part 60

raspberries.
everything is the same disguise trying to appear unnoticeable as the clown types more continuous not p0em for many reasons he's not aware of ok dipsy doodle awkward brain sunk into the murky mire of consciousness being quite mad not speaking to anyone about anything that seems to matter now or not as the inflatable disease covers the ground we trample upon creating noxious clouds of dust we breathe before the grandstands set up for this occasion where many dreams come true.
arf.

the propaganda of stalking gangs searching for something to do, someone to fuck with and beat up.
most people believe it like they believe refugees arriving in new rafts with outboard motor and sharp looking orange life vests yet with no fuel supply or food or water on a multi-day trip across the sea without getting lost or nothing.
haha.

the bad guys might be right, but who listens to them but call them names instead. we'll never get our fucking act together to unite against our true enemy.
the clown sighs. he sorta knows what he doesn't know. but he doesn't care. what he knows is troublesome enough twisting turning in his head in various combinations of possibility.
possibility is an integral foundation of our theory of everything. one of many possibilities. who can figure it all out such we might all agree on it?
no one.

but that's the question, isn't it? we don't agree on shit. should we? would that be desirable? maybe not everything but more so than we do now fighting wars and all that for no reason at all that the clown can think of - except $$$.
humdrum oogla oogla sis boom bah.
ka-powie?

disappointed factions of the underground surfacing on the moon to explode into their congruent parts shapeless formless drooling down the highway to hell with a dog in the back seat.
so there.

we think of nothing not thought of before. we glean the fields for metaphors to our situation. jet airplanes fire missiles at us trying to chase us away. 16 candles. we drop down dead instead. that's not funny.
but we will live in the afterworld someday - or not. it makes no nevermind to us really.
some of us are just plain born useless. what the fuck are we doing here? it's god's plan they tell us. do they think we're stupid and can't figure out that scam for ourselves? maybe not.
many of us like tv - or music, or books, etc. mass media barrage of garbage to confuse us so we don't know what's up.
piano.

herky jerky up and down your spine.
herky jerky we feel fine.
a little bit low, a little bit high.
we're not sure if we wanna know why.
herky jerky crawling on your skin.
herky jerky let's go for a spin.

dangling bits of 1/2 eaten cow rotting in the sun hanging on barbed wire strung around the compound where we meet our long lost fate to come upon us to release us from our troubled minds that think up this shit.
away we go toward all the paradises imagined and invented on earth in the times at the end of history.
that was quite a trip. begin it again.
spin them wheels.
let's go...

excitement narrows as judgment ensues ignorant as fuck to please be pleased however that might occur once upon a time. juggling robots with pants on fire dancing erratically across the half lit stage at the burning theater in the middle of a renowned passionate sex scene being rehearsed as a muse whispers in the clown's ear more mish mash than one might shake a stick at. the clown is not amused - haha.
shouts of rabid praise scrape across the ceiling. we are on edge. we are being fooled again. all ducks in a row. formula proceedings ignite our presence in the dark pitch of night as it once was long ago. seldom have we faced these charges hurled at us now. the committee volunteer thought police given power as needed.
are you black or white? they ask us.
we remain dumbfounded.

they scan our chips to gather background data, etc. any hacker could do the same, and they probably do. we are advised not to shake hands with anyone as that is how hackers can gain access to our personal info. but they have other tricks as well, many we probably don't know about. signals from outer space, as opposed to normal space we can touch and feel - sorta.
we're not so sure any way it might be correct or incorrect and to what degree of each compared to what.
this is the way we sometimes get to it by writing it as not p0em until we become confused and lost in it while achieving gazorbnik if we might be so fortunate from time to time which isn't all the time as it turns out in a moment otherwise more often than not. could it be true? it seems true enough to us know nothings abundant upon the earth scattered throughout the world of mammon. the clown playacts everything pretendwise including everyone's a sacrificial victim boo-fucking-hoo look out below cuz here we come falling from our former grace as if we had any to begin with - haha.

so that's our story and we're sticking to it ready or not here we cum oozing goozing all over hell and backwards redundant yet daring escapades to give us a thrill pill to swallow the lies told in our sleep where we are haunted by circumstantial evidence down in deep dark narrow caves of our id to become monsters of ourselves many times over.
don't do it. quit playing their games though they "own" and control all the resources so it's not as easy as that.
power to the people, right on.
buncha snorting yahoos.
though quitting playing their games is not a possible option for us we can reduce how much we play into them if we decide to expect less and live on it. but we're screwed no one to feel we might change anything though we are constantly changing everything. being changed by everything. like a dog licking up its own puke.
sad stories about bicycles. lying about its stolen possession remembering now as part of a bizarre dream of passing space and time.
eat the rich.
but they will hunt and dine on us.
telepathic cyborgs.
joy to the world.
a skip in reality shifting left at the next light. walls of steel. crack down, baby.
the holy city will be no more. take your pick. there are so many to choose. thrown into an anxious panic like a mad dog god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. what he imagines is always real to him. nothing but trouble. and nobody but him. as imaginary spaceships landing everywhere around the world as we know it anymore he perceives experiencing something that appears as much as our senses are able to detect to be perhaps everything. appropriate understanding of a darker sense of mind bringing us to an ultimate state of zen oblivion. speaking truth if possible. language is flawed. and is not truth perfection? then how can language convey truth?
and we ask ourselves many stupid absurd questions like that and then some. the clown feels his identity peeling and slipping away downstream toward the sea. infinity is his destiny. he develops hiccoughs from eating an ice cream sandwich.

morning.
coffee and ginger snaps breaking fast.
energy shift. the material world bad, spiritual world good, while we would state the opposite. a full spectrum of activities from the best good to the worst evil, or from the best evil to the worst good, or whatever way it goes from here to there wherever here or there may be relative to anything as it all swirls and twirls this way that way the other way and so on. everything is very exciting and we couldn't have done it without the little guy. nope.
someone to give the orders and others to obey them.
step right up and join civilization as we know it. it's the worst that could ever be as much as we can imagine in our puny minds at ease over the rainbow epiphany driven spiritual life which is no life at all. forget that noise. be whatever you are to become. it will always be a mystery to you. nevermind.
the clown becomes a recluse to the world he doesn't much understand nor wants to. he wants peace, love, and understanding and pretty much has it as much as he will probably ever experience in this world. that is enough for him what comes and goes with waves and tides and moon, or so they tell us. we are too ill-equipped to question without appearing as fools. so we remain in silence but not compliance as much as we might refuse and resist on our own terms.
so there...