Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.

cliche. click
I'm lost without you

you glanced my way and said,
"how do you know?"

I don't.
I won't.
I can't.

You glance away and say,
"maybe so."

Life's the test.
----
stand alone or be rejected
objected
the subject of the action word
conjecturing the meaning

Hector's pride brought the mass.
Was that made sacred? Yechhh.

Higgs's made real,  massive change
end of the world
as we knew it, 2012, mass means more than x-mas

The message in the messenger from Greece's God,
"Hold fast, hold on, Hector, be
hold-- what a drag"

Achilles, shoulda had anger management.

Suppose, Achilles's momma had trusted
whatever the protection was to be,
divine, that kind o' dad,
it warn't gonna let 'im drown.

She coulda just tossed 'im in,
sink or swim, knowing, in her inner parts,
the protector's promise,
memorized, since the red tent.

Pandora's last hope trumps fire,
and flood,

Wee Achilles woulda squirmed, and swam,
invincible, every inch soaked,

it could been, but, you know,
Achilles's momma could not let go.

And the rest is mythtery.

---
the sign said follow the money,

but money is invisible, so I played like
I could see what other folk
saw.

Lot o'them took time to tell me,
"Only believe", or "trust, and obey".
Streets of gold,
we'll slide back
down on silk stockings
hung on spider thread

above the flames

that boil the kettle in the center of
the whole round world,

nobody in our family ever once
believed the world is flat,

nor that Jesus once was blue and had four arms,

stop me.
I was wrong, I, myself, can imagine
Jesus dressed as Rama,
who was blue and had four busy arms, in truth.

hallowed ev'ening of the light,
settling sun, lead in the night, when all
see monsters, every where,

no one will notice me. Watch and see.

OH OH, ****** me by my pigtail, lift me to the third
floor, two stories past tellestial,
kingdom come,
which the mormon at my door testified
the angelic ***** had told Brigham 'n'em,

in the spirit, he agreed, not face to face.

tellestial is as close to hell as a Mormon man can go,
and,
he said, "If you could see it, you'd die to go.
It's so much better than this."

Joe Smith, said that, according to his agent.

I pondered,
chewed a cud, as I could recall, holy cows do.

I leaned back, put one boot to rest,
on the bricks behind my knee,

A modified Crane pose, I suppose.
I folded my arms and stared that boy
right in the eye.

I said, "Wanna try?"
"We gotta bridge up the road a piece,
sure as haell,
we'll see if it's a lie, at least."

Then I repented.
That hell imagined by Joe and all them zionic-messengers,
they was guesses, at the best. But the feelers at my door,
they was bein' tempted
to put their own faith to the test.

I grow bolder. The experiment worked.
I know.
Same ol' story...

-She said it tasted,
okeh,
first time that word was ever heard or tasted.

Cool,
****, cold, evil, winter, summer, sweat, mosquitos, evil cold,
I'm sorry!

How do you know?
What's blame?
Oh, that, and shame, I know that,

epi genetically be guile-ish. gullibility
gone in one bite.

Taste and see, he saw her say, or thought
he did

Like a switch, with more capacitance,
than the cells of knowing can resist,
in the first few months of being matter in time.

Knock a fella in the head
with knowing all the hows of evil,
along with all the why of not,

the most beautiful woman in the world,
no contest,
naked, and he knows.

Thinkin' straight ain't in the plan.
Precedent set forever,
no plan survives first sight of a naked woman after learning what naked means,

according to the tutor in blame,
who sat glumly on Adam's shoulder
explaining as the jist
of the story unrolls, "naked is evil,
you are naked", no word, just
thinkin'

good luck if yer helpin' him stand,
Wham

spoken words heard and
obey essence initial instantiation
revere
lionize,

oops, Idols. The idea of idols. Don't imagine anything like that.

Gabriel came with that very message all over his face.

Knowin' evil and doin' it, not the same.
Learn to drive and do the math,

Then we talk about artifice beyond the ken of mortal minds,
not worry,
it is written, We have the mind of Christ,

but as an augmentation really,
we can fact check,
but, honest,
a heretic has to use any augmentations right,
or the being powers will

objectify his reason for being, and reject him, for

the sin of defining the happiness he ensues.

You with me?
----
This was to be my comment,
but it called out for search engine priority of purpose

Nothin', I was thinkin' --
we never get trick or treaters,
tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,
then I un cussed my thoughts
with my inner self and we agreed.
He who would catch fish,
must venture his bait.
Net criticism's needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Wise ones say, it ain't easy,
but true rest,
I can testify, it's found along the way.

Hallowed be your even-ing, level up,

trick or treat?
not on that old man's hill,
somethin' weird, too peaceful there.

562

Conjecturing a Climate
Of unsuspended Suns—
Adds poignancy to Winter—
The Shivering Fancy turns

To a fictitious Country
To palliate a Cold—
Not obviated of Degree—
Nor erased—of Latitude—

Aeolian dour fire meridians
Unfettering enlightenments will
Together Scylla with authority
Howling, Charybdis in oblivians wake
Shenting spindel meandering;
The schism termagating sirens
Repasts (diabolic manna)
Refracting ambrosial in the
Lap of Gods eye sophically conjecturing
Ephinany- times charioteering,
The nocturnal triunes discordance
Contemplating consequence thistling
Opothecaric sigels permeating lots
Obstruse lathed cerebral skies
Ruthfully roil whittling indelible
Epitaphs of serpentine repositories
Woefully dawning eternity castening
Harmoniously asunder truths
Deifying yen die.


ELEETE J MUIR.

redefining awkward definiens
endorsing victorious evening
clamoring hawk-like intonations
conjecturing additional goals
optimizing ambient network
winning illinoisan night

trapping hacked-up events
warping æsthetic remnants
resuming inaudible overture
rallying auric-state net-work
defying anti-punk technophobia
eliminating cavalier homies!

minding icelandic anniversary
winging ersatz excuses
kicking ecstatic nerves
denying lackadaisical event
questioning upper echelons
brûlant en calice

Sitting on this addictive desk
Staring at the wonders of the world via the internet
From the modesty to the grotesque
It's funny how they all forget
The life outside of this intoxicating bottle of wires
But who am I to complain, for I am one of them
Lost inside these eccentricities that I admire
Wondering, conjecturing all about the beautiful eerie emblem.

What if just one day, one day we all stood and went outside?
Smell the breeze of the isolated air
Feel the earth, the dirt, that we denied
The earth we wear and tear
And yet, the ungrateful spends no time to relish
What we have, inexpensive
But all the care is for the wires; hellish
This is the mysterious truth
Of the brute
Of mankind and their neglect
Of a life that may never resurrect

-fir.m

We should never envy the happiness of others just as we would not want them to view us in
the same vein. How is happiness quantified? Who knows the extent of other people's happiness? How do we know whether they are really happy? Are we conjecturing?

Leave others alone. It's totally futile to make any comparison between our state of happiness with that of others.

Let us learn to be content with our happiness however tiny that is. Aren't we lucky not to be living in pain or sorrow?  To wish to have our happiness augmented is indicative of our discontent. A true malaise that would be.

No one can be totally happy neither can we have the same degree of happiness all the time. Our happiness has its ebb and flow and this duality we should always remember.

Happy people also have unhappy days just as unhappy people might have some happy days. Life viewed from this perspective is an alloy of happiness and sorrow.
With that in mind, we can assuredly say that happiness and unhappiness are not mutually exclusive.

If we can understand and accept that life is never perfect, that our happiness is only a contingency as all other aspects of our life are , we would have done away with that which unsettles us and would be a step closer to achieving contentment and tranquillity in our individual life.

Our nights of assessing God,
With our heads conjoined to the windowpanes,
Our thoughts permeating throughout the glass.
Two lukewarm coffees embellished the windowsill,
The synthesis of our cognition and entwined fingers,
The soft touch of shoulders leaning upon each other,
Brought forth beatific vision, we saw God;
His blemished flesh, the formation of his bones.

It began,
His vertebral column, intangible lights, the Aurora Borealis.
His archaic vertebrae, stained in ethereal fluorescence;
The curvature, swirling, as the Deity writhes in euphoria,
A childish game,
Our God, content in the night.

His hands, formed from the dust of Bethlehem,
Grains of sand corralling to form flesh upon the detritus of Rome.
His Holy land, The Vatican; Structures of marble and stone,
Merely his cupped hands,
As his disciples' feet caress his palms.

His organs; The planets in orbit;
His heart, our sun.
The rays of light that adorn our skin,
Merely the palpitations of a hidden pulsating heart.
his divinity,  subject of uncertainty in the petulant eyes of his children
walking in Terra Incognita.

His skin, Lo, to the stars;
Our hands yearned to touch the celestial freckles,
outstretched to feel the fibres of God;
And like our limbs, so did God outstretch,
his flesh, but space; suffusing within the translucent contours of the cosmos.

To be told we were made in the image of God, is to be deceived;
Our childish conjecturing, truly a theorem to be displaced,
Our augmented minds, illuminated;
An aureole behind our heads,
We became biblical as we touched lips by the mantelpiece.

Conjecturing on the intimate remnants of your heart
surmising on the proper way to dissect its parts
delving into the chasm that holds your most private illusions of grandeur
bewildered by the vast expanses, these weathered lips simply stammer
the complexity of the concept left me stifled, mouth failing to make any attempts at offering kind words
as the reverberations of vocal chords became the only sound we heard
ricocheting off the precipices of your heart's unsurmountable walls
useless like hands digging the sands in fruitless attempts to draw
the full force off the ocean from a shallow hole
I stared at the blueprints of your heart's desires failing to find the control
every route on the schematic
seemed as if inner city traffic
flooded with passengers never fulling knowing when they will reach their destination rightfully so, at the center of your attention
as I sketch out the dimensions
factoring in the time it will take to find the route that leads me back to you
I marvel at the resiliency of your heart, then drive straight through
beyond these hallowed walls lies a future I was destined to reach
I shred these maps, light a match and burn all the blueprints of me...

Until the peace essential settles, phonelessness
is disconcerting, unsettling mix up of a sorted outness,

tares and corn compilations sorted out seed,
useful to us, useful to life beyond us, seed

broadcast, laughing on a recent object's point
discerning irrealis indigo

from been there, done that, blues.
Babu we had no reason, worthless we,
as long no--w,
wow, this hole anchors in grammar, ai knows,
I do not, so some times I am only qwerty guy,
I just work here.

Real disconnectedness,
real off-grid, no bars, no wires, no antennae

disconcerting, mixing all harmony
with living will used to let be these things
that , we had no mind gives reason, merely so, so what.

Confirming suspected situation,
confiding chiral certainty reflection,
consenting acceptance

any time now, any time,
accepted use acknowledging need
to know certainly, now, this time
to learn and live beyond unknowing.

Which knowing would we be better without?
Knowledge of unknowables? Curiosity,
our inherent knowing how to ask,
what is this, what
you may call it, what those
in the old world
told the elites who sent useless boys
to learn discernment
of good
to know
from all that ever thought

All things, as comprehensible, thinkable,
all things working as one thing, universally,

we thinkable things, me thinking you think,
each word, each speakable sound still
English, but accessible

So old the scam, make believe, laugh
at presented absurdity, never heard words

fit to dancing steps,
fit to taken breaths,

fine for fixing infinite definitions, endless
conjecture and objections, guessings
this way or that, go on into unknowns,
or conserve the energy going on uses,

waiting in reasoning state, weighing why
and how, why and how not,
preposterous, before and after at once,
all the knowledge set in secret agreements,
minds let be used to make up gangs and crews,

many hands make light work,
many minds make gravitas willingness

out of tune, discordant, disconcerting noise
a susserating


Disaster, stars aligning against failure,
super positioning every instance,

superstitious curiosity inhibition,

singularities uniting senses inhabiting
rational reasonless senses

A mode
or modality, clarity
Summarizer
Mode and modality have different meanings.1
Mode refers
to the way in which something happens or is experienced,
while modality refers
to the distinction between a real action
and an intended, possible,
or considered action.
Mode is closely linked
to the idea of the "channel" of communication,
such as face-to-face,
epistolary, or SMS.
Modality is mostly used
in grammatical analysis,
when it refers
to the distinction
between a real action
and an intended, possible, or considered action.2
When people refer
to treatments, whether
medical or psychotherapeutic, as modalities,
they mean mode/method/procedure,
as in different types of treatment.3
Mood is a grammatical notion,
while modality is a semantic notion relating
to such concepts.0
Google it if you think I thought you thought
------- so little sense that makes to me
so I go to Redit and find this answer, assuming
I meant mood, and not mode, an aimodality,
may hap, as random wills to show a novelty.

Modality. A kind of meaning involving non-factuality or non-assertion:
He may know her presents his knowing her as a possibility; You must go presents your going as an obligation.

Mood. Verbal category expressing various kinds of modality. Mostly marked in English by modal auxiliaries. The were of I wish that were true is an isolated irrealis mood form.

{A Student's Introduction to English Grammar by Huddleston and Pullum (ASITEG).}

Gads, great gobs of precise distinctions,
real or irreal, isness irrealis or realis
-the whirr of I wish it were
As ifs, ai of a most ancient intentional will
to discern corn
from tare

The first vernal moon
Measured one-seventh lit,
Backdropped by
A star-studded pit
Of ebony sky,
With Venus, brilliant,
By her side,
A ring of light
Outlined the disc.

A man, standing
On a ladder,
Stretches a finger
As if to flip
A peephole plate
On a galactic door.
And through the hole
Streamed pearls of light
From a well-lit room.
Did I espy eternity
Au clair de la lune.

Then conjecturing
On a whim,
I thought of one
Peeping in,
To see how ones,
Such as us,
Weathered winter's boons.

That which they lack in longevity
They compensate with in narcissistic egotrocity.
Such odd creatures, those confined within humanity,
Always over-estimating, over-conjecturing
Their place and meaning in this yet to be
Disillusioned, elaborate, erratic cosmic infinity.

No other animal I since created
Have made such self-absorbed, conceited notions
Comp’rable to humanoid emotion.

I am ashamed to call them mine,
But it is so. I need not intervene,
For ere the end of World War Three,
They surely will relinquish me
Of my senseless exercise in futility.

Like a grey boat with an accusatory tone

never bothering a wharf

I stand still. Alone.

No longer I write the wilderness

with defeated yet indomitable wraith

as I feel unsafe inside,

the very place, I knew once.

Perhaps the memory grinds against

as I wonder the shallow dark

nowhere, in my mind.

Neither an infant cooing nor an urchin dying

just a meteorite no longer flying.

In anxieties and disappointments

I stand here, stargazing.

Shameless as I wear a crown of thorns

waiting to get trapped into the clouds.

Unadorned as I speak my sorrow

diluted with warm and dark

consistently conjecturing a fact

a fact of never being alone

yet alone.

Despite a false hope, it is a weight distilling darkness

through bleeding lines between apathy and hope

whilst the moon hangs without an answer

in echo dark

where only silence answers back.

Keep your gods close at hand
no matter what the world may plan
lest you lose stability
in the storm of life's conflicts

that compass pointing to the path
to find the groove that directs life
towards a goal meant for one
no matter how many are displayed

by other souls seeking peace
as the walls constrict around
starving light from the sky
while the pits cry for blood

in this mix I struggled on
lost in the haze without resort
to the pillars that could hold
my trembling heart above the gloom

imagination now remains
conjecturing realms of sanity
don't **** the gods for release
they too ask why this should be.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181010.

What's knowing?
     is it just your conjecturing?