Living by ideology must be comforting.
The freedom of constraint, the security of single-mindedness.

It gives one a sense of position; rooted
Behind battle-lines, clear division.

I always thought Marxists naive,
But not in the way you might think -
I was impressed by the notion that the ruling classes
Knew what they were doing.
Subjugation is at least part of a plan.

Humanism simply baffles me:
One might as well believe in
The primacy and potential of pigshit.

Even nihilism is ideology; its comforting
Sense of community: "We believe in one Nothing."

Ideological blinkers preserve order
By blocking out the surrounding chaos.

Perhaps I should find something to cling to
Before the rising tide sweeps me away.

(Not poetry.
I've tried that;
Too unstable.)

and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
now,
approaching the old
prosper-specter

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

graced
the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
reload
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

now,
we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

sometime
agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Hey
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
via
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
Smith,
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to
regulate

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
dear,
dearest,
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
strength
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
poor
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

I PUT THAT PEARL THERE FOR THE FUTURE
not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,
right
there,

let's see diamonds, no
pearls,

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

---
splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
allowing
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.

In the two up, two down with a tin tub to
bathe in, a cellar to put coal in,
a kitchen and pantry
can't you
be happy?

If his Lordship willed it we'd all live in pigshit,
that's Nobility for you

but
I work in the grounds of the great hall as a groom
for
sixpence a week and a small garrett room
and don't feel hard done by,

still a prison though.

I'll die in service but will need to give
a week's notice
such a shame you can't put a
poultice
on death.

it was easy
to turn our dreams
into reality
and then our wishes all
came true,
except for you

(because you were as thick as pigshit)
we could say that to a friend,
(friends to the end)

that's a bit of a childhood haunt
come back to haunt me

and we went up t'park
larked about
clambered up trees
to see
well,
to see what we could see,

On Saturday we'd nick a couple of bikes
from outside the prison for a lark
and up again to
Lord Williamson's park,

all in fun
when we were
the Summer and
also the Sun.

I can appreciate the rarity of solitary confinement,
if it were sure to be silent, save for noises I make.

Finite I, in a finite mind intended to house, a legion.

Pigshit, yes, I started the rumor,
remember those five golden hemoroids. 2 kings 6?

I had those on E-bay, and they sold.
Seventy three million times, pick a random number,
how many complaints, zip-null-nada,

I sold for a dollar, and shipped for free,
a visible, measurable bit of the very same gold,
-or I could have- all golden atoms are original.
material, earths basic ration
to begin with,
- imagination, men-minds, made up money
- and cludge a strain of hope for better,
- -- look we are all mutants,
- since lactose tolerance, at least
but gold is still gold,
so that's good
I could have been rich, had the numbers
been
different, gold is geld, then its not,

which exchanged modes of exchange,
but remained, bits of earth's original gold.

It goes deep, how easy money is to imagine making,
here's the deal, see.

As son's of our mitochondrial bits and pieces
original operational cellular battery factories,
- I am allowed to say
- because we have proof, we are related
- same distance as eveybody else
- yes, science, gnoshit.

our mom, our shared mom,
see, we are all one species, the concept of race,
is from when the best of out kind were bred,
by some of the worst,

the Golden Horde remains, as do a few Kickapoo and Cado,

as the worst in Africa formed alliance with the worst in Europe;
so, in the Americas, the worst had risen, using new spirits,
bad medicine, evil will to **** for the thrill, of letting blood gush

like on TV, in 256 clear shades of grey. ****** massacre
reruns 24 hours each day for years, who is learning what?

Blood looks different on RGB UHD, and real

surprise, it looks black at night. Real life blood, in moonlight.

---new episodes fridays. TGIF.

No, it's Saturday. And the world we imagined, in our species
imagination,
Nature Film narrators, in our mind, re minding the entertained,
this bubble does contain you, you owe it your Phrygian dime.

Flip me off, face the truth, bring me the truth you can't believe.
Stanch the flow, stop the ****** music,
who comes to my sanctuary thinking war is no game?

The mob who thinks Jah would never do so crass a thing,
as let the likes of me live to master the language,
AI gave my artistic side, a lesson in single ear listening.

The mess is greatly reduced, the order is not so sorely lacking.
Messages messengers and mas after X, means that which
the bherer of the words, each filled as full as fills the next
and so on
down the line, brachial branches of us, our tree form,
each in action, each out action, con ject re ob subject
to approval.

The double minded man, with no sense of balanced falling
always falling into next never falling into last,
ever more, and we have Dirac to plot the course, of course,
impossible hard to imagine,
yet. Here you are reading something I may have thought,
or not. I may right in a trance, then
when qwerty guy returns to take my key sense of control
letters, as might seem second nature to a printers devil,

know ye not the mess we're in?

Since this single strand of human mind thread merged
with meat, con carne,

my weapons are not carnal, we learn we are built doers,
of things our hands find to do, seers of things our eyes see,
and so on, as many sensory categories as you discern,
down to the atom's chirality,
if you ever image a test with partial reality, imagine-
e-imag e-imagin magnify ence sence essensessssss so
subltle, who would accuse me of cheating,

I KNEW where to pin the tail on the donkey,
I had an opening, I knew, I saw, and I won.

I tell this, as Bucky tells of his first spectacles, so
I tell of Wattie Piper's Little Golden Book version,

of my initial exposure to an inanimate will,
set to make this way, umph, after umph, try after try

and you put it all in one big bag, and shake it.

Scatter brain novel events, sprout from dragon teeth.
No this is not that story,
as I am not the guiled American Senator's nephew's
killer,
but I coulda been, but for Louis Libertini, who restrained me
and took the meat cleaver from my fist,
but I coulda been, in prison for life, but for Louis Libertini.
A good man, at the time, who knows,
jah, jah knows, right, peace.

Proper time and place for gentle minds, is where the willed one
claims territory shared in stories, applications of type,
traits to fit the story condensed from the movie,

sub conscious, hell, no, full choice making conscious desire,
harnessed, tuned, zero-beat, right on the money,

we are in your head
every thing we ever said, it's true,
if you could only know the may, may we wager
you coulda been rich,

had you only known, knowing was no shame,
you were not to blame,
you were told get in the game.

Your own father said he always had you
going into the ministry, mmmhmm he said he imagined it.

Too late. The TV generation lost me, us, I guess, look around,
my clouds are clearing
and I can see for miles,
and miles, and miles, but what I must make of that,

I must not know right now.