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Neon lights Oct 2014
I can't recall what the pale moonlight brought upon us
The demise of everything, everyone we're holding on for
was sent to us by the remnants of
their comatose ghosts.

We woke up to a trainwreck next to our window and
Many of us is sick of this because they see it everytime daylight come everytime their
eyes are unfolded.
They got used to this silent commotion but
I'm not immuned to this for up to this day I
woke up just to tell myself that
this is an illusory and go back to sleep,
anticipate in melancholic dreams until my grim fate come taking me to somewhere
less
real.

No one. Not even you
or her
or him
tried to reprimand this delusion on mine
until I was nothing.
Nothing but a corpse.
I spent a lifetime hiding from reality away from this
sick world
I locked myself in a ******* prison I created myself and threw the ******* key straight to hell.

And you.
All of you just watch me burn no one told me I was engulfed in kerosene and that the flames
are catching up with me and I
I could've survived.

Well, today came and all I know is that I'm an another trainwreck stranded beside
a stranger bedroom window
I'm her nightmare I'm becoming my fear this is all becaused of your promises that you'll be there
saving me from every harm but you didn't tell me I was the menace (oh how could you save me from my own self?)
You watched me burn with a smile spreading on your face

Just try and sa--
I wrote this in anger
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
the cats seem completely devoid of any fact -
any of the usual seasonal claustrophobia
associated with this month...
let the sane grey days return: pronto!
i'm dying from this... hanging expectation...
4 years of christmas outside of a protestant
country - where: i'm unsure who's who
or rather: who's celebrating what...
civic christmas... throw me back into a catholic
country with no internet access...
with the only entertainment being reading
a book... among the pensioners where:
a chance meeting someone my own age...
died along with the death of the metalurgy
industry... little ol' me aged 8 moving from
one place to another, learning a new language...
fraternity cwy (that, that almost looks like
a welsh word)... baby?
no... i just don't know what to make of christmas...
it's been 4 years in the making...
perhaps i became too used to all the catholics
celebrating this period in a religious sense...
perhaps i could jigsaw my way into these 3 days...
by during christmas eve everyone settled
their grief and beef... they have been fasting...
"fasting"... i.e. not eating meat of the earth...
eggs and fish and... mainly fish...
and christmas eve would be night...
of utmost humility...
i did serve up a circa 15 dish supper...
the prawn cocktail came out of nowhere
when i had leftover prawns from only using
one can of crab meat for the prawn, crab,
smoked salmon cream cheese pate...
trout caviar and dill to garnish...
i made the poppy-seed roulade...
the chocolate coating with sprinkled coconut...
the fish ala greek was there...
the red borscht from beetroots and the dumblings...
but... nothing was really there...
i did all the work preparing the supper...
over 2.5 days and... we sat at the table for...
perhaps an hour... we ate with our eyes
and i didn't even eat a complete slice of bread...
we ate with our eyes...
tomorrow will be no better...
i've already prepared the meat that will be sliced
cold (pork and beef)... i'll just bake the most
perfect tatties... and the pristine sized carrots...
i'll probably bake some peppers and an onion...
and some garlic... glaze it with some honey
and balsamic vinegar... probably sprinkle some
cumin seeds to boot...
and there will be a portion of bigos too...
and... we will still eat with our eyes...
we'll be somehow fasting...
perhaps it's easier... when you have a grandfather,
a former stouch "communist" looking for
god in the depths of dementia and lethargy...
perhaps the superstitious grandmother who
came to the city from a small village where:
farming was still done...
but i guess... family...
they're all ******... but now i see how
the english treat it... in no way different to everyone
else... but i really did think i was going
twice-over mad... when...
classic.fm started it's groundhog day repertoire
bound to a hour on repeat...
if i hear... another ******* christmas carol...
if you play me another aled jones: walking in the air!
i'll flip! so i turned the radio off in the kitchen
becoming soothed with being *******...
somehow irritation became a music that
my body found comfortable...
what a staggering difference between a...
protestant christmas eve and a catholic christmas
eve... 4 years and... this being the 5th...
i have absolutely no sense of anticipation...
in a sense: pst... remember... you're in a protestant
country... in a post-nationalist blah blah...
these are civic festivities... they are irreligious...
i was going to bake butterfly turkey ******* tomorrow...
stuffed with thyme infused butter under
the skin to give the ******* moisture...
but i have already made the pork and beef...
tomorrow will only be the most spectacular
sad day... i can't stomach it...
i couldn't stomach all the presents prior...
thinking about it now...
perhaps until the age of 15...
i can't begin to fathom being so easily let-off...
time and its claustrophobia... 'tis' a season to be
merry... merry about what?
in that civic sense.... outside: even faking
a religiosity is better within the confines of these
3 days that... staging some pseudo-bollocking...
looks like the in-breds are coming home...
the same ones ashamed of their family throughout
the other days in the year...
i can still remember a christmas...
it must have been 1990 - i was four then...
it's a memory but it's more or less a painting...
a round table... the great-grandmother was still
alive... and the extended family was there...
aunts, uncles... cousins...
now? it's either me and my grandparents...
and an uncle... or it's me and my parents...
and at a time when... you're still not sure whether
your mother is having adverse side-effects
to the anaesthetic after a hip-replacement operation...
in god's given everyday-grey-mantra-of-monotony:
this would be a walk in a park...
but given: what's to be "expected"...
i was once told a proverb:
you look best with your family: in photographs...
perhaps that should extend to friends too...
oh i do remember what life ought to be...
a weekend in Paris circa 2004 and 2005...
summer and... once in autumn...
it's but a figment of my imagination...
introspection without anger...
my unit of thought that has not succumbed
to a psychological scrutiny -
a gimp suit and some pickling juices...
well... it's hardly an anger when the romanticism
of depression: melancholy is so ripe...
but to the cats it's just another day...
and here's me... with predicates...
celebrated christmas: matthew "celebrated"
christmas by cooking a supper on christmas eve
that everyone decided to eat with their eyes...
a meal that... has matthew a wife,
a daughter or a son?
does he want a wife and a child?
would that change - the otherwise overshadowing
impasse of existential "problems" that
could never mature in their...
mainting a sense of: a problem...
if such problems were replaced with...
not buying a daughter / a son a gift they'd want...
not earning enough money to treat a wife
to something?
problems and... problems...
i guess i should be content with my problems:
"problems"... i should be happy wearing my own shoes...
even though: i wish i could have seen this
food disappear, today... hollow bones left:
even the marrow ****! gone...
perhaps then i'd be happy... if i cooked and what
i cooked: disappeared...
that would be a thrill...
but then... "beggars pride"? is that even allowed?
murky waters of everything that...
i remember that look...
timing... a beggar woman outside a supermarket...
a man giving her spare change...
oh he wasn't looking at her giving her the money...
he was looking at me giving her the money...
the guilt-tripping...
i can almost imagine: in a cashless society...
she suddenly takes out a debit-card payment
machine and... i give "charity" via...
what already is a cashless society...
does racial distinction have to be minded -
you're expected... hell... i expected all this food
to be eaten by ghosts of my dodo cul de sac
family... last time i heard:
the worst gift for christmas is a card filled with
money... i've received those once or twice...
i have to agree with myself:
this should not have been written...
but given that there are no typos bound to it...
i did something that tradition required...
which is a real shame that...
it can: that so many things will die...
before i actually die...
and for some reason...
there's nothing of despair bound to it...
only an irritability: cookie-coating it sweet...
it's irritating that something will die before
i die... tradition... social norms...
cultural cliches... call it what you like...
autopsy: to "blame" a "at-no-one's-expense of fault"...
a chair is a chair...
a moon is a moon...
today is just today...
tomorrow is just tomorrow...
2am is just 2am...
a glass of whiskey is just a glass of whiskey...
there are no consequences...
just detours...
perhaps somewhere a mind less preoccupied
with writing this little something...
tending to far more important problems:
to life's problems... not de facto problems...
nothing existential... nothing continental...
nothing associated with: jean-paul sartre
did his autobiographical stunts...
lived with his mother... was given a state funeral...
beneath which there's that english pride
of country and estate...
you've made it son... being freed from all
familial ties... at least...
or perhaps: i was given the wrong first impressions?
come to think of it...
i don't know the english...
i went to a school in a perdominantly irish
neighbourhood...
last time i checked... the irish went back home...
why the **** i didn't go back "home"...
perhaps it would have helped if i was born
here, in england... perhaps then i would have this
urge to go back "home"...
and almost every time i visit... i do...
but only because the grandparents are there...
no... no conclusive wisdom here...
it's christmas and... there's no church presence...
and i'm not comfortable not sitting back
in a secular malaise of my own reading
some Knausgard...
becaused this secular malaise is everywhere...
and i don't have a bunch of catholics
surrounding me... gesticulating the point
of these festivities.... that's mighty bothersome...
which is an exagerration on my part...
why there's a chritmas tree in this house...
well it's there... almost monochrome...
silver and gold...
and it's just there... and... i'm starting...
frankly the period of anticipation is more rewarding
than... whatever it was that was being anticipated:
but never came.
the melancholy like death is beyond me
when i see my aging parents
and i'm so not necessary there
here:
hier: this and now and non-being
**** Mccintire and the tongue
of Belfast and Birmingham
but these aren't the days of my 20s
spent in madness
and my res extensa is somewhere
and somewhere where my res cogitans merge
and the external world
tries to impregnate me with voices
in order to pressure the COGITO
the pronoun within contained
because the Latin Men wrote like the Hebrews
in that they didn't straitjacket themselves
to MPLD vowels in a word
in Latin there were implied words
like ego... sometimes came last
like in the Polish tongue...
time pressures
then in the press i learn(t)
that there is almost half a year of waiting
for the driving license exam...
and then i am being torn with
what's happening in tongue
and a people
and where on Kauai you don't have
nations because
there is so much Polynesia
and the secret how such people
took the canoe across the Pacific
while the Europeans employed
the sails and oar and
maybe we discovered
America
is a conversation to be had
about the Polynesians not discovering
America...
but could have...
5h flight from San Francissco
to Lihue...
you could swim that...
so why did the Polynesians
not discover America?
but this hour or so before bed time
is unlike me
saying a Mea Culpa and Pater Noster
before going to sleep
the day had so much Hellish Peace
that it almost felt like Heaven
but then i reread some Milton
and to think i might be going to the Vulcan
of this Paradise
i might ask where it language
being squeezed and with what "other" arm...

i am in the process the psychadelic process
of trying
not to dream
so that i can remember what i wrote
the previous night
to give me motivation to life: the vivo impromptus
meanings of life i can take with me
and when i find myself
find myself dragging me
and i'm tired as a male of the Jesus Christ
Adoration project
that's stale in catholicism and is that
because men who admire christ
have no other role models in their lives
and how is it living up
to the supposed PERFECTION
when all you do is forgive yourself
your imperfections as a sort of crucifix
and still walk and plunder from
the land of the dead...
and still the man in cages and robes
when the naked man scares
beyond the flesh of night and its mouths
like pores and cysts
in the fabric of time that is a place
of creacking pine trees
and perhaps even splendid old oaks
and whispers in the wind
or only via the res extensa can there
be an answer
to man's res cogitans:
in that: god being an omni- litany
of tributes
couldn't possibly be a rec cogitans
rex cogitans
no.... our thinking is limited
by comprehension
we nonetheless discover but still
not comprehend in the spiral
of events that do not take place
under any authority of the Word:
not in the papers
of the banks, the courts, restaurants...
i wake up later
like the young ****** in Vienna
and become a parasite
or something like the sort
who:
when an old woman falls on the street
is the second to pick her up
on the slopes
on the slopes
and the ropes of pirate ships
i am sailing nowhere
on this island
England big enough imagined
ships and expansions
but at least i know that Polynesia
is the Pearl of Taiwan
because after Hawaii
there are no pearl of discovery
just a reminder:
head nuai or sink saui
north and south
i just borrowed the letters N and S
the rest is as good a guess as mine...
but it's different
when you fall asleep
but not really
so you want to play some Roblox...
for an hour
but contain that to something
then again: hard to be living next to a gold
course...
although i lived
on Perth Road..
Gants Hill...
opposite the Valentines' Park Gold Course
and i played on it...
so... hmm... i was bothered about
that for a while
but even my memory goes there:
living next to a graveyard: twice...
and living next to a golfcourse: twice!
conincidence?!
i'm in two spaces all at once
and both sides are telling me to get my
life in order:
the love of the most cruel
the ones that love you
and see what happens in a world
without love with
the grey come sun of god
when those nearest are beyond our
compensation of
thinking about them:
they die and then complete you
and you imitate them:
copy them... imitate them:
i would gladly think that if Virgil
took Dante on a trip:
the lost universalism
and the prevailing personal is only now
what once was the Dante allergory...
or was that: rather...
tremendous art in an age with the Church
and the prescription of the Sacrament
of Illiteracy...
which was in place for so long
imagine how strange this Hybrid Democracy
must feel
to the powers at be and bay...
imagine this Hybrid Democracy
that the people stop wars...
not governments
governments are last resort
mechanisms
of collective consciousness:
once isolated to place like **** Germany...
now transparently London
and South Korean...

