klocko quizmo.
    and maybe something else about a spoon again. what is it about spoons? what is it about a spoon?
    don't worry about that. there's so much else to worry about - like, what time it is. do you know what time it is? if you don't, does it concern you? probably not. when was the last time you knew what time it is? what is the longest period of time you've gone without knowing what time it is? and if you do know what time it is how concerned would you be if you didn't know?
    what is it about spoons? how do they fit in with things? they fit in with each other very well - so well that they are used as an example of how well other things fit together - like lovers, for example.
    a spoon. a moon. june. lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
    so here it all is again. moments fitting together like spoons - like lovers - like anything at all. everything fits together, doesn't it? even that which comes apart, doesn't it? what is fitting together? what is coming apart?
    what are you thinking?
    what time is it?
    which is what?
    what is which?
    hello/good-bye.
    and a furthermore possibility of it all about which is not much at all that is making any sense like this that is or isn't and some such is something about the relationship of relationship and that which is in relationship. and for this we go back to the spoons. two spoons formed by the same mold and from the same material delivered to the spoon factory from whoever producing that material from the same material ore of the earth in relationship to itself and on and on prior to that. let us state for the record that these spoons have been together in close relationship since before we can figure out where and how they came from.
    now we discuss the deal about relationship of the spoons and consider the relationship of the conformity of shape and material. but then we move on to other things that may or may not have anything to do with this.
    whatever fits and whatever doesn't. do things fit or not fit? - or is this just a figment of our human imagination?
    and a road that is followed until it forks and one takes the left fork or the right fork. which one fits? which one does not fit? suppose the fork one takes is the wrong fork for where one wanted to get to. what is the error? 1) taking the fork which doesn't go where one wanted to get to? 2) wanting to go where the fork did not go?
    and someone says, if i don't get the results i want i'll just rewrite the program.
    apply that statement to the above example about a fork in the road and even back to spoons.
    who's fooling who? is it each other or ourselves? and does it matter? are these questions we should be asking? would our inquisitive energy be best used directed elsewhere?
    what time is it?
    and to follow anything in or out. to become what one is not. the mystery is not mysterious. to be enveloped in the all. to feel the universe as it is. to realize one is acting upon oneself.
    please flush the toilet.
    please take out the garbage.
    please brush your teeth.
    and to find oneself as all there is with others as part of oneself who act in response fitting like spoons taking this or that fork in the road.
    do it.
    and is this the final throne of what is the so-called ego? the self as self as separate and alone against all odds or what exactly may or may not be the case. who is one's self? is there even such a thing?
    and kinda suddenly she turned around upon herself and reached up over her head and looked down into the well of her shadow and beheld the dada-ananda, or at least so she thought.
    and it was then that the dada-ananda spake thusly, yes, dear child, as i have explained before to someone who may or may not have been you, there are many many reasons to doubt everything - including things about spoons and forks in the road. this fact alarms many people who hide this from themselves inside structures of faith. they think that if they do not question the premises of these structures, however free they may or may not be to question within the premises of these structures themselves, that they are protected and kept safe. yet this protection and safety can only be maintained by a routine of constant denial of anything that does not support the premises of these structures. as such these structures are no more than to be built on sand which is fine so long as the tide does not return to wash them away - which of course is foolish wishful thinking. the tide always returns and only that which can move and flow with the tide will survive which these of course do in time unless it is grounded in rock of the earth which may be the similar material that spoons are made of.
    and she blinked thrice and said, what?
    and the dada-ananda shifted in form a little toward a moose and replied, exactly, dear one. that is the right and correct question to ask. you are wiser than you might imagine for someone of your years.
    and the dada-ananda did then vanish from her vision where now only remained her shadow and her gazing down upon it. and it was some years later when she had married a bricklayer from yreka that she remembered this even occurring. by then she thought about her response very differently as she was 5 months pregnant with their first child who would be born retarded but who would alter their boring hum-drum lives for the better.
    and it was something obscene or the idea of obscene which after all is all that is obscene is the idea. gunshot tit cockroach fungus spoon.
    who knows what who thinks what? the relative condition of the human mind. a hand lies open, palm skyward, fingers curled, relaxed. death? pleasure? sleep? and who is to say who we are or what we are doing except as we agree among ourselves?
    as the dada-ananda has been known to have spake thusly: no war can happen unless two sides agree to be enemies. agreement is the only state of human relationships.
    and as the sky does fly. overcome, we stand as naked to it far below. all our efforts to be partners with it having so far failed as the sky is always distant even when one is in it.
    open the mind. open the heart. laugh until it hurts to laugh until you must force yourself to stop and even then you cannot.
    eat the mind. eat the heart. chew them and swallow them down until you are too full to eat more yet the hunger you have triggered cannot be sedated no matter how heavily it is weighted down.
    until you want to die.
    until you can no longer live.
    it is now. it is forever. it is never. we must choose. we wait for the final results though what they are or what they will be - even what shape or form or context they may take - we do not and maybe cannot know. but then, what is knowing?
    and all dada such as that.
    a wild change of heart like sudden weather. in moments it can be opposite of what it appeared to be though what course do these things take? what forks in the road? what expectations of destination do we try to foretell?
    and it all kinda tends to dissolve. and we have developed some sort of dependence on things remaining as they are, yet they do not except as we are able to force them to with total vigilance of our industry day after day of building more and faster than we can maintain and then we bemoan the downfall and decay of it all crumbling naturally with time fitting like spoons.
    we wish ourselves to be gods though gods we are. we seek to attain eternity by making it stop and stand still. we seek to attain eternal life by smothering life to death. we do not realize that what we try to gain by all our efforts that we already possess forever as now is forever and forever is now.
    what time is it?
    dig with a spoon. a spoonful. a dime a dozen hope for what is hopeless. and what is the difference between the two - hope and hopelessness? - or even between two of anything?
    as things come together and fall apart. when do we mark the time when they are one or the other?
    and as the everyday is the everyday and seems to go along just fine ignoring these basic thoughts and questions - or does it? behind the surface scene of the cool, calm and collected - which is a surface transparent thin to those who can read the gestures, see the look in the eyes - is a land of frightful horror and torture. madness screams everywhere and is even more terrible by its silence upon the deaf ears of the zombies numb and walking through it with this eating away at their living souls.
    and is this something to be spoken of as we are careful to obey the confines of polite conversation? as this is the brick and mortar of our glorious civilizations we built ever higher and higher.
    the dada-ananda, amused once at a pretend tea party with a friend's daughter and her dolls and stuffed animals, spake thusly, to me the goal of civilization is to see how much we can occupy ourselves in doing before we go insane.
    until we go insane? how do we know where and when that point is to be reached and stop ourselves before crossing over? or is it even a point? is it maybe a gradual shift that is undetectable as it occurs over the span of time? how much time?
    the dada-ananda did spake thusly again some weeks later in a parking lot begging spare change from the happy shoppers, yes - it does seem to be quite gradual. extremely subtle as well as the concept and definition of insanity shifts along with it. so it is a matter of when does it end as much as when does it begin. i see this as i do not see this. i cannot even attempt to explain it. each of us must decide for oneself. so it becomes yet another subject it is easier to ignore and let happen as it will rather than try to alter it or alter oneself in relationship to it except...
    and the police came and the dada-ananda ran away.

    and the place that was and is not - or is it us? a thousand poems about nothing or everything. the same ideas. the same dead ends. what's all the excitement about?
    all formed into a frame of mind. this goes on and on. this is what was, is and will be. what time is it? again and again. the flow of spacetime - or is it us?
    to be removed from it. to feel our hand touch nothing - or everything. are they different? are they the same? to be rejoined. to cause action through non-action. to be exactly here. to be exactly now. and what else are we? who are we to become who we are not?
    we don't understand. we are alone. we touch nothing as we touch everything. one is as good as the other. who are we to know anything? who are we not to know anything? what is known besides what we know? is this important? is anything to be said at all?
    it was once or it was twice. we were thinking about something and forgot what it was. then we sat down for awhile longer and tried to remember but could not. it was once or it was twice.
    a memory that is no longer a memory. a blank in spacetime. something must have happened somewhere long ago and far away.
    and to ask a million questions and not receive an answer. and to forget all that and just go on with what is. but for some of us it is not that easy. these things of questions are solely what our minds are made up of. we have no other place to turn except to oblivion. is that the only answer? it cannot be. it must be something alive and living. does oblivion live? is it living? perhaps yes. it is one with all.
    and after all the time that has been and before all the time that is to be. we understand ourselves in time and do not understand time at all. we think it ticks ticks ticks or as a humming vibration eternal. we think it stays still on a true course forever. but we imagine it all sorts of other ways - fast, slow, start, stop, backward, forward, up, down, around, sideways, through, this way, that way, replay, edit, split, multiply, divide, add, subtract... and on and on. and we imagine ourselves lost, confused, forgetful, mad... because we haven't kept ourselves on track. we lost the beat.
    so do what you want. follow the countdown to zero of precisely measured time. the time that runs the machines and drives the treadmills of civilizations. do what you want. we are not lost or confused or forgetful or mad. we have found our way out. we are astonished in wonder. we know what happens and what doesn't. our minds are open wide.
    by the way - what time is it?

    what we must have done. what witnesses are brought against us. we stand alone. we must face what the others fear the most. freedom? they huddle together like monkeys in cages trembling and pointing their fingers. yes - we did this. yes - we did that. we disrupted the order of things as they are and were meant to be. we should be punished. we should be isolated yet never left alone. gathered together and set apart, confined even tighter than they themselves are. misery loves company.
    what is it about this whole mess? what are we doing? does anyone know? can anyone guess? we are clowns without faces - without any identifying features. one can pass for all. our computers like that. it makes the programs run that much more smoothly. the less variables the better. no glitches. no downtime. no one knows what we're doing. no one can even guess. but as long as it keeps moving who asks any questions?
    dreamtime in a rhythm of balance neither quite this nor quite that - but maybe something else. we know what it is but there is something different and mysterious about it. we can never put our finger on it. time stops - or slips away. what can be said? we fear the worst and prepare for the best while it falls somewhere in-between.
    dreamtime in our minds digesting what they can of reality and trashing the rest. we understand, and we do not understand. it comes and goes. we try to hold on until we are forced to let go - usually too late.
    we are all out of synch though we really are not. how can we be? but our perception of it is what is off - when we think something is one thing when it is really something else - or neither. we are constantly divided which is the way it is except we think we should not be and struggle to keep ourselves together by any means possible - and then it breaks. we have to let go.
    our structures of things are imaginary - yet we have made them real and unmovable and now we are stuck with them as we have made them. we have trapped ourselves in cages we meant for something else - our imaginary monsters who now are real as well and circling us like sharks once in awhile banging against the bars we hope are strong enough to keep them out.
    no one laughs at them. yet if there is one weapon that is ultimately lethal to imaginary monsters it is laughter. but we have convinced ourselves these monsters are real and so they have become real. look out on the streets, they're all over the place.
    but there is no one out here but we ourselves - us. only when we divide ourselves apart are we surrounded. when we put on a uniform that says we are not them and they are not us. when we limit who stays and who must go we will always need to lock our doors and windows. we will need police and armies. we will need to blow the world to kingdom come.
    so this is it. we have come so far. we built many wonderful things we never could have imagined. we have become the gods our ancestors worshipped. yet we have gone nowhere. we still chase ourselves in circles of fear. we're still afraid of the dark though we've driven the dark back with our artificial light. we've never regained our balance - the rhythm between this and that - as we sought to define what is and what is not instead of allowing our imaginations to run wild away out of our minds. we're so afraid to lose control. we hold on tight until we are forced to let go. push the button. let's go together - all for one and one for all because no one can do it alone. the others will turn on them, drive them down, cast them out. if our imagination is what we fear, and the products thereof, then those who use and depend on their imagination must be feared - especially if they cannot be controlled.
    how twisted can it get? how twisted has it gotten? anyone who has thought about it has quickly realized the futility of trying to figure it out and turn back or they keep going and lose themselves into it forever. for those who continue, great wonderful visions are granted. yet in payment they are forever damned by those they leave behind - those they had hoped they could find something to release their bonds and let them free in the wild lands of imagination and heavens they struggle and work themselves to death to hope to get to when it's all right here and now. but they've convinced themselves that their dreams are unattainable that they destroy anyone who can give them to them. such is the joke.
    so let these fools who fear what they desire lie in the graves they dig for themselves. if that is what they want then who are we to argue with them? who are we to deny them their fate they design for themselves? we must go on. we know where our imaginations lead. the air is thick with their trembling nervousness, their cool sophisticated manners all reeking of their stinking fear. ha! the foundations of their world is rotten through and through and they try to fix it with wallpaper and paint. as long as they don't see it - out of sight and out of mind. they pretend away their lives and lock away anyone who won't make believe with them. they push the buttons on their public opinion screens. push the button for fear.
    and who are they? what do they deny that comes to them in the nightmare dreams? listen to their dreams and one will hear the tales of their repressed desires that have grown sick and twisted locked in dark closets. listen. the living dead.

    and something missing. something wherever it plays. and we get nowhere with this reasoning - if that is anything of what it is. listening to it all.
    nobody's paying attention. they'd rather follow the program biologically and culturally set to make things so much easier. don't think. yet shouldn't that be the way things should be? just cruise. what could go wrong? how come all the fighting and sorrow and pain and gosh, let's ask these questions again and again.
    to live where it all begins brand new yet is very old. we are one with it all. let's dance and forget who we've convinced ourselves we are supposed to be. find out who we are. find out who we can become.
    and something missing still. something out in the air as the music plays. as we lull in our heads on about this and that. it's all a dream. it's a joke. yet tell that to someone starving.
    it's one and all. it's this and that together in a balancing act juggling all the elements of spacetime for our amusement. we are not amused. it's a slap in the face. it's a slap on the knee.

    looking through the spider's eye across the web it weaves across branches somewhere in the woods - waiting. we wait for whatever comes our way - to capture and digest.
    the dada-ananda is the spider and the web. the dada-ananda waits for us as we fly busily from one thing to another. there is no path we follow but from where we have left and to where we will arrive. the dada-ananda waits. we are caught in mid-flight suddenly stopped and entangled in something we did not see coming when we thought we were free and clear in the open air. that's where it is. that is where the dada-ananda waits. between this and that lies the dada-ananda's web to catch us when we are not really thinking anything at all - when we are free and clear.
    and we struggle. we try to get out and away. some manage to but most only get tangled up more and more. and then down the web fibers comes our worst fear - a huge hairy monster thing coming to devour us. hungry. the dada-ananda comes to us. the dada-ananda bites into us and stings us with poison that ends our fear - that ends our thinking of fear - for our fear has come to us - the horror of our fear.
    and we are tightly wrapped up in the dada-ananda's web. and we are hung nearby where the dada-ananda can feed on us at leisure - at will - as needed. and we are reborn with this feeding as we are bit by bit absorbed into the living body of the dada-ananda. as we are transformed into baby spiders who spin their own webs into sky sails and fly again free and clear to land elsewhere and set up spinning our own webs between this and that to catch our prey as it flies by any which way it goes.
    waiting.
    looking through the spider's eye.
    or something like that...

    and in wishful thinking. and in a spacetime of dreaming. we imagine what we will out of what is and is not. we fill in the blanks with our own ideas of what may or may not be possible. what are the limits to these things we imagine? what limits do we put on them? are we guided by hope? despair? fear? joy? doubt? love? greed? nothing? everything?
    what do we imagine? because we create reality out of our imagination. somethings are given - things of nature created for us long ago by something unknown and perhaps unknowable though it could have been ourselves. but the rest is up to us. we are creators too. we have reached the heights of participating in what is created in the world.
    and look at what we've done. look at what we've come up with so far. where is the festival? where is the music? where are the people dancing? is it only in our heads that these things are allowed to exist or exist only to overcome our fear while we trudge through our self-produced suffering and misery?
    we are gods. we are the incarnations of all the spirits. come on - look around. we were given a garden and what have we done with it? god didn't drive us out. we drove god out. it couldn't stand the smell and the mess we made. but it realized we were children - experimenting as children do. and now we have arrived at the time when we should know better. we have conquered the world and live in every place in it. we have knowledge of our history. we have knowledge of the heavens down to every particle. here we all are gathered to witness and account for ourselves. we are our own judge and jury. we decide where it's at and where it's gonna go. we're the ones who have our fingers on the buttons. we finally face our fear. no god is coming down out of the sky to bail us out of this one. but in facing that fear we also face our freedom. it is a choice between heaven and hell and we make it for ourselves. we define which is which - a heaven of fire or a hell of green pastures. it's up to us as it always has been. we have taken the mask off god, as we have been instructed, and there is nothing there but a reflection of ourselves. that's been the joke all along.

    and from the positive development of things and some such. and what is done about this? do we round up all the ugliness we don't want to see and send it off  to the hospitals, prisons, work camps, exile, death? and what do we have left from that? and when do we stop? who do we trust to decide who's who and what's what? do you trust us? do we trust you? do you and us trust them? who is to say? - the ones who follow their greed and make the most money? - the ones who turn and run from their fear and grab all the power? and who is left? - the ones who follow their hearts and face their fear? - the ones who give instead of take but are frustrated in a world that won't accept all they have to give? who do they become? - another patient in a hospital? - another inmate in a prison? - another laborer in a work camp? - another refugee in exile? - another corpse in death?
    how much do they think they can keep flushing down the toilet before it backs up? how long can they ignore what they've been ignoring too long already? what is this world they are trying to perfect by deciding who gets in and who is kept out? where do they think that trip is going? do they see heaven ahead? how come it looks like hell to us? but might makes right.

    and when nothing is left. when we look into another's eyes and we are peering into the void. when no time exists between us and all the spaces are cold and empty.
    this is what their world is. they function and survive and little else. even their games are another job to perform. there is no life in anything they've touched with their golden hands. it all becomes measured by how much they can take - and they can take as much as they want and gain nothing.
    we are leaving their world as fast as we can. even to bail out onto the streets is better than feeling this numb misery they demand that we feel to do the things they force us to do in order to get what we need to survive that they control. it's not worth it. and it seems like they will never understand. they see nothing wrong and perhaps there isn't as far as they are concerned, which isn't very far. as long as they got theirs to hell with everyone and everything else. as long as they can lead their lives feeling nothing and no one can disrupt their state of non-thought.
    and that is their future. they're speeding faster and faster down that dark tunnel with their eyes closed. we've opened ours and have seen no light at the end of it as they have promised over and over that there is if we have faith and keep going. we ourselves are carrying the only light that there is - the light of our hearts and minds. and they insist that we keep that light covered. it interferes with their mode of operations or some such. and we laugh because that is nothing more than blind fear.
    well, yeah - all that dada. we go on and on trying to come up with some way to explain to them what we see in their world and how twisted it all appears. and it's not so much that they don't understand, we don't think, but that they see no reason to attempt any change of their basic primal behavior with its basic primary rewards. pavlov dogs. as long as there's a food pellet at the end of it they'll do anything they are told. they laugh themselves at how crazy it all is then shrug their shoulders and go right back into it. when it could all be so easy. we need so little and that would be next to nothing to set up to provide for ourselves. yet we burn ourselves out driving ourselves into the ground for all this glittering generalities our death factories vomit out just ot keep some get rich quick economy from falling on its face.
    and maybe that will be the only way they see it when it all comes down into dust. when their inflated ego world finally bursts and everything flies to pieces. when the chaos of energies they've denied cross over the red line. when? years? days? hours? how long? we wait. we stand on the sidelines and watch their to the death struggle that once used to be a friendly game played free for all until they began applying rules and rules and keeping score and drawing up sides against one another until greed and hatred began burning in their eyes.
    we wait and prepare for the day and time when they will need us. when they are finished. when they have used everything up to defeat one another and no longer have the resources or strength to keep on fighting. when they realize what it's all been for all along - nothing. there can never be anything gained in this world - a world in balance. yet neither can there be anything lost. it will all be ok. we will help them when we can - when they allow us to. that is what we are here for - to clean up the mess they've made.
    or maybe not. maybe nothing will be saved. it's hard to tell. maybe they just push it all off the edge - finally use their ultimate weapons they're so proud of. and we'll just watch it all go up in flames of the hell they designed for us. we will be sad and we will remember them and mourn for them. we will fill in the graves they've dug for themselves and dance. dance in celebration they have always been invited to join but they were too busy. it will be a celebration of joy but it will have a tone of sorrow that they are not here with us. but at least their misery and suffering is over. maybe that is all that can be asked.

