Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The critical reviews are in.  It looks as though Socialist Heroes will not become a Broadway play.  The following comments concerning the desirability of socialism were gleaned from the Facebook page of the National Liberty Federation.  Group members indicate a resounding thumbs down on the idea of socialism.  

Popular comments from the Facebook group include:
Kool aid drinking
Semper Fi
Following Gunny to Hell and Back
Lots of Good Gunnys out there
Obama’s socialism must be stopped
I’d rather die than live under communism
Join the Infidel Brotherhood
Ted Cruz, just love that guy
Stock Up on Guns and Bullets
Greece invented democracy and they haven't used it for years
Jesus is coming to destroy the Anti-Christ
there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans

The passionate posts and learned comments from the Facebook group members of the The National Liberty Federation follow in all its grammatical and misspelled glory.  All comments from the public group are posted verbatim….

(Editorial Note: The link to the Infidel Brotherhood was redacted.  The Editor wants no role in promoting neo-fascist vitriol. )

Thanks!


National Liberty Federation
Like This Page · 11 hours ago
Like ·  · Share

Top Comments
4,560 people like this.
2,627 shares

Eddie *******Where's MY koolaid!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Charles Noftsker Semper Fi!!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 175 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Justin P. Emery Semper Fi, my Brother
Like · 13 · 11 hours ago

National Liberty Federation Semper Fi!!! 0311 here
Like · 9 · 11 hours ago

Justin P. Emery 3521 listed... but did whatever the hell my Gunny told me to do lol
Like · 5 · 10 hours ago

National Liberty Federation there are a lot of good gunny's out there.
Like · 2 · 10 hours ago

Justin P. Emery Yeah... Gunny's you'll follow through Hell and back
Like · 2 · 10 hours ago

Kathy Stephens Grant We have our future generations to think about!
Like · Reply · 172 · 11 hours ago
7 Replies · about an hour ago

Clint ****** I am on the right side which is I am an American and I do not want obamas socialism
Like · Reply · 11 · 11 hours ago

Joyce Tidwell Burns Backing Americans into a corner is never a good idea. Bad thing is both sides are ready and if this crap starts its gonna be very very bad...
Like · Reply · 9 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Jim Blackwell I may be getting to old to fight but I still shoot straight. Just set me on a bucket behind a bush on a hill and I will just pick them off one at a time until I get all of them or they get me. I would rather die free than to live under communism.
Like · Reply · 14 · 10 hours ago

William Slingo I"m with ya Jim. I'm too old and crippled to be a soldier but I never planned on dying alone if ya know what I mean........
Like · 1 · 8 hours ago

Susannah Fedders I'm 60yr.old female with 4 Grand Son's I'm ready to do what is necessary to take our country back,for my Grandchildren.
Like · Reply · 10 · 11 hours ago

Robert Haller To coin a phrase, I regret I only have one life to give to my country. I will give all that I have and until my last breath to defend this country. Semper Fi.
Like · Reply · 4 · 10 hours ago · Edited

Michael Knorr even some civilians will fight that!
Like · Reply · 3 · 11 hours ago

Adam Capi This generation of young voters and first time voters Proves americans are Plain Stupid
Like · Reply · 4 · 11 hours ago

Andrea Gardner Ahhhhhh....Social Security? How about we get past the labels and just do what's right for the people instead of the rich Plutocrats who have managed to take over our Government. Our Politicians are nothing more than prostitutes sold to the highest bidder.
Like · Reply · 7 · 5 hours ago via mobile

Alice Shinn I may be old, 67 years young. I am disgusted with our country. I know that I am not alone. My friends and family cannot believe what our congress has let laws pass, that are not equal under the law..
Like · Reply · 2 · 9 hours ago

Savi Braun Then get it back!!!
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Leslee C. Carles you can help too!
Like · 10 hours ago

Diana McGowan Nelson I totally cannot understand how many people don't see what this man in doing. By the time they open their eyes, it will probably be too late.
Like · Reply · 2 · 7 hours ago

Brian Chaline Please help us reach 900 likes.
(link to Infidel Brotherhood redacted)
Thanks!

The Infidel Brotherhood
The Infidel Brotherhood is a group established to promote education,warning andunderstanding of the danger involved in the spread of Islam. The twisted Sharia Laws and Ideologies that Muslims are using against Non-Muslims, women and childern.
Community: 921 like this
Like · Reply · 3 · 9 hours ago via mobile

Dale Rumley I am gonna fight till death for it. I with Jim Blackwell. The longer the shot the better!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 · 10 hours ago via mobile

Bettie Stanley Amen
Like · Reply · 2 · 10 hours ago

Nancy Jacobson I am with you .
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Marino Fernandez I wish this was true, pray that America wakes up to reality, and the mistakes it has made in the last two elections.
Like · Reply · 1 · 50 minutes ago

Jule Spohn Semper Fi!!! Jule Spohn - Sgt- USMC - 1960/66
Like · Reply · 1 · 9 hours ago

Savi Braun Everyone needs to help get our country back
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago via mobile

La Fern Landtroop Praying that God helps America !
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Terri Britt Smith Read Senator Ted Cruz last post.... gotta love that guy!!
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago

FJay Harrell Yes it will. The Boomers will not give up their party.
Like · Reply · 2 · 8 hours ago

Vanessa Mason Be careful in Obama Care they come after your children because of your military training, read up on it, it starts with home visits. I salute all military, and Thank you too.
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago

Lois F. Neway Semper Fi ......We have our future generations to think about!
Like · Reply · 1 · 10 hours ago

Joe Riggio Nor will mine....Semper Fi!!!
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago

Michael Coulter oorah!!!
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Joyce Ballard I pray this is right.
Like · Reply · 2 · 11 hours ago

Billy Wells I pray that you are right!!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Carmita Depasquale Semper Fi, indeed and thank you for ALL that you do..God bless and God speed!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Rose M D'Amico I pray not....the young ones must be strong & we seniors will help when we can!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Nathan Gartee I stand beside my fellow americans to FIGHT for FREEDOM !!!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Thomas P Zambelli oh hell no!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Marvin Moe Mosley Let's hope they stand up and be counted
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Bill Yeater gonna be a near thing
Like · Reply · 11 minutes ago

Dante Antiporda Obama's socialism will never happen in the US, if only its citizen will use their PEOPLE POWER a mass action together without FEAR and gun fired and NO BULLET hurt anyone.
Like · Reply · 34 minutes ago

Diane Stevens Abernathy Too late.
Like · Reply · 44 minutes ago

Chuck N Marv Pelfrey AMEN!! AGREE!!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Jane Garrett Amen
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Sandy Thorne You got that right.
Like · Reply · 5 hours ago

Jane Hanson GOOD FOR YOU.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Buck Wheat **** near already there
Like · Reply · 3 · 11 hours ago

Carol Lowell Already happening,
Like · Reply · 14 minutes ago

Ellen Aaron I surely hope not, but it's not looking good, right now...
Like · Reply · 16 minutes ago

Timothy Tremblay It would be a cold day in hell
Like · Reply · 18 minutes ago

Peter Krause Not without a major fight...
Like · Reply · 25 minutes ago

Mike Beakley You are a stupid person.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago via mobile

Anibal Gonzalez Jr. I hope. And trust.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hours ago

George P Palmer Well son you better get off your *** cause I am one of last of the grate generation..
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Steven Canzonetta I don't think you people know what socialism is, take a civics class. Not mention democracy has been around for thousands of years, and the country that invented it (Greece) hasn't used it in century's. Shouldn't that tell you something?!
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Kenneth Chartrand we sure hope but there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Ann Morse unfortunately, we already have...
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Robert Dixon Aim High and I agree with you

Steven Canzonetta I don't think you people know what socialism is, take a civics class. Not mention democracy has been around for thousands of years, and the country that invented it (Greece) hasn't used it in century's. Shouldn't that tell you something?!
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hours ago via mobile

Kenneth Chartrand we sure hope but there are a lot of ******* out there posing as americans
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Ann Morse unfortunately, we already have...
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Robert Dixon Aim High and I agree with you
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Deb Siener I wish but think it is already too late to take our country back
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Code Jah Capitalism, socialism, fascism and all the other ism's have all failed. They're all corrupt and unequal. No sense using any of that crap anymore, its a round world with unlimited potential. Why not start something new that works well for everyone not just a handful of industrialist pigs?
Like · Reply · 1 · 7 hours ago

Marco Moore are future
Like · Reply · 7 hours ago

Lydia Perez-Cruz If we don't want this, Everyone better Wake Up and put a Stop to it!!!!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Terry Maeker Thank you!!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Gayle Wright I AGREE
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago

Glen Dauphin Too late! All we can do is take it back now.
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago via mobile

Ruth E. Brown It's never too late. We stood by and allowed this to happen, so it's up to us to fix it.
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago via mobile

Michael Therrien Socialism? Really you folks need a dictionary. Socialism is not the same as Communism. Socialism is not the same as Fascism. Most democracies in the world operate under the banner of socialism. So stop getting your patriotism mixed up with fighting socialism. It has NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. And you gunners yeah... Your JOB IS DEFEND THE PRESIDENT not the politics. How is that going?
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hours ago · Edited

Kathy Williams What are you going to do to keep obama from turning this country into SOCIALISM ?? We and congress just sit on our hands and expect God to do the work ????
Like · Reply · 1 · 53 minutes ago

Nancy Anderson Makes me glad I don't have kids.
Like · Reply · 1 · 11 hours ago · Edited

RoyLee Clouse Jr. AMEN!
Like · Reply · 4 minutes ago

Cherrie Fields Collins United we stand!
Like · Reply · 5 minutes ago

Pamela Lowry we need to fight
Like · Reply · 15 minutes ago

Jorge Alvarado I challenge you all to write your representatives, and demand change. Make a promise, if you see no change to vote out those representatives. When you are finished writing, go out to the corner of your street and hold up signs, advising others to do the same. Change starts while on your feet!!!
Like · Reply · 44 minutes ago via mobile

Humberto Gonzalez never
Like · Reply · 45 minutes ago

Robert Wilkins You elected a Socialist loser as president, twice! So yes, you are the generation whose stupidity and intellectual sloth let America fall to a bunch of two-bit dictators. Hope you're all proud of yourselves.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

ColleenLee Johnson Sure hope this is the case - we have two years or less....
Like · Reply · about an hour ago via mobile

Darlene Nelson Stand up America if you love this country.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Jole Workman too late!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Pete Johnson Our grandfather's generation already did it when they elected Woodrow Wilson.
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

G Cindy Albe u are RIGHT about that!!!
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Lynn Stacey Amen
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago via mobile

Mary Labonte If we must go down it will be one hell of a fight!!!
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Emma Joyce Wolfe THANK YOU
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Charles Twentier Someone please tell our country is under attack from inside and we need them to do what thier signs before it is too lat for us and them .
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Patsy McMillian Hartley Hope so.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Ron Hendrix Keep Communist Cuban Guerillas out of the Senate and the spotlight.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Matthew Keenan We already did!http://www.foxnews.com/.../
Why ObamaCare is a fantastic success
www.foxnews.com
There are 2 major political parties in America.
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Maryann Del Giorno Avella amen
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Selena Ervin i think we are almost there
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Rhoda Dietz we better all do smthing to stop it
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Todd Mcdonald What about Fascism
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago via mobile

Steven Canzonetta Richard A Haines, I see you posted the Mayflower compact. I believe the constitution trumps the compact, especially seperation of church and state. Also " one nation under god" was added to the pledge in the '50s as an anti communism campaign after WW2. Its not an American value, because we are suposed to respect all religeon, and keep it out of social policy. Maby your not an American, since you cant keep your dogma out of our government.
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago via mobile

Harry Mundy Socialism is a rolling snowball gaining size and momentum as it rolls downhill! Let's hope it can be stopped or impeded, but as it is rolling, more and more people jump aboard to benefit from the free ride!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Gary Carte With you all the way.
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Isaac Tedford Pookey! Let's bring this mother down!
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Else Mccomb God bless you all...
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

John MacDonald IN GOD WE TRUST
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Byron Lee you better hurry then ---the ******* are gainigng on us!!!!!
Like · Reply · 4 hours ago

Justin Klimas HOOAH!!!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 6 hours ago

Joseph Ball Hell yeah
Like · Reply · 7 hours ago via mobile
106 of 172
View more comments

David Patton Arm yourselfs now and buy plenty of ammo, you will need it one day.
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Lucretia Landrum Amen !
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Lucretia Landrum Amen
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

John Payne that right!!
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago

Little Eagle ****** McGowan No you too busy falling TO STUPIDITY.
Like · Reply · 8 hours ago via mobile

Carol Pinard Ummmm what obama is doing to our country in not socialism..... it is awful and shameful but it is not socialism. Do research on what socialism is supposed to be and not just what it became in the hands of evil people.
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Tim Veach Too late.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Pam McBride Don't want it to be.
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Kathryn Seelmeyer RIGHT!
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago

Kim Janics my mom would love you but we are slowly have been going toward that direction since the beginning of governments.....yes even america
Like · Reply · 10 hours ago · Edited

DeAnna Stone already happening
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Irene Lopez Nice
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago via mobile

Scott Puttkamer A lil late I think! Obama has already done it!!!!!!!!
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Jimmy Oakes 2nd that!
Like · Reply · 11 hours ago

Diane Kelham OORAH....
Like · Reply · 2 hours ago

Tami Stanley Perkins Amen to that!!!!!! From one vet to millions of others, we shall rise to the occasion and fight here on our own land to remove a dictator!!!!!
Like · Reply · 3 hours ago

Fran Gordon Benz Not if I can help it! I see people reaching a boiling point!! Something is going to happen! I'm sensing the anger and frustration!
Like · Reply · 9 hours ago via mobile

Bob D. Beach Right!
Like · Reply · 4 minutes ago

Annie Graham Which generation would that be.....the one that 'allowed' SS, medicare, Medicaid, fire, police, parks, roads, education etc...?
Like · Reply · 35 minutes ago

Kassandra Craig then we need to get rid of obama
Like · Reply · about an hour ago

Tony Horton By Ballots or bull
Emily Tyler May 2013
I
Am
So
Bored

Civic
Studies
Oh
My
Lord

Droning
Teachers
Boring
­Class

Chances
Are
I
Will
Not
Pass

Half
The
Student
Fell
Asleep
­
Zero
Knowledge
They
Will
Keep

Civic
Studies
What
A
Bore

Good
T­hing
I
Like
English
More
Here oh postmodern nihilist
the grave awaits
your death
wish:

Life
      a
         struggle

escape it

death
          so tempting

grasp it

             and take its era with you:

Keep it
            away from our church's

                                                     our schools

                                                        ­                 our civics
                                                          ­                          
                                                                ­                          and further culture.

Lo, the children
black as the hell they die in...

Its inordinately subjective unconsciousness;
confused emotionally with its ineptitude of reason.

Blaming its former God,
for their own doing.

Wanting to save that world upon themselves left behind from such a rejection.

Lest they live in a Christ so unjust.
As to not know all men equally,
but to judge them--in their distinction.

Creation
your natural law
emphasizes that which we do not want to come to terms with.
If only we could make us all inter-dependent biological beings of mechanization.

Chain me to genetic determinism and biochemical reactions foremost -- lest my soul affirms inequality:

                                                    ­                              Liberty exulted
                                                         ­                         by the risen Lord:
Supremacy/Autonomy

© S. Wesley Mcgranor
http://books.google.com/books/about/Postmodernism_for_Beginners.html?id=1CC6GAAACAAJ
Bunhead17 Dec 2013
[Verse 1]
I wanna be free, I wanna just live
Inside my Cadillac, that is my ****
And I throw it up (I throw that up)
That's what it is (that's what it is)
In my C A D I L L A C ***** (******)
Can't see me through my tint (nah ah)
I'm riding real slow (slow motion)
In my paint wet drippin' shining like my 24's (umbrella)
I ain't got 24's (no oh)
But I'm on those Vogues
That's those big white walls, round them hundred spokes
Old school like old English in that brown paper bag
I'm rolling in that same whip that my granddad had
Hello haters, **** y'all mad
30k on the Caddy, now how backpack rap is that?

[Hook: Hollis]
I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

[Verse 2]
Man I'm lounging in some **** Bernie Mac would've been proud of
Looking down from heaven like **** that's stylish
Smilin', don't pay attention to the mileage
Can I hit the freeway? I'm legally going 120
Easy weaving in and out of the traffic
They can't catch me, I'm smashing
I'm ducking bucking them out here
I'm lookin' ******' fantastic, I am up in a classic
Now I know what it's like under the city lights
Riding into the night, driving over the bridge
The same one we walked across as kids
Knew I'd have a whip but never one like this
Old school, old school, candy paint, two seater
Yea, I'm from Seattle, there's hella Honda Civics
I couldn't tell you about paint either
But I really wanted a Caddy so I put in the hours
And roll on over to the dealer
And I found the car, junior, problem with this geezer
Got the keys in and as I was leaving I started screaming

[Hook: Hollis]
I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

[Verse 3: Schoolboy Q]
Backwoods and dope
White hoes in the backseat snorting coke
She doing line after line like she's writing rhymes
I had it hella my love, tryna blow my mind
Cadillac pimpin', my uncle was on
14, I stole his keys, me and my ****** was gone
Stealin' portions of his liquor, water in the Patron
Rather smiling like I won the ******* lottery homes
(******' lottery homes)
Tires with the spokes on it in the 4-2
Mustard and mayonnaise, keeping the buns on 'em
My dogs hanging out the window
Young as whoosh, ******' like we ball
Tryna **** em all, **** the ******' wimps
See what's poppin' at the mall, meet a bad *****
Slap her ***** with my palms
You can smoke the *****, I was tearing down the walls
I'm *******' awe,some
Swear these eyes tryna hypnotize
Grip the leather steering wheel while I grip the thighs
See the lust stuck up in her eyes
Maybe she like the ride or did she like the smoke?
Girl does she want it low?
This **** a Coupe de Ville so you'll never know
So we cool with ******, my ***** **** the limit
Got a window tinted for showing gangstas in it
Slice off when the gas is finished, Q

[Hook: Hollis]
Off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright
lyrics to "White Walls" by: Macklemore ft Schoolboy Q. #The Heist
Kayla Kaml Feb 2015
My Evidence professor told us
Testimony is not believable
Unless other facts back it up.
            That terrified me.
My word means nothing
Unless I’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs
            But I was raised to clean up
After I eat.

