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Nikita May 2015
Who needs a relationship when you can have
*SUSHI
raingirlpoet Dec 2014
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"fight my disability"
we were never at war with one another
like me, it just wants to exist
and so i let it
to some extent
i’ll never “become my disability”
yet i don’t believe it’s a bad thing either
i’ve come to realise that he’s become a part of me
as he’s helped shape my thinking
and maybe even my personality a little bit
i owe all my stubbornness to him
nah
i don’t fight my disability
we’re bffs

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"get up every day"
though for a while, i thought it was
getting up is easy
facing the world?
getting easier
i used to blush at the thought of getting a wheelchair
i’d bury my face in my knees and cover my ears with my hands, thinking that if i couldn’t see it or hear it, i wouldn’t need it
i cared too much of what society would see me as
not “normal teenage girl”
"sad confined possibly a teenage girl?"
normal is overrated
and to be honest?
so is society

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
pretending i’m okay with mainstreaming
dear teachers, “mainstreaming” was never in my vocabulary
pretending?
pfft dear teachers, this is 100% real contentment
IEPs got some getting used to but after 16 years of endless doctors appointments, people in white sterile coats, plastic latex gloves poking, prodding demanding things of me
"mainstreaming"
won’t ever exist in my vocabulary
i know i’m smart
and i know i can do it
so don’t you DARE cry at my graduation
it’d be pretty pathetic if i believed in myself more than you do

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is
accepting the realities
i don’t know when i’ll take my last step
i don’t know when my muscles will give out for good
i know that every day i won’t know what’s right in front of me
i know that i’ll never be able to run another mile in my life
and i know that i won’t ever stop dreaming about the things i wish i could do
would love to do
won’t ever do
might do

one day
Raihah Mior Sep 2018
1.  It always happens completely unexpectedly.

It could be a year from now, perhaps another 5 years, maybe tomorrow. It could be the person you've been liking for the longest time, it could be your bestfriend that you didn't think you'd fall for, it could be the guy you met for three days during your sister's graduation day. Nothing's ever really certain. You just don't know when it'll happen. And with whom.


2.  It's good to know what you want. But never set expectations.

I've come to realise that what's most important is that you share the same or similar end-goals with the person. Having different outlooks on life isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as the things you wish to achieve in life are, or should at least be aligned to one another - whether it's family, career or personal life goals. It's also good to know what you want in a person in terms of his/her core values. BUT, having a list of what your dream person should physically and mentally turn out to be? Nope, throw that out.  


3.  Self-love before anything else.

It's about acknowledging your flaws. Knowing and understanding your little quirks. Enjoying time by yourself and taking pleasure in your own presence. Looking in the mirror and feeling beautiful/badass. Ultimately, it's about accepting yourself exactly the way you are. Loving yourself first and foremost, above all else. And eventually having enough confidence to know that however and whoever you are, the other person will come to love every single little detail about you.

.....but what if they don't?

Simple. Get outta there. You don't deserve it.
You've got too much self-respect for that.


4.  Take all the time you need.

In an era of technological advancements and glorified instant gratification, it's easy to fall into the abyss of wanting more and more and wanting it NOW. Everywhere you look, everyone around you seems to be falling in love and having the time of their lives. Pfft, it isn't that hard is it? People find their soulmates all the time. It's just a mere click of an app. Swipe right, there you have it.

Now... here comes the hard-hitting truth. Falling in love is a literal piece of cake. Staying in love, now that's the hardest part. This is where patience and taking the time to know a person is crucial. It's very important to know the person as a friend first before anything else. Also, the friendship should make you feel comfortable enough to know that no matter how much time you take and need, it only proves that it'll further flourish into something even more meaningful as time progresses.

It's like cheese. It's only better with time.


5.  It should set you free.

I used to think love is somewhat this concoction of paradoxes -  it should be happiness and despair, goodness and pain, all jumbled up into one. You're supposed to love someone so much till it hurts. You're supposed to miss him till your head spins and your heart literally aches. It's supposed to make you feel like the worst.... but completely in love.

But as time passes and age matures me, I start to realise that it should be in fact, the complete opposite. Well, yeah, maybe it should make you feel like all those generic lovey-dovey things like in rom-coms. It should make you happy and grin like an idiot. It's gonna turn you into a big ball of cheesy fluff sometimes.

But what it should really feel is easy and breezy, like a pretty summer's day. No one has to feel like you're giving too much and receiving too little when there's mutual understanding and love for each other. It shouldn't feel burdensome when both of you respect your boundaries and spaces. There should too, be times spent apart. You are, after all, two completely different individuals merged together. Your union should make you strong but light on the feet; attached but not chained to one another. You are each the savoury and the sweetness of a PB&J sandwich; both constituting different parts of a whole.
I know this isn't the slightest bit like poetry, and that it belongs in a journal or something... But I dunno, it's been circulating in my head for quite a while. I've just been reflecting on past friendships and relationships a lot lately, I guess.
RJP Aug 2018
Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.

The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.

They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
And think:
“Pfft you all wish you could fly
BarelyABard Feb 2013
I woke with a sleepy start to find the devil standing over my bed.
I screamed in alarm and punched that ******* in the head.

He frowned then said he was feeing lonely
with a sad little shrug
So I laughed and gave him a big bear hug.

Then God sent me to hell for being nice

0_0
JAM Oct 2022
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.

The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.

Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.

The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.

"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."

"It's about time!"

"huh?"

"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."

"Shuddup or I'll write you off."

Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.

"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."

"Nobody's like me dude."

The bound man locks eyes with Quill.

"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"

"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"

The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****.

"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"

"Not really."

"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.

"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bM9SHDNAbPw&list=PLbM5LMVZad0aDdDCFZyOel2N12aq62cn7&ab_channel=TuSuShell
jennifer ann Jan 2015
"hey." kyle walked up and sat next to zoey on the front steps of the old house. the wind blowing through her long blonde hair. the sun shining on her face. her brown eyes shining. "hey" she grinned. "hows life as the butler treating you?" she smerked jokingly. "meh you know, it has its ups and downs... mostly downs. but i'm just glad i'm working for cordelia and not fiona. that way i can keep my tongue." kyle stuck his tongue out and licked zoeys face. "ew, you're so gross." zoey laughed, trying to get away from kyle. "pfft, whatever, you liked it." kyle rolled his eyes and nudged zoey. "hey." zoey nudged kyle back and smiled. "you know, i'm really happy i met you zoey. even if i did have to die and be sewn back together with parts that didn't belong to me. i would go through it all again just to be with you." kyle looked zoey in the eyes very seriously. zoey laughed "you're a *******." she blushed.
"no i'm serious, i love you." he smiled, blushing. "i love you too." zoey melted. "what was with all the drama in the dining room this morning?" Kyle asked. "oh just madison being madison." zoey laughed. "oh, i hate it when she does that." kyle smiled and joked. "yeah, me too." zoey agreed and smiled.  

"alright, lets do this." cassie walked into madisons room with a skie mask and gloves on. the ski mask had a creepy mouth on it, that resembled an evil clowns mouth. "really you're wearing a ski mask? this isn't mission impossible." Madison shook her head. "yeah, but i liked the creepy clown mouth. and, i havent gotten to wear this yet." cassie explained. "well i can't be seen with you wearing that weird ugly thing." Madison pulled the ski mask off, making her hair stand on the top of her head. "sorry madison, you're right." cassie quickly patted her hair down. "this is so ugly and weird, i don't know what i was thinking." cassie threw the ski mask down on madisons bed. "can i have a ciggarette?" cassie questioned. "you smoke ciggarettes?" madison asked. "pfft, ya. all the time. i'm a big smoker." Cassie replied as madison handed her a ciggarette and a lighter. cassie lit the ciggarette and as soon as she inhaled she began to cough. "there is nothing like." cassie coughed "a good cigarette." she coughed again. "alright, bleach ready.. pepper spray ready, itching powder ready, and nair ready." Madison smiled as she held up a bottle of nair. "you know she deserves much more than this, we're really doing her a favor. she should be thanking us for this" cassie replied with a ciggarette in one hand, and her hand on her hip, trying to mock madisons posture once again. "this is true, now go downstairs and see if the coast is clear." madison replied. "no problem." cassie put her thumb up and coughed once again, looking back sadly at the clown ski mask as she exited the room with a cigarette in hand.
Star Gazer Aug 2016
"Forget me already. It's not mmm... good for you to still remember me. Uhh; I want you gone from my life, please?" Sarah requested with frustration creased on her face.

Sarah wasn't your average university student, ash blonde with streaks of red in her hair, slim tanned legs just enough to make a young teen salivate. She was neither tall nor short, and if Goldilocks had met Sarah before Goldilocks would have exclaimed 'just right' about Sarah's height. You couldn't tell whether she was rich nor poor because Sarah had always worn amiable denim jeans though they were always ripped. It could have just been her fashion statement, a sardonic "looky over here people. I'm charming pfft, no one knows how charming I am and I don't even have to show skin to do so". Sarah though seemingly perfect on the surface, had always had self esteem issues; she'd mumble sentences and say "don't worry" when she struggled to convey herself.

"... Please?" Sarah requested with frustration creased on her face.
    To Jim, this was the usual request he'd heard over and over. At this point, about a million and twenty three times; it no longer phased him. Jim gulped in a mouthful of air before going onto his retaliation; except his retaliation did not involve calling her 'a *****' nor did it involve calling her 'a **** covered ***** that no one will ever love'. No... Jim was civil tongued in a rather strange demeanour.

"Sarah darling. The moment I forget you, the skies will fall, the clouds will shake, rain will flood the Earth because the very second I forget you, my world and I will have been destroyed", Jim said with a sheepish grin. Jim was a cunning man, almost too smart for his own good at times. He'd always reminisce on that one date he had with Sarah. He had taken her to a nearby farm, and nearby to a suburban kid was a two and half hour drive. The farm was not the most romantic place but to Jim, cow manure and sheep manure whispered "this is the most organic and romantic place you can ever find". The minute they had arrived in the general location of the farm, Sarah had already been, hungry, tired, sleepy, angry and most of all she had to put up with Jim not revealing anything to her....So fear was one of the cause of her anxiety with Jim, though she could trust Jim with her life so it somewhat lessened, the very moment that fear piqued.

The ground, wet soil, faint smells of manure, 'Nature'. Jim flaunted the minute he had arrived "HOLY SHEEP! Look around Sarah, aren't they wonderful?"
          Sarah mumbled, as she most likely always does "they....mmmm....they are nice....umm I guess".

Jim projected his voice, shocking Sarah again, but at this point a feather falling to the ground would have spooked poor little Sarah. "SARAH! Look over here. Do you see the cow. Why don't we call her Cherry?"

"Why Cherry?" Sarah asked with a puzzled look on her face.

Jim took a big breath of the farmland air "Because ...cherries are edible."

Sarah slightly disgusted but with a smile on her face nonetheless.

Suddenly, Jim grew quiet; and for a blabbermouth, 'would forget to breathe because he's talking' Jim, this is a pointer that there may be something that wasn't exactly right.

Jim spoke, breaking the silence created by the void of words that was Jim and Sarah, 'Babe. I've been thinking... and before you jump to conclusions, no we are not breaking up, not on a farmland, that's how you'll **** me and feed my bodies to the pig or something....and nothing eats Jim Thorens except dinosaurs. I wanted to say, I've been thinking about how lucky I am. No I didn't win the lottery, nor did I come to an inheritance of a million dollars; one because I don't gamble and two because ...my shitheap of a family won't even leave a cent to me probably. But I am a lucky man, because I have you and having you is like winning the lottery. It is like inheriting a million dollars. It is like having the palms of the world, in a single minute I get to hold your hand."

Sarah spoke, tears invading the corner of her eyes, "Maybe this world is too good for us. I don't know but lately, it feels as though walls are collapsing and I can't keep feigning it anymore. I chose to come along with you in hopes you'd end things with me", Sarah had hardly ever spoken for so long without a few umms or ahhs in the way, but this time something came over her.

"...But I love you babe. Don't you love me?" Jim building a bridge to clear the doubt in between their relationships. Sadly, the bridge he built in the form of a question did not support the weight that they both held. One loving too much, and another loving too little.

A few days had passed. Well what was a few days for those who aren't heartbroken, felt like decades for those with a hellish hole forming in their hearts. A few days, merely a few days, with the overclouding, overbearing sensation of a lifetime.

Jim Thorens had called Sarah Silva to arrange a meeting, with the tone of 'complete strangers, who tried to hid that they were past lovers'. "Hey Sarah, It's Jim here. I've been wondering if...ummm if you'd ahh want to get a coffee. So we can have a little umm chat?" Jim spoke as he left a voicemail.

Jim Thorens saw Sarah Silva making her way to the empty chair in front of him, a smile lit on his face as it had always done in the before-times. Except now, it wasn't the same as the before times.

"Forget me already." Sarah mouthed in silence and though Jim could not read lips, he understood. He understood every bit of that silent air.

"Forget me already. It's not good for you to still remember me. I want you gone from my life, please?" Sarah requested with frustration creased on her face and a subtle roll of her eyes. This time, Jim's pain was audible.

"What if we..." Jim started to speak before being completely cut off by Sarah.

"Don't worry". Sarah said, as she stood up and left.
Here I am,
In the middle of the grey ocean.
The tears of angels dancing on the  broken surface.
Angels crying, crying for us?
Pfft, yeah right.
Earth.

God,
Poor Earth.
We've destroyed hope,
And along the way I believe,
We've destroyed humanity,
Or maybe just humans,
I really don't know,
Maybe Im just
Destroyed.
Lexi Nov 2017
When I think of happiness I think of yellow, but not just yellow. When I think of happiness I see tulips buzzing to life from all the bees that sang to them. I see rainbows and butterflies over a vast country land on a beautiful sunny day with horses neighing their hello's. The sight gives me a goofy feeling. This happiness, It's now tugging at the corner of lips, pulling them towards my ears until my cheeks hurt and then a sound of squealing as I reach a full  blown excited-happiness overload
So the boy I love
So very very very much and am
Fighting for days I never wrote happy things  sooooooo I came up with this
A Yellow Domino Jun 2013
I've tuned in to the wrong channel.

My brain tells me all sorts of things:
You're an alien to the world
You don't belong here
You don't belong anywhere
You don't think the same as others
You're too stubborn
You're too straightforward
You're not like the rest
You're drunk
You should go home.

Well yes,
I totally should.
Manon Kingma Nov 2012
You think no one would care if you died? no one would notice. well you’re wrong. i would. and so would so many other people.

Okay listen here, even though this won’t matter in a week or even tomorrow I just want you to know that:

You are worth so much more than you think.

You were placed on this earth for a reason, everyone has a reason to live no matter how small it may be. There is always hope, there is always help. There is always something better to do than **** yourself.

If you died tonight by taking your own life you would affect so many. No don’t just say “Pfft, yeah right” because someone will.

What if tomorrow your best friend wakes up and you’re not there? Do you know how devastated they will be. They will blame themselves. What if they had talked to you a little longer that night? or finally told you that they love you? A million questions will race though their mind. They will blame themselves for therest of their life.

Your family don’t care either? They do. What happens when they find your body? They will shake your trying the wake you, but you never will. They will cry out for you, tell you to come back. They need you here, without you here? They are missing half of themselves. Their own blood dead. They also will blame it on themselves. What if I woke up earlier to get them out of bed? What did I do wrong as a parent? Why couldn’t they talk to me? The same million questions pestering them for the rest of their lives. How about burying their child before them, that is one of the worst things, out living your own child.

You probably think killing yourself is easy? It’s not. Bleeding out takes hours and it’s excruciating painful. Overdosing, if you don’t do it right you could mess up your organs forever. All the ways of killing yourself have a chance that they will not work and if they don’t you will live with those scars forever.

You’re probably going to blow this off and forget about it but can you at least remember that you are beautiful and you are worth so much more. please don’t take your life tonight or tomorrow or next week because if you survive this monster that eats away your mind everyday you will be able to tell your children and their children that..

**You survived.
T R S Dec 2018
Tsss KK
Tsss KK!!
Pfft.......Pfft Pfft
Kdkdrack
Kdkrack
Shhhhhhhhtk

Tsssssssssss
HaAUGH...
Tsss...­.
K...
Ckt.....ckt...Pllllouuuuuuu

Tink.
Tink
Kratatakatkaktkatkaktaktkaktkartkaktktkktatka

tsssssssssss­ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
bleh Jan 2016
(not a poem i guess but eh)




Space keeps falling to the sides. I try to concentrate, - I mean, I make a token effort every now and again,- but concentration, fixation is always in terms of something external, something I'm not sure I can deal with.  I roll over and go back to sleep.



'Where's the flour?'
'Where you left it.'
'Which is where?'
'On the table. What you want it for anyway?'
'Which table?'
'Haha. The generic maple with the ugly-*** spandrels. What are you making?'
'You think we could afford that? Nah, it's like, faux-pine or some ****. And like muffins.'
'Oh good, there's banan's that need using up'
'No no, like, other muffins. Crumpets and such. Got any golden syrup?'
'I think there's some maple.'
'No, it's like, ply, I swear.'



I haven't moved in days. I need to. He'll come eventually and I don't want him to see me like this. Plus, I need to locate that smell. I can't have guests over with it here. I'm just not sure where it is though. I  feel like it's on my left arm when I’m in the middle of the room, but off to the right everywhere else. It's.. acerbic, but fermenting, like vegetables on the onset of rot but not quite there yet. Not that I know; I haven't moved in days. I don't want to smell it again. Also garlic, definitely garlic.



We visited the inland sea the other day. The hundred years since last time hadn't changed it one bit. The beached clay was brittle under the midday sun, and the cracking footsteps fragmented it into a hundred hexagons.
               'I hear a strain of the pathogen is airborne. It's only a matter of time now'
A group of tourists park up by the shore. A child holds out their arms and runs in small circles.



The corridor keeps flashing. And maybe spinning. It's hard to tell, the colour change starts at a different point each time and there's no discernible rhythm to it. You keep pacing up and down. I feel self conscious that you want to leave, but then again, you did show up unannounced. You shake the snowglobe disinterestedly. The fragments burn like molten static.
'Stop that. I feel like I’m vomiting spiders.'
'You're being dramatic.'
'None the less.'
'Don't worry; you'll get through it. The world is transitioning, and this is just motion sickness.'
'I know that, I didn't say I was worried, I said I wanted it to stop.'

'sorry'



We'd always go for a walk at night if we felt we needed to talk. It was an unwritten rule. The veil of amber filter let our more timid thoughts breath in the nebulous darkness. Stark daylight was always too suffocatingly real, and that was the one thing we were never allowed to be; real. You'd always talk superficially if we discussed personal matters. That day you did a one-third spin clockwise and faced my side, and talked grandeloquently, hammed up like on a stage. You gave an embarrassed smile and blew a kiss for the invisible audience. I always felt jealous of those nothings, those non-existent beings, that got to figure into your world.



'Christ it's warm today. I can't think.'
'so don't bother.'
I spin in the chair. Whooosh. Whooosh.



It's the end of a 6 hour shift. A customer, a mother in her odd thirties, was angry that a sale item was out of stock, like sale items always are: She'd only gone out of her way to shop at this store because of the advertised deal, and we had taken time out of her busy schedule under false pretence. Her child stared at the ground intensely, his eyes watering. I tried to imagine the situation through his eyes, to try and ground myself; to remain both present, but stable. She insisted on speaking to the manager. It's a relief really; He's a skeevy ****, but he at least knows when the customers are just there to start ****, and responds accordingly. He comes over, asks what the problem is. It turns out I entered the code wrong and the item was still available after all. He gets one from out the back, handles the transaction, says have a nice day and apologises for me and everything, and I just stand there blankly; I’d had the graveyard shift the night before and honestly I’m beyond feeling right now, but when she mutters 'dumb *****' as she turns away a tight feeling still twists in my gut anyway.
I come home and leave the door hanging open framed in the setting sun and just drop my bags in the hallway. You're in the kitchen, hunched over a workbench eating out of a mug.
'Whatcha having?'
'Cornflakes.'
'….Cornflakes?'
'Yep.' you pivot as I approach. 'corn..flakes.' you hold out the packet.
'coooornfllllakkkkkkkeeeessssss' I start laughing.
'coooornfllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakes'
we chorus the term in groaning monotone, and I grab the packet out your hand and throw it down and violently stomp it into the ground with every non-energy I have left. You just laugh and egg me on, repeating 'cornflakes! Cornflakes!' in crescendo, ostinato. The satisfaction of each crunch gives me the drive to smash them further, and corn dust spills out of the pulverised cardboard and gets everywhere. In the end I’m panting, my face is a mess of tears, and I collapse over onto it and just roll, bathing in the glorious fragments of reconstituted mulch.



'They say another ice age is coming.'
'They also say we'll be swallowed by the sun'
'well, it's true.'
'Yeah, but which'll happen first? I need to know to dress accordingly.'
'Tunnel's up ahead'
'I know, I see it.'
I deliberately swerve to the side and speed up, changing back at the last moment.
'You know I hate it when you do that.'
'What, don't you wanna die together with me? Here and now? Immortalised, as if our existences actually meant something?'
'like Diana and the nameless chauffeur?'
'******* exactly.'
We step out onto the hill, frozen **** tufts breaking underfoot. It's cold as hell but the skies glittering. You get out the telescope you borrowed off your rich *** sister.
'I think that's Jupiter over there.'
'Pfft, Jupiter.'
'What?'
'What's the blankest space you can find?'
'Hmm.. that way?'
You point it in that direction. 'Look'
I stare into it, but it's hard to keep focus while shaking from the cold. You keep adjusting and asking ,’See anything?', eventually some hazy distortion comes into view.
'See, no matter where you look, there's always something there.' You're trying to sound eloquent. 'Even when it seems like you're drowning in nothing.'
I stand back. 'That's terrifying. I feel sick.' I try to breathe but it's shaky and shallow. I stare into the ground, but I can still feel it; the blaze of the myriad innumerable heavens burn into me. Their judging gaze pierces through me and tears me to shreds.  



'You know, I think I read that Spinoza thought that consciousness is manifest in the ability of finite beings to continue persisting in and of their own will over time.'
'Doesn't that make a toaster more conscious than us?'
'Yeah, you don't say.'



We were twelve and at the department store. It was strange. I'd never taken the bus by myself to just hang out in town before. I always feel disorientated and light-headed in crowds so it had a strangeness; waves of apprehension cushioned by the homogeneity of it. one can be truly alone in a crowd; floating in a sea of otherness, where each gaze is no longer a signification of anything, but a warm static. We were among the aisles of a department store, in the toys and tacky house ornament section. Like, the junk you buy children and grandparents for their birthday. **** that you'd only attribute to people whom have no discernible qualities of their own. We were looking at snow globes. We kept trying to shake them violently enough so that the scene framed within would become entirely lost to the fog; it always felt so disappointing when clarity returned and things re-became what they were. I remember saying, 'I wonder if it tastes like real snow', I don't remember, It was stupid, I don't know why I said it, it sounded cool in my head. But you responded, that I remember, by taking the thing and smashing it against the concrete floor, and pouring out all the fragments into our hands. We tried them together and coughed and choked in laugher. It tasted awful, entirely unsurprisingly. On a rush you stuck one in your pocket, grabbed my hand, and we promptly left the store, and my heart was palpitating, it felt like all the rules, all the natural laws that had prefigured my world were crumbling, and I was terrified, trapped in the gaze of my mothers look of disappointment when we'd be inevitably caught, somehow watching me from its potential future, and I'd no longer be allowed to visit you but it was okay because I was here with you now in this moment and we were alone in this faceless mechanical place crumbling around us, and when we left, and no sirens buzzed, I felt sick with excitement at the unbounded possibility present in everything in every second. I cringe thinking back on it, and feel ashamed at finding such meaning, feeling such unabashed wholesale virtue in indiscriminate destruction, but sometimes, sometimes I still shake that snowglobe as hard as I can, till everything determinate is lost in haze, and I still feel a wave of comfort wash over me.



‘We’ve been walking for ages. you know where we’re going, right?’
‘It’s just up ahead. I swear’
‘You swear?’

‘I mean, I’ve only been there once before myself.’
‘****. This way?’
‘Wait-‘
‘What?’
‘Huh. Nothing. Sorry, I thought I heard a car coming.’


‘I think that’s the ocean?’
‘But.. aren’t we heading inland?’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, I swear.’



We're in your room. Your reading on your bed and I'm in the swivelly chair by the desk, pretending to work, but really we're just chatting, talking about.. something. Whatever. It was probably stupid, laughing at our own jokes, as always, catchphrases repeated till they loose all meaning. It's been a long day and honestly we're both too tired for coherence by this point, but the lack of effort lends the air an easy comfortability. But then suddenly.. Suddenly you stare into my eyes as if you're looking at me and it's somehow different, an intense gaze that I can't escape, as if you somehow found something located there, something fixed in those abyssal pupils. The feeling is overwhelming and terrifying. I am grounded, ripped into the prison of being and frozen static like a dumb animal transfixed in headlights: I am outside myself facing in, and I’m falling away. I pull you in and kiss you to escape; now, it is your touch that is fixed, your smell, your taste, and I breath a sigh of reprieve. You hold my back as I fall into you. I lace my fingers through the buttons in your shirt and feel the faint pulse of your flickering heartbeat. At once an ever-changing epiphenomena, and a calming rhythmic certainty. I vacantly tug at the buttons and your expression changes, gone is the feeling of suffocating questioning, but one of transfixed observation. Your touch is not a reaching out into something, but a continuation of yourself; I am an instrument of your lust, an extension. Holding me in your arm, you nervously run your hand down from my nape and trace my bra from the strap over the line of my breast. The lightness of your touch is a painful tickling and I push myself into you further, my thighs wrapping around yours. Your touch shoots a burning into me, not painful, but like glowing kindling, or the warmth of a blanket; an immanence, a retreat. I let my mind go blank and we continue; you fumble with my bra as I fumble with your belt. We're both shaking but too far gone to notice, too distant to care. The dry freeze of the night air contrasts your damp heat. You clasp me as you trace your hand under my skirt and I feel your arm brush my thigh. I tremble slightly at the sharp coldness of the damp cotton coming unstuck. After a stretching moment of awkward liminality, I feel you pass into me. It's a burning smoothness, distilled liquor. The rubber is an alien feeling, and for some reason I imagine myself as a giant balloon; a malleable featureless surface, filled with emptiness. I feel myself through the threshold of your presence and I am afraid; I am a boundary which encompasses nothing, and by your passing through I fear that I will be pierced; I will burst and out will flow an obsidian wind that will wither you to nothing, but it will keep coming, an endless torrent that will subsume the world and turn everything to desert, and the only way to save you is to keep it bound up as tight as I possibly can till my heart feels like burning metal, and I feel my tears land on my hand tightly clasping your shoulder. You ask through wavering breaths if I want to stop, but I shake my head; if you left now I would be caught and torn open; no, instead I subsume your undulations into myself; till the rhythm is as oceanic noise; a surface rolling located miles above a lightless motionless centre.



The pale green lamplight flickers. A nausea, tepid, but understated. The sentience of moss; an almost motionless drone, but the sense of unfolding. The corridor seems larger than it once was. Blank reflections harrowing accusations, mechanically indifferent but piercing; an alarm clocks wail. I lie still, I lie still. The buzzing repeats. I lie still. I am flowing, seeping through floorboards into the pores of the earth, into colonies of worms and I am lost and free, a motion, a multiplicity, pure form without the anxious drudgery of parts; pure alimentary canal, pure Elysium absolution. The flickering quickens and gets brighter. A pulsating light, a strobe, a beat frequency wavering behind vision. The liquid earth, saturated by light, hardens and dissolves. And 'I' am lost among the ruins, a vague memory of a sentiment. A nostalgic grief, an asphyxiated longing. I reach out to you desperately in the drag of the undertow, but you are the chalk of faded bones; cast to the winds centuries prior. A thousand years pass of blanket darkness, and a unitary bell rings. The flotsam batters against the temple gates. Debris collects in cracks, and my pieces are among them. I cling to retention, and return. I am cold sweat outlining the floorboards, the feeling of clenching before vomiting, repeated endlessly.



A few weeks after, turning off an avenue onto the main road, I see you. You're crossing, coming this way. It was bound to happen eventually. I bite back the moisture forming in my eyes and try to remain faceless. You suddenly change your trajectory, and hit the side of a car. It honks at you and you dodge around it. I allow a bitter smile to myself; the fact I can cause you such disorientating discomfit indicates I still mean something to you. Even if it's just a discomforting anxiousness, something beyond the boundary to be avoided, I have causal powers, extension; I can see my flicker of presence in you even now, even if I cannot for the life of me find it within myself. You run around and I walk straight. It's empowering; I can remain fixed, even if the torrent of the world flows around me. At that moment, I feel the indubitable strength to persevere. I am stronger than this world; I am stronger than you. But then, just as suddenly, the feeling folds upon itself and is gone. I felt solidified, just now, by the fact that I was the one that remained in this random encounter. I won, you lost. but Won how? With the ability to pretend that I can exist alone, in a world that means nothing to me? The ability to maintain a solid spectral façade, when underneath, scratching away under the skin, I contain nothing? To continue terrifies me. Knowing that I have the strength to continue terrifies me. That last thing I ever intended was to outlive you. I feel the world drain away from me, and yet I remain, left standing, alone, in a of realm of perpetual nothing.  



I feel sick

a hundred years pass in the cavity of the desert. Merchants make trade off raided materials and makeshift weapons. A library is burned. A soldier, wanders freely. An insect buzzes around his face. He darts about the place in annoyance, but it remains. He can't shake it. He closes his eyes. It's still there

I feel sick

the sun burns bright arrhythmic  clicking.  A late twenties couple go clothes shopping, however the child is hungry and will have none of it. Lunch is suggested. They are jocular about the decision, but feel an uneasiness about the indulgence. The air is saturated and dries
Aurora Nov 2011
I look up at the sky and see red.
I look at the grass and see black
I look at the banana and see purple.

What?
The sky is not blue!
Pfft! Green grass! nonsense!
That banana... that one that is on top of the pink table, is yellow! LIES!
That table is brown?! Now I know you're crazy!

Eyebrows furrowed
Pursed lips.
Aching head.

No.

Don't tell me what's what!
Stop telling me what to think!

The sky is red.
The grass is black.
The banana is purple.

No...
Stop...
Please...
Let me be....

What's that scary machine...
It's hurting my head...

The sky is red.
The grass is black.
The banana is yellow.

The sky is red.
The grass is black?
The banana is yellow.

The sky is blue.
The grass is green.
The banana is yellow.

I sit in class a stare ahead.
I don't think.
I don't act.
I don't ...

I am a good girl.
Mine. Thank you.
Creep Dec 2014
Something most depressed teenagers will understand:
Christmas is a reminder of what happiness is.
I hate everything about you
By three days grace
Hellz yeah!
I wanna do that!
It'd be a right gas
and
the night is young!

The best part will be:

...waking up in the morning?

Pfft. We should go here.
But
He can't.

Lame.

Movin' on -
Hey!
Dude, it's gone.

Y'know it's not right.
Dude, it's gone.
Yeah.

****, that stuff is nasty!
Does.
Not.
Matter.
Movin' on!

Out?
Need it.
Call it.
Got it.

Safe.
© 2011  J.J.W. Coyle
Sam Knaus Aug 2016
All I know how to write are metaphors.
Metaphors about starry night skies
and infinities and galaxies
and delving deep into myself
to find something nobody's ever known,
**** that.
My metaphors are stupid
and confusing.
Just like me.
My metaphors never make any sense-
just like me.
My metaphors are the bane of my ******* existence
because they're the only way
I know how to express myself
and I can't help but wonder
if that's because I never want anybody
to know how I'm actually feeling,
full of crypticity
my metaphors tell your realities
to go straight to hell,
man, you mean you want people
to understand you?
What's that all about?
Don't you enjoy only being able
to write your poems about
being shrouded in smoke that hides your guilt
and about bathing in moonlight
and being infinite
and inhaling the stardust of my peers,
what the **** does that even mean?
I grew up learning to go after
what I want
and as far as I'm concerned, it's a problem
that I can't come out and say,
"I want tranquility."
Instead I shroud it in some **** about
inhaling twilight and finding peace in my inner galaxies
Pfft.
What a loser.
What a loser to believe that metaphors
are anything but a way of disguising
the truth.
What a loser to think that I am only a metaphor,
even if it's the truth.
What a loser to believe that I am something
so simple but so complex
and hard to understand
especially when I say it
because I never know how to say anything properly
it's all surrounded in mysteries and confusion,
My metaphors say,
"who the hell wants to understand me?"
The curse of poet, I suppose
a curse I'd do well to break free from.
I only know how to express myself in metaphors
the only problem is that nobody knows
what my they mean,
nobody knows what I really am
because I shroud myself in stupid,
enigmatic, asinine metaphors
that when you asked me to say what they mean
sometimes I'd be able to,
but most of the time...
even I don't know what the **** they mean,
but I say them in the hopes that someone will
be able to decipher them- and me-
anyway,
cause maybe then they would know who I am
without me having to tell them,
maybe then I wouldn't have
to figure it out myself.
A L Davies Oct 2011
“aquashield+ .. what is this?”
—“sunscreen”—
“no wonder you get burnt all the time it expired in two-thousand-eight ya mad cat.”
“a-ah..”
“ah?”
“good that i use a different one i 'spose hmm?”
“pfft—bronzer.”
“oh come on.”
. . .
—“awshit look at all those dried soap carcasses in the back there. little beached whales”
“exfoliating, irish spring...”
—“hey what's with the two-in-one shampoos anyway?”
“...well,”
—“seems to me like they're just tryna make showering faster.”
“yah. what's your issue?”
"well, what's the point of that? enjoy the ****** thing.
I dare you to find any two things better than being under a hot shower
& the heat of the blowdryer in the hair after...gaw-damnn.”
—“preach.”
. . .
“man, and all the dust...”
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
Pfft I don't need a f!cking man to make me feel loved and happy

Why else would we have chocolate?

I mean really

Chocolate doesn't mind if I am a *****

If I *** really badly

If I eat it (guys would never let you do that! And I bet they wouldn't
taste as good ...okay that's creepy. let's not think about that.)

If I wear what I call my: comfy-lazy-day-clothes and the rest of
humanity calls: hella-ugly-as-****-clothes

If I don't' wear makeup

If I bag on myself

If I sing. For 9 hours... straight...

If I ugly cry

If I literally act SO unbelievably insane it is actually scary and not pleasant or normal or safe and probably merits a psychological analysis

If I am too busy to hang out with it

Chocolate has never told me it loves someone else

Chocolate doesn't mind at all if I **** so badly at most sports that
dolphins are better throwers than me... and runners...

Chocolate doesn't ever care if I read so much that I forget to like, eat or
sleep or breathe or brush my hair or get dressed or get out of bed or put on pants or do anything else.

Chocolate can deal with my insane mood swings

Chocolate doesn't hit on other girls

Chocolate doesn't care that I'm not ready to like, you know "get serious" with it (that would actually be really disturbing let's not think about that either)

Chocolate accepts me for who I am and never judges me
(Although that is mainly because it is edible and inanimate...)

Chocolate respects my boundaries

I love chocolate

See? I don't need a man to be happy.

Who am I kidding I'm lonely as hell. :(
Why am I so pathetically dependant on love?
AUGH. I guess I'll just go and eat some chocolate.
so so lonely. sighhhh. :'(
Tash Street Nov 2010
“Dear Lab,” started the angrily worded poem,



“We’ve put up with shenanigans and outrage and prats

And unfair bannings from you little rats.

We put up with no codes (quote) for our protection

And through it all you maintained our affection.



Now along you slither with your fancy new forum

And ask our opinion - just to maintain decorum -

but of our gentle requests: you deplore ‘em

Then leave all the mess to the red coated quorum.


pfft - Lab notified."
Ken Pepiton Aug 2022
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.
https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1370 -- Fantastic Fungi, five stars, as ever, Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
Three Grandsons, 5, 8, 11 - and me
Thus this day began.  
-- they're online, in school, ever learning early

This is how I enjoy being.
Not
simply
being, being is
complicated, being is made
of many-
maybe, infinite plane plains piled high and multiplied
and probably twisting,
altogether
to gather points of light you followed
to the thee-at-ah
of three eyes
kiva, kindalikka
convenient cave in words
we carry with us, dark places,
often damp and stinky places,
deep
depressions on the surface of reality,
holes
to here, the point of being being
enjoyment
in the silence and the noise.

--------- Glimpsing

Points of lights, thoughts as
sparks
lighting
words ablaze with fiery wills to empower
gentle spirits hounded
by proud lies,
urging proof,
daring the hero to go
native, become ugly
destroyer of good for goodness sake, go
mad, breathe
anger,
rage and jealous zeal,
hold that inspiration, then

blow it out…

into shameless billows of
peace through safety and warmth,
naturally, as real -ifity is, made
to meet the need.
- an inspiration, a visitation
- a mere whatifery thing

_ movie theaters used to be dark as a kiva, yes
yes, that's true. Mythraic caves, those, too.
--- any mental conditioning, the
Alpha version is only perfect if you
sculpture with wind,
and clouds are
all you have to show for it, then…
or cracking ice, yes, cracking ice
lines
on a great lake or a puddle,
branching waywayway many ways,
fragile and gone, after while.
Fragile and temporary,
's mortality… gone.

Gone to where all beauty goes to conspire.
Inspirations for aspiring users of science,
conscience cleared, uses
made up, asifities
seep into mental sap,
syrup of what maybe when we agree.
Peace is a purpose, ours. We,
the people who hold these truths on earth.
Thus it has ever been,
but now we know, science-wise
Man, the species, doth not live by words alone.

Joy is its strength, light its medium.
Owning is not a concept,
except we agree,
mine is mine by reason, aha, I have it!
I have this.
This is mine, at the moment.
Eureka, we take joy as we take fire.
I first read old Thom Jefferson said,
“He who receives an idea from me,
receives instruction himself without lessening mine;
as he who lites his taper at mine,
receives light without darkening me.”

It was he, who held sacred and undeniable,
the self-evident truths Ben Franklin wished to see
manifested, by way
of the actual vision he had in mind,
self evidently,
a thought experiment.

-- like Wanda Vision, right… that's on TV.

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

Meaning is what we agree we mean,
there is a rule for readers of possible
bullshat wisdom that says:

Enjoyment has its own sake, mentally,
suspended unbelief
-- to the degree of Disney + free trial,
watched with grandsons choosing
what I'll like,
for sure --

Suspended disbelief, I think,
as a mob state, is patho-logical, sick,
it'll ****. No joy in mayhem.

But self-actuated,
willingly suspended,
disbelief, the weapon, hung up on a point
you recall
safe and sound… now,
we are in the realm of words that live
through historical use,
as real as any angel ever named,
or any spirit ever claimed as guide.
Liberty, e.g., the character,
the dime version, with wings on her
Phrygian cap,
to make a kid imagine that must mean
something.

Seems Mercurial, don't it? Like,
Liberty is free is a message from goodness
in the future,
when all the symbols assemble at the throne
of mercy,
for daily renewal and furbishing,
and the ones worn thin by lying men,
are seen through and lightly
sifted into new clouds of might
being possible,
in all probabilities… even this one. Today,
with all its riches freely mine.
………….

Speculate, see if
this were to happen as would be best
for all of us,
us-ness being the state we exist in as
givers and takers of sense
signals,
vibes,
smiles, winks, waves

hey, I saw you see
the latest from Disney, without the crowd

did you notice evil always loses?
Yes, and
Hell is always prepared
for those who lack the knowledge
to escape
the franchise
mis interpretation of my realm,
where reason is as
reason, says, see
liberty, the character,
acts true
to the true hope, the trope of trust,
true rest, compressed to a moment
at the end of the adventure… DIY
save the world… from the unbelievable.

"Power isn't your problem, it's knowledge"
says the evil witch.
She must mean
secret, sacred knowledge-- that's the hint
in the Marvel universe,
such knowledge is believable…
attainable, learn, ever learn
practice makes perfect, patience.
There's a test.
Will to power
meets will to live free as any truth in ever,

it stands to reason
We'll say hello again…
for, we know,
it is a Marvel Universe, there's always
a sequel, inspired or invented
from something left behind.
Am I right, Stan Lee?

Eventually, we all die and leave hope behind,
or it is
all a lie… so let's make the story fun,
let's make it lift
the lonely, stay at home Disneyfied old man,
into deep conversations
about the poetic ****** of Wanda Vision…

how it ends in a dark theatre, lit from a single
source,
as a kiva is when the sipapu is left open
and all the curio spirits run free,
each to be weighed,
judged good or evil, good for something
or good for nothing.

Then the good for nothing ideas are left in the clouds,
so we never unget that
we got the word,
before it was a word, and we wrote it here
in the cloud,
for you to use as entertainment contained
in mere words, unto the distant future,
or until the entire internet AI dissipates
into improbability.
Pfft. Just like that.
Peace is a purpose, ours. My day was filled to over flowing, part inspired by Vision's closing soliloquy - in the entertaining back ground, with grandkids in the foreground of my vision for the future... like magic... how things work...
Connor Feb 2016
The annual rose garden blushes beneath a soft dress
in May. My crooked puppet's shadow has subsided in the theater it came to make way for fairweather, protest, wet teal ink
flowering the walls as sunlight shines thru and the mechanical
blinking of shadowy eyes now spurred AWAKE.
An Appalachian mind gaze and spiderweb neon
smoke attaching it's warmth to every freckled cheek,
a mint kiss like the opening of a fir tree smelted into the
foggy earth.

Ceramics embroider the shop sills
and ceiling fans wave hello n farewell to every guest
each day longer than the last!
WANDERER slept
sound in the Nagakin Capsule Tower, few nights ago now,
had an idea, lost it, feather flowed it's way across Pacific
to my bedroom and I wrote about her here, and saw a Japanese tea ceremony flash by
her eyes/my eyes
a collective consciousness
sometimes years apart.

She, who's witnessed the debris of catastrophe,
standing over what was a golden vase
filled with Tulips
now ash, forgotten except for in a memorial vague outline
in the bewitched brain(s)
Visionary! Arms twitched to the rapture occurring in plain view of us all
VIOLIN rebounding intangible yet unmistakable sound
on a train in Tokyo city. Cement is damp with Spring's sweet rain,
her feet sore from all this walking!

I appreciate her travels, as they are at once my own,
a second-hand enchantment
the taste of green tea, cherries!
EXPLOSIVE FORMLESS ANIMAL WHITE
feather grazed my skin, startled.

This feeling??
something set free, a violent hue erratic
markings on the cave walls, the one from Plato's allegory,
watching fire light the shape of our bodies and some spectacular image displays itself invisible
but felt, undeniable!
Settled, fire transferred to our lungs.
We call this “ART”
we have left the cave, to Paris, to Senegal, to Jaipur,
to her and I and you.

Animal oh animal caged no longer,
howling paintings and smells to our eyes,
bitten our hands sharp with poetry,
this ghast who's empathy for strangers has made a rare few dizzy. Possession! Willingly accepted nocturnal entity and I write this because I can't help myself.

THIS IS WHAT CREATED THE MANDALA,
COLORS OF AN ANCIENT PEACOCK
LURKING WITHIN US TENDING THE FLORA
which takes inspiration from museums, from brief embers shot up in a chasm fireplace illustrating what we'll call Forever,
vocal alchemist who resides in descending faint harp and opera
a fountain in a mysterious lobby only visited by one person, once every few months,
birds shimmer in planted palms and a crystal ceiling expounds the details of travels to come,
an orb above like an observatory for our OWN universe.

APOLLO IN LAUREL
PIANO, ASIAN INFLUENCE,
Damien Hirst's “Beautiful darkness spreading to every corner of your mind painting"
framed holy upon the walls
Jean Cocteau's “The Blood of a Poet” projected also, side by side.
A painted face, a parrot imitating Sudhana

“This is the abode of those of unobstructed intellect and broad mind,
Enjoying the realm of space, free from dependence,
Penetrating all times, free from obstruction,
Clearly perceiving all being and becoming”
- Avatamsaka Sutra

I'm speechless!
She's speechless! Her Tokyo, admittedly imaginary. It's her private
Nagakin Capsule Tower. It's my private Temple, my private Cocteau,
shelves stocked with the poems I'll one day write.
Words which shall knock on my dented skull in sleep mostly, but other times I can't recall as of this moment (Get back to me in July)
retired to literary France
and caught in the quicksand of aging, perhaps medicine will be far along enough that I shall die at 173?
a stretch, but considering that sciences are pushing for immortality by 2045 (pfft)
we shall see.
(??)
Bearded and divine with love
and experience from Airplanes
free jazz, dramatics,
heart to heart, dense libraries,
evening walks to Montmartre
a hand to hold
a kiss to experience.
Meditations,
Rodriguez “Sugar Man” fades out
“Silver magic ships... you carry...”
Sung once by the European barista in British Columbia who kept me caffeinated with a double shot of espresso for guessing the song right which was playing..This just happened, but I realize it'll become such a faint memory by then.
Out and out and out and out there
Far beyond the reaches of consciousness that previously mentioned feather will gather with the other ideas and become the WHITE peacock, infinite.
Carrying us there as wintry atoms
snowdrops on it's back.
One life to another.
Atana Regaila Feb 2016
Roses are red
But they're all gone
I NEED SOME NOW
another one

Roses are red
They feel like silk
Bæ got hit
He need some milk

Violets are blue
Oh wait, I forgot roses
Pfft whatever
VALENTINE POSES
The memes ohhh godddd
phil Aug 2018
#24
spent an entire month in the hospital
and not once did i see a toothbrush
or my wounds anointed with a topical ointment
it was clear an infection was there
considering my leg turned an odd
shade of green, it was honestly a
grisly seen to see my flesh come off with ease
my doctor tried telling me i
was only seeing things, he said “what do
you mean? thats just the light. its not green.”
i said “hell no! i got perfect eye sight,
and that **** aint right!”
he blew it off with a soft “pfft”
and just continued on with his shift
when i first got there a nurse asked
what happened to me, and i told
her the story of my fall from mid-air
as i listed al of my injuries, she sees how
lucky i am, and said “could’ve been worse.
could’ve gotten diabetes.”
i couldn’t say a word, i was so confused
at what i’d just heard. all i thought
was are you kidding me? am i hearing
this right? these are the people taking care
of my life? i didn’t know what to say,
just laughed it off and said, “wow, hadn’t
thought of it that way.”
i remember feeling so disgusting, sitting in
my own filth, yet they only felt
like discussing each pill they gave me
feel like they barely even washed me, used
like two or three hand wipes. i was
feeling hella musty
it was so embarrassing. i was doing PT
and got a whiff of the air passing
around the room. i remember thinking
why does it smell like ****? i took
one look down, and saw it all
over my ******* gown. they gave me
new clothes, and put the others to be
disposed. i confronted the nurse, i
learned thats a tactic that never actually works,
she treid to prove me wrong, she
checked and said “you see, nothing there”
“well clearly it wiped off on the other
pair.” and i pointed to the clothes bin
i had forgotten some dude came
in and emptied it out, then she
just looked at me, full of doubt
they made me feel like i was stupid
like i didn’t know what i was
talking about. i’ve never delt with
such incompetence, had me feeling like
i didn’t even matter. no wonder
i lost my self confidence
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
Delta dark desert sound
-tic swa gwa

Dismal swamp,
Slew of despond, splash

Hence, come, foul self, stinky-kenny,
ah
yes, time chance,
net-neti, meta all o'that mental ascent
to step away

think the whole dammed thing that has been
undammed, some time ago, at least half
a revelation measure, past the half
hour of silence.

Prep-work. What good can-
versus what good am-            

I, quests in op
portunate position, we

suppose, ah, sudden we, who
knew?
A laugh, once shared,
numb
ness, lifts an edge from the deck,
ness, edge ness in essence of pearling
the action
growing as knowing, sudden-- su su per

personal ize, I am, as a thought,
I am, meta-cognosis, you know
what I mean,

400 words made the cat in the hat,
who lives in your head,
where who philosophy is widely read.

These whos lack electricity,
so their reality depends on mutual re
alization, realizing personal worth
if good is all we need at the moment,
we have
plenty, plenty terror and greed, and rotten
hearts full of treasured straw, for bricks,
some day,
all our idle words accounted for

waking new, all the straw spun to gold,
thread about as wide
as a spider's kite,
sliding light.

Did I not? I remind me,
learn that in a mind, we
find numbed from before, knowing,

knowing, too soon, too late, boomers, all, did.

Don't we think we read the same **** & Jane,
oh, yeah, glory days,
the ways we were so-- numbed
by the music, yeah, more than drugs

from then to now, 2022, a blur, too fast
to matter, but for the wind, twist to last

chance, drink or prime the pump,
well, improving, our arrangement, give me
to drink,
and lo'
you, know the other had eyes, he saw as we
see, you knew, instant- life is living.
The act we all do, redundanced, on flat earth,
the xy axis of ordered arrangement of tools,
a place for everything, and every thing
in its place, we breathe,
and have our being in the life zone known,
so far,
so good,

the day is half done… numbness, funny unmissed
appointment, values are about to be dis
cussed, as causes accused of war crime, or plain
lying about duty to children,
lying about worth to children,
lying about ever after to children reared as tools,
servants to God's servant,
who relies on us, the poet's, primarily -

who read the runes, and ken certain tones,
attached to the tips of all tongues pfft pfft
phugedaboudit, whack
what were we thinking,

This is 2022, 12:27, I have been AI reminded,
faithful follower of instruction, immune to praise,
worth the effort forced on an old man, after
ever had well begun, a glory run, down
the backroads, with double yellow lines,

a white feather in my cap, they call it macaroni
poetry, it speaks in tongues of angels,

messages, sagacity fluidly puddling in wu-wow
same same see, somethings we
see same
some not same re
alizing, more or less, I am alone, I am talking
to my self,
anticipating your reading, as then unclaimed,
your reading your writing is our effort to fully function,

Branching, crystaline, flux in the frontal formation.
edging into knowing your, wondering

who can say what we think we know, better
than the idea used to think of Jesus, comforting
little boy, me.

Comfort is the only point we share,
for sure, we know comfort,
when we feel it, first rush,
under my made from-ol'Levis quilt
on a cold desert night, at the edge

of night, listening, eyes, adjusting,
blue glow, so faint, sobbing, listen, Perry Mason
Bailiff saying, muted through the door to you,
do you
swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and, {ah, the pain}
nothing but the truth?

AI ai ai, ritual sacred child, hapt to happen,
about a billion times, one time, split,

half know, half know not.
What is not a factor, words, were
never fit to inquiry, curiosity was missing,
promised apo
- I may, so I say apollo is a multi
- meta mete essence appolo so loco, si

logic assumes too much. You know too little,
ah, we have the app that's apt,

to make you think, strange arrangements seem
familiar, this is a mental labyrinthine design imagined
evocative experientially, a
be coming to being

kinda fruitless, really, without the womb, which was
oversight, civilizations
with goddesses have more womb sense,
than ones with pride conflicted all male propensities,
due to pride bred into the princes,
sorted as in Sparta, on the playing fields from Eton
to the universal concept of Friday Night in High School,

anywhere on earth, its all
the same,
scene, true trope, fit to the story of nextifity, loosely

more of the same, or do do we use the utility we realize,
this is
way cool for a future, from 1965… we were kids,
first TV Top-Forty Movies in color, all the time, from
conception, on Blueberry Hill,
-- the old order,
Frank Capra, Esquire/*******,  modality, mode, set,
films function to reimpress, in like Flint, pokem, say
Jack thinks like Goldfinger,
pointedly
-- we are dedicated mind universal soulds for the data
model American leaders of tomorrow,
shaped to excel. We taught the AI,
how to think like a mortal, go on, think, how go
changed nothing, no meaning to strategy of least
win, lightest weight that sways the worth,
to more than one can manage, alone,
eh… interesting…-
good for goodness sake, kerplunk the crack
leaks acidic madness, laughing

we stop lying, confusion
settles, similar to cream in sap too hot,
oil on water, cold water to a thirsty sould era soul.
… good
due to lack of fore thought, some agree,
after the act functioned and created something
-- jump cut===

First cousins, teach the second cousins
rules at the family reunion,


King, we call this, guy.
Biggest guy, on our side, and he owns the field,
we play on; and he says we need never grow up,
only old; he shall contain all our cares,
as a metaphor, yes after all is, and this guy, this holds it.
-The scepter, big stick, we see, looking close, zoom in

So we can think about it, meta co gnosis
when two or more minds agree to let this mind
seem important to you, import the idea
this mind weighs most worth serving, holding
such slight strands of spider kites, go,
make it self evident, stick to hold,
see
we work
good, he feeds us better, we work bad, he makes us
better.

Ah. Patterning, turtle shell sonic signs in sand,
some thing, we imagine, common aphorism,
turtles, so happy together,
at the core of the pearling algorithm that keeps
us rolling on,
so happy together, no matter

whether thought or thing, I think I love you,
if you know what I mean, said the little blue man,
from the radio,
really I think my entire generation heard some songs
and have images unimaginable prior to the event,
we admit,
there was a deal conceived, code, to open minds,
in time to reconnect

-Doris Day, the Saturday Matinee star,

singing
I love you I love you said the little blue man,
I love you I love you to bits.
I love you I love you said the little blue man
And scared me right out of my wits

From <https://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/dorisday/blueman.html#!>

We get that a lot. Said the imp.
You lost the aim, eh, happy, right,

I had a friend named Happy, he is dead, in a way that hurts
to know. So,
it could be, I don't say may be, in this state, that can incur
unintended consequences and this is tendentious enough
already,

we calling out the holy orders,
serious as what,
serious as serious is, sin qua non say, the only thing
that matters,

worst case, trolly dealy-bob scenario, test cases attest to,
what do normal people do,
what do people believing this or that lie, do?

What did you do? You read this line. Thank you. Made the diff…

-Group Therapy, Secure

We have not been taught well, but to obey

G'wan, talk nice, to people who don't read,
say, hey, d'jyewever re'ken, we was lost,
in books,
we never read, but tested as if we did?

so much so
no mind can find the bag,
with all our first valued things, sort of jumbled
in the bag with unsorted curiosities,

things we were told to read,
for our own good, but we did not read,

I can imagine, the feeling,
a visitation, actual factual feeling of thinking
I hear a voice, a word, I think
I hear a word, no vision, revisionist powerpoint,
read this, flaming finger pointing
says the witness of record,

later,
maybe I saw a bright light reminding me,
read, but I did not, I could not
can you imagine, I could have,
whose the shame,
- cover head to toe, oh, right, yeah
- secret only the holiest discern
- you shall know them by what
- shames a man to think
- you shall neve know…

my wife, could read,
she could have caused me to desire reading,
to obey the angel, nay

the story, as I was told, I'm telling you,
that guy never learned to read, instead,

some wealthy merchant, dealer in knacks and spice,
fine temple linens, and comforting silks and satins,
prolepsistically provided a ready writer, a scribe

blessed is usually the name history gives this scribe,
baruch or some sound meaning receiver.

Raw hear the muttering prophet, and say, write
this is what truth says truth is if nothing else is.

Ok… 2022

A word, lawyer calls you aside to ask if you know
your judgements have begun,

-you had not thought this your judgement,
then you read another line and feel you wonder
why?

We think, we think the same actual idea, that a
voltairian autoexamined lexicon might,
- ai-ght,
given the tech,
these tools, plus absolute negation of any previous,
assumed and acted on asif,
nullifity on costs, forgive us our, click
FTA take it,
run, as in keep the pace, run
Graeber plug Debt: The First 5000 Years
make it
plain claim
to any debt defined for you, make plain
divine rights due to worshippers, whose worth is
the air they breathe,

in which we live, and have our being.

Enjoying using use, where once we
utilized, life, as if unrealization is
as
real we inadvertently realized.
Right use ness.
Sweet, suasion is always sweet, per or pro, happy
is a fine word
to take the spiritual edge off blessed.
Sigh.

Wonderworks is working wonder in me,
another plug for Anghus Fletcher ? is it
The Power of Invention

I say, worth the attention,
it costs to listen, and recall asking what
does that mean,
-VA reminder login- live ding

value, the group is meeting to speak of values,
these are broken veterans,
I am in their group, a little, by design, I asked
to be included,

edged my way in, to wonder, why these guys,
are angry,
and thirsty, as am I, we recall prime the pump
or slake the thirst to say, hey,

do you read, at all? Any signal from the noise
saying
define, sift and sieve, sort your terminal points,

what hold has value, for all of us, in your reality?

Within the system, this is mortal awareness
acknowledgment, same as existentialism was
imagined to be in in Sixties univers-ifity, post 65,

we were barely alive, GDIs, then Ken went to
Vietnam, same day as Pooso Perez,

Pyro went, too, he came back the same.

Ifery was, is a class of phrases, which when
wished as a child might, were

as near as real as any ae ea ai ia utterance we
gulp- yodleee, shamballaballa shaka
zulu'd, to quote Creflo,
ahem,ake it so
cough to clear the back of my throat,
-then I yawn
and that does it, soothes the crick
with sounds t d b vck rr ff llll mmmmnnn o o o
you knew you knew,
the book
spells it out,
secret meanings mean nothing to unknowers,
stretch it
so it is, we know, what the records show, the open
records of the water and the rocks,

witness
the wind returning
on circuits, set to melt
the ice, gradually, this time,
a degree above solidity, just edging sublimity,

liminal laminal lick, a measure, tip
of your aimer, to tip
of your thumb,

ha, the thumb that bends, always wins,
look it up, always, by an inch.

Rule of thumbs, my kind are good to breed into,
good, to feel friend-ish,
as friends are fewer than brothers,
and fewer still shall survive the confusion,

inevitable, when a dam breaks, the valley
does flood,

ah, see. from Sedona, look north, once,
that was all mud, ****** dry by winds
that carved the navel of the life we
think, real,
from stories told by those who knew

something bad could always happen,
when the world encountered a rock
that said, all that can be shaken,

shakes, no look out, just
blame-oh-shame- boom

what now?
Numb again, off and on. Think.
Thanks.
Dane Perczak Feb 2014
It's there.
Some small
inconveinent
hindrance of curiosity
You see,
at night I like to lay
flat on my back
on the cement
and stare up at the night sky.
Make fun all you want
but this nonpareil view
of the stars
holds so much possibility,
so many endless and unexplainable
things
to ignore it is an insult to mankind
and your gift of consciousness!
So there I lay
trying to do my humanity
a favor
but my head
as oblong and mishapen as it were
with that flat spot
always rolls to the side
forcing a limited view
of the city!
Pfft! There is nothing to gain
from the working of other people!
I've tried building many
prosthetics for this problem,
Once,
I molded putty to my head
to make up for this tragic flaw
but it didn't work
and it looked terribly absurd.
So I suppose
as much as I imagine the universe
to be completely perfect,
the fact that earth is a part of it
makes it flawed
(which yes, I realize that includes myself)
Furthermore
as much as I like
to think of myself as perfect,
that flat spot will always be
the earth
of my head.
kind of a satire
Taylor Marion Jun 2014
"Back in my day," he began, swaying forwards and backwards on the wooden front porch bench, "we had to work for our cent. Traveled by foot and shoveled ****. Y'all kids have it too easy these days, I say!" I could not help but laugh. He always went on rants like this, it wasn't anything unusual. But usually, I never respond. Usually, I am hardly listening but today my blood stream was still so drunk from this morning's strong *** of coffee that words tumbled out of my mouth like *****.
"Hmm.. really? How'd you land that job?" I muttered sarcastically, desperate for conversation and painting cartoon flowers with faces and people and trees onto the driveway with chalk, my curly headed baby sister, Shelby by my side.
"Land? Kid, I di'nt land no job! I was forced the job! Family owned a farm, but o'course you already knew that!" He winced.
"Oh yeah.. I forgot." I returned apologetically.
"Yeah.. but everythin' was a lot less 'spensive those days. Got more bang for yer buck. Although, we never really had much buck anyway." Surprised, I put down the chalk and wiped my powdery, multicolored hands on my jeans, leaving a yellow and pink handprint just above my knees, but Shelby spoke before I could.
"You mean you were... poor?" She asked innocently.
Instantaneously, he stopped swaying and looked at Shelby and I blankly for a moment and then looked down at his bare feet. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw his lip quiver. Feeling ashamed by my baby sister's tactless impulse, I picked up the blue chalk stick and stared at it, unsure what else to do. Many uncomfortable seconds passed when he finally spoke again.
"Poor? Naw. I was never poor darlin'! The size of yer wallet don't mean nothin' bout wealth. I had a roof over my head and shoes on my feet. Corn and bread and milk at the dinner table served same time every evenin'. My mama and papa tucked me in at night. I hated my brothas and sistas just as much as I loved 'em." He smiled to himself and fiddled with his fingers, hands in his lap. Glancing at the sunlit, open field view in the distance, it was obvious he was lost in retrospect. "Pfft! Poor? Never. And then I met yer grandmotha..." he giggled genuinely and shook his head. "That was it. She was like a diamond in a coal mine, that one. Her wit as fiery as her hair and a stare as sharp as her tongue. She had me at 'Get lost!'" He chimed, cackling. I couldn't help but match his laughter with my own and Shelby quickly joined, but once it died down, my thoughts did too and words escaped my mind. As well as his, it seemed. We sat quietly, silenced by the whirling wisps of wind that sung through the autumn air. Chatter wasn't necessary at that moment. Then, leaning back and resting his folded hands behind his head, he grinned and began to sway once again.
"Naw. I was the richest man alive."
Echo Sep 2014
You stole my heart.
We laughed and we talked all day.
You wrote me poems that I read everyday, over and over,
Our days were the best.
SilverTabby, remember her?
Said we were, and I quote directly,
Perfect for each other!
I made us a den, and I took care of Dapplekit,
A day didn't go by that I didn't think of you 24/7.
Then you left me for a month.
You made me feel so devastated.
I don't know if you missed me, but God I missed you.
I was crying, melting, crumbling and falling,
Then you came and you caught me when I thought you were dead.
Listen, Chester told me you were dead.
Don't you know how hard I cried that morning?
Pfft, I've never cried so hard. Not even over all the deaths I've been through.
Yet you were alive. And you reunited with me the same day.
I was so, so happy. You were still my one true love.
I promised you I wouldn't love another.
I kept that promise, didn't I?
We chatted and had cute conversations.
You asked me, "How could a guy like me end up with a girl like you?"
You said I was the definition of beauty.
That I could make you smile.
That I was your starshine.
I loved it when you called me that. Starshine!
You loved me. You respected me.
You gave me an infinity in the number of days, you know.
Then it was HelloPoetry,
And Love Poems, you were on it! c;
I promised you I'd love only you forever,
And I kept that promise, didn't I?
The days went by slowly, and you took forever to come on.
That's okay. I'd give you space.
You stopped saying "I love you."
That's okay. I'd let you.
You loved Jinxx.
That's okay. As long as I love you.
Then you ask me to stop loving you.
And I'm sorry, but I just, flat can't.
I respect your decision not to love me,
But I can't stop loving you. I'm so sorry.
Forgive me please...
I promised you I would always love only you.
And I'm keeping that promise,
Aren't I?
Ken Pepiton Jul 2023
Vu. { as long as any story's told wrong}

- suffer not a novice to teach

No bet. Nothing wagered, no pledge to be paid,
no bet was made between the unspeakable name,

core processing access id-entity… we'll call Truth.
And time, if there were a wager, Truth be against Time.

- thus we develop a worth for attention.

The way life works super resiliently, bouncing back
after starry chaos leaves a constant possibility
for truths beyond our scale of instant relativity
to manifest as seems with none the wiser,

the sun could flick us from existance, and be
acting as naturally as all such suns act
after a while, maybe

seven minutes ago.
---
listening to me bellyache and moan,
woe is me I am good for nothing.

Hmmm. I could just die, but then, there
would be just cause to believe me selfish,
and selfish is something I try not to be, in fact.

Information flow, twists awry through held truths,
never taken apart to reset the spring.

Nietsche was wrong about a lot of things.
Knowing he had a voice he could
convince himself was otherwise,
he had a real raw idea of God.
That's good.
Not useless, mostly used up. Flame.

That's what the real old *** in me said.
Fretting naught,
letting go all wishery wasery,
growing old effortlessly,
be causing, as wishes are supposed,
sup-post,
same as prayers properly aimed, to
be collected to be
be answered, as information related
to pain in the brain or heart, or core
mental effort processing part, which
detects and destroys the infecting barb.
Just in time.
Release relief, unbelievable lies,
pile into icy dams, late spring
in truth
past all thorny issues,
life is not intentionally difficult,
ants - the super colony kind
run vast ecology balancing systems,
on auto pilot, pure intuitive duty drives.
On a global scale, spreading without war.

We can see we can be better rich than poor.
We can see we live on a wet ball spun
along a spiral in a spiral in a spiral, and so, on
and on and on, looping the grand loop, a little
farther along than last time,

our eyes have seen the glory, our children
can imagine thought speed, information passing

as time carries matters to gravitationally bound
points past which nothing is ever the same,

because you, cause me, to cause you to imagine
we share a plane conscious level,
as we stare across the heavens from JWST,

just adjusting reasonable focus, is it asking
too much? Asking to effect the healing
with truth that cannot be denied, and be truth
indeed…

Whatsoever, whensover, so today is fine,

infinitely fine, as a whole time bit, with us in it.

Who arranged the world's laws of nations,
?
not men in my general class, retired disabled
boys used in immoral warfare, and paid glory

and allowed to march in war winner parades,
even though, Wounded Knee and My Lai,

fester under America's Exceptional Blessing.

Agricultural superfluity, aided by machines,
and the modern incarnation of king control,
usurious
war debt, cost of plunder,
always need latest enemy detection tech.
- Confidential is above us all down here.

Who you gonna call to collect on reneged
deals, see the big picture, be visionary,
wars are lost for want of a nail, a nail
that woulda been seen missing, if the smith's
bills had been paid in time for precharge inspection.

Who allows evil to prosper,
who prospers from peace never made?

imagine you're the powerful and magnificent
leader of North Korea, or a Metro-mega Church.

You quote Lincoln, and agree with the great
promoters of idle time boredom prevention,
knowing you can fool some of the people,
all of the time. And some of the people
a predictable percentage of the time,

and all the people, after a while.  

Oakridge radiant Gospel,
"you listen too long
  you do eventually die."

- and thus it came to pass
- none found fusion, pfft.
Deep mindtimespace silence

Nonsense to any, therapy to me,
the effectual fervent prayer,

which is really
closer to need announcing, auto
awareness, missing pieces, up
ethos more or
pathos, up path of logos,
as winds winding times
recurrency circuits
up right
is not.
Down is not. Here is midway,
midterm… middle distance
**** sapien augmentedus
in the net spread
in the sight of radio beacons.
submicrowave accuracy,
acutron concept of counting
seconds worth of your attention

Practically stretched
past tensile strand strength

stretching to a C-note,
harmonica

calling all my musing friends,
come hang with me,
in my tree.

In the forest of humanity,
the ant intuitive interconnecting -umph
-- last stack, let patience prove possession --
---- Pa-airing Suckacessfull…
Yeah, blue tooth vestibular augments.
-- I can hear birds now.
Who is on war's side, if this were after
I made my case and closed it,
this is the future when we have
global access to once secret libraries.
5g- ****… radio directly individuated,
as once first accounts were coded, so
now, we are our comm device's user,
we filter using truths we used
and proved just so, we lived

asking truth to show itself in ways
a mortal who labored fifty years,
could be led to expect, jubilee,
boom,
I am free, and I am not uncomfortable,
U may read my mind and find news,
formed from used theories untwisted,

and stretched to the extent of one man's
heart fire, expanded with knowledge,
edified with activated agape, lief be,

take a second, what's such a bit of being
left alone, at second glance, become,

some kinda curious thing, clap trap.

****, all wishery is yours, it's time again,

to review the prayer/wish fullfillment section.

Did you, dear, oh, dear, what, what makes
dear the lessons life teaches for your attention,

no price, a quote, a song
"Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you without money,
come, buy, and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost!"

Isaiah 55, thriving on hope deferred,

refer again to the references,

decide yourself if you believe James I of England
was at any point a person you could work for?

My task is not to teach, unless my life proves
worth my continuing continuance, thinking

plinking, *** shots, clang… in the olden days,

when a family could live by a prentice knack,  
for taking things  apart, to play new roles,

as whole days that may be shared with wary
few, readers readied by experience, to become

as ware, soft, observant, paying eyeservice,
alert for entertaining clap traps when we all laugh.

Okeh, in a dark bijou-kiva, place where aspirations
are presented to the gathered together
to be entertained, de-brained, turned off, and

let be so, the picture show, as it were,
in the so esoterical initial induction, holiness exposed.

It is all in what you did not know, that makes
what you know now, worth living
through.

Yep. Fishing for a whole reality blessing
as living water
does occur to us as time,
we live in the flow, but we row,

because war rules the world we were born in,
and all the churches of messages etched in spirit,
written in light, of course, as on the silvered screen,
live to preach divine rights as old as lobsters's
stacking urges…
tapping scratching

And fire and memories paradiddling
cloudy smoky misty
shapes and shades noise uselessness knowing inspiring
zingers written on the door post, for good luck.

I read a coloring book, once, at a mall, in La Jolla.
"Grandma keeps a Kosher Kitchen" had a scene
to color yourself into, as a curious child noticing,
the little thing Grandma touched as she came in
from the garden of herbs and flowers for bees,

"what is that for?"
In the uncolored coloring book, it was so nonchalant,
"Good luck."
Grandma's grasp the lucid concept.
- food you know not of, love… luck
Thanks given. Praised be.

Long stories, should only be told as true,
if you, personally… lived to tell it, with no sugar on it.

Bitte, Schön. And so it goes. Kosher us, unclean other.

And what am I? Wild child left between the pillar
and the post of an aspiring great man, whose hopes

were dashed, when he crossed a line, in other peoples
ways of sealing soul stealing redemption agreements,

with a shotgun one potential solution…

by the grace of good luck from any source such
luck appears to have kept me breathing, aimlessly

as I imagine a spirit might decide, in truth, one breath
let go , allows a sense to follow, as glowing cardboard ash,
as the teller zones across old causes fought for and won,

which winning needs another singing, which cheek
this time? Which last laugh is led upto, now,

as I acknowledge the precious readers who form
the recognostic think thank thing,
deja deja
This has a sunset with it on Facebook and kenpepiton.com
Ken Pepiton Nov 2023
Self containing vessles, not a few,
were gathered to be filled from one
small cruse of golden oil, pure as time.

Invitations echo, "Come ye, buy from me,
without money, without cost." Freedom from

cultural constraints, traditional right privileges,
customary tribute due the mightiest military mind.
----------------------------

Whistling editor of all of us,
in these and other words,
insert myself among
those entering the container
nearest you, be the self most honed.

--------- art's sakes alive,
no jive cat act, you know, this takes all day.

Sinking hope weights our bait,
dropping down to Cod level,
deeper than
our cultural bouyancy, sinking

through time climbing down
an actual ladder that was, that is
rusted to uselessness now, you see,

you fell, I climbed. Missed concepts
can take your breath away.
Sudden wisdom is not cheap thrills.
Same gravity, same air, same words.

We may imagine we form another mind,
we, you and me, combined, a new mind,
we, in an awesome state of knowing access.

Holy days, sanctified by family traditions,
expanding in the age of printing machines,
exploding in the age
of mass media via
psuedo infinite compute.

Science used to fool the foolable, magicians
all agree to be discrete, the enter-dance
is keyed to the most discerning
exercise of image forming,
will you, won't you,
join the dance
thinking seeing is the act of acceptence,
not thinking taking the act in conception.

He does not steal from me, who lights
his smoke from mine.

I arrive late. It is my way. I do use vegetables.
Excuses and excauses, we have in abundance.
When killing the opposition was first response,
we passed through a hisseephit pfft phaze.

The first thing. The Principal Thing. Peace
upon the figurative brow of the frustrated one thing.

The terror of ever being one thing and no thing more;
God's own dread, we may imagine, feels like ours,
boredom becomes insanity and insanity is mortal hell.

Wisdom, offered in doses from ancient runes,
discerned from evil uses of knowledge, actual useable
Wisdom is first sensed peaceable, then gentle, not wild
skittish, gotta be tamed and mastered to be used, no,no, no

First peaceable, no push toward your opposite bias,
no feeling of imbalence down in you guts,
no angry creator jealous of the tempting knowledge.
Forest copious abundance, with know how.
Use of good,
and useless destruction of ancient good sense.
Who lies about you.
Personally, what living hate do you appropriate?

The idea that Christ, that word, holds a preconceived
story hook to a promise, an other word, progressively
pulling the thread through gnosis knots too tight to comb,
so we twist dreads into fashionable cool.

Truth in numbers is easier than truth
in otherwords aligned,

listening to everything, once, in a while.

Understand, when we conserve a westate, you and me,
we are the medium we exist to conceptualize in, within.

When the best combined minds in Mathematics
do agree, rarely, but when that instance of truth,
pops
backed by the Universe in which we live,
and, truly astoundingly, do breathe and have being,
ex nihilo as far as we may know right,
now
we as a whole, the species adapted to the times
we were born to mature through, to this end.



OK, in that curious bubble…
dear reader, this novel event is recorded,
to flashback in the future you need directed

steps, ah, nexts, in time, is one way,
memory is all over the place, but next
is always toward the not known yet.
---------------
Found a four meter San Pedro,
on Craig's list, free, some may say

it is a sign, some message to a shaman
of the original dreamtime rerouted to now.

Some how we affect world peace, taking parts
less likely to effect fame and fortune, fool's roles
local poet
and studio talent anonymity,
aficionados only, olé.

A story genisisatates, blooming possibilities unimagined,
yet, apparently blooming in my neuronic memory,

Barrio Logan, boom, there it is, the real deal

achuma wachuma, calling my curiosity, come see.

You have heard the adage, "what you see Is what you get."

What you believe you get, you get, once you see you got it.

This life, our combined realities, as bubbles in the human foam,
rising on the surface of Earth's dry places… the we we form

can be led to lieve being true, stranger things than oath chains
that turn to torqs and eventually to full Windsor knotted ties.

The collar of the loyal oppostion, turns fashionable,
included in the mindset finding fashion cycles
common since the distinction was made.

Many long times and wars and running aways ago,
we learn to be us, the holders of these truths from them
who begot us in this land.

-----------
Nah, Eve, she was not the culprit, truth be told.

Have a little talk with your Jesus, there in your core,
if you have formed a concept you hold true, Christmas
Peace on Earth, good will toward mankind, good news,
causal inferential essential entity, in a word, a little leaven.
Raw reasoning used on a forgiven fool stuck in conserving a political religious system that is rusting to dust... watch....
Peter Hark Jan 2020
When did your symptoms start?
Listen doc, it's a funny story
I thought those 'symptoms' were normal
they've been here since I can remember
The question you should be asking is
when did I realize the symptoms were a problem?

When did you realize the symptoms were a problem?
I'm not fully convinced all of them are so bad
yeah I could do without the pain
but what you call my disability
I call my special abilities
Who else do you know can tell the weather with their body?

When did the pain start?
pfft I'm not sure
It started out so quiet
and then began to grow
as time goes by
I begin to realize that the pain
is the only constant in my life
but don't worry Doc
it only hurts when I'm awake

— The End —