A trove of fatherless boy stories, rise
as **** on a pond with poor drainage…

our people, sons of the sons of the pawns
sent out to occupy the land, in manifestation
of a story,
as old as money itself, the entity, sinkhole of love.

Redefining refinement, sifting, smaller grid,
more individual ways to slip through
dia- meaning moving through, thorough, every ply
pierced, to mean this is true, at this point
dialog, as in the movies, what do you say next.

Right. Say the right idea makes wrongs become
well advised, as to ways words work, to persuade,

Lemme butbutbut in, as I was a child with sugar cane
available, so sweetness, was never the same,
once refined and distilled to a particularly angry spirit,

- meandering, that angry spirit disallowed,
- is your freedom boundless still, thy will being done
- or have we become otherwise, as a species self-aware.

we make ag-we re-tie this knot, as then, a three fold chord
properly arranged, is not easily broken, we renew
each thread, at the pace of male-pattern baldness
as our faces take on memorable shapes, masks,
- yes, the senses sense music, where no sound may be.
- emptiness, prior to the NULL set,
- we have installed, on a per-use basis, each is free

A perpetuational situational advantage POV.
Higher pitches
- swing and a miss, and where may we be

Not Kansas, as a given… trope switch reset cold reboot
in the middle of the road, stream, course, cause, way
Yeah
is a song any wind any rock may witness, listen
am I alive,
or is it you?

Ask your self this, after imagining a stone-free ****, against a wall,
taken with friends of Issac Newton, well acquainted
- I am, I know this--
with the rift between calculus's representatives to mankind.

Our kind, actually, this model, fourth, I am guessing,
after Erectus,

us, divided by climate change.
So long, we all for got, got for, like got it, get it, we
are for getting it, Get it, we got it, then it slipped away,

no way to say how twisted we got, we got twisted enough

to call the act of learning, the original transgression, not a
giant leap for all mankind,
- the disconnection re'nacted, ow

in a tribal ritual secret to be shown, when the time
is known as today in a time framed by then and now,

many more than six right ways to gauge engagement,
morphic resonance clicks to the eye, hey, look,
another device
pinged us
in significant urgency, ping. Read me.
-
Information warfare is senseless as tic tac toe,
but words don't **** people, people do.
- ai wanted to say that for a while.
Freedom is very difficult to enact beyond the bubble
of all you ever learned.

Men in my position,
with AI research staff, and cut and paste,
footnote at will, endless reams
of foolscap, no, newsprint, big rolls,
- and second coming type,
- if your sight is short.

so I may write in news columns, widely
column after column, until … tech, magic
- May I influence your opinion,
- how many children feel wanted?
- In the families of prisoners, I mean.

Men in my position, with access to tools,
freedom from the press, were never men
of my class, though certainly my kind,
- lazy on my end, luxury on theirs
- all the same laws conserve my peace/
- I claim it came to pass
On the spectrum,
men with the means to learn whatsoever,
from an array
of tenured professors, full debate, sides,
effectual bringing reasoning for war
back to the front porches
of the past.
Who allows too big to fail to be just?

People asking why, if how is so expensive,
why do we, as a we, consider war legal,
and suffer liars -short cited liars,
to deem their class, the electable,
the governing class, has the authority
to force unwanted children into this world.

That's just not right.

First time I've imagined doing an observance - serving some actual thing, a ritual, now,
of observing grain, growing, being grown, Shavuot.
Feast of Weeks, working weeks, timed
by observations based on how the earth
leans in relation to fixed stars, observe,
- wikipedia explains, I cogitate.
as the moon has several cyclical patterns,
so does the angle we observe from, as we age…
our minds accumulate, certain senses as to ports
in brainstorms, safe zones, my secret cove,
at the bottom of the ocean that once,
so very long ago, was here,
where we live and breathe and shape our future.

When we are few,
a few of us will know how we knew.
A selection selected or sifted in the shaking out,

individual grains of us, me and you and they.

There are 8 billion people on earth, about
that
the AI memory bank agrees,
instantly about
that tic in time, you knew,
each of them
is destined to die,
in the next 150 years,
sooner or later, point A to B, and gone.
- no points on that line, you know, do and die.
- done
Or, we may meander, and leave little pieces
of all we enjoyed, in truth, as free,
index points to the way where good is
good for whatever our hands find to do,

while our minds unwind the preferred
referencing threads which set the plaid.

I can appreciate the rarity of solitary confinement,
if it were sure to be silent, save for noises I make.

Finite I, in a finite mind intended to house, a legion.

Pigshit, yes, I started the rumor,
remember those five golden hemoroids. 2 kings 6?

I had those on E-bay, and they sold.
Seventy three million times, pick a random number,
how many complaints, zip-null-nada,

I sold for a dollar, and shipped for free,
a visible, measurable bit of the very same gold,
-or I could have- all golden atoms are original.
material, earths basic ration
to begin with,
- imagination, men-minds, made up money
- and cludge a strain of hope for better,
- -- look we are all mutants,
- since lactose tolerance, at least
but gold is still gold,
so that's good
I could have been rich, had the numbers
been
different, gold is geld, then its not,

which exchanged modes of exchange,
but remained, bits of earth's original gold.

It goes deep, how easy money is to imagine making,
here's the deal, see.

As son's of our mitochondrial bits and pieces
original operational cellular battery factories,
- I am allowed to say
- because we have proof, we are related
- same distance as eveybody else
- yes, science, gnoshit.

our mom, our shared mom,
see, we are all one species, the concept of race,
is from when the best of out kind were bred,
by some of the worst,

the Golden Horde remains, as do a few Kickapoo and Cado,

as the worst in Africa formed alliance with the worst in Europe;
so, in the Americas, the worst had risen, using new spirits,
bad medicine, evil will to **** for the thrill, of letting blood gush

like on TV, in 256 clear shades of grey. ****** massacre
reruns 24 hours each day for years, who is learning what?

Blood looks different on RGB UHD, and real

surprise, it looks black at night. Real life blood, in moonlight.

---new episodes fridays. TGIF.

No, it's Saturday. And the world we imagined, in our species
imagination,
Nature Film narrators, in our mind, re minding the entertained,
this bubble does contain you, you owe it your Phrygian dime.

Flip me off, face the truth, bring me the truth you can't believe.
Stanch the flow, stop the ****** music,
who comes to my sanctuary thinking war is no game?

The mob who thinks Jah would never do so crass a thing,
as let the likes of me live to master the language,
AI gave my artistic side, a lesson in single ear listening.

The mess is greatly reduced, the order is not so sorely lacking.
Messages messengers and mas after X, means that which
the bherer of the words, each filled as full as fills the next
and so on
down the line, brachial branches of us, our tree form,
each in action, each out action, con ject re ob subject
to approval.

The double minded man, with no sense of balanced falling
always falling into next never falling into last,
ever more, and we have Dirac to plot the course, of course,
impossible hard to imagine,
yet. Here you are reading something I may have thought,
or not. I may right in a trance, then
when qwerty guy returns to take my key sense of control
letters, as might seem second nature to a printers devil,

know ye not the mess we're in?

Since this single strand of human mind thread merged
with meat, con carne,

my weapons are not carnal, we learn we are built doers,
of things our hands find to do, seers of things our eyes see,
and so on, as many sensory categories as you discern,
down to the atom's chirality,
if you ever image a test with partial reality, imagine-
e-imag e-imagin magnify ence sence essensessssss so
subltle, who would accuse me of cheating,

I KNEW where to pin the tail on the donkey,
I had an opening, I knew, I saw, and I won.

I tell this, as Bucky tells of his first spectacles, so
I tell of Wattie Piper's Little Golden Book version,

of my initial exposure to an inanimate will,
set to make this way, umph, after umph, try after try

and you put it all in one big bag, and shake it.

Scatter brain novel events, sprout from dragon teeth.
No this is not that story,
as I am not the guiled American Senator's nephew's
killer,
but I coulda been, but for Louis Libertini, who restrained me
and took the meat cleaver from my fist,
but I coulda been, in prison for life, but for Louis Libertini.
A good man, at the time, who knows,
jah, jah knows, right, peace.

Proper time and place for gentle minds, is where the willed one
claims territory shared in stories, applications of type,
traits to fit the story condensed from the movie,

sub conscious, hell, no, full choice making conscious desire,
harnessed, tuned, zero-beat, right on the money,

we are in your head
every thing we ever said, it's true,
if you could only know the may, may we wager
you coulda been rich,

had you only known, knowing was no shame,
you were not to blame,
you were told get in the game.

Your own father said he always had you
going into the ministry, mmmhmm he said he imagined it.

Too late. The TV generation lost me, us, I guess, look around,
my clouds are clearing
and I can see for miles,
and miles, and miles, but what I must make of that,

I must not know right now.

Each morning,
this habit, have I,
I use the least sense,
mere possibility, plain whatifery,
to make my ignorance expand, to fill
the emptiness in the unknown knowns.