Artists Artists Artists.. United?

He has something to say, you should listen to him, she has a new voice, listen, artists, the small child has words he wants to say, he’s a child no one listens, why. Artists, the great global consciousness, well that was the way it was supposed to be, the collective thoughts contained in their works, be it sculpting, writing poetry, long stories, canvas, all filled with need, their heads and the hearts, pouring into the world their thoughts; man, I wanted to hear those words, they mean something, artists, and what happens, or more important, what is it that this all means. Consciousness, awareness, the need to show, the necessity to open hearts to new pathways.

What in affect happens; down through the centuries, anyone who harboured thoughts that conflicted with the dogma of the ruling class of the day, usually thwarted, unless they had the patronage of the same people, and when some made a break through, difficulty is what they found, resentment caused, labels applied, unwell, not one of us and so on, unless the general populace loved them and defended them.

Solomon was reflecting, there were so many issues, so many you’d be lost in the haze. He read about the difficulties the traditional sources of comfort were having; loss of personnel, message not being absorbed, loss of connection, and so on. In relation to divine enthusiasm, if you based your “art” or “vocation in life”, on the connection overhead (Solomon encountered Holy Spirit, the real one, was saved a few times), a power that hit the peaks at the time of Jesus, you would assume you’d hang onto the connection, not by cheating, but by incorporating the principles in your life. If talent dries up, maybe it’s time for a career change, rather than go fishing for others talents, those less organised as they say; otherwise their divine connection blurs then dies.

Solomon was comparing the times of Jesus Christ, the threats that he had to overcome, the weakness of the believers in the face of miracles, and the regular threat, same today as then, of the already organised machine that controls so many lives. At a time when there has been so many signs, and they are on the way, everyday in fact, the danger of speaking up, saying it as it needs to be said, simply, be brave.

Artists, avenues for thoughts to disperse; there has never been a more needy time for them. Your job won’t matter if the toxic dump leaks into your water supply; and the environment for your children won’t change into positive territory, until you make the effort to improve things; leaving it to your leadership, is the same as waiting for Godot.

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Sex Scandals

Seems we can’t get enough of it, papers full of it, Hollywood planing to make pictures of it, (a biography!), money has no friends just plenty of enemies. The Flight to the Asian paradise is nearing completion, they look at their watches, the boys smile, bird time. A case of the bird flew again. At least this time they bought plenty of the stuff that keeps you clean. Sex scandals, young, online, the couch, the daily drive to tempt you. Solomon didn’t think God Most High had the ear of the so called pious. No, the ear of the honest, at least you know what to expect, the truth.

How many times, how many different positions, what was on their minds. The stuff we tune our ear to, and the stuff we conveniently forget. Solomon sighed, now that GMH, God Most High was alert and the Spirit grew in strength

, he imagined help arriving from all sorts of places, amen.

Run Run Run

Shrieking, screaming, shattered emotional woman runs down her long drive, her petunias have been stolen and her life has been destroyed. Mobile in hand she phones the police, they are private, they arrive in minutes.

Mrs B, what is wrong, one of them asks. He puts an arm on her shoulders, comforts the lady, “so what is the matter Mam,”

my petunias, my petunias she points, to the hole in the ground, they are gone. Her award winning flowers, the ones she was going to enter in the show (be dramatic).

Five minutes away, a child lies hungry in the Ghetto. so much for Mrs B’s petunias, amen.

Get Up!

The preacher woman has put the fear of God in them, the accusers retreat from the hall, they see the moving Spirit, they know she represents God, they all step back, their earlier enthusiasm curbed, once they encounter the power of the all mighty One True God, they had never seen the like. She calls them towards her healing hands, where she will lay them down, the crowd is excited, they have been praying, genuinely calling out loud, Save us they pray, save them she did. The newspapers across the United States were full of the wonders, a preacher woman becomes the most famous woman in America, the years, the 1920’s.

