gazorbnik

gazorbnik

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i am i because my little dog knows me - gertrude stein.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

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the clown smoking a cigarette gazes at the blank page on the computer screen.
he should leave it at that, but zen is for squares.
pet the kitty.
he needs to sleep having to drive to get supplies for the diner tomorrow early and now it is late.
a few hours will do. he napped a lot today.
he continues typing not p0em.
how does it seem to be a cartoon in a magazine?
out with the old, in with the new.
23-skidoo.
wild wacky world.
he's glad he's not part of it anymore.
wasted space.
it's a joke, but nobody's kidding around.
it's serious business anymore. gotta know what's up, baby. beat surrealism was once a gas, now it's flat on its ass.
it was sorta fun while it lasted, even the scary parts where we mostly scared ourselves. what's to leave behind? echoes of ourselves regurgitating repeating clichés of useless information in some old databank thinking we are alive still. will we be in heaven?
sorting through random possibilities to imagine possibly being possible. a rabbit hole? perhaps. but so many interesting things happen. what else is there to do until disaster strikes?
light another cigarette.
now that our theory of everything has collapsed in on itself once more into a plenum singularity of 0 as we imagine it, we continue being amazed by our good fortune.
a gift of the gods.
forces beyond our present comprehension yet being expressed in the physical world as we are coming to understand it.
fear not.
this is a great blessing - with a curse.
do what you like. make sure you got it right. no sense wasting time.
maybe that's what this world is for. flesh without sin and all that noise. don't forget love - that mythological emotion. but don't forget hate. but don't hate the corporatestate.
go along like everything's alright in a world all your own. nevermind what the neighbors say, go outside and play.
he sleeps.
sitting at the counter at the diner continuing not p0em thinking about stuff that happens to come to mind for whatever reasons why or why not, as it comes and goes like everything else in the universe supposedly according to some theories people have that we incorporate into our theory of everything along with most anything else included we might feel fits in, the clown yawns then sneezes while the server counts the $$$ in their bank to begin the day.
somebody singing and playing the blues on the jukebox followed by some noise rap thing. as always the clown wonders about everything he might imagine being as much as he is able considering the circumstances being as they are which can make it difficult sometimes. ganesh does not set up obstacles we cannot overcome, and if so does so for good reason.
peace.
love.
understanding.
a dream of impossible things. forget. it was so easy once upon a time. now we have other thoughts on our mind. jabbering chipmunk machine on full throttle. is there a way out? the way out is in.
and he's back from getting supplies sitting at the counter again while the van is unloaded thinking whatever about anything as stupid as it may be he works it around every which (witch) way towards a distant point of madness. but that may not be as it seems.
x-ray head dreaming reality as it never is. a passing moment of despair. thinking strange. feeling everything surrounding him as he closes his eyes breathing. everyone has the answer. the answer is their truth. the truth is their reality. the clown wants none of it. he trusts nothing he cannot imagine for himself in his own time.
what he imagines is far away from any utopian paradise he has knowledge about from their candy land fantasies. everything is dreaming about itself. we call out the names of gods without reply but the void. perhaps if we offered them $$$? gods love $$$. but do we have enough? probably not. well, fuck the gods then.
and he comes home.
hash browns, coffee, toke, cigarette.
it's the ways we are different that get us to evolve, not what is and stays the same - guru jeff.
social darwinists should take care. truth cannot be misrepresented and still work as truth. many people should take care. even us? probably. truth is a fabrication that entertains us for the moment. we make up the rules, then break them.
silly.
how is one to come to understand when everything is false pretense and lies? look at the priests in their holy costumes and you will understand.
we cannot be broken down. we are broken down. down to the ground. and by magick rising up to fly away never to return.
gashdig.
2+2=cow.
getting the hook off the stage at the burning theater. it's quite an honor. no one understands. they think they've seen it all before. perhaps they have.
he needs to pick up more medications.
0.
0 what?
0 number of whatever.
0 on a positive/negative number line. positive and negative going to infinity. is the line straight or curved?
0 is the foundation upon which everything rests.
and so?
what is 1?
1 what?
a unit of measurement.
1 width of an infinitesimal point.
1 infinity.
how can we be sure?
nevermind.
but 0 keeps nagging at his brain. he doesn't quite know what it means.
it is it.
in his next life maybe he'll concentrate more on mathematics.
it's too late now.
he's always been too lazy for the rigors of rationalogic thinking.
rather irrationalogic took him away.
took him away from himself. maybe that was a mistake.
it's too late now.
he is gone.
gone to a meadow of daisies in the forest of dreams.
far from the laughter and the screams of a mad god alone in the void inside his head.
it might be him.
he's not sure if he wants to find out.
just watching clouds drift slowly by.
should he be content? is that a danger?
he imagines all the possibilities he is constantly thinking about.
everything is such a wonder to behold experiencing it all as much as any mortal can.
will he ever find his way back here again? or will there be new adventures?
he just wants to be left alone, except on his own terms. if not, then fuck you.
he doesn't care if life has been a waste of his time. it is still sublime. he's doing fine and dandy.
he lights another cigarette.


