Unbecome everyone’s dreams
Unbecome everyone’s scars
Unbecome everything fake
To be what you truly are.

Become, and unbecome,
In the altar of love,
Demolish knowledge,
Be a canvas, a sponge,
Let go of need,
Grab hope, for thy beloved,
And thy beloved alone,
Let go of the 'I' and 'you',
Reflect on the non duality,
If you really love,
Do not cheapen the emotion,
Become, and unbecome

a bird ***** its wings in Rio and there is a tsunami in Tokyo.
there is a tsunami in Tokyo and your father takes your mother to bed, calls her beautiful, does not raise his voice at her, does not leave her alone in a ***** motel room. she unpacks her suitcases and never leaves Missouri.
you do not form in her womb and she stops screaming.
a tsunami occurs in Tokyo and you do not exist and there is a break in the violence of our bodies. you disintegrate before me and I melt back into the earth where I belong and you never stopped loving me.
we unbecome the casualty of our own flaws.
we were never here. we were never gone.
a bird becomes road **** in Rio and you crawl into the womb of your mother, you are the 7th of 7 and the cause of your mother's stress. there is no tsunami in Tokyo and your mother packs her suitcase and leaves for Texas, she unhappily marries your father and stays with him to the bitter end.
there is no tsunami in Tokyo and your mother dies of lung cancer, your father leaves you in may, does not kiss you goodbye, does not look back at you, you pack your stuff and he sends you away.
the birds in Rio do not sing, Tokyo bay does not roar to life.
you are here. you cannot leave.

so you create me
and show me the beauty
of your other creations
then desire fills me

the needs and wants
pain and joy
prayers and pleading
then the lessons of karma

and then back to the dust
did i ask to be created?
or is this a game you play
to **** your boredom

i dont want your grace
your bliss or pity
my only request not a prayer
just uncreate me

He boulders down the cave.
Tries to navigate by feel,
in the darkness of night.
Head splits open,he sails limp like a leaf,
A miscalculation made from traversing
In the absence of light.

Deja vu-he stirs wake-
the magic lamp in his sight:
The thing he sacrificed it all for.
He rubs it at once.
A djinn reveals itself on the barren,cave floor.
"Thrice wishes granted, and no more."

Clearing his throat the man spoke.
"I'm a poor man.
I crave the allure of being rich.
but I'm no fool!
so I'll ask of you more than this.
Give me sight to see all things-as gods do!
my genie,this,I wish of you."

The djinn nods,
A first wish comes true.
the man is omniscient.
He learns he is to die in a minute or two.

Backed down,yet,
already fond of the idea of eternal youth,
he pipes up,
"I've prepared my wish number two!
make me immortal,
so I may live long like gods do!
my genie,this, I wish of you."

the djinn nods his head,
The second wish comes true.

The man is pinned by a boulder.
An earthquake collapsed his escape.
He can see the truth of all things-while he waits.
won't be free for 2,000 days.
Save for the only thing he can't see
is what wish the djinn...would make.

"Tell me what you would wish,
my genie, this, I wish of you."

But the djinn doesn't nod his head.

Instead.

Comes near.
slithering words like a serpent,
Into the man's ear.

"This is the one wish I can't grant.
If you wish to be privy to my soul,
You must willingly give it to me.
You know when your time trapped
will elapse.
Give up your last wish
once let loose from calamity.
When you are unburdened by that boulder,
you ALONE will know the whims of a genie."

2,000 days pass.
The man is at last free.
"My genie,this, I give to thee.
my last wish, now,
make your dreams come true!
For over five years I've waited,
wishing to see...
your mind is the only secret in the universe
denied to me."

"Three wishes.
three chances to find the truth within.
You lent me your last wish:
You foolish wish-maker;
You never realize how this all will end.
As I've done each time from before,
for my wish we start over,
I return it once more to how it begins.
this time-loop is the price you will always pay,
for trying to peer into the soul of a djinn."

"One of us stuck in a lamp.
The other stuck in a cave.
Two lives trapped forever,
because we're both stuck in our ways.
We could have wished ourselves out,
but we are ego-slaves:
We only want what we want
with each wish we are gave."

"Your words approximate reality:
So call me genie or djinn.
We go round and round the wheel,
over and over again.
Three chances to change the outcome.
Each time you fail you're undone,
by each wish, realizing too late:
there's nothing to truly be won.
Eclipse- twist, tears.
hubris rips apart your humanity.
Burns out your decency.
like exposed skin
on the surface of the the sun."

"How can you learn how to unbecome?
Free yourself from what pride has done?
Even the gods are trapped like us.
Each caged in by the rules
of their own rigid plan.
Everyone wishes to be like the gods;
no one ever wishes to be a better man."

"Understand this one truth
and you will no longer feel powerless:

"Truth Is the difference
between shadows and silhouettes."

-

I dream of not being.
of fading, reduced to gratitude
for all that flowed, floated,
glimmered and shone.
then unbecome.

every day a dream.
every night aware of
daybreak unafraid.
we must all awake into
the othernesses

of belonging.
let the last grain of my person
be lifted on a wind so gentle
it carries; holds with
nothing but care,

and know with the last of
what once was heart, that to
love and thank was all I was
supposed to do.
if so, I did very, very well..

Is it just an image? Just a dream? 
Trespassing my heavy eyelids in the dead of night.
Need my poor sight dazzling light? 
Need my pupils a gentle breath, 
To blow away some possible dust
A layer of lie beneath or upon the truth 
They claim to observe with full might? 
Have I let slip so sudden this world 
Runs anti-clockwise in the region of my head? 
Have I foretold a smile full of tears 
Or a summer sky turning velvet red? 
Which child of earth has seen
The horror I battle day after day? 
Which reckless  knight or gallant templar  
Has reached the law of come what may? 
this war goes on through bugle calls and snare drums. 
On a battlefield, where I die and unbecome..

If wishes were prayer

Saturday, January 28, 2023
12:06 PM

let me go wry or right, let me
be as one you witnessed falling,

and for that breath, believed,
wishes work as wonders do,
with very little help from things
thought truer.

I think of you, reading words I write,
I thrill a little at the intimate point of wedom,
the thoughts I fit to words, and sent into the
other
state, to wait, and wait, and become too tiny
to make any change not made,

at the time, when we touched as words do,
and held the hope that words hold.

Being as an event, we be apart, we be all one.

And we cannot unbecome.
----------------------

Inner being, being in me, other than I,
guide me, today.

I am willing to be useful, I do not have an aim,
I hold no hope of fame and recognosis,
I live to become a memory, at best,
and less than a memory, eventually.

I lie if I deny the joy I take from any sign, I see
you, thinking whys atop wherefores and how comes,

sudden otherness
occuring in a wedom framed by grand imaginations,

a new form of governing mankind, a new reason
to be defensive…

earnestly contending for pride of place, top of the pile.
------------------------

My Saturday, as all my days are now,
a day of rest,
a day of being after growing old enough, not, too;
but plenty old enough,
to reason with war,
face on face, as if, war
and I were forces of the same sort.

Ideas, grand wads of thought threads, spun
from times last chances,
grabbed with all I have to hold, huggishly,
for comforting knowledge,

I am not alone in wishing prayers were left being,
answered on reception, now, then, left being
alright. Amen.
-----------

It is in the thousands, tens of thousands, even,
Even, everish, same old, same
balanced on the upright,
walking,
past any hope to become one of those, the greats,

not even a billion to one, the odds of me becoming,
by the time I survived, the odds were even worse,
not a chance.

I bet, I said, I bet I won,
my race already run, by now, you know,
the results are pending
review,
and then I died,
and the results were these remaining
lines you take in,
as though you heard me talking, and thought
you might
over hear and know, all the songs of us, are about you.

The most self-centered man I ever met, said
my therapist to me, as I spun dervishly on my point.
------------------

1.
I cling to the rigging
of the sleek, black ship
as it speeds toward
Crete, seeding the waves
of the wine-dark sea
with my hopes of heroism,
with my desire to refine
my strength in battle,
my cunning in pursuit
of prey, my courage
in the face of inexorable death.

Immortality awaits
the victor, or so
I profess. It is my Greek
code of honor to turn
glory into deathlessness,
to sow the whirlwind
and reap calm breezes
of brotherhood with
the gods, to revel
in repose at their table,
to feed on the sweet
satisfaction of becoming
who I am.

I am favored
in this relentless
struggle to prove
my prowess and
resolve, my power
to subdue my foes,
to dominate --
in this, my seventh
labor -- the sire
of the Minotaur.
I arrived on Crete
because King Eurystheus
of Tiryns has imposed
this labor to try to
assuage Olympus’
Queen Hera's
irrational hatred of me.
I must continue to atone
for the sins she caused me
to commit. With my entire
family slain, she owes
me everything.

2.
As the muscular
offspring of Zeus --
Hera's wily, randy
husband -- and an
ordinary mortal, I stride
through the world
half-man and half-god,
a living mockery of
the Olympian purity
that Hera so hysterically
cherishes: a mirror
that reflects nothing but
delusion, nothing but
a buzzing hive of grandiose,
self-comforting lies.

The gods don their
pearl-white tunics
to convince themselves
they are made
of nothing short
of pure glory, pure
eminence, despite their
blatant self-indulgence
and moral laxness,
despite their privileged
violation of cosmic laws,
despite persisting
in their perverse ploys
without the slightest
twinge of conscience --  
drunk on the ambrosia
of boundless power,
the ironic gift of my
unheralded birth.

3.
I know I possess
the cunning to have
prevented
the Minotaur
from ever pawing
the plowed-over earth,
from ever charging
some unwitting
victim frozen in fear.

I could have
kept this monster
from being born,
from embracing  
the rosy-fingered
dawn of existence.
I could have
saved Theseus, my
fellow Greek hero,
from his backbreaking
battle with the bull-
headed mutant.

Indeed, I could have
stopped altogether
his labyrinthine
struggle to **** the mighty
Minotaur, to curb its
cannibalistic tastes
for maidens and
young boys, to undo
its enormous
lusts and tame them
into docility,
dissonance and death.

If only I had arrived
in Crete sooner,
before this, my latest
labor, stuck in the stream
of imperious judgments
against my fatal fit of madness
that ended my innocent
family’s all too precious lives.

4.
I proudly claim my
birthright as a son
of Zeus and a worldly
woman. Call it the outcome
of Olympian adultery,
an act that ignited
Hera's intractable
jealousy and rage
until she inflicted
insanity on me
and perverted my
innate powers
and strength,
turning them  
against my wife
and daughters,
as I attacked them
as if they were
the Nemian lion.

