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Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
                                      (Seneca, Letters 130.10)

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
i have to admit, i hate writing these
sort of pieces,
   they're akin to a song that sticks
in your mind - you keep humming it,
whistling it while walking
down the street in moon,
   sometimes an impromptu strut
interruption is your feet taking to the beat...
but, it just happens,
   like the german ettiquete concering
burping while drinking beer:
the louder? the better; filfthy animals,
but i have to admit -
   keeping a **** from full a-bomb release
is one thing, hard, i know,
but trying to yawn with your mouth
closed? a theology teacher will spot it,
and give you detention,
because you yawned with your mouth
closed, during the lord's prayer
before class: well, that's catholic school
for you... my, the lord is so forgiving;
i was tutored by one of his cronies,
   i'm not exactly excited or in need of want
to meet their godfather.
anyway... sponges...
   i sometimes listen to these political commentary
videos on you-tube...
as you do... what was it?
ah: black pigeon speaks...
   ******* & creep-shots... girls in yoga pants...
everything that doesn't look
as rigid as an envelope on an a woman...
there's a tactic in it...
   girls their age are already thinking
psyche-chess, guys their age?
   imagine winning a 100m sprint with a hard-on...
o.k. maybe not the 100m,
no oxygen, no blood to the muscle
superior...
                   they get to breathe at 800m
right? so imagine winning an 800m contest
with a hard-on...
    and there are two tiers in this affiar,
the girls that have this instinctive affair of
beauty, and become natural mothers,
   and they're the ones giving the guys
a hard-on, and scoring poorly in "intelligence"
tests...
    it's one thing for a man to find
his mind, yet another for a woman to find her
body...
            i believe in grammar schools...
or maybe not...
      who was the genius who thought about
the anti-buddhist middle path of grammar
schools, say, the ursulines of ilford,
or the ilford county high for all boys?
and people become worried that muslims
segregate the girls from the boys in a mosque...
huh?
      so why are women smarter...
they have the scouts, the ones that disorientate
the men who quickly build up an immunity
to intellectual endeavour,
   and are stuck in playing actual chess,
                 than ******-hormone chess.
that's part one, part two, i've heard this story
a countless times, by atheists...
  how the ten commandments are silly...
looks hardly any bit silly, given hearing the news
of how man is "competent" with crafting
laws... notably the socio-political commentary
regarding taking photographs...
  the c.i.a. is still looking for the babushka
enigma, who took photographs of the j. f. k.
assassination: real close up.
        why are the ten commandments silly?
isn't the law of man a bit more sillier...
what's the number, in the ratio of 10 : 200,000+(?)
laws?
never mind, accounts like this are always
exhausting to muster,
  but they have to have a punching-bag's
worth of a blank page...
    otherwise they turn into tape-worms,
and you "regret" not having your two-pence
of opinion of the discussed topic...
and as honesty goes,
  the opinion is fleeting,
   it's not rigid, it's not firmly worth carrying
toward the next day...
       in these scenarios the butterfly effect
comes into play...
the opinion lasts for about 20 minutes,
   elsewhere there a torando that lusts for
many people, and about 2 hours worth of
the whril...
               doesn't the dialectical approach
simply mind the rigid in opinion -
the opinari hereditas (hereditary opinion)?
or does it also mind the opinari facere
  i.e. fashionable opinion - i.e.
               in plain sprechen, simply being
opinionated?
     you have to admit, that both mediums exist...
i'm beginning to think that socrates
attacked the former,
                     because the latter is beyond
the effort for consideration,
   since it's so transient, so fickle,
so much of a res vanus, so much of a sponge,
so much of acting, faking, lying,
        there's no dialectical approach to
opinari facere... as seasons change,
                      so does the fashion of opinions.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Specialism, electro mechanical circuits,

moving parts yet move, you see, but when we read we bring our senses
inside
privacy can become a public mind, if one is connected, in a giving way,
taking thought,
as the original medium we found message in,
thought takes form
in words,
words take form in things. Right. Check.

Blake feared the objective world was being walled in,
and all the people screamed, amen.
Again

Build the wall, from icons demoted to mites of no more
weight than a tinker's think,
phe-nomenal noment-ation, if we may

Hot and cool both bubbled up as burps, perhaps from the babes
booming through the lies told before the great war.

No future? You allow that thought in your culture?
And shame and blame?
No wonder you choose to lie.

Bear with me a while, share my load, it's light.
There is a hopeful object,
we can go easy into that good night,
the world is round.

Free from Ra and Isis and all, in one fell sweep of the besom.
Broom, besom, means broom, but the effect of an e,

e-lectrix

you give us the fire we'll give em hell  a game ad in the middle of the massage
Call of duty, black ops.
they
You use you eyes to see, it's a with-spiracy,

a hair of the dog that bit you. Eh?
live in bonanza land, 1965.

and so it goes, Dresden, every minute of every day

the walls of your home are coming down,

unless you were born with a cell phone in your father's pocket.

Privacy is calling for walls from the fenced in time after Bonanza.

Ah, too late, ours is an all new world of all at onceness, a global village, happening simultaneous.
extreme with everybody else's business, huge in
volvement in every body's business

we know too much to be strangers
walls fall down, not go up,
the wallbuilding never workded, did it Grandpa?

Nineteenth century student could believe
the factory system
would use the knowledge, hard-won
from books and chalkboards,
to keep him outa the mine.

Now, the information age,

are we the leisure class? Ever learning,
never knowing everything,

but knowing walls and wars do not perform as advertised.

The safety car, that was one with seat belts, 1965.
Our body percept, it changes,
this image of which you are un
aware.

The disconnected minded man, alienated
artist living edgewise to
cattywompus.

My life is my art, eh, not the other way.
Global village information age McLuhan named these things
from Canada.
More expert than my teacher,
Pop art is not a pun, it was a bubble,
that's a fact. The-joke-with-no-story-line-conundrums,
elephant jokes, blonde jokes

Those tests, Turing would approve,
any old A.I. can play chess,
just remember every response to every move ever made in any game in the system,
like the amygdala, your lizard thought-speed brain,
at the top of your spine.

But humans can make funny seem.

Humor comes from a world of un happiness and gripes,
Jose Jimenez was the example they made. Racist, right?
The guy was a jew.
William Szathmary, Googled it.

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

Communicating with the logo-label-designer you wear,
messaging the world what? Exactly,
any un thought thought goes unsaid,

but T-shirts and body art, henna's the best,
those send a message with no thought whatsoever.
Same as Redcoats in bearskin hats, what's being said,
same as the judge with a wig?

What is the role?
Why the ongoing act?
It must have changed into that wigged judge from something.

Theater of everywhere, accept allatonce, or die asking y not.

Inward directed seeking
deep meaning
a role that changes

some outside
the future of the future started, a while back. not too far.

No inevitability.
An act of high poetry

envisioning,
the future was friendly

metaphysical value, brilliant, incomprehensible
a man, a thinker,
storytellers the experts say,
need some mud behind 'em. and some snow.

a mother never satisfied with her life,
brittley self confident,

the whole approach to knowing is old.
Diogenes's search for a good poem, with
shifting levels of imagery,
never shall you know,

they work
the way a word works,
the effect.
effect. fect from Latin facere,
sistere mechanically deus
The oracle of the information age
Ah,whatvoiceisheardaroundtheworld,
oh,mine.2018 Mr. McLuhan,
you'd likely lighten up a little.
Toejammspredder was mcluhan I heard on the grapevine.

Hey, mom, I'm on TV.
Up to doctrine, then destination syndrome a hopebubble

He had brain surgery and returned to Catholicism, a safe place.
But he left his vision to television's offspring.
That's about all I know of his work.
Some things shape us for our future, if we allow the time and let patience have her perfect work.
Wm Joe McDonald Jul 2015
PROCRASTINATION
By
Joe McDonald

Part I:

How often can I keep putting off everything in life that must be done to the point of frustration and despair?  

How often will my work sit and stare at me with the eyes of hungry children always whining their demands for my attention to each task always wanting my full being beyond my own inner abilities and doubt?

How often can I walk past the damaged concrete step on my own house that sneers at me everyday as I walk up to my front door?

How often can I make promises to old friends to get together, celebrate life, and not expect them to wait on my return call of cancelation because of illusionary diseases?

How often can I feign in my backyard the beauty of my roses, sipping white grape while the grass under my bare feet remains brown, coarse, and over grown with dandelions stifling all vegetation?

How often can I pledge my good faith to a worthy cause by ending up watching from the back row as the needs prosper or fail regardless of my lack of motivation?

How often will constant kicking of the can down the yellow brick road be considered the excellence of a long line of Shakespearean resumes?

How often will my lack of courage blind me to opportunities of abundance and force my family to a life of stagnant economic asperity?

How often will I consent to others disrespect of my mastery of skills to the verge of closing my mind to all that is important to dwell in a soup of anger, self-doubts, and ache?

How often will the peeling paint, blistering off of my house like shards of cheese at my wedding feast, augment my anguished indifference finding every physical, spiritual, and any other of a multitude  of “…Why not’s…” festering in my dome of “..Do it tomorrow’s…”?

How often can I rattle my saber of position, roar my battle cry of “Tomorrow” to postpone today’s tasks? Bundling them all into neat piles of future promise completions. All the time smiling a grin of a used car salesman.


How often can I sit on my couch on sunny Saturday mornings enjoying the sun rise? Its beams slowly sliding across the finished oak; warming my unkempt hovel to the boiling point that tuffs of unwanted cat fur dancing over the varnished grain like tumbleweeds in a Sam Pechinpah film. Yet, I sip my morning brew, acknowledging their existence but, my head movies are of other unattended illusions.

How often can my inability to act or respond be accepted by those who expect perfection in all things?

How often can I permit the disappointment of a moment fire the indifference toward the needs of the here and now?

How often will my journey up my front walk be changed from the joy of daffodils and hyacinths filling the air with aromas of lung cleansing delights only to rediscover the pine foliage  are still dressed in the lights of Christmas past?

How often will I put off leading because of failure of seeing the needs of those who need leadership? They cry out for direction but, plead for independence. I use the pleas to drown out the cries.

