Tag Archives: Shakespeare

Carbon is 4EVER!

GENOCIDE is forever!

Are you a Rhodes Scholar?

Or merely a consumer?

Bigger is better,

Monopoly is best, right?

For men conceived,

A perfect plan,

A conspiracy,

Where not only did they pass go,

Collect billions of dollars,

And never go to jail;

They were celebrated,

Venerated,

Decorated,

And called gentlemen.

A contemptible beast,

Of imperial glory,

For Queen and Country,

More like pounds, of silver and gold,

Scarring maps and landscapes,

Pillaging and raping,

Not just the physical but mental,

Enslaving millions,

While enriching and enshrining your place,

In a vile history,

And dastardly future which persists to this day,

Devoid of obvious truths,

Of chopped off hands,

Cut out tongues,

Repression, suppression and untimely death.

The four C’s,

Cut,

Colour,

Clarity, and,

C A R A T.

But for the victims,

There was and is no carrot,

Only stick.

Brilliance,
“the intensity of the internal and external reflections of white light to the eye from a diamond or other gem in the face-up position.”

Fire,

“ability of a diamond to disperse white light into the rainbow colors of its spectrum.”

Sparkle,

Scintillation,

“is the word used to describe a quality aspect of brilliance historically referred to as the diamond’s “life.”

Brilliance,

Take over,

Enslave,

Destroy,

Slaughter,

MONOPOLIZE.

Fire,

Scorched earth policy,

Take it all,

Kill everything and everyone,

That gets in your way,

It’s the imperial style,

Subjugation,

Domination,

Without hesitation,

For the lives of ‘chattel.’

Sparkle,

The hard rains fall,

Returning to the earth,

The crimson tide,

Of the blood that is on your finger,

Try though you may,

You cannot wash from your hands.

Scintillation

Gleaming,

Glistening,

Glittering,

Twinkling,

Though without an inkling,

To the evident history,

That brought you just one more piece,

Of a much larger design,

Proudly worn by you,

A symbol of all that is iniquitous and filthy,

In this world in which we live,

A legacy displayed,

Proudly,

By the duped the world over,

Daily.

How many diamonds stockpiled in this one building alone?

Just one in the cabal,

Cartel,

and nefarious syndicate.

C,

Carbon,

It is forever,

C,

Cecil,

Rhodes,

Of Imperial and Diamond fame,

Monopolist,

Founder of De Beers,

Recognizing,

As all Robber Barons do,

The dwindling value of owned commodity,

A new putsch was born,

A scam,

A conspiracy,

First to control all diamond mining,

Production,

Wholesaling,

Then to create, out of nothing,

Like money,

A market of ill informed,

Propagandized,

Manipulated consumers,

Of the absolute need,

For a generally worthless bobble,

As a manifest destinies symbol,

Of love sweet love,

From a river of blood.

Yet herein,

Women the world gasp aghast,

But diamonds are a girls “best friend,”

Beautiful and a sign of love,

A filial trinket passed down through time,

With nary a concern for the lives shed,

All in the name of love,

(though not the love you think),

Rather the love of power, wealth, status, fame,

MONOPOLY.

Monopoly,

Begets Monopoly,

Begets monopoly,

More is never enough,

Who funded this young mans conquest?

A question I leave to you,

Why fund this tyrants conquest?

A question I leave to you,

Follow the money it never lies.

By the end of his life,

Rhodes controlled ninety percent of production,

Of that relatively worthless piece of carbon,

Locking up in vaults,

Mass quantities of diamonds,

And again a failing empire,

Death throes in it’s midst,

Went to war and threatened,

The interests of the Right Honourable Cecil Rhodes,

Who,

As all great robbers do,

Got into a shoot out,

Financing, supplying and fighting,

Against his own country,

To protect the not so rare gem,

MONOPOLY.

All wars are bankers wars.

