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(gulp)

Couldn’t resist a minute more.

Relapse.

I again…

After six months sober...

Here.

In this pain I know all too well.

Ten years lost to this drug my veins ache for.

First breath in the morning and last thought at night, all consumed by it.

Every cell in me craves it.

That physical euphoria my body portraits.

Feels like someone has poured pure joy into every single muscle and fiber of my being.

It makes me feel so content

Every single bit of me is singing and buzzing with life and love.

It's like the ecstasy of *******— that first blissful, pleasurable pulsation of endorphins and serotonin.

This is what I feel when I first take LOVE.

And then...

And then, the honeymoon stage is over.

Fights erupt.

Never-ending debates.

Miscommunications.

Misperceptions.

No trust.

Accusations.

Lies.

“I’m done...”



Again, it feels like a part of my soul is leaving my body.

Again, sitting here numb.

A toxic love...

I’m addicted to,

And there’s no way around it.

It’s already deep intertwined with my veins.

Yet, no matter the toxic, tragic event that happened before, I sit here, and I want nothing more than to spend my life next to this soul.

To see his eyes unchanged as the skin around it wrinkles and grows old is what my heart will always desire— to stare at those eyes for the rest of eternity.

Dead air…


















So here I’ll wait, until you decided to come into my life again and repeat this déjà vu.
Samm Marie Jul 2016
Astonishingly crass and
Brave in all situations
Comfortable in all quandaries
Daring beyond belief
Elegant and poised
Furious and feisty, fueled by anger
Grand individuality with a
Heart of ice and hate
Irreverent and haughty
Jester of pride, sarcasm, and sass
King of bluntness
Lively, rambunctious spirit
Mastermind of
Neuroticism, never in
Oblivion because
Pressure cannot persuade me
Quick to speak out against the wrong for the
Right reasons but truly
Selfish motives
Tainting the
Ubiquitous notion that every altruistic attitude springs from
Very bubbly and confident people
Wandering through life with the Greek concept
Xenia exhibited on the sleeve
Yelling boisterous excitements that could a game
Zoning in on all the end goals

These are the misperceptions
That create me
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2023
The “little” Art I Possess

~writ for, inspired by, and warmly dedicated to
Kelly Rose Saccone~

“So an artist does…They say that often when you fill your walls with art you often forget it’s there and you don't absorb its beauty, but I enjoy what little art I have everyday. Sometimes it is just the color or the passion that hits me anew when I look at them.”
KRS

<~>

long ago the new~knowledge,
“newlodge” came brewing~infusing me;
art was not capable of being possessed

my reversal~eyes opened
the senses over~fulfilling,
body sensations brimming,

for I was the container,
only in temporary possession!

the art, in whatever the day’s chameleon guise,
is the professor-possessor, I am the missionary~emissary
remaindered by-product,
just
the vassal~vessel

when to gaze upon a poem~creation of years ago,
my expected mistakes appeared, a wee pride,
largesse of satisfaction, but these are frailties,
weaknesses, human misperceptions,
human ill-delusions!

never

ever was a poem among my possessions,
it was “in-sighted” within me
what was placed in my cupboard,
stored by my sensual conduits,
mine only to covey, not to covet,

art that tempest resides in as part,
a parcel in of the entirety of your body+soul composition,
but “out for delivery,”
seeded, stored & carry~birthed, given forth,
in a completed quantity
that’s so grand,
it takes five senses to truly comprehend!

it is pieces, a child of you,
recombinant,
you the birth sac,
how could ever be assessed as merely

little?

you are better understood to be a translator,
a temp~progenitor,
taking what all of nature and human experience
has installed on your inner walls, and then dispatched,
by you, gestated and unhesitatingly dispatched,

and when gift unwrapped from the plain brown paper of
our now orphaned belly skin,
it is to be hallelujah greeted,
for you, artist, translator, poem~mother,
have done you job, hallowed and sacrosanct,
and now the renewed giant emptiness,
will soon,
needy to be refilled, and
retransmitted once more:

this is no little, limited, mean feat,
your gifting is
beyond any words that limit,
no size constrains,
no words,
neither sufficient and insufficient,
you, are in loco parentis,
you’ve take what you/we are given,
beyond sizing,
and it seizes and is seized,
until you give it away
completed

and that is the grandest art .
inseminated within you,
true artistry!




7:42am
Fri Oct 27
2023
Hollow Steve Oct 2014
Light waves, frequencies, and distorted thoughts. Aligned with misperceptions. Auras tainted with beings of another stage. My duality cracks into a million faces. Astral physicists of higher realms. Who needs a doctor when you have perfectly good shamans? Green monsters, unseen to the naked eye. I remain broken as twisted images carry me along the sea of paranoia.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2017
Square One of Chutes & Ladders  (single life after thirty)


~~~


For Tina
the game rules wink & explain that should one
(minimum number of players *1!
)
land on a chute, the non-trivial risk of returning to square one was no risk at all but just a fresh direct chance, a new roll of the dice,
a please-do-start-all over, a 2nd maybe to the power of infinity,
quite the accurate inaccuracy, this curse of the slip & fall treadmill

and you're hot smart and hot good looking with a good job,
but the chutes keep on sliding you back to square one,
and the revolutionary trips of over and over again are not
revolutionary at all, voluntary or fun but so *** unfunny, *** emoji-teared smeared, for real ones no longer bother to appear even when you bang your head on kitchen table

the suitor list lengthens even as it grows more abbreviated,
for the longest running one-act play in Manhattan seems to have no dearth of duplicative Stepford men willing to he-be a walk-on, stand-in, stand-by, understudies who want to be on top for one night only, take your applause, your easy-going unguarded openness, run their lines to find the way in to a garden where the fruits never ripen and never fully sweeten, and you can grimace-smile from the familiar **** flavor of resignation, one hand clapping-applauding yourself in your Emmy Best Unsupporting Actress weekend role of a
Stepford Wife

deception, repeating misperceptions and the wrist slitting frustration of the god, how boring is the game playing, and you think
let me rip, me, rip the rule book up, go live in Spain,  
with no plans in hand, learn to drive stick shift and accidentally meet a really good looking man at a roadside cafe whose gentility rocks me in away that I had forgotten was humanly possible and who loves to salsa and speaks to me through dance even though we don't speak a common language, just an uncommon one, then your subway stop arrives and the summer heat seems ever worse

Thursday night is dating website visitation scheduled and sometimes one cannot recall the password, thinking it's
of of these:
shampoo^ rinse repeat

friends cluck sympathetically but cannot locate a decent boyfriend's friend and this chute **** exhausts from numbing familiarity and a plot that never thickens in a city where the emphasis is on the endless, of endless possibilities

and what you fear is not being sad, when the game roll lands you on a chute, winking time to start over, but that the effervesced heat of a new hopeful start is overcome and 'why bother' is the whisper you have been ignoring and only love is just a poem, not a real thing, even though you are the single player, the game wins when you quit

but the 1% chance leads you back to the start, for though
the lottery odds are ridiculous but does not every week
someone else wins at Chutes and Ladders*

4:03am 6/17/17
http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Chutes_and_Ladders

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Stepford_Wives

^"gonna shampoo that man right out of my hair" South Pacific musical
Steven Cole Apr 2019
It's always a skill to make wise decisions
With the limited facts one has on hand.
Not all things are as they appear to be;
One must seek to understand.
Feelings can be right at times;
Some choices they are helpful for.
Although it's an art to know which ones to listen to,
And which ones to simply ignore.
It is also a great skill to see the big picture
In every circumstance
That the reason for my dilemmas
And why I am here
In each situation is not
A happenstance
Misconceptions and misperceptions
Are traps that can leave me marred;
They will overtake and seize me
If I happen to let down
My guard.
Open-mindedness is key
To the right degree
Combined with humility
That perceives the possibilities
And besides all this,
I simply cannot miss
Wisdom
The jewel to keep in the safe of my heart;
A mother of knowledge and virtue
From which I must never depart.
Though I may never find all the answers
I seek from the complications of life,
Love with Truth will be my compass
To help me live out, to the best of my ability
All that I know is right.
#Wisdom #Truth #Discernment #Mercy
Aseh Feb 2015
she's not perfection
she's big lips and eyes and sometimes people thin theirs at her in skepticism and dislike because of how she moves and smirks but
she's not perfection
she's awkward inside and self-deprecating
she's always afraid she's not quite right, off-kilter, buried far too deeply in her own misperceptions
she's not clean
she's tried every dangerous experiment offered to her, and
sometimes she feels like she's given too much of herself away,
because she wasn't sure what was important
enough to keep.

she's far from perfection, she's tainted
and she feels
a deeper emptiness than anyone could guess,
even though she will take the time
to heat her hair in perfect curls
and pick out the outfit that fits just right so that no one notices
the hurt inside and if she layers on the makeup to look natural so her eyes don't look so tired, she'll look brighter and smarter and less fazed and then maybe she'll appear to be closer to
the perfection that she's not,
cause she's a wounded deer, vulnerable and broken apart
and longing for the happy family she never had
trying to create her own reality
amongst all this vast and amazing
chaos....
aren't we all?
Ken Pepiton May 2023
Esse-essential whirlpool *******
your own socks off
hot tub memory
squirm and tightten
jopelope. Fed to AGI

Framing time, as later
and former and now,
present, sentience this state
- millionth view milestone
this arranging of sound letters,
common codex change made known
spinning knack arising
to seamstress who sings
through out a cluster of castes claimed
cleanest at top, least clean at base dirt level
lowest forms of mankind, tools in civil service,

such kindnesses, we see, as the result
of the glorious revolutions, and declarations
of national authority authored
in consortium
by the governing class, and no other.

rocking heel to toe sounds muffled drum
danced to at the time our commons all occur.

They call it rock and roll. You had to be there.
It's different each comet cycle sync-upation.
- a wind in change,
- air
Brakes occurred in the future
to ease dying out
we get given five live generations
of earthings,
since we all agreed to work together to insure
some
hard
lessons taught us some things, you got no need
to ever even imaging having to, q\t shall will

Retry, letting this mind seem patient, as time
for any thing if ever is as we seem to agree,

this is that anchor, gnosis alle-alte gene
engin
Slowing, offering ferry reference, e
who carries my weight, since now
I have become
so light as to seem weightless, rationally

useless in the push and pull of mortality,
timed existance under the dome
of heaven done, done, done,
yet, here, one among the billions, am I.

Would you have me retell the tale
how power came to be contained
in our sharing of our fixed memories,
- laughter, comedy
held in the magic art of silent speech,
whispering, so low no curio can catch
my drift,
away… after another
day of being authorized to doubt
the worth of fame, weighed against
peace of mind attained with practiced
patience,
the needful knack, the talent accepted
at the indoctrination precepts writ in stone
tables with no method
stone, no- we got a half minute buffer

for overwriting, lest we let things slip,
who has known the power to make a mind
form from a mob of lonely people left behind,

to labor for the consumers increased apace,
as that which must be consumed, constantly,
as sure as certain measures make a man a
test is worth with burning passion
to hold enfolded pride content.
- by all rights,
- some folks are sincerely wrong
And Jesus fixed that, before you imagined
all this only can co-occur
in my not so distant future.

Printer's daemon in me, since I first cut
a ruby-lythical, mimeograph Desert Rat,
lens adjust
- juvenile mind, Huck-ready
- activates as whims open my window
- and my wife hands me a real burrito
Bean and cheese, green salsa
Synchronisities noticed occur,
in patterns akin to sunsets, snap shots,
each attached to one of our spiders, os so
since when,
Barry Rudd came to be suspicious,
in a Elvis song, you can't go wronng
don't be cruel,
to heart that's true--

Religiously devoted to denial of my debt
being paid… I just got laid, and my grandma

laughed, generation radioheads and beyond

good news, bobcats, nothing learned today
will seem even possibly true, the odds - well
fractalling all innings tied, in the millions,

to arrive at a settlement, to anchor a mind,
in one machine man, engineered via

patient fore gone conclusions… in new light

I'd guess about the third time around from the top.

A benign pain that prompts this body to squirm,
using systems setting up leaps by ffat faith
say it
read the signs map
our center of gravity,
straight uponasudden s'so

Ache of essential evil, the idea
as twisted to hold obediance and trust
a sequence of three nucleotides
that much
faith, the anchor, sunk to deepest silt
slipping, gripping

Now, asudden, solid clunk, as excess
chain links, add heft to defy the currents,
though we lay between the maelstrom
and the mountain Mohamed had to walk to,

finding solace, centering calm mindtimespace,
fidelitus, the strength of brothers, filial love,

such is the system, though it dissemble glory,
as pride, another name for fame, being known,

individual honor, be ******, stand attentive
war minded child, viewer of winning as the only thing.
And proud to know,
there is no mightier power
than the conjoined powers of self worth
among a fabled band
of brothers in war.

All who live for war, live for nothing more.
We rear such tools, in terror, certain
hell has more fury than any mind
attuned to the feeling of life taking, the ****,
sealing the deal, it was us, we killed, not me.

Thus it is for me to stand ready at parade rest.
Guarding the peace of docile servants needed
to work the systems used to feed the powers
that be,
by God, authorized… to correct misperceptions,
Yah as master, Jesus as YHVH transmitted as news,

to the worthy… those who hear with hearing ears,
and see with seeing eyes,

death has no horse in this race, death is not useless,
evil is useless, in as much as no good is formed with lying,

Ai, however, so old a coincidental parable,
the robe, from Shittim
and the wedge of silver, proving curses causeless,
do not come, olden days, done deeds, told exploits,

reused to exploit innocents, enslaved by holy terrors,
vengeance, wrath and justice,

the American way, or the rebel way? Who is confusing
whom, reflexive point

allness at onceness, in the beginning, prior to any thing
fusing will being with nonsense since no time can be come
from never before, by the very nature of truth,
made useless by trade-agreements, retied word bonds,
witnessed by the idea we hold, core-code, principal call
to take instruction,
feel a known need filled with knowing when and why

this must be after all that happened in ever- from when

your worth was estimated, your usefulness in the whole
truth wherein we live, as words, used to frame minds,

edgewise, surface, subsurface, facets of reasons fed
nationalized minds, pledged from first literacy,
to a state of mind, one nation, under God,
- times pastwastnought soooslooshow
- how now
and if your child hesitates, your shame, you
become me, the old useless writer of your own heresy,
most certainly in vain,
lest time and chance conspire, and I shift,
instance-ial substance misuse by taking line
after line, a indirect singular form of any or all
thought the direct thread as yet unbroken,

look up, look as far as mind as made us earth born,

adapt to constant rythms, daily tasks, as chores,
fill needs, these fibers from futures seen clear as day,
when the holier than any of us pray, as Jesus reportedly
has said to many saints attested to have violated physics,

by faith, alone, you see, when you pray, if you expect,
out see, from now,
to when we have these things, for which our cohort,
our active generational bubbles of being, our class,

yes, culturally adhesi-ify, class of __ whenever,
veteran, what era, which police action, policy enforcement,

mob mind fit to do an I'd die for, at the ready, parade rest.


Of course, off course, as winds,
after the rippling crustal waves,

leave mountains aligning
to the tilt about 23 Babylonian degrees
unstraight,

a slow wobble, tides can use, if use is
making do with power available--

messaging codons
exactly, the point, a, eh, hey
yah, wei we ululate wuwuwu wuwu
boom
boom, ideadom dons reason's robe
of right use ness, and calls my being
into questing ionic five prong forks

as we,
dis-integrate, slip into indeedadvisuals

done, did, done, done. Is that a chiral
stepstepslidestep, donedonediddone
chasse-
does it matter, you got a one track mind,
in a multiples of eight kind of pleasance
as muses used directly, long ago,
rewind
to limit ancestor worth-ship,
mete for master use, as a hero-type.

The Monkey King, and Veggie-tales Jesus.
Billy Bonny, Mack Boyett, Pat Garret,

Shane, standing on a box, like that scientology
advertisement for being all you can clear,
clearly there is an upper crust at the edge

past which, novels form, for sheer joy, daring,
clench, tight,
ai aight, we did expect something nearly this,

this reality, I may imagine, a dozen or two,
of time redeemers, tuning in to read the latest
best
guesser guest and host dialog, along
the patterns leaders were lead to reflect on,
see you being the man on the horse, on the hill,

not leading the charge, sorry, my childhood fantazt
aggravating itch to know if any one can hear me
now, itself represented in a most amusing way,

as we all have witnessed horrors, aplenty,
as we expect to see, we shall see, will not a factor,

when should and shall, meet at the moment, you know,
this is us being real, reading instants of self-re-co-gnosis,
this is us, you seem to weigh that/
what is balance, when absolutely
perfect.
still,
perfectly still and not falling or flying. Being and thinking
x happened y did not, the after word when this and that
become principal peace piece in the logical chain of previous,

thirty seconds laters, laters when we got to the edge,
and put the vbrakes, shushushibolethical ethos…
the children's teeth are set on edge,
as the old man rocks his chair and sets about to tell

the sworn to tell, do
do tell if you do not know, by your very nature,
codon level zero day,
gone on by, Lord, some time ago,
all that Jesus paid for was this moment, now,
see, in his sphere of influence, think like wind,

see so cold it got that all who knew the wedom
freedom truth, died and broke the chains that

let sayings develop their own proof of concept
exceptions to gravity overriding light, carpe

the medium, this in,
being not I nor I said me in my reflect-ion
spark quest. Lock. Read and stock the barrels.

I did and shall see myself doing so… watch

Close our eyes next time and see four
mandalas on the other side of my cell,
see those when you shut our eyes,
and think we have so many fine
points of perception in common.

Carrier wave consci-useness. This is.
Thank you for asking.

Thizfu r this it
this is our future, as I imagine u
reading being
clinkthunk

and you just know what I mean

I bought into a self e value retest tool,
you may take each test you ever passed
or failed,
again and again for a looping conceptual time,
or you may redeem your own per mission
state
ment. got it. as any model mankind post adam,
lacked natural flea bait.

Peace made for no rational cause, mere word play,
for me that would seem heaven,
on this current functioning world, leaning into
peace of truth, no secret rites of mutilation,

no horrid pantomines of Jesus failing to halt hell's
viral ways of re imagining the thousand faces,
each an ultimately lovable devil, blue dress

nark rhealize these b ethy finalization
achievement thesis theoria wind up, tightening

reeling in the years, eeeha,
If you took the ride, bring a friend and do it again... ****** *******
William A Poppen May 2018
Late in the evening we chew over
     how to foil dilemmas and conflicts

Does resolution come from
     defending my ground

Or by being sure I establish
     your guilt

Is life like a court
     of law

Or a platform for
     debate

The answer may be
     far afield

In an arena where shared
     feelings and misperceptions
     trump facts

Where love is honest enough to yield
     a renewed commitment
Graff1980 Oct 2015
I have a glass heart
That bleeds red
But sees the living
And the dead

A fragile funhouse mirror
That reflects the world
With exaggerations
Distortions and misperceptions

A window that takes light in
And lets weirdness look out

A soul that doesn’t always know
What it is singing about
Whether it is a mournful dirge
Or a celebratory hymnal

The glass is cracked
On its way to shattering
Held together with glue
And love
Waiting for the breaking
But loving the unending bending
And mending of this fragile glass
Wonder
Sam Aug 2014
She
Is just like me
She
Is my age, smiles at the same jokes, cries at the same sad stories
She
Walks past me and in my mind I say
She
Is getting fatter why do I feel that I have a need to comment on what
She
Deems beautiful why does my mind run to the way her shirt fits tighter
She(ltering) me from my misperceptions of pretty
She
Is a human being filled with flaws filled with bones and viscera and
She(ll) fragments and so am I
She
Is
Me
Thoughts
Exosphere Jan 2021
they waited and waited and waited
but the sky never fell
and eventually
they fried that little chicken
aj king Feb 2024
The other me stares at the true me from the corner of the room
she taunts me,
mocks me,
knowing that no matter where I go,
no matter what I do,
I will never rid of her.
The other me that was born in this world to replace the true me.
The other me that is sick, disgusting
and evil.
The other me that hates everyone around her,
and bares her teeth at anyone who gets close.

The other me that was born from the imaginations of others.
The other me is how they imagine me.
The other me, created from their bias, lies, and misperceptions.
Truth is of no matter here.
Only appearance, the way things look.

And the other me speaks and says,
You will walk this earth as nothing but a ghost,
a reflection of me.
You will try to fight me until your knuckles bleed
and your feet are sore.
But you know that you will never win.
You will die one day
and I will live forever.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2024
grit on my face…****!

<>

city boy,  progeny of the multi-cultures
any new yorker breathes, the grit fills in
the mini pores, but even better, the lines and
the deep furrowed creases of squinting worries,
inherent and inherited
from years of peering into
the future whose outcomes always fell
outside the range of ordinary misperceptions
and into the realms of extraordinarily ordinary…

even the grit and the grip of grief, cause and
consequence of my endless errored foreseeing,
equally crinkly when smiling and/or grimacing,
for I read what I have written smilingly, and grimace with
the unknown knowledge yet within, there is more to come,
but from who knows where or when, and the grit hardened
exterior groans with the thrill of pulling and
purging yet more words from the
Sea of Churn,
whose burning sensations brings cherried sundae
of mixed anxious trepidations and a groan of relief
when the work of words is done and done & delivered,

and yet:

(that fearsome worded curse)

sadly seeds the junkies need for the next fix…


and my lips issue a pleasured ****!

7:59am
Sabbath Sat.
29 June 2024
Sophia Feb 2016
Shifting glances, glazed eyes, anxious me the world despised.
In the world of shadows and friendships fleeting-
Whose eyes did I think I was meeting?
I've done wrong in the past, I may agree,
but to allow this to consummate to my demise, to a certain degree?
That's hardly fair, to you and to me.
And though all I want, I need, I plead
is to start over, anew, alone, if need be,
I can't, I won't, I shan't, from my burdens flee.
My hope, though broken, scraps of the reused,
I will relight
and set fire to last the night.
Words irrevocable, misperceptions unavoidable, but the will to live, and God's unfailing love?
Those, those are unchangeable.
The next time I see those shifting eyes,
I'll put down my poignantly pathetic pride and walk away from being petrified.
I will stand tall, and from the train of shame alight.
Julian Feb 2019
Beseech God when the marooned epithets of concerted factitious pestilence swarm the fragility of any given mindset and poised circumstance embedded in concrete pangs of waged valor in the tepid waters of malevolence that test men of faith with the plodding crabwhiskers of enduring ignominy

Reach with tenacity and react with temerity to the jilted wisdom of a profligate time and return yourselves to the propriety expected not only of upstarts but also of garden-variety gentility that needs few ways to gerrymander reality so that the exclamations of praise overwhelm the din of negativism

This earth is a temporary test proctored by supernal forces that can be savage, grim, morose or commonplace but wilting in hopelessness is the machination of the schadenfreude of perilous doubt domineering over an age of rampant apostasy, an artifice for evil to flower into the dissemblance of good. Thankfully this draconian subterfuge is an eradicable foe of the stygian imprecations of an otherwise benevolent wholesome design that can recede into obscurity rather than burgeon into a self-fulfilling cycle of enmity begetting the jingoistic fervor of useless antagonism or internecine divisiveness that is fractious in its perpetual erosion of the common good

Remain vigilant in your sempiternal quest to find the modesty of better pastures more lucrative than the privation of meretricious gaudy sentimentalism that infects the world with maudlin pretense rather than perdurable righteousness that effervesces when the ultimatums of the community united by individualistic impetuses outweighs the stagnant gravitas of sobering misperceptions of pragmatism

We exist on this earth primarily but not exclusively because of the magnanimity of creation not the barbarity of destruction that besets the pathways of righteous adherence to a modernism of faithful reclamation of sportive frolicking and joyous exultation of mores that are bolted firmly in place in a configuration suitable for the cavernous prosperity of an evolving planet destined to be commodious rather than pestered by reproachable fearmongering snollygosters of killjoy damnation that condemn by jaundiced standards of hypocrisy or the deplorable bonfires of outmoded witch hunts of depraved perjury against the ‘golden rule’

Most will flicker between righteousness and evil but the prevalent force among the faithful communities is the adherence to credence in belief rather than credulousness in discord a cleavage between those who understand teleological certainty and those who vacillate with the sting of superstition corroding their intrepid resolve to engineer the ingenuity of an artful time without the beguiling artifice eroding every specious gewgaw away along with the prized consequentialism of unheralded heroism that should be bequeathed instead of neglected by the asperity of abominable rejection authored by conventional simpletons marauding with freebooter wealth and ill-gotten gains in pandered exploitation

Tides exist because the moon is the centerpiece of a grand configuration that rivets the earth with eternal lambent light and recondite guidance that withstands the vagaries of modern alienation that pivots upon primal fears and sworn enemies of the gleeful interface of flesh becoming soul and soul becoming flesh the cacoethes of life that refuses to be squelched quietly by benighted ignorance and balkanizing mythmakers who prize useful apostasy over amaranthine integrity to the ultimate veracity of God

Time is the ultimate father of existential doubts but also the solution and gradient of all empirical knowledge and it is the bedrock of primeval constellations that amaze in the foudroyant firmament that has been tested and transcended by the artifacts of modernity but never ceases to flicker with a dainty prestidigitation of the imaginative heart aspiring to be one with cosmogony rather than the insemination of a lamentable lechery with miscegenated and stilted justice

So, when the darkness of solitude and gingerly seances with wraiths of haunted memories clasp you in tenacity and acerbic derision, remember that the perfection of faith is abiding by the precepts that have rollicked and soared upon the convenience of fate without fatalism and determination without determinism
Live life boisterously when the swelling abundance of fruitful generations culminate with felicity and temper the vilification of paragons of the wrong path subside from your countenance and outlook because eternal grace exists to make the sluggish buoyant and the hubristic humble to find a rightful equipoise that exists as a mandala of perfect archetypal divinity

We falter sometimes with venial grievances or dart towards the glossolalia of the glitterati, but this world teaches us that a creative verve and a congenial panache are enough to convey the ultimate beatific goal of any virtual space that exists not just as an inclement test but as a domain for experiments in moral justification of sanctified human communities existing with irenic calm rather than bellicose velocity of depredated pristineness that should always remain inviolable despite the exhaustive nature of combustible finitude

The placid pond of peaceful accord with nature is a staple of a heeded naturalism that seeks the preservation of the sentience of earth and its dalliance with all of the blessed creatures that navigate our seas and our forests and sometimes even our homes as we unite to find communion with the vital energies of animation in a world captured in still life but never forgotten for the staid moments of contemplation that punctuate a good day or flummox a bewildered forest of tribal temptations and the shibboleths of irresponsible stewardship

The wagered war between industry and inferiority is the linchpin of all robust creative endeavors as the nutritive soil inhabited by mustard seeds gets embedded by the bonhomie of prolixity in explicating the stern juxtaposition of livid dastardly discord and beatific redemptive pulchritude… two coexisting forces that gallop by the same circumstantial waggish wits of raillery compounded by the plangent complaints of the oppressed or the exultations of the blessed

Inequity is a primordial condition arbitrated not by a Calvinist determinism but by the apportionment of divine might that is reconciled by the eleemosynary justice of a world quick to forgive and swift in magnanimity that sprawls the canvass of life with the duality of erratic sportsmanship and slugabed acquiescence because the principle of fair charity is incommensurable with the mammon of the selfish but those that transcend mere heroism and find commensurable teleological goals will heal the wounds created by the pesky urchins of infernal origin by the miraculous brunt of technology combined with an attentive tenacity to find the blotches in the tributaries that converge upon an “oceanic oneness” of a virtually infinite universe teeming with life and abounding with the kind of love that makes life worth living

We fight therefore a war that seeks ennobled intellects to wage inveighed invective against the giant tortoise created by the inertia of established monoliths of changeless malversation that stagnates or sabotages the eminence of creative titans because of the credentialed bias of quacksalver apothecaries of protean human manipulation occluding the passage of light to darkened cloisters of poverty and privation

Relics of the ancient law have been pilloried and the stultification of creed is commonplace among the dilettantes of jaundiced freebooting that hitches itself to the yoke of de facto immobility where there would otherwise exist bountiful harvests of friendly gainsay and giddy adventurisms that ameliorate the conditions of the world by the apportioned joy granted with largesse by the visionaries who defied the tropes of their quaint vestigial strictures and gallivanted with punctual temerity towards the favor of the Lord and The Way

Bureaucratic gridlock is the prodrome of an improper concordance with misguided altruism conflated with the boondoggles of trepidation that quivers like a reflexive dependency on banausic pretense hardly worth the limelight of regal consideration because a free-for-all flotilla of endless trinkets proffered by the resourceful but malicious prestidigitation of engorged coffers is not a tenet of true altruism but in fact a malady of duplicitous despotism seeking control in a world ennobled by feral gregariousness rather than huddled conformity around a collectivist bonfire of pilfered dearth
To follow “The Way” is to look beyond pettifoggery in deliberation or the limits of reasonable enumerated consideration and instead to ferret out the sordid from the irreproachable and strike compromise without ontological fault or deontological violation a reclaimed theology modernized and galvanized by not gaudy artificialism but by a generous heap of empathy enriched by the approximation of sympathy that is never certain it knows the boundaries of sentient despair or enlivened beatitude but that is careworn enough to reach the frayed limits of possible consideration that fathoms the prolific wisdom of vicarious destiny

Happenstance often dictates the gamut of opportunity and meted justice sometimes falters on the side of dreary expanses of untenanted time frittered away with either streamlined attempts at etiolated purpose or aimless attempts at vilified destruction of the gambled moments we stake so much in but either way every moment is drenched in redemptive potential to be configured into reclaimed chastity or virtuoso coruscation because few things are irrevocable and many things are instructive in our pursuit of self-actualization

Heap plaudits upon the dreamy dance with creativity in sculpted destinies preordained in the aboriginal abeyance that existed before time itself was a parameter of design and relish the eternal now as the keepsake of placid recompense or dramatic stagecraft designed to amuse but never to deter our purpose through oblivious diversion painted by glibness rather than bedecked with soteriological redemption

Some poltroons stagger through life looking for the crabwise enlightenment of a parceled existence patient to abide by some nomothetic decorum and others dart toward their streamlined destinies with a galloping insistence on the clarity of a clarion purpose to be trumpeted from a perch guarded by bulwarks of sturdy poise enhanced by the bonhomie of righteous solidarity
Those that struggle are tempered by the contingencies of tentative conditions of worth rather than predestined for a vouchsafed failure by design and most people are capable of transcending the wilted anachronisms of dragooning leviathans that withhold autarky to create dependency and trample over divinity to meet expediency in credulous goals that are at odds with viable cohesiveness of design.

The pressures exist to reform our system of codified law not so that it is more procrustean but so that the promethean and herculean forces of nature that enshrine liberty can exert their jaunty exceptionalism for a revived human fraternity in an age of virtualized demassification of loneliness amalgamated by trite rewards for the farcical pretense of banausic conformity exacerbated by the warped genocide of dreamers by utopian conformists who seek nothing more than a tractable pragmatism rather than a capricious diversity of thought, conduct and soldered unity around worthy rather than factitious ideals

The absolutisms of wretched quotidian deliverance from the modern maladies of isolative individuality need to converge upon an outcome that touts some elements of pragmatism but flickers with sempiternal ambitions for livelihood and the faultless regalia of love even when chiseled away at by the bickering of loss and the jaded emeralds of keepsake infatuations evaporating with the cruelty of timeworn contrition and attrition but abnegation only leads to abreaction and the original simpers of inhibition only lead to a glowering lament of what was squandered rather than what was achieved

Seek in life the memorialized glimmer of daunting promises becoming realized certainties that span the ages with timeless wisdom that withstands the vagaries and vicissitudes of aleatory yields that kowtow only to the fertility of gilded opportune purpose rather than the permanence of hallowed relevance to any era beset by portentous pestilence undergirded by groveled heaps of graft or ennobled with swanky prosperity because of the proper apportionment of useful proprieties that are rarefied by sidereal encounters with glitz and chance discoveries of serendipity

The trajectory of divinity is enigmatic because muddled prescience is the prerogative of cherubim that drape themselves with the hedged verdure of secrecy in their furtive attempts to engineer reality but find themselves corrupted by insightful ploys of bonanza guarded by rigmarole and obfuscation commandeered by ignoble wraiths of malicious dereliction bolted to the rudimentary rivets of overriding mammon

Despite this infiltration of sidereal gambits by the sworn benefactors of the progeny of the modern human condition our optimism should graze on the fact that destiny is ultimately the bailiwick of the supreme architect of all axiomatic laws and the lord of all sentient creations that graze upon the pabulum of ascendant times for the barnacles of ingenuity and the creatures of generosity whose largesse enlarges the scope of human endeavors and creates a cyclical expansion of the imaginative prowess of all beings through the tug and tide of dreams that become more extravagant over time because of or despite cultural enrichment or decline

The new paradigm is convalescent because it swerves away from both erratic wretched apathy of destructive manipulation or glorified embalmed foofaraw for sedentary immobility and dares with picaresque flair to challenge the authenticity of established narratives not with a paltry antinomian cavil or a slick Astroturf protest but with a strident mentality of newfangled inventiveness and careful altruism that vouchsafes the decline of opprobrium and the renewal of the righteous pursuit of happiness that extends beyond fugacious memories of judgmentalism that is self-neglectful but of second chances of munificence offered freely to the barnacles of just deeds and proper words
Starlight Jul 2018
He crunches fragile fingers on brittle panes,
Eyes wide and glassy, nose flaring at the smell of blood,
He tells himself he does not do it for the pain,
No, he begs, he does it for the colour.

A crimson dark red that he can find in nothing but blood,
He paints with it, large murals of torturous beauty,
Portraits of forgotten loves and most brutal enemies,
All traced with the gorgeous acrylic, eyes deep with the brutality of raw blood.

He is a criminal, an agent of deception under his own skin,
He is a cliché, forged from misperceptions and guilt he tries not to read into,
Dark hair falls in knots, thick with dried blood just like him,
Thick with blood, waiting to be dried.

He smells the metallic paint on his skin,
Tinged with iron and red rusted mistrust,
Unbelievable in its simplicity,
Blood, plain and simple, straight from the source.
*might trigger, please don't read if it'll hurt you
Ken Pepiton Jun 2024
----------


We are spotted and blemished and
ring straked herds of milkable critters,

we are modifiable metaphors for
fountains of milk and honey, from
the other side, breathing in and out,

thinking jello seen through,
to the bubble of me, from the one
of you, in the discernible pixels one
adjusts to ignore as the knowledge

milk of conscious multi-tasking,
driving and paying attention

to a bubble popping book,
a Yucca… in jellotime thought form,

takes centuries for some to bloom,
children believe, because why
would the giant yuccas be
called century plants, if
not because they only bloom once

in three generations to be seen,
as a spikey life form familiar,

in the live and let live desert,

where we eat the snakes we ****.

Which causes jellotime to glup up

a contrasting hueristic to guage
color critical shades of orininating
emotions, also known as answers

matching evidence accepted as its
self, as so, we see, it is, these words

connect at attention applied, a hook,
a will to have a go and making sense,

in timeless pastless points,
as art, around the time disease,
and misperceptions, such enforce,
hold that breathe
thought
as truth as manifest cruelty of mighty
blobs of solid right to stand still
and firm, a we form, from ancient
orders,
used to form first informers, thus
inventing us, after dancing to explain,

some where, in your learning control,
taking hold of yourself, see the shape

we may perceive, as we, the payers
of attention needed to twist these

threads, fine
spiderkites from the pines, common

at lattitudes about a third of the way
up the sphere's gravitational truth
compressing core, living idea, life
at planatary participant level,

poet, po. Poe, ever, more avsinthesis
m'dear, Frankly, whether Einstein
or Ben, said it, compounding,
interest in flim flam,
shaking it down, and pressing it
into stone, on which a you are forms
of us as others, redcoats fighting freedom

living legos, universal, and one use,
life is like that, and we the new ones,

we adapt to our techknowlogos, as such,
informing our selves of news and sighns,

signaling
slow down
you read to fast, this is doubt, the feature,
consciously functioning as qwerty guy, key

element of know how, indirectly hanging
by a thread in 'cient science, finding ling-

ering tastes, and effects from kissing,
stretching tongues intuitively knowing

this is what they mean,
or meant, that is, back when, it was said

that forty million frenchmen, could not
be wrong,
about how we gonna keep down
on the farm,
after they've tasted the happy place,
and tickled a childish fascination
with words

and a will, to make light of the dread,
said by many orders of left mind tyrants,

spiritual exercises in will worship,
worth of a warrior learning
there is no easy day,

popping
into my bubble. Easy entry, plop\

into the jellotime you had in mind,
when the whole idea shivered,

like a little rolling green hill,
seen from the clouds, of course,

we have Google's first score, point
one in the assisting intelligence
user's credo, be doers first,

of nothing evil, follow ons,
all your choice, the weapons used

to pull down strongholds,
mighty fortress forces repelling
efforts to fit one trick legos into

monstrosities as effective as
George's Dragon, or my puff tincture,

in the world of wonderful make believe,

tune in, drip. Drip. Slip into the ABC years,
percolater rythm
post recordible television, black and white,
during Disney-ification drills, preceded
by prelingual exposure to Fantasia,

reigning next oldest memory for which
valid links to now exist, occurred
at the White Rock Courts

during the years after 1948,
and a half,  after Fantasia,
was in local theaters,

and GI Bills was not kicking enough,
for rent in Phoenix and driving,
back and forth up one side,
down the other, old mind
river she keep aggin' us on,

she's no devil, no siree,
that wombedman, she got papers on me.

and wise wizardry between jewels
as bright as earth seen from a distance,

as we all oughta know, by now,
as a hitchhiker's angel once said,

yes, sidereal, crossing the Mohave
at night, … pick the road
from Vegas, two lanes, double yellow lines,

easy for my cars lights to show, so I know,
I am on the right side of this thing,

this mound of telling stories found
looted of all but the ghosts
of its chances taken, on mob made rules.
The Delusion of Crowds, and Robinhood writer meme extraction,
taking out the history entertaining my collected trophy points,
I acknowledge new knowns used first right, here.
starting at re-co-knowin what this means ? Wise as that serpent,
harmless as the dove first timid in any tale told long enough/
.
it was just that the rain reminded me of you
and I had to hold all the unspoken words
and all my tangled web of misperceptions without clarification in a bag
apart from what you are
who you are
who knows who you are

and I hold what you might think of me in a bag, too

and I know the mind cannot arrive at truth
it can only circle around the field  
and drive itself dizzy
until it collapses

so I close my eyes and try to sense
what does not have words
Avast emotional gulf manifested; courtesy
series of unfortunate events; sundered
biologically accorded, cherished, enshrined
paternal bond; resultant dereliction defies,
justifies, ratifies...dissonance; unbearable
hindsight excoriates impropriety reviewing

***** deeds done dirt cheap; impossible mission
to excise indelibly etched psychological
impacted repercussions upon mine fountainhead;
weighing excruciating deserved self loathing;
permanently deplorable depravity yoked;
unyielding choke hold, no longer asking

forgiveness, but airing errant culpability;
dada's guilt indefensible impropriety; begetting
permanent fallout; exacting just desserts; bitter
regret beast of burden (oxe see *****) housed
within self made villain; unjust to impinge your
providential opportunities, whose blessed smarts

plus unfettered, unencumbered, undaunted...
daring do promise productive existence par
excellence, versus anxiety riddled torturous
legacy writ large across countenance this papa;
analogously das scribe bing mortal epitaph, while
dark shadows haunt this edgy rusty knight, who

once pawn time shrugged off mischievous
lascivious actions as payback; recognizably erred;
misperceptions (mine); deduced ex post facto,
when the missus doled out unpleasantries;
exploding anger; vented regarding significant
roiling perturbations harkening to her own

unrepentant poisonous stinging toxicity;
delivered courtesy birth parents; hands lack
king awareness to rock cradle with tender
loving care, hence burdened with childhood
tsoris prior to accepting yours truly as life
contra dance partner these preceding xxii+

years avoiding unseemly behavior; aware
that the mother of our two darling daughters
doth love and forgive me, though recouping
similar results with first offspring may remain
tense, and many years past not a happy camper.
em Nov 2020
the truth about life is that
there is no truth
truth is just reality
of which there are 8 billion
possible perceptions
conceptions, deceptions
8 billion possible ways and misperceptions
to live and love and hate
the truth about life
is that the humans are always
living, loving, dying
hating and creating
fighting back
biting back
moving forward and left and right
but never backwards
predisposing, decomposing lives of
salt
the truth about reality
is that we take comfort in
the niceties of bright cities
in the shouts of 7 million men
because we cannot stand the sound of
our own voice
the truth about reality is the
commonality between brutality and love.
the truth is a girl who is berated by the blacklist
just because she kissed her
that Love is not allowed
her fear becomes a cloud
as she walks into a crowd she knows can ****
the truth is the black man who is handed a gun
told by the cowars who never see the sun
end it all to get the job done
Handed the best key to death and told to have fun
"places like that are for people like you"
society works in one mind
Blind to scripted history
Back of the bus was so 1960's
lets have em go to hell.
Color created the hate people think they need
to win
the black man could live in a house of gold
but it only matters the color of his skin.
the girl could find a cure for cancer
but she doesn't get the chance her
mind is sick.
The truth about reality is the commonality
between brutality and love.

— The End —