Thursday, March 31, 2016

I Don't Care

poe the raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Mars:Game of Thrones Treatment

Arguably the Mars colonisation opus by Kim Stanley Robinson is the greatest trio ever written.  As a devoted consumer of meaty science fiction I became completely immersed in this world. Now its coming to the screen.(January 2017) Yahooo! Cant wait.

The News is Fake

Everthing is fake, reality is what humans make it. Therefore our greatest dreams could be realized if only we thought properly.

Monday, March 28, 2016

Ralph Ring

Fragrant Recall

I lay my pulse
on the soft swell
of your belly.
Your taste drips from my tongue.
I watch your spine
bend like the horizon.
Orchid lips open
petal sweet in pink flush.
I rise upon your heady fragrance.

Friday, March 25, 2016

The Gamma People


The Goons

Rommel's Treasure

My Little Gaia

I googled expecting planet pictures and this is what I got so I went with it

my little girl
is  six feet tall
she could sweep
you so hard
into a hospital
you would fall

she loves me
and hates me
because I am
so tall

We fit together like
but not like
people age
from different 

mind games
know no centre
there is no
steam available
for download
we write our
own program
and its a pleasure
to observe

long before
the tomahawk reactor
was ever conceived
we sparked nuclear fission
in a celestial laboratory
creating a reality distortion field
that Steve Jobs
would love to emulate

every moment with her
is a millinium in the human
looks like my time
will last at least 
a billion years
with her in
my life

Human animals 
are consuming the planet
my nihilism is to
enjoy the meal
the sustenance
the connection
that makes
all the destruction
in my life 

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Monday, March 21, 2016


“The monumentality of Michelangelo and the High Renaissance cannot exist in our age, for ours is one of disillusionment, despair, and destruction. Guernica is a monument to destruction – a cry of outrage and horror amplified by the spirit of genius. Not only Gernika, but Spain; not only Spain, but Europe, is symbolized in this allegory. It is the modern Calvary, the agony in the bomb-shattered ruins of human tenderness and frailty. It is a religious picture, painted, not with the same kind, but with the same degree of fervour that inspired Grunewald and the master of the Avignon Pietá, Van Eyck, and Bellini. It is not sufficient to compare the Picasso of this painting with the Goya of the “Desastres”. Goya, too, was a great artist, and a great humanist; but his reactions were individualistic – his instruments irony, satire, ridicule. Picasso is more universal. His symbols are banal, like the symbols of Homer, Dante, Cervantes. For it is only when the widest commonplace is infused with the intensest passion that a great work of art, transcending all schools and categories, is born; and being born, lives immortally." Herbert Read

Alan Moore interviews Brian Eno

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Richard Burton

Close Proximity

Into Perpetuity (Re-Write)

it's the same old drama
it's the same old scene
but the nightmare won't stop
no matter how hard we scream

July 1st, 1916.
in a matter of minutes, 20,000 British soldiers were killed with a further 40,000 wounded.
This was one day's battle that would ultimately slaughter 500,000 British and an equal number of germans.

A grand total of 37, 508, 686 died during world war one.

in the muds of Europe
or some distant plain
man kills man
again and again

February 13th and 14th, 1945, somewhere in the region of between 30,000 and 130,000
innocent civilians were massacred when the British bombed the city of Dresden. There was a grand total of 55,014,000 casualties during world war two.

and even in dreams, the same
hideous scenes keep flashing
across our global screens

Then there was Afghanistan. And then there was Iraq.
And next?
We are capable of composing music to make angels weep, of writing plays to make audiences laugh, poetry to steal the breath from your lungs and still man's madness continues.....

Now Syria.

...with an alarming regularity, the brutal nature of man surfaces with a violence that is both random and terrifying and ultimately evil. how can any priest, cleric or holy man explain away this utter and total blasphemy?


one life.
one heart.
one kind.
one world.


Artful Youth

This is the slate roof,
Me beneath its flat depression.
I sigh into silent relapse
My mind on tilt.

Here is the corner exit,
The world lies adrift in terror.
See all the people.
There's the church, there's the steeple

Groans heave them blighted
Like shivering rabbits all.
Watch that pendulum fall,
Watch the Trumpeter trump as all.

Confound the tight circle,
Rigid in its claustrophobia,
A dispatch from the high house
High on High Hill.

Like Maud and Mable,
Drones to the killer Queen,
The truth takes a nasty turn
As it comes out perverted.

I spit on the greasy palm
Cool fingered, steel fingers
That binds no promise for it's
Deaf to reason, blind to treason

Like stillborn babies
Each rivals to the other,
Twins in comic combat,
We are that awful truth.

Who is the artful youth?

Where is the artful youth?

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Musical Quotes 4


"I don't know whether I like, but it's what I mean."

Ralph Vaughan Williams

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Being Alive!

HELP...End Corruption.

Please SHARE...Discuss...Think About.
PLEASE, Sign my Petition
to be sent to the Prime Minster of Canada.

FAQ: ancient, I read your reply and understand the principles,but still have a question. If Country Grocer is a private business on private property does he not have the right to ask you not to do certain things on his property. Just askin my brother.

MY ANSWER: i do understand your question, as it's shared by many due to corruption... Like the Police enforcing human rights abuse instead of preventing it. That is why i shared that last *SPECIAL NOTE, in the post;

*SPECIAL NOTE:  Human rights entail both rights and obligations. States/cops assume obligations and duties under international law to respect, to protect and to fulfill human rights.
The obligation to respect means that States/cops must refrain from interfering with or curtailing the enjoyment of human rights.
The obligation to protect requires States/cops to protect individuals and groups against human rights abuses.
The obligation to fulfill means that States/cops must take positive action to facilitate the enjoyment of basic human rights.

Essentially, this means that even though it's a private business on private property, it is within the community and has to provide FULL public access, including for handicapped.
That also means that unless i'm damaging property, or are a threat to myself or others, they are FORCED to remain OBLIGED to follow Human Rights Laws. Get it? 
By even Posting; "No BUSKING" they are showing discrimination against me. By (pre-meditated) meeting with Police to ensure enforcement of a non-law is Conspiracy.
If i die...Conspiracy to Commit Murder. Get it?
By simply moving and allowing that sign to remain, i allow for it to follow wherever buskers go, because there is no such thing as PUBLIC LAND....everything is Private Property now.

Labour Councillor Simon Parkes and the aliens

Letter to Trump from 8 year old boy

"Dear Mr Trump, 
I saw a video of you making fun of a handicapped reporter, and I thought that was TERRIBLE!
You bragged that you 'could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody' and wouldn't lose any votes. I REALLY hope this is not true!
You make kids afraid when they hear that someone who could be our next President would even think about doing something like that.
I would like to know if you would want your young children or grandchildren hearing the things you say about people. Do you ever feel sorry about the things you say? Do you ever feel sorry about the things that you say that are hurtful to others? I have never heard you apologize.
I would like for you to know that kids are watching you. The President of the United States is supposed to be our leader. You should be someone that we can learn from and hope to grow up to be like. I do not think you are doing a very good job of this.
Please, Mr Trump, start thinking about the children in this country. We may not be able to vote yet, but we are the future.
I will choose to be a better person than what you have been teaching me to be."

Wikileaks - Obama Trump

The USA?

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances"

Oh Yeah?

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Unidentified Flying Objects 1956

RIP Sir George Martin

Arguably The Beatles were the greatest force for good exercised during the 20th Century. This only happened after George Martin signed them after every other person in England had rejected them.  Then he produced The Beatles revolutionary sound. A great man in history and a case where a great man created history.

Obama on Trump and the Environment

"I take one everywhere I take my penis"

"I even wear one in the bath"

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Earth Days

The most dangerous man

The most dangerous man 

to any government is the man who is 

able to think things out...without regard to 

the prevailing superstitions and taboos. 

Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion 

that the government he lives under is 

dishonest, insane, intolerable.

H. L. Mencken

America : Freedom to Fascism

Monday, March 7, 2016

Oh say can you see by the dusk's grey light a nation once great fading from sight.

Some time ago, around the mid to late forties, The United States of America moved into the premier position of power. It effectively elbowed the dilapidated British Empire from the top spot, from being the world's number one superpower. This was a much-welcomed event even for the Brits, those of them anyway long tired of Imperialism.
The rise of the USA also brought with it a sense of liberality to those in England tired of the straitjacket of pomp, circumstance and forever knowing ones place. The Yanks did not know their place. In fact, the very idea galled them somewhat.
They gave the world Hollywood, Coca-Cola, Jazz, Levis, Converse Sneakers, the Blues and ultimately, Rock and Roll. It was a time of youth, world youth and even though those British imposters, The Beatles, sat firmly on that throne, still the thrust of change came from America.
Then Margaret Thatcher was elected. Then Ronald Regan. Two Neo-Conservatives with singular minds. They didn't much like the way the young had challenged the establishment so set about destabilising all those changes made, replacing them with what Margaret Thatcher called, 'Victorian Standards.
It was the end of the world as we know. And no, I don't feel fine.
A nation built on secularism is now drifting to a right wing fundamentalist viewpoint, evangelical in their zeal with mammon in their hearts.
Every coin turns a profit.
Now the United States, that beacon of modernity is taking a short walk back to Imperialism via Cruz and Trump. And as they march in reverse like a scene from a Monty Python movie so the rest of the world giggles unbelievingly at the idiocy being shown by candidates unfit for the Presidency.
Let's hope Europe will not deal with such as they. I know Britain will as that is now a state without a star.

The Beautiful Mind of John Nash

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Under Connection

Under connection
my brain cant hear
the words collected
by my reality ears

My optic nerves
are useless
because on the central
cortex only the light
of beauty can fell

Every word she
speaks is Shakespeare
and its delivered
by Joan of Arc
and I my soul is
by a great white
gorgeous shark

man killer


Wednesday, March 2, 2016

The Revelation of the Pyramids

Charles-Théodore Frère

The Long Now Foundation

How Free is the Internet in Canada?

The Internet has become the defacto barometer for freedom. Just like you can judge the quality of a civilisation by the state of its public washrooms, you can determine how egalitarian a society is by the level of freedom exhibited by its servers.

Yes its a hugely important subject that people take for granted. Two stark explanations, its so free people don't care to thinkaboot it, or our lizard brains are so programmed we dont care about freedom. Esoteric Exercise for Esotericas.

The people at Freedom house want your opinion about the state of Internet Freedom in Canada. They have chosen as their vessel the esteemed Allen Mendelsohn.  Yes he has more degrees than a thermometer, and Ironicly all from Brick and Mortar Institutions. You may have seen him as the CTV go to guy on Internet law, or sitting in the stands in his famous half and half.

Its a vitally important subject please chime in.

How to grow magic mushrooms (for steve)