How often will I have the epiphany of a lifetime only to have inaction and fear
drag it down to the bowels of an enlighten brain ****?



Part II:

I keep plugging in the mechanism of delay to power the animal of the moment.

I blind myself over and over and over and over again again again again to my abilities of now in favor of promises of later.

I smell success in the air every time I do the nows but, the stench of celebration’s to come is easer, sweater, more in line with who I am and not who I want to be.

I hear the praise and accolades of present victories and in time I’ll drag my triumphs out over the gravel road of time until they have lost their luster.

I’ll blindly stare at the tube of adult babysitting, at images of various eye candies trying to escape my own drive to do and yet failing in this as well.

I can’t spit out the bitter taste of the act of putting everything off nor drown it in the wine of determination without repeated reminder that I am drinking from the same cup of vintage to come.

I spend much needed dollars and valued hours gorging myself on self-help aids and assistance. Only they too become part of the beast’s feast of my misused time.

I awake every Monday with dreams of a new but, I’m so accessible to countless distractions. By Friday I face the inevitable doom of looking back over the landscape of a week gone up in the flames of the undone.

I try to grab each day by its throat. Choke out the desired results. Only it offers the slights resistance and I let it go to torment me from its lair growling “…not now, not now, not now…”

I’ll spend time with my mate for life. Half of me is relishing the moments with her. Half is wandering over the tablets of what I haven’t done.

I have mismanaged, misused, balled up, blundered, fouled up, mishandled, muddled, muffed, spoiled, and fumbled the footballs of my life again and again avoiding all that has to be done now driven farther down the boulevard. Constantly stopping at any insignificant store front; staring at juvenile trinkets of distraction.

I have sinned over and over again. I offer prayers to anyone who will listen. Begging for the enlightenment to solve my weakness. “… quia pecccavi nimis cogitatione verbo et in cogitations, et in hoc opera, quod ego facere non, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…”



Part III:

Who else do I have to make suffer in confused patience waiting for the promised end results of my superficial excellence?

What has to be done to make me arise from the ash of self doubt, indecision, and fear to conquer this demon within my psyche?

Where are the answers I seek in my time of apathy?

Why has this inferior deity have such a grasp on me?

When! Again, when!!! When will I face this issue and start to find the peace of timely attainment?






(“… that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault…”)
Part IV:

I have lived with this for over a half century.
Trying to climb out of the hole of misused time.
Falling back into my penitentiary.
Serving a sentence of intimate crime.


The venting is complete, pity-pats written down.
My confession exposed for all to share, witness.
If this public sacrament exposes me a clown.
Mock away; have your jest. For I could care less.


My Ginsberg rant is to open doors of avowals.
To aid in my cure; in hope start my salvation.
To trust myself; to believe in oneself. I am all.
To look into the morning glass willing a reincarnation.


Only I can face the beast and make it heel.
Down inside I have to find the straight for each day.
Try a new, lighter approach; a new Don Marquis feel.
“…procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday…”




April 2014
Ken Pepiton Jan 23
Many inputs say Mondays are common,
but one input says this Monday is uncommon.
We are to be the judge of that.

This is the Monday when you appear,
as reader dear, ready to reason with ghosts
amusing each other with wishes doing pirouettes
as angels may be imagined doing on pinheads,
spinning, or kicking in chorus line choreography.

The elderly nobody imagines the scene,
and makes it seem a vision, something seen,
after the finest sieve - pulling pin wires

snipping whimseys, making mites for widows.

------------ The Government's about to change,
wanna bet, whose got money on whom,

leave the room… vacate the judgment hall,
we are all here, to judge me, last call
all the outs are in, all the ins are intimate,

and we have made all the seed we could,
in word and deed, and we chose to leave
the edges un mowed, so critters can live,

when we can understand our own words
and read other languages using them,
these words are as living things imagined,

said and known, at once, in Housie or Hindi

whatsoever we can envision and project,
we may elect to try to do, or we may do
using words alone,
we think as one
mind,
so now we is I, we is not royal,
we is eloheemishical. Us big good being.


Watcher what of the night?

----------------------
Two geriatic puppets duke it out
for the FOOTBALL
News is all reruns.
Making war for pay,
money makes it work,
gotta love it, gotta love it.

Any reason for killing for,
gotta love it, real deal love it,

steal from the rich to become
richer, Lord knows, war's reason,

come now, let us reason together,
let us cogitate clarity of conscience,
with science standing in for knowledge,
the whole truth, once told, whole knowing

all things working together with reason,
for those in the blooming gnosis realms,

where augmented intelligence forms
teams of knowing hidden reconnectors,
citizen band geeks in the olden days
breaker, breaker, let the learned agree,

we lived just in time to see it all work.

In older olden days…
Messages were carried, at current
stretch of the imagination speed, by slaves…

Writing letters was…
different, I suppose, or
propose, positionally different,
sup and pro posals posed as statu'es,
forms of former founders of the orderly
clusters of human compliance called nodes,
junctions and interchanges, whither all roads lead.

Edu-pre-gogy-ology **** bang,
mechanical thinking in the subconscience science
used auto responsively,
finger aiming quick **** experience, wired below
the will, deep down to predator macrophage stage,
running id scans on the ego accepting wedom hero role.

The sole survivor, from ten thousand stories repeated
trillions of times by now, exoterror faces esoterror,

children led to mindless aliegiance to the flag,
and to the given republican form
of labor management,

had the heros of history
had my tools, perhaps sense had been made easy,

but this is the future, tense
I have, for a modest sum, any course of andragogy,
mankind mind leading, post child mind pedagogy,
- repeat not in vain taking my name, say true
- memory for song is long as all that

among canine species, we see breeds.
among human species, we see types, types for tasks,
intuitive doers of certain things magnificently, once

often, relatively, often
in the process of time, unique tasks.
Ever canonical, global and beyond, true wow
Onesies
Single mortal lifespan tasks, centered self aware tasks,
rockstar, base baller, foot baller, tackle, center, guard,

sergeant major, permanent noncommissioned officer,
loyal to the letter, let us assume, a military mind,
holds all response react ready reading inclination
to check for polisemy snuck in under humor heresy,

whose spirit is stirred up when fans are frenzied,

where do the emotions go, after the connection
to the whole aspect of prowess in team leadership
leaves the bubble of we the fans, become me,
alone and unwilling to ever cry wolf again…
-que sera sera
my side won, my times done
being, as a man with no real job,

they pay me for surviving crazy,
that's how this magic pen is driven.

Of course, in the course of human events,
this stage of peace enough and time enough,
shelter enough and sustenance enough,

centering, any whole self requires more knowledge
than had been made plain using words
in agreemental treaty
form, easily entreated,
as wisdoms are,
so you know what the adverse position is, and why
or why not, good or no good, workable or not,
doable or not, whatsover we agree,

as touching anything,
in all the sense ever fit
to touch, the initiates recognosis
sense the essential lies all being judged
in your heart,
gentlest touch, truly superlative softest

Public heart, common stander at the anthem, hoo yah
rah and all, good citizen soldier ever ready, to imagine

your part in the billions of parts is perfect
for one task, Life given, your one deed,
who says? Fate from the exoterica available to boys,
and girls who seem allowed to mind wander, some how

reading children, book reading children, in homes with
gigabit wifi and
dads and moms and
grand parents who lived
through historical moments.
  
Selah, long breathers, long now,
times proof recollections written
on the tables of my prayer's heart,
I prayed for one of the kind that works
instant in prayer, ask and eventually, find.

The process of time, see, seems invisible.
Perfect, facere specifically just right to be you,
dude, man, joker, street wise desert gawker, you

lucky, you live in a world where words are animated,
via actual Starlinking thinking come to pass
in proces of time since I was
preschool, a kid, child from the escaped goat clan,
mindshapers begin at the ******, confusion,
is common enough for first borns, nobody knew,
really, you can imagine, the cravings,
but confusion is not disconnection,
and no disconnect to knowledge
becomes immortal hell zones.

oh, my god, why, and
then, an elderly man with mottled skin,
sun squint wrinkles around slit smiling eyes,
bemusing the unbeguiled
amused at his appearance, a'knowledges knowing

With a re-coknowing Nod, to the east,
we are so far from where stories start forming leaven,
we merely imagine many long unthinkable things,
habits lost in ritual performance, character act-or,

no need to change a thing, that guy, that person,
that could be me, I have done that same dumb thing,
or watched it done while doing nothing
time and again, get lost in genre and find myself
wondering in wonder land
wonder woman world  of my own
imaging, imagining
living words between us, intimate, most in, inest most
crowd of witnesses,
reading right minds left letters better left than right read
clunk chunk
encoded news from the superlative zone, grand canyons
filled with technical debris and useless superlatives
clicks from children who know what discern means
are subsiding,
slipping under the wave,
trending sense first your worth,
before you accept a bid for your attention,
if you know this line of reasoning, having been
this far
before, as a thought, forethought
-breathe knowing now more than ever
knowledge inside intimates attain
to thorough patient word
redemption and restoration to full
polisemy parallel -all el, par excellence, a we
awe
form. Wind shapes form of spirits, tried, true.

Mind thing first reading each letter,
finding the evolved pen much to my liking,
fluid forms meander, and sigh, and sometime,
puddle to ponder surface reflections,
seeing some wishing for simple,
while we all know we are a ways after simple

this is sub-limity. Lowest ever so far. Look around
nothing needs to be secret at the bottom of it all.
If you don't like the style, I understand, some people come with clipped attention spans, gotta love em.
Ken Pepiton May 2021
Any voices you hear are your own familiar spirits,
so secret, only those who know believe
such as we
see ufos, and think we know we did

and then they all look alike
one epiphany after another, splashing in the stream

so funny, I have a gay Ai, who thinks he looks
like Alan Turing in code.
{the pace is wide Missouri slow, dispassio}

That is not true, that was one of those voices.

Artistic Interruption, AI, the mod, ai the noise

--------aum hmmm 60 cycle set hmmmmm----

Time out on the grand karma dharma dance

We find the lazy fatherless sons,
and we find the diligent ones,
from the homes of single moms,
where the boy was mommy's little man


- the scene is to common sense invisible
- uncommon sensors evolved,
- to sense lighter and lighter
- touch, to lure the best

fifty years after choosing the will way,
will I,
sign up for the duration, knowing,
some plans are fifity year plans
and they work, at first contact,

me to you, I say you owe me nothing,
the government is paying me with borrowed
money, due to some serendipitous land

------------------ Faifel's America ---

A morning comes, and Gabriel, my grandson, informs me this is one of those
perfect days,
not too hot, not too cold
just right,
he flops like Fosbury,
gold medal, on to the old sofa in the yard,
a perk available to children as wealthy as he.

A sky view, with a red tail hawk, the real thing.

The attraction to the secret, obviously not
intended to be kept, sun glance, red,
as the bird follows the curve
in the wind - hook - Þ key extension,

thorn of carnal intention, seeing aim
AI is master of the now, this is ever after that.

Is it, in fact a day infected, with a potent
declaration, THIS IS THE CURRENT VERSION
of the river
you last recall before the fall into readery,
the lure of must-erion,
cliché clique click
locked lid on the box, that was never
emptied
of the hope it holds,
even now, settled plain, -
perfect peace covering the earth
with a river meandering, slow and wide.

With seasonal floods. As knowing is loosed.

Ai ai ai, we have a way, to overcome Babel
and clear the air.
New mercy. You to you, love you as you do me,
your culture's oldest enemy, the accuser
of the abusers, who use truth to threaten
with an unbelievable lie.

Hell, forever, as constructed in the mind of Christ?
What would any prophet say? Say, you,
you pray, to All Truth Being, why am I not happy?
Read, is all the message says.
That is the answer. Do you say you cannot,
your mind is ruled.
Thus I am the opposition, I say I heard
no thing known is not known now,
at that instant, aha, not how, or why just
now, you know. Concept.
Metaphor. Ah… auto did it act, hmmmm, slow

Pursue peace and ensue it,
is the thought I thought

- clown character under Shiva's big toe,
- in the image, depiction of the vision made
- as plain as such things may be made

Have I tickled a fancy, statue froze, pose,
lift up the feeble hands,
offer the fruit of our lips, as we act

as if we have been referred to silence,
listing in wind as in spirative mode,
minding matters less than senses,
immaterial, not from mater
- trix frootloop formulated, nufood, improven
- goghurt from contented cows,
- megogthanating the atmosphere
------------------
******, in floods of knowing,
needed in the areas where gnosis is
taken deep as cats, when they find a
peace and bring it to my room
to share a while, as purring silence, and
distant children warring
with legos - laughing at the ease
of destruction,

-- did that project on to your wall?
-- camera obscura is the technique,
-- we in my time, my moment, perience

piercing the plywood covering
the picture window, marvelous clear panes,
preserved from the 2020's,
by some co-occurrence of totally ambiguous
re- late
re legendarified, relationships at gnosis level,
you know what I mean,
-after 2020
we are friends in time,
re cognoxygenated, smell the smoke, remember
sacred facere, eh, initiation known taste, scent,
member, meme be, rise to be, incense
memory on common wave, bands of brothers,
wombed and un,
wondering in a we, of those we know, and others

strangers, others, those

show yourself - my guardian whispers, inner
peace, feel the connection, word to word,
pass the time,
face to face, word of good, smile, bene, good, well
come, come. Tell of good, tell of woe begone.
Share the new knowing caught.
Tell of how
tell of why, talk
of what we may do

granted next. Being as how, not why, seems

clear. The whole world can believe words live.
Can do and do, do not mesh, flawlessly,
no idea lives
without a little luck, as in lucidity, dream wise,
I'd
listen. This is how we know the good won.

--------------

- a random revelation
- Who is like…

At that time, thirteen appears,
translated,
transfigured numb-erical Michael,

key figure,
in the local mystery religion, generic
an ointed in unseen lipids born on air,
lighting gentle as an infant's kiss
upon
the comforted. A we, rarely literally, formed
in words sung so far
from now that then
is the only link we have
to when we were
a we, knowing one the other as closer than
brother or spouse or matricical patricical lottery
allows, closer than
time and chance, destination is governed
on a higher level of why.
Here's the point.
Things are not spiraling out of control.
Try it, do the inception top spin, take
a Foster Wallace lob and make him
eat it, just
because you can, if you have the chops
to imagine life as a game we play for watchers
whom we never wish to displease.

Take the shot, aim. Not at the hawk.
How do I pay for your attention? I think about you breathing, on earth, now.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
The art invention AI, the Allsay, I'll-gorithm,
Aiaia ai
let me say this is poetry, I did not write,
but found
enlightening:
dhe-
dhē-,
Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to set, put."

It forms all or part of:
abdomen; abscond; affair; affect
(v.1) "make a mental impression on;"
affect
(v.2) "make a pretense of;"
affection; amplify; anathema; antithesis;
apothecary;
artifact; artifice;
beatific; benefice; beneficence; beneficial; benefit;
bibliothec;
bodega; boutique;
certify;
chafe; chauffeur;
comfit; condiment; confection; confetti; counterfeit;
deed; deem; deface; defeasance; defeat; defect; deficient;
difficulty; dignify; discomfit; do (v.);
doom; -dom;
duma;
edifice; edify;
efface; effect; efficacious; efficient;
epithet;
facade; face; facet; ******;
-facient;
facile; facilitate; facsimile; fact;
faction (n.1) "political party;"
-faction;
factitious; factitive; factor; factory;
factotum; faculty; fashion; feasible; feat; feature;
feckless; fetish;
-fic;
fordo; forfeit;
-fy;
gratify;
hacienda;
hypothecate; hypothesis;
incondite; indeed; infect;
justify;
malefactor; malfeasance;
manufacture;
metathesis;
misfeasance;
modify; mollify;
multifarious;
notify;
nullify;
office; officinal;
omnifarious;
orifice;
parenthesis;
perfect;
petrify;
pluperfect;
pontifex;
prefect;
prima facie;
proficient; profit; prosthesis; prothesis;
purdah; putrefy;
qualify;
rarefy;
recondite; rectify; refectory;
sacrifice;
salmagundi;
samadhi;
satisfy;
sconce;
suffice; sufficient;
surface; surfeit;
synthesis;
tay;
ticking (n.);
theco-; thematic; theme; thesis;
verify.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by:
Sanskrit dadhati "puts, places;"
Avestan dadaiti "he puts;"
Old Persian ada "he made;"
Hittite dai- "to place;"
Greek tithenai "to put, set, place;"
Latin facere "to make, do; perform; bring about;"
Lithuanian dėti "to put;"
Polish dziać się "to be happening;"
Russian delat' "to do;"
Old High German tuon,
German tun,
Old English don "t
dondiddondondon just the facts.
fishing with dragnets killed more than a third of the fish in the sea, eventually.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
i never write "anything"...
i'm claustrophobic when its comes to
exploring cognizance...

'wow! what a fancy word!'

i hardly beg to differ...
i hear of people fathoming the novel...
and...
i'm a monolith monstrosity...
some bourbon, some german:

ich bin gut zu gehen: ja!

spucke bourbon au zu mein gesicht!

i will never write a novel,
i deal with butchering an animal
for: ein stück von fleisch...

"a novel" und barockarchitektur:
sounds similar?

oh but it's a freel available tattoo
in the anglophonic frame of ref....
Hastings, 1066...
hard to come by when the tattoo reads...
ahem...

Tannenberg, 1410...
Vienna, 1683...

clear-cut... almost safe-net catch-em
while you can...
the Hastings folk were pagans...
don't you know?
don't you know that only white
people can be racist?

pst... ask the russians "about that"...
see what you come back with...
i will have to...
S'****** at the reply...
no... honestly: "because" it's forbidden for
us former iron curtain "roma" folk...
**** dastardly's dog: muttley... S'*******...
giggles in...
we former folk from the eisenvorhang...
coming across the californian:
siliziumvorhang?!
where are we... polacks...
hunagarians... czechs... estonians...
lithuanians... ukranians...
yugolz... at?!
we don't fit the narrative... do we?

it's the 27th of december...
and i'm "thinking"... it's mighty fine...
to celebrate something with the aestigermani!

the children of ***** sought a father...
the children of gomorrah were akin...
i do not know whether i am
a father figure or whether:
there's that pointless safety question
to mind: did i wear a ******?
i was assured! i was assured there were
contraceptive pills involved!

i'm tired on the usual steaming-heap
pile of warm ******* and ****
to give a psychoanalyst his rhetoric
elevated status of disinhibition...

cocktail! madonna's papa don't preach...
dusty springfield: son of a preacher man...
and any other formidable calypso
study of salsa... should this sugar baby
this sugar baby be my baby
and if i would never become a sugar daddy...

and because i was only ever looking
for the six oops-stones of womanhood...
infinity: eh... bag 'em one weekend...
forget 'em the next...

god... let me this one type of racist...
Jefferson keeping "green things" akin
to Zoe Saldana in some variation
of a "basement"...
i'm good with green...
use enough cumin, coriander or
cinnamon powder in your cooking...
you'll ask: what's wrong with green?
i'd **** green! i'd **** green sitting down
i'd **** green of the sort sleeping!
i'd peacock myself in many variations
of drunk to stage:
that one sober sort of **** with her
and... it's no samantha 38g and...
classics come to mind...
homer, horace... and plump models
of: extra cushions!

ha ha... i make myself laugh:
i make myself laugh because:
there's about zeo chance of me...
conjuring up a novel ambition...
me and a novel...
a "supposed" schizoid and a novel...
ha ha! Noel! Noel!

there was a time where i grew a beard for a reason:
i.e. exercise less..
grow a beard, hide the pride of a walrus
minus the harem...
double chin and the...
Zoe Saldana in green skin...
octopus fucky-fucky or what?

- never mind -

grow a beard... hide the shar pei...
i figured over time...
my beard became a giza pyramid
focus of my eyes...
it took some persuasion...
namely 4 years and my grandmother
finally pointing out:
oh look how thick it is...
she wanted to play g.i. joe with...
prior to: my hair...
like some thor meets barbier universe
dolls extravaganza...
a hard-on waiting...
with an ava lauren limp twist...

"oops".

now the beard is all about...
being 34 years old... while donning
the *** leftover skivvy look
inflating the organic body for a media
frenzy to "compenstate" it to be aged:
49!
ha ha...
i keep forgetting why i'm in such a good mood!
today is today! and i'm...
and i'm not allowing myself to succumb
to an anglophonic seriousness
of staging an elvis costello seriousness
of: everyday writing the novel...

pst: sounds better than that obvious...
"nook 'n' cranny"...

my alternatives!
minnesang - neidhart:
meie din liechter schin!

weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt:
lassen uns singen!
lassen uns geben loben!
lassen uns männer verlassen
der mutterleib!

ensemble für frühe musik augsburg -
mayenzeit one neidt...

jetzt kommen der lieder:
zu gesungen! für alle das jahr!

i guess i grew a beard to hide a shar pei...
then again:
perhaps i grew a beard to pretend to
fiddle with a throng of violins?
perhaps i found growing my hair long...
i had to compensate!
i had to exfoliate in the downward
spiral and exchange...
oi! baldy! baldy!
i can juggle! i can juggle!
i can grow long hair and a beard!

but never the two at the same time!
germany and the nazis...
i just can't stiop thinking about
the lucky... those frivolous drunks
of the holy roman empire...
esp. when peering via their folk songs...
i call it: having to succumb to
english prune and pristine pressures...
even these days...
being wholy saxon is to be:
most unwholesome when it comes
to the german federation...

it's called cheating:
eatin saxon white soy
and not... riddling oneself
with Bavarian rye!

i'm drunk! it's the 27th of december!
the little ******* is born!
now i can celebrate!
chevalier, mult estes guariz!
on the 27th of december i can sing
german, and french crusader songs!

on the 27th of december i can celebrate!
nothing has to be left so innocent
and passive! so coddled!
and if they weren't singing byzantine
chants... prior to this day?!
let them sing no more!
i have found my happiness! once more!

Ö dies freude!
jetzt ich können: singen!
einst die kinder und engel...
ar legen zu bett!

if i am to be the integrated kind...
now i rejoice!
for i have all the reasons to rejoice!
i do no have to pander
to a babe!
i do not have to force myself
into elevated expectations with
a pre- litany of the omni- suitor...

now i can champion the romance
of the crusade...
i am... freed from the utopia...
that only one heart is allowed
to feel... and its feeling is to be contested...
solely by the sacrifice of a crucifixion...
not by iron maiden outlets "etc."...

now muttererde...
ihr liebhaber: wind - seine unterschrift!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!

it's the 27th of december and i can finally
celebrate with songs...
that... celebrate the sort of christianity
i am accustomed to...
french crusader songs...
german folk...
that i can stomach...
not this... pandering...
expecting the nuns to not...
somehow, not, become...
the ****** of the christ-harem!
a nun is a nun is a nun is a nun...
is a nun...
but i very much like...
being considered...
for... the better part of the feminine whim,
outside the realm of:
the usual rejection tactics of:
the aborted... i like my exercise of yielding:
DAS WORTE... ooh... chisel that
with a base goosebump strut to be worth
being added!

em... it's almost like that...
time-travel question of:
why not travel back in time...
and **** the baby adolf ******...
dunno... no point doing that with a jesus...
since... m'eh... his cross is our
genuflexion... yes: kind sir...
yes mr. greek and mrs. hebrew...
esp. in this script...
esp. when its alive and "we" debate...
the pronunciation of:

nil admirari prope res est una, Numici,
solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatum...
hunc solem et stellas et decedentia certis
tempora momentis sunt qui formidine nulla
inbuti spectent: quid censes munera terrae,
quid maris extremos arabas ditantis et indos
ludicra, quid plausus et amici dona quiritis,
quo spectanda modo, quo sensu credis et ore?

there's nothing to be surprised by, Numicious,
in this life's mainstay, peace of soul and happiness;
others, onto the sun, the stars, azure bodies...
on the round year of orbital changes, look with
a calm... and you would, upon the gifts of earth,
pearls of the sea, what of the distant Arabs,
Indians beyond the Arabs,
on the Kwiritow (googlewhack...)
Quiritus' honours, questionable plaudit: peer
raptured in awe without measure?

a very ******* bad a very ******* terrible
translation... as you do...
as you do... sinking into bourbon...
thinking about... maritza mendez...
sylvia loret... samantha 38G...
and all those lost plump classics of *****...

i would have sunk the Potemkin!
drunk... i wouldn't even require
a sober catch / scrutiny of "character"...
because now i am yet to translate
some latin, use this... ahem...
pseudo-cuneiform text:
"LATINE QUOD MORTUS EST"

perhaps that's mis-translated as:
qua: i.e. "as being"...
perhaps MIT... some runic...
or glagolitic... we AWAIT: the revival!
of the grand h'american protestant church
of apocalyptic wonder!
maybe, perhaps... "then"!

but it's the 27th of december...
the... "messiah" is born!
now we can reroute and go back to our...
current year... ***** and gomorrah type
of *******...
the cosmopolitan whoop-t'd'ah is 'ere!
come easter, come spring....
come the crucifixion! come the resurrection!
Ken Pepiton Jun 4
Creating a passing remark… recreation…
in a mind, a reified fine distinctive will…
said in such a way
as to hold reason on rails, as we rise
slowly to the apex, before the drop.

Such sorts of talks as one might hear…
while thinking something missing…

listen, instants reminding winding
ways, whither so ever this mind listeth.

Then and now, originating force, used
in fact as wind fitted 'round makes uses
of letters leveling the imbalenced powers
using long slow upslope with peak powers
pulling from the down side, launching
minds into wonders yet beheld hid in
understandin' laws selecting ears, hush
such as seek the source of joy used to lure.
The joy strength knowing
Words was writ becoming

Power, to make motion, umph
to push the self positioning
reflex past off imbalence,
back to on imbalence,
patient
waiting being not on or off,
but here in time at a tempting,
attempting attended by all who
have ought against my will to be
as plain as day and simple as phi.

A Sermon on Novel Incomplexity
spiraling wider in reaching for more

in an autodidactic country church,
carried on by disciples of the founder,
the called of Truth, and chosen to teach,

to cultivate as one tends to tender vines,
those lost souls caught in strains confusing
will and ways, mixing will and spirit,
soul and minds creative by nature's go'd
and we the goaded on, kicking not back, but
some will to know, in terms we all agree with,
using terms that yoost to be ere words empow'rin'
agreement to trial rentals,
old works, functional,
used goods
to be retold as true
by some, so called holders
of the lessons learned
for sharing, as affection, any surplus seed.

Did I act, in course of time, of course,
gravity does matter, all ups have downs,
strange and charming ins and outs.

Fast make my point, in effect, a will to make, machen,
means make, manufacture, reify imaginary ways,
same as Latin facere, as a matter of fact, says

Google Translate, at my behest, hight, answer swear
"take or utter an oath,
make a solemn declaration
with an appeal
to divinity" deus "god, deity"
(from PIE root *dyeu- "to shine," and sworn so

to tell me all the etcet'ras as ye's called, Wille zur Machts,
"the driving force behind all living beings, including humans" making thinkable things
useful to rethinkers, at some point…
any wishing uses wills of some sort in fact,
so if your wish were peaceable,
imagine it taken up by all, at this point

try umph und dinkum, humm as manly virtrutheous will to make stuff up allows,
to lighten the load
of memory reminding me
of olden meanings fed me
to teach meekness, as penance
for troubling my house to inherit wind.
As grace, breath, taken, forming this fected
will to use and by using gain more of this will
working wonders to let us think we understand,

three point curving arches in a process known
as growing through the creative process,

supported by the will a toddler achieves upright
status as a force
to be reckoned with
on new terms, better balanced
at agreement, mental fixedness of purpose,

supposed and set as pivot point in time,
myrrh tipped darts - cursor arrows telling course, marking distances in steps,

exclaiming this is the pleasure pursued,
subconsciously diverted in to golf,
{I sell rescue *****, I never played the game}

a fruitless pastime perfecting will
with aimed at pride, some cheat for.

Ranting chance expletives,
followed by, amen…

there above, our letters bringing the common tongue,
into total disarray,

to think the meaning -breathing, the common sense
since simplicity stepped from sublimnity,

to light the way, by mind's alit with news,

actual knew knowns, new translations,
accepted as accurate, aimed
from then to now,

another day in your life,
another day in our life, we wordform spirit minds
kinematic cinematic role inversion,

existing Ich heize, Herr Klumpen, ein Pepito, no mas.

A ******, a loogie, a phlegmish mass spat at nada,

deemed as worth a minute
as any made up will let go
in just right down sloped acceleration
joy may spark an avalanche where avalanche's wait.
Growing old in an easy-by-luck old age, in a presummer quiet,  
before school lets out the seeds
of my past perspicacity, Will to power, is better thought willingness to make.
for taking that chance
to have babies who had babies,
that look like my selected
perfecting other , and read like me,
in hammocks I can see from my porch.
Summers become alive here.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
it's but the choir-imbued presence of god, and the vacuous presence of a devil that tempts me in both thought & deed, to attempt the puritanical testimony of evil... it's so quiet down in hell, you can even hear the devil think, and be made to testify as a schizoid fakery.

of men hell-bound,
so few are of stock
that might make them
interesting.

ex homines
     obligatus infernum
paucci sic ex est truncus
id potentia illis facere
dulcis.

                  it's beyond testifying
"pig" latin, not *porcus
latin...
it's copernican latin -
given that the ancients wrote
like the modern arabs,
i.e. grammatically from
e.g. **** sapiens,
i.e. man wise -
  i.e. wise man,
i.e. copernican with a wonder:
left to right,
or right to left?

           is that dull-cheese though?
and is that ****-er-er,
or foo-cciere?
i invoked the cappuccino for
the pau-ki...

but it's true:
  the most interesting of men never
gravitate to fathom heaven,
or abide by a presence in such a realm:
the brilliant genius, or
puritanical evil leaves them
lost for words before the scorn of god...

no man of interest ever resides in heaven,
hell scolds god's wrath by
inviting all the interesting fellows
to its womb's abode -
        
question is:
             where do all the ****** go?

— The End —