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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.
A year in the making honest
Jon Sawyer  Dec 2017
Dear Beebabe
Jon Sawyer Dec 2017
Dear Beebabe,

I know you're not feeling well
The torrent of your own mind can become
The dagger that slices you and makes you frail
But it will end soon, then you'll hum
To find that you never really left home

And when that day arrives
I'll be by your side
And then you'll ask, where did I get these knives?
And then I'll say, they came from the wide
Hole in your mind

When you're recovered
You won't remember the day
That these knives did more than smothered
The bright flame that makes you sway
Your hips when you're feeling gay

The slits in your consciousness
Won't compare to the inner you
That resides in my blessedness
You will ask, why did you allow me to chew
On my beebro? Dear, you seem so renewed!

I'll reply, because even though
You're not my flesh and bone
You're own love for me saw me through
The weeks you sat on depression throne
I knew that one day you'll find your way home

That you never did leave.
I saw you through these hard times
Because I knew your mind would cleave
To see my own heart and soul chime
In the tune that makes you mine.

And mine you are
And shall never not be
Because you mean more to me
Than my very own bare
Heart, soul, and mind
Given solely to us, the beebro three

I'll hear you say, I'm soory
I didn't mean to make you woory
I guess I just choose my own folly
That bittersweet throne, golly!
I'll say, dear, miss molly

Tonight we take the trolley
Climb aboard, we'll go rolling
Through the hills to make you see fully
And not pretend we represent Fern Gully
And you'll see that depression is just a bully

That in the end, will never,
Ever,
Change the you inside

Live in your moment now.
Your mind will heal tomorrow.

But for today rest in the knowledge
That I've also been through the sludge

Today I just hope to be
The bright light for you

That you miraculously were for me.

With love and compassion,
Signed therein:

Me, your soulmatage.
6 Dec 2017 - written as a poem-letter to my wife, who is in a spell of depression at this time. "beebabe", "beebro", and "soulmatage" are our terms of endearment.
Most days its just me against the world...
Most days All i ever get is a cold response...
A cold shoulder.. Your high again.......
A cold house... I can make it warm.....
A cold supper... It was my fault....
But most days everyone asks me for a little extra....
At most the only thing they want will cause my discomfort....
Most days I just agree...        
Because its the same as everyday....
I control an army that is mostly expendable.....
With soldiers called Sanity... Hope... Health.....
They mean nothing to no one....
But every night i nurse the wounds...
Of soldiers who only serve the needs of others.....
And the days they dont have to fight....
They are told not to talk too much...
To never say that they are tired...
That they too are something..
They belong to someone.....
No they are simply a disposable front line...
In a battle they must win for the love of their homeland.....
Oh home... They are forgetting that place...
Sometimes they hide in bars.....
Or in plain sight shellshocked from a continued battle....
Nobody cares its what they signed up for...
When they leave there is no longer a girl.... A family... No that is not the goal....
They are just in trenches against odds not in their favor....
Where the enemy is always getting new weapons.....
They learnt how to hide... To strike and hurt innocents....
After all collaterall damage is part of war.....
But as they look n there wake only burnt bridges that led to hope....
Crying children... Maybe they lost their goal..... Sometimes they shake from fatigue... Fear.....
Then its time to get a jolt from chemical not suited for them....
But its viewed as a want.... Never a need.....
I wish there was another way....
Sometimes a soldier goes AWOL...
The others stand in... A force of maniacs....
They just do what it takes to cover the ones who left....
With little care for anyone but themselves....
I dont control that army...
They call themselves Anger, Pain, sadness....
All under a warlord who neither cares or remembers....
He calls himself Addiction....
My army is able to fight them...
Even tho they are outgunned and wounded....
They are strong and run towards certain death.....
Holding pictures of a better time..
A picture of the woman they loved...
She is now only a memeory.....
A song.... A tune everyone tells them is offensive...
A belief.... That once they are victorious....
They might be taken serious....
And promoted from corporals... To seargeants.....
To lead a peaceful rebellion...
They no longer want war...
They want a truce with an enemy...
They only want to go home if only for a short leave....
To tell the people they love...
They are still here.. Please dont forget them....
But each time the shells fall silent... The cities no longer burn...
A crisis.... an atomic bomb brings them back into battle....
I feel sorry for them.....
My stories of motivation are now tales...
I wouldnt believe me either...
This was always my war....
They are just old friends now...
Gray and weak.. we no longer laugh or visit....
They just do what they have learnt to do.....
A good soldier never questions...
To die for their country is just a fate.....
I can only hope as each one dies...
I can hold them for at least a moment...
To thank them.....
To let them know i remember them....
How glorious they once were...
We thought we would own the world.....
Now each day im writing letters to memories....
Im soory to inform you..... They will be greatly missed....
I am sad these were great soldiers... But at least I know as they are killed....
It wont be long till I go.....
If I lose to the other force.... Heavan help everyone I care for.....
They will destroy them...
But another morning... Another battle....
Maybe today is the day...
When they get to go home... They get to feel loved to be cared for...
But i dust off their helmets and they head back out to battle.....
I dont have the heart to tell them...
I know we are gonna lose...
Its never been a war I believed they could win.....

— The End —