All posts by !!! TRUTH EXCITES !!!

A libertarian artist, poet, performer and blogger, I love music, and the expressive liberty afforded by understanding -- epitomised by Europe's Romantic legacy, though sadly threatened by EU diktat.

!!! SADE ROMANCE: EROS HERALDS MOONLIT POP’S PRESSING PULSE !!!

!!! Happy Birthday, Lady Gaga …

… from #TruthExcites.com !!!

For a decade, Lady Gaga’s electric echoes have enchanted their small hours watch — over the sepia dawn of synth-ribbed, 21st Century feminism.

They have tuned airwaves and dancefloors to female sexual empowerment. The fine art of her pop music’s Freudian symmetry rings profoundly, and thus accessibly; distilling dreams that enrich a mass subconscious with sado-romance. Borne on her Renaissance chords, from Hecate’s underground to the enlightened prominence of Venus’ starry heights, melody has freed minds!

Truth wishes her, and all sirens, the lithe freedom of the sea, which breathes their curving beat …

… and shares #BeatingDreams.com’s signature poem, #EternalRhythm, as tribute to her heady night-beat.

Eternal Rhythm

On a floating, natal, purple whine,
with a dulcet heartbeat’s four-four power,
vocals fly and soar and climb:
hugging sadness, hour by hour;

mixing memories; tickling dreams,
that die in crash-linked laser bursts,
as ident heaven flips the scene,
but keeps the beats from last to first;

as sound drives on,
from life to life:
from fast to slow,
from dark to light;

to dark and deep;
where synths awaken ancient sleep,
which gives its breath
for hungry sirens’ liquid death;

born this way,
to drown in song;
to be the flesh, the food, the thong:

to serve the curve,
and feel the beat:
to quiver, plucked:
to be the meat.

Jingles echo-scratch the rhyme.
Notes free thinking, leaping trips.
Pop is soul, and music, time:
eternal rhythm breathes Smash Hits…

Copyright Jonathan Graham, 2013

Photo image courtesy of FanPop.com — no rights claimed by TruthExcites.com

Video of Lady Gaga and Bad Romance courtesy of YouTube.com — no rights claimed by TruthExcites.com

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!!! FROM LAPLAND WITH LOVE: FELICE PASCUA E FELICE PRIMAVERA !!!

Thankyou Sun, for shining heat and light and fun for so, so long:
you cooked the street’s pneumatic beat;
you blessed the coke, and loved the throng!
you scorched Ibiza’s nineties decks,
as Twentieth Century lovers kissed:
the planet’s pulse at solar max,
on febrile, shimmering, sultry mist.

Such galactic nuclear power –
which breathes the oak
from seed to tower –
doesn’t know or give a toss
what Al Gore says our fuel should cost.

Twentieth Century ice was melted
by the hyperactive sun:
not us, nor cars, nor gas emitted,
nor by Bernie Ecclestone!

CO2 can’t warm the air –
and blaming it just isn’t fair!
Released by cars and warm conditions,
levels grow with each ignition,
up and up – yet, now, temps fall,
as brilliant Helios sets to stall.

As the fiery orb gets tired,
turns down its dial,
and chills a while,
the Earth cools, too:
its glaciers grow,
and blizzards blow –
through schools of fools,
who sit and chat about the heat –
numbed to thought by self-deceit,
as fatal frost
now scores new veins through glass and ice,
confounding myths of sweaty vice.

1645 was cold,
when shivers froze
the floods of old!
Decades died and winters grew,
with sunspots gone and summers too;
The Bank of Engand crept to life,
in frozen 1690s strife.
Now, round we come, the same again:
more summer lows and winter snow.

“You’re all to blame”, shout Warmist priests.
“We warned you of the Sooty Beast:
Until we steam in Hell (as planned)
Your life is cold – for summer’s damned!”

