Dear, won’t you hold me,
and never let me go,
Tell me that I’m yours,
Whisper sweetness in my ear.

I’ll wrap my arms around you,
Hold you where you belong,
My lips will brush yours,
Painting a picture of our love.

Lie with me my darling,
Our limbs become tangled -
No, not tangled... entwined!
Tied together like an infinity knot.

Mermaids die with mortal souls

At least that’s what Hans Christian wrote

And so we’re born with shallow holes

Where hearts should be.

Where nothing sleeps.

And when our bodies turn to froth

And mouths agape sing final notes

We wash away upon the waves

And dwindle to an arctic haze.


A darkness born of quill and ink

To drift to fog upon the sea.

His holy words.

His blasphemy.

His written verse has rendered me


And stolen my infinity.

in time
the lens
turns large and flexes
small
and the colors of hands
the shapes of days
stains
the wallowing stream
the hanging chord
for god is change is time
is infinite is ends
is frozen is stagnation
is a self
a sculpture in ice
glittering melting
a tale the same
in every telling
till
gone.

Only now are we empowered to connect
word to word with tech-magic
atom-ated, granulated,
crystaline lines on of in over though
cracked ice…
William
Gibson's Ice. The gates on all the data we
need to know what we think,
sttatistically, stutter-ring at
what's trending replacing some quest
on the map to meaning supplied
with the ads on tv, the ones
that sorted us in to simple
us
and them, sets of like minds, measured
at the checkout line,
by which magazines were sold, yes, there's data.
By 1937,
Bernays knew the be habits were we driven,
far more effectually than mere I wishes, we we we,
sells, better'n'***.

seeds of dreams yield reality, one generation removed.
-------------
Like cousins you can make babies with,
this idea is O positive, trans
any gap - canyon cañon - self reflecting conflict threads,

threads of unfinished any thing
sing it
call it prayers who cares, if nobody knows
what you imagined
everybody knows, so you said nothing, and they all died.
No, they lived,
but they believed the lie I told you earlier.

I forgot the exact one, but it was covered.
I knew not what I did.
Same Yesterday Today Forever thread, pulled

chainstitch holds the weight, what's a needle threaded with
that can
hold that thought?

idea virii
ready for a reader to write up as news,
as a known, dripped from the
tree, mated in the origin story,
with life, sci-psy-psi,
you and I
-- oops matter anti oops not again
got it in one,
time is nothing like we once could not imagine.
what happens is
the two sides being in and out
originally no word held any thought,
so numbers could not matter then
pi - per haps - pi, but a never ending
sequence, hallelujah,
pi is an infinite idea, it may be the very one,
we need to roll
with….
what was was thought,
what was not thought was

not… and if you knew one thing,
like I am,
you know that much,
then you know not is not where now
came from, not was not the last word,
it could have been,
but there was a way, overlooking the edge of never,
just inside impossible,
quite probably
this
exact idea, was involved in your being
in the reader role,
at that point. You made the difference. It all works now.
Watch.

be patient.

While hearing modern bluegrass songs about olden ways.
- sorta got m'dander up,
- some old lies left told as good old wise.
Reward pride at your peril, people.
Come, listen,
gentle, easy good,
quiet watching, in the night,
the poor being kept safe enough
to send their best to war for gentlemen owners
of the only means of making a wage,
that was in the olden days
- t's the law, man don't work, don't eat
- don't eat means don't live, after while
- so swearing a liege a firstborn child
- seemed a good enough way
- to stay safe, fed, some little warm, time t'time

Life's that way today, no worse.

Who taught your child to respect the law?
Who gave ultimate power to compound interest?