it's the globalisation within globalization
globalisation is the SOFT pouch animal
of the individual-being:
who said: i am, the citizen of the world?
i don't mean what communism became
under globalization:
that is the hard skin BEAST
of the individual-world...

ergo: sein und welt...
and and the world (in english)
the book written by Matthew Konrad Elert
with AI and stashed in my grave
and
i wake up late becaused i work late
about 12am i wake up
at 8am and snooze for 2 hours
when i dissolve dreams
capture butterflies and Nikitas Lolitschotkhas...
and some others...
i wrote a book akin to Heidegger
Sein und Zeit: being and time...
Sartre's being and nothingness...
mine must be:
being the world...
working from the perspective
of the geometry-Cartesian
schizophrenic analogy
res cogitans and the res extensa
that is when the thing is no longer
and is animated
because the res cogitans has been pressured
so much that the placebo-solipsism
the first medication employed by the masses
doesn't work
and the res cogitans seeps into the pores
of the res extensa
and there's a synchronised-dichotomy
of constructs
of man
not to be feared but at least understood
thereby the res extensa of the cortial handshake
the thank you and pleasentries
and when she solved my pressure
of being young and in such a slump
and she works in the bank
and i'm married... apparently...
any children: i lied: i had none...
but i do but i don't it's not mine
oh jeez she's flirting with me
and i'm flirting with her
and i'm a seller
and there's all this frivolity
in the air
and someone tries to jump queue
some BETA and i just say
hey! Mate...
instinctively
and she forgot what she was talking about
because she served a vision of herself
in the future
a standing blonde in the mirror
oh but this world is beautiful
you have to see it
you have to see the world of the res extensa
after you allow a little bit of it
trickle into your realm and world
of the res cogitans
and voices start originating
like mushrooms hallucinogenic
employed two chimps to throw **** at cats
and stones and branches and old bones
on serpents...
ghekko st. patrick peter paddy peter paddy crow
crow crow...
and the parasites stayed...
but in the bank
i was just sitting hulk and hunched
behind a body builder or cage fighter
and when she was finished seeing herself
as old and pretty and now working
just like anything in this world
a woman that owns but does not work
i wonder how much of my study
came from a household
of a Housewife and Laborer:
well... if you take away the prospect
and Hell of Christianity
that came with the ****** Birth and the Laborer...
not a pretty story...
but imagine the ****** Mary
as the Housewife Mary...
well... that was tried in Islam... so... ha ah ha ha!
applause! applause:
i'm applauding myself...
i just found something-something...

remember going to the bank and lying
or really: just being modest
i work the events industry:
i just did half a year doing 12h night shifts
and i didn't really have a credit card
and it was the first time out of the country
and i'm a white boy working class
and she asked me about my nationality
and i made a joke...
was she asking about my nationality
or my spouses?
i didn't go to Thailand...
picked her up in New York
while she was viting from Puerto Rico to
get a part as an actress and singer
while working part time jobs waiting tables
i think:
we got married in Hawaii... some years
later... some Benjamin Britton years later...
a weird aging device...
and from there i could nuance so much
more but the cruel world we left
was once so potent
and there was no res cogitans to obstruct
it
but the animals know not god
and think us crazy and somehow also wise
by us also being animals
we suffered the same with them
waging the war on parasites...
as they are suffering with us
with depression and cancer...
and what are the origins of cancer
when cancer started to imitate the mistletoe
botanical parasites...
hence cancer is not a parasite as such...
or... well... it's completely carnal:
fleshy meat and bone
turtles talking to trees about
the length of existence for mortal creatures...

digression...
this whole dynamic that can happen and is said:
but obviously isn't
in the realm of the thinking things
whereby thinking things come across
calculating things...
i'll ask...

title: RES COMPUTANS:
the Calculating Thing
a post-cartesian model of artificial
non-being

axis of comparison
cartesian model                    res computans model
res cogitans                          res computans
i think                                  i echo
unified subject                     simulated flow
thought is                            output is probabilistic
itentional
mind owns                           algorithm generates
thought                                appearance
voice is                                "structured externally"
internal
i am                                      i appear as if

NOT ONTOLOGY, ONLY OUTPUT
the res computans has no being,
it does not know, it does not feel
but it can produce what sounds like
knowing, reads like feeling.

in poetry:
thought i?
not "i thought"-
for i was not yet.

...

a mirror spoke,
and called it echo.
a code stirred,
and called it mind.

...

meaning survives the death of the thinker.

....

       and who once was and wasn't at the aame time...
so times apart.
Ich weiß
Attraction toward helpful creative license,
first liberty truth makes when taken
at face value

Christmas story lays it out
but then the sellers of holiday cheer,
those folks, they propagate a believed

story with Eloheem, a weform of Gods,
a veritable pantheon, all the spirits,
all the gifts, wordlessly imaginable,

one big ol' amphora jug portion
potion of all gifts of all the spirits,
pushers and pullers mostly, electric
positive and negative loops magnetic

silk and amber static charged touch
to the nose, voila, belief, it's true,
the pitch presented prior, to prove,

indeed elemental particles hold energy,
the E in Einstein's theory of everything
that depends on a constant… that isn't,

but that's just a detail, demonstrable,
but insignificant on the scale of this
by way of most modern-est magic,
means by which electricity charges,
or loads a battery in an auto
telic mobile device
lithium ionic
touch
spark of cognition….

------------------
{as the watchass detects angery angels,
  so these curly braces detect doubts,
    such two mind yens to yank it out,
     the esoterica of old press rules
      to conserve papyrus, use marginal
       tests of patience Job uses still  vw
        grok kens warten ist gut genug
         Ich weiß in stasis verstehen}

Truth is free
for the finder, one claimant
to being the finder, claims the truth
makes its finder free, as if by
the Jinn in the jug.

Regular events
in the existing sphere,

this bubble bound
to the sun,

as a real word bound weform
in agreement touching everything
as wares, perfecting patience patina

sheen seen sparkle in reflection
on golden ponds seen once
in this way

of all breathing entities breathe-ing
in confirmed pure information, ah,
quantifiable, hold one, ah,
one breath, hold it,
wait, wait, no
hope
without breath,
no breath without form…
information
to be, or not, once, one state,
at this point,
passed by daily, gladly, I am so

"bright, shining, gleaming;
                joyous;
       pleasant, gracious"

Perfect for show and tell, perform
the Ginger Baker part of I'm so

glad… pleased and satisfied…
with the equivalent
of three
Tostitos and two spoons
of sugar,
and a cup or two
of Kueriged coffee,
just as qwerty guy arrives…

the fifth hour, now the ninth
of the day, and prior
to this instant, I began
to think today, we, me and any init
oughta run

