Love is like a title wave,
It hits you out of nowhere,
Sometimes leaving you with
All the debris to clean.

Love leaves you breathless,
Sometimes in tears,
Love brings out your worst fears.

Love is sometimes a one way street,
You keep holding on ,
While the other leaves.

Love makes you crazy,
It can bring out the best or worst in you ,
And it doesnt matter what you do.

Love is a battle field,
You're bound to loose.
Its rare to find a love that's true,
Unconditional love only comes to few.

Love is like a bullet in your heart,
You let someone in and they tare you apart,
And no matter what you do,
Nothing can heal the scars.

Love leaves you in the dark,
You'd avoid love if you were smart.
But it is peoples life goal to find that person who holds the other half of their heart.

Love is like an hour glass,
It'll run out , it'll never last.

Love is unknown,
Nothing is ever set in stone.
In the end ,
We all die alone.

Trust is like a pen,
Once you make a mistake ,
It can not be erased.
The person you "love" will possibly forgive you,
But the damage is done ,
Once trust leaves , the relationship is gone.

Love doesn't promise you forever ,
It can leave you sitting there in the darkest of nights ,  making it hard to see even the brightest of lights.
You'll try to forget,
But all you'll be left with is regret.
You'll think you're okay,
But you're just numb to the pain .
Once someone holds your heart,
Its hard to part.
You'll never be the same ,
All you're left with is the echo in your head of the memory of their name.

Love is a risk,
One many do not want to miss.
Nothing compares to a lovers kiss.
There is something addicting  about loves bliss.

Love is not a game.
Nothing hurts more then a heart breaks pain.
So be smart when it comes to love,
Once you let someone in, it can't be undone.

What is it that kills creativity?
Some say pain and oppression,
others say that it's the false constructs,
forced upon us by society.

But it is much simpler than that,
for creativity thrives under pain,
it paints its pain into words or pictures.
When happy,
creativity blossoms with inspiration,
and hope to share through pen and brush.

What kills creativity,
is the lack of emotion.
Numbness that suspends time,
disregards all wonder and presences,
for there is nothing to create when there is no dream.

So creativity floats in a sea
of numbness until new feeling is discovered.

Seven forty five we start to arrive
To tea coffee water or squash
We’re all there by eight and no one is late
Not without a good reason or ten
There’s Barry, and Michael (his brother) and several others
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Keeping it neat in our stocking feet
We find ourselves somewhere to sit
We all bring a bible and some bring a bottle
And some come with paper and pen
There’s Anita and Jill and some others still
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Breaking the ice with something nice
That’s happened to you in the week
We go round the room and each takes their turn
Telling what happened to them
There’s Geraldine, Barbara, and others we’ve seen
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Now the serious bit we listen to it
From a tape or on D.V.D.
Then we split to discuss not shouting too much
Taking care not to deafen
Hosts Pauline and Paul and that’s not all
There’s Sharon and Karen and Ken

From heated debate before it gets late
We gather our thoughts and pause
We offer a prayer for those who aren’t there
For the world and for the church Amen
From Wendy and John and I should mention
Sharon and Karen and Ken

Then a choice of drink what do you think
Of squash or coffee or tea
Now a glass of red wine that would be fine
It’s hard to know when to say when
For David and others I won’t mention (the brothers)
Or Sharon and Karen and Ken

Constantly my desire's mind spins ‘round
Oh lover, my feet dance above the ground
None can affect as this love I have found

Never before has life been so fine
Intoxicated by your lust filled wine
Eros and Cupid, oh help me pen this line

Are these birds singing just for me
Lo and sweet are their melody
Enchanted, enraptured by mind, soul and body

Newness in every tender embrace
Every breath, every sigh, every thought in its place
Gone are the questions, your touch did erase

Of passions, you have taught me well
Of desires, you have yet to tell
Do I tremble under your nakedness spell

Will you whisper in my deathbed ear
I love you and will always be near
Now let go, and do not fear

i do not write love letters often. i am not good at them.
my words are clumsy and ill-fitting. i live in superlatives,
exhaling exclamations, loving at high altitude, among the
cloud vapor and wind, where the sun burns so hard it
bathes everything in holy white. but it is not enough for you.
i drop the pen and pick it up and begin again. i stop and start                    
and stop and start and try to tell you. what you do.
how you live in my lungs and brain tissue and belly.
how you are flammable. how you Glow.

the things i don’t know how to say: they run wild in me.
they squirm. they tell me to tell you that i was alone
on the face of the moon until you dropped from the sky
and showed me something more. until you ran with me
down craters and up dunes. until i fell in love with you
while moon dust settled on our skin like glitter.
i asked you to bring me back with you, and you did.
your lunar flares quivered to life and we ascended,
watching that frozen american flag until it was beyond us.
we kissed on a backdrop of dark matter and i touched
your face in wonder. we kissed and the universe
bent before us. and to watch that happen.
to watch it happen brought a strange, warm pain
that split me in two.

two, as in our hands holding. holding, as in what you do
to my heart. heart, as in this brave drum-beating muscle.
muscle, as what it has taken for us to survive.
survive, as in what you teach me to do each time you breathe.
breathe, as in what i cannot do when i see you coming.
coming, as in breathless. breathless, as in my body.
body, as in rising. rising, as in love. love, as in everything.
everything, as in you.

White pages stare back
mockingly, as night,
surrounds me.
I should sleep,
let the somber room,
take over for just a minute.
With the pen in my hand,
I struggle to think of words
that express, words
that become an extension
of who I am.
That pen once fit the mold
of my hand, now
lays limp as torture of a fallen
idea pushes down upon it.
Somehow I have become liquid
letting white blank pages,
soak up my words.
My mind,
my being
thoughts,
they are all,
no longer a part of me.
So words, pour onto the page
like an a storm unwilling to stop for anything.
These words now crash more violently than
thunder and they cease to end.
These very words, now stare back on once
blank pages. Words that share my resentment
words, that stand alone, as the pen
drops as does my hand.
I have never been so at rest.

Sign me up
Send me in
Equip me
With a pen.

Hold it tight
Aim it right
Take your pick
Feel the kick

Peaceful notes
Left behind
Makes you want
To rewind

"You don't just walk away when it gets tough babe! You work it out together when it comes to relationships and lov...tha...peerrrsonnn..." (her voice)

Yeah,
But I guess I was just dreaming
You see I wrote this first part weeks before the news
Because it was you - I still believed in
Regardless of the paid respects
You can't buy someone's love for any less
Can't clean up the previous mess
I was the problem when I had you at ya best!
(Dayum)
I hate the way you would avoid a text
The truth was between the lines
But the lies were all that were left
Thought I was drowning in your eyes but really it was just time for me to reflect
Ended things calmly but feel like I was just  in a vortex
Can't be afraid of goodbyes when hellos seem to be the hardest

Truth is I wish I deserved it
Asking all the time to see her only to get curved in
Silent treatment to someone who only tried to treat ya
Knowing her life was getting tough and I was trying to keep ya.

Tell me who was trying to push away who?
Maybe March 17th was the last time I really met you.
And I don't believe that the last time we spoke that was really you
Sometimes **** just gets hard and you gotta get thru.

(And I know you'll make it)

Can't give into love's strain and conviction
I hate that I love you...without the realization of my false contradictions.
Given up on me - yet, add another to the list
My mind boggles these days but not in the thought of you - but when things with us took a sudden switch
Crazy to think you give someone everything you got to just be forgotten
The way you handled those last few weeks were foul girl - spoiled rotten.

Why comeback only to leave?
To showcase who you "truly" are but only for yourself to see?
To reach out to someone who just can't be reached
This seems to be a pattern of one's personality
I don't need clarity.
The pen is loaded - the target is set
Why can't I pull the trigger!?
You quit on us and deserve the shots!
Why am I trying to be bigger!?
...
Cause I've learned a lot
Took some deep breaths
saw what was hurting me temporarily instead of making me feel blessed
This isn't shade
This is honesty and telling the truth of ones false reality
A lot of stars in the sky but figured you and I were the brightest in the galaxy

This letter to you is for you to see what you can do to someone when you make decisions based off emotions
Stop pulling the next person with you just because you can't swim in your own painful ocean
Let go of that anger
You're too pretty to frown
Let go of her legacy too - you won't make the same mistakes when you finally fall in love and pick out a gown.

Disappointment - for sure but you live and you learn
Need to stop holding on to the firey moments
Maybe that's why it's so hard to let these memories burn.
Lessons were taught and two people found growth within each other
Let's not pretend like we are rooting for us to simply find another.
Our bond was special
But the timing was off
We'll never know what could've been
And sadly that's our loss
I only want the best for you
And that's on my heart
I'd be lying if I said I saw the day wed truly fall apart

But

At times I wonder - when it all unfolded that day,
did I say all that I needed?
why didn't I beg you to stay?
Cause you loved the old me and I'm a different person these days.
Still hard to look at the woman you loved
And tell yourself it's time to walk away.

You wipe ya face quickly - put up a smile...and just go....(eachos out)

But doug wait...
Hol up let me quickly say my final word
If this piece ever reaches you i need this part to be heard
I love you to death and would re up with you in a second
If you were mad after reading this you didn't decipher the love from pain in this message
I pray for you all the time, hope you get all the good you deserve and tell god to keep you safe from any harm or danger
But I gotta leave ya on this final note
"If only we could go back again...and become strangers."

Thank you (echoes out)

My words are trending
now I'm seen as a poet?
Your algorithm is flawed
that little sign offends me!
I dont write for you
I don't care to impress,
fame and glory is not what I seek.

I give voice to my world
with a pen as my weapon.
Bleeding onto pages
every feeling, emotion and thought,
bonding it forever in ink.

Profoundly thankful for the ability
to captivate with a spell of words
to weave together a phrase
that tugs at your heartstrings

I share what I feel
and see and hear and wonder
I am glad you can relate
however please bear in mind
this I do for my sanity not yours.

grasping pen and paper
and begging for some peace
these forked tongue
promises
leave me begging
at your
feet

i'd have fought the fractures
id' have fought the faultlines

all i wanted
was those words
all i wanted was to hear you say
be mine

Beware poets.  Conceit consumes

Oh yes, we understand how you have suffered
Such great gifts no one understood,
Except that teacher, so eager to please with ink stained hands

Beware young poet of your mirrored pen-hand
Reflecting only your own visions
        As if you could replace God in this universe of stars
Your mirrored hand withdrawn from the waters of truth leaves no impression
Only the smallest ripple for an instant remains (poets understand this)

Beware young poet of your own conceit
You say nothing new,
You write old truths to fresh eyes
Is that enough for you?
  
Stand without ego if you can…strive selflessly
Put ambition away
Show love
Let go of conceit to see the world and write

don’t put down the pen

keep going

struggle through the pain sweat it out

tears and jeers they come and push your face to the ground

these decisions have never been so hard

and I’m drowning in all the fear and disappointment

that I might not be cut out for this.

I have to reach higher ground but lack the will

please tell me I can

take me back to when it all made sense

where none of this matter and we can just be.

be free and be forever happy and willing to take chances or break hearts trying to feel something

again we are back to this game of wishing we had it all when we really need to understand that

- everything we lost we already have.

cry for me baby but cry only once

pick yourself up again and walk tall towards the shining bliss that

may pull you under

but simultaneously makes you stronger.

the biggest unanswered question of the century is

how do we get out of life alive?

the glass is half empty
my mind is too full
negativity is all that tempts me
with its downward pull

with broken feathers
i fall from the sky
when it's always cloudy weather
hope is sure to die

once i was lost
broken and dying
now i can be found
fearlessly flying

I'm a saint of the vapor
that's my God-given nature
I'm only here for a season
with my heart, pen, and paper

i thought that growing up
i would look back on all that i've seen
and see you standing right next to me-
yet
to my dismay
i am again standing in the gap-
trapped
inside.

i thought that growing up
we'd be closer than before
closer than closed doors-
yet i slam
that door shut
every day-
and i beg you
to go
away.

who am i today
who am i today
who is i  going to be
and where will that lead i?
will i be another symphony
is i just another expressed belief?
what does i believe-

oh i
what do you see and why
do you see oh i
the way you do
and why
do i oh i
still follow
you-

if i isnt me
than is me just another empty space
that i left behind
in the aftermath of
finding out who i is?
-me is just an empty lot
waiting for i to reattach to the host
-empty walls now make me i's empty ghost.

i isn't who i should be
not me
not me
not me's position to be choosing personality-
than who is the rhymer and the writer!
the pen and ink!
who are the author and who are the book!
who are they!
who are the shadows that haunt my mind!
who are the shadows of glory divine-

who are the devine
and they still make me question why
but i'm still learning tonight
and maybe tomorrow will be my last fight
with that angel underneath heaven's ladder
and i will finally get the rest i need
for it's tiring
fighting with angels
knowing that you can't win
but knowing they won't let you lose-
for i truly want to lose for once
and figure out that death isn't worth it-
and figure out that i had a greater purpose.

Another Autobiographical Anomaly✍️

My memory, how is it working?
Reconstructing what I will,
But no matter how I will it,
Using tricks or keeping still,
It goes downhill while lurking.

Mostly, I can’t get the date
Or the event - details I railed at,
Smiled or wailed at.
Where I laid the pen just used;
That is NOT amusing.

Histamine.
I read that histamine boosts memory.
Priority.
What do I prioritise with ear, nose, eye?

My husband tells a story
But his story and the history keep changing.
Joke?
Sheer smoke based on illusion in the first place?
He’s an honest man.
Why change the plan or plane?
How to help boost our brain!
Enigma
And for some a stigma.

Diet, food:
The marvel is the wondrous good
It does in spite
Of all the things we don’t do right.
We’re losing neurons constantly
From ages six- or seventy.
Exercise:  
Training.  Learning.. Instrument.
Being bent on something!  Anything!
For just about all/everything is heaven sent.
That’s what I read
And what I think,
And where my intuition and my instinct lead.

