Clarifying failed. Spelchek is not on strike.

{clear ification, an ionic bond be tween me and thee,
alienated mind, not mined, crafted
from tactics and strategies
beyond chess.
Player One,
1980's era
jewish-geek-mid-pubesence-kid-level,
proceed with caution.
This trope has trapped many a curious child.
---
Now, enter the old ones,
Grandfather taught uncle chess so well
he went to the state tournament in Kayenta,
and a grandma was
state-champ-bare-bow-in-the-rain-shooter,

these, now must learn

minecraft on x-box to be considered
for the real life role of

good at games grand parents
from the time right after atom bombs kicked up dust
places dust had not been in a very long time and
as the dust began to settle

some dust mights was cationic.
Negative bits, they became embedded in the code.
Bumps, fering, coming together
just a knot in a string,
attracting anionic curiosity might

round and round phorward ferring to be
a thread to tie my heart to yours

like twisted Pima cotton thread,
that I pulled from an old sweatshirt
to tie a crow feather in this paho of words filled with old jokes

Making this clear would belie the entire story AI and I know true}

truth is. we agree. no capsokehspaceasneededcommasetal.
caps okeh space as needed commas et al
go.
Did that work? That line

subject of this act fact done, agree to follow,
and I may lead and be

not you, me, dear reader, I mean first true

there is no any if nothing is. So simple some say its sublime beyond the spectrum of ones
and zeros thought on off probably

either or any time time can be accounted for

wouldn't you take a

thought,  nothing,
as it is commonly said to be understandable,

the state of not being, imagine that

the state of not being we negate in being,
unless you are mad and are lost in a whirlwind
such as such voices have been said to

have twisted into threads as
wicks for our lamps
turn floating on
golden oil twisting
wickered into wickering wee shadow fibers
on the western wall for legends to sprout from.

Wickering mare over there, expands us both by my hearing her
you had no idea she was near enough to hear
time is no barrier in actual ever.
What phor can contain me,
whispered my whimsy

Imagine she spoke,
what would she say for what reason
would she say

good good good, I feel good, ha,
I am right, by accident. ever body can feel this good.

good is good.
good is.
Sam Harris, agrees, good as far as good goes, is good
in every vecter from now

the terrain does exist, beyond the moral landscape, to

true true
trust me, I been there.
Been there done that was inserted into the vernacular on my watch,
first summer post war.

matter must not matter as much to me as it does to thee, nestypass? no se?

All jewish boys have chess move metaphors.
(a phor is for containing,
bearing
meta,
everybody knows, like metaphysics,
after physics in the stack of stackable metadata)

OHMYGOD THE IDW circa 2018 -- who knew I ate this **** up?

[the old code calls for excretion of digested material
from which meaning has been extracted in the idleword accounting processor:
literal
<pre>what if utterance=****, then **** haps, no else then</pre>]

Did that happen? One of my friends told me that happened in Florida, the whole world turned to ****... for lack of a nail a kingdom was lost, they say, little foxes spoil the grapes,
hung chad ex
cuses...

Pre-expandable ROM, not magic. tech,

pre-infinite imagination? impossible.
and nothing is what is impossible with good as god.

Is there no perfect game?
is the game the session or the life of the user
offline

rerererererererererereroxotoxin, poison pen
ideal viral umph exspelliered
up against the wall

reset. We

kunoon albania omerta oy vey, who could say?
one way better, one way not? quark.
up or down, with variable spins, who can say?

Life's right,
yes. but mo'ons of other something must have been for higgs to ever matter

and it does, I got commas, from 2018.

Are you with me? This is that book I told you I had access…

You or some mind other than mine owned mind, where
my owned peace rests in truth,

otherwise, I know every any or else in the code since I can recall,
in time

if this were a test I swore to take to prove to you
the we can be me in your head

phillipkdicktated clue

if you don't know me by now, maybe we should stop.

Temptations are times. Time things. Time spans, yeah, like bridges

or portals, right
The Internet in One Day, Fred Pryor Resources,
Wu'wuchim 1995.

Ever, not everish or everistic or every, but ever
body knows,
but you.

Catch up. We left all our doors blown off, once we learned that we could blow our own doors off,

there are no open sesames or slips of leth or sibylets

shiba yah you knew all along there was a
song she sang all one and we watched it morph
before our very eyes

alone.

The magic stories words may contain, may bear, we must agree

more than we may know, by faith, metagnostic as we see

the sublime gift of the magi
become clear und

be und sein sind both trueture same tu you, we agree.
But. Lock here, no pre 2018 editing codes

validate past last go.

"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
  
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.

tizz is love it or hate it, nuttin' in between
addicted to yayo like sheen, 500 bpm heartbeat
don't do it anymore, but remain psychotic
and hunt down idiotics like a carnivore

from florida to berlin, from tropic to toxic
deep in da game, da grimy streetz know my name
it'z tizzop, 14.8 inchez of hip-hop

hangin' at rashid'z, shisha ready, cuban necklace
three men in da back but ya don't know who it iz
all of 'em are dark-skinned, all of 'em are bearded
most important of all: all of 'em are fearless

we don't know what it meanz to be scared
just some migrantz who will now be heard
da territory split up: kurdz, arabz and turkz
we got our own law, like omerta, like da cosa

one apartment here, and one block' there
like bushido did, back in da dayz wit fler
sonny black carlo, godfatherz, yeeeah

power is about makin it and takin it, unlike nine said
unlike any other guy said, and if ya don't wanna buy it
find ya eyez in da wine-red, da choppaz are wild catz
ya can use them for da furiouz, some become notoriouz

otherz don't and die, but dey will be honored:
watch da muralz; urban networkz, also in da rural,
and five-o just remainz neutral; it is crucial to be brutal
as it iz to remain truthful; lyricistz can't deal wit diz
g-boy attitude of tizz: letz celebrate diversity
and ante up on google, i write barz and do diz
i'm a little too youthful for these oldskoolish

sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades

peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks

gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present

biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******

despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs

cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"

black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power

the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish

unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith

organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death

it's all in the game


"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.

Relax."

(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")

The hawk nosed general in the grey suit sniffed
out his enemies, labrador like, nose to the noise,
chest beating, bleating, blaring in the thunderous
applause, that made his ego bloom amongst the corpses
of the shrunken heads and hands reaching out for bread,
in the shut down quarter of the empire
where the eagles flew in/ out dropping mustard,
caught between a  deadly sandwich of
closed escape routes.

"Burn them all" he said, and turning to his sidekick,
he smiled a thin smile, devoid of the god he worshiped
in the minarets on the mosques that stabbed the  blue sky
with their sharp bulbous  needles of  attention.

At twelve the muezzin called the faithful to prayer and
moaned for mercy on the unbelievers.The call echoed
and reverberated down the streets.
The mustard closed the eyes of  the city where the
gas cannisters jangled on thin nerves and let the
people  sleep forever.

The grey suit, now eau de cologne  scented handker-
chief  
hawk nose sniffed
wiped his forehead and walked
spritely to his armoured vehicle, to call his wife
and enquire if the kids were enjoying their summer swim.

"Yes, darling!" she tingled with excitement.
"How's that part of the city
where these rats live?"
"Good love! Just need to smoke 'em
out some more!
By tonight I'll be home for dinner. Bye for now!"

The line went dead
with twenty others, fried in the concrete
pan of a bunk buster bomb dropped from a drone
with butterfly wings and a sharp upside down minaret
nozzle of spray now stabbing the earth.
Earth to sky, sky to earth?

The barbed wired brains circled the city.
Children soon crunched cockroaches,
mice and rats and grass salads, autumn leaves on wild spinach
thousands  died eating succulent poisonous roots.

Even the carrion claws refused to descend into the darkness
of carcasses that lay down in the streets to pray forever.

The water turned green with envy as lichen,
clogged with blood and ***** and bones rotting
under bridges, ****** up the blue river
and sent the beavers into burrows of omerta
The world watched and waited.

?

Around the dinner table the grey suited general
tucked his napkin under his red,wellfed face and smiled
at his lovely wife in a designer outfit.
" Pass me the mustard please, darling!"

Ruler first or ruled

in the grand
scheme
of things

the inter-e-
stop

interest
interesting times, quants of time,

quants divisible, but

non-un-en-tangle-able as opposed

at tthis moment
with tangibility being the re-
al-it-if-I-can temptation

time is permanently temporary here,
if that's okeh with you, as

peacemakers were learned to say.

Leave us let this be, see we was never taught,
we
was caught, and we learned

I can-tations
I caint-tatations yessir nossir, damnright,
I'm white trash

from way back. Hillbilly Scotts and Fisher man Sicilians.

Outlaws hang from my family tree
with some honor, omerta. doncha know.

My great granddaddy fought in the Lincoln County War,
on the side that won.

Ever last one o' my kin's sons,
I ken re
call

was left with a life t' live after
winning a war.

Then came me,
and I'as left t'live after losing war after war after war

for no reason,

those was unreasonable wars.

We was poor boys made men by God
And the Corp-
us, the embodiment of an esprit d'corp

-- flash (the real kind, where you remember an event
in time re-
lated by the merest of mere threads of
wonder)

what if, you are reading this and its like
reveilatory
re-veily girl wwwuwu
re-unveiling, luring

you

to a true-ly, like true,
(you can't tell the difference, no diff, right? D'Israeli, maybe.
said that, aside)
true
Hell. Imagine that.
You can't.

Searing hot iron truth:
no condemnation here, no more, ever on
this edge,

if
things stay balanced.
Any time, past now, is mortally pre-carrious

im' guessing that means pre-tooth rot,
but, I can check…

I 'as wrong, lookathis:
precarious (adj.)
1640s, a legal word,
"held through the favor of another,"
from Latin precarius 
"obtained by asking or praying,"
from prex (genitive precis)
"entreaty, prayer"
(from PIE root *prek- "to ask, entreat").

Notion of "dependent on the will of another" led to
extended sense "risky, dangerous, uncertain" (1680s).

"No word is more unskillfully used than this with its derivatives.
It is used for uncertain in all its senses;
but it only means uncertain, as dependent on others ..."
[Johnson]. Related: Precariously; precariousness.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=precarious>

tooth-rot persuasion-wise, I'as right.

Jahnsan, we assume Samuel or some other dangling
Johnson, says *******, who rides me

through the raison patch from time to time
so I can see the angel.

The messenger, the very one, told
the Prophet professed to be that lastest wit' the mostest

but un-propheside of precariousness

this very voice manifest aurally, in the
non-shadow-casting image of a pillar of light,

highbeams on a foggy night,
from far away,
then blam
headlights

the voice it said,
"Read".

Twice. Nada mas. Read. He heard it.
But he could not read, so
highly spiritual
was he --
post allakindaholyshit
to him, alone,
an angel of light, with new good news,
just in time,

write this down,
its
weird.Wait…
Wars could …

They could.
Wait. ( as we have, and may, yet.)
Wait,
I can see what the professed prophet can see.
I did read.
He could not.
Ought he to have taught? Who am
I to judge,

times and times and half a time,
that clock,
did it have an alarm?

The hawk nosed general in the grey suit sniffed
out his enemies, labrador like, nose to the noise,
chest beating, bleating, blaring in the thunderous
applause, that made his ego bloom amongst the corpses
of the shrunken heads and hands reaching out for bread,
in the shut down quarter of the empire
where the eagles flew in/ out dropping mustard,
caught between a  deadly sandwich of
closed escape routes.

"Burn them all" he said, and turning to his sidekick,
he smiled a thin smile, devoid of the god he worshiped
in the minarets on the mosques that stabbed the  blue sky
with their sharp bulbous  needles of  attention.

At twelve the muezzin called the faithful to prayer and
moaned for mercy on the unbelievers.The call echoed
and reverberated down the streets.
The mustard closed the eyes of  the city where the
gas cannisters jangled on thin nerves and let the
people  sleep forever.

The grey suit, now eau de cologne  scented handker-
chief  
hawk nose sniffed
wiped his forehead and walked
spritely to his armoured vehicle, to call his wife
and enquire if the kids were enjoying their summer swim.

"Yes, darling!" she tingled with excitement.
"How's that part of the city
where these rats live?"
"Good love! Just need to smoke 'em
out some more!
By tonight I'll be home for dinner. Bye for now!"

The line went dead
with twenty others, fried in the concrete
pan of a bunk buster bomb dropped from a drone
with butterfly wings and a sharp upside down minaret
nozzle of spray now stabbing the earth.
Earth to sky, sky to earth?

