whence the denseness? *>>>>>*<<>>*<<<<<* (observations on the presences of sense)

we're all of us
eternally related.

in the swirl
unfurling
out,

and
whirling
worlds
within.

in the nuclei
of
everything

where pilgrim

orbits spin.

spiraling down,

viraling
out
and
in.

we're all of us
entirely related.

morsels in a meal;

pangs in
anxious peal;

the rungs'
of Jacob's
reel,

shouldering
indifference
in
glory's
gory spiel,

smouldering
intransigence,

soldiering
for
vengeance
in
Jehovah's jealous drama;

we're all of us
mirrors

in woe's
bespoken wheel,

breaking the seal,
magicked
into
real,

woked
in a
stubbed toe
of Brahma.

we're all of us
internally
invaded.

the great cosmic burden
is a micro macro hash.

we're borne in the echo
of its
flashing primal crash.

and it seems
we grow weary
of our din.

*

in cataclysm's
chasm,

loneliness
unfathomed;

the 24/7
carnival,

(undead at 11)

a kerneling
of carnal
attraction;

with the planned
fawned fanning

of factioned
inaction

comes a cannibal expansion,

the bating and gating
of escalation's
mansions,

that crass
uncivilizing
clash

of classed
amassed
cash,

its schism catechism
wearing thin.

(disconnection
is the
wherewithal
of sin.)

*

still,

the microscope
skims
a plethora of shimmer

ridding the lidded
apparencies

of any
consistency
at all.

and like a PR firm,

resurfacing
spin,

blurring
dizzy
altitudes

into fooling tools,

our illusional eyes
are in
on the plot

to make us
"see"

what's really not.

those batter
spattered bands

(in the matter at hand)

cannot
be
destroyed,

(the "being"
of energy

buoyed
in its void,)

nor spirit
subdivided,

fixated
into points

hedging
our
compassion
into
edges.

(material-ination
dredging up
its wedges.)

for it's obvious

in the tracing
of
concentric

splicing
spaces,

in those billions
of places
peering from our
faces

that we're all of us
eternally related.

and if
that which
observes

within without's
awareness,

(the attendant at
perception's
tacitly
faceted
consensual conception)

wouldst pray
juxtapose

immaterial disposition

for
sought for solidity's

congealing dispensation,

(a vive la différence inference

for
ethereal's
Arial
nature)

it cannot be measured

by the seams
of
the
schemes
our deemings
seem
to
dream.

*

we're all of us

internally related,

extirpated
and
regurgitated

over
and
over
again.

syncopated,
reinstated,
or
clamorously
inflated.

unnecessarily
elated.

predictably
discombobulated.

alpha-rated,
exonerated,
or
un-inundated.

unconventionally
mated
or
not
quite
slated.

binary pated
and minery sated.

femancipated.

unrecessively
equated.

whether
skated or unstated,

we're all of us related,

redundantly
unabated
and precariously crated

on
substantiation's

dated,

weighted plated platter

revolving
resolvings
of
identification

and its
scatterings
of
matter.

and whatever
one supposes

might
be done
to someone "else"

can only
jump the fence

in the presence
and the tense

of that present

lack of sense

called "self".

*

wherefore,

(and for all its tented purposes)

the itch to ditch
a stitched in time hitch

from the
drenched in stench trench

of pent up recompense

is always
and forever

all but undone,

a trick
of
feeble shadow

unfolding out of sun.

this rather
uproots

the travelling ground

the "good guys" and "bad guys"
of law-deriding
force's

pale-faced propaganda

(the mindfuck grease
for "keeping the peace")

are ever
so convincingly

stanced and pounced
upon.

this suggests
that a
deeper steeping

in the pondering
of un-objecting pronouns

would do us

a wondrous world
of introspective good,

perhaps
even
circumventing

spite's
conflating spate

of
convex,
redistricting
projections of hate

from that
binding unfinding
of the 
man-kinding
fallout

pending
from
polarity's berth

(insecured isolation's
inconsolable
dearth)

that's kept all those
golden rules

bouncing about

like pearls
that spurt

from pins
and
fallen angels;

or stigmata
welling up

in a camel's
battered eyes

between
clasped silken purses,

wrenched open thighs,

and the
deafening
of
fearstuffed ears

for
graceless
and
sageless,

focus-choked
years

never managing
to
arrive

at
their

offending
or
attending,

defended
or
intended,

ascended
and
descended
till
eventually
upended,

transcended
(thence pretended)

though barely comprehended,

(and never truly mended)

manifestly open-ended

destination.

** * ***** * ******* * *** * ******* * ***** * **
- Evan Hawthorn,
 the second revolution of a faerie-ringed moon, (so besotted with) June, 2018

the day democracy died; (a ghost story about tomorrow)

it appears the new
Ecuadorean fold
in preening profit's
bleak clique
of bent right wings

is about to thrust
Julian Assange
into the
snarling maws
of the hardened
unpardoned criminals

who hate him the most

with that nail spitting spite
and exceptionally
venomous vengeance

reserved for those
dastardly daredevils
who would honestly illustrate

the humanity-averse,
transparency-inversed,
karma-cursed,
lavishly reimbursed

soulless and
poleless
minions of Empire

as they actually are.

*

in the fleeting
heartbeat
before patriotism's

salivating
vultures
descend,

i thought i'd endeavour
to remind
those

distracted and
frazzled
netted receptors
around me

of the
misguided and
derided,

shockingly unprofitable
willingness

to cast
all he's got
in the pride-stoned
hero-strewn path

of the flings and arrows
of "freedom protecting"
projecting grenades,

and that outrageous
courageous
commitment

to a meaningful
and informed
Democracy

that singles him out
as unAmerican;

a useful tool
of foreign
evilbe'ers
and designated "thems";

and glaringly
deserving
of that righteously
indignant,
raucously conforming,

fanatical clamour
for launching
his lynching

so certain to ensue.

*

once upon
a sleeping time
in a "good guy"
branded,
quadrennial groove
of binary
behooved
"feel good" America

a curious outfit
devoted to
uncovering
disobedient truths

about
eternally corruptible
evasive invasive
purveyors of
unaccountable power

lurked in a
virtual vacuum

amoungst a
forest of forbidden
weeded
and creeded,
ceded
unheeded
apple trees.

and these
flagrantly
unembedded,
unauthorized
sneaks,

those pinko-streaked
finks,
icky links
and wicked leaks

brought to light
Chelsea Manning's
unequivocal evidence

of a rather
run of the mill
brutal batch
of American war crimes,

with the aftershocks
timed as usual
to take out
the rescue workers

(leading of course
to Chelsea's downfall
amidst a careful
forward looking
overlooking
of "the past".)

they also published,
with the aid of the
mainlining
cash staking
ring
of dictation takers
who hate them,

tens of thousands
of diplomatic cables,

exposing the daily
anti-democratic intrigues
of U.S. imperialism
and its boasted host
of opportunistic cronies

in the Cynical Consensus
of Incorporated Parasites,
Endorsed Personalities,
and Enforcing Sourcerers
of Coercion

(which its
bobbing
bubble headed
brigades
prefer to call
a "community".)

for this
unprecedented
and egregious
example

of openly
practiced journalism
in a country
that was certain

it had
already cut off
all its
functioning
journalists' air,

Julian the
Serpent Traitor,
armed with his
Promethean
proclivities

and that Achilles'
conscience
afflicting him
with conviction

was naturally enough
relentlessly persecuted
by the Obama
administration

which convened
a secret grand jury
to issue forthwith
a warrant
for "espionage"

(the first word in treason,
as all right-thinking
people know,

defined as
informing
the We-the-People enemy
of what "their"
government,

those surfeit scumming
conscience mumming
acolytes
of incessant stealth

who steadfastly
refuse
to represent their
wishes

are
actually doing.)