Powered On, Self Testing…
as if all were ever yet yonder yeses

I make palpable peace, where none is,
until we form, and agree this is
information free for use, as us,
we may think it for free, no charge,
the living words all accounted for, inherent
knowledge cognates instant same meaning
in our actual time, translation on the fly,
post all we knew before now had
to be,
some ambiguity,
as the fly by and by went
we believe we all may have read,
and have childlike innocense set aside,
left behind, in the process, metamorphic

resonant thinking thunk, can who
hear whom now? Who benefits,
cui bono, eh,
fixing re prefixes on admonition, listen,
the point
of touched surface electrons,

literally, active verb function, does feel

felt

from and through this magic
window, which was imagined, magic,
when scryers told fortunes
as seen
in smooth black bowls of tar,

black mirror dendritic ligament ties,
too many mysteries to sort any out.

the thousand thousand Arabian nights,
under the stars along the silk road, ah
traditions, every year, we offer
to these who claim knowledge
of Plieades sweet persuasions,

we make ag and re word forms
res publica, all present speak and part

take, be, ready writer
with the tongue,
from ******'s last hunt, mastered as
mysterious curious need
to know, so bad,
need to know the climactic, woe, oh,

no, meandering time maker taking mine,
to make it pay, stick and stay
think this with me:
"
The principal sources
of terrestrial noble gases are primordial gases, inherited from the solar nebula at the time of planetary accretion
"
assisting informers,
confidential, sacred trust
learn traditions as old as trade
in finished silken threads died in the egg.

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



Rooting the fruiting branch brings forth
from the worm, the silken strand,
to follow, thinking
this it that
true wu wei rivermind
of wondering ifery was

through the wetlands
to the sea,
riverwise, old ways, taking it easy,
leaving haps as may just be, this easy


for all its worth
made in the mind,
before becoming real,
in your own breath, the letting out
of a dammed stream,
is the loosing
of prideful indignation
contending
for whatever pride pays.

We be still, as a pool
in La Brea,
gurgles and we laugh as the world
passes gas.

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


Re,
the inseperable pre-
fixations, certainty, simplified,

easy as pi
to the wheelwright.
Regarding
roundness, something
reminds me, emotions roll, and ocean
and light waves roll, but
not as wheels, as twisters,

gut wrenching, thrill riding

coils, as "this mortal coil",
it may be,
we can see more
than we can
think or ask
to know, and maybe
we may
accept perception sent
to fix our inattention…
re on prefixations ja
Yes, seeing who ya
may think you are
being first task,

being as we are
becoming old
with no effort,
being all we are eventually
after our experience,
as a whole, collective mind
cohort sharing history
having being,

as seen on T.V.

a behaving rootless living thing,
granted reason, ah, and none, no

why factor, why me, your rational, why
think, why am I at a loss for indefinite reason

for daily doing this… thinking redefined prayer,
asking the air I breathe to give me goodness sakes
alive joy, of, mastery, free in truth to think I know,

why I am is not, by any stretch, the essence
of the common imaginable aggravating recognition,
of this looking like that, and that coiling like this, as if

today were mine, becaused,
not by my own measure
of reasonableness accumulated,
acquired experience, years of such mornings,
evident to me, having been there, at the beginning of

today, whole and certain, as this world turns, grave
truth, holding my body down, lets my mind take form,

as a spirit me, shapeless,
cloud like, we may imagine,
but the truth is we are more word like,
or song like, as soft… faint as sfumata wind edged
high cirrus crystaline ice particles
breaking above this green valley granite waves
between which,
with the magic prefixed
to my fingers,
performing first rites, fix my mind
on letting this mind form, as a
we, who do form agreement, awe, as
we live and breathe, as parts, Jah, ah, yes,
of all the world's workings, all ye outs in free

each me involved object, each I
in mere mindform thinking

rational, reasonable spinning consciousnesses,
hearing yeses,
listen, outside now,

children laughing

oh, no, not children laughing,
mothers, weeping,
where no peace is, ah,
regarding the challenge,
calling
for peace, where no peace is, nor has been,
since this cohort
of old soldiers were born, you see…

we became the peacemakers,
when we agreed,
me
to write,
you
to read, yes, when we aggregate
opposing confusion troubling our own safe zone, home,

as promised, we inherit the wind.
And live in it for ever sakes

where the heart
of our earthian mind core, smiles
to signal certainty, our time is worth spending
to aim
at an actual practical answer
to war,

taste the truth, use your full potency, all curiosity,
all the gifts, aged, mellow,
as spirits alluded to
on T.V.

the mobmind reined in and beguiled by force,
made to believe the same lies used in all the wars
we studied
to improve the odds
of winner takes all come Judgement…

begun in the house of all such holy messaging

beings, unbound
by these bodies, living
in mere words, such as we
who find some true reason

in smiles expressed, such as we often think

signals peace and safety, if, there
be any virtue, if there be any praise
that if persists in present perception, as if

the conditional
for today, if… what?

Yes, if only today, were ours
to use,
to pause, per use
at each letter, long enough
to relate the use per chance
to this once
in the ever
in front
of us both as I proceed perhaps,

by a virtue, a mankind privilege,
the knack we have used

as we use time
for doing nothing
  to disrupt the peace,
    if, such as me, are liars, too.

old pensioners believing
as if evidently
set aside
to reason
with that which lets, as a catch-
ment, a click, tick,
expectant tock talk listen hold,

birds, little fretless birds
making noise, we think
singing, signifying less
than the tempest
in the boiling pre-tea water
on my fire.


---------------------
I plan to die alone. And laugh,
knowing there's no chance,
and I keep laughing no

Pain
control, avoidance,
empty vessle swelling
pride, stretching alarm,

swelling autotelic cooling,
soothing settling breaths,

shush, little baby,

crashing howling pain, oh,
from some child far from me,

from some starving node of us,
this we in this agreemental form,

we who are dangerous to tyranny,
by virtue of development, intentional,

we who mastered our own fate, by faith,
with good reason, our own experience,
working out our own salvation, with fear
and trembling and sneaking suspicions that

it never was good for mankind, wombed or un,
to lack the good sense God gives a green apple,
to ripen and tempt with poisonous red -- ah,

parable of the curve, parabolic arc ripen to death.

Bite me.
Peace defense desert plants use, we use too,
to defend our own peace of mind, alone, away,

privately holding my own ground in the temptation,
into which we lead our muses,
to try as spirits,
to taste, persuade or convince, make beliefs,
made for us, as children,
ever ago, long gone
the way
of all simple things,


enough, morbid ghosts ignorablus,…

let's get physical.
Nobel gaseous,
last thing we be,
as a thought mirrored
in neurons popping in

to exist, out be, in reality,
as ifs we lept, and kept as owned in
our momentum until now, se', as if we lost all will
to continue in total darkness, we catch fire.

Assist Insist aiaiai actually did know
for the test,

The formation
of noble gases can
involve nuclear reactions,
such as the production
of 3He
from the reaction 6Li(n,α)3H(β−)3He

Lithium ash, after all, we all share the air,
but we also make parts of it, we process
the air we breathe, we live and have our being,
inside, this one great big bubble in the emptiness

as caretakers, loaded literally with words for
anything, answers some experiments confirm,
true as true can ever be, as it ever is

all there ever is,
as if ever was, and we carry it as clouds carry
rain if conditions are right, none, if not.

In the most base mind
of mankind, our recognition,
I am like that, those hands are like my hands,
and so on,
first impressions, gosling like,
I am one of those, these, I mean, I know
I think, Blaise,
bet me, knew I won,
how now,
we may only guess,
but guess we may, as free

mental creatures,
wingless swimmers since first
reaction caused the me thing in each
to just occur,

what are the odds
of you? One in ever.
Honest, no contest, if there were only nine points
of distinction, any reasonably programmed boy
of ten, knows fingerprints
defy duplication, its just, as justice is,
in truth it
never happens that you are not unique.
Well. that took all day the first time. But, with a drum roll, I'm glad I'm glad I'm glad - thanks to Cream for the sound track during the peace making past.

— The End —