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Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
I put my hand in the hand of the man from galilee

Or I thought I did, I imagined he would walk with me
and talk with me

and help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which i think may have been blind, at one time,

I have memories like that guy, Gold-something
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom. Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but
these, heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made, and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble eclipsed by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tensionpowerloss collapses the bubble?

You should think you know atoms work, like
not a cloud of super positioning, elect-
tric-magi-tech, touch screen at the quantum accounting point,
not that, but
a bubble, powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
What an electron does. It goes,
as soon as any sense can be made of it,
oughtaouta hear
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin must ahapt one time,
but ya'll take no heed, m'fallin angel droppin' in olfren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth found in wines that moved themselves
aright, slurry tongued, but pisstoff

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Who told you I was naked?

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe were forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
No,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,

everything that's old is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the worth of all your eyes behold,

If, if, if you are alucky winner and you arise when I call your name
to come on down
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize,
how do you declare such a thing worthy,

A feeling? What's it worth? Depends. Safe? Priceless. Don't shout.

So we sell walls. We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened by those we make
feel safe.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Workers will work for food and a feeling. And Facebook.
They choose, believe what's easiest, they are told,
you are absolutely co-rectallatime, tekayepeel.

There are such wishes being made, on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters. If wishes were asked for, whatif
connecting to the source of haps that are
all happiness can possibly
consist of...
Oh, consist is a sticky, gluten idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand. Sistere.

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted..
Whatif, nothing is immaterial, as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
Ask the pilot. What if,
asking for help helps? Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea?
Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore, quotheraven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories of all the things that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,
when ya stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
In my younger days, I visited folks in county homes, the rest homes that once were called the po house, and sometimes I'd just sit and watch Jeopardy, and hold her hand, while listening to conversations with angels, all around me.
September Dec 2012
Once       more
I am        floored
by        indulgence
a            greed
a      ­   lust
a    need
complete   me        to bleed
in    my        left     nostril.
Last night,      I  fell   from   the           sky.
Saw    why       I   existed
and        misted   the   glass
with    my   bind,    i   am   bound
I   found   M D A   in   my      D N A
A  ray     of
Ad   dic  tion—
con flic tion,     res tric tion,    cru ci fi xion
He was     more than       just a friend
Ended in me      coming     back
attack of       parachutes.
no—not   an      american  raid
blade    cut the     lines
weighed     out the     fines
swallowing paper       and singing the      signs.

He  saw  though     the   redbull,
the   xanax, the pro  zac,
the    this-   that
your    mix-   match emotions
that    k i l l e d   like   a rat-trap.

And   for    what?
Artificial    love.
A       c r a c k
in   my    parachute   attack:      I deny.
Last   night,    I   f e l l   from  the  sky.
JAM Mar 2016
RECORD: WHITE RABBIT
FROGMAN: washington AIRPLANE (fly you fools)

Muorftantipheus, Frogmen: wield it like a CHORD,
                                                  and raise your hands
                                                  in triumphant ACCORD!

Tackman: You're note
                 going to find the name
                 on that wrote,
                 sun.
                 It's small enough to be a stagger.

Ingktrofsplector: Yes, well
                                  some words
                                  have yet to do their deed

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The VORPAL VOICE went snicker-snack!
He left HYMN dead, and with HIS Read Head
He went frall-um-sting back.
-- Lewis C. Karroll

Tric.

Tric.

Tric.

ING!

that's what i'll frame you!

REFORM: WRITE FOR MIND
The Letter-Ing: follows the
forty-first or last
in a series of poems made of quotes
one part to a whole joke
its sum has yet to be totaled
may be more than its parts
subject to change
idk Oct 2018
e·lec·tric·i·ty
əˌlekˈtrisədē/

1. i want you to promise me that when you fill your veins with ice water you won’t ever forget. till death do we part.
2. im knocking at your door and you’re there, your eyes a peculiar color of green. you hold my hand and fire comes down my arms in waves, it hurts so much but i would never dream of taking my hand away.
3. pulses of white hot lighting electrified your tears. running down your cheeks they seem to glow. this is the moment, you are the moment. paralyzed, i stand in front of you, you are the magnet and i will spin You. together we light up the world like firecrackers.
Ken Pepiton Apr 10
Take a day, call it
typical,
fit to a pattern, a type
Dear reader,
this is raw material, you know now,
my left brain, my emmissary
who kens these qwerty key patternings,

as earlier my kind kenned a wedge,

as a side seen point, we ken the twist,
as we see it wind done, watching
calling what are you called?
whspinnliss-t-en-d
I am
called ken, I think I know that means
knowing meaning is amean thing to be
alone, I mean
nothing.

In the wind, I mean every thing.

I can show you, use my vision.
Plain to see how all things wind
around a point in time, when
a possibly fruitful branch.
bends as all the seeds could be,
wannabe, oughtabes,
join the puppy dance, we smile
we feel we know, the metaphor,
a version as real as any
ever
we see, the point protruding from
the xylemphylum flow,
feels just, as just yoostabe commonly
said, just wrong, not evil, only
not wholly right,
yesees, yesers, yesterday, we all may

recall to the point, intended, as this
never ending typical day
beyond the dammed walls and rivers,
mnemonic, goad, to gitchergoat,
rile the little devil
into a rage, and blame the dame,
eee, e-qual e-quit
I-ran-I, ih?
see he run, we made peace, like
pouring cold water to
the wicked witches in the west,
all formed on the pattern projected,
read it, in the letters, Persians and Medes,
Law, these scriptures once in stone,
in stone it lives,
ever after.

So it is written so it is done, Yul Brenner,
macho-man, side-trac static, filter with a flick
my man, virtual reality is vwi-rrrorreee

I for got. Oops, Oriented Pe'pl'ish. Spir't.

These types of interupts during the holiest
times, when stars all form point to patterns
you heard imagined in stories no one told you,
you made it all up, you, right, dear reader,
a amusement, silliness, as it was, at first,
Silli me, I see, I was made for this,
the left ignores the messy room,
and delights in challenging Spelchek in many
guises, all jinn enginearering as we sort
things out, sift the silt to find
flecks,
wee tiny webits, ambits and qubits measuring
up.
Look

was there an imaginary war, and
the good guys got their butts kicked?  
Either there or their, eh,

Lefty, is holding me to the line,
met in the median, we parllevous
us a pallaver, and verily
as a man of the first kind, we're you.
Virtue flows, from and to, alternating
currency, wi-ro i-
Tesla's reply to a memo posted
in this bubble, ah
rhet, rhetoric, rhea-tric, slap clap
to the brow, {that's one, too}
wow, since Teddy Ruxpin,
Worlds of Wonder, dare me, make it
darker.

Coen, Cohen, Koan - here I am. heneni
I am Sam,
from Green Eggs and Ham,
the gurgle in the gut is the greeting
Activa colonies use,
a salute, preparatory to a fibroushite
is real light, to spark
a thought,
ought that matter? thinks the thorn
to the tree.

Might I not reach as far as
any ever was, and be there,
waiting for you
to ***** up from down there,

and try to patent authority
to the door path,
set in stones no known system can maintain
prior to the reconnection,
soul to spirit,
with a joint venture equal supported,
merest of attention, tiny qua qual quant
ant-tenae, getitgotit ping ping ping

A whistlee scree ee eee on a ship,
a grey-you-see battleship grey,
signal to attend, hearken, listen up,

***** ups, we got a box of SAE nuts
Just one.
{superflous questions are
spir'ts of nonsense, that peacemakers
hold in utter *******, the real deal
gimped out and shut up, sick
and tired of being awake.

Sleeping dogs and lions and dragons,
all are allowed to lie.
Peplish, in a word. we nullify the effect}

We make it up, then we enter-spir'ts entra
tainment contain a casting forth
of flavors and char-acting traits.
as when cheffing jeffe's greasy spags,
gentle reverse stir, see,
like a drain in the floor of a sportsclub
in Alice Springs,
{Mar 75}

reverse stir, let us catch the first loose
noodle, using the spoon you done
the gentle spin reversal move with,
see, the noodles in the boiling, slightly
briny bubbling water, all little clusters
of three, two alike and one way bigger,

"let it go" Y'load 16 tons, and what do you get?"

You learn, to sing songs your grandpa
had reasons to sing,
not rational reasons, irrational design
reasons to believe,
this can't be all there is, it was 1965.

Dead center set for highschool angst
with blobs and werewolves and vampires
all sets set to then as now,
as if,
these are those same good old days,-
frankly means nada to me, clearly
you see means
what I seem to say as you gulp entire
lines as reasons to let the letters be
see
if we do agree, is more fun, I shall explain fun,
later, be-ware, accept the token crumb,
cookie related allusion, not path taken

tread lightly, when walking the edge
that did the dividing, soul from spirit, I
dare say, no doubt, the first
tool users, were superfluous, once.

Spir'ts of such as survived in story,
those are with us to this day, yes,
we get these clear everybody knows signals,
circa Eisenhauer, beginning frame, true, man
show us where we were warned, and knew
things are complex indust-try try war no more,
there
is a null set now, and in the reasoning
acknowledging KJV Is-ai-aha, filled with jokes.

E.G. Golden Emarauds
AI ai, Big us, Gus, the Dodge Ram,
competition orange,
transforms into Uncle Richard, the telecom guy
who refused to fly,
Gus got us where we went, after those
runnin' and gunnin' days,
with the Barbie Doll, in her prime,
I saw her the other day,
time's been kind, I'll say, this story has sets
of sets peplishared winds of wonder then…

we were, and I was Ok and you were Okeh,
and we agreed, really agreed on the word,
Okay means that.
O'que, you can, you may as well,
just
say what you mean I am not alienable from.
Now, what?
April 502 common conscience novel event lego'd
Sienna Feb 2020
the walls are up—
you can feel them. your
fingers
graze at their temperament.

ouch, you caught a nick.
so your blood begins to
tric
       kle

and you watch
as your feet begin to
turn that shade of red.
they leave

tracks
as you pace,
you scream,
THIS ISN’T WHAT I WANTED! but

what did you want, my dear?
i’m afraid
those walls
didn’t build

themselves.
mike [by shortening & alter.] 1 : MICROPHONE 2 : MICROMETER CALIPER
(Fr. p. 1,432 of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1967)

microphone or mike, not mic
bicycle or bike, not bic
tricycle or trike, not tric
refrigerator or fridge, not frig

— The End —