Intense first tug, attention, put a finger there,
holdit, pull tight…
this knot is for ever…
—in the center of history
There were grand liars living
in rights of man imagined as men may
inviolable, freemen imagined them inviolable,
and as this story shows, those
believed any
lies violate those, rights of man,
actual holds we have on truth, plural
mis translation can kill
and hurt feelings at will.
Madness of 2021 cross winds
transgenderbenderrender trend
explosion or bubble, seeping or gushing
psychic epidemics
team pain, team gain, spectator sport
news of the day
news of the time since the last election,
or the last war,
stats proving
untouched humans, alienated minds,
can’t touch, will not touch, must not reach,
must not stretch past last lost straw,
ungraspable uncomprehensive unraveled
garment ment to cover all of me
shroud wise
wu woo wowery whimsy wishtifity
—————- breathe —
An old man who calls himself a poet,
walks in, to a vast arena,
domed,
proud-expanded boasting
dome of dominance in the
adolescent game of citifying,
bellies fit to pop as wen filled
with hawkers selling team totems and
memories for future celebrations, lest we forget,
we
won some contest of teams representing warriors
selected, bred and reared as fierce never quitters,
champions,
our champions, displaying our willing ness to shout
encouragement, or scorn
at the man on the pitchers mound, at this particular time.
we are, due to them, vicarious champions, praise them
pay them kingly sums, reward the heroes,
our stand-ins for worth
we never mastered,
never found, never
rolled the bones and spoke, with authority,
– the bones obey –
rise from the teeth of the dragon,
count six the only stigmata needed three times,
gnoshit,
mani secret evils lurk where secrets are given holiness
by tradition,
by royal decree,
by holy writ kept hid… then
etwas macht schnell
suddenly as hell,
all over the world, voices and music in the air,
every eye could see the message, clearly, in the air,
listen
for a hundred years, to noise, then one day,
all the pieces fit,
like a nano-botic virus that becomes ever what
the masses wish to see take shape and devour reason,
cry havoc!
let’em scream and yell a rally call
of uni- whatever
to the masses, the beings who fill
the hi-tec entertainment venue,
where the man in the arena
stands where he ought not be, asking
‘do you think’
you are, after all…
It’d be during a viral attack,
when this old man who calls himself a poet,
walks in to that vast arena, where
followers come to see the offspring of bloodsport,
while highly civilized,
the bodies are far
apart, individuated, no cardboard people inbetween,
none needed,
this is a live formance per haps we all pursued.
Happenstance,
a sneeze, if you please, excuse me,
breathing is
kissing the sky, I tell this guy, guiding me past
———- skritchy skritch skritch ich
old man who calls himself a poet,
makes it to the pitcher’s mound, and looks around.
– remember the experience
The acoustics are not as good as Pergamos,
but this is where the ideal idea of poetry, emanates
beauty in her evolution,
unrolling
volunteering
to be priceless, free of debt to any mind, if I dare
declare free verse flows in free channels,
not in ditches and plow rows.
To the spaced out, crisis dazed masses,
the message here to amuse is:
Mental enemas… ya’ll need some, a series,
-with castor oil and epsom salts cocktails interspersed
– it takes a week, wait to start until you
– have some place prepared to process
– the pureshitistical facts that shall flow from you,
– individually and as a whole,
– whole whole things you never believed
– you ate, because every body else was.
knock the lying bugs from your soft belly,
allow the gentle digesters of meat their own
mindful chewing, practical rumination,
looking up with caring consideration
for patterns in the heavens, day and night,
polite lies
abnormal structures
corruptions of language
filteringsof nasty words
purities in the mind of society, we all
politely lie.
