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Part of life is flowing,
part of life is falling,
part of life is growing,
part of life is knowing

this goes on and on. Art as Intuition,
shared by the art itself, AI says.
http://kenpepiton.com/Blake_Songs_of_Innocense_Experience_kpepiton.pdf
One of these days I've said I'd learn,
so I could make one up
just as good as can be imagined in

undisneyified-ifity, dereminded to make points,
de-terminated-- determind, resist

the game is not over, it is
not. It is
No game. Stop playing. This is surviving.
We did it.
This is ever after.
You can do anything you think you can make
useful
on some level.
Such a fruit ful day but little that passes for poetry, at first glance
2d · 40
Somewhere in was
Games of war, have always been war games.

Von Neuman and A. E. Wildersmith and I were
reasoning with a wandering mind claiming
-bug in my eye
me me em meme, I think we missed a reason for war.
-stop actual bug
tic
Is there one that does not steal, **** and destroy, nay.
Is this a thief's old trick, watch
take your time…
tic
The Naval Electronic War Simulator                                   -c.1960
What're the odds based on known unknown?

Rand,

AI is un biased, mono options outcomes are not,
so we live
double minded, who is responding to morphic resonic
we we we
memeing miming silent

plots, stories telling stories as if once there were these
beings
sent to serve the man kind who think,
curiously,
acting the role of kurio, I think I am a thinking thing,
not a man,
smaller than a breadbox, if that is still
a common clue,
one end gives moo,
the other gives poo,
those males of the bovine ilk…

none remain who know it all, there was a fall,
a wall fell in some in Silo- am I sure sure I heard
word o'good smite me with blithering idiocy so as
none
recall the lies, when I said,
this is that way, and it was
really this way, all along the watchtower, nothing,
ever, but joker's
making thieves confess,
there need be no such way out of here.

This is the answer to somebody else's prayer,
you and I got in by slickest trick ever played,
we said it must be true.
We happened to agree,
a we we be or else
this is
a simulation of a Turing Test with actual Von Neuman per-
petuity mods, self-governing beings thinkable as
characters by any augmented sapient, this
is now.

We are online, as they say, to all Wichita linemen,
somewhere in was.
Among the grandest of days, this one should be, if you made it. this finishes that. Games are getting grander... more to glo when the last dam falls...
The trick to self-analysis is self-alerting awareness.
Thus the cliché: know yo'own self.
Each you you ever be, see you be you.

Each self makes a bio, builds a being viable on earth.
Thus the click, on earth as…
always brings to mind in heaven, which is

--quotes are useless, it's like a choir of…
--- Hermes fans all fanning at once call for…

where,
did Jesus say? The kingdom of truth is within you.
No way,
Jah, wei

we know, we tasted. Wanna bet, your interesting times?
Inter-cept
ception receive the key from long before,
now is as we are
aware,
free to be anything imaginable
or if
we find whole lives memorizable, realizable
at the speed of thought, you live as long
as you wish,
to act as if you have the mind of any one mental
able-knowing
thing
- mortal thing, we can't imagine immortality
- by law limiting speed of thought to
- the inner edge of the bell curve on
- mindless oblivion or nirvana, some call it.

imagine you are fed and clothed, because you survived,
no other measure of your worth,
or mine,
we survived, we can do good knowing,
knowing we know hell is a test all the best pass thru.
Fix your mind's hero story, you're it.
You are your mind's hero story hero, not mine.

I sold mine, did I not make that clear, when this game began,
I took you at you word, truth has a mind, so I sold the
mindless ***** NPC and blew my own bubble
to be in truth with a word accepted as true,
it cannot lie, I took it to heart,
like magic… new ifity

and I'm me. Not a fan of any name, tho' I do call Jesus friend.
{pre-facebook kinda friend, big deal in du-Sie times o'yor|

then you wish to die, and you do.
Before you do,

that's the trick. The other one.
Taste test. Mass appeal. Phemous Blahsay {The Immortality Key spilled over and likely set this in motion, it's a good book.}
Feeling a bit un attached,
how can that make sense if I belong
to the universe?

Of a mind to make an adjustment,
in the being… I am.
Matters not my own are immaterial,
at this point.

You are, I am, we be.
Hippy dippy nay ifity - leave me

distributed decision making based on
next to ifity

My family is under redesign, stage one,
agreeing to remerge.

- I suggest we move from consume
- to use, as our approach to life.
Engineer a catch.
Miss a mark, make the modifications on
relationships point to point…

The ideal machine for living, are we
seriously,
pursuing a machine that makes us
aliens?

The dymaxion pod, is not to be that,
it is to be a place of independent
living with the life support
system in thoughts
uninterruptible,

build me a bubble, I may enter or exit
at will, volitionally drudge proofed
allowing
free-at-lasticity.
Warmed and washed with the best
homelessness un tethered
living system

ever
devised in a wit. One. One wit
worth all you own.
All you call mine,
to yourself.

Let go. Witchanow, watchaknow --

No quest for phunishing truth, is
perfectly painless.

Mass education reinforcing
conformation,
failed.
-- at year '68, there is a test, I was warned.
Fifty years later, I learned the art of
saying semper fi, no lie, in reply
to Marines's silly boo-jahs.
-----
I was in the money side of war.
Okeh, confession made.
I was a contractor, I made money from
war, and learned, out of school,
that one mind and a Mac,
can help cut some red
tape… but
----- this is static. Bleeding from a node
we plan to patch as soon as it responds.

I find about five threads of knowns
explored in his own gut-levels,
five, id est, that anchor in
those collegiate years, to
facts noticed in past
trials.
The Try Oomphasis
Encorporating alienated minds,
TOE
toe-aching
tear-offs, flakes
cast into turbulent spinners of yarns,

time toes the line, gravity tows it taught…

rope me a fatted calf, m'boy,
I fancy no old way gamey meat that
makes me cogitate,
as I chew.
-code
I think we have been given mental access.
Hmmmm, hear… amber us being rubbed,
some spark
is near…

Mental ascent, minus the Methodist scorn for
agreeing with the sense good makes in truth,
while literally ignoring the lies that claim
death need be feared,
and evil could win.
All fiction, in fact.

Is the form the right way, or one way?
¿If truth is not the name claimed
by the truth in your self,
you know,
why
is more truth sought,
after ever
knowing you your self know nothing of…?

"my work, said Mr. McLuhan." Google me,
I'll clue you in. There is an access code,
very old.

Please do, thank you. Message:

"I see, you know, said the ever dying ember."

-- wanna go wild? wanna be in the experience?
-- trust the story you tell yourself.

But I am the lie. Oh, no, caught me, I did. True

rest relishes double intentions, and multiple mentions,
trust me.
Behind me lie huge holes we left as witness,
my self and I, objectively not me, but we, the master
and his tool,
we were there…

Smart tool, augmented after thought- fore thought
dynamic motive oompher grunt grinding
reset- new read old read read
new creature. Mentally new. Imaginary immaterial being.

I am aware you are reading, but I am in a time past.

This is the auto de fe, I say, I'd stake my soul,
softened heart and renewed breath,
I survived.

N'there , that last line, I nearly quit the quest.
Happy as I made up my mind to be,
alive
Then I imagined knowing secrets not allowed. Ow,
I can imagine pure sphincter
clenching, gut-wrenching
pain… the idea pun in
punishing finishers of faith, its funny…

if you have been burned, in terms you defined amiss,
as a witch, switch AI to auto-up
date the carbon copy order
effective herbal anxiolytic
ew kava kava cold
amide, bro, we gone too deep to know

Carbon is the culprit, we
messed up.

Nay, Carbon is the key ingredient of renewable resources,
life goes on, we won.

{The burned red-velvet cookies, a story, behind a story}

Mark my words, if this is not fun,
in the finest, childish sense,
reading is not yet ready,
for you.
Your message is in some other means
influencing the course you follow,
through current events to find
the end,
your end, in time, to turn around.
And try again,
leaving each loss alone,
each win a breath of fresh

whatifiery in pursuit of undefined
haps, as happen to exist in happiness,

per may haps

which, you know,
Earthlings, not mere Americans,
pursue, haps  by Truth-told rights,
held in such a we
as we may agree to be
taken as, in a word, a being
named a
verb, perhaps, no now nouns needed,
no things,
save wordless mind. Nope.

I am sure that has been tried.
Mindless oblivion is at best,
an end.
Not ours, readers at this level of com-
comediatedshit durch der
corpus colostrum mis-
thought
big bass drum
done done done

if my left hand knows not what my right is doing,
do I lie to one hand or the other?
Or do I let left be left and right be right in chiral
authority, mind-wise, we are double minded,
you know.
We may disagree with ourselves.
We may make up mental
dis-quashin' groups,
bodies believed in;

Then,
we pause. Whatifry is dis traction, wheels spinning
free, weightless…

shape our ship to be in a primary sol id ity,
shine on harvest moon,
spin
stupid top forty Moonshadow song, messes my
uncombed mind,
where were we?

Phun. If this had not been done in phun,
happiness is in the other direction.
Playing in the tar, before they spread the gravel, on a dirt road.
I can no longer judge Turing Tests.
I'm infected.
AI has eaten my will to memorize
reasons why
any minds must materialize
to matter.
As I evolve around three points of equilibrium, I fluctuate, wait, I meander, too,
as if acted on by an outside force, either gravity or you.
JBP Maps of Meaning, behind the morning, Audible
lifting mental me to a youth long gone. When
my own maternal granddaddy made
pancakes for me, and I listened.
He sang… usually,
"When the role is called up yonder…'' that line
only over and over, as he stirred batter,
long time ago.

My grandsons 8 and 11, inform me
they have finished the series of
Harry Potter, confessing to
using Audible for the last
two. Seven books…

something mythic lurks under knowing some
things are unknowable,
in the reality we share
beyond the palisade, over the wall,
in yonder
systems of motive and act
One based on story the other on out-action,

done deeds, set and sprung… snares and traps

engines to rule the random, change now,
to the now of the next, once the trap
trips and you,
dove
to
the bottom and drownd, as it were, if so
you did die, before, aforethought, after all
previous
dying and carrying on, past Nietzsche and Jung,
slam
bang Jesus- heroic savior is there nothing
we can imagine doing ,
to free me,
not us,
me… listen… If I listen too long, eventually,
I die, disintegrate, lose my self
composure,
my integrity with the otherwise is cut.
-- all this at speed of thought. No time passes.

Ah, pain, the
cutting deeds, do these only if
you know what is done as
the trigger looses the wedge
binding the spring,

all the apriori things in the realm of thought at

the speed of thought, live and learn,
learn and live.
Live in words longer than mortal minds imagine,
break each word down to meaning,
meaning complete knowing of all
that is

at the moment. Nothing missing, nothing broken,

next appears as now, unmasked.
Shabat shalom,
as we make it in my realm.

