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This is not where this idea began but it ran and I missed my mark. Mark sin. -1 deficit reality quotientcy currency.  Sure. (Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will) Score. That fine a level of reality demands more attention than I have to pay. Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then you suffer, is there ought that I might do now for you that these words are not doing? All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes better left alone. Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best. We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when, time's less twisted than people think it is, but it is silly to imagine time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments. Is it? Apophrenia or mere Dejavu, you believe, what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD? What if it's just a glitch? Blue screen of death. If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now for you that these words are not doing? All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes better left alone. Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best. We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when, time's less twisted than people think it is, but is it silly to imagine time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments? We come and go. To and fro up on the face messengers bearing news in both directions, watch the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from heaven bearing leaven thither and hither upon the face of the earth. the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head I ain't no ***** saint. Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song. Is it good Grandmother? ---- on the porch facing my west gate --- fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls. The idea that something there is that does not love a wall, has frozen my pond the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head radiates through the medium of the message to me in time to you. Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go before I sleep. That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone, roar. Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me, how would be fun to know, but knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on Who controls my peace? Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order, chronus and zeus? Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as unlessing means nothing to you, that means you are visiting here. Visting whom, vis it ing whom? Who's in charge, where's the power short age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale, we were dancing with the thoughts emanating from some IDW smart guy proffesing Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst, the unmass-queque, the line of lies awaiting unbelief, idle words lingering, hoping to be noticed and added back into the story book of life, a simple wish. It could be every child's, should we think that if we can or may, sometimes I'm still, and confusion troubles the water, it seems, then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on we won again, this never gets old, I do love my opposition, pressure pump pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me the purpose of learning forever and never knowing anything beyond all things our bubble is metastasizing, a mercurial film forms informing us in its reflection, this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half order the other, sharpest imaginable thing me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news, you see, it flows, sweetwater flows winged feet whish through leaving, leavin' leaven… unleaven that which has been leaved? Fat chance, all who eat this bread and don't get gas, they are our same bread people. Companions. Vectors of sour dough, webs of fungal axions make a way bore, pore, poor-with-us, pour in to it ish, that idea, an opening through, trickle down good gravity leveling stillness, gentle rocking earth roll round and round and round the pythagorean version of Euclid's point in his mother's story, the point of this song? To know the point you must have been to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea, rests in your back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace. Being young is easy from my POV. I've lived in my future for sometime now I can't say how, beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden, in my accounting of idle words I claimed, upon hearing the stories each contained. i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin' Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool, or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again! Drop anchor, wait it out. let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets, nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue from gnostic snot that patience sneezes when reality grows cold, that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now, oh, wait global warming, bad dam, Script, bust it, leveling is essential to eventual temperature equilibrium. The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another below the surface greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos to conform to the curve Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos in this bubble of all you can imagine real. Hows' that feel? Why? You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win? You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified, practical magic at the moment the point is made, then the creation begins fractalling outward and not before or is this all unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew… come, let us reason together, why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4, (as the credits role by, the name catches my eye) never in a thousand years, 'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling on bile while rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection from the point in the absolute center of the bubble, objectively, you see everything that is seeable but would good prevail if evil had no hope? I know that one, yes. why? evil has no mind, soul, some think-- same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced who care's? *** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates number one from none, the cult of one divides itself go do be we three we three we three a wavy song ding **** Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise, fullcomp, retired Peacemaker. Me. All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers. Just now, peaceful now, mindful now we remain the same blessing promised in the package of yeses stolen from Cain by his older sister, his bride, keep that quiet, eh? Secrets made sacred, always those are lies, no lie is of the truth, all lies are about the truth. What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know, God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst, those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds of ---wait, there's arub, a sore ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams, "May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell," the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse, not mine, I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb inhabitation placenta stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus us, the we that be we must choose, let this be, come and see, life goes on. Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles, good by ye. Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom instill the patience gene with epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word, we've never woven lies for no reason, if a rung breaks and they can, last straw and all that weight, you know, Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented, with knots and twisted fibers electricked, there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired, only believe, take a step, re paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity good enough. okeh. don't believe lies. Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
0
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
kenpepiton
Low moral ground
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I missed my mark. Mark sin. -1 deficit reality quotientcy currency.  Sure. (Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will) Score. That fine a level of reality demands more attention than I have to pay. Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then you suffer, is there ought that I might do now for you that these words are not doing? All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes better left alone. Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best. We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when, time's less twisted than people think it is, but it is silly to imagine time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments. Is it? Apophrenia or mere Dejavu, you believe, what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD? What if it's just a glitch? Blue screen of death. If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now for you that these words are not doing? All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes better left alone. Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best. We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when, time's less twisted than people think it is, but is it silly to imagine time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments? We come and go. To and fro up on the face messengers bearing news in both directions, watch the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from heaven bearing leaven thither and hither upon the face of the earth. the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head I ain't no ***** saint. Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song. Is it good Grandmother? ---- on the porch facing my west gate --- fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls. The idea that something there is that does not love a wall, has frozen my pond the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head radiates through the medium of the message to me in time to you. Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go before I sleep. That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone, roar. Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me, how would be fun to know, but knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on Who controls my peace? Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order, chronus and zeus? Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as unlessing means nothing to you, that means you are visiting here. Visting whom, vis it ing whom? Who's in charge, where's the power short age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale, we were dancing with the thoughts emanating from some IDW smart guy proffesing Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst, the unmass-queque, the line of lies awaiting unbelief, idle words lingering, hoping to be noticed and added back into the story book of life, a simple wish. It could be every child's, should we think that if we can or may, sometimes I'm still, and confusion troubles the water, it seems, then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on we won again, this never gets old, I do love my opposition, pressure pump pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me the purpose of learning forever and never knowing anything beyond all things our bubble is metastasizing, a mercurial film forms informing us in its reflection, this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half order the other, sharpest imaginable thing me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news, you see, it flows, sweetwater flows winged feet whish through leaving, leavin' leaven… unleaven that which has been leaved? Fat chance, all who eat this bread and don't get gas, they are our same bread people. Companions. Vectors of sour dough, webs of fungal axions make a way bore, pore, poor-with-us, pour in to it ish, that idea, an opening through, trickle down good gravity leveling stillness, gentle rocking earth roll round and round and round the pythagorean version of Euclid's point in his mother's story, the point of this song? To know the point you must have been to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea, rests in your back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace. Being young is easy from my POV. I've lived in my future for sometime now I can't say how, beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden, in my accounting of idle words I claimed, upon hearing the stories each contained. i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin' Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool, or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again! Drop anchor, wait it out. let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets, nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue from gnostic snot that patience sneezes when reality grows cold, that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now, oh, wait global warming, bad dam, Script, bust it, leveling is essential to eventual temperature equilibrium. The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another below the surface greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos to conform to the curve Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos in this bubble of all you can imagine real. Hows' that feel? Why? You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win? You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified, practical magic at the moment the point is made, then the creation begins fractalling outward and not before or is this all unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew… come, let us reason together, why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4, (as the credits role by, the name catches my eye) never in a thousand years, 'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling on bile while rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection from the point in the absolute center of the bubble, objectively, you see everything that is seeable but would good prevail if evil had no hope? I know that one, yes. why? evil has no mind, soul, some think-- same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced who care's? *** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates number one from none, the cult of one divides itself go do be we three we three we three a wavy song ding **** Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise, fullcomp, retired Peacemaker. Me. All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers. Just now, peaceful now, mindful now we remain the same blessing promised in the package of yeses stolen from Cain by his older sister, his bride, keep that quiet, eh? Secrets made sacred, always those are lies, no lie is of the truth, all lies are about the truth. What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know, God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst, those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds of ---wait, there's arub, a sore ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams, "May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell," the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse, not mine, I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb inhabitation placenta stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus us, the we that be we must choose, let this be, come and see, life goes on. Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles, good by ye. Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom instill the patience gene with epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word, we've never woven lies for no reason, if a rung breaks and they can, last straw and all that weight, you know, Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented, with knots and twisted fibers electricked, there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired, only believe, take a step, re paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity good enough. okeh. don't believe lies. Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Continue reading...
237
King Ahasuerus desires a mate 'One chooses Esther one thinks she's first rate.' Later he's soppy and showers her with kisses Then honours his promise and makes her his missis. Haman gets an earful ; the King's in a strop. 'You're history you hear us. You're for the big chop.' 'Oi, Haman, I'll miss you Just Like a used tissue!' Mordecai's very cheerful Though once he was fearful 'Oy vey, I'm relieved The Jews are reprieved' Jeer and boo with a passion Nibble hamantashen (Poppyseeds are the filler) That's the gansa megillah Miriam Troth 2016
0
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 7:06 AM UTC
miriam-troth
That's Your Lot
King Ahasuerus desires a mate 'One chooses Esther one thinks she's first rate.' Later he's soppy and showers her with kisses Then honours his promise and makes her his missis. Haman gets an earful ; the King's in a strop. 'You're history you hear us. You're for the big chop.' 'Oi, Haman, I'll miss you Just Like a used tissue!' Mordecai's very cheerful Though once he was fearful 'Oy vey, I'm relieved The Jews are reprieved' Jeer and boo with a passion Nibble hamantashen (Poppyseeds are the filler) That's the gansa megillah Miriam Troth 2016
Continue reading...
17