Writing Thoughts by Dead Writers, John Lennon, #1

The song Isolation, music, lyrics, and minimal conceptual semantically inspired D.N.A analysis.

Lyrics (poetics)

People say we got it made
Don’t they know we’re so afraid?
We’re afraid to be alone
Everybody got to have a home

Just a boy and a little girl
Trying to change the whole wide world
The world is just a little town
Everybody trying to put us down

I don’t expect you to understand
After you’ve caused so much pain
But then again, you’re not to blame
You’re just a human, a victim of the insane 

We’re afraid of everyone
Afraid of the sun
The sun will never disappear
But the world may not have many years

Brief  Awareness

(HUMAN(hu·man/ˈ(h)yo͞omən/Adjective:Of, relating to, or characteristic of people or human beings.Noun:A human being, esp. a person as distinguished from an animal or (in science fiction) an alien.Synonyms:adjective. humanenoun. man – person – human being – individual – soul – mortali·so·la·tion/} ISOLATIONˌīsəˈlāSHən/Noun:The process or fact of isolating or being isolated.An instance of isolating something, esp. a compound or microorganism.}VICTIMvic·tim/ˈviktəm/Noun: A person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action.A person who is tricked or duped: “the victim of a hoax”.} INSANEin·sane/inˈsān/Adjective: In a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction; seriously mentally ill.(of an action or quality) Characterized or caused by madness.} SUN /sən/Noun:The star around which the earth orbits. The sun is the central body of the solar system. It provides the light and energy that sustains…Verb:Sit or lie in the sun.Synonyms:
noun. sol – sunshine – sunlight verb. bask)


Writings from Dead Writers, Andrew J. Blackbird, #1

from Andrew J. Blackbird/ Chief Mack-a-de-pe-nessey’s Complete Both Early and Late History of the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of Michigan, a Grammar of Their Language, Personal and Family History of Author, 1887:

tin within tin
opened to expose
a moldy rag

maybe eyes widen
with curiosity     thinking
what strange humor

maybe heads shake
in awareness     recognizing

maybe hands bury
the metal miniature coffins
where no child plays

this is how
strategists reap death

intent on annihilation
to spare combat and
diplomatic negotiations

procuring death
with trade
in flattened musket balls

this is how
the white man strikes
suckling mouths and old tongues

II. Postscripts

unnamed English
traded the tin box
but titled tails do arise

and death follows each namesake
across the continent
of tribes

summer of 1763
the Ottawa chief Obwandiyag
anglicized Pontiac

Lord Jeffrey Amherst
writes letters to military inferiors
in significant postscripts

conveying genocidal intent
venom reserved for
Savage Indian Nations

     most Effectual Stop
to their very Being

through gifts of infected blankets

     Total Extirpation

an accomplishment expressed by
Commander William Trent
from Fort Pittsburgh

     the desired effect

as Obwandiyag
holds him under siege

Bullets (and then, bed…)

  • Always start a new part of your life with an old song that just darts through your head for no reason at all, and in that, you’ll make a new reason. Uh?
  • Turning a novel into a novella is as difficult as it is explaining what the difference between the two are, and both are fucking ridiculous social divisions that make me want to just walk away from the conversation
  • I always remember every person I’ve ever met at their finest moments that only exist within my mind. In that, I’ve loved and suffered. In that, you’ll shrug your shoulders, saying what a weird thing to say. In that, even those dead, well you’ll always be remembered for what you are not, but could, always be.
  • there is a bat flying on the porch, garden cat is back, he’s all grown up now, and I used to be scared of bats like a mother fucker. But for some reason I’m like whatever bat, we can both live here. I don’t think the animal will bite me, and if it does, well I probably have earned it.cheers. (I take a shot, you take a shot in your dream land)
  • What’s the 5th dimension, and um, can you write from it?
  • Back to the books I’ve fallen hard
  • Note to self, an idea for a collection is that after visions is done compile your summer writing journal and poetry and cut scenes, best of from blog and make it into a collection
  • The animals come out at night. I write at night. What don’t you get?
  • oh by the way, I’m just sitting here outside and a cat just walked passed me and went into the porch. I said, cat, what ya doing, you don’t live here. Then I said whatever, because I don’t really care what that cat is doing.
  • Below is only for the brave, the bored, for me, the doctor writer with his recorder, for those with a written open mind; it’s my own 30 minute radio/ writing workshop, and it’s all about Reading from my book, editing ideas, talking about plot , talking about what novella/novel literary device, bats and animals and mice, the beats, spontaneous prose, breakups and life. I had to whisper because of society. Just thoughts and being a rambling man.  Designed to be used with stereo headphones.