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 16 -

what now?
what now that 2+2=cow? [void where when prohibited by law and just plain common sense]

you had to be there. and you were there but not here, except you were here cuz everywhere is here. what demarcation line divides here from there? does there even exist? does here?
don't think about that.

think about imagining being on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
we watch the waves rolling in and washing out again all in motion not in motion.
everything in cycles we imagine never repeating quite the same ever. the difference might be just a lone particle out of place than it was a moment ago. or something like that.
is there such thing as a lone particle? is there such thing as particles, period?
the wise guys tell us they've seen evidence of them using very sophisticated and expensive technology we could never match to conduct our own experiments to verify. we need to trust and have faith in an elite of peers whose main concern is protecting their high positions more than anything resembling truth or such.
haha - when have we heard that story before? always.

are we clear yet? haha.
the clown thinks he should walk a bit now it's stopped raining awhile.
he decides not yet. he doesn't feel up to it at the moment.
the sun might even come out.
today is perhaps like no other day before it or after. would we be able to tell if it was or will be? is there past and/or future? whatever.

he needs to clean the toilet. he should take out recycling. he should sweep and mop kitchen floor.
later, baby.

he worries too much. he lightened up on anxiety meds cuz he was a bit foggy-headed. it cleared up his head but made him feel more anxious, but not as much gut wrenching as it was before. full on angst thing. who needs that shit, even though it might be reality?
6@2

he thinks about 0. he can't quite figure out yet what it is about 0 that intrigues him. he looked it up once and learned interesting facts about its use and origins around the globe (or surface) of the earth in various disciplines and such but not what he is necessarily seeking about it which he does not exactly know at this point.
maybe nothing - maybe 0.
he's hungry.
he opts for a granola bar.

he writes not to convince nor to interest anyone. he writes for himself to think and feel thoughts and feelings that otherwise tend to be all over the place.
and he writes to confuse those who need confusing. confusion is good for the heart mind soul of anyone.
but be careful. confusion's not for amateurs. start perhaps with small doses and work your way up, or down or sideways or whatever as the case may be - haha.
spin the wheels, baby. let the magick do its thing all over you until you're confused as fuck. then figure it out from there, if you can.

he naps.

awakening to a cigarette in a world going down a shit hole with all these alpha-people competing to determine about who's gonna end up in charge at the expense of all and everybody else.
idiots.

the next day -

11:11
mostly anytime the clown does something someone tells him it's wrong. he goes on doing it anyway until he finally figures out they're right. then he still keeps doing it.
what's wrong with him anyway?
he doesn't get it.
but why should he? everybody else is plumb crazy. he's glad he's not one of them. we are them. he's maybe the only one who gets it - maybe...
more coffee, another toke, one more cigarette.
cooking eggs and toast for his baby.
that's one thing he does that isn't wrong, except to a vegan. but fuck them.
he makes himself a pastrami and swiss and red onion sandwich with mayo and generic spicy brown mustard on 8 grain bread.

who doesn't know more than him and us? but we know enough to mostly stay outta trouble. that's important. that and the grace of our gazorbnik has saved our ass many a times.
he ponders having chocolate fudge brownie ice cream.
not now.

pet the kitty.
and, yes, much of this is redundant. so what? tell someone who cares.
he lights another cigarette.
the sea under a silver full moon reflecting from the waves in crazy patterns that could probably be mathematically worked out, except not really. who would bother?
and each pattern of zillions forever is over and done in a moment. who has that instantaneous amount of time to accurately measure and calculate?
these and many more questions in his head at once. how does he answer them all? with gazorbnik, that's how.
gazorbnik, the skeleton key to the universe and beyond - everything beyond never beginning never ending infinity.
he pets the kitty and she bites him.

lovely puppets all in a row.
he hits his inhaler and a mentholated cough drop to help him keep breathing awhile more.
lovely puppets taken out and shot.
lovely puppets shouldn't have tried to speak their minds.
oh well.

when this world comes to its reason and prosperity grows for everyone to their share of the spoils the earth abundantly supplies we gladly accept with reverence for nature not against it as once was our practice before this enlightened age of those who finally learned their lesson.
keep dreaming, baby.

another cigarette.
the clown cuts his hair for the summer.
he never had a job that required a haircut.
he never had much of a job - pretty much just grunt work.
but that's all behind him now. despite all the bullshit he was retired (psychological discharge) by 40. not too shabby for some stupid clown. there's smarter people than him his age still working away.
he's been fortunate for one who is mad - haha.
soon to be someone who is dead - hahaha.

he sleeps.

cigarette in hand the clown wondering how it might begin again typing not p0em while the fat black cat plays with a catnip mouse.
such is the moment.
so many places we have not gone before. carry the news, what news there may be anymore now the world is dead. ain't no life nowhere. ain't nobody but us chickens. the clown yawns. what when everything is gone? zombies?

coffee, toke, cigarette.
everything going on in his head at once. he's one of these folks who when everything is going ok worries about what bad is gonna happen next. silly old man. but he's learned in life that when he's up there is always something that brings him down. he tries to remain in the middle neither one nor the other. easy contentment lies there.
but what an idiot he's been - a lazy one at that.
he waits for what might come his way. enough for him to survive and not much more but what he needs. good enough for him. and he gets to think say do what he wants. no one inspecting him to determine if he measures up to their standards. he thinks he might fry up some hash browns.

another cigarette.
everything there is seems to be false according to whoever proclaims knowing truth. la-dee-da.
been there, done that.
and everything is false, but so are images on a tv screen, yet we are entertained and informed by them so what's the difference?
relax and enjoy the show.
pass the popcorn.

and the hash browns are frozen thick as a brick. oh well.
and those who are offended yet are terribly offensive. those who do not know themselves it seems. or if they do, they don't care.
and he rattles on and on.
pet the kitty.

the universe connected by spheres of light from the edge of one infinity to another. everything here now everywhere everywhen.
as we expand and drift apart will those spheres become undone until they are no longer in communication?
perhaps. maybe probably.
but space and time are illusion.
how are we to be free?
illusion masking what? true reality? that seems stupid. what's the fucking point in that? just to make us look like fools? yet people believe this is what is what it is.

the clown discovers in his mind that he is alone. he imagines everything. he gives it free will to become what it will. the world and universe and beyond is the result. a nifty trick he plays to keep himself from absolute solitude.

but now he has found out. how can anything ever be the same? but he suspected it for a long time before understanding how it might work out to be that way. this is why he enjoys the world in all its aspects from one extreme to another along all continuums of duality.
why not?

once one dons the mask and costume and steps onstage one should act and play the part as not to spoil the show for others.
the clown sits and observes as the plot thickens. it's as though he is not even here. but he is, very much so.
he writes. he has always written. writing is how he thinks. thinking is how he writes. the circle is unbroken, yet never the same twice.

he naps.

awakening.
making coffee. a toke, a cigarette.
he is still tired.
people on the street looking for victims. all as it should be. all as it is. the clown knows it doesn't matter what he thinks feels about anything. nothing changes. all as it should be. all as it is.
no one remembers it seems. this world is strange. everybody's a sucker for it. the clown is the biggest sucker of them all. and it doesn't matter.

every day is a holiday. enjoy it while it lasts. but as he types not p0em there is the slaughter of war and people cheering for their side to win while he imagines everything that could might be. to kill and kill again. that's how we like it.

death is the greatest invention ever. the final word. eliminate all opposition to one's ideals. be master of the world. what does it matter?
another cigarette.
he shakes his head until his brain falls out. now he is the brainless wonder. he watches it crawling toward the door. yes, go away and never come back.
he can imagine anything. and that's all he does. why really do it in real life? what does that accomplish? dead is dead.
something more and something less, and him in the middle like a monkey with a banana happy as a clam.
but nothing's funny anymore. everything and everyone so serious it makes him wonder. what do they hope to accomplish? and if they accomplish anything what is it worth? the world is dead.

a peaceful warrior has nothing to do but watch everything unfold. no one needs to know. no one wants to know. visions of a world destroying itself while a new world is born like winter into spring. what will happen next?
nothing new. nothing old. nothing borrowed. nothing blue. the wedding proceeds without ceremony. the clown eats a bratwurst thinking all the while of the ancient prophetic writings so symbolic they can correlate to anything at anytime. ignorance so severe nothing might enlighten it to become more than it is. this works in our favor if we understand what it might mean. do you?

scratching itch bleeding blood. 0 is every possibility that aren't always realized nor do they need to be. what chaos would reign if they did - haha. a sight for sore eyes to behold. 0 is beginning and end - alpha/omega. o' to wish another world. o' to wish for salvation from this one. o' to wish damnation upon others who disagree. the clown laughs.
pet the kitty. forget the blues - an undercurrent of emotion eroding away at the self. self? who? what?

the self being what is remaining when all else is expunged. he understands, but he does not know. does he trust his own mind? what else if not that?  how does one think past one's given thoughts. is it possible? how does one know? what sign should one look for?

weapons ready. the disease of faith. the release of doubt. incoming!
yes, it all makes sense in relation to how the world appears to be manifest. it fits like a glove. no room for love that isn't strictly enforced. we obey without understanding. the gods disfavor those who aren't like us.
face it.

this we hear and read from so many different sources. the philosophy of economics. scarcity and self-interest. the solid foundation of everything built upon it.
more for us. less for them.
he watches amused while everything twists and turns trying to make sense of itself.

if it makes $$$ it makes sense, everything else is nonsense - guru jeff.

imagine thinking like that and that's all there is but that universal truth. ugh. but what is and what is perceived to be may be vastly different. there is so much misunderstanding with everything. love and $$$.

the clown either has too much or doesn't have enough, he can't decide. should he maybe flip a coin?
a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. is it his imagination? it is real? is there any way to tell the difference? is the mad god himself?
how else would a god be that found itself in that situation? nothing but existence. it becomes mad, hallucinating itself within a vast universe where it creates a world populated with living life of all kinds. and a species evolves that is self aware. and the mad god is born among them to feel it is not alone but a part of them in a fantasy to forget. and it goes on life to life this way for quite some time, but never feeling to really be a part of them as it had hoped but remembering in some way just what and where it is.

all is reflections of itself as being. but for these creatures whose lives are misery this awareness of god within is an escape to hopefully merge with it and attain bliss - whatever that might be. the mad god understands and guides them to itself where they do merge and become blissful together.
but the mad god knows what is real and what is make believe. it knows its own madness it protects them from - or tries to. but some come to realize and also become mad. this is where the clown is at. the utter desolation of existing nowhere nowhen with nothing but itself.
to find steady bliss in this is the goal that probably never can be reached. it is always an illusion masking an ultimate horror. but it needs to suffice.
to laugh and scream in the face of this horror that is never beginning and never ending in a moment here now.
or not.

