Each day, a way beyond the sufficiency
of what we know
concerning
good.
We know good, when we think about it.
We can imagine good feeling, when we
put forth the energy to de-ify
chaotic entropy.
With sci, con sci ence, mit knowing, cognating
we add tension. We pull goodness from
nowhere, in a line of words emerging into meaning.
As we know, effectually,
energy, in E= etc.
ist gut und wahr, so far, aber
etwas von der hyper thinkable field of if-i-cantation,
has tripped a paradigmatic AI ai aitia OOPs
chronjob with
spells and hexes and such, so
black
light entered as a contender for cause
at the transfiguration;
the theory ranked with Adam's rib as evidence for miracles,
in Vacation Bible Shool.
Now, we know better, or more better.
C, however, is variable in realms of pure thinks of any
length
so
if I can't matter in the dark middle matter,
I shall manifest
here,
in living 2D, if you can imagine with me,
fingers on keys, awaiting the neural
net truescorre reference stats
to starrt ancient chronjobs linked to an overr drawn Synchrony
credit card calling to say take care,
can't buy or sell sans the beastly mark,
or else
what? My synchronic out being, my outer self, the ***
you passed on your way to Starbucks,
he has no way to make a living,
the old man with no feet,
you did not see me,
did you? Flash me a QR. We skipped the need for a mark.
p-shift. post ever gitgo.
I was hiding. Hunting a gull, I'm familia in with mir and all
my integrity sphere of
intention.
We intend to teach the elease of peace, first in e-leasion tent
cities, stretching to call all gullibles, to try,
mere umph, one mortime, more abundance, dancerrs needed...
all ye all ye, outs in free, truth be told, the famine is past.
Calling
any gulls ability to go all Jonathan,
fo no re fonore phornore ignot ignor how how how
do I, dear reader, loose my peace?
ah,
I allow. I rrule the spigots of emoticons sprringing entity
******* from old artemisical chapters
and verrses of priestly secrecy hidden,
since god knows when,
in rolling things, in swirling fluids of mud,
occluding the eceptorr for the ligandary story
re
thread that ties us all to mitomom, far more surrely than hell.
who beguiled you, my daddy axt.
'twas I, I lied, possessed of proud rights to pursue,
with greed and right-used anger,
and I riddled the riddle of the referee, so
I freely give, for the ensuing mortal moment,
invisible happiness common to all valuers and valuees.
Easilly enteated, be
still.
Wait here.
"That which concerns you." Am big u is us, we,
the people, who
hold
these truths, self-e-video-ishes on stars, come true to
you, who waited.
ing the bell and yell i'm a vigin. {what?fix the r in a revolt against chaos,
folly, pure folly, our r key roots extract rhotic significance for extra
rs and missing ones we feel needed consede conseder wise.
O, dear, reade, I do have order. How ever, order is not the need,
calm is the need. We need the doldrums to rest, as we need
poles to bank our turns into the solar stormy side,
breathing humans in sufficient awareness of the atmostfears,
to
shhhh shh should see softest kisses coming with no price,
my peace, I let out, as when an irrigator fills the valley,
and shows the world the overflow can make glad
the core of ****, the species that thinks with knownknowns
and writes the way to be still, beyond allathat,
and know. Words. Our powers are all you have in a 2D re
ality keeping Lego minds from raining Gorilla Glue.
{The intended allusion sticks any way}.
Who twisted the intention? Is this the wine that makes glad?
O, my, this I must try,
Defoe-face: It
is finished.
Life in flatland can only be literal 2D formations, forced to make sense.
