Saturday, August 29

Jazz duet: Asynchropated Transcription

floating on sound's wave 7 oclock PST

class 0 civilizations are not conducive
to long-distance travel, take 1 step
spread out 2, step-lightly at 3

blow up the tumble house
'cause the neighbors will see
and come jumping thru holes
to check what will be

you leap - maybe you fall or your wings
fall from you in sheets of fire
from one ball of light to another
i'd say with a silvery hue
a little of white and a little of blue....
the mela will shimmer in vuefinders too
as the glowing sannyasin have readers in tow.

a bit of the saint and a bit of the shrew
can only be possible just within you
eat pine nuts in toothpaste a real fine chew
but the crunchy ones hurt and tend to get spewed.

some kinda rub is that field in our face
when we take shots in blackness
that hide in the loft of your visionshort place
giving rebounded swimming instructions
floating in space will tumble us round
as that ball juggling all licks
our orange burnt blistered face

playing golf with moon might be hard on the fish
in layered formation a base facing four
might take flight under wars wing or
blocked with piecrust baked clear,
noses held hard eyes on full tear
as this inverted mirror is broken
shattered and scattered in dust!

heisenberg's called on the deutsches remand
can hardly hurt rocks crushing minds hard derailed.
the saucers and whirlies been advertised twice
once in dumb headed laughter another
one the other one clear in blind sight

occult fire eats curry and colors abound
while that scarred one shows rainbows
in hungry'd demand of the river of sounds
growing raucous and vibrant as one gets to grow.

Blowing whistles at the dark: acapella

To Those of you that Pose as Our voice:

Gentlewomen and gentlemen,
you are taking some of the last steps
you will ever be taking these days.
Mind closely where you place your toes.
This world is getting so much less willing
to give our place under sol to ruthlessly
mindless unconscionables. Our voices
are finding each others hearts in this
darkness you've spread as wake
in your passages towards irrelevance.

These steps you are edging towards
are those blind faltering ones so prevalent
in mad cows, an abrahamic-borne Creutzfeldt-Jakob
variance, an endemic spongiform
encephalopathy of sheep and goat herders, you see.
your father's fathers grand-get is no longer viable,
rational or fully a human variant it appears.
what with your ravenous consumption
of our own, the shortness of sight, the ears
which serve only, evidently, to hear your own
night-shredded gruntings of perversional delights,
your tongues hanging swollen and droolish,
snouts dripping with the feces lapped freely
out of wizened hatetainted unwise masters.

it has been too long, too terribly, terribly long,
since you and your offshot farrow of divisionary
squinch-eyed mutations diverged from our branched
vibrant family. we've tried - in our quiet ways, in our
rhythmically muted statements of caution, in our
fearful trickled-on exclamations of shock at your
willful deafness, in our rage-filling reactioned masses
to turn you from this cliff'd path you've chosen.
We cry tears of sorrow-laden hearts that we have failed.

sniff... sniff... sniff...

And though we will have insufficiently grieved,
and these tears for you dry in place on our faces,
and our snotcrusted sleeves get pulled up - we, as one,
in our twos and threes, in our tens and our hundreds,
in our mourning-draped millions, will come to excise
and cauterize your gangrenously dis-eased
communicabilites that are infecting this, our body,
that threaten this family of wholeness-seeking members
who are uniting in the dark-rending light now dawning.

Thank you for your efforts. you will make sure the lights
get turned fully on as you leave on your cycled way.
oh... and goodbye ... uh thanks for the object lesson
your passing leaves on our doorsteps, in our heads,
on our hearts... May your Bardo be brief.


Blowing whistles at the dark: duet

2, 4, 6, 8, so awfully close, it's not too late...

my dearest sweet Sibylline turk
bless you for your tireless work,
for the truths to be spoken through gags
placed, in our names, undercover of flags,
for the beating and tearing at those walls
built by those men whose shrunken balls
ride hidden up inside in fearful anticipations
of us in our millions reclaiming our nations.


For so many things Sibel start here:


and follow the trail of which she speaks down the rabbit hole to burrow through those fouled warrens...

and ask your self if it is pleased with your so-called self-named betters...

and if the answer is NO! feel free; join in the rising ragged roar of NO MORE!

* * *

You do good work Brad. Thank You.

PART 1 (appx. 51 mins) - Direct

PART 2 (appx. 35 mins) - Direct continues

PART 3 (appx. 17 mins) - Direct continues

PART 4 (appx. 43 mins) - Cross

PART 5 (appx. 54 mins) - Redirect & Recross
* * *

Monday, August 17

Songs in the Key of Light 3.2

TPTB: Too Predatory is Too Banal

Look smart! boys and girls. start practicing your dodo calls for the Long Savasana.
evolutions clock has run out on the too predatory, too banal niche you self-evolved for
which, if you could contemplate more than in free moments, should chill even you.

shame ain't it! you didn't figure it out however many hundreds?
thousands? of years ago you decided slavish specialization
in greed engorged excessiveness was any kind of good idea.

that's ok. you gave it your best shot... adios

even though you killed a lot of us along the way,

who didn't evolve down your particularly offensive deadend. we are a tolerant
and robust species and there might be some amongst us that will even miss you guys.
that wouldn't be me. the foulness within which you made your habitat
should have choked out your kind shortly after your chosen decision.

but just to show i've not somehow been tainted by your blood,
i'll offer to chant you through the Bardo. it may, for you, be a somewhat
longer journey than say Genghis or Adolf, but as he was one of your minions
he, like you, no longer count... probably wouldn't surprise me if Genghis was too.

