part 102 -

there are these those of us who believe they are wise guys awakened and enlightened feeling the need to tell everyone about being so. we have our doubts as we steal what we need from them to suit our own fancy. we make believe which as much as we can determine is how it's done of ages past until now. everything might be real, or might not. we cannot prove it beyond our personal experience. we sift through the sands on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm blah blah blah - haha.

we ain't going nowhere, but we are arriving at our continuing destinations we have in mind as always but still unknowing (there are secrets here). the distraction of the end of the world at any moment. but a galactic sea of worlds abounds with pleasures and pains of living consciousness overflowing like a clogged up bathtub spilling down a flight of stairs to the foyer where the guests are arriving without being told what to do. it's too soon. it's medication time.

in a silence of being alone the clown always marvels at the sound of a pin dropping. he ponders the inner meaning of eating spaghetti. anti-sex meetings. discussion of events pertaining to the regurgitation of thought on command for getting outta the blue. the reactions are predictable coming from the collective media mind machine we've been trained by.

culture in the gutter before we know it and it's too late for us to apologize to anyone without knowing who is to blame.
oh yeah, the helpless children sold into the sex trade to meet the worldwide demand. everything in this post-postmodern world declining toward no future. the golden age is gone if it ever was. there were always hidden shadows to it. the pompous and the proud citizens of the body politic now laid waste to devilish greed and distraction. this is the victory they have achieved in our name.

the clown is tired still but is not concerned. it's always time for a nap. everything is done that can be done. we are still alive, more or less. the tortures endured around the world. no different from yesterday. who is proud of this fact but the victors waiting for their glory? are they not pleased with themselves?
yes, indeed.
a war where there are no crimes but only death and destruction. must it come to this? the wars of alpha-apes still among us. damn.

the black market demand for goods and services someone will always fulfill. there is no end to it.
everything is counted with $$$. it's funny to think about it in your humorless world. you will never get the joke. we get it, cuz we are the joke [cue laughter].
someone's gotta carry the flag, eh?
what's in the bag, baby?
is this too simple? it needs to be simple for it to be more understood by the many. we're not as dumb as we may appear - we're dumber, if that's possible.
so that goes.

odd occurrences drifting in from the sea. the sea is humanity. naked flesh seething to be alive. the spontaneous synchronistic eruptions of fate and fortune too soon to forget. (±0) the steady state of whatever "encompasses" the penetrating pulsating throbbing universe to explode again and again all over itself.
mars in question. can we get there from here? why would we want to? mars is a terrible world of its own destructive nature laid waste to everything, perhaps to life itself. now it waits for us. it waits for us to bring it $$$.
making $$$ on the supply supplying the demand. humans wanted for secret experiments. no explanation required. the masters of outer space. go, baby, go. dance the crazy dance for all you're worth, which isn't worth a penny to anyone important. now get with it. be cool. don't be afraid to be a fool in school. gazorbnik?
and people worrying about how they might appear in heaven.

fiddlesticks.

conflict with or without weapons when a lampshade can be a weapon. not a weapon of choice perhaps, but a weapon of need and good fortune to have at the time. for the clown the lazy life is the life for him which he pretty much got away with and then he'll die. then he'll fly away diving up into the dark, avoiding the light. deeper in toward its heart.

my body is a temple, ancient and crumbling, probably cursed, harboring an unspeakable horror - guru jeff.

11:11
the clown doesn't know what to make of himself. it becomes quite confusing but exciting what he might choose at any given moment keeping in mind there is only one (1) moment everlasting from no beginning toward no end, of course.
the body, a vehicle to putter through this world in, otherwise we'd just float away on a breeze as we please, back from a mind in a dream to the mind of the dreamer.
so it goes.

know thyself - perhaps a lifetime of study to uncover with just random thoughts that come to him the clown continues typing not p0em gazing out the window with mind's eye that sees everything of what he might wish to imagine being or not.
the fuckers don't realize the game they are playing that no one wins, not them either. but they serve the alien overlords to do their bidding, no questions asked. it's the only way it makes sense - or not.
and they created religions around it. religions at war against one another, all promising peace and prosperity in an afterlife. it's a sad and pitiful planet - a galactic insane asylum? the only way to leave is to gain the ability to escape - to remember what we have forgotten.

11:11
the time goes by but it is always now as it was now in the past and will be now in the future. simple. only fools are fascinated by this, as many would tell us so.
ineffabled outta his mind the clown climbs the walls to above where there is just and only sky.
and they also discovered there is great wealth and power in religion. that makes it more holy. holier than thou (everyone else). follow the $$$, to who does it flow? who does it belong to? we all know.

it's a silly thing for the clown typing not p0em - a journal of his ignorance. and social darwinists dance a merrie dance on the roof tops celebrating their success as they knew it would be. populations grow and populations decline. populations mix and match in unpredictable design. let's work together but we never will with the hate that springs up among us as various groups claim superiority over others.
this according to the master plan, devised by a man named stan. but no one seems to know who he is or where he's at. he doesn't wear a hat. imagine that. he just swings a bat and knocks people flat. this seems to be the way it goes. we should know by now.

the purpose of our mission is to be sure the project is going ok in every way as is expected and more so. the object of the project is the project, as some might remember but few understand. the project is a process of always continuing striving to attain the object. any object will do.

quos deus vult perdere prius dementat - guru jeff.

the clown always knew from the beginning that he wasn't up to it. he didn't even try. he gave up and took what he could get which was enough to get by. he didn't really care. he had other ideas going on to think about, like about the steady progress of his madness.
so there.

11:11
pet the kitty.