profess
propose
suppose we
offer referrals to a higher mind,
putting proper prices, appraising cost
charged to know the way from here,
– not to there, where your suspicion
– finds a common thought with several
– as seen, as shown, as known whatifery
– faces, facets reflecting…
In spurts and starts, first mastery lesson, slow
clutch situations depending
on old as-best-us brake linings
known to cause cancer,
smell it, you can tell, that smell
can kill the fool who causes it,
failure to suspect prior inspection, did I,
did we, did anyone ever know how fast
we fall
professional pushers suspect we may try
to fly, why
not.
Push off the usual suspects, assume we see
such patterns mean
out to a mellow average once minds more mature
learned all this,
for absolute truth’s only sake, goodness known.
Once.
War, is where a warrior learns its craft, obey,
accomplish victory or be deemed worthless,
save as fertile reminders. Remind me,
why am I asking you?
– you know I think.
– I think you know…
Many years ago, in this life’s ledger, lies
a link to a project, never rejected,
unpresented intentionally waiting,
for you to take the time to learn to rest
in bits and fits and spurts and starts,
all parts of a given day,
all wit invented to see professing confessors
listening for flaws in lines listed as true,
to the touch, first point pricks the shell,
if all about me roils in ebullient foam,
thus far,
no further, roll
back appraisals of smiley faces and see
the machine, behind the process,
once a home business, spinning fiber to thread,
now the back left hand corner of the oldest Walmarts,
threads and textiles, for the hobbiest,
weaving a basket to hold the next head,
whistling as I work, not wondering if I care
or care less,
whose head fills the finished basket,
secure is the weaver in this picture, known-ing
knowing
heads shall fall,
and each needs a basket to contain the brains.
- plant a thought in a promise, compromise,
- surmise a thought so shaped to pierce
- need, needs be sharpened, honed, honest.No fixed point missed, misery, waste of life, piece of
gnonsense, useless weed, in the furrow of we,
the people who hold certain,
as if we may lay our claims out plain to see,
so they may flee,
who lived to see,
There is a second chance coming, come and see.
I said that, but
it may have been a spirit, spitting an image
of suspicion.
Who trusts whom in such situations, early
morning wanderings in lessening the load
left to fill the train hauling
gnonsense, useless weed ideas, luxury highrise
rooftop gardens, remember, by the sea,
we had it made,
we made it pay, yes, the bet…
blessed are they who pine for right use, tight
construction instructions pile higher and higher…
reach up and be as good as god would wish you were,
if you were not such a go-dammed loser.
———————– slip away —-
“Estimates of the number of people trapped in forced labor vary. The International Labor Organization says 21 million people are victims of forced labor globally, while the Global Slavery Index says there are 36 million slaves in the world, half of them in India.”
From https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/machines-2017
Who said “nobody’s right, if everybody is wrong”?
-Stephen Stills, hmmm, what if
something right from the left
side of the outside of me,
right minds solute, salute,
solvation shown, good known
and absence noted, as evil known.
All good to consider, sidereal.
Look up and wonder if the order
is only visible,
using knowledge formed in
curios obedience to urgence.
Is there a way to change the use you/I/we
make of science,
personally?
You know? We know some things in common,
and many things you know, I don’t.
But this is life on earth, if you look up you see
what I see,
from one POV, not mine,
thine,
see,
I am an old man and I have daily more moments,
to pause
and ponder, if I knew
what I know now, having reached the space in time
having habitual urges to oppose
lies about eternity based on things we do
now, know,
come and see, said the rabbi to me, and a couple
of essenes, with those rules, see
they did not know whence this man came, nor whither
he makes his abode.
Ohm agod ohmagod oh
stop stop pause, what
if
we are the ones who waken sleeping angels, right?
we on earth when California legalized acid,
we aware of noncarnal weapons mental deployment,
Jesus Bombs, and Shiva Heel Smash, Pseudo-sci-psi-psy
Logical progress aggressive active wawa washery was we
slipped my mind come-pletely, we were making a connection,
a point.
yes, a node, cathode, to the otherside of the sign, signal send
saved in time to broad spectrum feeling in the wind,
answers un sought,
I am found, aha, of them that sought me not and my job, by jove,
is making peace, amusing as that seems in times of pending
spiritual warfare…
as Mortal Kombat is to the event, begun in a bar,
taken outside,
I walk away, says my door-gunner, saddle-bronc-rider friend.
I walk away,
singin’, don’t take yer guns t’town, son, don’t take yer guns t’ town.
they got us surrounded, paranoia sweeps pasts past, for one
last look.
That’s how we got here, now the map is the meaning.
This is life to a reader of this line.
This is life breathing air I breathed, with no intention,
breathing is why we live, we filter evil efforts
used to take breath away and force disgust,
smelling the subtle smells,
for these tasks, we adapt dogs, and pigs,
but the science is the same see we have a detector,
to detect if the dog or pig is putting us on,
they do it at la Migra stops all the damtime, dog jokes.
My dog told me.
When do we ever learn?
Ever.
