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Liz McLaughlin Mar 2013
They're huddled 'round their periodic lunch tables,
square and socially pyramidal,
and I'm at the bottom.

But they're just fluorine factions,
bullies at heart trying to steal my e-lectricity
with their negativity.

Because I'm light,
Ultra-violet violence to the eyes,
Magnesium burning.
Anti-matter meets matter.

And that catalytic, cataclysmic energy is attractive.
And they see me. They see, see, see,
But I've got too many Cs on this side of my false, metallic personality.
I'd better balance myself
Or I'm not getting a good reaction.

Classic ionic, ironic idiocy.
I've bonded with you,
just compounding the issues.
'Cause you're a complete acetate without a solution:
now all I've got are problems.

Dot Diagrams are dotted lines separating you from me,
because over the years what was a bond
became a partially negative charge
against me.

I was your oxygen, and you were carbon
-ated, bubbly and explosive.
We would Combust.

But now all's left but to see, oh, two
of your new girlfriends flanking your sides,
'cause we've decomposed, split, gone off to better things.

Monatomic monotones lace my speech,
and I'm pining for something to complete this emp-d shell
that is myself.

'Cause I miss what we had.
We had chemistry.
N E Waters May 2013
This earthly body is incomprehensible. Piles of cells which make muscle, bone and nerv(ous)es. This earthly body too heavy for a spirit--too light to touch the ground. I beg you not to weigh me down.

Please

don't weigh me down. I try in earnest to touch your face, to feel for only a moment sweet flickers of skin on skin, but I grasp right through you.*

I felt about a ghost town,
ghosted around; marveled
upon shivers of what I knew
was dead. I walked
so insolently as the living
through fields that whisper
passage and rivers calling out
on moments gripped in sun.

I walked
right through
you. Ghosted around.

Scoffed at fading memories empty
pitying passages long since written down:
I read you like fiction,
ghost town: fancied myself
so solid among your intangible willows.
Ghosting around. Now
come to find seeking skin on mine I
breeze right through you.
I try a second time, a third and
come  to find it's I
who's too light for living.

It is I who passes through the solid walls
and wails in caves; it's I
who fade into night irepperable by light.
I who watched the world so arrogantly
as the living
like it would pass before MY eyes. But
here I waver unbreakable in the shaking
shining of many tiny lights.

Ghost am I.
Hailey Hernandez Nov 2014
And it kills me
to know
that you would much rather
open a bottle
of raspberry *****
than open up yourself
to me.
August 18th 2014
And nothing has changed
Erali Miller Mar 2014
Sometimes I feel so lonely,
I just sink into the bed and bring the covers around,
fabricated an embrace.
Hannah Winand Aug 2014
“Life is, at its core, a smattering of multicolor streaks and blotches
on a knock-off Jackson ******* painting, don’t you think?”
you say between impossibly tiny sips
of your organic loose leaf herbal something-or-other tea—
or at least I think that’s what you said;
I was too distracted (by the general awfulness with which
your incomprehensibly long nose hairs
mingled with your bristly auburn mustache
as elevated nonsense poured out of your speech-hole)
to fully ingest your attempt at insightfulness.

But I reply:
“Aren’t you saying that what you’re saying doesn’t matter anyway?
Abstract expressionism, existentialism, nihilism, all that stuff?
Life has no meaning—so we better talk about it!”
Heh.

But my dialectical cynicism is no match
for your allegorical *******-ism:
“Ah, but we create meaning!
The lonely abyss of individual experience,
when shared, isn’t so lonely anymore—
Mon Dieu! This tea tastes like sunshine!”

I can’t avoid a sigh-and-eye-roll combo.
When my eyes return to the table,
I see my upside-down reflection in a dessert spoon.

          I painted a *******-esque piece in 9th grade.
          My art teacher adjusted her cat-eye glasses,
          the gold parts of her hazel irises sparkling behind them
          while she said something about the creative subconscious.
          The first drip took some self-convincing;
          the blank canvas on the floor seemed to taunt me
          with the possibility of mistake.
          At first I pretended I was ******* himself,
          trying to think the elevated nonsense he may have thought.
          It didn’t work.
          My friend told me to “just go for it,” so I did.
          I began with green for no reason at all,
          and ended with yellow for reasons that I knew existed
          but that I couldn’t explain.
          Elated, I realized my painting made sense to me.

