11

good morning.
happiness everywhere.
hail victory!

coffee, toke, cigarette.
continuing typing out not poem for the masses.
it's medication time.

cutting his dirty fingernails.
blowing his nose, he farts.
you call this art?
no, not really.

arbitrary beginnings and endings.
we mark them for our purpose and convenience in conflict with one another.
and the possibility there is no beginning nor ending which we feel there must not be.
however, we could be wrong which is why everything is posed as our theory.

they fight wars against each other for various reasons, yet agree on what day it is.
that seems odd.
many things about what they do and do not do seem odd to us.
but we are them.
what are we to understand being what we are?
what are we?
dreamers of the best and worst of all possible worlds?
low grade common dumb shits?
is there a difference?
we fit and adapt to our physical and social environments whichever way it might come and go to be as it is and so on.
at times it's in our best interest to play dumb shit while dreaming the world otherwise.
the few and the far between.
acting as if.

on the stage of the crowded burning theater we have forgotten our lines so we wander around taking up space and time as we are best able to do so without giving ourselves away.
we might be on a mission.
screw you, jerko.
but they seem to wonder discussing among themselves about there being something wrong about us.
they hire people who are doctors to tell them what it might be.
telling us who they have reasoned who it is we are to become.
we act the part to play.
pills.

being diagnosed as being mad of some sort or another is a tricky pickle but can be successfully managed to one's benefit up to a point.
every village needs an idiot.
perhaps the happiest person around - or not.
until one is taken out and shot.
nobody tells us nothing about nothing and what they do tell us is lies.
we gotta figure shit out for ourselves.
how it makes sense to us.
dig?

so, whatever... imagine placing 0 everywhere at the center of everything and placing 1 nowhere at the end of everything.
where are they relative to one another?
could they possibly be at the same location while also being infinitely apart?
what is infinity if it is counted as 1?
everything above is impossible to do in reality.
does that matter?
fuck reality.

just wondering about shit.
no big deal.
the world built on top of the earth.
a world in disrepair always breaking apart.
the earth never fails.
the bliss of everything.
a kiss of the almighty.

playing the game of life to amuse ourselves in our eternal paradise.
what will we be this time around?
what adventures will we have?
he should take out the recycling, clean the cat box, do laundry.
he has a blank canvas to paint.
and it's medication time.

he lights a cigarette after a toke listening to some of his music of sorts.
/ excommunication.
thinking thoughtcrime felt to be disruptive of collective groupthink thing.
the many vs the few vs the one.
a butterfly.

spiders in his head weaving webs of consciousness perhaps.
or it's just imagination.
imagination given to us by gods and/or evolution it would seem to stand to reason we have it for a purpose toward our survival - or not.
whatever - he eats some cheetos.
pet the kitty.
he naps.

awakening.
toke, cigarette.
apple slices and sharp cheddar.
gazing out the window to the fluctuating light from the sun in and out from behind clouds.
everything back and forth around about sideways never the same as now again ever.
or if when the universe does repeat itself it is the end.
relaxing being cool and groovy as can be in times like these.
everybody running around with their heads cut off it seems.
that has nothing to do with us.
there is nothing we can do about it, except wait it out.
light another cigarette.

political vendettas across the various media outlets.
VOTE GAZORBNIK
the world is screwy.
all the powers that be trying to outdo the others to be the ones sitting on top of the world.
interesting.
we are here to experience and observe it would seem like to us.
what else are we being paid for by the state?
in a high state of madness flying clumsily along honk-honk.
a report to the committee.
there is no committee.
there maybe no state but warlords.
will there be heaven on earth?
will there be hell below?
what of all the knowledge lost?
when we become dirty savages to fend for ourselves in the wastelands.
where rivers catch fire.
what realization for us then?
what will we need?
how will we get it?
no slack.
no plan of attack.
no means of defense.
no sitting on a fence.
you are us or you are them.
everything all over the place.
mix it up good.
see what it might turn into - if anything.

what it might turn into is self peace, love, and understanding withstanding all set against it.
alone in a maddening world.
he laughs.
more coffee, another cigarette.
gazing out the window sitting before the computer typing out our theory of everything as not poem and so on.
floating downstream in a dreamboat toward a river to the sea.
uncompromising style and performance befitting our lifestyles.
granola yogurt peaches.
and it drizzles a bit outside.

self peace.
self love.
self understanding.
an unending puzzle.
a god thing fathoming itself.
peace in stormy weather.
love surrounded by hate.
understanding out of ignorance.
selfless self - hahaha.

our theory of everything is about everything whatever it might be or not be from the most sublime to the most mundane.
from what is known from experience which includes accounts of the experiences of others.
though accounts that may be altered to fit certain paradigms believed to be true.
we accept nothing with neither belief nor doubt.
we shall wait and see sitting on a fence among all the sides trying to inform us what's what and what's not what in the faith of their theoretical opinions.
and all that jazz.

the lotus blossom with roots stuck in the muck.
this is as they see as a model of what it should be for ourselves.
what's wrong with this picture?

he feels like he's going nuts most of the time but then looks around to see who he'd rather be.
perhaps a tree.
that would be nice.
it would suffice very well indeed.
but none of these other walking talking apes he's seen.
he may be nuts but they are insane.

10

again with the albatross god is dead thing sacrificed on crossed wires making it seem to appear more stranger than it needs to be while the closet intellectuals in the crowd debate the finer points of their reasoned arguments.
who wants reason?
do your own thing, baby.
the gist of the matter overdrive toward neptune and beyond empress ring-a-ding-ding.
the incomplete failure of germanic-depressive atheistic thought stuck in the mudhead.
we told you so.

the rapid deployment of gods as we speak of no such thing.
who done it?
the victims point in all directions on earth.
the world itself is guilty.
crimes against our humanity.
full tilt hit squad in action above and beyond.
those who choose their own destiny not waiting for fate to decide.
opposite of us.
we are them.
maybe meek and lazy.
maybe indecisively thoughtful.
maybe it don't matter.
they despise us regardless.
they despise anyone not being among themselves.
what's the difference between them and the bosses of the old school?
but they are so boastfully enlightened - so they believe.
you can't tell them shit.
you can tell them that they are shit however.
you can also mind your own business and ignore them.

opposites attract, and attack.
glorification of war continuing on for ages.
have and have-nots.
blessed are the self-centered and the selfish.
theirs is the kingdom of the gods.
there is no way to be rid of them.
we are them, but they are not us.
eat it, baby.
yum.
___________

dark energy everywhere.
inside our heads even.
or not.
popular culture misinformation.
drama queens from venus.
what does this mean for us?
do we get more $$$?
that's important.
short skinny bent old woman walking by from the store with her grocery bag over her shoulder cigarette in hand.
long gray hair straight down her back.
steady determined stride.
he lights a cigarette too.

so we theorize from our base ignorance a universe with beginning and end.
a dreaming child god blowing bubbles.
a flowing stream of eternal continuing existence forever.
we cannot even observe all this universe supposedly.
does any more of it actually exist?
light that will never reach us.

and where do clowns fit into our theoretic cosmology?
laughing all the way as every good citizen should.
no more pouting complaints.
stand up.
march on.

coffee, toke, and one last piece of birthday cake which unfortunately is too dried out to eat except the icing.
hell freezing over.
heaven is hot, babe.
quit yelling at us to shut up.
go home, suckers.
everyone here is drunk making out in dark corners.
a fine mess we got ourselves into for not paying attention.
let this be a lesson.
stay in school, kids.

nodding heads in the crowd agree - this is bullshit.
whipping dead horses.
hooray.

melting mouths speaking silver tongued lies with sugar on top and a flaming cherry.
spread it wide.
come inside.
jack in the box all cranked up ready to pop like a spinning top.
WASP ideology run amok eating itself alive in a future SF dystopian aftermath.
the rise of AI.
the project is the object.
no more mr. nice guys.
cruel motivations employed by the rich and famous to protect their shares of interest in keeping everything going as is as much as possible.
alpha domination.
mistaken identities.
crowd control.
riots in the streets.
tooth extraction.
fend for ourselves.
yahoos hunt us down to kill us.
we are them to them - those of us who feel they are superior to the rest of us for some odd reason or another.
give it a rest.

somehow everything is possible somewhere somewhen over the rainbows where life is beautiful all the time.
ha-ha hee-hee ho-ho.
all the damage done.
many who can never be helped - or can they?
we are cursed with this sense of empathy toward everyone and no one.
life should not be torture.
all of us to blame - or none.
ob la di...

the magick properties of spacetime where when 0 is the center of all that is - theoretically.
what is absolute?
is it only nothing?
everything?
perhaps, or not.
wait for it.

the individual is dead.
no resurrection will touch them.
neither heaven nor hell.
in limbo land we wander wondering wonderful things that might have been.
a world filled with hatred and rage at one another.
bummer.
but people make the best of it.
climbing upward until they're among the few on top.
those on the bottom deserve to be so.
don't have what it takes to rise above.
the wheels keep turning grinding them down as is the designed intent.

0 can be determined to be anywhere everywhere.
it is 0 anything everything.
jejune reasoning among the ignorant having little to do with the situation at hand.
is violence the only answer?
the singularity of 0 becoming infinity if need be.
does it need be?
why not?
still contained relative within itself no matter how much it may expand.
there are no boundaries or limits we might imagine possible.
it is continual process.
progressive, regressive, and otherwise.
0 is the axis of reality.
yet we continue fighting.

how does he explain so much of what he does not quite understand?
he could have become the foremost authority about tree frogs if he wanted to.
he thinks about how much else he would be ignorant of instead.
him and his lazy excuses.
right now he is thinking about the implications of 0.
it takes his mind away.
an overlooked number - or non-number.
he thinks about how he could have become the foremost authority about 0 if he wanted to.
he didn't.
he could tell people he knows all about nothing.
oh well.

and furthermore...

(to be continued...)

9

dancing robots doing the boogaloo with nothing to do with anything else up in a tree learning to play the flute.
a revolution of the absurd.
he farts while typing out not poem.
our theory of everything.

a report to the committee.
we are them manifesto.
few understand.
others ignore.
we don't care.
it's in our hair we won't soon forget.
a toke, a cigarette.
sports and war disconnect from ages past.
who was the most fit to kill and die.
all hail the heroes.
there is something strange going on.
fucking fucker's fucked.
we lift our heads high higher highest.
while our feet sink low lower lowest.
funny how that happens.
is it the way it's supposed to be?
what is anything supposed to be but what it is?
changing through configurations yet remaining the same.
outta chaos comes order, outta order comes chaos.
simple, but nothing is that simple.
pay attention.
how does one explain everything all in one's head?
one side against the others like in real life.
stories changing moment by moment proclaiming truth.
computer controlled.
groupthinking collective of those unable and/or unwilling to think by themselves.
it's scary to be alone.
it's a trap.
social outcasts.
potatoes.
___________

fancy pants on fire on thin ice.
1001 phony baloney tales told by an idiot.
it's medication time.
pet the kitty.
suck on a cough drop.
an idiot selected each spring to be the king of fools.
hanging by the highest tree.
sacrificial rituals we have forgotten the meanings performed according with traditions to dispel our unease and misgivings.
give peace a chance.
no more war pigs have the power.
simple minds in simple times.
pain is part of the excitement.
death, the entertainment.

a leaping piano succumbs toward isolation of thought is what we have in mind now.
who knew?
dunking ginger snaps in coffee in a pleasant moment or so lingering at his fingertips.
talking to himself in the supermarket place cuz when you're old you don't give a shit.
it's so nice.
remembering the past in not always favorable light.
nothing to be done now, not even regret.
why for?
he lights another cigarette on a dead end street with grinning death creeping around the corner.
hello, old friend.

the devil stopped dancing.
what could be wrong now?
so hard to satisfy the ongoing need.
but we wander from our cause.
we've been fooled again it would seem.
another toke will do the trick.
star crossed indifferent energies of symbiotic light flashing on/off.
at some point he will imagine how this is done.
many people believe there should be nothing.
but there is nothing, except everything.
why should one be and not the other?
no reason he can imagine for now.
maybe later on in the dream.
yearning for a non-yearning state of bliss?
good luck with that, baby.
all goodness and light the wise guys tell us.
many believe that is what they are supposed to desire.
leaving everything behind.
oblivion.
ducky.

we desire everything in all its horrible beauty if need be.
should we desire?
should we fear?
why not?
to be human, though the stories of the gods are the same.
how conveniently human they are.
blessed be.

but remember we are them in any and all situations with anyone else among us.
don't take it so seriously.
poke its eye out.
spray paint the temples day-glo pink and green.
everything onstage at the burning theater where the show must go on, even if no one shows up.
it's all possible, though not mandatory no matter how much people tell us so.
everything is kicking in.
here we go.

he thinks about spaghetti.
he thinks about our theory of everything he types out as not poem - cuz he ain't no poet.
sitting before the computer wondering while gazing out the window at the action in the trailer park.
wondering about being alive - experiencing - thinking...?
i am that i am.
going crazy with it.
crazy is culturally relative more or less but not really - or not.
guess again.
we'll let you know when your guess is correct.

we are nobody much to anyone.
that's what makes it easier to observe.
the absurdity of it.
the logic of it.
spin, baby, spin.
we got the spin cycle blues.
snakes and ladders.
a rabbit hole dreaming dreamer as we have always been with him.
it's not as easy as it might seem, it can be difficult.
abused sick starving neglected children of all ages.
zombie rodeo clown buddha buddies.
death toll decadence.
regular shoes.

who has the time but the bums who have forgotten what time is?
bottle return.
life on easy street.
skip bagging.
neat and clean hippies in smart suits and haircuts.
where only outlaws have guns beyond the comprehension of correct progressive thinking gone wrong.
survival of the fittest.
endurance.
this is not a test.

he doesn't watch tv - that's what's wrong with him.
not up with popular culture.
square, daddio.
mosh pit memories.
getting down with a singularity (0).
all that be-bop thing.
people who know what to do bug him.
always pushing others outta their way.
but where would we be?
but where are we now?
death and destruction.
oh boy.
bombs carried by children.
the absurd laughing.

self pity of humanity with our very vengeful gods.
comedy news hour.
wave goodbye to yesteryear's dreams of tomorrow.
talking heads with their mouths full of shit.
suit jacket and jorts.
come as you are.
8/22/2016 3:33:69 AM

today.
fortune or misfortune?
one contained within the other.
swirling twirling away downstream through the sewers to the river to the sea.
jimmy open the door.
whatever the fuck.
action/reaction yin yang-a-doodle.
writing in language no one seems to understand anymore.
power to the people, right on.
kids these days.

om jingle jangle cutting knife through the difference between night and day.
everything that has been tried has failed.
bloodthirsty apes on the prowl.
decisive purpose regarding the outcome of events leading to our downfall.
people begging for it.
let it rain.

it happens all in our heads conjoined symbiotic developments thrusting inside the willing temple.
repetitive enthusiasm quickening the heart bound for glory with righteous intent to sacrifice the material world for a chance at paradise spinning wheel of fortune cracked opening.
zonkers.
trouble coming every day.
ego spooning.
it's medication time.
unhappy happy pills.

who doesn't know by now?
progressive socialist disgust at everything.
pivotal pervert squeeze sleaze at the door within margins of error amid possibility frameworks.
yeah, whatever the fuck.

huh?

(to be continued...)

hunky dory petunias.
flavor of the week.
shit brown.
awakening.
coffee and coffee cake.
a toke on the peace pipe.
a cigarette.
bright sun on the glowing blinds.
sharp stark shadows.

ATTENTION:
don't miss out - have your very own biochip inserted today.
become a citizen of the earth.
sing-song verses of pretty propaganda media broadcasts.
fill it up.
for the protection of the overlords.
self-interest above all.
the success of greed.
the necessity of need.

he is thinking about how much our behavior is routine.
how much of our behavior is routine may vary person to person.
water to wet the whistle.
he's sure the wise guys know all about it and have their set theories.
our elusive theory of everything written as not poem.
irrationalogic reasoning imagining what might be true - or not.

people running outta food throughout history.
the world running outta food.
billions dead as the market demands.
AI computer controlled corporate machines gobbling up everything.
living in highly secure undisclosed locations the well-fed pigs oinking gleefully among themselves.
mandatory implemented disasters.
we're fucking fucked.
many gathered up into work camps.
menial repetitive tasks until death's release.
no heaven nor hell await.
everything without meaning.
classic excuse.
gut reaction.

the easy street blues.
no one knowing the news.
just, spare a cigarette?
self-inflicted crimes against humanity.
how many die in prisons.
that kinda sucks.
how terrible the world appears to be for so many.
what is truth?
huh?

so many so angry.
it's difficult to get anything through.
he doubts everything about this world and the people in it.
all they seem to like to do is fight with one another.
they set it up that way pretending they all don't want pretty much the same things.
or - they are set up that way by those who are in control.
divide and conquer - the old game practiced for centuries.
and the people whine and complain and do nothing about it.
they can't do anything unless led by leaders skilled in the art of manipulation.
and the people never get away from being dominated and oppressed.
they scratch their heads in frustrated confusion.

and if we don't join them then we are them - the enemy.
they need an enemy to keep them from facing themselves.
there is little chance of remaining neutral in this heated situation.
attack attack attack.
that's all they know how to respond to anything that confronts them.

but we live in a world with these people.
we attempt to stay outta their way but that is not always possible.
one can never much tell who's who and what they might do.
it's often unexpected.

