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You are allowed to be happy despite the awful things.
I have not used this page in years but I'm back baby - it's funny looking back at your life through poetry
Poems
Luke Innes Sep 2013
A Gangster and his Moll
Luke Innes
Sep 2013
I’ll never be a king, so you’ll never be my queen,
We’ll never be two cogs in the same big machine,
We’ll never be a cliché, but I tell you something, doll,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
Walking through the means streets, my hand in yours,
And a Tommy gun in the other, between my sweaty claws,
As my seniors die, I’ll climb to the top of the pole,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
There’s a certain premonition floating in the air,
That I’m a hardened criminal, far beyond repair,
But I’m just doing what my upbringing makes me know,
Because I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
And you can have me forever or ‘till I’m locked up in jail,
And we run out of money, and the mansion goes up for sale,
But even if we’re broke and poor, my love will never lull,
I’ll always be a gangster, and you’ll always be my moll.
We’ll never be two cogs in the same big machine,
We’ll never be a cliché, but I tell you something, doll,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
Walking through the means streets, my hand in yours,
And a Tommy gun in the other, between my sweaty claws,
As my seniors die, I’ll climb to the top of the pole,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
There’s a certain premonition floating in the air,
That I’m a hardened criminal, far beyond repair,
But I’m just doing what my upbringing makes me know,
Because I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
And you can have me forever or ‘till I’m locked up in jail,
And we run out of money, and the mansion goes up for sale,
But even if we’re broke and poor, my love will never lull,
I’ll always be a gangster, and you’ll always be my moll.
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
Sitting In A Dingy Bar
Stephen E Yocum
Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.
She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.
Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.
She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.
Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.
Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.
She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.
She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.
Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.
She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so? I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
Still is.”
It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.
I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.
Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.
Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.
Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I cannot attest, over the
years watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.
Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth.
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life isn’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.
She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.
Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.
She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.
Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.
Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.
She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.
She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.
Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.
She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so? I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
Still is.”
It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.
I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.
Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.
Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.
Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I cannot attest, over the
years watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.
Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth.
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life isn’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.
She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.
I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.
Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.
She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.
I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.
Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Voices or only words?
Ken Pepiton
Dec 2018
Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.
I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,
Quotes later, maybe
Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation
of chivalric folly forever
be caused, in those days...
--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018
I saw a blue bird as I took a curve
on one of my many roads with double yellow lines
they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons
creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt
utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand
accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.
A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.
How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature
legion, for we are many
Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.
Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'
Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up
oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms
celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute
Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus
that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?
Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.
(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?
Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))
Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum
Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ
walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.
Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee
I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.
I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.
The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot
that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few
who learned the value of going over edges by learning to play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.
Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that
makes the world go 'round.
Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.
Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon
a pump being
primed
to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike
Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world
Interference, actual counter acting waves,
still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?
You can imagine...
let your peace go out
Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned
oh. MY peace.
I see.
hmmmm
I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know
nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play
ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them
life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight
the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.
floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as
still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,
you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?
Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.
Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,
meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving
quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there
is a word that means exactedky that
requirement requires those initial quires
we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble
whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?
I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin
for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll
I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free
you owe me nothing, until you do again,
we had us a Jubilee.
Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others
Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?
Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,
Aye,
that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)
or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)
she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find
lurking humans acting like machines
this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,
there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession
It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime
so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something
someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save
The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.
the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why
and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to
citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school
mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.
level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,
a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,
kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did
the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack
the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.
The play in the great game.
Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through
it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.
----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with
secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung
songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.
You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl
the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way
merry christmas, they used
to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment
forever begins the moment
you get time.
The worst you can imagine is temporary.
Try umph. It's not like winning,
it carries no pride, it's easy,
like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing
the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn
for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never
dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.
Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?
Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,
just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang
Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,
golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,
I said Hallelujah
and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd
like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned
could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,
could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,
I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.
it is. No reason I can say, just is.
It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness
saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves
something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies
we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.
--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.
I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive
but I did, I belived every time
I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?
some good is
in the reality you share
with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing
That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,
ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow
yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must
be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,
oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean
I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.
And that's okeh.
I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at
ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,
then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War
{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really
the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks
we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your
informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again
if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be
molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza
oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting
on the named domain.
Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni
as Archemides primes the pump
What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.
I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,
Quotes later, maybe
Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation
of chivalric folly forever
be caused, in those days...
--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018
I saw a blue bird as I took a curve
on one of my many roads with double yellow lines
they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons
creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt
utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand
accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.
A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.
How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature
legion, for we are many
Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.
Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'
Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up
oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms
celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute
Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus
that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?
Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.
(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?
Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))
Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum
Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ
walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.
Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee
I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.
I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.
The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot
that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few
who learned the value of going over edges by learning to play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.
Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that
makes the world go 'round.
Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.
Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon
a pump being
primed
to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike
Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world
Interference, actual counter acting waves,
still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?
You can imagine...
let your peace go out
Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned
oh. MY peace.
I see.
hmmmm
I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know
nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play
ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them
life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight
the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.
floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as
still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,
you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?
Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.
Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,
meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving
quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there
is a word that means exactedky that
requirement requires those initial quires
we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble
whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?
I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin
for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll
I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free
you owe me nothing, until you do again,
we had us a Jubilee.
Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others
Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?
Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,
Aye,
that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)
or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)
she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find
lurking humans acting like machines
this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,
there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession
It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime
so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something
someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save
The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.
the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why
and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to
citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school
mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.
level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,
a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,
kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did
the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack
the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.
The play in the great game.
Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through
it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.
----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with
secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung
songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.
You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl
the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way
merry christmas, they used
to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment
forever begins the moment
you get time.
The worst you can imagine is temporary.
Try umph. It's not like winning,
it carries no pride, it's easy,
like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing
the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn
for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never
dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.
Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?
Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,
just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang
Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,
golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,
I said Hallelujah
and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd
like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned
could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,
could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,
I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.
it is. No reason I can say, just is.
It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness
saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves
something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies
we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.
--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.
I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive
but I did, I belived every time
I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?
some good is
in the reality you share
with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing
That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,
ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow
yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must
be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,
oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean
I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.
And that's okeh.
I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at
ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,
then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War
{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really
the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks
we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your
informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again
if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be
molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza
oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting
on the named domain.
Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni
as Archemides primes the pump
What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
A year in the making honest