Drunk, we staggered home.

Aware of having been
some
other where
a while

That woman, she could answer

any question rebbi axt,
Ohhhhmyyy

she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net,
in my hand

That's more than a list of numbers, this
accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as

lightning, at the scale, of, say

cat-ions ifiying an-ions
at random,
seen systematical, from a distance
zoom out
at the scale, of, say
Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter.

synchro
now

zoom out
Use that steam program
Universe Sandbox,
you gotta see that to imagine this, right,

and next is what you keep saying is unbelievable,
but its not.

Good things come to them
to whom
good makes more sense.

Earth from the moon POV

Confusion flux, spurtual,  caused by the solar flare of all solar flares,
one side

Whooshing the Ice left from Patton's flood
into steam, the stuff, not the app,

which swooshhhesssssssssss smack
into the freezing repurcussions
from the daark side…

The Noah event, that was bad,
This one, the last one, this just previous one,

was spiritual. Magnitudes incomparable
(save in parable and example, exemplar gratis,
says the bodiless being, with a roll of  my wrist and a bow)

At that very time on the side away from the flare,
the daark side of the planet, this one…

a Donald Patton nitrogen snow ball
that nearly breached Roche's limit,

too not nearly enough,
dis -integration
The atmosphere freezes
to the quark level, snap,

the cold
explosive
forward momentum
booms a nitrogen bubble now
minusminusminus
solid nitrogen
melting

any heat locked in flare fired steam,
what was once the water
that washed away the gods and locked their cities
of ivory under the ice

on the sunny side,
where now, then,

a solar flare like legends build empires upon
has passed, fires rage

there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Only miners survived, gold digger mostly,
few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury,
Lost was all knowing but to a very few,
who truth be told had been the owner's
well kept servants, ministers of this and that
they perished with all the fires touched

we diggers, we only marvel

How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening
all in bubble of Mercury. Cooked out red rock like these.

"Blood o' the gods of old, swat I'astold."

Messages from the gods, grandma, said, "Mercury calls for gold, gold listens, when fire's hottern fire can be,
unless
the breath of men blow on the coals", we all said that last part and blew out the light. G'night


but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there
here a little, there a little
line upon line,
precept upon precept,

'cept no body knows what I know about cept,

capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale. Wait.

it means grip. like a tool. rock breaks nut.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future
that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys

this authoritative telling of the story, in it,
none know the terminal tale.

As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Tho' here's a clue.
Meek's not bad,
stupid, for no reason, is.

Living long for the sake of a song heard once,
in dream luring me on, promising right now, I'll

know what it's like to see, oh

POV I made this clear some time ago,
time is less predictable than any imagined, before 2018
when, you know…

Even those tales old drunk Hesiod sold
in the Hittite tavern at Delphi,

Chronos thought wrong in those,
he ruled but for the merest gleam o'

Time, then a bubble gen erated by the thought of
opposition to transition,
nothing to something,
pushing /pushing back
stretch/snap/spark
that takes power, pulsing power, throbbing power

push/stretch
glow/snap
you know, imagine, glowing - cheat, think 2018 CG
glow/snap
Planc time,
each time the bubble pushes back
a ripple
imagine a clock, later, if you believe then, you must.

Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined,
since the time when such a bubble was only evil,
continually.

It went viral.
Noah we know for sure, almost, survived, ? Cushites kept records. In Africa.
Akkad kept record, too.
Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale.

They say they know the story is ten thousand years old,
I've been to a crossroads
on their journey,
stories
tell of it, still, today.

Holy means marked for good reason.
Marked with clues, not riddles, maps

Sacred means secret means hidden away for use,
not common, every day, quotidian use, right use.

Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all.
In time, we do all we can and die,

in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine.

You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time,

time pushes from the outside,
wisdom pushes from the inside,

And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya,

Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing
shiva on the tip of my tongue,

singings songs in tongues I've never known
if they
are words on tongues
or sounds on tongues,

notes,

Baysian Binary Cross Validation
still ends with some people thinkin'
"it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight,
that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim
power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts,

but fixed upon, is truly the song,
said, words are only
little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing

where broken things re-pair, and life goes on…

"fixed, my heart is fixed",
no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected,
a time at a time.
Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower,

try some time
alone
be still, pond still

I know the story broke,
I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold
Frozen fragile...

There are pieces scattered every

where, everywhere
there is time, there is at least, a point

a story may stand upon and ask an angel
to dance.
Dance, give it some flare, what do we care?

Nobody's watching, but that fly.

The mechanism cracks to seep the hidden timelines pulse
Broken are those cogs that keep the generations close
Weakening are the bloodlines that forcefully hold post

Vibrations free the frequency that emit the colors unseen
Crystal structure memories laced inside a cognitive dream
Light confined in gravity while sound waves break the stream

Shift into the dark matter as being bound in nothingness
Collide into a particle as are pieces we cannot miss
Locked inside a calcium we are told cannot exist

Dripped into an hourglass are bits of supernova sand
Trapped within a reality of qubit artificial brand
Loops of endless insanity of a type we cannot stand

But where are all the opening for which we have these keys
Who has covered all the places that are kept with a freeze
Feel through all the changes that roll like cooling seas

For there is no tomorrow in the breaking of today
I am just a construct in a selfless vision of decay
Lost inside a firmament that a broken matrix can never relay

they did away my electricity well
i don't know the make of the rubber they used
i don't know the color of water i dissipate in
they did away my electricity well

phonograph to dream to vacuum
to morse to bytes to
noise

my electricity well they did away
i can't hear the sounds of radio static
i can hear the sounds of radio silence
my electricity well they did away

steam to diesel to tube
to blood to bone to antimatter

when they jumpstarted me i sparked and shocked
i hope that nobody was hurt (but i was)
my screen was displaying impossible images
you are on the fastest impossible route

circuit to node to qubit to
ash

how did they create scrolling polygons
in a realm where dimension is reserved for the monarchs
of y and x axes, whose scepters bang
on the tiltshifting ground, undulating below?

vector to pixel to
line to happening

Sept 8 2019

bungee binging The Good Place
this witty inventions peeks

in the window, like a pop-up ad for
imaging software,

hmmm, tune to white
noise and
shift into this aural or otherwise
sense
it-
ifity. We-ness, us-ness, eplurbalus-usem,

y'all. Nobody cares, but we all feel your pain.
Still,
waiting is, is all we made sense of,
so far
,
but nexts are super-positioning as we speak,
think,
write-read, right (and the feeling of asking per

mission-- like is this thing broken --- but no
it worked) right.

Wedom, rhymes, in rhymnals.

Freedom wisdom dom dom
doh minion!

How happy could you be if dying, the act,
you all dread it; but ever,

the idea, ever.
think death's sting is ever lasting?
Once again, ditty dumm dum ditty

when was ever was? Was ever always

pain, no shred of a strange charm

to take the pain away?
Pain, you imagine evermore or nevermore,
either you imagine one

or the other. Ever is a long time to imagine being happy, and though, although, actually,

ever is in progress as,
dammed definition rule. Who agreed to these
logos therapists

redeeming idle words that stink of chaos as

extreme as ours, here,
in our bubble of being, imagining we
effect
this or that, by taking thought,
a mere qubit past the

tip of your tongue.

When I was like as not lost, in history.
as haps so oft, it is a crying shame,
so few find the line, the point
to being, stretched so fine,
found at the point
for the time, what you were for the time,
too dear to surrender,
your aim in life, the shot not taken, left
leaven in mind, a chance to learn
and live to make the peace where none was.
Every year, spring reminds the system
bloom. Be as simple as pi, in wheels, in gears.

For a while, like a seed, falls to the ground
and ceases being seed, but for the final spear
enfolded light-catching green eyes, energized
as any serious listener to
American AM Christian Talk Radio, any where.
Listen, this is the day the LORD hath made,
and we shall rejoice and beglad in it,

by the way,
word of the day is colligated
with your religated wish for wisdom,
supported by your Phrygian dimes, since I can't say when.
Liberty is a state in mind of mind, no matter what,

stand up under knowing and walk from under that banner,
agape,
Or something other,
was it or was it just being whole as a bit of the story.
an ambit in the gestalt,
a qubit of the we, awesome us,
we, the deniers of liars prospering being doctrine,
the trade, we all live in lies, laughing at us lying,
why
you think you don't lie?

Being as this is the acceptable year, past due, notice
is given, I came to finish the law, not rewrite it.
Do not make life harder than it is,
really, remember being fifteen, it was scary when adults
all went stark raving mad
at once, mid sixties, according to tree ring analysis.

There is but the proud hagiography of saints,
those whose suffering proves
Jesus lied, his prayers for forgiveness,
must have failed,
or not,
we who knew nothing, know nothing still, until, now
so we are likely covered under they were ignorant doers.
But believe me, the joker knew the way, and led the thief, no lie.
All old people were liars then,
one day, like when your voice changed, or your first blush.
Our
Knowers rose to ask whole congregations,
when you next pray, ask the truth to show you
any lies you have held true, since you knew
- we saw the writing on the wall, for you,

for sure, I believed I knew things were known,
as I learned to feel the drill, the flow of war as art,
- what form does spirit fill?
- breathe and leave the lie to tell itself, until you die,
- or **** it on sight

seducing spirits, come sit with me,
leave us contemplate the considerate act,

let us run the river, bare foot, knowing,
there is always a place to put this foot, smart toes fit to this flow.

Sycamore Canyon, Arizona, 1970, about this time of year.