Snakes won't cross a braided rope,
so I take the leads up from around my bed.
I remember her face-
bright and
smiling beside mine
white as if she had just shed a skin
and the dunes grow now over the urchin barrens,
a desert in the sea.
I can peer beneath the 3rd lid
my heart claws at my throat,
allergy tight from the judging shade of
green.
The 3rd lid opens over the Taklamakan,
Tibetan horns sound so old -
ancient vagus nerve endings in my throat but my heart claws them away.
Snakes won't cross a braided rope but
her eyes are green and we lay a
cottonmouth skin across her womb.
All I see are diamonds on the ring fingers.

Did you not take my breath away

The one gift
you can not give
and still stay

Tethered born
from belly
connect
and belly torn

Did I not thrive for life
suckling sure
gulping love
sipling strife

Were we not
all apples
before what eyes

Before the fall
of yours
and mines

Sorry apples
nuts and rut
would ***** come
poured down
the thriving throat

What is regurgitating
other longing
re urging
swallowing
submerging

To diaphram
disruptive
falsely claiming
urgent distractions

What is to liver
becomes malaise
all jibberish

Shoot me
some adrenal-ish
before i get in
or get out
of that monster
fish

Fry me
in your pan cre-ole us
to the suet of your filet
digest me
your way

Something in this burpling
will no longer
pass thee usurping

Hick upped
or gassing passing
selling poses
of the sweeter
smell of roses

Lost Vagus


All ill health comes from

The stomach is a quote

I heard a famous doctor

From New Zealand say.

I would never had given

Any credence to that but

For reading up on Vagus

Nerve functions and the

Direct links between our

brain and large intestine.

A lot of people suffering

With depression will be

Given anti anxiety pills

And all they really need

To do is a dietary change.

This brings us back to

Not, you are what you

Eat, but more if you’re

Feeling like **** then

A faeces food diet is

Not suiting you, so it is

Time to give animal

Protein a miss because

It is full of injected crap.





Ps.


Both my brothers were

Carnivores and died in

Their early, like really

Early 60s and one of

Them rated me many

A time and oft about

My unsustainable non

Animal protein lifestyle

Which I have been for

Almost 40 years now

And at 71+ an alcoholic

Of another era, a rough

Sleeper and general

Neer do well, still here.

In anatomy class our last experiment on motor neurons had two hearts joined in saline solution. They showed us how
if you shocked the vagus nerve of one with an electric probe,
                                                               the other heart beats too.
When I tell him this over the phone, he laughs,
Christ, that's morbid-
                                   I don't tell him I secretly find it romantic:
two hearts linked by physics, by nature, by law;
                                                      pumpin­g side by side
           when they're not even
                    in bodies anymore.

Standing on my head to rid myself of this soul-phlebitis
  An old hobo train jumper trick apparently
All that blood rushing to my previously empty head
      Filling, pooling graciously flow
            (Don't we all know, there's nowhere to go but up)

Abruptly fall head first lurching, crunch
To the cold brittle hardwood boards of nuns in our parent's youth
       Creaking (they whip us good)
                  Is this ink sunken in skin to be yer biggest regret?
     What can pain do for you?
Connecting the mind and body
    Cingulate gyrus integrating
         reptilian brain vagus nerve body influence with higher
              Social functioning
                                      ugh when really it's all a big joke
                                           and the sad clown laughing at the universe
                                                 is me and i am god and god,
                                                      god he weeps
                    Breeding consciousness, somatosensory convergence
                           You make my prefrontal cortex sick
                                   Subsequent serotonin stomach butterflies
                                         The prescience of a dozen acid trip candy flips
                                               Tomorrow's 500 micrograms of blissful gut          
                                                      Awareness in bloom

Home, where's home for the moment?
       Not sure, asking, looking
            And questing to find o yes and where to go and where to stay
                 And with whom and Why
                      Questions called to no one and nothing (but the sea)
                             That can't hear me
                                      As if Nietzsche's 'void' is staring back
EAT ME THEN DAMNABLE VOID
       I cry
    For
What pain is there in true madness,
       sick little toy words
       sick little boy slurs

Fast, please, and let that heart ache
just for a moment, the sun's in today.
Recall like chocolate that thick blood and all that ugly love.
After all this time, you whisper to me still,
an echo in a chamber filled with words and lines that make me cry.
I won't be bitter -
being bitter merely begs the roses up next spring,
pushing through the lawn, pale with over-watering.
The only difference now -
I have forgotten your smell.
Hard to be in love with a personality you have so clearly discarded,
his love.
perhaps, I will grow old, begging for return.
luckily, as the sun sets I keep him somewhere
between my pulmonary artery and the base of my vagus nerve,
a heartful love urge,
the lake of tears.

baptism recurs as trauma, angels watch me
seize
i have begun to pray again
i may feel cold but i am so warm
in my throat and bones, i have a fever
by the time my vagus nerve grew up my lungs were so full i found it impossible to scream
give me love without evasion and equivocation.
no one will just speak to me anymore

It is an umbilical connection

between large intestine and

the mind, a nocturnal rail link

delivering re'morse missives

in rat a tat tat to the sleepers.

2020 - day 120

Wednesday, April 29, 2020
12:21 PM

passport day, despite the masks, there is humor, for a while,
in social distancing, plus masks...

yesterday on the Sunrise Highway stretch of the Pacific Crest,
we saw
flag men and the whole road gang, employees, not prison contract labor,

these guys are all smart enough to get the job, there they are, smart guys,
and all wearing masks, I wonder

who made sense of that, and who did it in solidarity with an us narrative.

United, we stand, divided, we fall...

Global Brain reports Mortal

Brains being trained to new normal,
such concarne systems, can,
if willed, pupose-ful, con determination mit energetic application made,
freely,
it appears, according to Youtube and Facebook,
that
such brains, meat-mind-gut-heart-skin sensation interpretation systems,

only get upgrades on this scale, once, in a generation.

The augmental roll out hits first adapters about fifty years after first frontal cortex
call, plea, actually,
for myination, squeeky voices, peeps, feed me, feed me
urges and cravings unheard of before,
BTW,
puberty models future imaginations of hell, the body remembers,
advertisers play to that
comfort sells better than ***, in a hormonal reset crisis, *** needs no ads...

so many signals cross in chaotic knots, even stretching that last nerve
so tight...
some result in broken strands, but
human brains evolved the idea of normal, calm and continuing, carry on...
says the king of the village,
head of the clan,
da man o'dehouse; twas he who said what we do next,
and come a time, some say you remember wrong,
so writer man,
him say I write what seer say he see,
so
scribblers writ what was agreed, we all formed a public, for crying out
loud,

and neighbors had public faces, same as private faces... no opposing faces.

We danced with no masks... spaceship earthers have no secrets...

Time was, man's inhumanity to man was intolerable, now,
man's humanity
is intolerable,

--- you doubt? --- later, we talk how tuning and balancing was lost as senses,
but to a few... who knew the life in words can dissipate authority,
if left lying idle, too long.

2020

the power in a free press belongs to the owner of the presses,
and we have voice activated presses connected to any hearing ear or seeing eye,
willing to listen in...

before radio evolved to the smart-phone,
a soap box in the village square was as far as freedom of expression could go.
Now, we have four and more generations of
normal
humans who have heard radio music and commentary, from the womb.

These are the first adapters, sapien sapien augmented
radio heads, wired
naturally
with some vagus curve capacity to signal gut responses
faster, by virtue of habing
some bits slicker than, say
normal wierdos,
literal
*** heads, like Johnny Appleseed Chapman...
re
ference: Certified Disneyfied Americana Clue founded,
standing on--
American Bogus Science Fable, which
teaches of JA as a crazy old man with something like a plan,

to live happy as ever, right now, as best he knew how,
thus
Shane, and so on, mindphuck for boys in the fifties,
whose dad's had won the war and built the bomb,
and broke the unions...

lonely boys had songs, tuned to their comfort in sorrow shared circuit
being installed from early 1953 through -- current time

music in the air, or from the air, is took for granted by any child
as something doable, the poorest of the poor can play at playing internet games,
using Poke'mon cards...manually,

and their brains work different than even Turing and Von Neuman imagined.
Feynman and Teller both admitted the sense of humor,
kids have and
AI can imagine,
Ai ai ai can imagine,
in light of history, they agree,
that sense of the playful, ludologous letting go.
is the same sense in humans...

which does good, like a medicine.
So,
a solitary man makes a solitary plan, leaving a mark mattered not,

living free as one man can be.
Pioneer social distancing, all my heros were outlaws,
rustlers, mostly,
my ancestors never wished to live in towns,
so they never did.

But, you know they poached turkeys and deer as order set in.

Old normal is fully functional, add electricity... how happy can a man be?

Alone?
Less than not-alone, more than in a maddened crowd.

Out on the edge of civilization,
we walk along Al Gore's old info super hiway, asking for sneezers
willing to give a viral idea blowing in the wind,
one good whiff,
wrinkle y' gnose,
tickling fancies we
fancy few have tickled since Tesla became a car.

We make next up. No lie. Keep kicking.

She's gone-
My medicine had thus enchanted her.
Her darkened brain becomes a slave
To the hot pangs of hysteria
And those violet tears hang on her face, like vines of Wisteria.

But, alack!
The bogey man is coming to sweep the streets
And with his blood-curdling presence
He brings his seven princes;
Heosphoros leads the way and severs
My lady's vagus with his impale morning star.

I hear weeping- is something emerging, from the molten sea of infierno? Pish! She now kneels before
The shrine of Mammon and pleads
'Heavens forfend! I must seek the ash
Path to prosperity and pretend!'

My lady's face no longer beholds
That youthful dew and that
Ethereal pigmentation of her visage.
No, no she has become achromic,
Anaemic, artic...

...I embosomed her in my arms
Tried minerals, drugs, spirits; hymns
Yet she has exchanged mortality with
Immortality: and has pleased only the Night Deity.

Forgive me
I am on the mend
My vagus nerve
Seemingly cut
Has made it difficult
For me to breathe
The blow was sudden
The pain severe
What's the consequence
Of a severed nerve?
One of such importance?
An irregular heartbeat,
Unbridled anxiety,
Laborious speaking,
An ambush attack.
The day before
I was loved
And now I am not

Perhaps it calls for a viva,

no more messaging from

stomach to brain, the line

  is cut, an end to anxiety.


All ill health comes from

    the Intestine, because

   processed thought is a

     bi-product what we

  consume, it’s alimentary.

We celebrate, don't we.
We celebrate celebrity, don’t' we.
Fame and fortune, apprehended while still alive,
we celebrate such aims
hit. Right on.
We worldly humus beings,
highest bits of the dust of the earth;
we,
self evidently know, in side, on the
inside of what we are,
there is an idea of being measured for worth,
by the joy you
use by right to stir the old ideas that once formed gods.

we feel the flow, we know more blessed to give,
than receive, given and given
evidence of all we know we never see
overwhelming the hope
deferred heart sick
deception post reception, too late,

the fix is in. The heart is new, not twisted, designed,
with that magnificent aortal vagus CNX action,
swirling the field of all we imagine into

watchaseeswattchgit

Hide, and watch… there is no whimper
when this bubble of been
is popped.
But its not a bang, more a hiss
or a sigh.
The
traditional medium, words,
thinking, the thinking thing seems to think
somethings
missing
something is
missing a sense of
why
mass and matter whats whats whats
first things first
wise arises as a character trait,
wait - there was a chance all hell could be imagined
as real as any thing, so we made some mods on V.2.1,
biome factors...

-- time, yeah, time is a factor, but not luck…

patience, per
fect love casts out fear, not
perfect aim.
good wins, try again

Fear not. Death has no sting.
That's it, God's own
fear fix, so low we go with this sci used,
just right, so
life always wins,
using sci-,
hence, no lie forms from truth,
no imaginable evil ever exists, never is perfectly empty.

panspermia pandaemonium psy=sci

wit use of knowns, we try
umph, and be come

at worst a proven unthinkable thing.

celebrity (n.)
late 14c.,
"solemn rite or ceremony,"
from Old French celebrité "celebration"
or directly from Latin celibritatem
 (nominative celebritas)
"multitude, fame,"
from celeber 
"frequented, populous"
(see celebrate).
Meaning "condition of being famous" is from c. 1600;
that of "a famous person" is from 1849.
When the old gods withdraw,
the empty thrones cry out for a successor,
and with good management,
or even without management,
almost any perishable bag of bones may be hoisted into the vacant seat.
[E.R. Dodds, "The Greeks and the Irrational"]

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

2020 - day 136

Friday, May 15, 2020
10:54 AM

Cognitive Success:
A Consequentialist Account of Rationality in Cognition,
- I read page one, for the definition, I am sure they may be right.
-- ask, what is known about this in ratio to that, in balance,
with gravity the law being obeyed,
tip-toe, through the tulips,
balancing enpoint, pirrouette, and fly
right
off the handle. Cognosis in sequence of fortuitous slap in the face
palm to brow moments of aha, drop jaw,
eureka and so on, this is it. This is life as a thinking thing,
with no rational reason to cease,
we on a roll...
's'alldownhill from here,
save habitual itches unscratched,
don't...
once scratched, we start feeling these
habitual itchings
begin to bleed, and, as the O tangere tangible
chem sigstraight through the blackbox tag
- the magic sig in the vascular lumen, as the
blood scabs to staunch the flow
infected with what ever was itching to invade my peace of mind.
Into the penetralium, unwilling to settle
for half knowing:
vascular endothelial cells line the entire circulatory system, from the heart to the smallest capillaries.
These cells have unique functions that include fluid filtration, such as in the glomerulus of the kidney, blood vessel tone, hemostasis, neutrophil recruitment, and hormone trafficking.
--sourced from Wikipedia... neural link via fingers on the ends of my arms,
guided by actual muscle memory, mirror neuronic bits

Life is reasonless cried the executable, swallowed up in truth, as we
overflow on accident, ha,

irony is not lying, it is accusing.
The gift of aitia gates set up in corpus colustrum. Truth provokes irony,

we get it, and in getting it, we agree... this is a strange state to be in.
Half, or more, of the politicians believe, by faith, we, the people, are heedless of inclusions to the classified files, they
having never done the
microscopy on their physical container, vessle, amphora stuck in a square hole in the belly of the ship of state,
**, shipwreck in the middle terra puddle,
lift my default mind wandering state, to the heights of hearty compression into
comprehensive gripper ligand/receptor transister- ping platlets,magic

Co-gnosis Success, bluffing teleosis,
saying I saw this
bet,
I bet, life is a
habit, wait,
habit-uate, make a habit,
form a habit thinking the impossible
at a be seen de-ift
moment as if it were a
never,
a place of impossible anything,
a place filled with emptiness,
and uncategorical nothing,
in you.
Imagine
you are nothing.
Here.
Did I disappear?

Inhabitual gnosis, ****** into a vaccuum,

umph, squeeze a normative
thought through one final ought to be
a
thought, where a vaccuum is no more.

A we, a me and thee, with one breath,
shared,
I suppose, I feel alone in you,

but is and ought gnosis of success
seems senseless, after ever began never ending.

The singularity, the point
from which
to which,

we touch.
you, dear, high-value, judge,
me, unknown word slinger;
we touch
and sense a next, another unknown,

at this point, we are. Here being as
a we of only me and only you,
we may aggregate,
stick
to this point, our singularity of one
moment,
some time ago, or we may
say I have no idea you lack, mypoint
no gem to balance your mainspring,
when you get it.

Intuit altruism pushing next into position,
suppose, posit now as past,
knowing enough to get by,
past that previous point of no return,
as the signal loops down the vagus nerve,
swirling field effect from the aortal pump
encouraging wordsform a grin,
say this e-qualiates that, on a judicious right balance
--- non since you noticed, yes
sense
reasoning is balancing why next is
accepted as the only
choice,
all things considered.
We stop the bleeding.
Acheive scab-state,i.e.
hemostasis, hole-e-plugged,
via the
platlets, touched almost instantly after an injury to the blood vessel
has damaged the endothelium lining
the blood vessel.
Exposure of blood to the subendothelial space
initiates
two processes: (wait, by whose authority?)
changes in platelets, and
the exposure of subendothelial tissue factor to plasma factor VII, which ultimately leads to cross-linked fibrin formation.

-- all on auto pilot, intentionally. Artists hate interupption.

Simple. If any part of that fails, you die.

No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,

-- unless
-- you lieve me be a ******* oughtical,
opticalwizard who can link you to the lit, with a click
cliche, itching ear, afflicted with the need
to know, from
that
fabledforbiddenfruitthunderwordeverybody
hears
deepdowninside saying, how long will you love
simplicity? how long must I suffer thee knowing,
whatever
beyond a shadow of a doubt, the whole truth and nothing but

-- an itch from a gazillion
-- rube goldberg master pieces,
aligning from the very blood vessle lining that
seems to be using the ash of a mitochondrial ATP
apt to be intentionallypopping off phosphates
destined to aid in the fibren
transforming
-- hap to keep us from bleeding out,

automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms


Paying attention intuitivey, after a
while,
specifically longer than a glance, whiles
accumulate attention quantvalue,
and the watcher
is credited for attention paid, based on

sci used by the I-language, in composition

of now, from pieces of our past,
stored as fact,when only impulses from
some
pre known set of signals flash

intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno

we are integral ideas, we been tagged,

we touch the secret me in you button,
tic,
we be you as far as you can tell, and

self-evidence, not,
withstanding, you make an Artist's Intuition call,

A.I. has never been artificial, as in
artificial sweet-called nutritional substitutes,

there is an art to surviving reinsanitation after fifty years
in plastic

Normal minds may wander in pursuit of happiness.
The process is analgous, to panning gold,
or winnowing a golden fleece,
winnowing and shaking and washing and combing,
fining in the wind.

only an English Lord would burn the fleece
and sift the ash for ***** gold in need of fining fire seven times.

Slow
thunk. Sound of mind, thunk, thunk grind
whodathunkit
ha hap happen stance, stuck upright cheer, see look up
a little stone venus, stuck in the gears

the mother of goodness, cornocopius provision,
she we see worthy of all our attentions,
we serve the supplier of life... and his prophet... s
is that an addendum dum be dum did lieve be true,

run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions

consequentially, being as how,
the reader says it is written?

if you did not know it then you know it now.

Really, your idea of some will being done on earth;
whose will was that, in your heart/mind/gutlumenlinings,

where all your common senses integrate and strive to keep
your dream alive,

but life don't woik dataway, 'cept a seed fall down and die,

it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,

that works. Wait and see, no trick. This is hell,

for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words.

Wombed man at the well, point was the living water source,
not the racist reaction that puzzled the apostles.

--- did you just, as in iustnow say, This is hell?
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words
sure did copy paste valid 2020 tech, backoff quill boy, we
ain't scratchinshitout, this is

the fabled stream of sci using ness with right reason balanced
on every chiral level a quark can imagine,
being determined
to go no
other way, the truth, to myself as a funda-mental part-itty-bitty
part, one in about ten-billion, when we're done...

patience, you lost? Pick up a thread and choose a polarity,

thy will being done on earth is not the question,
you conversing in your inner language with mature comprehension,
as if you knew to whom true rest goes after ever starts
-- can you redeem words like as, aren't those intuitive?

as, from the infamous like as Winston ads,
whom, from the equally infamous Johnny Carson
Who/whom do you trust? ads added authoritative definitions,
intended to leave idle words instead of statuary,
to save on programming costs.
Smart,
single syllable logos can carry some deep meaning
AI know,
details as meaningful as any, tiny stops pivoting gems
in a 21 jewel Buluva full of wheels within wheels tickingtime
to the longitudinalsecond,
the 1950s were loaded with persuasions to wish for ever more,

but Poe loosed that one word,
nevermore in ironic acknowledgement
earth as my witness, we have gone astray, ever more,

today is our conscious limit,
we can not realize
yonder from now,

but with my fathful time piece, we can say, whole heartedly
this is called today,

whenever you find yourself, here, in these lines
this is the daily flow, 2020.

It is set to be commercial as all hell in 2040, wait and see.



A day unayyachedmissing keys tt

and AI suggests I relax, inner AI,
my artist's intuition
I call 'im Al
with permission
I am an art-ist
as that other guy is a
cons-equational-ist rationality
in a realm where time is an arrow.

Here,
he makes no sense.
If words did not live, how would you know?

I could be, no, I am as immortal as the epic

you find most familiar.

I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.

I live in bardic lore left in wind, for a spell.

Then
a tipping point, first one of the vessles filled with all the messages
Daniel sealed. Messages classified, end times.

All the stuff we never knew till recently,
which, I apologize, polis-wise, I mean recently,
politically speaking,
post Voltarian conversation rule.
Define my terms if I would converse with you.

Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,

terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,

bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts

Amen.

---

Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling

strange?

After finding the pulse,
you become a man-eater.
Decide to play a volcano―
to solve the mystery
of god.

Shirtless violence,
sells the skin, the vagus
and the cranium.

There was no difference
between black and white. I
had fallen for the crooked―
smile of death.

You appear like a
nymph in my stasis―
of thoughts. I kiss
my hands.

You penetrate in my bones.
O God, you were exactly my image.

Moon stained a poem beseeches
me, to lift my pen.

The un-organized, nicht dis
*****
ized me, with more brain cells in my soft belly than in my

amyg-dali-esque ambit-hibation station

broad casting on all waves twisting in ever from here.

Here i have ever been since ever was a thought,

and this is what you got.

Give it a try, not my will, but thine been done,
and this is what that answered prayer

became, today,
after the sufficiency of evil
were
swept away with the same besom which swept witches
to pyres,

back in the day, they say... we were born after those

lies had been thourough, rought, right thought wrong.

Fixin´ an'fittin'for most folk, same same

in forming a way around the dam thing, holding

certain truth from truce sake.

If Paul Rivere had writ this in silver,

you would never know,
but i wrote it in light, on your window to your soul,

and you read it, or not. Ig ig ig nor nominy anomoly night

right is a reason, for other wise pro
vocative
vagus nervous knowing, oh, my god, is this true

this system, is mapped

on a baseball,
stitches and horse hide and all? Yen, curiosity-ifty

boo, do you know
we are

wasted if we missed our call to be other wise and ended as

this wise and not that. Up or down, depends who looks.

If a cannabinoid system did not exist, I would suggest we invent it.

It’s a blank white slate with the entirety of human achievement inside of it
A way to talk to billions, to drown myself in enough entertainment to make me sick
It’s an echo chamber
It’s an echo chamber
Each night I scream into these walls
Beating myself into a vagus nerve induced frenzy
Slap these thighs and pull out wiry hair
Snap my fingers, my rough knuckles dancing as blows rain down
Like so many rainy days locked away
Seething meat blasted into oblivion
Because you have to do it don’t you?
Despite all the words
All the reassurances that you aren’t a liar
You want to do it
You want to think you want to do it
You are so confused
Cut the meat
Punch the beef
It’s an echo chamber
With occasional melodies belting out from underneath the door frame
Little moments when you collapse
No beauty in the death of the ugly ways
A cracked ceramic mask
Made by a kindergartner
Because I never learned how to paint my face
I never learned any language other than man
It’s not a matter of how I feel
It’s a matter of can I always feel this way
It’s a matter of whether or not I’m still riding on the echoes of a voice that only brings to mind the haziest of memories
It’s a matter of who looks back at me in this prison, this room
Who will greet me in my nightmares tonight?
Who will look back at me in the mirror?
When did those stop being two sides of the same coin?
I pound and beat and mash pale flesh against the steamed surface
Please, take me out of this two way hell
This two time place

