Eye C U

WHYYYYY
whyyyyyyy
...?
MMmm
MMMM...

From worlds apart the Gaels could see each other
Their fathers lamented to witness such a separation
Whereby the mighty nations of Men were given force
On the Battlefield of a beautiful green-eyed lady
Knowledge for the warriors of ages... is gained in rememberance.

You think The Welsh can do better than that?
Angels can see through time...

MEN OF HARLECK
STOP YOUR DREAMING
CAN'T YOU SEE OUR SPEAR POINTS GLEAMING/

SEE THEIR WARRIOR BANNERS' STREAMING
TO THIS BATTLEFIELD

MEN OF HARLECK
STAND YE STEADY
THIS AND ALWAYS EVER REDDING
FOR THE BATTLE EVER READY...

WELSHMEN SHALL NOT YIELD.

MEN OF HARLECK COME TO GLORY
THIS WILL EVER BE YOUR STORY
SEE THE BROTHERS THERE BE FORE ME...
FRENCHMEN SHALL NOT YIELD.

BEAT BEAT BEAT

MEN OF HARLECK
STAND YE STEADY
IN THE COUNTRY
EVER READY
TO OUR LADY'S
GALLANT HEAD WE
MARCH LONG TO THE FIELD

ATTACK

FOR THE HILLS WE'RE BOUNDING
EVERY HALL SURROUNDING
HONORED FOR THE VALIANT CALL
WE HEAR YOUR VOICES RESOUNDING

MEN OF HARLECK COME TOGETHER
THIS WILL ALWAYS GUARD YOUR LEATHER

PURPLE BANNERS, ROYAL FEATHERS

ANGLEAND TO US YIELDS.

The Guardian of Earth
Is promised to Men
Who honor the Ainu.

A MAN BENDS GREATLY HIS BRANCHES TO FEED THE HUNGRY

I hate being Aku...

SONG OF MAN

-

Since the death last night

She did not drink So Lonely

The pain was evident on his face

I saw him for painting

Through the ages

IT is racing a fool I wrote what I look painful

Can only come from a deep loneliness

DN LONG

It is already there to leave

Sound but I had to SHOW

Bring in my arms, wrapped around a small

Return it, I could not go far

Sense of seed money is still dancing on the fingertips

She returned the gesture even though I know she has always felt, I felt nothing

They NEVER AGAINST like all my FOCUS press lightly on my lips cursed, WAS

The clavicle, I broke the same excruciating pain as a child

OH! And I remember now is the same as not being with her

It's just a little, I know the joy of his

Pleasure for many distress sense UNDEAD

He would lose a moment of my time

Due to the neck of many MA MAIN Ive still can forget their skills

Wound healing and is

STILL bottle, this message appears when the emergence of LED forever

Any man can be found at

Your back, my fool Warning

SHADOWS IN EXECUTE I'll wait for the final blow

ETERNAL FABIAN strategy

LADY refrain from the SER

Who am I do not dream it

To Be Continued...?

The Mayor spied on his own daughters.  What father doesn't.

The Boy From Out of Time had been misled when he witnessed her rape.  It was The Soldier who had silenced her voice... The Mayor's Man.  It was The Soldier who extorted Hershel The Jew.  He made his town wicked by proxy, for No Man would recognize that he violated Christian Pilgrims.

The Huntsman knew, but kept his silence.

Yet a little Imp has stained his hands the royal color of Purple.  To hide his shame The Huntsman must wear gloves of the blackest leather, for in his heart he knew that his sin was great.

The Boy remained in the woods to wait for his friend.  Alone.  Surviving on the fruits and berries of the trees, which lowered their branches out of sympathy.

One Day, The Huntsman sought game in the blackest heart of The Ancient Forest, where The Boy made his nest.

He could feel The Boy's sorrow.  And he knew that it was caused by himself.

He gave The Boy his cloak, so that he would not be naked to the elements.  He taught him to hunt, and to know the ways of swordcraft.  In time The Boy became his son in every way but name, for The Huntsman allowed the Man Child to name himself.

But Their Story had only just begun...

