he holds the pen.
    plastic with metal tip.
    his hand rests on the page.
    head in other hand.
    elbow on the table - photographed wood grain.
    fingers in hair.
    all the classic pose.
    he pulls words out of his mind.
    and there's this other guy who is talking to himself.
    how much longer until that is him?
    he keeps writing hoping to avoid that fate.
    keep it on this side of the line.

    5/6
    so he's woken up yet again and this whole mess is still around and he's still in it.
    all these people caught up and twisted around each other tangled like dogs on leashes growling and biting at each other and yet they try to maintain this surface calm civilized manner he can see though.
    it's the chaos beneath that drives him nuts because everyone walks around like zombies pretending it's not there.
    and they keep talking on about how tomorrow will be better but he keeps waking up tomorrow and it's still the same.
    and they say they're doing one thing when they're doing another.
    all the hatred in their love.
    and he's just the same as them.
    so what is he doing sitting here writing about it for?
    he follows a pattern of circles that repeat and repeat but each time around one or so things are different.
    and maybe a reaction is triggered for awhile until it dies out.
    and, yeah, tomorrow will be different than today.
    tomorrow we will all be rich and famous.
    tomorrow jesus will come back.
    tomorrow we'll all love one another.
    pick your own salvation and then place it off into the future and keep living in this hell of sacrifice for all the better tomorrows coming down the line.
    just hold your breath a little longer...

    the mind of contemplation cannot communicate with the mind of action.
    the mind of action controls and shapes the world and controls and shapes the language of the world.
    it skims the surface and fears any depth which is dark and full of monsters.
    the words of this language work against anything he might want to communicate.
    he can barely communicate it to himself.
    they follow a mono-direction in order to make sense.
    if one does not follow that direction then what one says doesn't make sense.
    one must twist the words toward one's own meaning and hope another can follow.
    one can only speak in riddles of nonsense and confusion that makes it appear one has no idea what one is saying.
    when one speaks one can see in their eyes that nothing one has said has gotten through.
    and so it turns and turns.

    5/6 (the real 5/6 - the last 5/6 was actually 5/5)
    so in and out of waves.
    he should be in a constant state of joy but instead he is in a constant state of despair.
    oh boy.
    it's the people who surround him who want the world static and predicable.
    they build structures around themselves that are unyielding to any change.
    they worship strength.
    they perceive strength as that which never moves or if it does move it can overcome any resistance.
    they see strength as solid like a rock and see the fluid strength of water as weakness.
    they divide the world into opposites and call one good and the other evil.
    he has to hold himself back for these people.
    he cannot go toward where he is called to go.
    they demand that he fits into their limited sense of reality.
    they are cowards.
    they are frightened by everything around them.
    he could break from them.
    he could go off into a world of his own creation.
    but he would be there alone.
    as much as he hates them, he loves them as well.
    they just won't let him near them.
    the only way they can relate to another is through domination and control.
    do what they say, unless one can force them to make them do as you say.
    it's the only thing they can understand.

    he realized long ago as a child how easy it was to manipulate them.
    just let them believe that they are getting what they want and make them jump through any hoop.
    but he also realized that that was not what he wanted.
    so he stayed away from them as best as he could.
    he let them have the world they wanted.
    he did not try to take that from them.
    but they wouldn't leave him alone.
    they could not stand that there was someone who wouldn't do what they wanted, or did it minimally.
    it bothered them that he kept whatever talents he had that they could use away from them.
    they would say he wasn't working to his potential.
    what they meant was he wasn't working to their potential to use him in their world domination schemes.
    they told him how smart he was and how creative he was.
    they tried to lure him out with promises of wealth and all wealth could buy.
    they told him he could be anything.
    if they only knew how true that was.
    he could make them eat his shit and beg for more if he wanted to.
    the fools.
    is that all they want?
    is that all they understand?
    don't they want to fly?
    don't they want to live in paradise?
    they just want to be intelligent apes beating each other over the head with clubs forever.
    he doesn't get it.

    but then again, who is he kidding?
    ha -
    zap!
    yeah - well this dada goes on and on and on through everything and nothing.
    he doesn't understand what he doesn't understand and he doesn't understand anything.
    he doesn't get these people at all - none of them.
    they deny themselves what they want just so they can struggle and bang their heads against the wall to try to get it.
    he just doesn't get it.

    bring it all on.
    bring on the whole show - all the rapists and killers - all the saints and saviors.
    bring it all on.
    repeat what's been said a thousand times.
    no one's listening.
    they never have been.
    they never will be.
    in or out.
    either way doesn't matter.
    who's paying attention?
    turn on all the lights everywhere.
    bring it all on.
    heaven is hot.
    let it burn forever through the dark and frightening night.
    don't leave anyone out in the cold.
    bring it all on.

    and who is he supposed to be in all of this?
    he watches from the outside.
    he even watches himself from the outside.
    he is someone else to himself.
    everything fades as he loses interest.
    lose it.
    how many must die for their paradise to happen?
    he sees it here.
    he sees it now.
    he sees nothing more than what is happening.
    from time between one time and another time as it happens and doesn't happen.
    matrix unfolding and refolding as our vision shifts.
    it shifts one way and then the other.
    but anyway -

    from one the further on toward the easier of the exits we are familiar to the vision spoken out of time where the opposites collide micro dot feed the brain the devise about anti-logic broken connection to things we never dreamed before kept always in our time in the blessing of our being that few realize is even happening while it happens.
    we dance.

    calling out the spirits around the fires of our hearts.
    it is nothing more than what it was.
    it was nothing more than what it is.
    deep dark travels that seem almost real as is whatever else is real.
    the wisdom of the ignorant who disguise themselves among the masses.
    a time from some moment dividing itself into a memory of itself divided into itself.

    5/7
    circles.
    games of circles around in circles with words of circles to describe the circles.
    yet none of it is a circle at all.
    it's just the limited way we are used to thinking that makes it appear as such and the language we have developed that represents the limited way we are used to thinking that makes us describe what appears as a circle as a circle.

    all about human this and human that.
    doesn't anyone remember anything else?
    do they all believe this is it?
    he can speak to a few and move beyond what our words are saying - yet they are only few.
    only a spark that has yet to light a fire.
    how many other groups of a few are there once in awhile speaking this way to one another?
    how many other sparks?
    when the fire finally lights it's going to explode into roaring flame.
    auto-destruct.
    this is the only way the structure can come apart - by fire.
    violent fire.
    and all one can do is to wait.
    either it will happen or it won't.
    does it matter?
    he knows what the other world is.
    does it matter if anyone else does or not?
    it would be wonderful if it came into existence but he doesn't need it to.

    everything is circles.
    all the circles are balanced.
    what is won is also lost.
    what is lost is also won.
    if we have the idea of winning and losing all we do is go around in and through the circles and we will always feel the need to have to struggle to free ourselves.
    it's only when we come to this realization and understanding together that  it can be transformed into what is instead of what should be.
    fat chance.
    fat cats.
    to win and lose is a division that has occurred at a very deep primal cultural level deeper than whatever civilization happens to be passing through town at the moment.
    the flags and icons are irrelevant in that they just translate the same fundamental idea.
    so much more than what gods we worship or what books we read or what leaders we follow or what money we spend.
    all these are superficial and changing them doesn't change this divide.
    just one replaced the other into the same slot as before.
    just one more religion.
    just one more government.
    just one more economic system.
    on and on etc.
    when the basic concept remains rooted in our animal sense of right and wrong and good and evil.
    a circle.
    is being human just being an intelligent animal or is it more?
    can it be more?
    can we overcome the bonds to our physical emotional selves?
    has this question been asked too many times?
    as he returns to the same point he's returned to again and again as so many have returned here again and again.
    a circle.
    nothing is decided for us.
    we decide it for ourselves.
    yet the individual cannot undecide it unless one is willing to be insane or considered to be by others.
    insane or a fool.
    a dreamer.
    and the dada piles on higher and deeper.
    ha ha.
    go fly a kite.
    go jump in a lake.
    dance away.
    dissolve through the transparency of the absolute to become the impossible.
    mix it up.
    confuse the issue.
    lose your mind.
    tilt.
    game over.

    it's nothing more than a shoe - and so much more.
    look into the mirror and see yourself as someone else and try to remember your name.
    it loses its meaning.
    what meaning did it ever have?
    what does it mean now that it has no meaning?
    [ ] right
    [ ] wrong
    [ ] yes
    [ ] know
    [ ] sometimes i feel like a motherless child

    sometimes he feels like he's gone insane and found sanity at the same time.
    does sanity have meaning?
    and he's not really asking the questions he's asking.
    they go by.
    he's not concerned with the answers.
    it's just that some ideas are best expressed in this language as a question.
    the question is a statement.
    yes?
    so let that be that.
    say no more.

    love.
    luminous.
    lucky.
    lunch.

    a beautiful warm sunday afternoon and here he is twisted inside and out with pain that comes from nowhere and everywhere.
    he cannot speak to anyone.
    he cannot even look at their faces.
    he must hide by himself and try not to think of these thoughts that scream like fingernails on a blackboard.
    tinfoil on fillings.
    all the people with gaping bleeding holes in their lives and he can do nothing for them.
    and as everything falls apart.
    as all the castles built on sand wash away with the tides.
    how trite can he make this?
    as everything he's seen fades away.
    as everyone drifts apart.
    dreams rust under the ocean, rot in the jungle, turn to dust in the desert.
    there is too much to overcome.
    we've been beaten to the ground too many times.
    everyone is waiting for a savior to pull them out.

    5/8
    drowning in a thousand nameless seas.
    what is cannot be described.
    it appears as one thing then appears as something else.
    which is the true form?
    he is so tangled up that he doesn't know what  he thinks or feels.
    he tries not the think of feel.
    then there are the billions and more stars.
    then there are the ocean waves.
    then there are leaves on the trees.
    then there are the atoms.
    then there are the particles.
    then there is nothing.
    then there is everything.

    and everyone sees it as ending - or at best remaining the same.
    why is he stuck with this goddamn vision of something else?
    just a visionary madman.
    it's the only thing that matters.
    how should he act on it?
    how does he distinguish fact from fantasy?
    sometimes it seems so real.
    sometimes it is just some absurd dada.
    sometimes it is both.

    turn in.
    find it inside and hold it through all the raging chaos of human/ape madness around and around.
    learn to be alone.
    let it be whatever it is - heaven or hell.
    play through the fire.
    smile away in dream time.
    it's nothing anyway - and it's all everything.
    leave them to their own ways.
    if they want it they can find it themselves.
    no one handed it to him.
    it's all right here and right now anywhere anytime.

    and the dada-ananda was practicing roller-skating on water one day when someone yelled out, hey! where'd you get that hat?
    the dada-ananda came to shore and sat down on a oil drum and spake thusly: a hat is a hat and that is that. whereas all hats are not the same hat, a hat needs to come from a different place. it is a hat unto itself. a hat is a hat yet it is also a hat.
    and the same person said, huh?
    yes, spake the dada-ananda thusly.

    trees burning.
    an easy vision of a god whose name is a riddle.
    who me?
    turning.
    moving toward the axis of the cycles meeting absorbed into one moment that was/is/will be always the moment that we all know well but avoid like crazy.
    still breath.
    hold on.
    this is it.

    a war od wars.
    each war a war of everyone against themselves and each other.
    biting flesh.
    no truth.
    no reality.
    everyone free to unleash their frustrated desires at one another.
    everything twisted from centuries of abuse and denial flung screeching ot.
    believing no one.
    faith in nothing.
    and so in through every river hiway thing of everyone's consciousness fly away toward the beginning.
    and all that kinda stuff.

    rug.
    ashtray.

    and silence.
    nothing more but silence.
    screaming.
    and how is he suppose to get through this?
    he is lifted up and thrown down by whatever is doing this to him any time it wants.
    he is cut off from anyone and everyone.
    great -
    and there is nothing more but silence.
    and he can't get in and he can't get out.

    5/9
    how to write and how to speak of what the language won't describe - the language is designed not to describe.
    to the language it is not real in any way the language recognizes as real.
    when he speaks to someone he is trapped very easily.
    they quickly draw up words and build a fence around him.
    and they don't even know.
    they think that's the way things are.
    the logical limits of language - the rationalogical mind.
    it divides the possible from the impossible - the real from the not real.
    possible/impossible and real/not real only make sense to this rationalogical language.
    this is where those who think rationalogically trap themselves.
    they always think in terms of either/or and think it's all a matter of deciding between one or the other.
    they place a positive value on one and a negative value on the other.
    in this they can only know half the world by their own definitions.
    it is really a fraction far less than half since what they exclude from their reality is limitless.
    and they must follow endless repeating patterns of behavior in order to contain themselves in that fraction.
    they build an entire system that depends on one remaining rationalogical otherwise one cannot function within the system.
    the system must control everything contained within it like the land and the food supplies and any wealth.
    everyone must be dependent on the system in order to survive let alone lead any comfortable life.
    and everyone does this because it not be rationalogical to do so.
    the rationalogical is sanity.
    to go against it or beyond it is insane.
    if the system breaks down they will all go insane and die which is only because they set it up that way.
    this is why they value unyielding strength.
    yet in the reality beyond their reality nothing is unyielding and strength is weakness as much as it is strength.
    that is why the system is always breaking down.
    and they repair it over and over until the system is now in an almost constant state of repair - a system that exists only to constantly repair itself so it can exist.
    that is what their rationalogic leads to.
    and it turns on itself and does so violently because it resists breaking down.
    but breaking down will be the best thing that can happen.
    breaking down is breaking apart.
    breaking apart is breaking free.

    and absurd meaningless statements about whatever comes across one way or the other.
    flame.
    nothing of one.
    nothing of the other.
    and in a world of somethings nothing is...
    whatever comes and goes between every two or more deciding one or the other.
    diving.
    coming up again into a new world with each breath.
    a new world out of the old.

    a distance of each distance.
    and a dress in a store window that someone glances at from a certain focused distance location intersection of existence and event - whether existence and event are apart from one another - as which is one and which is the other and this distance measured.
    a dress in a store window our eyes see in its distance from us through glass kept clean by someone else from that which collects upon it.
    we are placed in the middle of our incomprehension.
    we act normal.
    we act within the parameters of our incomprehension.
    is this important?
    should this be discussed?
    is it even a dress?
    is it even a window?
    is it even distance?
    what should we eat while we discuss it?
    where shall we sit to keep warm and dry?
    who will buy and wear the dress?
    where does that money come from?
    is it a drug deal?
    who will clean the window?
    a dress.
    a window.
    a rug.
    an ashtray.
    a sandwich.
    a hallucinogenic mushroom.
    a disguise.
    a fraud.
    a vintage civil war.
    bang.
    how many were killed?
    who killed them?
    is this important?

    the importance of absurd random little questions as opposed and measured against the importance of government decisions and economic policy.
    wherever the television cameras go and point their glass-eyed noses.
    as opposed and measured against into which drawer the corporate dictum says to put the paper clips.
    whoever holds your leash.
    whoever tells you what to consider important or not.
    a color strikes your eye and you are called to follow it yet there's a box of paper clips to be put into the proper drawer again without thinking.

    all the dreams we have.
    all the dead dreams taken over by power and wealth enjoyed by the masses.
    and that's not it.
    what is it is how fucking stupid most people are.
    he is different and he's always been punished for it.
    they love to pat him on the back and say how special he is but he can feel the claws digging in to his flesh.

    he has looked through as much as he can and has seen nothing.
    he sees all the vanity.
    he sees all that they have.
    he sees all they have built.
    he sees all they have written.
    he sees no love at all but love of self.
    he loves himself.
    their hearts are stone cold.
    his heart is stone cold.
    he is as human as they are.
    why should he give up anything?
    they will walk by someone who is starving and then get upset when they spill something on their new clothes - a new dress as seen in a store window bought with money from their drug deals.
    everything is a drug to them.
    they want everyone addicted.
    and what provides them with new clothes also produces starving people.
    it's the same system.
    they know this but they buy and buy trying to forget all the starving people.
    and he doesn't care either.
    and they set themselves up to work themselves to death so they don't have time to deal with starving people.
    yet the more they work the more they starve and the more of them there are.
    but they are only these apes and apes cannot be expected to feel anything but self-gratification.

    and we've all heard about the idiot wind.
    the air we breathe.
    the air we speak.
    from someone to another.

    the state.
    march on.
    fly your flags high above.
    can you dance?

    5/13
    and flaming deluxe.
    a robin's egg blue too.
    and all the time in the world of the world as the world is or is not.
    tomorrow is never.
    square two.
    square 16-c.
    and a room upstairs.

    of some sort of responsible detection and without the language we can use to allow ourselves to perceive who we actually are.
    no one knows our names.
    no one knows our identity.
    iowa city.
    just the dreamers.
    just the ones who can't make anything work - who can't change things.
    and we've seen this before and we'll see it again with proper notes placed in the proper location.
    and it's not like anything.
    being from the beginning.
    being nothing and something.
    and this human thing now.
    and the crimes of being human judged by other humans.
    and it is supposed.
    and it is begun.
    and it is ended.
    we see one and then we see the other.
    which is it?

    flaws in the argument.
    cut the ribbons by the sword of rationalogical reason.
    drop it.
    anything can be what it is.
    anything can be what it is not.
    somewhere in these circles of thought is the key combination that will open -
    but until then it's business as usual.
    there is lottsa money to be made meanwhile.
    as words appear before him on the page.
    what has been tried before?
    we create the world.
    we write the program.
    practical.
    money.
    they drain out all your soul and energy and give you a little free time.
    but it's gone by then.
    zero.
    circles.
    all the words.
    no common element - except pockets.
    dive through the ceiling (which is someone else's floor).
    become.
    become what you -
    control the process.
    control the means of the process.
    out of control.
    call it out and bring it down.
    all within the very mind.

    drawn into the negative freestyle image of a materializing person who you would have had to have been there to meet.
    shake hands.
    sentence.
    time to go.
    go to time.
    reverse.
    select.
    zip lock.
    zip feed.
    image information direct mode.
    function.
    combine into from two or three etc. to one back down from the top or the bottom or the middle somewhere.
    and the confrontation.
    the battle won without answers.
    the siren song sung - or not quite exactly that or not even that at all but what comes to mind when one thinks about that.
    and the umbrella twirls down into the feedback vortex cycles in and out of cycles.
    laughing all the way at the great big joke that so happens to involve the suffering of countless lives in pain.

    drawn into the fight.
    the war that is the war for itself without winning or losing but just the exchange of blow by blow action in the face and in the gut twisting in agony of divided space and time.
    somewhere in here lies the formulation of events that are interconnected without being connected - without understanding.
    events understanding of themselves.
    realism divides itself out to interested parties.
    realism can only deal with itself and it does so by building walls with bricks of anger and the mortar of frustration.

    between the lines.
    follow the crocked path into the whatever.
    bend the mind out of the frozen shape it was whipped into from the primal scream on.
    push all the buttons at once - or as many as you want to - and it is still not enough.
    wanting more.
    and more.
    that emptiness always resides within.
    that emptiness is the emptiness that gave birth to creation.
    the purity of that emptiness - what can be more pure than nothing and everything that exists within the purity of nothing?
    all the levels of consciousness that pass through the experience of existence within that pure nothing.
    telephone from space.
    the cure is the disease.

    and could we have fallen?
    and could we have flown?
    talking backwards from the end which is really the beginning now sujectivewise.
    and the lovers dance into themselves wishing it all away until they are taken out and shot.
    and what is not as it will always be climbs up the walls.
    the dreams of the human minds weaving through the universe as it becomes into becoming what it was not before.
    realization.

    the towers of this babylon built of the foundation of waste and greed.
    the loveless self.
    the lonely heart that seeks power and wealth to overcome its isolation from itself - or to reinforce it.
    and then some.
    and so on.
    etc.
    beyond all approaches of the rationalogical mind disease that has been the scourge of this human race since its inception into the world and mind of consciousness.
    look around.
    we do not seem to arrive to some means of balancing the spheres of the mind.
    this since one of the many factors entering into the structure of the rationalogical mind is the need - the emotionless need - to seek domination over any and all opposition which is the world from the standpoint of the supposed objective view of authority screwing all the dreams.

    and the dada-ananda spake thusly: we can in our own fashion counteract the domination of the rationalogical mind by creating a state to our liking which is called confusion and doubt. we are here to cause and effect of this confusion and doubt. this will crack the shell and spill the water of our birth to come apart in body, mind and soul. we would counteract the dominant rationalogical mind in order to enact a drastic change in world-wide reality the the rationalogical mind would see as confusion and doubt. the rationalogical mind then would find itself placed into a situation that has been cleared of paradoxes that frustrate and empower the rationalogical mind into closed structured thinking. we see this occurring in the rapid change in language and behavior though these have always been present but now must explode within the same day we now experience with global communication as never before. and i must say that i find this funny. and i must say that i have been here before.

    and so sleeping and waking everyday.
    and he can't live with these hopeless dreams in his head and he can't live with their hopeless reality.
    so many are ready and willing to have the whole thing blow up and that's it.
    they only see what their eyes can see.
    others believe in the chance for revenge in the  form of revolution or the return of god or something.
    no one sees how we only need ourselves.

    calling out the names we have forgotten.
    and the names are not important as the ideas of the names.
    darkness holds our dreams and cloak them in mystical mystery so we think they are unattainable or of no substance except imagination and no one believes in the reality of imagination except reality is nothing but imagination.
    direct.
    open-eyed in the wisdom ages have written.
    it comes to a blank wall with the looks on their faces.
    and there are no words that can penetrate into their heads as they only have the meaning we give them.
    they have no meaning in their heads.
    and what action can be taken either?
    so sitting here understanding whatever he understands is useless.
    all they want is control and they don't care how tightly they lock themselves up to achieve it.
    they divide those who are in and those who are out. - those who are welcome and those who are not.
    the doors are closed.
    the doors are locked.
    the doors are set with alarms.
    and there are those who are out who want in.
    and there are those who are in who want out.
    their world is rigid and unyielding.
    it will break wide apart and will do so only violently because they hold on so tight.
    close your eyes.
    close your eyes.
    close your eyes.
    nothing is happening.
    nothing is going wrong.
    don't listen to anyone except those who tell you everything is all right.

    5/15
    and he's stuck with it.
    he's been cursed or blessed with the vision of things as they are not.
    and it's so easy to say just close your eyes but he cannot.
    he sees with his eyes open or closed.
    and all he can do is just sit and wait - and write.
    life in a dream.
    a dream of a greater reality than this.
    one unexplored.
    one undeveloped.
    nothing more than a dream that isn't shared by anyone else - not because they can't but because they won't.

    and from times between times out of times aware of nothing else - whatever that's supposed to mean.
    preset.
    formulated.
    command.
    locked in.
    and the vague interest and the unquestioning gaze at all the -
    and he is tired of not having words that will say what he means to say.
    he is tired of having their words in his head - their thoughts in his head - their ideas - their world - everything they own and control.
    they should be called out.
    they should be challenged and fought every step of the way.
    yet we give in to them in order to survive in their world.
    what about our world?
    how many of us are there who do not buy into their thought control?
    where are we?
    he does not see anyone.
    control me, they say, i do not trust what i think and what i feel. i do not like myself out of control. i cannot function outside of control.
    and they hold their hands out for the chains.
    control.
    it's all control.

    bringing it about to turn it around and to result in nothing more than what it is,
    zero.
    to watch the world crumble as the more we try to control it.
    we deny ourselves everything and then beg for crumbs from the table who we've surrendered it to.
    what a deal.
    spin the wheel.
    win the big trip.
    win the money.
    win the car and boat.

    listening.
    the sound of noise.
    the sound of everything becoming what it is at once.
    nothing.
    everything.
    too much and too little.
    zebra.
    and all it is is what it is.
    and we are killing each other over it.
    control it.
    control what cannot be controlled.
    zero.
    no effect.

    page after page of pages that say nothing.
    he cannot use their words to speak of what they refuse to see - what they are frightened to see.
    they need to be frightened.
    that is how their reality works.
    he sees nothing more than what is.
    he doesn't have x-ray psychic vision.
    he sees exactly what they see except he calls it by name.
    or something like that.

    the universal view.
    the shapes in the window.
    the books we read forever.
    turn out the light.
    nothing can be changed.
    it cracks.
    it shakes.
    flames.
    and he would like to be able to write that it's all going to be ok.
    he would like to be able to write about the wonderful world.
    he would like to not be so negative - is he negative?
    but he can't.
    you want to sleep and all he can do is slap you when he sees you nodding off.
    the time is going to come when we will have to run and run like fucking hell.

    and oblivion.
    and he seeks the oblivion of the people on the street who can walk through it all without a care.
    and where it goes from there.
    they smile through the agony that surrounds them with grimace smiles.
    how do they do it?
    he's tired of seeing it.
    he's tired of thinking about it.
    he's tired of knowing it.
    give him the sweet oblivion of the common ordinary everyday normal life these others live.
    give him another beer.
    and possibly bringing it all down.
    just a fantasy.
    people starving all over the place.
    children being beaten in their own homes.
    and everyone's got a gun.
    fuck it all.
    let's go fishing.

    5/17
    and from one moment to another in one all-existing moment.
    yet everyone has a watch or a clock dividing time.
    time divided into the finite from the infinite.
    and not belonging in relation to them dividing time.
    he is divided out.
    he cannot exist divided apart.
    he is all there is at all time.
    yet these statements and similar bounce off the walls they use to divide things up - to divide up the world.
    they set the limits.
    they define the terms.
    who died and left them in charge?
    they are frightened little children.

    and the dada-ananda was rumored to have appeared in a bowling alley and to have spake thusly: i don't know what to tell you that others haven't told you already far more eloquently than i can. did you listen then? all that you need to know is all around you within easy reach if you only reach for it. i cannot say what is or what is not. that is not what i am here for. what i am here for is to tell you that anything and everything is possible and not to settle for any limits you are told exist no matter how reasonable they may seem. beyond that it is up to you to decide what you want your world to be either a paradise or a graveyard. you choose for yourselves. you choose for everyone. what is for one is what is for another. one cannot have anything at the expense of another. that is what this world is at the moment - a world of people trying to reach paradise at another's expense. this is what you have chosen until this world is turned into a graveyard.
    with this the dada-ananda lost interest and vanished into a rabbit hole.

    5/18
    maybe or somewhere close...
    it's another time here now and then.
    confusion reigns supreme.
    he tries to ride with it but always falls off.
    it gets away.
    or something.
    he just doesn't know.

    5/19
    from another kiss about around forward this guy drinking a beer who's talking on about wearing around this hat that was a hat and a girl wearing a flowered dress and some sort of gun that was pointed at the hat where this moth had landed because of the light.
    because of the light.
    and dreamers of love - that mythological emotion - in the dream of love moving in shapes of one another in the dark, the beauty of the dark.
    and everyone ends up alone.
    and everyone is who they are - or maybe someone else sometimes.
    and he sits here and wonders about these people and shakes his head.
    how is all of this ever going to work its way out into something worth half a fart?
    some kind of explosion from the hell they've dug themselves into.
    everybody's talking about suicide tonight.
    suicide's a question, says this guy.

    5/20
    ancient calling by works of little magick.
    small ways displayed at unsuspecting random times that happen most when one is not paying attention.
    do not pay attention!
    and when the time has passed you will know what happened.
    the green ambulance with the pink suit medical team of otherwise people of different flavors of treatment.
    everyone is god and should be treated as such, they say.
    share the wealth wagon.
    music pours forth in radiant sound massage.
    the magick keeps working while no one pays attention.
    he guides it elsewhere.
    #1 different eyes human to human in hesitant fear of one another in a glance turned away.
    # 2 can't delay now.
          a move.
          a trick in the book.
          a lesson learned in an instant again.
          a look in the eye.
          a different kind.
          a wind through a window.

    5/21
    and now in another time one more time again.
    turning from one time to another.
    time being the elements of space moving in relationship to each other, or something like that.
    a hat.
    and some guy on the phone calling becky.
    a thousand beckys.
    a million beckys.
    do you know anyone named becky?
    are you named becky?
    is that call for you  or someone you know?

    and on becoming god.
    within.
    a circle that  encompasses all circles.
    a circle never completed.
    and it is sometimes silent.
    and it sometimes is a great noise.
    it must be all things at once.
    screaming.
    a bridge that burns.
    the only light in the darkness.
    and he doesn't know if it's behind him or not.
    which way was he going?

    and the crying of the old old moon.
    sail it away.
    become the dawn.
    a new connection or two.
    far away but coming near.
    and what comes apart.
    and what goes together.
    and what lies between.
    as he is between what comes apart and what goes together.
    listening.
    nothing.
    listening.
    sky.
    listening.
    ground.
    listening.
    in through the forgotten shadows.
    somewhere.
    nothing.
    confusion of thought into doubt.
    different.
    stand.
    fire at will.
    free zone.
    a ribbon.
    hair.
    some sort of smile when we first noticed...

9/7/97

    there was something else we were thinking about writing that the potential reader might find interesting to read about. what would that be? sex? violence? conspiracies? truth? justice? mystery? romance? occult revelations? something one might grasp and possess that will be near and dear and separate oneself from all worry, confusion, trouble and fear. something that will allow one to rise above to be the monkey furthest up the tree. something passionate, strong and enduring. something rugged and of few words. something determined and resourceful. something commanding. something bright and shining clear as a beacon guiding one toward the promised land of milk and honey and endless hunting grounds full of fat prey and to conquer all one's enemies. something of an orgasm of orgasms exploding within and without encompassing all of creation without beginning or end. something rock fucking solid yet as flowing as the sea. something eternal and now.
    did we leave anything out?
    what we left out was ourselves - we and our little island out in the eye of a storm on an otherwise calm sea. but who wants a calm sea? how boring. what's the excitement in that? besides, the storm keeps away the casual tourist. to get here one has to be shipwrecked and lost to any and all hope.
    the storm and its excitement is in place to serve as a distraction to keep others away from us. the storm amuses us in our time being here and now. let them squabble with themselves. let them dance. let them follow leaders. what is any of that to us?
    let the prophets, messiahs, masters, teachers and the ilk concern themselves with that. let them spout their never ending spoutings of mystical explanations wowing the few and the many among those populating the populations of this world. let them write and read their treastises, manifestos, books and pamphlets and shout slogans into megaphones for the masses to chant. let them gather and form mobs and armies. let them make and break the laws. let them be popular and aloof. let them defend the cultured elite or the common rabble. let them piss into the wind all day and night. let them bring down glory from the heavens and call vengeance up from hell. let them be black or white or every shade of gray. let them be us and them. but let them not be us or we be them.
    so is there a sense of hopelessness here - a determination beyond one's determination? yes/no. is there despair that drives one into only at best being able to laugh mocking at everything? yes/no. is their joy in that? yes/no. is there only that which one might pity and never envy or admire - those who are entirely empty? yes/no.
    yet what else is there we desire and strive for when we shake our fists at the sky or the high towers and cry out demanding freedom, power and authority? do we realize what an empty lonely space that is? do we realize this even when we cry out demanding love and compassion?
    there are crowds along that broad smooth path and road with each being more or less equal and replaceable. so much amber waves of grain full and ripe for harvest and the threshing floor and the millstone. so many bags of flour and loaves of bread.
    that is the power of the people.
    our power is not having power. our presence is that no one notices we are absent. our authority is that we do not need anyone to listen to us or believe us in order to know what we know. our freedom cannot be chained or unchained as we do not define it as such as that. and our love and compassion is a fire we kindle and burn enough to keep ourselves warm by ourselves and to hell with others and theirs. who begs from the poor?

    a rag. a rant. a stream of thoughts through one's consciousness. words scribbled across pages. a life. existence.
    this one possibility out of all the possibilities. this hodge-podge of this and that which by some accident falls into place and becomes something one is thinking. one is lost and stumbling and stuttering through the forest. one finds something one would not have found otherwise.
    all paths lead to and fro and around elsewhere. this that is sits in the middle equally far from any destinations and origins. it is found where and when one has given up finding anything or even looking for anything. one gives up any and all paths - even this one for this too is false. one cannot purposefully plunge into the forest hoping to become lost and then finding it. that too is a path. nor will one find it by sitting down and giving up. that too is a path. we cannot stress too much that it cannot be found following a path.
    but what is it? is it a goal one should desire? would one even recognize it if one came upon it? how does one know one hasn't passed by it or through it many times already? one must not just find it but one must be prepared to find it, otherwise one could be staring right at it hip deep in it and one would not even know. it is more a matter that one does not want to know because it is not what one expected. one has an image of it being something else. if one expects it to be gold then one will only look for it to be and only recognize it as being gold. if one expects it to be dog shit then one will only look for it to be and only recognize it as being dog shit. the same is true with whatever one expects it to be.
    it is none of these things. it is not none of these things.
    let us tell you a story.
    he was sitting in the cafe one day reading a book. after a time he noticed that he was reading the same page over and over. the more he tried to read the words the more they slipped away. he closed the book and thought a moment. he couldn't think of anything either. then he noticed how he was feeling. at first he felt as if he was high like he had dropped and was just starting to get off. but it wasn't that. it didn't have that anxious edge. it was smooth. it was glowing. it was warm. it was silly. it was slap happy and clumsy. it was spilling out all over the floor. it was love. he realized that he was in love. and then he thought, but with who? he looked around. there was no one other than the regular people. it wasn't anyone around him. was it someone who wasn't here? he went down the list of people he knew and found that it wasn't anyone of them. but it seemed like it was someone. why did he feel this way? but he eliminated everyone real and imagined. but he felt the same. he was definitely in love. then he dropped the question, with who? he was in love - just in love. there was no one attached to it. it was just the state itself. there was no object. how strange, but why not? of all the psychological and emotional states he had ever experienced being in love was by far the best of all. but he had been convinced that he could only feel that way with someone as the object. but why? he could not think of any reason why or why not. being in love was entirely self-generated with all the hormones and chemical reactions and stuff like that. did the other person object really have anything to do with it? so why no eliminate them altogether? they were just stimuli. it was a pavlovian response. it was just learned behavior from one's social surroundings.
    so there he was and there he is being in love with nothing and no one to be in love with.
    and that is sort of what it is like, but not really.
    riddle us this.
    riddle us that.
    give up yet?
    keep going.
    it's sort of like a tomato in that a tomato is sort of like a rabbit in that a rabbit is sort of like smoke which is sort of like a poem that is sort of like a tomato.
    it's sort of like how long does one wish to be turned around by the nose in circles by any yahoo who happens along about what one knows already.
    one can do that for oneself which is sort of the point, but not really.
    doing it for oneself. if one doesn't know anything and can't find anything anywhere one looks for it and then some then just make it up. where else does knowledge come from but from what we make up? from the gods, either human or divine?
    that's a laugh.
    that has nothing to do with it. it's not about gods or not gods or what the world or anything in the world is or isn't. it's not about all these objects of our affections. it's not about whether the world is an illusion or whether the earth is flat or round or a waveform or an eggplant or if time is going forward or backward or in all directions. it's not about the truth being the real honest truth or just being what we need and want it to be as we argue back and forth and sometimes fighting in the streets.
    it's not about knowledge of any kind.
    it's not about what one knows or doesn't know
    and the dada-ananda laughs at all this speculation. the dada-ananda digs a hole in the ground with a spoon in someone's backyard and did spake thusly: i am digging in the dirt to see dirt i haven't seen yet. i am looking for truth. why are you writing about anything at all? what are words? are they magick? are they more magical being written down? does anyone understand them or are there only those who have learned to make them do clever tricks? how many fantasies are produced with words? what great fantasy has been produced with the word itself being uttered in the void? there are a thousand heavens, a thousand hells, a thousand worlds with each word. who can count them all? who would wish to count them all? i do not count them all though i know how many there are. what do we do with it and all the words of it? we create a great spell of confusion and resulting misery and then say that it is a mystery. what do i want with mystery? what do i want with confusion and misery? what do i want with more words?
    and someone nearby who was in great doubt at seeing the dada-ananda asked the dada-ananda, then why do you speak?
    the dada-ananda coughed and spat out a grasshopper and did spake thusly: what do i speak? am i speaking words or making noises with my mouth? what do you hear but words? am i responsible for the words you hear? am i responsible for your actions after you hear these words you hear? i will take on that responsibility if you would like. i will speak and you will hear and obey whether what you do goes with or against the words you hear, whether you respond to the words you hear with either love or hate, life or death or any other this or that sort of thing. i will be that if you want and choose me to be that. i will say jump and you will either jump or not jump. either is a response and every response will be correct. i will take that responsibility if you want and choose. the words you hear me speak will be the only words spoken. all other words will only be echoes. are you ready to take that test? you are already taking it by standing here gawking at me and listening to me.
    and someone else who was troubled said, you're not making any sense.
    the dada-ananda looked into a mirror and saw a zebra in the shape of a fish and did spake thusly: isn't that wonderful? aren't you glad? that is the perfect excuse for you not to listen to me. you are free. no chains now bind you. fly away. go live in paradise.
    and someone who looked like a potato asked, how do we do that?
    and the dada-anada now wearing a dark blue business suit with shoulder pads and skirt just at the knee and shoes that click with sharp determination and smoking a designer label cigar did spake thusly: how can you not? who opposes you? who is for you? who is against you? am i not the two-faced guardian at the gate? do i not say yes and no and let you decide to enter or not? what more information do you need? what more is going to tell you something different? how many words do you need? yet you pause at the gate because you feel you don't have the correct password. you feel that you have not done the correct rituals, studied the correct scriptures, sacrificed to the correct gods, atoned for the correct sins. do i stand before you or do you stand before yourselves? will you tell yourself yes or will you tell yourself no? the horse has been led to the water. does it now drink or will i come by another time and see its bones lying in the dust?
    and someone picking their nose said, i don't know what to do - what to decide.
    and the dada-ananda radiates as the blessed whore and did spake thusly: has anyone said you need to decide? who is that one who has said that? was it me? this is not life and death. deciding or not deciding is not the question or the answer. you just do what you do and let that be that. have i spoken of reward or punishment? have i spoken of heaven or hell? did i put any idea in your mind? did i tell you that before you may act you must know? am i what causes you hesitation? i will be your guardian angel. i will be your tempting demon. give me a costume and mask and call me whatever name you choose and i will play the part. but i can tell you now i am a bad actor. i forget my lines and cues. i forget where i am supposed to be on the stage. it would be better if you found a more professional actor to perform this role for you. i would very much like to be the one who speaks and enlightens you, to be the one who embraces you and welcomes you home. but as you may or may not be able to see i am not this one. what the hell do you want anyway?
    and someone who was holding a rose said, i do not know what i want.
    and the dada-ananda becoming a jar of mustard did spake thusly: then that is what you want - to not know what you want. every thought in your head is a wish that comes true. this is what creates the world. but perhaps i have taken this too far with you. it is something few are clear enough to understand and to burst out laughing with that understanding. most just fall weeping understanding only the utter futility of it all.
    and someone with size 11 shoes said, you know, something smells funny around here.
    and the dada-ananda bent over and lit a fart into a colorful burst of dragon fire and did spake thusly: look no further - it is i. is it not a wonderfully perfect foul stench that is the perfume of my exaltation? am i not a dog who rolls delighted in its own shit? is it not enough to make you want to gag and choke? am i not as fragrant as a public toilet? am i not the rotten decaying corpse left behind by the ascending spirit? am i not what is discarded as waste and garbage? am i not the chaff? what would you have me smell like?
    then some bicycle cops came by and told the dada-ananda to move along and quit bothering the citizens.
 

    what has he become that is so very apart from it - from what it is - from where it is?
    when did he wander astray and arrive at a place and time where and when he cannot recall how he had arrived?
    he does not clearly recall arriving.
    all he knows is that is is not where or when it is.
    this place and time screams with the open gaping festering wound of its absence that never heals.
    who does not hear that scream?
    who does not utter it?
    he clenches his teeth and chokes it back.
    he stops his ears and covers his eyes.
    still he cannot avoid feeling its pressure around him.
    at this point which is the furthest he is able to extend his mind's imagination he cannot imagine it.
    he imagines it out of what he is not able to imagine.
    he imagines it out of its absence.
    he knows it by that though he knows that is not knowing it.
    he knows he cannot know it.
    he knows only of its possibility.
    but this thought of imagining it being that which he cannot ever hope to imagine is the only thought he has in his mind that preserves him.
    he must think this even if it is that which might drive him into madness for without it he is certainly mad.
    what else that is but this thought of it beyond what he is able to imagine is anything other than madness?
    but better that than the madness of not having that thought of it.
    what is the existence of this world and all that leads to and from this world other than madness?
    if there is a creator of this world, which may be only ourselves, is that creator anything else but madness?
    is he to find joy in that?
    is he to find joy in its negation?
    yes!
    it is its own negation.
    with it all and any madness ceases to even have all and any possibility of existing - ever.
    the disease is the cure for the disease.
    that is the only joy possible.
    that is his only joy - that he can imagine that possibility that it is though what it is that it is he cannot begin to imagine beyond imagining the possibility that it might possibly be able to be imagined to exist.
    he can only imagine what that existing might be by what he is able to imagine what it is not.
    he digs a hole deeper than his imagination with a spoon in someone's backyard.
    his words become confused and meaningless.
    that does not matter to it or the imagining of it.
    he cannot hold them to the imagining of his mind.
    he cannot hold his mind true to its imagining.
    the point upon which it is focused is at the point of it just being able to be imagined but not quite.
    that point is just short of being able imagine imagining is as it might be existing.
    imagine that.
    all imagining of it cannot reach it but being only that he is he needs to imagine something.
    that something imagined is something that is all he might imagine of that which cannot be imagined.
    it is not anything that he has seen or known.
    it is not anything he has heard or read.
    the highest of the saints and messiahs are abominations.
    the gods are abominations.
    the creator is an abomination.
    all forms of anything not being it are abominations.
    all mask what it is.
    anything less than it is an abomination yet it is all we have of it.
    we must make do.
    we must endure.
    we must survive.
    we must live.
    we must dance.
    we must have joy.
    it creates the creator to create itself.
    it creates itself so that it may be imaged.
    and what can we imagine that is manifest from what is imagined?
    a creator creates, but what is that which is created compared to that which is imagined?
    it can only be less, yet it is that which is - we can only imagine what it is not.
    through imagination there is joy - the joy of imagination.
    it is it.
    this is it.
    it presents itself to us in the only way that it can - though our imagination.
    all is only that which leads our imagination to it.
    imagine all that is, then imagine all that is not.
    this leads us to imagining what it might be but is more than we might be able to imagine.
    what it presents us with is beyond our imagination - imagine what all else it is beyond what is presented.
    he can only be amused by that, but he is not amused.
    how can one be amused by anything less than what it is?
    the creator and creation are mere diversions.
    he is not impressed.
    they are just tricks he is to be amused by for his time existing.
    he imagines more is possible but he cannot imagine what it might be.
    he is not interested in this world or its creator.
    he is not interested in anything less than his imagination.
    what is it that the creator creates that can only be less than what can be imagined?
    he is not interested in less.
    he is only interested in more - more than he can possibly imagine.
    it is only less that is brought into existence.
    it is only shit.
    is he to be amused by shit?
    is he to find joy in shit?
    is he to sing praises to shit?
    he can only imagine what it might have been before it became something that is only shit.
    it is that which he offers his praise as much as he is able to gather within himself as he faces so many other lesser distractions of the body, mind and spirit that clamor for his attention.
    it is that in which he finds his joy.
    it is that in which he finds amusement.
    all that he imagines what everything truly is if there it is truly anything at all.
    what was he given imagination for if not for that?
    that is his madness.
    it is the light by which all else that is created is known.
    it is the light by which that which creates is known.
    what would be known without this light?
    what heaven would exist?
    what stars would shine?
    what life would there be?
    what would he be?
    it is all the light and the light is imagination.
    and with the light is also the darkness - the darkness of imagination that only the imagination can know as well as only the imagination can know the light.
    and together the light and darkness of imagination create all creation with all that is presented and manifest in creation that is it yet can never truly be it except as perceived by imagination.
    all is only reflection.
    look into the mirror to see what is it.
    look into what the mirror sees that stands before it and know what it is.
    look into the light and the darkness.
    look into creation.
    look into the creator.
    look into it.
    look out of it looking into the mirror.
    looking into and out of itself.
    that is where and when it is found to be here and now as all things that are possible and what is to be imagined.
    it is the light.
    it is the darkness.
    it is what exists.
    it is what is living.
    it is what imagines.
    it is it.
    this is it.
    to call it that which exists is to call it less than that which it is.
    existence is that which it is and is not.
    existence is that which it becomes as it exists.
    even to call it it is to call it less than that which it is - but what other word of this useless language should he use?.
    the word it is the most neutral and universal.
    it has no definition in and of itself.
    it can only be compared to something else.
    what is it by itself but only what one imagines it is?
    what it is cannot be called by name.
    all names limit what something is into being just that and nothing less and nothing more.
    it is always something less and something more.
    it is not used as a name.
    it has no name yet is all names.
    any name can be it.
    it can be any name.
    one may understand this or one may not.
    that does not matter.
    he understands it.
    that is all he is interested in.
    it does not need to be understood in order to be.
    understanding has no bearing on it.
    it needs none to understand it nor even realize that there is something to be understood.
    one may be ignorant of it.
    one may be ignorant of one's ignorance of it.
    it does not need to be known or understood.
    it offers no knowledge or understanding of itself to one seeking knowledge and understanding except that which might be imagined of knowledge and understanding.
    yet it is sought.
    one seeks it without knowing.
    it is all that is ever sought.
    it is the object of all desire.
    all objects are it by other names.
    it desires nothing, not even to be desires.
    yet it as itself manifest desires everything as itself imagined.
    it offers nothing to one desiring it other than the desire itself.
    desire forever unfulfilled as there is no limit to what it is and is not.
    it is the desire for it that is the joy not the fulfillment of it.
    one desires forever.
    one is unfulfilled forever.
    that is the joy.
    it can only offer tidbits of itself.
    it can never offer itself.
    in that one finds fulfillment.

    and what it really is is something we got him to fixate on so as to allow us access to his mind while he is absently distracted by whatever it might be as he imagines it being - this object that is no object. it is like an addiction without a drug except the addiction itself. it's an on/off short circuit connection of synaptic pleasure/pain. now he sees it. now he doesn't.
    zzzzap!
    in the blinding flash of moment divided on/off both being and happening at once with and against each other. the moment between moments before a moment begins or ends pinpointing zerowise into the infinite expanse of the infinite infitesimalitiy.
    we have perhaps created a monster. and perhaps that was our underlying intent beneath all our thoughts otherwise. in desiring it has he become it? and have we in our suggestively instigating his desiring caused him to become it?
    but what foolish thoughts these are. how improbable if not impossible. how boring.
    what is it to be it? what is it to be one who perhaps has become it? - or to have become fascinated and fixated imagining and desiring it? we need only to point him out as an example of the utter devastation it visits upon one such as that - one who imagines that one has stumbled upon and discovered the source and origin of everything. in reality one has stumbled upon and discovered nothing. most people have more common sense than that. not him.
    so where does that leave him? does it matter if he is an idiot or a genius? he is still entirely mad separated from the rest who cannot possibly understand him. what is he but some burnt out bum collecting checks from the state and writing endless gibberish such as this and killing himself with coffee and cigarettes for hours and days that have now become years into decades until he finally dies?
    what the fuck is that?
    is it something to be admired and aspired to become? is it something to be ignored and avoided by those who have the slightest valve to their lives and some amount of self respect? there is nothing here but absurdities it is trash that even those who dig through trash leave behind. it is pure rotten festering disease ridden toxic waste. it is outcast by the outcasts. it is untouchable to the untouchables. it is discarded and abandoned by those who are discarded and abandoned. it is insane to those who are insane. it is a hell beneath hell. it is oblivion beyond oblivion. if one wishes to know and understand what it is, it is all that and more. leave it alone or you'll be sorry.
    yet for some reason he is quite oblivious to this. he wallows in it laughing oinking like a happy pig in a sty. he moos contentedly as he is led to the slaughterhouse. we keep him fixated and transfixed in this way to what he can never reach and touch. meanwhile he writes what we want him to write about himself and all else. this allows us access to the greater mind at large via this subtle unobtrusive means toward our end that will not cause nay undue attention we wish to avoid to itself hidden away yet will spread in time to those who need it most. there is no proclamation, no manifesto, no press release. there is no doctrine, no philosophical belief, no revelation. there is only this that will be dismissed as being inconsequential by most while being intriguing to some few who know who they are in the population at large who will pick up bits and pieces of it as they will among themselves and others. that is its design. every word is a command without command. it gives orders specifically to those who do not follow orders. they will not even know it. the orders are disguised without being stated as such but they are there amid the rambling whatever nonsense which also may be the orders. one never knows. the orders are an infection. what seems harmless enough is really contaminated. it may seem even to be somewhat attractive. watch out. be careful. it's slippery when wet. it's all downhill from here or from there wherever this might have begun. where is that?
    that is the design. that is the model. that is the purpose. and one need not read the whole of it. any one part will do. maybe. temptation strikes deep. we have no interest in this being studied or being memorized or even remembering having read it. only some contact. only some knowledge of it without really having knowledge of it.
    there are no symptoms of this disease. one might be infected and be a carrier without even knowing it. it just blends into the general madness people already suffer from. none of this is intended to change anyone's life or thinking or behavior for good or ill. we are not attempting to create an army of the like-minded who all wear beanie copters and high heels or something. and dance the hokey pokey and smash the state and institute a grand new utopia. but if that is what happens, then that is what happens. that comes later.
    we are not interested in change but in control. and not just control over some or many but over all. and we're getting there. or maybe not. maybe this is only part of his inner delusion spewed forth. does it matter? does anyone give a shit? is there anyone perceptive enough to see it and clever enough to stop it or maybe hijack it for their own use and purpose?
    the answer to these questions - and to all questions - is yes. people aren't stupid - not all of them anyway. but that is its design as well - especially the part about someone hijacking it. we need someone else to do our dirty work. we are too lazy and busy with our own foolish things that amuse us. that is what we are counting on. don't let us down. pick it up. go for it. it's all yours.
    we need the self-movivators to create the organized disorganized administrative structure unstructured along the web of hopes and dreams so we may sit back and laugh waving to the crowd. there is plenty of wealth and power for all who wish to take command. and there will be someone. we know this for a fact. that is the design.
    but enough about that and so much nonsense. back to more stories if we were ever writing a story to begin with. were we? probably not. there are not that many stories that are not some variation or another on a familiar theme or two that could be written by almost anyone with some amount of creative flair and grasp of the language - two things we are lacking. this whether the stories are fictional or not. all stories are fictional. all lives are fictional and are some variation or another on familiar themes - yes? we choose among these variations on these certain themes. we may mix parts of one with parts of another looking for similarity or contrast. we construct lives of smooth harmony of jarring contradiction each with beneficial and harmful characteristics and qualities relative to situation and purpose. these are things we dream and in dreaming we make them real. when the are real they are no longer dreams - no more than clay once fired cannot be returned to its original malleable state but only be broken and turned to dust. to create reality takes a dream. to change reality takes a hammer.
    to be used on piece of reality one must first the self the hammer and destroy it giving up many do attempt presently in order with the intention but to become something else that can be done and destroying it is not changing and major central and internal make way for to become something else completely and entirely giving up that no part of the self remains sex/orgasm destroying a part drugs or any other means temporarily losing consciousness equated with the self should not which does not in any way to the beginning one needs one loses consciousness destroying the self to start from gets hooked into that ongoing process form square one again and again not given up in which in any way mean and destroyed these paths stimulating ego monkeys fucking some fantasy themselves time and time they will give birth to themselves anew groundwork ladders placed a top some mickey mouse reasserted climbing some fantasy delusion those who follow repeated loop by doing to attend random built into cards from a deck thin walled foundation and hit their heads enlightenment the weight of the baggage ego collapses they imagine they come seeing stars the self carried they have gained meaningless and pointless the deck and start all over again of knowing they obviously haven't come against a wall they're in a cage or the ground the bars in a rage they do get out to rattle it feels great no more rage stand paralyzed their brains fizzle and die their fix of frustration are no more they not knowing what else it's not even it's a fence rattling it they want inside the fence with these people to get out one's subjective perception too complex simple things to explain they make such figure it out be far too that are very and write language skills measured by they take things that are to demonstrate how convoluted describe something smoke and mirrors understanding a code or is this to cover over one may of labyrinth simple to explain their brickheaded ignorance to obscure what is understood is the ritual what is known and knowledge but the ritual itself.
    but we have sidetracked ourselves away from telling any stories. we too become caught up in the convolutions of language and ritual and some such things as may be excused for the time being as such and such. we are human - or so we believe though we are imaginary.
    yet is this not telling a story? maybe not in the usual manner or a story one may wish to read, but a story nonetheless. and how do we go about telling a story we might have to tell that grooves into some sort of madness scheme? do we follow the variations of the themes that have been developed and passed on for generations back into obscurity? these have their uses and do carry and transmit information but it is the same information over and over again and again. there is nothing wrong with that and no reason why it should not continue. we are not against continuity. it has it's purpose. it is a foundation. but of what use is a foundation if nothing is built upon it?
    and that is where and when we come in. we climb upon this foundation not to build upon it but to sing and dance about in this brief flash of existence and being that we are here and now. a flame in this eternal fire. it is that story we are telling if we are telling any. it is the story of our divine madness. we vary and improvise. we remain true and steadfast. we remain alive. spin, baby, spin. twirl and whirl and remain exactly still and center at the point and axis of one's being. that is all it is. that is all it has been and will be. if paradise isn't here and now then where and when the fuck is it? are we ever some place else at some other time? we cannot be there and then no matter what appointments we might make or what desires we may have. are we eternally lost to ourselves? is that our destiny? if joy is to be found it is to be found in our desiring not in our attaining what we desire. there will always be desire. that is who and what we are. do we need the object to realize our desire?
    something not quite right in those terms desiring objects about that be programmed to explain any point then why would we who does something and there is no more the task at hand do it if there wasn't anymore no more reason when we do have others and oneself that object accomplished we lose interest search for another as doing nothing does something of our actions one who does we do have an object or possession accomplishment desired by others possess something that gives it is value that is not one may possess a rock and valueless if someone may be personal being somewhat strange valued by others saw no value how much its desirability it is thought of as being if someone this one who contained it had gold the difference deciding what does and does not what is valuable to the group if one has something predominance within the group decides what is valuable but not for oneself but for what one possesses group will want to be this object to kill place us one possessing it to be the one within the group we possess we wonder we all seem to want one our enemy psychotic wrecks if one instead one may desire value is to be desired while sacrificing to protect why we're such possession of one's own desire within the group and does not have all others caution is in order it is important this one must these others who has what and who doesn't as cause involved in this not having what they value however groups are in constant conflict or threatening having what they value for one not they do not value neither positive nor negative group may perceive as decreasing fall into the mistake for themselves to begin though the group and cause more the group values will try to convince than if they had gone individuals as being for or against who chooses one of these its integrity as a group the individual who is the option than those two as much as going along with the group it is the option or against this is impossible is equally going along of not being to fully achieve as the terms the group defines one as being the group as not being that such a thing does not call whether these others wants one never perceive one that does attention is called to it or not who pursue the values find oneself and obey the group they see no value their association exactly true which is by one not calling will fade because there isn't any they must constantly pursue it be with others find oneself among them no value or object they cannot live or function marching by in the parade of flags and colors in the camps.
    so everything becomes this and becomes that. it ebbs and flows and swirls about between the two in and of itself dada as it is maybe perceived. we make this general statement over and over. we can realize this is how it is yet we act otherwise - we are forced to act otherwise. we act as though this was never that and that was never this. we act as if nothing were changing. we act as if everything is forever - which it is but not like we expect. our conception of it remains the same. we believe that our conception of things must remain resolute. resolute should not even be a word. if it changes there must be suitable and justifiable reason, such as receiving information that one did not have before. while that is a course that leads to certain specific perceptions, and to reach those perceptions one must follow that course, those perceptions are limited in scope and dimension and so too our conceptions. they deal with one particular field and view and ignore all others. we forget that one implies many if not infinite and all. what eye is the true eye? what mind is the true mind? something may be true to a specifically defined perception and conception which is not many or infinite or all. this is not to argue whether our perception and conception is true or not. it may be in a certain moment or a certain context but overall it is in constant flux.