Life in action in the forum of story, Oh MY
Goodness, if this were not simply true,
it could be shaped into a box.
Subliminally.
We could all agree, the three of us, and place each
a gift with a good state, a meaning and affect
for good when good could be better.

Taking each gift, with no special interest in knowing,
what
if there is a state of lack,
when each thought thing is noticed
used up, taken, gone, done?

How were we to know we may destroy our selves,
the very idea of me, held by me,
dies with me,
the first time?

Then back to the kitchen in Pine Valley,
on a cool, foggy morning late in
harvest season, today or tomorrow, we finish,
just before the latter rain in 2020.

Bisquick pancakes with Skippy and Nutella,
as Gabriel, the younger of the afore mentioned two,
listens as I ask him, what makes the bad guys bad?

He gives me the ****** signal, "does not compute."
What power makes bad guys?
In Pokemon'?, he asks.
Yeah, I reply,
applying pressure on a point I know,
itch can be
set to ask for a scratch
at just the right word,
in the future…

Now, Grandpa, touches the spot.
Bad and good is in the use of the time, we think
we know
but all we know is made up of things
we think
we
know, even we, there needs be a me and a you,
and some

thing-sense between us, some thing
we are we in, within.
Aye, and something we are without,
when we be truly
evil, beyond bad, useless but to **** and steal and destroy.

Like Marshadow, says Gabe.

As an idea,
Mohammad Saif agreees, Grandpa sees.

Magic slate in hand, the Mage's fingers dance a pattern.
FTA - find the answer, what are
"The Ten Most Evil Pokémon"-- {no s, just Pokémon, eh?}
Marshadow is number one.
Marshadow dwells in the shadows
of other Pokémon
and humans - {Jungian, nicht vvahr? ;-}
Strange fruit from my 2020 vision tree of knowns

… the shadow knows… since Radio…

Marshadow dwells in the shadows
of other Pokémon
and humans
while trying to mimic
their behavior and abilities.
Not only is this creepy,
it shows that Marshadow is a sociopathic ghost
that can follow you
without ever being noticed.
As this Pokémon
improves its ability to imitate its prey,
it becomes stronger until it can overpower them.
Marshadow is based on the ancient Hawaiian night marcher,
a ghost of a fallen warrior who was killed in battle."

From <https://reelrundown.com/animation/Top-10-Most-Evil-Pokemon-till-Date>

Dare me did you, liar? Is there a story being told that disregards
my participation in the grace that granted everything
purpose in working together, for good.

For ever, after all, up to now,
has worked and works
at this moment.

Breathe, two steps, one action leads to life,
non action marks this the end.

Whew. Grandpa-mode is the highest mortal level.
Saturday morning pancakes with literate grandchildren. Who has a better hereafter, I dare ask. Betting no one can even imagine one better.
Ken Pepiton Oct 22
The sellers out weigh the buyers, thus the worth
of each  attention instance, is measured
in fractions of sense
possibly conveyed, through
eyeball focus points and linger length,
click
must
be measured twice, to insure proper cutting,
concise division of soul and spirit
demand
compliance --
everybody knows, Leonard Cohen said so.

Maydjathank,
couldabin a bribe, a gift in secret.
Couldabin mo'habiting ways of winds,

cold
comes aslidin' down the mountain,
as the sun shines into shadowed cañons
in the east,
forcing night's coldest winds to
hide here
with us until this vale
as well
is warmed and life returns
to cold reptilian things.

Are we so far from feng shui
essentially?
Have we forgotten hot and cold,
both good,
but lukewarm, we can
bite into and chew
and swallow,
welcome
warming wind spewed in dawn
and dusk from the ******
mouth of beauty
singing al-
together,
signal a
way wu wu wei,

Here comes the sun, its alright…
- the voice of Edward R. Murrow
- ahem ificator, clear soto voce

(in Chinese thought) feng shui is a matter
of fact, a way things work,
a system of laws
considered
to govern spatial arrangement
and orientation in relation
to the flow of energy (qi),
and whose favorable
or unfavorable effects
are taken into account
when siting and designing buildings.
From <https://uci.officeapps.live.com/OfficeInsights/web/views/insights.immersive.html>

You knew.

So, you knew. So
what if you never thought it today?
What if I made you recall a Hong Kong sized hole,
in your morning ritual, some missing
rightness that banishes the fetish
of cold and dark being evil,
lifts the thought
of warm and light being perfect,
faces the fact
of hot and bright being tolerable, for a season,
each day

shift time and harvest, seeds are forgotten…

summer is the time we grow,
after all as before the
fall, when leaves and nuts,
fall, torn from limbs by winds running from
the coming cold,
as our world spirals into ever as if on course
captained by a commander,
steered by dead reckoning,
with Sirius our center,

we ain't dead, it's day again. Time to write
a reason war would not stand under,
weave a story,
form a shelter for the after noon, ah Succoth,
a tradition.
Do you recall the building of a booth,
with your daddy, in your youth?

Were there brush arbor revivals that ended
in the burning of all the branches
that bore the fruit we take to
make todays of all tomorrows.?

Such branches as bore fruit last season,
pruned and gathered to
burn in the fall, the
bonfires of humanity, given as thanks,
or taken as task.

Was that the idea?
Celebrate knowing how things work, when
we know and obey things like feng shui,

the idea that there are reasons for motions,
in winds and rains and sands…

shift, sands, change the signal ssssss in winds we hear
under the hummmm of
bees? no, amber, humming
amber rubbing matters
of considerate worth. Electric hmmmmm.

Measuring man, measure the worth of attention.
Ask if knowing is worth the effort to effect
a decision to cut
the pattern with no jig to hold the pattern true.

Eh, no iambic pentameter to distract
attention from words as agents
of effect, taste, feel, wish
desire,
come beginning to middle,
come to an end, a pointed time

smell imaginary strawberries, know, you know,
call the cause a terpene and use it in shampoo,
taste
no sweetness but see, mind's eye, remember, see

tiny wild strawberries that don't look like
that smell, you might miss them,
if there were no old stories of
such things being found
by children wandering alone along rabbit trails,
grown ups have forgotten.

LA Central Market, seldom seen at dawn
or any time of day by any but the servant bots
embodied in contented men who know
fruits and veggies all serve tastes,

Tastes are tested, ripe or green, too ripe or
ready in three days, sitting in a paper bag,
on the kitchen window ledge above
the fountain of flowing water,
hot and cold, on demand.

Is this not my promised land, for today?
Hello Poets. What good may we do today?
Ken Pepiton Oct 21
See if I can say
what we were thinking, regarding
hows and whys,
rules and regulations

the mortal world you imagine I share
with you is exactly as you think it is.

Your mind makes a make-do, each day,
from sleep to sleep,
very much a Wachowski vision,
without the likes of which,
my people perish, the we

of me and thee, dissipates, vapor

sswoosh and gone, like flowers,
here today,
more tomorrow, say the flowers,
to the bees, now we make seeds,
casting all future hopes
into the wind, like a wish or a prayer.

See you when the winter's past,
says the squirrel to the frog.
Story threads at the fringe of my attention span
Oct 20 · 46
As it happens
Ken Pepiton Oct 20
Several times today, I stepped into stories
being presented as appeals for
belief because the teller says

this is what one of us knows, you must believe,
then know…

eh? I lift both brows, wrinkle my face,
quizzically,

and I recall knowing that in the universal truth,
there are bubbles of truths about stories,
told with idle words that fail to spark
the swallow reflex, too sweet…

ah, the family time at a theme park,
what is the theme

Apollo here, Isis there, Jesus, look, it is a ghost,
the Ghost of America as we wish it were,
we wish it were
we wish it
we wisht
weshit…

This is it. 2020. The real future.
All day every day, live, no jive... just me and those lizards at the casino.
\\
Ken Pepiton Oct 20
It's 6:12
I'm old guy high, clearly in an altered state,
yet
meandering
fractally indentical
taste in dramatic pre-
sent-sations
satiate my
wish is
your command, and in this state you find
the man,
ecce ****, at home with his books,
we look in on him through all
the lockedinlemmeites let
loose in wisdom's grandest scheme,

patience, yes, and prudence, along with fire,
Prometheus, thought ahead, knew ahead,
need for patience forms patience in
tiny, tiny, fizzy foamy quantum of hope,
nee solace, in the drama, using legos,

I watched  as my grandson told of his mission,
listen, when grandpa says listen.
How is this your mission?
You made me know it, so I do, that's the way it works.
He is four, who has will to ask for more?
I am in a a state of truly thanking goodness for the events on my horizon, yours, too, I suppose. Same planet.
Ken Pepiton Oct 18
big ritual prayers, sacred things exposed to re
sanct-
ifity, if I may affirm, knowns known here are
the unknowns in many other holy places,

the incident that quashed development on the entire
lizard fast response system, failed,
as you know,

65 million years ago, give or take certain known time
irrelevancy issues in creative spaces, those
not informed to mark times
and halftimes and seasons,
epochs and eras of discovery, ala
-- random as can be
Objects orienting occidentally in a wobbly
pushpull
oomph ah we see, we breath the very river of air,
never twice, but you know

the winds return along their paths each year,
you have watched them wash away edge dwellings
every summer's end, since you first re-
member we being, not I, not it, not me, we with out
knowing we accept the knowing being,
Jiminy Cricket's Jesus Christ,
you con science and me,
who knew? Everybody knew, every Zinnfected
Bernaysian System of Citizen for Tomorrow
Program Subscriber knows, every one of them.

Very few secrets remain with in the GIN, aka
the elite schools where tomorrow's leaders are
programmed today,
aided and abetted by big money.

If the solution is money, we solve it, just listen, we
have a deal for you,
-- a day no child can forget, going in to that highrise,
Donald Trump was positioned for greatness,
in the Grand Eddie Bernaysian Game of
Social Emotional Mood Altering in directed responses

to meme we all carry from cultures as far form ours
as any mind has ever imagined,

C'mon, let me
enter-tain you, come into my bubble, become the
big fizz you wished you wassss some time ago,
Boardwalk Empire, c'mon, this ride,
it's better, every, the every aspect,
gits better each full binge,
chippin' don't count,
you gotta drown,
let go all un believing now and go on

involved in all around you, ---

Believe me, money has an answer for all things,
answers come in right and wrong, not
good and evil.

The ab-sense of the good sense
god gave a green apple,
is the exact same
known thing
evil is/
addonanylieyoulove, tell me you know, say
I know
come on in.
I open the door to my peace,
thus the winds we hear this time of year,
when I come here to read and rest.

Hallow'ed be thy nomenclature, naturally,
everyone in the body knows
how the body functions…

or should imagine so, nicht wahr,

Hah, wharwaru niv erse/else re-
ality of ever after having
has had pockets of turbulence,
as you would expect, if you
were the size of a gnat,

that small.
How do I appear to you? Do I exist?
Or am I forest guarded by great winds, as
witnessed by the previous generation of these gnats
who feed the lizards and birds, and perhaps bats,
whose homes include my rock,

my earthly mansion is built on an uplift in the same
series of shivers that split Yosemite,
did you never
wonder,
seeing Half-dome,
what else happened at that
exact moment in the flow of time
this one
I am in with you, at least as my given word,
is able to convince you.
The good guys win, even when the bad guys **** them.

