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Let me tell you about an experience I once had.  
Such a frightful story - violent.. The whole thing is sad.  


It was war,  of course it can't be good.
But I was taking it easy every chance I could.  

I had this fellow soldier friend,  
But something awful was just downwind!

We would go out and **** people a lot.  
It was for the Modded Nation we fought!

Despite it being a dreadful time,  
The Modded army was strong, at it's prime.  

We hardly even stopped to rest,  
That was why we were known as the best.  

But every so often,  
We tire and soften..  

The pressures always here!
The dangers always near.


One day I round the corner,  and open the door,  
I really thought I knew him before,  
He's just covered in the gore,  
****** body parts litter the floor,  
This man is cracked to the core,  
I pull my blade to even the score
Lightning quick, at his neck the metal tore.  
A geyser of blood erupts then begins to pour.
I count the bodies -  there are twenty four.
I dig till I am ****** and sore,  
But its not enough,  i keep digging more.
I dug for a week,  it became my only chore.  

On the third day of digging I took a break.
In the summer sun as the bodies bake.  

I looked at them,  reciting all their names.  
As I dig, I imagine them running around the compound playing games.  

As I am gently laying them to rest,  
I hear the Modded language coming from the west.  
I look toward them,  as I get shot in the chest.  

The bodies I was burying were unmodded children,  you see.  
They saw them dead,  and blamed me.  

Being an engineer that was needed,  
I was unable to die until their goals were completed.  

They threw my body away,  
They said I'll get another one day.  

Stored in a cyber jail cell,  
All my secrets that I've kept so well..  
They're not mine anymore.  
Now they are just fuel for the war.  

Three Hundred years they kept me.  
Locked up and hidden from everybody.  
Don't worry about psychosis or insanity,  
It has only washed away my humanity.

If you're wondering how I escaped   purgatory,  
I'm afraid it'll have to wait till a later story.
ERR Aug 2013
The wood floors screeched and scraped
As she yanked her bed aside
In a crazed hunt, sweeping for
Scraps; anything would do
A pinch, a taste, a crumb
She plucked the dirt and dust from chemical gems
Pooling the fragments in mounds
Sweat poured down her wrinkled brow
The room steamy from summer and glowing screen
Full of jobs she would not get, and friends she could not call
And music that had lost its mystery
A world she could not follow
Drawn shades and stinking clothes

Stash spots scoured, links to lenders soured
Pocket and purse empty funded
She collected her meager treasure
And consumed
Mush minded marsh of good and guilt

It wasn’t
Enough, it was never enough
Unsteady and emaciated bag of lone bones
Dials never-call-Paul, desperate
Hey baby, trade you a
Hit for a hit
Modded whip picked her up with mechanical lion roar
Of engine souped
Drag king down to explore

He handed her a zip, and a piece
Do your thing
She choked it down water eyed
His hand, a scorpion on her thigh

What is this, she asked
Lights divided; kaleidosynchro swimmers and dancer faces
Sounds sludge oozing and brain train no conductor
She faded in and out
Half aware that he was
Taking his turn to the same rhythm
Car behind a dumpster

Paul gyrated brutally, from every angle
Raw skinned and full of disease
It’s ok, it’s just me
You wanted this, he panted
In the ear of a tangled pile of limbs
Whose name escaped him

Pants hiked and belt buckled, they moved
She was sore, and hit more
By the time they stopped again, cold napping

The racer rolled into his chop shop
And the swarm huddled
Mechanics, painters, draggers, part lifters, negotiators
Muscled, scarred, tattooed, and greedy eyed
He let the mob have their turn
And they plowed her on the hood
One, another, another, two
Stretched and wrecked and broken
Across the street, a neighbor puffed a camel
And watched

Who is she, anyways?
I don’t know, just
Some
*****

He carried her to her room, left her
Half alive but wide eyed
The rest is in your pocket, I gave you extra
Because I’m a nice guy

She crawled into the shower, where she leaked pink drops
And her tears were invisible
Sobbing, and rocking, and scrubbing
Exhaled her high from an empty bag
I can’t go on
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
Genetic DIY in my realm,
Glow, little glow worm, glow puppy or guppy or
maiden hair, modded to the max-men can
imagine, when agreeing to believe.

"nothing
imagined shall be impossible for them"
or the sense
that makes,

conveyed in words di
gestated long long long ago
ere toungues was tangled
and us and es and ds and hs and bvs

umlauts and tildes and tittles and jots
attempted to say it all after
it is written is/was
different than it is/was said, it is common

filth is now
called clean, in greek

with homophony rhymes and rhythms
'idin' aitches and gees us commoners
miss, out on the edges of the
fusion, with which,
those wild tongues was tamed, in time,
write the message, make it plain

in the school of the prophets, thems' the rules,
publish precizision bits of insight into knowables
known,
the knowledge of our
mob, told and re-told, told and retold, told and re
one moment.
A glimpse of a gleam of a photonic
spec, seen proper,
it was a germ-cell mod, in a word.

Spat, rather than spoken. A message at the level

where you nowgno this is possible -- a flick
of a gene switch on the ladder like
structure bhering message-engers up and down,

instructing structures to form frames on which you
may sublimate and recompose, upon a grain
of pre-pearl material,

pending loosing of that pen-ultimate lie.

Look, who's tellin' what to whom?
Like, Do Not Lose The Thread of History,

which happens to need re-tying,
from time to time,
like a shoe, yes, child, like a shoe.

Worthy to tie my own shoe, at two---
you d'man! Ex-clam, pure pearl polished

Big Boy, tied yo'own shoe,

Momma gonna buy you a diamond farm,

just over that hill,
you go see, someday, you will

Find a Diamond Farm, where the reality
of what coud be,
began to gestate, wait, diamonds are not for

ever.
Diamonds are for grinding gritty silicon to the
finest dust,

to force a sneeze, re
leasing, loosing, letting go, all the lies you knew,

to chew
well, raw liver-level, nasty tastin' pre-
digested crap from alchemical rantings
a guy said he seen
after some spit from a perfect stranger
got rubbed in to his eye,
pearly friction feels this way,
can't scratch it, gotta gum it,
roll it round
and round, like Redman,
or cow cud, a chaw,
a chew

someunsame, somesamesame sniffles,
in my realm,

swallow the final chawn and un spat lie,
and gasp at first glimpse of next.
In blow my own horn celebration of my Diamond Farm now saying at least the first line has been read twenty thousand times. In his lifetiem, some famous guys never have a single line read twenty thousand times, i'm jazzed, in an old hermit way.
Who will walk with me,
When I return?

When I'm here you'll see,
You will learn.  

Who will stand with me,  
When I am here?  

Some will run from me,  
While others will come near.

I'm not who you want me to be,
some will only see what they want to see.  

Trust me now,  I've been to a lot of places,
the further I go, there are fewer faces.  

I'll help you all, when I reach the end.
But for now, this is all I can send.  

Watch out for when I am here,  
For I will bring mass panic and fear.

You understand its not my intention at all,
but the futures dark, and the stakes are tall.

The war I herald, is a lot to take in.  
Its a grueling struggle, we can't win.  

I've been fighting, so very, very long.  
so its been years, since I've been strong.  

A steady drip puts hole in stone,  
and we have dwindled as they have grown.

Though we're going to die..  
I stand look and them in the eye.  

Humanity,  our entire race,
We stand proudly,  look death in the face.  

We won't go without a fight,  
In the end,  they'll feel our might.  

After they crush the last of our race,  
I will come there and some will give chase.

Thats how the war starts every time,
listen to my words, to hell with the rhyme.

Wait for the rise of the Modded nation.
They bring with them a mass starvation.  

They're led by  hackers and AI despots,  
They are the army of  cyborg warbots.
Ken Pepiton Jan 9
My grand daddy taught me to start a rope,
with a Turk's head knot. This be that sort of rope.
-- it takes less time to use
than to make
long enough
for any actual perfect purpose.

