Are they still good
When the songs of life played
Where were they?
Playing silences on cottage

Are they still alive
When they breath half air
Are they;

When they wander to the seas
Are they Alive?

there's a lot of notebooks
full with words I still need to write.

Place the pen on the page before inspiration hits – that’s important.  You write – that’s what you do.  
And as the pen moves, a combination of memory and new ideas combine, they interact with the catalyst called inspiration and you’ll find that the further the process is allowed to progress, the more the New takes hold and memory drops to a whisper and before your mind can comprehend the words, you find an unexpected theme.  This time it’s about the evil of memory and how it needs to be subdued / reduced, put in its rightful place so that the New can breathe / can grow / create a new memory that will one day abdicate space to the next generation of New.  
One day we might find there’s no heir, no one who cares enough to continue the line, but until that day we’ll have generation after generation of New - each slowly growing old, gradually fading thin and becoming a memory that knows its space and gives way.
I pause.
That’s always a mistake.  
To Pause.  
That’s when memory sneaks back in, raising itself above its whisper, giving pause to the New and raising an appetite for a brew which lifts the pen…
Is blueberry jam on madeira cake wrong?

Deep answers to deep.
As I answer my self who pays the mort-gage
theoretical spin off ona mobius strip
from who uses war
on reality as art, thus artificial, officially
authorized use for brainless mortal minds
projecting
re- ah, rhea, lovely
-- in the future, to the reader
-- use these mentally any where these signal
¿:-,? something more is needed --
-- answers must follow preceding quest ions
not sparked piezo wise
Brakes. Sparks, , more than enough.
ok
Flint to steel, steel to towers, to antennae to now.

Kapow. we have always imagined radio and TV.

We think in ways Issac Newton never did imagine.

Jiggle the prism dangling from my partner's ear.
Rhea bhering all the gods, and there, errors
began, gin being spiritually essential
to geth to gather sense
signals sortive
suggestive

-yes, whatifery, we have that, how much do you wush?

One more breath.
Why?

Why do you ask?
We have a rule.
No wasted breath. Make every signal clear.

The next idle word we speak won't wo not
be spoken as once is wont for any unrefined term.

Time out. Selah. Take a thought.

- we have no angst, thus no anxious thoughts
- should you be shopping for such,
- those are outlawed here,
- theives honor, liars pledged allegiance-con carne
-
- aye, ai, no-- we as words in warring times make
- peace, no concarne mind heresy, see your self
-
do a little out of body experience imagining
you can do it,
melt into your chair, that
is the easiest position to begin
facing forward and falling with no fear,
until
something unnamed as yet no words may be
in the beginning of beginning your
agreement to be mindful of me,
in your secret you stash, your hidden power
valued in talents, specie solid real esse state being
omygoooooooooo
djasay I may break into song, as I see
where this is headed headed up to see
from below what an *** hat I am, at times
out of body low
low as a JD Sumner solo.

A drunken god declared there is, as in
so be it
wine that makes glad.
so be it
wine that makes glad the core of man-made
in my image, goodness of happiness in any time

One more breath,

Oh, world! Let me write!
Let me sling my pen across the page
Let me smash my fingers to the keys
Make them shake and break and bleed
"Its not easy being me"
I will write on top of a mountain
Write in the middle of a thundering wave
Speak unspoken words to thin-bladed air
Make my voice heard because
"Theres no one like me"
Let me essay the truth
Let me stanza the lies
Whatever you do
Just help me now
And let me write
Until
I ask you
To stop.