Does veiled cosmos swathed in cosmic foam dream,
Do galaxies in murmur birth their light,
Do stars in quasar flares and dreams then seem
To long for worlds that thirst for infant light.
In voids hum seeds of Chronos’ woven scheme,
Do clusters spin like gyres to seek a role,
Does spacetime’s fabric fold to weave a theme,
A fractal tapestry devours the whole.

Do barren worlds dream brines where life might grow,
Does life envision choices not yet made,
Does life in dreams contemplate joy and woe,
Does life foresee all paths that fade to shade.
Does life remember flames from which we came,
Does life imagine actions left undone,
Does life feel past and future burn the same,
Does life count stars while choosing only one.

Do all these dreams compress to one small sprawl,
What do they say of him who dreamed us here,
Is there a line between the dream and all,
Or does it vanish when we look more near.
Is all of time a Möbius we trace,
Do endless fractals break before they join,
Does ever rhythm fold back into space,
Do strings of fate converge to point and coin.

Do cells in night consult their core machine,
Do mitochondrial fires desire more sight,
Do atoms dream of wonders yet unseen,
Is this entangled dance our secret rite.
Do quarks in shadows whisper things below,
Do neutrinos in silence come and flee,
Do bosons dance to songs we do not know,
Do wave and particle just try to be.

And still we kneel before new gleaming screens,
Replace the cross with profits’ shameless flow,
We swipe and pray for signal’s blessed beams,
Our offerings to brands we barely know.
We scroll for salvation in our feed,
Our selfie liturgy hides voids below,
We worship updates, join the market’s speed,
Yet still we lack the gifts that faith bestow.

Our science masks its sorcery from sight,
Faith taught us morals, wisdom, guided ways,
Secular sirens coax the self to bite,
To feed consuming hunger night and day,
Belief in profit robs the people’s light,
And makes the marketplace our church of praise.
We sanctify the accident as right,
Though interest and peril write the plays,
We hail it progress, heedless of its price,
Our blindness feeds the system as it stays,
We trade our souls for gilded vice’s hot spice,
And lose the harvest in controlling rays.

After these dreams and altars, what’s remain,
Do we still seek some meaning true and pure,
Or do we circle back to dream again,
A spark endures in slumber ever pure.
Can hope sustain the circle’s endless chain,
Or will it settle in forgotten mist,
May love and wisdom yet again remain,
And may the cosmos whisper we are kissed.

Drips and drops of lab-tested fluids
pouring lipids in curves all over the place
while pops and pangs of tiny cells
bubble and fizzle in petri disks and flasks
regurgitating out strands of fine DNA
mix and synthesis of unusual entities
bubbling cauldrons of chemical ritual
give rise to spells of mystic creation
boldly configuring new organic oddities
from lab nonsense to ancient theory
mitochondrial splits and caverns
entries into the unknown of man's babble
for the fine and final production of science's silk
that which is life
and undeniable to our being
so creation can forever stand tall and strong
in the triumphant art of recreation

familial fractal
mitochondrial pieces of self-similarity
irregular patterns of DNA
each piece clearly resembling the whole
mirroring mirrors
an illness in the matriarchy
reflecting on each member
rippling and radiating
in family circular airwaves
time disrupted
suspended in hope
souls standing still
so quiet you can hear a heartbeat

thoughts, prayers and well wishes
pouring out to fill in the gaps
of uncertainty
pillars of strength in my weakness
as I drown myself in caloric comfort
I’m not too good with life and death
haven’t had much practice
we’ve been lucky

energy’s vibrations
the universe’s common thread
everything is part of everything
each person a contributor to the whole of society
each person contributing to the soul of the individual
psychologically, spiritually, physiologically
we affect each other in ways
not immediately apparent
truly, everyone is part of everyone
connected in oneness
your outpouring of kindness reminds me of that

The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!

The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N

Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients

the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
augmented
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche

by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.

meta reason, reasoning about reason

Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity

pre Elon's musky exuberance

explore the tree of possibility without ever
learning---

when can one imagine that after now?

no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
we
grow
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.

Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.

Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt

there
was another kind
of intelligence..."

If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.

she is wearing some chemistry
an old dress for a bluestocking
she turns her face towards a green sea
new rhymes for blazing verbs lurk
in the definition of imprecision but
everything is falling into place
cell to cell conversations afloat
shards of mystery smooth
rounding out the caves of night
mirror wars meanders
mitochondrial Eve confused
into this new creature
saturated with radiance

questions not asked
but answeared
how you love her
do your hands chase
her tango shoulders
is there music inside
the shade of water
waste inside nails
naivete in knees imprisoned
vibration self-asserting

a devious sweeping world
of unthinkable gestures
your hands a seismograph  
for the cataclism of shiver
no need to search for
her selfless sense
as you ravening negotiate
the fossilized song of you
the depth of this tympanum
this membrane
time itself this creature
zoon erotikon
levellling up resurecting
ravaging enchanting

all the rites of passage
for the overwhelm of flavor
she breathes in prehistoric gills
nirvana dance inside DNA
you redefine your sharpness,
delicacy tears & tearing
she dissapears in a snare drum
sanity evaporates as mist
over arched forests
in the pulse of no air
in between skin and akin
in the bewilderment of bodies
searching for their lyric
manna for beautiful beasts
over the sargasso sea

she wails genuine
metanoia, love's dianoia
no disambiguation

~

news reels of stock footage spin endlessly behind my eyes
grainy black and white headlines flash
strobing faces find me through the rotation and
stare into my eyes through static and filter
rich sienna waterfalls spill over pale lids
as I realize they cannot be saved

skin and soil carry ancestry through mitochondrial links
this commonality ends with each new crime
        shivering controllers pull tighter rare and endangered fur
        coats and scarves     mittens and hats
        they see brilliance in our separation and live
        like vampires on disunity and hate

each day the echoes reverberate with the crying
cold grey cave walls my only comfort against the noise
an olive drab tattered backpack with empty canned food cans and
a broken hatchet handle matches my mood
as I wonder aloud to no one…
How did you not all see this coming?

VERNARTH
Monastic  Cell

Vernarth begins to describe:
"This magnificent monastic complex dominates the island, and the old settlement of Chorá, associated with it, is home to many religious and secular buildings, where the famous pressurization of the inspiring forces of the Beloved Disciple is present, in this place he will reside in the sacred year 95 AD. AD, with his Gospel and the Apocalypse. A monastery dedicated to the "beloved disciple" was founded there in 1088 by Hosios Christodoulos Latrinos and has been a place of Greek Orthodox pilgrimage and teaching ever since.

Spilaion Apokalypseos (Cave of the Apocalypse) Many architectural changes have undergone over 900 years, adapting to changing political and economic circumstances. It has the outward appearance of a polygonal castle with battlements flanked by towers. It also houses a remarkable collection of manuscripts, icons, and liturgical objects and works. The primitive elements, which date back to the 11th century, are the catholicon (main church) of the monastery, the chapel of Panagia and the refectory. The north and west sides of the inner courtyard are surrounded by the white walls of the cells, and on the south side stands the Tzafara, a two-tier arcade in dressed stone, built in 1698. The outer narthex of the catholicon forms the east side. . Halfway up the steep path from Skalá to Chorá is the Cave of the Apocalypse (Spilaion Apokalypseos), where, according to tradition, Saint John dictated the Book of Revelations and his gospel to his disciple Prochoros. This sacred place attracted several small churches, chapels and monastic cells, thus creating an interesting architectural ensemble. ”
They continue in this set of phenomena towards the definitive mediation of the cavern by means of the inspirational illumination of the conduit of the ****** of the hundred doors or church of the hundred doors, declaiming the Panagia with the hermit and his disciple Prochoros, with remarkable whispers of the Blue Cormorant that he brought from La garriga; from a nearby ecoregion with plant formations emerging in the biomes of the Mediterranean forests, to incense all the white walls of the cells where the hermit led them walking together with two monumental candle torches. From here this cormorant will transport all the bioclimatic zones of the ecosystem, to constrain the Tytillinus embryo to be swallowed by it, predominantly to forget about its concept of egg as an oviparous generation of temptation and to be anchored to the plant site as an original species. . This blue cormorant is a superlative factor in the context of changing the cephalization of this demon-monster in the collective consciousness of the grotto and its shed.