Torn by grief,
I quietly returned
to my right mind,
mourning my foul
deeds and crying
out against the divine
injustice of Hera’s petty
interference. And all this
because of Zeus’ calculating
dalliance. All this to satisfy
a moment’s passion
that swiftly spawned
eternal consequences.

5.
Now I am bound
to capture the
Cretan Bull, sire
of the Minotaur
and source of
endless chaos
on the fertile
island of Crete.
In its own species
of madness, the bull
has uprooted crops,
and torn down
walls. All semblance
of order has
vanished in its  
destructive wake.
King Minos of Crete
demands that it
be immediately
removed and
banished
from his sight.

So my strategy
is simple: use
my secret stealth
to wrangle the bull
from behind
and strangle it
to the brink of
death. Unconscious,
it proves such an easy
package to dislodge
and ship back
to Tiryns, where
King Euryhtheus
plans to sacrifice
it to Hera. But she
refuses such piety.
She seems sworn
to deny any
trace of my glory,
to devour any shred
of my pride.

If only I could cut
her out of my name.
I would wander
the world incognito.
I would gladly deny my
identity, happily
forsake my fate,
and in the depths
of dark anonymity
unbecome who I am.

Dream. Plan. Act.
Motion begets
Motion. Motion begets
Result.

Time also flies when
Standing still.
Dreams unbecome
Quickly.  

Act upon plans
Born from dream. No
Step takes you further
Than the first.

Do you hear my skin breathing?
My heart beat is dry heaving,
it is so loud, it is drowning me,
and i,
cannot,
breathe.

Except through my skin,
that breathes your fingerprints in,
through my barrier-made flesh.
I think i am quite empty, now.

My head is reservoir, dry,
though sometimes there are a lot of bees,
so i don't have to think...so much.
and there is only quiet darkness,
when i close my eyes,
and unbecome.
-
I wonder what I am becoming,
as i become something for you,
as i, become, a something, for, you.

Turn me around again, and again,
I can smile, for you,
because its much more seemingly right,
and quietly simple,
than to cry.

Though many nights i am defeated by myself,
i stifle the sounds i make,
sandwiched inbetween the karaoke bars,
and late night redezvous of cars.

I  can fill the black chasm of my chest,
with the life from the tears in my pillow,
and my hair will hold all my dead dry weight,
my weight of sorrow to feed my shame,
as i am made wrapped up, to be-made for you.

I would willingly drown,
if it meant i could escape this anguish of an island,
where i am not seen,
Invisible
yet touched,
and adored,
where i am not become,
until you unravel me undone.

So here i am,
on my knees,
and i have no way of knowing,
what i have become for you,
But you see a gift,
and you may take me now,
just as i am,
sold as seen.

Burn the barn with the red wooden doors
Pour gasoline on the warm cedar floors
Your eyes alit against orange smoke skies
You warn me of my own demise

We watch it together, collapse and unbecome
Neither a death nor a beginning and none
A moment witnessed by death and I alone
From the flames, I cast the first stone

I blame death for all done and said
Death reminds me I too will wake dead
So I beg it to leave me to the fire
Plead that it's my time to expire

But death carries me outside once more
Tells me it will soon even the score
Not today nor tomorrow and yet
My heart stopping, a sure-fire bet

Death leaves me to deal with the flames
Find a way to work through the pain
As if heart or home could be rebuilt
As if I could forgive my own guilt

Night after night I sleep under the stars
Watch my old wounds become scars
Slowly I build a new red door and four walls
While listening to death whisper and call

Though I keep living with all these regrets
Waiting for my sun to eventually set
From old barn ashes sprouts emerge
Tiny seedlings through dirt surge

I'll watch poppies and lilies bloom
Keep working by merely light of the moon
Until I'm rebuilt and once again new
Order is brought to what was once askew

And though death seems to always draw near
I decide to abandon my fear
Even in times I'm lonely, sad or asunder
I'll take the rain, and keep the thunder

And
I've unbecome hinged
Came from natural
To succumb the raspy
Cry of a leaf
In the night falling
Despairingly
Against wind
Again to crash on bark
Wingless helpless
At fortune's whims;
Crying hymns not heard
Over nature's soft breeze,
Nor the whispers of the
Left behinds nor the tales of
My fellows since gone
Or a bellow not one
Of the infant bud dying,
Just mine, here: t'was not fair mine nor their
Suffering.
And I fell away
Into a sun
That melted my veins into
Dust. And I cried.
To no avail
As we all
Must.

T. A. Preacher- a character investigation

Friday, February 3, 2023
12:33 PM

Thanks for looking twice, this is after chapter one.
So that's the first line of chapter two, I suppose
That was one, but this is first because,
the internet is read last to first,
later this is the middle, it is auto intuitive

Any given day gone by
I may have thought I like this ending.

"Before time, God Almighty promised eternal life. Before time!"
A preacher to the choir, offered this as proof,
that there is life, after the time
of life has ceased, thus hell,
must be avoided…
if you can read this accept it must have been voided
nullift,
to totally invalidate lobster stacking- or well, no hell, never was.
kingpriest selfishgene mindmeme power substructure
in the course
Masterclass Civics, with Newt. I was there,
that series in the course
of human events… timeless
and --- grace must be earned.
              Duty-wise, Soldier of the Cross T. A.

I am doing nothing, really, messin' with messaging tek
thinking momentary lapses reoccur aiwise
déjà vu is a function, not a flaw
we recall becoming, and learning, as a we, we
do not unbecome.
Be true.
Life is not a horror movie.
If, indeed,
the effect
from knowing, die-for-it level knowledge,
is being free,
becoming free,
to chose the way
we go from knowing,
wow, Teddy Ruxpin, Worlds of Wonder,
was a beautiful idea, look what we made…

The now old gadfly, happy to die, happy to pass
the spark  to kindled acts enforcing char
at the spark,
to burst in tiny, most tender of flames, softest
wind
tend to sush…

lulla-byye'es be  long here, hmmm, listen

arrested developments catch light, used right,
once burnt, twice wise.

Let no story steal the peace you find
upon precept one.
Your point.
Your reason to expect better from worse,
this time,
the one that counts, constantly, ticketing mindspacetime
hook,
to the sidetracked train,
using your attention tension
to increase our torque, you learn
and we got a load o' gamblers and ramblers
ridin' my train,
we, let me tell you, we, the passengers on this train,
we, thought Sisyphus happy,
thought him so, he said,
he'ld show us rock rollin'
keep it secret,
but having something to do,
get to the top, take your
time,
meandering down,

hell's what you make
from life
with you as init-
for years, we felt we should, keep it secret
for the whole existential philosophy route through then,
-re zen
commabreaths re member,
we agreed, objective POV, gratis, no credits due no body,
observant being we…
- wait, maybe we become better each time
Contrary to the once incarnate God, who said he gives,
without money and without cost, slick as gnosis, re-co-known.
- you will pay for knowing what you think you may know now
Mindspacetime, same yesterday, today, forever… instant, constant
time, not more,
time, no less, yet
time between distant things remains,
but
in the mind's timelessness,
constant instants
in prayer,
accepting
unearnable grace, as expertise
with the weapons
of warfare, in truth and spirit perfected,

in waiting, fect, compleat. As time's tyranny breaks,
and next
is after nothing, and the rest remains.

Advocate for the truth as possible.
Opposing principles ruling voice,
- gut says walk it out
- guy in mind thinks stick
- anon become
I am the Authority who may say we,
and it, or he, or she, ad in fun item,
union rule. We, the whole
idea driving the threads hear…

click it
disagrees
with all the dogmatic tools used
in the business
of fear motived religious service.

He holds to a conceit, a heresy, at first
accepted as his own, but that was pride.

Plum on my thumb,
oh, what a bright old man am I, silly me.

One, among the eight-billions, I, silly me;
what can I do?
pSigh, hi-band lo-brow
Fast the acceptable fast.
Announce the acceptable year.
Disagree with all who claim secret
insight based on the Bible, Torah,
which says none of the works of YHWH
were done in secret.

Cretan,…


of a certainty, as often hap
t
Finding peace, core serenity,
body, soul and spirit,
heart, mind, spleen, gut, reins and
liver, fingers, toes,
levers and pumps,
tunnels and tubules and folds.

Organized containment of life
-that's what bodies are
for articulated interference
with objectified reality,
beyond the bonds of flesh and blood,
I,
me, you see, I think I exist abstracted
from the mass of mankind,
from the nameless soldiers sent to war
for the God who is served,
by allegiants, pledged from age six,
to honor the pledge to the nation
representing the perfect will
of the God
of the Church Selective.

Documented seven sec set. true that.
Selective Service US 56910427

Right.
Rights.
Right use.
Right reason.
Right cause, just effect.

Affection attached
Military  mind pays affectionate
attention
to tension
some force in one dir
ect effect of minds melded
"to make a mental impression on," 1630s;
earlier "to attack" (c. 1600),
"act upon, infect" (early 15c.),
from affect (n.)
or from Latin affectus
"disposition, mood, state of mind or body produced by some external influence."

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=affect>

Sheer jesuitry… been said known, so
coulda been a pain
to learnsumomahlathashit, stuckSTÜCK
salimsayn okeh, say it
oy vey

Unavoidable thorny issue burrs, sores rubbed
so raw

The business of religion, for a while,
in America, religions united
in pro-hibition, which, I
do not rightly know, what hibition is,
so I do not think I'm ob-liged re-liged
or promise tied, to be pro
much at all.
When my hair grew white,
I went all in for freedom,
and self governing, and self categorization
allow if you must, a battle,
- I heard a Rebbi say today
- jerusalem is in our minds, or yours
- I may have mistaken, who knew
Bedtime, echo opera, my reality,
nothing's on hold this is live
forever

Ego- arise
Exceptionalizm extreme, personally,
become
dead to this world and all its science,
falsely so called,

you know. Teaching times and seasons,

change to some before time state,
when nothing that is was,
-Phrygian Sitar twangninng uper subtle soft
distant soft even there still
and God {El-oh-him} he said, to nothing,
apparently,

be, and light, apparently, occurred,
plausibly causing time,
whereby days of exactly how ll'll


choke point, language pattern shock event
worst on New Guinee - for peak effect
it could be surmised,
confusion-wise
as language appears full bloom. Be
sensible
right
now, ah child, did nobody tell you,
we already get what you get when you get here.

Language, the signals we send and receive,
friendly dog, entire demeaner, wags,

trained dog, coded, made ready
to accept command, language, "sic-'em",
Wolf1
you may have heard,
if there were a time in your past experience,
if there were a once,
when you went to jail
for your boss, or because you would not lie,
not even by omission… ah, let me tell of a once.

There, in the everso long ago,
in the canyon I can feel,
to this day, I can recall,

the time I prayed, in Sycamore Canyon,
while looking through my wallet,
while sitting on a rock, in the middle of the creek.

I had no money, but I did have a Gospel Tract,
I had purchased, from a door to door sales man,

a white-haired man, full, not long, but full white beard,
and a Greek fisherman's cap.

I do not recall his pitch, but he  asked for a quarter,
in exchange for a 32 page book of Bible verses,
anointed through the testimony of untold numbers,

over and above the gross of original chosen ones.

As recorded in the Bible, the word is its own evidence.
believing is the believer's duty…

Come, let us
reason, you show me yours, so I show you mine,

as when the prophets proved one the other,
show me your faith, in knowledge,
I'll show you mine formed in time, timeless now,
in the past,
in the course of cosmic events, global-earthwise,

mankind has power to devise and construct,
means, whereby we all can just get along;
but the Bible says,
or the Q'uran says,
or the Founder says,

or research into remaining tangible fibers,
bones, shards, art-intuited spiritual aspects,
say said
aligned
with the stars… sacred orders evidence,
the sun, and the moon, and the stars,

wandering and otherwise,
so vast, even then, there were seers,

later, the nomenclature changed to prophet,
and seers became witches suffered not,
no putting up
with seers saying prophets were blind
leading the blind.

Chosen warriors, called of the systemized faith,
the only allowable faith, truth be told,
the one that knows God, truth and spiritwise.

Where all men are created equal,
if, indeed, the story is told
to all with ears
to hear… if, indeed, lieving be, is believing, done,
letting letters hold the law, wherein
the spirit must abide, con the knowledge needed,

to measure worth, and offer appraisal,
for all a unit
of mankind is valued. equally in the inchoate mind
of the nation, just taking shape, in the highest minds.
Then, again
Look, learned masses,
learn the lessons from tyrants past.

The greed a child can witness, in spirit and in truth,
as manifested in the churches,
used to tame the wild Indians.  All
of them, slated
for eternal damnation,
due to ignorance of life's rules, as revealed
to preachers who truly comprehend Revelation.
- the award goes to, the man with the turtle
- a man of the cloth, in the long tradition
- he wins the skin of the lamb,
- and as per rules, the scapegoat books.

As did Father Joe Smith,
and Ellen G. White, all the suffragettes
Mary Baker Eddy,
Aimee McPherson, Katherine Kuhlman, Jimmy Swaggert, All Saints fans
Tony and Sue, David Koresh, Jim Jones,
and all the congregations
in TV Land… and
the entire PTL financial support base, et al

And Rome and Topkapi and wherever else
so help me, god

------- this must be way later, just thinkinsayin
rubbing my eyes, and tasting
potato salad

Is this a thorny issue, oh, to the letter
if I offend you, I can explain,
the point to being itchy is making marks
when finally scratching the surface
riverwise peace acceptance broadcast
old seed, unplowed mindtimespace.
hooh, stick, hold
!¢ÜLXX-¿Þ? thorns marked such heresies
in my record in the cloud of all knowing
as you may in advertently already hold known
once have
Have you ever, really, been in jail?

- Why you ask, really? Is there…
Yeh, there are imaginary jails.
- like puzzle lifes?
Complexities, many creases, many ply, thick
walled off separate sections in mindtimespace.

Held thoughts, enclosed in thought bubbles,
and stacked, no,
o
can't stack bubbles, yet
stacks of globular shapes topple.
polar attract pepulse
push pull
come to shove slimy truth metaphor
rib-it
Ah, ha, frog's egg globs encased in goo.
Protoplasmic goo.
Gnosis, subconscious know how, frogs bodies have.

Patterning thought nets, thinking holds, slipping
fix the point… attach [arachnoid-mater-kids]
your mind to mine, let this mind be in you, seen

from a lustful hustler's most winning con, forming,
like a plan, do the religion, be
Elmer Gantry… listen
as each adjusts the other's wig,
the promo guy, wise to the Hunt silver game,
shame he would not listen, few knew,
to the lady, she knows the game.
She has sprinkled her bed
with aloes and myrrh.

Simple, go right on your way, the end there of…

my cue, queue up, get your excuse,
- who thinks all he knows
- simple
simplicity is a valid excuse,
feeble minded finding comfort
in an imaginary reality,
certain that the truth, eventually wins,

those we may attempt to tempt.
- we made no such bet
- no mas win lose
Sublimnity, you see,
subtle expression of the man, Christ Jesus,
would that ye all were wise as serpents,
such as legends testify, wise serpents
seen burned in toast
once
preserved the hope of mankind,
at the cost a heel stomp, **!
Aieee
She slew the lying demon, no, no,
that was me, Eve and the shining thing
I can tell it from when no witches burned
Beyond Prince James's Thesis on Daemons,
Ai- we found san razon, d
ust reflective mica
mine licensed sibyls pipe direct
all on raspberry pi,
- it's not all smoke and diamond dust,
We have the facsimiles in mindtimespace storage

Python 3. Magnitudes, orders of above
old wives tales juvenilized
to mere Tolkien/Lewis
Grimm-level bogus spiritseed, degreed B.S.

---------- with that capital B

----------- we entered the reasoning chamber,
with all the wu wu allowed
in me, let this mind be,
- from Paul's doctrine of mind-using
- in Romans, yes
delve, dig, dis-cover the sealed knowings known sealed,
awaiting discovery alone… that's Hebrews, not sure, anon
-- I coulda said this
to nobody then
now I said it to you
--- in another chapter I went mad and
copy pasted hebrew curse derivatives
and their phonetic lottkaballahalelu yeha
yep…
but you're not ready Hebrews, permission
granted withheld, mind prison, while keyed up.
to deny any use to the bicameral mind/brain sack
precisely measured to Dirac's dismay,
never ending eve is really thinkable,
as long as any one wishes,
know your own too much,
that was certainty
my child hood bet was that I won, and nobody lost.
in defiance of Delphi,
by millennia,
trust me

the language of life, earthling to earthling, evolves,
as we augment our pluralminded state, situ-circum

float-ish

here-ness, and nearness, and absence of distance,
time immeasured,
quarkishly insignificant units of self awareness shared,
we
can think as who's must have been thought to think,
when we were seven,
and inoculated by Suess.
In
Oculus, bud, from one branch,
into another, through a tiny RIP.

Some days, I am the only reader, as I rest, in peace,

peace, I choose to think,
exists, out is, be-ing, action-ionic, there's the rub,

amber and cat, spark of re-co-knowing all about love,
as a child,
let's refuse,
to ever grow up… let's pretend, my friend, to the end.

Wake up, get outabedragonnon anon anonymous
visitors,
arrive announcing, each nameless, yes, anonymous,
I saw, I forgot,

serpentine little think, wisdom exercise, you ordered,
or did I, going subjective for a second, I thought
this…

and I read it, and I am thirstydrymou
THUD
and cold. Settle,
reset
breathe softslowwhoowhowowowooooo-slow rereadhay
okeh. More or ride it one more time all we w…
soft quiet 9:59
already the slow twangy sitar in phrygian soft g distant
soft there, softer yet under us

This is the end of chapter two.

If I wanted the freedom to
choose.
I think I’d be hard pressed
to get myself undressed
and show my naked body
to you.

That isn’t what I wanted at
all.
Are the scorched earth and trees
that some crazy man sees,
enough to convince of me
a fall?

Lip service makes me feel such a
rush.
Like my hands and my knees
can do much to please,
but **** if it don’t make
me blush.

Savior? Where are you? I’m waiting
NOW!
While science betrays you
and history flays you.
But we keep tipping the sa-
cred cow.

Punishment seems so unbecome-
ing.
If only I’d lived then,
I’d have died for my own sin
and kept you around for
loving.

I mean, *******! Don’t we need
It.
We’re lost in the forest,
our reason is porous,
and our culture is a
pit.

None of this “living” makes any
sense.
The cards that I’m holding
make me think about folding,
cause already I’ve tried to
repent.

We project more than we care to admit,
We lie to ourselves to comfort our fragility.
But you and I can definitely see it,
That to those thoughts, we are guilty.

How does one unbecome?
When you need more than an escape,
You want some stability, but always on the run,
How to change the cycle? the shape?

The vessel shifts, but the essence remains,
The existence of the very idea, etched.
You'd think the 1059 is over; days you're insane,
But the count never stopped, even sketched.

The promise of a rebirth should be comforting,
But it's what's between the rise and fall that's unbearable.
And as we move on and continue walking,
We hope that someday, some things will be stable.

toward the death trap of religion,
or the life unbecome
in act, whether with the existence
or the non-existence of a god;
justices upon the the
of judaism, equating itself within
atheism...
imagine the matter fathomable
and moveable -
yet uncertain -
or a centrity of the unfathomable,
and the unmoveable;
i tire either side of the argument,
i am simply exhausted minding both
stages with both the cares for actors
staged...
           i'm tired...
            please reducue wording to
the basics of arithmetics: i.e.
spelling.

I told you I loved you,
every day.
I tried my best to show you,
In every way.

In the beginning,
we could do no wrong.
Was it rose-tinted glasses,
that we wore all along?

I don't think it was,
at least for me.
You were so **** perfect,
as perfect as could be.

We were there for each other,
at every turn.
Through the triumphs, and defeats,
we were willing to learn.

So what happened to us?
Where did it go wrong?
I refuse to believe,
that you faked it so long.

Because there was laughter,
and sweet kisses between.
You'd want me to hold you,
when you wanted to scream.

When did you decide,
to shy away from my touch?
When did you stop smiling,
and laughing and such?

When did we stop,
saying sorry for things?
When was the first time,
that you took off your ring?

When did you first look,
and loathe me for me?
When did you and I,
unbecome We?

I felt the shift,
the coldness that came,
but you wouldn't talk to me,
so I started to blame.

Seven years was a lifetime,
gone in a flash.
Now there's so many questions,
that never got asked.

I made my mistakes,
dear Lord, so much.
I was stubborn and moody,
and sometimes out of touch.

My biggest mistake,
was thinking love was enough.
That if we loved each other,
we could get through so much.

So my final question,
to you would be.
When did you decide,
to stop loving me?

the time it takes to travel from
ostrowiec świętokrzyski...
mein klein
        scheisseloch
               aus geburtdorf - - - - - - - - - - - -

arriving at Stansted airport...
at the passport
    hall...

    achtung bitte...
then some Spanish...
and at last English...
i almost forget where i was...

i was about to write an epic...
saturated with so little
of thought...
but, alas... bombarded
by two shots of bourbon,
distracted by
something found between

a mountain, a chair,
a man and a fern
(yes, a cat... sleeping in my bed)...

imagine being sober for
over a month!
  imagine!
one IPA beer throughout
the "tenure" of holy holy holy

- - - - - - - - - - -
   my little ****-hole
                       from, birth-village

       what?!
i'm not going to learn German
being so god-**** entrenched in
Englisch and Schlavikschisch...
"too many consonants"...
that's what the English colts
used to say seeing western
Slavic for the first time...
"too many" consonants...

    sounds like "t'oo mime'any"
    pronouns in the post-Germanicus
post-isch              Eisland...

EPIC! EPIC!
over a month sober and...
new year's resolution?

  don't visit a brothel...
buy vinyls...
   and visit that
gresham publishing company
in London...
with the collection
of Dickens...

     - - - - - - - -
(Kandinsky / *******... all over
zis grossenwahn...
great delusion)

   but the time it takes to
travel by coach from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski to Warsaw?
see...

  you never appreciate certain
types of music genres in
certain places...
opera... where do you listen to opera?
in an operhauß!

            pierdolone kacapy!
rho si si... si si kurva... si i zawsze ja!
    ия
                  siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
                  jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

pierdu pierdu: a.i.

        never mind, not today...
not straight off the boat type of...
"poem"...
just a blitzkrieg...
like any blitzkrieg...
reactionary?
                          that blinking
sensation...
        EPI                   LEP           (P)SY    

(we'll come onto greek in
a minute...
just one letter...

oh much much prior to
the antithesis of sudoku,
i.e. mahjong,
               solitaire...
   the OTHER,                    NPC...
finite model theory...
                    heinz-dieter ebbing)  

point being?
jazz? a bedroom and a cafe...
classical music though?

grand architecture or...
the most mundane "there"
   with a crooked mirror of
"being", with what remains:
   das ist:                   da ist nicht!

meine! oder ohne mir!

                      und es ist...
  und es ist...
                          
  the compedium of man's surmount
in but a few words made
totem, god, beast or with a mask
to guise a face upon a lake,
a moon delving into Monday,
a scythe into the sickle
and the plums of fortune
come August's choir of wheat...

a trickle of the poetic,
a tickling of the drunk...
  
  and here in England they cared for
what became dyslexic
hyperinflated:
yoga granny yog'ha
             for the pronoun:
who what where?
      basic... 2 i see two i too c to see
'ere i wh'       her i err
who i... go when?

when is pronoun!
   times what?
who!
when times what equals who!

woo woo woo...

a whole month speaking nothing
but ****** with my grandparents...
drop my tongue into
a barrel of bourbon...
of course i'll exfoliate!

   - and i liked classical music prior...
but...
hmm...
sitting there in the coach,
decided to chose a letter...

i once did this "thought experiment"
while studying the chemically
enchanced marijuana
of post hippy post pink floyd England...
skunk...
how to... pseudo-Buddha...
not think...
seek the holy grail... the third eye...
same **** different cover
*******...

        mind you...
it did work...
where did my thinking unbecome
narration?
oh... right... poetry and
the prophecies of the weather forecast:
the solid 5 minutes
of fame ordained to surpass
the 15 already promised
by Dandy W.

              classical music...
sitting uncomfortably?
good...
now you need a coach trip...
and...

ideal timing...
from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski
to Warsaw you can listen to
robert schumann's

   fantastical tracks op. 12,
   arabeska c-dur op. 18,
                 childhood's scenes op. 15,
     forest scenes op. 82

and
     beethoven's
     IX symphony d-mol op. 125...
entering Warsaw...
like some vague...
comedy of... Wagner...
        luftwaffezunahme...

orgasmusrittwalküregodemicheservus
­
and i just said there...
most uncomfortable...
  Λ...
                 no... not a syllable...
Λ...
                   two eyes...
and a pin-point...
   on the forehead...
a missing, a hush, no narrative...
a "meditation"
(now, that's ambitious)...

  lambda...

                no... not O(micron,
or     -mega)...
  
           Λ...
  an... "effect"...
   (yes yes, either an ambiguity,
or a misnomer, that "     "     capsule)

         how did i notice Λ?

the digital clock in the coach,
i wanted to encapsulate...
something given,
a priori...

                           not this:
a posteriori mesh mish mash U O MSH,
this perpetual synthesis
of an acquired tongue...

i wanted to block
a meaning...
so i tuned into the music...
   and began blanking, stare-matching
waterfalls to staircaseas...

it began with

   14 : 30

14 : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : : 14 : 31

after a while i deviate
from even minding
the : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : :
  count

   ⠃  b
       ⠅     k
⠭    x
                ⠃ 2

after a while?

    given the λ-effect?

  well... y... h... λ... μ...

              what the hell
is north is there is no
actual Copernican "north"?

sure... the earth isn't flat...
but "where" the hell is
"north" in the Copernican
scheme of things?!
there isn't one, is, there?

hence the blurry:

   magic number on calculator
screens in math class in school:

8008135:
              8, ∞, S, 5, rune, sharpened,
etc.
    ∞, 8: 5 S...

                        5318008: *******!

IO:3Γ

                  1b:6B

              chess?
     poker?
                                bridge?

IZ:ZS (12:25)...

                       over a month spent
sober... with an exception
of watching the Decalogue
8 or 9...
                    (kieślowski) -
with an IPA...
                              (indian pale ale)...

23rd. of November 2018...
i can still remember
sitting on a barstool next to her,
sipping a Guinness...
at 7am...

   i've never seen a woman
read two pages of a book
for so long in my life...
well... attempt to read a book...
contantly checking
her phone...

                 it's hard to feel ashamed
drinking in the morning
in an airport,
surrounded by hefty
***** in a bunch
heading off for a bachelor
party
with one dressed in
Pampers...

                          but i kept
her company...
   **** me...
                       23rd November
2018...
           a lot must have happened
since then...

              she sooner
finished her pint of lager,
i my pint of Guinness,
she checked her phone
more times than i blinked...
and still...
she only managed to
turn only one page
of a book...

     bad luck... 'Dannielle'...
a book, an airport,
a morning cover?
        
   - but i've never seen a person
take so much time to turn
over a page or two
of a book...
this is hardly a place
to call into question
a conversation starter:
so watch'ah reading?
is it?

    didn't think so...
   books, now, then, 10 years ago...
and now...
bypassing standard bearers...
Urban II sorts...
   books as items of nouveau vogue
attaches...

   sorts:
   kippahs of the trendy
Brooklyn sort...

            
hell: **** it... let's wreck this
like a Machine Head song
akin to bulldozer...

   if Pandora had a box...
Eureka had an attic.

I am just five years old
Unable to escape knowing too much
I cannot tell why everything is so heavy
But still I choose to carry it
I am just twelve years old
Splitting open my skin
Under the guise of control
And dripping with self disgust
Screaming at the world
DOES ANYONE HEAR ME
PLEASE
CAN ANYONE SEE ME
PLEASE
I DON'T WANT TO DIE
I am just fifteen years old
Lying because I can
And getting away with it too
Touched by the wrong hands
Empty inside
And I'm not sure that I care
Even when I return to my bed and do not feel safe inside of it
At least somebody is touching me
I am just eighteen years old
My fathers words exploding out of my mouth
I hate the way I used to speak to my mother

At almost twenty years old
I have learned to swallow my self loathing

I cannot unbecome her
I cannot **** her
I can only embrace her

I'm sorry

a glass blown urn,

pit to the stomach

of fire.

convexed with bounding

residuals.

gush thus water, gush thus fire,

gush thus air, gush thus earth,

gush thus ether!!!!?

meta-realities of ostensible I-s

deigning to unbecome, seen aright

in part.

elemental satiety--nonplussed aums,

lightless dins held to nothing visible.

Rest my dear
Allow your body to fade into the night.
The cruel light of day demands sacrifice
And offers no respite
Until the dusk places her softest kisses
As she takes you in her arms
And allows your burden to rest
She knows you did your best
And sends you into a land where
darkness will unbecome your being
for a while,
As a gift

Free from the pain of production,
From the pain of being perceived
For the stains of your actions muddy and meld
Into the darkness's deepening kiss
.

Wake up, you don't belong here.
You know what you are.

We are both survivors in this.
No love for you in here.

Open up eyes,
I am your enemy.

Did you really think I could have become...
something else other than your enemy.

I am in your nightmares.
The hunt isn't over.

Nowhere to run for you in this chase.
No safety for you in this place.
No place to call home under their grace.

Emptiness unbecome us.
Fear, regret, shame, it fills us.

Time for us to leave.
To wake up and repeat.

Westley is a man of action
Unbecome by lies
1987
I laugh until I cries

I am a disabled man
Broken in my brain
Inner silences
Fear. Hear. Pain.

Gratitude stands guard
Threats indeed abound
Guns and ignorance
Confusion all around

I walk my dailiness
Ain't lookin' for a fight
Looking for vocation
Looking for the light

          Still I write.

I tend to employ and enjoy a constant state of change. Perhaps it may be that I'm uncomfortable remaining static in being, and must become, or I feel I'll always be lacking. The way I see it there's always some lesson to be learnt and to me that's an urgent and nagging feeling. I simply must expand my perspective in order to support myself. That is what they mean, when they say you "understand" yes? Not only do you see what you see, but you know well enough of it to support it? Then, thus, if that is the case, does it not become a foundation upon which a new self is built? Are you not standing on the corpses of your former selves, ready and eager to die yet again as you grow into a veritable giant? Tho, perhaps is it the ultimate, and most noble of deaths to cast yourself from the mountain of your making, dying in the fullest, only to be consumed by rot, and let 'what is' take you? Should I abandon all that I have seen, and become, in favor of being what I ever never was? Salt of the earth, charged in the moon, left lacking by ocean's recourse. Shall I melt and unbecome again? Should I be all as nothing?

Friday, Saturdays
Those wild party Nights in Sin
City's unbecome.