23 -

hello?
anybody home?

why do we doubt it?
the absolute silence.
no communications.
oh well.

surrogate thinking feeling anything but reality.
this simulation situation.
a fly on the wall relaying all available information.
hope on a rope they choke on the data onslaught that becomes meaningless in its scope.
truth has no business here.
what truth?
the paradoxical truth of stating there being no truth?
are we wrong?
how can we be right?
there is no right or wrong.
there ain't no nothing.
it's medication time.

everybody has a story untold of fortunate misfortunes and vice versa otherwise of life and living.
expert opinions prescribing solutions.
there are no solutions without further problems.
get real.
more coffee, another toke, another cigarette.
when does this we experience as reality begin in ongoing continuing being (was is will be)?
pineal insights.
corruption of the world.
grease the wheels.
the world is corruption, that's the point.
everyone out to make it rich.
some do, overwhelming most don't.
the struggle builds character - of a murdering sex maniac more often than not kept hidden away eating inside the soul.

11:11
watching a clock time seems eternally slower a moment taking forever never stopping until entropy has the final word.
no surprise.
a certain sorrow to it.
goodbye, cruel universe.
it's been a blast, but the show is over.
the burning theater is cold ashes, scattered by winds, dissolved by rains
back to 0.
not even void abyss.
but why worry?- we will be no more.
unless...

he laughs.
why is everything so terribly funny?
is it him?
has he lost his moral marbles?
what else should he feel?
what are the rules?

those claiming and arguing they can set things right if we just follow them and cheer along.
many various diverse differences of opinions about that.
whenever will we get our shit together?
a hard rain's been falling for quite some time now.
yep.

are we the first or the last?
where are we in this grand parade in circles all the time?
is any of it relevant to what?
everything relative to itself relative to radiant vibrations of peace, love, and understanding everywhere everywhen.
get it?

is it supposed to make sense?
what making sense does that mean?
play it on shuffle.
sing along on psychic astral zing planes aplenty upon creative discovery.
zooom... away.
but not really.
everything is here now by remote control someplace else another time.
moments waxing and waning.
he is such a doofus herp-a-derp.
hee-haw, baby.
and how!
grab that chainsaw, and go!

nine inch nail in the eye.
ooo...
the taste of love taking itself so seriously.
so does the CIA contemplating navel.
he sleeps.

(to be continued...)