Hollywood is Burning….

What, the old man tries to raise his head, hearing is poor, what you say, Hollywood is burning, the words mean nothing to him, he is in a hospital bed. His daughter is reading the paper to him, she is trying to keep him interested, it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death too, he seems to be wondering about her, there are tears in his eye, slow weepy tears, tears of regret, you say something about Tom Hanks, the green mile being his favorite movie, No Dad, Hollywood is burning, he still doesn’t understand. No Spider man to rescue him, no superman to help him, no Iron man either, just the help of the public hospital and those who fund it, Hollywood, the word is one he associates with the lives of others, Hollywood always burned, burned into his memory.

Tom Hanks is thinking of running for President Dad, what do you think of that, do you hear me, Tom  Hanks is running for President, the old mans ears prick up, a crease covers his brow, you mean Donald Trump is dead, his eyes are open. No Dad, Donald Trump is in Paris, it says so in the papers, he’s at the George Cinq, where the paper says it costs $3,000 a night. The old man shakes his head, the election promises, the blue collar man’s friend, blue collar fraud, when an old man can’t find a hospital in his neighborhood and has to travel twenty miles to find a room to die in.

The daughter looks anxiously at her beloved Dad, she wants him to cheer up, give him a happy thought. There’s a Marilyn Monroe movie on tonight. His eyes widen, a round smile fills his face. his eyes twinkle, he turns his head to the side, looks at his youth, and says, I drove her in my cab once, and she left me a fifty dollar tip, some broad he says. His daughter nods, she has heard the story fifty times, it makes him smile. Hollywood was alive then he sighs…

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World Behaving Strange! (WBS)

 

Abnormal was the new norm, centered abnormality, maybe, it made sense of the signs, reform needed, no doubts, and no spin was going to change that one. Men behaving as women, women boasting of their sexual prowess, in a nutshell, a crazy world, demons laughing, for a awhile but not laughing now, aware of the gravity of the situation, fixers doing their utmost, cash thrown around to find solutions,

Solomon shook his head, did they see the signs, reform, all of them,

Many were turned into babbling fools, secrets exposed, off shore and everywhere, the Holy Spirit pouring out, opening hearts and consciousness, a well executed plan, the shields of deception full of holes, sudden changes, strange results, the closing of the gap between east and west, ancient cities uncovered, miracles, sudden weather changes,

amen.

 

and all they could come up with,

 

the ways that failed everywhere,

amen.

The Golden Child

They need a few words, the King asks, where is the poet, he must write the lines. The pages are before him, he wants to fill them with words, it’s the story of the inner child, the secret place where angels dwell, the mountains of bias and ego don’t exist yet, there is nothing to blind the little one. Everywhere he goes, he can see them, Spirits, only eyes that young can see them, eyes that have not been burdened.

Solomon read the paper over his coffee, the usual, the weekend games, the pundits and their fury, the fate of another manager, by the next day, it would all be forgotten, same way the car park fills and empties, we take new places, and we rarely remember where we parked the day before, unless it’s reserved of course, and we are made to feel important.

A baby sits before the music man, too young to be a fan, can’t spell his name, can’t recall the lyrics, he just bobs his head and listens, the rhythm gets him, and so it gets the angels, who he see’s floating about, cause he is not blinded by things yet, but can see what seems eternal, the way faith is, you can’t see it, you can’t hold it, all you can do is

pass it on. The baby nods, listens with his friends, amen.

To be part of the Kingdom, as Jesus would say, you have to be just like that child. Solomon sighed, it’s amazing what you learn from a simple picture, amen.

Diary of a Friend

You don’t have to mind your words, you can stand on each others toes, say what is on your mind, and be what you are. In the real time world, where spin is the order of the day, how often to we have full on straight conversations, unsure uncertain do I sound all right, challenged you can’t handle that, then you encounter a friend, not a stranger you will never meet again, I never knew you loved cold potatoes, the stuff you can say, the openness of the heart and the flow, the same as a good tune that rolls across your head, the head bobs the face slides the beat goes on, that’s how real friendship grows.

Solomon sighed, an old friend, not too well, haggard at times and getting to the end of the journey, they meet in a place where the elderly live, there isn’t much life apart from the care, and if you have a working mind it can get very tough, the inability to express yourself fully, the nods and the sighs as you try to be polite and not offend. Well, Solomon caught the manual and threw it out of the window, started shooting from the hip and saw the Spirit in the room light up. In the company of a friend, isn’t that the way it ought to be.

She hears the car in the drive, checks the watch, where was he as this hour, she is going to check for the signs, a fresh perfume, hairs on his collar, the look in his eye, she braces herself. The door opens, he is wearing a big smile, and has a bunch of flowers in his hand, for you dear love he says, have you been crying he says, with deep concern when he see hers…

When trust is gone, it leaves a tragedy behind.

Without God…The Consequences…

So many arguments, religion has caused this harm, people actually in positions of power, have caused the harm, the question you need to ask, what is life if it depends on the efforts of human thought alone, what are the consequences, why the backlash all the time, why do they drum up the old issues, why are so many set on revenge. why do so may get upset so easily, why do so many stir the shit, a six year old could answer that. Why do we need God is not the question, the consequences of No God, should be the issue.

Russia, the revolution, the gulags, the death of ideas, the enforcement of a system, trying to regulate the human existence, the aftermath, failure. God allows the unknown factor, the bit that can’t be manipulated, into the equation, the soul who wants to speak up about injustice, the voice that won’t be silenced, as others pick up the trail. Having encountered “Great Spirit”, a powerful energy, that works on the love theme, I have seen the impossible, and as many will testify, I have encountered an army of helpers, those who arrive just at the moment, out of the blue. And it just continues to happen.

Without that “God Spirit”, who would you rely upon; systems that are created to maintain the system, that fight change, and only adjust when the crisis has arrived, never before it. No one can doubt the huge change going on globally. If you read the old prophecies, in particular the writings of Ezra/Esdras, it will enlighten you. And if your in doubt today, and it’s all getting too much for you, as it does in these uncertain times, give a thought to the gift your life is, not the entitlements that you perceive, and you will hear a voice inside you, that will tell you, how remarkable life truly is. You just have to believe.

Opened Eyes

They didn’t see it coming, straight into the storm, the human storm, not the weather forecast, satellites, they should invent one for the human race that isn’t powered by money, feck it, when it’s a snow storm of cash, it blinds everyone, well, those things you could never do, suddenly your world brightens up, I can really be like that, how the eyes open up. Parents, their nightmares begin, it was fun in the beginning, now they realize that any sod can befriend their child, and there is nothing they seem to be able to do about it, apart from read of the despair elsewhere, those distracting headlines, as if they can recall them twenty four hours later, a distraction, while the nightmare returns, their child addicted to the machine, and if it isn’t that, well, the dealer can provide the rest.

Solomon sighed, it was the story of the wise bird, looking for love, a mate, someone to play around with. When in the zone, bird can do the dance, flash the feathers, do all sorts of things, to impress the mate, bingo, we got a connection. Then the nest building commences, the future is being created, and they need to supply the foundations, not any old tree, somewhere safe, they don’t want to be blown away. Then bit by bit, they gather, the new life arrives, the work continues. If the bird knows all this, and they all do, how come the human type never seems to get it right, always distracted, eyes wide shut as stanley would put it.

The old words come to mind, He sent the prophets, they partied while Noah built the ark, amen.

The Tired outlook…

He read it before, he heard it before, why can’t they lift the Spirit, is it really that hard. Trying to sound polite, is like a lion washing his teeth before he chews you up, it’ll leave a good taste in his mouth, nothing more. The effort to impress, words that are not yours, the love you try to express, when you don’t actually feel it, it’s the same as the next trick at the circus, the magician about to overwhelm, problem is, you can’t get away with it. The next thrill, that will busy you, the toy that curbs the disappointment, the gift that glitters, distractions, from the tired outlook. Solomon encountered the tired outlook, the weary soul, who had set foundations in the wrong place, and was afraid to move.

The dark wave, that once shone bright, the application of rules, when you decide you had enough; demons in a nutshell, drawing you in, forming part of your life, leaving you with, the tired outlook.

Solomon had a prayer for them; those already dead inside, there is a light that can’t be extinguished, amen, and it is real Love, no need for the tired outlook.