part 41

juvenile discretion weeping on the rocks far below anything surrendering with the dawn the clown typing not p0em cuz he ain't no poet, and don't he know it. that's a fact. ya can't beat that.
a fact of experience. he knows what is and what ain't in the long run. don't make him decide for or against you, you might be surprised what the results could be.
let's just keep it simple as always.
we are prepared to disentangle all evidence and memory to the contrary. nothing is forbidden, everything is permitted. this is the starting off point where when everything is possible. in with the bees. can we trust them now?
what?

funsville. a universe created, maintained, and destroyed for our pleasure and amusement. why should it not be so? no reason we can determine if so or not. are we not gods now walking the face of the earth as it pleases us to do so.
so much talking about it but not enough doing about it. those were the days when the freaks came out to try to save us until they found out there is nothing nor no one to save. too bad for us. we were born and raised with bad brains. we should not be, but here we are anyway all acting like the world owes us a living.
dancing in the garden. imagine that. audacious intents. sucking in information we cannot judge if it is good or evil like we are supposed to be able to do according to the psychological profiles we are compared to marked normal. we are not normal. we won't be normal no matter how we are pushed into it. why does everyone have to be normal? that is how normal people think it should be. be like us they all tell us. is that normal behavior?
it's normal behavior for normal people. they love the collective. they distrust the individual. they want you to join them.
sorry - not interested.

the normal people are those causing the problems in the world by being so fucking normal - normal this, normal that, normal the other thing on and on.
assimilation. the stinky underfoot things they have to say about one another with smiles. each hating their lives but who are stuck and can't get out. the clown's been there and done that with the normal people. normal people are nowhere. they don't know where anything is. anything else is not normal. dig?
the collected artifact. admired but never read.
reading is too difficult a process. who has time? some isolated group of radical poets undercovers.
why is it assumed that the few manipulate control over the many? shouldn't it be otherwise?
an orb of what is left of our consciousness placed in orbit around 0 the beginning ending of everything. the clown is lost in a confusing world beyond his comprehension babbling world words of his new found innocence laughing to hell and back as if it's all the same.

an everyday experience of joy and low sodium diet with us vs them mentality claiming the upper hand with vengeance for all as all would have it.
can we live with love? can we live without it?
do we know what love is? is there love without sex?
silly questions enough for us to ask with dirty teeth signifying there might be something amiss a deserted ship. careful as you step.
he thinks about having done it like others have done it, imagining some weird scene in our hearts and minds to play out upon the world stage once in a lifetime. it does nothing else. there is no purpose. it is gazorbnik for no practical reason whatsoever that we can think of.
what is what?

shout into the abyss. no sound returns. nothing to comfort or scold us. any meaning is an invention of our minds. this is where we escape to. this is where we escape from. becuz. why not?
simple meanings exposed for all to attempt to understand that previously have no meaning.
our favorite gas station is closed it is sadly reported by our patrols back to those of us who rarely leave the house.
there's prescriptions ready at the pharmacy.
the clown has thought so many thoughts unconnected to any sort of logic that they are nearly unrecognizable in his head programmed by nature, nurture, and indoctrination to recognize only that which has economic purpose.
one person looks into a forest and see abundance of nature. another person looks into a forest and sees board feet of lumber. who is right and which is wrong? stinky gloppy tangy cat box smell. let's go insane around here, baby. begin by rocking around the clock. does anyone remember beginnings of anything? has anybody ever? are we dreaming? face mecca while you shit. pronounce the holy words from your heart doing your sacred duty. go in peace.

an armed society is a polite society.
long may it wave burning up on the hill high higher highest. that was the feeling of the old days before the future came to town. a backward time we lost our way. can we ever recover? recover what from who? if we only knew then what we know now. but that's the trick of it, isn't it?
the clown scorns the world as he has come to know it. the plot thickens. he fell for all of it. he didn't have a chance. the whole revolution of it for nothing he didn't want to begin with. what a dupe. all a rock and roll fantasy outta his mind.

what he did want to begin with is to be left alone. he dislikes annoying people and all people are annoying. only interested in me me me they seek out you you you. they want something from you, for you to verify their identity they have had stolen from them replaced with a temporary replacement identity, or 2.

identity for all, and to all a good night.
don't let the bedbugs bite.
everything has been stated already. does that mean it's truth? it can hardly matter less to us. seeing words vertical and diagonal instead of horizontal. what's the prognosis, doc? tell us what you believe is true.
slight instances of visions on/off in our brains.
can it be explained?
neptunian love children.
children being the gods of everything everywhere everywhen. the sacrifice of self to self. what does it mean to the common schmo? and there are so many of us. those who wander unknowing, by the millions if not billions. the schmucks who fell for the whole damn thing at once and for all. it's too late for us now.
it's all been a con game. it's all been fake. now we awaken to that fact. no one's coming to save us unless we save ourselves. but how is that done at this point? who is ready and able to disentangle themselves from it? what does that entail?
it's medication time.
he wonders if he wants to lay down for some period of time, and he decides that he does.

awakening (but not really).
something like it but not the same. a chill up the clown's spine making him twitch a moment feeling briefly naked as a bean hearing a laugh and a scream.
what does it all mean?
we don't particularly care.
we just do it as it goes.
we are a menace to ourselves and others down the line.
we screw things up really fine.
but somebody needs to play our role, swinging from the gallows pole.
for every game there must be losers to make their victories mean anything which ultimately are dust in the wind.
this few seem to understand it takes someone wise to perceive through the lies.
we laugh and laugh at their profound ignorance they have yet to discover blinded by the light they believe is revelation.
we have no truth but the truth of being alone as those living the solitary life might find it being unknown to those following the crowds. but knowing this truth will do one no good. one becomes a stranger in a strange land - a universal soldier for someone else's profit throughout the universe. this is the focus of our rage against the machine of our oppression.

thoughts of suicide bring us to the pinnacle of understanding ourselves. who ventures close to this is perhaps a fool wandering aimlessly where angels fear to tread. we know nothing. stringing words together like glittering beads that become meaningless.

part 39 (3)

zap?
is it what?
could it be?
nothing is real the coo coo says to no one but everybody knows by now. reality has shifted to the crazy zone where it might belong as robot children play in the rubble of war like the old films we once saw but no more.
are they forbidden?

or maybe we are forbidden?
cast off into a sea of darkness - or not.
for us the skies are bright symbolic green of always joy above which we may reach but not to touch.

no problem for us. why bother with that? creating what needs to be destroyed. what fun. a loaded gun. we know what to do, don't you? let's go home.

expressing the inevitable defeat against the world indeed unless we might imagine ourselves becoming increasingly otherwise engaged in a hero's welcome. watching them everywhere they might choose to wander. cheese.

easy action here where it belongs on easy street spitting images settling the scores at the burning theater to cheering crowds of not so innocent bystanders learning to behave themselves in proper mannerisms of obedience coordinated to ritual forms of free shipping options after dark.

fear not little people, it will do you no good. be glad for your oppression. know you are needed for the machinery of our project to continue as it will. don't give up.

arcing electric chest hair beginning the test of life or death continuing ever onward toward needless forgetfulness. burger control consciousness. everything else is nonsense thinking as if nothing ever is going on.

into the hours of the night before they come knocking in the door for us into our brains overloaded with nothing but how much longer do we need to know better. gazing upon these golden asses
emptiness revealed on the underside of everything that is nothing more than a moment never happened to be foretold again forever and a day.

dizzy in head inside urinal dreams about to climax on the floor with good intentions with time well spent aside from the storm. praise be to the one true god almighty pronounced dead on arrival. our prayers are answerable to no one. no one is answerable to us. we have no answers. we are fortunate enough through understanding but yet again maybe not.

who could be such as us?
who am us?
we dream struggling snakes and ladders of things impossible without motion of space and time and mind as if anything exists as that.

? it's a zoo around here forecasting shadows of our lives with truthful lies of love. happy are the days passing out of our control.
blessed be, baby.
hooray for babylon.
the smell of medicated sweat dripping from the brow opening the imaginary eye out. everything shut down for the parades of misfits in the rain.

true truth rotten from within the twisting rationalogic devotional mind that exists. but how about a kiss from beyond this mortal sacrifice demented injustice? how do we feel? our righteous indignation knows no bounds on earth feeding on its own fury of itself. good girls and boys training to become warriors they are told to be for nation and glory. slaughtering the despised among themselves. easy victims without mercy. their masters are well pleased. so be it.

the oldest trick to be devised upon us we are suckers for in our stupid youth. no wisdom of age in our brains. go home to turnip town.

everything okay thanks again to everyone. please be pleased. but what formations discovering thoughtcrime throughout this process of making sure it might belong here in opposition from getting better soon enough to prevent this human death disease thing from taking over the domain and that we even have such words as these to describe our proposed fate.

the hate involved for ourselves many enjoy its taste of assuming foretold delusions in their simple minds bent on destroying paths is all they can imagine as in days of yore.

the brutality of blood and honor. but this is how they would have it in warrior paradise of boasting pride bragging of adventure. they will not tolerate disgrace, they would rather death. a silly people.

nevermind - let us be beyond that. we know the way toward infinity. come as we are. be here now. a stupid people.

envelope elephantine epiphanies which come and go outta sight and mind these days before they vanish with completely different complicating meanings hereafter.
do we want to die?
or do we just not want to live?
it could be this, it could be that, it could be the other fucking thing. just keep on truckin' seeking another blessing in disguise along the side of the road least traveled that if we do our jobs right we may discover its perpetually penetrating presence purposely pondering putrid purple puddles.
double secret agents whispering in shadows of time licking lips after washing their hands again many times over and over like psychotic awareness wannabes too dangerous for reason.
nobody's business comes walking down the street asking, who do you love?
who do you do?
was the sky blue?
is this an advanced directive by chance of the moon.
5 2 1
it's all over, baby, one more time as we need witnesses for our confession now around the wheels of confusion playing in our heads of romance. turn out the light could be the last thing we do anywhere around these parts. cancel our certain chances for attending the clear power ceremony working the stage. we thought the only way out was in if we thought of anything at all. but we are doing alright. stooges for the lord god we remember now being set right by our foes.
who knew?

we fit in where we could find to fit in on the edge where we attain little pieces of peace smooth face against the cold tile.
each house a golden sphere of love in doomtown.
nothing left to lose.
choose your choices carefully on fire in different ways.
fighter jets missing the mark with power chords  ringing loud upon the scene in our minds. disgusting ridicule of madness the clown awakening forever to appear as unassuming as possible remembering who inherits the earth. this isn't here><freak out!>|[]|<->|\\|...???

living against the rules till death doth part in holographic illusionary inter-dimensional flabbergasting hillbillies in heaven with yesterday's child heroes always leaving town when there was revolution in the air, or stayed and suffered.
suffered from the agony of love misplaced.
we are always in the world at the front face of the earth, like that would ever be, or would it..?

we remember when we were champions.
the end.

part 37

perfect nuances of everything.
the clown is calmly delighted gazing out the window while typing not p0em.
cuz he ain't no poet.
ouch?

but he can dream.
as if dreaming is anything.
dreaming about cyborgs - beautiful colorful cyborgs.
moonlight.
another cigarette.
it's cracked cut off at the past where the twain shall not meet.
the future beckons us through the unknown darkness.
but some will tell us there is no future, nor is there a past.
one continuing moment here now.
technically this is true.
so what?

here now is where when we directly perceive the world and from this we surmise a past and suppose a future from our experiencing the world and ourselves in it changing in space and time and all that jazz and then some.
the clown likes thinking about this kinda shit.
it tickles his brain.
there's all now about the universe being some sort of hologram that's semi-popular.
is this a shocking surprise?
to some maybe apparently.
but we always metaphorically describe and explain the universe with whatever technology we have developed at the time.
it used to be a clockwork machine.
then a computer program.
now a hologram.
whatever.
pet the kitty.

there is so much can be found to be wrong with everything.
if everything is everything then it encompasses right and wrong.
are both in equal measure?
is one distinguishable from the other?
is what is right for one wrong for another?
is right and wrong absolute?
could be.
could not be.
take your pick.

if we do not know right from wrong they tell us we are insane.
what a messy business that can become.
good thing we have professionals to sort it out for us.
professionals sorting everything out we cannot be trusted with judging for ourselves.
rinky-dink.
so much confusion.

and then to make matters worse, there's gazorbnik.
it muddles and fuddles everything apart together like nobody's business.
everything being incomprehensibly comprehensible.
everything full of joy and sorrow depending upon one's motivations of apprehension.
come hither.
listen to everyone laughing.
do they understand the joke?
or doesn't it matter by now?

from the depths of our disgrace in the judgment of others we overcome ourselves into being ourselves as we have never been.
bitter terrible coffee even sugar cannot remedy.
ugh.
a toke, a cigarette.
some oblivious of anything going on but their own happy days passing.
what horror is to come?
let's not think of that.

it's sad to think about everything could be peace, love, and understanding if we will it to be which we won't.
not us, not now, not ever.
oh well.

but there are those who have nothing and those who have everything and those who want to change it and those who want to maintain it and on and on like that.
kitty don't care.
poking her head through the blinds sniffing the night air.
happy is this day spent doing little of anything.
and everything's a scam.
realize that as we go searching for truth.
does it matter?
we can play along as if.
wander along on pathless paths intersecting ones traveled by few and many to steal what we want and need from them for our own purposes in our own designs.
we don't need heaven or hell or whatever like that.
let the others worry.
we have the project to be concerned about though it causes us no concern since it is perfect to itself.
and no one knows even if we tell them.
everything is smooth.

herp-a-derp-a-doodle-doo.
crazy time.
everybody get ready.
here we go.
nothing but trouble on its way.
gonna rain on our parade.
but we've seen through that and are quite willing to live or die as fate allows.
how else should we spend our time?
we yawn with expectation.

reject.
action through inaction.
take the energy away.
it's ok to be ignored.
observe.
report.

many are blinded by truth.
we don't care except to be thankful it ain't us.
no way.
we'd rather be idiots knowing nothing.
but we understand.
11:11
may everything go your way.
may everything be a success for you.
may you attain what wealth and power you need to be satisfied.
may your enemies lay at your feet.
what else do we want from this world?
what else is there to want?
it's such a shallow place to be.
there are depths upward to reach toward.
but we know nothing.

what is there to know but endless details about whatever inconsequential thing there is to know anything about?

we continue our way toward understanding more than knowing fact or fiction.
let the others have their pride to hide their shame.

another cigarette.
and he sleeps.

part 36 (9)

everything and nothing has been revealed about our theory of everything just about or not.
loose rambling threads of wandering thoughts this way, that way, the other way - irrelevant or not to our theory or anything else.
while the others are sleeping, dreaming perhaps.
living in a world of individual dreams becoming hard collective reality.
who can tell us it is not?
and we argue about what it all means.
and we fight about getting as much of it for ourselves as we can, some more successful than others.
as it should be?
perhaps.
or not.

as it is.
whatever it is.
whatever it means.
9@3
light rain in the darkness before dawn.
lit by electric light.
everything coming from the sun worshipped for ages and still by those who know not what they do.
funny.

so the clown isn't so sure he knows what's going on sitting before the computer typing not p0em for no one while thinking about dragonflies and aardvarks and those violently opposed to one another with each fighting for what they feel is a just cause which maybe it is or maybe it's not.
if there is right and wrong.
he gazes out the window at the children walking by to the indoctrination centers as is considered normal for this reality scheme.
he has dim memory of his own time spent there in his youth until he woke up turned on reading on beyond zebra for some odd reason.

and all the people who cannot seem to function within the parameters of the hollow structure of this given social reality alienated and rejected.
and as a spaceship hovers nearby.
an old trick.
oh, look! a squirrel!

he thinks about how museums freak him out always afraid he'll get trapped in one like maybe he already has been.
it's all death.
this culture is death.
the people are death.
he needs to wake up some more.
or something.
nothing seems quite right.
it seems like impossible dreams.
dilemma of post-postmodern life.
a new age upon us perhaps.
everything perhaps.
drink it up.
yum.

it's medication time!
pleasant dreams.
another cigarette.
please pass the ketchup.

he wonders about the consciousness of a cat.
or a worm.
an amoeba?
anything?
is all consciousness?
perhaps not to the practical rationalogic realist.
they could be right, but that's no fun.
but fun is not where it's at.
a distraction from what needs to be done to survive.
turn off the tv.
get back to work.

counting cigarettes down to 0 - death.
slow suicide.
no wonder.
this world has not been very nice.
it has constantly ridiculed him and called him names.
but it's not the world's fault.
it must be as it is.
it cannot help itself to be any different.
he is tired.
he wants to go home falling away back into darkness to never be no more.
or something like that.
he's just not interested, never has been much.
people getting all up excited about nothing to him.
he just observes and tries to understand - which he doesn't mostly.
the gods of song and dance.
the gods of war.
the gods of ocean waves.
the gods of thunderous storms
a god of just sitting doing nothing.
everything more trouble than it's worth.
existence is enough - to be.
an amazing thing it is to think about - experiencing.

and fantasies of this and that and the other thing.
it's all been a dream.
he imagines dreaming the world, or the world dreaming him?
whatever.
which is what?
who can tell the difference?

a world colored by his demise.
he is not happy, he is not sad.
he just is.
enduring with whatever dwindling strength is left him.
gone in a instant - 0.
has it ever been?
who is left to recall?
he becomes no one.
he laughs at this what must be a joke.
something that has been not at all.
this is paradise, if ever it might be.

he gazes out the window at dog and man walking each other going by.
he breathes.
sitting before the computer silent.
loops of cycles never repeating the same ever again - or not.
he imagines one rotation of the universe being the beginning and end of space and time.
perhaps.
or not.
the absurd surrender.
misplaced victories.
and now a car drives past disappearing into the future.
he trusts what he sees.
it's the meaning of what he sees that he is unsure about.
it can mean anything.
what does a duck mean?
it's all gazorbnik to him.

what a stupid unnecessary thing gazorbnik is.
it adds to nothing.
is it supposed to?
he yawns at the thought of it.
he insists on this absurdity as he does having another cigarette.
such a loser.

a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a nap.

the earth is real, the world not so much.