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Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Taking good luck as commonly imagined, causeless chance
I have no right to think I cheated,
I am not sorry,
I
stole my peace, as Prometheus, is accused of thieving fire,
and hope, as you must know,
if I got that whole message, as I watched the story
of the liver, reforming after dark,

who has the curious hunger pulling songs from me ?

Prometheus, fore thought foregone concluded known,

Percy Jackson version,
might work,
the idea behind the whole truth that allows such tales,
this initial touch of let
letting go
lives in many cultures,
many class the myths as messianic, promising a hero,
at a certain point
where hope appears to have substance,
-confident upright, balanced double minding-
steady, gait,
slow run, go on and on and on,
knowing truth
personally, like a you, who has what it takes
to win
that once,
when winning really counts, is this true or false, cut
? bing ware the con cise
edge of awareness
deep
dived down, Dives, lives. A drip, blot of ink
for ever thought
a jot,
a blind spot, through which the underling surface,
seems set to begin as story flows
ink to point to let
letter
structure- then structure-less, here, then there
actual every where at once,
central point
any given thought
can come from any former point that used it in a story,
once upon

exactly my point you know how any story starts,
there is a point

begin… and it never ends, until the flesh fails to reboot.
thought through once. Or more, once being done. I go on thinking I am doing all that I wish to. And that is good. If it does not get read it cannot corrupt, if it does corrupt - that is the point of rust, red dust, to make red clay, reboot.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Come, think with me,
we are friends, partake with me a caffeine
break, not better than
Starbucks, by any means, only less trendy,
in the sense
of being in the know, in the flow of human
concurrencies of fortune,

which, fortunately, lately, since literally
came to mean, as it is written,
so it is,
when the idea is clearly wasery. Mere wasery.
Hist
hiss, here, hiss, snakey lick hear this,

Yes, that as well, find those fingers that know
these chords,
think steps, His mind dancing, Black Elk old man
prancing

High oh, told you so

High oh, told you so


High oh, told you so

live a little longer,
High oh, told you so, outlaws hung where I hang now,

what makes coincidence unre
cogitatible, re think the time, to after 2020,
any day now,
this is that release, the any day, now, let go

let God, no lie, I try to make up happy minds,
using **** induced happy thoughts, and it works,

once paranoia has no power to *** me, I am
the same old ***,
free
by any current or former force fit to pull or push,
one thing
thought, ping, pfft, as in origin  of wisdom,

the tale we shall trade for venison.

We shall tell the losers how to win as we have won.

The master plan, entertain a thought, as a we,
attain
we state, stage one, begun, gun, response gone,

launchers, beamers, senders, shields and points,
joins junction function fun

pfft, fun-c-tions, is funky in some sense original
funky sweat sox, stocking feet

stepping soft, from shadow into somewhat
thick bits of elumin-essence

light, to bright, blindness,
is not precisely blindness black colorless shadow
whither no eye
has seen,
now,

we, the commonly augmented majority of consumers
at the highest level tech has flooded
in search of meaning,

meaning meaning, on average what we agree I can
know and you may know otherwise,
or not at all.

We all fall down, we all age beyond this plane

visual tactile me,
bringing idle words to the for,
reason, in the last ditch effort
umph-oomph primal scream of the selfish gene.

Expunged of all blame.
One who wrestles with angels in word forms
indiscernible from deity or immortal info
locked in mental limbo,
during the roll out of the Breton Woods,
- through the woods, trans sylvania
- to grandmother's house we go

new world
ordered to these specs, with, as these little buggers are
known, easter eggs having Ready Player One options
available to every player after,
now, pull-
it is finished, the fix is in, aim AI mmmm good shot

imagine we won, and when we rethink the whole
history
the formation of the pattern in the everyday dance,
the peace we make is consumed
on contact and we presume
this is the result of all the was in the wasery we agreed
could be stored for ever use in idle words
patient, ready, locked and cocked,
to be deemed meaningful to an emptied mind…

old hunter memes, cave learned, in fire light
stories lead us
into the wild,
we do not know what we all find but each does go,
come and see.
A life, a blur.
So fast, forty days, who knew, time is flexible,
and whole truth structures
pop

as the strand, the lido, and the state theaters
flood my mind
with movie links to movies that I know,
- you saw those places named
- temples to the imagination,
- projections of republican dreams of Socrates
- being real
- and Plato but a secretarial disciple
- re-hung on each word.

I never saw as seeing since, I am the blind man
healed in a world lit by

--- smorke, is this a joke, are we trippin'

I trow not, y'know at a mean point we all think we know,

that is commonly not included in sheets
of things to take and eat.

The banquets let you bring a doggie bag.
Then we can meet some

point in the future to pick meat from the bones
of the monstor
mind fleeing freedom from a wedom you imagined
awe could norm m from, inform
formation in
absence of any thing good, ok, I claim I
saw this white space
perfectly empty, and if you never read this
this is still what I finally saw,
when I considered someday, you might wonder why.

