Analog, anabasis… trip, short, burn the bug to carbon dust…

Seeking in my treasury of books, pared down to ones with personal attachments,
- I sought a Welsh-English pocket dictionary, gifted me
- by a taller and older, by experience, Overmeyer… Bob,
- but he was one of a few in the corp, band of brothers,
- who sang along with me, when he heard me humm,
- he knew the words, worth-ship fixing words, yes,
- we shall gather at the river that flows by the throne of truth. Mmmmhmm, so we shall see, so we shall see,
Oldman river, you know,
you wait, and wait, fishin' wishin' cogitations got from *** go,
known good, known evil, and evil comes for effect, not cause,
clean up, aisle five
hell, in a target store. And a Walmart, #26.
-- I recognized the anti particle, passing through either or,
becoming here, from there, your thinking my thinking,

wall of text, in your current context, this wall has hat

hooks to insights marked pertinent someday, in the wide ocean
at the end of any river mind me and error master,
as awareness, meandering as all fluids do.
Aligning in honed most saline crystaline form, as
current opinions shapened from dust and ash originally,
then spit the idea out as a word,
imagine
matter… mater, really, bottom first bit, was realized after
paterialization falled to manifest self reproduction…
patterned thought, fabrication, plane geometry… which we
as a team, a man and his tools, gunslinger, plus accoutrements.

Yep. Adam, did not work alone. The egg was first. He named eggs.
And chickens, full of eggs, no, hope, and chaos, nada mas…
- morals from old stories, we had lost all hold on those…
Stepmothers after The Hundred Years war, like as not was
first slave, with only obey believed enforce,
as far as
holy vows spoke allowed, but in a whisper…
hear us,
old folk, we scatterbrained old rockers by the fireplace
listen, this is living, right.
Pursue haps as haps occur, in thinking one thing or this other,

Our kind, fixed position ears perpindicularly augmenting per-
iferal vision, if, just, if. Immeasuarable meanings, justice, yes,

we settled at that point. All the Promises - in any living faith,
even dying proves life is a chance, we all go through it, and some leave marks, while others leave a heart felt
oxitocin, not cotin, red on yellow, **** a fellow, -tocin. Oxitocin,

Rush!- Kettle DRUM after a cello up run, or an old familiar rif,
Goin' up country, ' bought a map for a dime,
from a time lain aside in book, as I was seeking that Welsh word for these experience in side, feeling inside, but being mere, yes, not a limiting adjectival modification, on a word, intended to soothe,

NOT ******, soothe, as said of gentle rolling seas, calm as constant as Jupiter's ever near there, right there, red spot, there,
that is an anomoly, yet, there are those who claim clarity, that

Red spot, Ted-talk phaze, ease in, get a buzz, mmmm, slow, slow

slow
whoa, so slow, what difference can plain-people, just us,
can we ever just know, this is the way, no obstacles,
and we leave trails, and trails widen, and widen, and widen,

wide as the milky way as seen from North Korea.
What a blessing, right?
--- God made these chickens we are eating,

no, child we selected these big red hens, people, like us, we can
know how earthly goods grow and we can help, as gard'ners,
retired guardians and priests can, make soil richer,
by leaven from the native soil,
fresh after fire, sparks the bloom

Patience, paid close attention, over time,
pay is as interest always is, compounding…
complex knots
slipping infinite loops generation systems
spinning straw to gold, bricks to build a tower…

to grow mustard into brocolli and cauliflower, prosper-o

we can engineer squash blossuming
be.. not spelch-pstpst-offt-listen,
- laughing
in my home are children, aged 6 to 13, across a seven year gap…
in my home with complete 5G internal Wifi, with cable
- copper, ah
- the humm, copper wire interference, acceptible as soft
- sub-spectra sfumati self-edged,- cut from whole cloth
abrupt.
Con, is with, fuse, is
blown… but, click, we are past that, where I live, on a pension.
I survived an oath in a war. And in America, the we, as
represented in Congress after Korea, and UCMJ, reach, reach,
- remember the ears that read, need to know
right, MP talk, uniform, all the exact same alignment and weave… for forsake, forsooth, forgotten gains, -- un-fore-gotten
upright walking, living concept, Phoebe Zeitgeist
- she made a word nest in my mind, on March 16, 1968.
- On a Douglas Flying Tiger insertion mission,
Flying to a foreign land more foreign than any thus far, redux.

Surreal stepped up to real, realms of preception, Metaverse/
uniform code under it all, we wished for this, can we, can we,

please, walk back in and watch the shadows morph to home sized I-max with true-fi dolby optimized to your very own, humanity
verified self--
- eyes up, look where we were when ever, then be come you now known as dear reader, responsibility free, cookie or no?
Be any mind you find you can wear with no wish to lie,
the wrong mind set with the ears and eyes, and we cannot lie…
you lose.
The whole ritual of prayer and supersites, tics, ****. We glow…

once illegal exposure
confidential, super-secret, super-positioned tyrannical systems,

whole cloth leprosy, black mold to dust time sequence…
-- such minds as fed us Elliot and Thorough Error-prone Poses,

as seen from the repressed mind of an unassimulated inate-ifity,
We are none of us, Adam sons, his model had nor repro circuits.

Hey, once there had to be something akin to ****** birth,
really, mitochondria developed virally, just fine, so, so fine,

imagine, we got the cell, a wall, with enzyme will efforts on the doors, we open to need, and useful matter is accepted,
as in another phase we open to expel the uselesshit, which then fills the red corpuscles, which use iron to hold the load.

Flushing blushing bride, Mito-mom, her daughters, imagine…

trackless wasteland, aftermath of minor miscalculation
in the dancing cosmos, whirling
whiling, smiling
inside…

I made it. 2022, Everest Pax, is the real name
of my youngest grand son, who randomly
reassures me he loves me, as though he wishes me
to not let that slip, naturally, his version of me is fragile,

what he imagines I am can disappear, in a day,
like Uncle Mike, and Uncle Dennis, and Uncle Richard,
and Uncle Remus…
none of whom were alive, when Everest Pax was named,
by his mother, with no input from me, save
the covenant aspect in the who gives this wombed man…
common pagan ritual adapted to post-Jesus Christ-sanity.

X-mas, nada mas. Agree, and take the cookie,
or risk another death,
on the real wrong battlefield… Well, what the hell… hero
or legend in my mind, thinking, what would any who do?

Slow globular crawl:
Dischord's mis-shapened body.
Mindless / Self Divides.

Facing the reality that I can, at any given moment, lose everything
       Finally forced me to accept
That I had to allow myself to, once and for all, be truly free.

With eyes wide shut, fearlessly I had no choice but to dive in
      Creating my own eternal ripple
Instead of complacently watching still water just be.

So many silenced words have sustained the cconfinment
      Of who I genuinely am
Often escaping through moments sadly swept away by time.

Like an imperfection of a mis-shapened candle I refined this art
      Of surpressing my light
The rythme left only to long for the remminants of my hearts rhyme.

Blinded by the beautiful brilliance of this magnificent darkness
       Full of fears inhibitions
The horizon teased with ideas,  brought about by acceptance of a  new way.

It was vulnerability that lead me to receive the notion
     That the less I resist the embrace of the unknown
The further from the norm I will stray.

I am drowning,
I am returned.

In the flow,
On the ebbing tide.

I am drowning,
I am returned.

Wrong-shapened and unfamiliar to myself.
Overwhelmed as much by the experience, as by my release from it.
But ready, ever ready, for the next wave.
Which may sink me - what are the chances?
Which may settle me on soft, sun-dried sand further up the line.

What are the chances?

A story in my head
But poetry on paper
A long string of words
Guiding into lines
A plot thickened
Into something deep
Characters shapened
Into inanimate objects

And the ****** unfurls
Into this

Your time's worth, valued
at the end, when the hour's used
and next is asking our attentions

might we redeem an hour slept
dreamlessly lost completely

for what it's worth, price of freedom

paying to pay attention, loose disbelief…

PECUNIARY
PREDICTION

poet's persistance
perceived posed
pennywise

punctual precise

This being where we become persons
known to have left thoughts
erected by others of our kind
stood saying see,
never forget what we can be
we builders with stone,
we tellers of enculturating stories

that stand still, holy ordained order
persistant towers
let this mind be

"the perceptive
and intelligent faculty."

"I leave Sisyphus

at the foot of the mountain! "

he say okeh, take it easy.

You can always ease his toil,
but you need not think him unhappy.
Camus… at my finger tips
fact check m'self
"One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods
and raises rocks.
He too concludes that all is well.

This universe henceforth
without a master seems
to him neither sterile nor futile.
Each atom
of that stone,
each mineral flake
of that night filled mountain,
in itself forms a world.
The struggle itself
toward the heights is enough
to fill a man's heart.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Context and loci, this enclosed space
mind's time accumulate within,

cool, agreeing we lack the same tastes,
some smells are too knotted in old
first psyche professional gnoshit wows…
cheese, I was thinking how anyone can eat…

I suspect this happens to any person,
individuated, culturally, thinking
curds in whey,
butter and honey,
take and chew and swallow.

Think how energy is life, sugars
sweeten equally,
were you born into Sugar Pops,
and Nickle candy bars,
and Talkie Radio Shows,
eh?
intimating to little pitchers with big ears,
we are learning things grown ups can't believe.