    beware the truth.
    so what does that bring us to besides us being what we are and what we believe based on how we subjectively perceive the world and ourselves in the world being what is based on what we are and what we believe? that is something and not something. it is the highest truth and the highest absurdity. beware both.
    the man is still driving through across the desert toward the mountains with a dog in the back seat. the car is speeding by singular points while it is motionless within the whole. he listens to the aum vibration of the engine and the wind and the tires on the road. he gazes ahead into the minimalist landscape of subtle shades of difference between road, land mountains and sky. it is a spectrum of tone more than color. the heat feels like a mild fever. he is warm but not sweating. he is awake feeling like he is dreaming. it is a dreaming of effortless gliding floating flying. all is happening within the sense that nothing is happening. it is a movie as still as a snapshot.
    will this end? did it begin? or is it what always is? within the view of where he is going is the rearview mirror of where he has been. he sometimes feels as though this could be reversed, that in this motionlessness he could be moving in either direction - in any direction. is he moving sideways? is he rising or falling? is he tumbling around and around? or is this too much to think about someone who just happens to be driving through across the desert? is this even what he is thinking?
    it is part of the general dada. it is part of the nonsense of it all. it is motionless within the whole while speeding past singular points. it eventually evaporates into a dense fog dissipating into space and time being here and now. and then that distinction evaporates as well.
    all the points are distinctions. they are markers of context and of things within context. we decide to make these distinctions in order to be somewhere at some time who is someone. and as someone we become aware of the distinctions we have decided and chosen to be real.
    we have our part in the play we have co-authored. we have the place and the time we are to enter on to the stage as the characters we are playing with the lines they are to speak and the actions they are to perform. these characters have birth, life and death. they exist only on the stage. off stage they exist as being what we put on to participate in the play. they are the manifestations of our imagination. they are mortal to our immortality. what part of them that might be immortal is whatever part of them that is an expression of ourselves or what of them may influence ourselves. we may have some empathy with some aspect of a character and take that away with us. the character itself dies. the one playing the character undresses and hangs up the costume wipes off the make up and leaves the theater which is always burning.
    but we are on stage now. we are in character. as these characters we imagine our immortality a bit differently. we imagine that we walk off stage and remain as we are on stage. we do not remove our costume. we do not wipe off our make up. we imagine we live forever.
    and some of us play one character and role over and over. and there are characters and roles that are immortal and are played by several different of us over time, like several and different actors may play the character and role of hamlet. there are a multitude of variations. but still they are only variations, all within the human themes.
    and he sits in the middle of it writing about all it as it comes into his mind as it might appear to be in passing moments flowing by and around him. he can face one way and see it this way. and he can turn and face another way and see it that way. which is true and which is false? what stands as a reference point other than himself being here and now? should he use something else outside of himself as a constant reference point? he often feels that he should or that he wants to. it would make things much easier if he chose a god, a philosophy, a set of ideals or something else outside and other than himself by which to judge what everything is and is not.
    but he cannot believe in any of the many that are available. there are ones that may hold true for this or that situation or circumstance but are limited to just this or that and break down otherwise. the only one he is aware of that is equally applicable or inapplicable to all is himself and his own perception and conception in its own contradiction only to those reference points outside of himself. it is hardly constant - except to be constantly inconsistent. but that is not really true. it is no more constantly inconsistent that it is constantly consistent. all that can be said about it is that it is. but it can also be said that it is not.
    a circle that is/is not a circle that goes around or does not go around an axis point or points or hoodah-zoobie. how is one to know anything? how is one not to know anything? one just keeps writing. one imagines this and that to write about when one comes to imagine it while whatever happens happens or doesn't happen.
    this is not joy and is all joy. what is joy? does it make one jump up and sing and dance like an idiot, or does it make one sit and gaze and smile like an idiot?
    he may not feel joy but he feels wonder. is wonder the constant in his mind that acts as and may be his reference point? it may be so. he may judge things occurring within and around him in reference to how much wonder they cause him to have. that is a possibility.
    and wonder is wonder. it may bring with it revelation or confusion, joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure, life or death. wonder may bring anything with it or may bring one to anything. wonder itself is in the transcending moment between the moment of this and the moment of that. it is the moment of what is wonder. it is the moment of one being in wonder. that is the moment of transfixation. the moment that is both inconsistent and consistent, that is motionless within motion. it is the axis reference point of the gyroscope of the world and universe. a gyroscope that is space and time centered in the here and now. a gyroscope spinning and turning on the point and axis of wonder dazzling even god.
    and blah blah blah.
    it has nothing to do with anything of any concern to anyone and what one might desire and seek and attain and hold and possess. it has nothing to do with any of that at all or anything having to do with any of that. one can be sure of that. and since to anyone that is all there is then this is about nothing.
    one may be excused for ignoring it and avoiding it and going on about the concerns of one's life and fortune as one perceives one's life and fortune to be unfolding. only fools would allow themselves to wander into this abyss of being here and now as it is that is the void in the center of the vortex of all things. only fools would allow themselves to be content to remain forever here and now at the point of annihilation - at the point of being eternally suspended between this and that, between being and not being. one is well advised by the warnings not to stray and being lured into this direction. one should learn from the example of those who did not heed these warnings - those who laughed and scoffed at them. observe them here and now fully immersed and submerged within it. listen to those who managed to barely escape. believe their stories of horror facing oblivion. see it in their wild eyes and hear it in their stuttering disconnected speech and then as they stare blankly at nothing and the long silences one may see the reflections and hear the echoes of what it is to be one who is nowhere in this that can only be madness - or some such.
    ask anyone and one will be told this is the truth. this is that which all of reality and all realities were constructed to avoid - built as a wall against it and a bridge across it even as the creator has constructed creation itself as a fortress against this terrible all-consuming maw of oblivion that would otherwise consume it into what never was and never is and never will be.
    and we are in a dream of imagining while we stand here now with our finger in the dike - or our heads up our assholes - having a delightful picnic wondering at it all. as much as we are despised we will never not exist. our existence is as certain and eternal as shit which is all we are. everything that exists in creation shits something. even the creator must shit. one might even speculate that what the creator shits is creation itself. why not? one might wonder at what the creator consumes that it eventually shits. perhaps that is also creation. thus the yin and yang of it all - action and reaction. today's hot dog is tomorrow's turd.
    it makes us wonder about how this elementary function of every organism and ecosystem and planet and galaxies beyond became confused with religion, occult mysticism, metaphysics and philosophy of all types, shapes and sizes and elevated to some higher height of contemplation to the extent that if one suggests that any of these self-glorified disciplines are at their core about not much more than the simple process of eating and shitting one is looked down upon as a crude rudimentary scatological simpleton.
    it makes us wonder and laugh.. shit is shit is shit and all is shit at some point or another. one may place it on an altar and build a temple around it and have some sort of holy priesthood of some sort who make sacrifices to it and write up stories about it and laws about it one must follow but it still comes down to shit.
    but how much we want ourselves and the world to be pure and and clean and unblemished. how much we feel we must purge ourselves of any and all degraded abomination and banish all we feel is evil. and what is that more than just squatting down and having a good healthy shit? and one may want to wipe one's ass clean afterward and maybe do this apart from others and cover it over when one is done. there are certain social and health considerations that are well advised to follow for one's own and others' benefit and comfort but to make what this represents into an affair of holy ritual and symbolic ceremony is a bit a little too much - in our humble opinion. but everyone is bored with their existence so what else is there to do? that is what divides us from the animal. a cow can munch grass and cud in a meadow all day. a cat cat sit on a window sill for hours watching nothing. but we with our busy minds cannot do these things. we would go insane. we have gone insane.
    if there is nothing we need to do, we invent things to do. 80-90% of our daily activity is purely invented - by our estimation. very little of it is devoted to or connected with meeting our own or others basic needs, including the need for basic amusement. we busy ourselves with work that is not much more than moving one thing to some place else over and over until it eventually ends up in a landfill. we're busy filling out forms. we're busy stacking boxes. we're busy putting things together. we're busy taking things apart. we're busy building. we're busy demolishing. we're busy making noise and busy listening to the noise we make. we're busy busy busy. and we have no time for anything with all the time we have in the world. even so busy that we forget about meeting everyone's basic needs.
    and here we sit doing nothing - obviously insane.
    but, whatever.
    everything is consumed and shat - with some of it being absorbed along the way by that doing the consuming and shitting. everything is constructed and deconstructed. and this would all seem to be very depressing to one who thinks of it in a linear sense of beginning and end. what comes always goes until finally one goes with it oneself. one is shit from life into death. and so many do seem to see it this way. but it is a revolving cycle of cycles that at any point is beginning or ending. some do try to overcome the depressing aspect of it being linear by placing the beginning and ending at  certain points to make it look better and more positive.  they begin with shit and and move through consumption and into absorption. this is the basic born in sin (shit), being saved (consumption) and going to heaven (absorption) scenario that is very popular with various religions and other theoretical belief systems as well. it is popular because it produces a feeling of uplifting promise instead of tail spinning despair. but it still remains linear - a beginning, a middle and an end. how very nice. how very comforting, we suppose. but it hardly matters whether the story is comic or tragic depending upon where and when one puts the beginning and the ending, and the middle. all versions of this linear story are as much superficial and delusional fantasy as any other.
    and someone shouts, enough! enough of this going on about shit and everything is shit!
    the dada-ananda stuck out a pinkie and sipped a cup of peppermint tea and spake thusly: everything is not shit. everything passes through being shit. everything passes through all the states - being consumed, being absorbed, being shat. this exists in every moment. what moment is being at one of these states and not another? how do we stand apart removed from one state and not another? and which? is it the word shit you object to? would the word eliminate be better? perhaps this was becoming a little crude. we could say consumed, absorbed and eliminated if you prefer. the basic concept remains, sanitized or not. now let us have our cake.
    and someone turned and walked away behind some bushes to perform a banishment ritual hiking up their black with purple trim robes and squatted and proceeded to grunt magick incantations summoning forth a demon which when it appeared one took it and hurled it at the dada-ananda. the dada-anada smacking lips and rubbing hands together when it landed said, ah, the cake.