Monday, April 24, 2017

  1. coffee, toke, cigarette.
  2. and strange weird sounds.
  3. an eclipse of nonsense degrading into its birth.
  4. interplay of dimensions to create new worlds to become.
  5. what is reality?
  6. big deal.
  7. then when we come across ourselves wandering pathless paths everyone wondering which came first and which way is backwards. it must be something.
  8. o' to be in iceland in the spring!
  9. hear the birdies sing.
  10. such happiness it can bring along with such sorrow.
  11. the clown still working on typing not p0em. the fool. lost on a sea of wisdom. not much caring if so. 
  12. waves crashing everywhere on the rocks below.
  13. don't jump!
  14. you'll wish you hadn't in midair. a moment of realization before your head is cracking open to reveal butterflies.
  15. it's quite a trick to perform. give it a kiss like a toad into a prince. walk away.
  16. zombie zebras doing the locomotion, yeah.
  17. absolute forgiveness.
  18. truth for some is something to obey.
  19. truth for us is something to be.
  20. it is impossible to state there is no truth without proclaiming truth. mixed up turned around thing we love so well. the clown unsure whether he approves.
  21. stand up and be counted.
  22. outlining the stepping stones for success. it's all true but assumes we want success on their terms. what kinda success is that to become as hardhearted and brutal as they are?
  23. our success is our failure to succeed in their world.
  24. it's rigged in their favor of course. who's to tell us different who is not one of them looking for excuses?
  25. everything is hunky dory peachy keen.
  26. they are everywhere watching all the time.
  27. no matter what they may tell us we stand our ground to do nothing. we are on strike until their ruthless regime is taken down never to be seen again ever.
  28. we are allowed to dream.
  29. simplistic devices set to erase all memory of themselves among us. we forget and they take over. genius. a liquid sky is performed for the crowd to sing along as they like to do not to face their fears and tears.
  30. the popular folk do not enjoy our jokes made at their expensive expense onstage at the burning theater where they sit where everyone might see them otherwise enjoy the show.
  31. our names are not written in the book of life.
  32. we are heroes without a cause, without applause. could it be only in our own minds?
  33. into the actuality of the correct formulation of the event of the season. death squads roam the streets giving away flowers. the literal logic of it is astounding. wait, does this make sense? a question we must always ask ourselves to begin our journey.
  34. the fat black cat being a pest.
  35. we are ghosts of ourselves dreaming alright.
  36. when we go.
  37. when we die.
  38. are we ready or not here we come.
  39. the echo chamber recedes into darkness without our knowing what the fuck. is this what offends you? crawling toward the light again. it's funny how simple things like that are misplaced.
  40. afraid to open the message for fear of more bad fucking news from the front facing east toward rebirth waiting for something to happen. light up that dwarf. uncertain dreams when the lights go out. it comes for us reaching the 7th level trying to understand not too much longer.
  41. pizza and root beer.
  42. something doesn't seem quite right. learning the vocabulary of certain philosophical schools of thought one considers oneself wise. too much to do and not wanting to do any of it. light another cigarette.
  43. we exceed our limit of patience. frustration. it's all turned inside out backwards. watching it unfold on tv sitting comfortably doing nothing. when has it become enough?
  44. exaggerations of hope. feeling it. caricature rape of the embodied soul. a monopoly game. appetite. no one needs to explain, it is absorbed without knowing from birth to death. it is it itself.
  45. the clown having trouble thinking straight as he is supposed to with mind going around around as it will without stopping for him to catch his breath.
  46. it needs to be someone, why not him? let the others laugh relieved it's not themselves so they might succeed in this world.
  47. there is no room for error in the kingdom of god. everything measured exactly as it is fitting before the lord that punishes misdeeds for all eternity. we refuse to identify ourselves with that regime others rejoice for it to come.
  48. but we do not wish to make these decisions we are forced to make but just wanna be left alone in our peace.
  49. he goes out for supplies.
  50. he comes home and naps.
  51. awakening.
  52. coffee, toke, cigarette.
  53. pistachios.
  54. uneasy feeling. :][:
  55. he ignores it and eats a sausage. sausage good.
  56. pick it up.
  57. now is not the time for despair or anything like it.
  58. sure the world sucks, now tell us something new.
  59. a meadow of daisies in the forest of dreams where a monster is rumored to live.
  60. what's to be ashamed of?
  61. walking along a pathless path smoking a bowl of nature's best. a bag of mushrooms to nibble on.
  62. naked unafraid.
  63. making $$$ like crazy.
  64. join the fun.
  65. everybody's a success - even the losers.
  66. everybody's clear.
  67. it's all downhill everyway on easy street where the fabulous people meet.
  68. a standing ovation at the burning theater.
  69. the girls will be boys and the boys will be girls.
  70. every secret is being revealed and nothing is really that much of a surprise.
  71. sitting in an outdoor cafe in the sun. espresso and a cigarette. along comes some ooh-la-la to fancy for a moment or three. and the doves are cooing. lovers are wooing. everyone's booing the mime. what a wonderful time to feel to be young and free.
  72. 13 o'clock and all is well the watchers inform us on our personal monitors.
  73. everyone sighs with easy contentment going about attending to whatever business they might wish.
  74. almost everyone.
  75. and by the sea we watch the waves come in and go out until we decide to get hot dogs from the robot vendor on the boardwalk as a group of children go running by laughing.
  76. we find ourselves laughing along too. what a beautiful day this has turned out to be, rain in the morning with sun in the afternoon.
  77. people flying kites.
  78. we remember back when there were those who told us this would be impossible. where are they now? we hope they are happy.
  79. the clown eating licorice sighs.
  80. yes, they are happy, without ever admitting it. happy being despondent together. happiness to them is illusion. no one is really happy. they have been brainwashed into thinking so. they laugh at the idea of happiness.
  81. _________
  82. so now sitting at the counter at the diner continuing not p0em thinking about how bow cow gizzle flippers. and the red snake slithering across dimensional reflex machines igniting the mother matrix devices devised to start the party where everyone has a real good time blast off no one asking why.
  83. an experience experiencing itself as proof of its own existence for those who aren't sure about it yet. let's pretend we know better than that whether we do or not.
  84. generations after generations people populating the earth when there's too many already. but we have a solution to that we employ upon them without their knowledge but with their whole hearted consent. everything will be alright.
  85. simple is as simple does. ordering eggs, toast, and bacon. cheesy love songs on the jukebox. there's no end in sight. suckers born every minute.
  86. feeling true eternal love in the moment. love without object. love for love itself. funny how that happens. funny how so much of everything happens. who's laughing now?
  87. the clown's head imploding into a singularity of 0. the middle of everything that is or might be. we imagine ourselves in dreamy delusions. we imagine ourselves feeding ducks and geese and swans on a pond behind the house by the garden gate. on one side is desire, on the other side is fear. we walk between to enter. but it's not as easy as that otherwise everybody'd be trampling through.
  88. there's secrets to everything. secrets we make up for ourselves to deceive anyone happening by into believing there is nothing to it. they walk on by heads held high on their way to the promised land.
  89. we want everything. we got nothing. this is what others wish to believe about us if they think about us at all. we are squat to them as they are to us. whatever.
  90. it's all in our mind what is and what is not. petulant petunias growing in our hair styled in the latest fashion of opposition. our given mission to expose the underbelly of the project as we can but to no use. it's too late by now and long ago. the project cannot be stopped. everybody's in on it knowingly or not. so there. how about that?
  91. the project is good and just. it is evil and cruel. it is all that it needs to be to get the job done. the job is itself. the object of the project is the project. to continue is its mission.
  92. but seriously, the clown returns from getting supplies. sitting at the counter wondering where and/or when things begin and end. there is always before beginning and after ending. but that idea doesn't make $$$ for anyone so it is dismissed as nonsense.
  93. an iced mocha. the 1st of the season. yummy. waiting for the van to be unloaded so he can come home. while the bad guys pillage the world, he waits.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

eating red beans and rice the clown thinking about how he doesn't know what he's doing or why he's doing it most of the time. he lets the fat black cat lick the bowl when he's done and returning to typing not p0em for the benefit of no one.
it comes and goes it seems.
he doubts any and all truth people try to lay on him. and there are so many. dig - their rationalogic reasoning comprehending a small fraction of what composes reality. what reality? which? whose?
he lights a cigarette contemplating either a nap or making coffee.
he makes coffee.
but they all will insist there is only one reality therefore only one truth and all that business. any other realities one may perceive is wrong and one should go see a doctor about fixing what's not right in one's head.
and he thinks about how he might be able to make what he writes funnier to other people who it would seem think it's serious for some reason, which ironically he finds funny.
or maybe it's not ironic.
but everyone's out to get him. they watch him constantly all the time.
they probably wanna know which side he's on. they're waiting for him to make a mistake, which he never does - yet.
he has the gods to thank for that. but there are no gods, not as we think of them anyways. not as we think of ourselves. anthropomorphic bullshit for the masses.
doctor what?
what doctor?
not until we make gods of ourselves in our own image, which is happening at an increasingly exponential rate. this is all before the fall of babylon, baby.
billions will die a variety of deaths.
be prepared. it's bound to be very exciting.
most of his teeth are breaking apart. he will be one of the billions who die. he keeps losing the wireless for some reason he has yet to figure out why. he's trying out a different USB adapter. the one in the computer is probably going kaputnik. so far - ok.
_^__^___^___
the clown supposes people believing in one truth is not such a bad thing if it seems to give them comfort and strength when they need it. that is sorta why he made up gazorbnik (if he did indeed make it up, or just heard or read it someplace sometime he doesn't now remember where or when if). humans are programmed to be this way.
it's just that he's been beaten over the head with other people's truth more than once or twice and so has some amount of negative feelings about it. and they keep right on a-coming. the gang's all here, baby.
/\/\/\/\//
when it comes to pass that the world agrees that the one only truth is gazorbnik, whatever it might mean to them individually, for truly it is such.
ain't it?
any idiot can recognize it. but maybe one has to be and/or acknowledge one is an idiot to come to realize that fact stranger than fiction.
an imagined whatnot. it is whatever. it is universal truth that might be applied to anything by anyone.
get with the program, people!
but what's the use? we expect none. but still we might believe. but what does it matter?
$$$ matters.
how can we profit from it? turn it into a religion? they make oodles of $$$ off their truth. but who will believe enough to give us $$$, as much as they are able? so much for that idea. haha.
but really, what a disaster for us if it were to happen, not just gazorbnik but anything being pronounced the one only universal truth, eh?
but fuck truth and all that comes with it.
for the clown the truth is that spaghetti with garlic followed by leftover birthday chocolate cake with chocolate icing do not mix.
he naps.
awakening and feeling better.
anything everything is truth. a dog turd is truth. passing clouds are truth. a sneeze is truth. what's the big deal about truth?
but he's probably missing the point.
he's missing something.
defective.
he misses his blue neptune home. nothing has been the same since he was kidnapped from there by space pirates to be abandoned here in this world. no wonder he's such a wreck. no wonder he never fit in. it's a wonder he's still alive.
he wonders.
about.
everything.
he wonders how it brings such joy and misery at once.
he wonders how jazz works.
but seriously, he wonders why he thinks up this shit too soon too late. everyone wants him to wake up. this is what he wakes up to, a mind whirligig in his head about senseless things. what fun it is. but there's no profit in it, so it is useless.
circling like a vulture over a dying carcass of truth savoring tearing into that dead meat. to each their own niche of the life cycles. ugly to some, beautiful to others. who are we to decide? who are you?
even gods withhold their judgment, right?
what does any of this mean? it means gazorbnik, dig?
what the fuck?
yes.


Saturday, April 22, 2017

cigarette in hand the clown wondering how it might begin again typing not p0em while the fat black cat plays with a catnip mouse.
such is the moment.
so many places we have not gone before. carry the news, what news there may be anymore now the world is dead. ain't no life nowhere. ain't nobody but us chickens. the clown yawns. what when everything is gone? zombies?

coffee, toke, cigarette.
everything going on in his head at once. he's one of these folks who when everything is going ok worries about what bad is gonna happen next. silly old man. but he's learned in life that when he's up there is always something that brings him down. he tries to remain in the middle neither one nor the other. easy contentment lies there.
but what an idiot he's been - a lazy one at that.
he waits for what might come his way. enough for him to survive and not much more but what he needs. good enough for him. and he gets to think say do what he wants. no one inspecting him to determine if he measures up to their standards. he thinks he might fry up some hash browns.
another cigarette.
everything there is seems to be false according to whoever proclaims knowing truth. la-dee-da.
been there, done that.
and everything is false, but so are images on a tv screen, yet we are entertained and informed by them so what's the difference?
relax and enjoy the show.
pass the popcorn.
and the hash browns are frozen thick as a brick. oh well.
and those who are offended yet are terribly offensive. those who do not know themselves it seems. or if they do, they don't care.
and he rattles on and on.
pet the kitty.
the universe connected by spheres of light from the edge of one infinity to another. everything here now everywhere everywhen.
as we expand and drift apart will those spheres become undone until they are no longer in communication?
perhaps. maybe probably.
but space and time are illusion.
how are we to be free?
illusion masking what? true reality? that seems stupid. what's the fucking point in that? just to make us look like fools? yet people believe this is what is what it is.
the clown discovers in his mind that he is alone. he imagines everything. he gives it free will to become what it will. the world and universe and beyond is the result. a nifty trick he plays to keep himself from absolute solitude.
but now he has found out. how can anything ever be the same? but he suspected it for a long time before understanding how it might work out to be that way. this is why he enjoys the world in all its aspects from one extreme to another along all continuums of duality.
why not?
once one dons the mask and costume and steps onstage one should act and play the part as not to spoil the show for others.
the clown sits and observes as the plot thickens. it's as though he is not even here. but he is, very much so.
he writes. he has always written. writing is how he thinks. thinking is how he writes. the circle is unbroken, yet never the same twice.
he naps.
awakening.
making coffee. a toke, a cigarette.
he is still tired.
people on the street looking for victims. all as it should be. all as it is. the clown knows it doesn't matter what he thinks feels about anything. nothing changes. all as it should be. all as it is.
no one remembers it seems. this world is strange. everybody's a sucker for it. the clown is the biggest sucker of them all. and it doesn't matter.
every day is a holiday. enjoy it while it lasts. but as he types not p0em there is the slaughter of war and people cheering for their side to win while he imagines everything that could might be. to kill and kill again. that's how we like it.
death is the greatest invention ever. the final word. eliminate all opposition to one's ideals. be master of the world. what does it matter?
another cigarette.
he shakes his head until his brain falls out. now he is the brainless wonder. he watches it crawling toward the door. yes, go away and never come back.
he can imagine anything. and that's all he does. why really do it in real life? what does that accomplish? dead is dead.
something more and something less, and him in the middle like a monkey with a banana happy as a clam.
but nothing's funny anymore. everything and everyone so serious it makes him wonder. what do they hope to accomplish? and if they accomplish anything what is it worth? the world is dead.
a peaceful warrior has nothing to do but watch everything unfold. no one needs to know. no one wants to know. visions of a world destroying itself while a new world is born like winter into spring. what will happen next?
nothing new. nothing old. nothing borrowed. nothing blue. the wedding proceeds without ceremony. the clown eats a bratwurst thinking all the while of the ancient prophetic writings so symbolic they can correlate to anything at anytime. ignorance so severe nothing might enlighten it to become more than it is. this works in our favor if we understand what it might mean. do you?
scratching itch bleeding blood. 0 is every possibility that aren't always realized nor do they need to be. what chaos would reign if they did - haha. a sight for sore eyes to behold. 0 is beginning and end - alpha/omega. o' to wish another world. o' to wish for salvation from this one. o' to wish damnation upon others who disagree. the clown laughs.
pet the kitty. forget the blues - an undercurrent of emotion eroding away at the self. self? who? what?
the self being what is remaining when all else is expunged. he understands, but he does not know. does he trust his own mind? what else if not that?  how does one think past one's given thoughts. is it possible? how does one know? what sign should one look for?
weapons ready. the disease of faith. the release of doubt. incoming!
yes, it all makes sense in relation to how the world appears to be manifest. it fits like a glove. no room for love that isn't strictly enforced. we obey without understanding. the gods disfavor those who aren't like us.
face it.
this we hear and read from so many different sources. the philosophy of economics. scarcity and self-interest. the solid foundation of everything built upon it.
more for us. less for them.
he watches amused while everything twists and turns trying to make sense of itself.
if it makes $$$ it makes sense, everything else is nonsense - guru jeff.
imagine thinking like that and that's all there is but that universal truth. ugh. but what is and what is perceived to be may be vastly different. there is so much misunderstanding with everything. love and $$$.

the clown either has too much or doesn't have enough, he can't decide. should he maybe flip a coin?
a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. is it his imagination? it is real? is there any way to tell the difference? is the mad god himself?
how else would a god be that found itself in that situation? nothing but existence. it becomes mad, hallucinating itself within a vast universe where it creates a world populated with living life of all kinds. and a species evolves that is self aware. and the mad god is born among them to feel it is not alone but a part of them in a fantasy to forget. and it goes on life to life this way for quite some time, but never feeling to really be a part of them as it had hoped but remembering in some way just what and where it is.
all is reflections of itself as being. but for these creatures whose lives are misery this awareness of god within is an escape to hopefully merge with it and attain bliss - whatever that might be. the mad god understands and guides them to itself where they do merge and become blissful together.
but the mad god knows what is real and what is make believe. it knows its own madness it protects them from - or tries to. but some come to realize and also become mad. this is where the clown is at. the utter desolation of existing nowhere nowhen with nothing but itself.
to find steady bliss in this is the goal that probably never can be reached. it is always an illusion masking an ultimate horror. but it needs to suffice.
to laugh and scream in the face of this horror that is never beginning and never ending in a moment here now.
or not.
if one is looking for god that is where when one may find it. beware those who sugarcoat it with promises of everlasting bliss. be prepared to become mad.
but who is the clown but just anyone no one who figured this out from his experience falling outside what others describe as their own experience? it took him time to understand he is not wrong in his assessment.
masked in metaphor and symbol to both confound and enlighten. many do not seem to understand even when they are fully immersed in it. they believe it all to be real.
there is not really a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. he just makes that up in an attempt to describe in given language what it really is. but it really is nothing.


Thursday, April 20, 2017

(>:]_|=/+\=|_[:<)
the clown is a blank. no cookies for him. thick as a another brick in the wall. he is complicit with the machine, rigged into the system. a double secret agent.
it's fine to have ideals, but where are we really at?
he stands with gazorbnik, long may it wave. meaningless meaning unless we give it meaningful meaning.
everyone frustrated with the mess we seem to be in. no one knows who or what is on their side - the sides of a turning wheel spinning all directions at once.
we sing and dance onstage of the burning theater. we fall down. we laugh. this is an old trick - trickier than shit.
sitting before the computer typing not p0em for his own amusement despite confusion among the others - apocalyptic crybabies. let it all begin as it has been beginning forever. who has not seen it coming? - this self-fulfilling prophecy thing.
surprise?
anyway, the clown thinking about it and how it is it. but this is obvious and regarded as meaningless gazorbnik among the smarter folk. and that is exactly what it is. get it?
what's to be gotten?
a bout with madness. haha.
he knows who he is but not why.
why not?
he wants everything perfect like anyone else does. don't you? perfect to our dreams and nightmares. without a flaw to it. iconic irony. doublespeak goo-goo. he wishes he knew what is going on, but he never pays attention.
paying attention is for losers who want to get ahead in the game. all that fame and fortune. not for him.
but he's had his dreams awhile. he's glad none came true.
time to think.
think about everything. imagining everything. everything that could be - even could be as an impossibility. how much is impossible vs how much is possible?
everything approaches infinity in all directions and dimensions.
punching a dream. waking up in a sweat. he keeps thinking about all the possibilities of everything - the signal and the noise.
pet the kitty.
when you're on the bottom and there's no way to the top, you improvise. the trickledown theory of information. we get squat. we glean the fields for anything useful for our purpose. our purpose being to hijack the planet away from the bad guys.
we've got magick in our heads. we turn ourselves around sideways to ourselves. we make use of the discarded, creating new designs of different flavors. no one knows what others are doing among us. we let psychic synchronicity play its part. we are against the power elite and their gods. what do they have but $$$ and weapons? we are wise enough not to take that bait. we have surrendered long ago.
the clown lights another cigarette wondering what is true and/or false. it's not always an easy decision to make depending upon one's own perceptions.
it's hopeless. to come to realize everything we are told is lies upon lies entangled in lies. even when it's the truth it's still lies. there are realities to this world unspoken. but none of it makes $$$ so it is nonsense according to the once wise words of guru jeff.
right now the clown's madness makes $$$ for himself and others, so it must make sense. madness is how he survives in a hostile world. $$$ has not been much of a problem too much. when it did the state came in to provide for him. long may it wave.
everything repeating, but never the same twice. it's always changing transforming into new configurations of reality - physical reality. reality according to physics which it seems to do insofar as we are able to presently determine and imagine. but at times we miss the obvious. obvious to the naked eye. obvious to our imagination.
with everyone predicting the end of the world the clown continues not p0em just like any other time that was and is and will be forevermore in the moment now. everytime the moment hits 0, which is always. imagine that. 0, everywhere everywhen. an empty set, the set being infinity.
where when is not nothing? not nothing is something, yes? we become confused with our own explanations. explanations of everything, including nothing and whatever else that is usually dismissed by rationalogic calculations and reason.
what can really be proven to exist when existence itself is under doubtful scrutiny? some would have it be gone. that would make everything a lot easier. ain't nothing nowhere.
are we all hallucinating a common illusion? but we don't exist.
fine, be that way.
strip everything down to nothing to discover everything is nothing and nothing is everything. it depends upon our perception of it.
is experience proof of existence? we experience, therefore we are? we may not exist as what we believe ourselves to exist as, but that is of no consequence. something experiences, therefore something exists. can there be experience without existence?
there was a time when time mystified us. it still does. do we know exactly what time is? or is it a quality of things, not a thing unto itself?
or can there be existence without experience? or existence without space and time?
he likes thinking these sorts of things. he doesn't expect to answer any of them. the questions he has is good enough.
he goes out to get supplies.
he comes home wondering if it is madness or just stupidity he "suffers" from. someone mad or someone stupid must be suffering, right?
a toke, a cigarette. making more coffee.
the pretensions of the sane intellectual elite. but they have their place and their uses for the common purpose of the project.
the clown is just plain lazy is what it is. all he wants to do is think dream imagine. nothing particular interests him enough to do nothing about it. just everything. the universe a blobby wiggly floating soap bubble thing in meta-spacetime or something.
what's the use?
super hot wild chaotic stuff cooling until it all comes to a dead cold stop - and ceasing to exist? we in the middle somewhere at some time. time? have we figured that out yet? why should we? part of what constitutes existence - along with a minimal of 3 spatial dimensions? how come? it's probably not right. how could it be? we're idiots.
we thought we were cool being the losers - the freaks. as the clown thinking about things that don't make $$$ gazing out the window toward the guy across the street trying to get his car started typing more not p0em proceeds to be ever amazed at next to nothing.
the rituals of living life. if it worked once it should work again. but meaning is lost along the way. we are empty shadows from the past toward a future of hollow shame. rutabaga. everybody making $$$ for somebody. the only thing that makes sense. now the guy's car is being towed. it didn't start. the clown eats some black licorice as he watches the action.
some people are weird. most people are useless. he cannot think of another way the world could be given the parameters of what we have to work with being ourselves. it is a cruel god that created this. an angry cruel god. a child perhaps - wanting love and having tantrums not getting it. we're just dumb fuck humans. get over it.
suppose there's a manufacturer that makes toasters. you buy one and it doesn't work right. which do you blame, the toaster or the manufacturer?
now suppose you picture yourself in a boat on a river. it's all so beautiful, don't you think? life can be so easy. but who pays for it?
BA8
spO0CEA056S
now suppose your spirit is willing but your flesh is weak.
a report to the committee as not p0em too.
these peoples is crazy, baby. believe it or not. it comes with being civilized. nobody's free to be how they might feel. they no longer know what's real. so, what's the deal?
we'll need plenty of reinforcements to get the job done. no one knows what's happening, or they think it's aliens. they have been so indoctrinated and manipulated their heads are inside out.
another toke, another cigarette. coffee is on its way.
11@10
jesus tutti-frutti! what goes on?
it gets scary at times not knowing how these people might act and/or react and such. they succeed by beating any opposition into the ground. they overcome. and there are those among them who wonder why they can't act any different.
it's in the soul of the language they use to communicate, even to think.
and the terrible wars. free for all. to the victors go the spoils, and all that. atrocity city, baby. ain't no way around it.
it is interesting to observe. primate culture in business suits. one word: greed. greed above need.
but what do we expect when the whole universe is greedy? gravity is greed. the more you have the more you can grab. fulfillment in obliteration.
and all anyone thinks about is escape from this world when this world was once a garden until we trashed the fucking place. haha.
it was all in a crazy dream.
who knows how big the universe is? it could be the size of a wad of bubblegum to another observer maybe, yah? only a blip on the screen. a grain of sand in a desert. a needle in a haystack.
420 kilometers to hell.
here we go, folks.
go figure.



