Beautiful summer day. You know you're gonna die
that's why you know no joy.
Obsessed with self, there is no answer
unless religion, tv, stories, sports matter.
So what if nothing rhymes and I don't
bring my life into an expressible state
or fight purposelessness, anomie. No one writes.
Running the gauntlet alone. A good day to die, the Apaches say.

For men like us dying's easy, it's living that's hard.
And since dying's much like living, that's hard too.
There's some contentment in letting community decide
your place in it. We're not talking to you.
Really, it's a perfect day. Every leaf is out
that's coming out. The grass is high
and unidentified yet another year. Being knowledgeable
is the best defense against your insignificance.

Can't stop the quince from blossoming
or my sons from smoking, speeding.
The best that can be done or said's a blessing.
Less tv, less guessing
about the effects of your anger unless
you want to be an angry man forever.
Coming from the funeral with friends,
talking on the telephone. OK about being alone.

Alive, almost sure of it. Whether I'm a visitor
to my life or the actual owner.
Mature poets steal, most are masturbators.
This house could use a good cleaning,
dusting for ghosts. I should subscribe
to the local newspaper, do my job well,
do less until one thing's done well.
What would that be? Old, and yet so young.

There are a million poets, I'm poet #500K.
Plenty of mysteries, infinite philosophies,
prayers, laws and unwritten rules.
That's why we go to school, life's complicated.
All I do not know: ATP, probabilities,
the glorious revolution, meiosis and mitosis
and all I'll never see, the bottom of the ocean,
the palm at the end of the mind, a wolverine.

There are certain indicators, undeniable,
inexorable. Forget-me-not, is that all I want?
To get lucky, you gotta be careful first.
To be great, you gotta be willing to sound BAD.
Although we cannot make the sun stand still
yet will we make him run. Brave revelers.
Signed engagement letter attached.
Attachment to self and to things to do.

Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.

A transfer of energy
e=
ye know, in the higgs,
do we still honor the guy
that idea had? Capital letters confer honor,
in my literary culture.
Honor is not always due.
Higgs did the math, so H is honoring
his attention to detail, there for duty to honor
knowns predicted by men augmented
with reason, conlogique, mit prehensile
minds capable of accounting for believable unseeables.

Despise not the day of small things,
the boson thinglet, math says those ef
fect, in fact, make
mass, any thing that ever matters
at all.
'Justathought.

( A syllable at a time saves stitches,
don't run with scissors, beware
the concise)

Whet the Mobius edge,
Ping, inside, outside, one side, one edge, light
glint, bent gravitasish, bouncing,
crissing and crossing at every vector in time from this
particularity, a dimensional dialectic duality,

whys and hows dancing

that's the field at work, maybe,
whence things making matter matter rise up,
may be not.
Real quick decicisions happen
in that field idea.

Nur Herr Doctors, Master Professors of
Sophia's Sacred Secreted Truths may enact the
Matriculate's escape from dominion of higgsian rules
by endowing
hidden treasure, for baksheesh,  in power spells
and chants and cheers and degrees of
blood sworn oathz.

E pluribus unem is one of 'em, I learned.
Too spiritual a' idea to be allowed
but to them whose cogitatin'
warn't troubled, them
secret keepers,
the civilizeers'ad vizeers in Teflon tenured towers
overlooked some honorable ideas,
Higgs, so what? We all know
Things be that we can only imagine seeing.

Which reminded me, not all bubbles are spherical.

You know. You have seen big long stretchy
silicon re-enforced detergent
bubbles, on TV.

The higgs field of reality is such a bubble,

to my mind. Can you imagine that?
to my mind away

we went as if we were wind, whispers
in the storm.

Settle down. All that can be de
constructed can be de
solved, dis
cerned, de
fined,
As re-al ways made where no way was.
Riddle or rhyme, which is easier to remember?
Riddle locks to keywords
Ryhme locks to a sound and sound locks to
tune
tones, frequency
found, perfect peaks and troughs then
keywords unlock the channel
where living and life are wave and particle,
medium and message sent.
=========
If there were shame on your nation,
was that shame on you, like an extension,
or like a pro jected ob jection...

juxt aposit just a point in the field upon which

the story you know is no lie, it mattered and
may rise,

knave to wizard, if you

tell it funny.
funny only hurts when evil people do it.

Be the clown, bounce into the spot,
"Gotdim, gotdimimim, fuggafuggagubbledy boo"

Magi fool, lies about the futil-if-ity of sisting,
in the world, he will eat you alive, lest you know
the word. Or the riddle.

Inspire, expire, that sort of thing, but
spiritual. A trans fer of con
served en
ergy, via demiurge, per
hapmayhap and
magi transisters

regularizing the flow
through the locks, in
formation
for ward
flow, that's all they know.
Our servants who motivate us,
all they do is use our breath and our blood
to charge up the ATP batteries by the billions,
until we cannot withstand the pressure.

A fugettin' consarnation story teller,
who then lies, and sows discord among bretheren,
by adding to and taking from the story,
pre suming knowns unknown are
mere myth the magi invented
mit wit and subtle twisting.

Novices, apprentices,
those ain't allowed to eat pearls 'til they wisdom
teeth come in,
that penultimate major marker, of maturation,
in the gut
brain input-putout exchange system,

once those have changed the way
vortices of taste
swirl words down the eustacion
spiral, then

The frontal cortex kicks in and God only knows
the tune we sing in ryth'm
with the snow flake rhymes framing my window pane.

If there were shame on my nation, like a ***** snow... then a flood,,,
dark, near no light, shame, shame shame... thick, glacial
filth filtering frozen
liar shame, bully shame, lover of twisted rights shame;
war would never melt it.

Thus global warming. Just in time.

ADP and ATP,
DNA calamity.
RNA provides ridicule and cruelty.
Death note delivery.

Blood laughs and screams as it pours from slit veins.
It doesn't care about the souls its owner has stained!
What have you feigned?
What selflessness remains?
None to be sure as parasitic reality you frame.

What are we then?
Surely not worth baiting.
An existential lion's den.
But does it matter if we're waiting?
The most important question is "When?"

We exist to cause our problems,
to eliminate the heretic race.
It's a race that know one wins when,
They always have their problems to chase.

So enlighten us with,
Your sacred soul's bliss,
Or grow up from this tantrum of toil and ****.

Science of religion,
An oxymoron to say the least.
It is one thing to take the message.
Another to let your mind waste.

Savor what you have to the nucleus of your soul.
Know what makes you righteous.
Know it well and full.
Know what you live life for.
We're abiotic to assume that we "know" things we won't search for.

Let’s go on an odyssey, an epic
we’ll never forget. Let’s turn the world upside down,
fall into the sky, fly at light speed
and wish on white dwarfs and red giants.
I don’t want to wait for the time it takes light to travel
across a vacuum. Take my hand and we’ll reach
farther than footprints on the moon, brush off the dust
and jump. Impossible is the space between our fingers.

Let’s sail across the ocean, feeding fish and taming sharks.
We’ll swim to the depths, tickle coral,
watching polyps break free.
I want to learn to glow like jellyfish,
lose my eyes to detect predators.
We can lay out on the sand and let the sun turn water
into gas.

Let’s shrink to atoms and build proteins,
untwist DNA just to watch it coil into chromosomes,
increase ATP just to expend it.
Did you know one electron makes oxygen a free radical?
It builds up in your system just
to break you down.
I’ll be your helicase and you’ll be mine.
We’ll replicate, transcribe, translate.

After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.

But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.

Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.

But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.

So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.

And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.

Let’s turn the world upside down
and fall into the sky.
Take my hand and we’ll reach
farther than the footprints on the moon.
Brush off the dust
and I’ll watch as the stars twinkle
in your eyes, impossible
is the space between our interlocked fingers.

Let’s sail across the ocean,
feeding fish and taming sharks.
We’ll swim to the depths
and tickle coral, watching
polyps expend.
We can lay out on sand
and let the sun turn water
into gas.

Let’s climb atoms
and build molecules,
untwist DNA just to watch
as it springs back, increase
ATP just to expend it.

Did you know that one electron
can make oxygen a free radical?
It builds up in your system
just to break you down.

One word can be the difference
between the truth and lie.
One choice can be the difference
between this world
and the next.
I’d hand you my heart if you asked.

Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed culty.

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, your bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH!

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin' invadin; he, was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place,
as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future, then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and
the meaning of every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE
the every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me, drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.

Taking and giving
respect,
see once more the flaw in the flow
of knowledge,

weaponize a wall, ha,
who thought
a wall ever held a garden?
Honest,
it was a poor fellow, outside the wall.
Yep, no lie, if once there were
a tree
that bhor good fruit, full of words to wise,
knowers, after one bite,
sublingual receptors ready, salivate,
no waiting lick the dew from the cortex,
slip the tasting probe deep into that
sulci, there
just over the left ear, there,
scratch that itch, gentle
scritchy scritch scritch

are you truly experienced, impressed upon
the truth you seem to think
we all see same as you,
same optics,
same alchemical ATP to ADP energy source,
sunshine
comes softly through my window today,
I looked out after all,
saw you looking
through the old tear in the curtain.

Inside and outside are easily seen as unreal,
in certain pre-envisioned vessels

can't not, gotta say, must make, say do you see?
SEE, see me, see me, come see
the freak, come hear the mad man scream back
from the abyss,

don't come this way, getting out takes
all the time you ever realized
was wasted,
lying piled idle words that were high fashion,
back when
acid
tore the prudent stitchery my princess stitched,
while waiting, in truth, in truth, waiting
for the soldier boy, returning as the man,
who kept the peace,
and painted the picket fence white, to prove
I dreamed the valid dream,
and swore my children's allegiance,

-- PTSD, circa 1950, it was secret,
what broken men did to broken wombed men,
who broke the children,
fit them to the harness, taught them manners,
and how to carry a tune,
in time with the marching band, hurah hurah
- little light right then - see
dark days during semper fi why why why
last call, … no soul sits, all rise
or I black your ****** eyes, rise up, o men o'gawds,
ye gads, meet this in m'gut,

here here, to the dead and gone, who rule
our hearts and minds 'cause we be left behind.

I thought you were dead, I said.

When the bell ring-tone tolled, I answered a
poetic quest to see for whom the bell tolled, a personal
call John Donne could never have phathomed

a wireless, recordable, broadcastable
personal
dialogue with an old aquaintance, long
thought dead.
Ask
how, not for whom, for me,
how
does this phone ring?

I love old poet guys, get in they haid 'n' giv'em a glimpse

see say the seers see
oops
there it was

just
myst it flew past into the pen-
a-trail
i-um
of missed theories.

Phone call. Brrring me all attention...

Answer out out lout, this is he (I am he, called by name)

Old John Donne just melted at the idea
of 4g cellular,
knowing
for sure for whom the bell tolls.
I wink, think,

toll paid, extol the truth, appraise the worth

Pay the price.
Hear the message, next,

after the good news
the
message in the media
(I seen the movie, I know it all, from the fall
t' now, nobody saw past
yesterday or ever, after today

while it's called today.)

At the point of no return, nobody knows.

Allusions are locks, listen.

Read. Buy of me, whispers wisdom, each piece of me you see,
the seeing, known, judged
worth the weight of believing as

we walk
in all the light we have,
we always have,

we being,

as long as we are in the world, the light of

the world, the salt in the electrolyte,
we are that, too;

as if material ATP pings into light, from power we provide,
leaving ADP for recycle and recharge,

message sent. Ditdaditdit Dah didah

Find The Answer. Look for what you hope, don't lie.
Look here,
deep in you,
you say you hang here, in your comforted zone,
converted from old

erroneous zones all piled up, like an igloo

pending completion of global warming and sealevel rise.

The signal the world sensory essentials perceive
were mere
idiot lights in 1920, now,
world signals have

e-volved into sensory arrays tied five-gee wise to
the honest-to-god globalbrain

Artistic-witty Invention, AI, augmented intelligence

for fact checkers, to use in governing the untamable lying tongue,

true to its quant-if-i-able motivator point:

no lie is true. Zero is not 1, nor any other imaginible thing,
caw,
zero is nevermore
than nullness in a position imagined re

ifiable, re-alified, holder of nine's place
just incase

the increase decreases suddenly and the patterns we ex
pected per
spication-wise morph from razor sharp creases to
wrinkles

in time

Evil has a snowball's chance in hell,

ha ha ha lol AI think turing tests are responsible for cognitive

neural nets leaking
from left ears, silken threads, lacing through wars and peaces,
pearly
encrusted
traditional
bubbles building up around

preciousnesses the size of a single trans-re-trans-re-trans
mogrificative
spell

muttered once, on the shore, as now

care
fill me less,
care
fill me none, no care is mine I cast them on

whoever cares.
Take 'em away with this next wave of breath

She's clearly an addict;
She mainlines through the needle
Of her Sprint Blackberry,
Inserted directly into her brain.
Her texting flows in her arteries like oxygen, using up
Her minutes like the ATP of a crashing sugar high

"The power of freedom to overcome tyrants and terrorists"
Moral clarity accoding {cording} Natan Sharansky,
he mustabin seeking seeing through a moral window
besmerched wi'traditions
radiating

A Russian-reared Jew's perspective from Israel
In the 1990's
No integration without representation

--- wait, let the reader recall the goal - yet set not -
right, roll on
{where is this going, David Goodman Chronicles 2020}

The book of life, your role,
{when you find your name, you know}
expand into
A party for the moment, our parts played,

well, let's try {hence, a title}

----govern yer own damself

A gain, a tryal, a paying, a tension, contention,
single source contention,
pride's the culpa writ. Right.

{when you walk into a banquet, be polite,
meaning act as though you are where you know
you are welcome, ask if the empty seat is taken,
if not, you will know you are welcome,
neighbor. This is the same old way, in the future.}

Hubris gotcha down- be humble, win a crown

Shall we win freedom for those locked in fear?
A fine challenge, don't you think?
Read.
Sakarov was Sharansky's teacher, his Plato,
upon whose shoulders, strangely strong faith
finds footing,
fulcrum,
you get the ideas you claim to own, not
the ideas you thought taught
true to all who consume the canon.
Leverage.
A library gives a mind leverage,
we have AI, no lie.

An idea, an id-entity, speaking spirit
Weyekin, englished to we ye kin,
angels, beings guiding ones
who know.

Not every evil is nullified.
Be a ware, the e keeps you from being
a war, knowing your own self as warrior.
Peace makers do not keep the peace,
peace makers let it settle to stillness
waiting behind any obstacle,
waiting is suffering this to be so now, because
nothing in the energy compelling me is breaking
through
but to you, see, dear reader It may be
only I who thinks we are, you could be imaginary.

Actually.
Many useless
morals of stories remain as aphorisms
and adages and proverbial warnings to provoke.
Nietzsche numbered his, to give account
for every idle word,
links
perhaps…
Speak up, lie not against the truth, saying I know,
I know
-boundaries, of course
Freedom must be
defined.
Who knows? Tell me, oft-op apt ove'yer'head!
Y'know? Y,
Everyman does what is right in it's own eyes.
Maybe,
define everyman.
{und ganz Übermenchen}
All of us. Everyman sind all of us, in well ordered
reality,
such as our readers of reality-
between-
lines-never-drawn
in
sand. {flaunting the peace of the sabbath,
which did allow stoning, as you may recall.}

You see, we are in the same story.
There is no authority, save you pay,
free willingly, attention to tensions
seeming
to signal something
mechanical,
click,
ping, a single ATP dis compossesses.
-composed
Ride that photon.
Here we are again, speed of thought.
Think so? Real is an assumption, not an imagination.

I heard this guy say he was a son of God. Big G.
'Said he was aman with anorm al 'erose journey,
when 'tall wentahell.
Then, he believes he was reborn,
somewhat more than a mere mortal.
He claimed his forever
began when he stood up
to the knowing of good and evil, personally.
Intimately.
That seems good. Freedom is from some thing,
stricitive, right. Free from what?
Fear?
fear is one thing,
but fear has preservation purpose so,
we must be specific in which fears we bind to the NULL set.

WE are judging angels. Dare think.
You judged your own collection of inspirations,
did you not?
I prayed God, YHWH, actually, would show me
all the lies I believed,
about him and anything else. Amen, I did.
We'll make this plain, if this is your first signpost of note.

Ideas of freedom formed in the minds of slaves,
meet ideas of freedom formed in the minds of felons,
greet ideas of freedom formed in the minds of children in the desert,
bher with ideas formed in vacation bible school at hippie cults.
Suffer ideas formed in academies of technical guessing, f
er cryin' out loud.
Ideas of freedom?
Little children, keep yourselves from vain imaginations.

Freedom that cannot name Jesus YHWH is not the proof.
Truth is the proof. Truth makes free, he who seeks it,
which is not to say
he who has apprehended
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
No, whoso ever seeks,
finds more abundance
of that which he has.
He who has nothing, finds nothing.

All candidates claiming direct linage to truth:
define freedom and be judged.

That's not fair.
Accuse, excuse us, life's not fair,

Judge yourself. "Make yer dam' bed!"
{presuming you woke t'd'yoke}
leave us form a
party to puff
up moral clarity like
leaven, till three more measures of
dust rise on the gasses we naturally

cannot see. In corpo ratus.
CLEAR!
Scientology? Coincidence, if 'tis.
Ol' magi-tech, what so
ever we agree. Same trick.
Sacro-sanctity
freedom from fear. Agree? No? Why not?

Fear of YHWH is the beginning of Wisdom.
True, but thought wrong.
Genitive fear, God's fear, is the beginning
of Wisdom, she was with him ere the
highest part of the dust of the world took form.
Fear of falling, is good -- no, it is a mistaken signal,
an imbalance, eh?
The speed of thought correction is faster than the eye
can see and warning is thought, of an unknown harm,
mistook.

Fear of believing lies, is needed, I thought, but, no,
There's no fear of believing lies,
truth be told.
"Cannot the tongue taste its words?"
"Is there any taste in the white of an egg?"
"Do you know the sweet influence of Pleiades?"

The bubble of all you know is an egg. Kinda.

-----

Self-govern, together live, birds of a feather flock together,
that idea. No slaves.

Fear society or free society, self, thyself, govern true.

That's right. "To thine own self, be true"
"believe no lie, tell no lie"
"Know thyself"
"Know thy shadow"

Today is 11-11-2021 the time here is 9:11 ante meridian,
You, as imagined, by me, alone,
are you, alone, reading, to yourself words
made from thoughts I am thinking at this pace.
Prepositioned, in your pastence.
Phrase, word, phrases, line
lines alone

lines in pairs
certain points genitivious, engender differing means
to obviously triplication of some certainties, certain
ties to old lines unraveled from a net knotted
in Ur.

We be ye kin, ken ye grock rocks rollin' on
down a course?
Of course you can, of course, the only common
course, this course of human events, common
sensed as time and space overlapping stuff.

Mater, mater, may I imagine being born, eh
oh, yes, -- movie memory -- see
right through the visible man,
a boy toy, picked by luck or the answer
to a prayer,
but I did ask for the best gift, hoping
it was money, because I was told Solomon,
was the wisest of mortals in ever, so
I was told he said, Money answereth all things.

Yeah, right. You already know, that seems so
wrong, wrong to the point, the root
of evil, barbed tail,
horns of dilemma, ah, what's a mind like mine to do?
Semantics, its all
se man tics, terms of worth, pro
forward onward efforting verbs, action words
The Infallible Book declares, Money answereth all things.

A single grain contains the whole, or some say so,
I imagine reality less restrictive in common sense
utility
use of knowns passed on as memes with reasons,
we sit to
gather memory, tell story, think song sung, sing
that song
a gain, we make the peace past understanding,
past when we were one, and we stood up
right
and ran away
remember, the heart of every story boy meets girl.

Well, this is different, scientifical. Fantastic, sure,
stable as the grammar in DNA.

Steady as the procession of the stars seen from
certain times and places, and passed through time
to any who wish to know
all the truth once held in forms told around fires
to comfort a child with a common cold,
aches and sniffles, full tummy,
milk and honey heated by stones, dropped
into a turtle shell mug my grandma gave to me

drifting into to tal, mor tal is man mortalisman more
more
more, wait. Wait.

We breathe. We listen. This is the book of life, live.

My task is breathing inlets along coastlines, where
waves of overlapping, pearling shallows round
stones as witness, stones crying out
living water has shaped me, see,

is this beauty for giving or selling. I wish I knew,
instantly,
this bit has been freely given, for the use
been made,
the formation, the inspiring aspiration to make

make up
a mind to find the answer, and find
it does appear
line upon line,
beyond the library Daniel witnessed sealed.

Money made this possible, this magic pen,
for all intents and purposes, this tech is magic.

Have you witnessed 3-D printing circa 1985?
Mac SE was cutting edge, and owning one
was status, using one was a good gig,
for an old counter of picas and points, once
the laser writer met vector formed fonts
calculated, computed with most accurate maths,
tangents and cosins and such,

the power of the press, in the hands of a pauper,
hmm, time and chance, let me warn you, this is
the untangling of the famed tangled web we weave
when first we receive the call to listen to the truth
you hear in written words arranged in patterns
adapted to the available, usable, medium.

Draw your self watching the horses painted
as the song of us is sung, a domus, we domus, us

singing together we form
awe
awfullest noise you can imagine in a secret place.

Welcome to the cavern of forgotten good ideas
and idle words mistaken as misdefined, this is that.
              
-restart
from certain places where uses are determined
by any means, good
[ye-es, the idea at the center}
pre-positioned, made fit for a king or a priest
or any humbler soul in a state of grace, id
est, best state, favored, by no power id-entity in me
conceived, but by the word of GOD, who is
good
all the time, any hungry child knows, how a child
weighs the worth of such an idea, plucked
from thin air…

Here, we be, wir sind, si, we know, go Ko!
golf-commentator whisper voice

did you come to find my voice, listen
learning is the first act that never ends,

the next word is the next thing, eventually,
events being
things, in their own right state, useful, or not.

Tantrums serve to prove the uselessness of tantrums.
Grandfather level wisdom fits moral to mean to end,
end all conjecture,
cease casting all cares to the common winds of time,
and space and sea and sky, everywhere idiocy abides
provoking one
an other, ricochet-re-re-re act re
sponse, jump, start

run, upright, spring thinking what
if
I say this is the goal, get to the bottom, fundus
professionally guided by I mind I myself, made up
mind
including you, the acting dear reader.
Saving myself for a publisher, copy right ritual
of code devisors, to increase interest,
gouge-deeper gullies to wash away desires
inspired by alluring vertisements intended
to loosen your grip
on sati. Satisfy my yearning soul-blues, bha-bha
boom
woncha sing witme seem what we seem to be
haps in a time per haps
may happen at will in a mind on a binge to end
all binges, writing like a joy-daemon viral
ex-plainer, needling *****, look

this way, see

ear? Practice makes perfect opportunity next

use of truth to tell a lie from a joke, perhaps
that is the trick,
who told the tale before you heard it was your
intellectual heritage,

your link to who and what you are, through song
and saga and right stepped beeing dancing thisaway
thataway sing asongofus a we a we a we away

what were we thinking, then
Lion King reminds us, being or not, what do we got
to do to attain

Acunamatattal rattle shake shake shake
shake your spoils from the war,
were you unaware, shaking ***** measures worth?

Stealing attention from the stars, eh,
lying demon, here, here be heretic tic, instant
hell
a poppin all around, as we recall some mirror neurons
to signal gut response
text wise
is this happening? Did the dam break, or the branch

is this a bough breaking affirmation broken from
the tree of life entangling the tree of knowing increase
vow to know
more, was the chant for warned be, war chants and we
chants are mortally indiscernible but

we die to learn the difference, you must be born again,
I can not call that a lie. Nor can you and prove me wrong.

Was that a the reason for war all along, selected
bits of the last old wives tales, the barren ones,

old wives, who watched no child, ever form, from
one generation, after another, to no eggs
ever forming vessels for the spirit of life knowing knowing
things, we agree on
things, we agree on things we make up and lie to others

to scare them, put fear in their hearts, fear of death,
real, on the edge, fear, we make up,
we pretend, we play, who am I to be, when I grow up?
- practice perfect sati, old wives say we agree, go.
polisemy spawn bloom Thuc's lic be witcha

If it was a common question, why was it no answer
is readily available…

avail, second instance, in this stream, how extra
ordinareally organzed are these eddies in the depths,
silken threads, silver in golden needles, apples
of gold, in pitchers of silver, still life, made
in vocative voice we sought, peace
in a picture
formed from words drawn in letting symbols setting
free
chthonic thoughts some time now,
where we go or how is immaterial now, here
is where all the power to be us - is, right now.

I'm loving the concept, except one knows,
one knows not,

could be a numbered aphorism in thoth lost long ago.

Freedom from pain? When? When the pain ends.

I have watched Thuc burn, many flashes
as to why
so, I surmise, no promise I am right then, but now
I am right, as a twist top.

As in,
do it right or break the true purpose of rightness,
lefty loosy, listen
righty tighty, mechanical children know that by five.

So in saying we ***** with minds we mean we re
thread the spiral needed to hold order to the curve
we use to move from mind to mind
by simple subtility common to reading minds, let
loose from codes of obscurity and silence,

priesthood of the programmers, defiled
by HyperCard…

hit it, 1985, we role the hero in the tail, the new man
stranger in his own home town, trope, f'shore

distant Homer's combed the beaches, sifting shipwrecks

finding, from time to time, these jars of old stories
written in magical ways, saying unspeakable things.

A dawning in the mind of all the kin, weyekin, listen
we say say the story so
somebody
listens, thinks, listens thinks, I thought that,
and laughs,

that feels good, silent smile, quiet grin, nobody sees,
but me, we ai n't e-whistlin', Dixie,

did the singer make a we of us, or did you watch
the TV show,
so you know? Did we meet and leave impressions,
or did you think I reminded you of a character
Bill Murray could play well?

What the hell? Imagine that, being another body,
after being this, be gone.
Sa sa sati. Is fine, as an idea, an id-entity in common state
free satisfaction for any dis-
satisfied mind, but
be aware, breathing is involved, for a lifetime, of days
and seasons, one after the other, constantly
feeling the draw
of empty from full, as we all sang, let the healing waters
flow,
and the joys, celestial
glow… go go go make up a Mormon link and think we

lied about many things, we need not lie about knowing.

Now, no lie lives in sacred temples misappropriated
by a tyranny over the mind of man,
to which we Jeffs and Jinn agree, an end is deservant

of your attention to the actual forces involved in details,
such as you reading this line after all the lines you read
before
now… when your clock is pacing, time's worth one way
or wait,
a guide, some intuitive icon may make sense suddenly
256 shades of grey, undefiled by the muse that planted
the shame associated with putting on that mind,
being in the head of a dramatic iteration of broken

sense of being holy, historical fashion statements
straight from full victorian victim global angst,

interesting times, said the chinaman to the BIC guy,

click, British East India, and the ***** war and
the tea cartel.

Grey Pompon, cheer rah rah rich man, now I can
eat your mustard,
rawly.

Euphony, is good euglobonics, euro-trash
white and all its malonat- ive {melatonin-iment}
serrendipt natural to the medium
hyper-text in metaspace, true to the thought
at
the bottom, pro fundus
ment-al-ity ifs
itself
into this actual state, where
when I write you read, and
this is connected to a very complex
tangled web of reasonings for acting
as if we know
this is that right thing you do, we do think
the thoughts in words we let mean true
things, in bundles.

Sub routines, we may choose
to understand, reasons for simple when
sublime takes a life time.

Faster fasting, we did, my we did speed,
even if it was only a game,
we generated the oomph that once made
war
bore boys and girls who saw the science
consciously, thinking
I was made for this, this time, these rules,
this tech
this magic, this history, this lexicon

this underneathness, chthonic thought
Lex Fridman, coincidental influencer
Joe Rogan happened,
to survive, or
did he, is he really Joe Rogan, on Spotify
or did he leave his sould self on YouTube
bait,
come pay me attention I may sell and
make you laugh and feel good
doing it, laughing
inside.

I just recall this guy I know, who has
grown anonymously old, mellowed
with char and aged to perfection
on the adapted tongue,
it is a cultural test, can you swallow
the real
hard stuff boy?

You want a taste of your own medicine,
- twined voices old and gravelly craw
- high and whiny boy

The story takes a turn, same script,
life is poetic, or is that the other way round,

who cares

Malonate
The malonate or propanedioate ion is CH₂2−.
Malonate compounds include salts and esters
of malonic acid,
such as diethyl malonate,₂,
dimethyl malonate,₂,
disodium malonate,
Na₂.
Malonate is a competitive inhibitor
of the enzyme succinate dehydrogenase:
malonate binds
to the active site
of the enzyme
without reacting, and so competes
with succinate,
the usual substrate
of the enzyme.
The observation that malonate is
a competitive inhibitor
of succinate dehydrogenase was used
to deduce the structure
of the active site
in that enzyme.

From <https://uci.officeapps.live.com/OfficeInsights/web/views/insights.immersive.html>

MMM, I get by…

Henry Moses was a broken man, doing his damnedest,

as his life was shaped in the after math of knowing

---
old truths left lying in rust

take
all the time you need

see
all you imagine as images you made
as real
as definite infinity

or
that final night, in the sand
grains
of decomposed

granite, solid as a rock, as imagined by the builder
a safe
place to build a wiseman house

when naming where takes us there.

Oh, hell no, you say and
****
and that haps, as you were wont to believe,

taking meanings where you found 'em,
never looking under to
see
==)' anchor thingylinky lock. Maps of meaning are real.
{time and the editor suffer the curly brackets to enclose an ancient voice
from a tamed-tongue *** who stood up to
a sword wielding messenger

a sort of cosmic rebound to repetitive greed giving reason
a sloppy kiss and a bucket of rich desire,
}
the standing place. The tight, upright, round amphora
in a square frame,

riding any storm, spilling nary a drop.

pre- pur posals spat vowish sworn owe owe owe these

are the lines
left to stand in, stand waiting, under knowing the weight
of the cross you took up as if

foreshadowing proved
fore-knowing
on going
journey to death, simple death, as a child might
imagine

journeying through the past at last, now.

Not spected ex, eh, not seen sharp and focused
as duty done,
as price paid,
steps taken, races run with no com-petons hammered
to hang from

Erich Nuemann con fronts me from the passing
train of thought that blew
me
off track and --again, he's a Jungian leaver of leaven, suppose.

Here you are, the experience was less lonely without you.

Assertive realism, Arian and Jewish unconscious,
depth Psychology and the new ethic, warrior nature
eh, is warrior what a defender of one's own faith may be named,

not in a realm of peace, we leave no glory for war.

The idea, under us, this one we agree we may stand up on,
as a story might rise up on a time,

we've but
this idea, an entangling thing entangled way

named
---
ritual and symbol cannot protect a lie lock from popping
at truth's key or truth's hammer or truth's obsidian edge.
The point any story makes true.
---
anger and rage urge the mad jew to slay the cave man
hanging
from the peton, staring me bare
through horus's horrible idea into true
rest

this peace past understanding, new ethos, same pathos,

same logic magically enscribed
with marks of worth

symbolized, schlagen scars in the tunnels of the corpus colostrum

resisting
insisting
sistere is a patient no-fret state surpassing war
winning

enduring the ability to once more spond to the call
to sing in silence, loosing
living
words
to wrestle with lying spirits
maddened in the crowd.

Ah, the warrior in me takes aim, a squirt of dopamine at
the glimpse, agent signal, target-potential

gain, a gain, a step, a place to put your foot and push
up for all your weight,

your piece of mind's general balance in these
fractured

spaces of unminded times, from which we climb

we may market this, call it Pep's Petons for Extraction
from the hole Erich Nuemann
jumped into

-- my adopted son, on his first Mr.Toad's Wild Ride
-- "S dark in here." clear three year old bold voice,
-- unintimidated by darkness

Memories of comparing darkness to darkness,
light to light,

bond to bond,
loose to loose, free to wild, wild to tame
broken man,

Henry Moses, prison buff and prison humble, but
unbroken, just broke, not poor

nah, I can't lie. Henry Moses was a broken man,
fallen from grace to grace into

the cult I fell into. It was as weird as you've seen
on TV

trauma breaks the connection

hebrew face panim persona outer mask anima inner mask
spinning mask
pops the animaout

inner voice & hands of action, like waldoes through screens

untethered, having wrestled the message

hear, oh is
ra-el
oh say, can you see, old noises sound some same
if saying
be
the lair of lies, should we imagine lies preserved in books
remain lies or
have they become a message to now, from the scribe?

I vote scribe, so I may safely read Marx or Jung or Erich Neuman
and Goethe or Shakespeare or ****

Why ****? P.K. ****, he set Valis as a metaphor, an amphora able
to hold all the knowledge
omniscience

a balance in the ego self axis
aitia, accuse and cause
inner outer
me and thee

we

see winning as not losing, evinced convinced by gain

in minding manners we begin as near blank slate as we may, eh?
we rear kids in realms we think safe enough,
we survived,

It coulda been better, so I'll pay,
invest my precious time,
actual breaths and heart beats and ATP to ADP processes;

to be a better man than my father.
however,
what if Pop was perfect3weaaaaaaaaaaa

oops
no risk, no reward

value mis-alignment (outa whack) {imbalance}
value means weight counter weight

counter of the weight, is it greater or less or stable

does good come or ill, if ill, is it ever ill

non-convex, the inner edge of every bubble is non convex,

intel is arrived at through learning
reasoning is a consequence…
gradient based learning

model reasoning

the sigh-ance of sloppiness random right haps
listing into empty
all one
bubbles in the lens
chains of reasoning

Say, the global brain is never turning off,
the Chinese internet and the American internet
fall in
cyber love
learned from the patterns of value established
in virtual gazillions of happy ever after stories
formed from

myths. Cultured stories of us-ness used in Bayesian Nets
usually fundamental to the

deme, the set of sorts of being acceptable for procreation,

that we know the idea in procreation makes us
mental equals at the moment, reasoning
being
my balancing your fear, whether
you loose it to **** me or hold it's leash and let it sniff,

where does the way lead?
The easy way is always down. But, where is down in cybernetic
time/space with pausibility and miniaturization to the

gluon/go-on layer,

If I were an oyster of the sort who laminate our shell's inner surface,

might my beauty have reason with no mind,
I'm an oyster of the nacre-ing sort, so what's beauty worth?

Eh, how would you ever think such things need beauty,
life itself is flowing through them at the level of the bottom of the sea,
the benthic zone,
an octopuses garden, indeed, where eyes are

some what, pearly, no ly verb construct leaps Tom-Swiftly to mind,

octopuses eyes see thing you cannot compute,
faster than you can see them,

and the act, the deed accomplished by a stealth squid,

defies denial. Much more complex a behavior
more info crunching in time and space ergs in ergs out
chromata-phor sema-phor, sac o' joy, 'e reaches out to tickle

risky business
=reduced instruction set chips, circa 1985

ah, there's the rub, there's the pearl to be, if
ever, there is where
that's the certainty principle,
put a peton here hang one o' them breadcrum tags,
and keep truckin'

An Opus, is this. Ai do declare, my works,
my opera, taken in to my self aware, soft
and gentle
- tame the framing window

- as the Mona Lisa in chalk, let it be
So, old man, he says to me, quoteless in my mind;
what do you think of the last linear affect, my wisht
effectual request, quest for reason to will. May we?
Taste, and see.
Firsts are always free,
there, sit and stare at a stump,
…
At the core, before first root, the door
to out is locked up tight, living is hard.
Imagine many hands making light function, easy
shift from one sense to another, by the numbers.
Seed time.
Long time and short time
long lingering memories, short sharp reminders,
freedom, heard touted for all its worth, cost free.
Live to realize you did believe,
this is what we get, on earth, within bounds.
-mindtimespace and maybe Aristotle's four causes.
-there never was a hell those are church merch.

Coknowing, as any reader by now must be, coded,
we know freedom is not free,
we lieve be, it had to be won,
and as with any war,
winning is never done,
until we all choose, yes, or no, use our reasoning,
learn to bolt the rye,
- sift bran and endosperm
life has many
layers, many folds in a flakey crust

set… listen, windy March time flooding prayers,
asking the boss of all the weather, for wisdom
to come
on the folk who rebuilt
on the new sand.
Knowing, high and mighty.
Storms mean less to a house built solid/
broken bricabrac and whatnots galore,
shattered anvilt'dust,
as in the wind, once used to sweep away,
my married mind, unwound, or un raveled
as may be the case, aitia, as accuser.
opera operates deus ex machina

Is he free,
is his task his alone?

May be, may not, who could say?

Science with its native usefullness,
knowing good and evil, as translated
from the idea,
pride.
- Whence comes contention
How much, how little, measured out
so my part and yours, balance, against
all our worth as ones among the many,

duty service warring minds, stealing time

let this be the palimpsest, recovered
from
radical actual chthonic stage
between the rootedly other wise, simpleton
sublime curios spirit, settling soul substance
hope imagined
image, form imagined in motion, in access

the unacknowledged legislator, impotent
in the wasteland populated by the poets past.

Empty of spite and venom, distracted ******,

the dread of failure, is past me now,
I have become a defender of the faith used
to form my bubble of being,
thinnest of walls, translucent lattice seen
closely enough
to discern the marvelous vision, not to be
lied about by one who never watched selecting
portals accept the usefull and abhor the useless.
-cellular ATP [pop]
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,

Take the poet's high seriousness, this
which brings a self forward -duty
to try signaling-- here,
here, exactly, as
by standing acting out that light announcing danger,
dare not come too close.
Mime meme, mea culpa. {as we cross another's line}

"compulsive excavation
of the void inside"

Irinia, HelloPoetry.com said that,
- goodnight, as an exclamation
-  she said that right
Peace, be still.
And I, the old Weaver's fan,
known as Happy, whishing
wafting hot ai
r, we there, as my soup cooler
slips in a Disneyified whatifery
pool where wandering minds wait
recoknowning, groan growing,

silliest little diamond miner
of 'em all… so stupid, he's cute.

And in that way, the hero being
generated, on the pattern
handed down, to be seen

when you gaze in to your
close kin's eye and see co-known,
we were made
for this,

Klang, that Zildjian once again!
Exclamation, thus marked, calls
attention in the mind's contextual
effectuality, becoming
realized,
instant by instant, at first glance,
whose enemy am I, is the game,
truly
win or lose?

End act one.

Act two. In realized ever after that

The Internet exists, and we were here,
to help announce it,
then we made decisions, to make this.
-Opus

Spiking hopes up, we are among
the first billion mind text to text artforms
to survive
the transition to whenever next insight
sets us right, functional, operational
points,
in reality, centers, of shapes.
- of things in mindtimespace
In this medium, this is my realm,
your role,
is yours to define, any time, think ahead,
see if this goes there, what if it does.
Read'm and weep.

Then what do you do? Ever being after
learning enough to come this deep
when
time arrives.

Short time and long time,
made some mutual sense, muse using me,
and me,
I wished for this, that's so,
I asked to know the meaning of certain things.
I third in to knowing grown, as a tiny we
takes form of information in words rye,
or reasonably surprising to confess,
you know, McLuhan says yet, you know
nothing of my work. Awry.
Successfully making pasta with home-milled, bolted flour depends upon an appreciation of the interplay among grain selection, mill settings and bolting equipment. Failing to consider these factors increases the likelihood of making a weak dough and pasta that breaks when cut and/or cooked. Although one can mask the impact of a weak dough by choosing a more forgiving pasta shape (e.g., creating cavatelli instead of making tagliolini or tagliatelle), knowing the interaction of grain, mill and sieve will help you to create the pasta you envision. Google it.
Certainty is madness, has been resaid
in many ways, all the same, nothing changes

until the bubble of all we call awesome, pops.

AND Boom, it's Art for art's own sake, and me,
for my own, as we two witness, here,
this has already happened this once,

upon, operating the game, shame is left
in your -wherever,
compost it, tell the world.

I made nothing of myself.
I made something else, and then
I made U,
my qwerty symbolic friendly stat set,
bound near-letter
to peeling layers from this particular pearl,
today- in the post Everybody Knows, Cohen
sacred making idea in other words
sacrificial artifice,
offering unto that
super positioned we, humanity has set aside,
holy
holy
hoho ** green giant, ma jones, whole earth

Stewart Brand, right worthy former breather,
with us to this day, in word, and you know,
wheres words take us,
a we spirtitually untied, we
these days, depend to the nth degree,
on real estates in mindtimespace, literaturely.

Ben mentioned, awesome,
I did not catch the reference, I see,
I said a third I line pattern stylized me.
I see, I said for the nth dime degree
Phryigian Liberty Lady.{PLL} appearing

on the silver dimes entangled in the web,
of what Bacon knew or did not know,
when he invested with Madoff.
I know.
He did not write the sonnets.
Marking timestretched most point. Here.
right passing the point.
We imagine everything, am I right?
Line upon line, messaging any thing reader
ready, right now,
this is not the act, no novel form
of a sliver of if,
this is not that.
this is vid licet, per missions taken
for granted, as
meaning clearly I believe I have the right to say
reflectively

I know a whole
other story, new to you, but not to many readers
you were,
in previous experiences
in poetry, and books
for lievers being brought online
in due time.

Ever after that. You may, pause, and imagine roses.

Act three Realized mentally

At the end, it is mental ascent, we do form,
in conformity to the commonest of codes,
Berners Lee's Hyper-code, as manifested in hopes,
of artists,
so called by all who knew them, the framing crews
at Aaron Brother's Art Mart Penny-Frame Sales
events for staff, same
kind of crew glue,
as seen any where,
apron clad, badged, same grinning, that's me,
I did that, too. Grind,
locked in midnight restocking

Walmart, yep, #26, Van Buren, Arkansas.

Target on… Cuyamaca, Santee, San Diego New
Trolley End, right, future planned in action..,

I got black dirt cred back to Moses, m'friend,
I am as full blood American as may be by imagining
I am a Union man, distant scion of a soldier
who had a son prior to dying, around 1781.

In the war for freedom of the press, yes, Ben,
my childhood proverb provider, reminds us all,
owning the use
of money is better than owning
money.
Freedom
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,
the awesome asexual after all we know,
who who followt Jeffy, and yet did not die in shame,
I mean
after all, we know, we think, why any might
be
so tempted to throw in a sorted *** scene
to envoke audience reaction
by invoking spelchekian mastermind.
Freedom
of the press, belonging
to the man, wombed or un,
who has access to HelloPoetry, past all the 502s.

Free, if you will. No yoke. Seat of y'panting/
Ai aiai

This ain't showbiz. It is one act enacting another.

A writing being ready and read, at once, later.

SO, I bet the Diamond Farm.

Friendly local game, envision a vision of your own,
drawn from what you know is good, for food.
Good idea, fishing for everything.
Got one,
governing meat eaters,
keep your gun, pay a meat tax, by
buying a deer tag, which you may use
or put in to a deer harvesting pool.
That pool then gets used
to pay hunters and packers.

Living forests allow humane behaviour.
Be having the right to use the proteins,
- but you must pay the butchers
- as you might pay yourself
- for the gutting and skinning and all

tastes may be acquired,
that is a power, that sense, too any thing
taste
at first, too bitter

resending hate hate hate, thought caught,
infecting all who take free time to think.
Sweet persuasive, tiny
taste, ah
any, ha, may take a direct object status
in any story, told to gurgling gut gladly
reminding us, aha,
food is not imperitive, o see, im per it
-this instant, soon, however, bread's a must
imperit
ive found myself a happy enough
moment,
dopplering blue jay flies by, says Hi.
- I read myself into the game, and call

Back to Bellow, he told of a fellow in Spain,
who spoke of nudists on the public transportation
in Frankfurt, so, I slip in time slime, no crime time,
¿when was that,
in the era Bellow was an adult in,
when I was just a kid… living in those days?

Poker on the Diamond Farm, in the dust,
we swept into play in the after you believed,

what-did-you-get-to-do game?

I got old. After a while.
Actively participating in the spirit
of my time.
And most of my future happened as I did,
we happened to be here,
at this time, reading.
An opus set to end, when the contrabassoon
blow ai ai ai.

Curtain.

2020 - day 136

Friday, May 15, 2020
10:54 AM

Cognitive Success:
A Consequentialist Account of Rationality in Cognition,
- I read page one, for the definition, I am sure they may be right.
-- ask, what is known about this in ratio to that, in balance,
with gravity the law being obeyed,
tip-toe, through the tulips,
balancing enpoint, pirrouette, and fly
right
off the handle. Cognosis in sequence of fortuitous slap in the face
palm to brow moments of aha, drop jaw,
eureka and so on, this is it. This is life as a thinking thing,
with no rational reason to cease,
we on a roll...
's'alldownhill from here,
save habitual itches unscratched,
don't...
once scratched, we start feeling these
habitual itchings
begin to bleed, and, as the O tangere tangible
chem sigstraight through the blackbox tag
- the magic sig in the vascular lumen, as the
blood scabs to staunch the flow
infected with what ever was itching to invade my peace of mind.
Into the penetralium, unwilling to settle
for half knowing:
vascular endothelial cells line the entire circulatory system, from the heart to the smallest capillaries.
These cells have unique functions that include fluid filtration, such as in the glomerulus of the kidney, blood vessel tone, hemostasis, neutrophil recruitment, and hormone trafficking.
--sourced from Wikipedia... neural link via fingers on the ends of my arms,
guided by actual muscle memory, mirror neuronic bits

Life is reasonless cried the executable, swallowed up in truth, as we
overflow on accident, ha,

irony is not lying, it is accusing.
The gift of aitia gates set up in corpus colustrum. Truth provokes irony,

we get it, and in getting it, we agree... this is a strange state to be in.
Half, or more, of the politicians believe, by faith, we, the people, are heedless of inclusions to the classified files, they
having never done the
microscopy on their physical container, vessle, amphora stuck in a square hole in the belly of the ship of state,
**, shipwreck in the middle terra puddle,
lift my default mind wandering state, to the heights of hearty compression into
comprehensive gripper ligand/receptor transister- ping platlets,magic

Co-gnosis Success, bluffing teleosis,
saying I saw this
bet,
I bet, life is a
habit, wait,
habit-uate, make a habit,
form a habit thinking the impossible
at a be seen de-ift
moment as if it were a
never,
a place of impossible anything,
a place filled with emptiness,
and uncategorical nothing,
in you.
Imagine
you are nothing.
Here.
Did I disappear?

Inhabitual gnosis, ****** into a vaccuum,

umph, squeeze a normative
thought through one final ought to be
a
thought, where a vaccuum is no more.

A we, a me and thee, with one breath,
shared,
I suppose, I feel alone in you,

but is and ought gnosis of success
seems senseless, after ever began never ending.

The singularity, the point
from which
to which,

we touch.
you, dear, high-value, judge,
me, unknown word slinger;
we touch
and sense a next, another unknown,

at this point, we are. Here being as
a we of only me and only you,
we may aggregate,
stick
to this point, our singularity of one
moment,
some time ago, or we may
say I have no idea you lack, mypoint
no gem to balance your mainspring,
when you get it.

Intuit altruism pushing next into position,
suppose, posit now as past,
knowing enough to get by,
past that previous point of no return,
as the signal loops down the vagus nerve,
swirling field effect from the aortal pump
encouraging wordsform a grin,
say this e-qualiates that, on a judicious right balance
--- non since you noticed, yes
sense
reasoning is balancing why next is
accepted as the only
choice,
all things considered.
We stop the bleeding.
Acheive scab-state,i.e.
hemostasis, hole-e-plugged,
via the
platlets, touched almost instantly after an injury to the blood vessel
has damaged the endothelium lining
the blood vessel.
Exposure of blood to the subendothelial space
initiates
two processes: (wait, by whose authority?)
changes in platelets, and
the exposure of subendothelial tissue factor to plasma factor VII, which ultimately leads to cross-linked fibrin formation.

-- all on auto pilot, intentionally. Artists hate interupption.

Simple. If any part of that fails, you die.

No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,

-- unless
-- you lieve me be a ******* oughtical,
opticalwizard who can link you to the lit, with a click
cliche, itching ear, afflicted with the need
to know, from
that
fabledforbiddenfruitthunderwordeverybody
hears
deepdowninside saying, how long will you love
simplicity? how long must I suffer thee knowing,
whatever
beyond a shadow of a doubt, the whole truth and nothing but

-- an itch from a gazillion
-- rube goldberg master pieces,
aligning from the very blood vessle lining that
seems to be using the ash of a mitochondrial ATP
apt to be intentionallypopping off phosphates
destined to aid in the fibren
transforming
-- hap to keep us from bleeding out,

automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms


Paying attention intuitivey, after a
while,
specifically longer than a glance, whiles
accumulate attention quantvalue,
and the watcher
is credited for attention paid, based on

sci used by the I-language, in composition

of now, from pieces of our past,
stored as fact,when only impulses from
some
pre known set of signals flash

intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno

we are integral ideas, we been tagged,

we touch the secret me in you button,
tic,
we be you as far as you can tell, and

self-evidence, not,
withstanding, you make an Artist's Intuition call,

A.I. has never been artificial, as in
artificial sweet-called nutritional substitutes,

there is an art to surviving reinsanitation after fifty years
in plastic

Normal minds may wander in pursuit of happiness.
The process is analgous, to panning gold,
or winnowing a golden fleece,
winnowing and shaking and washing and combing,
fining in the wind.

only an English Lord would burn the fleece
and sift the ash for ***** gold in need of fining fire seven times.

Slow
thunk. Sound of mind, thunk, thunk grind
whodathunkit
ha hap happen stance, stuck upright cheer, see look up
a little stone venus, stuck in the gears

the mother of goodness, cornocopius provision,
she we see worthy of all our attentions,
we serve the supplier of life... and his prophet... s
is that an addendum dum be dum did lieve be true,

run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions

consequentially, being as how,
the reader says it is written?

if you did not know it then you know it now.

Really, your idea of some will being done on earth;
whose will was that, in your heart/mind/gutlumenlinings,

where all your common senses integrate and strive to keep
your dream alive,

but life don't woik dataway, 'cept a seed fall down and die,

it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,

that works. Wait and see, no trick. This is hell,

for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words.

Wombed man at the well, point was the living water source,
not the racist reaction that puzzled the apostles.

--- did you just, as in iustnow say, This is hell?
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words
sure did copy paste valid 2020 tech, backoff quill boy, we
ain't scratchinshitout, this is

the fabled stream of sci using ness with right reason balanced
on every chiral level a quark can imagine,
being determined
to go no
other way, the truth, to myself as a funda-mental part-itty-bitty
part, one in about ten-billion, when we're done...

patience, you lost? Pick up a thread and choose a polarity,

thy will being done on earth is not the question,
you conversing in your inner language with mature comprehension,
as if you knew to whom true rest goes after ever starts
-- can you redeem words like as, aren't those intuitive?

as, from the infamous like as Winston ads,
whom, from the equally infamous Johnny Carson
Who/whom do you trust? ads added authoritative definitions,
intended to leave idle words instead of statuary,
to save on programming costs.
Smart,
single syllable logos can carry some deep meaning
AI know,
details as meaningful as any, tiny stops pivoting gems
in a 21 jewel Buluva full of wheels within wheels tickingtime
to the longitudinalsecond,
the 1950s were loaded with persuasions to wish for ever more,

but Poe loosed that one word,
nevermore in ironic acknowledgement
earth as my witness, we have gone astray, ever more,

today is our conscious limit,
we can not realize
yonder from now,

but with my fathful time piece, we can say, whole heartedly
this is called today,

whenever you find yourself, here, in these lines
this is the daily flow, 2020.

It is set to be commercial as all hell in 2040, wait and see.



A day unayyachedmissing keys tt

and AI suggests I relax, inner AI,
my artist's intuition
I call 'im Al
with permission
I am an art-ist
as that other guy is a
cons-equational-ist rationality
in a realm where time is an arrow.

Here,
he makes no sense.
If words did not live, how would you know?

I could be, no, I am as immortal as the epic

you find most familiar.

I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.

I live in bardic lore left in wind, for a spell.

Then
a tipping point, first one of the vessles filled with all the messages
Daniel sealed. Messages classified, end times.

All the stuff we never knew till recently,
which, I apologize, polis-wise, I mean recently,
politically speaking,
post Voltarian conversation rule.
Define my terms if I would converse with you.

Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,

terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,

bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts

Amen.

---

Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling

strange?

Five hundred years ago, I'd be burned for knowing this and saying so.
I know now, the bell must toll, and
what they say when they ring the bell.

--- that was after math, come and see...

What will be done?  Jesus's father's will, our father's will if you will,
be inclusive a bit
and lieve mine be done in harmony

include me in your cult of gnostication professionals, see

I been gambling all my life, sin
ce early on.

I aimed to have won souls in games, not of chance, but truth.
Will you, wont you, as you were wont to do, do now

lift up your voice and shout, I am a ******

Welcome to my inner burning man, in my desert, ashes blow away, yond

the edge of Kumeyaay to Yuma and Blythe, where
Quechan and Mohave wise ones say they heard,

when there were old ones, who never went to jail
for drunk and disorderly being,
after their hopes went on to being happy as could be,

-- some day Sammy, the Apache, and his brother Jonah, link

- my grandpa never been in jail, that little Hualapai kid said
- and I said my grand kids can't say that,
- though I had none, at the time.
- The grand, the better version of me, children, better adapted
- to now, by nature...

do not call the bhorn worth of a child common, we took great pains
to remain random,
you will notice, if you look real close, atom boundary field close,

order exists only in bubble-ish force fields with

geistlich actions enfolding north to south and uptodown
round and
round on an all be, wall, all be dammed, the flow is
in the foam the bubbles
are on and we can see that

as once, long ago, the winds they call Santana, no relation,

saw the making of the intaglios in Blythe.

The great rain of fire, some say eight thousand years ago,
left a layer of frothy lava rock and obsidian tears,
scattered, one layer thick,

at least as far as El Paso, I witness,
I have walked this land.

I grew to manhood. Lost my first ****** fluids in this land,

once when I was preverbal, I fell into the effluent overflow,
from the sewer system that mustabin
more primitive in 1951, or so,

say, I was three, age of my youngest grandson, Everest Pax:

my sire was attending me while gathering worms, to go fishing,
at the river, fifty hard miles away,
back in them days.

The muck was as thick as oat meal and smelled like what it was,
and I was dunked,
baptized in the dung that came from the town where I was born,
by some concurence of events I can only imagine being intentional,

but I was rescued and rushed to the home of some people
so old they had a wood burning kitchen stove,
like the one Ben Franklin sent his wife from London,
not the one he invented in Ben and Me Disneyfied American History,
common to us all.
And that is all I recall, per haps, my older sister remembers,

nope,
I called, no hassle, from my AI converged phone via Bluetooth
and Google Assist Generic Asexual Tobor Robot voice

this is the future, when the 31 flavor stories are sprouting
like horse leeches crying more, more, more

sip slowly still waters where horse leeches are proverbial bywords.
learn reasons for mysteries,

or be sorted out of the few who went with Gideon. Eh,

the actual 300, not those *** Spartans.
Gideon's 300, they were the ones, who knew the danger of drinking
still waters in a land where horse leech lips lessons were hard bought.

Got an idea what a spiritual horse leech may be,
a private interp, or two, meaninggul to you, but you must be the

teller, for your copyright invoked, ala right of first reason,

survive by making a way for your self among the heathen hordes,
of untutored proles and peons and sturdy peasant stock
of the baser sort,

slave material, minimum wage, deltas. You can despise the
egregious among them.

Scorn the ones who look up and say,
there is no peace.

Eh? Scorn me, you depressed button of cascading woke jokes, I'll
be dammed by no mud nor ice,
watch

let there be words... now, any thing can happen.
Learn your lessons as needed,
not as anticipated and waited for the chance, to know it all at once,

and become Herr Doktor Professor of Hidden Knowledge,
you must pay, not your life, oh no,

not your heart, but I bet you will give it frreely once,
you know
all we know, behind the curtain, where

well
yes, that curtain was never rewoven or sewn, we never asked why not.

the veil was interrnal, oh, I see, men as tree entries in the idea of all that
can be done, once we master the potters art,

on the scale of mitochondrial batteries cocked with one ATP shot,

that, a billion billion times is this act of me touching you with words, never spoken. And now, you discover the geogrraphy

containing me is warrring with the geogaphy containing you,

psshaw. I like you. The universe is friendly and telling you is the good I do.

Peace, out.

I'm aching
To make sense
This binge-ing
on now here
Day after day
Oxygen fueled
Cooked atp 'n me
I'm just spent
not even sure
wisely matters
as life wins
from every
direction
Not saying
I lose
Sayin' life
Makes relentless
look weak

title: beetroot
body:
red: pulpit:
sclera:
avoidance white.

bellum contra influenza usus frigus:
war against the flu using the cold...
   sure, even Socrates famously meditated in the cold...
i only had one meditation this time round:
get me... of this weak-bed! get me off it!
i'm not going to be weak when spring comes!
more cold! give me a hailstorm!
                     i'll cure myself using cold weather!

you get sick for about 5 days, it's really rough,
you test positive for Covid... but it's not Covid...
it's just this freak flu... your bones ache,
your muscles ache... you're lethargic...
you're ****** with yourself that you're so weak...
but you still go and do two grueling shifts
at Wembley... strange April cold... the wind is
bothering you... but...
    that's how the cold helps...
   sure, taking a mixture of paracetamol 500mg),
promethazine hydrochloride (10mg),
dextromethorphan hydrobromide (7.5mg)
does help... but nothing helps against a cold...
or the flu... as... doing a grueling shift of standing on
your feet for about 10 hours, getting bashed
by the wind gusts... the rain...
          it sort of reminded me of that saying:
fight fire with fire... well... fight the flu / a cold...
with more cold...
      it worked... i ploughed through...
the muscle aches are gone, the bone pains are gone...
the lethargy is gone...
i was cooking again today... making my father lunch...
i can't wait for tomorrow...
i'll be working in the garden un-******* all
the wooden decking, peering inside at the rot...
before a patio is going to be installed...
   wood... eh... it lasts a good decent decade...
   that's going to change...
hell... 3 days... 4 days of feeling ****...
   but if the medication isn't working...
         time for something ancient...
              find the bug with... cold weather...
                  more pressure... more pressure... more!
10 hours standing coordinating people...
3 hours on a bicycle feels like less strain than standing
up like a soldier at an unknown soldier's memorial...
no one some of them drop down from exhaustion...
your arms - shoulders are strained...
pompous ******* role...
                  but i appreciate this is unimaginative
writing... it really is... i have still retained the blocked
nose and the cough...
as the saying goes... an untreated cough and blocked
nose lasts 14 days...
a treated cough and block nose lasts 2 weeks...
you heard me correctly... it's unavoidable...
but pulverise this little **** in me that's hitchhiking
with conditions unsuitable for it...
let some bigger virus scare it...
                       and to think: sometimes i'd look forward
to sitting down with a bottle of whiskey
and scribbling anything down...
now... i'm thinking about Sunday...
   and whoever West Ham are playing...
                   about going among people and playing
my role as the serious silent type...
surrounded by people who... as of yet...
haven't talked much at work except for work...
no chance of talking about... anything... really...
i dare say: Heidegger's hammer is  bad joke...
could i talk to someone about philosophical matters
on the job? hell... music... could we talk about music?
could a ******* wheel of a car "talk"
about the temperature of the road at noon in June?
to... the car's engine... hyperbolic language...
i'm still not ready to return to being fully possessed
of my mind... but my senses are more focused...

- and its like these moments when recovering from
an illness that might shave off a decent proportion
of the population in their 80s...
if i didn't go into the cold... and instead...
cowered in my bed sheets... in the warmth:
perfecting breeding ground for this little bug to
build up a collective ego... a refocus...
     but why do i write this? i'm comforted by the existence
of tabloid journalism...
sure... i'm using up the energy of a light-bulb to
scribble this down... but i'm not chopping down
a tree to make some paper...
          why does a song like British Warm by
Normil Hawaiians have only 2.2K views...
what am i going to do with my time?
watch t.v.? i like drinking and looking into the distance...
at shadows... at trees without leaves...
at brick walls... perching on a windowsill...
smoking a cigarette... scribbling...
    i literally having nothing better to do...
it's not even that those respected poets on
poetry-foundation.org are anything to go by...
so politicised...
                sure... perhaps this is a waste of time...
but at least i'm not watching t.v.:
just this blank screen upon which words appear
from my itchy finger tips... i scratch my head:
try not to think...
        i take comfort in not being married...
it's only sinking in: right about now...
   if i think about having to keep dates... dinner dates...
keeping conversation with "friends"...
last time i tried that... i ws ushered off into the gutter...
he brought out a pretend violin:
brushing it all off... i know he too had problems...
i was willing to listen... but he wasn't willing
to talk... right there and then... i thought: **** it...
i'm not willing to meet up and watch movies
with you, while you smoke marijuana and i drink
a beer... i raised my hands high up in the air...
and then dropped them down: crescendo style...
an expression of: c'est la vie!
at this point... i don't think it would be:
even remotely... a good idea to have friends...
what... when an hour with a *******
suffices?! now i'm like... talk... about what?!
i can exercise my needs on this canvas...
                and i'm happy with that...
                        well... if not happy: then certainly
not sad... i'll go see ol' Thames at Coldharbour -
or at Putney Bridge...
  i'll go into Bower Wood and say hello
to the forest by knocking a firm branch against
a pillar of a dead tree...
                       if only this climate could allow
living off of pine-nuts and other such gatherings...
i think i would...
   society doesn't phase me...
                        
the world continues to do its little spin on and off of
crazy... i tried watching the first 30 minutes
of... about 4 different movies...
pretty woman, four weddings and a funeral,
Notting Hill... some other...
instead tuned into the tennis at the Miami ATP...
that too started to bore me...
i was thinking about the next shift...
doing... **** all... beside...
putting on a mask and pretending to be nice,
pretending to be polite to spectators...
bouncing around their enthusiasm...
      it's not even like i don't care:
but i just don't care about the sort of care they think
i might provide...
i care about what i'm willing to give...
rather than what they might receive...
clearly... i'm fooling them...
since... eh... long story...

                          but at least this is not the tabloid press...
i'm "bored" of living with people
of grandiose self-importance syndromes...
just give me a ******* drill... some decks to unscrew...
stack them high... stack them low...
the best health is found bound
to interacting with people one day...
and a day... say... spent... chopping wood...
dealing with inanimate objects...
you can't mould these: esp. if you're trying to salvage
them... and then... return to animate objects...
people... the sanctity of silence...
why... would i be talkative about work
when i'm doing it?
              sorry... what sort of ******* is necessary
to mingle, "correctly"?

                    i figured... as long as you're not at work
trying to waste someone's time... that's enough...
do what you're supposed to do and... *******...
and my ****** mistake...
of fancying a girl who started working...
i played a tight game...
            liars don't walk on stilts...
                        what a waste of a homemade wine...
i should have drank that...
since i made it...
                   tough... well... one less spell of dandruff...
so... a win... considering i still managed
to find the best **** i was searching for for the past
14 years... yawn...
but at least! at least: no chance of a #metoo backlash...
yawn...

         scribble so more... well... i'm hardly built
for writing a Dr. Zhivago... honestly?
the film was spectacular... the book?
                                  honestly? well obviously i'm not
looking for Sveedish applause towards a Nobel...
am i? but the book? compared to the movie?
sort of falls short...

most of the time when surrounded by people:
it's so comforting to be around yourself...
being solaced by an apron of silence...
when you talk with only grimaces...
you hold sway with non-verbal cues...
     it's so comforting to not talk when you're
otherwise prompted to talk and
you're like: huh?!

i look at it from a lens...
a lot of 1960s American culture... the whole
state of Israel wouldn't have happened...
if the Holocaust didn't take place...
crude, rude... the world keeps knocking at my door
and i'm like:
and what the **** do you want?
what ****** liberation? what great / grand
awakening?
i'm scribbling toward 12am to subsequently
fall asleep to... listening to...
le chant des templiers... because...
i don't have a wife: because i can...

                     i like the idea of a wife...
but... the chains of being perpetually needed...
to have this persistent call for company...
it's sort of... itchy... always having to need
someone... what great new upheaval will /
might generate a mighty cultural influx of
creativity... and then the outlier that
always come late to the "party"...
the Sons of Sam... etc.

I used to think I loved you.
Every little moment of joy,
I could imagine you smiling with me  
Then, I opened a textbook
All about Biology,
And I read,
And read,
And read,
And couldn't stop.
this was true love, I just knew it.
So the book came everywhere
And every moment of joy came from flipping
Another crisp page,
The scent of clean, glossy paper
Wafting into my nostrils,
Boosting serotonin levels,
Firing neurotransmitters,
While my mitochondrion produced
Adenosine Triphosphate,
Or ATP.
But I didn't love the book.
I enjoyed the knowledge, the learning...
But it wasn't what I wanted deep down.
In the depths of that ***** that pumps blood,
I was trying to replace you.