NOTICEABLY POSTED :

Let me tell of a king who reigned in anonymity upon the Earth for 1000 years-

and let me also tell that throughout the kingdom where this king ruled there was perpetual peace;

and all the anonymous king's subjects lived in plenty; and they had a ball; while none of those who believed in the kings who have names even noticed it happened. It happened right under your noses; and I am sorry if you missed it. And that is why I tell of it!

Crime was forgiven, disease got well, and hunger was fed. And, thus, there were no big deals in the anonymous king's sovereign realm where even the old were as young in spirit as Santa Claus; and even death came alive in the face of so much unconditional love.

All the subjects of that realm were free, happy people doing whatever was pleasing for them to do and nobody was ever excluded from a perpetual celebration of life. (not even you) It happened right under your noses; and I am sorry if you missed it. And that is why I tell of it!

The anonymous king wore no crown; and so, that is why you were blind to his presence. That, and your fear of anonymity. Fear can make a person go blind, as you know. Remember the tale of the naked emperor? Children see him. Back then, anonymity was the place to be, all right.

1)wonder if he'll come back again;

2)watch closely for the nameless friend.

He will be one who flatly refuses to tell you what to do and will not do what you want him to; because you want him to do it...ever.

“He's a special case!”, according to his followers. “An ungraspable phantom”, some who saw him for who he is were moved to say.

“Ornery, is what he is”, others, the blind ones, would label the anonymous one. “A buffoon!”, more of the sightless ones have been heard to name him. Some scholars, who read of him, called him, “a blathering monkey”. Yet, to this day that monkey remains anonymous and free.

The people who knew him said the best way to find him when you need him is to follow a butterfly; follow a butterfly who seems to be going somewhere, so exciting to go it cannot be spoken of;

see it flitting about, telling every pretty flower it meets, “Look out!”

It happens, when it happens, right under your noses; and I would be sorry were you to miss it again. Nobody, not even the butterflies, who delight in it, know the hour of its coming. Look out!

Composed February, 2013, Planet Earth by an anonymous composer who does not know why. Such have been known to introduce people to the anonymous king without an appointment since the anonymity has no scheduled appointments and does as it pleases.

To inquire write:

jwhooperswan@gmail.com

Note: This has nothing to do with Jesus Christ and those awaiting Him are to ignore this altogether; so there is no misunderstanding, the king referred to here is entirely anonymous and was definitely not born of a virgin. He is in fact not even a he and is both his own mother and father. And is his own child.

And this has nothing to do with the Holy Trinity Doctrine. I mean this is about what is truly anonymous. In the very broadest sense of that term. Not Yahweh, not God, not Allah, and not even sure. And, like was said, ornery. This just has nothing to do with anything, really. These words were merely typed up in an organized fashion to be read and understood as true. Mere words and rhythm in a frequency known unto the heart.

The power in the knowledge of what is truly 

present is astounding in its reach. The mango is 

present but ownership of it is illusory. And yet a 

man has been known to slay another for the 

perceived right to the fruit of a particular mango 

tree. What ignorance! That level of stupidity is 

difficult to comprehend even. It is but a small 

step from there to the waging of a war at the 

cost of thousands of lives to establish a claim to 

a forest. 

The forest may be ours by the terms of surrender 

but at what cost? Nobody can measure it. It goes 

on forever. I don't know about you but I'm tired of 

this shit.

Whats happening to me

Wager not my voice at the marketplace o' marriage

and a Fortune company

support o' some plotted disinfected family tree's

just not in the cards for me.

let me sing my own tune

but in the choir of a life-

a life that's honest 'n free; and

let me be still

let me be still


til I can give voice to what's happening to me

Lay odds on the gamble that is a certainty; something that 

comes forth in a squawk or a sigh;

a long shot from heav'n with syrup 'n greens and a slice 

o' grandma's rhubarb pie.

Say I'm a wild card- say I'm no damn good- don't even 

mention me in yore Last Will;

and, when you see I've stopped m' coughing' 

carry my coffin up Boot Hill.

For now, just sit still...let me unlock my notched grooved raw 

boned love sick key.

And sing a loud cry to the blue, blue, blue sky for the need of 

a boy to be free.

For K

What Happened To Us?

Into every boy's (girl's) life the first pals come. Easy as pie are those days and nights when together they play. Unnoticed altogether is the drummer who beats out the rhythm of their lives together as one child. So long as we listen it goes and we know not what we have. The day will come when the uncomplicated simplicity of childhood will shatter and split into individual dreams as if the drummer abandoned them, but that is not the case. That being so, one can never buy back for any price what he had. He has it still.

Whatever happened to Winky, my buddy? It's been about...what? 20 
years! For me, perhaps others as well, the loss will be too much for us 
to bear even though we remain completely ignorant. What happened?  
What did we lose? 


Theories rise like hot cakes. A whole entire career system is built 
around a loss we did not lose and what to do about that. We turn to 
anything we find which blocks the pain. We begin to gossip and talk 
nonsense about other people and their habits, traits, odd mannerisms.  
Arrange, then constantly rearrange the camps of who we like and who 
we do not, and who we like most and least. Altogether classify, judge, 
and arrange a world in our heads that does not otherwise exist. In this 
world good people and bad people dwell. People who do right and 
people who do wrong are placed there. There live friends and enemies. It (our world) splits and divides and shatters until it is very complex. 



Now, there are priests, lawgivers, therapists, teachers, counselors, 
artists, entertainers, politicians, the police and judges and juries, 
firefighters, soldiers, guards, rebels, arsonists, terrorists, nutritionists, 
yoga teachers, real estate agents, accountants, entrepreneurs, and all 
the rest. Books galore are written! Always and throughout, there 
remains a ghost world, a reality, that becomes more strange to us as 
we work out the terms of our world, the one we created, and it 
becomes even threatening; so, we discover ways to shut it off. We 
label the ghost world to be fantasy, illusion, to be a pack of 
dangerous dream worlds, nonsense, evil, darkness, all to be avoided 
as populated by evil spirits, witches, fairies, wizards, outlaws, beasts, 
and such. It is in fact the real one. And it is what we lost when we 
gave it up for a handful of shiny, worthless beads.

CONSIDER THE COMICAL

Consider the long series of funny mistakes of a lifetime. Many are sad many are happy. Some cause pain. Others save someone from pain. Why do we take measurements? Are most of us trying to improve? What is it we hope to make better? Is it wise to try to change a human being? Who carries the gauge? Who is the standard? If I tamper with any of my traits what else do I fuck up?

Somebody wise suggested long ago the human be taken to its maker if someone wants it to be fixed. That alone can judge its situation. What if anyone who adopts this stance is never going to find it appropriate to change anybody else or themselves? (God being God, that is.) If you're looking for a saint, just pick one, anyone will do. Let the Eye be the judge.

It is easy, almost automatic, to point the finger, three point back to you. It's so whether you are searching for good or bad. Saints and sinners are the same people. It is about time to make the leap to realize finally that we are one. Only from that place will we know peace and harmony. Something like a melting takes place inside. What was frozen is made soft, pliable, yielding, and universally undeniable.

Teddy Roosevelt: Sheriff Garrett, do you expect me to 

believe you bested the Kid?

Garrett nods agreement, head bowed, rocking back and 

forth, as if to say I had a hard time with that one myself.

Garrett: Conventions, Mister President. I was standin' on 

convention and on the edge at that...my religion, my few 

acres of land, my wife and family, a job, a future as a 

respected member of convention...standin' in the 

presence of non-convention in Billy feelin' a strong 

passion for the need to exceed all convention and follow 

a notion he is the human and I am not. And as the scene 

ends, organ music signals an important moment.

TROUBLES

Each culture since cultures began has its own language we know. By the way, the invention of language was not the beginning. It came long after man had been around on the ground called earth and mud. Doing quite well. It was the work of things like thumbs, wrists, and hands and feet he had to credit for that. If you were going to thank someone for your hands, who? Well, if you were going to thank someone for a boat, who would you thank? So, who makes hands? Do you even have to know a name for the maker in order to be grateful for the hand? And, if you are grateful, what does it mean?

A problem that every newborn soon faces without knowing what it is that is being thrown at him is language. By that I mean contrived languages of man. These things called words are all defined by other words, none are from the source of anything else. They are like dogs chasing their own tails. Words constantly change their meanings. So, they are foolish. Or, they are playing around and know it. Knowing it is the deal.

By age seven the child is another fool. I was. For example, people go on and on and on about God and love, and truth and responsibilities and have not a clue about what they say. At some point we say something like,
                                 

 "Hey, You, I was just playing around and now I know it"



and hope to God it is not our last breath we are taking when that moment comes.

I could go on but why? I am not able to do this for you. Just point. I am using words and you know what they are like. So, there you have it. The fox is inside the henhouse.

I wanna talk a moment, point out, something about gestures. Gestures are made by life itself, a powerful force inside the one who gestures. Nobody else asks, What did that mean? Because we are alive we know. We have no need for a book of gestures. In fact, that would restrict them to the point of being doubted. Maybe there is some wisdom here. I suggest that breath can be seen as a kind gesture. The first word? And, the last? Have we any need of a book to take a breath? Is our relationship with life fulfilled in each one without debate? I bet we can plug language into the source of gestures and make sense of it all. That might just do it. Would we have to do it together all at once? One, two, three go, maybe?