#boomer
every day -
hustling and bustling
eating and sleeping
ever week -
Monday to Friday
nine to five
every year -
working and holidaying
waiting and longing
to be free.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 3:57 PM UTC
Burning nostalgic memories
letting the smoke flow out my nose
Cause I resigned myself to just sit and pine
and dream about times where I paid no mind
to past lives
The past five years
I though the world would end
I shacked up with one that decried
my wasted potential in normal jobs
Like where do you get off
if I'm making halfway decent bucks?
The irony of our artsy resurgent humanity degrees
Just go and sell life insurance
Them boomers turned us into gloomers
Generation X, my young parents
the first victims,
at least they had half a fair shake in life
I think the 90s had it right
dripping in yin yang rings and necklaces
so we wouldn't lose our way
Woo wee, where were we?
Hiding from my brother in a clothes rack
with my parents at the mall every weekend
So much confidence in where we were going
The end of history itself
in our careful chaos regulation
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 6:02 PM UTC
I'm a pagan that's more Christ-like than Christians
I'm an anarchist that's more patriotic than patriots
While these fools idolize empty symbols of ideology
I'm the optimist wanting to work with my community
to make a better society
**** right I'm inept
I'm raised by boomer tech
you got a life
and are outta debt
Your kids fell in the trap
you set later in life
You're happy with a home and a wife
I'm renting to stay transient
in case my boss decides my career is worthless
Romantic and hopeless
I'll fall for a podcast host just by hearing her voice
and the truth she tells
The Right thinks we'll all flee to their side
once we start making these bucks
where you can leave managing a wally world for oil wells
Well I made it bud
Got the prestige but no full pockets
or pensions to speak of
The older folks got enough crass to complain
'bout their pay cuts and theirs alone
We'll never see piles so grand
Got the inflation calculator app
to proselytize about this scam
But those ears can't hear
unless it happens to them
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
Is this your boring time, or a roaring time
tale
eating itself, perse, Percival,
quaff from the silver cup, ere the golden bowl
is broken,
in this round
of heavy metal madness conducted by
the arms of Krupp,
produced with the financial wizardty
of Meyer Amschel, himself, behind the sign
of the red shield. Kein Scheisze, no wuwu none dare
call conspiracy or treason, this is reason
remaining from my last dis
course, or dis
curse, or
cuss, just cussgodamitall, a bit
go
dam it all, god
am it all to hell and imagine god did it to make
imperial valley bloom.
OOP. object orientation program, re
set.
Are you ready? Post-read, going ons get sticky, in some
foul smelling ways,
lessons in preparation for separation from
individuated minds, feels
crazy, but it's like
any giant step, in your first thousand league boots,
stepping into an un known with a being
called a poet.
Feels just,
like falling, easy as accepting Pi for Tau now. Knowing
no better.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 4:53 PM UTC
oh how sad it must be,
to constantly cast that hateful gaze
can't let yourself be free?
just don't leave your heart out to catch ablaze
much like that of a flea,
you cling to things
that people have flung out into the open sea
not quite sure what satisfaction that brings
but ok boomer
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
Sunday, May 06, 2018
4:51 PM
Failing for lack of power is a fear crop.
A fear crop.
An odd thought.
Not the seed nor spore, but the fruit.
And fruits have seeds in themselves,
All men, I say again,
wombed and un, should know that by now.
Freedom of information act fact, informed
men know when to fight and when to sow and when
to reap the crops we've sown
in our mortal moment
gone with the wind.
Not mine.
The wind is in my inheritance,
True proverb.
I troubled my own house, fouled my nest
with all the rest o' youse ab-users of life
ignoring forever like that could never happen here.
It did.
The voices in your head are never all evil
if they use words.
In the total accounting of idle words
some significant percentage
may
carry meaning forsaken.
Such may be redeemed
much as one would redeem the time.
One of us. One of our mortal kind.
Dear reader, we say again, we ain't Legion nor his kin.
We are words once spoken in jest among fools who repeated us
meaninglessly, oh my God, you know. Per se. No **** **** happens.
All the ****** time,
and **** and God, those two get overtime of idle utterance instances.
Though a statistically measurable deme
does redeem a significant some of those two
in true beliver
dying breath
honesty. God, they say, and die.
By my leave, I say,
I am the definition of a free entity accepted in these books.
We are voices. Messengers.
Some of us were wicked, twisted as wicker
or wire bundles. Some of us were true pass words.
Some were true rest words,
rest rooms were so named
for that wonderunful feeling we all get
when **** happens
at just the right moment
in the book. Great ideas gravitate to clean rest rooms.
this is a new book right, this reader is
whadayacallit
Vetted.
What does that mean. You know right idle heard words are
meaning less
power less.
Vet me. Am I one of those ideas, good to the core, caught up in fairy
tales fed the T.V. generation, the Boom beyond the bomb?
After school freedom and duck and cover drills,
we watched cartoons, aimed twenty short years earlier
at the wanters and wishers and workers and worriers
of the thirties, not at us. W
e Boomers, as the media hipsters have always known us,
the off-spring, often unwanted and ill-begotten, of the Greatest Generation,
the one that won the contracts to build all the bombs in the world,
tax-free.
Those cartoons from the thirties with Entertainment Tonight plots and cameos of
Hollywood stars who were Grandma's age,
that Cowboy Bob on the local VHF
(unaffiliated or independent, hard to tell a diff)
showed to us, the first middle class latch key kids in centuries,
those cartoons were meaningless, prewar propaganda
unless we match adult laughing recoging the exaggerations,
The Betty Davis eyes and Frankly M'Dear bigears
"Grandpa, who is that guy with big ears and a skinny mustache?"
Clark Gable, wow.
Who knew the "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a **** guy had jug-handle ears?
It was diversity in the desert. My big ears no longer made me bully bait.
I have superior hearing and star power.
From my kindergarten years I have known.
I am included, my flaws are not flaws at all.
That don't give a **** guy
and I have big ears to hear better with, so
we know more. Good fathers teach their big eared sons such facts of Nature.
Take care. Don't get puffed up. Knowing too much
will fill a head with hydrogen and the brain in it rots,
intrixically.
Are we powerless? If you say so? No.
I am in control, graciously demands
no load un-bearable with Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice.
(Note: not fire water white lightning. This is
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice. Al Capp's
Personal Stash of Greatest Gen Synthetic Absynthe.
Used to **** hippie wanna-bees in farm country,
Like DDT for apple worms and skeeters,
Atom bombs for all colors of thinkin' right (but white),
Gen-you-wine Joy Juice,
Kick-a-poo Joy Juice revived many a faintin' pilgrim
follerin' John Wayne down the dusty trail,
Play me one o' them somebody done somebody right
songs,
there must be a million lying idle in blue puddles o' all kinds
of imaginary
ref-use.
Referee.
Job's Daysman betwixt us, we win. His call, not mine. I thought I lost for sure.
I was powerless, let me testify.
No. We think different here. If you are not stupid,
you are not powerless. If you are stupid, then you are powerless,
but but but
If you think you are powerless, you are not stupid. God knows, right?
Stupid people seldom see themselves powerless past the standing
under peace that's beyond understanding meat-mind-wise.
Dunning-Krueger. Again.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
there are others like me I see. Lost as I was.
So
What could I do to ease their fretting,
would I be comforted? No.
Back then,
no.
I refused the comforter
*** outchacom'fit zone
Oh, they be hell to pay,
-----
among the ideas that possess men,
there are tells,
among the men of both varieties possessed by or of
(as you shall see, it may be both) ideas ,
there are tells, twitches and ticks and unconscious daemons sorting
sayings
aphorisms, proverbs,
memes 'n' such.
Confusion sayin'
H.R. Puffin'stuff, that neveh me'nt a thang. Jes't aname anime annie mae, where's
annie mae moved to okinawa wa wa wa
Imps. Pulses of them flow through heare…
(those slips shall hereafter be known as di-sensical-utterences or dsu, in writing. i.e. here and hear, he-are, heare, here is heard hear and means something else, intensionally. We, augmented Adamkind of all kinds, can inject meaning at will.)
commonly on Sunday mornings,
though I doubt the impulses
have a calendar that might map to any ex- or im-
I'm never sure what goes properly with perience.
Prior to the trial, experience is so limited,
I'm going with perience, in and of itself,
perience is plenty. Ex-cepting,
you know, the lessons learned,
those have earned their proper
nomenclature.
Those are experience.
Lesson learned.
Twixt thee and me is no more mix-up,
idiot-syncrecy fused with two-mind
hate of knowing and unknown;
we know what experience really means to us.
We are bound in syncret oath sealed with shibboloths in unutterable names.
As it is written in the law of Moses,
"all this evil is come upon us:
yet made we not our prayer before YHWH our God,
that we might turn from our iniquities,
and understand thy truth.
Therefore hath YHWH watched upon the evil,
and brought it upon us:
for YHWH our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth:
for we obeyed not his voice.
From <http://biblehub.com/kjv/daniel/9.htm>
Shame that such once breathed thoughts threading pearls and jade,
or was that chalcedony? - scatter when the thread breaks
. Shame, such thoughts, frail as smoke.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
We think such thoughts. Fragile spokes.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
time and time again,
what I called holy in my darkness, is holy in my light.
Words that lose the sacred salt are calcereous
grains of time, dust memes in the sun,
launched by centuries of tramping feet.
'haps the highest parts of the dust of the earth ever.
Oh,
how the masters love mastery of mystery.
"The old man on the mountain, he knew if he lied."
You, the observer of it all,
know.
"you knew nothing of my work"
"have a think"
"never thirst, imagine standing under knowing that"
Voices, the walls heard, stones speak, historically speaking
happens all the time, a frequency lock prevents it bleeding into now, but that becomes tyranny, believe me.
The ideas that possess men and provoke good works
or big, power-consumptive,
tale-swallowing feats,
those ideas are servants.
lacking any knowledge of good and evil,
such ideas are everywhere,
men who know say so. None of this was done in secret.
Twisted minds twist servant to slave labor. Magi-minds,
high-minded, relative to the belly-crawlers and creeping things,
see servant as tool and teacher. Same idea.
The original ideas we have to deal with.
They were seen to be good, by God.
There are no bad ideas, there are bad actions caused by mad ideas locked to single mindless anger impulses so callused as to appear gigantic,
certainly so, when they are known to lurk under beds and in selfish old men.
"Dark sayings, dear reader, pro fess pro verbs, action words snip "No lie is of the truth" snip
the lie and loose listing truth to the wind.
Who told you that inheriting the wind was like inheriting nothing?
You. You troubled your own house and you inherited the wind.
You came not to bring peace, but a sword…
The good news. Inheriting the wind is inheriting everything that ever matters, all the power in heaven and in earth was how simpler minds imagined shaping the idea.
Idyll minds, the devil's workshop, eh?
Comfort thought.
Who told you desiring comfort was a ***** thing?
Same voice went real deep and whispered,
"What price glory? Eh, pilgrim?"
stop. think
Sweet, for instance,
sweet, as an idea, can **** the man who makes it the basis of his value calculations.
Shame, came to prevent such impinging on subroutines intent on manifesting destiny,
as the sweet little ones imagined forevers in their pioneer-daze plays.
Shame is not blamed for being known,
the lying spirit who spoke with forked tongue,
sweet
little people, please, believe my lie,
there is a reason why
I know
There. Message in a bottle.
If you know what you know.
Messenger is what angel means, right? right. Who asks? Who knows?
No. I know you know this is
purposefully useful for
helping
crazy ideas
come back to some sem-sym-balance beneath the branches of the tree of knowledge, nestled in the twisting roots,
golden eggs, oh, far,
far
beyond Faberge, I must say. These, you must see to believe.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
The right used mind, rightly spelled, righteous,
can be possessed of virtues unimagined
by those too young to know.
Father of many nations was old when told
Every imagination in the heart of man is only evil from his youth,
is that so?
I think not, somehow,
I imagine there were always those whose hearts held hope and
hope makes not ashamed, right?
Ah, see, hope
imagine that
Hope repairs the rift,
the tear through which the rib emerged
full-formed exactly what I dreamed of meet for me,
and more,
there's the story, man dreamed the wombed one before she
was given him, so
before the ingestion of the knowledge of good and evil.
Got that? Before knowledge of good and evil.
Meet means right, right, just right. Not wrong.
Adam walked in the garden with God, like a kid and his dad, except dad
was not made of dirt. "Hey, boy, look at this…"
they loved that action,
But there was found no mate meet for Adam, eh?
The plot thickens. What was Adam looking for?
What would you expect, as a very smart boy who knew the names of
all known things?
Not a voice, exactly,
more a feeling
hunger
thirst ish but worse, un-named unnameable
Oh, she is meet for me, fit formed for me, lock and key
Why was there any time when men lacked wombs?
What if the story was twisted?
Hmmm.
Eve was meet for Adam. That's the story. From the mind of the man
who had walked and probably played with his creator,
Oh, partisan brains,
inhabited by why lies encrusted with ways and means,
how did we
fall
or did we fall at all?