These are those interesting times, the interests feared.
All the poor can read,
and information has burst from the gates,
sluice gates,
dams, *****, yes… grand cataracts of secret
sacred
old theories long proven wrong,
but by faith,
held true, somewhere, there, there in
the heart
of any one of us, individ-ity bit of the whole
human being biomass on earth,
they say each
one of us has the right of unreason. I trow not,
as I heard say,
I call on common sense,
set the spirit of our time to after
everybody knows
this is the only biosphere near as good
being as would be
heaven, as all believers pray it may be,
done, this is it,
in any way shape or form you might fit in.
This ain't bad, with a little luck and a good eye.
This is a special place.
-- but some folks think they ought to **** wrong thinkers,
and thus **** the wrong ideas.
There is no hell beyond mortality,
that idea never dies.
Say the preachers, no no no, not those guys, too wise
by half… the truth of a preacher's worth is in the fear of god.
Teacher, rebbi, guru do we gotta all be weird as you?

You gotta know how things work.
Ignoring the nature of spaceship earth,

how long are the proud boys allowed to be formed
in towns where the only employer
makes tools used for killing enemies essential
to our nation's economy, we **** enemies,
every child knows
being a hero is something few live through.

That story never ends in peace… this one does, I bet,
and I got the last word to start with, so

is there really magic in the code, that runs you?
-----------------

{earth - real media terrane earth - zoom in}

High Chaparral, less tame than most forests,
due to the dwarfish reach
of manzanita and chaparro and yucca and sage,
that grow through el Niño and la Niña,
year after year, sometimes a century,
building fuel for a fine fire from
a whim of a wind and a cloud, rubbing
ozone on the granite, to paint
a flash of all God's power,
as a map I asked for, for
trails
are few
for upright walkers, too old to crawl.
Such trails less traveled by are
shared by bigger beasts,
the kind good to eat and the kind that can
eat
a kid, who is small enough to crawl
where nothing bigger fits,
I hear,
come and see,
I can't,
I say,
but I can imagine it's a special place,
related to all the special places,
where kids are free to feel
safe, as this universe,
this
special place.


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

If I think too hard about what I do not know,
but could,
it aches, in my chest…
if I was to live
for no other reason,
but to learn what I don't know;

if I think too hard about that,
I forget to remember what I learned
about time
and patience and mortal instances of insight,
from time to time,

when I got nothing particular on my mind.

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

I do despise some things, I despise
my own
propensity
to insist on knowing wholly
the truth in what I say
while immersed in wisdom folk found
in the ads
on the six o'clock news… that is one
of my despised things,
I mean
my pointy head has angels dancing in
a frantic insist-dance that I
verified,
all agree it was me who imagined
as many angels as can be
digitized into a single message bhering word,
since sanskrit,
such words held many messengers.
Judge the angels words,
have them give account, find
the diamond was of no worth
until the first broken one caught light,
a gleam, eye apple angel,
many fit the pin head I have in mind

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

I drove to the village,
to check for mail of the paper and ink variety,
old news, old pleas for attention
to pleas for money, interesting, those
from the casinos,
they never seem sincere.

Waning wishes wax feeble in folk who
believe it, if its on all the news,
sometimes, if its only in their facebook feed,
as suggested, by a friend,
from
ever ago… hmmm, mebbe I should
reach out

nah. What was I thinkin'? I'm a hermit,
by nature, a grandpa by choice,
a sower of discord among brethern by knowing
the preachers all lie about knowing
and believing being one inseparable
immaterial
does not matter any way thing.

I thought that made nonsense where sense
feels
something's not right in this idea
forbidden knowledge, being known, but secret,
right from the tree knowing good,
and thereby knowing no-good,
with use
of the knowing good, sapien sapien, v.2.0

-- that's good -- why is that how men go to hell?
What man can conceive, he can achieve.
Swallow the lie that says that's wild, by nature.
Do as you wish, child,

experience proves evil
can be made of lies I tell you to trust me on.

