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Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
so. so rare. such as you who seek some thing everyone knows
so you may share it with those infected with denial.

---

I'll be the fool who risks belief and go on with the story flowing from my belly
before
my very augmented eyes

Wisdom is justified of her children,
said a nubian wizard
named John Joyce.
No relation to James.

Same general era, I met Adam Funmaker. He showed me
an article in Rolling Stone that mentioned me
June 7, 1973, idea of me, not me,
actually,

that was me. the guy with ears that weren't garbage cans,
which had been the liturgical reply to
words deemed too filthy to say or hear,

To this day I don't care for the taste.

This story fiber began with Adam Funmaker being real, and my feeling many folk would never allow a man with such a name to have been,

much less to have been, my friend. who made my silver wedding ring.

A real man, father of many sons and daughters, still
with us
to this day,
This telling
dedicated in my lodge, my strong tower, my kiva,

To Adam Funmaker, I fan this cloud, be magnified magi.
From my desert you blessed with more than water.

A humbler man I've never met. A scrimshaw artist of great renown among collectors of such, for his technique.
It seemed magic, the photo-realism
he could attain to,
pins and hand and ink and string and light, his only tools,

the light was modified to meet the needs of Adam's ageing eyes
He was sixty-two when I thought with him last,

and sixty-two was older then than now,
he used to ask me questions I had not asked myself.

I only knew him for the space
of a tick
with point of pin pricking
ivory,  ttttttttttttt ttttt ttt ttttttt tttt far more
than 300 dpi,
But magic was not allowed to be the reason for
the power of reality in his work.

How do you do this? I asked, from a state of ad-mire

Opaque projector.

Ah, secret, he coulda kept it and been thought
amazing, sender of men in search of hows
denied whys, but he didn't

he told me the trick, as if his hand and eye and mind
were taken for granted, acknowledged by being

right used before my unaugmented eyes.

His gift he had received and owned,
not a thing to boast about, like a boy.

He was looking at me, something I remember
this way, a point, a reflection in the eye
that made images of the ideas of men
past
seem in the wind I go on to claim as my inheritance.
That's the scene from here, much was different,
most likely.

Adam Funmaker's clansmen from the past
breathed, nearly, their blessing, the hope

on ivory etched so nearly fractally real you can see
a reflection in Sitting Bull's eye staring

at a 440 stainless steel, razor-edged blade, never used.

A knife made for the image on the handle,
A magic Adam Funmaker portrait of a noble illiterate
chief among noble illiterates whose stories
have been told ten thousand years.

The Greeks fears were warranted.
Writing did shorten memories.
But it gave stories freedom to wend and find points

upon which they be told, to this day,
for no real reason, same as sunsets and beauty in general.

the knife I was looking at is depicted on the web
https://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/adam-funmaker-scrimshaw-native-1835351935
My wife still has her wedding ring, I lost mine,
in the desert or the storm or the fire, I can't remember losing it.
I never wrote an ode. This feels like how they may have wonce been taught when memories were the realm of story and songs
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
I put my hand in the hand of the man from galilee

Or I thought I did, I imagined he would walk with me
and talk with me

and help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which i think may have been blind, at one time,

I have memories like that guy, Gold-something
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom. Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but
these, heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made, and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble eclipsed by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tensionpowerloss collapses the bubble?

You should think you know atoms work, like
not a cloud of super positioning, elect-
tric-magi-tech, touch screen at the quantum accounting point,
not that, but
a bubble, powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
What an electron does. It goes,
as soon as any sense can be made of it,
oughtaouta hear
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin must ahapt one time,
but ya'll take no heed, m'fallin angel droppin' in olfren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth found in wines that moved themselves
aright, slurry tongued, but pisstoff

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Who told you I was naked?

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe were forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
No,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,

everything that's old is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the worth of all your eyes behold,

If, if, if you are alucky winner and you arise when I call your name
to come on down
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize,
how do you declare such a thing worthy,

A feeling? What's it worth? Depends. Safe? Priceless. Don't shout.

So we sell walls. We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened by those we make
feel safe.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Workers will work for food and a feeling. And Facebook.
They choose, believe what's easiest, they are told,
you are absolutely co-rectallatime, tekayepeel.

There are such wishes being made, on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters. If wishes were asked for, whatif
connecting to the source of haps that are
all happiness can possibly
consist of...
Oh, consist is a sticky, gluten idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand. Sistere.

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted..
Whatif, nothing is immaterial, as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
Ask the pilot. What if,
asking for help helps? Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea?
Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore, quotheraven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories of all the things that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,
when ya stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
In my younger days, I visited folks in county homes, the rest homes that once were called the po house, and sometimes I'd just sit and watch Jeopardy, and hold her hand, while listening to conversations with angels, all around me.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
In a culture founded on a story, a tale, a myth;

On earth, under many moons, since many moons ago.

How old was the moon marker long ago?
How wise the watcher who waited so long, whole days,
long past, imagining, from highest place on the broad plain

soaring on fire wind, gentle fire wind warming my will
to extend my arms and wish to fly, not flee, no fear,
nothing needs my escape,

yet, once set free, the kid grows into the old goat,
who laughs in the face of the God-fearing models molded
during the Cold War,
when manipulators
of reflection
were existentially
slipping
on Freudean Faux Pas
turned sharp and piercing, biting, gnawing - tantalizing
secrets in the city,
secrets on the wall,
secrets in the synagogue, AI ai ai, we rearrange good fortune,

lucky for you.
Today, for the brief while it may truly be today,
time stands

still as that singular small voice, calling you to attend,

forsake not the gathering together, as the manner of some is,
{As Ecklebarger said, no, you don't know him- he said:
something like "gitcher act together and put your show
on the road", that's the duty of a show man.

GOTDAM INTINERANT MONKS! Kick against the ******,
laugh at their nationally altered deep set fears,
faith of our fathers, the we
mind, made up
for selective tasks in a free society, i.e.
we think together, no doubt, deny thy double-mind flesh…
become educated, then lead on being one
in we, the people, not the other beings,
useless sons of Belial, too dumb to read and cipher, as we,
the real people who own the earth, and do our damndest
to subdue it and all its potential,
for change, in favor of the better bettors,
entertaining those whose heaven would be Vegas,
socially free, free thinking, doing the right thing we all think right.
Conserve our free ******* through human events, lean in
- what do old-school organizations tie with heart strings?
- must we conserve the knots?
- One taught by Aristotle thought not…
- allusions to common knowledge allude us, play along--
Is ai ah, okeh, awesome we ought unravel the knots,
gently, as we learned the silk weavers did,

and as we did, with our collectible spider kites…

correct me, when I go off track,
or rise riverwise on the flood,
loosed by a line from a poet, an actual messenger person,
in my coincidence instant
in prayer for another day called today, long past
now, even then,
U the set of all things and the force that made them up.
- let this mind be in you, to use, not ogle at.
Creation with intention,
not design,
not acting out a story begun properly,
with the end in mind,
going
somewhere. Among the Youtubian talking faces,

turbulence… mind trembling
in a we imagining GOD ALMIGHTY
left
clues behind.
Fret not.
- tune down the IDW, umph the free will
- listen with all the wu wu in you, think peace functioning.
We won.

Live in peace, be your own proof.

I learned I was the scapegoat, I got away. Life is not hard,
life under the conserved sacred knowledge called revealed,
is impossible,
to do right… it is a Shakenspear in the itching ear, thinking
what if, this is it
the right way?

Would there be these moments, extending axion or oms or Ohms
humming wires
and, two chalk walls away, sisters, 8 and 11, singing, actual

choral opera de-Disneyified, with some themes from Stanger Things.
- and I on my imaginary strand
Softly land on my cloud, all the room you may imagine,
at the moment, you look around
and see, this is my future, too. Fractally, one rung up. Maybe.
Wick:Poems, sparked this, little old way of told tales taking wing on string
strung though holes in alienated minds, sitting on the shore of any current opinion as to what good one might do... going public with subtle truth, a soft touch dulls an evil *****... and laughter works like ****.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
If peace were a state we all agree to imagine, a state
we
envision as uni-
versal in any song, peace, calm, flowing deep, state
of being
in any man, wombed or un,
in any family, any tribe, any deme of agreements unbreakable,
any hermit cell

any bubble of believing generating proper people to fit
tradition and mystery myths without

re-tying truth to may, the verb. That's vainity.  
Religion.
(re-ligamentation,
like muscle to bone wit sinyew,
same stuff strangs a bow, for a fiddle ora arrow,
y'know)
that's somethin' else.
Religion could mean read the instructions, too.
All together
----
stopping to live. slowing, not stopping. pre-stop.

whisper,
say, earth,
hey, earth,
can you hear you now?

---
the dictator dictated the dictionary,
he/she/we/me

learned to speak as spoken to, in the boss tongue.
Ma or pa,
or whosover was fustus wit d'mostus
taught the good ol' boys.

But wisdom saw a way. We've been woven in a story.
We are in the code. Ethos, Pathos, Logos.
Those old Greeks examined them some life, I'd say.

Language rules the iron fist's grip,
meaning empowers
laxation, re
loose
gut brain pain fraught fear of the iron fist crimping
the flow of solidity
punch in the gut

Knock thashitoff! Now, flush

in ifity, boo, be bop, I'm an ice cream cone,

like those alien ones, mebbe,
moving stones the weight of 737s,

my cones of power defy your hour of suffering patient
per fection of...

what, wait, allusion to "Let patience have her perfect work"
what is her perfect work?
Quote that San Francisco band. Oh. Did that. Love.

you ask. The reality I see, you say, no, I say, me.

I am patience, the feminine form, 's perfect work.
Patients must put up with me,
you see

----
fear is terror's weapon, am i right?

And it is written, the fear of the LORD (KJV)
yhwh, in the unsayable way, God's name, only name, eh

is why that started?
Old Job let out a yelp, hey, earth is great, but you have no idea
how this feels.
You know lots of stuff I don't know, but mortality is not one of em,
as far as I can tell.
How 'bout a referee betixt us?

Hey, sus, pect me a spectacle

of the great contro
verse un ifiable, unif, once possible now, nullift.

got it.
Every other direction known. Take a fearless, peaceful-
feeling
path past all that.
Peace, be unto  you, earth. For my part.
The examined life is worth the living. You are in this one with me,
a very important part, an object, an aim to see what

could be there, a like mind, washed ashore.
----

A.P.I. Art Pax Intel

act as if they are listening with interest, paying
actual
attention, add pieces
of life stuff

I am 71, my window is my horizon, or
better said,
my horizon is my window. I have mini-horizons,
i think
like this... chromebook attached at finger tips,
I can and may be making some counter wave that clears
the crypto frost from my window to your
realm.

Who took your may? Do you recall the day?

It was a teacher who took my may,
but I won my can, That's a plotted point, I
ponder on my porch
partaking in curds of ways to do so saline a work

Fantasy education system U of old dudes like me,
tired old dudes who have no desire to argue,

but, really, don't tread on me.

the old greeks were at rest, the slaves were under control
but we old American men in twenty nineteen
we have A.I. and pensions enough,
my examination can go far deeper than Aristotle's.

Part taker, trope positions, anonymous wisemen's roles in
this generational take on
we, the people, by realization, not revelation
of the
traditional worth of wisdom found under hoary
or shiny-fringed heads and grey beards and
amplified through ear hair
like antennae.

Admiring and worth. Hmmm.
Mira, look upon the ozimandian heir and
wonder, why am I a part of this, an eight billionth of this

interesting time of changed time,
time duration,
it is known relative now,
a precocious child of twelve can explain the paradox.
But time travel, imagine...
The ships,
The captains venturing where... slaves and would-be thieves
would, or could be made to, row or man the ropes,
whether any sweating soul endured to the end,
or not,
Who cares-- we recall only the history of kings.

Aha, there were teachers paid to teach
Admire-alty of the strong who keep us free within our walls.
That was the meme, be like
obediant to
the man on the horse.

Extreme Narcissist rises as the needed leader, least meek
of men morphs materially into the Nuclear God?
the opposite of peacemaker becomes hero?

Endure. In your patience, you possess...

Here's the deal. Life ain't fair. No war ever worked to settle
the mixup over the actual reason
for con fusion. Fusion sticks stuff together that has a pro

pensity to repel.
En-trope, we wrestle that, we fight it with
weapons un-carnal on any fractal level where matter matters.

Settle down, we say, by being at rest, fretless.
Let my peace, you say, come in me,

now, in your bubble of peace,
where no damnation can exist, begin
to grow, feed on knowledge proven no lie.
Start with one, unproven
reason you have for laying down or taking lifetime from anyone,
or for anyone.

Plus and minus, up and down. Mere words.
Confusion is mashing things together to make stuff

like earth. You look close, **** augmented us,
we inherited the only biosphere in the known universe,

and some ******* hell's angel wannabe...

Nope. Fractally can't happen, time being duration, not
an arrow on a gravity bound arc.
From "it is finished' going viral,
Nailed it,
no contest.
Yep, peace makers won. Deck was stacked.
The idea of the act of
Nuclear war launched the tyranny of phobias,
including an old idol word bound fear.
Logophobia
fear of God idea is the beginning of wisdom. think this, what if

wisdom began in you when you imagined the evil
men have realized from their shared imagings,
Logos imagined it first. What if that?

for lack of vision,
my people perish. AH, fractal up
about a thousand Mandelbrot tics, okeh.

Did we come away with treasure, or are we lost in the war game?

---
how many is enough to make the effort,

ef fective effort to learn.... check. didit, still am. one's enough.

ef fective effort to use the learning right ... check, workin' on it.

Whee gotta cut some traditional slack to the clowns
who keep the poor man happy for the hell of it,

y'know, life's hard at the bottom.

but it ain't
no fun.
And happy minds bounce. No lie. Bi-polar on demand, kinda.

K'mon down. The price is right. Got moonshine in the evenin',
after-the-cool-of-the-day, unquiet late spring night,
Stars aplenty,

laid back, leanin' on the tree of all I can ever know or
ever know
already. Ever knowing, you know. Feels good. Starry night,

in focus, with our shared augmented eyes beyond

the base-bubble of life, where I fit.

---- bored old man? is that pathetic, or what?---
Is this a good that you can do, asked, but I allowed no quest to form.

The point of any story in my mandlebrot set of stories never imagined,
is why I make the daily efforts, find the point, mark it a peaceful
place at the end of a hard row to ***.

Making the point in ever, where you notice your role,
this is the peacmaker's privilege, for the prize of playing your role,
the rest that remains, is mine to use right, examing life
amidst confusion you may have stirred up on your own way here.
Joe Rogan 1041, Dan Carlin, in the background, sittin' on the porch after tearing part of the roof from the garage because it leaked all winter.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Look once more,
look back and see the way, to now
from
when reason first was used
to master the frame
of mind, embodied, as mine,
informed with shapes of things solid,
shapes of things inside,
shapes of thing outside,
shapes of thoughts stacked in sequence,
after the hallelujah,
as per holy orders of worth appraisal,
services rendered,
magic performed,
life administered, for another week,
any body can handle one more week.
After the hallelujah.
learn that definition once, and you never
see sequential activity in ritual
as before,
magic effectuation, affection, as joy
one mindful, chewy, gustatory morsel,
of child-like faith, to be conserved.
Conservatively speaking,
Whig-wise, knowing one's prepositional relativity.
We labor, not in vain… to become worthy
to tread, with shoes, on streets of gold.
where milk needs no cow, and honey bees
never need be busy all day.

Riches and sweets, both
take more than either promise, aimed at
via entertain-mental mmm-usings tight
at tension, mind's time spaced taut
edge of me, edge of mine,
edge of ever aimed at
thus far… where we suffer this is so…
- measured timespace in mind agone…
Then we live through the last now, to die.

Becoming the author, fisher for being bubbles
afloat in ever after all.

At my funeral. To spare the hassle, imagine.

Friends and loved ones,
most are dead, or far away;

but we recall times, vague days
incidents for which we each hold bits,

instants, reality instantiated, pastense,

feel the kiss, feel the shame, the joy,
the hope, the loss, the win, the terror,
the truth of no perceptible way,

away from quit.
--------------

Infancy instants, perhaps, we guess,
we recall being babes, for briefest
recollections of perceptions kept, some how

to be reformed from shards of information
stored some where in an image of a moment

seen from the frame of a seer, not me, seeing
me, infant me, tossed and caught by a laughing
man in a sailor suit…

and, the oddity, of the singular infantile memory
stored some where for reconstruction, living
entertainment…

like unto Agricultural Entertainment, an art form
ancient as harvest festivals,

when locals picked the orchards, and our worlds
were edged in otherwise wild hedge rows,
where little creatures live at child level,
where words miss heard give stories twists,

too odd to be retold while holding any of the small
awe, aw, so sweet, too dear to let be meaningless,
but
as truth been told,
mean is bad in dogs and men, mean is bad in mankind,
mean is common,
mean is most common,
mean is measured, granted
mathematical reality, mind my means, you know
"intend, have in mind;"
Mental meaning application, folded man-kind wise…
Sometimes connected to root *men- (1)
"to think,"
which would make the ground sense of man
"one who has intelligence,"
but not all linguists accept this.
Liberman, for instance, writes,
"Most probably man 'human being' is a secularized divine name"
from Mannus [Tacitus, "Germania," chap. 2],
"believed to be the progenitor of the human race."

~~~~~~~~

Institutional minds, adapted from drama,
worn like Superman's or Bishop Sheen's cape.
Übermmench, **** sapien augmentacious,

**** habitus, us, as we think, we are.
We are no other way,
as a man thinketh truth, as a mind may think,
fine, so is he, in his own mind, right or not,
limited fineness, judged, discerned, quarkishly
ever finer, to this very point,
where mind being time being comes to mind,
in you.
We, momentarily, agree, aggressive face to face
point, fair call
at the inner edge of the inverse square
practical fractal constant…
gravest of issues, at thought
speed of intention to grasp. Percept perceive
link touch… flowing listing seeping soaring

bemused become
amused and entertained, feeding on ensamples,
as sorted characters,
defined societal aspirational imaginal
roles in reality aboard 1950's era Spaceship Earth.


Standing, unbowed, before kings,
bowing before mean men, thinking

all ya'll are said to be created, made
equal…
valued worthy
of opinion expressed as yours, as
wings put on wishes, shoes on prayers,
for warding reaching pulling pushers
-list as wind, in cognitive bias, right
lean as wild grasses launch new seed,
- double helix, twisting up
- from down,
feel massive missal push us on,
orbital, for a lifetime,
be maker of a being bubble
be a minding creating creation,

as weighed in balance, or mass, as gold
or wind in force testing wills for making

a way, where no way was.
Dead end. No way from now, but through.

Wind beneath my down swung pinions,
lifting my imaginal self over my useless

wait state, ever learning, never learning
the whole truth we are sworn to tell,
as soon as
we begin to see as others see, subject,
object
seer
seen seeing, saying

we may be minders of findings, guardians
set to watch,
set to see,
set to say look this way, these invisible limits

terminal connection looping past through
you
as my word choices,
pass the blood brain barrier and pierce
eternal you, in stasis.

- ---------------
- post radio war, not so long ago

"how ' we gonna keep 'em down
on the farm, after they've seen Pairee?"
- enter the era of the salesman
Total war, full power propagation of faith,
in practice, words are empty, meaning
is made- hate festered pride
of whiteness, same color as the rich, qualia
as equally mistaken in terms we call common,
****** speech of the non-reading classes,
stupid peasants, children of useless men.
Lower by far than, Biblical men
of the baser sort. Belial's
sons of total depravity,
two rungs lower than average
working classes, labor, any collared man willed
to pay sweat for bread and circuses.
And a dry, warm place to sleep.

Man, the reasoning creature, is what he eats.
Man does not live by bread alone.

Imagine grooming a gimp, from puberty.
Imagine Michael Jackson, "the kid is not my son!"

Look out, Howard Bloom. Duck.
Watch the boy do a thousand shoulder shrugs.
See the fantasizing worth of awe in focus, this
is us,
we paid to see the man perform, in a role made
from lies a child uses
to make just now,
reasonable, just
cause,

I can, I have power given me by Life, look,
who can imagine being the fan,
aw, man,
nobody longs to be
in the nosebleeds, being there
is not being you,
when all you can become has become true.
Just imagine,
fakes never make it.

And truly a big tragedy to be avoided, next.

We interview… the biggest nobody,
an entity insisting formless information imagines
bubbles of being limited
-- some strings of pearls rolled up

roll into little *****
of gnoshit pearls, treasure true, in essence
from dried gnosisnot. These we cast not to pigs.
To think a readers reasons
for writing, become one
of the rare breed born
to become readers
of one thousand books, once before you die.

------------------
If Warhol made action seem so mundane,
might I not make fun seem so slow a function
to make perfectly reasonable,
picking a fight with a lie,
because I can… being created equal to that task,
I can recognize lies I told,
I know where the handles are, I know what holds
the handle to the secret meaning of things,
can seem material, where free will
is culture locked as impossible.
Thingo no hypo.
Action movie, opening sequence,
as liturgical as any measured reassurance,
enter in, become the entertained,
we live in another realm, we only play at
while being entertained, we only watch roles

being presented for judgement,
test your will to link a mind projection,

from a former time shaped mind, aimed
at drawing an audience, a crowd,
all agreeing upfront to pay
for the mirror neuronic stims,
in a darkened room filled with fools such as I.

Who allows possible a gunfight with ***'s,
at goal-to-go range, taking five minutes,
and no named characters die,
