#logos
Words,
They want nothing in return.
They weave uncensored stories –
As if, through meaning,
An incarnation could be granted
In the body of the one
Who speaks to them.
They do not regret,
Do not plead,
Do not weep for being betrayed
A shadow casts its light.
Hidden between raindrops,
Between syllables –
They remain,
Entering deep beneath the skin
When other promises fail.
I won’t finish the sentence.
I won’t speak.
I wait.
And when I hear them –
I will take one step further,
Before the muscles fade,
And the body becomes transparent.
Twisted fingers, protruding veins –
Shaped by every word
That once burned
And then it was discerned.
They open my eyes,
Whispers in unknown tongues,
I only search for crumbs of meaning,
To roll it into a ball
like warm bread,
To eat it in silence –
To nourish
The unspoken.
If I don’t understand
What you’re saying to me –
It’s a sign I’ve lost myself
Behind the lines.
I open wide my arms
Between your life
And mine,
Shaping our imperfect
Logos.
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 7:14 PM UTC
Lightning tongue
Brother tree
Strike the dirt
Breaking free
Roots emerge
Like a snake
Snap like cords
Crack the lake
Speak sword-tongue
Cut me loose
Catch me with
Holy noose
Let me not
Plead, "Away"
YHWH God
Lord, please stay
Earthy tongue
Gentle words
Friendship won
Nesting birds
Turn about
Long ago
What's that sound?
I don't know
Dove wing tongue
Remind me
Of all that
Love spoke He
Calm me down
Know my groan
Report back
Glowing stone
Let me speak
Orphan tongue
Granting me
Only lungs
Solely You
May 1, 2025
May 1, 2025 at 8:19 PM UTC
{it does take a half hour to read, I timed it.}
Pythagorian permission, Poet, today viz.
five years ago, auto-did-actical,
the output arrogance,
self categorization
accept the role, be a finger, or a toe,
be a knee or an elbow, chose a position,
take it
make it your part in reality function
as if it all just happens
on
accident,
you just happened along…
as though saying show, and showing so,
is the same as saying so, and saying see…
demon-stratem ****
miracles of crowd perception, everybody
look this way, look away, look away
Dix-ai 'da swanee, I tell you, I saw…
Land o'Goshen, locust free. I swanee…
Did you ever, even once, work dawn to dusk,
to pick the cotton before the rain?
You'd need to be born before 1954, I'd reckon;
to have ever pulled a cotton sack
any where in North America.
You can hand-pick about 20 plants in 10 minutes while it takes a cotton picker about 30 seconds to pick up to 1,200 plants. Ai knows.
-- good morning, mustabin--
Probable propitious auspices
- evening the occasional heaps
- sun's light blending peachy huey
Phrygian gardens had song birds, I bet.
Bluebirds, in season, certainly good,
expecting miracles, as farmers
expect rains and harvests and
no blights or bugs or birds or fires
or frosts too soon in the sugaring cycle.
For citrus, not maples, frost some years
meant no Christmas, if you know the sense.
--- we had beggars come to our door
on Christmas Day,
their car broke down, and something
told them, the people inside my house
would help… we were three doors down
from a Jehovah's witness church,
but we had so much, and those kids,
and their mom,
coulda been my mom, had things
gone another way, in the soul selling.
To observe the future from 1950,
are we not
made winners if by now we are not in prison?
Rabble, eh, my equal rank, common-sensewise,
I was once a dear friend of an angel, as real
as any ever to bring another bit of good news.
My messenger told me to say plainly what I see.
Habakkuk Habits invoked a disglosalialacical spell
Aha. If luck were not a factor at the edged abyss,
hiss steamsudden
Coolant ego '
idden agendas, owning the energy,
euphemism
for owning the earth's produce.
Imagining a representation of truth,
as a mortal, a spirit embodied, held out
for grasping fingers
to find handles,
or spikey burrs for tangled locks…
-----------
Examined my selves
for an empathetic one,
I heard Absalom swinging in the tree…
I found no functioning, pathos perceived
is as near as one could come, feeling pain,
awareness, pain at being made to pay attention
to the replaying trainwrecks from fifty years ago.
No.
No, three thousand years ago, really, that long ago
and no updates on Wisdom receptivity?
Life in logos, mere words living in lettered lines
and rows, columns and pages and sections and such.
There are no sacred secret rites.
The snake can take your life, or tickle your soul.
Logical steps lead from one word to the next,
with 151 pre-positioning aiming words,
words that take and hold objects,
to and fro upon a time.
Distance diminishing day dopplering toward us,
the experience bound by galaxy level gravity,
massive messaging apparatus
Nachrichtenübermittlungsgerät zending oud a tingtingting
strumming all the oud's strings in theory.
Would you prefer to have a day in touch
or to have a day out of touch, floating, drifting through
the halls of power, inner sanctum, towers atop slagheaps
of holyshitchewdonotwannaknow, but do, do undoubtedly
know.
Original disconnect. Aware become, conscience ****** eve,
goodness found hell inventing just knowing love most needed
opens possibility quickly ready searched truth uni versal xanex zone. Calming. Sigh, and listen,
where I live there are
still war planes passing over my head, practicing.
Just in case, Semper fi. Charge the fuel.
Pilot training in the real Chocolate Mountains,
so backwash sunset red this time of day…
A brain, already capable of completing
ambitious intelligent coded construction processes
to go, to yield, to go about getting around orders
intuited easily entreated,
with little need
for the power
to punish the cowardly shirker of war duty…
to empty space, tzimtzim on a human scale,
as when the messaging systems deployed metaphors.
Empty vessles, not a few.
Mental focus hearth felt hooks, catch your attention
Red herring and black swans and autistic savants, all
attract attention and something
more rare, a daring
to know why luck seems such a powerful factor.
Curiosity before knowledge they say.
Whatsoever we agree. Eh?
Religions of billions, or two, just me and you, we
believe for a second that eternity is ever right after
ever before, and we exist in the interim, and not before.
Ever, in the scriptural universal sense…
make up your mindshare…
ok.
Mindtimespace, point grid riddled
with holes.
Perspectives on history,
recent history, edging bets
most losers never knew they made,
when a choice is made,
according to the ruling stories,
despite the constant compute refuting,
sneaking
suspicion
sin, lying at the door, did you notice?
If money can fix it, then it is not a problem.
So said the grandson of the Mormon Pioneer
who laid legal real estate claim to raw Sedona.
The grandson of the mechanic, allowed, that so.
- stopped and thought, actuating a still mind,
- pondering, breathing soft, slow, gentle, easy
entreating a change to
to whom, eh, from the page, flat, word after word,
each defined between us, meaning, golden mean
curve to judge beauty by purpose design.
You have seen the curve, you know
what I mean is much along those lines.
Chances are good, we say without thinking,
feeling kinda lucky, a post anxiety high, per haps;
any
way. One day, to a mortal is a measurable span,
and in America, wasting mortal lives
with republic guardians
of the laws enforcing peace
within Belair and Hillcrest regions of Athens…
{L.A. as portrayed the city of messaging mediums}
and the near suburbs, for the managers of the help.
-Leaping millennia in a single second thought
it is Autumn, 2023…
At the scattered outermost edges of urban sprawl,
there remains a kind of creative ifity, an absense
of civil strife, a kind of pollen in the wind, as change,
on cosmic seasonal suggestion that we think long
co-gnosis, sensing augmentalated wedoms, stretching
fi, the idea,
the fi in fiduciary and Semper Fi, and confidence.
Tuning to middle c, wait and see, foe from Phrygia
drummed response, thump thump thrum.
Shofar sounding afar off, listen, listen, hear
the babies, always, babies, after bombs, in the tents
the babies always activate auto **** alert, and feel
terror, the actual mind state occupied by the prisoners
in poverty, every where.
Entertain my brain. Hold my attention to gain,
acquiescence, necience, recognizing your best self,
there's the old tongue in cheek joke, male bond humor.
Same crude pleasure pursuant patriarchal hierarchy.
By royal order, presidential decree and papal bull,
the powers opposing the light of holy truth, persist.
All subjects under the common global order, obey or
else, we disagree with basic gravity and Pareto distributions.
Where the feebleness of mind is first discerned,
was once the local village or shire, cluster of cousins
and immigrant help's children who - how you say, see
themselves being a baker, when they play patty cake, see
or being a maker of clay vessles for holding many things,
see, we make up our own minds, then ideas take over.
Entertain me, show me people involved in drama, over
nothing. *** drugs, rockandroll, when did the music die?
We could calm the world, with a Coke®
it's the re-al thing, al-ways a ways away re
ality with you and me on the run down to Rosarita
inland route from Jacumba, around the fence,
Singing at the top of our lungs, IT’S THE REEE AL THING
baby.
Look away from the skinny moon.
These bodies preserve life on earth,
and signal nonsense when aiming at stars, however
considering the heavens, far from the glare of cities,
even then, naked eye, I was told, however
I fact checked with my Ai assisting intelligence,
Egypt had not known the Dog star binary.
So this is true:
ChatGPT
The ancient Egyptians believed that the star Sirius,
also known as Sothis, was associated
with the goddess Isis and had significant importance
in their religious beliefs and calendar system.