*

now i'll grant you
the Buffoon of Oz
is an embarrassment
of distraction;

the puffed up
polyp punchline,
tax on
lax inheritance,
and poster child
for Wee Willy Syndrome

excreted
by Hollywood's
jarringly bizarre
brawling star
factory;

a cancerous cataract
on a camel-pimping
pumpkin headed
trumpeting strumpet,

occluding
the righted side
of history's
unrepentant blindness;

a joke that falls
obtusely
off swollen deaf ears

stuffed
and cuffed
with the founding
pirate patriarchs'
pandered delusions

and squint-eyed
Lady Liberty's
self-satisfied,
religiously
ridiculous profusions.

but in fact
he's only
a particularly
noxious weapon

in a coup against freedom

that's speedily consuming
the bitter,
depleted ends

of a heartsick
and stone-bled,

manifestly
pested,

gravely
congested

disenchanted earth.

* ***** * ******* * ******* * ***** *
- Evan Hawthorn, the ides of May, 2018

*<*>>>>>* dictation gleaned while on the lamb *<<<<<*>* (a whimsical, unvested manifesto from the right thinking Easter Bunny's divisive unbehooved cousin; the nefariously unglossed, rabidly unboxed, radical Rabbit of Dissension)

actually,
they were first grown

as carrots,

quite content
in and of themselves;

offspringing offspring,

tumbling humbly
from the hummed fumblings
of bumbly bees,

and communing
with their
un-industrious
meadow rooting fellows,

long before some
slack-jawed
presumptuous primate

stumbled upon them

and rumbled
their unprofitable destiny;



yea,

even before
the meaningless depths
vacuously
plummeting

from history's
blisters
on its
blighted rightest side

were repackaged
as immaculate,
evacuated memory;

and long before
even this,

in the
disasterous,
competitive wake

of our
presidential,
precedent setting

Reptilian
SuperPower
antecedents

in the predawn's
spawning yawning

when Bugs Bunny's
mopsy and flopsy
mop and pop flock

of continuously
re-docking
lolloping stock

incidentally interrupted
their winsome,
thumping spin

of Saturday night hops
and flippity flops
on floppity tops

and the unbridled
drop
of dna swaps,

stopping
for the nonce

the shopping
for succulent cropping,

and all that
relentless

field mouse
bopping;

verily,
i say unto thee

the carrots
still thought they were free

when the cinema's
premier
"what's up Doc?"
trickster vixen

and consummate
cartoonish transvestite

was naught
but an
incendiary
sparkle

betwixt
the rollicking
of sparking eyes

and that hapless
strain
of harebrained ancestors

sowed the
accidental seeds
of 
stereotypical addiction

so casually
bandied about
in the
emptying gestures

of an
idling jester's

sullied and
exploitative
rise

to trite
commercial stardom.

* ***** * ******* * ******* * ***** *
- Evan Hawthorn, the 29^th of April, 2018

a mourning for man unkind **<>>>>>>>>*<<<<<<<<>** (good guys and defensive intelligence: the myths that make America fake)

was there ever any doubt
that France

(taking a break from
undermining West African independence
and circumventing plans
for their crushed-with-Gaddafi currency)

and Britain

(unsettled by the setting
of its commons-stealthed sun,
and the tarnished fraying reins
round a laboured, illiberal party)

would collaborate
with the Buffoon of Oz
in his latest round
of pitiless
and vicious
man-dated terror?

(goaded again
by the imploding Deep State,

those proliferating agencies
of militant "intelligence"

and the Feed-Me-Seymour
trillion-armed
demonizing beast
of offensive "defense"

in cahoots with the empire's
enterprising editorial enablers,
hallucinating generals
and bobbing talking heads,

and the Hollywood stumping,
sexting and pumping
adolescent dream catchers

all flanked by the planked,
stuffed and vetted,
binary-bated,
partisan-plated,
right and righter parties.)

for prior to playing
mass-murderer's tag
with Vietnam's invasion,

and even before Churchill's
"healthful terror"
poured chemical weapons
out of airplanes,

clearing the way
of "dog in the manger"
Palestinians
for Israel's virgin birth

the pirate triumvirate
had inconspicuously formed;

that lawless consensus
of contrived connivance
and border hoarding,
UN distorting bullies

in their Colonial
Rogue Axis
of Lesser
and Greater
Unspeakable Evil,

who can always be
counted on
to misrepresent
their savage intentions

as they pander
the plundering patriarchs'
heroic democracy
to delusion-consuming
patriotic sheep

while they demean
and dehumanize,
project their
brutal crimes upon,
rape the minerals
and aspirations of,

and consistently deny
connection to

any off-white life
they happen to run over.

but fear not,
Alzheimer's "good guys"
have rigged
the prised, divided sides,
sidling the cries of history.

for the CIA
who terrorized MLK,
prodding his suicide

and probably arranging
his murder;

(but never mind all that)

the same CIA
who robbed us

of so many Black Panthers

(the best community organizing,

democracy boosting heroes

the sixties produced),

along with several
"good" (dead) indians
and Leonard Peltier,
still rotting in his cell;

they who've toppled
dozens and dozens

of other people's governments,
and spent untold millions
unstabling dissent;

who piloted their exported torture
from university laboratories
to the seventies' argmageddon
thrust on Latin America,

consigning populations everywhere
to dictated hopelessness,
cruelty, and misery

because our owners
apparently
don't make enough money

from other-people focused,
duly demonized
leaders;

that never dozing CIA
who dreamed up al Qaeda
to saddle the Soviets
and,

with their
monarchist, extremist
bosom buddies
and birds of a feather
apartheid enforcers,
outfitted and funded ISIS;

they who've misled the American public

into countless wars
of blatantly illegal aggression,

are currently spying
on every creature in creation,

sharing their homegrown
apple pie files

with the 'Five Eyes'

(that sneaky league
of English speaking,
treason-immune
bromanced scooping snoops);

yes they,
the CIA
are always on the job

protecting this
predicament
we've learned to call
freedom.

and when anyone

airs their
preternaturally dirty laundry,

they go after them
for 'espionage'

proving that,
like Obama
(and all his presidential precedents)
they see
We the People

(the redundant
remaindered citizens
those unAmerican whistleblowers
attempt to inform)

as enemies of
the "interests" of

"the state."

*

so heed their call
for all out war
with Boris, Natasha,
and Simon Bar Sinister

(and whatever other
unbeholden
"bad guys"
they open a season
upon);

shield us from
unauthorized purveyors
of independent,
unregurgitated thought;

guide our trusting feet
from the paths of
unseemly discord
arranged by
strangely accented
or off-colour evildoers

who would dare inform us
of unconscionable greed's
essential and
exceptional crimes.

we can always
count on them,
the CIA
and those 16 other
mushrooming toadstools
of aspersion, coercion,
and devious diversion

to work AGAINST US,

consistently and viciously,

every chance they get.

so buck up, America,
and grab another gun.

Uncle Sam is calling you
to a brand new,
oil-spurting "homeland".

the barely noticed fact
that the party that insists
it's "Democratic"

(despite the woeful record
of wasted majorities,
the stolen primaries,
and the completely ignored content
of all those endlessly broached,
messenger-punishing emails)

has chosen this moment
to climb into bed
with insecurity's
intelligence firmament

under the Times and the Post's
emotion-stoking
apparency of resistance,
(and all their other covers)

while Trump's slight of farce

is awakening
so many 'progressive'
donkey-blindered Rumplestiltskins
for the very first time

should make people realize
how desperate the oligarchs,

spooked by the
looming silk road
in their rear view mirrors,
have become

and how pivotal this moment
actually is.

*

it's either George Orwell's
"1984"
from now until
major cities
are flooded
and the blowback comes home

or we find
within our
quaking selves

an honest revolution.

*

it's either a sane,
multi-polar world,

based on equality,
diplomacy,
and democracy all around,

even for pigmented,
third world,
and otherwise
unprofitable persons

(which means
the Deep State's
zombie army
of corporate operatives
and lavishly funded
bipartisan mass murderers
who call their
endless state of war
"America"

have to finally be stopped
in their presumptive
bloodied tracks

from their relentless pursuit

of "full spectrum dominance")

or it's the end of the

dubious experiment

of 'intelligent' primates

traipsing the harrowed margins
of the unrequited earth.

* ***** * ******* * ******* * ***** *
- Evan Hawthorn, the 14^th of April, 2018