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you see me imagining you imagining you believing a lie I told, a lie about knowing good and evil and that I can imagine William Blake's little lamb was once me, in thee I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child like fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing in browns from amber to ochre, dry light leaking from piles of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind goddamliarcheatertheiftake take take take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor the sequence... Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words. I blow bubbles. kiss em a will in a whisp per haps a single one, becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness sakes, we be peace making, hidden, safe as any ancient sapient's sacred secret knowledge, hidden, useless. -ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers, after the recognition of old ideas, tics the talking point and we, once more, see our selves, selves, we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since the first idea you knew was from beyond you, began to bubble in your soul... -- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe, but no is no. be wise or wish you was. An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis. Horded as weal and woe, and debts owed to a foe xtatic urgent voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room, our exspansive space where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing, wisdom, a place, a quest ion launched, aimless yet now, we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life for any preconceived gnotion so I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door to within me, where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay. wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit, maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity, empowered (laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?} basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will catch oops.
0
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
Dropped line, regripped (c.2019)
you see me imagining you imagining you believing a lie I told, a lie about knowing good and evil and that I can imagine William Blake's little lamb was once me, in thee I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child like fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing in browns from amber to ochre, dry light leaking from piles of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind goddamliarcheatertheiftake take take take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor the sequence... Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words. I blow bubbles. kiss em a will in a whisp per haps a single one, becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness sakes, we be peace making, hidden, safe as any ancient sapient's sacred secret knowledge, hidden, useless. -ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers, after the recognition of old ideas, tics the talking point and we, once more, see our selves, selves, we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since the first idea you knew was from beyond you, began to bubble in your soul... -- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe, but no is no. be wise or wish you was. An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis. Horded as weal and woe, and debts owed to a foe xtatic urgent voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room, our exspansive space where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing, wisdom, a place, a quest ion launched, aimless yet now, we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life for any preconceived gnotion so I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door to within me, where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay. wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit, maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity, empowered (laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?} basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will catch oops.
This medium, this horde of lines we have to hold as truths or dares, shall be the wind where the answers form de novo... old is not a mortal reality, comically speaking... old thoughts are new next time, I think.
kenpepiton
Written by
77/M/Pine Valley CA
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
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