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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.