Fractious

It seems the strangest things walk the underside of leaves,
Sneaking in the garden,
As invisible birds cry in the trees,
With the day’s first adventures of silent buzzing bees.

Today we’ve woke with scratches upon our face.
Self inflicted, conflicting we
Remember to assemble who and what we are
As the astringent stings
Upon the wounds of revelry.

From the depths of withdraw,
Drawing near,
Drawing tight,
The loose noose of redemptive damnation.

The mind is slippery
From nights too hot to sleep,
And fingers shaking into blur
Before the eyes of a dream.

Finders are the seekers of meme.

(remembering)
If the center cannot hold,
The spokes are the last to know.

(forgetting)
September waits for the harvest,
And the second Fall,
For the unearthly Glow,
And Noah’s flow.

Morning in the journey to maturity.
Over coffee,
Over a burned tongue,
The smoke from our hand curls,
Warm before the blinded storm.

“Fractious” comes to mind,
From the backlog of images
The brain didn’t have time to manifest before alarm.

A miasma of recall, realization, review
Pours forth from eye upon the world’s image.

Seers are the finders of reality.

Fractal, fracture, fraction, faction.
Breaking cycles of pieces repeated in action
With variation sufficient
For patterns of self,
Bootstrapping the spiral of conscious complexity.

The day proceeds with small changes,
Half smiles,
Hidden giggles and glee,
Lost looks and glances nameless.

While on the horizon
Over our shoulder,
The beckoning finger of a firestorm
Awaits the end.

It waits for us,
For the sacrifice,
For the terrible tryst of unmaking.

And at last,
Madness will know more of us,
Than ever did you or I.

One For The Birds

One word progression, July 12, 2007,
Valyna and Helskel in attendance.




New heat of the late year, canvassed in languid running arbitration.

Afternoon without decision, the waiting, lingering gazes permeate the cold oncoming storm.

She senses something heavily pressing against her core.

The darkened sky unleashes at last.

A bird of the angered desert rests briefly upon her worried doorway.

She offers uncertain sympathy without guessing which soul he has taken.

Lightning disrupts their awkward parley, the thunder tears feathers with his departure.

Peering across, she drew in long reflections that calmed the existence she created.

Alone she dreamed of knowing laughter from hollow memories.

Droplets begin to smear her tears.

Silence dwelled until smiling,

She turned and realized,

Sadness is nothing to take to the bank, or for the birds, or whatever.

And More On Orbo

Steorn's Orbo device exploded...

Steorn Update

Irish company, Steorn, has continued with the independent testing
of their world-shaking, laws-of-physics-shattering device...
and now they've brought it before the international press.

(Although, they say the studio lights were having an
adverse effect on 'Orbo'.)

OK, Scratch THAT

Ok,

my good friend "Chicago Billy" has just passed on this
article, which debunks the story I posted recently about how
the Milky Way is not really our home galaxy...

Thank you for the correction, Billy.

Boy, don't I feel like the horse's ass...


PS,
(it was Billy who sent me the bunky story in the first place...
ya can't say he doens't follow up) ;-)

Home Isn't Behind Us

"The fact that the Milky Way is seen in the sky at an angle has always puzzled astronomers. If we originated from the Milky Way, we ought to be oriented to the galaxy's ecliptic, with the planets aligned around our Sun in much the same angle as our Sun aligns with the Milky Way. Instead, as first suggested by researcher Matthew Perkins Erwin, the odd angle suggests that our Sun is influenced by some other system. Together with data from the Two-Micron All Sky Survey we now know what it is. We actually belong to the Sagittarius Dwarf galaxy."
LINK


(and as a special PREEMPTIVE note... THE CURE is going to play at Colorado's famed
amphitheatre, Red Rocks, in October...
Can you just hear Valyna squealing with delight?)

May Bee

(fire up your imagination's folky melody, and sing along)




I had dreams of grandeur,
waking in a manger,
but found I wasn't born to save.

Love my sweet May Bee,
told her many fably,
lost her near the city ditch.

Found two fountain pen,
down where the road do bend,
use them to write this here song.

Forgot my mother's middle name,
Read it right off her mossing grave,
Never meet her likely or again.

Went to the fire shanty,
surprised by my fancy,
can't tell a soul what I done.

chorus

No I can't tell a soul what I done.
No.
No I can't tell a soul what I done.

Which Ones

Which ones

There are no problems
But in the hearts we share.

Building houses on sand,
Daring Wolves to appear,
On beaches washing away
Into worlds invisible.

Seen eyes today,
Invisible,
Twinkling like stars
Lost behind heavy clouds,
Of an oncoming storm,
Bustling the dress of
The mother of destruction.

Her lust for souls grows unchecked.
Her mighty droolings falling like bombs
On the poor waifs below.

Did you ever wonder why we wonder so?
So much of why there’s things we could do better?

Dreams left behind in the early hours before
Dawn wakes,
To rush off to routine,
To leave behind those childhood breaths,
Fogged between the teeth in morning air.

By afternoon,
The sweat building upon the brow,
And yet evening beverages with other adults,
And again then,
Then dreams we keep quiet in our cups,
Hold our lives in a single swallow.

We grimace with pain,
The effort to remain sane
When all indication lead to absurdity,
To chaos, to madness of light and shadow,
Swallowing shadows.

Drinking down other peoples’
Fear, laughter,
As nothing has ever been as it is now,
And everything is unchanged
In the maddening hearts of men.

For life is a sometimes thing.
It is not a given.
It is not a gift from god,
But a seldom glorious chance
Of little bugs begetting
Their own God's breath,
Sometimes poisonous,
Sometimes pure.

And judge not,
And never forget to discern,
To know thy guesses
As thy truth,
Because whatever you think
You’re looking for,
It's all behind you,
Before you,
And a head.



Goodnight darkness,
Follow the path you cannot see,
Follow that lie that is me.

Have mercy upon the powerful,
Give the kind more lead.

Fight to find peace.

Breathe,
Die,
Breathe.

Give me the time of your day.

Find fire,
Find fault,
Find fury.

Drive to Ault
(Colorado).



Find where time stops for no man.

Be gone with all your beginnings.

Leave the start behind your left shoulder.

Kiss everything,
And pray for goodbyes well met.

Breath

The Invasion Of Image

Technology update:



I've been reviewing the patent applications for such things for the last six months.
Now the presentation and publication has begun.

Prepare for what was illustrated on the subway in the movie, "Minority Report".

The Invasion of Image will ere commence,
and with it rarefaction of visual quiet and Stillness itself.

Homey Homily