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Ken Pepiton Oct 26
Feeling a bit un attached,
how can that make sense if I belong
to the universe?

Of a mind to make an adjustment,
in the being… I am.
Matters not my own are immaterial,
at this point.

You are, I am, we be.
Hippy dippy nay ifity - leave me

distributed decision making based on
next to ifity

My family is under redesign, stage one,
agreeing to remerge.

- I suggest we move from consume
- to use, as our approach to life.
Engineer a catch.
Miss a mark, make the modifications on
relationships point to point…

The ideal machine for living, are we
seriously,
pursuing a machine that makes us
aliens?

The dymaxion pod, is not to be that,
it is to be a place of independent
living with the life support
system in thoughts
uninterruptible,

build me a bubble, I may enter or exit
at will, volitionally drudge proofed
allowing
free-at-lasticity.
Warmed and washed with the best
homelessness un tethered
living system

ever
devised in a wit. One. One wit
worth all you own.
All you call mine,
to yourself.

Let go. Witchanow, watchaknow --

No quest for phunishing truth, is
perfectly painless.

Mass education reinforcing
conformation,
failed.
-- at year '68, there is a test, I was warned.
Fifty years later, I learned the art of
saying semper fi, no lie, in reply
to Marines's silly boo-jahs.
-----
I was in the money side of war.
Okeh, confession made.
I was a contractor, I made money from
war, and learned, out of school,
that one mind and a Mac,
can help cut some red
tape… but
----- this is static. Bleeding from a node
we plan to patch as soon as it responds.

I find about five threads of knowns
explored in his own gut-levels,
five, id est, that anchor in
those collegiate years, to
facts noticed in past
trials.
The Try Oomphasis
Encorporating alienated minds,
TOE
toe-aching
tear-offs, flakes
cast into turbulent spinners of yarns,

time toes the line, gravity tows it taught…

rope me a fatted calf, m'boy,
I fancy no old way gamey meat that
makes me cogitate,
as I chew.
-code
I think we have been given mental access.
Hmmmm, hear… amber us being rubbed,
some spark
is near…

Mental ascent, minus the Methodist scorn for
agreeing with the sense good makes in truth,
while literally ignoring the lies that claim
death need be feared,
and evil could win.
All fiction, in fact.

Is the form the right way, or one way?
¿If truth is not the name claimed
by the truth in your self,
you know,
why
is more truth sought,
after ever
knowing you your self know nothing of…?

"my work, said Mr. McLuhan." Google me,
I'll clue you in. There is an access code,
very old.

Please do, thank you. Message:

"I see, you know, said the ever dying ember."

-- wanna go wild? wanna be in the experience?
-- trust the story you tell yourself.

But I am the lie. Oh, no, caught me, I did. True

rest relishes double intentions, and multiple mentions,
trust me.
Behind me lie huge holes we left as witness,
my self and I, objectively not me, but we, the master
and his tool,
we were there…

Smart tool, augmented after thought- fore thought
dynamic motive oompher grunt grinding
reset- new read old read read
new creature. Mentally new. Imaginary immaterial being.

I am aware you are reading, but I am in a time past.

This is the auto de fe, I say, I'd stake my soul,
softened heart and renewed breath,
I survived.

N'there , that last line, I nearly quit the quest.
Happy as I made up my mind to be,
alive
Then I imagined knowing secrets not allowed. Ow,
I can imagine pure sphincter
clenching, gut-wrenching
pain… the idea pun in
punishing finishers of faith, its funny…

if you have been burned, in terms you defined amiss,
as a witch, switch AI to auto-up
date the carbon copy order
effective herbal anxiolytic
ew kava kava cold
amide, bro, we gone too deep to know

Carbon is the culprit, we
messed up.

Nay, Carbon is the key ingredient of renewable resources,
life goes on, we won.

{The burned red-velvet cookies, a story, behind a story}

Mark my words, if this is not fun,
in the finest, childish sense,
reading is not yet ready,
for you.
Your message is in some other means
influencing the course you follow,
through current events to find
the end,
your end, in time, to turn around.
And try again,
leaving each loss alone,
each win a breath of fresh

whatifiery in pursuit of undefined
haps, as happen to exist in happiness,

per may haps

which, you know,
Earthlings, not mere Americans,
pursue, haps  by Truth-told rights,
held in such a we
as we may agree to be
taken as, in a word, a being
named a
verb, perhaps, no now nouns needed,
no things,
save wordless mind. Nope.

I am sure that has been tried.
Mindless oblivion is at best,
an end.
Not ours, readers at this level of com-
comediatedshit durch der
corpus colostrum mis-
thought
big bass drum
done done done

if my left hand knows not what my right is doing,
do I lie to one hand or the other?
Or do I let left be left and right be right in chiral
authority, mind-wise, we are double minded,
you know.
We may disagree with ourselves.
We may make up mental
dis-quashin' groups,
bodies believed in;

Then,
we pause. Whatifry is dis traction, wheels spinning
free, weightless…

shape our ship to be in a primary sol id ity,
shine on harvest moon,
spin
stupid top forty Moonshadow song, messes my
uncombed mind,
where were we?

Phun. If this had not been done in phun,
happiness is in the other direction.
Playing in the tar, before they spread the gravel, on a dirt road.

— The End —