God don't care about your ***** farts.

The Pyramids of Giza are aligning with Orion
Oh, Ryan, you need to work on your discipline and timing.
Meditate while the Lion's Gate Portal blows open
Elevate cuz no mere mortal is immune to the potion
Create great change as the spiritual sun is rising
More than a name, this is Sirius, reminding us to stay shining
- And Break chains that have kept us in our own confinements
It aint too late, we are divine beyond our environments
Energy exchange, now we reclaim how our power's spent

there shall be moments when happiness
is not your state,

however in ever that happens,

it is, virtually, bound to happen,

but
in a literal existence of mere words, happiness

occurs ever after. You may be a

babbler wisher-for-happenstance to pirrouette on a pen
and whisper deep insights locked in hap

pens powered by magi-tech i-magined manufactured in mortal minds,

as it hapt.

---
the grip slips, words cease clinging to meanings and mean

- as in evil, mean people, mean words, mean spirited
things

arize to ****** the tiny hap...

which happens not to wish
to vanish
like a thought from a dream, but but

but re
mains, takes priority, exalts itself above the heard news,

you/me/we are irrelevant to, non-integrail to maintaining the flow of

peace that happiness always leaves in it's wake,

ah, always, we re
call the dry place, where we made no wake, no waves
to propagate

ripples, in time, near the nearest shore,

then, in time, near the farthest shore; nay,

in those dry places,

no such woken waves foam, dust rises as one step,

is taken by faith, no reason, save war is wrong so find some peace,

take a step, you might have to live like a refugee,

that's the story of confusion being unsnarled to reuse the meaning
in messengers going up and down,

and to and fro -- all balanced in the mix, a step taken to see from far away,

what if, another,

then one more, re becomes the rythm mmm re mmm re

call the idea, hap. Many haps must be that plenty state, happy,

plenely, right, plenty clear see happy is sufficiency of hap.

That is so simple, a child could be saved, if

it be possible, to live at peace, among all men. If ye say?

If? What, when ever what ever crisis of existance takes peace from the

dust,
breathe,  we left pure whist in the wind as we passed Kansas, in the spring

back when there was no morning dew,
any more...

and the farm blew into the Bermuda Triangle, by all accounts extant.

Considerated galactic storms were aitia-tic tic tict off, like war in

the heavens,

{ sloow read, while breathing aware, software in the air, just there}

the whole, integral system of life on an orbit around Sirius,

undeniable by flat earth witnesses all over the globe,
they admit. Sol is ellipticating pro

cessionally toward Sirius, the freakin' dog star. So,

we could make up a reason for war, with this much knowledge.

... but we can't tell the worker ants, those used to believe the six o'clock news.
For their own good,

suffice it to say, war makes money. Loving money, what makes that?

Lack of haps.

So simple, a five year old child can comprehend,
nothing beats money in the bank,

for giving a whole family that feeling of safety and security,
so much so
amen
that now the usage fee to the usery class, the tax-collectors and money-lenders, lets them lend to themselves at no interest.

No, child, not tree climbing tax collector
Zachias,
but he was a fanatic,
so don't take him for a role model... there were Mithraic bankers under the sign
of the Red Shield, in the Ghetto, about which Elvis sang,

Amazing-ly, from Graceland, in 1968, as an old idle word winks in passing,

I'm okeh, howeryew?

who converted then reverted, then, with riches in faith past Midas, one man, changed
ever after that,
says the story, Walt Disney

erected an image of a national pride,

The happiest place on earth, there where oranges grew, in Anaheim.

Golden apples, is what oranges were called, where oranges never grew, long ago,
in the realm of Asgard, where ever held cold hope, for mortals and gods,

Did you know?

Selah. I read the news today,  oh boy...

now, the peace I made is splashing as my cup runs over with love, as sung

by the guy who played the Tonto role to the official American hero history
Dan'l Boone or Davy Crockett,
Fess Parker - the official Disney-ify version,

American frontiersman model for boys, {a message from the sponsor}

with telescopic sight... see threads of star stuff swooshed before fore words in books

we read, we learn, we live and all we leave behind is the meaning intended unattended,

-so say the happy Sisyphus culties,

once a word loses meaning, each time you utter nonsense saying it, just take note,
give account.

What does that happen to do? How do you do? What's up?

Well, as it hapt,
I was odd. When asked, I answered true to how did I do, well,

i said, my side is winning. How are you? How do you exist at all, if

you choose to oppose me in this, your side lost when the referee

declared at all the crossings where choices are made  for patterns
in happenstances,
bliebe doch-- said Faustus now
now, ever never allows meaningless beyond

{slow- breathe}

good and evil, belief and dignity, dasein design,

oh-- a gleam, see, in the smile, tooth paste ads say that's *** appeal.

That's how boomer kids got *** ed... freeze, mind of a child, or you can't see

heaven is Disneyland. -- hush grandpa, don't spoil the fun...

Closed? There's no closing in Happiest Places on Earth, said Forrest Gump...

no
frozen statues query sphinxy riddles - with only old boomer stories left to hold

an eye for the needle all camels pass through,

if you get the tip of this thread,
wet,
and aim, steady, straight, miss, try again, we got all the monosylables in time

to find and redeem worthy of rereading for the possible metaphor left sealed.

And then you get a Corona, on the beach, it's a lifestyle.

Built upon the ruins of ****** relatives
And at the very top of this disaster that’s so thoroughly shaped your every waking moment
Sits your mother
On her throne balanced on sin
After sin
After sin
And the dull notion that her bold ideas and words will shape you into the heir that she wants
Because what is the eldest son other than to be a pawn in your families wicked games

it was such a cold night with the frosty air kissed my skin and left it trembled. I was staring at the stars and whispered them how much I adore your mesmerizing smile as they promised me to take care of yourself,
"he is the Sirius, we know."
"he is," I giggled "so keep him safe."

then I danced under the moonlight with our playlist as the soundtrack. the moon giggled and shaked its head,
"it's getting late, you better go to bed than dance like an idiot."
"but, will you promise me to give him a goodnight kiss with your light?"
"anything you want, princess."

the city lights kindly guided me and my unicorn home safely without getting lost, although I closed my eyes along the road because I am a sleepyhead.

"goodnight, my Sirius."


— baby I'm living on my own fantasy,
will you still take me as I am?

it's been fourteen years
but i still remember the ghost
of your smirk on your face
it's been fourteen years
but i still remember the way
your antlers glinted under the light of
the silvery, hazy moon
it's been fourteen years
but i still remember how you used
to ruffle
your unkempt hair;
and catch the winged ball with
your swift hands
it's been fourteen years
but i still remember how i found your
body;
bent and broken, your glasses shattered
and your son amongst the ashes
of your hearth
fourteen years have come and
gone
and i wonder when i'll get to see you again
until one day;
i don't

So bright it shines,
Far away and yet so bright
Dazzling in the night sky
I stare at the heavens
And there it is staring back
Sirius the glowing one
Brighter than any
Outshines every other in the sky
Millions of them are out there
But none shines so bright