Miranda, Raven

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Miranda, Raven – part 3

On Account of Spring, An Account of Spring

Put traces down upon your curious pages
That catch this April hour’s winds in spiral
Urges and curving yearnings and the august
Gust ends which are and where are hydra headed
Clearly dusty destinations where winds are born
Again and bear all with them onward and backward
And up and down and in the many drooped
Or lofted or rollercoasted diagonals of asides
Cutting or kind, bitter or sweet,
And what all ways north south east west
And whatever ways and what either else ways
Of these atravelling airs full of unfarmed seed
And bedless birds that sing of sleepless beds.

Then, secondly, upon that silent staff of linear ink-
And-inkline-trained-spaces that helps humans hear
Like it is some public paper-and-pen-scratch ear,
Like it is some bird scratch neuronal diagram
For conveying and plunking down sound amongst
Time’s vagaries and amidst human hearers various
When the code is cracked with the proper instruments--
Chart there the flying code spoke
From the songbird’s throat as he broadcasts
His heart upon his home winds;
As he intones his valentine vanities,
Intones his architectural blues prints,
Intones his military maps showing these
Copy the lines of his principalities perimeters,
As he altogether intones his loin’s handsome tensions;
As he makes public every twig and rag of his beautiful
Desire to other nestless hearts--
Whether these are hearts of brides,
Hearts of brother birds to be beaten,
Or the hearts of other heartless beasts
Who hope to eat him song, heart and all.
So copy out that music,
Making your mathy marks much like
A bird on a branch or bird on wing.

Now thirdly and last here-- though out there the circle
Has no end numbers in the beginning or the middle
Neither nor nether nor four/five/sixly nor afterly--
But for now upon the pencil-prepared,
Dry pulp sculpted flat before you,
Take the measure of a tree--
(Though as redundant as a ghost your paper
Before you is the reductio industrial
Calibration of wood; unmathing of a tree...)
Try to ascertain the green live-jointed twig’s
Trajectory along the unaccountable fractal
Humored hours of spring’s ethereal soup.
Can you numeracially infer and plot dot for dot
Upon your graph the branch extending in time
Like some living road that gets to summer
By growing to it? Or some road that gets to summer by
Being summer? So if time is space what is tree?
That is our E equals W--(double-ewe is for “what”).
Can you thus square and squarely
Make formulae of seeds’ extrapolations?
Just as that waswood woodwastree page
Is hewn to rectangularity;
Just as now the emptiness upon the
Face of the paper is now gridded--
Boxed in and boxed off and boxed up,
So too we think to make a triangulation
Of the math of wind
And the integers song
And numberings of tree parts.

“And who now is this ‘we’?”
Might you dear readers ask,
Quite unshamed by my calculations
Here, which is my precise-if-sloppy plan.
Well “we” is she who cannot merely lie
Listening to wind and song and tree.
For I by this flimsy device of the “Old
One Two Three” must rise in April
Writing of the incalculable beauty
That rises gardenwise and greenwise
And goddesswise in my heart, in the world.
And despite the pseudo employment of numbers
Ever generous generant Spring rises in these words.
All I meant to poeticize was a certain
Nothingness I heard entrenched in spring’s
Muchness and moreness and largess:
That: Spring lies plexus wise at the inter thrice
Crossroad where birdsong, branch and wind
Meet and meet and meet unendingly in the
Great Green Pinwheel of Ongoing Manifest’s
Great Blue Ball Carnival Planet where I travel.
Though I am at poem’s end I begin again at ground zero,
Happy prostrated student at nature’s sage feet,
Struck dumb by spring’s song and dance
And how it makes my own heart beat
In the unaccountable countless multiplicities
And irreducibly endless onenesses of it all.

Wow, this is thrilling [reprinted below], especially read slowly out loud!
But who in the heck is Warner S. Bloomberg?

Citronella

Warner S. Bloomberg <SCV...@vval.com> wrote in article <2551705598.51401983.alt.gathering.rainbow@vval.com>...

> On Account of Spring, An Account of Spring. ...

> But who in the heck is Warner S. Bloomberg?

Warner S B is the man who owns the house that Miranda is living in, in, as far as I can make out, a simple landlord-tenant relationship. (that may be “was”, cuz she was talking about hitting the road in her 71 GMC with the Gypsy House on it. You lurking, WSB? Tell us, did she do it?)

- Butterfly Bill

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Miranda Raven -- she who paints with words (when she is not painting or otherwise crafting a gypsy house) uses my computer and email accounts to occassionally share with her Rainbow Family.

Warner

The gypsy house is Miranda’s story... She is the person (if any one) to tell it...

Warner

In article <8c5885de.354420e1.alt.gathering.rainbow@aol.com>, WSB3A...@aol.com (WSB3ATTYCA) writes:

> The gypsy house is Miranda’s story... She is the person (if any one) to tell it...

Well flag her down, Warner, and tell her a lot of us would love to hear all the messy details. Especially how she worked around her handicaps.

Montana Crystal

In a message dated 98-04-28 01:35:33 EDT, you write:

> Well flag her down, Warner, and tell her a lot of us would love to hear all the messy details. Especially how she worked around her handicaps.
> Montana Crystal

Raven Speaketh: Extension cords for lights and power tools dragged through water & mud under truck/ g house. Filth of work clothes worn only one day generated opaque wash water chocalate grey brown black in a glass coffee cup brought to Warner at his computer to share my awe over perverse conditions I was struggling through for four months. Like thank goddess I degreased and painted the entire under carriage first off in December. (My truck frame is periwinkle blue...) Like squeegy, shop vac, tarp driveway but it rained rained rained in california all winter, you know, and the driveway ran like a little muddy creek. And it was cold! The first temporate night I experienced since mid-november was two weeks ago, the night before I took the shebang to register it...(I realize that you of Montana and other climates will scarcely be empathetic of this. But still, because I am in Ca and go to all the trials of being in Ca, I have a weak mortal’s expectations of it being Ca... It has not at all been Ca... It has been some other altered state.... It has been THAT winter...) And I am very slow at everything I do anyway becase I don’t at all know how to do any of this so I have to learn and teach myself as I go. But it’s all very well done in the end, above any codes or standards. Sometimes I’ve put things in and taken them out as many as twelve and eleven times respectively. And I never settle for good enough. The whole deal has to match up to my vision. I’m not talking about perfectionism: I’m talking about Taoist Balance. (I’m a libra, you know.) And this rig is a vision of the platonic ideal of a hippy truck house I’ve had since I’m like 16 in 1966 before I even knew we were gonna get to be hippes! And I’m very slow because of the emphysema and the spine injuries, too. But the latter have been much helped by all the work--in between all the misery and pain in the short range due to this strain or that....Like my low back was “out” for the last four days before the gypsy house was finally placed properly on the truck because I kept wanting to use body English to just tweek its thousand pounds that last 3/4” and 3 and 1/half degrees. But really, some things I’m slow about because some things just require a male’s upper body strength. My son helped me a few weeks back. He actually could lift a corner of the house and shift it on the rails a few inches. All I have to do is just be literally thinking too hard about doing such a thing and my back goes out and I’m dragging my left leg around for four days! As much as I love my gypsy house and my truck, I guess I had to go through this intense, protracted gruelling excercise with the whole thing so that I got to the point where I was actually feeling hatred for the whole business. Like “What the fuck pointless masochistic trip have you put yourself on now?” Consequently, I could look at that and say: “Oh that is only emotion. The same as that the wrong kind of ego and pride about this enterprize are just emotions. This is just the material world being the material world. And this is just what it takes. It takes whatever it takes. Keep on trucking, Driveway Woman.” And I did get dangerously ill in March with bronchitis after a bad cold.

But boy oh boy oh boy oh boy! What a very cool thing it is now to drive around in my truck! Love, Miranda Raven

Hey now, baby cakes all! Have I told you lately how much I love my Rainbow Family of Living Light? Well consider yourselves each and all and every one deeply and eternally loved! Fire, sugar and all! Yum yum; ow ow! Oh well! Just another day in rainbow nirvana! Remember: Rainbow Rocks but it don’t rule! And Rainbow Warriors take no prisoners--not even themselves...as in “get over yourself”...[stop me before I aphorism again..] Gypsy House: Bolted on. Beautiful. Truck (name of QL--Quantum Leap): Registered; Insured. Road: Not Taken (as yet). Plans: To stop making plans. The Impossible: Takes Longer, you can throw your watch away by that.

Correction to spring poem: I meant “double-yew” not “double-ewe.” If you were a double ewe would you be a clone or a siamese lemming? And what do you do if the world hands you lemmings? You make sheep. And what is the new used car lemming law? If it breaks down they have to provide you with a cloner.

Love love love, Miranda, Raven, She Who Paints With Words

Hi Miranda

Hope all is well , happy journey’s.

John

> If you were a double ewe would you be a clone or a siamese lemming? And what do you do if the world hands you lemmings? You make sheep. And what is the new used car lemming law? If it breaks down they have to provide you with a cloner.

If they do, make sure it’s not one of those sheep imports.

- Butterfly Bill

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Well, one of two things:

Roger is White Apache.
or
Someone has been studying Roger’s style and has gotten VERY good at impersonating him. He’s got R’s style down pat. The one liner answers, with no >quotes so we know what he’s talking about. The obnoxious statement followed by the obnoxious question. The misogyny. The sex analogies and barracks language. The Web TV source line. The ironical twists in the names he uses. White Apache, if you really are not Roger Parness but someone else, I’m sitting here ready for you to tell me “gotcha”, and then I’ll give you standing applause. Who knows, maybe there is a master impersonator in this group. Lemme see your Miranda Raven, or your BJ. Hell, why don’t you do me?

Waiting expectantly,

- Butterfly Bill

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In a message dated 98-05-05 21:30:33 EDT, you write:

> Who knows, maybe there is a master impersonator in this group. Lemme see your Miranda Raven, or your BJ. Hell, why don’t you do me.
> Waiting expectantly,
> - Butterfly Bill

BB! Just when I was falling in love with you, skirts and all! I haven’t even bothered reading white apache whosit, as per WSB’s dismaying remarks, nor do I bother any longer with morphun. Life is too too short to bother with sexists or racists; and satire is a lessor art form far too close akin to sarcasm to be resorted to on any regular basis. This latter is especially so because the rigid brains suffering from the mental illnesses of sexism, racism, homophopia, etc, are humorless and so they would never see their portraits in the comedic brush strokes of parody. So, in the end, satire is just another mode of preaching to the choir, and yet mostly devoid of the beauty the greater art forms are capable of, and furthermore by nature satire is confusing. as confusing as my writing may sometimes be, my motivation in writing at all ever is clearness!!!!!! Besides, do you really think an ego such as I would not want MY name on MY writing? Puleeeeze. The wedding is off, BB. And I want my dress back. Miranda, Raven, She Who Is She And That Is All Who She Is. White Apache my lilly white baby cakes.

WSB3A...@aol.com writes:

> So, in the end, satire is just another mode of preaching to the choir, and yet mostly devoid of the beauty the greater art forms are capable of, and furthermore by nature satire is confusing.

It’s justa writing device.....Love,James

Howlin’,growlin’,prowlin’ http://www.cataholic.com/james
all you need is a strong heart and nerves of steel.....

> The wedding is off, BB. And I want my dress back.

Well, it’s probably best that it ended this way, rather than having to go thru a messy divorce after finding out too late. All my divorces happen before we get married - and I’ve been bitching about that, but maybe I should be thanking the Whatever Its Name Is. CaBRON, here’s this person who starts me having a crush on her after writing one of the most gruesomely giggly pieces of satire about the gods dying tonight (theoretically directed directly at me), getting into her February mood on me again. No matter how short life is, I have to deal with those people you listed, whether I like it or not, and satire just happens to be some dynamic armor that I have been able to use. The choir I’m preaching to joins me in song. Sorry, testosterone trip, I have to go hunt dinner, etc., survival mechanisms. Anybody who hangs around me would have to put up with it. And if there truly is an impersonator and he ever does me, I know I’ll be ROTGDFLMMFAO (I’m disappointed he hasn’t). Next thing you know, you would have wanted me to throw out my P.D.Q. Bach albums. And my Mark Twain books. And I would never be able to perform “The Great Farting Contest at Burton-on-Tease” again. And what would happen if you ever found out that I actually LIKE some of the Dead Baby Jokes. So I guess...it was just one of those things, just one of those fabulous things, a trip to the moon, on gossamer wings, just one of those things... Here’s your dress back, I’ve got many more of my own (too many, you want to take some more off my hands?). But I’m still allowed to have a crush on you, ain’t I?

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In a message dated 5/8/98 11:00:50 PM Central Daylight Time, butter...@usa.net writes:

> Well, it’s probably best that it ended this way, rather than having to go thru a messy divorce after finding out too late.

Aahhh. :(

Here, have some milk and cookies and tell me all about it.
I’ll take some of those dresses too.
Hey, and bring your satire albums and books with you. I could use some fresh material.

Empathetically,
Sympathetically,
Kaya

Gosh, BB Cakes. I didn’t mean it. Just May jitters. You know I love you best. And my remarks re the inadvisability of the satirical form wasn’t directed at your literary efforts, which are, I think, better classified as Irony, a higher form by any reckoning. I’ve been known of late, if not as a purveyor of dead baby jokes, none the less to label a few folks as late term abortions gone wrong--notably COPS. I once said to a cop to his face: “Oh I get it...[slow dawning feigned]...yer one of those clothes hangers babies.” I am very very very pissed off at the fascist regime in charge of some of the facets of this pluralistic government. This form of humor is black, very dark humor. I just was in Santa Cruz where my son is once again incarcerated and where I was treated quite badly by police in a separate encounter. Felony coffee drinking. The proprietor of the cafe was paranoidly afraid of my gypsy house!!!!!!!!!!!! Grrrrrrrrrr. Bought coffee. Sat in cab drinking it for fifty minutes. Guy called cops saying I was camping! Cops sobriety tested me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Save me, Bill.......Miranda, Rave

> Gosh, BB Cakes. I didn’t mean it. Just May jitters. You know I love you best.

I’ll take this as an acknowledgement that I can reactivate and continue my crush on you.

> just was in Santa Cruz where my son is once again incarcerated I am VERY sorry to hear that. Was it something petty, or is his ass really grass this time? and where I was treated quite badly by police in a separate encounter. Felony coffee drinking. The proprietor of the cafe was paranoidly afraid of my gypsy house!!!!!!!!!!!! Grrrrrrrrrr. Bought coffee. Sat in cab drinking it for fifty minutes. Guy called cops saying I was camping! Cops sobriety tested me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Save me, Bill.......Miranda, Raven

All I can say is stay out of places like Santa Cruz (or Berkeley or San Francisco or Austin or Boulder or any of those other so-called alternative new age towns), start up Quantum Leap and get her to take your gypsy house to some place that ain’t spoiled yet. That all would never have happened in Lawrence, KS (or Iowa City or Norman, OK or Columbia MO, or even Charlottesville VA.) You’re heir to a long chain of abuses from tushholes that you already know all about, out there on the west coast. There are some beautiful vibes going on in the Nation’s Midsection. There are towns in which you can get odd jobs the first day at the state employment center. There’s no law against camping in Lawrence. I resided on the parking lot of the KU computer center for three years. The cops upon catching you sleeping downtown will politely ask you if you would like a ride to the Sally or the riverbank. Even the east coast is mellower. No, they ain’t all prejudiced rednecks in Dixie, they’re mostly live and let live southerners, who are used to mountain people who are far more far out than any califoney hippie will ever succeed in being (Florida may be an exception). Whatever you do, GET THE F’OUT OF CALIFORNIA!!! It’s a burned out core if its former self. You got your truck, use it. (I hope you’ve learned something about fixing it, without a paid mechanic.) Sign up with both HotMail and USANet, and you can talk to us on the computer at colleges and public libraries on the way. Hey, I don’t see no anchor on your ass, whatcha waiting for?

- Butterfly Bill

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In a message dated 98-05-19 22:30:00 EDT, my sweet babbaloo Butterfly Bill writes:

I wrote
> > Gosh, BB Cakes. I didn’t mean it. Just May jitters. You know I love you best.

Bill writes:
> I’ll take this as an acknowledgement that I can reactivate and continue my crush on you.

I newly write: Make It So! Oh Crush of My Oft Crushed Heart!

I wrote
> > I just was in Santa Cruz where my son is once again incarcerated

Bill writes:
> I am VERY sorry to hear that. Was it something petty, or is his ass really grass this time?

I write: Well...of course it was petty. He ain’t violent, which is jailing’s only purpose, in my shanti sena duct tape book. But also, his fine young ass might be grass indeed as it is perhaps prison fodder this time. (Half gram of meth.) But I have run around the known universe pulling all the aces out of all the sleeves (There was a stack of ‘em since this kid never has asked me for nothin and I play it close to the vest on askin fer favors.) By this mother hour I’m harboring a glimmer of a spark of a tad of a whisper of a whisker of hope that a program will be ordered. “We admitted that our lives were unmanageable and that we looked terrible in orange jump suits...”

Then I wrote:
> > and where I was treated quite badly by police in a separate encounter.

[snip]

Then Bill wrote:
> All I can say is stay out of places like Santa Cruz (or Berkeley or San Francisco or Austin or Boulder or any of those other so-called alternative new age towns), start up Quantum Leap

[Big Snip]

> Whatever you do, GET THE F’OUT OF CALIFORNIA!!! It’s a burned out core if its former self. You got your truck, use it. (I hope you’ve learned something about fixing it, without a paid mechanic.) Sign up with both HotMail and USANet, and you can talk to us on the computer at colleges and public libraries on the way.

And I now write: Butterfly Bill, you have what Walt Whitman would call “fatherstuff”. Testosterone to go! GET UP GET OUT! Yeeha!!!!!!!!!!

Then Bill wrote:
> Hey, I don’t see no anchor on your ass, whatcha waiting for?

To which I say: I told you no peeking at the tattoos until after the ceremonies! Ya going to the national? If I can get some Oxygen I am. We can consumate our crush there. You bring the dresses. I’ll bring the anchors and chains.

Facts bein though that I am much mother stuff. And I keep investing everything in this kid. I love him. But I’m heading out sometime soon....Love, Rainbows. I got a crush on all you hippy chillun. Miranda, Raven

> By this mother hour I’m harboring a glimmer of a spark of a tad of a whisper of a whisker of hope that a program will be ordered. “We admitted that our lives were unmanageable and that we looked terrible in orange jump suits...

Yeah, I’ll have to concede that this looks like an anchor.

> Facts bein though that I am much mother stuff. And I keep investing everything in this kid. I love him.

Mother stuff you indeed are, but I just have to run this by you again (I’ve sure you’ve seen this before)

“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life longing for itself. They come thru you, but they do not come from you. They are their own life.”

and

“it takes a whole village to raise a child” [maybe including the jingleslam]

Please don’t go dragging two people down. I want to keep reading you. At least get to AZ. Pretty please?

- Butterfly Bill

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Butterfly Bill wrote:

> “it takes a whole village to raise a child” [maybe including the jingleslam]
> Please don’t go dragging two people down. I want to keep reading you. At least get to AZ. Pretty please?

I, Miranda, Raven say: Duct tape em fer violence. This kid ain’t violent; I don’t need no son-in-jail-rape named Bubba...I ever mention my son Moses is sort of a GOOD looking Paul Newman-type? And I ain’t goin down no where.

However, I do entirely heed your warning and words of advice.
My ace-less sleeves need re charging.
Az looks pretty good...
I do love and need my family!

This is the wall for Moses. After court tomorrow, I’m giving myself a get out of jail free card. I’ll put this incredible letter this guy wrote the judge in a separate post if I can make it fly. Thankyou, Brother BB. You are the kind! Miranda, Raven

Not to bore most of you with the micro focus on my business here, I thought some of you would find this charming and/or poignant and/or informative so I’m forwarding it. I’d hate to know the judge who could resist it. Love and Light, Miranda, Raven.

Dear Judge Atack;

I am writing to you on behalf of Moses .... ......... whose case you have before you in your court today.

I am Patrick Kelly, of the San Jose and Capitola Kelly family--we are an old entrepreneurial and political family in this area.

I have known Moses since 1985 when he was nine, and he and his mother, Miranda Joan Howe moved nextdoor to my childhood home where my parents yet lived on Fifth Street in San Jose. (This is a fine old residential neighborhood known as Japantown, as you may well know.) Miranda still lives in this house, maintaining a home where Moses might have gone at anytime he has chosen to over these years when I understand he has run up a petty record in Santa Cruz.

[cut]

When my father, Jack Kelly, the well-known businessman and political leader died in 1987, then-mayor, Tom McEnery, who has been my friend since childhood, came to his funeral at St Josephs and then to the wake at the Fifth Street house. Moses, who, with his family, also attended these events, and Mayor McEnery were conversing alone for over thirty minutes on the front lawn, limousine standing by, in the midst of that reception. The mayor, of course on a tight schedule, had been about to leave, when Moses’ very, very bright remarks about the Kennedy political machine caught his attention. This is quite stonishing out of an eleven year old, don’t you think, to discuss the politics of 1960 twenty-seven years later with a mayor of a major US city? It is this innate ability and the undoubted parental care and cultivation that makes me and his mother so sad when we see the wrong-headed path Moses has chosen.

But I believe that Moses can be turned around. I believe he can live up to his potential. He is worthy of any help he can be given. I have until recent times been active in the social work and charities of City Teams Ministries and the Office of Social Ministries at St Joseph Catholic Cathedral, as well as having participated in national politics and government processes (notably working for Robert Kennedy in the Hoffa hearings) and in the refurbishing executive matters at St Joseph and at various social and business matters at Notre Dame prep here in San Jose. I’ve seen a lot of good done and seen a lot of people change with the proper help. I feel Moses has not gotten the proper male guidance nor the proper help socially since choosing this wrong path. Regardless of his mother’s complete devotion, she has not had these other sorts of support in helping Moses.

This young man should not be in prison. He needs a good, solid drug program and a job.

As I say, he is worth every effort to rehabilitate himself. Though stretched to my limits with family and other social obligations at this time, I will do what I can. I have always given Moses and his mother my counsel and moral support.

Patrick Kelly

Miranda!

Letters to the judge MAKE A WORLD OF DIFFERENCE!

If there is no hope for defendent and everyone writes horrible letters and reports about all the pain he caused, then the judge will throw the book at him.

But other experiences, similar to yours, with a young brother of a friend and some others helped the judge see the defendent in a benign light. You are on the right track.

I thought I would give you some reassurance. Moses sounds like a bright boy, can I send him my handbook or something?

Peace and love,
Sandi

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
“We’re afraid of intimacy, of wildness, of love; afraid of the very things we desire, because if we acknowledged them we would have to acknowledge the possibility of losing them. If we fail in this century, it won’t be because of arrogance, it’ll be because of fear.”
- Terry Tempest Williams

“Pray for the univeral human goodness in our hearts, minds, and spirits to overcome this death-worshipping paradigm through our individual example and actions and the power of non-violent persuasion to convert and embrace the many, few, and diverse along our paths.”
- Sandi Brockway

“Man, that ‘fickle, erratic, dangerous creature’ whose ‘restless mind would try all paths, all horrors, all betrayals... believe all things and believe nothing... kill for shadowy ideas more ferociously than other creatures kill for food, then, in a generation or less, forget what bloody dream had so obsessed him.”
- Loren Eiseley, MAN: THE LETHAL FACTOR

Macrocosm USA, a nonprofit clearinghouse for progressives
Box 185 -*- Cambria, CA 93428 -*- (805) 927-2515
http://www.macronet.org * broc...@macronet.org

San Jose, Ca.! Peaceful streets! Frontyard tipi (per block ratio) as affordable housing for women & children! Sunshine & laughter! Pax!

In a message dated 5/21/98 4:30:38 AM Central Daylight Time, WSB3A...@aol.com writes:

> You bring the dresses. I’ll bring the anchors and chains.
> Facts bein though that I am much mother stuff. And I keep investing everything in this kid. I love him. But I’m heading out sometime soon....
> Love, Rainbows. I got a crush on all you hippy chillun. Miranda, Raven

lol

Just wanted you to know I love ya Miranda
And blessings on the consumation.

Kaya

Thank you, Butterfly Billy! Me & my friend don’t believe a word we say to each othere & ourselves, anymore! “California is a bust! A wasteland of its former self!” We just figured it might be somethin’ in the coffee! If we ever hook up, again, & can survive anothere 3000 miles+ in a packed Geo, we’d rather be in Wendover, Nevada! (40 acres for $10,000...what a bargain!) ...........California! “What a dump (Joan Rivers)!”

calfornia is the garden of eden
it’s a paradise to live in or see
but believe it or not
you won’t find it so hot if you ain’t got
the dough rey me

you better go back to
beautiful texas oklahoma
georgia [a state I can’t recall] tennessee

--arlo’s daddy, woody guthrie

When I worked at a homeless shelter in Santa Cruz, I used to teach the men this song. Miranda, Raven

He sits there in court like a young thin Elvis. His whole body is a large snarl. Even the mex gangsters have the “sense” to bow and scrape before senior grande judge his honor. But my boy? Nay, not he. Not my Moses of the wretched orange jumpsuit. He is kicked back nearly horrizontal and rocking on the hard springs of a prisoner gallery chair. His arms are crossed upon his thrust out chest. His face is as dark in intent as a Masai Warrior’s in fact and in intent. At first I am surprized at his demeanor. But by the end of things, I am as proud of him as I have ever been. He is my darling young one. He is my blue eyed son. He is a rainbow warrior who wears black leather. He is defiant and bad to the bone even and especially as he is encaptured by the enemy.

I had never been to criminal court before. This is the fucking gates of hell. I heard twenty sentences, only two of which involved violence. Aside from the violence which I will comment on no doubt else where except to say that jails should ONLY exist for matters of violence...all the jail and prison terms were enough to ruin relationships, marriages, jobs, schoolings--and of course were just plain absurd.

Moses didn’t get a jail or prison term. Moses’ mother’s magic worked. Moses has a drug program instead. The public defender told me that when the judge woke up last friday morning, he fully intended to give Moses four years four months in state prison with no parole. But because of the faxed letters Warner and I each sent, and the one my own ADD Dr sent, the judge overroad the DA and the probation department and gave Moses this program. I had three angry DAs up in my face--literally--whisper screaming at me that Moses better....blah blah blah. I laughed at each in turn. What RIGHT has any of these people to behave in any of these ways? They have the power, but not the right. It is a good news//bad news deal. Moses will never stand for the program the judge is set to order on June 10. It is one of those intense confrontational deals where they bury a spoon in the back yard and tell you that is you; that you are dead. Where they malign your family and friends. It is more hard core oriented to crack the carapace of a forty-five year old A camper. So I have until June ten to do magic no. two. The public defender told me not to bother, that the judge was dead set on Sunflower house. Oh well...

Love and Light, Miranda, Raven She Who Knows No Young Handsome Rainbow Brother Named Eric from Santa Cruz since Her Brother of that Name Killed Himself in 1983; And She Who Isn’t Using Her Own Get-Out-Of-Co-Dependant-Jail- Free-Card Till I Have This Kid’s Stuff In Shape --(Really Butterfly Bill, What if I hadn’t gone in there for this young man? Four-and-four no parole for half gram of meth? There is a war going on. Warner goes to the regional. I go to court...)

I was so happy for you and your son and then sad when I came to the second part.

My prayers aaare with you both.

Blessings,
Kaya

> (Really Butterfly Bill, What if I hadn’t gone in there for this young man?)

You have my express permission to rub it in with a whole bottle of ben gay. I’ll still be jumping up and down in front of the computer.

I have to regret I share your doubts about whether the program will work. It ain’t like when you’ve wrecked the car, and your wife visits you at the jingleslam with the kid in tow, and you’ve felt like shit for two days - and you finally decide to try AA. It sounds like he hasn’t yet gotten so down that the only way is out. What can I do but pray?

- Butterfly Bill

Get free e-mail and a permanent address at http://www.netaddress.com/?N=1

Miranda, Raven I love you and wish I could hug you both right now. The only thing I can offer is that I have you both in my prayers and heart. I won’t ever forget the feeling inside of seeing your own child shackled and led away. Wishing the best for you and your son at this time. How long will that program last.....sunflower house?

There’s a war going on all right and he’s blessed to have you pulling for him. Now if the rest of amerika would wake up to this farce they call a drug war:(

much love
dragonfly

to email me drop the “O” from my name and fill in the blanks
with the words below:
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dragnfly one net

In a message dated 98-05-27 16:29:55 EDT, Kaya wrote:

> I was so happy for you and your son and then sad when I came to the second part.
> My prayers aaare with you both.

Thank you, Kaya. But don’t be sad. Moses has to take responsibility. I’ve never been to criminal court before but he has! He knew about all this long ago--I mean all the foolish, useless, punitive ways of the courts. It is up to him to take care of himself and create his own path outside of the reactive cops-and-robbers braindead public highway they got going down at every courthouse. If he is truly a warrior as badass as he’d like to believe he is, he can withstand the comedy of an extreme drug program and not be moved an iota from his beliefs. If I can’t pull off miracle II and get him a more reasonable program, then Moses still has what we all have first last and always--FREE WILL. And, as I told him when I saw him at the jail Saturday, I understand that no matter what he’s got to do what ever he’s got to do and that it is not about me. And this is a guy who has had plenty of options, including opportunities to have legal meth amphetamine prescriptions per his ADD (attention deficit disorder). On the other hand, he has never ever come whining to me about any of his troubles nor asked me for anything in over four years. I do what I do for him unconditionally out of Love. Not pity or sadness. I have empathy and compassion, not pity or sympathy. There is a sick part of me that would breathe for him and make all his decisions etc etc. But I work with that and endeavor to heal that codependancy. It is sadness shame and guilt that allow this enslavement, this dominance of the cops and courts and puritanical fear-based laws. If I give reign to codependance, then I am a part of that cops-and-robbers symbiosis. Again with the Dylan: “Everyone knows you got to be honest to live outside the law.” “Creative” is a substitute for “honest”. Love and light, Miranda, Raven

The dream is over! (What can I say?)...I was the Walrus! But, now, I’m John. Yoko & John. And that’s reality. (I ain’t laughing one bit!)

In a message dated 98-05-27 20:05:10 EDT, butterfly bill writes:

> > (Really Butterfly Bill, What if I hadn’t gone in there for this young man?)
> You have my express permission to rub it in with a whole bottle of ben gay. I’ll still be jumping up and down in front of the computer.
> I have to regret I share your doubts about whether the program will work. It ain’t like when you’ve wrecked the car, and your wife visits you at the jingleslam with the kid in tow, and you’ve felt like shit for two days - and you finally decide to try AA. It sounds like he hasn’t yet gotten so down that the only way is out. What can I do but pray?

I, Miranda, Raven say: I swear I was not rubbing it in. I was pointing it out. I would hope to be without vindictiveness. I merely think there are differences between caring and doing things for another person that tax one’s own life and being a codependant. A thin and shifting line...but a demarcation. Also, I want you to know that you are quite right. I am actually doing things for my my beloved son that he ought to be doing for himself in other ways. The problem is that the cops/judiciary/prisons are way over the top in all of this. Furthermore--and bear in mind I’m not given to conspiracy theories and haven’t a persecution complex--Moses is especially targetted by the police. Did I ever mention what he spent four months in jail for just recently? Mail tampering. He had an auto trader give away news paper that he tok from a box under the mail boxes at his girl friend’s apartment lobby...

But also, Bill, I’ve been thinking a lot about your words through all of this and factoring them in. I fully appreciate what you have warned me of. Truly I am fatigued.

Truly I have come very very very close myself to getting busted only because I am in Moses’ vortex and not at the center of my own movie. I ain’t rubbin nothin in....you’ll know when you been rubbed by me, bro....Lovin you! Guess which Raven...

In a message dated 98-05-27 20:05:10 EDT, you write:

> It ain’t like when you’ve wrecked the car, and your wife visits you at the jingleslam with the kid in tow, and you’ve felt like shit for two days - and you finally decide to try AA. It sounds like he hasn’t yet gotten so down that the only way is out. What can I do but pray?

I forgot to address this: I do not in any way think a program will hurt Moses. I believe deeply in the healing powers of 12 steps. Everyone can use the twelve steps. But the program the judge is set on is just too severe. By the sentencing hearing on June 10, I hope to have a better program in line for Moses. Furthermore, Moses’ drug, meth is the most advisable for the severe ADHD he suffers from anyway. That is very tricky... In the program the judge wants presently, there is no medication allowed. Moses can handle a program...in this ill advised one, there are horrid things like sitting with hands folded for eight hours straight in silence...The program sucks, is for inveterate coke, heroin, alcohol and does not treat what Moses suffers from most which is severe ADHD--which, by the way, is what most tweekers are medicating. And that is why I have bothered writing this particular post....because there’s so much meth all over right now. It is for medicinal reasons in the main, I think. --Miranda, Raven

Hi, this is Flower Child, now known as FlowerChild on Dejanews account. It’s my first post here, so let me know.

I think Attention Deficit disorders are the response of especially sensitive young life to the madness we call present civilization. And the answer is sharp corrective actions with that civilization, not medicating that young life. All positive, for instance: Assuring young life can have little houses (ones which do not cost half a life to pay for, like present housing) and real community around those little houses; the end of all the military “missions;” and getting into a balance with Mother Earth in terms of our resource and energy use. Flower Child

P.S. How am I doing?

-----== Posted via Deja News, The Leader in Internet Discussion ==-----
http://www.dejanews.com/ Now offering spam-free web-based newsreading

Well...Here I am again. Deep, deep trouble is my medium. I just faxed a letter to the judge and sent copies to the DA and Public Defender. Tomorrow is my son’s sentencing. As you’ll remember (from previous episodes of “as the raven plummets”) I got the judge to give my son Moses a drug rehab program instead of prison. But the bad news was that the program is far too rigid for the kid, being a system aimed at hardcore A campers in their forties. Well in a confusing reversal, the DA told me to find another program, that Moses would never make it through Sunflower; that Moses needs medication for his severe ADHD as well, which that program doesn’t permit. And the Public Defender told me to forget it; that the judge’s mind was made up. What I wrote in my just- faxed letter was, for one thing, the verbatim, role-reversing quotations from these two court officers. The other thing I wrote of is the impossibility of Moses getting through this program, along with suggestions for other, more appropriate situations for him. So everyone’s going to hate me in court tomorrow, judge (because I’m onto his superficial gesture which is a formula for disaster), the PD for her lackadaisicalness and uncaring posturings, and the DA because she has defied the judge in an expartate manner, acting lovingly and consciensciously on Moses behalf though my son is supposedly the enemy of the people. And oh yeah: Moses is angry with me because he has copped the position that I have made life tougher for him because when he fails at Sunflower, he’ll get even more prison time. But like I told the judge: “We owe ourselves and Moses a clear unified position despite the discrepancies heretofore unthinkingly pronounced and bandied about, even if I am the one who needs to create a cogent picture of realistic and beneficial potential futures for Moses. I cannot be concerned with the politics or personality conflicts or what-have-you quirks amongst the actors in the court: My concern is with my son and society; and with how society and that young man might more happily and productively get on with life.” So I’m batting a thousand! Everyone hates me. Oh well! I’m happy and at peace with me. The truth, truly, does set one free! And I’d been terribly torn up about all this until I awoke this A.M. and suddenly saw I had all the ingredience in my hands for a successful letter to the judge. That I had all the strings for playing these parties off against each other so that in the end (I pray) they are reduced to doing what is well for Moses...who truly does need a good stiff dose of the 12 steps... This all fits my formula from back at the beginning of May from a post I wrote y’all about winning my disability by playing government levels and agencies off against each other. The judge will do what he wants. But I covered many areas that will potentiallly be mistrial bases. And, basically, the point is that everyone knows they are being observed because someone is paying attention. Someone cares. Someone is brave. Today looks like a good day to die! Love and Light, Miranda, Raven

> And, basically, the point is that everyone knows they are being observed because someone is paying attention. Someone cares. Someone is brave. Today looks like a good day to die! Love and Light, Miranda, Raven

Hi Raven....

I’ve just recently got back on line and didn’t know you were going through something like this. Actually the reason I got back online was to get help with a milder version of of court / son trip. My heart goes out to you as do my prayers.

Hope to see you at Home!

peace and love + irb +

Yes to day is a good day to die and so is every other day.

I do understand that as well. there does come a time when it is mush better for us to go to the great council and leave this world and i’s pain and suffering behind.

and when I am gone do not morn for me ,shed the tears for your selves but not for me.

for I am free,free as the butter flies in the sky,my spirit roams the universe.
for I am free,do not mourn for me,for I am free.

Take care family,

with love and peace,I wish you all well
J.M.

Blessed Be
Good by

In a message dated 98-06-10 02:43:48 EDT, you write:

> I’ve just recently got back on line and didn’t know you were going through something like this. Actually the reason I got back online was to get help with a milder version of of court / son trip. My heart goes out to you as do my prayers.
> Hope to see you at Home!

Many thanks and your prayers are adjoined by mine--for all of us and all our sons and all our daughters--and I’m feelin real homeward bound goes a rainbow warrior at this precious hour--peace and love backatcha, bro. Miranda, Raven

In article <3.0.32.19980610044645.008ab4a0.alt.gathering.rainbow@mail.patriot.net>, je...@patriot.net (Jesse Moontree) writes:

> for I am free,free as the butter flies in the sky,my spirit roams the universe.
> for I am free,do not mourn for me,for I am free.

Jesse, you do mean free to go to the Gathering, right? Crossing the veil aint nearly as simple as people like to think.

Montana Crystal

Butterfly Bill Wrote:

> A rousing war whoop all the way from Kansas in conjubilation on behalf of all the testosterone in the Rainbow Family. Go get ‘em, MAMA!!!!

Miranda, Raven responds: MMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm!!!!!!! Rainbow flavered testosterone! My favorite!

BB:
> So give us the [snip] specs to repeat this experiment and verify. DETAILS.

M,R: I pitted the DA against the Public Defender and both against the judge. Which is to say, I only repeated in a letter to the judge what those entities had said to me. The bluff was/is this knee jerk balder dash about punishment being automatic and severe for them’s that is caught with drugs--sic: that drugs are in and of themselves evil and that those that use them are bad and do bad. (letter posted anon).

BB:
> Has he shown any ideas of what program he wants? [snip] repentance?

M,R: Moses wants this Salvation Army program--because that is where his long- time drug guru is also ensconced....So the answer about repentance is--wonderfuly enough--yes! But on a family/tribal order; not on a tower of babble level...I do not think he’ll fail.

BB:
> Most importantly, are you finally gonna go somewhere [snip]

M,R: a) I’m leaving from Santa Cruz on the first after Moses’s sentencing hearing; I’ll be at the family reunion by noon the second, and I’ll be the last one to leave. (Yes I’ll turn off the lights.) If all goes well, I thought I’d go see Kansas and Missouri Family then. b) I’m working on bringing oxygen so maybe I’ll get around. I have my mountain bike with awesome gears. Also those nose strips have amazing results. Who knows...c) I could be plied into rememberances of things past with the proper medicines...Mostly though, I like being here now...I’m much happier and together and stronger now than when young...So is the Family The gate as it is “typically” will know my whereabouts and will tell old family.

Love and Light, Miranda, Raven, She Who Goes Home

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