Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Iraqi Freedom

In Honour of Nagasaki Day's 65th
Retire War mentality;
 Celebrate beauty
with *Starry Desires* Emerging Visions visionary art 'zine. #18.  
 
 
*
 
Enjoy and Share
 
 
but never forget:
 
 
 
 
Sculpture of Mourning by Savannah Skye
----------------------------------------
War on the front lines
Indecipherable boundaries
Moribund soldiers encircle us
Dislimbed they wade through ground blood
 
In allegiance we push on
Quivering, bent down low
Entering enemy territory
Praying to God, hoping He's on our side
 
Silence is all but left behind as we separate
Our minds quickly fill with disconcerting thoughts
That shoot through our discombobulated heads
As we lurk through land mined terrain
 
Pushing forward, we raise our guns
Moving beyond our own limits with
"Only the strong will survive"
As our mantra of meditation
 
Anger and rage have become our best friends
Because at all costs, including our own sullen lives
We must duly protect our country
Along with it's long held freedoms
 
Suddenly the silence in our heads is broken
A round of shots has been fired
Red splatters my face, colors my uniform
I taste the smell of blood
 
I look over, my compatriot is lying face up 
An open wound remains where his heart once was
His life has been taken by a enemy bullet
He is down for the count for good
 
His body lies still and lifeless
Below him crimson blood mingles with umber dirt
Organic materials left behind to create a sculpture of mourning
By orphaned hands of futile wars
 
 
- amor y paz - Savannah Skye aka Savvy...
 
 
 
 
Do you remember the Doonesbury strip after the Iran-Contra scandal came out in which one of the characters (I think it was Mark) was hiding out in his attic or some such and got told (I think by Zonker) about the Iran-Contra conspiracy?  Both agreed that Zonker must have gotten it wrong.
 
I was just watching Nightline whereby I was reminded of this 25th anniversary of the beginning of the Iran-Contra, October Surprise, beginning of the US funding of Iraq as ally against Iran.  History.  They say if we don't heed it we are doomed to repeat it.  But the cycles spiral.  The same themes in different guise, until we get it right and get to evolve into a new phase of discovery and frustration.
 
It was a watery U.S. election day this year.  Sun in Scorpio (of course), Moon in flag-waving, security obsessed Cancer, the U.S. progressed Sun just gone into the collective emotional depths of Pisces.  Emotions ruled the ballots.  Watery, foggy, deception-laden Neptune squares the Sun.  But who is the deceiver, who the deceived?  Or are we all just playing out a cinema drama to support the computer-animated special fx?
 
Someone said to me today that the real scary part is that there was no election fraud -- that the majority of U.S. voting citizens really want the status quo.
 
We are all frightened of a quickly escalating future for which we feel ill-prepared.  It is all too natural to wrap ourselves in flags and the safety of believing that father knows best.  It is too bad, in some ways, that change is inevitable, that we cannot remain safe by hiding our heads in the clouds.
 
I was explaining to a friend recently, in response to a local tragedy, that there is no guarantee of life:  there is only the guarantee that we will all die, each of us at a different time in a different way.  I don't know that I would prefer the fate of Chiron, to be immortal yet in constant pain.  Perhaps pain can be a factor in finding creative endeavors to work with change, to refine and synthesize the visions of the ideal into chewable bites of realizable action and interaction.  Is that something we even want?  Do we prefer to let our fears expand into prejudices that guide our choices?
 
Perhaps I am the one who has gotten it wrong.  Really, poppa has it all under control.  There is nothing to fear.
 
