Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
Greetings Earthlings and visitors from any and all locations wherever that may be. The clock is ticking down and the tension is creeping up, as those committed to injury, make their desperate plans for escape and release; neither of which will attend their foul enterprises.
In the meantime, the rest of us work toward something concealed in the mist or concealed inside ourselves. I suppose that means mist on either side of the equation. There have been no transmissions from this locality of late and that is most likely due to not knowing what to transmit. There is an unpredictability to all things at the moment and the sort of condition that can give one the impression of being suspended in space or suspended in a gelatin solution, depending on the degree of compressed associations.
I look at my own life, which for the longest time was contained in a single room and now I'm contained by nothing but the uncertain parameters of a wide, wide world, whose dimensions and distances I have seen only a portion of until, well, until whenever until occurs.
For some, no doubt, cosmic reason, we do not see the increments and footsteps that have led us into circumstances of dramatic change. We're just there one day, pondering how it is that we came to be there. I know there are many people who sit in their prison cells of the moment, asking themselves similar questions; “Did it all begin when I met that girl? Was it later on when her brother asked me to step down to the pub that evening. Was it really more the result of that day I told my parents I couldn't stay around anymore? Did it start in school when I lost interest in what was being said in the classroom? Did I ever have a choice?”
Yes, these days many people are pondering the question, “How did I get here from there”? Some are pondering another alternative; Why can't I get there from here”? Some are probably, actually asking, by some variant of reflection; “Where is here”? “Where is there”? ...or what is here or there. Neither of them become either of them until you are in residence and some of them only become whatever they are, once you are gone. That's a strange consideration but I have little doubt that it is true.
We've got the tools but we may be short of blueprints. We got the blueprints but the guy that explains them is not around. We've got the wind and rain but we don't have the sun. We've got the sun but it's dry as a bone. We've had plenty of rest but it has come at the expense of our dreams. We've had plenty of dreams but we can't seem to get any rest.
It seems to me, when the whole world is in a state of transformation that many of these other things begin to go through people's minds but there aren't any answers. There cannot be any answers until the groundwork for their appearance has been laid down. The moment of the world, as I write these words, hovers, prances or cluelessly perambulates at the edge of a precipice. In many cases the awareness of both the state and the situation is unknown to the people in them, except for the prancers and in that case, the destiny of the dance is defined in their minds. They want it bloody and they are in a position to see it done.
One would presume, given that one has the perspective to do so, that very few of the totality of our numbers are aware of what awaits. You could say that a larger number are in varying degrees of desperation and they are aware of that on a daily and moment to moment basis but... they don't know why. Maybe they think that is how the world just happens to be at the time. Maybe they think it's just their bad luck. Maybe they figure they just never fully prepared for whatever the eventuality is. No doubt some of them know it's the governments in bed with the bankers but I don't think most of them do.
Most people are being carried around in a mist or a miasma, unable to clearly see and unable to clearly think. Sooner or later they will be in the aforementioned 'here' or troubled by the disappearance of 'there' and wondering how that happened and what it means, as the mist or miasma intensifies. All around the world are these large urban experiments. Some of them have twenty million or more people in the area. Adjacent to these tight confinement, are impressive and expanded sprawls and all of them are dependent on the delivery of various things they need or think they do. They're dependent on the cables and conduits that bring them their light and heat. They're dependent on the sheltering walls that keep them in and others out. They're dependent on the decisions and actions of those into whose hands they have placed their trust. They're dependent on a whole lot of things, or think they are and what is going to happen, when the situation goes sideways.
Around many of these large urban compressions, there are particular sprawls that contain, now and again, millions of souls who are on a serious cusp of despair and want. They're just managing to get by; sometimes they are not managing and so it goes. As press comes to push, certain dynamics of irresistible and uncontainable reaction occur. Given that one has the perspective, one can see the combustibility of unfortunate possibility, looming on the event horizon.
I've considered the insanity of the people engineering the vast majority of the world's problems. I've wondered about whether they think they have enough guns, high enough walls, or far enough concealed removes to remain out of harm's way. I've considered the mind set of those they employ to insure their survival in the times of the uproars they are creating. I've looked at the math of it and the poetic irony of the usual cosmic adjustments to the behavior of these creatures and I've also considered that these are not the usual times in which the usual things that the creatures usually depend on happen the way they expect them to. It's a lot to think about, should you, hopefully be in a position where you have the luck or prescience to be in a position where you can exercise the luxury of thinking about these things.
As those few of us who are paying any attention have been so informed, we are coming up on a period where the potential for global injury and outrage are going to be at a very high probability. We're coming up on a kind of worldwide, Ides of March. It's not just about Caesar and certainly Caesar doesn't think so. It's about millions and maybe billions of people suddenly finding themselves dressed in a toga and walking around with earbuds, or bouncing one knee on the other, peering into a cellphone screen, when they should be paying attention to something beyond a self imposed isolation, in their private sensory deprivation tanks, that have been granting them all that temporary immunity from thinking about what is going on around them; much less inside them.
Yes, the signs are not good for those living in “I don't want to hear about it” ville. You have my sympathies, even though I will probably never get to tell you in person. It's not all that much easier for those of us who have been paying attention because some of us don't know how 'here' turned into 'there' or where 'there' went either and we got to slog off into the unknown just like you do. It might be a different unknown and the procedures and processes will no doubt be different but it's still unknown, so, as Lord Buckley once said through one of his characters, “There you jolly well are, aren't you”?
You can be optimistic about all of this, even if it doesn't look good at the moment. The universe takes care of its own and makes it a point to save those who are under consideration for the next act in a brand new age. Making contact and getting instructions often has a great deal to do with not making plans. Otherwise, you might wind up having to carry those plans out and we know where that sort of thing can lead (grin).
'Rocket Ship' is track no. 7 of 10 on Visible's 2006 album 'Songwriter'
Lyrics (pops up)