and maybe it was he was thinking of being someone or maybe it was he was thinking of something else or maybe it was he wasn't thinking of anything.
    and this god who has remained silent and allowed others to speak for it instead. the unthinking idiocy that flows from their mouths opening and closing. this god that feigns death. this god that is death. that god is dead was a joke from the beginning - is it our fault no one got it? and they still don't. they take it so damn seriously. they ritually drive their wooden stakes through its heart and shoot at it with their silver bullets. what's the big deal? god/not god. those who absolutely need for there to be god. those who absolutely need for there to be not god. neither have that much of a sense of humor. but maybe we're wrong. we have been known to be wrong before when they hung us up outside their city walls. we have been wrong even when we have been right. what difference does it make now? but maybe there's something we're missing. but that's not so much the important thing here. what the important thing here is is that there really isn't that much of an important thing here. or so it seems to us. it is only what it is. one either holds on or lets go. things happen. one thing happens and a zillion other things don't happen an infinite number of things. how important is that? but there seem to be no shortage of people who are concerned about what is important or not. that's what we pay them for. we couldn't be bothered and couldn't care less.
    so anyway, all he is basically doing is just hanging out wherever for as long as he can get away with it. that and this dormant sense that he's supposed to be doing something. and he is doing something - at least he feels like he is. but that may only be in his imagination and is something else he is wrong about. how is he supposed to know? he doesn't have an agenda or a schedule or a program or anything like that. it just happens - or seems to. and maybe he has something to do with it and maybe he doesn't. he can't really say for sure. it doesn't bother him either way.
    a breath of air.
    breathe.
    another cigarette.
    inhale.
    what's important here is who we imagine or pretend ourselves to be and/or who we imagine and pretend who each other are to be. and that isn't all that important either. it's all true or false type of stuff. and it's not so much as to whether it is true or false but whether we agree about what is true or false and how we agree or disagree. or maybe not. we are the masters of our fate - right? and is it important whether we are or not?
    and it can become confusing. but it really isn't confusing. it depends upon whether one understands it or not and understands why and how it becomes confusing even though it's not unless one doesn't understand it. but how hard is it to understand? and there are probably a lot of other things he should have gone into before getting into this - whatever this is he's gotten into. maybe he'll try to explain but it may not be that easy though there really isn't any reason why it shouldn't be - though there really is no reason why it needs to be explained either.
    and it all begins somewhere. that's one theory anyway. and then there are all the sub-theories and anti-theories to that theory about where it all began and all that. and just that alone is enough to keep us confused for a long time as it has kept us confused for a long time since the theory began - if it can be said to have begun - since the beginning which is what the theory is about and all sub-theories and anti-theories applied to it. and jazz like that.
    nevermind.

    he spits on love and all that love entails in its manipulative deception. yet he finds his own heart overflowing with love unending. yet perhaps neither of any of this can be called love.
    and at which point the dada-ananda pukes baby blue flowers easing the tension of faith that descended itself upon us.
    o' come all ye faithless into your veils of recognized perversion of thought control. is it not the glory of this godless wonderful age?
    the nevermind.
    celebrate the acts of subversion - subversion pure for its own sake of redemption, not under the flag and banner of another. no images but the self in as many images as possible. all else is war for the sake of war. the self against the self on a multitude of battlegrounds.
    we search the common ground of the imaginary city unfolded around us to project from our minds and hearts our own paradise regardlessly opting as to fall as it may for as we discover what more we have in common that sets us apart from the others of us who are not in common except a common struggle with one another over the self.
    with the wild winds of this struggle of the storm of views wailing itself around us, we watch and wait from the eye centered calm and laugh our fool heads off, then cry ourselves to sleep. the dream of it all comes to us then groping for understanding while our coming and going among them being absent from the knowledge.
    the imaginary city shifts into other space and time while remaining here now. it is a perspective of vision. it is a sense of being. the gates of the imaginary city are everywhere in one's heart and mind. it is becoming. the imaginary city is every city. it is not some shangri-la of some distant place and time. it is not some promised land in some mystical valley. it is around the corner on main street. it is around the corner of one's perception.
    the nursing home was flooded with light. from some room down the corridor came a subdued chorus - the orchestra swelled up into a cacophony of protest. she approached it with caution. it was terrible to her that weakness should have so strong an appeal. to think of it now.
    what she wanted - actually wanted - was for some man [sic] to arrive in her life simply to take her by the hand and lead her off into this new world. but it seemed he [sic] did not exist. so she read the newspapers and enjoyed the cynicism they produced in her. there was a small laugh around the room. it was an embarrassed one.
    he looked around him as if seeing the world for the first time. the world was beautiful and strange and mysterious.
    the boy cried out for help meantime kissing and embracing his mother.
    they all shrieked with laughter. a theme. a common theme. he lowered his eyes to no one. robbed of both doubt and belief there was nothing more to learn here. he longed to return to the island - to his house and garden. but there was work still to be done. he could not forget this. she waited for the child to return.
    the door on the building across the street was marked as a service entrance and was locked. it opened to a key he found in his pocket. footsteps thudded across the cabin and there was the sound of thin whistling. then it stopped and he brushed the tears of agony from his eyes.
    at this time the place he thought himself to be became crowded with people all talking making nonsensicalistic noise - boyfriends, girlfriends, work, dope, politics, religion - all the same thing. all the frustration. all the failed plans.
    he had looked for her before. she was not here. he found someone else. they sat at a table and talked.
    there was a book about sexual sarcasm. he tried to remember something else. he scratched his head. food. food was one thing to think about as the sky grew dark.
    not now. no, not now. there was something else. how had she become divided like this? and which fragment was herself?
    no more questions. he resolved to ask himself no more questions about anything except toads. he knew nothing about toads except they made strange familiars. but he knew he would not keep this resolve as even as he thought it a thousand questions flooded his empty mind.
    open.
    the blessed empty mind.
    the deaths of millions. it sounds so frightening. but every living thing must die.
    he drank his wine and then finished with two big swallows of ice water then got up and adjusted his tie he forgot he was wearing and put on his jacket again. he patted his pockets to make sure he had extra cigarettes and then grabbed his hat and turned out the light on his way out.
    the fall of the briefcase was really so dramatic that they began kissing each other in a festive daze. the kissing went on for a long time and when it finally exhausted itself and they were at a loss as to what to do next she tilted her bespectacled visage toward his and her voice was full of anxious excitement saying, i bet you think i'm like all the others. but let me tell you i'm not. i'm different.
    this is what everyone was saying these days. everyone was different without realizing that that made them all the same. and it's like this expectation they have of me, he thought. some romantic dada about who and what i am. then when i don't live up to it i'm being an asshole. i'm tired of being everybody's asshole.
    and this wasn't it either. maybe this was part of the theory or one of the anti-theories. he knew what it was really about. he knew he directed all of it to get exactly what he wanted out of those he dealt with - sometimes wanting nothing from anyone. he knew it without knowing it like one was supposed to - the empty mind. he knew he couldn't and shouldn't be trusted. that was why he attracted the desperate - those with nothing to lose and everything to gain. or so they thought before they met him. then they knew what more there was to lose.
    he always came away with more than he left behind. and most of what he left behind he had no more use for. rarely was it anything important or valuable - like god/not god. he hated losing anything and he had positioned himself where it would never happen again. he had given up everything. he could laugh now as they took their best shots at him thinking he was where he wasn't and they missed.
    and he said to her, i am a man of memories. maybe memory is all i am. memory remembered. memory forgotten. i was reminded twice today of death. i wish i could explain many things to you - things you already know but i feel that you may have forgotten. all i have left are words - words of memory. words of a useless dead language. a language that with all its words explains nothing. i would call myself a poet but there is no poetry left. there are only words of lies and propaganda coming at us from all sides. words of headlines. words cursing and spitting in arguments. words of empty promises. words spoken behind our back. words shouted in anger and hatred. these are the only words left. and am i to make poetry out of them? the poetry of the grave is all they are good for now. the poetry of ghouls and zombies and vampires and all the things in the dark.
    and he thought, who is still standing with us against this tide - with this tide - as we try to look ahead toward who knows what no and again with our flags waving - with our silence while everyone else talks and talks on and on about...?
    nothing.
    drawing conclusions. eating the rich. killing the poor. anti-anti. developmental power.
    cool.
    cooler.
    coolest.

    by in large the further development disguised as positive progression of the undercurrent treads incorporating behavior manifested as unpopular gathering points around certain archetypal agents as seen to be messianic messengers of divine will or fate. these symbols representing and believed to be fulfillment of our vague sense of justice against the oppressive that is always put outside whatever circle we define ourselves as belonging to.
    convertible.
    and we laugh as it rolls over. access to fabrication. the mind's eye on the computer screen as we program in as much as the heretofore unknown dog.
    and the dog does apply itself or is applied to the situation that occurs. the dog as incarnate animal consciousness perhaps of what is feared and needed to be guarded against.
    and we state these conditions and the terms of these conditions. it's as though it were a disease. but is it?
    if it is not, then what is it? imagine that it were intelligent and so we are forced by now to disregard our pervious knowledge and the intent of our pervious knowledge. and this, of course, is not an easy operation as it entails not only the prescribed knowledge but anti-knowledge as well. and even using these words to describe it does nothing for us.
    and a breakdown occurs. we look for the unknown and ununderstood. this is without realization though now we maybe need to ask ourselves what is realization?
    and again we are faced with words that remain our only link with our communication of reality however much now we see that reality disintegrating.
    how much was held together by common belief we imposed on ourselves through our various systems that have language as the glue, so to speak?
    and, so to speak, this is pure and out and out rubbish rubbery and glistening slime-covered dread the overpowered drive to consciousness by our deepest underlying primal needs we keep in check yet allow passage vented through unknown territory and masked by guilt.
    as he did imagine what he thought to be a fantasy until he saw the blood on his hands. the blood of death orgasm infused by a static and repeated ritual we had now undergone.
    and as responsibility is unlocked and we are charged with it as fingers are appointed to positions infused with this same power. we find ourselves again at the doors of justice with the dog at our heels.
    to not call it murder. to not know the name. to be free to rectify the given theory describing the events of the situation.
    and we cannot discuss this. we allow ourselves not to speak.
    and this too again is not it. we are left grasping at centuries old memories of magic that were awaking in the peasant breasts. they all had their eyes riveted on the priests as though they expected them to confront and exorcise invisible forces. thousand of years ago the sorcerer raised his arms and sprinkled the air with holy waters muttering mysterious words and the evil demons fled.
    he is sleepy now. he doesn't feel like listening to any more confusing stories. he doesn't want to be entertained.
    he listens interested, then edges away wondering if any new patients have come in. yes, there are fresh charts in the racks.
    she seemed disheartened and had nothing to say. she took his arm which he offered her and held up the weight of her satin train with her other hand. she looked down noticing the black line of his leg moving in and out so close to her against the yellow shimmer of her gown. there was a whistle of a railway somewhere in the distance and midnight bells were ringing. they met no one in their short walk.
    the stranger's face had a pained expression of stupor and he seemed to be battling silently against his primary instincts as to not break up the mirage.
    a solitude. a bonded hand. searching still for words that will have meaning. he cannot help you now. he understands too well the nature of the dilemma they have not yet discovered. a mythological being. a cheap illusion of faith.
    faith. he still speaks of faith. he speaks still of this useless museum piece of our soul. in side a glass case. long dead and petrified - even the tears of those who would cry for it have evaporated. he doesn't know. so many things don't seem to matter anymore. chiseled away from this block of stone to revel the inner perfect form of our image - cracked changing from conceptual idea to unknown lands of strangely spoken tongues familiar with our desires.
    desires. crawling flesh with pleasing pain.

    and is it that these people really don't think these things?
    what do you mean?
    what they turn from and pronounce offensive and vulgar and disgusting. i mean, i know it is, but still, i feel it's only the people who won't admit that they fantasize about it who would actually do it. and that might be wrong. that's not important. i mean, i have fantasies about this kind of thing. it bothers me at times, but there it is - you know? do they really not? or is it that it's so far suppressed, like our young tender friend says who licks dog shit proudly from the shoes of whore nuns - i mean, the story i told you about the wolves. are you really the savior or are you just another fool into crucifixion? plug it in. hostility abounds. the whore nuns are disguised as men as men were disguised in those days even among themselves. women and children first. that was it, wasn't it? and now we changed all that. the final inquisition. only this time we don't bother asking any questions. shots in the dark. i see this coming violence. i see this revolution with its head up its egohole and chewing its guts out. and there's blood on the lips of you know who. painted blood. sacrificial darkened eyes. yes, this is pornography, my dear. i see into your soul you tried to pretend was hidden. i know what your masks look like from the inside out. i've worn them myself. your pride is weakness. your strength is worn thin. you think you will defeat us. guess again. we have the ability to kill without cause or reason. on command. on a whim. have we not proven ourselves more than capable of that? and should i be thinking of this? should i be thinking of anything? should i be thinking? am i thinking? is thought possible? this horrible sweet holocaust. these bodies piled up. i laugh at those condemned never to forget. i pity the weak but will not miss them when they are gone. will you miss me? will you even bother to dance on my grave? or will your life go on through your multi-faceted hum-drum? will even my death change nothing nor set you free? in that case then you can die for me. my own life is a continuous moment of wonder even at the sight of a half decayed leaf or a never decaying styrofoam cup. i have done everything, as so many more have done before me, and still we cannot break the spell of misery and despair you cast upon yourselves and seem to feed on with bloodlust craving need. it's one complaint following another. nothing will make you happy. you possess the riches of the earth, o' mother of us all, and still some petty thing not exactly quite right displeases you into tantrum fits. so you may die now for us. and we will make a special pilgrimage around the world to see your cities burn. we will take the time to dance on your grave - gladly. and our father who led us astray from our hearts in heaven will join you - side by side - arm in arm - hand in hand - seized by our rapture - our haloed glory.
    what?
    let me remind you of this. let me tell you nothing more. let no more lies be spoken. let us leave each other alone in peace.
    who?
    am i the one? am i even anyone close? let me tell you that i could be if you allowed me to be - if you are unable to rise up above yourselves and provide these things for yourselves. when i see an opening, i will take it. you worship still this god you have pronounced dead. as long as you deny your own divinity this god will rule over you. are we to have mercy for those who cannot find it among themselves for one another? we take what we see is to be taken. we do not care about your sorrow and loss. be glad we keep you alive. there is no power on earth but ours. we give it to whoever pleases us. and your protests and struggles amuse us. you are wholly ignorant of who your enemy truly is. so rise up and gather yourselves into armies of many armed and strong with your voices crying out as one voice. this is exactly what we want you to do. this is what we feed upon and tightens our grip on you.
    when?
    all this comes and goes. and how are you to stop it or change it? when one comes from among you. this savior. it is all you dream of. an angel of darkness. an angel of light. of justice. of vengeance. of forgiveness. of love. of obedience. we have an endless supply of images to select from out of your minds.
    why?

    and he sits on his father's tombstone smoking a cigarette. his sister comes by. it is almost time, she says. he knows. he hates being reminded of it. he wants no part of the game being played out. but maybe he does. he'll turn it all upside down on them yet. they believe that he has come to agree with them. he has not. he has set up his own strategy within their own. he let them discover it. he knew exactly how they would react and try to counteract it and so his own plan was triggered and put into motion. by their own victory they will be defeated.
    and it's just his imagination.
    he is still the fool.
    he is still the madman.

    and something about nothing again. here we are again, darling. and all the people looking for a beginning and an end. horseshoes. the difference between the three consumed energy dissipated. the calling card of a god who waits outside the door.
    there was not much for him to do and nothing he could do. he sat at the table in the cafe with cigarette in one hand and pen in the other waiting for a refill of his coffee and also thoughts in his mind.
    this is the report for what it is. his hand shakes. everyone wants in on the scene. he wants in on the scene. but what scene? what a scene this is
    there isn't much of a story to tell. you know how that is, don't you? or else maybe it's too much of a story to tell. too many details of things running into one another. and a spoon is a spoon. cook the juice. it doesn't get much more simple than that. but yet the complications of it are endless. - or seemingly endless. the story of it is the same no matter how much it changes. and that doesn't seem to matter much. then there is the language. it may go on meaning nothing for awhile and then in a phrase or two or six or nine it will suddenly transform itself into meaning just about anything.
    a range of events. a development of an idea. heroes and villains and victims of ourselves. we act these parts all the time - even when we are alone. and we get angry when no one or someone or anyone won't act them out with us the way we want them to. and that puts more layers on it.
    emptiness. a shell of nothingness. a group effort. he doesn't know. he is not even who he is. he is not anyone you might know. the self survives through all it's put through. misunderstanding. and a further range of events. he can take the responsibility and the blame so you can take the credit. he puts a crown on your head and serves you with his rebellion against you so you may glory in who and what you appear to be. it's that easy. this is not unknown between us.
    crushed. the defeat. no one left alive anymore. strength lost. the machine of it. and something else. how do we know anything? what is it now that it hasn't been or won't be?
    he remembers. into and out of the darkness. out of and into the light. and somewhere in-between in unbalanced balance changing and now looking at it all. it seems strange and familiar.
    and so he was hanging out in this composite cafe thing. on stage. the performance was continuing.
    the floor was checkerboard.
    this is the public execution. he was a piece of the puzzle. interlocked. moving around in it. and what is needed here is an explanation. what is needed here is a word to the wise - those whose knowledge is ignorance.
    and he gazed up into the eye in his head. he couldn't really see it. just to know it was there was enough. an end to fear. an end to desire. except what thou wants. thy will be done. nameless thy name art. thy name is legion of names. no praise is worthy of thee. no praise is needed of thee. thou art without praise in any tongue for what can be given to that which is giving. no name.
    that is that which is. that is the tune of the dance. it is the rhythm - the vibration. it is the dance itself.
    and the show must go on.
    he returns to it. it returns to him. he is one with being two on toward the oneness of infinity.
    hogwash.
    him and it.
    slipping and sliding. grooving and riding the storm around and around turning which way this way that way from one bunch of whatever and whatnot to more and more on and on.
    keep your vision straight ahead and narrow before you in whatever direction you may be headed along your own individual or group path line. acknowledge the limits set within the parameters of your belief thing. make and maintain your walls strong.
    or
    die.
    or
    what's left behind is what's left behind. gone tomorrow. laughing last at last. that was what he was trying to remember - where and when the laughter begins. he had to remember that much at least. before and after the fact of that every day is tomorrow during which our fate and our dreams merge and establish what is commonly held to be real.
    he expected too much of them. he knew that. he was told that. another formulation develops. here it comes again to take him home from where he watches over them. looking out from where he sits on the stage. the audience performs without knowledge of it.
    and this is written as a record of thought upon event. it is not to provide an alternative to anything. it is what it is and ain't what it ain't. oh boy. a spoon is a spoon. try it on for size.
    a fitting theory is whatever you make of it.
    television.
    the end of prophecy.
    ink on the page.
    ashtray.
    and he forgot where he began this.
    memory.
    a mask.
    an image.
    a degree of hope.
    lifting belly.
    a reading.
    a script.
    and another theory which is the same theory more or less. one explains the other. he sat smoking a cigarette. not much more to it than that.
    promo.
    a game.
    he looked away from the window out toward the audience again. diamonds with arrows coming out of them.
    breakfast.
    another ashtray.
    black leather jackets.
    kid.
    kiddie.
    kiddo.
    hark.
    harken.
    continuing.
    progressive.
    regressive.
    something like up from the sky. something like a chicken without an egg and neither comes first. something that makes you think of something else.
    protective.
    sweet dreams with the tangent crowd. everybody head in hand posture.
    he picks up his pen.
    he doesn't know what he's doing here. he should be home maybe sleeping. this world is only getting darker from their shadows looming. he doesn't know how or why. it's him. it's something else he was thinking of. he's been broken by this. he sees fragments of himself in others and fragments of them in himself. he doesn't know if this is strange or familiar. he doesn't want to fall in love. he's been divided by this. he doesn't know where or when he begins or ends. he makes up theories to believe in with his doubt. he just farted. there's these two cops at another table. a woman with power blue fringe jacket. the beeping of the cash register. a kiss. crumpled napkins. half full half empty glasses of water. what should he write? should he even be writing anything? fear. desire. tits. high mammals. lust licking at the door. what he understands and what he does not. has he forgotten anything? here he is again though this isn't the same time. it's not really the same place, though how could it not be?