    hello? hello? are we on yet? is anyone out there? who are they? who are we? hello? calling anyone. calling anyone who can see the madness. calling anyone who is looking for a way out. we are here now. hello? who are they? who are we? they are us as we are them. hello? anybody home? are they home? where is it? where is this place called home? are they there yet? we are. we are home. and we have found it empty. where are they? we are looking for them and they are nowhere to be found. hello? we are home and no one is there. we have come back to find them. have they lost their way? where are they? who are they? we walk by their houses late at night - out in the moon. is anyone home? their houses are locked up tight. they hide behind the doors and shade drawn windows armed to the teeth. what are they afraid of? there's no one out here but us chickens and we're scared as heck - never know when a shot is gonna come out from one of their dark windows. they've grabbed it all and locked it up and drawn the line between themselves and us. who are they? who are we? how did we become the enemy? how did we become the focus of their fear and hatred? we watch their fantasies on tv and in the movies. they see us as monsters and demons from hell and shoot us down. everyone who looks like us is the enemy - whoever it is who must be shot on sight, no questions asked. how can we say that is not who we are? how do we tell them? we know about what all their fears are made up of. we know because we have been made into the image of them our whole lives. we have found our way through them nearly being driven mad in the process. and we made it home. and now we are calling everyone - all of them. come out. come out. we are here now. the way is clear. the war is over. we are home free and we are calling them - calling everyone. hello? anyone home? and when they do come out they do not see us. their eyes are glazed over with fear still. they take one look at us and turn away. what's the deal? what are we doing that terrifies them so? there are ones out here they should fear. the ones who have fallen victim of the fantasy. the ones who have cracked. they are not us. that is not who we are. but they cannot tell the difference. they lump us all together into a mass group that is defined as not-them. anyone not-them is the enemy. they do not think of anything beyond that. they feel that they do not have to. it makes their lives simple and easy. they do not have to think. they just react. just point and shoot. but what does that give them? what exactly do they have locked up in their houses that they feel they must defend at all costs and keep from us? what is it that they think that we want? what is that they have that is so valuable? what can we say that will convince them that we need and want nothing from them but themselves? we just want them to come out. we are out here dancing in the streets. there's a party going on right outside their door - right on the other side of their security systems. and they're invited. that's all we want. but they think it's a trick. is it a trick? why would we want to trick them? what will it take to allow them to let go of that fear that is driving them mad? what can we do? what more can we do that we have already done? we've given up everything for them. we've disarmed ourselves down to our souls. we have nothing that could possibly harm them. what do we have? what more do they want us to surrender? we already sleep under bridges and in alleyways. we eat out of their garbage. we clothe ourselves from their throwaway bins. we live solely on what they do not want. we ask for nothing more. they can keep the rest - all the trinkets and gizmos they treasure. we have no need for them. we have found our way home. can they say the same? they certainly don't look like it if they have. they hurry around with such worried troubled expressions on their faces. it seems they spend most of their time trying to get someplace else and they always seem to be late. where are they going? where is it they are trying to get to? even when they do get someplace for awhile they sit and twitch and get up and pace like a animal in a cage. they can't keep still. their anxiousness screams from them. if they are happy, they hide it well.

    and so it's the same. and so nothing is different. who? what? it is here and now. we have landed. we have come from around the worlds and dimensions. we have come up from the past and back from the future. we do not ask to be believed but to doubt. doubt is the way. who are those who ask one to believe? what have they done that one can put one's trust in them? what do they offer but promises of a better world tomorrow? and what are they going to pull out of a hat tomorrow that doesn't already exist today? today is all there is. tomorrow is a trick done with mirrors - a manipulation and illusion of time. absurd. it is always now - today. no other time has existed or will exist than this here and now. this is it. the moment that has always been the moment and will always be the moment now. there is nothing that can be brought into existence that doesn't already exist except as we invent it different ways into being this or that. where and when are the dividing lines? where exactly does here become there? when exactly does one moment become the next and ceases to be the last?
    only in our minds do these lines dissect reality. in reality there are no lines. reality exists as all possibility - everything. only when we decide between this and that, one thing and the other, does it become divided. all and everything in space and time exists here and now. it's up to us to open the range and parameters of our perception to hear, see, smell, taste, touch it.
    what?
    it's like tv tuned to a channel where there is no station broadcasting. what the tv picks up is the noise of everything at once. all the pixels firing on and off at random. that is reality - all possibility. that is what exists until we bring it into certain order like a station broadcasting a program. then the randomness is set into patterns we recognize. and that is what we are doing all together - broadcasting a pattern onto reality into something we recognize. we do this as we do it with one mind that is the primal structure of all our minds - the universal mind, so to speak. and like tv, if one doesn't like the patterns of the program one is receiving then one can change the channel.
    that's what we have done. it is possible though it is somewhat difficult to explain. for one thing we do not exactly remember how we did it. it was a kind of trial and error sort of thing and we kinda lost track of what was what and which was which. but that seems to be the way it's done. it's when one loses track of what is what and which is which is when the channels change. it's weird. it's also scary because there's some channels one can receive that are far worse than the original one one began with. it's hit and miss. one just has to keep at it until one finds the program one finds to one's liking.
    and it's all here and now.
    decide for oneself. learn to disconnect. move from one spacetime reality to another through the non-spacetime randomness of it all. shift. reconnect into what one wants to be connected to. all one needs to do is lose one's mind. but that's not really it. it's more about tricking one's mind into losing itself. imagine that.
    this is the dada-ananda (deliberate irrationality - bliss) which is more than a state of mind than it is a state of being. that's the trick - to lose one's mind without losing one's being. separate oneself independent from who and what one thinks one is. without doing that then when one loses one's mind then all one does is to lose one's mind. good luck getting it back. if one's being identifies with what the mind thinks then where the mind goes one's being will follow. but when one loses one's mind without losing one's being then one's mind will always return no matter how lost it gets. the mind becomes a retriever sent out to "fetch" whatever it is one wants even if one doesn't know one wants it. and if it isn't what one wants then one can always send it out to get something else.
    we are aware of how absurd that all is but that is how it is because it is absurd. that is how it is done. dive straight into the absurdity of it. how else does one lose one's mind?
    huh?
    what?
    the difference between this and that, the fine - non-existent - line that divides the two into 1/2 - 1/4 - 1/8 - 1/16 - 1/32 - 1/64 - 1/128.... you can't get there from here because when you're there it's here.
    because it's at a point when one becomes the other while being both and neither that it all happens and occurs. this is it. that is it. both this and that are it. neither this nor that are it. it is it. it is this and that or this or that or neither when it is something else. it is always something else, even when it is itself. it can become what it is not and what it can become is therefore limitless.
    that is how it is done though it doesn't make any sense. but making sense is what stops us from being able to change the channels. once one gets past that then one has it made in the shade. but getting past that is difficult because one's whole life has been being taught and learning directly and indirectly not to do it because it cannot be done and those who do are all crazy anyway.
    and there is a price. this world revolves around everyone being tuned into the same channel receiving the same reality. when one stops doing that, the world is out to get you - stop you - drag you down and back into the order of things, or as it perceives the order of things to be. needless to say, that isn't a whole lot of fun. and that is what keeps most people from doing it. but if one keeps at it and breaks through that barrier then one will find that one is not alone. there's a whole mess of people on the other side. that's who we are. hello?
    besides, after awhile the world leaves you alone if you just mind your own business.
    and some amount of caution and care should be taken because it is very disorienting - which is the whole point - and it is very easy to really lose one's mind - as many have done. one does not want to do that. let it happen as it will one step at a time in its own time. sometimes it takes years. but each step has its own rewards of increased perception into the true nature of reality and what is real and what is not and how to change what is real though everyone says you that you can't. one will be amazed and wonderstruck but also dismayed and sickened. it's not always pretty. but as one loses the habit of defining things this way and that way one will eventually lose the sense of seeing things as being ugly and distorted as opposed to being beautiful and integrated into a whole. and when that point is reached one realizes that one has been the one deciding that all along. things themselves are neither one nor the other - neither this nor that. anything can be anything.

    or as D.G. Leahy wrote in Foundation: Matter the Body Itself:
    Total presence breaks on the univocal predication of the exterior absolute the absolute existent (of that of which it is not possible to univocally predicate an outside, while the equivocal predication of the outside of the absolute exterior is possible of that of which the reality so predicated is not the reality, viz., of the dark/of the self, the identity of which is not outside the absolute identity of the outside, which is to say that the equivocal predication of identity is possible of the self-identity which is not identity, while identity is univocally predicated of the limit to the darkness, of the limit of the reality of the self). This is the real exteriority of the absolute outside: the reality of the absolutely unconditioned absolute outside univocally predicated of the dark: the light univocally predicated of the darkness: the shining of the light univocally predicated of the limit of the darkness: actuality univocally predicated of the other of self-identity: existence univocally predicated of the absolutely unconditioned other of the self. The precision of the shining of the light breaking the dark is the other-identity of the light. The precision of the absolutely minimum transcendence of the dark is the light itself/the absolutely unconditioned exteriority of existence for the first time/the absolutely facial identity of existence/the proportion of the new creation sans depth/the light itself ex nihilo: the dark itself univocally identified, i.e., not self-identity identity itself equivocally, not the dark itself equivocally, in “self-alienation,” not “self-identity, itself in self-alienation” “released” in and by “otherness,” and “actual other,” “itself,” not the abysmal inversion of the light, the reality of the darkness equivocally, absolute identity equivocally predicated of the self/selfhood equivocally predicated of the dark (the reality of this darkness the other-self-covering of identity which is the identification person-self).