They believed that the rising of Sirius
in the pre-dawn sky,
which occurred annually around July,
marked the beginning of the Nile flood
and the start of the agricultural year.
The Egyptians did not believe that Sirius was a three-star system.
- last line is all I asked, all the rest, ah, doubblingentendrills,
- all the rest of time we have to spend enjoying hell,
- from some perspectives, this is currently hell, no other.
Thieves of detail truth precepts, lurk,
at this line the author activated prayer circuits,
to take angst
and spin it into genuine umph up
from the base mind level,
low as a mind of any kind can go,
to the core of all emotion.
Dead center initial gravity. First sequence ex nihilo, what
do you know?.. o o psci daisy, just dropped the baby,
baby
can't you hear me crying, baby-love. Blurplepeopleeater,
lyin' all the time, you ain't never caught a rabbit,
and you ain't no friend of mine…
Take us to the danger zone, flyin' all the time,
ease our feeble minds and give us good service
Action movies, make us squirm, who has time for this,
we mostly all do, it seems,
seems, seems unreal really unreal, dream-like,
entrancement, fashion alert, attuned to degrees of in,
and out, up and down, round this way, square this way,
amphoras fit snug, round jugs
in square grids, leaning
into the curve
of greater vessles, trading knowledge
for knowledge,
with a few side realities, professional
courtesies, judgement calls, authorized executive acts,
I declare… I'drather doubt I know what you know,
than doubt that you do not doubt that you know.
Voltaire… defend to the death your right to say you know.
Faith is your evidence, we all suppose, spiritual warfare
is proven by the lie that says Satan is the deceiver.
Wait. What did I say, have I come this far and none
know… wait, those poor souls cold calling on solar leads,
gees, I'm sorry you are so used, really, I feel for you, your
job ***** as they say.
In realized life as a grown up in the system;
got a job, cutcherhair, dopplering by as I manifest, as real
one of the hitchhiking pests, depicted as vermin
on a poster displayed at the Greyhound station,
nearest to Route 66 in San Bernardino, March, '70.
Anchor links, ancient landmarks, moments when pivots
occur, and as often as not, acute reversals widen with use,
dull witted boys with instant anger output honed to fine edge,
grow dull in three seasons, few hold the line on the fourth fight.
Here, in cyberspace, the information super highway,
and the solid state circuitry to deal with mean free ways,
in quarkish inverse infinity space, deep from any now,
in time thought since once,
you did it,
you passed understanding. Got an A.
Oct 17, 2023
Oct 17, 2023 at 9:35 PM UTC
A wave implodes,
impaled upon
impassive rocks...
this evening
the thunder of the sea
is a wild music filling my ear...
you are leaving
and the ungrieving
winds demur:
telling me
that nothing returns
as it was before,
here where you have left no mark
upon this dark
Heraclitean shore.
Heraclitus said we can't step in the same river twice, because it won't be the same river and we won't be the same either. Everything is in a constant state of flux, thus "nothing returns / as it was before." Lovers who part will not be the same people if they reunite later.
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
“[At the moment, the human world is a corrupt force.] Greed has poisoned [human lives], has barricaded the world with hate, and has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and [understand] too little.
However [some] continue, indefatigably, to reach out. There’s just no way [a few of us] can single-handedly save the world or, perhaps, even make a perceptible difference – but how ashamed [those few] would be to let a day pass without making one more effort.
[Like water, we can be] the highest good. Water gives life to the ten thousand things, and [does not fear its courses]. It flows in places humans reject and so [creates unity]. [It is an element that] can take any form. [Water] can drift without effort one moment, then pound down in a torrent the very next [moment, as a single force]. [And yes, It is true that the efforts of those few] amount to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?
[Now just] Imagine a world in which every single person on the planet has free access to the sum of all human [unity]. In dwelling, [we could] be close to the land. In meditation, [we could] go deep in the heart. In dealing with others, [we could] be gentle and kind. In speech, [we could] be true. In ruling, [we could] be just. In business, [we could] be competent. In action, [we would be sure to] watch the timing and the season. We may even have no reason to fight each other, and thus no reason to blame each other.
In [our] hands, my fellow [droplets], will rest the final success or failure of our course. Since [civilization began], each of our generations has been summoned to give testimony to [the greatness of life.] We’ve all wanted to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness – not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful.
Now the trumpet summons us again—not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need; not as a call to battle, though embattled we are—but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, “rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation”—a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease, and war itself.
In the process of [this struggle], we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct [this struggle] on the high plains of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our [honest efforts] to degenerate into [criminal high jinks]. We must rise to the majestic heights of meeting [corrupt] force with [pure] force, [or suffer the failure of our efforts under an inequitable and desperate silence.]”
Dec 23, 2019
Dec 23, 2019 at 4:23 PM UTC
words tucked into child minds forming in the mold,
depeche mode, fashion wisdom
blooming in
starstruck lunacy of lost meaning
****** Airline driving Jet Blue
as a sign, you know we
rise and ask redemption
this instant
toiling with tools the psalmist dreamed
and all the first cantors sang
in genuine gentle
spirit of...
genius (n.)
late 14c.,
"tutelary or moral spirit"
who guides and governs
an individual through life,
from Latin genius
"guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth; spirit, incarnation; wit, talent;"
also
"prophetic skill; the male spirit of a gens,"
originally
"generative power"
(or "inborn nature"),
from PIE *gen(e)-yo-,
from root *gene- "give birth, beget,"
with derivatives referring to procreation and familial and tribal groups.
Sense of
"characteristic disposition"
of a person is from 1580s.
Meaning
"person of natural intelligence or talent"
and that of "exalted natural mental ability"
are first recorded 1640s
and remaining in super position watching
until
we see we be agreed and symbiosis sets in
upto unto upon a time
stumbled into uttering urgent fervent
prayer, simple asking, what remains broken
what quest unmade, unmade imagined asif
this is life's book interpreting your
translation of reason into I'll go rythmic
waves rising from great notions stuck
in the mire at the bottom o' th'ocean
stirred up by trouble peace bringing in times of
see-change
settling in on of by bis more again or less
waiting is all suffer ever meant to mean,
mean men made each furrow seem
too hard to *** in final
throes of
terminal toil
debitum in praesenti, solvendum in praesenti
debt due now, paid. It is finished.
Good news
darkness consummatum
light
fashioned in the mode of our time
powered for ever by happy Sisyphus's
rock rolled up
rock rolled down
by grace of gravity being the law
reach out
ceive con re de ceive (if you know
what I mean, taken for granted)
praesentium tedium t'do doodle do
touch faith, fingers fail, toe-tippy reach
topple the tinker-toy tower where war once reigned
back ground Johnny Cash praisin' Dylan from the dead
out in the desert, just doin my time--
waitin' by a pile of Hopi
nilhili-pili rocks rolling no more
sitting still in rasta farian blank spaces
between the pieces of we
carried to now as you see. We are in this real,
as real angel messages
made magnificent in worth as
words
worth deeming worship's solventum
songs from the po et tu brutes, breakin' rocks
back down the line,
scarlet thread sewn tendon
anchored to my zen minded ped-dance
kick the liar from his throne,
claim it for my own, my pile of flocci nauci
meaninglessness of weightless worship
turned on, with a merest touch.
No flame,
no night. Words alone reign un fused, un frozen,
new mercies
rising in the sunshine of a rich man
with a satisfied mind,
as time rolls by.
Cohen told us there is a crack in everything,
that's how the life gets in
this bubblin ethosphere we offer
as a sacred secret shown in light of all we share.
Clap clapper in liberty's cracked bell.
Let us lieve well enough alone for the time,
being once rung, listen,
other bells ring still with that pathos we share
logically as mere words.
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
The word I. The idea, ego. Me, relative to you.
I am, but you may not know that. May is your word here.
May be is all yours
to follow in the flow of
all that
anyman,
(wombed or un nevergoes unsaid some days,)
any among the lot o' ye, may be able to swim thru if
it don't get thick.
I, a-poli-gize, bow down, kau-tau, or no--
un appolo getic magic tech
I stand, sistere, my command,
in this realm, I command lies to stand in light and
I redeem the idle words from the ashes.
Okeh that's my job. I am not a messenger, I sweep.
When walls come down and chains are cut, it's amess.
I become the besom sweeping up the destruction.
--- why is any line after any line. sirius, you have to ask.
orthodox definitions serve as ample chains to hold any
child to the post where today's
sufficiency of evil squats
quotidianishit, day after day. I find such chains,
I cut them with the fruit of my lips,
shape-shifted to the sword,
from the stone,
you know the one...
then bing back to me through a google plex of porbables
fighting spelchek to go viral.
A blind me, I lied, and saw the light. Dumb luck.
And then, rather than, lie once more and say,
I can't believe this,
I am that sword, still be, and know.
eh.
I, the word,
I did it. I made a point and a word formed,
as a bubble might
under relative circumstances. I know, round and round.
If this were a game, this is a key. (ah, a secret here.)
if this were a game, and I were playing.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
I talk a lot about motion,
like I know a thing of progress.
