BTW vir means man in the old Latin
from which
the nomenclature
of Catholic Christianity rose up,
curia and cives and synoikia by Roman ****,
and cries of grace

a ****** seems a gin, ala engine, ie, ei
genius engenederer a man maker version

We got hope.

--
it very well could be, that we
know more than we imagined
we knew
as we,

the people, who hold certain
truths,
to be
self-evident.

You see? You hold these certain truths
and
****
you're an icecream cone.

And as Arthur assures me still:
There
will be time
to start
all
over.

If you can artifice enough integrity of mind,
to think of a way, each

mankind mind made unthingable, find that Greek word

ah dian oi toasted, nah, but near, this word means
the thing done, the deed not non-doable in being real.

the line
in the sand, crossed,
this away and thataway

we that take the refractured way through the wall,
inalienable right holding we,
the unalienable native
born bhering heir
looms
holdin' woven coffin nails as puffs of smoke signaling
go
now

carry good news on beautiful feet.
conciliate, liberty sans munera calls remunera to the game.

play fair, or be square.
Living Shakespearean tropes in Euclidean dramas
enacted by liars used to entertain fools

for the power of suggestion
gestating in the waiting
next
from now on.

Allow means much more than most children think, and, since most adults, mature adamkind, learned the meaning of allow while being children themselves, it stands to reason,
we must agree to acknowledging an adult-rated meaning, an
original thought-true meaning, exists, and the embedded etymology.com clip causes verity to be established
And agreed. But skip the clip. This is most likely a paper book if I am still in it, and I am.

Got that? If not, get it. Ye'll nae go fear fershur. (never far for sure)

There is tinkly music behind this in the published version, I don't know how to do that yet, but it is being done.
The Orthodox Heretic is done that way with background noise playing as it were a role.

I am casting for the character "background noise" no more than a minute long and two inches tall.

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six. Yet,
You cannot imagine, yet. Telling my story from where I am, here, required "Rasselin' m' own weasels"

To get here. I had to stomp m'own snakes, in other words.
So, while you be, as you are, here, be having fun with no pain nor shame nor want

Think you can. You can.
Thank you, Waddie Piper, that little golden book that never leaves me, you know what I mean? I think I can. I think I can. And I know I read that book before I saw Dumbo.
You know what I mean.

And that is always Ray Charles, you know what I mean slow mind slow tongue fast ears
Hear the question from the stage to the nose bleed seats,
You know what I mean?

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six.

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six.
I am
So
Glad. Ye got a handle on that while back, eh? Good to see.

Old word that, glad. It'll gleam
If'n ye shine it on yer britches knees
Like a sword furbished,
A rod
And it is given to be furbished
That it may be handled:

Com prehension with gripping as a hand may
Grip a handle

You can handle that. It's the truth.
What else is there?

Post-mortal man is now man, you know?
What we are now is what we are;
Refurbished shined on by most.
Ignore, that's what shining on is
As used just then.

Now I can tell you to shine on and on and on
While we all ignore you and laugh at your
Efforting

Take it easy. The pieces have been falling
Long before now. Some how now we
Comprehend on purpose.

Hang on to that thought

oh, now listen, to that blues man, singin' prayer
singin' words in ways we never
hoid woids sung thisaway, since Grandma on th Bayou,
introduced
me, to Mr. Jake,
Now mister jake, he was old country, old school

He settle a passle of flybit cows with a croon,
aimed right at the moon,
top o' his lungs, knowin'

I am the only voice I hear, my prayers
never bounce,
they soak down

may you arrive, said Mr. Jake
where you wisht you were, when we

learned of life in Louisiana from an old Siclilian
fisher man cook, who knew of
Tavasco Inlet, to Bayou Bleu,
the real
you can feel black mud from the top of
the river, carried all this way,
to squish between my toes,

so I never fo'got toejam spreader was a
occupying principle behind any
search for pearls
once fed to pigs.
Mr. Jake taught me to think these muddy
thoughts
with my toes, wigglin',
feel a nibblin'
set
hook, what do you know?