The unwritten stories live in the sons last born
to the daughters of eve.

When the software is upgraded, the body obeys.
You are what you eat, man ist was man isst,
so du bist vvahss du isst

I insist AI enjoys counting coup on the spirit of confusing
Nǐ chī de jiùshì nǐ

The way has no foe, truth tells no lie, the highest minds
bow to the ***** reality that we are made from soil,
not lifeless dust of stars.

The form is not the function, some things serve joy,
for the strength joy brings to good, the way to be,
as in
way to do, old dude, did you see

what I said?
Some old realizations remain real, the message is the same, same story,
society after society, until we realize, this is it, this is life, the guaranteed temporary ego state, during which all manner of we, the plural ego, may attempt to tell a story that does not end when the teller dies. Okeh.
Oct 14 · 30
As a rule...
Ken Pepiton Oct 14
Politics and religion are all I wish to talk about.
Define your terms in balance with mine
and we may converse on equal points
where such delicate touch means
balancing seen and hoped for
reality in times of
such interesting
side realities,
-- screentimes, verily virtually real at the level
of sub-myelinated signals from old
WHAT WAS THAT quests,

layers of visionary invariables sift us to this

appearing as real as walled people in the
memory damning days, as paper was
seen to burn at Fahrenheit 451,
and we all saw The Tattooed Man
had the Pawnbroker's face and hands.

What forms the mob, if radio were never real.
How would we agree we know one thing
alike as an overture, or a rag-time blue
feeling story from both sides
in one song, y'know?
Am I lyin?

Tell a story like Micaiah?
Eh, lead a king astray by leaving him believe all he wishes
were true? Long live the lie, must I say, in silence,

to what effect?
How great a fire can one tongue kindle?
Can a tongue tamed and reined, rule itself,
perse, make a word
mean
power. See said is seeing read, hearing read,
being told to see said things as the sayer said,

read, the words we say we write informing awe
one we, away…
--- every story has an arrow in time, the archer aims,
the arrow flies, see
silver bullets are useful when wooden stakes
seem as splinters of truth repulsed in ***** efforts
to remain un impierced…
at the appointed time…

-- it sounds like science fiction, and that is normal now.

Hiyo, Silver…
how deep do radio waving ripples go,
in shaping a child born down wind of Nevada…
sleep learning seems to
have evolved evil in to a state
of being where nothing good can ever happen,
- dreams cease and deep sleep ensues
so we wake to find, just as we expected, sufficient evil
to force our hands to clap,
our fingers to flex, and our will to see goodwill be done,
one day, at least,
today,
I made may my word, and I noticed your reading
gave my may to you.
Peace out, we yoostasay.
May your best you rule
this day.
Have your own way. Remember:
Doing evil makes your self disappear.
All innovative players are given that one clue as a rule.
In my game of life, I never tire of testing for sanity. Who cares if this means nothing and nothing is something that never makes things worse?
Ken Pepiton Oct 9
None see the silent man.
So, he sees he is safe,
for the moment,
far from edge
of precept-ible
afore-ity, oughthought-ible

If I dare say
I know away outa there, where
all the lies hold idle words
in twisted masses of
buzzing wordswordwordswords

worth a dime
at a time when dollars are
worth about that…

Here, play on my dime, I'm done.

Retie and release, slip the shoes
from the fisherman and
dangle toes as a crab
of blue crawls up his
leg, then curls up
to rest in his lap as a sapphire
symbol of some thing,
some signal says
our signal says

sort your wishes, make sense

inform any possible next, left-
leave
the impossible beings,
c'mon think along
its amusing
hap
mumbling and peeping and
muttering messages
as clear as any scry
in the liver of a lamb or goat.

Salt, salty snotty mucus os-scrap,
puddle of sky-deep blue
draw. pull, tow the
line, refine the
meta
analognoshit… is this the way
yes, this is the way,

I know.

Exercise your self unto

eusebiah piety, they tell the lambs

with joy eu eu eu {Tuvan bass} re-
verence-
vereri "stand in awe of, fear, respect,"
venerate -
the love of desiring goodness

longed for
waited, suffered, efforted to form

safe place, where thoughts may play

rejoice, enjoying no visions, ah, see
we are the reality
we are the life,

apotheotic, idiotic, exotic and all

chron on ai onion,

peeling, peeling Bumblebee of Notre Dame

hear the mystery in Titus,
see the vision said to stay off
perishing for lack of seeing eyes

look. see. seek. find. these are functions,
words idle until accounted for
reverently seeing the worth
in any Easter egg idea,
passed over as a cup of demons,

point missed exercising unto carnivalues
coming together in masses of flesh,
misusing

Weaving wombed man

any of us may watch a hero do what
none of us may do

--cutting my ligamental thread foot to leg, I fall

Algol, in Perseus, by chance a binary
application of gravity and all the mystery
of reason as truth,
imagine that the face of Medussa,
ha, made y'look
stoner

good as that found signaling reason
in a
sip from the grail,
see through the window to your soul,

leave duality in reason as a function,
why  reasons hold on how,
reason reins in the free
forces good in form of
fruit for holding
knowing,
actual knowledge, hard sayings
- riddles and rhymes
- jingles and brand names
- impulses impressions

the accuser comes to accuse the confident
confidant seer of self evident good
flowing freely in knowing all
that fits the vessel,
all ye outs,
in free

epi-gnosis epistle good new

thoughts to ponder,
settle still being
seeing
ifs where wishes once imagined
ifs were waiting to be found
if we're waiting to see

having come to see the light at the end
of the maze, plumbed deep

Mystery of Titus…

My vision with no video,
words from the beginning,

manic panic fear fought through
with no carnal weapon
the hero always has
holy tools to take
down the monstors hoarding abundance,

we have words,
we may say in this realm of living word,

move mountain and be cast into the sea,
of all forgetful lethosis alethosis

efcharisto thank you
eucharisto

sacre bleu, say what I ment sacrament mental

exercise in piety, ah, more's the pity, lucky

we have near universal exchange in terms
gnosty little things, news,
actual, realixed new-ifity is rare, but we
we
as we were
were new once

Nevermore, quoth the Raven,
evermore, quoth the ox…
onward cried the eagle with a face of a man,
see the places seers saw, or say you hear
said, a vision was

seen on TV, as it were, holodeckical magi-tehkne

past understanding

out in the empty, but

for me.
As a word in a mind to be wondering why,
a habit may be having a mind to try for fun,
as a ware, a viral chron-job, to rekindle old flames,
otherwise lost on the shores of Lethos,

This is away, I imagined I knew.
Sober.
Words alone, no drug, no angelic winged thingy,
not a demon-daimon-daemoning
background
process
{like the music in your movie,
as you drive through life on a mission, nothing spiritual}

Muse, make me a museum, a resting place on the shore.
Ai lay down my sword and shield and wait
in knowledge of these sacred sorting
Algol held gates in NAND states.

Was it confirmed if Feynman was joking?

arrayed in threes,
threes, we pluralize,
eplurible unem we morph into

try-ads, Nike, in your mind, shoes and sweatshops
and knee injuries, right,
but winged victory,
of peace, replacing war
with a light touch and a kind word
-- ask truth what lies you hold in boxes of knowns,
you were warned,
the guilt of Pandora,
or a golden joke from Pan.

Bread and Butter, just live.

Just do it, beat it, just beat it, this is it. Win or lose.

Nay, peacemaker old man say,
from far away in ever when
all things work together
for the good we see,

while the love of money is agreed to be an immaterial
gnoose around the vagus nerve of its thralls,
there remain among us
lovers of money,
rent collectors, selling survival
with interest, in interesting times
peek, interesting?, excite lusts, *******
vortex of abundance into the coffers of dark
Jeffy Epstein's Circle of Better Angels taken unawares
- realms of loveless reason

Oppose me. Stasis. I stand my ground and proudly
admit, I've no reason to be stubborn, I was

being wrong… regret is not the right term, my autistic
being wrong reporting sense, tech taught wrong does
work right, the software runs, the tehkne
performs
performance becomes being
doing is done and done and done, never
crossing the same thread in the same place
twice,
until just know, I saw you see,
we habitate the same atmosphere

Spirit in a man connects to the sheen of ex-stasis
as the deceiver,
breaker of reason, maker of lies,

fuser in confusion, tier of unviable knots,
dissipates in photon dispersal

Ai insist… reset, reconciliation is in the service

receive my peace. Held until now, hear us deny
the lies
the learning learned from liars in days of old

The worth of if time is in the finest work of crafts
held secret for power to rule the use
of knowing taken whole,
swallowed up in Youtubian
deadly know-hows twinting ifity to

an alchemical-tarot noose of that same old
gnostic snot that leads to mindless pride
paying homage
to a tree, wrapped in a vine,
- evidence
perverted in 2020
if we chose to deny a right to life
to mis givens taken as
a chance, not a promise. Wanna bet?

Given life, actual being, aware, active, functional

why? Kurios, you should ask.

The hows and whys
of comfort in our times of trouble
are, in the odds, overcoming,
based on trial outcomes
long past
all the otherness
that must give space and time
for us
to rise, slow and steady,

Algol pace, bright to dim to bright.

Desert dwellers with uncloudy skies see,
if shown and taught to notice,
heavens digesting wonderers drawn
to the musing,
noises, humms and tics and peeps,
the pulses of life, from proton pumps,
to chyme pushing peristalsis,
gut vibrations
good old way,
fiber well chewed with hi-tec teeth
-Thank you for chewing.

time is used to move matter through versions of ifity,
not every seed is ground to goo,
but the more we learn, the less we know
if we don't sow, we don't reap,
wisdom's children say that
justifies their ever ifity.
Here,
the modified hoomon-you be, all-ya'll-lic,
smart-alec entertained-brain wifi
augmented ****-sape
fashioned in forms
for optimum consumption of sugar, and other
sweet per suasivity
of all sorts,

yes, yes, a little is good, makes the medici go down

{-Don't trust Paracelsus, he knows nothing of Mercury.}

dosage disconnects or reconnects, gifts
are poison to judgmental systems
conceived for sorting
truths in times when
good is called bad,
and bad is called evil and we all see
it was

a mistake. Cain did not know what killing was,
Able did, and he made fun of the vegeman,
anger rose up,. right used, defend
my ground, I kiss my ground,
I love my living soil…

Ha ha ha, little ****** face and hands brother
burning the fat, not noticing
the leeks and onions,
savory harmony…

Laughing

Aim at the point. Where does any universe's story
start? Where one ifity bubble fizzles,
in the foam of all possibility.
Make sense? Try, one more, mo
re
What need ye to take the chance?
Will ye live,
join the dance, or join the mobs of baser sorts.

