Hail Britannia Mother of the Empire


Replica of the helmet found at Sutton Hoo; the original was buried with an Anglo-Saxon leader—probably King Rædwald of East Anglia—in the Early Middle Ages, c. 620[1]

 Hail Britannia,
Mother of the Empire,
In commemoration,
of the past, the present, and the future,

Our Closest dearest Friend,
So wise your counsel,
In times of war and Peace,
Your Parliament stands,
In reproof of presidents and tyrants,
As testament speaking volumes,
From the Medieval Ages,
The ghosts of fool hardy adventurers,
haunting us no more as they walk not,

In Remembrances from  Queen Mother,
news is heard of her evil child,
From the Kaiser’s blimps,
lording over Londinium

WWI aerial attack on London by the German military  utilizing a blimp airship.

WWI aerial attack on London by the German military utilizing a blimp airship.

In the last days of the late great Roman Empire,
Nazi German bombs devastate,
McDonald’s and Seven Eleven are gone,
In our darkest hours

From America to Britannia,
In what is tried and true,
as in a marriage of convenience,
one is surprised,
in that which tests our mettle and resolve,

So tried and true,
In what tells us hark, beware,

A mystery is a foot,

Where cowboys venture,
Good English men do not dare,
In striving into the deserts,

by Trains, boats, and planes,
With boots on the ground,

See the monkey,
Playing with the hand grenade
By George you are right
That is the president,

Where gracefully the Empire remains,
The Empire withers away and falls,
In no need for the good to die needlessly
For the evil of the darkie natives,
Fanning the lord, governor,
As he is an American prince,

An American in Paris a Hollywood musical film at the height of American power

An American in Paris a Hollywood musical film at the height of American power


As American in Paris,
An American in Cairo,
An American in Vietnam,
An American in Leopoldville,
An American Kinshasa or Shanghai,
An American in Baghdad and Kabul,
An American in Nicaragua,
An American in Libya and Korea,
An American in Panama,
An American in Guatemala,
An American in Cuba,
An American in Puerto Rico,
An American in the Philippines
An American in Canada,
An American is the man on the moon,

Obama sellout of democratic priciple and traditions

Obama selling democratic priciples and traditions

What country America has not bullied?
What laws has it not broken?
Where does America begin and end?
So that god must tremble at its might?

The weight of history is upon you,
just as you over packed,
for the weekend vacances holiday,
for a three hour packet tour,
of the Beqa’a valleys,
Don’t ask me I just work here,

King Hadadezer of Damascus awaits you,
in the northern Aram-Hamath kingdom,
where dwells the Neo-Assyrian Empire,
Mesopotamia asks where are the troops,

troops supplied by King Ahab of Israel,
in the Battle of Qarqar,
sitting around the camp fire,
at night we spoke, telling stories,

Hail Caesar, hail Marcus Antonius, hail Brutus,
I have come to bury Caesar,
Would Caesar like a falafel,
Has Caesar prepared himself to tomorrow,
for the long march to Beijing,
say farewell goodbye?
Remember me well

Hail Cleopatra VII,
daughter of Nefertiti,
Great Royal Wife,
chief consort,
of the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten,
Hereditary Princess,
Great of Praises,
Lady of Grace,
Sweet of Love,
Lady of The Two Lands,
Main King’s Wife,

his beloved,

Great King’s Wife,
his beloved,
Lady of all Women;
Mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt,
within which a religious revolution occurs,
at the end of a long series of events,
as we are but fools,
at the feet of Aten,
arising as the sun disc,
worshiping but one god only,

in what history has forgotten as vain and vanity,
and done again, then again,

just as we stood against the Neo-Assyrian army,
Aram-Damascus came out victorious,
Assyrians stop encroaching into Syria,
Hadadzezer was killed, by his successor Hazael II,
the Levantine alliance collapses.
Aram-Damascus attempted to invade Israel,
interrupted by renewed Assyrian invasion.
Hazael retreated to the walled part of Damascus,
While Assyrians plundered the remainder of the kingdom.
Unable to enter the city,
declared their supremacy in the Hauran and Beqa’a valleys
By the 8th century BC Damascus,
engulfed by the Assyrians, entered a dark age

Though some insist,
where all is forgotten,
as relived in hell,

Where “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”,
(George Santayana George Santayana (1905)
Reason in Common Sense, volume 1 of The Life of Reason)
As “Only the dead have seen the end of war” (Ibid.)

