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Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.

I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,

Quotes later, maybe

Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation

of chivalric folly forever

be caused, in those days...

--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018

I saw a blue bird as I took a curve

on one of my many roads with double yellow lines

they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons

creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt

utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand

accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.

A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.

How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature

legion, for we are many

Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.

Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'

Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up

oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms

celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute

Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus

that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?

Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.

(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?

Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))

Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum

Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ

walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.

Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee

I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.

I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.

The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot

that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few

who learned the value of going over edges by learning to  play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.

Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that

makes the world go 'round.

Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.

Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon

a pump being
primed

to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike

Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world

Interference, actual counter acting waves,

still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?

You can imagine...
let your peace go out

Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned

oh. MY peace.
I see.

hmmmm

I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know

nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play

ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them

life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight

the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.

floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as

still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,

you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?

Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,

meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving

quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there

is a word that means exactedky that

requirement requires those initial quires

we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble

whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?

I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin

for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll

I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free

you owe me nothing, until you do again,

we had us a Jubilee.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others

Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?

Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,

Aye,

that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)

or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)

she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find

lurking humans acting like machines

this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,

there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession

It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime

so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something

someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save

The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.

the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why

and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to

citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school

mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.

level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,

a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,

kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did

the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack

the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.

The play in the great game.

Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through

it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.

----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with

secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung

songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.

You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl

the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way

merry christmas, they used

to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment

forever begins the moment

you get time.

The worst you can imagine is temporary.

Try umph. It's not like winning,

it carries no pride, it's easy,

like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing

the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn

for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never

dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.

Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?

Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,

just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang

Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,

golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,

I said Hallelujah

and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd

like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned

could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,

could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,

I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.

it is. No reason I can say, just is.

It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness

saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves

something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies

we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.

--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.

I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive

but I did, I belived every time

I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?

some good is
in the reality you share

with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing

That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,

ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow

yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must

be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,

oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean

I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.

And that's okeh.

I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at

ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,

then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War

{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really

the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks

we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your

informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again

if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be

molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza

oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting

on the named domain.

Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni

as Archemides primes the pump

What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
A year in the making honest
Paul Hansford Sep 2018
I have an album
where I keep photos
of places I have lived
places I have visited
people I have known
people I have loved
I keep films
of things I have done
things I have seen
things I even think I have forgotten
but they are all there

you who read this
may not have known the people
not been to the places
not seen what happened
but I can tell you about them

those photos
those films
are not in a book
not in a computer
not even on a memory stick
I keep them wirelessly
in my mind
and I call them up at will
or they come to me
happy or sad
without my wishing it

but the difficult part is
that the drive can be corrupted
memories can be lost
and the day will come
when they will all be erased
unless I can recreate the photos
in your mind
remake the films
by telling you about them

then if you read what I have written
you may make your own pictures
from my thoughts
my words
my memories
and maybe some of them
can live on

I hope they will
Look
no strings.

a
little victory
a
ship in the bottle
never at sea.

Dead or alive
each brings its own rewards.

and I'm in digital now
a fine
weave I believe,

a network
fine fretwork
and
it's okay by me.

Wednesday's that way
If you're heading that way
and that way's the only way
I swing.

Did you ever see or
stretch your imagination
to be
the bigger man?
to catch and embrace
that which you know is
the bigger plan
I did and do
you can too.

It all boils down to
a gooey syrup
don't be fooled by
the sweetness
the value
is not in the taste.

Anyway
it's
wirelessly Wednesday
and I'm tirelessly
beavering away
building a dam

seamlessly making
a man of the man.
wordvango Sep 2016
tell me more of you
I think I know
your heart your soul
we have shared each other
all over Bookface and G+
shamelessly
tongue kissed
and grappled
like teenagers on a
dating site
with words and emoticons
little hearts
and lol's
now I think
we need to get closer
I thinkI could
make you trend
in real life,
doll
anastasiad Dec 2016
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http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Windows Password Manager
Lots of little leaves lend their thoughts through me, invasive, intricately they thwart thousands of flicking fluttering flapjacks that narrowly nest northwards in insightful intricacies.  My own correlation to the devastation of my excommunication comes circling psychotically through territory taken by thieves.  Listen to me.  Me,  the sea winding, crashing, lashing, smashing in the sand.  Shells wash shamelessly ashore.  Incoherent attitudes to the longitudes and latitudes of my bicameral mind melt biogenetically with generous gentrification and gratitude.  Knights that know nothing note notorious faults with the mechanical bull bellowing ballads of Bart Simpson's big brained battles.  Believing in a higher power that showers us with praise and rain and pain and flames is an astonishing attitude taken timelessly through history.  Histories mysteries made matching the mourning Mormons march maddeningly on netted walkways wandering wirelessly in the digital age.  Rage, sage, six billion constellations on one page, intuitive notions of nectarines and oranges that float directly through subconscious space into the place were the human race lost its face, bending backwards hopelessly heaving to find It.  Us, the story of story of stories.  Last but not least the golden fleece made by hand of the man who lost control of the audience blinking stupidly through the dim lighting in a Victorian era theater.  Money makes men mad, women whistle tunes on the rocks as the clocks tick down to our collective doom eternity falsity.  Lighting matches of the patches that reconnect the lashes lavishly lacerating loyal little people who dance dumbly and deftly as an affirmative acceleration of the Nation brings out the worst in us.  Millions marching miraculously on nation capital investment in the predicted earnings of what we can sell to the horribly under educated balding obese men with learning disabilities due to the undisclosed demonstration of lack of nutrients needed to make more mean men smart.  Lost at darts.  Joan of Arc.  Queen Diamond brings crime to silent Simon sitting on the dock of the bay.  We waste away.  Watching rivers rolling round the ******* bend that banishes blatant blasphemies of the self.  Sea me sinking seemingly shrinking in the distance of your one good eye.  Lost green waves washing worlds wary of the New Age.  But in my head it can't be said any other way than the way it repeats and relapses and redirects my attention to it when I try to sleep and eat and drink and sweat and sigh and sing and slink.  The twisting tangled thought that terrifies my tortured terrace (aka my also known as counterpart playing in the dark with lost fingers finding time to rhyme lines in the mosaic of my mind: my heart).  But I'll just tell you later.
7/2/2014
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
see http://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=My+proofs

~~~~~~~~~~
Robert C Howard   Jul 23 2014

"I love this (the poem above). I was riveted to the page (screen) from the first line to the last. It reads like an existentialist credo. I couldn't help wondering if New York makes one an existentialist. Where else in the world can you live so alone in such a huge crowd"*
~~~~~~~~~~
For Robert
(Does NYC makes one an existentialist)

we live alone,
anywhere,
more and more,
not despite,
but because of the ease
that the total expanse
of the universe via
internet connectivity
today enables us to have an 
unrealized, unactualized,
but feels like an
NYC Billy Joel-undeniably-real
"nodding acquaintance"

this contradictory duality,
two parallel continuums of existence,
the flesh and the pixelated,
alone and together,
I have crossed over
in ways prior unimaginable

exist upon a single line
not just connecting
the real to the imagined
but conducting one to the other,
one existence, indistinguishable
border lines indistinct,
artifices superimposed by others

perhaps
NYC was model precursor
for our internet presumed-to-be-alive
model for the world today,
where I know not
my apartment neighbor's name,
yet carry his second child
in my arms,
when the fire alarm
summons us all to flee
to street safety...
and still only
"know" his child's first name,
and the father,
as apt. #16D

an act of existentialism?

so many tears and poems
have I shed
for one who has
lost living treasures,
impossible for me
now to meet and witness them

nonetheless,
heard the testimony,
of disembodied voices,
read the pain
upon the pages so real,
that pixels from screen
rise up to stab my
overwhelmed tear ducts,
voiding the warranty of my tablet

only I can see
the realized proofs,
wet upon the screen/page
crossing over the
humanity divide
that invisible runs
wirelessly between us
and our "devices"

this, an act of existentialism?

Yes, the universe,
unfathomable.
I cannot confirm you exist,
even as I pinch my self..
just to be sure of me,
further I testify,
no machine wrote
this vain attempt
to spoof~proof me human

flee towards good faith,
deny never, my responsibility,
greater than this body
to act, more than exist,
never to remain silent,
the best reason to write
is to reason out loud
your choices

if I struggle to ascertain,
what are the correct choices,
never certain,
but always questioning,

this, an action of existentialism?

none of this satisfies,
is there a human voice
that belongs to you,
and one that belongs to me
above and beyond these
alpha symbols you read,
is there an existence,
sparking, elemental,
a proof-positive Nat,
could conduct himself to
where you are?

think now that someday,
after you have finished
conducting
beauty and art,
extricating sound from
metal and wood,
via the
Belleville Philharmonic Orchestra,
a man will join at its completion
the long line of well wishers,
but your hand,
he will not shake

instead, he just might

"place gentle a finger  
on your lips across, and upon his,
if electrons you sense and taste,
and yours they embrace,
as naturally as if
they were waiting
just for you,
you can almost be sure,
don't ask his name, unnecessary,
for he will face you
with these words:

Thank you, Thank you!
you are my proof.."*

I exist and you now know me by my the
taste of my lips,
just as real as the taste of
your poetry, your music,
upon mine
#http://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=My+proofs

http://hellopoetry.com/robert-c-howard/
I am a musician by trade. I conduct the Belleville Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorale. I compose music and teach and play flute. I try to include poetry in my music and music in my poetry.

I have a Masters Degree in Music Composition from Michigan State University. I am married to Robin Howard who is fine soprano, graphic artist and photographer.
John Prophet Jun 2021
Escape.
None.
There
is no
escape.
Tidal
forces
of what’s
to come.
Tidal
forces
wash
over all.
Pervasive.
Every
nook and
cranny,
it will
find.
No hiding,
none.
It permeates
all.
Orbiting,
wirelessly
impregnating.
Impregnating,
t­he mind,
the soul.
Group
think
coursing
the planet.
Enters the
eyes.
Enters
the ears.
Roosts in
the mind.
Fermenting
reality.
Bending.
Molding.
Shaping.
Shaping
disc­ourse.
What’s real?
What’s original?
What’s planted?
Puppet masters,
controlling.
Controlling
all.
Pushing the
buttons.
Pulling
the strings.
Tweaking
free will!
Nowhere
to go.
Nowhere
to hide.
memineI Jan 2015
a Bachelor of Arts in BS
and a backer with a million dollars-
See, I had this idea of opening this new concept in restaurants.
I am calling it Rent-A-Burger.
See , we got this microchip that will wirelessly send the GPS coordinates
of the swallower to PayPal and debit their account on the first of every month. It tastes like a pickle so we save money there, also.
Then with that fortune I want to open what I call Title ****,
which will specialize in loans to strippers,

they have only to give me a demonstrational lap dance for me to verify their assets.
It tickles me how so rich I will be.

I got several more ideas of expanding my empire
and getting laid.
M Eastman Jun 2018
Towers above flattened below
Flames lick ebony carapace
interlocking geometry
Electric blue static
crawling across piezoelectric photosynthetic membrane
sleep food water are not needs
Limbs extending shifting
Testing tasting chemical ingredients
Molecular compositional analysis
Instantly wirelessly facelessly mechanically organically claytronically nanomechanically
Solid as a rock
Light as air
Harder than diamond
Softer than fur
Integrate
Disintegrate
See atoms and distant stars with naked eye unfurled across a cosmos laid bare by
Sponsored spectrum systems
weaponized unwoundable willpower
Invisible elastic lightning bolts
Careening onto blistered skies
Of a forseen absolute zero future
Man future homomachina
JAM Jan 2020
Their gears twist and turn, cranking tirelessly
Round the mortal coils of a mellower
Art and content of games played wirelessly.
The game boards are awash with bellowers,
Slighted pawns too bound by echo tubing
Passed around to fortunetellers frightened
By town criers trying to throw heartstrings
Of lovers obsessed with burdens lightened.
"She is trapped and he the trapper," they say.
Shall he free her and see her twist and break?
Maybe that is her choice," but not today,
Or tomorrow or the next," he risks fate.
      Their goal is obvious: parting those two.
      Too bad their love is a folie à deux.
Loosely defined
A maniac, crazy running behind
Any concept that he holds true
Opposite of reality is what is perceived to you
A tree holds true to the promises it makes
Crushing the water, obliterating the wake
Movements mash monuments making morals miniscule masterpieces
Did you read that thesis?
It’s the motion that pleases, releases
Pouring elements through a cauldron of heat
Insurmountable energy grips at your feet
A smile on that faces is an admit to defeat
Wirelessly connecting the souls to a sheet

Music, I can see it played
Notes, phrases time signatures being made
Floating, flying into my eye
Tasting the melodies, turning my head to sigh
So much emotion it makes me cry
Why

