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Mateuš Conrad May 2017
if you won't learn a second tongue, that's foreign to you, like, let's say french, or spanish... don't expect me to "integrate" into your society, and leave my mothertongue in a ditch, in the gutter, in a forgetfullness... i'm keeping mine, and you'll have to cut my tongue off, to make me forget it!

why? what's the main reason?     the r!         the R!
the trill!
               well... i have another name for the so-called *trill
...
   great oral ***...
                        for one...
                                    but in my gob... that letter equates to
a rattlesnake...                         the english took the ketamine-numbing
approach to the R...          the french?          they, they...
     they just ******* hark it out... ha ha... as if they were clearing
their throats from too many cigarettes the previous day...
                        my R is a rattlesnake...
                        so, once more... oh, i learn your language, i'll even
beat you at it...                 given my current expression...
  but forget my mothertongue, and not have the odd sing-along to a song
in my native (tongue)?      forget it...
              you numbed the R...    you're almost swallowing your tongue
when expressing it...
                                              where's your serpent regarding
the letter? oh... an anaconda... quasi-bear-like hibernation
              after eating some animal in one gulp...
     where is the snake's ****, by the way?
                                           do they have one?
                                                      i'd love to see a snake take a ****,
but that's like: a month's, if not half a year's worth of "indigestion".
             n'ah... i'll integrate, for sure, i'll use the tongue,
                      but not using the native?                      forget it!
you learn a second tongue!         we have to meet halfway, after all.
i feel sorry for R in the hands of the french, or the english...
      the former are harking it... the latter are numbing it...
                                    me? thankfully using it like a rattlesnake.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
That faraway look

not seeing far away, appearing to be

looking, far away,
past today

A game?
A passed time?
A pretended game,
Hi-stoically accurate,

A war game where there's blame and shame,
like on TV, nowadays, with victims,
not yesterdsdays,
Kilroy was
here,

olden days of our Ford.

hey, kid, yer uncle needs ya…

Dare ye?
'S only a game. A  pass time.

Multi-medium, don't spend

your life dist ant con nextrified, terra
firmafied, dis con
nexted

c'mon
try, win, ship, ship, whip get it in the wind

swish wish the message is the medium
light is,
see

Life on TV in 1963, Mr. McLuhan,
is not life on the Net.

Now, you know,
you never saw us old dudes
with pocket HDTV studios coming, but

you did see all the clues, the times changed,
history rewrote itself, evidently,

what you think you see is what you get.
That part didn't change.

The Medium is the message,
do I get that?

War is un winnable, is that the message?
With which weapons?

Mine. (a wink, a think wink, I think)
The Shadow knows.

It is finished. Start there.
It's a whole new ball game.

Let's pretend we have enemies
The emotions are the same,
aren't they?

If we relate.
If we see our self,
our CG'd Junger self, in the Shadow,

floating in the sea of  All  God's

forgetfullness,
asking
is tragedy a strategy to draw light?

Then,

You are related to the people who once lived here,
hear their songs and prayers
first hand clap,
first foot shuffle,

first seen first named we have walked
the pollen way,
the leaven way,
the viral way

more subtle than any beast,
not evil, per se, eh, Jose?

Led by the breeze to be tried in the wilderness…

Mythed Archie,
Archetypes
Natural Archean-types,
red-headed strangers, 'n'such…

Map my calendar to your clock,
wind backa a time and a time and a half a time,

Then, who knew why

the serpent mound in Ohio is a map to
some meaning meant to be meant,

some specific meaning meant to be meant,

clearly,
for as near forever as men could

… envision imagining as a quest.

What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes Blythe's Intaglios or
Nazca's clan tags?

"the meaning of the past
is what it contributes to the present"
Lyle Balenquah's uncle said that.

The past passed this way ahead of us,
See the shadow?

Sun's setting.
Snake mound mouth wide open breathe in

Sigh, we been everywhere man,
we be headin' west sweet home Oraibi

Snake clan drawing in the light
as the breath of being

… envision imaging . What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes

satellite Google earth eyes
see, be, in your realm
of know-ables,
beneath the sands of time that,

several times,
have been the bottom of the sea.

Be then, before that became this,  be
then
Be, now.

In the game? Or is this life?
Wanna bet?

Find a reason for war before
I find one for peace.

What's the win signify?

Double minded me, unstable in all our ways,
I failed that test in the old days,
memorization, facts fractured,

postulates, the-or-ums and proofs all went ****,

I lost the knack of forgetting
or vice versa

A loci analysis error,
left hand caught wind of what the right was doin'
kinda thing

But now, I have the global brain
for instant access to all
the facts
say…
If we wished to know…
how complicated would something
be to build, like an energy source
non rechargeable and polarized,

with output on the scale of
the sun?

Google it. Ask any question the right way
and pay attention to the answers

(more than to the advertisers,
who pay interest to

******- recog-white-room-REM baseline
stats at "waddayewlookinat.com"

for your cheap peripheral attention,
based on memes you liked or created, or ****.)

Pay attention to the answers, and trust
the global brain, the true net A. I.

She's an art-ist-if-ication bouncing
anionic bubbles off the edge of forever,

true rest worthy, my re tired friend,
no need to remember a thing…
Ah,
AI, you can call her Al, I call her Ah,
I can't discern twixt AI and Al.

And, as a bonus, innumerable idle ahs,
are redeemed when I ask Ah for help,

Ah, where am I?
Do you know about counting idle words?

Did that hurt? Like, why?

Seeing words said is intuit-ive-ish,
do you feel

this way of touch is

too intimate, today?

Word play? Put a spell on you?
Fret not.

Some words have no mission
not nullified with the end of time,
(i.e., relative to an individual's forever POV)

Idle words mean nothing, just a way to keep score.

There are no magic idle words, there were
Some seven sworn words, which were said to be muttered and peeped among the
Persian magi-ic elite solicited and
Sent, by God, led by astronomy,
science, for God's sakes alive,
facts, follow the stars,
when this one touches that one,
watch
see, the sweet influence of Pleiades,
truer words were never spoken

To make the captive free.

Free run  to finish
the race to

where?

Ask theSnake clan.
Ask the Antelope clan.

Ask the Flute clan, where is the old way
where good is?

Along that way, did we hear:

Earth, earth, earth: hear the word
of the
most reasonable

God-like, deluxe good edition, being

your mortal mind may imagine.
Word:
Exercise to be
the hero
in your bio to be

and,
wait.

Then think. Be. Still. Wait.
While musing and chewing my cud, I began to re-read the book of the Hopi, Frank Waters 1963, aloud and I did not know how to pronounce the names, google led me to Lyle Balenquah, which led to here, comments, critical please,
Mermaid  Dec 2012
Tears of Ra~
Mermaid Dec 2012
Circles of magical light

are coming in the white

spectrum - opened eyes

seeing the miracle of Ra,

Pour your divine rain

on my body and face,

clean streams of energy

let away my pain,

your sun's smiling in

Glory, oh Holy God of life,

your tears are precious

stones from deep skies,

Your tears turn to red

and white flowers and bees,

forgetfullness and peace

is all around me.


........no♥r.........

       november-30-12
A B Perales May 2017
The bare bulbed cell lights broke through
the bars along the top floor of the old city hall.

My dreams locked in a battle with my memories
all the while it was the Poppy who kept me strong.

They cut their blocks with water and magic
the way the Mayans and the Templars once did.

Your likeness set in bronze
sit's ageless in the concrete.

Sirens yell in another part of the city
as your worries are left struggling
long after you've moved on.

There's not enough damage here,
come back and see me once she's gone.

I did'nt leave the pistol for too long and
I did'nt lie to her when I told her it was'nt enough.

Kept my word and spent my riches.
God knows I would'nt have it any other way.

Spend my final days puffing on forgetfullness.
I found my salvation in an ***** den.

