Grace Kelly

In the library Henry sees Clare for the first time

In the Time Traveler’s Wife though she has seen him seeing her many

She asks him to dinner noting how she has prepared her life

For this moment

There is a bauble of uncertainty in the daily current

Of when or if we will ever meet

I speak to you from my pillow before slumber

Waiting on a day like Henry’s

I meet artists.

I often wonder if she is you.

Underneath the color pallet

The Sisyphean introductions smear

The parade puts me in books to write a book

Swirling counterclockwise speed reading

To wind closer to the moment of our intersection

As if the universe has told me, “You have to write this first.”

This cosmic imperative rationalized in a mosaic of faith

The lost jobs, children, the nomad residence

The dancer, the yogini, the potter, the costumer, the painter

The heady breaths of alone past midnight

Barefoot and glass

Meditating in kundalini with a twin spiral rising

Anus, genitals, navel, heart, larynx, third eye, crown

Flush into this library of lessons of what existence is

The quantum smallest of the small in a barter of geometry

In time I pray we have

I see the gray hairs and wrinkled peace fingers

The homeless neighbors knocking for a hand up fearing storms

I think of Grace Kelly in Rear Window

Bewitching Jimmy Stewart hovering over in a shadowed kiss

How’s your leg? Hurts a little. And your stomach. Empty as a football.

And your love life. Not too active. Anything else bothering you?

Who are you?

The outside world and me

Bathing in the silence of neighborhood gunshots 

A dark house with one lit room typing

8:46 pm on a Saturday night

Thinking about the solace of if you knew who I was

So it was not so hard to find you

Respiration to hope in a poet’s intuition

That when I see you, I would know

Feeling so silly how many times I have felt that way before.  

Rear Window

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGASCP2mNaM

The Time Traveler's Wife
https://vimeo.com/151775514

A Whiskey Glass with Valerie 20170302

What did you do for your depression today?

I put on a pressed blue shirt with a primary color collar

I sat for a job interview and almost hoped

The inkling of seasons in that undulation

I found a post-it note and scribbled math

December 2008 to Spring 2010

A few months

Summer 2010 to Fall 2012

Two months

Winter 2013 to January 2014

Two months

February 2014 to December 2015

Two months

March 2016 to today nothing

Years wrapped in celibate armistice

Psychological counseling and numb to the look

Nights typing that crimple pedagogy of alone

Sipped Scotch church glasses melted two a.m. ice

Oncology floors and widowers whispering

The secret language of birthdays astrological fortune cookies

Unopened hooligan sugar gawker culture

I do not know how to speak to this

Road out to see Valerie June sing blues country loves songs

Wrapped in kudzu African braid soul land swamp trumpet stomp

Tell you no lies and get naked tonight in front of a mirror

Hug yourself and tell you how beautiful you are

Like a trenchant mantra of uprising

The numb drunk stun lark of midnight feathered empty pillows

To the right singing love songs imagined like closed eyes,

But do not fall asleep just yet

Hold the voice as if bodies exist this body

Would want to speak, the simple inertia of alone

To pay solitude away in writer’s blood

To start telling stories where poetry leaks out

Sexually transmitted feelings and the awful bar light darkness

Of Tennessee time old fashioned whiskey and Folsom Prison blues

Remembering years folded into somebody to love

Of painted lips and Mardi Gras hair, the costume revelry

The audacity to march out suede shoe French Quarter steps

Saying zero words in fishbowl silence

Where demisexual distance faces blur and you wish

You felt something, some direction beyond the blanket

Rationalizations flicking fins and pressing gills

That any current in this water made sense more than any other

Or at all to want to sip, to look into wave and dream

Of love and hours melting into skin-scales

The touched drum beats and southern twilight

Depression comes like a garden of snakes

You lie down into the weaving tendrils nightly

Waking up into the heinous sunlight

Smile   

My Little Valentine 20170214

At home alone in ten years stacked like A.A. chips

Licking gum tissue with my tongue rounding the space

Four front teeth used to be

I can make a rectangle

Lips get chapped at night

Distance where the bottom edges of the frontal incisors

Would create separation, alignment

Is off

Sticky inner flesh of lip dries externally

Exposed in compacted urges to smile

A fulcrum given up to asking questions aloud

Wanting a fox to chase

The demisexual flint fails to light 

The fur of fantasies in the shower drain

Pillow talk

Conversations of head turned to the left

Imagining, “Where are you?” like a feather

Floating in another human’s bedroom

Like the quantum entanglement in the beaks of robins

Knowing positioning of the equator and the pole

Weight in heart pondering the ticks of nights

Pressing keyboard and scribbled notebook

The murky pond of wanting to be alone

The synthetic companionship of yoga

Being around bodies in the liminal distance

Where every face looks like infinity blurring

I have never known who to talk to in this world

Do not want to bother the cat people putting out fires

The past ten years, the twenty-eight before that

Pellet stoic and succumbed

Warm and needing to piss

Finding it difficult to rationalize turning on the air conditioner

For one body with children gone and dead

Stories of milk carton lovers who text fables

Cud limericks of silence and crumpled squishy ink

Bin of almost words

Sam Cooke’s archer felled to the inanity of Phil Collins Sussudio

Blaring the buzz-feed and the tinder, bumble, digital watering hole

Parched appetite for the emaciated  

Drinking bloody Mary and depression cherries

The stark laughter of hiding inside novels of acquaintance

Spoken to mirrors failing to recollect what together feels like

And it hits in the placid chilling darkness of a cornered mongrel

This bauble inside shimmering illusion

The conversations like unopened letters one keeps

Break in case of emergency

That there might be solace beneath the silence

If one is presented with a scenario that clarifies

Wishing you still believed in prayer or god or some variable

That there were a set of actions of putting oneself into the engine

Ground and oil slicked with invention to participate in the speed race

One could ride this entropy into love

Breaking apart this fossilized notion of type-writer days

Please leave the light on  

A Love Poem 20170128

Summoning guts to write a love poem

Remembering the neural serum to unsheathe heart

Opened metal lunchbox on a desk

Unfolded abutment to a computer monitor

Staring into a folded-pulse bloody

Second line New Orleans trumpet through a window

Reminder to replenish almond milk from the grocer

Distractions from thinking about love

A decade of packing meals

Independence life jacket

Solo ticket row eight seat G to see Louie C.K.

Did not contemplate purchasing two, asking

Ingrained form of travel

Visualizing an over-the-shoulder glance at snow footprints

Paced lines blurring

Cunnilingus tongue acrobatics

Sensation of psychic trauma of insemination

Being a father in a courtroom and protested parking lots

Drinking Pimm’s Cups and Sazeracs to wash

Hoop dreams with poetic dancers and yoginis

The bloodlessness

Egyptian cotton and the way a woman’s buttocks

Slips out the side of the sheet

Welcoming curve of spoons

Flavor of mutual surrender

Orchid petal glitter and crescent lunge Anjaneyasana thighs

Lilac-streaked raven locks and wanting to hold hands in public

Repressed taboo hijacked by dating swipe apps

Anesthetized pap thrum blurring faces

Buddhist sand mandala in a notebook of poems

Devoured by a bitch bulldog tattered pages on carpet

Belly full of words obliterated into fetid numb

That fire of wanting to write snuffed in oxygen-less protocols

Lost employment and lost children, cindered mortgages

Haze over snow sprinkling fairy dust dreams

Knowing it is not that I look at women as unattractive or unapproachable

Female universal human vastness emanating overwhelms

There is a surface place in the fields of white powder

Where men slide about skating time impervious to depths of heart

I cannot be this man, never have, maybe never will

A poet cannot help but feel

To bleed in breath and see the tiny miracles of bloom in a woman’s breath

The curvatures of creation cry out in countless cosmic kisses

A stargazer awed in the profundity of time’s caress

The layered intricacies of witnessing a human being

Of laying body-next-to-body conversing

In a coffee shop or the top of stairs or in the folds

One exposes ovum

To be a lover in the words

Union not limited to licentious straps

Free as butterfly wings gusting cheeks flush with red blood

Lips wet with tingling morn   

I want to bury below the snow

Have conversations with the flight feathers of ravens

Of when you felt safe once, to land, to contemplate twigs and nests

The entomology of caterpillars and nourishment

I want to feel safe enough to let you land

To bed in these white sheets

Open to the warming             

Modern Shakespeare: a birthday poem 20161026

Shakespeare would have no place in the modern world.  Will would be consider a creeper.  Expressing love, professing adoration is icky stalker go away.  I don’t know you that well, maybe after sex, emptied lattes, and months of ritualized desensitization then maybe a molecule of emotion might surface, until then I don’t have time for your drama Bob.  Poet’s hearts are heavy, weighted with witnessing the insides of everyone encountered.  The modern severed the necessity of intimacy for connection.  We can text, email, or post on a website.  Even the secondary sensorial paradigm of talking on the telephone is considered too much of an intrusion or investment to respond. 

To speak in person or dare convey inspiration of a muse in the loftiness of art or love is to be called a fool by a sea of digital cynics and cast as obsessive or fixated when one is engaged in a moment not beholden to the mythology of love as control or shackle, but as wing and liberation from the gravity of judgment piloting the ethereal unknown of possibility.  We become open like darkness inspired in the fragrance of romance to pen wafting ambrosia.  Though we do not smell, we feel and be in thy luscious curl making words that quench the soul and damn the tide to rise and state I hath lived.  I hath sensed beauty and grace and this day thy tiny hamlet quaked, a flower bloomed so that one cannot help imbibe, to witness a painted sky and cracking youth’s wonder with a savored tongue, this sight, this taste, thy lovely wing hath lifted me.

We are our universal ecstatic ebullition exploding into the infinite. We become detailed in the tongue of poets riding mathematics beyond normal language.  To do so is to stare into stars fissuring the commotion of the herd into one and another fused in presence.  To attempt to describe peering into such a vision requires a Shakespearean tongue, to be willing to be misunderstood and dare labeled fool.  For what is love if not foolish?  For what is love if not madness?  To make sense of these gallops of time I dare say laugh, laugh into that sun intrepid.  For we are all but rays of varied vibration connecting in a gallery of light.  Thy most gorgeous wave’s fruition is love.

Shakespeare’s sonnets extend salvos of romantic letters that reek of desperation if that is how one perceives the stanzas in iPhone light.  A human says what he feels in his being and does not apologize for coming from a place of awe and hunger for the force above all in this universe: love.  What a sin it has become to be a romantic or to be enraptured in the fancy of coquettish poetry, to fly sonnets with reckless hope as if love is an affliction of the mad, drunk in lust or illusion of who a person is.  The sterile doctrine of text messages and digital representation of humans clogging libidinous excitation and romance into microchips and source code!  

Dare worse the trumpery of Trumps, patriarchal grab hands salting the garden with rapacious spades.  Thy flower wilted bludgeoned in wrath of Rohypnol, tic-tacs, and thieving palms.  Years of learning how to take back taken space and a poet speaks and stem cowers for fear of a honeyed tongue so that romance sounds like piracy.  To stand this commemoration of my exit from mother's womb shared thirty years from our soon to be woman president's day of birth.  Let thy gardens castigate these wolves of men which hath made poetry a dead thing.  Let love in sweetness be not the troll's tooth behind mine nectar.  For be pure seed for pure fire.  

Enflame dear poetry and light this world in conflagration for love’s majesty!  Be in a moment and bear a breast wide to the needle of thy judgment.  Spear the ignominy of adoration for pastoral beauty.  Tis a goddess about spinning life in mortal coil.  To be but witness to such grace one must speak, one must act and be made alive to dance in poetry.  One will not shutter into the conformity of metallic tow.  One will burn!  Burn a lover’s gravity hurling one’s self into the atmosphere of beauty, but to bear witness in thy lovely fire.  Tis this and nothing else; the remainder laid cinders.  Fire hath devoured in such luscious heat.  Thy love in enflamed bloom!

In the Limens Between

Default settings are difficult to disrupt, the autopilot nature of being a person

of how to respond or move forward, process, close the eyes and go, no yes or no,

just floating in a stream of not trying to be anybody’s possession,

maybe an indulgence for a taste wafting curiosity, siren songs, and liquid sea salt,

wondering maybe and declination, and who knows and how it goes,

in the remote contraction of fear and tight in that pit of personal history

like a vault of interest and meaningful revelations across whiskey and a drum beat

next to blue eyes, midnights, rock and roll, and losing uptight,

then maybe the current tastes differently with the age of the batch,

the barrel rolled and timing matched to a moment of staring

across a neutral ground of motions and construction sounds;

what do you want; what do you need;

these sunrises counting down to boredom and indifference,

explosions and the decisions that sit with one night after night in an empty pillow to the right

staring up at a white ceiling under that infinite possibility darkness into space

and you say why not now, why not ask questions and laugh,

because we are all afraid and the chances of anything working with anyone are miniscule,

and most people are horrendously incompatible mathematics spread on bedroom table puzzles

of run away so fast or freaking out the thought of personal time taken away and having to explain

what one really wants and risked being summed up by a statement,

encapsulated in a microcosm, backing one’s self into a cul-de-sac of awkward

and penance for ideas one should not question or speak and one does for why like a flare

from that spark of wonder in the heart of the old romantics and questioning what life is

this journey and the power of people gone atomic, nuclear fuel

radiating in a way that melts the hardness commercial life paints on you from the get-go,

you fight noticing or commenting or asking odd questions about knowing or guessing, pondering, and assumption

in the limens between how any one person can infer who another is in these circus acts of perception and

tight-roping for the crowd basic and true step toes in front of one foot hearing nothing up on that wire

but the beat of the universe inside one’s self emanating feeling like this is why I am here

to take chances and be in this, bear this energy like a peeled chest cavity blasting light

in routine actions of presence of participating, noticing, and creating with the vulnerability

of a human heart and body capable of plummeting off this sky wire with the bonfires below

blazing about what it means to be noticed or to notice another human being

stating I think I see you, rays of you and maybe that is where my words will truncate

in that chalky talk of trying to compliment someone post declination

To offer speech like oil slick pouring onto one’s feet trying not to 

On 9/11/16 Thinking of Hearts Broken and What Love is

9/11 brings to my heart the thought of broken, family deceased, perished in heinous smoke. I would much rather think of love today and to a measure broken hearts.  I wrote this as part of my last book.

The illusion of two single individuals loving in monogamous commitment may most easily be seen in the ideas of unrequited love or the cessation of requited love or although potentially unique in one’s lifetime a broken heart can reveal to a human being a greater detail of what love actually is by having one’s heart broken by another person who was never actually in love with them. 

This may sound like a bizarre equine Hellenic gift.  The pain that comes in thinking one was experiencing mutual love validated in burden and vulnerability from its impetus.  Sometimes this comes in our classroom locker years, sometimes with mortgage debt or tragedy of untimely death.  In it is a core understanding that love is a mathematical equation of reciprocity where the energy offered to better the other exponentially betters the self.  This occurs not in the act of the other’s reciprocation in kind to offer, but in the self’s internally generated consciousness with the common universe. 

This may sound lofty or contrived naïve bullshit, but in my experience that is how a person knows she or he is participating in love, because when you give you get.  Knowing where the getting is coming from might be tricky.  We so often associate the feeling with the other person.  The other person appears to allow us to feel this way or give us this feeling.  We might treasure them above any being for this dynamic, but that is not what love is. 

Love is an equation of one’s relationship with the self that is broadened by the other.  We gain access to doors inside our relationship with the self that do not open in isolation.  The other does this for us sometimes even when we are not doing this for them.  This often happens not because we are not trying, but because the other person’s relationship with his or her self is not opening his or her internal door.  We may do this for them and they may not do this for us.  Thus the record industry.  This is how one can so severely confuse mutual love for unilateral.  When combined and each person chooses to open that door the grandeur of the universe to humanity is revealed in ways like nothing else.

Volition can shift at any moment.  The crucible of the now holds that any relationship including marriage exists only in the choice in the now.  We can choose to close or open that door at any moment.  The Meme, god, the marital contract, or sex do not manifest or perpetuate the bond.  The bond is created in the choice on the table of the now.  When love shifts from unilateral or reciprocal to unrequited our ability to morn a broken heart and love another displays our most beautiful universal potential.  Love did not have to be encompassed in that individual.  We were never only loving that individual.  They were never only loving us.  Love is not encompassed in the self or the self we perceive our being to be. 

When our beloved dies we go on loving them in a way that yes transforms, but lives.  Our door can still be open without her or his body.  An airplane into a building, cancer, a bullet, a bomb, a car, a blocked ventricle, our heart knows not the rules that say you stop here.  We are born to love relentless, to bond, and to burst into a common universe.  In this way even tragedy can help show us what love is. 

Some may choose to only love one individual, some a few, some many.  The options are not as pertinent as one understanding that only what is empathetic to all that we are (our self, partners, others, progeny, society, (i.e. the universe)) is the love that truly connects us as the whole.  This requires the release of individuality our own and our partners.

We are in love and she or he leaves us.  She is engrained in our ego, a solidified envisioned component of our mandatory self.  Extracting her damages our ego, carves it out unimaginable that only she can fit.  Depression, rationalization, bartering through a grief process may try to stuff fluff into that hole or control an impossible scenario to plug her back in there, but that is all ego, all self. 

The path of love is to love as deeply and as passionately as one chooses in the moment of now.  Hearts break, volition changes or continues, but all one can do is have our say to let the other know how we feel and let that human go to choose us or not.  Pining and wanting and torturing the self to comfort that part of the ego one has placed specificity outside the individual as part of the ego only shows the non-necessity of the ego as an entirety.  The whole image of the ego, the whole painting, the words chosen, the faces chosen, they are all optional and a discretionary illusion.

The path out of heartache like that is to take that specificity out of the image of self one carries, trading the next body in to mask the pain is a common solution.  The psychologist William Glasser might call this the person we picture in our quality world in Choice Theory.  The better option is to accept the now, to lose the ego entirely.  Love where one can.  Love the universe through the self when no one is there. 

When facing that vast warehouse of loneliness, when the darkness crimps its prognathous jaw, we try to see the unending possibility, the lack of lines in the darkness, the absence of ego in what can be.  That is the beauty of the darkness loss can bring a person, the possibility that in the absence of the other the self perceived as so mandatory, so essential, the complete opposite is a place of growth. 

The predecessor image of the beloved acted in ways as a limit, a box our love had to conform.  She or he was a line to construct a peristaltic wall in the warehouse constricting and challenging us to either evict such malignant addictions or suffer a lack of growth.  With him gone in the nothing, the universe opens, and that at times can be god damn beautiful.  We begin to actually understand the relationship of the self by better assessing what the love we experienced actually was on a structural level.  We evaporate blame.

In this broken hearts are some of the most powerful and gorgeous experiences in the human journey.  We grow to shed the ego by understanding the blurred lines of the self dissolving into offering our volition fueled love to the whole in the consenting form that presents in our now.  We learn to let go, not to attempt to own another or be owned, but to be, to simply be.

The sexual act reverberating through our most powerful mental process of orgasm may be a representation of the potential concurrent emotional portal connecting the single-self as the spiritual universe opening through sexual connection.  We are eternal in both tangent planes, but the closest some of us may come to tangency is through intimate emotional sexual bonding exploding through the orgasmic transcendence of our biological form.  The flood and aftermath is often love.  This act, this experience is at the core of human social structure for so many reasons, but none more so than this.  We cannot control love.  We cannot control the universe.  All we can do is choose and be. 

As We Struggle to Make Sense

Current events of American police shooting innocent black men, terrorists shooting police in return, an automatic weapon at Pulse Orlando, gun manufacturer profits soaring, a juggernaut truck in Nice, a military coup raining gunfire on Turkish citizens, a US air strike raining bombs on Syrian citizens, protesters blocking Atlanta’s streets sprawling out the old south slavery up the Mississippi into the RNC in Cleveland electing a sewerage leak of vitriol and trumpery over facts, research, or policy.  The spew smelled of fascism’s paw rising from the zombie muck in a festival for a sociopath demagogue squawking cognitive dissonance and the marketing prowess of the ego.

So many people are asking why; what is going on in the world?  I am just one person trying to make sense of it too.  I don’t know, but this is what I think it might be.

The planet is underpriced in the global laisse faire capitalist system the Wall Street one party system represents.  Water, forests, oil, aggregable soil, and the time to replenish their unsustainable depletion since the dawn of the industrial revolution are approaching breaking points given global temperature rise due to trapped solar radiation caused by carbon emissions.  The ice caps are providing temporary homeostasis to stem the arc of the degree increase, but with it a time limit of ocean rise and heat before inability of the planet brings massive death.  Water should not be priced at the cost to get the second to last drop out of Lake Mead, but the price to get the one after the last.  Where is water stress highest: Northern China, India, Iran, and the Western United States.

How is this connected?  The modern economic system was founded on imperialism and the exploitation of indigenous populations and people of color to extract natural resources and labor at as cheap a price as possible to hoard pecuniary profit in banks.  The capital of the planet: that the Earth’s water or aggregable soil is finite has never been accounted for in the system.  

Banks control the money supply.  The governments of our planet are puppets based on the fiscal prowess of these firms.  The firms profit from public debt and thus war.  Firms in the last century have put unprecedented money in banks based on selling natural resources that took millions of years to create: the elements in a cell phone, the oil in a gas tank, the water to grow a CAFO lot, the trees to build a subdivision.  The system encourages us to harvest resources future generations will need in order to overproduce to make a stock price go up to meet quarterly market expectations and put money in banks now to meet a bonus calculation.  The people that politicians like Trump and Clinton represent create a false war of social ideology to both distract and control the masses to create this profit which is more difficult to mask in the age of the hive mind internet.

Fundamentalism most often marketed through religion acts like a glue of mutual belief in that which does not require factual or empirical substantiation.  This bond allows group think and cohesion into the five pillars of the Koran or the Ten Commandments of the Bible.  The texts are arbitrary mental devices mandating stamps of fundamentalism to prevent questioning that morality and security can exist in the absence of specified theism.  How could a follower retain what she or he is most genuinely attracted, the order over chaos in the bond and the solidity of core common moral behaviors in reliable predictable group social patterns?

The evidence to inject validity of the bond through stories of Muhammad or Jesus, tribe or Abraham, Jerusalem or Mecca, these are, even if substantially based in teleological historical evidential matter, each unnecessary.  The preponderance of humanity does not follow the ideology of any one religion.  Inside any one religion are multiple iterated variations speculating interpretation and with each consequences for the adherence and lack of adherence to slivers of each fundamentalist slice of spiritual reality.  Wars are fought over the superiority of these slices. 

Humans must face the European imprint of a vanilla Jesus over a chocolate socialist Jesus reality, the social control of the Bible put into the hands of Uncle Tom and the awakening of Malcolm Little using the Koran to unshackle the Bible for recognition of Africans as the original progenitors of humanity.  Cognitive dissonance produces malignant lies to deny our interconnection and evolutionary creation through natural selection.  Until the color of a man’s skin is no more pertinent than the color of his eyes or an idea of faith is no longer permitted to trump human dignity we obstruct our survival. 

The common gap in follower’s fundamentalism is absolving non-followers from perdition for non-adherence to the idiosyncratic staked ground of specific religious doctrine as long as the underlying moral application of kindness, tolerance, love, and recognition of each being as sacred is maintained.  It is in the common fear of the group ostracizing the individual in acts of violence, capriciousness, hatred, and non-recognition of sacred personal stature which is at the base of the human attraction to religion.  The same is true in China or North Korea where the state serves as the religion. 

Thus when we look at the world and see Syria, Turkey, France, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Palestine, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Brazil, Russia, China, India, America, and across the globe we see our species confronting order and chaos by assessing this escalation of commitment to safety to adherence to atavistic fundamentalist ideologies in the age of the internet pulling the curtain back on Oz.  We see our planet given global temperature rise and population growth threatening our extinction.  We are approaching the true test of our spirituality: will we change who the wizard of Oz really is (the economic system we have agreed to use to obtain order) or will we redesign one based on sharing more than we do?  Will we change? 

We are herd animals cognizant of safety in numbers and death in being made pariah.  The human mind as a social animal will sacrifice logic to presuppose a set of mutually agreed upon improvable social behaviors connoting order to reduce the risk of being expunged from the herd and having to fend alone.  This in part is why secularism is the most unfavorable trait in the pantheon of major candidate political identifiers in the United States and other fundamentalist countries. 

A common worship of a derivation of god is preferable to the grand revelation that god does not exist or that god need not exist to obtain morality or social order or that most dangerous of ideas that the theistic god worshiped has been an escalation of commitment earning not credits with a heavenly bank, but merely a social check on one’s fellow humans independent of divine providence. The idea of god can exist and be good without fundamentalism.  

Survival does not require abandonment of the idea of god, but of the pernicious fundamentalism born from religious social control put on top of the idea of god. Religion can continue to exist if adapted.  Survival does not require all or the majority of humans to agree on defining the idea of god, but it does on relinquishing the grip of fundamentalist mandates on global governance systems to acknowledge and cease the fundamentalist subconscious lust for the end of human civilization to entice any mass entrance into heaven for those adhering to ancient texts.  

This lust is evidenced in terrorism inside militant Islam and the anti-choice abortion movement inside Christianity.  The terrorist attempts to annihilate secularism for a Caliphate.  The anti-choicer attempts to act as a scion of god supplying words without tangible action for the fetus up until the point of birth and then nothing post birth.  The anti-choicer’s lustful obsession over birth and death is perverted in a crucible of the unknown intermixing the concepts of heaven and hell.  The anti-choicer and the terrorist participate in a form of prayer as a lobby for the ego’s entrance into paradise.  The ultimate theistic interpretation of order is heaven and of chaos is hell.   

So when we ask ourselves where does systematic racism against black people in America come from, or homophobia, or misogyny, or what is at the root of the violence of ISIS, al-Qa’ida, the Tailiban, or the American iteration in Dylann Roof or the forces hissing from the voting pits of the RNC or the quicker twitch in the trigger finger of a Miami police officer who answers “I don’t know why I shot you” to a black man with his hands up back on the ground attempting to save the life an autistic man, at the root of it is fear about chaos and order and what order means depending on the false mental crutches taught to a human being based on his or her social environment. 

With the police as a representative of government, the herd is taught to understand police produce order and criminals produce chaos.  A police officer shooting Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, or beating Rodney King can only produce order.  The context or in depth analysis of protocol where this is not the case is subject to unparalleled herd scrutiny even in the advent of video evidence.  The same is true of white supremacy in global societal construction imprinted in so many of these acts.  The human thirst for order over chaos abjures justice. 

The economic system has to shift towards a coordinated global tax on capital amongst the nations of the planet used to properly price the Earth’s natural resources with the goal of meeting the base species needs of water, housing, healthcare, clothing, energy, and food while redesigning the market sectors to funnel public ownership or management of the systems meeting those needs in sustainable paradigms maximizing on technological advances betting on Gordon Moore’s law rather than Adam Smith’s. This is an adaptation of capitalism into democratic socialism, not its abandonment.  This is not communism, but the re-engineering of what involves base social survival needs of a mandatory nature and what does not inside the global economic system in private / public coordination that accounts for the planet as capital of our species and not an asset owned by firms.   Included in this shift is a valuation on love, empathy, and understanding that our basic spiritual interconnection precedes any ancient text.  Those imperfect texts must be interpreted for their core of love rather than the fundamentalist striations which are threatening our extinction.

We already know this and the vast majority of us agree.  This is not an us and them; there is no them.  This is how does an individual alter what feels to be a gigantic intransigent machine perpetually pumping smoke to obstruct the survival instinct of those protesting in our hearts and in our streets in the face of this monstrosity we have created to feel order because we do not trust our fellow humans to choose love over fear.  How do we do this to avoid extinction? 

In short that is what I think is happening.  Whether most will chose to process or analyze the details in this way that is up to each of us.  When you hear chants of USA, USA or a prayer to specified Jesus at the head of a convention of a major party in a country with legal separation of church and state and you think of the pairing of Christian theism with nationalism in the 1950’s under Eisenhower compared to how America was actually founded, when you look at Saddam Hussein’s gangster tyrant role keeping fundamentalist forces in check and how complicated the battle between order and chaos, the either-or of it all, really is, the only path out is to obliterate the ignorance that caused its implementation and create modern systems of digital order that do not rely on such false ground. 

Through technology maybe one day verified digital voting will be possible including biometric validation that will allow one person one vote on either an actual or proxy advisory basis to our representatives on all or significant forms of legislation.  The world can change, but not without understanding that we exist to be conscious of our interconnection.  The pains and traumas we feel in our hearts are there to balance with the empathy and love of others in the countless hidden wounds in every human we see.  We are all afraid.  We have all been hurt in our silent sorrows wanting to be seen by and to see other people in the divine beings of our planet.  We are meant to balance in love.

When we breathe a breath, bite of plant, or sip of water we are imbibing the collective universe which we are part.  In the clarity of such fundamental acts, this should be our fundamentalism.  We are to witness each other.  We are to witness interdependence with our planet.  Only in this will we shed the layers of distraction we have compiled and truly address the precipice of our extinction.