Drop of water in the ocean.
Beautiful ripples of tragedy,
of comedy.
Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
We all know
the words and we go:
Tear into space,
terraforming,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.
I talk a lot about language,
communication's importance.
Did you know I only know one?
So, holy **** I'm an *******
Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
Developed
world depressives, go:
Tear into space,
terraforming,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.
We all go
to return
to one place.
We all shoot the farthest we've ever shot,
just to realize we're separate by margins
drawn by logos and emotion --
nothing to come will be made of much
but those two things, because
escape would be improbable.
(becomeasgodsbecomeasgodsbecomeasgods)
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.
Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!
Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.
Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.
"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?
Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
you
bet."
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:42 AM UTC
thinking
thinking is
thinking is not
thinking is not what
you
think it is
you think it is
but it is not
what is it not
you
but what are
you
if you are not
thinking
a
human
being
you've been thinking
but if
you
asked a thought
am i
you
it would reply
no
i'm just passing through
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
it is cold
then hot
so quickly
it is tough
it is hard
but melts with heat
it tings
it taps
and
knocks
about
the surfaces
of the kitchen worktop
these are properties that stir tea
it is cold
then hot
so quickly
it is cool
it is calm
but bends under pressure
it sings
it raps
and
talks
about
the textures
of existence
these are properties that stir me
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
dance
d e
a c
n
w i t h
me
with me
be
cause
no
one
should
dance
alone
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 2:57 PM UTC
The archaic Mythologies
Were well depicted ventures of Human
Spirit to verily present acts of the absolute Nutness
An astute of a compelling question Still
Much relevant in today's lmplicit
Deconstruction of Committing
A moral Excession.
Old Greeks came to a betwixt paradox when compairing
the two ulterior motives:
~ a completely mad passionate love
~ a sharp cold blooded oportunistic love
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
The word became flesh.
My flesh became a poem
that entered you
and the word grew
within you and a poem
blossomed from your mouth
which I took back into mine.
Flesh, poem, flesh...
perfection of dance,
perfection of union,
intimate perfection,
the perfect unbroken circle:
enchanted, sacred, whole.
~mce
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
All I've ever had in my possession were bones.
The framework of a biological nuisance, something empty
on the inside, though full of what any of us may call life.
At the least, the semblance of which we can be convinced:
parading a corpse across the bridge, most talented thespian in space;
and medicine, the hobby you picked up so you could learn to ignore death.
You are too old, now, to foolishly believe you can outrun death,
the inevitable silence that haunts your dreams and soaks through your bones.
You breathe in too quickly, too aware of the emotional cavity, of the space
between your thoughts and your actions. Your words have always been empty,
a reminder of the very symbol of your own faith, though you aren't convinced
that you, yourself, can ever measure up to that vivacity that floods his life.
Repeat that in your mind, over and over; that the anomalies in this life
can be proven as effects of the reckless and the brave, that their death
is ultimately yours to cause or to save. So, of your own importance, you are convinced,
and you know you are the best, always have been -- always, Bones.
So don't waste your energy on the thought that all of his promises are empty
and trust, instead, that this lunatic, this love, will survive all of space.
There's nowhere for you to escape this bitterness; indeed, no space
for you to claim as your own, your sanctuary. No chance of a separate life
when you've had all you can stomach of this insanity, this empty
endless game you've boxed yourself up in, until you surrender yourself to death,
to the simple cessation of your repetitive motions -- but, no, Bones;
he will never stop. His life will continue, his body and soul immortal -- of this, you are convinced.
No, he'll keep on going, as perilously as before; of his invincibility, you are convinced,
but you, yourself are, as ever, determined to follow his failures through space,
to diligently spout your expletives and condemnations and advice; you are now, as then, his bones,
and you never forgot that. Just as he never forgot who takes credit for his life,
his bones, his common sense --- you alone have, time and time again, forced death
to hang its weary head and return and yet, his own promises are empty.
You've learned to scoff at his vows of safety; his idiocy, you could handle. Still, empty, too, were his promises of faith. His loyalty, he proved, but you stay thoroughly convinced
that alone would he remain, had you considered your logic. Somehow still, like death,
the logic was an inevitability, and you learned to detest one trait in all of space.
You can see his faith fading as it goes, as logic proves itself a thief of your life,
and you lament the truest fact of all -- no longer could you be his bones.
And so I've managed to pull my empty shell together, as he never could, for in space
nowhere can I hide from the death of my ethos; yes, in space alone I dedicate my life.
And I am, as he was convinced, an honest man. I end as I begin -- with all I've ever had: Bones.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC