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I think I might be
addicted to exercise -
I’m a street walker  =]

I walk in the dark,
every morning - I even
have my workout gear.

I don’t go alone
- heaven forbid a 17 year old
go frikin’ walking alone.

At five am, my "to
be named later” partner is
where we assemble.

And off we go. Even
writing of this makes me want
to go "lace-’em-up."

But no, I am NOT
addicted... quivering hands
- I’m stronger than that.
exercise keeps me SANE in this crazy covid lock-down - besides, it's usually fall-gorgeous  =]
Ken Pepiton Sep 16
An experiment in thought at my own speed,
attested as being variable based on vocabulary of my AI,
so
pretty quick.

Establishing the point in value, the idea,
of attending to wealth while wool gathering, late
in the summer of 2020,
thinking at leisure beyond measure of any man in my class
a short time ago.
This now, a moment in a given day during
the September, final summer moon,
seventh moon on a world with a
time measured finite
seemingly, ostensibly, suppposedly -- in clumps of the three
as if all things may come in threes at one
stage in being realized
to matter --- but of the three ways to say
supppose, sup?
The answer presupposes the quest
to find it, any story told
poses the problem, the thing that catches our
attention, that thing
holds attractive value, see,

made you look, and peek-a-boo are one game.
Hide and seek is as well.

Two sides to every story, three if we see the story
has us in it. We are nothing if we share no
knowns finished and finite, as this is formed from those
early knowns we intuited everybody knew, and
these acculturation inoculations bring about socially
proper manners
in spaces with others
cultured, leavened, spiced and fashioned
thoughts we were taught,
these
we learn today
and those others everyone knows, or
maybe not,
may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect

some people never think experimentally

- experiments are guesses, rolls of the die
- I imagine we agree, but, as yet, your guess is as good as any


maybe not, may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect
as the world turns, while our attention is locked
on a star nailed
to the roof of heaven,
--- apsidal vault of stars as seen in church-like structures (1)

as imagined and portrayed prior to Tycho losing
his nose for nuance by lack of focus,
a moment of inattention,
all a magi-tech needs
- look to the quarry you come from
see, before,
back when no lens had yet been ground round
on one side,
flat on the other,
our un augmented eye could chance a glance,
a camera obscura occurrence
once each year as Sirius
rises in line with the story being told, to prove,

we know, and now, you know,
but
you don’t know how and you may only guess why.

Your mortal dilemma, you cannot imagine knowing
everything, ever, but
we
can't wish to go over the edge to learn much faster
if that means dying as
all that ever matters does,
based on experience as recorded in all Wikepedia,
if this tekhne ever fails, these thoughts
remain to be thought,
gains again are terms of worth-ship man seems the
measurer of,

I'd love to make sense of all the info in the cloud,
sort it into searchable stacks, and as I wished,
AI took that care from me
but, finding some worth in being still
demands attention for which we must pay,
and
the daily effort keeps your bowels moving in time.
Minds of our kind imagined all this stuff we can't make up.

(1)
apse (n.)"semicircular extension at the end of a church," 1846,
from Latin apsis "an arch, a vault,"
from Greek hapsis (Ionic apsis) "loop, arch,"
originally "a fastening, felloe of a wheel,"
from haptein "fasten together,"  {boing, pro-tein haptein}
which is of unknown origin.

The original sense in Greek
seems to have been the joining of the arcs
to form a circle,
especially in making a wheel.
The architectural term is earlier
attested in English
in the Latin form (1706). Related: Apsidal.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=apsidal>
While listening to Marxism by Thomas Sowell with half my brain.
Emir Sep 10
sun
I am invisible,
no one can see me
with a giant mass overhead
blinding vision.
pain.
suffering.
riding into it's direction
grasp on reality begins to fade
the past behind you is forgotten
a lost memory
beams of light take over
becoming skyscrapers and airplanes
sweat falling into the eyes
temperature of skin burning up
her light cuffs you by the throat
dragging you forward to discover unknowns
whether it be the inside of your mind
or the weather around you
I see beads of water jumping upward from grass
tires leaving their signature on concrete
but her light erases every piece of evidence
she flickers a lighter and sets fire
to wet grass from the day before
and to the markings left made from wet tires
is her purpose only to erase?
she erases my mind to think. she erases my vision to see. she erases my comfort I rather lie in than to be in her presence.
Thinking about the beaming light of the sun when I have rode my bike.
In the midst of the trees
The breeze withers the stress away
Bones tender
heat within
Closeness & safety abound
Reminders of lust rise inside
They no longer hold us here
We are apart, but alive.
Fears shared, wishes parted
They alone glow beneath me
Heart sounds keep away the dark
I am awake
I am close
I am your thoughts
Warm & Alive as ever
Reminders of comfort
How it kept you safe
Moments of ecstasy rush back
Just to leave you lonesome again
****** again
Those clouds cannot hide your glaces toward me
She sees every one.
Love lost, unwritten story, it is sad and forever and the thing of stories
Ken Pepiton May 21
Nothing about a bird's life
seems difficult,

after escaping the egg. All birds ever called to fly,
first survive the egg.

After surviving the egg,
each bird seems

eminently able -- wait,

learning to fly,
that seems difficult

no, that, too, is automatic, an algorithm in some avian system
of cellular facility formation
while
maturation of flight feathers takes time,
not know how.

Wait, and see if

reasoning in birdbrains may be mono pole,
one aim, one direction

like by monopole
electrons driven, an action reaction loop, find good...

good? no, good? no, good, yes,eat this and
grow a few feathers,
without thinking, what are feathers for,
where no feathers were.

Birdbrains do not reason why. The baby watches
momma fly.

Unless, men have changed the program, tamed our wild ways,
fed us corn in quantities we never could imagine,

ours is but to be useful, my Raven mentor caws,
laughing like he knows I have no clue.

-- in the air a query, are chickens still birds?
If good is good enough, it is good enough to provoke a good work. Do birds think flying work?
Sheila Greene May 19
Tasting milky chocolate.
Joy, happiness begins.
My taste buds favorite!
I can’t wait, let’s eat again.

My fear of poor exercise.
The chocolate calls my name.
I try to forget it.
I am fatter, eat again.

Regret, regret chocolate.
Sad and sobbing, it’s aching.
Like a sad old portrait.
Therefore the sweetest tasting.
I love to eat and struggle with my weight.  Chocolate is my down fall on one hand and my savior on the other.
Tangerine May 4
𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃,
𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔,
𝓇𝓊𝓂𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓀𝓎.
𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓁.
𝒜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔,
𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃.
-𝒯𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 (𝟧𝑀𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈)

𝐹𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒾𝓇,
𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓎,
𝒯𝑒𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝓎?
𝒪𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈, 𝒶 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹.
𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑒𝓎𝑒.
-𝐸𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝑅𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇 (𝟥𝟤 𝑀𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈)

𝐸𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓈,
𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎,
𝐵𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓇𝓎,
𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇 𝓅𝓁𝓊𝓂 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎.
𝐼𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒,
𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓃𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓃𝑜𝓉𝓉𝓎,
𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇-𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎.
(𝓎𝑒𝓁𝓅𝓈)
-𝑀𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓈 (𝟦𝟣 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈)
I found these poems while I'm going through my posts in Nerd Fitness. This was when I started completing steps on the app, Walk to Mordor and I wrote poems when the mood strikes me after reaching a destination.
Jo Apr 30
the wind is hitting my face
my heart is beating so fast out of my chest
i’m trying to catch my breath
i have sweat running down my spine all the way down to my legs

the waves are splashing me
more water on my damp body
can’t tell what is sweat and what is salt water

but i’m running and i’m running
by the beach
listening to my favorite music
going along with the beat

tell me,
what else am i supposed to feel except for freeness?
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