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Jamie Lee Oct 2018
Jealousy
Is hell
Because I do not enjoy
Myself,
And well
I enjoy all of you-
You
With your smooth moves
Perky and peachy attitudes
Teach me
To be as sweet
As you-

Beautiful
Can be cruel
Not like it is on tv,
Or beside me
Everyone shining,
Smiling,
While my smile feels
Like hiding
Under this wax mask
A painted canvus
Of pale and black
Don't look at me
I'm a heartattack
A bad act-
Broken glass
Of a painted doll

I am a leo lioness
Right?
Righteous-
Your hieness
Sparkles on my eyelids
But you see
I have enough pride
To hide it-
Its priceless,
Really hillarious
Sometimes I feel
Like a bad *****
But I'm none of this
I am the pray,
The gazelle in the grass
But I am also the lion
Waiting to attack myself

Because you see,

Jealousy
Is hell,
I am the lion
I am the gazelle
I am heaven and hell
In a vessle of myself
See what you will,
Your critiques are nothing
My only enemy is me
My only savior is me
I am a lion
But I am also
A sheep

Don't look at me

Sometimes I cry in the mirror
Blink my mascara tears,
Blurry mess-
Can't fit in my old dresses
Tearing apart at the seams,
Literally
Filthy
Famish
Crawled out of my skin
And made some bad habits
Declining wealth
Declining health
Laughing as the scales tip-
After all I am a person,
Not permanent
Why should I care

Oh,
But I do

I do when I look at you
You with your talented hands
With your spider lashes
And good moods
Teach me to feel
As good
As you
My lipstick smears and screams
As the paintings on my face mock me
So will my body,
My body thats bruised
And missused
Perfume to cover the *****
They'll see my cherry lips move
But they won't hear me talking
Its perfect,
The mask of confidence
My incompetence
Is a perfect fit

No, really

Its lovely
When I wear it,
People love me!
Because people think
I love myself
No
Jealousy
Is hell,
Beacuse I do not
Love myself
I love everybody else,
Even the ones who
Say I am full of it,
Selfish leo,
Selfish lion
Exaggerated ego-
Winking eyelids
Sparkle,
Wings to my forehead-
I flaunt
What I don't want,
Because you want me to
You want me
To love me
Like you do

All of you

I remember the words
From my mother,
Jealousy
Is not a pretty color-
Its crimson red,
Exposed
Like blood,
I've had to sew it up
No-
Don't look here
Not at my guts,
Look at my eyelids
Are these not enough?!?!
These cherry lips
Tell you to sush
Less of a lioness,
More of a cub
I know
I am my own predator
My own pray

I am

All of the above
Catrina Sparrow Jul 2013
with well worked hands
he pulls on the sea
     like the hem of a pale skirt dancing 'round his lovers hips

it's what she loves about him most

the way that the tide ebbs and flows
     with the rise and fall of his sun-stained chest

seashells
and gull feathers
and bits of fishing net
     woven into his hair
like the threads of canvas sails

aqueous thunder-head eyes
look like they've seen the fall of every empire
      and soon
they'll witness the fall of ours

he smells of salt-cured wood and the sun
and it's the kind of smell you'll never forget
nor properly describe

he moves like magic

     like waves
          lapping at the shoreline in the calm of dusk

with an anxious tongue
and an appetite that's never satisfied
     he licks the wounds of any heart
he's strong enough to bare the weight of any burden
          of any trash barge or sea ferry

ear pressed to his chest
     like a conch-shaped vessle
          the labor of his heart valves plays like sailor songs
in an empty cabaret

     nerve-wrackingly beautiful
sunburned little diddy about the love of my life.
<3
good ol' h2o.
brooke Oct 2012
My clothes are a social
kind of hide, a public naked
when i come home
stripped, sort of alone
i can get out of these fabric holes
but i can't ever get out of this

skin
(c) Brooke Otto
Evil Levi - The main character in the story.  Evil Levi was born into a cult named Sinister.  His parents gave him to the cult to so he could be the vessle for the spirit Cruelty.

Sinister - The name of the cult that Evil Levi was born into.  The goal of Sinister is to engulf the planet in Hatred.

Spectrum - The name of the planet where the story takes place.

Harriet - The mother of Evil Levi.

Liberty - The name of the city where the story takes place.

Iniquity - The name of the compound where the members of Sinister Live.

Priest - The father of Evil Levi.  Priest is the high priest of the cult Sinister.

The Book of Sins - The holy book for the cult Sinister.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum.
Two figures dressed in red and black robes  sat on a bed in a room that was illuminated in red light.  The larger figure looked at the smaller figure and said "This is the day we've been waiting on.  It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared.  You are the sacred vessle."
"I'm not afraid.  I'm just ready to get this over with" said the smaller figure.
"That's just what I wanted to hear Levi.  It's time to get started.  Please follow behind me" said the larger figure.  "Yes mother" said Levi.  Levi followed his mother out of his room and down a hall that was illuminated in red light.  
As Levi followed behind his mother he asked the question "Why do we use red lights to light the compound?"  "Because red is the color of blood.  Blood is sacred " said the tall dark skinned woman.
"When Priest summons the spirit Evil remember not to fight it.  Just let it take over" said the tall dark skinned woman.  "Ok" said Levi.
When Levi and his mother entered the worship area she had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy.  "Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe.  "You're welcome Priest" said Harriet.
Priest stepped down from the altar holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand.  Priest stabbed the baby creature in it's stomach and ripped it opened.  He stood in front of Levi and dipped his finger in the baby creature' s blood and anointed Levi' s forehead with it's blood.
"Bring me The Book Of Evil" said Priest.  A short figure wearing a black hooded robe stepped down from the altar and brought Priest The Book Of Evil.  Priest turned to the chapter evil and began reading.
"As the night blinds the sight of the male and female and Death stalks the living and Hate stands on the grave of Love only then will Evil reveal itself.  I offer this vessel to the spirit Evil.  Come forward Evil I summon you."
When Priest finished reading from The Book Of Evil the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on.  From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi.  Slowly the wind transformed into black smoke.  Levi was over taken with fear and unable to move.  The black smoke entered through Levi's gaping mouth and took possession of him.
Levi shook violently and fell to the floor.  "Levi are you all right?" asked Priest.  Levi stood to his feet and looked Priest in his face with eyes as black as death.  "The child is no longer in control" said Evil.  Evil walked up to Priest stool his hand in Priest's stomach and pulled out his intestines.
"LEVI YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest.  "I am Evil.  Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Evil as he looked at Harriet.  Evil pointed at the figures on the altar and told them to get rid of Priest's dead body.  "Yes Levi" said the robed figures.
"Harriet go gather the members of Sinister and bring them to the worship area" said Evil.  Harriet walked out of the worship area and to the office of Iniquity.  She turned on the intercom and with a commanding voice Harriet tells the members of Sinister to come to the worship area.  Harriet turned off the intercom and stood in the office for a few seconds.  
What have we done?  I can't believe I let my ten year old son be the vessel to that thing.  I can't believe we were stupid enough to summon that thing thought Harriet.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum
This is a story about a mother, father, and son who is a member of a cult.  They sacrifice their son to a spirit named Evil
Its like I sit and watch the world go by cruisng to oldies,
feeling new inside, but outside is a face of a man who will attack if you dont know me.
gut instinct is below me homie, piece of mind,
dont change your words if you cant cash the truth but besides that...
See im not perfect I lost ties and made knots that made me fall from my own tension with no intentions to stand even if I can, I cant, im grounded by my mistakes that relvolve around me, reminding me what I did made me what I am.
AS I stay subsiding in a position thats clearily hiding,
binding my chest compressed against my last breath , to save what little life I have left in a world where title nor status mean nothing when your an ******* to those you called your best interest I do confess im that lowlife as i cruise still music speak to my esscense releiving me for those seconds im just a person again but after that im back at it again

..I dont write for pitty so let that be known, im just here to vent this steam that once stood ablazed passion for a love that is now a shack of memories in my head of your smile and gestures a feeling I onced called home now ruins from what i ruined, foolish I am.
Clueless more than anything to let many so many slip away im the worst fisherman of love.
because I use my soul as bait, and little by little i let the big ones escape an take chunks of me away to a place I can never retrieve it, so believe it im that space
im that vessle ive became the shell of a hermit , hollow and skirmish.
Tarnished, and used,
debri left as rubble to make roads,
but none to pave my own cause I have no resources
cause im that alone....****,
maybe I can just leave it for those who wish me back if I do something foolish like giveback the life Ive live, for a plaque and a name and a date?
or should I just lookback and keep cruisin passed the bruissin and showin scars of my mistakes as a human,
all I know is....nothing,
and thats why I stay cruissin, freedom of the road and music,
away from the world and my ruins.



-Deep Though aka
Linguist Musician
aka Emmanuel Hernandez
Bilal Kaci Nov 2013
Oh! lustful pirate, I've watched you gaze over the sea,
Follow the horizon if you want to be with me.
Standing firm, looking glass to your face,
If you want my love youll have to pick up the pace.
You can bite, oh you can wrestle;
But youre just a boy riding along a cargo vessle.
Take a dive, and i'll make you a man,
I'll make it so you'll never step foot on land.
Jump in, dont be afraid,
What? havnt you ever gotten laid?.
Oh how exciting, its all happening so quick,
Now stop bobbing for air fool and let me bite off your ****.
"This is the day we've been waiting on.  It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared.  You are the sacred vessel" said the tall dark skinned woman as she looked down into the eyes of the ten year old boy.
Dressed in a red and black robe the ten year old boy said "I'm not afraid.  I'm just ready to get this over with."
"That's just what I wanted to hear Levi.  It's time to get started.  Please follow behind me" said the tall dark skinned woman.
"Yes mother" said Levi as he followed his mother out of his room.
Leading Levi down a long hall that was illuminated with red light his mother said
"When Priest summons the spirit Evil remember not to fight it.  Just let it take over."
"Ok" said Levi.  When Levi and his mother entered the worship area Levi's mother had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy.
"Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe.
"You're welcome Priest" said Harriet.
Holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand Priest stepped down from the altar and stood in front of Levi.  Priest stabbed the baby creature in its stomach and ripped it opened.  He dipped his finger in the baby creature's blood and anointed Levi's forehead with its blood.  
"Bring me the Book of Evil" said Priest.
A short figure wearing a black hooded robe stepped down from the altar and brought Priest the Book of Evil.  Priest turned to the chapter Evil and began reading.
"As the night blinds the sight of the male and female and Death stalks the living and Hate stands on the grave of Love.  Only then will evil reveal itself.  I offer this vessle to the spirit Evil.  Come forward Evil I summon you."
When Priest finished reading from the Book of Evil the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on.  From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi.  Slowly the wind transformed into black smoke.
Over taken with fear Levi was unable to move.  The black smoke entered through Levi's gaping mouth and took possession of him.  Shaking violently Levi fell to the floor.
"Levi are you all right?" asked Priest.
Levi stood to his feet and looked Priest in his face with eyes as black as death.  "The child is no longer in control" said Evil.
Evil walked up to Priest stuck his hand in Priest stomach and pulled out his intestines.  
"LEVI YOU KILLED YOU'RE FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest.  "I am Evil.  Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Evil as he looked down at Harriet.
Evil pointed at the figures on the altar and told them to get rid of Priest's dead body.
"Yes Levi" said the robed figures.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum
I am simply a rough caretaker of my
Temple, vessle, canvas, corpse..
Whatever it may be
There is so much more than you can see
Too much if we were able to we'd be overwhelmed
Our eyes would probably burn out of our skulls
Because among the deamons we manage to see
Angels
Random, rough draft
Ken Pepiton Jul 2023
Next then now, then next
no line, no dot, nothing now

time passes, came to pass,
as a near answer, a near new
point from which to view now.


In my case, my time as part,
smallest difference made,

the air you breathe, once,
I breathed into, and once,

I made you think yourself,
become a being I am not, but

then,
time,
and chance, all things working,
being, by gone, on gone working
to gather the momentum to make
time stretch into another whole mo-
ment, monumental pillar of earth salt.

At this point, next seems inevitable.
So we wait.
Thinking a next like this next one,
has never had a state of being common.

