nakedness for the hell of it

They call it revolution
whenever the guns come out
pitch forks and IED's
pointed at the armoured knights with software underbellys,
tight security for their lily white Achilles heels.
They stay away from the front unless the front goes to them,
statistically unlikely but it does happen.
Anyway they're prepared, they've been practicing how to grunt for the cameras.

Shift down to the lower end of the hierarchy pole,
(it needs the grease of the blowhards with links to good dictionaries,
you know---to explain things.)
there you'll find the wage slaves worrying about the mortgage.
When the war component of the the market system is called in to smooth out market dysfunction
there you'll find baby faces in camouflage and khaki
and there you'll find an in- the-rough revolution.

Desperate people degenerate and sometimes regenerate
falling into fertile fields with flowers as far as the eye can see and fragrances heavy with hallucinations
but watch out for the falling thoughts that don't.
Getting back to the market: everything you need to know you learned in that nursery rhyme that comes like spit in the face;
after reading it aloud 100 times in a row you're
ready to pull the loose thread on the fabric;
nakedness for the hell of it.

in the line of light

hiding the unconscious before the cops get here
they don't respect your privacy
there is no privacy as far as they're concerned
its all a battle to maintain stability
a variation of 1984 , but with better jokes twisted up with bitter irony


So in the middle of hiding the unconscious , but it can't be hidden ,
maybe disguised, freaks in the sights of the satellites

the Earth and its Nature backdrop for for the Big Eye constantly refocusing
Paranoia in paradise makes for sensual panic attacks.
Paradise doing what it does best , deflecting consciousness, connecting with consciousness
in a schizoid loop
its a habit, hard to break it
to break thru it

To forget and remember
Forget the ugliness remember the beauty
or else reframe the ugly and become untamed by the beauty
Take a position that's maybe twisted maybe risky, when getting unstuck from junkie missions and make- a -monkey- out -of -me juxtapositions
conjured up in the cookie cutter colleges run by football theologists and applied to the young and curious with the womb still at the back of their minds.


from wombs to and bomb shelters
life pushing its way out of the spookiness and into the line of light

blogging about paradise

Pinned down and stretched by the expanding universe,
wanderinging in the mind.
Only 40 clicks away from the grunting of the retro-slave trade,
free labour an integral part of the free trade operation.
Free in the sense that those who do the labour get
credit crunching and their meters reading in the negative.
Road side economies blowing up convoys according to maxims that have slept too long with the mushrooms.
There you will also find the movers and manipulators of of market mechanisms poking out like cannons from the sides of gunships.

The world according to the armnaments industry:
their biochemists have identified the violence gene,
a microcosm whose cause and effect can be traced and replicated.
Then the philosophers r us talk it up like cavemen who've just discovered how to attach a pointed rock to the end of a stick.

from the ground zero site to best kept out of sight shanty towns
from the hedge fund heartland to the the dirty water bottomland
9/11 reasoning going 24/7 with a casino buzz and bourbon breath
And everywhere you look , there's the fuzz observing ,
looking to fast track some interaction with some poor klutz who wants to beat the house and
spends a lot of time speaking out of turn about the dream machine.
Just wants to suckle onto the logarithms in the raw
despite the crawl up 90 degree angle walls

blogging about paradise
climbing over the ruins
resting in what for a split second could be taken for heaven
and then going back at it again.

there's the wicket, get a ticket

Betrayals derail the finite's train
Thundering into the rough and untouched using dynamite for a crutch
Getting giddy on heaven on earth, lying in it for a sec with no aim.
Becoming a human target for more of the same such and such
that delivers up wishes
opening up windows airing out swindles---
philosophies and psychologies getting too goony for their britches,
but regardless performing a refresh function as time dwindles.

The maybe way to inject the genus holding the joystick
Controling a mind field of remote possibilities
Joy as a human right , there's the wicket, get a ticket
don't count out any proclivities
that might tap into the tender,
a mood mover and a mind mender.

the loose parts of the shell shocked

Continents ring with the loose parts of the shell shocked.
The big players , elected and unelected , play out their emotions to the assembled crowds.
Addicted to applause, passing laws to to get tasers hanging like a fire extinguishers on a handy wall.
Keep it orderly, professional and procedural.
Any screams as the disrupters are dealt with by the deciders, should be seen , not in the terms of temporary physical discomfort of the confused who question the flag waving tropism, but with a mindset that realizes that 
in order to be a survivor with that feeling of security, its necessary to
try and see it in the light of the higher good of the unifying power of the state united with a spiritual understanding that's imprinted on the psyche.
Like being on holiday with Hegel and he hogs the towels.

The intrigue's got minds smokey.
Everyday insights blown up like the Goodyear blimp.
Ocassionally the very thought of it leads to running to the washroom and retching.
Mostly this all mental disruption can be healed with care free shopping or a long weekend that has the one liners of the articulate class stamped all over them.
And then come back still afflicted but ready to keep the numbers rolling the very next Tuesday morning.
Its a scaly skinned vision that needs covering in polite company.

Still, day becomes night and night becomes day and
there's a vespertine moment filled with fragrance free in the middle of a field,
or in the middle of a field in the midst of a moment.
Or on a street or a room that as a result of a geopolitical shift have slipped outside the mind that keeps the tears in.
Poised to pull on hearts with slack strings,
listening hard in subterranean speak-easys ,
picking at getting unlocked and enabled to distinguish the fake from the real thirst quencher.

even the best cut diamonds

ready to die , to not say the words of appeasement
to not say, to not say surrender
to not wear the apron and serve the masters of terror
with their threat of indiscriminate death.
Mind filled with images of the chaos , scanning the alternatives,
accepting , gasping for the last sweetness of breath with guns aimed at heart and head.

The government patrolled by mean hearted meme lovers
who work out a disney world world scenario to wrap their souls in.
Full belly wisdom with tight security,
giving the brains behind the throne time to bait their hooks with tempting outcomes to lure those most fit for survival at the higher levels, those who can make the blood drained decisons,
Safely plugged in like good toasters.

hate gets creative
jungle fever spreads through the offices where they do the categorizing of the targets
who refuse to be quaint peasants sinking into the surroundings where tourists can safely go and haggle in their markets.
Minds made up like beds in the barracks  you can bounce a quarter off.

There's alternative endings to consider.
There's flashes of memory like lightning hitting the ground 20 metres from your face.
Trying to consider a time before F-16's jetted like devils in a bad dream.
A time , a time when , to beat the heat, the soul could come outside and jump into the stream,
coming out of the eyes that could shame the way the light hits even the best cut diamonds.

where the river meets the bridge

the ticklers of fancy
taking actions that risk blow back
optimum out come is chancy
but they don't have the sense to get off the track

its the end of the world for the dead
the living tour though hell
looking for the end of the thread
that leads up the stairs where they crack the spells

a film noir neighborhood
nuance disguished as knowledge
shuffling along with should-haves and shoulds
making way for where the river meets the bridge

its got a view
its got a big sky and its blue.

swinging in the breeze

There was hope and there were pieces of rope
There was the rain and there was the sun
there were salmon pools and there were cesspools
It takes a while for the eyes to focus and distinguish the differences

Rudderless on the sea , on the shore Yossarian in a tree.
Calculating for currents, giving up disgustedly,
and getting back to it when pushed out by the quiet and the sunrise.

there were trifles and then came the rifles and the ridiculous reinventing agony
and there were moon beams in a hammock in a dream
swinging in the breeze

Friendless and fender bended
and befriended with time to spend it
spotting the spot lights and forgetting everything that was taught
hearing the acceleration of war talking trash,
making machines out of humans
the din turning Earth into sin city of the universe

if you could get the astronomical perspective
like maybe get out to the space station and if you could maybe keep your head together, what with being all bundled up in a space suit and drinking all that space juice
and getting a realization that lo and behold , the flesh has been made simulacra,
similac to mother's milk.

And happening like a heart attack in reverse:
eyes longing for the day and the perfect temperture
for paradise moments that came and then were gone and then came again.
A process to pray for or to speak like a free person in a theatre for,
or to eat and drink and draw another breath for.

from Kabir to Gershwin

I am squashed under the tumbling rumble rousers with positions that have control over the activity of gun powder and even uglier add-ons.
Political eathquakes shaking things up , playing for high stakes.
See me , hear me but don't torch me , is the plea and the prayer to
Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines with their satellite guided integration

evolving beyond us , with CentCom software humming in their central nervous systems.
After the hard headed victories comes the soft headed parades.
The kids picking up the excitement.
A bit of a break from those
Digital devices always close at hand in case they have to contact God and check out His prices.

Evolution takes a long time to kick into the brain
Even longer to kick out the jams ,
and go with the overflow of love taking off the camouflage,
the kind that begins and ends
in an unhinged place you could never imagine;
the kind that covers everything from Kabir to Gershwin,
with its effects constantly kicking in

this side of the books at Hitler's bedside

Lying is a requirement for success in the ever tested black kettle
Fakery and mendacity in official circles requires advanced degrees
to jiggle the concepts that begin with a specified outcome
and ends when everyone swallows the process
Back tracked with hobbled latin and and down home animation;
and hot wired sincerity to drum up proof for the restless

There's never neen such ugliness this side of the books at Hitler's bedside
You've got to be strong to survive both the bombastic obvious bastards and the snoozers with the cruel streak
who take you for a fool-- that's the first rule.
That's the 101 that they all get sentimental about at the cocktails parties and BBQs, drawing a line in the dialectic.
and getting their asses well beyond it.
Just doing their job, robbing Peter to bump up their pay checks,
extending credit to the devil they know.
Systemic conditions that the early homosapiens analyzed but were stuck for words at the time, so never gave it a name

L.iving in the age of runnaway options
The sun shines into the basement window
Living in the age of mental illness pills for profit
A piece of crystal hanging there picks it up and sprays little rainbows over the walls and the computer monitors
Its the mirror month of September, soon to be November
Seeing clearly, but just barely, momentarily remembering an out of mind experience while inadvertently breathing the air.

fill in the form

the ghosts walk thru the doors and walls
disturbing the peace with their ancient and recent creepy deeds
surfing the brain waves of children like a coded trojan
coming out of the mouths of teachers who've learned to live with their infection,
happy to be conduits for the reasoning of the well placed officials with the education
and the police with the street smarts that haven't been as yet hindered by the annual sensitivity in-services;
engineering their dream homes and molding soldiers and bureaucrats for their fate  
performing their zombie routines at where ever it is  they've been shipped out to.
 
So its spooky here but just now I heard a bird calling, maybe a blue jay, screeching with feeling
Nature with a mind of its own
Humans trying to model it , getting acquainted with calamitous actions that send a message that ultimately gets blown out of the mouth of fuhrs and presidents
And on the other hand there's days at the beach watching the sunset and later on wondering what it teaches after it has touched you.
 
None of the testimony can be believed when you're dealing with theives who have written the laws that divvy out the sweets refined from nature's resources.
To catch that kind of thief requires long term project management.
For whom the revolution tolls , fill in the form.

graffiti

From the halls of arms manufacturers to the corner store lottery ticket sellers
gullibility is a well respected quality in society;
gone beserky in the suburbs
Without it the Market would stumble , with nobody to suckle from the big treats of Dream City Mama.
Those who have learned from the mistakes of former Wizzes of Washington, and beyond,
in their advisory capacity,
take their bows, taking credit for selling the sizzle of civilization,
deserved or not.
They stand for a group shot with the marketing department hustlers; you can hear the bustle
and the photographer setting up.
Everybody's smiling.

Furtive four and four score years ago
the heavens opened,
Each and every born person hearing the thunder and trying to catch the beat in the rhythm of the brain.

The mouth begins by speaking graffitti that
cannot survive without an inner treaty.

Before 9/11

Before 9/11 there was the making of the matrix , the exploit joint with a one trick policy fix fanning the fantasy of tinsel tactile institutions substituting for hands on wheel feel of freedom.
Before 9/11 the aching was still in the making, thoughts processed for domination not oblivion, not yet so hyped for the hot button.
There was laughter as the propaganda ops got topped up to cover slights and slaughters, and after, applying fuzzy eye muzzly logic, still getting a buzz from the benefits of the Bomb.
Before 9/11 the fiction flippers, roasted in education, minus realization or operational mirrors, masked their faces with nurturing numbness, not wanting to leave any traces of fabrications; keeping on creeping on.


Before 9/11 concern turned on the dotcom will scam wisdom of the gizmo geniuses perfecting the art of the stock market sneak and the feeding back of circuit board circuses to packs of public stretched out on the consumer rack.

On 9/11 one more time one more horror howled homeless and jetted, vetted in hatred, into the jungle of the lawman , into a symbolic bottleneck, junking the symmetry of hegemony. Ground zero unzipped in the west. Agonized eyes, more used to earnest anesthesia, zooming in on the the zeitgeist, in the zone of the mass moan. A one hit weirded out wonder flying the wrong way down monster lane.

Then after that the chant became a rant rendering fender-bendering of everyone's rights to be human beings unbound , everything got piped thru the annihilation migraine. No one in an official node getting the nod or the nudge to take a chainsaw to the mendacity or to the official avenger agenda , a chaser for the policy swallowing imperial pact,
a flexible pretext for amending what matters most, to most people, into the shape of a pretzel; and official death for the undefended(kept undefined) -- guilt and innocence just concept confabs for spinning epistemologies out of their molds,
grasping for the hegemony perks for jerkoffs to puff up their peak performances.
And the only drawback is the slo-mo blowback of the limbless and the grimness periodically making it on television shaming the sham for a brief trash flash, but hardly any reprimand as the loonie-land band plays lunatic loops for the well armed and the dangerously inane.

The chances of cracking open this continuum: slim; the temptation of power, sinister and older than the sun, pulling on the psyche.
All eyes on the hat, waiting for the rabbitt to be pulled out of the facts.


Whistle whilst walking past the planet of alienated apes working themselves into a state of hate and hit harder, whilst charting out a no nuance map
Out on the edge of the pledge of ignorance
Where the glory glow won't hold, where war won't ingratiate fate or satiate the autoerotic suck up of other people's pluses, an autonomic reaction of the wizzes of biz and bombing-to-make-it-better, giving even their own gods the jitters as they incant smash and grab because they can without even a self conscious cough , leaving the tab for the titillated bit player taxpayers and jilted grunts at the front , while laptoppin' Homers leave digital skid marks to skim the news to be behind the lines.

Wars of weaseled words and thought blocked talk of war dimming the cognitive content of the killing component in the the war stimulating process.
And while there's visions like the fission decision in a long ago lab telling there's something that should be shook off , there's no resisting the sizzle of a little insanity encoding the coldness of rationale, enfolding all resources simultaneously into a cemetery for all systems. And you don't need a hounddog to pick up the scent of something rotten in the state of denial.
There's no more before 9/11
just some kinda raison d'etre to sweat thru and call out for a few new hand eye coordination schematics to reset this glory glitched hypnotic trance -- no more war dances.
No more post 9/11 lemon trances.

a hundred and one news conferences

 

Dreamy eyed and articulate , paranoids often mistake him for an alien.
Sincerity is in the air when he's around , like the fragrance of a summer evening,
 Sir Lancelot sitting with his dog.
Big picture man, if the facts don't bear out his articulation the media mouthpieces can be counted on to put a sock in it .
He's confident and often uses the word "supreme" to describe situations that he's had a hand in handling the outcomes of.
He's both esthetic and athletic.
He's a high climbing hierachy man.
He likes pop music that's uplifting.
He talks of war like he was running a Walmart warehouse.
Taught from an early age that the blues are just a bad attitude you can walk away from.
His education consisted of embracing the rhetoric behind the nursery rhymes.
Wearing a uniform brings out his bloom, giving the Phd small talk a sense of danger and beauty  that 's appealing to both the ladies and the gents ,
He gets turned on by absurdity---- and has an overwhelming desire to comfort it.
At get-togethers he can often be seen playing catch-22s with the kids.
He's high on life as its hummed by the 7 Dwarfs.
He sees the silver lining of war and occupation.
He will never surrender but will just turn retreat on its head for a hunderd and one news conferences,
And then have an alibi for his exit.

early morning dew

it started with a trickle , all that babble
giving the realpolitik slip to all that ideology
the high pitch of the shuffling and the flashing, like a red light in your dash when you're driving at night thru moose country,
makes me want to go have a sleep under yonder tree,
stretched out like a weary giant whose trudging has got him nothing to write home about,
and still hungry.

Everybody's got a scripture or a solution
Its the yelling in my ears and the elbows to my chest that I object to.
Can't quite get over the anxiety
pacing the floor picking out tidbits of memory
synched to a beat

And they like the smell of death, while we here like the smell of all four seasons on the wind
and like the universe coming through the eyes of lovers escaping the clutches of witches,
escaping breath by breath , floating not sinking ,on a directionless depth not picked up by compasses and GPS's.

