who is trump

a populist

mask for the usual

rich fascist nationalist

    I want money from other countries  

            to buy american drones
    I want oil cheap from your holy land

    I want china labor for my toys

    I want the Occidental transcript

    I'm the best

            because  I know money

    I'll  fight anyone and everyone

    I got the certificate

    barack is incompetent, a communist

    watch my show

    for my decision

goodfellas for the country club trash

the cheater shunned in the lockers

loudest drunk in the casino

wife sold

daughter for hire

send your taxes to

cousin reggie

Burgundy ran down the inside of the glass. The telephone booth's pane was broken at the waist with a jagged edge across.  Fluid dripped from its points as if drooling down its chin.  She walked slowly toward the dark box, curiosity leading her forward against  fear.  Something  like a dark bag  could be seen through the lower half of the panes.  It was as much fear of blame as fear of harm that raced her heart.

Walking steadily she remembered a black and white where the heroine is near a river not looking at the water on the right.  The audience saw the quick glistening movement but the victim did not.  There was no music now.

The phone rang--long, almost a melody.  She turned her eyes from the bag which now had a grey beret.  Blood trailed from the glass down.  Much more than originally seen.   Smears of red dirt stained the glass.

She remembered a tune sung when she was four,

      Snails leave trails

          i wonder where

          the fox goes down

          to lunch with the hare

She heard a car brake and park across the street behind her.  She was too scared too look away from the bag.  The phone continued ringing-- fifteen long alarms.

Stepping to the glass she looked down. It was too dark without the light.

        "Can you please hang it up?"

A man's heavy steps came to the sidewalk behind her.   The voice below was harmless in its desperation.  She picked the phone from its hook and dropped it there.  As if in response to the silence the light inside the booth flickered and came on.

        "Oh the light!"

The light was bright, white.  Her nails looked yellow although painted pink.  A firm male voice said from behind her neck,

        "I need to use the  phone, excuse me."

A suited arm behind reached through the broken pane, dropped a quarter and dime, and punched a number.  Reality broke mystery and she realized the bag was a fallen man.  She retreated walking quickly toward her home several doors away.  Her alert ear heard the phone replaced on its hook, then three well spaced shots.   The last sounded as the door closed behind her stepping onto the pale blue carpet of the family living  room.  On a wall were three coachmen candelabras.

1998                                        

It was dark and had rained.

The moon black for 3 days.

He walked  in  his hard shoes down the shiny carbon street and felt the wind from his left.

A deep quiet he could  float in.

There were birds in trees, squirrels locked tight in sleep and cats watching from their chins.

The bugs were even down, the ants quiet underground, still lifes with only their

wands swaying the air under the moist dirt.

There was too much to say. He could feel it, think it all, yet there was more.

Stars above with their strange planets of stranger bugs, critters and thinkers. Thinking of him as he thought of them.

Out there but all were in this. Even the dirt with the microbes and bacteria eating, excreting and exhaling.

Sure he was alone.

september 30.05

http://www.youtube.com/user/Zarataphs?blend=23&ob=5#p/u/27/i0xFy-6prV0

mind from matter

heavier than thought

waves in a vacuum sea

accelerating

in complexity

toward entropy

man is everlastingly in search of an object outside himself

                    but this object answers the innerness of the desire

free

smoking

topped with violet fog

i who pierced the reddening sky

like a wall

bearing delicious jam

for good poets

lichens of sunlight and mucus of azure

spotted with small electric moons

a wild plank escorted by black seahorses

when julys beat down with blows of cudgels

the ultramarine skies with burning funnels;

i who trembled, hearing at fifty leagues off

the moaning of the behemoths in heat

and the thick maelstroms

i eternal spinner of the blue immobility

miss europe with its ancient parapets

i have seen sidereal archipelagos! and islands

whose delirious skies are open to the sea-wanderer

is it in these bottomless nights

that you sleep and exile yourself,

million golden birds

o future vigor

but in truth i have wept too much!

dawns are heartbreaking

every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter

acrid love has swollen me

with intoxicating torpor--o let my keel burst!

o let me go into the sea!

if i want a water of europe,

it is the black cold puddle

where in the sweet-smelling twilight

a squatting child full of sadness releases

a boat as fragile as a may butterfly

je ne puis plus baigne

de vos langueurs

o lames

enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons,

in traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes,

in nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons

            arthur @  17

democracy was good to keep from killing each other

now that we're not ignorant

killing another is killing yourself

we don't need to worry about that

we can form a unit

the best  possible

and evolve that

we are not identity but organization

that is how we agree

what is fair and

permitted

There is a plenum - recent experiments in quantum physics tend to back this up - a holographic plenum of information. All information is everywhere. Information that is not here is nowhere. Information stands outside of time in a kind of eternity - an eternity that does not have a temporal existence about which one may say, "It always existed." It does not have temporal duration of any sort. It is eternity.

We are not primarily biological, with mind emerging as a kind of iridescence, a kind of epiphenomenon at the higher levels of organization of biology. We are hyperspatial objects of some sort that cast a shadow into matter. The shadow in matter is our physical organism.

At death, the thing that casts the shadow withdraws, and metabolism ceases. Material form breaks down; it ceases to be a dissipative structure in a very localized area, sustained against entropy by cycling material in, extracting energy, and expelling waste. But the form that ordered it is not affected.

One is a projection of a holographic solid-state matrix that is microminiaturized, superconducting, and nowhere to be found: it is part of the plenum.

The transition from earth to space will be a staggeringly tight genetic filter, a much tighter filter than any previous frontier has ever been, including the genetic and demographic filter represented by the colonization of the New World. It has been said that the vitality of the Americas is due to the fact that only the dreamers and the pioneers and the fanatics made the trip across. This will be even more true of the transition to space. The technological conquest of space will set the stage; then, for the internalization of that metaphor, it will bring the conquest of inner space and the collapse of the state vectors associated with this technology deployed in Newtonian space. Then the human species will have become more than dirigible.

A technology that would internalize the body and exteriorize the soul will develop parallel to the move to space.

That tool is the flying saucer, or the soul, exteriorized in three-dimensional space

                                                      alex & terence

Here for the first few months Herbert lived at large and strayed at will, being somewhat spoilt by his friends.  Lord Wariston carried his wife to town for a month or two leaving him under the nominal care of the parish clergyman, a man meeker than Moses who taught him riding on the meekest of steeds.  As to work he put him through none and the boy fell upon the Ensdon Library shelves with miscellaneous voracity, reading various books desirable and otherwise, swallowing a nameless quantity of English and French verse and fiction.  Being by nature idle and excitable he made himself infinite small diversions out of the days work and was by no means oppressed by the sense of compelled inaction. Well broken in to solitude  and sensitive of all outward things, he found life and pleasure enough in the gardens and woods, the downs and the beach.  Small sights and sounds excited and satisfied him; his mind was as yet more impressible than capacious, his senses more retentive than his thoughts. Water and wind and darkness and light made friends with him; he went among beautiful things without wonder or fear. For months he lived and grew on like an animal or a fruit: and things seemed to deal with him as with one  of these; earth set herself to caress and amuse him; air blew and rain fell and leaves changed to his great delight.  Reading and riding and wandering he felt no want in life.

For places rather than persons he had a violent and blind affection.  Small pools in the pouring stream roofed with noiseless leaves out of the winds way; hot hollows of short grass in the slanting down, shaped like cups for the sun to fill; higher places where the hill-streams began among patches of reeds, extorting from the moist moorland a little life; dry corners of crag whence the light trees had sprung out of the lean soil, shadowing narrow brown nooks and ledges of burnt-up turf slippery with the warm dust of arid lands; all these attracted and retained him; but less  than the lower parts about the sea.

In a few months time he could have gone blindfold over miles of beach.  All the hollows of the cliffs and all the curves of the sand-hills were friendly to his feet.  The long reefs that rang with returning waves and flashed with ebbing ripples; the smooth slopes of coloured rock full of small brilliant lakes that fed and saved from sunburning their anchored fleets of flowers, yellower lilies and redder roses of the sea; the sharp and fine sea mosses, fruitful of grey blossom, fervent with blue and golden bloom, with soft spear heads and blades brighter than fire; the lovely heavy motion of the stronger rock-rooted weeds, with all their weight afloat in languid water, splendid and supine; the broad bands of metallic light girdling the greyer flats and swaying levels of sea without a wave; all the enormous graces and immeasurable beauties that go with its sacred strength; the sharp delicate air about it, like breath from its nostrils and lips of its especial and gracious god; the hard sand inlaid with dry and luminous brine; the shuddering shades of sudden colour woven by the light with the water for  some remote golden mile or two reaching from dusk to dusk under the sun; shot through with faint and fierce lustres that shiver and shift; and over all a fresher and sweeeter heaven than is seen inland by any weather; drew his heart back day after day and satisfied it.  Here among the reefs he ran riot, skirting with light quick feet the edge of the running ripple, laughing with love when the fleeter foam caught them up, skimming the mobile fringe that murmured and fluttered  and fell, gathering up with gladdened ears all the fervent sighs and whispers of the tender water, all delicate sounds of washing and wandering waves, all sweet and suppressed semitones of light music struck out of shingle or sand by the faint extended fingers of foam and tired eager lips of yielding sea that touch the soft mutable limit of their life, to recede in extremity and exhaustion.  At other times he would set his face seaward and feed his eyes for hours on the fruitless floating fields of wan green water, fairer than all spring meadows or summer gardens, till the soul of the sea entered him and filled him with fleshly  pleasure and the pride of life.

                                                                                              swinburne 1866

merienda des flores

most popular ever

sex

sex girls car sport

christ death vacation

now america

howbout instead

deathcab

you are a tourist

i hope

leaving next weekend

UNIVERSE THEOREM

EVERYTHING IS ORDINARY NOTHING IS UNIQUE

watching the computer

seeing it mistake choose wrong

its never the challenge or environment

of the computer you're interested in

its the seemingly random  logic

which acts better than half the time

which is extraordinary

and an ancient step for mind

fifty years ago

new mind

new thoughts

new rules

our

infant barbarian stages

of digital mind history

may be derided by later sophistes

              sundry masturbatory formats

              where each was fluttered

              without anything occurring

              various computer extrusions

              pokes thumbs favors likes 
              which by limitation

              told what to say to others

stay bent

what is it costing me in anxiety

worrying about this unthinking phone

i obsess more about its safety

than any other part of me, ever

life,  thinking without it

would be such a step back

if I don't have the whole world

in conversation

right there

i am truly alone

thats the way it looks when I go to heaven

thats the way it looks when I go to heaven

they say its like softness there

they say its like land

they say its like day

they say its like dew

on the principal ones table

a book appeared

an open book

that went on growing

until it was the size

of a person

in its pages there were letters

it was a white book

so white it was resplendent

one of the principal ones

spoke to me and said

maria sabina

this is the book of  wisdom

it is the book of language

everything that is written

in it is for you

the book is yours

take it so you can work

i explained with emotion

that is for me

i receive it

silver lipstick

in london town

bass ambiguities

boats creaking

horns mourning

in a muffled fog

cruising smooth

The St. John's River is one of the most picturesque and beautiful streams in the world. Its bluffs

never rise higher than fifty or sixty feet; it has no abrupt precipices; the whole formation about it is tertiary

and drift or modern terrace; but its first eighty miles from its mouth are broad as a bay of the sea,

and its narrow upper course above Pilatka, where current supersedes tide, is all one dream of Eden,

- an infinitely tortuous avenue, peopled with myriads of beautiful wild-birds,

roofed by over-hanging branches of oak, magnolia, and cypress,

draped with the moss that tones down those solitudes into a sort of day-moonlight,

and, in the greatest contrast with this, festooned by the lavish clusters of odorous yellow jasmine and many-hued morning-glory,

- the latter making a pillar heavy with triumphal wreaths of every old stump along the plashy brink,

- the former swinging from tree-top to tree-top to knit the whole tropic wilderness into a tangle of emerald chains,

drooping lamps of golden fire, and censers of bewildering fragrance.

fitz hugh

yes!!!!

in the old days almost everyone

was psychotic

the most punishing

were the anal neurotics

who crushed difference

the good news is the tubes will last

beyond our memory

facing the final noon

without knowing

for feeling

for the monkey

that place

where you

could speak to animals

because all was certainty

in what you knew

you ran through the checklist

of known emotion displays

and figured out where

everyone was going

not so easy now