Three Grandsons, 5, 8, 11 - and me
Thus this day began.  
-- they're online, in school, ever learning early

This is how I enjoy being.
Not
simply
being, being is
complicated, being is made
of many-
maybe, infinite plane plains piled high and multiplied
and probably twisting,
altogether
to gather points of light you followed
to the thee-at-ah
of three eyes
kiva, kindalikka
convenient cave in words
we carry with us, dark places,
often damp and stinky places,
deep
depressions on the surface of reality,
holes
to here, the point of being being
enjoyment
in the silence and the noise.

--------- Glimpsing

Points of lights, thoughts as
sparks
lighting
words ablaze with fiery wills to empower
gentle spirits hounded
by proud lies,
urging proof,
daring the hero to go
native, become ugly
destroyer of good for goodness sake, go
mad, breathe
anger,
rage and jealous zeal,
hold that inspiration, then

blow it out…

into shameless billows of
peace through safety and warmth,
naturally, as real -ifity is, made
to meet the need.
- an inspiration, a visitation
- a mere whatifery thing

_ movie theaters used to be dark as a kiva, yes
yes, that's true. Mythraic caves, those, too.
--- any mental conditioning, the
Alpha version is only perfect if you
sculpture with wind,
and clouds are
all you have to show for it, then…
or cracking ice, yes, cracking ice
lines
on a great lake or a puddle,
branching waywayway many ways,
fragile and gone, after while.
Fragile and temporary,
's mortality… gone.

Gone to where all beauty goes to conspire.
Inspirations for aspiring users of science,
conscience cleared, uses
made up, asifities
seep into mental sap,
syrup of what maybe when we agree.
Peace is a purpose, ours. We,
the people who hold these truths on earth.
Thus it has ever been,
but now we know, science-wise
Man, the species, doth not live by words alone.

Joy is its strength, light its medium.
Owning is not a concept,
except we agree,
mine is mine by reason, aha, I have it!
I have this.
This is mine, at the moment.
Eureka, we take joy as we take fire.
I first read old Thom Jefferson said,
“He who receives an idea from me,
receives instruction himself without lessening mine;
as he who lites his taper at mine,
receives light without darkening me.”

It was he, who held sacred and undeniable,
the self-evident truths Ben Franklin wished to see
manifested, by way
of the actual vision he had in mind,
self evidently,
a thought experiment.

-- like Wanda Vision, right… that's on TV.

----------------

Meaning is what we agree we mean,
there is a rule for readers of possible
bullshat wisdom that says:

Enjoyment has its own sake, mentally,
suspended unbelief
-- to the degree of Disney + free trial,
watched with grandsons choosing
what I'll like,
for sure --

Suspended disbelief, I think,
as a mob state, is patho-logical, sick,
it'll ****. No joy in mayhem.

But self-actuated,
willingly suspended,
disbelief, the weapon, hung up on a point
you recall
safe and sound… now,
we are in the realm of words that live
through historical use,
as real as any angel ever named,
or any spirit ever claimed as guide.
Liberty, e.g., the character,
the dime version, with wings on her
Phrygian cap,
to make a kid imagine that must mean
something.

Seems Mercurial, don't it? Like,
Liberty is free is a message from goodness
in the future,
when all the symbols assemble at the throne
of mercy,
for daily renewal and furbishing,
and the ones worn thin by lying men,
are seen through and lightly
sifted into new clouds of might
being possible,
in all probabilities… even this one. Today,
with all its riches freely mine.
………….

Speculate, see if
this were to happen as would be best
for all of us,
us-ness being the state we exist in as
givers and takers of sense
signals,
vibes,
smiles, winks, waves

hey, I saw you see
the latest from Disney, without the crowd

did you notice evil always loses?
Yes, and
Hell is always prepared
for those who lack the knowledge
to escape
the franchise
mis interpretation of my realm,
where reason is as
reason, says, see
liberty, the character,
acts true
to the true hope, the trope of trust,
true rest, compressed to a moment
at the end of the adventure… DIY
save the world… from the unbelievable.

"Power isn't your problem, it's knowledge"
says the evil witch.
She must mean
secret, sacred knowledge-- that's the hint
in the Marvel universe,
such knowledge is believable…
attainable, learn, ever learn
practice makes perfect, patience.
There's a test.
Will to power
meets will to live free as any truth in ever,

it stands to reason
We'll say hello again…
for, we know,
it is a Marvel Universe, there's always
a sequel, inspired or invented
from something left behind.
Am I right, Stan Lee?

Eventually, we all die and leave hope behind,
or it is
all a lie… so let's make the story fun,
let's make it lift
the lonely, stay at home Disneyfied old man,
into deep conversations
about the poetic ****** of Wanda Vision…

how it ends in a dark theatre, lit from a single
source,
as a kiva is when the sipapu is left open
and all the curio spirits run free,
each to be weighed,
judged good or evil, good for something
or good for nothing.

