I suppose, all that has been said, is said to have been contained
in the canon… what I means to say, I mean
everybody
knows
its eber-tongue
hen en-I,
Enkidu, where are you?
Dusty trails, speak well of water on this way.
The deer and the antelope drink every day.
In the time
I was alive, many lies fought for my attention.
I knew more than one thing about every thing,
I thought I could be of best use
as a sharer.
teller of told tales, singer
of the songs in the air, and then
there
was radio,
and I was a child,
listening… with many more of my sort than anticipated
hearing white noise laced with wishes once
made bound to regulated times and steps
- odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as tellers call all ye told old tales come in
free
right way to keep time to come
become time to go be,
- odd boom boom doom boom - odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as dancers call all ye ol'doe-see-doe
- edge of ever on a tiny spider's kite, we are the light
weyekin, we guide you, when you listen,
this is the way
walk ye, init, set
drop. Settle, solid, si,
walk the canyon, our grandfather, on my mother line,
built, and as he built, he
J.C.Boyett, met a man, willing to use a picked up magic
trick to make a trail to the bottom,
for to make somebody rich
prospectin' for batshit,
yep, nitrates, as in
nitro-glycering, stabilized with tarry pine saw dust
twist
tight, right, in a Mason Jar, metaphorically speaking,
if we agree to make this easy,
we can move the invisible crystal mountain. AI gotcha.
thinking may
be a giant radio, making us think
reality has this.
This and other resting places, landmarks, history set
for me, I was only there, one of the other Gumps,
who lived to rear unbroken children,
free from financial dread,
at the common level labor class,
endentured and polygripped
we can bite off more than most can swallow,
as collected from bits and pieces of literature,
literal retelling of tales told to teach
a child choice,
choose the good and hate, wait, hate
ta, beel gotta be paid,
the attention, usual tip to jump start
an actual engine
https://biblehub.com/hebrew/2870.htm
Definition: "good for nothing", an Aramean (Syrian)
who says, idunno, but AI may, say may is my word,
may obeys me, as if I may know any thing
to any depth. And never interpret the vision as reason
for war.
Truth to you be, flush the lies you know now, you hold,
to hold others to the task of paying attention,
for nothing, save the use of knowing how to
read, when you wish to know
the meaning of a thing, any known, on any level of life's
pearling swirl of pushing and pulling and playing
no winning innings or taking bats,
or running laps, prepped to punish any who displedge
alliegiance to the story as we hold it
now
in our military mind. Semper fi, and they say Boo, Jah
these days, having failed to feel the loss
the faith of our mother's, born up under,
until the time I was alive, simultaneously
with more sublingual mortal minds hearing
Good Night Irene, from those ***** ******
hill billy sangers, boy, howdy
we sang, dang me
re boots
made for walkin'
down hill side, shale,
takin' to a realm of reasons to sense,
not see, but know, a breach
in the barriers we can construct in stories,
now, we got cg, we see all the drama
an instants worth of attention can attach
an insult
- that takes a thousand generations to hit
in a Bible story, an old novel, core cast
architypes pro-fess phet
bet is equal to Prophesyorsci
or greater than con-fess? Guesses are bets.
Set. In a white room,
with black curtains, as seen on tv, after
where ever is breached
and each signal passing skin is in harmony
with each interdigitating arachnoid fiber
cocooning my brain and spine,
Arachoid mater, spider mother, mo'fo, gnoso
gnoshit *** passt the final antennae array to activate
the tree of science has far deeper,
primal laughs
than any mind made up to provoke umph,
umph, umph
as a song, so some day we may sing along
an umph umph song
remembering a certain time, when certain songs
was always secret ethos exoto notta chance
they dance in hell, but in the visions,
always they be dancin'
in the dark
we don't seeum, see, the spirits, are all that
survives, soul
is locked in history whoever tells it same longest
lives, who ever forgets
is helpless. without the filter, pro-vided, and marked
mater
as a brand. the Wombed version had the mods to insulate
the lizard's gift of quick
final
once, held, no flow go no will to be
wrong,
right, we needed to add the topgraphmap thingy
polymerical mira distinct walls with nanomeros singing
or dancing
laughing, yes, yessing yes, is what that is
children laughing, on a cold and dreary day.
What good does it do to say nothing I mean? Who really owns the internet...