Watch “Steven Page: “I can’t vote, so I used a song instead”” on YouTube

Deep discussion.

National importance of any member of any nation.

Especially America, says a regular, nobody American.

We were already great, because we do and did our best. Even when we fail. There is nothing to make great again.

Smile, folks.

Think of your parent and or your kids.

Rallying for the Return

I hope this returns. I wanna see. I wanna see and scribe and speak it.

Like a couple of hyperliterate binary stars (astronomy def) discovering each other, their system, already hand made by them without their awareness.

I whisper things in the middle of night.
Things that used to only be explicit and carnal,
things that grew such that they could barely stand under their own weight.
Irreducible things expressed by the difference between a breath and a moan.
Aspirated.
Pallatted.
In and out.

The Words are the poetry

are the art.

The order does not even matter if you hold the proper reverential in the mind’s I.
The meter is not content.
Content is ecstatic output.
Undirected.
Scribed at the tempo by which it arrives.
And I wonder that we would-be American poets dare call it ‘meter’ at all. Hacks.
Hackneyed.
Need.
The secret that emerged from KBL was and is still regarded as cabal.
There is no secret.
Only Tao.

This is my medium for mystery.

(An open secret)

The letter is to be overwhelmed by the spirit.

This is the Tao of KBL.

This is how we transmutate letters to art.

This is why I can scribe for him.

This is what it is.

Points of reference.

They decide again and again.

2nd time dream

2nd time this plot occurs in my dreams this week.

On university of al quad. Working.

I work for the school.

There is an event to prepare for.

I want to be spending the time in other way.

N appears to my surprise.

The dream is now in bold font (?)

Each dream I then proceed to write two pieces of poetry for N.

One is called Settes and the other Echoes.

These are clever names but I can’t remember why