Whose sacred have I not corrupted,
with the air I breathe,
dead and not, the zombie or the gumby
mudmen of legend,

*** down, old mind, in see, insight, function
cave mind blind, flowing in the ever of you,

you may not be
anybody, but
you are some body, a little bit of the little blue man,
that scared your grandmother to bits,
'pon my word, scatter-brained, until,

one day, I was this broom -or brooming, I was
a funny way of brooming, oh, no
sweeping me into the mysterious coincident,
with the blonde at the edge of Null Arbor Plain,

I am dust in her wind, she is infected with me,
we shall have daughters, two, homogenized us,
in them, and one shall hold the seed,
call it done, I am the one, who seals the deal,

we make peace, that holds for centuries,
Ever rest pax, shippam us, in pajamas

say good night Grandpa, I do, too.

My grandma was the only one I remember being consistent with the things she said and did. The only one. I watch others change belief in a heartbeat. I know because it was my heartbeat. My grandma told me it ain't right to hate something that I don't understand. I took that to heartbeat and haven't changed it. The problem I see is that others hate what they don't understand...and they don't understand anything.

Escape from what?
The pieces impalpable
Once part of thy self, are
Nowhere to be found
How many times will you try
To cope up
From some feeling
Very profound.

Escape from what?
Your own self or the world
Is only one force governing you?
Or is it dyarchy, through and through!
You try to split from the other
But it has an embrace
Around you
With the tightest glue

Escape from what?
The happy or the gloom
Calm or chaos,
You do have a clue
Or do you?
Is it numb or very eerie
Always sad, never cheery?

Escape from what?
Reality, harsh and smooth
O dear, stay here
It is going to be a tough root
Though all the impalpable
Would unravel
Someday on a blue moon!

don't be afraid Freddie
I am also a son of some maniacs

man, how times have changed

in the 80s it seemed like kids were the bad guys

so, how have you been since the death of dreaming?

the dog ate the bone
the human ate the fat dog
and i feel so good

On my good days I pride myself in being good
A good writer
A good singer
A good dancer
A good pianist
A good painter
A good baker

On my good days I like to think I'm a good person
A good citizen
A good neighbor
A good student
A good classmate
A good teacher
A good daughter
A good sister
A good friend
On my good days I'm good enough, aren't I?

But on my bad days, I strip myself away from good things
Without my hobbies
Without my grades
Without my family
Without my friends
What is there left to be good at?
Without validation
Without reassurance
Without comfort
What am I good for?
I'm left alone with myself

On my good days I'm a good person
I'm thoughtful
I'm kind
I'm intelligent
I'm helpful
But I'll never be happy with that
Until I'm good for something bigger
Until I'm good enough to live with myself

{Worm-level, u-ring, you, all you, listen, we are in
this is working we are incontrol of a being on
earth, grounded in granite, experienced
broadcaster-influencer, tone suppresser rhea-static,

like a god, a muse, you imagine all you want.
that's what we here fore
muse you mu mark to log you
in good taste,
be knowing you
knowledge, worm-level, gut biome home turf,
gen-you-new whine from the feedback
oh no ohnoohno I tol' u so

so I did a tubular raza vive exploration, down
here were the gut ideas are being tasted,
judged-
we can use this, digest it, push the rest,
alert downline,
fire or fixit.

The history of Christian thought

Beginning with the way it was
baroque

bahroke, all is pretty nice for me
at the moment… how's by you?

can I help? Life its meaning
joy optimistic harmony of bits in order
harmonious use of
Bach
Wagner, the opening in sounds as sure as
skywalker this
war goes on for ever and if we tell the lie

if we tell the lieeeeee long eeeenough
all who hear our trumpets must
bow down,
all who herehear the rich ruling noises must obey,

war is its own reason
flight of the valkeries, without the story, guessers

chaotic down pessimism escape to conquer
coming doom, anxiety, we are not the people,

god is not able to save you, torture
Schopenhauer raging forces
then you,
heroic you awake… ready say ahhhh

duty is, do the being,

survive- over come - mortal learn
We he imagined {Comte did}
we are masters. these who agree with me
deny Kant
particularism has poetic license {AI agree}
positivism, posited, points made particular

daemonic details, a mission missing a single winker;

AI wished this were true. Did You?
Is this your fault?
If so, I am grateful. This is all most of all
I ever wish were true,
you know,

those moments when you feel a message form
in your gut and your brain calls the yoghurt
corps, for corpuscular level intervention

whew, you kuh'got hhhur ttt

we ride out a gurgling wave, eeee ha

! introduce the exclaymation, magic symbol from UR
cune-iformal information spell to be spoken,

read only by the knower's, doncha know,
we coulda known,
we shoulda had that knack woke up, as a child

so's we sow enough good wishes we see good
wishes come our way, one day,

why not now? Is this how
we honor the ideas
we never tame, but
we learn to ride? I think so, it is.