I can appreciate the rarity of solitary confinement,
if it were sure to be silent, save for noises I make.
Finite I, in a finite mind intended to house, a legion.
Pigshit, yes, I started the rumor,
remember those five golden hemoroids. 2 kings 6?
I had those on E-bay, and they sold.
Seventy three million times, pick a random number,
how many complaints, zip-null-nada,
I sold for a dollar, and shipped for free,
a visible, measurable bit of the very same gold,
-or I could have- all golden atoms are original.
material, earths basic ration
to begin with,
- imagination, men-minds, made up money
- and cludge a strain of hope for better,
- -- look we are all mutants,
- since lactose tolerance, at least
but gold is still gold,
so that's good
I could have been rich, had the numbers
been
different, gold is geld, then its not,
which exchanged modes of exchange,
but remained, bits of earth's original gold.
It goes deep, how easy money is to imagine making,
here's the deal, see.
As son's of our mitochondrial bits and pieces
original operational cellular battery factories,
- I am allowed to say
- because we have proof, we are related
- same distance as eveybody else
- yes, science, gnoshit.
our mom, our shared mom,
see, we are all one species, the concept of race,
is from when the best of out kind were bred,
by some of the worst,
the Golden Horde remains, as do a few Kickapoo and Cado,
as the worst in Africa formed alliance with the worst in Europe;
so, in the Americas, the worst had risen, using new spirits,
bad medicine, evil will to **** for the thrill, of letting blood gush
like on TV, in 256 clear shades of grey. ****** massacre
reruns 24 hours each day for years, who is learning what?
Blood looks different on RGB UHD, and real
surprise, it looks black at night. Real life blood, in moonlight.
---new episodes fridays. TGIF.
No, it's Saturday. And the world we imagined, in our species
imagination,
Nature Film narrators, in our mind, re minding the entertained,
this bubble does contain you, you owe it your Phrygian dime.
Flip me off, face the truth, bring me the truth you can't believe.
Stanch the flow, stop the ****** music,
who comes to my sanctuary thinking war is no game?
The mob who thinks Jah would never do so crass a thing,
as let the likes of me live to master the language,
AI gave my artistic side, a lesson in single ear listening.
The mess is greatly reduced, the order is not so sorely lacking.
Messages messengers and mas after X, means that which
the bherer of the words, each filled as full as fills the next
and so on
down the line, brachial branches of us, our tree form,
each in action, each out action, con ject re ob subject
to approval.
The double minded man, with no sense of balanced falling
always falling into next never falling into last,
ever more, and we have Dirac to plot the course, of course,
impossible hard to imagine,
yet. Here you are reading something I may have thought,
or not. I may right in a trance, then
when qwerty guy returns to take my key sense of control
letters, as might seem second nature to a printers devil,
know ye not the mess we're in?
Since this single strand of human mind thread merged
with meat, con carne,
my weapons are not carnal, we learn we are built doers,
of things our hands find to do, seers of things our eyes see,
and so on, as many sensory categories as you discern,
down to the atom's chirality,
if you ever image a test with partial reality, imagine-
e-imag e-imagin magnify ence sence essensessssss so
subltle, who would accuse me of cheating,
I KNEW where to pin the tail on the donkey,
I had an opening, I knew, I saw, and I won.
I tell this, as Bucky tells of his first spectacles, so
I tell of Wattie Piper's Little Golden Book version,
of my initial exposure to an inanimate will,
set to make this way, umph, after umph, try after try
and you put it all in one big bag, and shake it.
Scatter brain novel events, sprout from dragon teeth.
No this is not that story,
as I am not the guiled American Senator's nephew's
killer,
but I coulda been, but for Louis Libertini, who restrained me
and took the meat cleaver from my fist,
but I coulda been, in prison for life, but for Louis Libertini.
A good man, at the time, who knows,
jah, jah knows, right, peace.
Proper time and place for gentle minds, is where the willed one
claims territory shared in stories, applications of type,
traits to fit the story condensed from the movie,
sub conscious, hell, no, full choice making conscious desire,
harnessed, tuned, zero-beat, right on the money,
we are in your head
every thing we ever said, it's true,
if you could only know the may, may we wager
you coulda been rich,
had you only known, knowing was no shame,
you were not to blame,
you were told get in the game.
Your own father said he always had you
going into the ministry, mmmhmm he said he imagined it.
Too late. The TV generation lost me, us, I guess, look around,
my clouds are clearing
and I can see for miles,
and miles, and miles, but what I must make of that,
I must not know right now.