Got the Covid shot.
Got the word that I have no cancer.
Got the will to form a
door
into this day far in our future, from then,
just
a moment ago, it was now, and
some how you
knew ex- out
action to {perience hap}
change the time
to your now, my future and my now, your past.
just that fast/
--- lickity split, {as if it never needed meaning}
Any whole time invested in an old oath
to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but… when you pause
what comes next is ever, and
the state of never is
unattainable from here.
---
I know a guy,
he deals in evil, the idea, scare-tactics, terror, horror
all that
Lovecraft literal realm, words may lead a mind to let
be
a bit, a while, not a whole time, but
a bit
a par-sec or a plancksec, or so, you know,
a little bit of time,
taken as granted for now.
Are you tested,
proven, reused and re
tested? Experience is something more than
a novice mortal can claim. Honest, sharpenedest point,
the life unexamined is worth more than
the life unlived.
Okeh. You live in these lines, this is the literal book
life is…
along these lines, it
just is. Really, the nextifity can never **** the was,
and the was can never reach past
now
-- the junction, re
conciliation all pairs re
sounding harmonious ohhhhhs and ahhh,
yess
yes, we do know knowing itself is good.
How did we imagine
knowing good and evil, the difference, was separation
from the way through life
in truth,
with no added sorrow?
See, truth is,
…Death has no sting.
But, you gotta do it twice,
sorta…
it's a kludge, what can I say.
Truth functions fully now,
lying can never hold you,
person-you, dear reader you, lying
can never subject you to ******* for fearing death.
You may cease being after your final idle word is working right,
but no mortal really knows.
Hell is a mortal imagination, as is purgatory and limbo, et al.
As a mortal of our sort thinks in its core, CPU,
so it is… Mac or PC. {Joke, kidding… it is a division,
elite sorting division, elite
mechanisms
in the collected subconscious ifery per
white lit apple where there was
a rainbow,
yes
yes
I remember.
inanely great
aha- I know - I was tricked
- who told me I was naked?
signaling the same bite,
knowing good and evil and the connection
at the chthonic level of life,
where roots and fungi merge and share
information,
no more
no less}
the more you know the less you don't, but don't
be
deceived, your reading genius is a gift, the eye that sees, the ear
that
hears, all the senses sensed as a nation might
sense
us-ness in all the inhabitants of the atmosphere -- whosoever…
-- you paid no price, yet truth you don't think you know
draws you to
sneer at a thought that we ought fear death,
after all the virtual nexts…
really
deep mythic revelation festers
pops
The totally Disneyfied home of the future… from an Amazon
or-if-art-if-ice, Marvel Universe where unbelief
is released… almost like books
The Age of Ultron
is set to rumble with
Enuma Elish?
Who'da thunk it? The oldest of stories,
swirling to gether,
all but one,
the good one, truth the trait tendency in any
given word
made up in minds since
Enuma Elish,
the surviving story, for a seeded cultural embodiment,
a mind made of us,
we, the artists and the art observant, seeing as we wish,
thinking as we may, if there is a way.
You? you think life is funny,
but not fun.
No fun for no reason play?
Nay,
they say, they said in the final days of the iron empire,
while the ants steadily absorbed the scent
of trusted friend, and the marching ants selected on edge-
wise vectors,
to copy'n'paste, past to now, nope… no match, but
watch…
spread all you ever knew, one thing thick, like lipids
reflecting ever before
or something… sorry, think gaspumps on the lake, at sunset.
That beautiful film on the water, ain't good.
But the beauty is. Ants feel sensibly, the whole mass
of ants,
the message ants send that says we do not **** each other,
humans are learning that now.
One at a time. Bit by bit.
Called to be the sluggard, as an actual ant,
in a colony the size of California,
we imagine you think
with stars as reference points,
being photon tied to you, and all whoever, who
considered the ant,
after a great course on esteemation of ever lasting worth.
Effectual
communication
with comforters sent to comfort not terrorize…
consider the message: Consider the ant, thou sluggard,
consider her ways and be wise.
Right. Fabre said, or is recorded in the 1916
current opinion magi-
zine:
"... I should like to see a few small facts."
Years along this trail and we were unaware
of warez we might imagine in a marvel usiverse, an usity
of me and thee,
word and pen,
surface and ink,
what do you think? how many messages fit on the head
of a tack?
A pin? Ist that the proper imagination? Do children
among the elite
ever see a pin,.. perhaps some ultra-elite see tailors,
we all see them on TV, dressing James Bond,
or a bride in white, chalking stitch marks
for the future… in that reality,
the next scene,
all the sewing done, all the pins put away, save one.
Stick to the plan. Tack this one on your clue wall.
Every 2021 seeker has faith in the pattern
emerging.
As if the words rise from the page and you know
none mean anything you may never know.
These are beyond Ultron,
these wild old man insights on olden ………..
Back in the ant den, we imagine interpersonal feeler-
a touch and all we know is known to all,
ahhh
it feels good to know
all I know is now known to all I know, in ant level knowing.
We can do this.
We have done it all our lives,
step into the scene, as an extra.
An extra ant of the 40% who have no care,
need no practice in any ant-craft,
and - seem to serve as assurance
needful for the peace of mind we use as invasive species,
the super-colony survives on peace within,
this is new, this is us, as ants
having certain tasks to keep the climate in the soil,
perfectin the motives of beauty.l
salt from distant seas
subtile tastes to tie the tongues to good to know,
yes it has long been so, the mouth tastes what comes out.
And flesh is a feeling spirits must live to know,
one may never
pretend to have been, without dying once,
minimum,
try the spirits. See did they ever love a lie?
An imp once asked me, when I was 72,
a little younger than I am in your now,
if I escaped Christianity,
how did I rest so peacefully staring death down.
The imp asked, not me, so that is technically not a quest
ion sufficient to warrant a full days wage of sin,
disconnect…
total lost the thread, mazed in the face, hands up, drop
everything…
call it art.
Crazy,
who says crazy is evil if it lives in the bubble
where ants are making peace, and
poets are given truly magic-tech
to stitch stories
to times.
Attenborough called the world to consider
The Ant… as had Solomon, it's been said.
And I heard, but I understood not:
then said I, O my Lord,
what [shall be]
the end of these [things]?
And he said, Go thy way, Daniel:
for the words [are] closed up
and sealed till the time of the end.
pop
Escape? Nay, knave, nigh-ifer misser
of myriad points
of light,
I escaped the name of god for good.
True,
let good be true and every man a liar,
as mortal instant man
remains
a we, at least, very least, I'm sure,
of me and thee, you and I,
lefts and rights and tops and bottoms
fronts and backs
we be in time…
who rah, the hero, uh oh hubris mystery,
curios sort
who wishes to know
the way of the blade parting soul from spirit,
in a
bit of reality we all believe, some how,
does exist,
soul and spirit realms, we all imagine these, we do.
Sniff, if my myth had babies with yours, watchathank?
Long and enjoyable.
