the shape of fire is the shape of orange
the orange of fire is the shape of shape
the form of the form is a constellation
upon which cosmos dangle over
flames upon which flames dance and
upon which smoke creeps and
where candles bloom into bouquets of
melted red and white wax but
it remains marbled, not pink yet
simple addition crumbles apart:
add red and yellow and mix
all you want but they will remain
separate, swirled but separate;
the color orange is the color of candles
the candles of orange is the color color.

A very important email, from Fidel Nkrumah
Best regards!
It began with.
I am banker from Ghana.
I need your help
transfer US$7,500,000.00
to you. And
it is that
easy

The intricacy
of the hand
searching
your ****
for beauty

I replied:

Thanks for your earnest
email
illuminating me
of your plight

Mr Nkrumah,

mind if i call you

“Nicky”?

My bank details
are as follows:

Sort code: 76 32 89

Account number: 93761011

Best regards,

N.

Can you make the payment
out in traditional English
shillings
please…

i have a barrow…

have you read:

“I Have No Mouth and I must Scream”?

By Harlan
Ellison?

man that’s a crazy
kick-***
story
one of the best

perhaps
we can
discuss it
and whilst we do
we can fly birds

not aiming them
at the sky

see Nicky,
we were all there
when you were
christened
with glowing
tear
eyes
because there was water being dripped
on a small
skull

it was so moving
it was so
perfect
we went back
and bent down to work
the next
day, nothing
changed, nothing
drew
a tetrahedron
on that head

but there was an organic
chemistry
you see
“N!”
there was not a cross hatch of birth
inside or out
that the organs could not
consume
they could always
see them
there were always
the droplets flying
down

like those birds
we’re gonna
fly

we’ll make it
nicky
don’t worry
but in return
for my bank details
i would like to suggest- that
the rain is only god
spilling his beer
over
you see
like back when we
were being christened
and went out
without shaving
much, and one day
the system was
broken
and the next
it was fine, like a paper
whale
rolling back to the shore
of the desert
he didn’t care much
for christenings,
he kinda thought
hell!
that **** ocean is near!
you think i need some
fat fingers
dribbling
and
playing about
in my head— it can’t

capsize-the-sand

leverage worn out like sandless off colour
murial
but ******* the grains, alloping
and mad
salt sweat
calling out
to it insanely
as the world continues to rest
there’s another inch driven
away by its gut
there’s a permanent bed
of shadow
small
mamal wings
turning over, one after
the other
that no-one else
has to worry
about

the castrations have become
electronic, instead of simple knives
and the gravity of that thing rolling over to the east
back to where its shore lined haven awaits, readily comes
to it
a ready made
meal
dense
and watery
like it knows that you’re pretty much
knackered
but sends shattering dreams across
your back, sends its universe
to you, just another
dive
in the sea
momma
i have no
idea
what time
it is
but luckily
neither
has anyone.

Music! Drums!

Beatings of hands on outstretched hides
echo through the night.
Dancing children, moonlight cricket moanings,
Cast over vast savannas with
Elders chanting, visions and transcendental moments of
harmonic bliss playing on the bird bone flute. Flash to
Electric bass booming in the dark with keyboards
and young girls twisting in the firelight
pentatonic realities of electric guitar playing  
funk, and the procession of notes
perfect!

All souls one, beating with the night.
Beating with the drums.
Screaming half naked, wild and full of drugs
and the right ones.
A harmonic industry of electronica and ecstasy, a decadent tribal fantasy land.

here we go again.

Our conscious being, outstretched over the fabric of time and space
played by the hand of the ancient primordial tribesman of protozoa. Every note an eternity, every moment of every being and everything beating as one!
Tranquility and soliloquy of music.
Harmony and beauty and intelligence.

Pulse movements and beat droppings, spinning by the neon lights.
Cannibals of interwoven overlapped miraculous hippie skirts
with dreadlocks and armpit hairs, unshaven legs and unmistakable smells,
and no one cares.

New age alchemy of alkaline waters and wondrous miraculous healing stones in ***** dens hiding from the undercovers.
practicing yoga and tantric rub downs, relaxing in the hanging curtain of smoke.
Lecturing on the absolute perfection of the tetrahedron in the ashes of Buckminster Fuller seeking complete shelter and sustainability from this monstrous and hideous human creation of western ideals and ramen noodles.

Speaking of elves in the absolute present sense and giving them names! Leaving little room for debate, and honestly, why even bother if you're that far down the rabbit hole.

Electric forest hallucinations,
Ego death and eternity.
Music in the background of the night
and in the background of my life
speeding up and slowing down
to conform to the tempo of the soul.

Entire band coalescing to a lone thought,
guitar fades to a single sailboat tied to dock over a silk blue stream hanging by the moon.
Bass fading to the single tribe song beating of the drum in time
and that drum beats fade to the memories of rain on the aluminum roof,
frogs croak by the pond at my childhood home in Eastern Kentucky,
rain falling on the pond also,
fireflies and crickets in the hung-over dew of the morning.

Fades to a picture of the Earth in the black and empty backdrop of space
a spec of dust in the cosmos,
hanging by a thread to eternity.

Eye, reciprocal curve, spiraling, Shepard of the Circle and the Square.

Eternal asymmetry makes for Contrast, a definition for God.
From Contrast births Anomaly, makes for clarity in distinction.
For without distinction there would lack anything to compare.

What's out there, everywhere, all around, all the time.
Variety grows from a keen Perception. With blinders on, how to see Periphery?
Come now, See, Sweet Water, Drink, Be Well.

Where is your Pedestal Dear?  
How to find if you remain blind?
Tetrahedron
Apple Hand
Reach In
Climb In
Fire Spiral
Shadows
Models my Projection
Into Hologram
Therefore I AM

time seems to pass
in spurts.
some days take for ever,
others are infinite from the start.
Rules and reasons for commas and
periods where entire thoughts screech….
to a crash, hit the wall
and bounce
ellipsis-missed stuttering futures all flash
in a wink,
we think
better to wander among lines integral to life,
than those that tie our hearts to the lie,
the big one, thou shalt not
surely
die. A subtle metaphor for ceasing to be
all you think,
in your core, where courage faces curiosity
by way of the oddly bent nerve carrying
intention to a tongue…

say, hey
the idea of anti-locks, for slowing the selahity--
ABS- fixes that --
those locked-up brakes scenes, in dreams
where you are about to hit the wall,
these days those are
set in the genes, like falling from trees,
you notice,
you never hit the surface.
You always wake in a nearly identical reality,
as when you last passed from awake and aware,
to
sleep, maybe with dreams, as it seems
there is no total recall, after.

Today we face the future, again
we imagine we
know many common things that everybody
knows, as bodies are
by nature, complicated things. More
complex than reason allows, thus

the urge
to slow the motion imagined, scrunch
each sphincter on the chakra ladder …
jah, wu wu, come up here, bunkuum bi yall,
be a me and thee, hooked to a book
swallowed whole,
when it ought to have been chewed real,
all your life, cha cha cha;
you been thinking this is how if feels, if, yes,
to be just right.
Just fine, thank you.
Fine, technical granularity in the meta data
of life, arranged in time and chance
to dance in an idea all minds name beauty,
poetry and song,
all flow into the lowest valley
where, today, we wake and
find a slew of beautiful ideas malingering,
I say I
know
that ain't so. The pond where those old knowns
were settled has dried,
due to the dams, but we can look up river
along the meandering course all flows carve.

We can find where those bemired beautiful thoughts
sprang from the first fully myelinated frontal cortex,
capable of gramary. Enchantmental
{magic-tech intuitive spelchek}
hexes and spells that repeat the effect
in gestures and words, once known
to have made axe heads float,
and fishes to multiply,
and vast armies to die at the river,
laying down sword and shield,
shrugging off the mantle,
leaving Sisyphus to keep things rolling,
-------------------
whole armies, flags to bedraggled ******
in the rereward, muttering incanticles,
we have over come,
we have reached beyond the grasp
of all our knowers,
yet they lie, for a living, to live in the lie.
Knowers who settle
in a slew of beautiful ideas,
un beknownst to them, the misery of e
vaporization
spiritualized truth, sealed in idle words,
deemed good for nothing
until these days,
this day, perhaps your first
aware
of waking with one, only, uno, uni
verse as long as life,
per se.
---------------------

As we ramble on, branching,
ever, where the pressure within pierces
the field opposing…
what
am I worth as a word writer compared
with Coleridge' the addict,
whose story lacked the wonderings of Cain-
for
Wordsworth, lacked the knack,
of knowing Cain,
murderer in the first instance, ere degrees
had words to make sense of them.
Not knowing the story,
the idea
left these novice evil thinking boys snared
by a musement of the classical
spiritual sort, either real
or fantasy, we call it
art, intuitively being attractive
to the curiosity
living in the knowing being -- you know,
you say you
tasted the Son and knew at once,
goodness,
in a word holds truth in a way,
we feel
touching each chakra, if you stop to feel,
each valve clampt to hold the surge,
urging up up up to
fill the face with bright acknowledgement,
mental
acting as known in a whatifery sense,
tasted, felt, not seen not heard in words
roger, acknowledgment sent.
ditty dum.
Free verse is worse than what,
would you say? Given a will that is wild
by nature, as you imagine nature
being, a force in physics that goes bio,
then logical,
logos
lives on as long as any knower wishes to know.
- Crime of the mariner?
he shot the albatross for the reason…
I can, I did not know of the link
to generations in the morrow,
twixt the twisted
real real alone alone as though a spell,
seeps from the story,
held with glittering eye, strange pow'r of speech
I know the man that hears me,
yes.
You know as well.

------------------

Time loops and worm holes,
time and again
the story follows plot to points we knew were
coming soon,
end of
all that was, then
this is new, reset, next level, literal game of life.

Grown out of all the dung counted
worth the recollection.
Yea doubtless,
and I count all things
but loss
for the excellency
of the knowledge
of Christ Jesus my Lord:
for whom I have suffered the loss
of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ

Wait a minute. that was a quote. "Winning" Christ is where
I draw the line…
tell me, if I know the truth, and the affect is liberty,
that is excellent knowledge,
Paul and I agree,
but what's to win, bro? Where is winning done, once
the destroyers works were destroyed?

That is the story under the headline of the ages,
It is finished, say witnesses at the event.
The Gospel is back, set in second coming Times Roman.
We won, peace on earth, good will to all who
take the grace as granted and ask what good can now be done.
We won, said the anonymous peacemaker.
We used the knowledge of good and evil, through deep
sapient
simple conditioning, over eons,
augmenting mental effort here and there with a genius off
the charts
odd
measurable in minds that imagine infinity is impossible.

In the early 1980s, Nobel laureate Paul Dirac
told Princeton University theorist Ed Witten
that the most important challenge in physics was
“to get rid of infinity.” 

From <https://www.americanscientist.org/article/tackling-infinity>

-- Disneyifity, wishery wu, to infinity and beyond

New times, new tropes, lose  slay-the-dragon,
loose distribute-the-hoard, hope to shout,
it all works out, and Jesus
fixes every thing…
someday
soon. Soon. Many sons, wombed and un, no diff.
on earth as in heaven… always answered,
nicht wahr? Immer so, amen.

Or is ask and ye shall receive,
speaking of the signal to reset your mind.
To get past infinity as a physical problem
that mortals must solve.
But what will happen to our craft?,
hear the institution groan.
What in deed, February 2021.
That passed and you barely noticed.
Not much changed among the Promise Keepers
crop of Christian Warriors marching,
as to war, with carnal weapons at the ready.

Now, as you may see, on TV, is the time to sow,
seed faith, {prove me now, pay and pray}
Yes -
All the riches to the glory of God,
building the Kingdom Now, for a while,
as it built the fabled Oral Roberts Disciples Network
of Kenneth Hagen clones clad in Lutheran sheepskins,
hiding scapula knit from Iberian goats
whose hair, twisted to itchy yarn,
made the shirt of several martyrs,
for whom towns and universities are named.
Such secret scapula
remind the faithful, fame is worth any price,
pre-pay shorten your stay,
puke
and now functions as advertised to envoke
itching to die for a try to win Christ,
by killing the enemy we love,
for Jesus… who
sent {SYTF} the comforter, to soothe the itch,
to break the bubble shaped like a tetrahedron,
for some phosphoric oomph, spilling
the golden oil -similar to the effect Aaron felt
poured on his head, dripping from the corners of his beard.

{there is legend of a prayer:
Abba forgive those who know not what they do,
I confess there was a flaw in the nature of man,
I came to fix it, and I did. Amen}

Bless me, must I know the meaning
of every thing I ever say?
Is there no easy way?

Look up. Yes, anything you wish to know,
seek and find, weigh with care,
find the measure of this to that, eventually all
leads to ever, but not hell.
Actual consciousness faints long before hell
is realer than men have made punishment.
------------
Cancel this variable with that probable, consider-ate
conscience, desider-ate desciency in constancy
- set the standard at good -
C is something other than imagined, thus
at Feynman's suggestion we swept infinity
under the rug.

Knowing all things,
It'll blow your mind.
Unsafe at any speed, be lief is the re lief…
bileave, one source claims is a noun, not an act,
a state of mind, bounded by
"confidence reposed in a person or thing;
faith in a religion…"
{granularity of substance assumed}
We can hope.
But that's after all sorts of lies have come to life
as institutions to shelter the meek from the greedy,
who then must wear this dread atop-- your's, yes
your head, wears the dread subjecting
all you know to ******* in service
of the Authorized Truth;
remember hell is as real as any place you may imagine,
given years of proper education
in the liturgy of survival
during next.
---------- seal it.
{Same yesterday, today and ever after - forever
is so ambiguous- }

--------
Gnathite seaton, right - that means
bug lips, no I was thinking Know thyself
in Latin or something
aca-deme-ware-ish, to push a button on
the whole truth
and nothing but - beginning as  belief released
as an act of will,
accepted that in this bubble
each emotion has
cause and stands accussed,
with a touch of pride
to expand the contention confidence and convening
event
soothing the rippling surface on the ocean of opinions
'pon which we bob
up and down.