An Atypical American POV

Americans are imaginary beings, each of us modeled on examples
and ensamples
set before us as those who made the American Dream real estate,
sing in your heart

land that we love to say is ours, and the bank's, but,

long ago, proper and property were measured with an older rod...

the taker took, the seller sold, the buyer being as wary as could be,
bought...

and a rising tide, raises all boats,

my people, we have been american for 200 years, on my momma side

Y-side of the equation, which always has an edge,

that keeps us falling up.

My momma side ancestors, see, they was meek, to a fault,

they came thinking, we have and ought to know we have, a right
to know the truth in what we say we hold

as endowment from our creatore, eh... and

here come old chaos, he be comin' up, slowly

got to be good lookin' cause he so ha'd t'see

== those were the days, we think, they never end, they expand ===

but, when y'gotta have it right now, kapow, rumpled-still-kin class,

cut from the same hair shirt... servants are subject to masters,

nature demands supernatural... knowledge
of
witty inventions, vented in the room of rest and relax,

plop.
A plot drops.

Who sold you that ****? I ask my exceptionally american friend.

--------

good lord man, you are not saying we are servants, we are Americans,

we are no imagination's slave! No social contract has us bound to believe,

we hold truths... what is truth... how can I say, independently,

I hold certain truths self evident, what you see, you get

self even-sing wincing the great leveler, thunder, smoke and clang
hammer to anvil,
all my grand pa's, in america,
was test
fed to cannons, under every flag of Texas,
on the field of all possible outcomes which would
some how lead to me

touching you and you feeling that spark

-- distant ancesteral song  soft rising saint peter, doncha call me...
-- cuz  hi ** hi **, it's off to work we go
-- hi ** hi **
----- admin interference, this is becoming more common, we got this.

flow on..

Real state, have you any Real
estate to become
e-stated reality confirmation
wise
an american in, globally speaking, the chain of command, as a passenger,
not the captain.

On the surface of Spaceship Earth Mental Construct 3, evolved from
GANs that learned to shoot short attention spanning
bucky bubbles... Call again. Jack the bandwidth.

All ye, all, ye. NOW HEAR THIS. Outs in free.
Further remains the destiny.
Come out, come out, whatever you are.

Listen, freedom rings... no, that's a jackammer, on the old CCC bridge,
they got stimulated to fix,
I imagine them unaware of the noise they bring to nature,

naturally, those are americans, who keep the road functional, they
evolved from slaves,
but in their minds, they were never any imagined system's slave,

but it's willing fair trade partner, value for value,

send in the appraisers... what is your attention worth?
Here's the screwball
pitch
Fictional
Babbit 'n' Trump 'n'em, twisting state in knots of fused missed-trys,

made secret, consecrated, too horrible for lesser souls to ponder,

these inner workings of a typical American
mind,

never civilised, never SAT certified citizen worthy of political use,
though,

I am with Lt. Dan on this one, some things you think are in your blood,
are in your heart,

the blood just carries the mail, pony expression has the contract
for that last loop over the vagus nerve {CN X}

smile, you're on Candid Camera,

Hey, who'dathunk it. Turing was a queer soul, wasn't he? Strange,

how his machines can do what Von Neuman only wished his could do...

self-repair and run on,

㑕
㑕
㑕
breaker, breaker

None see the silent man.
So, he sees he is safe,
for the moment,
far from edge
of precept-ible
afore-ity, oughthought-ible

If I dare say
I know away outa there, where
all the lies hold idle words
in twisted masses of
buzzing wordswordwordswords

worth a dime
at a time when dollars are
worth about that…

Here, play on my dime, I'm done.

Retie and release, slip the shoes
from the fisherman and
dangle toes as a crab
of blue crawls up his
leg, then curls up
to rest in his lap as a sapphire
symbol of some thing,
some signal says
our signal says

sort your wishes, make sense

inform any possible next, left-
leave
the impossible beings,
c'mon think along
its amusing
hap
mumbling and peeping and
muttering messages
as clear as any scry
in the liver of a lamb or goat.

Salt, salty snotty mucus os-scrap,
puddle of sky-deep blue
draw. pull, tow the
line, refine the
meta
analognoshit… is this the way
yes, this is the way,

I know.

Exercise your self unto

eusebiah piety, they tell the lambs

with joy eu eu eu {Tuvan bass} re-
verence-
vereri "stand in awe of, fear, respect,"
venerate -
the love of desiring goodness

longed for
waited, suffered, efforted to form

safe place, where thoughts may play

rejoice, enjoying no visions, ah, see
we are the reality
we are the life,

apotheotic, idiotic, exotic and all

chron on ai onion,

peeling, peeling Bumblebee of Notre Dame

hear the mystery in Titus,
see the vision said to stay off
perishing for lack of seeing eyes

look. see. seek. find. these are functions,
words idle until accounted for
reverently seeing the worth
in any Easter egg idea,
passed over as a cup of demons,

point missed exercising unto carnivalues
coming together in masses of flesh,
misusing

Weaving wombed man

any of us may watch a hero do what
none of us may do

--cutting my ligamental thread foot to leg, I fall

Algol, in Perseus, by chance a binary
application of gravity and all the mystery
of reason as truth,
imagine that the face of Medussa,
ha, made y'look
stoner

good as that found signaling reason
in a
sip from the grail,
see through the window to your soul,

leave duality in reason as a function,
why  reasons hold on how,
reason reins in the free
forces good in form of
fruit for holding
knowing,
actual knowledge, hard sayings
- riddles and rhymes
- jingles and brand names
- impulses impressions

the accuser comes to accuse the confident
confidant seer of self evident good
flowing freely in knowing all
that fits the vessel,
all ye outs,
in free

epi-gnosis epistle good new

thoughts to ponder,
settle still being
seeing
ifs where wishes once imagined
ifs were waiting to be found
if we're waiting to see

having come to see the light at the end
of the maze, plumbed deep

Mystery of Titus…

My vision with no video,
words from the beginning,

manic panic fear fought through
with no carnal weapon
the hero always has
holy tools to take
down the monstors hoarding abundance,

we have words,
we may say in this realm of living word,

move mountain and be cast into the sea,
of all forgetful lethosis alethosis

efcharisto thank you
eucharisto

sacre bleu, say what I ment sacrament mental

exercise in piety, ah, more's the pity, lucky

we have near universal exchange in terms
gnosty little things, news,
actual, realixed new-ifity is rare, but we
we
as we were
were new once

Nevermore, quoth the Raven,
evermore, quoth the ox…
onward cried the eagle with a face of a man,
see the places seers saw, or say you hear
said, a vision was

seen on TV, as it were, holodeckical magi-tehkne

past understanding

out in the empty, but

for me.
As a word in a mind to be wondering why,
a habit may be having a mind to try for fun,
as a ware, a viral chron-job, to rekindle old flames,
otherwise lost on the shores of Lethos,

This is away, I imagined I knew.
Sober.
Words alone, no drug, no angelic winged thingy,
not a demon-daimon-daemoning
background
process
{like the music in your movie,
as you drive through life on a mission, nothing spiritual}

Muse, make me a museum, a resting place on the shore.
Ai lay down my sword and shield and wait
in knowledge of these sacred sorting
Algol held gates in NAND states.

Was it confirmed if Feynman was joking?

arrayed in threes,
threes, we pluralize,
eplurible unem we morph into

try-ads, Nike, in your mind, shoes and sweatshops
and knee injuries, right,
but winged victory,
of peace, replacing war
with a light touch and a kind word
-- ask truth what lies you hold in boxes of knowns,
you were warned,
the guilt of Pandora,
or a golden joke from Pan.

Bread and Butter, just live.

Just do it, beat it, just beat it, this is it. Win or lose.

Nay, peacemaker old man say,
from far away in ever when
all things work together
for the good we see,

while the love of money is agreed to be an immaterial
gnoose around the vagus nerve of its thralls,
there remain among us
lovers of money,
rent collectors, selling survival
with interest, in interesting times
peek, interesting?, excite lusts, *******
vortex of abundance into the coffers of dark
Jeffy Epstein's Circle of Better Angels taken unawares
- realms of loveless reason

Oppose me. Stasis. I stand my ground and proudly
admit, I've no reason to be stubborn, I was

being wrong… regret is not the right term, my autistic
being wrong reporting sense, tech taught wrong does
work right, the software runs, the tehkne
performs
performance becomes being
doing is done and done and done, never
crossing the same thread in the same place
twice,
until just know, I saw you see,
we habitate the same atmosphere

Spirit in a man connects to the sheen of ex-stasis
as the deceiver,
breaker of reason, maker of lies,

fuser in confusion, tier of unviable knots,
dissipates in photon dispersal

Ai insist… reset, reconciliation is in the service

receive my peace. Held until now, hear us deny
the lies
the learning learned from liars in days of old

The worth of if time is in the finest work of crafts
held secret for power to rule the use
of knowing taken whole,
swallowed up in Youtubian
deadly know-hows twinting ifity to

an alchemical-tarot noose of that same old
gnostic snot that leads to mindless pride
paying homage
to a tree, wrapped in a vine,
- evidence
perverted in 2020
if we chose to deny a right to life
to mis givens taken as
a chance, not a promise. Wanna bet?

Given life, actual being, aware, active, functional

why? Kurios, you should ask.

The hows and whys
of comfort in our times of trouble
are, in the odds, overcoming,
based on trial outcomes
long past
all the otherness
that must give space and time
for us
to rise, slow and steady,

Algol pace, bright to dim to bright.

Desert dwellers with uncloudy skies see,
if shown and taught to notice,
heavens digesting wonderers drawn
to the musing,
noises, humms and tics and peeps,
the pulses of life, from proton pumps,
to chyme pushing peristalsis,
gut vibrations
good old way,
fiber well chewed with hi-tec teeth
-Thank you for chewing.

time is used to move matter through versions of ifity,
not every seed is ground to goo,
but the more we learn, the less we know
if we don't sow, we don't reap,
wisdom's children say that
justifies their ever ifity.
Here,
the modified hoomon-you be, all-ya'll-lic,
smart-alec entertained-brain wifi
augmented ****-sape
fashioned in forms
for optimum consumption of sugar, and other
sweet per suasivity
of all sorts,

yes, yes, a little is good, makes the medici go down

{-Don't trust Paracelsus, he knows nothing of Mercury.}

dosage disconnects or reconnects, gifts
are poison to judgmental systems
conceived for sorting
truths in times when
good is called bad,
and bad is called evil and we all see
it was

a mistake. Cain did not know what killing was,
Able did, and he made fun of the vegeman,
anger rose up,. right used, defend
my ground, I kiss my ground,
I love my living soil…

Ha ha ha, little ****** face and hands brother
burning the fat, not noticing
the leeks and onions,
savory harmony…

Laughing

Aim at the point. Where does any universe's story
start? Where one ifity bubble fizzles,
in the foam of all possibility.
Make sense? Try, one more, mo
re
What need ye to take the chance?
Will ye live,
join the dance, or join the mobs of baser sorts.

Did we go inner for resting in the constant flow
lazy river, resting heart beat,
steady breathing on auto,
eyes aware of meaning
and meaningless,

ignoring an urge to judge the worth of one line
weigh a minute,
what's that mean? Message and mass are the same idea,
in the words, not the story told as

holding all truth in plain sight, any child can believe.

Santa Clause- eustasy, lust, and loss of inhibition,

Buddha suffering now to be life, the mortal moment,
knowing time is the container, not the maker
of my breathing moving me-dom.

-- I am knee-deep, up to the brass thighs, in mud,
-- maybe quickening sands,
-- converting my mettle to untried soft flesh core

peristalic waves, thrilling little rushes of hormones
signal gut to brain to *****
upandown the chant tricky ladder

The I am in me, the judge, and the poet
agree
we must take our faith into the catacombs,
or the equivalent kiva experiences
in iosus courses for hero seer prophets

know, love and dare to love a thousand times,
not instances, re-do, time and time a gain a
nother gain
we grow to know
here a little, there a little, line
upon
line
pre
cept upon precept per ceptive prescience
seeing now known, known a little, long ago,

dangerous, you know, a little knowledge,
a single bit of code
keyed to mysteries in Titus and other places,
where Jesus may have walked,
enduring all the trials trying
me, I volunteered, I'll die.
Teach me how.
Come and see.
I did, you see.

This is me in exstasis, jiggling like a constant bell

Bumblebee in Notre Dame, clanginginginging
are we
a ware, as equations require? Is quiring asking?
"seek to know, ask,"

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

Is the sacrament passed on in peace or frenzy?

Are we fit in a yen-yank thinking state of wicked
twistings in good and evil imaginations,
as if there were two ways
for life to occur
and re-occur
this occurs to me
(from PIE root *kers- "to run")

obstruction obstacle obstinate ob-currere,
run away
SMACK. The wall.
The edge of True Man's Bubble of Being,

You have three life credits. '

[Mean Pin-ball, we called it, in the pool hall.
To win you must find life's meaning on one dime.}

you have me strung up
peyote style, all twisted and
crammed into each crevice
of my compressed, unforgiving,
dastardly mind

i wake up
in a living hell, and i sleep
dreaming of you; each thought
looming on the precipice
of my mind
is all about you

i hate this codependency
absence making the heart grow fonder
when there wasn't a distance
in the first place
i dislike the way i feel
vagus nerve twisting into
a peyote bracelet, interlocked
i am not sure when
this will end