Sunday, February 28, 2010

Special

You're the only unique you.
How special your partial match.
Why partial?
Part of your heart must latch and lock with similar individuals by shared components.
You can't synch w/out a shared category with which to compare your measure.
Then what's different, distinct?
Things extinct soon as they're witnessed.
To even know them we must exist on the same plane.
In one dimension we're held in suspension.
If your singular aspect/s can't be conceived what relief is there from a sense of predestination, the feeling we're matching mechanisms?
What's the difference between a thing unobservable and a thing nonexistent?
Semi-quasi-non-sense-able things are proved real by their effects.
We neglect.
We can't help but ignore the unnoticeable.
What's the importance of aspects missed?
They're (if they are) you.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Indirect

Republics are bad for government and good for society. The more men are involved in deciding what's to be done the more the enaction of laws is retarded. Slowing government processes grants subjects more time to be efficient and prosper before the next stumbling block is placed at their feet. Similarly, shareholders are good for competition.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Implicit Overlords

No two men agree completely. In any country where one man legitimately claims power from another he'll counter and alter the policies and plans of the last ruler. When a line of rulers do not countermand one another's orders but instead build upon them, so the periods of their rule function as an agenda staged without interruption, it should be suspected that none of these men were the end of the nations hierarchy. Their rules acting not to waste resources by cutting off mobilizations midway but to heap more material towards old projects and pass more extreme laws than before indicate these rulers are in collusion. At the least there's some faction in the land that a succession of bosses would rather serve than antagonize. At the most the land has been under 1 rule for some time and the new faces proclaimed president are a changing of the guard to hide the master.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Camp Infiltration

When Americans were better they lent the Federalist party so little support it died. But its' corpse moved on and corrupted the Democrat-Republicans. The party split in two and both new factions were more pro-federal than before.
A problem in America's political system was that as no one's killed the wicked men moved from their sinking ship like rats. They brought the plague of federalism to the parties they joined. So where there was an anti-federalist party there became two federalist parties.
Likewise more recently this process repeated when conservatives became neo-cons. Warmongers in the Democrat's camp were ignored by their brethren, content to oppress their countrymen. So these warmongers broke into the Republican's house and now live there. So we've two Democratic parties. One which prefers hurting locals and one which prefers hurting foreigners.
When men set rules between themselves someone/s in the group is lying. The only rules to life are physical laws. When someone seems to cheat the game, like Clay in the corrupt bargain, he should be made to quite the game. No more political involvement for him under threat of death. But then we'd be back to settling everything by violence. Well, that state is the state of man. If good men don't kill evil men, evil men will kill good men. As Lincoln invaded the Confederacy (named for what America was before federalists like Washington, who lost most of his battles and promised soldiers the rest of America would pay them (no taxation w/out representation), took control of the gov.) and knocked the union from its' feet.
It's inevitable that the men w/the least integrity, who value the lives of their fellow man the least, will rule. They'll deal with anyone b/c they've no compunctions. They'll commit any abuse to ensure their power. Righteous men are handicapped by conscience. So long as they're the dominant in a group most men w/in the group will prosper, as man tends to prosper and left to his own devices will produce wealth. But wicked men will rob all others in a group as well they can and as more noses close with the grindstone men can no longer see the conflict between the kinder and meaner men who'd rule them. As more men become uninvolved in these conflicts the evil are left to destroy the good, the greatest obstacle to their perversion of labor.
I see no aversion to this pattern of development. For a man to kill he must become somewhat meaner. A man will not stay balanced. As he kills he'll harden, killing for less, minding death less, sympathizing less. So for the good to halt the progress of evil they must poison themselves and then some among them will act as the dispatched did. As the world has been united in one system of thieving (banking), subjugating more men to one rule than ever before, the collapse of this rule is unprecedented. It is larger than the bucking of any empire past. We can only vainly speculate on what we're in the midst of.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

linealأمة

A conquered people is marginalized. As it blends with the conquerors, peoples from further away see the ruling people and subjected people as one. The subsumed and dwindling subjugated become a quirk -a subculture- within the wider victorious culture. There's habit-drift: defining traits of the subjects join the practices of the masters and vice versa. Traditions are shared and connect people in an amalgam culture.
Take the name of any nation. Where did its' people come from? One assemblage of tribes conquered others. Both blend together until they forget the names of their clans. Borders are islands where enemy garrisons sit across from one another in an ocean of peoples.
Sometimes the newborn culture takes after its' father, the conqueror, and bears his name. Like Tsaritsyn became Stalingrad became Volgograd. Sometimes the amalgamation takes after its' mother, the subjected people/s, like England stayed English after the Norman Conquest.
A conquering people are carriers. They harbor fragments of other peoples' personalities in their psyche. Over time some fragments spread, transforming the host from the inside out. Like Romans became Greek then Christian.
People who know themselves to be a separate culture but don't know their ancestors ways have a tabula rasa to be iconates. Like America's freedmen buying clothes it'd take years to grow into.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Magesicle

He has magic hands
the magic touch
he exaggerates
a little much
saw the last dodo
ate it for lunch
made a clever promo
earned mucha mulla
taught Islam
before the Qu'ran
swam the Nile
dressed in style
bought a museum
to exhibit his art
there're many pieces
it hurt him to part with
the exhibit's width
could fit football stadiums
its' power source plutonium
this gallery cast its' shadow on NY
but he can't tell the location
of this great work
he prophesied Diana'd die
and every royal family
it's a fact y'all
the beauty of a lily
fades and ends surely
as a man's days
he tells us his wisdom
which is base and common
shares the stories
of many things he's seen
each is to his glory
as he figures
he led the 36th Infantry
in the American Civil War
but he doesn't talk yankee
and didn't mention it before
doesn't look too old
and though he talks of yore
won't tell his birthplace
only things he has done
sounds like he's been 'round
since the Earth was young
he invented electricity
but gets no credit
it's a form of wizardry
most haven't learned yet
I finally laugh
and call him liar
he lifts a staff
and forms fire
in his palm
lightning on his fingertips
and sings a psalm
which shakes the ground
with its' ancient sound
he turns and leaves
then I chase after
and 'mongst the leaves
find prank shop items
to make fake wonders
in the night I listen
catch no sight nor sound of him
and I believe.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Midlife

A life at parity with tragedy
ends on a ragged edge.
If a life's uplifting
it floats above grit from birth.

Cardinal Church (North East West South)

Pliant is the mind pickled in media porridge
pulse invitingly do the pores
information pours in
giving smell to the mind in brine
an invisible ephemeral scent dancing ascendant and descendant for a chance at delivering its' pheromone message
the wind winds from speaker to paper in people and screens
data pops mechanical and fleshy, digital and tangible
from Marrakesh to dirigibles and billboards the word spreads
a susceptible receptacle is the mind unfamiliar with proselytizing
prose is another part of a synthetic effigy
statues, idols, and icons are made to glorify beings separated by a degree or more from our perception
'cept folks forgot the reminder-representations created purpose and trusted them with devotion to things greater than man
like a rag read after it stops stalking your famous love interest
so what does this infrastructure resemble the form of?
does it or they consider our nightly attendance at the anchors' service praise or offense?
What do we owe for our works?

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Scaring Yourself Serious

In twig-split midnight sky I hear howls.
Pale yellow moon bathes the branches.
Yale campus soon dews and frost creeps across acorn, blade, and sidewalk.
Wind slides, turning shade light and back.
Students flip in layered sheets, chasing sleep in chill illumination.
Their souls jump the mind's track.
Scraps, hatred and sorrow leftover from murdered men.
They've lost their sense of name and when.
Spirits are dense as the swollen fog.
Quasi-voices scratch psyches enveloped in brows now moist.
Quality normality is sent far from foreheads soggy.
Squishy human anatomy feels the pressure.
Worlds, living and dead, press closer to amalgamation.
Wood moans and groans, beds send sleepwalkers to cool witching-hour-air.
Analog ambulation retraces the tread of folk long dead.
Fat faculty actively unearth locals' caskets.
Girls lose their maidenheads to a red-dressed hot mess of a man.
Youths' animus corrupt bodies through oils and allegiance to the oldest foe.
Robed men chant to bless el diablo.
Planets properly aligned, circles in wax and blood inscribed, pacts are made.
Powers of the fallen host toast the health of Anglos ignoring their better angels.
A cult carves shapes for sounds plain English can't produce.
Dug up embalmed puddles struggle to stand.
Slumbering mugs in local pajamas won't taste the morning's orange juice.
The cowled chanters and the powers reached a truce.
Vacant vessels are steered through waxblood circles for infernal use.
I wander, looking for my body, lost 'tween live and dead lands.

The Lie Never Experienced

Shake hands in a shaken cradle while shells crater the burning cities.
Making an armistice requires armed soldiers shooting citizens.
Policemen obey their captains like pirates charmed and sold on intimidation.
Bankers release no nations from debts and mutineers are taught regret.
Bandits cease raiding when they're colder than a disarmed NRA.
Thieves sneak food from farmers' yards, traveling far and working hard.
Every administration kills for a rumor. Where were you during the revolution?
Resentment or acceptance grow; both responses impoverish hearts of soothing lotion.
Love's a balm bombs turn to fuel, burning earnest optimists, would-be pacifists.
Whether or not the Bible's true one brother slew another in man's 2nd generation.
Very many are born straight slayers. Survivors convert to the movement.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Realize I'm the Prize

This drink has me think I'm happy.
These numbers say I'm wealthy.
My hand makes me feel sexy.
The shadows whisper I'm stealthy.
In an empty space I'm lonely.
With glasses I'm intelligent.
First time she's one and only.
A parade shows I'm magnificent.
Mustache and beard give me a wise face.
With a crowd I'm social.
Sympathy brings me to a nice place.
Pregnancy finds me emotional.
Death turns me numb.
When hope flees I chase.
Poverty leaves me some.
Worry instills idiocy.
Then I am dumb.
Together we are democracy.
Her body heats mine horny.
Moods' lances are sensory at the tourney.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Waterworks

Salty rhines, my cheeks are raw from tears,
brimming over heavy lids.
My still tongue tastes them.
An august end: yawning throat;
where light can't reach.
Mouth silent, closed.
Open are the reds of the eyes,
bright as flush cheeks brushed.
Every snuffling breath beats against a mucus membrane.
Air, stifled by leaks,
rushes upstream like horny salmon.
As crime from a ghetto,
lymph through the body,
bacteria overflow its' filters,
sinuses turned to foreign enemies,
slayers of the gate guards,
breeding in their homes,
rioting in the streets,
I leak, and leak then leak.