Though not quite a monopoly,

Not just yet,

Rhodes had competition,

And as we know,

That is a sin,

Yet,

Only after death,

Did his monopoly become complete,

As another well financed, well healed tyrant,

Solidified the worldwide supply AND demand,

For DeBeers,

Mr. Oppenheimer,

Financed by whom?

Ernest indeed knew,

The necessity,

To increase demand,

And reduce supply,

Stating plain for all to see;

“common sense tells us that the only way to increase the value of diamonds is to make them scarce, that is to reduce production.”

As propaganda became common place,

Manipulation,

Of basest human desires,

As earlier written about and demonstrated,

Where Edward Bernays,

Laid out the plain to infiltrate, manipulate AND,

Indeed control,

The modern age of advertising born,

Where fear could not be used,

Desire is always best.

Monopolize,

Stabilize,

Advertise…

“create a situation where almost every person pledging marriage feels compelled to acquire a diamond engagement ring.”

To give a ring,

Had since medieval times been,

A standard for true love,

Yet, before World War Two,

Diamonds,

Had been solely the domain of the rich,

Less than ten percent buying this symbol of glittering death,

DeBeers knew this was no way,

To rob and steal,

And set about proving,

Shortly after the war,

“A diamond is forever.”

Contrived by monopoly,

Delivered by the advertising age,

DeBeers succeeded where few had before,

Like Snake Oil Salesmen,

Or preachers calling for your leap of financial faith,

They realized,

Monopolized and materialized,

That the product was ancillary,

Not even secondary,

The real money,

Was in the idea,

Selling to the masses,

A relatively worthless C,

But the idea that it represented eternal love.

How many boys and girls,

Daughters and sons,

Husbands and fathers,

Mothers and wives,

Have given their lives,

Shed their blood,

On fields so far away,

They are never seen, less considered,

So you could show off,

That literally priceless trinket,

On your finger.

If it be true,

This idea,

This notion,

This marketing campaign,

That this brilliant fire,

Represents love,

I wonder,

As Shakespeare;

“All causes shall give way: I am in blood

Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,

Returning were as tedious as go o’er.”

Blood is temporary,

But carbon,

is forever.

Same old bag of tricks,

new lies…

http://www.wort.lu/en/business/diamond-mining-future-not-clear-cut-luxembourg-based-de-beers-warns-diamonds-aren-t-forever-54197076b9b39887080664ff

SDM

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Tempted Evermore

With sullen temptation my blessed sin,

Cardinal,

I hereby admit, for I have none other,

These words undress me,

Naked I sit,

On the edge of an emotional bed,

Head down,

Longing for just one touch from she that drives me wild,

My temptress,

Muse adored in eternal moments,

Though the distance between,

Keeps us just within reach,

Looking through a window to the future,

Through the lens of the present,

For this love so grand,

Royal ascent,

That She and I embody,

Personified love, lived,

Every day,

My quill,

Aimed squarely at her soul,

Deep recesses even She is too afraid to see,

As I know,

That more than once,

My words,

And the treasured sentiments,

Will keep her in my arms,

Muse,
I surrender to you,

For you,

alone.

 

Through sullen temptation,

I channel greatness, to become giant,

Bronte, Byron, Neruda and Shakespeare,

On the bench,

Shelley, Tennyson and Keats,

Summoning the courage,

The conviction,

The only truth there is,

She and I share,

Love,

Marking the way of our separation,

Only to find connection,

Their spirits,

Imbuing me with power,

Invigorating me to invigorate you,

Muse,

Fortified with every passing moment,

For She is love,

Muse,

And I am your faithful servant,

Humbled by passion,

Emboldened by your grace,

My light shining bright in her eyes,

Her soul,

My Rock of Gibraltar and Lighthouse at Alexandria,

And I coerced to her design.

 

With sullen temptation my only sin,

I invite you to share,

This,

A splendid love,

One you’ve never known,

Nor could again,

One of a kind,

Standing more than the test of time,

But the test of humanity,

And I correspondingly submit,

That I am Yours alone,

Muse,

Evermore,

All that from a window bench and quill,

The light reflecting what is right,

The moment I saw her,

And Muse became mine,

And I hers,

Alone!

SDM

 

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Good Sender Hunting

 

Since my birth I have shirked convention,

I am FAR from conventional,

I guess some of you might call me a pain in the ass,

Especially those that never did nor could get me,

But if we are calling spades, let us call this spade what it really is;

I have at various points of my life worked as a video clerk,

A flyer guy for a start up Pastry store,

A Customer Service agent at a utility call centre,

I have owned and operated two consulting firms both far ahead of their time,

With a partner who still luckily adores me,

Started a Philanthropy,

G O O D P E O P L E… cause that is what we are, right?

I have worked as a trash compactor service repairman,

A private investigator,

A Club promoter

And have I left anything out,

Chef and even an Online Retail General Manager

Oh yeah, not to mention…

 

…a political operative at all levels of the democratic process in Canada

and around the world!

 

Since my birth I have shirked convention,

Why should I try to fit my square

Into your circle?

 

I have been everything to everybody and ultimately,

Nothing to myself,

I have done enough to survive,

Knowing that at some point survival would come in handy,

And it has,

Just look at me now,

Life is my oyster,

Despite and in spite of all my pain,

Twice lost children

And all I could do was cry,

Three times lost love,

And all I could do was cry…
But I march on,

Press on,

NEXT…

Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

I have attended the best schools and the best universities,

None of which knew what to do with me,

I have spit up the mental vomit that was required of me,

And still feel the putrid bile in my throat,

And then some,

All in an effort to get a piece of paper,

That said I was educated,

An empty promise from our schools I assure you.

YOU ARE NOT YOUR GRADES!

 

Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

I have whacked my head against the wall many times, too many to count,

I have thrown shit against the wall and tried to see

What might stick?

And it never did,

And so I wonder;

 

Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

On many a whim I can quote Plato,

Aristotle and NWA in the same paragraph,

Drawing conclusions and making assumptions that few could ever see,

Nor dare to,

Lacking the conviction to think for themselves,

I can remember the first time I was called a liar,

I mean truly a liar,

By a librarian,

Because I had read 100 books in a summer,

I was so surprised that a woman of letters,

A woman I had been taught to respect,

Would have so little faith in an inquiring mind,

To belittle her thought

I asked her to flip any book to a page,

So I could demonstrate to her,

What a great mind looked like,

Needless to say she never questioned me again,

Though I still feel this great mind is in need of more,

Do you understand?

Can you?

 

I have studied the classics,

All of them,

Not in school,

Not in a classroom setting and not because I have to,

I studied them looking for that piece of me

that might somehow make sense of my life,

Great reads to be sure,

Great mind developed in tow,

Inspiring great minds as well,

May I inspire you?

 

Though I still seek the answers,

Do you know where I could look?

Do you know where I should look?

 

I have read, thought about and drawn my own conclusions,

On Smith, Hobbes and Locke,

Coming to Rousseau and knowing that I do think,

And that is the only thing that I can be certain of,

Well that and I can write,

SCRIBO

ERGO

SUM.

 

Dickens has entranced me,

Falling into two cities like they were equal but separate parts of my brain,

Bipolar hemispheres that are in constant duel,

Black dog howling,

Virginia Woolf crying,

Churchill smoking a Churchill,

Hemingway with a shotgun in his mouth,

Shelley, Tennyson, and Mohammad have wooed me,

I have had my eyes opened, by Cohen, Kissinger, and Machiavelli,

I have consumed with great interest Dante,

The Divine Comedy is right,

Funny I cannot peg which circle of hell I belong to,

Tragedy though seemingly my path,

Though I can tell which of the seven deadly sins I have committed,

I have been victim to the giants of the literary world,

Been the willing passenger to the other shirkers of convention;

Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Wolfe, and Mailer,

I have stood on the edge with Dylan both Bob and Thomas,

Also looking at religion with an open heart and mind,

Though drawing conclusions that so few people like,

GOD IS YOU,

YOU ARE GOD!

 

Poe has hugged me,

I have been beat up by Shakespeare,

Enthralled by Bronte and Austin,

I have consumed mass amounts of Vodka,

Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy counted amongst my mental friends,

Despite their constant battles,

Rasputin always wins;

 

I have read the Bible, The Koran, Torah, and Bhagavad-Gita,

In search of an answer that never comes,

Will it ever,

Perhaps in the end?

I have had conversations with Rabindranath and Flaubert,

Contemplated the nature of life with Darwin,

And questioned it with Kafka and Rushdie,

I have dreamed with Cervantes and Balzac

(damn Absinthe almost made me sane)

While William Golding laughed from the corner;

As he chuckled; “Piggy, piggy, piggy,”

All I heard was “Sender, Sender, Sender…”

 

I need not respond as George Bernard Shaw sent him packing,

Embraced by Chaucer and held in place,

At every step of the way,

By a system that had no concept of what to do with me,

But I have survived,

Thrived,

For all the haters,

Naysayers,

Those who have doubted me.

 

I have been told that my brain is too big to fail,

Kind of like American Banks,

Save that I have no need of a government bailout,

For the government has failed me too,

At every step of the way,

Corrupt for them,

Corrupted by them,

To the point of personal destruction.

 

Good Sender Hunting,

Is now where I am?

 

And I am hunting,

For you, wherever you are,

I am hunting,

Looking for the freedom of expression that is guaranteed me,

The peace, order, and good government that we profess,

The ability to find meaningful work,

To inspire,

To uplift,

To inform and bring joy,

To study as I please,

To write as I please,

To find a way to survive in this world,

That has no use for me,

Except these words,

And in the end my soul friends have always been words,

On a page,

Written by men and women in a far off land and time,

Wondering if I would have hit the same wall,

Thrown the same shit,

And suffered the same sacrifice,

In the name of survival,

In their ages,

Or would I be celebrated like sages?

 

Good Sender Hunting,

but my life no movie,

though if it were surely a tragedy

Shakespearean,

And all I want,

Is to have a place,

That I can call home,

Is it here, now, with you? Figurative!

 

Not more nor less than I need to survive and thrive,

One word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time;

 

TAKE ME AS I AM,

For I am not in control of the many parts of me,

That led me to this page,

These words,

This continent,

This country,

This city,

These kids…

 

I am a maverick,

A modern renaissance man in search of civilization’s enlightenment,

Have any of you seen it,

Heard it,

Felt it,

Can you point me in the write (intentioned) direction?

Because really,

I am lost,

And hunting

definitely an original,

For Sender.

Will you help me?

Because I really like apples…

SDM

 

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The Road I’ve Been Down

Muse,

Of fire,

Ascending,

The brightest heaven of invention,

As promised by Shakespeare,

My birthright,

Long ago sworn by the Ether,

For only stolen moments here and there,

Poof,

Gone…

 

Where are you,

Where are you Muse,

Where do you hide,

Reside not only in my mind…

 

Why do you not show your face?

 

You have forsaken me just as love,

You have abandoned me,

Abandoned us,

The intense provocations of our young love,

Tempered by the hard and cold realities,

Our child paying the price,

One all too high,

Crashing me into a widening despair,

The grand canyon reverberating,

With my black dog’s howl,

How can you,

Muse,

Leave me more hopeless and helpless,

Lost in your confusion?

 

Failure, once more,

Knowing the wrong,

Yet feeling the right,

Muse can it be so,

That you suffer from an abject detestation of love’s grandest design,

For me?

Do you know what love is?

