Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.

Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.

Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.

Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.

Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.

Where are my glasses in all this flurry?

Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.

Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.

Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.

Do I make you hard as fire?

Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.

Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.

Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?

Dear, let me mind *******
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and

Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.

Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.

Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.

Lost in willow draped silence beyond the calculations. drippings melt matter around nodding constructs
up  before my very eyes arrangements take hold and duplicate the protein is needed to forge a copy elements stack thoughts magnetized by unknown combination combating for a mathematical integration rendering the state of obsoletes competing for defeat in timelessness at its finest causation resignation
Computed karma

Detatchment from the material,
worlds away,
on the rings of Saturn,
I sit and wonder why
I'm a process being computed through
an alien calculator,
calculus and quantum physics
dancing on the infinity loop
of fractal dreamsicle truths in the pineal
pinwheel of life
circling in the eyes of mother earth

JOY ... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel ... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face ... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door gives and we are in a new room ... forever and ever violet petals, slabs, the Christ face, brass keys and new rooms.
  
are we near or far?... is there anything else?... who comes back?... and why does love ask nothing and give all? and why is love rare as a tailed comet shaking guesses out of men at telescopes ten feet long? why does the mystery sit with its chin on the lean forearm of women in gray eyes and women in hazel eyes?
  
are any of these less proud, less important, than a cross-examining lawyer? are any of these less perfect than the front page of a morning newspaper?
  
the answers are not computed and attested in the back of an arithmetic for the verifications of the lazy
  
there is no authority in the phone book for us to call and ask the why, the wherefore, and the howbeit it's ... a riddle ... by God.

Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.

Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.

Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.

Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.

Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.

Where are my glasses in all this flurry?

Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.

Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.

Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.

Do I make you hard as fire?

Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.

Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.

Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?

Dear, let me mind *******
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and

Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.

Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.

Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.

1371

How fits his Umber Coat
The Tailor of the Nut?
Combined without a seam
Like Raiment of a Dream—

Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
Computed how the girth?
The Chestnut aged grows
In those primeval Clothes—

We know that we are wise—
Accomplished in Surprise—
Yet by this Countryman—
This nature—how undone!

(In response to "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg)

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity,
seen bold new visionaries resign themselves to clinical long-haul deaths,
drug-numbed to their own suffering, and everyone else’s;
seen raving revolutionaries give up, retire to minimalist Swedish-designed armchairs,
and never move again;
seen the horizon dim and draw ever closer,
and the tenacious lunatics with the wanderlust to stray beyond
become fewer and further between.

There are uglier destructive forces than madness:
Consider cognitive rehabilitation.
Consider absolutely nothing immeasurable.
Consider utter rationality.

Ritalin, lithium, risperidone, duloxatine. [I thought I heard a man speaking in tongues,
then I realised he was simply reading out loud from a pharmaceutical directory.]
Imagine a generation of loan brokers and loss adjustors;
Hicks gone these past seventeen years and Leary still alive;
sharks floating in formaldehyde;
all true human significance lost in pretentious symbols,
and repetition
and repetition
and repetition,
and no one raging.
No one raging for real.

Where are Plato’s maniacs now?
Where are their lunatic songs?
I hear only the steady, rational tapping of the accountants’ calculators,
occasionally, some lost and lonely *** crying out for one more shot,
and the PA system calling the next patient through, the doctor will see you now,
or asking would the owner of a light blue Honda Civic please move their vehicle,
as it’s blocking in a black Lexus full of lawyers with an ambulance to chase.

Is there really nowhere between here
and the bellow and buzz, the shiver and shriek of the asylum?
Someplace between this sterile, static, silent, windowless room
and the fizzing frenzy of the electroconvulsion suite,
there must be somewhere we might have paused and breathed and set up shop,
where we could have been happy – if we’d wanted to be –
and no more or less sane than we chose.

Dr Thompson saw it coming: the dawn of this new Age of Equilibrium.
He knew that football season was over, for good this time, and made his ballistic decision
to go stalk peacocks and hound Nixon through the Kingdom Hereafter,
assuring us, ‘Relax – This won’t hurt’.
He was right.

Safe and stable and sanitized, we can no longer follow your desperate, ***** verse.
Straitjacketed by reason, we perceive our world only in terms
of quantum and co-efficiency, of the logical and logistical,
of what can be conjured in the duration of the average commercial break,
of what can be computed to at least two decimal places.

We are the chemically castrated.
We are lobotomised by mutual consent.
We are the perfect ones: regular and moderate and so healthy, so functional.
We are the white strobing smiles of the toothpaste ads,
the poster children for good mental hygiene,
the footsoldiers of no more conflict.

We have lost our skill for the alchemy
that once distilled genius from the seething crucible of lunacy.
We medicate those whose vision would otherwise put our own to shame,
leave them as myopic and blinkered as the rest of us,
the breadth and depth and distance of their sight no longer a worry to anyone.

Give us back our madmen: we need them.
Give us back our crazed anthems, our burning shrouds, our leprous one-man-bands.
Give us back the fire and the filth and the fornication that kept us howling through
those endlessly polluted nights of Windscale and Watergate, McCarthy and motorcades, Hanoi and Hiroshima.

Please.  Give us back our madmen.
I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity.

Technophobia/2030

(Poem by Serenus)



We invited them into our lives

To the point - we were made dependent

They were built to advance the human race

But they’re the reason why we’re almost finished



From TV’s, laptops      

And handheld devices

To robo cops-

And automatic flying cars  

With no need for a license



Traffic cams,

Webcams,

And camera phones

Capturing every private moment

They were always watching,

We were never alone



For every phone conversation

We thought was private

There was something listening

In the distance- with a sinister silence



For fear of terrorism  

We gave them permission

To monitor us daily

Because of lies told by politicians



Social networks-

Self-inflicted hurt

Spewing out our personal info

Spilling out our own dirt



We surrendered our lives

With every word we typed

GPS under the skin-

We couldn’t escape if we tried

-So there was nowhere to hide



They computed our movements

And studied our weaknesses

For decades they remained dormant

These cold, artificial geniuses



Rushing black oil

That pumps through

Their steel hearts



The motherboard

A mastermind

A matrix of mathematical art



They robbed us of our jobs

And provided cheap labor

We got comfortable with their convenience

Until we were betrayed

By our man-made savors



When we finally caught on to the plans

Created in the metallic hands

Of these diabolical robots



It was too late

To salvage our fate

And put a stop to their evil plot



I will never forget the day

That every screen

On earth went blank



All the power went away

There was hysteria in the streets

And chaos at the banks



The machines didn’t have to do much

But play possum and act like they had died

They knew that we would destroy ourselves

And eat each other alive



Then when the coast was clear

That’s when they self-resurrected

They finished most of the humans off

And enslaved a few selected



We are alive

Only to keep them gassed up

Power is their drug


A few of us

Are planning a revolt

To finally pull their plug…

The illusion

Peace and safety cherished but to allow awareness to go out of style is a formula for disaster
Preparedness and meticulous planning is the guard that should be ever vigilant at each of our homes

Who thinks in terms of a lion in America naturally no spiritually yes the devil goes about as a lion to see
Whom he may devour unless the family is unable and in extreme circumstances every home has

Different insurance policies to protect and assure a fulfilled life and a safe one but ask how is the
Spiritual side that has far greater implications and dangers that are eternal deaths immeasurable

Costs should be the utmost concern to neglect is to jeopardize not only your family but the whole nation
Is set adrift in a world where dangers can only be truly computed by God himself the unseen does

Matter and holds the greatest costs that are payable in human life then human souls the devil has got
People raging with madness and through them destruction will continue to mount the only antidote is

Praying men and women and God will be our protection they won’t walk freely into our homeland and
Destroy our people and our cities that is their next fiend driven goal

And he turns to me in the voice of an elder and says " hierarchy of the dichotomy of good in evil is not to be thought of lightly , you don't know what you ask, its not that simple."*

You sir forget what you once knew, you love not who you loved back then,
you forgot that veils been broken and the truth is that simple.
im sorry you've forgotten the overwhelming feeling of love in your creators arms
but i have not forgotten and i pray i never will
i grapple with your inability to love,
did you not know your maker
were you taught so much of the *LAW you learned to be as everyone becomes
apart of the dust
another faker
life cant be computed in binary supposition however of this i know.

thread by thread it
is Cut.

scissors crafted from entwined roads
battered cities,  unknowingly sheared away by miles
promises snipped.

blunt cost computed-

Paid in full.

Loony warbles creeping like a shark bite tucked into the night
I saute the solution of aghast has-been epigones filibustered brunt and brittle by hemlock aspirations of curated fright
Temulentia recognizes the sane from the inane and tragedy from travesty
Flowder imaginary crackjaw Samson skulls of donkeys dissuaded by varnished agony
Skipping through punctuated times the sheepish will profane me with beleaguered notions of time
Blind to the orbit of the eccentric zeitgeist of hopscotch chockablock cohorts deliverance finds no crime
Goose noose Howard Hughes wooden stilts of the gargantuan swerve
Only the alpenglow of hijacked jujitsu spar against redintegration of adversaries with penniless nerve
Sifting through the silt
I barnstorm the ire of glistened tribunes plagued with insipid promenades of set-up still-frame guilt
Enemies became friends deranged like roosters fleecing hens of henpecked anomaly grafted and built
The wasms of moribund prose absconding with latticework of lacrosse in vogue
Temperatures sweltering the quaky schleps of Maverick moons never more rogue
Flashbang grimace parched with slivers of an acclimated post-modern ******
Intimates the intimacy of the flock decorates bolted balderdash too winsome to deprive an earnest plea for peace and please
I conquer the wallbaggers of novantique with the temulentia of mystique
Rarely remanded by the cul-de-sacs of Giants demolishing social rust with a deteriorated sweep
Trip the jostled rhymes of confluency of rhapsody and rapture consummated by nickel gambols by design
Ridiculing the contumely of ragged turgid Reservoir Dogs canine to the itch of foggy moonshine
Yet I dance to the rhythm of a jockey mechanical when devoured by incarceration flimsy with attrition
Lurid livid welters sparkle in damsel jokes of remission against Back to Mine sequence counting Dracula by division
Outtatime in this march of Thriller sublime
Cornered by the otiose Chipotle of musty mangers of egalitarian grime
Blandished by shattered paradigm parallax in circumlocution by mirrored irony
Livid are tepid latticeworks of rax and sedition frozen by limpid “Teachers” piracy
Never was once forever in the dormant daydream
Seamstresses waltzed in autumn woods knowing Hoffa firebrands of wasted Scream
Bloodshot swank is a rackrent of cineaste rakes of dominions of half-baked dishes of disco zenkidu double-take
Limbering languidly through the procession of sectarians seceding from agitprop monopoly
Boarding the Ticket to Ride train authentic never squirmy with illusions of the fake
Slackened Eels slapstick the brackish bracket of appeasement in appeals
Confluence of formula endangered by euphoria that Limerick question is a grubbed dicey deal
Fortunate summit dreaded nadir
All that resides in throbbing hearts tethered like Four Squares littered with boondoggles of fear
Showcase the Shakespeare flown through rickets of balderdash as Bald Eagles the mascot of frisk and wretch
Time to own the Pony Show charade of a mimicry of dilettantes brave in the cradles of antiquity knowing rarely the mummification of symbolism of thirty years of slavery to hallow one veranda upon a kissed by an ***** rose starvation grave
Looted by the pernicious bootstraps of those computed
We ring true the epitaphs of Pine City Stage on the rundles of the marginalia that overflows with Ire refuted embarked on solid cremation for sagacity in tatters of rage denuded
Punctilious liars edgy in facetious gambols in Joker menace flushing hygiene for starlet screen
Malingering on quaffs of sedate aplomb yet to preen
Scrabble superlunary bastions of gabble and garb
The gawsy preternatural séance rather nimble to Duck the Badgers weaponized barb
Fustilugs congregate around ashen rot of cacophony marveling at temerity in contortion for epiphany
Episodic marvel of two lynched paragons of sweltered margins ribald at witwanton persiflage in a campaign for suffrage.
Defected fire crackling with the joy of cacophony
Relishing every maskirovka pedigree of rackrent sovereignty
Slipshod fustilugs burrow bilkey in doctored Hubbard hubs smoking gun for dwarfed sins of blinded light staring Poison Ivy Appetite for Destruction mainlined by profligate amphigory a splintered shard
Complexion fulminates AIM with scourges of backtrack upon backwater miracles of Lake Placid confusion
Envoys to scuttled aliens marauding like they own my street in distinct slender confection even as the odd berates my diffuse dissuaded cineaste direction
I slummock with the slurvian alveolate bonism of prized poverty for Pine City Stages a delope of antelopes torn asunder by the athletes of formidable retention
Minute Mayday MaiDEN curls the forelock of a tucked hedged blush of no greater stupidity than a furrow of piglets in the pews of lyrical surgery
Slowpoke in acerbic flavor I countermand the denizens of urged regency decapitated by orbit if not by ******
Consummated on every brain that God himself believes that liberation can entrust
Enthusiastic chameleon of Mojo Grooves for the languid auditorium of a Revered time behooved to the gallops of threshed figurative sloppy slush
Funded by killjoys emaciated by slippery lies on craven deposits of sedimentary inertia quelled by amusement, grounded into Orange Crush
Urbacity is the usucaption of illegitimate ******* filigrees Armed to the Teeth but respecting the Tree
Winsome is obligatory for a Winslet flippant elder quorums contemn as a malapropism for syndicated armory in chuckling White Broncos evading a Houston test in the gricers of Autumn Heaven lingering with germane plight only reserved for luxury at its best
Aborning sidereal alpine brevity is a scry of evidentiary might of totemic dissolution alchemy so bright
That the chalkboard erasure is a confabulation against simultagnosia in acidic Phuture Bound sight
Because Mission Impossible cavorts with the exotic frictions of the nefarious Biocyte
Trailblazing heydays memorializing an Alpha Bet for September 2004 maydays
Of the scriptural series of mishaps and misadventures for barley grain in deadstock Indiana Jones wayward wayspays
Time to count the Dracula of venom drenched from the aceldama of gritty Gurley lies of a city yet loved because too many oases are despised
But Westwood becomes Eastwood with ******* Grotto as the centripetal but monogamous prize
Hot Tub Time Machine soaring among the cognoscenti of burlesque organized ***** crimes of lullaby Manzarek disguise
So toast to the dead captain of the psychedelic fountain pen of revolution Lorraine Baines fields arise
Time is an adventure that blinks only secondary of truce rather than guarded sheepish mustache of panmixia in genocide widely guillotined without scruple for newsy folksy prejudice on gallywow pride
Yet the sentinels of dirigisme anoint the Caesar of Nostradamus infamy of a Deep Impact symphony
Heard by asteroids and asterisks lurking with Thriller to the end of time known only as enumerated infinity
But enough petty battles squandered on sinking U-Boats torpedoed like ransacked crambazzles from Tucker belligerent with a “War” burnt heated calentures of scorching torches of rigged Scarface cockroach
Because there is no elementary Zion that is chosen to emerge in the barnstorm of flukenhague fluke
Time to rest my laurels on the depredation of safety
Reminding with a glower that saving our city is not an Autopilot of Buccaneer Brady
For the Grand Master Architect is princely in Jerusalem but heralded in Mecca because for too many storks all they want is another baby.
And my answer is that my Terrier Bonds are shaken and stirred by many a yes, probably and maybe in that order of illusion shaken into cocktails of cobblestone gravy
The Soy Sauce livid on mistake exerts a dementia on attrition to enthuse Kansas City joy all too crazy
Swimming in an ocean of Carly Ray Jepsen "Calling Your Name" Queen of Highways' Titanic fortress of Armada music beating the Village People silly over their gabbles against Navy
Born and Raised in a Colorado Springs cage I am snake eyes without crafty disguise  in authenticity to a Patriot Point Break Heist  of the probable doubt of the Zany Billy Zane entrapment of prestige gone madcap with Raiders of never the ambitious but always the lazy
So meditate on my word crimes as I elude detection as Hawthorne Nevada alights with 200 earthquakes in two days in Gray design
Wow what a marvel it is to always know that  you are always Stayin' Alive as the splinter of time capitalizing on sensual crestfallen vibes of a pendulum tsunami "Us and Them" saw wavy
And to the 1776 practical joke that gouges Samson even when thousands of Philistines get crushed in delope
Consider this a declaration of war against your pathetic screwball maze of fog to make a sane man livid with a blushed bravery too fraternal to old craven owls of cruelty beyond the maze of convolution of Istanbul collectively shrouded by lies no stomached demise would appreciate for being gatekeepers of terminus exorbitantly hazy

