A contest twixt reasons to be
Con test ants take your po
push sush slow n stedya
There's a being, I once thought fellow who needs this test
he has studied with masters and knows near as muchas Faustus
but he is scared there could be hell to pay,
(Catholic maybe, but he believes some lies about what he doesn't
believe for a good reason, maybe boomers with non-hero dads,
them and priests imagined some hellish **** make Loyola nuts.)
just breathe and be wit
be wit me
meinthee'n'theeinme and this ain't ***, kid.
This ain't ceasing for a moment to be me meditation, this
is Sisyphus being happy out loud
in a crowd, you know how that feels everybody
shouting hallelujah like it means everything
and it does again and not everybody, but many bits
of everybody, knows that I don't know what. I don't
know what Hallelujah is supposed
you ax me glory must first be defined,
compared to what
Jah, right tuff won, the Name, Ha Shem
but glory, what is glory?
What's it weigh?
Worth-y or light?
Air or stone, or iron, or silver, or allah those and gold?
value that. Why?
Navigation needs a clock, for the test,
minus the lag as the rock rolls free from time to time
here, the alchemy guy say:
Uranium to lead for a clock to find, or
the missing helium that implies, to the wise.
A word's enough,
Loser vibe. Phone rings. It's a robotic femaivoice saying
power may be cut to me due to high fire danger
Are hopes prayers? I hope so,
and wishes could be I think, if they were in this realm
no evil imagined here makes it past the third and final
in sane un sane in cip I sent sentient cons eee ince
test. So, know, dear reader, we mere words,
weal build worlds witcha
but we won't lie.
Book of Life, first chapter, look it up.
The Jails burn around my kind,
minstrels in the woods still sing of men like me.
mistrals, the winds, wrap the world
mistral whispers to sirocco as they
send swirls of spirational science-eance to form
ideal angels dancing
pirouette on the point of my pen.
2 per angstrom.
Those winds are in a mind I manage mine,
I make right use of them by
responding to the signals,
the prods, needles'n'pins, now
Rock and roll saved my rubber sole,
my mnemonic savior rescued me
Sisyphus, ah, we all think you happy and
hallelujah, too. To you, Mr. Cohen,
thank you. You got me through a few...
Contention only comes from pride,
and momma don'low no pride in heeyah
Stick that in yer ear, and smoke it.
Here we get along
or we ain't,
Crazy guy with the dog collar, remember him?
He's gone. Outa here.
Don't fret, he is one of the first in every cycle to recall
Nietzsche thought God dead and Sisyphus happy.
Was he mad or sad?
Sad I say. Sad to say he never knew a great
god almighty that he liked enough to get caught
up in a joy explosion of hallelujahs and such,
he never dared
e=motions you know where those go.
They go to the fuzzy edge of everything ever realized yet.
But no one, so far, has realized that all at once, in time
the rock stops rolling and we, if you imagine
happy ever after is re-alivable,
spiritually, you know, in your dreams or such,
whoa puppy, did somebody beat you for your own good?
Poor idle word, abuse of such a strong idea
a bandaid on reality,
who could hate
re-connect, better, okeh?
Just made a connection. Okeh.
we live here, feel at home
Well, jus as well we rest and see if we agree with what we just,
just always means everything it ever does now,
tis ne're an idle word here nomo. Nor discouragin' ones.
Just now. Perfect oh, that which
concerns you. How would that be if it were perfected?
Say, you know? no, me neither. true, rest. smunchemup= trust
trust me. You lost? Hell?
Every body sing with the Kachinas
Nobody knows the trouble I seen,
nobody knows but jee ee ee sus
as they fade…
so there. amen. and the sunshine's in and we are seeing
novel mercies never thought,
new in every detail,
no lie. Life wins.
Death is in on it.
It's fixed, it can go on as long as you may imagine you can.
More of the Sisyphus myth where nobody is thinking suicidal solutions to temporary mortal problems.