Fourth of July

These would have us live
In their rubric of venality;
Lead rigid vegetable lives,
Loyal to opportunity only. 


A state which pushes its worse
To multiply and to prosper has
Produced a country of bankers
Who bite, snap, snarl for profit:


Zombies who eat the flesh
From off their fellow man.
So no flags will we salute;
Leave fireworks for fools.

Whiskey Dreams

The moon held in a glass suspended;
Vast, luminous and large, she shines.


Spilled light spelled to amber vapor,
Breath of yellow smoke surrender;


Whiskey dreams.

USA

An ash-pit of sleaze is this America;
As those many who know the least
Are so shrilling of their ignorance.


This is its common man: the duller
They be, the more vocal they are;
The louder they'll shout in a crowd.

Down Below

Off high porches of indifference, seen
Down below the stairs of insouciance,
People passing on windswept streets;
Needful nation of lost souls walking by.


For them, a bending cross of compassion
Shan't bow, for they're the already dead.


From verandas of our nothingness we spy
Those, strung-in-line, stranded, shrunken,
Statues of the street, gaunt-thin, shuffling;
Mouths gasping open, grimaces of oblivion.


Nature, both adamant and free, imposes
On her subjects symmetry and economy.


From our lofty balconies, dead as they below
We'll be, dead which'll be watching the dead;
For we are but marching memories, mirrored
In minds of those soon joining death's parade.

Critics

Screeching jays blaring against trees,
Screen of tall conifers and short elms;
Baleful blast, strident abuse so angry;
Animosity dressing in adversity blues:
Critics.

Lost Loves

That which was in anger parted
Cannot be joined by an apology.
Words lack all indemnity in spite.
Once said, they are forever lost;
Not to be returned and redeemed.


Furious sounding bells, fulsome of desire,
Circle clappers formed for despondency
Designed to ring out at every snippet
Of simple satire and at small-spirited
Wit, and no remorse prevents a crack.

Sunk Hearts

Those who question the agony
Of love know nothing of desire.
The moon that melts the nights
Of summer is full in circle phase.

Its shuddering beam spilling seasons
Of yellow on limbs of standing trees;
On oaks, on yews; its seas of silver
Imprinting dimpled veins on leaves.


Quieter and quieter a mind sinks away;
Slipping into the somnolent senescence
Of senility; shrinking size in every hour,
For what a terror is lost memory in age.


The black robe of heaven hems a sacral place.
Moon-bright; its lines of beauty softly drawn
In amber, an ocher of delight, paints perfect
Shadows on walls and floors: blues and golds.


Sunk hearts, drowning in the rivers of time,
Sucked down in smothering seas of regret,
Are drawn upwards into the saffron night
By a saving strand of memory of beauty.

Deflation

And so they fall away, fall away:
The people.  For this fetid nation
Has forsaken them.  Has lost fair
Value, as well all enterprise; has
Lost sacred honor; squandered
Dignity.  Has become a burden;
A dead weight upon the World. 


We be but pawns to others' kings;
Owing debtors to greedy creditors.
Birch and cedar hide seas of iron
Under Siberia.  Power shifts north
To tundra regions, while peoples
Of the south steam in complacency.
America dies, a desert of indecency.

Bald Bankers

Bald bankers:


Savage still, this busy buzz of business
Has taken from you thuggery of youth.
No longer young, within your skulls pool
Awful spaces flooded in arcane symbols;
Seductive charts; algorithms of finance.


Bald bankers:


You've killed dreams of freedom dead,
Bald bankers; sucking sordid numbers
Quantified; bald bankers, blue screens
Blinking, blinding, stealing souls away.
Blood's been marked on heads today, 


Bald bankers.

Cuckoo

With every bow of a covered head,
With every muttered prayer, Man
Is marching on to his own oblivion.


Snow covered them and the cold.
In cliffs, in caves, formed in many
Ages past, are stored stone skulls;
Faces from the long-lost dead; fossils
Of forgotten ancestors:  before-men;
The predecessors of our new species.


Each skull portrays the hair-line cracks
Of limb-delivered violence; these blows
Delivered on them by their fellow men.


Evolution has not carried us so very far;
For blighted brood-parasitism of religions
Has cracked the consciences of far more
Than did flailing limbs of angry ancestors.
Bad beliefs have shouldered Compassion
And Reason outside reaches of the heart. 


