Retreat from Facebook Hill (or I lost my thrill….)
This time,the last jail time spent, for sharing photos of arrests at Kahuku tilting at windmills Brutal Truths: Only reason we stayed too long was to share the lives from Facebook Hill because if not us than who will but we can't live here no more. It's all in the music ,only way to go. Focus on the tick tock of a geiger counter Check your atoms at the door. Still no nuke em First person shoot em where we parted company on the rocky road of love. Stream of consciousness only way to ever go this media too slow face to face, soul to soul only way to go now cause can't dance partner with your respected breitbarter ban non grifter face beck and call i stan in my solitude - grace me- to be always free of the red light of the poison pen of the gaslight in the limelight expecting we could always be friends in a virtual universe a curse that's hard to break down addiction constriction of the blood flow through my veins too long waiting for rain catching every typo false move proof reader supposed to be a rainmaker taker of pain swallower The twittering birds where it's always raining cats and dogs and natural disasters the medicine wheel is in the sky now everything you can imagine is real
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Catching up on my reading with a perennial subscription to the public library even though at any moment the FBI could seize the records of what I've been reading,haul me up before a grand inquisition into the facts,ask me if I memorialized events,put pictures up on a big screen overhead while 12 long-suffering jurors comment overheard ,"she doesn't seem too emotional about it and there's the case of the thrown tape measure ,what was it?, ten years ago maybe AS IF that justifies one person's bludgeoning another with a sharp marble bookend while all the while she asked for lenience knowing he was stark raving mad ,his head locked in a carmelite monastery somewhere in the middle ages. It was memorialized alright in the margins of a thousand theologically stolen memories from a culture obsessed with pivot points of history but otherwise amnesiac blinded to the ever -changing laws of quantum physics especially the Speed of Light which proves we can be 2 places at once . That's Space. But wait,there's the Space Time Continuum; the moment I observe you we can't possibly be in the same space because of traveling light and the warp and weft of things that also have anomalies beyond all human logic and reason That's why having a sense of humor is essential in the prepper wannabe survivor's toolkit. It's a miracle a meteor hasn't hit the planet in our puny lifespan and the northern lights show us just how close we always are coming to immolation.Or being sucked into that black hole recently pictured using among other things,selfies as algorithms to help us be objective. It's this not that we are trying to recognize without intervention by elements we haven't discovered yet. Perhaps every living thing including the rocks has a sense of what we call death and the OED definition and extrapolation of it.The fact we even have an Oxford English Dictionary is in and of itself,mind-boggling but not as much so as the deciphering of the Mayan Codex which also has extreme visual beauty no strike that ALSO incorporates cool pictures of slaves and human sacrifice. SPEAK dead languages WRITE dead letters GET UP IN dead of night HAVE MIND IN deadlock SO I AM deadweight TACKING AGAINST dead wind IN A BOAT MADE OF dead wood PAYING THE PRICE death duty DRINKING FROM A death cup mushroom or the philosopher's stone ethical hemlock AT DEATH'S DOOR don't want to think these unthinkable thoughts i want out of this death cult Somewhere in a courtyard there's the sound of a shell blown amplified for the crowd from a cave underground where the high priestess of sound sings every song of trees the canopy of wonder we can never replace. The boring whiteness of sugar plantations ring in the crackerjack box parcheesi board games the names are escaping screaming deaf blind and dumb you made your choices leaving us only our voices stand up and fight for the last beating heart we can't bring ourselves to sacrifice on the bloody altar of commerce. Folk like you can manage the wild horses on a budget the wild women with tattoos ,dirty fingernails charms in their dreadlocks on retreat the girl in pigtails speaks at the not united nations there in the spotlight she's flying all over the lands visiting diamond mines refugee camps photo opportunities with heads of state You told me you're here for the selfies the music can wait subtleties bleached out beached whale full of plastic a talking head full of statistics playing at revolution dressed the part caught in a maze giant screens burning in time squared yesterday the crosstown bus sprouts wings high above the ford foundation its air conditioned tropical amazon in a 4 o'clock rainstorm heading home. (working on something almost like Berlin Alexanderplatz. Dear friends,brother,sister...R: DO you remember realizing it would be cheaper to send an emissary to Jersey with the treasures than through the USA postal service? Return. This thread takes a long time to unspool and I don't know why we have lost touch,but it's ok. Would you welcome an emissary ,a piano playing fool with a kind heart who needs a reason to keep on living? I do not have a dime or would have done something long ago but can never repay anything and right now am convincing music bureaucrats that this could be the next to the last thing/request ,will make them laugh if it kills me ,with nothing to prove. Matchmakers often set things ablaze with unintended consequences. ) PS (the song & poem posted here on the last post were for yous. PPS: This is the footnote referenced) PPS :Do you believe in magic?
THE HOBO'S SONG
Last Night in the desert for D.G. with love from the DIRT & a desert rat.In loving memory for all we have lost. RISE! or Thanks for the memories.
I still remember your number Used it as a password changer that one done got killed & I'm not sure who I am supposed to be now. In a house that's not a home no next of kin to call my own except everyone I used to know. Once I used a made up name at the emergency don't think they noticed I guess the papers for the last remains were filed a long time ago and the case disappeared like magic,the case was closed. See,some prophets are artists some artists are prophets usually There's a place I remember being free bluebirds sang through the night indigo You built a fire one day you visited me we drank brandy smoked some weed you grow not so much so as anyone would notice when you left it started to snow the fire burned on through the camper window thank you for being that memory the pony,express delivered me Almost got killed out there again remembered your number on a night ride where I traded a Charles Mingus and an ebow for a pack of American Spirit or something like that Sangre de Cristo say my name call me back every sunrise sunset Now I pick wildflowers by the road no one notices the old woman and a dog or at least I like to think so Could escape but would take have taken that bullet for you any time that plane crash seat so when you take a bow make it mean something You kept saying keep saying Can you feel me it? Put your phones down with all their unremembered names and numbers try to love the one who is unlovable an untouchable man seems so evil he is human just like you appeals to the worst instincts that's all the artist the prophet appeals to the best the poet always wanna take you higher so you can fly free like the blue birds of happiness. soundcloud.com/liz-gilbert/april1
Four Segments today,WOrldPoetryDay and WorldForestDay with loads o links in You Tube Descriptions: 1.Bob Carr ,Bodhisattva of the High Desert 2. Jadav Payeng Forest King of India who planted 550 hectares of trees,single-handedly 3. W.S. Merwin who passed last week. Irreplaceable teacher,friend,poet laureate,land steward and all -round epitome of what it is to be a complete ,integrated human being.Read from The Shadow of Sirius ,sitting in shadows at the baseball park bleachers with Murphy on the first day of Spring. 4.Ali Smith & Jackie Kay,2 Scottish writers & poets. From Artful,by Ali Smith .
Here's a song,Lullaby of Railways ,from Wires|No Wires ,an album at its heart ,dedicated to Poets & artists. Science is the head,Art is the heart. Got the chance to put my hand next to one imprinted in the Lascaux Caves, Many times ,through travels & residency in the desert Southwest,have I sat long days with the pictographs, petroglyphs ,walked the geoglyphs,The facts of science ,with all due respect to the scientific method (which I also love),change as they are replaced with new accepted facts.Art ,however,is an unbroken line of human expression,who we are,and it can be referenced over millennia,unbroken truth.I think of the Kogi people,for first time in London, or anywhere away from their home in Colombia. They were at an observatory,where the astronomer,arrogant,says "Maybe the Kogi will have something to learn from us." (This is from the film Kogi made ,Aluna). He brings out a photograph taken by the Hubble telescope of an infinitesimal corner of our galaxy. Then he is amazed that the Kogi find the only star in the picture,have a name for it ,as well as everything else in the picture! Then not so arrogant!
You say we've never met Who you foolin ? We can't trust the internet We try to light a little campfire, Cause it's a cold thing We've gotta stop censoring our heartbeats Cause baby we go way back But sleight of hand's not working like it did when We were surrealists in Paris cafes, smoking surrealists laughing til we were choking surrealists passing coded time bombs surrealists going green with absinthe. You forgot the words you said even as you spoke em You asked me to marry you 1/2 serious Baby, were you 1/2 zen joking ? But I'll be round to keep em safe remind you to remind me all's not broken As long as I am listening you got my ear, not tin surrealist in a seashell, on the half shell, at the beach side rock n rollin I never surfed but I'm learning how to read a poem You can see a good wave once you've hit the bottom Underneath, the undertow the underworld, the underpinning of it all Then you see, you clearly see the patterned truth unfolding Then you can forgive and let go. I could be Anais Nin and you my Henry Miller but I noticed bohemians and gypsies are both trending so we'll have to settle for our own down low , tailor-made bar (and happy ending) and a rag tag surrealist army. (But now that I've found you, I'll never let you go. Now, that I've found you , do you think I would ever let you go? ) No, I won't hold back I will let go of everything for you babe to mend the fragile links once so strong, for that I'll keep stringing you along, babe It's the bond, the longing.... It's the bond....our long pair bond the song of starlit rails and galaxies spinning. And I will rock you on the midnight train every midnight hour my surrealist hobo of the starlit rails , poet I will rock you on the midnight train to Georgia I'll keep on rockin you on the midnight train to Baton Rouge I'll keep on rocking you on the midnight train to Tupelo I'll keep on rockin you in the bosom of Woody Guthrie's heartland I'll keep on singing Hank Williams' song of the lonesome whip-or-will Don't care about the towns, the flags all I care about 's the soul... AND BOY, do you have soul. That's why I will rock you on the midnight train my surrealist hobo of the starlit rails not ashamed to say, poet ....my sweetheart hobo of the starlit rails, I'm not ashamed to say, he's a poet. and who knows how to spell whip-or-will HA HA soundcloud.com/liz-gilbert/cjdlull1-0 audiosapienliz-gilbert Announcing Launch of Lizarus In Wonderland Show Nadaville 2019 DailyV(d)Log;Walking With Murphy3/20/2019
We hope you'll join us as we wander a small patch of desert near Joshua Tree WITH our friends the Joshua Trees,as we talk of Cabbages & Kings. New things will happen every day,we don't know what they'll be ,but we're ready. COuld be some song creating & playing as the spirit moves. It's all a grand improvisation.
I lived in an old homesteader in Wonder Valley,California for a year & a day,& discovered such wonders there even though my life runs on an old dirt track | the sublime to the ridiculous every day.These songs|poems|stories are a diary chronicle of those days of wonder. Trippy alright & my landlady's name was Trip (meaning trip in the snow|Snow White no relation to Jack)& she was a trip and a half in & of itself.I also did the Lizarus in Wonderland show live faithfully,out on the hot streets or out in the desert alone in glorious silence except for the bombs on the Marine Corps base. There are many more videos not uploaded yet from this experience. Hope you'll take some time & take this trip with me. I make all of this for you,my unknown listener & I love you ,though I will never know you. I know your time is precious. I want to give you a gift of time & space to wander in,like a book of life. It's a movie that never ends,wishing it could step out of the screen ,tear off the veils.
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