Seasonal American ideas
aimed at renderings of ideals,
from the days of Masonic knacks
first openly-hidden in DC.
Make an obelisk stand arousing
a national notion
capped in significant worth of Aluminium.
Isosceles pyramidion, signaling symbol.
Solid geometry, measure me, man. Am I a thought,
a set of absolute facts, not to be un solved,
ever,
in time? Am I not?
—
Then the old story, witnessed by this stone my home
is foundated up on, built on solid rock shaped
since the harvest of the carbon capturing biosphere
in the Jurrasic… before then…
This thread in the 2020 tapestry, takes the keys.
I can tell the story, from the fringes,
hoping we may swing a hem stich
in time to prevent the warp
tension effect of creeping weftish lines of pure reason.
Why?
Why?
Indeed, why not?
We know, knowing is the effect of partaking
in the persuasions
of faith, the substance of things hoped for,
oft gang agley, after we learn to read…
Robbie Burns,
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!
….
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
From https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43816/to-a-mouse-56d222ab36e33
Pause- warn the reader, this is possibly wasting your life.
A low creeping mist, or hoar-frost
(called provincially rhyme or cranreugh),
in a dead calm,
particularly after a tract of rainy weather,
is seen to settle,
after sunsetting,
upon lands of this description.
“Cranreuch n.”. Dictionary of the Scots Language. 2004. Scottish Language Dictionaries Ltd. Accessed 22 Nov 2020 https://www.dsl.ac.uk/entry/snd/cranreuch
Jargon filter fits knowledge where it was needed
by me, as a courtesy, to the reader myself,
the habit of a gentled man, not broken, not tamed,
my kind, gentle men,
by virtue of free will exercised,
we assume you know the ideal,
aimed at, in the seeking
I’ll-go-rhythm, kurios encourage.
That is courtesy. Sorta like honest, yes. Another yes.
bumbadumbum bum, worth a dime, worthadollah,
Greatgotalmighty I am the man, I thought I was.
Gnowshicticated, able as any to raise Cain’s ire.
—- What is this for?
Mental prep for Thanksgiving Rituals with roots,
in pretty fishy stories,
but… beneath those stories, the black and white
Pilgrim Heritage, my kind never shared in but
traditions only take one generation to take hold,
– some historical evil voice reminds me…
– take one generation of children,
– give them to me, subliminally,
– … Radioman… FTA FTA ..
– Phan·er·o·zo·ic
Time ideal slipped.
Older than I ever imagined in ever before, thus
we all realize, mini-epiphanic, this is ever after that.
adjective
- relating to or denoting the eon covering the whole of time since the beginning of the Cambrian period, and comprising the Paleozoic, Mesozoic, and Cenozoic eras.
“these hypotheses are difficult to test using Phanerozoic fossils”
noun - the Phanerozoic eon or the system of rocks deposited during it.
“by comparison with most of the Phanerozoic, our age is bitterly cold and dry”
Stanzalone rhymes alone,
all one, compressed into you,
when no one’s around.
Words creep in, as is gentle creature nature,
so as not
to disturb the silt at the bottom.
Still pond, green as Tenoch’s dream, in the desert.
Was it he who saw the snake-eating eagle?
It’s all connected. AI knows. You can check.
… now we find the outlet.
This is why this pond is not dead,
while the flood ponds always die,
to give us salt, for the future.
Give thanks to the facts.
Jesus don’ git mad.
Call me truth, my friend, I made you free.
Let me wash your feet,
take off your shoes, I am unworthy,
wait… who is who, to whom is who speaking?
FTA processor offers two choices instantly,
reader or writer,
expands that choice mentally to both,
then with a determined exhalation,
all in all,
I think we are reader-doer knower, learners
of oddities used to
yoosta know, y’know, jes’ feel the fact,
there is a current here,
feel it. That is gravity.
Hugging us to the bubble we breathe.
Dowsers, yes, yes… that idea… feel the current
———p-
In character, roled up into one of our ideal
me mes meme-ic being idea of an ideal, mimicing
{Did you know there is no c sound in Latin, as luc would have it?}
-on-screen- shine into minds,
elucidate
reality in an imagined way, new, novel even,
flat,
plane geometry, never real, flat, straight
no up
no down
imagine that we can and then we can lie and say
let’s go there.
We can’t honestly, cut with our sharpest tool,
precisely say why,
but, maybe
we do not believe words that live this long.
Flat land is the page you watch.
Life is in constant re-
ification and re-
ality furbishment, that it may glisten…
listen living streams seldom sound louder than
the crack of a bat,
not one you swung, but there,
that other aiming
redirecting other
being, bing ding, competitive AI ai ai, we all get together,
give thanks for being part of life on earth 2020.
We have done well in not disintegrating
as made-up minds often do. That’s true.
Imagine you’re the Mercurial evil terminator from the future,
an you get saved by Arnold as the Icy Nemesis or something,
and you fall to pieces, on screen,
before your very eyes,
oh, my.
Fractured phony window poking in your soul,
from such, see us, form sense in plain text. Chipping qubits from the locks
on boxes of answers you knew,
before I died. If I know the angel that spoke to Mohammed,
I know the first one did not lie.
Read.
aqra, okeh — just, read, amen.
Okeh, I say, I’ll shut up. Then I say, if you wish to you did, too.
