part 36 (9)

everything and nothing has been revealed about our theory of everything just about or not.
loose rambling threads of wandering thoughts this way, that way, the other way - irrelevant or not to our theory or anything else.
while the others are sleeping, dreaming perhaps.
living in a world of individual dreams becoming hard collective reality.
who can tell us it is not?
and we argue about what it all means.
and we fight about getting as much of it for ourselves as we can, some more successful than others.
as it should be?
perhaps.
or not.

as it is.
whatever it is.
whatever it means.
9@3
light rain in the darkness before dawn.
lit by electric light.
everything coming from the sun worshipped for ages and still by those who know not what they do.
funny.

so the clown isn't so sure he knows what's going on sitting before the computer typing not p0em for no one while thinking about dragonflies and aardvarks and those violently opposed to one another with each fighting for what they feel is a just cause which maybe it is or maybe it's not.
if there is right and wrong.
he gazes out the window at the children walking by to the indoctrination centers as is considered normal for this reality scheme.
he has dim memory of his own time spent there in his youth until he woke up turned on reading on beyond zebra for some odd reason.

and all the people who cannot seem to function within the parameters of the hollow structure of this given social reality alienated and rejected.
and as a spaceship hovers nearby.
an old trick.
oh, look! a squirrel!

he thinks about how museums freak him out always afraid he'll get trapped in one like maybe he already has been.
it's all death.
this culture is death.
the people are death.
he needs to wake up some more.
or something.
nothing seems quite right.
it seems like impossible dreams.
dilemma of post-postmodern life.
a new age upon us perhaps.
everything perhaps.
drink it up.
yum.

it's medication time!
pleasant dreams.
another cigarette.
please pass the ketchup.

he wonders about the consciousness of a cat.
or a worm.
an amoeba?
anything?
is all consciousness?
perhaps not to the practical rationalogic realist.
they could be right, but that's no fun.
but fun is not where it's at.
a distraction from what needs to be done to survive.
turn off the tv.
get back to work.

counting cigarettes down to 0 - death.
slow suicide.
no wonder.
this world has not been very nice.
it has constantly ridiculed him and called him names.
but it's not the world's fault.
it must be as it is.
it cannot help itself to be any different.
he is tired.
he wants to go home falling away back into darkness to never be no more.
or something like that.
he's just not interested, never has been much.
people getting all up excited about nothing to him.
he just observes and tries to understand - which he doesn't mostly.
the gods of song and dance.
the gods of war.
the gods of ocean waves.
the gods of thunderous storms
a god of just sitting doing nothing.
everything more trouble than it's worth.
existence is enough - to be.
an amazing thing it is to think about - experiencing.

and fantasies of this and that and the other thing.
it's all been a dream.
he imagines dreaming the world, or the world dreaming him?
whatever.
which is what?
who can tell the difference?

a world colored by his demise.
he is not happy, he is not sad.
he just is.
enduring with whatever dwindling strength is left him.
gone in a instant - 0.
has it ever been?
who is left to recall?
he becomes no one.
he laughs at this what must be a joke.
something that has been not at all.
this is paradise, if ever it might be.

he gazes out the window at dog and man walking each other going by.
he breathes.
sitting before the computer silent.
loops of cycles never repeating the same ever again - or not.
he imagines one rotation of the universe being the beginning and end of space and time.
perhaps.
or not.
the absurd surrender.
misplaced victories.
and now a car drives past disappearing into the future.
he trusts what he sees.
it's the meaning of what he sees that he is unsure about.
it can mean anything.
what does a duck mean?
it's all gazorbnik to him.

what a stupid unnecessary thing gazorbnik is.
it adds to nothing.
is it supposed to?
he yawns at the thought of it.
he insists on this absurdity as he does having another cigarette.
such a loser.

a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a nap.

the earth is real, the world not so much.