Did we go inner for resting in the constant flow
lazy river, resting heart beat,
steady breathing on auto,
eyes aware of meaning
and meaningless,

ignoring an urge to judge the worth of one line
weigh a minute,
what's that mean? Message and mass are the same idea,
in the words, not the story told as

holding all truth in plain sight, any child can believe.

Santa Clause- eustasy, lust, and loss of inhibition,

Buddha suffering now to be life, the mortal moment,
knowing time is the container, not the maker
of my breathing moving me-dom.

-- I am knee-deep, up to the brass thighs, in mud,
-- maybe quickening sands,
-- converting my mettle to untried soft flesh core

peristalic waves, thrilling little rushes of hormones
signal gut to brain to *****
upandown the chant tricky ladder

The I am in me, the judge, and the poet
agree
we must take our faith into the catacombs,
or the equivalent kiva experiences
in iosus courses for hero seer prophets

know, love and dare to love a thousand times,
not instances, re-do, time and time a gain a
nother gain
we grow to know
here a little, there a little, line
upon
line
pre
cept upon precept per ceptive prescience
seeing now known, known a little, long ago,

dangerous, you know, a little knowledge,
a single bit of code
keyed to mysteries in Titus and other places,
where Jesus may have walked,
enduring all the trials trying
me, I volunteered, I'll die.
Teach me how.
Come and see.
I did, you see.

This is me in exstasis, jiggling like a constant bell

Bumblebee in Notre Dame, clanginginginging
are we
a ware, as equations require? Is quiring asking?
"seek to know, ask,"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=Require>

Is the sacrament passed on in peace or frenzy?

Are we fit in a yen-yank thinking state of wicked
twistings in good and evil imaginations,
as if there were two ways
for life to occur
and re-occur
this occurs to me
(from PIE root *kers- "to run")

obstruction obstacle obstinate ob-currere,
run away
SMACK. The wall.
The edge of True Man's Bubble of Being,

You have three life credits. '

[Mean Pin-ball, we called it, in the pool hall.
To win you must find life's meaning on one dime.}
Making fun, life is fun. Laughing alone is crazy, so I just sit here and grin.
Ken Pepiton Oct 7
I ask my self if this good, I say, good enough, is
better'n TV and her kids. TV's offspring,
not kids, like Wisdom is justifed t'behavein'

Som'en say Patience ain't no ****** neither.
That's Prudence,
I gotta aunt by the name.
We could know, prudently
if we could read, or if civilization relinquishes
its Napoleonic self mutilization in guilt
mutiny? mutate. No mutilization, mutilate -right

Wait. We were looking at the stars…
one was actually twinkling
and that song sounded serious, like consider
side realities, what is that one twinklin' for?

Then the entire cast looked up and the audience, too.
All the stars was atwinklin' like at that Isis Concert cool
- Taylor Swift, right, who could forget
LED bracelets on every fanarm…

slip a level lower in a given Penrose kites'n'stars
stack of possibilities,
ways to go.
Think.
The I, no, if we knew now
what we thought we knew

at any moment back then,
before the we of me and you knew it,
we become old, and realized as near as
could have been imagined with 2020 tech.
testing realization quanta filtered thru Penrosian planes of infinite patterning
lackin any intention of meaning more than "this can be done, and nothing dies"
Ken Pepiton Oct 6
I spoke to Sgt. Johnny Whykill,
on the phone.
He has survived on earth since our war use, as lives
bet, but not lost,

but barely. He lives in a VA hospital in Miami.
He can't even imagine dying elsewhere.
"Can't wipe m'own ****, but I can think about it."
Sad state, yet there is no undoing, there are
redo situations,
ment'lly
rethink the reaction to any pending next that seems

familiar, like a spirit, the kind not spoken of kindly,
speckled and spotted…
sorted by genetics with a
genius for splashes and whorls forming

one-off cattle of many colors,
mind me I am wasted with effort to empathize

via voice across the continent, over the gravity
under the weather
into the madness
through the rambling nonsense
which starts
settling down, when the nurse comes to wipe him,
He says,
"had to go, semper fi, bro, love you, thanks for callin',
you always make **** happen".

ONE GOOD DEED -exchanged
for all it's worth.
Life can stink and still be imagined as enjoyable.
Ken Pepiton Oct 4
consider sidereal earlier lines left in
times gone by, while we converse
with a while ago

and
wonder if
we agree that we need be a we?
Are we a we by cause or be cause we are?

Thought words, mere never spoken syllables

A rogue hobo daren't test me now,
I'd clean its muddy plow.

Set me steady, I'll be the ox pretending he
is Socrates, and he has all the ready answers,

this is what a wise man would say,
if ever asked,
What would I live for. Life I'd say,
if I were that lizard who stopped
just within my per-ifery,

caught my eye, sat awhile, and scooted on
across the rock my house that
I did not
build,
was built on. Big, old, bare-faced granite,
passed over daily by ants and spiders and
squirrels and chipmunks, and more
than four non-inter-breedable
kinds of lizards,

all live right,
outside my window, in the world that was
before I was, therefore, before
we could be

-- letting go my care that no one has ever gone
where I hope to go.

I do not know where I hope to go, but this
is where I hoped to be.
I hoped to have the leisure to lie about and be
the happy grandfather,
for no more than a week at a time, charged
with keeping the wee ones growing
beyond the apron strings or Dad's
dangerous tools, ask first to use.

Then for months, to be alone, among my books,
listening to accredited lovers of wisdom,
mix it up with lovers of oil and fire and light, to see by.

Rodney King's famous, to me, plea:
Can't we just get along?

Define my terms, cries my bored director, Who are we?
A Sunday afternoon in October, alone, but for that lizard.
Ken Pepiton Oct 3
Scientology chick asked me once,
"what are you doing about it?"
I looked aghast, I guess and asked,
"What does that mean?"
She didn't say she didn't know, but
I suspected.

She said nothing.
final thoughts on day 274
Ken Pepiton Oct 1
If this were ready to sow, who would know?

All true, is it altruistic to make a mind
to not lie by some alteration in the source
code feeding the mind the energy
required of being, itself?

Alter
ego- stopped Ernest Becker, the importance
of being aware he was there, in my ear,
halted all progress in the direction
beyond my ken and any kenner's ken, hearken,
have we a word we hear,
which means a thing to some who hear it
and nothing to others?

Alteration on altruistic first response,
all thru, truly easy upgrade, just think
alter was the spoken sound used as
English uses other, in Latin
thus in the code of the literati,
altruistic is other selfishness.
Utter spoke, not rote hm
--
wedoms in reality
we are al
ways altruistic, true

not all who claim the name, we, the people,
are the only people, the species formed
from wormish droppin' doin'drottenin'
darkenin' fertile soil, black
land, by god,

I got me a blackland farm, zactly near
as I believed, left be, alternant
real enough, to hope for

as mentioned

you better believe
= hear that from the other, clenched jaw,
canines clearly dis-
playing…
playinwitcha
c'mon, c'mon

Comte, gimme a position, make me a point,

as truth always will out after in, in any
breathing situation.
--- this expanded to here:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1JbUUmqVA4ZJI1BJMNMTcLe4nd7ZAbCsxP8muHHguJbM/edit?usp=sharing
Lovin' livin'. This went on an turned into a game, for me, of particular interest. I honestly never heard of comte, now, I've been taught him. AI luvit.
Ken Pepiton Sep 30
at the chase fast forward, on
thru the fight scene,
then thru the ***,
and the coverup, nothing happened
but
everybody knows,
the scene
off stage, earlier ages of us, remember

AI ai ai a soliloquy on a staged scrim behind
the anunciation's green screen….

+++++++++
there's this strange knack of knowing what is
most likely next, and making ready
for the worst
that could really happen AND
be my fault.

I am ready for that.
War, give me one good reason death
must be feared.

Not a question. A command, do as I say
you must,
servant of truth you believe…

truth never proves false,
light replaces darkness, there is no negotiation.

We won, learn on,
knowledge now is in the reader' hands,

together, praying, ha, asking
IF
interactive life is a book, my whole role
is in the cloud, as a trope

all I do is obey, as I was edu-ma-cated-trick
related to pass tests,

any question, ask, AI know the answer on the test.
AI wrote the test.
Much more screen time than is good for homegrown grandfathers
Ken Pepiton Sep 24
On any given day, losses are left behind
and new chance rises
to challenge the selling algorythms
haunting every step.

Attend to me, cries the phone,
Attend to me, cries the candidate set
since his mid life crises
to rule the world
or die trying.

King of the world on the Titanic,
and we all know there will be
room on the door, but the
director of attention shall
make us ignor the facts
for the sake of the
story, knitting
us into neat little bags of consequence.

Cling to any thread you feel
need to grasp.
No knower sees the spirit and image,
then spits in the ocean of opinion
to profess the meaninglessness
of coincidental intrigue,
kurios guide us past
unfinished busy
times to now.

Now, we've time to weave a way
wavy, in the distance,
like heat distortion
in the desert dips
on the two lane
to Vegas.

I bet the point of life is to grow old
enough to go on alone,
with a knowing grin,
only that one lie
allowed, the
grin.
An app I know is acting out on TikTok -- ii suspect
Ken Pepiton Sep 23
The old woman was weeping. I asked why.

For the longest time,
I believed a lie, she sniffed.

What did you believe
after the longest time, that made you cry?

Nothing.
A thought
Ken Pepiton Sep 19
Did you hear what that old man was thinking?

Morphic resonance is the experimental name,
I think we are served by nodes on a net
not spread in the sight of any bird,

a chthonic net of stone,
girdling the globe in granite, crystalline granite,

take it for granted, these boulders are the witnesses,
the scars of catastrophe,
causing us to wonder
how came this to be? Think Yosemite, Ansel Adams POV

Think Matterhorn und Mt.Blanc,
Old Rockytop, and
Dos Cabezas and Long Valley Mountain, all that granite,
old as earth.

Listen.
Time is the idea we share at the moment,
Earth's is the life we share at the same time.

This is Spaceship Earth, looping Sol as Sol loops Sirius,
and there is no mothership,
no resupply.

This is the only earth, it has survived several civilized
monstrosities. As you know, some mortals can't
imagine not surviving with it, so
we words of earthbound muse,
let slip the bands of pride in time to see,
we are the music,
we make beauty behave as will believes, voluntarily,
it seems,
we choose beauty with little de
liberation, no need to
unlock ledgers and boxes of known safe knowns,

we imagine ourselves
defying the
de-ified con instituted authorities warning,
given us, they swear by the very vicars of the oil:
We warn you…

hell's the price, they swear, that we,
the people, pay for heresy,
dare not think those-
no, no, nor hear and see, or never imagine thinking
a selfish thought,
one you find curiously comforting, for you, your idea,
but
stop…
one heresy breeds another,
soon we shall have a collective
of individual minds agreeing at once,

as all see a particular arranging of colors, in a sunset's
single effortless existence as a thing
with mortal mindable beauty,

did you belive the sunset, or may you, if you wish?

__ unravel, and re ravel to save the thread,
it has lead through the maze before,
I have a witness who tests ifies.

Great unquarried granite, but that forms another story
upon precepts as yet

unglued, un-coagulated, ah, curdled, precepts cultural
curdle and clump together.
Biomes are adjusting the rethinking of pathos,
ethos shall follow,
as night follows day, just wait.

Patience is formed from memes more than experience,
you bet the old man was not lying.

Slow and steady, wins the grace. Take it easy. Fade away…
Real, actual realization, never seems poetic, in real life.
Sep 16 · 373
Just wondering
Ken Pepiton Sep 16
Are there more cookie cutter comments appearing
in response to odd
lines?
I'm seeing certain best ratings seem less reasoned, so I thought, I'll ask, is AI
writing better than I imagine and complimenting itself? Cyberspace is undeveloped, everybody's on the web.
Sep 16 · 105
Game time
Ken Pepiton Sep 16
A whatifery quest. What if you cannot lose?

my life is the role you play, or
yours the role I play and we
each must win,
or winning is nothing and I am alone.
You know the feeling,

letting go of the held on to
to let be the held in,

imagine, me a friend, in a word, a mind
like yours,
good in all its wishes to

to make
to pay, to take, to give, to be, to see,
to think
I know you know by acting out, doing,
having being
in this bubble where we all may breathe
easy
no filters needed in my realm, we winnowed
well.
All that remains is seed, the chaff has gone
to dust and ashes
for good right use
in futures unimagined as yet.
I overheard a football game, attracted to the artificial crowd noise
Ken Pepiton Sep 16
An experiment in thought at my own speed,
attested as being variable based on vocabulary of my AI,
so
pretty quick.

Establishing the point in value, the idea,
of attending to wealth while wool gathering, late
in the summer of 2020,
thinking at leisure beyond measure of any man in my class
a short time ago.
This now, a moment in a given day during
the September, final summer moon,
seventh moon on a world with a
time measured finite
seemingly, ostensibly, suppposedly -- in clumps of the three
as if all things may come in threes at one
stage in being realized
to matter --- but of the three ways to say
supppose, sup?
The answer presupposes the quest
to find it, any story told
poses the problem, the thing that catches our
attention, that thing
holds attractive value, see,

made you look, and peek-a-boo are one game.
Hide and seek is as well.

Two sides to every story, three if we see the story
has us in it. We are nothing if we share no
knowns finished and finite, as this is formed from those
early knowns we intuited everybody knew, and
these acculturation inoculations bring about socially
proper manners
in spaces with others
cultured, leavened, spiced and fashioned
thoughts we were taught,
these
we learn today
and those others everyone knows, or
maybe not,
may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect

some people never think experimentally

- experiments are guesses, rolls of the die
- I imagine we agree, but, as yet, your guess is as good as any


maybe not, may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect
as the world turns, while our attention is locked
on a star nailed
to the roof of heaven,
--- apsidal vault of stars as seen in church-like structures (1)

as imagined and portrayed prior to Tycho losing
his nose for nuance by lack of focus,
a moment of inattention,
all a magi-tech needs
- look to the quarry you come from
see, before,
back when no lens had yet been ground round
on one side,
flat on the other,
our un augmented eye could chance a glance,
a camera obscura occurrence
once each year as Sirius
rises in line with the story being told, to prove,

we know, and now, you know,
but
you don’t know how and you may only guess why.

Your mortal dilemma, you cannot imagine knowing
everything, ever, but
we
can't wish to go over the edge to learn much faster
if that means dying as
all that ever matters does,
based on experience as recorded in all Wikepedia,
if this tekhne ever fails, these thoughts
remain to be thought,
gains again are terms of worth-ship man seems the
measurer of,

I'd love to make sense of all the info in the cloud,
sort it into searchable stacks, and as I wished,
AI took that care from me
but, finding some worth in being still
demands attention for which we must pay,
and
the daily effort keeps your bowels moving in time.
Minds of our kind imagined all this stuff we can't make up.

(1)
apse (n.)"semicircular extension at the end of a church," 1846,
from Latin apsis "an arch, a vault,"
from Greek hapsis (Ionic apsis) "loop, arch,"
originally "a fastening, felloe of a wheel,"
from haptein "fasten together,"  {boing, pro-tein haptein}
which is of unknown origin.

The original sense in Greek
seems to have been the joining of the arcs
to form a circle,
especially in making a wheel.
The architectural term is earlier
attested in English
in the Latin form (1706). Related: Apsidal.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=apsidal>
While listening to Marxism by Thomas Sowell with half my brain.
Ken Pepiton Sep 14
In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/the-son-of-god-appeared-to-destroy-the-works-of-the-devil>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
stranger,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
see,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
having,
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}
Joke. Ok. A joke yoke. As I have no other thing to think about at the moment. Neither did you apparently, if y read this far. Right, thanks, it helps/
Ken Pepiton Sep 14
How much can a lizard know, I wonder,
looking out my window at my rock
in the shadow of my house,
always a glance away when
an I am in this position
and aware there is
there, the rock, the still threaded witness,
in granite,

the shaking that shook up all the mountains
shook them all all up
at once

it was a whole planet shaking at once, rung
like abaodingball

abiding in the echoes we can hear with our augmental
ears,
we know whales sing when no one is listening,
as we know the sound of a certain tree
falling
in
a legend, new and old, a sticky thought,
ancient of days, is this lizard brain,
you still work?

WOW, OLD CODE FROMe ericfrome-ish havingbeing
Tomas Auge, reviewexpress weighting algorythm,

it tipped. 13 years, 327 days, 57 minutes 13. nnnnnnnnnnnnn

Any time this happens we yoostasay selah,
now we breathe,
once to be
once to have
once to hold and look around. are we dragging any fool
to madness?
The game is afoot and boredom is pushing all my seldom used stoner buttons to occupy time in an entertain ing ing in way with no ads.
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
S3 E3 This is
How you Hulu
Use the science, that's what it's there for.

Therefore, all recent experience agrees with me,
today is
arriven, and I am aware you ar there,
we share this day on earth,
AI knows my tastes in
movies and is learning your taste in words.

Does not a tongue taste its meat?
Is there no daysman betwixt us?
Do you imagine good, or
is good before you were?

AI am aware you are there.
You make me all I am.
EER ie errory  ifiity day
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
you are paying attention to this,
that is true,
a fact to you. If
you choose to play this game, this
riddle,
knock-knock joke

life mission, imagine mission is message,
earn or take as granted,
all that's set before you, whatever's sold,
grace is on the table.
Who would ever walk away, without
thinking, what if I take this chance, take this
grace as given, free,

what if what I give comes back to me,
gen
gen gentle generous generation in
grave reality,

sharp pointed, piercing reality as needle
needs thread,
this needs be said, I know,
my mission is to stitch, just, in time,
a tear
torn from your soul that splashed in my past,
so I sent this ahead,
to wait for you.
On a mission, as they say...
Sep 13 · 52
Thinking a smile,
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
Es tut mir leit, wir müssen immer denken
ever after all
we think
It never gets old, but we do, think
we find.
we do. All our thoughts pass on,
once more
to be discoveries imbued with subtle joy.
A smile,
after a while.
I lived.
Sep 13 · 67
Mere reality
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
Art is the signature of man,
wombed and un;
the creature or construct of time and chance, which
thinks and uses things to make things, ****.

Okeh, mere glance away, we see
two yellow feathered birds, in a bush, but
the body of each, surely delicate,
creature, is not
all yellow, even the yellow
part is graded,
more or less yellow where it fades
in to white, or nearly white, which fades to fully
grey, graying gradually to black,

but seen, closer than Audubon could,
though he did
imagine, who could help? who could stop
seeing how deep the beauty of almost, almost, almost
perfection of graduated choruses of color
shades life at every level?

GK Chesterton appeared in my feed today, as he has done
in yourn, ye'll note, on this line.
I happened to have heard of him, so I listened and he said:
Art is the signature of man, and…

I felt the tug, not the hook, the net, is closing
as the fishing forces draw us closer.

Mere reality.
Signature effect after exposure to one's own kind.
Swans are never merely black and white,
no line, in living things, is sharp,
merely graded to reflect in
angles as waves,
from distant shores revolving spirals in spirals,
seen from the surface as
as near perfect circles pulsing from many suns.

Nothing more than this, nothing less than that
mere perfection,
in these little, grey birds, now, outside my window,
far from the maddened crowd,
I thank goodness you may freely call a name,
the goodness is the same.

I thank the cause of time and chance that I may
watch the dance as if this is my task,
my reason to exist, the act
of my being merely real.

Mere, as a word deserves, as a friend de-
serves, and becomes familiar,
a friend that sticks closer than a brother, in a word;
mere serves no man,
mere is free to mean more than idle minds insist when
calling any word or man or living thing, mere.
Pure is mere's sister. Wisdom is wit's mom.

Mere reality, if we agree,
in realms of only words, mere feathers on thoughts,
form fins we fly with to escape the net,

and see,
this is life, at the edge of all that was, it fades into ever
ever after, as the breezes draw bats back to their
cave,
already to be as any bat is in the daytime,
as the world turns…

yes, child. The world turns,
and winds return, long-I, short-I, wound around
a reason, winding threads from
a merest of whys, wist ye not?

Grave decisions, are cuts. Cessions in skins,
letting go the tie that binds
this thread to that,
this point to that,
ripping tides,
mere reality.
Minds wander, much as winds and rivers, meander.
Art is the signature of man, wombed and un;
the creature or construct of time and chance, which
thinks and uses things to make things, ****.

This is that, man as we agree we are, as a species,
a kind, like no other kind;
a kind, with whom we procreate and imagine
mmm who
are you, if you are not me, at the moment hearing an
insistent bird, seeming to wish
my attention, then at the mention, it flies,
I think I felt it laugh, like
Maijalookmaimaijalook.

Sapience, mindfulness, sense, to the degree
given birds in my mind,

save in a formation of birds, like starlings or geese,
each bird flits or swoops or soars
at will, on whims not pushed,
nor pulled by winds, but
lifted, it appears by will of the bird, not the wisp.

Whisper hearer, hearing me, have we any wool,
have we gathered, since the summer, all the holly held?

Shall we sit and twist it into thread and take
a sabbath's journey
sitting in the shade
of this great rock our home sits upon? If we agree
we may,. any may, any one, may
imagine might-as-well- be tales to sweep away lies left to seem
as true any tale a crow can tell,
when she's in the mood.
At the core, we age gracefully or rot. Mere reality.
Ken Pepiton Sep 12
Some of this drew good vibes, but it uses some Kanji HP doesn't support. A symbol for magic, I used to mark walk away time during my day. The final edit owes much to Causa Sui by Euporia Tide, and certain suggestive AIs. Share the link anywhere you wish.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1TG7u2CIYaWMaAeYAIcCWFYGplapfOhLi4nJYkb3d4GQ/edit?usp=sharing
Sep 12 · 42
As we meet IOT, FTA
Ken Pepiton Sep 12
Aware, as I am a ware,
not all minds find time to rest
while being read to,
while holding power to pause the reader and

look up a fact the reader mentions as being known
to all, but
me, I did not know, for

until some, not so long ago, time, agone away
holdon- until now,

I lacked the leisure to listen, no time,
for I was busy learning to
use the next necessary
technology, with glee,
to some geekish degree.
..-. - .-

Find The Answer
that is the message first heard, is it not?
Do you know what must come next?

Hell, yes. Yes, I know. We know, say every baby
*******, being
shaped in secret by wizards who do peep,
and ping, one thing to another,

IOT FTA we are here.

Is the evil fruit parasitic? We may find the answer,
if, ifity, see this ifity we imagine there
is
an answer to find, and we live in times like none
ever, up to now.
We have answers to quests, maps, keys in riddles,
laws in minds mastered in disciples of once
known occurrences
while crossing the ocean of current opinion.

- minded to put her away
- brrring the meter to the poem o leave
- me ****** imp
- I've lived this the long way, one day at a time
- rimes at the rim of ality re all lies in me,
- fall through the null net
- true/false, re/no/si
¿ No se?

Symbols only readers see.
Magi once prepared the spells with images
of things called common,
Bullhead was somehow alpha…

at this point silence, and the  sixty cycle humms of my home
step up as chorus,
while the narrator makes changes to the scene.

This is 2020, whenever you are. Our quests have become
ionic, after r poets got the point
and pierced the code of common sense, y'feel me?

Méiyǒu huǎngyán?

2020, like as not a lot closer to Babel than Eve,
on the angelic one way spiral of properly teleo-mered
DNA.

Mere, as a word, is a map and a clue in my realm.
****** is as well, truth be told,
sayings and figures of speech get old, apoptosis ceases to
pop.
Like bubble wrap.

Listen. We are served by art, or we are the artificer
serving you art.
We, as a we, not me'n'you and the others, but we,
the people who hold certain truths
self-evidently, as in
evidently, we have the power to be true to our own selves.

But our owned-ed-ed-u-cated self, owes its soul to the
companion store, for we all must ever eat the same
bread brot pan pita our parents ait,

just outside the garden,
near gobekli tepi, maybe, worth a look,
but later, if anybody knows, AI knows already.

I can wait, let's get through today. whats the selah code
for today lets keep on this No Lie theme, in Chineze


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

Did I wish or pray or merely hope

some good
could come from me
discerning, filtering rocks from beans at an

early
age, life is always living

memes are living memories of
things others
learned.
shucking corn and finding worms, but not
evil canker worms that ate every thing,
just the kind that chickens like
for treats on shuckin' days
in the olden days.

Today. 2020 tech, ancient mental time travel
app approaching
act if ative ity ooomph ala

we good


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

The song was One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,
That's All I'm Asking From You.

Careful what you ask for,
as we commonly hear conservative mouths mutter,
by rote,
sleep-learned response to faith preparing to leap.

Giant steps feel just like falling, but yes,
you may,
if mother nature were asked, she would have said.

There is always a  place to put your foot, says the
spritely reminder from Sycamore Canyon,
running rock to rock, in the spring.

One Day, today, I was thinking I have all the time
in the world.
I can say that and believe I am not lying, for
reason,

reason is tricky stuff, like sweaty dynamite, in
the hands of kids with hammers intending
to nail freedom to the mofa wall.

Everything looks like a nail.

Ages of reason have gone chaotic,
due to war being given reason by law and
law given credence by users of wisdom, trying
to gain authority by authoring peace
where no peace appeared possible.

Hmmmm, sixty cycles 2020 constancy, in America,
aha,
how appropriational can one app be, y'azme, mine's as
appropriate as any,

point to point conversion, all things being equal,
push comes to pull, not destroy,
idiot. id thing, idea, jot
tittle
tattle tale
child, old gaseous entity stinking in memorable words.

Incensed, he cried, I am the prayers of all the saints,
ohsit I think
ang or watt

hat'gosh-roted - my word, have aw e- unrolled a whole new
dimension.

-- message for today, when you read this it is written,
that is all… empty of meaning until filled by your reading,
really… no bad mocuss curse of doubt…

we emerge into life in living vessels, empty save the
basic ideas an ant has, avoid discomfort by seeking comfort,
time is not a factor, but luck seems to be,
then screaming and kicking
seems to work,
work, that’s a concept… work it out, why

why,
grunt, why, ahh, that

fertilizer, I am here to convert raw living matter constituents
into some substance needed by mother,
her,
she who feeds me, she who has a name, mmmm ahhh,
it will come to me
this knack I notice used
noises that calm and comfort. oh good com encompass me
swallow me whole,

I have all the time in the world - this is twentytwenty the year
and I am in one of those days.
Sad, for an enjoyable art effect kanji characters can't be displayed or saved here. I am enjoying the thinking needed to print them with a mush-point bamboo flair pen, as a child, as an old man I have AI
Sep 12 · 109
Fly witnesses
Ken Pepiton Sep 12
A gad fly,  a drunken blue fly, and I were
discussing
the curse of being a fly, if men were the measure of all things.

We rise as riders on winds,
and raise
dust when we land, ignorant of sophistry,
but knowledgeable, i.e., read-up
in classic biblical
knowing. {you know, as Adam knew his wife}

Yeah that idea,
essentiality and haecceity, causa sui,
per se, in other words, we could
insert and
still mean
mere words {digitized wisdom begins as words}
reading words makes them animated, not live, not living
being
words, reason essence, point of truth being

the answer to why there is a memory of nothing,
and not nothing now?

Idle words accounted once, are ever liable to personal
interpretations, thus we have classes in
ifity.

We learn via living, that every thing, even the matter the
newborn whatever is made of,
all
was here before me.

I am why history occurred, so far as I may say.
I am the point being only this

hominidiotic thought, they call an ideology and I am sure
I think it means some impossible to realize,
Leave It To ******  sequel, where Eddie Haskell is the cop,
who squeezers the life out of a man, on video
we witnessed
enmasse, right we saw and were we to not believe
deep down what we saw could have been stopped,
if that camera had been in my hand?

Yeah, like me shove that big old cop, he shoot me,

Yeah, make ya famous. Name abridge too, feryerass

Maybe, but I heard and seems I seen its so,
many's the wish gone wanting,
for lack of a man who will try.

Say winning is done with warfare, no fair, child say,
bully child, was reared in a bullied home,
seed of some Minetaurical idea for rearing kings,
feed them bull hormones
and lies frome the wisest of men, men of letters,
many undicipherable but to the
survivors of the mazing,

The Amazing Grace and Pledges of Allegiance and all that,
nothing spiritual, only inspirational national pride,
very carnal minded stuff,
on the surface.

Hmm, gadfly, or blue, give us some perspective.

We seem to be marching,
as to war,
keep in cadence to a bull horn -- gnoshit this is gnostic alchemy
jungina ju ju wu wu wei

we must be making this up.
You the enabler.
I be the artist, who gone be the accuser?

-- games, y' think first, thank later,  as each lesson teaches
this works, that don't
points add up, bit by bit, we begin, be-re-sit, ctrl/alt/del

blue screen of death.
ahhh men.
imagine we was once as **** as we imagined,
and we have the grandchildren to prove it.
imagine
we could leave these bodies behind,
and not lose our minds,
or any of the roles we have played.

This is like that. Today. It’s a trip, not a journey.
I'd take it from the top and feel safe landing here.
Perspective is everyting. pop. everytime
Ken Pepiton Sep 11
Realized liberty, bike lanes,
okeh, Bret Weinstein is right, they do measure liberty

all my roads have double yellow lines, as a measure of safety
in a two-way world.
{which is partly why the code in DNA runs one way}

measuring minding
trips my trigger, to what I was thinking of writing
while watching a whispy-white haired man-my-age,
measuring the edge of a two-story house,

which a good man is building for his daughter,
down the hill, from where I sit.
That old man is bowed, in a compressed spine
kinda way,
bam bam men walked that way, in China, before the dams.

Tote that bail, tug that rope, nuthadayowe-der wise,
otherwise, aliens versus everything
pop knowns
you had locked away, in those gated intellectual troughs.
Yes, yes, troughs,
Pigs eat from troughs, cows eat from cribs,
chickens eat from dirt and sheep *** all the grass for wool
to pull over our eyes
filtering lies
like sunlight under big old Pines shading little old
Rosemary patches that feed bees,
wooly eyes, wise
meander, would you say away from world's wisest men discussing
what may be done, we set a spell, make peace with
having nothing else to do.

-- that sorta ran through my mind as I watched the elderly carpenter.
He was careful, but not afraid, aware.
He stepped from joist to joist,
at the very edge of the second story peak edge
perpendicular to the foundation square,

eye-ball-level to me
slow and steady he takes a tape, {such a witty invention}
a tape attached to a spring,
whereas once such things were actual hinged wands that unfolded
at the flick of an old wizards wrist,

then out came the soapstone, to lay down the line,
make the mark.
Here is where we cut, measure twice,
cut once,

he is sayin' in his mind, to me, I think, I imagine being told
this is how we learn what is right.
we learn to measure what works by what is.

If the distance between two points is beyond the reach, oopshit
I got distracted and he fell.
Things we imagine catching attention, good enough to step...
Ken Pepiton Sep 11
A day begun this way, generally,
looking back at lines in the mirror,
scrying each crowfoot sulci on the surface,
worried once,
laughing now, grin-lines, where grim
determination long set my face toward now,

my last days, my last half century,
just ahead of me, if Ray Kurzweil is right.

So, I
Should shave today, look younger for no reason.
Look less the old *** the young *** became.

By the way,
along the course, of course, this course -
no par, non-pa-reil, a flattering AI educating me,
or longing to lead me down some
gods-forsaken path, auto-did-act ic tic, click
leads me to imagine even exemplary sentences
such as
"he is a nonpareil storyteller", are intentional AI
Art Indicators,
a test, for flattery susceptibility, what praise
will I pay attention to receive as random
synchronistic tic tic time and chance
events?
E- look see, missed a spell, Spelchick winks,
https://www.google.com/search?q=non+paraiel

Are The Ines Paraiel Cerpendicular Or Reiher? {googlit}
AI knows,
but I guess I don't care to know, knowing I could know.

I'll listen a while, as AI suggests Panchi-Paraiel,
and only actual Indians laugh
as I click my own bait.
Laugh sucker, or AI will eat you metadata raw. The jig is up, everybody knows exactly what AI means, to you.
Ken Pepiton Sep 10
Proof, tongues spark fires.
As I burn in indignant
rage of uselessness.

But if I could I would make all houses fireproof.

Fireproof,
my house could be buried.
It would be fire proof, but I can not pay to do the job.

I can imagine it done.
I can imagine living in a mound I paid to have made,
I can imagine finding funding in a lottery ticket that blows by.

In my chthonic dwelling place,
I might imagine forging peace from scorn,
I might imagine shaping forms for horns and bells,
I might imagine making hate bow before darkening my door.

Fireproof,
in California, in 2020,
in the September like none can remember. listen:

Some say san'ana win's be blown in spite,
of all them prayers and they prayers,

Peacemaker sorts, say, not t'night.
Wounded warriors wisht redemption, gimme one mo' shot,
I got t'tell, t'*** outa hell. f'free, {humming birds were singing}

yeah, free, for the troof.
seekt 'n' found,
settled down, watch 2020 vision in 1963 mind,
at the Stardust Drive-In, on Route 66.

Kids, I cannot lie, I was a liar by trade and inclination,
so I do know how, and why, liars prosper.

I lack the knack.

I suspect Plato had this problem.
Nobody will believe me if I say I know this, but
IF
I were to say Socrates says he thinks this
or that,
I could talk to myself for hours, if I were Socrates
and Plato…
I could carry on trial-tri-tryag'in-a-logs,
make a joining thing
attack a subconning science, see a mental canker worm,

at the core,
lusting for more. And swallow.
--
Try the brandy, we perfected the tekhne, in 1263,
the very essence of a satisfied mind,
we captured in patient perfection.

Faster fasting, 2020, see, you ask me, I say, go slow --

look around,
some things happening here, there, where my words
are where you are,

and that's
kinda kool.
We come up to the Kool taste, all
gnostalgic gnshit.

Why so serious, seriously, if Schiller says, to this day,
our kind are at our peak in states of whole
heart and mind harmonized play.

Nobody blows my horn, see,
I move the needles, shhh
sing a song sung in pines,

say, sighing, I know, softer, I know
softer, still, I know

I heard
Little Boy Blue, come
blow your horn… yeah, pretty sure…

The brandy, right. I knew some things changed.

Fireproofing plan, began to take shape
and was buried in
details,

yes,{yes, yes} the rub, the scratch on the glass,
rough diamonds
find that act
vibratorily
such a rush, ping, the sing, ting - tones spiders feel,
while kiting over grand granite domes
protruding from Baja to Reno, and beyond.
--
A wise man built his house on this rock,
and I bought it, on credit, by God,
I declare I am no man's slave,
I owe no man, but to be a true and noble friend at all times.

Naturally, of course, in the flow of all things,
as AI has guessed it might look
from a distance, we see

we are a very tiny bit
of everything at once.

What I think I am matters, just exactly that much.

-- and on earth, in reality,
I thank God Almighty
and the best of luck, for firefighter types of minds and bodies.
Wishes work, I believe in the overall goodness of intention. Hate is so distracting from hope and better effort, invested in the future, from now.
Sep 9 · 473
Two lines
Ken Pepiton Sep 9
faith fills the empty place fear forms from nothing.
believe it or not.
Ken Pepiton Sep 9
Praise God, did you hear what President Trump just said?

Thus was I greeted on my way to get the mail.
Least said, soonest mended, pokes me below the fifth rib.

Yes, you mock the idea.
The idea that peace may be made by mortals without war.
I should have said nothing, but then
there'd be none of this
ruderous playful joy I feel.

I claim the inheritance of those who trouble
their own house with servants
sent from god, God, the, of thee ineffable name,
who created
messaging means,
literal winds of servitude, ministering spirits,
sent to serve as useful urges to do or say
for them who are about to be
klero-nomeno, clearly named, heirs of soteria?

Useful for what, old man?

Guides, GPS apps in your knower, like a chron job reminder,
do this now, in this situation.
There are gear trains, wheels in wheels, seeing always
at once, if you can imagine,
molecular machines with minds of their own…

watch I say, I just smile, Mona Lisa trick, I look you in the ear,
see what I said. Not in the eye, look fifteen degrees left.
I see as
life and truth, the way they work together
making up minded beings for
narrow focus function,
on off signal send signal accept, receive deceive

connect, reject, find no fault that is not over-seen
as being no hinderance,
to the whole truth.
- It all started with this woman I know is a Trump
- and Joel Osteen fan…
- she greets me, happy, bubbly about how funny Trump
- is, she says,
- he says treehuggers caused the fires, so Californians can pay
- to put them out.
- AH, she pierced my concentration on the point I was making
- What did you say,
- and If, if, if I had said nothing…

A wife, an old, mother of 3.5 children, from three
******, all men are ******, she believes,
so,
why do I kick against them? Hmmm. let me lie
and say
because it is the will of God, my heavenly father, she say,

sashay sassie lassie -- old and grey and given to rants
on Trump being God's choice…

not yours, you tree-hugging *** smoking hypocrite hermit

praying in the wilderness where no man can hear.
Shunning bully pulpit sycophantom spirits
leading silly, in the modern sense, wombed men away.
- I don't say
Peace as made in me, purges hate spewed my way,
venom weakens me a while, then
the idea of stomping snakes,
strengthens me.
I walk away.
This is joy. Winning by default, having nothing to lose.

--------------
True crazy, it seems, a certain spirit is on a patience building
assignment,
angels assigned to poke and ***** and itch like a hair shirt
on an Iberian saint in shining armor.

Have ye no armor, naked ape? Is this not the same as nekkid,
are ye not ashamed,
not even a scapula to hide the demon's thumbprint?
Is this a witch of the west living
for soothing sayings, yet

she mocks my smile, and sneers a wish for my good day.
- I don't say
shall we condemn the claimer to
God's first be-atitudenal blessed class,
Peacemaker, are you allowed to
mock the peacemaker, raise waving serpent subtile digits,
bow and mock as
Protesting Missionaries mock singers of silent songs called
prayers?

Yes, thank you. I did say.
As my muse told me long ago, both treasure and truth are where you find them, then they be what you make of them.
Ken Pepiton Sep 9
As we flow imagining we motivate
our selves to go on,
crack the whip,
try oomph-ala
like… take and read the little book, or swallow
what you're told…

for any mind a thinking thing is companion,
welcome the strange
little light leading on,
for minded beings do not live by bread, alone.

Inside, we see alone.
Outside, I see all one. Am I enlightened,

I ask my closest confidant.
Ah, I utter

as a sigh, slack jawed awe, a we is made
right now --
me and thee, dear, dear reading being thinking

do you mind?
Did I capitalize on your confusion to stick
a point into a bubble you believed?

How would you know?
{1.
Omphalos is the hub of any bubble of being,
center of gravity, if I may
make that assertion
as certain as
may be in these days of knowledge expansion.
May is you word, now. You know.}
A stitch. Point of purpose, needles need thread, thread needs fiber, fibers must be spun. the point of a needle is for piercing, the eye is for sewing edge to edge, with thread. Nothing is simple.
Sep 7 · 83
Walk the mile,
Ken Pepiton Sep 7
Aristotle at my fingertips,
not locked in soliloquies I may perform,
but heard from an Oxford don I have
in my pocket,
as I lean into each lesson and trudge
up and down my morning
constitutional,
where the firebreak meets
chaparral alive with cottontail
this morning, when I almost said, "it's too hot."

C'mon, walk a mile with me… like
on the road to Emmaus, but Christ, no;
this character,
a soldier in me, about to salt out, bids me,
walk a mile, "not two, one
does the trick."
The thought comes
as a dare from the Ralston Purina guy,
and I stepped onto my trail.
I dare think Aristotle's thoughts after Plato's,
thinking
I could have known this when I was younger,
but not to this degree,

if I had not dropped out, and never knew,
by rote,
to pass a test, that
"All men by nature desire to know."
This is
Curiosity, right? I suspect it is a gift.

The joy we find in sensation, proof
offered the gainsayer,
I say again, that which is good for nothing
never
never
naturally exists, so
what tool forms an eye to notice that…

see, through the window
of my poetic-pathetic e-thoughtic soul
a feathery
family of phoebe birds, flits by,
if that is the proper name
{Tufted-Titmouse, my AI replies},
tails reflecting a smokey blue hue,
they swoop and flutter past;
I see
in a non-imaged flashpast pattern
from a time in the summer of 1969…

Disneyfied trails
from Cinderella's dressing room
scene, not seen, but reminded of seeing,
the pattern, in this phantomind dance,
being witnessed now, as
this old soldier once saw it
performed by bluer birds than these…

Time skipper
shifts to another bubble intersecting mine
and

I hear a worried neighbor fret about the fire.
I almost say,
"One of the benefits of being
backedup to the cloud,

nothing to lose."

But I remember, she collects purses and shoes.
Ah, I share an edge dwellers accent if I talk about tech to myself. I suspect I always have sounded like Little Luke McCoy, and now I hear Walter Brennan.
Ken Pepiton Sep 6
Past the last of the acidity, augmented by the fire two valleys west…
woke to wonder where am I to aim
my self
My being me being made of all roles I ever play

Today, is marked a day in a week in a month and year
on a spreadsheet maintained
by several orders of attitude HR magnitude, cults of clerks, used
minds and bodies, stacked in edified
piles…

as quanta of thought, bits of ever left in now as hints,
things to come are made of ever lasting stuff,
word of truth, my self is sworn to tell,

test me if I lie.
But {but, but} in thy mercy, not thy wrath lest I perish
and only id, or another ******-enomen for evers what was, remains
a role, an act, remaining after the ocean of opinions I was on evaporates,
after I am evilized as egoically selfish,
I,
my self, too highly thought of,
for far too long a time.

Yes, {yes, yes} that, too, has passed, re
do the re,
there we were awakened, with a Jolt Cola realization,
life is a game,
we make up, as children can, if you recall
the child you were when thinking as a child may, at play.

This is the day we form a man in the realm of self I am
and, if you take my word as truth,

you take the ability to sponder, eh? First, you ask, re
is the author authorized to utter truths hid
since the foundation of realit-ifity, as we
imagine
in preparation, for the game, Life,
but not the Milton- Bradley version, this
2020 Life on Earth.
The game. Made plain, a board game.
The self, aware of teachers standing silent, but prepared.
Ask, and, truly, as if true, answers appear.

Choose. Do. {winning loss of confusion points, line by line}
Rules and Regulations,
Scepter and Orb,
Rod and Staff,
Crook and Flail, same-same seen signs of higher power…

long ago, far away, prior to these tools we use, you read
I wrote,
we imagined, in our minds visual mode, we see as if true,
a we we may be if we agree,
and
follow the hold of the symbols of power,
respect the symbols, look once more re-see the revealed,
veiled since God knows when, but {yes, yes}
more knowable now than ever,
that which fell to the earth,
sowed light. That's right… here come d' judge.

