watched my tea-set, my bureaus of linen, my books

Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.

I am a nun now; I have never been so pure. 

I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free——

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.  

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swaddling, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. 

Before they came the air was calm enough,

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself. 

 The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals.

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health”. — ‘Tulips’ by Sylvia Plath

And! Beautiful you are…

Tick-Tock And Time…

Finally detected! A subway into this wig-waggle-universe and accessible for everyone. Again, migration into and on top of unfamiliar places and different spaces and additional races; forever, to be the first to enter and the last to exit. Is Humanity comparable to merchandise crammed on shelves in an eternity sized store (FIFO), inventory acquired and audits certified? Are we the solitary ‘first-in-first-out’ genus in an aged and precocious whirly-twirl?

“Let us be lovers
We’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes
And Mrs. Wagner’s pies
And walked off to look for America”…Simon and Garfunkel

Tick-the-tock! Tock-the-tick! Timed! Counters flash red; this descending time, without reason and without rhyme. Closed! Too touched to feel, to die-to-live, to-live-to-die, not to try and not to fly. Only to tick-the-tock and tock-the-tick and cry. Meetings and Children die. Meetings and Spirits fly. Migrants’ horror—a—News Reporter… And! Cry then Die. And! Sigh and still spirits fly.

“Echoes and silence, patience and grace
All of these moments I’ll never replace
No fear of my heart, absence of faith
And all I want is to be home”…Dave Grohl

Seas of Immigration—just stall? Just wait outside a bit longer and ‘they’ will all go away? Meet and stall and forget them all? Because people always die? Casualties are always expected? ‘Better-Them-than-Us’… WTF? And! We all were once Immigrants, leaving a someplace home at a someplace hole-in-bottled-time. We are all once moving and hoping for a better place sometime in another time.

“When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said “No Trespassing.”
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

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?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me”…Woody Guthrie

Too many families are terrified! They are our sisters and our brothers. Twisted governments remove children from their mothers. In American—‘Free-land of Liberty’—WTF? Too many decent families are departing their hometowns, too often, too many—to die and their children are the children of this world—They are our children…One death, one tear, too many! And! Due to twisting religions’ or twisted governments’ why and—WTF? Remember! The only reason ‘we-be’ is for our Children…And! ‘Nothing else matters.’

‘What’s done in the dark soon comes into the light’… Author unknown

Thomas Hobbes once wrote in his book Leviathan: “[in nature] there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

And! ‘Let there appear (A Market Free), government not required? Without government—‘A Free Market—cannot exist.’ It cannot exist without a civilization. ’True competition’ is a wild ‘dance of survival’ and only the largest and the strongest win—donchaknow? Oops! Civilization is defined by rules. Rules create markets and ‘Oh-No’! Governments’ are the ‘Rules Generator.’

Please! Do not believe; when your paycheck is too small to survive without (2)+ jobs, you really deserve this ‘governmental oops’! And! When a small percentage of ‘personae’ receive billions-of-dollars for your labor with no (blood, sweet and tears) required—they deserve this? No way! Rules have been altered and all governmental ‘oops’ are calculated—forever and for one and for all.  Systems are skewed and our American administration is our liability. Meanwhile; this error, is the ‘Government of the People and For the People’ and have ‘we’ the People been dis-remembered?  It must not intrude—on a ‘Free Market’—since it must—create that—‘Free Market’? Oops and Wowzer! The American Government creates all ‘free market rules thru Our Legislatures, enforces these rules by using our Administrative Agencies and rules may often be tested by our Courts. An unholy trinity—donchaknow!

A ‘Free Market and Civilization’ in harmonious simplicity? Until this is re-calculated—-‘Nothing else matters’.

“There are two modes of invading private property; the first, by which the poor plunder the rich…sudden and violent; the second, by which the rich plunder the poor, slow and legal.”…Author unknown

Wondering now, if Preachers-of-Fear and Creatures-of-Hate and a Collection of Hope Frauds and Reality-Show-Freaks and Presidential ‘Wanna—Maybes’ are nothing more-or-less than distractions and entertainment-to-lure-both-you-and-me away from Legislature failure?

Everyone knows—(Love Is or ‘Nothing else matters.’)

“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”…Scott McKenzie

 

And! Beautiful you are…

From Templates to Tears…

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

The soft sounds of wind pushing pine needles ‘cross autumn’s forest floor and the silent serenity after snow’s midnight fall. If impulse is response then decision is evolution. In 1610, Johannes Kepler chanced a walk across the celebrated Charles Bridge in Prague and as snow fall begin to catch on his coat, he brushed away six-sided flakes from the cloth covering his arms. While gathering more of these flakes, Johannes realized that they were all six-sided and he marveled at the convenience of this discovery and the perspicacious brain and the extraordinary curiosity of the human mind; quantified within the quality of, spiritual being.

Magically! Birds transform the air they breathe into surprisingly sweet songs.

Beneath surface and far below Segment Star, two and one half billion spirits live and labor and ache and fail and love and hate along with many sunless days and nights of starlight gone or ignored and remembered when mind switches from bonded illumination to those blind mix slips between neon’s shine and semi-sweet chocolate dusk. Light is saturated in creamy grey and night becomes thick swirls of vanilla warmth were blended shadows shake. Machine wonders and spirits guide the processes of robot arms and legs and watch through robot eyes and hear through robot ears and once or often weep spirit tears and die never-ever-even if a book-or-ten call living ‘sins of flesh’ when spirited robots must live and die and forever move into dusted star-streams while dancing among a trillion light twinkles sketched across the winter’s sky. From twins of two the power of life sparks and alone-never places begin and end.

The concentration of control and the circulation of capital to an exceedingly few; ensures a coordinated manipulation of power. And! When a united concentration of influence becomes intolerable, abuse of authority from within occurs. Businesses are weakened, are malformed and ultimately discover their own expiration dates. After rebellions; old paradigms are changed and what was because; becomes what possibly happens and for that reason, becomes what could be happening, becomes what just happened along with those shocks and shouts of perchance or songs of renewal; maybe, become just another equivalent, once more. Businesses are expected to maximize production and slash expenditures? This essentially increases greed and corners those essential laborers of productions’ intensification into wage captivity?

And! By what means, do we ‘become skilled at’ manipulating our own free inclinations, to achieve; whatever, regulations demands us to accomplish? How are the differing views and values and expressions and the hopes and beliefs of ‘common folk’ found and drown round ‘quitting time’ and treated and completed and continued and amended and silenced by ‘formidable and influential folk?’ We finance singularity; beginning with genetic fancy, and eternally forfeiting the damages of remedy’s obverse exit. Factions orbit while curving outward in free resolve. Published freedoms and outside thoughts are bent-broken-borrowed-lost-stolen and rapt; within those white spaces, linking black ink and rhyme.

“When I gasp for strength
I borrow it from you, oh the strong ones!
You carry the load stupendous
Of the humanity
Time and time again
Since the dawn of awareness

How do you do that I wonder
The weight of ignorance
The mountain of evil
The heaps of malice
of billions (and countlessly repeated)
You carry the cross of non-love alone
Time and time again
For others to feel loved
Appreciated and pleased

How do you do that I wonder
How do you stay so calm
Amid the whirlpool of clamor
Kind and compassionate
In devouring face of brutality and mayhem
How do you spread your light
Right through the forest
of fear, delusion and stupor
You salvage the soul
For others to be safe
And to feel light and restful
In a life of little wisdom

How do you do that I wonder
How do you spread your magic
Of charm, nobility and honor
In hearts so dark there
that beasts may refuse a habitation
How do you pull that trick
of giving the innocence back
so that he is human again!
How do you enthrall
the dull, the doped, the ordinary
to carry the torch
of your divine glory

Oh load-bearers of humanity
I wonder how you carry the load so awesome
But when I gasp for strength
I take refuge in your strength
I take refuge in you!”…Bhaswat Chakraborty

Today’s corporations; spinning across our planet-of-twirl, are necessary. And! While this Republic does embrace and dance and dodge and halve-a-partial régime of our Democratic notions into palatable, chunks-to-bites-to-morsels, would this waltz of Democracy also include; an ability to prevent, all abuses of power by: our government, our labor, our capital and our management.

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

Organizations ought to recognize that uninterrupted existence; as presently realized, is the perceptive notion that the environmental aftermath of too much for too few with too many ‘no’ and too few ‘yes’—ultimately totals ‘No’ for everything and everyone. An “Atlas Shrug” and Corporations spontaneously know that ‘acquiring must forever be balanced with providing.’ This is not a “wig-waggle’ of Socialism-vs-Capitalism. This not a ‘giggle-wiggle’ of “We the People-vs-the Wall Street island-of-Greed.” No! Serving in balance with taking; is in step, with Workers. And! Labor is the swivel of our Universe and Profits either rise or fall with; equality and societies’ advancement; good-to-better and never good-to-worse. Possibly! The potency of progress; is the track toward a higher moral ‘Code of Corporate’ behavior the world over.

Our Republic; may be able to purpose, previous and present-day and potential paradigms to divide, to constrain, to reproach, to restrict, to relinquish and to rescind. Bereft of legitimate commitments through our Republic’s Branches three: Judicial, Legislative and Executive; where seldom a harmonies phrase of musical rhyme or rhythm exists; perhaps notions of balance, will be realized by Corporate examination and the equivalence of construction and remuneration will succeed sans a Workers’ Revolution. And! Through a far-fetched glimpse into an unidentified and mysterious prospect; since Corporations are created to hide ‘fact and fiction,’ perhaps all Cooperative blurs will ‘gain a soul’ during these successes.

Often and ‘round countless dinner tables, it is believed that Calimesa Sea is where the world ends. No one has ever crossed the sea, so no one really knows where the water ends and land begins. Perhaps, sea wraps earth and returns to the base of Calimesa Hills. An invisible dome encloses Sky Mountains where no one lives or visits or touches or appreciates. Truth? And! When again ‘surfs-up’ and extreme rollers recover coastline sections and earth; would rather dwell, in the Villages of Fisher-folk than in the standings of middling automata minus machined chis and sans productive motives and rising forlorn as ‘wave-crash’ claims us all. Remember! We do entirety.

Now! Drink a Bourbon ‘kinda’ whiskey at the Ginger colored Inn. A dark and harsh moon; pale to be and faint to see and along-way-off-to-touch-skin. Wind begins to-end–tonight. Begins to stop again, as Spirits depart and windows have no views.

And! Beautiful you are…