How elite can one be and not be evil?

Is there any justification for greed,
in your house,

fret not, in mine we have nothing, thus
greed is for attention,
whose act is funnier,
who is most dramatic,
what is the Terraria top level?
" have you never read- Road to Wiggen's Pier?"
- paste from JBP taken with a will to find some poetry
- while judging if I knew the point in use and useless knowledge
- sorting
"
In the lecture I included with this post (see below)
I discuss the suffering inextricably associated
with life, attributing some
of it
to tragedy, a necessary consequence
of human limitation,
and the remainder …

to evil,
the conscious and malevolent attempt
to worsen Being.
I
suggest that human beings
can tolerate tragedy —
even triumph over it,
if they are guided
by truth —
but that evil  …"
-sliptaway
{that one feared in lectures with monstors and heroes
as symbols of common sensitif-if-ifity--
for which we make up useful
stories, then feed them
to the children we wish
to tame, fit for function in the brave new sector of ification}
__ that
evil, never known to any creature in eden,
I swear
== "that evil…
is a far more insidious, subtle and damaging force."

From <https://www.jordanbpeterson.com/books/book-list/>

{******* has the brackets}
But we all are the wise *** now,
this not being any
initial dive into the depths of hellopoetry, far from
jolly drinking ditties done
to dance a jig with,
this be that
tarry slough
of despond,
responding
to the doom and gloom
of those who
feel, we must recall
the whole truth
to tell it, as we swore, to the judge on TV.

Here come d'judge, and everybody laughed but me,
I was smitten, by the maiden,
who looked at me as if she knew I stole the emperor's pants.

Somebody say I don't care
If I do or if I don't
as well,
just as well

tell you what I think
If I do or if I don't
If I do or if I don't

If I do or if I don't
If I do or if I don't
as well,
just as well, yell at the neighbor
say
hey
you wanna play?

That was then, the reality tv was made up
on
accident, or purpose,
I can't say, if I know of if I don't
how long the book of life leaves idle words
un re
used as deemed worth one whole BAT.

Time on site, you reading my mind,
in my distant future using the tools of 2021.

AI, the movie, Pinocchio,
still holds the base plot,
but AI some day, if movies worth
ever hold, as old stories held, worth until not long ago,
on firm fixed grid of ink and stroke as accurate
as
any short hand can be, transcription is an art

telling a once imagined tale told since we
were formed at the level, in the sphere
of more than meets the eye,
- snapping fingers, find a cadence

Thing of truth, boxed in parables, as told
to teach the reason we be
having to justify, the way we say
all men must be to be right and worthy,
on the scale of soul and spirit,
wither early
genius, makes the joker limp to remember
where you lay your head
there is the house
in mind, as the whole truth, snickers on the edge
of the orchestra pit.

might there be minds in any thing we have
imagined minds being in,
in the cultural myth of how now converged
from all the
old secret means and ways money was worshipped,
given worth,
and that, made heavy, as the parameter, gold-wise,

or big fur tanned well, where winters model everafter,
with happy hunters.

What is good in a windfall?
Fire.
How Why and What, each look my way.. and laugh
nows, our chance, burn the branch

let us tell the story how, once
why we find joy doing what
feels like all I am saying
I am happy
inside

and I am so much older now than I imagined then

add a fade gong ding distant skritchy skritch

define the you to whom you sing, or ever
body be, be wise
ever
body be, be wise, bass, and the finger snappers
grove if you are carving
skip to the spindle and spin this diamond needle
tic tic
into gold, the worth of old,
in the economy of mind, whence clots of worthship,
cover stains in golden stories, and colorfilled
parades,

or blue jays here, my now, then your past,
immediately,
meaning nothing to the sense common to us
in the words we define
to our own satisfaction, this is a truth we hold…

evidently, we agree, all the lines to now were clear
or we, the whole we that occurred today,
in your time, was not impossible,
but maybe not with out you being able
to survive yesterday.

Too little may I imagine I an=
swore to code I am
aware bound by
oath, or tack of declared variables, awaiting

suffering now
to be
so
as we find it,
seen as
it appears, random as hell.
Who could imagine that, accurate?