Anyway, this poem is just another way to do it.
Renewing bits with any course available,
And one in which a syllable will stick.
The main thing is to get a kick
Out of the rhythmic lyric of our life.
Yes?

Another Autobiographical Anomaly 2.11.2019 Pure Nakedness II; Arlene Nover Corwin

A pinch of pain, and
you hurl a poem
towards me.

The dilemma of undoing
a kiss of pen,
or lobbing a dagger
in the chest of moon persists.

I will never get the answer.

I would rather go
for a bath in the burning
river of your eyes.

Words do not convey
the real truth. What was behind
the gray dotage on your
withering face?

The voiceless silence would
let you dance on the flames?

O god I am waiting
on the heap of frail bones.

it's six o'clock
in the blessed am
and the coffee in
the bottom of my
mug is getting cold
the day is starting

with the familiar sound of
pen caps snapping on
and off sliding back and
forth in their plastic sleeve
she sits in her chair
in the dark only a tiny
blue light to shine on a
sigh here and there

i am fully made up
and totally cold
listening to the furnace
and snores that hum through
walls the scratching
of my own pen on paper

all is quiet before
sunrise
but if you listen
you can hear

what can you hear?
peace and quiet
close to that found in the
middle of the night
only less anguished
and more stoic

and so on this morning
we rise to our grind
rinse our cups
and carry on

Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone

past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.

A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots

Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past

the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while

Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.

The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and

deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.

-someone pray for my family to start moving forward.
-past regrets has my family still walking backwards.
-no gatherings, reunions pass due, no nothin’
-stay in contact mainly on Facebook or group texts.

-I never wanted this
-members can’t get past previous trauma that’s keeping them ******.
-most mindset are like “I don’t rock nor want to bother them.”
-man F**k that -ish
-let’s stick together, we still have time to heal over our egos,
stop trying to quit.

-family wishing to redo their prime past for a better paradise in mind.
-living now is the “fear.”
-since nobody wants to say it, I’ll express this  overbearing feelings.
-the fact my grandma still cooped up in the house feeling worthless
is dangerous cause she feels left out or no one wants to visit her due to “un-build relationships”.
-feeling unfit.

-most members from the Chi-Town calling me like I’m the man now.
-because they can’t get along nor grow together, so i’m their problem solver now.
-sad seeing the family drown, so I pick the pen up to write the words down.
-sometimes it’s embarrassing writing these words down
-but someone has to expose these generational curse truths now.

I feel life from the words I write despite them being words I slurred over night it's like I fight but my pen is the sword of course I force myself into creative prospects I expect to wreck what in front of me is set
I wondered what would happen if I ruled the world gimme a shot at the top I'm not Clinton I only need one girl but seriously I hate this place controlled by industry it's ****** me up the environment and desire for right went out the window when the dead presidents kept talking from beyond the grave the money you made won't matter so cut it like a beanstalk

DaSH:
And fall into a pool of tears
From all the single mothers over all these years
Tucking youngins under covers
Undercover trying not to let the pain show through
This is the same strong woman that still holds you
Even though you're older and make your own decisions
Its gotten colder in the later years just wishin
You could go back to the beginnin
Back to when **** was simple
And all you had to do was listen
To another bedtime story
Next thing you know you're drifting
Away from all these problems and all these lights
Fluoride will **** our dreams they tell us to brush our teeth and cringe when we say reality bites
But I'm just trying to figure what's more important
Being myself
Or being Your kid
Just another thought from the tortured
I can feel the flames lick my body 'fore the torch's lit
Society's trying to burn us
And if they think they can teach us before they learn us then its straight out the frying pan and flying into the furnace

Nero:
I'm all alone like a watchtower my life turned sour but I'll devour any chance to **** up fools with rhymes perchance I'll leave you entranced with my writings but I'm sliding off topic so dash if you're ready then go a ahead and rip because we're cyphering on some poetic mafia ****

DaSH:
**** clips in the toilet with the ******* safety off
******* blood royal flushing with my king homie Alucard
All your ******* are old and lack any kind of support
So I'll hang em make their back straight with that ******* IV cord
If this cipher is random
Hope they deal with what I hand em
Four grenades a box of tampons
Watch these ******* explode while standing above the commode
Uncan them
The whoopass they deserve
Then im swervin in their hearse
Hopping over every curb
Speeding through every sharp turn
I love to watch their bodies burn
I love to catch every single ash between my teeth and eat them
DaSH is such a beast you freed him
By acting like a priest
When youre a demon in the streets
*******, capish?

Nero:
Alucard the damphir ******* blood like canned beer I'm near my apex others are below I'll free flow like arkham you won't question in a session when I leave your ***** barkin rhyme sparring call me Ali all these fools stay trying to Rock me like cheap Versace but I'm high quality leather built for your pleasure linkin words together you'll take home and treasure like Sinbad I don't sling crack but my rhymes are the pipe because reading this I know your *** got addicted tonight

DaSH:
Slicing high up on their frame
Like I'm aimin for the throat
Lots of gore on the floor
Need a boat to stay afloat
The walls needed more paint
You donate another coat
But I don't need your ******* charity
I'll stumble and I choke
Before I ever let you get to me
Before you start ***** you'll be history
How you ******* plan on ending me?
Just get Gone, Girl, be a mystery

"The power of freedom to overcome tyrants and terrorists"
Moral clarity accoding {cording} Natan Sharansky,
he mustabin seeking seeing through a moral window
besmerched wi'traditions
radiating

A Russian-reared Jew's perspective from Israel
In the 1990's
No integration without representation

--- wait, let the reader recall the goal - yet set not -
right, roll on
{where is this going, David Goodman Chronicles 2020}

The book of life, your role,
{when you find your name, you know}
expand into
A party for the moment, our parts played,

well, let's try {hence, a title}

----govern yer own damself

A gain, a tryal, a paying, a tension, contention,
single source contention,
pride's the culpa writ. Right.

{when you walk into a banquet, be polite,
meaning act as though you are where you know
you are welcome, ask if the empty seat is taken,
if not, you will know you are welcome,
neighbor. This is the same old way, in the future.}

Hubris gotcha down- be humble, win a crown

Shall we win freedom for those locked in fear?
A fine challenge, don't you think?
Read.
Sakarov was Sharansky's teacher, his Plato,
upon whose shoulders, strangely strong faith
finds footing,
fulcrum,
you get the ideas you claim to own, not
the ideas you thought taught
true to all who consume the canon.
Leverage.
A library gives a mind leverage,
we have AI, no lie.

An idea, an id-entity, speaking spirit
Weyekin, englished to we ye kin,
angels, beings guiding ones
who know.

Not every evil is nullified.
Be a ware, the e keeps you from being
a war, knowing your own self as warrior.
Peace makers do not keep the peace,
peace makers let it settle to stillness
waiting behind any obstacle,
waiting is suffering this to be so now, because
nothing in the energy compelling me is breaking
through
but to you, see, dear reader It may be
only I who thinks we are, you could be imaginary.

Actually.
Many useless
morals of stories remain as aphorisms
and adages and proverbial warnings to provoke.
Nietzsche numbered his, to give account
for every idle word,
links
perhaps…
Speak up, lie not against the truth, saying I know,
I know
-boundaries, of course
Freedom must be
defined.
Who knows? Tell me, oft-op apt ove'yer'head!
Y'know? Y,
Everyman does what is right in it's own eyes.
Maybe,
define everyman.
{und ganz Übermenchen}
All of us. Everyman sind all of us, in well ordered
reality,
such as our readers of reality-
between-
lines-never-drawn
in
sand. {flaunting the peace of the sabbath,
which did allow stoning, as you may recall.}

You see, we are in the same story.
There is no authority, save you pay,
free willingly, attention to tensions
seeming
to signal something
mechanical,
click,
ping, a single ATP dis compossesses.
-composed
Ride that photon.
Here we are again, speed of thought.
Think so? Real is an assumption, not an imagination.

I heard this guy say he was a son of God. Big G.
'Said he was aman with anorm al 'erose journey,
when 'tall wentahell.
Then, he believes he was reborn,
somewhat more than a mere mortal.
He claimed his forever
began when he stood up
to the knowing of good and evil, personally.
Intimately.
That seems good. Freedom is from some thing,
stricitive, right. Free from what?
Fear?
fear is one thing,
but fear has preservation purpose so,
we must be specific in which fears we bind to the NULL set.

WE are judging angels. Dare think.
You judged your own collection of inspirations,
did you not?
I prayed God, YHWH, actually, would show me
all the lies I believed,
about him and anything else. Amen, I did.
We'll make this plain, if this is your first signpost of note.

Ideas of freedom formed in the minds of slaves,
meet ideas of freedom formed in the minds of felons,
greet ideas of freedom formed in the minds of children in the desert,
bher with ideas formed in vacation bible school at hippie cults.
Suffer ideas formed in academies of technical guessing, f
er cryin' out loud.
Ideas of freedom?
Little children, keep yourselves from vain imaginations.

Freedom that cannot name Jesus YHWH is not the proof.
Truth is the proof. Truth makes free, he who seeks it,
which is not to say
he who has apprehended
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
No, whoso ever seeks,
finds more abundance
of that which he has.
He who has nothing, finds nothing.

All candidates claiming direct linage to truth:
define freedom and be judged.

That's not fair.
Accuse, excuse us, life's not fair,

Judge yourself. "Make yer dam' bed!"
{presuming you woke t'd'yoke}
leave us form a
party to puff
up moral clarity like
leaven, till three more measures of
dust rise on the gasses we naturally

cannot see. In corpo ratus.
CLEAR!
Scientology? Coincidence, if 'tis.
Ol' magi-tech, what so
ever we agree. Same trick.
Sacro-sanctity
freedom from fear. Agree? No? Why not?

Fear of YHWH is the beginning of Wisdom.
True, but thought wrong.
Genitive fear, God's fear, is the beginning
of Wisdom, she was with him ere the
highest part of the dust of the world took form.
Fear of falling, is good -- no, it is a mistaken signal,
an imbalance, eh?
The speed of thought correction is faster than the eye
can see and warning is thought, of an unknown harm,
mistook.

Fear of believing lies, is needed, I thought, but, no,
There's no fear of believing lies,
truth be told.
"Cannot the tongue taste its words?"
"Is there any taste in the white of an egg?"
"Do you know the sweet influence of Pleiades?"

The bubble of all you know is an egg. Kinda.

-----

Self-govern, together live, birds of a feather flock together,
that idea. No slaves.

Fear society or free society, self, thyself, govern true.

That's right. "To thine own self, be true"
"believe no lie, tell no lie"
"Know thyself"
"Know thy shadow"

Today is 11-11-2021 the time here is 9:11 ante meridian,
You, as imagined, by me, alone,
are you, alone, reading, to yourself words
made from thoughts I am thinking at this pace.
Prepositioned, in your pastence.
Phrase, word, phrases, line
lines alone

lines in pairs
certain points genitivious, engender differing means
to obviously triplication of some certainties, certain
ties to old lines unraveled from a net knotted
in Ur.

We be ye kin, ken ye grock rocks rollin' on
down a course?
Of course you can, of course, the only common
course, this course of human events, common
sensed as time and space overlapping stuff.

Mater, mater, may I imagine being born, eh
oh, yes, -- movie memory -- see
right through the visible man,
a boy toy, picked by luck or the answer
to a prayer,
but I did ask for the best gift, hoping
it was money, because I was told Solomon,
was the wisest of mortals in ever, so
I was told he said, Money answereth all things.

Yeah, right. You already know, that seems so
wrong, wrong to the point, the root
of evil, barbed tail,
horns of dilemma, ah, what's a mind like mine to do?
Semantics, its all
se man tics, terms of worth, pro
forward onward efforting verbs, action words
The Infallible Book declares, Money answereth all things.

A single grain contains the whole, or some say so,
I imagine reality less restrictive in common sense
utility
use of knowns passed on as memes with reasons,
we sit to
gather memory, tell story, think song sung, sing
that song
a gain, we make the peace past understanding,
past when we were one, and we stood up
right
and ran away
remember, the heart of every story boy meets girl.

Well, this is different, scientifical. Fantastic, sure,
stable as the grammar in DNA.

Steady as the procession of the stars seen from
certain times and places, and passed through time
to any who wish to know
all the truth once held in forms told around fires
to comfort a child with a common cold,
aches and sniffles, full tummy,
milk and honey heated by stones, dropped
into a turtle shell mug my grandma gave to me

drifting into to tal, mor tal is man mortalisman more
more
more, wait. Wait.

We breathe. We listen. This is the book of life, live.

My task is breathing inlets along coastlines, where
waves of overlapping, pearling shallows round
stones as witness, stones crying out
living water has shaped me, see,

is this beauty for giving or selling. I wish I knew,
instantly,
this bit has been freely given, for the use
been made,
the formation, the inspiring aspiration to make

make up
a mind to find the answer, and find
it does appear
line upon line,
beyond the library Daniel witnessed sealed.

Money made this possible, this magic pen,
for all intents and purposes, this tech is magic.

Have you witnessed 3-D printing circa 1985?
Mac SE was cutting edge, and owning one
was status, using one was a good gig,
for an old counter of picas and points, once
the laser writer met vector formed fonts
calculated, computed with most accurate maths,
tangents and cosins and such,

the power of the press, in the hands of a pauper,
hmm, time and chance, let me warn you, this is
the untangling of the famed tangled web we weave
when first we receive the call to listen to the truth
you hear in written words arranged in patterns
adapted to the available, usable, medium.

Draw your self watching the horses painted
as the song of us is sung, a domus, we domus, us

singing together we form
awe
awfullest noise you can imagine in a secret place.

Welcome to the cavern of forgotten good ideas
and idle words mistaken as misdefined, this is that.
              
-restart
from certain places where uses are determined
by any means, good
[ye-es, the idea at the center}
pre-positioned, made fit for a king or a priest
or any humbler soul in a state of grace, id
est, best state, favored, by no power id-entity in me
conceived, but by the word of GOD, who is
good
all the time, any hungry child knows, how a child
weighs the worth of such an idea, plucked
from thin air…

Here, we be, wir sind, si, we know, go Ko!
golf-commentator whisper voice

did you come to find my voice, listen
learning is the first act that never ends,

the next word is the next thing, eventually,
events being
things, in their own right state, useful, or not.

Tantrums serve to prove the uselessness of tantrums.
Grandfather level wisdom fits moral to mean to end,
end all conjecture,
cease casting all cares to the common winds of time,
and space and sea and sky, everywhere idiocy abides
provoking one
an other, ricochet-re-re-re act re
sponse, jump, start

run, upright, spring thinking what
if
I say this is the goal, get to the bottom, fundus
professionally guided by I mind I myself, made up
mind
including you, the acting dear reader.
Saving myself for a publisher, copy right ritual
of code devisors, to increase interest,
gouge-deeper gullies to wash away desires
inspired by alluring vertisements intended
to loosen your grip
on sati. Satisfy my yearning soul-blues, bha-bha
boom
woncha sing witme seem what we seem to be
haps in a time per haps
may happen at will in a mind on a binge to end
all binges, writing like a joy-daemon viral
ex-plainer, needling *****, look

this way, see

ear? Practice makes perfect opportunity next

use of truth to tell a lie from a joke, perhaps
that is the trick,
who told the tale before you heard it was your
intellectual heritage,

your link to who and what you are, through song
and saga and right stepped beeing dancing thisaway
thataway sing asongofus a we a we a we away

what were we thinking, then
Lion King reminds us, being or not, what do we got
to do to attain

Acunamatattal rattle shake shake shake
shake your spoils from the war,
were you unaware, shaking ***** measures worth?

Stealing attention from the stars, eh,
lying demon, here, here be heretic tic, instant
hell
a poppin all around, as we recall some mirror neurons
to signal gut response
text wise
is this happening? Did the dam break, or the branch

is this a bough breaking affirmation broken from
the tree of life entangling the tree of knowing increase
vow to know
more, was the chant for warned be, war chants and we
chants are mortally indiscernible but

we die to learn the difference, you must be born again,
I can not call that a lie. Nor can you and prove me wrong.

Was that a the reason for war all along, selected
bits of the last old wives tales, the barren ones,

old wives, who watched no child, ever form, from
one generation, after another, to no eggs
ever forming vessels for the spirit of life knowing knowing
things, we agree on
things, we agree on things we make up and lie to others

to scare them, put fear in their hearts, fear of death,
real, on the edge, fear, we make up,
we pretend, we play, who am I to be, when I grow up?
- practice perfect sati, old wives say we agree, go.
polisemy spawn bloom Thuc's lic be witcha

If it was a common question, why was it no answer
is readily available…

avail, second instance, in this stream, how extra
ordinareally organzed are these eddies in the depths,
silken threads, silver in golden needles, apples
of gold, in pitchers of silver, still life, made
in vocative voice we sought, peace
in a picture
formed from words drawn in letting symbols setting
free
chthonic thoughts some time now,
where we go or how is immaterial now, here
is where all the power to be us - is, right now.

I'm loving the concept, except one knows,
one knows not,

could be a numbered aphorism in thoth lost long ago.

Freedom from pain? When? When the pain ends.

I have watched Thuc burn, many flashes
as to why
so, I surmise, no promise I am right then, but now
I am right, as a twist top.

As in,
do it right or break the true purpose of rightness,
lefty loosy, listen
righty tighty, mechanical children know that by five.

So in saying we ***** with minds we mean we re
thread the spiral needed to hold order to the curve
we use to move from mind to mind
by simple subtility common to reading minds, let
loose from codes of obscurity and silence,

priesthood of the programmers, defiled
by HyperCard…

hit it, 1985, we role the hero in the tail, the new man
stranger in his own home town, trope, f'shore

distant Homer's combed the beaches, sifting shipwrecks

finding, from time to time, these jars of old stories
written in magical ways, saying unspeakable things.

A dawning in the mind of all the kin, weyekin, listen
we say say the story so
somebody
listens, thinks, listens thinks, I thought that,
and laughs,

that feels good, silent smile, quiet grin, nobody sees,
but me, we ai n't e-whistlin', Dixie,

did the singer make a we of us, or did you watch
the TV show,
so you know? Did we meet and leave impressions,
or did you think I reminded you of a character
Bill Murray could play well?

