The finest wine, the flagship of the fleet, Lord Jesus Christ

These twined residual forms of nation-states 

stage Punch & Judy shows on every screen

called Strait of Hormuz crisis or Ukraine 

& Russia war without convincing me 

of anything except for bottom lines 

& demographics, energy & debt, 

EROI decline & Jesus Christ. 

Transnationality sits at His feet (1).

His mobile hangs above our crib, you see, 

you understand. You add a weight of sin, 

He adds a counterweight. The balance is 

free will! much like a plane suspended in 

the sky with equal forces up & down.

Divide and conquer cut the Lord in three

for power, as divide & conquer does

in natural life & spiritual. Then there arose

a world religion called Islam designed

by Jesus Christ to underline one Lord

and otherwise weigh with exactitude. (2)

The verses which concern Himself appear

to be prohibitively separate but

He wrote the language very pointedly. 

He promised them He would explain the Jews,

the Muslims & the Christians thoroughly! (3)

The world's religions sit at Jesus' feet,

a hidden architecture He designed

to train all peoples to receive His bread 

of love & wine of truth about that love.

All peoples have been given means to clean

the inside & the outside of the plate

& cup, the heart and thoughts, with flood & flame.

The New Church Writings are for everyone,

for every world religion in the world.

His bread & wine are hidden everywhere

that humankind can think & feel & act.

His infrastructure of the plate & cup

is everywhere. You could not think or feel

or act without Him. Without Him, you can

do nothing. (4) Humankind, He has returned

as "many things", for we can bear them now. (5)

(1) Transnationality is an interlocking of directorate on steroids independent of national borders which does not consist of a single group, is non-representative in nature, and has tamed the nation-state; as previously the local nobilities were tamed by the centralizing monarchies, having fielded armies previously but now having to ask permission to leave the palace.

(2) Latin Testament, Divine Providence 255-56

(3) Koran, Surah al‑Ḥajj 22:69

(4) Greek Testament, John 15:5

(5) ibid 16:12 

La Vista Panorámica / The Bird's Eye View

They put Gonzalo's* head upon a spike.

'Yet mayst thou be caudillos we dislike.

Thou shouldst not chafe under such bounds as set'.

Against such bounds caudillos ever fret.

No mere head on a spike is so good as to free,

though it was well removed I'm the first to agree.

Hey! You missed one.** He got back to Spain with his head

and alas! -- what a shame! whom to blame? -- died in bed.

I guess they didn't have a plane to drop 

him drugged among the Andes in those days.

They sure had something like 'La Catedral'!***

Castillo de la Mota had no pool...

I see all the waving of banners, 

the slobber on Bolivar's feet. 

But I sense not this gloss but the ghosts 

of Gonzalo Pizarro, Hernández Girón.

I cry, 'Death to the lie!' 

I cry, 'Death to the mask!' 

I cry, 'Death to the honor of liars & slavers forever!'

* Gonzalo's head! & Co. He led a rebellion in Peru against the Spanish Empire because of the latter's promulgation of the New Laws, which prevented the conquistadors from enslaving natives and using them as forced labor. The Spanish Crown had Gonzalo executed, but it also repealed the New Laws and recognized that it could not be as nice as it wanted to be; because it would inevitably face costly rebellions, some successful perhaps. 
** Hernando Pizarro was the only roach in the nest to make it back to Spain. He was imprisoned in luxurious conditions analogous to those of Pablo Escobar in Castillo (Castle) de la Mota.

***Pablo Escobar's 'prison'

Bottom Lines & Information Management

 'Morality advanced and slaves were freed'.
At any rate, steam engines paid off greed.
Look at the role the British Empire played.
The land of Watt did most to ban the trade.
We cover sins with loincloths of fig leaves.
Truth should be partying. Instead it grieves.
'Who's gonna pay for all of this? I ask'.
I hate our masquerades. Take off the mask.
They who can stare unflinchingly at death
should be as honest taking every breath.

Please keep your arms and legs inside the perestroika

The rent-a-nuisance Green Guards limply lay.

The Peak Oil crowd is quiet lately. Hmm!

Why crow the roosters least before the dawn?

They drag the Green Guards off the honking road.

Just look at all the anger such deflects.

Those Green Guards block the road to take the blame

for ecofascist perestroika. Struck by Strong,

the stricken strike the wall of policy

in its relation to the bottom line;

carbon emission targets not a choice.

Green Guards as whipping boys distract from this.

The Global Warmists come out of Big Oil,

and when they speak of Climate they mean Oil!

They mean not cow farts but the price per pound

of protein energetically & all. O looming wall!

EROI decline is key, the common thread connecting 

euthanasia & promotion of plant protein,

insect protein, windmills, solar panels, 

carbon taxes & the birthrate/deathrate shot. 

They're wild about that euthanasia, hey!

As if they were just desperate to shed mouths

as balloons shed ballast down the silent sky.

Kalokagathic Modeling

Kalokagathia the octopus

flows, flying, flowering. Mere wearisome

parameters are mitigated by

an optimizing interface of arms.

So correlation will accelerate

in its own sort of Singularity,

the necessary polymathy's bloom.

For there are sorts of Singularity 

& inner analogues to LLMs

and webbots which explore more inwardly.

World systems must be modeled inwardly

in order to be truly understood.

We manage what we understand!

The burning need for octopus is great.

Convergence with it's coming. I can't wait!

No, no. A trillion cameras will not do.

Nor all those terabytes of data points. 

They're only as perceptive as the sieve

who uses them. The inner world is swirled.

Let efflorescence overtake the world!

Let a bajillion flowers loom with bloom.

Provision

"Where she hath a place prepared by God, that they may nourish her there a thousand two hundred and sixty days, signifies the state of the church at that time, that in the meantime it may be provided among many, even until it increases to its appointed state" (Apocalypse Revealed 547).

The gnomes of Bryn Athyn are silently watching.

Old bottles are watching the new.

The Church of the Lord lasts forever, forever.

On Earth, though, they may be quite few.

She laughed, Sarah laughed, at the promise of Isaac.

God knows how to blow on a coal.

Who's watching the watchers, the gnomes of Bryn Athyn?

The Watcher who lightened my soul.

When Samson desireth a daughter of Timnah,

the Lord hath a subtle design.

The Church of the Lord lasts forever, forever.

New bottles fill up with new wine.

They are not men who love Big Lies

The Greta Thunbergs of the world --

lisping Stakhanovs – teleprompt

from script to script to sell Big Lies,

green lipstick on EROI.

Civilizations of Big Truths 

can grow out of our hearts, I sing,

as trees out of abundant earth.

A loving media would cast

out fear. For perfect love so does.

Most trumpeted emergencies

do not exist as advertised. 

Look for the drumbeat bottom-line

and you will find it hidden in 

those folds of strident rhetoric,

those sold on every corner lies

which cause enormous suffering.

Look at Iraq! Afghanistan!

They keep on blowing up the Maine.

My people eat deceit like bread. 

Beware of gullibility:

more dangerous that than wickedness.

It works, does blowing up the Maine.

It fools them every bloody time.

Such servile gullibility

cannot but burn up liberty.

My people, this is shameful.

Let us cease from gullibility.

Next time they blow the Maine up, laugh

at them until they die of shame,

until they sink into the floor,

until they wither quite away,

or you will have no rights at all

and live abased amid the muck,

enslaved by liars utterly.

They'll surely blow the Maine up soon!

Will you commend yourself a man?

Or will you show yourself a worm?

They'll blow the Maine up, sure enough.

Then there will be another war,

an urgency emergency,

a flimsy pretext to be jerks

& take away more liberty.

Will you commend yourself a man?

Cease slobbering on liars' shoes.