Peace,
Laurie
 
New American Anthem 
 
After Shock and Awe
It's a transitional time
Of untidiness
 
We bombed in Baghdad
Now we have no idea how
To clean up this mess
 
Forget peace on Earth
Let the common folk suffer
And not have a say
 
Since god is with us
Against the rest of the world
We'll just have to pray
 
 
Not in Our Name
 
Nobody wins in a war
(well, maybe a few financiers of war industries, but)
Not us, not them, not humanity
Not the dead, not the living
Not the yet to be born
Not the land, water, air, our natural resources
Not the roads, buildings, pipes, utility lines, the infrastructure
Not love or peace or morality
Not human nature
Not Right
Not Justice
Not God
Not the battlegrounds or the cemeteries, or the unhealable wounds in our souls
Whatever we may hope to accomplish with war,
 
There are better ways.
Study War No More 
 
What lesson can be applied?
When imperialist troops crash down upon a people's pride?
When might as right meets the instinct to survive?
When Midas greed lashes out to destroy?
We've been here before, o my brethren, o my children --
repeating the fouled lessons poured into our thirsty minds,
pushing back the horror before our eyes with blinding rage
forged into weapons by mortal foes
who hide in plain sight.
The only thing I know --
The lesson repeating agony in all our souls,
Haunted by the pleading eyes and bloody hearts
Of the slaughtered sacrifices to malignant gods --
There is something vital here to learn.
 
War Games
 
More and more
get less and less
the best sacrificed
to great God Success
Anger
building
brick by bloody brick
Is it a surprise
("Look!  Into my eyes!")
when the peasants cackle
resurrecting the guillotine
Raw power
hot metal shooting
making unmistakable mark
burning ragged skin and guts
and glory
 
Tell me a story, daddy
about before the war
when water flowed
in abundant freedom
when the air was pure
of the stench
of progress
when everybody had
a sacred right
to feel
and believe
and dance in the moonlight
when we could afford to be
young, untried, open
to possibilities not cut off
by a sacrificial knife
repeatedly deeply severing
vital organs
without regard to the waste
with no respect for place
or the people for whom that space
holds stories
 
Weapons forged in anger
built up shattered layers of
desperate pride, disrespect, grief
create festering wounds
poisoning the populace
unto the Seventh Generation
caught up in some grotesque
morality play
 
World Stage
 
Tragedy
endless young lives destroyed
by others' misconstructions of reality
-- wars of all sizes.
There must be a way to rise above,
to appear so large that the wanton destroyers
must listen,
must stop and hear and understand
that creation
is so much more glorious,
satisfying,
powerfully uplifting.
Love is not about hearts and flowers
and weakness.
It is breathing pure air,
drinking clean water,
eating delicious, beautiful meals,
but mostly
love is about learning from each other
all we need to know.
I know that hatred can feel pure
and strong and right.
It can give warmth on cold and lonely
watches,
solace through those long, empty nights.
Hatred comes easily to the spurned
and the deeply wounded
trying to emasculate the pain.
But love is the promise,
the hope of healing,
if only we can learn to move,
oh so bravely,
through the pain
into the gracious joys
of self-creation.
 
The Enemy
 
 Hiding from bombardments.
 Thick, black water;
 no thirst is worth this
 indignity.
 
 Running through rubble,
 recently devolved
 homes, commerce, community.
 Extended families,
 aunts and cousins,
 good neighbors,
 valued friends,
 devolved to shattered corpses.
 
 Wailing at a divisive wall in the name of
 humanity, freedom,
 chaotic prophecies whisper,
 imprinting reign of Hell upon
 modern Earth.
 Policy statements fly
 in protective formation
 "We can not give in to
 the enemy."
 
In Honour of Nagasaki Day's 65th
Retire War mentality;
 Celebrate beauty
with *Starry Desires* Emerging Visions visionary art 'zine. #18.  
 
 
*
 
Enjoy and Share
 
 
but never forget:
 
 
 
 
Sculpture of Mourning by Savannah Skye
----------------------------------------
War on the front lines
Indecipherable boundaries
Moribund soldiers encircle us
Dislimbed they wade through ground blood
 
In allegiance we push on
Quivering, bent down low
Entering enemy territory
Praying to God, hoping He's on our side
 
Silence is all but left behind as we separate
Our minds quickly fill with disconcerting thoughts
That shoot through our discombobulated heads
As we lurk through land mined terrain
 
Pushing forward, we raise our guns
Moving beyond our own limits with
"Only the strong will survive"
As our mantra of meditation
 
Anger and rage have become our best friends
Because at all costs, including our own sullen lives
We must duly protect our country
Along with it's long held freedoms
 
Suddenly the silence in our heads is broken
A round of shots has been fired
Red splatters my face, colors my uniform
I taste the smell of blood
 
I look over, my compatriot is lying face up 
An open wound remains where his heart once was
His life has been taken by a enemy bullet
He is down for the count for good
 
His body lies still and lifeless
Below him crimson blood mingles with umber dirt
Organic materials left behind to create a sculpture of mourning
By orphaned hands of futile wars
 
 
- amor y paz - Savannah Skye aka Savvy...
 
