Great tasks and lazy men seem mis=paired,

As quark-like whispy intangible things are

Spiritual — I was saying something spiritual

which is ineffable

Otherwise, I ‘d have said it.

A cliché, say, says great tasks demand men of great preparation.

Agree. Click. Are you experienced. This is the trial of all the while.

How were you prepared to give a reasonable answer to Everyman who asks a reason for the faith in you? Ill will-prepared you to believe nothing is real, how does that feel?

Like a stone rolled away right over you,
crushed your whole Being like a bug.
You feel like the bug, not the stone.
That was just a lie.

Rise up, O men of God! Trumpety Roman hidden hand thrust up.

Thrush in the bush worth two in the pan.  Kiss the Son with

Lips that rhyme bush with thrush, then mimagine the song you were given to sing

As we sing

Everything is getting better. It’s getting better all the time.

Is heaven part of forever? After we get past the shell of Nineteenth century Colloquial cussings of Christ’s faithful innocents and the rantings of the abolishers of sin and iniquity through sheer force of force of force of…

What? Will-worship?

The mob mind joined, willfully offering
individual minds integrity  and power
bolstered by being herded into agri-cultural-ization Zeitgeist mind-meld-molded
lovers and servants of Clear Plastic
Citified-shill Shield walls to man the barricades con
barrack-aided sick souls runnin’ on hope,
who don the triumphant rouge chapeau, worn by Brueghel’s happy peasantry,
who built the tower in Babel BTW, the peasants, Pieter only painted hats he thought they woulda worn.
Some two hundred years ago,
When Reason reared it’s ugly head,
then ag’in a century later men were
Swaering (swearing and swaggering) there’s no way men were
ever created equal in any way.

Science-ual men declared the evidence is otherwise, the self-evident truth that justified
the falsely-so-called knowledge acted on by jefferson n’franklin n’them,

That was just a lie. There’s no reason for America any more.
They think that.

After we evolve or awake (depending on the paradigm), our reality, our ex-ist-ance evolves and offers involvement

As a pass time, while we wait.

No attention payer owes worry a far thing, volving
Taxes discernment dearly. Wait. Don’t involve yourself.

Finish the tale.

It has become confusing.
Nay, say this is where the confusion began, and go on
There is so much more than has been told, not In parables,
but plain-old as it happened-to-happen and, may haps,

this here is why. Or that is why this is at all. America, in our minds, I mean, like a Dream grown from a seed no one ever planted before Ben, back when

America-as-we -wish-it-were was born.

Fused fragments of reliquated minds burned out in bright flashes of

Eurekas and ahas and Jah-who-provides-ways exclaim-ations

Shame, shame on the liars who said
Time and chance they did a dance and every thing we know as so was,

So what are you here for? Living or dying?

Determined not to kill my kind, I find no others.
I lay my weapon down and walk away, in my vision,

The meek inherit the earth where America was always imagined to be.
You’ll see. Follow me.