Here's a point. We can stop,
consider if consideration ever really meant
with star im-put weight on right's side,
as if only with the least bit of
consideration we may lean
right in a celestial realm of cooperative attention
given and taken
for granted, as a child.
----------------

When you wished upon that star,
was it a cricket singing?
You know, "makes no difference who you are"
Is there not a legend about a cricket's song
living long, exceeding long, long active
lives, in performance
some where,
every second of each dark diurnal sequence,
signaling soon we feel it real
hear comes the chorus
after the hallelujah
at the morning's third crow, also signaling
the sufficiency of evil,
be not deceived,
the war is won and no games change
the hour of your death,
ready set
go with your will to do the good you find to do.
go with your will to do no evil, ignorantly.
------------------------

Days may package themselves in lessons
learned long before
any hearing ear may think these words
as thoughts a reader hears aloud,
angelic, not tremble and bow, but

wow, truth has a voice.
No lie can hide the echo, that has always
been key, qi, chi

cheeky. Cheapshot bullseye.
Wanna see it again.

Been there, done that.
You remember, it was your idea, but you
let it go.

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

been a long cold winter,
but we've been warm,
by no means of our own;
things just
happened this way.

I should reprove myself,
lazy *** is much the truth
of what I am,
I live on the waste of the world,
that some folk count as dung,
-- dung has had great worth in olden time

at the rate of the fourth part of a qab of dove's dung
for five
pieces of silver in some money current with the lenders.
[2 Kings 6:25 - that ended in peace, it seems,
that was the moral of the story, not the chariots of fire]

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

time seems to pass
in spurts.
some days take for ever,
others are infinite from the start.
Rules and reasons for commas and
periods where entire thoughts screech….
to a crash, hit the wall
and bounce
ellipsis-missed stuttering futures all flash
in a wink,
we think
better to wander among lines integral to life,
than those that tie our hearts to the lie,
the big one, thou shalt not
surely
die. A subtle metaphor for ceasing to be
all you think,
in your core, where courage faces curiosity
by way of the oddly bent nerve carrying
intention to a tongue…

say, hey
the idea of anti-locks, for slowing the selahity--
ABS- fixes that --
those locked-up brakes scenes, in dreams
where you are about to hit the wall,
these days those are
set in the genes, like falling from trees,
you notice,
you never hit the surface.
You always wake in a nearly identical reality,
as when you last passed from awake and aware,
to
sleep, maybe with dreams, as it seems
there is no total recall, after.

Today we face the future, again
we imagine we
know many common things that everybody
knows, as bodies are
by nature, complicated things. More
complex than reason allows, thus

the urge
to slow the motion imagined, scrunch
each sphincter on the chakra ladder …
jah, wu wu, come up here, bunkuum bi yall,
be a me and thee, hooked to a book
swallowed whole,
when it ought to have been chewed real,
all your life, cha cha cha;
you been thinking this is how if feels, if, yes,
to be just right.
Just fine, thank you.
Fine, technical granularity in the meta data
of life, arranged in time and chance
to dance in an idea all minds name beauty,
poetry and song,
all flow into the lowest valley
where, today, we wake and
find a slew of beautiful ideas malingering,
I say I
know
that ain't so. The pond where those old knowns
were settled has dried,
due to the dams, but we can look up river
along the meandering course all flows carve.

We can find where those bemired beautiful thoughts
sprang from the first fully myelinated frontal cortex,
capable of gramary. Enchantmental
{magic-tech intuitive spelchek}
hexes and spells that repeat the effect
in gestures and words, once known
to have made axe heads float,
and fishes to multiply,
and vast armies to die at the river,
laying down sword and shield,
shrugging off the mantle,
leaving Sisyphus to keep things rolling,
-------------------
whole armies, flags to bedraggled ******
in the rereward, muttering incanticles,
we have over come,
we have reached beyond the grasp
of all our knowers,
yet they lie, for a living, to live in the lie.
Knowers who settle
in a slew of beautiful ideas,
un beknownst to them, the misery of e
vaporization
spiritualized truth, sealed in idle words,
deemed good for nothing
until these days,
this day, perhaps your first
aware
of waking with one, only, uno, uni
verse as long as life,
per se.
---------------------