– not here, that’s the point –
poets are real beings,
born, we seem to know, as these
abnormal structures
mortal minds trapped
in a friendly universe rending me
from my muddled mind finding you on
the edge reached
before I slept,
after the miles I had to go, to know
now
here, is where we wait to be, passing
time on earth, waiting to be
better by a measurable
test reproof. Saying I am crazy, reminds me.
poets are real
being perhaps as real as any messages
reality posts
previous to memories,
magi-tech,
systems of marks with meaning,
signals implementing action on the
meaning in the marks
or noises of certain sounds, patterns
fractalcality practicality, as above, so below
core of bone, to ashy flattened skin of us, rising as dust motes… in any glaring light.
Scary particles scatter in a googlilook hook…
Except that there might be.
Take parasites, for instance.
The single-celled Toxoplasma gondii,
which is transmitted by cats,
forms tiny cysts in the brain
of all its mammalian hosts,
including humans, where it then hangs out indefinitely.
And Toxoplasma warps the brain,
at least in mice;
while uninfected mice instinctively fear
the scent of cats,
Toxoplasma infection
makes them slightly attracted to it, …
admin interrupt ai call
{no resistance, say it proves truth makes free
could work if we get the algorithm right}
…
Toxoplasma doesn’t have exactly the same effect on humans –
most humans don’t have
an instinctive dread of cats –
… infection still correlates with risk-taking
and mental disturbance.
From https://www.varsity.co.uk/science/9627
It is crazy what we accidently know we believe.
My mind’s benign parasite….
Yow, zer, sure as shootin’,
we made that leap,
the big’un
Kant-ianical mech-animism,
built in
via TV, psi-fi, all the ideas a hive-home
needs, set in order of statistical use
on days between
days that go wasted as if nothing occurred
to be etched for ever in the cloud’s
ever expanding ROM RAM and ridiculously brief
spans of attention,
to little itchy twitch jerks of recognition,
memo-izable, as
on days when poetry drips from trees.
Those in-between days
bhor no fruit of note, bha-
nada accounted life changing, better or worse.
Imagined encounters including touch and news
of a personal perspective on current affairs,
those are imagined, yet, still, fixed
in propriety, no discomforting
issues seeping beneath ever increasing gaity,
masks off!
No,
no, nevermore, the bare face grinning,
mask that foul mouth,
stifle all that would sneeze, auto-immunity
accidently
in the confusion at the end of time.
Do we really
think in terms of standard deviations?
Is there an average man, wombed or un?
Is there a typical life in a typical tale told,
typically to children, who hold it true,
usually through puberty,
though stochastically, as points are sorted,
as anomalies riding other waves,
seven dimensions of difference suffice,
through proven and proven again Pareto
distributions,
80/20 baby, them’s the odds,
wanna bet?
C’mon, one thin dime….
Ever as the spinning thing, this flipping dime,
liberty bhering no torch beside an open door,
stylin’ a jaunty Phrygian freeman’s cap,
mark of one who bought liberty,
by binding the battle ax on the flipside,
branches pruned for bhering fruit,
these bind the ax, the fascists idealized meta
bondage of evil’s ever present sufficiency
remembered, not for glory.
Whose image and superscription is this?
Who added wings to the Phrygian cap?
Maria Mitea 1d
They Hoped
to find a balance between the feeling of uselessness
and that of the need to fight,
between the certainty of inevitable failure
and the inevitable imperative,
Every life crises lead to self-division. If we are leaving in an ongoing crisis we are continuously approaching life from a space of self-division. This is when life becomes a burden.
— here, take it, to insure prompt service.
Ken Pepiton commented: This is a pivotal reality, ever formed from the substance of things hoped for, one said to the other as they journeyed on.
From https://hellopoetry.com/home/
Sure it is, ancient, old as I may imagine, rightly
stood the test of time, this oath I used to get this far.
Richer or poorer, ’til death doth part us,
or
we change our minds… forget the idea become
alone
Free from all the worth of two,
cold and lonely through longer nights,
longer and longer
nights
lingering,
was this in the plan, son of man,
did this day have a task that was the good
I would do,
by being
old, and good for little, unless, this is the best
day of my life,
so far,
but…. but… but, three buts start the engine,
then
we ask who’s crazy? We got the motor runnin’
we got the shotguns and the lies,
we got hate and masks,
we take’m by surprise…
romantic holiday… blow ’em all away.