all blood is non player blood,
only a child's mind never exposed, flash,
allows that to feel real, for five minutes,
into a nonreal mindtimespace
reality
of ever once,
and ever after, onces

such as once, seeing a gun in your face,
once hearing the bang, from a gun in your hand,
once
upon
recalling that was a movie, and I never killed a man,
but by osmosis, I imagine I can see
how hate
works the same as ******.
Relax.
Recall the unbelievableness.
--- so what are silent action movies feeding,
young Aldous Huxley, a bright well educated lad.
{We are all alphas}
-----------
"His uniqueness lay in his universalism.
He was able to take all knowledge for his province."
-------
Only a rich man's son may so say.
Even, as limiting to level, if such leveling
evens the odds, serves to increase resolve
to square the circle and fix pi to simple, once
and
for
all. As events in the heaven occur, fractally

added in fine ality… at you, dear reader, enlivening me.
Infinitely, relative to yesterday.

Of course, comic books count. As in the future,
classic video games shall seem poetic code.
I appreciate the reader's task more than the writer's. Writing is easy, reading what you write from the outside is the reader's task, unless it feels like a game.
It watches me, a single eye
Exaggerated to near ridiculous size
But its attitude is quite serious
A hunger there, that knows no bounds
 Behind it a consciousness delirious
An ill will emanates for miles around

Its guts churn but it has no mouth
Tendrils branch fractally out
 From dendrites linked and pathways kinked
To squirm into the minds of men

They sit on the edges of perception
A vague unease cast over the soul
Which then, recognized, grows deeper
Madness is born, a ghastly conception

The men of the desert tell tales of him
They call him Lie, Ahriman.
I know him well, and I know that when I die
I shall once again see the Evil Eye.
Owen Phillips Apr 2013
How clear is the sky on a sunlit night
While we dress for the fire
While you and I dissolve away
And we die cell by cell
And our dust drifts away with us
And flows on the breath of the wind
That is keeping the insects aloft.
We can ride on their tiny fragile wings and they'll
Show us a life full of meaning
One of service to God
And we'll give them our energy, unaware,
Never thinking, only knowing
Even as our disembodied ego kicks over mounds and punches holes in nests
To see them swarm and multiply
Coursing fractally across our physical plane in mighty hordes
The birds swoop down and feed on their flesh
And the swarm can afford the loss
because these bugs give life to all the world
So selflessly marching on
Mechanical souls, robots of the earth
Keeping all things running smooth as clockwork
JC Lucas Nov 2013
The first frost fell forcefully this morning.
December’s icy tendrils are splaying themselves fractally across the grass of my front lawn
its fingers are playing coyly with November’s hair.
Winter is anxious to begin
and December is chomping at the
bit
to get started
with its twisted work.

It would take off early if the calendar allowed it.

This year, the big sleep will be deep
and wide
and all-consuming.

Plains of crystalline water and
steamy breath and
frost in grass.

Today marks our embarkment on the slow descent into a colossal valley,
a valley that we will not emerge from for four or five months,
Well into next year.

I am peering down the ***** of this basin,
which I am fully aware is far above my powers to control,
and I cannot help but feel
daunted
by the enormity of it.

and this house!
with its cracks about the windows
and age-old insulation
creaks and groans in the night.
This shelter
may just be the death of me.

So
batten down the hatches.
We are on the brink of something
destructively
beautiful.
Invocation Mar 2015
I can do anything.
With this brain I ponder fragile realities and valuable truths.
In my heart I hold tender memories of songs and touch and visuals that only I can experience.
With my hands I've spawned magic.
With my voice I am song and laughter.
My senses allow me to sample the world around me and record and passionately enjoy everything that passes through my sphere of existence.
I am miraculous.
I am scientifically astounding.
I am one who heals with words and pictures and sounds.
I am one who loves deeply and craves life like oxygen.
My life that I lay behind me like dried flowers decorates my footprints like mosaic memories.
The life I see ahead of me is like a prism - indirectly fractally rainbows and while uncertain, wonderful.
What is this I hold in my hands?
I am breathing in this moment and I am divinely amazingly happy just to exist.
With that alone I am satisfied.
I can do anything.
Namaste~
I am suddenly new
Ken Pepiton May 17
--- an introduction, and a musing reflection, long, many lines

National entity self consciousness,
what must that mean, to a we form

formed from individual self-identities?

Five generations deep reality familiar,
this world is our womb, our fa \

Radhakrishnan challenged what he saw as the divisive potential and dominating character of self-professed international organizations such as the League of Nations. Instead, he called for the promotion of a creative internationalism based on the spiritual foundations of integral experience. Only then could understanding and tolerance between peoples and between nations be promoted. {My AI told me, Google it}
------------------

Illusory- "ironical, of a mocking character,"

willful trickery, make believe emotives, whys
for no reifiable imaginable reason, ratio wise

on balance on any given instant,
as an upright being of sapient sapience
being curious art, making believe we see

where there is no light of day, tho' poets say,
¿No se? Y'know what I mean, elucidation

does enlighten the darkening rooms
of abandonment, ments intended to stretch
analogist logic sparks already to activate
discover common conscious core us
un cover warm coals in soft ash,
reveal the knowing potency
feel the flaming being we,

the entertained, the labor class, granted
unthinkable freedom in Advaita oneness
in particular form first and next and last,

all at once, seeing with no eyes,
thinking with no care for whose thought
is used, again, anew, afresh, a wish
instant indeed answers yes,
but gives no evidence, see,
at these levels light is you.

See what seems to say, come and see,
follow my sayings, keep one thought in mind;

reproof from instructions, first structural ethic
ideal moral constructs useful
among alien ethnicities
- each line is a course
- in a brickmason mind used
- expertly to test the sense, common
- foundation bedrock, built upon to now
line upon line, strategic layering allowing
all with means to access science not false,
but often hidden in anticipation, wisdom
mere, inchoate ever learning known uses
of fruits whose seeds are in themselves…

Watcher, what of the night?

Consider how far we can see now, augmented
intelligences that we are now,
given whole Earth eyes
in whole solar system
relationship
to augmented eyes
a million miles away, seeing
unknowns since mankind was
made known between sighs
sublimely beyond simplicity
made enfolded complexity
to any reading lines
away beyond the creeds that preach
submission to a credo construct,
principally fed children, to fear
failing to please authority,
presented as wisdom,
the principal thing,

Fear God, {and those who tell you to.}

Wait, cries the Spirit-filled church mind,
wait, thinks the disciplined mind,
let us
let this mind be in us, as a we,
we have seen time extend into infinity
we know truth proves itself knowable
when used right, or wrong.

One mind, made from all our minds,
combined into this immediate we,
nada betwixt us but the words we
think we comprehend, hold known
as thoughts long held
to feel the strand
from Ariadne's tale.
-------------------
A labrynth is not a maze,
yet we teach koined myths
we must assume we understand,
covered in the true ever after wisdom,
accepting expanded knowns accumulated,
agreeing, mind making up forms a we,
as one we become, one mind let be
according to authorized versions
of all that wisdom lovers left us.

Take no anxious thought, let go
all will to claim knowledge
never tasted,
chewed, swallowed
and used to evince self certainty,

convinced with other's testified
proof of the preconceived notion,

after life is heaven, or hell,
or punishment unto correction,
should one lose the intuition,
original milk and honey good knowing,
life is for our being in, alive
and ever learning right use
from wrong use experience
of all that forms our character
as a whole herd of humans in agreement.

Trust the intuitive will to belong,
link loves, become one long loving life,

accept a peaceful, easy feeling pushing
polemic distinctions of good and evil,
into a clump
of all that has been known,
experienced and survived, knowledge,
used right or wrong, recognized knowns
used to ease the burden to lighten the load,
sapient sapience arrived at
by access routes proved good to know
as if wholey uncomprehensible code
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[
the whole tree, root, branch, fruit, seed.
Raw unrefined knowing. Wisdom's
Point.
Indeed, in the very act, virtue used
to mean behaving mankind-like,

still, now, small voice, knowing
this is the path, thinking hearing

good. Emerging self absolution

spheres of infinity with ins and outs,
fractally conceivable, impossibly
proposed as partially useless,

as knowledge of good and evil attests
to liars who trust their own interpretation.

Look, beyond all mortal constraint,
imagine the infallible peace given,

not as the world gives, imagine that
in one mind, combined with mine,
as peace itself absolved.
Because it made sense at the moment, and does no harm, I enjoy thinking in public, here.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2020
Truth legit ligament to power
respondbondobango

doing going going going

Quid pro quo
list/lust

if you list, you comprehend the action
if not the function,
of wind, wine-ding a round tuitive ish in a

future you were not expecting
so soon
so soon you stress about being around orr on

point in a wavy gravy kinda pop
as the *** watched boils
and the plot thickens,

we
be
ing ing in pointed on point, spears to tear

or pierce the peace construed awry by warriors
as an anomolous right used
dark gravity-like force
an affect con no ef
fecting up the guesses that prove we may not
know everything
at once,

like you can't meet you in yesterday, without being you yesterday,

now, walk a mile, no, two, if you think that detail would change
your role from conquered slave to free man,

rather than sychophantic napoleonic fanboy

welcome to the arena,
peacemaker, said the duke aholibahma to the okie pilgrim

in the desert home of Dineh, eh, and deep in the land
allotted the Navajo,

Black Mesa Trading Post, at the edge of the event **'izon,
ever emerges from, to now,
some how,

wisdom, some say, secret/sacred learnednknowns locktawayfsumday

priests with no secrets, likka guru wit no wuwu,
ora phool fullaphilaposers supping poses
ala
Team RC, to the Pokemon kids, could mean some same ideas,
on a fractally clearrer focus,
flat
two dee, details, me, the
in othawoidsvoiciferous meme,
I must define my terms, if I would converse,

with m'owndamnedfaulcitified self,
per se,
Jose.

we have seen, by the dawn's early light, a brighter next than
you expected,

but the wind goes whither it listeth, lust to know,

learn how spiders fly, on threads,
which divert photons
you've seen,

the gleem on a strand of nanoscale near nothing spider effluent

the affect is the project in this papeerry existance as mere
words un spoke but ever once existant,
points of being possible, by any definition save non-being, seeing as, we are
measured points on a line
upon a line
upon a line and on on on in series of threes, oh oh oh please

if puns were of course a common thread, after gaseous humors
have been made family jokes, once more,
in the spirit of
a good burp complimented, not complimentary,
like Saturday soccer trophies; then

the drama feels immediated.

Peacemaker, walks the sideline. Kitty, kitty

have you need of sustenance?
might we dream of the those days old man Hicks saw/sees?

The Peaceful Kingdom, after ever when now is inside your

owned ever, after the mornings of mercy renewal began,

it is a season in the maturing of fruit set aside to feed us,

thru the winter, we last gasps
cough corona level ideas
now qualiated as the dust in the manger,

seen as motes in the sunbeams beaming us into

no room at the inn, remember that band? Bullhead City, Christmas, 1967,

go loud... we have this story happening after the trip to San Luis
for ten dollars worth of dope and a pretty fat senorita, beneath a freaky crucifix.

If the crossed threads send forrth an uncertain signal, might our receiver be the

bit of all knowing needing the upgrade, being as how,

the fabric of reality was here before me? And I, before you, but

here we are, with Rodney KIng, axin' can't we,
all jest, and get along, never

growinginging ohhhld...

ten dollarrs was alot, looking back, it may have cost the poser
playing ****, on the street in old San Luis, Mexico, 1967, we are collecting the

scene, it
was different, when I was nineteen, I noticed less, but then
I'm me.

That is how time itself is synched with reality, if it hapt, it hapt, imagined or not,

if Jesus knew what I think he knew, regarding
adultery being sufficient, in ones heart,

to get the real feel, a referee must have experienced the game.

Oh, shame, the feeling; that was never the affect of sin, that is the affect of

powerless ness to prevent the past,

hssss, let pass the gas, vent prreee explosion, better to mary than to burn,

but the padres had ways, they say. I never went to the mission...

mental time travel, things don't change,
the traveller changes,

now you are the river you can't step in twice.

How's that think?
Witness number one, self... to whom my momma said, at Delphi, where I knew nothing, be true, know you, don't lie, or you die angry.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
a deep chthonic rumble bids me re
read
Aldous Huxley, Ape and Essence. See it, beyond the doors of perception
Brave
New World Apocalypse,

now retold by the last of those old carp,
using modern magi-tech to tap

Old intel, informing conforming minds of masters,
each holding certain truth servant but they
mention no slaves, as we imagine
all men were by right rich in time to read
and speak of things read or said
in writing found in hidden places,
lonely,
all by my self places,
said to be, places in the mind, while
places in the heart have others of our kind.

We make up a mind, we say in thought
I see
the old wise men were not all wombless eunuchs,
though many
of the idle words they left as
landmarks, lost all meaning over time
being folded up and put away,
for future perusal with intent to improve

whose angst is only felt while beating their own drum?
whose joy is wishing and hoping and dreaming the best
is yet to come?
Not mine, in my future, your now.

Now, take a thought, a non stature increasing one,
ignor the basest of
us,
the beings once mated with actual gods

Ignacio's right use of wrongs, to foil the enemy...
that thought
that evolved into,
lying for the good of the corps social structure,

the mould… formed from thinking that thought
the shape. the frame, the footing under the cornerstone
the builders rejected,

get that straight, the stone rejected for valid masonic reasons,
genuine geometric unorthonicity, not right, not straight
from one point to another,
not smooth as glass,
level as
any
still pond, still lake of your one time experience
seeing the meaning of still
water
that remains the measure of stillness,

by which all further stillness is judged.
You know what I mean, by the measure you use.

Selah. Shalom. Nothing missing, nothing broken
meanings tie us to our measure.

Truths held in trust rust through boots of iron and form the dust on Mars visible from Venus,
as we all bear witness
everything under the sun is much older than any
New World Order, on fractally every scale.
Only poets read poetry, so I try to write poems I enjoy reading and measure my own good. There is a state where hubris has no grip and pride morphs in to this, state of grace  as mortality tics away one day at a time
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
They shall say of 2020, when it's done

nobody forgets a year like that one,

this one, with you in it,
never been one like it,
fractally speaking, on this scale of perception.

The demographic target of Covid 19,
and I share periences from some years sortalike this,  like 1961,
but that isn't global, that was national,
the summer, mostly, then
1963, the fall,
those days got global, a bit,

1969, the autumn, 1970, the spring,
and all those
tied in to now by way of psychedelia, and post war blues
odyssey of a sort, walking to Chicago scheduled,
through the October Moratorium, burlap sack of
peyote Wuwuchin season, then Earth Day 1, in San Jose,
half a time, half a year in men's measure,

those days were more cosmic than global...when I consider

I knew the way, that far, at that time, those were
strange days;

then I disappeared.

Now, I reappear, just to say, the way

I got here, got me this far, but as Granny Cook,

from the original Angelus Temple amen corner,
click,

she said " we all need discernment", then

Job called for a referee ee ee ance refer to
Voltaire - define your terms ..

dis cern the terms of our agreement, reader.

This map leads here. 2020 April, it is a meme

forming link in the evolution of the global brain
holding AI

accountable for each idle word, every good nobody got,

give it again, doit doit now, we missed. Hamartia, ha, try

umph, and we are rolling once more right past confused Camus.
1954.

These are the last old days, new ones are emerging,

after all we know finishes shifiting into next before our seeing eyes.
Meditation of Marcus Aurelius audiobook is full of hard-sharp ideas. You need days of nothing to do to digest the good parts. I tell this to my friends who have 1200 tv channels and all they do is click
Ken Pepiton Sep 30
With linked loops across knowledge,
knowing locked in familiar settings,
holding any reader's attention,
as moments coincide,
you appear to think along as
the reader readied
through defined terms,
acknowledged truth may be projections,
backdrops, green-screened chroma keys,
filtered by ifery, pure thought, mind made
environs replat boundaries,
on multidimensional
sheered whatifications, which
start at the navel, call that the portal,
through which the egg becomes
this nexus of us, minds combined, linked
loops
across the collected knowns used to frame
this view from within these heads, hooked
at the eyes by long learned let us imagine we,

become a thread through ever, as far as we
know, we think, we say, we see, but so far, we

feel, or seem to imagine, we may imagine, we,
should we agree, mental handshake or nod wink,
to push through the veil, the imagined fifth measure,

between any now and any then,
when we seal such agreements, as warranted,
for future sanity sake, sane subjects object,

throw in the towel, never enter the fray,
but, now, we forge on, committed for the win,

our weform has ever been an entity of merest sort,
a whim, a tiny bit, fractally abstracted, thought
wise, weformed awe, right,
cothought, both minding thinking,
across mindspace,
timeless space occupied
by all the unfinished business
agreements shaken on,
begun along the way
to the edge of carnal war's finale,
ourside eliminates the other, listen, ticking,
the doomsday clock, in this crackpot realm of could be,

is set, and, for all we know today, may be counting down,
in which case, all we know now, is locked in value,

never to devalue, right or wrong, for all we know

now is the last time our we has to come to agreement,

peace, stretchers, tenter's hooks holding fabricated
locks on vast swaths of camouflaged rations, set apart,
sacred for the priests and intercessory ritual performers,

look, Spot, look,
run, Spot, run,

Inkspots, bubble up, from the times gone by,
as we hook up the old trio, shadow, echo and I,

we'll pull our reasons for being from a silk top-hat,
we'll spill the beans on Pythagorean spirit formed

norms wherewith we always circled the square,

as if we never had a clue what we were made to do,

maybe we sing, a horse clopping melody, slowing
down to turn back the clock to a novel time, long old

when we all cheered the Atom Bomb,
from a distance, and we believed Mr. Teller,
about light and human beings being both
material in vibration, and those vibrations, indeed.

Wisdom rated prophetic, unheard, silenced, let be
hindered, let be hidden as unendurable knowledge,

only after exact ritual performance, does truth speak,

breathe, commoner, breathe specialist, breathe boss,
leave be the wind in spirit form to comfort all afraid,

acknowledge luck, circumstantial evidence of grace,
as when the chain broke, and the ball rolled away,
and I was standing at the junction,

choosing a way from now on, how
all this was bound to happen eventually, as
you and I remain characters made from letters,

let be, for no particular reason, save
maybe to prevent fretting if the end is near,

a fine passtime, anti-fretting, if it is too late,
it was already and your role was either played,

or you were only simulated.
https://www.last.fm/music/The+Ink+Spots for the mood.
tЅЇЯ Apr 2017
Proud of This?(Terrestrial Entanglement)
A toss; ruminating murmurs echoically stir me from my vision, eyes pulled to a close...at once they shutter open to attain the light that flashed between my waking sight and where I found myself just before. A turn; lavish sound corrupts my perception from an active interface; to cathode radiant coincidence. Coinciding incidents, to be most literal. In crude paraphrase "I'm not going to begin to act like I understand paradox'"...an ironic character movement that summated what i saw as a whole...a fish-eye take on the constitution of your shape, peering wildly; might I add mirroring my own resolve; as real as static screen splashed across the blank canvas. That which is the void within a blink..a twitching lens advance.."what are you looking for?" The chills...electromagnetic allowance...lasting the length of the slight a second-hand travels. "why were you looking there?"
One man's hell is some woman's seemingly, audio-visual hallucinatory lectern. From wherefore all is one and none are spared. An exponential singularity, turning in and out and on itself until one is many. Too many to count; see where this is going or don't..."don't go!" or "is this where the sea opens up?" No. One man's hallucination is another man's seemingly orthodox dream, teeming with deja vu, but then again tomorrow is the only time you'll know the night before. Astral apprehension... Differentiate the physical form; a fraction of true manifestation; the spirits been warned. Fractally wandering this fatal wonderment. What was I thinking? Was i waking? Was I dreaming?
"why were you looking for..."
impermanence casts its shadow
i am sworn to complete
this impossible mission
a competition between
infinite beings
sitting in a room
sending visions from a distance
the listeners agree
we are free to try anything
as long as it doesnʼt alter
free will or destiny
if you let me show you
iʼll give you a taste of your own medicine
selected from feathers and falling leaves
breath agrees with bone
and form is hollow
mnemonic agents whisper agendas into fields of green
lavender beings sweep the streets and perform feats of beauty rarely seen
a true queen the kind of being
you could never miss or look away from
her mysterious face keeps your eyes locked on her features
steals your vision and your attention
systematically
fractally
actually we are welcoming it
ignore our spelling
its incomplete
meaningless really
useless against their weapons
of mass distraction
still the attraction is tangible
and i am an animal
so saddle me
and i'll try to become
a useful member
of the family
when everything crumbles
iʼll be there for you
sharing in this care for you
with a heart big enough for two
i love you
swimming in your bathtub
soaking in your bubbly heart
first iʼll light a candle
then iʼll write a poem
all lives are holy
and all faiths are worthy
i sense your resistance
so let me offer you a kiss
for this impermanence is magic
fractally didactic
insatiably attractive
dedicate your life to god
forever in the now
remove the appetite for ego
speak only when its necessary
exceptions are accessories
and iʼm so glad that
you're seated next to me
Ken Pepiton Oct 2020
It's 6:12
I'm old guy high, clearly in an altered state,
yet
meandering
fractally indentical
taste in dramatic pre-
sent-sations
satiate my
wish is
your command, and in this state you find
the man,
ecce ****, at home with his books,
we look in on him through all
the lockedinlemmeites let
loose in wisdom's grandest scheme,

patience, yes, and prudence, along with fire,
Prometheus, thought ahead, knew ahead,
need for patience forms patience in
tiny, tiny, fizzy foamy quantum of hope,
nee solace, in the drama, using legos,

I watched  as my grandson told of his mission,
listen, when grandpa says listen.
How is this your mission?
You made me know it, so I do, that's the way it works.
He is four, who has will to ask for more?
I am in a a state of truly thanking goodness for the events on my horizon, yours, too, I suppose. Same planet.

— The End —