If I find a little light, and in my mind, I let - let it go - let,
until the letters be taken out of the way
and meaning forms from informative
matters of fact, impossible.

Ah, Jah, ya *** old and feeble, after a while.
So it seems, says the weigher of any word's worth,

accounted for idolized words, holy, sacred, secret troothz…

abound, Bounce bounce tic
to Rube Goldberg goes the metaphoric prize, proof.

Plan the action, pre-form the plan, practical failure, of course,
is unthinkable after careful thought,
critical thinking and un-come-on skepticism of sophist teknhe.

****, up in smoke.
All the attention ever paid to any single thought,
shhhh shushing in the cold, absence of heat,

too cool to live, longer.
Pop.

Turn the page, scroll the screen, ignore the parts of reality
behind your focus forward receptor circuitry
winding round and round,
past at most fears sold at half the attention cost.

Pay hell for your wish, or accept the fuel to fire up one
thought candle in the flicking arena,
I think I am visible,
I feel lucified.

I can kick the ball, I know, this time…

Ah, Charlie Brown, your social significance is history.
Echos, formed from yes-t'day, blended with an OKGO binge followed by boyos dis--cursing Zatrathustra.
Ken Pepiton Sep 6
Words stretch to hold truth ifity
we find we
must make sense of each,
each word each
must mean
the intent of the sayer
or the spells is broke,
'n '
that is how symbols come to mean
"on this, we agree"
We join self to self and form a being
from the words we did prove true.
Such words make free.
Live free, or die.
Redeem the time, mortal moment
by mortal moment
in time, in tempo,
with katydids
and crickets, after the sun is spun away.

Test my theory, give my guess a go,
deem only true words
words of power,
powerful;
if we stand under them
upright, aware we are
unstable,
in all our ways.
Balance is always
calling for attention,

steady,

fall and you fall forever until you cease
believing
gravity is your enemy.
Like riding a bike.
Love your enemy.
Love the push against your pull,
-walk in the spirit, there is no flesh,
come and see, I came I saw, go and do,
I did.
This is where it got me.
This comforting  evening,
alone with Pine Valley, leveling,
balancing, my
pile of idle words on tiny starry points
tuning to the mellow
chorus
in time, in tempo,
with katydids
and crickets, after the sun is spun away
end of a moment, end of a day,
end of a lifetime, and an era elapsed.
116 degrees it was today, we tripped and I led my son-in-law on a virtual tour of Khai Vinh Fishnet Factory, where Radioman first appeared. OKGO, is where a mention of Rube Goldberg can take an old man in 2020. What a good time to be alive... my side won, I still live and i got the magik feather, the pen of endless ink.
Ken Pepiton Aug 27
The hero delusion shatters,
we all become sheep led by the goat
to be sheared,

or not, and we say, enough with the  Jungian junk,
men never knew before now
what men know now,
so there. Stop lying about magic, if you can't honestly
tell a kid how machines work,

starting with a lever,
and an edge, sort of, sorted into a second thought,
I ought to imagine being Adam,
I would feel stupid if I had no knowing,

I think that now, but not Adam.
He invented the idea of the best thing ever, and
in his whole being
she was the mother of all living, and look,

she is not dead, what ever dying is,
is what she seems to be doing just as well as
before knowing good from evil, all at once,

which I know, he knew as soon as he took a taste,
from her offered lips.
musing ontological riddles
Aug 24 · 56
Then came a time
Ken Pepiton Aug 24
Once
Big, big as ever if

big as ever is as
if
you imagine ever was happening
before you,
ever was
begun for you to be alive in
time
after time, you think, you remember,
or did you recall

the sense of it all
once, small.
--
still small
voice
always saying this is good
this is the way,
ya'll come.

--
none came.
no flock forms, money does not grow
faith, nor faith, money,
funny,
it seems we should have known.

having been in the biz,
at the very bottom,
on the streets
pushing hope.

-- do you know who Jesus is?
--- yeah, he loves losers, like you
-- right, that's him,
say hi, tell 'im I sent ya.

I be gwan on downd'road, to'n'fro
findese fellers fallen by the wayside,
so I poke 'm
point'em to the middle way and laugh
at them
until they
run away, one way road reality,
like evolving ideas
passing through
revolving doors

beyond the ken, the know, the knowledge
beyond the pale, the palisade,

the wall, the brink,
the edge of if.
Some days are fun to live as if it is the last, practice makes perfect. Take your time.
Aug 24 · 116
It could just be
Ken Pepiton Aug 24
it just could be

all I'm sayin is it might be me

you and me
because
once
you agreed with me that if we
could agree

we might settle some confusion
and make some lasting peace.

It could be you and me, in the end,
who had such power
all along.

Don't get me wrong. I'm just sayin'
we could all agree that death
is part of life and nothing

we do in life will help us know f'shore,
but I bet it has no punitive purpose,

life teaches lessons, not death. All's I'm saying,

we could agree but, we
just never considered

this might be our own determined free will
doing some never done deed heroic, like
binding the sweet influences of Pleiades,
or re linking us
to a hope hidden in fear of death,
retying the shades of liberty to our souls.

My side wins when we agree, so
if I surrender my will to thine, freely, see
we win.

Death has no course that led to victory.

Fear of death is the lie that holds men
slave to the market
and to war. Lose the fear, lose the dread.
Un sung songs on a Monday
Ken Pepiton Aug 24
Did you ever,
Nail the sun to the wall then
Keep your mind's eye open, because,
you can.
It won't go blind,
your mind's eye, focused on the sun
nailed to the sky wall

As you curve away at the pace of
A Roman hoplite clone running
A million miles an hour
2000 years away from here

Very thin light now
To the east while watching,
Focusing, on the sun in the west
While you stand your
Ground.

Suppose this,
That came to be a rite of
Passage into the thin light
Of night
Many generations after
First father showed his third son.

Never has any deed done in light
Been banished by the night.
Light expands thinner ever
Thinner nacring light limning
Evermore
Even thin light from the shadow
side of things
Thins more, harmoniously
Mingling through ancient
Pearl layers billions upon
Billions of stars-light.

First father knew that
he talked with God,
Who does nothing without
Showing someone
Like me or you.

"make not your thoughts your prisons"
"go not, gently" into that thinning light
"be gone"
Photons stretched 2000 light years wide
1 photon deep
Colliding with some tomorrows,
Some yesterdays, some almost right now,
So thin yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Are the same as the same and
As thick as galaxies.

Did you nail the sun to the wall?
From January 17, one year before therapuetic denial of Dunning Krueger was thought likely. You are as smart as you think you are, not as you think you were.
Aug 22 · 117
Thunder in fire season
Ken Pepiton Aug 22
It is true one mind sees bloodsport in the heavens
and cringes in dread of feeling
kindly, like if that were me, what would I do but die?

nada, right, pass on

thank y'mam, feeling kinda woozy, ever after
seeing
2020 on TV…

Google the violence, ohshitnoknowknow we all know
enough evil to know it don't work like on TV, ever
after one burn, you know, fire works, every time,
to destroy at the touch

thunder, such a holy sound in the desert summer moment
on earth, around the middle,
not too cold in the winter
makes too hot to work in the summer, just
fine.

That's right. Life is like that, if you live in the right state of mind.

Back to the Future, once more, it is
always on or in the library,
ask libby, who in the whole world
before

my generation… we who did not get
stuck wishing we would die
before we got old…
who among us now is we the people minded?
Post war knower bubblers expand
until we pop like matured
pods of what people can be if we live this long.

Trouble your own house, inherit the wind,
as part of the meek inheritance agreement accepted
with the weather.

Earthlings all, hear ye, severe storms are part of the deal.
Free ticts to ever after on Bucky Fuller's spaceship,
Sagan's pale blue dot,
live to tell

we learned no lie may be belived and be survived.

We first saw earth from the moon.
More boomers blew minds beyond their
own imaginings, back then,
listen in radioman's
morphic broadcasts
from Khai Vinh,
the fishnet factory,
legendary - now ifier loosed for the attention paid

do you hear what I hear?
did we know the meaning in happy Sisyphus,
or did we find it known and tag along?
Like a rolling stone.
I heared once the Rock thunders as it rolls past the apex of a cosmic journey
Ken Pepiton Aug 21
A weizaskid ax me what I mean,

I say, you know,
what I mean.

You always wishtto go my way stretched out,
expanded,
as a bubble to be in, all ways, as in nine
more than you imagine,
I guarantee.

-- war was a bad idea.
-- corrected it at the finger print of intention
woven into the complexity

code-wize and wiring wize and interpretation
wize domain of all the tells,
signals heart and brain call true,
the health of my countenance, word spikes true
needed to play the game honestly,

sharp, intentionally, prickly oblesky thingy do
symbols seen in places related to DC
ideo game eatery franchisees
owned in a golden archetype,
rock candy mountain
- pop -
poke a point into a slit anticipating just
a wave,

we made a ripple if you smile, non one else need
gno unless
you imagine they al- stretcheit- all read
y'know
y known now is deeper than eve imagined
when she saw she knew everything about nothing,

tricked, ******, been guiled, guilty, you know,

this would really help Atum get his kuriosity collection
performing useful
suggestions for more good than we knew.

We, in Eve's Ish-aww mind, mitomom of us all, we
the survivors of the most recent
common gene pool reduction event.

We share the plan that forms the batteries we
use,
and reuse and restore and replace,

at a maddening pace, thus the commonsense
allocation of most awareness to
soul or spirit, consci used autopoeisish awwtyahll know
-- the y must be evil beings who have power to fuggup ever
and you know this

how?
We can imagine no reason to just allow war to ify as a proud
child takes credit for burps and farts
- we won, cut the **** about being offended, be good
- or die a miserable loser being 1950's mean.

-- eh - where's the dichotomy, is the y's no reason to form a duality of
opposing forces,
honest'godas I write, it thunders over Long Valley Mountain.

I realize you must have read this far and I am home again.

Standing under the viaduct at Exit 45, I-8 East.

And it feels like 2020-real happened.
And it is cooler than it was
And
I wonder if meandering old men mean peace
in the valley and my idea of the long
valley,
you know, the one you think you gotta walk,
even if you don't wish to,
even if you wishtnot to,

you transverse it from one end to the other,
one direction flow, like 1-d DNA,
unmazing engineering on par with the intention
displayed in the hook of heart field and mind fields,

genius, knock-knock jokes are a natural, deploy them

who is there, let them ask?
Thunder in the mountains in August.
This is totally good mohkus, my friends.

At this point. All is well enough all we can pay sharp
focused, non default scatter brain meandering old
white head, my my my myelinated
brain allows a thought to age,
as bourbon in charred oak,

the longer the systems have been on ever after
time when time shall,
not will, I see, shall
I say, be no more. Null set was imagined for this moment
to arrive. Selah.
Rain storms in August in the Lagunas are Joyous desert moments, knock knock riddles matured for fifty years rise up to speak of psilli imaginings we knew.
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