6+1=7
he lights another cigarette.

(to be continued...)

decomposing our theory of everything as not poem.
why not?
who's paying attention?
what are the rules?
not poem as report to the committee.
there is no committee.
there is only the product of a mind gone mad.
too long a time at sea it would seem before washing ashore on an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
you see?

no, probably not.
what can we do to help you?
it would seem nothing is of any use.
so we continue.

he is as he is and nothing's gonna stop him from being that no matter who or what he leaves behind - or who or what leaves him behind.
though he has little idea of what he might be.
it's not like he's on a mission or anything like other people.
a mission for what?
a mission for croutons.
a mission toward heaven.
a mission to the bottom of the bottomless pit disappearing perhaps into endless infinitesimally into oblivion.
what fun.

waiting for the latest news from the front of the back against the wall.
ECT for everyone!
everyone in their place in space and time.
musical chairs.
who stays in?
who is out?
we are them.
let it be.

on/off location of spacetime.
a continuum between.
he thinks sometimes he is a dreamer of the world.
it's scarier than one might imagine.
one is also trapped within the dream and subject to it.
he thinks sometimes he is an idiot.
that's probably more likely.

so the idiot tells a tale.

once upon a time they all lived happily ever after.

until...

WHAT THE FUCK???

at what point does one just give up?
at what point does one not give up?
what's the difference?

in a pleasure land of desperate hope we devise our schemes.
to heck with everyone else.
fuck 'em.

having a wonderful time, wish you were here - except for the fights that break out around the wishing well we have been trying to avoid for some time now and then as we can.
you have to believe it to see it.
that's the easy part.
once you see it you won't believe it.

people are insane.
we are insane.
it adds up to nothing.

being here now sitting before the computer hunched over the keyboard typing out not poem.
gazorbnik, a word that means nothing such that it might mean anything.
it's not that important.
except for us who feel gazorbnik means everything as we are gazorbniking our lives away.
is that important?
for many interested in what we do such that they may tell us we are wrong.
and they usually always have a plan for us to follow in order to get it right.
we can then be on their side.
gold bricks for the streets of heaven, a disneyland of eternal wonder.
the trash truck comes around.
he lights another cigarette.

the folly of gazorbnik astounds us.
awakening.
opening our eye to new ridiculous perceptions.
we sing and dance.
we fall down.
we laugh.

we are useless bums to society.
we just hang around anywhere anytime it might be allowed.
there's always someone to tell us what to do/not do.
on/off.
blinking in astonishment.
life on easy street where old friends meet.
somewhere to avoid the crowds gathering.

waiting for the recycling truck to come by to empty the overflowing bins so he might bring out more.
when everything becomes player piano automations.
when all of us become expendable and set free.
don't lag behind.
you know no one cares.
they keep going and going and going on and on all (clockwise) around the mulberry bush.
no one knows what anything really means about gazorbnik.
if they did it would perhaps save themselves a lot of trouble - or perhaps not.

our identities in question we proceed (widdershins) around ourselves discovering.
you can never predict, you must always prepare.
end the world with a bullet.
wake up to reality.
take your helmet off.

we step up and fly off to yonder places rather to be such as a cave on the highest mountain top sitting outside the mouth before a fire crackling sparks ascending up up up...
we worship our gods, if we have any.
what is a god and what is not?
do we need any?
in the framework of our collective psychology it would seem that we do need gods of some sort, or something else to take their place of promise and fulfillment.
nature/nurture programming.
indoctrinations.
we are told that we are nothing.
our only value ($$$) is in service and servitude to the collective.
we are many.
our might is right.
the big beat goes on.
we will change and save the world.
keep on marching ever onward toward promising paradises.
keep on dreaming.
it's medication time.

is this everything just in our heads perhaps or not?
in flights of fancy we pretend as if it could be true.
it could be.
would we ever know for sure?
regardless we continue on and on.
fuzzy fractal logic thinking.
perhaps no thinking at all.
drifting along perpetual streams of consciousness.
hitting birth.
dynamic intervals of realizations forthcoming upon themselves.
whose side are we on?

the assumptions of collective communion.
we shall wait to see what develops.
he gets up to go make popcorn and returning to consume it.
sea of joy.
enforced cooperation of the masses in hierarchal ordered organization.
what's wrong with that?
the masses would probably never do much of anything on their own.
if you push something hard enough it will fall over.
everything changing as only few seem to understand entirely how and why - or why not.
he yawns.

our theory of everything written as not poem is make believe pretend perversion and nonsense composed of contradictions all of which does not necessarily mean it is not true enough for everyday use by the average citizen at large for which it is intended and so forth and so on.

- select the non-incorrect response -
[  ] true
[  ] false
[  ] neither/both
[  ] indifferent
[  ] chicken

are you sure?

(to be continued...)

it's medication time.

he was hoping for some sorta clarity at some point.

oh well.

so much for expectations.

so much for anyone knowing what they do.

someone loud on a turned up microphone.

everyone goes ga-ga-ga.

as a spaceship hovers nearby he sits before the computer dunking ginger snaps in his coffee thinking about nothing but everything here gliding through the moment now as he hopes for the best yet expecting the worst.

typing out not poem he lights a cigarette.

he slept most of the day away and kinda awake by now, but not actually.

actually he is asleep for 1001 years.

one can never be too sure of anything.

this graceless confusion of mind unable to break away from itself lounging leisurely down by the river flowing to the underground sea.

an incessant babbling of words to overcome.

what is the message?

what is our mission now?

we must try not to forget while wild seaweed tangles in our hair as a talking toad leads the way to our fortune.

we toss the old bones to conjure up a reading.

they advise us to continue onward.

cabbages on parade through the moonless night secretly unassuming to anyone not paying much attention busy with their phones.

is there anything happening at all?

not that you would probably notice.

that's the game and how it is played here in the best and worst of all possible worlds.

who can argue with that?

the wise guys speak of sacred things.

we are disgraceful in our anguished joy untouched by plausibility.

we are obviously the problem here.

they ask us politely to leave.

gladly as we kiss them all goodbye and go looking for a good place to get a decent cheeseburger around here on the edge of space and time.

what?

(to be continued...)

constant endless beginningless war.
who's gonna stop it?
               [repeat]
who's gonna stop it?
               [repeat]
who's gonna stop it?
               [repeat]
who's gonna stop it?

we may be tricked.
we may be confused.
he lights another cigarette.
|_|_|_|_|_|_|
               the project is the object.
to dismiss the absurd for no other reason than it is absurd is absurd itself.
               rationalogic is suspect.
there is no proof of this however, for obvious reasons.
but we've no time for that now.
we're letting go and holding on.
wheee!

he breathes for a little while.
deprogramming.
then some cheez-its.
another cigarette.
he's all mixed up.

squirrels in the attic.
he sleeps.

sitting now at the counter at the diner scribbling not poem into a notebook cuz he ain't no fucking poet drinking from the cup but is another useless government bum as the server hands him a triple shot mocha he orders eggs and toast while thinking about everything as much as he can under the circumstances that makes him feel a bit dizzy at times but that is more or less inconsequential - but does it matter as the world is at war?
glorious war.
taste it.

from night to night as the songs on the internet jukebox play he steps outside for a smoke watching people walk and drive by as the sky drizzles on the scene he wonders if any of it might be real as it appears to be real based on our dubious sensory experiences quietly absorbed into our brains so strange now and then dreaming which is his main occupation now everything else has faded away into infinite obscurity toward oblivion as he comes back inside onstage at the burning theater sitting again at the counter replica waiting for the riots to begin.
dreaming of scheming to hijack the planet away from the bad guys as if that were true.
a fantasy blows against the empire thing we make up and improvise to our heart's contentment.
we're not putting you on, there is something going on.
what?
where?
when?
who?
how?
why not?
we don't know.

nevermind.
it can never be what we want it to be.
nevermore.
our childhood dreams are over.
our memory is fading.
it's no use to imagine anymore.
give up.
surrender to common sense.
it all means nothing.
everything is ok?

sentimental jive.
it's great to be alive but this is all it is?
gee whiz.
robots patrolling the streets showing no mercy keeping us in line all the time.
songs of lost love... fate from above to make our lives misery... it's no mystery why... don't let them see you cry.
it won't do no good.
just behave like you know you should.

a despair of words that don't make sense anymore to these children of a brave new world.
happy pills for all the spills.
no memory deeper than a puddle of piss.
this is what they now call bliss.
give it a kiss.
walk toward dawn's horizon.
forget the pain and pleasure until it turns to gray mush and no one can tell what it is anymore anyway.
it's nothing.
was it a joke?

no time like no time holding onto whatever it takes to survive in our uneasy balance of desolation like no way before to our sense of reality.
reality?
hello?
[we stand on the rocky shore watching waves crashing]

still sitting at the counter scribbling like it's the old days he lived in cafes around town he could get around that are now gone.
the end of that life once and for all.
what pleasures are left in this time is $$$ world faster faster faster like we had not quite imagined when we used to believe we were on top of it like nobody's business and then some.
it's all fake anyway.

loneliness is all he's ever known, even in a crowd.
people freak him out.
he prefers his own company and his imaginary friends to others for real.
the for real people are sneaky and creepy.
who knows what and who knows who.

he closes the notebook, leaves, drives home.

(to be continued...)

 

awakening.
drizzling morning.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
coughing profusely.
these are the end of times as he knows it.
suicide bingo.
pet the kitty.

the "guy" (?) in the truck comes around to pick up the trash behind the scenes but out in the open.
rationalogic denial of imaginary reality unreported by the media of the masses.
the experiment continues.
algorithmic programming manipulations.
frustrated rage.
disappointing expectations.
it all becomes true.

0903 -
tippy top secrets.
con-artistic skills.
behold!

still on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is abused sick starving neglected humanity.
watching the waves in this perfect moment now.
and now sun comes out as dissipating morning clouds move apart.
a nice winter day in the middle of summer.
and the purpose of it is - what?
purpose is motive.
is there motive?
surrender?

many seem to believe that is the only possibility.
perhaps.
the adversary is that which will never surrender but must be defeated.
perhaps.
long ago wisdom.
to the hell of ages ever burning with joyful anguish of desire and fear.
ON/OFF

let it be it is it and/or not it as whichever state it might happen be in.
everything everywhere everywhen.
wandering wondering along twisty turny pathless paths toward unreachable destinations as the journey is the destination.
would you like a turnip?
let us now peer into the abyss.
we sing and dance.
we fall down.
we laugh.

we do not not believe as much as it is we do not understand.
doubt lightens our hearts into seemingly feeling to fly free.
beware - dire consequences may ensue in hilarious proportions.
this tragic comedy we are acting out performing on the stage of the burning theater.
or is it comedic tragedy?
it could go either way or sideways taking a left at the next light.
let's get outta here.

THIS IS NOT IT

dancing napkins.
otherwise we explore the potential of dream realization in terms of reality simulation as the morning sun comes in through the window he sits before the computer hunched over the keyboard typing not poem cuz he ain't no poet wondering what the fuck.
an explanation is not forthcoming.
no explanation is needed.
doo-da-diddle all day.
this is gazorbnik in its lowest common denominator expression with neither hope nor despair which are irrelevant for our purpose.
the project is the object.

death to the overlords.
we will never be free.
he lights another cigarette.
suicidal endeavors.
this ain't nothing to sneeze at.

incorporated hipster dilemma underground sausage compounds.
meanwhile back at the ranch - SEX SEX SEX.
while he imagines sitting on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
what can we do?

goats in paradise.
another hit off the peace pipe.
the flames grow higher on this funeral pyre.
what is supposed to make sense?
the project predates history back in the dawn of consciousness.
bits and pieces here and there.
peace, love, and understanding.
after all it was just a joke.
nothing funny about it.
but we were laughing already.

skinny mittens perplexed alongside the eve of the world's end.
priceless principles abandoned on the wayside toward the promised lands.
we should have warned you.
we did not.

harboring guilt.
selective breeding.
man/woman driving across the desert with a dog in the back seat.
this is an old familiar dream.
do not expect much more than this.
what would it be?

what words would set you free?
us and them down corridors of logical inquisitions.
terminal bus.
brilliant.

sucking it up.
we hope for the best and expect the worst.

(to be continued...)

gazorbnik?
what the fuck is gazorbnik?

so, the thing is that we don't know.
why should we?
we're just making it up as we go - sorta.
it begins with everything is nothing but then that means nothing is everything and so that goes around around like that and so on in our heads outta our minds.
ding dong.

dig?

it's kinda like tree frogs.
what do we know about tree frogs?
not much.
you see what we mean?

probably not.
that's ok.
that's how we go about it.

what?

exactly.

(to be continued...)