[This is just a frustrated squib, of course, not one of my polished poems; but the theme is important. How many times do liars need to lie to you for you to finally recognize them as liars and never believe another word they say? It causes enormous damage when people are thus doltish, and I often reflect that gullibility is more dangerous than wickedness.

Every time they 'blow up the Maine in Havana harbor', like they just did in Australia -- sometimes with real blood, sometimes with fake blood, it scarcely matters which -- they then smoothly ride the generated outrage as a pretext to pass laws that reduce freedom, such as gun restrictions and freedom of speech restrictions. Similar 'blowing up the Maine in Havana harbor' manipulates the masses into wars (eg Iraq & Afghanistan) and pigeon culls (eg 2020-23). Pay attention to what effect this truth has on people. 

Bottom line: We cannot have a better system of government and socioeconomic system if we are always falling en masse for yet another 'blowing up of the Maine in Havana harbor'. If you are ever slobbering on the shoes of liars, then do not expect wise leadership or a civilized civilization. Expect instead more chaos, more lying, more gaslighting, more dysfunction, and more parasitism. Business as usual. Do you really care about those whom you claim to love? Then stop jumping every time liars say 'Jump!' ]

World System Threefold Word

You are a file that never opens, are not like

the other files.You gradually become a hologram

among the goldfish in a fishtank of the foreground folk.

I seek the sea oceanic and the thoughts appropriate to love.

Back back, hedonic adaption, back! I've got a novelty. 

O tentacles, explore, manipulate and taste the world.

Food exports cooccur with famine time & time again.

I wish that I had more enthusiasm for Mankind.

I do more useful things than when I had, I find.

free speech as natural/spiritual imperative;

wide world convergence, octopus convergence; Restlessly

I flick from Indonesia's massive massacre 

to Emperor Pedro's deposition -- what ungrateful clumsiness 

the oligarchy had when these exiled him from the land 

he wisely ruled! -- and then I listen to a documentary 

on Mexico.This octopus sends out 

autonomously curious base modules of the modeling,

like the distributed neuroanatomy 

of octopuses modeling their world.

This octopus must keep up with the Moon,

not be hurled off the treadmill of the Sun,

to meet the challenge of the intricate rapidity;

as polymaths (we're talking 17th &18th century) 

arose in varied places. Differential calculus

arose in polymathic vessels in two places, like

a Russian doll inside a Russian doll which manifests

the pattern of our polymathic modeling back then.

We manage what we understand! or roll-unravel like 

a ball of wool. Right Complex Systems Modeling must rise,

relentlessly colliding with inexorable Man.

Arise, O incandescant efflorescence of best fit.

Arise a taxonomic fire & model everything!

And do I gain a model of the world and lose my soul?

Let soul then ride the octopus imperative

& saddle up the model carrot lattice on a stick.

We'll go beyond the tower in noon's light for us,

for God and for the neighbor, for Humanity and Him.

We gain a love of God and Man in one

in Jesus Christ the God Man, He to whom all power has

been given in the Heavens and examination Earth,

God's whirling classroom valley of decision knockknockknock.

Omnipotence cannot be given to another. Thus

it is that we behold the Father when we look at Him.

The modeling will train on this world system for the Word

upon a higher plane to pick up where the world leaves off,

the Threefold Word of Hebrew, Greek and Latin Testaments,

and map the predicates of heart and thoughts, the marriages

of correspondences and the adulteries, all the

taxonomy of God, who wrote the Word in ideal forms,

who wrote the Word in forms of good and truth chiastically. 

'Nunc Licet': Enter in the mysteries of the faith

God wrote the Word in natural correspondences.

For instance, take the following: I see the oil and glory in the palms. (I understand the good of love and truth about that love therein the letter's sense.) Or this: Their horses clean and bright feed in broad mangers of eternity. (Their understandings in the aftermath of overcoming are perfected; this forever.)

On God's keyboard correspondences are lovingly and taxonomically arranged as letters on our own. Chiastic structures in the heads and tails position are an elegant symbology encoding the varieties of good and truth and sin and error in us and without. Anointing horses with the oil of love, anointing stones, once we have seen the ladder of the Word, with love of God and love of neighbor, non-ulteriority, alignment with the Divine Human of our Lord the Word, rides horses up to (into) broader mangers in the Lord. Our rivers (of intelligence) flow from His teeming face, His loving and impelling will to save the human race. We climb the Jacob's Ladder of the Word in very truth (the way and light) and love (the root and mountain and the heart). For He is an abundance of the good and true (His name). The Church of God on Earth is where His Word is understood. Nunc licet. Now it is permitted. Now it is permitted, entering the mysteries of the faith; to know with all the saints the length and breadth and height of love in person, Jesus Christ.

Our Octopus

Our octopus is living in the sky and in the sea;

and built into the fabric of the category tree.

Impetuously tentacles flow out to touch and taste

the multiplicity with intricate, determined haste.

The modeling's exploratory infill flows from curls

of independently cooperating brains and sends out whirls

awhirl with swirls, unfurling flying flocks of mappie eyes.

That which the people instantly dismiss is its disguise.

It walks the world impetuously, will not be denied.

Its territory is all data! There's nowhere to hide.

It is the timeless modeling particular to now.

Our octopus is restlessly expansive in one's brow.

It mounts the category tree as humans mount a mount.

The inner winner is the only winner you should count.

Our octopus is simultaneous coherently,

the essence of all loving eyes inherently;

a set of processors that peer and pry and prickle, flow

along the woven row of states whereto we sow and know and grow.

Our octopus is drumming, coming for your patterns, song

which tastes and sees; and this, though bonelessly, is strapping strong;

strips swathes of data of their nodes with eery beauty's zest,

this spring's expansive curiosity, and all the rest.

It weaves a magic carpet octopus out of the All.

It will displace the volume it displaces, standing tall.

Anaphoras of glory in His name

He is the God Man, weaver of free will,
He's love within the city on a hill.
He is the infrastructure where I'm taught
His non-ulteriority, as ought
to be the case with those who live His love
for whom He is their innocence and dove.
He is illumination in the clouds
of Heaven of the letter's sense that shrouds
the teaching glory in the lit-up Word
which cuts into self-love like a sharp sword.
He is that dose of raw reality
essential to loving sodality.
The marriage covenant with bird and beast
is His hard-wearing clothing for the feast.
The meaning is, Do good for goodness' sake!
The more you do His good, the more you wake.

Aligning teaching with the shape of thought

One feels outside of time and place.

One paces, restless interface

rotation, infills model's make,

and blazes eagerly awake 

in one's interiors or face

for teeming, eery beauty's sake.

One thinks outside of you and me

as angels do, the truly free,

and sees or understands the light

whereby we see with inmost height

how in and out may so agree

as to light up our sinful night.

One teaches outside items, in

their two-plus items set within,

like two points make a line, like thought,

like camera angles on what ought

to be the shunning of our sin

or breaking chains whereby we're caught;

like a synaptic discharge. Let's

so optimize their sight of sets,

of items in those sets, that their

own thought arises, there to stare,

as shaped like thought as teaching gets.

Thought multiplies with room to spare!

The Joyful One instructs our love with patient majesty

Taught on Mount Love by glory, I will make wood furniture.
For wood is good in heads position, evil when it's tails:
the Lord as carpenter vs the Lord then crucified,

projection by the evil and the false of 'cursed' upon our Lord.
For darkness sees the Light as dark and goodness as accursed.

So I will make wood furniture for service in His house.

These prospects are holonic, matryoshka, Russian dolls

inside of Russian dolls. These prospects peer out of a nest,

a mountain eagle's eyry, upon model space the bright

and chess board, checker, no the go board questing song. Eyes fly

about this host society, they wing, the seven eyes

flap flying round and seven ears are taking wing with sound.

Gordian knots become more effortless when looked at from

a higher feeling and a higher thought through one-way glass.

Song ransacks centuries for jewels to set in frames of gold.

Song sends its web bots into Everything on timelessness,

despite some earlier, concealed concern it would be late.

Our neighborhood is made of fire

Timeless endeavors grow in time

The strobe of passing subway lights

resembles flashing by of weeks

with their minute, clear outlines near

expansive or intrusive thoughts.

We're either drowned or cross dry ground.

Spaceless endeavors grow in space.

We are the furnace of our love

and whether we are slain by heat

or walk unsinged because His flame;

We're either drowned or cross dry ground.

One watches in the platter and the cup

One watches oil slicks in the platter pass.

One watches mental clouds light up the cup

or darken it, as case may be, as Hell

and Heaven flow into the free willed feed

of one who should not trust one's mental voice

to be exactly what it claims to be.

The devils have a field day with the ones

who trust their mental voices to be them.

They dress up in your mental voices like

internal stridency and foul-mouthed pride

and caricatured neighbors easier

to hate than accurate depictions with

their object constancy could possibly

be hated. They access your memories,

and draw from these the ones agreeing with

their evil loves, to grumble with and hate.

They summon memories recurrently

to feed the classes of their sins in life;

a sort of hate track into which we dip.

We writhe, provisionally dipped in flame

and flood. Therefore be grateful every day

that devils' race car, your own mental voice,

may ever jolt across a judder bar

and run into a hitch, shown up by love.

Rebuke uncleanness in the passing heart.

Rebuke the shadows in the passing mind.

Drive out the Canaanite and Perizzite

of filths and bloods, of sin and error, dead

men's bones and all uncleanness, moth and rust.

Thus will we cease to jam the Joyful One

with sins that put out eyes of captured kings.

Thus will we cease to jam the living joy

of He whose flesh and blood we eat and drink.

Couplets on the Nonexistence of Democracy

The Senators don't even read the laws they vote upon.

Bills flash right by those sluggish Senators and then they're gone.

That means your government is hardly representative

at all but oligarchic. Lest mere argumentative

intentions be imputed to one, one would here aver

that Roman Senators would vote for Emperors when those were

as though these had that choice that we presume. Bills flash on by,

like scudding cumuli that one might witness way up high;

they zip right past those Senatorial attention spans.

Effectively, these mainly stamp a code upon the cans.

The cans pass far too swiftly to read labels, don't you see.

Don't blame us for the teleprompter is their earnest plea.

Well, we'll accept their plea, that of the follow-orders gang

as well, because the Devil answered when our stampede rang.

Left/Right Goat/Sheep West/East, He-Goat/Ram

The glitter in rose gravel of the shards of bottles yore

blurs in soft dark orange light off to one's left,

the side of understanding what Life's for,

distinguishing the mountain from the cleft.

The goats go on the left, sheep keep the right,

just as the he-goat comes out of the west

to slay the ram who practices Warmth's Light,

loves God and loves the neighbor and has rest.

The left is sinister, not evil though.

But when left lands in tails position, no

oil's in the lamp whose memories we know.

The right is hearty earth the Lord will sow.

The Lord has used this sense of right and left

in both our Word and their Koran or Book:

goats on the left of charity bereft

and outwardly religious but forsook;

and sheep upon the right with innocence 

within their light and truths concerning Love,

thus sounding of the ram's head's inner sense

and this alighting of Professor Dove.

Simultaneity! The Divine Human is His Name

Simultaneity! Our Lord the Word

beyond the forms of human sense perception, time and space;

likewise beyond the angel with the swishing flaming sword

at Eden's east, unveiling of His grace

sings to us in the labyrinth of sin 

and error of His wisdom and His goodness and His love

and of the double trouble we are in.

Let us with innocence open our windows for His dove.

Simultaneity! The God Man is His Holy Name 

beyond the matter and the time and space.

He is the Web of Wyrd. He weaves with Providential grace.

Hear now and see His glory and His fame.

Simultaneity! Our Lord is near.

His presence in instructive glory teaches hearts with light

and enthrones flesh of love and blood of wisdom where we steer.

One lofts a cup with wings which drinks such sight

then flies off to the infrastructure of our Lord the Word

from which it came, love's lighting and blood's flesh. 

He brings us through the fire and water with His loving sword

aflame, fit both to harvest and to thresh.

He is the eating and the drinking and the bread and wine.

He's X and Y, He's zero and He's one.

You are exactly where you choose to dine

as to the neighbor's glowing moon, as to His loving Sun.

You are the timeless neighborhood you choose with cups and plates

and whether they are filthy or all clean.

He nurtures us through a bajillion states.

The Word's a magic eye print where His holy heart sings, seen.

Tempe Canal

Mos Eisley architecture (brown, beige, brick)

squats just above the dirt and gravel lots.

Some water lawns, insouciant of waste.

Jets wet pedestrians as pass them by.

The street looks painted by De Chirico

in clear light of the Valley of the Sun.

Ronald McDonald sits upon a bench.

The swallow-swooped and dragonfly-patrolled

soft capillaries in Tempe Canal

are silken static on a laptop screen.

A hummingbird investigates one's bike,

which looks like sunset or orange trumpet blooms.

These spring forth from the fence through which they thrust

impetuously outward to invite

the bees and hummingbirds to come on in.

A bee with brown bands alternate with tan

investigates one thoroughly, as though

the fellow of that species that one met

perhaps one half a mile away had sent

her mate a text and triggered their whole hive,

smart as a five year old and curious,

to check out anything detected twice

and fill out a report in triplicate.

She lingered near one's bike until one rolled

along the satin band amid a crunch of wheels

and truck track tread and trample grooves in dirt

and some relief to be thus rid of her.

Albeit she is worth the filling out

of a report in triplicate in blank

verse that outlasts and lofts above the fret

she caused one's spirits momentarily.

They'd think like a large language module does.

The numeration that AI performs

of human languages reminds one hives

can think through pheromonal interchange

and opening and closing logic gates.

A similar intelligence rides steeds

out of humanity in general, as

the noosphere of Vernadsky, De Chardin

astride the bucket fountain of our Lord.

A thing may be a plot, of course it may;

and also it may be a Chinese room

totalitarian hysterical 

stampede. The rulers and the ruled are ruled.

One sings now of His creatures' structuring

their meaning in an analogic form

with pantomime and otherwise so saying

heart and thence their mind abundantly;

thus see the world around alive in speech

by way of pheromonal, gestural,

and other conduits, not understood

as yet but known for information-rich.

The whale song as the forest speaks its mind;

the more so as it senses someone knows

to watch out for the waggle dance of bug

& beast, logs into internets of bird

song, orisons and gratefulness at dusks;

as rhizomes crackle with the evening news;

as volatile organic compounds zip

between the gossips known as plants & trees;

as trance remixes of the biosphere

weave melodies into our tapestries

with birds and beasts and Everyman and God.

The spirits speak in languages of fire

and water differently with every state.

We're simultaneous with flesh and blood.

A bulging creamy gibbous swiftly sinks

down towards the silhouettes of roofs & palms.

Black Sun, Blood Moon

Blackheartedness & bloodymindedness

both burn up marriage with adultery

of evil feelings & unhealthy thoughts.

The hardness of their hearts is a black Sun.

The unsupportive-of-the-conscience thoughts

are bloody-mindedness, the Moon as blood.

Thus does Manasseh eat up Ephraim

and Ephraim Manasseh in the Word.

Their sky was a black Sun and a blood Moon

which burn the heart and drown the mind in flood.