a poem for the night with whoever wherever whatever they're doing now the day is gone and the limits are put away all with the directions and instructions that go with them.
    a poem for those who are lost and are not remembered and they are those who never forget.
    what is written in the sand.
    what is written on the water.
    what comes down to what continues.

    yuqctx-gafo
    yutqx-gafco
    yutox-gafcq
    fgkxctq
    fgaxok
    gafoxcuyq
    gak
    ga-xok-
    gayuox
    ga-yubobx
    gaf yuqotx
    gfao yu ctx
    gaf-yuqc tx
    gafo-yuqctx
    fgakxouyqct
    yut:oq-ga)f=c/x
    yut:oq(ga)f-c/x
    y'ut:oq(ga)f?c/x
    y'ut:oq(ga)f!c/x
    y'ut:oq-(ga)f!c/x
    y=ut:oq(ga)
    y=ut:o/q-ga)f?c'x
    y'ut:oq-ga)f?c/x
    y'ut(t:oq-ga)f?c/x
    fgakxouyctq
     gakxouyctqf
       akxouyctqfg
         kxouyctqfga
    fgak:xo/uyq'ct
    !fgakxouyqct?
    !f=(ga)k:x-ouy+c/t!
    ou'y

    a poem of quasi-intellectual mode of thought delivering unto one an ongoing piece of process creating spin spin-o'oops? a laughing scream systematically diagnosed as procrastinating stagnant as a ho-hum donut chewing contest betwixt the one's powers and the power of others smelling of sporific spoor touring domestic fly by and by the way wistfully wizened waiting watching wonderful god - god, how did he live this long? one might say to the irrelevant goings on about one smooth and easy on the eyes and on it goes and comes back for more and more as where else do the people of humanity exist in the delightful panoramic effect of it all and devising deluxoid bombardment truly juicy tongued earwax bitter sharp sensed ensuing usurped desiring unstrung grunting moaning sweat dripping whipping passions in out up down sideways swinging winged dreaming? o' nothingness, thou art turdly uncommanding to spit upon this behemothian assault against thee as we are wont to provoke and assimilate acid-dosing dosey doe oozing whooshing to a dead death stop at a time.
    an imaged disaster turned inside outside flipping flopping fishy kissing zebraed breathing pants down farce brave o' brave new waving world dancing with abandon as effortless as a closing door in on itself taking those with it who happen to be there at times like this.
    know thyself?
    unsparked uneasy tuneful forkful tasting tense hardwired into the sinking sensation satisfaction speaking skin slithering sin slobbering spitting smooth sliver sunlight reflecting off the brightly gray moon licked by the queen of stars juggling the planets rotating askewly avoiding the brew of ashes we painted our bodies with during our momentary dreamtime awareness of death and quenching this twisting fear anguish toward seeking immortal hope.
    to live a long life watching shadows in the darkness erased by those who sleep while those in ever wakefulness penetrate perceived presence.

    here he lives now in the great city itself where the gods reside out of sight out of mind little things crawling up the walls. a divine state burning on the tongue. who do we trust? keeping our heads down and our eyes open. all the wars and rumors of wars. all the percentages of odds against us. we survive living among our enemies who wish to subvert us and absorb us into themselves as they are empty and vacant. we are told we worship wrong things.

    fgakxouyqct
    tfgakxouyqc
    ctfgaxouyq
    qctfgaxouy
    uyqctfga
    aouyqctfg
    gaouyqctf

    a thousand and a thousand thousand and a thousand thousand thousand. this is the moment. it is more than the moment and not even the moment. the moment cannot express all contained within it so it expands outward onward until it reaches the point when it can express all contained within it which becomes infinite. this that we experience is that expression.
    how many possibilities are possible. how many will be possible that are not possible before? each moment is possible - a possible moment leading toward the possibility of another. a thousand and a thousand thousand and a thousand thousand thousand. who or what can comprehend this?
    an image of oneself as one living within oneself. a man and a woman. the man who has come from the woman and the woman who has come from the man. the man and the woman split and divided from one another. no two are closer. no two are further apart. with each merging mating together it is also decided which of the two the product of the synthesis will be - a man or a woman.
    it was decided that he would be a man. from that point on he was separate from the woman as she was separate from him. so far as he knew the two would never come together again - if they ever were together. it is theoretically possible that they were once as much as it is theoretically possible they will be again. he doubted that they ever were or ever will be. he didn't know why. he knew who he was and that was all.
   there are the others - men and women. only he is himself alone coming from what he was and going toward what he will be. who all these others are is not within his knowledge or experience other than them being the others. he may like them or love them or dislike them or hate them. he cannot know if their feelings are the same toward him. he cannot know if they have feelings. they may be just acting out the motions.

    and what is missing from all that is possible in this moment. to forget. to be human. to be buried beneath falling rock and stones. the last awareness that of being crushed.
    and the newborn babe that was killed with all the others so we could have our christ and we are to feel anything for this godman hung on a cross?
    and it could be that what confuses us is our not understanding of the nature of confusion itself.
    the broken faith of what we have held that has brought us here. we now look out upon a land of desolation scourged by the fury of our desire.
    to which it was nothing. to which it was anything. to which it was all a mistake. to which he is here and now.
    there are so many easy answers. where do people find them? there must be a membership discount warehouse place somewhere he doesn't know about. bulk rate by the pound universal answers to fit snug with any questions. not a single innocent curious query will escape to cause any problems in the future.
    he is here and now of purposes unknown. the consciousness of event ongoing as a continuous wave of active peaks and passive valleys creating an appearance of separate series of events.
    a recognition of pattern. the pattern of the action of event. the movement of direction. the sharp precision and smooth grace of the machine.
    a possibility of drama. an envelope of fear. throwing stones. an eye that follows and is contained within the storm. hopeful shadows. the dust in a thousand broken hearts. smiles with teeth clenched. hands in fists. a mind of flying arrows. justice is an ideal, revenge is a much more real need. life is short.
    from an ancient form of obedience. from the service rendered to the gods. and then to become the gods. who dares criticize? who dares to lift one's head?
    when the threat is not from outside invasion but near at home - if not within one's own house. to find oneself pronounced as being the enemy and in exile from one's own land and people. what is this land? who are these people? when one's love is challenged by the urging pulse for vengeance that drives one's heart. be still. have patience. wait.
    from places broken. from where the spirit does not need to hide its face because it makes the others afraid. where words can be spoken without hesitation and without fear that they will confuse the uncomprehending who will then pick up stones.
    how many times have we been driven away by them - this mob? those ruled by others because they cannot rule themselves. who can speak to them in such a way that they will hear? who can find the words besides those that speak to the simplest ideas and emotions?
    from a point of zero. from returning back to a primary point of reference. but who will follow into that land of wilderness? who will submit themselves to the test of will to break the chains of their bondage? an individual maybe - but a mob? how is the mob to be divided from its numbers in order to gain the state of mind only to be found by being alone that allows one to perceive through the control mechanisms and disarm them? how is anyone to tell them except from raised platform above their heads with a loud voice of power and authority? is it the fault of the few who have taken advantage of the opportunity the mob has given them? the mob demands a leader. hear them cry out when one is not found - we are lost. we are doomed. as well they are. as well they should be not having the will within themselves to rise above their need to be led. instead they mistake and confuse rebellion with freedom. that and narcotic sleep.

1/11/87

    and then out of some blue - remembering.
    well, here i am, jesus said at last. he was wounded but couldn't recall how or when. but where am i?
    he bent down and glanced under the table. he saw nothing but an old stale eucharist. well, i'm not under there, i don't think, he replied standing up again with a bemused smile on his faced face.
    a dog - was there a dog involved?
    perhaps.
    and a thin dime and a nickel of time unwound while jesus sat and thought. he thought nothing with all things being equal.
    not under the table.
    tired.
    and just as suddenly, jesus was surrounded by a wild twist party - a wild surf twist party. he was standing next to the snack bar. he looked under it. no, he wasn't there either. perhaps this is a matter of perception, jesus said to a t-shirted female-looking person who had come from those dancing out on the patio for some chips and dip. perception is a matter of perhaps, she responded while pinching an inferior brand of potato chip with metallic purple fingernails carefully rescuing it from the quicksand of shrimp flavored sour cream.
    the band speedshifted into another song praising the life of leisure. this one about the pleasure of driving a car designed and built to exceed the speed limit at every given opportunity.
    this is all very interesting, jesus thought, but it's not helping me any in my search to find where i am at - if, in fact, that is what i am doing.
    actually, in fact, what he was doing was running his middle finger down the cleft of the female-looking person's ass and between her legs which she sidestepped to open for him and into her vaginal vortex and began dialing her number which she answered on the first ring with pendular motion of her posterior.
    enjoying the dip? a woman named axana giggled up beside him. he answered her with a stupid grin. always gotta have your hands in something, eh? she added with a mouthful of pretzels she chewed as she stared at the female-looking person who had an elbow in the salsa bowl as she leaned on the snack bar with eyes closed head tick-tocking in opposite motion to her wagging tail. letting herself being used as a mere sexual toy, axana thought with disgust and kissed her open mouthed spitting the pretzel cud which the other accepted watonlywise while trading it with a wad of watermelon flavored bubblegum.
    meanwhile, jesus reached behind the two for a deviled egg he thereupon mischievously squished on the back of someone altogether different who was sampling the curried squid fondue with a finger sausage which gave jesus another idea...
    and what it means. all in some abstract sense keeping it removed. don't think it. don't feel it.
    make a list.
    make a list of lists.
    make a list of things to put on the list.
    make a list of things not on the list.
    make a list of things neither here nor there.
    remain calm.
    watch the people move through the world. all the things they do and the events they create.
    dreaming about people in another world. head laid upon someone's breast listening to their heartbeat in an envelope.
    up inside a box without a memory about anything at all. a space left blank. eyes looking at nothing.
    broken time and pieces of whatever else it was that once was. and walking quite upside down. and across many moons reflecting through the shadows along where our minds were exploring in some ruins we found that looked like they might be interesting but we got frightened when they started seeming too familiar. we ran away. far away. away far away.
    and then we stopped and ate lunch under an umbrella on a beach where there was no ocean.
    and we still can't get out. there are no doors left to open.
    so long ago to think that anything would have led to this. standing on the beach that night not being able to tell if it was on or off. and some months later when surrounded by stars that fell to earth and he looked at the others and the others looked at him and then it was all gone.
    all gone.
    it's all gone.
    and it led to this.
    but maybe now that he thinks about it, he knew it all along and let it and made it happen. oh well.
    so now that he has lost what little he had so he doesn't have to feel anything - he feels nothing. nothing to feel. it's so easy when you've made a perfect fool out of yourself and all concerned enough times and it gets a bit thin that you can see through before it starts where it's gonna end. it's easier to turn it off and turn away. you don't seem to get how it's all done. how do other people get along? it's a game and maybe you weren't paying attention when they explained the rules.
    broken connections unsparked with cut of power or something to that effect and so on.
    realize.
    zip out.
    tune down.
    break it.
    freeze.
    sail away over the edge and forget all the faces as they will forget you.
    all the people doing all the zany shit they do bumping and crashing into one another. it'd be funny if it didn't cause so much pain and leave so many sitting down crying.
    so get out.
    go away.
    and don't come back no more.
    drown.
    misaligned and not amused. opening wide across the fathomless conjecture or whatever one calls it.
    grinning robots sailing away downstream easy as pie singing, you could come with us if you just learned to cooperate for once in your life.
    he chances losing his grip on the rock he's managed to cling to on his way in the wild waters to give them a hardly fuck you raising arm and finger to the sun offering an oath to his idiot cause.
    don't mind him. he's just talking to himself and it always turns into an argument.
    the test results are negative, doctor, nurse nancy reports via the hyperwave intercom. doctor knowbrain shifts on her sanitary pedestal to look directly at you know who and wonders many things.
    jesus comes crashing through the prop wall and kicks falling to the floor with the ugliest thing anyone has ever seen digging between his sholderblades just where he cannot reach, but he, in a fit of high speed yogic exercises, tries to.
    i asked you to wait, doctor knowbrain squeals aloofishly. now i've lost my train of thought.
    arrrrghaaooodux!!! jesus screams with a double-jointed frantic reach he grabs hold of the little sucker and pulls it off with a sizable chunk of his living flesh and flings it into the corner where it curls up with its prize and chews and purrs contentedly.
    i suppose that was my imagination too, he utters among heated pants of foamed breath.
    i neither confirm nor deny any subjective reality, the doctor sighed.
    fine - just fine, jesus replied jerking to his feet. i'll just leave my subjective reality here with you and you can neither confirm nor deny it when it's done with my contribution to its existence and is hungry again.
    if you wish, the doctor spoke amused.
    that i do, jesus laughed and jumped off the stage and staggered up the aisle mumbling censurable expressions of his opinion.

    and so.
    and so he begins to write again writing, and so...
    and so - what?
    doo-wah-doo.
    a million thoughts in his head again.
    over here.
    over there.
    every moment a new beginning, a new ending. converging possibilities.
    at some times he feels like he's almost got it. other times he feels it couldn't be further away.
    have you ever had this experience? asks the man on the television sets.
    have you ever had this experience?
    he looks and sees no one.
    he looks and sees someone.
    he looks and sees everyone.
    he looks and sees nothing.
    he looks and sees something.
    he looks and sees everything.
    what does this mean? asks the supermarket checkout person.
    the wind was.
    the wind is.
    the wind will be.
    and the mystical nonsense holds its breath where it stands behind an elm tree which had just moments ago lost its last leaf it had held onto into january.
    he was thinking about something awhile ago. it's gone now. he is tired of having to put up with what he has to put up with everyday.

    put violin here.

    and he is shadowed by a sense that all he does and all that he can do is empty. dead action.
    when the new world comes, all the old world will be wiped away.
    or - when the new world comes, all the old world will be fulfilled.
    he waits.
    he doubts.
    he puts up with what he must put up with.
    waiting for what is to be reveled.
    he is a fool.
    he is a fool living inside a fool's dream. he wastes away through time which will never return.
    what is to be reveled?
    what is to become?
    he has no ally in any of this. he stands (or sits) absolutely alone.
    everyone has surrendered, most without realizing it.
    a few he foolishly had counted on have deserted him. he has nothing to give them to make them want to stay. the others have everything to lure them away. is this really something he alone is fighting? is there anything to fight for? how does one even fight it? fight what? he has no resources to continue whatever it is. the others have their corporate empires. they not only have him divided from themselves but have him divided from himself. how can he convince anyone else when he cannot even convince parts of his own mind?
    he sees their faces when they look his way - a glance. he sees the expression of disgust flicker a moment before they once again compose the killer grin. he sees them walk away as though someone important has called their name. he sees and he remembers who they are. he lets them go.
    and all he does is complain.
    kill the brain before it kills you.
    can't sleep and get too much sleep all at once.
    can't talk to anyone and all he does is talk talk talk.
    he can't tell if he's lying or telling the truth.
    something's got ahold of him or he's got ahold of something.
    he can't tell.
    so kill the brain and see what's left.
    inside the outside.
    or
    outside the inside.
    or
    an echoing echo in the broken cold penetrating circular motorhead type thing singing now and again away from here or there again over and under again losing itself chasing the diamond sky sighing strange words making sense only to the senseless and asking no questions and accepting no answers just plowing through the absolutely madness surrounding like dead dogs in the street and too late for the trend in the city of noise.
    rat brain zeroing into the point blank realness and all that type thing coming off the radio nuclear broken glass eating static dancing slow down on mainstreet sometime during the night if we could remember what it was or was not and la la dada.
    wouldn't you like to be who you are instead of this thing you've come to be crawling out of the distorted matrix into this warped world designed by hatred and anger and trash?

    homesick.
    for a place - a world - he can hardly remember.
    he only has dreams of it once in awhile.
    he wants to go home.
    he is tired of this place.
    he's tried to fit into it - observe the people around him.
    he could not go far enough.
    there are some things he will not do.
    but now he just wants to go home.
    how does he do it?

    in a time without time.
    in a familiar forest.
    thoughts as leaves with a gentle breeze making them dance shimmering in the sunlight beams.
    to be where it all is.
    to be there now.
    speaking and listening.
    watching it all.
    and the naked children walking softly on the ground beneath.
    being one of them.
    alone together down to the laughing water.

    thought somewhat liquid and pasty dripping down the inside of his skull after the noiseless explosion.
    a passion he had never known before left him breathing on the floor staring up at the ceiling which might as well been outer space for all it was to him at that time now unblinking awake and aware of being himself not knowing what that was exactly but here he is thinking.
    he never wanted to move again but the sun would come again as this world turns out of its own shadow and they would be waiting for him, cold gray zombies, to look upon them and let them live in his dream again another day manning the frontier with auto-destruct weapons forevermore again.
    the moon going through phases of black and white night like nothing there at all.
    we dream of each other.
    but why do we make ourselves live this way?
    we demand that others suffer in our name.
    all the animal desire is with us disguised as common sense.
    he imagines being able to fly.
    he imagines being able to materialize whatever he wants.
    he remembers this.
    we are gods with unlimited powers who keep each other in check.
    we create this ugly world where we must all struggle for a big pile of nothing.
    it isn't one, but all.
    can you follow?

    and he doesn't care about their excuses. he's tired of hearing them all the time everywhere he goes. all about how we're only human and have human limitations and all that trash. he knows it's not true and he could prove it to them if they could just unlock their headsets a moment or two.
    but they hold on tight. he sees their knuckles turn white and sweat on their troubled brow. they're scared. well, he's scared too. he's human too. if he saw the things he imagines it would take him by a bit of a surprise too. but imagine how it would be after that initial mind bending shock...
    let's take the leap.
    let's hold on and let go.
    off the edge.
    and we've been told that it's madness.
    we've seen all the frightening symbols they use - devils and demons dancing in hellfire.
    all who challenge god.
    forget it.
    reroute the program.
    put it on hold for a moment or two.
    let's go.

    is he dreaming?
    what is he dreaming?
    who is he to dream?
    which is the dream?
    he is afraid.
    they are afraid.
    this world is so safe no matter the fear and pain it creates. it's what we know and know so well. how can it be otherwise? he cannot do it alone with them laughing or waiting to shoot him down. he's been there before with their drugs and their shocks. he'll never lay down on that table again. he moves in strange direction without knowing where or when. he changes the channel. he keeps it to himself. he knows what they will do.
    he stays up late at night. it's when his head opens up. he can see his world again. he should be asleep to wake ready to go off to work like a busy happy bee. but it's worth feeling like a dragged out dog turd tomorrow in order to be here now.
    be here now.
    it's here now - if we want it to be.
    is he crazy?
    is he stupid?
    is he dreaming?

    and the quite empty carrot and our friendly dogcatcher waiting by  the fountain whispering nasty phrases out of her english-german dictionary to the young boy seated nearby who held both of his pale hands between his legs and looked nervously right and left as the painted politicians strolled by holding gay umbrellas.
    another was dancing to keep the static down.
    and here we were gazing into each other's eyeballs as he tries to remember the other's name or his own just as it once was into a thousand faces crying into two thousand hands as we wave good-bye. and when you laugh that way we cannot survive any longer.
    and the broken words spill out.
    and he waits for... he doesn't know.
    now that almost anything he could have hoped for has been proven wrong or ultimately self-destructive. he pushed it all away. he pushed everyone all away.
    and the broken words spill out.
    reminding him...
    he sat at the table by the window in the cafe all morning. a newspaper read and left folded inside out. a small plate with pastry crumbs. a full ashtray and a much drained but still full cup of coffee.
    18,000 and the chaos divine tongues speaking and licking the inside of his brain and around the spine spinning and being carved like it was on a lathe with absolute stimulation rising far past any limits he's known before. it becomes frightening as he wonders whether it'd be worse if it broke or didn't - or better - or what? - or when?
    more arrangements were made as he began to remember a little more. the damage is quite severe but it's growing back. he breathes again and again and with each breath it's like an oar in the water steadily moving him further either toward or away or both. his existence spirals out from the point of no return.
    in the wire space dividing the supermarkets into different worlds we've never seen before tomorrow. try to laugh. it's the only way you'll see it through. it's not that hard, is it? it's not like it used to be, that's for sure. and it's not like it's gonna be. take that as you see fit. you're on fire melting through the ice around you. you see the faces change in your direction. they don't know you but now you know them. try to laugh.
    translate the information into your own language. forget the pronouncements of supposed authorities on the television screen. follow the thin thread of your own logic between the definitions of insanity and enlightenment and beyond where either or any other limitations cannot reach. you're on your own. no one can tell you nothing. try to laugh.

    it comes down and around.
    it goes up and away.
    it goes bump in the night.
    it flies off the handle and falls flat on its face.
    it picks up where it left off.
    it follows its own footprints.
    it is it as it is it and it is all together.
    it turns out the light and rolls the film.

    fly on.
    fly on.
    though you have no possible idea where you're going.
    fly on.
    your heart is broken into a zillion pieces.
    fly on.
    your face is covered with tears.
    one eye is blind and you can't see out of the other.
    with every thought your insanity is further established.
    fly on.

    the static is heavy and fuzzy.
    no station comes in at all except a faint weak signal you can barely make out.
    you gently turn the dial and move the antenna and it doesn't seem to help.
    you're getting nothing, no matter how far you try to reach out you just can't seem to pull it in.
    and the static comes in and fills your room like laughter.

    amid the wreckage of all he either destroyed or let fall apart in his struggle to get out of the cage.
    all the screams now coming back as echoes from the walls.
    he can't stand it but there is nothing he can do to change it.
    all who know him have left him or at least keep a safe distance away.
    he is dangerous to their steady state of mind they've managed to hold together by ignoring what he throws himself against.
    but he keeps thinking that he'll have the last laugh when he breaks through what he's been told he has to accept. somebody's gotta do it. maybe it won't be him but he doesn't see anyone else trying.
    so here he is.
    he tries to hold what he can together so they don't take him away. but one of these days he's gonna have to let go and go for broke. he daily figures the odds and it doesn't look very good. but someday he'll have to risk it.
    either a hero or a goddamn fool with the latter being the most likely as they drag what's left from the wreckage to either lock it up or bury it.

    another bag.
    another wig on.
    and something barks in the distance nearby.

    and he's just a prisoner of himself.
    and he's a ghost of himself.
    and he's nothing to them except if he comes up on some list on their monitor screens and all that paranoid shit and it means more to them than to him because it's their list they need in their power scam thing they're hooked into so deep it will never let them go and it lets them believe that they have some sort of control instead of being controlled by it.
    and he's just an image of himself.
    and he's just a child of himself.
    and they're nothing to him because he doesn't care if they live or die.
    if they want in, they're in. if they want out, they're out.
    he neverminds that.

    singing dripping under the hat. look around. look back. nothing is forever.
    talk about the chessboard. dance in the light and dark.
    challenging, serious and boring to poke fun and harass as he carried his first fish disease up to 8 inches onshore possible tonight and a matter of honor remained out of sight.
    where the cycles come to an end.
    where the angels wait outside.
    skip a speed into masquerade.
    listening once more to the silence around the squad car.

    the knee jerk.
    amused and all that cosmic dada.
    wishing he were home.
    and it all falls down.
    and it all drifts away.
    and it all is that is not.

    it was nothing much at all he remembers since it just faded away soon after the days are always dirty gray like an endless fog with biting cold he can't chase away light and shadow interplay shapes and forms some of which speak to him and he speaks back to them but he doesn't think they listen but maybe they do but he can't tell from here beneath the ancient fire above the downfallen sky of the common dream walking on thin ice toward some light flickering out in the distance forest listening to his name being called over and over in the wind.
    taking out another inventive cigarette his hand smelled of gasoline and honey and vinegar he lit it - the cigarette - while looking at the door which led to the outside hall a nervousness came over him as he shook the match out and dropped it in the ashtray and he thought about what might be about to happen.
    almost anything these days being in the age of instant karma those who delayed the resultive outcome their actions determined suffered all the more a new freedom with a new imprisonment he licked his lips between drags the afternoon was overly gray as he had been reading a book which hadn't finished being written and whatever he was to imagine from this he sat down again on the chair that leaned to the right because of broken springs.
    a dark chorus sang behind the streets he walked alone thinking, what was the message?
    all the emptiness he felt all the non-feeling neither hope nor despair neither happiness nor sorrow he's been stripped of emotion for the moment he walked on thinking nothing and thinking everything neither going anywhere nor coming from anywhere or somewhere or nowhere.
    he was a bug he crawled as a bug crawled deep into some nihilism forever no reason or excuse imprisoned by his freedom and free only within the confines of the freedom of others he sought no escape as he doubted that escape was either possible or impossible in and of itself having no condition toward one or the other one seeking the truth of the case.
    truth?
    to dance on this thin ice between salvation or destruction not knowing which lay to which side or both on one side with something altogether different on the other unimaginable and perhaps unrecognizable.
    where was he to go except ahead?

    and with it all.
    and without it all which seems to be needed.
    he looks and sees nothing except what he imagines to be there and imagination is not enough.
    and the further development involved in being at the point of dancing a dark side and a light side and a far side and a near side inspirational kiss from someone in the dark reach out and no one is there.
    is this the real view?
    is this understanding or imagination?
    and now someone in the light a shadowed angel speaking with no voice or maybe he has gone suddenly deaf always some appointment that instead of leading to fulfillment leads to another appointment and he knows the feeling quite well as he's been on these streets before never completing a thought before being distracted by something useless.
    just another loser in an all-night cafe the heat and the gasoline trying to figure out the numbers and with all the hip crowd jammering about what a boring life they're living and their hamburger brains on live wire dead and sweating tasting whipped cream out of the teeveee thing slowly exploding in the center of the scene with everyone faking it now as the shift is set from one to the other without any hope or kindness it's all breakdown the program is on the program is set void full of talk talk.
    a formulation of events or event as one event is another - one event in every event the mind is the dividing line - the mind sets the pattern - one pattern leads into and sets the next as one pattern is another - one pattern in every pattern - pattern and event - event/pattern - a re-formulation of event pattern - the mind is the dividing line and where the mind divides is set by the pattern and event even when a new pattern is set - one pattern recognized by another pattern in similarities and differences.
    and nothing is free but the imagination - the imagination is all we share in common - the imagination that controls reality which in turn controls the imagination - pattern into pattern - event into event - both pre-determined and even so far as a great leap occurs or is caused to occur in the changing of the pattern through event - this is still shaped by the previous pattern though only so much as to allow the leap to take place - imagination cannot escape pattern but can direct pattern though its direction is set by previous pattern - the previous pattern of imagination or of reality or of both yet though there is predetermination there is also possibility arising from each pattern - but the possibilities are limited by the pattern and one can go against or beyond the limits of possibilities only in the sense as they are determined by the pattern originally so that impossibility is also determined by the pattern and making the impossible possible by use of imagination and some sort of free will in event but still predetermined and set by the existing pattern as well are the deviations to the pattern which may very well be something.

    1/29
    time is always the same time - time is now - all moments are one moment - the beginning and end of the universe of spacetime is the same and all in-between yet time is experienced as a series of moments - a thread pulled through the eye of a needle - so there is a difference between experience and being and in memory time is one time as a linear series is the product of creation as in painting there are areas of different colors - if one is to see a painting one cannot see all the colors at the same time without divisions and relationships of divisions - there is no experience without experience - there is no knowledge of being as experience is knowing one exists.

    1/30
    and as spatial temporal beings we can only discover that which is within spacetime even as all of that is doubtful but what the limits and where do they stand when we peer out at distant galaxies or peek into subatomic particles? when do we encounter the borderline?
    as finite beings we are said to not be able to perceive or comprehend the infinite but where is the infinite how far do we have to look before we've looked too far?
    even the grain of sand has characteristics of infinity as can it be said that there is no grain of sand at all?
    and are we really finite beings as we assume we are? as perhaps we are focal points of infinity as the different colors of a painting and one must focus in on details to see the whole - the leaves of trees - the gestures of a hand - the brushstrokes - so it is with infinity - one must focus on the details - a grain of sand - a drop of water - a forest.
    and so the impossibility of being able to come to a conclusion because a conclusion is finite in all directions of spacetime and with infinity there are no conclusions no finite cause and effect as infinity proceeds in circular motion of cause - effect - cause - effect - cause...
    yet we are contained by and subjected to our finite daily lives that still proceed with circular motion - our finite minds divide into pattern and event with our imagination existence immediate surroundings threatening falseness intellectually still controlling do not see beyond chaotic confusion irregardless following the continuous sets of pattern/event.
    a game of golf, for example.
    and so illusion overtakes illusion layer over layer one explanation leads to another in our history of thought as we try to leave the room of infinity in infinite steps at a time.
    of course our starting point wasn't even in the room to begin with sothiswholeproblemcanbedoneawaywithaltogehter.
    and god is about to bring the universe into being as it stands amidst the void of voids and whispers a countdown to itself ...2 -1 - 1/2 - 1/4 - 1/8 - 1/16 - 1/32 - 1/64 - 1/128 - 1/256 - 1/512 - 1/1024 - 1/2048 - 1/4096 - 1/8192 - 1/16384 - 1/32768 - 1/65536 - 1/131072 - 1/262144 - 1/524288 - 1/1048576 - 1/2097152 - 1/4194304 - 1/8388608 - 1/16777216 - 1/33554432 - 1/67108864 1/13421772E...
    and the existence of something that contains within it the infallible undeniable proof that it does not exist except for it not to be able to exist - the existence of that proof must exist as we go back to kill our grandfather in his cradle.
    on/off.

    1/31
    mysterious country waiting above and below the world.
    lay it down and forget your name - kiss it goodnight.
    there is nothing to be done either way.
    the gods play and don't think twice.
    we are forced to live our stupid lives without reason.
    the darkness forever shines in our land where it rains on sunny days.

    2/1
    the structure and training of the mind listening to predetermined music spark and draw creativity exploring one two three 6 part series through the traffic lights introspective - go someplace else. jarring experience in ballet form battling against the walls and the simple voice speaking all about the program we are supposed to follow the new world project building rows of cages we will be set free within march with the masses chanting and shouting.
    he stands alone. he doesn't know the answers to many questions. the same basic questions no one has the answers for but he maintains a near constant vigil realization awareness of not knowing the answers.
    one can function in society, both mainstream society and the edge pockets of alienated society, only in forgetfulness. one must close one's eyes.
    he forces his eyes open. he sleeps as little as possible though every few days or so fatigue overtakes him and he'll lay unconscious in a heap on the floor or in a chair for 12 or more hours straight up to 18 maybe sometimes more with lights on bright radio playing static noise.
    he rarely moves of his own volition. he sits smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. the food he eats turns in his stomach triggering one disease or another. he is always hungry, even after meals.
    ugly gray colored world that always has this funny slightly sickening smell. putrid incense. life in ongoing states of decay.
    everywhere is nowhere and nowhere is the center of everywhere.
    it turns and it turns.
    it eats and it eats.
    everywhere and nowhere.
    life is death is life again.
    looking out through eyes that cannot see what really is surrounding him. he sees nothing but illusion which is presented as reality. he thinks with a mind that is hampered by preset information and ideas lost in a fog of ignorance the light cannot penetrate.
    what is his purpose? is he only to play a part in this mad play as all the others do to follow the patterns of emotional and intellectual prejudice?
    he feels that there is more that he can do - should do. at times it comes to him with inner radiant light yet he cannot hold onto it. it comes and goes of its own will inspiring him in one moment with its presence when all things seem possible. he then falls into depths of hopelessness and despair when it leaves him and he's all dressed up with no place to go.
    and so he can do nothing for he can do nothing on his own. how many have acted of their own will and brought nothing but suffering and destruction to this world?
    he could be great. he looks into the eyes of people and sees how easy it would be to command them. they are ready to follow anyone. he could have power and wealth. these things are easy to come by. he could call up an army of thousands - millions - anytime he wanted by speaking to the universal anger and desire and fear and promising them glorified rewards they would be satisfied with in their shortsightedness. how many are doing that now?
    he is no one. he is nothing but another clown.
    but with the light he could but only touch the others and set them free. he wouldn't need speeches filled with subconscious psychoactive phrasing. he would need only to reflect the light that is not his own into their minds to blow them to the promised land. unless he is allowed to do this what else is there for him to do except act out his own selfish plans?
    so he waits. he waits for a day that is not likely to come. people are easily enslaved to promises, and why should any of them be fulfilled? he waits for his day or someone else's day when he touches or is touched. one of us someday will be allowed to trigger the chain reaction that will set us all free. until that time there is nothing to do but wait. all we do in our present state of mind is useless no matter how well meaning it is.
    he can see, hear, smell, taste or touch nothing. anything that has any value lies only in his imagination in dim shape and form which is inexpressible - even unthinkable. it moves quietly within him just beyond his grasp. he waits for it to come to him - to fill him - to be him.
    until then...

    the distant nearby cry of a wounded bird - a dove or an albatross?
    in the streets of the city is the constant noise of polite warfare.
    out of the sun - exploding.
    maggots eating in the brain rotting from too much think-not-think.
    watch tv and then just die in your favorite chair.
    and what does he do that is any different?
    he stares mindlessly at the inside of his skull watching the same programs over and over.
    we're all wasted - each and every generation who slam against the walls when they first arrive but eventually tire and settle down and huddle in the corners like everyone else and complain about the noise and commotion when the next group arrives wildly thrashing at being trapped in a cage instead of being allowed to run free.
    it's someone's bad idea of a joke. it's our own bad idea of a joke for who holds the keys to the door but ourselves?

    circling out on the planes - inside/outside and upside down.
    driving cars on the walls.
    thinking about one thing and doing another.
    we are one together apart in a zillion pieces on the floor.
    where could we possibly be?
    who are we really?
    why do we pretend to be who we pretend to be?
    few think about this. they lead their simple cause and effect yes/no black/white lives and dreams. it's not something they're not able to think about, but, as one of them told him once, they're not willing to think about it. it's easier to surrender and live life as a prisoner of fear and desire. and anyone who speaks otherwise is spit on and pushed away from any company.
    so we stand alone unable to speak because no one will listen. they have their preset prefab responses that check any attempt to get around their common wall of defense pretending that all our words are illogical nonsense. and in a way they are - that's the point. but they don't see it that way. if it doesn't fit the pattern it's rejected right off.

    brains inside out.
    to desire one thing and not to know what that one thing is.
    the universal being of one that all understand no matter what the language or cultural differences. through and through without a thought of what or how - just knowing.
    being.
    one.
    to look into the other's eyes and transmit one to one the knowing - to not need to speak a word.
    to stand.
    to move.
    one.
    being.

    we breathe.
    our hearts beat.
    our brains think.
    we have so much in common.
    and so much apart.
    alone together.
    and all the useless words spoken and written.
    because here we are - and look at us.
    a frightened bunch of intelligent animals beating on drums in the dark.

    10,000 wars commonplace no one thinks anything is wrong as they peacefully watch tv and report the next day to the factories line up and clock in and manufacture the consumer weapons camouflaged as high fashion items sold on the mirrored shelves to themselves who put their money down to pay for the horror campaigns around the world.
    it's not what you think. nothing is what you think. it crawls around in the dark. it has a human face just like you do.

    the always mind - the unblinking eye.
    away from the noise.
    away from all the people who can't possibly exist anyway - he chooses not to believe in them as they have never believed in him.
    the gun.
    eat the gun.
    biting a hole like instant acid through the total brain pushed backward out of life and death into pure being for the moment forever - move sideways from there to strangle the one behind the curtain if you can - if he can.
    can he?
    he doesn't know but he can try.
    it's the only way out - the only way to go though most likely one can't get there from here - here and there being non-existent to each other.
    oh well.
    so he'll be dead - better dead than underfed - lying in bed -being misled - a blockhead.

    non-thought - inward eruption - chewing down through the brain.
    holding onto nothing with nothing to hold onto.
    don't you want to know what's causing your depression? she asks.
    i know what's causing my depression - this fucking planet, he should have said - felt like saying - but he didn't want to argue anymore - none of them ever listen to what is nonsense to them - they nod their stupid heads and say how they understand and that's supposed to be reassuring or something - he doesn't know - he never could or ever will understand them - especially the ones who should know better but act like they don't.
    they convince themselves that he and people like him are the problem because their world is all set up and in full operation - either go with it or it'll run you over.
    and blah blah blah - etc.

    it circles around and around and never comes in.
    it blinks on and off at random intervals.
    brain spin backwards in fast slow motion trailing through meaningless patterns designed by confusion.
    and they sit there unmoved like the zombies they are and will ever be. dead in the head.
    and it's him -it's always him. he's the one who causes all the trouble - if he would only co-operate with their big plan we'd all be happy.
    he pulls the trigger - and they and their idiot world vanish in the blood mist as he instantly ceases to exist - or they do - does it matter?
    as long as he never has to look into those vacant faces again - those faces always explaining all the rational reasons why things have to go their way - why everything he thinks is only disruptive fantasy he conjures up out of his malfunctional mind - how he's being selfish not to do what they want - how they know what's best.
    they don't know what's best - they're all junkies following their habit - all locked up tight - rewording the same old ideas and congratulating themselves for coming up with something innovative and revolutionary when it's just an extension of the same power scam - and because no one knows any better it commands wide public support - standing ovation for the speeches praising the status quo of basic animal gratification disguised with neo-metaphors of futuristic foresight of the promised land always just over the horizon - if we all pitch in and work like dogs our children blah blah blah... where have we heard this before? but we buy it each time like the good citizens we are or believe we should be because no one wants to be pushed away from the feeding trough for being some rattle-brained dissident etc.
    and it goes on forever.
    all the people too crazy to care - burned out on the production line - gotta get it out - don't know where any of it is going but gotta get it out - and the cheaper the better - dog eat dog - living on a treadmill that keeps going faster and faster - gotta go faster - not going anywhere but gotta go faster - screw the details - screw it if it works or not - screw it if anybody needs it - all the people are too crazy to care - sitting in front of millions and millions of mind control sets - and their blown open minds are so easy to control - just a few tantalizing sexual images and off they go - buy buy buy - when i hold you in my arms, baby - i feel so safe from it all - there ain't another microwave unit that compares to you - let me take you home - we'll be so happy together - forever - i'm just wild about your designer decor and your push button program features - i don't care what others say - i don't care if i'm a media slave - all i know is i can't live without you.
    kill it all.
    one shot does it all.
    no more ugly ugly world with all the senseless people brain numb fools believing this madness is the only alternative they got.
    just kill it all.
    slip away to whatever may be and damn anyone/thing that brings him back ever.
    kill it.

    2/3
    since you asked, she spoke sharply now, the central policy is that you are obsolete.
    he stood against the wall holding the trotsky ice pick in his left hand.
    he leaned against his shadow.
    and that is where it had to end.
    and that is where it had to begin.
    and whichever you choose is up to you - we cannot help you decide anymore since we are having difficulty remembering what the time of day it is and where we are supposed to be, here or there, to fulfill our social responsibilities.

    dirty finger.
    happy noses.
    and jesus going down for the 3rd time.
    ouch!

    2/4 (or 5)
    yes - well... i just don't understand these people here, he said while he twirled. i've said that before - i've said that quite a number of times. they are afraid. a herd. i don't get it. and it's not fear of muggers and rapists or enemy states or satanic powers. these are masks the fear wears to become visible - bodies it puts on to become more tangible. and some cover it over very well with their cheery voices and laughter. but beneath it all i can hear the current - an underground river moving quickly. what are they so afraid of? almost anything sudden makes them jump. and the weapons and the defenses - not even counting the real ones like knives and guns and multi-headed missiles. it's the mind set that thinks them up to begin with...

    the main problem is greed.
    the main cause for the main problem is fear.
    fear breeds greed.
    greed breeds fear.
    the more of one, the more of the other.
    the cycle is easy to see but it is very strongly linked and held together and therefore, thus far, impossible to break.

    tick-tock again goes the dead man posed up right and straight forward in a chair. in the chair. the chair on the platform. the dead man has been selected and chosen by the new central committee to run for leader of the überpeople.
    he will win.
    he has won.
    leader dead man. the bodyguards are dismissed. he's already dead - there is no fear. he is immune to all forms of interference.
    he has a mission. it is explained by his spokespersons. he will reform. he will redirect. he will move ahead.
    a new era has begun.
    hooray!
    hooray for the dead man!

    doors about to explode.
    doors on hinges.
    doors taking themselves very seriously.
    doors in rooms.
    doors in houses.
    doors in the factory.
    doors in offices.
    doors in the bank.
    doors in his head which are locked or actually non-existent and some such like frozen chicken.
    and sounds developing in and out the underneath chorus of these dead angle angels eating ashtrays in retrospective influx challenging the fundamental concepts outlined in the latest reports from the front with her wet breasts hanging in the treetops where little birdies perch all day long and into the night gloom sometimes as a scream is heard down toward the highway jumping and laughing in the name of jesus.
    life in spirit.
    death in spirit.
    a long time in-between.
    unfolding folding waves cycles shapes forms of universal dada.
    johnny -
    johnny -
    come home, johnny, come home.
    a dozen + 1 stars.
    her breasts hanging down on the face of the dead man who neither smiles nor frowns.
    in the treetops up away from the highway.
    in the name of jesus.
    she sways back and forth as the video recorder hums and purrs.
    and the leader's advisors shift on their feet to adjust for the growth in their pants - the missiles stand ready worldwide - this could be it - but then any moment could be it.
    and the broken shadows in her eyes.
    she innerly knows she is being used or how the important men think they are using her. no one is useful to them unless they can be used. but in another subtle pattern that runs much deeper than theirs, she is using them. she is unaware of this - though not completely.
    the dead man is symbol - more of a symbol than any living man could be.
    she is also a symbol - or at least being used symbolically.
    her stark nudity is a symbol -the pimpled discolored flesh under the bright lights unlike the airbrushed photos in her portfolio file they chose from thousands with the help of a data matrix whiz bang program or something like that.
    the missiles wait the light touch of electronic impulse to thrust flaming erotic into the sky.
    they wait.
    a spark kindling the fire.
    like a kiss.
    look into the eyes of the dead man sitting in the chair in the cabinet room with everyone talking at once and twice and thrice.
    power.
    power.
    power.
    god!
    god!
    god!

    2/7
    and when it was tuesday again - and that is if it were every tuesday before - the lines intersected as expected except about 2&1/2 hours later than estimated according to the reasonable calculations.
    and when it was not tuesday, the lines remained intersected though in a different and still changing arrangement.
    the structure is cracked and is breaking apart. normally this would be a bad indication and something to worry about except if it is said that the structure is indeed an egg.
    something is happening.

    now as anything might be or not be.
    break the engine.
    stuck in the mud.
    the cities are falling though their gleaming towers rise and rise.
    the colorful parade.
    the flags waving in the imagination.
    we do not see the sky.
    we do not know the rain.
    we do not feel the earth.
    we look out through our windows - these little holes in the walls.
    old is the time.
    new is the day.
    our gods do battle in the forms designed by language.
    all we can do is wait.
    the outcome will be soon.
    the outcome will be swift.
    now we kneel to ourselves.
    now we pray to our own desires to protect us from our fears.

    dead and death.
    eyes open and burned by light walking in the trance induced by genetic information - alive in the matrix - circles for memory - clear vision masked by identity.
    this is history and myth - the maps of our direction.
    the shape and form.
    we saw nothing - neither darkness nor light.
    the laughter from the bottomless pit.
    the paperwork.
    do you see what happens? the voice asked from nowhere.

    as the dead man leader is knelt to pray before the tv eyes of the world.
    as the power is transmitted.
    as the people obey the secret commands without understanding - except those of the primitive mind.
    they understand.

    the theme and process of theme in relative relationships and in conjunction to each in turn whereupon we can foresee in a limited sense the failure of both to accurately describe and/or explain patterns and events.

    2/8
    in the dream.
    in the great big dream.
    dream of space and time.
    and it is what it is, not what it looks like.
    speak of the dream.
    speak in the dream.
    around and around in the great circles of the dream.
    there is us and there is them.
    there is you and me, myself and i.
    all in the dream.
    the universal dream.

    2/10
    the absence in thought.
    the telling circles.
    the vision and sound and other senses of the world.
    the unanswered.
    the possibilities folding and unfolding - yet humans involved in their own game of push and shove don't realize anything of it at all.
    they are not blind - they just don't look and see.
    only their own reflection pleases them.
    everyone knows yet no one has spoken. they are all afraid of the terrible gods they have created. no one stands on their own - even and especially those who no longer have gods. everyone surrenders their fate to this world.
    the silent confusion in their eyes or the abandoned removal.
    he knows no one. they are all of them strangers - even and especially those who are his closest friends. the more he looks the less he understands.
    so this is the place.
    so this is the time.
    pattern and event.
    and his ignorance touches it all.

    look away and into the other world unrealized.
    become the possibility.
    nothing is here anymore.
    nothing but people already dead who give away their power for nothing to those who don't know how to use it - who think the power is for control of this world - which it is, but not to always keep it the same. all they do is continually repeat the past like clockwork figures on geared wheels. it'd almost be comical, but the suffering is real.
    it goes on and on. the faces change once in awhile, but nothing else.
    and all we can do is to leave by any means we can devise. maybe meet again on the next other world. maybe drift alone out of space and time.
    we are one, but no one wants to remember.

    all the minds in the world who put together the pieces of the world into the wrong order - all the new ideas which are only old ideas spoken with different names - and nothing ever changes - we are bound by walls which are made up only by our belief in them - our belief makes them real.
    the skies from which the gods look down are ours - we all have had dreams of this in childhood until we were told they are only dreams.
    and the world never changes - we are afraid.
    what if the ground beneath our feet was no longer solid?
    imagine all the terrified screams of those who had forgotten how to fly.

    mind and mind.
    where can it go?
    and where it comes from.
    and we put it into a little box and pride ourselves on our evolved intelligence.

    the shape of tomorrow traced on the shape of yesterday.
    and the days go on forever and forever instead of one continuing moment everlasting.

    and the diamond eyes of fools looking into the ways of this world cutting it to pieces jagged and crazy with reflections from one to the other divided into neat little rows like soldiers and school children ready to obey any command they perceive comes from someone above them.
    this is all serious business and all that jazz.
    so come away from this with a smile on your teeth and dream it away - dream them away.
    nothing gets out.
    this is what the mind produces around us breaking and reassembling again over and over.

    2/11
    what is beyond reason in the shapes in the eyes that see it.
    they see and believe what they see and believe - nothing can go wrong.
    nothing can be explained.
    their eyes can only see within a limited range without question.
    the words of their language are vague of true meaning.
    their minds are frozen though they perceive them not to be - they feel themselves to be free.
    how far away.

    silence and silence is the only answer to any true question.
    life surrounded by death.
    light surrounded by dark.
    humans surrounded by god - the god that never speaks or lets itself be known except through veils of mystery.

    nothing is.
    and nothing comes.
    every day is any other.
    he sees and hears nothing but the continuous noise this world makes with its effort to ignore the reality of its non-existence.
    more and more people he sees who are no one and their ingrained behavior in endless cycles going nowhere - all feeding on itself.
    if he could break away.
    if he could know anything at all.
    if any sound would break the silence.
    if...

    2/12
    songs without songs.
    absence.
    the empty shell of images.
    words that mean less than nothing - that actually suck out meaning from what they are intended to describe.
    space which defines the void.
    time which belongs to no one and is of no use to anyone.
    and we live here.
    nowhereland.
    no place.
    no reason.
    no purpose.
    our lives dragged through a wasteland where to become numb is to survive - to stop thinking is to gain knowledge and wisdom.
    he wants to scream but no one will hear.
    he wants to slap and shake the people he sees around him but they won't feel it or notice - they'll march on in the grand parade.
    he wants to live.
    he wants to become.
    but he exists in a world of death and non-being.
    he's pissing in the rain.

    and the pain of this loneliness is more than he can stand - but there is nothing he can do about it.
    no matter what he does, what he becomes, he will still be absolutely alone.
    there is no one he can give anything to - they drop it on the ground and step on it. they spit in his face without a second thought.
    yet he is to kneel and worship anything they say or do.

    the lights breaks toward you and around you and there you are standing nude and naked inside and outside under the sun burning so very far away and there is this song you suddenly remember and feel like singing to let your voice free to heal whatever hears and vibrates with it.
    and they come to take you then to do what they are told to do and they explain how they don't really want to but how are they going to survive and live somehow and the bills keep getting harder to pay and they make it sound so obvious and simple and the only thing that makes sense.
    and you know there is nothing you can say to them when all they got is money on their minds and none of your words are worth a dime in this economic system of greed and survival. so you stay silent and the song that was almost on your lips that was a moment ago fluid now crystallizes and shatters as they throw you in the back of the van and drive you to where they take people who are as crazy as you've become.

    your eyes bleed with all you've seen and you haven't seen anything yet.
    you should be blind but somehow you're not.
    you keep walking around this dying world wondering when it's going to finally kick over and die one last time.

    2/13
    full moon friday.

    and with all the ease the mind splinters away into further progression developing endlessly nowhere gazing into its own reflection divided into a zillion trillion parts floating and bumping into each other.
    patterns of chaos.
    waiting for a break in the weather.
    are there magic words?
    a ritual dance?
    a mantra?
    a sacrificial offering?
    nothing.
    never is the day we are free to choose our own course. we follow the patterns of history and fate. we worship the words of prophecy. we cling to the safe and warm holding our weapons between our legs or close to our heart. and the flags and flags flying in the eternal tv light.
    no one makes a move. taking a breath too many could be an act of sedition. bang - bang.
    we watch out the windows and drool on the pane - drool on the pain.
    we are blind because we refuse to see. we are ignorant because we refuse to think.
    patterns - we see and think in patterns. we speak in patterns.
    and it all comes down.
    we are crushed beneath the weight - we live beneath the weight.
    the weight of ourselves.
    and how can we explain when we have nothing in common with each other except our misunderstanding? lost in a fog where we cannot tell which direction the voices are coming from.
    the deep and the deeper.
    the mystery and the mysterious.
    the mind and the soul.
    whatever comes.
    whatever goes.
    what does it matter?

    we speak nothing but lies we do not know as such. we wouldn't know truth if we fell over it.
    we watch tv and drive our cars and everything is ok

    and it remains the same.
    the world turns and turns and turns.
    there is no wonder here - it is either explained or impossible.
    he thinks so little of them.
    they think so little of him.
    so it would seem that they both agree.
    and we obey the signals - even the signals to disobey the signals.
    it's all planned out.
    all has its purpose - the hatred - the violence - the suffering - all parts of the big plan. the end justifies the means.

    2/14
     people yelling at each other and running around with guns. and he would say that this is another case of the end justifies the means, but here there is no end, just the means. people want to yell at each other and run around with guns - that's it. that is as far as it goes. no purpose. no cause. yell and bang bang bang.

    drumbeats as the spaceships float down.
    transferred elsewhere.
    eyes open.
    hands free.

    not thinking of anything at all.
    can't think.
    don't want to think.
    it's just a bunch of noise.

    power and more power.
    that's all these techno-apes can understand.
    one tribe against the other with whoever can make the most noise on top.
    still afraid of the dark and the spooks thereof in this day and age - as if this day and age was any different than any other day and age.
    still the same eternal power structure set up - even with the resistance and opposition in place as usual and fitting into it the same.
    big apes on top making all the noise.
    little apes on the bottom wanting to be on top.

    and it's out of the dark that it will come.
    in the end it's the dark that must be resolved.
    resolved - not suppressed.
    we've suppressed it for all these thousands of years and look at what we've got.
    it's out of the cage and a monster on the streets and shooting it down isn't gonna do it.
    see the darkness in your own eyes.
    it comes out of the dark.
    it comes into the dark to get you.
    you fear the monster - and it is a monster - you've made it into a monster with your fear.
    what if it's something else?
    will you be able to shift your conception of things around you - within you - in time not to pull the trigger?
    or will it be just bang bang reaction?

    small change substandard world with few on the top gorging themselves with pleasure trying to overcome the guilt and fear in a orgy of denial and desire.
    naked lips pulled back from the teeth - grunting.
    money in hip pocket.
    the product of a thousand revolutions.
    nothing has changed except to get worse.
    the means of control are greater.
    the need for control is greater.

    anything without words.
    the falseness of image.
    don't realize.
    confusion.
    disgrace as operative mode in revolutionary anti-force action.

    the upstairs rooms echoed by mirrors and all the images are not the same in the shattered light from an undiscovered source flashing.
    speaking in silence.
    alone.
    feeling the inexpressible twisting and churning forever.
    no recall.
    no remembering.
    crawling emptiness.

    an endless chain of nonsense from one moment through to the next with time being the only link and even that sometimes... well, he doesn't know exactly.

    he tries to stand up.
    he tries to keep his eyes open.
    there is no light.
    the only inspiration or realization that comes to him is that of falling in with everyone else into this universal resignation that this is what and will ever be.
    but he keeps waiting.
    he refuses to accept that fate no matter who calls him a fool - even if it is himself.

    tired.
    surrounded by darkness.
    filled and spinning with imagined ideas unreal and unrealized.
    faces and voices.
    desires and denials.
    love and hate.
    crashing into the real world every step of the way - step of the dance - stumbling dance refusing to fall down yet unable to gain his feet.

    around around around.
    the eternal circles and other convoluted self-feeding shapes involved.
    he wishes he could stop writing this useless shit.
    he wishes he could stop thinking this useless shit.
    he writes hoping the words will appear that will make sense.
    he keeps hoping he can break the lock on the human mind.

    to be in darkness even in light.
    damned for what he cannot remember.
    cast out and abandoned.
    imprisoned in this world and stripped of all powers and knowledge.
    chained by the material on a starvation ration of physical senses.
    no idea or clue as to how long his sentence is to be - if it is not eternal.

    2/15
    head goes blank.
    head goes on/off.
    head goes for a spin.
    head goes berserk.
    head goes pure light.
    head goes anywhere it wants to.
    head goes curled up in a corner.

    now green.
    now blue.
    now nothing at all.
    it's only a fantasy anyway. that's what they tell him and since they control the world he has no choice but to believe them. he has no resources to put up a fight against them. he has no proof. he has no allies. past, present and future are on their side. even most of his own mind agrees with them. all he has in a remote shadowed hole in his head he can barely squeeze into where he lives through these days upon days. maybe the same is true with everyone - he doesn't know. what is the controlling force we are under? is it ourselves? how do we break free?
    now orange.
    now yellow.
    now everything at once.
    it's everything reality might be. that is what he tries to tell them with a voice they will not hear. they are too busy maintaining control to bother with such obvious nonsense he might be babbling. it doesn't fit with their big plan and ideas about what the world is and is not. his ideas will not give them power. his ideas put an end to power. no one wants that whether they even have power or not. everyone likes the idea that they might be able to gain power someday. everyone wants power -especially those who don't have it.

    hum-drum.
    and this and that.
    and a piece here and a piece there.
    you spend the first half of your life being fucked over by everyone you meet and/or yourself. you spend the second half unscrambling that shit out and maybe if you're lucky as you're laying in your death bed you might have one single thought that finally makes sense.
    and for what?
    meanwhile as you're digging through all the garbage looking for something to call your own you're messing up people around you because your head ain't screwed on right yet and on and on it keeps reverberating right on through and for every one person who finally gets some of their act together there's a few million more who are sinking deeper and deeper.
    self-realization is just another power trip. it's another way to feel important and above the rest. there is no such thing as the individual except in the mind of the individual. what is for one must be for all, otherwise it's just something to wipe your asshole with. no one has anything unless everyone has it too.
    what he imagines could be will never be because if it could be it would be.
    being the fool - the eternal fool.
    oh boy...

    and things keep turning around around in his mind brain head connecting and unconnecting patterns and non-patterns too fast and/or too vague to hold onto and realize.
    he can't believe anything he sees.
    he can't believe this is the way it really is.
    he sees endless possibilities being passed by - phantoms.
    if there's not power to be gained by it then it's not worth the effort because following the possibilities he sees involves the end of power and no one will allow that - the maggots would starve to death.

    and the world run by and for junkies who live on maximum consumption. and they slave themselves to meet their constant desire for more in order to survive without being consumed themselves by themselves.
    and he is plagued by the glimpses of vision of another world he sees super-imposed on this one. the connection can be made anywhere at any time. we need only turn our mind brain heads in a slightly different direction.
    it's like an optical illusion where background becomes object and object becomes background. it's as simple as that.

    toward the light.
    light unseen except by imagination.
    a gray light of both black and white.
    real or unreal - does it matter?
    out of the dark.
    seeing the unknown and formless with mind brain head facing a different direction - other dimensions perhaps.
    could be.
    crawling through this world on our hands and knees and sometimes flat on our belly. getting through by the skin of our teeth trying to stay out of its way - its trashing power fits we sometimes experience in ourselves.
    pick a point - any point - declare it the center of the universe and thumb your nose at anyone who comes by while keeping it within your mind brain head.
    and toward the light coming up in dawn over the ruins of apocalyptic city starting to be overgrown by the life their weapons couldn't kill - and it's a lot more than cockroaches and rats, though them too.
    it's all nowhere again - but it's a different nowhere this time around.
    toward the light.

    imagining what could be as it's been imagined in all its different forms since imagining began. the perfect garden in the perfect city.
    everyone losing control as they fight against it.

    kicking through the pieces laying around his mind brain head doo-wah-ditty-ditty-dum-ditty-doo thing.
    pieces of this and pieces of that - none that fit together anymore or maybe ever should.
    all shattered in raging storms of frustration, hatred and anger which still echo in a near distance and could come up again at any moment or so.
    so he sits down and waits for whatever and whatever.
    and if nothing comes he'll die waiting.
    a study in still life.

    through the halls of twisted logic (for lack of a better term) come back walking upside down through himself going the other way. after hours funhouse with no footsteps but his own - unless those aren't echoes...
    talking to himself and he's got nothing much to say and he's heard it a million times before already - yeah yeah yeah...
    alone in a lonely world. sometimes he doesn't mind it. sometimes he finds himself screaming and smashing all the mirrors.
    life as a idiot fool just wandering around in a void unto itself turning over in its grave.

    phantoms without faces or voices. just another dream phase.
    walking in and out of circles.
    trying to think and not think at the same time.
    the uselessness of all that has come before - all that has been tried to be described.
    don't need anything except everything - and all at once, please.
    static in the mind brain head chewing apart the walls between here and there uplifted.
    a spot of tea.
    a stab in the heart while he was commenting on the weather - again.
    a jesus plays acrobatic tricks through an eye of a needle landing lightly on his feet and taking a deep bow though no one was really paying attention.

    speaking some unintelligible language while falling against the popular opinion of the day yawning in the shade of the apple tree still trying to figure out where newton was coming from.
    meanwhile, there's places to go and people to see, but, like escaped prisoners, our feet are shackled together. none of us can get ahead with others left behind.
    and the stars come out again as we revolve that way.
    and we wondered as we always wondered.
    and in the empty rooms of his house he draws designs in the dust.
    nothing much more to do today.

    is is is.
    here's looking at you.
    and dancing by himself while others work away and have arguments and stuff.
    outside is nothing but a disgusting dead dream thing hit by a car in the road with flies laying their eggs in the drying ooze and blood flesh and having a little lunch to boot.
    somewhere broken.
    laying down in the pain.
    mind brain head bent backward and out the window where rain is falling.
    common ordinary.
    unknown sorrow modulating with bright gray light.
    hands.
    vision against vision.
    stars.
    a song with a skip in the middle.
    rusted machines under twisted flower vines.
    no one to talk to.
    where did he put his shoes?
    and there's a whole world around the corner if one can make it that far - if not, here's a consolation prize - death.

    2/17
    or - what's this about electric cheese?
    get it in your mind brain head turning like a planet.
    and all the love songs together are just an inkling.
    the cycles are clicking around like a cosmic odometer - soon back to zero.
    ka-pow! - like hitting warp drive.

    and it gets worse or it gets better - who knows at this point?
    it could be here or it could be gone - who know at this point?
    who knows anything?
    in all these thousands of years what one thing have we come up with that makes any sense?
    besides starvation.
    besides slavery.
    besides war.
    besides all the out and out fucking greed.
    but after all we're only human and human is human - but even our gods have these problems.
    so it comes down to one thing - if anyone comes by and starts giving us shit about all the terrible things we've done all we have to do is say - hey pal, you try being human and see how good you do.
    but god became human in the flesh of jesus christ, they say.
    oh sure, someone says, how many humans can walk on water and raise the dead? that ain't human - not like i'm human. when god walks the earth with the same limitations and up against the same shit as me then it can judge me and not one moment sooner - and maybe not even then. otherwise it's just another house odds scam.

    and maybe it's becoming clearer and maybe it's not. he doesn't know. he doesn't know nothing.
    he hopes some things and fears some things and which will overcome the other? he doesn't know. he doesn't know nothing.
    so in ignorance he surrenders. so they can do what they will, he cannot stop them. he doesn't even know who they are. he doesn't know nothing.
    and so what will be will be and all that cosmic trash. he is totally helpless against the weight of it. how can he act when he can't see what are actually his actions and not just some game plan? what does he decide and how does he decide it?

    2/19
    and still onward without a goal in sight. the same day over and over. what are the clues? what are the things right around him that could be put together into new concepts and forms? why can't he see them? what are the questions to ask?
    zap!
    and the common mind. we try to hold it down but it breaks through somewhere - usually twisted and deformed. there is a balance to be found between those who repress their every thought and those who allow themselves too much freedom.
    if we could understand that we do share a common mind and all sides of the argument are elements of the same equation.

    it's like science.
    it's like a god from outer space.
    it's just noise.
    it just a big noise about nothing but the human apes love to make noise about nothing like there was nothing else to do.
    underneath the air we breathe today of all days.
    the mouths speak in radiance you've never noticed before. but now that you're beyond where any drug can reach you're beginning to notice a lot of details you've missed before.
    you can see who anyone and everyone is more than you thought you saw them before because now you see them without judgment. there is no judgment to anything in this world - it's all free and clear - chaos.
    and there is nothing you can think about. you go and you stop. it doesn't make much of a difference.
    rapid deployment.

    it's kinda slipped out.
    it's like nothing much at all.
    and nobody in their right mind wants to know about it and everybody's in their right mind. he knows because he can see them there - stupid fucks.
    nobody wants to know about anything except about what they already think they know.
    up and down.
    left and right.
    to and fro.
    linear dimensional world with still life eggheads muttering sacred mantras about all the books they read in school.
    and they pride themselves on making up things like spaceships from other planets and the soul and stuff like that. but they turn around and apply them to their unchanging everyday world they hide inside because it's safe and warm - besides it's dark out.

    2/20
    hit the warm dream of tea.
    smooth the shakes.
    yes? who's there?
    come in.
    have some tea with us, wouldn't you?
    yes? who's there?
    we hope it's one of us.

    the easiest far point blue sea frog eyes early morning priestess watering his lawn on a clear gray day.
    notice a scrawl hand - a dance twitching thoughtful guy he is tonight - yes?
    he hopes it's one of him too.
    fine mist of all yesterdays before today's mind attack and takeover via means that he used to know of but cannot think that now as he is clamped tight under the disease of freedom.
    hail on.
    he hopes it's him.

    ah! now finally the tea.
    warm and funny in a sort of way.
    it's dry.
    warm and dry.
    that's the feeling he absences - warm and dry. he doesn't.
    dry bones by the fire of nevermore.
    easy fall.
    downhill all the way.
    the stride of the powerful and proud put to an end.
    greed frowned upon their heads. down ground.
    all kiss the devil's arsek.
    kneel and obey the god machine.
    be full and prosper in the good land eternally promised.
    nevermind the details - just get there - even if you gotta kill and bleed the rest of them suckerfaces inbred sons of the dark unholy kingdom.
    whatever any this might be against a terror words endlessly excused by meaningless wonder.
    may we brave and few consider our together plight. we have no strength as our own (whoever) but as many and all. telepathic rescue the planet earth and all there. tune in as long as you can - feed it. grow, baby, grow.

    message #8
    (perhaps again)
    at frosty gate unseen.
    breath shallow to let in as little as of the icy air as possible.
    up and over - to the palace wall like sigmund the wondergod hero dada of then times - and quite frighteningly today as well (though not).
    not well you say? the old nun yelled with deaf voice monotone.
    not well at all, quoted the sterling dove, not well at all.
    and sacrificed in blood murder and symbolic drinking and eating of the body and soul combined in ritual so deep it caused a mountain of ignorance to rise up out of the sea of peoples falling into a sleep under a god of salvation in future time.
    when the bombs burst a million zillion distinguished bits of each of us in microtime.
    now - now.
    is - is not.
    it - it.

    deep zeon blue talking way above every mind glowing with radar repair to our damaged cells rebuilding profile of same to walk again in the just right land.
    in open heart knowing all the bullshit straight-faced into it seeing just cause and event pattern flowing each east to west tick of it.
    day and age dancing delightful before your understanding eyes.
    every song you will sing - even the tragic and failing.
    an almost slumber rides with you in dreamlike possibility popping up around your mode of operation.
    transfix what and when you can choose and create wonderful arrays of variational interplay.
    god the creator creating still.
    playing in eternity the sparkling thought it does great wonder to behold within one's being.
    dive in and out as one may please to involve sensation to observation.
    all in the privacy of your domain.
    enjoy the ultimate original sin and everlasting rising on waves euphoric in nature.
    god.
    the sin of being god.
    and god isn't human.
    human is god.
    human is the only judge of god in the endtime to see if it did what it was told to - if not, try it again, after corrective surgery.
    try it again.
    or not.
    maybe this is the click of all cycles all the way across from one infinity to another and all infinities in-between and all ships at sea looking for unexpected harbor.
    maybe not.
    try it again.
    start it up.
    roll the program.
    up and at 'em over and outside - ball three (3).
    make believe treetop.
    pie.
    soup with fly.

    time erases all doubt.
    undeclared reasonable truth protects the mighty.
    the shouts of the opposition thunder many as one deep sound rumble and down it came.
    ah - the parallels it comes to know now of which we may speak again at times foaming storm waves on our once sunny hot beach.
    all the while...

    dog energy.
    arf up the mixed bag.
    who first with those bio-chips in the head?
    no butterfly nets are going to catch away our beauty this time.
    on base.
    we will be reality.
    don't argue - do it!
    be your own dream.
    be it now.
    headset wonderboy.
    superman.
    in future.
    in hope or...
    in any sort of salvation or enlightenment?
    who we are and who controls us.
    old words not so much forbidden as who thinks them anymore?
    shattered remnants of concepts like ceramic vases of older civilizations - will anyone dig them up?
    read back some misplaced memory program rosetta stone?

    electro-promenade.
    goose step reaction.
    forward ho!
    this land of future now possibility.
    a kiss can give it away.
    a knowing of lies will overcome the mind toward which it will be hurled sideways against whatever undercurrent reason is flowing on down there that will see us through no matter how fundamental our ignorance becomes.
    or not.
    maybe.
    and then some other noise like that becomes sweet music.
    back in line with the not-line.

    2/21
    after it all comes and goes like a fevered shiver.
    tweak and static on the radio.
    god! they're all over us! jesus! - then out.
    and we sit back in our more or less comfortable chairs and think about the cause and reason for it all.
    absorb what you can and pray for the rest - and duck when you need to.
    the war over the minds of the masses and meanwhile the masses sit before the all-vibrating image of their only god.
    directions everywhere.
    obviously insane to those who think in terms as that.
    but no one knows.
    speak to no one.
    speak your broken ideas to yourself who doesn't listen half the time either.
    baby, you're losing it all down the tube.
    dance on the wire as long as you can.
    then down you go.
    the time when no one can remember.
    whatknot.

    drown in distant tears crying for hope in a hopeless world.
    fire when ready to spread across the face and we all wait expecting it as our deserved fate.
    and a handful of psychotic paranoid causes down in the bunkers who aren't going to listen to any amount of reasonable people and who don't give a fuck about any treaty.
    everyone's been taken over by the enemy as far as they're concerned and the best thing would be to push the button and blow them all to hell where they belong.
    it's too late for anything else.

    in one fit or the other.
    one eye open or the other.
    who are we this time?
    who do we want to be?
    all or none?
    is there anyone left?
    so here we are out on the edge.
    so here we are balanced.
    which way do we want to go?
    which way should we go?
    don't go away.
    what happens next might be interesting.
    call it down.
    the sky is ours now.
    drown in the pouring rain.
    cool flowing rain trying to clean itself out.
    water.

    he's come here too many times to believe any of it.
    gone are the tomorrows he's ever been able to imagine in all his yesterdays.
    he's here and he's been dancing all the while he could.
    otherwise he he sits and cries for all those who haven't made it for whatever reason.
    all falls before the face of god as it disintegrates in particles folding and unfolding in universal waves ever flowing in event and pattern of creative design again and again - the ultimate thing.
    all ideas and plans based on human reason turn to silly putty - just laugh and dance with it - flat on your face if it goes that way.
    there ain't no way no one's gonna get us.
    there's something in us bigger than ourselves.
    let them turn on all the control machines their ill gotten gains have produced in their hand.
    let them believe for awhile they hold the power - we know it's not true.
    we run and hide when we have to - otherwise we laugh and dance.

    it's all on fire.
    down and up in flames as it comes and goes.
    look at it with all eyes open.
    what was it anyway?
    can anyone remember?
    begin again.
    dig through the ruins and ashes and raise back up what we can.
    ride the phoenix.
    it's a rough ride but each time we get a little closer before we're driven back.

    magnetic rainbow.
    living vibrational thought coming and going through our mind brain head.
    we stand alone and survive together.
    it's too complex though it's ultimately simple.
    the interweaving of the thread in the loom.
    event and pattern.
    pleasing to the eye of god with all its play of contrasts of infinite variety.
    but it's we who feel the joy or pain.
    it's we who live and die - not god.

    the kick in the head.
    the blinding vision hoped for remaining afterimage warm glow of thought.
    dance around the world.
    dance in and out of mind brain head.
    living inside a rapid moment neutrino zipping through your heart like the fatal arrow itself.
    all around the sun and moon.
    dance on.
    zebra.
    dance on.
    fish walk.
    a fish on your back like another attack.
    broken wings of the fallen angel.

    silent victim of fate.
    jumping through the open windows in being whatever comes.
    awareness.
    line and scope.
    thin ice.
    pattern/event.

    the variations.
    6 or 7 planets at once.
    leveling around on and off each other into each soul come alive as new yet older.
    eyes that belong to the mind brain head.
    visible upon everything.
    rabbit's foot.
    uncle screw.
    and tip that canoe.
    baby, it's on fire.
    into the water.

    now again the free noise alive against the window.
    get in!
    claws screech down the glass and it shatters implosion toward you comes the... whatever that damn thing is.
    alive and ripping at your soul - hit and run.
    zap!
    and suddenly again sometime you are trying to remember what you were thinking.
    eh?

    a piece of this.
    a piece of that.
    shattered experiment gone boom.
    floor crunches under your foot.
    idiot mind mumbling to itself.
    and tomorrow...

    speaking evil.
    speaking out of rapture with the unknown (x).
    who goes there?
    a thing that looks like himself.
    he doubts at the foundation yet cannot deny his senses.
    dead or alive?
    inside or out?
    speaking good.

    a call to what may never be.
    a cry inside an egg.
    fly.
    forming ideas about what ever is.
    the forever is.
    think.
    again.

    stronger face.
    alive.
    jump ashore to the other side bringing down the stars for your hair.
    feel it grow inside you again like alien life.
    a tree in the forest.
    a flashbulb in the dark.
    be ready to run.
    this could be it.

    under bough will break a kiss cheek to cheek.
    a morning sigh.
    fathom.
    listening to the crackling of dawn's early light.
    charge the day.
    cut it thin.

    get up like nothing else.
    noise and staggering.
    head delayed - fluctuating but steady.
    a day begun.
    trying to remember the parts to be played.
    ongoing boredom restless with its misused energy.
    the house of a thousand dances and pairs of butterfly wings calls from back in a dream or two.
    interesting speculation.
    signal.

    a head zoomed in.
    a head on tight and holding.
    the course set and underway.
    swirl.

    the control monitor beeps and records the event that is transmitted to sector central where idle psycho-statisticians yawn and enter tally the dream determination.
    6 dreams at once.
    scale.
    average.

    just like the thing itself.
    just like all the rest.
    talking in the breeze.
    final arrangement.
    outside the wall of reason into the garden we remembered seeing once.
    wake up again.
    new world.

    2/22
    constant dream now experience moving along lazily.
    look around.
    does he really believe what he sees?
    (not what he sees what everyone sees but what he sees that apparently no one sees).
    which will be true?
    which is he?
    he follows what is laid out for him to follow, objecting all the while.
    too bad, a voice seems to say somewhere inside out of him, just keep moving.
    event/pattern.
    somewhat fatalistic, he supposes, as well as fantastic.

    slowtime now.
    time to breathe.
    time to think - or not think as the case may be.
    breath.
    think/not-think.
    the same time as always except from a distant perspective without the noise of realtime foolishness about him.

    different sky.
    the sky of mind.
    the sky of the beach washed up upon awake and now hungry - feeling amphibian someway.
    sit up and wait.
    sit up and look.
    sit up and listen.
                     feel.
                     smell.
                     taste.
                     touch.
                     etc.
    what is it?
    quite familiar but not familiar.
    too much like memory.
    beautifully flowing acidwise.
    a smile.
    a big smile.
    tears burn like molten beads of lead - but you laugh.
    you stand up and laugh.
    hello, the voice behind you says.
    you spin around and are startled by the image in the mirror.
    the same and different - opposite.
    hello, you say as instant calm is poured over your head like a bucket of ice water.
    skin is washed away.
    dry flaky cocoon shell no longer needed to protect.
    wings hurt as they unfurl as great twin flags on the smooth breeze but soon are freely snapping like applause.
    a standing ovation.
    let's not get carried away, she says.
    listening to a strange surf sound ever rise and fall like a lover's breast.
    ebbing and flowing tide.
    ocean, moon and stars.
    and his heart.
    and his being.
    and...

    through the structured fall singing song away away.
    something loves him, this he knows, though no book ever told him so.
    circling around the time.
    full moon flight in shadowed light where maybe left is right and right is wrong.

    nothing more and nothing less.
    heart in mind.
    inside out and to the garden.
    up from the sea and a long day's flight away.
    forevermore in never never.
    simple.
    this is whatever it was all the time.
    we had to shape ourselves to fit into it.
    we had to grow into becoming the gods.
    children doing childish things - exploring and destroying.
    now that is passed.
    we see the good and the evil having experienced each in their multi-variations.
    we've been damned.
    we've been saved.
    we're in heaven hell.
    wake up.
    who are we now?
    what minds do we possess?
    where do we begin and end?
    wake up.
    it's simple if you think about it.

    later that night.
    if jesus is gonna come back i wish he'd hurry up, whined henry to his faithful dog, flapjack, and take all these damn fools the fuck outta here. he squinted into the sun trying to see who was walking by. they make so much goddamned noise about a lot of nothing. always yammering on about someone else's shit while their fly's wide open and their dick's hanging out - on national fucking tv no less. buncha slimeball good fart hitler clones. and he crushed the beer can he just drained. he groaned as he got up to get another one from the refrigerator in the garage which was stocked with this item exclusively.
    but then you'd have to think of something else to bitch about all day, spoke flapjack.
    yeah, flapper buddy, you're right on that one. here - i brought you a beer. catch.

    as liquid days spent weirdly as time itself a frame and burning afterimage surreal sense to reappear unreachable at the tip of our nose.
    as long as the sound of smashing glass is heard in the mind if even not longer than suppose a moment.
    yawning poetry clumsy staggering uttering woeful declarations about all is not understood nor never will be.
    and a quick fix it.
    now.
    talk-talk.
    glow in the dark.
    magic arithmetic.
    hide nowhere at once.
    jump out when the party's over.
    they sleep.
    feed their heads.
    wake up!

    2/23
    the reminder about when he thinks he sees what he does not see.
    listen.
    out from the light - light out of control.
    we imagine everything again and again.
    we see what we do not see.
    real.
    a nothing about it always slightly waving away.
    a flock.
    an apple bitten into with broken teeth and a face to match glowing in a grin.
    a face in and out of time.
    as it was and will be.
    the hand.
    blood dripping from dead fingers.
    an abstract.
    an image.
    death blue white.
    hollow lead lined paper body.
    disease smell.
    and flies laying eggs to bring the thing back to life.
    always living.
    rot and decay are signs of life - not death.
    eternal perpetual life - isn't that what we said we wanted?
    why do we think we don't have it already?
    and heaven too.
    hooray for our side.
    hooray.
    the flag.
    the wonder.
    the nonsense of understanding.
    filled with nothing but what keeps moving right along.
    dead space where the soul wanders off to this time.
    little dog as sleeping god.
    little dog howling outside our window.

    2/24
    and so what is this about everywhere around him?
    enough is enough.
    and to it all was what he once was - a wave of light, up and down spectrum.
    signal.
    he's forgotten so much or so it once seemed - many things seemed to be.
    secrets.
    whispers somewhere nearby.
    he tries to drown to quench his thirst.
    he wants more and more and more but not from any other than the source - the well - the fountain.

    2/26
    the play that was nothing when nothing began is still as wildly among us as it always was and still is as it was.
    horse play.
    the rival gods at play - this play.
    and some lost out and had to drop out.
    few believe anymore.
    and it's down to two now.
    and the two yin-yang it out like rams butting heads and locking horns.
    big display.
    and we are used as the soldiers to die without question while they keep a tally sheet of who's on what side.
    so it's win or lose and trash like that drumbeat march dance machine pushing us all from inside.
    something wound up in a toy store.
    but this is how it is as it was but not as it always has been.
    evolution of the ages in mind and body shell waiting for it to go crack.
    realtime or not.

    the moment shatters everything in and out of being.
    335.
    there is no distance here.
    there is no perspective - this needlepoint objective - ain't one nor the other.
    the song sings through polyrythmnic cadence of lives and deaths.
    dancing along the way nowhere to go outside of where itself and never.

    2/27
    all the time in-between.
    all the statements about this and that.
    out of the head.
    the mouth speaks.
    the hand writes.
    too much is not enough and enough is too much.
    something to think about like glass broken on concrete floor - air sliced by the sound.
    we think again.
    turning over the symbols and metaphors like compost in a garden.
    it will help grow ideas we can eat and digest from thought seeds - or some such doo-wah-doo.
    sweep up the floor now.
    take a look again.
    it's not as hopeless as it seems.
    we speak in silence.
    we write and the page remains empty.
    but it's not as simple as that - or is it?
    what is simple and what is complex - and which is which?
    both opposites are true.

    as what is reveled is reveled.
    the progression and evolution of thought.
    not looking for love.
    not the simple line - though there are simple lines. they are woven into a fabric.

    in the name of whatnot.
    in the name of some mystery or another
    relax.
    rest your head.
    in the name of forgetfulness.

    turning and turning.
    on the lathe.
    carved away.
    the weight falling.
    taking shape.

    out and into another type of world like this one only new and different.
    slipping under dream mode to the other side any way one can.
    open-eyed with a delightful scream.

    as this is part of the doubt.
    feedback darkness.
    forever scream at the realization that there is no substance or meaning to anything that is or could be.
    the defeat of all possible reasoned and unreasoned outcomes.

    jump about it - whatever it is to you.
    if it doesn't make you grin ear to ear from one moment to the next then you ain't nowhere near it and why do you bother?