gems in the mega rough VOlume VIVI- Meaningful Moments of SOund

By tdf, June 13, 2016

The solemn sound of my homeland/. I hear its howl on the wind from afar and turn my head, for I feel the rustle of leaves in the breeze upon dust covered branches of my soul.

I turn to the only man I know who bears his soul in everything he creates. He ALWAYS means something.

Where are the hearts filled with hope? They are found in the regions where spirit matters. Without which you cannot survive. Elsewhere as in close to you and me, in the west…far harder a thing to unearth, collide with and revel in the basking in the glow of odd and special and nourishing kinship.

If you are in love, if you are fanatically focused on honourable endeavour, then I wish you well and my fondness. If you are otherwise situated, then I implore you to make steam in acquainting yourselves with the world and its most near and sinister threats, and knowing them. send word, join me, let us begin the Resistance…

I do not mean ‘Allo ‘Allo. There is no Rene…Nor comedy.

I mean gathering of everyone who has had enough and knows we either make a stand or accept our slavery.

Everyone is listening, but nobody is hearing. For they have been taught to hear only the rhythm of the overseers. I play with colour when I seek mutual joy with others, yet when others attempt a similar routine, it comes across as serious substance of white supremacy, which horrifies and appals. For whilst I find colour merely playfully interesting in the right context, others, who seem lame and mild and pointless and unaware, display something very real and very ugly when they mock the blacks and yellow and browns, anyone but their own colour. What kind of creature bases their position in the world on the colour of their skin?

10s of thousands of NATO troops are presently throwing bombs, organising mock nuclear strikes, launching mortars, co-ordinating invasion practice, kill and invade, practising war, on the borders of Russia…yet everyone I speak to about such matters calls Russia the threat…I see Turkey supplying ISIS with money, supplies, weapons, recruits, in exchange for Syrian oil and ancient artefacts and yet, everyone I speak to about such matters calls Assad the threat.

The vast majority are so bereft of the ability of sight, of fight, of knowing dark from light, that they are best avoided. For they are – despite my bambi emotive core’s hope and eagerness to find the same in other hearts – of a similar shape to me, of a similar sound to me, and I exist in their world, which seems fine and dandy to them, torturous to me….The trees seem and are more honest….

…Yet I am skirting between two positions with such dizzying strides in all that matters most to me; either forging a path where I can focus this disease of expressing myself, of constant, unhealthy need to know what is happening to the world where I dwell, onto enough people to forge some positive investment towards the resistance..and…gathering my senses into a narrow enough accepted solidarity of seeking numbers representing the Grandet gold, making moves to attract others of comparable values, whilst seeking out a swathe of land well way from human hordes….in New Zealand.

We are consuming, yet not consumed. And to be consumed with anything, stretches our boundaries of all that matters. It encourages growth and discovery, which can only happen through adversity. Fire breathes Fire.

I miss my tribe. They have spirit. Which is the Sun to the Earth of Passion.