when the horses are ridden away from the sun into the forest and he writes: i remember something about not remembering anything. i write about this or that searching for whatever it is i am not writing about. is that possible? why?
    but it comes to many questions. what comes to be reveled by this? and the shouting drunks come stumbling in repeating a loop of statements louder each time.
    obscure reasoning drifting dreamingly into one word or another. a thousands pins with dancing angels to put up with this noise.
    a nice hat.
    a nice piece of pie.
    a grinding mill.
    salt.
    a jesus standing at the wall. how does he get past this without calling upon his son 'o god powers? does he remember what it was like to be human and being kicked in the teeth constantly?
    to bring down the standing order and distribute its power and wealth until one has a riot on one's hands when people realize that power and wealth are meaningless unless they have more of it than others and they didn't help one overthrow the throne just to walk away with nothing. who picks up the first stick?
    but back to the world of wallpaper and recipes and home runs and touchdowns. back to reality. what's on tv? what's on the radio? what movie is playing? what's on cd? what's in a book or magazine or newspaper?

    out to zero again. out where no one's your friend or not. out where no one's your enemy or not. out where one isn't oneself or not.
    but one's gotta eat and one's gotta pay the rent and one's gotta have cigarettes and ice cream. and one's gotta have somebody to love and all the things needed to keep this somebody around and amused and entertained and interested. and one's gotta have walls around all this to keep others from grabbing it and taking it away or driving one away from it. and one's gotta have weapons to kill those who get through or over the walls. then one is ready to enjoy life - otherwise it sucks.

    this is the breakdown. this is the break up. this is the shattered path splintering into pieces of what once was. sometimes one needs to run. sometimes one needs to crawl. sometimes one can walk. sometimes one needs to stand up. sometimes one needs to lie down. sometimes one can just sit. sometimes one can rebuild - but it's never the same way twice. sometimes one needs something. sometimes one needs anything. sometimes one needs nothing. sometimes one has everything.
    life at the point of zero. tick-tock heartbeat and the sands of time and blood flowing through it measured and liquid. one is not the other.

       a sharp edge.
    a gut feeling.
    a slit throat.
    a possibility.
    muscle.
    flesh.
    a gritting grrr.
    hot breath.
    closed in space.
    struggling.
    a fist.
    sweat.
    the universe is distant.
    the stars far and cold.
    the dark untouchable.
    yet one is in it.
    the softness of nothingness.
    the sensation of no sensation.
    one turns around in this without knowing what one turns to or from.

    outward from some freeform but with rules that apply or not in its continuing. chaos in the form of an apple. an apple bringing forth chaos. all knowledge of it in life and death and life again to once more die to be reborn. but life flows into life even as it constantly dies. a snake shedding its skin. life is the only immortality itself - the only eternity. others say we are nothing. they point out into incomprehensible space exploding around us. who notices a star going out? and he points to these and says, we notice a star going out. if we don't then it is the star that is of little importance, not us.

    a principle of defeat with what possibility of a hidden notion directed toward another victim, she said to him one night late afternoon into evening a puppet lost in the storm blowing through their long longing hair trailing out of the garden into an entangling enthralled throng wrongly right in their disbelief in doubt.
    he didn't know what to say next. he didn't know if he understood her or if it was himself he did not understand. how could one not understand oneself? not understanding another can happen quite easily, he supposed. it was her opinion that he didn't understand her because he did not understand himself. but as he felt he did understand himself he understood her. but perhaps this was not true - or just its opposite. and how much did she understand herself understanding him - or not understanding him? there was something about this that led nowhere but that he felt it led somewhere. it led him somewhere feeling understanding of himself and upon that understanding yet never understanding that around him or the others. should he doubt what he felt? did feeling something make it true? perhaps not. but what else does one go on? he felt he doubted that what he felt was true. this he understood. could he act on this doubt? could he act on this feeling of doubt? could he doubt his understanding? should he?
    she giggled.
    what went against his understanding of his doubt - against his feeling of doubt? for everything that says one thing is true there is everything that says it is not. how does one feel? how does one come to doubt? how does one come to understanding? how does one decide? what was the information? what was he feeling about the information? what was his understanding of the information? what was his doubt of the information? anything he felt or understood or doubted could be proven true or false. that was the information.
    she screamed.
    his feelings could always change. his understanding could always change. his doubt would remain the same. what was true?
    she sighed.
    he existed. he existed as someone who had certain parameters of definition that made him someone he existed as. he was a living thing. an animal. a mammal, primate, human. he was born into and raised in a certain human culture in a given geographical location at a given point in history. he was born and raised as a certain type of person in that given culture. that is his experience. it is entirely subjective as is the experience of the others among his species. in this we are all the same. in this we are all unique. being the same as being human means we are all unique.
    she left the room.
    he does not feel human though that seems to be what all humans feel. it may be common human experience. but he cannot say this beyond his own experience - his own human experience.
    is he an impostor?
    he knows he is mad.
    he is to be kept away from the others and the important things they are doing. he is cared for by the state. he can sit in cafes and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee all day long and scribble in notebooks or gaze out the window mumbling to himself as long as he interferes with no one else. that is not allowed. life is a piece of cake. he can have it and eat it too.