Tuesday, April 18, 2017

boogers 666.
for lunch he may decide to have a bratwurst.
as usual he is distracted, though by what he does not know. some twinkling tingling passing thing in his brain or another. a cigarette. to be sent to a planet where the sole purpose is to figure out how to escape. what a bizarrely interesting game the gods play to amuse their time being immortal. that could be the only way it makes sense. but there are no gods. there is only the absurd. but how absurd is it that there are gods? spin, baby, spin. clean cat box, clean toilet, take out recycling.
another toke. another cigarette. fat black cat playing with catnip mouse. a pause in the rain. he should go for a walk. maybe he will.
and he does and taking out recycling too. he needs to rest and catch his breath opening the window for cool outside air. and he does some exercises for his back. another cigarette.
he bumbles stumbles along on pathless paths perhaps only around in spiraling circles never repeating the same. the i am centered at the point of 0. blow out the candle and achieve nirvana. and all that jazz. kick out the jams.
a lifetime of discipline and meditation. he always fell asleep. but there is always a way. he wandered off to find it.
now he realizes and understands how it may be, though it doesn't need to be. he is quite prepared to being wrong. is being wrong such a terrible thing? does it deserve eternal punishment by an angry god that seems could use some cosmic anger management, or for those who invented god perhaps?
he laughs at that business and the poor suckers who
fall for it though it is not that funny cuz they spread it around like a plague among us.
somebody ought to do something about that!
haha.
who is it?
is it you?
jesus coming to straighten out that fucking mess.
the sun kinda comes out. maybe another walk? we shall see. right now, a cigarette. more coffee.
the noise of lawnmowers in the spring air. it's that time of year again. mowing down forests before they can get started. good idea, people.
but everyone does it cuz everyone else does it. and it's the law in many cases - and big business.
oh well, so much for that.
dumb fucks.
as far as the clown is concerned he lives on bizarro world. everything backwards upside down inside out, and not in a good fun way. there is something demented about it.
he naps.
awakening.
a toke, a cigarette.
it's medication time!
not always believing 1/2 of what he thinks the clown continues typing not p0em for no good reason like an 18 wheeler out on the desert highway or something. art schmart, give him something real. if they only knew, but they don't. it's pointless.
incomprehensible realities surrounding us beyond our imagination. is our reality as incomprehensible to them? other beings we do not recognize existing in sideways dimensions and vice versa us to them. dull and humdrum to the max. where's the party at, daddio?
the new masters urging us to rise up against the old masters. we obey. we are successful. off with their heads. there is great celebration until we gradually come to realize nothing has changed.
that's where the party's at.
wear your pink and purple hats like rats off a sinking ship to drown into the depths of an endless sea, the sea being humanity. this is how we are free?
yes, many believe it's true. we'll deal with them before we're through.
we have plans to overcome everything they have done. what fun! this is the one time we will succeed. everybody has their need. so many minds to feed with swill as many will, but they will fail.
all hail the new regime! it will come as if in a dream. they will confess and come clean. we will create a new machine. it will serve the masses not the master. our steady progress will be faster than any before have come to pass knocking them back on their collective ass.
no, none of that will be. that is not our reality. the individual will decide what is right and what is wrong. they're the ones who sing our song. to no one they will belong. their struggles have been long in coming. now they are off and running. nowhere to go but be here now. they realize 2+2=cow. the world will all go to hell, but the individual will be doing swell. no one knows who they are. they are as if a distant star. they do not display outward signs but within they create odd beautiful designs. it's a secret revolution no one knows which way the wind blows.
this is one of many of the clown's fundamental errors. do not believe a word. go where there is truth. we dare you. silence your wayward thoughts that led you astray. you know what we mean. take your soma and dance that sweet dance. everything is alright - uptight, clean outta sight.
the prevalent distaste for traditional values coming upon the shores of tomorrow's dream when nothing makes any sense. a lost cause. no applause comes from the house of the burning theater. rotten tomatoes are hurled just like times forgotten by the drooling crowds of folks asking how long this can continue.
so much to do and nothing done, the clown is having too much fun at the expense of others who walk with pride. proud to be the ones in charge or the wannabes. all can suck it. he wants no part of it when he was born into that class he couldn't get out fast enough down down down he went to end up here while they are chained to lives they do not comprehend what for but carry on as if.
the missiles launched are a beautiful sight to see up close as long as they are aimed the other way. such awesome death and destruction awaits those who it doesn't matter if they are innocent or guilty to those who order others to push the buttons as they themselves have been ordered to do from the top of the pyramid of command.
see how easy it is?
now try to stop it.
without doing the same in return to defeat it.
march until your shoes fall off. chant until you lose your voice. see how easy it is?
despair and doom. happy are the days passing us by. the clown laughs at nothing as the mad are required to do sitting before the computer typing not p0em as dusk begins.
it's medication time!
glory be!


Monday, April 17, 2017

quiznuts -
the romance is gone? far from it, baby. it's just in intensive care. we beat it senseless with our baseball bats but couldn't kill the beast.
just kidding.
or are we?
nevermind.
let us continue. the clown sitting before the now fixed computer thinking dirty thoughts while the fat black cat stares at him typing not poem about our theory of everything. as if we know shit. but maybe we do. maybe we know whole bunches of shit.
it's doubtful but possible.
but where were we before all this happened?
coffee, toke, cigarette.
that's the ticket.
gazorbnik is "central" to our theory. gazorbnik is our theory. nothing on earth can stop it but a butterfly sneeze. gazorbniking is fun and karma profitable. try.
but isis is displeased. no one came to her fabulous party who was anybody. what's a mother to do?
on the other side though, we have recently tried to define gazorbnik with meaning. is this possible? who would know yes or no - or maybe? not you.
gazorbnik is slippery as a greased electric eel on meth. gazorbnik is a zebra, either black stripes on white or white stripes on black or black and white stripes on aqua pink.
you decide.
yes, you - the victim.
haha.
but who is laughing now but the evil geniuses ruling the world? they got us down and we may never get up.
the mind shift/ship is ready to more or less extent to pick up passengers with its cosmic webs. can you feel it? it's true!
we are laughing too. we suspect that after the shit hits the fan there will be peace in a while when everything settles back into some sorta routine.
breathing hard the clown typing more not poem comes to realize again it may all be a dream someone is having around here. he's unsure if it might be himself. anything could be possible.
he lights another cigarette almost but decides to wait. give his sorry lungs a rest awhile, ok?
he'll be dead soon enough.
he is curious about what death might be like if anything at all but instant oblivion.
the world as he knows it vanishing into a fading dot of light on an old tv tube.
he had a vision once while receiving ECT in his youth.
he wasn't ready as he is ready now.
some weird modern piano music with tv from the other room in the background - some comical news show.
who says we're going to hell?
poo on them and lots of it.
we may be on our hands and knees but we're headed for heaven or bust, baby.
put that in your bong and smoke it.
we'll tear the kingdom down before we surrender. it's an easy thing to do once one realizes it's all in our heads.
no more robots.
no more flying cars.
no future, baby.
and the past is full of regrets.
be here now.
and away we go!
wheee!
it's all 1st class on the mind shift/ship. room to move and then some.
move on out.
what do we have to fear now we have faced fear itself?
you know what we mean?
the clown is afraid of nearly everything. something is out to get him, and it will get him in the end.
monkeys all around. how fun is that? haha - funny monkeys and funny monkey business. shake those bones. let it spin outta control - just like we planned.
remember?
it was a day like another other spring day in paris. not like it used to be, but this is now. at least it was then.
we were all zipped up when the saucers landed. everything was cool. but there will always be those who panic and those who follow until the whole city is wailing and moaning and rioting and looting.
is paris burning?
is the world?
are we?
we're always burning, baby. burning with love and hate, and don't be late.
anyway, as time went on we realize this all might not be happening but some sorta PTSD acid flashback thing in our heads. still that did not dissuade us from running for the hills where the eucalyptus grow and excitedly ask each other what the fuck and each replying i don't fucking know until we calmed down enough to attempt to reason it.
that is when we conspired together to take over the world with our gazorbnik showing us the way.
then we go our separate ways never to be seen again.
so that's that story the clown makes up about gazorbnik and all concerned.
why should anything be any different?
another toke.
making shit up is one of the ways to go if one is so inclined. cuz that's all most anybody else does - except of course the rationalogic realists - in one form or another and all that noise.
bless this mess and all ships at sea.
so what if the clown talks to imaginary friends? is there peace on earth? let us know when you have that together before you judge, asshole.
the winds howl and the ship of fools is turned about and sails back to home port again. the regular citizens are not pleased to have them return.
now what? fate has slapped them in the face again. they have a meeting and return with a verdict to shoot on sight any fool who comes ashore. otherwise let them starve.
then the clown thinks once more about 0. a bizarre not-thing we take for granted is nothing at all. that may be what it means but what something means and what something actually is are 2 different things much of the time. but do we know what anything is? or do we only know what anything is supposed to mean among us?
schrödinger knew better than that, didn't she?
of course what reality we happen to be playing with at the time has some bearing on what is believed to be the truth of the matter as it relates to greater truths all the way to infinity? oh, please...
what do we believe now? do we believe in not believing? do we become "clear" of all that business? believing would seem to be a successful evolutionary trait to have gotten us this far, but may destroy us in the end, no?
gazorbnik might be 0 with all the mystery that comes with it.
how do we explain 0 with knowing so very little about what exactly what 0 represents?
a goose egg.
0 represents no units of a particular thing at a particular spacetime coordinate location. there are no apples in this box in the hallway at 11:11:11 pm.
but true nothing does not operate that way as we have explained before when no one was paying attention off playing video games or some such.
we can't be serious, can we?
it's doubtful.
no matter about that as we continue along whichever ways we might happen to go from here to...?
everywhere leads to 0. everywhere is 0 - or is that 0 is everywhere? either are not the same as the other might be thought to mean.
dig?

so whose fault is it?
one of many questions we could ask if we wanted to. but we choose not to at this time - though we all know the answer that few will admit. ripples in spacetime revealing images in the shimmering light and shadow. the god narcissus hypnotized by its distorting reflections that are ourselves in the physical world.
this is one way to think about it imagining what we will. it takes one to know one. gang rape. but this is an olden story that makes no sense in the future of society. light another cigarette. 

Friday, April 7, 2017

greetings, earthlings -
just as we would have it with our luck we inherit the earth.
teach us a lesson we will never forget. what fools we have been all this time along. we thought we could do as we please and that would be enough. listen to them laughing last, angels and demons alike.
this trap we become easily ensnared in at birth. what do we know? what are we to do utterly helpless and dependent?
11:11
and as we awaken we may may suspect some things amiss. but most evidence we might happen across supports it unless we might happen to be ones who look deeper through the layers of lies.
it's a game to the gods for their idle amusement.
and if we break away free, what then? salvation or damnation? who can tell the difference?
the clown's been though most of that and doesn't even wanna know nothing about how it supposedly makes sense to anybody.
but it kinda makes sense to him occasionally thinking sideways about it as he is wont to do in dreams dreaming reality of the best and worst of all possible worlds.
and people complain a lot. someone should do something about that. - guru jeff.
few have understanding of the usefulness of violence. break all the rules to impose our own. sounds good to us.
return everything to how it once was should be. who knows better than us? we are the crown of heaven.
what rules but no rules? no rules against anyone making rules by use of violence.
just like the good old days.
so it's true, we are mad mad mad in a world we design by what we are given by our nature. we will ever rise above? to be what? cruel gods?
damn hippies.
the sacrifices we make for their pleasures. ambrosia and nectar while we eat shit. what fools we are but given no choice in this world by all accounts.
these bleak avenues of thought we are allowed to wander in a maze with no exit but death looming over our lives of forced subjugation.
thrown into a bizarro world where all is backwards upside down sideways from whatever we might have expected. expectations deliver disappointments. hope for the best but while expecting the worst.
we are suckers for anything. billions come here to prey upon the billions. is it a joke?
nihilism for beginners.
our philosophies cut to ribbons, easily digestible for the masses who don't give a rat's ass. do what thou wilt is all they understand with their lowest common denominator simplism. everybody gets a prize!
zarathustra shaking his head.
the clown agrees to disagree. he laughs knowing he can and will always change his mind. but he chooses to observe awhile more as long as he is allowed to become himself toward understanding everything he is able.
he understands beginning is not beginning but continuing. the beginning of the universe is absurdity. our particular bubble of spacetime. is spacetime a common denominator? it does not exist in and of itself but only as objects composed of its fabric. it is a characteristic of objects like the color orange. everything is logically false. but everything has meaning - except gazorbnik.
being never beginning never ending continuing. is there such a state as being in and of itself? if there is nothing is nothing being? but it would seem true nothing is the absence of being, even of itself. this is difficult to imagine. let's not even try. let us declare nothing not possible. that'll fix it.
we cannot deal with infinity, so we make it finite to fit our rationalogic calculations.
we believe that is what everything is cuz that is everything we are able to comprehend.
yay! pizza's here!
he eats and then sleeps.
11:11
awakening.
driving to the diner, sitting at the counter, continuing not poem as if it is the first and the last. you'll go crazy thinking that shit.
if the object is not to think, the clown has failed. but he thinks himself into non-thought anyway. a blank. 0. everything goes away and quits bothering him. almost. not quite. a ribbon of thought remains flying in the celestial winds awhile all toward nowhere (now here).
but is non-thought the object as many proclaim it should be? perhaps for those wishing to become one with i am all must be stilled within. go for it if that is your desire.
he comes from that psychic desolation and has little desire to return to its madness. better the distractions of pretend illusions of this imaginary world in order to forget.
he goes out for a smoke.
philosophic merry-go-round thing reaching for that brass ring to continue our charade. stand until we fall. the clown sits before the computer and orders breakfast.
he can't get this shit outta his head but there are obstacles to it if one is trying to get somewhere with it - or without it. destinations are for losers. let it have its own destinations, we're just along for the ride, baby.
uneasy feeling to the day so far. it may come and go or hang on awhile.
we may each have free will but how many have free choice? lives in captivity. lives stolen by those who have great pride in their freedom over others, whose freedom is dependent on another's subjugation. listen to them crow.
the clown finds this funny and laughs though there is nothing funny about it. he has tried living life with no one beneath him. he has failed in this as well as everything else.
as he waits for it to be time to leave to get supplies he thinks more about our theory of everything. it is not a theory of what people ought to do but a theory by those who have nothing else better to do. let it be as it is. what else is it supposed to be?
and returning from getting supplies for the diner he orders a double mocha while the van is being unloaded. when the mocha and van are empty he drives home.
home to a house full sleeping sick people. he goes to the computer typing more not p0em.
the theory for today is... he's not sure. he'll have to think about it and find what it might turn into.
he thinks about what some speculate about a multiverse filled with other universes. first, he has doubts about it cuz it opens too easily into an infinite series of russian dolls. but maybe that doesn't really make a difference. whatever...
so, do these universes have the same or different physics? how different? he imagines spacetime exists within each and all. but that may be only cuz he is within a spacetime universe and is not able to imagine or comprehend any other.
how many other universes are there? what about them makes them different? could two be absolutely identical except for the momentary location of one particle? so there could be infinite universes.
but so what? we don't even come close enough understanding our universe never mind infinities of them. and is god god enough to personally oversee all aspects of each one all together at once? maybe. maybe we don't understand god at all. how do we disprove anything we don't know what it is?
god? how did god sneak back in? that weasel!
what about non-euclidean spacetime? trans-dimensional spacetime? what about whatever else spacetime?
what about everything including a multiverse and possibly more? and all universes included within each and every multiverse. infinity times infinity. without beginning, without end. and we include the russian doll effect to that and everything exploding toward an incomprehensible amount of infinities. infinity is not as simple as it may seem at first. neither is a god that keeps track of every particle of it all in every moment - if time is relevant among the varied universes. why should it be? maybe it is and isn't both. all possibilities. all configurations. all everything far too complicated for any comprehension - even the comprehension of god? if it is then god is not god.
god and not god are walking up the street. god suggests that they sit and rest a few moments. not god wishes to continue but abides sitting rolling a joint while god takes out a bottle of vodka.
a few moments become minutes become hours become an afternoon of stoned drunkenness fool and folly.
the next day's dawn they awaken and continue their journey to the thrift store now just blocks away but closed this early in the morning. so they proceed arm in arm to a 24hr diner to break their fast where the clown sitting at the counter typing not p0em oblivious.
another cigarette. his time is coming up fast. how long he has to last coherent in this body before being released to whatever is and/or is not the question.
the fat black cat plays with her catnip mouse. the clown's asshole itches and burns like crazy. has he gone too far? not far enough? toward what where when? is a return to godhead all that awaits us? is it unavoidable? what a drag.
can we be perfect enough? is the jewel of the lotus without flaw? how then can it be perfect?
unless we subscribe to the notion we are told that all is perfect but ourselves. we are the flaw.
and the clown cooks up some hash browns. yum!
more coffee, a toke, a cigarette.
he's done everything all wrong it would seem but how come he is more and/or less content after times beating his head against a wall to make it stop?
he doubts anything he might want to. then change his mind.
everything whirls and twirls and swirls happily around in his head outta his mind.
he does not climb to the mountaintop like a goat but tends a garden in the valley. enlightenment eludes him. he is far far too ignorant. he knows next to nothing yet understanding more than he knows. a moment here now is all the enlightenment he is able to imagine comprehending, if that.
in an instant it comes and goes with the next instant as enlightening as the preceding.
fuck the überpeople. let them fly fly away and leave us be.
we wander the ruins of their world seeking what little might be useful to sustain us. we die off by billions, many slaughtered in the name of justice - or for food.
so what?
who cares?
everything is what it is.
amen.