enjoy this writing from CEE in the free 2015 chapbook: Hammer-Chained (click on the front cover image or the title text to download the free PDF file)				You can also order this as a 2015 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback ISBN# book! Click on the book cover spread to order Hammer-Chained as a book at any time!

Eternal Streams

CEE

    There used to be people, on this Earth. By that, I don’t mean humans. I mean, people. In a time now found in books, in photos, captioned with spin, half-truths, lies, propaganda. The tomes, not worth their paper and ink, don’t count on total recall, selfawareness or the few who’ve taken notes their entire lives. These few, you see, can be discredited, labeled, branded, made to go away. Literally. Gotten rid of, flotsam, for suggesting we’ve been made into flotsam.
    Word Up: this isn’t a tub-thump with the word “Gitmo” in it. I’m talking about the silencing of anything outside of boxes, little boxes, Legolands of worker-bee-people and anything “appropriate”. I’m talking about machinery in the form of flesh and blood, crushing the life out of noble intentions, that Man may appear to move on (read The Great Ellison’s “The End of the Time of Leinard”, if you want to know more). I’m talking about something a friend said, a million years past, re: advancing tech, e.g. it would be able to detect “different”, and say to it, “Well! You better stop thinkin’ like that!”
    But, yes. There were people in the Earth in those days, nonfriends. Defined people. People who defined. Acceptance. Surety. Purpose. Blood, as shit happens. Sweat, as natural. Tears, as part of the ride. Faith, all over the map, suffusing with irony those who truly, Truly lived, according to the Law of Natural Selection. The people, I knew them, many, were might itself, and They were strength. They were Officer Jim of Magnolia, in their simple, final wisdom: “Sometimes, people need a little help...sometimes, people need to be forgiven... and, sometimes, they need to go to jail.” The world I greeted, was the original D&D: a butt-basic miniatures wargame, boiled down, no frills, simple, a thing of “few”. It wasn’t the fucked to Earth’s core-Waterworks, you’re finding out about, now. What was, Then, was a WAS. Solid. No equivocation. It WAS the world, with barely a moving part, and bad shit wasn’t “bad shit”, just Real. Real and “that’s the way it goes”. As Krishna was told to murder his kinsman, and to be “free from passion”, in doing so. Vitality and acceptance, were One.
    Nuance Kills. It dehumanizes, odd as that might sound. I see it, every day. You’ve not built your Babel, nonfriends, not by half; your mulberry bush of friendship, is rife with milkweed. You’ve overtaken the plumbing. Stopped up the drain. Excelsior, then! Here’s to proclamations and silence. To video-Man and digital-Woman, running to catch a horizon. Teddy Roosevelts all, teeth-preaching inclusion from battery-driven hearts which haven’t an inner clue. Purpose, oh, sure, it’s got a “purpose”. It’s Dolph Lundgren, in I Come in Peace.
    So...to clarify...don’t take offense. I know you’re not ants. Not bugs. No. Bugs don’t create art, neither are they stupid enough, to condemn it. “Hive-community” doesn’t automatically denote some Lovecraftian thing. “Hive”, is an abstract. Like “Nazi”. Or “Like”. Anyway, I bore easily; ant farms and bee hives, don’t cut it. Machine-flesh thinking itself simian cum person, is endlessly surreal, like the worst Orson Welles...hence, it holds attention. Machines belching manifestos, re: “compassion”, selfabsorbed in their attempt, Nomad, to figure the zero sum. Like The Monster, throwing the little girl to drowning, seeing her as just another daisy. Love and Murder, in the same, idiot skin. That’s crazy. It’s a madhouse, Chuck. It’s nothing I ever knew. Or would want to.
    Be advised, I haven’t forgotten where this began. Nor will I. And, I see exactly what’s going down...and, I’ll take just so much of it. Well past the half-century, nonfriends, I’m finally all in. Whether I die for something or from something or in response to something, I shall surely die. I’m Sheriff Frank Leinard. 2.0. You’re gonna hafta kill me.
    So...you know...in a perfect world....—CEE, 8/1/13

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