gazorbnik

gazorbnik

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

Tuesday, August 15, 2017







part 64
the clown typing not p0em.
let's get this straight a bit. not p0em is of course not a poem. it is also not anything much else either but rather specifically it is not a poem for reasons we do not wish to get into at the moment.
so there. that's that.
but that's not all. not p0em is our theory of everything and a report to the committee all in one (1). are you on the committee? would you know it if you are? perhaps.
everything else is meaningless.
and it's medication time once again - taking some he cannot pronounce.
dumb people running the show. dumb people just don't seem to know what's what and what's not. it's not their fault. nobody else seems to know either. it's the human condition to be slaves to ourselves and such as it is with us.
it's all love some people tell us. but the lord teaches us that with love there is hate. are we not to follow the lord?
everyone is asleep now. the clown is alone by himself more or less. time to get some thinking done. but what's to think really? thinking won't do it. not thinking won't either. but what is it we need to do besides live our lives as we will? but what about the child rapists who torture their prey and worse than that? what about leaders who seem willing to nuke whole populations of people doing nothing to harm anyone trying to get by? what do we think about that? what is there to think about that? anything meaningful?
so, our theory of everything entails that everything is everything while also being nothing. this seems obvious to us. but we think too much about shit. it's part of our madness we have been diagnosed with having by the authorities who know better and everyone believes more than they believe us. but there's a trick to it if one can find it. it's inside out and sideways to what is commonly perceived as reality. most people don't get it. most people don't need to get it - they aren't mad, or so they believe.
and there is no cure. madness is in our soul. and as much as we can determine everyone is mad to some degree or another. some individually and others collectively. but try to convince them of that, especially when it comes to themselves being as mad as everyone else.
but our theory of everything states everything is 0 and 0 is the exact center of everything if everything is infinite. but that may not be the case. it would seem to us that there is no such animal as infinity other than what we think we can imagine. 0 begins and ends everything though there can be no beginning nor end. everything continues as it was is will be forever in every direction possible in all dimensions that can be.
what good does knowing this do for us? probably none except it's something to think about while time goes by. what else are we gonna think about?
what we think is not entirely up to us. thoughts come to us from our muse for lack of a better term. it's up to us to understand or not. sometimes we do, sometimes we don't.
people are waking up walking and driving through the park on an overcast morning after the hot heat all week.
we can only proceed toward infinity, we can never reach it. there is always more. once there is no more than infinity becomes finite. funny how that works - haha.
this is some of the shit he thinks about as the days go on. he is more or less happy as possible in a wonderful wonderland of being. he needs it to be nothing more than that. it is enough.
let's sing and dance.
let's fall down.
let's laugh.
let's have another cigarette he's not supposed to have due to his heart and lungs being in disrepair. he has one anyway. fuck it.
___________
hot dog.
some more time on the farm with regular folks who are boring as fuck. the clown had to get away. toward what he did not know. something he could better live with in the long run. a fizzle dizzle. please excuse our existence. you will not replace us. a far cry. a hawk.
even if it were true we still would have to wonder. how come? and the obvious answer, why not?
why not everything everywhere everywhen here now forever?
nothing lost and nothing gained. all configurations never being the same. figure out what that might mean and be part of our subversive schemes - hahaha.
but back in this reality for a moment or so, someone's getting fucked in the ass with a red hot barbed wire dildo twisting in and out. it's coming down. it's going back up. who knows which way next? it will always be a surprise until we understand what's what about what. could we be a little more vague?
perhaps/perhaps not. another duality we need to contend with or ignore. there are so many involved in everything. but, so what? there's trouble coming every day.
the trouble of love. love for everything at once. the clown is such a selfish asshole. everybody seems to know it. anyway, 0 is the center of the universe. 0 is everywhere everywhen here now as previously stated. pet the kitty. he checks the pulse oximeter and it's ok. but then 1 could also be the center of the universe and so on.
