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Blacksilhouettes Jan 2015
We roll back and forth
From side to side
Looks so needy
Grips so tight

Unbuttoned shirt, ripped dress
Will soon end up on the ground
With all the rest
The gentle touch or the hard hand

The screams for god
The squeeking bed
This night, I may never forget
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
each day is new.
each life is measured re-ified or ified,
--- but 1.0 can't think past named things and their uses.
--- 2.0 must have an intuition of good begetting
that includes 1.0 gnosis of aim in an immediate way.

Oh. Here's a map.
Like Disneyland as a mall...
or DC with the alu-mini-um pyramid on top.

A schema instantiation, says the blithering flow
charting our course to
sapins sapiens augmentatious
It's obvious,
the children shall all be 2.0 in 1.0 mechanical material;

the tree of knowledge was all inclusive.
hence, the POV development circuits
are cross sired-wired dialecticalishit

seen innerish, not clearly but
seen, men as trees sorta thing.
not blind
but not visionary in a professional
TED talk worth
attending to after eight straight.

The time on earth is variable.
The cost/value of a duration is perimental,
be
coming here
being still
unborn in silken wombs
--- chirp

there are ground squirrels in California
which chirp
incessant chirp chirp chirp with

enough variety in volume tone and frequency,
to make old Morse Code five-letter code groups
come rattling through the radioman's head.

killit.
no, focus, do some meditatishit mind over world,
silken swaddles to moth or...

squeeking wheel gits the grease.
grease it, no, go to the squirrel and trigger its
cog that has no
cognition save intuition. Click.

look it in the cute little squirrel eye.
see it see you, say to it, shut up.

it don't blink. it don't shut up.
bold rodent,
I AM MAN. I shout, it squeeks,
gnoshit,
no cognitive over ride of intuition to fear the man,
is thinkable.
It is a squirrel.

It don't mean nothin'. A curse o' apophrenia on ye.

Bubbles in bubbles, foaming Being
Thoughts resolve to gearish
imaginations
cogs and gears and wheels whirling through some
filtering of needless data informing points
big
number
dimensional, scale and distance, durational
direct
measure in systems
for value and balance,
with no true vacuum, but the idea,

the null-set. Where never happens and nothing is.

We twist hard here.
The torque is what jects
the ob at the sub, via a
mechanical cam-shaft, pusher-puller-twister system
mit ein trigger, which we
click.
Think.
Who is writing my part in the book of life?
I asked me, you are not here, but
in my mind I hear replies more wise than I was
inclined
to imagine
a common man of common gifts can be for
believing
magic has always been
what magi know how to do for goodness sake.
Magi. Heros.
Not a no knack common man, wombed or un.

Peace nullifes any reason War-corroded minds can
calculate,
the numbers prove it all. Count the stars.
Use your augmented eyes, search your global memory,

run the numbers, nullify time with eternity,
subtract the works of darkness,
(don't delve into the details, you can imagine hell some other time)

----
A Valis idea, stuck between my chew-eschew-awarea
P.K. ****, trips, bags, and scenes
as became the cliche'.

Let 'em imagine any thing, define the terms and force
agreement for access.

Insider wannabe, do you agree, come and see? Or
do you dare to challenge

the common sense of all man kind as represented in Christ
of Nicea and Abeka Books, from Pensacola, Florida,

Whoa, rock the box, make bubbles cavitate the prop,

spinnin wheels like the Bismark's final bow.

--- i'm un comfortable and I don't know why.
--- a feeling
--- those are mocked as meaningless, by apathetic slobs.
--- so easy being a ***, ethos pathos logos, ***
--- comic relief
--- in mortal moments of turmoil and confusion as things are stirred.

All that could be shaken, was shaken.
All that could be strained, was strained.
All that mercurial messages could mean, was meant.

We lie in wait, wishing cogs and cogitate was as symbiotic
a thought as we thought while thinking

earlier
Art is artificial intelligence. Imagine that. A.I.

Demiurge, my cultural osmosis of vocalizings,
left me thinkin' a demi urge
is a little urge, a diminutive urgekin,

urging me to be
creative, let that lil' light shine, Marjoe

these being public displays at the edges of some of the bubbles,

bubs, some kid just shook my bottle

to pretend the wine was moving of itself, making turmoil

careful as in accurate art-iculation, this is not realist materialist
gasping
grasping for
dignity, stalwort, courage, responsibility

we are yet legions, industrial models
used to build swords with motors,
when we come to America, we join the unem.
We, the people's industrial war complex, merge
with the abandonded gods Neil Gaimon pointed out,
formin a loose unity of spirits, engines and factories and artisans

self-defined, an unum from many, on a national scale,

Da deme demotic da-emonic conspiracy of steam, incorporated
with dwarven knackeristics of old,
fur usin' Hermes as a river to call gold to our rule maker,
food bringer, h'laf weard, Lord of the loaf.

Listen,

illiterate heathen, my Grandma said we'd be if we did not know the story
after hearing it told three times.
Third time's the charm.

We were weighing your worth,
got hooked on a breeze from the broom sweeping this
pile of parts and pieces of what you imagined being worth

that's not much more worth than one in eight millions of millions,
of you kind, unless you earned admitance to the inside

externalization of imagination
pro-ject that on next---
stop. Imagine all that
and guess... ob or sub... its your roll.

I'm the door, says the door. I have no key, it says to me,
come and see,

the progress regress con tro tra la la la

That rascal who just wondered by on Youtube

com a part mentalized, an urge to count the cost

ungrateful and thanksgiving
curse and bless
sweet and bitter from one fount, that ought not be, but
it is possible, all things are,
it can be evil, but
on
discovery
such a curse is not worse than miss fitting a taken point,

we ethos pathos logos ourselves, we say, my domain,
bad
poetry can have good ideas in it. Ah, I see.

Humble your self under the mighty hand of that which has been
given the joystick,

eh, what if a lie is running your ranking order?
careful articulation?

Jackson Pollack step up, this carefulness of art,
answer that for me.

Ah, the hero, around whom thy sun wraps, what haps ever after,

you get old and the world changes against your wish.

do you believe in God.
I do, the one Jesus believed in,

by my leave, my letting a true thing be

happily, after a life of seeking for another path.

The earth is round.

Are there ideas that cost, in the use?
Is there an ancient of days account
of idle words

verbs given for acts, as seen done, from an earthling POV
idle verbs that call no act
lest the cost come clear, daemonitic tech that seems magic,
blessing cursing and claiming to heal, all
mere art... the ability to be like Jesus, that knack

there was a wise man, as he was sweeping his way one day,
his daemon, who had the assignment,
reported finding meaning
in being filled
to over flowing, have you boasted that? Never?

Did you ever shed a tear for another's pain?

You know, pathos, commonality of us all, or you know
not
and the sufficiency of evil is calling you to be the inner hero,
making room for truth
in a heart fed lies from the womb.

After all is said and done. Believe the truth makes free
upon the point of knowing the story.

Love is a verb I seldom use. I dared redeem it for future use.
It cost me dear reader.
there are verbs we abuse at a terrible price. Paid. Not by me.

Show's over, Radioman morphed to Grandpa and Oliver
watching the real world turn beneath the sun,
relative to an earthling POV. The day's sufficiency of evil all swept away.
Seeking worth whiles while marveling muses from the global brain. The walls between a common man on earth today and the hightest reaches of Academe daemonium of pan,  Is nullified, nullified ask any question and you can find all anyone ever knew about it.
RW Dennen Oct 2014
There you go again with that **** hand
held device,
your eyes are but only
hyptonic spin thingys

Your fingers are tools by rote
You foam at the mouth while
your thumbs and fingers skate across glass
squeeking slightly as you CrAcK your gum
sounding like a miniature WAR
I SHOUT FIRE at you!!
And still the squeeking of the fingers with joining
of CrAkIDY CrACK
I even jump up and down with still tipped boots
and still CrAcKiDY, CrAcKiDy, CrAkIDY, CRACK!!!
SqUeEkIdY, SqUeEkIdY,SqUeEkIdY, SQUEEK, SQUEEK!!!
I grab you by the collar and TOSS YOU OUT OF THE BUS,
in my daydream, as I smile inwardly with a child's giddy laughter
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK AND SLIDE, SLIDE, SLIDE,
SLIDE, SLIDE AND SLIDE!!!!!
He, He, He, He, that's all folkes
So I exaggerated the noises so...GET OVER IT!!!!!
Emily Jones Jan 2014
I should tell time by the words spoken
That way when death came knocking at least we would have conversation
Choose scheme carefully for it could mean one um to close to middle age
Two  I loves you's from adulthood

Words would mean more than the method to maim
Slander the budding of free thinking mind
Or take light from a flicking candle
If time could be stunted by vocal notions
Glodal pops and humming lyrics
Then lovers would never die
And poets would fade into
The everyday mayhap the fickle trickle back into the ether

The quiet would be lovely
Emoting the stillness of nature birdsong would fill the silence as it was meant to
And the air would not be littered with the dank smell of spit and betrayal

You could ask me the weather by motion
Dance me into existence with the way your eyes spark and the grace of your smile
Such language would be peaceful
Dreaming a dream
So calming I might not
Wake
For there was nothing to curse me from it

The muted manner of being
May transcend the busy buzzing of the rat track motion
Squeeking out their horror and joy
Such silence
Such relief
If words could tell time
Forever in bliss I would be
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
touch, con tact
con fide in me, tell me mere tallies,

count my worth in touched
virtual buttons, pulled virtual
triggers of emoticonic
urgency
emerging as a wish, a want, a will

to make or take or fake a known
point,
hidden in my bag.

abstruse obscurity, arcane, esoteric, recherché

y'knowaht ai mean?

click, think fast.
Past last learned truthz in everlasting shame games,
swallowing whole
guiling lies left to stumble entertwined
entertained public minds dulled
by constant rub, that mobs
force squeeking
gears of grace, to make while
grinding balance points, tipping the wheel

of time as imagined by sailors on opined currents
swept by winds of geistic hinting hid,
to see, know to pay attention.

Jeffry Epstein was a hoo-min, can you imagine…
calling him friend?
And having no clue?

Linguistics, Style and Writing in the 21st Century -

with Steven Pinker, relating an email,
{received prior to Oct. 28, 2015 YouTubing}
"It is important
to approach the subject from a variety of strategies,
including mental health assistance but also
from a law enforcement perspective"…

translated as:
"We should consult a psychiatrist about this man, but
we may, also, have to
inform the police."
man, not subject, understand… the translation

who was that man {the subject,
I assume, was the deed which a man mutually known
was known for doing}

I think Epstein. Hm, a sick seed… sprouts out,
first the blade,
then the ear,
then the full corn in the ear…

then I think, Krause, a colleague… can I be sued
for thinking I can imagine…

worse can I imagine knowing what
is mutually known, there is a guilt game
that needs linguistical magic
meanings to be hidden in
abstruse obscurity, arcane, esoteric, recherché

ways and means of keeping the plebes entertained.

"It is important
to approach the subject from a variety of strategies."

-- or as I continue imagining being a knower, we could
arrange with other knowers
to
**** him, and thus the guile goes un detected…

check with the lawyers, no incriminating emails…

"It is important
to approach the subject from a variety of strategies…"

In 2007, when Epstein was first indicted for procuring a minor for prostitution,
Pinker "provided his expertise on language" 
for Epstein's defense,
according to The New York Times.
Pinker offered his services for free and,
he told the Times,
at the request of his friend,
Havard law professor
Alan Dershowitz—who has himself been
 accused of sexually assaulting minors trafficked by Epstein,
which he denies.

From <https://www.vice.com/en/article/g5pn87/free-speech-crusader-steven-pinker-blocking-anyone-mentioning-his­-epstein-ties>
Bits that formed a seed, what fruit? I cannot say, it's Christmas Day, my thoughts are on other angels.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2022
Dammed good facts,
today is a surely measurable day.
Set in the common course of human events
from the bottom,
where the world at this altitude,
is wintering, while
from the top we feel the sun, straight on
hot
as Mohave at solstice,

such as I, as we, seeing we live in order
to live
in order to help

eh, hey, hear us near us say, we know

weyekin, ye ken, visionary wisdom wedom

poet singer sayer pre-sent, and representing
words
living in timespace at time's own pace, passing

Dark cold winter, time for inwalled-usness use,
we become the whole room,
sometimes, all eyes on I, the one, in the middle
- there
- being the connection, anhamartia-tic,
coherence
here and there, a web conforms to koinonical
image entonations, owls of common sorts,
and squeeking black lizards, settle in the shade,
to night we go,

onward, to mark the time, watching all the old
knowing proven,
as the sun rises and sets, facts
as measures confirm, solid-ifity convey, say
so it is, con-fide-used knowing, faith,
as we say.

We are the people who know this mystery,
we live in life, as bits of all that ever was,
by now, all that is weighted

significant from first landmarks set in times past.

some, not my we, some see life as a struggle, see
from a salmon's POV, the sense of efforting
is joy,- efforting rejoicing +
this is right, this is how I form the people,
offsprung from war wage slaves,
who **** us,
to hide the stars at night.

Humans in the future shall love water flowing
functionality,
and starry story tellings
un seen in cities since the great white way
attracted the sharks into the tank.
Remove not the old landmarks,
find the way where good is, and walk therein, to when
you get there you know it for all it was.
Shady Teddy Sep 2018
It keeps me up at night
Not the pain I once felt
Oh not my neighbours stereo
But it keeps me awake

Not the creviced bedbugs
Not the cold of July
Not the squeeking bed
But I can't sleep

Not the nightmares
Not the pills
Not the ****
A full blown insomnia

Its the cold in my heart with a fever in my body
The ache in my heart with a smile on my face
Feeling of loneliness inside a crowd
The empty soul with a full stomach

Am still suffocating in the oxygen tank
And am drowning in plain air
Sinking into the rock
A scorching sun under the cave

And I can't sleep

— The End —