Secret debt

Greetings,

weave me a silk tie to economic terror
corruption, greed, illusions
goldman on sack-cloth bespoke tailor

mr. goldman uses asian foreign workers in the middle eats
to smuggle gold out 
rag and bone merchants chant profit buy low sell high
insider trading cards i buy you buy we buy inflate the price
legalized tender is the night running gold, drugs, weapons, passports, people

all the camels, donkeys, mules running trade routes

money is the enabler
the game is over they told greece
goodbye athens goodbye ottomans goodbye nazis goodbye easy government money goodbye eu(poria)

sell me a white sand island

here comes the money honey

circumvent the corrupt banking industry
so i can file a be spoke suit tailored
by pure fabrication
woven on historical looms

lucky bamboo said i’d find you here
fit to be tied to anything
where spirit is good 
matter is a matter of objective consciousness
spinning on its axis
unraveling threads
into patterns, endless knot 

undertime, overtime, inside time's beauty
sharing information with intelligence agencies

now - yesterday, today, tomorrow
now a days - last decade, this decade, next decade
the long now - 20,000 years
let me introduce myself
married to consumption 
my name is fear
fear of poverty 
an acronym
consolation 
my timid friends say it indicates
Fuck Everything And Runaway 

the bigger the fear the bigger the defense
one does not need a compass in the land of dreams
Face Everything And Recover

the bigger the obstacle the bigger the joy
read ‘operating instructions for plants’
growth flow initiation 
dispense resistance
correct motives, means
patience generosity

inside the people's labyrinth
honor receptive side of warrior nature light

complex adaptive system

tendency for increased complexity
make the wrong decision for the right reason

sublime paradox
it was love & passion that made us suffer
it’s not so much that there is something strange about time
the thing that’s strange is what’s going on inside time  
we will understand how simple the universe is when we recognize how strange it is

fate gives you two choices, the one you should take and the one you take

Metta.

Gator Aid

Greetings,

My name is Ali Gator. I live on a farm with 200 friends near Saigon. I used to live in the Mekong River but was trapped by some greedy animal poachers and brought here. Many humans are too greedy and clever for their own good. They use me for breeding. The babies are sold to restaurants. Bye-bye baby.

One tropical afternoon a group of us were relaxing by the pool after our weekly vegetarian lunch. Surely initiated the idea. She knows a thing or two about consumption habits.

"You know what we need to do is expand. I suggest we create a line of bags, belts, shoes, purses and accessories made of human skin."

Aghast, a strong-willed female member of the dwindling population has a degree in marketing.

"I agree," she said. "Considering the passion carnivores crave for designer wear so they can make a fashion statement, it's only logical to assume Italian, French and English skins will provide us the color, texture, suppleness, elasticity, diversity, durability and above all the QUALITY demanded and expected by millions of animals."

"Remember their eyes," said Esther.

"What about them?" sang the chorus.

"They make great buttons."

"Yes," replied Grace. "We should respect them and recycle everything."

Scales, with a background in finance and dodgy mergers spoke up.

"I've done a cost-benefit-analysis and it's doable. Human skin resources are cheap and plentiful. Sweatshop labor manufacturing and production facilities are already up and running. Our biggest hurdles are the ethical values of the end consumer. I mean, why would a Siberian tiger, whale, Malayan sun bear, elephant, cobra, eagle, or pileated gibbon be caught dead wearing anything made of human skin? It's beyond me."

"Everything is beyond you," countered Minksy a new member of our slumbering tribe. "It's all a matter of personal taste."

We took a vote. It was unanimous. "Hooray! Let the hunt begin!"

We celebrated with a round of drinks made with human blood. This is perfect timing, I thought, seeing all my friends in a new light. We'd create a new line of human skin products to be introduced worldwide before the holidays. It's a wonderful life.

Metta. 

Transient species

Yes, we, meaning you and I and a billion other H. Saps are all in transit on a spinning rock. Can Earth take care of itself? How does it continually renew itself against the onslaught of too many humans?

How does this process of natural Hobbit reality survive? Wit, guile, cunning, compassion, kindness, love, flash drives and tremors well below the surface of our best intentions. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest, fastest, fashionable.

Self interest and greed=happiness.

Such a mysterious puzzle.

When I am asleep I am awake.

Metta.

The Mavericks Ride Out of Town

The story winds down. Once and only once there was maverick from Arizona. His name was Johnny Mach 1.

He came from Tombstone, an ancient deserted tourist relic town filled with unemployed actors and weather beaten facades. He believed in the confluence of universal string theories in infinity. 

Johnny was old, senile, tired, washed up, washed down, hung out to dry and known to have a quick trigger haired temper. He was actually a Machiavellian maverick focusing on using brute power and doing immoral things to maintain his power.

His motto was, "Shoot first and ask questions later."

He'd escaped from a nursing home and rode off into the sunset dragging a screaming Bush behind him. "You haven't heard the last of me!" It was his last howdy-doodle dandy. 

Then, one day along life's dusty trail of tears he met The Ice Queen, a maverick named Sarah from the State of Confusion north of the lower 48 as she was proud to tell everyone who bothered to listen to her ranting ways. She lived in an igloo. She was the inarticulate queen of the permafrost tundra and badly needed articulation lessons.

She, like old Johnny, believed in Greed, Fear and their offspring. Because he came from A and she came from A they were together in AA. They were in a long recovery program. They prayed together. At AA meetings they stumbled, stuttered and whipped their flag wrapped nags. They assembled their collective naive stupidity and spewed forth vague verbiage designed to attract insecure and desperate people.

And then, the 4th of November loomed on their immediate horizon. It was bigger than a mushroom cloud and more powerful than a radioactive bolt of lightning illuminating the crumbling empire, the decaying civilization and broken financial capitals. 

"It looks like this is the end of the trail," Johnny cried.

Sarah comforted him. "Now little Johnny, let's not forget the good times we had riding the range, and shifting the cow shit left, right and center. Destiny's a funny little creature, you betcha."

"You gotta point there," said Johnny with a final salute. "An old fart with a young pop tart did ok, I guess."

"Yeah, whatever," Sarah sighed. "I'll be back in the saddle before you can say, 'Drill, baby drill."

"Yeah, the thrill is gone."

Metta.