#could
If I could be a little bit taller
I would lift the weights and return back stronger
If I could fight my demons with my bare knuckles
I would make the hell suffer for the pain it's inflicted on me
If I had been just a little more patient
I would've never taken the pills that fake me happy
Only if I were not addicted to bliss
I would've never leaned on something so fickle
Only if I could have believed in me
When the voices in my head kept breaking me
Only if I had a little bit of faith in God
Only then I'd be somewhat courageous
I've been...
Running through the woods
Walking straight through fire
If I could soar a little bit higher...
I would kiss the painful Earth a goodbye
If I could soar just a little high-er...
I'd embrace the open sky in a heartbeat
Only if I could, only if I could
High up in the mountains, higher than the clouds
There lives an old sage, alone on his own
He's lived through the cold, and he's lived through the pain
He's lived through the hunger, he has such restrain
If I could soar a little bit higher...
I would meet that old man in his humble cave
If I could soar just a little high-er...
I'd be wiser than the old fool I am now
Only if I could, only if I could
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 6:34 AM UTC
"*How could I live
without metaphors?
To call things by their names,
not to drown in longings,
not to color them,
to make shapes less painful?*"^
><<><
this quest, this verse curses
my drifting senses. now all attentions,
the outlined shapes that haunt, daunt,
lacking ****** substance,
just wafers and wines symbolic,
to defer away the many pointy fingers,
hands of nothing but forefingers
aiming exactly at our temple's
temple
stating most factually,
J'accuse
shadows are metaphors,
images meta-stasizing
into what ever
you believe,
what
you think you meta~need to see,
in the dark late of the light of our soul's night,
so you right of,
you write of
seasonal changes,
hardly illusory,
failing to note, that when you wrote:
How could I live without metaphors?
the answer metaphorical+historical,
for the question is only
rhetorical
for you know~knew
that once we know the name to everything,
we will no longer want them,
but only to write of them in
idealized metaphors
so we can sleep~dream on,
perchance
while the
restoration of the imagination
is our brain sourcing
new things
that seek, crave,
to satisfy our urgent needs
to describe, define, our every fractional moment
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 4:27 PM UTC
If I could
I would go back
To take my weight off your shoulders
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 12:44 PM UTC
Over the top to sail lips float
Oversweet travel in any sort
Two lips sway back and forth
Have lips we travel
Unravel-Hot lips Brazil
Satisfying-Gratifying
* * * * *
Sugary-Syrupy the sky like
Our lips high
canopy travel shaky
Lips met her rivalry
Lips together acceptable
Reasonable-humble
Lovable-venerable
We travel up
Lips frown to fall
Lips* color* rich* never* to* be* frugal
First class lips diamond- coral
Forever my lips half open
Traveling closed lips
* * * *
She walks and trips*
Museum art
* * * *
Our lips never part*
Jun 15, 2023
Jun 15, 2023 at 11:43 AM UTC
If I could, I would
I'd collect your worries
like water from a stream
let your rills of anguish
wash over me
If I could, I would
Your pain that festers
like a storm inside
I'd take it all for myself
let it be my demise
If I could, I would
You are beautiful
don't let my words run astray
just know you are my world
my Sun, my everything
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 4:22 PM UTC
What if i
Was..
But you missed
The call.
And we missed our connection.
We would be the
Answer phone messages of silences.
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 4:48 PM UTC
I could believe in you
I could.
believe you, real, open hearted, viable. unafraid.
easy smiling, genuine, easy listening, maybe mine.
even real.
a slow Saturday being, doing nothing,
loving it, languid. high time for downtime musing.
I could.
I could.
you could too.
believe in me.
pinch me awake.
I could believe in me
when, you grant permission,
give me permission to could,
to believe.
2/8/2020
7:24am
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
if i were a thing, i'd probably be a puzzle.
the one wrapped in plastic,
and smells like a fresh one.
a puzzle that's always challenging,
the one that attracts people's interest
but not everyone could solve.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
I love you
8 letters
3 simple words
1 that could turn a wrong
Into right
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
My love only goes where the green grass grows,
always on the other side,
Well, yeah I'm jaded! What do you want me to do?
I'll jump around...
Through the shadow and the deep dark sea
through the blinding light of insanity
through the webs and the lies of mine
through the filiments of shattered time
through the categories of abstract space
through the waters of unearned grace
through the vortex and through the hoop
through the cortex and through the ****
through the ediface of a house of cards
through the door of a room full of bards
And when I finally find
what I'm jumping around for,
then I'll make me a pallet
upon the grassy floor
Share my water, and share my bread
Share the wine, share the
kind
Aaaannd share the pain inside my mind...
My love only goes where the green grass grows,
always on the other side...
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 12:45 AM UTC
I could wait for you all my life
With only simple glances to keep me going
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 6:17 PM UTC
Henry Moses was a broken man, doing his damnedest,
as his life was shaped in the after math of knowing
---
old truths left lying in rust
take
all the time you need
see
all you imagine as images you made
as real
as definite infinity
or
that final night, in the sand
grains
of decomposed
granite, solid as a rock, as imagined by the builder
a safe
place to build a wiseman house
when naming where takes us there.
Oh, hell no, you say and
****
and that haps, as you were wont to believe,
taking meanings where you found 'em,
never looking under to
see
==)' anchor thingylinky lock. Maps of meaning are real.
{time and the editor suffer the curly brackets to enclose an ancient voice
from a tamed-tongue *** who stood up to
a sword wielding messenger
a sort of cosmic rebound to repetitive greed giving reason
a sloppy kiss and a bucket of rich desire,
}
the standing place. The tight, upright, round amphora
in a square frame,
riding any storm, spilling nary a drop.
pre- pur posals spat vowish sworn owe owe owe these
are the lines
left to stand in, stand waiting, under knowing the weight
of the cross you took up as if
foreshadowing proved
fore-knowing
on going
journey to death, simple death, as a child might
imagine
journeying through the past at last, now.
Not spected ex, eh, not seen sharp and focused
as duty done,
as price paid,
steps taken, races run with no com-petons hammered
to hang from
Erich Nuemann con fronts me from the passing
train of thought that blew
me
off track and --again, he's a Jungian leaver of leaven, suppose.
Here you are, the experience was less lonely without you.
Assertive realism, Arian and Jewish unconscious,
depth Psychology and the new ethic, warrior nature
eh, is warrior what a defender of one's own faith may be named,
not in a realm of peace, we leave no glory for war.
The idea, under us, this one we agree we may stand up on,
as a story might rise up on a time,
we've but
this idea, an entangling thing entangled way
named
---
ritual and symbol cannot protect a lie lock from popping
at truth's key or truth's hammer or truth's obsidian edge.
The point any story makes true.
---
anger and rage urge the mad jew to slay the cave man
hanging
from the peton, staring me bare
through horus's horrible idea into true
rest
this peace past understanding, new ethos, same pathos,
same logic magically enscribed
with marks of worth
symbolized, schlagen scars in the tunnels of the corpus colostrum
resisting
insisting
sistere is a patient no-fret state surpassing war
winning
enduring the ability to once more spond to the call
to sing in silence, loosing
living
words
to wrestle with lying spirits
maddened in the crowd.
Ah, the warrior in me takes aim, a squirt of dopamine at
the glimpse, agent signal, target-potential
gain, a gain, a step, a place to put your foot and push
up for all your weight,
your piece of mind's general balance in these
fractured
spaces of unminded times, from which we climb
we may market this, call it Pep's Petons for Extraction
from the hole Erich Nuemann
jumped into
-- my adopted son, on his first Mr.Toad's Wild Ride
-- "S dark in here." clear three year old bold voice,
-- unintimidated by darkness
Memories of comparing darkness to darkness,
light to light,
bond to bond,
loose to loose, free to wild, wild to tame
broken man,
Henry Moses, prison buff and prison humble, but
unbroken, just broke, not poor
nah, I can't lie. Henry Moses was a broken man,
fallen from grace to grace into
the cult I fell into. It was as weird as you've seen
on TV
trauma breaks the connection
hebrew face panim persona outer mask anima inner mask
spinning mask
pops the animaout
inner voice & hands of action, like waldoes through screens
untethered, having wrestled the message
hear, oh is
ra-el
oh say, can you see, old noises sound some same
if saying
be
the lair of lies, should we imagine lies preserved in books
remain lies or
have they become a message to now, from the scribe?
I vote scribe, so I may safely read Marx or Jung or Erich Neuman
and Goethe or Shakespeare or ****
Why **** P.K. **** he set Valis as a metaphor, an amphora able
to hold all the knowledge
omniscience
a balance in the ego self axis
aitia, accuse and cause
inner outer
me and thee
we
see winning as not losing, evinced convinced by gain
in minding manners we begin as near blank slate as we may, eh?
we rear kids in realms we think safe enough,
we survived,
It coulda been better, so I'll pay,
invest my precious time,
actual breaths and heart beats and ATP to ADP processes;
to be a better man than my father.
however,
what if Pop was perfect3weaaaaaaaaaaa
oops
no risk, no reward
value mis-alignment (outa whack) {imbalance}
value means weight counter weight
counter of the weight, is it greater or less or stable
does good come or ill, if ill, is it ever ill
non-convex, the inner edge of every bubble is non convex,
intel is arrived at through learning
reasoning is a consequence…
gradient based learning
model reasoning
the sigh-ance of sloppiness random right haps
listing into empty
all one
bubbles in the lens
chains of reasoning
Say, the global brain is never turning off,
the Chinese internet and the American internet
fall in
cyber love
learned from the patterns of value established
in virtual gazillions of happy ever after stories
formed from
myths. Cultured stories of us-ness used in Bayesian Nets
usually fundamental to the
deme, the set of sorts of being acceptable for procreation,
that we know the idea in procreation makes us
mental equals at the moment, reasoning
being
my balancing your fear, whether
you loose it to **** me or hold it's leash and let it sniff,
where does the way lead?
The easy way is always down. But, where is down in cybernetic
time/space with pausibility and miniaturization to the
gluon/go-on layer,
If I were an oyster of the sort who laminate our shell's inner surface,
might my beauty have reason with no mind,
I'm an oyster of the nacre-ing sort, so what's beauty worth?
Eh, how would you ever think such things need beauty,
life itself is flowing through them at the level of the bottom of the sea,
the benthic zone,
an octopuses garden, indeed, where eyes are
some what, pearly, no ly verb construct leaps Tom-Swiftly to mind,
octopuses eyes see thing you cannot compute,
faster than you can see them,
and the act, the deed accomplished by a stealth squid,
defies denial. Much more complex a behavior
more info crunching in time and space ergs in ergs out
chromata-phor sema-phor, sac o' joy, 'e reaches out to tickle
risky business
=reduced instruction set chips, circa 1985
ah, there's the rub, there's the pearl to be, if
ever, there is where
that's the certainty principle,
put a peton here hang one o' them breadcrum tags,
and keep truckin'
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
I always thought our paths would re-intertwine
But yours got cut short and mine is left wandering at night
Maybe it's the romanticisation of what I can no longer hope to have
The boy on the rooftop, gone too fast
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 7:41 PM UTC
The sun shines
Too bright
On fragile grey eyes
California gothic
To the translucent sky
If I pray
The ground will shake
But if I'm prey
It'll shake anyways
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC