#awhile - Hello Poetry

The deed begun and the deed done, a breath taken, and a breath released. The work, writing, reading as we go. No shame, no pressure, no debt. Living long under the prosperity. Not our own, no, our providence answered faith of our previous makers of ways where no way was when white pages haunted open hearted souls called to comfort motherless children, unfeedable little lost souls told tales remember Be ware what you think we mean, as us I mean, we become whole new things, keyed with ancient yeast and slime mold shapes of green oatmeal flow like the golden oil running down Aarron's beard, ah Chavad gotta a deal gotta say we getta witness, see say you know this game, three cards, just three, see. Pop chaos theoretical butterfly flap of a wing among millions of wings flapping subsonic whirs we hear but by conditioning perceive - the butterfly effect - if believed unbelievable - unbelieve it now, - exhale, inhale, and think we have all the time in the world and electricity always on, or could be so we know, borders are imaginary bubble walls, the earth as a system keeps itself, the people as a whole have roles, the worth of each single point, once sine qua non, you knew the truth and thus thought then freely, I am a mental image of the truth life makes. Winds return on their circuits, as sounds in silence, deep teenage wasteland topsoil lifts away, frame the vision, make it plain, word after word, logical as as as as yes, as logos itself, infancy an incunabuluman* nonage ex-empt-ion say that five times on judgement day matada innocent self… being presupposed to be or become metamorphosed from inexperienced to immediate past tense confusing time with chance considering the relative worth of an innocent self… a me among men, amen without spot or blemish, perfect babe, infantile in all her unrhetted ignorance inside the fog of war, holding flax at bay break out fibers fine as Rapunzel's flaxen locks first precious light in the day, shining out from ivory skinned faces, woe, is us, as we have never been so exposed naked nonsense makers, but no, just me, judging where I may imagine I must be, in my morning ritual mediation caught up, being in time flow, rolling along, singin' my song, wrong, or right, you just don't know, you just go, sparrow wise, tweeting make believe at made believers. * Latin incunabula "cradle, birthplace; rudiments or beginnings" From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=infancy> End part one, a poetic after shock from Mike Makowsky's Death by Lightning A four part series behind a Netflix paywall not too hard to peer over these days… I keep thinking you are paying attention We keep thinking we lose our minds, no we get to, relate to Charles J. Guiteau and the odds of dying by constant lightning we blow our bubbles of being to the extent of now, on an orderly planet rewarding ment enjoyment, an at it attitude, doing indeed a day. What we can learn in an hour, no mind born before 1940 could imagine.

0

May 25

May 25, 2026 at 1:11 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Death by Lightning Binge Reaction

The deed begun and the deed done, a breath taken, and a breath released. The work, writing, reading as we go. No shame, no pressure, no debt. Living long under the prosperity. Not our own, no, our providence answered faith of our previous makers of ways where no way was when white pages haunted open hearted souls called to comfort motherless children, unfeedable little lost souls told tales remember Be ware what you think we mean, as us I mean, we become whole new things, keyed with ancient yeast and slime mold shapes of green oatmeal flow like the golden oil running down Aarron's beard, ah Chavad gotta a deal gotta say we getta witness, see say you know this game, three cards, just three, see. Pop chaos theoretical butterfly flap of a wing among millions of wings flapping subsonic whirs we hear but by conditioning perceive - the butterfly effect - if believed unbelievable - unbelieve it now, - exhale, inhale, and think we have all the time in the world and electricity always on, or could be so we know, borders are imaginary bubble walls, the earth as a system keeps itself, the people as a whole have roles, the worth of each single point, once sine qua non, you knew the truth and thus thought then freely, I am a mental image of the truth life makes. Winds return on their circuits, as sounds in silence, deep teenage wasteland topsoil lifts away, frame the vision, make it plain, word after word, logical as as as as yes, as logos itself, infancy an incunabuluman* nonage ex-empt-ion say that five times on judgement day matada innocent self… being presupposed to be or become metamorphosed from inexperienced to immediate past tense confusing time with chance considering the relative worth of an innocent self… a me among men, amen without spot or blemish, perfect babe, infantile in all her unrhetted ignorance inside the fog of war, holding flax at bay break out fibers fine as Rapunzel's flaxen locks first precious light in the day, shining out from ivory skinned faces, woe, is us, as we have never been so exposed naked nonsense makers, but no, just me, judging where I may imagine I must be, in my morning ritual mediation caught up, being in time flow, rolling along, singin' my song, wrong, or right, you just don't know, you just go, sparrow wise, tweeting make believe at made believers. * Latin incunabula "cradle, birthplace; rudiments or beginnings" From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=infancy> End part one, a poetic after shock from Mike Makowsky's Death by Lightning A four part series behind a Netflix paywall not too hard to peer over these days… I keep thinking you are paying attention We keep thinking we lose our minds, no we get to, relate to Charles J. Guiteau and the odds of dying by constant lightning we blow our bubbles of being to the extent of now, on an orderly planet rewarding ment enjoyment, an at it attitude, doing indeed a day. What we can learn in an hour, no mind born before 1940 could imagine.