Oh, radio days, as seen
on TV
in 256 shades
of gray.

Hey, NDA, disbelieve you were ever briefed,
there is no debrief, your time is yours,
carry your own weight, or lighten up.

any attention paid is purely accidental//

Sorry, sort, indexed not good enough,
for prime time, well, then, let's say

we became free f
rom the pressure
to pay,
to learn each lesson life exams passed call for,

all ye,
each time, you heard, call
all ye,
outs in free, means somebody got caught,

and you are not it,
and your personal hiding place,
remains air tight, like a granite box
with an 8 ton lid.

Pried loose, hissing sigh
es sence we already knew
it is not good
for mankind
to be without knowledge,

in its most indigenous cognosis form, spirit shapened

the at to which your attention ties

your time investment, panning placer gold,
continuing
to feed the idea money is,

as a lovable thing, personified as Mammon,
shapeless as a wild ebullience emerging
from the mire
of lonesome disbelief,

walking while using herbs and spices,
breathe, breathing pollen and dust and smoke
- drift at cross purposes
- realized in times past

be slow to say I know
I know where this path leads, outward north

from Chaco,
maybe, but

put distance outside, put curiosity, the knack,
pastless points essential for mind travel
old ones
with sidereal recollections, point
to point, with earnest effort put
into praying
on earth as it is, even as we prayed,
we were children, we must believe

effectual, fervent prayers
of a right used, mind
made up art
form, idea modeled
on imaginable ideals, minds

in the winds,
in the inexplicable,
ration, measure
of good sense discernible

by you, dear, rare,
really weform informed
reader ready
to right think the reasons wars use
eh,
novice evangelists, and
experienced bishops and such,
strictly holy god business, no lie…
the proof of the pudding,
is in the fat folk who love it…
sweet American as apple pi

hero with the digital pen,
wirelessly offering up peace,
to happen
by chance
at touch
we let be
in us while we relax, let loose, unwind

threads
of thought first formed
from twisted cotton,
gently tugged, tightly held
pulled from a hand made chenille bedspread,

to be a twirling string I waved in a sunbeam,
I think I was three, using the life anchors
we all attached to during alone times,
less rare in the MAGA olden days,

latch key kids had plenty of time to read…


napping me, in a house I turned upside down,
in my mind, and imagined the fun of war games
with the ceiling for the floor,

transoms, windows above hallway doors,
for circulation in feng shui science useful

for creating flow
from first breath
through last
I imagine, I believe, I think I know, meaning
dhe, put here, as weform I, we think middleway
meeting where we each feel the other's knowing,
we understand the peak signal sensed as knowledge

being
used
to loose complexity, unravel the rug we pray on
without perceiving the patterns life makes
with no sense but beauty made with effort

to catch the spirit of sublime state past simple living…

Seeing the threads
in his trousers, during recollection
needed to write a record of the experience,

Aldous Huxley, public intellect
of whose work
most know some,
and many know much,
few even now experienced his as he wrote
we
however, The Doors of Perception, passed through,
as we morphed into living words,
pretending to make poetry
what it was, as mind numbing fun
San Pedro suffered from the frost, so we

made tea…
as we are the first
to have been granted highbrow access
to lectures and performances of orchestrations

inconceivable,
before the age
of information, heralded
by the late
to be ortho-canonized redacted works

of Daniel, the Babylonian bureau of internal affairs
chief, during the days of a king so deep in the orders
of esoteric missing weeks and elongating days,

as we pay creative attention, make worth
waiting for it, eh, the juice we use to anticipate

great reward, eh, Daniel,

he of lion's den and missing week fame, also spake
of the events alluded
to in Revelation 1… if symbols make us think,
might interpretations of symbols make us doubt…
rhetorically, while running
with the horsemen,

we eat what we brung.

Both vate and bard, hesitate,
has my return
on your invested a
t tension

lost meaning, morphed
into midbrow psychedelia

just looking, nothing
to buy, no clerk offering specials.

Today, the artist who works
in winds, awakes
in us,
we who happened
to share this view, Ajo, squeel

soar, look up
and see how far we are
from when this mind we used

to think ourselves wise…
once, upon a wild time…

in referential comprehension
of gaseous weformations,

clouds of unknowing, fogs
of loosed conceptions,

persistant insistance
on gravity defying perpendicularity,

at Pisa, there were Pepitons,
on Sicily, as well

to tell the truth, as far as names hold status,

according
to gens, patrimony
for the surnamed son
of my post adulting phase, so strange

- vain means many things beauty cannot.

every first phase boomer cohort, clusters
of children born
into the post fortis reality,

as the explosion in the emptiness

through which we ride the gentled bull,
Sazen,
and watch.