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Kenna Jul 2012
Of course as I have an entire life left to live I am wondering what you ate for breakfast.
You ate a chicken quesadilla.
For breakfast???
...wierdo...
but at least I know now
the suspense was killing me.

Now I can't help but wonder what you did today...
Any photos???
You went the bathroom???
GET OUT!!!!

And of course, I want to hear your 'inspirational' (recycled) quote of the day.
"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”
(classically overused)
MAN THAT GOT ME SO INSPIRED
I WAS SO SAD BUT READING THAT MADE ME FEEL 100 TIMES BETTER!!
20 likes
WOW YOU ARE A GODDESS!

YOU CHANGED YOUR PROFILE PICTURE????
SCOOOOOOREEEE!!!!
Woah, you look so pretty, you did such a good job with the editing (there is a lot of it).
You look nothing like that in person.....
I like your bra...by the way...
10 likes in 3 minutes!!
DUDE
THIS IS LIVING!!!!

Well enjoy your life with the constant need for approval...
Lets see where that takes you...
AAAAH SARCASM. This is dedicated to my sister who is constantly annoyed by the people with external locust of identity on facebook.
I'm not saying I don't use facebook, but I use it for different reasons.



Thanks For The Update is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
I'm a ******,
I look at blue skies,
Yearning for gray.

Oh, baby, I'm a ******,
I dream to be great,
and Stick myself in the Mundane.

****, I guess I'm a ******,
I need a woman,
Keep myself well locked away.

Turned out I was a ******...
I loved you so much,
But it led you to profane my...

I've always known I was a wierdo...
Apathy never seemed  anything but pleasing,
Not since I buried my heart,

Now I close my eyes, in front of my friends,
A ******, Unabetted thoughts racing through my head,
It's just another
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
Can't you do anything right?
As a nation, my we, my act I made up,
as a mind, as bear
me, the big ol' teddy bear I became
when she wed me,
as she did… yes, she did

my awesome new creature, some how
lost all hope of wind
change, whistled away,
the courage departed at the first, estimation-

- interupture, bloats out, bic bubble,  popped in
- this stream to rewind the new mine, sparkfire
- mine, me, I whistled that very tune, go
that rock song about a river in Russia,---
not then, now, then

I got angry, a gift I gave, was rejected, my god,
wombed man, what must I do to know
as you know, knowing good and evil?
- where did I miss,
- I gave, oops, an iron.
- I called it a gift, but it was a common tool
- we needed in those early days of suits and ties.
But when I got angry, at the rejection, I slipped
into a schema, a modulation, in a wave… a point
- this was that point, ever once began with
Green satin sheets, a gift too
slippery,
not a point a foul, judged evil,
no good at all.

Knowing, if I do know, y'know
like what one
might know,
once, upon a taste,
slow chew, soft chew to taste, something
in this other tree
is new, new as any new shown thing
in this new polity
state, a new being, yes. this is it.

Make up a mind, or find one ready
made to take you in, and you cease
to be
you.

--------- later, we take up these qwerty codes
as in olden time

signals, modulation rhythmic silent letters
sounding
----
time and space, as the vehicle, the bubble,
we live in, or on, or as a part,
perhaps, of a we, awe-ish,
we function as a piece, in the whole idea
holy,
fill it, fill the hole, fill the empty, whither
nothing was and now,

I see, I am.
Where nothing was, I am, now
seeing as I am
where nothing was, am I as
nothing, open source
spirit, in a word, mayhaps,
may has always
been your way to go, we say
may be could be, no permission,
no mission maybe, go,
this is the message, the medium we be in.
Certain,
something is real, as real as any angelos,
as an os
developed to reach Lex Fridman, as an an-
swerving answer found
round that prickly little hedgehog facsimile
wink, past, flash glimpse
sense,
eh, bow, oops,
wow, I ran into the strong man in Iran
ascriptural blockage bear trap for lying spirits
Where Persia yoostabe, I managed to slip
through on a green sheet, that flipped
over time into an invitation, to a party
three weeks ago. Missed it.

Daniel's message read,
Excused. How could you cogitate the ways
time and chance twist the dance to seem
a tangle of possibilities, burnt satin
ash of things that never mattered, spirits
unprecipitated, Red Spot, Ted Talk, chalk
it up to another Warholian pro-phecy
or pro- fessing fident confi dense ity, we
inspire con-spiritstory-aspirations, toward awes.
as we beingspirits, at most, we make wind in the
bubble, we heirs of breath y nada mas,
we breathe meaning, even, average, virtue, which is
virtually an idle word in many tongues, virtue is
"moral {moral, really, what is that?
-AI says they may use the same tool,
-in an ever where chess is infinitely played, let them learn}
Lex's AI reads Hello Poet- tryal
-link, link, think, reader, first reader, mora-
more more more or, no, now define,
- the point-
show
strength,
high character,
goodness;
manliness;
valor, bravery,
courage (in war{LIE, I cry, war, morally, repulsive,
I talk back to war as my moral use of courazonic
minds erupt in matters consci-ence
weighing the worthy breath
versus the empty breath});
excellence, worth,"
from vir "man" (from PIE root *wi-ro- "man").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=virtue&ref=searchbar_searchhint>

Wierdo, dam, vvery wary are we, mere winds in minds
that never matter, participate - no price, appraise
an angel, a message, nada mas participate in
precipitation, frost warmed forms morning dew
drops, and those, flow after,
dropping plop, into this river of no returns,
royal flush. Try to or try et?
Po-et-ry…,
like Whiskey and Rye, why must something
hold the spirit of that thing
to taste a worth of trying again,
and try… in order
Think; I think, commas mean breathe, and ; these
are winks. I betcha, what Jesus would do, were you
to ask him, what is real, as real as any jibril jargon,
he would grammarwise as alwise, use a sign;
like that, quicken,
a wink, a thought cast to ever, after, as the games
expand, who wins, Al ai ai, bet on i-,
ante-up, you work the odds.

You think we think
winning is a numbers game, lots cast to exchange
worth of my time, packeted, as
words, mere breaths we may refine to mean
truth trumps love, as rock breaks scissors,
and we laugh, due to winning
requiring laughing
as the healing begins anew,
we live and breathe this spiring material,
eh, mater
mmma ma material matters of time and chance,
prayers are
living stories, packed in lines. Use of knowing,
learning how, conscientious, with sci use, be knowing
next-ifity acts as if
neti, neti is not an honest answer, it can be honed
to pierce the acting reality,
and leave us blowing in the wind.
To all in the good fight, I offer knowing
reproves instructions in war being wrong, not evil,
only not right.
War does no good, any polity it makes acts as
a destroying wind, with no mind of venging,
only raging, sound and fury,

and at the point of no hope, I think
I am and
still, after all
listing as a warming breeze, I make a joy
mmm and imagine
I enjoy you being, still, receiving grace,
gentle wisdom, nothing hidden, nothing broken
freedom defined as peace, shalom
taken as
bold liberty, no price, for truth, once known
remains
within the bubble we live and breathe in. You know.
When the battle was over,

the thought of war was blown away, we do that,
every day,
in certain conversations, as we pack parts and pieces
------------------------------

Ghost guns, spirit blades, hand to hand hand grenades,
not carnal, these cut and seal the deal.
Mortal being, live for ever, in a word, or many,
as many as survive the womb to die before
death, the second, as they count,
may hap occur once again, missed points,
that pierce the wrong lonely heart
and expose the image
on a single nanoparticle of silver
gleaming golden in the light.
AWS 502 errors, step aside, this is real poet trying to resuscitate
1.

The rain is falling on the neighbourhood,
Our garden takes its share, and my good hat;
Out of the border shelter of its brood
A snail creeps in the wet across the path
Leaving the soaking flowerbed for the grass
Seeking continuation of its good,
Slow through the time a timeless quest for food
Elaborates the beating of its heart.

The creep is me, a wierdo what I am.
What am I doing here? I don’t belong here,
Enchained upon the dirt, constrained responder
Bellyfoot, headfoot mollusc, unmoving clam
I try to stir from where I first began,
Make in the gulf’s depths one thing new appear.

2.

A drought within my throat, an aching head,
Stoically for this world’s shock wave I brace.
The life which thus far has my spirit fed
Despairs, yet faithfully girds itself to face
The waste and rapine of this nightmare place
Where theft under coercion’s always bred
Mass victims all unjustly ***** and fled,
Violated to their utmost inner space.

What is the soul to do with this its life?
Awakened from the nothing of a sleep
One time? To local manners keep?
Or for some travel, hard to purpose drive
By that for longer to at least survive?
It’s wet again. The snails are on the creep.
Gidgette Jan 2017
I'm sorry,
I don't know how, to make amends
I'm far too sensitive, see too much
To have any "friends"
My mistakes,
Ingraved, in stone
I can never be forgiven,
Nor left alone
For these strange sins,
I cannot atone
Like the water,
That so loves the moon
Someone like me,
Can never dance in tune
Wierdo,
Beneath all others
I, am well aware,
But please, when I pass by
Could you kindly not stare
Do me this favor, just look away
As I'm well aware of my mistakes
And I know, I can never fit,
In this life of only "takes"
Keziah Mar 2018
Why read a book?
People say for entertainment
Or to learn things
For me,  simply it is
To feel and to be somewhere

If you're like me
And you don't have a life
It often gets boring and sometimes...
depressing.