 

I was born of love,

Molded and forged by its waters that run deep,

Both its presence and absence,

The craving and the realization,

The departure and desertion,

For…

It is a tragic reality,

That Muse, the world knows that I am love,

Willing and able to commit myself without hesitation,

Even now,

Surrender to that lofty romantic ideal,

Especially now,

But for reasons unclear,

Perhaps cultural, familial or even more sinister,

You could not see, would not see,

Though assured you must be Muse,

One day, you will understand,

Though poof,

I am not there

(although I long to be ever more).

 

Muse,

Of fire,

I beg of you,

Return to these fingers,

This mind aching,

Reeling,

Yearning,

Unleash the Ether’s intent,

Once more use me as spark to reveal not just me,

But the world I see,

Through a child’s eyes,

As I see it,

For the rest,

You know of whom I speak,

For me,

But for you,

There is nothing I could not do,

I could not be,

For you Muse,

I would give my all,

The chances we didn’t take are always those we regret… forever!

 

Chances,

Second or otherwise,

This altruism,

Always finds us in the end,

When the hours are long,

But life is short.

And I wonder,

Will you ever feel the pain of these ripe cancellations,

First of our child,

Fatherhood a profound guardian,

Giving meaning to this existence,

Then of our star cross’d love?

A pox on the mental houses,

Of I and I and I.

 

Muse,

Of fire,

When will you again grace me with elegant prose,

When will you reveal yourself to me once more,

That I may be conduit for your greatness?

 

Allow me to shine for you,

With you,

By you

For all the world to see,

But only you to behold,

As I adore you,

Exalt you,

More intensely with each uncontrolled neuron,

Though my mind is awash in flags of red,

My heart is electrified with a rainbow of sensations,

Finding not the emptiness in a pot of gold,

Rather realizing fortune favours the valiant,

Who realize the best things in life are not things

And must always be treasured,

Cherished to the end,

Regardless of circumstance.

 

Muse,

Of fire,

I wish of you,

For you,

To return once more,

Return,

Until my fingers bleed,

Until my soul is crushed,

Only to be precious again,

Can I Muse,

Be precious,

Again?

 

Muse,

Of fire,

Come to me,

Please of you I beg,

Pleading with my Mistresses,

Fate, Serendipity and Destiny,

Overwhelming my insecurities,

Breaking down the walls,

Like Joshua at Jericho,

And no less weighty,

Shattered objections,

Finding peace,

In you,

With you,

For you,

Come to me,

As I know you want to,

Frightened as you are,

So too am I,

Although,

Together we can and should journey toward the light,

Chosen,

Muse,

Of fire…

D

N

E

C

S

A

 

And liberate my heart, body, mind and soul

 

 

D

N

E

C

S

A

 

To set us free…

 

D

N

E

C

S

A

 

Freeing yourself from the chains that bind you,

For despite my passion,

My deepening desire,

My soul,

On fire,

I can not liberate your mind,

Only you,

Only you can Muse,

Thus I beg of you…

D

N

E

C

S

A

SDM

 

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My Mind – Shakespeare’s Words


My Mind,
Like two lovers star cross’d,
Doth protest too much,
Fortune like the market,
Where delays have dangerous ends,
And small things make base men proud,
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity,
These words are razors to my wounded heart,
Such an injury would vex a very saint,
Asses are made to bear and so are you,
That unlettered small-knowing soul.

The heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
For courage mounteth with occasion,
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop
I do not ask you much;
I beg cold comfort.

Things past redress are now with me past care,
This music mads me: let it sound no more,
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders
At our quant spirits,
Lord what fools these mortals be.

I will make thee think thy swan a crow,
Virtue itself turns vice, being misplaced;
And vice sometime’s by action dignified,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.

Well then, once in my days, I’ll be a madcap,
A Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it,
Greateness knows itself.

I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!
God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man,
I never knew so young a body with so old a head,
This night methinks is but the daylight sick,
Past and to come seem best; things present worst.
Before thy hour be ripe,
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety,
But if it be a sin to covet honour ,
I am the most offending soul alive,
He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat,
Stemming it with hearts of controversy.