What the hell? Imagine that, being another body,
after being this, be gone.
Sa sa sati. Is fine, as an idea, an id-entity in common state
free satisfaction for any dis-
satisfied mind, but
be aware, breathing is involved, for a lifetime, of days
and seasons, one after the other, constantly
feeling the draw
of empty from full, as we all sang, let the healing waters
flow,
and the joys, celestial
glow… go go go make up a Mormon link and think we

lied about many things, we need not lie about knowing.

Now, no lie lives in sacred temples misappropriated
by a tyranny over the mind of man,
to which we Jeffs and Jinn agree, an end is deservant

of your attention to the actual forces involved in details,
such as you reading this line after all the lines you read
before
now… when your clock is pacing, time's worth one way
or wait,
a guide, some intuitive icon may make sense suddenly
256 shades of grey, undefiled by the muse that planted
the shame associated with putting on that mind,
being in the head of a dramatic iteration of broken

sense of being holy, historical fashion statements
straight from full victorian victim global angst,

interesting times, said the chinaman to the BIC guy,

click, British East India, and the ***** war and
the tea cartel.

Grey Pompon, cheer rah rah rich man, now I can
eat your mustard,
rawly.

Euphony, is good euglobonics, euro-trash
white and all its malonat- ive {melatonin-iment}
serrendipt natural to the medium
hyper-text in metaspace, true to the thought
at
the bottom, pro fundus
ment-al-ity ifs
itself
into this actual state, where
when I write you read, and
this is connected to a very complex
tangled web of reasonings for acting
as if we know
this is that right thing you do, we do think
the thoughts in words we let mean true
things, in bundles.

Sub routines, we may choose
to understand, reasons for simple when
sublime takes a life time.

Faster fasting, we did, my we did speed,
even if it was only a game,
we generated the oomph that once made
war
bore boys and girls who saw the science
consciously, thinking
I was made for this, this time, these rules,
this tech
this magic, this history, this lexicon

this underneathness, chthonic thought
Lex Fridman, coincidental influencer
Joe Rogan happened,
to survive, or
did he, is he really Joe Rogan, on Spotify
or did he leave his sould self on YouTube
bait,
come pay me attention I may sell and
make you laugh and feel good
doing it, laughing
inside.

I just recall this guy I know, who has
grown anonymously old, mellowed
with char and aged to perfection
on the adapted tongue,
it is a cultural test, can you swallow
the real
hard stuff boy?

You want a taste of your own medicine,
- twined voices old and gravelly craw
- high and whiny boy

The story takes a turn, same script,
life is poetic, or is that the other way round,

who cares

Malonate
The malonate or propanedioate ion is CH₂2−.
Malonate compounds include salts and esters
of malonic acid,
such as diethyl malonate,₂,
dimethyl malonate,₂,
disodium malonate,
Na₂.
Malonate is a competitive inhibitor
of the enzyme succinate dehydrogenase:
malonate binds
to the active site
of the enzyme
without reacting, and so competes
with succinate,
the usual substrate
of the enzyme.
The observation that malonate is
a competitive inhibitor
of succinate dehydrogenase was used
to deduce the structure
of the active site
in that enzyme.

From <https://uci.officeapps.live.com/OfficeInsights/web/views/insights.immersive.html>

MMM, I get by…

If Love is sacrificing all I have had,
I will embrace hatred
For you are my favorite part.

If Love will set us boundaries,
I'll call out an all-out-war
For you are worth dying for.

If Love moves in mysterious ways
Which will make our fate intertwined
Which will make our destiny falls apart
I'll be a thief to steal the pen.

If Love will make us suffer
Which these invisible chains have our bare feet
Which will ruin our veins
Then, let us together be at peace.

Might in another world,
Hatred is our wings
Revenge is an art
Mysteries are the music of the harp
And suffering is heaven.

If we can't meet on our way
I'll surrender myself on fire
Nothingness I had
Dumbness I felt
Weakness I got
Only even a second of your touch
Then, Love let define us.

Walk, Walk with your bare feet
to places I've never heard.
Lately, I can't seem to feel
anything but words.

Stand, stand at the crossroads,
wonder where you will go.
Distance becoming more than space,
as I had come to know.

But you talk, talk with conviction
about everything but me.
And I counted for a year.
And I cursed the miles between.

Distance was my occupation.
I tried to measure it with a pen.
And so I did not notice the breach between us-
the ever present end.

The breach that separated
you
from
me,
that no amount of closeness would mend.

My fingers entwined,
Around the mighty pen.
My hand moves.
Trembling at first.
And soon,
Unstoppable I am.
Nothing holding me back
Like a bird soaring in the sky,
Free at last.