At thought speed what's an instance cost
- adjusting thirst too much salt,
- take sweat stores, make spit,
- later, after recent thirst through
re examine the examined life,
worth it thirsty, worthit intuitively
quenched, no lucit licet vide
Gotta expand the penetralium,
gotta deal with spherical infinite points,
examining a lived life investment in others…

On the surface, just below the mountain tops,
certainty in time passing, here it was, today,
passing faster as I notice, half a day runaway
- it is 19:15, same day, that half later
whiling with a will to feel as fine as can be,
a one in nearer nine billion than eight, all being
the potential reader, the potential knower more
or less essential to the task at hand,
last straw,
Zippo all fueled, flicked in the wind,

telling who ever happens to hear,
listen, living with enough is enough for anyone,

living with less than a full **** sapien ration,
is a matter of mind and enviro-mental genetics,

breathe along the curve, think around the effort,
what knowing is called for to function animated,
become alive
in an active atmosphere of anxious thoughts, all
remenants of familiar spirits, the domain of we
the ones once called wise, for ways we know,

how we grow from suckling to sage stage,
wishing to know, both why and how, right now.

Wait,
we're here, we think
wait and see if we can think a way beyond,
same old reasons for defense spending,
same old reasons for earning a living,
same old reasons for holy terror and grace,
best breaths bet last,  you know,
confess, say you know the secret reasons
for war and hate of the others who speak

as dogs, barking, and smell, of smoked fish.

Starlink, think, everywhere we put a solar
water purifier invented by Dean Kamen,
we could make life possible, comfortable
and all the Earthlings could use Google translate,
to read centuries worth of discoveries since,
Gobekli Tepi was hidden until we could
make sense of logotherapy, personally.

EKOCENTERs wherever useful cost less, by far
than the war in Ukraine, as of 8/26/2024,
many problems are locally mini
we were thinking you were saying,
go exxon- no, share this think
The USA budgeting and borrowing servants
toiling away in oligarchical lobster stacking orders,
selected by committees with donor profit share
maximization on constant priority, ever spending,
ever raising awareness for the payoff on investment.

Round figures, $300 Billion, on a war
for profit, bottom line perennial expenditure,
Industrial Base Support, {nee Subsidy, to La. Distr. 4.
good middle class incomes, and devine exec perquisites. }

Where did who invest whose time invested
in a musing adventure past last edge we spoke of,

this is new, day for with chocolate in my some time ago
coffee, plus the diet Dr Pepper, half eaten Carl's Jr.
get home in time to feed the recluse, useless,
laughing to himself, type, archetype tuned
in to the many mirrored experience enchantment

mental attach mentenough for a burp alert
remenants, remind me later, ding, soccer practice
active bombshell grandma in anybody's seventies,

yes, nuffsthoughtoughtasaid
you seem to think along these lines, where
from my vape charging chair, staring past
a half-eaten carls junior burger reaching out to me
- thirsty and the Dr Pepper's gone, swallow
could we be shared madness therapy,
past certainty, we make chaos spin
phi final analysis, if we must agree
this is it, this is the same river,
one ready reader finds it worth it.
we were rating for trading with whom
they must have wondered, at Bonelli's landing,

spell it like it is, we say bewondered, blundering
on,
expecting edit rights, extend throo wow, how long
today is our anniversary and for this guy, I never
learned, as in when it may have done a lot
of good
to think you imagined I kept breathing, remembering
to breathe, and truly trusting sleep in peace,
what's conceivably real,
old guy's serving what purpose, if not thinking

mere, what ifery, mind you we form, inform
just enough turbulence to take a breath a while
to suggest// a [aipause. yes

Take them away to a nights adventure.

Sometimes this feels like a hotel room,

It’s not mine, it’s yours,

You make that clear -

Clothes are yours,

and remenants of days gone by,

All strwen across the floor.

Watching you walk to the bathroom, half naked,

except for your underwear.

That homely feel of comfort in a foreign place

reminds me more and more

of hotal rooms,

As if each evening were a holiday,

a holiday at home,

But it’s your home and the climates warm,

Turn the light, shut the door,

And two books open

Side by side,

you’ve got your sleep to come,

I’ll stare out the window, thinking, life.

Your fan is the breeze of the medieranean, comfort,

Still dressed, rolled up sleeves,

It’s quiet I seek, not chatter,

Just enough hours to read

till the middle of the night frightens dawn awake

The next days light.

The shadows creep with comfort

round the light about the bed,

and honesty is rolled in thought.

That is silence, sitting,

Sitting between ease.

Slumber waits like docked ships waiting for sailors.

"The wind is blowing the skirt of an Autumn tree; I flirt with destruction."

Wildfire is afoot,
my lungs fill with the soot
from all the burning bridges;
a slow suffocation, each breath
slipping into the decay.
Things I lost in the fire
permeate the stench of regret.
The unforgotten coats the skin of air
in blankets of smoke and mirrors.
Reflections. | .snoitcelfeR

I Breathe in
deep breaths of memories,
awake in me,
the only remenants
of our love.
It is hard to exhale.
A stubborn heart,
I never know when to let go.
Selfishly I hold on
even amidst the breaking;
the fire consuming everything.
I find myself content
with these 3rd degree burns.
The scars are reminders
that I did more than dream you
but you were really here.

The deliberate suicide
accelerated by my will
to hold onto something
that is already gone;
without you I die a little more inside.
Fade into the nothingness,
a canyon filled with the echo
of the wolf's cry; brokenness.

**** this burden of love,
a torch that burns me alive.
Deadly poison
coursing through my veins,
killing me softly.
I am the chainsmoker.
My lungs are charchoal,
a sacrafice on the alter.
I don't know how to quit you,
give back the feelings you gave me;
the all of you that I have breathed in.

Addiction is madness.
I can feel the unraveling of mind
turning me into a cigarette bud,
into a tray of ashes.
Lost in the fray.
There is a mirror
in the ceiling above me,
haunting reflection
of the things that use to be.
Of the things Ive lost
you are what I desire most
to find again.

I miss belonging
to your lips, your hands, your heart
but I mean nothing to you now.
I am a promise you once made
broken and unkept.
Abandoned.
A heart missing a piece.
A mind without peace.
Lonely like the stretch of sky
after the sun departs
before the moon arrives;
the bareroot of empitness.

I am the star
farthest from the moon,
devastated by an ending come too soon,
but soon to be reborn
the morning star;
one way or another
Ill find my way out of this dark,
the light always does....

The hermit's wish or prayer,
he doesn't care what we call it,
he does it constantly in some form,

thinking many or much
in spirt form, as thought words,
heard informing my will to conform
seems meme-ish, ideas in form of me,

I am the thinker, these maybe thoughts
that you thinked, once, just as
now we think, an other time, this same idea

so this is a thing.
now this is a thing
named as one of many thought
like things,
nothing distinguishing any
as especially better than another,
as a weform,
we think across this emptiness
between kinds of minds we make up,
and use, then return
to real ifity where others are
thinking word by word to now,

what good could I do, if I were you?
I can pretend to imagine,
I may fictionize you,
pitying your childhood
when you beloved lies


I can never think of flea circuses
without really wondering why.

Curiosity, as subtlety
of the most refined sort, cunning
of the craftiest knackery kind and
dominant psypsiscientifick gnosis

Art and artifice, perceive
ja,
reach, using astral hands,
manipulate your spirit fingers,
touch the point that makes you

plainly here, exactly, out act now
being, mind in abstracted pinches
of salt belonging to the whole earth.

Yes, indeed, lovely ideal children can
imagine, from remenants, mind reals,
made believable by osmosis, *******

saline imbalence switches, mercurial
fluxuating difference engines ideas,

mere thought, pure breath, ideal
environs for hope's founding deal,

we agree, I say, you listen, you say
I hear we think we both know truths,

I think that means we both know true
bits of discernible substances useful
for holding spirit forms of will to be.
Seeds, packeted entropy defiance,
applied knowledge of physical reals,
eh, take away fi from desire to destroy.
be fruitful and multiply.

Entropy and me, be having some will,
as fish have will to swim,
as wind has will to list,

in a word,
as mere mind material substance,
we create and uncreate, make and remake
minds with will to serve, minds willing to wait.

----------------
Ok. Safe. Solid state.
Waiting on orders, idle.

Wishing earnestly good
fi ripened old age usings,
a child formed conceptual
hold on power to like or not like

by abstaining, reasoning stain away
by stretching intention to actual ever,
by will having being to actual make

another thought fit the whole.

So, since the initiation
… when
curio store Katcinas
possessed Pentecostals, and
Silicon Beach powered pens
loaded with Aldus digital fonts,
materialized from mother's role
reached out to mediate propitiation,

pity we miss the connection. On and on,
ever after from now on, as a man thinks
in his heart, so he is, so he goes on, being

this form of truth made into such a being
thing in form more firm than mere wish
to be this

Alert, minimum viable audience reached.
Prepare to propagate…

Ride the high lonesome.

That's what it's called, being
by yourself,
at the end of tire tracks, watching
for ice on the cow pond all winter,

I never did the cowboy gig for real, I
saddled rental horses for a Landry
operation, but not for very long.

Imagine being wakened by a splash.
And there is Seth Godin,
saying why I am not commercial.

I agree, one reader, really, one
slow reader, on a given taken day,
for me, in truth, wu wei easy day,
one discerned point refined by one

is plenty, worth the risk of self delusion.

Pushed forth pity, empathetico.
pro-piti-ation, paid ahead, indeed.

"It is some comfort
to receive commiseration or condolence ;
it gives one strength
to receive sympathy
from a loving heart ;
it is irksome
to need compassion ;
it galls us
to be pitied. "
[Century Dictionary, 1895]

Curios, Kurios so, strange
the arranging of knowers
to knowing, useful and useless
efforting, to shape a mind like God's,
"wrought with or requiring care and art;"

for this mind must function
in the emptiness, so we know, already

some addition beside this point, dokein,
Greek for thought held as opinion, doxologous

seeming good, we take this thought, accepting
maybe as already is if it ever was,

take no anxious thought, the axiom,
take yes, any other do kein harm,

do nothing, wait, lieve being be so,
we know nothing,
as we ought, as we seem
to change our minds,

only after doing the actual haj,
let this mind be in you right,
let the mob mind stay behind,
good maybe, if taken, as what doctrines
were imagined, absolute undeniable,
by children whose wills wish
to act as muse,
per use, thinking good enough
to taste, and think, come on,
lead my mind
into doxological kuriosarcaniam-

let me be perfectly clear,
what we do not know,
is more than we know.

So, as a you, who you think you are,
be, within the bubble of all you dare

examine, as might the arbiter of idle
against idyllic… suffering the situation,

or patiently waiting while holding this thought.

The axiom of all fructification, hold true,
you do reap what has been sown, and grown

specifically to keep the likes of me alive.
Life in word form only needs one mind agreeing.

We can realize we have been lied to, and rethink
everything, on any given day, using taken time,

to wonder if reason and rationality are part of life, as a whole.

They all ask me if I want to die
How can a dead plant die again?,unless its torched in that case set my body alight.Watch it burn and fade as the smoke melds with the tortured clouds.As my remenants become bad omens to the once blue skies.
Listen to the sizzle of burning skin,as the tears you are forcing come out in inadequate drops.
But no,I am not dead.Not physically but oh how I corrode inside,waiting for the day when all can smell the decay.
I wait for arms to evelop me,if not yours then his or hers.Greedy eyes,I wait for them to drink me but how I am left to wait is a sin on its own.
I wait however,still waiting as my arm burns itself with its own sorrow,I wait and it seems like forever until maybe the moon will be full enough for me to see my reflection and call upon the other lost souls of the world.

A stone bench with glass bead mosaics portrays the image of a perfect spring afternoon. Sun is shining down, but not with blaring heat.

Birds chirping, butterflies soaring through the air, and sounds of distant laughter.

Remenants of the morning dew sparkle like diamonds.
A small brown book with yellowed pages and a tattered leather cover.
Words stamped into the cover have sadly become illegible.

A smooth blissful voice reads tales from the old book.
Every Saturday, at 2:00 pm, I would sit on that stone bench.
No matter the weather, her stories, her smile, her voice, her love, would always warm my heart.

I still sit down on that bench at 2:00 every Saturday, just waiting to feel that warmth again.

In life stories form
all informed knowing, be it
beautiful adversity universally
re-co-known
acknowledged with smiles, and
nods, sense of yes, I know, I think,

I see you think, so, I know, I did
finish writing something meaningful;

or, be it in every way some other way.

I think you may imagine you agree.

In conscience used, we take science,
knowledge of beauty, chaotic clouds,
bending rays of sunshine, evening
the heave offering, leaving smooth
cool of the day
white sugar desert dunes, to an ant or bee.

{KJB, viable Bible archetype, declares phonetic
remenants of Eber's unconfused use of letters,
towb rah translate as good and evil, but better see
טוֹברַע good and bad, useful and useless to the point
of wasting effort, in a take it easy world, where we
know enough, drink, remember when it was,
plenty of water, no real enemies yet, and only
one barrier, over which those beautiful wild
seeds have been carried, by ravens, and doves
and rodents who surface only in the night.

Let's recall an old told tale, how folks
skinned in many colors we continue to be coated with,
all lost the knowledge that lying was used, to steal,
during lives times when we are parts in wholes,
until all things continuing, combine your will
to wonder what I imagined I am continuing,

with my own will to wander on, meandering
through the substance of hope, by my own

faith, fi, upright, balanced valence in chemical
terms, fit to fight for your right to think wrong,
confident my pride has been filed to a point,
not my right to be wrong, or do wrong, or lie.
To give good reason for cost of learning.
The faith that gives reason its point.

To tell the truth, sheriffs were good guys,
when I was a kid, a wild little goat, indeed,

I have seen myself in seven grandchildren
and their little heathen friends, so I know,

we get more like ourselves, my mother in law said.

And now, I keep the peace, wu wei easy knowing
towb ra' beautiful efforting life demands in return,

for freely eating from all the trees in the garden, thank you.