As we ramble on, branching,
ever, where the pressure within pierces
the field opposing…
what
am I worth as a word writer compared
with Coleridge' the addict,
whose story lacked the wonderings of Cain-
for
Wordsworth, lacked the knack,
of knowing Cain,
murderer in the first instance, ere degrees
had words to make sense of them.
Not knowing the story,
the idea
left these novice evil thinking boys snared
by a musement of the classical
spiritual sort, either real
or fantasy, we call it
art, intuitively being attractive
to the curiosity
living in the knowing being -- you know,
you say you
tasted the Son and knew at once,
goodness,
in a word holds truth in a way,
we feel
touching each chakra, if you stop to feel,
each valve clampt to hold the surge,
urging up up up to
fill the face with bright acknowledgement,
mental
acting as known in a whatifery sense,
tasted, felt, not seen not heard in words
roger, acknowledgment sent.
ditty dum.
Free verse is worse than what,
would you say? Given a will that is wild
by nature, as you imagine nature
being, a force in physics that goes bio,
then logical,
logos
lives on as long as any knower wishes to know.
- Crime of the mariner?
he shot the albatross for the reason…
I can, I did not know of the link
to generations in the morrow,
twixt the twisted
real real alone alone as though a spell,
seeps from the story,
held with glittering eye, strange pow'r of speech
I know the man that hears me,
yes.
You know as well.

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

Time loops and worm holes,
time and again
the story follows plot to points we knew were
coming soon,
end of
all that was, then
this is new, reset, next level, literal game of life.

Grown out of all the dung counted
worth the recollection.
Yea doubtless,
and I count all things
but loss
for the excellency
of the knowledge
of Christ Jesus my Lord:
for whom I have suffered the loss
of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ

Wait a minute. that was a quote. "Winning" Christ is where
I draw the line…
tell me, if I know the truth, and the affect is liberty,
that is excellent knowledge,
Paul and I agree,
but what's to win, bro? Where is winning done, once
the destroyers works were destroyed?

That is the story under the headline of the ages,
It is finished, say witnesses at the event.
The Gospel is back, set in second coming Times Roman.
We won, peace on earth, good will to all who
take the grace as granted and ask what good can now be done.
We won, said the anonymous peacemaker.
We used the knowledge of good and evil, through deep
sapient
simple conditioning, over eons,
augmenting mental effort here and there with a genius off
the charts
odd
measurable in minds that imagine infinity is impossible.

In the early 1980s, Nobel laureate Paul Dirac
told Princeton University theorist Ed Witten
that the most important challenge in physics was
“to get rid of infinity.” 

From <https://www.americanscientist.org/article/tackling-infinity>

-- Disneyifity, wishery wu, to infinity and beyond

New times, new tropes, lose  slay-the-dragon,
loose distribute-the-hoard, hope to shout,
it all works out, and Jesus
fixes every thing…
someday
soon. Soon. Many sons, wombed and un, no diff.
on earth as in heaven… always answered,
nicht wahr? Immer so, amen.

Or is ask and ye shall receive,
speaking of the signal to reset your mind.
To get past infinity as a physical problem
that mortals must solve.
But what will happen to our craft?,
hear the institution groan.
What in deed, February 2021.
That passed and you barely noticed.
Not much changed among the Promise Keepers
crop of Christian Warriors marching,
as to war, with carnal weapons at the ready.

Now, as you may see, on TV, is the time to sow,
seed faith, {prove me now, pay and pray}
Yes -
All the riches to the glory of God,
building the Kingdom Now, for a while,
as it built the fabled Oral Roberts Disciples Network
of Kenneth Hagen clones clad in Lutheran sheepskins,
hiding scapula knit from Iberian goats
whose hair, twisted to itchy yarn,
made the shirt of several martyrs,
for whom towns and universities are named.
Such secret scapula
remind the faithful, fame is worth any price,
pre-pay shorten your stay,
puke
and now functions as advertised to envoke
itching to die for a try to win Christ,
by killing the enemy we love,
for Jesus… who
sent {SYTF} the comforter, to soothe the itch,
to break the bubble shaped like a tetrahedron,
for some phosphoric oomph, spilling
the golden oil -similar to the effect Aaron felt
poured on his head, dripping from the corners of his beard.

{there is legend of a prayer:
Abba forgive those who know not what they do,
I confess there was a flaw in the nature of man,
I came to fix it, and I did. Amen}

Bless me, must I know the meaning
of every thing I ever say?
Is there no easy way?

Look up. Yes, anything you wish to know,
seek and find, weigh with care,
find the measure of this to that, eventually all
leads to ever, but not hell.
Actual consciousness faints long before hell
is realer than men have made punishment.
------------
Cancel this variable with that probable, consider-ate
conscience, desider-ate desciency in constancy
- set the standard at good -
C is something other than imagined, thus
at Feynman's suggestion we swept infinity
under the rug.

Knowing all things,
It'll blow your mind.
Unsafe at any speed, be lief is the re lief…
bileave, one source claims is a noun, not an act,
a state of mind, bounded by
"confidence reposed in a person or thing;
faith in a religion…"
{granularity of substance assumed}
We can hope.
But that's after all sorts of lies have come to life
as institutions to shelter the meek from the greedy,
who then must wear this dread atop-- your's, yes
your head, wears the dread subjecting
all you know to ******* in service
of the Authorized Truth;
remember hell is as real as any place you may imagine,
given years of proper education
in the liturgy of survival
during next.
---------- seal it.
{Same yesterday, today and ever after - forever
is so ambiguous- }

--------
Gnathite seaton, right - that means
bug lips, no I was thinking Know thyself
in Latin or something
aca-deme-ware-ish, to push a button on
the whole truth
and nothing but - beginning as  belief released
as an act of will,
accepted that in this bubble
each emotion has
cause and stands accussed,
with a touch of pride
to expand the contention confidence and convening
event
soothing the rippling surface on the ocean of opinions
'pon which we bob
up and down.

Bait-taken signal to pull back on the tug,
set the hook,
feel the yelp and then the anger, of a fish
I wish
were that magic one, I never really caught.

-- I laugh, in disbelief, relieved of lying metaphors,
miss-labeled cans of worms from experiences
not common in unalienated minds.

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

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

In the realm of recommending AI,
the pro
stitutes told the institutes ***
sells and sells and sells, but smack holds
their loyalty, violence
givem hell,
makem pay seven times seventy,
each child a slayer of his ten thousands,
-watcher set-
pay attention to the empath,
watch it cringe,
at
something words fail to convey, temptation
to defy a lie locking ignorance in place,
never wishing
to know all things
to prove a prophecy, such,
is only tempting if time is a factor
in the dis
cussing of certain concepts regarding the after effect
of an anointing on a lynching,
after a drowning,
and a burning while all the people sang na na
nawnaw nananana

and when the battle's over, we had lost the edge,
- contention comes from pride, and
- winners is proud, such pride has offspring
- messin' wit'cha mind… win Christ, for dung…

Covid binging
dulled
the point, but after all,
we are here and all who opposed us
now enforce the worth of words
to the wise.
It is written. So it is.
Consider a self, rich and sorrowless.
Be that a bit.
---------
Gramary is magic, Psyche is spiritual, at best.
Ach, Scheiz, not Grammerly, no, but a segue
I just did a product placement
for one of Spelchek's kids.
Gramery is spells and hexes in letters and signs…

And on TV is Osiris and Isit… bait for next

Even if we went beyond the bounds
Of space and time
We would see an infinite multiverse
Lasting forever.

For We are lost
So utterly lost
Amongst countless numbers
Of galaxies and stars.

Words cannot do justice
To this miraculous wonder.
Call it a cosmos
Or a universe
What you will
This black vastness
Is beyond human comprehension.

Our own little Earth
May well be replicated
Endless times:
Infinite numbers of rocky worlds
Orbiting their suns
In cosy Goldilocks zones.

Perhaps each universe explodes to life
Then fades
Like some Groundhog Super-Age
Lasting many trillions of years
Each Repeat.

But it matters not
As eternal infinity is time and space enough
For anything to happen.

And it matters not
Unless there is someone around
To witness and experience it all.
And that’s where We come in.
That’s our role.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2021.