The barbed wired brains circled the city.
Children soon crunched cockroaches,
mice and rats and grass salads, autumn leaves on wild spinach
thousands  died eating succulent poisonous roots.

Even the carrion claws refused to descend into the darkness
of carcasses that lay down in the streets to pray forever.

The water turned green with envy as lichen,
clogged with blood and ***** and bones rotting
under bridges, ****** up the blue river
and sent the beavers into burrows of omerta
The world watched and waited.

?

Around the dinner table the grey suited general
tucked his napkin under his red,wellfed face and smiled
at his lovely wife in a designer outfit.
" Pass me the mustard please, darling!"

Author Notes
The revolution shifts elsewhere. Follow it.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The record is stuck on a track titled Opposing
as the turntable whirled around and around
lyrics of unrequited love and a dying heart dozing
illusions of an Angel that glides in secret underground

The tune is of opening memories and *******
rubbing salt and pepper on raw scars and wounds
retelling a fantasy of woe they wish is depressing
leaving trails of green, pink and gold that hounds

But what is a world without make believe to cheer
do you tell the clouds they're trillions droplets of water
when it hangs so vividly in blue skies delightfully sheer
that a rainmaker knows the alchemy to be a blue plotter

What you think you see is merely going East to reach West
a journey where destination is reached before departure
romance never inclined as the genius sat a ****** test
vibes of past angels had shown this here not a true picture

Forewarned and forearmed the rest is merely theatre
good grace and humanity demands fair play and civility
walk on and present personably in this dramatic sphere
keep in mind an end game that holds fine mental agility

The record is stuck on a track titled Opposing
as the turntable whirled in and out around and around
know that omerta demands you have no heart exposing
in dark days your enemies will know where to take you down

No reservations, no known points, no fish on Mondays,
no more warthog ****** or fermented shark,
nothing but kitchen omerta out the steamy back-alley backdoor,
nothing but adventure, exploration, basic human decency.

Nothing but grace and love and travel,
nothing but a steaming *** full of public love in the end,
nothing but leather and curiosity,
nothing but a hot bowl of noodles in a not-so-alien land.  

Nothing but a friend in a foreign place,
inviting us all to be so understanding,
inviting us all to be less afraid of the exotic,
inviting us all to be our best selves in the end.

Our Protection Money Racketeers
was refused the extortion money demanded
OK, me and mi young daughter are game
just bring the ***** and a little gift for a good time
that's crazy said I, no thank you
ah..you think you better than us, all ladida

they subsequently burgled us
vandalized our car and stole the four radial wheels
off the poor car
then told us in broad daylight
" We will ruin your life, hound you and make your life a misery"
I laughed, imagine a known area Crook who's just robbed you
saying that to you. To me this was a joke! a big big joke eh! haha

"You're laughing!" Mama Crook says with hateful eyes
"We are going to sling mud at you, you'd wish you're dead"
I laughed even more
Hey Al Capone, I thought
I'm blameless here, my reputation is pristine, no skeleton hidden
no crime ever. Never wronged anyone, always kind, friendly
and respectful to all..all round sound guy, this crook is deluded.
Anyway people can easily see the truth here, I confidently assumed
Yeah! more fool me...

Go to hell, you you nasty crook...say I,... imagine the cheek!

Well people
sad to report, how was I to know Mama Al capone was right
They had the connections, the nefarious know-how of these things
and they know their demography. they know their people! .

Mud slinging worked a treat...People believed everything,
every slander, defamation, fabrication, lies, everything
They delivered on their promises and then some
They told a fantastic story to their Socialist and Anachist connection, even those were fooled
Arrogant, the Big I Am, hidden riches, wife beater, domineering
et pompous, thinks he's high and mighty, the very opposite of me!
wow people...the heat is on
I became radioactive in one swift move..

For the first time in my life
I discovered real evil exist, not paper stuff

Now I know why there are never any witnesses in Inner city
Estates and a code of Omerta or Ali-baba or whatever its called
exists
why some witnesses never reveal their faces or give their names,
when they talk to the media about some crimes or some faces
they recognized

and why thieves threateningly utter this infamous line

" I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE"