A Hearty Blow

Red sky, in the morning, drinking and whoring...asleep in the forward focsle. A storm was brewing, but me and me mates...we didn't give a damb, so! Was up all night, was we...with the likes o' them, was admir'n our 'piling', them's sweet 'dock tarts'...with the handsome parts, at least, when ye drunk...it seems so!

The ships a'float sa' why would a bloke, say nay, to the weather build'n? I got 'the itch', from a port side bitch, an' I wanna snore the day through. But the First Mate come, with his foot up our bum's...scrame'n in our ear!! "Ee ya want to live, ye'll give us sail...to pull away from 'ere, so's, put our head in the 'cawl o' the stew', or 'the briney' sink us all!!!"

It was 'a request' we cuh naw refuse, so we 'ups', from our considerations, and, alike, good pirates all...we hit for the tossing decks, and up the masts we go! We set the 'sheet's, so 'the helm' could grip...the feel of the racing roar, an' our anchor, still scrape'n coral tops...we faced the 'blowing banshee, as we crawled away from shore!

We made well away, but 'the whore', that day...took three bad men. One fell from the 'yard' o' the forward mast, and two was swept away...'shitting' themselves, on the aft! The 'sheets', was shred'd, Cap'n, fitted for fine...beller'n harder than a 'cast'rd' bull.

Mate's 'n me...we didn't think we'd get an award...fer 'shine', but the captain...he, 'n the first mate, be, like...'what the hell' 'n gee us all, a 'piece o' eight' and a 'hearty blow', from the chap in the barrel...fer free! 'Red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning', they say. Ye just never know's...wot's come'n yer way! For fair! Oy?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Bow ship stormy sea, artist unknown, google image

Note: In the second paragraph, 'cawl o' the stew', and 'briney', are both expressions for the sea, or a stormy soup, of a sea. In the fourth paragraph, last line...'beller'n harder than a cast'rd bull.'  Bellering harder than a castrated bull. All other terms, are inventions of mine...'piratey' talk!

They Only Look Like Us

The world 'halts', cinching seat belts...'governments lean't left', pausing...course correcting, changing drivers, 'exiting' in unexpected ways...for, ALL had figured out, 'they thought'. Me thinks, they thought not far enough, nor near enough...of their 'constituency's'.

So now, what is to be? The 'new left' leans so far from left...it drunkenly, dumps love notes to the fascist camps, unconsciously collapsing, in its rebel arms...their 'main stream' whores, defining 'what is what'...like, liberals they do adore...and are.

These 'candy bars, and 'stockings', and the 'gifts of arms', mistakenly misplaced, 'of course'; they ask that we forgive. It isn't possible this time. All those, and 'that' we love, our very souls, upon the block, all sold by 'hacking truth', with lies...with liars at the helm?

NO MORE! A different world be born, if SCREAMING, raging, 'fighting for its life'; as any child! NEED bring forth...and shall! Watch 'ill' that was arranged, by guile, by 'diplomatic pouch', by prev'ously, and carelessly, contrived clandestin'y, drop dead! It is a 'changing world'...if not, a 'global' fascist'y.

So now, what is to be? We faced them down. We looked them in the eye. We rejected...their charm. We are on our own, but they are 'sneaky' things...nor will they leave, without great harm. Prepare yourselves...prepare, for they are 'wrath' and evil...knowing 'no mercy'. They only 'look like us'.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: apocalypse, pierremassine

The Swill

Swill: noun

1. 1.

   kitchen refuse and scraps of waste food mixed with water for feeding to pigs.

   synonyms:

   pigswill, mash, slops, scraps, refuse, scourings, leftovers;  archaichogwash "swill for the pigs"

There are 'belief systems', and there are 'believers'. The one, may be far from synonymous with the other. We all 'believe'...in something. Many, these days, believe in 'believing nothing'. One might call these, 'open minded', but they are not, for their 'anti belief', has hard edges, past which, no ray of light, or possibility...may pass. Their non belief is 'fixated', and finished, in self certainty. 

Then, there are, the exceptions, to this sort, and you might call these 'wait and seer's'. I like these people, because, they seem rather, 'studied', and honest...and 'possible'. So, in every case, there are 'possibles', and 'reactionary's'. I would say, I am 'homogeneous' and perhaps 'porous' in my belief's. It was never my choice to 'paint myself into' rooms, traps, or situations. Beliefs can certainly be that, in a 'New York minute'. 

The edges of my 'belief matrix', are malleable, able and well suited, to accept a part...or, in some rare instances, ALL the hogwash, someone else offers...of their 'will set', until I am fully baptized in their 'swill'. So, call me 'naive'. I drank the 'kool-aid', a couple of times, in my life. What that did, beside, 'gagging me', further on...was to steep me in experience, like a teabag, or a pot roast...in a slow cooker. 

But then, there are limits, and my 'welcome mat', is also a 'trap door', through which, a purveyor of manipulative, 'horse shit'...may plummet, in an instant. A human 'will', is given birth, in the cauldron of, 'naivety meeting reality'. I don't know how many times, my eyes have rolled back in my head, or I have 'groaned', over the 'lying audacity', of other humans. Damn! 

Along that path to 'identity', ego, and ultimately...absorption, into a kind of 'god realization', the human will, 'works out', and becomes a muscular...'god will'. There are few of those, thankfully, at present...because most, have not, quite 'wrangled' ego yet. 

All of these 'wills', about, upon, and within the world DO push against one another. They push. They insist! They go into raging fits of determination, to 'have their way', and if they can 'call' enough, other 'kool aid' drinkers into their 'sheep fold', they start a movement, that over runs, and decimates, other wills and other belief systems. These are not 'God'. These are unruly adversaries, of 'the malleable', the possible. 

These are 'the swill'. They abide, in their, so called, 'sacred havens'...of all belief systems. None of these 'systems', are remotely, exempt...from 'playing god'. I believe, God leaves a door 'open', to possibility, even to acceptability, but not to 'rush', the house of heaven, with human pride, perversion, and detritus of lies. One at a time, straight is the way...narrow is the path that leads to salvation. Remember that? That was a good line. I believe that.

"Knock", it says. "Knock, and the door will be opened". You wont break down this door, or 'this will', with a bad attitude or a bludgeoning tool. You wont change, the 'fact of the matter'. It just is as it is, and has always been...free for all, to believe...as they will. But...DON'T shove it down another's craw.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: google pic

Merry Be We All

Trees, in the winter, turn inward. They die to the world of sight, and I am not sure they appreciate strangers, 'seeing them naked'. It is a trees vulnerable time. Humans, walk in their forests, among the bare trunks and brittle tree limbs. Humans 'feel' odd. Something in the forest of sleeping giants.

Yet, if humans, could perceive the forests life...below ground, they would realize...this is the time of 'cuddling', of staying warm, of listening for 'the human' sounds above them, dog sounds, rabbit thumps, and squirrel hops, the 'diggings' of scurrying small animals, in the snows, or moose, elk and deer...making their winter beds.

A darkness, now above ground until winter 'half time'...'solstice', humans call it, the older souls of 'two legs', as the trees say. To the trees, it is all the same...the 'time of inward dwelling'. In those bright caves, they see...many things, and they fancy them...'with lights', just like humans, at Christmas.

Lot's of light, in their dark ground, beneath the snows, the perma frosts, among the mucks, the stones and burrows of their kind, the 'other' end of things, celebrates its brimming life...the 'place of roots'. the ancestry of all memory's.

There are many forest dwellers, below ground, fox, weasel, marmot, squirrel...and 'the fee', so called of the human notion, of 'a fairey', but what they don't know, they don't really need too...now, do they. There are 'elves', and 'grey ones'...and macabre and mysterious beings, that shun the light, nor, are understood at all.

The ground, is a busy place, of warrens, burrows, tree bolls, and twinkling 'lichen lights', full of sodium phosphorous, 'match light'...blue gas, red and yellow...'green glow', only the ground dwellers know, and whose 'specially attuned eye's' perceive, as humans do...in their bright day light.
It is a 'wonder', beneath the snows, the ice, the soils...clinging round roots, from ancient times...communing with all hidden life, of which the humans...never see...or seldom do.

When the forest sheds her leaves, 'the time of beneath' begins, where parties are held, over nuts gathered, grains put aside, greens dried, berries hung, like peppers on hemp strings...for, the fingers of many forest creatures, are nimble...like the 'racoon'. In the dwellings of the 'daoine shee', the great wax candles are put...and they blaze away, and no human hath heard...the heavenly music played, in those buried halls...but a few, chosen well.

Walk ye, human, dare the forest path...for it is one earth, but neath the ground, ye may not be...for ye reside, above the soil...between the earth and sky, until your time to 'dee', to come to live with all light, neath the world...in 'the chambers of the lord'. At that time ye shall see, twas never dreamed, where, 'merry be',we all.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: google pic

The Arrival

Maybe, we DO get what we ask for. Oh, not so much in words, but what we certainly deserve, in 'deeds'. I look at the weather, and I see it coming closer, and closer, to harvest the deeds done upon this earth. It isn't just weather either. It's more like, a 'Detroit Auto Show', rolling out 'prototypes', of weather, we have NEVER laid eyes on EVER!

Just google, 'strange weather images', and , maybe...there's something unique, coming to the sky near you. Or, if you're lucky, and 'blessed' to humdrum 'sameness', just an ordinary day, with bird tweets, and dog barks. That, however, is becoming 'the exception'...not, necessarily, 'the rule'. It isn't ALL weather, either.

It's 'strange anomalies', 'apparitions', 'paranormal occurrences', sounds in the sky, holes in the earth, all manner of catastrophic 'earth changes', and monsters, unannounced...appearing at our children's birthday party's, and 'pizza places', and halls of Justice, and Intelligence, in homes of 'ordinary people', IN 'ordinary people', in black houses and white houses, the Congressional parlors of the 'well watered' and the 'watering holes' of the 'Celebrity famed'.

It strikes, like a White shark, on the careless or deserving...like a lightning bolt, of a 'thunderous god', no one believes in...unless, they are humble, and wary, and penitent, and quite willing to express 'true awe', of what is coming upon this world...whether, they know what to call it, or not. It is here! the time for waiting...is over.

Merry Christmas! I truly mean that. I am not 'thick'. We have ALL sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God! Now, we are IN IT! Around us ride the 'Dark Lords of Apocalypse', the crows of omen, the signs of 'arrival'. Best to us all...hug each other, hold each other, love one another...comfort each other.

Little else matters. milk, cheese, crackers...dog food. May God bless us, with 'forgivness', for all our errors.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: google pic

Strange Weather Two

My daughter, is wishing for snow, the kind you can make 'snow angels' out of. It was cold enough this morning to make 'snow cones, out my ass. It's 9:30 p.m., raining steadily, about 50 degrees Fahrenheit, no wind, smells delicious outside.

Can't tell, where the dogs leaked, or I leaked...'cause, it's all one big leak. By morning, we hear, a cold front, polar, will be here, and by 7 a.m., it will be freezing the leak, and the 'chicken water'. This is the way, it goes now, along with 'funky' looking 'chemtrail clouds'...possessing characteristics, no one's seen before, temperatures, fluctuating...like an 'iffy' heart beat.

Nothing consistent...every day different, 'the new normal', just like 'the second orange President'. I heard Trump, referred to as the 'first' orange President, but he's not, because I coined that expression...of the skin tone, of the 'presently' sitting President. It was 'original'...at least, I thought so. Whose stealing my lines? Well, there are bigger fish to fry.

When my boy was just old enough to speak. He came up with a verbal expression..."Snap!" That was about 12 years ago. Now, I hear everyone using the expression. I presumed, the expression, was 'original' to Chris. Whose stealing our lines? Or, is it unique to 'no one' and 'everyone', and why would that be, and 'who is hacking our brains'?, and "What the hell, is going on!?" , as 'Neery' told the French scientist, linguist...in the movie, 'Close Encounters'.

Still an applicable question, I would say, and 'how about an answer', that isn't 'glibly' excused by the powers, that are getting their ass handed to them, at the moment? Oh, to have a human answer, rather than a neatly 'edited, silicon based one. However, as 'clandestine' and 'obscure', are the new definition of 'transparency', this subject is moot...at the moment.

I am waiting for the first snow of the season, as my daughter is...to see if the 'new' consistency of 'snow', as is rumored, is a sort of 'sticky slush, like some kind of 'faux snow'. It wouldn't surprise me. Let me check my 'weather rock. It was 'brown', which would indicate...well, 'my dog went out'. Have a nice 'whatever'. Shit!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Tom Shrapnel, film director, strange weather

'Pea' Is For Pedophilia

I follow as much 'news', as I can find, main stream, alternative, etc. One thing, I noted, on an 'alternative' site video, is...the moderator, suggesting, the investigating audience are 'saint's'. He goes on and on, with, bless you, bless you, bless you, 'citizen journalists', for staying on this 'pizza gate'. "But", Then, he suggests to...the people 'moving mountains',  trying to get to the bottom of this pile of 'crap', "forsake their 'concentration', on the mountain...to 'see the bigger picture'", and, he goes on, interminably, and boringly, 'blah 'blah' 'blah'!

Oh, Christ on a CRUTCH! If citizen journalists, or ANY journalists, were saints...we would not be in this devils dimentia, of 'pedophiling government, prelates and world leaders'.  I say, 'cut the crap' and quit attempting to 'bleed off'', and 'derail, the 'primary issue'...pizzagate, for some more ambiguous, and 'vaporous...'bigger picture'. STAY ON PIZZAGATE! It will inevitably lead to many diversions and rat trails of criminality, but STAY ON PIZZAGATE!, and don't take your eye off the 'moving P', for one second, or you will miss it, altogether...and end up in...'we're the fukawee'!

Remember...'P', is for pedophilia, and it's being moved around, with 'sleight of hand'. 'Now you see it. Now you don't.' You will have to keep a 'good sharp eye',  and dead accurately, 'plodding' footwork, to catch these 'bastards'!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art Shell game, using a pea, google pic