Wellsung Stories

No two songs are sung exactly alike. For if they were they would be one sung song. No two stories unfold precisely uniform. For if they did they would become one united uniformity. Yet no two songs, no two stories remain entirely alien toward each other or they would not be recognized appreciated as narrative at all. Possibly even compassioned together by anyone as compromising songs, well and badly sung, within stories, well and badly lived. Passions sung and retold by any witness, sometimes deaf and blind and best times more acute, astute. Songs are sung in mythic octaves as stories unfold in fractal seasons of noticing Winter's advent of potential, through Spring's co-arising becoming, Summer's mature diastasis, healthier as more resonant in polyculturing ways and means. Summer's pathology grows fading dissonance with monoculturing parasitic intent in Autumn's harvest of discontent. Earth restoring storied songs bring LeftWing virgin birth to forests for hunting and gathering EarthTribe nurturance, ionizing and lionizing harmonizing ergodic rhythmed and seasonally rhymonizing, thermodynamic and radiant ecstaticizing co-gravitizing creolizing native First through Last Shall Be First interdependent stated nations and tribal relations and four seasoned octave correlations, double-bound elations. On Her more RightWing side, This commodified ball of rock and dirt and fouled water and polluted air and Hell's anthropogentric punishing fires to be aimed at against each other is what's rightfully, if somewhat too ballistically, left emptily raped and pillaged, drilled and fracked industriously enslaved depressing baring suppressing breeding and repressing beating and, eventually, butchering the filthy *****, formerly known through well-sung stories as Sacred Mother Earth. No two EarthTribe songs are sung exactly alike. For if they were we would become one too predictably sung song.