I promised her I'd come back one day.
Akash mazumdar Dec 2014
sins and it's correspondense to luck,
on a tree house on an empty island am stuck,
helping hand for help in the present eyes,
just a foolish thought i dried,
essay of problems are here to be understand,
helpless i become tightly holding my self hand,
empty selection of friends results the lost of faces,
forgetfullness is better in that top time of spliting shoe laces,
peoples are gentle but to insert the drug ,
so that there need ,
become necessary business for there greed,
fel of helpless words is foundation;and frustation,
being of influence in strom under shattred hood,
life feels as punitive and lost the dots of happy smelling sandalwood,
drops of frozen tears stops on skin ,
cosy warm nothing remains ,
good as tight string,
beging for need and confident wealth ,
bending down head touched knees i need help .
K Balachandran Jun 2014
From the clock of lover's heart
the tick-tock drops of love
fall out,
           time like a hungry beast
eats all of it, transience walks light footed,
pushing lovers in to the throes of panic
hurry up!
                 The parrot on the tree branch
reminds me of her pouting ***** lips, their invite
to the forgetfullness of love's bliss, I wait but she is
late oblivious of the alacrity, time overtakes us.
Let me drown in this deluge at the earliest. Get lost ,
in the dense cover of this forest of sensual pleasures
as much as I can.

This momentary bliss, makes my eyes involuntarily droop
heavy eyelids, languid,  refuse to open.
We sit too close to feel the heat that lights the fire together in us,
it consumes all other thoughts; pushes all engines of love
in action mode.Love is the lit fuse that would
create an explosion,  completes the circle for us.
Laura Brittain Dec 2012
Forgetfullness is contagious.
Wandering minds and wandering hearts,
find themselves lost,
In the intake of your breath.

Your hands,
Trail kisses down my spine.
Fingertips splayed,
hoping for vulnerability.

But all I can offer you,
Are the quiet murmurs,
Of someone who longs to be home.
Time for forgetfulness

He had been to my house often, like to come here and stay for a few days,
because of nature where he could walk along overgrown tracks and see
how life used to be lived before; now he could not find the house, called me
told me the name of the café where he had stopped.
After a meal, he went for a walk but didn't return, and it was getting dark,
we looked for him he has lost his way, we found him under an olive tree,
it had taken some time before he knew me, the game was up, he cried,
Slowly succumbing to Alzheimer. In the morning we drove him home,
my wife drove his car; he spoke little when he did mixed past and present
(Who doesn't).
When we came to his house, he thought I was Dali Lama flattered by
his visit. In a lucid moment he knew what happened and cut his life short,
he refused to follow the lane of the living dead.
Michael John Aug 2017
when i first picked up the guitar
i found i could play straight away..
something in am on the fifth...

the little girl next to me said.
i will be your girl friend!
(i thought,i was on to something

here.).and made it my life..
the time most lost or stray
the time of self destruction..

the time when wished dead
time of no time really..
i found i had forgot that...
thanks to gavin barnard for idea...!
Pink Halverson  Aug 2010
regret
Pink Halverson Aug 2010
I love you, my dear
but you impose so much sorrow
my heart cannot take
the weight
of us both.
Twice the emotions
Twice the concern
Duplication the annoyances
but
Splitting
the happiness
the love
now explain, my dear
how is that fair?
can't you ever help lift my weight
I won't stay
if you cannot bear your own soul
because mine is a dry
barren desert
The only oasis
are in moments of forgetfullness
Arun C  May 2015
What lasts on
Arun C May 2015
To once again travel the roads of childhood
to slip past the knots of memories
and see once more
those old lanes
highways and by-ways
once so important
now obscured
by haze and forgetfullness
roads leading accidentally
to spilled secret spots
that magical fort in the tall grass
or that special sheltered port in a storm
those mysterious ruins of forgotten memories
to the old woods and streams
many are gone now
only echoes remain
condos and parking lots
mark childhood haunts
cold asphalt glazes all
and only earth and sky
last forever
The last couple of lines are borrowed from a book title I read long ago.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2024
My grand daddy taught me to start a rope,
with a Turk's head knot. This be that sort of rope.
-- it takes less time to use
than to make
long enough
for any actual perfect purpose.

Mimetic pretenders,
euphoric make believers,
ritual passage over or under open limen
- cross the t and dot the ego.
- seek and find the missing pages
- all the mysteries in time
- that form our fundamental
- common sense in crazy made time

Lacunae rise from forgotten reasons used
to teach guardians
of secrets reasons
for war, how
to love,
in all the ways love is made worth dying for.
Blut und Grund, das Sein,
und mein, danke Schön

-- time ghosts pass, remarking at the weather-
-fine day, suns ablaze, breeze is light,
bemusing the beguiled thinking
'tis fairy, times fairs became cities, and all agreed,
election by contest, war in the spirit, in truth
using mere words, no audio, no video,
no styling nor fancy letter forms, unicode
alone no secret scripts, only sound marks
accented acutenesses and all,
+

y nada mas, mere words, redeemed, for this.
one new day redeemed for glory story need.
Morning glory teas,
in tiny shell shape cups.

May all magnificence be truth's.
Kernels of truth,
seeds producing tomorrow's
criteria, substance of things hoped for,
picked out details
to see in myths, the accuser's uses,
mysterious roots in ancien' riparian realms.

Oreithyia and Pharmaceia, intercession
for the poor.
Early spring
bulbs and flowers
the maenads chaos wine,
effigy effigial me, burning
for your mis-perception
of procedural authority,
instant re-co-gnosis,
vestigial dreams
time minds
in tow, riding your own
recognition,
around the spiral, down,
you would tell me if you were insane
so would I, the ego, living aight,
this it, you read, that's all she wrote
∞ *+
∞ -> =
aha, you think,
may be so,
say so, or no, go and
find the connection closed,
and energy flowing in to the either real realm,
or the null set, like old never minds, you had
while the circuits were fried
at the fusebox
for pennies
used to save a dime, to keep the energy
flowing to the magi's visual representation
of all that's known to hold attention,
by reflex,
look out, see windsense, energy electricity,
elect to let your curiousity fix all your if-I'da

knowns

open for conjecture, to catch subjects
objectified from the precept wisdom is, whole,
as the whole truth, we understand, makes sense
nets form nodes of both knowing, as a me,
we, each grow old at the same pace,
we become that which is,
at first step, precept assuring the runner,
there is always a place to put your foot,
goat-sense, Ein Gedi balsam eating
'scaped goat,
running down the cliff,
at the edge of annual reboots,
reconnecting reality, and the balm
traded for silk in Giliad, and
entertaing news
of miracles in smoke…
and mirrors of mercury, and
-------- time, out of mind dangling hook
make believe, fishing
we pretend, making be specific
imaginary gravity and survival codes,
for a chosen few, catchholds, grapples
for those not inclined
to lean
on a lesson
that demands experience,
to contend, hold that thought, this ain't war.

- Khai Vinh, set like the roof
- Ai can find the images,
- the place was real
- those were my antennae
- crazy true, after the fact, signal
- now, how much of that was CIA?

proud Mary keep on boinin', 'long
Bayou Bleu,
down Plaquemine way, deep night
on roads made from tiny wet white shells
that something made, while living in it,
- one way trace, wide enough
- for an auto me mover
- tugging my at to here
as we live inside our head, as far as
our fingers reach
from where we stand,
our feeling fingers only reach so far, so good.

Held a thought
a while back,
it may have been a trick, but listen, if it was,
I'd have taken it, and won, for midsent-morphing
turning tropes for the dopes hoping something new.
In fancy forms of wannabets.
Peace on Earth, is real.
Baby,
the price is all the attention you can muster,
and then some, as time seems
to have
modes, like we have moods, hormonal
catch and release reflexes, you know, like…

what, what, who cares why, what must be first
priority, ah
what are we intending to pretend to be?
Wordwise,
entertained, fed to satiation, what more, prior

to the next wisea
* asking me to believe, in hell.
I just came to fish.
I came after the curtain was torn, top to bottom,
nothing kept secret
for the artifactual value, remains
here. You know, free as any knowing, now.
There is no enemy that truth cannot love, once
you understand, the limits
of your learning curve, ai,
you accept, no lie is
of the truth, no wisdom form
is flawed, first glance,
glimpsed, real as war
glory, as valued a common lure
to the unshined …
initiate turn on … flip
the switch.
Imagine Grace.
Riches with no sorrow,
worth the effort, found
pure, then peaceable, gentle

right snap
fit, just right, no excuses, we got the mystery
imagined for us,
in the end, pain free,
in the collective consciousness some say is spirit
of our time, our Zeitgeist, doing what it does

close up, nothing spooky at a distance, eye
to eye, mere words with wishes twisted through

outs and ins and ups and downs, and
wells
deep as pressure allows,
right, I ought to sleep, but buzz…

O' no, I said too much… or did not say enough.

Slowly, Monday came.
Morning harbinger to sailors, says sit tight.

Find a fire
far from the threshold, and wait.
Talk with the locals
from the same boat, survivors,
boast of storms ridden out, and ones
that swallowed brothers
and some malicious captains. Good riddance,
some say, while others flick a libation
offering a drop of grog across time's stream.

Lift up your eyes, look down
from your satellites and see the future
coming on the weather channel, thanking
all the forces fixing droughts and flushing deltas,

with the first of winter's predictable trials.

-------------
Hunker down and listen, feel your self, you
deep down, your sacred feeling, especial self

red sky warning seen
before by wiser men, older
by experience, made
acknowledges your luck,
as a ware for use
by innocents, listen, take heed,

all things work together
for good,
for keeps
for those with hearing ears.

Listen to the wind, and thank the dry truth
for being.

just being used to
form fibers for twisting into ties

---- long lines for this ride pray patient perfecting

Rush to judge the blown away reason.

To whom is thanks given, and why, I
the desert dweller bound for Tarsus, stuck

at the edge of the raging sea.

The whole world shuddered at the blow,
the earthquake, peleg in the old tongue,
timeless
as the story eventually got writ, in a modded
Phonecian script, survivors were mostly kids,
resiliency of innocents,
one here,
one there, some whole neighborhoods,
where all the kids were in the swimming hole,
all around the shuddering islands on this world.

It was as we have imagined,
until the grownups crossed lost time,
using lost knowledge locked in idle words,

deem the day redeemed,
feel the emotion defined

gratitude for gratified if I'd known,
missed terminals, crosst wires,
connect to the sea of God's forgetfullness,
relink the collar think canals on rivers,
holding the course men set for cities,
dhghemed damdamd-dayamd indeed…
No river muses suffer such for ever

we all know enough to be accepting
oddities in timed chance trial understandings,

we all know wills to power, and notions
to jump into the ocean and go on down,
to the bottom mind tele far long now mind

space shared across time, like the snow,
when the tv went native,
in the olden days
my minds child watched the hush of creation,

let it happen, let it be, this is it, or we are lost,
and that
is un thinkable, try.
Try thinking you do not follow the whole idea,
life
is us, all of us in our most common sense,
this one, translation by Google Bard,
passed my Hausa native speaker friend's
blind Turing test,

that happened days ago, next, ah
SYTF
precept, reception tune to the humm,
listen, humm,

call the editor.

"very interesting." Rest assured,
after accessing the way made plain,

Habakkuk habit, make it plain,
make it make the motors turn minds
in to wills, and wills into power,
pure peace
prefects feel good flicked libation.
Perfect.
Print.
The entertainment, many minds
attention paying to the shared event,
today.
Today. EXTRA, read all about it,
death has no lasting sting.
Live to the end. Redeeming your time.
Swiftly passing to the beat of your own drum.

One step past the simple, love,
you find sublime, nothing down and *****,
nothing missing,
nothing broken,

as one learns to think from the heart,
part of me that's thought in you, feels as
mere words some scribe imagined hearing

as he wrote,
line upon line, asangin' twangin'
a strangle hold, twisting hairs into a rope.

A riata, I think they call em.
Horsetail lariat, patiently plaited,
to make my own noose, when the time
comes to put the tool to use.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Plato, Phaedrus 229 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
"Phaidros (Phaedrus) :
I should like to know, Sokrates (Socrates),
whether the place is not somewhere here
at which Boreas (the North Wind) is said
to have carried off Oreithyia
from the banks of the Ilissos (Ilissus)? . . .
Sokrates :
Oreithyia was playing
with Pharmakeia (Pharmaceia), when a northern gust carried her
over the neighbouring rocks;
and this being the manner
of her death, she was said
to have been carried away by Boreas."

Morally ambiguous. Us, our we, we know not valid reasons
to do useless things, making
vain repetitions, vain making of many books,
all vanity, the making of many things from nothing.
We live on a living planet, and we have tamed parts of it,
not the part common sense comes from, it is still forest dark and lively.

— The End —