What - all ifery asks, if, imagined, seen, see

we agree and proceed to see, so time's
essence is momentarily mental, we think,
therefore we do many mental moments, we
think we would, or could or should be ready
for ever to cease forming myself, from myself,

slowing time, to myself, for myself, taking mine
and forming some for you to use, to take a second

order of packeted eventuality, side-tracked,
to let the important news of many deaths elsewhere,
make us agree to become so much better informed,

buy the best life has on offer, ready,
read the instructions.
{ lifetime acheivement, never reached}
Chiefest among missers of the mark.

Of course, in the course of human events,
from the playing fields of Eton, to the battlefields
of Afghanistan, what power reigns supreme?
- The Lion came, and brought the Tiger,
- the Bear came, and left, and then the Rat,
- or the Weasle, we can even see a Squirrel
- in the role of first worst case scenario on offer.
VOG - quiet on set, quiet back stage,
mind reengage tongue, taste the fertile reality, who
and what we are, enjoyment, actually, being, mere joy,
ahoy, adrift in all our otherwords, set idle by our tech-logic
- What fear rules the man who has learned his role?
Broken leg, reversed cursing, blessing God, just in case.

-- A day, Ivan Denisovich, Zeks, yes,
man's inhumanity to man, and best layed plans

plotted course of concentration, minds meld, given
incentive to spill over the banks of the feeder canals,

as the hermit's cistern in the Lagunas, topped it's edge,
and he sighs, thinking, so it is, you got a cistern,
I gotta cistern, if yours were to overflow,
it is your fault, or your glory for the joy, in the streets
in the summer,
in the city, back o' yo' neck red and sweaty, you dig,
you become worthy of the daily bread we are given
for righteous duty done, did I do, or did you, did we

sing along with the bouncing ball, did we all?

Thinking, all we do is wait,
becoming old, we wait to finish thinking,
thinking old, old, olden days, before letters,
before
knowing, being nothing, becoming this, these
lines of lettering linking noises used among us
to carry thought from me, myself and I, to you,

the one other at the moment, in the state,
what if, what if, what if nothing makes more
difference than you, one of us, one in our once

in an unbroken history of science and philosophy,
our hours of confluency, our instants in shared
learning, minutes of life's use, as used to make us
up from nothing… to think about a series of every

expansion to our sense of connectedness, seeing
we lieve being true, first proof the priests do lie,

first proof the chaos is not evil, but essential
patient zero, paradigm,
"logical or conceptual structure
serving as a form of thought
within a given area
of experience," Kuhn, perhaps, aligned

any worth, any value, any cost or price,
eventually, any time is too short.
Any vessle filled with experiential wonders
projected on reflective walls, six ways walled.
windowed and doored.

In parts, in passing, taking offerings
left in pasts for hungry spirits, urging

answer seeking, seeming endless, whying,
ifing, framing forms for fitting twos to ones,

as when we agree, we form a two headed
thing, with we agreeing meatily to work
as carnal minds do, given set and setting,

inform a vessle for holding self evidence.

Governing systems, blindman crosswalks,
mandated, ai, remote eye aware, are we,
seeing from television, new form, digitized
bit maps of surprising resolution, if one re-
members learning lessons of scale, how tall,
how small, the ratio, this pattern of whorls,

and that, fingerprint from some once in ever,
there, we all see it, so huge we lack the frame
of referrence, we cannot bear the weight of knowing

we are the tipped point on our wave's recourse
around the laws serving stanchion roles in god's houses.

Pillars formed from promises, to those who find the time,
now, in a given day,
plain old everyday summertime, growing time, passing
as quaint, handcrafted meditation stations, desert fathers,

have we any wool, yessir, yessir, three bags full,
master, dame, and some poor spinner
who lives down the lane… earning daily bread,
as penance for being born in sin, losing all the good God
had planned, I' know a guy,
he can tell this story,
as a called and reconnected son, of God.

And the likelihood, actuarially, as tithes passed,
interesting, heft, umph, to the indulgent users, knowing
good and evil, evil is lazy money, doing no man any good.

Knowing how to grow more money, Midas, reminds,
as do many voices from the tombs, liars prosperity changes

legends, shapes myths, fixes history just so, at the instant,
we knew, we all knew, at once, everything,
is after ever before,
and we have stores of knowns, unbeknownst,
arranged in time and alpha beth order, for habitual
referrence, you know, we all know religions are powers
wielded by Ideal candidates, chosen children, and broken
old ladies,
what mystery is more mysterious than they,
the power they rewield as time stamps, proof, there

that guy was a witness, and he was not there,
on the stair, I
sat, imagining I remembered that, and found it odd.

I have been lied to, and I have lied, to you, I do,
naturally, I am of that class of sapient things, I can
lie, if lying leads the mark into the mark-et try and do,

do, indeed, Yoda, wink. Done, and beheld, now, that
is time well spent.

AND there's more…

Meta Kuhnian Crisis Paradigm.

Four nickles, two dimes, time was,
two novels, or four one reel peep shows,
-SECOND COMING TYPE- ten 2 cent papers
WAR CALLS
PEACE-
times means for holding a cultural bubble,
intact, sticky in fact, tacky to the touch,

RSO and blue stripes… settled hermit state,
from a granite lip of a feng shui breeze,
AI, what do I know - in summary,
a procession
Summarizer
The Structure of Scientific Revolutions is a book written by philosopher Thomas S. Kuhn in 1962.12 Kuhn argued that scientific advancement is not linear, but rather a series of peaceful interludes punctuated by intellectually violent revolutions, where one conceptual world view is replaced by another.3 The book offers a general pattern of scientific change, where inquiries in a given field start with a clash of different perspectives.1 Eventually, one approach manages to resolve some concrete issue, and investigators concur in pursuing it—they follow the "paradigm." Kuhn challenged long-standing linear notions of scientific progress, arguing that transformative ideas don't arise from the day-to-day, gradual process of experimentation and data accumulation, but that the revolutions in science, those breakthrough moments that disrupt accepted thinking and offer unanticipated ideas, occur outside of "normal science." The historical process of science is divided into three stages: a "normal" stage, followed by "crisis" and then "revolutionary" stages.0

Of my own volition, if one were to assume
one of my stations in life could possibly know my own will,
revolunteered to lead a raid behind the lines,
out of loyalty to a bucket list
perfect cow dismemberment, check,
tear a sacred cow to shreds and leave it to be ciphered out,
by farmers living high on the Teapot Dome affair,
and its coincidence to great social reformation,
- steam roll, electric mind of Tesla
- and all the unsung genius under Edison, into one,
- as the online entity with roots back to BBS and
- dial tone tricks of a switch…
yes, the burden of the rich, as we saw the similarities,
become the unresolved problem,
- mission drift, art intuited cognosis
have you never read where it is written that we,
we who read
being the only letting being
to let it be known, that we are to judge angels,
- where does this go?
as best messaging noncorporeal beings, wielding spirit in truth,
not some clown troupe trope miss
representing feeble minds reattempting trials,

Not Clarence, or Caspar, or the couple in the Thin Man,
nor Harvey, the Pooka manifested as human in a rabbit hat.

In profile he became the ******* Logo, same rabbit head guy.
Bunny lore, wrapped in chinchilla, soft as kitten fur,

who would ever tell?

--- Business, summer makes me think of winter sales.

No curious use of curio arts, ancient
beta better possible ways, from when we knew nada
at all, zip, zilch, no se, no way, we were babes,

and if we are raised, we become like animals, we sweat.
But, if we are reared, we become as men, we perspire.

As sentient beings who read as readily as we write,
we accept the role of reader as ours by right, or rote
ritual quotidian duty, each day, we plan to finish re-en
lightening the mob, the masses, eight billion of us now,

as we approach the peak, powers of ten, times six,
why six,
cubes stack nice… least heat, cool
enough to seal a preset get,
go, be gone to elicit light,
research into mind mold.
I write for fun, the stuff in entertainment, mental activa, I may suppose.
Ahmad Cox Nov 2012
I give my heart to you
I know you are there
Waiting in the dark
Even as crazy as the world is
I feel your spirit inside me
Guiding and influencing me
No matter what people might say
Or what people might think
I know your spirit is real
I know you are in my heart
Shining out and healing me along the way
Giving me the light and the love
To show to a world that is in the dark
Being a beacon of light and hope
To the people of the world
And the people around me
I thank you for allowing me to be
Your vessle for love and light
Allowing me to offer love
Through me from you
Even through everything
I have been through
I know you are real
And guiding my steps
That's why I will continue
To give myself to you
Feeling your heart
And your love shaping in me
A little more day by day
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Nothing ever changes,
where the worth of this and that is set.

Tell'em all, who hook ah, ha, chiral

reality, hearing, hmms and bzzz meeee
whining all kinds of things,

down, dirt hertz low, as one of those
contrabassoons,
French bubinga wood,
-Google it, it is as magic may be yet,
magical contraptions contrived
in a mind,
in stages,
whistle phone, I ignor thee,
Lady, of Spain, I adore thee,

If I had chosen a differing way, some time ago,
decided I was made
to be a river kid,
but come to find out, we breed best, where
our mothers were born,
- high green vales
- home feel romantic, as such antics were
portrayed, more, more, more
in the bread and entertainment
citizenship bought
for thirty man years
of absolute loyalty
to a bevvy
of oaths
by
any child shaped for leadership, bonded
entered into the system, asked
to swear
in the name
of all that is holy, set apart, behind the curtain,

not in Oz, Jerusalem
in that mind Christ used,
right, Romans-
let this mind be
in you… word level logic magic any may imagine
we pluralize our individuated minds,
and join in seeking clear channel communication
- tear ye the dusty curtain -
after all the outs are in for the evening,
cool of the day,
spirit and truth,
wow
we
make breathing work, come to think about that,
if your will is telling us some thing we may think,

3 major sneezings 3 by 3's, gobsogreasygoferguts,
we survive,
having coughed up a tiny, eyelash-size hair,
meta vessle,
where my bet is in the bits on this side,
war
has no
lever see,
free is bein' out of bounds. We may consider Kerouac,
his teletype paper rolls that he could imagine
becoming my entire system
liquid crystal frame nets fishing
for sentient mindshare where global peace, accepts
string theory as
my gnosisnot, is it spirit if it is true. If we are paradox-
ical, we are not stupid as a species,

we've bought a bill of goods, they used to say,
we found reason to believe,
we were lied to
for a set of reasons.
- first being we all lie, we think we know.
The onto logical truth, in my case, is - in 2023,
my life is good, I am a slob, and out of the way,
so, settled in some ways, is dust fine, we flake away.

My choice is to consider the reader, who reads
for fun,
kicks
in text
be unaffordable - attention is commodity
in any other context,
some things
are words, mere, as a word,
is one of them,
a class of flavour overlooked missed,
mere [hap]
anon,
we turn the radio on, and all we hear is humms.
Abnormality, in truth we find such things used beautifully, often,
passing in flashes one can respond to for - some time, a measure of it, may
be per haps
Ken Pepiton May 2020
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?
Hey, if you read it, thanks. I am enjoying being the guy who spills the beans
Fill it with laughter
or tears or silver or
anger or lust or my
vows worth nothing
though we lived all
that in our lifetimes.
Kelly Burns May 2018
I am so lost and there's not a road that leads back
I continued down a dark path  constantly veering  of the track.
I kept walking through the darkness leaving broken pieces of me behind
A trail of bread crums that no one will ever find
Stumbling through the shawdows
Making all the same mistakes
Tumbling round and round until my sanity finally breaks
I have reached a destination but my mind has taken its toll
I met so many demons they finally tainted my soul
Im at a cross roads i hault and stand still
I no longer have the energy no strengh Nor the will
I fall down to my knees and place my hands over my head
I relise im just a empty vessle because inside i am dead
Ken Pepiton Feb 2020
As deep and fast as I imagine thought rrivers
riving my senses,

anon, another comma breather comes along
to spit me out,
too hot, too cold, too banal to avoid,

****. (****)
that's it.
We are all like those constipated tea drrinkkers,
from Back to Eden, nutritional gospel of the gay nineties,
and the entire Trump executive system,
is a biome transfusion,
that ...

is not what I was told. I was Told,
authoritative ly by the
most popular prophet Sid Roth is boosting,
that prophet shouts, GOD the Lord, we trust, the one on the money,
set Donald Trump at the peak of power.

