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Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing intersting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during the peak preserved in history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall of this bubble we be in. At the moment, on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Torin Jun 2016
We were born as actors took the stage
I was only a heartbeat and hands
You were more than skin
We saw the jackals in the night
Gun headed children with powder fingers
A man on the hill shouting "death to the despots"
Falling bombs that feed no flowers
The turtle crawls slow
His jaw hangs open
We were born beneath the man made cloud
I was a dreamer caught in nightmare
You couldn't fall asleep
We saw the edge of a black hole together
Blood hungry for Armageddon
A man in a suit saying "follow me to war"
Metal raptors and steel claws
The birds fly south forever
And winter never ends
Eleete j Muir Nov 2017
rodomontade homoiousian majeure;
force projet necissitously
sportiveness chagrin Mahdi
zing dighted away
and night become day
blackness apocalyptic
and hell itself went to heaven
God back home
Alone.
Winter Kane Jun 2010
I can hear the june bugs approaching
lay down in the grass and close your eyes
we can hide here, away from the lights and sounds
away from our fears and lies

We've not seen each others eyes for weeks
take time to touch my face, kiss my lips
I hold your hand in mine. Hold it so tight
in these moments I feel forever

I can hear the june bugs approaching
we try to count stars, but the moon outshines them all
you make me a daisy chain I wear as a crown
I kiss every inch of you, leaving red lips behind

We'll just lay here while the world ends
I'll tell you stories that make you laugh
you'll tell me secrets that make me cry
we won't notice armegeddon in our bliss
{inspired by "Sing, Theresa Says" by Greg Laswell}

what's one day when we've got eternity?
every day despite my future i change because nothing now has held me to anything i could see through for long enough i watch from a distance from the trees through a spirit that believes me and i wonder how i ever fell in darklight so far from your existance when you are the exact image dead and breathing reflecting behind skin and bones i never believed i could live againnbut im living pressed against the dead lips of armegeddon
David Ehrgott Aug 2016
Today the Jets played
All-Fall-Down
Holmes  Revis  Out
Maybe next year

Tebow all you want
God's busy this year
with the Armegeddon
and the Mayan Calender
and all
Maybe next year
Mike Essig Oct 2016
Rhododáktylos Ēṓs*

Good mornings,
rosy fingered promise;
front row ticket
to creation.

Bad mornings,
gray diluting black;
thundering kettle drum
of Armegeddon.

Both mornings,
exactly the same
morning.

Only one life
in which to awaken.
Yo it all started, since mankind dearly depart departed,
Heartless handshakes, since the shady deals went into a bake,
Souls on fire, how can I escape the material desirea,
Everybody so quick to die, rush of ecstacy, just to get ahead of thee,
Next man there's a lays a dead man,
It's all apart of the master plan,
Circumvent the real topics, media stay flashing poison on ya optics,
Fake **** I dropped it, hard to knock it, if I'm one of the top prophets,
Kin to Noah, let me show ya, how the words strengthen like a boa,
The shows over, I stopped rocking the boat  once I learned the universal notes,
Angelic being casting beams and, see the stars reaming in,
Blocked the seeds of demons, tryna to enter in,
My state of mind, it's hard to find, ya self in the serpentine signed design,
Architect my intellect, to advoid hell that's being sent,
Daily drama, til manana imma, keep flexing the real,
Like hot shots from the steel, you'll feel,
The pressure
As the temperatures, lows stay on the bolo,
Keep the radar low,
Off the grid, they can't off this kid, God Tutankhaman,
The True marksman aimed for discipline,
Never let the haters close in,
I'm Robert Greene with the pen, stabbed into ya melon, with words,
That cut like swords, illuminate the heavenly vocal chords,
Everybody can't jump aboard, the night train learn from others pains,
Highs to lows, that brangs, sadness in-between numb my brain,
To human intelligence treasons,
I'm giving ya reasons,
Why we here don't have no fear, cuz I know when I die, I'll be one of the sun tears,
Next to God on the throne, deep voiced baritone, another subject clone,
Judgement to atone, modern day Babylon, riding the edge of Armegeddon,
Ken Pepiton Feb 2020
As deep and fast as I imagine thought rrivers
riving my senses,

anon, another comma breather comes along
to spit me out,
too hot, too cold, too banal to avoid,

****. (****)
that's it.
We are all like those constipated tea drrinkkers,
from Back to Eden, nutritional gospel of the gay nineties,
and the entire Trump executive system,
is a biome transfusion,
that ...

is not what I was told. I was Told,
authoritative ly by the
most popular prophet Sid Roth is boosting,
that prophet shouts, GOD the Lord, we trust, the one on the money,
set Donald Trump at the peak of power.

I cough an ought and violently disagrree, see, as it appears
to me,
Donald Trump is a set-up, see
as they impeached him, behind the cameras

they gave him an arsenal capable of

you know,
Armegeddon or whatever end you harbour,
in the depths of you.
Where you hope.

Here's the point, the point Con-cep-tion, see

the idea, formless in one dimention, re
a grrowning word, I,
mmmmore tu, wham a slap touch bounce
catchit, we

be, time goes, okeh, and after all that

eventually
it's 2020 and we are netted on the right
side of the vessle shaped

into a torus wit a hot and cold, kinda
lava-lampish

beauty, is a word I sup, offer up, pose
you agree, see, psi
ence science with (con, as in with meat)
conpsience is scorrnd,
as a word, meaning less if previous sci
ence of right sounds, sets
psi as
a shibboletharrgic gate, to filter lazy eyes
from evil eyes,
before filling them with visions

of grranduer for winning the war, not that
last battle,

where --nevermind, click Broca- off.

*******, walks on. I know the messenger.
We can trrust this meta-story,
ever after all we know
had to happen,
sooner or later. Why,
because,

I said so.
Seek and ye shall find, I said is true.
Thus I found you.
one to take me at my words, and love me
enough,
to set me free to fill the vessels, not a few,
who built their shelters on the sands,
long since baked to stone,

mortal mind, listen, reading is your gift,
writing forms the vessle, we fill,
we living words you loosed,

when you pierced the Babbit wall, and
robbed the city of angels of its
stolen water,

per haps,
at the behest of some mourning mama
whale where the birthing harborr
poisons hopes whales give
the whole world, along
with the butterflies,
and bats, and dodo birds.
2020 vision day 42, deeper, faster, harder

— The End —