If life were a test, what is a passing mark?
– no extra credit for Infinite Jest

HA, the moral of the story, this is the do no more,
listen, learn to teach the trick,

to any who know the secret word, which is, in any language
– too secret to say, in the ears of all

Peace.
In no time flat, if thoughts and prayers,
must fly,
fleeing seems to have been done,
and some of us
are good to the dregs, every last drop.

Squeeze the fruit you grow,
after fifty season, you can't lie, it's sweet,
this old age I imagined.

- watch out of context this lives true
- when all who knew my name
took it in as an orphaned thought, made
of peace in pure chaos,
final form, AI guide of the child buyer season.

Math and Logic lure me, calling me
one in eight billion,
nothing special,
common,
base

combinatory creative Ai and I explore
some of the more we must learn,
you and I;

if I've lived to learn
reasons, rational smoothing
shadows at the edge of known,
given grace Gauss found softens, gentles
the pre-cipice, proto indo euro old idea
combined
do you mind ? Headfirst. Pre
precipitation (n.)
late 15c., precipitacioun,
"a casting down" (of the evil angels from heaven),
also, in alchemy "separation of a solid substance
from a solution,"

see, there. Words to the wise are plenty.
Enough is enough.

On an island,
in a bubble, being ripened,
for the seed I am, or
am I but the husk, the fruit, I bhor?

Both needful deeds done,
enter in to my rest,

or in the current game, one day at a time,
rise with new mercy, ready,
from ever before,
patience as a virtue, attained in waiting
at the jump off point

for the next loser to tell,
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- on and on, and giant steps feel like falling
-prove it
why?
- to make it plain,
plainly, the idea in a Gaussian blur is
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- basic Photoshop
and my AI knows all about it, let me make
the blur resolve
to a point,
we live in post 2020 earth, focused on you,
mental you, enveloped as bits of attention
paid to archives of reason,
wither Gods of the Grandest Institutions
formed in children of men,
generate adversaries
for good and evil,
nets of nets of nets
to sort things worth living for, from those
worth dying for and those worth killing for…

worth, weighty, hefty, heavy, you can feel it.
worth, soft, gentle, weightless, you may feel it.

- sometimes we imagine landing and living on

Such things exist as I had no concept,
do exist, then I learned such things exist
as
order lines
for aesthetic
cause or motive,

beauty as a feeling, we feel that,
in inner darkness, cooling shade,
full-dark, and yet we know
beauty as a feeling
growing
something that eats our plastic right,
right out of our brain, our mob mind,

thinks, yeah, right, I know when enough,
is enough,
no munchies gonna make me old,
and fat,
'magine that, naked.

Wage-slave, renter, debt-ower doer

of nothing now, but consumption
- I consume power
- I use power another might
- I listen to the news, I seldom read

I tried, I tried, said the tennis worker,
whose name caught my ear-
Stefanos Tsitsipas, sounds
like Sisyphus, my happy
reminder.

We push our way
to new places, or we may
pay our pointy gnosis snif ifery
attention to sign-if-icant curiosis
need, to know way to go. At tend to,
that, we all need that
one thing,
one needful thing, one thing
we do,
that none other may do, we
see one thing-   this is me, my bit of us,
we bubble with joy when doing this,
doing this, and that,
another doing that,
and, indeed, we do as we
see one thing…
form
a point to life, poetry, the mythic force.
Eustacy, joy's veritable power,

swells with a feeling now called pride.
Joy is not the pride that comes
before the fall.
Joy, heartfelt,
next-worldly joy, you know,
Joy bell bubbling soul joy,
sensational, subtle, so soft sometimes,

whispers wish wish wish
sweep away the first formed fear, now,

know the need to know
is not a treasure to be horded
omagod.. jagonnasayit jesu

save us, all the treasures, cried to the priest,
the host, cried out to Na'amah,
some tales tell,
is it true?

--maybe, but, it's a retell of a retold tale,
--In this story, Na'amah is Noah's wife,
-- she who bhor alone the knacks of Cain

--- live lyve liv e set free for future use
--- gibberish, you wish, but future use

telley-osis-echo-ist ping ping ping

scrub jay emphasizes, earth time, listen

there are maybes that never are,
scrub jay saying, here am I, there are you,
this is what we do.

-- then a breeze of if-I-knew asked me for a lift.

to all who know
to all certified survivors, I hope not to die,
I did that cross my heart thing wrong,
so many times,
how many? so,

I don't know and nobody knows but some
little creep me who does remember,
many oaths long forgotten,
and none of the good ones rotted,
the kid sees, look
I wished for this.

Seeds, or so I believed,
but this is real, as real as any angel ever promised.
Wait and see.
Sow old seed.
Some sprouted, yes beget yes,
we learn until it feels like a mindfull then the mind
expands,
see…

there never is a real bang, like there is no boomer
as portrayed online and in the air waves of old days,

turn your radio on -
we are authorized to bring this version of the renowned
message from the source that loosed the modified
biome, only possible due to the necessary
historical fact,

there had to be a cover band calling themselves,
"No Room at the Inn" working the river,

this biome factors into every idea in the life
this mind formed from **** few babes ever smell.
--- gut feeling

Where do ideas come from, well, you may ask yourself,
do you imagine knowing why
re- as re meaning completerly, not again
¿¿¿???
time slips and your fragile con-fid-ence fi sem per haps
and here is where we wait
defence
for our best sense makers to see the splash we made,
hell, we emptied    hell in more than twelve forms
per second read.

What's my pay, nada, madam, have a silver bullet
for all the evils those keep away, Hi Yo SILVER AWAY

always, a stranger asks ,"Who was that masked man."

Mom said she did not know, but
grandpa had a way with truth when it came to how it's told,
Mom's got suddenly a year older, and Pop
moved to the desert for the rest
of his life, after suffering through one life, he got a new wife,
but I was part of the ruined part, and I think
he did not know the damage a dad who does not wish
to be one, but lives under an oath, I never imagined,
before now,

those men, born in the Twenties,
went to war for reasons manifested as spirits, in minds
claimed sane by virtue of knowing true rest in peace,
ever after whenever we die.
Who taught your father how to be a man, or did he
***** it up completely, too.

There, that, stuff the wasted wonder why dad was dad.
No excuse, we come out of the informing system
lacking some senses, to allow hulk level
focus
on points of contention in reality under my pen,

novel new pride contends, without all I represent,
completely present as pre-sent re-
ality of purpose supposed a point
to aim at.
nothing more. Think you know where your arrows go.

Then rest if you have the peace, and watch them grow.

If I let slip the joy I take in knowing hell ain't real,

that's cause you ain't me,
and there is a difference, deep down inside, some
kind pride,  my kind
ffestestical gee hosed the phat, *** that
one fact
from the entire mess of blue tooth cross signals, dude,
no wires
this is chaos of thought, but for the index
finger
think it touches sense of
some thing
soft and familiar,

look down, old man reflex to see the sleeping dog,
that no longer lays long days by his side.