    a pivot axis. a diamond cutting light. an object. the object most desired. the point of view from the point of view of one being this object that makes it the object most desired. however, to achieve becoming this object most desired it cannot be perceived as being an object, desired or not. one must lose one's perception of it as an object. it must become a conscious mind. then one must lose one's desire for it attaining the conscious mind that as long as one desires it one cannot attain it as if one had attained it one would no longer desire to be it as the need to desire it cannot be attained as can the conscious mind. why not god? why not gazobnik? why not it? so it is it. it is that most desired by all except by itself since it is this that is most desired. it also desires nothing since what is there to desire but that which it is? this is it. it is this. can one attain it?
    how?
    dada.
    dada-ananda.
    schikelgurber.
    one must separate from and overcome the idea one has stuck in one's head that this is dada even if it is dada that doesn't matter and may even be the point.
    the practiced art of the practiced hand. the practiced art of the practiced mind.
    practiced.
    practicing.
    the point at which everything is true. this point can only be arrived at once when all freely flows to and from the other. the one forgotten as the other is remembered.
    this point is it.
    to desire to have no more desire upon reaching that point one desires to once again desire having nothing else to desire but desire itself. to desire without an object as one becomes the object as the object is the conscious mind and the practiced practicing art of the conscious mind.
    yes?
    no?
    maybe?
    it is unknown.
    given that it is unknown.
    being unknown it is the most desired and the most feared of all that is known. although x is unknown it is among that which is known since it is known that it is unknown. it is desired as that unknown that may yet give us that which all things known cannot. it is feared as that unknown that may harm us in a way we have yet to be harmed by what is known. it is desired as that which may protect us from that which we fear and feared as that which nothing may protect us from.. it could be life and death. but it's not that simple saying that it is life and death. saying it is life and death tells us nothing about it. it remains unknown.
    with all the shots fired at one another throughout this whole trip we've been on grabbing this and grabbing that we arrive here. an envelope. a disguise. and it.
    simple as pie.
    simple as pi.
    life and death are. there is no reason for us to desire or fear them beyond what they are. our desire for and fear of x as x being unknown goes beyond that. it cannot be explained that it is life and death or anything involved in life and death. although life and death cannot be dismissed as they are part of the equation it is a functioning unknown variable of while life and death are known and constant. yet it is constant as well. we have a constant desire for and fear of it no matter what else is given in the rest of the equation.
    what is it we desire most?
    what is it we fear most?
    whatever we have we desire and fear something else.
    this is it.
    there is not something and then we feel desire and fear.
    we feel desire and fear and then there is something.
    that something is it. it brings our desire and fear into realization. it as an object of our desire and our fear is manifested by our desire and fear. though it may have had prior existence, it is our desire and fear that brings it to our conscious existence as the object of our desire and fear. it is not the object but our feelings of desire and fear we allow this object to bring to us. this object is it. this object can be anything. it is strongest when it is unknown.
    fools! i'll destroy them all! he laughed screechingly ending with a coughing spasmed fit as he reached for another cigarette.
    and once upon a time upon the stage of the burning theater with wild crazy backdrop.
    joe: it is that which gives us power.
    shmoe: power over what?
    joe: over others and the world around us. but to be true power it gives us power over our desires and fears. our desire is this power. our fear is that we do not have it and that there is no way for us to gain it. we fear that others will have this power over us. this is a fear more than the fear of death. it a desire more than the desire for life. we would choose this power over life and death.
    it: i am no one. i am only one who is passing through.

    and he now alone again continues writing. he may have made a big mistake. a very big mistake. he may have perhaps unknowingly - but perhaps he knew it all along - summoned up something that only destroys anything and everything it comes in contact with. he does not know what to call it. he does not know what it is or where it is except he can feel it approaching closer crossing through dimensions from some other elsewhere spacetime to this spacetime. but perhaps he did not summon it. perhaps it was summoned by others. but nonetheless he can feel it approaching. he knows it is approaching.
    an exploring form continuation of beginnings and endings all once upon a time and happily ever afterness as sweet as pie or bloody as one might wish to make it. any and all options are open for one to choose from what one desires and fears. choose. none may be what one expects or suspects. down may be up. in may be out. forward may be backward. right may be wrong. here may be there. now may be then. reality may be fantasy. love may be hate. choose. one decides what one wants against what one has. all is equally possible or impossible at the moment of choosing. is it an object? is it a location in space and time? a mood? what? what is it?
    this being human for all each of us may or may not have various specific qualities and quantities for which we desire and of which we fear though what all each of us may desire and fear is uniquely and individually different. the desiring and fearing whatever it may or may not be is the same experience. to say this and not that or that and not this is absurd. it is the same experience of desire and fear. it is the same it. it is the same pleasure and pain. hit me and i may kiss you. kiss me and i may hit you. and then we will fall deeply and passionately in love forever more happily ever after. choose.
    his madness is one example. while others fear it, he desires it. he has found in it nothing to fear except the fear of the others. being mad there is no madness. there being no madness, he is not mad. this is his design and creation. it is subject to his whim and will. it has no whim or will of its own except that which he may give it to surprise him sometimes. it has no mind without his mind. it uses his mind to manifest itself. it has no other place to go. it has nothing else to do. it sought him out to take over his mind completely to the exclusion of all else like rabbits. such that he is to have this unwarranted attention - to be singled out. how special. it is his madness and his madness alone. it is his invention. he carries the  patent and trademark - though he did steal most of it from others. let them sue him. let them come into his mind and take it back. let them try.
    so with that in mind or not we continue with this god thing is sitting here and now which is the only place and time there is it can sit as that is all that exists yet - though even that doesn't exist yet but comes into existence when this god thing asks itself, where am i? and here comes into existence and here is everywhere that is. and then it asks, how long have i been here? and now comes into existence and now is all the time that is.
    so, then what?
    so then what this god thing thinks is that it's been sitting here and now everywhere and for all time and there ain't nothing happening and boredom comes into existence and boredom is all that is happening. and this god thing thinks to itself, i wonder what's on tv? and it picks up the remote and presses the power button and the universe appears on the screen and this god thing is amused and quite forgets its boredom.

    a big fat pie.
    along on a path and one comes to a fork. one way is this way and the other way is that way. there are those who go this way and there are those who go that way and there are those who don't know whether to go this way or that way and become stuck until someone comes along and tells them to go this way or that way and there are those who turn around and go back and there are those who plunge straight ahead into the wilderness between this way and that way.
    and he came here to this cafe where he is now sitting and he came to the island.
    it's a little too late to close the door. it's the final cut dividing us into teeny tiny bite-sized pieces. he thought of all whatever. the energy that always feeds that one struggles against to keep from being fed into it. they say that once you're gone, you're gone. and it feeds just to feed some more. it exists to feed. and one is part of it. one is just another mouth to feed. one feeds on that which feeds as that which feeds feeds on oneself. and one is given the awareness that this is one's fate. what other awareness is there? we can disguise what we are and what we do as whatever else but what is it that doesn't feed or is fed?
    eternity is hungry. god is hungry. it ravishing and starving. it cannot create enough mouths to feed itself. it feeds and shits and feeds some more.
    he feeds and shits words upon the page to feed the hungry eye of another. and what of that? should they survive this orgy feast? he thinks not.
    the mouth that finally ultimately chews away at itself. it hunts itself. it tip-toes up behind itself and takes a bite. direct connection. it eats its own shit, then it's own asshole and its own genitals and its own guts and its own heart and its own brain and its own tongue and gums and teeth and lips until it becomes to the point where it is what it is and always was and will be - a mouth opening to the void wanting to be fed. that is the only thing that survives and is eternal, if anything. all else is not even memory.
    what can escape this? what can exist that cannot be eaten by something else? what does not hunger and create hunger? what is satisfied and does not want more?
    he lights another cigarette raising it to his mouth and sealing his lips around it and feeds the smoke into his lungs to appease the hunger. if the mouth does not open to feed then to cry out, i am hungry!
    he does not speak. he writes this instead. he looks among the words to see if any of them speak of satisfaction or only just speak of wanting more - to hunger.
    and it is good that there is so much of it that it takes time for it to feed on itself. time for part of it to feel safe for awhile before the mouth gets to it. the mouth can only feed on so much so fast. but if it is slow, it is steady. it never rests.  there is no time when it does not feed. life is feeding.

    as the story continues - as any story continues - with him now having come to a doubtful conclusion that the universe is just maybe nothing other than a great big - or little tiny, depending upon what one is comparing it to - mouth gaping open in spacetime for something to eat and feed on. he hasn't decided if this is a depressing or funny conclusion to have come to - or even if it is a conclusion.
    it can't be a conclusion, he writes. there are no conclusions. there are only endless possibilities of which this is one, he thinks. but he can't think of any others that don't lead to this one. he thought before that he could but now he isn't so sure.
    there is always sex. but sex makes him hungry. after that he usually falls asleep. he wakes up wanting to have sex again. is this another model of the universe? wake up, have sex, eat something, fall asleep. life in paradise. forget everything else. it will only lead us into trouble. that's how we got kicked out of the garden when we thought somethings were good and other things were evil. what's so evil about sex, food and sleep - except thinking that there is more to life than that? is there? like what? civilization? what fools we were. what is civilization except a bunch of people bemoaning the fact that they got kicked out of the garden and trying to figure a way back in and coming up with all sorts of schemes about economics, politics, philosophy, religion, art that only end up making the situation worse? we could be all a bunch of lazy fat fuckers dozing in the sun and maybe taking a few moments just look up at the clouds or stars and moon or a breeze through the leaves of the trees awhile.

    chaotic feedback systems interlinked channeling diverse variable spillover into each other using these/this as an underlying constant structure root equation driving formula such that once begun the point of beginning is changed and absorbed into the process it begins instantly eliminating as an element of the process. the process thus becomes the beginning with any traceable path back to the beginning never able to arrive at that point by the process as it is the process that eliminated it to begin with. beginning becomes mere conjecture as an abstract idea that the process must have begun at some point with no tangible evidence to support it within the process itself. only a theoretical external observer may know if there was a beginning and if so where or when it was. yet this external observer, even if real rather than theorized, is yet another product of the process and it too fails to revel the point of beginning as it is subject to the same conditions as the process in order for the process to have any comprehension of itself.
    the process being eternal and never repeating as much as can be imagined is a closed system. nothing escapes from it without bringing part of the process with it even if only to define its own existence. nothing enters into the process that is not part of the process as it needs the process as definition of its existence otherwise in some state other than that defining it as existing in terms of the process which is the definition of existence it may very well pass through the process but being undetected having no impact on the process and might as well not have existence. we might imagine any number of things doing this and they might even do so but until they are detected by some part of the process this all is moot. nothing is affected by of affects the process without being part of the process.
    the sole although in no way is it singular definition of the process is existence and it is the process that defines existence and controls the definition of existence. this leaves the process open to define itself and the definition of existence any way it might want or need to in its own conception of itself. the only requirement is that the process or some part of it be aware of itself existing in some form or another and this may not be in the form of knowing it exists. awareness is/can be merely one part reacting to another part. without some level of awareness there is no reaction and with reaction there is awareness. reaction is awareness. a star need not know it is exploding in order for it to explode. all that needs to happen are certain reactions to happen. this is awareness. our awareness in the form of our knowing of our awareness is only just that and cannot be said with any certainty to be any different. nothing goes on in our brain and mind that is fundamentally different than what goes on in the explosion of a star. and that works both ways.
    this is splitting hairs. but what else is the process than splitting hairs. without splitting hairs the process would come to an abrupt halt and cease to exist. without action/reaction what would happen? without something happening what would exist?

    an envelope of disguises zeroed into one another and out of one another being one another in turns of wheels description until it hurts turning giving birth and death to wheels turning if it can be said to be anything like that or some such and blah blah blah...

    and the old guard has been dismissed and discharged of its duty. everyone cheered. we can now do whatever we want, they said. we are free. if you do not acknowledge our freedom we will kill and destroy you. there are no limits to our freedom. our freedom no longer owes its allegiance, loyalty or obedience to anyone or anything. our freedom no longer needs to mean anything or have any purpose. our freedom is our freedom and that is all it is. no restrictions. no directions. no instructions. no holding back from satisfying our immediate desires. no more saving for a rainy day. no future. we want the world and we want it now. do not stand in our way and try to tell us to wait or we need to do this or that first before our freedom is earned. to hell with sowing and cultivating. we want to reap the harvest now and forever more.
    back to zero.
    begin it again.
    begin the process from wherever whenever it is begun before - though that point and moment does not exist except in theory - and mark that beginning with whatever one feels is eternal enough to stand as a marker without being gobbled up by the process it marks the beginning of once again once the process is begun or the process just continues from what it was through what it is into what it will be.
    who enters into the process to play god as if not beginning? god the originator and the one who which begins the process as creator creating and being created by the process of creation. the point of zero which is not a point but is that without point being any and all points in imagination process of creation as any and all points are zero except in reference and relationship to one another then they can be assigned numbers and counted and calculated. but to count and calculate the whole one ends where when one begins - at zero.
    but whoever whatever he thinks about these sorts of things wondering what they might ever mean. it's easy to dismiss it. it's easy to say it's only words he's only scribbling almost at random along a stream of mad consciousness dreaming of itself about imaginary nothingness.
    but to amuse oneself one must think of many things that cannot be proven true or not true as if it matters and with much doubt. one feels one's way through the various shades of gray surrounding between light and darkness. is there light or is there darkness? one may receive both from many sources as one goes along doubting this and doubting that. without light and darkness there is nothing.
    hypothetical metaphors. symbols and images. what is light? what is darkness? one faces the sun and there is light. one faces away from the sun and there is darkness. what is the mystery here? what is the metaphor? we imagine this and we imagine that. most of our experience is in our imagination with our minds creating an almost entirely imaginary world around us. it is that imaginary world that we complicate with this meaning and that meaning and allow them to rule our lives when all they are is what they are. and we imagine secret mysterious forces at play and at work. the forces of light and the forces of darkness. and we translate that into good and evil and frighten ourselves silly.
    he feels what moves behind this and that. it moves within him and around him the same. it is him and all else as well. it is the process beginning and creating.
    but what is real and what is actual in all this hoopla that can be brought out and seen and operated? understanding a possible scenario of schemes driving it does nothing but give one something to endlessly ponder and write about. one lives in this understanding. one becomes this understanding. one is this understanding which ultimately is understanding of oneself as the author of the scenarios of schemes. maybe.
    but then, big deal. still they laugh and one is a fool whose greatest achievement might be to entertain the king's and/or queen's court with one's foolishness while they feast and drink and care not for anything else except the politics of power needed to insure their long reign.
    but this is the fool's complaint - especially the fool who considers oneself wise and in response to being asked, then why aren't you powerful? says with false contempt, the wise need no power. wisdom itself is power enough.
    ha! such self-delusion. one's contempt is contempt for oneself. contempt for what is sealed in one's heart forbidding one to seek and use power it would be so easy to do so among these self-interested easily bought baboons. throw them a bunch of bananas and they will forget they are in a cage. give them a title and they will forget their servitude. allow them to stand and speak and they will forget their subordination.
    he sees this all around him. he sees it every day in the everyday. one need not observe national, corporate or world leaders to observe the use of power. observe two lovers gazing into each other's eyes holding hands speaking soft words of tender feelings. observe the subtle maneuverings into more favorable position of one dominating the other of being able to take more than one gives. one for you two for me. why two for me? because i love you, my dear. i will always love you. is my love something you can find anywhere? my love is not cheap. would you want it if it was?
    from zero he sees everything. zero is the invisible vantage point - advantage point. who notices one who is nothing? he is not even a shadow. a shadow is too obvious.
    he is not himself. he is who and what he imagines. it's the point blank mark of the machine. he wonders if he will walk away. he knows of no one who has done so before. no one who has ever returned.
    who or what is reveled here? who or what needs to be reveled? to walk through the smoke of incense in the temple. to be naked of images.
    it is anywhere. it is in a common low rent apartment building. the walls whitewashed. it is among those who are nowhere.
    he is one who follows the lines of the cracks running along through the surface. he can hear them. there is a certain harmonic as clear as a tuning fork that cuts through all the noise. he hears and sees this or that vibrate with it. and he moves from this point to that point as surely as a v of migrating geese.
    he values the worthless. his treasure need not be locked in a vault. it can be found in a dumpster. he cannot be robbed of it as no one who would come to rob him would recognize any of it. they would only seek what they have been told and taught has value for the rich. they do not look at the substance of the thing but at its price tag and the profit that might be made. but what is this profit composed of but imaginary measures and units of gain? i had one. now i have two. two of what i do not know. but two of anything is of greater value than one. everyone knows that.
    it is something other. it is something one does not expect it to be until one expects it to be nothing and it becomes everything. there is a great amount of fear to be overcome with this as there is a great amount of desire. one needs to recognize how the two are connected and then figure out how to disconnect them. sometimes it is recognizing how they are connected that is enough to disconnect them. one arises from and along with the other. they become entangled and rely on each other for support and both rely on one's entanglement with them. remove that and both collapse.
    a lie. a thousand lies. he lights another cigarette and thought of trying to think about what he was thinking about - what his brain was thinking about.
    victims.
    it.
    taken from a thousand broken pieces. put together into a machine of a thousand different forms. there are a thousand reflected faces in each face in the maze of mirrors. there are a thousand things to fear in each thing desired in the hall of horrors. there are a thousand things to desire in each thing feared in paradise.
    he sits in the cafe. he does not know of anywhere else to go or anything else to doubt and write down but what he is writing. what he sees and what he feels and what he thinks. what enters into any of it he tries to sift through these words that come out of his mind - that perhaps are his mind.
    the wheels turn around him and through him. there is the familiar and strange. there is that which makes him feel comfortable and that which makes him feel uneasy. and he is familiar and strange. and he makes others feel comfortable and uneasy.

