21 -

5 days food.
r sitting at the computer ignoring the fat black cat him hunching over the keyboard typing this episode of not poem for the masses about our theory of everything and so forth and sundry.
he yawns.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
the masses.
will we ever get it together on our own?
some of us have things down diverse as ourselves.
most of us are fucked.
live in the woods until the shit storm is over.
he digs a groove in the air for the moment passing eternal from beginning to end of this finite universe boundless in its scope according to the wise guys who tell us so with their big science.
a boot stomping on a human face, forever.
promises, promises.
let's get this show on the road.
it's all in his head onstage at the burning theater on easy street in the imaginary city on an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
where do we go from here?
what do we want?
more?
more what?
more everything.
he farts and burps.
and less of some things.
and less of some people.
we are them.
more coffee.

we digress toward a point of understanding coming soon to [THIS SECTOR].
and old joke by now.
don't overload it.
put it in your pipe and smoke it.
death is just about the only thing left at this point.
shaking street.
a swiss and avocado sandwich.
the avocado almost overripe but caught in the nick of time.
more coffee, another toke, another cigarette.
what propaganda and manipulation passes for news for the masses.
are we stupid, or what?
we outnumber them by millions and billions but cannot lift a finger cuz we cannot seem to be able to agree on shit and stuff without someone telling us what to do.
how to march in unity.
how to think in unity.
and so that goes.

and we go around the bend over the hills and far far away.
fuck this shit.
outta this world outta our minds.
let them find us if they can with their psycho-probing machines.
they nearly got him once, to put his head in a jar.
he escaped out the backdoor running.
people do whatever the fuck they wanna without a care.
that's what it's all about.

there's no way around this shit.
we have to go through it one way or another.
sideways.
just becuz you're unique doesn't mean you're necessarily useful.
who wants to be useful?
to be used.
but we need.
our need gets greedy.
that is how they get us.
that is how we get ourselves.
no way in, no way out.
just being here now is about all we can know about it though that becomes meaningless as is perhaps the intention /\/\/\/\/\/\/=:=:=:=:=||||||-_-_-_-/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/.
is there a secret space program?
we demand answers.
but lazy is the way.
we can't say we haven't been warned.
it isn't that we do not believe.
we just don't care.
we do not have the inclination nor the patience.
he sleeps.

awakening to rain.
another perfect day.
and it's medication time.
r is confused for a moment, but gets over it.
coffee and cigarette.
what's black is white, what's white is black.
hoity-toity intellectuals with nothing to offer the common stooge in the street, nor vice versa.
the great divide.
how do we overcome it?
is there nothing in the middle?
aren't we in the middle?
the middle finger of doubt in a crossfire.
what a world.
what a way to live.
it's all whack.

but what do we know about reality?
now the wise guys are telling us the universe is a simulation.
join the investigation, sherlock.
we remember when they told us the universe is a clock
them and their big brains with big ideas.
us puny nobodies without a clue.
tank it, baby.
tank it all night long.

something's wrong.
it don't add up right.
it don't quite fit.
it's all changing.
everlasting 'til the end o' time to come.
what then?
how do we amuse ourselves?
do we die of boredom?
perhaps so.
what else is there to do?

but that's a long time from now - perhaps.
we should be in the middle, maybe the exact center of space and time.
with its pinpoint inside our heads.
a distraction refraction of light projecting into a universe.
whatever.

pretending it's real awhile.
it would certainly appear to be according to our senses - if we can trust them.
do we trust even what we think and/or feel?
is it a devious trick to entrap us, or an amusement park ride?
we can only wonder until such time as it may be reveled.
clever.

SORRY, THIS RIDE IS CLOSED

(to be continued...)