Celeste Cross Road



Where identity begins and entity ends
What is carried on as duty 
What transcends within the private self
Precision strikes
Targetted warning
Redline agreements
Crossing the line 
Brinkmanship

No logical understanding of which who is in control
The dogma of the personal self
The controls known as duty
When it digs in
When it knows it is a must
When it instated as taking-stand

What truth will be established
What bricks and mortar shall be destroyed
What generations are destined to pain and grief
Trust and manifestation 
Mechanical weapons
Chemical weapons
Bio-organic weapons

Identification of my enemies' monster 
Placating the enemy within
Mechanical mind
Primaeval reckoning   

Surgical
Appropriate
Concise
Planned 
An orderly attack
The legitimate choice of killing
The loss of humanity
Choice of friends





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This Branch

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Godin Connectedness

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Godin Connectedness  We argued with the vengeance from poorly informed memory. Straight from the loss to blame. For whatever reason it perpetuated justification. Of construeded loss,  from the need to self victimise. To the need of claiming nothing in particular. It was the battle to ingrain and embellish memory. In so, we tore each other apart and to feed individual right. Our eternal want to be known as right. The want for immediate anger to surface, rant and to glorify our past glories of being wronged. And then we rested exhausted.
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Australian Mass Media Peddles Systemic Racism

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Travel Lake Bennett

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  It only takes the slightest breeze. After each sunset. Before the problems of the day are resolved. The bludgeoned crawl out. To reclaim some dignity. And some semblance of affinity with living. And their efficacy to feel beautiful. The opportunity to refract and diverge with their whispers. If you want to listen to them. 3am in the morning. When the void sets in. And all daily grinds transpire. Stone cold awake. Then night allows your creativity. The force denied brilliant struggle. By stripping away your defenses. You wake up and feel the affinity. The moon, stars, and clouds. Listen to your reptilian cycle. Before the window closes. And you have forgotten the introspection. Quiet conversations. On whatever breeze chances by. No longer demanding hardened options. Or decisive actions. Just being aware of stillness. As an uncomplicated opportunity. When elsewhere else has none. Claim this moment. To be within yourself. Translucent memories. Whispering for your return. To childhood wh
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