Ever started, some time ago,
that is how you know,
you know, so
you ever did learn, once
this, at last. Just now.
Aluette,
shuffle, Oros trumps Bastos,
in this hand,
this is a one hand game, right,
-shift-
we know the rules, Tubal makes the chains,
Jubal makes instrue-mental muse receptors,
let us imagine,
we pray,
say
Na’amah, she shall be the holder of the story,
in the fluid form of winds intuned to minds
in states open to the knock knock on the yoke.
Take a link, be enchained to me in total abandonment
ment mental enticing inner sense of you, yourself,
minus I, aiaiai, can’t take joke, yokel.
— ¿listen if I paused to yodel a prayer down the abyss
— would you find it something you could do, if you wished?
So many dances never seen, nor imagined in wilder dreams,
pattern their flow on rivers and clouds,
or winds on white or amber waves of grain,
dust of corn, kiss of mystery, show us all we need to know.
- - - - - - -I learned of this concept, listening prayer.
But I learned very little, due to my being
a notable inspirational prayer, oft asked to bless the feast.
Short lines here
long lines there, architecture mind bridges past the last
missed stair,
breathe
tradition in my realm is breathing
is easy if you’ve a reason,
right-thinking whole brain team effort function
reason as
the name of that, exspelled, describbled,
is effectual joy-used fervency emoted prayer.
not religing, but breathing in the good air, passing out
and waking here as if this is the next line,
who is khubla khan?
— Coleridge and the penetralium verisimilitude —
way back
tours available wherever alte vista search spiders
hold councils for the new insights
from plants to programmets
House of Rain
Tracking a Vanished Civilization
Across the American Southwest
by CRAIG CHILDS
From https://orionmagazine.org/review/house-of-rain/
Margie, my octogenarian Chaco Canyon fan,
reviewed by DAN FLORES
No one writing about the American Southwest
these days
has wormed
into the kernel
of the place like Craig Childs,
or been a biped across more of it.
But I was dubious about the premise
of his new House of Rain,
simply because
for most of us enthralled
with the Southwest the “mystery”
of the “vanished Anasazi” is no mystery at all.
Or perhaps it’s a riddle
on a par with strolling through a city like Mérida,
in the Yucatán, surrounded by tens of thousands
of Mayan Indians,
and looking over their heads
to wonder what
in the world happened
to the people who built the pyramids
of Chichén Itzá and Uxmal. What happened
to the Anasazi?
Well, forty or fifty
of them offered
to sell me turquoise jewelry
on the plaza
in downtown Santa Fe just yesterday.
From https://orionmagazine.org/review/house-of-rain/
Basket ball started here, eh,
the winner is made sacred and fed to god?
So, if I wish to win, I am erring,
I failed this test the first time,
Some -day, maybe, umonopoly-
where winning in the evil way
is impossible,
yes,
the game is an exercise in goodness
within the rules,
–now take this class of most valuable
things, find a sigil for those, we see
A as a bulls head,
I have heard it said, Beta is a test
¿¿Βϐ??
symbol for first to take his share,
the bull of the woods among bull breeding
class-
classify me mad, I can’t be loved locally,
there is an abyss between my wespacialstate,
and my mortgaged real estate.
I accept money for attention paid to worth,
but what is the attention I pay worth?
I am only the only survivor,
last persimmon on the branch.
Stop, the waste of words, that prove to you,
I know, more or less, the same language
this is written in, enough
so if I were an angel,
a spiritual entity in the form of information
type
stop. Tele-graphos, but mental ditty dum dum dirty
you think you
think you think
and that
begins
a cascade of ifery we all may imagine in our time,
meta data
adding interest to attention paid
prior to
apriori, all this was here, way back and we
knew not the cost of a gallon of gasoline
until 150 years ago,
or so.
Oh, child, there is easily fifty years of learning
on wide open, smiling whale, plankton grin,
winking image on a cross,
a gleam in the eye of little wrinkled wombed man,
who prevented my bloody gnoses,
Kenny, stop pickin’ your knows.
Hmm, y’see an errot there,
do ya now?
Do tell, do you think I saw it too, and left it for you.
Have you never read that question,
know ye not that we shall judge angels?
How much more.
it is writ,
this is it, this is the only word of good I know,
and it seems
sunset beautiful, unique, nothing unspecial at all,
perfect flawless, seeing of the transition,
day becomes night,
no enemies surround us, no deviants are discerned,
all
we think together is thought real,
and we have only just
begun
to get the drift in certain sorts of poetry, appearing
arrhythmic,
O, the explorer hero, eh, you think you know
Magellan?
Columbus?
Crockett ‘n’ Big Mike Fink? Heroes of the wild frontier.
— here, I’ll tell you a tale,
go learn to read,, ha, joke, you read this far, you know
what Mohammed refused to learn, no lie,
don’t com kill me for peace sake, but the very angel,
Jibril, is available,
ask it.
Did Mohammed ever read Galatians?
None of it?
Ah, neither did Joe Smith, I reckon.
Regarding angels of light and other gospels, gn’shit.