The healing Spirit, the gift she was bestowed with, was not a gift as far as the excess’s of human kind were concerned, more a hindrance, you mean they believe, what a problem they thought; she was not a member of the religious mainstream.

Many years later, Solomon hit the same sea

m, came upon the healing Spirit, had the visit of the Great Spirit, and had used it as his special surprise ever since. Seriously, did anyone think they could scheme against the Great Spirit and escape their destiny, no one did.

The old man is tired, his years are closing in, he has disappointments reminding him, there was more he could have done, he is getting the reminders of eternity, as the dots of old memory join up, why didn’t I notice he sighs, his eyes teary. The door opens, and the old sallow skin changes in color, the eyes brighten up, as love enters the room. Isn’t that so easy to do?

Mirror

He hears a sound vibration, there is a band playing in the harbor, the young and the eager, there are fools who raise their heads when they hear gun shots when they should keep their heads down, never panic. He has to get closer to the action, burb burb, he is going to risk it, it’s thrash near the top, same everywhere, but if you want to sample it, you have to risk it, he pokes his fishy ear out of the water, see’s the lights flashing, hears the base sound, it’s rocking, so this is what it’s like to be human. He ingests a tab, acid rain, they used to dump nuclear stuff in the harbor, before the authorities copped on, his stomach frizzes, this is terrible, the concert in the harbor forgotten, it’s a fight for survival, so much for the Mirror, I’d rather be a fish, Ma!.

Can’t Afford it !

We can’t take him in, she was adamant. James comes home with an elderly man, he’s ragged in appearance, has done it once before. Jane is not sympathetic, she looks the old man over, wonders where they would be safe, where the locks of the inside door are. Her eyes rise up to meet James full on, what are you doing to me, we can’t afford this.

If you let me stay I’ll clean the place, Jack is not impressed by the token words, well meant, but Tony can’t look after himself, he’s got the ageing disease, and friends are few, why me wonders Jack, as he heads for the kitchen, coffee on his mind for his elderly friend, and hopefully some peace of mind for himself.

She screams at the boy, alcohol moves the emotions, he cowers, the five year old, covers his head, is worried about a blow he might receive. The friends look away, it’s a party after all, besides the child should be in bed, but the music woke him, so he comes down, weary eyed, and worried, Mammy didn’t want her possible new boyfriend to see him.

Witness, witness, put a line through it and forget you saw it. The report is another call to the arms, the youth of the district are being assaulted in every way there is. The local dealer has a hold with the police that

Edgar hoover would have been proud of. The pay off will be a few days peace, if they ever decide to act on the intelligence anyway.

Witness, witness, did the birds know something we didn’t. Solomon recalled the dream, he was above the bed, looking down, he see’s a shell break open and then a body emerge, are we all birds, are we born again. A wry smile, he’d experienced that already, amen. Can’t afford to know the truth, you can say that again.

Daphne Carauna Galizia

Journalist is blown to bits, investigating off shore corruption, and pay off, her death is reported, it’s another truth seeker cut down, during a week when the sexual interests of Hollywood’s elite comes into focus. Movies open our minds, they blur us, entertain us, and when it’s run it’s course, it’s replaced. Heroic journalist identifies theft, is aware how corruption steals from the poorest first, so she spends her life doing something about it. Every day, a new actress come forward, fills the airwaves. each day they get braver, more stories. All the while, the story of Daphne is pushed to the side. They all have accountants telling them, off shore is where it’s at, it’s legal and 100% safe, no walls, sound proof till death almost. So that’s where you stash the cash. The accountant is a Hero for giving them such great advice. The powerful and the elite hide the wealth in these places, tax wise, they don’t want attention drawn to this murky form of theft. They don’t want a repeat of the panama papers, who needs a global investigation into this legal form of theft.

Solomon imagined the time, when the off shore practices were banned entirely. That time was coming faster than a H

arvey.