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leo Oct 2015
hey i was wondering if you wanted to hang out this weekend? it's been such a long time since i last saw you and you know, i was thinking, maybe we could talk and stuff again, like we used to? so, i really hope that maybe you could step out to hang out, yeah? but if you can't now, it's totally fine by me! just tell me when you're free, 'kay?
- Sent, 9:35 PM, Tuesday, Aug. 5, 2014

yo you never answered my message! are you okay? are you sick? please, tell me if you can't come any time this month, i don't really mind! please, just talk to me?
- Sent, 12:48 AM, Wednesday, Aug. 27, 2014

did i make you mad?
- Sent, 5:40 AM, Saturday, Oct. 11, 2014

please talk to me
- Sent, 11:11 PM, Monday, Oct. 20, 2014

do you just hate me???? is that it???? at least tell me straight to my face!!!!
- Sent, 6:40 AM, Thursday, Dec. 11, 2014

YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE FULL OF ****, YOU CAN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SEE THAT I'M TRYING HERE. I AM TRYING FOR YOU BECAUSE I CARE SO ******* MUCH ABOUT YOU. I WANT TO BE THERE FOR YOU BECAUSE I CARE SO ******* MUCH ABOUT YOU. BUT IF YOU'RE GONNA TREAT ME LIKE THIS, I DON'T THINK I DESERVE THIS!!!!!
- Sent, 9:13 PM, Friday, Dec. 26, 2014

YOU KNOW WHAT???? *******.
- Sent, 9:13 PM, Friday, Dec. 26, 2014

Y UOY  NE EVR  C A R WSD W HJEETHR OR ON T IW AS THEJRFE FOF ROYU ZND **** GO AE HED ADSN ENJYO YOURF CUKIGN  CHR RIST MAS VCNASITON ALOENE
- Sent, 1:45 AM, Saturday, Dec. 27, 2014

L NOER
- Sent, 1:56 AM, Saturday, Dec. 27, 2014

i just saw your mom at the grocery store a while ago. and what she said surprised and upset me a lot.
- Sent, 11:40 PM, Wednesday, Dec. 31, 2014

why didn't you talk to me?! you know i always said i was there for you... why didn't you talk to me about anything?! i would have stopped you!
- Sent, 11:47 PM, Wednesday, Dec. 31, 2014

i'm so sorry i'm so sorry im so sorry im so sorry im so rty ims oert im so sory ims or t r yim osrr y
- Sent, 11:55 PM, Wednesday, Dec. 31, 2014

i'm so sorry, i wasn't a better friend for you. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry. forgive me.
- Sent, 12:05 AM, Thursday, Jan. 01, 2015

hey
- Sent, 12:45 AM, Friday, Jan. 23, 2015

happy birthday*
- Sent, 12:45 AM, Friday, Jan. 23, 2015
Ken Pepiton Jul 2021
D'Israeli's take on truth's stats, history, id est

It is I who leave the mark on this  trail
through ever upto now, you and I,
amble in minds, fetterless, no one to bump,
or breathe upon, or directly into,
no crowds on a concrete path
overlain with chewing gum
and skoal stains, and stubs of smokes
with no filters

-- ******* flash, smoking a Camel, with Joe, he sees this needle,
lying in the sun, and bends to see its point,
it is one of the latest in embroidering tools,
gold plated carbon steel, super sharp.
I see this by the rustlessness,
when my finger's tiny thing lifting edge

picks this sharp, single-eyed needle
from the hay left after the weeds
have been eaten,  hold it -look
through the eye of the needle, see

Joe blows the smoke from 'is Camel,
through the eye of my needle, and winks.}

so we must be, in time, circa
1970's version of the 1950's, emerging
in mind's exposed to ideas leaked
from academia, via TV.
--- here comes the pitch
Now pre posting in 2021, Atomic Rooster
Lee Michaels and the Moody Blues,
waddayagoddaloose  to use the mind blown

to filter sense from puffs of smoke
signaling each of us to grow on and pass,

as smoke that once made you cry,
but you don't remember why.

Hey, rich man,
We gotta show -
it's for kids, it causes them to groupthink
it puts the individual child in a we.
A safe global age appropriate wedom.
-- Yes, as Nickelodeon and Mickey Mouse club
-- and NRA VBS and Madrassah Basic Bomb Camp
-- hate apportioned on international stats
-- complied by Intel engineers, in their spare cycles.

Awe, shucks, it's easy. We act as if
life needs no sense,
senselessness is so simple six esses
yeses of x divided
into a subset after cable
another after AOL
then… events proceed through Netscape
to now. G5, and still alive, that’s some survival.
Or we can say re vival,
we return several instances
constanding point in terms of piercing
ancient eber's story told literally says

shaw maw yim, three sounds thought to mean

heaven, thought to mean a place,
attainable through a stacking of things,
as a safe place,
a hiding place, when we were two, me
and you, then the smallest we
in any history, she said, with a wink

come think of wisdom as a she,
and tell me of your trinity, from all you
know is so,
for some who say they/we read the right book,
told you so.
and unbelief of what's been told,
grave danger lieth thence
done seen it done,
excommunicative lock out of those
who, upon completion of proper
basic servant, general labor,
read, write sufficient to lead,
abacus or algorist skill enough
to measure tribute and pay.

Investment and contravallation,
sappers and miners,

take down the imagination exalting
itself against the knowledge of

the script, history has a script, see
they say they
know this story true, and so shall you

as we prebend your ear to hear it
as it is, we say, the world works this way,

we know, and you do not.
All children must be taught, tamed
broken, like a dog, or an ox, flummoxed

finally willing, by self-will alone, to be
in the we, a we we form on oaths,
sworn on the book.
yes, as we all are or must become
people of the book.

Well, look, there are said to be
several sorts of lies, using d'israeli approach to truth's oppostion:

Plain lies, ****** lies, and statistics.

That is my AI's favorite abacus joke,
but I don't get it.
--------- distraction asreal as imagined, at the time
Moody Blues:
Just what is happening to me
I lie awake with the sound of the sea
Calling to me
Old man, passing by
Tell me what you sing
Though your voice be faint
I am listening
Voices in the sky
Smoke blown through your why, life in after
all is strange as you may imagine, never dull.
My weapon is not carnal, nor only smoke.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
once upon a time i would look into the mirror
with a... curiosity of water...
sometimes i'd turn on the tap...
sometimes i'd block the plughole...
sometimes i looked at the "drowning" man
as a lake... sometimes as a river...
sometimes i'd come back with
concepts of time...
sometimes i'd come back with
concepts of: what if music didn't exist...
i'd cite no music at all...
but the comparison of the sound
of falling rain on a tin roof...
or on an umbrella... or in a heavily
leafy forest against the... snares...
   all that for a monotone crescendo...
that... if listened closely...
could spit out an A♯ and all the other
black notes...
                    that is, indeed, too intricate
and overbearing with detail...
but then a paragraph by Dickens really...
all those Victorian excuses for
keeping the language as cordial as possible...
never mind the archaic and obsolete
terms like... nearing celeriac...
yes... indeed...
                 ce-le-ri-ty:
                       swiftness...
etymology: via French celerite -
evidently from Latin: celeritas / -tatis...
                            celer (also latin): swift...
back to the mirror...
but only today...
      occupied by a mirror in a supermarket lift...
and all that could become about
from a trial and run period of...
the Chinese were never to be the Mongols...
there was never a horde... coming...
not from behind that wall...
not from under their overtly complex
ideograms that would be chewed and spat
out as nothing more than Li Po:
syllables: because... who the hell could
have heard of the concept of letters
in this Mars upon this Earth?
            that they: SHua and SHea
and CHow a lot...
                           or... this is what Ezra Pound
could have forgotten...
     ยิ้ม (which is in thai... yummy yim...
because of beijing and ****)...
                     wei-xia(o) - better in cantonese...
mei-siu...
             :) when borrowing
egyptian hierogylphs to steal some owl,
sparrow... cenobite from the chinese...
it's almost staggering how they didn't conjure
up pyramids of architecture...
instead: just a plain ******* roof...
this is a dog: こう
                   yep... here's the dog:
and here's the barking: woof woof! ワン

you're telling me... that the chinese could...
become the sort of empire the mongols
carved out?
and how long... before they could...
start breeding their slaves and lackeys...
who could understand them...
or read what they would have to necessarily
write?
         looks pretty in that mandarin...
but back in latin: gou... jugou...
              it's not like they could... or would...
because infiltrating this labyrinth of:
and only coming back with the primitive
latin of lady gaga... all those strokes for a syllable
and no letter...
there much be a dictionary of strokes...
an Ab - Ba
             Ac - Ca - but not really...
                  just in case anyone might need
to be reminded: Xi Lo and Li Po and Xi Jinping...
there is gold in the yellow river...

anyways... i ramble on like any self-respecting
european does: the power of perception
and the subsequent fictions / narratives...
just as important as the facts... of geometric rigour...
anything outside their realm is
either fake news or equal to the Valentinian heresy...

you can't move this sort of a literary
backage and turn it into a body of water of men
and horses bows and arrows and steel...
not with those sort of phonetic encoding...
which is why... the Mongols are currently
resurfancing with their old alphabet...
i dare say i can't imagine what it could
possibly look like... not the sort of crude
Thai... when compared to the genius-head
of mandarin, by comparison?
                 but if you're trying to... "wage war"...
and all you have is...
the proverb: the chinese would merely
have to march to conquer us...
you wouldn't even have enoug bullets...

