Drunk, we staggered home.

Aware of having been
some
other where
a while

That woman, she could answer

any question rebbi axt,
Ohhhhmyyy

she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net,
in my hand

That's more than a list of numbers, this
accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as

lightning, at the scale, of, say

cat-ions ifiying an-ions
at random,
seen systematical, from a distance
zoom out
at the scale, of, say
Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter.

synchro
now

zoom out
Use that steam program
Universe Sandbox,
you gotta see that to imagine this, right,

and next is what you keep saying is unbelievable,
but its not.

Good things come to them
to whom
good makes more sense.

Earth from the moon POV

Confusion flux, spurtual,  caused by the solar flare of all solar flares,
one side

Whooshing the Ice left from Patton's flood
into steam, the stuff, not the app,

which swooshhhesssssssssss smack
into the freezing repurcussions
from the daark side…

The Noah event, that was bad,
This one, the last one, this just previous one,

was spiritual. Magnitudes incomparable
(save in parable and example, exemplar gratis,
says the bodiless being, with a roll of  my wrist and a bow)

At that very time on the side away from the flare,
the daark side of the planet, this one…

a Donald Patton nitrogen snow ball
that nearly breached Roche's limit,

too not nearly enough,
dis -integration
The atmosphere freezes
to the quark level, snap,

the cold
explosive
forward momentum
booms a nitrogen bubble now
minusminusminus
solid nitrogen
melting

any heat locked in flare fired steam,
what was once the water
that washed away the gods and locked their cities
of ivory under the ice

on the sunny side,
where now, then,

a solar flare like legends build empires upon
has passed, fires rage

there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Only miners survived, gold digger mostly,
few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury,
Lost was all knowing but to a very few,
who truth be told had been the owner's
well kept servants, ministers of this and that
they perished with all the fires touched

we diggers, we only marvel

How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening
all in bubble of Mercury. Cooked out red rock like these.

"Blood o' the gods of old, swat I'astold."

Messages from the gods, grandma, said, "Mercury calls for gold, gold listens, when fire's hottern fire can be,
unless
the breath of men blow on the coals", we all said that last part and blew out the light. G'night


but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there
here a little, there a little
line upon line,
precept upon precept,

'cept no body knows what I know about cept,

capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale. Wait.

it means grip. like a tool. rock breaks nut.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future
that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys

this authoritative telling of the story, in it,
none know the terminal tale.

As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Tho' here's a clue.
Meek's not bad,
stupid, for no reason, is.

Living long for the sake of a song heard once,
in dream luring me on, promising right now, I'll

know what it's like to see, oh

POV I made this clear some time ago,
time is less predictable than any imagined, before 2018
when, you know…

Even those tales old drunk Hesiod sold
in the Hittite tavern at Delphi,

Chronos thought wrong in those,
he ruled but for the merest gleam o'

Time, then a bubble gen erated by the thought of
opposition to transition,
nothing to something,
pushing /pushing back
stretch/snap/spark
that takes power, pulsing power, throbbing power

push/stretch
glow/snap
you know, imagine, glowing - cheat, think 2018 CG
glow/snap
Planc time,
each time the bubble pushes back
a ripple
imagine a clock, later, if you believe then, you must.

Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined,
since the time when such a bubble was only evil,
continually.

It went viral.
Noah we know for sure, almost, survived, ? Cushites kept records. In Africa.
Akkad kept record, too.
Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale.

They say they know the story is ten thousand years old,
I've been to a crossroads
on their journey,
stories
tell of it, still, today.

Holy means marked for good reason.
Marked with clues, not riddles, maps

Sacred means secret means hidden away for use,
not common, every day, quotidian use, right use.

Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all.
In time, we do all we can and die,

in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine.

You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time,

time pushes from the outside,
wisdom pushes from the inside,

And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya,

Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing
shiva on the tip of my tongue,

singings songs in tongues I've never known
if they
are words on tongues
or sounds on tongues,

notes,

Baysian Binary Cross Validation
still ends with some people thinkin'
"it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight,
that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim
power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts,

but fixed upon, is truly the song,
said, words are only
little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing

where broken things re-pair, and life goes on…

"fixed, my heart is fixed",
no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected,
a time at a time.
Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower,

try some time
alone
be still, pond still

I know the story broke,
I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold
Frozen fragile...

There are pieces scattered every

where, everywhere
there is time, there is at least, a point

a story may stand upon and ask an angel
to dance.
Dance, give it some flare, what do we care?

Nobody's watching, but that fly.

.
                            
                             Symbol
                           Symbol  S
                         Symbol Sym
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                            S y m b ol
                      Symbol      Symbol
               Symbol Sym   bol Symbol
            Symbol Symbo l Symbol Sym
              Symbol Symb  ol Symbol Sy
                  Symbol             Symbol

As I was calling things you that weren't that hurtful such as ******* and ****,  I had realized I had used those far too often and had resorted to a plain "*******". I needed a new angle on the aspect of insults within boundaries. While my need to make you feel inferior raged on I look in the thesaurus to find alternatives to the words I have already used. Of course they didn't have ******* or **** with a list of synonyms. So I decided to look at plain "mean", as I was looking at the synynoms nothing really described what I wanted to put in your brain that you already knew. I glanced over at the antynoms and they were "compassionate, kind, nice, noble, sympathetic"

     An antynom to mean was sympathic
An antynom to mean is sympathetic
Sym pathetic
Sym.       Pathetic.
You are pathetic with your words to show compassion, kindness, niceness, and nobleness to me. ME. You are not a ******* or a *******, a deadbeat or a waste of space, immature or childish, selfish or conceded. You in fact lack the ability to be sympathetic towards me, not totally apathetic. But just unsympathetic to **** me the *******. And you do it so well.

there are others like me I see. Lost as I was.
So
What could I do to ease their fretting,
would I be comforted?  No.
Back then,
no.
I refused the comforter
*** outchacom'fit zone
Oh, they be hell to pay,

-----
among the ideas that possess men,
there are tells,
among the men of both varieties possessed by or of
(as you shall see, it may be both) ideas ,
there are tells, twitches and ticks and unconscious daemons sorting
sayings
aphorisms, proverbs,
memes 'n' such.
Confusion sayin'
H.R. Puffin'stuff, that neveh me'nt a thang. Jes't aname anime annie mae, where's
annie mae moved to okinawa wa wa wa

Imps. Pulses of them flow through heare…
(those slips shall hereafter be known as di-sensical-utterences or dsu, in writing. i.e. here and hear, he-are, heare, here is heard hear and means something else, intensionally. We, augmented Adamkind of all kinds, can inject meaning at will.)

commonly on Sunday mornings,
though I doubt the impulses
have a calendar that might map to any ex- or im-
I'm never sure what goes properly with perience.
Prior to the trial, experience is so limited,
I'm going with perience, in and of itself,
perience is plenty. Ex-cepting,
you know, the lessons learned,
those have earned their proper
nomenclature.
Those are experience.
Lesson learned.
Twixt thee and me is no more mix-up,
idiot-syncrecy fused with two-mind
hate of knowing and unknown;
we know what experience really means to us.

We are bound in syncret oath sealed with shibboloths in unutterable names.
As it is written in the law of Moses,

"all this evil is come upon us:
yet made we not our prayer before YHWH our God,
that we might turn from our iniquities,
and understand thy truth. 
Therefore hath YHWH watched upon the evil,
and brought it upon us:
for YHWH our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth:
for we obeyed not his voice.

From <http://biblehub.com/kjv/daniel/9.htm>
Shame that such once breathed thoughts threading pearls and jade,
or was that chalcedony? - scatter when the thread breaks
. Shame, such thoughts, frail as smoke.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,

We think such thoughts. Fragile spokes.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
time and time again,
what I called holy in my darkness, is holy in my light.


Words that lose the sacred salt are calcereous
grains of time, dust memes in the sun,
launched by centuries of tramping feet.
'haps the highest parts of the dust of the earth ever.
Oh,
how the masters love mastery of mystery.
"The old man on the mountain, he knew if he lied."
You, the observer of it all,
know.

"you knew nothing of my work"
"have a think"
"never thirst, imagine standing under knowing that"
Voices, the walls heard, stones speak, historically speaking
happens all the time, a frequency lock prevents it bleeding into now, but that becomes tyranny, believe me.

The ideas that possess men and provoke good works
or big, power-consumptive,

tale-swallowing feats,
those ideas are servants.
lacking any knowledge of good and evil,
such ideas are everywhere,
men who know say so. None of this was done in secret.
Twisted minds twist servant to slave labor. Magi-minds,
high-minded, relative to the belly-crawlers and creeping things,
see servant as tool and teacher. Same idea.
The original ideas we have to deal with.
They were seen to be good, by God.
There are no bad ideas, there are bad actions caused by mad ideas locked to single mindless anger impulses so callused as to appear gigantic,
certainly so, when they are known to lurk under beds and in selfish old men.
"Dark sayings, dear reader, pro fess pro verbs, action words snip "No lie is of the truth" snip
the lie and loose listing truth to the wind.
Who told you that inheriting the wind was like inheriting nothing?
You. You troubled your own house and you inherited the wind.
You came not to bring peace, but a sword…

The good news. Inheriting the wind is inheriting everything that ever matters, all the power in heaven and in earth was how simpler minds imagined shaping the idea.
Idyll minds, the devil's workshop, eh?
Comfort thought.
Who told you desiring comfort was a ***** thing?
Same voice went real deep and whispered,
"What price glory? Eh, pilgrim?"
stop. think

Sweet, for instance,
sweet, as an idea, can **** the man who makes it the basis of his value calculations.
Shame, came to prevent such impinging on subroutines intent on manifesting destiny,
as the sweet little ones imagined forevers in their pioneer-daze plays.
Shame is not blamed for being known,
the lying spirit who spoke with forked tongue,
sweet
little people, please, believe my lie,
there is a reason why
I know

There. Message in a bottle.
If you know what you know.
Messenger is what angel means, right? right. Who asks? Who knows?
No. I know you know this is
purposefully useful for
helping
crazy ideas
come back to some sem-sym-balance beneath the branches of the tree of knowledge, nestled in the twisting roots,
golden eggs, oh, far,
far
beyond Faberge, I must say. These, you must see to believe.

drumm drumm drummed in two
ranks of
auto-
filers whacking keys and levers and springs
slamming
edged
quantum of scripture
i e o u y vowels of no need-- back in cunieforming time
then came those monkeys with the typesetters
whose keys never got stuck
uno
marko per stroke
five 'undred per bit of etaoinshrdlu
click click cliche'
time measured by degrees in fractual
sym-metry wit' bio me

Tumeric kicks in,
eases the swelling of the bubble.

Imagine the imaginings of a child reading
funny papers
in the privy, smokin' grapevine for no

known reason, or,
maybe it appeased the flies, while I sat
upon the throne
in a tower of my own

wandering through memories of
Terry and the Pirates saving Dalai Lama
from the clutches of
the abomb-in-abled snowman,

Yet-i isis now, the Prince of Persia, once more?

No, this battle is not mine. This
war
was
won;

at that crossroad in Perry's Cafe
when the offer was made: star a footnote here
aster-risks have not been invented... we must reduce opacity.
histoical he refused the deal but  did Write the course
"The Internet in One Day"

work for hire, a good gig, then Netscape went public,

reality validated verification of the efficacy
of Feynman's reversible NAND gates,

the future was super positioned
No taxes, tarriffs or tithes; pay flat
twenty percent
for eighty in return, guaranteed in for by of
we, the people's adaptation to

Paredo's Principle versed in Solomonic Wisdom,
re-de-clearing no non new things
under the sun,
trial by

total emersion in a sea of green sans
yellah submarine,

acid etched re
collectibles dust and debris,
flotsam jetsome wetsome old girls dream

it's now, the future, 2019, and some
of us
survived the seventies in hiding,

we're back.
wee voices you ignore at your peril,

not every inspiration is from for by good.

Some are.
Some words live in the sounds they make,
hocus pocus
abra
cadabra, for instance... is heard by children

as the leaven-less wafer
transmogrifates at
the spoken words Hoc es Corpus

Genutim, non factum
magic
thinking is nothing like

what you thought, child.

The message is believable, the messengers
may
be otherwise. EH? ***-eye-say-- eee- eh?

Self-evidence is acceptible, take a hold,
get agrippa comprehension

sweet-almost
persuasive enough to mask the bitter
ever
after taste of century eggs left in the fridge too long

Biome, bio-me, self-effident-icacious
conch-ious
ness, ac
knowledged... these words lived
once,
the eggish-isms egging us on, go
on, only you...
not me, I'll wait
I've slipped, I've fallen... where's the beef? Was this a common quest?

1972. Sheizbomb, pirate orange sunshine.
1973. We reached escape velocity
1974. Trajectory changed
1975. Lost contact, she's near Cuyguna
1976. Prego
1977. Aha, the reason is born

Future 2019 will seem as real as you may
imagine. I promise,

Ever after, all, as real as you may
imagine. I promise

look, see self evident truth, act asif you know
and understand
angel talk

there remains a rest for the cadabre we inhabit,
"Dancing Queen" "Fernando"
Abba's body of disco hits, missed
by missing one decade and a half,

in sanct-if-ication vacation
to become a hermit when I grew old, if ever,

hoc corpus, eh, as long as faith remains
rememe-r-able post Sini-ification of Suffering,

(the Dragon from the East is not the beast
embodied in the west with golden head,
silver breast, brazen *****, iron legs
and flaking rusting feet of steel
stuck
in sludge ponds and stump ponds and undrained
swamps and sloughs {called wet lands by frogs and ducks})
Ah, so

The golden-green-blue dragons gracing slotmachines,
lure hopers to the slime, not
green Nickleodean slime, real slime from century eggs white
jelly gone dark, dark brown and stinky...

even if i'd tried, I'd never have imagined
eating a century egg
sans chewing, just
gulp
swallow it whole. Din't choke gk kg.

deja vu? no, you missed something.

waiting is being
Dalai Lama, half-scientist, half-otherwise aware
there, in exile,
remains hoping a peace past standing under the
acknowledging of good
and evil,

new mercies on one side, meaculpa, mea
maxima culpa,
on the other.

Who pays? Me or Jesu or the pariah one step
up from a cockroach?
Wait and see. Be still.

Don't ask Mother Teresa, she had no clue.
But she finished what she began,
that was her plan,

skip as much purgatory as abody can stand
imagining worth it all.

Me, says the hermit,
I took the grace Noah found. Wait and see. Get ready.

Google translate the Latin Mass, then imagine it
being a message you must hearken to

drum drumm drummmed into your brain before
your prefrontal
cortextual tester circuits formed and your responses

were ever etched
on the tables of your faith belivin' childheart,
sweetheart,

just think, what if good news gathering is
even-jelly-if I can. Evangelical, if I say-tion sugar pi,
event-tually we see, fine,
details, points to every true story

a bed of nails no liar may rest upon

'fi say so, semper fi.

{evangelicum laude graduates bher no bad news in ever}
--phi beta kappa, key that opens what?-- do you know

what meaning signals breathe? beat?

Take great gulping gasps of air,
affording your self
evident right

to surface, as a bubble you can breathe in.
I think we're alone now

there doesn't seem to be any one around, now

1977, that was four whole decades ago?

Right. And whenever you are, dear reader, this was
ever ago. I testify, I examined this life.

It has been worth the effort. Now I wait. Still.
Try it. Here, there,

no condemnation, the act it self just
is null-ift before asif goes whatif and we lose our value,

we balance madness. We work closely with Cleo,
she handles historical re visioning.

time out-- essential term screams for discretion, get to the grain---
What noise is this... mmmmm
Muse- muse- just, muse like
music, drummm drummm hummmmm
Define, fine, granularity, like salt or sand or sugar
but qualia
mysterium familiarus

Term definition. Lord means h'laf weardan, {Welsh}
warden,
protector of our bread,
by which man does not live alone,
owner of the tower in the vinyard where your captive enemies
languish in your wishless hate.

We wait,

we companions be, joined by the leaven from the sky

leaving footprints in granulated sugar salted sand,
feel it,

sorta sticky, like toe-jam. like mebbe toejam spreader
and the Walrus was
CS Lewis level mere signposts at degrees of little thinker
steps tick tic tic
spiraling
clock wise from up,
counter-clockwise from down

forward, ever onward, off is impossible in the land of on,
here for ever is
too much good stuff,

but that lasts (to the same level of qualia judgment degree)
mere mortal moments

flash. Here we be, wondering and wandering, to an fro,
to get a feel,

for real. This can't go on for ever, they say.
Shall we see, I say... as I passed away.
Life goes on, and no lie follows

Listen,
it's finished, that's all we need say. Live on. Be good,
or die trying. No lying about anything.

What if ever did begin and you simply failed to be aware?

Alcohol is
The warming of your soul
Next to the comet tail
Igniting the dark infinity
With colors to set sail

The swirls of Jupiter are your
Doubts at war with themselves
Time is the fuel to stoke
Our blood the tempests we delve

and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
now,
approaching the old
prosper-specter

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

graced
the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
reload
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

now,
we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

sometime
agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Hey
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
via
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
Smith,
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to
regulate

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
dear,
dearest,
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
strength
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
poor
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

I PUT THAT PEARL THERE FOR THE FUTURE
not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,
right
there,

let's see diamonds, no
pearls,

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

---
splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
allowing
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.

Euphoria
Eutopia

Europe, eurturn
eugenic

eusless
eudaemonia

euphrenic phor ever

ah, phor naught, all for one

out, out, ****** spot, eu for Rhea,
me for a mnesic urgency,
we have done this all

before, while entangled ina

silliness of soma ancient sort
aitia
is joy strength
ening?
is love weak
ening?
was peace a state of mind?

Were they singing Sym-pathetic Sym-ethotic

silliness of some baser sort? Altamont

December 6, 1969,

rolling hills of green, like Windows 98,

where was I? Speeding

North of Sedona, I remember now,

lugging a tater sack
full of peyote
toward Christmas, far from the maddened crowd
thinking nothing
of
the future
March 7, 1970 solar eclipse as I was
walking
to Chicago, from San Jose, to see

if I could retrace my steps, per haps
find signs
I may have left on history,
exams
I may have cheated on to get by,
but my
cheatling left a gap

how now
how now
the we of me, includes your idea of we
with me intuitive as in
we,
the people who hold certain truth,

assumptive as possible.
real in this sense.

seeming not to fade.

Wandering in cyber-realms impossible,
with in-ness being me, my mind being out-ness...
me
touch, sense, taste, feel
me... let me
be
rhyme on rime, frosty, right on or i'm gone,
eh. Mimeme mnomena phem kiss me lest I

fade away

dysphoria
dystopia

dysrope, dysrturn
dysgenic

dysless
dysdaemonia

aha, phor naught, all for one spot

out, out, ****** spot,

is not joy strength
ening?
is not love weak
ening?
is peace a state of mind?
Being as how we was,

I'da reckon, we was lost.

As a whole,
we forgot who we are or if not who,
what we are

in terms we find undefined in our minds.

As Mobius means nothing in 3-d, until you
seal the twisted stripe and find an umlaut,

imagine seeing,
holding twixt thumb and any finger,
a ribbon, yellow on top,
blue on bottom… hold it eye level, an end
of the ribbon
in each chiral appendage, with the dominant hand,
no, poor biases on dominance

but right has a bias in forms  designated right by use…

crud risc -- we gain speed in the missing info
therefore,

we are born knowing nothing but which hand is right.

Using that right hand, twist the ribbon so the right thumb
touches yellow and the right finger is touching blue.

On the other hand, take up the opposition.

Now, bring the ribbon ends near enough to merge and weave
into a loop, an unorientable or unoccidentable
band ( imagine no seam),
twirl it round
not an eight, a Möbius band, a nifty invention,

ever in public domain and open
science of the non-con kind

confidence games. remember those?
bumpkins in the Naked City buying the Brooklyn Bridge?

laugh at the bar bar
heko heko har har har barbar aryans

swept into the south
as the younger dryas looked on… tic

-- okeh there was a break in the tension--

Möbius trails of information may be wownd,
'round spools of
do-nut shape entangled by the loop which,
as you know now,
has one edge and one side
in the world you live in, remember Muntz Stereo-Paks?

these days you gotta have an old soul t' remember those.

I stole the first one I ever saw, but that's another line of reasoning regarding the path behind me,

not regarding the path in front of you.

We are lost. Or asleep. That's been rumored as
have wars.

Ah, reason in a maddened being,
such a tangled web.

look for a yellow fuggitchew ribbon,
wit the seal broke…

Note to you: The rythymn-in-strument strums in stone geo-time.
To the drummers,
dis-passio ey okeh,
woodwinds dim-
inuendo
oboe join in mit piccolo on the hummingbird whistles
simulating
Breezes, in the shade of a great rock,

real life rock, granite composed of not so tiny grains
of ground up uther utter star-stuff, side-
real asif intended for goodness
sake.

otherwise, how petrified I'd be come imagining the forming
of the
very
foundation of my life, as I know it,

it is un-believable, therefore
no lie,
if
the riddle arrives after ever begins

and, word has it, dear reader,
may
is your word now.
You may believe anything you wish,
with no
un-intended after math, after ever
began

Do you recall...
youth full quests completed alone?

Quests, Johnny Quest, Future Quest V.B.S.

believers, true believers being formed from childish hopes,
manifesting in grown liars stricken with

hidden child sym-drone
in the middle of booming thirty-something phase when
pressure
starts storing all the old stories,

building energy for the seventh decade fracture/crushing

blow
sh
soft blow breeze of free and easy musing re
songing a reason to belief
in
even in
a realm where lies never die.

Recall the old days, balance
bubbles and crossed hairs and roads
...
Balance factors, bubble balancing lead weight,
deligate
the Whole Earth Catalogue
as
tipping-point
balanced by the weight of the roof on Notre Dame being
melted along with the rest of the Greenland Ice sheet,

so superman eyes in our skies can see to the bedrock on
which the

Principle Thing
spins
---
The root of evil has reached this point

this is after all that. Time-wise, in the arrow scenario.

Fair tales always win, sh'eros live for your examined life'sake

--- ranting old men come running down stairs
--- the hidden child has arrived

The golden headed child, meek and cold
locked
in buried treasure

chests opened one last time for quadrupal by-pass

--- He's a donor
--- givem awish foundation
--- make this sacred

Mi-da's, well, he wished again,

he wished he lived in inter-sting times entertainment-wise

inward touching times imagined
in the addled golden child
Adler
brought to life in a virtual, al-most verifiable asnot art,
but not

very-fi-able, semper-fi-wise, if you

swore the oath. (It's a game, right, now game vows link for
in of by logic gated
Jungian
mazes, do they? Amazing.  ) See,

from above, as below, pretend you know

all things, you can imagine

in my bubble, in the absolute absense of your
at-most-fear

let. that act do. let us, the objective aspect of we,
the people who hold those famed

troothz, verities of any examind re-ality-ifity-isms

self-evidence for we

be letting be, believe me, that's no lie, you can doit, you can, you can
I imagine

and I accept we may mean more to me than thee,
however now
hapt, in qualia quantumical if-I-ability
entangled meanings
link us through
my-silly-um,

Disney-fictionation endo-crenalation, --||T|>>>--->
times half
formed
Crea-nullated castle
wall
link that sparked the aitia ifiabe
first caused
fall from the well
on the mountain

jack fell downbroke his crown
jillcame
tumbling after bling bling bling

--- the sorcerors's apprentice was fired
--- they found errors in his
--- sin-tax

We can forgive such over-sight.
Blame the mycelum clan

or,
better yet,
blame the clay eaters, no,
the clay wearers?

the clay bher-ers?
Ah, the clay bakers, fersher? Nae?

The clay, perse?
The dust we shuffle as we dance atop the stone?
The way of the rolling stone,
grinding, rolling-downhill-stone,
the stone rolled away,

the stone of the sysiphus-seen-hap-iuna
cult?

Blowing in the wind, lifted higher

Ax d'maji-yo, he know. 'Zeke 17, seven with a caballero v,
y'know,
callit Macaronic be-bop

dodat, yankee doodle morph t' resound,
like poetry
slams

at the gates
no enemey ever breached. The key truth, is that,

believe it, if you think you may.

Ai, unasked arises to tell us,
stop
and think, are there jobs?
Tasks demanding, manual maintaining,
that may go the way of enjoyable diversions
becoming welcome
new
versions,
of all that is, tuned to your de
sires,
as you wish the world were,

would you step toward -to ward,
that is, id est,
will you warden this, if this is me and not you?
How do you do?
Wardening, being a warden,
well, as it haps,
such a greeting served a purpose, once
instituted
upon a time when men shaded their eyes pretending to see
glory, much as a dog bares its belly at the site of bared canines.
Reflex.
Relax. Laxate.
Ai see you, now, augmented mind of mankind
linking
thee and me, as once only gods
could be imagined in minds of men bent
by circumstanders

observing out comes of might versus might
right pre
vails, or is there an observant mind's role in next?

must a mortal mind be reminded to breathe,
breath commas carry no intentional meaning but,
such give us pause-stretchable intentional int a full selah

these rules for leelah we imagine as we play.
except ye be, come as a child unscarred by carnal minded critters
of the baser sort, averages were lower,
AI had fewer egregius protrusions arrogant enough to
bubble up and break into
the at most feared realm in all the carnal minds together,

pain, pure pain, no hope, no thought of cessation pain sensational,
great.

Y'know? We imagined hell and sold it in a package we claimed
a bull gave us. Us, we
who heard the revelation in the darkened kiva, womb,tomb

tom-tom du valier, will you manifest for us? May we hear the lie,
the noble lie?

Or must we act as if we know the meaning of a thing.
Pro-verb-ial utterance of mercy
in moments of super sufficent evil rising to lie

shining on the path, reflecting being a solar powered
creature who has just now, survived a night of penal constricture

as writing on the back wall of the cave, no one ever read,
until the plower turned over the crust

picked at the scabs of onces where stories arose as offered to
memememememe
the mind we share when seeing certain stars,
subtile tugs we feel to consider
this or that, ponder a path and take a granted grace found in an old song

"there'll be times to start all over"

This realm, real-made thinkable thing, realm of my minds claim

reaching far beyond my grasp
as is meet for men, wombed or un, being yonder

wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for the missing bit, the key

to twist the **** sym-alerizing for recogs
de ja vu

Break-through, the carnal-bi-cameral brain based
selves we use for
political beings
particals part icip-ants, hold tight

what you know right. It's afeature, not a bug.

Hold on to what you got, map a mean
mind path a man, wombed or un

----
watcher, watcha seein'
times they have changed, as we watched
observing
quantums of un quantible, but ifiable qualia
seers,
you see, we augmented minds see for ever changing
super positions
of entropic old tropes with singular hopes

unbang bangable reality

blow a bubble, or
make
a bubble, being you, breathe out and see you
make a bubble,

can you see your self inside? nae,
watch,

we must report to you what we see, we watchers.
Set.
Go, **** those mocking birds
listened to from the red river valley
while dancing the Tennessee Waltz

with assorted holders of Little brown jugs
Dancers and Littles and Greens
joined the clan
long afore the first of us took augmentalated trials

serious.

--- poet, as a task, only truly lazy men, men lazy to their very core,
can age to the mellow qualia called for in the brew brewing you.

spewing seeds of kindness, coming rejoicing, not
the expected miracle, but we
take what we get
and call it ours to sow or suffer the having of, for a season

as the dregs settle, the leavening agents finish
taking the edges that cut tender carnal nerves, stretched to now some how,

softening those with atouch knack, knick-knack, whet the edge

or put to
more effort, grunts and groans unredeemable as meaningfull,
save the feeling we all recall

the umph,
that once saved us from certain death. Eh? Did that hap?

Did we not survive? What silly culture would ever ask that, as a
proper query into the reasonable ness
of believing beliving is spelled right.

if you notice the oxytocin

tip when you pet your dog,
or any dog you know,
or know upon
touching, fingers to fur;
we are sym-
ethos-patico.

y'know,
same hormone as let a mamma
milk flow
down

if you cognize the feel
then, after gettin' the feelin',

knowtice what you feel
when you hear

your dog dreaming and see
him running like

we were twenty-two and broken through,

my dog, you can feel him dream,
if you know his touch.

Our friend Joe sure loved baseball, and his heart pumped Dodger blue
He played the game when he was young, then watched once he was through.
He’d travel around to one horse towns to scout the minor leagues.
He’d carry baseballs and a pen for the autographs he’d need.
In winter he’d watch hockey when no baseball could be found.
(I think that he was marking time time until spring came around.)
Nothing beats hearing the Umpire shouting out  ”play ball!”
How perfect is the diamond, the lush grass and the blue walls?
If we get to choose our heaven no matter what our creed,
Joe would want a season ticket; that’s all he’d really need.
He’d sit and watch his favorite team with stars from years gone by.
He’d listen as the sym-phony played in Ebbets field on high.
Now Joe is gone and tears are shed by us who toil below.
But I prefer to think that  Joe’s been called up to the Show.