So I ask: Who will remember us and why?
for the history is not of the dead children,
whose parents curse you as tyrants laud you,
as smoldering in the grave truth keeps marching on.

A tourist site near London of what remains of the Roman Walls

A tourist site near London of what remains of the Roman Walls


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Christian Bök, the man and his Sound Poems Poetry‎

Christian Bök, the man and his Sound Poems Poetry‎ by Andrew Stergiou


Like many poets and artists in the general public ability to conceptualize what they are reading, hearing, seeing, Christian Bök is commonly labeled and called “experimental” as a “Canadian poet”. Christian Bök, is the author of Eunoia, which won the Canadian Griffin Poetry Prize, said to be “Canada’s best-selling poetry book ever, which I question by merely saying “So?” in what is eternally at once a childish answer, in response to a childish question what is statement form.

Canadian Griffin Prize Trust

Listening to Christian Bök recordings, of recitations of well constructed, yet artificial poetry, he is said to have began writing seriously in his early twenties. While earning his B.A. and M.A. degrees at Carleton University in Ottawa, Christian Bök returned to Toronto in the early 1990s to study for a PhD. in English literature” in what is generally considered an urban literary community. Where as of 2005 he teaches at the more rural and remote University of Calgary, so I have to wonder.

“What is being taught in higher learning institutions of the western world, as teachers worldwide seem to be required to resort to entertaining students, so as it is imagined to maintain student enrollment in satisfaction of his employment. Employment by university administrations obsessed with bottom lines measured by such metric measures in what does not correlate into what translates into an education. Conversely in what I do not suggest does not manifest as educational but which i find more so entertainingly, more so based on financing where”.

“Bök is a sound poet creating conceptual art, in constructing artistic languages for science-fiction but which is metaphysical and entertaining at best which has little relevance of its own basis. As I wonder what would we gather listening to such poetic “sound poems” centuries from now. Some time in the future, in what would be gathered from such “poetry” as Christian Bök has been know for. I wonder, what meaning that alleged “poetry” will convey.  Where Homer left us a poetic record of the Trojan War in the Iliad and Odyssey, as James Joyce did of his times, in what left us memorable records like the Bible.  What will be remembered centuries from now, in what Cicero could of plagiarized from indigenous aboriginal shards of what was a proud culture? 

Amazon natives

Where such sounds, of sound poems perhaps once had real meanings. In cultures manifest today on the ancient Greek shards of Rodos which were left indecipherable.

In what exists before being erased by endless races for the accumulation of profits and power, in what ended in Alexander’s Indian demise.  Where if we survive these calamities of the hyper alienated cultures generated these self-absorbed, self-centered institutions based on enrollments and corporate profits, it is asked what will we as a society be remembered for. In educations which seem useless in pursuit meaning, as well as incomes. Where From which often no specific social meaning can be acquired from sounds which appear beyond the purely elitist mechanizations of a capitalist society producing what they call art at taxpayer expense, as entertaining, in what educationally has perhaps no real meaning.

Yes of course like any worker Christian Bök amongst others, as many others  can hammer, literally, figuratively, and expressionistic, bring into our conscience cognition aspects of their work. Work which we can imagine as any noise, or shadow in the night to be what it is. and what it is not.  Where Christian Bök, amongst others can pour much of  energy and enthusiasm, into mindlessly mechanics, as any ship builder, and Rosy Riveter, none the more or less.  Producing nothing recognizable without diminishing the theoretical nature of what they produce. Produced in what one can refer to as if “art”, where comparisons to “primitive art” must be made to give it contextual cultural standing.

images (1)

Where Christian Bök tweeted as I was writing this article “We no longer have to burn books on the pyres—since now we can just delete them….”


In a thought i had more than once, where just as I looked for the “Christian Bök interview and reading on CBC Radio program And Sometimes Y, episode 5, July 25, 2006″ the the Canadian Broadcast Corp (CBC) website obscenely stated:

“Sorry, we can’t find the page you requested.”

In what translates into what represents the futility of a society which knows not what to do with itself in much of the modern industrial world.

In what no doubt be found else where, as though I find it all really cool (and could merely say, time after time, time and again, it is cool)  people create, perform, present what people call “art”. I feel compelled to say some thing a little deeper than a college freshmen, and a little less metaphysical than “wow that is so spaced out”, considering the state of the world in the black and white art world of good and bad, and many, many shades of gray for which I find no meaning. 

