1 vote



5 votes

Save us from the poets!

Some body Free us!
Of this turbid verse
What have we done
Who incurred the curse??

A scourge of god?
For us, the worse
The sounds resound
The crowds disperse!

Away all run
In search of mirth
Toward any diversion, any fun
Jump out this moving, verbal hearse

Who opened the doors?
Who docked the ark?
Who bid us all, pause and hark?
Anchors, up!

No more amnesty
No more pardons
We cannot take on more
We're overburdened

Toss overboard
These noxious poets!
Sentiments devoured
By awful notes
More awful rhymes

So many humorless
Terse, wooden lines
The muses cry!

-1 vote

New Insight Into Market Fundamentalism (and AnarchoCapitalism)

A business man is protected from plunder because he is of value to the community that protects him. The guys who work at an office or factory could easily over power him and he couldn't do anything about it. Those same guys, and cops and soldiers, politicians, writers and editors, lend their strength to protect that businessman from plunder because he is valuable in his role, and should be rewarded disproportionately for adding to everyone's wealth.

6 votes

The big question for the next century

While none of us know the future, we have a good handle on what drives change. Technology is the big b1tch on the stage of history, setting the act and letting the characters play out their roles in her drama. Ideas, economics, politicians, and literati are just characters on her stage, who operate in her paradigm.

We have a little window into the next big technological revolution, the automation of most human labor, body and brain.

Within the existing economic order, automation portends a tectonic shift in the magnitude of inequality, and the diminution of the value of the average mass man to near nil.

The political table is set for a war over the proceeds of this automation - who will reap the benefits. The millions of mouths who's hands and brains have lost their value, or the fortunate ones who sit astride the machine that manages the machines?

The earth has a limited surface, a limited carrying capacity, limited fuel and a limited tolerance for swarms of living things crowding it up. The human enterprise has bred huge numbers of animals and pairs of hands to produce its daily bread, fight its wars and produce its wealth, and so long as those pairs of hands and their attached mouths had a real positive value, population has grown.

4 votes

Treat yourself to the second greatest book ever written

Beyond Good and Evil




-16 votes

Ebola Denial

Seems that the Daily Paul crowd is in the grip of a pitched ideological battle with the concept of the existence of diseases. How bold!

This was demonstrated months ago in the hypothetical, where the simple reality of pandemic and epidemic infectious disease was regarded as an affront to the creed of absolutist individualism.

As hypothetical threatens to become grim reality, the befuddled, blind adepts of this ideology are prepared at least in speech to go the whole length of the charge, come whatever, and fully unprepared to handle the ramifications of the actual condition.

No worse than the nation as a whole, if more interesting.

The main culprit in the general paralysis is that haze of unreality brought on by decades of safety and isolation from actual dangers, tinctured by the blare of media and constant drip of ads that could make mush even the acutest minds.

The suburban atomism of the small family, breaking down now even further into the nomadic, solitary individual atom, with his hip pocket laptop, is en route to complete uselessness for any reality not coddled by the twin Nannies of stable State and Market.

3 votes

What is Truth?

What is Truth? Asked the Procurator
But I am the Truth, Christ had stated already
Truth is a woman, ventured a third
Not won over by bores, dull and steady

Truth is a rhyme of cause and effect
A fact is lighter, beaming brighter
Short lived projectile, shot from quiver
Fast in flight, faster in falling
Means to an end, projected on worlds

Truth is a maze of words, propositions
Hammered into tracks of definition
Logic binds with mental fetters
Gives precision, unerring direction
Here is perfection, fatalistic
No freedom from this sole heuristic

1 vote

A world is born

Not all of the Earth is old
Civilized and literary
Weary with a weight of words
Tangled ropes of History
Spurs and leashes
Confused impulses
Harrying their dreary bearers

Not all the world is cold
Where rigid doctrines hold
Their gazers fixed
In mesmerized stare
Youthful energies break the mold
And create with power left the spare

Not all the world has reached its end
And stands before abysses
But raging torrents rush from glacial lakes
Haunt the world with fresh promises

Green things send forth hardy shoots
Attack old soil without shame

2 votes

More poems

The machine age is over
Or is it?
What is the information age?
Is it not the age of machinery still?

Mechanisms take over language
Enlist thousands of brains and minds
To learn the mechanization of language
Languages do little mechanical things
Instead of sing, express feeling

We now turn our language sensors over
To mechanization
More noise of machinery
Silent languages

Language once was music
Aided the labor
Language now a tool
Saves the labor

Once words were truth and lies
People were virile and healthy
Walked on word bridges
Whether honest or stealthy

1 vote

A Song of September

The day lit up
With kerosene
Streaming outward
Glass and steel beams

Two big towers
Flamed and toppled
Only took a few hours
As the people ogled

Quite a spectacle
For senses dulled
By entertainment
And people lulled

By fake explosions
From movie screens
The real thing was a jolt
Sent structures careening

Collapsing towers
The cloud still hangs
Of toxic powder
And conscience pangs

It felt like minutes
But it was Ours
Ours to start with
Ours to finish

Sour faces
Contorted in horror
A pall of terror
Over the land

Hearts of sorrow
Strengthen the hand

15 votes

Banker's Ball

The rounded world
A banker's ball
Modern creation
Banker's plantation

Money talks
Answers all, the preacher said
Bills get paid
The beast gets Fed

We also eat
Mere side effect
That serves to keep
The Beast intact

Growing the more
As it grows its human crop
How large will it grow
When will it stop?

The power to print
Issue credit
Bolsters the State
Don't forget it

3 votes


It. Is. Done.


A literary experiment to see whether teh Twitter can handle beyond the bite size. Like all great things, it risks great failure, and we can love it all the more for it.

Ed Ucation, you can get your BILL3 fix. But be warned, it is for the faithful, not the faint of heart.

The concept? An (almost) unbroken string of verse, covering the deep and the trivial, the mundane and the profound, day to day events and big questions of soul and life and worse. As I say, vanity is the soul of twit, but I do not peck like the woodpecker, but tackle like a linebacker and make the hits count.

A little darker and more raw than my DailyPaul persona, more close to my Dark Enlightenment heart.

I will bring my best contributions from there to here, and vice versa.

Well then, enjoy!

6 votes

Nystrom's Dilemma

Love to all. And forgive the poverty of the post, it was composed with haste. Some lines don't rhyme, and others waste.

Forgive the analogies to divinity, no irreverence is meant. It is just to keep with the metaphor of the ark. Don't get bent!

Love it or hate it, praise or berate it. If you rate it, you are voter, and if a voter, a scorned freeloader.


He formed the site
Out of the word
But when you speak
You will be heard

Other souls will come
Their will, their own
They will speak
They will fight and foam

And sometimes they will
Scorn their god

18 votes

The Wisdom of the Knowing Fool

The alcohol has made me post, against my stubborn will. Well then, I am human!

We're smarter than the Phantasm, God. Are we not?

It is what we believe. It is the foundation of all our disbelief in supernatural things.

Men in earlier ages were not quite stupid. They just knew how little they knew, and believed there was something that knew more than they did.

It wasn't inconceivable for them that things were what they were, and somehow made sense, even if not to themselves.

They were humble. With all their superstition, all their vital embrace with irrationality, they were realists.

16 votes

Three Poems, Then I Go


Let it go
The path
Let is snow
Don't get buried
To the other side, ferried
Don't get Rick Perried
Stuck On a stage
Owned, and afraid

To home
The path is paved
Don't fight
Or throw arms
Take flight
No harm
To Self
Restore Wholeness
Store up
New wealth
To give
We Live



A study in contrasts
Spending a lot of time
Listening to St Paul
Who's truths, are many
And Nietzsche, too
Who's truths are plenty

Study in contrasts!

So different
Two poles
Of one human soul
One extols
The virtue
Of self sacrifice