The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
Remorse from power
An itching palm,
One out of suits with fortune,
The “why” as plain as way to parish church,
This is the very false gallop of verses.

Sell when you can, you are not for all markets,
A little more than kin, a little less than kind,
Season your admiration for a while,
Give thy thoughts no tongue,
These tedious old fools,
The indifferent children of the earth.

Come, give us a taste of your quality,
A very riband in the cap of youth,
Reason, in its self confounded,
Saw division grow together,
Words pay no debts,
My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d:
And I myself see not the bottom of it.

Farewell, fair cruelty,
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
Good and ill together,
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful,
Truth is truth
To the end of reckoning,
I do perceive here a divided duty,
For I am nothing if not critical,
Men should be what they seem.

It makes us, or it mars us,
Mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes,
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious.
Pray you now, forget and forgive,
I wonder men dare trust themselves with men,
I am Misanthrope and hate mankind,
Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t,
Memory, the warder of the brain.

Shut up,
In measureless content,
Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what’s done is done,
When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

I bear a charmed life,
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows bent,
Music, moody food
Of us that trade in love,
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to’t with delight.

The beast
With many heads butts me away,
The game is up,
I wear
not my dagger in my mouth,
And art made tongue tied by authority,
The hardest knife ill used doth lose its edge.

O benefit of ill,
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art black as hell, as dark as night,
Your tale sir, would cure deafness,
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
Lest too light winning,
Make the prize light.

Do not give dalliance,
Too much the reign,
A kind
Of excellent dumb discourse,
But this rough magic
I here abjure,
O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!
The mirror of all courtesy,
This bold bad man,
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge,
That no king can corrupt,
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience,
‘Tis well said again;
and ‘tis a kind of good deed to say well:
and yet words are no deeds.

So may he rest;
His faults lie gently on him!
To dance attendance on their lordships’ pleasures,
Let us not burden our remembrances
With a heaviness that’s gone,
This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.

Shakespeare’s Words – My Mind

SDM

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Punch Drunk

May I, will you allow, these words,
To enter your mind in one simple action,
Directing your thought away from the negative,
To embrace the incredibly positive,
May I?
May I love you as Astaire’s Body loved Music?
Picasso’s hand loved art? Shakespeare words and Galileo the sky?
May I,
Will you see that this love reaches into the depths of the soul,
Opening the window on an emotion,
This time, our time, unconditional;
May I love you as a baker bread, a teacher teaching, a doctor healing and assuredly a writer writing?
May I entreat you love lover,
To read these words,
Trying to express what God (He/She/It/They) so often have shown us right,
This night,
Despite the ominous tone in the air,
May I love you,
Fully.

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Muse’s Fire

Oh for a Muse of fire,

Shakespeare was right,

Muse,

She that has now ascended my consciousness

And is now inadvertently finding Her sacred way

Like water

Deep inside the part of my mind that so few get to see,

Without boundary or walls,

Or equivocation,

Nakedly exposed and standing at the ready,

A full and unexplainable openness

One I have not allowed in years,

Revealed for her completely

Best of all,

She that has amused my greatest beguilements

Has no idea at all

And perhaps it is better that way,

At least for now,

Muse from afar,

Exciting my susceptibilities

Such that I want to be touched by the flame

That so obviously resides inside those eyes,

Burning inside me creations fuel,

Divine inspiration

For surely She is divine

As my Mistresses confirm,

Destiny and Fate whispering sweet everythings in my ear,

Though I am but a lowly servant to these words that She stirs

And how does She stir me,

Humbled I am ready to see where we go from here,

Her eyes illuminating my purpose

Daring me and calling me out

For tangled wordplay,

Plans best laid though unnecessary

As perhaps in one majestic moment in time

Cuddling an ever present desire

To be who I have always been

Revealed in these words,

Her words,

Muse of Fire,

Burning deep within,

Me.

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