George Washington never saw a funny movie.

Culture had not knitted lightning into now, yet,

when the leaven in my bread was just a ******
beasty idea attempting to pass Jesus is Lord testing

half-way through today, right now, middle
of everything that's going on in and
around the whole internet connected reality,

right now,
we have magic in our qwerty trained brains,
we can recall the music, baddabumbaddabum
baddadabadah bump, p-ting

college prep

learning to type, mechanically, like a machine,

some one far more famous than me,
told me in print that no real poet types.

I found him poetically unqualified to prophecy.

---------------

Mortal passions.
Whiling whole days away,

wishing instances of just this
artful vision made mere words.
Accounted for, line on line.
Actuational responders.
Hello,
World
Initiative, INIT run
plain, lain flat to show one side,
while hiding one side,
and all that lay beneath this
surface, now  still pond holding the sky.

As intelligent, gentled warring monks
and monkeys, chatter in the trees,

solitary man, with an array of antenae,
sending and receiving dry ideas
to be read and rethunk, at once, indeed

as wisdom tends
to evaporate, leaving inklings
traced with artifact and story, back
to when our kind being generates

an instance of on
to logical word forming wills,
breaking branches in harvesting races,

to the victor goes the glory, in story form.

Drama brought from life experience, dared
and done,

for no good reason, at the time, daring devils,
mocking saints, saying in one's reading mind,

this day, have we not come to know, today,
now certain, this one day, we have to be in
and have our own being and breaths in.

No investment.
No skin off my nose.
- went back to Fool's day
- and then back to all in, free

No loss in time's eternity,
ended in the awesome knowing.

All trials in the ready past, ordo,

Seclorum Sanctorum Ordo, aside

ordinarily free visitor alien status,
-not allowed, they say, my status
holding no sway,
as a free spirit, they
no say, in the way things work here,
-crosswind to all good fortune

now was set to be long
before me, or thee,
verily
very mankindish, we may make do
imaginable causal agencies,
amen-emo-pet insurance
points in prepositioned order,
as we meander after looking out
past the creation of the sun,

some say, and may know, but we,
the common sensors on the planet,
amused and amusing others as well,

we are finishing a projected imagination,
the rites of spring, proposed as worthy
of our Fantasia evolution from Fool's Day,
through several saints days and processions,

all about the passions,
all appointed anointed salves
slick as any Bucky ball solutions
to the smooth, slave mind fear, hell,

set the captives free, break every yoke,
find the shibboleths and laugh at those,

not the accents ya'll'll use to abuse,
the speaker who stumbles …
tongue tied
while quoting Cretan poets.

There were twelve sons and six daughters,
first curios learn, we live in the day
of fact checking our mind storms
when old brains reconnect using morphic
resonance once
and again acknowledged, as answers instants
in prayer, willing to say, okeh,
if the creeks don't rise,
we'll plant a garden, when the frog pond drys up.

An Ouranos cycle, is a weather in a world of winds,
no wu wu spiritual side exposed, I supposed

you might, using your may right, make something
of this
besides wars and portioning the gene pool.

Golden rule at the molecular scale,
tiny touch of power, surge across this cloud

containing my April collection bonnets,
and pillows you may dream on,
come what may, that man
who can plan a garden,
that man is good, to have in the pool,
feeling worthy of honor for his learning,

under less than optimum boomer parenting,
too painful to confess, my inner Boer,
warring for a reason to exist, if not as gods

how then
now when we all are authors of our faiths,
we all believe we know we learned some
hard but worth it, ever after, once, done

breath, breathe ing, sigh signing done,
another one bites the dust,
this is us and our mites we are breathing,

all of us, everywhere, all of the time,
no filters in this realm spacetimemind forming
effective material adjustment to the genome,

sowing seeds of kindness, not trampling
grapes of wrath, so aptly universal,

po po pitiful us, with our time spent thus,
dashing off
amunition am unit ion, ized dust in a sneeze.

We are free to unbelieve any lies, ever told.

Adapting re
voluntary reading
to the future, when we've
nothing to do so, sub-con
science frictions call all men liars.

I am by no means chief,
I came from the Calebland Productions,
early Eighties,
Macintosh and Appletalk, and Silicon Beach
grand brainstorms insisting if we heat it
the entire idea of dust as us and our mites…
just willing to revolve with the planets will
enough all those old winds that twisted
like we did last summer,
wind up like
those ones, wow, so real.

Northwest Passage is open, and yet,
none acknowledge life in full control,
something literarily evolving
where the crawdads eat the corpses,
Bayou Blue, Barrios and Pepitons,
cheri mio, we had some fun,
we all sung, on that by
you seem to agree, we won.
we won the evolutionary war,
mankind, wombed and un,
ever so long ago, none knew, we did

but time is a bit of a Ouranos cycle,
looks like a great ocean churning gyre,

of which the last swirling tide reminder
fit to an old spider web designer,
loser backslider
with a gambling wife,
who took a chance on me,
what do we see, but what we get,
generously, love is there
for the looking for,
and for remembering finding, and
really, when a man
from the molds
that made we this kind of old man,

NPC, cast of thousands, assistant to the
assisting intelligence time accounting,
massive messaging, is a thing
are you aware…
your connection can self correct,
your bluetooth can whistle
in your ear,
eh,
we made it up.
The loss, we, laughed and made it all up.

The point of differentiation,
not the point of contention,

the point of no return
continuation relative
to knowing subtle forces

ostensibly contained
in the whole truth,
and nothing but,

to which no doubt,
you are personally sworn,
under penalty of cognative
cacaphonic gnosisnot cough

to reembodeize, embody abide
completely centered, self aware.

Then, the fiber that fuses string
theory and determinism hooks
a loop in time's SYTF problem set,

so the set that made young
Earl Russell paradoxically famous,

from now on, one may learn and learn
from now on, until one disintegrates,
dissipates as cloud forms disperse,
to show us how it works, wooly

clouds meeting the reflected wind,
and the winds from the pacific,
pour down one side of my valley
and up the other side, to make those

parrallel feathery shapes one can watch
form on fine days
with nothing needing done,

if the determinists are right, what matters
if I use my time chosing to bend clouds

into vast wings involved in making me think.

The evidence reviewed, this  a half time later.
"a man can
make up his"
own mind, my, me mine
myme mine mymemine nine iterations,

expand the basic concepts of topological
space time, in the neighbourhood
south of all three bridges into Saigon, on the roof

Make it up, make it all up, and wait fifty years.
Whiteface.
And the mime in the street keeps the beat
silently reciting Kerouakoan streams.
'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom.

Canned Heat, sterno still, sip it,  get back
Beatles became something akin
to a window left open now
fifty years, since January 1969, Radioman
and Tom Green on the Panasonic
music from the other side… the joke
'Look Fred, that man by the road'
Some *** fiend got in print in 1968

Get back, Jack. And that

started the whole world crying,
from the commonwealth to common woe,

-- Interesting times upon us, oh yeh

A hook, in a song,
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong
- ah, allusion, get back, prophecy
- right, fifty years ago today, soon
- Ringo says Forty Million Churchills, back then
or late, lately as the topo-logical-ournearity
gets back to optimum
later there, we were, on the roof
of that old fishnet factory
dangled there before, me,
the deal, if you want it, come and get it
better hurry cause it's goin fast,
ping
ricochet -
Highschool History, 1963,
Forty Million Frenchmen can't be wrong?

What does that mean? I asked
Miss Dinas, who was plump, and cheery,
and she lived with Miss Some-name
I forgot
to notice, due to, the clue
in the way Miss Dinas winked, that one time,
not
at me, when she said
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong.
-- look away
Some squared away artist cries, stop the lies!
Gray-ace, go fish
Wordsworth,
happy soldier character- no, Fernando- a bull
ABBA , not winking - snorting
at me, when she said
feed your head,
autistic community, com-unionize AI
timeandspace
re-
alize the musical, a means of saying things,
silly, silent
hints of splendor in the grass,
and weeds, and black-eyed suzannes,
growing in the road,
Tobacco Road,
down at the end of town, where
skid row hits the river,
long and wide,

milk and Hohner on t'othaside
sharp hone mama
Sioux wee, Sioux e- baby, be my baba now,
Humbaba, guard
my forest
sein, mein, wine and rosy days being wise
in thine own eyes,

as we warned, eh/ wahrrmmmnned edu
mcate edumacation, the deal was…
I was to learn to
become a maker of papermoney clips
from plastic straws on a trus'line, about to rupture
and spill guts
on gumption swallowed whole.
-------------------
Koans and Cohen and all
-- If it had been my will
I'd a been so dead, so long ago, I'd be
as if I'd never been,
-- If it had been my will

True rest, needs a weary mind,
to weigh its worth,
hangdown yo' head, Tom Green, duely done
do tie yer Jimmie Lee Jackson
Bronc Rider Trophy Buckle to m'line
let it out
come think a mile with me, let's
see what come to mind.

--whistle break
-- heads abobbin, we rock on, Sisyphus
the first,
agreed we got the message in the medium
evolved by will worship alone,
rock on, roll on un
aided, no doubt by the spirit advisor
to old Abraham Lincoln's jot on the margin
"a man can
make up his"… hmmm, his own mind, hmmm

wouldjaremind me, what was I thinkin'
"a man can
make up his mind to be as happy as he is…"

Free to be. I think free to be alive, maybe,
Lincoln was athinkin'
as a we, the people agree we do have title right
to life, awe
ja,
and liberty, I suppose, we must define, to refine,
down to the gilt around the frame,
on the back side, wasted glitter, thin film of actual gold
well
I'll be, did you ever see the like, a
con-
jurer or a presti-digital simulacrum truckin' on and on
sayin' come on
sing old songs, ones we ever
learned again
today
what you never thought possible, just a minute
ago,
as we ponder the effect of a silly millimeter longer
rising in a ribbon
past lips of an apple green shade,