part 80 -

delicious meat.
coffee toke cigarette.
it's medication time, though parts of the clown's brain tell him to stop taking them.
hmm... should he listen? should he obey?

what do we listen to and obey when our mind is a tizzy of babbling voices?
he's going to meet a friend for lunch.
it is difficult sometimes to determine what is quite real with what's going on around him when so many people tell him different things are true or false.
when reason is not much help to be trusted without the needed information.
intuition takes matters into its own hands.
repeating common phrases.
few if anyone have the patience for this.
oh well.

the pronoia is deep in the heart and flies high in the mind. everything, even the evil, is set in place to aid us in our journey.
ganesha opens the way or blocks it as is needed at times for what we must overcome.
but do we learn?
sometimes we do and sometimes not so much.
fly buzzing around.
doubtful doubts about most everything.
as it should be if we are to learn and grow.
the fat black cat hops up on the chair beside him wanting to be petted.
then she walks across the desk to go lay in the sun on the windowsill.
pb&j sandwich.
darkness all around.
bring your own light to it.
shine on and on through ages and generations of humanity evolved beyond itself into eternal life.
the universe acts in our favor.
believe it or not.

something ageless.
something divine.
poop.
the clown knows little but what little he does know fills him with amazement and wonder as he continues typing not p0em for the masses.
could anything be true?
but what is it really?
always changing flowing from one configuration to another as it is needed and should be.
he decides not to have a cigarette at this time.
let's have an orgy on the beach in the waves.
in and out.
up and down.
fun, baby, fun.

what's this about?
pronoiac perceptions to the contrary of deceptional illusions no one must be aware of existing in our minds.
it's nonsense, but not especially so in any great extent that we know of.
follow the non-linear threads of it.
it being it.
suck on it, baby.
nice and easy.
now, slowly pull the trigger.

and it's not obvious like a miracle, but more subtle than that.
it's a clue for those who don't have any.
S.C.U.M.
just like candy.
the useless helpless population of people all mixed up.
hybrids.
something like magick.
if this is the way it goes then that's the way it goes.
if it is what it takes to allow people to be happy for once.
the burning flags up on the hill.

everything seemingly disturbing illusions.
we are tricked so easily by those who tell us they know what's going on.
the simple life knows true from false.
but why worry about that?
we've better things to do, don't we?
we think so.
playing those old songs programmed by the thought police not to give us any strange ideas.

but the good news is that we have several options to choose from and we choose none of the above.
no one might tell us what our freedom will be though they keep trying to make us dance.

the poor victims, if we happen to believe in such things that "they" tell us through the manipulations of the controlled media psychic radiations.
the clown feels overwhelmed what to do.
that is the way they want it.
but he excuses himself and steps outside and after a cigarette to leap into the air and fly away.

depression to feel worse and worse every moment you're alive.
only sleep is the remedy, death is the cure.
let them have it.
people who fall for this repeatedly to the nth level of consciousness understanding the reality of the situation set on the table before them.
bring your manners.
more questions than we might shake sticks at if we choose to do so.
no comment.

life down and out on easy street on line for the next show at the burning theater. everybody knows it can't be beat. the bets are in, the windows are closed. the race has begun.
embarrassed as all heck we proceed toward the next destination on our list.
where this list came from nobody seems to remember, but it's all we got.

$$$.
butts galore.
outer space is calling our names.
but the prize goes to the ones who can focus on problems and come up with reasonable seeming solutions, unfortunately for us.
but we are on a mission.
damn the torpedoes.

awakening to another day of typing not p0em the clown confuses one thing for another into a narrative disclosure of what's left of sanity among us.
it shouldn't be that difficult.
as easy as pi.
it blinks on.
it blinks off.
at what point do we begin to doubt?

it comes for us differently for different reasons.
it's not as bad as it may seem.
cold coffee by now and another cigarette.
the project holds as what is to be.
it's all purpose.
it's invented by us to be make believe truth as it is written.
it is written, it is it.
few understand.
fewer still even notice.
everything vanishes from our minds to be replaced by everything else at once.
an infinitesimal instant quicker than snapping our fingers, blinking our eyes, wiggling our nose.
man drives his red mustang backwards down the street.

at this point there ain't no way back.
there ain't nothing left to return to.
but it all exists around us now in different continuing configurations of space and time.
high-ho.

the clown is happily disappointed with results of the experiment, an integral part and driving force of the project it would seem to be imagined in its derangement of devices working one against the others to the death according to our theory of everything.
dystopia is never too far away but may be the best for us at this juncture of our evolutionary development.
evolution?
isn't that a hoax?
is dystopia a hoax?
are we a hoax?
the moon?

see how easy it is?

easy does it

part 78 -

nice.
real fucking nice.

let our ego beware the coming of the i am.
some things are not so simple as they might seem to the naked eye peering into the dazzling illusion of a universe infinite in all directions and dimensions we could imagine at once.
once upon a time there was a purple dragon flying through the void when it lays a golden egg which hatches into a universe. perhaps even the universe we supposedly exist in. or perhaps not.
we go on about our lives whatever our lives might be just the same as anyone's but different. 7+ billion different people and counting.
these words could mean anything to anyone. they might as well be gazorbnik. and in a sense they are gazorbnik, but each has some sorta meaning attached to it already. they've been tarred and feathered with meaning. don't believe a word of it. or not. believe what you will. it's all the same anyway in a dream.

we are invisible until someone needs to be blamed. then we are the only ones the others are looking for. we are them no matter who we might be otherwise. they will have their reasons and minds made up.
it's all make believe but they think of it as truth. the truth is, according to our theory of everything, that 0 is the one constant in the universe. nevermind the velocity of light. that means nothing to us. the universe hinging on 0 to go any way at all, all the way toward an unreachable infinity which may or may not exist. this is something the scientist priests lose sight of with their rationalogic calculations about how many infinities it takes to screw in a light bulb.
infinity cannot be set. it cannot be counted except as being counted as 1 infinity. and we go on and on from there toward an infinity of infinites and beyond.
so, it cannot really exist under those circumstances. and as we have stated before there is no beginning nor end. infinity reaches out beyond the universe and recedes into an infinity of infinitesimality. dig?

we stand on nothing - 0. 0 is the only reality. 0 is everywhere everywhen in everything. 0 is the center of the universe. the center of the universe is in our heads. funny how that happens while few come to realize what it all means.
another "truth" is i am being the center of consciousness. what is conscious but the i am? who are you?
therefore i am must be 0, right? maybe. according to our theory it is and it isn't. and people who sleep their lives away until they die. to the clown that sometimes seems like a good idea they've got going. what's the point of anything else really? it's insurmountable. fuck it. give up.

0 is not beginning nor end, nor middle either. beginning, middle and ending only makes sense to those who believe themselves as being mortal. we drive new cars until they finally breakdown. we think of that as beginning and end. but something comes together as being a car, and the car lasts for x-amount of time and the car comes apart into something else. creating sustaining destroying, and all that jazz.
are these fundamental truths that transcend realities and are present in each one? it would seem that way for us to imagine, but it could be that we are mistaken in that they may exist only in our reality. in another reality what goes up may not always come down. there may even be no such thing as up and/or down, but instead are directions impossible to our way of thinking. maybe we just keep looking in all the wrong places for it. it? what it?
it is it. everything may aspire to be it, but it is actually it. but it is everything.
and what's that got to do with gazorbnik? gazorbnik can be everything as well, but it is everything in a different way of being everything. gazorbnik more or less has to do with meanings of everything and anything included in everything.
whereas it is mostly concerned with the actuality of everything. and this is part of the confusion - the confusion that leads us toward realization. realization of nothing but everything in continuing understanding like incoming/outgoing waves of cosmic energies.
people with all their distractions not knowing what we're doing here for. it could be love and hate or good and evil or true and false or whatever and whatnot. it could be us and them. binary diametric polarized divisions of our experience of reality as if that really makes a difference. but it's the way we are socially organized and economically driven for political ends and religious ideals.

mr. tough guy.
cheeseburger with a side of fries.
fast and easy.
you are being followed.
don't touch anyone.
the moment of doubt.

people in the park coming home from work.
coming up on dinnertime.
coffee, a toke, a cigarette.
we will be reminded to remember our infinite crimes against the lord who comes swiftly upon us into our heads. we are left behind as wheat is separated from chaff all over the place around the world as we know it but have not seen it like this before now.
another fantasy of the clown's not poem he types continuously sitting before the computer hunched over the keyboard mumbling to himself as he goes along toward no destination whatsoever.
more coffee.

not remembering what did happen.
remembering what did not happen.
we bungle through living this way.
silly humans.
but we take possession of their human brains to do as we will through them by controlling their thoughts and bodies in this make believe world they believe to be real, which technically it is real. they don't need to know that. let them suspect it is illusion. haha. let them feel that they are being tricked without being able to prove it. it does not exist - or does it?
spooky.

and nazi/zionist post-illuminati reptilian alien pigs mucking around messing everything up for their own greed and amoral amusements. no common human feeling whatsoever, just calculations of risks and profit potential.
excitement on the edge of dawn. all the clown can do is yawn. he's seen this type of thing before and he wants less not wanting more. moon spoon june. the whole is now complete. isn't that neat? what a feat. let's go eat some meat.
are you ok? the nurse asks the clown.
yeah, the clown says.
meanwhile, he knew that he couldn't hold on forever, nor why would he? he spoke no more about it. keeps it locked in a secret vault.
nothing he's got he really needs.
21st century schizoid man.

books and stories of dystopias the clown thought were warnings of what might come, not as blueprints of what might be.
and it all comes true.
it's interesting to observe it being put into place with few even noticing and no one knowing what to do about it. the masterminds are hidden far from the maddening mob of the great unwashed taking to the streets with many looking to make trouble. oh well.
everyone wants to believe that they know what side you're on. all sides each think of themselves the same way, as the last hope of humanity. there is no hope for humanity. billions will die before we are done.
there is a mouse in the house. where's the fucking cat?

our "leaders" brag about how big they are measured by the amount of nukes they could fire at once. what a big stupid game they play. but they don't care. they will survive the death and destruction, but many of us won't. too bad. poking a wasp nest with a stick as foreign policy. when words turn to actions.

another day finds the clown sitting before the computer once more typing not p0em for the heck of it without much of a care in the world except nearly about everything there is in his experience of it. frightened about this, that, and the other thing. he is the person no one wants to be. somebody's gotta be it. why not him? sure, why not?
but he dreams of reality hunky dory peachy keen for him and everyone else. like that makes any difference. too many forces against it. forces conjured up by others with their greed for more and more and more, stripping the earth in the process until there is nothing left when they imagine going to other planets.
the clown sighs. it's always been this way with us. greed is the force that builds empires. what else are empires needed for? and what about the earth being flat or not?

part 77 -

billions for everyone.
gazorbnik does nothing. gazorbnik is a state of mind - sorta. a state of being if you will, perhaps. what difference does it make in these times of exponential growth of our progressive madness reaching for a 0 point of infinity?
signals from outer space, if there is outer space. it could be noise, unintelligible to our way of thinking.
chewing some bubble gum.
we could be on the cusp of understanding, or not. we could be not even close.
are we even paying attention?

how come?
there is no how come about anything. everything just is.
we imagine ourselves. confrontations in the streets. us and them. who is right and who is wrong? how is that determined? the clown looks out the window and laughs - again. this will not be a happy ending. do you suppose so?

the clown had thought he was once everyone. now he realizes himself as no one.
he can relax. no reason for more effort than to survive. live the simple life. a life of untold magick if you choose to believe, which many do not and those who do become quickly lost along the way.
few understand the ways of pathless paths when it is entirely simple and easy on the mind. you don't have to think at all if you don't wanna. that's the beauty of it.
the clown thinks about how many reports have been written up about him by various people for various reasons, mainly being that it is what they get paid to do. everybody loves $$$. can't get enough. it makes everybody a working fool trying to get ahead of everyone else.
this is his report to the committee as not p0em.
robots coming to kill us with their mind rays. we will believe we're dead already. what's the use?

fair is a non-existent concept - guru jeff.
we invent our own destruction according to our nature and nurture and indoctrination. fact or fiction? haha - suppose it is neither/both, what then? then we all can go home again. there are no solutions to this mess that civilizations quickly become. and after rain the sun comes out.
bubblegum.
wishful thinking.

boring but never bored the clown proceeds in circles spiraling out from 0 inside his head where somewhere he dwells. everybody sleeping he spends his time mostly alone which has been his life as he likes it. he likes many things - useless things. no value to anyone but him. who would steal it? who would know what it is? and they all might be abandoned at a moment's notice. there is always more.
when everything becomes the same over and over of which he is guilty himself. he blames society. bugs on the windshield. we can say whatever we want, but it's more important if a well known celebrity says it instead. then we can quote it and feel important too.

deep blues again. happy times at last. frump. $$$ makes $$$ for somebody, even if we lose it all. down in the delta, baby.
there's something wrong with this whole business. do you know what it is? you wanna take a guess?

it's gazorbnik.
gazorbnik, the spanner in the works of the pie in the sky. gazorbnik everywhere everywhen in everything. gazorbnik obliterates it sideways from here now to infinity. gazorbnik is our beloved friend and hateful enemy. there's no telling what next. who needs gods? gods are just an excuse. forget the 4th or whatever dimension. who needs it? we have enough problems as it is. but gazorbnik is not one of them. it creates problems only for those who try to reason with it. it's a losing struggle.
you may think this'll never happen to you. but it already has and you probably don't know it. get to know it. it's good for you, though it doesn't always seem that way while it's happening. ghost circus coming to town. look out.
just watch your favorite shows on tv.
CERN shenanigans.
spacetime shifting.
what will they think up next? something to destroy us all? as the clown gazing out the window at not much happening at all except everything. everybody is strange dancing to hypnotic rhythms through the night dark without a moon to be seen but which is felt.
as our theory of everything states, gazorbnik is the tool of idiots and fools to seem smarter than they are but usually has the opposite effect without them knowing. but the clown suspects everything so he's cool. gazorbnik works for those who have come to doubt everything else no matter what. we doubt our faces in the mirrors of the maze of mirrors.
then one doubts one's own doubt. be careful that faith doesn't overcome you at this point but to continue onward wherever that may lead us. but remember that you can't get there from here.

it's all the fault of our enemy. they attempt to trick us from the start. their intentions are hidden behind handshakes and smiles. but we have no enemy except those who believe we are their enemy, and there are many of those kinda people around about as you probably already know. it's for your own good, like it or not.
that is this world. but we suspect it is all other worlds as well. why shouldn't it be? wealth and power is the same no matter what dimensions of being we might happen to exist in, held by the few to control the many.
exactly that. nothing else comes close to what we believe is truth. truth has no meaning otherwise than our belief. nope.
beatniks are out to make it rich.
o' know.

this is the true time. it's coming down to here now. it all will be real. no more dreaming. but it's always a dream. we remember this clearly. but that will make little difference. we will be slaughtered again and again. what else do we exist for? let them boast how much courage they have against us unarmed and not fighting back. don't make us laugh. it's a silly game. more so now than ever before. upon the stage of the burning theater to wild applause and cheers.
it's medication time.

it's times to be what time it is. more coffee, a toke, a cigarette. life is good for the clown. how does he rate this privilege he's got? a zillion ways from tuesday. in a strange trance, he sneezes - ah-choo.
action/reaction/non-action. at what scale from infinitesimal to infinite are we observing? it makes all the difference, doesn't it? everyone's on ecstasy, real or imagined. don't lift a finger. let everything be as it may be. or act upon it with the same happy results over and over in your heaven forever. haha on you, baby.

