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There is in it all,
a reason.
For you to lose, to gain, to fall,
to rise; to prosper in all.
It is what makes a human vibrate,
his originality rather than his deceit.
The world spins around, and waits for none.
And, so shouldn't you too.
Give what you can take, and take what you get.
People out there do not have enough,
and when we really help them,
a piece of us becomes whole each time,
piece of us, that heals, in the process.
And, it is for a reason; a greater good.
To heal, we have to give more and take less.
And the reason for it all,
will shine bright in your face,
even in the midst of gloom, for a diamond,
outlives pitch black gorged darkness, even in centurions.
as light prevails in the scrimmages of reason.
There is always a reason for it all. You have to find it, make it prosper, and you'll achieve true happiness and mental well being as a person and also as a soul. Have a good day :)
Silence is the loudest sound,
It's distracting,
It wakes people up,
It reminds them what life's worth,
It reminds them of fear.

On the other hand...

Silence is peace,
It is the absence of thought,
It is you melting with the universe,
It is the softest end,
To the loudest beginning.
I haven’t found you yet,
You that keeps my soul warm in the morning.

I haven’t found you yet,
You that keeps my bed warm,
Warmth that reminds me that I’m not alone in this world.

I haven’t found you yet,
You that looks at me and through me and around me,
Looks that speak the only language that matters — Trust.

I haven’t found you yet,
You that sees the demons that I walk with,
The guilt that is the ocean I try to stay afloat on.

Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of you,
Sometimes I think I hear your voice,
But like a distant echo,
Like a beautiful dream that lingers just long enough to torture,
It fades.
I want half of what you want,
To be the other half of me,
That wants half of you.

If there’s a quarter of you,
That wants this,
Then I shall spin endlessly,
And forever I will be for you.
We are:
More love,
Than hate,
More action,
Than fate,
Warm hands over trembling, fists,
Hope heals,
Hope resists.
The dark follows me
Like the “I told you so” of that other life.

I see the sun and yet my eyes can’t adjust to the beauty of everyone else.

I keep washing the dirt off myself,
But there’s always just enough under the nails.
As if emotions picked up instruments and started playing,
As if my heart picked up the mic and started singing,
Or maybe screaming.

As if the night was mother,
And the wind was that other,
Best friend,
Oh Time,
My scorned lover,
When you gave yourself to me,
I turned away,
And now, 
When I need you most,
Like a cold reminder,
I’m left with nothing.
I’ve learned to shut my mouth and smile,
keep all my thoughts to myself and hope they don’t see
all the broken and shattered pieces of the girl I now am.

I don’t want to get attached to anyone anymore
because I always end up the one getting destroyed.
So I’ll scream at you and push you away!

I will keep, keeping quiet until the day someone gives me a reason
and you may be doing that to me now
But my mind is on the defensive once again.

What if you show me it’s not all bad?
What if you set me free from the cage inside my mind?
If I do start to let you in, are you going to destroy me too?
Ken Pepiton May 16
2020 - day 136

Friday, May 15, 2020
10:54 AM

Cognitive Success:
A Consequentialist Account of Rationality in Cognition,
- I read page one, for the definition, I am sure they may be right.
-- ask, what is known about this in ratio to that, in balance,
with gravity the law being obeyed,
tip-toe, through the tulips,
balancing enpoint, pirrouette, and fly
off the handle. Cognosis in sequence of fortuitous slap in the face
palm to brow moments of aha, drop jaw,
eureka and so on, this it. This is life as a thinking thing,
with no rational reason to cease,
we on a roll...
's'alldownhill from here,
save habitual itches unscratched,
once scratched, we start feeling these
habitual itchings
begin to bleed, and, as the O tangere tangible
chem sigstraight through the blackbox tag
- the magic sig in the vascular lumen, as the
blood scabs to staunch the flow
infected with what ever was itching to invade my peace of mind.
Into the penetralium, unwilling to settle
for half knowing:
vascular endothelial cells line the entire circulatory system, from the heart to the smallest capillaries.
These cells have unique functions that include fluid filtration, such as in the glomerulus of the kidney, blood vessel tone, hemostasis, neutrophil recruitment, and hormone trafficking.
--sourced from Wikipedia... neural link via fingers on the ends of my arms,
guided by actual muscle memory, mirror neuronic bits

Life is reasonless cried the executable, swallowed up in truth, as we
overflow on accident, ha,

irony is not lying, it is accusing.
The gift of aitia gates set up in corpus colustrum. Truth provokes irony,

we get it, and in getting it, we agree... this is a strange state to be in.
Half, or more, of the politicians believe, by faith, we, the people, are heedless of inclusions to the classified files, they
having never done the
microscopy on their physical container, vessle, amphora stuck in a square hole in the belly of the ship of state,
**, shipwreck in the middle terra puddle,
lift my default mind wandering state, to the heights of hearty compression into
comprehensive gripper ligand/receptor transister- ping platlets,magic

Co-gnosis Success, bluffing teleosis,
saying I saw this
I bet, life is a
habit, wait,
habit-uate, make a habit,
form a habit thinking the impossible
at a be seen de-ift
moment as if it were a
a place of impossible anything,
a place filled with emptiness,
and uncategorical nothing,
in you.
you are nothing.
Did I disappear?

Inhabitual gnosis, ****** into a vaccuum,

umph, squeeze a normative
thought through one final ought to be
thought, where a vaccuum is no more.

A we, a me and thee, with one breath,
I suppose, I feel alone in you,

but is and ought gnosis of success
seems senseless, after ever began never ending.

The singularity, the point
from which
to which,

we touch.
you, dear, high-value, judge,
me, unknown word slinger;
we touch
and sense a next, another unknown,

at this point, we are. Here being as
a we of only me and only you,
we may aggregate,
to this point, our singularity of one
some time ago, or we may
say I have no idea you lack, mypoint
no gem to balance your mainspring,
when you get it.

Intuit altruism pushing next into position,
suppose, posit now as past,
knowing enough to get by,
past that previous point of no return,
as the signal loops down the vagus nerve,
swirling field effect from the aortal pump
encouraging wordsform a grin,
say this e-qualiates that, on a judicious right balance
--- non since you noticed, yes
reasoning is balancing why next is
accepted as the only
all things considered.
We stop the bleeding.
Acheive scab-state,i.e.
hemostasis, hole-e-plugged,
via the
platlets, touched almost instantly after an injury to the blood vessel
has damaged the endothelium lining
the blood vessel.
Exposure of blood to the subendothelial space
two processes: (wait, by whose authority?)
changes in platelets, and
the exposure of subendothelial tissue factor to plasma factor VII, which ultimately leads to cross-linked fibrin formation.

-- all on auto pilot, intentionally. Artists hate interupption.

Simple. If any part of that fails, you die.

No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,

-- unless
-- you lieve me be a ******* oughtical,
opticalwizard who can link you to the lit, with a click
cliche, itching ear, afflicted with the need
to know, from
deepdowninside saying, how long will you love
simplicity? how long must I suffer thee knowing,
beyond a shadow of a doubt, the whole truth and nothing but

-- an itch from a gazillion
-- rube goldberg master pieces,
aligning from the very blood vessle lining that
seems to be using the ash of a mitochondrial ATP
apt to be intentionallypopping off phosphates
destined to aid in the fibren
-- hap to keep us from bleeding out,

automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms

Paying attention intuitivey, after a
specifically longer than a glance, whiles
accumulate attention quantvalue,
and the watcher
is credited for attention paid, based on

sci used by the I-language, in composition

of now, from pieces of our past,
stored as fact,when only impulses from
pre known set of signals flash

intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno

we are integral ideas, we been tagged,

we touch the secret me in you button,
we be you as far as you can tell, and

self-evidence, not,
withstanding, you make an Artist's Intuition call,

A.I. has never been artificial, as in
artificial sweet-called nutritional substitutes,

there is an art to surviving reinsanitation after fifty years
in plastic

Normal minds may wander in pursuit of happiness.
The process is analgous, to panning gold,
or winnowing a golden fleece,
winnowing and shaking and washing and combing,
fining in the wind.

only an English Lord would burn the fleece
and sift the ash for ***** gold in need of fining fire seven times.

thunk. Sound of mind, thunk, thunk grind
ha hap happen stance, stuck upright cheer, see look up
a little stone venus, stuck in the gears

the mother of goodness, cornocopius provision,
she we see worthy of all our attentions,
we serve the supplier of life... and his prophet... s
is that an addendum dum be dum did lieve be true,

run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions

consequentially, being as how,
the reader says it is written?

if you did not know it then you know it now.

Really, your idea of some will being done on earth;
whose will was that, in your heart/mind/gutlumenlinings,

where all your common senses integrate and strive to keep
your dream alive,

but life don't woik dataway, 'cept a seed fall down and die,

it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,

that works. Wait and see, no trick. This is hell,

for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words.

Wombed man at the well, point was the living water source,
not the racist reaction that puzzled the apostles.

--- did you just, as in iustnow say, This is hell?
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words
sure did copy paste valid 2020 tech, backoff quill boy, we
ain't scratchinshitout, this is

the fabled stream of sci using ness with right reason balanced
on every chiral level a quark can imagine,
being determined
to go no
other way, the truth, to myself as a funda-mental part-itty-bitty
part, one in about ten-billion, when we're done...

patience, you lost? Pick up a thread and choose a polarity,

thy will being done on earth is not the question,
you conversing in your inner language with mature comprehension,
as if you knew to whom true rest goes after ever starts
-- can you redeem words like as, aren't those intuitive?

as, from the infamous like as Winston ads,
whom, from the equally infamous Johnny Carson
Who/whom do you trust? ads added authoritative definitions,
intended to leave idle words instead of statuary,
to save on programming costs.
single syllable logos can carry some deep meaning
AI know,
details as meaningful as any, tiny stops pivoting gems
in a 21 jewel Buluva full of wheels within wheels tickingtime
to the longitudinalsecond,
the 1950s were loaded with persuasions to wish for ever more,

but Poe loosed that one word,
nevermore in ironic acknowledgement
earth as my witness, we have gone astray, ever more,

today is our conscious limit,
we can not realize
yonder from now,

but with my fathful time piece, we can say, whole heartedly
this is called today,

whenever you find yourself, here, in these lines
this is the daily flow, 2020.

It is set to be commercial as all hell in 2040, wait and see.

A day unayyachedmissing keys tt

and AI suggests I relax, inner AI,
my artist's intuition
I call 'im Al
with permission
I am an art-ist
as that other guy is a
cons-equational-ist rationality
in a realm where time is an arrow.

he makes no sense.
If words did not live, how would you know?

I could be, no, I am as immortal as the epic

you find most familiar.

I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.

I live in bardic lore left in wind, for a spell.

a tipping point, first one of the vessles filled with all the messages
Daniel sealed. Messages classified, end times.

All the stuff we never knew till recently,
which, I apologize, polis-wise, I mean recently,
politically speaking,
post Voltarian conversation rule.
Define my terms if I would converse with you.

Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,

terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,

bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts



Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling

Hey, if you read it, thanks. I am enjoying being the guy who spills the beans
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