if one is looking for god that is where when one may find it. beware those who sugarcoat it with promises of everlasting bliss. be prepared to become mad.

but who is the clown but just anyone no one who figured this out from his experience falling outside what others describe as their own experience? it took him time to understand he is not wrong in his assessment.

masked in metaphor and symbol to both confound and enlighten. many do not seem to understand even when they are fully immersed in it. they believe it all to be real.
there is not really a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head. he just makes that up in an attempt to describe in given language what it really is. but it really is nothing.

quiznuts -

the romance is gone? far from it, baby. it's just in intensive care. we beat it senseless with our baseball bats but couldn't kill the beast.

just kidding.
or are we?
nevermind.

let us continue. the clown sitting before the now fixed computer thinking dirty thoughts while the fat black cat stares at him typing not poem about our theory of everything. as if we know shit. but maybe we do. maybe we know whole bunches of shit.

it's doubtful but possible.
but where were we before all this happened?
coffee, toke, cigarette.
that's the ticket.

gazorbnik is "central" to our theory. gazorbnik is our theory. nothing on earth can stop it but a butterfly sneeze. gazorbniking is fun and karma profitable. try.

but isis is displeased. no one came to her fabulous party who was anybody. what's a mother to do?
on the other side though, we have recently tried to define gazorbnik with meaning. is this possible? who would know yes or no - or maybe? not you.
gazorbnik is slippery as a greased electric eel on meth. gazorbnik is a zebra, either black stripes on white or white stripes on black or black and white stripes on aqua pink.
you decide.
yes, you - the victim.

haha.

but who is laughing now but the evil geniuses ruling the world? they got us down and we may never get up.
the mind shift/ship is ready to more or less extent to pick up passengers with its cosmic webs. can you feel it? it's true!

we are laughing too. we suspect that after the shit hits the fan there will be peace in a while when everything settles back into some sorta routine.

breathing hard the clown typing more not poem comes to realize again it may all be a dream someone is having around here. he's unsure if it might be himself. anything could be possible.
he lights another cigarette almost but decides to wait. give his sorry lungs a rest awhile, ok?
he'll be dead soon enough.
he is curious about what death might be like if anything at all but instant oblivion.
the world as he knows it vanishing into a fading dot of light on an old tv tube.
he had a vision once while receiving ECT in his youth.
he wasn't ready as he is ready now.

some weird modern piano music with tv from the other room in the background - some comical news show.
who says we're going to hell?
poo on them and lots of it.
we may be on our hands and knees but we're headed for heaven or bust, baby.
put that in your bong and smoke it.

we'll tear the kingdom down before we surrender. it's an easy thing to do once one realizes it's all in our heads.
no more robots.
no more flying cars.
no future, baby.
and the past is full of regrets.

be here now.
and away we go!
wheee!

it's all 1st class on the mind shift/ship. room to move and then some.
move on out.
what do we have to fear now we have faced fear itself?
you know what we mean?

the clown is afraid of nearly everything. something is out to get him, and it will get him in the end.
monkeys all around. how fun is that? haha - funny monkeys and funny monkey business. shake those bones. let it spin outta control - just like we planned.
remember?

it was a day like another other spring day in paris. not like it used to be, but this is now. at least it was then.
we were all zipped up when the saucers landed. everything was cool. but there will always be those who panic and those who follow until the whole city is wailing and moaning and rioting and looting.
is paris burning?
is the world?
are we?
we're always burning, baby. burning with love and hate, and don't be late.
anyway, as time went on we realize this all might not be happening but some sorta PTSD acid flashback thing in our heads. still that did not dissuade us from running for the hills where the eucalyptus grow and excitedly ask each other what the fuck and each replying i don't fucking know until we calmed down enough to attempt to reason it.
that is when we conspired together to take over the world with our gazorbnik showing us the way.
then we go our separate ways never to be seen again.

so that's that story the clown makes up about gazorbnik and all concerned.
why should anything be any different?
another toke.
making shit up is one of the ways to go if one is so inclined. cuz that's all most anybody else does - except of course the rationalogic realists - in one form or another and all that noise.
bless this mess and all ships at sea.

so what if the clown talks to imaginary friends? is there peace on earth? let us know when you have that together before you judge, asshole.
the winds howl and the ship of fools is turned about and sails back to home port again. the regular citizens are not pleased to have them return.
now what? fate has slapped them in the face again. they have a meeting and return with a verdict to shoot on sight any fool who comes ashore. otherwise let them starve.

then the clown thinks once more about 0. a bizarre not-thing we take for granted is nothing at all. that may be what it means but what something means and what something actually is are 2 different things much of the time. but do we know what anything is? or do we only know what anything is supposed to mean among us?
schrödinger knew better than that, didn't she?
of course what reality we happen to be playing with at the time has some bearing on what is believed to be the truth of the matter as it relates to greater truths all the way to infinity? oh, please...

what do we believe now? do we believe in not believing? do we become "clear" of all that business? believing would seem to be a successful evolutionary trait to have gotten us this far, but may destroy us in the end, no?

gazorbnik might be 0 with all the mystery that comes with it.
how do we explain 0 with knowing so very little about what exactly what 0 represents?
a goose egg.

0 represents no units of a particular thing at a particular spacetime coordinate location. there are no apples in this box in the hallway at 11:11:11 pm.
but true nothing does not operate that way as we have explained before when no one was paying attention off playing video games or some such.
we can't be serious, can we?
it's doubtful.

no matter about that as we continue along whichever ways we might happen to go from here to...?
everywhere leads to 0. everywhere is 0 - or is that 0 is everywhere? either are not the same as the other might be thought to mean.
dig?

so whose fault is it?
one of many questions we could ask if we wanted to. but we choose not to at this time - though we all know the answer that few will admit. ripples in spacetime revealing images in the shimmering light and shadow. the god narcissus hypnotized by its distorting reflections that are ourselves in the physical world.
this is one way to think about it imagining what we will. it takes one to know one. gang rape. but this is an olden story that makes no sense in the future of society. light another cigarette. 

33 -

happy happy.
carry the news.
where when it begins and ends.
here now.
0.
the point of no return.
sucked into not-being.
confronted by reason.
11:11
reasoned by confrontation.
lowly abject turds unite.
hahaha.
not p0em by candlelight.
rise above.
push and shove.
in the name of love and hate.
it's a date.

the clown lights another cigarette.
deceptive ingredients in the pie.
peer through it with our opening eye.
what is reveled?
can we use it or discard it?
experimental laziness.
failing expectations of our potential.
potential to be used and abused.
for $$$.

he didn't used to believe, now he does.
everything is for sale.
everything can be bought.
he once believed in the free soul.
but it has a price is right as anything else.
slurping and sucking.
there's always room for more.
whatever you do don't take off your shoes.

all of birth, all of life, all of death.
_________

sitting at the counter at the diner scribbling not p0em for the masses cuz he ain't no elitist poet the clown thinks about all that is unseen and about lizard people for that matter and such with triple shot mocha at hand just as it was, just as it is, just as it will be in varying ongoing continuous configurations of space and time, etc.
there is no reason to think there is a basic fundamental foundation of some sort composing the universe that we haven't discovered yet but relationships of energies.
now the scientist priests tell us there is no reality.
jesus, join the investigation, would ya?
where have they been?
but that is neither here nor there nor anywhere.
i am is within and without everywhere everywhen.
feel it beating in your heart and all that jazz.
jump to it.

something niggling jiggling in his brain while he is in delusion about everything going on not quite knowing what's true and what's fake as if that matters.
so we go on as if.
force fields of energies entangled knitted together as the tapestry fabric of everything.
light is one.
light is all.
the light of darkness in our skulls sparkling thoughts of mind.
low level comprehension stuck in a world destroying itself with arrogant greed.
none giving an inch to another.
grab it while you can mentality.

beauty is ugly.
up is down.
when you're rich you are poor.
turn it around and see nothing is changed.
it's always the same.
do not worry.
help is on the way.

not much comes to mind now but echoes of thoughts already thunk dreaming about impossibilities.
they go get supplies and return and unload.
the clown returns to the counter to scribble more not p0em.
life isn't fair.
the gods play favorites.
fate doesn't give a fuck.
against this he has managed to survive to some extent though not exactly prospering.
he hangs on by threads dreaming still of senseless things to pacify his time to live yet amusing himself with this, that, and the other thing wishing for something he doesn't know what.
what more would he want if it would be given?
wishing for others to be able to live a life they happen to enjoy.
but many enjoy suffering.

learning the tricks of the trade of being no one in particular observing the ways of the world.
nothing is in his way.
why should it be?
everything comes to him eventually as he is able to understand.
he is surprised, but not really.
it comes and goes as is the way of all things if one pays attention enough.
he doesn't pay much.
it comes to him by psychic osmosis or something.
transmissions from outer space or somewhere in the future.
possessed by the demon/angel gazorbnik he plays dangerous games in his head thinking into forbidden realms for secrets to understanding which he trusts no one to tell him, and why should he?
he doesn't trust anyone for shit.
he packs up and comes home and naps.
_________

awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
people pointing at people like the clown for their children to see someone not to become like.
but he's always been attracted to the bum's life despite his uptight upbringing and now getting paid by the state to be one.
what a deal.
what a squeal.
trippy.
drippy.
pod.

overtures of bygone sacrifices endured.
the gods must be pleased.
what gods?
archetypical gods of our deep psycho psyche perhaps.
dark mysteries.
random rainbows searching for answers.
brutal dictators.
no more nice guy.
this is serious shit.
put your boots on.

our cats would kill us if they could.
no doubt.
play with us first.
swipe.
instinct.
is that consciousness?
perhaps.
our consciousness is pretty instinctive itself.
primate logic.
sex and death.
hungry.
bored.
fucking lazy.
do gods have instincts?
hmm... he wonders.

while being under attack.
mind control waves.
disruption of the brain.
confusion, insanity, and beyond.
and hilarity ensues.

at the point when fire consumes screaming flesh suspended for eternity.
signals from the interstellar overdrive machine vector 0 thing.
ongoing variation vibrations and their consequences.
beware everything - anyone.
anything goes.
it's all fake.
we deal with it if we can.
_________
a few days later -

ice 9.
sitting before the computer continuing typing not p0em the clown thinking about wonderful things to dispel the gloom and doom that has become popular.
every day seems like the last to ever be as it has been forever deep into our memories.
what a strange thing we are as being these humans but it all makes sense almost any way we might think about it.
there are many many truths among us.
is it necessary they all must agree with one another?
but there are many truths that hold that unbelievers should be eliminated from the believers by any means.
so what to do but observe and watch it play itself out as these truths are confronting each other into war any day now?
as it is written.
self-fulfilling prophetic scripts.
sigh.

we believe anything is truth as much as anything else, or at least contains truth.
however, few of these truths believe in us except as being the damned, especially among the dominant ones which come to power and maintain it through devious ways and means.
but this is where we have gotten ourselves to in our evolution thus far.
will something ever come of it or will it just destroy itself?
we shall see.

our crumbling hope.
our dashed expectations.
we keep going just the same - most of us.
the clown hasn't yet decided which of the sides he might be on though he fits the descriptions of those others have identified as to being their enemy to be destroyed and/or punished forever.
we are them.
blah blah blah.
everything blah blah blah.
so it goes.

the coolest people don't give a fuck.
be cool.
how is one supposed to give a fuck in a fuckless world?
drive it to the breaking point.
witness what happens next.

along on a groove thing happening here now everywhere everywhen.
it is as one is able to find it.
jump for joy shadowed in sorrow.
nonetheless the project is ongoing ahead of schedule and under budget programed into our DNA.
we follow/don't follow instructions without knowing what for.
deep penetration into our brains.
what will come from all of it?
is greed our only motivation?
our love/hate relationships with ourselves.
the drama that ensues for the delight of the gods perhaps.
for the delight of ourselves acting in it for the moment of our lives here in this world that is a stage in the burning theater.
we all each have our parts to play and all that jazz like that as others have described perhaps better than us.
the story goes on passed from one to another to tell as they will.
every one from a different varying perspective.
we paint reality as we wish.
we determine for ourselves what shape it takes in conjunction with others and their ideas about it into a common reality we agree more or less is the same for all though many will argue against this part of our theory as they should.
verification by our peers.

who are our peers?
the hated and despised, the underlings and overlords, the outcasts, the in crowd, the timid and afraid, the brave and heroic, the abused sick starving neglected children of all ages.
in short, we are them.
dig it.

32 -

whoever invented making candles.
chewing bazooka the clown discovers himself continuing not p0em sitting before the computer typing words that may or may not have meaning.
a snow turning to ice storm.
he'll be scraping windows on the van in early morning dark windy cold to get to the diner.
chop wood, carry water.
balance on the point of everything.
but he thinks too much.
he enjoys it no matter that it goes nowhere (now here).
more coffee, with ginger snaps to dunk in it.
a cigarette.
maybe a toke might do the trick too.
soon it's medication time he anxiously awaits.
he eats a snickers with almonds.

privileged fucker.
lazy as fuck.
never fucking pays attention.
off in a fucking dream.

healthy strong obedient workers.
always doing their job as instructed.
no room for error.
errors are quickly discretely taken care of.
trust us.

Α Ω

undermining sacrifices licking the wall of deceits perpetrated among us by certain suspicious individuals few would suspect being the objects of our confusion.
yea or nay.
stand up and be counted.
this outrage cannot be allowed to continue interrupting our entertainments.
someone should do something about that.

we don't know what?
perhaps not anything.
we're ok with that.
meanwhile the clown is thinking about platform shoes and how everything is subjective.
objectivity is a myth.
he toasts an english muffin smearing butter and peanut butter on it which he consumes.
another cigarette.
the screws are set in our heads like they are supposed to be to fit the master plan.
the great social experiment that failed.

:)|(:

sitting at the counter at the diner scribbling not p0em into a notebook while the funky music plays on the jukebox the clown wonders about everything he can think of in his tiny brain no larger than a mustard seed in a moment of imaginary time existing in our heads - or not.
with a triple shot mocha at hand he is waking up but his brain isn't quite up to speed yet if it ever is which often doesn't seem like his thoughts like molasses.
1 < infinity < 1
something to think about being that 1 is both < infinity and > infinity it seems to him you can't get there from here but we always seem to - but do we really?
is it ever the beginning or the end?
where when are these ever determined to be?

but besides that what else comes to mind but butterflies and zebras in fields of daisies in the forest of dreams on an island he shipwrecked on long ago now which suits him fine without hardly ever returning to the social madness of the supposed real world of the others fussing and fighting one groupthink group opposed to other groupthink groups on and on.
he orders some eggs and toast and bacon and they come and he consumes them and steps out for a smoke.
outside is cold but no longer windy as he still shivers a little smoking and coughing watching people walking driving by as they do going to work and such with strange energies in the air it seems to him, but maybe not.
he comes back in to sit at the counter again with busy mind that now won't quit with dizzying thoughts swirling around inside his skull ding dong dancing along mad dervish graceful twirling and no one knows which way is what with mixed messages over the psychic networks as civilization collapsing and so many try to hold onto nothing and him too.
as he smiles to himself happy enough to endure realizations coming whispering not as a blinding light and voice of thunder we expect as in stories we were told as children that many others nonetheless believe as adults who should know better but few wish to think beyond the indoctrinations fed to us telling us what is and is not reality.
who wants to know their heaven and hell is illusion?
who thinks beyond good and evil to the other side?

he finds his peace here now forever eternal as we know it in the moment which has no beginning nor end that we might determine beyond speculation at this juncture though it seems impossible to him that there is beginning and end except everywhere everywhen as we twist and shout with a certain amount of feelings of joy.
he is falling asleep and orders another mocha to hopefully wake up but he's known for drinking a pot of coffee and taking a nap day or night blinking on/off at a certain scale of things.
everything at its heart is binary bits of information that mix and match into more complex forms into imaginary mathematical calculations endlessly eternal truths.
numbers making whatever sense we imagine into patterns of behavior fitting into logical forms for whatever happenstance reason.
2+2=cow, and such like.

and they go to get supplies and come back to unload the full van and the clown sits back at the counter ordering shrimp taking out notebook continuing not p0em about our theory of everything which is nothing to anyone but ourselves it wouldn't seem like - but whatever.
8 miles high and all that smiling though there are all the reasons not to in the world in the condition it's in that is killing all of us.
walk on.
walk through the fire in your heart.
space and time the essential components of existence as we rationalize it with our reason imagining it being.
anything we envision.
but what about love and hate?

a lot of noise going on.
exciting.
just what we want.
just what we need.
everything is forgotten.
he is tired of being subject to others and their power trips they pride themselves in.
he wants none of it.
they are not happy at all though they have trained themselves to appear so.
it is stupid and meaningless but they are hooked on it.
it's their daily bread.
it's their addiction.
they can think of nothing else while he can think of everything.
what a joke.

he hates to hate like he hates them and their mass stupidity.
look at their world they build around themselves they believe is beauty but is ugly as shit.
fucking morons.
wealth and power is all they ever think about and believe in and attempt to attain by any means.
but what good does it do them if it doesn't change their heads?
but we're farting in the wind with them and the walls they build as they stare at us uncomprehending anything we might tell them
but other than that he does ok with what he's got without wealth or power at all.
and he stops and packs up his shit and comes home to nap.

|_|_|_|_|_|_|

but being a citizen of a 1st world nation living off the state does give him a certain amount of wealth and power not granted others in the world.
but that world he lives in could very soon end as many predict - for $$$.
everything for $$$.
nothing else makes sense.

and he screws around with other shit awhile.
it's medication time.
he screws around another while more.
he sleeps.

_*|*_

awakening.
drab post-ice storm morning.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
ginger snaps.
THX1138
ah, this perfect day.
all grooving on the vibes transmitted by the corporate state whatever the vibes might be - love, hate, indifference, or others, or cocktails of whatnot and so on the corp-state delivers for its own purposes.
supply and demand.
net loss or gain.
danger, will robinson.
best of luck in new adventures.
the divine mission of madness.

premature identity complex.
deceptive avenues toward the sea.
more coffee.
a snickers.
a cigarette.
bugs crawling around in his head sending off cacophonies of thoughts in a flash.
what a surprise.
does stupidity know no bounds we might imagine?
irrationalogic reasoning unconfined.
soon to be eliminated from human thought.

the clown imagines sitting on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
watching waves roll in and washing out again again toward forever and ever.
peaceful meditation of the rhythms.
it's medication time.

what can we say about this elixir?
yahoo?
how do you do?
this isn't funny, is it?
the overcast sky brightens.
we may have afternoon sun?
and a couple hours later the answer is... yes.
what fun for everyone.

it's easy to write about nothing of no consequence.
no sense or direction but nonsense and meandering.
discovering understanding.
another cigarette.
little sleep the night before, so he naps.

<:..:..:>

awakening to rain.
everybody scrambling to make it, if they can.
a toke, a cigarette.
and a rousing chorus of, fuck you!
and now the sun again.

when he thinks of all that possibly is involved in the existence of a simple rock he keeps in his pocket he is amazed.
keep it together.
as he keeps typing not p0em.
old hat one trick pony.
KILL THE PIGS.

rewrite history.
command and control.
life on easy street remains unchanged.
the show must go on at the burning theater.
a female magician takes the stage with her beautiful male assistant, but who obviously has had work done.
onward and upward.
kisses to all.

could it be anything?
yes, yes, yes.
the world of the lowest common denominator.
wild dogs tearing apart the sacrificial lamb baby.
a subtle shift in deception.
people in it for themselves - like us.
why bother?
nazi-zionist controlled mass media doublethink on ice.
what a show.
people believe it.
it's all they see and know.
more coffee, another toke, another cigarette.
put it in perspective.
laugh.

31 -

:) :| :(

priests surround the bloody baby corpse on the altar.

the clown wondering how it goes this far.

but what is different than that which we allow every day among us all played out on the stage of the burning theater for our amusement?

how much time spent in the dark of nights long and deep while we slowly come to realization that it is perhaps... ???

we are brought to this point in space and time by unknown direction of those who seem to know the way but also seem to be leading us in circles in a grand folly in order to maintain control.

he types not p0em by candlelight.

everybody mixed up what to do.

but it's simple to live the simple life.

but who wants that?

they seem to thrive on complications chasing $$$ wherever it might lead us.

how far we've come and so little to show for it.

we've sold our soul for trinkets and gizmos like the ignorant and stupid people we are.

that is always the game they play.

one would think it would become obvious how miserable it makes everyone including themselves.

but they don't stop to think.

they pride themselves on acting.

thinking is for losers.

but this is an old story written into every story.

the haves and have-nots in every tale told by an idiot.

don't think twice and don't look back.

it's alright.

a boot stomping on a human face, forever.

a momentary taste of paradise.

misery all around.

step right up.

there's plenty for all while supplies last.

bless it's pointed little head.

it's medication time.

wishing we were dead - but somehow living?

emerging as dragonflies.

a dream of dreaming.

mumbling magick mad incantations.

more coffee and english muffin dripping with butter and honey.

while those among us are abused sick starving neglected constantly throughout our collective recollection.

are the masses now expendable?

it would seem so.

when have we never been?

go, baby, go!

so we fly away on a balloon filled with our dreams ascending to the clouds above that have turned dark and stormy as we guide ourselves toward silver linings such that we might live to tell the tale.

let go, hold on.

steady as it goes as much as it is able.

sitting at the table in the kitchen of the house by the garden gate we ponder if the garden is infinite or finite and how do we determine the difference.

...999.999... [units]

infinity and finite entwined almost forever.

the crazy ride seeming to never end.

infinity never to be reached.

1 > infinity > 1

funny how that works.

if it does work.

the proof is in the pudding whether it does or not.

we favor both.

it is it no matter what except when it is not it (but even then it is it) and so on, ad nauseam.

making our heads go around like being children twirling to make ourselves dizzy and fall down watching the sky turning.

wheee!

30 -

receiving signals from neptune through dangerous times the clown picks his nose and continuing sitting before the computer gazes out the window at a rainy morning feeling the blues as it should be in this world at this time typing out not p0em for the masses.
many gods claim to be the one immortal almighty god.
ah-choo.
they seem planning to duke it out whatever consequence to others.
über-apes beating chests and charging one another.
sigh... so silly from our context.
but the crowds love it.
watch them rape and pillage.
this the root of their theology mythology and such other-ologies.
crank it up, baby.
way up.

making up gazorbnik from out of a hat - maybe somebody else's hat.
nevermind.
it's all the same difference to us
the beat goes on so many levels.
dancing up and down stairs.
from heaven to hell between and beyond.
everything is experience whatever the fuck our fate might be from how we choose with our free will.
or not.

relax.
breathe.
pet the kitty.

he gazes outside seeing the van in the driveway that he can drive places when he wants to in interactive reality simulation whatnot.
disgusting but true.
give yourself up.
why should we have all the fun?
coffee.
he lights a toke and then a cigarette.
give ourselves up to who or what?
who's in charge here amid all the fussing and fighting?
no one?
we ourselves are the only authority we recognize.
but we are legion.
confusion reigns.
why should we give up unless we are forced to?
maybe we should just forget about it.
live life as life is lived and living.
we are amazed by everything.

0 is the center of the universe.
0 is the center of our heads.
infinitesimal pinpoint.
0 projects everything we experience.
- in theory.

our theory of everything.
grab bag nearly full to overflowing with whatever we might discover being.
contradictions and paradoxes galore.
that's what makes it most interesting and fun for our amusement.
who am us?
we are them who are i am.
???

it begins and/or ends anywhere anywhen as anything.
there is no beginning nor end.
how could there be?
there is all continuing.
there are beginnings and ends to things.
everything is not a thing.
not an object in space and time.
it is not even space and time.
it's just everything.
beyond all finite constructions of itself.
everything is the only infinity.
everything is everywhere everywhen and beyond even itself as itself is known to itself.
and all that cosmic trash that won't help you find a job.

it's all the clown dreams of being.
is he the only one?
he doubts that.
myriad reflections of consciousness within the maze of mirrors.
shattered light.
a disco ball of stars and such radiating to and from our being.
everything is consciousness.
everything is i am to itself.
as much as words might be able to express.

the journey of experiencing.
experiencing everything as much as our senses allow - as much as our imaginations might envision.
everything known to be.
people zeroing down to what exactly everything might be, zeroing down ultimately on nothing - 0.
what makes sense and what does not?
it's medication time.

a cigarette.
not the life of a saint or such.
not even a jack of all trades.
just a foolish clown babbling not p0em.
hahaha.
is the joke on him?

it seems everything is just that - everything.
all that is and all that is not, between and beyond.
a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head.
we can imagine this being.
but there seems to be a certain reality we all experience more or less the same yet having a zillion+ meanings to each of us.
he feels he understands.
perhaps not.
not even close, baby.
nowhere (now here).

meanwhile he sits on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
on the island are the forest of dreams, the garden with the house by the gate, the imaginary city with the burning theater on easy street.
all constructed by ongoing imagination that sometimes goes far astray.
he watches waves rolling in and washing out the same and different depending upon how we might behold them.
what we give our attention to and what we do not.
let's argue about it.

he feels divinely mad.
he feels like an idiot.
both at the same time.
he has to unclog the toilet after his morning poop.
chop water, carry wood, and all that jazz.
but he spends his time dreaming.
he doesn't always know about what.
whatever.

a very rainy morning here now.
another toke.
he is as he is lazy bum as he is.
he never quite got with the collective program he observed others following.
but he does ok.
lands on his feet somehow.
he may not be worth much but at least he's not worth a ransom.

how much of this is familiar to others relative to their own experiences?
or not.

29 -

laughing our fool heads off as the clown continuously typing not p0em for the few and far between among the masses bumps his head against the falling sky dreaming about certain paradoxes involved in elegant descriptions of mundane reality while he picks at a scab on his arm gazing out the window at the park with slanting sun and shadows as the children walk by on their way to the indoctrination centers.

coffee, toke, cigarette.

he is thinking of getting bulbs to plant for spring, if it's not too late.

he needs to buy some pants and a coat.

otherwise everything appears to be the same.

appearances are deceiving at times as many people do not seem to realize until it's too late to negotiate other options.

he does a few stretching exercises.

more coffee.

in the grand scheme of everything he is done for.

they have their plans for people like him - freaks.

everyone should be just like them, or else.

we've been here before back in the good old days.

you either had it or you didn't.

he was never good at socialized duckspeak.

unintelligible mish mash quack quack.

another cigarette.

his head always gets in the way.

everything to him seems to have different meanings.

except gazorbnik which is theoretically universally meaningless.

it perhaps defies all meaning - or not.

it could be the name of a demon he conjures up or an angel he conjures down for all he knows about it.

whatever anyone is willing to believe.

he is willing to believe almost anything though he has doubts about nearly all of it.

with this state of mind it becomes difficult to make much $$$.

a high crime in this world deserving all manner of punishments.

that is what they wish us to believe, and we do for the most part.

not everyone can be on the top.

the pyramid of hierarchical power would topple over.

but if everyone in their place is adequately provided for, then what's the problem?

problems all over the place all of the time it seems.

that's how gazorbnik fits in.

dig?

it don't mean shit.

not even dust in the wind.

the clown amuses himself any which way he feels like that might tickle his fancy.

this way, that way, the other way, and so on - and sideways, like a crab.

crabby old man - haha.

stay away.

he giggles to himself.

all aboard!

here we go along on the carousel ride.

away away...

he naps. 

awakening.

discovering reality again.

slipping into it out of it.

who had JFK shot?

coffee, toke, cigarette.

it's medication time.

holy hell, what's on tv?

while we are sleeping we are being taken over.

we scream.

everything composed of spacetime.

does it mean anything?

of course it does.

except for gazorbnik.

it's time for happy news.

lighting another cigarette the clown wonders about whatever the fuck he feels like as he attains nirvana or something like it or not - probably not.

what does he know about it?

and so what?

who cares about anyone sucked up into their mind blowing off the world and the people in it?

how selfish.

how sweet it is otherwise while everything goes to shit as it has always been.

we celebrate our being here now in the thick of the mess of it - haha.

let the world have its end whatever way that's gonna be.

let all the love songs be silent.

let waves of the abyss wash over everything.

hit us with it.

let us forget.

discovering ourselves on distant shores from here where joy echoes in our heads.

no place nor time.

it's our imagination.

we sit on the beach watching the waves come and go despite forecasts of a hard rain's gonna fall.

nevermind us.

we don't know any better nor do we wish to.

we are satisfied enough content in our nonsense dreams of self-delusion.

the rise of the working class.

we believe in no particular truth but all truth and no truth that might be with wind in our hair without a care.

hat on head.

we're not dead.

figure it out until there is no doubt.

be nice or leave.

cognitive dissonance.

those telling us everything is false except what they tell us is true.

we are sheep fast asleep according to them invoking us to wake up rise up following them cuz they're in the know.

they must think we're stupid and many of us are who do as they are told.

but we hardly trust them with anything.

let them fight their wars without us.

we'll watch on tv.

SQ/ 11100100 -

another cigarette.

the mail's arrived.

the sun is partly out.

the clown only cares if he's acting.

it's just noise in his head.

NSA disinformation broadcasts.

party on.

and what others know that they claim is truth may very well be truth.

we do not discount that yet we have our doubts.

truth does not allow doubt.

truth persecutes those who doubt driving them out into the surrounding darkness.

this is what we do not believe about their truths.

nothing that harms another.

when we reach that plateau of stars will we finally be free as we need to be?

let them sit on their mountain tops scorning humanity beneath them.

we will have none of that.

but what are we dreaming but nonsense? 

when 2+2=cow.

keep an eye out.

not for everyone perhaps.

for those in a tree learning how to play the flute.

whatever.

does it matter?

is there a reason it is confined to a few and far between?

one might think so.

the answer lies beyond right and wrong for those who are willing to imagine it.

to become so distracted with everything at once.

this isn't fucked up, it's fucking great.

not so for so many.

the terrible suffering when we could swiftly come to their aid, but won't.

we're on a mission to paradise - or bust.

ready to plant our burning flag on the rusty beaches.

the head of the machine rising from the sea.

the sea is humanity.

billions.

some of us and whole shit loads of them.

what does one do under these particular peculiar circumstances?

we do whatever makes $$$, and hope it's enough.

and hilarity ensues.

get slack.

put your back into it.

we're under attack.

are you free wednesdays?

over.

digging out the dead from the rubble.

before they rot and give us trouble.

you gotta be this or that or the other thing and so on to be anyone.

who wants to be anyone?

he thought at first he wanted to but didn't like who anyone was supposed to be.

he'd rather be no one out of the way as much as he could.

someone in the shadows.

man in the rain picking up his dog's shit across the street.

the clown suddenly understands it all now in an instant.

on bended knee sword in hand handling it upwardly to the sky before plunging it downwardly into the earth.

ride the snake.

the facts are the facts as imposed by those who control those who control the state controlling the masses.

elitism prevails.

everybody's a winner.

losers not allowed.

who's in charge here? - hahaha.

who are lovers here?

who hates with a passion?

who falls in the middle flat on their face?

;ouch.

pet the kitty.

he pops a lasagna into the... hot oven: imagining_a_coven of angels tiptoe through the tulips.

it's medication time.

this world bass ackwards.

peace in our time? - doubtful.

love crimes.

when too much is not enough.

when old friends turn their backs.

now he alone remembers the past.

a life of destiny and decadent culture.

we did not choose none of this.

were we ever even asked?

perhaps we chose not to remember.

wrong hole.

pay attention, kerouac.

it doesn't come around again.

a stake through the heart of the matter.

lsdlsdlsdlsdlsdlsd.

we seek our way through disbelief.

we are connected in communion with one another.

communication community.

magick plays its part.

the nihilist telling us there is nothing with any meaning.

they are comic geniuses performing 3 times a day at the burning theater until next tuesday.

come see them while you still can.

discount group rates available.

see you there.