Wonder if we all believe…
What if we all believe…
-----
Wisdom is the key, curiosity seeks,
seek and ye shall find
ask and ye shall receive
who so ever does that gets that
or hopes to, right.
stuff, can I ask for stuff, money, good-doing-power,
uber-mensch, bon homme, saint super prayer guy?
Peace of Jerusalem
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
you gotta have some accurate idea of heaven
afore you go saying' you got the contract
to build the foundation
whereupon
All stories that end happy ever after are buildt.
Cruel ruler. Eat grass, may Nebuchadnezzar visit your dream
and write on your wall.
Mob-maker, bow before your maker and lay aside your mortal toil,
turn
round and round and round and see
we all are, as you are, aware
believers, hopers
Why would you call me enemy?
Have I taken food from your child?
Have I turned you out when you sought shelter?
Have I failed to believe or failed to learn?
Why do delicate things break so easily?
How can anything be?
Yet, here we are.
You and me, immaterially sharing a fragile thought.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel
Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?
Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…
Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.
Shame, we should not know that.
Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?
No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?
A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so
Wow.
Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…
Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".
On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.
How did it work out?
Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.
Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.
It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.
The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.
By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.
Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?
There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.
Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.
Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?
Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..
----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.
Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.
Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.
That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Shallow pond, **** covered,
life began here, imagine
that,
warming sun and the temperature-
moon driven
current swirling from deep
dark to deep light
apriori, a given, those exist, self-evident;
then,
after that
slice of time,
we appear, as we are now,
what's next?
Imagine good for me.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
Who I Ever Heard Of
when I was seven ;
the same year I learned Archimedes said Eureka
for a reason,
and I was vaccinated against Polio.
My hearing of Whose has been different, sense.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Be.
Flash
where light is
dark is not
light thins
never dims
Sun moon stars
swirls of stars
stretch for ever
Behind wee bits o'light
photons
pushing darkness
into thoughtless nevermind
Shadows remain in
Puddles of thin light
then
No dark at all after
While
thinnest o'light
everywhere
Sharpest points save one
Never slowing
ever going away
A wake as wide as the
Sharp edge o'light
Photon by photon
Where dark is not
light is
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
Strong beings
Curious beings seeing man weak
Being seen of daughters of man
Curiosity itching lures
Scratches mar the sweat sheen
Leaving tears and blood
Begetting all the monsters of myth
imagined
by tubal-cain's daughters
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
No quibbling siblings musing in the shallows, patriotism must be dealt with at it's route markers. They are all twisted. It is the duty of right thinkers to untwist
and shout,
All ye, All ye or Oy ye, Oy ye Outs (never Ox) in free. The ransom has been paid, the game of hide and watch is played. Touch, eh?
Nature's what? Original state? Perfected state? Fractured state patched with circuit breaking dams and weirs.
Nature's God, the mind behind Nature.
whose were the buffalo the servants of christmas replaced with sacred cows offered and eaten in Outback Steak Houses at Indian Casino Super TAs from sea to shining sea? Whose God commanded that? Whose God permuted that?
Who has sown bullheads in the squash? Shall we pull them up?
Let the children pull them up. Teach them to see the tiny round leave, which is to be squash or watermelon, sosweet, or water-stealing, sticker-making **** Goatheads in little running feet all summer long, ouch. ouch. ouch.
Knowledge is power. Power is not lost. Is that enough to know and grow to know more and to spare? Is enough abundance enough to spare and share? Yes. On a broken planet, men of both model may make enough of anything they desire, or sire in their best happy ever after scheme or schema. That part never broke. The tongue-mind interface, that fried. Listen. Wisdom never shouts, you know.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
A hurting generation
of broken children
we are the end of this
alphabet of problems
our future is hopeless
full of student loans
and a job crisis
the millennials have
warned us so
So we dull our pain
with jokes and memes
ridiculed by older people
but we know that
our future is dull and
filled with hardship
so let’s make our now
bright and fun
and most of all
a good memory
for when things get hard
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
Thinking of Eve Seeing First the Shiny Thing
The subtile beast, she saw eating of the tree she was
told
would **** her
if she ate it and she believed,
if she even touched it, she would die,
though die was something of a mystery.
What, she thought, is happening here?
The shining serpent thing
is living and eating the fruit of knowing
some thing known to this thing,
unknown to me, this shining serpent can't speak, needn't, but 'tis a beguiling
creature,
a scoff-god swallowing forbidden fruit
as nothing happens. Not dead,
what ever that may be,
why should I? Curioser
and curiosum it says, with its eyes,
"you shall know, as God knows, you shall not
surely die".
(those Kachinas, I imagine dancing off in time,
singing as the chorus of snakes,
"we hold such things as men can't hold in hands")
Oh, no, wait and see. We, you and me, we play no
past roles, no deed is redone, thoughts are rethought.
Everything has been thought, the object of thinking
is to think them again. Mr. Goethe made note of that fact,
when he thought, everything, excepting what I know,
is temporary at the moment, I recall the idea of
God knows what, but it ain't accidental,
and it ain't the misperception of decept-icons dancing
on the head of a pen.
You got that right - question - quest ions symbolize what
you do not know, so, who knows? Question marks
Symbolize the act of questioning. It's a primal need,
Wisdom, the principal thing of which
more is always desire-enabling.
Somebody beyond your knowing imagined that right.
Would you believe the algorithm needed to program
perception of a who'll-go-rhyme,
or an I'll-go-rhythm positive knee-jerk response
to the ***** of a pen or the whisper of a word,
which it is supposed, was written
by 100 monkeys with typewriters,
whacking away endlessly, balancing precariously
on the edge of the first 100 turtles
in the stack? What are the odds, eh?
Life has a plan with no plot, ought we think?
We shall not surely die, we know now, that's a lie.
Beyond believing lies, we know now, how and why
we are naked, by our own cognition.
We told us we are naked.
We, now, know that,
but here, in the pages of the book of life,
we are no longer subject to the ******* of fearing death.
Here, there is no more condemnation.
Believed lies re-cognized here,
affect no fear, we know,
the final foe fell. "It is finished" was no lie.
Take comfort here. Be still, and know,
rest prevents any
re-triggering viruses left by
the lying messenger's old fables, told as prophecy
or fair-tales oft sung as epics
pre-determining the possibility of evil winning in the end.
The words that built the lies remain,
not the lies. Evil never had a chance, life isn't fair.
The basic plot is a man-made thought, the purpose is not.
Life goes on, death never could have won
and now its power serves
to make eternal waves that keep thinkers thinking things differently.
Loneliness, after all is said and done,
is not
as common
as one might think. There's always
Details, details, details
God only knows.
Saying such a thing idly is vain.
Unless, you know, God knows.
**** that, too.
None of that here, you know.
no condemnation
Socrates was a joke, nothing new under the sun,
beyond that is no mortal's concern. Believe me.
Knowing nothing is far more difficult than men imagine.
Tongue in cheek was an old clue in fair play,
your gramps
could poke out his cheek like he had a snake in his mouth
struggling to break through sealed lips.
Then he' tells a
fish-story and claims the magi know it true.
Tongue in cheek, so to speek, I see some missed conceptions
fructify from spores spat idly as ****** hells and damns
from tinkers tinning pots with crazy making lead solder.
Which meandered my other me to lead
Lead soldiers. I led the boys to war, that's what they were for.
It's all in the plot to make men of boys so we can help God
defend Heaven, in case…
What?
Good versus evil and all that whole lie.
Or is it faith we must defend?
How reasonable is that? What can **** an idea like
one of the big three?
Eve knew knowing good and evil cost her.
She paid attention to
the truth of all she so suddenly knew.
Otherwise,
she could not attempt the task of bringing
Able into the world, after the pain of Cain.
Oh, please, let Cain fulfill the promise, I cannot bear the pain,
said Adam in his shame.
Eve, on the other hand,
knew hope for joy she found in every
birth, and there were many twixt Able and Seth, all girls.
Cain had been gone for decades ere Seth came along.
Eve was o'er-joyed at the boy whose son would somehow
bring to bear the final sacrifice of travail and pain to
manifest the sons of God to play the role pre-ordained
for sons of God and their sons to play, wombed and un,
each, in his own way, the one creation groaned for,
the missing, wanted, desired, one, an
only begotten with just exactly your DNA,
one in 8 billion, a rare element, indeed.
You know.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
Life as a high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo…
a gent tulle mandate from my late mother uprooted me
from mine kempf familiar bedrock level road terrain
which venue offered a groundswell
to blossom forth into golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise (this an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from the moors of formality
and lit figurative saint elmo’s sesame street fiery dance
allowing, enabling and providing this shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
thy self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzing like a yellow jacket
thus liberating spontaneity that je nais sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward venus
from healthy pistil packing overflowing bin
laden well nigh testosterone erupting *****
toward opposite gender
whereby bravado donned as key
to *** field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally rooted rutting squeal!
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC