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...)