from space or not space we were thinking about wondering about ourselves as being ourselves. so much of what we do is still primarily guided by our instinctive urges no matter our use of our intellect. and we also deny them. and we chase our own tails in circles doing so. what do we imagine that we are going to perceive and know and become?
    and he waits for them to decide who they are out of who they want to be out of who they find themselves being. he has patience, but how much patience is needed? how much disappointment must there be? he wonders about what he is waiting for. is it his own delusion? his own design? who else waits for this?
    and he wishes he could destroy it all and forget it. but what would not remind him of it again and pull him back into creating it again? so here he remains.
    and as he remains here he is constantly reminded of his loneliness as it is all illusion to him that surrounds him that comes from his own mind trying to keep itself from constantly being reminded that he is alone as all is alone. it's this trick he plays on himself that never seems to work for long. he loses himself in it from time to time with all its dancing images populating it but it can never hold him and he returns back to himself. he is not able to create an illusion that will convince him that it is real no matter how substantial it is. he knows where it originates. he knows what generates it - that which he seeks to forget and not return to. it is that which is himself. but he is also the illusion that is part of the illusion. and the drama of the illusion continues as it continues without going anywhere but existing. he exists with it and it exists with him. oh boy. ho-hum.
    and where does all how he thinks about this all come from? these thoughts occur to him and he thinks about them as they do. he tries to fit them into the language he has been given to use that doesn't seem to have the words he needs in the way that he needs them. they come out meaning something else within the social cultural constructs of the everyday. there is no room. if the language arises out of common experience then his experience must not be common. however, he is human as others are human and as such he cannot imagine his experience is basically any different than any other might have. or something like that.
    monkeys on the march going down the yellow brick road beating drums and carrying flags and standards and other forms of corporate unity of body and mind. even the street punk anarchists are in on the act. all for all and none for one - except one doesn't find that out for awhile until one has been used for all one is worth and then left behind. but there is no destination so one cannot really be left behind but one is left out of the group's appearing to be going somewhere with all the uniform pomp and noise. that is when one arrives.
    it flashes somewhere. everything has been stripped of meaning by the men and women running the business machine. they grind it up and package it into mass produced trinkets and gizmos. possession of quantity supersedes quality. the masses must be kept busy and entertained. idleness leads to confusion and madness. one begins to think. one begins to answer one's own questions in ever-increasing doubt. one begins to realize one is absolutely alone. one looks for a job and to re-establish one's credit rating. it flashes somewhere else.
    making it up as one goes along following patterns of thought one develops within the framework of cultural concepts whether it goes with these concepts or against them one is still bound by them. and it is all the working of the machine. but that does not matter. who is one who could change it? who would one have to be? and this is nonsense. he writes this in the cafe downtown. it is a bright sunny day. it is summer again. he has nothing to do. nothing he feels like doing. he smokes another cigarette. the spaceships hover above the city. no one sees them. who would want to see them? what would it mean? what is the risk either implicit or implied? we are broken and shattered - as it is supposed to be for the greater glory of the wonderful machine.
    the machine is god and satan. the machine is creator, preserver and destroyer. the machine is dictator. the rise and reign of the machine is eternal. there are those who come to serve the machine. if not, another will. these are given power as it serves the needs of the machine as they are able to fit their own needs into it - but the machine's needs come first. what remains after that they get to use for themselves.
    it is the machine he concerns himself with now. all else is secondary - if even that. what is not concerned with the machine is irrelevant. but what is not in some way or another concerned with the machine? the machine is his madness - if it can be said he is mad (which it often is). but he does not concern himself much with that except as it concerns his concerns with the machine. concern. concern. concern. should we be concerned?
    those around him he perceives as puppets on strings attached to their arms and legs and heads and mouths which are then attached to the machine. what else could explain their behavior? yet they believe themselves to be functioning independently and autonomously. what a joke. ha ha.  that is contradicted within the first 5 seconds one meets one of them - even sooner. it is able to be seen with a glance. and there are those who believe themselves to be independent and autonomous because they do things differently than those around them. but do not the gears in an ordinary machine do the same - move opposite to one another? and others believe they are independent and autonomous because they are unique. but, again, does not an ordinary machine have its unique one of a kind parts that nonetheless operate in conjunction with the whole?
    the machine twists and turns in and around itself out of the actions and movements and even the opinions of its parts. and in it all is the mind of the machine involved and driven by the same energy and purpose. what is or is not. what we perceive or do not perceive. what we sense and do not sense. what we think and feel and what we do not think and feel. it is not our awareness of the machine but the machine's awareness of us and itself as us that is important - or not. its awareness through its experience of our experience and our awareness is what the machine is and is the mind of the machine. that is if the machine has a mind. but the machine actually is a mind itself as itself. that is what the machine is. the machine is our madness.

    and he sits in the cafe with his coffee and cigarettes writing about whatnot. the machine turns a little more. there is the theories about theories. there is judgment. there is what is brought and what is taken. there is who holds on and who lets go. there is the mind and what the mind remembers and what it forgets. there is what is chosen and what is forced. he tries to think of a reason for himself and cannot think of one.
    empires have been created. monuments have been built. epics have been written. and none of all of that is included in or is related to anything that explains why he is here. it is cast aside. he looks at it and sees dust. he listens and hears the wind blowing it away. so what is it? what is it to be him? and what is he to it?
    he sees the machine. he sees how he and the machine are connected and are connected to all things. he sees how he and the machine are one and the same. and this is the beginning and ending of imagining.
    and all the people who walk themselves about who believe themselves to be chosen to be above all around them. these who look for their own kind. these who feel all eyes are upon them. these who are gears in the machine. these who serve themselves which serves the machine. one who knows the machine knows them. one who is the machine is them. one is served by them serving themselves. the more they possess the more one possesses them by being possessed by the machine. the more they rule the more one rules them by being ruled by the machine.
    and the machine and the mind of the machine were sitting on a fence today and as one fell off the other rose on. one is real, the other not real. one is this, the other that.
    kiss my butt, oodles the goat king prancing around the fire's edge hot coals which cooked the meat of the kill.
    yum yum yum, chanted in rhythm the crowd clapping and with drums and things to make a great organized noise.
    but on this island in the mind of the machine upon the top round grassy knolls with forest groves which gets full pleasure of the sun and moon in the exact center of the eye of the storm. the currents around the island swirl slowly whirlpoolwise pulled by the winds and pushed by the islands odd geometries across all dimensions intersecting directly or indirectly at or with this point which technically could be any point but for reasons too innumerable to be reasoned rationalogically without assuming the irrationalogical presumptions to compose this known reality expanded and shrunken omnidirectionally infinitely in out upside down sideways compounded instantly ka-boom that reverberates eternally woosh.
    the krazie kid mopped her brow and put her plastic helmet back on and walked slowly out onto the deadly field in her imagination. this imaginedly perceived spacetime where/when she projected herself maintained itself through senario revisions until even now she is projected into it out of it blip which is the island in the mind of the machine.
    and what mind is this that is not the mind existing all along which we are integral parts thereupon conjoined into with itself perceived and perceiving itself both and all ways into a field bubble thing around inside itself?
    and the imagination of a palace halls leading to one another tesseracting into one another around the island shore broken in places where there are outcropping rocks and wide beaches exposed to the sea and hidden in bays and coves.
    and a half blown out volcanic mountain a bit off center of the island where is the city of fools who come this way a gentle slope from there to the shore other than the cliffs on the mountain crescent and edge where there is farming and grazing with still lush groves following streams from the rain of the rising morning sea spray mist clouds emptying to replenish. and the house which is all houses as a labyrinth of houses of hallways and rooms grand and small.
    again and always in the cafe he imagines about imagining the diamond bullet fired straight point blank into his thick skull betwixt the eyes where the third is theoretically said to be as it pulverizes and fractures the bone and enters gray matter itself as the point of a shock wave leaving fleshy pulp in its wake as it divides its distance by infinitesimal fractions of itself infinitely in time while the facets cut through carving out of reality precise dimensions into otherness in spacetime together blasting him open and inside out being and not being in the same point instant here now.

    and these ideas about some form of communicating what may or may not be from his experience or some inflated or variant expression of it calling from some region where he is not which lures him toward itself which ultimately must be himself.
    what is not lost?
    what is not broken?
    what does not remain?
    but it is futile. it may be recorded in some form or another, but so much will be missing of it that will be unknown to those who never knew. one cannot transmit oneself to another.
    meanwhile - missions in the mind were to occur as it might not be considered to be administered as hope or justice with open arms or openly armed as such administration were to be considered as such and so on.
    had he built this? had he managed it? had he conceived it from the beginning? had he considered the circumstances of it occurring?
    dancing forever. dancing alive.
    while he sits within this dawning eve, relationship darwinism someone said in speculations of dismayed wonder we approach during hesitant moments aquiver with full spectrum vibration communicating along lines of short sparks.
    cancel my subscription to my prescription, he shouted to himself. cancel all names and their meanings and power and authority into it stark new and perhaps raving brilliant episodic disillusionment cracking the eggshell sky.
    who looks upon whom?
    and half a dozen saxophone players play from a very old day. whisper into one's dreams which are not dreams but words are cheap and dream out of the present dream into perhaps just another dream. that is what one does to reach the island and the machine and the thing betwixt oneself and the machine who calls itself lightbulb - intuition and inspiration and imagination. as human is god as god is human as each reach across the infinite yet infinitesimal gulf on the instant moment point of touching a touch that will shatter both apart and together piece by piece into a unity that is neither as much as both were not.

    ritual of consultation and investigation.
    consult the prayer books and calendars. nothing must not be unrecorded that had unescaped meaning into even the slightest variation on the most steady and ancient themes that under certain limiting conditions are said to be able to be calculated as laws against hope.
    but it is sometimes thought what might it be if the laws themselves were variations?
    and some would respond with, would we notice if they were or not?
    behold creation as shifting and conflicting energy patterns between one field and another.
    perhaps between one field and itself.
    perhaps none with another nor itself.
    wisdom.
    harlequin.
    youth.

    ritual of regret.
    what he regrets he regrets in fear and desperation amixed with joy and hope.
    (turn around in appropriate direction 1&1/8 times. bow to image.)
    what all is the limitlessness of his ignorance?
    this cloud before him appearing as what is living.
    (close one's eyes.)
    and to allow it to appear no more.
    now what?
    (recite regrets, clapping 18 times at end.)
    and this is the nature of his folly that he is not satisfied with regrets and pursue once more the source and unfolding of his passionate embrace poised before a delicious threshold between dripping red wet parted lips.
    arrrgh!

    across the farfetched moon of stars reflected behind one's eyes we see the face of sorrow and laughter. what is seen without seeing god or any other singular cause of being. the universe without center or limit and without source or destination - yet perhaps with still purpose and meaning. or perhaps not.
    this foolish bit of long past wisdom always forgotten and then remembered again. this false prophecy proscribed to be true and above all sacred. this worm residing within the beast it will consume. a kiss enjoyed awhile.
    dancing on an edge where angels play in one's mind where one reaches and is reached by the machine. invention. what is left after the destruction, if there is any destruction? what exists is the concept of destruction in the imagination. what is in the imagination touches and shapes the clay of reality - or something like that. we just dance.
    what is unified in this but everything even in its fragmentation. unification and fragmentation being yet more imaginary concepts mutually supportive of one another yet describing nothing but themselves and both being different conceptual descriptions of the same being described differently. and around and around that loop thing.
    where the diamond bullet enters the mind shattering through the reflections in the maze of mirrors toward the moment point of creation. where the veils of imagination are torn away and we stand alone with ourselves without the images obstructing our view of reality. and here we are turning with ourselves. and here we are being ourselves.
    funny music.
    and do we leave imagination to itself and its mad dreams and proceed without it to allow it to decay back into the nothingness we brought it out from? do we turn away now into our own imagination of ourselves in this we imagine here now around us? what course is open to us? what is dead weight? are we the dead weight?
    but why even think of any of this? what puzzle are we trying to figure out and put together? who says it even is a puzzle? is there a puzzle but the one we invent and create in our imagination that there is one? and what is left of us without that when we take off the masks and put down the images? the nirvana bliss of the still pond in the clearing in the forest of dreams.
    watch out!
    it is exciting to take up the sword against one's enemies one invents and imagines around oneself whether it is toward victory or defeat, toward glory or despair.
    what comes around and what does not come around to what is here and now where we are on the edge of it becoming always at this moment point at the center of our minds from which all is illusion within the scope of our imagination dreaming about what is dreamed from another than oneself with all the noise and hoopla of it.
    and there was that which he had thought he had seen or heard. and there was that which he had thought he had believed. what were these things of shapes beyond that?
    we eat and we shit. we fuck and are fucked. we awaken and we sleep. we touch and are touched. we speak and we listen. we die.
    to him it easily evaporates in his mind. it is difficult for him to hold on to as it always has been. this is not a recent development. this is his life. he can think of no reason why he should hold on to what is probably mostly lies. who has not lied to him? and there are complications on top of complications involved in it enduring in this or that particular way which he also sees no reason for. he is willing to allow these others to have it all. what should he claim other than what he needs for his own survival? let them maintain the structure if they so choose. let them maintain the machine. let the bowing and serving and suffering continue. let the tortures and abuses go on with these who perceive and believe in nothing else.
    when we have disposed ourselves upon what we have become and there is the innermost sanctum of our release from the shores of our disgrace toward the island where our nonsense can be known uncompared to any sense of guilt. this is not redemption or salvation. this is not our having found forgiveness. those are ideas of the outer manifest world where we are judged and we judge ourselves. these are ideas arising from and put in place in relation to rigid linear mono-reality systems of thought. these are the rocks sailors of this sea have wrecked upon lured by the siren messiahs.
    now we understand what wisdom there was in the old songs.
    we now fly yet we are unmoving and unmoved. where is this other place we need to go that is much discussed by the others? is it some other place in space? in time? do we seek it elsewhere in this world or in another world? do we seek it in the past or the future? what exists in this other place but those who are as foolish as we are? what exists in time than our preceding and continuing folly?
    no. this place is here. the time of it is now. what flight, even the flight into the darkness of death, can lead us to escape ourselves? where do we go and when do we arrive to look into a mirror and see a face other than our own and see through eyes that reflect into another mind? our expectations breed our disappointments. it is the circular motion that is the heart and mainspring of the machine.
    and beyond that moment which is now trying to think of something one might be thinking about. one exists here now. one is alive as being human is alive. one is half listening to those people around one and also writing what one might be reading too. and one asks, what is this mind i am? and the echoes respond back, i am this mind what is?
    the pleasure of it. the joy that radiates to form the simple complexity. to become one with oneself as many as that might involve except as impossible any attempt might be. have we said the joy of it? have we told you that already? can we describe it in any way that might be possible to you? probably not. your loss - our gain.
    and as he further continued designing the multidimensional imaginary mechanism along the theoretical operating of the machine. a cow sneezed - if cows sneeze. the low priests of the high church gathered to interpret as to whether there were good or evil signs of either truth or lies as was their wont and desire to serve the masters of reality. toward another end he sat still again in the cafe where the flesh of humanity reeked from its own chosen despair. girls giggled as the boys bragged. is this the way of it?
    we are celebrating all of the beginningless and endingless moments that are here and now. we watch the waves coming into and going out from the beach on the island. along the distant shore around the sea the cries of the innocent and guilty alike are heard as so much seagull squawking. the babies are born and the babies die eventually. who among us wishes to involve oneself in this madness?
    the beast and the whore walk free through the streets of this babylon. what more might exist of which they might be accused? their excommunication is their final liberation. these two are the holiest of scapegoats. if one listens one might hear their laughter as those who attempt to follow them become hopelessly lost and insane.
    but what noise is made by the drums and gongs and trumpets that drowns this bubbling joy experienced always in the moment?
    however, this is not true or real - except sometimes in brief moments when it seems so, when one connects and gears into that eternity groove thing. yet that eternity groove thing is always present to be connected and geared into in that state of being and being able to do so. so it is a question as to which is true and real - to be connected and geared or not. it is a choice one makes or not.
    and all the realities we flip through on our way down alternating and multiplying in and out between when they are happening always here and now.
    destroy all monsters.
    a zillion questions like stars burning in the black void sky. each with a zillion more possibilities of answers which in all probability are only more questions. and when there might not be any such thing as a question or an answer for any of those to be or not. but we cannot or will not leave it at that with each neuron firing in our minds being as a question/answer transmitted around in the circuitry of our brains until they spark out and we die into the silence or the humming chaos.
    gee wow.

    and he is this common ordinary schmuck kind of guy. there are those who fear him without knowing that he is totally terrified of them. but it is those who are afraid who are to be feared. they are the ones who shoot first and don't stick around long enough to ask questions later.
    he is possessed. he is possessed by us within his imagination. have a few doubts. he is our little dog who knows us who we've taught a few tricks in order that we might work through him. and why would we want to do that? because we are bored, that's why. and because we can.
    but a transfer needs to be made when this is done. there are certain laws to be followed. not like moral or ethical laws but like natural physical laws. what goes up must come down sort of thing.
    nincompoop.
    there is a transfer of energy between that which is imaginary and that which is manifest. each has what the other desires and lacks. the manifest has substance. the imaginary has possibility. as the manifest desires to be free of the flesh, the imaginary desires the flesh. it is when the two meet and find the other that the transfer takes place. the manifest gains the imaginary and the imaginary gains the manifest. or something like that.
    nevermind.
    it is unimportant.
    devil may care.
    and he is what he is. and he is what he was created to be by god and human both being not quite one and not quite the other. he arises out of the mutual hatred and distrust they have toward one another. and he exists in this spacetime that both deny. it is all each blame on the other.
    and in this he is apart and alone from both as each are apart and alone from each other. and it is all absurd. it is all the dada-ananda dancing on the head of a pin. this distance of nearness one feels being in this position with people babbling on like moneys and god shouting commands like a demented king.
    bringing it around toward oneself seeming to be on the uncertain ground of shadows lurking behind oneself. one's mind is teeming. one's eyes are open and closed. one is a fool.
    these around us want gods. they want the upright and radiant and unblinking unflinching smooth steady-voiced strong humble one to whom they willingly give power and authority while we walk among them unnoticed pushed aside by them pursuing these gods they seek to follow. this is how we work. this is how the machine works. they put themselves in a trance and surrender their will to this other for this other's use who is to lead them by the hand to the promised land paradise future of futures. and how many hells must they end up in instead before they awaken and realize that perhaps they should rethink this strategy?
    and this is the state we found him in pathetic and friendless. he too had hoped these glorious gods who walked the earth would save him. he hungered for their reassuring words and their sweet touch. he was willing to give up anything for even a brief moment in their presence. but we came to him in his darkness where he had been abandoned by those who need to feed others into the mouth of oblivion in order to buy their way into their heaven. we whispered to him and he heard us while he was silent in his sorrow. that was when the transfer was made, for we were those he sought all along in the world where we were not. we exist in the spacetime of imagination.
    this is perpetual motion. this is the great ka-zooie of worms crawling and eating through the darkness of the mind. this is a vision. this is the glorification of ignorance. this is puckered putrefaction. this critical brain surgery. this is oh yeah, sez who? this is war. this is angels at angles. this is a big fat mess that no matter how one scrubs and scrubs and scrubs it won't ever go away. this is bright light into gray. this is the meaning of meaninglessness. this is the hope of despair. this is for lease. this is the agony of nirvana. this is sour grape wine. this is a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. this is where the shit hits the fan. this is where the grass is greener. this is it.

    once upon a time there was a little boy and a little girl who were caught chewing each other's face off and it took fire hoses to get them apart. their mothers boo-hooed all night while their fathers paced and grumbled. and everybody wondered, what could this mean? there was a special report on the evening news with a panel of experts - a doctor, a lawyer, an indian chief and a scapegoat. then suddenly nothing happened. however no one noticed except for ralph waldo putznobber who had his eye out for exactly this sort of non-event although he had not been aware beforehand that he had been.
    he leaped up from where he lay on the floor in a fetal position for days and days whimpering to himself. his dog had starved to death in the meantime and was now swarming with flies and crawling with maggots. the crotch of ralph's pants were soaked with piss and filled with a gushy lump of shit that when he leaped up and down around his studio apartmen it slid down his leg.
    eureka! he shouted hoarsely, eureka! eureka! while waving and waggling his arms over and around his head. then he stumbled over a pile of books he had once been reading but had forgotten about and fell crashing out the window.
    the fall was not far. he lived on the second floor. and it was eased by him landing on and knocking sprawling flat on her ass an old woman just getting out of a taxi with her walker and scolding the driver for charging her too much. ralph survived the fall with minor abrasions and a sprained wrist. the old woman was dead with her head cracked on the uneven sidewalk. the taxi driver was laughing so hard he needed his inhaler to breath.
    by the time the police came and an ambulance ralph was in a nearby park catching and kissing pigeons. but in his mind a strange new equation had developed and formulated and burned now like yellow neon against the background of his other murkier thoughts. it sang a yellow neon note as clear and piercing vibrant as a wet finger around the rim of a crystal wine glass. he had a marble hard erection and had already squirted cum a dozen times into his piss and shit pants. while on the outside he was a disgusting mess, inside within the spaces of his mind he had attained an ethereal glory that all the gods who ever were would envy.
    he did not know or think to want to know whatever the equation that had appeared to him meant. the equation itself was enough. it was so perfect and balanced in an unbalanced and imperfect sort of way. the components were a ballet of notions splendid synchronistic performed by angels on the head of a pin. then ralph stood perfectly still with his eyes rolled back into his head with his arms upraised and his penis throbbing and still cumming. when they found him there they could not move him with even tractors and chains. so they hired someone to cast him in bronze and there he still is today.

    this a comedy. it is a comedy of other people's tragedies. it opens with birth and ends with death and has all manner of sickness, disease and despair in-between. such a joy. the usual sort of thing which is endless and unbroken despite all that has been set against it by those with glorious visions of one utopia or another in their heads. but what utopia could exist but this he sits back and enjoys with us? it is the secret utopia one finds for oneself within oneself laughing all the way.
    is there happiness or sorrow? is there that which is both or neither? what is comedy and tragedy? what is one person's tomato and another's potato? what is this birth and death thing?
    and these questions circulate through the long long, yet very short, ages. we have inherited them from our ancestors and find them just as unanswerable as before. but they survived. we will survive.
    and from this the machine is continually designed and built. it rises and spreads out of nothing and into nothing. on the island he works out some of its design drawing whatnot along with his writing whatnot. he is one among many who have been here and now before and yet he has been and will be the only one. who else would waste the time of one's life on such a thing that neither gives nor returns but may be only that which is nothing?
    and one is taken away by it. one loses everything one possessed and held dear. one loses one's desire for even the smallest thing other than this and nothing comes to replace it. all is for the machine. and the machine gives nothing but to itself as it absorbs the world.
    the machine does not need him. they exist together and apart as however it might be as it comes and goes. the machine becomes everything. it is not salvation or deeper meaning. it is not a prize won. it is not a truth. if it is anything, it is his madness. it is not even that. the words are gears revolving around and driving and being driven. it is not something new. the machine is very very very old, if it exists at all.

    there is it and there is this and there is that. it has always been even without being. this and that came into being with it as it being what it is and what it is not either or. this and that are the nature of its existence. this is merely not that. that is merely not this. and this and that give birth to everything and everything is it. yet it is possible to say that this is that and that is this because both are it. it is simple and becomes complex while being both and neither. it is exactly what it is. there is nothing hidden or mysterious except those parts which are hidden and mysterious. but these are only qualities it takes on sometimes to itself. it still remains the same whether it is blue, heavy, round, etc. these are only qualities that distinguish it in its various parts as being this and/or that. this is blue. that is green. it is blue and green. it is not blue or green. without these qualities it would not exist but it would still be it.
    and what it all is and has been and what it all comes to - if there is any progressiveness to it or if it maintains itself in an ongoing state of equilibrium of change balanced by counter-change or some such. it is always here and now whether that here and now is relative to the past or future in our eyes. but our eyes are always here and now as well. it is all the moment which extends forever from the past to the future. yet there are connected series of events we shape and are shaped by. we make decisions and are given decisions to make. it is simple and becomes complex as is the machine. the machine is the model of it.
    and there is the island. the island had risen from the sea. the sea receded from the island. both are the same. on the island is the machine created and creating. on the island incorporated with the machine is the house of many rooms into many houses in the city of fools in the forest of groves and meadows. the sea is the sea of the mind and the spirit of humanity on which a storm is raging. the island is risen from the floor of the sea into the eye of the storm. the island is in a spacetime beyond yet coming from the imagination. the house with many rooms is the residence of this imagination. the machine is the project of the imagination acting from the imagination upon the imagination.
    the island is an elephant described by seven blindmen.
    and he is there and there is here. he sits there here in the cafe imagining the island and on the island imagining the cafe. it is one of the many rooms in the house of many rooms. the cafe is in the manifest world. it comes and goes. yet it is still imagined. the mind is the door between the two.
    make it up as you go along.
    cracked and split. on one's own on the dividing line between equal real and delusional perceptions. and one is desired and the other is not by most as the real asserts itself by being real to the many while one is alone with one's delusions. one sucks and the other one blows. and the real is only the delusion of the many. that is how and why it is manifest. the brain imposes its will on the mind being manifest while the mind is imaginary.

4/11/90

    and your basic opening sequence involving finite spacetime. flip/flop. and one thing is the same as the other as only being defined as being opposite. this is the first thing that is understood, though we tend to forget. so it doesn't matter where one begins. one begins where and when one decides to define a beginning and move in one direction or another until one decides to define an ending. the relative relation of opposites and what we suppose is true and real and what is not true and real. and even the relative relationship of truth and reality whatever that may or may not be and their opposites. and the goal of the journey which is the journey itself. to not begin. to not end.
    what?
    and all manner of such and such nonsense we proceed with herein and about and around under sideways over in and out and through the tangled web we weave as a living mix and match tapestry evolving among us.
    who are we?
    who were we?
    who are we to become?
    and is it all the same or vastly different?
    we do not speak of such things.

    the band plays on and on and on.
    we each pick up the tune as we can and drop it when we can't.
    and we do not understand.
    we remain ignorant of all about and around us - within and without.
    who are we to know?
    who are we to question?
    who are we to obey?
    how common is our understanding and our ignorance?
    how common is our obedience and the structure of the system that functions on obedience more than understanding?
    and to get it it seems that one has to have it to begin with.
    some twisty turny paradox loop matrix thing or something and dada and dada.
    the explanation is useless as if one needs it to be explained no amount of explanation will be sufficient to attain understanding - yet the explanation will bring understanding to those who need no explanation.
    did we say that right?
    which is right?
    which is wrong?
    which is both?
    which is neither?
    and who says it matters?

    go on with one's life.
    ignore it all around one.
    ignore it all around within one.
    such is one's fate and the purpose of one's fate - or so it seems.
    nevermind.
    dream on in the dream of reality.
    split the hairs between this and that in the mirror maze world one is lost in between oneself and other.
    we are done with that - stepping through from one side to the other becoming the same opposite.
    we have become the mirrors themselves.
    one looks at us and sees only what is reflected within one's mind.
    sleep and dream of us in one's dream reality.
    we are the ones who walk through one's life untouched.
    we know who dreams and who doesn't.
    we can tell at a glance who sees us and who only sees one's own reflection.
    we are the journeyers.
    we are the waters of the river flowing around over the rocks of the world.
    we know who we are by who the others are not.
    we are the possibility the others deny exists just because it cannot be seen in the finite spacetime.
    we are infinity based.
    we exist eternal in the ongoing moment of creation never beginning and never ending.
    we know the alpha omega.
    we dream of the others dreaming.

    the division of the finite world they believe in and hold onto for dear life and death while unrealizing what extends by in a moment beyond the finite manifestations in this here world here and now as it is.
    it is all she wrote.
    and on and on from there toward wherever it may go while not going anywhere at all as there is nowhere for it to go.
    eh?
    amen.
    so be it.
    cheese it, the cops!

    and so to begin it again as we will and have begun again before always beginning it here and now.
    always around around with more or less a twist to it as it is.
    yes/no.
    hello?
    and the long good-bye as long as the sun never sets except as seen in finite spacetime relationship.
    the flat earth world.
    we've got eyes in the backs of our heads that see the reverse at the same time holding it all in one long hello/good-bye moment or some such as that.

    and to those who wonder where and when it begins and ends we can only say good luck.
    and where it comes from and where it goes to.
    what?
    to those who struggle through what they do not understand.
    let it go.
    let it go.
    let it go.
    realize madness.
    enjoy it while it lasts - that's all.
    realize joy.
    there is nothing here to understand except what it is - just words of an explanation on about what needs no explanation.
    this is it - no more, no less.
    or maybe not.
    it could be something else.
    it could be this or that.
    there may or may not be a test.
    be prepared at any given moment which is actually only one given moment to do something, anything, everything, nothing at the drop of hat.
    hat's off to you.
    a hat is a hat.
    maybe that is all one will need to know - or maybe not even that.
    or so much more.
    or maybe one will need to know that a hat is not a hat.
    or something else is a hat.
    or a hat is something else.
    one never knows.

    so in one more final conclusion furthermore let us also add and amend to all that's been discovered and done heretofore that the sum and summation of the above aforementioned whatever it may be or not is nothing more or less than pure out and out nonsense and babbling poppycock drivel yet has such depth of meaning that it is drowning in itself.
    amen.
    so be it.
    figure it out from there.

    it starts and stops on a dime in the nick of time - la-dee-da.
    and some such as that on and on it goes on and on.
    this is only beginning and ending.
    don't look for much more though who knows what we might slip in or out.
    what is it?
    what is it not?
    what's missing?
    does one know?
    can one fill in the details for oneself?
    what does it seem to be?
    what's the deal?
    does one seek questions or answers?
    what else can we give one to use in everyday imagining life?
    hello?
    what?

    the noise of silence.
    the clouds of words saying nothing yet mix and match in connections with meanings unintended perhaps.
    what is the unintended meaning of any word?

    the magick in the air.
    the magick in the words spoken and written with unintended meaning.
    who uses these words and why?
    why do we use them?
    are we trying to trick you into something you do not want to believe?
    yes/no.
    maybe.
    the gods walk among us casting spells as we dream the dream of reality.
    we are asleep as each moment wakes us to the realization of who we are becoming.
    flip/flop.
    on/off.

    get real.
    get crazy.
    which is defined as what?
    how much is involved?
    how much do we want to be involved?
    what do we want to be involved with?
    where is the big money to be made?
    why bother with it at all?
    let it go.

    let it go.
    that is easy to say but to those who actually do it it is quickly discovered that they find themselves outside of it all and no one will give them the time of day let alone anything to eat or a place to sleep which they've all hogged up for themselves even though they don't use even a fraction of it but keep it locked up just to make sure no one else gets something for nothing though that is what it was until they put a price tag on it.
    let it go.

    the basic rag and gist of whatever it is as we continue against the silence clouding the issue.
    no one knows.
    no one wants to know.

    what is and what is not.
    what comes and what goes.
    forget it.
    forget it all.
    let it slip away off our shoes and onto the common ground between us.
    let us speak what is unintended.
    let's open it up.
    infinity in a moment now.

    don't let them just say no.
    speak up.
    make some unintended noise to break the silence they try to impose.
    throw whatever they give you that's not good enough back in their face.
    visualize rioting.
    break it down.
    burn it up.
    snap out of the hypno-trance producing and consuming mass quantities of useless trash.
    let them see the fire in your eyes.
    speak up.
    talk back.
    speak when not spoken to.
    be heard as well as seen.
    be out of turn.
    be out of your mind.
    bite the hand that feeds you.
    don't sit up and beg.
    don't roll over.
    don't heel.
    don't play dead.
    show your teeth.
    we are wild and free.
    we know no bounds or limits.
    snap the chain at the weakest point and watch the domino 100th monkey effect all fall down.
    and all the king's horses and all the king's men...
    and blah blah blah.
    and all revolutionary slogans such as that.
    like that is ever going to happen.
    like that will create anything different than the status quo the same as always.
    it's here and now.
    forget all the endless promises about tomorrow they've been holding out on a stick for thousands of years more than we can remember.
    while they sit in a cart and get us to pull them around while they get fat and we drop like flies.
    remember being lead out of egypt and then to be slaughtered in the wilderness in the power struggle fix.
    forget it.
    let it go and walk away.

    just a dream away.
    a dream of a dream away.
    let it go.
    just a dream.
    a cigarette.
    a cup of coffee.
    watching people walking in and out of this place.
    do they know?
    and someone else says something about how it's all supposed to end.
    everybody's in a film edited for television.
    forget the dialogue.
    forget the content.
    just make sure nothing gets through about what might be going on.

    and the prescribed madman explodes face first on the scene.
    he glances around just inside the doorway.
    lights.
    camera.
    action.
    it's another dream among the dreamers.
    sing along.
    and it couldn't be more irrelevant to itself than itself.
    that's the joke.
    what you see is what you get.

    and we continue on from here leaving our hero from the netherland stuck in a spacetime bewildered by his own amusement - or is it amused by his own bewilderment? - as he watches himself from the far corner in a shadow hidden from everyone's view but his own.
    he recognizes this situation he's been in before.
    he always wonders just how he gets out of it.
    he never seems to get that far.
    we watch him watching himself beside ourselves watching an ongoing series of reflections and possibilities.
    always the possibilities.
    it's an old day now.
    what you get and what you don't see.
    the action and equal reaction.
    the spacetime unwound from itself with images dancing out of the mind we all share in common.
    some more unequal than others.
    it's hard to put into words - as we might have mentioned once or twice.
    we could describe it all.
    the decor of the physical spacetime.
    the social/economic interaction.
    the political setting.
    the spiritual cause and effect.
    but what is that but some hazy impression of it moving among us as it is us and we are it?
    or some such.

    and something we were thinking today about the 1/2 - 1/4 - 1/8...¿ interrelated with someway computed within a finite system of computation that sets up another non-random yet non-repeating sequence that follows an infinite pattern horsesense while remaining within the finite structure of the system itself bursting forth sideways into one's troubled mind.
    to break through the rigid fluid confines of spacetime and the reality based on it.
    blow a hole through the whole damn thing.
    reality bomb.

    4/13
    christ dies on the 13th this year.
    a good sign.
    and what breaks through and what doesn't?
    what holds and what doesn't?
    and no one knows which way the wind blows moment by moment.
    let it blow through your hair.
    who's in control and who isn't?
    the madness of this world continues through us all and around us as each of us considers oneself to be the last of the sane going down with the ship.
    structure versus anti-structure.
    if it could only be that easy.
    push/pull.
    in/out.
    creation.

    and something to the point of being something else as it passes through the infinite expanse between finite points and moments of spacetime.
    is this the path to be followed?
    are we aware that we are following it?
    houses of structure built on stone.
    12 and 13 carrying the one.
    the one must always be carried when going from one to the other.
    childhood time remembering the pain.
    the 12 becomes 13 while remaining 12.
    12 becomes the static number we are left with when the process of it stops.
    while the process is ongoing 12 is 13 by carrying the one.
    one becomes two by the process of carrying itself.
    one to the other.
    and once two is established then one is carried to three.
    all the while one remains as itself being carried and 2+2=5 with the one carried.
    the reality of process is entered into and broken down into its static components.
    where it stops nobody knows.
    the process of infinity breaking down into the static finite.
    to realize the reality of the process and breaking it down into one.
    carry the one.
    to realize it on one's own is a bit risky business.
    some go mad this way.
    what is defined as what?

    and from some sort of shadow to another in the lands we ran through on our way here to this place.
    a room with blue light on the blue bus soft glowing everywhere.
    on the island.
    and now the other says, this is where we have not begun.
    and an older and more distant time and place of our birth this time.
    we think of it often since we do not know where or when we will die.
    coming around.
    just look once or twice.

    and the dada-ananda with lifted fork was rumored to have spake thusly: this is getting pretty rare... um.. you know? like someone calling the police, you know? like water... then there should be, you know... like water falling, uh, toward - you know - like this being on a mountain...

    4/14
    and after some sort of theoretical harmony.
    what comes and what goes in vibration.
    no god.
    no nothing.
    the clocks tick - or something else.
    and it's some place else.
    and it is not space or time.
    it cracks and lets in light from inside.
    dice.
    and from all the spaces and all the times we try not to think about.
    we cry in our deepest sleep.
    we remember what it was like maybe once.
    or was it someone we never knew?
    stab.
    dance to it once in awhile.
    we spoke of nothing we could remember.
    the weird twist of our words speaking breaking on the rocks.

    and it was the dada-ananda with bad breath who was rumored to have spake thusly again: i was once - uh - i don't know - you know... like when we were thinking about these things sort of - you know - like maybe when they came across like, you know - rainbows and ponies, but - you know... and i was just, you know - it's getting like it's sort of hot - but, you know - more like, uh, blue - or blue sort of green - yes?
    and when the crowd had gathered at this place the dada-ananda was at - though they thought they were there for a parade - the dada-ananda exploded.
    and the war goes on.
    and as it was between the mind and a hard place which somewhere along the way the dada-anada had proven was false in its truth through revelations of doubt and mysterious means talking double talk backward from now as we had divided two from one and fallen from the mind of it into this and that always chasing our disease.
    the dada-ananda is one with the mind of it into two as the dada-ananda is the mind of this and that as one the same with the return to the original mode of the creative source when god had spoken the word itself radiating the eternity of the moment now with the dada-ananda laughing at the joke.
    and we walk the path every which way we go even in opposite directions. we are the action/reaction. we are what goes up and must come down. and we are the doubtful in happiness and anger as we oppose all opposition.
    it is it.
    as we call out many names and many names are called.
    it is one not being one.
    and we call it by any name we might choose.
    and we think of it in any way we choose.
    it is divided.
    and it seems to be so utterly pointless to think of it in the everyday.
    we see no connection in the face to face divided world, but is it?
    we deal with a world of values and purpose.
    the value of one thing is the value we take from something else.
    the purpose of one thing is the purpose we take from something else.
    and as we see it in our hearts and minds is such how it is.
    we divide ourselves from it.
    we divide ourselves from ourselves.
    ugly people in disgrace.
    our everyday actions.

    so come on and speak all those who would speak against it in favor of something else or so they would suppose yet they cannot as it can be anything by any name.
    that is its nature which is unnatural.
    they give it another name, that's all.
    it could be pizza for all they know.
    get it?
    no matter what it is called or who calls it what, it is it.
    so we speak against nothing.
    we agree with any argument one may have against us.
    how can we not?
    how can we deny that whatever another says is it is not it?
    how can it be one thing and not another?
    we must surrender.
    we allow these others to go on marching past us.
    who are we to oppose them?
    how could we possibly oppose them?
    they are the many.
    we are alone with it.
    but this is all part of it as it is it.
    it is part of it that they believe as they do.
    it would not be it unless they did.
    but it would always be it if they did not.
    get it?

    confusion enters the mind as one tries to put all the pieces of creation together.
    to create is to divide.
    in division there is creation.
    and that is what these others do - they divide themselves into opposing camps together all trying to prove the other wrong in their confusion.
    that is their creation.
    there is only one when there is one.
    there is only it when there is it.
    they cannot put it back together as they are many and many cannot be one.
    only one is one.
    unless it is two.
    unless it is three.
    unless it is a rock by the side of the road.
    only it is the whole yet it is also all and each of its many parts.
    get it?

    the dada-ananda explains while not explaining. there is nothing to explain that cannot be understood without explantion. without understanding no amount of explaining will help. the dada-ananda says nothing we do not already know.
    take a walk around the block and get lost somewhere along the way. or not. keep coming back to the same thing over and over and over again. like it or not.
    or explore around the edges or beyond. you may be surprised at how familiar it is. you might be amazed at how common it seems.
    as it becomes clearer what is and what is not and how little if any difference there is between the two.
    and it gets harder to believe in anything when it falls apart and doesn't quite come back together again.
    that is why we doubt.
    blind doubt.
    and when one opens one's eyes and sees it breaking down and not quite coming together again.
    there is always something missing.
    and what is missing comes and goes.
    where did the black lines around everything go?
    their world is the divided world of this and that.
    their world is the world of the knowledge of good and evil.
    their world is the world fallen.
    and they try to find their balance while denying entirely half of their experience.

    and how it comes and how it goes.
    the turning wheel.
    and the sense of it in all there is.
    and what else comes of anything?
    what else is anything but it?
    it is obvious but they miss it.
    they keep dividing it apart into everything else without realizing that that is it too.

    and whatever is the noise of the day we must survive through.
    we try to fly but are grounded by the foul weather circling the minds of those around us.
    the fear and the hatred.
    the daily angst.
    they point guns at us with their eyes.
    all they are is death.
    they are cold and soulless.

    clown witch mad hatter fool dancing in his head with angels as he walks through the crowd.
    pinhead.
    and we might have been laughing by now.
    and it was here and now when we saw it.
    we saw it when we had forgotten it.

    and as it comes and goes.
    and what exactly comes and goes?
    do we know?
    should we care?
    does anything actually come and go?
    where does it come from?
    where does it go to?
    we have asked this before.
    we ask it again just to be sure.
    isn't everything always here and now that is and is not?
    so many shapes and forms.
    and as we waste some more time that we could be doing - what?
    some more of this and that nonsense.
    trying to prove our point.
    what point?
    is there a point?
    and if so, what is it?
    do you know?
    do you think we should know?
    we feel that there is a point.
    maybe we only expect that there should be a point.
    what would be the point for you?
    do you need one?
    are you looking for one?
    we ask a lot of questions, don't we?
    maybe we should be trying to come up with some answers.
    which is the point - questions or answers?
    both?
    neither?
    what is the point to a question?
    what is the point to an answer?
    why is the sky green?
    because it is not purple.
    there - is that the point?
    huh?
    what?
    why?
    it comes and goes.
    maybe that's the point.
    is the point beginning?
    is the point ending?
    is the point ever reached?
    what is the point of that?
    what is even a point?
    does it continue?
    yes.
    no.
    42.
    x=x
    (select six)

    and to be or not to be - that is the answer.
    and we admit it.
    we don't know.
    we don't get it.
    we are confused.
    we don't have the slightest remote clue as to what the fuck?
    what?
    that's what we say - what?
    and maybe that's the point - to not know what the point is.
    or maybe not to know if there is one, or two, or three and 1/2.
    is one hand clapping?
    are we not thinking of a white horse yet?
    dada.
    now there is something we understand - dada.
    we understand it because we do not have to understand it.
    dada does not ask to be understood.
    one experiences dada.
    we can get into that.
    we don't have to get it.
    it doesn't have to have a point.
    oh boy!

    riddles.
    nothing but riddles.
    no punch line except another riddle.
    what fun?
    and one tries to function with this in mind and finds one is quite unable to do so.
    not in this world we've built up around ourselves for some reason we seem to have forgotten.
    and it's been millions of years gone by with us doing all this stuff and business from some way back when we were squiggly little things that popped into existence somehow for whatever reason which was probably because there was nothing else to do at the time out of the cosmic mind thing of it.
    and here we are in the market place buying and selling.
    and here we are not knowing still what or whatever except things we imagine are real trying to get through it without causing any suspicion or alarm to ourselves.
    and we avoid reminding ourselves that we haven't got a clue.
    they avoid reminding themselves that they haven't got a clue.
    and we are one of them.
    we are one of these creatures walking around the place.
    we follow the rules they have invented about how one is supposed to operate in this and that given situation.
    and all that goes through our mind as a spark.
    we quickly try to ignore it before our cover is blown and they know we are not one of them really.

    back to the point.
    the point of this being perhaps there being no point - but then the point becomes that there is no point so that then there is a point to there being no point which negates itself which then maybe is the point.
    and maybe the point is to go on like that forever.
    but is that the point or is that avoiding the point?
    maybe there is a point but the point is not to get to the point - but then the point is gotten to if that is the point by not getting to the point.
    if we got to the point would it still be the point?

    well maybe and perhaps the point here is to demonstrate the state and modus operandi of the underlying thing of it as none of it and all of it is the point. the point is the here and now and whatever comes into it and goes out of it. can creation itself come to a point? and what then? poof - it's gone?
    or maybe not.

    and looking out our faces and wondering what to do besides take another breath and light another cigarette or look out the window awhile.
    scrape a pen across a page.
    symbolic.
    action.
    pause.
    inaction.
    lazy no good bum.
    people kicking him in the ass telling him to get moving.
    do something.
    no.
    merrily down the stream.
    and sometimes the most productive thing one can do is nothing.
    sometimes.
    but he does it all the time.
    take him out and shoot him.
    but he is doing something.
    he is doing this for what it is worth.
    exploring the whatnot trying to get to the point of it - if there is a point.
    other than that he just wants to be left alone.
    whatever the others are doing he doesn't get.
    to him it seems to be driven mostly by anxiety more than need.
    relax - take a break.
    he can only think to remove himself from it.
    action/inaction.
    he applies the brakes.
    maybe someone else will get it too.

    4/20
    there is all that he sees and all that he does not.
    he is both.
    the emptiness of a thousand dreams.
    a name forgotten.
    zero.
    and a dog.

    4/21
    and all of it all and all.
    the whole basic structure of it.
    and whatever the noise is all on about.
    alone.
    and we cannot resist unless we build something bigger than what they have or somehow tear theirs down.
    or both.
    it's a disease of the human mind.
    we follow no one and nothing.
    we walk out the doors and fly out the windows.
    alone.
    we worship no gods who are not ourselves.
    follow oneself in and out.
    it's the same either way.
    how do we know which is which?
    zero it in.
    zero it out.
    how do we tell ourselves another story?

    and whatever the idea there is about whatever the idea may or may not be.
    we follow the course of our own idea.
    calling all dogs.
    calling all dogs.
    come out, come out, wherever you are.
    come out to the here and now.
    this is the place and this is the time.
    we are who we are and it doesn't seem to matter.
    it goes on and goes on the way it goes any and all which whatever is broken through in our minds directed by whatever has been left behind by those before us.
    and on and on and then some.
    the moon is a spoon in june.
    we wait for the sun of the new dawn on the day we awaken from ourselves.
    and the memories of ourselves in shadows filled with monsters and ghosts and demons and other sundry.
    wishful thinking of a world other than this - another world here and now in an alternate dimension.
    how long does it take?
    clowns everywhere all over the place trying to pretend they are someone other.
    all ever so seriously.
    we try to deal with them but we cannot because they won't or don't ever break.
    they divide it out.
    they wall everything in and out and charge admission either way.
    but we know the way around the edges.
    it is everywhere.
    they've divided themselves from it - all of it.
    why do they always settle for less than it all?
    they grab hold of this or that and think they have something.
    let it go.

    walking it away.
    dancing on another edge of spacetime.
    looking at it all sideways from any and all other directions being who and what we are.
    undivided from ourselves we walk through the walls.
    a hole in the wall where reality leaks out.
    the rats are packing their bags.
    from zero to infinity without crossing the line.
    that is what it is.
    that is what it is all on about and where it's at in our spinning minds.
    and it doesn't seem to be here and now at all except that is the only place and time it can be.

    and yeah, ok, so we're talking on this one time about nothing as it would seem.
    and this guy comes up to us and says, riddle me this.
    and then he just stands there.
    so we split.
    and something about the pizza or something.
    and, well, the stars and stripes forever.
    and hop, skip and jump.
    and clap.
    it's all in our heads - in our minds.
    our own wild and free minds as opposed to the minds that are culturally imposed that imprison us.
    we tightwire the thin line between this and that which are interchangeable.
    the structure will never change - move beyond it.
    who cares who is on the top and who is on the bottom?
    who cares who is right and who is wrong?
    as long as we remain in the state of mind that is convoluted by these concepts then we're still imprisoned in that world that constructs them and is constructed by them.
    forget that.
    a reality constructed seeming to be real.
    a thin line between this and that.
    who cares if 2+2= 4 or 5?
    let it go.
    and you either get it or you don't.
    and if you do, could you explain it to the rest of us?
    we have no idea.

    4/30
    as this world never changes and there's no possibility in sight of it ever changing.
    and all the useless mind death frustration of it all.
    and all that's been written before so what is the point of writing more?
    we live.
    we die.
    we come and go and shed our skin on these pages.
    we dance into our endless madness.
    all this rabid activity of the others driving us insane.
    all the group activity.
    individually apart most anyone can be reasoned with, but put them in a group and watch out.
    and all the change has been to replace one authority for the group to follow with another.
    this ideology or that ideology.
    what replaces authority but another authority?
    how to get them to follow their own path is beyond us.
    that's not our job.
    we've done it for ourselves and maybe that's as far as it goes.
    they freely surrender their free will to the group.
    ya-da.

    the individual will always be on the losing end of the group whether the group is two or two billion.
    the individual will always be dependent on the whim and the tolerance of the group.
    the individual always lives in fear.
    the group lives in fear as well.
    its existence is dependent of the conformity of the individuals.
    without that there is no group.
    the group must kill the individual in order to survive.
    this should not be news.
    we don't need uniforms, flags, codes of behavior - even those of the individual.
    we slip through everything at once and go anywhere we want to.
    we know who we are as ourselves no matter how we are identified by those who operate within group think.
    they need us to be them.
    we are them to them.
    we don't care.
    those who get the idea and those who do not.
    those who follow whichever path there is to follow toward the common goal.
    common goal?
    what?
    we are more common than one might imagine.
    we are not some strange aliens as the others might perceive us as being to them.
    all are human.
    humans have common human goals.
    all individuals are the same once they stop forcing themselves to be the same and others to be the same as them.
    this is the paradox few understand.
    in the ever distant yet so near imaginary city dancing in the field of flags - everyone's flag each.
    we follow all paths.
    we follow all forms.
    we walk the thin line between this and that.
    we follow nothing and no one but ourselves.
    we only have our own voice that does not chant with the many.
    we chant to ourselves our own song.
    all symbols and all flags and all idols and all icons and all things that represent one group or the other throughout human history have blood on them.
    human blood.
    the blood of sacrifice - human sacrifice.
    we follow none of these to their destination but only to ourselves.

    the place and time of here now being the infinite point of the eternal moment.
    the fire of creation in ever changing changelessness changing.
    this is our common goal of our common cause in our common state.
    the fire of countless stars burning in the universe and in our hearts.
    the idea.
    the words pronounced in the fire of creation forever vibrating within our minds in all and everything.
    nothing is static as the others would have it be.
    the fire of dada - what is known by us as dada.
    all that is mysterious to ourselves and what surrounds us.
    what is not mysterious to us?
    what can we say is known?
    we confess our ignorance.
    we stand in wonder and amazement at the sight of ourselves standing in wonder and amazement.
    we master our ignorance by letting it go.
    we let everything go in its every which way it comes and goes.
    then we surf.
    we may observe and note our observations but to say from that that we have knowledge is absurd - dada.
    we try to define infinity in finite terms and it always breaks down.
    the more we try to control the more is out of our control.

    5/1
    to apply the reasoning of not reasoning.
    to formulate the non-formulation.
    to be what is not.
    step through to the other side of this life.
    become backwards and sideways to all image and reflection.
    the magick of the movement becoming what is and what is not.
    here and now.
    following nothing but itself following itself.
    to follow a certain path along the sky or wherever else we are led away now and again.
    and what exists in and out toward the uncommon ground of the common dream.
    we are at wonder at our own being living nothing more and nothing less

    and when it all was a lot of dada nothing goo in our dripping brains now and again from some sort of free for all zap quick think of something now now crawling slower than a stone cold reptile and we remember this kind of dream thing zero dada zero dada rain snow and we saw again and again these greenish things huge as the sky unless they were only something on the tip of our nose as we were balancing a moment between all moments stunned dazed as a psychickinetically bent spoon.
    and what does it matter now? no one remembers these things - and to speak of them now is madness. you find yourself alone in the somewhere strange alien street with howling going on somewhere. then again it could be your me, myself and i as you try to organize and think a thought or two.
    pick it up from there. this could be the last you know of here as you take the plunge into the big dream that is some muck talk talk on about and these people here you're supposedly one of whom they speak in strange shapes twisting around all forms of rationalogic that you know of and now you are aware that there's this window at your elbow - and what do you want to know? what can anyone tell you that you do not already know or would be the slightest interest to you? are we dead yet?
    and time. time and time. what a joke. he is here in time for a time. is he here at all? he thinks he is and in thinking then he is - maybe. that old joke. the relationship breaks down. no one understands what it means. dripping faucet and look at it yourself money you tell me money money money kill death poison gas faceless mummy zombies we ignore.
    crazy man telling lies disguised as poetic nonsense with violins playing a bit of outrage to him as he watches his hand scribble on these words in the wake of being here now that have no circumstance themselves or maybe they do as much as a hat and cats are good for nothing lay about creatures who eat and shit but are neat otherwise and he wants to scream but the public at large in this floor to ceiling and why not sit and stare out the window and walls endless flying fuck at the moon with or without him one less person taking up space.

    5/3
    nose to grindstone waxing moon unaware in spite of faceless corporate injected ego desire driven carrot on a stick thing haste makes waste hesitate is lost waiting settling dust crash bang down wilderness to see the flags still flying in this imaginary city that has suddenly appeared being here all the while as we knew it once depths of vaults promised land drinking the wine dancing on graves of the mightily who have fallen unstoppable greed flashback drama vision struck blind signed, sealed and delivered in sickness and in health drown in these seas in every given moment speak of other things beyond minds within the range solid structure fluid unchanging money is the idol before god recommended drunken idiots abandoned city skyline ilk and children mastery of this world radiating dream of dreams fog to sleep upon our heads empty spaces idle cast about scapegoat object of our desire punishment logical conclusion laid upon them now as a napkin folded in similar design expected left wanting like babies crying unfed what a laugh eat it more or less now it is placed on the altar laughing down bark off trees similar place automatic gestures from some unknown bleeding heart approaches encompassed now here (nowhere) reflection on these waters mad money destroy somewhere else left behind ruins driving away the madness hatred we've become pride fortress spin and spin have lost all tracks of time describe any of this remain speechless stand on the border no return higher and highest themselves other place walk the streets feed it to the loins deeper and deeper stone cold lizard awakening before the dawn grins at the joke a lost balloon caught in the wires.
    quick, get me a ladder.
    i want to get out now.
    what a fool.
    money man an old line turn it all into gold one step ahead follows it back everyone wishing dream about it meanwhile ideas we hold into our heads between animal and human down see nothing supports them as long as something else than this conjure up dogs bark reach the city land of shadows how many tunnel struck mad wonder of it one step away begin now we call it by name monster's eyes protect you cross the line edge erase it serve your memory others have given hero all the same behavior carved into truth cup of tea sequence remember impressions of the sequence reproduction follow the course awhile seen through images drawn clarity of mind where/when otherwise trapped spell cast blood riddle me this and a hat disguise worn lost in the crowd scream into deaf silence foul disease cringe at forgotten nature worship image to image creation without thread dualistic reality everything as gods we were this is it.
    disease of mind following dada stupidity amazing had my fill to figure this mess out being in my hair twisted through everyone else can't shake so it goes stand against burn it down what else is new quite mad now forever wind blows we sing in our heads fucking words or anyone else blow it away.
    hello?
    anyone home?
    riddle us this.
    alive and buzzing - be or not be. imagine it all now make no mistake here it comes come what may riddles and riddles you know what easy to use names they gave you that is a spoon breaks down beyond begin in our minds seen inside out and it all means for your world to pass fade into memory.

    5/7
    and alice is just a memory.
    who was she anyway?
    no one anyone really knew or cared about.
    somewhat insane.
    no one was in love with her - though she was.
    she would gaze along into her shadow as she stood waiting.
    who did she wait for?
    and now those games have ended.
    everyone is someone important now - or someone trying to be.
    it was a long time ago.
    someone might remember.
    not anyone he talks to anymore.
    those people are gone - if they ever were.
    they're replaced by these others who play it hard while they fake the whole thing.
    everyone's faking the whole thing.
    and if we believe in our doubts.
    and if we suppose it were true.
    and if we acted this out.
    and if we forget.
    and if we remember something else.
    and if it just flies away.
    drop it.
    walk away.
    alice is just a memory - was just a memory.

    another time from now.
    we were wondering.
    we were not here.
    we were nowhere.
    and it does matter one way or the other or not.
    we follow no one.
    who can we trust?
    approaches nearer maybe not shadows minds of others even see it anybody calling out are we do you think landed in our backyard seen us nevermind that all the trash whatever at all whatever anyone notices we are or not given or taken no more about it all give or take primal ego brains sparking from random hormonal chemical mix go up and down which doesn't about nothing sing and dance stab each other behavior patterns follow many at once act and react except as much punishment and guilt few control customs and taboos money money money saying they own everything give you a share soul about something beside sick of hearing move on here whenever to go which except heads and imagine than this one pretty much useless reach through imagination fall victim prey upon the weak powerless further drives us inward only our minds show which really get to draw and paint what good does lack of free imagination destroy goes on and on throughout history hell with it all come into being.
    whatever is lost comes out of how much can say we want time have reality created and again the story goes appears dada-ananda who have lost few who follow conscious knowledge according abnormal leading working and playing interwoven into that obvious action taken most people are known mistakes dada-ananda no such thing has been made and all else.
    and whatever toward we are in mind become anything look to see know it all in our hearts what becomes another somehow the bottom line not quite there is no these people there were a form look and look the ability to assume exists doesn't how did this every type face of the planet based on differing details beyond that.
    what?
    what else is there?
    one way exactly someone's no fuss no muss perfect really interested if they can be what they do that seems to be it.
    another fantasy another come or go now and again maybe as what not confused about this as it spins which way to come whichever which way language through that both are express confusion should not whatever else realization.
    to tell you and time of times it's not no one else you about as they believe not no one maybe it's not will tell perhaps is not a make believe dada anyway.
    this world it comes as it is doesn't matter believe what we and all anyway with do we and goes as it will how much money and nothing how crude you make all the possibilities all the time producing make but how and energy a product.
    to happen room for designated fitting and proper profitable another as error anything else prescribed there is no path is the return what you give one more than given wonder why has cursed on its face falls such is why it always itself power gather forced brute such is fate with the greedy and we to surrender elsewhere wondering it to be which is now imaginary city in and out creation here if that surrounds it is the time occupies we imagine now here (nowhere) make no mistake keep it clean whatever all as we look down solidly to believe as you'd walk by it all don't touch that you're ground as see that prefer no one your head can tell have filled knowledge about this with what you believe this and that the shadow they are images and all it is by all they are not defined a world than by not known ourselves by what everything could know what we do the world we live in to allowed it is what and we know is not what is not.

    to whom it may concern:
    don't exactly but then is good stands stop talking so know where any of this but then for a month told him the meds put off seeing obvious message do with him they'll have the same message pretty much is that what's the deal get everything no one wants just wanna assuming they're doing get everything not listen different anything that unless about anything saying anyone taking change the meds anything every two weeks are doing answer really doesn't that's all supposed to deal how is he doors any of this up against with and silence admit depressing the thing they no help no one everyone help him can't offer but they is tells him yet he wouldn't need their the things can't do help if it weren't all and each manage blame authority they to focus or some "them" to have to took offense figure the ever do anything referring to him what else anything he done has supposed to call other than as he sees it the position the role he plays himself what else everyone else help him don't know understand he needed deal out themselves people enough to blank draw exactly out on him woodwork from him only conclusion about it all off fuck it come to is just say to is daily struggle doing just that stay in bed against doing about just that a shit day kidding haven't two weeks over won't see petitions good as his whatever called yesterday him that assistance unless they are catch-22 welfare unless he claims them turn thumbs on top together magick about that telling some of driving people how about some pills eager recover without how saying that fucking mind unless straightened value worth worsen his life legal he feels where will not becoming destructive toward the point because at this point sort of treatment gonna won't take this going down fuckers his list you're on it sidekick tired seeing less and less and there's more people bolted a door cracked open locked each time coming up when he gets to a whole lotta not him someone else with him pills it'll be doubt however that point with anyone else is reached probably just do when that go on living let them much he goddamn hell negative this is energy twisted being hate it frustrated but that's depression that's all all day the only your system produces it covered think you a joke brings out in him look for fantasy argued really care of reality whether other worlds forever sidetracks following he thinks other levels to go to paths before and are themselves valid mythology art above none whatever damned for it outcast because product you can profit oppression traveled have been really care ridiculed turn out your own devices fuck it.

    ok - so exactly what is the deal going on here - or what?
    dada - nothing but dada.
    that good old deliberate irrationality groove thing.
    but they don't recognize it. they operate on some rationalogic fantasy of surface cause and effect. they close themselves to the many possibilities of the dada thing of it. how can they help themselves? it is obvious that they cannot. how can we help them? do we want to? they keep themselves busy and out of our hair.
    hmm... it's tricky. the main problem is that firstwise they do not recognize that they need any help. they have convinced themselves that they have the answers and that they ask the right questions. this is what we are up against. how can one help anyone who has their head so far up their ass that all they can see is their own shit?
    or is that us we're taking about.
    could be.
    dada.
    they are opposed to dada with their systems of control. anything other than control is to be dismissed as useless.
    but dada is nothing.
    and how to find a common mode of communication with them without being sucked into their world.
    dada.
    anti-dada.
    counter-dada.
    dada-doo-doo-dada.
    research have been forget been very this must he does after all gaze remain negligent of the given remember dada must struggle directions original heaven of it above the noise work to do here and now currents world birth bring about in order garden to help ignore must he his heart head follow shadows netherland he is telling the voices it's hard psychic maintain to state against onslaught energy insane their death negative in his anyway after all seriously doctor even take it far too blocked creativity understand yet does the ends too to creativity works controlled system he of what speaks seize for his this has been they wanted the case force and control refused people art and craft realize beginning in these years learned sent to passing he is yet potential all in his head don't know turned around not real they suffer victim what's right their disease inside out until this mass psychosis or not real or wrong denial from have built have fallen mechanism to support lives disease system inside them and on and on dada themselves until they believe writes this looked into the files theirs a load of shit today and he impressions of him he writes whatever his words reading twisting to fit them into this last guy his own questionable he told him who the hell it was real to judge strangers a few minutes pronounced in matters authorities how do these of his life.

    who thinks what?
    and what thinks who?
    he thinks who what?
    what?
    who?
    the time comes and goes in this moment.
    he moves from space to space in time.
    what moves him?
    what moves those around him?

    agreement except there are see us those who we want with hoard it expense what themselves of others are those ourselves these are those he is mad refuse this how is it those who to do his madness and on and on stand being people behavior who act he cannot abusively stop them is socially around as this accepted the game anyone by strength from acting reinforced numbers in this way who does not go along the victim automatically put up with responsibility this for years on his own would not have when it became clear to him to continue he saw he would not have attitude had toward treatment been taken away from trying as little more than animals now he is maintain disgust him possibly can with as existence are hate everything they do dressed up selfish greedy pigs other people what can he do to figure remain blind with other people to their actions keep trying into his head information sort through it made not much that is where harder to he goes its effect due to still get through it he needs that it took for his work much more energy imaginary doesn't always the time recently has been continuing shit he's faced useless true things expression helpful in this which creativity can't use it counter-productive but they always has been to them profit from he is a part of been working human race as long network of people has existed gods angels demons even longer all in our heads perhaps yet he is do not know the forces ignorant world unleashed they have true nature into this tampering they have sought with their gone more out of control where we come in in this reality we do not structure and framework beneath magick in simple terms but the time and this is coming the time this is the place is gone.
    written in a few days into that against a wall haven't just get into surrounded by walls outta money hawking remember get himself include ran spare change producing pretty good effects people directly something makes them think it works maybe a little cooperation endless stream with their oppressive enslavement much more instead of one more person mind death garbage until the spaceships we are able to unleash against surrounding keeping us away appear from the heaven realize free psychic energy to set ourselves should be able one more in the body which way he can christ dada boggled who boggles we dazzle confused when there are no their already any which way he can the tao who resists he is simple answers for them to apply.
    the more apply their more is out computers to it control machines dada know dada cannot controlled to them productive tamed contained and balanced one cannot destructive good right set up wrong defining good and evil they make things all in our heads ceaseless chorus singing in dada sanity in this world understand the true nature make people go mad process of their craft hung on decor the poets slogans on the wall that blends invisibly advertising agencies to invent corporate take over to cows recently hired by there's the allotted soothes danceable rhythms the shamans we've been accept only been cast out music is easy beat calms been told to corporation we begin muses and when at birth whispers wizards in our ear witches forget our real names to drive "the voices" quickly given begin to remember sorcerers considered it is a question of reality offer but death the nature only the name and when we are mad the original world ours and theirs garden quickly given whatever treatment needed to heaven the mind and spirit.

    we are walled up in a prison of nos and don'ts and is nots. yet these things that are missing in our lives are held out to us like carrots on a stick to keep us working for the corporate state. if you work long and hard you too may partake of the forbidden fruit. look at what they promise us if we work hard and buy this and buy that. and anyone like us who finds out how to gain what is merely promised - it cannot ever be delivered or else the corporate state system would instantly collapse - we are labeled mad as anything and anyone outside the corporate control is mad. look but do not touch. don't try this at home. consult your doctor. leave it to the authorities and experts. control. power. parents, teachers, employers, police, lawyers, judges, doctors, artists, poets, singers, gurus - ourselves. the technicians of mind death and on and on. clear as day to those who can see with their own eyes - their own minds.  those who have gone mad.
    and this is all a big deal over nothing. everybody fighting over this and that. he can't stand it. he is developing an increasingly deeper disgust for people around him and all the things they do and won't do and force others to do or won't allow them to do. a world run by gangsters and goons all based on who has the most muscle and the bigger stick. a bunch of apes. the planet of the apes.
    it's insane. here we are in this supposed modern age with all our techno inventions and trinkets and gizmos yet we still operate on the most base primal instincts without a thought otherwise. the information is there. it has been for thousands of years. let go of the bullshit is the basic message. quit hitting each other over the head and just live. dig it.
    but we still live in an age of weapons and the mentality that goes with it. the out and out weapons and the subtle weapons. words as weapons. money as a weapon. and we all see it but we shrug and go along with it. it's easy. it seems to be the only way. no one takes a chance.
    pay someone else up money buy your way outta your way simple love and compassion just pay them off don't have to offer people medicate those who want more gather up money can buy basic cause the true mental illness don't make it everything else lack of love and compassion just symptoms it never will talk to a wall the shadow beat his fists have done before him hopefully others embedded deep a thick stone against this wall rising to block the sky others will continue he dies in the ground he lives in the after he's gone. what else can he do?

    it's people - dealing with people and their expectations based on what he can only see as insanity. and it's everyone, inside the system and outside. anyone into the group mind thing. there is no individuality anywhere. no one is capable of thinking for themselves bombarded with mass propaganda. even the idea of individuality is channeled through brand name products.
    he can't face people most of the time. they have no use for him other than to use him for one purpose or another - all for their own gain. it doesn't matter who or what. groups - he can't stand being with groups whether it's work or a party. they operate the same. it's always the same mission - get others to join your group. uniform.
    it's so bizarre. he doesn't get it. others seem to have no problem surrendering themselves to the group. they seem to happily welcome it. to him it's depressing. they try to gain more than what someone else has. the group promises them that. listening to these others around him living their fantasy reality of accumulation. divide and conquer. it's on all levels of operation between anyone and anyone else.
    he cannot speak. no one believes him when he does. they laugh. it's expected that he say things that don't make sense. that is his role. so why bother to listen? no one wants to hear anything about themselves that will make a mockery of who they are and what they're trying to be no matter how much sense it might make.
    they go on creating more and more misery for themselves and others. he knows no one who is happy with who they are and what they are doing. they forget themselves and do what is expected of them - all from the top to the bottom. one drowns and learns to breathe underwater. close your eyes and see nothing. submerged in the group no one is really a part of as themselves. it's some one else. the image in the mirror.
    ourselves every whatever we survive until it breaks way we can camouflage the social given you are their guns some laugh there you are comes to a dead end locks up its gears call the police a broken toy whatever game their egos back together we play doctor put you back but a mask all your life it's not you try game you've been frightened the telltale signs happening all the while passed them all one by one here it is except you'll never see warned of all the stuck here not in this lifetime anyway.
    out of the mirror some alien strange planet who stepped in which side both coming and going forgotten too many times you've stepped in and see both sides all you know you sleep backwards hear voices everything because can say nothing inside out count numbers they ask you if you and everything none of it matters inside at them juggling around you laugh their definitions must tell can hold on to something clearly set dangerous unless make something tell them something a story they aren't ready for that you must not taken everything wholly dependent there is a reason you must no displease that cannot.
    and this is the real danger forgotten can be an agent oppose you in this world who you represent there are those with smiling face and gun in pocket the killers of god has become remember your name you've become a thief in the night.
    but this is a world where names have been forgotten. no one else remembers the names or what the names are for - even that there are names to be remembered.
    the doctors have taken over this world with their rationalogical denial of all unseen that cannot be measured with their instruments. now they even suppose to measure emotion and they tell you how many units of each you're allowed to use each day. and where are those to oppose them? they are cast out. they are chained to the wheels of industry - the holy church now.
    and so now the angels stand ready - not on clouds in the sky but in our own free minds. the birth is upon us and they cannot stop it. they're tightening the grip they have on us but the strain on their system is too great and it's flying apart at the seams.
    and meanwhile on tv it all appears to be the same - and in the newspapers and magazines and in polite conversation. it's everywhere you go. the surface image is maintained as it was as long as you don't look too close.
    and so what is it now? he waits and does what he feels he is supposed to do. one more weed pushing up through the concrete. he is part of a greater whole. individually he is nothing and no one. but as the many individuals break away they are a force that will transform the human race. he does what he can. he merges into the mind of the birth.

    turning into darkness. there is very little light. nothing hardly ever works so it falls to those in power by default. they do nothing. they need do nothing.
    there is no story here.
    nothing will believed no one thinks.
    thinking is hard.
    it is against our nature.
    there is sleep.
    sleeping is easy.
    big science.
    the systems will fail.
    the systems are failing.
    it will all fail.
    memory of it will turn to dust.
    there are those of us who maintain a positive form against the negative sleep. we are the future though there is no future. they have no future. they work for the destruction of the future. and as their future is destroyed our future will be birthed out of our minds. it will be brought back to reality. we will remember who we are.
    they know nothing. they want to know nothing. just follow orders. their ignorance is bliss. don't worry - be happy. as long as they got theirs they don't worry about anyone else. just their happiness - or what passes as such which seems to be based mostly on them having what others don't have. and their system operates on this happiness and pursuit thereof. and what they want is power and control. and if you don't want that and strive for it you get pushed aside.
    so what of those of us who look for and find other forms of happiness? happiness that is not dependent on having something others don't have and/or power and control. we seek happiness for the whole instead of the few. are we mad? do we need to be medicated to get these crazy ideas out of our heads?
    so what else is new? it goes on and on. for thousands of years gone by and thousands of years to come. we have tried every way we could think of to tell them but they won't listen. and now their world is on the brink of death.
    and he sleeps through it a good night's sleep.
    he follows whatever path there is. he touches no one and no one touches him. he is isolated but he is free except for their constant psychic attacks he must defend himself against. it nearly wipes him out. but he survives.
    a space that others keep on living does it make less and less he is seeing doesn't exist mythology maintain what difference reason part of some can forget except they haven't on their tv for what is cyberspace magazines books already against it different names it still drives he fights if he is or not why is he here within their grasp just outside they built up we know it how can they miss it we wait power control just outside the walls realize that how frightened we see how around us every moment.
    the christ seemingly start crumbling they wait back to them their mind comes push out the clues are all around and awoken sleeps through it all few of us comes which way to go has failed reaches its end we are ready us down are not strong their greed been possessed when this world our time will come no longer control own actions they make themselves that keeps powerless in this world or even their own thoughts knows no limits hungry for more it replaces no matter how much they seek for us we wait to feed upon itself to pieces sidestepped while this world chews but itself their non-future and found the way.
    and it's depressing somewhat to see this world continue as it is. there is nothing we can do but go our own way out of it. our words have been silenced. all our action and possible action has been blocked. there is no room for us in their world except as being those who are mad. this is why we have sought and found another world in our madness. it is alive in our imagination - all we've been taught to believe does not exist just because it does not exist in the limited concept of reality their world is based on.
    we've become outcast. we are called evil, criminal, sick etc. but they are death and we are life.
    and on and on like that dada as it is dada and dada will defeat them because they do not know and cannot control dada dada dada. there is no such thing as dada. there has never been such a thing as dada. everything in their control is not dada. forget dada. it is their belief that they control things - that things happen because they make them happen. they say they make them happen.
    look at what they make happen with their control.
    look at what dada makes happen out of their control.
    they cannot tolerate we control not in their control they can pretend release dada anything not in their control they invent names what a joke such an expense because they cannot we control thinking it is president pope doctor dada is the joke.
    or so it seems...