If I’d lived my life by what others were thinkin’, the heart inside me would’ve died

I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity

Someone had to reach for the risin’ star, I guess it was up to me

"Up to Me" by Bob Dylan)

Saturday, November 22, 2014

More Mike Oldfield

Man on the Rocks by Mike Oldfield

Friday, November 21, 2014

Song of November

Let me sing a song of November
the chilly dream that Winter wakes
October's leafy pageant
the steely wind shakes
from the clattering sky
littering the brown field
when black birds solemnly fly.

The pastel flowers have floated down September's streams like prayer flags flying 
The triumphant cry of the year!
Against the western winds laying down their fair share of grief
before Winter steals the color of this dream/
Dusty pink petals swirl and rise never to fall or die.

Bronze bells clang harmony in the distance as if to amuse me
What angel hovers there?
What death dance keeps me turning 
What new melody am I learning?

Song of November arises in my mind
echoing ancient battles of yellows and greens
of Summer's grip and before it Spring’s.

I am the wind to tousle your hair
I am fire orange and billowing
I am water
I am the moon
I am the dream when the dreamer wakes
You cannot see me/cannot hear me.
I am the stone and soil
you kick me underfoot.
You never knew me/
never held me at all.

Now alone you sing my song
and stand baffled by its sombre chords
though the words speak clearly
of this day and filter the sand into the hourglass.

Mountains rise and mountains fall
your mind gathers focus then crumbles to a stall
gazing into the mirror the mirror cannot lie
You see your original face without darkness
I am not lying.
Morning comes and morning goes as the broken leaves into the cold torrent's flow
you reach outside/feel the stinging breeze.

The wind tousles back your autumn hair
I come rushing into the air
you catch me in one powerful try
As I tumble into the corner of your eye.

Pale moon hides in her cloudy bed
and fire steals the night
My stream wends in fright an uneven way---
into the neverending poem at the heart of this day!

"All passes away yet God smiles and waves a banner of serenity---
Lord, You hold all of the cards we play
and yet I would beg you to play this hand in another way."

Friday, October 31, 2014

Photography: Link to Pennsylvania Landscapes

Beauty: The Realist Take

"In the psychology of the Victorines, the joy felt in experiencing sensuous harmony was a prolongation of physical pleasure [ital. mine]; it was rooted in the affective life and grounded in an ontologically real correspondence between the structure of the mind and the structure of matter." Umberto Eco Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages

Monday, October 20, 2014

What does it mean 'To Know'?

I have been thinking about what 'to know' really means---hence, what true knowledge consists in. To know ('oida': Gk) in Greek the term 'oida' is cognate with 'to see'. In shorthand to see is to know. In fact the vernacular use of seeing as knowing is quite commonly understood. Now imagine you come upon a tick sucking blood (as pictured below). One sees that the tick sucks blood it engorges but one does not know how the tick sucks blood. One knows that the tick sucks blood, in fact one knows how the tick sucks blood. 

But this is not how we teach our young scientists to proceed! We refer to a pentasyllabic word 'hematophagy' invented to describe the blood sucking mechanism. Or we turn to Wikipedia:
Wikipedia: Hematophagy

Presumably one gains a verbal access to explaining the phenomenon under discussion, presumably one better understands, even better 'knows' the phenomenon! This confused sense of knowledge and knowing, separate from seeing is what I deem as the greatest intellectual conundrums of our era.

Let us review the order of the phenomenon---one sees the tick exploded 10x its body size on the back of an innocent dog, in seeing the tick one knows that the tick sucks blood but presumes that one does not know how this little varmint does it! So one asks the question and then proceeds to use the cultural viable means of answering the question---one proceeds 'scientifically'. One refers to books, encyclopedia, Wikipedia, one asks an "expert". Like receiving a diagnosis for a mysterious symptom, the questioner is satisfied to learn that this an example of biological 'hematophagy'---the questioning mind is able to rest.

However, one should note that this is 'sleight of hand'---no understanding has been achieved in the acquisition of the pentasyllabic term! No new knowledge is obtained with the acquisition of this term. As a matter of fact, when one sees that the tick sucks blood, one knows how the tick sucks blood. In knowing that the tick sucks blood, one knows how the tick sucks blood. And this holds true with every other phenomenon!

In knowing that, one knows how. In seeing that such and such occurs, one knows how such and such occurs!

Therefore we must ask, since almost all of what we call knowing depends upon seeking expert diagnoses, and explanations, Wikipedia, and five-syllabled terms---which actually adds no new understanding to the phenomenon grasped, what is the status with regards to truth, concerning all of this so-called knowledge? One thing is for certain, the original grasp of the phenomenon which proceeds individually and by power of one's own eyesight, is routinely downgraded as a source of knowledge, whereas the move to downplay one's own true vision and knowledge is bypassed for a theory of knowledge which depends upon so-called "experts"---a kind of totalitarian-fascist way of knowing, if you ask me!

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Better to Live as a Dog....

May you live in interesting times" is an English expression purporting to be a translation of a traditional Chinese curse. Despite being so common in English as to be known as "the Chinese curse", the saying is apocryphal and no actual Chinese source has ever been produced.[1] The nearest relatedChinese expression is "太平做乱" (níng wéi tàipíng quǎn, mò zuò luànshì rén) which conveys the sense that it is "better to live as a dog in an era of peace than a man in times of war."

Saturday, October 11, 2014

God Only Knows---BBC Production October 2014

One thing we can safely say about the New World Order: when the fashionistas and culture czars of the NWO put their heads together and decide to bestow a platinum candy nugget on the world as with this non-disappointing re-make of Brian Wilson's "God Only Knows"---the enormity of the canvas and (I suspect) the recording bill, allows the faithful denizens the whole world over to soak in the luxuriance unmatched since the Rococco while admiring not only the acoustic fanfare and chamber pomp but also the colorful vignettes which populate the theatrical in an unprecedented delivery of the authentic intention of Brian Wilson's mammoth pop beauty. God only knows why Paul McCartney and David Bowie failed to show up for this unparalleled masterpiece in the history of pop music recording.
God Only Knows BBC Production

Friday, October 10, 2014

A New Poem (lyric)-Written in Summer 2014

I ponder as I wander
and wonder at this day---
this jewel, this yellow flower, this puffy bumblebee!

My eyes, full wide awake
in the center of the day;
I am awake in the darkest night
when the stars all fade away.

I don't know when the weekend ends,
I don't know why the river bends,
I don't know how many lives I've spent,
How many yet to come...
I'll meet you at the journey's end,
at the final door,
I'll be there my friend.

Each moment amazes me,
each hour of everyday,
though the world beats faster than a drum.

I don't know how many roads I've gone,
how many yet to come
the world spins fast as a whip
but this moment lingers on.

Tuesday, October 07, 2014

Google Places Security Guards in Its Silicon Valley Offices

This post is actually more of an 'apocalypse illustrated' story but I thought I would post it here:

Google Adds Security Guards

Everything is upside down in the US---it is a "cockamamy world"----it's like you introduce the word 'security' and everyone acts like chickens with their heads cut off. So for all of the orthodox capitalist believers I have a question---how is security good for bottom line? How is it good to pay someone to DO NOTHING which cannot possibly 'create wealth'?

One is reminded of Ben Franklin's famous saying; 'those who would exchange liberty for security will have (deserve) neither!"
At the current rate of the growth of the police state and its consequent militarization, pretty soon everyone will be a security guard, then every citizen can arrest every other citizen and lock up the prison on the history of the USA. The doctors, lawyers and ministers of course can stand by rejoicing because they have the hegemony that has always been their guiding goal. The one per centers (one percenters ought not to be considered citizens as their allegiance is to mammon) will rejoice to get the low-bred laborers into a more controllable environment and of course, the White House and the senate can finally fulfill their promises to the New World Order, to package and deliver the US populace all of a piece for the Pharoah-ic enterprise of completing the destruction of the earth. Not bad work for a couple of presidential administrations since W and O have utterly devastated the last traces of Sovereignty in the US---great job---all hail to the chiefs! The world has lost its marbles!!

Saturday, October 04, 2014

Since I coined the term 'crunchkin' more than 20 years ago...

I wanted to note that the term 'crunchkin' has been getting a lot of different uses as a search on Google demonstrates! To wit: crunchkin as edible pet greetings, pumpkin seeds, crunch cards, Nestle crunchkins, crunchkin crew puppets, et aliud Since I never took out a copyright, theses players are legally safe in using the term and I am pleased as I had hoped that the term would have a good life! Intellectual property is a leprosy upon artistic and intellectual life and has rendered the artist or thinker a kind of slave or prostitute, selling what they never owned, claiming to possess what was freely given to them in inspiration and of course it enlarges the ignoble domain of the lawyers practice, another scab upon cultural life that festers and won't heal!

Google Search: Crunchkin

Thursday, October 02, 2014

New World Order (tm.) Firewheel Production

Added some new verses to this old topical tune!

New World Order (Peter Wolf)
refrain: (largo-dreamily)Em-A (x2) Am7-D (x2) Em-A (x2)
The G8 Summit was really great, you know 
The Illuminati
You follow whomever you must
In the New World Order
In the NWO
Evacuation schemes, corporate dreams, 
we’re too big too fail
Debt Ceiling oh what a feeling!
Like a puppy chasin his tail 
IN the New World Order
It’s a NWO
We’ve got the NPR and the BBC
Michelle Obama is la-ti-dee
but your taxes are going to pay for our penalty
in the New World Order
It’s a N.W.O.
Cold call in the middle of the Night
Are you feelin’ a lil uptight?
We gonna save you
but first we must enslave you...
Cold Call in the middle of the Night
Are you feelin a little uptight? (ritard) (a tempo)

instrumental verses and solo

Play Good cop/Bad cop
Either way we win
Been that way since I don’t know when
ISIS Ebola 
It’s an Idiot Wind blowing 
In the New World Order

The idle mind is the devil’s workshop
our sacred mission is to make your mind stop
Wait the president’s calling me up 
into a New World Order
It’s a New World Order

and instrumental verse outro. 

Plus, check out this earlier version video from 2012:
New World Order (2012)

Friday, August 29, 2014

Bob Dylan Live: It Takes a Train

Review of Dylan's 8-28-2014 Show in Australia

Bob Dylan: Hot August Night

Lyrics to Carribean Wind

She was the rose of Sharon from paradise lost
From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross
I was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy
Told about Jesus, told about the rain
She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain
By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy
Was she a child or a woman, I can’t say which
From one to another she could easily switch
We went into the wall to where the long arm of the law could not reach
Could I been used and played as a pawn?
It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on
Where men bathed in perfume and celebrated free speech
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire
She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore
She said, “We got a mutual friend over by the door
And you know he’s got our best interest in mind”
He was well connected but her heart was a snare
And she had left him to die in there
There were payments due and he was a little behind
The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head
Ceiling fan broken, there’s a heat in my bed
Street band playing “Nearer My God to Thee”
We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring
She said, “I know what you’re thinking, but there ain’t a thing
You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree”
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire
Atlantic City by the cold grey sea
I hear a voice crying, “Daddy,” I always think it’s for me
But it’s only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call
Every new messenger brings evil report
’Bout armies on the march and time that is short
And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls
Would I have married her? I don’t know, I suppose
She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes
But I kept hearing my name and had to be movin’ on
I saw screws break loose, saw the devil pound tin
I saw a house in the country being torn from within
I heard my ancestors calling from the land far beyond
And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that’s near to me nearer to the fire

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us#ixzz3BnBMZPzx

Lyrics to Up to Me

Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing
Death kept followin’, trackin’ us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing
Now somebody’s got to show their hand, time is an enemy
I know you’re long gone, I guess it must be up to me
If I’d thought about it I never would’ve done it, I guess I would’ve let it slide
If I’d lived my life by what others were thinkin’, the heart inside me would’ve died
I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity
Someone had to reach for the risin’ star, I guess it was up to me
Oh, the Union Central is pullin’ out and the orchids are in bloom
I’ve only got me one good shirt left and it smells of stale perfume
In fourteen months I’ve only smiled once and I didn’t do it consciously
Somebody’s got to find your trail, I guess it must be up to me
It was like a revelation when you betrayed me with your touch
I’d just about convinced myself that nothin’ had changed that much
The old Rounder in the iron mask slipped me the master key
Somebody had to unlock your heart, he said it was up to me
Well, I watched you slowly disappear down into the officers’ club
I would’ve followed you in the door but I didn’t have a ticket stub
So I waited all night ’til the break of day, hopin’ one of us could get free
When the dawn came over the river bridge, I knew it was up to me
Oh, the only decent thing I did when I worked as a postal clerk
Was to haul your picture down off the wall near the cage where I used to work
Was I a fool or not to try to protect your identity?
You looked a little burned out, my friend, I thought it might be up to me
Well, I met somebody face to face and I had to remove my hat
She’s everything I need and love but I can’t be swayed by that
It frightens me, the awful truth of how sweet life can be
But she ain’t a-gonna make me move, I guess it must be up to me
We heard the Sermon on the Mount and I knew it was too complex
It didn’t amount to anything more than what the broken glass reflects
When you bite off more than you can chew you pay the penalty
Somebody’s got to tell the tale, I guess it must be up to me
Well, Dupree came in pimpin’ tonight to the Thunderbird Café
Crystal wanted to talk to him, I had to look the other way
Well, I just can’t rest without you, love, I need your company
But you ain’t a-gonna cross the line, I guess it must be up to me
There’s a note left in the bottle, you can give it to Estelle
She’s the one you been wond’rin’ about, but there’s really nothin’ much to tell
We both heard voices for a while, now the rest is history
Somebody’s got to cry some tears, I guess it must be up to me
So go on, boys, and play your hands, life is a pantomime
The ringleaders from the county seat say you don’t have all that much time
And the girl with me behind the shades, she ain’t my property
One of us has got to hit the road, I guess it must be up to me
And if we never meet again, baby, remember me
How my lone guitar played sweet for you that old-time melody
And the harmonica around my neck, I blew it for you, free
No one else could play that tune, you know it was up to me

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us#ixzz3BnBjWzyv

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

President Obama: Please Take A Stand!

President Obama and Eric Holder Conspire

Come out for once and speak it like a man: say that the police shooting of Michael Brown was immoral, and require that appropriate action be taken against the police department in Ferguson, Missouri. Stop taking opinion polls to determine the will of the people. Supporters of the officer who shot Brown are wrong. If the president for once would take a stand and make a clear, irrevocable, black and white stance, the furor would subside!

More Moodies

Youtube Video: The Story in Your Eyes

Listening to this, all I can think is what genius! What a great band, I suspect along with the Beatles, for me, the Moody Blues, the very best... And, thanks to Alan Kleiner who officially turned me onto these guys---Can never get enough of this great music.

USA Today---Textbook spin on Michael Brown Murder (Ferguson, Missouri)

Textbook Example of Spin and Dissimulation

What's wrong with this picture? No. 2318

Can you spot the fallacy and deceit in this USA Today article?
Since when do Facebook "likes" constitute support for anything?

The bottomline of the spin here is that there is support for the officer who murdered Michael Brown---because of Facebook "likes"! How utterly amateur.

Facebook likes cannot count as support or protest for anything.
#1. The number of likes cannot be independently verified.
#2. A virtual support or protest is as good as nothing compares to a real protest.
etc., etc.

The obvious takeaway from the article is that there is support for the officer who murdered young Mr. Brown. Who stands to benefit from this appraisal of the scenario? Who funded this story Mr. Rupert Murdoch? Instead of citing any real evidence of support USA Today claims that Facebooks "likes" count as 'support'---consider how much true existential courage is required to click a "like" button---what's the conversion to real flesh and blood supporters? Let me quess about 30, ooo "like" clicks equal one honest protester in the face of immoral and unethical acts of police brutality and state and national stormtrooping techniques to suppress the honest citizens democratic right to free assembly and critique of the sub-human practices of the police state.

That is beside the point since the headline news of USA Today is  bought with money---so I ask again: who stands to gain from this textbook example of spin?

Monday, August 11, 2014

Thinking is the Best Way to Travel

Classic 7 Moody Blues: Speeding through the universe, thinking is the best way to travel....Mike Pinder


This song penetrates deeply into my memory from the LP In Search of the Lost Chord---I will go on the record to say that in my opinion, albeit worth piddles, The Moody Blues are the most philosophical band. At least until The Clientele! Pleez, I am seri-o-so, the Moodies delivered to me in my youth, the following: serious orchestral musical harmony (Days of Future Passed, On the Threshold of a Dream)----What does this mean? Days of future passed? Serious Augustinian wisdom, right? It's just pop music, relax!

Friday, July 04, 2014


+I am good with the word 'musing'---its cognate is 'muse'--greek: musikos, or 'mousaios'---of or pertaining to inspiration of the MUSE or muses! MUSE: WIKIPEDIA LINK

Who then is 'musikos' or musical in the current regime where muses are no longer believed in or considered 'real'? Tough question!

Thursday, July 03, 2014


Crunch you must be kidding.
Throw in the towel, at this point in the game?
Come on you stormtrooping breakfast hero
You mystical mariner…

Has your heart gone to rust
To insult the eager-eyed kids who revere you?
No, not another word, or syllable of cowardice…

Cap’n O Cap’n
You crispy-eyed captain sailing cold milky mornings
At the bottom of my bowl.

Tousle haired ancient
You owe it to America
You woolen capped warrior…

Mrs. Crunch you say family duty and kids in college
Well upon us all a little rain must fall but
They are counting on your
Longstanding crunch
Against the onslaught of white winds
Whole vitamin D pounding and
Torrential skim pummeling

O Cap’n how you shine
Through torrential pourings never drowning
Of your buoyancy we do sing!