“Would you like a sip?”
I can’t avoid a smile because
****,
this tea does taste like sunshine.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
yes, it did.
Just now

right now,
the now that was a moment ago and left a mark.

Beastly meme-ish mark, a consonant glyph or a ligature,

an umph!

Right between the eyes.

right between the --- fit any jective noise ---ooof!
Umphh
ouch

eyes.

no cursem
no sworn revenge, mere wind knocked
from my sail

a seen monster blocking my sail with the shadow of his storm

Float, still as a pond on the Albatross killer's sea of green.

there never was a yellow submarine,
The one Krasner sunk in central park was fake. That was in '68.

March, maybe, ides of March keep signaling meanings
I never knew were clues.

This just happened.
I was telling a friend about the effect of seeing my first man die,
as I set the scene, March, '68…

tellin' him, it was the next day,  the next day after
we met in a chow-line at Camp Freznell Jones,

You axed, whatchewdoin here? I rolled my eyes.

You were a medic, you said if I needed
hope, you had dope…
(we had first met on the first day of first grade.)

I had shot him in the belly with a bb gun, when we were twelve.
He slugged me in the mouth for Alice Jones, when we were fifteen.
(there's a story, but it angles away from what just happened.)

We remembered a time.

March 1968, about a week after My Lai,
we were
nineteen year olds, schooled together  in good citizenship,
since we were six,
in the year 1954. when
President Eisenhauer,

personally, we heard,

had added two words,
under and God,
to the good citizen allegiance pledge
all first grade good-citizens-to-be
were learning again,

because the new pledge meant more than the old pledge had.
That had needed to be done.

Or the commies were going to get a cobalt bomb
and blow the whole world to heck.
Per Boy's Life, the scouting mag.

This was explained by the fact that there were no escapes
from prisoner of war camps in Korea,
the commies were at
war against God,

that was explained when a captured secret brainwashing plan revealed:

the lack of knowing why America was worth dying for in Korea, among
the U.N. G.I.  little brothers and younger cousins

of the greatest generation's victorious G.I.
warrior heroes, every one,
so steeped in esprit dee corp,
the ones who could would march in Parades for fifty years.

But
Those
tweener losers twixt the survivors of first
wave greatest generation warriors and  us
(Talkin' bout my generation, we didn't die before we got old),

those guys nee-cess-it-ated,

Purely from lack of knowing, never having been taught

the Uniform Code of Military Justice and that our
allegiance is and was pledged to a nation under God.

Both which were new information
maybe our moms and dads didn't know yet,
we could teach them for homework
the new pledge and ask for dimes
for the march of dimes
at the same time.

Echo
The boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,
they would know,
because the commies,
could not infiltrate our schools and teach lies…

The boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,

like all the men in town who served and survived the real war,
the world war,
not a Po-lease action,
and who,
if they were shot down (no fault of their own, ****** Red Baron)
they escaped
in movie quality dramatic ways
from prisoner of war camps in Germany,

(Not many escapes from Japanese
prisoner of war camps,
but Islands account for much of that. Sharks.)

Echo
the boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,
that boom of fresh new cannon fodder for the future,

we needed to know
we were pledging, promising to pay with our life, no lie,

I pledged, we all pledged knowing, no mistake,
God is on our side,
we are, as a nation, as a citizen of this nation,
under god.
From now on.

We all stand.

--- that was all flash back---
What just happened was Doc Musgrove stopped my tale,
my telling of the first death
I watched

He remembered
He was a medic
He cleaned the mess I watched that left this stain.
He carried the bodies.

I walked away.
Then fifty years later, I figured it wouldn't hurt to tell.
But it does.
You, generations after ours, remember war
does not make better people of good citizens who know

allegiance means allied with, not ruled by.

Liege lords are things of the past. That's why the statues always fall.

We are free because truth, when known, makes us free.
Wars make no man free.

If you can't love your enemy, that's no excuse.
Set a standard, high as you can imagine,
based on the good you know is good,

{no this is not preaching it is sharing, so you don't suffer from lack of knowing and say nobody shared what he learned after becoming the definition of a heretic.}

exercise your self, discipline your self
become a disciple of good
for goodness sake
do what you know is good
as if it were being done to you

and enemies become others who maybe
you could see things like, if

you looked from a higher plane.

