Conservative denial, dismissal and attempted cover up of obvious truths displays the Emperor’s New Close Minded Guise as fit for a Shadowed King, pulling (purse) strings, while the willing sheep (on their smiling way to slaughter) look up with delight at what they don’t see, and marvel at the stylish (as defined for them) substance of what isn’t theirs, instead of the less flashy naked truth held clothes to the vested treasure chest of mist communicreation paupersperity.  The corporate puppet masters slaver and drool at the carnage of society like coprophagiac rats in the basement of an out(sourced) house, willing, able and busily eating their own tale.

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This morning offers a re-pasture of my fielded desires in the buttered-syrup sun feeding my quick break fast to the plate, ready to serve up a hot one two out-ings in a row with all the battering rammed into well stacked imagery, as long as I spring enough May Pole sear ripping to tear my attentions astray for more. Don’t forget to complement and butter up the spread. The third time is charming, for sure. (I’m)personally Related, but obscured to Man dates of time (there’s no time like the present for whatever it is we might now be doing), unless you’re pie-eyed and paying attention in the other direction. Disjointed memory data holds a twelve step relapse program to ensure that nothing certain is changed and all else remains in flux, looking as good as a very thin pancake. Shear flattery. Food for thought: sounds like another morning meal to me (how lucky can I be?), as American as Ample Pie: Stupor Size Me. Thanks, that was good to the core, and now it’s done and I’m down to seeds and stems again, too. Sage advice needed. Supplicants may meditate and apply within.

 

With a refreshmentality of breath, cornered stones garden in the thresh of the afternoon as the day is reaped hour by hour into the evening harvest, to be bundled, sheaved and heaved upon the daily wagon to the hay barn of reminiscence and experience. Not unlike things that aren’t pancakes.

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Hot off the iceberg I land face first in the wall of the future like pancakes on a griddle ready to fry off the handle and stack up against what serves as fate around here, flat on the plait of this moment’s heady weave. It’s enough to make your head spin. Time to wake up (how does my hair look?) and smell the moment of Truth (lucky I showered): Breakfast. That’s news to me, let’s eat! Butter up the process and batter down the hatch. (Don’t forget to chew over your ruminations.) My personal taste of this episode holds forth that all mien are created equitably according to the individual strictures, idiosyncrasies and situations of the specific involved entity. Like snowflakes.

Like snowflakes? There are certainly enough of them out there today (I checked my window, just to make sure it works, and saw a variety of flakes littering the way-out premises), shouting cold tantrums in point and snoot heartless rapacity right toward the open perspective and decorum of that which is left from their bloviating. Enablers, sycophants, grovelers and stooges, they are all prim, proper and thoughtlessly adhering to the dictates of whichever way the fickle wind of corruption may blow to cover their insecurities, hard against reason and reality, stinging in the face of intelligent discourse, freezing the ability to engage in warming dialogue and burying themselves in piles of self-righteous indignation and false equivalency over the frozen grounds of moral hypocrisy and grift. Catch my drift? Snow foolin’.

The interactive weather reporting is like-minded in going down for the negative count and taking everything else with it. Voices gabber and blab indignation that anyone would be unable to see and believe the illusion of their foundational sway. Bundle up and chill. Dissemble, distract, defer and deny the undeniable as the unyielding lock-step zero effect has sway in swoon that rides the wave of polarized vortices and wind bags in the dark, for hot air can still blow cold in deep emotional fear put forth as misoneism and violent hyper-aversion to all that isn’t them. In the hidden shadows their freezing venom festers and collects, piling higher in sheltered corners, hidden from the panning view of warm sunlight in honest perspective and ethics, which tends to expose, melt and cake such in showing that it’s all wet. Who could gainsay a melted snowdrift that is a few drops short of a puddle? The louder they hold their ears shut the quieter their rationalized premise becomes. Lead on lackeyed adulators, logic and law here are dead to rights. Impeachy keen!

And that is food for thought on a cold December morning.

Chill Down

Free form falling into this worded moment as I prepare to divert to and engage in variations to communication within this particular format method toward observations, perspective and opinion. Nothing new there I suppose…Political Advice

If one would shine a light of truth to see others in an open, honest view, then such a light must shine to illuminate themselves out of their own darkness so that what they see is not through shaded vision.

A glib turn of phrase in red white and blue trim, gaily braided and looped snug around the neck of the poor and disenfranchised, to lift them up out of the misery of their pitiful lives and quiet the complaints.

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…and only because eternity led up to this moment.

Stepping Stone Feed

 

The fester children of karma bear no break in the claws that rend situational circumstances beyond what this mortal coil can handle, the grip of corruption lending a supporting role. Rock on and prosper. Crush grave with a somber wall of steaming iron working out the wrinkles of time and illusion while actually blind ambition is a loom in a mental skein of elemental misperception, knitting the motivating force of fear to insecurity, resulting in opportunistic, unsatisfying greed. Not yours: mind (over matter). As a hungry crocodile tears into his cups and drains the swamp of completion, the meet of the matter is torn limb from tree in the garden of strife, leaving little but a cross between culture and relations and nailed (like a tooth) harsh against the grim reality of obsessive gluttony being in charge of things. The wounds of society struggle to heel under the grinding ministrations of addictive hunger and consumption, wound tight around dead ends and live fronts on all sides, leaving little to hold on to, less strength with which to do it and bestowing inability to heal to face tomorrow once more. Nothing to cry over as long as there is something more which can be taken to feed.

What’s to eat around here?

Adrift on a Sea of Stone

It’s awe-fully deep to look into your lonely eyes,

The bright polish smudged and dusty yet still holding gaze like reality

To show the gleam is just light, and the smile more a smirk,

Jesting between the two as if they were in fact fact…

And what illusioned thoughts reach out in pointless space of distant regard?

I hold these truths to be self-implemented, reflecting what a glass can see of itself;

Where open and lonely truths hide their eyes from scrutiny and vision,

Tempting to avoid the hard nox in the heir of consequence,

Judging how actions correlate to your most fearful convictions:

What garnered truth is reflected in the moment’s glance?

You, who shines in disregard amidst the passing fancy’s of style,

And now see here to forthwrite honesty in the moment,

Just who it is you are dealing with and to whom you must reckon,

For the deep is more than skin and light can have or hold,

And opens toward the final regard in proprietary sentience,

For what you see is who you get, well before the eye’s consideration,

Where it’s your call to tell or heed what I myself can do in truth,

For the one who faces you is the one who faces me…

While the glass returns but naught…

 

Ensorceleyes no type

True compassion is caring about those you may not care for.

Medallion of Light

Medallion of Light

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