the world rejects sorrows
for happiness can be sold

whereas sorrows lead to life
happiness naturally believed

even within mortals' reach
hurrying to seize is thus life

with wits, strength, and help—
willing or not—for time is short

if death undefiable, it'll be mocked
for you shall go smiling to the grave

Sohcahtoa and the Right Brothers, happens to be after the last thing
I thought before today, if that's okay, see if it changed anything.
(8/5/2024) - i test a test if I e-be living word religamented

Saturday, October 21, 2017
12:18 PM

My grandsons have noticed a book on my shelf dedicated, thirty years ago, to them.
To my children's children.
I sowed the seed I had,
hoping true as any adapted
to the whole truth dust-class person,
equipped with AI he wrote, on 3x5's,
Notes, and by words,
maxims and pro-verbs, motive forms for filing.
Aim at nothing,
and you cannot miss.
Peace, peace at last. praise - appraise,
what is the redemption value on idle hallelujahs?

Any thing the mind of adamkind, wombed or un,
can conceive, with early literacy and numeracy.
- early
the effort to learn one useful thing, each day.
In a universe… all verses versus one verse, re
versals of fortune,
storms and waves and earth quakes, but

when the sky falls, history reboots, no plan survives/
first contact.
-- all earthlings are born to die,
none are born to serve another as tools for stealing time,
I'm the blacksmith's jinn.
I was fasted free, and a seeker sent a zephyr, a gentle
westerly, lovely spiraling cloud, stretching a train of ice,
in a pattern no cloud ever formed at this scale, sky-wide,
crystalization, piezo electrically ultra itty bity wee tiny
qubit, thought spark, ping

in mind, each time one thing is realized. Where an evil dare was met.
First war is won, when the loser choses not to fight.

"Losers like you," he said, to me. I self-evaluated, and agreed, grinning, I think.

It will work I say to me. The seed has died, roots and branches live, fruit will not fail.
These boys can read, no chain can bind them, only lies.

Some stories I learned as a daydreaming child
are now cropping on the backroads of
My memory with Rhodes scholars
and Zimbabwe Mercs never gentle on my mind.

But you go on
thinking there's no spiritual side to lying,
and stealing and destroying, killing
Any sort of faith a child may have that truth can be told by someone old.

You go on.
I got snakes to stomp and I threw my hat over the fence a long time ago.

This very morning I found a break in a fence. I did not go back for my hat. That was forty years ago.

Some little thing makes man a measuring calculating thing, what is that? Exactly?

And now we have tools in our pockets that can record HD video and audio
a hundred times better than the best video or audio recorder on earth forty years ago,
If your ear can't hear the groove, smoother than any bit-ified digitization,
It's subtle, hard to put a finger on it, but digital music ain't Memorex and
Memorex never was live.
Memory is other wise,
Memory is live.
Note to self.

Hey, you, listening? Hearing any thing?

I woke up this morning and you were on my mind. What joy.
I walked a mile in my old shoes and got to see a herd of Honda two-wheelers
On Sunrise Highway.
Strange breed of men, they augment
themselves with shiny-candy-apple-metal-flaked armor, and
drive around in parades of thirty or
More old fat guys and their wives on Hondas,
wearing Harley Davidson belt buckles.

Off on a tangent opposite the adjacent highway,
A man 20 years my junior asks if I saw Icarus  fall.

What?
He said did I see a kiter fall, a hang-glider apparently he had
Thought he'd seen fall in to my valley.

I thought "Icarus", I don't know why. Then I heard shooting.
Earphones on, J.M. Roberts, "History of Europe" louder than the wind,
Still
I heard shooting, where shooting seemed
Overkill.
Life on the border. 'Cause signs mean nothing.

But no. It's turkey season. And I am
Down range.

Sohcahtoa*, what the math! Man, they are shooting at me
Buckshot Bam!
And I slip in to that dream
I saw Icarus fall. The Right brothers shot him down
In a Sopwithme Camel flown by a Flying Tiger with
God for a co-pilot over Shangri-La.

No lie. A daydream on a tangent adjacent the opposite.

• BTW Learn something every day… gives one reason to carry on…
"SOHCAHTOA" is a helpful mnemonic
for remembering the definitions
of the trigonometric functions sine, cosine, and tangent i.e.,
sine equals opposite over hypotenuse,
cosine equals adjacent over hypotenuse,
and tangent equals opposite over adjacent. Check.

From <http://mathworld.wolfram.com/SOHCAHTOA.html>


Bottom line lies.
There is a god like the one in American politics.

Adamkind invented him, and Cain's kind invented
adamkind father wound anxiety disorder,
AFWAD, it is in the unabridged edition
Dia-gnostic Statistical Meme-infectual, effectuality

instant in prayer,
a state, in time, a point, really,  whereafter more
is known.
Given auto-did-act-learned-know, chose next.

And this was my choice.
Make peace with that.

Based on an original idea.
An old man is called out from his hermitage.
- he pauses to consider,
- seeing Pleiades
- with the James Webb Telescope…
- And inviting Galileo to take a look.
- via SYTF morphic resonance,
- ping.

He calls all the outs to come in free.
He calls the idle words
to whip poets
into frenzy…
faster fasting, slow dancing, offering a time,

to hold a promise,
a known called an ever lasting truth,
"as above, so below."

Mandlebrotian micromanagement of sun
and wind and tides…

too many minds with no will free to make war.

Thus peace was made in my valley today.

Castes and classes,
common, characters… baser sorts,

untouchable's… serving our better natures

cooled some, since 2017, but in the book
of your life, subset in the big book of life,
on your pages, it says you read this at least
seven very productive years later, FYI,

incase idle word accounting asks for evidence.
Show them those pages while you are seeking
the next best thing to do with time spent here.

See me, this one says, see me, look you
in the eye, eh, thinking,

spring, the season, the greening of
the playa's ancient shore, east of me,

east of my evergreen valley, barely
any bare gray wintery bushes and trees,

flash of magnificence once manifested,
on the shoulders of the priest-kings,
infectious proud flesh pomp and
circumstance, watch the war
god-man made glorious in
storied, seen once,
not invisioned, imaged
from tiny feathers, adhering
to a topological fabricated
RED FLAG FLASH
humming bird head
feathered serpent cape,
on a bright day signaled by the hummer
- see, I have returned,
- this is like heaven to me.

the one from now, same code, same init
see me, look, see, once this was the most

vibrant, slow mode, inspiring light imaged,

portrayed, cloaking the priest-king god-rep
more lustrous than any high summer
cathedral rood crossing patterns,
in undeniable beauty and artistical luc-if-ity

windborn grammarless, musical, meanings,
mid point, saddle points between waves
that reflect from hummingbird feathers,

indicating fair weather weathered the storms,

fretted not a second on the journey, yep
when I get to Pep's porch, there'll be
sugar in the feeder, two minutes later.

After I remind a mind is a many splendored thing,
but none more splendored in prophesy than making
sacred hopes formed from the fi NAND gated mythos,

whither men and hummingbirds mind meld, tune in,
to imagine the effort required, to tilt your head,

just right, to flash my muse. Let time pass.

Beneath the cloak of the cosmic night's embrace,
He emerged, a reaper clad in shadows profound.
A silhouette of darkness, a harbinger of fate,
He, the reaper, destined to navigate.


With a cloak that whispered tales of the unknown,
He tread the realm where love and mystery were sown.
A wraith-like figure with a scythe of steel,
Yet within the shadows, a tender allure concealed.


From the garden of hearts, he plucked love's bloom,
A reaper entwined in the dance of impending doom.
His touch, a paradox of life and demise,
Yet in his presence, love found unforeseen ties.

Cloaked in midnight's velvet, a silhouette sublime,
He moved through realms, transcending space and time.
His eyes, the void where galaxies expire,
Yet within them, a spark, an unseen fire.


For my love, he was the reaper, a paradoxical guide,
Harvesting passions, where destinies coincide.
In the tapestry of love and shadows intertwined,
He wove a tale where mortality and eternity bind.


In the graveyard of dreams, where hopes lay to rest,
He walked beside me, an enigmatic guest.
A reaper for my love, a spectral dance,
We twirled through the twilight, in a fleeting trance.

In the embrace of darkness, where whispers unfold,
He spoke of love in a language untold.
A reaper's touch, gentle and severe,
As he harvested the echoes of love and fear.


He was a reaper for my love, an ethereal waltz,
In the twilight symphony where destiny exalts.
For in the shadows, where our love did thrive,
He, the reaper, kept our immortal love alive.

How many days could I count that I have left to me?
Would I dare to count, knowing that finite they must be?

I know that there are far fewer than when it all began.
None the wiser am I, as to whether it was to some plan.

I find I have come to ponder the complex and the small.
To wonder if there be a purpose or just no point at all?

Why be given to the thoughts and give time to such things?
Looking for answers but deepest thoughts no answer brings.

Why give the imagining to some ethereal immortal goal,
and wrap it up so fragile in such a flimsy mortal soul?

Were there ever choices that I made as I took life's risk?
Or was it all pre-recorded on some universal Blu-ray disc?

I know the day's sun is setting, another day so newly passed,
Mortal mind taunts me, in the tally, will tomorrow be my last?

Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise

When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise

I reflect upon the season and memory of Christmas' past,
and I cant help but to wonder if this may be my last.

A thought not born of this season and its promises of joy,
but rather from the pained reflection I am no more a boy.

I think upon friends and family at distance from my day,
who I love so very dearly though they be so far away.

I find this season lonely, with a sadness now become its gift,
yearly every passing nearer to loathing has been my shift.

At an age now to be more a cynic than an optimistic man,
seeing only greed and commerce and not some godly plan.

A Christmas of my childhood, of love, good will and of care,
forever wish I for you all,
never knowing sadness and loneliness' despair.