Mimetic pretenders,
euphoric make believers,
ritual passage over or under open limen
- cross the t and dot the ego.
- seek and find the missing pages
- all the mysteries in time
- that form our fundamental
- common sense in crazy made time

Lacunae rise from forgotten reasons used
to teach guardians
of secrets reasons
for war, how
to love,
in all the ways love is made worth dying for.
Blut und Grund, das Sein,
und mein, danke Schön

-- time ghosts pass, remarking at the weather-
-fine day, suns ablaze, breeze is light,
bemusing the beguiled thinking
'tis fairy, times fairs became cities, and all agreed,
election by contest, war in the spirit, in truth
using mere words, no audio, no video,
no styling nor fancy letter forms, unicode
alone no secret scripts, only sound marks
accented acutenesses and all,
+

y nada mas, mere words, redeemed, for this.
one new day redeemed for glory story need.
Morning glory teas,
in tiny shell shape cups.

May all magnificence be truth's.
Kernels of truth,
seeds producing tomorrow's
criteria, substance of things hoped for,
picked out details
to see in myths, the accuser's uses,
mysterious roots in ancien' riparian realms.

Oreithyia and Pharmaceia, intercession
for the poor.
Early spring
bulbs and flowers
the maenads chaos wine,
effigy effigial me, burning
for your mis-perception
of procedural authority,
instant re-co-gnosis,
vestigial dreams
time minds
in tow, riding your own
recognition,
around the spiral, down,
you would tell me if you were insane
so would I, the ego, living aight,
this it, you read, that's all she wrote
∞ *+
∞ -> =
aha, you think,
may be so,
say so, or no, go and
find the connection closed,
and energy flowing in to the either real realm,
or the null set, like old never minds, you had
while the circuits were fried
at the fusebox
for pennies
used to save a dime, to keep the energy
flowing to the magi's visual representation
of all that's known to hold attention,
by reflex,
look out, see windsense, energy electricity,
elect to let your curiousity fix all your if-I'da

knowns

open for conjecture, to catch subjects
objectified from the precept wisdom is, whole,
as the whole truth, we understand, makes sense
nets form nodes of both knowing, as a me,
we, each grow old at the same pace,
we become that which is,
at first step, precept assuring the runner,
there is always a place to put your foot,
goat-sense, Ein Gedi balsam eating
'scaped goat,
running down the cliff,
at the edge of annual reboots,
reconnecting reality, and the balm
traded for silk in Giliad, and
entertaing news
of miracles in smoke…
and mirrors of mercury, and
-------- time, out of mind dangling hook
make believe, fishing
we pretend, making be specific
imaginary gravity and survival codes,
for a chosen few, catchholds, grapples
for those not inclined
to lean
on a lesson
that demands experience,
to contend, hold that thought, this ain't war.

- Khai Vinh, set like the roof
- Ai can find the images,
- the place was real
- those were my antennae
- crazy true, after the fact, signal
- now, how much of that was CIA?

proud Mary keep on boinin', 'long
Bayou Bleu,
down Plaquemine way, deep night
on roads made from tiny wet white shells
that something made, while living in it,
- one way trace, wide enough
- for an auto me mover
- tugging my at to here
as we live inside our head, as far as
our fingers reach
from where we stand,
our feeling fingers only reach so far, so good.

Held a thought
a while back,
it may have been a trick, but listen, if it was,
I'd have taken it, and won, for midsent-morphing
turning tropes for the dopes hoping something new.
In fancy forms of wannabets.
Peace on Earth, is real.
Baby,
the price is all the attention you can muster,
and then some, as time seems
to have
modes, like we have moods, hormonal
catch and release reflexes, you know, like…

what, what, who cares why, what must be first
priority, ah
what are we intending to pretend to be?
Wordwise,
entertained, fed to satiation, what more, prior

to the next wisea
* asking me to believe, in hell.
I just came to fish.
I came after the curtain was torn, top to bottom,
nothing kept secret
for the artifactual value, remains
here. You know, free as any knowing, now.
There is no enemy that truth cannot love, once
you understand, the limits
of your learning curve, ai,
you accept, no lie is
of the truth, no wisdom form
is flawed, first glance,
glimpsed, real as war
glory, as valued a common lure
to the unshined …
initiate turn on … flip
the switch.
Imagine Grace.
Riches with no sorrow,
worth the effort, found
pure, then peaceable, gentle

right snap
fit, just right, no excuses, we got the mystery
imagined for us,
in the end, pain free,
in the collective consciousness some say is spirit
of our time, our Zeitgeist, doing what it does

close up, nothing spooky at a distance, eye
to eye, mere words with wishes twisted through

outs and ins and ups and downs, and
wells
deep as pressure allows,
right, I ought to sleep, but buzz…

O' no, I said too much… or did not say enough.

Slowly, Monday came.
Morning harbinger to sailors, says sit tight.

Find a fire
far from the threshold, and wait.
Talk with the locals
from the same boat, survivors,
boast of storms ridden out, and ones
that swallowed brothers
and some malicious captains. Good riddance,
some say, while others flick a libation
offering a drop of grog across time's stream.

Lift up your eyes, look down
from your satellites and see the future
coming on the weather channel, thanking
all the forces fixing droughts and flushing deltas,

with the first of winter's predictable trials.

-------------
Hunker down and listen, feel your self, you
deep down, your sacred feeling, especial self

red sky warning seen
before by wiser men, older
by experience, made
acknowledges your luck,
as a ware for use
by innocents, listen, take heed,

all things work together
for good,
for keeps
for those with hearing ears.

Listen to the wind, and thank the dry truth
for being.

just being used to
form fibers for twisting into ties

---- long lines for this ride pray patient perfecting

Rush to judge the blown away reason.

To whom is thanks given, and why, I
the desert dweller bound for Tarsus, stuck

at the edge of the raging sea.

The whole world shuddered at the blow,
the earthquake, peleg in the old tongue,
timeless
as the story eventually got writ, in a modded
Phonecian script, survivors were mostly kids,
resiliency of innocents,
one here,
one there, some whole neighborhoods,
where all the kids were in the swimming hole,
all around the shuddering islands on this world.

It was as we have imagined,
until the grownups crossed lost time,
using lost knowledge locked in idle words,

deem the day redeemed,
feel the emotion defined

gratitude for gratified if I'd known,
missed terminals, crosst wires,
connect to the sea of God's forgetfullness,
relink the collar think canals on rivers,
holding the course men set for cities,
dhghemed damdamd-dayamd indeed…
No river muses suffer such for ever

we all know enough to be accepting
oddities in timed chance trial understandings,

we all know wills to power, and notions
to jump into the ocean and go on down,
to the bottom mind tele far long now mind

space shared across time, like the snow,
when the tv went native,
in the olden days
my minds child watched the hush of creation,

let it happen, let it be, this is it, or we are lost,
and that
is un thinkable, try.
Try thinking you do not follow the whole idea,
life
is us, all of us in our most common sense,
this one, translation by Google Bard,
passed my Hausa native speaker friend's
blind Turing test,

that happened days ago, next, ah
SYTF
precept, reception tune to the humm,
listen, humm,

call the editor.

"very interesting." Rest assured,
after accessing the way made plain,

Habakkuk habit, make it plain,
make it make the motors turn minds
in to wills, and wills into power,
pure peace
prefects feel good flicked libation.
Perfect.
Print.
The entertainment, many minds
attention paying to the shared event,
today.
Today. EXTRA, read all about it,
death has no lasting sting.
Live to the end. Redeeming your time.
Swiftly passing to the beat of your own drum.

One step past the simple, love,
you find sublime, nothing down and *****,
nothing missing,
nothing broken,

as one learns to think from the heart,
part of me that's thought in you, feels as
mere words some scribe imagined hearing

as he wrote,
line upon line, asangin' twangin'
a strangle hold, twisting hairs into a rope.

A riata, I think they call em.
Horsetail lariat, patiently plaited,
to make my own noose, when the time
comes to put the tool to use.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Plato, Phaedrus 229 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
"Phaidros (Phaedrus) :
I should like to know, Sokrates (Socrates),
whether the place is not somewhere here
at which Boreas (the North Wind) is said
to have carried off Oreithyia
from the banks of the Ilissos (Ilissus)? . . .
Sokrates :
Oreithyia was playing
with Pharmakeia (Pharmaceia), when a northern gust carried her
over the neighbouring rocks;
and this being the manner
of her death, she was said
to have been carried away by Boreas."

Morally ambiguous. Us, our we, we know not valid reasons
to do useless things, making
vain repetitions, vain making of many books,
all vanity, the making of many things from nothing.
We live on a living planet, and we have tamed parts of it,
not the part common sense comes from, it is still forest dark and lively.

— The End —