So let me remind you dusted hero
That we supplied you with one sacred mission
With the Lieutenant Orange, and the crispy toast

So if you have any PROBLEMS WITH THAT
You better take it up to the admiralty
But do not
Don’t let me ever hear you speak of throwing in the towel again!
You white bearded champion

Monday, June 09, 2014

Reverend Peter McGuire Wolf, First Nation Ministry Certification

Having received my ordination certificate from First Nation Ministry I am now equipped to to perform the marriage ceremony of my niece!

Sunday, June 01, 2014

Whitman's 'Specimen Days'


   Whether the rains, the heat and cold, and what underlies them all, are affected with what affects man in masses, and follow his play of passionate action, strain'd stronger than usual, and on a larger scale than usual -- whether this, or no, it is certain that there is now, and has been for twenty months or more, on this American continent north, many a remarkable, many an unprecedented expression of the subtile world of air above us and around us. There, since this war, and the wide and deep national agitation, strange analogies, different combinations, a different sunlight, or absence of it; different 


products even out of the ground. After every great battle, a great storm. Even civic events the same. On Saturday last, a forenoon like whirling demons, dark, with slanting rain, full of rage; and then the afternoon, so calm, so bathed with flooding splendor from heaven's most excellent sun, with atmosphere of sweetness; so clear, it show'd the stars, long, long before they were due. As the President came out on the capitol portico, a curious little white cloud, the only one in that part of the sky, appear'd like a hovering bird, right over him.

   Indeed, the heavens, the elements, all the meteorological influences, have run riot for weeks past. Such caprices, abruptest alternation of frowns and beauty, I never knew. It is a common remark that (as last summer was different in its spells of intense heat from any preceding it,) the winter just completed has been without parallel. It has remain'd so down to the hour I am writing. Much of the daytime of the past month was sulky, with leaden heaviness, fog, interstices of bitter cold, and some insane storms. But there have been samples of another description. Nor earth nor sky ever knew spectacles of superber beauty than some of the nights lately here. The western star, Venus, in the earlier hours of evening, has never been so large, so clear; it seems as if it told something, as if it held rapport indulgent with humanity, with us Americans. Five or six nights since, it hung close by the moon, then a little past its first quarter. The star was wonderful, the moon like a young mother. The sky, dark blue, the transparent night, the planets, the moderate west wind, the elastic temperature, the miracle of that great star, and the young and swelling moon swimming in the west, suffused the soul. Then I heard, slow and clear, the deliberate notes of a bugle come up out of the silence, sounding so good through the night's mystery, no hurry, but firm and faithful, floating along, rising, falling leisurely, with here and there a long-drawn note; the bugle, well play'd, sounding tattoo, in one of the army hospitals near here, where the wounded (some of them personally so dear to me,) are lying in their cots, and many a sick boy come down to the war from Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the rest.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Chief Seattle's Oration

Chief Seattle to the White Chief

This link leads to the printed version of Chief Seattle's speech. Amazing words, amazing poetry! If you consider the links below the oration to an essay calling into doubt the authenticity or even existence of such a speech--how typical of the american scholar to deny the reality of this grand work! This seems to be the calling and essence of these 'nihilisers'-- as John Paul II referred to the american culture as a culture of death---described by another anthropologist as a "culture devouring culture". This is accurate.

The american mind cannot help but polarize and negate, to cover in a web of indeterminacy---to cast doubts on self-evident truth such as Sealth speaks and to infer doubts and spread webs of nothingness like 'nattering nabobs of negativity.

Poets alone know poets. This Clark who denies the veracity of this document is the worst type of scoundrel. If you read with understanding Seattle's beautiful words, it becomes clear that the existence of such an oration sprung from a much more highly developed genius--the genius of the poet of this land! That which America so sorely lacks in this day (2014). America's god is Snafu, or Marduk---Babylonian. No knowledge of our brother Christ, the Great Spririt of Seattle and this and all lands!

When your culture is howling vortex of negativity and consumption all that you can effectively muster is doubt and the slime of nihilisation. As you web snares globally, droning, scudding, promoting death and your culture of toxic excess--you trample the graves and bones the true american soil. what is 'america' after all but a tri-syllabic name? The essence and truth of the soil, the land, the souls of the living and the dead. This false nation could no more produce a document of startling beauty such as Sealth's oration, anymore than a herd of monkeys could type Shakespeare. Anti-poetry better expresses the essence of this babylonian/israeli/roman culture of nattering negativity.