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R Arora Mar 2016
Isn't all this,
That we do,
Just a sheer waste of time?
All this could finish right there,
The earth could end,
With a sign nowhere.
What is the purpose of this?
We all are born,
We all live, we all survive,
We all struggle,
And a few shine,
When this could end any moment,
Isn't all this a sheer waste of time?

Why do we work hard,
If unsung we all have to die;
Why is it so difficult
To say goodbye?
Does reincarnation really take place?
Or is this planet actually,
Just a figment of somebody's imaginative space?
So much of hard work,  
Is put into those inventions.
Life is pretty complex,
With all those tensions.
What if the the world had to end,
At this very time,
Before you could even read this line?

This is all so purposeless,
We are fighting with our inner selves.
We are completely oblivious
Of what's out there;
About the big picture,
We have no clue,
We don't even think about such stuff,
Since we are busy with our own blues.
Caring for somebody,
Or letting out a whine,
If no one is listening,
Isn't all this a sheer waste of time?

What if our prayers are not heard,
Rather, are merely coincidents?
What if the moments we wish for,
**Are already destined to happen the next?
Trying to see the big picture... I had planned to finish off the ****** of 'A Study in Pink', but this happened first.  
Here's something insane that I thought:
The obstacles in our lives are like prime numbers; we do not know when we would stumble upon one. ;)
Viper Nov 2010
In the darkness I feel the cool comforting embrace

the reality is I invited the demons that I chase

over grown with the thoughts of days gone by

the dove of peace can no longer fly

the moon beams have become my sun

all good things left undone

living just to live another day

all the dreams I had, now given away

on my face a smirk apears

amidst the lines from all these years

I worked hard to get where I am at

no suprise I feel like a tire gone flat

I will always be the awful taste that never leaves

the lurking doubt that confuses and decieves

you know me all to well and it's not by coincidents

I am your lack of self confidence
Copyright Viper 11/23/2010
Ken Pepiton  Dec 2023
Ursala 1969
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
Knowledge friction, war stories
told five generations deep,
to the future where Ursala made you
curious enough to swallow a thought.

Meta, after all ready, phor filling,
as with allegory and parables, bits
of wish and wonder ifery…
inner world building time to think.

Here to there is very far, by virtue
of our common measure, from…

seafoam unnoticed, save in stone…
quantum foam in all at once done, set

Sit with me,
tell me if you know
why some folks are free as me,
and others are bound in reasons
old as opposing force used for bubbling.

See us thinking, unspoken words, but
words, still, continuous thought held
as tiny bubbles
along swirlumphants hardwired
with science of the certain inner sort,
the ways of wise ones, learned thinkers
who recollect the processed thoughts, say

listen, if there were a way peace was made
once, were there these thoughts we think now?
Bubbling in my soul, they said, back when?
How is peace released inside the storm?
Chaos 70 facets deep, same idea, resist order.

The experience acknowledged, chaos of cream
in caffeine , f'eine, eh, so we'd've known, by now.
First peaceable thought spared ignorance today.

We be in our own bubbles of being, foaming now.

If we were once thought God's big joke.

Melvin Redsocks, the fat, queer kid.
Boy Scout, Union 76 pump jockey suicide.
Trauma drama life experience, done.
Let me imagine being you, no,
you know, dead men don't reman the same,
reimagining a child's mind, remains
something, an art, a formula, per
haps…
co instants re co noticed, yes, that person,
that mind thought this were we in tune to time.

Bubble bound, poli-mere, essence-initial wall,
signal zero beat
line to cross, twister to pass through, on this level.
Timing tuning through the noise, seeing all things flow.
Mental muscle, musty mold, crusty granite green
wet November fungal bloom, foaming coincidents
electrical analysis laxloossschu iiclysis o'uses we's
discerning freedom's bubble form, cosmic wind
spinning…past the past poor Melvin was in,
we realize
a
hormonal braking idea, a geared pineal whisper,
slow
thinking things think thoughts are listening prayer.
Cause cream is lipid, resistance is related to hot and cold.
What you comprehend, bubble-wise, you hold true.
Grease slick on the puddles in the drive way salt.
-colors I knew a painter who painted miniatures of
Some old ideas, self evident to landed men, in consort
at the inspirited metatask-tization nationalized as this
version of the grand aspiration to be of one mind,
republican rectitude balanced on gravities ego.

What you learn you know, that's life, now…
in matters of value.
Love me some o'dem balyous. Bacavaca'saltmeat now.
More all you knows, to go on, win. Shibboletm'***

What's a thought worth. Unthought.
Clear con
science confidence, psy why come, go gnosis see\
'snot
life's tricks, time and chance,
there you are,
here I was, thinking we can make up minds.

Bubbles in seafoam. Seen from the basin
at the edge of the salt.
Sold we loose the salt sown on our soil.
Seeming we become the testing grounds, run on.
Salt was said to ionize any quest. As my sacrifice
I lost my salt, and left it to mark the way I went.

I put the photo
on Meta somewhenanowagonon 'won run on will to

Keep on, holding
a certainty too far to fathom from the top.

Fo' a long time, emnity and me, we run on,

way back long now, 200 jahreback'ld be 1723,
tough winter in this same world, then lit by fire.

No matches low men could be allowed to use, yet.
This long before then, in the east…
Fire works brought laughing dragons daun wu wei, then
in the land that tamed the Khan, in those days,
simultaneous cultural bubble, gurgle
gut level, listen, all neurons on, skin, prickle, **** clench
ankle to toes, tighten, listen, mirror then…
Cold. Peace is easyier, if you are sure of winter warmth.
And basics.
Fundamental satisfaction, wait, winter out state, inside.

Exhale, stretch and wiggle and half hiccup… and breathe
release, loose, let it go.
We have smelled musty ourselves, we know errors
as well as any messaging mind devised
in everwasery times.
- the heat depends
- on reality, we need friction, fitslips
Knots in sense since whenning was a way we do
grindwhinesohighwe all never listen any more, it is all noise.
Listen to the ten thousands whistling ever changing times.
If you resist the wind,
you lift off, as dust thou art, and so on…

We fly in a single reader's mind loosed to feel free as a word.
This is publishing, posting in a public place, to be thought thinkable once...
Pogues on low in the background... in this ever after,
Ken Pepiton May 21
Some shapers of mankind, the generally intelligent
tool making creatures making art for art's own sake.

Fixing mind and matter,
mixing now with how and why,

knowing from experience why is not a factor.

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

Mistaken grace, lucky chance, living in 2025
anywhere with survivable weather,
and flowing water to carry away filth,

pay attention, this is why we dig new courses
human events start getting too easy attracts flys

-------------------- 2

Image imagined, seed
form preformed per chance,

a thought, one with you and I
in it for the minute we were passing

I saw you, I think you glanced.

Hello, is this that plan of love, the God
of all the goodness ever invested in kings,
whose proprietary ordination empowers
the sword granted … whereby to rule

to the glory of absolute authority, and law?

Or is this core memory aching, akin
to kindness feeling second hand shame

mostly for the fine Babylonish garment…
----------------------- 4

Customary process, central casting,

fishing for mindforms, mental being things,
essence of otherwise, tutelary chronicles,

proverbs and bywords, warnings and courage,
core rational portion from the produce pursued.

Literary realms, creations formerly used,
to attract a curious sort of personage,

storage, stacks and stacks and stacks of books,
accessible… by chance, by my own good graces
sakes taken alive,
in time, ink thinking, clouds of knowing, gracious
sakes alive, indeed, who could ever even imagine

such a time as mine. Me, the author and finisher,
of my own reverent worth, in terms of uses made

of things I made up.

Guesses, guessed again, and again, reasons used
rations consumed, lacunae and palimpsests,
who sweeps away the ideas invested
in ploys for fishing men, the working mind kind,

writer ready honed most point, practically,

perfect middle being, in terms imaginably infinite.

Average day on Earth,
depends on connecting strands,
boomer children in rural America
emperically accepted radio as natural.

True, think back, watch headlines and hit parades,
and roll back to the Arkansas that prospered,
Tyson chicks and Perdue feed, chicken sheds
rental, 'swhat we got, and all the chickens we et.

-------------------- 16

Industrialized agriculture,
terraforming Earth, some wise,
ways and wise al ways was one idea,
right ways and wrong ways one idea, true

right is the hand that writes, or throws, or hits.

From the center, which, despite poetic otherwise,
does hold and emanate mental imagining in letters.

Let us leave off judgement, guaging worth in time,
or frontal cortex costs on each beat through old arteries,

Leave well enough alone. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Who needed such a proverb, as a child?
Who benefits from letting this mind seem, literal,
words in sequence intending happening actual
re always as one thinks one is happens
to seem coincidents, ala, I knew it!
I was just thinking about death,
and wham, I thought about somebody
dead, because it's
in the news memorialized, that day, we all,
you all knew, as I did, dead poets, distractions,
look away, child, look away, do not behold
old drunk Noah confessing his dismissal,

how Ham offended the exceptionalist Model A,
after the admixture of Tubal and Jubal in Naaman,
Sybils all the wives on the ark, carried the talent 2.0
hnnnhmmhnn who knew first, hmmmm
in the red tent tellings, whose smiles
became signals known only to wombed men,
re veil the nobel lie, call it novel, new autism 3.0
singing stories did occur,
with no words, no spelling,
birds not too distant, up
in the tree we wonder under.

Then if Eve had been En'eduana,
should we wonder
who invented secret messages seeming let be
good, new thing,
new experimental evidence,
we see, all at once
on ten thousand streams
a second,
at our own experiential can you
act as if may were always your word

imagine, how the internet was intended to function,
can your ontology logically link Turing and Von Neuman
via Genesis to the last verse in Revelation?

Imagine, that. After a pause,
a sprite speaks softly yes.

The excuse
for Babel, was written
after Babel was pre-served,
all that was of any merit, deemed
all after must hold true as written
selected… from the smelting ***, ore,
stone stew bubblin' in m' soul, iron core

after all, as were all, save a certain immensely
exceptionalist form of groupmind conservation

be very sure, we're saying mere what if, say

Mohammed was described as saying, truth. He said
Eber's language, ever being so very certain truth works,
-- secrets kept from children for no true good reason,
-- some things are right better in secret, sacred is that…
-- just between us, oops, better re alized public worth
truth, used, makes free… so what
body bound, Earth bound, carnal mindshare industry
entertaining strangers, unawares, prime message…
brought before your meaning seeking mind, may
is might in first person,
may is your word now,
is that legal to believe/ ;awinker init.

256 ----------------------- on time paid a bit
attention's worthit init, having some t'pay it wit'


--------------------- saved to exit

From- any instance,
any at all, instantly once, whence
any stored ad libs liberally worship

sharing a valuing system, worth's measures
made kid friendly, no lying allowed, local true
prodigies, spelling contest winners who knew
eureka means, I found it, eu is joy, the emotion.

Now, remind those living after 2025, anywhere,
not Mars, that, we may as well imagine doing here,
recovering life on Earth, before our usefulness expires.
Well if the press is free, we should make thinkers use it while breathing...
Norbert Tasev Mar 15
They put the man out of the big whole, that you. Try to cultivate the time of mortality. Inside, in the manipulated one-depth of the soul, the happy-sad dust of the past decades fluttering as sand. Because eternal moments would be good to adhere to the storage of cell-molecules, like Velcro fasteners or magnets. After forty, big harvesting begins; Thus, who tries to collect the fruit that was deserved in the way of serving crickets, or even enthusiastic ants, even what they thought could be sacrificed.

Coincidents were hanging on robbery chains, as they could have been able to stand the day -to -day pressure differences, which would have been good to compensate. The signs of life are already reflected in vain by the witnessed footprints, and the earthworms are furthermen, who are aware of the more true significance of the floods.

A thin clearing gap between our crowded feelings is increasingly rarely attacking; Secret, guessing Vates movements only rarely sing. Wherever you go, you are surrounded by obstacles, bad, unobtrusive fences everywhere in your life, which you may not be able to get rid of.

The unprotected victims dance at the edges of the gaps; Thick anniversary rings hiding in the year -rounds still hide the values ​​of our mortality. Time now, with increasingly uncertain charge, click-and-tongue in the century! - Anti -falsifying dazzles play with the diodes of the inner vocals that can be used, which we may even forget to show ourselves.

The hope of returning is still under the surface, but there is no one who finds it, holds it, comfort it with sincere, fearful will, and wants to take care!

— The End —