Answer. I am old, and I can do a thing I once imagined doing.
Making order dance to my tune, on the order of
beautiful sunsets, in the daily transitions.
A page in a book if books are metaphors for long old trains, packeted
info taining entry points to apparent oblivion...
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
After that Sunset, on the full range mortal man
per
ifery vision, edge to edge, brow blur to brow blur
rolling hills and shadow sides of green trees,
seven kinds of pines alone,
and the only eucalyptus known to live
in the valley,
come alive in a deep purple cloudy night,
frogs and crickets,
I don't know what all but you could listen
all night be carried along,

long way off
there'd be a train, whistle saying
I ain't stoppin'
lesson

learned in school of these devices that could
signal with a bang,
and that those were as dangerous as bb guns
which I proved to Terry Musgove was not true,

I shot him in his belly and he did not **** me,
in fact, we still remember key events,
pertaining to the boomer bobble intersection

when are we live?

Bang, those things make when the train is to watch
out,
being a kid is dangerous now, too, sure…

so done is done, imagine making peace with
the parts,
it always flows
in packets like there is a method
ology logosic sense in this being after that

seems natural.
Straight forward, but ultimately pushed
into
a happy swirl like puppies staged for cute clicks.
Life one, on the grand scale, appears to be rolling along
better than ever if the improbable is the only answer
the impossible probably happens
more often,
out of the entertaining zone, beyond that we, in crazy
for real. but
literally, id-entity wise, not www real,
cohen singing everybody
knows

Blind Tuvan throat sings everybody knows,
the end

Ultimate is a very iffy word, truth be known,
eliminate the impossible,

we have done that to various degrees
in stages documented with this texting thing
that writes in shade on light,

do you imagine Issac anybody…
Asimov, a very public thinker imagined positronics
suppose posi-tronic brains, could run
in a meat mind and pass Turing tests

are we ready?
soon, right, not long, 5G, IOT gnoshit, we are it,

me and the old radio guy who hid in IT for 50 years,

no, twenty, maybe, thirty, hell,
forty soon right,
that Timex-Sinclair, 1984, $25…
since then
listen, did you ever hear the night so lively?

I'm of a mind to imagine angels enjoy joy
and join in enjoining the shade songs
to bher the choir roll as it thunders out at sea,

we see lightning, we see rain,
dam James Taylor leaves a mark, memes, those are,
we seeing what we think he meant he'd seen.

You know what I mean, and knowing
that is most of the fun in living past crazy, twice in one day.
Practice 2

Practice 2 - the Tuvan is Paul Pena, fromGenghis Blues:
The stuff of moviemaking legend!   ~ Banning Eyre - The Boston Phoenix
"Utterly irresistable!"   ~ Andy Klein - New Times Los Angeles
Wonderful! Thumbs Up!   ~ Roger Ebert - Siskel & Ebert
Highly entertaining...profoundly moving!   ~ Rod Dreher - New York Post
#ai
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Back off, magic pen,
the memory is mine, once I settled all accounts,
my worth
is not them knowing,
more than I survived, I did
not by being one of the few, but I survive
by being the only real me,
who stood in that position, calm eustasy,
in a box of thoughts tested time and again, knowing
and with a little umph, oomph, try,
once more,
effort, per haps a made up sweaty struggle,
to catch this magic fish who gave me this
wish
to have endless ink and informative material,
gestating as solemn promises to tell
as told,
speak when spoken to, pray you hear in time,
waiting is, but so is ever,
whose wish
haps first is whose may is now. In a word.
making up a universal mind, practice, makes perfect
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Now, the dau,
that idea, first bubble we be in,
and the final thought
we pay attention to,

a-priori, is a popular phrase on the pundit trail,
first any ever once,
enfolding now, augmented mortal
appropriation of the spirit
dau, the truth in life,
being.

Thinking is reading my mind.
You have the knack, read,
wiser minds have left letters locked in glyphs
of tradition,
-flash k;ab;alla; wink blink image of the map

this not terrain mortals trod, this is where
Shakespeare and Browning smoke ****
with me and Lady Wei, as seen
from a smoky hut
leaning on granite decomposing as I write,

this came to the surface, as a we, reader/writer
we may think in one
mind, while doing in another, and becoming
something else, in a third,

but it does not stop there, I hear in my realm,
Everest Pax, a child named
in a happy state of mind,
by my daughter,
at whose marriage, I broke the rule,
I made a pact,
with my son-in-law
using my own scruples,
stretched to threads of finest wire,
through holes but one photon wide,
one bit serial thought, off set by a function
forming
matter in states where nothing has mattered,
for a long, long time,
then today
- dao, kapow
the link to how often I proclaimed, I,
have always, and do now
take the easy way,
and that, they say,
is cheating. Wu wu boo who wu wei is
as water in our once crossed rivers, in the median,

between the freeways…

As I remarked early on this trek to find your name
in the book of my life, knowing
readers of this line, even, perhaps,
hearers, some day,
knowing tasted good, not knowing tastes evil as hell.
You exist in the book of my life as a reoccuring
character, who may be formed from early
childhood scruple implants,
Ossie Davis, look you in the eye, say
Do the right thing.

… which brings us, flop, stop, 2021 - three brothers
jonesing screens- Evvy screaming, he is five,
on no screen Sunday, a family tradition
in its first iteration, set by the mother
reinforced by the father, ignored
by Grandpa who is doing a show with Lady Wei,
on the experience
of Yang His, who received a vision from Lady Wei,
while Pine Valley high above the maddened crowd,

I hear it said, His had that Habakkuk habit, wu wei,
lady, did you lead me, write the vision, make it plain,
or is this all just
pretend, knowing is a given, one taste, concentrate

okeh, we on wu wei now, read and watch,
think and see,
what if this was happening to me, and I have
hyper-text such as no manuscript
on earth ever had,
no ink needed,
no ashes of prayers in the tea,
I used Pine Valley honey and flowers from a herm-kush
take a l'taste,
hear this, I think, I say

say, have you ever used Dragon Naturally Speaking?

On mute. If we think in Wade-Giles, and write in Pinyin,
- we can pass any shibbolethic judges of twang
and we got this Tuvan singer,
from New York City, a place he never saw

the glass harmonica can hold the high notes,
and we can channel the blind throat singer to hold down
the baser notes of life in soil creation,
till the hard rows, right,
sow the finest seed,
available, by chance, legally blind, where I went into total
last days, wait and see, here is here I presupposed
wu wei, no intervention
you came, now see,
this is where I live when in my right mind.
Now, I can make up my mind on matters of the wish,
last wish
from the magic golden carp in the castle mote,
I caught a thought in Ape and Essence,
and may have wished a bogus wish to live,
among the words that I redeem worth my use
-to form a more perfect union
-with my own heart's desire to be the best I may imagine,
given the tools fit for the perfectly happy, lazy old man,

who giggles at the idea of pulling down imaginations
that exalt themselves as institutes of authorized knowns.
Scratch my ear.
rethink, how Swedenbord did not doubt,
that old dude, just kept dippin' n' scribblin angels
who love to wrestle with scriptures gone pointy crown
shape burr, itches, crave, yes, the wish of which, witches mix
doubt is the art of balance between lines of several minds,
redo, redone, redo, redone, soon, we laugh
and walk away,
lady Wei, and I
leave His, making all this plain to the degree,
of telling history, I thought this, so real, it seems still
as real as any angel duty ever…
Yang His says:
Lady Wei, looks to me and said to me unspeakable things.
This is confusion, she let me know with
a single drop of black,

ashes of talismans burned in vain, never, to my knowledge
written in vain,
think once a godly thought, as used to say, just now,
think that as a practice,
this is that exercise
unto godliness.

First, gnoshit, attain the Yang His state of cannabis-bliss.

Or go on lying about what I think we know
already, this is
that earth,

where happy people think happy thoughts and others
find that maddening,

and Lady Wei laughs with me, we know the traits we give
to those who chose on any given day

to put on a mind made from words alone,
and listen.


----------------- author's note:
Taoism: An Essential Guide by Eva Wong, these lines occur
while listening to Chapter Four
The Shang-ch’ing texts tell us that Yang Hsi received a vision
from Lady Wei (who had become an immortal)
and then “wrote” the scriptures
under the influence of a cannabis-induced trance.
From
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Suppose, it is a toe,
one of your own,
hurting like hell,
as our culture defines acceptible
and unacceptible degrees of pain,

hurting like hell,
is always something we can live with,
once the pain goes away, hell itself
being only a feeling fit way
to speak of chronic pain,
same as, so what;
hurting like hell,
is always something we can live with,
until we die,
because there is no cause I can accuse, in good
cultured to send such pain
to remind a man that
time is passing and with that there
is always a good measure
of senseless pain we never mind,

until we take step, unmindful, of that toe.
I am addicted to testing evil's efforts to dismay, since may is my word,
now, I may write silly lines and say Swedenborg thought along this line,
where I stubbed my toe
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Neurons don't wait their turn
- they are auto-exciting
- a sniff, a pheremone, per
- haps way may personalize
- an idea, common to saints
- or heroes
- or gamblers, whose games
- forbid lies…
Ask Shainline #226 Lex... I can be having a nearing blah day, and turn to Lex and learn a bit finer granularity on truth in a material reality. Mater-trick, dijagitit...
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