Betting on the stars and the galaxies expanding invisibily thru me ,
leaving the taste of the early morning dew to slide on through.

diminishing returns of ash after the big burn

he fired up his brain and tamed the unnamed numbers tumbling out of the ethers,or maybe it was out of his ears
either that or he just let his education mainline into upper middle nirvana
one part Texas drought , another part New England joke

Fiddling with the fault line running thru his organs
Earthquake speak for you , safety in the numbers, slicked up with signed dollars, for him and his house guests.
Under the minty freshness there's a bizarre breath that'll make the unititiated go woozy,
applied dementia,
lead, with truncheons bouncing off heads, down the garden path, assets expropriated ,
compounding and bouncing , by the magic of the market, out of pocket A and into pocket B.
counting affluence according to how many of the walking talking sweating assets can be put in a zugzwang ,
by hook or by crook or by saturation bombing,
and collecting honey for the big buzz commandering and chiefing down the chain .

under the yoke of the folks who promote the rat races and stoke the treadmills that mint money
engineered to hold only the haves and the half ravaged who seem to be easy to hypnotize
A dragon breath that comes from good breeding and hollywood happy endings

The unpleasantness comes from a physiological generator deep in the DNA basement, churning out krazy glue greed
Sticking the We Win grin over the diminishing returns of ash after the big burn.

whitecaps to wash them away

 
The antinomians and their opposites are loaded up with bombs.
Accelerating economies 200 klicks per hour around the mulberry bush.
That's the way the money goes, not with a bang but with a pop that doesn't need you,
buying agony,
overwhelming the usually upbeat morticians.

Disesaes are researched.
The mental disorders ,that inevitably end in war, are researched.
The researchers besmirched by the tenure tossers that you better not cross,
I'm telling you why,
insanity has gone mainstream, so ignore the screams.

The love of money is in the air.
Inside the war zone they're thankful to be breathing,
practicing being pulmonary.
On the other side of the sad there's a song;
there's a folk legend that says  you got to be alive to sing it.


Debit and credit cards are splashing into the bay
and there's the whitecaps to wash them away.

Soaked angels

Soaked angels in the flooding low lands with drenched wings and no life-jackets.
Shape up or put up with these sanctioned rackets,
these political constructs
Making it personal is a snap for the illusion crew,
Simultaneously lining their pockets.

This data distilled as static, for educated ears only.
Pre approved and in no mood for compromise
Godly in a motley way
A projection that's highly valued and awarded accordingly.


digital images stream thru guilty consciences
arranged into mental scrapbooks
civilized conclaves with in and out points ,where you wear your ethics like cosmetics
considered precious-- even more so , in obituaries, than what has been accumulated.
Yes there are moments , but the exit is always available
and in fact built in as a release valve for the pressures of the hypocritical.
A madness factor built into the architecture.
A methodology derived from the cycles observed as the weather goes wild.
A rough way to reach equilibrium, without end , amen.

no sense making a mountain out of a monstrosity

sunday morning going straight into the week
into the heart of time
into the the juice of the universe

the blues turning indigo
the greens full of chlorophyll
the shades of grey raised


tragedy can be detected in the one liners of the stand-up hypocrites
and there's comedy in the mirrors in the morning
depending on last night's dreams
depending on how good you are at bending around corners.

friends gathered and running rings around catastrophes
no sense making a mountain out of a monstrosity

the thick skin of karma

Right now the rage is pinned up, squeezed of all its power to penetrate the thick skin of karma.
My toes feel cold , my roots in the earth searching for nutrition, coming across a flashing Depletion sign.
The wild weeds grow, the bees come again to the bloom.
End of summer activiity
Earth at its bursting.

And inside me a similar burst ( and an unquenched thirst )for peace and fragments of insight.
the bbq sits on the deck, covered and lonely under the clouds.
No kids can be heard
Somewhere not too far away the sound of a backhoe.

In my ears there 's a buzzing on morning tv
the news casters look helpless, vunerable like hungry hostages.
I click thru looking for clips of war and disaster to confirm my beliefs.
There's no shortage.

There 's trees everywhere.
I watch the tops, still mostly, but an ocassional sway.
And the water of the harbour like glass.
And in the distance the bridge with traffic going over it.

Its just one of billions of melodramas
scratching at the thick skin of karma