4/19
    yeah and well, dada dada dada and dancing down the street in a special thing about whatever nowhere.
    and was it anything we really remember?
    shifting like billy pilgrim along the raw edge worn smooth by our endless passing.
    waking up having no idea what day it is - not even a clue.
    it's breaking apart.
    it's falling away.
    now as we fly out the windows.
    now as we leave all our poetic fantasies on a shelf and run for the deep deep woods.
    our fantasies that will endlessly remain fantasies as long as we think of them as such.
    it's time to get real.
    it's time to take the final hit that lets us let go - let go.
    cuz in letting go we finally hold on.
    it's time to quit crawling and get up and dance - and dance.

    and what part can he play?
    what can he do to finally break you out of the ice?
    he cannot be free as long as you are trapped.
    what is it he can say or do?
    it seems nothing at all.
    and it's almost like he doesn't exist.
    fallen from flight and broken here on this earth.
    looking up.
    eyes wide and seeing where all the lines are drawn across your faces so narrow and serious as you plot your own destruction.
    he calls your names but you won't turn from your course.
    you follow the ancient maps through the sea of monsters toward the edge of the world.
    when you should know it.
    you don't get it.
    you follow the ritual without knowing the meaning of the words you chant - or the true power they could give you.

    to hear what words you speak.
    to feel the pain.
    to look into your eyes and see the hope unanswered.
    if he could hold up a mirror.
    if he could take your hand and dance.
    how can he say anything?
    how can he find the words?
    it's right here among us.

    4/20
    and more of this madness that isn't madness - it's their madness he is ruled by.
    he is free, but because they hate freedom, he cannot express what he feels.
    he cannot be who he is.
    he was born.
    he was given a name.
    and the name had an identity put on it by those who gave it to him - the world.

    bring out the diamonds.
    pave the streets with gold.

    is he closer to connecting to anything?
    is he closer to losing his goddamn mind?
    where are you?
    you must know he needs you, don't you?
    he needs you.
    he needs you.
    he needs you.
    are you a reflection of himself?
    is he a reflection of you?
    does it make a difference?
    reflections of each other on and on forever through the storm - the eye of the storm.
    the inside looking out.
    or the outside looking in.
    into dimension dementia blinking through the eternal moments.

    4/21
    the products of greed.
    the closing of the heart.
    chew on your mind - eat the peyote brain as it squirts the juices of euphoria through the blood.
    the thrilled heartbeat bringing the rush of sensation within and without.
    sing and dance your new freedom which for ages has been caged within you.

    how he cries for you.
    how he cries what should be tears of joy laughing with you naked in the garden.
    how he cries what are instead burning tears of grief in mourning for your being crushed under the weight of the civilizations.
    the babylons.
    the romes.
    the americas.
    the death of billions of souls stillborn in the bodies of zombie children who grow to kill their young in return.
    in the turning.
    turning the screw through the heart - through the brain.

    how can he speak of mystery when you refuse to understand it because it is mysterious?
    there are new words.
    if it's words you want, look to the ones already written by those who can express what is in their heart better than he ever could.
    but words will not give you understanding - and understanding needs no words.
    he does not know where it comes from or how it is delivered.
    all he knows is that it fills one with -

    and to be among angels.
    and to be among gods.
    this is it.
    this is the way.
    forget nirvana.
    forget satori.
    why struggle to gain what you already possess?
    forget salvation.
    you have done nothing wrong that anyone among us would not have done in your place.
    you are free, if you declare yourself free.
    and you are.
    just say it.
    be it.

    to walk the earth.
    to walk in the garden.
    to see the shack towns of hopelessness.
    to see the mansion prisons of isolation.
    to see all chained to their ideas of despair.
    to walk through and past it all.
    to be a god among gods who have yet to remember they are gods.
    what can he say to them when it has all been said?
    when so much is to be done...

    in his strength lies his weakness and in his weakness lies strength.
    in his wholeness he is divided and divided he finds his unity.
    he peers through the many windows his eyes become.
    he sees all things and sees nothing.
    he looks at nothing and sees everything.
    he is a center of a universe of centers.
    all is him.
    he is liquid and formless.
    he is each breath he takes.
    he stands alone but is apart from none and nothing.
    he is something and it doesn't matter a whole lot what it is.

    the changing tide of winds.
    the empty sky.
    the eyes bright.
    where angels fear to tread.
    on the beach.
    dancing alone.

    we were lost.
    and we found ourselves lost.
    in the forest.
    in the mega-city.
    in the holy womb.
    bring it out from where it comes.
    the depths of our souls.
    diamond mind.
    compressed layers of living experience.
    he wants to cry but he is tired of crying for all the victims in this world, because everyone is a victim.

    and it's breaking apart.
        apart.
        apart.
    he's tired of writing that down.
        again.
        again.
        again.
    he's breaking apart.
        apart.
        apart.
    turning in circles.
        in circles.
        in circles.
        in and out in spirals.
    he can explain nothing anymore.
        correction: he never could explain anything.

    and he was just thinking of youth.
    the sick skin of youth.
    smooth yellowed death black opened mouth with simple mind.
    a wound infected and running.
    and he was just thinking after that about how when he was thinking about nothing but something else.
    and a clockwork.
    and a sun and moon.
    and a rotation.
    and words.
    and then afterward in this story about many electric -
        many the electric -
    and a beginning and an end to the nothingness of everything theoretical physicists are nowadays pondering on their death beds.
    a sleep that comes between dreams.
    between the dreaming of dreams - aching.
    a mind waiting toward the edge of dreaming.
    aching.
    on the edge toward a movement toward dreaming on the edge.
    when we wake.
        from sleep.
        from dreaming.
    he almost doesn't care where the words go - it is not words he is writing.
    aching.
    a sleep between dreaming.
    repeat it enough times.
    swallow.
    get up from the chair.
    cross the room.
    on the edge between dreams in a sleep between dreams.
    a line.
    breathing in and out.
    cycles.
    waiting.
    aching.
    a finger twitching.
    a mouth part open.

    into the dangerous territory where we fear our minds over anything we might want to see.
    turning away from ourselves.
    turning away from each other.
    we are.
    we were.

    a painting on a wall.
    an eternal spoken word.
    and where do we go?
    and where does it come from?
    and what does it mean?
    we talk and talk.
    we don't know anything.

    4/22
    the movement.
    rest your head on the dirty glass table underneath the restaurant of your dreams.
    the connections are made.
    walking uphill.
    trying not to breathe too hard of the moonlight.
    flames.

    4/23
    yeah - well, the problem is -
    yes, tell us what the problem is, won't you?
    yes, please tell us.
    we would like to know.
    we would like to know what questions to ask.
    but the problem is that there isn't a problem.
    no problems here.
    no way.
    no problem that doesn't have a task force attached to it.
    and a rational explanation.
    no problem at all.
    no - no - no.
    so what's the problem?
    the problem is that there are irrational explanations too, if different questions are asked.
    irrational questions.

    aaaarrghhuntoopleeeik! screamed a fingernail again and again and again.
    forcing entry into the yonder mind.
    the flip top bip-bop deluxe - and travel expenses also included at the dawn of our own experience which envelopes the later.
    can't think!
    can't think!
    can't think!

    4/25
    turning in thin air.
    and he can't think of a damn thing.
    not the way they think about it.
    they've got themselves so locked up.
    locked up in the way they think.
        control.
        predictable.
        rational.
    everything else is a fantasy - wrong.
    everything he thinks.
    into the noise of babylon breaking.

    4/26
    yeah - between fear and desire.
    and a song on the radio.
    and the time of night.
    it could be him - but it's not.
    it's not him - the not him.
    and he can't understand why the not him keeps pushing him away.
    not with hatred, but with the word love always on its lips.
    i love you, but please go away, it says.
    and the not him goes where he cannot go - does things he cannot do.
    and the not him has everything while he has nothing.
    the not him is the universe.
    or is it just a reflection of himself.

    haunted faces in the late night.
    haunted out of dreams and memory.
    i cannot help you, she said.
    and she led him to the doors which at first were open and then closed to revel they had mirrors on them.
    so, what was that?

    4/28
    and it is in the movement among us - both body and mind (which together are spirit).

    4/29
    and it is almost as if something else were involved.
    in the process of thinking or whatever it is that we actually do in our heads and believing that one two three - six six six - floating around about np    0v57 and this doesn't matter - doesn't matter - the rain sky puddle earth.
    breathing.
    he was breathing.
    he was breathing.

    so - yeah - the clocks are quite mad as is not him or him he presumes in yes, thinking about dada-ananda who speaks a mean streak sometimes after usually midnight with dawn before one knows it coming up fast on the other side of a space not of space and a time not of time.
    he has not gone far enough - not far enough at all.

    yeah yeah yeah.
    so in the cross in-between each kind of rain drop looking like substance glowing up in your face like a few moments from yesterday's news which is language in the theoretical bit disguised as knife plunging into the throat of the fat cow no matter how holy it is up its ass chew cud wheez-ball.
        yakka.
        yakka.
    so as he was saying before and would perhaps not like to say here also as well, but he will, is that what he was thinking about sometime this morning or perhaps last night was about our hero dada-ananda and flaming death but now he can't quite remember who it was.
        now -
        now -
        now -

    something a bit more tasteless? asked q-upt with raised eyebrows.
    yeah - i don't care about whatever i'm supposed to care about, coughed the strange yet strangely familiar razzbinek from another place and time.
    they tossed up a semi-living rat like animal which twitched on the otherwise spotless glass table.

    4/30
    as it continues to begin.
    into being into da.
    dada-anada is with him.
    dada-anada is guiding him into being.
    letting go.
    into being able to let go.
    into the imaginary city.
    the city of dreams come true.
    once the dreams are realized for what they are.
    what are the dreams dreaming of?
    this is it.
    we are them.

    5/1
    into the vibratory element spiral vortex chaos possibility opening all channels open alive into life sending and receiving.
    tree to tree.
    big head to big head.
    diving into the stream of consciousness.
    everybody's famous at once in the same 15 minutes - forever.
    from the centers outward and back in again.
    full tilt dada-ananda.
    deliberate irrationality - bliss.
    mind-space-time-dimension.
    connections of patterns.
    fragile web holding one plus one plus one... together.
    faith and doubt together.
    each fulfilling its part of the whole.
    everything fulfilling its part of the whole.
    unless...

    5/2
    quicksand blues.
    yeah baby, the more ya struggle the deeper you go down.
    seems the best you can do is don't do nothing at all.
    got the quicksand blues.

    many is the wave that bring one to shore of a strange new island center of vibrational energy circling spiraling hovering.
    what is known and not known.
    what is new and what is old in rhythmed moving against the tide.
    is he the only one who sees what he does?
    he doesn't know how to tell.

    and how everything is gone.
    and how everything is a dark gray.
    and how everything is an empty shell in a supermarket parking lot.
    and hearing no voice.
    and hearing no name.
    and hearing the silence.
    changing tides.
    moving winds.
    wheels.

    yes, and this is all part of what he remembers.
    this is part of his life.
    this is what is happening.
    is this what you remember too?
    what do you remember?
    do you remember about what is happening now?
    drinking the wine.
    standing in the rain.
    waiting for the others to get on the last train out of here.
    it's been so long since he remembered anything like this.
    what does he remember?
    does he remember anything at all?
    maybe it should all just be forgotten.
    but there was something, wasn't there?

    the cities have long been burned to the ground.
    the forests have almost claimed the stolen land.
    he has seen how it could be too many times to ever see this world of fear with anything other than disgust ever again.
    he has been given visions of all that will be denied.
    he is blind to this world.

    play it all again.
    look at it all again.
    tell him again how nothing is wrong, or how it's being corrected.
    if you ask him, which they never do - except to give themselves an opportunity to tell him how deceived he is.
    he doesn't think they even know what they're looking at.
    with microscopes and telescopes and multi-spectrum cameras and all that stuff.
    he doesn't think they even know what they're looking at.

    the turning of the glass.
    the rain.
    the time we remember once being who we are now.
    we could have walked away, but we chose to stay.
    one more time.
    look at it again.
    though we have no idea even what we're looking at.

    it was so long ago.
    it was something forgotten.
    it was back in the ice.
    we were chewing the backs of our heads when the monsters came out.
    and now we are here.
    and now we are who we are.
    and now it might almost be over.
    what difference does it make?
    a thousand years?
    a million?
    it's not going anywhere like this.
    so we call out from our hearts - those of us left who still can.
    and we dance.
    and we forget.
    and we remember.

    5/3
    the basic nothing of nothing.
    beyond nothing.
    we were yawning.
    besides, there was so much money to be made.

    5/4
    trapped in a world made by the human mind in which the human mind is trapped.
    going mad in a world made by the human mind in which the human mind goes mad.
    freeing oneself from a world made by the human mind from which the human mind can free itself.
    here today.
    gone tomorrow.
    bank accounts.
    weapon stockpiles.
    warehouse stores.
    the greedy get greedier.
    nothing can stop them.
    and the darkness is what the darkness is.
    it is nothing else.
    suspending between faith and doubt in a concrete world surrounding in every direction with no proof of the existence of anything other than what is as we perceive it real.
    yet that is what is and how to change it as well - perception.
    sure - yeah, try to convince anyone else of that.
    try convincing oneself.

    he's tired.
    he wants to sleep and dream forever.
    there is nothing in this world for him.
    there is nothing in him for this world.
    he's just tired.
    he's tired of it all.
    the people who don't know what they want but will bitch all day and night about not having it.
    and he is one too.

    5/7
    into round square triangle blip fire turning.
    overview.
    mixing with not here high boots full power on.
    unbeaten.
    it is a dream.
    and we're all living inside each other's dreams.
    and moving toward total ignorance.
    letting go of the known into the unknown until all is unknown what previously was known.
    and where it goes.
    and where it goes.
    he notices the cynical loneliness in everyone's eyes.
    and the longing.
    we should be on a beach.
    we should be watching the waves.
    we should be together.
    but he is here and you do not even exist.
    and he has nothing to tell you.
    he has no wisdom.
    he has no hints or advice.
    he has no poetry.
    he has no jokes.
    he has no interesting trivial facts.
    he wakes up each day - and where it goes.
    so as nothing more is reveled.
    so as dusk is coming upon us.
    so as the crow flies.

    it.
    it is a word.
    it is more than a word.
    it is less than a word.
    it is what is perceived and what perceives.
    it is the part and the whole and what is neither.
    it comes and goes.
    it came and went.
    it will be here and has already left about 10 minutes ago - or was it an hour?
    we cannot remember.
    it is what is understood by not understanding.

    5/16
    he can't get in.
    you won't come out.
    stalemate each time.
    until the last breath - when we regret the time lost.
    the time spent on nothing.
    yeah, well - so it's all dada.
    yeah, well - so dance around it again until the spell is broken by someone with rubber feet.
    yes - and he could tell a few stories here.
    some sad.
    some sadder.
    but yes - it's too late for that.
    or too early.
    now words are left unspoken.
    we are left to guess if they exist.
    then to ponder their meaning.
    yes - that was what he was going to say.
    and anything can happen.
    at any moment it could happen.
    that's what our big dirty bright modern type world has given us - lots of things that can happen at any moment.
    but enough politics for now.
    we saw through these newborn eyes of the frost dawn - our dream mind awakened to light from quite another sun.
    and 10,000 times we wept for our fallen as they had wept for us when we fell too.
    so what pointless point is this?
    what of our love?
    yes - what of our love?
    we skip by another time.

    5/17
    he wants to find the state of the ultimate sense of humor - god's sense of humor.
    he wants to be able to see a huddle of starving unwashed children and burst out laughing.
    he wants to see the punch line to old people laying soaked and dirty in their own piss and shit, their skin open with infected festering sores.
    he wants his sides to ache when he thinks of all the people poisoned by the food they are given to eat.

    and on-stage in the burning theater which doesn't exist yet - a clown with a puppet and a goat:
    clown: so, this is the end, my friend. this is the end.
    puppet: i suppose it could be - but is it?
    clown: ah, the times they are a-changing...
    puppet: i had a dream last night. in this dream i was driving a school bus. the school bus was empty except for this one girl sitting in the back seat. i got up and walked back to ask her why she was still on the bus. it took me a long time to get back there. i had to go through this kinda jungle. when i finally did get there she looked up and was crying and she said, you're supposed to be driving the bus. now we're gonna die.
    clown: i've had many many dreams in my time. i can't remember any of them. i don't think i want to remember any of them.
    goat: i was waving to these birds when suddenly there was kinda...
    puppet: i think dreams are like toadstools.
    clown: i think dreams are like bricks.
    goat: as in, as thick as a -
    puppet: bricks are sort of like toadstools.
    clown: a window is broken.
    puppet: in fact, everything is kinda like toadstools.

    5/20
    the instant death of each moment living into the rebirth of the next as the two are connected as one continuous thread eternal moment of time through the brain thinking thoughts being a thought from moment to moment one continuous thought.
    of god?
    god who?
    and into the many distances.
    and with the hope of hopelessness burning holes through our hearts.
    he wants to take it all off without knowledge.
    to fly.
    he hears himself talking and does not know the words he speaks.
    the words just go on and on into nowhere crashing into themselves.
    contradiction.
    self-feeding.
    nothing.

    5/22
    the dream.
    the ideal.
    the dream of the ideal.
    and all the frustration blocking us from it.
    and all the anger keeping us from dealing with the cause of the frustration.
    and on and on.

    5/23
    he wants to sing about how beautiful you are.
    he wants to dance with you until you dance with him.
    he wants to laugh at you until you laugh at yourself.
    he wants to break you open so you can be who you are.
    but you think he wants to kill you.

    5/24
    and the wind cries no name at all.
    and the night passes by without a soul stirring except the dead.
    but the dead belong to the day and are afraid of this eternal shadow that waits away from the sun.
    he sees all and knows nothing.
    he is alone in his own forgiveness.
    he prays to no gods.
    he talks with and among them.
    and a world with boxes to put things in.
    no mystery - just anger when something won't fit.
    and we say nothing about what is really on our minds.
    we can't even think about what's really on our minds.
    and we talk about god removed.
    and we speak in romantic rhythms about something else.

    when he sees the rapid illusion your eyes in teeth biting into apples into snails into a doorway which leads one to a small room. on the table is a letter opener. the letter opener is dead. its handle is engraved leather message from a mist covering where time is a mystery and salvation and desolation and no one knows nothing about what life is doing anymore than anyone else.
    his life has been a void. let him at least tell you that. it was a void from the start. he was sucked out of spacelessness and timelessness into this vacuum gray monotone nothing nothing nothing. he was born a poet, a painter, a singer, a dancer, a mathematician, a philosopher, a sculptor, a magician, an inventor. all of that was sucked out from him. he's had to relearn it all again, but most is probably lost never to return.
    he's always seen a world that is wonderfully beautiful. but that world is useless. there is no profit in that world. there are no plans or designs or strategies. it just happens as it happens. nothing he has seen in this world compares to that other - though both are the same world.

#87 - 11/2/87

    in one beginning after another.
    in one ear and out the mouth.
    hearing and speaking the many words of creation.
    and say:
        what is death?
        where is it?
        who does it belong to?
        what is life?
        where is it?
        who does it belong to?
    and the dada-ananda spake thusly: the people need a religion. so why not give them a religion that they cannot hurt each other with? who knows why they need religion? i don't know and i know almost everything, or so i've been told by someone whose name i forgot. religion is an auxiliary need. it is not a true need such as food or shelter. a true need is food. an auxiliary need is food that tastes good. a true need is shelter. an auxiliary need is a condo.
    the dada-ananda, our one true/false master of ceremonies, knows everything. yet the dada-ananda cannot explain everything. the dada-ananda spake thusly: to know everything is to go beyond the explanation.
    how does one know if and when they know everything?
    the dada-ananda spake thusly: doubt is the only way to knowing everything. one must constantly question all one experiences. assume nothing and take nothing on faith. faith is the road to ruin and ignorance. but this is not to say that one should not trust. trust doubt. doubt will see one through where faith is shy - where faith fears to tread. one must be the fool. most people do not doubt because it causes great amounts of distress. they become overwhelmed by having so many questions there are not immediate gratification answers to. so they begin making up answers for the questions, or they tell themselves that is silly to ask the questions to begin with. pure doubt is something very few people are strong-willed enough to maintain. this is where trust comes in. take a breather, as it were. do not rush into that dark night. it will always be there. one works with the answers one has at hand knowing that they can be disproven at any moment. there is nothing wrong with this, as long as trust does not turn into faith and one starts believing in the answers. those who stop doubting and begin to have faith take more than a breather, they fall asleep. they accept the answers one has gotten as true and meaningful when they long are not. they begin to see proof that they are not as tricks of "the devil" - whoever that is. i have been called the devil a number of times. i do not know that is not true. a test of whether you have trust in faith or doubt is that if the possibility of having everything you believe in being proven wrong frightens you, then you are the former - a prisoner of faith wallowing in the quicksand. the others may become somewhat upset, maybe even throw things around the house a bit, but then causally continue on. but this has nothing to do with how one knows if one knows everything. perhaps the closest one can get is to doubt everything - even doubting one's own doubt. at some point it hits. ka-pow! or not. sometimes it sneaks up on one gradually and one does not know it's happening except one finds oneself not worrying about everything all the time. is this knowing everything? i doubt it. one cannot possibly know everything. but one can know the essence of everything. one can look without necessarily knowing and understand the possibility of knowing. i could know that if i chose to, one says to oneself. i can see how i could know it. knowing does not happen all at once, though understanding can happen that way. knowing is a infinite process. that is why the universe was created for infinity know itself from every angle and perspective. to do this one must forget one angle and perspective in order to know another. otherwise one just goes crazy and one might as well know nothing. been there, done that. it's an experience, but that is all that is.
    and it is when the dada-ananda, the bogus guru of us all, stands at the crossroads. the dada-ananda imagined going in all directions at once. then the dada-ananda was arrested on imaginary charges of which there were many.
    and the dada-ananda was taken to the pilot. the rich men looked down from their keeps. couriers were sent back and forth with messages not to be trusted otherwise. and the pilot asked the dada-anada many questions and tried to trick the dada-ananda into admitting to certain crimes for the law was written such that anyone could be found guilty of wrongdoing that those in power needed to do so. but the dada-ananda was not tricked and answered the questions cleverly with doubt. and it was that the pilot was in need to let the dada-ananda go for he imagined an angry crowd was being gathered against him though later he found that he had been mistaken.
    and the pilot let the dada-ananda leave him saying, this fraud of yours will not continue much longer. i will be watching you. you fool the ignorant but you do not fool me.
    and this was said in private.
    the dada-ananda is rumored to have spake in reply: it is true i am a fraud and that i prey upon the ignorant for these are my most doubtful of followers, though i ask no one to follow me. but this fraud is not mine. without me it would still exist and someone else would be standing before you now. and as for as the ignorant, it was not me who made them so. you say that i fool them, and this is so. i fool them into fooling themselves. this is why i cannot fool you, because you have already fooled yourself - and shame on you. you will see nothing but what you expect to see. you have the worst ignorance of all - faith and knowledge.
    and with that the dada-ananda was allowed to go back among the people who jeered the dada-ananda until it was discovered that the dada-ananda was lost among them in the crowd and was jeering the loudest of all.

    and away from dreams.
    into the light.
    zingo!
    listen to the sound the whole world makes as we forget.
        forget.
        forget.
        forgotten.
    and we remember into the darkness to find out the many places where and when it went wrong.
    but what went wrong we did not know.
    time is a long time.
    that is why it is broken down into so many tiny pieces.
    and what is in-between?
    look underground and behind walls.
    as we forget.
    and into the awaking moving sideways through the thing itself.
    the voyages are over.
    we are here.
    we need to gather what we have brought along.
    everything is here.
    we've looked away long enough.
    we've looked out into nothing.
    and our dreams are the dream.
    we cannot make a mistake.
    even though we walk away, we still follow.
    even though we sit down, we still follow.
    even though we lead, we still follow.
    it is done as it is done.
    there is nothing else but everything.
    there is no path but every path.
    there is no goal but every goal.
    it is true even when it is false.
    and sometimes it is the most false when it is the closest to being true.

    it is rumored once that the dada-ananda spake thusly that the sky is green and the grass is blue. and adolph hitler said once that anyone who paints a sky green and pastures blue ought to be sterilized. it is rumored that the dada-ananda has never thrown the i-ching. it is also rumored that if and when the dada-ananda throws the i-ching that the whole world will be transformed anew.
    he lights another cigarette.

    to be purged of belief.
    to be released from the clutches of faith.
    to doubt!
    to doubt!
    to doubt!
    ever more.
    (though there is no difference really.)
    to know nothing is to know everything.
    yes!
    yes!!
    yes!!!

    the dada-ananda was rumored to have spake thusly: i doubt the importance that many religions stress on forgiveness. it is easy to win forgiveness. all one has to do is ask for it. it is usually given. though at what price? but what is it to realize that one needs no forgiveness because one has done no wrong and one cannot possibly do anything wrong that the universe does not allow. it is only pain and suffering that one causes oneself that one needs to be concerned about. time heals all wounds. and what wounds time does not heal, death certainly does. hooray for death!
    and it was once that when the dada-ananda was perhaps practicing walking on water that the dada-ananda spake thusly: this is harder than i had imagined. perhaps if i were to turn it into wine first...
    i am not jesus, the dada-anada was rumored to have spaken. i am not buddha. i am not krisna. i am not lao tze. i am not mohammed. i am not anyone but i am that i am. and anyone can say this, can they not? so am i different? but i am and can be anyone one wants me to be. if one wants me to be jesus, i am be jesus. if one wants me to be satan, i am satan. i am an actor following the script of your imagination.
    and in the fields and forests the dada-anada has wandered. and in the towns and cities. the dada-ananda has even been on the moon, and mars and pluto - and, of course, neptune. it is rumored that the latter is where the dada-ananda had come from anyway. in another place and time, maybe...
    and in another place and time which is neither here nor there nor now nor then stands the imaginary city here and now. those who seek it by any means they may employ will find it. it is all around at all time. the imaginary city stands at the center of everywhere. you are here now. but to go some place else is to go to the imaginary city. also to stay where one is is to remain in the imaginary city.

    when we cried for it, we cried for us.
    we are to it as it is to us.
    eternal dance.
    eternal fire.
        fire ever changing.
        fire ever consuming.
    we are the fire.
    we are the coals.
    we are the flames.
    we are the ashes.
    we are the smoke.
    the cycle of fire.
    the fire of hell everlasting.

    11/4
    and something always about the shadows in the skies, or of the skies.
    something.
    because whenever we will remember our names again.
    whenever we are no longer frightened of our nakedness and stop all the things we do to cover it over.
    whenever we reach the sea which is ourselves.
    whenever we reach the sun.
    whenever we reach where we already are in another world which is just this world transformed in our minds which this world was to begin with.
    and we want to shout the walls down.
    and one day we will, when we speak with our true voice.
    try speaking words wrong or right until they vibrate within you radiant.
    observe and listen carefully.
    many words will strike a harmonic chord but be sure the words you seek touch the whole of you not just what you favor most like ice cream.
    many are fooled into thinking they are entering paradise this way.
    when one finds those words one knows what they are and how to use them.
    one begins to imagine.
    and soon all the words you speak will be as those words.
    no one else can tell you what they are or what they mean.
    and we will shout the walls down by whispering among ourselves.
    but for now we are so terribly frightened.
    what will someone else think?
    what if we lose our job?
    what if we are wrong?
    we hide in the crowd being as invisible as we can be among those who want to be visible.
    we don't want anyone to look at us among those who seek looks from everyone.
    we don't want anyone else to smell us among those who stink.
    and it can come from anywhere.
    the powers that be think they got it down.
    how can they cover infinite possibility?
    and they fight among themselves as to who will retain control.
    meanwhile we become steadily stronger by what doesn't kill us.
    they may shoot down those who they think are our leaders.
    that is why we doubtfully follow someone who is imaginary.
    imagine that.
    the dada-ananda does not lead us though the dada-ananda is always with us and ahead of us.
    but what is ahead to those who follow no direction?
    the dada-ananda knows all our names.
    the dada-ananda dances around us opening all the doors and all the windows.
    the dada-ananda does not live in the clouds.
    the dada-ananda does not speak from high platforms or on television.
    the dada-ananda whispers in our ears.
    we are remembering.
    do not take this seriously.
    doubt.

    11/8
    it is something else now than it ever was before even though it looks the same in many ways. put it together again in each moment. put it together again in the next. say what you can now for you may not want to say it later. or you may not be able to say it later. see what you see now for you may not need to see it later. or you may not be around to. the experience of knowing the knowing of experience. the doubt of knowing. stand on the open and burning bridges of the tomorrows behind you, the beauty x-rayed forth from perception of the mind beholding and creating in the signals from the free radio static chaos blessings transcending the wavelengths of consciousness. or something like that. a wild beating heart full of all emotion breaking on our shores. we stand in the nakedness developed by our minds in open channels. the universe is ours. we are here and now. we are it as much as we can imagine. we breathe the air of it. we eat the substance of it. we exhale and shit our response and relation to it. ever-changing edge a point non-existent with itself - too late, it's gone. knowing in being and being in transgression. and so on like that on down the line the way these things go and we go with them.
    details.
    details.
    details.
    the details will come to us in time and in place. do not worry. we paint a big picture. a big ugly beautiful abstract monstrosity thing bleeding all over the floor. get it out of here. let it go. we remain remembering. we remain forgetting. we remain inside all the dual relationships that hold this shit together but mean nothing at all. it is for our convenience nothing more. otherwise everything would be the same. and everything being the same is nothing. but it causes the constant friction of our worldwide state of affairs and our everyday living experience. live it. experience it. do not punish yourself for it, or allow others to punish you. dance with it. that is what it is there for - remember? and there are those who try to eliminate it, or at least half of it - the half that is evil. they only make matters worse. the friction then heats up to a point when it combusts into fire.
    and thus and so on...

    things are not in order. nor are they in chaos. it is the reaction of the two to each other that is the actual state and then some. all is as it is. the moment is eternity. do not let anyone take that away from you. it is the moment in the process of becoming eternity. this is existence. this is being. this is our minds. this is our experience.

    11/11
    and when you are alone. and sometimes it is better being alone by yourself than it is being alone in a room full of people though not always that much better. but at least you can think, say and do what you want. when you're talking and no one is listening or hearing a word you are saying and they're all speaking some other language too. and maybe they're feeling the same way you do. you're speaking some strange language to them no matter how clear the words sound coming out of your mouth.
    and this can be a common experience. there is no reason to be upset when it occurs. it is still a communion experience. it is a communion of disharmony rather than harmony. do we always need to get along? does harmony need to be enforced? do those who create or seem to create or are perceived to create disharmony need to be expelled? let it pass. if it causes one discomfort, just wait until the vibrations shift. it will come. everything comes and goes. everything that is not forced to be one thing or the other. this is the way of the universe though not too often the way of the world. but the world is one of our imagining. the universe imagines us. and you know this is true. you know because you doubt it.
    each moment is to be experienced whether one enjoys that experience or not. our expectations that everything we experience is to be enjoyed leads us into enforcing rules and laws and banishments - up to and including executions. we forget our wisdom of knowing that there are times when nothing should be done. instead we bring out the hammer and nails and look for someone who is responsible for our troubled minds.
    and he remembers a man he worked for once who had a sign hung in his office. this sign read: i must do the most productive thing i can at every given moment.
    there is nothing wrong with this outlook. it is a very positive one, if it is understood. this man only understood that doing the most productive thing he could at every given moment was to be in a constant state of activity. he did not understand that at times the most productive thing one can or should do at any given moment is take a nap.
    but what does that have to do with anything cosmic we may be writing about?
    nothing.
    everything.

    11/14
    as time fades away.
    as shadows come over the world.
    as the test pattern no longer holds.
    as we find ourselves on the inside looking out and on the outside looking in staring at each other in disbelief.
    as we walk along the edge and remember that we cannot go back.
    as voices speak from elsewhere.
    as all our nightmare dreams come true.
    as it is as it is and as it will be.

    and something else comes through - or does it?
    where do we go?
    who do we become?
    we have been robbed by ourselves.
    there is no boogieman.
    he is ourselves in disguise.
    we have allowed our nakedness to be covered.
    we cannot laugh.
    we are chained to the images of ourselves as someone else.
    we cannot see beyond the mirrors.
    we are in a frozen world.
    all the worries and fears that have been with us for 10,000 years and counting.
    we have built cities.
    we have gone to distant lands.
    yet we are still afraid of the dark within us.
    we fill our world full of light, but it is the light of fear.
    we still have our dreams that trouble us.
    those no walls or security systems can keep out - they may, in fact, lock them in.
    and how many times do we lose ourselves to fantasy about this and that whatever our dreams might mean?
    all the things we are afraid to be or symbolize what we are afraid to be or become.
    how do we overcome this fear?
    this fear disguised as desire.
    what greatest fear do we have than the fear of fear?
    the fear of desire.
    we try to overcome our fear through desire and the fantasy of desire.
    this does not face the fear but only pretends to.
    when we fear what we desire.
    when we fear our desires fulfilled.
    when we fear even temptation.
    a psychological trick we have learned to avoid the issue altogether.
    but the more we desire, the more we fear.
    and the more we fear, the more we desire.
    this is how we have built our civilizations.
    this is our religion and philosophy.
    this is our god and satan.
    this is ourselves.

    and the dada-ananda was once rumored to relate the story of a yogic master who would subscribe his tender young disciples into meditating while sitting in a squeaky chair. the master yogi would reprimand kindly the nervous novice taking note of involuntary bodily movements otherwise s/he would not be aware of when the chair squeaked and would such disturb the true meditative process. this would force the skittish student to be more mindful of keeping absolutely still and thus achieve the physical calm needed to set free the soul and all doo-dah like that.
    the dada-ananda's comment upon this was: cool. if that's the way you want to do it, then do it.
    yet, as usual, the dada-ananda went on saying: this although does not thus forclude that all mysterious delving must proceed in this manner. a squeaky chair may be employed oppositely to become aware of absolute movement, nervous or otherwise. as stillness is one way to generate alteredness, so is motion. being of nervous mind can bring you to states of consciousness well beyond the curve as well. look at me.
    and the dada-ananda spun out of existing there and then back into the here and now.

    and it was rumored another time that the dada-ananda was walking many days away from the beach where the dada-ananda was camped before. and it was that a farmer's wife did offer the dada-ananda a ride to the next town. along the way the dada-ananda did speak with the farmer's wife about many possibilities. and it was that when they arrived at the next town that the farmer's wife did invite the dada-ananda to dinner inside a local joint. and it was that some people knew the farmer's wife and spoke rumors among themselves and others about this. and it was that outside in the parking lot that the farmer's wife's brother-in-law came in confrontation with the two and demanded to know exactly what was going on. and it was the dada-ananda who spake back to him saying: ah, my overburdened fellow, what is to know exactly what is going on? this is a mystery of life we all face from time to time. some accept what they see as fate and view the situation as unalterable beyond what limited control over objects and events we, as mortals, are given. while others constantly pull at the chain. which are you?
    what the fuck you talking about, dickhead? was the brother-in-law's response.
    and it was that the dada-ananda realized the mistake of talking with this man of low evolution and did then rapidly escape while giving him a black eye in the doing. violence, the dada-ananda was rumored to have said on another occasion similar to this, can lead to enlightenment as well.

    and anyone can get into the imaginary city. the gates are wide open as are the streets. the point is to perceive that one is in the imaginary city. use imagination - hence the name. yet those who come to the imaginary city with the intention of kicking others out will find themselves kicked out and somewhere else instead - back on the same old farm. this will be the result of their own actions not by any sort of retaliation on the part of others as they would be kicked out as well if they did. we all step into the imaginary city together though not always in "objective" time. everyone is both the first and the last to reach the imaginary city. this is part of what makes the imaginary city imaginary. the other part, the main part, of what makes the imaginary city imaginary is that one enters the imaginary city by imagining oneself entering into it. the imaginary city does not exist in the future or in the past. there is no record of it in any archive or plans for it on any drawing board. the imaginary exists only in the here and now of the present. the present that always has been and always will be. that is its past and future.

    11/17
    and in 10,000 more years or so on when we have finally been born into this world and have learned how to use our brains. or maybe it won't happen that way at all. maybe we'll all be dead and gone. or maybe we'll still be alive and yet doing the same dada we are doing now and have been always. but none of this speculation need concern us for the moment for the moment is the moment and the moment is now.

    11/21
    and 10,000 years later in the hour of darkness long before the dawn,
    and wondering if there is any sun at all or if it was some dream.
    we are always only moments from destruction of ourselves.
    and we continue to lie to one another as though there was nothing to lose.
    and maybe there isn't.
    what will survive beyond the point of extinction?
    what will we bring with us?
    will we bring ourselves?
    will we bring anything at all?

    and there are many other things to be said here.
    all the thoughts that have no words to speak for them.
    all our imagination.
    where do we turn to?
    where do we hide - or do we run out into the open?
    do we whisper, good-bye?
    or shout, hello?
    there are so many faces we wear.
    there are so many eyes we look out through.
    where is this world?
    where are all the plants and animals?
    where is the ground?
    where is the sky?
    where is the communion we promised ourselves ages ago?

    there was something else we were trying to remember.
    we were singing some old song and telling some old story.
    we stood our ground against the many forces sent against us - even the ones sent from within.
    we stood together and alone.
    we stood in the darkness freezing cold and in the bright burning light.
    we were tested with wanting and tempted by plenty.
    we survived it all.
    and now here we are.
    does no one answer our call?
    is there no one else with us?

    true and false.
    right and wrong.
    we are who we are.
    we do not need these definitions of segregation.
    nothing is to be resolved with opposites in opposition.
        come out.
        come out.
        come out.
        come out into the light and the dark you warriors of every breed and ilk.
        come out and see who you really are.
    we are them.

    the communion communication of the spheres.
    how much of this world do we share?
    how come we do not share it all?
    who is standing in our way but ourselves?
    this could very well be it.
    we are them.

    out of the the dark streets and avenues where even if we lit them a thousand times as bright we would not see the true world that loves the night.
    we see very little of what is right around us most of the time.
    sometimes it is not meant to be seen.
    where do we stand now?
    who do we seek to guide us?

    some will say that the dada-ananda is the answer to this.
    do not believe them if we were you - which we are and you don't know it.
    the dada-ananda the faceless comforter and faceless threat always causing trouble.
    come hear the dada-ananda speak some next tuesday soon.
    don't be late.
    the dada-ananda will not wait for the time of your choosing.
    the dada-ananda sneaks up behind you and screams.

    pie in the sky.
    monkey in the middle face smiling idiot genius.
    and with the moon speaking and calling out names of the dead who are still living.

    the dada-ananda dancing everywhere at once because the dada-ananda is nowhere at all.
    a clock on the wall breaks open.
    the dada-ananda understands how zero equals infinity - though not quite.
    the dada-ananada laughs uncontrollably in control - in and out.
    the dada-ananda cries real tears.
    the dada-ananda is beyond hope - beyond doubt.
    the dada-ananda is the imagination of reality.
    the dada-ananda leads and follows.
    we choose the time and place.
    now here (nowhere).
    we are them.
    this is it.

    11/27
    by escaping the threads of deception of the opposites of this and that which are only to give contrast to reality and are not meant to constitute alliances.
    mistaking oneself as being one or the other.
    this is who we are in our outward worldly form only.
    the gods and goddesses who have us fooled into thinking we are who we appear to be.
    we are unknown.
    we are x.
    we are y.
    we are the axis of the two.

    11/28
    there is no we.
    there is no us.
    there is only i myself alone apart from the many.
    though a part of who they are is contained within me.
    i am not that.
    that is them.
    there is nothing i can do to remove it.
    i have to live with it as i have to live with them.
    i try as best as i am able to divide myself from it as i do from them.
    but what is there left that is not it or them?
    what is it that i am - who i am?
    i can find no words that fully describe it - me.
    it is not emptiness, though it is empty.
    it is not loneliness, though it is lonely.
    it is just it.

    clown, buffoon, fool, boor, joker, oaf, yokel, idiot.

    and part of the cobweb mind point of view is that no one believes a word you say - not even yourself.
    who can be trusted?
    who now that all can be called in for questioning?
    the rape interrogation.
    the whips and the enemas.
    the snickering grins as the flesh unfolds with screaming agony before every eye glued to the tube licking the vapor-electronic screen for communal thrills and chills.
    gunfire in the street.
    the victims pound on your door yet you are told that they are the enemy and to never let them in no matter what.
    remember clockwork orange?
    see, what did we tell you?
    tribes of vandals and demon witches still frighten the mind of the modern sanitary mind.
    vampires and werewolves and frankenstein monsters and mummies and ghouls.
    giant spiders and lizards and rats and bugs and germs and all sorts of vermin plague the glistening future city.
    what when what you've flushed down the toilet all these years passing comes up some night gurgling in the pitch dark?
    can you hear your own screaming?
    can you hear yourself pounding on your neighbor's door?

    to find a hole in you somewhere and fuck you inject its mutant seed inside you to turn into something wiggley squiggley crawly disgusting deformed thing of your imagination that eats you alive from the inside out.
    this is the horror of your world.
    this is the future of your world it has conquered as a prize.
    make it happen.
    open yourself to it.
    this is what you have claimed to have controlled.
    this is the death and disease you have sought to master and turn on others.
    be one with it.
    be its bride.
    be its servant.
    be its true believer.

    11/29
    i for one (and one for i), he thought, am flying for the window.
    he has woken up screaming too many times.
    whose nightmares are these?
    as a child he used to talk to these creature things he knew hid themselves about in the dark.
    come out, he whispered to them with telepathic thoughts.
    just come out and let me see who and what you are so i will no longer be afraid.
    and he imagined a heavy breathing hairy beast laying its head on his lap and him scratching it behind the ears and it purring.
    and as now these unknown things are still hidden beyond where he can see
    some are still hidden in the dark night child's room and perhaps will never quite come out.
    he bids them peace and knows they hear him.
    there are others now outside inside under behind him now who he is in trouble with.
    he still repeats his incantation.
    and still not to make them go away, but to come out, come in, come forward.
    let me see who and what you really are and i will try not to be afraid.
    because will they go away?
    hang up garlic.
    wear a life-sized (death-sized) too heavy to bear cross around your neck.
    turn on all the lights.
    turn up the stereo and tv.
    punch in the alarm code.
    arm yourself to the gritting gnashing teeth.
    will they go away?
    where are they to begin with?
    could it be your imagination?

    and the movers and the shakers cry, power! we need more power!
    the monsters are at the door!
    the monsters are coming up the stairs!
    the monsters are coming up from the basement!
    the monsters are crossing the borders!
    monsters!
    monsters everywhere!
    we cannot kill them or lock them up fast enough!
    everyone is turning into a monster!
    where's the button!
    push the button!
    we're afraid to turn our backs on anyone!
    we feel the knife in our back!
    we feel the prick shoved up our ass!
    we're fucked!

    and what a riddle i make of myself, he thought a stumble down the stairs all feet with no hands until landed by some unknown grace head over heels (which he clicked together) on his two feet again he applauded himself as such.
    and he saw that of this no one else was amused he tip-toed out on fox paws a grin sly face averted from all eyes in a momentary dismay display - a brief pause interlude.
    a message not from our sponsor.

    11/30
    and he thinks that this is not maybe how the world and life really is but just as he sees them.
    others seem to get along alright without banging their pretty heads against the wall.
    why not him?
    why him?
    they put up with the same shit he does.
    they all know about this stuff he scribbles on about.
    or they should.
    why does he bother to mention it?
    but they get some sort of satisfaction out of it all.
    they like the meaningless struggle that never ends nor goes anywhere.
    he doesn't get it.
    even if offered something more or different they would still rather things remain as they are than to risk what little they have gained.
    not him.
    what he has gained is nothing.
    what he imagines to gain is everything, but he doesn't know what.

    and so dada.
        and dada.
    here we are again.
    but where is the wonder in this mess?
    the sad sorrow people who radiate their pain.
    he can't bear to see them.
    it hurts to see their blind misery.
        on all the streets.
        in all the stores.
        in all the houses.
    he can hear them screaming though few make a sound more than mere conversation.
    that is even worse than if they were all going berserk.
    just to see them take it and take it and take it.
        and not even know.
        and not even care.
    someone push the button, please.

    12/1
    first day of the last month of the year.
    a year in hell.
    why is he bothered by it so much?
    why not them?
    he is paralyzed by it.
    too much pain and nothing to gain.
    nothing to gain but the avoidance of pain.
    and he could withstand it better if there was something to gain.
    if there, he doesn't see it.
    not yet.
    maybe not ever.
    he tries to care but he just doesn't.
    he can't.
    to care is to feel the pain - to hear the screaming.

    cold and rain.
    outside.
    inside.
    the levels of experience merge into sameness.
    there is no way out.
    there is no way in.
    you just have to take it.

    back inside the circle room.
    step into and out of the mirror.
    what has changed?
    nothing.

    how does it work its way out?
    or does it?
    how does it ever change from what it has been like for 10,000 years?
    forever.
    life on earth.
    the world between heaven and hell.
    gray.
    where do we go?

    and let's listen to what the dada-ananda has to say.
    and it was that the dada-ananda said nothing, but stood there silent.
    the dada-ananda looked down at the shoes the dada-ananda was wearing that day - and most other days as well.
    the people who had gathered about for reasons other than to hear the dada-ananda speak (or so they thought) did not notice that the dada-ananda spoke nothing (or so they thought).
    and then something exploded.

    and what is less than the other?
    and what is first and what is last?
    and who is to lead and who is to follow?
    (for what is leading and what is following?)
    and where do things go that never come back?

    it was no surprise that the dada-ananda was dancing in the rain.
    it was with varied amusement that the dada-ananda was alone in the woods.
    or was it the middle of the street?

    and the dada-ananda was rumored to have come back to thusly spake: picture this if you are able. draw a number of squares on a piece of paper now label the squares with mystical words like - god, dog, spirit, truth, reality, it, magick, self, heaven, hell, etc. now draw the squares as cubes with the same vanishing point. now draw a horizon line below the vanishing point. now let me say that the squares represent the words we use. flat. now the cubes represent our understanding of what the words we use mean. now as you look at this drawing you might think that if you follow your understanding of these words that we use far enough that they will merge into one - at the vanishing point. but as any artist will tell you this is an illusion of perspective. the cubes are actually composed of parallel lines that never meet. one can follow them only so far as the horizon line, which is another illusion as the true horizon is never ending. as long as one moves toward it it is always just that far away. the same is true with the vanishing point which is even beyond the horizon. the place beyond the horizon where the parallel lines meet at the vanishing point is imaginary. that is how it is reached. and to reach it you don't have to go anywhere but the here and now.
    and with that the dada-ananda chuckled and went as to where and when the dada-ananda goes.
    the here and now.

    12/2
    the mind over darkness.
    the mind over mind.
    the mind underneath a dark gray cloud sky.
    what few understand.
    what few even think about.
    death in the arms of eternity.

    dada
    dada
    dada
    ananda
    ananda
    ananda
    dada-ananda
    dada-ananda
    dada-ananda
    (chant until necessary as needed)

    and we are who we are.
    and it is what it is.
    if you don't like it - too bad.
    better people than you have tried to change it or get out of it and have failed.

    whatever force holds us here has no ears and has no mouth.
    you cannot speak to it.
    it cannot speak to you.
    only the dada-ananda can hear and speak.
    only the dada-ananda rarely listens.
    only the dada-ananda speaks nonsense that is of no help to you whatsoever.
    you are still here.
    you still have to put up with this madness.
    go back to your gods.

    sing your praises to the dada-ananda.
    shout your curses to the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda is christ and anti-christ.
    the dada-ananda is average jane and joe.
    what you see is what you get.
    the dada-ananda doesn't care either way.
    the dada-ananda keeps right on truckin'.
    the dada-ananda keeps on keeping on.
    hero, villain or victim - or disinterested bystander.
    the dada-ananda is who you want the dada-ananda to be.
    the dada-ananda is what you want the dada-ananda to be.
    the dada-ananda is beyond cause and effect.
    the dada-ananda is beyond hope and despair.
    the dada-ananda is beyond your wildest dreams.
    the dada-ananda is beyond your wildest nightmares.
    the dada-ananda cannot be saved.
    the dada-ananda cannot be sacrificed.
    the dada-ananda does not love you or hate you.
    the dada-ananda does not know you.
    the dada-ananda knows you better than you know yourself.
    the dada-ananda has been there.
    the dada-ananda has walked 10,000 miles in your shoes.
    the dada-ananda is watching every move you make.
    the dada-ananda takes no notice of you at all.
    the dada-ananda is your best friend and worst enemy.
    the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda.
    three cheers for the dada-ananda.
    boo!
    boo!
    hsss!

    the dada-ananda is laughing.
    the dada-ananda is crying.
    the dada-ananda never sleeps.
    the dada-ananda never wakes up.
    the dada-ananda was sitting in someone's orchard one day when a dove flew over and shat upon the dada-ananda's head.
    for thus it is said, the dada-ananda is the perfect target.
    aim for the dada-ananda.

    the dada-ananda is real.
    the image of the dada-ananda is imaginary.
    to question the reality of the dada-ananda is to question reality itself.
    reality is real.
    the image of reality is imaginary.

    the dada-ananda was once rumored to have thusly spaken: things such as car engines do not break down because they do not work. even broken down they work perfectly. they obey physical laws that say if such and such occurs then break down. let this be a lesson even though it is not.
    the dada-ananda was also rumored to have spaken thusly: bodies that are dead do not decay because of death but because of life. it is the millions of living things eating them that cause the decay. if left to death they would be as fresh as the day they were born.

    when the rainbows end and a peace descends after all the missiles have been launched and time suspends between now and when they reach their targets.
    shit. this won't be so bad, a truck driver says to him as they both sit at the counter drinking coffee. think i'll sack out for awhile while this is happening. make my run in the morning.
    he stands up and makes sure his pants stand up with him. it was the last thing he did in the bright bright light.

    12/3
    where the dreams are dark shadows of dark clouds.
    in the night.
    and the only light is one we might imagine.
    the dada-ananda is there.
    the dada-ananda is singing songs about the deep deep forests of long ago.
    the dada-ananda is in rabid ecstasy.
    mad.
    biting.
    wild-eyed child looking past and future where now is evermore.
    the dada-ananda is in our dreams.
    perhaps the darkest shadow of all.
    the dada-ananda is our dreams.
    perhaps the darkest cloud of all.
    the dada-ananda is our dreaming.
    perhaps the darkness itself.
    the dada-ananda is ourselves as we are the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda is both master and disciple.
    the dada-ananda is both experiencing and experienced.
    the dada-ananda shouts and whispers.

    one need not close one's eyes and breathe correctly and chant mantras to see it.
    it is as plain as the nose on your face in the mirror.
    it is the nose on your face.
    it is the pimple on your nose.
    squeeze it.
    it is the lint in your pockets.
    it is a poop in the cat litter.
    it is the air inside a flat tire.
    it is a broken floor tile.
    it is a skip in the record.
    it is a busy signal on the phone.
    it is a streak on the glass.
    it is a fart in the wind.
    it is a mote in the eye.
    it is yellow snow.
    anyway, it is right in front of you where you might not expect it.
    and it is what you imagine is right in front of you.
    and it is beyond what is right in front of you.
    and it is what you imagine what is beyond what is in front of you.
    and it is what you imagine is right behind you.
    it is what you believe.
    it is what you refuse to believe.
    it is what frightens you.
    it what you strive for.
    it is what is always right out of your reach.
    it is what cannot be described with words.
    it is the words that fail to describe it.
    it is what cannot be thought.
    it is what we think about everyday.
    it is trivial.
    it is next to nothing.
    it is it.
    and if one wishes to take part upon a soul searching inside outside cosmic journey to seek it, then by all means do so.
    and if one wishes to ritualize it with symbols and mystical incantations, then by all means do so.
    and if one wishes to climb lofty mountain peaks or wander lonely wildernesses to find it, by all means do so.
    this and that is it as much as it is it if one wants this and that to be it.
    yet...
        one may find it while doing the laundry.
        one may find it while paving a street.
        one may find it while picking one's teeth.
        one may find it while packing launch.
        one may find it while pushing a shopping cart.
        one may find it while smoking a cigarette.
        one may find it while passing the salt.
    it is all and is found all ways.
    one may go through great study only to find that it is as simple as a rainy day.
    one may not think about it at all and suddenly be caught in the rain and...
    all the wonder of it unfolding everywhere in all things.
    the complexity of it.
    the simplicity of it.
    the it of it.
    it is a swift kick.
    it is a sweet kiss.
    it is a slap on the back.
    it is a slap in the face.
    it is abstract contemplation.
    it is a knee jerk reaction.
    one cannot know it but one can know only it.

    12/4
    we cannot know.
    we are told we must not know.
    the dreams we cannot forget.
    flying.
    falling.
    drowning.
    all the images of what we cannot know.
    must not know.
    what cannot happen.
    we dream about.
    we dream our dreams.
    light in the dark.
    we dream.
    we cannot touch.
    we are told we cannot touch.
    touching is knowing.
    there is always the space of nothingness between ourselves and what we touch.
    all dying without death.
    all thinking without speaking.
    i don't understand, spoke the fool in the tree. i don't even understand what it is i don't understand.
    and the dreams of falling.
    and the dreams of being someone else.
    the images of what other people seem to be.
    the images of other people being someone else.
    and to think without language - that human curse.
    the language teaches us how not to think.
    the language takes up the spacetime of thinking.

    12/5
    and what  is given.
    and what is not given.
    and what is taken for granted.
    he is tired.
    all the second hand concepts and ideas he can mimic.
    he wants it real.
    and he thinks sometimes that he does have something like that is his little brain.
    but then maybe not.
    he is left in the dust.
    back to the everyday world doing his everyday job.
    the lights go out.
    he is tired of thinking of things that have nothing to do with the real world around him.
    nothing that changes anything - except to deepen the misery.
    except to make the wounds bleed again.

    think.
    stop thinking.
    think of something else.
    don't think of anything else.
    the moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years and decades.
    a lifetime.
    what?

    when he can't think the same thought the same way twice.
    when he can't think of one thought that follows another.
    when he can't live in a world that is built upon thinking in a way he cannot think.
    when he doesn't know what it is he is thinking.
    when he doesn't even know if he is thinking.
    when he doesn't know what to think of himself.

    just more time.
    awake now.
    eyes open and seeing nothing new.
    they might as well be closed.
    when everyone has gone away and he has gone away from them.
    when they have grown tired of him and he of them.

    and the fool fell out of the tree and said, i've had more people say they love me and then tell me to go away than i can count - than i wish to count.

    and all the things he does not understand.
    the world and universe of mystery.
    who is to say that what we know is anything at all?
    who is to say there is a mystery at all?
    what is mystery?
    what is knowing?
    what is not knowing?
    what does this have to do with him going to work every day?

    and it can be argued (if one chooses to) that it is not it.
    what is it then?
    and they'll bring out boxes of things that they say are it.
    and they'll read volumes of books that say what is it.
    and it must be conceded that they are right.
    all of what they present is it.
    but that is not what we meant when we say, it is it.
    it is not exclusion, but inclusion.
    it can even include not it.
    bring it all out.
    throw it all in.
    it is it.
    whatever one might say is it is it, because there it is - even not it.
    so, it is it can be said to be an obvious statement.
    yes.
    no.
    maybe.
    so, it is it can be said to be a meaningless statement.
    yes.
    no.
    maybe.
    the further you try to get from it, the closer you get to it.
    the more you try to deny it, the more you accept it.
    yes.
    no.
    maybe.
    it is the ultimate all-inclusive concept.
    so much so that it is almost useless.
    it is useless.
    yes.
    no.
    maybe.
    it will not conquer all.
    it will just include them.
    it doesn't need explanations.
    it doesn't need reasons.
    it doesn't need converts.
    it doesn't need preachers.
    but it has all these things.
    it doesn't need anyone to believe in it - not like some jealous gods we might mention.
    if no one believed in it, if no one even knew about it, if it weren't even a word in our language, it would still be it.
    it is the one constant and in being so it is free not to be constant.
    it can be anything because it is anything.
    and anything is it - which is perhaps more important and easier to understand.
    we say things are it all the time.
    simple.
    go from a to b.
    go from x to y.
    go from zero to infinity.
    but it can be said that saying it is it is like unto counting how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.
    or how to determine both the velocity and position of an electron.
    yes, it is.
    it is just like that.
    and more so.
    and less so.
    it is it.
    and it can be said that saying it is it is like unto trying to figure out why there are so many people starving in the world.
    or why one tends to hurt most the ones one loves.
    yes, it is that too.
    it is it is an ongoing statement and realization.
    it is it is the first step, not the last - though the last is also it is it.
    it is it is not a conclusion - though it is.
    it is a beginning - though it is not.
    thus:
    it is it is working on a car.
    it is it is sewing a hem.
    it is it is buying an ice cream cone.
    it is it is lighting a cigarette.
    it is it is watching tv.
    it is it is playing an oboe.
    it is it is slitting a wrist.
    it is it is taking a bath.
    it is it is riding a horse.
    it is it is sneezing a sneeze.
    etc.

    and where it was.
    and where it is now.
    and where it's been.
    and where it's going.
    the woven fabric.
    the flames at night.
    the clouds during the day.
    what we remember.
    what we forget.
    our eyes open and close.
    our hearts beat.
    our brains spin and spin and spin away.
    it will be it as it will be it.

    all our hopes and our prayers and such like that when we touch each other and become parts of the whole being which is us together as we are and will be. and when we dance together. when the band plays all night and into the next day and into the following night again and on and on. when we remain drunk and stoned on our own spiraling. when entropy is banished. when death and life are mere moments flashing as we reach the speed of our minds. when we reach past and into ourselves.
    and is this not our true state now?
    now and forever?
    all that is needed is our recognition of it what already is.
    we are in the garden.
    we are in the heaven.

    and what makes it so easy to write down words down that describe a state of being that is not realized in the flesh?
    victims of the flesh.
    victims of the mind.
    we seek the source of our being.
    we seek everywhere but where it is.
    it does not need to be sought - it is here and now.
    why do we ignore who and what we are already?
    we search beyond ourselves to try to find it.
    we build temples to a thousand gods and tear the temples down when they do not answer.
    we serve ourselves to priests who are only ourselves playing dress up.
    the problems we face are the problems we create thinking there are problems to be faced.
    we live and die in fear.
    we dread each moment in expectation of the worst.
    we define the good and evil and then complain when there is not enough of one and too much of the other.
    all we have built is useless against what we fear the most - ourselves.
    what wall can be put up around us that will keep ourselves out?
    what weapons can we carry that we won't use on ourselves?
    what secret can be kept that we ourselves won't hear?
    we are of one mind and it is the walls and weapons and secrets of our many minds that keep us apart.
    i am me.
    you are you.
    we are us.
    they are them.
    how can we speak?
    how can we even think?
    we are our own prisoners.
    we are our own guards.
    we are defenseless against our true enemy - ourselves.
    and we have spoken of this.
    and we have written of this.
    yet still we have to come to to realize what it means.
    it is not for some, but for all.
    as long as one is forbidden, we all are banished.
    and above the gates of the imaginary city is written - everyone or no one may enter.
    understand that.
    understand what keeps you from yourself.

    somewhere elsetime.
    an envelope leaping sideways on tick-tock clock feet.
    seven - count them.
    begin.
    start.
    wake up. face reality. the world is a mess and here you are spinning this fantasy web that anyone can brush away, the buldog man ordered with authority in his voice.
    yes. you are quite right. they could, replied the fool while tying the laces of his left shoe. but only if they wanted to. the trick is not to break the web. that's the hard part.
    huh? what do you mean?
    oh, nothing. forget it. and the fool skipped and tripped away.
    hrumph, the bulldog man coughed and stuck his hand in his pocket to "jingle his change".

    and all the plans went wrong.
    and all the mice and men danced free of themselves out in the deep dark forest which did not frighten them anymore.
    or something similar to this.
    or something quite different.
    or nothing at all.
    or everything at once.

    you don't fool me, the bulldog man yelled in the direction the fool had gone, though he wasn't sure what direction that was after a pause of many moments. i could have been done with you anytime i chose. so watch your step there. watch your step.
    the fool meanwhile was watching his steps, but they didn't seem to be leading him anywhere.

    close it.
    keep it as it was for as long as is technologically possible.
    and the weeds still keep coming up through the sidewalk.
    something should be done.
    what will the neighbors think?
    and armies are still fighting in the jungles and in the mountains and across the desert.

    we are nothing.
    we are everything.
    we are flesh and blood.
    we are thought and spirit.
    so what?

    he could laugh or he could cry at any time.
    yet he keeps himself on teetering suspended balance.
    almost going this way.
    almost going that way.

    and with the beginning.
    and with the ending.
    (neither being the case.)
    we choose ourselves between the two.
    we are free to be who we want to be.
    give us names to use.
    give us a place to stay and food to eat and clothes to wear and a job to perform and most of us will shut up.
    oh yeah - don't forget tv to watch.
    and some might have to be covered with bars to go to with loud music.
    and others churches.
    and others poetry readings.
    and throw in a few other things just to be on the safe side - like stamp collecting, car racing, kite flying and stuff like that.
    that should do it.
    keep us occupied.
    and for a few give us notebooks to write in.
    those who feel left out of the whole mess.
    or canvases to paint or guitars to play and stuff like that.
    then there's the ones who just aren't happy at all with nothing.
    let them have some bloody revolution once in awhile.
    they won't be happy, but they'll keep themselves busy.
    and that's about it.

    and repeating.
    and repeating.
    the truth and the lies being interchangeable - neither is really spoken.
    another reflection.
    repeating.
    repeating.
    waves on the surface of the pool of mystery.
    dive in and see what's really down there.

    12/11
    zero hour.
    sing in the mountains.
    sing under the sea.
    zero hour plus one.
    be who you are and where you want to be.
    zero hour minus one and counting.
    zero hour going down.

    and as we were talking and not saying anything.
    as our mouths opened and closed like fish.
    as our branches gestured like tree branches in the wind.
    it's all in the wind and out the window.
    it's all words and words and words.
    we can dream what we want to but none of it will come true or be realized.
    we can recite vivid descriptions of poetic paradises but that won't make any of them come to life except in our heads.
    and he doesn't know about you, but he's getting tired of living in his head all the time.

    a place in the heart surrounded by ice.
    is everyone this way?
    what is the cure?
    how do we trust one another?
    how do we dance like we did once - or did we?
    out in the divine moonlight.
    out stoned on each other and ourselves.
    no one is listening and watching from hiding.
    no one armed and ready to shoot us down or take us prisoner.
    where did those people come from?
    who thought them up out of the dreamtime?
    who thought them up into the here and now?
    who thought them up into the future?
    where did it go wrong?
    or was it ever right?
    was it ever any other way than now?
    will it ever be any different?
    no answers for a million questions.
    we face the same day every day.
    and there is nothing to do but survive.
    and dream.

    the machine world.
    the man world of authority and control out of control and no authority whatsoever.
        except his loud voice.
        except his weapon in his grasping hand.
        except the fear in his heart.
        except the ignorance in his brain.
        except the smirk on his face

    12/12
    and more and more.
    it doesn't seem to want to stop.
    not that he wants it to stop.
    well, parts of it he does, and parts he doesn't.
    it's all very confusing.
    dropping.
    you've been where he hasn't been.
    he's been where you haven't been.
    can we go somewhere together?

    and the golden star.
    and its name.
    let's look again.
    let's rub the sleep from our eyes.
    today is today - all other time was and will be illusion.
    and here he is.
    dulled and surrounded by his own confusion.
    he survives, but just.
    he cannot move.
    the weight upon him and all of us is too heavy.
    he wants to sleep forever and wake inside his dreams.
    moment by moment.
    touching.
    feeling.

    open into another sky over another world.
    (don't be late! don't be late!)
    and with a kiss we are there.
    just a kiss filled with trust.
    eyes closed and holding.
    stepping off the edge and finding our feet again in a different direction than those known before.
    a door to elsewhere.
    a door to the taste of sweet air where our bodies are the expressions of our souls free.
    there is a place.
    there is a time.
    we really understand nothing else.
    we really see nothing else.
    we hear our names called out from spaces between here and there.
    some place both.
    and now and then being one actual moment ringing forever.
    he doesn't know what this is.
    he doesn't know what to call it or how to describe it.
    but he sees it.
    but he feels it.
    but he knows it.
    it is more real to him than this deceptive illusion surrounding him now.
    the world of good and evil.
    the world just the same as before and just the same as it will ever be.
    with its kings and gods of kings.
    where victory is the only happiness these people know.
    there is no compromise.
    the enemy exists to be defeated.
    the armies forever marching into battle.
    the beat of the drum.
    the call of the horn.
    the pumping of hot blood.
    the panting of short breath.
    the thrill of excitement.
    never ending.
    never getting what it wants.

    in quiet night.
    formless open awakening into the now/forever.
    desire licking kiss through the flesh bleeding on the nail.
    scream with your empty voice.
    scream with your echoed soul.
    tortured chasms.
    different world with colors creepy crawlers around in the canyon.
    sometimes he was wondering with the remembering of all that was spoken.
    hit it.
    alive.
    he looks for something quite on the other side.
    he looks for something else.
    he looks for understanding.
    he seeks a calling of his name he cannot resist.
    the perfect escape.
    no planning whatsoever.
    just go.
    the dream of escaping.
    and death looks at us and says, this was worth dying for.
    and nothing quite remains about anything else remaining again.
    just wondering.
    just wondering.

    images resembling the words we speak resembling the thoughts we think resembling the feelings we know.
    we stand with our feet in stone.
    we stand with the waves over our heads.
        over our flags.
        over our jet bombers.
        over our satellites.
    while we sing about the turning of the tides formerly against us.
    we dance underneath the sky black black night with its diamonds sparkling for us to hold in our outstretched hands.
    we hold our breath waiting.
    it won't be long now.
    while everyone awaits the birth of the devil's child.
    let them have it.
    let them have it all.
    and when they've all gone to either their heaven or their hell we'll come out and have the biggest goddamn party this world has ever seen.
    we'll put up what's been knocked down.
    we'll rearrange what's been left in disarray.
    we'll balance what is out of whack.
    we'll let go of what's been around too long.
    we'll find what's been lost.
    and we'll do this all ourselves.
    we won't wait around for some almighty god lord and master come do it for us.
    and we'll do this all for ourselves.
    we won't work for profit in our pockets anymore.
    the reward is in the doing and the world that results.
    the simplicity of what needs to be done when we realize that most of what needs to be done is nothing.
    we have been trying to build an automatic world when there was one here to begin with.
    the world is a purring perfect machine when we let go of control.
    we seek to understand.
    we seek to be bound to wonder without mystery.
    to be the gods we once worshipped dancing through life and death here and now.
    to know the wonder of fire without having to worship it or to have it worship us.
    the end of worship in all ways.
    to look at the world face to face and see the beauty exchanged from one to the other.
    we are alive.
    we are never dying - though we always die.
    we are constantly changing, shedding our skins and moving on.
    we are alive in a living world.
    wherever we go everything is alive.
    we are awake.
    we never sleep.
    we are alive in a steady stream of dreams.
    we reach out and touch.
    could it be that we are happy?
    we thought once that happiness was lost back in some garden.
    we thought once that happiness only belonged to the gods.
    we sought the gods and found nobody home.
    so we stepped into their place.
    we know now that gods do not need to be angered.
    we know now that gods do not need to be jealous.
    we know now that gods do not need to be obeyed.
    we know now that gods do not need to punish.
    we seek light and darkness.
    we seek cold and warmth.
    we seek up and down.
    we seek back and forth.
    we seek right and left.
    we seek wet and dry.
    we seek youth and age.
    we seek pleasure and pain.
    we seek strength and weakness.
    we seek victory and defeat.
    we seek for what there is around us.
    we seek not to be kept from experience.
    we seek abandonment and reunion.

    a sleeper's voice.
    a speaker's sleep.
    again we notice the absence of what is gone.
    though we call it by no name we know it is not here.
    we know who we are and we know who we are not.
    though we do not know who we are to become.
    we imagine out of ourselves.
    becoming ourselves.
    becoming anyone ourselves can be.
    now that we know who we do not want to be.
    anymore.
    anymore.
    we can let go.

    into flip show.
    into wine.
    into the nick of time.
    mine-o-mine - into the mind.
    somewhere freak talk dancing spectrum mushrooms washing the cellular imagination without a hat - of course.
    without a hat.
    of course.
    out of a hat.
    of course.
    twisty curvy road to homeville.
    and we compute the real destination into the navigational influx mainbrain.
    stand by all ships!
    sing a jolly song about the times we used to sing about whatever we used to sing about.
    divide and conquer us.
    or just go away and leave us alone.
    let it be as it is.
    oh come now all ye faithful.
    you are neither joyful nor triumphant.
    oh come on now.
    oh come on now.
    you have nothing to defend.
    oh come now let's admit it.
    oh come now let's admit it.
    oh come now let's admit it - we are a crock.

    into following.
    the.
    way.
    out.
    the way to here and now.
    open.
    your.
    insignia.
    open.
    your.
    vessel.
    open.
    your.
    system.
    close the door.
    what - you live in a barn?

    12/13
    teacups in space.
    madhatter pilots and wild dancing mice.
    not by design, but by happenstance.
    laughing all the way as it turns out.
    what a grin you have, my dear.
    all the better to greet you with, she said.
    calling all ships!
    calling all ships at sea!
    out into the nether.
    let go.
    let go.
    look with your own eyes.
    what do you see?
    not what you are told to see and have been told to see or see in reaction to being told.
    what do you see?
    and an odd circumstance foretelling the present confusion becoming tomorrow's entertainment.
    buzz on that.
    buzz on.
    buzz.
    hear the ego singing a lullaby.
    hear the id go pop.
    hear the super-ego sigh.
    a whisper among whispers.
    barely a thought.
    a web of delicate light.
    holding on.
    holding on.
    a teacup in a mind shift/ship.
    holding pattern.
    forevermore.