CONFESSION ZERO

The wind, the wind, the wind; a bugle for the hours of our darkness puffing the moon to radiant madness like bloodshed leaking upon the soil. We detect the method in our folly, but douse truth like a candle flame. We rigidly seek out bereavement to the tempest’s howling shame. The wind, the wind, the wind weeping a blanket for such coldness, a mantle for our threadbare shoulders, its agony holding in our disgrace. Costumes litter our doorways year round; masks of suffering to cover the mourning in our eyes, as phantoms to fold over our speech. The wind, the wind, the wind; the sign language of exactness blowing from hand to fist, from our breath to bereavement. © 2010 by mark prime Center for Nonviolent Solutions

(Less is more) Blistered in the sand, the metal escapes within her face! Taken from the ground, lifted without consent! Has she misplaced her grin, her joyfulness released by hell’s hounds tilting down? Can we together lift her head high enough to glimpse the tree line, that frame of nature standing tall around her fallen and faceless people? Might we cut them down to erect more things; blade and teeth, gun and grenade and bombs, plunged from our backpacks of vigorous anger? She wants to know why metal tastes bitter... like love breaking inside of revulsion. She wants to know who she is, now that we've found her wanting, found her probing our reasons. We don’t have the answers she seeks, we never had them, they've been bleeding out, a flood of questions, tiny tempests whirling beneath our feet and above our heads. We forget suffering out of our seeking joy like a lost child found unsafe inside of us, she seeks a reason to smile and walk lightly around the original gr...

Mother Kills Baby for Interrupting Farmville Oh! Let me take your arms and bring you away from this; your virulent rage. Arkansas School Official Resigns Over "Gays Should Commit Suicide" Comments Unfasten yourself from it and walk your goodness into the light. Relatives Say Man Who Threatened Dem Senator Under Glenn Beck's Spell Call it magic now, your vow with death. Name it after your first stillborn. Peter King Claims American Muslims do not Cooperate to Combat Terrorism Allow breath to enter the wailing chamber like a hungry jackal's scourge. Steve King: Children Will be Raised in Warehouses if Conservatives Don't Defend Marriage Let’s not write man off just yet, instead permit forgiveness to sway his union 111 Republican Incumbents and Candidates Want to Eliminate The Dept. of Education Too late to think or learn. Give me your arms. © 2010 by mark prime

Let go of your book before your veins dry up like the brittle limbs of ancient man. Prayers for your escape will be returned without breath, they will not persuade truth to shroud you from it. The love and goodness swim beneath the sagging skin around our eyes. Pray that truth survives. © 2010 by mark prime Courage Campaign - Take Action (Major Love)

This needs to be said, not withheld. Humankind cannot avoid truth staring in his face like winter’s bitter wind. If he touches upon coldness, the torturous frost, he’ll know he’s gone too far in the labyrinth without end, without exit or love. As the winter bares man’s likeness, his eyes begin to soften in the light; the scent, the taste, the touch, sound and flesh; rocket ships navigating truth like vultures circling providence. Heed this; steadily we’ll end our vow to one another, we’ll end our love like winter’s almanac crashing through the ground, overlooking that we’ve been here before. When found to be tall and foolish, our collusion carries the truth beneath its scrape and carts away our affection like garbage bins tipped in the wind, waste spills forth, shame steals our eyes and makes us long for tomorrow. Oh! We must moisten our lips and speak of a certainty hidden away, that which can never be extinguished, for goodness ingests our bile as our kinship sings b...

(Children on Peace) We may have written this; our end with a bitter lament and cry, we may have lost our way back and might, like water, dive. Have we not found our way? When will our prayers fly away and bridge doubt with reflection glancing off love’s red casement? Like our love is seizing goodness and certainty fluttering gladness as if humanity were reaching out, we’ll breathe. They may bomb us with contempt and trip us with hateful limbs and turn our eyes in their deceit, we’ll breathe. Our haste might madden men with little time for truth; men of convictions set like metronomes marking off days like doom. Donning peace like housecoats we’ll breathe. Wearing hope like gas masks we’ll breathe. Wielding love like field guns we’ll breathe. We are the rainforest, the rising skies, stunning creatures with varied throats. We are the seeds of one tree, the heart...

Violence is a tool of the ignorant. Flames touched down. Knowledge awoke rather late, yet its nemesis of doubt, ignorance, burning and derelict, arrived with the dawn and loitered next to our clacking teeth, quaking hands, spines bereft of certainty, yellowed from self-abuse, housed in shells of coldness. Upon the last inhalations of clean air in a pale sunrise a dove cooed above the storm like a siren over the noise and smog, beyond the squalor, from street to broken street of the fire-walled capitals, a shrieking inferno of stanch boundaries, dreadfully difficult to imagine as backdrop for our blissful howl that trembles by the fire. © 2010 by mark prime Ignorance Kills via Sakinao 8 Ignorance According to Thomas H. Huxley

I followed you. Your footprints led me here, maps that moved ahead of the bullet, before the blade, the knuckle and the belt. You are fading. I followed you in the fog of affection, my tears washing away the blood printed by your feet. Your heart thumped a prayer, a plea for now , for immediacy. You clasped your nameless hands and called for an end to the ache, an end to the widening bruise that stands inside you, boots of steel, fists of rage and your skin scraped away. At your grave I’ll lay a wreath of flowers made from my own flesh and vow to you, no more. An end to angers teeth upon your love, I pledge. © 2010 by mark prime Healing Abuse Working for Change | Springtide Resources | Connections for Abused Women and their Children Abused Women.org Center for Domestic Peace Abused Women - Aid in Crisis Legal Advocates for Abused Women

(Non-Violence International - An Introduction) You shoot me first. Then, I shoot you, and we fold into the sun. Before we part, end our vow, pledge to love me evermore and now. Shooting stars, gatekeepers, wink affection over our shroud. Promise us. A steady aim, flames reach down with your blazing limbs; harmony. Raise our song. Boost goodness to its original tallness; laughter’s soaring gaze. You shoot me first. Then I shoot you, and we fold into the sun. Ready, aim, then fire. See you on the other side of love. Take aim, pull your trigger like a rabid dog in a fetid cage- boom boom. © 2010 by mark prime Nonviolence and Human Unity

Veronica, our fruitless misery is disintegrating, it is ready to be woven into your goodness. Perched alongside our grief, your happiness, fluttering wings of heaven and ballet in the air, moves across our cruelty with a shrieking love. Lurking near the exit with your carry-on baggage, photos dangling, offspring in tow, crooning of now, of immediate love, of kinship, your violet-blue flowers beckoning. O! Veronica, your mutiny is swift! Your tears at our death, man’s tattooed demise, absorb through our skin like a virus until they carry away our potent rage. Come Love, let us bow at her feet, make an art of her devotion and joy so we might remember she weeps. © 2010 by mark prime

In the beginning was great silence. And the silence was with all. And the silence was love. And the silence was vast. And the silence was gentle. And the silence was good. And the silence draped all things. Life emerged from the great silence and love coated eternity, affection exhaled its residue, the sound was noiseless, silence was worship. And of the goodness, we waged battles in Eden and noise was king. A chasm filled with longing rose up to our cries of “why”. Man sought his demise in the darkness and filled his mind with noise. Why did we leave ourselves quivering while the eagle lifted its cry and our child was born? Man unwrapped his jaws, shattering stillness with ownership. Prophets of doom float near. Harbingers of the dark call our name. Where is love? Where is our affection, our hands of charity? In the buildings of our worship, under our idle feet, beneath our contempt, poking out its head like a newborn child searching for happiness, ai...

I am walking the labyrinth. My destination, I know not. My journey moves me forward. I will not, shall not slide back. Behind me are my little deaths, shards of me, glimpses of self, hidden in the matrix, lattice of my existence. Behind me, years of suffering, not all mine, but of me. Ahead, i.e.d.’s I’ve buried deep, that I might remember. Turning back now would let slip a hypocrite and liar. I will march on, searching for truth, walking ever so lightly. Words mean nothing, said the poet. Tongue’s too small, the battle’s coming, red and furious... I steady my legs. © 2010 by mark prime

The shadows of our lives run through the seed, inside each of us, like blood, not separate, but whole. Man's fists are but his sadness regretting its own ruination. Mankind's mouths are famished, seem powerless to feed. So be it… © 2010 by mark prime

US Navy HM Edwin Gonzalez , 22, North Miami Beach, FL US Marines LCpl John T Sparks , 23, Chicago, IL US Marines Sgt Frank R Zaehringer III , 23, Reno, NV US Army SSG Dave J Weigle , 29, Philadelphia, PA US Army SPC David A Hess , 25, Ruskin, FL US Army SPC Matthew C Powell , 20, Slidell, LA US Marines LCpl Raymon LA Johnson , 22, Midland, GA US Marines Cpl Justin J Cain , 22, Manitowoc, WI US Marines LCpl Phillip D Vinnedge , 19, Saint Charles, MO US Marines LCpl Joseph E Rodewald , 21, Albany, OR US Marines PFC Victor A Dew , 20, Granite Bay, CA US Army PFC Jordan M Byrd , 19, Grantsville, UT US Marines LCpl Irvin M Ceniceros , 21, Clarksville, AR US Marines LCpl Alec E Catherwood , 19, Byron, IL US Army SGT Eric C Newman , 30, Waynesboro, MS US Army SGT Carlos A Benitez , 24, Carrollton, TX US Army SPC Rafael Martinez Jr , 36, Spring Valley, CA US Army PFC Tramaine J Billingsley , 20, Portsmouth, VA US Marines LCpl Joseph C Lopez , 26, Ros...

( Drawing(s) on Violence ) The folly locked hands with me, its chaos climbed up my back. The madness marched upon my heart, crushed it flat! ... Pushed out affection like a landlord. Folly holds the chaos in me. I’m a pale leaf falling in the autumn air, a child weeping, searching, calling for harmony... Love and Peace. © 2010 by mark prime WHO Domestic Violence.org The Hotline The Duluth Model (pdf)

Right-wing extremism is gaining new momentum, according to a Southern Poverty Law Center report released today on the Sovereign Citizens movement. The report, entitled "Sovereign Citizen Kane," claims the group - an offshoot of the Patriots movement - may have as many as 300,000 members. ~ I gulped down time with profound hunger. An urge for timelessness, no more clocks or tick tock, no more hours of dread and finality shining through the window like shadows recollecting the death in me; the mauling, the pale embrace, the faint breath, the last act of magic, blazing like a shooting star, rocketing across the firmament, entangled like a drunken lover. O my love, miserable majesty, focusing upon deceit inside the bronze idols that stand ready to fold into the sun’s care; a bendable sorrow and revered truth, worshiping the earth’s breathing on the harsh roadway lined with snares that hide the potholes like an I.E.D. buried under my sovereign face. O love! Timeless gar...

A reality: The human race is from the same seed. A question: What has happened to goodness in people? A plea: We should treat everyone with kindness, it should not matter, the color of their skin. A declaration: That is truth, nothing diminished, nothing beyond our solemn grasp. A half-truth: People are just people, you can't change them. A response: People might just be people, but people long for goodness, desire their kindness return like ancient voices in a canyon. A prayer: We're tired of the "noise", the screech of “I”, the shriek of “me”. We, humanity, want nothing more than to live in peace, harmony, without our thoughtless mouths, without minds perched in anger. A testimonial: We don't need our great noise making and selfish indifference, we never have. A wish: We want goodness and to relish in the peace that will naturally follow so we can say, beyond dusk’s encampment, that we believe. A question: How do you know this to be true? T...

Let’s stop warring, people. In this life we’re all of one seed. We must prepare, plan to remember, truth’s fallen from our soul and we’ve got to put it all back again. We need remember this, our time, so we might carry it around again, witness the semblance, our blueblood red exactness, our lofty call to come back to crimson remembrance. When the Robin drafts its melody and we whistle away our connection, we've bitten into deception, planted a kernel of deceit without a second reflection. Brothers and sisters, let’s not agonize upon the preciousness of our original connection. Let us pray we remember, let us pray we remember, let us pray we remember. What will our chronicle say? That we knew, yet did nothing, knew, yet still fell into the noise, or, we returned smiling with truth? It may feel like pain, ache lowdown, bruise the self to redness, tear away at our useless flesh, yet, its speech, echoes truth of which we cannot deny, no books or miracles to cast about, n...

Sex and Violence I had a reputation a long time ago, I stood up to violence, to myself. Early on I was strong willed, unafraid to hurt another, bust down the door, carried to bad reputation, fast, strong, underscored in a way without me. Trolley tracks on the highway, across the street, barbed wire base, parking lot towers, shore patrol see me, stumbling hair lip, bloody, busted, black-eyed gusher, tears from four and twenty bucks.Strategic tallness, strong laughter, coolness, colors larger than me, beating me down. Jokers off another ship, against the fence, leaning from going down, wailing on my ire, victimless crime, photo, rahhhhh! Captain says, serve and protect. Towering eyes, stop drop and run down the easement, ship's bugler summons me and you and the fenced in trolley getaway. Made it home late, made it to safety, Lucky Thirteen. Bordered by authority, flagship admiral returns to the scene of carnage. She cries. Everyone cries ...up until the end. ...

© Louise Woodard, Violent Passages, 1989. There are violent beings, shells packed with noisy flesh, their fist digging their way out of a plate of armor like a god wielding immense wrath, as if angry at its own design, or angry that something melded its light into darkness. There are beasts heaving fists as hands, there are words, cruel as time, red as fire; a spirit piloting a monster, the least of kindness, a betrayal of mankind rising from the human ashes. The caskets coming home are painted in war colors and move across our high definition eyes like slow-motion murder, There are warriors as pale as shame, diluted by counterfeit demands; weaklings baptized in the steady stream of blood;  Charon steering away from goodness, his craft heaving with the dead and the dying with their obolus , imagining they’re sailing to Eden. We are imprisoned by noise like a miner without air, like a child smashed in front of us, like death gripping our hands, motionless and loveless...