Oh, and just so you'll know, we plan on making the last revisionist change to
history ever in memory of your passing. the stories of your kind will be part,
the cautionary part of course, of the instruction of children.

The Powers That Be will forever more be known as
The Powers That Bent...


Songs in the Key of Light 3.1

Check balancing :Blowing whistles at the dark

those poor soon to be unselected officials in
congress have bowed to the floor once again to
those masterfull clowns with more money than sense
and whose functional shelf life is now down two-tenths.

don't worry on whether the doors have been shut
or anyone notice your lines have been cut
the reason you're landing so hard on your butt
is not learning before not to act such a slut.

an apology to most women and some of the men
for those few hundred in the domed house who sold out and then
while we blinked at such bidness took bets at the tables
on wall st without slowing down just because they were able.

(Only, them and their owners slew that one so long ago
that any connection has fallen away in the minds they have slowed
and the twisted thing is - honest able took a fall
so his brother's old cronies could gather it all.)

you only have short times left before we next choose
if you fall to the street or get out on a boat with a couple of clues,
i'd urge you to shake off that hold on your throat,
forget about jetplanes, stop being such weaselly stoats.

the people have spoken, you just will not hear that
your being for sale is not anywhere near what
the terms of the deal was! did we not make ourselves clear
you were there for OUR benefit not yours... you got to steer.

soon all of your troubles will fade clean away
just like you did with our semi-nostaligic 401k
which you gave to those bloodsucks without batting a lash
while YOUR socialist health care got paid by our cash.

you must fail to appreciate all our simpler ways
from behind those cold eyes you use during the day
as you count up the checks you've put out for today
and watch our most intimate lives as you sit there and play.

well we hope you've had fun and we sure hope it was real
as the time shared on our end has been quite an ordeal.
oh, maybe the Too Predatory is Too Banal for you but i hear
they'll be needing some guards at the gates of their fears.


Songs in the Key of Light 2.7

The “See it – Sing it” Suite

to be a mirror in the face of fear issued hate

to give back to the mind that will open too late

to go deep in with the out our novel mandate

one only must polish that self carried slate.

if no one is left the stars will not cry

they’ll yet shine on bare rock in midsummer night’s sky

the path is still trod with it’s own reasons why

in situ or vivo or other worldline that energies fly.

darkness is deathly afraid of the light

as it shows it be mere thin shadow we fight

not substantial outposts of terrible night

and it scatters like moths scared in our sight.

evolution’s monkey has grown out of its past

and now stands tall as waves of incredible mass

breaking on false shores we now know won’t last

water-age blindness a curse we’ve just passed…

into the heat of the new forge’s fire

ceaselessly climbing to this cycle’s spire

our mission to work in groupings entire

as the turn of the wheel goes on spiralling higher.


Thursday, August 13

an offering to universe...

a serious dog and his jerry beared bud

Shorter Chip: truck riding dog that has evoked many comments, among which was "He's such a serious dog." i've always been a little too proud of that one made by Chip's 'dam grandmother'...

pride goeth before this fall

iam just about positive now about coincidence ...
or deja whathaVeyoU, or synchronificance or what
if it's entanglement. and detrained entrapment is the far poll
coming fast, and oh so hot, but
with clarity and resolve and steadfastness, as if true
the stories told us of Great Men, cut
from whole cloth that now, ignobly worn to tatters,
their airs are to be opened, eviscerated
and finally shut.


Wednesday, August 5

quicksilver'd mentation...

the structures one perceives are nothing more than energetic interactions between the 'world' centered focus point and that point in consciousness that is the awareness perceiving it.

i put Korzybski's General Semantics so-called quotes around 'world' to indicate that there is no separation between that which is apparently perceived and that which is apparently perceiving. (the single quote gives visual aid in distinguishing some 'thing' which exists only as an abstraction from this energetic stew in which we are hopefully aware and for which there exists no referent.)

it may seem iam making an unprovable statement, but that would be so only if energy, and any of it's inexhaustible form, were capable of existing in a solitary and fully discrete state. that is very provably untrue. the act of quantification (fuller comprehension of qualities and characteristics - 'flavors') negates a 'separate' existence of that undergoing quantification. the very act of 'observing' merely increases the field of conscious awareness 'in play' bringing that under 'observation' into that which is 'observing' and seemingly giving it a 'separate' existence.

getting one's self overwrought, or even merely wrought, about this 'thing' or that 'situation' or some other 'person' is akin to becoming obsessed with that one little hair on the back of your head that grew at a faster rate than others and insists! on poking out orthogonally as you handcomb your hair snagging on the dehydrated, wind-chapped and cracked skin of your fingertip. that damn hair is part of you. you can grab it and pull, or cut it off, or shave your whole head in a fit of pique, but it is still part of you.


Reality cannot be found except in One single source, because of the interconnection of all things with one another. ... I do not conceive of any reality at all as without genuine unity. ... I maintain also that substances, whether material or immaterial, cannot be conceived in their bare essence without any activity, activity being of the essence of substance in general.
(Gottfried Leibniz, 1646 - 1716)