part 95 -

happy jack.
it's funny becuz attached with cat hair the clown sitting before the computer before the gazing window he ultimately blames no one nor credits anyone for nothing he cannot blame or credit himself 1st, or whenever.

a fully dimensional self-programing simulation, or something like that sorta creepy thing. whatever.
drug addicted philosophy. carry on and on toward an understanding of our ignorance. can we have some more, please?
here the clown laughs a little to himself. could it be any more wrong? but with gazorbnik everything is true, which does not bring us any closer to whatever it is we are supposed to bring ourselves closer to may be. gazorbnik itself is unapproachable under these circumstances. be very careful and silent.

surrounded by propaganda machines cleverly programmed to make no mistake, the clown correctly puts together fried egg, swiss cheese, red onion, mayo, spicy mustard, 8 grain bread, and eats the subsequent result.
when is the beginning? the middle? the end?
it is the ongoing continuing genetic process we recognize as objects and such. owah-tagu-siam.
everything eventually converting into being everything else. this we know about from teachings of guru jeff engraved in our minds which will disappear like a morning mist over a busy pond. but that don't mean it's gone. also, multidimensional optical illusions intersecting with our space and time reality. once if you see it you will never forget - though you may regret being so curious.

yes.
what dope it is.
how dope we are.
sister morphine holds her breath.
but later earlier that same night everything seems a bit queer. tender harvest of dream manipulations surging in our brain to make it go - whoosh. just like a toilet down the drain toward a better world with talking toads and things of that nature in an afterworld of perpetual beautiful bliss. everybody does their thing.

processed food with all its added chemicals and such. processed everything. ourselves processed. the future processed as is the past. we have here and now and that's about it. it is it. spread the word. hahaha.
groove your gazorbnik, baby.
it's medication time.

3) remember grey goo? who doesn't? that is a theory of sorts. replicating the programed message forever. this might not make sense at first. it needs deep studying.
choose your own mantra, like we did, mistakenly calling a demon that goes by the name gazorbnik. easy answers for a lazy mind.

our gazorbnik tells us to be cool. why be frantic? who wins becoming frantic? that only happens to losers. be a winner. be cool. white duck down?
habits.
who tells us nothing we need to be told? we figure it out from synchronistic random bits of information. patterns in the æther which has been supposedly proven not to exist by some wise guy or another. as if they knew what it is they are looking for. æther is in and in-between among our minds tuned sideways, krypton effect reality thing.
shit we make up for no reason. not being in the right place at the right time in most cases but other times exactly right here now - bingo.

things and things and things. once ultra-desirable brand new things lie in landfills everywhere. it's a mess, baby. everybody's in on it. kill all the motherfuckers. do it now. in the name of gazorbnik you will obey.
crazy.

in the time of love we grooved to the vibes. there were many too much and many not enough. puppy dogs. everything's turned dark it seems, but it kinda always has been for him to provide for his own light. nothing is groovy now. we are no longer believers in love dashed on the rocks as it has been lost to all without them noticing nothing much with their eye on their $$$.
it's all lies. we are told this over and over. everybody's suspect by now. everybody watching who else while feeling watched themselves kinda thing going on around any town. some people protest. some people ignore. a serpent swallowing its tail until we hope it chokes and falling crashing back into the sea which is humanity.

the clown is told not only what to think but how to feel about what he thinks. the clown is not alone. there is everyone else on earth too.
his paranoia strikes deep with people always telling him he's wrong. it's just their tired worn out song. he knows when he doesn't belong, even among the outcasts. everybody into groupthink groups to make themselves feel bigger than they are easily directed by the manipulators who dazzle us with diverting distractions to divide us against each other and so on. nevermind.

of course gazorbnik being some sorta demon is a made up lie to tell kids so they'll stay on the right side of the law. honesty here is not the best policy - there's a war on, damn it.

succumb for a time to lower level dingbats who probably have a surprise waiting which you may or may not care for. it could be the surprise of your life either way. imagine that. count your blessings and curses. it's so fake it's not funny anymore. we must be in control and remain so for the foreseeable future which does not exist - or not.
what?

listening to madness the clown hearing it all the time continuing typing not p0em in the dark of night here after. ho-hum. it's the teeny tiny thingies one might notice along the wandering wondering way of pathless paths toward where everything balances out of balance flowing as a burning flag meaning nothing, unless it does.
like lovers drawn to the moon. shout it out. the clown cannot speak. not like adolph discovered he could in his heyday in the beerhalls until he turned into an insane drug addict. oh well. huh? what just happened?
light another cigarette.

the clown remembers unhappy times of childhood except times alone when he didn't have to put on a face and act.
kerplunk.
down and down and down we go into the earth floating in a beam of blue light to a forgetful destination as we after some non-time are returned again.
it all made sense to us then. the sense of nonsense. how could it be any other way? excuse us while we spin, always different each time around.

ready to go for a ride?
what's the trick? there's always a trick to these sorta things of this nature, isn't there?
there's tricks in everything. that's how they hold our attention to this world. without it we'd float away. that cannot be allowed to happen - oh no.
has all hope been abandoned? hahaha.

déjà vu times a zillion. that's life in a maze of mirrors, baby. you'll get to know it well once you perceive how it's done without knowing what the fuck you're doing at all.
hot and heavy wavy gravy. disruptions of mind over matter as it's always been for some reason conducive to the proceedings of fate.
fate needs to be an entirely logical mechanism to fulfill its function no matter what with no appeal granted - not ever forever.
give us a fucking break.

promote yourself. get ahead of the pack wherever they may roam. protect yourself. the best defense is an good offense. so we are told and it seems to make sense at first in some odd binary sorta way - then after, not so much.
that's one of the oldest tricks up our sleeve. kill 'em all. the apple pie cools on the windowsill as it is supposed to. the plan is working. we can continue our mission. all anyone knows is we're putting the project together. that's all anyone needs to know. it'll mess you up in your head. surprised? probably not. you're probably not paying attention. you want it quick and easy. that obviously ain't gonna happen. nope.

we get bypassed easily. $$$ talks, bullshit walks. we've been fed endless amounts of bullshit we don't know what the fuck - or do we?
we'll be the last to know.
keep it alive and fresh. we know what's best for ourselves, or perhaps not. maybe we do need a god to tell us what to do. we're far too stupid.

but the good news is...!?!