    so there are these many twirling things. there are also things perfectly still - or as perfectly still as it gets. there are no dramas played out for no apparent reason except that those in them seem to enjoy being excited about something none of them seems to be able to quite name. they argue about it. some say it is love. some say it is betrayal. some say it is anger. some say it is revenge. some say it is forgiveness. and there are other names as well. each seem quite certain that they have the correct name but none can get the others to agree - or even if they do agree on a name they argue about what it means. and as well they do not seem to agree on what it is they are doing. some say they are accusing. some say they are being hurt. some say the are telling the truth. some say they want to get to the bottom of it. some say they want to get some sleep. and whatever else.
    to us it seems very exciting. that is what we would name it - excitement. that would seem to be the common factor and activity. why don't they all say let's get excited and do it and be done with it when they're tired out? instead they bring all this other business into it and all go away feeling that nothing was accomplished.
    oh well.

    and imagine again the burning theater and there is now on-stage two people, a and b. the scenery behind them is haphazard and in disarray. it's part from this play or that play along with various mixed and sundry props and other things. during the performance stage hands keep bringing things on to the stage and taking things off. and there are also costumes laying about and hanging all over. these a and b take on and off randomly while they are speaking. the lighting on the stage is always keeps changing as well.
    a: so where are we?
    b: we could be anywhere.
    a: who are we?
    b: we could be anyone.
    a: well, that's helpful to know.
    b: helpful to what?
    a: i think i was being sarcastic.
    b: so it's not helpful?
    a: what do you think?
    b: it might be. one never knows what might be helpful to know.
    a: i suppose so. but how does being anywhere or being anyone at all helpful to know?
    b: it allows for possibility.
    a: possibility of what?
    b: being anywhere and anyone.
    a: is it possible to be anywhere and anyone?
    b: i would imagine that it is. is there somewhere you would want to be or someone you would like to be?
    a: i can't think of anywhere or anyone just right now. maybe i'd like to know where i am and who i am to begin with.
    b: i don't think that is possible.
    a: why not?
    b: if you were somewhere and someone then you couldn't be anywhere and anyone.
    a: well maybe that is where and who i am.
    b: didn't we already say that?
    a: yeah, i guess. but it doesn't seem right.
    b: no, in a way it doesn't. but what would?
    a: being somewhere and someone.
    b: have you thought of where and who yet?
    a: no. nothing specific. i think i just want something more tangible than just anything.
    b: well i don't see why it needs to be more specific than just something - somewhere and someone. it doesn't have to be just anything, does it?
    a: i don't know. i suppose not.
    b: you feel better now?
    a: sort of. but now what?
    b: what would you like?
    a: is this all we do?
    b: we could do something else.
    a: but then who would do this?
    b: maybe no one.
    a: but doesn't this need to be done?
    b: does it?
    a: well then why are we doing it?
    b: i don't know. we just are.
    a: do you want to stop?
    b: i could. then what would we do?
    a: something else.
    b: like what?
    a: i don't know.
    b: neither do i.
    a: so we keep doing this?
    b: i suppose we do.
    (a pause while a and b don't say anything at all)
    a: maybe this is some existential thing or something.
    b: or nihilistic.
    a: what's the difference?
    b: i think that in existentialism nothing means anything but one keeps going anyway. with nihilism nothing means anything and then one kills oneself - and maybe other people as well.
    a: that seems a little bit simplistic.
    b: it is. actually i don't know the difference except that one can spend a lifetime writing books and stuff about them.
    a: like this for instance?
    b: perhaps. does this need to be?
    a: what else could it be?
    b: maybe it's a romantic play, or a socialist play, or a passion play, or some sort of ritual.
    a: how could it be romantic?
    b: we could get our hopes up about something that is intangible...
    a: like love?
    b: love. nature. goodness. justice. equality. things like that.
    a: sounds boring.
    b: not if one believes in it.
    a: that applies to just about everything else too, doesn't it?
    b: pretty much. one needs to be a romantic to believe in anything else - even existentialism or nihilism.
    a: probably so.
    b: or else we're just stupid.
    a: are we stupid or ignorant?
    b: they amount to the same thing.
    a: which is?
    b: powerlessness.
    a: really? i think ignorance can be very powerful.
    b: how so?
    a: if someone wants to teach you something and you refuse to learn it they cannot exert their influence and control over you. they cannot demand that you do this or that because you don't know how to do it.
    b: and that gives you power?
    a: the power to resist.
    b: that's fairly limited power.
    a: it can be enough if it is used right.
    b: but one is always stuck within just reacting to the actions of others. they can influence and control you that way through directing your resistance.
    a: it works both ways. you can influence and control others through your resistance.
    b: but it's always reactive.
    a: not always. if you tell me to do things and i resist doing them except the one that i choose then which of us is reacting to the other?
    b: but i initiate the action.
    a: i cause you to initiate the action through my resistance until you initiate one action i choose. i do see your point and i am not necessarily arguing against it. there are exceptions to it. there are exceptions to everything. any and all relationships are in flux. power exists only in the relationship. one or the other doesn't have power outside of the relationship. power is a force of both action and reaction. or maybe not. i'm just talking. tell me to shut up.
    b: i would still rather not to be ignorant. knowledge gives one options.
    a: it depends upon what knowledge. my examples of resistance are dependent on knowledge. one's own knowledge may not be the same as another's. it's the application of knowledge that gives one options, not always knowledge itself. knowledge does not always equal power. nor does power always equal knowledge. i do not believe that others have power over me whether they have knowledge or not - or different knowledge - and even though they may believe that they have power over me.
    b: how romantic.
    a: it is what it is. give it any name you want. i don't believe in the power of names either.
    b: how resistive.
    a: how knowledgeable.
    b: how ignorant.
    a: how stupid.
    b: how else are we going to spend our time?
    a: we could wait for godot.
    b: we could fuck.
    a: we could fight.
    b: we could keep yammering about whatever comes into our heads to yammer about.
    a: we could be someone - or someones.
    b: who?
    a: i could be napoleon.
    b: i could be mr. and mrs. john q. smith.
    a: and what would we do then? would we still be waiting for godot or fucking or fighting or whatever it was we decided to do?
    b: what else?
    a: i don't know. what else do people do?
    b: water ski. collect stamps. fly kites. play in rock bands. dance the funky chicken. sit in hot tubs. drive fast cars. write poetry. paint sunsets. practice self-defense. go the therapy. shoot up heroin. play the viola. overthrow governments. protest injustice. bribe the police. read self-help books. watch tv. watch others waiting for godot. stick various objects into various body orifices. spin around like a dervish. sweat like pigs. gain weight. manufacture frisbees. break appointments. play computer games. do math problems. stare out windows. type up reports. file taxes. repair bicycles. and much much more.
    a: that's it?
    b: what more do you want?
    a: i don't know if i would want more. maybe just something else.
    b: something else is more.
    a: not if it eliminates something else.
    b: then it eliminates itself.
    a: not the same something else. something else than something else.
    b: i know. so what do you mean by something else?
    a: it's probably just a feeling.
    b: a romantic feeling?
    a: maybe. a feeling that something is missing.
    b: like godot?
    a: isn't that what godot is - the feeling that something is missing and nothing means anything without it?
    b: i don't know. i never saw or read the play. but something like that i would imagine.
    a: well, nevermind that. there is nothing else either to do or to wait for. but we are left with this feeling that there is.
    b: curiosity?
    a: is that what it is?
    b: what else? it's not that there's nothing else. there is always something else. it's just that whatever something else there is that might just be discovered is only just that. there is the excitement of newness of something else being discovered. but then that fades and the newly discovered something else becomes just something ordinary. but by that time there is another something else discovered and new..
    a: what about something else besides that?
    b: one cannot ask that and have it be something else besides the endless process of expectation and discovery of the eternal something else. if it is something else then that is just an extension of that process. the very asking of that question is an extension of that process. one cannot think of it or ask the question. then it can be anything but what it is.
    a: so we're back to being anywhere and anyone and it being anything. and now we are expecting and waiting for anything that is not just something else. so is that what it is? is that the core of it?
    b: it would seem to be - though it also seems that neither of us want that to be what it is.
    a: but that not wanting this to be what it is is part of it being what it is.
    b: i would agree.
    a: what is it that agrees? your reason or your heart?
    b: my reason. my heart rebels. it yearns for more than what my reason can offer it.
    a: this is the dilemma - the internal struggle.
    b: the eternal struggle - the heart against reason.
    a: do our hearts join together against our reason?
    b: that could be what is called love - that romantic notion.
    a: love is the heart against reason.
    b: against the reason of the mind.
    a: do our minds join together to quell the rebellion of our hearts?
    b: reason against the desires and the whims of the heart.
    a: can reason also be love?
    b: love that is only the desires and whims of the heart is doomed to die.
    a: a reason steps in to prevent that and makes love endure.
    b: are we speaking of ourselves?
    a: are we speaking of anyone?
    b: are we anyone?
    a: are we ourselves?
    b: who else could we be but ourselves whether or not we are anyone?
    a: we are ourselves, but what part of ourselves?
    b: yes - our hearts or our reason?
    a: or both?
    b: or something else?
    a: or anything?
    (another pause awhile)
    a: is this silence between us the conclusion?
    b: what else is the conclusion? what else do we arrive at or return to?
    a: are you saying that by speaking that we have not arrived or returned to a conclusion?
    b: when one has arrived or returned to a conclusion what else more is there to say?
    a: please pass the ketchup.
    b: yes. that is it. one speaks only of the immediate. one has no need of speaking of the past or the future.
    a: no? what is the immediate? is it precisely now? is it this hour? is it this day? this week? can we not speak of what we might do tomorrow or what we did yesterday? and if we are allowed that, how far in time does that extend? how restricted is the immediate?
    b: is anything restricted? - or is it just no longer needed? once one has been passed the ketchup does one keep asking for it? does there need to be a restriction against asking for it once it has been passed? perhaps, if this one keeps asking for the ketchup even when one holds it in one's hand and it becomes annoying to others.
    a: and what does this have to do with arriving or returning to a conclusion.
    b: nothing. i was talking about how annoying some people can be. it is the same with arriving or returning to a conclusion. some people won't shut up about it. i refuse to listen.
    a: then are they really speaking?
    b: i hope not.
    a: and if they are content with continuing to speak without you listening?
    b: then let them be content.
    a: and the same with the ketchup?
    b: the same with the ketchup. i can only pass it once. and one can only arrive or return to a conclusion once. it is done. shut up.
    a: so, have you and i arrived or returned to a conclusion?
    b: not if we are still talking about it.
    a: and when we stop talking?
    b: we will have to see, won't we?
    a: i suppose.
    b: so it would seem.
    a: does it seem that way or is it that way?
    b: how is it the two are different?
    a: what seems to be is not always what is.
    b: it depends on how perceptive one is.
    a: i am not always that perceptive.
    b: nor am i.
    a: so how do we determine which it is?
    b: i don't think there is a way except what one thinks and feels for oneself.
    a: so you and i could reach different conclusions?
    b: so it would seem.
    a: so we arrive at or return to different points.
    b: so it would seem.
    a: yet they are both the conclusion. how much the same or different are they?
    b: how much the same do the need to be - or how much different?
    a: yes.
    b: yes?
    a: yes. we always phrase and rephrase the question.
    b: yes. and who are we who are asking the questions? is it ourselves? is it anyone? is it someone? is it our hearts? is our reason?
    a: and how many variations?