The chemotherapy left Dad a full head of hair,
And no one questioned his diagnosis.
Yet you search for scars on my wrists
            As if corroborating evidence is necessary
To prove I’m not ok.

Our nation was founded on the ideas of liberty and justice
And I have the right to be thought of as
            Innocent until proven guilty
Clearly you paid attention in civics
Because you hold on to this principle
With every ounce of willpower you possess.
The only thing is,

            I didn’t realize mental illness is a crime.
Once daddy decided to teach his son,
His favorite being politics,
He set to teach Civics..!!


He said,
Son let's begin from home,
If I be the head,
I become Prime Minister,
And your mother,
She becomes Home Minister,

At this point,
Mother who was listening
to all the commotion,
From her undisputed department,
The kitchen...!!
Came out and
Explained casually,

Your daddy is the Head,
And he becomes 'President'...
Who has to give formal approvals,
To what is sort from 'The Parliament',
He also gives approval for the budget presented,
And be guest of Honor at various public events,
He gets to speak few times a year,
And he is still the 'formal approver'...

I manage few portfolios,
Prime ministry and Home ministry,
At times I have Finance ministry too,
Defence ministry too mostly stays with me,
I am the 2/3 rd majority, I decide how to run 'The House'!!

And most times I have solid 'Opposition' too,
The leader of Opposition (LoP) is very strong,
She being your grand mother,
Is also the head of oldest party in the house.
Her party has now lost and so she is in opposition,
Disputing every new law I, the PM try to bring.
She is Old Monk with a Gin,
But with her experience and wisdom,
I the PM, is always trimmed !!

Your grand dad, is a gentle politician,
He keeps changing parties from government to opposition,
When he is with us, we give him portfolio,
We make him a minister for Agriculture, Food and Health.
In some houses he is the Retired Former President.
Living a comfortable life with benefits that come with retirement.

You dear son get to keep Games, Education and Tourism ministry.
Nothing more comes your way,
You are forced to believe you are our future,
And so your ministry always need to perform,
Because,
To brighten the future is supposed to be in your hands!!!

Sparkle In Wisdom
August 2018
This is a funny light humored comparison of Indian joint family set up with Indian political system.
We live in a family mostly where grand parents, parents and kids live together in one house.. In country we have President and Parliament headed by Prime Minister and also opposition headed by leader of opposition.
Jordan Hudson Nov 2018
Highway, street, it's right up the road
Hotel stay, motel meet, star of the show
Raise hell day, shell station meet, the more you know
Accelerate, stance nation meet, car is too slow
2.4 the fragile four, that loud *** car guy next door
Four banger, rice ganger, listen to her roar
Blow the engine, trans on the floor
No brakes, stock intake, make Civics cry for more
Fake TRD blew the other rice away
Crop dusting some Honda today
Left some old Civic on the side of the road
Couldn't count on V-TEC I suppose
VVT-i, the never dying ride
Won't hide or deny buttons are fried
But I am the life long roadside guide
Follow mine
Line, line, line, line, line, line
Straight, dash, yellow and white
Line, line, line, line, line, line
Yeah, VVT-i
Line, line, line, line, line, line
Straight, dash, yellow and white
Line, line, line, line, line, line
Yeah, VVT-i
VVT-i power!
Morgan Feb 2013
Lost in decorated journals
resting on my night stand
Strategically spaced all around
last years Civics notes
Wedged between Great Expectations
& a dictionary on a book shelf in my bedroom
Cycling through the washing machine
tucked inside the back pocket of my jeans
Crushed under the weight of my dresser
Hidden under a pile
of paperwork in my car 
Words drenched in so much
unadulterated pain
Years of twisted agony,
aching to be forgotten
Hedonic Nihilist Jan 2016
her first love was mary jane
she would've loved me, too,
if i was easy to wrap up,
put in her mouth and swallow

if i could make her shiver
in the warm, Florida sun
and sweat in the
cold decembrist moon

if i could cause the coughs
Within her swallow lungs
The dreams she clung too so desperately
I am not easy to roll up



his first love was ******
he wanted me too, too much
i didn’t want to be the blood
in his veins, the life

when ****** ***** the life
out of you, you **** the life
out of it, the weekends that
it wished for:

become empty syringes
on the floors of
cheap motels and
Honda Civics.



his first love was codeine
i want to float too, i say
you cannot, he says
i sink into the abyss i create

i used to have so many colors, i say
no response, he fades away, the
colors of the night, the reds,
are all i start to know

he said to **** the sadness out
of naive girls they have to lose their skin
codeine, codeine, codeine–my God,
was all he ever said



my first love was Dead
no sympathy, no remorse, no hearse
the urn was blue, the ashes gray as cigarette ash
the preacher sighs, again

it could’ve been you, he says
**** right, it could’ve been me;
in that urn, it could’ve been me
my first love is Dead
Chimera melons Mar 2010
You knew
Forests are alive
lonely children play harder
afternoons spent their invisible money
on waiting for the truth

you Knew
honda civics scare me now
she might be inside
cackling unlovingly holding anothers heart

you knew
trophy gold peels off sometimes
sleeping only during daylight
or with the lights on
shutins look through screen doors
crosses everywhere

you new
sleep fortune cookies dreams
like little notes found in cakes
rings in wine smoke lifting bubbles
teeth fixed to loyal smiles
laughter in a mountain climb

you knew
your father not me
Built on land stolen from the natives
On the back of blacks who were
stolen from their own land.

Indigenous slaughtered like the buffalo they herded
Rounded up and marched into unwanted corners
There to starve until oil was discovered
And it became time to march them again.

Blacks who were declared to be less than human
Denied the right to do anything but work.
Families that were like grapes in a cluster
Ripe for the picking off of the best ones
And no thought given to those left behind.
Premiums paid for those enceinte,
Harbingers of the two-for-one sale.

Righteous blindness is a national disease
That overlooks the broken teacups
In the mad pursuit of tea.
That cannot see the trampled flowers
In the race to make perfume
That reeks self satisfaction
At the carnage left behind
And waves the flag of liberty
At those the cause enslaved.
                              ljm
Self righteousness has no place in American History.
tread Apr 2013
when convinced
certain words
drive Cadillac's
and others beat
Civics, you for-
get one isn't
extinct.
written March 29th, 2013 in Paris, France
1SP Mar 2014
Close these weary of mine,
Play the Bad Boy's Having a Party,
I can indulge in delights so fine
Of Friday in Civics that are sweet.

Oh yeah!

Mrs. Chaney and that radio of hers,
Both tuned to the oldies Hot 105;
Luther starts to plays as it recurs,
And she smiles, she dances, sings live.

Well, all right now!

What joy to witness her really bask
Is such a relief from the workweek;
Her daily struggle execrated at last,
As she swings, dwelling in melody.

Oh yeah!

We would just sit, listen, and learn,
Finish the week test quickly to survey;
Our weekly burdens were burned,
Ash like hers burned away in a way.

Well, all right!

I hed aced her class with all the lesson,
Yet words may never suffice gratitude;
That strong Black woman was a blessing,
First to see my strong sense of negritude.

Oh yeah!

Thank you, Mrs. Chaney
Martin Narrod Nov 2018
You sleep they come, you sleep they go. They strike it rich, they take their gold.
They stake your home, you lose your house. Their life may change, you’ll lose it all. Ouchita surplus garbanzo bonanza. Milky white thistle caterpillars encircling State Farm. Around the rosy, redness blooms. First in a scratch, then flooding soon. You they watch, they watch you halved. First, you gave up plastic bags. Now plastic straws, and soon a water tax. The facts may might farriers to make haste with maize, face fate with rays of sun plants, and laughter, goodness stitched into new seeds we need to sew. New pith to chew our speed and seed pods back into. New buckets to hide the tragedies we’ve given into. Peace test, speed test. Time’s up and the beast continues. Some starve heading the tables of ancient feasts, infeasible feats that backroom recording darkness flows to fever grips in crimson-painted streets throw whim through. Chief prisoner that we’ve turned into? Where come we when new winds throw her Earth down, to see this missing blessed ‘being where unshucks from mystery and hide of humans’ rind, polls the throes in wheat to patrol these streets, puh lease don’t let this be the sh*t new DJs push their interdigital civics' symptom just to watch their hips get prompted down.

