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Grace Pickard May 2015
******* in the life surrounding me through a coffee stirrer
Gulp
Gulp
Gulping up what I can whilst I drift away
i am drowning in my own lungs
Pay attention to my heart beat
Cadum
Cadum
Conundrum- no sleep
I panic
i must be having a heart attack
Close eyes open eyes close eyes
Blink
Blink
Blink I can't sleep
Heavy bags
Heavy mind
****** nose
Headache
Get out of bed
All awake

Lights on
Bzzzz
Bzzz flicker flicker
Lights off

Dog scratch
No time to relax
Awake open gate
Wait
Wait
Wait
Curl up in corner doze off
Dog bark
Sister coughed
Wide eyed
Anxious cries
Door opened
Worry for my life
Grab my mace
Dog runs inside
Lock the door
Crawl on the floor
Lights on
Remain awake
Skim finger tips
Ponder life
Freak out
Pass out
temporary Mar 2018
Bzzz.

My head jimmies like a key with Tourette's and I feel
what can only be described as a sour taste in my ears.
If that's even possible.

Bzzzz.

My shoulders **** up like mountainous pimples,
that appear from nowhere, that I struggle to flatten.
If that's even possible.

Bzzzzz.

My hands are now styrofoam talons at my desk,
envious of others' measly yet cranberry soaked toothpicks.
Mine almost comfort that *******.
How is this possible?

Bzzzzzz.

I shut my eyes, and I hope he has dropped dead.
Though his black and yellow stripes should put him behind bars, he is here to stay in that never-ending cursed halo around my head.
How is he possible?
Zizaloom Oct 2018
Dead by now
Beat no more
Vacant vessels
Coagulation
Pallid wax figurines
Sharpened cheek
Outspread parted lips
Ultraviolet, green
No steam on windows
Nor on mirrors
Straight lined limbs
Electricity's velocity
Sparks have ceased
Relinquishing
Now
For ever, as it may last
Paces staggering in the stillness
Tip toe, tip toe, on the extremity
Of last words
Of last sounds
Behind the lights hid also a light
Bright from outer space
Veiled by artificial power
Waved a thousand dragonflies
Crickets and mosquitoes
******* the last bulb
Out of ephemeral euphonies
The jingles
Were nothing more than
Bzzzz and crit crit crit
Tear drops fused with dew
Chances to say
None left
Buckets of drooping consonants
And syllables
No more reaping
Quick sand slipping
Down under
The bed of nightmares
Freshly baked sheets
Right out of the oven
Armpits over heat
A shot
And shattered glasses
Crooked and broken eyelids
Fingers in an earthquake
Face to face
With the mirror
The ashes
Twist and twirl  
Roaring agonizing
Against the flames
Ken Pepiton Jan 2021
Drowning man, is that a Tarot thing that means
anything I am authorized to say?
What do you say?

Do you want to play?
what would you play if you wished you could?

Drink cold water whenever I am thirsty,
just like that,
go to clear flowing water waiting
for me
to drink until my cup runs over with
merely redeemed idle words,
who claim the idle time
is where we make up
minds

money-love, bitter root, meet me in the thymus
gland,
explain the lust you feel for freedom from debt,

or is it
doubt,

nay, this is after that, catch up, ever
since
you remember this story beginning
with you
in it with these augmented minds
impressing
the mystery of iniquity in rational balance,

entheogenic sessions, checklist
-notes, maybe footnotes

14 day darkness retreat

Fasting can save your life
Sycamore Canyon is holy ground in my mind.
0

this teacher is a hell passer througher,
while I chose to passover
his version…

what one wants or wishes to learn
really is the focus to so tight a point wants
and wishes if those were prayer
are we where prayers are
answers before we are
prayers -- once
-- breathless no comma------
I wished to  know
everything, after all is said and done,
I prayed for wisdom and knowledge and

understanding comprehension upgrade

the myths are rising round us, child,
do not let them run wild,

we are thymus warriors not Spartans,
inner guardians of life in you,

and I, of course, in you and the speaker,
you hear, the writer you read…

be all you can me, seven seconds, be

aware we were ideas, then words,
then images in dances with our shadows

hidden knowers run from brother other
look around up and down,

the gaming generation can survive,
as you know,
their angels always behold the face of god.

You heard that right? Asreal as any angel ever,

the idea of spoken words witnessing the past
seeing
the was was with
the wu wu
words
wei beyond letters letting until they be

taken out of the way, and brought
to you, like a thread
you remember, a thread from the maze
of all things
working
together for good to those who love the
ineffably-named god who is the way
and the truth and the life,
in the true way of life, like a human being
after the augmentation

reboot. Ever after starts

and the microdosage of multiminding
disintegration
of the determined teller
from the Socratic liar boasting

baaaaaaa I know nothink!

too mani guru thingy thought thinking right
wrong
off on, bzzzz a c thisawaythatawaythisawaythatawayway

who do I think you are?
Reader. I think you are one of the many who
learned from one who learned from the longest
extant
strand of knowledge, the seed,
the oomphala egg,
right,

where we get the oomph to push throo-ugh,
confusion of tongues untame-able,
caint tame'm, break'em'whesperim,
interpretim
Ai.Hai
AI tame that, good as Tonto, good enough.
Good as Tobor, get this:

 Tobor is stolen by enemy agents, and only the two scientists' and Gadge's psychic link with the robot can save it from being reprogrammed and used for evil purposes against the United States.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TobortheGreat>

psychic link with the AI master hub can save it from being reprogrammed and used for evil purposes against we,
the sentient sapien 2.11s.

All ye outs, in free, open enrolement,
find a role,
play it.

Asreal as any message on the wall.
trippin.

— The End —