The only thing that ever made sense
A truth spoken clearly from innocence
The weight of the words break the fence
Nothing can be so real, or so immense
Crushing a planet with a power so dense

Finally some resolution in my mind
The voices and spirits are no where I can find
Blind at once and all now can see
Blood dripping from my nose this is too much for me

The will of the many overpower not a thing
Suppress those emotions and morals, let freedom sting
John Prophet Dec 2016
Global revolution is in the air. Not militarily, but technologically.
It will be no less disruptive to world order, in fact it will be many magnitudes more. Technology tsunamis will churn across the globe and back again,
washing away the old world order. What's left in its stead will be radically different. Societies will be rearranged, realigned and in many instances totally washed out of existence. We will communicate wirelessly seemingly telepathically all connected thru the web. The global brain linking up with artificial intelligence when it arrives on the scene. Countries will melt away as those distinctions lose there meaning. Progress will then be so rapid as to be a blur. We'll explore outer space but inhabit virtual space blending the two in ways unexplainable. A Brave New World indeed.
John Bartholomew Jan 2019
You many not have heard the name as its not up there with Gardner or Ms.Hepburn
But this Jewish lady a lot we could certainly learn

Coming through a war which persecuted her kind
A career in acting her first go to but not her true bind

I mean, what could a woman do to change the tides of time
Make the first ****** movie and be barred from the shelves of prime

Titled "The Worlds Most Beautiful Woman" yet not acclaimed for her genius
Put on show as the lady who just wanted Clarke Gable's kiss

No, she had a lot more to for us to see and follow
As this woman's depths were hardly that of shallow

You think your phone is modern day wit and hard grind
This lady had the future in her head with all of this in mind

We marveled at how our gadgets all worked wirelessly on this thing called Bluetooth
She had this written down in a 40's laboratory, the Gods honest truth

Looking to where has a signal because you can't get your WiFi
Hedy had this equated and sussed before Vodaphone even tried

You'll be thinking next that GPS was invented by 2 guys Tom-Tom
How disappointed you would be and completely Wrong (Wrong)

Sometimes I feel genius is too weak a word for a person with such heroism and valour
Rising through what she had to do even if it was a version of Samson and Delilah

Look up this beauty of a time that is nearly forgotten
As there is a lot to learn from a lady so overlooked and almost downtrodden

Never let your genius be dismissed and shunned from afar
Because the world needs people like the once beautiful and quietly inspirational,

Hedy Lamarr

JJB
Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid - Hedy Lamarr

American men, as a group, seem to be interested in only two things, money and *******. It seems a very narrow outlook - Hedy Lamarr

I can excuse everything but boredom. Boring people don't have to stay that way - Hedy Lamarr

I must quit marrying men who feel inferior to me. Somewhere there must be a man who could be my husband and not feel inferior -  Hedy Lamarr
(A Christmas vacation vignette)

Lisa and I choppered onto Manhattan island yesterday morning. We’d both felt toasted—so we took naps—and yay! We awoke recharged.

Later that evening, Lisa and I were at the ‘Elsie’ Rooftop Bar, in Manhattan, waiting for Lisa’s boyfriend, David.
Ok, man-friend? More age appropriate I suppose, he’s 27, but that description doesn’t have the same bf slap.
Dave’s a Wall Street M&A guy and they’ve been together for over a year - a future for them seems very real.

Slinky, jazz-like versions of secular Christmas favorites were playing somewhere and it’s a groove I slipped into immediately. We had reservations and I’d misbegottenly hoped for a five-star, breathtaking city view, but the indoor tables turned out to have these uncomfortable, high-backed, bench-like seats that face away from the windows—***? I made a mental note to check website pix in the future. The place is in need of some serious feng shui-ing.

Disappointed, I asked for a side table where there was, at least, a pitiable skyline view and I placed my iPad, volume down, on the table so I could side-watch the Thursday Night football game—hey, I’m not meeting MY boyfriend, ok? As the official third-wheel, I figured I’d need a little entertainment.

After a few moments, a waitress came by and she paused to look us over with a cat-like indifference that signaled she was better than me, better than us really. She was just cooler.
I was delighted—why am I drawn to people who look down on me?
I suppose I need years of psychoanalysis—but who’s got the time?

I glanced at Lisa. We know each other at a cellular level. With a milli-second of lash flutterings and eye dilations, I asked “are you getting this?” And she affirmed that she was. Because we’re cyborgs. A couple of cyborgs.
Just kidding. We’re not cyborgs, neither of us. We wish we were sometimes—think of the advantages, you could complete college in a blink—wirelessly.