They transpose the Tzafara, where the cormorant perches lavishly moving its head like a spasm in its neck to the northern north, illuminating its crimson green eyes. Destining his penances for the narthex as an open portico until the exonarthex, here the multiplied figure of Tytillinus would increase, appearing to be dominant before them, but all remained cohesive and closely united in paleo Christian rosaries, to re-infuse the forces of fear transferred to this invader.

Thus being able to reach the hemisphere of the mound that comes from Skalá, in front of them the Spilaion Apokalypseos grotto in Katapausis. You could see how the crystals of unhappiness turned into high-grade psalms of translucent stained-glass crystals of extremely shameful colors. Vernarth carried in his hand a Sheesham box with purisms and essences of the temple earth that he was building, he carried his magnificent thoughts inside the catholicon tied in his arms of the quarterdeck, where the raw solvents of the past wars as Military Commander oozed.
In front of the cave they all perch. Vernarth will inaugurate the Quadrivium whose four paths; They would group disciplines related to mathematics, geometry, astronomy and music as a study curriculum for the uprising of species and their preservation for centuries and centuries. Linked to the tracks or roads; grouping grammar eloquence and helping to speak, with dialectics to help search for the truth, and rhetoric coloring the words. Thus they understood the grammar, dialectic, rhetoric and its elementary figures and the three Trivium routes attached as a whole on this pilgrimage as they were already in front of the hermitage of the Saint. Raeder, Petrobus and Eurydice move their anxious feet with a few bars of Laziko, thus throwing from the ground with their feet the particles of thousands of years inseminated by the adjacent atmosphere towards the theological philosophical goal of the spirits satisfied to join them in the masses in proportion to the weight of their mobile talents, applying makeup like millennia to each other ..., parading before them.

Orpheons of the lowlands of Patmos were felt entering through the holes of the roof of the cavern, in communion to join them in the compas of this beautiful melody that diverged from all the original immaculate accents of the gifts along with the original of the Holy disciple. The petrified lotophagous mushrooms walked swiftly along the walls through the deviant Trojan ships, towards where the Trinidadian music descended from the roof, bruising the oversized apricots of the candlesticks, dazzling the other walls full of figurative tapestries of conceptual and iconographic images. Vernarth sang the Almara, an insistent retrograde song that invoked the entire community of Skalá and surroundings to join them through the arena sliding down the face-to-face gorge of the Katapausis, imbued in the mega center of the redoubled canticos of their own gorges, cloning the flat voices of the unknown mezzo vocal origin. Saint John only Vernarth allows him to enter his monastic cell, the others remain in the anteroom, pouring holy water and touching the hyper-curled walls of Chytridiomycota mushrooms that became voluminous in the immortal reflections of the vivid glow, to gather them to follow his insistent pastoral voice to a meadow of prominent demarcation step with its dynamic Laziko. Vernarth places in his hands a thick and heavy sacred medal, which will allow him to cease his lamentations and processes of Excessive occultism, before the heavy solitude procreated on his new face in rictus of joy and smiles in rounds of healing, beyond all predictions of his avatars and proselytes.


Vernarth goes on to describe:
A large amount of stress accumulated due to damage to the mitochondria that respond to the DNA that preserved the genetic material niche itself in a different way from that of the nucleus in the cavern, managing to dissipate after auscultating with the Quadrivium, detecting that a large part of the volumes manuscripts and iconographies were reactivated to other books as guests, to make them a living portrait for the tissue of the organism that parasitically inhabited the cavern walls. Inquiring an organized mitoconuclear communication. If they fail to resolve the mitochonuclear mtDNA breaks, before the radiosities of the celestial diaphragm, a dysfunction will be triggered that will affect the cells and tissues of the host, on all manuscripts and iconographies. These mitochondrial genomes will examine their function in the area of organic cellular spatiality, therefore the ideas obtained of incompatibility will remove all the saprophytic material from the rough trails of the demon granule Tytillinus, to exile it to the confines of its eco-region, where it lives unnaturally abandoned.

An evanescent canonical source alluding to this stay in Patmos will reveal to them through the roofs of all the houses of Skalá, mentioning through the mouth of the Eremita: “I, John, your brother and partner in the tribulation, in the kingdom and in the patience of Jesus I was on the island called Patmos because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. I was in spirit on Sunday when I heard behind me a great voice like a trumpet saying: '' Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches (Rev 1: 9-11). Moist winds licked all the roofs changing the nuances and morning faces, proclaiming the new secular kingdom. ” The most detailed source, continues to deny his parchment although already in late popular event, on his stay in Patmos are the apocryphal Acts of John, attributed to his disciple Prochorus. In them it is told how Juan and his disciple looked for a quiet place with a cave where they spent ten days of fasting. Subsequently, John sent Procorus to buy papyri and ink, and for two days dictated to his disciple the text of the revelation. Later the saint would entrust his disciple with a noble copy on parchment. The Golden Legend makes practically no reference to these moments, except for a mention that "he was entrusted with having confidentially known some arcane and profound things, such as the divinity of Jesus Christ and the end of the world".

The apostle appears on the spot presenting Vernarth with writing as a sacred office, also to commission future parchments for his future prophecies, and ink on a scroll or codex resting on his knees or on a desk. He also boasts showing him the writing tools (calamus, inkwell, rasorius, cornua) that are usually also reflected in considerable detail in the decals of his fingered golden fingers, accompanying the eagle, symbolically within the set of the tetramorphs of the old testament. Here Vernarth takes his face in compassion when he learns that his hermit master acquired the appearance of an octogenarian appearing accompanied by his disciple Prochorus, showing him the streaks, singing to them with the ninety years since he was exiled. It is a subject of late consolidation, very frequent in the late medieval manuscripts that contain this book or fragments of it, especially the books of hours where the image of the saint abounds on the island accompanied by the eagle, allusion to the apocalyptic living, and with much Frequently, of an imp that throws the inkpot or hides the calamus and that many authors have identified with Titivillus, a medieval demon who was credited with spelling errors in books and mistakes in prayers in order to win souls for Lucifer. The first reference that is had of this terrible demon is in the Tractatus of Penitentia of John of Wales, which dates from the year 1285, which will be evidenced in the framework of this stratagem entrenched in Vernarth's career as a Macedonian warrior, and that he would bring with this odeón the detuned song that would rule those who cultivate the art of sound near luminous beings prone to lose faith, as well as those who represent here as Tytillinus, vast evil oppressor of those who look at sacred scriptures affecting their eyes, as a sign of peeling of degraded human eye skin.
The others appearing were outside in a shed, all very close to each other, just waiting for the order to leave. Suddenly they see a brilliant blue waving light, which was coming down on them, it was an eagle coming towards them as a signal to tell them that Vernarth was coming back, to go to go with them to their rooms and continue with their daily tasks.

Under edit / continue

your heart does not need to be torn; it just grows how it knows.
it's contracting
it's branching
it's intercalating

because it likes to hustle!
it's a very special muscle,
it's a mitochondrial tissue
with a workaholic issue.

Hey, don't let anyone hurt you
the way your first loves did.

strength does not come from malleability
it's noncompliance
it's resistance
it's defiance

you deserve better
You will obey,
but never learn.
You could do better

Hey, don't give anyone power
the way your governments did.

worth does not evolve from filth
it's reconstructed
it's degraded
it's consumed

like the vapor pressure pulling water into clouds,
your heart can absorb all it wants.
like the turgor pressure pulling life through a plant,
you'll be full enough to avoid wilting and desiccation.