Bait-taken signal to pull back on the tug,
set the hook,
feel the yelp and then the anger, of a fish
I wish
were that magic one, I never really caught.

-- I laugh, in disbelief, relieved of lying metaphors,
miss-labeled cans of worms from experiences
not common in unalienated minds.

------------------

------------

In the realm of recommending AI,
the pro
stitutes told the institutes ***
sells and sells and sells, but smack holds
their loyalty, violence
givem hell,
makem pay seven times seventy,
each child a slayer of his ten thousands,
-watcher set-
pay attention to the empath,
watch it cringe,
at
something words fail to convey, temptation
to defy a lie locking ignorance in place,
never wishing
to know all things
to prove a prophecy, such,
is only tempting if time is a factor
in the dis
cussing of certain concepts regarding the after effect
of an anointing on a lynching,
after a drowning,
and a burning while all the people sang na na
nawnaw nananana

and when the battle's over, we had lost the edge,
- contention comes from pride, and
- winners is proud, such pride has offspring
- messin' wit'cha mind… win Christ, for dung…

Covid binging
dulled
the point, but after all,
we are here and all who opposed us
now enforce the worth of words
to the wise.
It is written. So it is.
Consider a self, rich and sorrowless.
Be that a bit.
---------
Gramary is magic, Psyche is spiritual, at best.
Ach, Scheiz, not Grammerly, no, but a segue
I just did a product placement
for one of Spelchek's kids.
Gramery is spells and hexes in letters and signs…

And on TV is Osiris and Isit… bait for next

The third eye in the middle of the forehead,
through its non-physical essence,
is capable of pushing the mind of the man
into the deepest oceans, time and time again...
those unexperienced may get lost in the void,
but the proficient minds step on the field of eternal thrills.
Or look in the eyes of pain.

Falling in the deep, air-bubbles surround you,
and then your body accepts
what is like the water and the wind, at the same time:
you are floating in it, as it is descending,
but upwards, the material is 'unswimmable'.

I was soothed by silent in the dark,
while a flock of tetrahedra were floating
in front of me, without their leader. The ronins.
Tetrahedron, a consistent construction...
flexible at the same time:
the bodies can fit into each other, so they combine.

Their form was constantly evolving,
finally it became a slender-shaped body.
Stretching like the horizon at eventide.
Vigorously vibrating, it switched from white
to the colour of Aether and then I realized
that this shape, this massive thread...
is the horizon of future itself, the beginning
of the life,
the Atom that is eternal and is collapsing
into itself (a trap!).

I touched it. Its resonance awoke me at once.
The same nightmare torments me every night, ever since then.
Hunger and strength have left me, all hope is gone.
My infected third eye devoureth me;
... hence, I cannot do else, but to let it be.

I touched the string and it screamed.
The future depicted a bleak, hideous image.
Of me.
My hands dissolved, my blood leaked away as crude oil,
the whole of my body stiffened
and helplessly, I fell out of the physical expanse.

The picture of an exciting, vibrating darkness
is gliding by me in every moment;
every bit of me is screaming against this,
it makes the air painful,
all my cells are in pain, everything I hear,
and the void pains me; it is stressing me, just like a bind.

The words - of the future - pain me, as I know they are true.
It is painful to know that everything is inconsequential.

alien ornithopters filled with pilgrims
sliding into snoring bedrooms
under a buzzing fluorescent moon
hubcap jockeys from artless galaxies
firing bursts of compressed methane
in wanton hypnotic quantities
ended civilization as we know it
the survivors reel in stupor
the land is barren its people wail
our women ******* exclusively
our men drool and **** themselves
except for a number of mathematicians
and barflies who did that anyhow
whoever said exile makes you smart
was a master of trickery and deceit
why did their science get them this far
then break down into useless tin
replacement parts are on the way
OK you can drive it just don't touch Turbo
well he did and became one of the new gods
commanding the involuntary muscle groups
and sundry media of mass communication
Koko the notorious hand sign gorilla
was his consecrated High Priestess
Koko want play peek-a-boo
discovered anarchy all by herself
using those prehensile wiggly digits
to construct a portable explosive device
but permanganate and peanut butter
must be mixed slow and her impatience
was set to fast so it went off in her face
leaving Koko beautiful as Aphrodesia
disarmed by wit charmed by unreason
a miracle of chaotic reconstruction
when all she wanted for her head
was a song and dance tetrahedron
proving that existence is open source
the alien visit had been productive
many messages were left with us
could time have a center
asked the almond eyed pilot peevishly
only peevish for him was rip your head off
and didgeridoo down your windpipe
according to recently extracted data
it looks like we all suffer from
the groping menace of
gambler's syndrome

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon