Yellow stripes with wings flying black intentions
Stinger pointed to make a landing
Swarming masses of sweat attract
a hot Summer day
Sitting or standing
some run flailing vocals as cast would bring
relief
when night comes in flight
stars riding, meteors sliding, a moon immune
with healing throbs reminding
until the Sun returns with foraging hoards
then
shadows around
buzzing
sounding time
seeing the air alive.
Profiling.
Politics.
Religion.
Bias.
…
Ah yes, so many ‘words’.
WordPress.com, poetrycircle, Yahoo, Google, Facebook… So much shit with algorithm(ic) control.
Google wanders behind you while you wander the web. Type the ‘key’ word and you’re shuffled into a pie of many flavors. Type the ‘correct’ word and you’re the cream on the top. Type the ‘incorrect’ word and you’re beneath the crust next to the mouse shit.
Are you a vegetable or victim?
Obviously you can read thus are of the age of some form of intellect. And ‘probably’ you’re well aware of what you are; likes, passions, hates, dislikes, hobbies, etc…
If another is not like you and writes words or say words contrary to your beliefs until you start to feel ‘uncomfortable’ you then wear the cloak of victim.
I laugh at such shit. You’re all victims AND vegetables… just food waiting for time to consume you. Now, time is an aloof beast. It comes and goes as it wills. It cares not if you’re a Muslim planning the overthrow the world of Infidels, or if you’re a woman who possesses the greatest beauty of all time (soon to be consumed) or the strongest man ever (soon to rot into dust) Time is and always has been, the ultimate control… except, there are some examples where Time is the victim and thus a vegetable.
Have you ever played with time as if it were taffy on the tongue or sand shifting through the fingers? Of course not. That’s because you’re a vegetable and victim.
So, what’s the point of this writing? The answer is: Not a damn thing as you can’t understand. And for those that think they understand, you’re not human… And if you’re not human, then what are you? A victim? A vegetable? An illusion?
Wars. Debate. Science. All whims of fancy from Time. Playtoys. Seeds of reality. A garden crop of humanity with constant rotations of harvest… Perfect!
However, in all sincerity. I will never be a victim or vegetable. I will continue to laugh at humans and their pursuit of frivolous follies… And as for Time? Ha! I make Time my bitch, my slave, (my as in a ‘word’ fitting for your understanding, not mine) Time is a horse to be ridden, to be a tool. Time is not a prison for me nor can it destroy me.
***
Time……………………………………………………………………..did you see the beginning…………………..or was it the end(?)…………………………………………………………….What filled between between now………………………………………………………………and then(?)…………………………………..(silence)………of course……………………………a course…………………….a………………….journey………………Travel………this………………..a…………path of time…..//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////wait now……….\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\trying to box such a thing, a monster such as I ============================in(/)(|)()\\||()?
(now, imagine the pictures that have unfolded in just the short ‘time’ this has been written)
A cage it is then………………………………Time………………………Tick…………..Tock……………………Tick……….only what holds the handle to the cage if there is only One hand? () and to this then, I bend my knee as only God controls such and in doing so, controls me.
Food chain. A simple term to title the constant struggle for creatures to consume other biologic’s in the quest for sustainability.
Algae, plankton, fish, birds, humans… A variety indeed of so many creatures dependent on so many creatures.
Humans do and have eaten other humans. Ants eat ants. Birds eat birds. An epic smorgasbord of consume and be consumed.
Yesterday, a small hawk that preys on small prey to include small birds watched me while I watched him sit on an electric wire…hunting. My placement of bird feeders makes it hard on such a hawk whereas if I had placed them in the open, there would be great opportunity for him. But, there are always those opportunities for such a tenacious hunter.
Anyway, the hawk gave me a gift as it took flight; dropping a beautiful feather that spiraled and scattered four dimensions as it traveled.
Normally I grab them out of the air before hitting the ground but this feather needed to complete the chain, binding the sky to the ground, and now it is as it should be… inspirational indeed.
***
Walking the surface of water rests the balance of feet and defeat
Life it is said , where there is
beginning
end
At the surface there is up, up to where the clouds never end
At the surface there is down, down below where what can not be seen and never ends
Balance again
static
calm
until the waters roil
and then?
A babies cry be it bird, beast, or man
A fish hatched to swim the surface
A insect formed to be
A plant sprouting
all to try the balance of travel in a waking world
in a way, trying to understand.
And why?
Why try?
Why be?
Maybe because the balance needed is needed as it is hard to stand?
i have journeyed high above the clouds, traveled far, far, far below the lands
Going full circle to places beyond imagination
hearing
feeling
seeing
being
learning
teaching
as to what i am is, it is
of no importance… a body, thought, existence consisting
of Wind.
I once heard the question, “Would you rather lose your sight or sense of hearing?” There is supposed to be a ‘right’ answer. Of course I chose the other answer.
Questions of rhetorical queries are just that; a means of using history, personal experience, and personal logic to find solutions and answers to satisfy the curiosity.
The above two paragraphs set the stage for the title of tonight’s rambling and question, “What is more powerful, pictures or print?”
Notice that I used the word, ‘powerful’ over other adjectives, verbs, nouns. Powerful.
Sure, a picture of sex lights up the mind while words written regarding sex… boring, boring, boring… Yet the obvious before our eyes is tempting to vote for while completely forgetting something that sets homo sapiens apart from the millions of other creatures with eyes… that being, the ability to write in a language of common.
And, if you happen to be atheist, agnostic, or believe in God, here is another question, “If everyone currently alive on this planet (mostly) have read or’ heard’ of God, and many believing the words in a book… Is that proof the print is much more powerful than pictures of a deity, a picture that does not exist? Imagine the power of print that leads to belief and faith. War fought over such beliefs. And yet amuse ourselves with the power of kitten videos.
***
Words
Set in stone while stones erode away
turning to sand
flowing to a beach
to join an ocean of eternity
Sounded or read, the mind accepts
the blind see
the caves present
around a fire words paint of picture of history
To say, “I hate you!” “I love you!” “I fell face down in a chocolate cake!”
write about a good time in a bathroom stall
vs
the pictures of past recordings
on the
television set.
readers form instant thoughts and opinions when reading anything from advertising to educational books. Interesting how the mind works. speed readers pick and choose the words as they cruise through whatever it is they read. slow readers or readers just learning to read think more on how to decipher the letters and make it a word than trying to understand the word read.
the following is some fun I enjoy. words in a soup mix. words jumbled and making a reader think and thus picture in their mind just what it is they are reading.
***
Crockery of the Bent Branch
Silken panties
Moist
Honey and chocolate
Canned tuna
worms
spoiled lettuce
Beach sand and latex
thong
bulging ball sack
Moldy bread
sodden newspaper
and if by chance the moon should fall
a jumbled mess
a catch of catfish and rye
sipped from a cardboard box
by the train tracks
of bliss
Youth grow and in growing try to make themselves a part of their world.
Indigenous cultures have/had traditions. For males/men, there were customs and rights-of-passage. For females/women, there were customs and rights-of-passage.
For thousands of years, the youth grew and made themselves a part of their world. In their struggles and journey their lives made them different.
Today, it is ‘different’. Society has/is fragmented. Cultures are degraded to the point of being vastly different. All aspects of life have become’ different’.
It could be stated that in today’s world, there is social evolution. That the various beliefs of people are making a ‘difference’. I say… Horseshit.
Youth of today have no real structure other than what is force fed them via the modern world of computers, television, school, politics, religions, and blah, blah, blah…
Today, youth want to be ‘different’. Pierce their dick as if it were some tribal right-of-passage. Pierce the nipple. Tattoo the buttocks, the face… Change sexual orientation. Anything to be ‘different’ when actually, the tragic comedy is, they’ve become drones of stupidity.
Not many will come even close to agreeing to what I write, that is because they are drones of some club or another. Some of those clubs could be considered stupid, some considered intelligent, but drones none-the-less, and no different than sand on the beach.
What the youth of indigenous are/were, that set them apart, far apart, and very, very, very, very, very, very, X a billion… different than the modern drone society. What was that difference that made them uniquely different? War. Death. Adversity. Survival.
Today, the drones are trying to be different in a way that makes absolutely no impact other than mental rubbish and boredom of similarity.
To take a life… ah, now that is different. To save a life of one that tried to take your life… that is extremely different. Peace… Ha! That is currently impossible for the human tribe as whole…
If your town was at war with a neighboring town, you’d be different. You would not concern yourself with changing your gender, piercing your clit, donating money to save a manatee… no, you’d learn the art of survival and war, and from that experience you’d change and become what you really are, and not what you want to be…
So, War is what brings difference. It is what makes people different.
And
Peace is what brings difference. It is what makes people different.
Again, humans are a primitive species with cultures of predictability, not strange to see, not hard to understand. Drones of stupidity when they are without war/conflict/survival. Special and different for a moment when embracing real peace. One day, it will be different but not for thousands if not millions… of year.
In the meantime, enjoy being a drone. Go play a video game. Yell at a political rival. Have sex with a goat. Whatever you think makes you different. For me, I’ll be sooooooo glad to be far, far, farrrrrrr, away from this mess.
Bumping along with riding wind and ruffled ambitions
There, down below, hillsides covered in fire
And there, up high, a falling star
All around the particles of life.
A bird flying backwards
A snake climbing the vine
Crickets demanding
Children smug and crying
Where does the trail end or begin if hobbled with the mantel of humanity
Circle path beaten into a canyon passed from life to life
Is this where the line starts?
End?
It matters not as the sound of laughing
ever the wind and cares
blowing, blowing, blowing,
this is my Life.
foggle
goot
mirrtle
bop.
and that is what you clicked on to read a bunch of shit.
Some say the day is just a day
A day
is
though it is
more
than just a day
Today was a day, some say, just another day
though
for me
today was indeed
a good day.
Robin Lipinski 