part 28

the clown dreaming out of windows at the winds blowing through the trees.
he should pay attention more, but he doesn't.
but more so than most might realize - just not always what he's supposed to be paying attention to.
drifting away into thought so perfectly balanced and aligned it shatters him into a zillion splinters of himself becoming.
such cosmic hoo-ha undulating in his mind vibrations of compliance to the needs of the project he dreams about since the stone age ago without realizing he was doing it but suspecting that something was up living a history of wars and conquests for economic gain not for honor and glory as it was supposed by the stupid.
honor and glory be damned to the hell they create.

while continuously typing not p0em by reason of insanity the clown discovers he is the enemy of the people guilty as charged by the self-rewarding lords and masters leading us perpetually toward the promised lands.
just one more step.
now another.
and another.
we'll get there yet.
more cowbell.

to hear screaming without realizing you are the one screaming - and laughing.
have we gone insane yet?
what is it like to go insane?
a mad god alone in the void inside his head.
it can be any which way it goes.
who are you?

to pretend to know what is known.
goof balls.
the clown has only questions.
people telling him to shut the fuck up.
what good does that do but protect their pride?
11@9
but 0 at the exact center of everything - yet it is not really there but everywhere everywhen, no?
everywhere that is here.
everywhen that is now.
he eats a hot dog.

not p0em is one big fat question that can be reduced to - what the fuck?
answer that and win the prize.
only answers without further questions need apply.
but that is death everlasting.
questions are living.
would you agree?
or would you be damned?
it amounts to both the same when 2+2=cow, which it doesn't very often if at all but in our imaginations.

trying to figure out and determine exactly the politics of a bug crawling up a window before it is squished.
and the odd duck as well.
we make too many assumptions.
we follow the party line.
and what a party it is.
what's left of all our friends are there.
they will decide what becomes of us.
they are the many and we are the few.
mob majority rule.
scattered brains.
fact or fantasy?
the mainstream of information propaganda non-truth ippsy doodle all day.
a dated cosmonaut flying by into the sun to discover new weapons technology.
the clown almost poking his eye out putting on his glasses again after cleaning them.
silly monkey.

he just has awakened.
now he is sleepy ready for a nap.
nodding out at the keyboard typing not p0em.
what next?

so many deviant realities on the loose.
how do we keep track of them all?
why do we need to?
are they not infinite in number and scope?
is there no such thing as infinite?
the tricks we play on ourselves when everything is so very simple that gazorbnik covers it.
as much as a great tree in some mythological forest.
as much as the written word.
as much as the sun and moon.
squabbled words and drum beat mania on the killing floor.
rape torture murder.
the wars are just beginning.
none know what it takes.
it takes something - something outta our soul.
we are souls that have bodies, not bodies that have souls.
traveling across the universe.
get this shit together.

but realistically the clown likes to sit before the computer gazing out the window at the outside world than to be out in it himself.
beautiful day to look at.
while he is away in mind drifting in among the galaxy clouds.
it keeps becoming more complicated for the others and their schemes of conquest.
sit and simplify.
let it go and hold on for the ride.
emptiness.
0.

3@10
slow raga for a slow morning.
a sign of beginning.
to forget the darkness before dawn.
it's all dark.
it's all light.
it's all everything, yet nothing.
laugh and scream about it.
or be quiet to oneself.
the noise in his head.
the silence of those turning to ancient stone.
he is all for those against him.
they are probably right, whereas he has been proven wrong again and again.
the collective harvest of souls like poppies in the fields.
euphoric eternal slumber.
that seems to be as they wish.
no more thoughts in their heads.
not even just a dream.
he had his chance and he blew it.
now everything is the same.
can he sleep now too?
but he always wakes up.

ooggly music with lawnmower attachment.
most don't get it.
one must be selective to what one is listening to.
one must believe.
always faster.
this ain't some country jamboree.
unwillingly absorbed into themselves the people still walking around like nothing.
confrontational smirks across their faces turning away.
who needs this?
the stench of it.
like they got it together themselves.
everybody's rocking - rocking it inside out

suicide depression shakes.
satanic broadcasts grabbing hold of the faithful now wild in the streets.
such a laugh - not everything it appears to be.
chattering stuttering chimps at the controls of logic devices set to stun/kill.
it'll stunt your growth.
11:11
without preceding thought.
not much to it than that.
another cigarette.

words have many meanings.
more so than rationalogic definitions.
irrationalogic metaphors.
the clown often doesn't know what they mean himself.
it's the chance he takes.

he naps.