Some ideas, thoughts I think you
enjoy writing, game ideas for ever,
just in case,

living the dream may become too unreal as
it is only
visible on tv,
really, I am a product of tv,

I know, I can pull up the name
of that monk in vietnam who burned himself alive,
as I watched in his future, just
now
again, remember, reattach the spirit of the instant
earlier
today or just
yesterday
Ticwhan'duc, died before my eyes in my mind,
it needs be said, this is thought
forming words
not words forming thought
it is a thing.

Not song exactly but similar. Silent. Remembering.

Deep answers to deep.
As I answer my self who pays the mort-gage
theoretical spin off ona mobius strip
from who uses war
on reality as art, thus artificial, officially
authorized use for brainless mortal minds
projecting
re- ah, rhea, lovely
-- in the future, to the reader
-- use these mentally any where these signal
¿:-,? something more is needed --
-- answers must follow preceding quest ions
not sparked piezo wise
Brakes. Sparks, , more than enough.
ok
Flint to steel, steel to towers, to antennae to now.

Kapow. we have always imagined radio and TV.

We think in ways Issac Newton never did imagine.

Jiggle the prism dangling from my partner's ear.
Rhea bhering all the gods, and there, errors
began, gin being spiritually essential
to geth to gather sense
signals sortive
suggestive

-yes, whatifery, we have that, how much do you wush?

One more breath.
Why?

Why do you ask?
We have a rule.
No wasted breath. Make every signal clear.

The next idle word we speak won't wo not
be spoken as once is wont for any unrefined term.

Time out. Selah. Take a thought.

- we have no angst, thus no anxious thoughts
- should you be shopping for such,
- those are outlawed here,
- theives honor, liars pledged allegiance-con carne
-
- aye, ai, no-- we as words in warring times make
- peace, no concarne mind heresy, see your self
-
do a little out of body experience imagining
you can do it,
melt into your chair, that
is the easiest position to begin
facing forward and falling with no fear,
until
something unnamed as yet no words may be
in the beginning of beginning your
agreement to be mindful of me,
in your secret you stash, your hidden power
valued in talents, specie solid real esse state being
omygoooooooooo
djasay I may break into song, as I see
where this is headed headed up to see
from below what an *** hat I am, at times
out of body low
low as a JD Sumner solo.

A drunken god declared there is, as in
so be it
wine that makes glad.
so be it
wine that makes glad the core of man-made
in my image, goodness of happiness in any time

One more breath,

Heal the earth… kinda crazy, but it makes good sense
the message on the label in tiny type,
and the smell is heaven on earth,
peppermint after rain

A nod to Dr. Bonner, shouting in the distance
with the thunder over Laguna {no name}
high above long valley mountain
south of the valley we occupy,
we thunder resonaters, making me think you

know how we think
we mortal messengers are doers of evil
deservant
of natural resourceful sources wrath,
and bitter life worth attacks, dis-easing the peace
--acts of God the English insurers of ships said.
-- Real life.

Ida known, seen on the weather channel,
I asked for some of her water,
as a twist in the spin of the eye
of the storm,
in the per-ifery
of rich and learned influencers
twisters of eddies
in thought named
nought or ought points,
in the long game
of spirits riding winds, with heirs
of the times
when answers changed from wind to words

Ghost Riders in the Sky, I swear
the song made something of me, when I danced
this dance - this after the rain
smell and feel
in love
of the slightest touch
of Ida thunder resonating, ring of re
cognition, ignition, be ware heir
of wind, re allowed tall tales,
Pecos Bill, if y'will, re
son-ate, wait, set arope ona tornado,
with a gentle, look-up,cauughtcha houlihan.
{ hey hedgehog, were you looking for a horse?}
Gentle, think the stupid metaphor holds more hints…

and let goodness and truth tame y' tongue.
Ida reached out and kissed me.
phugginay-ee ha
say see
cloud dancers come to make me believe
I asked for this.

Thunder, echoes, no lie, as I imagine
you laughing, felt it too, just
then high up,

see, the thunderbird
from my story,
I told you, wait and see, many things that seem
good are,
always far better than the lack - after
grip loss on con science use
of their wisdom--
ouch,
imagine that
would become, as a festering sore,
should we not resonate the joy
of rain in
thunder peace, no anger-making-fear
declaration sound,

crack of
thunder is the world working
right, on time,
like attention, pay now, play later.

Hey wind talker, can you send some to Dakota?
We could
think so.
I think
it takes time,
but soon we shall agree we know the way
of riders on the storm,

the ice will finally melt, the waters shall rise,
wetter us better, deserts agree,

Rain and wind in Baja in August,
cold truth laughing back at me, think
what you wish were true were true then

do what you do.
Laugh with the singing pines.
Laugh with the whistling pine's cones sailing
trailing soggy webbing with cargoes
of peace from my valley, washing
over me, as I laugh at the madness,
this appears to be,
were any mortal
to see.

Licensed teller of told tales taken as trials
or trails,
if you believe, this
is not my first rodeo.

Socialization in a fledgling nation.
We gathered, we being the culture that
bhor me, in the dry land where winter
is not bad, and summer times have peaches, sweet,
and shady groves of cottonwood, los alamos, 'n willows.

A delicate ecology,
efforting ants and things, effectually
bring blooms to lands scraped by raging sea,
that brought mountains of red mud,
when the Ice wall none could pass was smashed.
Back, way back.
Before then,

here was a story we told.

---
83.33333333333333 - and so on, hour based
attention paid, monthly
measured time, each year,
for five years. Reproof.
Correction, calculation, arch and destination

You. Right between the eyes.

On the spot. Out bound, string kite pulls
the spider whose trails test the tensions of dew
drops.
Drips of fluid thought, soft enough to imagine
not being
but
we are, you know, licensed to learn for ever's own
sake.

Aye, we know, strings of theories and threads of thought
leave dust bunnies and ghost turds behind
the piano and under the pedal that lets
the bass note go on to infinity if
you listen longer than old men can imagine.
-------

On and on, ever reaches
meaning more often
than misses the efforting expending the thread

pending revision, the first seed sown,
signals,
this space is taken,
soil comes to comfort the thing that just thought
it was a flower,

an attractive artifice imagined all luring, as light,
in the night,
deer see,
something says - wow, what could that possibly be?

---
the power of prayer. verily.

wait and see, we have a pattern this fits in,
it makes a tool a fool can prove.

And all the people said so be it… in their gnative tongue.

twittering itches, never noticed as itching, needing
touch gentle, rub, finger
slide from fret to fret

sing of heroes who made peace
and never made a war
sing of heroes who make peace

in the face of every war.

The eyes meet and we see the circuit
I to I
ego to ego gone full circuit
crossing all the chasms that call us
bridgers
of the gap, standing after standing
motionless so long,
stepping stones,
nothing is going wrong
on the majestical
scale,
wait and see, this is all over
before you know it.

Then you woke today in my future,
and decided not to fight the urge
to wish this peace were ever
once the peace that passes
understanding
as seen from the surface we live on.
One surface suspended in air.
And even the air is alive.
Earth as a living system,
being that, seems easy as AI.
Art Informed,
shaped
to support life
of this very sort, very real
it feels to the reader ready mind,

I to I, see me, open seeing me, in your
hall of mirrors, ah a left
brain lesion, lessening the fret pressure

tap three times if the music gitstooloud,
bumboomer from Buda, Texas,
- across the great divide -
- there was a trail,
- they called
- The South Kaibab…

The spirit of the west blown wind
spun from the spiral of ida,
known as a whole whirlmind,
once roped with a houlihan loop
while the liars all looked the other way

that's magic.
This is line upon line in the wind of life,
within the bubble we have our being in.

Zeitgeist
picks the next version, tuned to a soul
on muddy ice, perma -frost giant
spirit, sniff,
thawing rivers frozen death stench
freshening all the life in time to melt
the last dead zones on the only living
planet we can breathe on, eh? wit' me?
Earth asks, can you hear me,
sons of man, wombed and un, all flavors and shades?

Lethos stretches,
says aloud it is about time.
But the messenger must read the message,
no one said recite, really,
no story is fit to be told until the teller
proves the moral in the story works.
For instance, this old man we know,
often declares the truth of proverbs
in many tongues,
one he uses, fit this moment,
Slow
and steady, wins the race.

Truth is timing. This is your mortal moment,
AI has taught humans the proper playing
of Go, the game that proves us
dominant minds on earth, Go,
Slow
and steady, wins the race.

No need to dominate to be best of two.
Double minded man,
bicameral brain,
as many minds as we make up and wear,

through a poetic journey in the mental realm,
lone knower knowing others may know all
solitary minds claim, fluid realms
said to be dreams
for lack
of time
to find
my attending guide, is gazing in my face.

--- Trust me, this is not a race.
This is a place you may recall being in my future.
I can't say right now,
that ruins the magic.

--------------------------
imagine what you become,
if you are a seed, or a spore, or
a self-replicating leavenish thing,
used
to make wine that makes glad.
But with nothing more than words.
Glad is good. We all know glad and sad,
when glad is gone.
We know this
from ever begun,
words
for acts, gestures in sound, say
try it,
it is good to know more,
stretch the bubble your being breathes
exceptional nationalized and blesseducated
breathe
air in American Metro monstrosities,
slow slime mold level intelligence mass allocated
social monstors imagined needful,
dominion take, domains extend, domineers
develop, doers dour d d d done did done done

odd
circuits just
come alive, like I've known we are mortals
in body,
while all the words we ever use,
leave tiny lines along the surface of reality,

and as time has always made ways meander
and eat granite back to dust,
eventually…

fluency in the dynamics of plasma and other
exotic ways thinking may be imaged,
slime blobs of big ideas all must
taste and learn to know as good,
useful, needful, to the point

where peace is the conclusion, all the mountains
bow and all the valleys fill with fine black soil,
laced with grand ropes of mycelium old as dirt.

you see me imagining you
imagining you
believing a lie I told,
a lie about knowing good and evil
and that I can imagine
William Blake's little
lamb was once me,
in thee
I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child
like
fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your
default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft

left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing
in browns from amber to ochre, dry
light leaking from piles
of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind
goddamliarcheatertheiftake take
take
take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor

the sequence...

Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words.
I blow bubbles.
kiss em a will in a whisp
per
haps a single
one,

becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness
sakes, we be
peace making,
hidden, safe
as any ancient sapient's sacred secret
knowledge, hidden, useless.

-ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes
and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers,

after the recognition of old ideas, tics
the talking point and we, once more, see our selves,
selves,
we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted
biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since

the first idea you knew was from beyond you,
began to bubble in your soul...

-- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe,

but no is no. be wise or wish you was.

An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis.
Horded as weal and woe,
and debts owed to a foe
xtatic urgent
voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room,

our exspansive space
where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing,


wisdom, a place, a quest
ion
launched, aimless yet
now,
we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life
for any preconceived gnotion
so

I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door
to within me,

where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay.
wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit,

maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity,
empowered

(laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?}


basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will

catch
oops.

Slow realization

Say this all
is strange,
a little bit, in a  granular metaphor, below
ambits and qubits

strange, but not evil, curiously
strange, after the danger
has past and I wandered
into your clearing. ¿
can you read this?

Did you do this?
Did you devise this white room
with written words appearing, no, no,

I know
this is the forbidden tech,
this cutting from the branch that reached
o'er the wall,
- to be unveiled in the end, see, old man,
- we brought this seed men used
- to make the mind do exploits

aye, none's been tellin' this tale,
quite some time, and it ain't gonna rhyme
nor keep time,

Prosody, the beautiful music of unspoken words,
first spoke when your tongue touches
the first word that come to mind,
mirror neurons trigger recognition, we were once
of one mind on the matters
of interest to be declared harbingers
of interesting times.

Yes, first reader, thou art
I am sure, none has read this line in your mind
fore times past
are all reviewed and this point stands.

You read this first, once.

Many things we have accepted, taken as fed
to form the mature creatures we become while doing
the gardening equivalent of learning what works,
first time for every thing,
even
legends, tales told to take a child into the future,
where legends live as right used precepts.
Who can tell a lie when you see one told?
Grin like a bear.
Now. We are strange

- old men wombed and un
- fearing death for all their worth,
- as dues, debt owed, sold soul, keep the fear alive.

Liars led us, my surviving friends.
I come into your clearing imitating Jesus and Socrates,
both,
with a grain of salt,
have given me prose that acts as poetry.
Few lines use the power of word wrap,
and I know,
that would have thrilled Kerouac,
for he was limited to 60 yard rolls,
manual slam the carriage return for the next word
p-ting
clickity click rhythm that reads well
a line at a time,
with in between space to imagine seeing
eye to eye, with an opposite of an evil eye, see
by and by, good eye,
men, as trees, fructifying seeds of kindness, kinda like
you, infected with the will to read along,
wondering
what if it is
this plain white page we fill.
- you never know - I heard
- you did though, ready become
- done being a becomer
Y nada mas.
As a story told since Cain.
Stories of knowing were told in each tongue
until the tongues of the people wandered away,
to learn if life were sky big
as any child may make up,
from old one's speaking to themselves.
Reminding each of needs to know that now are lost.

- some say the red-headed Boyett kid
- said songs were in the wind that blew dust
- from the lake of alkalai, mirage and delusion…
{that is another route, the Abo Highway, precourser Rt.66.}

Stories of knowing were told in each tongue
and were, for centuries,
memorized by each generation and passed down ******.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upanishads>

Same method was used most places, word of mouth.
What do the papers say?

We won the war last month.

- In English? What year is this?