#jordan
When the wind blows
The power of god
For our united arms
Fly under 1 flag
Kicking *** no messing around
World war 3 has begun
Time to raise our rifles
Point it at the sky
Become one
Under the land of the free
Find peace at once one 4 all
No border can stop it
As we raise that flag and pledge
The banner rings
Like liberty bells roar
Nike nike nike
The killers are coming
Me an my men and women
Are hunting them 1 by 1
As we sing this song
Forever fourth of july
We are the brave
The strong
Gods military saving by his grace
Its American made
Till our last round goes off
Lifes love an its ours
Takes a soldier to praise
Spread the gospel
And protect our land
Peace be with The Lord
Peace be with you
Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 6:23 PM UTC
(Author note: shortline prose to lengthen the attention span framed on tracks set in a Mobius [one-side, one edge 3-d object]
intra-psychic loop of unknown origin and read aloud at https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh ) Begin agin
The Apprentice is now a Constellation
The announcement was made when scientists of social normality said they saw in
Mickey Mouse's role as The Magician's Apprentice in the
Fantasia Eschered vision that ushered in
images of shift in medium media
message-ification, from angels to
a Disney-ification of
a Medici idea
emerging
from the TV generation's
paradigmatic bubble of re-alification…
the TV generation, the old farts in 2018,
those whose bubbles sitcoms evolved in,
the watchers saw the makings of a great game
manifested in the game fame of the idea named Trump
yew, stink. Can't trump the ***** in hearts,
I think I recall, while Zorro's dumb butler
began to signify, in black and white
Aaaiiiii, karuhmba,
clean sweep,
one roll,
I won.
the mother-facter, whoa, who has that idea who did not
need the thought taught thinkable,
though it is not thinkable
in my bubble,
let me make
straight that which he has twisted,
magic
magi untie knots they saw tied,
mythic youthful generals cut them,
nullifying the bond, not the entanglement
Positive Quarkish humans are as rare as rare,
imagine all possible vectors in a void
from a singularity ified known
science, the magic tecnique
Macht frei, macht mehr, macht mir
repel-ant act patient, patience, do your thing
signal, antennae agent attending, watcher watching
motive force, my god is not macht!
unprocessed information
untaken action
unstored
owe owe owe shame shame shame blame blame
pre cosmogonic potential
on the level of
me and you.
wadoo-wedo? It's Xmessage time
now, abrupt. Good news
from a far country
hope lost must
now be
sought,
Otherwise, Christmas is okeh, just not Jesus.
The season, then Jesus, okeh?
Wisemen still seek…
Who said otherwise? Fantasy enforces the wish.
I wish it were that we fit
here we do (on earth as)
true, rest a while and listen to your self if that's
the best listener you have found.
Talk to your self, make him your friend or her,
your choice,
really. You make enemies on accident,
but friends, fruitful friendships,
cost sweat and ef
effort effect
fortiffect, effortion and effection
for true fruct ification
affective prayer does act as if fervent
right, alte rechte,
right used you,
all to know
the
signal.
Receive it, reread what you said you knew,
stand by every word yet idle,
and act as if you know
no lie possible
new is yet
not new,
old.
New is not imperfection?
Unfinished is not finished wrong.
A work of love is enthrallment only if the love
is mere imagery locked
in literate minds, to
Rome and its feet of iron marred with clay,
fused with clay, hero myths
etched in soft clay, made
great literature of mortality,
posing in prophecy as poet praises paid to Jah.
Tenured enthrallment in literate minds
un-exposed to the Disney ifications,
the normalizing, reversion
to the mean not
meant in the words the way the stories were told,
in the olden days. On tongues of fire.
That is true, new forever is
forever new, no one we know knows when forever began,
but before now. We know that now.
We explored that realm and realized this one
based on the AI consortium consensus of your most
heartfelt if-only desires
recorded at every
if/then gate
you jumped.
This is it, the best you could imagine being truly happy doing,
with the god of peace,
roll the rock to this point, Sisyphus,
no further was a given
after a time,
at this point
here,
then time is un imaginable nullift, NULL-if I'd-known
one more time, living water
bubbling from my belly as
the rock rolls over
the fool who risks belief in living water
seeping from mommy's belly,
like the papless platypus,
who died at the weir
and sent that final message
Good news. Life rolls on. 166 million years for the Platypi.
At a certain point, there is no sense in pushing,
he steps aside and takes his bow
in the shadow.
Timeless imagine that, with hell in the NULL state.
You can imagine it,
but only there,
here hell is a thought thought mistaken by mortals.
Misbought, is better said, a thought mis thought
is bought with attention paid
to truth, found hidden
under standing idle word monstrosities at the
foundation of the current
wizard class
the stone the builders rejected, that
smashed the feet of clay and iron,
the rusted muddy iron feet.
All we do is watch.
seeing changes everything seen, thus
The saying is true, beauty is in the seer not the seen.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
Forwards and fore words are cult if ations, (cultureshapen)
words we would find mean more
than their idle kin dread, (a play)
if we had been reared
starting now
A push from behind,
God put padding for a reason,
Mrs. Marshall said. Second grade.
A word, to the wise, is enough.
Acculturation.
That's the clue that leads to leaven,
and a little leaven...
you know, or say you do, of course,
we've known yeast
resurrects in our bread, for eons and ages,
Good Lord.
We know how things work.
If we be honest,
some,
a little bit, we know how things work.
Sayin' hon, I ain't sure I know what honest was.
To tell the truth, I don't suppose anybody knows,
wit'out attention's terrible price,
secret price, only the paid and payer know it, ever.
Sacred makin', sacrifice,
that's a one time deal, for real.
A mortal man can't know until he dies if he unbelieved all his
lies, but his try's are said to give him some -umph,
----
What manner of men are we that it is given unto us
to be? That is an answer worth paying attention to chase, per
haps. Not, to be or not to be, what choice, before now? You know?
Remember, we asked. Together, we agreed,
that greed will draw us to the treasure,
do you mind my taking greed from agreed and making it work.
it does work. it is an essential elemental,
desire is another word they use, but that gives it more
purpose than greed, and calls for more minding of the process.
Once a reifying action has begun we must maintain our equilibrium,
or
find ourselves falling, once more, into dis-traction
on life's slipper slope.
Slipper-iness has meaning.
Ask any little princess planning to grease her foot with KY.
It can be good or bad, not good or evil.
Squeeks from the audience, sometimes signal gasps,
as agap is crossed, like a spark,
mnemonical daemonic algorythms, those ain't bad you understand?
The Intelligence in Re-al, 's'no accidental instance of order over chaos that just cain't quit,
that ain't it.
Geeks as you know geeks,
Gates, Jobs, 'nem, A. I. Imagineers,
did not write this algorithm of life, as it turns out,
The Idea of God seems not to have needed help
designing a safeground,
where kids can play.
Sam Harris axed me, vicar-iously, Do you believe in literal
re-sur-rection of some formerly
living thing/ any?
Yes, yeast, I do. It seems dead, only our knowing it's not
and proving other wise de-ifs the possibility it's dead, now alive.
It's like that cat box, Schrödinger has.
Anything is possible, God knows, Jesus even said so,
wit' God, all o'this is possible,
save lying and dying and failing to be good for me.
Living, it seems, is the deed we do
to prove living forever is worthy of trying,
happily ever after, starting now,
if you wish to stay mortal and never know,
you can't.
You know you die, so you die.
Forever,
that goes on.
It's hell to try that with no triumph in sight.
Alone, especially.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
jordan is a star athlete,
envied by all
on the opposing teams.
jordan is also creative,
and intelligent,
and an all-round amazing
human.
jordan is strong,
and powerful,
but also delicate
and emotional.
jordan wants you to know
that she doesn't have to
conform to gender stereotypes.
she knows her place in
this world -
she knows that her place is
wherever she wants it to be.
she is independent
and doesn't need your negativity :)
- v.m
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
When I look at you,
I'm pretty sure my heart melts.
I don't know how to explain that
but it's how I feel and how I've felt.
You're becoming my happy place,
you're making me brand-new.
I thought I should let you know that
I think I'm in love with you.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac,
And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check,
Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek,
And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck,
See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck,
The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech?
Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet,
As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt,
A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set.
For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
They all say I love you...
but the question is
do any of them really mean it?
I guess what i'm asking you,
Jordan
.....
are you mines
or am I sharing you?
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
My name is Young Slug
and I write hip hop songs.
The lyrics sound as clear
as a lady slurping dongs.
Martin Luther King once told me
that my mother was a ****
So I whipped out a baseball bat,
and ****** him in the ****
I think he liked it too much,
cause he was moaning "colonel sanders,
stick it in my *** and make me dry like the flanders."
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
“An ill of greed has befallen the land,”
“A quickening sickness which seeks to prey…”
“Where wealth accumulates and men decay.”
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
to the love i fell in across the ocean, i am still drowning in you. -Amman
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
I love my name.
Well, my pseudo name.
The name I chose for myself, I am in love with it.
Not that I don't like my real name, that name is lovely. It lives in a palace with princes and stars ad magic, and I appreciate my mother for choosing it. It is magic, and I feel that fits me.
But my chosen name, my writing name, is a part of me too.
Grace Jordan.
It holds a pun and a dream and my heart all in one.
I always see myself as messy, clumsy, but not in the traditional senses. My mind is a mess and my actions are clumsy, sometimes even thoughtless. I am impulsive and too much of me for me to handle. I see myself as something far from grace.
Yet it is a dream. I would love to be poised and handled and stable and graceful. I want to live up to the name I have given myself, so in all honesty it is more of a hopeful promise than a pun, though I always write it off as one.
But I doubt I will ever attain that. Not being cynical, merely knowing myself. I love mess, I love spontaneity, I love the chaos that comes with living. I guess in a way I mean to find grace, find peace in the chaos, and be a stable mess. I know it all sounds like contradictions and complexities, but that's all I know, and all I will ever be. So I must work with that and make it my own.
Now the heart. Jordan was someone I lost long ago, and he holds my heart and always will. But I can still love, and I can still dance, and I know he would smile at that, so its all that matters. His happiness, and in turn, my happiness.
So self-centered, to write an entire piece about my name, right? Well maybe I am a little self-centered. Maybe I have actually learned to love myself a bit, and revel in my own glory. I love my writing self most, I think. And my writing self, in my heart, I will be.
Grace Jordan, reporting for life.
That's who I will be, secretly.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
I enter the light that's in my mind,
I search and search,
If only you I could find.
I know when you look down upon me,
You see the pain & strife in me.
Why does it hurt me so?
When we lost you 10 years ago??
I search and I search,
In my dreams...
But it's never you I see.
This love is slowly killing me.
Copyright
♥Crystal Rose♥
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
you can't say that I was the one who kicked you out of my heart, when I spent months kicking and screaming, begging for you to come back to me. I sat, festering inside myself for days, and did nothing but stare at the walls that had a nasty habit of only showing where your fingers brushed against their sickly white barriers. walls.
I'll never forget the pleasant cool feeling of the staccato wall of our high school, pressed up against my back when you first kissed me. I'll never forget the day I wrote your name in the sand. I'll never forget the day that you built a wall so high around your heart, that not even you would dare to reach inside, for fear of falling in, and never finding a way out. I used to pretend that after the years, you'd let down your flowing golden rod hair, and I'd climb my way back into your soul, but I see now why they call happy endings like that fairy-tales. I loved you then, and I love you now, but you are no longer the bearer of my soul. you no longer hold my beating heart in your cold hands. I've spent weeks scaffolding the burnt brick built up about your breast, refusing to look down, refusing to see reason, to look to the crashing sea below me, but the trembles from your wrath shook me off and broke me down, and sent me plunging into the churning sea below. the powerful waves, held me down, stole my breath, broke my strength. It was what bound me. kept me in delusion. yet, it was bliss, and the choking vice around my lungs rid me of the hunger and the pain. I let myself drown in you, and drifted, broken, to the new shore. I allowed you to flood my lungs to keep me afloat. little did I realize, it was your iron grasp on my heart keeping my head above the waves. or was it my hope for you that held me up? was it my optimism of a better place that drifted me? I guess I'll never know.
it is with new legs, and fresh face, that I humbly walk these new shores, that I bear my heart and soul to breathe another lover's name, once again.
(a.m.)(e.a.h.)
08/19/14
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Sterling eyes close the falling red ward
Big Brother has seen it all
He tells me: *there is danger
Terror past the massive, all-protecting Atlantic*
Don’t stray there, the mouth
of stumbling heads say,
They want to take away
Our safety, our ways, our Freedom
Mr. Elected reassures
*Nothing will harm you
Not with me going there
I don’t want you going there*
He speaks like my mom
Warning me of the illicits
I am too vulnerable to experience
It’s death I’ll go to- I’ve been told
Sleepless red monocular
Enlightening the air to a passive blue
It’s opacity beneath and above
Ascending again
Mama and Baba say it’s time to go home
I confront the arid peninsula of Qatar
Lungs accustomed, vitality not frozen
Precariously perceiving the harmful
Sentiments of years past in Jordan,
I wonder why
my kin would ban this place
Rumor on dirt pavement in a draft, ears picking up
*The Atlantic is not to be crossed,
A lack of morals, malintentions
lay beyond the scape.*
Extravagant grenade above,
Falling to the horizon
And no detonation, collapsing behind a curved veil
Skyward lay the remnants
Of heat, frozen in time
The lips in a box on this shoreside
Warn *the zephyrs from the ornery
Reaches towards our home
Be on guard of the deceitful
star at night that rains red*
Tomorrow may not be there
My blood brothers of Lebanon say,
But I wait, field of vision
aligned to the east
Aural stumbles translate, articulating
My brethren begin their search of food
And in too many moments unnoticed,
Black on bottom, red on the low, blue slowly suffocating the obscurity above
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
your hair, is the grass that interconnects the world-- I am he as you are he, and he is we, and we are all together. I wish I could plant myself in your head and grow like your blonde roots (as you have planted yourself in my heart, and claimed your property), like golden rod. like golden rod, like dandelion, like daffodil, like sunflower.
your mind, is the collective thought and poetic compilation of every beautiful phrase ever remembered, written, felt, or forgotten. you are the deep thinkers of our generation, of our past, of our tomorrow. your mind induces a dreamlike coma-- I'm begging to be free of-- tose.
I forgot how to breath around you.
and on the seventh day, god created the terrain that is your face; sloping, folding, curving, freckled plains. carved out of the most precious and delicate porcelain, curving in all the perfect places-- high peaked cheeks, roaming down your nose, my feet leave sun peppered kisses.
I travel down to your full, shapely lips. warm and lively, they taunt me; I want to taste your strawberry kiss.
your chin curves taut over your featherweight bones.
I can't control myself when I reach your neck-- salivating over your creamy skin-- it's ungodly and irresistible (oh god, I want her).
your shoulders, something that I've traced over and over again. I've memorized your every visible curve.
she dips in all the right places.
my breath catches in my throat when I come to your unexplored crevices. every single particle-- I want to feel her soaked in sweat, I want to touch your softest skin.
"lupdub lupdub lupdub." your heart is pounding through your chest. we become one.
grasping frantically at your tiny waist, pulling them, pulling you, into me. I'm begging you to close the space between us-- the distance is killing me, my heart is slowing, my mind is deteriorating without you; I think this is what death feels like.
molding me into you, I bruise your body and you batter my heart. teeth grazing over your love. let me trace your body with something other than my hands. I'm tired of pretending this doesn't hurt.
believe me when I tell you that the desire to hear the panting of your shallow breaths in my ear is unbearable.
I may not be flawless, but I promise to try harder than all the rest.
dragging my lower lip over your sweet skin I draw in a deep breath--
lacing my hands through your hair I whisper in your ear,
"I lo-"
--crashshatterbreak everything is being ripped away oh god where did the time go what did I do wrong how could you leave why don't you need me who is that what isshedoingwhyissheholdingyourhandwhyisshekissingyourneckohgodohgodohgodohgod--
-st you."
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
And if the piano breaks it's because each time you kiss me it feels like I've taken a bullet to the brain.
Today, I looked into your eyes and saw nothing but forever.
I think that maybe, if you took my hand, we could fight infinity.
I've never believed in God, but **** I think you're my religious awakening; THIS is a baptismal revival.
I think I was dead until the day we met- you give me life.
Whispers: "safe, safe, safe."
She strikes a key to play me out of tune.
What does she look like in the dark?
What do you wear when you're alone? (I wear the black pendulum)
Seastar, starfish, lover, oh how I'm suffocating on my anguish.
Convince me to forgive him, and then I will try and forgive myself for all that he has broken.
For the ***** nights, the rancid sheets, ten years of filth- it would take an eternity to scrub out my stains- ugly.
Whispers: **** **** ****
Screams: "daddy please, daddy no, daddy no, stop it!"
It's hushed up by the sounds of the broken piano- the unforgiving black sacrament.
Steel and skin, forgiveness and pain.
You can only hide for so long; sleepmonger, deathmonger, counting sheep. When will these childhood nightmares end?! Oh.
So, 1, 2, 3, 4, who's that looming at my door?
5, 6, 7, 8, he calls it love, she calls it ****
9, 10, 11, 12, he put her though ten years of hell.
13, 14, 15, 16, who could love her scars- so distinct?
17, 18, 19, 20, fall for me; so sick of running.
(a.m.) 05/05/14
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
I want to be your today.
I want to be your tomorrow.
I want to be your everyday, every which way.
I want to be your twenty-fifth birthday, spent alone with a bottle of bourbon.
I want to be the breath between your words.
The long flight back home.
The first holiday spent abroad.
I want to be the steaming cloud of breath, on a cold January, three years from the next.
I want to be the sheets at night; the flipside of your pillow.
The favorite restaurant.
The hole in your pocket.
The knot in your shoelace.
The freckle on your nose.
I want to know the story of your first broken bone
(If there was one).
I want to know the religious awakening.
I want to know the cherished childhood memory.
The playground bullies.
The third grade science project gone terribly wrong.
Tell me about how he broke your heart.
Tell me about how she broke your heart.
Tell me how to make it better.
Give me the insoluble remedy; give me the chance.
I want to be your unanswered question.
I want to be the first thing when you wake.
I want to be the last thing when you rest.
I want to know your deepest secret.
Tell me about how it molded who you are today.
Give me the light- give me you.
You exist between the books on my shelves.
You exist in each stroke of my pen.
You exist where my punctuation doesnt
(See, you were right there).
You exist in the unsung melody.
The bruise on my hip.
That trigonometry homework left unfinished.
Those lyrics not remembered.
I think of you in the morning.
In the morning with disheveled hair, and bleary eyes.
I think of you with the click of a pen, the turning of the page.
With the brakes of the city bus.
With the bell after fifth period.
With those fading scars on my side.
You are my first encounter with the salty waves of the coast.
You are my first encounter of a well-rehearsed routine.
You are the roots of my hair.
You are the cherished memory.
You are the only one.
You are beautiful.
You are genuine.
You are brave.
You are you.
And, you make me me.
(a.m) 04/21/14
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC