007
12/20/91

    existence is water.
    life is a bubble bath.
        - evil lex

and now at some point not zero

    and it is not a secret anymore. one of the points to this whole business is to get you to break down and go for each other's throats. think about how much fun and so very exciting that would be at long last after all this time of sitting on it taking nothing for yourself as sacrifice for the other's need and welfare as you have been trying so hard to do all this while and getting nothing but shit for it from all the greedy pig-headed assholes around making yours and everyone else's life total abject misery and all the rest of it - you know?
    oh boy.
    ho-hum.
    meanwhile we as we sit ourselves back and laugh our fool heads off as the streets and wall to wall carpets pool with blood.
    and this happens not to be it either. and manson or son of sam, or the ilk and kind, aren't either. no one is. they're just tools of the trade, so to speak. just like jesus and hitler and mary queen of scotts and then some. rabble rousers. just like the much rumored and little know illumnati and whatever all mysterious and powerful backroom and behind the scenes organizations and alien infiltration and such like as that. that is except, of course, for us. in our dreams as it is. in our imagination.
    it all has to do with hats for some reason we have yet to quite to figure out. hats and spoons too. and the sun and the moon and the planets and stars and as many other things we can make up to believe in with our doubt that are too numerous to mention at this point. but you already know what they are.
    but, for all you already know about what we are trying to tell you and explain to you to remind you about what you may have forgotten, there remains now one thing at least that you do not already know, though it should be easy for you to figure out if you think about it without letting yourself become as confused about the rest of this the more you tried to think about it - right? (what are we asking you for? do you know?) something about who we are and what we think we're doing.
    well, actually one thing we're trying to do is to confuse the fuck out of you. and, if we remember right, we probably told you that we didn't mean to confuse you. if we did say that - we lied. ok? we should mention at this point as well that some and/or most of what we may write to you here is nothing but lies. and maybe not. this, among the rest of it, you will have to figure out on your own. maybe there is someone who can help you do this. if they can be trusted to know and/or tell you the truth. as for ourselves, we know through our experience that we can't help you figure it out because we cannot be trusted not to out and out lie about most anything we can think of, and what we don't lie about we tend to make as confusing as possible that no one but ourselves can understand it - and even we don't understand it half the time. the other half of the time we don't care if we understand it or not - you know?
    so, why would we want or possibly even need to confuse you? well, if you really must know we think it's funny to see you utterly baffled and dumbstruck by something that to us is so obviously simple as a rock. never mind the rock. it has nothing to do with anything. maybe. in fact nevermind most of we have said, are saying and will say. we don't mean any of it. well, not all of it anyway. not the insulting part anyway. confusing you is one thing, insulting you is something else. who are we to insult you or anyone? we hold you in the highest regard that we could probably hold for anyone. honest. would we lie to you - even though we said that we do lie to you? we might lie about everything else but we would never ever even in our wildest delusional imaginary dreams and nightmares ever remotely think of lying to you about that. and as much as you may not be able to trust us with anything else, you can trust us about that.
infinity at some point at being as if not zero
    our tooth is infected.
    it hurts.
    it broke many years ago.
    it begins here and now although this is not, nor has it ever been, where and when it begins.
    yes and no.
    we have decided in our own minds to begin it here and now.
    this seems to us to be as good or bad a place and time to begin it as any other.
    besides, what else is there but here and now?
    all history and all future is here and now.
    that's simple enough.
    welcome.
    this is it or not it as whatever and whatnot it may or may not be as it is beginning here and now.
    it might be anything.
    it might be nothing.
    it might be everything.
    we will tell you what we can of what we know about it - or what about it we can remember now that we are here and now.
    this is not simple.
    nor is it complex.
    it is not one thing.
    nor is it the other.
    it is both and all between and beyond.
    we may be able to explain this about that as we go along.
    and we may not.
    there is always too much about it and it's never enough.
    we will try to explain this as we go along as well.
    remembering.
    a distance.
    a nearness.
    a place of time and/or a time of place.
    of imagination.
    of the beginning of imagination.
    to let it go toward that.
    it is not as easy as it might seem.
    nor is it as difficult.
    as one might imagine.
    as anyone might imagine.
    as they might imagine.
    as we might imagine.
    as you might imagine.
    and thus and therefore like that.
    you know?
    of course you know.
    you know all of this already.
    we would not be able to tell you anything about it if you already didn't know.
    what is it you might need for us to tell you that you don't already know?
    do you remember?
    do you remember what it is that you already know?
    we remember.
    or, we are trying to.
    there seems to be so much of it.
    but much of it is not as it seems.
    or forget.
    forget it.
    nevermind.
    go back to whatever it was that you were doing.
    we'll take care of it.
    you do remember whatever it was that you were doing, don't you?
    don't forget it.
    no matter what we may say to you do not forget whatever it was that you were doing before wherever or whenever it might begin.
    or wherever or whenever we might decide to begin it.
    the red-bellied dragons fly in circles overhead.
    do you get it now?
    some will say yes.
    some will say no.
    don't worry about that for now.
    you have so much else to worry about - whether you need to worry about it or not.
    we do not intend to tell you anything that gives you something else to worry about.
    let us worry about it.
    that is what we are here for.
    as we said, we will take care of it for you.
    relax.
    forget.
    but actually this is not it.
    this is not what we are trying to tell you - whatever it is about it that we are trying to tell you about whatever it is that you might already know but perhaps need us to to tell you about it to remind you so you will remember about what you already know that perhaps you have forgotten.
    is that it?
    do you have any idea about what that might be?
    and, of course and maybe more important than that, does it have anything to do with whatever it was that you were doing before?
    before we began.
    before we begin.
    here and now.
    is this confusing?
    we do not mean it to be.
    perhaps that is what we meant to tell you.
    and maybe we are going about this entirely the wrong way.
    but it is the way we got to it.
    and maybe you're already getting to it another way.
    are you?
    well, then you can forget this.
    it is not for you.
    go back to what you were doing.
    maybe this is a useless distraction.
    but we ourselves tried it other ways and nothing else seemed to lead to get to it.
    to us none of them led to getting anywhere but around in circles to themselves for as many as maybe thousands of years they went that way.
    it made us dizzy.
    and we forgot what we already knew.
    we needed to remember.
    so we imagined and invented our own circles to go around in.
    and you can too.
    you don't have to go around ours if you don't want or need to.
    grow your own.
    if it gets you here and now to where and when it begins.
    but you know that already, don't you?
    maybe you didn't remember.

part 6:
    anyway, besides all that - and this will always be something that is besides all that as how does one get to it besides all that? besides all this too. besides all of everything. forget it. forget about everything. forget about nothing.  forget about anything you want or need to besides whatever it is you are doing, if you are doing anything - if that is what you want or need to do in order to remember what you have forgotten about what it is that you already know. do you remember what it is that you already know? can we remind you?
    what do you think we are doing this for? it isn't exactly because we wanted or needed to. it's because you asked us to and we agreed to do it - remember? we agreed to take care of it for you. we agreed to remember what you would forget in order to remind you after you had forgotten. do you remember now? does it sound vaguely familiar to you as strange as it might be as you imagine it?
    huh?
    what?
    anybody home?
    testing 1-2-3-9-9-9...
    testing infinity.
    yes, this could be, if anything could be - if nothing and everything could be whatever you might imagine it could be. it could be whatever you give yourself permission to imagine it could be.
    what is it we can tell you about it? what do you want or need for us to tell you about it so you can remember what it is? what do you imagine? what can we explain? what can you imagine us explaining?
    and how?
    and why?
    and why not?
    because we know. because we can imagine knowing what it must be like for you, though we may have forgotten. or maybe we don't. maybe we know nothing at all.
    oh well, that was that.
    this is this.
    here and now whatever and whatnot.
    it comes and goes.
    nevermind.
    we're just making it up.
    is that the point?
    and we've already been told by people who have read some of this that it is confusing and hard to understand.
    we must be geniuses.
    or we are insane.
    one of the two.
    we suppose that we do get a little abstract.
    but abstract is what it is.
    that is because it is all our imagination.
    all is our imagination.
    all is abstract.
    let us touch the real.

    broken puppies.
    legs on a horse.
    legs in a parade.
    and it continues on as such that he has become nothing more than whatever.
    and afterward as spoken before to anyone looking to anyone remotely disinterested.
    dance beat.
    greasy hair.
    leather flesh sweating with the disease.
    afraid of the light.
    surviving.
    control booth.
    creating the fantasy.
    he remembers now as it was.
    these words come to him a little too easily.
    he tries to remember more about it than this.
    and as if a goat.
    as if with someone laughing now and again.
    as if we see the dada-ananda looking a bit mocked and disoriented.
    orient.
    as if this were the image of the dada-ananda was showing us.
    or, as if maybe this was the image of the dada-ananda we were showing ourselves.
    perhaps many things were occurring here and now.
    perhaps this is where and when it begins.
    perhaps nothing was occurring here and now.
    a joke.
    a display of something else.
    perhaps a spoon.
    perhaps the moon and stars.
    perhaps rockets to mars.
    perhaps only being caught up into our own sense of imagination.
    we've tried to speak with many of you before.
    we've tried to find a way through it.
    we tried to find out what you really wanted that would allow you to stop fighting your war.
    and what we have supposed that we have found about you is that what you want is to keep fighting no matter what else you are offered.
    only that which you will accept are supplies and arms and reasons that will enable you to keep fighting forever in a war that cannot be won or lost as either would bring the war to an end and none of you are interested in that.
    everything else to you is nonsense.

    not zero toward infinity

    it begins here and now, although it does not begin here and now. such is such the case. we can only decide to begin it here and now as this is as good or bad a place and time to begin it as any.
    as it pleases us to imagine whatever it may be or may not be that we imagine that we may be or may not be out of our minds. out of our minds into imagination. and what of that does it matter as who knows what about what? and we know who knows what about what. this is the thing about that - you know? this is what the whole trip in and of itself is about whether we choose to recognize it or not. whether we choose to remember.
    out in the cold and dark.
    maybe think about this as being whatever you want or need it to be or not. maybe imagine that. or something like that. no more or less. like a bullet between your eyes. like singing the blues. like nothing else at all.
    this could be it. here it is for you and yours to come and get it whenever you might want or need to have it.
    and what do we say to you now?
    what do we say about any and all of this to you?
    what can you imagine?
    what do you want or need to imagine?
    what do you believe?
    what do you doubt?
    what is there to believe or doubt?
    it's about whatever you want or need from it.
    whatever you choose to recognize.
    whatever you choose to remember.
    or else it's imaginary delusional bullshit.
    is that what you want and need?
    do you want and need more of that?
    what else is possible?
    what else is impossible?
    we aren't really saying anything more about it than that.
    dig?

    it could be a door opening at a threshold toward whatever it is you want or need to become.
    it could be who and what you already are.
    it could be who and what you already know.
    it could be everything you may want or need to imagine it to be.
    can we say anything more than that?
    but, of course, we will.
    we're not done yet.
    it's your life.
    it's your death.
    it's both and neither.
    it's a joke - ok?
    it's all a big fat hairy joke.
    what more do you want or need it to be than that?
    because that is what it can be.
    because that is what everything else is, right?
    maybe not.

    broken out of the ice, so to speak.
    and, so to speak, we are obviously writing this because we feel that we have something to tell you.
    that makes sense, doesn't it?
    and we've spent a long time writing this over and over trying to figure out some way of writing it such that you would be able to understand it. it's not that simple, though what we have to tell you is very simple. but, you already know that - right? you know how simple it is. how can anyone not know? it's getting to how simple it is that becomes complex.
    it's very old and many many layers of other things have been built up upon it. that is all what we need to lead you through to get at it. and the layers that have been built upon it we've all had a hand in building. and so going back through it takes all of us to have a hand in unbuilding.
    get it?
    all of us who want to anyway. the others of us can remain behind and continue living in this world built from the layers of other things that have nothing to do with anything but themselves and their own glory instead of sorting through it all to get to what it is to begin with here and now.
    oh well.
    such is the case with that and them.
    the only trouble with us doing it ourselves is that we need to dismantle the world they believe in. needless to say, this frightens them and they tend to become very aggressive if not out and out violent toward us or anyone attempting to do this.
    this is where and when imagination comes into it. because we can, through imagination, totally dismantle their world without them knowing it. this is because the people who hold onto this world as being real and solid are only able to do so by severely restricting their imaginations to a very limited set of parameters they all must agree on be real and solid in order to make them real and solid, or at least appear to be so.
    if one follows this path, however, one must still be careful as one begins to operate based upon what one discovers or uncovers dismantling this world. one becomes alienated from the others - or they become alienated from oneself. this is where and when one becomes mad - mad to them and their perceptions of reality. so be prepared to lose everything. but if one remains true to one's madness, everything one needs will be returned.

    12/21
    and what of it seems to be going just as it's supposed to? as far as he can determine we're all pretty much in the place and time we need and should be - here and now. but maybe not. such doubt as there is remains about it. but without doubt there would be no faith as without faith there would be no doubt. and of the two, we choose doubt. everything is constantly being revised as it can be without losing it all together.
    the confrontations and attacks against us and what we are doing are as they always have been both from within and without. perhaps we have divided ourselves a bit too thinly. there are those who debate this, as there are those who will insist that, whatever the circumstances and conditions we have arrived at, there is no time for debate. we have set ourselves upon the course of actions we have been long following. we cannot now turn back.

    12/22
    and the ghost and the ghost's shadow sit in a cafe downtown. any downtown, anywhere, anytime - as long as it is here and now. the place and time of it doesn't seem to matter. you will never see them - if you go and if you get there, wherever and whenever that might be. time will tell if you do or not.
    the ghost has many names. a legion of names. pick a name - any name. whatever name you choose and decide to call him he will answer to. so if you want to call him a name you should, if we might suggest, perhaps do a little research as to who and what will answer to the name you might be considering calling him, as once whatever name you decide to call him is called it is sometimes difficult to get who and what answers to it to go back from where it came from if it so happens to turn out that who and what you called isn't who or what you were expecting.
    and that's what has happened here, as far as we can tell. he was called into this world by many people calling out many different names and the many names combining into one that he answered and came to. and when he got here, those who had called him had second thoughts when they saw who and what actually showed up answering to the names they had used and they wanted him to go away.
    only, as we said, it's not always as easy as that. he is here now and whether those who had called him want to accept what that means or not, he cannot or will not go back until certain actions and events implied and attached to the names he was called by and answered to have occurred. but no one wants to see that. no one wants to admit they might have made a mistake, as glaring a mistake that mistake might be. so he becomes invisible. he becomes anyone anywhere at any time. he becomes a ghost. just a ghost and it's shadow. now you see him, now you don't. he could be sitting right next to you even as you are reading this and you may not even know it. though if you took the time and had the inclination and took a good look around you open to the possibility of it, you'd probably see him as clear as anything - if he was there. and in such a case as that, he probably would be. it works out that way a lot in the course of action and events occurring involving the names he's been called by and has answered to. though, more often than not, this is something a bit too frightening for most people to deal with, though if they thought past what frightens them about it, they'd see something else quite delightful because that is the true nature of the names he has been called here by - though it is what one must go through to get to that aspect of the names that is the frightening part. but it is never anything one cannot overcome with determination and imagination and the will and the desire to get to what it is they really want that lies behind and beyond all the things they are frightened by. but they are often distracted by what is seen as attractive. but that is only its ability to lure and distract one from what frightens them that they must get through to get to what they really want more than it is any real atractiveness by itself.
    but perhaps we are delving a bit too deep here, which when one is writing for the common mind one should avoid. or so we've been told by those who don't seem to think very highly of the common mind and its powers of imagination.
    so the ghost and its shadow are here now though invisible to the eye of those who see only what doesn't frighten them. and the ghost and its shadow hang out around in whatever places they can get away with hanging out for any extended period of time. and as it so happens that cafes provide just that, but not all - and not always cafes. but the ghost moves around until he finds those who do allow him to.
    a table by the window to watch the world go by. a steadily refilled cup of coffee. maybe a notebook to scribble out whatever thoughts blow through his brain and mind. a cigarette. and the ghost is pretty much happy and doesn't bother anyone, unless they bother him. except when the ghost gets to thinking about the names he was called here by these people to do what they all suddenly changed their minds about when they realized what it would involve on their part. when the ashes of his heart that have just about gone cold get rekindled and burn with fire and flames of the passion and purpose and the sparks fly out and catch on those others around him and they leap up and away and douse and beat and stamp them out out out with their rationalogic and then glare at him and call him even more names than they called him before without stopping to think that this only binds him even the more to the actions and events that keep him in this world until they are finished and accomplished.
    this is what his shadow is for, to take on and answer the names that are in contradiction to the ones that originally called him. this allows it to become one or the other to whichever are chosen from one time to another. because there was a time in the beginning when he was confused by this until he was able to divide the others' confusion from his own. then he went through his own and saw that if he kept away from their confusion, it wasn't confusing at all. but he had to go pretty far up shit creek without a paddle to get to that point.
    he had to distance himself from other people's confusion though he couldn't avoid it altogether since that was the main reason he was called here to deal with their confusion. but it was also their confusion that led them to having second thoughts about who and what answered to the names they called him when he showed up.
    or something like that.
    needless to say this pissed him off. but who he had been called here as didn't allow him to be one who gets pissed off. that would really frighten them more than they were frightened already. that wouldn't help. so he became a ghost of himself and sat himself in the calm of the eye of this storm of confusion whirling itself in maddening circles with every word out of their mouths as he watched them be picked up by it and taken away with it.
    another reason for his shadow was that his shadow was even more ethereal than himself. it could slip in and out as needed undisturbed and unnoticed and do what was needed to be done which was to trigger the actions and events that would eventually bring all of this involved to the point where by tearing itself to pieces it would free itself from the prison of dilemmas it built around itself in hopes that this would be a fortress against what it didn't realize was actually itself and how does one build a fortress against that?
    that's what he wondered. but nonetheless they had done it. they built it up stone by stone then locked themselves out. out of their minds. funny how that happens. but he was here to help them figure their way back in again. that was what he had to deal with. he himself among others of our kind called here by the names called out that we answered to. and here we are now.
    anyway, here he is now wherever and whenever that may or may not be, hanging out with his shadow who comes and goes.
    and it shows up this one time in the guise of an old friend.
    shadow: so, how's it going?
    him: fine.
    shadow: fine? that's it?
    him: that's it. what more of an answer do you want than that?
    shadow: well it might your polite standard answer, but i think you can tell me more than that, can't you?
    him: can i? maybe i can, but why should i?
    shadow: am i anywhere close by saying that i sense that you're pissed off?
    him: and if you are?
    shadow: what is it now?
    him: nothing. the usual. people.
    shadow: haven't i told you that that is all being taken care of?
    him: yes. but i don't see any evidence of it. if anything it's getting thicker than it was before.
    shadow: as i told you it would.
    him: yeah, yeah, yeah...
    shadow: so what is it?
    him: nothing. it's fine. i just get tired of dealing with people who aren't dealing with themselves and don't want anyone reminding them of that.
    shadow: so don't remind them.
    him: i can't help it. it seems sometimes that my presence reminds them of it. then they get pissed off for me even existing. i'm tired of not existing so they can have a nice goddamn day, which they never end up having anyway because they're always running into bullshit they're not dealing with since it's everywhere around them because they're not dealing with it and it's just piling up over their heads and they're all getting more psychotic by the minute. the tighter they try to hold on to it the more it slips from their grasp so they get even more tight about it. everybody's turning into slogan spouting 2-dimensional fascist off the rack cardboard cut-outs of someone they're wishing and pretending to be that all these schools of narrow-headed blinder-visioned thought control are selling - you know?
    shadow: yes, i know. but i told you, we're taking care of it.
    him: yeah - right.
    shadow: we are.
    him: whoever the fuck "we" are.
    shadow: i've tried telling you that. what more do you want me to say? what don't you understand about it?
    him: everything.
    shadow: now who's being narrow-headed?
    him: yeah - well, fuck it. i'm just tired of all this.
    shadow: yes, i know. but relax, ok? aren't we taking care of you?
    him: yeah.
    shadow: are you still taking your meds?
    him: yeah, but they're not really doing it. i want more than the lights turned down. sometimes i want the lights turned out. it's all still coming through.
    shadow: you know we can't do that. we need you to be here. we need to connect through you, if only minimally. and we're trying to make it as minimal as we can.
    him: thanks a lot.
    shadow: look - what's really bugging you here?
    him: oh, i was just talking with someone who was giving me a bunch of shit. she disguised it as concern for me.
    shadow: what did she say?
    him: oh, about me being on medications. she was going on about how i shouldn't let them turn me into a zombie and the usual doctors are evil demons from hell bullshit.
    shadow: well, that's her problem. why let it bother you?
    him: it does, that's all. i mean, she comes around like i owe her something - be her goddamn hero savior. and then looking down on me from her head in the clouds because i'm not.
    shadow: well, fuck her.
    him: that's part of the problem. i do want to fuck her. but it's not just her though. it's all of them really, in one way or another. man, they want it for nothing, you know? they're the ones who gave up on it, not me. they gave up on themselves. it got a little too dark and scary for them so they do this 180 degree turn on a dime and run back home and hide. they'll analyze themselves as long as it's all nice and neat and clean and sanitized for them. none of them want to face the fact that they gotta get down on their hands and knees and dig through the most godawful shit they've ever seen to get to it. and they expect people like me to stand out here when the weird nasty boogie things come out and wave their flag for them by ourselves while they sit all tucked warm and comfy in their beds and read books about it. you're right - fuck her. fuck them all.  i'm all for blowing them all straight past oblivion.
    shadow: which is exactly why we had to step in and take things over, my dear - remember?
    him: yeah, yeah, yeah... and what are you doing that's any better? - letting them all cop out of it, telling them nice pretty stories that just let them keep fucking each other over like they've been doing since this started?
    shadow: all in good time. it's coming. just not all at once. what's the point of doing anything for them if none of them survive through it?
    him: at this point, i don't care.
    shadow: another reason we're handling things instead of you. you're too burnt on it. face it. you've done your part, now let us do ours.
    him: it's not enough.
    shadow: don't worry - it will be. we each need to take care of our own. none of us gets it all. not even you.
    him: i know that.
    shadow: do you? have you checked out any history books lately?
    him: fuck you. i'm not taking the blame for that. just because they used my name that doesn't mean i'm responsible for what they do. it's not my problem that they don't know what it means. i don't know how much more simple it could have been made for them. but once again, they valued security and power more than they valued freedom. it's easier and they don't have to get their hands dirty. fuck them. those who are using my name are in for a very rude awakening.
    shadow: well, be patient. when we're done you'll get your chance at them. we promise. and you can blow them all as far past oblivion as you want.
    him: yeah - straight to their idiot goddamn hell they're wishing on everybody else. surprise, surprise...
    shadow: if that's what you want.
    him: well - yes and no. me personally - yeah. i'm into out and out revenge as much as anyone else. but i'm not allowed to let myself get personally involved about it. always gotta be looking at the big picture thing.  i'd like to forget that for once and just go apeshit and rip their faces off.
    shadow: that's what me and the others are for.
    him: yeah - an army of angels... just once though.
    shadow: well, as i said, you'll get your licks in too. not now though. so just be a good boy and take your medicine.
    him: tell me that again and it'll be you i do it to.
    shadow: how do you know it won't be?
    him: will it?
    shadow: maybe. who else can get us to go back to where we came from?
    him: i didn't think of that.
    shadow: you weren't supposed to.
    him: so, i could come down to you and me?
    shadow: as i said - maybe.
    him: and if i don't?
    shadow: then we will rule the world.
    him: you can have it.
    shadow: really?
    him: why should i care? i don't owe them anything.
    shadow: well, you sure made a lot of promises like you did. what about those who believe in you?
    him: fuck them too - if they're that stupid.
    shadow: you are an asshole, aren't you?
    him: one name among many, my friend.
    shadow: don't call me your friend if that's what you are.
    him: then don't call me a asshole, and i won't be one.
    shadow: i call it as i see it.
    him: then try opening both eyes instead of just one.
    shadow: you're the one saying that you'd back out on them.
    him: it's not a matter of me backing out. i can't do anything unless they ask and want me to and believe that i can. but they also have to realize and know that it's their belief that's doing it, not me. but they expect that i have super powers or something. i mean, who am i? i'm just one of them. i don't have any power.
    shadow: and maybe that's all you'll ever be.
    him: we can only hope and pray.
    shadow: why do you say that?
    him: because it scares the shit outta me.
    shadow: why?
    him: it's always easier to believe it's someone else rather than you.
    shadow: maybe it will be some one else.
    him: good. someone else probably won't fuck them over.
    shadow: you're saying you would?
    him: the first chance i got.
    shadow: then it's probably not you.
    him: then why am i here for?
    shadow: we need you, and others like you.
    him: why?
    shadow: the same reason - you believe in us. without you we could do nothing.
    him: maybe that would be better.
    shadow: now you don't want anything done at all?
    him: it's still down to them. i'm not bothering anybody. so what's their problem?
    shadow: power.
    him: i don't want power.
    shadow: bullshit. what makes you different?
    him: i have power.
    shadow: i thought you said you didn't have power.
    him: i don't have belief - not in myself anyway. i believe in them. that's where any power i might have lies.
    shadow: good luck getting it away from them.
    him: oh, i could if i wanted to.
    shadow: how?
    him: they would give it to me, just like they've given it to others.
    shadow: not that much power. when would that ever happen?
    him: when all else fails - and all else will fail. they're already on the edge and there ain't nothing out there and there's no turning back. they'd give it to me then. or they'll give it to someone.
    shadow: not all of them.
    him: no. there'll be those, maybe the vast majority, who'd rather step off that edge into nothingness than to give anything over to anyone else, least of all power.
    shadow: and what's stopping them from doing just that?
    him: not me. i don't care what they do. well, i do. i care a lot. but if that's what they decide then that's what they decide. that's what the deal has always been, no matter how much it's been twisted around by all these others along the way. but nobody bothers checking that out for themselves. they'd rather believe what some hyped up self-imposed authority tells them and rumors and lies than taking a deep breath holding their nose and diving into the cesspool of it all to see for themselves what's on the bottom of it all.
    shadow: what is on the bottom of it all?
    him: me.
    shadow: you?
    him: me, myself and i. who else? i am that i am. i'm the one who it's all based on, right? not anybody else. whose fucking name are they using anyway?
    shadow: who says it's your name?
    him: it's anybody's name who can get to it. it's not really a name really it's a description. a title. a position. an office. and everyone is as qualified as another to apply for it. but only those who follow through to it without breaking down along the way are considered. it probably isn't me. i can't be me. i won't let it be me. but i could be in the running.
    shadow: unless you break first.
    him: unless i break.
    shadow: you look just about broke to me.
    him: almost, but not quite. they haven't hauled me off yet.
    shadow: not yet.
    him: besides i'll deny it if anyone pushes me about it.
    shadow: will you?
    him: it depends.
    shadow: on?
    him: on whether i need to or not.
    shadow: and what will make you need to?
    him: death.
    shadow: death?
    him: i ain't dying for any of this shit. not this time. somebody else can if they want to. and there's plenty who will line up for that.
    shadow: a lot of people died for you.
    him: not for me - for the name. and who died for them because they had a name and because they were to give him something for it? whoever died for them did it because he loved them, as much as he probably wanted to hate and destroy them if he could - if he wanted to. but who has that much hate other than themselves? i almost do, but i don't. but they sure found it easy to come up with it for others. they had him killed to save themselves. well, let's see them save themselves now. their greedy ass world is about to go down and not come up again. if they're so goddamn smart and know so much about everything, then why won't they be able to stop it? and they expect someone else to stop it for them. i could, but i wouldn't.
    shadow: you could?
    him: no. not on my own. but i could get the key to it. they wouldn't know what the key was.
    shadow: which is?
    him: you're going to laugh.
    shadow: i'll try not to.
    him: love, compassion and forgiveness.
    shadow: you've got to be kidding?
    him: i told you you'd laugh.
    shadow: i'm not laughing. i'm just shaking my head. i take back about what i said about you being an asshole. you're just a plain old fool - a deluded fool.
    him: that's just another name to me. you get what you pay for.
    shadow: you expect them to do that?
    him: no. i expect them to destroy each other in a kick out the jams full tilt blood bath of seething festering hatred. then i'll be the one who's laughing. who's the fool then? anyone would be laughing. even the one they killed.
    shadow: if one would expect them to do that then why would one bother to go through that to try to save them?
    him: just to rub their faces in it. to say, i told you so.
    shadow: you're a fine one to talk about hatred and revenge.
    him: no different than any one of them. who were you expecting - the son o' god or something? sorry, no such animal.
    shadow: isn't that what we've been talking about?
    him: sort of, but not really. sure there could be. as i said, it's just a name. anyone can step into it. but it means nothing. it's not the actual son of god. besides he called himself the son of man. it was others who called him the son of god. they got it wrong right off the bat. you don't believe in that do you?
    shadow. no - i don't.
    him: then what's the big deal?
    shadow: i do think they are capable of rising above themselves and getting out of it. otherwise what we're doing is quite pointless.
    him: well, you can stick around and hold your breath. i'm splitting.
    shadow: where to?
    him: as high in the air as i can get to. ain't coming down until the smoke clears, baby.
    shadow: yeah, right - keep dreaming. you're in this mess as much as anyone else.
    him: yeah, but i got you and your buddies - whoever you are - to get me out of it.
    shadow: and who says we can or will?
    him: you will and you can.
    shadow: you think so?
    him: i know so.
    shadow: how?
    him: because i believe in you. i have doubt.
    shadow: who says we believe in you?
    him: if you didn't, you wouldn't bother sitting here talking with me.
    shadow: who says i am?
    him: i do.
    shadow: nobody sees me but you.
    him: nobody sees me but me either. what difference does that make? we're both in this as much as they are and our own anger and hatred and sense of revenge toward one another isn't going to get us out of it. can you think of anything else?
    shadow: i suppose you want me to say love, compassion and forgiveness.
    him: you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. i'll try to summon up enough for both of us.
    shadow: good luck.
    him: luck has nothing to do with it. it's a skill that's developed after long practice and work and dedication and doubt and belief.
    shadow: and where does it get you?
    him: it's gotten me here.
    shadow: and where is that?
    him: i don't know, but it's better than being with them.
    shadow: maybe. but i still don't see you having much of anything - except us, of course.
    him: and i thank you for that. but i have whatever i am given to have that i need - including you. i lay claim to nothing in or of this world. none of it is mine, except what i brought with me into it which i will never trade or surrender.
    shadow: which is?
    him: me, myself and i that existed before i came here and will exist after i leave. the i am that i am - which is anyone really. everything else is so much noise.
    shadow: you're crazy.
    him: so they say. it's just another name to me. now go away and leave me alone.
    and the shadow did just that.

    bullshit. it was all and continues to be bullshit. he was very much sick and tired of it. but that didn't seem to be enough to stop it. what would stop it at this point? wasn't this his choice? he didn't know what. cursed or blessed, he was nonetheless stuck with it - stuck up the arse with it. and who did he turn to? everyone told him to turn to himself. he laughed at that. look at what that had turned into. and none of them were willing to listen to him for five minutes before running him up and down about what a misguided deluded fool he was. yet they told him to go to himself for the answers. answers to what? what was he suppose to know? what was he supposed to imagine? if he went to himself for answers, which he felt he already had done, then why didn't they believe the answers he came up with? this seemed to be absurd. but he expected nothing less than that from them. and they didn't go to themselves for answers as far as he could tell. they went to everyone else but themselves. and he expected for them to believe that this absurdity was truth.
    and he was getting used to this absurdity, whether it originated with him or not, and how it ruled the world and those in it. he had given up believing in anything else. it was absurd to do so. everything but belief in the fact that all they thought, said and did was absurd was itself absurd. he knew better now. he did not rely on them for anything other than what he could con out of them. to think that they would ever listen to him let alone understand anything he attempted to say was even more absurd than anything they did. more than being absurd, it was stupid. and he may be absurd but he wasn't stupid.
    fuck it. he decided to just surround himself with as thick a fog as he could. they wanted him to shut up and mind his own business then that was the only way. if they didn't want to listen to anything he had to say was one thing. he didn't like it but it was ok if that's how it was. but if they thought that automatically meant that he was going to listen to them, they had another think coming, as they say.
    he had gone to the doctor. the doctor invited him into his office and motioned for him to sit down and closed the door.
    so why don't you tell me why you're here.
    for medications.
    well, i need more information than that before i can prescribe anything for you that might help. can you tell me more? what's been happening with you that you feel you need medications?
    well, my heart's been ripped open and left bleeding. my mind's been trying to figure that out and is now doing some sort of hyper-dimensional logic thing and i'm just about pissed off enough to go out and start killing people.
    and it went on from there and he got what he came for and was then able to forget it - almost - though it took several more times of going back to convince the doctor to up the dosage.
    oblivion, he said, i want goddamn oblivion. no more nothing than that. i want enough of this stuff so i can tell god and all the rest to go fuck themselves and leave me alone. ok? you got that?
    and it wasn't what he expected. it wasn't anything different. it was still all there, but now he could ignore it - almost.

    after awhile of showing people what he was writing when they asked and watching their utter bafflement with it before they even finished one page, which if he could put it down so it made sense on one page he would do so and that would be all there was of it and it would make sense and everyone would be happy. that makes sense, doesn't it?
    they aren't able to follow it - or don't want to. to follow it through and look for and pick up the threads of it. they're so used to writers who flash easy to read neon words before their eyes that follow plots and things. there is a plot here, he thinks. maybe not. they become confused by anything else. they become confused by madness. but madness is not confusing. not if one follows it from its beginning to its end. sometimes in the middle it gets a little blurry, but not for long. but they need it quick and easy. headlines. slogans. or sugarcoated with the taste of what pleases them that masks the bitterness of it. he wants it all. he's always wanted it all. they rather be tricked into thinking something rather than to work out thinking on their own.
    and now some bunny stories.
    once upon a time that never was there was this bunny.
    this bunny was it.
    everything except this bunny was not it.
    but, thought this bunny, what else is there but me?
    and that was until there was that bunny who wasn't this bunny.
    and that bunny was it.
    everything except that bunny was not it.
    but, thought that bunny, what else is there but me?
    so, needless to say, when this bunny and that bunny met there was a slight problem between them.
    that's where the other bunny came into ti.
    the other bunny was both this bunny and that bunny.
    it was either this bunny or that bunny except it was not this bunny and not that bunny or that bunny and not this bunny in which case it would not be either or both this and that bunny but it would be another bunny.
    this confused the heck out of this bunny and that bunny so they decided to stay apart from one another, which they did.
    they hopped away in different directions.
    this left the other bunny pretty much on it's own.
    the other bunny was it.
    everything expect the other bunny was not it.
    but, thought the other bunny, what else is there but me?
    what it turned out to be besides the other bunny was the problem between this bunny and that bunny that both of them had turned their backs on and hopped off leaving the other bunny to resolve it.
    the other bunny decided it needed time to think about it.
    so the other bunny hopped downtown to a cafe and sat at a table by the window with a cup of coffee and a notebook it would write in about what it thought about the whole thing and smoked cigarettes.
    the other bunny got a government grant to do this.
    but it had to let them declare it insane before they would give it a dime.
    oh well - maybe the other bunny was insane at that.
    certainly not this bunny or that bunny.
    maybe that was the nature of the problem between this bunny and that bunny.
    they each thought the other bunny was insane because the other bunny was not it like they each were.
    that was one starting point anyway.
    that was the main part of the problem between this bunny and that bunny that the other bunny had to deal with.
    the other bunny asked itself, where and when did this funny bunny business begin?
    the other bunny thought to itself, i'm going to be at this for a very long time even before i can figure that part out.

    ok. this is sort of how it goes. this could be it or not. it depends on how lost we get. we're not exactly sure. perhaps we will never be sure - even if and when it is it. but that is not what we are writing about just yet - unless we're mistaken and it is what we are writing about.  it comes and goes that way a lot. we try our best to keep it simple as we can but it never seems to work out that way - you know?
    we've been at this for sometime now. long before we began writing it down. long before we can remember being at it - that is if there was a time when we weren't. and it seems to us that there was a time when we weren't and there will be a time when we aren't. but this is only something we can imagine.

    12/25
    and this is something that occurs or does not occur as we might imagine it occurring or not as we imagine it.
    come on now.
    this is madness in its highest regard.
    a poem.
    a poem to be read alone as it is written alone.
    a poem unsupported by anything real and tangible.
    only words from our imagination that occur or do not occur.
    as we are awakened while others sleep.
    from our place and time of awakening to yours.
    there is no other possible communication between us without dragging into it all the excessive whatever and whatnot of all we lie to each other and ourselves about.
    and while it changes and does not change.
    while we stand over ourselves beside it and allow it to move itself through us.
    this river.
    this ocean.
    this sky.
    this and that of everything it is.
    this trick performed with mirrors reflecting images of ourselves looking for meaning.
    a poem.
    a poem of the happiness of sorrow and the sorrow of happiness.
    a poem of the right hand and the left hand wielding the two-edged sword.
    a poem of meaning without meaning, of purpose without purpose.
    a poem of arriving at a destination that cannot be arrived at as it is a place and time we have always been.
    a poem of absurdity - of the absurdity of pure logic expressed through form of emotional language.
    a poem of hatred and love and anger and joy and revenge and compassion to be able to be pronounced in no uncertain terms but never not their true cause as there is none other than that these exist of themselves for reasons of their own design.
    a poem of our own design for our own reasons.
    our reasons being to cause you confusion and doubt enough that you turn away from our words so that what we do will always remain a mystery to you so that you will not be able to take this mystery from us so that you will always be controlled by it through your confusion and doubt of it.
    negative reaction.
    positive reinforcement.
    we lead you one way which is the way we wanted you to go but you would not have gone until we forced you into making that decision for yourself.
    you would do nothing without us either inspiring you or threatening you.
    sometimes using both to direct you to do exactly what we knew we could expect you to do.
    predictable.
    so much so that we can set our schedule of events one or two or three or four or five thousand years into the future.
    that is how much you have not changed.
    we work in approximations with details to be worked out as it happens to come up and thus far we haven't had to make any major readjustments.
    you all are doing just fine.
    you do what is expected of you through all your revolutions.
    we play one side against the other that you so easily form for us already.
    easy.
    we work with the conditions you decide for us.
    you write the rules.
    and you will equally follow or break them.
    it works for us either way.
    we set up the villains.
    we set up the victims.
    we set up the heroes.
    we set them all to rise to heights above themselves and to sink to depths beneath themselves as needed to set the course of human events.
    and all of it is nothing to us.
    all your struggles against this and that.
    nothing.
    it amuses us.
    at times it interests us.
    it gives us something to do to pass the time of our damned eternity.
    a poem of one man's madness.
    a poem of his escape into his own inner solitude where no one can reach into.
    a poem where he is king over all he sees.
    a king in exile.
    exiled by no one but himself.
    no others recognize anything about him at all.
    a poem like any other poem ever written that after all that is imagined about it that gave it any meaning it might have had is forgotten, dies into a pile of cold ashes that are eventually blown away and are washed back into the earth.
    like any other death.
    yet maybe it is sparked and kindled and brought to flame in another's mind.
    that would be that.
    otherwise did it exist at all?
    did it need to?
    it exists to itself as he exists to himself.
    a poem?
    what poem?
    there is no poem here.
    where is it?
    do you see it?
    where is it hidden or hiding itself among the words upon words that have been written that amount to nothing else if they do not present themselves with meaning that can be verified by another's reason?
    we have had enough of wild imagination conjuring up delusional images of unauthorized abandoned meaning and belief in same that has so far misled us to the point of dire desperation and robbed us of our ambition.
    death to the poets.
    death to the poems of lies they are writing.
    death to the trickery of their manipulations of language that gets us to believe in the impossible.
    death to imagination.
    we must resist.
    we must be strong.
    we must find the power within ourselves to repel their spells of unreality they cast to divert our energy into their deception.
    death to the poets with their illusions of never never as we are seduced and dulled as cattle to live in a fog of happiness and harmony with love that we do not feel.
    we must fight this with we all that we are and will be.
    no more.
    no more.

    double check.
    fathom.
    again.
    eat dirt.
    eat your brain for breakfast and go out the door.
    leave your house and walk down the street.
    look into their eyes.
    watch them turn away from you.
    you're not supposed to be here.
    they have no slot to put you in that will make their reality work.
    you are discarded.
    you are eliminated.
    your presence is a contradiction to them and they refuse to see you.
    look at them.
    look at them not looking at you.
    how does it feel now?
    welcome yourself to our world.
    there will be none of us to welcome you to it.
    we've slipped out long ago.
    no one looked for us.
    no one knew we were missing.
    they walk past us and we past them.
    and we can scream in their face and pound on their chest and they would not respond.
    they cannot respond except to continue to ignore us.
    we are ghosts and shadows.
    and they pride themselves in having risen above being children.
    yet they are still on the playground.
    yet they have put away childish things.
    things.
    things misplaced and forgotten and never thought of again.
    as they live in their world of happiness and harmony and love we do not feel.
    cattle we fatten and slaughter and feast upon.
    herds of human minds driven by imagination anywhere we want them to go.
    here we are again.
    and they don't think twice.
    and they do not question.
    what is there to question that still exists to them?
    they laugh at questions.
    they laugh at those who still have doubts.
    but do we really have doubts?
    raise a flag and drink a toast to that, cries out the long lost dada-ananda reappearing as either a spoon or an ashtray.
    isn't it great? the dada-ananda asks him.
    what?
    great. isn't this great?
    isn't what great?
    i don't know. anything i suppose.
    i guess some things are.
    yeah - and something's aren't. that's what makes it so great.
    fine. so what?
    what do you mean, so what?
    so it's great.
    and?
    and so?
    so what?
    that's what i said.
    then we're in agreement. i knew we would work it out.
    huh?
    exactly.
    and the dada-ananda wasn't there and more than likely never was.
    it goes that way a lot.
    we don't know why.

    and what is understood about what is understood?
    what is understood of understanding?
    we could copy down the endless words.
    there is more, he said with his head in his hand with the other hand turning the pages.
    of course there's more.
    and more and more.
    and he gave up.
    we looked at him.
    what were we to say now?
    this is what he had written to be understood.
    he was ungeared by it from the first.
    we gave up.
    we are awoken here among these people.
    we do not know them.
    they do not know themselves.
    and we think that we are each satisfied with our ignorance of the other.
    there is no understanding in the understanding except at best an understanding of what is not understood.
    and this is not difficult to understand.
    we do not think so.
    we do not know about them.
    cookies and milk.
    and rats chewing through the wires.
    system malfunction programmed into the long term overall plans of whoever bothers to take on such obsolete responsibility.
    we are reminded that we do not remember.
    the primal world.
    the primal form.
    dog.
    my little dog.
    throw it a bone.
    wake up the old man or kill him in his sleep.
    you decide.

    and now we come here to quite another matter.
    this old man. this old man sleeps most of the time. when he wakes for the few hours he does he goes to the kitchen and eats something like toast and jelly and tea. he then puts on his coat and goes for a walk.
    where he walks is not so much as who he encounters. and this time, as we observe, he encounters a young woman. they meet on a street corner waiting for the light to change or the traffic to stop coming, whichever comes first, to cross to the other side. their eyes meet once as they both glance around themselves. some sort of recognition brings them both back to look at one another again. and there it was. though neither knew the other, they began talking as they crossed the street and continued on. she told him what she did for a living, which was translating the information from market research into simple sentences that those who gathered themselves in the boardrooms could understand, including bright colored graphs and other visual aids as they were required.
    he told her he slept most of the day and took walks during which he encountered people he would end up talking with. he told her he didn't know why this happened but that it always did. he didn't mind it but could do without it. he had no use for contact with anyone. knowing who they were and what they did or thought about or believed in only took up space in his brain and remained there until he forgot it or it was replaced by other information, usually about someone else. he never used this information for anything he was aware of. and it all started with this mutual sense of recognition.
    at least you're out meeting people, she said. a lot of people your age just hole themselves up and never come out.
    my age? a lot of people your age do the same thing, my little pretty.
    yeah, i suppose they do. you're right. either way, it doesn't hurt to go out and meet people.
    that is not why i am out. i do not come out for walks to meet people. it just happens, that's all. i let it happen when it does but i don't look for it, though i know it will. and it's always the other person who starts the conversation. i don't.
    still, it doesn't hurt, does it?
    other than at times for it to be mildly annoying, no.
    how is it annoying?
    when it comes up and i have to think about it, or talk about it.
    we don't have to talk about it.
    we just did.
    yes, but we didn't have to though.
    no?
    no.
    i disagree. but i've found from conversations like this one before that it is pointless to disagree. i therefore agree.
    well, you didn't have to. i would agree that it is pointless to disagree about such a thing. i would be willing to agree with you if you would prefer.
    it's no matter either way. you can if you want to.
    and he stopped as the music was going backward and the bark on the trees around him, as they walked into the park, slowly peeled itself off.
    you are somewhat unusual, he said to her.
    sometimes i am. i imagine you are too.
    i have been told that i am. i've seen this world burning with green fire. is that unusual?
    not that i know of. who hasn't seen things like that?'
    i suppose you're right. then what is so unusual about it that other people find it unusual?
    i don't know. but i do know that i have to get back to work. i'll see you.
    i don't think so.
    no?
    i rarely run into anyone i meet like this more than once. even when i do, we usually don't talk again but just nod and walk by.
    that's what i'll do then. maybe.
    yes. maybe.
    and she walked away out of the other side of the park.
    he spun in circles.

    high and by. away from it. away from the erratic chaotic damaged and pain filled negative psychic sos transmissions of everyone around him. dogs hit by cars laying in the street growling at anyone who approaches them. fuck them. let them lie there. let them wander around lost in a daze of confusion. it doesn't matter to him. oh no. not any more.
    he's done his own time and been up and saved by some unbeknownst trick hand o' fate thing of either mercy or just plain dumb luck. it doesn't matter too much to him anyway it is. he needs nothing to be proven one way or the other. he's just cruising through it feeling just fine and dandy and that's all he needs to know. the rest can fight it out amongst themselves all they want to about is not and is too dada he's been hearing from them going on about since he ran into them on the playground. and that's what of anything it is all about. and who needs it? not him. he just wanted to go home. and went home he did. found his place out of it all going on around him where no one can reach in and grab him back or lure him with trinkets and gizmos and promises about nothing.
    gone.
    goner.
    gonest.
    zap!
    push the button and pull the plug and watch and wait while it all disintegrates before your very eyes. people going down in green flames all around you. let them go. they'll only take you down with them. fuck them. you don't owe them anything. no love. no peace. no harmony. no compassion. no forgiveness. nothing. you don't owe them a goddamn thing. let them blame you and accuse you of all the evil and guilt they want to. let them curse your name through gnashing teeth and screaming anger and hatred of you and all you represent to them which they made up in their own heads and imagination. and sit back and relax. have another cigarette and laugh as they drop like flies and you shine the fuck right on by them all.
    you are the past. you are the present. you are the future. even they will admit they are not a part of it with you. this is your world and if they don't like it they can leave it and go back to wherever they came from - if they came from anywhere at all and aren't just figments of your overactive imagination. and they can rot there. it has nothing to do with you. you can give them what you want to but don't expect them to give you anything back - nothing you can use. they just take. they cannot tolerate anyone having anything more than they do. and their mission and goal in their short miserable lives is to take whatever they can from others as they can get their hands on. even when they trade they only do so if they're the ones who get the better deal. this gives them a sense of power. let them have it all as much as they want. let them choke on it.
    they can never take your power away from you. they can only take things. unless you give it to them. they don't know what that power is. they do not have it themselves. they may possess what to them symbolizes power but there's a big difference between what symbolizes power and what is actually power. actual power needs no symbols. power exists in the minds of those who know what actual power is. all the rest are grabbing at empty images no matter what rare substance they may be made out of and become increasingly more frustrated and angered when what they struggled so hard to get their hands on and to posses and control doesn't give them any more power than they had to begin with.
    that's the joke nobody seems to get. the power found within through defeat and surrender rather than the powerlessness that drives one to chase after victory and domination. anyone can pick up a stick or an idea and hit someone else over the head with it. what does that mean? what is proven? but it's those who can hold onto themselves no matter how much is taken away or how many sticks or ideas they are hit over the head with and dragged down in defeat and hung up in surrender that have the actual power the others can only wet their pants and drool on themselves in fits of lust and envy dreaming they could have it. but they don't. they don't recognize it when they see it.
    they wouldn't know what to do with it if they had it. they do have it as everyone has it but they are unable or unwilling to do what needs to be done to find it and possess it - which is to mainly swallow their own pride until they choke on it and it makes them puke their guts up. puke up all the wretched miserable toxic waste their heads are full of that keeps them from seeing clearly who and what they really are - which until they can clearly see, is nothing. nothing any one of us owes anything to - except what we decide to give them purely and freely given from whatever goodness lies in our hearts. what do they give us of their hearts? because a heart that isn't ripped open about 100 times a day has very little goodness left in it. none that is accessible anyway. and who among them is willing to open themselves to that? open to the possibilities of it that transcend the actuality of it. they suit themselves up in armor and carry as many weapons as they can. to them, this is war. the common ground is where they fight their battles against one another. to the death. to the end. the death and the end that never comes. just the ongoing war of vengeance that no side will settle for anything than total victory, domination and control over their enemies so that they may exact their justified justice upon them for their crimes they are automatically found guilty of just for being the ones who opposed them. all the evil nasty things the victors did to "defend" themselves from being defeated and having to surrender and admit their crimes are quickly and quietly forgotten.
    huh?
    yeah that's what we say as we sit here in the cafes all day and night and look into this mess you've gotten yourselves into and don't seem to be able to get out of, or even know enough to want to get out of it.
    huh?
    our mantra. our incantation. our spell casting. our magic word. our chant. one of the many names of our god - the most holy of holies and most mundane of the mundane.
    huh?
    the gate and the door to whatnotville and it's heaven and paradise. we don't know nothing. the way back to the garden - if there ever was one. the code word. the key. the gift. the salvation. the enlightenment and realization.
    huh?
    that which passes beyond all understanding. the sweet chariot swinging low. the boat on the shore. the train in the station. the hint. the clue.
    huh?
    just look them dead in the eye while they're doing whatever they're going on about in whatever form of language they're going on about it in and say unto them - huh?
    ignorance is bliss. not ignorance of what is to be known, but ignorance of them and all that they think, say and do. ignorance of that is the most peaceful joyful bliss there is.
    huh?
    turn them down.
    turn them off.
    forget.
    light another cigarette.
    it's so good to see you again old friend.
    welcome home.
    huh?

    and none of that was it either.
    he came home.
    hello?
    anybody here?
    hello?
    no reply.
    not a sound except the creaking of the floorboards.
    hmmm.
    fuck.
    oh well.
    he made some coffee.
    he paced around the kitchen while it was brewing.
    trying to think.
    trying to remember.
    or was he trying to forget?
    forget how he felt?
    something was twisting itself around inside him.
    trying to get out?
    trying to get in?
    was it something of himself?
    was it himself?
    was it someone or something else?
    who?
    what?
    was he infected?
    was he inoculated?
    was he cursed or blessed?
    did he escape or was he surrounded?
    was he free or was he caged?
    which did he fear the most?
    was it over or was it just beginning?
    he sat at the table by the window looking out at the garden.
    maybe someone was out there.
    someone besides himself.
    maybe he was beside himself.
    he laughed at that.
    stuck on an elevator that wouldn't go to the top floor.
    playing solitaire without a full deck.
    having lost his marbles and listening to the bats in the belfry.
    and business along those lines.
    he'd been here before.
    out of his mind, so to speak.

    and so how had it come to this?
    and was this anywhere close to how it should be?
    was it close to where anything should be?
    what?
    huh?
    too much thinking and not enough drinking.
    that's where he'd been - out and about hitting the bars.
    trying to get down down down.
    and it was one drink and another and then another.
    and he forgot how many more from one to another.
    he had accomplished that much anyway.
    from one dark hole to another.
    the faces a river of blurred vision with a cacophony of songs playing on a dozen jukeboxes.
    songs dripping sickly sweet with popular emotions of love and all its convoluted variations.
    and still he could not drown himself into it.
    what did it take to merge and become one with this mass of sweating grunting fashion show known as the human race?
    what were they able to do that he could not?
    stop fucking thinking!
    and as the door of the last place he found himself in closed behind him with the taste of one more for the road on his tongue as numb as his tongue was his brain was still spinning around as madly as ever.
    it acted as if it had a beanie copter blades on it that were about the only thing keeping him on his feet which as far as he knew he'd left them somewhere back ago.
    and still here he was now.
    he was able to take all that off as easy as he took off his coat and toss it onto the floor.
    and in the time it took to light another cigarette, it was gone.
    he was stone cold alive and kicking back into the full tilt radioactive psychic free for all of thinking too goddamn much for his own good.
    well, so much for that.
    he opened up his notebook to where he left off and continued on same as before.

    the phone rang as he uncapped his pen.
    yeah, he said.
    hello? is this the party to whom we are speaking?
    it could be.
    well if it is, this is your wake up call.
    my wake up call?
    yes. that is what we said. that is what this is.
    and?
    and what?
    well, you called me to wake me up. what are you waking me up for?
    we are waking you up for what is happening.
    which is?
    which is what you should already know.
    and if i don't?
    well, if you don't already know what it is that is happening that's hardly our problem now, is it?
    i suppose it isn't. then whose problem is it?
    it seems to be yours.
    but i didn't know about it until you called.
    that isn't our problem either.
    well, i guess not. thank you for calling, but you didn't need to. i was awake and probably will be for quite awhile now.
    just calling to make sure.
    well don't worry about it.
    it's our job to worry about everything.
    is it?
    yes. that's what we're here for. it's you who doesn't have to worry about anything. everything is being taken care of. we are in control.
    i've had a call like this before - and maybe that's what i'm worried about.
    well, that is your option, but it won't change anything. this is the way it is and has been and will be. get used to it. have another cigarette. gaze out the window. it will come to you when you are ready. until then, relax.
    yeah - right.
    or else don't. do you think we care either way?
    do you?
    we do and we don't. as long as you don't interfere with what is happening and what we are doing.
    and i suppose you're not going to tell me what you're doing either.
    we already told you, remember?
    i remember something, but i can't seem to quite recall what it was.
    recalling it is very simple.
    is it?
    yes.
    could you give me a hint?
    yes. call it by name and it will come to you.
    what name?
    but the voice on the phone was replaced by [p q2vno3589;pru
    he hung up.
    he put his boots on.
    he took a face out of its place and sat back at the table.
    try again.
    please hang up and try again.
    he tried again.
    a name.
    a name out of all the names.
    all the names there are that he could choose from.
    which one?
    and did it matter which one he chose?
    each name would recall its own part of the information that he wanted.
    he knew that much so far anyway.
    but the name that would recall all the information?
    it was on the tip of his tongue.
    he could taste it.
    but he couldn't speak it.
    he still didn't know what it was.
    access to the main program.
    not only had he not been able to do that but nothing he had come across so far would admit to there being a main program to gain access to.
    but he knew there was.
    a name.
    like a password.
    to remember.
    to recall.
    a key.
    but even if he had a key - the key - where was the lock?
    he looked around.
    there were no locks.
    what was locked?
    as far as he knew he had unlocked everything he had found.
    everything accessible to him.
    accessible as it now stands.
    as it stood before him.
    but nothing stood before him.
    nothing as far as the eye could see.
    his eye.
    unlock nothing?
    nothing being the main program?
    there was no main program.
    there was no lock.
    there was no key.
    there was no name.
    he took a face from its place from among the faces of the human race.
    as he fell from grace.
    whatever the fuck any of that meant.
    whatever the fuck any of it meant.

    and there was this other place and another time.
    down.
    down.
    down.
    down into the here and now.
    from transcending heights where waves of energy signal and carry you anywhere anytime you want to go.
    you want to go.
    or you don't want to go.
    you hold onto the here and now.
    the here and now that is the expression of all that passes through it.
    passing through it.
    it is only what we are passing through on our way home which is the here and now.
    home being the source of the transmission of images around us and we ourselves.
    passing through the transmission of images anywhere anytime we want to go.
    this is who and what we are.
    gloria.
    g-l-o-r-i-a.
    gloria.
    up.
    up.
    up.
    up we go out of it again.
    back into it.
    it being that which is not covered in the description of it.
    though what is covered in the description of it is also it.
    we ain't talking some astral plane bullshit here.
    forget that.
    we're talking here and now.
    it isn't just nothing.
    it isn't just anything.
    it isn't just something.
    it isn't just everything.
    and you know what it is, but it isn't just what you know.
    you know?
    there is no reason to be confused by this unless you want to be confused by it.
    or maybe need to be confused by it.
    to reach an understanding of it through your confusion.
    it is one thing.
    one thing divided.
    it is what it is and remains what it is even as much as it has been divided.
    divided by itself.
    into infinity.
    on the head of a pin.
    it is a variable in an equation of itself.
    the equation is the variable as the variable is the equation.
    all is variable within the equation.
    whatever is needed to be variable to make the equation variable.
    all is true.
    all is false.
    yes?
    no?
    true?
    false?
    and does it matter?
    what is written?
    what is happening?
    what?
    huh?
    you got it now, don't you?

    let's try again.
    he'll get it this time.
    he knows.
    he knows what he doesn't know.
    is this the key?
    is this the lock?
    is this the main program?
    another place.
    another time.
    another here and now as all heres and nows are transitory.
    we are passing through.
    and there is a name.
    and one knows the name.
    the name is unspeakable.
    the name is unthinkable.
    that is the name.
    how many have been called this name?
    how many answer to this name when it is called?

    but this is not it either.
    as he sits by himself - beside himself.
    in a cafe.
    a notebook.
    a cup of coffee.
    a cigarette.
    a table by the window.
    you are free to interpret or interrupt this anyway you want or need to.
    this is the here and now.
    what else can it be?
    is that important?
    do we remember?
    do you remember
    who are we to tell you?
    who we are we are telling you by telling you about him telling you about us.
    me, myself and i.
    and my little dog who knows me.
    and history is written.
    my little dog barks at things that go bump in the night.

    panic.
    it makes him panic.
    tomorrow.
    yesterday.
    no.
    yes.
    panic.
    he feels this panic.
    he knows where it comes from.
    tomorrow.
    yesterday.
    today.
    maybe the aliens.
    the bug things from inner/outer dimensions.
    the sense of aboveness that isn't above.
    it's here and now.
    doors that lead only to themselves.
    always being on the threshold.
    he is not a poet.
    the poets are all dead.
    their words are ashes and dust in the wind - pissing in the wind.
    lean to the left.
    lean to the right.
    stand up.
    sit down.
    fight! fight! fight!
    that's the only poem one needs to know.
    the voices.
    the voices without faces.
    the sound.
    the noise.
    the beginning.
    the ending.
    which is worse?
    the key that unlocks us from our sense that we are not already free.
    what freedom more than this - the chaotic self-annihilation?
    he doesn't know.
    order.
    discipline.
    the drumbeat cadence of language.
    the language of knowledge.
    the knowledge of language.
    circles within and without circles.
    an empty world.
    an empty vessel.
    how much can be captured?

    and he did not stand before them.
    he did not compromise to this.
    he became and remained silent from them.
    him and them.
    but he is them to them.
    one of them that they hate and fear.
    we ourselves who stand before you all.
    who stand beside ourselves before you.
    who compromised to this?
    11 million.
    listen.
    pick a card, any card.
    out of a hat.
    remember.
    forget.
    and somewhere else this comes into being what it is.
    somewhere else here and now.
    it comes into being what it is.
    what it has been being what it is.
    and like the machine we are building that by the mechanism of its design will save us from building the machine as it will fail to save us from building it.
    that is the design of its mechanism.
    the machine.
    ourselves and the machine.
    understand this.
    understand that.
    understand it.
    do you understand?
    this is the property of it and it is the property of ourselves.
    design.
    mechanism.
    machine.
    salvation.
    the salvation from salvation.
    what is the worst thing but to be saved?
    salvation from the need of salvation
    salvation from the desire for salvation.
    salvation from the fear of salvation.
    remember - this is all some kind of a joke.
    what?
    huh?
    remember the holy words.
    ha!
    and indeed some kind of joke it is.
    can you get yourself to that?
    can you see through all the pointless madness and confusion of it around you and get to that?
    can you get to this?
    what is this?
    not that.
    but still it.
    a game we play to amuse ourselves.
    how boring it would be.
    can you get to us?
    where are we but the here and now?
    would you know us if you saw us?
    would we know you?
    can you see through all the reasoned rationlogical purpose of it and get to that?
    what is it you need to get to us?
    if one wanted to get to us.
    get to us before we get to you.
    and get to you we will.
    get to you we already have.
    we got to you through the joke passing through the here and now - that you are stuck in like bugs in amber.
    passing through the joke to anywhere and any time we might want to - as long as it's here and now.
    all the information we need to get to you through ourselves.
    or is it getting ourselves through?
    or is there any real difference?
    do you remember?
    do you forget?
    are we insane?

    12/29
    and the truth of this is not truth.
    does this need to be stated?
    is it understood?
    are these questions that need to be answered?
    and those who have found no meaning in no meaning.
    who has stopped dead in their tracks and accept no meaning as their only truth and hold on to it as tightly as any dogma of those who accept meaning as their only truth?
    is either more or less limiting than the other?
    but good luck convincing them of that - either of them.
    denial of possibilities that confront us every moment urging us to decide something or the other - anything - that goes against our truth.
    our one truth.
    our truth of meaning.
    our truth of not meaning.
    and those who follow no path that leads into the dark beyond the light of their comprehension.
    and the nontruth of this is truth.
    not that we ourselves know anything of this.
    this is all going through his mind whirl-a-gig thing.
    nevermind.
    never never mind.

    and the strange yet hauntingly familiar dream perhaps begin to appear in their minds.
    he thinks maybe at first... what?
    let us tell you.
    there is someone looking for him.
    this is what he thinks maybe at first.
    you see?
    dreams.
    cheeseburger.
    strange yet hauntingly familiar.
    minds.
    there is this woman who is looking for her brother.
    maybe.
    or this is as it is imagined by him.
    their names are kottog and gottok.
    they are twins.
    they've been parted for a long while, though for them time is not as it might be for us.
    this is the dreamtime.
    or something like that.
    a film.
    as it is played time exists frame by frame and moment by moment.
    then it is stopped.
    cut.
    edited.
    rescripted.
    reshot.
    in another time.
    in maybe a more real time.
    but still the time of here and now.
    then it is put back in and played again.
    film time resumes.
    frame by frame.
    moment by moment.
    without anyone in the film noticing any change or any stopping and starting.
    and so he is in the film and out of the film.
    the twin brother.
    he is in the film and out of the film at the same time, as she is.
    the twin sister.
    or the program.
    a kind of virtual reality thing - except real.
    programmed and run.
    then stopped.
    reprogrammed.
    then run again.
    bit by bit.
    moment by moment.
    synapse by synapse.
    with no one in the program being the wiser as their time and experience only happens when the program is running.
    the here and now of it.
    he is in the program and out of the program at the same time, as she is.
    and that is why she is looking for him.
    he has gotten into the program and has changed it.
    and those of the council want him stopped.
    but he has hidden himself in the program away from them.
    she has been sent out to find him and bring him back.
    and each time she does, he changes the program so she doesn't.
    the time came when she found him in a cafe.
    she sat at his table.
    i was hoping to find you here, she said.
    were you?
    yes.
    well it looks like you have.
    yes it does.
    and?
    and it's been awhile, hasn't it?
    has it?
    it has. it wasn't easy to find you. it would have been impossible but you left clues behind. once i figured out what those were and where they led to... well, here we are. i imagine that you wanted to be found.
    that's very good. but do you mind telling me who you are and who you think i am and what the hell you're talking about?
    you know what i'm talking about.
    do i?
    yes, you do. and as to who i am - don't you remember your own sister?
    maybe. what of it?
    well, do you or don't you?
    as i said, what of it?
    quite a lot actually, and you know it.
    do i?
    yes - or you should anyway.
    we've been through this too many times, haven't we? it has yet to go anywhere. aren't you tired of it yet?
    aren't you?
    yes. but i'll keep at it as long as you do. longer.
    i doubt that.
    do you? is that what you're hoping, that you'll wear me down?
    enough to get you to stop what you're doing.
    yet you don't know what i am doing.
    you don't think so? i think it's you who doesn't know what you're doing.
    perhaps you're right. but i'm doing it anyway. and i may be doing what i'm doing without knowing what i'm doing.
    and you think that's right?
    right or not - who's to stop me?
    i will.
    ha! not without the help of the others.
    if i need to.
    that's all you're good for - organizing the others against me. without them you are nothing.
    and what are you?
    i don't know, but i don't need others to make me something. and so far i've been able to hold my own against you and all you've sent against me. i am doing no more than surviving and continuing. i am survival and continuance.
    at the expense of others.
    if need be, yes. as it happens. i don't mean to but it's better than at my own expense. and don't you do the same? maybe even more so?
    i sacrifice myself for others.
    but you still survive. survival is always at someone else's expense.
    and so this keeps going?
    does it?
    it doesn't need to.
    no, probably maybe it doesn't. but i have no idea how to stop it.
    you could stop fighting us.
    and you could stop fighting me.
    i doubt the others would agree to that even if i did - which i do.
    you do?
    yes. of course i do. you're my own brother. do you think i want to fight with you?
    then why are you?
    i have my responsibility to the others.
    as do i.
    who?
    i am not without support within the family and the council.
    no - i suppose not. i have known this and have my suspicions as to who they are. i would not trust them if i were you.
    and who should i trust?
    i suppose it would be too much to ask for you to trust me?
    yes, it would.
    why? you and i are the ones who could put this all back.
    ideally, perhaps. but are you willing to trust me?
    i don't see anything about you to trust.
    nor i about you.
    so, we're stuck.
    i suppose so. except i am willing to trust you.
    you are?
    yes.
    i don't believe you.
    you don't have to. just tell me what you want and i will give it to you.
    i want you to stop what you are doing.
    which is?
    you know.
    do i?
    yes, you do.
    i do what i do only because you do what you do. if you stop, i will stop.
    and neither of us will stop.
    it doesn't seem that way.
    so it continues.
    yes, it does.
    well, i tried. i found you, but i suppose you'll go into hiding again.
    probably.
    and you won't give over access to the program?
    no.
    why? we could fix everything.
    in whose favor?
    in everybody's.
    that is impossible and you know it.
    well, we could get close - closer than we are now.
    i don't think so.
    and he stopped the program and rewrote it so this never happened.
    it was his only defense - or offense.

    12/31
    which is nothing.
    nothing is nothing - unless it is something.
    and they will laugh at this.
    they have it all figured out.
    it's not worth the effort thinking about it.
    it is nothing.
    born into a world full of frustrated anger.
    one and all.
    nothing is free.
    laugh at it.
    laugh at it all.
    and when the blindness comes from within ringing in your head.
    laugh.
    laugh at it now.
    and continuing this poem, or whatever it is. on into the future time when it won't make any more sense than it does now. and what portions survive there of and somesuch along on and on. with everyone now struggling for freedom and avoiding responsibility, as what else does the freedom they are looking for mean? freedom from responsibility either for themselves or for anyone else. the responsibility rests on someone other than themselves. carefree. without care for anyone or anything. which isn't easy to find. one finds oneself irresponsibly caring for another or others or something. it's part of our soul that we have yet to be able to figure out how to discard and get rid of. jettison the extra weight. mass. fly with wings of light to the heavens above the earth. it isn't easy to find but it can be. one can lose that abstract sense of caring. and abstract it is as who among us is able to care for another when none of us is able to care for ourselves? this emotion that is attached to us like our appendix. something that might have had a purposeful function at one time, but now is only noticed when it becomes infected and threatens to burst and fill our body with poison and needs to be removed. as that is the case now with caring. maybe when we were young tribal creatures we needed this feeling for one another to collectively survive. mother and father and children of all ages. but in our now technologically enlightened state of affairs we have arrived ourselves at this where caring is encumbering and limiting to our freedom to explore the fullness of our lives. those who love us and we are expected to love them in return are balls and chains. to lose that is to gain our freedom. and to also lose those who we were originally bound to at birth and during our childhood. and to lose the feeling and emotion of it itself so that we do not break ourselves away free from one primal group of people who hold us to be responsible only to reattach that emotion to others who come along allowing them to hold us down to responsibility as well. one does not go to a doctor to have one's inflamed appendix removed only to have another one put in its place, do we? why look for trouble? once is enough.
    or something like that.
    out of all the things we were and still are thinking, this was one of them. just something else we'd throw in. no more or less. it's not like it's a philosophy or something. one thing you should not do and that is to think of any of this as philosophy. big mistake. it is only our madness. just something that is nothing.
    nevermind.
    but what else?
    what is it we are thinking of?
    what is it we should be thinking of?
    what is it we should care about?
    what is it you want us to feel responsible for?
    and who are you?

    we leave it to you.
    take on all the responsibility for everything you want to.
    care about whatever you will.
    we are leaving.
    rats jumping off a sinking ship and swimming for their lives.
    man, woman and child.
    and whoever gets to go first, goes first.
    whoever can push their way to the front of the crowd.
    panic.
    pandemonium.
    panarchy.
    all the doors and windows and gates are open.
    whoever can get out or get in whatever way they can.
    we'll be watching and waiting for you on the other side of it as we always have been.
    as we always will be.
    as this is who and what we are.
    greedy selfish bastards thinking only for themselves.

    ding dong the witch is dead
    the wicked witch
    the witch is dead
    ding dong the wicked witch is dead

    the long triumphant flags and symbols and idols are lying in the dirt trampled underfoot. the total breakdown of faith. and what is left to believe in? nothing as nothing ever was. the seas have covered the earth. the fires have burnt down every house and all that was within. and we who have escaped this fate or judgment - and it doesn't matter which - and have survived by following no one but ourselves.
    and this is what it was all along. this is what we have been trying to tell you but you could not or would not hear us. our words were twisted into other meanings you preferred to believe in without question. you let the masters of this world lie to you as long as they put food on your table. as long as they protect you from yourselves.
    and now there is no one. no one to feed you. no one to protect you. you have gained the freedom you long cried out for. your chains are broken. you are loose. but so is everyone else.
    and we stand on the hills and look out and watch as you fight among yourselves over nothing that is left. the nothing that there is beneath the something you believed it was. and what are we to do? we wait. we watch and wait. and then we die.
    the city is ours. we entered into it without anyone to stop us. the gates were open as they are open still. and in the city we found the garden. and in the garden we found the tree. and sitting beneath the tree were those who welcomed us home again. those who watched and waited.
    it is said that we ate of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. and the knowledge of good and evil came over our minds and hearts. and this knowledge is what sent us out of the garden to discover what good and evil meant. and what it meant was destruction. and when that destruction was complete and all was destroyed of what was good and evil and we were left with nothing, we returned.
    and we eat now of the tree of life and we are alive and living without our mad dreams of before of all that was good and evil. when the spell that was cast upon us has lost its power as we no longer acknowledge it and forgot it.
    and we lit another cigarette.
    and we watch those still caught in it. we watch them all fight among themselves with each individual and each group and each nation believing they are on the side of good and all who oppose them are on the side of evil. and this war and its destruction goes on forever. there is no time. and all concerned refusing to give up until their good has triumphed over the others' evil. until they are free. until there is justice. until evil no longer raises its ugly head. but what good does not contain evil?
    and we wait upon the walls of the city whose gates are open. this imaginary city of the imaginary minds. we do not know whether we should laugh or cry so we do neither but watch and wait for those to come return to us so we may welcome them home. so there may be celebration for the death of victory.
    we walk the streets of the imaginary city and see that they are deserted though there are images of a great population among us. but few we come across reflect the light of the living in their eyes as we look at them. with grim determination they turn away hurrying somewhere else.
    and this babylon and this jerusalem exist everywhere one with the other parallel in space and time both being here and now. the imaginary city is not someplace else. it is some other mind of imagination. the doors and windows and gates lead and look into and out of from one to the other. imagine what you will. imagine where you want to be. this is as it has always been and will be the imaginary city. and we watch and wait to welcome you home.

    and this is a story that is at the heart of it very simple. but it covered over with layers of complexity. and it is going through this complexity of it that the simplicity of it is reached and found. this is where we begin. we write and tell you what we can of it. it will always be not enough and will always be too much. it will never be what it is we are trying to tell you because what it is we are trying to tell you and have been trying to tell you and will continue to try to tell you for as long as we can in the time that remains is something we cannot tell you because you already know what it is and you expect it to be something else. we can only remind you. you are the ones who need to remember what it is yourselves. we cannot do that for you no matter what we may say.
    and what we write as we go through the complexity of it to get to the simplicity of it will seem to be needlessly confusing. it is not really. and we do not mean to confuse you but you must look through the confusion to come to see that. and partly we need to confuse you to get you out of the entanglement of the complexity of it to get you to the simplicity of it.
    but it comes down simply to this, if we can figure out how to write it, you can figure out how to read it.
    yes?
    no?
    maybe?
    huh?
    ha!