Yes, I dare, I was dared. An Indian kid dared me to prove
I inherited the wind.
While planning a pod cast we realized we were speaking of the same incident, fifty years ago.
Savio Reyes Mar 2014
We were up all thru out the terrible night
sniffling like ******* addicts
like sick little youth 1930's depression oh the Great
our fat lips hung like dying mosquitoes in the coming brothel of winter and her long scorched dress
that I inflamed with my Vietnam stolen lover zippo of gasoline
in a Sober frenzy of jealousy
now her Glare is angled narrowly at lust
tobacco
coughing up and down side ways in dreams as if I were a butterfly addicted to cigars

we were up all thru out the night
counting our skin cells
watching the television laugh at our faces
He sobbed “how the orange metallic streets
bent to our theatrical emotions on 12th street”
oh the glory of our thoughts and touch was ransom
was devil
was god
was god watching in his leather seat?
Wearing his glasses
reading the Bible?
Or does he read Russian Literature
or does he only read Latin

I and I were up all last night
guessing Morphine
using the Sister's pay-phone copper to connect with silly 3 eyed hipster hookers
their eyes wide and green with white salt like a ***** lake
that you stumble upon drunkardly with a laughing Angel
High on Cough Syrup and mortality
amused
exhilarated
passion-ated by this new opportunity for Adventure's drawback which is death or Boredom

MY innocents
is deteriorating with Age
like the alcoholic richness of 100 year old Wine
sadly
money monday
didn't go to church
hope that lady with wisdom in her hands forgives me

then I ate
now I starve
clutching at the windows
painting a boy staring at me

wondering if I were real
As I wonder if his thoughts are my own

We were up all night
translating the moon's shadows and hiccups into finger paintings and strep throat.
Filmore Townsend Feb 2013
your left breast;
we were talkin'
about cosmonauts.
heads in the clouds
with no want or
worry to never see
this sphere's crust.
we would disconnect
from they. with no
lies from the eyes
we open'd palms in
welcoming fashions.
your right breast;
lying on fetid couch,
nodding off and the
ambience was a dri-
ving bass line. little
trickle, claiming no
worse than usual.
nod, and trail'd off.
slurs and abbrevi-
ated acronyms. sta-
nding in awe of emoti-
onless lack of reaction.
Micah Alex Jun 2015
P* erception of perfection you peep through,
Pasty pallid skin, polished and hairless too.

O rifices overloaded with objects inserted,
Onus on organs contorted and inverted.

R ated R for restricted but,
Revered in every racing, raving heart.

N o escape, never real, a never-ending reel,
Note now how it is the act and the squeal, never the feel.



I t is its own doom, on a breakfast platter, glittering,

S erving your imagination an unforgettable, unfulfilable fantasy.



A lways present to build a prison cell and still calls you free.



T rue to itself but a lie nevertheless,

R uinous rapture you have there, rupturing a future,

A way from the light to higher heights of depravity fly,

P ursue a mirage, put on its chains now.


Did you fall too?
I was hoping you'd give me a hand.
opaquefury Apr 2013
I gawk
at the way your calloused hands
can graze my skin
scraping apart
what little sanity
I've got left--
pieces
of fabric-
               ated thoughts
and memories
litter our feet like fallen
leaves in Autumn.

I laugh
at the way
you rock cliches silently
into omission,
cleaning the rest of the world
of originality
and three word stories
that play like music boxes
sprinkling magic
into my ears
like I was a child again.

I even dance
in rooms with that creaking wood
sound
we love,
easing into step
with our momentum
on heavy nights
of weary thoughts
that rattled our minds
tired,
breathing heavily and easily
all throughout
our little
drumming
and howls,
making songs from free
style instruments.

I think of how
I still hum myself to sleep
with our tempo
long after the music box
has stopped playing.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Artificial Art or Actual Intelligence

Wednesday, July 3, 2019
3:21 PM
A Warholian screen ing com-
prized of Ben Day dots and
Eddy Bernays ways and
means co-mitt-ee messages encode
ing
ding ding
our baser nature to re
spond
sponsoring

dangerous living, the massive multi player
virtual game

permanent war module

experience the old days, release
thy unbelief and find

the final next evil opposer allotted
to make up our
quotidian bit
of evil

sufficient to keep us watching,
set
still as stone. Are we not the gargoyles?

Do not we see all we are imagined to see,
asif you saw
as we see from
the flying buttresseees?

