32 -

whoever invented making candles.
chewing bazooka the clown discovers himself continuing not p0em sitting before the computer typing words that may or may not have meaning.
a snow turning to ice storm.
he'll be scraping windows on the van in early morning dark windy cold to get to the diner.
chop wood, carry water.
balance on the point of everything.
but he thinks too much.
he enjoys it no matter that it goes nowhere (now here).
more coffee, with ginger snaps to dunk in it.
a cigarette.
maybe a toke might do the trick too.
soon it's medication time he anxiously awaits.
he eats a snickers with almonds.

privileged fucker.
lazy as fuck.
never fucking pays attention.
off in a fucking dream.

healthy strong obedient workers.
always doing their job as instructed.
no room for error.
errors are quickly discretely taken care of.
trust us.

Α Ω

undermining sacrifices licking the wall of deceits perpetrated among us by certain suspicious individuals few would suspect being the objects of our confusion.
yea or nay.
stand up and be counted.
this outrage cannot be allowed to continue interrupting our entertainments.
someone should do something about that.

we don't know what?
perhaps not anything.
we're ok with that.
meanwhile the clown is thinking about platform shoes and how everything is subjective.
objectivity is a myth.
he toasts an english muffin smearing butter and peanut butter on it which he consumes.
another cigarette.
the screws are set in our heads like they are supposed to be to fit the master plan.
the great social experiment that failed.

:)|(:

sitting at the counter at the diner scribbling not p0em into a notebook while the funky music plays on the jukebox the clown wonders about everything he can think of in his tiny brain no larger than a mustard seed in a moment of imaginary time existing in our heads - or not.
with a triple shot mocha at hand he is waking up but his brain isn't quite up to speed yet if it ever is which often doesn't seem like his thoughts like molasses.
1 < infinity < 1
something to think about being that 1 is both < infinity and > infinity it seems to him you can't get there from here but we always seem to - but do we really?
is it ever the beginning or the end?
where when are these ever determined to be?

but besides that what else comes to mind but butterflies and zebras in fields of daisies in the forest of dreams on an island he shipwrecked on long ago now which suits him fine without hardly ever returning to the social madness of the supposed real world of the others fussing and fighting one groupthink group opposed to other groupthink groups on and on.
he orders some eggs and toast and bacon and they come and he consumes them and steps out for a smoke.
outside is cold but no longer windy as he still shivers a little smoking and coughing watching people walking driving by as they do going to work and such with strange energies in the air it seems to him, but maybe not.
he comes back in to sit at the counter again with busy mind that now won't quit with dizzying thoughts swirling around inside his skull ding dong dancing along mad dervish graceful twirling and no one knows which way is what with mixed messages over the psychic networks as civilization collapsing and so many try to hold onto nothing and him too.
as he smiles to himself happy enough to endure realizations coming whispering not as a blinding light and voice of thunder we expect as in stories we were told as children that many others nonetheless believe as adults who should know better but few wish to think beyond the indoctrinations fed to us telling us what is and is not reality.
who wants to know their heaven and hell is illusion?
who thinks beyond good and evil to the other side?

he finds his peace here now forever eternal as we know it in the moment which has no beginning nor end that we might determine beyond speculation at this juncture though it seems impossible to him that there is beginning and end except everywhere everywhen as we twist and shout with a certain amount of feelings of joy.
he is falling asleep and orders another mocha to hopefully wake up but he's known for drinking a pot of coffee and taking a nap day or night blinking on/off at a certain scale of things.
everything at its heart is binary bits of information that mix and match into more complex forms into imaginary mathematical calculations endlessly eternal truths.
numbers making whatever sense we imagine into patterns of behavior fitting into logical forms for whatever happenstance reason.
2+2=cow, and such like.

and they go to get supplies and come back to unload the full van and the clown sits back at the counter ordering shrimp taking out notebook continuing not p0em about our theory of everything which is nothing to anyone but ourselves it wouldn't seem like - but whatever.
8 miles high and all that smiling though there are all the reasons not to in the world in the condition it's in that is killing all of us.
walk on.
walk through the fire in your heart.
space and time the essential components of existence as we rationalize it with our reason imagining it being.
anything we envision.
but what about love and hate?

a lot of noise going on.
exciting.
just what we want.
just what we need.
everything is forgotten.
he is tired of being subject to others and their power trips they pride themselves in.
he wants none of it.
they are not happy at all though they have trained themselves to appear so.
it is stupid and meaningless but they are hooked on it.
it's their daily bread.
it's their addiction.
they can think of nothing else while he can think of everything.
what a joke.

he hates to hate like he hates them and their mass stupidity.
look at their world they build around themselves they believe is beauty but is ugly as shit.
fucking morons.
wealth and power is all they ever think about and believe in and attempt to attain by any means.
but what good does it do them if it doesn't change their heads?
but we're farting in the wind with them and the walls they build as they stare at us uncomprehending anything we might tell them
but other than that he does ok with what he's got without wealth or power at all.
and he stops and packs up his shit and comes home to nap.

|_|_|_|_|_|_|

but being a citizen of a 1st world nation living off the state does give him a certain amount of wealth and power not granted others in the world.
but that world he lives in could very soon end as many predict - for $$$.
everything for $$$.
nothing else makes sense.

and he screws around with other shit awhile.
it's medication time.
he screws around another while more.
he sleeps.

_*|*_

awakening.
drab post-ice storm morning.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
ginger snaps.
THX1138
ah, this perfect day.
all grooving on the vibes transmitted by the corporate state whatever the vibes might be - love, hate, indifference, or others, or cocktails of whatnot and so on the corp-state delivers for its own purposes.
supply and demand.
net loss or gain.
danger, will robinson.
best of luck in new adventures.
the divine mission of madness.

premature identity complex.
deceptive avenues toward the sea.
more coffee.
a snickers.
a cigarette.
bugs crawling around in his head sending off cacophonies of thoughts in a flash.
what a surprise.
does stupidity know no bounds we might imagine?
irrationalogic reasoning unconfined.
soon to be eliminated from human thought.

the clown imagines sitting on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
watching waves roll in and washing out again again toward forever and ever.
peaceful meditation of the rhythms.
it's medication time.

what can we say about this elixir?
yahoo?
how do you do?
this isn't funny, is it?
the overcast sky brightens.
we may have afternoon sun?
and a couple hours later the answer is... yes.
what fun for everyone.

it's easy to write about nothing of no consequence.
no sense or direction but nonsense and meandering.
discovering understanding.
another cigarette.
little sleep the night before, so he naps.

<:..:..:>

awakening to rain.
everybody scrambling to make it, if they can.
a toke, a cigarette.
and a rousing chorus of, fuck you!
and now the sun again.

when he thinks of all that possibly is involved in the existence of a simple rock he keeps in his pocket he is amazed.
keep it together.
as he keeps typing not p0em.
old hat one trick pony.
KILL THE PIGS.

rewrite history.
command and control.
life on easy street remains unchanged.
the show must go on at the burning theater.
a female magician takes the stage with her beautiful male assistant, but who obviously has had work done.
onward and upward.
kisses to all.

could it be anything?
yes, yes, yes.
the world of the lowest common denominator.
wild dogs tearing apart the sacrificial lamb baby.
a subtle shift in deception.
people in it for themselves - like us.
why bother?
nazi-zionist controlled mass media doublethink on ice.
what a show.
people believe it.
it's all they see and know.
more coffee, another toke, another cigarette.
put it in perspective.
laugh.

31 -

:) :| :(

priests surround the bloody baby corpse on the altar.

the clown wondering how it goes this far.

but what is different than that which we allow every day among us all played out on the stage of the burning theater for our amusement?

how much time spent in the dark of nights long and deep while we slowly come to realization that it is perhaps... ???

we are brought to this point in space and time by unknown direction of those who seem to know the way but also seem to be leading us in circles in a grand folly in order to maintain control.

he types not p0em by candlelight.

everybody mixed up what to do.

but it's simple to live the simple life.

but who wants that?

they seem to thrive on complications chasing $$$ wherever it might lead us.

how far we've come and so little to show for it.

we've sold our soul for trinkets and gizmos like the ignorant and stupid people we are.

that is always the game they play.

one would think it would become obvious how miserable it makes everyone including themselves.

but they don't stop to think.

they pride themselves on acting.

thinking is for losers.

but this is an old story written into every story.

the haves and have-nots in every tale told by an idiot.

don't think twice and don't look back.

it's alright.

a boot stomping on a human face, forever.

a momentary taste of paradise.

misery all around.

step right up.

there's plenty for all while supplies last.

bless it's pointed little head.

it's medication time.

wishing we were dead - but somehow living?

emerging as dragonflies.

a dream of dreaming.

mumbling magick mad incantations.

more coffee and english muffin dripping with butter and honey.

while those among us are abused sick starving neglected constantly throughout our collective recollection.

are the masses now expendable?

it would seem so.

when have we never been?

go, baby, go!

so we fly away on a balloon filled with our dreams ascending to the clouds above that have turned dark and stormy as we guide ourselves toward silver linings such that we might live to tell the tale.

let go, hold on.

steady as it goes as much as it is able.

sitting at the table in the kitchen of the house by the garden gate we ponder if the garden is infinite or finite and how do we determine the difference.

...999.999... [units]

infinity and finite entwined almost forever.

the crazy ride seeming to never end.

infinity never to be reached.

1 > infinity > 1

funny how that works.

if it does work.

the proof is in the pudding whether it does or not.

we favor both.

it is it no matter what except when it is not it (but even then it is it) and so on, ad nauseam.

making our heads go around like being children twirling to make ourselves dizzy and fall down watching the sky turning.

wheee!