Boycott the State of Florida for Laws Against Feeding the Homeless: Repeal at the State Level Any and All Laws Against Feeding the Homeless

I am sharing here my comment on a story in the Broward County/Palm Beach New Times re the arrest of Arnold Abbott, a 90-year old man who was cited for feeding the homeless:

Lesson in Humanity 101: The ordinances against feeding the homeless – enacted in cities across Florida, such as Tallahasseee, Orlando and Ft. Lauderdale, are quite plain and simply put, unconstitutional and anti-humanitarian. They are clear violations of human rights, and cannot be upheld by any court, nor expected to be followed by any citizen. Hey, Floridians, if you’ve got a nit to pick with people with no homes and nowhere to go being fed by people who care, perhaps it’s a wake-up call to start looking at and fixing the reasons those people are homeless, disenfranchised parts of your community in the first place. The answer is absolutely to meet the problem as a pressing humanitarian issue, dust off your compassion, and get involved. Sticking your heads collectively in the sand, hoping they will wash away with the tide like some human garbage won’t help things. Mayor Seiler and his quisling stormtroopers (wow, what heroes they are!) are wrong. The only time they should be enforcing laws in these parks is when an actual CRIME is observed, such as drug use (but there’s another debate – the horrible human toll in the war on drugs), but especially violent crimes. Sign my petition here and send Florida a message: “We’re not going to contribute to your precious, dehumanizing tourism industry as long as you are persecuting those who feed the homeless”.

Commentary and feedback wholeheartedly welcomed.

An Assortment of My Recent Flash Fiction/Prose Poetry/OuLiPo Snowball Poems

Flash-Mod Poems for Urban Redaction and Submission…said the paper-airplane-as-message from Borneo…Please read, review, offer comments and feedback, and most importantly – enjoy.

Bastille Night

A high, immortal summer sits hunched on serpentine sands – begs in situ where I would not lose her eyes, and when I should not leave these lands; where steeped in living majesty the roving minstrels call; violent, vulnerable passions in their luminous revolt cause your fire’s teased soul to fall; feather the matinee’d dust, locked in a Moebius loop of frissons coughed out by capricious lust.

In the stern roads the joyless cars that run cloyingly on crystal fire – eyes glow as if for the first time, suave fossils, selling oneness’ masque; O buy, and buy well! And when I awake tomorrow with an unsure heart, I will scroll, click, and live in that gracious mansion made of summer light called Adoration, a singing Orphic bird, drawn to such desolate woods. Far from the city wants and wastes. Listen how the voice repeater patent goes: Queer flies the crow, queer flies the crow, and the moon shall ever know how queer flies the crow.

The Man Who Split Himself In-to

“I have no language for this,” he said, and bled and bled inside his own head. For truth, for love, for time eating itself did he say – “It verily cannot remain this way.” Lovers in a House of Mirrors, images don sagacious leers. He follows her in, but twain the chorus
did he hear:
Spaceframe,
Heartspace,
Heatsound,
Pacino as “Starface” this go-around – a will of the wind bids him afar and Adieu. Happy lover, laughing friend! Now in places two, alike, upon the verge where we must ascend.

He felt a pocket sad-full of laughs split holes where nethers crow and drop its seeds at last.

Orion sleeping on his side dangled celestial danger like a pop star’s balcony babe. The honeyed hunter of hellacious heights stands by, right where love spread new feathers in a tropic of why.

“I eat time, and love!” he yelled in the crowded marketplace, going chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp.

Then, at last, the human ceiling blew off, and the maelstrom tromped entire genealogies where the pruned limbs stabbed.

Now he walked the worlds above and below,
Split in two ways mapped, just so, in a fallen scheme of starry waste traded in on gold remains.

Cat Fight

In the wars of miniature tigers, the fence leaned in where knives and fangs were out. The elder feline grew a fat beard of discontent to cover the pain and indignation of his territorial pas de deux. We nursed him carefully from his swollen incursion and the towers still broadcast sports and weather, viruses and fake feathers. A turn of light opened a chamber of seasonal doubt: no matter the welter, the whiskers ached and stood out for relief.

Would an eye toward loss see all the way through? Pock-marked desire and streets shadowed by birds that flew. Destroyer of Shadows left his drink on your nightstand. Destroyer of Stealth mocked his heartbeats like a clown. But now he sleeps, that tiger-king of the enclosure; an eye-language marks his prowling story.

You can’t beat the winds back for this kind of October spectacle. We were saying all along a rival may breach our paddock, and here, our Golem humps nothingness with a smirk of bald power.

Schismorpheum

Great hunk of colonial mash, cities like eyes on giant face in medium-burg corners lie, starring prodigious rivers. Industrious, some. One, you stare toward Canada across great lake; one, you had also a sepia-toned past of opportunity fleshed with pioneer netting and coal chambers. We straddle apparent opposites of the New Kingdom, such intrepid gulfs of land leaving us dry. Drying our leaves.

What was once housed in a school or requiem for youth, is now click-trotting, globe-clicking, un-champion of status quo and with great grids at his feet. Tea time, the alphabet of the land curls leaves and no brain is another. In we go.

Plash

Vroom with vervain guessing, what are these cities all about? Randoms syndicated, teeth all irradiated. The boy who swallowed a swallow – his heart then fluttered for years attempting to break out. I then looked not at faces but throats. No eyes, only what everyone swallowed, from day one. Breast milk, then Coors, then Almaden wine. Ice cream bars at 4 am.
We hiked to the lake and paused on plash of stem, where a warbler heard our glowing perversity and lit up the glen. Another time I thundered Thor’s cliffs as she swam far below. She, who untangled a moth from spider’s web as August burned laughed and laughed death away as the clockwork time-trains blared.

Discotheque

This dream is a France of the mind. A world we tumble into, where music-mavens grasp on cue, alter house music to fit their queue. Rod Stewart asks, “Do ya still think I’m sexy?” as the discotheque writhes in an anachronistic welter. “Beware les flics!” the cognoscenti scions of radical chic rave. And then she is there – a girl who once I played with when young, our bodies hot again under impossibly-colored lights. Linnet poses cause her a redness, too. She says “My cherry leaf has turned,” and pale, she must go. I catch her; she says, “You must be needed back at your bachelor pad” to my bemused incomprehension.

This certainly is some France of the mind. Sex a trophy for its sleeping wiles. The discotheque filled with discontent – les flics ready with batons and hate – the free, young bugs they fever to eliminate.

Tokyo Flight

We are led along incomprehensible airport corridors, the meticulous Japanese shuttling groups of us from section to section, quarantined and endlessly waiting. At each checkpoint something is lost – time, money, the human…I feel I cannot go on. “We have a layover in Israel,” someone said, and flipped out a brochure that showed the Jews at their lugubrious wall, sun-drenched and dressed in failed dogma. I cringe at the proposed flight time and the intrepid prospect of landing in the Levant.

We fly, and I am met by an ex-pat American family who had chosen to live in the realm of the Shogun by choice. We feast with them in their dim but ample lodgings. With my lover on my right, a woman who had inquired into who I was sits closer, at my left, and begins flirting, subtly. My lover pokes me hard in the ribs and I fall off the bench, look at my watch and realize I must fly again. “Do I have enough time to pack?” I ask my lover, feeling crushed by time restrictions. She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

I run out of there into a composite landscape where I meet old friends who seem to mock a kind of fame I have acquired. I seem impossibly trapped. To gain passage from this land I must hurry into those meticulous corridors once again.

OuLiPo (Ouvroir Litterature Potentielle – Workshop of Potential Literature) Snowball Poems

Halloween – Friday the 31st

I
On
Day
With
Candy
Giving
Blessed
Children
Treasures

Believing
Pleasure
Pasture
Pauses
Above
This -
Fed
As
I

A
Go
And
Flow
Burns
Worlds
Welcome
Terrible
Scurrying
Hopelessly
Vacillating

Conversions
Redemption
Elongated
Sing-song
Empathy
Blazes
Roomy
Plot
Two
Be
I

Careers in Poetry

A Thor or Freya you may be in reason and in rhyme, but don’t fool yourself that the world will embrace you in your prime. Perversions of world racket carve no hole for you, and anyway, you would not be a tenant for such dimestore Nimrods. You will wish for a million eyes, and have only your own. But, they will do, and will see so much more than even their official, polished quislings adorned with thorny laurels. They will seem at times those of a mountain, river, or forest sprite. “The philosopher ends by sweeping the floors,” and the poet ends half-insane in alleyways or coffeehouses, on urban moors, but they – you, too – hunger for a place, a niche, a way to pad your waiting rooms and caravans before the sun at last is gone.

So, you lunchtime Shakespeares and improvident Yeatses will stoop to sell yourself low, for the simple prizes, for a box, should you eschew the open road, and be a kept tenant or pet of feudal impropriety and traditions that the saints themselves could not uphold. You planters of wise trees must find other slopes, the oddest homes, the farthest, widest-reaching shores in and upon which to pluck history’s roses of their canny thorns. But your greatest fight will be how, at last, to write and speak as only you in the you-ness of you.

Must Watch Video! Hidden Knowledge and the Ubuntu Movement

 

Michael Tellinger of the Ubuntu Movement presents proof that Ancient Civilizations used sound to build their societies, that money doesn’t exist and is not necessary for human existence and much more in this astonishing and eye-opening lecture.

Nine Eleven Dream

Tigers in a sea of shadows

Stalk my aging pride,

Pull me on an ageless tide,

In a twisted town square

Thick with human bustle.

I ride in circles, squares, games

That shuffle lives like a Tarot deck,

But the dark-striped cats never attack.

 

I ride from the department store

Where I’d spied my grandfather

Bopping to the beat of Michael Jackson,

Still as he was, in a red shirt,

Sitting in his wheelchair, as

Tigers in the town square prowl

Our sick bustle, attacking only fear

As our animal needs vanish.

 

Tragedy’s anniversary receives

En masse the gift of life;

I stand at the kitchen window

And pray the cabal be stripped of its knives.

My own cat flees –

A kiss must appear grotesque

To those without lips.

Apollinaire’s words bled onto the page,

His demure face unready for war,

His hands read by drunken eyes.

 

Chief liar plugged in bloated dead-rat dream,

stained meme of bribery home –

The sun never stops a gleam:

No stump speeches, no shortfalls

Or pittances couched and handily emptied.

Christs of free consciousness

Traipse lakeshadow artery

caressing absolution, their

Hermetic pools poised across archaic shelf

obliterators of human failure,

idleness’ sigils razed I instead breathe

Bounty, leisure, abundance

As the pogrom’s fancy dies.

Bones of browning skin rattle

With high parking lot comers, claiming

Their piney estate in mute pleasure.

 

Hums the bird-clock galvanic –

Would it carry place-name truth of you,

Where life truly stays?

Words held in rare head

Where singular mouth flurried

Need no slumbering list to test the air.

Dada of space wonder,

Consul of a wanton game,

Memory’s circus ballroom’s gutted,

But the blood never forgets.

Someone’s decade knelt down;

Another one’s tumbled.

Vicar of cool cause,

Leaded footprint of game show gods,

Empires of wood-paneled rises,

Summer lawns fed with shrewd claw-bits;

Turtlenecked desire once wore you where

The snug epoch was parsed.

No delay of your fished northern veins –

Years piled on years long have held out

That green car for you.

 

Acquisition’s tiled halls may re-seed

broken hives of commerce, but

Still-knot a forgiven cowboy who acts out

The starry dream for applause:

Poise of wondrous-bosomed airs

Dawn with peace in bombarded lairs

(But the himba-mädchens go on singing)

When the addled race rabbits the spoils

Hymns cover the forgotten hills –

Colors just beginning to dazzle

Fallen from ambitious wound,

Led into bourgeois galleries

Glutted by status garages and minds –

Usurpers, we, have conquered the land.

Our actor-hero-TV leaders say so,

Time’s holo-cognate dubs silly children slaves.

Nowhere to run from what the moon craves.

Reach with epochal stabs to gain higher signals,

As is spread the general breach like pâté

while criminals police you. Read:

  1. List of Depression-era actor salaries
  2. List of NY train disasters
  3. List of most dangerous animals
  4. Richest bankers in heaven
  5. Top 10 brightest galaxies

 

Copies of haloes handed out as Hollywood awards;

Tintype of “most evil woman” shows her

Blued with smiling devilry, her “red child” running.

Dolorous spin of earth has Okinawa flutes lamenting

& New York summers already packing up the chairs,

When hardly a Tuesday can woo us,

No love in the afternoon for the poor American.

Hoggish schemers wear fiscal futures like

Girdles or gridiron teeth.

Museum of the A-bomb recreates the blasts

Of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Unholy Trinity

Every Tuesday and Thursday at 1 and 3pm;

America entire attics of fluff & diversion,

time to kill the wolves in your henhouse.

Time to sober God up & fertilize the

Hidden gardens, gold patches,

trade the Nazi in for vector of truisms.

Whence bulleted real heroes,

Bombast of destiny camera’d, come we

Buffalo & obelisk.

 

Diner car gutted, Detroit industry graveyard,

Fake-tree towers upon skyline ridges

Felling you, now

Does this great gut cry out for hara-kiri?

Floors all clean, plates all stacked,

Now call for Superman, for God has been

Drowned in our blood – revive!

Vertigo muscle retracts you,

Strawmen in sackcloth preach

Till snowflake vacancies

Deride them with new dreams.

What I mean is stop thinking

& scent your inner fire.

Our blue Montmartre is far too serious,

Vagabonds maintenant carry derelict bones

Through Purgatory’s necropolis

Whilst trivia gilds temples for corporate oblation.

Cotillion eating feral canyon graphology,

Scrubbed by mafia banks,

You are red man’s hell.

You are expiry of the primal bid.

Your tiger escorts are here

To usher you to the seas of eternal shadow.

 

- September 11-12, 2014

694 Confirmed Obama Lies, Betrayals, and Other Impeachable Mendacity

I have a feeling this is only a partial list of our president’s outright, blatant betrayal of his constitutionally, sworn duty as our commander-in-chief, as these are only the “confirmed” ones. Take a deep breath before beholding how far this nation has fallen under this imposter clown traitor.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/228527667/Obama-s-Lies

Attention All Americans: Stop Paying Taxes, Registering Your Cars, Giving Over Your Rights to False Authority

Stop paying your taxes! Taxes upon labor (income taxes) are forbidden by Constitutional law. There is no law in existence saying we need to pay them. Rather, the opposite is true: paying taxes on labor/income aids and abets traitorous organizations – the I.R.S. and the Federal Reserve, which are operated by foreign agents to the Republic and exist only to hoodwink and swindle the American taxpayer. Instead file 1099 A, B, and OID forms and recover your lost monies in the banking scheme times 10 (total of ALL bank deposits for the year x 10)!

Likewise, you do not owe property taxes, as evidenced in the below-cited case:

In Wheeling Steel Corp v. Fox , 298 U.S. 193 (1936) it states: Property taxes can be on
tangibles or intangibles. In order to have a situs for taxation (a basis for imposing the tax), tangible property (physical property) must reside within the territorial jurisdiction of the taxing authority.

Know your rights. Quit living in fear. Reap your true reward – claim your true estate!

Also, California Motor Vehicle Code Section 260 says:

Private cars/vans etc. not in commerce / for profit, are immune to registration fees:

(a) A “commercial vehicle” is a vehicle of a type
REQUIRED to be REGISTERED under this code”.

(b) “Passenger vehicles which are not used for the
transportation of persons for hire, compensation or
profit, and housecars, are not commercial vehicles”.

(c) “a vanpool vehicle is not a commercial vehicle.

This is likely standardized for all 50 states, as statutes are not true law. A Private Automobile is NOT required to be registered by Law!

‘‘Motor vehicle’’ means every description of carriage or other contrivance propelled or drawn by mechanical power and used for commercial purposes on the highways in transportation of passengers, passengers and property, or property and cargo; … “Used for commercial purposes” means the carriage of persons or property for any fare, fee, rate, charge or other consideration, or directly or indirectly in connection with any business, or other undertaking intended for profit[.]” 18 U.S.C. 31. A Private Automobile is NOT required to be registered by Law!

Under USC Title 42 §1982. Property rights of citizens …, further evidences the above position that the City or State cannot take land because they DO NOT have Jurisdiction. It states that federal or state governments / agencies MUST have a monetary or proprietary interest in your real private property in order to have jurisdiction over it (if your land has no government grant/funding or is not a subsidized government project, then agencies have neither). DEMAND any public servant/said agencies to provide the legal document that allows any federal or state agency to supersede and/or bypass Title 42 USC §1982 and/or §1441.   Title 42 §1983. Civil action for deprivation of rights … further protects Declarant’s private property.

 

The State cannot diminish rights of the people. Hurtado v. California, 110 U.S. 516. This means free, unalienable, God-granted rights to life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and unrestricted travel. Looks like you’re SOL, Homeland Security and TSA screeners!

 

“Ignorance of the law does not excuse misconduct in anyone, least of all in a sworn officer of the law.”   In re McCowan (1917), 177 C. 93, 170 P. 1100. This means Mr. Police officer, lawyers and judges better know their stuff. If you know better, you gain the upper hand and they lose.

 

“The government is but an agency to the state,” — the state being the sovereign people. State v. Chase, 175 Minn, 259, 220 N.W. 951, 953. Translation? Government and all its agents work for YOU/WE, the people.

 

“…The Congress cannot revoke the Sovereign power of the people to override their will as thus declared.” Perry v. United States, 294 U.S. 330, 353 (1935). This means your will overrides government and congress!

 

“An officer who acts in violation of the Constitution ceases to represent the government.” Brookfield Const. Co. v. Stewart, 284 F.Supp. 94. Police officers violating this maxim of law face punishment under U.S.C. Title 18, Sec. 241 and 242, et al. If wrongly detained by an officer of the peace/law, demand they identify themselves with 3 forms of ID. If they cannot or will not, then cease interacting with them. If they continue to be hostile, demand to speak to their hazard bond underwriter. They forfeit their hazard bonds for threats, intimidation, or assault while under color of law. To wit:

When officers detained appellant for the purpose of requiring him to identify himself, they performed a seizure of his person subject to the requirements of the Fourth Amendment… The Fourth Amendment, of course, applies to all seizures of the person, including seizures that involve only a brief detention short of traditional arrest… Whenever a police officer accosts an individual and restrains his freedom to walk away, he has ‘seized’ that person, and the Fourth Amendment requires that the seizure be ‘reasonable’.

“But even assuming that purpose (prevention of crime) is served to some degree by stopping and demanding identification from an individual without any specific basis for believing he is involved in criminal activity, the guarantees of the Fourth Amendment do not allow it.”

The application of…(a code)…to detain appellant and require him to identify himself violated the Fourth Amendment because the officers lacked any reasonable suspicion to believe appellant was engaged, or had engaged, in criminal conduct. Accordingly, appellant may not be punished for refusing to identify himself, and the conviction is reversed.” (Probable cause) Brown v. Texas, 443 U.S. 47, (1979) Cite this case when being wrongly detained as well. You as a free citizen with unalienable rights ARE NOT bound by law to show them any identification.