    b: do we answer the one with many or the many with one?
    a: i think we should dance the weird tango.
    a and b dance the weird tango to the rhythms of the banging the stage hands are making bringing things and taking things. while this is going on another figure walks out on stage. this is c.
    c: what do i come here to find along the way of my wandering but to come here to find what appears to be nonsense? or is it nonsense? or is it only my perception of it that is nonsense? and what is wrong with nonsense? am i that anal retentive as to not to be able to accept nonsense? yet one need not be anal retentive to not want a case of the running shits. people die of such a thing. yet they also die of constipation. should i find what i find here refreshing or repugnant? oh dear. oh my. how should i receive this? perhaps i should lay down awhile.
    c lays down. a and b still dance the weird tango.
    a: who is this who has come here and is laying down?
    b: should we concern ourselves?
    a: should we offer assistance? is assistance needed?
    b: maybe this is how we assist ourselves.
    a: perhaps we would be interfering. should we wait for this person to ask for assistance?
    b: and if they cannot?
    a: maybe we should wait for them to become annoying.
    b: i already find them to be somewhat annoying.
    a: as opposed to everything else?
    b: you're right. i should not be annoyed. it's not as if they are continually asking to be passed the ketchup.
    c: could you please pass me the ketchup?
    a and b stop dancing the weird tango.
    a: i don't know if we have any.
    b: i saw a bottle backstage (leaves stage).
    c: i am sorry if i am an annoyance.
    a: you are no more so than anything else.
    y (returning with a bottle of ketchup): here's the ketchup.
    c (stands up and takes the ketchup): thank you.
    a: now we find out whether you are annoying or not.
    c: how so?
    b: my friend is referring to whether you will continue asking for the ketchup now that you have it, i think.
    c: why would i do that?
    a: to be annoying.
    c: why would i want to be annoying?
    b: some people would.
    c: it's too much trouble. it's too predictable. it's the rebel without a cause routine. james dean is dead. so is sid vicious and princess di. and not without good reason. i don't miss them that much.
    a: i miss adolph.
    c: well of course - who doesn't?
    b: what about charles manson?
    c: he's not dead. besides, he was only a minor distraction, hardly an annoyance.
    a: not like adolph.
    c: now there was a guy who was a major annoyance.
    b: you are speaking of hitler, right?
    a: a god among men.
    c: these people exist throughout the ages everywhere. what utopia is not infiltrated and infested with them?
    a: what utopia is not anything else but a bunch of people who however much they might try to get along with each other end up being extremely annoying?
    b: that's why they are isolated into utopias.
    a: what about us?
    c: is this utopia? i thought it was nothing but a bunch of nonsense when i first got here.
    b: and now?
    c: well, i don't know about it being a utopia, but i'm still here, aren't i?
    a: and why can't it be utopia?
    c: no reason, i suppose. if it is, then it is. that is not why i remain here.
    b: why do you?
    c: i have only stopped along the way. i have not been asked to leave, nor have i been inspired to leave. are you asking me to?
    a: who are we to do that?
    c: you are two. i am one. you could force me to.
    a: it'd be too much trouble.
    b: i don't care either way.
    c: well, just say so if you would like me to. i don't want to be where i'm not wanted.
    b: how nice of you.
    a: how annoying.
    c: nuts to both of you.
    a: that's better.
    b: that's also very nice of you.
    a (to b) now you're becoming annoying.
    b: could you pass me the ketchup?
    a: no.
    c: here you go (passes ketchup to b).
    b: thank you. (to a) could you pass me the ketchup?
    a: you already have it.
    b: but you didn't pass it to me.
    a: i didn't have it.
    b: you could have grabbed it and passed it to me.
    c: i think i'm going to leave now.
    b: why?
    c: well, if you two are going to start arguing...
    a: we're just talking.
    c: it sounds like arguing.
    b: well then maybe you should leave if that is how you're going to be. we got along just fine before you showed up and began defining things and becoming annoying.
    c: i was just making a comment - an observation.
    a: well here's another comment - fuck you.
    c: well fuck you too. fuck both of you.
    b: how nice.
    a: it would seem that we understand each other.
    c: we seem to speak the same language, so to speak.
    b: we all seem to be equally annoying to each other.
    c: do you two find one another annoying as you do me?
    a: now that you mention it - yes.
    b: i would agree.
    c: equality is where you find it.
    a: if one knows where to look.
    b: and can recognize it when one sees it.
    c: so, is this utopia?
    b: is this nonsense?
    a: is this anything?
    c: might i join you in the dance you were dancing?
    a: i thought you already had.
    c: i was laying down.
    b: so?
    c: oh, i get it.
    the three of them join in the weird tango together and separately as it might happen. this goes on for awhile until a fourth figure comes on stage. this is n who carries oneself with formal aloofness.
    n: someone should stop this. this whole thing is a disorganized mess. nothing fits. nothing matches. there is no cohesiveness. no coherency. there is no direction.
    a, b and c stop the weird tango.
    a: who are you to come here and say this?
    n: i am one who is concerned.
    b: concerned about what?
    n: concerned about this state of affairs.
    b: what state of affairs?
    n: that's just it - there isn't any.
    c: i wouldn't say that. there's always a state of affairs.
    n: a state of affairs of chaos.
    a: you agree then - there is a state of affairs. just because you find it not to your liking does not mean that there isn't any.
    n: chaos is not a state of affairs. there is no connection between one thing and the other. there is nothing organized.
    a: i would argue that there is a very high level of organization in chaos. it is organization beyond the need of organization. each thing operates independently to itself within whatever it might find itself in the context of all other things doing the same.
    n: that's organization?
    c: it's organization as it happens to fall into being organized at the moment and from one moment to another. it is not organization in that it is predetermined and prescribed or preconceived organization. it is not restricted to being this or that except as this or that might just so happen and relate to one another or not. i would say that not only is chaos organized but it is the only organization that can be.
    a: even the weird tango?
    b: surely not.
    c: the weird tango may be the one exception for who knows what the weird tango is?
    n: you're all talking crazy.
    a: that's the way of the weird tango, dude.
    b: it's as crazy as the wind. it's as crazy as the dow jones industrial average. it's as crazy as the 8 fold path. it's as crazy as the flight as a bumble bee.
    n: it needs to be stopped.
    a: so, stop it. we may not agree with your feeling that it should be but if you are given and possess the ability to stop it and have the will and determination to do so then that is the way it is. that is the way of chaos.
    n: even if i put an end to chaos?
    c: that is the way of chaos.
    n: to put an end to itself?
    b: chaos allows anything to happen - even that.
    n: how can that be? how or why would something put an end to itself?
    a: chaos does put an end to itself. it allows an end to itself to happen - if it were to happen. what might arise to put an end to chaos can only come out of chaos. in that sense it does put an end to itself.
    n: you're talking nonsense.
    b: it would seem that way, wouldn't it?
    a: what else would you expect if we are chaos, as you say?
    c: you cannot allow chaos to make sense. it would destroy you if it did.
    a: i don't think it would destroy as much as it would absorb. there is no destruction.
    b: there has to be.
    a: how so?
    b: without destruction there is a limit to infinity. it becomes infinity minus destruction.
    c: that's what infinity is.
    b: not if it excludes destruction - and creation for that matter. infinity without creation and destruction - something out of and into nothing - is not infinity.
    a: i think you have a point.
    c: it's greek to me.
    n: would you people stop this? don't you listen to yourselves ever? you are standing here babbling about nothing.
    c: i don't think one can babble about nothing - unless of course that would limit infinity - but even if one could, is there some reason why one shouldn't?
    n: there is no reason for it. it serves no purpose. there are other things to be done.
    a: yes, i'm sure there are. and i would agree that us babbling about nothing, or whatever we're doing, may not serve any purpose except its own. i think i may even understand your feelings. but i would say that your feelings are misplaced when brought here against us. your desire for order is valid and even admirable. i would not want chaos - even though that is all there really is really - to reign in some matters such as food production and distribution, or medical services, or in other similar areas. but that is not the case here. we are not involved in any of those things. we are not involved in anything that has an immediate impact one way or the other on anything outside of this which we are involved in here. but perhaps it does.
    n: that is why i have come here. what goes on here does have an impact elsewhere. it does interfere with those other things you mentioned that need to be ordered. people become confused. they stop functioning. if this was something that could be isolated to itself then i would not bother you and leave it that way. it could tear itself to pieces for all i care.
    c: is that what you think we are doing?
    b: that's what the weird tango is, i think.
    a: that's only part of what it is. it does tear itself apart, but then it brings itself together again. it always takes two - at least - even if the two are only one divided.
    c: so you (to n) are a part of the weird tango too.
    n: me?
    b: bingo.
    n: i am part of no such thing. i have nothing to do with any of this.
    b: that is what makes you part of it. that is your part.
    n: not if i put an end to it.
    c: of course, my dear siva, whatever you say.
    n: dear who?
    b: siva - the destroyer. the one who ends all things.
    n: not all things - just this nonsense.
    a: whatever.
    c: then do it.
    b: yeah, quit you own nonsense yapping about it. do it.
    n: i will.
    n walks off stage. a, b and c stand still silently. the stage hands stop bringing things on and off. the stage lights go out.
    c: interesting.
    a: that's it?
    b: i was expecting more than that.
    c: does whoever that was think that by placing us in the dark that that is the end of it?
    a: i've been here before.
    b: it is the womb and the tomb.
    a: it is the basement and the attic and the closet.
    c: it is the inner space of the mind.
    b: it is space and time.
    a: i wonder if there are any candles around here. do either of you have a light?
    b: i'll see what i can find (leaves stage and returns with a candelabra).
    a: cool. i like this better.
    c: i didn't mind the dark.
    a: what about the stage hands and the lighting crew?
    b: they said that whoever that was said they wouldn't get paid anymore if they continued.
    a: paid? they were getting paid? i'm not getting paid. are you guys?
    c: not for this.
    b: me neither.
    a: well that's what i meant - for this.
    c: apparently they were.
    a: well then, that's that. if they're not being paid and they need to be paid then i can't blame them for stopping.
    b: oh, they're still being paid. they're just being paid not to do anything.
    a: oh.
    c: but we can still do whatever.
    b: no - we have to leave.
    a: leave?
    c: let me guess, whoever that was is also paying for the theater.
    b: you got it. besides, it's burning, remember?
    a: i forgot about that.
    c: well then, let's go.
    a: i'm going to stay.
    c: we were told to leave.
    a: i wasn't told to leave.
    b: i wasn't really either. they just said we had to leave.
    a: until someone comes out here and tells me i have to leave i'm not leaving.
    c: well i'm with you. i'm staying too.
    b: well, if you two are then i guess i am too.
    c: i like it better without the lighting anyway. it fits the mood.
    b: what mood is that?
    c: the mood of exploration - discovery.
    a: the mood of being lost.
    b: is that what the mood is?
    a: if it wasn't before, it is now.
    b: i wonder why whoever that was was so against everything - against us.
    c: that's part of the wonderful world we live in.
    a: what's so wonderful about it?
    c: it's always changing.
    b: is change always wonderful?
    c: not always the results, but the process itself is.
    n comes back on stage.
    n: you're all still here. weren't you told to leave?
    b: sort of.
    n: well, you should have been.
    c: we all make mistakes.
    n: your mistake was staying here.
    a: how so?
    n: i will have to have you forced to leave.
    c: we'll make that part of the show.
    b: you also assume that you need to force us - that we will resist.
    n: you are resisting.
    a: who? you?
    n: yes.
    c: and who are you?
    n: i am the one telling you to leave.
    b: why?
    n: this cannot continue.
    a: it is continuing, and you're part of it.
    n: not any more.
    c: it will continue even when we leave, even when the theater is empty.
    n: i doubt that.
    a: it was nothing to begin with.
    n: then why does it matter if it stops?
    b: it doesn't.
    n: then why won't you stop it?
    a: we will.