Tuesday, 22 February 2011

unresistance. under sun. under flower

There will be a day. there will. a day for all of us, all of us! a day when the sun shines upon us and the clouds then gather right as our skin begins to feel the burn, and the water will lightly tumble from the mist and soothe us all over.

All over. Soothe us all over. The rain, gentle rain coming down, yes. A day like the one that followed yesterday. A day like the one before tomorrow. A day like today and just that simple. Not simple like ignorance, simple like a tree. The mighty channel and conduit between earth and air. That which pulls the water up from the earth and returns it to the air. That which turns the carbon dioxide to oxygen for our delicate lungs to inhale. Our delicate selves. Our delicateness.

And what will we know but that we walk among the trees and they are still and silent? What shall we understand other than that they, the trees, are really there for us? And not to climb and sway in the colorado rockies high up above a place where we trust. We had that trust once, we let the trees be like homes, naturally so, we made homes in trees. Now we make homes of trees. No matter. No right, no wrong. Only what is. Only what is. Come back now from what was and why what was, was. Come back now! From what might be, if, and could be, supposing. Sharply i say, come back now! no, not just you, but i swear me! This is no character assassination. This is self-preservation. In rare form.

Rare form! yes. Cause i dont tend to talk this way, i dont tend to act this way. I just happen to write this way. Yes. Its conscious and then its channeled, and its not for anyone to worry what it was, is, or will be. Only to read on and leave these words each of them in the fucking dust hey! I say! My eyes are bulging, my veins are in relief. I am in some sweet zone. It feels calm and centered yet i know its the eye of my storm, thats all you will experience. Cause thats what the might pen imparts at best. The eye of the storm. You know youre in the thick of a hell raising unseasonal monstrosity and massacre. You fear as sentients do. And yet you are maybe sitting back comfortably or forward, as sentients tend to lean. Anything perfectly straight up and down up and down, is either in drill or acting or inhuman! The fear, you see, to spot a computer who masquerades in the near future as human to the impoverished relativity of sentient eyesight.

 Thank god they underestimated you. Thank god and godesses! you know! you know through more much more than ocular instant messaging! you know through heart! through soul, through senses beyond their ability to adjust and tweak, intuitive knowing! for which empirically they still scractch heads. how to gauge and control? and this variable to measure, still they seek!

Still the ship leaks, as we madly tighten screws against the onslaught. We never thought liquid could be so brutal, when we poured it into our champagne flutes from a crystal spout shipped straight from Prague, in the days of generation federation X and great rising consequence from sex without the plastic. The polyurethane era. The plastic people. Life without plastic had become dangerous, unknown! Plastic replaced even the metal and glass that surrounded us on rubber michelin. Plastic out of which we drank, fucked, and saw the world. Plastic in which we carried all our weight. Plastic which blew up and around us in down draughts in new york city. Plastic in which we preserved our foods. And covered our ears so to hear sound. Covered body to keep the rain out.

And yet the liquid onslaught was upon us and we knew it. Dripping rusty roads resurfaced as downpour of demands abysynnian, algerian, tunisian, and more. Fallen into disorder, out of polite contrite detached cold satellite living. Into a mesh of sweat and tears and mingled voices crying swearing cursing out the blunt affects of basic monarchs (in game if not name) who made their beds unconsciously, yet will awaken to having to lie down again so. so! so sad. so wonderful. sold to the lowest bidder. Sold off and thrown off of the great rising sentiment of social science, unpredictable and misunderstood!

There will be a night of making love! Great lovemaking for all of us birds without nests, without limits, under duress. As private or public as you wish. This fornication of new unexpected creations of nations. Across the land! across the sand! and As (or as not) you wish.

There will be hands held down low and in the air. Will be? There are and have been! Its all here with us now! Past, present and future! When time folds like this...when time folds...

There will be an adrenaline rush that lasts for many golden minutes seem like hours. There has been! There will be a moment of captured empowerment...there will be

A moment of divine devoured.
Of rapes unresisted.
Of cessation of
cease and
desisted

In the wake of such
 global- juicy- resistance
the strange pull
the
lamentations
the apparitions...
 the
unresisted

under sun
under flower