Nina Simone

i'm in love with the feeling of freedom

that it could be so close

that present struggles may fade to a new dawn of rulers that love and serve the people, financiers who bend down, run precious soil in their hand before making a 'margin call' on monsanto, and the man waiting at the bus stop who looks me in the eye and doesn't see an enemy...

but i know i must wait

for who now could say it would be enough?

Nina Simone

i'm in love with the feeling of freedom

that it could be so close

that present struggles may fade to a new dawn of rulers that love and serve the people, financiers who bend down, run precious soil in their hand before making a 'margin call' on monsanto, and the man waiting at the bus stop who looks me in the eye and doesn't see an enemy...

but i know i must wait

for who now could say it would be enough?

Zimbabwe

"Human Rights Watch, a global watchdog, says that the ruling party has set up torture camps across the country as part of an orchestrated campaign. Victims are rounded up and taken to the camps at night and beaten for hours on end."*

We forget to ask:

'Why?'

Zimbabwe

"Human Rights Watch, a global watchdog, says that the ruling party has set up torture camps across the country as part of an orchestrated campaign. Victims are rounded up and taken to the camps at night and beaten for hours on end."*

We forget to ask:

'Why?'

Crimewatch UK

31.3.2008

"I moved her hand and she just felt so cold. Her eyes were still open and so was her mouth."

"I miss my Mum's cuddles...and... it's just those few moments what you have of feeling safe and secure, that nothing could happen in those few moments that she held me. I miss that the most"

Meghan, daughter if Sarah, who died 14 January.

o

Today was otherwise frustrating until this this bereft girl punctured it with beauty like her mother's lung by a 12" steel blade weilded by a man she may have known. (He wore a distinctive red coat and may have got away on a bus)

Crimewatch UK

31.3.2008

"I moved her hand and she just felt so cold. Her eyes were still open and so was her mouth."

"I miss my Mum's cuddles...and... it's just those few moments what you have of feeling safe and secure, that nothing could happen in those few moments that she held me. I miss that the most"

Meghan, daughter if Sarah, who died 14 January.

o

Today was otherwise frustrating until this this bereft girl punctured it with beauty like her mother's lung by a 12" steel blade weilded by a man she may have known. (He wore a distinctive red coat and may have got away on a bus)

Airport Loumge

The traveller's haze, the dead expectation of lost hours sunk in beer, a sandwich, a walk to one end of the terminal; a long walk back.

The sages don't walk here, those accident encounters on a beach, in the coffee shop where he leans over and asks where your bag is from to launch into tirade/monologue/sonnet about life as a rancher/driver/carpet salesman.

Those messengers that dropped especially for you, usher you on a new course, hold back or steer your mood as the next instant requires.

The airport sage is sandwiches and beer to turn your mood, while others sunk in their own travelling black holes barely manage a grimace of recognition that life is passing around them.

The plane is OK. As long as you manage not to dive too deep until the flight's last ten minutes, leaving just enough time to bare the soul and stun each other before you hand back the headphones, gather your bag and walk head down through smelly carpet corridors in a hurrying sea of grey faces.

These are rarely sages but serve to confirm our opinions/low feelings - occasionally an interesting story such as Ajnay from Liverpool - Flight EK0945 - sent out to Bangladesh to find his brother a wife, but returned two weeks later betrothed and wed himself (to his cousin, he'd never met before). Stories saved only for whoever gives you a lift home , or otherwise buried on the train as you look at stubbled fields and wonder whether the Scottish accent has changed since you were gone (and if not, what's happened to your ears?)

Airport Loumge

The traveller's haze, the dead expectation of lost hours sunk in beer, a sandwich, a walk to one end of the terminal; a long walk back.

The sages don't walk here, those accident encounters on a beach, in the coffee shop where he leans over and asks where your bag is from to launch into tirade/monologue/sonnet about life as a rancher/driver/carpet salesman.

Those messengers that dropped especially for you, usher you on a new course, hold back or steer your mood as the next instant requires.

The airport sage is sandwiches and beer to turn your mood, while others sunk in their own travelling black holes barely manage a grimace of recognition that life is passing around them.

The plane is OK. As long as you manage not to dive too deep until the flight's last ten minutes, leaving just enough time to bare the soul and stun each other before you hand back the headphones, gather your bag and walk head down through smelly carpet corridors in a hurrying sea of grey faces.

These are rarely sages but serve to confirm our opinions/low feelings - occasionally an interesting story such as Ajnay from Liverpool - Flight EK0945 - sent out to Bangladesh to find his brother a wife, but returned two weeks later betrothed and wed himself (to his cousin, he'd never met before). Stories saved only for whoever gives you a lift home , or otherwise buried on the train as you look at stubbled fields and wonder whether the Scottish accent has changed since you were gone (and if not, what's happened to your ears?)

I love you

Wonder bequeathes sparks in my chest

I've been told you are me

But you feel much more than that

You are one with everything

And I, as everything, happily one with you

(that our skin could rub, merge and turn

to illuminate this oneness more)

I love you

Wonder bequeathes sparks in my chest

I've been told you are me

But you feel much more than that

You are one with everything

And I, as everything, happily one with you

(that our skin could rub, merge and turn

to illuminate this oneness more)

Food/credit crisis

How these two meet?

One without food

Both without sense

Feeding cars over mouths?

Golden robes over a steady house?

Your children for the grid?

we're getting rid of sin

through the greatest devastation

on the weakest civilisation

showing all are weak

and vulnerable

you see now, that we hurt

think you're safe as

you scrape faces in dirt

this pain wil be dealt

full sqaure to you

you hurt now?

it's only just begun

Food/credit crisis

How these two meet?

One without food

Both without sense

Feeding cars over mouths?

Golden robes over a steady house?

Your children for the grid?

we're getting rid of sin

through the greatest devastation

on the weakest civilisation

showing all are weak

and vulnerable

you see now, that we hurt

think you're safe as

you scrape faces in dirt

this pain wil be dealt

full sqaure to you

you hurt now?

it's only just begun

Reply to Gonzo

Rep

It's the greed that's the seed

that sprouts lies so diffuse

not one but manifold

As for death,

love snuffs it

as surely as the magician's knot

unravels to show a smooth length of rope

We'll take also the other side of this dark coin,

The food shortage

Grown (withered) by the same poison seed

One more thing - to an old friend who

fashioned these views as much inspired them:

The markets don't destroy the collective unconscious

But perpetuate it

Selling seeds as virtues

SO as to constitute the unconscious itself

You notice how fiercely people defend their consumption decisions?

Reply to Gonzo

Rep

It's the greed that's the seed

that sprouts lies so diffuse

not one but manifold

As for death,

love snuffs it

as surely as the magician's knot

unravels to show a smooth length of rope

We'll take also the other side of this dark coin,

The food shortage

Grown (withered) by the same poison seed

One more thing - to an old friend who

fashioned these views as much inspired them:

The markets don't destroy the collective unconscious

But perpetuate it

Selling seeds as virtues

SO as to constitute the unconscious itself

You notice how fiercely people defend their consumption decisions?

Francis Lucille

Do not reject the body sensations and emotions that present themselves to you. Let them blossom fully in your awareness without any goal or any interference from the will. Progressively, the potential energy imprisoned in muscular tensions liberates itself, the dynamism of the psychosomatic structure exhausts itself, and the return toward fundamental stability takes place. This purification of body sensation is a great art. It requires patience, determination and courage. It finds its expression at the level of sensation through a gradual expansion of the body into the surrounding space and a simultaneous penetration of the somatic structure by that space. That space is not experienced as a simple absence of objects. When the attention frees itself from perceptions that hold it in thrall, it discovers itself as that self-luminous space which is the true substance of the body. At this moment, the duality between body and space is abolished. The body is expanded to the size of the universe and contains all things tangible and intangible in its heart. Nothing is external to it. We all have this body of joy, this awakened body, this body of universal welcoming. We are all complete, with no missing parts. Only explore your kingdom and take possession of it knowingly. Do not live any longer in that wretched shack of a limited body.

~ Francis Lucille

Francis Lucille

Do not reject the body sensations and emotions that present themselves to you. Let them blossom fully in your awareness without any goal or any interference from the will. Progressively, the potential energy imprisoned in muscular tensions liberates itself, the dynamism of the psychosomatic structure exhausts itself, and the return toward fundamental stability takes place. This purification of body sensation is a great art. It requires patience, determination and courage. It finds its expression at the level of sensation through a gradual expansion of the body into the surrounding space and a simultaneous penetration of the somatic structure by that space. That space is not experienced as a simple absence of objects. When the attention frees itself from perceptions that hold it in thrall, it discovers itself as that self-luminous space which is the true substance of the body. At this moment, the duality between body and space is abolished. The body is expanded to the size of the universe and contains all things tangible and intangible in its heart. Nothing is external to it. We all have this body of joy, this awakened body, this body of universal welcoming. We are all complete, with no missing parts. Only explore your kingdom and take possession of it knowingly. Do not live any longer in that wretched shack of a limited body.

~ Francis Lucille

Light at her side

There's light at her side as she reads.

Heart swollen

Warmth from remote cold

Pressing from the window

Bare foot arched at green cotton knee.

Heel taps skirting

She arrived back at 4; no reason for coming home, though here she finds herself. Open book, cold shoulder, finger tracing gently down page: aches pouring up at her.

Her surrounds a poor mimicry of the text. Of feeling truly felt, hearts burned and broken.

A woman shattered by her lover, grieves for his return to put together pieces that made sense in his presence, though this broke her all the more.

Experience that brings life to single, sharp focus.

She longs to kick away supports – grey and tasting rubbery – see how far she can fall.

Surrendered to limitless gravity, than swamped in stable muck.

Mules riding off to nowhere in particular, bringing back stories of nothing new.

Tales lie deep in her; swooning, bulging to rupture, drench and be drenched by an outside so closely contained.

Express and be impressed upon – no longer hold the flimsy lifeboat.

She swells, heaves and dives in other pages.

Heart thrilling at its working pain.

World deflates around her.

Cold shoulder, finger tracing gently down each page.

Eyes,

Heart

Weep

Light at her side

There's light at her side as she reads.

Heart swollen

Warmth from remote cold

Pressing from the window

Bare foot arched at green cotton knee.

Heel taps skirting

She arrived back at 4; no reason for coming home, though here she finds herself. Open book, cold shoulder, finger tracing gently down page: aches pouring up at her.

Her surrounds a poor mimicry of the text. Of feeling truly felt, hearts burned and broken.

A woman shattered by her lover, grieves for his return to put together pieces that made sense in his presence, though this broke her all the more.

Experience that brings life to single, sharp focus.

She longs to kick away supports – grey and tasting rubbery – see how far she can fall.

Surrendered to limitless gravity, than swamped in stable muck.

Mules riding off to nowhere in particular, bringing back stories of nothing new.

Tales lie deep in her; swooning, bulging to rupture, drench and be drenched by an outside so closely contained.

Express and be impressed upon – no longer hold the flimsy lifeboat.

She swells, heaves and dives in other pages.

Heart thrilling at its working pain.

World deflates around her.

Cold shoulder, finger tracing gently down each page.

Eyes,

Heart

Weep

Comments

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Comments

Space to comment on Letter to Grandad over at Gonzotext.