        well then... atomic bombs are crescendo
pieces... they don't really sell more guns...
just brooms, shovels, bricks and cement...
and a hunger for licking eternal shadows
of the eternal sun of boom...

a minor haitus from mammalian pride...
   this little gremlin has learned the oldest
trick in the book...
   it will mutate and probably not evolve
to gain a proper mouth with teeth
and a tongue... or a leverage of a limb...
but all that cosmopolitan pride: mammalian...
the graces of writing a letter...
the bestowed angelic choir when wining
and dining...
the virus... and the bottleneck pressure
of the hive...
   the glorious mammal... having to...
look more closely at the little gremlin...
i see no symptom: of lilac mushrooms growing
out from under armpits and between toes
filled with killer toxic ****...
     the ant, the former ape...
the hive...

                           you are most certainly
a mammal and ape and all that comes with
darwinistic ideology...
but... smell it? it's not fear... it's not panic...
it's: a precautionary lullaby...
i agree: it's not quiet a hive...
a hive is a concentration of gravity...
this is still but a herd... much difference
to be grasped: between a herd...
and a hive...

                a herd might as well roam...
a hive: nests...
sending out its most potent examples to ward
of intruders...

   or there are two languages: there's the formal
and the informal...
but there's also all that beauty in...
what's to be said: readied for rhetoric...
and one to be: thought about...
                      theta-omicron-upsilon-gamma"eta"tau...
clearly there's no borderline number
of a letter of spelling that's a H(atch) in
greek... less so when is comes to ψ
and the passive π  with an otherwise silverback
"alpha male" of... "sickly steve": σ...
old as a solipsistic **** (the grateful dead...
st. stephen)...

    or if i were chinese... i wouldn't really require...
the distinction...
since... i'd have to burden myself with
the tools akin to chopsticks... or if i was really...
really sadistic... and tiger mommy...
two toothpicks and a mountain of dry rice...
to... allign into a straight line...
take your pick!

but it must be the hong kong fashionista trend...
it must be... wearing surgical masks...
when... going "shopping" for some woodchips
and whiskey?
i'm giving my hands a baptism in the earth...
i'm gardening... spring cleaning of the house
has taken... extreme... transcendent meanings...
but at least i'm not doing what was
otherwise done: doughnuts and blockjobs
and netflix binging...

mind you: i must have been deserving to...
finally get around to reading some Dickens...
this is not a parody...
a parody would be...
            Mabel - don't call me up...
singing live at the Brit awards...
              and the most important vestige of
anything that matters happened today...
two crows were foraging the lawn for
an equivalent of carboot oddities...
the odd twing 'ere... the odd twing v'er...
ever wonder why...
you will never see crows...
fill the whole scene with a sense of ****?
all the time... the ***** pigeons...
was good sure... that those feathers shouldn't
come off and the niqab should be attired?

i too am waiting for a miracle...
a muslim woman wearing a niqab all in white...
then again... where's my imagination...
concerning ******* gloryholes and
b.d.s.m. thrills! michael jackson's: ye-he!
yes... no lasso with that plump iceberg of
juicy beef... but it's there for the taking...

and that i drink... of course... that 35cl shot is...
there's more need for spontaneity than rhyme...
all this is hardly my kind work of edit...
where is rhyme in either frank o'hara or charles
bukowski...
it's not even waiting for a hint of inspiration...
it's: chicken scratches... and scratches...
and then... wow!
magic... a rhyming couplet at worst!

allure of last night...
    i can clarify...
                   i'm less enchanted by a fear of the "evil"
man... at there's a purpose and foremestly: a resolve
involved...
   a chaotic purpose of will...
which... even if the evil deed is willed...
is suddenly dispersed into the realm of phenomena
and chance and gambling and...
"darwinism"...
       the truly man can be forgiven...
in tha consequences of what comes...
alongside the arbitrary...
         but this leeching middle-man...
              the "fox"...
                     the ***** hands that forget
to sense a mind for a worth of soap...
  the peculiar mundaneity of horror bound
to the everyday scrupules of:
keeping up expectations...
that worst form of acting: lying without gravitas...
and a stage... and a purposively alligned
audience for the part... always prescripted for
the awaiting encore galore!
                   3rd party associates of evil...
the evil that simply... "asleep" or... "associated with"...
that sort of *******...
just shreds... the hopes of Cain seeking redemption
as a nomad... hostile: outcast...
just like his father... Adam...
              
                 Adam was cast out...
Cain bit the second apple of Abel... blah blah...
simple arithmetic of images...
the ***** of Siberia: one might conjure up...
with the devil's dozen of wolves of Blagoveshchensky
district...

yes... and at this point in time:
rather than history... history will always provide
the allure of studying human affairs...
time: like... fire... like water...
like earth and its geology...
   is the... given that lightning is the...
allure of the Faraday's fire... blitz-krieg...
me this language and a happy family!
ha! ah ha ha!
me this language and... peacocking in
a nightclub... out-takes from a *****-flick...
one *****-stars playfully ****-gags another...
the one being gagged is responsive
to the joke that begins and ends with...
the punchline... an oasis of the vernacular:
BA-NA-NA...
           toast! here's to me trying my rupture
of an artery in the phallax formation
with an ingestion of some...
spandex ballet... a ****** and a bass woo
of a barry white...

       like: "oops" was supposed to presuppose
the grand event of... the big bang...
"bang" a concept so devoid of meaning
when being introduced to a vacuum of... time
has to be an element... akin to fire...
akin to water... air and earth...
and... Prometheus didn't exactly steal...
a lightnig bolt... did he?
he didn't exactly steal an atom heatwave from
Chernobyll... did he?

- but only now...
              time... mythology: too much time has
passed... and there's a geological layering
of furthering the will of man...
and the recycling of paper...
time... history: bookworms more or less:
"there"...
time... journalism...
                and the self-employed free agents
of time... "poo'ets"...
               at least...
what "standing out of" all time... and space?
time i can can understand...
but space?
here's me standing outside of all space:
a bullet-point...                                           ).(
   and (.)           ****... how about...
the exclamation marker                               !
or the question mark                 ?
sure as ****... these would require the "diacritical"
mark of distinction more than
i which is already an I so can be ı
j which is already a J so can be ȷ
but the ! and ?
                            well...

mirror mirror on the wall... poor sam...
      Dickens would have someone swap
their Vs for the Ws and vice versa...
             if it wasn't poor Sam... the shoe-shiner...
and some other vague shadow personage...
but let's assume i have an IQ of 100+ and
i can keep up with a victorian text...
for this poor some swapping his Vs for his Ws...
comes up with... a breakdance of...
latin via: amicus curiae and...
                ad captandum...
            standing outside of all time... and space...
looks like heidegger's hammer
had a precursor...
     a shoeshiner had all these...
maxim prefixed readily available rhetorical pivots...
to shut people up: if they were being
too... "inquisitive"...
well outside of time... hardly...
if there are pockets of space that are somehow
synonyms with each other...
and that before time is given a linear: "forwrd"
it has a period of: "jumping" to-and-fro...
of being glued and at the same time
wanting to be... glued in a diluted sense
of the word...

it must be a Hong Kong catwalk summary...
before long i was much younger...
20 (circa)... now that i'm 30 (circa)...
and there's this surgical mask hiding my face
but still exposing the beard and the puffy rinds
that do encrust the eyes to peep...
well...

it had to become apparent...
the old curiosity of water is... driftwood...
now i stand before the mirror and
puncture the skin for the long "lost" embryos
of Beelzebub's jist: jazz: jizzom...
cuckload of fly ***** of maggot on my face
in the form of acne...
           there was once the sort of inquiry
an antonym of my specimen could share with me...
and be attracted to...
now i use the mirror for only one purpose...
hardly me about to romance a vampire
and... "disappear"...
but the surgical mask helps...
i don't see a quasimodo...
i see a furnace of a Frankenstein's adam
with pupils of coal and an iris of fire
to peer at and with...

                            whatever a god might have
cursed me with... i'll add salt...
then i'll add the vinegar...
  then i'll sprinkle some sand on the "wounds"...
and later call it:
the crackle of cement before the moans
of mud...
            
***** pigeons... always with the ***** pigeons...
it ends with ***** pigeons...
and of all of them... the spectacle of being
rejected...
i'm guessing... the clarity of rook morality...
being akin to the morality / NOBILITY
of swans...
                 since you will not see them...
eagerly displace their courtship... in the plain sight
of day...
    the rook and the swan...
will you ever see the nightly troubles of keeping...
a... vested interest in surrogate motherhood...
in surrogate fatherhood...
in the widower swan?

                                        as fallen as i am...
there are most certainly more noble creatures
abiding in my exfoliating noun terminology of verbs:
like attaining the halo of a manicure...
rather than... random beating with a beak
a... clue to how wings do not translate as arms...
oh that perpetual hunchback of:
grace with flight... but bowing before every step
of a walk... that man admires the flight of birds...
but cannot see... all... well...
who cannot excuse the jitters of hopping sparrows...
the gift of flight... but being humbled when curious
about nails... gravity... and earth and... rotations...
of heliocentric grandeours!

language: otherwise known as the swedish banquet
table for peacocks... baboons and...
lipsynch.      parrots! joe wooden leg in tow!
joe wooden leg... bartanblondine was asking for a
"whittle talk" with a barbarossa...

just saying.

— The End —