Anyway, back to the narrative. The waitress reminded me of when I was starting high school and my mom and I toured colleges, how snooty the Harvard people were, even though I’d been accepted and offered a free-ride scholarship—I mean, shouldn’t we all have been one, big, self-congratulatory snooty-group together?
(Of course, I chose Yale because the people were totally friendly).

“I better get used to it,” I side-bar’d Lisa, who got the reference to my upcoming, year-long, master's program at Harvard—because we’re cyborgs. I handed ‘Laura’ (our snooty waitress was tagged) my Black American Express card, which got her attention, and said, “start a tab please—someone will join us—run a 40% tip too,” I added with a smile. She practically jogged off to get our drinks and hors d'oeuvres and I turned my attention to the game, you know, to catch up.

I love Pro football—it’s not really fall without football—is it? Even though Tom Brady retired. This all goes to say that I’m a pro football ******. Lisa likes it too, though she’s not totally obsessed.

Just after Laura brought us our martinis and ‘poached lobster’ slides, a random, well-dressed man (he was wearing an expensive Brioni, wool linen silk suit), 35-ish, receding mousy-brown hairline, high-ball glass in hand, took the opportunity to stop by and chat. “SO,” he said, in a deep, jolly, ice-breaking salesman’s voice,
“You girls like football?”
I decided that the suit was too shiny for a Brioni—was it a Zegna?—I idly wondered.
“We’ve boyfriends,” Lisa announced, almost apologetically, nodding to include me—in case he missed the plural. Undeterred, he swiveled my way—as if he needed a second opinion—and asked me,
“What do you like about football?” He sounded somewhat condescending to me, so I did what I always do with condescending males—I played the ‘ditzy-girl’ card, “The costumes,” I answered.
“The uniforms,” he gently, fatherly, corrected—before rocking back a little on his heels and sipping his drink.
“And the hats,” I updogged, but before he could digest my reply, David, Lisa’s man-friend, arrived on the scene.
“Sorry to be so late,” he said, giving me a little, jiggly, 4-finger wave, shedding his coat and giving Lisa a smooch on the top of her hair.
The salesman wordlessly took his leave.
It’s a night on the town—let the 3rd-wheeling begin!
.
.
Songs for this:
Diamond Dave by The Bird and the Bee
You Belong to Me by Vonda Shepard
.
.
And a Christmas Playlist - because the big day is 8 days away!
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_24.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/07/24:
Misbegotten = something badly planned or thought out.
M Feb 2022
I’m a gen z baby
Emotionally messed up baby
Snowflake little baby baby
You think you know me baby

**** that…
Apathetic, rude *****
Cut you off without a worry
I wont whine unless I want you to be ******* sorry

***** mouthed lady
Twenty-one and failing
Honey I don’t really care how you wanna see me
In these times, it’s about how I see me

Maybe since I lived in chaos
Now it’s where I thrive
Tried to tie my hands and control me
Now I run my hive

Tellin’ me to simply smile
Ain’t gon heal the child
It’s about my self-respect
It’s learning to take the wild

Hit me once hit me twice
You won’t knock me down
I take the sorrow and I swear
I won’t hit the ground

Lived through a pandemic
You expected me to study?
My trauma came back to haunt me
But you where too busy makin money

Tellin me to look up to Thunberg
All she did is skip school
I could have done that any day
But it won’t have gone my way

Yeah I’m going all dark knight rises
Quoting Joker and blaming society
I went and got my ******* Pfizer
But none of it will repay me

For all I have lost throughout the years
That took you a disease to realise
I doubt you’ll ******* learn
Ignorant and idealised

Maybe I’m always on my phone
Because I was raised wirelessly
Relying on a wifi rather than integrity
Go on and blame me once again

Yeah I sound like a bratty child
But have you ever considered
Why the attitude is needed
Nah of course you don’t listen

Ever since I was born it’s always been this way
You start the fires and let it burn
Leaving us with the ashes
You let us take all these lashes

Over and over again
The consequence simply does not leave
You pollute our lungs and sit there
Wondering why we can’t breathe

An open letter to our abusers
I hack up tar on a daily basis
And yeah I blame you for my strife
You had no right to ruin my life
As a divergence
from the apocalyptical, dialectical,
geomorphological, judgmatical,
metaphorical, philosophical...,
I share an out of this
(webbed wide) world,
anecdote ye may find far fetched.

Believe me you,
an unspecified number of years ago,
yours truly availed himself
as an experimental subject,
and since then subsequently
no longer fears dark shadows
shimmering within outer limits
of the twilight zone.

Specific details elude me,
thus only a general sketch
can be provided

Upon falling into a deep slumber
after taking a respite
from my daily constitutional
within vicinity of Ardmore, Pennsylvania
countless decades ago,
the following subconscious
somnambulant scenario arose
allowing, enabling, and providing
temporary alleviation
from a harried styled
and swiftly tailored married state.
    
Out of a tendency to be impetuous,
and oblivious to danger,
I voluntarily let myself
get abducted by this gamesome
handsome, and venturesome green eyed
Geico looking alien ghoul.

Any resemblance between
the following piecemeal description
being kidnapped by an alien
(from another condemn nation
in the cosmos), and living persons
then lamenting married life
purely coincidental.

Although pitch-black
that hot summer July night 20xx,
an ominous ghastly shape  
lumbered near the skeletal
partially built addition
at Lower Merion High School.

This phantasmagorical amorphous,
diaphanous, illustrious... entity
hovered outside his/her
phosphorescent flying saucer.

I stood stock still as my warm breath
bestirred, dispersed, fractured thick fog
(actually smoke from Canadian wildfires)
creating, generating, loosing,
rousing and yawning miniature clouds  
that formed a gauzy window.

Thru this opaque grounded soundcloud
ether movements detected.

Eight tentacles (similar
to Octopus teacher viewed
courtesy NetFlix)
shredded this faux misty shroud
and quickly, yet gently grabbed me.

I found myself on-board
a battle gray extra-terrestrial object.

Fate delivered me out of desperation
into the "hands" of what appeared
as the most surreal setting
created by ingenious
computer graphics technicians.

Nanny boo boo
uttered the creature
from black abyss.

Since what sounded
like outer space gibberish
as a second language
not an elective when I attended
Methacton High School,
(nor colleges for that matter),
an automatic reflex took over.

I offered a gap toothed
(i.e. Alfred E. Neuman trademark -
what me worry) wry smile
foreigners (vaguely resembling
grateful dead foo fighters
didn't get MAD at me.

An immediate interest
arose from these outliers
at the ultra thin metallic post
sticking atop me noggin.

Robotic, galactic and electronic signals
broadcast and received
courtesy said antenna.

Nevertheless, a crazy idea occurred.

Maybe these foreigners
from another galaxy
could secure long overdue
permanent implanted teeth
(in place of these ill fitting dentures)
without charging an arm or leg.

Ha!

Non-verbal communication
resorted to as a necessary expedient
to establish comprehension
and self preservation!

Additionally, the notion
to avoid any action interpreted
as hostile best be applied
even at the expense
of being whisked away
(no matter mine very fantasy  
far out and groovy whim)
countless light-years from
1148 Greentree Lane,
Narberth, Pennsylvania.

Psychiatric medications:
BUSPIRONE TAB 15MG,
CLOMIPRAMINE CAP 50MG,
CLONAZEPAM TAB 0.5MG,
FLUOXETINE CAP 40MG,
(GLYCOPYRROLATE, TAB 2MG,
PRAZOSIN HCL CAP 5MG,
PRAZOSIN HCL CAP 1MG,
RISPERIDONE TAB 1MG,
ROPINIROLE  HCL 0.5MG
prescribed by Doctor David Lee Wrought)
most definitely eased anxiety
per dread locked terror
that loomed large
within my quite active imagination.

I willingly made clear
(using all manner of gesticulations)
to surrender myself,
which idea triggered
a flickering googly eyed excitement.

Wow!

This bizarre situation
could offer golden opportunity
to escape the tragedies
of terrestrial existence,
and perhaps get linkedin
with another weird
organic life form
ideally non human
or not otherwise specified.

Once this electric like surge
coursed thru each fiber,
I brazenly approached
the other-worldly specimens
guarding their shimmering craft,
which appeared to hover
just barely above the perimeter
slated to be another
state of the art wing of this campus.

I hemmed and hawed
with tentative steps
before nonchalantly
scaling the hydraulically propelled ladder.

At once, an immediate
whoosh took place.

After these myopic eyes
adjusted to the scene,
I observed an identical
earth like landscape and heard
what sounded
like the most melodious chimes.

Actually, that globe happened
to be dear third rock from the sun
as viewed from the nearest window.

Upon setting foot into the structure,
an automatic accelerator activated
before the spaceship
jettisoned and sped away
Mötley Crüe at warp speed.

Within my mind, I thought
what to do to pass the time???

Instantaneous sans any desire
promulgated that very wish.

Ah!

Perchance, these ethereal creatures
(large, medium and small)
conveyed messages telepathically?

I put this hypothesis
to a rudimentary
electric kool aid acid test.

Within my mind,
I silently uttered Matthew Scott Harris.

An instant reply came back - in my head.

Every one of these
wraith-like cosmic nomads
understood whims wirelessly,
albeit telepathically
thus believing yours truly
(me self) to breathe easy
said species reduced signals
to digital bits
and/or hallowed weaned bytes.

Upon waking up, I realized
the aforementioned a dream
to be continued…
in another millennium or so.
Surprised3ye Jun 2020
Backpack lightly packed sitting on the bed.
No plane tickets, no travel guide, no peer recommendations for this trip. Just a comfortable pair of shoes.  

It’s been real noisy lately.
Arguments over opinions expressed as facts.
My Television is unplugged. However my phone is wirelessly tethered. Socially trained by the media.
Even though I woke up on the right side of the bed. With a loud ping my phone notifies me of today’s outrage.

Power off!

Today I walk away. Heading north until I reach a quiet place.
Jana B Jan 2021
This new search for connection.
This typing, texting,
connecting with strangers
of varying specifications.

The sharing of self
via a void.
Forging connection wirelessly;
supermarket of people.

Laughter, mixed signals,
confidence boosting.
From supermarket models
to love?
We’ll see.
To new connections?
Certainly.
I turn off **** ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls

digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape

gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into

outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,

while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...

yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author

instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly

vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)

sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,

thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
I turn off **** ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls

digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape

gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into

outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,

while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...

yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author

instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly

vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)

sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,

thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
Inxs of recorded messages  
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.

I turn off **** ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English

differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench

get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,

particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal

spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,

egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen

aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.

Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!
Dear SafeLink Customer,
(one of the many recipients includes me).

The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) announced that the Affordable Connectivity Program (ACP) is ending, and April 2024 will be the last fully funded month for your benefits if Congress does not provide additional funding.

All ACP customers on all service providers will be affected but we have made it our highest priority to keep you connected. Even if Congress does not provide additional ACP funding after April, and the FCC only authorizes a partial funding in May, SafeLink will fully fund your ACP benefits through May 31st, 2024. This will give Congress more time to fund this program without impacting you.

Aforementioned bulletin elicited following:

SAFELINK TracFone synonymous...

not only as my lifeline,
and connectivity insurance
with family, friends and strangers,
whereby yours truly
experiences virtual safety net
as would be true
for many purple people eaters,
when havoc unexpectedly strikes
triggering an emergency situation,
where life and death

as very uncomfortable truth
teeter in the balance
necessitate immediate intervention,
hence survival
of one mediocre bipedal hominid
within twenty first century,
not only requires
allocated government funding
for unlimited talk and text,
to brook intervention

allowing, enabling, and providing help
while I channel urgent plea
via telephonic wireless portal
or surfing the cyber sea
if in need of an
up to date telephone number
until that one day in the near future,
when logical integrated circuits,
albeit miniscule or near invisible bots
to the naked eye,
of the foreign tiger

said telecommunication trappings
ideally, easily, and admirably
embedded within body electric
batteries not necessary
when capacity to energize lovely bones
emulates, jump/kickstarts,
and powers an uninterrupted
self sustaining feedback loop
courtesy subcutaneous
nearly microscopic solar cells

(similar in principle
to intrauterine devices)
generates ample electricity
with resistance from subjects
to communicate wirelessly,
which means every waking
and sleeping movement
grudgingly monitored,
thus surreptitious antics
possibly flagged for:

accusation of plagiarization,
barbarization of mine mien,
cannibalization of pet peeves,
demonization of politicization,
elation of short lived beneficence,
fictionalization of embedded chip insertion,
glorification qua state of art communication,
humanization of artificial intelligence,
idolization of electronic engineering,
jollification of electrons.

adieu from:
matthew scott harris

— The End —