“…But this cold snap is just a trap,
while the arctic leaves the map –
melting into murky depths,
thus cooling flows that warmed the West:
changing weather patterns fast,
so ‘barbE’ summers never last!”

“You must”, they say, “pay carbon dues,
and sponsor windmills, built on cue –
for now, the answer’s blowing in”,
(as birds are smashed by blades that spin):
power comes from ghostly towers –
unless it’s calm for several hours,
while UNocrats debate the fate
of the world they didn’t make –

“whatever happens, it’s CO2:
it’s from your car – and so from you!”
They want your taxes – and your fear:
more and more of them, each year.
They’ve spun a yarn of humid sweat:
full of guilt and wretched sorrow.
“Now? The freeze – but soon the heat,
coming: ‘The Day After Tomorrow’…”

We knew extremist vicars quit
when they outlawed burning witches;
now coal exorcists get hits
with oppressive science fiction.

Ignore their hogwash and rejoice!
We’re Walking on the Earth tonight!
See history made, as ‘Arctic blasts’
whisper bicentennial flight,
of Nordic flakes, to drifts that last,
like myriad sparkling Christmas lights;
which lift the soul,
to twist and soar
through Solar Cycle Twenty Four;
which fly the flag for windblown white –
and heated soup and howling nights!

The Sun will chill for many years –
half a lifetime, it appears!

So sod the cheats who want your cash
to fund their G8 climate bash –
their pamplets as from brothers grim:
fraud, through fantasies of sin,
from Western witchdoctors,
who need
to blackmail people to succeed;
who yearn
to make us all believe
in blame and debt, and more regret –
that we be cowed
to pay and bow:
and never try to fathom how
a gas which once ruled frozen Earth
can now purvey a steaming curse:

or how the jetstream’s winding path —
that freezes Greece with Finland’s laugh,
as geomagnetised bends twist
from solar slumber’s cosmic waves,
and stoop 3,000 miles to kiss
Alaskan Frost to Everglades —
can vindicate said Man Made Warming,
when its models need stream flat
and pole-shifted, sliding storming
winds, from tropics, to cold lats,

in imagined, bake-faked scam,
that moves sea-lows a country North,
so counter-clockwise cyclone strands
the Eastern beasts on arctic course –
and Europe sleeps in Irish sauna,
West wind-washed, from system’s base:
drowning Christmas crystals, born to
sharpen land with frozen lace —

Yet even as the BEEB’s false heads
still blackmail joy with vulpine cries,
storm-lows are whipping South instead,
their East wind wake inviting glide
of feathered, Baltic gems that watch
the streets that, long, knew only damp,
which stamped the sleet to road-stained blotch,
and soaked, to dark, night’s moon-flaked lamp —
yet, frigid, marvelling, now inhale
the breath of Beast, as stir of white:
a silent cold that, vacuum-baled,
dries the coast with azure light —
whose herald-flakes dry gravity,
and dance, as wind-larks of the morning:
crystal witnesses, that free
world consciousness that cold is dawning;
swooping, bouncing,
soaring up,
as ghosts that hang in causal still;
Siberian dry, that lies, uncut,
in easy, fractal proof of chill,
as visitors from Starjik’s slopes,
whose flux is orchestra of truth,
and drawn, thus West, by vacuum volts,
of #MiniIceAge patterns’ proof.

Showered with sparks of drifting dreams,
a small ice-age starts now, it seems!
So power walks with wind-rapped layers,
and dance with huskies’ bright eyed runs!
Diamond mist, for years, will flare
with frigid holograms of fun!

We’ll rejoice in Helios’ lore,
and surf the snow, and live the show,
of Solar Cycle Twenty Four —
go go go GO !!!

 

Copyright Jonathan Graham, 2014

 

!!! FROM LAPLAND WITH LOVE !!!

Ignore their hogwash and rejoice!
We’re Walking on the Earth tonight!
See history made, as ‘Arctic blasts’
whisper bicentennial flight,
of Nordic flakes, to drifts that last,
like myriad sparkling Christmas lights;
which lift the soul,
to twist and soar
through Solar Cycle Twenty Four;
which fly the flag for windblown white –
and heated soup and howling nights!

The Sun will chill for many years –
half a lifetime, it appears!

So sod the cheats who want your cash
to fund their G8 climate bash –
their pamplets as from brothers grim:
fraud, through fantasies of sin;
from Western witchdoctors,
who need
to blackmail people to succeed;
who yearn
to make us all believe
in blame and debt, and more regret –
that we be cowed
to pay and bow,
and never try to fathom how
a gas, which once ruled frozen Earth,
can now purvey a steaming curse:

or how the jetstream’s winding path —
that freezes Greece with Finland’s laugh,
as geomagnetised bends twist
from solar slumber’s cosmic waves,
and stoop 3,000 miles to kiss
Alaskan Frost to Everglades —
can vindicate said Man Made Warming,
when its models need stream flat,
and pole-shifted, sliding storming
winds, from tropics, to cold lats;

in imagined, bake-faked scam,
that moves sea-lows a country North,
so counter-clockwise cyclones strand
the Eastern beasts on arctic course –
and Europe sweats in Irish sauna,
West wind-washed, from system’s base:
drowning Christmas crystals, born to
sharpen land with frozen lace —

Yet even as the BEEB’s false heads
still blackmail joy with vulpine cries,
storm-lows are whipping South instead,
as East wind wake invites the glide
of feathered, Baltic gems that watch
the streets that, long, knew only damp;
that stamped the sleet to road-stained blotch,
and soaked, to dark, night’s moon-flaked lamp —

yet, frigid, marvelling, now inhale
the breath of Beast, as stir of white:
a silent cold that, vacuum-baled,
dries the coast with azure light —
whose herald-flakes dry gravity,
and dance, as wind-larks of the morning:
crystal witnesses, that free
world consciousness that cold is dawning;
swooping, bouncing,
soaring up,
as ghosts that hang in causal still;
Siberian dry, that lies, uncut,
in easy, fractal proof of chill;
as visitors from Starjik’s slopes,
whose flux is orchestra of truth,
and drawn, thus West, by vacuum volts,
of MiniIceAge patterns’ proof.

Ski the freezing, drifting dream:
a small ice age starts now, it seems!
Fetch your coat and scarf and sledge!
Dance with huskies’ bright eyed fun!
Sparkling frost for years is pledged –
diamond holograms to stun!

We’ll rejoice in Helios’ lore,
and surf the snow, and live the show,
of Solar Cycle Twenty Four –
go go go GO!!!

Copyright Jonathan Graham, 2014

!!! FROST AND BRIMSTONE: the cold desperation of #ClimateChangeCalvernism !!!

1645 was cold,
when shivers froze
the floods of old!
Decades died and winters grew,
with sunspots gone and summers too;
The Bank of Engand crept to life,
in frozen 1690s strife.
Now, round we come, the same again:
more summer lows and winter snow.

“You’re all to blame”, shout Warmist priests.
“We warned you of the Sooty Beast:
Until we steam in Hell (as planned)
Your life is cold – for summer’s damned!”

“…But this cold snap is just a trap,
while the arctic leaves the map –
melting into murky depths,
thus cooling flows that warmed the West:
changing weather patterns fast,
so ‘barbE’ summers never last!”

“You must”, they say, “pay carbon dues,
and sponsor windmills, built on cue –
for now, the answer’s blowing in”,
(as birds are smashed by blades that spin):
power comes from ghostly towers –
unless it’s calm for several hours,
while UNocrats debate the fate
of the world they didn’t make –

Copyright Jonathan Graham, 2013

!!! NATIONALISM’S FREED MARKETS UNSTICK GLOBALISM’S MONOPOLIST GRAVITY !!!

After Daniel Hannan’s condemnation of CPAC’s inclusion of Marion Le Pen as a conference speaker, #TruthExcites argues that economic nationalism, like hers and Trump’s, safeguards true competition against globalist stagnation — and restores the self-love which powers any economy; yet which has been eroded in the West by the globalist Left.

___________________________________________________________________________

To some free-market conservatives, like Britain’s MEP Daniel Hannan, Trumpism’s flaw is its protectionist economic nationalism: a potential driver of US inflation, reducer of natural, open market innovations, and harbinger of political movements driven by negative populist fear, and not positive, pioneering vision. Despite Trump’s rainbow-pragmatism — inclusive of all success and ambition — they also think it has Nationalist-Socialist overtones.

This view says, rightly, that inter-business competition improves standards; yet overlooks the global dictatorship of any free trading corporation that dwarfs and controls governments, in a fusion of big business and international über-government: the definition of fascism.

Like the world banking system and the UN, it stamps its dogmatic global gridiron down into formerly sovereign governments.

If a few companies grow to a quasi world government, we need nationalism, instead, to save competition, via domestic tax cuts and increasing civic freedom.

Trump’s so-called trade-war plans will not only restore competition between governments — and with it civic choice for all who must remain on this planet — they will also redress the balance of a global economy which was stoking future, developing world inflation through pointless, socialism-driven, US-penalising policies — notably the carbon CO2Ntaxes, of which our cooling climate makes an annual mockery.

More fundamentally, Trump’s wisdom starts on a Jungian level.

Built into the world’s anti-American economic policies was a diffuse, opaque and penetrating decree by the globalist Left that the West must feel guilty for its human success; that it must hate itself. As any psychologist will tell us, self-hatred makes loving others impossible.

Western self-hatred thus makes creating, giving, selling, and economic growth impossible, too.

It is not only Marion Le Pen’s and Donald Trump’s socio-economic literacy that gives them an ideological purism close to the mellow, globalism-wary tones of Rand Paul: it is the fact that this socio-economic literacy is founded in psychology — and that the fundamental driver of any human economy is the people’s minds.

A world populous fettered by guilt is miserable and needy. But free-thinking people, liberated by competition between neighbouring governments, can love themselves.

Civic pride’s giving wealth will be a people-powered gift to the world.

Copyright TruthExcites.com 2018

Brexit’s House Globalist Daniel Hannan Slams CPAC for Marion Marechal Attendance bit.ly/2ow8UZf

!!! MET POLICE !!!

Coy, Warmist Met Office actively play down the UK and Europe’s March snow and cold. In trying to police the spring’s cold narrative so far, and with patronising globalist authority, they dismissed a news presenter’s natural exclamation at his experience of the West Country’s Easterly windchill — telling him to “put his car heater on” …

… if only those frozen out by green energy CO2NTAXES could do the same.

This attempt to “warm the rhetoric” happened even as other warmists made everyone CONFUSED.CO2N by trying to say the bent jetstream freeze was caused by flat jetstream warming.

What will they do if we get another #BeastForEaster ??? ❄🌃🌒

!!! BEWARE ESPACIO GALLERY, MY SON: HOW THE JABBERWOCKY CREPT INTO A SHOREDITCH ART SHOW !!!

Ana Cockerill Curatorial Projects presents the Jabberwocky exhibition, as Lewis Carroll’s hole-dwelling monster creeps to zany life amongst us, through the diverse works of an international artist assembly. Nonsense’s surrealism teases us, playfully, seriously and darkly, to a deeper reality.

The images span colours which trip between joy and fear, as shafts of toyshop sunlight host residual shadows, whose weight still lingers nearby. Sonya Stanbury’s Jubjub Bird laments the pathos of evil. In Trans-form-ando, Marcia Mar’s arboreal-primitivist spirit-winds blow through dark branches shading a grey face: a seeing soul, in the stark company of foreground ocular satellites. Under the light of blues and reds, Adolfo Solarte’s spring fire blazes joy after the storm. Lizy Bending’s Untitled with Boots, sees a floral wall’s spring trip drawn into mourning human loss.

An urban angel pokes a dangerous city gent with gleeful misery, the papyrus brightness behind it twisted from dawn to garish blaze by Denise Wyllie’s victim’s grimace. The liberating fabric of adventure careers along Jonathan Graham’s Rollercoaster, as chain links forge our bondage in folds of the unknown. Sun and wind spin the seasons of a dream, as Julia Schokklitsch’s Unfolding Reality glows through a Victorian window, to brighten night with spring. Winds rustle from the Jabberwocky’s lair, blowing forth Liz Derbyshire’s sense of the mind’s shapeshifting colour. Naïg Home’s skin of holes cast multiple sightless eyes from the entrails of the Jabberwocky.

Meliha Gunenc’s Frabjous Day turns raining shadows into slate-cut cliffs, towering to a stormy nirvana. Janet Moses pours silence into the mind – with her sensibility to the peace of metamorphic oneness, in the sunlit jungle of her native Malaysia, as in Carroll’s nonsense-philosophy. Art Hop Life’s Process pulls a small hours bar, through sleep, to an ocean, as the wraiths of the party hang in the dark. Red comes alive through texture, undiluted by distracting dynamics, in Ida Ndoni’s groundless, boundless Primavera; the faintest shadows suspending white, petal velvet in scarlet freedom. Darkly expressionist zombies are woken from their war chest, as Lawrence Mathias’ political monsters spread designer chaos by Opening the Box. Skeletal origami stretches foam-blazing waves into mountains, as Elena Rizzardi’s Balance of Non-sense in Colour ushers us into aeons of ochre sunset, beyond a white, linen ceiling.

Verena Giavelli conducts deep daylight through glass cotton, whose tangled figures struggle to claim their free identity in Upside Down. Kevin Derbyshire tickles Carroll’s characters, letting them, too, flicker between distinctness and mere telling extensions of the author himself. Wasted humanity breathes its last, drowning in the jarring political delusions of the now, as Cristina Cantilena bids us Beware the Jabberwock, my son. Andrés Gonzáles Meneses’ Persaie sculpts the sinister sorrow of multiple, deformed heads, stone-bound in their conjoined prison. Masculinity leers with two tone confidence, impervious to the cascading chaos of its mount: is Ben Mellor’s Patriocky invincible or in denial? In Come into my arms, my beamish boy, an embrace spirals upwards to Les Lismore’s female gaze, which hovers between irony and anxiety – an ambiguity heightened by the subtle choking effect of the limb coil’s wrapping formality.

Resting elbows chase window panes round framing right angles, which concentrate cognitive solitude into a tunnel’s bright depths: escaping the viewer, unseen, behind a blocking wall, as Marcos Buarque de Hollanda teases our curiosity into his lapping meditation: and, as in uffish thought, he stood. Rounded segments grow beings from the Hansel-and-Gretel gnarls of Yolanda Pinto Medina’s Tree Tumtum, making the woods wild in captivating closeup. Helen Lack sprinkles waltzing, handwritten streamers, catching a plane of chill, foreground light, before the snow-smoked midnight of the beyond: he stands awhile in thought, as colour’s fullness makes fantasy bliss. We slide Through the Looking Glass, into Edson Costa’s shimmering video-montage, that strobes landmark atrocities together with current political monsters. Childhood re-dawns in Luciana Mariano’s Face the truth, fight your battle, as the shapeshifting ogres of carpet patterns take on real dragon form – behind the looking glass where, even now, only the self can be seen.

But the real dragon appears later, in Nonsensability: a performance evening at Espacio on 17 March, part of the Jabberwocky week, and featuring 6 artists, whose visions of nonsense re-invent reason, to trip through comedy, politics, music and choreographed poetry – in the Jabberwocky’s spooky celebration of tripping, subconscious enlightenment!