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kenpepitonPoems
2020 -day 201 Sunday, July 19, 2020 6:49 AM first 活 {livelihood} remember meeting the enemy seeing it is I I am my opposition I am the reason I lie I know this is the day to keep my head, if all about me are losing theirs. this is the day the schism in the isms is widening we may see scabs falling from wounds healed at word one, hope, really, no wu wu, wei true hope taken unseen as possible - in a realm of imagining all things - either possible or not things at all wise to the ways of thought taught conditionally from the vibe in the tribe who took triggering the primal scream from a theory to musing drum music isn't good to sooth the troubled soul instituted intuitive as stories passed from inside to insider states of waiting for inseeing ensuing peace... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds positioning super beings in mythic roles once played by mortals, is there an institute rising from its knees, believing a we is enabling, any we audacious hope tied to the idea that was institutionalized in a polis with no memory of standing as free men, free to imagine the world we formed from was an institutional lie. Tweet... retweet liar liar seat on fire, get up and run with the lemmings disneyfied as a certain truth, we all saw the cute little rodents unreasonably leap into the sea, as nature guides for the good of the species... but we know the scene, the stage, was set off stage, obscene, the critters were herded over the cliff, for the shot, but we saw it we know how it was done, but the message institutionalized in baby boomer minds, passed on to children who had children who live fully disneyfied lives, in true imaginary prowess of children... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children. Mine get the wind, not good union jobs, no guild proven tasks to perform to spec, to gain tenure, hold on confess, professor, confess are you now or have you ever been the other in a mob, did you run the other way? or did you stand institutional, alone? stretch it stretch it -post Patriot Act, is this the turn-key total war, are we the children in the wolderness hidden by old hippies who read books and smoke ***** but never lied, not even a little bit to skip taxes, the law does protect the satisfied poor, who rear curious children formed to fit smoothly into forms of being being sold for tasks needing intel teliosis tell me is that the goal, that brave sorting of knowers from those who can't get a grip on the truth in the military universal mind, unified as the us, the objectional form of we, the people, who hold certain truth, as our state, once we swear allegiance, wait. watch. lie, say you know you saw lemmings suicide for lack of reason, just as crazy as a riot of ******* marching into my valley through the fourth wall into you, inner you, what do you know? You got infected by an idea virus vaccine, some old hippie dreams set aside, as sub science connected tenuously sparks, shock pain why -- oh, I see says the pin, penned between trigger and spiral rifling misfires of the un loaded gun... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds once, north of the rairoad track, down in slaughter house canyon, I met a Gila Monstor, face to face, I assumed it was a he as much as me and I heard a question, I would have asked were I such a thing being a he as much as me. The question was why I would think **** it, fear it, jump back while I were so far away, come closer, come and see, I think of me being a she as much as me as any pain avoiding being, I am she who uses mornings, to recover from each night by basking in the morning light to loosen old bones stuck in the cold inner being, the soul at the heart, of the mindless, dreamless state of being mortal under the influence of time and chance and creatures of the night ah, she says, I see, why you seem afraid of me, differing POV, see, down low, you know, no big fat lizard, big around as a ball bat, long as a little leaguer's arm, looking me right, seeing me straight from an angle I never imagined possible, insanity, as defined by the inner child, who still can hear hummingbirds asking renewal of the famed font of aqua dulce from the legend that led them, the flock that lives in the oak, nearly always  only after the flowers have gone brown in July... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds No unfinished thing is ever finished, only finished stories end in hell, and even then, we unbelieve our way out, time and again we escape the madness, merely to stir up the dust that first formed a reason to be at all. Were I a gemstone cut to fit a brazen niche beneath a gear and spring in an old watch, fit, solid, held in underling relationship, as a point, balancing, perfectedly enough for a time, the measuring assuring we see, as life passing before our very un ordinary, common sense of self con science, con carne, con fusion sub all that under all that, sub conscience, sub knowing I know you are you alone and the bell, tolls for me, the after all, being imagined as you stand and see if you were I as I am me, would you have reason to **** me? ... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds In my youth, we all lived in Real McCoy Western movies, tales of conquering common folk, whose signs needed Dave Wassen to make any sense, but that link is likely lost, despite all the merit badges earned -- you could not learn the sign language of the plains -- you needed to live in a time before we became enemies we welcome strangers passing through bo'weevilish little critters, jes' lookin' fo' a home... the pattern, the frame, the threads themselves all twisted and tied, crisscross woof and warp, first we weave the canvas, then we set the sail, or stitch the story, Cluny Abby edifies some, as did Medussa, on reflection, subtle ivy bound gardens of stone people memorialized, became wordless tales for children to believe, you see, you may become as one of these, the leaders who led us to now, some how, we imagine, we were manifested now, from underlying circumstantial evidence of unseen, yet see-able, visible, ignorable or not, feeling a blind insight where darkness seems a spot, only empty. A place to rest a while and imagine peace as a river flowing from another's belly to swallow me in being as I seem some days more than others, aware of efforts to wind the invented witnessed cloud of unknowing too tight to tic, tic, take a clock from long ago, one of those hour glassic witty inventions for timing eggs. Nada mas. But, imagine, time shifting phase, each grain, each Leucippus bit re read as Democritical atom, bouncing in picometer hops in picosecond times spanning all the years since one, the number, was the onliest number that you never see, being as you are later, after ever began, you began. You continue, after I am gone. But, don't forget your lines, your cue, you know the reason you read. My angel told you, no excuses, read or end up, famous for your ignorance. -- note: I read that the Donald Trump, as seen on TV, claims a real bond to the Bible that binds him and his base spiritua/financial constituency, that which constitutes the aberration being bid by mobs to become great, once more swell up into an epluribal us being under a boss, the man on the horse LBJ wished to be, the sky pilot Bush two boasted of being, from the backseat, screaming Mission Accomplished, while the BeeGees signal once more, we started a joke... that has the whole world laughing at our grovelling under the man we witnessed rising on the Obaman ashes in Afghanistan, prophesied from Hollywood when Jack Reacher was fit to that little guy, who stars in the Scientology story. Jack Reacher is a myth, from my youth, a type - like Marshall Dillon, but un civilized, and able to accomplish any less than Supermanic impossible mission, with pure Horton hearing, and Little Red Hen persistence. But this was not my knack, I rest my case, Once we are aware, you are the point of balance, my point is made. -- buried deep behind the guilt and shame and blame wait, while seeing Nothing doing is nothing done and never imagined impossible again (Peter Graves was Marshall Dillon's brother, and both were Jack Reacher sized men, once sent on Missions Impossible, as messages embodied, like messianic hope some say has always been a lie, heros always empower Tyrants history claims, after all, look around, see... past why or how, reasoning now, it is true, some wise of our kind, wandered to the edge of the civilized state, believing as they walkt away fore warned, each had a vision, a knowing for some unseen reason, next is solid, now is not, take one step toward all you wish were true, do not lie to you and you will never lie to anyone regarding self being me, not I, we see. there was always a way to get by, any damming thing, and if you can not handle that truth, you are fired, go to hell and wait, end of story, time out test me, I am an American, claiming this grew from seed Ben Franklin sowed, I chuckle. You underestimated life, witnessed from so great a cloud as commonly contains reasons for having been, stacked neatly in examined lives, lived. Read or be ignorant, actively ig nor ing if nition. Behold how great a fire... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
0
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
This is about 100 lines of what you think it worth
2020 -day 201 Sunday, July 19, 2020 6:49 AM first 活 {livelihood} remember meeting the enemy seeing it is I I am my opposition I am the reason I lie I know this is the day to keep my head, if all about me are losing theirs. this is the day the schism in the isms is widening we may see scabs falling from wounds healed at word one, hope, really, no wu wu, wei true hope taken unseen as possible - in a realm of imagining all things - either possible or not things at all wise to the ways of thought taught conditionally from the vibe in the tribe who took triggering the primal scream from a theory to musing drum music isn't good to sooth the troubled soul instituted intuitive as stories passed from inside to insider states of waiting for inseeing ensuing peace... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds positioning super beings in mythic roles once played by mortals, is there an institute rising from its knees, believing a we is enabling, any we audacious hope tied to the idea that was institutionalized in a polis with no memory of standing as free men, free to imagine the world we formed from was an institutional lie. Tweet... retweet liar liar seat on fire, get up and run with the lemmings disneyfied as a certain truth, we all saw the cute little rodents unreasonably leap into the sea, as nature guides for the good of the species... but we know the scene, the stage, was set off stage, obscene, the critters were herded over the cliff, for the shot, but we saw it we know how it was done, but the message institutionalized in baby boomer minds, passed on to children who had children who live fully disneyfied lives, in true imaginary prowess of children... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children. Mine get the wind, not good union jobs, no guild proven tasks to perform to spec, to gain tenure, hold on confess, professor, confess are you now or have you ever been the other in a mob, did you run the other way? or did you stand institutional, alone? stretch it stretch it -post Patriot Act, is this the turn-key total war, are we the children in the wolderness hidden by old hippies who read books and smoke ***** but never lied, not even a little bit to skip taxes, the law does protect the satisfied poor, who rear curious children formed to fit smoothly into forms of being being sold for tasks needing intel teliosis tell me is that the goal, that brave sorting of knowers from those who can't get a grip on the truth in the military universal mind, unified as the us, the objectional form of we, the people, who hold certain truth, as our state, once we swear allegiance, wait. watch. lie, say you know you saw lemmings suicide for lack of reason, just as crazy as a riot of ******* marching into my valley through the fourth wall into you, inner you, what do you know? You got infected by an idea virus vaccine, some old hippie dreams set aside, as sub science connected tenuously sparks, shock pain why -- oh, I see says the pin, penned between trigger and spiral rifling misfires of the un loaded gun... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds once, north of the rairoad track, down in slaughter house canyon, I met a Gila Monstor, face to face, I assumed it was a he as much as me and I heard a question, I would have asked were I such a thing being a he as much as me. The question was why I would think **** it, fear it, jump back while I were so far away, come closer, come and see, I think of me being a she as much as me as any pain avoiding being, I am she who uses mornings, to recover from each night by basking in the morning light to loosen old bones stuck in the cold inner being, the soul at the heart, of the mindless, dreamless state of being mortal under the influence of time and chance and creatures of the night ah, she says, I see, why you seem afraid of me, differing POV, see, down low, you know, no big fat lizard, big around as a ball bat, long as a little leaguer's arm, looking me right, seeing me straight from an angle I never imagined possible, insanity, as defined by the inner child, who still can hear hummingbirds asking renewal of the famed font of aqua dulce from the legend that led them, the flock that lives in the oak, nearly always  only after the flowers have gone brown in July... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds No unfinished thing is ever finished, only finished stories end in hell, and even then, we unbelieve our way out, time and again we escape the madness, merely to stir up the dust that first formed a reason to be at all. Were I a gemstone cut to fit a brazen niche beneath a gear and spring in an old watch, fit, solid, held in underling relationship, as a point, balancing, perfectedly enough for a time, the measuring assuring we see, as life passing before our very un ordinary, common sense of self con science, con carne, con fusion sub all that under all that, sub conscience, sub knowing I know you are you alone and the bell, tolls for me, the after all, being imagined as you stand and see if you were I as I am me, would you have reason to **** me? ... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds In my youth, we all lived in Real McCoy Western movies, tales of conquering common folk, whose signs needed Dave Wassen to make any sense, but that link is likely lost, despite all the merit badges earned -- you could not learn the sign language of the plains -- you needed to live in a time before we became enemies we welcome strangers passing through bo'weevilish little critters, jes' lookin' fo' a home... the pattern, the frame, the threads themselves all twisted and tied, crisscross woof and warp, first we weave the canvas, then we set the sail, or stitch the story, Cluny Abby edifies some, as did Medussa, on reflection, subtle ivy bound gardens of stone people memorialized, became wordless tales for children to believe, you see, you may become as one of these, the leaders who led us to now, some how, we imagine, we were manifested now, from underlying circumstantial evidence of unseen, yet see-able, visible, ignorable or not, feeling a blind insight where darkness seems a spot, only empty. A place to rest a while and imagine peace as a river flowing from another's belly to swallow me in being as I seem some days more than others, aware of efforts to wind the invented witnessed cloud of unknowing too tight to tic, tic, take a clock from long ago, one of those hour glassic witty inventions for timing eggs. Nada mas. But, imagine, time shifting phase, each grain, each Leucippus bit re read as Democritical atom, bouncing in picometer hops in picosecond times spanning all the years since one, the number, was the onliest number that you never see, being as you are later, after ever began, you began. You continue, after I am gone. But, don't forget your lines, your cue, you know the reason you read. My angel told you, no excuses, read or end up, famous for your ignorance. -- note: I read that the Donald Trump, as seen on TV, claims a real bond to the Bible that binds him and his base spiritua/financial constituency, that which constitutes the aberration being bid by mobs to become great, once more swell up into an epluribal us being under a boss, the man on the horse LBJ wished to be, the sky pilot Bush two boasted of being, from the backseat, screaming Mission Accomplished, while the BeeGees signal once more, we started a joke... that has the whole world laughing at our grovelling under the man we witnessed rising on the Obaman ashes in Afghanistan, prophesied from Hollywood when Jack Reacher was fit to that little guy, who stars in the Scientology story. Jack Reacher is a myth, from my youth, a type - like Marshall Dillon, but un civilized, and able to accomplish any less than Supermanic impossible mission, with pure Horton hearing, and Little Red Hen persistence. But this was not my knack, I rest my case, Once we are aware, you are the point of balance, my point is made. -- buried deep behind the guilt and shame and blame wait, while seeing Nothing doing is nothing done and never imagined impossible again (Peter Graves was Marshall Dillon's brother, and both were Jack Reacher sized men, once sent on Missions Impossible, as messages embodied, like messianic hope some say has always been a lie, heros always empower Tyrants history claims, after all, look around, see... past why or how, reasoning now, it is true, some wise of our kind, wandered to the edge of the civilized state, believing as they walkt away fore warned, each had a vision, a knowing for some unseen reason, next is solid, now is not, take one step toward all you wish were true, do not lie to you and you will never lie to anyone regarding self being me, not I, we see. there was always a way to get by, any damming thing, and if you can not handle that truth, you are fired, go to hell and wait, end of story, time out test me, I am an American, claiming this grew from seed Ben Franklin sowed, I chuckle. You underestimated life, witnessed from so great a cloud as commonly contains reasons for having been, stacked neatly in examined lives, lived. Read or be ignorant, actively ig nor ing if nition. Behold how great a fire... ---- 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds 䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
䕕 accepting that means some thing, U+4555, it is the key element in the current idea Anime, the old idea cartoon, the under layer of a painted impression of realtiy at a given moment in time.
#time#tax#paid#attention#trump#lies
kenpepiton
Written by
kenpepiton
77/M/Pine Valley CA
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
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