As in “books, poetry cool”.

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Poem STrange Women and cats

When all winter the inhabitants were unseen,
the only visitor was a strange woman,
asking about a calico cat that “could get hurt”
knocking at a strange door of carved Buddhas,
I have no calico cats,So with some sorry excuse,
to barge in and intrude,
what does the industrial world do,
when its citizens choose to die,
in its modern developed world,
staring at computer screens,in a police state ,
of death and war,
poverty and ignorance,

what does the industrial world do,
when its citizens choose to die,
in its modern developed world,
staring at computer screens,

years after the inhabitants died,
years after the electricity utilities was cut,
years  with mailed piled unanswered,
while the incompetent postman delivered,
what was to be delivered most of the time,
in what was of life death and torture,

torture that the tortured ignored,
torture that the tortured,
in repressed memories killed,
in repeated tape loops of threads,
stretching and overlapping,
ironically in what could be reasoned,
without making sense,

Where ironically,
the linguistics and language,
represents logic and anarchy,
the emotional poetry,
represents logic and meaninglessness,
as Zen represents the Tao
as like McD represents hamburgers

so, stale and dried out,
the buns retain their shape form and color,
though the lettuce and tomato wilts,
the hamburger petrifies into beef jerky,

as it is a mystery,
in the home of the deceased,
as to weither or not,
the cats will eat and survive,
though strange women,
in the police state,
will pass by,
asking about calico cats,
as the residents,
of the homes visited sit there,
without saying much,
staring blankly at a blank screen,
the strange women and the police state,

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The Occupational Death of Occupy

We-are-the-99-percent_Occupy-TogetherThe Occupational Death of  Occupy

I had begun writing decades earlier, just as I had begun today in writing this.  Going to my pants that I had earlier cast, thrown on the floor, I had gotten a working Bic black ink pen with a medium point from a pocket, and started scribbling.  As fast as I could writing what first came to my mind.  With few exceptions in a stream of consciousness, here and there adding a word or two that was left out.  Sitting in the kitchen of my run down house that I was rehabilitating myself, I sat at the sink, with the radio on, and two thirds of a cup of homemade coffee on my left resting on the cutting broad straddling the sink.  Writing steadily I occasionally glanced at a clean stainless steel cooking pot on the stove, that I filled with water.  Where I was cooking and preparing dry black beans for breakfast,dinner lunch.  First I washed the stainless steel pot, then half filled the pot with hot water from the tap, as the hot water helped cook the beans faster, I then heated the water and pot, leaving the pot with hot water and beans on the stove range, first at a high temperature then at a low temperature to cook slowly.

The first Occupy protest to receive wide attention and media coverage was Occupy Wall Street in New York City’s ZuccottiPark, where Boris had come to from the Soviet Union years ago to hustle the commodity traders and stock brokers with his chess game.  While from his many prison type tattoos I presumed he had learned his good game of chess the hard way through hard labor and the Russian penal prison system.  He was a gentle man and when I started writing about Occupy Wall Street, and ZuccottiPark I remembered him.

As I wrote my right hand seized up and stiffening in the pains of a sixty year old body of a man who had seen better days, times, but now severely affected by the untreated effects of carpal tunnel syndrome  I wrote the best I could.  Stopping for a second, in a moment of two, I took a sip of the hot coffee in a ceramic coffee cup on my left, decorated with red impalas (the animal from Africa not the American cars).  In what I presume was related to the Gazelle though I could not distinguish an impala from a gazelle.

It was a Saturday evening and writing my finge tips regularly grew numb and painful, as I continued scribbling.  Watching the water boil was a sure way I was not going to burn dinner that night as I was hungry, I looked forward to a good meal of soft black beans and a fresh chop I defrosted by throwing it into the cooked beans.  Watching the water come to a boil I stood still writing as I rose up slowly, sure to mark my journal page with the pen.

Zuccotti Park was located  a short distance from City Hall, and City hall Park which had been closed off to the public ever since terrorism and security was made an issue by politicians who like extortions promised protection.  As in the protection rackets, that racket demanded respect, and though out it entire history was never closed to the public in the absence of renovations now it was closed.

ZuccottiPark, was a few short street blocks north from where I worked once upon a time,  where once upon a time, it was  renovated in a modernized fashion that suited the corporate downtown developers, where ZuccottiPark once always remained open. 

Dating the top of the next page I sat down again, with a plethora of varied pains.  I had written Saturday, August, 17, 2013, at the top of the page, and most likely I had to change that date again, as by theb it was most likely Sunday, August 18, 2013, as it was hours before I had noticed the time.  Before sitting down on the wooden stool again, I moved my coffee cup from the left side to the right side, so as to accommodate the political environment,  taking a few sips , I continued by taking a few sips more.

The evening began after I was challenged over the internet by someone in the “Occupy Group” asking who was I, as he stated he didn’t have time for “fuck nuts” like me, so I told don’t, as in not to.  As he put me off coming off as an entitled street character as he did two hundred and thirty-five miles from Wall street and ZucottiPark.  He had no time for “Fuck Nuts” like me, and I had no time for rude, ill mannered rude entitled sociopathic “nut jobs” like him.

Situated across the street from the stock brokers traditionally favorite Mens haberdashery Brooks Brothers, just in case one of the American working class protesters of Occupy wall Street decided to take Allen Ginsberg’s advice to get a Brooks Brothers suit.  As Allen Ginsberg said people no longer treated him the same when he wore a fashionable Brooks Brothers suit, in that then they looked at him differently and treated him with respect.  I too enjoyed Brooks Brothers suits but in that I was now a member of the small city urban poor of Pennsylvania I stayed home a lot more and did not have much use for a Brooks Brothers suit.

I had begun writing as impulsively as I ever do with the thought of “The Death of Occupy” as the title(as in the “Death of Occupy Wall Street”.  Because so many times before I had witnessed movements rise and fall, in the challenge of the moment to be beat down and never rise again.  As if some goons got a hold of a helpless drunk and beat him to a bloody pulp, beaten by living, and buried by booze.

Though I enjoyed satin linings of the woolen tweeds I rarely found them in the second hand thrift stores I frequented.  In a stratified divided society based on wealth and the power that determines that wealth, the Viking like standards of Iceland did not apply.

As the mere existence of thrift stores where the rich gave what they no longer valued and the poor bought those same cast offs, as part of the power exchanges of class society there was an inherent unfairness and inequality.

ZuccottiPark was located in oner of the most bourgeois parts of town, near the courts, the Manhattan and federal detentionCenters, where Occupy began on 17 September 2011.  By 9 October, Occupy protests had taken place or were ongoing in over 95 cities across 82 countries, and over 600 communities in the United States.  as I witnessed myself how in some of the most reactionary towns in America the naive and gullible came out to see or support what had  caught the imagination of the nation, and the world. 

Occupy Wall Street rose almost two years ago though time becomes a blur, as I watched from a distance in rural Pennsylvania two-hundred and thirty-five miles away, in marking the occasion writing.

I wrote ” Amid the Rust Are Diamonds”:

Regarding,  a city town in Pennsylvania unmentioned and unlisted amongst the cities listed for having participated in Occupy Wall Street events, in what became part of the government’s historical revisionism and propaganda.  As what occurred did not occur in 600 communities but over 600 and one communities. 

I wrote:

“Amid the rusting near empty machines shops that have the capacity to employ 30 to 50 employees, in a town that once was the employed many in industries that after the Second World War was the industrial basis of most of the world: The Occupy Wall Street movement has inspired a small town in AltoonaPennsylvania.”

“I will not use the weak kneed gutless heartless conservative metaphors of the Altoona Mirror to mislead readers by referring to the efforts I saw, inferences of youth, and what may be considered amateurish for these efforts in such a conservative bastions takes alot of heart.”

“There are many literary uses of words that questionably can be used by writers to confer what is unearned and essentially defamation, with out being blunt, or explicitly defaming who they write about.  By use of labels, and awkward descriptions , writers depreciate the merits of those they detract.  In what is being written of, that to the best of my knowledge in writing, the local corporate print media in the form of the Altoona Mirror, has done another hack job in reporting the news regarding the AltoonaPennsylvania version of Occupy Wall Street Movement in a manner which it attempts to divide the community further.”

“First of The Altoona Mirror has attempted to appoint a leader if the Altoona Occupy Wall Movement by falsely attributing local efforts to a “local teen” when to the best of my knowledge that teen would not claim to control of own such an effort as that teen (again to the best of my knowledge) would not seek to create the false image which the Altoona Mirror wishes to portray by taking local efforts out of its proper context, as I was first told (correctly or not) that these “were now being duplicated in 900 cities around the World representing a far greater issue than merely Altoona, Pennsylvania.”

“The limited brief Altoona Mirror article “TuckahoePark now occupied part time” by Greg Bock, was of the briefest most generalized stereotyped nature.  In depicting what would be considered the typical average young adult resident of Altoona, rather than what is now a part of a worldwide movement, the Altoona Mirror distorted against for its reader what was the real picture of what was happening.”

“The Altoona Mirror spoke as if it was the county paper of record of the Altoona Occupy Wall Street  Movement, but without mention that there were some very hard working young people there (not to mention some older residents), and a sizable portion of support within the community evident supporting change, in a challenge of the status quo of the county Tea party, Democrats, Republicans, and organized labor who were visibly absent.”

“As if these worldwide demonstrations will just disappear and go away, the local leaders representing the status quo of Altoona seems to have made themselves scarce, by burying their heads in the sand as they have for the last 30 years of Altoona’s decline, in doing business as usual by ignoring their constituents, or otherwise by paying tokenism and lip service to are noble efforts while their ship sinks.”

“Still worse than the apathy of  the Altoona Mirror, was the virulent commentary posted online which was of the lowest partisan political nature having the McCarthyites nerve and temerity, to call themselves Americans while at the same time referring to as if the president was a communist, a radical, a Muslim at the same time they claim to be Americans and support America..  Now I don’t know if I like President Obama, and I might refer to this manner of as a virtual police state but I still respectfully the president as president, and not “boy” as many conservatives seem to.”

“Along with unlawful provocative incitements of right-wingers (whose boring lives these youthful protesters have drawn the attention of) suggesting “if you were really “occupying” the park, you say s c r e w the law and you OCCUPY the park” regardless of what that means.”

“In the words of one Altoona Mirror commenter they say:

“I am so proud of our young folks organizing this patriotic effort! It is obvious that the public agrees–as evidenced by the many folks driving by and cheering in support and even dropping off food for us.  Thanks!”

“Which we should all agree with, rather than the exhortations by some crime bent right-wing extremists who seem to provoke and solicit arrest for any and all cause and reasons who may be seen as  simply inciting unlawful conduct  and who should be investigated for their harassment and defamation of these protesters rather than being good neighbors.”



In what mirrored and preceded the Occupy Wall Street Movement, as the “Arab Spring” Movement as a wave of demonstrations and protests both non-violent and violent), riots, and civil wars in the Arab world that began on 18 December 2010.

In what to date deposed rulers forced from power in Tunisia, 1] Egypt (twice),[2] Libya,[3] and Yemen;[4] civil uprisings have erupted in Bahrain[5] and Syria;[6] major protests have broken out in Algeria,[7] Iraq,[8] Jordan,[9] Kuwait,[10] Morocco,[11] and Sudan;[12] and minor protests have occurred in Mauritania,[13] Oman,[14] Saudi Arabia,[15] Djibouti,[16] and Western Sahara.[17], in what as to date is to change or topple a western government in what one can presume is a American and Israeli inspired intelligence operation.

Though the Occupy movement has its share of critics, it is said to be an international protest movement against social and economic inequality, though hypocritically it has form and structure, albeit a weak form and structure.  With its primary goal being ambitious to make the economic and political relations in all societies less vertically hierarchical and more flatly distributed it has purpose.

I got my first real job delivering coffees to the big shots of Wall Street, where for thirty cents I would personally deliver a hot coffee to any man, woman or child who called up for a delivery and the thirty cents to pay for it.  That was around September 1970 though I can not exactly recall.  As I remember though that martial law was declared as the Pierre Laporte, a Canadian lawyer, journalist, politician, Deputy Premier and Minister of Labour of the province of Quebec,  was kidnapped and assassinated by members of the group Front de libération du Québec in what was encouraged most likely by the CIA.

I had seen these demonstrations before, walking the picket lines with the Communication workers of America across the street on Broadway in 1970, blocks from where ZuccottiPark was later to be located.  I was there when tens of thousands of students left high schools, colleges, universities, and Junior High Schools (Middle Schools) in New York City, going on strike against what had become the Nixon War, during Bixon;s secret invasion and war in Cambodia.  In the war Nixon allegedly inherited from presidents Johnson, Kennedy, and Eisenhower.

Local Occupy groups often have different foci (or emphasis) , but among the movement’s prime concerns is the belief that large corporations and the global financial system control the world in a way that disproportionately benefits a minority, undermines democracy and is unstable and this is what the government in their loyalty to big profits could not allow to survive.  Most active in the United States, by October 2012 there had been Occupy protests and occupations in dozens of other countries across every continent except Antarctica in what lent western society the appearances of traditional liberal bourgeois democracy.  In its first two months, the authorities are said to have largely adopted a tolerant approach toward the movement, but this began to change in mid-November 2011 when they began forcibly removing protest camps.

In what had begun two years earlier symbolically as “a day of rage”, without plans for any thing more than that lives on beyond that day, in what began by ill prepared means in what had grown into a worldwide phenomenon of many contending forces, and factions, from anarchists, to disenfranchised members of the middle class, right wing libertarians, some known by the misnomer called “Tea party activists”, union members, literati, artists, actors, actresses, and a diversity of celebrities, though not me I had my own “occupy” “occupation” in holding down the home front.  Though for a moment the world, and the nation was  energized in the euphoria of “occupy” and “Occupy wall Street”.

By the end of 2011 authorities had cleared most of the major camps, with the last remaining high profile sites – in WashingtonDC and London – evicted by February 2012.  The Occupy movement is partly inspired by the Arab Spring, and the Portuguese and Spanish Indignants movement in the Iberian Peninsula, as well as the Tea Party movement.  The movement commonly uses the slogan We are the 99%, the #Occupy hashtag format, and organizes through websites such as Occupy Together.  According to The Washington Post, the movement, which has been described as a “democratic awakening” by Cornel West, is difficult to distill to a few demands.  On 12 October 2011, Los Angeles City Council became one of the first governmental bodies in the United States to adopt a resolution stating its informal support of the Occupy movement.  In October 2012 the Executive Director of Financial Stability at the Bank of England stated the protesters were right to criticise and had persuaded bankers and politicians “to behave in a more moral way”.

As the media of the moment melted away into the rotten woodwork of the corrupt and decadent police state, it slanders and libels were not retracted, not did they fairly give equal time to the criminal acts of the government officials who abused their powers to repress “Occupy”.  The media once filled with the diatribes and rhetoric of corporate government propagandists.  then too I was two hundred and thirty-five days from any real action.  For like the French Revolution, the “Youth Culture”, and the “Summer of Love”, soon the enthusiasm petered out, and frustration and disappointment set in.  In what was first noticeable smaller cities and towns, around the country, which could not sustain the momentum, of the revolution.  A revolution that swung from concept to concept, in a dogma of no dogma, of intolerance of no tolerance, in what spoke without saying, where the police encouraged tactically failure as we were so clever that they would not know.  With a strategy in mind that a set program, or demands would solidify support .  Until bitch weary, frustrated, distracted and tired, the enthusiasm wore off, and the force of change was dissipated. 

Where shopping malls of all sizes gobbled up Main Street, and exiled Mom and Pop to prison asylums for seniors, where loitering, congregating, public speaking and leaflets was made illegal and prohibited regardless of what the laws and the courts said.

But where perhaps I am tiring and am getting ahead of myself, as the “nut jobs” asking who the “fuck” was I , as “they didn’t have time for fuck nuts like me”.  Those who in ill logic and poor emotions have no time for me, but have time to speak and meddle in social unrest and change? In the many self-serving and self-absorbed opportunists like them do little if anything, as the kids get their heads bashed in.

But in the end it was known as to why the politicians had become more and more intolerant as their police and intelligence units had been secretly working all along to undermine what was labeled a “moral awakening” crushed by the police state.  In what later was revealed as an international concerted effort of the military, police and intelligence as government documents released revealed strangely FBI monitoring of what became known as the Occupy movement since at least August 2011, a month before the protests began.

Where the FBI, the U.S.  Department of Homeland Security, local police, regional law enforcement “counterterrorism” fusion centers, and private security forces of major banks formed the Domestic Security Alliance Council (DSAC) to collect and share information about, and to share plans to target and to arrest Occupy protesters in what lends credence to the allegations that Occupy Wall Street, like Wikileaks, and Julian Assange, as well as Anonymous might very well be government inspired if not encouraged..

Banks met with the FBI to pool information about participants of the Occupy movement collected by corporate security, and the FBI offered to bank officials its plans to crush Occupy events that were scheduled for a month later.  FBI officials met with New York Stock Exchange representatives on 19 August 2011, notifying them of planned peaceful protests.  FBI officials later met with representatives of the Federal Reserve Bank of Richmond and Zions Bank about planned protests.  The FBI used informants to infiltrate and monitor protests; information from informants and military intelligence units was passed to DSAC, which then gave updates to financial companies.  Surveillance of protestors was also carried out by the Joint Terrorism Task Force.  DSAC also coordinated with security firms hired by banks to target OWS leaders.  On May 20, 2013, the Center for Media and Democracy and DBA Press released a special report, “Dissent or Terror: How the Nation’s ‘Counter Terrorism’ Apparatus, in Partnership with Corporate America, Turned on Occupy Wall Street.”.

In a chess game where the pieces moves were already planned before hand before the protestors even began protesting and arguing as to an agenda, for weither or not they had an agenda was immaterial, as the troops decided if the alternative to the first move being pawn to King four, was pawn to Queen four they already knew what they would do.

I carried on in the tradition of “Negro Jazz men” cooking dry beans, black, pinto, red kidney, and Navy beans.  After the show is done, on the stage of the bar gigs, because that was “the way we were”, waiting for our day to come.  In our “day of rage”, we swore every night the sun set, in the poverty of unsettled accounts and poverty, until the sun rose.  Babies cried themselves to sleep, as parents in discomfort and distress  recalled the toils of the day.  Before they rose the next day to do the same again as if chained to a rock, for there was no change.  In what they were accustomed to what chained them to the economy, as once Christopher Columbus demanded gold of he natives, so too capitalism demanded “a pound of flesh, for a pound of silver”, in what was not worth a pound of piss as worthless as a measure of life and living.

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I live in a prison cell called America

I live in a prison cell called America,

Or perhaps one should speak differently,

As many people speak, Many people hear,

What many words are by different and varied mean,


I am dying in a prison cell called America,

Where I can suppose,

Here as well as there,

In exile as well as at home,

As Pablo Neruda the man,

As Pablo Neruda the poet,

As Pablo Neruda the writer,

As Pablo Neruda the diplomat,

As Pablo Neruda,

Denied awards and honors

As García Lorca,

Dragged through the streets,

As Pablo Neruda,

dragged through the streets,

As García Lorca,

Denied awards and honors


For death comes in many forms,

As the forces loyal to the Spanish dictator Franco,


Laughingly the American laughed,

As American  drones bombed Washington, D.C.

As the colored, negro, black, afro-American,

People of Color died,

As the Black dude sat in The White House,

So did the foreigners

Where the American is dragged through the streets,

Dragged from their homes in the dead of night,

Beaten in the light of day,

The American Nigger, Nigga, Niggah,

In what makes no determination how to live,

But only determines how to die,

In what is not allowed,

Not permitted as death not proud is made pretty,

In what exists in pretty poetry,

Suitable for greeting cards and wall posters,

Mounted on wonderful coloured paper,

Printed with special inks and colors,

Specially bound,

In threads dipped and coated,

in blood sweat and spit,

As the landlord comes to beat my ass,

Not so much so he can collect the rent,

As to teach me a lesson,

As if I am never again,

Tortured, tormented harassed and annoyed,

There still remain enough to suffer pain,

Not as a season in hell, but an eternity in hell,

Of which I am reminded every day,

Weither or not lunch and tea is served,

Weither or not there is a new film to watch,

Weither or not I received visits from family ad friends,

Living in America a prison cell,

Living in America a gulag of prison cells,

In a media social network of informers and spies,

In a social network of informers and spies,

Living in America coast to coast,

Living in a prison cell, America,

Tortured in the frigid winters of Attica,

By a window left open as naked,

We shivered, suffered, and died.

In what you called a Psychiatric ward

As you enjoyed the film, the dinner, and the film,

ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, I laugh,

What I make, What I write, What I know,

Aqui, ahora presente, Por que?

Where Noam Chomsky, Chris Hedges and Paul Krugman,

Can repeat my story and still present no solutions,

Where my memories repressed and suffering can not go,

Where prison guards drag me through the bloody halls,

Of dead presidents murdered in their naivety,

As a nation, where I live in a prison cell called America.

As the prisoner guards and I laugh for different reasons.

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