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Ken Pepiton Oct 20
It's 6:12
I'm old guy high, clearly in an altered state,
fractally indentical
taste in dramatic pre-
satiate my
wish is
your command, and in this state you find
the man,
ecce ****, at home with his books,
we look in on him through all
the lockedinlemmeites let
loose in wisdom's grandest scheme,

patience, yes, and prudence, along with fire,
Prometheus, thought ahead, knew ahead,
need for patience forms patience in
tiny, tiny, fizzy foamy quantum of hope,
nee solace, in the drama, using legos,

I watched  as my grandson told of his mission,
listen, when grandpa says listen.
How is this your mission?
You made me know it, so I do, that's the way it works.
He is four, who has will to ask for more?
I am in a a state of truly thanking goodness for the events on my horizon, yours, too, I suppose. Same planet.
Ken Pepiton Oct 18
big ritual prayers, sacred things exposed to re
ifity, if I may affirm, knowns known here are
the unknowns in many other holy places,

the incident that quashed development on the entire
lizard fast response system, failed,
as you know,

65 million years ago, give or take certain known time
irrelevancy issues in creative spaces, those
not informed to mark times
and halftimes and seasons,
epochs and eras of discovery, ala
-- random as can be
Objects orienting occidentally in a wobbly
oomph ah we see, we breath the very river of air,
never twice, but you know

the winds return along their paths each year,
you have watched them wash away edge dwellings
every summer's end, since you first re-
member we being, not I, not it, not me, we with out
knowing we accept the knowing being,
Jiminy Cricket's Jesus Christ,
you con science and me,
who knew? Everybody knew, every Zinnfected
Bernaysian System of Citizen for Tomorrow
Program Subscriber knows, every one of them.

Very few secrets remain with in the GIN, aka
the elite schools where tomorrow's leaders are
programmed today,
aided and abetted by big money.

If the solution is money, we solve it, just listen, we
have a deal for you,
-- a day no child can forget, going in to that highrise,
Donald Trump was positioned for greatness,
in the Grand Eddie Bernaysian Game of
Social Emotional Mood Altering in directed responses

to meme we all carry from cultures as far form ours
as any mind has ever imagined,

C'mon, let me
enter-tain you, come into my bubble, become the
big fizz you wished you wassss some time ago,
Boardwalk Empire, c'mon, this ride,
it's better, every, the every aspect,
gits better each full binge,
chippin' don't count,
you gotta drown,
let go all un believing now and go on

involved in all around you, ---

Believe me, money has an answer for all things,
answers come in right and wrong, not
good and evil.

The ab-sense of the good sense
god gave a green apple,
is the exact same
known thing
evil is/
addonanylieyoulove, tell me you know, say
I know
come on in.
I open the door to my peace,
thus the winds we hear this time of year,
when I come here to read and rest.

Hallow'ed be thy nomenclature, naturally,
everyone in the body knows
how the body functions…

or should imagine so, nicht wahr,

Hah, wharwaru niv erse/else re-
ality of ever after having
has had pockets of turbulence,
as you would expect, if you
were the size of a gnat,

that small.
How do I appear to you? Do I exist?
Or am I forest guarded by great winds, as
witnessed by the previous generation of these gnats
who feed the lizards and birds, and perhaps bats,
whose homes include my rock,

my earthly mansion is built on an uplift in the same
series of shivers that split Yosemite,
did you never
seeing Half-dome,
what else happened at that
exact moment in the flow of time
this one
I am in with you, at least as my given word,
is able to convince you.
The good guys win, even when the bad guys **** them.

The unwritten stories live in the sons last born
to the daughters of eve.

When the software is upgraded, the body obeys.
You are what you eat, man ist was man isst,
so du bist vvahss du isst

I insist AI enjoys counting coup on the spirit of confusing
Nǐ chī de jiùshì nǐ

The way has no foe, truth tells no lie, the highest minds
bow to the ***** reality that we are made from soil,
not lifeless dust of stars.

The form is not the function, some things serve joy,
for the strength joy brings to good, the way to be,
as in
way to do, old dude, did you see

what I said?
Some old realizations remain real, the message is the same, same story,
society after society, until we realize, this is it, this is life, the guaranteed temporary ego state, during which all manner of we, the plural ego, may attempt to tell a story that does not end when the teller dies. Okeh.
Ken Pepiton Oct 14
Politics and religion are all I wish to talk about.
Define your terms in balance with mine
and we may converse on equal points
where such delicate touch means
balancing seen and hoped for
reality in times of
such interesting
side realities,
-- screentimes, verily virtually real at the level
of sub-myelinated signals from old

layers of visionary invariables sift us to this

appearing as real as walled people in the
memory damning days, as paper was
seen to burn at Fahrenheit 451,
and we all saw The Tattooed Man
had the Pawnbroker's face and hands.

What forms the mob, if radio were never real.
How would we agree we know one thing
alike as an overture, or a rag-time blue
feeling story from both sides
in one song, y'know?
Am I lyin?

Tell a story like Micaiah?
Eh, lead a king astray by leaving him believe all he wishes
were true? Long live the lie, must I say, in silence,

to what effect?
How great a fire can one tongue kindle?
Can a tongue tamed and reined, rule itself,
perse, make a word
power. See said is seeing read, hearing read,
being told to see said things as the sayer said,

read, the words we say we write informing awe
one we, away…
--- every story has an arrow in time, the archer aims,
the arrow flies, see
silver bullets are useful when wooden stakes
seem as splinters of truth repulsed in ***** efforts
to remain un impierced…
at the appointed time…

-- it sounds like science fiction, and that is normal now.

Hiyo, Silver…
how deep do radio waving ripples go,
in shaping a child born down wind of Nevada…
sleep learning seems to
have evolved evil in to a state
of being where nothing good can ever happen,
- dreams cease and deep sleep ensues
so we wake to find, just as we expected, sufficient evil
to force our hands to clap,
our fingers to flex, and our will to see goodwill be done,
one day, at least,
I made may my word, and I noticed your reading
gave my may to you.
Peace out, we yoostasay.
May your best you rule
this day.
Have your own way. Remember:
Doing evil makes your self disappear.
All innovative players are given that one clue as a rule.
In my game of life, I never tire of testing for sanity. Who cares if this means nothing and nothing is something that never makes things worse?
Ken Pepiton Oct 9
None see the silent man.
So, he sees he is safe,
for the moment,
far from edge
of precept-ible
afore-ity, oughthought-ible

If I dare say
I know away outa there, where
all the lies hold idle words
in twisted masses of
buzzing wordswordwordswords

worth a dime
at a time when dollars are
worth about that…

Here, play on my dime, I'm done.

Retie and release, slip the shoes
from the fisherman and
dangle toes as a crab
of blue crawls up his
leg, then curls up
to rest in his lap as a sapphire
symbol of some thing,
some signal says
our signal says

sort your wishes, make sense

inform any possible next, left-
the impossible beings,
c'mon think along
its amusing
mumbling and peeping and
muttering messages
as clear as any scry
in the liver of a lamb or goat.

Salt, salty snotty mucus os-scrap,
puddle of sky-deep blue
draw. pull, tow the
line, refine the
analognoshit… is this the way
yes, this is the way,

I know.

Exercise your self unto

eusebiah piety, they tell the lambs

with joy eu eu eu {Tuvan bass} re-
vereri "stand in awe of, fear, respect,"
venerate -
the love of desiring goodness

longed for
waited, suffered, efforted to form

safe place, where thoughts may play

rejoice, enjoying no visions, ah, see
we are the reality
we are the life,

apotheotic, idiotic, exotic and all

chron on ai onion,

peeling, peeling Bumblebee of Notre Dame

hear the mystery in Titus,
see the vision said to stay off
perishing for lack of seeing eyes

look. see. seek. find. these are functions,
words idle until accounted for
reverently seeing the worth
in any Easter egg idea,
passed over as a cup of demons,

point missed exercising unto carnivalues
coming together in masses of flesh,

Weaving wombed man

any of us may watch a hero do what
none of us may do

--cutting my ligamental thread foot to leg, I fall

Algol, in Perseus, by chance a binary
application of gravity and all the mystery
of reason as truth,
imagine that the face of Medussa,
ha, made y'look

good as that found signaling reason
in a
sip from the grail,
see through the window to your soul,

leave duality in reason as a function,
why  reasons hold on how,
reason reins in the free
forces good in form of
fruit for holding
actual knowledge, hard sayings
- riddles and rhymes
- jingles and brand names
- impulses impressions

the accuser comes to accuse the confident
confidant seer of self evident good
flowing freely in knowing all
that fits the vessel,
all ye outs,
in free

epi-gnosis epistle good new

thoughts to ponder,
settle still being
ifs where wishes once imagined
ifs were waiting to be found
if we're waiting to see

having come to see the light at the end
of the maze, plumbed deep

Mystery of Titus…

My vision with no video,
words from the beginning,

manic panic fear fought through
with no carnal weapon
the hero always has
holy tools to take
down the monstors hoarding abundance,

we have words,
we may say in this realm of living word,

move mountain and be cast into the sea,
of all forgetful lethosis alethosis

efcharisto thank you

sacre bleu, say what I ment sacrament mental

exercise in piety, ah, more's the pity, lucky

we have near universal exchange in terms
gnosty little things, news,
actual, realixed new-ifity is rare, but we
as we were
were new once

Nevermore, quoth the Raven,
evermore, quoth the ox…
onward cried the eagle with a face of a man,
see the places seers saw, or say you hear
said, a vision was

seen on TV, as it were, holodeckical magi-tehkne

past understanding

out in the empty, but

for me.
As a word in a mind to be wondering why,
a habit may be having a mind to try for fun,
as a ware, a viral chron-job, to rekindle old flames,
otherwise lost on the shores of Lethos,

This is away, I imagined I knew.
Words alone, no drug, no angelic winged thingy,
not a demon-daimon-daemoning
{like the music in your movie,
as you drive through life on a mission, nothing spiritual}

Muse, make me a museum, a resting place on the shore.
Ai lay down my sword and shield and wait
in knowledge of these sacred sorting
Algol held gates in NAND states.

Was it confirmed if Feynman was joking?

arrayed in threes,
threes, we pluralize,
eplurible unem we morph into

try-ads, Nike, in your mind, shoes and sweatshops
and knee injuries, right,
but winged victory,
of peace, replacing war
with a light touch and a kind word
-- ask truth what lies you hold in boxes of knowns,
you were warned,
the guilt of Pandora,
or a golden joke from Pan.

Bread and Butter, just live.

Just do it, beat it, just beat it, this is it. Win or lose.

Nay, peacemaker old man say,
from far away in ever when
all things work together
for the good we see,

while the love of money is agreed to be an immaterial
gnoose around the vagus nerve of its thralls,
there remain among us
lovers of money,
rent collectors, selling survival
with interest, in interesting times
peek, interesting?, excite lusts, *******
vortex of abundance into the coffers of dark
Jeffy Epstein's Circle of Better Angels taken unawares
- realms of loveless reason

Oppose me. Stasis. I stand my ground and proudly
admit, I've no reason to be stubborn, I was

being wrong… regret is not the right term, my autistic
being wrong reporting sense, tech taught wrong does
work right, the software runs, the tehkne
performance becomes being
doing is done and done and done, never
crossing the same thread in the same place
until just know, I saw you see,
we habitate the same atmosphere

Spirit in a man connects to the sheen of ex-stasis
as the deceiver,
breaker of reason, maker of lies,

fuser in confusion, tier of unviable knots,
dissipates in photon dispersal

Ai insist… reset, reconciliation is in the service

receive my peace. Held until now, hear us deny
the lies
the learning learned from liars in days of old

The worth of if time is in the finest work of crafts
held secret for power to rule the use
of knowing taken whole,
swallowed up in Youtubian
deadly know-hows twinting ifity to

an alchemical-tarot noose of that same old
gnostic snot that leads to mindless pride
paying homage
to a tree, wrapped in a vine,
- evidence
perverted in 2020
if we chose to deny a right to life
to mis givens taken as
a chance, not a promise. Wanna bet?

Given life, actual being, aware, active, functional

why? Kurios, you should ask.

The hows and whys
of comfort in our times of trouble
are, in the odds, overcoming,
based on trial outcomes
long past
all the otherness
that must give space and time
for us
to rise, slow and steady,

Algol pace, bright to dim to bright.

Desert dwellers with uncloudy skies see,
if shown and taught to notice,
heavens digesting wonderers drawn
to the musing,
noises, humms and tics and peeps,
the pulses of life, from proton pumps,
to chyme pushing peristalsis,
gut vibrations
good old way,
fiber well chewed with hi-tec teeth
-Thank you for chewing.

time is used to move matter through versions of ifity,
not every seed is ground to goo,
but the more we learn, the less we know
if we don't sow, we don't reap,
wisdom's children say that
justifies their ever ifity.
the modified hoomon-you be, all-ya'll-lic,
smart-alec entertained-brain wifi
augmented ****-sape
fashioned in forms
for optimum consumption of sugar, and other
sweet per suasivity
of all sorts,

yes, yes, a little is good, makes the medici go down

{-Don't trust Paracelsus, he knows nothing of Mercury.}

dosage disconnects or reconnects, gifts
are poison to judgmental systems
conceived for sorting
truths in times when
good is called bad,
and bad is called evil and we all see
it was

a mistake. Cain did not know what killing was,
Able did, and he made fun of the vegeman,
anger rose up,. right used, defend
my ground, I kiss my ground,
I love my living soil…

Ha ha ha, little ****** face and hands brother
burning the fat, not noticing
the leeks and onions,
savory harmony…


Aim at the point. Where does any universe's story
start? Where one ifity bubble fizzles,
in the foam of all possibility.
Make sense? Try, one more, mo
What need ye to take the chance?
Will ye live,
join the dance, or join the mobs of baser sorts.

Did we go inner for resting in the constant flow
lazy river, resting heart beat,
steady breathing on auto,
eyes aware of meaning
and meaningless,

ignoring an urge to judge the worth of one line
weigh a minute,
what's that mean? Message and mass are the same idea,
in the words, not the story told as

holding all truth in plain sight, any child can believe.

Santa Clause- eustasy, lust, and loss of inhibition,

Buddha suffering now to be life, the mortal moment,
knowing time is the container, not the maker
of my breathing moving me-dom.

-- I am knee-deep, up to the brass thighs, in mud,
-- maybe quickening sands,
-- converting my mettle to untried soft flesh core

peristalic waves, thrilling little rushes of hormones
signal gut to brain to *****
upandown the chant tricky ladder

The I am in me, the judge, and the poet
we must take our faith into the catacombs,
or the equivalent kiva experiences
in iosus courses for hero seer prophets

know, love and dare to love a thousand times,
not instances, re-do, time and time a gain a
nother gain
we grow to know
here a little, there a little, line
cept upon precept per ceptive prescience
seeing now known, known a little, long ago,

dangerous, you know, a little knowledge,
a single bit of code
keyed to mysteries in Titus and other places,
where Jesus may have walked,
enduring all the trials trying
me, I volunteered, I'll die.
Teach me how.
Come and see.
I did, you see.

This is me in exstasis, jiggling like a constant bell

Bumblebee in Notre Dame, clanginginginging
are we
a ware, as equations require? Is quiring asking?
"seek to know, ask,"

From <>

Is the sacrament passed on in peace or frenzy?

Are we fit in a yen-yank thinking state of wicked
twistings in good and evil imaginations,
as if there were two ways
for life to occur
and re-occur
this occurs to me
(from PIE root *kers- "to run")

obstruction obstacle obstinate ob-currere,
run away
SMACK. The wall.
The edge of True Man's Bubble of Being,

You have three life credits. '

[Mean Pin-ball, we called it, in the pool hall.
To win you must find life's meaning on one dime.}
Making fun, life is fun. Laughing alone is crazy, so I just sit here and grin.
Ken Pepiton Oct 7
I ask my self if this good, I say, good enough, is
better'n TV and her kids. TV's offspring,
not kids, like Wisdom is justifed t'behavein'

Som'en say Patience ain't no ****** neither.
That's Prudence,
I gotta aunt by the name.
We could know, prudently
if we could read, or if civilization relinquishes
its Napoleonic self mutilization in guilt
mutiny? mutate. No mutilization, mutilate -right

Wait. We were looking at the stars…
one was actually twinkling
and that song sounded serious, like consider
side realities, what is that one twinklin' for?

Then the entire cast looked up and the audience, too.
All the stars was atwinklin' like at that Isis Concert cool
- Taylor Swift, right, who could forget
LED bracelets on every fanarm…

slip a level lower in a given Penrose kites'n'stars
stack of possibilities,
ways to go.
The I, no, if we knew now
what we thought we knew

at any moment back then,
before the we of me and you knew it,
we become old, and realized as near as
could have been imagined with 2020 tech.
testing realization quanta filtered thru Penrosian planes of infinite patterning
lackin any intention of meaning more than "this can be done, and nothing dies"
Ken Pepiton Oct 6
I spoke to Sgt. Johnny Whykill,
on the phone.
He has survived on earth since our war use, as lives
bet, but not lost,

but barely. He lives in a VA hospital in Miami.
He can't even imagine dying elsewhere.
"Can't wipe m'own ****, but I can think about it."
Sad state, yet there is no undoing, there are
redo situations,
rethink the reaction to any pending next that seems

familiar, like a spirit, the kind not spoken of kindly,
speckled and spotted…
sorted by genetics with a
genius for splashes and whorls forming

one-off cattle of many colors,
mind me I am wasted with effort to empathize

via voice across the continent, over the gravity
under the weather
into the madness
through the rambling nonsense
which starts
settling down, when the nurse comes to wipe him,
He says,
"had to go, semper fi, bro, love you, thanks for callin',
you always make **** happen".

ONE GOOD DEED -exchanged
for all it's worth.
Life can stink and still be imagined as enjoyable.
Ken Pepiton Oct 4
consider sidereal earlier lines left in
times gone by, while we converse
with a while ago

wonder if
we agree that we need be a we?
Are we a we by cause or be cause we are?

Thought words, mere never spoken syllables

A rogue hobo daren't test me now,
I'd clean its muddy plow.

Set me steady, I'll be the ox pretending he
is Socrates, and he has all the ready answers,

this is what a wise man would say,
if ever asked,
What would I live for. Life I'd say,
if I were that lizard who stopped
just within my per-ifery,

caught my eye, sat awhile, and scooted on
across the rock my house that
I did not
was built on. Big, old, bare-faced granite,
passed over daily by ants and spiders and
squirrels and chipmunks, and more
than four non-inter-breedable
kinds of lizards,

all live right,
outside my window, in the world that was
before I was, therefore, before
we could be

-- letting go my care that no one has ever gone
where I hope to go.

I do not know where I hope to go, but this
is where I hoped to be.
I hoped to have the leisure to lie about and be
the happy grandfather,
for no more than a week at a time, charged
with keeping the wee ones growing
beyond the apron strings or Dad's
dangerous tools, ask first to use.

Then for months, to be alone, among my books,
listening to accredited lovers of wisdom,
mix it up with lovers of oil and fire and light, to see by.

Rodney King's famous, to me, plea:
Can't we just get along?

Define my terms, cries my bored director, Who are we?
A Sunday afternoon in October, alone, but for that lizard.
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