11
good morning.
happiness everywhere.
hail victory!
coffee, toke, cigarette.
continuing typing out not poem for the masses.
it's medication time.
cutting his dirty fingernails.
blowing his nose, he farts.
you call this art?
no, not really.
arbitrary beginnings and endings.
we mark them for our purpose and convenience in conflict with one another.
and the possibility there is no beginning nor ending which we feel there must not be.
however, we could be wrong which is why everything is posed as our theory.
they fight wars against each other for various reasons, yet agree on what day it is.
that seems odd.
many things about what they do and do not do seem odd to us.
but we are them.
what are we to understand being what we are?
what are we?
dreamers of the best and worst of all possible worlds?
low grade common dumb shits?
is there a difference?
we fit and adapt to our physical and social environments whichever way it might come and go to be as it is and so on.
at times it's in our best interest to play dumb shit while dreaming the world otherwise.
the few and the far between.
acting as if.
on the stage of the crowded burning theater we have forgotten our lines so we wander around taking up space and time as we are best able to do so without giving ourselves away.
we might be on a mission.
screw you, jerko.
but they seem to wonder discussing among themselves about there being something wrong about us.
they hire people who are doctors to tell them what it might be.
telling us who they have reasoned who it is we are to become.
we act the part to play.
pills.
being diagnosed as being mad of some sort or another is a tricky pickle but can be successfully managed to one's benefit up to a point.
every village needs an idiot.
perhaps the happiest person around - or not.
until one is taken out and shot.
nobody tells us nothing about nothing and what they do tell us is lies.
we gotta figure shit out for ourselves.
how it makes sense to us.
dig?
so, whatever... imagine placing 0 everywhere at the center of everything and placing 1 nowhere at the end of everything.
where are they relative to one another?
could they possibly be at the same location while also being infinitely apart?
what is infinity if it is counted as 1?
everything above is impossible to do in reality.
does that matter?
fuck reality.
just wondering about shit.
no big deal.
the world built on top of the earth.
a world in disrepair always breaking apart.
the earth never fails.
the bliss of everything.
a kiss of the almighty.
playing the game of life to amuse ourselves in our eternal paradise.
what will we be this time around?
what adventures will we have?
he should take out the recycling, clean the cat box, do laundry.
he has a blank canvas to paint.
and it's medication time.
he lights a cigarette after a toke listening to some of his music of sorts.
/ excommunication.
thinking thoughtcrime felt to be disruptive of collective groupthink thing.
the many vs the few vs the one.
a butterfly.
spiders in his head weaving webs of consciousness perhaps.
or it's just imagination.
imagination given to us by gods and/or evolution it would seem to stand to reason we have it for a purpose toward our survival - or not.
whatever - he eats some cheetos.
pet the kitty.
he naps.
awakening.
toke, cigarette.
apple slices and sharp cheddar.
gazing out the window to the fluctuating light from the sun in and out from behind clouds.
everything back and forth around about sideways never the same as now again ever.
or if when the universe does repeat itself it is the end.
relaxing being cool and groovy as can be in times like these.
everybody running around with their heads cut off it seems.
that has nothing to do with us.
there is nothing we can do about it, except wait it out.
light another cigarette.
political vendettas across the various media outlets.
VOTE GAZORBNIK
the world is screwy.
all the powers that be trying to outdo the others to be the ones sitting on top of the world.
interesting.
we are here to experience and observe it would seem like to us.
what else are we being paid for by the state?
in a high state of madness flying clumsily along honk-honk.
a report to the committee.
there is no committee.
there maybe no state but warlords.
will there be heaven on earth?
will there be hell below?
what of all the knowledge lost?
when we become dirty savages to fend for ourselves in the wastelands.
where rivers catch fire.
what realization for us then?
what will we need?
how will we get it?
no slack.
no plan of attack.
no means of defense.
no sitting on a fence.
you are us or you are them.
everything all over the place.
mix it up good.
see what it might turn into - if anything.
what it might turn into is self peace, love, and understanding withstanding all set against it.
alone in a maddening world.
he laughs.
more coffee, another cigarette.
gazing out the window sitting before the computer typing out our theory of everything as not poem and so on.
floating downstream in a dreamboat toward a river to the sea.
uncompromising style and performance befitting our lifestyles.
granola yogurt peaches.
and it drizzles a bit outside.
self peace.
self love.
self understanding.
an unending puzzle.
a god thing fathoming itself.
peace in stormy weather.
love surrounded by hate.
understanding out of ignorance.
selfless self - hahaha.
our theory of everything is about everything whatever it might be or not be from the most sublime to the most mundane.
from what is known from experience which includes accounts of the experiences of others.
though accounts that may be altered to fit certain paradigms believed to be true.
we accept nothing with neither belief nor doubt.
we shall wait and see sitting on a fence among all the sides trying to inform us what's what and what's not what in the faith of their theoretical opinions.
and all that jazz.
the lotus blossom with roots stuck in the muck.
this is as they see as a model of what it should be for ourselves.
what's wrong with this picture?
he feels like he's going nuts most of the time but then looks around to see who he'd rather be.
perhaps a tree.
that would be nice.
it would suffice very well indeed.
but none of these other walking talking apes he's seen.
he may be nuts but they are insane.
