Ode to Fall

Memories of lives frozen and imagined march across the gentle width of entities far simpler and far above, refusing to look down on those beneath, only into the eyes and hearts of those seen equal and important to all. Expressions of clouds laugh and stare, the grim and dead, the alive and the celebrated all share soft interpretations and softer whites, and even friendlier shadows. Within the smile of the unfamiliar self is perceived, and reminds of flows of change, they rearrange into mustaches and lips, of broken bits and reaching fingers, hoping to caress, but too often interpreted as claws of mischief, and fear. They dance and wander, begging for company, praying for those to join them on the journey over tiers and piers, the fallen and the risen, promising a safe return around the same time of departure.

Breaths of Fall, sweep through the dank and humid, the labored and tired, sweat dries as vapors of relief cleanse through brisk wind and gusts of comfort, whispering to never be afraid. In it's yearly hymn of release and reminder, of days ahead, where we must warm ourselves and others around us, for the blisters of Summer are soothed by the revival from the steady and drooping, what leaves follow and forge the foliage will forever be, the whisper asks to mourn not the tree.

Behind screens and mist, beyond rooftops and hilltops and manicured fields and the unkempt, oaks and pines join in rhymes of taunts and dares to wander and climb to visit their prayer. For it is all silent, and unexplained, and it all constantly reminds, it needs not to, and the furious may argue, and draw, and explain, and frustrate themselves as they try to control, what cannot be kept and cannot be explained correctly by the tongue of it's shepherds, who dwell within a gift they tend.

Swift gusts roll over the hills, and the fields, through the leaves and the trees, enticing all affected, on behalf of those who cannot speak, as they rush through open windows, waking children and adults alike, without a shake or alarm, nostrils widen and relax, only to huff and puff, welcoming and hoping the rush will come back. It's not too this, nor is it not too that, we marvel in perfection of the day and the month, knowing the bitter is ahead and the party is behind us, but for a moment we all bask in the perfection of being somewhere between, the morning and night, the dull and the excited, what is planned and what is random, but the degrees of these are not overwhelming, they are accepted, and will leave as they came, abruptly and unannounced, only to return another day.

Untitled

Has anyone ever cried for you? Have you cried? Has anyone told you they would die for you? Have you lived? Did some tell you to lose the glory? Because it's all guts and innocence drowned, in the torrents of reality and numbness to life, smells of morning dew slowed to decades of ignorance of the simple pleasures of breath that help you slow the clock and take the ride.

Did you lose? Did you let them heckle and runaway with your pride? Did you stop caring, or did you ignite the flame within that only the omnipotent question can understand or fathom? Did you walk out on the entity that knows you better than yourself? Did you quietly return into nothing but clay in the Earth?

Did you cash your check, did you pay your bills, or did you just survive and let the nightmares of reality dictate how thick the bars to your cage are? Did you grasp them, or did you simply look at them and roll back over?

Do you even care? Have you even cared to accept the random, Does Murphy tap on your window and remind you of the law? Did you a?ccept the fate of a mindless drunkard, or did you find the truth?

Did you realize how reserved judgment is and let the machine flow, or did you stand aside and wait for the blind to lead and dumb?

Do you care?

My Left Hand Jam

Writing with purpose is difficult, especially when no matter how extensive your vocabulary is, a natural instinct to grab thy genitals and furiously shake shifting facial expressions to loud tunes of "fuck you's" grabs hold of your muse.

In times where creativity screams behind a core completely paralyzed, logic and understanding dissipate, ashes broken by gravity's wind, gentle fury, nothing in a whisper. Everything has been done, everything is old to everyone, and all things exist only to expire. There is no point, thus, there is no punctuation, or pride,or glory, or triumph, or hope or victory, no changing of the tide 'nor the guard. There is no art, because all things extraordinary are a distraction from the gray and dull, the predictable, the accepted, the missionary, all demanding respect for their subsequent boredom.