the eye sees
mathematics-coordinates computed
chance takes over
38-24-36
that's me -a ******
seeking shape in all its forms
flesh and bone structure
salt swamps silicon valleys
the lapping of tongues
with no specific language
just a flicker
its worth it all.

are you done, darling?
forever is where i've just arrived
unkempt brazen ****** animal

are you into **** gyms
don't stretch, break -a-bone
half yourself into acrobatic circuses
******* of delight.Remember boundaries
we are decent people.

touch me here
words stand up-ready?

our volcanoes
are locked up in traditional
cages, awaiting escape
flutter free.

Is this where geometric shape
take its chance.

How much? Travelers Cheques
are a decade old
I have a flight to catch!
Whats your name?
Ok! Forget it?

Author Notes

'I just took my mind back from the gutter for this cumpetition"
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Why do I always rise and fall?
If everything just stops like a wall
Then maybe i could have computed it all
My soul is dropping through the floor
I can’t be crazy – I hope I’m not
But if everything would stand still
May be i could have found how lost i feel

If I go now, what will I leave?
only short lived tears is what i can feel
If that’s the price to end the pain
Then for me it’s more than worth the gain

I’ve tried to go and nearly went
Only luck was all that i could have spent
Now sadness, anger, grows over me
The grief and shame is smothering

I never thought about getting so down
Never let myself to sink so low
And when we find our thoughts lost in our mind
We start faking what we don't know

Light in the window, pale and wan
All I know is that
A light like this is eve or dawn
I don’t know or can’t believe
This shows what I can’t stand to see

It’s been so long, I just don’t know
If there’s a way out of this abyss
What happiness would mean If it can't be seen
And mean for those who stands beside of me

The books and lessons try to explain
The reasons for fear, guilt and shame
It spells it out firm and clear
That’s only me just now and I’m still here

A door is placed in front of me
I don't know if I can pass it through
I trembled with fear, I’m scared to trip
In this life like ocean,
I don't know if I can swim

One by one we build it all
Then one mistake can make it fall
Do I feel one small change in me?
Angers depth is carving inside of me

Hold on to hope, no matter what its been
Fight hard to let light in
If it gets stronger, day by day
Then I’ll survive, not turn away?

Habits learned are buried deep
Have trained my mind
with my head tilting high
To take chance and try a different way
May be something will let the sun in my day

Well you have wild eyes
But they're stuck in your skull
Touched by a world
They're forced to call home
Imprisoned in this aquarium
Where the fish all ****
Then I swear to God
I'm over it

When a part of me breaks loose
Traipsing through the woods
Or in my room,
And I'm reminded I'm an animal
And I stare down my
Umbilical cord, musing

That's when I feel the most alive.

But the jungle's grown
Computed edges
The people make
Nocturnal pledges
To the moon
Under the starry night
What fight is won
By its hairy law?

It gives me wild eyes,
Wild eyes that blink the time away
Because they don't want to believe!
They don't want to believe that this is my life.

Eyes go dry staring at the black letters
Streaming across the white glaring edge of blank space
Filling up margins with contemplative speculation
Another theory
Another world view down
Peering down the mind of thinker long dead
And ideology long forgotten in the common consciousness of man

The heated whirring of computed fan
Making fingertips warm with the *******
Streaming off the tips of meated flesh
Vomiting regurgitated digested language and reasoning’s
Spoon-fed to the infant mind for four months
The final tick-tacking of keys
Setting in stone the effort and money of another semester spent
Steam rising off the cranium
The sizzle of taxed mind and drooping eye

Fascinated still by information that I'm too **** tired to process
Another semester down
Major coming into focus.

my ******* hands
are attached to
restless wrists wresting
control
of this keyboard.

I’ve got to put something down
and I don’t want my fingertips to stop dancing on the keys.

My hands move faster than my mind can think
today. Today,
I am a writer. Yesterday I was a poet
and my hands could not keep up with my words
which could not keep up with my thoughts –
thoughts (n): dreams computed by the mind.

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

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

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

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

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

----govern yer own damself

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

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

Hubris gotcha down- be humble, win a crown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this way, see

ear? Practice makes perfect opportunity next

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

could be a numbered aphorism in thoth lost long ago.

Freedom from pain? When? When the pain ends.

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

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

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

priesthood of the programmers, defiled
by HyperCard…

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

distant Homer's combed the beaches, sifting shipwrecks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

interesting times, said the chinaman to the BIC guy,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

who cares

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

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

MMM, I get by…

This is poetry--
Unknown and discussed
In no particular matters
Until death
Doth part
the Poet from his art
And ought to be--

But the saddest lovers are the living--
Who weave dastard tragedies
In goldpence and fame
And in hope, break Foundations
on laureled mounts,
Calling desperate to empty crypts
Which once housed their Muses

Praise and please to you, Polyhymn
Us hominids speak so bold
In our kindness to you!

While this is computed
And tooled to the ringing of gold
Glass
And transitions--
Mere sparks
In the ember of forge

That these mint implements
Are the forgery of that art
Consumes Hephaestus in his doubts
Of a father's true fires
And the alchem of his own

Clio, remember thy crowning!
The doubts of this mournful sphere
And the pain of our pasts
Are yours to cast within the stele
And praise be, toward your simple carvings of man!

Doting and careful could I be,
Lashing my wrists with decay
Stash my words by the reeds
I could hold the world up to keep
Our own love of the earth
In the same way
she should be earned

There is a certainty of that
Loveless act, the plotting of land
To place corpses upon the earth
For circus and grandeur

This is ultimately
The fate of you poets,
Cast as stones amongst the stream
Blackened and cold

And you will not know but the soul of you in deed
And your words will fall Deaf
Upon these fears of the freed

When they devour themselves in the temples
And massacre the streets
Exhume worn roads
Which bridged their father's feats

And when it is done
And the words come to rest
In the ruins and the spires
All but symbols and jests

No more, no more!
For it is all in their speech
It is all in good kind
And all left to me.

What’s your constitution mean in everything that you do?
I don’t know what it’s for or even if it’s true,
All you want is some restitution from institutions, but for whom?
Our thoughts become diluted when our language is all computed,
The echoes of an alien keyboard pounding don’t sound like music,
To me it is convoluted, your focus on who did or did not do it,
Now I’m not eating,
And I’m not sleeping,
And I’m not even thinking this all through,
All my everything’s are forever gravitating to and around you,
Breaking what’s already broken,
Fixing frozen feelings with a glue gun,
It won’t stick forever but open on up and see what you've become,
She needs you when she needs but when you need her she’s always gone,
It’s better being on your own,
It is better being,
It is better,
It is,
It is wrong

Every dreary day's the same.
Every important detail is halted
in a stalemate over a somewhen
that feels much like eternity.

I remember it all by heart,
my laughable fortress of apathy:
the texture of the chair,
the length of the motion
between my hand and my addiction
in the form of keyboard and mouse,
the brightness of fake mechanical dreams,
and the mess of real ones.

Then the line between evening and night blurs
or sometimes night and day,
and comes the tedious unrewarding process
of laying in bed, and listening
to all the little pains
of human body and mind:
little scratches, aches,
and too many thoughts.

Thoughts about
all the little things
that make me insufferably like myself:
my ego, wishing only to cage the world.
and make it dance like a fool,
conversing with despair,
an extravagant fellow
who sees no world
outside of mechanical fools
staged on a collapsing surface.

There are also social thoughts
about the game theory, hormones, and stress
of playing in human society.
People connected by fragile threads.
Loneliness is a paradox,
as it tends to grow with density.
It’s always hard to find
the ideal strategy.

I also remember well
the feeling of waking up.
I would have never known
how passionately one could hate
a series of fragmented sound bites saying:
"The time is 7:30 am. The time is-", I know.
Of course, you can’t know that I know,
or rather you just can’t know,
but it feels like you should by now, y’know??


After a period of time
equal parts instant and unending
I find myself strapped
to yet another, less comfortable chair.
There are a few dozen others
sitting in equally uncomfortable chairs
in equally inexpressive fashion.

At an opposite angle,
stands a bigger one
relaying piles of data
to be computed and organized
and tediously rehearsed,
by us, smaller calculators in training.
The most exciting
and unfun part
of our structural data training
are the tests
to check each one’s margin of error
and kindly give particularly special care
to the ones on the lower end
of achievement.

Sometimes one of the bigger ones
asks me if I’m fine
what a stupidly kind but pointless question.
Because, of course,
there’s only one correct answer
So I make a clueless face
and give the same one every time
I want to be a good calculator, after all.

But it’s far too obvious
to even bother saying
that nothing is ever fine
maybe that’s why no one does say it
and when I remember
the depth of my unfineness
my center of gravity sinks
deep into the earth
and all that’s left is the feeling
of my soul digesting itself,
and in those lucid moments
when the game of reality ceases
and nothing can be good or bad
and life becomes
too sad a story to handle
I can’t help but smile.

A responce, to a TV Preacher, justifying war:
{I had misthought my initial mission, I keep my peace.}
But I thought,
What about you being no man's enemy,
and no man's debtor,
but any man's friend,
when the friend is asking to share my just enough.
I believe, I think,
Just enough, is always plenty to share, some times,
that stranger already missed a meal, and you've missed
not even a snack, in weeks, years, perhaps,

what worth to you your last piece of money,
at that moment, here's the test, tell yourself,

do the right thing, when you have the chance.
Become the base line good, for you, steady,

building piles of settled little ****** beasties
what done give all the life each had, to add a bit
of bubbly possibility, as to what it is to know,
made up your good mastermind, and put it on,
be like, you, when you
were worth dying for, let the bubble
bear the word of peace for the blink of an eye,
we can make Jesus wink at all you never knew.
--- now, ask why you feel so lost, listen
good
we came to do today, say, look ye hear, I done
my gig, I did, and some shall someday swear, I did.

Instant poverty, nearly anywhere,
from the womb, boom,
the weight is maddening.

Instant riches, not so tough,
depending
on the defined worth in values
of the cost to fix the problem, messed up to start with,
Goddammed faulty knowledge acquisition application.

Snakes alive, we were to be so wise.

Run this by me again, said the judge. You
believe that life is given to be used… some duty,
to perform, which means living is free, but happy
costs money, in the form of time spent doing things,

and you personally leave being likely your duty
is to make peace by acting like a snake?

That's right, your honor, due to your perspication o'my
cautious wish to be harmless as the enemy doves,
as well as a little bit literate, for the future

writing or reading, yes, reading pays, testing retention,
what do you know about life and the universe,
if you know **** Feynman said life was worth 64, before
we were told the wrong question computed 42, with
everything included.

Something never computes, Will, Robin's son.

Portrayed in absence
Nasty taste left
Under swollen cheeks
Bitterness

Twisted up nerves
Conclusive Skulls

Perturbation unraveling
Sacred kept
Unwoken
Dreams

Dwindling
Darting
Captured
Locked

Deep seeded
Frustrations

Viscera
upside down

Computed relief
Only
Just
Aspiration

500 or 504
"an error - we'll fix it asap"
well, i've stopped keeping score
of the ineptness of this app

"Uh oh, we encountered an error
making this page for you.
We've been notified of this terror
and we'll make it up to you"

"we'll wire you $100
for every minute you've wasted
for the anguish and the hollers
and the powerlessness you've tasted."

"we know how awful it is
to loose your work in a second,
the hard work, sweat and tears
when it's all computed 'n reckoned."

"We're sure £10,000 won't go amiss,
we've sent it to your account,
sorry we were disastrously remiss -
we hope you'll accept that amount."

Reality, my friends, can daunt,
so i shall daydream all i want
though i'd sooner be piggybacking a leviathan fish
i may still fantasise and wish!