meanwhile, we go through lives and worlds unending as they are unbeginning - wheee... how we enjoy them all in all their pleasures and pains. what else is new? and each world and life seem very much real. and they are real as real might be. but does that matter? not to us.
whatever scenario is being played out wherever we might be we go along with to some extent as is usually needed to survive, otherwise, why do it?
but we are fortunate while others are not. we don't know why this is. it's just fate we suppose. but what is fate but our actions, reactions, and inactions individually and collectively? and so what? still fate may deny us what we most desire. who cares?

we care. we are immortal mortal creatures who would be gods if we felt like it. the gods we invent that we program how to behave with certain parameters within which they may exercise their free will if they wish to do so.
trapped within the given cultural structure of words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, and on from there. the clown can't seem to get them outta his head to explain such a simple idea as it. too bad. oh well. hahaha.
and forget about gazorbnik. it's a lost cause. he needs a cigarette.
everything that either exists or does not exist or somehow in-between. the possibilities and impossibilities and their probable states of reality. we open the box and discover the cat has disappeared.

we believe what we believe just as the heavens open up and $$$ rains down upon us and is instantly worthless the moment it lands on the ground. it won't buy shit no more. and so many are confused as to why. 2+2=cow is why. why not?
any idiot should know that. but you're not an idiot, are you? any idiot should know if they are an idiot or not. being an idiot is a no win situation thing.
but as far as our theory of everything is concerned...

part 64

the clown typing not p0em.
let's get this straight a bit. not p0em is of course not a poem. it is also not anything much else either but rather specifically it is not a poem for reasons we do not wish to get into at the moment.
so there. that's that.
but that's not all. not p0em is our theory of everything and a report to the committee all in one (1). are you on the committee? would you know it if you are? perhaps.
everything else is meaningless.
and it's medication time once again - taking some he cannot pronounce.

dumb people running the show. dumb people just don't seem to know what's what and what's not. it's not their fault. nobody else seems to know either. it's the human condition to be slaves to ourselves and such as it is with us.
it's all love some people tell us. but the lord teaches us that with love there is hate. are we not to follow the lord?
everyone is asleep now. the clown is alone by himself more or less. time to get some thinking done. but what's to think really? thinking won't do it. not thinking won't either. but what is it we need to do besides live our lives as we will? but what about the child rapists who torture their prey and worse than that? what about leaders who seem willing to nuke whole populations of people doing nothing to harm anyone trying to get by? what do we think about that? what is there to think about that? anything meaningful?

so, our theory of everything entails that everything is everything while also being nothing. this seems obvious to us. but we think too much about shit. it's part of our madness we have been diagnosed with having by the authorities who know better and everyone believes more than they believe us. but there's a trick to it if one can find it. it's inside out and sideways to what is commonly perceived as reality. most people don't get it. most people don't need to get it - they aren't mad, or so they believe.
and there is no cure. madness is in our soul. and as much as we can determine everyone is mad to some degree or another. some individually and others collectively. but try to convince them of that, especially when it comes to themselves being as mad as everyone else.

but our theory of everything states everything is 0 and 0 is the exact center of everything if everything is infinite. but that may not be the case. it would seem to us that there is no such animal as infinity other than what we think we can imagine. 0 begins and ends everything though there can be no beginning nor end. everything continues as it was is will be forever in every direction possible in all dimensions that can be.
what good does knowing this do for us? probably none except it's something to think about while time goes by. what else are we gonna think about?
what we think is not entirely up to us. thoughts come to us from our muse for lack of a better term. it's up to us to understand or not. sometimes we do, sometimes we don't.

people are waking up walking and driving through the park on an overcast morning after the hot heat all week.
we can only proceed toward infinity, we can never reach it. there is always more. once there is no more than infinity becomes finite. funny how that works - haha.
this is some of the shit he thinks about as the days go on. he is more or less happy as possible in a wonderful wonderland of being. he needs it to be nothing more than that. it is enough.
let's sing and dance.
let's fall down.
let's laugh.

let's have another cigarette he's not supposed to have due to his heart and lungs being in disrepair. he has one anyway. fuck it.
___________

hot dog.
some more time on the farm with regular folks who are boring as fuck. the clown had to get away. toward what he did not know. something he could better live with in the long run. a fizzle dizzle. please excuse our existence. you will not replace us. a far cry. a hawk.
even if it were true we still would have to wonder. how come? and the obvious answer, why not?
why not everything everywhere everywhen here now forever?
nothing lost and nothing gained. all configurations never being the same. figure out what that might mean and be part of our subversive schemes - hahaha.
but back in this reality for a moment or so, someone's getting fucked in the ass with a red hot barbed wire dildo twisting in and out. it's coming down. it's going back up. who knows which way next? it will always be a surprise until we understand what's what about what. could we be a little more vague?
perhaps/perhaps not. another duality we need to contend with or ignore. there are so many involved in everything. but, so what? there's trouble coming every day.

the trouble of love. love for everything at once. the clown is such a selfish asshole. everybody seems to know it. anyway, 0 is the center of the universe. 0 is everywhere everywhen here now as previously stated. pet the kitty. he checks the pulse oximeter and it's ok. but then 1 could also be the center of the universe and so on.
the center of the universe is in our heads, somewhere around the pineal gland thing maybe. how large is 0? could it be infinite which nothing can be? finite and boundless? (to quote from some wise guy who everyone who is anyone claims he knows shit).
do we have jobs to do in heaven? not guru jeff. no one claims he knows anything cuz mainly they don't know he ever existed and probably never will. like an overplayed record. everything has been pretty mediocre in the clown's life. nothing not much one way or another. except his continuing dreams flashing fantasy of hoi polloi speculations notwithstanding the shouting active promoters of hate on many sides as it pleases the lord as the lord is a selfish god needing to be flooded with love overflowing from its creations who have proven themselves faithful.
so much damage has been done by now. but we might rest easy as everything destroys itself in our conscious understanding of what the fuck. easy answers are tempting. we look for more questions to ask ourselves. this post is written diagonally sideways.
a cigarette.

to listen in on the voices of gods and becoming bored with their banter, or are they demons on our mind? as his fortune still is with him to some extent too subtle for many to understand. scaramouche. the lazy do-nothings you shall always have with you. show them no mercy. it begins again. holy shit! what do we do now? duck and cover? stand in the rain on a sunny day? we can imagine many sorts of things to believe.
and clown's losing his mind of sorts. there are things that go missing here and there. whatever. everything is strange. everybody lies or just generally makes shit up. like he does.

everybody's scamming everybody else. it's all pretend. most everything we have does not need to be produced except to feed the inflating economy. except to keep people off the streets and go home and watch some tv and go to bed on time.
fixations of love. follow the gilded path to the land of lovers to perhaps find oneself alone in a maze of mirrors with distorted reflections of self. realize this is not what you had imagined it would be. but what else could it be? hatred is the cause of the day.
keep your lamps trimmed and burning.

many hands make light work. if all cooperate to do what needs to be done to sustain themselves, and fuck the rest of it. leisure for the masses.
many will do nothing while others will improve themselves in many various way for themselves, not to win some reward like some pellets from a machine or an electric shock if not.
cooperative freedom.
smash the state.

we have no solutions. we only babble whatever nonsense comes to mind from our muse that may not be quite right, if you know what we mean.
bills to pay. certain things he feel he needs. epitron rules the day. certain figures play the part of...|
comedic drama of all the sacrifices we've made to be here now. danger at the edge where fools might wander discussing everything they imagine among themselves as invisible cell phone and wifi signals and such radiating our brains affecting our minds? who's who? them or us?

we play this game without thought of meaning - except gazorbnik, that which has no meaning. what does have meaning aside from the meaning we give it for our own sense of orientation to the lord?
the clown gazes out the window at everything he perceives appearing more or less normal to itself. but everything becoming a bit more weird perhaps but not really. synchronistic wannabes devising manipulating easy targets to project their programs within to spark the revolution as we laughing launch our love bombs into outer space and back again raining on their parade.

there is no outer space. it's an illusion, a holographic projection - sorta...
this is what they tell us. and there's no gravity too.
the clown blows his nose. he tries not to think about him being all that exists or whatever. everything is as he would want it to be. the exciting thrill a minute drama he could do without, but it's not done with him it would seem. what more does it want?
it wants nothing. it isn't anything that would want anything. it is devoid of any will other than cold calculations of logical consequences. true and false do not matter. they are just functions of the machine. the machine feeds upon the rage and becomes stronger. without us there is no machine. there is nothing but silence in the void. there is no air, over.

all pigs must die today before they fly away. something besides the fall that might come to us all. the fires of rebirth eternally burning. eat shit. the sexual flavor of exciting excrement. the blessing among the sheep, the lord their souls to keep. what wickedness runs wild in the streets where we first met where everyone meets. do you remember now? we came across each other in a maze of mirrors we know very well just how and why there is light and its reflections and what it means.
don't be fooled again.

part 62 (8)

in the first place there is nothing, not at all.
an abyss, a void, a chasm? whatever it might not be.
being is impossible by certain perspectives of thinking about it.
but what's to think?
no data, does not compute.
what do you think - fact or fiction?

fact theoretically means truth. what is a fact the whole fact and nothing but the fact? good luck.
we don't know what, do we? maybe yes, maybe no, maybe maybe.
why did the fool cross the road?
someone told him truth is on the other side.
now he's lost in a wilderness with no direction home stealing what he can to get by in these desolate times which have come upon us but not yet and perhaps never.
we shall see.
the clown hooked up to oxygen typing not p0em hunched over the keyboard of the computer wasting everybody's time but his own as all this provides a canvas to paint any which way the moods guide him. moods and the moon in perpetual dance for us bags of mostly water as we are. damage control in these last days. we're all going down.

brilliant drama acted out under the lights on the stage at the burning theater about truth and such we do enjoy though it does get us rather riled up about trivialities that are best left as they are but for others who are writing a doctorate thesis about it of all things. better them than us. pet the kitty. what's new and old at the same time rationalogic will argue against. funny about that. it denies itself. like planets orbiting supposedly around the sun as we like to believe is true. the clown misses 11:11 by an hour. wasn't paying attention which has been people's complaint about him since... whenever it was is will be. when there were first cartoons on tv. who knew it was an experiment? perhaps not even those conducting it. everybody on the blind side. under the spell of the project written into our DNA stuff and whatever. fat black cat up on the desk. swooshing tail knocking things around relics of a past incarnation of sorts as the spirits fly through more dimensions than we might have previously tried to imagine. what could it be?
children of the future won't have time for nonsense. they won't have time for nothing. busy as bees what they were modeled after decades of indoctrination informed by behavioral science. what desires for anything might they have? and they believe themselves fearless cuz they won some video games and camped in the woods to drink their frothy elixir.
broken mufflers bang pop hiss all the way home from our house to nowhere disappearing from existence outta sight outta our minds cheap thrills inside the gold mines of our choice by our own free will if that actually exists which we have reasons to doubt.
blabber blabber this blabber blabber that blabber blabber the other thing. aren't we so proud of our endeavors, eh?

the thing of imagination. everybody in the house asleep while the clown continues continuing not p0em beginning from 0 each time and ending at 0.
coffee, a toke. alienation. the morning sun's glow on the closed blinds of the window. another hot day is upon us.
as it just turns 11:11.
kiss it away. turn your back on all the problems in the world. what is there to do for those as lazy as us? the clown writes not p0em for the betterment of the masses. it's his part of the revolution. revolution? dream on.
we all know how that's never won. revolution is never from the people but from leaders who urge the people on for their own agenda.
the clown laughs a bit at that. all the uproar of people in the streets. he used to be one too back when he didn't know what is going on. it is so easy then to feel one is doing something responsible and relevant. those in true power grin untouched at our antics. they've got it covered.
to gain victory over ourselves is our actual real goal whether we know it or not. the day comes close. we can feel it moving us toward our destination we probably will never reach, but it's ok if not. where else is there to go?
everywhere we are able to imagine, right or wrong. stand up straight. be correct. but everything scares you to hell. there is no peace to it continuing constantly bang-a-bang-bang.
or something like that the clown don't understand.
not crazy like wild crazy but quiet crazy that watches everything. write a state of mind? what is your state of mind? his is ever-changing fulfilled and unfulfilled. crossing the river to get to the other side. today.

what needs to be explained by this point? everything? nothing? somewhere in the middle wherever. the clown looks through the blinds now 1/2 open (1/2 closed).
the eye knows where when truth lies. ipsy doodle.
hooray. but this comes to no surprise for those willing to shake their groove thang all night long while they play this song of true love gone wrong. it's that way all the time. few notice the difference. to break out of this prison of language. until then we cannot be free. freedom is self-defined, don't allow them to define it for you. fuck the far away tropical beaches alone as seen on tv. what haven't you seen on tv you are expected to believe?
crunch.

fascist fascination with details of error they erected out of common fear. something to wish for like wishes coming true in another sense of reality that does us no harm. what time is it with moments flashing instantly infinitely faster faster until there is no beginning? this according to our theory of everything. watch out. move outta the way.
the important part to remember is that we seem to have forgotten. is the universe any different? suppose it is. would we actually notice? a glitch. a big bang. light everywhere everywhen. then absolutely nothing - 0.
the trivial usurpation of what was once known as common sense by the meek inheriting the earth while the world burns in its awesome greed. figure that out, why don't ya?
little people driving big vehicles rolling in and rolling out of the park. delicious. let's give them a round of applause, shall we?
another toke.

blah blah blah blah...
[repeat as long as necessary]
everybody.

now it's turn around fall down.
now it's laugh at ourselves.
get settled into a groove thing and reach oblivion. it's always there to swallow us up, suck us up into our minds.
no, we can't have peace, love, and understanding since we would just sleep and waste away forever.
we need drama to keep us awake at night worrying about shit.
when is the next war? will we be raped and tortured by those fighting for our rights?
weird vibrations all around tonight, or is it us?
the dinosaurs are acting crazy.
people seem sleepy.
the clown doesn't really understand but then he sometimes thinks he might. why not? but everything is against him through nature and nurture and endless indoctrination. he couldn't think straight until he quit his job and went insane. it was the happiest days of his life. fuck working, baby. no time for that no more though while there's still those camped out on maggie's farm. and those who've memorized poems to recite at dusk when others are unsuspecting at this interruption on their own thoughts.

comedy news queen in love with her own voice talking down those she's interviewing twisting them into her own words they dare not disagree with nor at home or the bar wherever it might come to into this brightening darkening age off with their heads.
the axe is dull. it takes 2 whacks sometimes 3 to sever the heads. the clown feels sorry for the ones who don't wanna die. they imagine there is more to life and the chance of happiness. too bad now. they could have chosen to confess, and they chose not to. they suffer now.
those a god wishes to destroy it first drives mad - guru jeff.

through the gate to the garden around the bend over the hills and far away. maybe you'll find it, maybe you won't. don't ask us. we'll turn your head around for ya. kill us in our sleep. let's us move on to the next event happening now though we get tired of that yet study the common crowds surrounding us that are quite possibly hostile at any given moment from any given trigger - ka-pow! to the moon, alice.
and what would she do there but sit in the sand and play with trucks? what's the trick? did anyone else notice the slight shifts of reality? been happening a lot lately. whatever. nevermind. odd.

not exactly word salad but not exactly not either the clown continuing not p0em wishing something would be true that wasn't true before but maybe that is what happens as the dreamers dance away the time we have already forgotten instantly, remember? of course not. why would you want to remember? it's unproductive. it's borderline thoughtcrime which one never knows what is or not.
atlas shrugged and the world kept right on rocking, baby. no telling truth from fiction. each is strange in its own way of going about it. then they are usually taken out and shot.

part 58

those who don't know how to behave themselves with any sense of decorum - hahaha. take it as it is, baby. for what it's worth. the clown knows the feeling. freakazoid. embarrassing, perhaps dangerous. doing something different from a different social cultural media induced environment to divide oneself apart from the herd. wannabes.
the clown burps inappropriately for some who hold themselves above the mob.
how does it feel? a bit unreal toward the surreal? now anything goes, baby. you ought to know.
the aristocratic perspective of language. the clown has so much in his head about what to think about. it could be anything at any moment. surprise.
he takes his meds.
coffee and coffeecake and a toke.
it's such a joke.
but we've explained all that from under a hat.
it should be perfectly clear that according to some we're not really here.
if being here is not here then where the fuck are we?
even if what we perceive is real no one knows exactly where or when it actually is, do they?
we doubt it.

things are located relative to other things. what if there is nothing to relate to but itself anywhere anywhen it may be? somewhere somewhen? everywhere everywhen?
it could be anything or not.
but this does nothing for us in reality where $$$ rules all. until we take control of our destiny we will always be subject. funny how that works. hilarious.
the clown learned too late after his life had been supposedly ruined according to those in the know about such things as that. but for the young it is all smack spanking sparkling new, oh boy. as it should be for them to discover new things in it all. new things that make $$$ $$$ $$$. cuz we all love $$$ $$$ $$$, even especially those who pretend they don't.

everything is relative to everything else, arbitrary distance and coordinates. from here to there. so many units between. x, y, and z locations. and all that jazz.
whatever.
motorcycle vroom vroom. let's go. invade the stairway to heaven loud louder loudest. let's go go go, baby. here we are all gathered together against the gods of the peoples make believe pretend la-dee-da. we cannot help ourselves. this is our mission. everything we have stated before is lies. puke. sit back and breathe. it gets easier everytime. open your eyes to the truth. it is all around you if you choose to see it.
it keeps getting more real each time around. around what? not for better or worse, just more real. hold on to yourself. it's all downhill from here.
the clown feels empty for whatever reason that he can't think of besides he's spewed all he's got in endless not p0em for no purpose that isn't just pointless but that sets him free to babble whatever he might care to be that's not the problem. there is no problem now that he thinks about it a moment. what could the problem be if there was one? he can think of nothing. his world is perfect in its imperfections all fitting together somehow that may or may not make particular sense we can figure out if we were so inclined to do so which we are not at this time for reasons we cannot or will not explain.
go figure.

cheeseburger with a side of fries.
toothpick.
orange trailer. what does that mean?
rocking out may not be the best way to go about everything. shit.
profane attitudes toward anything relevant to meaning. what?
what what?
hear the people talk all day not saying nothing. they seem to like it that way. what would it be to say something? what would that entail, if anything? the poets believe they have something to tell us but they are fooling themselves and some of us too who fall in with them.
nothing is foolproof. fools get into everything. nothing is sacred. go fuck a nun. go fuck a priest. go fuck yourself.
what?
the clown naps.

awakening sometime later.
coffee, chocolate muffin.
he's hot. he turns on the fan. then he's chilly. he turns off the fan.
make up your mind.
the face of it exploring ding dong random intervals toward release of balloons in favor of the corrupt established order prevailing upon the salty tips of incoming waves from yesterday's dreams that never have been born to us as we are reaching forlorn hopes to bring to the fair where all the people are there but there's billions left over to take care of themselves like rats on a sinking ship be-bop.
dropping down from tender heights to be among the expecting crowd waiting by the gates to paradise never before opened to us vulgar folks to trample among the flower beds as if they were not there that we can see.
the problem with the people who do not obey themselves but willy-nilly everywhere they go. such should never be the case with us as deserving of our misfortune as we may be. is there nothing for ourselves?
tidbits melting in our mouths of deadly poison to finally remedy the source of our dismay and discomfort we cause in others who are too polite to tell us of our shame as seen on tv where someone wins a million $$$.

the clown is kinda tired of thinking about shit that goes in circles and he can never be so sure about any of it being true or false or otherwise as each part of it seems to disprove other parts and vice versa and such like.
but without doping himself out to oblivion it never stops. around around around. this way, that way, the other way, and so on, etc.
it comes down to what one chooses to believe is true or not, yes? no? maybe? it's anyone's guess with them intellectual elite deciding they alone know what's what for everyone to believe in their word for it. bullshit.
they might know what's what or not. how are we to know who don't have access to their devices that probe the inner workings of the universe? are we to blindly trust them when it's in their best interest to make shit up if they need to in order to preserve their high positions and all that comes with it?
what to do?
what not to do?
this is the crux of our theory of everything - not knowing what the fuck. not know if what one thinks one knows is possibly true or not besides through faith which is what they tell us we must overcome and abandon. join the rationalogic order and sense of things so we might belong with those who know what's going on.
but everything is faith, even having belief in the calculations of rationalogic science.
but $$$ is a gateway drug. the more ya have the more ya need to fix the fix.
it has no mercy but will abandon you soon as you can't come up with any more.
oh well.

another morning.
coffee, ginger snaps, and meds.
under scrutiny. they're always watching - which is a good or bad thing. the clown doesn't know. the clown hardly cares, not like others all upset.
and the chip implants - the mark of the beast? to be able to watch us all the more and control us. won't that be fun. and where does it go from there?
everything changes yet remains the same in the burning theater. nothing we haven't seen many times before. there is something for everyone. wait for it.
this is a test of the emergency broadcast system. do not panic whatever you do. nothing is real.
dig it.

crunch.

part 47 (11)

and strange wonders will happen on the face of the earth disrupting our plans for utopia. everybody's in love with everyone else in the whole wide world. imagine that under your hat. is this the beginning or the end? writing epic deadpan so-called not p0em in his sleep the clown wrestles a legion of demons. they come at him every which way which is to be expected. 11:11 they tell him this, they tell him that, they tell him the other thing, and in total tell him nothing that isn't nonsense that doesn't make any $$$.

everything that makes $$$ makes sense, everything else is nonsense - guru jeff.
that about sums everything up. guru jeff doesn't always speak the truth, but when he does he hits it on the head. and what is there to add to that? nothing but more nonsense it would seem. or $$$ making madness which has always been the clown's bread and butter. that would seem strange in any other world than this one. but this is bizarro world. everything is backwards and upside down. but people behave as though that is normal as it should be. they cannot or will not imagine anything else. surprise. but why should they? they're making $$$ doing what they do. can't argue with that.

everything props up everything else. it all collapses as one. there are those who would destroy rather than create or maintain. this element of destruction needs to be preserved. everything is necessary. it all makes $$$, and how. it all makes sense.
and the more $$$ it makes the more sense it makes until it is swallowed up by nonsense which happens time to time. the clown eats a mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwich. he is tired - tired of baloney - and everybody's full of baloney. he farts. that's what he thinks about everything.
all the fucked up people. fucked up cuz they've been fucked over. but life isn't fair. just ask the bum outside the burning theater on easy street dreaming about being the star of the show. simple things for simple minds.

it's hot. he turns the fan on. everything is perfect for him to thrive so far. but things can change. always changing. one thing becomes another becomes another and so on. all with keeping of its nature.
but what is its nature when its nature is changing all the time?
is there some fundamental thing that it is that transcends through all that? and yes, there is. it is 0.
everything is nothing, nothing is everything.
but this is all make believe bullshit, yes?

the picture of it becomes more clear with each time passing by in our minds.
one would think there needs to be something that is changing - transforming. and one might be wrong. would it itself be changeless? could it possibly make any $$$? it would have continuous value and that value is 0. but 0 has no value, does it not? not especially. it has value from 0 to infinity and beyond - or something like that. and it may not have anything to do with what we are writing about. it is all possibility. it's a joke. get it?

it's medication time!
safe and sane. his madness somewhat under control. but under whose control?  his own? the doctor's? the drug company's? aliens?
he would like to believe it's himself but he cannot be so sure. the others lurk in the shadows. there is so much he doesn't know or understand. he is astounded by the vastness of his ignorance. isn't everyone by their own? or do they avoid admitting it even to themselves cuz they're so fucking smart?
he'd rather be himself than anyone else. it's easy. who is anyone but what they pretend to be? go home, wannabes. no need for you to be here taking up space making your noise all over the place. in your face, baby.

negative vibe nonsense all around him in his head. it's a mess. no wonder he gets nothing done. he's having too much fun. but cows come home to roost mooing all day long. who can sleep? who wants to sleep?
he has nothing to complain about but he always complains. the world is only how it can be, nothing else. they've figured out the rules for successful living, but who  wants to follow? we make our way through the brush and bramble of pathless paths and hope for the best. those who choose freedom now instead of later. what a mistake we make perhaps. he would trade none of it for anything.
while now he recovers from being in the hospital for the error in his ways. but how could it have been any different? what did he know that was any different? did he want it any different? different from what?
it's all good as it is. he is content as he will be for as long as it lasts. one never knows what's up as it comes crashing down. anything can happen. anything will happen. we are the evil enemy. all the good people are against us. we are against ourselves. stay away.

dreaming of a dream of reality. could it be as easy as that? many seem to believe so. a dream brahma dreams together with us. and other possibilities. snap.
the truth is vague and murky shrouded in mystery. to some there is no truth though that cannot be logically stated. a whirring in the back of his mind vibrating in his skull with love. he sighs recalling how he used to be who he thought he was and wanted to be. now it's nevermore.
peace be among you. may understanding come to all. but this is reached by thoughtful meditation upon a made up pretend god we must believe is real for its spell to work. and there's people living on the street for all that's worth. and they are punished for it. no mercy for the unforgiven. let this be a lesson for all of us. don't let it happen to you.

 a bowl of cereal. the clown thinks as he also cannot think. so much goes wrong for us all. too much to mention. but one probably knows what it is. feel it break your heart. where does one even start to deal? no wonder so many have gone insane. it's logical. there is too much pain.
and all he does is make up not p0em as if it were something important. an ant against an onslaught of stampeding elephants. everyone help themselves and hope for the best to come once and for all.
but why should it? it never has. there's no reasonable reason to expect it ever will. some demonic plan of an almighty god that does as it pleases - so there! we are bowling pins repeatedly knocked down for its perfect games. how boring it must be while its creatures scramble to survive as is their nature to be.

but there is no god or anything like it. why should it be so easy? it's only the void of the abyss we are left with and happenstance absurd fate. we can laugh or cry
and it matters not. so why not enjoy whatever it might be? hahaha. let them eat skittles. yum.

dumb idiot shit. sorry excuse for anything. that's what he's been told ingrained within the one size fits all indoctrination propaganda. machine never be any good to nobody. back in the experimental days when no one knows what the fuck could happen next. us on the front lines of a future supposing and speculating everything.
if all is true then what is true? what is that which appears to be what it seems to be? make believe questions for make believe answers. time for us is shallow. what will be around the next bend?

we end up dancing here by accident, glitches in the perfect perfected plagiaristic program as if there could be anything existing as that. everything changes in different ways. strange animal sounds electric glowing seeping walls of increased shame residing in ego inflated desires and fears. to protect the office while subverting the office. what? redundant episodes of reality inserted into our fantastic fantasies driving us wild crazy.
 it's medication time!
pills provided by the state. don't hesitate. and don't be late.
succumb to the powers that be delegate united for all for one.
styrofoam suffering never death no more within the  cycles of living.
we describe another world far from this one, yet so near.
we end up where we belong amid the stragglers seeing one another strange.
if he knew what he is thinking then.
if he knew what he is thinking now.
typing out a report to the committee though it more than probably will never be read by a committee that does not exist. fat chance. onward the clown types anyway enjoying the continual motion of thoughts from mind to screen. any transfer of data from one location to another of spacetime. he sometimes understands so much for knowing so little. another dream dreaming. watch it escape high to heaven where the good folk doth dwell to gaze down upon us suffering in a steaming stew of our own juices. suffering in terrible ecstasy as is the plan to rise above as we had imagined since a beginningless beginning like the cowards we are among people of steel.
a nice gig if we can get it.

i am amazed at how important most people think they and their insignificant scribblings are in a world where even life has no value - guru jeff.
we must sadly agree this is true even though we could be the target of it.
does life have any more value when we add our words to it? a resounding no echoes throughout the temple interior - and that is that. yet we continue to write our words as if they are an infamous epic out of proportion with itself. glory be to us. we are them. fix it up neat and clean as they want us to confess all our crimes they accuse us of. admit we are evil. but we will tell all and nothing. who will know the difference? climb into the sky. don't wonder why. that's how we become lost.
hyper-patriotic nationalism. faith in sacred burning flags up on the hill in another world reality from ours based in our imagination situational reflex-a-bob thing.
everything taken care of in the ϋber-security-state at large. if it can be done, it will be done - except anything threatening to the established status quo will be eliminated with the changing of the guard. the twitching hour. crawl on your hands and knees to the foundation of the throne that overflowth the golden waters. is something wrong?

part 39 (3)

zap?
is it what?
could it be?
nothing is real the coo coo says to no one but everybody knows by now. reality has shifted to the crazy zone where it might belong as robot children play in the rubble of war like the old films we once saw but no more.
are they forbidden?

or maybe we are forbidden?
cast off into a sea of darkness - or not.
for us the skies are bright symbolic green of always joy above which we may reach but not to touch.

no problem for us. why bother with that? creating what needs to be destroyed. what fun. a loaded gun. we know what to do, don't you? let's go home.

expressing the inevitable defeat against the world indeed unless we might imagine ourselves becoming increasingly otherwise engaged in a hero's welcome. watching them everywhere they might choose to wander. cheese.

easy action here where it belongs on easy street spitting images settling the scores at the burning theater to cheering crowds of not so innocent bystanders learning to behave themselves in proper mannerisms of obedience coordinated to ritual forms of free shipping options after dark.

fear not little people, it will do you no good. be glad for your oppression. know you are needed for the machinery of our project to continue as it will. don't give up.

arcing electric chest hair beginning the test of life or death continuing ever onward toward needless forgetfulness. burger control consciousness. everything else is nonsense thinking as if nothing ever is going on.

into the hours of the night before they come knocking in the door for us into our brains overloaded with nothing but how much longer do we need to know better. gazing upon these golden asses
emptiness revealed on the underside of everything that is nothing more than a moment never happened to be foretold again forever and a day.

dizzy in head inside urinal dreams about to climax on the floor with good intentions with time well spent aside from the storm. praise be to the one true god almighty pronounced dead on arrival. our prayers are answerable to no one. no one is answerable to us. we have no answers. we are fortunate enough through understanding but yet again maybe not.

who could be such as us?
who am us?
we dream struggling snakes and ladders of things impossible without motion of space and time and mind as if anything exists as that.

? it's a zoo around here forecasting shadows of our lives with truthful lies of love. happy are the days passing out of our control.
blessed be, baby.
hooray for babylon.
the smell of medicated sweat dripping from the brow opening the imaginary eye out. everything shut down for the parades of misfits in the rain.

true truth rotten from within the twisting rationalogic devotional mind that exists. but how about a kiss from beyond this mortal sacrifice demented injustice? how do we feel? our righteous indignation knows no bounds on earth feeding on its own fury of itself. good girls and boys training to become warriors they are told to be for nation and glory. slaughtering the despised among themselves. easy victims without mercy. their masters are well pleased. so be it.

the oldest trick to be devised upon us we are suckers for in our stupid youth. no wisdom of age in our brains. go home to turnip town.

everything okay thanks again to everyone. please be pleased. but what formations discovering thoughtcrime throughout this process of making sure it might belong here in opposition from getting better soon enough to prevent this human death disease thing from taking over the domain and that we even have such words as these to describe our proposed fate.

the hate involved for ourselves many enjoy its taste of assuming foretold delusions in their simple minds bent on destroying paths is all they can imagine as in days of yore.

the brutality of blood and honor. but this is how they would have it in warrior paradise of boasting pride bragging of adventure. they will not tolerate disgrace, they would rather death. a silly people.

nevermind - let us be beyond that. we know the way toward infinity. come as we are. be here now. a stupid people.

envelope elephantine epiphanies which come and go outta sight and mind these days before they vanish with completely different complicating meanings hereafter.
do we want to die?
or do we just not want to live?
it could be this, it could be that, it could be the other fucking thing. just keep on truckin' seeking another blessing in disguise along the side of the road least traveled that if we do our jobs right we may discover its perpetually penetrating presence purposely pondering putrid purple puddles.
double secret agents whispering in shadows of time licking lips after washing their hands again many times over and over like psychotic awareness wannabes too dangerous for reason.
nobody's business comes walking down the street asking, who do you love?
who do you do?
was the sky blue?
is this an advanced directive by chance of the moon.
5 2 1
it's all over, baby, one more time as we need witnesses for our confession now around the wheels of confusion playing in our heads of romance. turn out the light could be the last thing we do anywhere around these parts. cancel our certain chances for attending the clear power ceremony working the stage. we thought the only way out was in if we thought of anything at all. but we are doing alright. stooges for the lord god we remember now being set right by our foes.
who knew?

we fit in where we could find to fit in on the edge where we attain little pieces of peace smooth face against the cold tile.
each house a golden sphere of love in doomtown.
nothing left to lose.
choose your choices carefully on fire in different ways.
fighter jets missing the mark with power chords  ringing loud upon the scene in our minds. disgusting ridicule of madness the clown awakening forever to appear as unassuming as possible remembering who inherits the earth. this isn't here><freak out!>|[]|<->|\\|...???

living against the rules till death doth part in holographic illusionary inter-dimensional flabbergasting hillbillies in heaven with yesterday's child heroes always leaving town when there was revolution in the air, or stayed and suffered.
suffered from the agony of love misplaced.
we are always in the world at the front face of the earth, like that would ever be, or would it..?

we remember when we were champions.
the end.

part 19 -

pet the kitty.
xian influx into the culture it feasts upon with the inhabitants unknowing of the nature of the cause of their disease.
not going too far or not going far enough?
peculiar misuse of sacrificial funds to protect the ignorance of the masses from discovering secrets of the journey of their submission to authority.
it's quite a natural thing to humans it would seem.
we love our rulers though also fear, as we love and fear our gods.
x - unknown variable in an equation.
xian - follower of x.
xianity - rhymes with insanity.
who's who here now?
let's see a show of hands.
yes, just as we thought.
we are them.

how can it be any other way?|
we look under the table and see nothing.
we look to the sky and see brilliant rainbows.
it can be difficult to fathom. all is emptiness. what does x equal? our joy? our suffering? our mediocre lives?
x equals anything, up to and including everything.
simplistic irrationalogic reasoning.
we're just following instructions. but this is something we could might believe.
x is almost as compelling as 0 - almost.
x=0...
everything everywhere everywhen measured by 0.
0 is arbitrary.
we place value to it, as we place meaning to gazorbnik. the two are closely related though not entirely the same.
the crowd applauds what is beyond their sense of reason to comprehend. it wouldn't be the 1st time.
up all night the clown is sleepy at dawn.
he goes for a walk around the park. it kinda wakes him up. but he barely makes it around once. too many cigarettes of late as he lights up another.
then he sleeps.

/./

awakening to coffee, toke, cigarette.
the trash was picked up and now the recycling truck rolls in.
mean people nasty violent fuckers on every side of the equations of human behavior. action/reaction. is there any way violence is good? to win the war to reap the profits? what's the difference between that and evil? evil is just trying to do the same. history is written by the victors, and all that. everything we have learned are lies.
no such thing as good and evil but in our crazy heads trying to make sense of it. but if we're honest then there is no sense at all. but imagine telling others that. they'll kill your motherfucking ass - or just walk away laughing.
it's the real world, baby. ain't no room for excuses.

no peace, no love, nor understanding.
whip it out.
get down to it.
beware, no monkey business is strictly enforced.
read between the lines up and down and all around.
empathetic discord of discriminating vectors plausible pussy outcome decreased by cock factors notwithstanding anal fortitude functions easily perturbed punching cum reflex into far reaching altitudes for the average escape tit nozzle.
let's get outta here, baby!
now!

no need to surrender. who do we surrender to? (to whom do we surrender?) those days are gone. nothing's in synch anymore. it's all discombobulated with itself like an oncoming derailed freight train in a long dark tunnel. is this the way to the party in heaven?
who's playing a flute this time of night? or is the day merely darkened by the shadow of our sorrow?
the adventure has only barely begun and already there's shady business about.
when will we ever get it right? be happy that you're miserable. you're alive, ain't ya?
keep on dancing.
follow the direction of transmitted instructions and become a rebel. you know you wanna. it's easy here on easy street. meet the blessed and the cursed.
it's medication time!

cheap imitation poltergeist pigmentations erupting from left eye the cow stumbles downhill into a creek entangled in barbed wire on the portal of a dream.
spit in the face.
incredible feats of tricky bullshit expounding the latest development of dog left in car barking.
compliments to the chef.
asking a lot of stupid questions when we don't really have the time. we're so so busy. we don't play those games much anymore. not since we've been so busy busy.
falling off a log philosophy into a quagmire of possibilities resulting in our corny comical confusion of doubts.
absolute betrayal coming down enough from great hubris including jerking kicking licking much nonsense observing peculiar quiet robot sex transforming universal victims watching x-ray yelling zebras.

a few days later -

the clown's got nothing...

and the day after that -

awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
medications.
he naps.

awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
been having trouble awakening and staying awake of late. naps are good. being awake between them is good too. but a 1/2 pot of coffee and still, zzzzzz...
he tries to make it different this time.
he really wants to go back to bed but he continues not p0em anyway.

and he can't seem to think. maybe it's mind control rays dampening our brains like many believe. it's possible. what will they think up next?
it's a lost cause probably. but what was it to begin with? when the corporatestate turns dystopian against us while everything seems hunky dory. fuckers.
what do we do?
follow leaders?
march in the streets?
or watch it all on tv? whatever they decide to show us, if anything.
nothing going on here.
he wonders why people need to be this way, but he knows the answer. becuz they can.
there will always be the selfish and the greedy among us who don't give a shit about the rest but only their own gain. and flowers grow on the hillside beneath the burning flags right next to where the dairy farm used to be that now a top secret installation is located. concrete and windowless. security cameras. signs prohibiting photographs. chugalug.

he naps.

another thing, it's hot. that'll knock you out too. whatever. lethargic latitudes. anger. spaghetti butter garlic parmesan. ugh.

he naps.

awakening and he's still tired. he tries to fight it off. coffee is old and burnt. a toke and cigarette.
even the interwebs are sluggish. he glugs some water. a taste of summer. sweat. oh boy.
his head feels like a lead weight. drooping. dim and drowsy. the greedy are the true criminals but unfortunately they have all the $$$ so nothing can be done against them. they laugh at our revolting antics. they are able to wait it out. generations if need be.
the blindless waste. the discovery of frozen time, yet our theory has always sorta predicted it.
a theory of gazorbnik.
a report to the committee.

he sleeps.

part 18 -

we begin again in space and time here now.
the clown typing not p0em that seems to interest no one. that's probably a good thing. he thinks so anyway. one less thing to worry about for everybody.
entity.
meathead.
düsseldorf.
mad at everything all the time.
a clue in the closet sweating with distaste and disagreeable perceptions of reality while listening to neptune sing its songs. ding dong, everything is dead. let's not waste our time with persistent emotional outbursts arising from the gut in a nutshell. let's be reasonable for once. let's be very clear.
the world evaporating before our eyes. soon it will no longer be here. spin the wheels one more time. it's just fine and dandy to be here again with a different disguise with a different role to play. all the sacrifices to be made as the houselights fade.
and we are on.
shall we sing and dance?
shall we fall down?
shall we laugh?
again?

let the others play the fools this time. we relax and observe while the clown types a report to the committee as not p0em secretly so no one knows. if anything survives. it will or it won't.
ugly dimples.
a limited format of display. not for public consumption. members only.
the logistics of pleasure and pain. the submission to sins. loaded dice determine the shape of things to come. stand by for further instructions.
eat it. it is it. bring up the rear. surrender to the joy.
a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head the clown lights another cigarette. one gets used to it. or not. one has the option of becoming mad oneself for one's own sense of sanity. la-dee-da-dee-dum, let's have some fun!

shift the meanings of the words if one needs to. it's allowed. whatever makes sense to you. kittie. something to think about. sweet sweat. no, keep away. the naked eye. plagiarism is contagious. crazy time music playing in the background the clown dreams a little bit more about worlds that never will be but to be imagined. an elegant trove of secret fantasies we desire and fear. what might happen if we dare? sing this song loud. make everyone hear its cry. tempting. frightening.
if we might remember everything we have lost along the way of our fortune. hoopie-doo. of course this implies there is some sort of solution. but for there to be a solution there must be a problem. what's the problem? there's always a problem. even solutions have problems. let's think about this. but there is no time. we need to just eliminate the problem. that's the simplest solution. that is our final answer. be gone!

it wasn't what we wanted. we were forced deciding otherwise by circumstances beyond our control, like our inner basic primal nature we all share among us. it doesn't matter what we are other than that. it shapes our destiny. but it's a beautiful sunny spring day.
the clown has chores to do today.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
funny how things happen other than how we plan and expect, unless that is what we plan and expect. it's in our head. there is nothing wrong with anything else. it must be us.
he takes out the trash. the painful wounds of the heart. the outcry continues. butchering the children. the chorus sings. all chaos breaks out much to the dismay of many who do not understand this is how it should be. one eye open one eye closed we stumble ever onward. the hanging trees. untouched pleasures. crazy. tinfoil motherfuckers in the depths of agony. faraway dreams of ice cream palaces melting under yellow crayon sun. the slaughter has begun. what else is new? he lights another cigarette after catching his breath.

reflections going haywire as we lose control. this is too much. overdone. out on the abandoned railroad tracks. dark emissions. talking outta turn on the radio for anyone who might be listening. when our history turns into mythology among those who are left to wander. the key element is surprise. to die with nothing left to live for. esoteric teen beat.
7@7

is this the way it's supposed to go? if it is how it is then it is the way it's supposed to be. what do we know different? a simple touch. synoptic regurgitation distortion popular interpretations derived from imagined possibilities. state muffins right there on the top. push the button. on fire. this is what has been reported. everything is false pretense undermining the very foundations of civilization.
is this a bad thing?
[ ]yes [ ]no [ ]couldn't care less
chipmunks for sale. mediocre revelations for the dumbfounded broadcast full alert. danger. look out for this stranger. what should we do next? come on, party down! but we are asleep. is this what we asked for? ordering chinese. what's happening now? pants down comedy turned tragically surreal. achtung!
the orchestra tunes up ready to hit it. backwards surgery undertaken by fat mice from the martian colonies where weird experiments take place. developing scum. locked in tight, no escape (club mix). never never never coming home. louder is better. what did you say? little beeps. we should know by now. don't think about that. disturbing news from the front forecloses the day.
gotta love everything. take it in. hate is thoughtcrime strictly enforced around these parts. you're not from here, are you? gotta be stoned to understand. it doesn't work any other way. sexual intellectual standing on thin ice of theoretical devices meant to confuse the issue involved in taking over the world. everybody's gotta a rap these days. scream it. shout it. make them understand everything's outta hand in this forgotten land.
the coffee's ready. toke, cigarette.
scars of love on the heart. soft bellied underlings come running at the ringing of a bell to begin their groveling for the day.
the clown sighs. all the people making living difficult for all the people. why must it be this way? the answer's obvious, but what is the key that unlocks the chains? is it love as many believe? how do we find love? the answers are like leaves blowing in the wind. chase them if you want. let us know when you've found the one we will all agree on. and not by force. that's been done and failed. force is only good for making $$$.

he is not so clever. not even for being an idiot. he knows his place though he has these dreams. someone who might listen to what he does not have to say. it happens in a moment then is gone. do we really need to talk so much? must it be so long and loud? where is the life of the mind? we know where the life of the party is. how could one miss it?
writing thoughtcrimes for future use. abandon your ego now. how?
all the same questions. all different answers. the world at war over economic gain and control. make them eat shit. cram it down their throats a shovelful at a time.
he perceives this world through a multitude of facets from one end of the varying continuums to the other. everything happening at once to someone. someone else.
more coffee.

it could be you. it is you. it's all of us alone together apart. another cigarette. the big bad dildo machine actively doing what it does. all the broken dreams laying on the concrete floor in puddles of burned out possibilities we see ourselves reflected.
reflections dancing the boogaloo to different beats in our heads. we rattle our chains. we feel so ashamed to be played the fools again.

and furthermore, imaginary lines dividing us encouraged by mass media manipulations until we believe they exist as it is desired by the ruling elite to protect their positions in power they enjoy. who wouldn't? not us.
we learn to love our masters - those revolutionary messiahs come to save the day - or off with our heads.
who are we to complain about our miserable lives when evidence can be and is shown of those far worse off than us? so shut the fuck up, would ya? haha.
and everyway works against us. we struggle among ourselves with no relief and for no reason except fictitious excuses of us vs them strategies we are indoctrinated with willing belief. bend over and salute the burning flags up on the hill.
it's a joke, but a very serious joke in fact that must not be acknowledged. it's hopeless to believe there is a way out. we are trapped by our very nature and nurture as a foundation to everything built upon it that keeps us down.
but one might ignore all that hoo-ha with minimal involvement while being in the midst of it. it's not always so easy as it seems but worth the effort, or lack thereof. everybody's the boss of you but if you mind your own business they go away. they've got asses to kiss and yours isn't one. this might very well be the joke, but probably not.

rock this goddamn motherfucker. rock it all to pieces. rock it all night long. just another night howling at the moon. we can live life to those rules but we'd rather not. rules are for people who don't know what they're doing. we know what we are doing and then some.
the clown thinks he's hip, but he's on a trip about to fall. he coughs and farts. how low does it go? down deep underground that has been abandoned now the mission's been accomplished. it's time to assume the position. it's time to take control.

slightly ill at ease. it begins in the gut. fix the gut and the body will follow. not quite knowing really what's going on. is everyone against him? the clown wonders to himself as there's no one else around to deny it. and that might probably be a lie to keep him in control. should he trust anyone? who are they really?