    and from the formation of things as they are and the things we worship without even knowing it. to call them by name. call them out. make them show themselves to you. you know how to do this. you have more power than you realize. no one has told you this before because they suck off that power for themselves. they feed on you. but don't let that concern you for now. the power that is taken from someone in this way turns into an addictive poison to the one doing the taking - the death vampires. if you have a true heart, you will always be protected. you will always see your way through. that is the power we are writing about. the power of the true heart cannot be stolen as all other power can - but it can be surrendered.
    they may drain you almost dry and weaken and wound you but if you never surrender your true heart you can never be defeated. the power of the true heart is always a defensive power. it is a shield and never a sword or weapon of any kind. as soon as you use your power as a weapon that is when you surrender your true heart. that is the only way you can be defeated. and they know this and they try to trick you as they themselves have been tricked into feeling hatred and seeking revenge. they do everything they can to get you - to make you one of them. and this can be anyone - even someone you most trust. don't follow patterns. distrust your habits. doubt everything - even your doubt. remember what the dada-ananda has spoken of this: as you discover the lies in the truth you were taught to believe you become paranoid. as you discover the truth behind those lies you realize your paranoia is valid and justified. this is because what is called paranoia is really psychic perception of other people's inner nature. you are no longer deceived by their the happy smiles people wear. you see through the mask veneer like x-ray vision and see the twisted maggots these people really are which they do not even know they are themselves and will deny because we all are. yet they lack the courage and honesty to look inside themselves to see the ugliness that fills each of us. they layer it over with sugar coating and pretend it goes away. it does not. it festers and gets worse. it is the wise person who rips off these layers and revels themselves to be who and what they really are. not to be overcome by it and be controlled by it but to name it and recognize it and therefore render it powerless. only one who knows their true ugliness can ever hope to understand and express beauty. those who do not and try to convince themselves how beautiful and correct they are based on a false ego image will remain forever ugly and all that they do and touch will die.

    so, who are you? have you found it? we haven't found it because it was never lost to begin with. we always had it and always will. we got it and so do you. don't let anyone convince you otherwise. don't let anyone tell you they got something you don't and that you need it and you gotta listen to them and do what they tell you to do to get it. understand? not anyone. not even us. especially not even us.
    you need nothing. everything you need you already have. it's what they need from you that is the real issue. what do they need? power. they're hooked on it. maybe they want it in the form of money. maybe they want it in the form of head count of followers. greed. out and out greed. and because someone is poor doesn't mean they're not just as greedy as someone with millions. greed is a condition of the heart not of the bank account.
    so how do we convince you of any of this? should we even try? the more we try to tell you the less you would probably be convinced. and to convince you of anything that we have convinced ourselves of is not the point to this at all. the point, or one among many, is to de-convince you of everything else. to get you to look at it all again and see it for what it is - nothing. and even beyond that is to de-convince you of your own ability and means to figure anything like this out because that's where it's at. as the 4 or 5 crazy guys have said, everything you know is wrong. this is true. but also the dada-ananda has added, nothing you can know is right.
    what does that mean? well, it took us awhile to figure that out and if we understand it it means that we as being human and having finite thinking minds cannot know anything as it is because as it is is infinite. it's when we think in terms of dividing this from that is when we screw it up. we put value to this and none to that and we become lost to what it is and to ourselves. so the way to become is to become infinite-minded. that is and is not as difficult as it may seem.
    to see and recognize the patterns and the eternal cycle of patterns. to step out of them - shift out of them. the daily everyday useless conditioned reactive state drama of dada few seem to be able to break free from. try. maybe you can't do it, but try. however many times you fail, keep trying. don't let it swallow you. maybe you can't get out but you can keep kicking and fighting like hell to prevent yourself from totally being smothered by it. ghosts from the past feeding and living off of us. ghosts that should well be forgotten. let them die and rot in their own oblivion hell they try to drag us down into with them.
    to become what we are not. to become what we barely allow ourselves to dream. no one and nothing is stopping us but ourselves and our belief that it cannot or even should not happen. we have convinced ourselves that we were meant to struggle ever on with happiness just out of our grasp. never rest. never just let a day go by. tick - tick - tick - time is running out. life is short. too much to do. life is an endless stream of dirty dishes.
    forget it. go crazy. smash every plate in the house and eat with your hands. or you can waste your time trying to impress your friends and sedate the haunting memory ghosts of past lives always looking through your windows to make sure you do everything right. tell them all to take a hike. who are they? what makes them so damn perfect and important? and the patterns of judge and executioner. tell them all to go screw themselves into the ground. evict them from your heart. break the chain - the thousands of years old chain. do it. now. no more tomorrows.
    because we've done it. we've invented our own. no more dogma. no more buying the lies. we've broken the spacetime trap. we've been out and have traveled up and down the line and seen everything. we know your deep dirty dark secrets. we know what you do in there and why you lock the door when you do it.
    but it's nothing. who cares? you think we don't do the same thing? yeah, right - we're probably even worse than you. so, come on out. drop it. let's see who and what you really are. you think we're gonna be shocked or even surprised? angry? who punished you for being who and what you are so much that you're afraid to be that anymore? tell them to take a flying swam dive straight to hell. that's what hell is for. the cosmic incinerator. trash it all and burn it. forget it. if someone screwed you up then burn them alive forever and ever. make them pay. enjoy it. but remember, someone else is probably doing that the same to you. who did you screw? not intentionally, of course, but it did happen. a misunderstanding that just couldn't be straightened out. you knew you didn't mean any harm, it just came out the way it did. if they could only forgive and forget...

    and toward another night and we were waiting for something but had forgotten what it was. and the whole flash of it like someone's dirty underwear. or maybe not. maybe more like a hubcap. whatever. at any rate, something in-between everything else. not new, not old, not beautiful, not ugly, not cheap, not expensive, not common, not rare. yeah - a hubcap. or more properly, a wheel cover. one that's been there, dinged up a little but still in pretty good shape. or underwear too - but maybe clean.
    and a glass of water - of course half empty/full.
    so, this is it. this is what it is, the ho-hum reality of it all. sit back - relax. smoke 'em if you got 'em. and watch all the busybodies rush here and there. whoosh whoosh beep beep whoosh. traffic lights. can't waste a minute but everyone is in everyone else's way. gotta go - gotta go. and it doesn't matter where they're going as long as it's not here and now. this is the last place anyone seems to want to be. how boring. it's much more exciting being some place else. elsewhere.
    and you can't get there from here except through some magic secret door. that's how we do it. it's like a transport booth - anywhere you wanna be any time you wanna be there. it's easy. it's fun, and best of all it's very low maintenance and costs absolutely nothing - at least in terms of cold hard cash or even plastic, except there is an initial down payment of giving up everything you own. but after that it's free for a lifetime. and it's guaranteed never to break down so long as you live because there's no moving parts. in fact, there's no parts at all. as a matter of fact, it doesn't even exist. we're making the whole thing up, and that's the point - or so it seems to be thus far as we are able to tell. and you can too. make it up. make it up any which way at all however you want it. there are no rules, no plans, no instructions, no glue, no batteries. and any child can do it. in fact, they already do. it's the adults who seem to have difficulty with it - especially the serious ones - the hardcore i've put aside childish things cases of total blind faith fascist adultoids.
    this is only a test. for the next 30 seconds we will be conducting a test of the emergency broadcast system.
    what test? what emergency? military intelligence. burning desire. up in the air and down on the floor. jet black. death mask and a rabbit's foot. the virgin mother mary with electric toothbrush. what are you thinking? what time is it?
    and the following is a test of the non-emergency broadcast system.
    hello? who are you? wanna fuck? government? what's a government? god? what's a god? toothbrush?
    and the electric hum, yet not very high with an edge, but low and very round - so round it's almost flat. huge and round and slowly turning beneath out feet. solid, man, solid.
    earthquake! earthquake! look out below - we're coming down!
    and in the thick dust air we saw shadows moving toward us - walking slowly - holding hands - two of them - human - a man and a woman. and they came closer and we could see their faces - smiling like crazy. how could they be after such a terrible thing happening? but they were. they nodded at us as they walked by and didn't stop. where were they going? we decided to follow them and see. after all, everything has pretty much gone to hell - did we mention that? - and there's nothing else to do.
    heaven? what's heaven?
    and jesus be-bop was kinda trucking around town this one morning and he saw this light shining out of this alleyway. and that was it. that's all he remembered until about maybe two days later. there was no explanation. strange how some things go - huh?
    except things were different from that point on. not anything jesus could quite put together even in thoughts let alone words. just different. not better or worse - different.
    and jesus be-bop decided then to change his name to buddha igottahat and spent the remaining days of his life singing old beatle songs and throwing in a dylan tune once in awhile down on the street corner.
    pick your nose.
    peacocks and rainbows in a heavy industrial area of the city with lots of freeway overpasses and train tracks.
    pick a card - any card.
    and about five minutes later buddha igottahat decided to forget about singing beatles songs and throwing in a dylan tune once in awhile and spare changed some money and went uptown to the neon duck cafe.
    and something strange happened there too. can you imagine what it was? do you need us to tell you? if we do tell you, will you believe us or believe what you have imagined instead? what power and control over your imagination are you willing to give us? does it matter? do you think it does? where does it all come from?
    and it comes from another place and time. it circles in from the left alone. and the place and the time it comes from is kinda sorta sideways, but not really sideways, kinda sorta sideways from this smack in our faces all day long. it's in-between out of the corner of one's eye but also straight ahead.
    we've all been there because there is here and here is there but only a few take notice. only a few are able and willing to take the time because most are all hopped up and hooked into this game show reality and more concerned about this tick-tock time machine driving their heads than what may or may not be actually happening around them.
    it cracks like thin ice.
    and this is something like the imaginary city. it's imaginary because one has to imagine it. that makes sense, doesn't it? but because one has to imagine it doesn't make it any less real. if and when one sees it then one will understand.
    the imaginary city exists in imaginary hyperspace. this is not our idea and we're not sure if we're using the term correctly as it is supposed to formally but fuck that - you know? we couldn't care less. dog breath. but this is from our experience rather than others' theory. they calculate it on their wonderful computers and wouldn't know what it really was if it bit them on the arse - which it does and then some.
    so we may be wrong. what does it matter? it's multi-dimensional as is the imaginary city. now you see it, now you don't. turn it this way or that way and it all looks the same - except it's different. it's in the here and now as are all dimensions of space and time. it is not some other world. it is not utopia (no place).
    so what's the point to this? we're not exactly sure. what we do know is that the imaginary city can be realized. whether we go there or it comes here is relative and irrelevant. the main idea is that it can be brought into existence with us or we can be brought into existence with it. we can co-exist in the same place and time that it always is and will be and has been. but that's not exactly true because where and when we co-exist is not exactly a place or time. it's not even really a where or when - even though it is.
    and we lose ourselves. and a thousand years have come and gone and nothing has changed. and a thousand more. and a thousand after that. what is the point in going on? but we go on anyway. we have time because we are timeless. we are from every time - all time. all past, present and future as they are now, have been now and will be now. that is when the imaginary city exists. it is real if we want it to be. and it's all set up for it to be real any time we want - any time that is now. what time is not now?
    and we try to hide but there is nowhere to escape to or from. here is everywhere. and all the same basic ideas apply from there. a balancing act. a trick done with mirrors because the whole thing is done with mirrors - even the mirrors themselves. we are the beholders of creation. we are the eyes of that which sees everything. without us there would be nothing to see.
    please wait to be seated.
    rain.

    crawling into the end of it. seeing the blindness in other people's eyes as they no longer want to see what they cannot understand. it's nothing at all.
    peace, love and happiness. when we are barely able to go to a restaurant and order a meal. when the only time we are together is when we are alone. when we only smile when someone is getting theirs. where does it all go?
    as we reach the limits of our tolerance in situations that have gone out of control. actually we are very nice. we say the right things. we do the right things. we think the right things. somewhere around another time we might have been able to look back and laugh. but now we are so twisted around inside and everyone is to blame.
    something about everything when it breaks down. when we look around again and we all thought what it was is gone. this seems to be what it will take. we know nothing more. we can do nothing more.
    paris.
    and he once believed without believing. and he saw the shadow of light. people had dark halos around them. anti-space. and something had to crack. he knew that then - he just didn't know how long it would take. he remembered nothing. and how does one explain anything about anything?
    and everything continues to continue and whatever else. it is all everything and it is all nothing - or maybe something in-between like lightning striking twice. we live in the experience of it. we respond to every moment in the moment of all moments as now. and basic dada like that.
    let's begin again - or try to. it is it. that's the bottom line discovered asleep and no matter how we see it or explain it beyond that imaginary bit of information is irrelevant. or it can be said that x=x. whatever. what does that mean? we're not really sure but we think it means that there is something and that that something is what it is. pure, simple, basic.
    so what?
    well, let's begin another way.
    begin again bottom line or explain it what does that in the course type of thing artists as we have stated a certain amount with ideas creative spontaneity we were trying to of doing this before we used performance which we were never demonstrating and acting out on how to present of itself we depended on beyond just we were able loosely defined some sort of the process we'll do something format out of the structure pre-planned basically what kitchen table follow some stream of consciousness mindspace that would soon would be smooth and flowing and we turned actually just your path is not to say semi-common folk except these people as they can to enforce and maintain that's another as many others the story for now that thought we think and suppose drift into free movement that by allowing ourselves a state of mind maybe rise maybe totally wrong it's sort of both we hit at this point settle and rise genius just past a point what many experience psychoactive drugs people these does not maybe most people do not collect $200 it's hard guarantee automatically who will and who won't of one who has hit go straight to stupid certainly can't rely in question often than not it's very confusing to anyone has that effect hit genius that it actually is or needs to be and why as more opens up possible explanations what exactly start making sense indicator that one is hitting itself down a pretty good it's when things the mind is beginning to shut itself down popular sexy there are very few tangible benefits the way to go that one should take caution this usually finds unkempt a cup of coffee timeless zone when the bars close start rolling.
    it is it. x=x. it begins and begins and begins.
    to begin again and as we may have been trying to attempt to explain how we came across the dada-ananda and/or the dada-ananda came across us. it was into some sort of free form stream of consciousness performance art thing we may or may not have been doing in our spare time with what others may have been involved which may have been few, many or none - or me, myself and i. it was while he was going insane - mad. a certain pattern developed in the ideas we were coming up with. it wasn't a pattern exactly - not in the sense of it being an exclusive pattern, but in being an inclusive pattern. it could be applied to just about anything and everything as far as we could tell, and anything and everything could be applied to it. as soon as it seemed to be defined, something new could be added to it that would change the whole nature and structure of it in some radical way but the original nature and structure would remain the same because itself was defined as changing and building upon itself eating its lunch and shitting its breakfast.
    growing.
    alive.
    living.
    and with this noticing of that pattern was when we became aware of the dada-ananda as the dada-ananda emerged out of the pattern speaking and envisioning as the dada-ananda sits alone at a 24-hour diner drinking endless refills of coffee unkempt, unbalanced, unbathed, broke, homeless, friendless, familyless, staring endlessly into an ashtray with bad breath.
    that's the pattern in the living flesh of imagination. it's all the same. one is all as all is one. it is it and this is it. all moments being the point of no return. those who want to return can never leave. those who want to leave can never return. yet leaving and returning are the same. it is this and it is that, ergo this is that and that is this as far as it is concerned. all in the neverland of the nevermind. the goal is to reach and become it while having always been it and always will being it.
    funny how things work out, isn't it?
    get it?
    so that is more or less where we and it are at - gazing dumbfoundly toward each other in endless wonder of the living changing patterns of living life disgusting as it all may seem. where does it go from here? how does it apply to anything? on one level those type of questions are absurd.
    nevermind that.
    it applies to anything and everything in every which way possible. it is not only everything but it is all relationships and interactions of everything with everything else. so that's that. that's where it goes from here.
    but what about the everyday? this is fine about being all theoretical philosophical type dada that has nothing to do with anything real and concrete and things like that especially if we just end up in some 24-hour diner staring into an ashtray which seems to be all that it is all good for spinning its own web it traps itself in.
    and that's the basic point of it. if one feels that all they are doing in this real concrete world is satisfying and important then who are we to interfere? yet what about those caught staring at ashtrays? should they be condemned? are they forever to be dispossessed? outwardly they do nothing. inwardly - what wild worlds of dreams are conjured that may be even this one of the real and concrete as they might be the ones holding it all together in their tiny minds expanding outward to encompass the living tapestry of the universe - the universe of it.
    and this can be argued from different angles and angels cross our hearts and hope to die but before all that consider something and that something is what it is and is in a constant state of becoming what it is and that active state of something becoming what it is made itself known to us as the dada-ananda. the dada-ananda is what we call it. and since we're making this all up, we are right and everybody else is wrong.
    one knows and becomes the dada-ananda to follow the first who has done this who was elmo dadaski (see artchurch pages) who was and became the merging and vanishing point of all there is which is it and to attain an imagined state of being directly linked with the imagined state of it as it is and as it becomes it and what it will be.
    and how is this done? and the answer is - any which way one might be able to do it because it is not something that is actually done as it something that is allowed to happen. and it does happen as it has and is happening with us. and it is happening with anyone as it is happening to everyone at some point whether one knows it or not. it happens when one finds oneself looking sideways.
    the dada-ananda is constantly reminding us that it is happening. yet these reminders are perceived as being something that has gone wrong in our hardcore dualistic this and that view of the world taking shape around us and our desire attachment to things being as we want them to be and to mean what we want them to mean instead as they are with their own being and meaning. and something on the radio.
    the plate slips from our hand and breaks on the floor. this is the dada-ananda. in the middle of running a program the computer locks up and the screen goes blank. this is the dada-ananda. all the little things that drive us mad. these are the dada-ananda.
    all the things that "go wrong" in our lives are the direct result of the dada-ananda's presence in the here and now as things are imagined to be this and that. this is why the dada-ananda sez: if you are looking for someone to blame, come to me. it's all my fault.
    this is the dada-ananda's place and function in the cosmic scheme of things. the dada-ananda is the active ingredient, the catalyst of creation. without the dada-ananda nothing would happen. it would be it and that would be it. it was the dada-ananda in imagination who convinced it that it was not it - that it was this and not that, and/or that it was that and not this. and it became confused about what it was and what it should be and ever since then it has been struggling with this identity confusion and seeking to unite itself back into being it and only it and nothing but it. but the dada-ananda won't let it do that. the dada-ananda knows that if that were to happen then everything would cease to exist because there would be no longer any reason for anything to happen and things exist because they are happening. it would all return into a static null and void state of it being it. not even that even - a static null and void state of just being it. "is" implies that there is something happening which there wouldn't be. not even is or being. the end. bring down the curtain, the show' over. good night. please drive home safe. tuck yourselves in and go to sleep... forever.
    and it would be more than just the end. it would be that it hadn't even begun. it would cancel itself out into the nothingness and oblivion it would become. ending and beginning are only concepts that exist within it as it exists. when it no longer exists beginning and ending go out the window.
    and as things become tighter and tighter as the goal for most people seems to be to bring things to a well ordered stop of control with increasingly more rigid structures damming the whole damn thing. yet the dada-ananda is still busy at work. as the reins are pulled in the dada-ananda whips the horses on to even more frenzied speeds and the greater risk and madness. without the dada-ananda the human race would order and organize itself into a static parade of sleepwalkers. we have attained the ways and means of doing this with our new and improved technology and science and such with our breakthrough into the control room of creation so it is now more than ever that we need the dada-ananda and is why the dada-ananda has appeared in our imaginations here and now causing us to do so many naughty things we would not have dreamed of doing before. it keeps us alive and living.
    the dada-ananda is the spanner in the works while we push the buttons and pull the levers having become the gods we once worshipped and all that business. the dada-ananda is a pothole in an otherwise smooth as glass yellow brick road to a comatose paradise envisioned by the world at large to be the way to go. sometimes the dada-ananda is as playful as laurel and hardy and sometimes as deadly serious as charles manson. yet there is always humor in all that the dada-ananda does and allows to happen. there is always a punchline for those perceptive enough to see it. and the point to all is the dada-ananda reminding us to give it all up and get real. the dada-ananda refuses to take anything seriously and reminds us not to either. the dada-ananda knows that the whole damn thing is nothing but a joke - a trick done with mirrors. the dada-ananda is the stand-up comic master of ceremonies who steps out once in awhile to make us laugh and realize the whole world is a stage.

    together alone - alone together. we are the ones outside the walls of their perfected world - their world of sterile death. nothing can live in their world any longer except them and mirror images of themselves. they have set themselves against us - we who are human. what possesses them? nothing more than their submission to greed.
    they are weak. they need absolute control in order to feel strong. they need rules and walls to surround and protect themselves with. they fear openness. they fear freedom. yet they view themselves as open and free. they are only open and free as far as they shut in and imprison others. they divide and separate. they have put everything in boxes after taking all life out of it and put it on display in a still life world where nothing ever changes. they have made everything their enemy to dominate or to kill. what cannot be controlled must be put to death.
    and we are the ones who will not be controlled. we are the ones they put to death. we are the disenfranchised orphans left to the streets. but this is also where we survive. it is our last stand. and this is where it will begin again, with us. their world is doomed. their world is nothing more than veneer - illusion - a house of cards ready to tumble and collapse at any moment. and when it does where will they be but out in the street with the rest of us?

    and from a time between time between all time. we are not really here. we are gone. we have shifted out and away from this dead-end world reality into spaces of our own imagination. we have opened the gates of the imaginary city and have entered where others have become lost. all who are coming have come. we have prepared the way. we left it open for any and all. we have invited all. yet there are many who have refused. this saddens us and we will forever mourn while we dance on their graves in celebration of the fall and death of their unjust world filled with suffering and pain they created out of their greed for all that is good for themselves. they came to our world and divided and conquered it. then they endlessly fought over their share of the spoils. they sought power and control and destroyed everything that stood in their way to get it.
    they are now history. they have set themselves apart from us. we are the present and the future. they laugh and call us dreamers. but what is their reality composed of? nothing more than boxes of finite space and time they divide and divide smaller and smaller until it disappears into what it always was - nothing.
    we live in the infinite. we live in the infinite space and time between their finite space and time of this and that. this is the imaginary city without beginning or end but it has a very very big middle. it is all their world is not. it is all that can be imagined and more that has yet to be imagined. it grows up through the cracks through their divided world as they continue to split it up so they all can get their share but each of them wants more than the others and to come out on top of the rest. their world is in a constant state of collapse while they try to keep it patched up. their world is death and death always decays back into life again.

    and nothing more than anything and anything more than nothing and everything else besides.
    random possibility that yet follows an order that is defined in one moment and redefined in the next and on and on with each and every moment being the same moment now - loop-dee-loop. wheee!
    dance and sing naked as the day is long on the streets in mad moonlight in and out of stark shimmering contrast shadows and pale light like spirit ghosts moving as whispers carried anywhere on the slightest of breezes.
    look for us here. that is where we are. ignore our blank faces staring endlessly out into the mystery chaos spaces that is the true formless non-shape face of reality - of it as it is itself undivided into this and that. we leave and enter through that gate into the imaginary city. the noise of silence. the ever on/off vibration state of it neither being one nor the other while being both and all.
    escape into the free for all zone of every possibility happening at once and pick and choose your own and pop out the other side back to here and now with a twist and a turn and a wink and a nod and laughing in the face of anyone who smugly tries to tell you that what you did cannot be done. ha! what do they know - all those who stay behind? they possess all the wealth and power in their world and their hands are empty. that's why they're always spastically grabbing for more.
    lick up the blood. face the music. crack the mirror. roll back the stone. kick against the pricks. live until you die. become. becoming. another cigarette. hope. doubt. where does it end?
    red sky. red sky. the mourning after. he admits that he is wrong about everything. he admits that he is human and as being human he feels that he is god.

    the blackboard man rests his case against the dark street light awhile for a breath of fresh air. it was a private joke, he mused and reached inside his inner coat pocket for god knows what would have happened next if he hadn't left when he did. her face was ugly. it shone with a pale green light that was unmistakeningly alien. what was this new state of perception he was experiencing? she kissed him out of it. when their lips parted she was a goddess come to earth disguised as the girl-next-door. he wanted to cry.
    there is a state of changing relationship here. a game of who's who. sometimes it was playful. sometimes it was horrifying. they were trying to set things straight. was this impossible? there seemed to be equal evidence for the answer to be yes and/or no. did it have to be either? could it be both? why did it have to be set in stone? was that him? - or her? - or both of them together?
    the answers to these and all questions should be simple. what was the point otherwise? why make things so complex no one can figure them out?
    a thousand fallen angels. a million unforgiven sins. the figures in red. and god writes them off for tax purposes. a private joke.
    don't tell me what i can or can't say about god, he sighs. i'm forgiven of my sins, baby. i got my ticket. so get outta my face. i have a personal relationship with my lord and savior and that personal relationship happens to include and involve me telling him to go fuck himself if i so please. i mean, we're that fucking goddamn tight.

    the easy as pie dream cake eye in the sky looking down at you from somebody's idea about what goes on and what doesn't. the need to be alone. comforting thought. arms in the air, surrender to everything now. we are wanders in the night air misty and winter cold. we look apart. we lose our way from one another. we call someone's name. we try to find the door that returns us home again. dance with it. go for broke and down on your knees laughing as the tanks roll by and all the grim faces on those who weren't expecting the worst and bet everything on phantom promises promoted as the best show in town. belly up. holes in your shoes. a dirty face that hasn't seen a mirror in weeks or months except a piece of store window the looters left. can we call out of the shadows? can we number our friends? can we remember our names? is it the same as it appears not to be now that the flag of freedom is raised over the ruins of what used to be? we are who we are. we are who we are not. we are not who we expected to be though we all knew it was coming just around the corner - any moment now...

    eating. distant words. thread of some sort of disguise when we approach the destination where it disintegrates into itself being nowhere near where we expected it to be. turn heart on the street with victim's eyes. lonely. the lights go out. somewhere someone is watching for something. head down. tears burning from some reservoir deep inside where there is a reflecting pool dark and silent. a face turns away. who was that? a door slams. a kiss forgets it all. a chance. a moment. we touch and part again. too much pain. sensitive. trembling. the energy takes us over and we're now and again where we were going. we are lost. we are apart from the others who appear to be set in stone - no one giving an inch. all the wrong ways from heaven to hell. and this is only this world as this world is only the way it is. this reality set upon us by the rationalogical minds playing tricks with mirrors.

    the cry of the abandoned. orphan nation on the rise from oppression. deserted in battle they turn against their masters. roll away the stone and all trash like that. and on and on. it's just so much nonsense, which is exactly as it should be. as it comes and goes. it is nothing at all and it is everywhere at once. and we escape again. we lift away from this blind world. and something remains. everyone surrenders to one another. we all lose the war and the war is finally over. we give up. lower the flags. our armies are taken prisoner in each other's land. put in re-education camps. our generals and leaders are sent into exile. rethink it all again. where do we begin? where do we stand in this total defeat? who can raise their voice in anger again? who can shake their fist? we rebuild a world out of the ruins and ashes. swords into plowshares sort of thing. no more parades with boots stamping in time. no more glory in the pride of victory. the camps are broken and the crowds disperse. where will they go? where are the boundaries? where are the defended borders and frontiers? who writes up the law? who judges the guilty now that we all fit into that category? who can point their finger? who can call out another name in accusation? where are all those who were so sure of themselves? whose hands are clean? whose money hasn't all been spent? who collects the bills? who charges interest? who marks up the prices? who works the factories? who commands the fleets now that the ships are sunken in harbor? who is in charge here anyway?
    the promise of what has been but is no longer. the open sky over the mountains. we see the sun rising. out of a darkness that would seem to last forever. we entered the night and there was nothing to protect us. our mighty weapons were useless when we finally saw the real face of our enemy. we ran but could find no place to hide.
    and this dawn. as the pitch black cold shadow that fell upon us turned to lightening gray and we began to hope again. as we cried to whatever gods there might still be around waiting in our hearts. the gray took on a blue and soon our crying turned to laughter.
    who has entered into this land of despair before? who has seen everything disappear into a void? who has seen a dawn never seen before? who has divided themselves out of time? who has lost the vision of their being? one moment. this moment. all what used to be. all in memory of who we were and are not now. is anything happening at all?
    and we saw into a world gone. it was what it was for what it was. we don't know why it was or why it isn't anymore.
    jesus and his seven sons who married seven sisters and everyone dances off on some moonlit night leaving some trail of fairy dust and to hell with what you think - we don't care...