Then the good for nothing ideas are left in the clouds,
so we never unget that
we got the word,
before it was a word, and we wrote it here
in the cloud,
for you to use as entertainment contained
in mere words, unto the distant future,
or until the entire internet AI dissipates
into improbability.
Pfft. Just like that.

I'm all alone
Its like this world has a way of reminding me of that.
I can fill my life with people
But when I lay down to sleep
Even next to the one I love
I slip into my mind.
Disney never told me
That the knight in shining armor
Can't save me from my nightmares. Slaying dragons?
Can't you slay my demons?
I'm not locked inside a tower
But I'm locked inside my mind. Banging on the walls
Screaming to get out.
But you know what?
No one can hear me in there.
The screams drive me nuts
But no one else hears a thing.
You might think I'm crazy
But if you stayed for eternity
You'd go crazy too.
It's unfair of me to put that burden on someone else.
It's unfair to expect that anyone can save me from my thoughts.
It's unfair to expect anyone to understand.
I cling to people hoping that somehow if I hold tight enough
That I can bring them with me.
That the warmth of their touch
Will somehow ward off the cold, dark, endless horror.
That the screaming in my head will silence
Bc I have someone who's finally heard me.
Maybe the demons will stray if they realize I'm not alone.
They taunt me.
Like a school ground fight at the flagpole.
But maybe if someone could stand up for me.
Step into my circle and help me up. Maybe then they would stop.
Taunting and beating and laughing. They like to see me fail.
I can't help but think if only I wasn't a failure..
If somehow I'm the one who's supposed to save myself.
If i just stop failing for one second. Maybe I'm my knight in shining armor.
Why didn't Disney write about that?
I guess "Save yourself" wouldn't be a very good title.
But they would've in turn saved me.

The night grew darker and the babel hushed,
To their beds, the orphans rushed.
One by one sound asleep,
While through the curtain slit, Peter Pan peeped.

He crawled into the hut, silent as a grave
Played a melody, with an unusual octave.
That night had been quiet ghostly, odd and peculiar
Yet strangely enough, the orphans sensed no fear.

The melody chimed like a beautiful lullaby,
Frosty December cold seemed to have vanished, and it felt like warm July.
The misery and sorrow appeared to be ending,
As though time had stopped and reality was bending.

Soon it was morning with the crack of dawn,
But the hut lay silent, as if the children were gone.

With no guardians to search for the stray,
Lifeless bodies left on the floor, stiff and grey.
The little ones fell into a deep slumber, one with no breath,
A slumber that was led by the angel of death.

However, beneath the bed was a note that read,
“Off to Neverland, we now head”

                                                               ­                                                     -Yashaswee Das

An evil mother, with grey hair
Flaunts her red gown
Desiring, her selfish,
wild daughters
to get royally crowned

After a painful death
Her real hidden face
Once cunningly cloaked
Is finally invoked!
She was a sugar coated pill!

Soon the dishes and the laundry
The sweeping of floors
Are forever those
stepdaughter's daily chores

The clever lady, never gaiety
gets the royal call
She plans devilish things
Locking Cindrella down
Wildly tearing and ruining
Her charming ball gown

In the end, she's left cursing
the perfectly fitting shoe
She deserved that
Old cruel shrew!

But why is it always
The step ones forever cruel?
Why O why? Is such a mother shown?
What would a child feel
Who has a mother, step
Even, if she isn't mean or vain
The child will think, she's Lady Tremaine!

There's 104 days of self isolation,
and the cure comes along just to end it,
the annual problem of our generation,
is finding a way just to spend it, like maybe

making dalgona or making a donuts,
and avoiding friends for a month,
discovering vaccine that's not yet exist,
or maybe taking a showerrrrrrr.

ten ten ten

switching 3 different apps,
waiting for you to text,
ended up sleeping all daysssssss.
PHINEAS !!

As you can see there's a whole lot of stuff to do,
before this virus can kills us alllllll,
so stick around with us cause Phineas and  Ferb Corona do it allllll.

MOM , PHINEAS AND FERB TRYNA MAKE A TITLE SEQUENCE !

How cold was the night when Belle learned to love a horrid beast?
How bright was the evening when Wendy chose to never leave?
How silent was the dark when Aurora was sound asleep?
How selfish was the midnight when Cinderella’s shoe fell off her feet?

Now, those are magics and princesses made up of fiction and fantasies;
We are blood and flesh made up of atoms and reality
Who are forced to believe someday we'll be as lucky
To have our own kind of sweet tell-a-tale stories.

But how cold was the night when you waited for someone to come back?
How bright was the evening when you wished upon a shooting star on the sky?
How silent was the dark with your sobs and tears that were left to cry?
How selfish was midnight when you realize no one's returning as you look at the clock?

It all happens after AM
when the night was cold
while the evening was bright
the dark was silent
and the midnight was selfish.

— 𝙘𝙗.𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙙