19 -

tender little tidbits of pure noise circulating like flies.
emissions of television phantoms glowing in the dark across developed landscapes.
brouhaha-heehee-hoho.
take it off.
everything is synchronistic mediocrity.
jejejejejejejej.
more coffee, another toke, a cigarette.
optical utopian upchuck deluge.
our overwhelming cruelty towards all manner of plants and animals, domestic and wild.
agriculture was our downfall.
hierarchies of power.
something to protect no matter what.
better free roaming beast than all the economic wealth and political power.
wouldn't it?
perhaps, or not.
we shall see.

doofus ring-a-ding.
sitting at the counter at the diner scribbling not poem into a notebook about whatever comes to mind about our theory of everything which we have figured out to an inexactly science of dubious doubts we might have about it and then some but no longer worry about what is going on except for the others who still don't get it might do or not.
it not a matter of getting it but of having it that is the juxtaposition of it.
we concurrently agree to disagree which may not be as simple as stated with all the yahoos about in this wonderful world we have otherwise sorta but not really.
everything is a scam in the grander master scheme of it all.
we always lose but that's ok.
winning is too much like work and we're lazy.
laziness is at the root of our theory of everything hence the confusion which models the confusion of what passes for reality as we knowingly experience it.

reality sucks out loud.
but that's no nevermind to us as we pursue happiness wherever it might lead us along on pathless paths toward understanding or certain doom with aching abscessed tooth to deal with today here now riveting us to this world the best and worst of all possible worlds for the full experience of it.
alone in a world of billions over populating it as the case may be or not as we choose.
and wars and rumors of wars singing the same songs to ear deaf with screaming rage.
funny how that happens.
how simple everything can be when we stop and think or to feel what we are experiencing if we can trust any of it and so on.

trembling afraid of fear itself in a pocket of love embracing our need for comfort in these interesting time always in doubt of ourselves as a man overdosed with abundant sharp aftershave sits next to him as a boring song plays on the jukebox along with most of the others too as he steps out for a smoky treat watching people walking and driving by as usual on a perfect autumn morning stepping back inside continuing not poem ordering eggs and toast as he coughs and farts.
we have been through most all of it and are still not done as it will never be not in our lifetime and theoretically not in anyone else's forever.
he's been a fool and fool he will continue to be believing this nonsense he scribbles but he don't care when he looks about at the  others and their lives wasted doing what's expected on and on.

2+2=cow.
ow.
ka-pow.
wow.
but we know better than that in our hat.
the telephone rings.
weird and bizarre.
not what is expected alright now.
we were caught dreaming impossibilities on a carrousel around around it goes.

not cucumbers, please.
it's time to divine some kinda monkey business going on that we suspect we know what it is that it's the whole scheme devised by those who hold themselves as the chosen elite elect sorta thing and we watch the parade of these fools and laugh before we die by their command.
so nevermind.
it comes and goes.
enjoy it while it lasts, baby.
rock on.

rapid fire idiot minds.
no one knows how far it goes - to the stars?
as if that means much about anything.
we guess again.
maybe this time we'll get it right, or not.
like we stand around in our underwear gazing at the gunfire on the next hill across the freeway.
now is not the time to get it wrong.
but we've always been wrong and still here we are now.
dang.

he comes home.
he naps.