good morning.
happiness everywhere.
hail victory!
coffee, toke, cigarette.
continuing typing out not poem for the masses.
it's medication time.
cutting his dirty fingernails.
blowing his nose, he farts.
you call this art?
no, not really.
arbitrary beginnings and endings.
we mark them for our purpose and convenience in conflict with one another.
and the possibility there is no beginning nor ending which we feel there must not be.
however, we could be wrong which is why everything is posed as our theory.
they fight wars against each other for various reasons, yet agree on what day it is.
that seems odd.
many things about what they do and do not do seem odd to us.
but we are them.
what are we to understand being what we are?
what are we?
dreamers of the best and worst of all possible worlds?
low grade common dumb shits?
is there a difference?
we fit and adapt to our physical and social environments whichever way it might come and go to be as it is and so on.
at times it's in our best interest to play dumb shit while dreaming the world otherwise.
the few and the far between.
acting as if.
on the stage of the crowded burning theater we have forgotten our lines so we wander around taking up space and time as we are best able to do so without giving ourselves away.
we might be on a mission.
screw you, jerko.
but they seem to wonder discussing among themselves about there being something wrong about us.
they hire people who are doctors to tell them what it might be.
telling us who they have reasoned who it is we are to become.
we act the part to play.
pills.
being diagnosed as being mad of some sort or another is a tricky pickle but can be successfully managed to one's benefit up to a point.
every village needs an idiot.
perhaps the happiest person around - or not.
until one is taken out and shot.
nobody tells us nothing about nothing and what they do tell us is lies.
we gotta figure shit out for ourselves.
how it makes sense to us.
dig?
so, whatever... imagine placing 0 everywhere at the center of everything and placing 1 nowhere at the end of everything.
where are they relative to one another?
could they possibly be at the same location while also being infinitely apart?
what is infinity if it is counted as 1?
everything above is impossible to do in reality.
does that matter?
fuck reality.
just wondering about shit.
no big deal.
the world built on top of the earth.
a world in disrepair always breaking apart.
the earth never fails.
the bliss of everything.
a kiss of the almighty.
playing the game of life to amuse ourselves in our eternal paradise.
what will we be this time around?
what adventures will we have?
he should take out the recycling, clean the cat box, do laundry.
he has a blank canvas to paint.
and it's medication time.
he lights a cigarette after a toke listening to some of his music of sorts.
/ excommunication.
thinking thoughtcrime felt to be disruptive of collective groupthink thing.
the many vs the few vs the one.
a butterfly.
spiders in his head weaving webs of consciousness perhaps.
or it's just imagination.
imagination given to us by gods and/or evolution it would seem to stand to reason we have it for a purpose toward our survival - or not.
whatever - he eats some cheetos.
pet the kitty.
he naps.
awakening.
toke, cigarette.
apple slices and sharp cheddar.
gazing out the window to the fluctuating light from the sun in and out from behind clouds.
everything back and forth around about sideways never the same as now again ever.
or if when the universe does repeat itself it is the end.
relaxing being cool and groovy as can be in times like these.
everybody running around with their heads cut off it seems.
that has nothing to do with us.
there is nothing we can do about it, except wait it out.
light another cigarette.
political vendettas across the various media outlets.
VOTE GAZORBNIK
the world is screwy.
all the powers that be trying to outdo the others to be the ones sitting on top of the world.
interesting.
we are here to experience and observe it would seem like to us.
what else are we being paid for by the state?
in a high state of madness flying clumsily along honk-honk.
a report to the committee.
there is no committee.
there maybe no state but warlords.
will there be heaven on earth?
will there be hell below?
what of all the knowledge lost?
when we become dirty savages to fend for ourselves in the wastelands.
where rivers catch fire.
what realization for us then?
what will we need?
how will we get it?
no slack.
no plan of attack.
no means of defense.
no sitting on a fence.
you are us or you are them.
everything all over the place.
mix it up good.
see what it might turn into - if anything.
what it might turn into is self peace, love, and understanding withstanding all set against it.
alone in a maddening world.
he laughs.
more coffee, another cigarette.
gazing out the window sitting before the computer typing out our theory of everything as not poem and so on.
floating downstream in a dreamboat toward a river to the sea.
uncompromising style and performance befitting our lifestyles.
granola yogurt peaches.
and it drizzles a bit outside.
self peace.
self love.
self understanding.
an unending puzzle.
a god thing fathoming itself.
peace in stormy weather.
love surrounded by hate.
understanding out of ignorance.
selfless self - hahaha.
our theory of everything is about everything whatever it might be or not be from the most sublime to the most mundane.
from what is known from experience which includes accounts of the experiences of others.
though accounts that may be altered to fit certain paradigms believed to be true.
we accept nothing with neither belief nor doubt.
we shall wait and see sitting on a fence among all the sides trying to inform us what's what and what's not what in the faith of their theoretical opinions.
and all that jazz.
the lotus blossom with roots stuck in the muck.
this is as they see as a model of what it should be for ourselves.
what's wrong with this picture?
he feels like he's going nuts most of the time but then looks around to see who he'd rather be.
perhaps a tree.
that would be nice.
it would suffice very well indeed.
but none of these other walking talking apes he's seen.
he may be nuts but they are insane.
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