When we spend a free lifetime
of some new
creature formed
in worded being, some
thing and, now named, this as that
name as one, is this
that?

Ever yes, exuberant yes, wir sind, nach einmal…

once again, a gain, immeasurable, but for the
truth unreal numbers may contain,

entertain
the great notion, on my mind
since the Weavers were as likely red as ever
in the grand
signals of edges, approaching everchange
interchange
looping four leaved no-stop flow packeted
info crossed-roads, six-lanes over four
or a roundabout, as in olden time town centers
before town squares and malls to anchor off ramps

any random series of events, fit it in the mind
driving
80 feet per second, steady, not
like falling per second per second to splat
slow lane, fast lane is 125 feet per second, in Texas

ha, giant leap for man mind, accept the
obvious,
flat out
matter is not all there is, even here.

( I meant to paste the link, but it may all be here, ir there https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1291 it is an hour take, at time to spare)

Take the wish to be told and offer it
in storyland happiest
place we wish were was ifery wasifity real

that feeling early childhood film projected
sub-30fps
signals did not fit the bandwidth

at the time,
are any of us here, asked a cop,
he looked at me, said ohyer one o'those
and let us pass, Blue and I, a magic night
in story land allowed
where luck is not a factor, this is real,
mystics prayed this way, in scribbling
honest gnosis neosis snot tstoo til ever
curses,
foiled again.
Tin hats in the realm of watchers, hmmmm
elect-trick lady land in story land,
and exit,
if you will you may, here we have that rule.

Enjoy your time, all the attention you never
paid is how each idle words switches back
to we all know that
dummy. The Joy of {the idea enclosed} in what
you
thought fit there, the proto-noun-sound-suc
cess point. nada
point made.
and we know we know the game,
and we know it's not the same, this time
it is always the other way,
better next times, come to roost, with
an egg to lay
or a bone to pick, we hear
we know what giant steps lead to
from the spot
after when was thougnt.
right.
that thought to now, that fast in 2021.
Any kid can think it,
why didn't I?

Ah, Keds, the runfastsneakers past
in the cheap jaycee penny box, ah ha,
madjawink
think we steal the thought that brought
one of us,
once
this far, in total bliss, as life passes, nada
t'bitchabow budda doit any way
suffer,
let'emall sufferessot'be

fiction, trial run, it is a stream, gone steady,
in the old, meandering river shifting
fords from one place to another,
after the dams, I forgot, formative years
gears, scorned as folly,
golly
watch those would you look, I have seven
grandchildren, all who love, who has measure
to give that worth
to time and chance, give and take, make an oath

and, dam
that broke, who do we think we be, tv oath bound,
when you wish upon a star that is
Jiminy Cricket, listen, if you are a country kid being
test by the app on dad's phone,
grandpa calls who sees first, man or app…

John Henry, right, same page, new age.
Ambit by ambit
a little bit closer now… flex time,
look the game gate, it opened at 291000000
million, right. so if we re new, we know if we wer there
were, weird effects of maturing humans choosing stories
on a trail, my own twelve year old child,
lacked the father who is the narrator now

suddenly feel the white stripes are snow
cold as ice wake up drink water re think now then

--- facts of life only readers use, fishing tornado

blow my mind in time to see, twenty-twenty-one
fo'sho'

radioman, alive in the debitted digital experincepinch

are you awake in there?
You wanna come out, to play from om in we be
sin-cerely let go to be
as jappuyappyhappy as one wisht'be
first star
see, once that game really meant things
we can imagine like winning the lottery, then
seeing the end and changing it for the better
on purpose this time, the ancient war
comedy or tragedy,
for the drama post-arena, who shall bow
fore final curtain on this day
for all we may whished day was night. 2021.

Flat
One facet, plane on many minds, ripped
to disc long ago cast to the wind,
Torn asunder from the first spreading
of fog above the pond,'
in which, as a cloth,
whole with edges held topstitched, as
a hanky, for snot, beautified
to prove fine use of twine,
twisted from spider kites,
this, so finitly soft thread
thinking wisdom won,
we do be alive,
against all odds.
left to learn if we wish
"How to Work Woven Wheel Stitch"

eh, is this not the old known since needles?
Let us wind a woven rose.
With only bits of thread from wren's nests.
Here.
The place, a Town of Weaver's, at piece work
since surviving, or reviving, mayhap making peace

- final line, taken as a great notion
- to jump in to the currency and loose
- the bowels of enmity in amity. Being as I am.

there is a gap, well, as the pause, prior, to

- Walter Mitty, in the Forties, as a child
- think of that, could you,
- sure, every body is a rockstar-like hero

a step that may be falling. And always ar-aises
this option ai ai ai
midfall or flow past jagged pasts, reality stiffens
at the thought

Step light, step right, leave no trace
but having been, words abound to patch
the rip through reality
reproving the existing realm we reason on through
veil after sufi veil,
veil after holy veil
veil after right used curtain - torn asunder
a million words ago…

had Kafka had the will to leave nothing behind,
perhaps, this fact,
that we know we may metamorphose,
should prove Sam Harris a little bit right,
there is no free will at the end of faith.

-------------------------

Never having been a shepherd, I seek my
artistic intuition for a way to say I know

a bit of what the whole cloth needs to form,
at all,
information conforming to pattern with mysterious
iniquitous twists and transpositional possibilit-

a knock at the door,
and an inner action with reactions,
to things
I have been known to have said in terms
we disagree on,
suffer it to be so now, the suffering as you imagine,
is brief,
the time it takes to see eternity is not a mortal concept,
ever is no absolute state, stasis stuck
round and round
wait and see, leave me be the only knower,
lone be
learn of wedom, as we know, me and the reader, being
known as selves with stories certain
in the past,
no regrets remain, but where the complexity of being
you
in my mind, is not for me to untie, or re-tie to my definition
when you believed you know, far better,
truth that proves, data-wise, there is no god, as - who/
who who
who refines the rethinking task, way back machine, be
history. As of now,

Baccus protocol envocolation e-lation cellophane
crinkle in the veil
Rumi walked right through, and left me wondering
when did I recognize the being by the name.?.

name me author for a day,
run it on old video of Queen for a Day,
run a series of clips,
wish clips, what is your wish the audience may grant,
in our democratic game of shame erasure,
wound recovery, tattoo removal,

- nur ds
- the banality of evil, asks for first rule
- from point of no return, what is evil's mission,
- in words?
- Evil words, Turrets spir'ts spat from side walk
- prostrate saint in the throes of entheosity

Walk on by, imagine I am all
alone, wishing I were in a we, a class of us, big
ambitioned amity in enmity
with e as balanced on an inconsistent constant,

absolutely, I see, he says, I see, he thinks he does

out of body lookame aiming to know, as much or more
than any
who got away
may have used to leave a clue

where now, this is 2021 and the sleeve/host/possession

kiva-temple on the phone fully converged to match
the 1999 white paper.

Read the stripes. Those heal invisible. Like plastic braced bites.

We all have flaws, we are the industrial gems,
these
stories, parables, poems, recurring pocketest
of crystalline thought
tinkling breathless

if ex stasis, see, budge it, oomph, we all know,
let's roll

down the barrel, rifled at a ratio only the knacked smiths knew,
now, we know, all things related to rifling spiraling
an arc, set to force the strike

flint to steel to powder of magimeasures and transfiguration,

In my mind, at the very least.
yes. the point of every thing at once, knowing
is slowing
the engines of fear and hate and doubt and betrayal

-- I released the idea of absolute states or stations,
because of you. My son, from his younger self, to whom
I first define my terms,
as Silverman taught me, with your permission, let's say
I cannot lie,
oathbound, resound, begun redone

dance around the truth with me, think of reading ready
writing qwerty keyed in symphony, phony or Meme-o
graphic burps of adol-idolescing,

didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we
didn't we, now didn't we didn't we, now didn't we

and it never gets old, days of old,
being who we once imagined we could be had we
taken another turn,
roll one more time.