For a company, an economy, our species to succeed
everyone must work together
but not literally everyone
just enough to perpetuate sustainability
so some feel free to burn bridges to clear their own road.
Professional wrestlers use the phrase
“Going into business for themself”
when someone has to get all their **** in to display their move set
or no-sells their opponent’s moves to make themselves look tough
like in improv comedy
when one of the performers doesn’t go along with any of the jokes
it can be very funny, just not in a collectively beneficial manner
the audience laughs recognizing the performer as the standout
while the performer steps on their colleagues’ jokes
going into business for themself.
Capitalism indoctrinates us
to go into business for ourselves
like Bill Gates
driving companies out of business through economic hostility
then buying back his soul through economic charity
a tribute to those fallen—it’s a fractional penance
the apex predator keeps the lion’s share
adhering to the jungle mentality ingrained in us
telling us to go into business for ourselves.

~
“My reasons for writing had to be my own, divorced from expectation.
There would be no reward.”

Ta-Nehisi Coates, “We Were Eight Years in Power”

<>

certain words, hers, previous unknown, or, better,
not yet your own,
acquire your devotion, all the my oh my of possessed tenses,
words ironic, for they are the shoving of contrary adhesive separators,
AC/DC currents running together, a single physical electric stabbing,
owning you, but gulfing away those customized,
prized illusions yet kept,
freeing finally by focusing on the single commandment that matters:

Expect nothing, but write, knowing the only reward,
is the satisfying of self-imposed goals and conditions,
that are will always be,
always,
one more step and edit away from attainable, maybe.

My reasons, my illogical reasonings, admixture of anguished highs and loving lowlights,
a porridge of seeds that need burying to be borne,
in soil of a soiled soul, write to breathe, write to see, write to taste,
write to smell, write to hear my voice say,
not good enough,
even when it might be, just, barely, though that bar is a
moving target,

always
a perpetual notch too high.

My reward for acknowledging, accepting, no denying, freeing, finally,

There would be no reward






11:02 Sabbath
February 22, 2020
from deep in the internal confessional

Well I got up and I'm getting up and I'm trying awfully hard
to get by
I'm trying awfully hard
to get by

The next stage is going to get better
The next stage is going to get better

Singing the song of still never being
Deep deep in the ceremony of wind
Swirling and swirling more than a typhoon without any wing
Deep and deep under the dust green emerald hot
Roots in and petals swift frozen cuts
What drinks necessarily from the bottle of a lovers’ heart
Dirge dire nasty ecstasy belonging to no creature
Except whom filled with wine
White, white or crimson like a passionate loves  
Talking to you my frozen blossom
Wide soft  
Without hearing you without knowing me
Without any incident happening to shape our way
Bright.

Alone
Amidst this fortress
Battle is gone
My Lightbeam
My shield

Love is so tender
Among this hell

Dreams of attaining
Immortality

Love is more than just a feeling
This Virtue is a decision

To Love or be Loved
Not a question anymore
So I leave

And bid love goodbye
For You
Evermore

It takes a mighty Roar to show Courage. We may be brave but are we always Courageous.

Having Courage is not just something we do on the Battlefield or a physical War.

What about Showing Courage on the Battlefield of Life!

It takes True Courage to open up to someone else, to show Our innermost Being.

A righteous day, a right used day,

a day used rights appear self-evidently re
us-ible-able
pos-syble eh?

impossible to do wrong. Right word, right time.

This right to pursue happiness, do you hurt people,
when you do that?

Nah, right? Not f'real, but mebbe in a game,

or maybe, may, could, be

y'feel a sorta hate, y'know, like it's us gin

them GANs again, sur-real

feels so real, history as AI saw it coming,

this is a trope. A million years ahead of you.

This is an anchor. Tie your barque for an ever
and a day, on any rung,

any step you can't forget,... say, one from earlier,

Today, while it is called today,
aha, yes, all the promises have threads through here,

any ***** can draw enough attention to stand up here,

past comprehension... settle settle,

puppy brain, is what amygdyla is blamed for,

we intuitive ideas accept that as reality

we know we know in our knower and we don't ask,
your knower asks us,

but
sometimes
deja vu, we beat you, and life feels completely

been there, done that, and only next is now unknown,

we know we
have arrived. we are the we in we, the people who

hold these truths, the whole truth and nothing but the truth
as sworn to on tv,
by you and me, don't lie, we swore... we the people hold these truths

to be self evident, until death do us whatever death do, which

I think, actual death is the doing of nothing.
Learning nothing, thinking nothing, being nothing but dead.

You can imagine that,
in your mind,
not your head.

That's what I said, baby, softly, that's what I said...

first,
gentle,
easy to be entreated, define at its tip point,
treatment
of trapped trappists and jesuits and such?

Truth, set them free, twas the word heard. From God?

Who asked? Are you accusing me, I am a we, if you please,

we, the people, of a truth,
any thing we agree to do we may, agreement, not leading,

flowing, not following, perceiving reception of mental provocations

to good work, in a smile,

well done. Wink. Think. Feel real a while. Smile.

Mobs of peace at social distances requiring morphich resonance,

tuned to best of the best you ever imagined you would play

we imagined those.

Cool right. Today.