Livin' in the Dream

Walking through the BigStore we happen upon the BigWal of Big TVs’; they be flashin out the Dreamworld for all of us to enter into, enticing us to enter into the Great Collective Cloud of Imagining.

Since a (wo)man’s home is his/her castle, you gotta take advantage of the fact that the BigWal makes it oh so easy, so convenient and affordable  to pad your castle walls with the magic of the Dream Machine. 

Swipe the card; swipe the Dream. Load it into your wheels and haul the Dream home. Mount  the programmed Dream World on the Walls of your castle; then with a touch of fingertips there you are livin’ in the Dream. Through the electrified power of all those magnified digified images, take flight momentarily, for hours or even days at a time away from  the slings and arrows  of Real Life. There you are, livin’ in the dream, king/queen of your own domain.

Ya may not have forty acres in the back—maybe .40—but by golly there’s the Dream Machine up on the wall bringin the whole wild world right in your living room. Tap into it with  the touch of a remote, and there it is--hot diggedy--pretty as ever, just like bein’ at Jellystone or somewhere. Nature without the dangers of lions tigers bears, frostbite, getting lost, or never comin' back alive.

Take flight! high above the earth--far, far away from all your cares and sorrows. Problems at work? 

Fuhgeddaboudit! At least for a little while.

But don’t get too carried away. Sorry about the reality check here. You can’t afford to miss Monday morning! Get ready for re-entering the matrix and the credit card bill that enabled all your flights of fancy.

Glass Chimera

In the Air I have seen

In the air my eyes have seen

more wonders than I could ever dream.

Some loom large with majesty so grand . . .

. . . while others dangle on delicate strands.

In the air my eyes have beheld

certain patterns into which my mind can delve

like dappled skies in cloud-swept windrows . . .

. . . and divided glass on skyscraped windows.

In the air I have noticed with my very own eyes

incredible creatures that somehow can rise,

like this simple bird whose lifestyle, so exquisite . . .

. . . surpasses the swami's contrived solicit.

In the air I have observed with my God-given eyes

such incredible scenes which life doth devise

like the sinister mystery of this Paris gargoyle . . .

. . . and majestic Alps formed without human toil.

In the air my eyes have seen

more wonders than I could ever dream,

from large to small, from ridiculous to sublime,

between stupid and smart, to stupendously divine.



Glass half-Full

The Narrative of the Ancient !con

In this episode

we find PMUnicomm inquiring among the projection heads as to what is going to happen next and how should we proceed from this point and what strategy should we devise to beat the numbers because they be indicating correction ahead and NIRPy deadends between buyin dips and sellin peaks and rockofdebt and hardplace of reality, so Arioch chiefofstaff say to PMUniCom:

BLS-BS say UnEmp be way down and thats good but LabrPart don't match up to historical precedental expectations so we brought in DaProphit to make recommendation for FEd shells to be moved thus and such so game can go on and broncos can beat panthers and bulls chase bears off into sunset. So here be DaProphit and he say:

You, O PMUnicomm, were dreaming and behold there was a single great !con on your !phone, which was large and of extraordinary splendor and it was standing in front of you and its number of followers was awesome, like in datrillions.

And you saw, O PMUnicomm, the head of the !con was made of silvergold, its breast and arms of ironsteel, its belly ass and thighs of assets, its legs of stokbond, and its feet partly made of toxi and partly made of asset.

You were like this is awesome what the hell is it and while you were grokking it a rock was cut but not with human hands because the hand was busy writing on the wall and the rock suddenly smashed the feet of the !con to smithereens and the tox and the assets and the stokbond and the ironsteel and the silvergold came tumblin down and humpty couldn't put the dumpty back together again. But the rock that struck the !con became a great mountain and filled the earth.

And as you watched, PMUnicomm, the credits began to roll on your !device and it was time to find another fluffup.



Glass Chimera

D-day Dream or Memory

I was awakened in the middle of the night, or the wee hours of the morning, whatever you call that time. There was a memory in my mind of being in a military boat, one of those assault vessels that was used back in the day when our guys hit the beaches at Normandy in order to initiate the grand invasion, the terrible task of running the third reich out of Germany.

I do not know how or why this memory, or dream or whatever it was, happened to me. I have not served in the military. What is most vivid in this slumbery experience was the feeling or knowledge that I was entering into a battle zone with a clear understanding and extreme fear that I might not come out of this alive. And that I might just dash up onto that beach, weighed down with all this gear, and that all these bullets flying at us--that one or two of them might hit me and that would be the end of it for me.

Maybe I was having this fearful thought or dream because this D-Day thing, like 9/11 or the Kennedy assassination or some such other collective memory, is part of our national subconscious and it is a thing that pops up every now and then from deep down under the surface of things.

I don't think this occurrence was random. It was probably triggered within me by some recent images in my mind from movies or video or what I've been reading or what I myself have written about in the novelistic pursuits of my research. I have to take note of the fact that I did watch Thirteen Hours four nights ago, the movie about Benghazi in which there was some graphic combat imagery portraying the heroic acts of our guys that defended the American outpost there on that fateful night back in 2012 when four of our people did not get alive out.

Maybe that's what it was; maybe there were other imagery elements of warfare floating around in my mind, our mind, pertaining to our collective experience as a nation, a people, or a culturally Western retention of the akashic records. Maybe it was the documentary I watched yesterday evening about the terrorist massacre at the Charlie Hebdo magazine office in Paris about a year ago.

Maybe it was because I was watching an episode or two of Foyle's War a week or so ago, which is one of those understated British TV series about a stiff-upper-lip detective during the time of WWII. His home and work, in the show, is in Hastings, Sussex, England, on the Channel, across from Normandy, and many of the show's story lines are closely connected to WWII strivings.

Or maybe this dream visitation was because I was reading, last night, Charles Taylor's massive historical study, A Secular Age,

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002KFZLK2/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?ie=UTF8&btkr=1

in which I encountered on page 409, and pondered, this thought:

"In a sense, the terrible trauma of the First World War was paradoxically resolved at least in part by the Second. This is because it really was a war to defend civilization. Hitler brought reality dow to match and surpass the war propaganda of the previous conflict. This, plus the moral discrediting of Communism, emptied the ranks of extreme Left and Right . . ."

Now that Left and Right are at each others throats again, we wonder if somehow this ancient Contention is cyclical in history, or is this just the human condition in which we are always and always have been on one side or the other in the grand struggle of right vs. wrong, good vs. evil, etcetera etcetera etcetera and so on and so on,

As Peter, Paul and Mary sang back in the day, when I was coming of age, Take your place on the great Mandella.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpIh68Kh_-s

or maybe its just that the entire Western world is at a crossroads now that so many are actively rejecting our Judeo-Christian substratum in order to have it surreptitiously replaced with Imamic balderdash.

I will end this little rabbit trail meander down collective memory lane with a pic (positioned at the top of this posting) that we snapped at the Korean War memorial last summer. In the photo, we see an eerie kind of mingling of past and present souls, a mixture of imagery from our brief stop during a Washington DC tour, and a memorial of sacrificial service that took place in a war on the other side of the world while I was being born in 1951.

Maybe that's it--something to do with being born, or dying. . .

Smoke

Demo Dems and Repo Reps

Dems do.

The streets are filled with a cry of distress

and joyful shouting nonetheless,

with tribal stomps in perfect time,

and fervent movement, hiphop rhyme.

Plus The other side of this Demmie greenback:

it shows woodstock gentsia and academic hack

media egos, celebrity stars, and the freakish fringe;

their redistributionist binges make Repubos cringe.



Repubs don't.

Out in the field we see a church picnic

with measured grace, and mortared brick;

we hear careful words that divide the time

with calculated results and holy rhyme.

Plus the other side of their grand old meeting:

country club set, with scripted greeting,

credit swappers, debit daubers, practice productivity,

while Demmies make jokes about their activity.



Americans will.

Meanwhile back at the ranch

above the streets and below the tranche,

what's that I hear rising from the ground?

a suite of swelling symphonic sound?

a veritable rhapsody of virtual agreement

with taxes deducted and fiscal appeasement!

What if Washington's cadres just crossed the cold Delaware,

while the King's drowsy troops weren't aware?



I have a dream; I know you do too.

Surely there's resource for me, and for you.

Let's keep our dream dreaming, but tweak it more functional,

making work our policy, and kindness more unctual;

'cause the river we're crossing is deep and its wide,

with estuarial currents and roaring riptide.

As we stand here unsure, squinting out at the brink,

let's bale out the flood, so our damned ship don't sink.

Glass half-Full