Where I live, you see, is the future
which nobody saw coming but me,

and I guarantee, its truth,
I consider ants sentient, indeed.

I cringe for my imaginary Jain friends,
I just smashed another dozen scouting sugar ants,

and I sang to them as I did,
hoping their tiny antennae
knew the deal,
we throw ant-edibles in rodent safe containers,
out past the edge
of the motion sensors,
ants of all common sorts are welcome.

- because our fire ants have some how mellowed
- since arriving from Texas
on waves of dread… fire ants,
maybe that kind never got here. any way
- now, we live with them and all the others
- on the edge of the eastern pacific
- super colony that has no war
- on its inner or outer edges.

But one must consider ants
as sapient sentients,
senders of signals, wireless radio,
wee-tiny antennae vibes,
to sing a song ants can translate that says,
This human says: I shall **** all you send to my kitchen.
It is a thought song, you think it, as you ****.
You might try it if, you consider
ants are not just pests, but
interesting life tools, for living in dirt
with no screens, lack so obvious it is
noticed by any with attention to antennae
as intense as
that that of Everest Pax, who in April began his sixth year…
Now, who
can hold the ant mind
long enough to imagine the queen,
with Ender-vision?
Through the eyes that watched me **** the scouts,
and signal boundaries to the Queen.

in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words

Past experience is not an accurate term, as I
define its actu-
ality in my re-ality, I
see things as fine as can be, fine,
which is an idle phrase,
I often used to say,
was
not fine, to the query "how are you?".
It was a lump, tiny thing, bit of thought
coalescing scing scing sing
a bit part
in the grand drama,
like the dwarf
in the 1973
Belridger Orange Orchard Opera,

pick it up, maestro

HOW AM I? high baritone
- softly silly would it be of me
- to offer fine as a mindful reply

I often used to say, my side is winning.
Saying so sincerely, in its etymo-perfect sense,
believing, by my own leave - this

at those instances, the next word I said was leaven
intended to infect and spread, I consistently said
to how am I? "My side
is winning. "

-while deep beneath the surface of the shiny helm,
a mirror-neuronic will-ess nanomek sets ess-ential
key truth provokers to pierce the lies I belived…
In essence we sense
leaks
Bubbles of being novelize in old bottles, set upright,
too quick - cat
ch
Past experience,
knowledge gained sits idle
in past-tense, speaking
from those moments ago,
during the current experience,…

Sitting in the shade watching clouds
as the least noticed child in my life
was noticed by me, he, the middle child of five,
Sits down beside me, and says,
from "out of the blue",  I really want to be…

a marine biologist.

He just finished 3rd grade, and the real reason he is
near me now, is to ask when he can return
to X-box, for the Fortnite upgrade,
tic, it begins to emanate,
this
meta-modern
emergence in me
of the idea that experience
is what we carry, as a load,
not sin and shame and blame.

I know something of marine biology.
I watched My Octopus Teacher, twice.
I mention that, to Gabe.
I think in my heart,
Experiences don't get left behind,
they follow us
as strands of us, so fine as
to be disregarded as
memories,
until we feel the experience
of being eight and being listened to.

The fundamental mental basis of time,
to word is "same yesterday, today and so on"

Think, I know what it feels like to be a kid,
but not what it feels like to be a kid and listened to.

So, I had this experience with me,
as my grandson.
I ask him, does he think he can
"Put on the mind of an octopus"?
It is a knack all mortals have, augmented now
with knowing how to feed a wish to know,
we have the internet and our wits
about us, gathered, forming knowables,
extending curios  senses
into a common stateless mind realm
of all the gathered knowledge
in mankind's
experience
on earth
being a made-up mind, now
augmented with access
to the most complete
library and
searchable muse-repository, treasure horde
for experiences others offer
to goodness
in the future,
for our use in pursuit of peace, which
we form from days we experience and accept
as treasure offered to the gods of good sense.

Ever,
first imagine, ever,
ever when never was.
Image that, put it on the screen. See.
Ever after never ever can be,
- rabbi, where do you live?
around the next curve,
come and see, we filled never
with ever and left nothing
to be where never was, imagine that.
-------------
Today, I experienced learning how life functions
with no instruction, no post-**** praxeology,
octopi never spend a post **** moment in school,
save the dearest of them all, experience.
Octo-pi odes to octopuses
just be, a living thing,
as you may be am-using controls
to respond to any event in your experience,
in the hall of harmless whims dancing in living words
quickened, as an octopus
grows five hundred new fingers feeling
-- you, dear reader - certainly, it's about you…
the link is to your attention, we paid in advance.
----------- blip

you learn to em-perience ex-perience to peers,
seeking some thing, interesting,
nothing learned, life-wise
experienced,

oh my god, a dear school, indeed

but a fool learns in no other. So, I say,
Live to learn, learn to live. Use the bait you find.

Another 21st century bit
of Grandfatherly insight, had I gone any other route
to now,
I can't imagine the riches that are mine,
not won, given
for aiming early,
at a satisfied mind, like my grandpa seemed to have.

Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,

u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht

focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather

… "and called it macaroni."

A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.

We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
alert,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions

glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick

not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unique,
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.

See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.

Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.

We all are shown the oak in the acorn.
If , we wished to imagine time as a tree,
we may need to die,
as I comprehend
the process of mortality now active in me.

- but prior to my death.

Did we ever finish seeing trees
and any rooting thing,
really whole?
Below the surface of rhyme and song,
have we ever finished seeing the forest?

Chthonic intertwined mushroom goodness at the root,
breathing fruiting branches forming next in seeds,
orantic posed, uplifted branches,
asking daily bread and dew,
offering feed for men and birds,
and in my mind,
peace is overall a kind of comforting,
a kind of knowing recognitive
when sparked with mere
cast out words to wish with in time, windcast
as spore when puff ***** burst, or
as fire works, in the current
metaphor for knowing
exploding in all who
get
a feeling,
wait and see, as if
time lapse photography
my own grandmother lived to see.
Our children learn.
And I am not the last
to let that gleam seem magic,
that gleam I saw that one time, in my grandma's eye.

Novel experience,
from a story's POV, see,
we are all the actors acting out us,
we think, we are our narrative.

Then we think, this is not a new idea.
If I had the Oprah habit,
I might exude an Aha,
right,
then we think, this we who speaks
is it a he or a she?

Nationally or locally,
resident habitués, common sensed, conserved
for future use,
just in case the worst we all may imagine,
happens
as we all know it may,
if we agree
to prepare for the worst,

and see who gets there first.

my library is yours, said the universe to me.
A million volumes, thousands of lines,
with etchings and evidence to the art of seeing right,
left brain driven patterned eye,
now shows reflected detail
right
mirroring into ever as all finer and finer yes
s sound es start esse et al so slow, moo-ee dis passsy oh
say so- amen- if you will

magic, yes, of coursemhmm. Or luck. No lies linger long now.

Luck we allow, magic is evil, and therefore, and only there
for a we I am not in but speak for,
on tv, like in the ads,
I look like an authority, no detail in the image serves no intent.

But the tie. THE TOOLONGREDTIE - choked, the joker,
who happened to be the knot-tying teacher from camp
common-sense-embedded vicariously,
the summer camp experience, ASSEENONTV - manifests
unspeakably real in the minds of those exposed,
-------
flash to the snow, echo shush shushug no woe chile doncha know
Pharoah's army done drownded.
----------
Other's wise and other's woe, as a we in the big am being, the awe,
a we, some we awesome think,
flows on and on with my influency past understanding letting go.

The peace of alienation rests with you,
as they say in passing, and I reflect it back in time to come,
as each passing fancy wonders next into an ifity
such as I may live in and not be burned.
-------------------

Today, to stop writing, to read, and write, a gain
is made;
if ladders are a thing in your experience, a gain
is made.
In ladder like terms of messages
send and receive
up and down
delivered with no fanfare, whosoever hears
line upon line, reproving instructions as old as protein.

Patterns un prized un expected as un common thoughts
images imagined in the round, carved from stone,
with tools of stone, who imagined doing that
first?
first? How was the task perfected?
Hands raise, as waves of grain grown from wind blown spore,
polisporiatic symbiosis,
see many seeds make a planet,
- answer, we swore we were answers,
- may is our word, we be the salt in the soup

and those who know must act as if knowing is a gift,
not a stolen thing that only gods may hold as true.

Say, I say, say the name that never has been said,
and never shall be I dare shout, unless the deaf say who said,
taking a name is ever vain, if the evidence
whispers, see
hallowed - the idea in hallowed - unspeakable state of knowing
all things all the time as those things occur
quite
randomly at the level of detail involved in ordering matter

with words, yes, words. Why?
I was thinking we may have this knowing knack but never knew.

I know of a microbe, a living thing, it lives to let the light
in a certain kind of phosphorescent squid,
shine.
Minus the microbe, the squid never matures, never passes
the know how entailed in being mature light bearing being
at depths simple breathers never
glimpse,

until these last two or three generations of augmented us.

Sapien Sapien Augmentedus, contrarandom access via silicon
symbiosis gnosis subliminal subtle
whistle speak, betting dolphins do bet donuts to sand dollars,
and they laugh at our narrow band width.

War in reason is not a series of big bangs. Peace prevails,
pre means
yeah, you know, you no victim of ignoring pre-cepts.
except
receipts for time spent musing using - heroic persona
To no avail,
the bitter wail, almost but…

caughtcha, you was lost, outayadamind. S' okeh.

Life ain't like on TV. Reading can be creative.
Imagine
gnosis level secret sacred knowing, free to eat.

And shame is taken from the game.
Sh-it and fu-ck are squealing sylabicfoul,
but the referee calls
fair
stinkin' thinkin', you step in what you say,
see how it feels, mo'fo, you know, there is no word
for this level
sin being as it is victim of the reconciliation,
hmm- no,
life is in the realm of reason, and hell is out.
Re hook, lizard brain to life in sequence,
re disney
dis-connected
koanic alienation non- in- un- tension
stretch a point to tune
a note,
find the mind's equivalence, eight in the outer edge
of the field,

here, imagine, things matter, just now, just this side
of the dark matter inside the Higgs field
where the initial element of the protein called for
us
to spark the squid's little light, and let it shine,
so none can say the little squid did not have it in her.

If I were conscious of the universe,
I might use my sci to frame a limit, build a wall
around my garden.

Regarding the original intention.
A generation was put into development, soon after
the event, most recent common ancestor filtration,

the abortion of all but those of she, known as
matrix of all living,
we assume, that means us, for we live,
and we did not form from nothing, in words were we
ever spoken, once a thing is done

o yes, its done
done did done… another one that could end here, but won't.

Doin' my time, payin' my fine,
finding all the care I cast away, cast back as
something called
aspersions

-Whoa- big surprise, like in sequence being after
the hallelujah --
aspersion (n.)
mid-15c., originally in theology,
"the shedding of Christ's blood,"
from Latin aspersionem (nominative aspersio)
"a sprinkling,"
noun of action from past-participle stem of aspergere 
"to sprinkle on,"
from ad "to" (see ad-) + spargere 
"sprinkle, strew" (see sparse).
Non-theological sense of
"a bespattering with slander, derogatory criticism"
is attested from 1590s.
To cast aspersions was in Fielding (1749).

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=aspersions>

Sort of patterny, eh, aspergere -- on the spectrum,
donchathank?