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Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
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.
This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/kenpepiton
Life is good at my house, thankyou. A reader is needed more than words can tell. My posts are a book now, few stand solidly on their own. Thank you if you spend your time perusing them please tell me where I muddy the flow, or break the story.
Mihlali Stwayi Apr 2014
Coming from unknown shores, arrived these Western boats,
with disastrous as well as deceitful tactics they took our gold,
jump to the modern era, they are the ones' promoting ***,
they bare minimum death rates due to *** and Aids,
while African's lives in bitter ruins as the notion of "safe ***" seems perplex.
*** promotion misconstrued as our kids continue ****** the old,
Such consequences were never told,
when they sold us back our own gold.
Systematical control is now the definer of societies
Africans not taught of Qamatha but tested on Socrates,
African souls enticed into materialism by paper and cheese,
while Western supremacists economically ****** African Identities.
African child, fight back please!
This poem aims to tell the untold truth about the legacy of colonialism and imperialism as well as the effects of modern day capitalism on the African child.
Z Atari May 2013
There's a road far away from here, beyond the nurturing couch that has always lain behind the living room door.
eyelids open and close but body is frozen, you're a man made of fire trying not to break the ice
it's not a pain it's a fear
Legs are warmed from the wireless furnaces that heat up in your lap.
Fingers have traveled hundreds of miles on that typeset but toes none
You can't be the only one
technological systematical hazes in which we bury all our gazes
Suddenly every friendship ever born seems to have its own wi-fi password
Bill Gates, a god and jesus a fraud
Autotuned presidential speeches leeching into ears
are there actually words that we're hearing. Is this a state of mind that we are being herded into
That phonix toy that taught me how to read is replaced by angry birds on some mothers iphones
We are all so plugged in, you can update where you are on a single whim
But it takes so much whining to get the mangled limbs off the couch.
Every youth is living in two worlds one in which they binge and one in which they purge
But i have a question,
Do you even realize there's a lesson here, in all of this?
youth teen culture
technology culture
eh
Gabriel Feb 2014
Dying straight line

Blissful reverie beginnings
Fill mason jars with
Cataclysmic repertoires
And loving memories  
Specifically orchestrated      
Pyroclastic like similes
Apprehensive to gestation
Systematical count down
To an evitable destination
But a soul may yet soar
On breezes men never fly
To hear the tune of resonance
Corporal forms rarely perform
Feel opulence in not but illumination
Transparent millennia as but a flash
Far beyond a humanoid pursuit
So while a body starts with intending
Spirits are infinite and never ending
You may think we are a dying straight line
But we are a circle….reinventing.
I think of Gandalf...Gray to White.
A social climate infected by arrogance
We reek of greed and distortion beyond belief
Bitterness lurks through these seasonal nights to find nothing but subliminal dreams and horrendous frights
The poisons availing population control are becoming relentless
How can we desire ingenuity, if free will is unattainable
The towers have fallen and the hurricanes bring disasters
So is a new world order inevitable, or does that become indulged by the man himself
We've become a species fueled by materials and fallout is knocking at the door
Revolution: an ancient gathering of death and second chances
Because if we were all once "the body", how did we become so hideous
To the higher power, this is all systematical
To us morals, it is life
Searching for this impeccable conduct, we have become sightless of simplistic baggage
Spending too much time throwing a symbolic grenade into our trenches and hoping it blows up; but most often it is a dud
A lesson learned in time, a broad statement, and a suicidal commitment to our hearts
Love
*For if we proceed with this concept, the world will brighten and the dark doors will vanquish
This is a poem I wrote when I was having trouble learning how to deal with society and all of the stresses that come along with the air we breathe.
My conclusion was Love. For it is the most beautiful thing life has to offer.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i can almost abhor the term philosophy being
used, overused, playing hide & seek with it,
overusing it, overusing -
the i'm a "philosopher":
   and there are clear "reasons",
                     there is most mythical logic
outside of the confines of
mathematics in the form 1 + 1 = 2
   and the linguistic confines of grammar
akin to a + b + o + u + t = about...
   pretty much nothing...
                 given... there's a big difference
between a philosopher,
           and a thinker...
            that's what i woke up with today,
did my duties, made dinner -
and some other bits and bobs...
                   forgot about my original
schematic, let it sieve itself into a day
filled with pockets of time, drifting on
a sea of subconscious amnesia...
   three drinks later at 11pm...
boom!
              i managed to remember it...
what? the difference between what
a philosopher is, and what a thinker
is...
           a philosopher is someone who
can't escape the cognitive moral question...
the Θ apex -
                      given that...
    you don't actually put a key into
   a keyhole sideways...
       so the θ apex is a fallacy of sorts...
         the Φ apex (prefix) -
  ergo? the Θ apex (suffix) -
                     i never understood the modern
audacity to presuppose "being"
a "philosopher" before being a thinker...
a fiddler of sorts...
             the Θ apex is a genesis of
thought...
     the Φ apex is an exodus of thought...
spewing words in some sort of
Socratic dialectic -
      prodding - asking a variety of
dichotomy questions -
                           basically looking for
100 Zeno paradoxes in each supposition
that's a presupposition
whereby nothing leads to a proposition -
or at least: albeit blind faith...
   and what is the epitome of
jurisprudence?
                       the statue of justitia...
i'd prefer blind faith,
  than blind justice...
                but no...
          i could never claim to be a philosopher...
the so-called term is overused
by so-called "philosophers":
   there are two golden maxims -
don't do unto others what you wouldn't
wish to be done unto you...
   and?
    don't give any advice...
         modern "philosophers" seem to talk
too much and in talking too much
tend to give advice -
  sort of tickling at the idea of
a dialectic - but rarely accomplish it...
      i like to think,
   and the pleasure derived from
thinking is: to not give advice -
instead? provide an outlet of voyeurism -
i'm a thinker, not a "philosopher"...
         what a pompous term -
to reverse the Cartesian principium primo...
i think: not because i am -
              but because i think,
   therefore will think ad continuum...
      who needs to pivot on
the crutches of i am with the term
philosophy?
               i could never consider myself
a philosopher -
   no more, or less, than a priesthood status...
it's a bogus terminology -
apparently if you self-describe yourself
as a, "philosopher": you can don
Vatican style armor of impregnability -
i can't exactly consider myself
giving either good advice, or for that same
reason - scoffing off schadenfreude
by giving bad advice...
                     as a thinker: i stopped
asking the moral ()ought -
                 i put my ego into another door...
               put the key in,
turned it, and found behind the door -
less of an inquisition and self-laceration -
in swamp questions...
                       less a momentum built upon
a ?-impetus (of question -
  which no one would answer, directly,
in the contemporary sphere of all things
temporal - including me in it) -
    but an !-impetus -
              no questions -
        no advice to give -
                               no rigid questions
engulfed by schematics of scholastic
origins - systematical approaches -
     exhausted and boorish - boring even
the library's moths...
                          just the purity of,
narrative - the whole point of
    cutting out the Cartesian point of:
the most over-used word in philosophical
writing - thing -
     res (in Latin) -
    it's like philosophers abhor nouns -
or... more to the point...
                          truth can achieve its peddle stool
status of motivation and subsequent
ambition / impetus / whatever...
       oh the genre isn't dogma -
   and philosophy is just another
genre in the spectrum of literature -
           so pure narration is
the extensa for what a philosophy isn't,
   cogitans: thinking -
                   it would appear so...
    unless running at a brick-wall repeatedly,
re-digesting old unsolvable problems isn't...
well then...
      who can have the audacity to call
themselves a philosopher and not a thinker?
who is will to mitigate a public image -
and not allow a voyeuristic audience?
   probably someone...
   who also manages to gain an audience with
a mainstream newsroom ditto-head...
       it's like:
(a) but i'm a philosopher! i'm here to use logic, reason....
(b) but i'm a journalist! i'm here to...

both are neither.
voodoo Apr 2019
the shoulders are the dampest,

soaked with exchanged comfort and bittersweet grief.

amidst the mourning there’s always the systematical process of the farewell –

the only way to guide us to the true end.



we do it with fire

to purify, to cleanse, to return to dust.



we kindle affections, relations, intentions,

and nurture a flame that always grows out of control,

leaving loss and lament to burn our hearts.



condolences blur into a soft hum,

nothing unites us in our differences but

sometimes it only takes the pathos of cremation to realize that

ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
☒ The truest of dead-tested-death-testing proves Robin's dead for sure
☒ By 26 August 2014: Robin F. Williams doesn't **** & doesn't snore
☒ Showing that his rotting *** is dead because it cannot **** anymore
☒ To distance Italians from Sicilian mobsters is a Neapolitan goal,
☒ so Italia: inter mummy Rosalia Lombardo to instate her timeless role
☒ as the raking gnaw of unholy museum worship exacts a Karmic toll
☒ La Repubblica italiana, bury Rosellina Lombardo to honor her soul
☒ Meanwhile a counterfeit woman lives as Michelle Obama the man
☒ Reeling in big fish, retiring with his husband and living on the land
☒ This Michelle Obama's of a neo-femininity heftily counter-manned
☒ Wail over the blubber of mercurial fish shrink-wrapped and canned
☒ Michelle's ribs are the Chesapeake Bridge over oily water spanned
☒ It's worse than what the immigration department doesn't require as
☒ the bureaucratic class charges a **** cop grid with a 240 live wire
☒ because accordingly Vatican City is the descendant Roman Empire
☒ where-from incorporated elites throw Christians on a funereal pyre
☒ 1 door-to-door monkey salesman Jim Jones of Jonestown, Guyana
☒ Died for the C.I.A. as M.I.5 murdered ex-princess ******* Diana
☒ Eerily hear '97's semi auditory disturbance: Tyson bites Holyfield
☒ No man in sox denies comforting knowledge of wearing 'em milled
☒ Patients scared sacred is the verdict on cells C.D.C.-certified killed
☒ set upon para-nucleic structures acidic pathologically-thunk sealed
☒ Mercifully a fattened Elvis crapped-out from a bloated heart stilled
☒ 2 farmers flea volcanic plains before furrowed meadows are tilled
☒ The Acámbaro Figures and Kensington Runestone aren't canonical
☒ As they're deliberately omitted from all Apocryphal books Biblical
☒ Skirts barely below mons veneris calculate lust & lure systematical
☒ Seems the totality of items round coax contraband flicks cylindrical
☒ Dirt & smudges & wrecks the sea causes, rounded to what's conical
☒ The beautiful Teresa Teng sang of “Another rainy day in Nagasaki”
☒  I have seen films of her on bikes, on skates but not playing hockey
☒ The ease in which legs are compressed & unfolded at the cat house
☒ makes me hearken for unstuck Tuesdays at ye olde Erin cork house
☒ where fish are skinned like brave men tried in a federal court house
☒ while uncracked minds get cracked up at a ****** town crack house
☒ Tex & Rita (to Memorex): Die you schizogenetic offering by dawn
☒ in the dirt-bag opting of a love stymied beneath an undeterred lawn
☒ in starving memory to Dutch: a ray-gun-loving Reagan called Ron,
☒ that war-dodging acquaintance of stage-dead mummer **** Shawn
☒ whose crap-out was viewed by attending audience as a planned con
☒ but alas the gray ******* was, medico-legally, dead and gone
☒ To negrita ****** & Albanian trulls & stenographers he's just John
☒ Lewis Mumford wasn't motherly as now Mum is his name or 'cause
☒ The Myth of the Machine Vol II: The Pentagon of Power was tame
☒ Mumford's keen intellect is marginalized and therein lies the shame
☒ Finding competent help for a homosexual brain defect ain't so easy
☒ with local brain doctors buggering sailors till they're both as queasy
☒ as allergists with red noses because allergy tests make them sneezy
☒ Many 62-year-olds get a kick out of bowel surgery when it's breezy
☒ beneath palms labeled alphabetically: tree w, tree x, tree y & tree z
☒ When you date first a date-****** you expect date-**** on first date
☒ To love profoundly we must possess an inalienable, intractable hate
☒ while a chaste Chaz hefts gobs of food from fridge to stove to plate
☒ faster than down hill on oily rails screams a train obese with freight
☒ that'll whip mufflers Oprah & Gayle at their queerest galloping gait
☒ Without toilet paper, ****** rags would be gay Clint Eastwood's fate
☒ as his ***-lovin'-Bohemian-Grove-attending *** needs an **** mate
☒ with a deep ****** receptive to bath-house Clint's masochistic trait
☒ enhanced by a brutal sadism borne of a splintered Korean War pate
☒ he got from a bumpy flight aboard an Army Air Force bomber crate
☒ dropping him into Richard E. Byrd's North Pole hollow-Earth state
☒ Viceroy Mountbatten was in tall grass fooling with his swollen ****
☒ when ****** India emerged from her foreign-imposed-grave-pit rut
☒ to absorb a parting partition shot with a death by the thousandth cut
☒ in '47 while King George VI could not keep his blabber-mouth shut

— The End —