Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.

Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.

He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.

Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.

Pyrophosphite/Pyrophosphate

Souces of energy, since the beginning of time
chemical processors of matter within
that God did make these, is no mystery of mine
the maker of all things, and that includes sin

all living beings require energy transported
from a tiny bacteria, to a complex human
enzymes with chemical energy reported
how this all happpens, I have no clue man

Pyrophosphate is a simple molecule, an early precursor
consumed by the mystery of organic matter  
but there is something more simple, a complex rehearser
taken away the theories of the dreams they now scatter

Pyrophosphite is smarter, no enzymes required
hydrogen is more bountiful exploding with life
no catylyst needed, to process before tired
water molucules is husband to phosphates wife

does all of this matter, does the matter mean much
when the bottom line ascends to the top
is this too deep, am I way out of touch
science is in me, I cant make it stop

Gomer Lepoet...

on the day before Earth Day
the parched ground seethes with thirst

a neighbor employs a plastic milk jug
to water his Home Depot shrubs

kids scale an idling Avalanche
while mom chants microwave mantras into a Bluetooth

I finish laying a blanket of phosphates on the lawn
then fall asleep to the 2 cycle lullaby of my leaf blower

it's 70 degrees in North Jersey
snow is forecast for Pittsburgh

in our blue day of expectation
we brace for tomorrow's deluge

on the morrow
we will honor the earth

yet manana never seems to come
we relish the comfort of today's savage civility

Music Selection: Elvis Presley,  
Tomorrow Never Comes

Oakland
4/21/12
jbm

Man ate from the sea for all history,
But now has developed technology.
Huge nets are dragged through miles of sea space,
Removing faster than Life can replace.
And what is with all these small plastic bits?
Giving sea life heavy digestive hits.
Radioactive you dump in the sea,
As bad if not worse than your mercury.
Oil spills and dead zones of phosphates and ****,
Trash and bad chemicals top off the goop.
This question arises from all in the deep,
Would you dump this stuff where you eat and sleep?
We don't understand, do you need a clue?
If you will eat us, you'll eat what we do.

2020 - day 136

Friday, May 15, 2020
10:54 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The singularity, the point
from which
to which,

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

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

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

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

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

No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,

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

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

automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms


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

sci used by the I-language, in composition

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

intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno

we are integral ideas, we been tagged,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions

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

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

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

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

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

it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



A day unayyachedmissing keys tt

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

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

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

you find most familiar.

I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.

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

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

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

Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,

terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,

bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts

Amen.

---

Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling

strange?

But what's the point?

Phospholipids, sucrose, phosphates
Biology feels like memorizing vocabulary.

Absquatulate, etymological, effluvium
English wants me to be a human glossary.

Axiom, cartesian, diophantine
Math is repeating the same problems in different ways.

Feudalism, hegemony, cartellino
History is staring at facts about dead people.

Humdrum, repetitiousness, homogeneity
Every second of monotony bores me.

Was it always like this?

Il y a les moissons du ciel
Et les moissons de la mer.
Et les anguilles préfèrent, au vent
Et aux nuages,
Les jungles flottantes sans rivage
Pour y pondre leurs hommages.
Ce n'est pas l'œil du cyclone
Ni l'arc-en-ciel
Qui captive les poissons volants
Et les anémones
Et les alimente de goemon, varech
De nitrates et phosphates.
C'est la mer des sargasses,
Refuge des eaux salines, immobiles
Et chaudes
Où vague et vent sont bannis,
Qui mène le bal d'entre deux morts,
Le bal des sargasses.
Chaque tortue de mer qui éclot,
Chaque marin qui s'y frotte,
Sens dessus dessous
Chante les tentacules de la muse hydroïde
Bryozoaire
Calme
Humide
Et nourricière
Garantie sans OGM
Qui hante ce port d'attache de sa dentelle
Fine et négligemment ouvragée .