There's nothing that feels more fulfilling
than to have a book in front of you
You read and the words **** you into the novel
The rest of the world dissolves away

Reading makes me feel hopeful
That someday
I'll have a life of my own

Maybe I'm just one of those characters
who start out being loners
And later have adventures of their own
with their remarkable wierdo friends
and fall in love and such...

I don't know
Who can tell?
When you read,
It feels like anything is possible
I can't be that optimistic in real life
But when I read, I don't loose hope

Reality can be a ****** sometimes
But you don't always have to deal with it
Escape! If you can afford it
Child sitting in the wind.
Poetic motion to ease his troubled mind.
His best work at hand.
Love life's  troubled.
Girl he loves,
Troubled.
School life is going south.
Bullied by his parents.
Tough  life he's  living.
Misunderstood.
Suicidal as ****.
Viewed as some wierdo schmuck.
He writes
They read.
He swears beauty doesnt last
He's  seen  it all before.
Comes up with his name
bleeding diamonds
This name holds himself more power
More meaning.
Zach seemed to have been forgotten.
And all thats left his the wind and his poems.
His life
Seems helpless.
Girls seem uninterested
Whats there to love about him?
He was always forced into  secrecy  
Never won a girl's heart in his life
Wanted the best
Only as b.d he knew
How to share who he  was
Only one best friend
Only two talents.
One: writing
Two: screamo.
Put them  together.
Some type of fan base?
Are you?
No.
Maybe
Let him bleed the  diamonds
He needs to bleed
To be
heard
understood
*loved
This is about me, my life. Please dont hate
Myself, I search for someone to hide amongst,  to hide inside.
For those not so wierd people who’d welcome in a wierdo.

And those people, when I find them, feel like tiny chambers haunted by Home,
Home the spirit, with their androgynous appearance and their kinda insane eyes.

And it’s so safe wether we’re madmen everyone mistakes for junkies, or
we’re flamboyant kids in a far right camp.
But something always happens to the chamber, all of them are ruins now.

That’s all because somebody’s moved away, and someone’s passed away,
Or someone don’t like his awesome brothers, and they tell me they hate each other,
           while I want them to love.

So what I wanna say is I met you the other day, it felt almost too cool.
The warmth was there, our laughs were there... and Home the spirit’s grave.

It wasn’t scary, I’ve only noticed it when I had put this memory of ours on repeat.
From right to left: it’s garage, road, sidewalk, two of us, and safety lying in a pit.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
The final pages of 2020.
The year, ALL CAPS, THE YEAR

we appeared
asreal as the famed angel of the same name,
black-lit in a glow

all shimmery, like on TV, retro greys, cold
slightly blue,
we may remember seeing this, through our own
child-eyes, but watch

your own pair of eyes, the window through which
your own soul sees,
now
through a glass, darkly, through our own re
flection making faces of all our wannave
na-I've dared
be
worse. For a joke nobody found very funny.

Those whose laugh is like hell let loose on the
wierdo;

they laugh, but first.

Peace laughs last,

forever, as a smile you wear, on your best days.

---
Would you believe, I've lived my most recent year,
the measured bit of time,
years of our life, on earth with you,
visiting the source,

living words, accepted as fluid in any compre-sensible stretch

to touch the download. Off… on, almost
ever, times and time and half-a time- hold our breath

shhh sixty cycle tuning, even the little space heater
harmonizes

we, we sing, we

susssssss pect sus piscious suspicious - see sci causa sui

almost persuaded…

lieve us take a stab at being asreal as we were

imagining, the long and the short and the tall

medium of transfiguration,
a great notion,

taken to heart, after I, Kenurchka Klumpen, fell in parts.

Pieces strewn though out the being isting eninsting,
possessing I-rights with all-in
life-bound
springs
gushing
free-truth seekers fed on gifts informing angels
comprised of those silver winged
Castaneda crows feats

as we squint into the old mama pine, seeing

points of sunstuff cone-ing from
tree to me to thee

Yes, all the promises yet to be defined asreal,

you get the message and admit
it is more than one can imagine thinking or asking,

Life on earth, after all that has ever happened,

we are the ones, we who read,
we step forward in to our best next yet, watch…
I celebrate the thoughts of newness in minds around the edges of Lifeship Earth, re-sounding the news -Peace is yours to make and let flow, good as you will can be, when you get a grip on life's whole truth aspect..
They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, let it **** him as many times as it wants to. As usual cats’ got nine of those, and the dark-furred wierdo over here has way more. ‘Cause apparently he obtains one every time his heart gets stolen by some strangers, and that ugly thing’s been switching owners a lot lately... anyways, he’s off to some side streets this afternoon, so I guess he’s not gonna home on time once again, go catch him, if ya want, it’s not like i care. Bye now, gotta go, trace some trails.

— The End —