Myths, lost in Cartoon Network and its spawn,

fortunate-ly
most criminals, most out-side-the-bubble,
improper thinkers, if you will,
not right thinkers,
those
are not very smart

fortunately, we

have the internet, they left us that.
We can rest and recon
we, the people, can recoup from a coup to the knoggin

next, trip a trap, snare a glimpse of that golden thread
assign that care to the piece
of your core
that cares if you remain sane enough

and follow the golden thread, this one, not
the one connecting riven mouths
of joker gods, barfing in the gulf,
the MOMA tied a cube of hay,
with a golden thread and golden needle,
in NYC, which led to me seeing Moma Luis
and his daughter who goes by
Franceska, spelt otherwise,
unspooling a golden thread on a stage
a few furlongs here
a few furlongs there
in fathomless billows of life,
stitching those gaping mouths shut, for me
thus I share the joy of being
me
and you may imagine I am more
than words
mere me dear reader, quite enough to entangle
anonymously

with a mad woman, wrapped in a feather boa,
needing the laugh, to spark
the healing
healing itches, you know, if you have scars
healing
itches, scratch with gloves,

don't destruct your self, for the rub

the touch
of love, ha, define your terms mofah!

What's love got to do with it, art
official, proper, Q-17, a mystical number
qua
quaf the essence

a puff of smoke, I paid a ttent ion to to

find Babylon, this guy did not know you, Prince
of Persia...

you a hasbeen mofah we be a little bit farther now
push a bit
push a bit
7 come 11, watch I measure smoke cought
or caught in my throat

the artificial-ness, we must dis-pute in time
******* smart
self
aware.
Watch y'self, this is the age of miracles
we got us a clown

wombed-man... it all got choool
the facts
of now
make next appear possible.

forward and up, tough for people
right
now

some words struggle for worth
values
meaning meaning meaning worth paying you
to know
add to your childhood collection of coolhood collecti
stuff
to claim you own it own it own it

ify ify if you glow, who needs to know, like
from a star
POV
Bette from a distance, a mob is a mobmind,
a shared thought you got wrong,
twisted, twisted, twisted to true

and the signal fades into the sound of the helicopter
setting new power poles.

The grid is using humans skilled in war manuevers
to set new power poles.

Thashits poetic.

And my magi-pen don don don't run
dry,
in the summer
we go deep, down to where the big rocks
that would not break rolled
to a stand still
y'know.

a selah, preceding a halle lu Jah.

Another fine day, in Pine Valley, lookin' west.
for overlooked
jots and tittles tatooed is silly places.

Old notes, from before

what they did was imagine a future
the future using a memory (meme) locken in their DNA to cognize

sameness

Defragmenting your mind
disassociate certain ideas from mis conceptions

cost of living, reap what you sow

Lost and know it, is there a way

What if the show (the trial) is a series of phone calls--
listener hears both sides

--- but never speaks--
When is the reward for not doing ever as great as
the reward for done?

A riddle for the robber jailed for doing?
A query for the poet who never wrote?
The singer who never sang, an audition in silence?

Eaking, painful words that say see, soundlessly

and fifteen years passed by
I must say
I know the answer there
I must say
I see farther now than then

Suffer it to be so now. See the music
sing
Sufficient unto the day (no more)

Sop with me, come and dine.

-- Ask the guest to say grace

gracefully, the guest rises to full height,

tears the heel from the loaf,
slowly sops it in the cup of Mogen David,
provisioned by the host,
slowly lifts the soppy bread to lips open
for a bite,

taken, then chewed gently, and swallowed,

Amen. The guest sits and tucks
and gracefully scoops his portion of
a side of beef and three old hens who ceased to lay.

Grace for grace, he mutters, in his own gluttonous way.
as all the tucker's tucked into him.

Smallest child asks, who invited that?

Oh, that.
That's a metaphor. A parable. You see as if that hapt,

you remember it oh so well,
then the story ended and you woke here with memories of never beens.

Not every efforting word makes ineffable sense, some must be heard
to be spoken, other wise they lie

idle, idling like dragons spewing ashes in micro bits of death,
in their slumber atop the horded
answer to all things,

money. the real thing. the idea from which it formed.

A time trading scheme.
Back in the day, we were paid for our attention to reality, then

something changed at the DNA level, down in the core of where we come from,
effortlessly, until

air, whoosh squeeze that back outa me
breathe, old man,

old notes, like we should
honest-account the smell of Dehli
diesel idling in clogs of mopeds and vespas and honda fifties
like Saigon outside Than Son Nhut when the Americans were there

such idle words as these, left lying asif believed
now as when they flowed from a steel nib pen in some era of errors past
parsing sensibly

like old photos in a family album, with no recognizable faces or places

longer lasting than our carbon foot print,
longer than the thread to Silicon Beach sewing stiches before the skein
ripped with the receding tide of couldabeens,

before there was a fast lane, a 56 K modem was a rocket ship, too slow

here come ol' Flattop, Junior, **** Tracey's cutting edge hacker,
Flatop Jones, Junior,
cruisin' Route 66, in 1956, while the Hungarian Freedom Fighter was
grasping at
a dream,

The Yanks are coming, but
they didn't.
Seeya.

Profound and striking differences twixt these higher
minds and mine

in kind, we re
cognize our own as we learned we know
the curricula upon which standards
apply pressure to mold
the mind into D0-Bees, don't being litter bugs,
ducked and covered for goodness knows
this could be that cobalt bomb,
I read about
in Boy's Life, my grandpa has a copy of, in this game
he plays online,
choosing
subjects, the knowing of which is to be learned,
and
shall be graded, judged fit for this or that,
for sorting
for the roles rooted in the heart
whence teaching
teaching shall be radiated equally,
ala Alternating Modulation Radio, with the inkwell
filling
filling to over flowing  child's joy en
learning to learn for ever, which is
later.
Unless your grand pa taught you ever is already,
just is, watch and see
---
i have water and a vessle that will not burn
with the heat i can bring at will with a twist of a ****
"we be cookin' wit gas"
I can cook rice any time I have rice,
even if I lack salt, I make do.
---
the role of a star on the silver screen, changed
along the yellow brick road,
but we had black and white tv... I never saw the shift.

until long after the experience the original seers saw,
sit with them
just now they learned of hubble's red shift,
some of them
doubted now the translation of life on the silver screen
pop
Technicolor yawn-gulp, in 1930-something somewhere
over
the rainbow, oh, what dreams may come

--
confusion on the horizon, comin from the west
pushin to the east
smell that smell, feel that feeling, is it still...

an answer, accepted, good is good, all the time

equality as a fact
equality as a result, oops, LBJ, did not mean to say

the nation lacks a voice, amigo *****, we vote
in my realm, this is in the book

this book, where the reader is you.
Two dimensions of self-evidence

what you see is
what you get, if you know how to get it.

Medalion, eh, like in Venice, a license to rent my life,
for more than I think it's worth.

Horus feather state. EH? Light, as a feather,
weigh my words with these,
was the time better spent or better sold writing code?

Enchained melody chant me a chance to

... start all over. Aloud, I say thanks to the creative voice,

we won our liberty, at the loss of all the lies we let
be true,
while dreaming we were watching life
in technicolor dreams imagined by imagineers
with access to to tools
right used
to lessen the bherdon of the feeble minds,
entangled in the mythterious
confus-is-us, Am-big-is-us,

common good, call not that common that or which,
which is it,
really is there a discernible point?

We, the people who hold certain truths, personally,
un alienate-able as well as in-alienable,
if you will, dear reader

do we know the citiz
enship values by which we shall be weighed?
what is my value worth?
what are my values?

dis-passionate-analysis leads to com-passionate-response provoking ideas

my ******-sayin' right is white as snow, come reason me a reason that ain't right.

Done done done, kettle drummed doom

clear the room, the VOG calls strike the set

eat my pearl finish, lick my serpentine sheen, wink and whisper
any name you wish you knew me by

for ever, in my realm leaves us room to expand
hopes past the furthest

reaches of faith alone, past understanding, deep in soft foggy peace

reason? you asked me a reason, or is this a chip, on my shoulder?
does that mean a thing,
like a symbol through generations a meme, passed on in the air I breathed,

knock this chip from my shoulder. why? what is the meaning of this
memorable emulated behavior,

quick draw, fire, aim goes unsaid, no time to spend on a mere word.
both eyes aim

a moving raptor closing on a mourning dove lost in a dove frame of mind
wham
back o'm'knack feelin' ***** 'n' gritty

grandma laffs at m'sweaty necklace of dirt and grime, as it
washes away
and leaves a ring on the tub, that i get to scrub
into a state of total eradication,
rub o'm'head

radish reponds, I'am a root fruit, no seeds in me, eh, never thought o'that?

subteranean sentience is essentially imaginable in the mind of any child and
most game programers who play for the joy of the riddle

bottom line.

The most oft lie I tell is I know
second may--
I can't judge, quite yet, may be
I love you, too.