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 Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings

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PostSubject: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 9:39 am

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Dimitri Spanoa/Moth Character trademarked property of Trinity Being Multimedia Copyright 2012 All rights reserved.

Ah, if you have stumbled in here by accident...this
is my personal library of writings.

These are all the stories and tales outside the main trilogy...
Well, I can't say all, because there is much more to write
and more to post...





THE BLACKLIGHT CHRONICLES
"inner stories"



Two Beige Spiders


there are two biege colored spiders
that rest upon my keyboard at night
and the only thing that they eat
is a feast of letters in random combinations
each letter laid out in a sort of a logical combination

and listen to this...

these letters sit on top of these well designed mounds
all neatly stacked in rows like the order of a honeycomb
all of these black mounds have nestled in their concave tops
large white letters positioned slightly to the upper left and all laid
out, like i mentioned before, in logical order.

The most peculiar thing happens when a small amount of pressure is
applied...the letter mound that has been pushed by a leg of one of the
spiders travels through the endless microscopic maze which is the mouth
of it's nest to a large panel. Each time a mound is pressed it instantly  
appears on this white panel that is placed in a verticle position before the
working arachnidia.

And mind you there are two intelligent spiders lurking and working
simultaneously along side one another and what they feast on are the
constant stream of thoughts that flow through their legs...
some times they do fast dances across these mounds...coordinating their
moves and executing their tasks. Sometimes slow and thoughtful
as one that treads on dangerously thin ice.

When they move they work meticulous tumbling over one another in such
a way to avoid any rude behavior...well- because they have spent many
years training with each other...and in essence you could consider them
one. It is quite a feat to develop mirror images of each other... and it
pleases the master of the spiders when they successfully execute their
assignment.

There is one thing that i might ad...

these spiders only come out when they see the soft glow of the
violet lights cascading out around them...reaching into their holes
They hear the crisp click of the switch
the impulse for work.
and their love of intuition.
they feel the thoughts
swelling from pools of shallow conscience
to deeper membranes...feeling the thoughts, emotions
and pains of the one that send them their information.
out of the holes they come...cautiously then speedily
take their positions...
it is also in this magical light that all the shadows of flying things
emerge out of the darkness making complex shadows
under the glowing stars...
there is quite powerful will-power at work
and a willingness to execute their right judgement.
and you can see their beedy little black eyes reflecting
the web of letters they create-pondering,thinking,muttering,
cutting and pasting their silky thoughts.

MOTH




The East Wing


The night is damp and soiled with a stale fragrance.
and the smell of old books perks my inspiration
and my imagination. It is that joyful glee that comes
when some thing has not been discovered in a thousand
years...the type of information that would set historys coarse
in another direction. And here filled from the top to the bottom
are all these books ready for consumption...well there it is
take them if you want them. Im just on my way through the East Wing
down the corridor where i normally write each night.
For me they just collect dust and no i did not discover them or write them
they are just there. As the same, there are many such librarys of antiquity
that are yet to be found in some form or matter in there destined time.
I love it down here for there is so much creative energy wrapped up here
sitting so dormant which is really a community for the populations of
silverfish and yes can i say moths...Well look up and you can see the tiniest
of crevices...that's where they come from....they fall down here and find
this- they and the communties of silverfish are not worried about
preservation- and places like this are usually only discovered by small boys
poking thier heads into crags in the rocks or taking a hike and wondering
off the trail and falling in...ah but yes there they are for you if you want
them.
The room at the end of the corridor is left always the same a few small pieces of furniture a chair and a table that is slanted and a candle that is slumped over to one side for the many days of use.
"Hello little white candle!"
The room is a rounded stone formation with some pale light cascading down from above. The sillouettes of a small pen and a drab of ink.
and much paper...
Do you remember the time when one discovered a famous mathmaticians
journal...and that it had been recycled for another use...how sad is that...
even if it was a prayer book...you must not write over the pages of history...even if you have your own history to jot down...then it becomes an unintelligable mass of confusion. What will be left for the people of tomorrow and how much will they be misled?
So much paper...and each piece must be used wisely.
In desks all over the world and the trash cans beside them are the
beginnings and endings of dead ends. In computers all over the world are
the thoughts and ideas of many stored so temporarily that digital insects
could come in and feast on it...Perhaps it's just looking for a place to nest.
"Ah the wooden match is just where i have left it."
So many campfires that i have enjoyed by the strike of just one match.
A flicker and a sparkle
it sends the room in a flare
the shadow is cast off the walls
and every object dances and darts
for just a brief moment
oh the smell of that burning smoke
lifting off like a wolf after a meal
its both the guide to my candle
and what will alight and stay upon
the wick.
It hovers there and waves around
once it is settled
as i pick up my pen
it casts a long skinny shadow
down the slant of the table and off onto the floor
i look like a giant grey form hunched on the wall
my movement to look animates it
it's always connected no matter what i do
pen reaches to paper


The initiation is its cause
the system is not left or right
only staying alight upon my sight
we are called to it
and we sit by it
and it illuminates our senses
and learns our every move
we are seldom in its graspses
and we find meaning in its clues
im one to waste it
and send it breaking
to its doom
-tomorrow.


I look up and there in the corridor is a form looking at me
standing and cloaked.
"Well i did not know that i was alone"
it steps back into the blackness
and i hear the foosteps echo down the hall
fading into nothing.


alone in my thoughts and my imagination
nothing down here is for certian
it is like this every night and i feel like this could
be my prision
and i stroll these halls for the sake of being confined here
all this paper could be falling from up there somewhere
and i am an experiment in a cave for someones use.
but not so i am free
and have written myself into a small stone room
and the feeling of clostrophobhia is consuming me.
and that person that i saw is none other than...


"deadend"

my paper crumples and joins the sea of others.


THE PERPETUAL CANDLE


looking so slumped over there-there has got to be a way to
reuse what i have lost!
I look over and there i am in a smelt and a burning
mass of workers prepared for the days work ahead
they are crafting little metal men that will be set up to carry
pots of wax to a holding place to reform a candle in another location.
and so this cycle will be repeated for the life of the candle...
and they will never tire for their thoughts will constantly be
at the task at hand.
like arms of a clock and
the cogs that turn them
it is art
and functional at the same time
and will be well suited while i am here
for this short brief time.
as the last pots of wax have been poured a timing mechanism
has been moving along so slowly to light the newly positioned
wick and there after a few minutes the men are there holding the pots
of liquid wax...The workers smile and nod in approval with thier big work
hats.
a big sign illuminates out of the dark

"THIS WORK IS OVER"

and they all slowly trudge off into the warm darkness too their homes.
molten little metal men cool and await their positioning in the morning.