Hey! STOP. You with the gun, don’t imagine
I am lying.
I said stop, you can’t do that.
He stopped. It felt miraculous, after word,
it just
felt right. He needed a signal, not a hero.
Had he needed a hero,
I’d be fifty years dead. Had I said nothing,
I’d be fifty years dead.
Hyper links trust the links
AI is in licensed to efficiency of tool use,
McLuhan’s Law The Medium is the Message.
{Massage dammit I know}
AI say waddabowthis:
In Greek majuscule (uppercase)
JESUS = ΙΗΣΟΥΣ
5 is the number of “grace”
in the symbolism
of numbers in Scripture.
{I’ve no idea if that is true,
though I always felt it smelt fishy, this next is:}
The 5 Greek words
ΙΗΣΟΥΣ Χριστοζ, Θεου ϒιοζ Σωτηρ
form the acrostic phrase
“Jesus Christ, God’s Son Savior,”
taking first letter in Greek from each word makes the word “fish”: Iota, Chi, Theta, Upsilon, Sigma = ΙΧΘϒΣ (ichthys), FISH, which became an symbol for Christ and a secret symbol for identifying Christians.
From https://www.agapebiblestudy.com/charts/LETTER_NUMBER_EQUIVALENT.htm
Like, Gimme a Jay!
Not one Iota is not God-breathed!
Enough, and enough to share.
A little bit extra, useless to hoard,
unless you are the dragon, or worship
dragon lore as to how riches are gotten
and how
the horde is to be guarded
by faithful worshippers of Puff,
yes, first dragon introduced, in song,
come, all ya’ll, sang alon sang sang
Puff, was not a hoarder,
not that I recall; and there was Cecil,
prior to Puff, Cecil the sea serpent was
a dragon no St. George would slay.
Entire psychological arches flatten,
there is no motive to horde shiny things
that sparkle and gleam and catch the eye,
Was ist das, Ich muss es haben, ach! Caw,
the crow is thinking,
why is this strange to humans, this
attraction to the shone,
ah,
all that glitters is not gold,
all that’s known is not necessary.
Good fortune is one way they say,
no aim of my own,
no plan I made and executed flawlessly.
No, no, this good life,
mine, that miserable people cannot imagine,
actual
happy old man, with all you might call sin,
taken care of,
its stains washed Oxyclean away,
whiter than scarfaced snow,
even gets out stains from the green grass
of Afghanistan…
Alternated or alternated alter native
alter I alter you alter we
may being now ours to empower at will,
– place sane on the alter –
it’s temporary,
choosing, once, then nevermore or
once and once again
either next is possible or this is the last line.
— I got Korean Scifi on Netflix, calling my curio —
Imagining is an okeh thing to do.
Helps time pass, like checking for likes,
imagining 8 billion,
like, you’re God.
Not everything has that epic ring of truth
for the ages,
old as the sages,
and told until we all can make up worlds
where ever has a reason
we need only learn to know,
slow and steady as they say, at the speed
of thought,
or answered prayer.
Boldly at the throne,
acknowledging the idea that is good,
not the good
this good or that good
theirs or ours or yours or mine, just
as yoostabe so
good.
Good, the true way through life, live on.
Y’know, y’know and there’s no shame,
it clicks
life fits you, at the moment, you’re okeh,
you are the mind imagined enabled to make
peace with an enemy at a glance,
see
they sparkle like those vampires in the movie,
and become human like you,
at a thought you thought.
Thus peace is made, a little bit at a time.
Imagine that.
How small a bit your difference is,
thanks for the smile, behind the mask,
I saw it in your eye.
There never was a time,
when I’m aware
there,
when trusting no one was good advice.
Advice itself is seldom good, if life is being as it is
when I’m aware,
here when definitions are twisted for no reason,
sc’ools all do it, make it causal acustomalic
so it costs t’learn each lesson,
that
becomes the game,
life
adapts –
the good get better.
Default fallback position in any quest,
be the hero in your story or the story is a lie
you believe;
and you believe it has a hero who is not you.
Then one option is
be the clown who survived the last time.
Choices. Myriad. Take the step, do the next…
It is my real life where I turn off pathos
and ethos and allah that reason
warring, we once called
tolerance…
absolution… tolerance
djagitit is Korean, I just heard a hero sayit
on Netflix, did you get it? Like,
the joke.
Same look on his face, i’damade if idabin him,
djagitit?
inanate jest, the temporal version, like DMT,
on tap.
aha
Deep psyche teleos vision, supported by AI
translation, so the acting
is art, Kubuchi and beyond, drama for the ages,
for a season,
in a time, we may visit,
any visitation day, when visitors take time
to entertain strangers,
make a frown turn around, like in Sunday School,
It did work that once I tried it.
– it always works, it’s like apples in eyes –
Drama draws us even far apart
we see we
see we see
same same most things
after crossing the now lying line
whom did you trust,
you were a child, when trust was good.
And dimes were symbolic,
and silver, from our mine…
forms a thread unbroken to this day
Faithful companion, sharer of mein brot,
betimes, we lieve be what we lief
and naught’s the much we do about it.
Other times,
we change every thing, like in the stories of
times compression first impression what
would matter, what would not?
we land each day in a new,
with all we may carry from the old,
we do not live as refugees, nor nomads.
we live as dweller on the edge,
once cut off and scarred, scared, too,
no signal
there, is that Che, or Jesus
sublimbic snakey lick look some same
in a profile
Jesus or Che, I can’t say, lemme see it again,
like in fleecing, show me again. Use a wish.
All of this on a dime?
Is it a partnership, if wheat gets more than us?
Ask the cows.
Ask the crows.
Ask the old man says he knows.
First or last, it always ends with good we hoped for
finally winning,
a few generations down the line,
we tap into the source of witty invention
and we innocently infect the at most fears, in the stats,
just below D’Israeli’s damned lies.
He had three categories,
but he was too polite to mention some things,
those were polite lies, back then,
like when Clinton was asking not to tell…
The honor of the office, yes, yes, oh yes
of course
’twas evahbody knows,
’twas tarnished time and ag’in…
still there was that golden door, refurbished
come and see,
we the people free, represented by our idea
libertas,
as depicted with the torch at the gilded door,
or the winged capped libertine on old dimes,
or in freedom’s pose atop the capital dome.
Liberty, is that the exam?
Am I examined, as in judged for my liberality?
Oh, my.
I should just die…
nonono don’t say that, live a little deeper
in the context
underlying the common senses, see, it is true,
growing old is hard to do right the first time,
and you get one try.
So we cheat. We asked, via good ol’ Job,
we all relate, so we asked when he asked,
Hey, basically Job say,
to the God being featured in that story,
you don’t know what flesh really feels like,
it hurts, boils and backstabbin’ and kids dyin’,
that all hurts
bad,
and you, acting like Zeus or some story story god,
have you considered my servant,
servant, right, this ain’t the way a good god does servant,
you know,
we need a referee, yesiree, we do, we need a daysman
betwixt us,
one’s been tested as we,
in the body, out of the body, every hellish test we
have imagined sharing that pain,
sometimes,
until it kills the teller of the tale and only the tale
remains being told by who ever is listening this closely,
at the time. This was common
then the peacemakers began to manifest, as it were
loaves of loafers, good for little more than making
ways to make days seem
more worth living through than wishing through,
wish for a few dollars more,
or just a plain old Jubillee,
which, if you can receive it, is…
other wise jiggle the antennae.