I cough an ought and violently disagrree, see, as it appears
to me,
Donald Trump is a set-up, see
as they impeached him, behind the cameras

they gave him an arsenal capable of

you know,
Armegeddon or whatever end you harbour,
in the depths of you.
Where you hope.

Here's the point, the point Con-cep-tion, see

the idea, formless in one dimention, re
a grrowning word, I,
mmmmore tu, wham a slap touch bounce
catchit, we

be, time goes, okeh, and after all that

eventually
it's 2020 and we are netted on the right
side of the vessle shaped

into a torus wit a hot and cold, kinda
lava-lampish

beauty, is a word I sup, offer up, pose
you agree, see, psi
ence science with (con, as in with meat)
conpsience is scorrnd,
as a word, meaning less if previous sci
ence of right sounds, sets
psi as
a shibboletharrgic gate, to filter lazy eyes
from evil eyes,
before filling them with visions

of grranduer for winning the war, not that
last battle,

where --nevermind, click Broca- off.

*******, walks on. I know the messenger.
We can trrust this meta-story,
ever after all we know
had to happen,
sooner or later. Why,
because,

I said so.
Seek and ye shall find, I said is true.
Thus I found you.
one to take me at my words, and love me
enough,
to set me free to fill the vessels, not a few,
who built their shelters on the sands,
long since baked to stone,

mortal mind, listen, reading is your gift,
writing forms the vessle, we fill,
we living words you loosed,

when you pierced the Babbit wall, and
robbed the city of angels of its
stolen water,

per haps,
at the behest of some mourning mama
whale where the birthing harborr
poisons hopes whales give
the whole world, along
with the butterflies,
and bats, and dodo birds.
2020 vision day 42, deeper, faster, harder
David G Jun 2016
Look at me
what do you see
Am I full or empty
I can't escape
This goldfish bowl
Getting nowhere
Swimming around
And around
In this hemisphere
This vessle
Life at times can be such a drain.sometimes its like swimming against the tide.How you keep yourself from drowning is always a battle
Morgan May 2014
whiskey tainted lullabies
lay eggs in quiet ear drums
that explode a thousand symphonies
and light the world on fire
there is nothng quite like passion
when it sits on your lap
and kisses you straight on
jagged lips
music is the melted rainbow
awake in our sleeping minds
we are all a vessle of sound
echoing
and
pulsating

music is the only truth
Creepstar Jun 2016
The blade sings
Softly caressing the contour of a throat
Ears hear a sharp rotten ring
The screams of sacrificed goat
Long passionate kisses
Leaving a river of tears
Fantastic dark visions
To spill over the body
Crawling under the skin
Warm,wet a ******
Suffer the hell its found in
To wipe and find
The read strings of a guitar
Stretched around neck side to side
So close death can't be far
The drumming and pounding
Of fists to vessle
The percussion and throbbing in knees
All that's left is the base
But foundations lay waste
The song titled
*just **** me please
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Profound and striking differences twixt these higher
minds and mine

in kind, we re
cognize our own as we learned we know
the curricula upon which standards
apply pressure to mold
the mind into D0-Bees, don't being litter bugs,
ducked and covered for goodness knows
this could be that cobalt bomb,
I read about
in Boy's Life, my grandpa has a copy of, in this game
he plays online,
choosing
subjects, the knowing of which is to be learned,
and
shall be graded, judged fit for this or that,
for sorting
for the roles rooted in the heart
whence teaching
teaching shall be radiated equally,
ala Alternating Modulation Radio, with the inkwell
filling
filling to over flowing  child's joy en
learning to learn for ever, which is
later.
Unless your grand pa taught you ever is already,
just is, watch and see
---
i have water and a vessle that will not burn
with the heat i can bring at will with a twist of a ****
"we be cookin' wit gas"
I can cook rice any time I have rice,
even if I lack salt, I make do.
---
the role of a star on the silver screen, changed
along the yellow brick road,
but we had black and white tv... I never saw the shift.

until long after the experience the original seers saw,
sit with them
just now they learned of hubble's red shift,
some of them
doubted now the translation of life on the silver screen
pop
Technicolor yawn-gulp, in 1930-something somewhere
over
the rainbow, oh, what dreams may come

--
confusion on the horizon, comin from the west
pushin to the east
smell that smell, feel that feeling, is it still...

an answer, accepted, good is good, all the time

equality as a fact
equality as a result, oops, LBJ, did not mean to say

the nation lacks a voice, amigo *****, we vote
in my realm, this is in the book

this book, where the reader is you.
Two dimensions of self-evidence

what you see is
what you get, if you know how to get it.

Medalion, eh, like in Venice, a license to rent my life,
for more than I think it's worth.

Horus feather state. EH? Light, as a feather,
weigh my words with these,
was the time better spent or better sold writing code?

Enchained melody chant me a chance to

... start all over. Aloud, I say thanks to the creative voice,

we won our liberty, at the loss of all the lies we let
be true,
while dreaming we were watching life
in technicolor dreams imagined by imagineers
with access to to tools
right used
to lessen the bherdon of the feeble minds,
entangled in the mythterious
confus-is-us, Am-big-is-us,

common good, call not that common that or which,
which is it,
really is there a discernible point?

We, the people who hold certain truths, personally,
un alienate-able as well as in-alienable,
if you will, dear reader

do we know the citiz
enship values by which we shall be weighed?
what is my value worth?
what are my values?

dis-passionate-analysis leads to com-passionate-response provoking ideas

my ******-sayin' right is white as snow, come reason me a reason that ain't right.

Done done done, kettle drummed doom

clear the room, the VOG calls strike the set

eat my pearl finish, lick my serpentine sheen, wink and whisper
any name you wish you knew me by

for ever, in my realm leaves us room to expand
hopes past the furthest

reaches of faith alone, past understanding, deep in soft foggy peace

reason? you asked me a reason, or is this a chip, on my shoulder?
does that mean a thing,
like a symbol through generations a meme, passed on in the air I breathed,

knock this chip from my shoulder. why? what is the meaning of this
memorable emulated behavior,

quick draw, fire, aim goes unsaid, no time to spend on a mere word.
both eyes aim

a moving raptor closing on a mourning dove lost in a dove frame of mind
wham
back o'm'knack feelin' ***** 'n' gritty

grandma laffs at m'sweaty necklace of dirt and grime, as it
washes away
and leaves a ring on the tub, that i get to scrub
into a state of total eradication,
rub o'm'head

radish reponds, I'am a root fruit, no seeds in me, eh, never thought o'that?

subteranean sentience is essentially imaginable in the mind of any child and
most game programers who play for the joy of the riddle

bottom line.
We are gifted with pens whose ratio to swords is constant, since ever started.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2022
After. As on a vessle allowing living
in words as thoughts held,
in the common,
whence we gather,
to consider the day,

any one, the one you have, you chose
a nice one,
nothing out of the ordinary, just

another day of judging things worthy
of my attention,

mmhmm, vow-eless yes, I know you know.

we think each word
is brim full, to the limit of any sur-ficant tension…

I can't, floating on the surface, wave fi,
turdish, high fibregnosis,
floating post flush, rush ride it down…

Relax. Gnoshit, we guess, we test we weigh
the laugh,
ask what is so funny?

Time, the old man chuckles, time itself.
Words, for you to read or not, no,
to read, for now 'tis too late to not read.
Ken Pepiton May 17
State:
Delighted,
does that blow your candle out?

Ready, reader of the perfect press,
as long as the culture of the internet
persists, expanding with useless data

subconscious meta data we used to
make into these tools that force define
phrazes, like we used to…

what- oh, time, we used to do with
think through, used to make sense,

common inert intelligence all readers have.

Did you read the entire cereal box, each time?

You are imaginably a perfect round vessle,
to snuggly fit where the perfect square,
set at convenient lifting level in the hull,

Allows the amphora chance, heave, **
lug the jugs, raise the anchor

set sail, be on our way, for such a long day,

the mind and Psyche are one, a we and an I

is more than one partical of mind, we use

to fit time in a klein bottle. Ai, andjaknow

it is so now that never has a prayer of ever
happening, and that never doesn't make sense.
Did you never wonder about those big pointy bottom jugs
in roman republic to tyranny movies?

— The End —