By its endless ending that makes of death a suicide, new beginning is signified of an eternal recurrence of renewal; coming Spring the going...
Sparks in the dark ignite; to go to make an offering of light between the possibility and the final performance of the action a hesitation r...
Semaphore of their coming dance of leaves, buds are spiking on twigs to announce an early Spring. In their green whispers of such birth, the...
A shame and a sorrow and a bereavement of days; Desperate stutter for some consciousness to come: Birth-Daze.
Close down eyelid of consciousness. Substitute; cruel remove the cobalt blue from out the crystal skies of hope; replace the Sun of Faith by...
Infinitely delayed, with no chance of a departure yet, just stuck here forever, without a reprieve, no leaving and no hoping of it; spiked s...
A rustling high above is come, heard faint is this hurricane of days, storm-dancing trees swaying their slender canopies, in a syncopated vi...
Every one who reads this Blog has an interest in improving their physical and psychic abilities, or else why would they be reading this Blog...
Visibility denied, a fading away from line of sight gliding down a desert Highway in a blue electric light. There's a better travellin...
O to give me just one single candle-light of hope. I'm just a visitor here, am but a temporary transient; soon I will be leaving this pl...
Liam oConchobhair: WILLIAM O'CONNOR's Poetry, Predictions, Premonitions & Presentiments
If you wish to disagree with or criticize any post visit my public profile on Google+and click on comment. This Blog was created in direct response to query about The Faith of Old Europe and its "Old Believers." I'm a Druid Priest. "Chanter" Series of Poetry composed and published by William O'Connor. Poetry is drawn from a purely Gnostic Pan-Psychic Perspective of Predictive Analytics, Statistical Modeling and Pre-cognitive Training: algorithms, equations, heuristics, prophecies: "Way of the Connachta" All Is Thought Illuminating Being. If you own an AmazonKindle you may possibly be interested in subscribing to my Blog through Amazon. Cost for subscribing to my HeartHealing Blog through Amazon via a KindleApp is set at $0.99 per month. My function in life now is straightforward and quite simple: Write the best poetry I can. Publish it. If I can. For poetry to be both useful and relevant, it must be made available for easy access on mobile electronic wireless devices. The Android Kindle App for smartphones is available free from Amazon and from Google's Android market. All my work, both my poetry and novels, is published by me under my own imprint of Rothcroi Publications. Chanter poetry books are trans-composed into a narrow columnar micro-style suitable for smartphones. Comments are always welcome, especially criticism. Contact me via GOOGLE + if you wish. My Google + e-mail address is: firstname.lastname@example.org GOOGLE + is by far the better of those social network sites: Join it! Poets tend to be isolated from society and from the public and joining poetry circles enhances creativity. Blog is available only on an AmazonKindle but all the "Chanter" books will be available on any Kindle App device. I try to write my poetry so that is as broadly accessible to the general public as possible, and that is why my poetry has been formatted to fit upon the smartphone screen; please feel free to share it as you wish! Since all my work is intended to be deliberately provocative, it is only fair that it shall be criticized; however, when it does come to commenting upon my poetry, please do cite the entire poem that is being commented upon, not just some small snippet of it. Every poem is intended only to work as an entire independent entity. As I happen to prefer Amazon's distribution royalty agency, my future work will be available for Kindle App devices. Anyone is free to comment on any of the poems herein contained on this Blog in any manner they would wish! We live in The Age of Google, and it's going to be good; a Time of Genius, so help yourself to my poetry! It's available for all to see for free on any Google Android device that has loaded the Amazon Kindle App. Please look for my future work upon Kindle and upon all and any devices supporting the Kindle App. Because Amazon KDP Select and Amazon CreateSpace are the cheapest methodologies available now for publishing, I shall be using them exclusively from now on for any and for all my future electronic works and paperback books, similar to "Chanter III: Poems & Lyrics" by William O'Connor.
THE WAY OF THE DINGLE DRUIDS: Explained for Benefit of Members of "The Seven Stars Society"
The purpose, the why, of life is to become who you are; which means: Be holy, not happy. Life is a Quest and The Quest doesn't end with death. It continues on. Death is merely a part of it, a stop upon the Way. Expect your death. No matter how smart, strong or swift we may be; we shall die. Me too. Immortality can only be achieved by the deeds and by the actions we perform while we are still alive. It is necessary always to work hard upon the action of staying alive, rather than foolishly assuming one will be so; as in time, we shall all cease to be. Forecasting futures, prescience, is what Druidism is all about; but just knowing the future is of little value if this knowledge is not also accompanied by the power to change the future in a compassionate way: Heal the World! How? Simply put; that which enhances creativity is all to the good, while that which inhibits creativity, is evil. Evolution favors sentience, but Nature is not designed thereby, (it favors knowledge but does not require knowledge for life to exist). Accountability for one's own actions is always personal and it is always individualistic; so, responsibility can't ever be assigned to another. Everyone is finally accountable to himself and to herself, for his or her life, for his or her character and outlook; not society and certainly never the State. So, then: What of it? Why Druidism? Because of the peculiar aspect of the Dingle Peninsula ("the most beautiful place on the Earth" as stated by National Geographic), Druidism is not concerned with life after death nor with any renewal by any regeneration, from being born again as are the Near Eastern and Far Eastern faiths. All faiths are man-made and yes there is nothing wrong with that; but, since they are man-made, they must reflect the culture in which they're made; so if the faith is made within an inhospitable culture and environment, the faith shall seek for a escape; but if made in a very hospitable environment, the faith seeks prolongation. Druidism is concerned with prolonging life for as long as possible in as youthful a state as is possible (Land of Youth); as, since, after all, the Druids had already lived and were born into a real Paradise. Druids have enhanced psychic abilities and those abilities are inherited. Druids possess the "powers." Druids actually "see" energy and this is why they are known as the "seerers." Druids believe that the laws of the universe are not necessary and constant throughout time and that time itself is illusion. The laws of the universe evolve; change along with sentience, as information evolves, to drive ever greater sentience. There are many methodologies made to drive sentience and Druidism is merely one of many. Druids belong to a secret Priesthood of Poetry: He who is compassionate is good and he who is not, is evil, and what better way is there to show compassion than by poetry? Religion is an evolutionary revelation and revelation is real entertainment at a profound level. The practical objective of Druidism is to make one's own Mind far more entertaining for oneself than is any film, book and opera ever created, or even could be created. How is this state accomplished? Druidism is a transcendental, trans-human, religion; in that Druidism deals specifically with the specific dynamics behind the transmutation of the element of the physical Self's mutation into pure psychic Mind, by way of performing the transformation-mutation from mortal into immortal. There is a triple lattice of Body, Brain and Mind. The Mind itself is an electron-chemical quantum computer and the Mind is made of the entire body and brain. Mind is not just limited to the brain. It's body too. Druidism teaches how to program and how to service and how to maintain this psychic quantum computer that is the Mind. Evil does indeed truly exist (and now let's be frank: any faith based system whose main concerns are "sin and sacrifice", are "fear and trembling", meets the very definition of pure evil), and as one has the moral duty to lead a holy and an honorable life regardless of any risk; one then has to be able to recognize evil, whenever and wherever and however it may be encountered and so to be trained to be able to oppose and so to be able to fight and to be able to confront evil. Concepts such as sin, guilt and sacrifice are, in themselves, evil. Why? Because: To do is to be. The function of the Druid is three-fold: 1) To create; 2) To act as a guardian of creativity; 3) To act as a mentor for creativity. This function is to be performed actively and not passively. For instance, to meditate is to move the Mind. As all men should want to become who they are, the great benefit of meditation and of religion is to make the Mind to move; as so it is to move, in order to become who you are, to move, then to create your own true Self, to make your own real Mind. Genetics, heredity and bio-chemistry, all go to determine our human destiny. Druidism is a singular religion in that it is absent of any gods and of any goddesses. It is described and is classified as a "religion in need of no god." The basic premise behind our own Dingle Druidism ("of that which we own of only we-ourselves") is that intelligence, creativity, psychic ability, are all three, malleable; and so can be changed and therefore can be increased, with training. The more intelligent, creative and psychically endowed a person might be innately and genetically, the greater potential for malleability exists for future improvements in his or her performance. Druidism is Training. Ignorance is the real great enemy of Man: Rage to Learn! A common fallacy regarding art, religion and science is that the methodology for discovery and for creating is different. In fact, they are all the same, and they are all simply aspects of the very same revelation process. The Power of Truth already exists and it is already contained in full in the multi-verse and the artist, the priest and the scientist merely uncovers and discovers that Truth, each in their very own ways, over and over again. The Truth is in the Art. The Demon of Ignorance is the real enemy of Man; therefore: Learn all you can from all you can about all you can. The purpose of life is to make congruent what one is and what one does, in order to make of them to be both the same. Druids believe in the Laws of Nature and in Nature's Rights, rather than in the Laws of Man and in Human Rights, which are frankly considered to be absurd as being in their very essence contrary to Nature. The fifteen hundred billionaires in the world rule humanity, but they cannot ever be rulers of Nature. Submission and subordination to doctrine or decree, to constitution or commandment, is against Nature. Druidism is psychic physical-ism. Druidism sees the principal purpose of religion (and religion is positive as it brings consolation and solace to them who practice it), as ensuring survival of self and society through inculcation of those traits fostering endurance. Religion does this by promoting certain synaptic prunings in the medial pre-frontal cortex, the dorsolateral pre-frontal cortex and the right temporoparietal junction portions in the brains of society's members of all the identified, prohibited and unwanted cognitive and behavioral neural cultural paths that civilization considers and has determined to be dangerous and injurious to its long-term future survival; while simultaneously fostering and creating salutary neural pathways, congenial to greater and higher advancement of civilization. The pruning neural action, occurring from earliest childhood and extending through late adolescence, is to make men less psychopathic and more empathetic. In anatomical terms, the purpose of religion is to promote greater neuron-genesis in every brain's anterior insular cortex. Man is the myth-making mammal and he who has the best myth wins. Follow the Power to Be the Power. "Thought has a Shape and this Shape makes Man." Every person possesses an innate ability to be divine in the strict sense of being born with the inherited capacity to be creative and it is this special ability that makes for reality. This is Gnostic-Pan-Psych-ism. This recognition of a sentient power that is residing in Man is the originating belief and rests as the fundamental foundation pillar in Druidism. Druids subscribe to a faith in best-belief-selection, in that the better the belief that is subscribed to, the better is the chance the group subscribing to that belief shall survive; therefore, an obligation is imposed by our religion: Every Druid is expected to and is required to change the beliefs of our religion; and that's done specifically so our faith can continuously evolve and be improved upon with every generation, and the Druid is then obliged to inform other Druids of those changes, and that is why I am now writing this Blog. This is my stated purpose for this Blog. We, luckily, now live in an era where there is an abundance of genius in every possible field of human endeavor. This NOW is a best time for we Druids. What is it we believe in and why is it we believe in what we do? Here are some answers. Following is a very brief synopsis of "The Faith of Old Europe" of "The Old Believers" from Ballydavid Head at Smerwick Harbour in Dingle. For they who may possibly be interested in the more esoteric ESP aspects, it might be worth your time to travel there to study with the old Druids for extensive periods. Learn. Train. Work. Live. Love. Create. That's all there is to it. In Druid practice, and particularly in that of its Dingle Sect, the thymus gland is named "the hidden heart." Heart-Healing, a Druid practice, deals with methods for the regulation of the actions of the thymus gland for preserving health. Collectively, this particular Druid practice is named: "The Chariot Way," in respect of the harsh training of the ancient Celtic warrior elite. Evidence from the Chalcolithic inscriptions on obsidian hand axes from the Early Copper Age indicates that the "Old Belief" is at least eleven thousand years old. ANU, The She, said to have been a Chalcolithic Age Queen, is credited with creating The Old Belief. It's possibly far, far older, perhaps Paleolithic, as has been illustrated by all those numerous graphic ax-like inscribed chevron symbols from the ice age caves in France and Spain. According to our tradition, what had made humans human is the ax. Yes, the ax! Axes were considered holy, similar to what other cultures deem to be their sacred scriptures. Yes, the ax! Decorated axes were important bartering tools in securing peace between warring clans. Hand-Axes are symmetrical and they possess a three-dimensional pyramid triangular shape. Axes were the first commodity because of their sacred utility, for they enabled the first real extensive shaping of Mesolithic natural environments in order to meet the needs of humanity. Like all faiths, the "Old Belief" has a unique logo and symbol to describe its core religious orthography. In the Old Belief, this trademark is the "triple-spiral". It represents the multi-verse in its never ending cyclic act of giving birth unto itself. A spiral is a circle thrown forward into time. Triple is denotative of the three directions making up the expanding "throwing-forward": horizontal, vertical and oblique. For a Druid, everything is in a constant state of spinning. This constant state is continuously changing in its acceleration, fast, slow tempo; loud, soft pitch. This spin state is seeking symmetry in its spin. The quest for spin symmetry is what causes creation. And it never stabilizers. It's always seeking, but never attaining. The different spin states cause harmonics to occur and from these harmonics comes just but one single chord. Each universe has its own chord; and, as there are an infinite number of chords, there then are an infinite number of universes (the "many worlds"). And, of course, all these chords compose a song. An ax is a three-dimensional representation of this worlds-song, the hand holding the ax makes this song. The harp is actually the ax that plays the song of the many worlds (the harp being ax-shaped). This myth of the ax does accord well with the old legends regarding "The She" or "High-Her, The Blue-Eyed One" as genetics has shown that the introduction of blue eyes (brown eyes being the prior norm) occurred around the same time in humanity's evolution, around fifteen thousand years ago. The Dag-da, Son of She, the Green Man, who is ancestor of the "Children of the She" (we; that's us), is commonly depicted as carrying an ax. In myth, "The She" is credited as the "mother" of invention of "The Old Belief." She first made it up. In our Druid interpretation, all philosophies and all theologies have to be originally man-made. They are all made up. Religion is a necessary constituent of civilized life, but it has to be based upon both reason and on reality. The foundation premise of Druidism is that changes in sense perception are the direct instant cause of changes in biological evolution of sentience, no matter what the sentient species. This is why so much attention is paid in the various Druid meditation methodologies to enhancing sense perception by combining different senses. No one person could possibly have all of the answers and all of the solutions, but most people don't even know which are the most important questions to be asked. Ignorance murders far more people than have all the other many marauders of men. Belief in deities and in demons is considered to be worse than stupid: It's sick, an infection, and it is delusional. Since deities can't exist, any belief system claimed to be from such, or from a messenger from such a deity, is despicable; just because it is based upon complete, deliberate fabrication: It's a lie. A vengeful and psychotic people shall create a vengeful, psychotic deity to worship in imitation of themselves: Hatred pollutes. In our "Old Belief", which could be classified as a form of Gnostic pan-psych-ism, all things will come into existence whenever they become capable of being known; so, inversely then, that which cannot be known cannot exist, as its essence cannot be recognized. That which cannot be known cannot ever be because it lacks the single necessary characteristic of a possibility of essence recognition. Things change, yes; but do they evolve? The Druid answer would be then: Things change so that they can evolve. Nature constructs its own evolution by testing methodologies that allow for efficient change to occur. Things can't exist absent an inherent ability for change. That includes humanity. Different Druidic schools of thought differ as to what can be known and what could be recognized as known. Space, time and motion are then each considered to be mere holographic illusions, not real. The Dingle school, the Seven-Stars Sect, which is by far the most esoteric of Druidism's many schools, stresses several synesthesia methodologies of sense enhancement so that this essential recognition is increased and, therefore, more things are given the power to come into existence. It's an Activation Sect. In the Dingle Druid tradition, as still centered in Ballydavid, the "Nothingness" from which all things flow and come into existence is, in itself, caused by "Knowing." The core faith in "The Old Belief" is this insistence upon: "Know that Being is Knowing; that Knowing is Being." This emphasis on the "knowable" as the sole void-ground of nothingness from which all existence is continuously emerging is the distinguishing characteristic of Druidism as a distinct faith, as a religion and as a philosophy. Druidism is an epistemological metaphysics that stresses the morals and ethics of "Knowing." That which enhances and fosters acquiring knowledge is always to the good while that which censors and hinders knowledge's acquisition is always evil. Druidism is therefore a Gnostic discipline as it deals with the methods hidden behind "Knowing" and is Pan-Psychic since it stipulates "Knowing" as the sole causative agent of creation. Humanity was formed by non-directed evolution, but all new human species are made through the sexually selected directed evolution of humanity: Words will make worlds. Words shall make for man's reality also; as through his deliberated public enunciation, man would make his world. Because this enunciation is public, it has to have political consequences since the statement is a challenge to orthodoxy. Specifically, the statement tends to challenge established hierarchical orders in societies; hence, Druids have accepted persecution as being their natural lot for practicing their faith for many thousands of years. As one cogent specific example of this persecution, all the Abrahamic religions are considered to be evil by Druids because they have substituted fantasy for objective reality and because they'll oppress those who courageously oppose the forced imposition of a fantasy. Also, the Abrahamic beliefs are despicable precisely because they call for self-sacrifice rather than for self-transmutation. We Druids, after all, just because of our genetic psychic abilities, are the "witches" that Abrahamic religions condemn. To be frank, all of the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) are, in their very essence, idiotic, and one would have to be an imbecile to practice them. It should be pointed out that the Abrahamic religions are essentially, in their origins, cannibalistic; in that their various sects devour each other. Abrahamic believers, having faith in their fabulous fantasies, seek positions as occupiers of the world's over-class; they seek to be the elite members of the oligopolistic-political-plutocratic families, and they seek for despotic control of the world's media. But none of this is of any importance after all. Those who got it shall want to keep it. So, what then? What's it mean practically? It means: Pledging one's loyalty and support to any state's constitution is just as stupid and is just as dumb, as is supporting and submitting to any faith's "holy" book; for both states and faiths are run, never by you, but by some other few in the over-class. Any faith, whether it be a belief in a religion, in a state, or in an ethnic group, as its having received some sort of a divine mandate, dispensation or angelic disposition for its origin and existence, is evil. It is, in fact, a pernicious lie; for there exists no deity, nor any deities that possibly could give such a mandate: There is no God to trust in! Pronouncing the true name of anything "loud out aloud" results in its creation and in its continuance for he who may say and state that name. Our multi-universe continues upon its existence in the chanting enunciation of its true thinking-thought-word jointly by its inhabited sentient species, and there are very many on innumerable other worlds. The direct consequence of such an ancient belief system is this: Responsibility for one's own safety and one's security resides entirely with you, as an individual; never with the State. If one transfers and seeks to assign this responsibility over to the State, one becomes a Serf of the State. Changing the ways a person thinks changes the ways that a person behaves. Behavior, and in particular, all of human social behavior, is directly the result of genetic heritage: It isn't nurture nor the environment! Faiths and those belief systems that seek to diminish, lessen, or to suppress the human spirit are evil from their very inception; for this spirit is born within you. Irredentism has always been both the bane and the demon of civilization. Behavioral change is the basis for any belief, whether that belief might be of ethnic, cultural, political or of a religious origin. There can not be ever such a silly thing as the "sacred" scripture; whether that tract be political, economic, social or religious in its nature. As with a belief in visiting "aliens," the belief in a "god" tends to demote, to despise and to denigrate human ability. Authorities and pundits are rarely right about anything; trust only in those observations engendered by personal experience. Secrets deal only in already tested methodologies for training brain and body. The reason there are such secrets, is that not everyone can face, or is even capable of facing, the truth as to the nature of reality; very few can, in fact. Knowledge cannot be gained without a long, hard training. Psychic skill, like martial skill, demands persistence, patience and practice for extensive periods of time. Psychic abilities directly derive from enhancing one's already existing senses through severely arduous training. The training is both long and difficult and it's without shortcuts. One needs a minimum of one hour physical training daily to maintain one's body's health. Similarly, one needs one hour of psychic training daily to preserve one's mental health. Remember: There are no short cuts! Paranormal psychic skills, like martial arts' skills, are to be acquired gradually, over a long period of time. For Druids, such training begins by the age of three after the child has been tested for any natural ability. The hippocampi are sufficiently developed by aged three to allow for such intensive training. It takes a minimum of ten thousand hours of training before such skills could be employed in the real world and very few can have the innate genetic capability to begin such training. Druids have always acknowledged the truth that all people will adhere to, advocate for, fight for and act on behalf of different beliefs, simply because people are so very different genetically; and this is why we Druids don't advertise nor proselytize our belief system. Never be fooled by nor be enslaved by faiths or states. Once one is obeisant, one shall always be so. Learn all you can from all you can about all you can! Never bow your head before stupidity nor ever kneel to it, for that's dishonor: Respect skill, knowledge and wisdom. Only fools would be concerned with, or express an interest in, the theories, the opinions, the faiths and the beliefs of imbeciles and of idiots. Beware the collar, the bit, the bridle, of slavish belief. Beware the coming wars among the many savage theistic deist faiths. Faith systems made by schizophrenic psychopaths will attract the same as themselves for their most ardent adherents. Religion can't be logical; a claim that any one is such or could be such is always false, as it's entirely emotional. Any revealed religion is irrational and schizophrenic, as revelation must come from within and never from without. All ethnic religions are "revealed," in that an ethnic religion shall have, at its very core a similar submission belief structure; such religions being both political and legal systems, specifically designed to shove into dominance a single ethnicity, as the purpose behind revealed religion is ensuring for the present protection and for the future procreation for one particular ethnicity. Revealed religions' intimidation strategy resides in inducing paranoia; by forcing subscription to faith, by fear of retribution. Because of their common Zoroastrian origins, of war of light vs. dark, Abrahamic faiths share an inherent genocidal core. A demented deity is the psychic projection of a demented culture and always will lead to death. Such an insane deity and such a psychotic culture ought not to be admired, nor should ever be accepted and respected; since stupid beliefs in any bad and foolish retarded deity cause cruel cultures to thrive and are, far worse, the cause for cruel conflicts and wars. Righteousness is primitive. Compassion is elegant, beautiful and is so sophisticated. Freedom "from" religion makes for a far greater right and is better liberty than freedom "of" religion. All "book religions" must necessarily be evil religions. There exists no deity that dictates; certainly, none that deserves our respect: Dictation could not be a divine attribute. God is not what made creation nor can a God ever be creation. Creation makes creation. God is Creating! You are each God. Hidden divinity slumbers within every skull, waiting its turn to be bid awake; to rise up from deep sleep. Doing the right thing is not what life is about. Life is about doing the romantic thing for life is far too short not to. The brain is radically changed by whatever it chooses to perceive; so, if it perceives beauty it becomes good. That which we shall choose to attend most to, we will become; so pay therefore prime attention to beauty. There's no resurrection or reincarnation but there surely is an achievement of enlightened perception: To Know! Any religion that demands its adherents be martyrs is evil. Un-Self the self in order to find your destiny; as your old self is but the slave and pawn of society. Our belief expects of its Druid adherents to be POETS! For Druids, poetry is prayer. Poetry seeks out, speaks to, connects to, and communicates directly with universal consciousness. Poetry acts as the sentient panto-graph of compassionate consciousness. Poetry is the highest of all the human endeavors. Poetry is after all entanglement and entanglement is simply another word for Love. The universes that make up the multi-verse (note too the word "verse") are all entangled with each other. On the other hand, with regard to criticism of any work, only listen to the opinions of those who themselves have done their work well; all the rest ignore, as their opinions are worthless. And as with faiths, so with the states. States requiring residents to sacrifice; and not to live and love, are execrable. Investments are never safe and are always at risk, whether they be of love or of money; but invest all the same. One has to go, to seek out, to find whatever one does well; then, to long work at it to learn to do it even better. So work the instrument of creativity: Self. Know thy-Self, and make thy-Self create. Only then shall you be happy. Once one has recognized that one creates well and good, what the remainder of men do is totally irrelevant, as it is of no importance. A great advantage genius has is this: the need no longer to care what others might think or say in any way. Only those poor fools; they not capable of creation shall seek to convert others to follow their false faith. How's false fate shown and known? What sly indication is there that gives truth away? Whenever one spies "worship" connected with a belief, one is encountering idiocy! The abattoir faiths and states, those demanding the self-sacrifice of their members, should be spat upon and despised, as their delusions kill their believers and adherents as well as many others who are not their believers and adherents. Men absent vision and inspiration make themselves followers of fraud, of faiths lacking sound foundations. There exists a vast chasm between those who can create and those who can only critique upon creations of others. Few can create something new and truly original, never seen nor heard before. Shun states and faiths seeking the people to service them, for states and faiths should service the people; now they solely service the world plutonomy, not their peoples. Worship nothing. But be you constantly in awe of everything; for this universe is coherent, and this world can be well understood; given enough time, effort and a persistent will. Nature is the one sole sacred scripture; so, study it. Worry not then about the actions, nor those in-actions of others; work, so your own creations might come into BEING. Be scrupulously conscientious concerning creativity. Work at it! Persevere! Be persistent! Never give up! Whatever your belief or faith, whether it's justified or not; don't let your philosophy trump your humanity. A meaningful and fulfilling life can only be achieved by engaging daily in creative activity. WILL ensures survival; for the courage to create is what shall carry and shall sustain you throughout life. Drink coffee. And do take Vitamin B-12, Cyanocobalamin, in a 1,000 MCG/ML dosage, in order to prevent micro brain lesions, and in order to ensure neuron-genesis creation within the two hippo-campi, and also to prevent cortical thinning atrophy in the medial temporal lobe, temporal pole and the superior frontal gyrus, as such thinning will always eventually result in severe memory loss. Turn TV off! One percent of the entire human population is afflicted with gross amygdala basal ganglia malformation. This is due to an inheritable genetic defect in regulating serotonin by the reproduction of mono-amine oxidase A enzyme; resulting in psychopathology. A further four percent of the human population are classifiable as sociopaths. These are those born absent any conscience capacity because of congenital malformation in their pre-frontal cortex. Since both psycho-pathology and socio-pathology are neuron-genetic defects, the long-term solution is abortion, contraception, infanticide and the mandated tubal ligation of those women expressing such defects in their known criminal histories and vasectomies for those men convicted of felonies. In effect, the answer is forced sterilization of all those possessing genetic defects that would result in future criminal behavior on the part of any probable offspring progeny; an assumption being, those who have already exhibited behaviors inimical to the peace and prosperity of society shall be they whose children shall also be exhibiting the same such antisocial and unethical moral behaviors. That's the best long-term solution. Short-term, since five percent of the population is composed of these dangerous persons, acquiring practical skill in martial techniques is therefore necessary for survival. Martial training requires a minimum of three hours practice daily for over ten years in order to acquire some expertise. Windmill-blocking by knees and elbows while slashing with both shins and forearms is strategy within Boxing. Boxing power derives from whirling the torso inside, like hammer-throwers, while slicing out with three limbs. In the bare-boxing style of my family, the hands and feet are utilized to hold, fixing; so as to trap an opponent. By using these "four-hands" to seize, hold immobile and to grasp, the forearms, shins, elbows, shoulders, knees and the head can be utilized for striking under the coccyx and all along the spinal cord and upon the top of the nape of the neck of an opponent. All strikes are directed at the enemy's back, at his blind side and not at his front. This boxing style is mirrored from how sea birds along the far west Irish coast utilize their wings to fight with during their mating season. It's a hybrid Norse-Celtic martial system emanating from Dingle's Smerwick Harbor. It's purely for combat and it is not designed for sport. Celtic wrestling is the sport, not boxing. Boxing is for war. Every society, in order to survive, has to make a compromise between quality and quantity of its populace. The main problem with humanity is that the worse reproduce far more than do the best. Druids have always known this. Druids are traditionally expected to, and all are, by their religious orientation, morally obligated to intervene in questions of chivalry on behalf of the best against the worse. Killing is easy. Healing is hard. Gentle is he who can control his own anger and can turn his just rage into love. As you act, so shall you be. Prayer might seem to change nothing. It changes you and that's all the difference. There is a benignity that pervades in the universe; whenever it might be encountered one may but incline the head in response. When species encounter extreme population density they'll bifurcate. As empathy, sensitivity, intelligence, creativity and longevity positively correlate; humanity split between those with these five attributes and those without. Conflicts in the past have served as quick biological accelerators for this natural human species-bifurcation process. Differences in belief create cultures; cultures drive sexual selection and sexual selection drives evolution. Near access to water and woods is necessary for tranquility and serenity; people aren't, a few are. Live accordingly. Just as there's no before-life there's no after-life; but there may be many lives within a present life. Production of better and more goods and services is what makes any nation prosperous and richer, so fostering income and increasing capital investment is necessary for public welfare. So flat consumption excise taxes ought only to be levied (not on income, and not on employment, and not on capital gains). A 1% VAT flat excise tax levied upon all and any financial transactions, that's to be calculated upon the actual trading values of purchases and sales of puts, calls, futures, bonds, stocks, options, debentures and derivatives, would be far more than enough to cover any society's basic repair infrastructure needs. In post-industrial societies, the actual production of goods happens abroad, and not within the State; so customs' levied excise tariff duties of ten percent ad-valorum should be imposed upon all imported goods. Transactions in securities are made by those who have disposable incomes, or else they would not be into trading; so a 1% excise tax imposed on such trades diminishes speculation in financial instruments, the sole cause of modern economic crises. Once a State's gross domestic public debt per capita exceeds its gross domestic product per capita, it becomes virtually insolvent, as the interest to be paid upon its public debt shall accumulate over time to eventually exceed the State's entire GDP. The State then has long-term underfunded public debt burdens that are as yet still due and still have to be paid, but can't be paid because of the lack of sufficient tax revenues. Any nation whose foundation and occupation were and are avarice and greed can't and won't survive; nor should it from a moral viewpoint. Evolution is the becoming process by which Nothingness comes known into existence. Evolution evolves evolving. Evolution works at a group social level, as well as at an individual genetic level: They with best belief win. They with bad belief, who hold beliefs that don't reflect reality and don't foster creativity, become extinct. Holiness is the process of transformation into states of pure compassionate consciousness, and it is our destiny. Holiness comes about through cultivation of heart and head via a profound process of daily introspection, causing Enlightenment; which is an ever deepening process, consisting of an in-lighting-within of one's glowing self, tying these three: sound, sight and breath, all together. Synesthesia, by the combining senses of sight and sound, and in the connecting of these by breath control, is the secret to enlightenment. Druid practice involves inhalation and exhalation of breath, accompanied by mentally changing tones and hues, in a series (as in the "Three Wheels"). Although the world's total human population will exceed ten billion by 2100, the total number of enlightened people (those with enhanced psychic abilities, such as the ability to sense energy and to consequently heal others), is tiny in comparison. Today, just 4,444 people (divided equally among genders, in a population of over seven billion) are now alive who can be considered as being truly enlightened. All the rest are not, and they cannot ever be; for this is a birth ability, although it can be trained. Very few possess the psychic ability to be enlightened. These enlightened now make up a separate sub-species of humanity. In time, over a period of nine more generations, in 270 years, at the beginning of the coming 24th Century, the descendants of the forty-four hundred and forty-four shall become a new, fertile, entirely separate psychic human species, making yet another physical humanity just within themselves. What does this imply? Four related aspects of human behavior are to be changed dramatically, resulting in: Increased longevity. Increased intelligence. Increased psychic power. Increased creativity. Because creativity calls for such a very highly complex matrix of specific intellectual and personality characteristics, and because less than a quarter of one percent of humanity possess these creative intellectual and personality characteristics; one's sexual congress, and sex in any form whatsoever, should only be consummated with those few who are easily recognized as enlightened: those who have shown to be already enlightened. Question then: How does one recognize those who are already enlightened? Easy to tell. There is an ancient physical test. A Druid test. All enlightened people can do this: When the hands are clasped together in front of the body, palm to palm, the forearms and the elbows of the arms can touch each other. Again: Hands clasped. Palm to palm. Forearms touch. Elbows touch. Further, there is a psychic test: They'll "know" what it is that they'll speak of because they "are" already of what they shall be speaking! Precognition. And when they'll speak, they will speak of the most profound things. Wise way beyond their years. They are those who were "born old." They shall express reality whenever speaking. They "know." "Knowing" has three components. These three are: the metaphysical, the epistemological and the sexual; three aspects necessary for "Being." Enlightenment seeks out, finds out, desires for enlightenment. Enlightenment loves knowledge; but even though enlightenment is good, love is far better. Only the respectable deserve to be respected and only the lovable deserve to be loved. That's a natural law; the only evolutionary order that's necessary for any universe to continue in existence. Compassionate consciousness is yet another name for love. Yes! So how then to be able to identify the lovable, the respectable, the enlightened? Easy. The best test is this: The enlightened, as their name implies, can actually "see" energy, those ribbons of connecting force that tie all the worlds together. All Druids "see" energy. That's why we are Druids. The enlightened are those who are "born old." "The Shining Ones." "They Who Glow From Within Their Selves." That's it! Look for them. They are the new post-human species. Here then is the main difference between Eastern and European religions. Near Eastern religions seek to submit the Ego, usually under another entity that's supposedly divine; while Far Eastern religions seek to obliterate the Ego and submerge the Self into Nothingness. Ego is another name for The Self. In contrast, The Faith of Old Europe, as it is still being practiced in the remotest far western extremities of the continent, seeks to enlarge and to expand it; so that an evolution and transformation, a transmutation of The Self, can occur. The Ego, the Self, has the potential to be divine: Ego-Self is not subject to either state nor faith. Druids believe in a manifold of multiple dimensions, in many universes; each of which is entangled, mixed within, all others. For Druids enlightenment consists of the process of match/merging of one's sentient Self to and into universal compassionate consciousness, through many purposeful actions of self-creation that contribute to consciousness by matching with it; then, merging within it. In our tradition one must purposely act always as an active participant, a creator, in making of enlightenment: It's a duty we all share. Druids possess such power to create universal compassionate consciousness by sole voluntary actions. Life's purpose is to be holy; not to be happy. They who're at ease are idle. The happy don't make much poetry. Druids should respect no authority save their own; for what law has stemmed directly from their own personal experience. Holiness is the process of change of form of Being from Own-Self into Non-Self; of Being into Not-Being. The universe is poly-phonic. It is not homo-phonic; for there is no unified theory. There is never ever any unity of law. Equations make the universe and each equation is itself evolving: Equations seek to relate to all of those other many manifold equations. Before universes begin, there be equations. After universes end, there be still equations. Equations endure! True nature and identity of all Existence is Paradox for the universe is neither in Being nor Not-Being. It is: Being-Not-Being; for Being-No-One (Not-Being) is the actual true reality; as one's Own-Self is merely but chimera, just phenomenal illusion. And it is in this brave attempt to try to reconcile the Paradox of Being-Not-Being, that original consciousness is born. What is Truth? Truth is an identity between an internal integrity and the external reality that is framed by its relativity. The truth then, should always be good, just because it is the truth; though we may not want to recognize it as such. Love is never a mistake. It may be foolish, and it might be illogical; but it is never a mistake. In Druid terminology, The She (That Which Is and That Which Is Not) is always in the process of giving birth to The Son of She (pure compassionate consciousness; i.e., Love) while undergoing all the pangs of the birthing process (Death). Love then is the final result for all of existence. To Be Is To Love. No system, no matter how profound it seems in itself, as seemingly being whole and complete, can possibly prove itself; if it is contained solely by and within itself. What then is meant by the Psychical Axiom: "All Is Thought Illuminating Being" of The Connachta's Way's Song of Revelation? Does it matter after all? The purpose of life is to seek to find out what it is one can do well; then to work at it so one can do it even better, and to go do it! That's all there is to it. Simple isn't it? Yes. Daily physical exercise is essential for survival, as well as is daily meditation; but which is best for anyone? What methodologies are to avoid and which are to shun? Weight-bearing movements are the best, and static positions, that are lacking in any movement, are the worse, for both exercise and for meditation, as any system that relies upon stationary stillness is worthless; it harms: the body must move. The poem below is a summation of all that's been said above about: "The Faith of Old Europe." Do continue on with your own search for enlightenment. Don't give up on yourself. Love Life. Life's all about psychic transformation---the transmutation of one's Self through many acts of creativity. Anyway, for all those who are of other religious persuasions or who follow other faiths, or who are still as yet professing other foreign philosophies; and who might now be seeking something different, my poetry should prove enlightening. There are far older spiritual paths. The secret behind all esoteric practices is sense transmutation; the translation from one physical sense into another physical sense, while still retaining those original senses translated; so that a new relationship is formed that creates yet another physical-psychic sense combination. That's "The Three!" It's also "The Three-In-One" made of the original two physical senses to be combined (say sight and sound), plus the one new single sense resulting from their doubled combination, and the One psychic sense; resulting from this complex process of sense-synthesis-neural-ax-ion-bio-chemistry. The mystic Gnostic pan-psychic Dingle-Druid-Seven-Stars' method is rooted in a foundational axiomatic principle of physical sense-transmutation. Here is an example from "Three Wheels" methodology: Imagine seven stars so arranged they form a perfect circle. The stars are gold in hue. Assign to each one of these seven stars a separate sound. Each star has an individual tone. The circle itself is white in color. Within the white circle, composed of the seven gold stars, reside three wheels of red, of blue and of green. Each wheel has eight spokes that go to form the wheel. Think of the wheels on sailing ships with each spoke representing the eight directions of the compass. Although the wheels do not actually touch, the three wheels all are turning in sync with each other. The three wheels turn in a counter-clockwise direction. The white circle, in which the three wheels reside, the circle composed of seven gold stars, turns in a clock-wise direction, the opposite of the turning wheels. Everything is turning, both the three wheels and their surrounding white circle of seven gold stars. The methodology is simple: By melding two separate physical senses, a third physical sense is then created which also has the property of being a psychic sense. A further more advanced technique is called: "The Nine Songs." This consists of nine wheels rotating in harmony and each having a distinct tone or voice. Again, the idea is the blending of the senses. The primary objective in all Druid meditation methodology is a close contemplation of change through the studied observation of the sounds of things happening: "Movement is Meditation in Action." It's the action of movement that is contemplated upon, and not stillness. Spiral turning is incorporated in martial arts and in meditation methods. The meaning of life is maturation. Maturation is achieved through the death of one's Old Self in order to give birth to The New Self, making correct choices for change to arrive at the higher transcendental state of no change that lies behind and beyond all change. From a mythological perspective, these three wheels represent the ancient Celtic Trinity of Crom (Nothingness), ANU (Existence), Dagda (Compassion). The intent is to create within one's mind an invocation of these three in sequence. Red is Crom. Blue is ANU. Green is Dagda. As one visualizes the three spinning wheels, one is enunciating the three in sequence: Crom. ANU. Dagda. That enunciation is silent. One is thinking the sounds of each aspect (Nothingness, Existence, Compassion) sequentially. As one says the three words silently, one is also listening to one's saying these sounds silently. Mirror-Echo. The intent is to create the universe as an active-participant. But in one's own brain. The silent mental enunciation makes the wheels spin. Absent this ability to conflate physical senses (which is what poetry does well whenever it is employing this same device of Synesthesia in order to appeal to all the multiple senses of the poet's audience), there can't occur transmutation of physical senses into a corresponding psychic sense; nor no achievement created of a higher transcendental state. Know: In order to become truly educated, one must first unlearn everything that was taught to oneself in one's formal schooling, as what was learnt in school is for the benefit solely of the state and of the society, and was not taught for the higher achievement of the transcendental trans-mutational level which every creative person shall be seeking to achieve; in order to gain skillful fulfillment and in order to be living in happiness in a holy state of grace. It is always much harder to unlearn something than it is to learn something. In your esoteric practice follow five fingers: 1) Find what works; 2) Find why it works; 3) Find ways to make it work even better; 4) Take that way that gives most choice; 5) Spurn any way that gives you no choice. If any practice does not work: Abandon it. Seek another. Let us explore a simple exercise for the generation of the psychic power. Stand with the feet apart a liitle further than the width of the shoulders. Cup the hands at the level of the waist as if holding a ball in each palm with the palms facing up. Slowly shift the weight from balls of the feet onto the heels of the feet. Simultaneously, bring the focus of the mind from out of the center of the forehead on up to the top of the crown of the head, while squeezing the imaginary balls in the center of the palms of the hands. There are three distinct steps to the exercise: 1) Shift the weight from the balls of the feet to the heels of the feet 2) Shift the focus from the center of the forehead to the crown of the head 3) Squeeze the palms while shifting weight and focus. What this simple exercise accomplishes, if it is performed regularly, is greatly increasing hippocampal plasticity and the ability to learn. For further information on the topic of Dingle Druidism, consult e-books available from Amazon which cover this psychic and metaphysical area in far greater detail: "HEART-HEALING The Chariot Way" and "The Chariot Way The Dream of Crom," both by WILLIAM O'CONNOR. Both these digital e-books are on Amazon and are available for download purchase. For a list of published work, view William O'Connor Author Page on Amazon. "Seven Stars Society System" is dedicated to the practice of the "Old Believer" occultist esoteric mysticism traditions and the holistic healing methodologies of Druids from Ballydavid, Dingle Peninsula, County Kerry, Ireland: If one cannot heal one cannot claim to be a true Druid. How one heals is the sole province of each individual, but all healing stems from some creative action. Four goals are set out to be achieved in life; TO: 1) Be a Buddha (check); Be a Prophet (check); Be a Druid (check); Be a Poet (check) and these four objectives are achieved by specific synthesis contained in methods of "The Seven Stars Society System." Follow this particular system if one wishes to achieve the same four goals, as it works! And always experiment! Never, ever, assume the facts about anything. Test it! Rely upon your own personal experience rather than opinions from pundits or professors. Rely on you! How? The Self will speak to you whenever you experience "lucid" dreaming. To have lucid dreams, practice meditation exercises to increase them. The "Three Wheels" is especially effective.
Answer and Response to The Final Question:
Way of The Seven Stars Song of Revelation
Ignorance is a jail where no escape
Is possible but through knowledge.
Don't fear nor spurn. Dare to learn:
Assent to and accept this world as it is
Before attempting ascent to any world
Aspired to or wished for. Life's glorious!
That That Is can be known but by few.
Not space, not time, not gravity exists;
But as Extension from Field of Thought.
Be subject to neither church nor crown.
Dread naught. Disdain none: Not One!
Absent That That Is, there's Nothing.
That That Is, IS. That That's Not, IS, too.
That That's Not makes That That Is: IS.
Be subject to neither church nor crown.
Dread naught. Disdain none: Not One!
Absent That That Is, there's Nothing.
That That Is, IS. That That's Not, IS, too.
That That's Not makes That That Is: IS.
That That Is makes That That's Not BE.
By rowing to That That Is, I become "I."
Wind + Water = Wave. As THOUGHT is
Wind + Water = Wave. As THOUGHT is
The Heart and The Nave of The Wheel.
Worlds are created from Thought alone.
That which we will do is because of that
What we are. We'll become who we are.
Charity, courtesy, civility, compassion,
Are the cardinal spokes on Celtic Cross;
Chivalry forms center, hub's circle core.
IS is! Be not the slave of some other's I.
This, The Creed of the Druids of Dingle;
This, The Teaching of the Old Believers:
No man can be happy if he should choose
To be exile from his own nature and soul.
ALL IS THOUGHT ILLUMINATING BEING
HEART-HEALING THE CHARIOT WAY
Precognitive Prescient Prophetic Poetry by WILLIAM O'CONNOR
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Decayed, the rust of this City of the Dead sears and disturbs. It is a place of no future and no past; no hope, no memory. Nothing can live for long within this desiccation; for love, seek elsewhere than here.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Not there yet. What wants are there unfulfilled? Are still not gratified? Left to be overcome? Becoming, that shaking span that's life, is but bridge to Being; an arch between what is and what we want to Be.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Four of the clock in Manhattan, the Moon hasn't set as yet, this night still lingers on with you; why this, just this, would so moved my heart; would murder me with love I know not, that's just the way with it.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
It is the detours that made us men. Learning is not a straight path, never a broad highway. The byways teach. There is much knowledge in the dead ends. The possible is brought real by the labyrinth of Time.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Silent and quiescent, mine enemy lurks within me, a cancer to my soul. It is that which sits dark inside the ark of memory, a resentment and an anger, a steady whispering of rage; stay fast against them all!
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Scummed as they are with the grease of work, with the heavy toil of the soil, from the back-bent turn and twist of lifting shovel; the sweat of labor is their only destiny and remains the sole legacy of hope.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Glowing dark, staring at that sudden sound, in the twilight groan of life, at the sigh of the agony of art; spy change coming on the land to see the hidden dangers there in the shapes of barbarians advancing.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Scavengers for both food and wit, the poor each day share same risk for starvation of sustenance, for a scrounging for the knowledge of surviving; the courage to live is found in cottages and not in chateaux.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Scripts of deceit, the black speech of hate spews forth from the caves of the mouths of politicians; the stinking vomit from diseased brains, seeking power through lies, through their contumacy of banality.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Still the blood my tempestuous heart. Slow the drum beat of my soul. Our knowledge of our ignorance extends only so far as the outer limits of reason; beyond that outside the gate, lies mystery and magic.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
White on white, the vast exchange of love, that void of being, the lust for life; survives and thrives. Secret equations shimmer to simplicity, shining unity; devoid of doubt, empty of desire: All is One.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Hanging there, by gravity suspended, in empty air, their black sails full-wide furled, cruising in space; drones of death circle, awaiting every opportunity to harm and cripple and we are always to be aware.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
The bone cage of the skull that contains, that sits and seals and secures the mind, held fast within its box of brain, is best breached by love, best entered by compassion; by charity, pierced and overcome.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Confront your past. Stand fast by the shades of space, solstices, that curve inwards into saddle shape, where time lines of life are converging; that point of connection when ghosts of yourself speak to you.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Hoard close experience and the knowledge of the hard learning that comes from out of a full lived life; the prattling comments of clerics and of professors and of politicians avoid: Live life in your own way.
Monday, October 21, 2013
By the tentative mid parting aside of the drapes of mortality, the proscenium curtain of the play of life, elicits from dropped veil of silence, action is to be lifted, to be filled, to be acted; with noises of voices.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Conflation of dimension, what used-to-be ensnares what will-be, tangled together in time's confusion. Memory is music to mankind. There is a salvation in a song and a satisfaction in a lyric of a fond recall.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
A visible joy is a full gold moon set into the iris of a violet night. This thing that is me salutes it. Knows it and by that knowing, it recognizes me; sees me and it stays me steady here: Moon, amber in the sky.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Wondrous as knowledge is, without creativity, without real application, without usage, it's nothing; it becomes abomination, becomes sad, disturbing, it becomes dereliction, masturbation of the intellect.
Extinction of desire: a celebration of life is soft contained in every slowed breath, in every inhalation, in every exhalation; in and out, out and in, succession succeeding succession in the sure ending of cares.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Delusions and deceptions; we've deceived ourselves daily by our dependence on the strictures of our society as to necessity for its continued existence, when all we needed all along was ourselves alone.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Debacle of wit. Crowded with doubt. Can't go back. Can't go forward either. Stuck here. So now what? Fierce resistance to the hammer blow of circumstance frees the will to fight; to seek to conquer death.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
In the sleep of reason, ever striving towards the higher sentience of nothingness, on a slow day, the white noise of living becomes mute and calm, becomes silent and low, and the world sneaks itself in.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Tenants in time abide short lease soon to be expired, our brief volcano lives live in the lava of emotion; the telling fire speaks its heat in the flame of the torch of mortality, stating existence: Here. Still here!
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Reluctant rough rolling river, driving, spits spuming, coughs downwards, spasms, runs out to the sea. Government of gravity dictates flow, imposes an ideology of rapids, of falls, to an ocean of dissolution.
Friday, September 20, 2013
A lingering gleam, despite the declining and despite the losing of the light, yet shines but nothing else remains; the closing sight dims, becomes still fainter, finally fading away it leaves, it has disappeared.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
With a shrug of shoulders, silence a rented love; good for a short marriage only, a test drive of lust till divorce, its tank of empathy empty, just vapors left, the mileage for affection used, paid for and done.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Saturday, September 14, 2013
When driving down the gloomy highway that's life and looking on the way for an all-night diner, and good black coffee in a gaudy place of light, safe, clean, neat and bright; the best desert is friendship.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Pigeons on fire and people falling from towers, into perfect sky of blue, no clouds scuttling anywhere; smooth, azure, a clear untroubled heaven above, indifferent to the bleating suffering occurring below.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
It has no quests; has no queries; the River simply cuts and runs; leans into them stone banks and walls to canyon its way out, absent of design to the Sea of Enlightenment; absent of desire, of all attachment.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Descended beneath these blue hills, the gold Moon is full, complete, and is in a form that is of a perfect circle orb so that it's made to be one circumference pregnant with an eternity born to a separate peace.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
America is insane but I'm here now and I am alive; blasting green shot through with the emerald deep, holding blazing splendor, resides, rests and sleeps within every shaped blade of grass and yes, we too.
Down spattering, the wind is wet and warm, fused within a pale heat; a silver rain melted onto an ivory flame, soft-speckled white, dropping from cloudless sky on late Summer's day: Splash. Splash. Splash.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
In deformed dimension, silenced by their grayed bones the shades of space, these long dead are being feasted upon in the ever remorseless, in the forever, unforgiving; in the haunted memory, of the living.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Infinitely delayed, with no chance of a departure yet, just stuck here forever, without a reprieve, no leaving and no hoping of it; spiked shadows of jet air-liners spear into sky absent of any passengers.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Sure wasn't we didn't know, we knew it all the time; that chandelier of light; that gold coin high rung in hung lantern of the night: The Moon; contacted us in symbol and in chant, gave clear warning: Beware!
Sunday, August 4, 2013
A zest for life denied: An inscription of death incised in decaying stone are scriptures, statute imposed by a despicable god; a treason of images losing forgotten freedoms from traditions of insipid religions.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Granted this famine pension in the time of want, legacy of a life too long foolish led, existence absent remorse; burning tapestry of desire seizes upon the soul, engulfs senses, to grace our final liberation.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
For you and me, for him and her, for himself and for herself, for all of us to be fully human; what would it mean and how would it be said, how would it be declared to be stated so this high and heady dream?
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Though imprisoned, surrounded, confined, within a zombie nation, we have a high greatness growing inside us that needs a satisfaction and release, a public testimony; lest we waste and forfeit our lives.
Ghosts we are! All that is, is but a whistle upon the wind for if Being is all that is not Nothing; then it is Nothing making Being: We are because we are not and even when we are not, we have potential to Be.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Advance and fire. Advance and fire again. Pause. Shuffle step. Weight on the ball of the front foot. Lock step forward. Aim for his balls. Relax the shoulders. Relax the elbows. Drop your hips down. Now. Fire!
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Vacant, empty of desire, eyes survey the stark night. Still. Despite. Surfeit of delight. Solstice moon of Summer blooms full; a large pink-gold coin, to make for a surety against tomorrow for our yesterdays.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Drown sorrow in the drink of oblivion. Freshen and deliver me from this tribulation through kind kiss of forgetfulness. Bound me down with the bands of amnesia. Free me from the debtor's prison of the soul.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Religion is revelation, not submission: Rope and reins of religion stifle, strangle the garden of dreams that's imagination; all Life leans towards the Light, closes itself away safe and securely from the Dark.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
In movement of moon-ark flowing fast, a ribbon of silver spills on ground laid out in bright white stripe across black lands; a night descending cat-current of blooming luminescence slowly stalks and crawls.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
There is a gallantry in every stated refusal, in every said negation, in every published public statement of denial; in the very act of protest of submission, as it's the "no" that makes us men and not the "yes."
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
If you seek, you shall never find; for the effort of the will prevents the act of revelation: sleep to know. In any place but this in any hour but now, time to wipe the satisfied smirk that withers away; so relax.
Friday, May 10, 2013
An alliance of light, a galleon moon in crescent shape of boat, sails its gold ship over a purple sea with rippling waves of spuming revolution white in magic silent night to safe dock at the blue port of dawn.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The lettered clowns of Congress and of churches, which preach their coward faiths within their hollow Capital and in their cathedral caves of ignorance, fraud constituents and congregations alike with lies.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Secreted in a state damaged by an absurd cult of capitalism, suicide; that moist obscurity; that sits hiding within an avarice cloud of fog; that lies in staining mist of blood, makes for melancholy mood.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
To remain standing upon the sight-lines of immortality, to do is to be. The eye that does not see; the ear that does not hear; the tongue that does not speak, shall never taste of the joys and fruits of life.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Stars are bleeding fast, pouring forth ruby jewels of spit-spiralling blood; their bodies' sleek bungalows of plasma gas mirrors ours of bone and of cartilage in breaking their limbs away from trunks of energy.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Purple-black is the famine of the dark dance lightning strike beneath the storm-blue sea of the hungry cloud, and it comes ever closer; an expense of spirit in a waste of shame is this rumbling rumor of war.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Mellow moods promenade in nights of Spring as the dancing twilight of dusk perform lingering refrain. Sun kisses the horizon in its final setting of purple and of red, bloomed out in crimson melodies of gold.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Poorer and poorer stunt beggars of morality and of memory; dementia governed nation America devolve; the fall of the dark is come again upon the World; the night-sweats come from vision of threatening war.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
The World is lucky to have us in it: Bilious smoke of compromise, treason of images in a succession of smiles, they would keep us from our purpose, deny our destiny; advertisers, promoters, of mediocrity.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Won't do, won't satisfy, whispers in the dark, smoke of conversation, parody and pastiche of wit, serve to disguise illusion, camouflage disgust; because the delirium of reality becomes much to bleak to bear.
Media is an anesthesia. It's a dropping off to sleep. Analgesic of dreams, it drips deliberate forgetting, an eager amnesia; slavery accomplished not by iron manacles but by addiction to softness of Internet.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Stalked by our pasts, veneration is real reason for writing; it's expression that makes us men through exorcism of memory, history made renew, each re-telling changes it to make it more adaptable to life.
Elegance was lost in the arrogance of fashion. Censorship denied, in being forbidden to poke, to speak fun at familiar street apparel a bitter sarcasm prevails; anger shown clearly in ugly dress of the young.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Surprised by death and not content with this strife filled life, a nothingness follows; all contemplation ends and there's no more need for consciousness now for the hour of the wolf has come round at last.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
As drink is the great enemy of wit, dependence destroys independence. He who would sit at another's table expects to be poorly fed. Congress seeks to bargain its citizens to sell them to the highest bidder.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
Cold breaking day in blue, caste in bronze clouds; bend grass in breeze; freeze dew upon thin stems to jewels, glitter-bright prisms of delight; committed soon to melt in sun in ancient conspire of dawn.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Lucky casualties of geometry spread in symmetries, celebration of purple amid green; cloud of violent color in violet dominant but here and there splashed in lavender indolence: haze of irises in the grass.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Lavender chain of proofs for Spring, the lilacs in late March are in blushing violet idle, blooming; then a snow came unexpected and sudden and their tallness is buried under in a blue annihilation of promise.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Long gone away, yet still feels so near; allied to everything we say, stated in everything we do, they were a quiet people till were raised to indignation, to rebellion against who would keep them silent.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Heartaches and tears, the long suffering from love that's lost, the lingering stuttering of time's remote desire, the ailing that comes from cruel rejection; serve to conspire in the reveries of deepest memory.
Ordinary in means of expansion, meager in income of inspiration, the mind is kept only clean by use, by constant scrub of industry; yet solitary expression of Art is compromised, is made confined by poverty.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
In the islands of destiny, one day's ride is tomorrow's suicide for it's the sound that's primary and it's meaning that's secondary, as shadow of the body precedes the body; it doesn't come after to follow it.
Torpid in movement and lethargic in mind, talking turtle of mundane morality yet another pope of most vapid and banal philosophy was elected and was confirmed by others to speak for us and preach to us.
Losing hour for love in the twists and twirls of the braided wire of crisscrossed time lines, dreams have dreams, visions have visions, and nothing seems real anymore as the world tilts as it swift slides away.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
In black daggers plunging, in an endless falling, in pliant bouncing, falling endlessly in the dark; rain, rain, rain, spitting down, in a singing, stinging, pinging, banging, plague of downpour, a staging rain.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Lashing at air, a pale fire is stirring light into flakes of snow, falling slow, falling slow, in glinting drifts of nothingness; quiet is the night and the moon shines silent in the sky and snow is slow falling: Down.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
In jack-hammer strokes of white fire on uncovered heads, hail flicks down its knives of stone in storm; as ice-picks of ice, flames in covered malt of carapace, layer in layer, rounded, rolled, tight and spiked.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Sail on brave mariners: The sky is our country, an empire of stars steadily expanding and unfinished, a sea not mapped and infinite in shores. We'll be the fishermen there. We'll sweep its oceans of thought.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Under the covers in the midnight hour, going off sides in the small vacation of sliding into a sleep, such dreams come that cast shadows on our lives; still staying savage, long in my memory, you remain alive.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
In its sentimental sanctioning of dusk, sunset sinks down in clarinet peal of rose bright red to dream a painted sky of melted blue in evening sleep; sudden twill of stars breaks out, woven in velvet tapestry.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Hostage to wind, the color of rain is null, nothing containing a whole of heaven's blank opinion of wet; splashing drop by steady drop a deaf tune from a dead tuning of a tenor guitar upon a deserted street.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Cities, smothered in snow, trapped in gangrene winter, smooth white encasing woe, become hungry in the stillness of solitude, feral in loneliness; yet still shall thrive our life despite blizzard and cruel storm.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
In the time of morning before the time of dawn, before the Prussian blue sorrow of first light's coming, be soft spoken and to silence dwindle; go to the breath's slow exhalation for now's the hour of the wolf.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Wanderers in Time, wind, water, wave; we're visitors here, trespassers, not permanent tenants. Least of all can we claim to be the owners of our world; lessees just for a little while: brief short-timers only.
Angry to Be, for an ability to endure; there is the desire for existence. Just as worlds float upon their wide oceans of space, universes float on top of the seas of the large dimensions, trying to create the lives that shall sustain them in their many-colored worlds.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Seemed causes are but effects: fact and logic wither fast and are dripped away by sordid icicle presence of prejudice in science; splattering away cool reasoning, keeping the holy fragility of civilization alive.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Though absurd belief and behavior is domain of creators of religions, in going to midnight after dark so obvious is the debt to be paid to psychotic evening light; blue illumination there seeming absent cause.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Song of the morning chanter of the wrens sing of the remain of a clarity of a tide full-in upon the shore. Let the baleful winds blow high or blow low, the small bird is safe-secure within its tiny house of straw.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Bow lingered lightly upon the cello's A-string, brazen head of mountain covered by the mist, bright beagle baying of the hounds; chance is with the fox to escape the heavy tramp of feet upon the fog-bound moor and bog.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Frost frames the chill of night in a blue lens to give the Moon's light on snow an indigo hue. Everything changes; long white wand of shore turns cobalt in the dark, waves spanking iridescent turquoise upon the sand.
Intimations abound: The growing, gathering storm of war cyclones ever nearer, and the people, who have become more vicious and more savage; ever more desirous of coming conflict, still live beneath its volcano.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Semaphore of their coming dance of leaves, buds are spiking on twigs to announce an early Spring. In their green whispers of such birth, the black dream of war seems far away; dread not the night in this dawn of life.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Singing the songs of sedition and playing the tunes of treason, these sighing contagions of confessions that herd-corrals this aberration, contain the celebrations of the citizens for their servitude to the state; to the state's religion of patriotism: None be Free.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Friday, January 18, 2013
Transformation of a real and a permanent good into one still higher still, half-moon birthing one of full; burn that wonder of a Constitution to create a new and better convention to make a confederacy of wit and rights.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Hesitate your heart and restore it to its normal beat. Return it back to its slow, sure, steady strum. Fire your charging thrust of lust for life through listening to its changing drum beat of ever-pumping blood.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Maladies abound. Weary and worn, and denatured by many dissolute nights, a sick and obese nation suffers consequence of sloth: physical health of a people is evidence enough indicative of the psychic and spiritual state of a people.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Cold religion cheated compassion this full moon again. They that were squeaked into existence as the clerisy of learning, attached as they are to their tenured lives, these teachers of old morality, have no knowledge of the true beauty of things. Broken windows on beaten shuttered stores; old newspapers scuttling down windy streets, are sole heritage of their ethics.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
My winter heart is warmed by you. Convicted and confused in collaboration, verse cannot describe nor music imitate the frantic fibrillation that has been forged there in its ventricles by the mere mention of your name.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
A visitation touch, deft and light; a whisper of fingers slant-sliding along a cheek, is prelude to a kiss. Lips parting smile, a smile too glad to be true, captures your heart. And yes, it just happens that way.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
God is the empty set; the set that exists but has No-One, just an absent deity. Sparks ignite even better in the dark; better to trust the god in the head, who creates this poetry, poor as it may be, than the one outside, who stays so silent and is deaf.
Recommended company on the royal highway of philosophy, are street-light eyes, accustomed to the dark; amber torches for seeing into the dark shadows, illuminating the hidden figures standing there, waiting for their turns to speak.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Stating byes, each by his, in setting for his own allotted time and tempo; each one has his solo turn, his own small set to play, an instrument unto himself, before his piece, before his last stop, before his final sign-off ending, comes.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
A cacophony of spirit, a dissonance in soul; but should I care at all? At least, just this final evening, there is a movement in the dancing indigo sky, in this, the last moon of this month; in this, the last month of this blue year: December days.
These priests and these philosophers know talk and they know how to do it well, but they know nothing of what caused talk to come to be; by the touching of the searching hand of tongue at a distance far, in the famished taste for truth.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Weathered pines snug in the sable warmth of their white wool coats of winter snow. Difference buried by the muffled cotton of the falling flakes, a continuance of harmony is scented in silence there in that holy stillness of the woods.
The coarse encrusted arc of mystic memory is rusted over to make more difficult an attempt escape to fly bold rebellion against the past; to break from off the failed efforts of the mind chains of exhaustion that come from regrets.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
This is nation for the old and that's the problem with it; comes you, fountain of every understanding, wash and bathe our frailty. A murmur of the heart has sealed our fate and a new tyranny of fear has replaced the old.
Wonderment is it this house of cards, America, which absent any foundation that makes for civilization, should continue; is this then to be its golden age? It's been deeded over to the narrow backs and to the soft hands. Horned callus of soles of feet and palms of hands are unknown to them, to these legatees.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
They, who in their ignorance, claim a power over me know nothing of myself. They would force us, and they would subdue us; they would suborn us too, to use our own ability against us so as to pursue their selfish ends.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Reason alters all allegiances; for this disturbing muse battles and destroys past faiths and bad beliefs; it bestows a logic and a clarity where none was before, and for this result we give to it our high praise.
Destitution orders poverty of spirit to leach our souls. The gravity of income scales us down to make us small. Kindness melts in the heat of desperation. Sanity dissolves, to be replaced by smirking violence.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Sinking into a red bulb sitting upon the horizon at the dying sunset these desolation days hammer at demolishment of me, sapper blasting and exploding away my accepted ways, for all my former lives are submerged by that same sync; they are dimming down within this Blood Sun.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Dead flowers, their closed cups a bone, frosted by dew, stand at a slim-bending tremble on ice-brittled stems, in the wide white coated fields. Among wet standing stones, new carved, the white caskets are being laid in the ground today.
A yellow into a twilight, whenever a sleep comes, these moments in dreams push for their success through the lucid method of the talking mirrors of memories; exciting dawn for their fulfillment, in order to wish to work all our daylight hours.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Pace these city streets. There. Throw down your long shadow, granted by their silver lamps at night. Ground those moods inside of you, the blue and the red of you; that go to shade and that make the purple and the gray of you, together.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Abandon reason. For a brighter later, put away and slip away from out of the cloak of Time. Surge your heart in gallant fight against the dying of the light. Take your mind to flight. Outside of understanding, only in the sensing of the skin; only in the touch, does reality reside.
Cringe and hide your face away; from a bleeding Sun, shooting crimson rays in steep steps descending, spitting red, raining rivers of blood, slicing hard down, in the far falling of fate; for doom is come upon, an uncomprehending Earth.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Wicked burn till return of the rising Sun. The setting of the white-haired Moon serves as a sermon enough for us. There's solace sufficient for the day in twilight hours. The strange bed of the grave waits for sleep tonight.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
After such violence, after such long passion; who would wish to distance keep from life the flesh? Who would separate lust from desire? Carpenter and solder those past misty years' aspirations to the clear and present day's soft demonstration of love.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
To do Art: Sacrifice the World. Waters and woods serve as holy altars of inspiration and of imagination, not the works of man; there's more of architecture in standing trees than in glass towers built by men.
Relentless in its surging animosity, an endless repetition of ocean wave splashes on shores, seizing beaches and boardwalks in hypnotic grasp; delaying hearing in a smooth silent mesmeric crashing.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Query not, for there is no response; the high questions seek for their solutions by the greater generation of other questions, in an unending series, in surveying of nature's subtle designs.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Rain splatters against the winds-shields in the cop-car; travelling with its wipers wiping, a neon dream is moving in the evening, probing on the wet, glistening streets, its siren sounding warning in the dark.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Never argue with ignorance; instead voice opinion hard by the fiery stomp and by the rapid walk away; by a rapping loud rejection on wooden floor, at the crudity, at the stupidity of what's termed wit today.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Wrong-folded wings are in constant danger of wind-dance falling failure. Suture and tie your past and your present together. Jester strange desire, the want for tenure of immortality; for timid needful life.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Champion the day in a premonition of forever morning encased and snug set in a band of eternal dawn, singing to the soul of the green and gold of glory, in sweetened honey rays outpouring down from Sun.
Sparks in the dark ignite; to go to make an offering of light between the possibility and the final performance of the action a hesitation resides, in a pregnant pause, in birth beginning by the falling of the hammer, in sinews taught stretched, and then contracted to combine in final downward strike.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Who would grade you, degrades you. Timidity taxes; hides, harasses the in-born natural action of an outbound approach to living life. To comply is to die; so defy! Why walk the long wharf out to...what?
Monday, November 26, 2012
Suppressed by the smell, the stink of blind religion; that makes dark gravity that holds down the light of reason; that grapples, censors and compresses thought, men can never aspire to reach for heaven.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Rain all day, and just too-tired, the blood-fired boiler of the heart gives out; surrenders in final shutdown to the cold, and to the coma, to the withdrawal, and to the long sleep of hibernation.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Short-sleeved Summer soundly sleeps in schools of surrounding rainbow flowers. Sketch and render a slumbering loveliness vision of surrendered smiles of raised hands in living flames' close-studied hues.
Friday, November 23, 2012
By its endless ending that makes of death a suicide, new beginning is signified of an eternal recurrence of renewal; coming Spring the going on with no surrender in a refusal to stop and cease the pain of life.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Heavy in argument but weighed light in reason, furious factions spit anger; though nothing is certain. Possibilities and probabilities float and surround us, remain unseen, ignored, not taken; forever gone.
Forest floor of religion brambled over, its commandment vines twisted thick by encumbering curves; entangle the feet of genius in obsolete laws and regulations that smother creativity, and so stifle art.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Savage still holding science's sacred ground, in an everlasting standing duel, sharpened edge of the sword of mind sustained throughout, as the world of faith is engaged; to be fought to first blood win.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Black dungeon heart, shut against follies from philosophy's new breeds of men's frivolous fashions of thought; open up. Part the long black veil, and laugh at the foolish faiths men strive so hard to die for.
Monday, November 19, 2012
The forge of fire tempers a heart of steel. Train through pain to gain. That faint forsaken path just off of the dark canyon road of life may only lead on into a wild wilderness of thorns of regret: Take it anyway.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Chimes of discord, making of this evening into frown, in a distant plain complaint, night sounds play sharpened chord in high distinct; sigh and sow and swear and edge the angry wind with discontent.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Rise. Howl down the night to spell the dawn in spilling light. Pierce the clouds of doubt. Rays of consciousness spin-toss through warmth of coming Sun, climbed out from bed of black despair.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Banish color from the world and make it sing a simple sepia tune. Leach from it all its hue. Contrast it; high heighten the bleakness of its past from the brightness of its future and chiaroscuro chant of that.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Thinking of trees is in seasons, budding Spring to bare Winter. The tinder of time catches fire late. So bad is its delay, so slow is its ignite; it's good. Lately. Lately. Come you light. Come. Come. Illuminate.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Weathered stones covered in moss, at annual scheduled ceremony, at grave-sites of veterans of wars; the voices whisper with the tolling of bells their loud regret for lost chance and for wasted opportunity.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Store bought emotion has replaced natural feeling. Even stranger now is delayed response that's made after so long a wait for energy for power and for the buried source and vital fountainhead of sympathy.
Substitute and insert an idle dream on an indolent day deep inside the closing veil of sleep, a curious thing to contemplate in the smoky blue light of a trance, encased and safe within the bubble of song.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Fling away and abandon that past so filled up with the lies of exceptional-ism of nation and of belief; of favored few that have been given truth and a special destiny, distinct, divided far from the rest of men.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Close down eyelid of consciousness. Substitute; cruel remove the cobalt blue from out the crystal skies of hope; replace the Sun of Faith by doubt of cancer black; shut-cut handle from off the door of change.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
So much for the prayer set in stone of its sacred constitution, grim becomes the politics of this nation. Bless this short sight stone blind love into future for the long view looks towards disconnect from life.
A promise of heaven is the deliverance of hell; utopias come and go, the world remains just as it is, speaking again and again with white-harsh and pale-blatant shouting voices of down-falling snow.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The latter days of this great depression, of this grand desolation, of an indulgence in despair, are done. Circle round the Sun in colored light. Sketch the dawn in blue and gold. Paint the world in pastel green.
A storm raging within its ground, laid out weary and worried hard times are come again upon the land; in the wearing of its majesty of fear, the trail of the long black veil of sorrow scrapes to cloud the soul.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Love is the lasting art. It contains a smile secreted in a dissonance in every dream and in every desire. Life sentence that's inscribed, that's tattooed upon the heart; there is no relief from it and no amnesty.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Nature, cured of the presence of Man, is set free and is reprieved. Man's absence lets it loose from humanity's tired discourse, which accords to it some hidden innate purpose or deep subtle design.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Saxophone bright, heavy laden burden of midnight blues spin out in wide spirit waves to crash upon the ear relentlessly, relentlessly; sounds of placenta dreams pouring out from its golden oval orifice.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Sometimes the night winds blow giving off a cool sharp kiss with the salt-stung beer taste of the sea. A rasping noise is heard hard coming out the sea; it's the hiss and groan of waves breaking on the shore.
A wonderment, so sustained, so kept, within a purity, smelling of newness, hard pavement spanked clean, scrubbed, after soft summer rain; can't get away, always there behind me still attitude of joy.
Monday, October 15, 2012
The rape of thought is achieved in denial of an audience; censured, done deaf by the closing of the ear. Streets in paralysis, held-back, restrained, can only sing knife-fighting songs; for they know no others.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Stuck into despondent detour slows to slothful dependency, to crawling alignment of mind and heart; brakes and dissolves to black, to a shutting down of everything; stalls, deletes and removes from life.
There is no warranty on life no guarantee. An angle of a smile may oblique to frown easily enough. Our life makes migration in some flying wild dream of frenzied transport between joy and groan of despair.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Sweet junction of the soul, between what one is and what one does; when we will have that certain knowledge we have finally become what we really are, rather than what the world wishes us to be.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Give to us a garment of shadows, a cloak of smoke to hide our shame. Our down bending ways made for us shameful descendings, a quick drop into oblivion, into hole of sorrows; the fell into well of hell.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Stream of steam clouding evening air, speaking to itself of itself solely, a conversation carried in smoke silence, escaped slow moan in struct stilled night; talks in a sulfurous vapor, to an audience all its own.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Agony, of starts and stops, of the many stations between, skipped and abandoned, deserted, desolate; covered in detritus of time by the lost loves and lusts concealed, flails at its failed momentum forward.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
So close to midnight and so close to home, time jumps from off of the rails of memory to marry fortune, hops and detours into imagined sidetrack of nostalgia; soft place of safety away from streets of danger.
Gold glow opening up the dark, still rolls it by, to smear its shouting whistle whine over the darkened shadowed land; red piercing blooming headlamp shown behind looming nearness of the outside gray.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
In the kettledrum shakings of steel track rails, small anger precedes along apace in these wild rabid clatterings, in the screech, in stuttered shuttering; in the push and sudden pull of cars' train wheels.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Sounding scraping loud, train wheels state their distinct aspiration to be rooted deep upon track rails, hard travelling in the dark. Distance dispenses within the screams of an engine pulling unwilling cars.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Train cars tight-linked concatenated by chains of destiny, curves abound around them keeping needed distant rails away; each cab, in danger leaning over far, fast speeds through the black escape of night.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Their brief glances from train windows are taken slyly; their blank faces peering out from behind those unwashed dirty panes upon blighted desolation of longing planes, level, flat, featureless, devoid of life.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
From far back, standing silent and still, behind the astonished congregations of the living, this smiling, the uninvited guest, at the wedding of hope and desire; at the switched crossing of life's rails is Death.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Look up and live. Decry this darkness here below. Spare your speech. Hazard your life. Smoking black in a bleak night, the engine of your destruction, wheels turning without mercy, relentlessly travels on.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Is it just this that serves to so soil the brain with the anomaly of detour, in a sidetrack of the mind? The hesitation of blues; that vacancy of sound repeated to a hidden music separated, distant from the soul?
Charmed by movement and by desire, want for a lavender moon in a purple sky, with thick clouds billowing in pink saffron; instead of the black pervading night devoid of even one disarming light.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Force of promise, force of hope, set in a distant distance blinking, some small tight light lifts its hood covering, shows a spot-white flame, off and on; stability there upon the far smooth breaking horizon.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Wandering winds, your breezes blowing strong, skipping in motion, straying outside of time, out about upon your mobile stepping, out on this dark night absent any moon; fly far away on your ambient ways.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Train of life taking shaking swerve within ever bending arcs; in straight tangent of wheeled continuity that fluoresces in midnight time on determined track to final terminal, to its ending destination: death.
Friday, September 7, 2012
There. Look. Streams of fire in the heavens make rivers of delight; braving those sparks of stars to force a shaking above us in the dark. Lay your head upon my shoulder and stare; just stare, in awe.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Sure and slow the curve of track circles out the iron family of these strung-lined cars in a continuous disappointment within its sinuous arc; so stand you up you favored few and look upon your mortality.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Thoughts dive down; are cleaved to stare into their deepest stasis keeps, dungeons of the soul. Leap back into the well of your worry and into an indifferent light; into the long red shift, shaft of the past.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Dead weather coming tonight, moon hides behind clouds, giving impression of careless cruising, detailing designed declensions; cycles of many generations of decline, futures telling long sleep.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Seeking fast sapphire speeds, train tracks make a never ending blue lightning ladder seemingly up to heaven; shoving forward rungs of fat sparking embers from those friction wars of wheels on the rails.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Delayed dalliance to pick up passengers who had remained all unwilling in scurry to survive a stop to survey their life; for this train is ravenous to fill up its cars, and it is desirous to devour the still living.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Strange is the bright path its transit follows in the night from dusk until the dawn; waltzing down the tracks, growing large, hoary, hastening along, cars strung far apart in frenzied coruscation of sparks.
Friday, August 10, 2012
The weight of it, the pressing down of it, belies its speed. Force holds together its engine and its train upon the rails. Force and force alone speeds it on, on to the City; into its destination, its final terminal.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Bitter is the breath of the coming morning, the coming yellow halitus of dawn spirally out of the tunnel mouth of devastation. Stay night in quiet thought. In movement we will keep our hope and consolation.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Hard working wheels, with gaudy flash of spark, spin faster now on level track, flaring fire in the dark. Change is motion and motion is change. This gives a subtle substance to shadows moving in the night.
Fiercely revolving in one lone night, in midnight flight, hard-trying wheels are pushing the black train's stammering engine. Ever tightened cycles, far ahead, speed hums away care in swaying, clanging cars.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Suffer night's sulfurous ride on rumbling run-away-train hazarding rails far apart in savage ways; the long black train of many cars, tied together, travels behind the same moaning engine, shrieking blues.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Aurora light sharks this night in waves of crescendos of color in vying hues; its swimming, sparking, back-ground shim is the set of a history of America, steaming forward in the avatar shape of a train.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Cyclone train snorting forwards, furious fast into a spangled night of stars spilled clean of clouds; its angry engine of an empire still as yet drives it ahead, its lamp shining straight in a bright, wide gaze.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Night-crawling steam-engine, with your sleek head-lamp single spot-beam light sweeping forwards, piercing straight to jump-break from the prison of the surrounding and the enclosing dark; travel on.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
At hiss of steel wheel against a rail and splenetic whistle sounding in the still of the night, when the moon in full has high raised high her lamp of gold above; soul companions ride upon the train of life.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Winter's bleeding cold is defiance against the dark. Rain comes in to bring with it reflective desolation, questioning lightning's anger's spoken, spiking, spearing, words; hatred spouting harsh resentments.
Monday, July 23, 2012
You gave freedom away to pension your future. You sped your mind into a recession, so twisted trails of decrepitude shadow upon your struggled stumble back home to your beginnings; to scarred reality.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Iris closing in the sudden sun, a successive shining begins each breaking day. Even though it be brought in by a winter's sun, it's still excessive. Sunrise serves too much of dawning light too soon.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Look at these graves. That mere scribble set upon this slattern sleeve of earth, so hastily scratched into dust, was the sole will we had. We wanted to remain remembered, every last one of us; not just as a laid out, skeletal, fossil. Once firm writ, now has become indistinct, was inscribed upon tombstone as short legacy for our life. It's erased and is left by a nothing, not to be. We had hoped, at the very least, for some future generation's small memory of care.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Chrome for eyes and steel for a heart, lungs of brass and having copper liver, robot men make a stagger of life; for small in stature, diseased in mind, they struggle even to walk short distance.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Did it mean anything to you at all; anything, all of them rejected long-lost days? You step each day with a careful liquid foot, while avoiding all the depressed holes from your past. But listen! It's an old music they'll perform. Something that's from that lengthy time before, for memory is the large land that none can survey; just ghosts inhabit it.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Shade and shade alone, a warm shade, is given by the full moon on mid-winter's coldest night; a shield against the memory of the distant sun. Void of deepest indigo serves as a canopy above for a bridge of time.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Woodsman, walk alone. Beware the barks in the night, the howls of beasts that hunt at each other over religion, over politics, over culture; biting at nothings. Silence, as in response to ignorance, is courage.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Take a walk through time. Indignant man, did you expect to change your past? You shall not be forgiven anything. Every word that ever you spoke is a hammer upon you, every word. Every action, a sword strike cutting into you. Did you think you could escape from the recordings of your life? Everything you've done was put down; was notated. Your whole life is a ledger of mediocrity.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
In winter dawn the icicles lit by sun prism into pointed stalactites of glass, into bleed-red and bile-green; for the harsh geometry of life's sorrow is best portrayed within those brood-hard acid colors.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Interrupt to think the new. Hate your teachers. Inflation's vast imagining is beyond their zombie lives. When last have they danced? They survive but are not alive. They seek safety who should seek truth. Their lives are but a long passage into somnolence.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The world begins in a flame. It begins in an invention of time; begins in a benignity of hope of thought: flame, time and thought, together; for they make, create and are each all the same One.
Monday, June 18, 2012
In this twisted light of an early morning dawn, a vanishing of truth occurs. The dead have their lies too. Toll and toll and toll again, tales of my head upon a stake, of my torso in a graveyard, of those stories of all my trials undeserved, that serve for common complaint, as they've stated attested causes for their desperation; dissolve.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
And then it falls away, falls away, chained to far hidden corners, the sugar frost of the remaining snow hides within the docket-court of a violet madness in winter's morning's shadows; and soon, soon, shall it be policed into a wet-discharge by the ever-reaching, the ever-devouring, violent clenching sun-light.
Play only the black keys of life, the sharps, the flats of feeling. Leave those boring whole notes for those who walk by day. We are the night-walkers, the shadow-men who step in twilight.
Drum beat down, slow dregs and drags, detritus of existence in their covered shrouds and veils, dissipate like dew in sunlight; ghosts have short life from dusk until the dawn. Midnight minds, gamblers musing on chance and luck belonging to the night-walkers of this evening planet, are entertained by moon-musics and by star-fugues, these quiet satisfactions only delivered to them on their long lonely hikes.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Moved into simulation of contemplation, the sun spins out its webs of iridescence through the spider webs connecting the limbs and twigs of trees, in colored spindling triangle spines of light; stating the common reckoning of any night's small-cached prey in woods in any winter's coming dawn, as metered chords in sympathy issue cover by the sad songs of birds, faithful in their despondency that the hounds of jealousy were being again let loose.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Early dawn brings with morning light a tolling of the bells, in giving birth to new, when life of old is done; those bells there loud bleating bare their says of rhyme, telling, telling, telling the tall tale: Time was still left enough to dream; yes, even for you, you the despondent and the abandoned one, who will yet be abiding in this nation of savages. Carry the sun in your heart.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Ribbons cut from pain, saw these patriot teethed ties, the badges sown into minds, their medals of cartridges sliced through body-armor; that pierced the State's ancient assurances, those expressions of dreams of hope, of the deceits of presidents, the soft platitudes of politicians, and of all those flag-bitten forgotten loyalties that, rough-flung, like our sore maimed corpses, were tossed blind into foreign trenches on fields of unmarked graves; none accompanied with the savage blessings from a grateful nation, upon this false Memorial Day.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
A keeping light shines through, lantern of times-past, expelling nostalgia upon this demon eve. Night winds are wan-white colored fast in hue, exhausted, tired with our tied desires, their airy currents tethered by muttered aspirations into pale-hued chords, designed to mute and soften chants of regret; to sputter in songs of remorse.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Stunted-stilled dead stars, burned out remnants of once fiery suns, fierce in their past glory, shed no more for us any shining. Remembered words, that were as searing liquid torches on live tongues, are dried-out scattered whispers now; are embers weighted down by our soft, fat, decadent age. We're watchers in the dark, sensing in dumb darkness, scuttling, that in heavy silence, moves.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Holster your anger and carry it at cant on your hip. That which for them shall serve for a futile contradiction is for us simple confirmation, wallowing the sickly light twining this dank darkness of our lives; neither a moon nor a sun, but a doubled-system of crimson stars.
Comes the thunder. Comes the groaning in the clouds. For our reality is a worm-wave, wriggling towards a thin yellow existence; desiring for recognition, for a final red redemption: a string aspiring between the nothing that is and the stated identity that it's become; ghost that's disclosing false stasis within Nature, hologram of That-Which-Is.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Speak o memory. The voice of death has a cutting cleanness to it, a sharp edged shaping of dialog in its commentary on life. Slicing deep and dark spoken, knifed from a tongue of an old nostalgia's palest fire; it brings with it a remembrance of the days of thunder, of those nights flamed with the lightnings of desire.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Night is so cold it shivers with sodden bitterness. Night becomes brittle broken dark; for hard rains are a-coming down, bringing stinging wet sighs upon the heads of evening dreamers, giving to their faces a ghostly kiss upon their turned-up beckoning lips.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Tired eyes see cemetery dreams; from the tenor of hope onto the baritone of dread, the thin cello thread of life is severed in two; each part curled into itself, separated, sliced, made distinct, to be drawn up, to be covered up, in a canvass of parched and dried up crackling fear.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Black canyon walls, blank barrenness of space, give pretense of sound, a cunning deception of direction, that enters into the orifice of the ear, invades the brain, sets the mind afire with its sad story; a tale that echoes its ancient histories of evangelism, a discourse absent of sense, of all maps and legends. The mistakes and many regrets of long dead ancestors yet still walk silent in our company, as whispering strangers to we the living.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Bared bars, the prisms of the transit to eternity, black glow of tongues in their white mouths, the pale spirits of the dead are talking. They are speaking in fire. They say: A deafness pervades this world, a lacking of that comprehension so necessary for survival. It makes for a turning of those of us, those who are now still alive, of our heads, of our heads being twisted away from the truth. "It's a sad religion that would ever seek to censor love." Yes for it's that they are saying; for it's just this flame of truth they're all conveying.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
All fall down in measured genuflections to the present age. Conversations among the dead slip smothered syllables inside shrouds of swaying grayness, giving gasping guttered chains of light from toothless mouths; their gum-less throttled throats are filled with a sliding honeyed stifled tenderness in these hard times.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
A rustling high above is come, heard faint is this hurricane of days, storm-dancing trees swaying their slender canopies, in a syncopated violence that slants their tops; to soft catch and to tender counter, those harden throws from angry winds.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
This is us; this is us on our dark journey into the black caldera of the soul, smoldering in anger. Abandon it. Obdurate the light. Stifle it in sighs. Blot it out. Let it die in you while you're shuffling through this wicked world. Let it burn away; yes burn, burn it all away, torched by your despair.
Stank, sweating, swooning words swear at the rent of life; to howl again in the rank chants coming up from the dank earth, songs which echo complaint against the black fires that are come again to be rained down