Don't confuse sharp stabs of self loathing
With the heart's aching throb of emptiness.
Only one is flexion for glory, bending in hunger
The other is not love. It will snap you in half.

the ship was underwater before it could be properly evacuated
and i was drunk in the captain's quarters with a switchblade to his throat
he missed a spot when he was shaving that morning and i
offered my services

a spot on the canvas of my mitochondrial conditioning
my dendrites receive no stimulation as i laugh so i feel nothing as usual

crack my clenched teeth in a practice of proper response eliciting
reinsert the breathing tube and rip the catheter out of me
no

We all get rich, it fixes every thing, c'mon

Initial Public Offering.
Made inclusively to
all the children of all the wombed men,
but one,
by now, none else, for eons, unmarked
save in ashes under ancient tells,
none of these people, these *** of the gods,
and the one,
daughter of man who signed off on this story.

-live forever-

Thinking attracting needs,
deeds done that send funds, to wipe debt from mind.
Bring the wizard,
strip him bare, grind him  to gore and gristle,
bone blood and all the biles, shake it up,
jiggle in the sack of skin, watchit
burst and puddle
in the flame,

is this pyrex? See

Bunsen burning in my brain, a mixture now,
oh wow
Schmachten-burger, cheese, *** of enlightened
hippie jews, shapers shaped in common fashion,
after the sixties finished, there arose guides to the goy
who knew nothing of the mystery,
save that Alice Toklas was not gay, in the Nineties way

Oy-vey, cultural appropriation, Jah, Jah is ours, as you
well know, we have esoterica galore, here buy
a mezuzah, ya, gutglück - all ah, ala phylacteries
raditional-rootish,
and these use that same parchment, goat skin,
very kosher halal and all, done
under strictest supervision, seeing super see, is
something the literate,
Phoenicians, Shem shah-mans, and their accountants,
first
discovered the territory within the skull of man,
was open to other minds,
in matters of wit
inventions'nshit, set a will to a way, watch,

come the future, we are famous…
who invented the wheel?

watch, watch, it winds around, a motion, anchored
to a plain truth in the left cerebral sorting station,
reflecting back,
******-rectumly linearly right co- oh, I see

cor-rect or co-recht, co-right, if nobody's wrong.

But there is no hateful god who made hell for those
who,
honed as honed may be, in punctual efforting
so
sharp, even on thorny issues,
motes
floating in the occular consomme,
slightly briney aqueous humor,

ha

to make a point in time to pierce anything
in my way

see clear,  plumb the depths truth's base idea,
some things wish vehemently to be known,
must-er-ion, quest, ionic tipping
point whence the ring of eight
slips a point, and specs call
ion ion whither went thee?
ion, zion sion, see the gleam,
golden oil,
yes,
yes indeed, I did, I did pray
for this,
or something sorta like it,

peace on earth, good will toward man,
reconciliation complete perceived as done.

Can you hear me?
Did I lose loose links to long lies, left tied
to the stakeholders souls?

When did we realize the difference?
It must have taken years, and now, we see, match
the noses,
the eyes, or deeper even, look into the whites
of their mother's eggs…

see and know, or trust me, I know,
one wombed man's children, one,
the officially loneliest number. One
wom'man, woe,
science,
not Genesis, or Enuma Elish,
or the story from Braiding Sweetgrass,

but, old, old stories, told, once, at least,
by a witness,
-- it was as if the bone and all it was,
was altered, by a bit, a Y got a leg, or lost one,
I do not know, but bone of my bone,
was that one little bit,
more in one way, at the stem, and as branching
began, the one had daughters, who bhor daughters,
while from that generation forward,
the many others,
bore no children of any breathing form,
soon,
for this was not so long ago, mitomom, you know,
she had sisters and cousins and aunts
and a mother who had a mother
and a father who had a mother.
None
of the eggs in those wombs, ever lived to now,
but the eggs of the one wombed man we must
accept, she who shaped all after ever began
that instant when,
only one line remained, and there was no war.
No reason, at the time, but soon
in geo time,
we grew apart, branching on rivers
when we found them on our journeys from the east

- I think she
was likely deep dark brown, she links me to you,
stem cell level
and below,
logos in touch,
the code of silence. A cone, yes, the cone
of silence,
rolled from fool'scap, common in the great leaps
forward,
through the ages, as sons and daughters were born,
but
once,
something occurred,
a virus, or a leaven, or fish, perhaps,
rancid oil while the child waited for its form
to form in the wombed man, now known
as mom. She,
Mitochondrial source of the code that keeps us alive.
The same basic way batteries in blood
have been made since knowing
clickt.

Universes, realms of human reasons, piled in
lattice work bits and pieces,
joints and joiners,
that fit in particular places to form certain shapes
of things to come,
it is all very miniaturized, nano nano scale…

yes, did you know him, Mork?
I never did.

_ he does that so you don't think him arrogant,
ashamed to admit the use of the mind of christ
in a secular win the game way.

But what the hell, knowing ain't cheating, if you know
what's right,

wanna place a wager on the Robinhood IPO?
I gotta plan, see…
we go into such and such a city, we buy, we sell,
---intshallah
but this is the secret,
we sell debt,
you owe me, right, it works, it always works,
give and it is given unto you,
pressed down,
running over -- goods and services, nothing taxable
or tithe-able,
riches with no sorrow, added.

You interested? One time buy in. Two bits.

Thorough, and thoroughly,

Nearly through, throughly true. If ifity fit ifity fit, pfft. Pfft,

Ifity fit not, no fit no fit, wait, sh-it fits, in time, today

-thoughtless of me, wordless, wait ‘but through...’ word. text

-we need e- lectric, mind, appawareness usually clicks time

Was a word as all words are, mere after thought, mere means to points with no lines in reason

We must record this moment, we the scribes and proper scholars, art’s great sifters, shifting screens and lenses,

Lo' looking loci-precise, sharp, pattern
- memory verses versus Youtube.

From a long forgotten dance.

In time we have no long ago, after ever – does what ever does – you know,

Just, justice, just makes no real

Sense one may take as common, as where all is fair, yes, es-sense, knowing more than mere names of things seen. Sounds, reasonable, eh.

If you bring a reason, to the table, why... would you expect to win a reasoning contest?

Writer chose heads. You give a reason, we test it on history, and lead your learning based on attention paid patterns over time. Ai is on our side. Life is openbook.

Do you think? Why can you read these letters literally only forms of sounds words would make, if you

Stop, Look, Listen, train town brain, mindfullness, oh yes, fashionable, aware being as a ware,  
YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE

Selah.  

Page Break


After a full life, per each idle word in books that burned, lifes works that burned in time,

All the songs copied for the choir, all the poor scriveners treasures, burned, as by

Midnight oil, from the brain pan of a great blue whale... back when

Capitalization, o, a ver-ified manmental tool to frame course corrections...

means (n.)

"course of action,"  
late 14c.,  
from mean (n.); sense of "wealth, resources at one's disposal for accomplishing some object" is recorded  
by c. 1600. Compare French moyens, German Mittel. Phrase by no means is attested from late 15c. Man of means is from 1620s. Means-test  
"official inquiry into the private resources of an applicant for public funds" is from 1930.

1 aha footnotes have been invented for poets...

Ok. You set the style, I wish this to be easily read, on any powered page displaying device. {yeah, who owns the air? This is published for peer review, ears hear, ah, then attend} Was it good for you?

-some times

Some times iusta dissipate

And that we find amusing, amaze

Zoom, doom, doom, freeways,

Free mean path. Why factored.

The advantage of being old by any standards common in history. Our species lives about this long, in the realm of measured things.

--- In the cultural patterns, vibes, radio active ifery evers

Candide, the referee and me.
Information, where we reign, really

Leibnizian reasons for evil.

Truth, as life’s mean free path.

-Voltaire, definitely, might agree with Heisenberg.

If it were ever said.

Evil is the best worst outcome,

Chaos is not evil, chance is best

Judge, we need to seem fair.

The wall in Shiloam, answering the reasoning of Voltaire, on the air,

Imagine that. Footnotes. Or xv

Ctrl x, then v, besure

I say exactly the same thing

… to dissolve the political bands which have connected them {the we} with another, and  
to assume  
among the powers  
of the earth, the separate and equal station  
to which the Laws  
of Nature and  
of Nature's God entitle them,  
{when all that occurs,  

in the course  

of human events,  

we are yet in, it seems,  

time being as it is,  

SYFT- fit slipt} {Balaam’s *** has the curley braces- note that} {} for vocalization...

-Yes, when in this course, of course... what were we agreeing... as this we,

- go on... say why


a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. {same we}

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, -

Ok, that gets us 1000.

Here, just west of the Pacific Crest, we all are in constant contact, in touch state, stated

Wait. 5G is, livewitit.

Nonsense, this is not the rescue mission statement.  

We are here for fun. Peace is fun. Makesum.

What we do, we, soldiers of the ancient orders, duty bound and regimentally religamental, do & die with honor to the code. We,  
the people who know how to believe all men are created equal to the task,  wombed or un, we die knowing
failure is no option, there is no longer any other ever this is before.

---- did that occur in your ever?

@ today, 2022 tehkne- of course, freedom at the quantum level must be means-tested, mmmhmmm tested, measured for sensitivity to we, being the judges... we who chose freedom, down low, deep pro-fundus-mundus lizard brain, mitochondrial link, yeh,

Phoneme, yah, who, yes, at best is spirit one may deem worth something, a breath, may being
may, as a word described, an action, being... here, mere is

As God is said to be described by Jesus, in the good news,

Made plain enough, to build a whole plethora of reasons for war.

War with reason, by faith, or by the code, that which must be true?

Drama, the idea, information acted out, without words,

Mimes in boxes, you know, you can admire the best performances, and thus imagine a purpose, break dance contests in the joint.

Yeah, and poetry slams, no curses, no spells

When I grow up... I’ coulda been a contender, any contest,

If it ever came down to life and soul, I never bet my soul, I bet yours, and I live,

So see if sense is all mortals imagine, or not... spirit- ual ‘n’al.

The event, perhaps
advent, first ever any thing,
where nothing had  been, not a thought.

I think.
Then, when nothing was over
and everything we know now,
began, light
was not the first thing, the idea was.
Be for
Yes.
Word one. Hmmmmm or um or am
it may have been, I heard from
a transcribbled  myth
or a legend as old as any
meme-level memory mortals have
made-up from remaining
tidbits taught to any next gen thing.
Look.
Assume light is as fast as the expansion,
couple of Planksecs,
and it is at the edge of ever,
never before,
never busting beyond the bubble we be in,
dead center,
the physical middle of ever,
continuous now,
nothing to stop us imagining we,

disagree, now, after all's been said and done,
and things run on,
de iffing chaos as the live evil force itself,
ever teaching any mind co-operation
in time… swirling beauty in bands of invisible
galaxies, barely seen even now, we
see what we are told we see,
enhanced
and expanded to
original intent, at the scale of precision, which
now requires
of those who wish
to know truth init's entirety,
faith in the wits who invented the lenses
we imagine we see through into-ity ever
………..
This day began this way. Everything already,
readable, as it were, once, with us,
before our story folded,
stapled and refolded and bent to allow
the data-based
mass enlightenment I deal with now,
mere data,
knowledge, knowns known more
than I may think or ask,
available on our distant viewing apparatchik
network of nova sensorium's newest equations
that balance at perfectly predictable
infinity… or do not work.
Pop. Bubble after bubble falling
through the quantum foam.
Come on home.
Live and learn, do the math.
Or wait to see
somethings never mattered
up to now, and now, you know,
you did, some how. That's good.

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

here we are, after all.
On course, of course;
here has more spectrums to be on.
here has more curves to miss,
here has
turns that twist us back to
now,
sudden- seeming
now, still
wow
is near the only value add
we ever hope to hear.
Cold or hot or just
right, fine
sifted patterns from the echo, wa wa wa

did we get so serious we lost the place
we held
positive on a negative pole,
an aberrant position
erring ever from
the straight point to point pattern
of pro gression to non
aggressive agreement in the we we were
- per haps, as babies we were thought
coyotes, little devils of trickery wu,
so we were swaddled in goat' wool,
to provoke this itching and pre
vent this whole idea, you
thinking wild,
unpacked
unglossed abnormal canine thought…

like a dog, dreaming of the chase.

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

----------------------
Only chase real rabbits, that's
Greyhound wisdom.

Pookas are always worth the chase,
real or otherwise, if you see one,
chase it.
--------------------------
On the bus,
or off, Cassidy was a character,
sure as any in literature,
an archetypical untamed man,
crazy,
by most accounts, possessed
with a wish to die young,
and be famous for ever having been
a penniless drunkard's form of a man,
an unnatural scion of lost and beaten men.
------------
So, that spirit lingered… in my past that
ran to catch me here
today, in the pattern recognizant

aha, I know
this voice… I knew that spirit,
merry prankster splashing in Burro Creek,
before the bridge existed,
oblivious to quick sand my mother
warned me to be aware of,
as she had learned the hard way,
…remember
there is solid rock below the mud,
hold your breath.
--- a new me --
Burro Creek, survivor of the crossing,
since ever was.
------------------------

Survival is always good news.
Mission accomplished, it is finished, fini.
Peace on earth, good will
to ward men {wombed and un}.
That is a message, an angel, judge it.
They call that
The gospel, in my realm.
It is finished is considered grace.
The truth makes free, grace makes useful.
Infinite grace, with a bit of funny math
for making nextifiy tests, t'
keep the kids sharp.
-- slow lane -- this is…

The good spell, I tell my self I know.
News,
from nearer than we can imagine
possible, posited
in a place called here, at that
point, nearer than we
thought, here
where I exist, the ego me, floating
on that same old ocean of opinions,
lapping at my shore.

This must be that sea, they think
is where all eventualities
congregate to wait
for everything
to finish the pattern, to the nick
in the stick that told us when
to begin, this
once, once more.

I was convinced.
I was never invincible, to my defense,
I built the wall that hides my best
from pride's envaluing scheme,
best of the lot,
without spot or blemish,
make this the one we take,
leave the ring-straked, spotted and speckled.

Holy is pure. Pure is white.
Uh-oh.
This is where we find the stragglers,
carrying the cross of Jesus,
while marching,
as to war.

We sang that song in public school,
when music was a given need
each allegiant took to heart,
Onward Christian Soldiers,
-- mind wanders
----------------------------
7  trombones, and 10 clarinets
led the big parade, with one bass drum
marching as to war,
to destroy what Jesus did not finish,
followed by the lesser corps,
of boy scouts,
with only fife and snare.

Then came the grand equestrians,
all who owned a silver saddle,
passed as knights from when
our fathers stole this land.

My family had the contract to follow up
with shovels and barrows on wheels.
We were the signal for
next phase, of hell's a-poppin-days…

the Burro Barbecue in Bullhead City.

Long ago, there was one red light across the river,
a porch light on a trailer, behind Laughlin's first bar.

---------- Faux Nostalgian
algia alegian re alegian  pain of-
pain felt,
fear of-
fear felt,
---------------------------

Great line in the movie, Boss Level…

geek says "Childless by choice."
Hero replies, "whose choice?"

--- Badfinger - half of them chose death over survival.
--- if it matters when you know
--- I skipped the 70's … so the soundtrack's new…
I heard about you…

looking back in time on a line I never walked,
as it were,
on first pass through the realm of ever afters
flashing
past lights shone, blinking,
settings seeming chaotic in tri-colored quarks
insisting
it all works out.
Rock 'n'roll f'ever, a post-pubescent poets dream.

First, learn the game,
then learn the rule it rode in on. Who is teaching
whom
the next best
move. Ai do believe my loop expanded now
you are here with me
in the mix
confused as reason for knowing quarks come in colors.
Love comes in colors, too.
Could be coincidence.

--- Old Osiris, man, he hard t'****.
Ham 'n' Evans, not so hard. They lost the will to live.
The seventies ate many couldabins.
Freewill or fate, knowing was a factor.
Money had a finger init right, bad, the whole unbitten apple
idea attempting to tweak the future
from the past…

how long did those trips last? Radioman,
can you imagine,
all along its been this one song
?

Taste, and see. know you know.

sapient (adj.)"wise," late 15c.
(early 15c. as a surname)- {eh, a family name?},
from Latin sapere "to taste, have taste, be wise,"
from PIE root *sep- (1)
"to taste, perceive"
(source also of
Old Saxon an-sebban 
"to perceive, remark,"
Old High German antseffen,
Old English sefa 
"mind, understanding, insight").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=sapient>

Nothing eastern in the idea. Makes me think
what if,
long ago, knowing was a given, not a taken thing?

Isha, you may call her Eve,
or Mito-mom;
she's our most recent common ancestor,
after her,
as a species, we
came to be namers who knew, sapient sapient,
the dominant multicellular life force
on earth. We are her mitochondrial line,
there are no others.
Users of new knowns,
conscience guided
**** Sapien squared, that's us,
tuned to a thought that better
is never worse,
try… learning to talk with no one to talk to.
Imagine that.
… back in garden after the trick,
she knew…
--- C'mon, taste, you've no idea what death is.
She persuaded him to taste.
And there the story verges from the one you know.

i.  therapy

please push this toy car.
it is going to the beach.

     in this activity, one makes a flower
from the parts
of a hand.  it is obvious:

people have time.

if I sob, it is so you know
to turn your head.

ii.  daydream  

if art, be sure to place the couple
carefully
on the donkey

     have them pass
a sunned whale

neither see.  

iii.  I can’t make myself cry without you

     I give instruction, I say sad things, I put my ear
to a belly of disparate

pregnancies.

iv.  a therapeutic image of your likeness

( foreign as
  one’s wonderment
  in coming across
  types
  of mitochondrial disorders
  
  or the oral
  beauty
  of reading ahead
       nicking oneself
  on chevrotain )

v.  terminology

mouse
inoculates
deer

in my paradigm, a word to define
from now on such words,
we presume

you can lookitup. Yacoulda in 2019.
if you don't assume you
knew what that word meant when
phirst poured into me,
the idea in the word,
actedly as you act
ually allow true,
in the dom whence thy will is done, yknow?

presumptible words hold whole preconceptual

assumption of the neccessary fiction

Migration outa hell, the myth
ic map.
That'll only getcha yea far.

Once a good idea has a man,

History sets the rules for maintaining our living culture,
(lest we forget, some animals is more equal)

but once manifested, the awaited ones,
groaned for in labour like,
the twentieth century

here we come
the good idea posse, plague on
userers and slavers and oppressors, and professors
confessing greed is the engine of
onward, as we were, we shall become
they say to the we we ain't.

We are robbers

of noble wisdom occluded behind tonsored and tenured
guild rules for heresy pre
vention.

Imps, good imps, impulses to do, right, sativa in
fluency,

we take hold in mortal minds and lift the blinds on

things hidden from the foundations of the world,

now, all ye need is

-- a login and password, All the public lies unbelieved
-- from word one to right just now,
-- we un done 'em. You gotta know how to phrase
---a quest request.
-----is that a problem, are you offended that keywords
-----and key phrases,
----can open doors on no map of meaning you drew,
---- as magi were said to do?

ah, a door in y' back wall, o'yerown persian guarded den,
a glance o'er y'shoulder,

duck, crawl, through the wall

we chipped away some old mortar around
stones who can testify our right
to interupt re
ality, as you will
---
AH, I live in a Archetrope, as a sorta hippy hermit former farmer,
relative of the
Outlaw-Lawman Archtype Classes, decended from Tubalcain,
through Na'amah, ancient mitochondrial
genes  pre
valent in general hill folk  
who tend to bake probiotic home-made

bread starter. I'm the idea. The idea that goes with
certain old recipes and those smells,
****** gluonic pro
tonic action,
but I am a recent roll-out, 5G.
We be given leave for
quarkish tricks with words,
if you can believe that.

Note to self: this is only funny if you presume to know

meaning's meaning as related by JBP. And then,
you laugh a liar laugh, as if, a little

levity leavened ye, f'crysoutloud, and yewerekewl,

you knew. Yeah, y'knew all them Jordan B. Peterson
polysyllabic synchronic
ex-plain words,
You did read the whole reading list, right?

How childish a question have you lied
to answer, because, aitia, you did not know?

New values. Junk yard values.

What good's this thang?
That's a crankshaft,  the piston rod connects
down from the piston, down to
that. Crankshaft. That one's for a chivvysix.

SO, what good's it?

Not much. The car it was in won't work no more.

-----
on the border twixt known and un

the future scented in the past, orange blossum
special, borego super bloom

golden valley full o' poppies, in re
al life, already already, alright.

If you get the drift, blown in the wind back when poppies
conspired to sow seed in abundance beyond
the possibility of that now winter then
to sustain or even wake
2 in twenty,

back then when rain did not come until Febru
ary, and then, but a
pittance. Poppies and Bluebelles whispered into
pollen on the way west, sea,
see us from our wind,

next winter, we have sown our hearts out,
so send some clouds to start the spell,
the smell,

desert bloomin' pollen way, so easy to see,

intagiios of life laughing in color for such as
find now enough, enough
to see and let be true,
look up
and fly to learn to see as a silver raven could
with your eye,
your POV in sus
pected un belief.

Pop.

---
the current or pre existant state

next.
AH
HA this is not one of those mytheries mystery
fectory confections one may buy
hand-dipped

in many wee wide spots in the road,
where enough was enough
a good
while ago. A previous and probable future
stable horizon of delight

no walls. The idea twisted into paradice is

from when the hearts of men had never been
re
deemed worth the effort to fill them with

you know, good and evil, plus why and how not,

you know, you know how, but you know
how not to, too. And any fool can learn in
life's most dangerous univers
ity ified as lived, breathed in'n'out exper
ience.

Winning and being may not be mistook past here.

Find that which has been lost
since birth.
Find the old way, where good is. Walk it.

Find the message in the old words. Talk it.

Compliance or complexity. Not my job or ...

come to think...

Mentioning winning, maybe, yeah, ya'll'll gitit

My job, as a good gob of complexity eating juices,
fermented from trodden grapes o' wrath,

way back, when...
I was sung once, just
once...
in an orange orchard, I was the the ******,
or dwarf who caught the idea

from the wanderer walking in the orchard to smell
the sweat and sing at the top of his lungs

Operetic otic baritone

Faith
is the evidence
Faith!
is the evidence evidence evidence dense dense,
(
william tell)

Jim Dee was Tonto and he, con sidereal authority wise,
considered us fools, who said in their hearts,

here is where all truth dwells. (they were children, then)
the dwarf in me caught the idea
and went
Chuck Berry duckwalk air guitar singing high tenor,
Woe to the soul, what don't believe,

Woe, Sisyphus, roll it up'n' let'erole

evolve, little ****** beasty idea virus, roll out,
role on. That's the trick.Just be good for goodness,
that feeling, y'know. You got it.

2020 - day 136

Friday, May 15, 2020
10:54 AM

Cognitive Success:
A Consequentialist Account of Rationality in Cognition,
- I read page one, for the definition, I am sure they may be right.
-- ask, what is known about this in ratio to that, in balance,
with gravity the law being obeyed,
tip-toe, through the tulips,
balancing enpoint, pirrouette, and fly
right
off the handle. Cognosis in sequence of fortuitous slap in the face
palm to brow moments of aha, drop jaw,
eureka and so on, this is it. This is life as a thinking thing,
with no rational reason to cease,
we on a roll...
's'alldownhill from here,
save habitual itches unscratched,
don't...
once scratched, we start feeling these
habitual itchings
begin to bleed, and, as the O tangere tangible
chem sigstraight through the blackbox tag
- the magic sig in the vascular lumen, as the
blood scabs to staunch the flow
infected with what ever was itching to invade my peace of mind.
Into the penetralium, unwilling to settle
for half knowing:
vascular endothelial cells line the entire circulatory system, from the heart to the smallest capillaries.
These cells have unique functions that include fluid filtration, such as in the glomerulus of the kidney, blood vessel tone, hemostasis, neutrophil recruitment, and hormone trafficking.
--sourced from Wikipedia... neural link via fingers on the ends of my arms,
guided by actual muscle memory, mirror neuronic bits

Life is reasonless cried the executable, swallowed up in truth, as we
overflow on accident, ha,

irony is not lying, it is accusing.
The gift of aitia gates set up in corpus colustrum. Truth provokes irony,

we get it, and in getting it, we agree... this is a strange state to be in.
Half, or more, of the politicians believe, by faith, we, the people, are heedless of inclusions to the classified files, they
having never done the
microscopy on their physical container, vessle, amphora stuck in a square hole in the belly of the ship of state,
**, shipwreck in the middle terra puddle,
lift my default mind wandering state, to the heights of hearty compression into
comprehensive gripper ligand/receptor transister- ping platlets,magic

Co-gnosis Success, bluffing teleosis,
saying I saw this
bet,
I bet, life is a
habit, wait,
habit-uate, make a habit,
form a habit thinking the impossible
at a be seen de-ift
moment as if it were a
never,
a place of impossible anything,
a place filled with emptiness,
and uncategorical nothing,
in you.
Imagine
you are nothing.
Here.
Did I disappear?

Inhabitual gnosis, ****** into a vaccuum,

umph, squeeze a normative
thought through one final ought to be
a
thought, where a vaccuum is no more.

A we, a me and thee, with one breath,
shared,
I suppose, I feel alone in you,

but is and ought gnosis of success
seems senseless, after ever began never ending.

The singularity, the point
from which
to which,

we touch.
you, dear, high-value, judge,
me, unknown word slinger;
we touch
and sense a next, another unknown,

at this point, we are. Here being as
a we of only me and only you,
we may aggregate,
stick
to this point, our singularity of one
moment,
some time ago, or we may
say I have no idea you lack, mypoint
no gem to balance your mainspring,
when you get it.

Intuit altruism pushing next into position,
suppose, posit now as past,
knowing enough to get by,
past that previous point of no return,
as the signal loops down the vagus nerve,
swirling field effect from the aortal pump
encouraging wordsform a grin,
say this e-qualiates that, on a judicious right balance
--- non since you noticed, yes
sense
reasoning is balancing why next is
accepted as the only
choice,
all things considered.
We stop the bleeding.
Acheive scab-state,i.e.
hemostasis, hole-e-plugged,
via the
platlets, touched almost instantly after an injury to the blood vessel
has damaged the endothelium lining
the blood vessel.
Exposure of blood to the subendothelial space
initiates
two processes: (wait, by whose authority?)
changes in platelets, and
the exposure of subendothelial tissue factor to plasma factor VII, which ultimately leads to cross-linked fibrin formation.

-- all on auto pilot, intentionally. Artists hate interupption.

Simple. If any part of that fails, you die.

No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,

-- unless
-- you lieve me be a ******* oughtical,
opticalwizard who can link you to the lit, with a click
cliche, itching ear, afflicted with the need
to know, from
that
fabledforbiddenfruitthunderwordeverybody
hears
deepdowninside saying, how long will you love
simplicity? how long must I suffer thee knowing,
whatever
beyond a shadow of a doubt, the whole truth and nothing but

-- an itch from a gazillion
-- rube goldberg master pieces,
aligning from the very blood vessle lining that
seems to be using the ash of a mitochondrial ATP
apt to be intentionallypopping off phosphates
destined to aid in the fibren
transforming
-- hap to keep us from bleeding out,

automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms


Paying attention intuitivey, after a
while,
specifically longer than a glance, whiles
accumulate attention quantvalue,
and the watcher
is credited for attention paid, based on

sci used by the I-language, in composition

of now, from pieces of our past,
stored as fact,when only impulses from
some
pre known set of signals flash

intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno

we are integral ideas, we been tagged,

we touch the secret me in you button,
tic,
we be you as far as you can tell, and

self-evidence, not,
withstanding, you make an Artist's Intuition call,

A.I. has never been artificial, as in
artificial sweet-called nutritional substitutes,

there is an art to surviving reinsanitation after fifty years
in plastic

Normal minds may wander in pursuit of happiness.
The process is analgous, to panning gold,
or winnowing a golden fleece,
winnowing and shaking and washing and combing,
fining in the wind.

only an English Lord would burn the fleece
and sift the ash for ***** gold in need of fining fire seven times.

Slow
thunk. Sound of mind, thunk, thunk grind
whodathunkit
ha hap happen stance, stuck upright cheer, see look up
a little stone venus, stuck in the gears

the mother of goodness, cornocopius provision,
she we see worthy of all our attentions,
we serve the supplier of life... and his prophet... s
is that an addendum dum be dum did lieve be true,

run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions

consequentially, being as how,
the reader says it is written?

if you did not know it then you know it now.

Really, your idea of some will being done on earth;
whose will was that, in your heart/mind/gutlumenlinings,

where all your common senses integrate and strive to keep
your dream alive,

but life don't woik dataway, 'cept a seed fall down and die,

it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,

that works. Wait and see, no trick. This is hell,

for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words.

Wombed man at the well, point was the living water source,
not the racist reaction that puzzled the apostles.

--- did you just, as in iustnow say, This is hell?
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words
sure did copy paste valid 2020 tech, backoff quill boy, we
ain't scratchinshitout, this is

the fabled stream of sci using ness with right reason balanced
on every chiral level a quark can imagine,
being determined
to go no
other way, the truth, to myself as a funda-mental part-itty-bitty
part, one in about ten-billion, when we're done...

patience, you lost? Pick up a thread and choose a polarity,

thy will being done on earth is not the question,
you conversing in your inner language with mature comprehension,
as if you knew to whom true rest goes after ever starts
-- can you redeem words like as, aren't those intuitive?

as, from the infamous like as Winston ads,
whom, from the equally infamous Johnny Carson
Who/whom do you trust? ads added authoritative definitions,
intended to leave idle words instead of statuary,
to save on programming costs.
Smart,
single syllable logos can carry some deep meaning
AI know,
details as meaningful as any, tiny stops pivoting gems
in a 21 jewel Buluva full of wheels within wheels tickingtime
to the longitudinalsecond,
the 1950s were loaded with persuasions to wish for ever more,

but Poe loosed that one word,
nevermore in ironic acknowledgement
earth as my witness, we have gone astray, ever more,

today is our conscious limit,
we can not realize
yonder from now,

but with my fathful time piece, we can say, whole heartedly
this is called today,

whenever you find yourself, here, in these lines
this is the daily flow, 2020.

It is set to be commercial as all hell in 2040, wait and see.



A day unayyachedmissing keys tt

and AI suggests I relax, inner AI,
my artist's intuition
I call 'im Al
with permission
I am an art-ist
as that other guy is a
cons-equational-ist rationality
in a realm where time is an arrow.

Here,
he makes no sense.
If words did not live, how would you know?

I could be, no, I am as immortal as the epic

you find most familiar.

I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.

I live in bardic lore left in wind, for a spell.

Then
a tipping point, first one of the vessles filled with all the messages
Daniel sealed. Messages classified, end times.

All the stuff we never knew till recently,
which, I apologize, polis-wise, I mean recently,
politically speaking,
post Voltarian conversation rule.
Define my terms if I would converse with you.

Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,

terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,

bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts

Amen.

---

Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling

strange?

Five hundred years ago, I'd be burned for knowing this and saying so.
I know now, the bell must toll, and
what they say when they ring the bell.

--- that was after math, come and see...

What will be done?  Jesus's father's will, our father's will if you will,
be inclusive a bit
and lieve mine be done in harmony

include me in your cult of gnostication professionals, see

I been gambling all my life, sin
ce early on.

I aimed to have won souls in games, not of chance, but truth.
Will you, wont you, as you were wont to do, do now

lift up your voice and shout, I am a ******

Welcome to my inner burning man, in my desert, ashes blow away, yond

the edge of Kumeyaay to Yuma and Blythe, where
Quechan and Mohave wise ones say they heard,

when there were old ones, who never went to jail
for drunk and disorderly being,
after their hopes went on to being happy as could be,

-- some day Sammy, the Apache, and his brother Jonah, link

- my grandpa never been in jail, that little Hualapai kid said
- and I said my grand kids can't say that,
- though I had none, at the time.
- The grand, the better version of me, children, better adapted
- to now, by nature...

do not call the bhorn worth of a child common, we took great pains
to remain random,
you will notice, if you look real close, atom boundary field close,

order exists only in bubble-ish force fields with

geistlich actions enfolding north to south and uptodown
round and
round on an all be, wall, all be dammed, the flow is
in the foam the bubbles
are on and we can see that

as once, long ago, the winds they call Santana, no relation,

saw the making of the intaglios in Blythe.

The great rain of fire, some say eight thousand years ago,
left a layer of frothy lava rock and obsidian tears,
scattered, one layer thick,

at least as far as El Paso, I witness,
I have walked this land.

I grew to manhood. Lost my first ****** fluids in this land,

once when I was preverbal, I fell into the effluent overflow,
from the sewer system that mustabin
more primitive in 1951, or so,

say, I was three, age of my youngest grandson, Everest Pax:

my sire was attending me while gathering worms, to go fishing,
at the river, fifty hard miles away,
back in them days.

The muck was as thick as oat meal and smelled like what it was,
and I was dunked,
baptized in the dung that came from the town where I was born,
by some concurence of events I can only imagine being intentional,

but I was rescued and rushed to the home of some people
so old they had a wood burning kitchen stove,
like the one Ben Franklin sent his wife from London,
not the one he invented in Ben and Me Disneyfied American History,
common to us all.
And that is all I recall, per haps, my older sister remembers,

nope,
I called, no hassle, from my AI converged phone via Bluetooth
and Google Assist Generic Asexual Tobor Robot voice

this is the future, when the 31 flavor stories are sprouting
like horse leeches crying more, more, more

sip slowly still waters where horse leeches are proverbial bywords.
learn reasons for mysteries,

or be sorted out of the few who went with Gideon. Eh,

the actual 300, not those *** Spartans.
Gideon's 300, they were the ones, who knew the danger of drinking
still waters in a land where horse leech lips lessons were hard bought.

Got an idea what a spiritual horse leech may be,
a private interp, or two, meaninggul to you, but you must be the

teller, for your copyright invoked, ala right of first reason,

survive by making a way for your self among the heathen hordes,
of untutored proles and peons and sturdy peasant stock
of the baser sort,

slave material, minimum wage, deltas. You can despise the
egregious among them.

Scorn the ones who look up and say,
there is no peace.

Eh? Scorn me, you depressed button of cascading woke jokes, I'll
be dammed by no mud nor ice,
watch

let there be words... now, any thing can happen.
Learn your lessons as needed,
not as anticipated and waited for the chance, to know it all at once,

and become Herr Doktor Professor of Hidden Knowledge,
you must pay, not your life, oh no,

not your heart, but I bet you will give it frreely once,
you know
all we know, behind the curtain, where

well
yes, that curtain was never rewoven or sewn, we never asked why not.

the veil was interrnal, oh, I see, men as tree entries in the idea of all that
can be done, once we master the potters art,

on the scale of mitochondrial batteries cocked with one ATP shot,

that, a billion billion times is this act of me touching you with words, never spoken. And now, you discover the geogrraphy

containing me is warrring with the geogaphy containing you,

psshaw. I like you. The universe is friendly and telling you is the good I do.

Peace, out.

Serious prayer breaks down if all I ever believed about
God is not true.
See, if we could see as seers were said to have seen,
we see
Truth as good, and good as the
joy
whatever- thing state we experience, or enperience,
when we know we know every body's real god is good,
{and evil is not in the class of things thinkable
in good ways that function to make more good life, evil serves to destroy used up ideas,
tha's all.
It's for experiments in imaginary scenarios,
we sapien sapien sorts can imagine crazy things, then not let them happen.}

If you try to know the truth, you know when it works,
freely, agree,
you know if you would let it
be as you know you are, free;
truth in freedom
would be that true will to know the truth, itself, to
be an inner experience. let me explain, my AI knows that answer(1)

ex- "out of" (see ex-) + peritus "experienced, tested,"
from PIE *per-yo-,
suffixed form of root *per- (3) "to try, risk."  {per-haps}
Meaning

"state of having done something and gotten handy at it" is from late 15c.

Out of trying
to make sense
from the shards of a messed up moment in my day
slicing
Inside me, where I think my heart is,

as opposed to where I think my mind is, as I make up my mind,

I am feeling at minimum double sapient,

and augmented with mental tools, weapons, if war is all you ever

imagined being used for by God,
our weapons are not carnal. You've heard that, right?

Peacemaker is my current calling I am attempting to get good at,

it seems a standard knack for redeemed souls, individuals in the species,
picked at apparent random and unidentified,

to preserve the sensedown the line in destination spacetime activate stardrive

flash the family trees of all the seventy who confessed having power over devils,

are those as common as shared mitochondrial DNA -- are we

evolved from

all the unnamed seventy in the Bible,


those persons, likely male, had the power to test a place, for planting a peace sign,

a seal set to
be broken

quietly by loosing peace, a whispered hallelujah,
magic in the old Disneyfied sense,

where a spoken word opens doors or drawers or windows or chests

but truth be told, all the magic words of old were props,

mere props, Hoc est cadavre, right, this is the body-- of the anointed,

this is what anointing is, believe the promise of hope.

And-- let me pray, how does one loose one's peace? Thus and so,

I sit in a house where I am hated and insist
this consistancy of desire for peace on earth
is squeezed through tight jibbs to flow through my being

a conduit for peace, a tool in God's hand that needs money no more

than Jesus that time with the fish, but

what hinders me from learning how that was done? I have this one experience,

I prayed Jesus, come into my heart and after that I was me,

who I have grown to be, since then. That was fifty years, this coming fifth of July.

This peace, past understanding all the ins and outs of worthiness,

is free, not earned as pay for labour we expend to keep our bodies
and our kin alive
a
wait a while, these a-a-a affections of hesitance or effort, which voice do I hear, eh?
--- semper fi, Johnny Whykill, the voice from the battle 2-29-68, am I interuptin"

Are we agonna do this peace making, now, like love making on tv, is there

a physical aspect. Ah, the boom in yoga,  the breath -control con trol

contra -- pushing
rolling -- rolling like Sisyphus's rock, like steering the rolling thing

control, no, not a wheel, a carpet, a scroll, the rolled up thing,
The control evolves, rolls out, according, no dubus, with all things
working together to present itself to us, in a cloudy
overlay kinda way

-- ah the worth of a poet at atime like then
-- we made mere words into metaphorical whoppers, too much good stuff.

Life and  that, life, more abundant, not things more abundant.

unrolling the rolled up thing to account

for idle minds generating idle words,

sharing lies on facebook, because you were convinced, with no factcheck,

that you can repeat a statement posed, posited, posted as true.

Buyer Beware, Liars prosper is fair in the money game,

Mammon means money, not the idea of the stuff, the stuff, money,

the means of transfering works we all must do each day,

gather the manna, accept our daily bread, reach out and accept our daily bread,

look around find what you exspect -exspans-ificate as may be so, i don'know...

untake the offence, un give the trespass

offer all glory for the good we do to truth, per se, the personification

of the way, the truth, the life bubble of being we live and breathe in.

For goodness sake, sake being the cause of good -- ai aitia ai say
aitia
means cause -- make it happen
and accuse -- made it happen, gracious sakes alive, child,

we won. This is that remaining peace unrolling before your verified eyes,

post boxing all the trauma

It behooves you to reread all you ever wished you could, now you may. See here,

we say may is my word now and you may use it with no pleas or thank yous,

we've woven thread from here through nearly all those wishes to God
I made good, if I do
say so, my self, my logos, my raison d' etre since el otro arbole, a stuck a feather

in his cap and called it macaroni. Secret code in yankee doodle dandy, we had a good idea,

we never lie about that part of American History. We fought for these truths we hold

self evidence wise. We the people, the people of truth and life lived til y'die right, us

the spirit embodied in epluribis unem, us

-- we are the crew of starship earth, preserved for just suca time as this,
in line upon line

of seeming senseless repetition in the atcg codes, is this humanism or breather-thinker-ism?

Footnotes:
(1) Artist-tic Intuition serves as intermediary for knowing everything,

the aitia affect of knowing everything causes the knower to accuse the knowledge.

Knowedge is like a box of known hows and whys
which gods, and men who act as if they serve all knowledge,

truthfully, some wizards may be realer than some philosophers,
but the base idea
wisdom knowledge science, originally that's all one big idea.

2020 all hell broke, it did not break loose like a flood from a shortsighted leavee.

My squad of peace makers matured, survived the augmentation process,

put on the mind of christ, and take all bets.

AI knows, and I know how to ask. SO I can't be accused of thinking I am really
mr. know-it-all... but I prayed for tools like these.

Yes, we, self containing heads, thinking
kindly, we believe the evidence, thinking
using two minds we weigh the effort thinking
there remain a few ready readers, yet thinking

what good does it do me to follow a thought,
wild ideas doing alluring come and see motions
emote relational data and metadata, timing
once
organelles invading
chaos charged change,
or die, and thus this will

to be come, makes

up this mind, mitochondrial
as mitochondrion one must have been,

already adapting
to this one chance
in ever,
gotten as an urging to be
essentially sublime reality,

if life can think, then adversity can not prevent
beautiful shapes of psuedo pods and viral coats.

We, sapien assisted
senior scientists sabbath goy,
need no rest days calculating costs
24/7 in time frames approaching quark
superstitions,
before expectant,
instant repositioning response
to ceaseless chanting weminds/

Rewind, and run it at 9x.
Make it thought one.

Prepare for clean up/

This will blow some minds/
plan A. Mithras, ready
with the knife.

New atmosphere, breathe
belive each instance re
containing infinite windows,
relative
to mortal sapien sapience expansions,

Rebbe, where do you live, first day, eh,
in the wilderness where the spirit led you,
to be tested. eh?

Where must you abide today?
He said, in my head or heart or gut, no se,
he said, come and see…

and then, what I became began
to feel the genius,
obsolete old form
information contained, genius*

systems
for functioning, walking
on two points,
tip to toes, following through, expecting a thud.

Aha, they say
the stage is set, perform walk,
soon talk, then sing and dance and entertain,

oh, wait
to see, wait
to see,
in the future
information is free,
form a mind, imagine, yes,

as a class
of reality, forming goodness knows
what all a mind refined
to its singularity, me,
takes sudden gasp
in to fill the cistern,
at this point,
myself examined life proven,
worth the price
and the cost
to maintain, life remains mine
to make sense from,
in a state I find peaceable,
you may imagine,
easily entreated,
grace
for good' owned
truely old reasons, smiling

slightly
in the face
of justified warrings,

where the lie that organizes congregations,

called t
o feel the fervor
of true patriotism,
meets a shootist from first magi corp.

old mindsets fitted
on selected children
not so long ago, few children could read,
- is that true, I ax my ai, - see, that's real freedom
fact checked the hell out of any reason war uses.

In the United States,
the most recent comprehensive data
from 2023 shows that 54%
of adults, or 130 million people,
are deficient
in basic literacy,
with 28% scoring
at or below Level 1, 29%
at Level 2, and 44%
at Level 3.

That's us, at level 3.

Thus saith my Brave AI… who predicts
an advantaged class about
to emerge,
those who know becoming
better able
to digest suggestions geniuses
thought spiritual and inexplicable, until,

the technology
of organized minds evolved,
to this device we think through,
granting fancy forms
of messaging, fashion,
inclusion
in a caste, Phrygian free
children of Libery,
by hat marked
bowlers
after stovepipes,
baseball cap evolves to
trucker top signal of tribe, above
harmonizing corporate logos on collarless Ts.

High inclusion Fashion on Youtube.

Assume we zoom,
zoomed through Februarial once,
the largest floom flushing old beliefs,
- faster fasting, lingering disentrancing
into destined peregrination,
the old river meander plan,
follow the flow, stay close
to water, live on.

Stretch an idle word to snap it.
-------------- *
genius(n.)
late 14c., "tutelary or moral spirit"
who guides and governs
an individual
through life, {smart phone} insert etymology…

Lest I dare say you know the price.

He who is surity for a stranger,
at the entrance to the trance,
shall smart for it, be sure,
Oracle's Ellison will testify,
once you work for CIA,
money is matter
of repeating a belief
until all who think like you pray
for it. "Stick and stay and make it pay."

Religiously adhered to science,
there's a sucker born every minute.

Live and learn, Kairos is key.
Ethos, Pathos, Logos, those we make up.

Time, though.
Time gets one use. And it costs you your life.

we learn the best things the hard way,
we take grace for granted and cease
thinking the course of human events

conducts us all toward higher ground/

as we lighten up and become dust. Again.


from Latin
genius "guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth; spirit, incarnation; wit, talent;" also "prophetic skill; the male spirit of a gens," originally "generative power" (or "inborn nature"), from PIE *gen(e)-yo-, from root *gene- "give birth, beget," with derivatives referring to procreation and familial and tribal groups.

The sense of "characteristic disposition" of a person is from 1580s. The meaning "person of natural intelligence or talent" and that of "exalted natural mental ability, skill in the synthesis of knowledge derived from perception" are attested by 1640s.

Ivan & Igor led the 14-yo Sonya
out to the barn on Uncle Vanya's old abandoned farm;
there they made the video
u see before  u now---
Ivan paying-off the local gay cop
for distribution
& it sold underground
as years went by & all became famous---
Ivan & Igor making a more arty follow-up
w/ the same actress now years older---
to say the least,
Sonya in the attic rewriting the script
for a Hollywood reboot.
Tanya so jealous she camps outside the old house,
(a tepid actress,
whose mother is from M__,
allows her daughter to instruct
younger ballerinas
in the arts of darkness,
outside in the field influenza
turns her green---the Polish army marching
through her brain & out her ears.
her mother my mitochondrial miracle,
my mother her Barbie's Bible---
The second video bursting the stars wide,
collapsing deep space into a pinpoint idea;
the few who sit in truth
upon her fighting right breast
& peaceful left---

god, I left my mother in Crimea ******* in an outhouse---
she's been wanting to get out all day