part 91 -

goodbye.
_________

the clown is now on his own. what could this mean?

more coffee, another toke (4:20), another cigarette.
not p0em as report to the committee.

another bumpkin sits on a wall. she had to climb up cuz she's not very tall. let's hope some bully doesn't come push her and make her fall, though we all would laugh.
so the guy comes to rake the leaves and mow the lawn. the clown despises that they need to do this in order to live in the park according to the rules and regulations.

then a few hours go by and by while he does other sortsa cryptoidesque shit he does, like baking potatoes. yes, indeed, that old trick up his sleeve from this hallowed hollow earth he learned at some point it would seem that he cannot at this time remember. some location of spacetime or another. we have to walk around the literal through the metaphorical to achieve understanding of anything.

it is of use to ourselves and is all it needs to be. it is our magick mantra to summon the spirits needed to evoke gazorbnik of the dada-ananda to enter through us once more alive tangible dangling over reality's edge of the knowable universe according to our astute calculations worked out in the barnyard with chickens and such one might expect as if we were hiding something which we supposedly are doing according to the rumored thought police reports sent to the committee as well. the committee is out to lunch. they've been out to lunch for years, a decade or 2. no wonder nothing gets done except the most routine shuffling of files from one work station to another and around back again. the patterns of these movements are another level of our communicating with the sprits out there in space and time as it would seem perhaps it is all illusion and fake

and another thing we can't stop thinking about is how it might feel to go on some sorta killing spree at some point. go in some store and pick up a big honking kitchen knife and go to town on some folks. or not.
we don't necessarily want to do this nor certainly do not need to do this except for the fucking "[voices]" we hear at times that may be our own voices telling us to go for it. it's difficult to resist. their songs they sing are quite compelling for us to dive into and forget for a while. when we awaken we may be surprised. our bloody face and hands. we laugh insane. we have stepped over the line. we ain't coming back, we're feeling fine. la-la-dee-da.

krypton hullabaloo easy access to different spheres of experiencing information being happening in our ±0 heads bitten off by herds of lonely land sharks randomly roaming towns far across the land of the free like some sex kitten machine control thing.
some hollywood fantasy ooze based on speculative paranoia seeping into the basement where the dungeon is located which adds to the dark flavor of the experience of it. lock and load, baby. come on now, let's go have fun, let's join everyone.

the wise guys devise to entertain anyone who is on beyond zebra enough to notice the difference between here and there when there does not exist in some manner of thinking. beeple bopple mix it up good just like we should to be known for becoming outrageously kind and considerate considering what we are otherwise to ourselves. it's a tricky situation when planets collide for us to manage to regain control of the pinball machines on ice which all has happened before as we have stated by now and then again - nevermind.
the days generally repeat themselves though not specifically. a not p0em as our theory of everything must do the same. the sun appears to come up as the sun appears to go down, but it's just our fat old earth spinning around. easy does it. yet it happens all the time and we act accordingly. now you see it, now you don't.
strange person of interest hanging around the wrong side of town. the clown wants another nap sleeping dreaming the day away. and he does just that.

awakening.
doing some other graphics and shit awhile as the end of afternoon darkens into night toward an end to time at some point perhaps.

dummy whatknot.
what's wrong with you anyway? don't you wanna be successful?
opening doors to the other side and back again for the pleasure of the queen who sits upon her throne observing obviously unimpressed by the show onstage at the burning theater.
the concept of the burning theater is as follows: it is a theater and it is burning while the show must go on.

what this symbolizes is itself.

mindless dada.
hero worship.
holy underpants.

fat ass rich.

etc.

the donkey pulls the cart when it wants to. zero hour time. the 1st thing is, you don’t forbid what people aren't doing. the clown chews a couple of bazookas while picking at scabs of dead skin on his head. this is nowhere near being close enough to anything. we need to keep it going.
self-pathetical musings about this universe and beyond our consciousness the wise guys promise if we pay them our $$$, and hearts and minds and then some.
god is not free. god is expensive. it'll take over our whole lives and still demand more. all gods are the same. it's a dead end until we become gods. then we are all the same. power corrupts and all that. zombies. ding dong. the clown takes off the oxygen and goes for a smoke - and a nap.