MOTH


The Winged Man And His Over Sized Bird


from a birds eye view
and high up in the sky...the wind is howling
-and sunlight slips past the dark blue and white feathers...
on the underside they are more dark...
and the flickers and blades of the morning sun
pierce the small openings between them- of the winged man.

"ah this dreaded sunlight!" Synopsis lifts this arm-feathers to
shield this invasion of eye view...
"why are we flung out here so in the morning hour...Gimchi?"
"i dunno..." a muffled response came from the other of the pair.
"You should keep up we...have things to do today...you know... you could use to loose some wieght."
"I can't help it Syn...he created me like this..."
What?...what do you mean he...? replied Synopsis.
"him...moth...be created me like this...I had been minding my own
buisness when he snatched me and started changing my color and all...
I use to look like a normal bird...but he...resized me..."
a little whimper came from the oversized bird...
"How odd..." the man exclaimed.
gim continued..." yes he threw us on that big...well you know...the white...uh...well syn...i don't know how he does it...he just does it...
"I think i know what you mean..." Synopsis tried to sound interested.
"Come now we have many things to do today in the Forest of Noth...
and you mus'nt wake the sleeping mushrooms...they worked all night you
know..."
"Ok." replied Gimchi..." i musn't alight upon one of them..."
the two slid down between the folds of the dark forest of leporda...
tucked in along the path...to the Forest of Noth...allowing the blacklights
to guide their way...

~moth


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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:38 am

The Valley of Dul Del Sac: a small sci fi short story

The Valley of Dul Del Sac: a small scifi short story: by Moth
As one might imagine, it is dark over the landscape. All is adventure now such as the fool that sets out on his journeys and makes his way down wandering pathways. Usually, however, his path behind his is usually destroyed. But , to insure him of his journey, he takes to mind that fate
usually beckons him somewhere and he is relentless to follow.

It is a cool clear night. One that would cause one to have cool clear thinking. Roger looks out over the expanse. An urban metropolitan city, was now inhabited by the Dul Del Sac community; a race of psudo- humanoids with sharp perceptual power and inherent claivoyance of sorts...it may be why they were a race that needed lots of distance between other groups of people. They on the most hand, within thier own communities, had developed a type of moral lifestyle based upon thier thought processes...well more than anything else. They respected themselves within before they ever spoke without.

A light flickers on in a distant tower. A father of the Cordian sect, peeks his head out the weephole window to share a moment with the night sky and the golden blue haze cast off by the Corasion star system...Perhaps, he is enjoying a fine native herb tobacco. Roger glitters briefly with glee as he sees a small puff of smoke escape from the vicinity of the standing man.

Across Roger Orbiters' face is a smile; i guess made by the circumstances. Born into a good family; three sisters and two brothers, a mother and a father, that cared for them dearly; and within the household a large assortment of living creatures and pets; both mamalian and organic in composition. He fained among some as having no shortage of three meals a day with an occasional snack- or after supper or dishes. All these things domestic gave Roger a real sense of home and a place to belong in a vast lonely universe.

From behind, he heard a twig snap...then the familiar burs and buzzes of a loyal machine. "It's nice out", came an almost human voice. Her legs retracted into a sitting position beside him.

"It must be nice to hover anywhere you want to go?", Roger said looking back at his loyal companion. "Well, if you subtract the noisy approach." They shared a moment of silence looking out over the city. More smiles lit up the night sky.

Layda, was a 304 bot d class urban/domestic dweller. She was the best of her kind...and the best domestic robot he had ever known. The manufacturers, catered to satisfying the many needs of the consumer. Layda, happened to be a prototype machine that was under the careful eye of LOADCRAFT research . When her line was released they became an instant success, hoewever there were none like the finely tuned machine that sat beside him. She was the only one at this quality made. Although the reviews for the bot d class were satisfactory, the facility was unable to keep the capital for such a domestic project. Rogers uncle, happened to be one of the bright young minds responsible for bringing her to life. It was after the decision to cease production with the unit project, that his uncle decided to keep Layda and not put her to sleep along with the others- but keep her as an engineering marvel. Somewhere deep within the computer databases of LOADCRAFT, were the confidential and highly secret blueprints of the model: 304 bot d class. It would emmerge if opprotunity arose, but for now, lay on the backburner and archives of an honest company.

"What are you thinking about sir Roger?", Roger thought for a moment, "well, i was thinking how special you are and how i am the luckiest man alive...well, i wouldn't actually say that because that seems that you say that to someone that you are married to, but i would have to say nonetheless that you are unique to the Orbiting family. "Well, sir..." Came her digitally tainted voice, "I am glad i may be of assistance to you."
For an instance there was silence again and from across the low swept valley could be heard the cackles of Morhavian horse dogs. Winged gnats pawed around the two seated near a ledge. "Sometimes it think that this place is over inhabited by wild things...animals and things that venture out from time to time..." Well Roger...", replied Layda..."knowing that there are 600,000 species of mammalian entities, i would assume so...but taken into consideration, I believe the races of animals and hybrids of the kind call this place as thier own rather then the minority human, humanoid and machine populations....we live here, but the majority is a vast network of habitats only known to animal instincts."

Her neural network capacities were working in top notch order. She didn't skip a beat. Although her mundane daily chores seemed to make her a taskbed of domestication, she could in turn be modified. Many parts with in the shell of the titamium alloy body were specialized for installation modes. Some of which could be modified for war or intelligence. At the crafty hands of his uncle, he gave her a hyper HYPERLINK INTEREGON PROCESSOR, able to translate data conversations of all types. Three multichip capacigraphs were implanted for liquid language landscaping- which made her a great conversationalist; and smart- well that is what they wanted you to think.

"Yeah i guess...we're a little outta place here."

Roger thought back a few years ago when he accompanied his father out to his gaussian oil signature. While coming over the Barvian Inlay, a pack of tusk bears came down over the ridge and impaled the side of thier vehicle. If it wasn't for the laser gam plates they would of been history. Him and his father waited patiently till morning in thier overturned cruiser to venture out and do the weekly diagnostics for the signature. Out in the wild all things great and small are challenged including heavy armory; that is why there were impending danger for weekly assignments on the field, but it was worth the dangers maintaining an oil field- and that in which was the stable commodity for the family. Not even a pack of tuskbears were going to stop us from our livelyhood. And it was that, that kept us into the upper classes of our society. He looked at Layda and realized she was right again.

"Yeah...a little outta place..."

What do you think of the people of Dul Del Sac?", asked Roger.
"well..", thought Layda, " they are a race of very interesting people...I think that most have the ability to read minds. I would have to say that it would cause some difficulties within its complex society; but, however, if they were born into its culture, the complex social thought-life would be just a way of living-since there is no inner privacy, i would say that many things are open; wide open to the public."

"Layda, that's the thing though; not all of them have the same intuitive ability. Would you think that the ones that could read minds the clearest, would be considered more valuable or special in thier city?"
Roger continued..." i would see it would cause difficulties within themselves...for they seem to know all. Would certain people be shunned of lesser ability?"

Laydas servos turned her head in Rogers direction..." that would be quite quite difficult to assimilate...i guess that is why they need lots of space even in thier own lifestyle." Layda continued..." i think that it would be clairvoyantly draining to hear the buzzing or chatter of millions of minds working at once. It may become like the product of the information super highways...What if one could hear all and know all...or a degree thereof?... i think that it would cause one to have splitting headaches after a while."
"Have you been down there lately Layda?... I mean you walk down in among them and after a while they are reading you like a book...and if you go down to Mort Shod, the lowely street, and the lower class subdivisions- well some use thier abilities for a dangerous advantage-even evil and discomforting; and to get among the Deldekian homeless and wandering lower forms you hear your own thoughts being whispered in the streets. It's a strange thing to be window shopping and hear whispers among a group of grey-fleshed creatures saying..."I like those blue shirts there...I think that would look great with a good pair of slacks... and turn and around and say to them- hey i was thinking that! The horde snickers down the street beknowingly looking back-fixing thier gaze on my eyes for a split second and turn around to share the new treasures among themselves. In the lower forms it's almost thought piracy!"
Layda answered...." But then Roger, those in and around the city learn to control their thoughts to be self respected among the Deldekian communities. We just have to accept them for who they are and that there are extremes in all societies."

That was a good one, thought Roger...and no one for miles heard that one.

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:50 am

The society that ate itself

You will have to admit
And I have been telling those
Who know me personally
Occasionally I talk about the future
And the direction if which we are going
And no im not predicting the future…per se…
But I do see something that we could be heading for

The society that ate itself…does this conjure up anything
In your mind?

I have recently been thinking about the longevity of what I do
And what does it really matter- that I spend my time writing if no
one is going to bother to read what I have to say…for those of you that do
I thank you for taking time out of your lives to visit The Blacklight Chronicles

There are 40 million myspace accounts and growing…and with that are a percentage of
people that write in their blogs…there are roughly 300,000 bands on here as well and
growing…is this a trend or another avenue that has opened up to siphon the bright young minds…I remember reading about the formation of rivers a while back and how…even though a channel gets cut off by the slowly depositing layers of silt…the shear weight of the river and its flow begans to push on the paths of least resistance…soon the river will carve a way and a new elbow will form…the cycle repeats for as long as the river lives…

as the same the pipeline of information and the people that use it is phenomenal…the sheer volume…and the popularity…for example…a site- one page represents the personality and character of a person…they can design it and promote it however they want..they have the power of attracting a certain type of audience…what have you or choose to have a white page with a few friends…a page = a person

what power you have today…of free expression…like never before…

what attracts certain people to certain sites? It is the same as if you were to see person walking down the street…again…a page = a person…

so the ultimate avatar has been created…and not just on myspace but many people have joined to form neural networks of communities…if people are social creatures why not give them what they crave…the pathways of communication like tall earthen termite skyscrapers.

And so I have painted this small backdrop to begin…what I call the society that ate itself…

The time is 4014 and the Col. Donavan Callsworth ret. was going through routine checks of his land shuttle…a bit of curiosity caught his eye as the digital books were before him…on his computer console…this had long been the name given to it…and but a new name was gathering in popularity…and so it was called a “data outlet.”

Among other things such as history books and natural events that had happened over the years was a knowledge data base…it kept track of knowledge in general…and how that knowledge would sometimes overlap itself…the computer was smart enough to monitor
When knowledge would repeat… even to find out the sources of where certain information originated…it would have flavors of its original inception…the first post of
Any originating bit of knowledge would be labeled in blue…followed by other colors that would of parented off of the information.

Donavan stumbled upon a gap in time…a period of time where there was no information.
He tried dialing into this period but nothing would come out on his console…
He scratched his head…and decided to move on looking at all the various things that caught his interest in this collective database…He would run into many more gaps…
And the older we went in the past the more he found that life seemed to be erased…

Well this was not what he wanted to see…he was recently asked to update this world log;
For that was his specialty was data archives…but he had only done his work on the research end had just been given the privilege to access the main storage system in its entirety.

He pressed a small clear button near the console…

“Gene…can you come down and take a look at something for me…?”

“Sure thing…I’ll be right there…”

Gene was one of the old archive scientists…and slowly made his way to the terminal…

“Can you tell me what this is?” Donavan looked puzzled…

“oh yes this is what they call the society that ate itself.”

Instead of continuing with this dialogue…and have the old scientist explain to you who this society was…I’ll continue with my observances that I have seen just recently. Briefly I wanted you to see someone in the future that came upon this curiosity from their perspective…


Windows technology is like a new updated form of what we do in our everyday lives…and what we did in the past…however in the past things were written on paper
And stored in filing cabinets…we found later that as we could store information on computers it took up much less space then warehouses…however in some circles legalities keeps ones hard copies of sales and buys…and we must keep them for the laws that say so.

I once worked at a place who specialized in transferring hard copies…of old and new documents to cd…that being papers that had been damaged in a fire or were just too old…and were starting to decay…so we were specially trained on the latest state of the art scanners to make this process happen…

And there would be the finished product…all of a companies paperwork neatly stored on a few disks.

In the same breath we have had such a need to keep our environment safe from litter and so have invented biodegradable plastics to break down over time…

All of this revolves around space…and not allowing things to become cluttered and piled up on top of one another…

Also in the same breath i once learned of a librarian who was in charge of restoring old books…and how what since about a hundred years ago…all the books that have been written have been using certain acids in the paper that actually cause them to decay and disintergrate over time.

And so in my minds eyes I begin to visualize all these troughs forming as a head.

One of the most important buttons on the computer that I have learned to cherish the most is the “save” button…I don’t know how many times I have been writing and accidentally
Hit the “x” button and loose what I have spent so many hours on…Sometimes a freak accident will happen…such as the cat jumping on the keyboard or a power outage occurs
and there goes my prize…

magnify this times 40 million…such as the many users of myspace or writers in general
and you can see where I am going…

I have found over the years the love hate relationship with conservation…maybe you set off down a few years without adequately backing up your work…eventually you will loose your hard drive…then what? All your precious material lost forever…

I find that I do myself the most damage when i decide to move forward without solidifying the ground that I walk on…

An enemy today of data is the electronic virus…millions of dollars have been spent to
Create an anti-virus vaccine… a percentage of data is lost because of this.

Several years ago I was on board the great ship MP3.com before she sank…and like myspace…millions of musicians were on board this vessel…promoting their material
And growing in popularity…for example…the band Linkin Park was a child of this
site…and was birthed out of the communities of networks…like the rivers that I had spoken of before…where do the millions go? They will find an outlet again…they may have to wait…but gradually the river and sea of avitars will cut though a channel until
it flows freely again.

We are fortunate to be on board another great ship…but are they just floating melting ice bergs in the sea of an intellectual chasm?

I once read about a bacteria that eats cds…do the research if you don’t believe me.

I believe there are little filaments that have been abandoned before in the past and perhaps they lead down the right path…but for the sake of the path of least resistance
Have been left far behind…

For example: digital perfection as apposed to inconsistencies…and blemishes…

The path that art has taken has been the evolution of the manipulation of photography…
And basic drawings skills have been replaced by some with hand eye coordination of a different sort- upon the screen of our computer…if you look in art books today featuring a variety of different artists…you will find that we have been greatly influenced by digital media…the basic artistic skills that have been developing for centuries have been
Abandoned…not all but a majority…this is the age of convergeance and a new renaissance has begun to flourish…

But what about the filament of blemishes and inconsistencies on art…that lead you down
Another pathway in the evolutionary time line of art history…

Stained glass in an art of manipulating thicknesses in coloured glass. This is an artform that preys heavy to the failures in perfection…and is a beauty and a wonder.

And on that note…if you were to create artificial intelligence…wouldn’t there be inconsistencies instead of cut and dry programming....?

The evolution of the behavior of machines that are being programmed is the direct decendant of the computer language being a precise science…

What if you were to add a bit of variation?

A bit of unlevelness…

The society that ate itself is the accumulations of troughs of similar thoughts that are hidden because they don’t seem the same…but when looking back from the future you can see how it could be created.

MOTH 2005
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:54 am

Shoals Swimming in the Sea of the Digital Age

A bird in the hand is worth two in a bush.
English Proverb

i should always cherish what i have rather then squander over what i want or crave. It is much like the modern forms of terrorist hunting when you squash your hand the roaches scatter and hide in the darkeness until it is safe to come out and do what they do...terrorize. You may kill one or two but three grow in thier place. Another example is the female shark hunting and stalking a school of small mackrel...or stabbing at a shoal of shad. Silver scales glitter in every direction. A shark wanders off hungry...
People sometime go after something that they want so bad that they forget about what is with them. If you have stores of fat to last many days...perhaps it is this time that is meant for something else other than hunting.

I find sometimes great vanity in fame for some is spent to popularize yourself.

When you slip away, life passes you by...and you find as always no matter what progress has been reached...to follow the laws and start at the bottom again...
be yourself and allow the world to have their opinion...for when you gain the attention of the world...there will always be critizism and praise.

You will have your friends and undoubtedly you will make your enemies.

If you are with the shoals and swimming freely, there will come a day when someone will take a snap...for whatever their intentions may be you are attractive.

and attracting attention to yourself whether intentional or non-intentional will create the waves that bring both food and foe...your very propulsion is your vehicle to what makes you survive and the beakon of a dinner bell...
It also depends on what kind of attention you are attracting...for certian

flails attract certain flavors of opposition...

MOTH 2005
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:56 am

The Enemy of Your Deepest Self


The cocoon is unraveling
and for this whole time your eyes have
been exposed to a small box.
It is fuzzy and grey but you can see
it is a broadcast that has been telling you who you are
for quite some time.

-It was what you were weaned off of.

You watched as it taught you its language.

Now as you are grown,
you look around the back of the box
and follow its cord along to its end.

It is not plugged into anywhere.

You look back at the screen
and digital images continue to pour out.

”That's odd”

You look back at the cord.
There is a little yellow piece of paper
that is folded and tied at the end.

-Curious you open it

In plain black letters it reads

"be yourself."

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 10:58 am

Catastrophe at the Door

Break through this scene
Nothing that will take me away from this
So clean and
Tone down this scene
What does it matter what you are feeling
Take a deep breath
What does it matter what you are left
When blood is flowing underneath the floor
And catastrophe is at the door

Look what is hanging from chains
Swinging in the air to put it mildly
Your pieces hanging in the grey room
Someone?s art piece
Or statement of insanity

Bring down all this that you love
Put in a different arrangement
Try to make it more beautiful then the last
It won?t last forever

Ignite the light
And the ghost that dangles
in the night
try not to take in its stares
placing you in harms way
and righteous debonair

eyes in the wall
from ancient wood
walls like stone
and ancient bone
conjure up what you will
let it fall to fill your mind
up
with hollow thoughts
and broken promises
to wind it up and let it spin freely
face your demons
and all that you fear
in the depth of this
divination

only one room
that you don?t what to visit for a long time
takes to fade away the imagination
takes to fade away all that you dare

you come to and this is all that you see
the reasoning and hoping and imagining
fill this eloquence with insanity
fill this hole with something more dark
eating away at me like a worm in its
last stages?lodged somewhere
just underneath the skin
take a knife and leviate all my distrust
nothing that I want growing inside of me

can you hold me down
while I writhe with all this intoxication
when the soft warm feathers alight upon me
and your blank face radiates with a soft light from the sun
maybe this is my way of letting you know
strike me down and have your fun
because im on a ledge
but there is no depth at all
but a matter of reason

A Matter of Reason

Lavender and Roses

I hope to right your wrongs
I hope to right your fears
I hope to bring an end
To everything that grips you
What you say is right
And what I say is wrong
Coming from your mouth
Sticking in the air
All the things you said
Freshly in my mind
Like a fresh kill
Of lavender and roses

Send someone this telegram x3

A matter of reason

I hope to bring and an end to this
I hope to call it what you have been calling this
Where everything makes sense
Where the blood is trickling down
Coming from your mouth
Like a fresh meal
Like a fresh kill
You come to raise the dead
Do exactly what you said
Sign your autographs
And take the photograph
Of lavender and roses


Must I shame away
Sensitive to your brittleness
Decay is at your frequency

A matter of reason

MOTH


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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:00 am

The Spinning Tree
December 2006


If you follow a trail into the woods,
You come upon a small knoll…
Exposed is the moon, when it comes.

Entangled in a shroud of fog and mist
It appears from the edge of the wood line.

At first it was broken down.
Left for only a time and season
To punish the criminals of the criminal

It was left as traces within our literature
To find a season later, for those that would
Search for it…or when it came up as the hidden
Voice within.

As a backdrop, it appears as a large gnarled and
Twisted oak…as one you would find
In an old horror, but this is not a horror film.
It is a slice of life hidden in a real strip of tree line
in the forests of England.

What is hidden in modern thought is to see
one lone noose…dangling from the tree in a soft
wind. Perhaps it is the backdrop and silhouette of
a couple hanging…holding hands…perhaps, it is the
undead…

If you look closely, you begin to see that there are more
that join them, and out of the fog appears more
Dangling nooses…

For this is no ordinary tree, this is the Triple Tree of old
times…reserved for thieves and martyrs…for those
That believed in what they believed in, and those
That that believed that what they wanted was theirs
To have anytime they wanted it.

“Catch a ride, but you can only ride it once…”

came a strong but quiet voice. He stood at the
top of a large platform, overlooking the site with a
a circle of flamed torches.

His shadow was a large blanket of long square shapes
That enveloped you with light and darkness.

What looked like a large pulpit of spruce and pine…
at the very pinnacle a large wooden handle.

The circle of torches would reveal many souls lined up
On a high cut bank along the hill side…each one having
A black burlap sack covering their heads…they walked
In a slow and meticulous manner…as each one stood in
line to ride the ride.

The tree had a dug trench surrounding it and in it
A great blackness, in which no one could see…

“There have been whole nations that have come this way…”

His voice under burlap, had a muffled madness.

What was this that the eyes befell?
To look out with wood and wail
To see it spin and dance and swell
With souls that danced before they fell
Into the hole where roots lay
Beneath the earth to gather its fray
Its characters with all their baggage…
Lay for another eternity to roll up the damage.
Like unholy carnivale
Spun with the bones of the dead...
The life that drained from them
In the age of the beginning of
industrial things…where swallows
covered their feathery eyes at the
foot of the gallows.
of damp death and moon cry.
It was the scene spread out before the thousands
They held the torches in circle sway…
Like a medieval throng
with self righteous song.

“You find it is for twenty or more…step up and
Take your place…cuz you only ride it once…”

“Set your fare…if ye dare”

In this part of the violet woods…there was only
The jeering and cheering of a people that liked
The recreation of people that kept to their keep
and fell into the hole of a knowledge deep.

MOTH


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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:01 am

Piano death sessions
Stories from The Blacklight Chronicles


It is destruction and repair
a simpleton tucked away
in a tangle of woods

sat down at his instrument
It was an old black piano
That he had grown to cherish
over time, as the wood tones
became akin to the natural
ecology of the land

It had grown now into the ground
And started to lay some roots
In the dark soil
The worms would come up
When the vibrations from
Notes and fingers rested on
Dissonant chords

All the trees surrounding him
Began to acknowledge the piano
As one of their own, although
A funny shaped tree, it always
Soothed their soul as the simpleton
Played softly in the morning breeze

“You are permitted to go no further-
You are to sit here until the time is right!”

The keeper of the forest was always quick
To let the musician know his place
And it had been at the time a snare
Or briars and thorns

“I have friends, and we would like to play
for you…”

There was always silence

the forest sighed…and he sat down once
again to play and soothe the earth beneath him.
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:03 am

“Blue Flames From a Guitar”

That night
Were two friends
-One that hadn’t spoken in many years.
I guess it was because of what he had seen
Or what he was allowed to see
It was what made him become a mute
And everyone wondered what happened to him
He spoke very rarily.

In those days, nicknames were given
And lived quiet lives in the heart of a humid city

That night
Like many nights, the air was very damp
Inside was very hot
There was no air conditioning
And the summer nights were blistering
A life that one would have to adapt to

Sitting on the back porch
Talking about what we talked about
So many years ago

“I see them,” he said.

He looked in the direction of a dark
shadowy corner…

“and there sitting on the roof…their legs
are dangling…

His eyes were wide…as if looking through
The places that he pointing to…

He described them having massive tree trunks
For legs and arms with black eyes that scanned the horizon
Their heads turning slowly like giant watchmen

They gathered at night…and they seem to follow
The young men where ever they went.

“I usually only see them at night”

As one continued looking up into the night sky
The other taller and lanky unhooked the clasps
Of the guitar case and began to play softly in the night

As the young man played, the mute turned to listen

It was the tones of music that soothed the torment
of the humid night

There were blue flames coming from the guitar
…like the gas stove that burned softly in the kitchen
The flames flickered underneath fingers that changed chords.

This was the tale of a mute and the songwriter

A world cast somewhere between the real and the invisible

Floating in a layer and a fog that gathered in the center of the

backyard to create a swirling campfire of pure blue white flames

It burned on until the morning

At dawn the giant men were gone.
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:10 am

a moth rides with a giant

Two golden wings
Hidden from plain view
Two eyes that look at you
Behind green leaf
Wondering your next move
Whether you’re an enemy
Or a friend.
Two wings ready for flight
If you take a swat at me at night
Or crawl onto your welcome hand
To take a ride with a giant
I could begin the start up cycle
But right now I don’t feel
The threat of willful intent
To crush my delicate body
Until I realize my doom
You flip me in the path of
Two yellow eyes
And a snap of jaws
Connected to a cat

moth
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:11 am

Japanese Water Art

A bed of rice lines the
the bottom of the pool
colored fish of orange and white
fan their fins and make
the rice dance
red slips of cloth
have fallen from
a delicate dragon
wind ornament
They are dry
until the water soaks
making it heavy
slipping underneath
Olan Sung comes with
troubled heart
crumples over the pond and
allows a single tear to fall
a blip and a scatter of
rings
ornamental fish
come to investigate
and peer at the little
soul with sad face
who opens one eye
At that moment
with blurry vision to see
a fish looking at her
with snow and red lace
dancing around him


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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:12 am

The finer things in life are delicate

Sometimes things have to be simple
you look around you and you see
too many chairs
too much clutter
too many cares
so you take a shovel
and chop off the sod
collecting on the wall
and discard all the newspapers
and trash
oh that pile of things
In the corner
it’s too hot so you turn on the air
or pull open a window
to air out your heart
you find things that were lost
and you find the first person
to tell that to
and so the disarray in your room
is replaced with small changes
that helps you breathe easier
and you breathe a sigh
that your work is done.