This is a left hand jam, so there is no pressure of anger or junk-grabbing to tunes of "suck my third thumb", as writing itself is task enough, and so is the drive, the smoke or snuff. Fill out the sheet left handed, get the prescription left handed, take the pills left handed, get pulled over left handed and acknowledge the court date...left handed. This is my left hand jam, and it is scientific fact, that lefties have the worst luck.

Hey did you see in the news that.....I'm on drugs. So in conclusion, in matters of the "what have you's" and "what you will's"  of the whole thing, life goes on, and naps are an inescapable, inevitable, impermeable, omnipotent, palatable, parabola, hyperbole, rhetoric-filled quagmire of depth and drowse, limp leg, mind roused, numbing portals of deceptive snores and collective mind-boggelry, beyond which there is no alarm, left handed.  

Kill The President

Wake up. We live in an America where the title of this article alone could land me in prison, or in a detention camp where I could be tortured or killed without trial or jury, treated like an animal, because I used harsh words against a public figure who is dismantling everything this nation once held sacred. We live in an America where people like me so desperately try to warn others of what is happening in the open, and are ignored and ridiculed, because it is the natural instinct of people now, to numbly go through their days without thinking or caring, only to rinse and repeat their dull and pointless lives until the gravedigger clocks in. We live in an America where the idea of greatness is an impossibility, submission is an unspoken acceptance, out of fear we have not questioned and refuse to confront.

The President of the United States is the biggest criminal in the United States, and should be killed for treason, it is that sharp, and it is that simple. Like George Bush before him, Obama has waged a war on the American people and on world peace. We are chasing ghosts around the world, as reckless rage and hatred from September 11th has turned us into nothing more than killers, killers of our own innocence, our rule of law, our reason, our freedoms, our shared ideals, and our own safety. Somehow, Thanks to another treasonous leader, we have turned a small group of Saudi Arabians who ran planes into buildings, a World War. To deny this War on Terror of it's rightful place as a World War, would be ignorant and brainwashed. Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, Syria, Libya, Egypt, Saudi Arabia have all been destabilized by either or military or intelligence agency over the past decade. Hundreds of thousands of people have died, and yet, have we fulfilled our blind vengeance? No.

Now, after Bush completed the first phase of a wartime government, Obama has come in under pretense of change and transparency to bring the War on Terror to us, the people. He has passed Executive Orders that allow the President to order any person in the world to be killed or disappeared without a trial. He has given himself the legal authority to do this. He has given himself the legal authority to at any time put this country into a state of emergency, giving himself the ability to shut down the internet, control radio waves, and take over all communication amongst American citizens with an iron fist. His demonic child, The Department of Homeland Security, treats our people like animals in every airport, giving strip searches to children, pulling apart medical disadvantages of travelers to embarrass them. The TSA is conditioning us to think it is normal to be treated as a terrorist, and assumed to be terrorists. They are expanding themselves to public events and other modes of public transportation, making sure we cannot go anywhere without the Federal government literally holding us by the balls.

Our leaders, the Presidents are supposed to protect us, supposed to lead our military, but instead, our Presidents are OK'ing wire taps of innocent citizens, OK'ing the constant hacking of our private emails, our search history, what we read on Wikipedia, what we see on YouTube, who we are on Facebook. It is all documented and tracked, because after all, YOU might be the terrorist. And now, to a city near you, unmanned drone planes and helicopters will be patrolling U.S. skies with heavy weaponry and surveillance to "protect" the American people. When is the last time you began looking above the stoplights in your towns busiest intersections? Did you ignore the cameras standing high above the lights? Did you ever question if they were cameras? Why they are there? or did you just trust a government who does not trust you enough to let you go one day with privacy.

This all sounds crazy doesn't it? This sounds paranoid, like a rant from a terrorist or Crystal Meth-head. It isn't, it's all true, it's all documented, and if you care to know the oppression you are being set up for without knowledge of it's existence I will provide all the evidence I must under this call to arms. It is a mental call to arms, only to be aware of what is going on around you, to understand the bickering and political arguments you see on T.V. are pointless, they are a Republican and Democrat distraction from what is really happening to our country, a complete control grid that will do nothing but take over our freedoms from the inside, and the President is allowing it, he is refusing to talk to the press, he is refusing to openly discuss our involvement in Middle East countries we have not declared war on, he is refusing to answer questions, he is refusing to uphold the promises he made four years ago, refusing to stop the violent suppression of protests across the country, refusing to acknowledge rooftop snipers and arms aerial teams watching over unarmed citizens as they protest NATO or their corrupt leaders. He is refusing to speak about his own Executive Orders, refusing to admit economic calamity that we feel every day. Everyone knows someone who has been laid-off, whose homes have been taken and put up for auction, who's factory has been shut down, who's credit will hold them as slaves for decades, who's diplomas and degrees are useless and undervalued, yet we are told by our leaders, the reality is, these things are not happening.

The more we learn, about our leaders, the more we speak out against the corruption, the more we are cornered and set up to be controlled, to make sure our anger and frustration is nothing more than empty words of a weakling that will be bullied and broken. Our "Commander" like the "Commander" before, is in reality, public enemy number one, and he will do nothing more than lead us into slaughter. But for some reason we believe these people, we trust them, though we do not know them, and when we study them, we quickly learn, THEY are not US, THEY do not care about US, and they will sell US down the river, so THEY can buy vacation homes and lifelong seats as our masters. Kill the President, as a matter of fact, leave the jury and hang the judges, burn down the House. No? Too scary? OK, don't fight for yourself or your country or the future of your name, but don't say I didn't warn you things are only going to get progressively worse, and surely don't pretend when you hit rock bottom that you didn't see it coming.


Obama's want to shut down the internet:

http://www.inquisitr.com/294735/obama-considers-executive-order-on-cybersecurity-after-senate-kills-the-bill/

Drones over U.S.:

 http://www.jdnews.com/opinion/line-107036-drawn-drones.html

Assassinate U.S. citizens:

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/07/congress-disclose-obama-targeted-killing-memos

Pretext to war in Iraq, I mean Syria:

http://www.leaderpost.com/news/Chemical+warfare+could+prompt+move+against+Syria+Obama/7119022/story.html

CCTV IN America:

http://www.timminspress.com/2012/07/25/police-get-eye-in-the-sky

TSA Expansion:

http://www.examiner.com/article/tsa-amtrak-police-hassle-journalist-recording-their-activities

Surveillance of Internet:

http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/political-news/internet-surveillance-put-off-until-after-the-election-20120809-23x6a.html

Wire Taps?:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/17/todd-akin-missouri-gop-se_n_1795844.html



STOP DENYING THE SAD TRUTH OF WHAT WE ARE BECOMING.

Kiss The Strings Bitch

First off, this http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/biden-invokes-paul-ryans-deceased-father-question-vp-candidates-values_649913.html does not matter. In, fact, I met an ex-felon who played a single string guitar tonight who mattered way more than this potent bullshittery.

There is no reason to talk about this http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/biden-invokes-paul-ryans-deceased-father-question-vp-candidates-values_649913.html because it does not affect me. It is garbage, and for some reason this http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/biden-invokes-paul-ryans-deceased-father-question-vp-candidates-values_649913.html is something a person actually wrote, commentated on, and got paid for. While people bickered, winced and judged about the tomfoolery of this trash, and picked sides of an argument based around the generation of trash, I played air drums on my knees, beat them numb, patted my way into the minds of anyone around, and did so while my friend and his mustache..and his one-string guitar, brought the house of a two-person concert down.

At least four pisses I had tonight lasted longer than the attention span of the average voter, so this, http://www.cnn.com/2012/08/13/justice/texas-am-shooting/index.html?hpt=hp_t1 does not at all matter to me. Reading this http://www.cnn.com/2012/08/13/justice/texas-am-shooting/index.html?hpt=hp_t1 changed my mind about nothing, to be honest, I didn't even read it, all I had to do is look at the headline and picture, and I knew, it was a waste of time, never to change my mind...about anything. Truth is I don't live in Texas, and a couple dead folk aren't going to scare me into locking myself in a prison of fear. In other news, three people shot pool tonight and had a great time at a rundown bar called Tony's in Newark Ohio, the survivors all tell tales of laughter and sarcasm. Innocent by-standards enjoyed themselves with complete strangers whom they had nothing in common with but existence, and for the sake of attention-grabbing lines it was a massacre.

I don't know how any of us can live tomorrow knowing our globe is warming, that hurricanes and earthquakes are a reality, and that people in the desert across the world hate America. At least three people died today, OH MY, the world is a cruel and ugly place, we must cower from it, and plug ourselves into shit that does not actually happen in our day-to-day lives to dull the pain, of things that do not affect us. Oh no, we must all be afraid...shit happens, and it is shit happening that we need to focus all of our energy on, and it is shit happening that we MUST avoid, because in a perfect world, if God was willing, nothing would happen, and we would all live eternally boring lives, free of death in collared shirts and tivo'ed favorites. Please have mercy on us events.

The End of The Tunnel Blinds

All I own is a hand full of change, all I care for is for the world to rearrange, no simple rhymes and no darker times could lead me back to what I may never know. The glass beyond has no color or shape, or definition, or explanation, or time, only a glimpse of what could be, what I pray, will someday be mine. Without the drama or laughter, comedy or divine, I do not care about what I pray to be mine.

And I will be yours, forever and more, and statements and words, and life without core. Without rhymes and score, I know there's no more, what lies ahead and unknowns are in store. All I can do is imagine a world, a month, a year, a moment of yours. And sure enough as life went before, and will go on forever and more, and all I know is pain and growth, and the bad soliloquies, pain-staked thoughts and frozen depths of a lost understanding, of life and children, of joy and smiles, and possibilities seen, not by God or by miles.

A truth, no words can explain, or find or ignore, a hope that I can implant what could be in store. But if life existed it was and not were, tales would be poured of our time and much more, cadence and word become such a bore, when I get a split second of what you have bore. A glimmer, a hope, a smile, a second, all gone in the is's and won't's of what will never be splendid.

A day, a minute, and hour, or glance, I cannot deny such a miserably fortunate circumstance. I am but a fish with a bit of worm, a fisher losing his crawl, I cannot laugh, I will not ball, but I will long, for the distant doll, and as life goes, I will forever dream and want, what I'm destined to chase, a prayer I can repeat and will never have, and though it pains to know what is truth, I am blessed have seen beauty in a world, so closed to the most and controlled by the host, a glimmer of hope in the beads I love most, and this, will never change, and so though it may be a hand full of dime, I still hold on to things which could be down the line.

The Bastard Glass

The open end of the Glass never speaks, though it’s lips are curled, capturing the essence of an angered scream, frozen in the sands and waters of charred hands and focused eyes.

The Glass has but one expression, though It’s insides pour to the soil, delivered without hymns or enunciation, explanation, appreciation, representation, or what begins at a sea and holds a commune without E Pluribus Unum, in the modern times iNation. 

An iFor every word, as entertainers giggle at The Eye’s in every word, temples of worship and hidden degrees of threes in these, but Symbols cannot see and will not, the things held dear to This and Me. But I is Them, and They are not I, so I say to Myself I cannot be trusted or battered or busted, because They will never cease and this shall be infinitely true, in a world filled with Them, Me’s, I’s, and You’s. 

The tree stands strong, though splintered in winter, and lashed in the spring, but the Devil may play and torment all things. He dances and laughs, over broken glasses and ashes, of Those he had burned and Those he does seek, only a mirage, a play, and portraits of bleak. Oh, suppose without him the world would be dull, destinies fulfilled, races with one-million tied first, no hunger or war, no disease or thirst. 

The Glass could be evil but it never speaks, it stands between the days and years, holding and pouring, both mead and beers, and wine, and whiskey, delegating strange nights and days, mistakes to Us all, and stories and song, of both right and wrong.

The Glass delegates to us how life will spill, though it is the glasses content inside Me, not My own, not Thine own, a foreign object frustrated and dormant, using Us as puppets to scream and carry out cemented abandon, tricking Us to be as hopeless and concerning as itself, The Bastard Glass deserves some more discerning.