Doctrine and rubric are the twin cancers
Consuming; tainted rivals and devourers,
Crowding chivalry's nest upon limb of life. 

Flames

Pearl light peeks from backs of pink-flamed clouds.
Spindling rays, spewing forth from the setting sun
Meet flames from new suns, heated in burnt cities
Of the Earth; a roast-red angry answer of all flesh.


It begins this way and so it ends this way: unspoken;
The space of its stasis struck sideways, spirit leveled
Inside light and shadow. The World stuck suspended,
The soundless silence sighing, between lips and teeth.


States ought do and act better than the meanness
Of their peoples, of their smallest base depravities,
And not give stupidity reward by acknowledgment;
As stone silence is sufficient enough for ignorance.

Worth

One's worth is determined by the quality
Of one's enemies.  Meek and weak may
Have no foes, but have no honor either. 


Be rest assured:  Genius, when left alone
Shall grow, shall thrive.  The interference
of governments and of temples are soon
brushed aside; burned away by the dual
Suns of intelligence and by its companion:


Creation. 

Earth

Drums of war when beaten so loud; so hard
Grounds reason down in the drowning song: 
All that lives dies and Life itself shall die too,
For that that's now will be as nothing soon.


The stupid and the sleazy obey the dictates
Of religion, while the wise and the just only
The stirrings and desires of their own good
Hearts:  Earth hangs in a balance between.

Summer

An astonishment is Man; what a wonder is he;
A compendium of confusion; a contradiction
Even to himself.  There's an argument that's
Contained within his every conflicting boast:
Rejection of that beast so center to our nature.


In Spring, Summer is a story waiting to be told.
The weeping cherry tree bursts with pink buds.
The death beat of winter's song is transformed.
Float away then those heavy cares of yesterday.
Bees of summer buzz at butterflies on the wing.

Parade

The palm upon the heart has shown to be
Fake reverie; remembrance of false past.


Bass thumps of heavy boots on macadam;
Thunder fall of high shoe on cobblestone;
Hammer of hooves of horses proceeding,
Slow-stepping the leaning, prancing flags
Flapping, flaming red, in the afternoon's
Boiling heat rising up the asphalt street. 


With each successive, occasional, stride,
Staggering, stumbling in remains of rags,
Flying flags, emblems of former nations;
In formation, skeletons to lock-step march
Together, mixed uniforms of former foes,
To unmarked graves, silent and forgotten. 


Among men there's natural ascendancy;
A refusal to be in-step: March with them.

Rebellion

The cause is great and the hour late.
Disappearing light, severed fraction
From the day, slides to early evening
With nothing done but talk and delay.


Rough cut are the gardens of stone;
Graves of rebels long gone to bones.
Rise up you rebel dead, as nothing of
Life so honors you as having well left.

Slavery

To raise the head and not to bend the knee
Gives each reason for existence of humanity.
Squeezed on every side by the safe slavery 
Of repetition, of motions endless iteration;
Eyes are lowered and never might gaze up.

Where are gone the dreams of yester year;
The hopes that filled young heads with plans
And gave purpose to rising in the mornings?
Mourn for the dying of mirth; for early demise
Of laughter.  Chains bind us to empty career.

What We've Be-Come

Everything the same and nothing different,
We waste our days in so many ways.
The clock of life ticks past the hour
And soon comes upon the midnight
Of mortality; the many enchantments
Of existence playing out their tunes.


With half of its people paying full price
For the other half, no nation can survive.
Vented life, grazing volcanoes of the sea,
Does more work than all the bureaucracies
Of governments and industries combined.
To them we've handed our liberty and lives. 

Our Selves Alone

Night flight of the moon, the somber sun
Is down and gone and only you remain.


Wild are the ways of the sovereign few
For a socialist sun has scorched the last
Vestiges left of our shrunken liberties.


Scared, those small senators of servility,
Silent as lizards under a noon day sun,
Voted away the hopes, the dreams,
The rights and futures of posterity.


Abandoned, now relying upon ourselves
Alone, we share a republic of the moon.

Hail

Black banded sky in brood-broken storm
Heaves thin air in thick hale-stones of ice.
Anger rides on slamming fletch-et stones;
Sharp, jagged, not fully formed, falling.


