Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ken Pepiton Jun 8
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,

u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht

focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather

… "and called it macaroni."

A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.

We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
alert,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions

glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick

not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unique,
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.

See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.

Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
Not until the end did I discover why I watched the film, a true exercise in patience which is a virtue, thus zoning clearminded staring through mechanical eyes attempting to write between the lines and change your mind.
Ken Pepiton Apr 9
in a line,
standing alone like this
love
is your own fine, sorted out, seen, thing,
not mine, it
may
mean more than we can know.
That's okeh.
As a word, love is here, awaiting our use
any time,
as more.

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

Three shots,
in rapid succession, not auto, just
in rapid succession.

Signals something, but I forget what.
Maybe some fool got lost
in those woods looking for my trail…

three shots,
then silence until now, then a sense,
a knowing, deeper than we thought.

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

It's a new day, not brand new, just raw new,
we never been this far
so early before, never did hear three shots like this.

--------- Rise and shine…

Throw out the trash,
bring down the garbage,
here come
the garbagement come to take it all away.

Govern my breath, intent contentment,
hold it and say,
It's a new day, no brand, plain raw new,
not modeled on another,
no worse for wear than before,
no habit tracks to mark the course.

First thing, after a pause to wonder,
if I should see how this came to be,
pause to wonder what
was I thinking when
I came this far,
with no sense of you being here before.

It could be, may be…

Some songs need no singers.
I don't remember learning that, so
you only have my word to go on.
Exercise in godliness, how  we have failed to define the command lines... kindness reflects, war rejects, reason makes the whole mess better. Love lets us know, if we stop and think...  reality is friendly, to my kind.
When smiling has become a chore.
When to be truly happy is something that you don't know. Then you will understand, my daily exercise to keep blood coursing through my hands.
Keep exercising.
You
Pitched your tent upon the clouds
And dwelt beneath our dome sky
To make do with
Thy short stay
By sounding thy trumpet,
Accompanied by converting our
Climate into snowy
Tribulation.

Mine enmity burns against thee,
For you have halted my
Elected days
Of exercise by surprise; a tool I
Sharpen daily, to polish
My physique.
Iyallo Nov 2020
Spinning around the world,
living life on the top,
making me high like a spinning top
discovering a dreamworld.

The love that remains,
are the lost ruins,
of a shelter once called home,
a refugee camp? No more of a gnome
camp.

To the top of my abilities,
I fly exploring the universalities
of places far away from the single
and individual angle.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2020
Miser, misery, miserable, promise me
meaning,
give me compromise…

wait.
Wait. Eject, reject, object, subject throw
down an up idea

expect inspection, look up the mean
measure
assure me we are as expected,
the promised ones,
the next to be,
after ever changed permanently to now.

Who cares if fit and right are equivalent?
Who sets equivalency?
What is prevalent,
val-ient or value-able?

The winner is the living thing,
no lie is formed from truth as we know,
you know,
you learned as taught, but
then you lived
past all that.

Now, what is truth, asks Pilate, in a thought

Save me a sunset.
Share it with the maddened crowd.
Offer them a chance to see
the salience.

Sally forth, through the fallen wall,
see into the womb and find
punctum saliens.

Leap then,
into life, as we assume a role
of actor acting on
common ground,
solid base,
pedestal of promise.

This is the mission, let go, gone
to and fro, upon the face
of the earth, whose
countenance has moods for my modes
of seeing.

Put on your winter eyes.
Remember, re join, re
call the warmth and light,
greet visitors with fruits from the fall.

Hey, whaddaya know?

My daddy had a seed, he planted it,
last winter.
As the world turned and leaned the other way,
that seed sent forth a tight-twisted up-swirling
augur spinning into sunshine at veggie-speed.

Faster than geo-speed, by a full fractal measure,
in time and space distance at light's average speed
--- time is the mortal problem liars deny,
either thought is the fastest speed or we
are lost.
Either we imagine better, or we never could have,

any way.
At this point, I say to myself, am I wrong, no,
I ask the mind around me,
am I not you,

are you wrong?

Ever, and a day.
That is the sentence, verbless
bless m'soul,

I lived this long, with you.
Since time was before now, and we
know not, but
believe
time is moving on without us, leaving us to wait,
suffer it to be,
so sufficiency is always seen enough, no
need for more,
no wish wish wish it was that other wise
way, makes it so, sufficient to the day,
to the hour, to the instant, is
the evil… is evil all it is made up to be,
or made out to be?

Making up and making out, making
differences of opinions;
kids do stuff like that.

Old men watch and see themselves grown
through the past,
passed by and by
the grace for grace, got on the way
right-used,
well, tho' less, travelled by,

path or trail or track, way
where there was no way,

this is that,
at the moment,
this is life, I read, you write, we meet in this middle
realm
of words, and words, and words and we inform
an I,
to imagine what we think we see, ifity
apps
apt to teach, reach ing
the edge of knowing, think how such things
may be
immeasurable, and we may imagine that and speak
as if we agree,
some things are so. Bigger than we can imagine,
I read HP for an hour and it stretched my imaginary reality.
Limem ALi Nov 2020
Life is a sort of flavors!
Sometimes tastes so sweet,
some others it is just that salt.

Life is a sort of stories!
Sometimes she is the beauty,
other days she is the beast.

Life is a sort of colors!
Sometimes the moon light,
some others turns to an eclipse.

Life is a sort of seasons,
Sometimes warm as the spring,
suddenly freezing and cold just like the winter.

Life is a sort of lenses,
Sometimes the clear vision,
in others turns to blurry.

Life is a like person.
Sometimes it is a friend,
others might turns to a total stranger.

Whatever life is!
Whatever comes between!
It is always one of the two.
Anais Vionet Oct 2020
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 2020
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 2020
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.
Next page