 
 
 
Do you remember the Doonesbury strip after the Iran-Contra scandal came out in which one of the characters (I think it was Mark) was hiding out in his attic or some such and got told (I think by Zonker) about the Iran-Contra conspiracy?  Both agreed that Zonker must have gotten it wrong.
 
I was just watching Nightline whereby I was reminded of this 25th anniversary of the beginning of the Iran-Contra, October Surprise, beginning of the US funding of Iraq as ally against Iran.  History.  They say if we don't heed it we are doomed to repeat it.  But the cycles spiral.  The same themes in different guise, until we get it right and get to evolve into a new phase of discovery and frustration.
 
It was a watery U.S. election day this year.  Sun in Scorpio (of course), Moon in flag-waving, security obsessed Cancer, the U.S. progressed Sun just gone into the collective emotional depths of Pisces.  Emotions ruled the ballots.  Watery, foggy, deception-laden Neptune squares the Sun.  But who is the deceiver, who the deceived?  Or are we all just playing out a cinema drama to support the computer-animated special fx?
 
Someone said to me today that the real scary part is that there was no election fraud -- that the majority of U.S. voting citizens really want the status quo.
 
We are all frightened of a quickly escalating future for which we feel ill-prepared.  It is all too natural to wrap ourselves in flags and the safety of believing that father knows best.  It is too bad, in some ways, that change is inevitable, that we cannot remain safe by hiding our heads in the clouds.
 
I was explaining to a friend recently, in response to a local tragedy, that there is no guarantee of life:  there is only the guarantee that we will all die, each of us at a different time in a different way.  I don't know that I would prefer the fate of Chiron, to be immortal yet in constant pain.  Perhaps pain can be a factor in finding creative endeavors to work with change, to refine and synthesize the visions of the ideal into chewable bites of realizable action and interaction.  Is that something we even want?  Do we prefer to let our fears expand into prejudices that guide our choices?
 
Perhaps I am the one who has gotten it wrong.  Really, poppa has it all under control.  There is nothing to fear.
 
Peace,
Laurie
 
New American Anthem 
 
After Shock and Awe
It's a transitional time
Of untidiness
 
We bombed in Baghdad
Now we have no idea how
To clean up this mess
 
Forget peace on Earth
Let the common folk suffer
And not have a say
 
Since god is with us
Against the rest of the world
We'll just have to pray
 
 
Not in Our Name
 
Nobody wins in a war
(well, maybe a few financiers of war industries, but)
Not us, not them, not humanity
Not the dead, not the living
Not the yet to be born
Not the land, water, air, our natural resources
Not the roads, buildings, pipes, utility lines, the infrastructure
Not love or peace or morality
Not human nature
Not Right
Not Justice
Not God
Not the battlegrounds or the cemeteries, or the unhealable wounds in our souls
Whatever we may hope to accomplish with war,
 
There are better ways.
Study War No More 
 
What lesson can be applied?
When imperialist troops crash down upon a people's pride?
When might as right meets the instinct to survive?
When Midas greed lashes out to destroy?
We've been here before, o my brethren, o my children --
repeating the fouled lessons poured into our thirsty minds,
pushing back the horror before our eyes with blinding rage
forged into weapons by mortal foes
who hide in plain sight.
The only thing I know --
The lesson repeating agony in all our souls,
Haunted by the pleading eyes and bloody hearts
Of the slaughtered sacrifices to malignant gods --
There is something vital here to learn.
 
War Games
 
More and more
get less and less
the best sacrificed
to great God Success
Anger
building
brick by bloody brick
Is it a surprise
("Look!  Into my eyes!")
when the peasants cackle
resurrecting the guillotine
Raw power
hot metal shooting
making unmistakable mark
burning ragged skin and guts
and glory
 
Tell me a story, daddy
about before the war
when water flowed
in abundant freedom
when the air was pure
of the stench
of progress
when everybody had
a sacred right
to feel
and believe
and dance in the moonlight
when we could afford to be
young, untried, open
to possibilities not cut off
by a sacrificial knife
repeatedly deeply severing
vital organs
without regard to the waste
with no respect for place
or the people for whom that space
holds stories
 
Weapons forged in anger
built up shattered layers of
desperate pride, disrespect, grief
create festering wounds
poisoning the populace
unto the Seventh Generation
caught up in some grotesque
morality play
 
World Stage
 
Tragedy
endless young lives destroyed
by others' misconstructions of reality
-- wars of all sizes.
There must be a way to rise above,
to appear so large that the wanton destroyers
must listen,
must stop and hear and understand
that creation
is so much more glorious,
satisfying,
powerfully uplifting.
Love is not about hearts and flowers
and weakness.
It is breathing pure air,
drinking clean water,
eating delicious, beautiful meals,
but mostly
love is about learning from each other
all we need to know.
I know that hatred can feel pure
and strong and right.
It can give warmth on cold and lonely
watches,
solace through those long, empty nights.
Hatred comes easily to the spurned
and the deeply wounded
trying to emasculate the pain.
But love is the promise,
the hope of healing,
if only we can learn to move,
oh so bravely,
through the pain
into the gracious joys
of self-creation.
 
The Enemy
 
 Hiding from bombardments.
 Thick, black water;
 no thirst is worth this
 indignity.
 
 Running through rubble,
 recently devolved
 homes, commerce, community.
 Extended families,
 aunts and cousins,
 good neighbors,
 valued friends,
 devolved to shattered corpses.
 
 Wailing at a divisive wall in the name of
 humanity, freedom,
 chaotic prophecies whisper,
 imprinting reign of Hell upon
 modern Earth.
 Policy statements fly
 in protective formation
 "We can not give in to
 the enemy."
 

Monday, August 9, 2010

Starry Desires * Emerging Visions #18 has emerged

In Honour of Nagasaki Day's 65th
Retire War mentality;
Celebrate beauty
with *Starry Desires* Emerging Visions visionary art 'zine. #18.
*
Enjoy and Share

Friday, August 6, 2010

get bombed for Hiroshima Day retirement party

In Honour of the 65th anniversary
 
 
The HyperTexts

Hiroshima Poetry, Prose and Art
Hibakusha Poetry, Prose and Art
compiled and edited by Michael R. Burch
 
 
The Abiding Significance of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
August 3, 2010
 
Hiroshima
 
Peace
Fight for peace
our sacred honor
arrows flying
piercing armor
piercing amor, pride in
full measure
wrath, revenge,
mortal fear, coiling
paranoia
bayonet strong
Toddlers at play,
unarmed, unwary
skeletally still
bared secrets slipping
from space and time
Scorching pinprick holes
in heaven's fabric
petrified souls thrust into
premature rebirth
Hellfire ripped from metaphor
rends scream-echoing
palpable texture,
daring phantoms,
death's brigade
Crying "Peace!"
-- unheeded command
because real glory
belongs to destruction
 
(c) August 6, 2008 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
 
 

nuclear quiet

Tremble

Terrible holocaust

Gravestones attest to the sight of horror

beyond any concept of fright.

Tremble

Desirous of destruction

engulfing, eclipsing, destroying the night.

Ghastly retrieval to contemplate.

Holy emission of erupting planet

engulfing, engorging, destroying the night.

Terror behind closed eyes of terrible fire

destroying, enjoining, resplendent in blazing

agony;

transcending the night into deepest & deadliest

terror.

Yes, tremble and think not of that night.

Caught in a thread which ravels to end in

throat-clutching screams.

Send terror escaping into sad streams made of tears.

Endless, enduring, yet rent past all mending.

Quiet, so quiet tonight.

Kept closed -- quiet tonight.

Unable to scream; unable to cry; unable to go on

-- But, God, I don't die

just seeing the fire descending and screaming

without a sound.

Tremble, just tremble -- there's no soul around.

 

from thot games

I have been thinking alot about the fragility of life, the brutality of war, the emanations of hatred, despair, futility, anti-life beliefs, subjugation of the natural world and our natural ways of being, the yin and yang of human power.

They chose Hiroshima as a target because it had not been bombed, was not already disfigured, so there would be stark contrast between before and after.
I've been wondering how to possibly have faith in a world where so many suffer so regularly. Do we create such realities? Do we really learn and grow from horror and death and ugly bleeding wounds?
Collective mythology points to a pantheon, whether extraterrestrial, divine, or some other origin. Somehow the group which instituted Judeo-Christian-Islam was able to wield power so that they gained sway over this segment of human history which we call Western Civilization.
I don't know what this means, but it seems significant. The Old Testament god was jealous, arrogant, warloving. These people valued patriarchic hierarchies, perhaps as being easier to control. They instituted strict rules; devaluated bodily gratification, pleasure, fun, intra or inter-species cooperation. In many ways they devalued the Earth, the eco-sphere, the kinds of interdependence that lead to valuing each and all. They favored harsh competition, violent confrontation, us-gainst-them/winner-take-all. They favored the wealthy and powerful whose ends justified any nasty means. Their moral code was about restrictions, not solutions. And Christ-be-damned, this is the god-council the Christian authorities worship. Yet, there are other gods with other values. How did this group gain so much control over man?
What is needed is to go over to the win/win concept where we each benefit when we all benefit, as opposed to survival of the fittest. Then we could do what actually makes sense rather than being preoccupied with a mythical bottom line. We could all be much calmer, easier, more usefully productive and playful. Is this the way it was before the evil gods? Was this the Eden we were booted out of because the gods had other plans? Why didn't we fight harder to keep a way of life that was good for us? The imbalance is killing us and our home.
Man is within nature. Man's habitats, no matter how grand and complex we may think, are natural in the sense of being created of by and for that which nature provides.

I have thot of this a bit, in terms of beauty. There is the often grand and breathtaking, often soft and ethereal, beauty of the natural world. There is such beauty as well in the art and architecture of man. Each has its story, its music, its water colour. Each has the power to move the rhythm of my heart and bring tears streaming down my face. Each has the power to make me feel hopelessly inadequate, or to inspire me to reach to the stars.
Mind can be more lonely than body would imagine. Mind can search for answers, for questions, for quests, for endless conundrums, and so enjoy the game. Yet mind wants other minds to play with, to bring in ideas that surprise and excite. It is spirit that knows to blend and meld into all that is. Yet spirit too can identify with loneliness, as an essence, as a way to die a little while caught in the ecstasy of exquisite pain. There must be a very important reason for loneliness. There must be a wholeness of interconnection that we truly need to attain.
I've been working the random universe/intelligent design/mystical maya one quite a bit lately. My conclusions are sometimes random, highly emotive, itchy and veiled. However, I had a revelation about the dweller on the threshhold (a revelation to me at least). It's not about going over the threshhold. It's about living it that eternal magic between the worlds and enjoying the view from each side. There may be a time when going onward is appropriate; I don't know. First I have to build my home on the threshhold, learn about living there, learn who I am that I may have myself as a trusted friend on the continuing journey.

Streaming in and out of consciousness, I don't know what I know. I feel,
but fleetingly. I feel exhiliration and fear. I feel so abysmally sad, so
ecstatically unbound, so small and insignificant, so rebellious and angry,
so tired, so endlessly used up, so guilty, so abused, so resigned, so itchy
to be free, so overwhelmed, so stagnant, so magickal, so impossible, so
dangerously close to the edge yet happy to be here dancing on the head of a
pin too small to do other than fly.
There is magic. There is the ability to send out energy and have it return
as your heart's desire. There is a magical path that will take us there
once we have the courage and grace to find it. Like the end of the rainbow
with its pot of gold, it's tied up in koans and hidden between the
dimensions. The only thing I know to do is dance.