Stupid question (what AI would star out s t u p i d?)

on the scale of stumbling over a marked stumblingstone

painted competition orange.

See, C. G. saw it this way,
men don't have ideas, ideas have men.

When the man with the hubris to try and lie
dies, his lie dies and rots to be re
covered for discovery when all the secrets are

dis covered under the sun where's no new thing,
not one.

in a man, this journey from concept to precept,
some steps take longer than others,

maybe a thousand rounds,
generations and generations and generations with

peacemakers squeezed into servant role
one wish genii suffering it to be so,

until the time appointed, or the
anointed app,
higher res translations figure an augmentatious
re
ference occurrent in sapience sapience with pre-

Gausian blur edges on all their own shadows of turning

---
do remember, we did imagine
veri f- were we magi?
we were, we were magi, I brought the frankincense.
I was seven, maybe six

We could do anything we put our mind to

if we got past the man in black
at the crossroad and
keep goin' west

this is the rest.
After alladat, there was this emergent story,

never told, but heard, of a wise man,
who saved a city and no one knew that same
wiseman's name. This is that game, that vocation,

Peacemaker. Ever last front
tier, at orchestra level,

too close to see the madding crowd
reach for guns,

this is crazy... we have nuclear weapons

obsolete nuclear weapons and some
****** fool would rather **** us all than
skip an upgrade cycle?

what? What if we all said,
sump'n like: I, individual me, I have no enemies,
so lovin'em ain't *****. My side won.

Bio war, fair. Like leaven shaken from re
jected dust, the fishermen's feet

stamped and let their peace be held,
suffer, carry your load, but

smarter, not harder.
Grace, for goodness sake, sake means

good will result from the doing by virtue
of giving an old tale of attitudes to be
having a listen...


I am a peace maker. I do this for the living.
I may die, now, with no fear,

once, before,
with no doubt, by virtue of a helmet I was given.

Now, double-minded, patient-balanced, light-burdened,
I run, or fly, with augmentations,

bended knee or wounded, why does that matter?
Mito-mom is not some relationship to others that you
take, by faith.
Science.
Know the story to tell the story,
no novices allowed to lie for innocense sake.

No story of warring ever ended happy, for all involved.

Salve for the scritchin' itches whicha
cain't seem t' be able
t' ignor,

raw rubbed flesh

Balm o'Gilead, by reason, for reason of reasonable
comparable qualia of ex

per i ence, one death trip, PIF. (Paid in Full)

Good new, right, right, right,

chirality is such a cool tool for all sorts of random
shithavanish as soon as you notice it, like

was that real? Hineni. Okeh. I knew.
The genius of peace.
The idea never dies, but some people never get it.
Good wins for ever, or we all die at the hand of an evil

so powerful that only indigestible bone level ideas
make it through the turbulence

at the final analy system re

proof. An imaginary pile of mystery woo woo
Plahnk splash

food for thought. Quantum mechanical possiblities
bubble from nowhere that ever was.

So free will is the best we could do. Be safe.

stick it up your *** *****
Kwabena Itri Dibra keeps
the room warm, I get the
watch fixed. she always
used to say "キャロルはこ
とがない" which translates
to Carol has never waited
for Treva's reply. What
an *******.Those plumbers
grant him his wish, Reggae
******* shouted last night
******* didn't cook next to
the police station. i need
reggae. reggae is a life style
This is kim's large dish.
This isn't my analy *******
****'s mediocre pencil.
please, pass the spiff mon

Short Term Memory Loser
<>
the joke on you,
with foolish hobgoblins hobbled,
them youse~peeps whom to themselves
think “oh, I’ll never forget this precise
precious momentary
fragment”

haha ha on you!

more fragging(1) of our minds
into piecemeal shards

claiming, boasting, that it will
live forever
within this rented
storage unit, leased
& renewed analy,
upkeep-no-needed

haha ha on me,

the ironic ticking pricking of
my brain, when least expected,
in my kitchen sinking awaning,
days, the poem potions potentials,
fly to mind with the fast and furious,
with missile accuracy entering, gleaming,
but explode before I can script the scribble,
and the notional dissipates into ****** ashy,
left with a title, no body, a perma-headless ***
mulish poet hapless, sap~less, sticky stuck
with no idea what my intended writ
was to be it, and I consign that.title
to death by draft, never to be
credited created or crafted,

cause that’s how bad my
short term memory has
devolved

or more dimply put,
slam, bam, thank you man,
the whole blows up faster
than one can utter our
American anthem,

*** IS WRONG
with the Dallas Cowgirls?