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#manichean
2020 - day 193 Sunday, July 12, 2020 8:03 AM Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like being ghostly, projected before me, on the wall that is not there - callin' all in, all ye outs, in free - hear ye, hear ye - the day of judging is this one called today. See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know, use'm t'make sense since you know sense, on sight, you re co-gnostically be tuned to the same signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware you are so naked but who knows? right being you, not me, selfless lost in the mix, billions of bits being bet on yet more hope, faith and love these the trying trinity judging me... can one tell one story, or must one, take part in one, as in the one story being the whole of all stories, yours, as well as mine, told in words we all know you all know y'know waddamean. tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old, turn and turn and turn night to day, in time after time after ever ever ever being floods reality with those three triers used to try men's souls, attention, to the trained, means one thing, stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now to the beat march, as to war... We are off to meet the Manicheans who swallowed all the hate once given follower of Nicolas, in Antioch, given hatred taken from the revelation, interpreted by the time stage acting as now, the day... back when a hundred monkeys were imagined able to use a machine that made sense from chaos, over time. ሴ bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding the dance of graphical images mages form as words flow from fingers into magical machines imagined famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens on its own volition using right, as opposed to non working trials abandoned, {when the band broke up, 1970, or so} but the music never died bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding ding ding writers of types of tales barred from publication, suddenly appear as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers} that one Huxley envisioned responding to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil but tapped, and at each tap a letter formed to let a sound be heard no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to advance ding tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit formed to the beat tic tic tic squeeks as common, common conie-like rock squirrels squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle hummm hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music to your day, which grew from this seed, a little spore of living from my state of being informed this day, it was mine, when first I noticed, this being the day. I have power to live, today, I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed. Each new day bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump has a rythmn sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some say sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit, sssssss wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly. ሴ ሴ Lessoning myself in social graces, I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering see me, see me, see me say trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself, and called evil good and good evil, call fair foul and fould fair, say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal: the price agreed was paid. I insist enough insisting for any rational troll, knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to the act of being true to you as you may say you wish you were, free as truth in ever after... - ain't nobody got no papers on me.... The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies, for what a ruby is worth, we have no clue. What's a ruby worth to you? Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby. Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son. Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish. Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be wise as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as harmless as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see sources of courses through the shallows near the shore we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante cipitation, capere, take it take it, take it and move on. Live and learn, follow the flow, when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal, go on, no shortage of power, like in America, where the power is always on. Or was always on, in my future, which is already your past. So fast, but its all realted, it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day, to make up for everything, or make up everything. The latter, I think, today. ሴ ሴ ሴ You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of Gracious slaves of justice, wake the lost hope of truth in misformed messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short. Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding, tied to each part of any whole re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else re-legate, make a rule, you too late, we was e-pluriblized afor you was aware eveh had begun, The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined. Peace on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and seeing eyes and slich oily minds, anointed minded ones, tested, proven to have survived up pop this very mortal moment called today, to then, when you became dear reader in this medium of mass messaging lacking any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not other wise ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut, do wise men walk this way? Live and learn, we always say, when given a day, to think about it, before dying and knowing, or not, if the point is ever made, or was already made before I started trying. ሴ ሴ ሴ ሴ .._. _ ._
0
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 1:49 PM UTC
kenpepiton
An I'll-go-rhythm in 129 lines
2020 - day 193 Sunday, July 12, 2020 8:03 AM Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like being ghostly, projected before me, on the wall that is not there - callin' all in, all ye outs, in free - hear ye, hear ye - the day of judging is this one called today. See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know, use'm t'make sense since you know sense, on sight, you re co-gnostically be tuned to the same signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware you are so naked but who knows? right being you, not me, selfless lost in the mix, billions of bits being bet on yet more hope, faith and love these the trying trinity judging me... can one tell one story, or must one, take part in one, as in the one story being the whole of all stories, yours, as well as mine, told in words we all know you all know y'know waddamean. tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old, turn and turn and turn night to day, in time after time after ever ever ever being floods reality with those three triers used to try men's souls, attention, to the trained, means one thing, stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now to the beat march, as to war... We are off to meet the Manicheans who swallowed all the hate once given follower of Nicolas, in Antioch, given hatred taken from the revelation, interpreted by the time stage acting as now, the day... back when a hundred monkeys were imagined able to use a machine that made sense from chaos, over time. ሴ bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding the dance of graphical images mages form as words flow from fingers into magical machines imagined famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens on its own volition using right, as opposed to non working trials abandoned, {when the band broke up, 1970, or so} but the music never died bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump ding ding ding writers of types of tales barred from publication, suddenly appear as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers} that one Huxley envisioned responding to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil but tapped, and at each tap a letter formed to let a sound be heard no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to advance ding tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit formed to the beat tic tic tic squeeks as common, common conie-like rock squirrels squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle hummm hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music to your day, which grew from this seed, a little spore of living from my state of being informed this day, it was mine, when first I noticed, this being the day. I have power to live, today, I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed. Each new day bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump has a rythmn sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some say sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit, sssssss wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly. ሴ ሴ Lessoning myself in social graces, I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering see me, see me, see me say trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself, and called evil good and good evil, call fair foul and fould fair, say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal: the price agreed was paid. I insist enough insisting for any rational troll, knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to the act of being true to you as you may say you wish you were, free as truth in ever after... - ain't nobody got no papers on me.... The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies, for what a ruby is worth, we have no clue. What's a ruby worth to you? Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby. Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son. Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish. Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be wise as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as harmless as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see sources of courses through the shallows near the shore we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante cipitation, capere, take it take it, take it and move on. Live and learn, follow the flow, when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal, go on, no shortage of power, like in America, where the power is always on. Or was always on, in my future, which is already your past. So fast, but its all realted, it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day, to make up for everything, or make up everything. The latter, I think, today. ሴ ሴ ሴ You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of Gracious slaves of justice, wake the lost hope of truth in misformed messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short. Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding, tied to each part of any whole re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else re-legate, make a rule, you too late, we was e-pluriblized afor you was aware eveh had begun, The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined. Peace on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and seeing eyes and slich oily minds, anointed minded ones, tested, proven to have survived up pop this very mortal moment called today, to then, when you became dear reader in this medium of mass messaging lacking any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not other wise ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut, do wise men walk this way? Live and learn, we always say, when given a day, to think about it, before dying and knowing, or not, if the point is ever made, or was already made before I started trying. ሴ ሴ ሴ ሴ .._. _ ._
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