Who wants to be prompted. Particularly not we. Not now. Not a present. Not of precedent, and certainly not with this incredibly myopic disorderly gag borderer promulgating fact-less el ordeals. Wish these weren’t our ideals? Think again.

Faster than air conditioning units plucked out from under eaves, suspense is just injustice suspect from corruptness. Untouchable blood mensches, Houdini's that’ve come straight down the drain to take The Duchess. Forget smoke relief, screens between players in the first box, and the fellas driving the hearse, box first to fifteen with a given chance to clock down at the top if there’s a draw or otherwise start in at the Bell and pick up as many two or three rounds need to be until one side forgets why it needed to stand up to be put down, so then the Reader’s can connect with a truth mercurial and persistent with which needs to be more regularly achieved. Parts in pieces, or even just pieces in parts. If we don’t start to look at the pieces we’re never gonna figure this all out. We’re never going to make it to the paper on the sidewalk reminding us why we’re wandering around waiting to find a piece of paper to tell us everything, because look left, look right, and then turn around, answers to the questions you seek have never been more available than today.
regina Jan 2016
there’s this invisible gremlin with his hands around my neck and yes, i say HIS because yes, he’s a man, what else would a gremlin be.

he’s got his hands around my neck and he has another set of hands around my arms.  and my eyes are locked with his and i'm entranced.

i wish i could say he was as beautiful as vishnu with his four arms and enchanting mystique.  but i wouldn’t be caught dead praying to this guy.  

he pulls my hair and he grabs at my ankles and don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for that.  but this is always at the most inopportune moment. because while i’m running away, he calls out to me,

“hey!  remember how terrible you are?  remember how you’re actually incapable of doing anything?  remember how literally no one likes you?”  

and i freeze in my tracks and i look around hysterically, begging that no one heard him.  and i open my mouth to say something but he’s throwing pencils at my head like nate in my civics class and what did i ever do to you, nate?  

my brother likes to remind me that he cried on the homecoming court and i wish i could say that i felt vindicated but ever since i felt the eraser hit my temple, i realized i should probably keep my mouth shut because these linoleum halls are run by basketball shorts and beauty queens, not band geeks

nate threw pencils at my head.  he didn’t put his hands around my neck.  he wouldn’t be caught dead touching someone like me.

this invisible gremlin is all over me.  and i’m kind of indifferent because i love any kind of attention.  he bought me so many drinks in college and i thought, for a while, it was a good system.  we’d drink and we’d dance and we’d follow those adult rules of not talking about work or family while having fun.  

and then the next day, he’d hit me in the face as sharp as the wind on wood street.  “remember, you’re in love with someone who doesn't love you.”  “remember, you’re too awkward to get past the job interview.”  

he keeps me up all hours of the night wanting more from me and my muscles are tense but with no touch of intimacy.  

i’ve spent my whole life being the tallest girl in the room but he has his shoe right over my head.  people watch as he brings me to my knees and they STILL ask me why i’m always apologizing.

it took me years and years to end up realizing that i was apologizing for him.  like an exhausted midlifer apologizing for her ******* husband.  but my favorite stories are the ones where she gets a fresh haircut and a new dress and she realizes she’s worth more than Bud Weiser hollering at her from the recliner and then she writes a new ending for herself.

so thanks for the pencil.
thommya Jan 2015
I remember that day,

it was 7th grade civics class

We had to draw the landscape

the colors turning. We could see.

When then we each with a notepad

began to venture into a faraway

retreat away, the sky brilliance

our guide toward a fantasy.

~

I was unable to recall later

that cold December morning

just how beautiful the leaves

were just weeks earlier, radiant

in the autumn sunlight.

Life was an easy walk

along pathways that

breathed the lovely

vestige of Nature’s remedy.

~

Winter skies are meant to

chill our heart and soul.

The trees hadn’t any designs

to seek desire’s passion.

Today the branches remained

stark and sleek, now barren,

holding only a key toward

sudden loss, the fallen summer.

~

A week earlier the branches held a fresh snow

At least he felt shelter in his new travel home.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
T. A. Preacher- a character investigation

Friday, February 3, 2023
12:33 PM

Thanks for looking twice, this is after chapter one.
So that's the first line of chapter two, I suppose
That was one, but this is first because,
the internet is read last to first,
later this is the middle, it is auto intuitive

Any given day gone by
I may have thought I like this ending.

"Before time, God Almighty promised eternal life. Before time!"
A preacher to the choir, offered this as proof,
that there is life, after the time
of life has ceased, thus hell,
must be avoided…
if you can read this accept it must have been voided
nullift,
to totally invalidate lobster stacking- or well, no hell, never was.
kingpriest selfishgene mindmeme power substructure
in the course
Masterclass Civics, with Newt. I was there,
that series in the course
of human events… timeless
and --- grace must be earned.
              Duty-wise, Soldier of the Cross T. A.

I am doing nothing, really, messin' with messaging tek
thinking momentary lapses reoccur aiwise
déjà vu is a function, not a flaw
we recall becoming, and learning, as a we, we
do not unbecome.
Be true.
Life is not a horror movie.
If, indeed,
the effect
from knowing, die-for-it level knowledge,
is being free,
becoming free,
to chose the way
we go from knowing,
wow, Teddy Ruxpin, Worlds of Wonder,
was a beautiful idea, look what we made…

The now old gadfly, happy to die, happy to pass
the spark  to kindled acts enforcing char
at the spark,
to burst in tiny, most tender of flames, softest
wind
tend to sush…

lulla-byye'es be  long here, hmmm, listen

arrested developments catch light, used right,
once burnt, twice wise.

Let no story steal the peace you find
upon precept one.
Your point.
Your reason to expect better from worse,
this time,
the one that counts, constantly, ticketing mindspacetime
hook,
to the sidetracked train,
using your attention tension
to increase our torque, you learn
and we got a load o' gamblers and ramblers
ridin' my train,
we, let me tell you, we, the passengers on this train,
we, thought Sisyphus happy,
thought him so, he said,
he'ld show us rock rollin'
keep it secret,
but having something to do,
get to the top, take your
time,
meandering down,

hell's what you make
from life
with you as init-
for years, we felt we should, keep it secret
for the whole existential philosophy route through then,
-re zen
commabreaths re member,
we agreed, objective POV, gratis, no credits due no body,
observant being we…
- wait, maybe we become better each time
Contrary to the once incarnate God, who said he gives,
without money and without cost, slick as gnosis, re-co-known.
- you will pay for knowing what you think you may know now
Mindspacetime, same yesterday, today, forever… instant, constant
time, not more,
time, no less, yet
time between distant things remains,
but
in the mind's timelessness,
constant instants
in prayer,
accepting
unearnable grace, as expertise
with the weapons
of warfare, in truth and spirit perfected,

in waiting, fect, compleat. As time's tyranny breaks,
and next
is after nothing, and the rest remains.

Advocate for the truth as possible.
Opposing principles ruling voice,
- gut says walk it out
- guy in mind thinks stick
- anon become
I am the Authority who may say we,
and it, or he, or she, ad in fun item,
union rule. We, the whole
idea driving the threads hear…

click it
disagrees
with all the dogmatic tools used
in the business
of fear motived religious service.

He holds to a conceit, a heresy, at first
accepted as his own, but that was pride.

Plum on my thumb,
oh, what a bright old man am I, silly me.

One, among the eight-billions, I, silly me;
what can I do?
pSigh, hi-band lo-brow
Fast the acceptable fast.
Announce the acceptable year.
Disagree with all who claim secret
insight based on the Bible, Torah,
which says none of the works of YHWH
were done in secret.

Cretan,…


of a certainty, as often hap
t
Finding peace, core serenity,
body, soul and spirit,
heart, mind, spleen, gut, reins and
liver, fingers, toes,
levers and pumps,
tunnels and tubules and folds.

Organized containment of life
-that's what bodies are
for articulated interference
with objectified reality,
beyond the bonds of flesh and blood,
I,
me, you see, I think I exist abstracted
from the mass of mankind,
from the nameless soldiers sent to war
for the God who is served,
by allegiants, pledged from age six,
to honor the pledge to the nation
representing the perfect will
of the God
of the Church Selective.

Documented seven sec set. true that.
Selective Service US 56910427

Right.
Rights.
Right use.
Right reason.
Right cause, just effect.

Affection attached
Military  mind pays affectionate
attention
to tension
some force in one dir
ect effect of minds melded
"to make a mental impression on," 1630s;
earlier "to attack" (c. 1600),
"act upon, infect" (early 15c.),
from affect (n.)
or from Latin affectus
"disposition, mood, state of mind or body produced by some external influence."

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=affect>

Sheer jesuitry… been said known, so
coulda been a pain
to learnsumomahlathashit, stuckSTÜCK
salimsayn okeh, say it
oy vey

Unavoidable thorny issue burrs, sores rubbed
so raw

The business of religion, for a while,
in America, religions united
in pro-hibition, which, I
do not rightly know, what hibition is,
so I do not think I'm ob-liged re-liged
or promise tied, to be pro
much at all.
When my hair grew white,
I went all in for freedom,
and self governing, and self categorization
allow if you must, a battle,
- I heard a Rebbi say today
- jerusalem is in our minds, or yours
- I may have mistaken, who knew
Bedtime, echo opera, my reality,
nothing's on hold this is live
forever

Ego- arise
Exceptionalizm extreme, personally,
become
dead to this world and all its science,
falsely so called,

you know. Teaching times and seasons,

change to some before time state,
when nothing that is was,
-Phrygian Sitar twangninng uper subtle soft
distant soft even there still
and God {El-oh-him} he said, to nothing,
apparently,

be, and light, apparently, occurred,
plausibly causing time,
whereby days of exactly how ll'll


choke point, language pattern shock event
worst on New Guinee - for peak effect
it could be surmised,
confusion-wise
as language appears full bloom. Be
sensible
right
now, ah child, did nobody tell you,
we already get what you get when you get here.

Language, the signals we send and receive,
friendly dog, entire demeaner, wags,

trained dog, coded, made ready
to accept command, language, "sic-'em",
Wolf1
you may have heard,
if there were a time in your past experience,
if there were a once,
when you went to jail
for your boss, or because you would not lie,
not even by omission… ah, let me tell of a once.

There, in the everso long ago,
in the canyon I can feel,
to this day, I can recall,

the time I prayed, in Sycamore Canyon,
while looking through my wallet,
while sitting on a rock, in the middle of the creek.

I had no money, but I did have a Gospel Tract,
I had purchased, from a door to door sales man,

a white-haired man, full, not long, but full white beard,
and a Greek fisherman's cap.

I do not recall his pitch, but he  asked for a quarter,
in exchange for a 32 page book of Bible verses,
anointed through the testimony of untold numbers,

over and above the gross of original chosen ones.

As recorded in the Bible, the word is its own evidence.
believing is the believer's duty…

Come, let us
reason, you show me yours, so I show you mine,

as when the prophets proved one the other,
show me your faith, in knowledge,
I'll show you mine formed in time, timeless now,
in the past,
in the course of cosmic events, global-earthwise,

mankind has power to devise and construct,
means, whereby we all can just get along;
but the Bible says,
or the Q'uran says,
or the Founder says,

or research into remaining tangible fibers,
bones, shards, art-intuited spiritual aspects,
say said
aligned
with the stars… sacred orders evidence,
the sun, and the moon, and the stars,

wandering and otherwise,
so vast, even then, there were seers,

later, the nomenclature changed to prophet,
and seers became witches suffered not,
no putting up
with seers saying prophets were blind
leading the blind.

Chosen warriors, called of the systemized faith,
the only allowable faith, truth be told,
the one that knows God, truth and spiritwise.

Where all men are created equal,
if, indeed, the story is told
to all with ears
to hear… if, indeed, lieving be, is believing, done,
letting letters hold the law, wherein
the spirit must abide, con the knowledge needed,

to measure worth, and offer appraisal,
for all a unit
of mankind is valued. equally in the inchoate mind
of the nation, just taking shape, in the highest minds.
Then, again
Look, learned masses,
learn the lessons from tyrants past.

The greed a child can witness, in spirit and in truth,
as manifested in the churches,
used to tame the wild Indians.  All
of them, slated
for eternal damnation,
due to ignorance of life's rules, as revealed
to preachers who truly comprehend Revelation.
- the award goes to, the man with the turtle
- a man of the cloth, in the long tradition
- he wins the skin of the lamb,
- and as per rules, the scapegoat books.

As did Father Joe Smith,
and Ellen G. White, all the suffragettes
Mary Baker Eddy,
Aimee McPherson, Katherine Kuhlman, Jimmy Swaggert, All Saints fans
Tony and Sue, David Koresh, Jim Jones,
and all the congregations
in TV Land… and
the entire PTL financial support base, et al

And Rome and Topkapi and wherever else
so help me, god

------- this must be way later, just thinkinsayin
rubbing my eyes, and tasting
potato salad

Is this a thorny issue, oh, to the letter
if I offend you, I can explain,
the point to being itchy is making marks
when finally scratching the surface
riverwise peace acceptance broadcast
old seed, unplowed mindtimespace.
hooh, stick, hold
!¢ÜLXX-¿Þ? thorns marked such heresies
in my record in the cloud of all knowing
as you may in advertently already hold known
once have
Have you ever, really, been in jail?

- Why you ask, really? Is there…
Yeh, there are imaginary jails.
- like puzzle lifes?
Complexities, many creases, many ply, thick
walled off separate sections in mindtimespace.

Held thoughts, enclosed in thought bubbles,
and stacked, no,
o
can't stack bubbles, yet
stacks of globular shapes topple.
polar attract pepulse
push pull
come to shove slimy truth metaphor
rib-it
Ah, ha, frog's egg globs encased in goo.
Protoplasmic goo.
Gnosis, subconscious know how, frogs bodies have.

Patterning thought nets, thinking holds, slipping
fix the point… attach [arachnoid-mater-kids]
your mind to mine, let this mind be in you, seen

from a lustful hustler's most winning con, forming,
like a plan, do the religion, be
Elmer Gantry… listen
as each adjusts the other's wig,
the promo guy, wise to the Hunt silver game,
shame he would not listen, few knew,
to the lady, she knows the game.
She has sprinkled her bed
with aloes and myrrh.

Simple, go right on your way, the end there of…

my cue, queue up, get your excuse,
- who thinks all he knows
- simple
simplicity is a valid excuse,
feeble minded finding comfort
in an imaginary reality,
certain that the truth, eventually wins,

those we may attempt to tempt.
- we made no such bet
- no mas win lose
Sublimnity, you see,
subtle expression of the man, Christ Jesus,
would that ye all were wise as serpents,
such as legends testify, wise serpents
seen burned in toast
once
preserved the hope of mankind,
at the cost a heel stomp, **!
Aieee
She slew the lying demon, no, no,
that was me, Eve and the shining thing
I can tell it from when no witches burned
Beyond Prince James's Thesis on Daemons,
Ai- we found san razon, d
ust reflective mica
mine licensed sibyls pipe direct
all on raspberry pi,
- it's not all smoke and diamond dust,
We have the facsimiles in mindtimespace storage

Python 3. Magnitudes, orders of above
old wives tales juvenilized
to mere Tolkien/Lewis
Grimm-level bogus spiritseed, degreed B.S.

---------- with that capital B

----------- we entered the reasoning chamber,
with all the wu wu allowed
in me, let this mind be,
- from Paul's doctrine of mind-using
- in Romans, yes
delve, dig, dis-cover the sealed knowings known sealed,
awaiting discovery alone… that's Hebrews, not sure, anon
-- I coulda said this
to nobody then
now I said it to you
--- in another chapter I went mad and
copy pasted hebrew curse derivatives
and their phonetic lottkaballahalelu yeha
yep…
but you're not ready Hebrews, permission
granted withheld, mind prison, while keyed up.
to deny any use to the bicameral mind/brain sack
precisely measured to Dirac's dismay,
never ending eve is really thinkable,
as long as any one wishes,
know your own too much,
that was certainty
my child hood bet was that I won, and nobody lost.
in defiance of Delphi,
by millennia,
trust me

the language of life, earthling to earthling, evolves,
as we augment our pluralminded state, situ-circum

float-ish

here-ness, and nearness, and absence of distance,
time immeasured,
quarkishly insignificant units of self awareness shared,
we
can think as who's must have been thought to think,
when we were seven,
and inoculated by Suess.
In
Oculus, bud, from one branch,
into another, through a tiny RIP.

Some days, I am the only reader, as I rest, in peace,

peace, I choose to think,
exists, out is, be-ing, action-ionic, there's the rub,

amber and cat, spark of re-co-knowing all about love,
as a child,
let's refuse,
to ever grow up… let's pretend, my friend, to the end.

Wake up, get outabedragonnon anon anonymous
visitors,
arrive announcing, each nameless, yes, anonymous,
I saw, I forgot,

serpentine little think, wisdom exercise, you ordered,
or did I, going subjective for a second, I thought
this…

and I read it, and I am thirstydrymou
THUD
and cold. Settle,
reset
breathe softslowwhoowhowowowooooo-slow rereadhay
okeh. More or ride it one more time all we w…
soft quiet 9:59
already the slow twangy sitar in phrygian soft g distant
soft there, softer yet under us

This is the end of chapter two.
An novel dripping in the freest medium available, thanks for making it a pass time.
Re: Thank You to unknown
   tom, ****, harry, tam, dame,
   or dana from the MHS Class of 77,
   though this alum
experiences public education
   within lower providence jurisdiction

as a ***
er - minimally partaking advantage
   of extra-curricular,
   collegiate, inter-mural,
   et cetera opportunities,

   no not even a figurative crum
well nigh convey an impression of being dumb
bull door, deaf, and blind (with out faith no more),

   nor passing love notes from
some anonymous girl, who
   (after leaving a teasing message
   informed asper getting a smart haircut

   in ninth grade civics class
   taught by Missus Comly
   (do not quote me on my
   power fully pointed excel lent spelling,
   telling nothing, when out of desperation
   I experience primal yelling)
this singular potential fledgling flirtation,

   the extent from student,
   who appeared morose and rather glum
exposing such vulnerability to be hum
millie hated, and bullied relentlessly,

   whereat i wish to be a little boy
   comforted by me mum
since that option out of the question,
   thus aye didst never meet Miss Mot Toe
   (e plumbs e num), perhaps cuz eye **** numb

body, mind and spirit triage as if inebriated by ***
imagining the fighting spirit within me to thumb
or rather "flip the bird" to those,
   this then anxiety prone

   metaphorically rolling stone
whose metaphorical diet of worms also included
   eating picked over sun bleached
   un beak coming road **** crow - how yum

me does that seem, but gnome hatter
   how grossly said foul dish
   spurred via carrion (an analogy
   representing verbal taunting

   best left for hitch cocked birds) didst not appeal
not in the least did i give nasty brutes a "what for",
twas fear of getting creamed, fricasseed, irradiated...

   sans to stand proud and tall
   (all five and a half feet, but blunted maximum height
   topped off just shy of seventy inches -
   in reference to yours truly) against bullies

to this very day such emotional repercussions congeal
asper anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic...,
   which physiological symptoms served psyche not to feel
and only of late (particularly with daily intake of about
   a half doe zen pharmacological prescription medications

   do check and induce schizoid personality disorder
   (the diagnosis encompassing,
   the gamut mental health issues) to heel
akin to a well trained service dog, which fractured

   psychological state i.e. garrison to pitch and toss
   upon the precarious tipping point i.e.
   surpassing the tipping point,
   where thy body electric doth keel,

which precarious state finds me socially awkward,
   and off kilter, and maybe this chap
   ought to take a page
   from professional athletes playbook,
   and take a knee qua to kneel

hence this improvisational explanation
   why yours truly felt discombobulated
   to attend the recently held reunion,
   now aye wanna axe something serious, and fur real,

which essentially constitutes whether
   a current list of 1977 students,
   who received their high school diploma
   could be sent to me, whereby at least one alumni
   could buffer end this contemplative, intuitive,
   and pence eave bowl dish guttersnipe wannabe with zeal.

hie haint gonna hold ma breath,
   neither let loose lips help miss ink moll itty bitty sinker agog
   nor wait fir any religious chief such as allah
boot nothing ventured...blah...blah...blog...blog...

adieu - - matthew scott harris
L Dec 2015
Sometimes I think about the night I attempted to end my life.
Sometimes I think about what things would be like without me.
Who would sit in my desk in civics class?
Would anyone look to God and ask why?
Where would my father, my sweet and caring father, be?
What about my grandma who sees herself in me?
And my mother? My brother? My sister?
What would they have done with my things?
Would they have left my room untouched, a shrine to a life cut short?
What of my friends? Of the boy with bright eyes that hadn't set on mine?
Would my so called best friend miss me?
Would I be worth his tears?
I wish I had the answers, I wish I knew.
But for now, I'll continue living.
And I'll continue being new.
It takes so much out of me to think of that night.
I'll forever be sorry.

For Matt and Juan, who do not get the chance to grow old.

**
Leigh
GAURAV DEY Apr 2019
While traveling in the woods a tent house was seen
Nowhere I thought the friendship could be defined in the green

While resting there we had a lot to share
The place gave us peace with abundance of fresh air
The inebriate elements didn't make us weak
As our friendship grew strong and thick

We shared a lot from the life of love to country's civics
At the end it was just a try so that our unplanned life is fixed

Both of us where alot similar yet a little different
With each passing day our life turned more significant

Suddenly a person was in life whom I can trust
Someone with whom I can cry loud and burst

In the small tent house our friendship grew
We met daily leaving behind world's cry and hue

As the day passed our friendship is now strong and bold
With a smile we thank the small tent house as it helped our friendship
mold
mer Sep 2018
The voice of a flat clarinet
Sings through an open window
Through the warm, paved streets
Full of Honda Civics and ***** buses

The people turn off their bass blasting radios
And adjust their ears to the quiet music
Which softly sighs through the town
Through the busy bakery and the dusty church

The song dies too soon
And the world holds its breath
For one more second --
Exhaling noisy construction, business phone calls,
And the popular love songs that seem to play on repeat.

Forgetting the quiet clarinet song.
Re: Thank You to unknown
   tom, ****, harry, tam, dame,
   or dana from the MHS Class of 77,
   though this alum
experiences public education
   within lower providence jurisdiction

as a ***
er - minimally partaking advantage
   of extra-curricular,
   collegiate, inter-mural,
   et cetera opportunities,

   no not even a figurative crum
well nigh convey an impression of being dumb
bull door, deaf, and blind (with out faith no more),

   nor passing love notes from
some anonymous girl, who
   (after leaving a teasing message
   informed asper getting a smart haircut

   in ninth grade civics class
   taught by Missus Comly
   (do not quote me on my
   power fully pointed excel lent spelling,
   telling nothing, when out of desperation
   I experience primal yelling)
this singular potential fledgling flirtation,

   the extent from student,
   who appeared morose and rather glum
exposing such vulnerability to be hum
millie hated, and bullied relentlessly,

   whereat i wish to be a little boy
   comforted by me mum
since that option out of the question,
   thus aye didst never meet Miss Mot Toe
   (e plumbs e num), perhaps cuz eye **** numb

body, mind and spirit triage as if inebriated by ***
imagining the fighting spirit within me to thumb
or rather "flip the bird" to those,
   this then anxiety prone

   metaphorically rolling stone
whose metaphorical diet of worms also included
   eating picked over sun bleached
   un beak coming road **** crow - how yum

me does that seem, but gnome hatter
   how grossly said foul dish
   spurred via carrion (an analogy
   representing verbal taunting

   best left for hitch cocked birds) didst not appeal
not in the least did i give nasty brutes a "what for",
twas fear of getting creamed, fricasseed, irradiated...

   sans to stand proud and tall
   (all five and a half feet, but blunted maximum height
   topped off just shy of seventy inches -
   in reference to yours truly) against bullies

to this very day such emotional repercussions congeal
asper anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic...,
   which physiological symptoms served psyche not to feel
and only of late (particularly with daily intake of about
   a half doe zen pharmacological prescription medications

   do check and induce schizoid personality disorder
   (the diagnosis encompassing,
   the gamut mental health issues) to heel
akin to a well trained service dog, which fractured

   psychological state i.e. garrison to pitch and toss
   upon the precarious tipping point i.e.
   surpassing the tipping point,
   where thy body electric doth keel,

which precarious state finds me socially awkward,
   and off kilter, and maybe this chap
   ought to take a page
   from professional athletes playbook,
   and take a knee qua to kneel

hence this improvisational explanation
   why yours truly felt discombobulated
   to attend the recently held reunion,
   now aye wanna axe something serious, and fur real,

which essentially constitutes whether
   a current list of 1977 students,
   who received their high school diploma
   could be sent to me, whereby at least one alumni
   could buffer end this contemplative, intuitive,
   and pence eave guttersnipe wannabe with zeal.

hie haint gonna hold ma breath,
   nor wait fir any religious chief such as allah
boot nothing ventured...blah...blah...blog...blog...

adieu - - matthew scott harris
Ken Pepiton Aug 25
titles are clickt attention tuners, seek weak
- signal feint clicks and shush and beepx#$%

etaoin shrdlu - typesetter's apprentices shoveled
off cast lead type, using coal shovels, strong
Allie Oop characters - the medium of us,
we saw our selves in print on newsprint.