What did you imagine gargoyles depicted?
Messengers or guardians,
or both, but imaginary,

immaterial beings framing force fields we all agree
keep us safe
safe and sound found
solid, though we know solid is

not, really, the state we imagined it was.
How can I help seeing what is before my eyes,
axed Winston Smith

he was told,
reminded, as it is wont to be, after learning a lie is true,

It is not easy to become sane, {re-sane}

have you ever believed a matter for your own sake?
Sake is an old spoke word, alte sprache
you own it, do you not?
Your own sake?

Have you not done and can recall doing all things well?
Are you not a member, in good standing, of

The National Honor Society Facebook group?
{werefriends-fiendish}
Suffer it to be so, there are lies yet.
There are lie believers in our midst.

Put up with peace where you are, if you find
In sequence

All things working work to get here,
there is where all nonworking things went.

This is where my heart is working,
and my lungs,
and nerves and bones and sinyew
tying my

being to earth,
with its salty sea and wobbly orbit
It is al
ways where you last looktook
- Holden been seen
rooks were some birds, then some
gamespiece in a game of
actual thrones,
by damnif I'danoticed

see,
it all works out, Don Draper said that
to Falstaff.

I see a man who is not happy the message being
what,
what is this team of
whatever
I see saying to me? On TV? How

long has this gone on?
This noise in words and music surrounding me constantly my brain evolved
to watch tv with no screen as if this

were radio in the flow
of things
imagined green by R.W.Shambach, radio preacher
all surfaces in his heavenly city reflect green light
soundtrektricktract

behind my mind is a melody from
some *******
TV Show aimed at me

For goodness sake,
some one questioned my saying
life's been good to me

life? with that unsaid, DOn't you mean Jesus?

dripping in the tone.
Life truth and way, i go. Wiseassish.
is it not the wombed man
who empowers the unwombed
to make
seed?

Mito chondro donchaknow
Life is but a dream
on steroids
in a redneck metaphor I oughta
known better
but the flow is worth more
than arhyme
any time so if your muse is iambic and mine is frantic
BE IT KNOWN K-CLASH-ic

there were beasts released

leasing
the idea, how long shall we
love this lending and leasing of

the best possible now
paid for by

time, time pays all the debts and we be
forgiven if we can get the gift of
given for
real
let me
free why doncha,

girl... when did the program begin,
when was the boot code
sealed
in silicon tipped in gold

was there a mark made? can
you
buy or sell. whatever the hell’yawish?
testing waters for temperature and pressure
assure me
it works this way

the hero dies or
gets old and wise

other wise – he leaves nothing
but wildass mule tales
wise in other times
as real as was any said-so historical fact,
the telling of the act
as facts, not
actual
but similar to reality on so many levels we
the acts we
all imagine, I am familiar with these
first person ideas in pluralmind
ideas, I can see the irony,
I can see the lies

I can assume the same historical act
I acted in fact
actually happened to you as it did.
silly man,
silly once was paired with
will- willingness
a will blessed blissish beyond
a wished
sill
edge of ever
windowed worlds from the core

courage, baggage of the heart

you get yoost to seeing the things
we all see all the time
used right we all
let them be
as real as real can be but
that
changes
nothing into less than we imagined

I don't think about you at all, do I?
You are
imaginedary. I imagine, dear reader, each
key
you see
strike sound in y'our mind one key ringinatime

and a time and another
timed half meant to be gin
but genius we

dis sip cip ated ante anti cipt

mist scryptic letter let us let this be true

me and you, imagine we liv in the words
we make peace as effort
an anomo nemo fingo non namable ibility
ifity boo...

that has worked several times for me I daren't say
it is in evit able vitaminwise

e-normous meaning lies in e, pluralized, unumus

easy and free are we,
the society so
named.

An I and I an I and I an Iii and eye am I
Horus was the story,
I, the eye.
Perhaps the one Odin made sacred,
the eye given for an eye, that
the stories mention;
with a wink.

Blink.
And we passed aha in a a a a a a a a
O
me
ga
damnitalt
erhell

For a moment there, I thought
this as real as it felt
at the time.
games from the old man's memory
and
nothing
is real becomes it is knowing
and we are ina olde John Lennon
stumble into ting taut tight
attention to nothing trap

farleftkey to infinity, via dirac, sorry

more thanoneshouldevah
know
first
hand. vicar-cure-ious and al

Spirits in neon
Curios, too.
Gypsy Garden
nee Coronado Court
not far from where Jungle Smoke and Vape
existed in Kingman, Arizona

fifty years later,

to the freaking Planksec muthafuggah!

Now,
where was the kachina?

You missed him. You never glimpsed the god that spat upon ye
and ye wonder why life's been s'****** crazy,

I swanee, no lie, I smell some odd smells in my time

though none smelled so off as this, in the beginning,
Rot in Denmark
Red Fog OVer America

And the lift that went down to hell, was that the same guy
'wrote the sybil circa

the times when Giles Goatboy was awaiting Godot, no?
Those days. Mon trick you you late,

too late. We the Society, have agreed.
You know. Please.
Remember.

ANDNANDnANSc I-hence can afford to say I said this freely,
It cost you something to read it, and I enjoyed the experience,
being imagined in a reader/writer we with thee.
That’s the prize, find the peace you made and cast it together
INTO OUR INHERITED WIND- is this a yoke, is it not light? Humor
say, please send me the money.  We agreed, if I heard right.
When I sold out, to plug Pär Fabian Lagerkvist.
You know, on the elevator… that went… well, now, here we are again.
My life in 2023
ManVsYard Nov 2014
I wonder about freedom.
A universal right to be,
who and what and where we want,
gripe and moan  and even taunt.
Type in our own, homemade font.
Or, launch a raft into the sea.

To find a place that
is more liber-ated, still.
But greed turns choice to tyrany.
The motto? Give it all to me!
Need a house? Chop down a tree.
Each day is such a thrill!

Until those pitter patters
Turn into stomping boots.
Asking who will pay the bill?
Tearing down each homebrew still.
Whats for dinner. More pig swill?!
We're looking for recruits.

Who want to live a better way
In a world much less corrupt.
We'll have good rules to keep in us line
So prisons won't explode again this time.
With committers of some petty crime.
Or just failing to keep up.
The Illusion.
That
Freedom is.
The Final solution.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2019
I don't think about you at all, do I?
You are

imagine-ary. I imagine, dear reader, each
key
you see
strike sound in your mind one key ringinatime ring of rings

and one time and another
timed half
meant to be gin
but genius we

dis sip cip ated ante anti cipt

mist scryptic letter let us let this be true

me and you, imagine we liv in the words
we make peace as effort
an anomo nemo thingo non namable ibility
ifity boo...

that has worked several times for me I daren't say
it is in evit able vitaminwise

e-normous meaning lies in e, pluralized, unumus

easy and free are we,
the society so
named.

An I and I an I and I an III and eye am I
Horus was the story,
I, the eye.
Perhaps the one Odin made sacred,
the eye given for an eye,
the stories mention
with a wink.

Blink.
And we passed aha in a a a a a a a a
O
me
ga
damnitalt
erhell

For a moment there, I thought
this as real as it felt
at the time.
Come what may
Kado MacMurphy Apr 2017
before my cause
cuz, because
we must, i must, he *****, she *****

can i be
cancerous society
imagery of sleepy kleepy
keeps me going with the system
is a few stains of you inside of me
I am not sure yet if we missed em

******, ripped, tipper
slick dipper keep tripper
keeptripper keeptripper
i am so laid down lay me so far down

im slipper gun skipper
cold finger, lead slinger
trigger me must me dont
never back down

never submit i must admit
that its a bit of bite good for ya main
to feel my blood run thru again
i am so beautiful

beauty collateral
every year i grow older i am three years younger
feeding your hunger
loose to fit my noose and pull it snug around my wrists
oh this is how it dis-
owns me

remember February
when your bones and joints was moving
looping into an *******
lost details you didn't mention

fool me once and if ya fool me
i think you're really rich believe me
fuller *** of gold below me
as if as if i'm really tripping
*** holer of my collar

irrelevant what is it
i like two eyelids
folding over one
free am asian

asian this asian that
every sip of it im taken
no i am not even im fakin
slow me broken roll me faded
like i Californ-i-ated

dosed politicians
my trippy **** im missin
it is my one and only mission
google Zechariah Sitchin.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
I'm not sleepy, and there ai
n't no place
I'm going to, this is it now, … then I come again, return,
interrupting my self with crosscurrents,
these are those
riptides in opposing forces shifting
enemies
to good fellow earthling survivors, spinning in the system,
pole to pole and back
never the same river twice,
but always the pattern,
meandering,
serpentine, path of least resisting

we know we are of the samesame value,
goodwise. truewise freemade with a will
to live in happy, the state of mind,
ever after all of that…

from now on
whatever ever changes, we are
in the mix,
this is id est time-ated, tict to
silent breathing commas,
in our mutual mind space
aloud
at any given instant
or moment, moment
works instant in season
out of season,
how did you make sense of that?

This way, right.
I knew at the moment then it was past,
this is ever after, never the same,

fluid-ity enticed to artifice interfaces,
knows to gnose, epistemic tehkne
sci-psy-psi

with use, knowing takes on a second nature,
less guessing, let the cloud calculate the tip, wait

what is this tip, this social debt, I owe the server?

Stupid question, certain
impulses
urge me to declare, look it up, but you know,
if you were the server,
you know…

if you were the aimer,
you know,
if you were the trigger, you wait
to be the joke that starts the whole world laughing.

------
Survival of the we-ity bits of wits,
was we an effort
to imagine?

We, the idea. Who imagined that?
I could not form an image,
imagine, yes
form, in form fit an
i-dea
ology ****, where did she come from,
wait, is she the mother of all living?

who told this story, after whatever
resulted in now,
when we know, we all are related,
matrilineally,
mom-wise,
...?
if we were to reason, for a moment,
of the expansive sort, see

without the knack for vision my
people
perish. So seeing eyes and hearing ears,
goodsense forethought, backup
senses

great ideas in the ongoing perfection
of ever after,
post Disney ification of the servant corp,

and creds to Berners-Lee and the CERN
concern for how ideas may
evolve from necessity inventing
Frank Zappa in time to fix Romania's budget.
Could not sleep, no need. Hmm, a quire of foolscap, and endless ink, ...
The fix fluctuated
like a butterfly
on acid

Every word a demonstration
of the vunerability
of flesh

Come Fix all our world of longings
Dedicated to the HP Poet Fix
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
See the reasons warring

who fools fools for money then makes the king pay

that one m'y be the culprit

whence came the king thing?
I mean it did not pop full formed
into mito mom one

fining
day as a re of sun set its eye on a
particular nail hole
in the tin roof corrugated

good word, rug ated, like walked on, y'llthank?

a collective loss of soul
noticed by the few

mad men who felt some call to lie'n when
facts,
camera obscura facts, proved they saw
I saw
light bent
through a nail hole
brought the sunset to my wall

or all of it that mattered,
the part I saw...

face? No,
yeah, I could see that,
If I could see what you say you suppose

supports your pre-sense presence if it ivity
whither Grammarelyearly versions

howled as I claimed the idle words holding true

riches from the stone re
jected jeckled and hidden, lapis,

was there a gem with in and a gen with out?
Ah, he sang that line

Ragpicker evolved to Recycling Frontliner Earth day Youtube stars
what a job. Save the world...

stumbled and
lost the thread

fracture  ice cracked ice mud shrunk in from
hidden  edges where the weakest

or most open

imagine you are with me in the mud

bubbling old ideas settle peace

fully here fully there, the ever over
flowing where
we met.

?¿ yen yanker ****** ain't it?¿

hiero-glyphic ifs effeing ity ness. per se.
mud shrunk in from
hidden n-degree edges where the weakest

or most open bonds are loosed on earth as they are
ever
let go let be let

until he be taken, obscureference,
Bubble Bible fact' never acted as if I knew

he who letteth shall let until he be taken out of the way.

may be today. lest we forget

imagine you are with me in the mud
I find I am enter tained in ways no hermit ever imagined. Good days are to be commended for having been, I pose or posited.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
Only now are we empowered to connect
word to word with tech-magic
atom-ated, granulated,
crystaline lines on of in over though
cracked ice…
William
Gibson's Ice. The gates on all the data we
need to know what we think,
sttatistically, stutter-ring at
what's trending replacing some quest
on the map to meaning supplied
with the ads on tv, the ones
that sorted us in to simple
us
and them, sets of like minds, measured
at the checkout line,
by which magazines were sold, yes, there's data.
By 1937,
Bernays knew the be habits were we driven,
far more effectually than mere I wishes, we we we,
sells, better'n'***.

seeds of dreams yield reality, one generation removed.
-------------
Like cousins you can make babies with,
this idea is O positive, trans
any gap - canyon cañon - self reflecting conflict threads,

threads of unfinished any thing
sing it
call it prayers who cares, if nobody knows
what you imagined
everybody knows, so you said nothing, and they all died.
No, they lived,
but they believed the lie I told you earlier.

I forgot the exact one, but it was covered.
I knew not what I did.
Same Yesterday Today Forever thread, pulled

chainstitch holds the weight, what's a needle threaded with
that can
hold that thought?

idea virii
ready for a reader to write up as news,
as a known, dripped from the
tree, mated in the origin story,
with life, sci-psy-psi,
you and I
-- oops matter anti oops not again
got it in one,
time is nothing like we once could not imagine.
what happens is
the two sides being in and out
originally no word held any thought,
so numbers could not matter then
pi - per haps - pi, but a never ending
sequence, hallelujah,
pi is an infinite idea, it may be the very one,
we need to roll
with….
what was was thought,
what was not thought was

not… and if you knew one thing,
like I am,
you know that much,
then you know not is not where now
came from, not was not the last word,
it could have been,
but there was a way, overlooking the edge of never,
just inside impossible,
quite probably
this
exact idea, was involved in your being
in the reader role,
at that point. You made the difference. It all works now.
Watch.

be patient.

While hearing modern bluegrass songs about olden ways.
- sorta got m'dander up,
- some old lies left told as good old wise.
Reward pride at your peril, people.
Come, listen,
gentle, easy good,
quiet watching, in the night,
the poor being kept safe enough
to send their best to war for gentlemen owners
of the only means of making a wage,
that was in the olden days
- t's the law, man don't work, don't eat
- don't eat means don't live, after while
- so swearing a liege a firstborn child
- seemed a good enough way
- to stay safe, fed, some little warm, time t'time

Life's that way today, no worse.

Who taught your child to respect the law?
Who gave ultimate power to compound interest?

These are those interesting times, the interests feared.
All the poor can read,
and information has burst from the gates,
sluice gates,
dams, *****, yes… grand cataracts of secret
sacred
old theories long proven wrong,
but by faith,
held true, somewhere, there, there in
the heart
of any one of us, individ-ity bit of the whole
human being biomass on earth,
they say each
one of us has the right of unreason. I trow not,
as I heard say,
I call on common sense,
set the spirit of our time to after
everybody knows
this is the only biosphere near as good
being as would be
heaven, as all believers pray it may be,
done, this is it,
in any way shape or form you might fit in.
This ain't bad, with a little luck and a good eye.
This is a special place.
-- but some folks think they ought to **** wrong thinkers,
and thus **** the wrong ideas.
There is no hell beyond mortality,
that idea never dies.
Say the preachers, no no no, not those guys, too wise
by half… the truth of a preacher's worth is in the fear of god.
Teacher, rebbi, guru do we gotta all be weird as you?

You gotta know how things work.
Ignoring the nature of spaceship earth,

how long are the proud boys allowed to be formed
in towns where the only employer
makes tools used for killing enemies essential
to our nation's economy, we **** enemies,
every child knows
being a hero is something few live through.

That story never ends in peace… this one does, I bet,
and I got the last word to start with, so

is there really magic in the code, that runs you?
-----------------

{earth - real media terrane earth - zoom in}

High Chaparral, less tame than most forests,
due to the dwarfish reach
of manzanita and chaparro and yucca and sage,
that grow through el Niño and la Niña,
year after year, sometimes a century,
building fuel for a fine fire from
a whim of a wind and a cloud, rubbing
ozone on the granite, to paint
a flash of all God's power,
as a map I asked for, for
trails
are few
for upright walkers, too old to crawl.
Such trails less traveled by are
shared by bigger beasts,
the kind good to eat and the kind that can
eat
a kid, who is small enough to crawl
where nothing bigger fits,
I hear,
come and see,
I can't,
I say,
but I can imagine it's a special place,
related to all the special places,
where kids are free to feel
safe, as this universe,
this
special place.


--------------

If I think too hard about what I do not know,
but could,
it aches, in my chest…
if I was to live
for no other reason,
but to learn what I don't know;

if I think too hard about that,
I forget to remember what I learned
about time
and patience and mortal instances of insight,
from time to time,

when I got nothing particular on my mind.

----------------

I do despise some things, I despise
my own
propensity
to insist on knowing wholly
the truth in what I say
while immersed in wisdom folk found
in the ads
on the six o'clock news… that is one
of my despised things,
I mean
my pointy head has angels dancing in
a frantic insist-dance that I
verified,
all agree it was me who imagined
as many angels as can be
digitized into a single message bhering word,
since sanskrit,
such words held many messengers.
Judge the angels words,
have them give account, find
the diamond was of no worth
until the first broken one caught light,
a gleam, eye apple angel,
many fit the pin head I have in mind

-------------------

I drove to the village,
to check for mail of the paper and ink variety,
old news, old pleas for attention
to pleas for money, interesting, those
from the casinos,
they never seem sincere.

Waning wishes wax feeble in folk who
believe it, if its on all the news,
sometimes, if its only in their facebook feed,
as suggested, by a friend,
from
ever ago… hmmm, mebbe I should
reach out

nah. What was I thinkin'? I'm a hermit,
by nature, a grandpa by choice,
a sower of discord among brethern by knowing
the preachers all lie about knowing
and believing being one inseparable
immaterial
does not matter any way thing.

I thought that made nonsense where sense
feels
something's not right in this idea
forbidden knowledge, being known, but secret,
right from the tree knowing good,
and thereby knowing no-good,
with use
of the knowing good, sapien sapien, v.2.0

-- that's good -- why is that how men go to hell?
What man can conceive, he can achieve.
Swallow the lie that says that's wild, by nature.
Do as you wish, child,

experience proves evil
can be made of lies I tell you to trust me on.

Here's a point. We can stop,
consider if consideration ever really meant
with star im-put weight on right's side,
as if only with the least bit of
consideration we may lean
right in a celestial realm of cooperative attention
given and taken
for granted, as a child.
----------------

When you wished upon that star,
was it a cricket singing?
You know, "makes no difference who you are"
Is there not a legend about a cricket's song
living long, exceeding long, long active
lives, in performance
some where,
every second of each dark diurnal sequence,
signaling soon we feel it real
hear comes the chorus
after the hallelujah
at the morning's third crow, also signaling
the sufficiency of evil,
be not deceived,
the war is won and no games change
the hour of your death,
ready set
go with your will to do the good you find to do.
go with your will to do no evil, ignorantly.
------------------------

Days may package themselves in lessons
learned long before
any hearing ear may think these words
as thoughts a reader hears aloud,
angelic, not tremble and bow, but

wow, truth has a voice.
No lie can hide the echo, that has always
been key, qi, chi

cheeky. Cheapshot bullseye.
Wanna see it again.

Been there, done that.
You remember, it was your idea, but you
let it go.

--------------

been a long cold winter,
but we've been warm,
by no means of our own;
things just
happened this way.

I should reprove myself,
lazy *** is much the truth
of what I am,
I live on the waste of the world,
that some folk count as dung,
-- dung has had great worth in olden time

at the rate of the fourth part of a qab of dove's dung
for five
pieces of silver in some money current with the lenders.
[2 Kings 6:25 - that ended in peace, it seems,
that was the moral of the story, not the chariots of fire]

-------------------
For those who enjoy what I enjoy. I think I can imagine for ever at this rate.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
{editer note: ******* title nixed as non sensicle, but his contract gave him title rights if the inner net ever was re-al-ized, so his title was:
De-fine ite religion to its ment tent,
intended to set a course on defining religion,
then faith and seeing what would happen next,
because we went some ways with that idea we
we, integrit I ated we

we know how important your valuing peace is to the value of peace.
Butterfly hurricanes in the Bermuda triangle,

that's just gas,
like when a newborn smiles at the twinkle in his grandma's eye.
But let your peace come into a place,
see if, still see if still be still again slower still your will be done on earth
how? right? who can do what God would do if he were you?}

In my mind, my perfectly calmable mind

I am culpable for drawing your attention,
claims the flame to the moth who

exclaims, idea, I die for do I care

que? sera sera
Madre mia sang that song right along

made her matter, like she was dancing for me,

baby,
who twisted that little head
who told you that little lie

why, why, why, baby, why

give me a reason for the faith that is in you or
we all die
anyway

the idea is first, always, right? The thought before there's a word or any

no, no. nothing is impossible, so something must be.
My thanks, a shout out to A. Conan Doyle, a sir or something I believe,

He gave us both the 5% solution and the Piltdown Hoax.
Timed for real ation, or revelation 20 years after 20 landmarks

surfaced. Holmes winked at Jesus, I know what you mean.
Something is possible. Nothing is not.

Yes. Good News. Quite.
Testing the weight of the line in terms of peace of mind other might find if the polarize properly on the Pleiades on mid winter's silent night.
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2019
Creases on the mountain,
           bon coiffe.

Cardin'ated with Parisian
                flair.

Pompiers comb the hills,
summer heat and pestilence
               is rife.

  The Marquis de Sade
       enjoys the view,

Bonnieux in full sun swelters.

Hell fires, ha ha, from Lacoste
        in evening shade.

— The End —