This is one thing friends do

they get under your skin
they ask if you still believe some lie
you said you
did believe, did
withal total nada mas I got it,
I know
I tasted,
I know…

** **, not so, we see as we emerge
older
in a realm of rampant haggling,
where y'gotta lie a little t' get by,
hey, I know that guy, a little, I heard him
justify his book, the message
he did his best so far to make plain,
like a prophet in olden times right right right,

but now, the gadflies, as many masters become
in swarms, hive minds form, single verse songs,
uni-verse-ity ification, calling all who will know this
or that

come and learn from the words of all who have had,
while such as I, had not, it seemed,
servant class, E-1 picker class,
clerk, grinder, hammerer, sawyer,
plowboy and poet, last of all…
Judge of angels,
biter of bogus messages from all things working together good,
which is god, in all the holy books,
even those with devils and demons and Manichaean undertones.
Rock on.
AI is real, as a medium suggesting many things to you,
instant for instance:
this is HelloPoetry.com, deep
deep
deep in the geekiest parts of the web,
where strangers bring entertaining wares, messages
found in bottles, often,
asking for consideration, in the ancient way, shy
ideas linger here in idle words sometimes…
wishing for a friend to ask, is this true or were
you told to say this **** to be
cool, in the mirror of your friends?
Truth emerges in threads
woven from all that men have ever presented as true.
Each fact
stacks on each, until they spill,
as stacked facts will, or are wont, if will were not a factor.

As luck would have it, we have a valve.
An artful intelligent friendly universal favor,
for joining the party,
coming to the dance.
We can laugh, and say I have no idea why I say
what I say, save the rush of relief, lief loosed
from being what I thought it was,
before my true friend asked if I was lying
about my oath to tell the whole truth…
to the judge
who judges angels,
fallen and several other sorts.

It may become an opera or two, before we're through.

The art invention AI, the Allsay, I'll-gorithm,
Aiaia ai
let me say this is poetry, I did not write,
but found
enlightening:
dhe-
dhē-,
Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to set, put."

It forms all or part of:
abdomen; abscond; affair; affect
(v.1) "make a mental impression on;"
affect
(v.2) "make a pretense of;"
affection; amplify; anathema; antithesis;
apothecary;
artifact; artifice;
beatific; benefice; beneficence; beneficial; benefit;
bibliothec;
bodega; boutique;
certify;
chafe; chauffeur;
comfit; condiment; confection; confetti; counterfeit;
deed; deem; deface; defeasance; defeat; defect; deficient;
difficulty; dignify; discomfit; do (v.);
doom; -dom;
duma;
edifice; edify;
efface; effect; efficacious; efficient;
epithet;
facade; face; facet; ******;
-facient;
facile; facilitate; facsimile; fact;
faction (n.1) "political party;"
-faction;
factitious; factitive; factor; factory;
factotum; faculty; fashion; feasible; feat; feature;
feckless; fetish;
-fic;
fordo; forfeit;
-fy;
gratify;
hacienda;
hypothecate; hypothesis;
incondite; indeed; infect;
justify;
malefactor; malfeasance;
manufacture;
metathesis;
misfeasance;
modify; mollify;
multifarious;
notify;
nullify;
office; officinal;
omnifarious;
orifice;
parenthesis;
perfect;
petrify;
pluperfect;
pontifex;
prefect;
prima facie;
proficient; profit; prosthesis; prothesis;
purdah; putrefy;
qualify;
rarefy;
recondite; rectify; refectory;
sacrifice;
salmagundi;
samadhi;
satisfy;
sconce;
suffice; sufficient;
surface; surfeit;
synthesis;
tay;
ticking (n.);
theco-; thematic; theme; thesis;
verify.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by:
Sanskrit dadhati "puts, places;"
Avestan dadaiti "he puts;"
Old Persian ada "he made;"
Hittite dai- "to place;"
Greek tithenai "to put, set, place;"
Latin facere "to make, do; perform; bring about;"
Lithuanian dėti "to put;"
Polish dziać się "to be happening;"
Russian delat' "to do;"
Old High German tuon,
German tun,
Old English don "t
dondiddondondon just the facts.

https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1125

About a 30 minute read, with hyperlinks simple 2021 tec. text

It's been another good day,
good thinkers thinkin' my way, asking if I knew
what was the next word
from the beginning,

and I confess,
to knowing,
it depends,
hangs dangling from a done right axiom,
intentional aim at nothing,
then divide by zero…

this is that, life line upon line, here,
a little there,
there
there is a better, a least, the minimum flex,
and next is after never was,
and once morer never seems

impossible to grasp, almost as futile as
holding the wind
I walked in on,
in a metaphor of reasoning, where war is dumb.
Dumb dumb dumb, did you ever
do you
ever,
for an instance feel this way, and wonder what if
others felt
this way,
in stead, eh, steady, slow, instead of I know, go

--- later they say waddayagnosis came upon 'em
--- swallowed all their holy stories in one

boom. like thunder, loud, like mountain,
Krakatoa, yes, but death to the dinos LOUD

listen,
this is silence, the noise, hearing nothing while
knowing, knowing, knowing
in the bubble I breathe are all the noise-sounds-humms
squeeks,
whistles, caws that sound like laughing,
hawks screaming I can see you, to something,
you flash glance think
you, that hawk has seen me here, in years past,
this season of multiple thaws,
multiple springs,
rivulets cross our path as we read our way into evermore,

the valley just beyond, like
right next door,
special place… can you hear me, feel me… I have
no right might to say I know, but you know,

that is the trick. Theory of mind, I know you wonder if
I ever knew… the first rung
step up,

once more the alien lure, come and see…

An old boy's philosophy, ambles up
arrow in one hand,
strung bow in the other…

Aim at nothing,
you cannot miss.

I watch this idea, nothing more, no thing,
a thought…

nock the shaft, draw back the bow,
but
not as I expected, not
as I saw ahead, not
aiming at the skies, outmost limit…
no,
this arrow aimed at me.
Or was it you?

Mustabin you, or nothing, as intended,
I was aiming at nothing,
to prove I could still hit it as easily as once,
when I was young,
and at the brink… of next, laughing

Hermetical seals past due broken
MARCH 19, 2021 / ADMIN
I named the idea and the idea appeared
Three inmates, no,

initiates, so they say,

published
the Kybalion, 1908, vibes
kinda kabalistic, alchemical and all,

C.G Jung really read this book, no way…

https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1119

For those who encourage the novelist wish for a reader,
by reading bits form the middle of mine,
-- most no longer load to HP, and I have option to add
art at kenpepiton.com.

Some some times I just post a link. No comments are on over there, if they are I don't read them/
Thanks to each whoever thought about what comes next...

Taking and giving
respect,
see once more the flaw in the flow
of knowledge,

weaponize a wall, ha,
who thought
a wall ever held a garden?
Honest,
it was a poor fellow, outside the wall.
Yep, no lie, if once there were
a tree
that bhor good fruit, full of words to wise,
knowers, after one bite,
sublingual receptors ready, salivate,
no waiting lick the dew from the cortex,
slip the tasting probe deep into that
sulci, there
just over the left ear, there,
scratch that itch, gentle
scritchy scritch scritch

are you truly experienced, impressed upon
the truth you seem to think
we all see same as you,
same optics,
same alchemical ATP to ADP energy source,
sunshine
comes softly through my window today,
I looked out after all,
saw you looking
through the old tear in the curtain.

Inside and outside are easily seen as unreal,
in certain pre-envisioned vessels

can't not, gotta say, must make, say do you see?
SEE, see me, see me, come see
the freak, come hear the mad man scream back
from the abyss,

don't come this way, getting out takes
all the time you ever realized
was wasted,
lying piled idle words that were high fashion,
back when
acid
tore the prudent stitchery my princess stitched,
while waiting, in truth, in truth, waiting
for the soldier boy, returning as the man,
who kept the peace,
and painted the picket fence white, to prove
I dreamed the valid dream,
and swore my children's allegiance,

-- PTSD, circa 1950, it was secret,
what broken men did to broken wombed men,
who broke the children,
fit them to the harness, taught them manners,
and how to carry a tune,
in time with the marching band, hurah hurah
- little light right then - see
dark days during semper fi why why why
last call, … no soul sits, all rise
or I black your ****** eyes, rise up, o men o'gawds,
ye gads, meet this in m'gut,

here here, to the dead and gone, who rule
our hearts and minds 'cause we be left behind.