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:14 am

Sick

Itchy eye
Then the sniffles
Groans and aches
Sneezing comes
Must be in bed
Turns off the world
Pops in the cure
Drifts off to sleep
Wakes when my
Face is swollen
Will my eyes pop
Out of my head?
Tissues on the
Nightstand
Runny nose
Pile of crumpled
tissues
chapped nose
Pops in the cure
Drifts off to sleep
Tosses and turns
Days pass
Fever breaks
You wake in sweat
Then you recover

~moth 2005
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:17 am

Memory of Wooden Lives


From a series called Ages of Existence

Did you catch me when i fell?
There was no news of
a safety net of any degree of distance
or difficulty.
You lined up your wooden men
and burned your desires at the stake.
They screamed as they came apart
the memory of thier wooden lives
as they plummeted in ashen death
a shallow grave scattered on the floor;
early remorse when they were no more.
They think of their generals
that used to lead brave men,
but they line the gate wall
with the heads of the silent.


MOTH

Wait on You


Walk to the window and I see you.
Walk to the door and I feel you.
Rest my hand upon the wall and I am calm.
I will never question this place that you have place me in.
Its a long hall from here to there.
Children take me by the hand.
Down a path where i don't understand.
It leads to a staircase below
Preach to the choir.
They are a disheveled balcony.
Draped across my only thought.
Walk in the line of a living one.
break open the hourglass.
Hold me fast as I.
Wait on you, walk with me as i wait on you
You call the only shots in this shot day
Live in the basement of your crippled croon
im not one to go about your doom
until i settle like ashes in your golden day.

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:19 am

All Machines Need Cleaning


What if you woke and you were not in your own room?
Would it give you a scare from the change that is so soon?
And the black square that is in the corner
Would it double in size?
And swallow up your life?
Would you carve it into smaller squares?
And hang them up in the room to dry
For others for it to double in size and
Swallow up their lives ?

All machines need cleaning
Because they will rust when
The sunlight and air hits their face

One time, I took apart a robot
And noticed that it had a heart.
And it was beating.
It was beating.
It was beating.

Asked, "Had it been down here long?"
And he said,

"For a century.
For a century.
For a century."

I asked him, What do you think has changed?"
And he said..

"Everything.
Everything.
Everything."

I asked if I could help restore him
And he said..

"It's ok.
It's ok
It’s ok."

Then the red light went off
And somewhere in the middle
Of his head something flickered on
As if someone had changed the station
And all along he was tape recording
every move that I made.

To try and learn to walk again. x2

You were frozen in a block ice
And no one was there to break you out.
Now will you take my advice?
Don’t turn on the tv when you come to
For nothing has really changed
Since you left.

Only now that we can live a little longer
They made many tins for us but..
And we don’t have to eat anymore.

"Well, It's what they said.
Well, It's what they said.
Well, It's what they said."

You brainwashed me when I was a child
No more I have to hide
She wore a pretty dress and black shoes
Got in her car and drove very far.

Well, Its what they said.
It's what they said.

I woke up inside a bubble
I felt around and it was elastic
A girl turned to me and said that you should take your medicine
You know the kind that makes you float away?
And they have to fasten you down
So you won’t gather with the bubble girls
And boys in space.
Where they don’t loose count

They were cloning my dreams
And making a fool of me
They were taking me to a shrink
To see if they could run a scan on me
But. there was nothing wrong

Just like I said..
Its just the imagination at work again.

I'm sorry that I came and painted
All this town blue again

I'm sorry but I was just thinking that.

No mind over matter here
Except for the clause
That I'm too big for this
Or was that something I knew before?
When everything was the same color
And there was no distinction between you and me.
No more running out of room or running off the page.


MOTH-2005


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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:21 am

Red Cross Logo and a Trench

those of you that know me
and those of you that know me by
my other name
will see that i am a tall person
that wears a black trench coat
on occasion...with a world war II
red cross patch.
why do they stare so?
why just as you like to be yourself
i like to by myself also
i would say i take a liking to helping people when i can
and that much more of people in harms way
-the St. bernard comes and stands over the victim
buried several feet under the ice...with the barrel around his
neck and that logo again...its a symbol of human compassion
its a symbol in times of war...It's the symbol on the side of an old army
green ambulance truck.
He barks and there is a connection with his master 100 yards away
the rescuer stands over the victim and pokes a prod to find the exact location....he whistles at forms a few yards away to bring shovels
soon a trench is dug and the icy body is plucked like a crisp shoot
out of the ground...with shivers and shakes he tells a tale and all the forms
gasp at the oddity of this and how he came to rest there...
ah to be there...at the moment of discovery- to be there at the moment of recollection...


Avalanche


it comes so swift
it comes so heavy
chewing a path
making you gasp
what you ride
only goes 45
but this goes 50
it will catch you
but you may be lucky
riding on rock and earth
seas of ice and crystal prison
you come to rest with no
one knowing where you are
you become frozen in place
all its powder has made
its greatest effort to find every
crevice and every fold of skin
to lock you in its womb.
all is silent
until you feel a pawing
and a whining and a bark
the vibrations above you and a
muffled whistle
until you see the bright light of day
and someone digging you up
like a tuber buried deeply in the ground.
there is patience
as they listen to your slurry mess of words
you thaw- as they give you a warm drink
then you fall fast asleep
under a banner of red and white

moth
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:23 am

the soft rain and tires

for a whole day
when i sit at my computer
while the window is open
hundreds of engines have passed by my condo
cars and trucks and motorcycles
the slow descent of the brakes as they approach

the intersection or the
buzzing by the vehicles that have the right of way
when the rain has fallen
the amplification of this is magnified ten times
you hear whooshing and sploshing sounds as they
hit many puddles...Crackling of water on tire.
My favorite is the sound that is made when
four tires hit a certain puddle in a set of two
intervals.
Even though the vehicles hit the same puddles along the way
the frequencies are all different.
There is also a soothing sound of tires constantly making a
trail through the water...
it is all so cool
all so refreshing.
what more the individual engine of
each vehicle is amplified
as if you can hear all of its
individual characteristics
this whole experience has a calming effect
that lulls me into a calm state of mind.
you also learn of the different driving styles
of each person that is driving.
some approach cautiously
others plow through all dangers
and yet i have not heard one screeching
of tires today.
well the roads seem safe today
and fun to listen to

MOTH

the soft rain


ah finally it is cooling off around here
i can hear the trinkles and sprinkles
as each dropplet of rain falls from high
above and splatters on the warm ground
the earth drinks in her late night feast of water
the promised season of winter
is right around the corner
and all the creatures of the night
will feel at home in the icy winds
the textured clothing and layers of black
and pattened leather will once again coat
this artistic community
the jewels that hide in the shadows
awaiting their migration from the summers heat.
some that i have spoken
brave the season of the molten sun
and always wear their preferred colors
me being in smoldering garages to practice
with a young band is not a good time to
sacrifice for my fashion...although i want to
the heat i will succumb for now.
and then i will welcome my new
winter wardrobe

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:26 am

The Thunderstorms Of Places I've Been


One of the most facinating things to do as a kid was to
watch as a thunderstorm made its way from the gulf of mexico
onto our shore...to watch the front move in and how the wind would change direction and the skies would turn into a grey green...what a threatening environment...and how the clouds would magnetise you as they strolled by searching out targets for its electrical spears to throw at.

I once drew Zeus on a large piece of paper holding a giant lightning bolt for an intermediate school project...for some reason the teacher would always want to display it up on their board and never give it back and that happened on more than one occasion...so i kind of stopped drawing on that scale and just...did little pictures like everyone else did...for thier assignments...it even reached as a far as one day this Dads son wanted me
to help him draw a picture for the assignment that i he was taken part in

I spent all night working on it...and into the morning hours...i was far through with grade school i might ad...but the assignment was intriguing...

the report came that yes the teacher had taken it and asked if she could display it on the board and asked if she could have it- she asked permission and the son brought and relayed it to me and of coarse i had no choice but to go along with it...
I never wanted to be in those kinds of situations...but for some reason the classroom would explode into a type of celebrity-sizm what made me quite uncomfortable-followed by a lot of requests for me to draw them something...sometimes i would gather up these requests and other times they would become overwhelming...

perhaps that is why i like to lurk in the shadows so much...it is quite overwhelming you know

but i started this to write about Thunderstorms...

There is one point in the watching of the system, that is rolling in, that you find yourself frightened and in awe of what you see...then you feel that you are in danger...We used to get on our roof or in the tree and feel the power of the breeze and watch as we could see showers underway several miles away. They fall cascading and drifting across the land.

At a very young age we were told that if you count 1-1000 2-1000 etc. between the lighting and the thunder you could safely measure how far away the storm was in relation to where you stood. That would keep us occcupied for hours- That and collecting worms that washed out into the large puddles the storm left. I once came with a tin full of slithering pink and white worms holding them in my hand like a discoloured mass of spaghetti...my mother would always tell me to go put that away...and the famous nieghborhood line when we were young..."Your not bringin that in the house!" which was always my reply..."Can't i at least bring it in the garage?"
Thunderstorms in Texas can sometimes be particularly ferocious and if you are out of state and not use to such creations of nature...can be quite horrifying.

Colorado is the only place that i have ever seen storms in their natural dimensions...i use to live in Parker Co and there are some large rises that allow you see the horizon like not many other places in the Denver area...
and clouds and systems you can see are really large 3 dimensional forms
that spread out all over in a suprising accurate perspective...actually panoramic perspective...there is no way to actually capture this on film...for film no matter how hard you try leaves things somewhat flat and two dimentional.
Parker was also an education on the many different types of snow that fall
coming from the south i thought snow was snow...but around a mountain
there are mini micro climates that have many shades and variations of weather phenomena.

MOTH
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:30 am

The Science the Cog and the Wheel


music has been such a subtle fragrance of the better half of my life
i feel like im almost close to begin the next chapter... for those of you that
may have spoken with me before...i am quite fond of oil painting.
i have a sudden appetite to paint creatures or animals with big haunting eyes...there is one that i have that is hanging on my wall that i did a few years ago of a giant surrealistic purple cat with big yellow eyes...that has always been my favorite...i have had a few say this is quite disturbing to look at...i made my peace with it a while back...it you look closely you can see some forms that i like to call "observers" those i try to put in all my paintings as a type of signature trademark.

among other interests is the subject of fantasy... and a few large dragons will grace a canvas at one point or the other. and a few mythological battle scenes...i have also always been particular facinated with stick figures drawn really small...doing many different activities.

i have said that when i get about a dozen paintings finished i am going to have a show...well im about half way there. I also will be painting some large colorful moths...that is a subject that seems hardly ever visited.

ah words don't do justice- perhaps ill post some of my work online here

so much can be said with only a few brush strokes.
another interest of mine is sculpture...i have an idea combining gutted computers, soil, wires, junk, and candles...and have a garden of sorts that you may walk into...it has to be a controlled environment so as not to rust or decay to soon...perhaps an enclosed stone garden.

here is just a thought- if a terrarium environment is large enough....with adequate ventilation and screens a moth can live comfortably there...
on the same subject i want to live in a large loft where i can let my hair down and create-breathing in the comfort of my own terrarium.

only a slight pale sliver of sunlight may enter
this dank and damp square of concrete
the scurrying is making my imagination wander

MOTH 2005

there have been many people that have asked me if i am the cute little goth fairy that i have posted on my site...well taking a closer look you will
see that im male from the main page...to quench your curiousity-that is if you are curious- is that i found her photoshoot while i was looking online line for inspiration for a splash page...moth is a graphic designer...and im currently right now on a quest for the ultimate light and shadow imagry
with eloquential contrasts of dark and light colors...this may be the topic of my new digital collage...so the lovely gothic morsel was used for a splash page i did recently for another project of mine.-ask me what it is and i may tell you...
and so i reside in the shadows like always...peering away into the night sky
pondering what ever there needs to be thought about for that moment and arriving at conclusions to puzzles in my mind.
it seems right now that there is a backlog of inspirational ideas that are stored in the file cabinets in my brain...for example...let's say you have recently went out of your way to email alot of friends and the responses come back...you may read them and decide to come back to it...
before you know you have this page of unanswered emails...and it would be very gracious and kind of you to reply to all of them...
that's kind of how it is...right now...there is however one other thing i might add that i did not mention...actually they are incubating...yes the thoughts the ideas...and ill let them sit in the oven until all the different favors begin to blend together.
one of moths favorite things to eat is a nice warm chicken pot pie...he loves to stick his talons in and fill his warm belly with the...well you know what its like to eat one...its euphoria i tell you...euphoria.
here is another backlog...that i have just recently acquired also...some of my friends have given me cds that i have not listened to...for in essence- kind of along the lines of afformentioned dialogue above, i like to keep my musical palette clear of melodies that have already been written. And yes moth is a musician of sorts and recently was spoken of as a muse...that title i don't want to carry too openly for its a personal matter...I love to perch on a lofty knoll and let a few choice lines dangle out into the open air...perhaps this carbon diocidic delivery will help a flower to sprout or a blade of grass to grow...and while im on this subject of night music...i will own a harp someday...there is a local store in the area that sells these mountain dulcimers and celtic harps...i would love to find a local green hill and play like in the days of Zeus and Perseus...or write some prose on far away lands in the mid 1800's
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:35 am

the damaged chat experience: an essay by moth



the days have long gone when

a person meets another person solely...another person...but, have to share the highways of information with a blitzkrieg of advertisements...

in abstract this is another person... a working persons program

-designed to capture your attention...or invade your private living…it is one thing to want to come to some place for the sheer decision to...but to be hammered with advertisements...is the topic of a deep dark side of man...

one in which man mimics the animal kingdom...to bring about a mutation of the natural arena...

what I speak of is "swarm technology"...the existence of "learning" programs that imitate the behaviors of bees and wasps in their social and hunting modes- have taken on a life of its own.

Everyone in cyberspace has an address in which they call their own...

programs are designed to pick up on these and latch onto them...

listening for what and where a person goes...or does...

taking back...information like a bee scout and alerts the others as the presence of food...this food source...being an open wound...an unprotected domain...an entrance...

there is a great saying that says that a city without a wall will soon be destroyed.

The infection is sometimes...an "unknowning" of modern technology-or an education of prevention.

a sheep wandering into the thick...where the eyes of hungry wolves are

out to bite into this innocent one...sucking and draining the life out of you...

latching on...as you wade though a pool infested with leaches...

On the other hand, there is a person connected at the end of the program

who does this for a living...that does their research and makes their

products to put food on the table...and then there is the one person that

does their research and makes their product to prevent the other from

doing research and making their product...it is a tangled web of corporate good fighting corporate evil.

I sometimes will brave the dark tide at the shores of yahoo chat...where

-the prey is the "chatter"...the "chatter"...is a social phenomena...as a result of connectedness of the internet experience.

We live in a sort of a Wild West, where everything just runs and roams free...out on the prairie...loosely organized into clumps of communities...

politicians fight over the property as the same as warring tribes of the 1800's with the new Europeans arriving at the shores of this vast continent...We have always fought over land...

I hate to say...in a chat world we are victims...of an over-saturation (in a certain market)...that assaults our eyes and ears...and fights for the attention of our time and that which digs deeper for our pocketbook...it has been so trivialized...that we kind of laugh at it now...we accept it as the norm and so we deal with the assault...I can only take in a portion at a time...it is equivalent to me putting on a hazmat suit and walking out into a soupy mess of harmful and volatile chemicals...

I’m sure you know this market I talk about...the sexual market...

here is a little observance...that I notice...when I first log onto chat...

the topic of conversation is usually about sex...that is the real breathing entities...not all...

the room is crawling with advertisements...

then the invasion begins...

"the society and the evolution of force-shields"


this is the little dance that we do...to click off all of the sex ads that pop up on our screen...

and so this market...is saturated with sex...

but sex is a good thing...but why has it become so objective?

it is annoying to turn off and block out all pop ups...because...some of them

could be (or are) your friends...so the existence of finding real friends has been slightly eliminated.

"the semi permeable membrane"

and so we allow our friends to come in and block out...ads...and bots.

and so we have our city and society of people and the evolutionary walls

that are being built up a layer at a time...

does biological social structure have the same characteristics as the biological itself? - it seems to warrant that.

"First Observance as the infestation of undesired solicitation begins"

There is a swarm out there that learns of my IP address and decided to

hone in on me...but this is also for everyone... It sniffs out all the doors to

this home...and looks for a way in...if it can lodge itself inside my home...

it will begin to feed off of what I do and where I go...it is harmless and

harmful at the same time...like vultures they begin to come...and as the hole

is slowly exposed...the scouts go back and tell the others...that this one is

damaged and weak...and so a cloud begins to gather on the horizon

coming for my home...and entering through my open doors.

"To venture out you need protection"

I have found occasional hikes into the wilderness of cyberspace...that little bugs have latched onto me while I scrub through the brush to get to my destination...

one such nuisance is temporary internet files...the fact that a computer has to store every thing it sees is quite annoying...unless of coarse you set your preference...but why be sidetracked at this chore...when you just want to hike...but then there is the "perfect program" that solves all your problems…but hides the "harmful but harmless spy ware" within the program to track your habits...

if everything is stored on your computer...there comes the time when eventually it will have to be cleaned out...because the amount of image data one accumulates just for being online will slow down the performance of your computer...much like pulling weeds.

is this all just the "product" of the internet experience?

"the evolution of the human cyber community"

all the real humans...began to get so fed up and annoyed at the infestation of un solicited ads...that they began to run to the sanctity of closed community...that had a series of locks, gates...and so forth to weed out...the "growingly more aware" bot program...

you have seen them...the "type in what you see"- and the letters are all mangled....which has you to really stop to look at what the swirl of letters are.

that is one such gate...

when real people are connected...real people flourish...as the case of myspace...and other communities...like them...

and so the human experience is once again collected and revitalized and visited again.

that is until the bots learn...how to get past these gates...and bars...

"the evolution of bot and man growing similar in conduct"

to out smart a man is to think like him...and so the evolution of "bot" (programs created for remote purposes) will grow more and more like human behavior...and it will be harder to tell them apart.

"triggers"

what comes to mind when i mention the word chat?

to me by the over saturation of public chats...is

sex talk

porn bots

credit cards

(lol)-and the like

and shallow conversation...

the reason being shallow...is people are preoccupied...by the swarming bees.

-try to have a conversation in the south at night sitting on lawn chairs...when there are mosquitoes buzzing around you...and biting you...it is the same in chat...

clicking off unsolicited ads is the same thing as swatting at mosquitoes biting your back.

-before long you are running inside to finish your conversation.

at least you know that when there is an ad...that pops up on your screen

in a cyber community...you know it is connected to a real person trying to

make friends or network to make a living...or just to socialize...

in summary:

the over-saturation of these markets in my opinion has been greatly damaged. The public chat experience...however...behind walls and doors that are safely guarded...there is a soft glow of real friends.

hello friend!
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PostSubject: Re: Step Into the Dark Waters of Moths Writings   Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:39 am

when the....

when the blue light greets the dawn the violet light goes out
and moth returns to his bed chamber with the sleeping princess
sleep is the journey that leads me down a road until i awake
those that are nearest to the epicenter hear the tales in
thier entirety till they fade.
fresh dew like golden thoughts freshly prevade.
then slip away.

MOTH
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