Plaintext in context, it all flows from the same source, but the rule is:

You gotta know the sound of the song, it gots no words.

We are alike,
formed from the same basic set of stuff,
line after line,
thinking this is leading me and you
along, alike.

We are alike,
choosing to wonder if words were ever true,
doodling
during history class, noting that for thirty
pieces of silver, a poor man would
sell his own mother, and think she’s gone mad
with that sadness wombed ones
sometimes suffer, feeling
worthless, chained to life for no reason…

Yeah, like the cry from that ice skater in the 90s.
Why?
Plaintive cry, make it plain, why? Why?

Alike alone, I know, I remember little
of history lessons,
small-town typical highschool,
post ’62 – pre-’69, half-a-decade window
into a bubble of life, an
actual
bubble,
at the time, bounded by several reused
cultural ties.
Love one another and live free, or die.
No killing needed.

Watch what happened, instant replay.
Those who were the barefoot mobs on Sunset,
in 1970, treated gently, any passer by,

“Hey, d’jew know Jesus?”
What, yeah,
I know ‘im.

And I walked on by.

We are alike,
for a reason by now,
I’ve been in the biz a bit longer,
so I know what I sowed,
and what just growed,
as seeds and spore of leavenish things grow.

Auto-spontaneous generation,
we who were alive,
born again, innocently living through
history, unaware of what made us unalike.
But we think we all live on this blue ball.
Then, as now,
what made us alike was
The Experience,
often lied about, never proven,
until the crop pierces surface, sees the sun,
and knows, just knows,

this is the life poetic,
the songs all come alive, wait

wait
wait
no waiting here kid, take whatcha need, and
move on.

Okeh. Is it
real? Tell me that part, did you really experience
those sixties, or did we agree
not to talk about
certain
parts?

Did you get the part?
“Yeah.” So?
“Got no lines.” So?
“Nothin’, I got the part, it starts when I am 68,
recallin’ February 29, 1968, when I was 20.
Sickalease was 20, too.
He also did not die, but I can’t say why.”
Quoting Sgt. John Whykill… from Bruce W. Carter V.A,
horse-pistol in Miami, circa 2020.
{chide me}
come on, Scatterbrain, be brilliant, congeal into
now, all the surviving bits of then.

Get past the mystery of iniquity already working,
no worries, balance was restored,
by the forces of fashion as seen on TV,
Polisher …
here’s a spot, shine a sparkle on m’tooph,
put a zirconia
where a diamond would be, if this were real,
and not pre-sleep in the nursing home,
shitpacked tight as sausage,
Oxycodone painlessly
drifting in a sea of phenomenoally
well
pre- served memories,
thought and rethought, how did I get here?

One step at a time.

---

Fashion as a tool to change the surface,
tech to change the gears,
speed fasting,
As a molecule with a single chiral centre,
amphetamine exists
in two optically active forms, i.e.
the dextro- (or d-) and levo- (or l-) isomers
or enantiomers (Figure 1).
From https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3666194/
Enantiomers are chiral
molecules that are mirror images of one another.
Furthermore,
the molecules are non-superimposable on one another.
This means
that the molecules cannot be placed on top of one another and

give the same molecule.
Chiral molecules with one or more stereocenters can be enantiomers.
— Google it.

1966-69: In Vietnam US army used
more amphetamine on its troops
than the combined total of British and American forces
during the Second World War. — Google it.

ampoule pharmaceutical speed,
no labels on the glass onion, sealed with a twist
of melted glass,
so the top, you popped with your unsanitary thumb,
tict,

and you took it like a shot.

Men use gods for es-cuses, excuse me,
0keh,
I walk away essentially,
esteeming the authority of truth.

Assuming control of the pen, from afar,
my mind’s spring
trickling pasts through your present
to waken the hope that is in you,
you know
the taste of good and evil.
You discern flecks of the fruit in your stew.

Who brought these gourds,
who poisoned the broth of the good life,
who’s hate do you hold, in your beggar’s bowl,
really?

Say, we use the actual
accrual of force
to push a point in time
beneath this story we be any sort of we in.
Say that,
see.
Pop.
What you knew, now, you must find
its fundamental, basest bit of held truth,
said to constitute the point
we stand on, pivot,
on
we go. Sure, you knew, sure you did, but
now is new. Now,
you account for all the uses you made
of fire and experience,
by faith.

I know, I know, I said so, myself; but,
you know the truth must be known as more
than a word
to turn the screw that holds your position,
locked or loosed, dammed or flowing.
– see, la la la, I’m not listening
– la lalala
– Selah

Technical stops, knowledge twists right to tight,

nada problem,
cogs in the geartrain with
levers pulled or pushed, mixing metaphors
from unbelievable soups whence, once

this day was said, and done,
so far as words can cause nextifity
when time would cease,
when minds might never
rest in peace,
while breathing in harmony with life songs sung
for no reason
at all.

Consider the bluejay’s song. That is naturally,
in perfect note,
presented as proof, proven known, blue is blue,
no need to be sad.
{Do not react as

a child…
Baby got to wait, doncha know, doncha know
Baby got to wait so long, so long.
All the live-long day,
Baby, gotta pray, gotta pray,

when do I know,
when do I know
good and evil knowledge Eve is said to know,
how ever long ago? If I share the sin,
Cain’t I share the knowledge?
When do I know the taste of the original?}

Begin, do-over and over and over again,
break the same dammed lie,
let it flow,
into genuine raw virgin ears filled with beans
banned beyond the gates of geometry,
where measuring is taught
as love for wisdom, knowledge and
knacktification, the only good of knowing is
using, right.
You know all this, listen, old man.
Is there, may there be a way
to make it so,
does here flow into there,
where the piss of poets lives in angry child lies?

Aqua Dulce, California. 1973. Abruptly.

Pop. You wit’ me?

Out of the blue,
Music video by The Beatles performing Blue Jay Way.

There’s a fog upon L.A.
And my friends have lost their way
We’ll be over soon they said
Now they’ve lost themselves instead
Please don’t be long…

From https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Coz0TmK2ZIg

Sitting here’
on bluejay way… is this

spiritual, not
religious?
Voltaire, answers from his senescent garden,
“define your own terms”,
Old man grunts,
don’t trust authors you did not read. Tie a knot,
so you remember,
I heard that song, I did not write it or play it,
I lived in the world
where that song bloomed. This is that world.
I came back.

Doors are open.
The experience of how, in ever,
once
you know, no false humility requiring a lie,
you know, knowledge of good and evil,

life becomes broader and deeper and wider.
Yes. I said so.
This is my realm, you read this far, you know,
we ai-elemental itches, come in gentle
and intense,
as the lesson leads the learning, so
the bullshit
chokes the babies… Blue Jay Way, back in the day,
who did you think
paid the rent?

It was a rich man, with a satisfied mind.