Sometimes the very act of putting
                   Something onto paper
                                        Is in itself
                                         A way of
                                            Letting
                                                   Go

In the dark in the room
Whistles faintly echo
Up to my room
"Who's in this house?"

And the dread settles in
A bag full of lead
I can't move
And for some reason
I think the whistling can see me in here

Skritch-scratch under the door
Total paralysis still -
Maybe, I shall pretend to snore?

Two red jewel eyes
Materialize
At the foot of this bed
This
Is absurd!
I can't even mouth a word!

Climbing ontop of me
The mare opens his jaws
To a dead TV channel
That sounds like bee-wings
Just about suffocated by fright

Then it all ends 
Hard heavy anvil feelings
And all I keep with me is the dread

The gentle slide of a pen
Is far more pleasing to me
Than the metal skRITCH ScreECH
Of a mechanical pencil.

I keep and treasure my pens,
As they are each unique
And hard to replace
While pencils are a dime a dozen.

Pencils are easily lost
And I’m always in the want for more,
For better
As though they don’t fulfil their purpose to me.

I dislike the infidelity of a pencil,
The fact that anything done can be undone with a stroke from the other end
Erased, just like that.
Unlike the reality of a pen.

Once something is set in motion with a pen,
There is no going back.

A gain for us now, init
intuit
intuiting ting
tink think ****.

we did it, a gain, a step we took,
passively
was taken as granted, as that saying,
take it
or leave it, we took it, I guess.

Here we are, thinking
human is my class of creature,
I am not a bird, or lizard or ant,
but
I imagine,
slow thinking,
I am more mind than body now.
Human individual elements seemingly
cease reproducing after fixed parameters
of imbalence in cellular rechargibility,
and friction,
itches and scratches, aching bones
fighting gravity
for eighty years, parts departments
empty, vacuous cavern, no flame,
no dancing shapes of unseen things

-- nada comin' in boss, burn wha'chagot

it’s a mess, being old
and urgeless, lazy
laxed, empty
of anything I needed
to do, performance enhancement lessons
missed, cue questioned, one too many times…

this is that, the after math, from an idea virus,
adding dividends we
derived, clearly,
from worth of beauty,
shining, true, all luring beauty
{diamond farm- laughing reminding me}

in our native wished to be state,
ever after, beautiful
to all who see
your rarity, your victory
in being and doing and becoming, nothing but you,
and this, more than mortals think to ask,
satisfied mind with riches and no woe,

are there truths I have not witnessed,
are there joys that drive the storms on Jupiter?

Does it hurt you
if I scorn the lie that built your institute
of holy known secrets, framed
in faith most precious, peace
of knowing,
for me,
there is no hell, ever after
this, if I suffer this, if I fail not now
to live to be old…
too late.

I am old - not useful for much -
and retired, not poor, not capitalist
wealthy, rich in the common precious things,
husband of one wife, who holds that certain beauty,
to this day, few I know dare say,
why
time is not kind to some old ladies who fret and fuss,
and rage too many one more times, to
have a partner, in the last days before hospice…

-- raucous throat clearing noise, to remind me
breathing is unconsciously already reminding me
-- if I wish to breathe, I must put to more labor
on the bellows, fan the
flame of famous desires that warm the cockles of the
part
of me happy to warm up and flow as
any
flowing thing, if you notice, flowing, as if being
init initially in this fluid state,
floating, not rowing,
fluid peace
of mind, not roiling boiling, cataracts, just, iyustified
ya, da, yes yada yada
ya, da, yes yada yada, we take our time,
we take our turn,
merry is gentle as wisdom,
say an ifery what
I sang like a blue jay squaches skritch, if you listen;
then singer is not the fullness of me, as I am blue,
when you see me,
as a jay, flying, you know, I am beautiful.

Part of me lives in my heart, in my part of all
that remains in my future.
Thoughts are thought as swift as this, once.

Gain and loss, sorted said senses
of cost and worth.
With a glance, see the flash, feel
me hope, feel me hope you choose
not to lie, not to
say, I know
I know, amen, amen, until you walk a jubilee journey,
suffer not a novice to teach or preach,
and ignor any grumpy old men,
who cannot
laugh
when they don't shave,
and feel themselves seeing
seeing wordsworth or whitman
or some wizard where the fool is hidden.

Dumbfounded, speechless
who. You and I were
there,
we did not see the Who Horton heard on TV
Related to this argument was Wertheimer’s concept
of Pragnanz (“precision”)
in organization;
when things are grasped as wholes,
the minimal amount
of energy is exerted
in thinking.
To Wertheimer,
truth was determined
by the entire structure
of experience rather than
by individual sensations or perceptions.

From <https://www.britannica.com/biography/Max-Wertheimer>

Dynamic living history, reaches to to -Toto, here, Toto

cognitive revolt
piled on the new left right brain uses
sorting and finding worth
stacking and digging

having being
active dynamic being, thinking this can
go on and stay on
ever after if we accept the mortal limits
stories mental

this is like that was, only now, not then

the motion is time, time moves

field- corn or force? field cybernetic
Norbert Wiener- Warren McCulloch - Grey Walter
men who math
The Human Use of Human Beings

how do we instruct ourselves

we have knowledge, knowing is a knack we have

co-gnosis mind you, is something we do, abstractly
pulling
right from wrong.

--- Acadamia, the elite among learned-edu
matrixilated hacked't adams henrys
on the grid of ganz gestalt, das whole enchilada

LOUD - like Owsley's Wall of Sound - broken
by feedback, and
we can imagine that, we
can depict it
as seen on TV, my generation, the actual Archons,

the few sold first, first realized the end means,
now
in the course of human events, this is the realm
of all possible things,
and nothing remains
impossible, no joke, once everything

is swallowed whole, nothingness is not a
ganz gestalt aspect in the whole truth and
nothing but
the truth…. shooeee, too deep for me, I plea
and
pass. Psst, come and see, if this gocognosticism
functions as funk, was imagined, what
is that
thing they say, jive, is jive, is being jive
being good
or being good for nothin', real evil, nothin'.
you ain't
nothin' Ha

Reader be ready, steady, gone on to dis
cover -we all got songs we oughta remember

easy links to certain rhymes in the common tongue
of our time, we pidge-on bits of rap and old TV
add some Johnny Cash,
ev-boo'nighknown, ring o' fire, dance
redun
this is the Goethe flow, I suspected could exist,

P.K. ****, and Wallace of Infinite Jest, each
thought this act might follow wholes
of any perceptual samenesses,

the depth of an exploratory shaft, certain
sense of suggestible camera obscura,

tiny, pin-hole in the dusty velvet curtain,
shine, see on me, I feel, I see,
left eye
right eye, two things converge and doubtless,
both sides know, right
in front of each of us, is a blind spot,
what
is that absense? Is it a story wishing it were told,
or a fact you can follow to your gravest self,
if your will is such that, some how,
you must

well, maybe, we can help. AH, that is cheating yes.
Have you learned to lie to the devil,
did you ever meet him, her, it, one of them

spirits spoken of in spooky-geistliche,
olden days, and olden ways,
witchers with wands of willow, not of copper,

splash. dead rat
aqua dulce memories, these
bubble from a spring,
these feed a cistern of my own cleansing, done right,

I used bleach, Purex Bleach and an old straw broom,
I scrubbed any bit of drowned rat from that cistern,
I rewove the rips in the screens,
I called it completely clean and crawled out,
with bucket, and broom, empty
cistern echo, boomer
memories are the last in America, pre-TV

think about that a minute,
see if there ain't something in it, this us, we are
this classified mindset, set between '47 and now


for shared time cones merging now
way out there, eons ago, geo speed.

--- you had a hard time, I see, I had an easy time.

When were you worldly minded?
--- same general time as you, if this is 2021 tech
we are'n maybe weren't meant to be so loud,

there are reasons we did not learn some things
in school. Talkin' 'bout my

generally speaking, world wide, now, first time ever,
the aged
around the entire liveable band of post cataglumic last
time long ie live-life-able
I
enjoy the effort, let the dam break, the cleansing
right, as usual, is done.

Last time, the end was a surprize, this time,
this is the end, and it runs on to heat death in
the coolest of times to be alive
and
and have history to backup the *******…
are you
really
experienced, skritchy skritch skritch,

well,
I am, and, this has been my last show, re done
as a musical in mindfields back home.

Shout out as they say, Truth known is addictive

-- so where did these knowers post conjectors
as to how next is any worse? Hello Poetry, okeh,
tell the Alte Vista spiders we found
the joker who lied to the thief.

Think a bit with me
in words, {sign says eat me}
- 'notha sayo gramma ***** -
- word

these magical things.
We read,
not all minds do,
in fact some mortal minds that can,
read, do not, though,
we know, due to our inborn link
to the tree
of all mankind now knows,
listening is enough
to think with. Reading is as slow as we go.
-take a line at a time, the whole time, line upon line

BTW- the maze, whence we wish we were
unmazed,
happens to be
the map of reality, we was me in mind only, in
a we,
I am amazed, by grace,
no good did I do that I was not equipped to do.

Like and as, for instance, why am I the only me?

Well, you see,
it is like this. Look around, feet on the ground.

Is any thing existing now for you alone?
Is the air mine, or only this breath, of course,
who can say and know?
I may, and can, and have the doing done
to prove, skritchy skritch itch, I am

experienced. Wanna dance?
--------
https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1214

Noisome old child would be vibing tine
seeking orchestration waves of direction
keeping time and melodic line and silences
like boxcars parked in the switch yard
long as anyone can remember tapping along

snick snick goes something timely in the background
snick snick
snick snick
rising tenor has me hoping and looking up
for light to shine you should see the air shimmer

skritch skritch across a rising round solidity
are you are you are you still in this
song still playing along i can't tell
anymore i can't feel any more subtlety
i need the boom boom boom song
i need to ask i need to be along note

AI, the movie, Pinocchio,
still holds the base plot,
but AI some day, if movies worth
ever hold, as old stories held, worth until not long ago,
on firm fixed grid of ink and stroke as accurate
as
any short hand can be, transcription is an art

telling a once imagined tale told since we
were formed at the level, in the sphere
of more than meets the eye,
- snapping fingers, find a cadence

Thing of truth, boxed in parables, as told
to teach the reason we be
having to justify, the way we say
all men must be to be right and worthy,
on the scale of soul and spirit,
wither early
genius, makes the joker limp to remember
where you lay your head
there is the house
in mind, as the whole truth, snickers on the edge
of the orchestra pit.

might there be minds in any thing we have
imagined minds being in,
in the cultural myth of how now converged
from all the
old secret means and ways money was worshipped,
given worth,
and that, made heavy, as the parameter, gold-wise,

or big fur tanned well, where winters model everafter,
with happy hunters.

What is good in a windfall?
Fire.
How Why and What, each look my way.. and laugh
nows, our chance, burn the branch

let us tell the story how, once
why we find joy doing what
feels like all I am saying
I am happy
inside

and I am so much older now than I imagined then

add a fade gong ding distant skritchy skritch

define the you to whom you sing, or ever
body be, be wise
ever
body be, be wise, bass, and the finger snappers
grove if you are carving
skip to the spindle and spin this diamond needle
tic tic
into gold, the worth of old,
in the economy of mind, whence clots of worthship,
cover stains in golden stories, and colorfilled
parades,

or blue jays here, my now, then your past,
immediately,
meaning nothing to the sense common to us
in the words we define
to our own satisfaction, this is a truth we hold…

evidently, we agree, all the lines to now were clear
or we, the whole we that occurred today,
in your time, was not impossible,
but maybe not with out you being able
to survive yesterday.

Suppose a thing new,
super exposed out imposture
posed as the pro
blameo, blamo, whammo,
when did you know?
- you are the final problem
- and you love solving problems
- in unwritten games of times untold
This the ever retold tale, the greatest story

Take the Bertrand Russell POV, forward
in to now, the anthrocybercene,
- at this ply allow 2021 classified tech
- holy separate state, take a mind
- be the mind you lieve be real as yours
- dear as yours, loved mind of not yours, but
- my realm of reasons for faith in me, not you.\

An honor, as a legendary given
prize, appraised worth, by your leave,
believed worth your
dying for
living through, with, in, to
yond
all, being nothing dreamy, hear
as a many ways told experience
skritchy skritch, yeh. U know I was
imaginable, but never unbelievable.