Öotzi, myceleum aware bearer of information,
fallen through time, to leave us thinking, how
hard has life been, upto now
.
Weirdly wise, the ever sense we can remember,
strengthening positions holding
satisfied minds, valencing
made common sense,
happy and free is better
than any other degree
of happy, free as a ***
in L.A. on Fourth Street, hip
to the Four Square ******* Mission,
east of Broadway, north of Central Market…

then, to now, fifty years,
then to my first child, was ten years,

now, my youngest granddaughters are turning ten,
and taking part in the ongoing recovery of all clean

thinking, sifted corn and sorted beans, dried seeds
from the sweetest watermelon contest, and best
squash for bottles. best for bowls, all good seed
we save for next year, every year, always

remember, once nobody knew anything,
but making better ways to stop hunger,

then war was one of the ways that worked
for winners, and for some survivors not involved,

but witnessing the scavenging, paid trade goods
for trophies taken from the putrid dead, before
the story tellers and tale bearers went their
separate ways, letting the news be as it may.

The medium we live and breathe in, now as living
text included by all faith's accounting systems,
whereby our very thoughts and intentions,
must be judged, very serious conscience,
book of life including metadata
and instance of idle word and waste time,
pure and mere psyence psighing consci-uses
ready and willing to let peace be made,
fixing firm foundations at each watering station,
corner stones and local quarrymen, towns

formed from prosperity on rails, full on wha-who
time flies past right now

progressive proof, a town like ours is now classic,
project mainstreet 2025, valenced on Main Street,
moral authority of the old town councils,
social servants steeped in social ordering craft,

The Stepford Wives, Ai all love that, and Lucy,
ai ai ai, so many, Frankenstein, and the fat forties,
coders living in freemind anarchical choice, like bugs.
ARPAnet spiders rode wireless before wireless was,
MAGA. Pre-Levittown Craftsman Homes,
from Sears, delivered t
o the rail head, lo, a hundred years ago,

and now, the whole cold world, is empty,
when we see it on TV, from L.A. on a Sally Ann
Chromebook with a Starbucks Loyalty Cookie,
allowing T-1 bandwidth, yeah,

accept

Most of modernity is permanent,
only now is better because to get here,

one stepping, one daying, one time on
a magic loom, as a thread, picking up motes
so fine, super fine dust twisted in during dying

so the colors feel inviting, come find how
we pass the bar, where judgement begins,

we give account down to those secrets held
in our core experience knowings used, amateur

first times are only chances more often than not,
never know, when a particular stream meanders,

how many times does one cross the river
of no return, and see Robert Mitchum and
Jane Russell, on a raft with a kid thinking
something's not right,…

There was no upriver going on a raft,
we knew that from time with Huck'n'Jim,

back before the nth degree insanity hit,
minority reports, pulled from trend bots,

you'd best believe believe's a verb,
and love is, too, so do it, love to learn,

no lie holds any truth, never did, never
was a time when a lie that saved a life,
lost otherwise, that essential untellable
whys
secret agent man mind set from TV,
YouTube views virally sort attentions…

spin casting, bait perceiving, front face
sensory array, bad boy squint, tight smile,
mere hint of amusement, thinking, something

Blockbuster was a thing, things changed,
vhs hold hordes of reflected light transcended
on to magnetic tape with short fidelity,
for high fidelity consumer camcorders

the time from technicolor to home video,
in my generation, effectively raising the bar

as far as production standards used in the ruse,
set all skepticism aside, unloose your credulous

child like soul, tender child self, so good, too bad
good does not pay, save to those initiated in the art

of freereading and writing things hearable, listen,
nothing, eh? No white noise, fans, transformers,
no chainsaws,
with that whine
of a Stihl Dylan loved, once repaired
by a chronicle entity, who worked
at that chainsaw shop, at that time,
and knew the music of a Stihl,
so he would notice the quiet, then,
- chain broke…
wind in trees, pine soft, crickets and frogs,
and sometimes a bat, even coyotes, way off
as the world spins toward tomorrow again.

Who told you you gotta serve some body?
What would you do if the truth made you free?

Where would it be if this were the answer?

When you pray, expect the consequences,
immediately after you know the law,
the law is canceled, all a major lie,
for ever sense manstealing paid.

Train up a child by his stature at two,
he becomes a useful servant, worthy
of great honor on the field of glory,
as our side celebrates hate, pushing back
harder, pushemback harder, break that line

High jinx, glory years, sacred first to learn,
programing is mostly balance weights
and measures, cost to do, cost to undo.
Cost to think it done, without me.

What is the genre for periods
of preparation for a redo of an old war,

a political-religious agreement
under which business is conducted,
continuously as the believers multiply,
as believing children are reared to leave
being the why for the orders how come

we need to work to fix the flaw in us all
for the all mighty, all merciful?

How, indeed, did it come to pass,
that those in fine conditions,
gilded and bejeweled boxes
of old bones and napkins and shards of alabaster,
said
certainly the very anointing for burial alabaster box,
got t' be, right, just waiting for your guide to find,

very precious, only six other fragments have been
made publically known, the power, the faith sink,
like a battery, believe it or not, the pitch in faith,
hold, sticky, used
has moved a mountain of alabaster chips,
since we started doing tours with the kids,

we pay a different one each time, seven lads,
sons of those three sisters, who inherited the box,
and fought about it until the peace maker was called,
he broke it all down,
free, Google Voice to Verizon, across eight time zones,
like we are in the same room, but day and night,

anyway, peace maker, old backslider hardened artist,
living on tech time earned on a bet about ever learning,
gets a bit in each fractal shard of that old anointing
on and on, some times, good grows, and corruption,
proceeds to gain U, the mind meld experience,

a Taylor Swift Opera from the Future NOW!

Yeah, I know a guy, in the works, managing
the spending opportunities, keeping juices
works with concentrates, original intensity,
all mental, leg-al legal regally legal
just a touch,
a taste,
fact of the ruliad, once conceived and comprehended,
wind in the face, gasp and wish it were, as we may
say we can imagine, using an ego function, I-magi,
- how wide are we sideways? As a we?
Grown up, and dementia free, just think it clear
as one of those movie eternity porches, stoical
pillars of wisemen not forgotten, ai know them,

as curious boys knew their teachers, ai know Plato,
big lunk, broad beam ox of a man, with a following,

amanuensis scribal trainees, hanging on every word,

now, in modern database solutions to 640K sort fields,
we adapt the magic fractalling praxis used to shatter,
viz, first license to say, videlicet,
the afore mentioned alabaster box, empty
of its storied ointment for the burial to be,
shattered at the tone, 60 cycle hummm,
ordinarily out of sync, if you think about it, but
we need not, it was so long ago, and you know,

abide is a positioning command from a will,
abide with me is a request, however saying we,
abide with ye forever, if I were in the whosoever.
I would think the thoughts alive, at least.
The whosoever who heard the knocking,
and said, sure, I heard you knocking and said
to myself, what if this once it was you, and wow,

I must admit,
in the ruliad realm
of possibility, the math works.




All boys in those days, idly sayd
that'll be the day, guy like me
wished to be like in the movies, in
the gang, singing cowboys on the range,

eeipee ai yay, real old, cast iron men
made in the imaginations of those,
made to pay alliegiant attention,
mandatory civics classes, and
current events, sponsored
by Breck, and eventually
only her hair dresser knew…

until from nowhere, the world blooms
with silver foxes far beyond compare,

since she was just seventeen, and we knew
what that means in Arizona, so we waited,
too, long, who knows,
we got a new mind,

the act of worship, the verb, knowing,
it does seem simple at first, lieving be. Okeh.
Share it where it hurts.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floaing on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachible knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athelete be an atheletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated ligamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final.}



and hold
as true, written law, written stone, in effect, fected for effectual ever,

conserve that. -- oh, that is, really

-- conserving the right of conquest with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground into concoctions of notions {coqueros}

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Not sorry for the ramble, it has become my steady state. I wish I had known this man.

No nonsense makes sense.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floating on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachable knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athlete be an athletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated religamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final
at Selah signs all other
thinking stops}

and holds a thought
as true, written law, written on stone,
in effect, fected for effectual ever,
truth with joy
conserve that. -- oh,
so long
held thought that is, really
hope
-- conserving the right of conquest
with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground
into concoctions of notions

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Some certain willingness to sing as if no ones needs to hear me but me, I got some of that from seeing John Prine in his twilight
Chapter 5: God Country And Family

God, Country, and Family were the cherished priorities that people sacrificed for and the essence of what made us great as a nation. Based on a strong moral code, developed from deeply held religious and/or ethical beliefs, many Americans put their individual family’s welfare second, as they marched off to war in defense of their country.  Was there politics involved in these wars? Absolutely!  All wars are fought, at least in part, due to political differences.  Not fighting these wars, because you disagreed with the politics of the time, would have resulted in a fundamentally different America than the one we live in today — if an America at all.

From the Revolutionary War onward, men, and in many cases women, dropped their hammers and sewing needles, put down their ploughs, stabled their horses, and answered the buglers call to defend all that was dear.  They were proud and willing to do this because the bigger picture was apparent, a picture that took precedence over their own individual well being.

Today, the bigger picture stares back at us from the mirrors we gaze into, reflecting false and hollow images of what we’ve become.  What we used to be as individuals was always reflected and then magnified in who we were as a nation, our individual strength truly manifested in our service to something greater.

                       Something Greater Than Just Ourselves

It was this belief in something greater that drove us to create the true ‘Miracles’ of the past 250 years. These Miracles of science, manufacturing, art, and technology were never seen before. They became the mainstays of American life and propelled America to its leadership position in the free world, a position we are fighting to hold onto today.  Guaranteed by our Constitution and Bill of Rights …  freedom in America was the right of each, and every, individual citizen. It was the source of our national pride, and if called upon, we would have died to defend it.

If you had talked to a man who worked on Hoover Dam, or the Great Northern Pacific Railroad, you would had heard the pride in his voice.  This pride stemmed from having been part of something so grand and something so much greater than he would have ever been able to accomplish on his own. These are just two examples of what made America great and pushed her to the forefront as the envy of all the world.

The Chinese stood shoulder to shoulder with the Irish, pick axes in their hands, as the great rails were laid down pointing westward toward new and greater prosperity.  Among the many nationalities that accomplished these great things, there were always differences and petty squabbles — and the occasional altercation … but the big picture was always in focus.  It was the big picture that they agreed upon because that’s what was most important.  The big picture would carry them together to places they could never travel to alone, and on this they always agreed.

                        The Big Picture Was Most Important

By putting their personal disagreements aside, they moved mountains, laid rails, built bridges, and dammed rivers.  Unfortunately, many died in the building of America, but it did not stop the new volunteers from signing on.  There was something being done here that had never been done before.  Setting your past lineage, cultural differences, and religious beliefs aside, to work together on something this special, was a small price to pay.  It was a small price to pay for becoming — truly American!                                        

American, not just in name — as many are today —but American in the deepest parts of who you really were and who you wanted your children to be.  Out of this commitment came men like Nathan Hale who spoke these immortal words on September 22, 1776 …

     “I Only Regret That I Have But One Life To Lose For My Country “


Hale’s belief in the future of America was a ‘rallying cry’ uniting the strength of the individual with the purpose and collective will of the nation.

                        Where Is That Unity Of Will Today?




Chapter 6:  The *** That Melted

As a young boy, I lived in a row home in a working-class neighborhood.  The smells and sounds coming from each house were different, but the laughter and good will were the same … and they were shared among all. When together at a barbecue, holiday party, or family celebration, or even while waiting for the bus to go to work, their laughter was infectious.  

Mothers walked their young children to the small parochial school that many of us attended.  As they walked together, you could hear in the intensity of the many accented languages a fervent hope. It was a hope that it would be their son or daughter who would one day grow up and be President of this great land. And if not President, someone in whom they could truly be proud, and someone who would make a difference.  They were willing to put their own personal interests aside and sacrifice for this, many doing without so that their children could have, and experience, the things that would light their way to a brighter future.

                               The Fathers Did The Same

Every morning, after they said goodbye to their children at school, they knew they had just dropped them off at the doorway to a world that was better than any that they, or their parents, or grandparents, had known.

Many of our parents and grandparents spoke different languages, ate different foods, and sang and danced to their own kinds of music. These differences were superficial because one thing was crystal clear growing up in my neighborhood and that was nothing … N-O-T-H-I-N-G was more important than being a good and loyal citizen to a country that had given you so much.  If you ever were caught dis-respecting the flag or your elected leaders, you could count on being reprimanded by everyone, and that reprimand would probably be delivered in five different languages.

                       But The Meaning Was Always The Same

My first grade Nun (and school principal) was Sister Rita Marie.  Sister Rita Marie saw neither the color, the nationality, nor the relative wealth of any of her students. All the good Sister saw was ‘raw possibility!’  It was the innate potential within each of her students that Sister Rita Marie first saw, and it was this potential that defined and unified us as a class as we progressed from grades 1st through 8th.  I’m sure it was by a great design that no Nun ever had a last name. You could only guess at her nationality if she had a name like Sister Peter Mary or Sister Clara Agnes.

Our days in Catholic School always started in front of the American Flag, with our hands over our hearts, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Religion was next and that meant studying the Baltimore Catechism. Within its pages were all the lessons that one needed to learn to live a good and upstanding life.  Sister Rita Marie never failed to end the morning’s religion class without a morality lesson, one that would apply to our real world outside of school, and one that our parents had probably learned some twenty or thirty years earlier.

                             And Often From The Same Nun

Religion class would set the tone and get our young minds right for the arithmetic, english, phonics, and civics lessons that would follow later in the day.  We didn’t always behave, but we did agree on what was right and what was wrong.  We knew this because we had a devoted teacher who not only taught these principles but lived them in front of us in her daily life.  How I wish I could have just one more morning with Sister Rita Marie and be able to ‘film’ her magic and be able to spread it over the confusion that involves much of our educational practices today.

                            I’d Also Like To Thank Her Again

The basics were always stressed in her class over the fringy and sometimes transient occurrences that only served to mislead and confuse.  She also explained that there was a ‘nature of goodness’ that ran through all of us, and she knew that in her heart because inside we were all the same …                      

The thing that my small Catholic School (St Thomas Of Villanova) shared with my neighborhood was that it too was a ‘Melting ***.’  It was a melting *** of the differences that only served to divide us.  We learned early and well that respect for our elders, country, and especially ourselves, was a fundamental building block for all future success.

Two plus two really was four. And if you sat up straight with good posture at your desk you would see the truth, and the truth involved knowing that lying and cheating were always wrong, no exceptions! On this we all agreed.

                                         No Exceptions!  

The moral principles we learned in school were not only necessary for us to be good citizens, but were also a great source of comfort in a world that could be confusing to a young child.  No maybe this, or maybe that, Sister Rita Marie was emphatic with her teaching, and there was something inside all of us telling ourselves that she was right.  We learned early that all of life’s actions come with consequences, and these consequences can either be good or bad depending on which path you choose.  Many a boy thought he got away with, or pulled something over on the Nun, only to have his hand slapped by her ruler as she walked down his row of desks reading from her text.  She did this normally without even looking up.
                                
These lessons were constantly reinforced because it was upon these principles that the greatness of America and the salvation of our souls would depend.  We also learned that the seemingly little things were not always little, and what appeared big and overwhelming was often an imposter.  Most importantly, we learned that what might be impossible for us individually to accomplish, we could almost always attain together.

                                       … together!

We had no individual sports in my school, everything was as a team.  It was in the magic of playing together as a team that this message of what’s truly possible was best taught.  Sister Rita Marie constantly reminded us that there was a ‘heritage’ involved in our very existence traveling back through our parents, grandparents, and great grandparents ad infinitum.  This heritage was ours, and ours alone, and was to be respected and revered.  It could also be shared and often was. One of the boys in my class had a father who had played Major League Baseball.  Mr. Duffy shared his experiences growing up and progressing through the minor leagues and into the BIGS many times with us. We all felt connected and proud based on what he shared, and we also felt closer to each other as a result.

The worst offense you could ever commit was to bring dishonor or shame upon the reputation and good name of your family.  You might not be wealthy in a material sense, but the reputation of each family was sacred and was treated as such. What started as a concern for the reputation of your family was transferred to your friends, your team, your neighborhood, and your school.  You knew this was of value because everyone in your world from the shop keeper to the policeman reinforced it every time you saw them.   The things that were accepted, or not accepted, were either accepted by none, or accepted by all.  

      What Values Can We All Agree Upon And Hold Dear Today?

As we progressed through the grades, the differences in each of us not only faded but became integrated into everyone else.  Every kid learned at least a few words in Italian from Mr. D’Angelo, and every mother in the neighborhood wanted to be able to bake as well as Mrs. Bonds. Mrs. Bonds was French, and Mr. Bonds had met her while in the Army during WW2 when the G.I.’s liberated Paris in August of 1944.  She could bake and she could sing.  We all loved her, as she would prance around her kitchen in her fancy hand made aprons singing French folk songs. She would wink and call each of us boys or girls ‘Mon or Ma Cherie’ or ‘Mon Ami’ or ‘Mon Amie’ as the incredible smells of her baking took over the neighborhood.

The melting *** had another advantage in that it happened without our noticing it.  We seamlessly learned at a visceral grass roots level that we were all the same.  We believed in, and wanted, the same things, and we were willing to work together to get there.  After all, with great examples to follow like Sister Rita Marie … how could we fail?

                Where Is That Leadership And Unity Of Purpose Today?

— The End —