Prick of a Revolutionary Sword

North Korean Attack on South Korea

      The world is headed for a revolution: in thought, in war, in politics. This sophomoric show on South Korea will most likely lead to some blabbering speeches. "We have come to an agreement," however, I doubt will be said. Because Kim Jong-Il is a moron, no less.
      Obama showed his quick judgment toward Somali pirates in the beginning of his administration. He is a strategic man, who I believe is well capable of coordinating an effort against North Korea. We may have ourselves spread throughout North Korea and Iran, alongside allies. That's when I believe revolution will happen. The dollar and the Euro will collapse, and a universal currency will be necessary. If hyper-inflation hits, we will have no choice but to adopt a new currency. This is a war on paper, in policy.
      

Anti-Phonics

Low Limit Lit the Flow of an anti-2D sound

With round, boundless, limitless throws offbeat

Feeling Surrounded by slick collaborated flicks and flops

Hopping up my brain-fed imagining kerosene smelt thought

World rotted down to a drowned out town

Patting, Patting, Patting like a TSA dream

Hear the screaming meaning gleaming through

Turn it up, unglued, unsure, unrefrained, untrained

To restrain, to react, retract, glossed over tracks

Facts, Ugly fibs describe our lie of a match

An Amoebic Primi-Lyric I prescribe, anti-phonics

 

Brainfeeder Blog

 Standard Podcast [40:37m]: Download (7907)

I could sleep

Shedding clothes and hair and skin and fat and bone and membranes.
We were meant to be, these dead tangled unpreserved gray matters
splattered into less than dust and more than human, minds combined
refined into this, us, thus we are dust, we are dust, we are less
Humorous matter to the brainless mass, thoughtless vacuum
expanse of intellectual property, communal knowledge, with nothing to gain
Except our brain, again the useless organ that defined our life
The control is naught, we are naught, and yet we live evermore
Braced on God's hand in his Breath, by his Tears, by our Death
We were never made, we didn't breathe or walk. We strayed
Saved by the equation, God's death, Our death, we're the same

No One's Gonna Love You More

I see you secretly breathing
Inches from me, with scattered memories
Of the life that will be, that is, that was,
We were too much and not enough, knowing each other
You're so fragile in winter,
The cold days and freezing nights make you tremble,
That's why I hold you this way
Close and far away,
Secretly knowing you more,
Hearing less, Remembering nothing,
I remember everything fragmented,
One labyrinth twisting reality
Into our spaceless timeless love
All I can remember....
An eclipsed, illuminated mind,
I'm closed, but closer to you, ready for you to fly

Apathy and Iran

Hype screwed over people in Iran. These are the people who live under a very real totalitarian rule. They are oppressed by a few radical, pompous, authoritative men.

So with just a thread of hope, some expected to at least know what is going on in the world. A brave few trusted, hoped in the validity of hype. A program, Haystack, was supposed to save them from net censorship.

Within months Heap went from virtual unknown to celebrated freedom activist, and Haystack was winning converts - at least among the media. He was named "Innovator of the Year" by the Guardian, and the Christian Science Monitor said Haystack would give hope to Iranians seeking to break through Tehran's censorship. Crucially, the U.S. State Department in March issued a special license to Haystack for its distribution in Iran - all but granting Heap Washington's seal of approval.

As late as August 6, 2010, Newsweek magazine said of Heap he had "...found the perfect disguise for dissidents in their cyberwar against the world's dictators."

Except none of it was true. Haystack didn't work as its founders said. It never underwent extensive testing, and may have exposed those unknown few in Iran who tried it to detection by authorities.

Bravo to the ironically named "Guardian" and Christian Science Monitor and Newsweek and the U.S. State Department.. Bravo to us. We are all guilty, at times, for believing in things that aren't true. Let's not purport things that look too good to be true. Election promises, handsome preachers, get rich quick schemes, impossible deals, true love waiting on a webcam. We have to resist whoring ourselves over to these erratic concepts, if we are to be a responsible people. And we have to fight for freedom and the truth. It will never come easy.

Iran continues to play the shell game with the international community. It will until we are blinded by an avalanche of death (remember Neda Agha-Soltan who strongly represents the oppressed nation). We should not fall into apathy.

Cancer

I can definitely say now without a doubt that I do NOT believe in ghosts. The demons of this life are an eminent, but unnecessary threat to society. Our evolution has led us to the phase where we are the ghosts to our own demise. We've planned this for our selves, our souls, our faiths. We've created myths for entertainment purposes and begun to believe in our own tales. Does it sound familiar? A rhetorical proverbial end is in the malignant cancer that is - us. What will save us? A miracle. We've been on this path since the human body was formed. Revolution is necessary for the prolonging of self. Moreso than any this earth or god have witnessed. We've built a machine, and we are the machine. Nothing can hurt more than reaching inside and tearing apart our own organs. This is more than a house that could be burned. We'll have no cave left or tree for shelter.

Death

There's no other way to remove them

This is the only way
This is the answer

Do you believe in god?
They do
They go to him and he answers them
To us he is a fib
There is no other way

This is the only way
They must be shot down
The low will strike your high
They take your banners down
Making us equal through death
Equals by her grasp
Equals by her banner
Which says

This is the only way
This is the answer

Proudly carry her banner
Praise the ever nakedness of it
Burden us with it
Bury us with her

When the music sounds
We will close our eyes
And the earth will cease

I want to die undignified, alone
In a forest
Where I'll rot
No gravestone
No remembrance or fondness
Ahead is an unbeaten path
Where my soul lingers and then passes

I'll make no final claims
No words to speak of
Just breath
And then nothing

Words

I was hoping like a child
whose eyes were shut from day
I was dead, like the foliage
that rests on soiled earth
I was screaming like the wind
It howls to me when no one does
I was bleeding like desert sand
sweeping across my skin
I was heartless,
and had given up on love
I asked for the sting of death.

If I wanted anything, it was your truth
You are more than hope
You are more than life
You have two lives
Both of us needed you
You have two hearts beating in you
You have two souls which depend on your breath
You have what no one else has.

You are the music I hear when I'm in the sky
an explosion of air
I waited in line just to see if you care*
marching through hell, I'm sure
I would march again
again
again
You have two marching beats
which depend on your breath
You have two eyes in which there is now life and hope.

You waited for me
You waited
You carried us through night
You hid us in a safe chamber.

I have no name for you yet
except these words
You are the marching beat to my beaten
and bruised, injured travail
You are the north star to my emancipation
You are the realization to my seeking heart
and the words to my silence.

These words are more true than life
and if not, God will strike me down
There's a spirit that has poured on my head
Words and feelings I don't understand
like the other heart you hold,
which doesn't know your meaning
nor comprehends your worth
which was valued through Christ's death
and God strike me if I don't love you like him.
I was hoping like a child
whose eyes were shut from day.
But now there are two hearts
beating in your chest.

Voices

Voices whither around me like a dying waterfall

Droplets slipping into the netherworld of everything

The everything is our world.

The everything is yours.

The netherworld is theirs.

Voices tell me to wait for the warmth of sunrise.

Flowers surrounding me, feeling you, raise the hairs on my neck.

Raised like light against falling water.

Raised like a musical mist.

The constant pounding

cannot compare to the pounding of this heart.

The one that waits for you.

Someone has changed my life :)

:)

I'll never forget meeting you.

And seeing you for the first time.

Our first night, missing church and taco bell.

We looked like someone had beat us up.

The night when we were so mad,

because I had lost keys that weren't lost.

I went up to the top of a mountain to find them

in my pocket.

When I cried to you about your mom.

Then, everything was ok.

You complaining about your belly.

Me telling you just how beautiful it is.

Eating with your parents

Taking this unborn baby to hear loud music

Being afraid to propose next to the fountain at the Bellagio - with a star in my hand, and no diamond

Passing by the motels and the prostitutes and finding the perfect restaurant and the perfect clothes

Going to Paris, Santa Fe, NM with the best hot chocolate

Paris, Las Vegas, NV.

New York, Las Vegas, NV.

Japan, Asheville, NC.

Watching you

Your eyes

Your eyes

Your eyes

Your nosering

Your lips

Your hair

Your cheeks

Your... everything else

I think god has given me this day.

These eyes, yours and mine.

No one else could have made you, you.