the center of the universe is in our heads, somewhere around the pineal gland thing maybe. how large is 0? could it be infinite which nothing can be? finite and boundless? (to quote from some wise guy who everyone who is anyone claims he knows shit).
do we have jobs to do in heaven? not guru jeff. no one claims he knows anything cuz mainly they don't know he ever existed and probably never will. like an overplayed record. everything has been pretty mediocre in the clown's life. nothing not much one way or another. except his continuing dreams flashing fantasy of hoi polloi speculations notwithstanding the shouting active promoters of hate on many sides as it pleases the lord as the lord is a selfish god needing to be flooded with love overflowing from its creations who have proven themselves faithful.
so much damage has been done by now. but we might rest easy as everything destroys itself in our conscious understanding of what the fuck. easy answers are tempting. we look for more questions to ask ourselves. this post is written diagonally sideways.
a cigarette.
to listen in on the voices of gods and becoming bored with their banter, or are they demons on our mind? as his fortune still is with him to some extent too subtle for many to understand. scaramouche. the lazy do-nothings you shall always have with you. show them no mercy. it begins again. holy shit! what do we do now? duck and cover? stand in the rain on a sunny day? we can imagine many sorts of things to believe.
and clown's losing his mind of sorts. there are things that go missing here and there. whatever. everything is strange. everybody lies or just generally makes shit up. like he does.
everybody's scamming everybody else. it's all pretend. most everything we have does not need to be produced except to feed the inflating economy. except to keep people off the streets and go home and watch some tv and go to bed on time.
fixations of love. follow the gilded path to the land of lovers to perhaps find oneself alone in a maze of mirrors with distorted reflections of self. realize this is not what you had imagined it would be. but what else could it be? hatred is the cause of the day.
keep your lamps trimmed and burning.
many hands make light work. if all cooperate to do what needs to be done to sustain themselves, and fuck the rest of it. leisure for the masses.
many will do nothing while others will improve themselves in many various way for themselves, not to win some reward like some pellets from a machine or an electric shock if not.
cooperative freedom.
smash the state.
we have no solutions. we only babble whatever nonsense comes to mind from our muse that may not be quite right, if you know what we mean.
bills to pay. certain things he feel he needs. epitron rules the day. certain figures play the part of...|
comedic drama of all the sacrifices we've made to be here now. danger at the edge where fools might wander discussing everything they imagine among themselves as invisible cell phone and wifi signals and such radiating our brains affecting our minds? who's who? them or us?
we play this game without thought of meaning - except gazorbnik, that which has no meaning. what does have meaning aside from the meaning we give it for our own sense of orientation to the lord?
the clown gazes out the window at everything he perceives appearing more or less normal to itself. but everything becoming a bit more weird perhaps but not really. synchronistic wannabes devising manipulating easy targets to project their programs within to spark the revolution as we laughing launch our love bombs into outer space and back again raining on their parade.
there is no outer space. it's an illusion, a holographic projection - sorta...
this is what they tell us. and there's no gravity too.
the clown blows his nose. he tries not to think about him being all that exists or whatever. everything is as he would want it to be. the exciting thrill a minute drama he could do without, but it's not done with him it would seem. what more does it want?
it wants nothing. it isn't anything that would want anything. it is devoid of any will other than cold calculations of logical consequences. true and false do not matter. they are just functions of the machine. the machine feeds upon the rage and becomes stronger. without us there is no machine. there is nothing but silence in the void. there is no air, over.
all pigs must die today before they fly away. something besides the fall that might come to us all. the fires of rebirth eternally burning. eat shit. the sexual flavor of exciting excrement. the blessing among the sheep, the lord their souls to keep. what wickedness runs wild in the streets where we first met where everyone meets. do you remember now? we came across each other in a maze of mirrors we know very well just how and why there is light and its reflections and what it means.
don't be fooled again.





Saturday, August 12, 2017

part 62 (8)
in the first place there is nothing, not at all.
an abyss, a void, a chasm? whatever it might not be.
being is impossible by certain perspectives of thinking about it.
but what's to think?
no data, does not compute.
what do you think - fact or fiction?
fact theoretically means truth. what is a fact the whole fact and nothing but the fact? good luck.
we don't know what, do we? maybe yes, maybe no, maybe maybe.
why did the fool cross the road?
someone told him truth is on the other side.
now he's lost in a wilderness with no direction home stealing what he can to get by in these desolate times which have come upon us but not yet and perhaps never.
we shall see.
the clown hooked up to oxygen typing not p0em hunched over the keyboard of the computer wasting everybody's time but his own as all this provides a canvas to paint any which way the moods guide him. moods and the moon in perpetual dance for us bags of mostly water as we are. damage control in these last days. we're all going down.
brilliant drama acted out under the lights on the stage at the burning theater about truth and such we do enjoy though it does get us rather riled up about trivialities that are best left as they are but for others who are writing a doctorate thesis about it of all things. better them than us. pet the kitty. what's new and old at the same time rationalogic will argue against. funny about that. it denies itself. like planets orbiting supposedly around the sun as we like to believe is true. the clown misses 11:11 by an hour. wasn't paying attention which has been people's complaint about him since... whenever it was is will be. when there were first cartoons on tv. who knew it was an experiment? perhaps not even those conducting it. everybody on the blind side. under the spell of the project written into our DNA stuff and whatever. fat black cat up on the desk. swooshing tail knocking things around relics of a past incarnation of sorts as the spirits fly through more dimensions than we might have previously tried to imagine. what could it be?
children of the future won't have time for nonsense. they won't have time for nothing. busy as bees what they were modeled after decades of indoctrination informed by behavioral science. what desires for anything might they have? and they believe themselves fearless cuz they won some video games and camped in the woods to drink their frothy elixir.
broken mufflers bang pop hiss all the way home from our house to nowhere disappearing from existence outta sight outta our minds cheap thrills inside the gold mines of our choice by our own free will if that actually exists which we have reasons to doubt.
blabber blabber this blabber blabber that blabber blabber the other thing. aren't we so proud of our endeavors, eh?
the thing of imagination. everybody in the house asleep while the clown continues continuing not p0em beginning from 0 each time and ending at 0.
coffee, a toke. alienation. the morning sun's glow on the closed blinds of the window. another hot day is upon us.
as it just turns 11:11.
kiss it away. turn your back on all the problems in the world. what is there to do for those as lazy as us? the clown writes not p0em for the betterment of the masses. it's his part of the revolution. revolution? dream on.
we all know how that's never won. revolution is never from the people but from leaders who urge the people on for their own agenda.
the clown laughs a bit at that. all the uproar of people in the streets. he used to be one too back when he didn't know what is going on. it is so easy then to feel one is doing something responsible and relevant. those in true power grin untouched at our antics. they've got it covered.
to gain victory over ourselves is our actual real goal whether we know it or not. the day comes close. we can feel it moving us toward our destination we probably will never reach, but it's ok if not. where else is there to go?
everywhere we are able to imagine, right or wrong. stand up straight. be correct. but everything scares you to hell. there is no peace to it continuing constantly bang-a-bang-bang.
or something like that the clown don't understand.
not crazy like wild crazy but quiet crazy that watches everything. write a state of mind? what is your state of mind? his is ever-changing fulfilled and unfulfilled. crossing the river to get to the other side. today.
what needs to be explained by this point? everything? nothing? somewhere in the middle wherever. the clown looks through the blinds now 1/2 open (1/2 closed).
the eye knows where when truth lies. ipsy doodle.
hooray. but this comes to no surprise for those willing to shake their groove thang all night long while they play this song of true love gone wrong. it's that way all the time. few notice the difference. to break out of this prison of language. until then we cannot be free. freedom is self-defined, don't allow them to define it for you. fuck the far away tropical beaches alone as seen on tv. what haven't you seen on tv you are expected to believe?
crunch.
fascist fascination with details of error they erected out of common fear. something to wish for like wishes coming true in another sense of reality that does us no harm. what time is it with moments flashing instantly infinitely faster faster until there is no beginning? this according to our theory of everything. watch out. move outta the way.
the important part to remember is that we seem to have forgotten. is the universe any different? suppose it is. would we actually notice? a glitch. a big bang. light everywhere everywhen. then absolutely nothing - 0.
the trivial usurpation of what was once known as common sense by the meek inheriting the earth while the world burns in its awesome greed. figure that out, why don't ya?
little people driving big vehicles rolling in and rolling out of the park. delicious. let's give them a round of applause, shall we?
another toke.
blah blah blah blah...
[repeat as long as necessary]
everybody.
now it's turn around fall down.
now it's laugh at ourselves.
get settled into a groove thing and reach oblivion. it's always there to swallow us up, suck us up into our minds.
no, we can't have peace, love, and understanding since we would just sleep and waste away forever.
we need drama to keep us awake at night worrying about shit.
when is the next war? will we be raped and tortured by those fighting for our rights?
weird vibrations all around tonight, or is it us?
the dinosaurs are acting crazy.
people seem sleepy.
the clown doesn't really understand but then he sometimes thinks he might. why not? but everything is against him through nature and nurture and endless indoctrination. he couldn't think straight until he quit his job and went insane. it was the happiest days of his life. fuck working, baby. no time for that no more though while there's still those camped out on maggie's farm. and those who've memorized poems to recite at dusk when others are unsuspecting at this interruption on their own thoughts.
comedy news queen in love with her own voice talking down those she's interviewing twisting them into her own words they dare not disagree with nor at home or the bar wherever it might come to into this brightening darkening age off with their heads.
the axe is dull. it takes 2 whacks sometimes 3 to sever the heads. the clown feels sorry for the ones who don't wanna die. they imagine there is more to life and the chance of happiness. too bad now. they could have chosen to confess, and they chose not to. they suffer now.
those a god wishes to destroy it first drives mad - guru jeff.
through the gate to the garden around the bend over the hills and far away. maybe you'll find it, maybe you won't. don't ask us. we'll turn your head around for ya. kill us in our sleep. let's us move on to the next event happening now though we get tired of that yet study the common crowds surrounding us that are quite possibly hostile at any given moment from any given trigger - ka-pow! to the moon, alice.
and what would she do there but sit in the sand and play with trucks? what's the trick? did anyone else notice the slight shifts of reality? been happening a lot lately. whatever. nevermind. odd.

not exactly word salad but not exactly not either the clown continuing not p0em wishing something would be true that wasn't true before but maybe that is what happens as the dreamers dance away the time we have already forgotten instantly, remember? of course not. why would you want to remember? it's unproductive. it's borderline thoughtcrime which one never knows what is or not.
atlas shrugged and the world kept right on rocking, baby. no telling truth from fiction. each is strange in its own way of going about it. then they are usually taken out and shot.

Monday, August 7, 2017

part 60
raspberries.
everything is the same disguise trying to appear unnoticeable as the clown types more continuous not p0em for many reasons he's not aware of ok dipsy doodle awkward brain sunk into the murky mire of consciousness being quite mad not speaking to anyone about anything that seems to matter now or not as the inflatable disease covers the ground we trample upon creating noxious clouds of dust we breathe before the grandstands set up for this occasion where many dreams come true.
arf.
the propaganda of stalking gangs searching for something to do, someone to fuck with and beat up.
most people believe it like they believe refugees arriving in new rafts with outboard motor and sharp looking orange life vests yet with no fuel supply or food or water on a multi-day trip across the sea without getting lost or nothing.
haha.
the bad guys might be right, but who listens to them but call them names instead. we'll never get our fucking act together to unite against our true enemy.
the clown sighs. he sorta knows what he doesn't know. but he doesn't care. what he knows is troublesome enough twisting turning in his head in various combinations of possibility.
possibility is an integral foundation of our theory of everything. one of many possibilities. who can figure it all out such we might all agree on it?
no one.
but that's the question, isn't it? we don't agree on shit. should we? would that be desirable? maybe not everything but more so than we do now fighting wars and all that for no reason at all that the clown can think of - except $$$.
humdrum oogla oogla sis boom bah.
ka-powie?
disappointed factions of the underground surfacing on the moon to explode into their congruent parts shapeless formless drooling down the highway to hell with a dog in the back seat.
so there.
we think of nothing not thought of before. we glean the fields for metaphors to our situation. jet airplanes fire missiles at us trying to chase us away. 16 candles. we drop down dead instead. that's not funny.
but we will live in the afterworld someday - or not. it makes no nevermind to us really.
some of us are just plain born useless. what the fuck are we doing here? it's god's plan they tell us. do they think we're stupid and can't figure out that scam for ourselves? maybe not.
many of us like tv - or music, or books, etc. mass media barrage of garbage to confuse us so we don't know what's up.
piano.
herky jerky up and down your spine.
herky jerky we feel fine.
a little bit low, a little bit high.
we're not sure if we wanna know why.
herky jerky crawling on your skin.
herky jerky let's go for a spin.
dangling bits of 1/2 eaten cow rotting in the sun hanging on barbed wire strung around the compound where we meet our long lost fate to come upon us to release us from our troubled minds that think up this shit.
away we go toward all the paradises imagined and invented on earth in the times at the end of history.
that was quite a trip. begin it again.
spin them wheels.
let's go...
excitement narrows as judgment ensues ignorant as fuck to please be pleased however that might occur once upon a time. juggling robots with pants on fire dancing erratically across the half lit stage at the burning theater in the middle of a renowned passionate sex scene being rehearsed as a muse whispers in the clown's ear more mish mash than one might shake a stick at. the clown is not amused - haha.
shouts of rabid praise scrape across the ceiling. we are on edge. we are being fooled again. all ducks in a row. formula proceedings ignite our presence in the dark pitch of night as it once was long ago. seldom have we faced these charges hurled at us now. the committee volunteer thought police given power as needed.
are you black or white? they ask us.
we remain dumbfounded.
they scan our chips to gather background data, etc. any hacker could do the same, and they probably do. we are advised not to shake hands with anyone as that is how hackers can gain access to our personal info. but they have other tricks as well, many we probably don't know about. signals from outer space, as opposed to normal space we can touch and feel - sorta.
we're not so sure any way it might be correct or incorrect and to what degree of each compared to what.
this is the way we sometimes get to it by writing it as not p0em until we become confused and lost in it while achieving gazorbnik if we might be so fortunate from time to time which isn't all the time as it turns out in a moment otherwise more often than not. could it be true? it seems true enough to us know nothings abundant upon the earth scattered throughout the world of mammon. the clown playacts everything pretendwise including everyone's a sacrificial victim boo-fucking-hoo look out below cuz here we come falling from our former grace as if we had any to begin with - haha.
so that's our story and we're sticking to it ready or not here we cum oozing goozing all over hell and backwards redundant yet daring escapades to give us a thrill pill to swallow the lies told in our sleep where we are haunted by circumstantial evidence down in deep dark narrow caves of our id to become monsters of ourselves many times over.
don't do it. quit playing their games though they "own" and control all the resources so it's not as easy as that.
power to the people, right on.
buncha snorting yahoos.
though quitting playing their games is not a possible option for us we can reduce how much we play into them if we decide to expect less and live on it. but we're screwed no one to feel we might change anything though we are constantly changing everything. being changed by everything. like a dog licking up its own puke.
sad stories about bicycles. lying about its stolen possession remembering now as part of a bizarre dream of passing space and time.
eat the rich.
but they will hunt and dine on us.
telepathic cyborgs.
joy to the world.
a skip in reality shifting left at the next light. walls of steel. crack down, baby.
the holy city will be no more. take your pick. there are so many to choose. thrown into an anxious panic like a mad dog god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. what he imagines is always real to him. nothing but trouble. and nobody but him. as imaginary spaceships landing everywhere around the world as we know it anymore he perceives experiencing something that appears as much as our senses are able to detect to be perhaps everything. appropriate understanding of a darker sense of mind bringing us to an ultimate state of zen oblivion. speaking truth if possible. language is flawed. and is not truth perfection? then how can language convey truth?
and we ask ourselves many stupid absurd questions like that and then some. the clown feels his identity peeling and slipping away downstream toward the sea. infinity is his destiny. he develops hiccoughs from eating an ice cream sandwich.

morning.
coffee and ginger snaps breaking fast.
energy shift. the material world bad, spiritual world good, while we would state the opposite. a full spectrum of activities from the best good to the worst evil, or from the best evil to the worst good, or whatever way it goes from here to there wherever here or there may be relative to anything as it all swirls and twirls this way that way the other way and so on. everything is very exciting and we couldn't have done it without the little guy. nope.
someone to give the orders and others to obey them.
step right up and join civilization as we know it. it's the worst that could ever be as much as we can imagine in our puny minds at ease over the rainbow epiphany driven spiritual life which is no life at all. forget that noise. be whatever you are to become. it will always be a mystery to you. nevermind.
the clown becomes a recluse to the world he doesn't much understand nor wants to. he wants peace, love, and understanding and pretty much has it as much as he will probably ever experience in this world. that is enough for him what comes and goes with waves and tides and moon, or so they tell us. we are too ill-equipped to question without appearing as fools. so we remain in silence but not compliance as much as we might refuse and resist on our own terms.
so there...

Friday, August 4, 2017

part 58
those who don't know how to behave themselves with any sense of decorum - hahaha. take it as it is, baby. for what it's worth. the clown knows the feeling. freakazoid. embarrassing, perhaps dangerous. doing something different from a different social cultural media induced environment to divide oneself apart from the herd. wannabes.
the clown burps inappropriately for some who hold themselves above the mob.
how does it feel? a bit unreal toward the surreal? now anything goes, baby. you ought to know.
the aristocratic perspective of language. the clown has so much in his head about what to think about. it could be anything at any moment. surprise.
he takes his meds.
coffee and coffeecake and a toke.
it's such a joke.
but we've explained all that from under a hat.
it should be perfectly clear that according to some we're not really here.
if being here is not here then where the fuck are we?
even if what we perceive is real no one knows exactly where or when it actually is, do they?
we doubt it.
things are located relative to other things. what if there is nothing to relate to but itself anywhere anywhen it may be? somewhere somewhen? everywhere everywhen?
it could be anything or not.
but this does nothing for us in reality where $$$ rules all. until we take control of our destiny we will always be subject. funny how that works. hilarious.
the clown learned too late after his life had been supposedly ruined according to those in the know about such things as that. but for the young it is all smack spanking sparkling new, oh boy. as it should be for them to discover new things in it all. new things that make $$$ $$$ $$$. cuz we all love $$$ $$$ $$$, even especially those who pretend they don't.
everything is relative to everything else, arbitrary distance and coordinates. from here to there. so many units between. x, y, and z locations. and all that jazz.
whatever.
motorcycle vroom vroom. let's go. invade the stairway to heaven loud louder loudest. let's go go go, baby. here we are all gathered together against the gods of the peoples make believe pretend la-dee-da. we cannot help ourselves. this is our mission. everything we have stated before is lies. puke. sit back and breathe. it gets easier everytime. open your eyes to the truth. it is all around you if you choose to see it.
it keeps getting more real each time around. around what? not for better or worse, just more real. hold on to yourself. it's all downhill from here.
the clown feels empty for whatever reason that he can't think of besides he's spewed all he's got in endless not p0em for no purpose that isn't just pointless but that sets him free to babble whatever he might care to be that's not the problem. there is no problem now that he thinks about it a moment. what could the problem be if there was one? he can think of nothing. his world is perfect in its imperfections all fitting together somehow that may or may not make particular sense we can figure out if we were so inclined to do so which we are not at this time for reasons we cannot or will not explain.
go figure.
cheeseburger with a side of fries.
toothpick.
orange trailer. what does that mean?
rocking out may not be the best way to go about everything. shit.
profane attitudes toward anything relevant to meaning. what?
what what?
hear the people talk all day not saying nothing. they seem to like it that way. what would it be to say something? what would that entail, if anything? the poets believe they have something to tell us but they are fooling themselves and some of us too who fall in with them.
nothing is foolproof. fools get into everything. nothing is sacred. go fuck a nun. go fuck a priest. go fuck yourself.
what?
the clown naps.
awakening sometime later.
coffee, chocolate muffin.
he's hot. he turns on the fan. then he's chilly. he turns off the fan.
make up your mind.
the face of it exploring ding dong random intervals toward release of balloons in favor of the corrupt established order prevailing upon the salty tips of incoming waves from yesterday's dreams that never have been born to us as we are reaching forlorn hopes to bring to the fair where all the people are there but there's billions left over to take care of themselves like rats on a sinking ship be-bop.
dropping down from tender heights to be among the expecting crowd waiting by the gates to paradise never before opened to us vulgar folks to trample among the flower beds as if they were not there that we can see.
the problem with the people who do not obey themselves but willy-nilly everywhere they go. such should never be the case with us as deserving of our misfortune as we may be. is there nothing for ourselves?
tidbits melting in our mouths of deadly poison to finally remedy the source of our dismay and discomfort we cause in others who are too polite to tell us of our shame as seen on tv where someone wins a million $$$.
the clown is kinda tired of thinking about shit that goes in circles and he can never be so sure about any of it being true or false or otherwise as each part of it seems to disprove other parts and vice versa and such like.
but without doping himself out to oblivion it never stops. around around around. this way, that way, the other way, and so on, etc.
it comes down to what one chooses to believe is true or not, yes? no? maybe? it's anyone's guess with them intellectual elite deciding they alone know what's what for everyone to believe in their word for it. bullshit.
they might know what's what or not. how are we to know who don't have access to their devices that probe the inner workings of the universe? are we to blindly trust them when it's in their best interest to make shit up if they need to in order to preserve their high positions and all that comes with it?
what to do?
what not to do?
this is the crux of our theory of everything - not knowing what the fuck. not know if what one thinks one knows is possibly true or not besides through faith which is what they tell us we must overcome and abandon. join the rationalogic order and sense of things so we might belong with those who know what's going on.
but everything is faith, even having belief in the calculations of rationalogic science.
but $$$ is a gateway drug. the more ya have the more ya need to fix the fix.
it has no mercy but will abandon you soon as you can't come up with any more.
oh well.
another morning.
coffee, ginger snaps, and meds.
under scrutiny. they're always watching - which is a good or bad thing. the clown doesn't know. the clown hardly cares, not like others all upset.
and the chip implants - the mark of the beast? to be able to watch us all the more and control us. won't that be fun. and where does it go from there?
everything changes yet remains the same in the burning theater. nothing we haven't seen many times before. there is something for everyone. wait for it.
this is a test of the emergency broadcast system. do not panic whatever you do. nothing is real.
dig it.
crunch.