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Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?

Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…

Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.

Shame, we should not know that.

Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?

No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?

A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so

Wow.

Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…

Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".

On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.

How did it work out?

Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.

Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.

It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.

The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.

By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.

Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?

There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.

Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.

Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?

Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..

----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.

Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.

Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.

That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.

I can only resist
for so long
challenge that which is
so strong
before my mind breaks
and age takes
what makes
all resistors great.

I can only be an insurgent
casting shadows of love
instead of waging raging
battles of blood
for so long before I am all gone.

Right or wrong but mostly right,
I can only fight this lonely fight
before the light fades
and I say goodbye to my
better days

Gripping dripping smearing love.
Over your eyes!!!
Over your ovaries, where babies, your clutch.

There's no time to nest,
Resist!
Resist
,
be the diode, resistor to heart plunge.
Plug up the sewer.
(more like a catacomb)
My heart's in the ****** cake.
The smell, Cytotoxic invades chemical response conformation.

We; bitten, by fangs of silicon,
the world takes us away from ivy
grown homes,
torn then seamed up jack o' lanterns always smiling orange.

Have you ever grown up from being 11?
It's the saddest thing you've seen.
You see a fledgling,
altricial,
awkward,
gawk/****,
turn from a boy
to a lady.

Plump. Or . Musculate.

Slowly they regenerate their lady parts.
Regardless of gender.

Have you seen them bleed?
Some bleed white tears that burn the urethra.
Some, never grow up.
Transmogrified they call it.
Never to be beautiful again.
Angst entangles, ensues, makes doubt
pubescence is for flowers and hairs.
Namesake.
5th Grade.

Curious formation, curious nature
It's as if we are stalagmites of the future,
We decorate walls or cave ceilings to perform our correct action.
Too bad our self image is always garbled, confused by our refraction.

NEVER GRADUATE COLLEGE.

Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a *****, I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.

Like puppets dancing on strings
Are Presidents and princes
Prime Ministers and politicians
And the tune they dance to
Is older than their kingdoms
Behold the King of this world
Hidden away from the public eye
Yet commanding nations with a whisper
He was glorious and beautiful once
And he walked among the innocent
But, in one moment of vanity
He stole rulership of the world
His personality is stamped upon mankind
For he sets the pace
While most men follow
He spoke the first lies
Inflicted the first casualty
And he has never felt regret
Has never shed a tear
Though his wars have taken millions
And his devotees have enslaved nations
He is the author of confusion
The instigator of Hellfire and hatred
The creator of trinities and tribulation
He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness
Yet is himself running scared
And clinging to power and life
He is the excuser of unholy child abusers
And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs
He speaks lies about the innocent
And glorifies the guilty
He hunts all good men
As a lion hunts the deer
He will tear at your throat
And consume you
He is the Resistor
The Slanderer
He cajoles those who consider his existence
And paints himself in mythical proportions
He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it
Would rather ruin if he cannot rule
Yet the whole world is in his hands
But not forever
Because forever does not belong to him
And not life
For the gift of life is not his to give

Where men are gay for their beers,
and never integrated with the world’s clock.

Where men **** away their fears
on a wall only as big as the spot
they need.

All these fields
and the health they yield
all mushy and dead
from the crops
that would from the veins of grain, rot.

wrestle with the puzzle
with only your finger
or maybe a single straw cold glance

Maybe a bed of saw dust
would fix the pain in your Head.

No feather pillows
to comfort and cradle the mind.
to address the metal wounds
poverty to shelter me
and never too soon
if the distance of this curl in the sheet
might seem as distant
as this scene
as the movie passes it plays in
double, half, real time

As the flat valley
where a palm tree grows
in a puddle in my palm.

Mended the electric circuit
of the frequency of your body and memory

Finally slicing that grain of rice.

for the parted message like a divided sea,
fragmented slowly, evaporated

stuck in this resistor.

that makes it so tedious the final drop of condensation
finally becomes
a summer ants
last
breath
on a cold winters day or perhaps it was so little
like the smallest petal
falling down
as the pedal of a bike
cycling
up and down
through the largest
park
or maybe a roses thorn lifting the dirt up
ever so much
that a bit of dirt
amongst the frost
would rise up
the loudest sounds
as the heaviest dirt filled cloud
one this frozen water
could no longer hurt.

To the ones who were taken!
The ones that left for greener pasture!
For those that eloped…
Insearch of love and comfort.
To the ones whose country was at war!
Had to leave not because of the fun.
To you all who have not seen your relatives in decades!
To you all I hail thy!

Your country may be in disarray
You may had been trafficked
Maybe even by mistake.
Yet a new home you had to find
To you, I hail thee!

To the anchor babies, the ones who got bullied…
for what they are not responsible for.
You are my star!
You shine so bright they find it hard not to pick from you. 'Not on you'.
For the great brains that have to live with little, for lacking a Green Card!
You are bigger than what they thought of you.
Your turn to succeed would come. Please don't give up.

Her mother's daughter
The one that was told of great opportunities.
She left with big dreams! Only to see the cruelty of the world she knows nothing of.
In your is the odyssey. Your strength is unmatched!

For our ansestors that were taken and made slaves.
Called "Colored" because of their beautiful skin
Our dashing Milani beauty!
Oh! Your flawless skin under the ray of the sun or its coolness with every cold breeze.
A Resistor!
My ancestral goddess. You found a home amidst all odds.
To you! I hail thy!
And to you is this day celebrated.
Happy International Migrant day!

Details of now, surface of ever.

Step, as we may, step away, on a way
from
to

Details of now, magnified, made nearer
to see,
to learn.
Ifery and wasery, wondered, wandered

upto, but not beyond, go
think that which holds the heavens,
a bubble, eh,
must be,
edge-less, inside, so smooth, smooth as
air,
I dare say, air is smooth, breathed easy,
calm, cold or hot,
air, is smooth, this surface of mind, this
is rough.

Pitted, adolescent greasy fifties happy
fashion engine, rewind,
take us back to when Ike and ****, gripped
the winds of change,
in signals so mysterious, we wonder if we saw,
the signs saying,
turn or burn,

and thought, what the hell, truth
is related to me, I cannot prove a lie.

I can say, virtually literally, true as such can be,
I can say there is no hell and we can't breathe
in heaven as conceived, beyond the stars,
or at least, past Mars,

ah, when all the world had, say,
a number, ten thousand, or so, say
science, prescience, right fore thought,

a story rises, from a word, that was a name,
first presented to me,
forethought was a god de-ifier, resistor of the bit
part, seeing the whole,
part seen is deception, to any who wished at then

to know, only to know, edge of knowing,
stood, stare, seeing we being a whole generated
mind, in lines linking one thing
to another,
in ever after birth, before death, now, as we imagine.

We think the wind a wonderous thing,
the mixture of elements we breathe and have
our native being in, & we have our post-natal first
known, ah, breathe,
air, this is the wind we wondered
through momma eyes, maybe,
I guessed, just guessed, instant-
iate a probability,
set a whatif, then

else
I laugh and douse the flames of cortisol,
thinking you may feel this wind,
next week, it meanders, and
may linger in New England,
delivering the requests

question everything, but wait, wait, listen
answers cost attention, not to mention
understanding, beyond - as in through,
which my kind plants as great crops
to make peace with,
as we burn through the opposition,
like mental hot coals.

Re learning to live, as once we lived when we all
knew, innocently, presumptively, knew
enough is always enough to share,
died, and we noticed
dying is easy, and
that much, that extent of declared, I know
dying is easy, is true, because none, once the
resistance
removes the lie that lingers as hell to pay, while
little grey Domeanies squeeze the truth
from me,
a sufficiency, enough to prove my reconciliation.

i remember the first day out of the installation better than most. we'd been locked up there for weeks, then months, under the impression that the bombs would fall at any moment. eventually we grew cynical, if compliant, for it was easier to keep one's head on straight when questioning leadership - while still obeying them. i knew the story about the radical resistor - the people in charge will chop of the head that rises up the highest, so it's easier to lay low and work in quiet.

once we realized that leadership's main goal was to turn us against each other with profit in mind, we snapped. it wasn't easy at first, because we still had our differences and found it hard to ignore them. a few of us realized that ignoring these flaws and defects of character isn't the right way to go - we must accept them and love each other for who we are, otherwise we're just as bad as leadership. that's what enabled us to break out, and then we found a jarring absence of bombs. or any real threat at all.

when i first stepped back out into those pine forests, my brush with peace was a foreign introduction. i remember there being an impenetrable quiet, threatened only by the songs of birds and the gentle rustling of pine needles far above our heads. or the distant cries of squirrels, or the dizzying stares of innocent does and fawns. i remember falling to my knees. i remember knowing peace.