the silence of existence drowning all the noise.
    he is empty.
    he reaches for the other but the other is an illusion of light and shadow.
    where is this other?
    does the other only exist in memory?
    does he know the other?
    the light and shadows grow deeper as he continues to disappear.
    he is a memory of himself.

    why does he love?
    he is fed by the other even with the distance between.
    is it love of his own reflection?
    they say there is no such thing as love.
    they say he cannot love.
    they say he does not know what it is.
    they are right - he doesn't.
    but neither do they.

    what he feels.
    and what he knows what he feels.
    is it love to be fulfilled or to die?
    is it something existing only in his head?
    maybe he should say nothing.

    all the lonely people in the world.
    why should he be any different?
    why should his dreams come true?
    but why don't they?
    it is we who deny ourselves.
    it is we who say what can and cannot happen.
    and he has fallen into this world again.
    he feels alive again.
    the pain that love brings has stabbed him again.
    he sees the desolation of existence once again.
    he wants to die again.
    he knows nothing.
    he feels everything.

    you can sing whatever song you want as loudly as you can.
    but everything must die, even before death.
    death is the only reason for life.
    you can build what you want.
    you can paint a million paintings.
    you can write volumes of poetry.
    but it is all stillbirth.
    you can feel what you want but don't try to nurture it.
    let it rot where it lies.

    and so he returns here again where the loneliness begins and ends.
    there is nothing else.
    he keeps trying to prove something other than himself exists.
    it's all a dream - a nightmare.
    he is a mad god twisting in the void of sleep unable to ever wake.
    worlds spin out of his mind to turn back and laugh in his face.
    he runs away from himself screaming - leave me alone!
    reminded again and again that it is useless.
    and he as mortal and left constantly looking for someone else.
    and to think he has found someone but it's not someone else at all but himself screaming - leave me alone!

    and so this is insanity, but what else is he to conclude from his experience?
    and the other images of himself can tell him over and over that they are real - and maybe they are.
    but we are divisions of an illusion that cannot see itself as it is.
    he cannot see himself as he is because he is no more real than the illusion he uses to hide that fact from himself.

    and so, what is this?
    he gives up.
    tell him.
    he can't figure it out.
    this test - or whatever it is - is too much - too hard.
    so you can let him in on it now.

    and how many dreams has he had of the other and himself together?
    the other in whatever form it takes to tease him into believing that it might happen this time.
    he is a god masturbating in the darkness filling it with light that forms a world - a world where he tries to find the other.
    but there is only him.
    that and the hatred this god has of itself.

    there is him.
    there is the other.
    or
    there is the other.
    and there is him.
    (chicken and egg)
    so what do we do now?
    is he the other?
    or
    is the other him?
    and why can't we be together?
    is it like kissing a mirror?
    which of us is the image of the other?
    he is told he is the image, but he can prove his own existence by being, not the other's.

    9/23
    zeke woke up suddenly with a jerk. he kicked the jerk out of his bed. but that wasn't right. he'd fallen asleep in the rocking chair given to him by his mother's sister, aunt tilda. she drove a mint '65 mustang - cherry red.
    it was 3:16 am thursday morning. his first thought was wondering how many people were using their visa card right now. his guess was 1,690,552 +/- 4 or 5. how could he check to see if he was right? what would he win if he was?
    the shower was hot. the steam was thick and wouldn't keep itself off the mirror as he combed out his dark wet hair. there was no point to any of this. it just went through the same series of cycles with little or no variation. life was such a pit.
    he thought about the gun he bought last week. it was loaded with one bullet and lay on the shelf above the shelf with bags of various kinds of macaroni.

    he cannot do nothing.
    he cannot fly.
    he cannot move objects with his mind.
    he cannot make things materialize at will.
    he is nothing.
    he is trapped by his nothingness.

    so where does it go from here?
    this is absurd.
    everything keeps turning back.
    voices from space.
    space from voices.
    what does he know?
    he destroys everything he touches.

    when the worlds fall apart - when it all dies.
    a thousand hats.
    mercy.
    grin attitude baby doll.
    french plastic webbing.
    a screaming dog races against time under the trees lined along easy street.
    tapping the phone lines.
    talking about monolithic devices all day long.
    radio beginning.
    clouds.
    the formation where nothing was before.
    the imagination in disease.
    jaw clenched.

    9/27
    so is he dancing or is he tripping over his own feet?
    and how does he tell the difference?
    does he wait until either he can fly or fall on his face?
    does he wait until the damage is done?
    where does it go?
    what does it mean?

    twisting in and out - from nowhere to somewhere to nowhere again.
    looking through the maze of mirrors for someone else beside another image of himself.
    and he thinks it may have been the other.
    but maybe he didn't see the other at all except with a mask of himself on.
    is that all it is or all he perceives?
    he sits within circles of himself as dust settles over everything else.
    just another day in dreamland - without the other.
    why does he want the other?
    is it the other he wants?
    how much is dream?
    how much is real?
    everything is made up of both.

    and as we've tried to explain before - or maybe not.
    or maybe a thousand or a million or a billion or a trillion or a zillion other things.
    where does it all go?
    where does it all come from?
    what do we have to do with any of it?
    are we controlled or in control?

    and everything is the other.
    but this is something he should not ask for.
    so many things he should not ask for.
    best to leave it as a dream.
    but to see the other mixed up and sad.
    he wants to be able to untangle that for it.
    but that is beyond what he can do.
    what can he do?
    can he do anything?
    here he is waiting for life to mean something.
    would the other give him meaning?
    would the other walk away?
    he wants to feel being worth the air he breathes.
    he wants to breathe each breath for the other.

    9/30
    but it is a fantasy.
    like everything else.
    just a dream of a dream of a dream...
    and so where is he now?
    making up stuff in his head.
    over and over and over...

    10/3
    so as we tenderly fall apart where the seams used to be.
    as together we stand.
    the construct invented in an envelope flying toward the window.
    the strongest is the weakest as it was foretold long ago.
    zebra mind.
    liquid hands.
    naked inside and out.
    marching through the madness.
    thinking things not thought before that were insane in times past.
    new.
    newer.
    newest.

    where drowning skies meet ever on with the sun sizzling along the edges where we sing praises to the absent gods talking to themselves off in some corner or another.
    look into his eyes.
    look into the eyes that look into yours as we wait for one of us to say something.
    will we?
    or have all the words been spoken into the dust covering everything?
    or have we really lost our minds as many have spoken of us?
    time meets itself again and says hello/good-bye.
    this is the past and the future.
    no longer now.

    in energy filling everywhere.
    we dive into and out of nothingness divided against itself over the argument of existence.
    and as what is broken between us and what is broken between all hearts.
    he universalizes.
    he monopolizes.
    he categorizes.

    we are thinking inward and outward forms of idle poetry from a stagnant mind.
    nothing in action.
    nothing.
    and nothing.
    broken down geometry involved in the concept that one person, even one idea, will save the world.
    development of self.
    and realizing the direction it takes to get out.
    stuck in patterns.

    10/6
    to set the mind above the world.
    to walk on the water.
    to sing another song.
    control without control in control.
    to withstand the heat in the kitchen.

    yeah - well, ok - so we're here or there and time goes past and nothing much changes except everything around us.
    today is forever and it is only another passing measurement of forever.
    how does one measure forever?
    just because some spinning rock floats around some flaming ball of gas in circles.
    all in relation to what?
    maybe nothing ain't moving at all.
    maybe nothing ain't here at all.

    what was coming together?
    what is coming together still?
    we work with the assumption that all what's going on has no purpose.
    some of us sit down and cry.
    some of us say, let's see what we can do anyway.
    he watches this all happening as he is dreaming.
    little do they know.
    little does he know.

    in the night which is where we always are no matter how brightly the sun doth shineth bright.
    cold star.
    in a time of remembering as with all the time of remembering.
    looking back on ourselves looking back on ourselves looking back.
    do we see anything at all or is it only imagination in darkness?
    how far do we look back?
    how much do we want to see of how little it really is?

    and we're doing the same things we've been doing all along.
    each generation that hasn't seen nothing at all thinks its bringing on a new day, a new age.
    all they do is invent new toys that do the same things as before only a little faster.
    so now we're doing the same things we've been doing all along only we're doing them faster.

    the secrets of the mystery are right before his eyes like optical illusion pictures of where birds are background for fish and fish are background for birds and if he looks at the world in just the right way something else will emerge from the background that was there all along.

    he lays down to sleep awhile when he can't think anymore.
    drift and sink down into the dark vaults under his active mind.
    turn off the lights and close his eyes.
    under the surface of this veneer world.

    and what is here?
    he is here though he doesn't know why.
    there's other people here too.
    are they like him or are they ghosts haunting his existence?
    how real is real?

    a thousand questions.
    a million questions.
    each moment is a question only eternity can answer.
    yet eternity is never arriving at an answer because when an answer is arrived at eternity is over and eternity is no more.
    huh?

    and when he wakes up in the night.
    the light comes out of the darkness.
    sometimes.
    when there is room and time to think.
    when he has a lot to say and there is no one is around to listen.
    they are asleep and dreaming.
    he is awake in their dream world.
    he can only talk to them when they are awake.
    but they aren't listening then either.
    they imagine that they have so much to do and it's gotta be done right away.
    and they grab him and drag him along with them making him participate in their activity.
    and he must obey because they have locked up all the food and if he doesn't he will starve.
    plain and simple.

    so he's sitting here by himself.
    him and the guy on the radio playing mood music for times like this.
    those who can't sleep.
    and the clock is moving as all the clocks are moving toward an imaginary moment when the world turns on again.
    everybody's clock moving at more or less the same slow speed though actually the speed a clock moves is neither slow nor fast since it is itself that measures how slow or fast it goes.
    but everyone's clock is moving more or less the same.
    on and on.
    and everyone is is forced to to move and tries to pull themselves together in relationship to these clocks that move all the same.
    gotta do this now.
    gotta wait to do that later.
    this and that.
    but there should be some way we can break from this.
    there is no one holding us to what we do but we ourselves.
    all the us and thems are really only us.
    how did we become divided?
    how do we stay divided?
    how can we get back together again?
    the clocks sure aren't doing it.
    the idea that we can get ourselves together by all doing the same things for the same purpose measured by the clocks.
    what is the same purpose we do what we do for?
    who decides this?
    and what do each of us have to do for this same purpose to be achieved?

    and there is always the imaginary city.
    are there clocks in the imaginary city?
    the imaginary city is nothing but clocks.
    clocks running at their own speed on their own time.
    fast clocks for people who like to do everything at once.
    slow clocks for people who don't feel like doing much at all.
    yes.
    why do we all have to run at the same time?

    the pure essence.
    the prime motivator.
    the doo-da wah-wah.
    the quikmoo oopfla.
    the tree house ice cream.
    these stupid fucking words.
    he hates every single one of them.
    what difference does it make which ones he uses?
    nothing is understood.
    1) box
    2) ashtray
    3) maggot
    4) plunge
    5) interesting
    - drown
    - tile
    - be-bop
    - rapidly

    10/8
    how can he hold on?
    how can he make it?
    it seems no matter how close he gets it remains impossibly far away.
    and he doesn't even know what it is.
    it is it.
    this is it.
    he is not it.

    wordless words.
    underground.
    does he remember anything or does he keep forgetting?
    his dreams.
    always his dreams.

    something other than himself.
    something other than who he is.
    the hunger pain from his heart.
    he is living and dying at the same time.
    and he must act as if nothing is wrong at all.
    bury himself so he cannot be seen.

    10/9
    think/not think.
    what becomes of this?
    what can he ever know?
    out of real time.
    into thought.
    and nothing is left.
    listening to the other side.
    listening through the hole in his head.
    listening to the wind in his hair.
    calling out many names.
    he hopes one of them will be his.

    his words are drops of poison.
    the more he uses to describe the more he kills what he is describing.

    he is dreaming.
    and his dreams have no meaning.
    he looks at the other.
    he does not see it.
    he does not hear it.
    the other is dreaming.
    and its dream of him is not real yet he is chained inside it.
    he cannot get away from how it sees him - how it hears him.
    the other is his reality.
    what he is nothing.
    who he is is nothing.
    he cannot touch the other.
    he cannot make it feel anything.
    does it feel anything?
    or does it just perform?
    and what does it want with him?
    why does it keep him here?
    why does he keep himself here?
    he can leave any time he wants but it intrigues him somehow.
    is it love?
    is it hatred?
    is it really him - is he it?
    it fights against him.
    he fights against it.
    is this how it must be?

    it's all happening.
    it has no meaning.
    it makes a lot of noise and has a lot of bright colored light.
    he'd laugh it away if it didn't cause so much pain.
    and there is only one way to stop the pain that he knows of.
    and who says it stops even then?
    maybe everything goes away but the pain.
    nothing but pain.
    eternal pain.
    so he stays alive.
    it could be worse.
    or maybe not.
    maybe there is just nothing.
    nothing but nothing.
    forever.
    and once this is forgotten how could it ever have existed?
    it exists because he remembers it existing.
    and if he no longer remembers...?
    but he does not want this to not exist.
    he just wants the pain to go away.
    but this is all attached to the pain - causing or caused by, who can tell?
    it seems that you can't have one without the other.

    the pain.
    the pain.
    the pain.
    nothing but the pain.
    and it doesn't stop.
    and it doesn't go anywhere.
    it just spins.
    and he spins with it.

    why does he bother thinking?
    what does any amount of thinking do?
    just gives you more to think about.
    there's no place it can go.
    but he can't stop.
    he knows it is useless and meaningless.
    whatever it is that he is thinking about is more than he can think about.
    so what's the point?
    and they say you can't get there from here.
    not by thinking.
    it's beyond rationality or whatever.
    but he can never figure out what they're talking about.

    everything is broken waiting to be destroyed.
    he wants to put it back together.
    but he can't.
    not alone.
    and everyone has grabbed as many pieces as they can and won't let them go.
    they cannot see the whole.
    they cannot see past themselves and what little bit they hold.

    and so he is to spend his life alone.
    he has tried to connect but it never held.
    so why does he stay here?
    what does whatever goes on here have to do with him?
    this is their world and they can have it.
    he'd rather be alone by himself with no one interrupting him to do some meaningless task for them just so they can get off on the power of telling someone else what to do.

    some cat.
    where it's at.
    do that - do that.
    and one might ask:
    plasma.
    plasma.
    plasma.
    the basic development.
    hero worship.
    hero god.
    big dick.
    hey.

    and what drives us wild.
    and what drives us back again.
    time and time.

    downtime.
    circus.
    eat.
    what.
    doing nothing.
    dream.
    general.
    pad.
    nothing.
    and whatever.

    the freetime development.
    the tree in the forest.
    the tree that became this piece of paper he scribbles on.
    death.
    everything is death.
    death is where it's at.
    everything is dead.
    life is a dream the dead have in their freetime.

    life.
    death.
    what's the difference?

    and time.
    and time.
    and clocks to measure time.
    and calendars to keep track of time.
    where did we get such ideas from?
    past and future.
    yesterday and tomorrow.
    why did we invent such things?
    and time.
    and time.

    10/10
    ten ten.
    the same noise as before.
    the same noise as always.
    yes - and it's so easy to think about anything one might want to.
    we dream these thousands of dreams - millions - billions.
    conflicting details about what at the core is the same thing.
    and we're willing to die for our dreams.
    and we're willing to kill for our dreams.
    be sure not to think about anything to deeply.
    react only to the surface.
    and dream your dreams that never come true.
    and die for your dreams.
    and kill for your dreams.

    and it all could come true if we were willing to drop our assumptions and presuppositions and trash like that.
    everyone has a heart.
    and every heart has been broken.
    or maybe not.
    maybe everything is exactly how it is explained.
    the mainframe reality.
    why try to fight it?
    why question what is real or not?
    who really cares?
    let it all go as it is - to rise of fall as it will.

    we are dead.
    we are zombies.
    to call this life is a joke.
    he is not alive.
    he is dead.
    he is a zombie.
    he does not know who he is.

    it is some place else.
    it is not here.
    only fools think it could be here and now.
    everyone knows we must suffer through the here and now to get some place else.

    and the dreams he has remind him how far he has to go.
    they laugh at him.
    flash all his misconceptions in his face.
    you fool.
    you fool.

    as it all approaches darkness while he thought it was moving toward the light.
    he is lost once more.
    he keeps forgetting that he is a fool who knows nothing and who is easily led by a few exhilarating emotions into thinking he's experiencing some sort of revelation or enlightenment.
    ha!
    that will be the day.

    so how long does this go on?
    how does it end?
    there is no one - not even himself anymore.
    so this is nonsense.
    so this is down right stupid.
    why is he going through this?
    why are so many of us going through this?
    somewhere.
    some time.
    that's all there is.
    empty promises.
    hopeless faith.
    there is nothing here.
    nothing he can see except what is only in his head.
    it's all twisted up and confused.
    we don't know where we are.
    we don't know who we are.
    so we pray and meditate about worlds beyond.
    some garden somewhere some time.
    when we are in a garden now - the garden.
    we didn't get kicked out.
    we just trashed the place.

    but what good does any of his words do?
    what good do any of all the words do?
    words.
    words.
    words.
    all about what should be true but isn't.
    what good does any of that do?
    no one understands - not even those who write them.
    nothing ever changes.
    this world is designed to be hell.
    no one knows why.
    you can beat your head against the wall but which is going to crack first?

    and so it was.
    and so it is.
    and so it will be.
    and so what?
    read and write a million million books about everything in the world and you will have nothing that can help you.
    it's all noise.
    it's the world itself that is the problem not anything in it or about it.
    how do you fix something that wasn't built right to begin with?

    dada doo-wah.
    jump into a paper cup.
    drive a bowl of cherries out of its collective mind.
    sing a wastebasket.
    dance with a curtain.
    does anything mean anything? asks the young student whose name we haven't remembered yet.
    and as the crow flies down from the telephone wire it speaks while keeping an eye toward the corn in the garden and it says, yes indeed, anything does mean anything. anything can mean anything one wants it to mean. anything can represent anything else - even itself.
    i don't think that's what i was asking, the young student replied biting into an apple.
    ask what you want to ask. ask anything at all. the answers you get are the answers you get - nothing more.
    and the crow turned into a fresh pile of dog shit.
    and meanwhile someone came out of the woods.

    10/11
    little pieces of mind falling out like teeth.
    disease.
    unease.
    it's so easy.
    just let go of whatever you've been taught is real.
    and there you are.
    falling apart.
    and there is nothing that can put you back together again.
    you just keep going until you disappear.

    the cat sleeps on the counter in the sun on a dishrag.
    what a state of mind.
    while he wonders if anything would change if he put a hole in his head.
    would it?
    maybe yes - maybe no.
    who cares?
    does he?
    yes - he does...
    and just to stop the pain.

    18 moments later up a tree.
    speaking in liquid tongue against your heart.
    drowning where nothing ever happens as it seems.
    open eyes blinking with unsettled dust.
    astonished at being awakened.

    hear the cry of whatever you hear the cry of.
    and sometimes.
    and sometimes.
    and sometimes - what?
    nothing at all.
    nothing much at all.
    it's broken down about as much as it can be in real time.
    and there's nothing at all.
    nothing more that he can see.
    and no one else can see anything either.
    he must have been imagining things again.
    he does a lot of that lately.
    it's nothing at all.

    row row row your boat gently down the stream of consciousness.
    give me a lobotomy if you can't give me bliss.
                                                                                - rondo q, quatz

    and he doesn't know what other people want.
    he doesn't think they know what they want either.
    he doesn't know what to do in relation to them.
    they can't really want what is going on now, can they?
    even the ones who control it all.
    he guesses it's best if he leaves as much of it alone as he can but he's forced to take part in some of it to play their game of greed and power even only as a pawn.
    he doesn't want it.
    he doesn't want to compete with them.
    they can have it all - he doesn't care.
    he doesn't want to change anything.
    they can do that just as well themselves if they really wanted to but he guesses they don't.
    he just wants to get himself out.
    he doesn't want to be alone but he is tired of having to relate with people the way he has to the way things are.
    there is no compromise between the two.
    if he wants to be with people he has to put up with all the shit they do.
    and the funny thing to him is that they all complain about it too.
    so what's going on?
    he just doesn't get it.
    if he knew what they wanted he'd be willing to help in any way he could.
    if they knew what they wanted.
    he'd be willing to do the dirty work.
    he already is doing the dirty work but none of them are happy.
    they're busy killing themselves and each other.
    what more can he do?
    he can't think of a thing.
    he'd like to break it down.
    but if others couldn't do it then how is he supposed to?
    put it all in a hat.

    11/14
    so this is it.
    or this is very close to it.
    the edge and the fine line approaches.
    or he approaches the edge and the fine line.
    will he fall off?
    will he bump into an invisible wall?
    will he go out only to meet himself coming in each trying to get away from where he is?
    or is it only a mirage?
    or is it only a dream he was having once and he's having now and again?
    it has eaten the earth.
    it once was very small - now it is very large.

    since time ever was.
    since he could remember having these thoughts before.
    since he has awoken - if he is awake yet.
    he was somewhere once - maybe he is somewhere still.
    he saw the world as the world was.
    now he sees the world as it became and is still becoming.
    he was dreaming about different ways of leaving.
    he was talking in his sleep.
    he was remembering his name.
    he wants to forget.
    he wants to remember.
    he wants to forget not remembering.
    he wants to remember how to forget.
    forget who he is.
    remember who he is.
    take off the mask and see his face for the first time since he was told what his name was.
    what was his name?

    instructions:
        a) figure out where you want to be
        b) go there
        c) don't stop
        d) forget how to get back
        e) dive
        f) up
        g) a bench on a beach is waiting for you
        h) hungry
        i) spin
        j) forest
            1) blue
            2) saxophone
            3) a door is ajar
        k) pick up your shoes
        l) duck
            1) noun
            2) verb
            3) state of mind
            4) object
                a) verb
                b) noun
                c) state of mind
                d) next
        m) something is missing.

    and how does one know if one is becoming enlightened or going insane?
    what is the difference?
    this is the question?
    and there isn't an answer - is there?
    it's subjective (or whatever).
    so - just keep on keeping on.
    or some such.
    keep going until something breaks and you're either in darkness or in light.
    there is no way to tell where one is.
    only the look of others' eyes or the wariness of their smiles.
    but it could be themselves that they fear.

    so what do we see?
    what do we call real?
    what do we even know - or are we constantly guessing?
    call out a thousand names and no one comes to help us.
    we are alone in all of this.
    alone with each other alone.
    he tries to remember past what he remembers.
    nothing is there.
    the lines are drawn.
    reason.

    and he doesn't know anyone at all.
    he doesn't even know himself yet.
    but he feels what he feels and he doesn't feel it changing.
    maybe someone with a clearer head would be able to know what is and what is not.

    10/15
    just nothing.
    just everything.
    turning and turning.
    and turning again.
    and twisting.
    just a dream.
    always a dream.
    laughing all the way.
    dive.
    dive into the dream.
    away into the dream.
    everything shines so bright.
    like on fire.
    fire beyond life.
    ash gray life.
    cold.
    dead.

    where we were standing against open-mouthed fields of blue.
    azure.
    robin's egg.
    royal.
    or many other colors.
    pigment and light.
    and our eyes.
    wide.
    he falls.
    and has kept falling ever since.

    and it ends up the same.
    the same frustration.
    the same walls of the cage.
    within and without.
    a monkey in the zoo.
    untouched.
    untouching.
    alone.
    unknown.
    q.
    eat.

    x-ray potatoes dancing around in the magic moonlight.
    pulling up their skirts.
    pulling off their shirts.
    pulling out their heads.
    pushing back the envelope.
    all of which means nothing, of course.
    don't you think he knew that?
    breaking it down.
    breaking it open.
    breaking it apart.
    breaking it up.
    more than a word experiment.
    more than no meaning dada.
    more than anything before.
    yet it is nothing without understanding.

7/10/90

    and a flash inside a moment waiting for the next as it is and was today and tomorrow as one dream happening at once. ha-ha-ha-hello? so for this time now he's got his. he doesn't know what happens with yours if it didn't come. he kinda drifted and fell into it. he's not exactly sure how, but there it is. he doesn't know what he did or didn't do except follow some weird non-path to here and now. something from nothing. and he knows it doesn't seem to amount to much here as maybe it may seem as he writes about it. he knows he doesn't come up with the right words. they don't seem right to him. he doesn't know where to find them. in a dictionary? in a thesaurus? in a holy book? in a comic strip? he's looked everywhere he could think of. if there are any more he just doesn't know. lost to it all and all of it lost to him. and he is what he is to it and it is what it is to him. he doesn't know. happiness and despair have left him. he laughs or cries as either come to him and he enters them or they enter him as they come and go or he comes and goes. what is the relationship? what are the reference points here? is he lost at all? lost from what? from who? here he is now. he is now here (nowhere). play a song for him. sit down at a piano or take out a guitar or put on a record. play a song for him. he'll let you decide what it should be. and after that he'll play a song for you. and let's dance together either holding and swaying or jumping up and down. he wants to dance. he's so fucking tired of all these words. but the words go on. he dances with them now. and in dancing with them can he dance with you? can that take place here? wherever it is we decide we want to be. you name the place and time and he'll try to be there. but don't hold your breath. don't wait. go on. he either makes it or he doesn't. it shouldn't matter. all that stands in his way. he tries to face it down. it follows him everywhere he goes. and it's so absurd because he knows it's nothing at all but he keeps thinking that he sees something there. calling out as many names as he can remember or come across along the way. none have yet applied to what it all is or not. he laughs because he's chasing himself in circles but what else does one do in a world of circles and people in circles everywhere turning and turning - a great amusement park of rides going around in circles. and it'd be ok except we have some idea of progression being made through it all. but how does one tell when one circle looks like another? they are all the same and they are all different and it comes around again and it doesn't make all that much a thing-a-do where or when it begins or ends because either can be any place or time and it's just a game now with words he dances around with himself in the light and dark up and down in and out everywhere anywhere somewhere nowhere. he names the names he calls now and then here and there as he spins about and goes where and when he goes and lands where and when he lands somehow laughing though there's nothing to laugh about except everything or breaking china laughing laughing laughing. he always thought that when he goes out he wanted to go out laughing. he keeps himself laughing whatever it fucking takes to keep himself laughing before he starts screaming and killing. living off the state, coffee, cigarettes, scribbling words in notebooks, pizza, peanut butter sandwiches, acid - anything. everything he can get his hands on laughing goddamn it. get these screaming monkey demons out of his head - out out out. he casts them out with words he pukes on these pages - all of you out. he doesn't care who they are or what they think he owes them or they owe him - all debts are canceled. he declares himself karma free. he declares karmic bankruptcy. he'll take it to the highest court if they try to collect - out out out. he's fucking had it. pick up a clue. take a hint. dig the message - go. leave. zap! kaput. aarrgh! yaaa! ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-hee-ho-ho-ho and so on.
    and so it is here. notes. ideas about nothing as it passes him by and he watches it go. he remains here. he can't seem to move. he doesn't want to. it's all tv to him. images flashing as he flashes as an image. computer display in 3-d. our hands pass through space and time to brush a strand of hair from our face. we get up and walk away. where are we going? it's impossible to go anywhere but there we are on the other side of ourselves going somewhere. and he plays games like this - amusing himself as he is amused. he removes himself from what he cannot comprehend. he doesn't follow which way it's going. he always seems to end up someplace else. is he lost? is it even possible to be lost if one is always where one is being here and now? statements that twist in on themselves and make sense or not only if we want them to or not. words that follow only words following whatever is followed now as we leave trails of our being behind us. and where do we go now that all roads have led to the same place? as we look at one another and none have any more questions that can be answered. what do we follow now? ourselves? what have we been following up to now? he finds a place to fly to. he goes back up the mountain and sits on the roof of his crooked put together house and tries to remember how he wanted it to be different than this but it's not so maybe he didn't want it different. he watches the spaceships landing all over the world and jesus walking the streets surrounded by cheering crowds all on tv. peace is declared on earth. peace at last. and now the real war can begin. the war with ourselves - the common enemy. how do we return? where do we return to? does the circle complete itself unbroken through space and time beyond the segment of space and time we know as our lives living with it as best as we can royally screwing it up and making a fine mess of it? is this the one jam we don't get out of?
    laughing. to be here and now laughing. what else is there to do? and at whose expense are we willing to do it? that's the joke. when do we look back and laugh? do we wait for jesus to show us the way as he looks back and laughs at himself hanging on that stupid cross? that's the joke too. we all laugh breaking down everything we believe in looking back at what fools we are. dancing free on the streets. if you can't dance free on the streets what does it all mean? if you can't laugh looking back at what a fool you are what does it mean? what else is it all for?
    give it up, baby, give it up.
    he tries to give it up. he tries to dance and laugh. and through existence what existence is known and what complex path of reasoning it takes to arrive at something simple enough that it is what you knew all along without knowing anything at all. reach for ignorance. bang your crazy head against the wall until you can't think straight ever again - until none of it makes any sense. the understanding of our ignorance. the end result of all our pursuits of knowledge is to stand naked knowing nothing. turn it inside out until you walk up to someone else and tap them on the shoulder and ask them if they possibly know what the fuck is going on and they turn around and it's you. mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the biggest fool of them all? take a good long hard look, baby, because it's you. so what else is left but to go dancing and laughing away following any which way it comes and goes? no more promises. no more expectations. no more deals. dancing and laughing on the way to the jubilee.
    so the names are called. this is it. it is happening now. the armies are being divided. the war is on as it's never been on before. come one, come all - come dancing out with us on the streets of this babylon. bring whatever you need. bring whatever you want. the monsters are here calling out your name. there's a monster for each of you. what are you going to do now? what are you going to say? what are you going to think? it's a party. it's a war. it's a party and a war. it's whatever you try to make it. whose side are you on? decide or it will be decided for you. someone pointing their finger at you saying, my world would be better off without you. my world. your world. our world in-between being torn to pieces. rent asunder. trampled underfoot. going down. going straight to hell, baby. no one gets out of this alive. this is it. enjoy it while it lasts. oh boy! rumble tonight. bring it down. your name is being called and you should hear the names they're calling you. are you going to stand for that? are you going to let them get away with that? how long have they been pissing in your face and kicking you down and you just take it. curl up and die. how much longer? so come on and do it. this is your chance. everyone else is doing it. tonight's the night it hits the streets. pick up your ax and jam, baby, jam. there's a storm coming that's going to blow everybody's cover. hang on to your hats. and what are you gonna do when you see it? scream with fear? - with rage? break down and cry. break up and laugh?
    and he's here telling you nothing because he has nothing to say. just talk talk of words spilling outta his worried mind - his aching head - his insane brain. does not compute. reject. insufficient data dada, baby. feed him more though he's choking on what he's swallowing already. it's still not enough. give him more. got him down on his knees because the weight's too heavy to carry another step but it's not enough. this is the information age, baby. don't give him your body. don't give him your money. don't give him your life. he just wants - he just needs - your information. tell him what you got. let him know it all. he's trying to put 2 + 2 together and he doesn't have enough information. maybe you got the part he needs. he won't know until and unless he knows it all. and he's spinning down in tailspin vortexes measuring between this and that and coming up with a different answer each time around around around he goes beginning it again past the point it began before. the circle is broken and he's trying to get the ends to meet. and he's almost there. he can smell it. he can feel it. he can hear it. he can see it and if he could get a taste - a drop on his tongue. just one taste he'd be able to give it up and let it go. it'd be enough. he'd walk away and lay himself down. he'd remember what it was like to be there when it was as clear as it was ever gonna get. the nectar. that manna. to experience with everything reaching for it - one drop - one point of ecstasy. here. now.
    how could one forget? how could one ever want more? there is no more to want because that's what you wanted and you got it. one drop of it on your tongue. now you can speak. now you know the language. it was the cure that shook it all down and divided the wheat from the chaff. that was all it took. it was the moment of moments. it will be the moment of moments. when what you see is what you get. the illusion of images x-rayed through to the heart. and once you see that you don't forget it. not now - not ever. you become blind with it because you can't see nothing else because it's everywhere you look and what the fuck is he  writing about anyway?
    leave it.
    forget it.
    go back home.
    say good-bye

    he falls falling. he wakes some place unexpected. the doors open and he looks through them. he is aware of who and what he might become. he sits in a chair. he is hungry. a movie plays about some events about his life he has forgotten. what has gone on here? it was a cell. it was a small room with one window. he knew how this would end. he saw it. there was nothing he could do to prevent it. a book that comes to and end and doesn't begin again. one can only reread it.
    the missiles are ready - underground - under the ocean. waiting. the moment by moment update - the status and situation. larger and smaller than life. actions and events one by one all together becoming the focusing of all the pent up energy of the human mind. twisting. the hour and the day. up in the mountains and in the middle of the city. the rising of emotion. he knows how this will end. he has decided. fate. open our eyes. a few billion people each day. so many. so few. he has decided to end it with a bang. end it all at once. the one solution to all problems. erase it all. push the button. end the frustration of being able to do nothing when it seems to be out of control. he tries to give you what he has. too little too late. he tries to find balance in it all.
    and so it goes. away. forgotten - never to be remembered again. he doesn't know - maybe it shouldn't end this way. maybe he should leave it to the others and have them dream up their own ending - make up their own world where everything works out. believe it or not. good luck. that's all he can say. that's all he knows what to say about any of this. good luck.
    he leaves it. he cannot think any more about it. he gets lost in it. it drives him mad. so he doesn't know. life does go on but what he is writing does not. it's just a book written by someone somewhere some time maybe long ago. someone who doesn't get it. someone who doesn't know how to end it. someone who doesn't know how to begin it again. this is all he has to offer. he feels it will do nothing. what can it do?