11:11

it's all pretty much slow going from here which is what we should expect at this point (±0). it takes time to think if you're an idiot. idiots think about everything easily forgetting what they were thinking about to begin with. idiot idioms of the common jerk on the street. where do they always go in such a hurry?

meanings of meaning all differently the same. the clown knocks off the last cup of coffee. he supposes he's wrapped up in ego (eggo?) though he's not entirely clear what it's supposed to be. does he have an ego or is he an ego? or does an ego have him? questions and questions.

what the fuck is he?

what is he supposed to be?

sez who?

some wise guy or another.

fuck that.

anyway, he wanders pathless paths between ignorance and realization perhaps. or not.
pet the kitty.
typing out not p0em mantra thing. wholly words. folly. follow the heart. the heartless wonder of it all. falling flat on our faces facing east by divine accident. the acid-dentist knows the deal.  

the clown thinks reality is a dream since he can remember. that's why he never tries that hard. it's all fake bullshit. that's why he's an idiot. what's your excuse?

the gods are power hungry greedy fuckers. some glitter on his skin the clown still wonders about our misplaced theory of everything. where did it go?
everything would seem to "begin" at ±0 (?) that is everywhere everywhen. after that it's anybody's guess. infinity lies "between" 0 and 1. everything is open-ended. nothing is never complete.

then a purple silver dragon lays an egg that becomes a universe - a universe we happen to find ourselves part of. and so it goes from there on.

the stardust seekers gazing up to the starry skies waiting to be taken away on some celestial ship while the clown wonders if his toenails are too long.
to become more than we are. to play the fools who don't amuse anyone in this wacky serious future as it draws to a close. to find peace with the end of everything we might imagine close to the edge.

the aliens have landed?

he doesn't take care of anything at all. he wants to discover what it's like to be the loser. he's been successful at that. people wanting to be winners are cheap by the dozen. they come from all walks of living life. at times the clown doubts if they are for real. they probably feel the same about him. no kidding. but he's made his way to being down and out on easy street. how many can claim that about themselves?

no one's telling us shit around here left or right around in circles. it's propaganda city as far as the eye can see around the world the same damn thing.

and so?

now what?

it's crazy time, baby.

don't lose your hat.

let the wind blow through your hair without a care.

why worry about what is illusion anyway?

hahaha.

hip-hop to it. it's as real as we can make it. more real than anybody seems to want it. oh well for them. sweet dreams, baby.
the clown sleeps.

_________

hello.

here ya go...

part 89 -

awakening once more.
coffee, cigarette.
it's medication time.
then it's off to get supplies.

all the people who have all the answers.
we have none with us being submerged in senseless questions to our profound idiot delight in ourselves (come on, it's such a joy).
beware the devil in the details.

possibilities enclose themselves with intended actions while new ones are opening like flowers in the sun.
the clown typing not p0em when it doesn't matter much anymore.
people seem to believe that we believe we know what we're doing. is this what they expect?
handled. our favorite fantasies about everything others are warned about becoming enticed. a witch's laugh. set it to ±0.
tricks up our sleeves we enter the dark zones of our head. we've gone mad?
a toke.

post-op quiz. are you ready? excuse us while we put on our oxygen. materialism is alive and he bows before no one. none will be alive who are living today. our replacements wait backstage to fill in as needed while time passes calmly by.

dreaming of dreams occurring noticing nothing else now today. extra cheese, please. extra everything. we must feed the masses. but everything is irrelevant but god. god exists though it may not even exist. that is god's power. we wanna hookup with that business, oh yeah.
and not the god they preach about being a god that hates everyone and everything. but not quite wanting a god of unconditional love either. a real god of ourselves.

it's raining today. language is a tricky thing. it can mean anything, what we think it means or not.
gazorbnik don't mean nothing. when everything is gazorbnik, we shall have peace on earth. or not.

babbling political news across the channels. everyone certain of the truth of their side's view of the situation.
the situation is fake to distract us from knowing the truth which is nowhere to be found here.
we have given up and make believe pretend for ourselves understanding everything that cannot be explained. it's too deeply dope.

another cigarette?
perhaps.
he decides to make music for a while for no more reason than anything else, besides pet the kitty. no sense of time as we know it ticking-tocking with passionate (SEX) mechanical precision west of here, but "time" is now the flowing of a stream or the falling of a leaf. the signal of a bird's cry. who's crazy now, baby?

he decides to smoke a cigarette.
he comes back continuing not p0em he can't seem to stop himself from doing as he pleases within the confines of this present reality he enjoys watching it self-destruct giving birth to new life©, perhaps?
it's scary as heck around here. new updates for the design software in the computer.

making noises that are offensive to some who decide that is the lifestyle they wish to live. follow your fate. be pleased. please, go away.
the innocence of illusionary thinking when spirits appear - damn them. calm down. it only gets worst. but through it all is gazorbnik - though others may have another name. gazorbnik is the name we chose for our own reasons that are none of anyone's business.
useful idiots aplenty.
the earth is poisoned through and through from the deepest bottom of the ocean to the very height of the farthest atmosphere, or thereabouts.
humans must die.

are you now or have you ever been a human?
we sit accused and silent. the clown does some stretching exercises wondering all the while of revelations floating through his mind as if on a whimsical wind.
are you sitting comfortably? nevermind if you aren't. it don't mean a thing to gazorbnik. that is our chosen profession. it ain't no vacation, baby.

there's a war on for our hearts and minds. but we are far removed from all of it by our own ways and means of gazorbnik (is there an app for that?).
there ain't nothing on the horizon that is remotely compatible with any known systems to date. we'll have to wait for the future. is it such a crime?  

obedience above all we march onward. all for land and blood, neither of which is our own. a squirrel in the rain. our gods are other people's demons. know those who consider you to be the enemy. dangerous folks. we rest in peace.
guardians of the overlands. we see everything as possibility, but call it what you will. everything is the same as [thoughtcrime] is, but differently in new ever-changing configurations. some of what is written is true while some of it is false. we can make up anything and write it.
we enjoy ourselves. that is an important thing for us to allow to happen as it will. we accept our fate and its results. we know nothing as of yet. we learn what we are becoming. we hope for the best but expect the worst. haha.
yes, it is a joke, according to the amusing fashion of our theory of everything. but that will quickly end.
_________

after a day in the rain in a garden, home with a toke and a cigarette the clown goes to the kitchen at the other end of the house from the studio to brew coffee.
not quite in this world. not really. it doesn't seem to matter. life goes on changing continuously ever-after toward the oblivion of infinity in the infinitesimal measurements of a ±0 singularity - ha.

it's all possible though most of it is unnecessary it would seem. it's a dream. it's a dream of a scheme. a scheme to give birth to wonder in a moment.
it's all for this to occur. all the wars of the civilized world in sex crazed fury near simultaneous orgasms of absolute consciousness, or something like that.

it's fun and exciting. don't be dismayed by naysaying nincompoops, they don't know their own assholes.
pet the kitty.
he makes and eats a burrito. another toke and cigarette to ease his worried mind continuing not p0em.
everything for the greedy mightiest of us all. it's the way it's gonna be like it or not. dream what thou wilt.
we dream the world as is to be that which anyone makes it is it to be. good luck.
you don't need to worry about nothing.
the clown sighs.

part 87 -

11:11
the clown sleeps.

awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
have we not already :"confessed" to all the crimes you accuse us of? what do we do now? direct our thoughts to yours to meet your approval? nonsense.
we have our mission to "perfect" the project as much as we are able. we report to the committee via not p0em and dabble into our theory of everything. what is the harm in this?
not that we are claiming innocence. we are far from that, but just as far away from guilt. both are irrelevant "except" to those who judge others who inform us that we are in great grave "error". but of course. that is how they make their $$$ by convincing others to join the herd. religion as spiritual ponzi scheme.

dawn comes creeping around the place. soon we will douse the light and open the blinds. peek-a-boo, we see you.
we try to keep everything within the realms of possibility as it flies through to outer space and time. what are we to make of this eventuality? did it really happen, or is it our fantasy?
what occurs in our minds?

nevermind.
_________

duality serves its purpose to differentiate this world apart from itself along continuums of opposing forces - or something like that.
discuss it among yourselves.
don't forget to carry the bum. :)

everything in "balance out of balance". how is this possible? it maintains its balance while always falling out of balance at once.
look at everything and "see".
everything balancing poised on ±0.

the clown's head filling with butterflies as he is typing not p0em for the joyful beautiful masses of peoples - the folks of the world and their suspicious jealous gods.
more coffee.
it's medication time.

everything keeping itself together from crashing all over the place, though sometimes it does just that.
everybody be good and well to themselves as we wish for ourselves.
why do anyone harm? why not?
exactly.
there's a war on.

we understand your objections to us. you believe you are on a true path toward a true god. we're just making shit up as we please. fair enough.
but neither of us shall convince the other to cease and desist. nor should we?
_________

the clown naps.

awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
continuing not p0em© for some odd reason. keeping the people confused and happy.
oh boy.

by the way, the plural of gazorbnik is gazorbnix.
[[[pet the kitty.
|| | ||||
he has always wondered about truth. what is it? where is it? is it what various people tell everyone it is?
he always wanted to know the bottom line which he imagines is the simple life and that which is immediately apparent. perhaps that was wrong, though he doubts it with his doubting nature.
is truth like a stone or is it like a river? both continue in their own way of continuing. one is no more truth than the other. nothing is any more truth than anything else. that is how it seems to him. if it exists it is truth. if it can be imagined it is truth.

11:11
but why worry on about that when there are abused sick starving neglected children of all ages in this world? is it such a wonderful place to be, ignoring the pain and suffering?
yes, it is, is it not? if we allow it to be. that should be the only truth which concerns us in the moment.

it would happen with any 2+ points no matter how near or far we place them or how fast or slow their orbits are relative to one another, they will always create with their motion some sort of what we recognize as patterns.
the world is pattern recognition.
continuously changing becoming.
yup.

cycles and patterns is what he sees as the clown gazes out the window into the world of order mixed with chaos to become this vision of perfection as the physical world. then he comes back to the usual perception of reality and wonders a bit about that, putting "hand in pocket".
the business of the world making its $$$ more than can be counted at one time as it too is always continuously changing.
thoughtcrime -
criminals driving in their cars. next destination, mars. get them before they get us. the computers calculate the probabilities of attack. pre-emptive 1st strike. NOW!

annihilate those fuckers. it's good for them. the state of being completely forgotten: poontang. he would like to become completely forgotten to find out what is happening, if anything. when there is no more meaning except what one devises for oneself - like gazorbnik.
gazorbnik is to be completely forgotten.

do we completely forget everything and are completely forgotten as some would believe we are possessed by demons? that's the old story with our kind. no room to move. gargling our own blood as our bodies shake. let's form a group and call ourselves the snakes.
they told us it would be impossible. how easy we forget.

let's agree the sky is green. there will always be those who disagree just for the fun of it. there will always be those who sleep.
trophy wives considered how does everything work with t\riangular grids? we have one locked in the basement.
the symbiotic flavor of the month is declared. it is everybody's favorite, splushi mushy monkey balls.

our usual objections notwithstanding we go to work on the project often without knowing. the job gets done the same. who is allowed to know this feat of humanity? who has a sneaking suspicion? the clown goes back to sleep.

part 85 -

it's all suddenly clear.
the clown watches not tv. gazing out the window into the soul of everything feeling the love of it in his heart. yet it would let him die if needed. it plays no favorites. it is it.
fortune has been with him thus far. he expects nothing more from it.

a pill for a thrill aplenty if that is all we want. keep the change. what else do we expect from ourselves?
trying to be realistic in a world that may not be real. the wise guys promise us it is not. that is the common element of all they tell us.
the clown doesn't care if it is or isn't. he enjoys it any way it might be. it is a playground. school's out, baby. he has nothing much else he cannot learn on his own bearing fruit from the tree of living life.

his life is shallow. does it matter as it seems to matter to everyone but himself? he is happy for what he's got. the simple life for a simple mind he enjoys no matter how much they try to convince him to feel embarrassed and ashamed. fuck that.
he couldn't care less how many other realities people claim there may be. let the others seek them out. he will wait here and read their reports and imagine for himself the possibilities that abound everywhere everywhen in everything.

but that is nothing for him to be concerned about. he can accept heaven or hell whichever comes to him in the divine moment. he feels he deserves nor wants neither reward nor punishment, but to be left alone. but no one seems to get it. are they all that stupid? even the so smart ass wise guys? even the all-knowing gods? how come?
more coffee dunked with ginger snaps. a cigarette.
eternal fall and spring without the heat of summer nor cold of winter would be his paradise which is not to happen anytime soon if ever. but he can imagine and pretend as he does about everything else in his sweet short life dying before realizing he is born.
this is so funny. a joke. an elaborate hoax. a surprise ending?
no beginning nor end. nothing but thoughts and prayers blowing away in the wind.

666
999
envelope developmental process in-formation degrees of imagination. so many in psychic dark clouds of needless useless agony. the clown wonders about the whole enchilada as much as he knows at this point understanding more than he thinks while others pass him by seeking mysterious knowledge hidden in the most unlikely places on earth as it is in heaven.
he dreams about more than this in the ruins of this world of endless garbage all over the damn place.
he dreams of everything we have forgotten to remember which we now seek to recollect. but he thinks how it doesn't matter anymore as we have gone beyond all history into new possibilities of realization we believe are correct.

most every-body is done with him by now. good. he is free from social constraints to the contrary. the universe is laughing with him when it long laughed at him. nevermind.
he rocks slowly back and forth on his sanitary pedestal thinking about how what the wise guys tell us doesn't quite add up to nothing really we ought to agree to believe. everything is nonsense. people doing this and that and the other thing for reasons they even keep from themselves without knowing, the stupid clown among them. but the smart clown knows better - hahaha. but sometimes he doesn't know which is which. it's a game he plays.

locked into his karma self still bound to this world which is fine by him because this is the here and now of physical manifest reality he hides himself away awhile in where few might suspect. let them search the skies to find themselves. he finds himself here which is part of the joke. and it all is a joke. are you laughing?
he realizes nothing will ever change changing all the time it remains the same. the pain and suffering will continue for reasons we can hardly imagine cuz it comes back to us and what we are willing to inflict and endure.
all will be lost to us as what needs to happen for us to move on though there is now/here to go. what energy goes out is what energy comes back. fear leads to having something to fear. love leads to having something to love. and all that jazz like that and so on.

let us go crazy. you wanna come along? are you sure?
what is correct and who is to tell us what? for every wise guy there is an anti-wise guy. let them argue who is right or wrong. what do we care? they will soon annihilate themselves.
the clown sleeps.

awakening.
coffee, coffeecake, cigarette.
things could be always worse in 1001 ways. things are worse for billions of others. the karma of the world coming due. all the wars fought as if there is something of value in what is called the mundane world. is it only $$$? we doubt that, but it could be.
some nameless song in his head the clown continues not p0em as report to the committee. it will be archived and forgotten. or it may just disappear. anything is ok with him. he writes it cuz he must write as he always has in order to keep himself sane as he will be in his never ending delightful madness. but he is not mad at all. is he the only one who is sane? only someone who is mad would think so of oneself.

the purging continues. people being killed by hundreds and thousands in various parts of the world we steadily ignore. we should feel lucky that we are protected from the truth we have given up wanting to know.
but what facts add up to truth? and what part does gazorbnik play in it? does it need to be considered or is it easily dismissed by uncommon common sense? most would choose the latter cuz they have little or no understanding what it is, as do we. we just made it up. we know nothing.
it's medication time. take those pills and feel fine.

have we given up on our theory of everything? perhaps so. it seems we know nothing about everything. but what more is there to explain than what we have already done? it's simple really for every layperson to understand if they want to, or to make it up for themselves instead of or in addition to our own version which is not necessarily the correct one nor incorrect one either. it is not for us to tell anyone what or how to think. there are plenty of others for that sort of monkey business, eh?

to express this all in a zillions ways from thursday toward now/here in particular or another as we think for ourselves once and for all being ourselves finally arising from the pits of our greedy intentions. we are now greedy for peace, love, and understanding with our hearts broken by past misfortune due to our reckless minds.
our mission now is clear. there is no mission but the ongoing project to climb from hell to heaven. our efforts were used to be praised and honored. now they must remain hidden from the eyes of uncomprehending mass consciousness that judges what they are told is right from wrong by anyone in supposedly accepted authority at large.

simplistic meandering thought mixed up with itself the clown proceeds with abandoned caution to the winds blowing in from the east as predicted.
he knows next to nothing - 0±. he wanted to know next to nothing that would be clogging up his imagination.
a peanut butter and bacon sandwich.
hybrid consciousness. information. what's the solution to the dilemma of omelas? is there any dilemma? do you think or not? information flowing as a river into our heads. do we have heads? which?
those who proudly boast of themselves in their humble opinions. the sun has finally come out from this morning overcast like an obedient doggie chasing a stick over the hills and far away like an old joke told by an idiot. so much has been lost that we merely have remnants of by now such we must guess their meanings.
meaning isn't all it's cracked up to be. direct experience is what is needed to evoke our intelligence of such things that are meaningless - like gazorbnik for example. that sweet sickening smell.

so, dance with that tambourine, baby. show them all how to work it.

part 82 -

nothing but existence.

we continue as the clown typing not p0em chewing bubblegum feeling vibrations of peace, love, and understanding for no reason he can now think of or imagine why it is so while others are in great despair.
this crazy mixed up world.
but he remembers dark nights banging his own head against the walls while no one cared.
now he doesn't seem to care.
he cannot help them.
they'll have to help themselves like he had to.
if they want to.
he doesn't get it - never did and never will.
everything is beyond him out of his grasp.
everything is made of glass.

he does everything backwards upside inside out and down - sideways.
every possibility imagined to be, if it is or is not.
he's wrong more often than right.
a tale told by an idiot who knows no better.

awakening.
drinking bitter coffee.
a cigarette.
and it's medication time.
the same routines.

endless streams of dirty plastic bottles washing down to the sea.
how has it come to this?
celebrate.
the old days and old ways are gone, except for the few among us who still hold on.
decide.

one thing about the future is it keeps coming at us, new shit, old shit, whatever shit, good or bad.
more coffee.
sun coming out from an overcast sky.
it's no wonder we invented and worshipped gods.
look at the ways and means of the earth awhile - the earth, not the world.
the earth we are destroying with our world.
too bad.
it is bringing about our own destruction.

nothing new to anyone.
many may care.
few will act.
but what is there to do?
the problem resides in the billions who are just trying to make enough $$$ to live on and have stuff - to pursue increasingly distant happiness as more and more of the earth becomes covered with the world's toxic garbage.
oh boy.
fun.

so, it's all in his head.
darkness of mind.
a flickering candle of consciousness.
blow it out.
find out what it's all about.
or not.
hold on tight, here we go.
yahoo.

it's always work, and work and work.
he don't work right - doesn't get along with others.
but that's their problem, not his.
his problem is them.
every one of them assuming command.
who?
what?

take a pill, have a thrill.
it's all downhill from here.
look up to the sky and wonder why.
why not?

so, according to our theory of everything all is particle-waveforms flying dancing around around composed of spacetime.
not in spacetime, but OF spacetime.
spacetime is not some stationary grid with objects within it.
spacetime is a fluid dynamic organism thing in constant vibrating motion composing objects out of itself.
or not.

disgusting.
there is no end to the universe except everywhere especially including wherever there might be a restaurant poised on the edge of reality as we know it, baby.
and each end is also a beginning, and vice versa.
but we know this by now.

everything is a banana and god is a magic monkey.
what is space and/or time without anything to measure them by?
it will soon be realized that einstein was an idiot.
hooray for idiots.
we might even save the world, if the world is able to be saved.
saved for what - a rainy day?
gadzooks.

part 80 -

delicious meat.
coffee toke cigarette.
it's medication time, though parts of the clown's brain tell him to stop taking them.
hmm... should he listen? should he obey?

what do we listen to and obey when our mind is a tizzy of babbling voices?
he's going to meet a friend for lunch.
it is difficult sometimes to determine what is quite real with what's going on around him when so many people tell him different things are true or false.
when reason is not much help to be trusted without the needed information.
intuition takes matters into its own hands.
repeating common phrases.
few if anyone have the patience for this.
oh well.

the pronoia is deep in the heart and flies high in the mind. everything, even the evil, is set in place to aid us in our journey.
ganesha opens the way or blocks it as is needed at times for what we must overcome.
but do we learn?
sometimes we do and sometimes not so much.
fly buzzing around.
doubtful doubts about most everything.
as it should be if we are to learn and grow.
the fat black cat hops up on the chair beside him wanting to be petted.
then she walks across the desk to go lay in the sun on the windowsill.
pb&j sandwich.
darkness all around.
bring your own light to it.
shine on and on through ages and generations of humanity evolved beyond itself into eternal life.
the universe acts in our favor.
believe it or not.

something ageless.
something divine.
poop.
the clown knows little but what little he does know fills him with amazement and wonder as he continues typing not p0em for the masses.
could anything be true?
but what is it really?
always changing flowing from one configuration to another as it is needed and should be.
he decides not to have a cigarette at this time.
let's have an orgy on the beach in the waves.
in and out.
up and down.
fun, baby, fun.

what's this about?
pronoiac perceptions to the contrary of deceptional illusions no one must be aware of existing in our minds.
it's nonsense, but not especially so in any great extent that we know of.
follow the non-linear threads of it.
it being it.
suck on it, baby.
nice and easy.
now, slowly pull the trigger.

and it's not obvious like a miracle, but more subtle than that.
it's a clue for those who don't have any.
S.C.U.M.
just like candy.
the useless helpless population of people all mixed up.
hybrids.
something like magick.
if this is the way it goes then that's the way it goes.
if it is what it takes to allow people to be happy for once.
the burning flags up on the hill.

everything seemingly disturbing illusions.
we are tricked so easily by those who tell us they know what's going on.
the simple life knows true from false.
but why worry about that?
we've better things to do, don't we?
we think so.
playing those old songs programmed by the thought police not to give us any strange ideas.

but the good news is that we have several options to choose from and we choose none of the above.
no one might tell us what our freedom will be though they keep trying to make us dance.

the poor victims, if we happen to believe in such things that "they" tell us through the manipulations of the controlled media psychic radiations.
the clown feels overwhelmed what to do.
that is the way they want it.
but he excuses himself and steps outside and after a cigarette to leap into the air and fly away.

depression to feel worse and worse every moment you're alive.
only sleep is the remedy, death is the cure.
let them have it.
people who fall for this repeatedly to the nth level of consciousness understanding the reality of the situation set on the table before them.
bring your manners.
more questions than we might shake sticks at if we choose to do so.
no comment.

life down and out on easy street on line for the next show at the burning theater. everybody knows it can't be beat. the bets are in, the windows are closed. the race has begun.
embarrassed as all heck we proceed toward the next destination on our list.
where this list came from nobody seems to remember, but it's all we got.

$$$.
butts galore.
outer space is calling our names.
but the prize goes to the ones who can focus on problems and come up with reasonable seeming solutions, unfortunately for us.
but we are on a mission.
damn the torpedoes.

awakening to another day of typing not p0em the clown confuses one thing for another into a narrative disclosure of what's left of sanity among us.
it shouldn't be that difficult.
as easy as pi.
it blinks on.
it blinks off.
at what point do we begin to doubt?

it comes for us differently for different reasons.
it's not as bad as it may seem.
cold coffee by now and another cigarette.
the project holds as what is to be.
it's all purpose.
it's invented by us to be make believe truth as it is written.
it is written, it is it.
few understand.
fewer still even notice.
everything vanishes from our minds to be replaced by everything else at once.
an infinitesimal instant quicker than snapping our fingers, blinking our eyes, wiggling our nose.
man drives his red mustang backwards down the street.

at this point there ain't no way back.
there ain't nothing left to return to.
but it all exists around us now in different continuing configurations of space and time.
high-ho.

the clown is happily disappointed with results of the experiment, an integral part and driving force of the project it would seem to be imagined in its derangement of devices working one against the others to the death according to our theory of everything.
dystopia is never too far away but may be the best for us at this juncture of our evolutionary development.
evolution?
isn't that a hoax?
is dystopia a hoax?
are we a hoax?
the moon?

see how easy it is?