Such solemnity is made of banal sunsets,
Heavy in coruscating colors, thick in hue;
But here is slim nature, howling and loud,
Stating: here I stand and so fear my hail.

Truce

There is an armistice in art
Protecting they that make it.
Talent has tendency to touch
Even those who, with enmity,
Berate the others unlike them
For being so different; for not
Being themselves. And natural
As this hate is, art conquers all.

Then

Not light, but a before-light,
A black presence, pervades
The void.  Then a softness
In that darkness spirals out
And fills the dark with deeper
Hues, a black upon a black.


Spun, twisted into swirls,
Dark divides from dark
Making stars and worlds.
Into these worlds comes
Life, blooming to thought.
After thought, what then?

Leaves

It begins with trees broken into lines and planes
Stretched thin in winter's stubborn trigonometry.


Lines that are the signatures of weariness.
Planes that are bare scratches of scarcity.


For this is those trees hungry against a snow-filled sky.

Sleep

The moon, bitten crescent of silver,
Hangs silent in a secret sky of night.


Slowly the stars are moving in the slurry
Of the heavens shedding their dimpled lights
Down upon the dowsing bedsheets of sleep.


The gravity of the day's care is suspended
So we may walk in the sunshine of a dream.

What are we but a waking dream, a dream
That dreams itself into the world, and then,
Suddenly leaves it; gone to a home of sleep.

Night-Light

In the late night more hard rain is come again.
Shade pulled down upon the window pane,
Slapping wind cascades to a roaring thunder.


The black sun of mourning rises with that rain;
Rays, so cold from its burning, this slanting rain,
Heard drumming, drumming the window pane.


A twisted darkness wrung in hammering pain;
Long evenings spent alone listening to rain;
Night-light, sole companion, sharing the shame.

The Isles

Thousands fell then.  More thousands start to flee
The stars falling from the sky, thunderbolts of rock.


What compounds the cries of the dying is their anger;
Remorse at having taken no action, at ignoring warning.


That world falls away, dissolved into a dream of destruction;
The efforts of millenniums disappeared in dusts of desolation.


All that remains from the shards of civilization are our stories;
Tales told in verse of The Coming, crossing seas to The Isles.

Pagan

Sweet revenge is it to usurp;
To use, the imposed language
Of an oppressor so as to best him;
To prove the falseness of his claim.


When their songs got worse, so did
The people; these small-minded men,
Saluters of flags and rags. They who took
Our speech from us perverted our religion.


Those that crab sideways through their lives;
Their souls as dark and somber as their clothes,
Have forgotten us but we have not forgotten them.
Our time has come; for we, at long last, are awake.

The Green Man

The Wearing of the Green.

Ethics are like clothes.
If you can't live in them;
If you can't sleep in them;
If you can't fight in them,
Don't wear them: DagDa.

Twilight

Strange is the sizing of the setting Sun.
Blooming, swelling, great bellied beast;
Pregnant in its slinking, sliding decline.


Even when gone, its image is left
Seared on the eye; the negative
Of light, a burning ball of blurring
Blue, where before was scarlet.


In the twilight of the aging mind,
Dwindling in each passing sunset,
Strong afterimages still remain.

Release

Were we not pursued by ghosts;
Hunted, haunted, by our past;
Kept handcuffed  by memory,
We could accomplish anything.


Tethered to this mundane world;
Wings clipped by ten thousand
Taxing regulations to prevent
Our soaring flight to freedom,


We lose the gloss of luster and
Decay.  What's left for us to see
Are bars that bind this prison;
Not the space that lies beyond.


As birds in cages shall we sing
Of lost liberties and the theft
Of all aspiration. Nothing now
Is left but a waiting for release:


To fly.  

Spring to Space

Enough of weary winter, bring us warm Sun.


Some small movement, the slightest quiver,
Gives notice of changes still yet to come.


We come to heaven not ourselves alone;
But in the company of many multitudes.


Those who've gone before, ghosts of ancestors
Past, pursue us to assure us, in this our dream


To vault into the void; to spring into space.


Man wasn't meant to live here cramped
Upon the thin skin of one single planet;


But to explore and to seek unborn worlds.

Bealtaine

Art is sordid life's solitary defense.
Nature survives through a suicide;
By it's own occasional self-murder.

They who carry fire in their hearts
Most often bring it far in the dark,
Stolen away from suspicious eyes.

Ashes from deep memories, stirred
To glow by remembrance of beauty;
Embers kindled by the spark of Art:

Bealtaine. 

Query

The easy answer; the facile response
Shall not suffice.  For, see the fate
Fickle destiny has forced upon us.


Those who lack all magic prosper
While they of genius subsist
Abjectly in servile poverty.


The wise are vilified while witless,
Shallow fools are made celebrities;
Their sarcasm is considered sense.


The worse have the most children.
The best are barren and childless.
The world is filled with mediocrity.


That we should have come to this;
We who had such hope when young;
Now fallen down to such complacency,
Sits on us: condemnation and disgrace.

Memory

A pause and then a sigh and suddenly
Day changes to a melody of night.
The saffron sheen of streetlights
Flood amber into alleys of the city.

Ambient hues; hints of blue at corners
Color fast-fading musk of twilight balm
With after-images of this red sunset:
Evening submerges in turquoise night.

Unknowing

Dark, dank and desolate is the swamp of uncertainty.
It seems but shadows may enter
Into this valley of despondency.


Voices lifted from this abyss implore for clemency.
For surcease from the suffering;
From the terror of unknowing. 

They sink in sloth.  A slave in chains of gold is still a slave.
For their souls were won by ease;
Not strife.  Worn down by servile bow.

They practiced no art save that of careful conformity.
For this they were condemned
Never to stand in the glory of the sun;


To gaze forever forlorn at a cloud before the moon.

Being

Through Me pours life.


Neither concealed nor hidden
But in plain sight
Is emergence of existence.


Existence is.  It struggles
Not to Be.  It is revealed
In the standing light of noon.


Not birth; not death, can stop
Opening of this flower.
Womb; cause of all that is:


The She. 

Death

In silence does the hammer of the heart skip pounding.
To ghosts we ourselves must still appear as ghosts,
Spirits distraught, direction-less and lost.


Conceived in lust and born in error,
Humanity could hardly hope for eternity.
That which we are; we are
Although aspiring to angelic height.


That which we would be; that which
We would have been, is done; was
Finished with our end.  And yet


Nothing in our lives so honors us
As this acceptance of that fate
Which lies ahead for all those
Who are made of flesh:


Death.

Illusion

The edge of time cuts a fine line
Between what was and what will be
And we who believe that we be free
Are caged in the prison of the present
Now.

Dawn

Slow and slow a gradual music grows.
Blades of leaves lean towards their sun.
Dew melts in sadness for its lost moon.
Morning.

Wrath

Savage is the heart of man and savage too his temper.
Cold to the bone is the anger that steels his head;
The hatred that sweeps him on to the whirlpool
Of revenge.

Regret

Many a smile hides a tear.


Night winds blow and the
Moon's glow grows cold
In the dim light of memory.


That which was said can't
Be unsaid.  That which was
Spoken cannot be took back.


The trees of discourse have
Shook their branches and 
Freed themselves of leaves.


A silence has descended;
A long sleep deep and sad.
A snow has covered hope.


And many a smile hides a tear.

Voice

To touch at a distance
Is the invention; the magic
Of language.

That which we cannot see
We can imagine.

And though we die,
We die knowing that
Those long after us

Can still be touched;
Can still be embraced
By our inscribed words.

This we invented: we poets
And it is our lasting glory.

Clerisy

These that are clad in black
Are the slavers of men's souls.

The minds of men are fortresses
Whose secrets are solely unlocked
By keys of knowledge and of power.

Both of which those in black lack
As they gave reason and emotion
To servitude of non-existent gods.

For only through study of Nature
Can such forced entry be achieved.

Dominion

There is dominion in nature
Which man seeks to diminish.

A scepter is hidden in evolution
And only a revolution can take it.

Who shall conquer then?  Who shall win
This war for dominance?  This great revolt?

Rebels to the last are we, and it's in our dying
A new and better race of men shall come to be.

Rowing to God

I am I.

And what I am is who I am;
Not another's avatar or fantasy; but me.

The world survives without any knowledge of me
And I survive with little knowledge of it.

Were it to know me, the world would have advantage over me.
But it does not know my name and it shall never will; for

I am I.

Empire

Gone to rot.


Lost cities; lost nations; the flags
Of thousands of forgotten states
All gone now.  Gone.


Ripped by time; frayed by lust to conquer;
To impose their will upon the soverign peoples
Of this Earth:  To make


An Empire.


In its making was its dissolution,
In its ascendancy was its descent;
So was it won and in its winning was it lost:


America.

The She

Torn from the depths of some profound despair,
The easy answer and facile response
Shall not suffice for this despondency.


The dream that once existed at the world's inception:
That all was One and of a whole unified


Has been eaten, swallowed by complacency and doubt.
What we are now is not what we were then.  No!


Brief as our lives are; briefer still
Were the days of orginal creativity.
We have moved from that bright beginning
To this bleak ending and are not the better for it.


There is of course no answer to the question
(We do not even know the question).
Only a silence, stony, still and distant. 


Hope ran free once and howled in sublime simplicity 
Gazing upward in wonder at the silver light at night.


At She,


Beautiful, cold; bathing in her gold blood,
In summons to the echo of the call
Of the wolf-bayed, white-veiled,


Moon.

Aphorism

The mean will complain; 
While the great create.
Such has been the fate of Man
Since his time on Earth began.

Birth of Beauty

All of a motion unified

Appear the oval orbits of the planets;

The temperate cycles of the seasons---

Summer's softness and winter's cold deceit.

But beneath all of this lies buried:

Lies hidden under a solemn sublimity:

An anger, hoarse rage at how things are;

At why they've been so forced arranged.

And it is from this same scowling howl;

Strangled, in the throat suppressed;

Kept silent and kept deep concealed,

Beauty shall emerge to be born again.

Poetry Begins

The United States has a long history of slaughtering its best people; on killing them in foreign fields.  Whether we might wish to acknowledge it or not, we are all on a long journey; although we may well have differing destinations.  We all end up dead, but we get there by different paths.  It's always a waste of one's valuable life to be against anything, but it's never ever a waste to be for something; provided that this something is worthy of you.  First though, you have to be worthy of you.  You can't be worthy of you if you serve a flag. The country in your head is the nation to revere.


Now.  I'm for verse.  I've answered every one's questions, such as I understood them, to the best of my limited ability (well it's not so limited, I'm a poet and a polymath).  I have explained why and how things are the way they are, and what they will be in the future, and I've literally given multiple answers and very practical solutions to all the most difficult, deep, great and profoundest questions.  So now, if I might then be excused, please, I shall just be playing, intoxicating and indulging myself, with my beloved poetry. Drunk with rhyme. Possessed by verse.  Composing poetry is praying. Poetry is prayer: Reciting is in itself a religious act; it's an affirmation, acknowledgment of existence. Believe the making of poetry.


Thirty thousand years ago, there were five competing species of hominid in the world.  Poetry is what made humanity the sole survivor (imitating the grunts,croaks and whistles to be found in nature to communicate), and it's speech that keeps us human. I adamantly won't be answering any more inquiries.  That's it!  I have now fulfilled all of my teaching functions as a Druid.  I've my own work to pursue.  And you've got all of the responses.


Enough is enough. Too much possibly. Sorry, I've done with all that. That was the easy part. Prose is easy. Poetry is hard. Society, after all, has no rightful claim upon genius.  Society exists mainly as an obstacle to any kind of creativity, since society is essentially, innately conservative as is public education.  Our prime duty is to our Self (it's why we have an obligation to seek out our real Self). Read my books.  Follow my Blog.  Answers to all, to everything, are already contained therein! Duty to others isn't nearly as vitally important as duty to ourself: Abilities must be exercised. They must be exercised.  They must be drilled.  Duties and responsibilities are only those we ourselves have freely decided to do and undertake. I want to write as well as I can for as long as I can; that's it!


Well, to be clear, poetry and that paranormal romance, far-future-fantasy, action-adventure, speculative-science-fiction, series I've written.  I just publish for the Amazon Kindle and for all those e-reader devices that use the Kindle "app," such as PCs, BlackBerrys, Apple's iPod Touch, iPhone and Apple's iPad. The reason I publish on the Kindle is simple:  Amazon now pays up to a seventy percent royalty. That's far better than any other publisher pays.  Even though I myself am a publisher through RothCroi Publications (105 South Division Street Peekskill New York USA 10566), the costs of book distribution are far better borne by an international e-book publisher, like Amazon.  What I publish is important enough to warrant world-wide distribution.  Many told me it has changed their life.


Why were their lives changed?  Let's iterate the message yet again: We've each, every one of us, a right, the responsibility, to expect from ourselves what's needful to fulfill the duty, the delight, the obligation for creating our own destinies: So.  Now's a time for verse! Not just for me; for all of us.  In prose, there might be a few as good as I (though not many); but in poetry, I bow to none, in this time or in any other: Small-minded get behind me!

Lucid Dreams

Short and brief is the candle of life:  Follow your heart.  That phrase pretty much summarizes all Druid philosophy.  But how do you know what your heart is telling you?  Lucid dreams. These dreams are spectacular visions, always in color, accompanied by sound, vividly remembered; that come in series' sequences.  These dreams emphasize both sight and sound together, as seeing and hearing are our principal senses. These are mythic, poetic and teaching dreams. They tell you what you ought to do and they show you how you ought to do it. They are harbingers of the future.


Dreams are visitations.  Dreams ought never to be ignored.  Listen to them.


Analyze them.  Follow them.  Respect them.  For they show forth to light the Way.  Nature has no reason, and certainly Nature has no design; no purpose, whether intelligent or idiotic. Nature does have rhythm and she does have rhyme: Innately poetical.  Musical.  So.  Listen! 

Some Stock Picks

We each have a moral obligation to learn and to utilize whatever knowledge we have gained in our daily lives.

Knowledge not used is lost. People choose to perceive only that which serves to confirm an already existing preconception.

Mankind creates twelve hundred exabytes of new data each and every year.

That data has to be archived and stored in order to be accessed for analysis to spot patterns and find useful information for future decisions in all fields of human endeavor.  But there is a problem:  terrorism!

Ignorance and stupidity cannot be overcome by education or by mentoring. No!

Attitudes, priorities, behaviors, habits and beliefs are all epigenetic-based permanent characteristics.

Change itself changes, but most men lack any capacity for change in themselves.  They are born static, not dynamic. This is especially true for what men believe.  The smaller the man, the more narrow is his belief.

This is because human evolution is based upon sexual selection and that selection discriminates against those who cannot follow the predominant cultural norms of whichever society in which they happen to be residing.

After several generations then, cultural norms become the most important factor in gene selection.  People in different cultures not only think differently, dress differently, speak differently and act differently; they really are different at their basic genetic level. They have been adapted to blend into society so they can reproduce.

This is why one never argues with ignorance; one simply shuns and tries to ignore those who are ignorant, for they will always be so. Cardiovascular health is greatly damaged by extended association with boring persons. Men are very, very different biologically; so they'll have essentially different aspirations, beliefs, faiths, needs and wants. This difference results from evolution:  People come in many varieties, many shapes and sizes.

Genomes are everything.  Nature has made sub-species of humanity.  There are real differences in cultures.

The many varieties of humanity have different talents also.  Most men can't see far into the future; they're blind.

They can't scree.  As The Druid of The Conchobhair of The Old Belief, I'm expected to know something about the far future.  Druids believe that the multi-verse, that's the universe of universes, actively quests to increase its state of consciousness, and that their assigned task by The She is to foster that Quest. Any action assisting this is good.

Priests of The Faith of Old Europe are all adept precognitives, as it's our sole requirement for priesthood.  In addition, we're trained to be polymaths and poets. We're expected to know the Way. To scree the future. To be the navigators for humanity. Where it's going.

And. Also. Why!

We do. Luckily I do! Let's now be practical. Any company dealing in data-base-media-visualization-servers and/or with visualization-technology-software-services looks great for purchase; so buy each of these listed stocks [Stock Ticker Symbols are Attached]:

A123SystemsInc[AONE];Hologic[HOLX];Google[GOOG];IBM[IBM];EMC[EMC];Hitachi[HIT];3PAR[PAR];SAP[SAP];Medtronic[MDT];WatsonPharmaceuticals[WPI];Deckers[DECK];HJHeinz's[HNZ];Yahoo[YHOO];DrPepperSnappleGroup[DPS];Imax[IMAX];KansasCitySouthern[KSU];Boeing[BA];CareerEducation[CECO];NektarTherapeutics[NKTR];SiliconStorage[SSTI];MicrochipTechnology[MCHP];Xyratex[XRTX];AppliedMaterials[AMAT];ResearchInMotion[RIMM];Tivo[TIVO];AKSteel[AKS];WaltDisney[DIS];
AT&T[T];HewlettPackard[HPQ];Dell[DELL];Oracle[ORCL];CiscoSystems[CSCO];Riverbed[RVBD];VMware[VMW];JuniperNetworks[JNPR];BlueCoat[BCSI];CatalystHealth[CHSI];Biovail[BVF];Carter's[CRI];Comcast[CMCSA];VerizonCommunications[VZ];Globalstar[GSAT];ICOGlobal[ICOG];TerreStar[TSTR];NextWaveWireless[WAVE];CrownCastleInternational[CCI];AmericanTower[AMT];Windstream[WIN];Microsoft[MSFT];CitrixSystems[CTXS];FordMotor[F];AmazonCom[AMZN];HondaMotor[HMC];InfosysTechnologies[INFY];Conceptus[CPTS];TeradataCorp[TDC];NCR[NCR];ActivisionBlizzard[ATVI];CompellentTechnologies[CML];LongtopFinancial[LFT];Apple[AAPL];AlcatelLucent[ALU];LMEricsson[ERIC];Nissan[NSANY];StevenMadden[SHOO];Kohl's[KSS];WalMart[WMT];Mylan[MYL];JohnDeere[DE];SuperMicroComputer[SMCI];

Why these? These companies are heavily involved in data storage warehousing or they soon shall be.

Why is data storage so important? Storage is necessary for the future of civilization.

Terrorists are the one true danger to humanity's future (all terrorists are really religious anarchists---as they greatly fear technology, as technological use eventually exposes the lack of any actual, real, factual foundation for their beliefs---terrorists' religions [the three Abraham faiths] lack all logic and reason---the three Abraham religions are suicidal by their very nature, both by their subjugation of women and by their insistent demanding and commanding obsessive-compulsive submission to a non-existent, moronic, evil deity; their appeal being solely to those persons with abnormal CDH2 gene malfunctions...half of mankind. The vast emotional and moral discrepancies caused by such absurd beliefs, the division that must result between thought and emotion, eventually will lead to irrational self-destructive socially damaging actions).

For those of us, such as myself, who don't share the same ethnicity or religious persuasion as those professing the three Abrahamic faiths, such false beliefs appear to be grossly delusional and frankly, idiotic; as from a purely pragmatic view, these faiths can't ever modify men's behavior for the better--they can only make men even worse.

Bad beliefs make bad behaviors. Bad men profess bad faiths. Evil men impose their evil commandments upon others. All commandments are corrupt for Nature has no commandments.

Religion is horrific when it seeks to control the minds of adherents.  Evil often wears the mask of revelation.  Revelation is real as every poet knows (I'm one), but revelation comes from inside oneself and never from outside. Nature triggers revelation, and that is why it's so important to study the subtle workings of Nature.

Nature is our only sacred book! To we Druids, the Abrahamic religions are detestable due to their emphasis on abject servility to a demented deity, which doesn't actually exist; but to the adherents of the Abrahamic faiths, Druids are feared due to their knowledge of the essential gnostic pan-psychic nature of reality; their tendency to integrate with Nature to utilize its power, and their trained ability to shape and to consequently control reality using this esoteric knowledge. This is why there has been so much persistent persecution in the past. There has even been: "DRUID DENIAL," the intentional refusal by the three Abrahamic faiths to acknowledge our existence, and to deny us our religious rights; most certainly a subtle, perverse, pernicious form of genocide.

Terrorists (radical adherents of Abrahamic religions) will be attacking many more corporate and government installations in the coming years. So then, preserving and protecting media data held by these entities will become increasingly a priority; especially now, as medical, corporate and governmental records are in the process of digitalization.

Twelve billion terabytes of data are now stored world-wide. This media storage shall substantially increase as all medical records have to be digitalized. The terrorists' identities and histories are stored and are kept within these records: their forensic DNA profiles. There are over a half-million people who are potential terrorists; those who are both fully mentally and physically capable of expressing violence through intentional overt acts of murder-suicide.

Terrorists are known: They're in data bases. Media data identifying them has to be protected and secured.

It's where these companies are involved n some way or other; by providing servers and/or services, or by extensively using such data warehousing services.