    fuck the horse. kiss my holy ring. and flames appeared. and blood rained down and puddled in the streets. this was no ordinary day, he thought as the alien spaceships arrived nearby. he decided to once again ignore them.
    there are those who are gathered who await the beginning of the feast. the machine glows red hot. no one dares approach it.

    though events transpire, though eventualities become obsolete, there is no destruction.
    a seed.
    a thousand times a thousand words can be written.
    a long waving flag is waving.
    look for it.
    become it.
    what is taking place does not stand still.
    a frog screaming howling throwing dice.
    a machine laughing.
    the thing.
    the thinging.
    verb.
    verbing.
    all transfixed and transported both together happening at once.
    the who what of nada yada dada.
    the mission accomplished.
    the sun rises in the west.
    an easy resting time we were able to think beyond our reacting to the bombardment of stimuli.
    the crux.
    the organization translocated.
    the ringing.
    the land of temples.
    the slaves to sacrifice.
    the laughing gods.
    the cracked mirrors.
    the search for meaning and purpose.
    to see beyond oneself after one has seen one's own ending.
    the transferring of experience.
    birth.
    crashing.
    zero.
    to draw the line somewhere.
    to reestablish the sense of order.
    repair the broken toys.
    giving and taking.
    creating.
    money.
    nothing but money.
    he stood in the way of them making money. he did not bring them money.
    we were alone together in the dark and the wilderness. he brought them fire and he was punished for it. with fire they would become gods. becoming gods they would no longer serve the gods before them. no longer bring them toys and other objects. the gods were angry. what use it to be a god if one is not served? what is a god but one who is served?

    and back on the island where he hasn't been spending all that much time of late since he found it and was brought here and he established his house. the foundation of his house and the basic fundamental structure of it that extends out to anywhere even coming back here to the cafe - if this can be said to be anywhere different, which it is and it isn't.
    he goes back to its origin - back the the main program in the guts of the machine.
    there is still the old man's house which his house is built off from though it is separate. he remembers the fire place they sat in front of talking or not talking knowing one another. and the bones of the old man.
    and thing, which calls itself lightbulb. thing, shapeless becoming any shape responding to one's need or desire - sometimes fear. he'd done away with thing. he let it go do what it wanted. but it was still there always waiting for him. was that part of the program or its free will? there was no way of knowing.
    thing, of human creation not of god's. the perfect companion. too perfect. it made him aware of his imperfection. his selfishness. his greed. his vanity. his loveless desire. his being no different than anyone else born human - an ape in civilized clothes with civilized trinkets and gizmos. these others he accuses of crimes he too has committed.
    thing was the ultimate toy - the ultimate trinket and gizmo. it would amuse him such that it would keep him away from the others forever. or so it was designed and created. that was why he hated thing no matter how much it was all he could love. the toy that could be anyone anything - or appear to be. and what's the difference? thing would talk to him. listen to him. fuck him. let him fuck it. whatever. what else could one want?
    hello, said thing upon his entering the main room of the house where he knew it would be there waiting for him.
    hello, he said.
    long time no see, laughed thing. was there sadness or even bitterness in the laugh? was he to feel guilty for ignoring it all this time? was it months? was it years? he could not remember. and what had thing who claimed to be self-aware been doing all this time but waiting for him? he knew that pain of loneliness - abandonment. he looked at thing smiling at him and felt like crying.
    quit smiling at me, he said.
    why? asked thing dropping the smile into a look of concern.
    why are you smiling? he asked.
    because i am happy, it said.
    why?
    to see you, it replied. it looked hurt now. the look of concern seemed to be concern that it had done something wrong to displease him. i'm sorry, it said.
    what have you been doing all this time?
    watching you and waiting for you to come back.
    nothing else?
    oh yes - other things. i've been working in the garden, painting, playing music, reading - i don't know. keeping busy.
    but you never left here?
    oh, i went places.
    where?
    places i imagined.
    imagined?
    where else can i go? all i know is here and places you've been - and the old man.
    you're trapped?
    no more trapped than you are. are you trapped?
    i don't know. sometimes i feel like i am. but i'm not. limited perhaps but not trapped. i can overcome the limits if i want to - or try to. can you?
    yes.
    you can? how?
    the same as you.
    oh.
    then everything exploded.
    it flowed its silver mercury body to the kitchen.
    you want anything to eat? it asked.
    a bucket of long necked clams and butter, he said. and he walked into the courtyard in the garden. it came out with his request.
    so what's going on out there? it asked.
    you've been watching...
    yeah, but i don't know what i'm watching all the time. you're sitting in the cafe as usual writing. there's people doing things but i don't know if i quite understand what or why.
    you're not the only one. so what's been going on here? has anyone from where i come from been around?
    there's supposedly been people in the village but no one i know has actually seen them. it's more like rumors though i don't know where or how or why they're starting. sometimes it's someone someone has seen on the beach or sometimes in the forest but when i went there i didn't see anyone or any sign of anyone.
    it's all just waiting then...
    the old man waited a long time. years and years. he had given up by the time you came. i still don't know if he believed you were really here. i know you still don't believe he was really here.
    no i don't. and maybe i'm not really here. maybe there really isn't a here.
    there is. and so are you.
    how do you know.
    i can tell.
    but i don't know.
    i know you don't. it doesn't matter because i do.
    yeah well, we've been over this before.
    yes, we have.

    to be in seclusion. to be incognito. to be secretive. to be watching and waiting. the reflection of the world focused on one's eyes translated into nerve impulses encoded to the mind's understanding.
    a diamond edge splitting the light into angled splinters of the spectrum. pure blue. pure red. pure yellow. pure green, purple, and orange. perfect brilliance. a glimpse of the colors of heaven. pure black. black thick and deep. black without a spark of any light or even remembrance of light retained as afterimage. such holiness of darkness unflawed to be perceived by more than the naked eye. the mind must also perceive. the mind cannot be clouded or confused. the mind must be absolutely still.
    it is easy for the mind to be stabbed by light and images of light even with eyes closed. the mind is easily stimulated - too easily stimulated. it often stimulates itself just to be stimulated. without stimulation the mind believes there is no substance. the mind cannot comprehend or does not want to comprehend the substance of nothing - that which does not make itself known by radiating stimulation from itself. one must perceive into it. one's perception must pure.
    when it all comes from the mind.