Arnold was a farmer living on the outskirts of Glastonbury. It was a family business and he had grown up working on the farm nearly every day of his life. Sometimes, when he was a young boy, unusual huge circles used to appear in the crops. His Father would rush out to try and straighten them out, sometimes taking days, sometimes it wasn’t even possible to save them.
I don't know about any of you out there, but I'm afraid to die. I wish I could be like all the other young adults in my life who claim they aren't afraid to die, or the many more who don't really think it will happen (well, I'd rather not be them, but it would make things a lot easier. I suppose the most important aspects/experiences of life aren't by any means easy).
He’s
seen us
trade our stars for bucks
and for entertainment,
tonight
Our Steinbeck’s for Situations
Our Bukowski’s for bukakkes
Our Rumi’s for more room
Our Watt’s for more watts
Our philosophies for aristocracy
Our sovereignty for our security
Our security for our sanity
Our sanity for our vanity
Our dignity for our destruction
The KEY, the very SEED of AWAKENING that eventually blossoms into REMEMBERING why we have come here, to this heavy chemical climate, blinded by the Law of Confusion, Master Cycle near it's end; is a mathematical equation - the binary triplet configuration - that an ancient spark provides, to a confused and weary traveler, through this illusion of the mind.....>
My feelings are like
felines
That devour the totality of the truth of my being
Regurgitating things that feel like they're lying
To my one true self
Still eye need
Still eye want
The seeds are sown, slowly groan
Guarded by the avant in poem
So my Friday is painted Black
Ammunition for my inhibitions
Seeking salvation on a shelf
Best Buy sells the best lies
WORDS
Words are a bridge- a linguistic span,
a structure to convey the vessels
that private thoughts set a sail,
between mortal personifications,
of a light family to us unknown.
A necessity for cohabitation
of our spinning blue green home-
shape shifting and ever changing,
each utterance a life of its own.
The point has been made very clear and proven by those that dared to try,
to be students of the Constitution, denounce US birthright, travel to the Hague,
receive apostilles of status as sovereign diplomats, become documented expatriates, jurisdiction undefined.
Fate isn’t a pre-written script,
it is an intricate fractal expression of a Fibbonaci equation.
a wave birthed by original paradox,
the rise and fall of civilizations & species, races & cultures
are the three dimensional expression of the original binary expression.
History travels the double helix,
the human genome becomes self aware,
A plan was devised
in bodies of light
roadsigns of vibration
hints of resonance that might
touch our heart or
shock our body
still our mind
steer a course
to the people that we live with
in a past and future course
Our family of light eternal
but we have so much to do
we must first find each other
and by chance if we know what to do
We will learn and grow together
Today is a coca-cola day,
a fizzy, Pop! Pop! Pop! Soda sippin’ shine day,
an empty bottle turned water weapon,
a water weapon turned for thirst quenchin’,
ice cream dreams drip down the dog day lips,
yummm!
finger-licking sounds as the truck sings its sweets and then banana-splits!
The following essay is the introduction to the first Supraterranean e-book, "Seeking the Upward Spiral" – a collection of early works by Nick Meador. The e-book is available as a PDF on the Books page via a "pay what you want" system.
I'd like to offer a retort to an essay by Virginia Heffernan from the New York Times Sunday Magazine on 5/17/10, entitled "The Death of the Open Web." It seemed relevant to me because the
When the waters came we were sitting,
On your dry front porch,
Watching the remaining embers of the greedy fire-swept city,
Die away;
The columns of smoke turned white as the poisonous, salty, and chilling tide blanketed the coals of what use to be a bright and busy boardwalk,
Full of blissful people;
Our view from your industrial home,
Today was a slow day,
not slow-core but slow shoes,
and not shoe-gazin' but hazy daydreamin'.
today was postponed but i was not alone,
and the lonely guitars screamed, but,
it was not screamo,
the vibrations commanded the rocks to sing out in his name,
but the pedals pushed out a post-rock praise and revealed a silent shame.
"Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we have been waiting for." — Hopi elders
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