#saturday - Hello Poetry

{Plato's Phaedrus reader thinking of Pirsig's odd qualities} See Spot run, see Sally laugh, see some certain time stopped. Of a sudden, with a **** upright, sit back, lean against a plane tree being not of this Mediterranean clime, exactly but more akin to a true Mulberry bird feeder in America where people are afraid of wild fruits. Das Anhalten, hold on, rein in the left most horses. Happy scholḗ, school days, Golden Rule days, wild children safe at play outside the crenelated castle wall. Say, airily, we are bemused, beaming eyes using us to see or say we see, we see Spot is a dog, a spotted dog, indeed we mostly remember many, to a child, many such puppies. Puppies at play, on any given day, in any recorded memory, some juices from some ancient source seep into true smiles. Soft ahs, sophistry, sophisticated conscious science user wise. Will affection actualize attraction toward a rising shining sun? Beam us up, Scotty, we persist in pretending our plaids won't fade. Clash of the senses, bumped up from five to nine or more some days. Look at the time, eh, it's five o'clock somewhere. Laugh a little, being alone re-al ways forced here. At this point, pausing to surmise a little whying innocence trying our answer. Yes, qua or no qua, a binary by our post ever before formal code. On off on off no or nor any wish it all were otherwise, now's t'day. If, in fact, we two were of the same mind, familiar with literary lust, aware the Phaedrus is, in fact a nasty bit of familiarity queerly just so. As Plato was phantasy informing in his own head, waxing ready just so. The tip, fine, hewn so, for light musing, imagining we think we call it, so amusing do we find our selves muse used with mere word enforcėd role, think again. We find ourself, as us, we. Me and you, you and I, force us, thinking this is that magic trick where we imagine doing adult things as ifs, mere ifs, if this or that were ever otherwise, might we be led astray? Danger, Will Robinson, patience. Never make a movie using your own money. Producer school rule one. Poems use the absence of value, worthless rich kid summertime blues. Pretending the use of gnostic allergies to force a sneezers loud oud pluck. Lucky lucifier leaves dancing in celebration remains from yesterday, luck has it we live in literary historia known to be expanding universally, truly fortunate for us, we leisure class persons who read from screens, yes these are those times taken and shaken as rugs were shaken, olden times. pre-whirling suction blades whined into tuned whirrr distracting attractėd tension, tugging, tips the chin, into the wild blue yonder, affiliating truth inside with truth outside, into the medium of we the idle poets… who smooth wax smooth with a flick of our fingers, and call qua poetic enough to make, eh, a body wonder if what if were ours to beam brighter still.

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May 2

May 2, 2026 at 12:27 PM UTC

kenpepiton

New and old oddities

{Plato's Phaedrus reader thinking of Pirsig's odd qualities} See Spot run, see Sally laugh, see some certain time stopped. Of a sudden, with a **** upright, sit back, lean against a plane tree being not of this Mediterranean clime, exactly but more akin to a true Mulberry bird feeder in America where people are afraid of wild fruits. Das Anhalten, hold on, rein in the left most horses. Happy scholḗ, school days, Golden Rule days, wild children safe at play outside the crenelated castle wall. Say, airily, we are bemused, beaming eyes using us to see or say we see, we see Spot is a dog, a spotted dog, indeed we mostly remember many, to a child, many such puppies. Puppies at play, on any given day, in any recorded memory, some juices from some ancient source seep into true smiles. Soft ahs, sophistry, sophisticated conscious science user wise. Will affection actualize attraction toward a rising shining sun? Beam us up, Scotty, we persist in pretending our plaids won't fade. Clash of the senses, bumped up from five to nine or more some days. Look at the time, eh, it's five o'clock somewhere. Laugh a little, being alone re-al ways forced here. At this point, pausing to surmise a little whying innocence trying our answer. Yes, qua or no qua, a binary by our post ever before formal code. On off on off no or nor any wish it all were otherwise, now's t'day. If, in fact, we two were of the same mind, familiar with literary lust, aware the Phaedrus is, in fact a nasty bit of familiarity queerly just so. As Plato was phantasy informing in his own head, waxing ready just so. The tip, fine, hewn so, for light musing, imagining we think we call it, so amusing do we find our selves muse used with mere word enforcėd role, think again. We find ourself, as us, we. Me and you, you and I, force us, thinking this is that magic trick where we imagine doing adult things as ifs, mere ifs, if this or that were ever otherwise, might we be led astray? Danger, Will Robinson, patience. Never make a movie using your own money. Producer school rule one. Poems use the absence of value, worthless rich kid summertime blues. Pretending the use of gnostic allergies to force a sneezers loud oud pluck. Lucky lucifier leaves dancing in celebration remains from yesterday, luck has it we live in literary historia known to be expanding universally, truly fortunate for us, we leisure class persons who read from screens, yes these are those times taken and shaken as rugs were shaken, olden times. pre-whirling suction blades whined into tuned whirrr distracting attractėd tension, tugging, tips the chin, into the wild blue yonder, affiliating truth inside with truth outside, into the medium of we the idle poets… who smooth wax smooth with a flick of our fingers, and call qua poetic enough to make, eh, a body wonder if what if were ours to beam brighter still.