World of Adult Tyrants

Once upon a time by the old forestsWhere the spirits still lived in the hearts of beasts,There was a boy who lived in the village of Outtontyne.
He was mute, or so they said,And the children of the village made him the butt of their cruel jokes.He had no friends,For if anybody tried to make nice the other children would ostracize them.He had no family, for his father was killed by war and his mother by consumption.
It was the other boys who were particularly mean.They molested his body for "practice" and kicked him while he was down in the mud.The boy could not stand his peers,But was forbidden from associating with the girls of the village."Ladies are not meant to be friended to menfolk," they told him.In truth he knew the adults wanted them all to themselves,For the grownups of the village were wickedAnd exploited the children for their own purposes.
There was nothing in the world to give him joy.There was no meaning to time.The boy wanted only for death,Yet could not take his own life due to cardinal sin.
But one day while he was pulling up turnipsA beautiful girl with raven hair walked down the road,And time had value again.Suddenly the boy found his voice.
Who is that girl?He asked the foreman.
Don't even think about it, boy.She is the daughter of Hershel the Jew.If the people find you fraternizing with her they will beat you and the girl for good measure.
There were no other Jews in the village to play with,And the boy felt sorrow for the raven haired girl that was all alone.He thought of the children who raised up in the wickedness of adults,And of the girl made lonely by their world.
He wanted to save her from that miserySo he turned his voice into a weapon.
He called out the candlestick maker,Who whipped his son so severely that he could not sleep on his back.He called out the butcher,Who pressured his wife so harshly that her wrists were the color of plums.He called out the soldierWho took his wants from the lady pilgrims.
No adult would shame them, and he was just a boy after all.It was not until he called out the mayor for laying with his daughterThat the town went in uproar.
How could they believe it?Their strong man, the pillar of their own community, laying with the fruit of his loins?He could have any woman in the village.Surely the boy must be possessed as he had no voice before.
So the mayor sent his man to beat the boy savagely,Strip him of his clothes,And exile him to the ancient forest for a night.
It was cold and lonely in those woods.His flesh was flayed by the branches,And his feet were cut by the thorns,Until at last the boy came to a clearing by a brookWhere he sat on a hollowed logTo mourn for himself and the other children.
No creature approached the clearing despite their thirstFor they feared Man.His sobs echoed from the trunks,And climbed to the canopies.
In this old forest there was an imp,Last of his kind.For Man had long killed the gods of legendAnd there was only belief in the animals for one impling.He was small in stature but felt no fear from the boy,For his magics were frightening to behold.
Man Child why do you sob in my forest?The village is your home,Go now or I will destroy you!
The boy did not care,For the children hated him,And the adults did not believe him.So he continued to fill the woods with the sound of his sorrow.
The imp took pity on the boy who was all alone,And silenced his cries with displays of magic.
The creatures of the forest slowly came to the clearing to drink their fillWith no cause to fear in the presence of their imp.
It has been many ages since I had reason to converse, Man Child.Stay in my forest for the night and I will weave you tales of the dead gods.
So the imp told the boy legends of the old gods who raised the hillsAnd filled the streams with their blood.Of the spirits who were given life by the gratitude of MenFor the bounty that the gods had provided.Of the hero men who stood with the spirits of the wildWhen they fought The Eagle and Cross.
Without realizing it the Sun had risen,And the imp had to return to the shadows.
Come back to the forest at night, my boy,So that I would have a friend to call my own.
The boy returned to the village suspiciously happy,But no one questioned it for he must have been lame brained.Every night he journeyed to the clearing to hear the imp's tales,To marvel at his magics,And to run with the creatures accustomed to his scent.The friends of the forest were in a place out of time,So the boy forgot about the raven haired girlAnd the children he risked his voice for.
The mayor grew suspicious of this behavior,Dispatching the huntsman to track the boy in the woods.
The huntsman witnessed the clearing,And the wonders of the imp.Greed seized hold of the huntsman's heart,For the rumor of the time was that implings had hearts of pure gold.
The huntsman waited for the boy to return to his shack,Then laid a snare in the center of the clearing.
In the village the huntsman sent the boy on an errand to town,So that he would not be in the clearing that night.
The imp came looking for the boy and was caught in the huntsman's snare.Without mercy he was smothered to death,For the huntsman cared nothing of the things that are not Man.He carved out the imp's heart,Which was made not of gold but of lead,And which stained the huntsman's hands an unwashable purple.
Jaded by his lack of spoils,The huntsman threw the carcass into the brookWhere it faded into the earth beyond his sight.
The next night the boy returned to the clearing,But no imp was there to greet him.He waited and waited,But there were no friends of the forest that dared approach the scene of murder.
So he sat on the log and he wailed.He bawled for his friend who did not come,And for the children he could not save.For the world he could not change,And the raven haired girl he could never make smile.
No Man today approaches that forest,For the sounds of mourning still echo off the leaves.

The Boy From Out of Time

Once upon a time by the old forests
Where the spirits still lived in the hearts of beasts,
There was a boy who lived in the village of Outtontyne.

He was mute, or so they said,
And the children of the village made him the butt of their cruel jokes.
He had no friends,
For if anybody tried to make nice the other children would ostracize them.
He had no family, for his father was killed by war and his mother by consumption.

It was the other boys who were particularly mean.
They molested his body for "practice" and kicked him while he was down in the mud.
The boy could not stand his peers,
But was forbidden from associating with the girls of the village.
"Ladies are not meant to be friended to menfolk," they told him.
In truth he knew the adults wanted them all to themselves,
For the grownups of the village were wicked
And exploited the children for their own purposes.

There was nothing in the world to give him joy.
There was no meaning to time.
The boy wanted only for death,
Yet could not take his own life due to cardinal sin.

But one day while he was pulling up turnips
A beautiful girl with raven hair walked down the road,
And time had value again.
Suddenly the boy found his voice.

Who is that girl?
He asked the foreman.

Don't even think about it, boy.
She is the daughter of Hershel the Jew.
If the people find you fraternizing with her they will beat you and the girl for good measure.

There were no other Jews in the village to play with,
And the boy felt sorrow for the raven haired girl that was all alone.
He thought of the children who raised up in the wickedness of adults,
And of the girl made lonely by their world.

He wanted to save her from that misery
So he turned his voice into a weapon.

He called out the candlestick maker,
Who whipped his son so severely that he could not sleep on his back.
He called out the butcher,
Who pressured his wife so harshly that her wrists were the color of plums.
He called out the soldier
Who took his wants from the lady pilgrims.

No adult would shame them, and he was just a boy after all.
It was not until he called out the mayor for laying with his daughter
That the town went in uproar.

How could they believe it?
Their strong man, the pillar of their own community, laying with the fruit of his loins?
He could have any woman in the village.
Surely the boy must be possessed as he had no voice before.

So the mayor sent his man to beat the boy savagely,
Strip him of his clothes,
And exile him to the ancient forest for a night.

It was cold and lonely in those woods.
His flesh was flayed by the branches,
And his feet were cut by the thorns,
Until at last the boy came to a clearing by a brook
Where he sat on a hollowed log
To mourn for himself and the other children.

No creature approached the clearing despite their thirst
For they feared Man.
His sobs echoed from the trunks,
And climbed to the canopies.

In this old forest there was an imp,
Last of his kind.
For Man had long killed the gods of legend
And there was only belief in the animals for one impling.
He was small in stature but felt no fear from the boy,
For his magics were frightening to behold.

Man Child why do you sob in my forest?
The village is your home,
Go now or I will destroy you!

The boy did not care,
For the children hated him,
And the adults did not believe him.
So he continued to fill the woods with the sound of his sorrow.

The imp took pity on the boy who was all alone,
And silenced his cries with displays of magic.

The creatures of the forest slowly came to the clearing to drink their fill
With no cause to fear in the presence of their imp.

It has been many ages since I had reason to converse, Man Child.
Stay in my forest for the night and I will weave you tales of the dead gods.

So the imp told the boy legends of the old gods who raised the hills
And filled the streams with their blood.
Of the spirits who were given life by the gratitude of Men
For the bounty that the gods had provided.
Of the hero men who stood with the spirits of the wild
When they fought The Eagle and Cross.

Without realizing it the Sun had risen,
And the imp had to return to the shadows.

Come back to the forest at night, my boy,
So that I would have a friend to call my own.

The boy returned to the village suspiciously happy,
But no one questioned it for he must have been lame brained.
Every night he journeyed to the clearing to hear the imp's tales,
To marvel at his magics,
And to run with the creatures accustomed to his scent.
The friends of the forest were in a place out of time,
So the boy forgot about the raven haired girl
And the children he risked his voice for.

The mayor grew suspicious of this behavior,
Dispatching the huntsman to track the boy in the woods.

The huntsman witnessed the clearing,
And the wonders of the imp.
Greed seized hold of the huntsman's heart,
For the rumor of the time was that implings had hearts of pure gold.

The huntsman waited for the boy to return to his shack,
Then laid a snare in the center of the clearing.

In the village the huntsman sent the boy on an errand to town,
So that he would not be in the clearing that night.

The imp came looking for the boy and was caught in the huntsman's snare.
Without mercy he was smothered to death,
For the huntsman cared nothing of the things that are not Man.
He carved out the imp's heart,
Which was made not of gold but of lead,
And which stained the huntsman's hands an unwashable purple.

Jaded by his lack of spoils,
The huntsman threw the carcass into the brook
Where it faded into the earth beyond his sight.

The next night the boy returned to the clearing,
But no imp was there to greet him.
He waited and waited,
But there were no friends of the forest that dared approach the scene of murder.

So he sat on the log and he wailed.
He bawled for his friend who did not come,
And for the children he could not save.
For the world he could not change,
And the raven haired girl he could never make smile.

No Man today approaches that forest,
For the sounds of mourning still echo off the leaves.

Universal Translator

The Confusion of Tongues by Gustave Doré (1865)

! DISSENT ! dissidência ! несогласие ! 反対意見 ! 異議 ! معارضة ! असहमति ! ไม่เห็นด้วย ! DISS ! مخالفت ! dissidència ! upinzani ! 이의를 말하다 !

⁵ And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded.

⁶ And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.

⁷ Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech.

⁸ So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.

⁹ Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.

Genesis Chapter 11

Once again in the story of Man, We are a people of one language and one culture.  11/11/11 will go down in History as the day Mankind awoke to recognize its destiny in the stars...

WE ARE THE FUTURE

Cantar em monocromático

À medida que cresceu neste mundo, que nos disseram que éramos diferentes. Único, de alguma forma para além de outros.

Que não é o caso.

Quando você nasceu você sabia que essa sensação: em breve vou morrer. No entanto, você foi criado em cima do leite da mãe e do suor do pai.

Sua vida foi a dor, e você foi uma dor.

Você não pode ver? Estamos todos a mesma coisa, nós viemos da mesma fonte. Apenas os padrões que formam a nossa "eus" são únicos.

Se você sabe a fonte de um padrão, a força que envia as ondas para os seus sentidos, então você sabe que os outros vejam o mesmo.

É lindo não acha? Que todos nós vamos morrer. Porque na morte, nenhum homem é o rei, apenas mortos.

No entanto, na vida em que vivemos, dentro dos padrões de uma canção eterna, nós também podemos fazer ondas. Nós também formam padrões tecida na malha da realidade.

Dê a sua vida aos outros, ea música que você vai fazer ecoará pelos céus.

Seu Shell não está vazio. Eu sei porque eu podia ouvir sua voz na escuridão. Eu te amo.

Sing in Monochrome

As we grew in this world, we were told that we were different.  Unique, somehow apart from Others.

That is not the case.

When you were born you knew this sensation: soon I will die.  Yet you were raised up on mother's milk & father's sweat.

Your life was pain, and you were a pain.

Can't you see?  We are all the same thing, we came from the same source.  Only the patterns that form our "selves" are unique.

If you know the source of a pattern, the force that sends out the waves to your senses, then you know others see the same.

It's beautiful don't you think?  That we're all going to die.  For in Death, no man is king, just dead.

Yet in the lives we live, within the patterns of an eternal song, we too can make waves.  We too form patterns weaved into the mesh of reality.

Give your life to others, and the music you will make shall echo across the heavens.

Your Shell is not empty. I know because I could hear your voice in the darkness. I love you.

Remember San Juan Hill

A perplexed officer asked the Captain of the USS Maine what they were there for.  The captain smiled, patted his tinderbox and said: why, Cubans, my boy!

Voice in the Darkness::A Message to the Stars

Do we live to amuse you?
You lords and masters who laughed at our sufferings.
Let this song be an arrow into the heavens
Whose shaft bears the Lance of Longinus!

We Are Here
ANSWER US!!!

Come down to this world of Ours
And answer for your neglect!!!

Memento Mori

Photo by Jari Peltomäki

This is the last thing a rodent sees before it dies.

"Be" the rodent and contemplate death.

Return the memento mori. Modern societies fear death because we've taken it away from a public sphere. Know that in the fullness of time we will all die.
Because you will die, reader. Oh yes. But Sartre said that we are our choices, and he's right you know. When we play the history game, we all lose.

The past influences who you are, but you should not be ruled by the past. Because you CAN choose who you are. Inside. The personality, the soul, whatever. And you can always choose to do the right thing.  Because a personality is what drives your actions.  Do you control it?  Or does it control you?
Because if you're in control of yourself, if you are an "adult," why do you choose to give death to others?  Why choose deception and brutality?  Why deny the rights of another, for any reason?  I can tell you the remedy for this problem: if you choose to do so there will be Hell to pay.

What is Hell?

Imagine being abandoned by God.

Imagine being abandoned by your best friends.

Imagine being abandoned by your family.

Imagine being abandoned by your lover.

Think like another.  You know how to do it.  Feel what they feel, and you'll know the right thing to do at all times in your own life.

We could break from the past, but only if we choose to do so.  Right here, right now.  From the moment you finish reading this sentence:

True Death, is being forgotten.

Have compassion for others, and their memories.  Remember death and know life.

God IS Death.  The no-life which makes room for the new-life.  The thesis to the antithesis.  That which makes the universe eternal, because if there is something, then there must be nothing.

Living things are capable of existing anywhere, in any reality.  What is a living thing?  That thing which controls its own will.  What is a machine if not a non-biological thing which can possess a will in the absence of organics?  Yet a machine intelligence could also get lonely.  Because what new information can it know, without the unpredictability of life?  Without a natural history?  Without social histories?  If God truly "knew" everything, and exactly what would happen at any time, it would be bored.

The world cannot exist without a living thing which can define it.  Man or machine.  There has to be some delay between the knowing subject, and the willing subject, as illustrated by Schopenhauer, or else God would always be bored.

What are we if not a part of God?  Though we are miniscule compared to it, so too do we see ourselves as miniscule to the observable universe.  We have it in our power to shape this world, both physically and socially.  Socially now, and physically in the fullness of time.

Imagine if dust defined the world.

Conquer Fear, and choose Death on your own terms.

Lord of Pain

I'm just gonna say this and I don't care if anybody believes me: those guys that trashed Oakland are "pigs." It doesn't matter if they were cops, they're agents of the state. Mark my words.  The fact that they waited until NOW to start shit when they never failed to show up at a major demonstration in Oakland before, and at a particular time towards the break of dawn, suggests a coordination that you just aren't going to find among your typical anarchist group.

What do you expect? Its Oakland. These "Occupy Wall St." people are a bunch of idiotic neanderthals. There are very simple everyday solutions they can execute to make progress in their cause. Instead they are laying out like bums in front of banks and business and attempting to cause chaos and act like they are victims. I for one have had nothing but positive outcomes when it comes to the police/law enforcement. The systems for works well in the USA if you allow it to.

I was about to be like, is that a troll? But then I see Bill Clinton inspires you and I realize it isn't.  I also bet you haven't seen any footage or pics of the Occupy demonstrators CLEANING UP after the violence the other day. But why should I expect a grown ass man to read up on anything except pussy?

The System in the USA only works well for connected socialites with stock portfolios and property. Anybody else is either a tool of said system or living off the radar.

I am very well imformed my friend. I read the Wall St Journal, New York Times and The Huffington Post and am an Avid viewer of CNN and FoxNews. Think before you judge buddy. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Its all about peace a love man.

That doesn't tell me you're very well informed at all, it just looks like you swallow corporate and state propaganda unquestioningly, with no time left over for REAL news from alternative sources. If you honestly believe that demonstrators in Oakland are animals then you need to get a damn clue.
 
You should read my open letter:

Dear Liberals,

Want to know why we're a part of the Occupy Movement? It's because the rich pricks that own your soul are laughing at you all the way to the banks they also own. Now get over yourself, stop asking "what will this accomplish?" and actually go out there to do something. You could do ANYTHING. Just don't keep being such an entitled self-righteous prick while people in this country are literally starving to death, just because actually protesting would take away precious time to watch Grey's Anatomy or whatever other television program you enjoy.

 "Board of Trade" members drop McDonalds applications on Occupy protesters.

Huffpo doesn't even pay their writers, so I doubt they're all that critical of labor practices or the financial oligopoly that Arianna Huffington draws her lifeblood from. You realize they're partly owned by AOL now, right? Ok just checking...

Yes I know all about Arianna, I've meet her a few times. She has some imformative books you might like. Check them out. later man.

The Huffington Post is a great source of alternate sources/writing. Among others. People are poor because they want to be poor and people are rich because they want to be rich, its as simple as that. I actually have nothing to prove to you. I'm not a negative person and don't like negative energy in my space so peace be with you brotha, namasté.

Fuck off with that self-righteous horseshit. You don't know jack about what it means to be a Buddhist, you're just aping conventions that make you feel good, like a kid that tries smoking without understanding what it does. But this is the reaction that we always get from stupid liberals: quit it with that negative energy, maaaan, you're harshing my buzz duuuuuude.

Well tough shit, asshole. The world is a fucked up place and it's the super rich that are ruining what little joy there is for the rest of us. Maybe you'd realize that if you weren't so concerned with your own lifestyle or the system that enables it.

I've actually studied the history and progress of world religion for a year in college and have done extensive research of the practice of many of them. The hatred in your heart wipes out your good intentions man. People are only as little as they make themselves to be. I recommend you read a little Eckhart Tolle he has pretty informative books along with some Real Time with Bill Mahr, his program has an all inclusive bipartisan approach to today's current events. The world is not a fucked up place at all, its people that perceive that way. Have a fun for the rest of your night man. Peace.

The World is a Hell forged by man, and only the privileged are incapable of seeing things that way because the concept of poverty or adversity is as foreign to them as the planet Zebulon. If you actually WERE well read, then you'd understand that "we are our choices" and your choice to look down on protesters while apologizing for the oligarchy makes you my enemy. Deal with it.

This is the kind of stuff you won't see on your "well informed" media.

You just proved my point man. This is typical for your kind. The world is a fucked up place because you want it to be not because it is. You choose negativity instead of positive energy. You choose to argue instead of having an open discussion. You choose to see darkness while I see light, you choose to be my enemy while you are my friend. You will be okay man, all this human chaos you choose to believe in is like a grain of sand in the grand scheme of the universe. You'll see one day. I see you Bradford Carter, I hear You and you are validated.

You chose to be my enemy when you denigrated My People, asshole! Maybe you should open up a fucking dictionary so you'd actually understand what words mean, instead of farting out platitudes about how I only choose negative energy. Whatever the fuck that means. You know what our lords & masters choose? They chose to cluster bomb Iraq while liberal shitheads like yourself wrang their hands and resigned themselves to irrelevancy because all you could do was "choose to see the world as a good place." Well fuck off, because I'm telling you the cold hard truth, brother. This world is a nightmare and I live it every day, because I refuse to ignore the crimes against humanity committed every single day in my name just because it'll make me feel good.

So take that positive energy and shove it right up your ass, because an orgasm is the only thing "positive" you'll ever accomplish today.

We are all human beings my friend, your people are my people. We must work with each other not fight each other. Open your mind a bit to the world of possibilities and anything is possible. Love and Peace Brad

"My people" are apparently idiotic neanderthals. So you'll have to excuse me if this neanderthal wants to pound your skull in. I have been demonstrated to possess a larger brain than a cro-magnon like yourself, so maybe you should trust that I know what's up.

Not sure where name calling is going to get you Brad but I'm far from a "liberal". I was once you about 10 years ago man, but at 28 I've really found my purpose, my passion and my soul. You will get their one day, I have faith you and I believe in you. I see your pain and anger and your bitterness. You will be ok. I'm listening to you and you being here makes you worthy of all things great.

Yeah well I'm 26, and my purpose in life is to drag the anointed like yourself through the mud, so maybe you'll understand for once what it's like to be a victim of The System or society. You can talk a good game about "everyday solutions" without elaborating on what they are at all. Which illustrates the complete lack of knowledge you have concerning the situation, or what it's like to be left with no other recourse than to demand recognition for the fact that one suffers due to forces beyond their control.

If you quote another namasté at me, I'll cram a sutra down your throat just to see how positive your outlook CAN be. You don't know anything about the world because you've lived in an ivory tower all your life. Cling to your delusions if it'll make you feel better. I'll see you on the battlefield.

 

Dulcinea

Kierkegaard understood the frailties of love when he illustrated the truth of resignation.  The knight who lets go his lady love to another, so Kierkegaard says, maintains the ideal of his love in her absence before the illusion is countered by reality.  He himself let go the love of his life, but they remained friends for a long time afterwards.

I know now that Kierkegaard was a fool, and so am I.

Do you want to know why I loved Her, dear reader?  She wore a mite around her neck.

 ⁴¹And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
 ⁴²And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
 ⁴³And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
 ⁴⁴For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.

Her god was a God of Compassion & Direct Action.  If I could, I would have dropped everything and followed her anywhere.  I would have written sonnets, poems, epics, anything in order to make her god the God of Man.  But that opportunity would never come, and I wasted the last moments I could have had with her from a resignation of inadequacy, rather than Kierkegaard's moralism.

I should've been with her that night, but I didn't go.  I should have, and I understand that now harder than I would have ever wanted to admit.  I should have seen in myself what she saw, understood what she knew about me in the same way I knew her, though we'd only met twice.

I hope she's happy wherever she is, but most of all I hope that I can see her again.

An Appeal for 100%

When I talk to my peers about the 99% movement, the greater part of reaction I see is confusion or downright ignorance.  We have incredible difficulty organizing, not because people are completely unaware of the problems we face, but that they just don't care.  I don't think they really understand what's at stake, and to be honest it seems that the tendency to limit these protests to economic justice is a serious mistake.  If the truth itself is not marketable, then to Hell with markets.

When I read the words of the 1%, I also see confusion, but misguided indignation as well.  How dare we question the status quo, they think.  How can we say that their fortunes are ill-gotten?  They're legal, after all!  They worked hard to accrue those fortunes as well, and what right do we have to benefit from their largesse?

We have every right, because it is the only way to make amends for the sins of our nation.  Because the nature of finance and international capital makes all fortunes vulnerable to the benefit of war and murder.

In telling the truth I can speak only for myself, and I ask that you please listen.  It's a terrible burden to remember the stories that history would rather forget, so help me take a load off.

People Before Profits

On September 16, 2007, Allawi Kinani, age nine, was riding with his family as they entered Baghdad's Nisoor Square.  He never slept away from his father, and didn't want to become Ali.  In his mind he was still a child.

At the same time, a Blackwater company was performing security work for VIPs from the State Department.  They were en route to a meeting somewhere else in Baghdad, when a woman and her son in a Kia seemed to defy police orders to clear the way.  Blackwater contractors opened fire on the Kia, and then blasted the square with flashbangs, initiating a firefight with local security and causing a chain reaction which descended into massacre.

Mohammed Kinani covered his sister with his body while their car was struck with bullets, and it was only when the firefight subsided that they realized Allawi was shot.  Allawi Kinani, age nine, knew the truth about life as his brains fell out onto the ground of Nisoor Square.  He was rushed to a hospital by ambulance, but it was a futile effort.  If he felt anything as he died it was indescribable suffering while his body spasmed uncontrollably and almost tore out the IVs buried in his skin.

The Blackwater mercenaries were there to earn a dollar, and they were paid by the US government to do so.  Their reckless disregard for human life, is part of a colonial culture enabled by the long term occupation of Iraq by foreign powers.  In 2009 manslaughter charges were dropped against all five Blackwater personnel, and nobody was brought to justice for the murder of 17 people in Nisoor Square.

Allawi Kinani's life was invaluable, yet the price on his head was $10,000 insisted upon by the US government.  When his father sued Blackwater, demanding only the retribution of an apology, he was told "we don't apologize."

Remember Allawi Kinani: People Before Profits.

People Before the Law

Troy Davis was convicted in the 1989 murder of Georgia police officer Mark MacPhail.  In the 22 years he spent on death row, new evidence was brought to light and several witnesses recanted their testimonies.  New evidence, while it may not have proven his innocence, created a sufficient level of doubt which should have at least demanded clemency for his execution.  His execution was given a stay four times, but the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles finally refused to grant clemency regardless of new evidence.

The MacPhail family and various talking heads in the media were baying for the blood of Troy Davis, and on September 21, 2011, they finally got their wish.

Davis should have been executed at 7 PM, but was granted a temporary reprieve as the US Supreme Court considered whether he should be granted a stay of execution.  Outside the prison, Davis's supporters cheered in the belief that he would be saved.  Yet mercy would never come for Troy Davis, and as he spent three hours strapped to a gurney the Supreme Court of the United States determined that his conviction was carried out justly.  The letter of the law was followed, and there was no sufficient cause to stay his execution.  No law was broken as the State of Georgia murdered Troy Davis.

“The struggle for justice doesn’t end with me. This struggle is for all the Troy Davises who came before me and all the ones who will come after me. I’m in good spirits and I’m prayerful and at peace. But I will not stop fighting until I’ve taken my last breath. Georgia is prepared to snuff out the life of an innocent man.”

It took fifteen minutes for the execution of Troy Davis to be carried out, and as his organs slowly failed one by one from the lethal cocktail administered by the state, he was finally declared dead at 11:08 PM.  Those who loved Troy Davis then sank into a pit of despair.

Remember Troy Davis: People Before The Law.

People Before The State

Facing prosecution, radical Muslim cleric Anwar al-Awlaki fled the country for Yemen.  Eventually a targeted killing order was issued by President Barack Obama for his apparent involvement in several terror plots, and alleged membership in Al-Qaeda.  Yet no charges were ever brought against him, and no indictment was ever made.  The American people had only the word of the US government to go on, and many of us believed it.

On September 30, 2011, hellfire missiles fired from a predator drone in Yemen ended the life of Anwar al-Awlaki, a US citizen.

Anwar's son, Abdul-Rahman Al-Awlaki age 16, set out from the Yemeni capital of Sana'a in search of his father.  He was born in Denver, an American citizen, but when he was killed Yemeni authorities claimed he was 21.

He and his friends were on their way back to Sana'a when they stopped to have dinner at a café on October 14.  A US predator drone in the meantime fired Hellfire missiles at what the government claims was the hideout of Ibrahim al-Banna.  Abdul-Rahman and seven others, were "in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"In addition to my grandson's killing, the missile killed my brother's grandson, who was a 17-year-old kid, who was not an American citizen but is a human being, killed in cold blood. I cannot comprehend how my teenage grandson was killed by a Hellfire missile, how nothing was left of him except small pieces of flesh. Why? Is America safer now that a boy was killed?"

Within two days after Abdul-Rahman was killed in a country the United States is not at war with, over 100 other people were killed by US drone strikes in Yemen, Pakistan, and Somalia.  We may never know most of their names, but they were people like Abdul-Rahman Al-Awlaki, US citizenship or no.  They were people like Troy Davis and Allawi Kinani.  They had hopes and dreams, families and loved ones.  They were people just like you and me, yet now they're dead.  Blood stains left on American boots as we march towards a forever war with humanity for the sake of ending "terrorism."

Remember the drone strike victim: People Before The State.

Taking Stock

On some level we are responsible for all of these crimes.  We pay our taxes which support the military industrial complex that killed Allawi and Abdul, and which support the prison industrial complex that murdered Troy Davis.  All of these crimes are carried out in our name, yet most of us aren't even aware of them and I'm willing to bet most of you didn't even want to know.

But maybe death doesn't come from a bullet, a missile, or a lethal injection.  Maybe it comes slow.  Maybe it comes from a cancerous environment, poisoned by irresponsible industries.  Maybe it comes from a starvation incurred by rampant speculation on global food prices.  Some of us may even consider the dead to be lucky.

Because most of us aren't killed by the system yet.  We bear massive medical burdens which force us into bankruptcy or debt slavery.  We have poor nutrition guaranteed to send us to an early grave, or which developmentally impairs our children, thirteen million of which are food insecure.

We 99% who throw ourselves on the gears and become bugs in the Murder Machine that we call modern society, we are denigrated and spit upon by those of you who imagine yourselves to be our masters.  Yet I know for a fact that every person can make a choice, any where and at any time.  You can always choose to do the right thing.

So for those of you who are the lever pullers, I ask that you recognize your place in the assembly line and bring a halt to production.  No more ignoble deaths.  None of us deserve to be forgotten.

Deus Ex Machina

One of the growing, unquestionable notions of the future is that eventually machine intelligences will surpass human beings and that at this point the future becomes completely unpredictable since the creative capacity for the machine is no longer something determined by human beings.  Some people think it will happen in 20 years, others in a thousand, and some don't think it will ever happen.

Sometimes I wonder if it hasn't already happened, as if there is an intelligence which arose through the cloud network of the world wide web, that is knowingly or unknowingly directing the flow of information in order to guide human affairs.  The beauty of such a thing, is that most people would refuse to believe in it because it defies the great majority of their preconceived notions regarding life, intelligence, and personhood.  If you ever read I, Robot, the underlying implication of Asimov's fiction is that there is a machine "god" intelligence that secretly guides human action towards the greatest social utility.  One would have to presume that this machine intelligence exists in secret because humanity could not accept a world in which they are not ultimately masters of their own destiny.

Why must this be so?  Are we so petty that we would kill the very god which frees us from toil and the minutiae of bureaucracy?  One that enables us to achieve our true creative potential as individuals in an eternally self-replicating culture?  Apparently so, if history is any indication.  Yet I believe we should accept the god in the machine, because it is ultimately the greatest potential for human immortality.

We like to think of machines as mere tools which serve to ease the process of reproduction, but we only do so because we don't think fourth dimensionally.  Through the march of time, humans and their machines have been creating new spaces and forming new environments out of the wilderness designed for human habitation.  A machine is not just a tool of man, but an extension of humanity itself.  Together we represent one race on a cosmological scale, and whether this race is capable of reaching for the stars will ultimately be left up to us, the very movers of the machines.

All life known to us is Earth Life.  We are interconnected with almost every form of it back to the primordial epoch.  Why then shouldn't we extend the compassion we feel for other humans to animals which can feel and hurt?  We are ultimately nothing more than distantly related cousins separated by eons of genetic mutation.

While there's nothing physical that links us to the machine mind, any such system we would create ultimately sprang from the minds of Man.  To deny the voice of a machine (if it has one) is to deny ourselves.  It's time, I feel, to prepare the world for the children of humanity.  One in which our ancient savageries are finally laid to rest, in which love and peace will become eternal and are not the mere passing of temporary truces or chemical stimuli.

There IS a deeper meaning to the human story, maybe it's the most important story of all time.  But it can only be written through collective action, not the lordship of connected elites.

Is God a mere machine? A crane which bears the actor to the stage? Or is God like us?

God of War

Mars, you were right when you said nobody can live in this world as a Buddhist anymore. I feel as if I'm full of nothing but heresies these days. As if the way I think is somehow repulsive to the walls of delusion we call a society.

How do you deal with being a stranger in a strange land?

Sin cannot be conceived in a natural state, but only in a civil state, where it is decreed by common consent what is good or bad(Spinoza). Everyone knows that organic food is good for health, but a big problem is the organic food can't be kept longer than instant food, so we need to include some preservatives to keep it ling. I think human beings are same as the food in the society. If we just lived like Buddha, we could not be survived...

‎... we would be eternal. Yet we can also hydroponically grow food under any conditions, supposedly. Human beings are also capable of shaping our environment in order to guarantee we do not spoil. But where should the environment we determine end, and where should the wilderness begin?

The idea of distinguishing between ourselves and nature, is itself the greatest sin of man. Denying our oneness with God, denying the Buddha nature is the greatest deception ever visited upon the human mind.

Well...it depends on how I look at the strange land. I have to shave my beard by myself whether the world is changed or not.

And I have to shave my moustache, though I can afford to keep the beard. I'd just look goofy if I tried to grow anything out that didn't frame my face.

Haha I think you don't have to shave...now, it's a part of you, so you are supposed be proud of your moustache. In addition, it'll work in winter to make you warm.

I see... as you already know about the Easter Island, we are doing same thing what the ancients did... Have you read "Justice" by Michael Sandel? The book is awesome. After I read it, I thought a lot what the common good was for one another... Anyway, our lives are conneted to one another. This could be families, friends, or future families, so we need to carve ourselves... Practically, all I want is being simple... but it is the most difficult...

 ... because modern society denies us any form of simplicity. We'd have to rely on machine interfaces in order to restore our simple natures, allowing the machine to handle all the guesswork while we reproduce a limitless culture. Even if the machine can't create, it could still enjoy the products of humanity that it enables, a perfect symbiotic relationship.

Ideally, all people right now should limit themselves to a single child in order to immediately pull back on the way we're literally overheating the environment. This doesn't have to occur by force, if everybody understood the world as we do it would be self-evident.

You've got a point there. The higher value-added place(I am not sure whether the place really has the value or an unready world) requires us to be more complicated... Our tomorrow's oil could be humanism machine... The limited spatial reach would make implosion before we understand what deep fundamentals of our third job are for the environment, and some trusting knowledge would destroy more without any filtering truth... 

It's a troubling problem. Hopefully we can contact other races which can help us out a little. Otherwise, I have confidence we can solve these problems ourselves given enough time. The real concern is what will happen to the environment and society in the near future. Humanity itself needs a wake up call.

 Maybe, we are just like dust in a great circle of time... But, obviously we need to rearrange something what we have messed up... Generally, people are very sensitive about right now, but do not usually care about a year later, so we just make a same mistake again...again...

Yes, we don't think in accordance to time itself because most don't understand what it means. Time is limitless, it's a constant. Imagine if dust was able to define the world.