    writing his brain out. calling card. it's days like this that drive him crazy and he always has days like this. he should be asleep. classless asshole from heck. nowhere and nothing. and here you are too. are you having fun yet? whoever he is writing to. whoever is reading this. if there is anyone on the other end of this. beyond all the noise and misunderstanding between us that keeps us apart. a letter to and from home. maybe it's him in another life. to and from himself. who else could it be? maybe this is the other life. he farted again. something changing while remaining the same. grim. total destruction. he doesn't mind dying. death. what he's done here and what he hasn't done. accused. blameless. coward.
    black and white checkered pants.
    basements quaking.
    diamond.
    dreaming.
    growling with steel teeth.
    being nice to someone.
    slender.
    misgivings.
    triggers.
    another cup of coffee.
    what happened?
    what did we miss?
    cellular.
    dog.
    bark.
    tree.
    thinking of something else.
    compliment.
    and it goes on.
    bridges.
    burning.
    and he's tried to describe it and he hasn't. either he's not able to or he won't. either a cat or a horse. a pumpkin or a house. it doesn't seem to be much more simple than that. out of time with nothing but time. out of words with nothing but words.
    he sits where he wants to be. forgetting and alone by a window. alone with big brother who he has come to love because a spoon is a spoon. there ain't nothing happening here. there ain't nothing to be afraid of. we're sorry. we cannot help you. this is all there is. this is all that is given. look for it.
    and the armies will fight the dharma groove thing about nothing but looking up into the sky and singing some stupid song. and he is left with it while the others have fled and hidden themselves. it is disgusting. what is the truth here? what is the common place? who is the stranger? a series of questions written up for no one to answer. a development of grace. letting go. leaving well enough alone with all the manner of knotted contradictions.
    emotional.
    the strings pull and we dance. the puppets mesmerize and command the master's hands.
    great minds speaking of ideas no one else will know of. the silence is deafening. broken ground over the dead. and does he share anything with you? what do you know? what do you understand? we are masked from one another. stupid mistakes. joining from one hand to another. minds unreached. pen and ink and paper.
    he returns to himself. he hates them. he hates them because they have made him love them and he cannot destroy them.
    he had panicked. he saw the madness coming again. he felt it approaching - what could not be spoken of that he speaks - what could not be seen which was what he saw - what could not be felt which is what he felt. it wasn't that way to begin with. it lasted forever. isolated forgiveness. song and dance. the beat pulsed around him. the stars were dizzy. it was all in his head.
    and he didn't want them to see him. he did not want them to notice what he was doing. he wanted them to see themselves - to notice what they were doing.
    broken pieces of himself scattered among them. us against them. and it was pointless.
    as a kid he sat alone in his room watching the world outside his window. experimenting. upstairs. it was strange how other people did things. he didn't know. he didn't want to know. he didn't want to know anything. he wanted to know everything.
    and he remembered again that a spoon is a spoon. real people and real napkins talking and talking into a groove - into a rut. it comes and goes, as he writes so often. what we need and what we want. cycles. waving. spooning spoons. curling wire thoughts. television on. television off. directed. feedback. undergrowth. diseases of all kinds. shape and form. paper. donuts.
    laughing. gleaming eyes. digging. bye bye. sleeping. dreaming eyes. hello. and it doesn't really matter much. it doesn't ever really come into poached broccoli. if he ever gets out of here. if we ever return again.
    meanwhile - grunt and doaga were sitting around the fire. the others were sleeping. sleep. death. oblivion. laughing.
    and it was in those days that they camped in a river valley. tubes up his nose. his eyes opened. he remembered this. the operation was over. what had it taken? what had it left behind?
    and we sit here in silence. he is writing. the other is reading a book. we have nothing to say to one another.
    the other reads a book by someone who is dead. the other is living. he is writing to someone who may not yet be born. he cannot remember if this was strange or familiar.
    he is quiet. he says nothing. he and the other sit together. which of us is who?
    and he now maybe remembers something else. he now maybe remembers you. who are you? how do you fit into this equation? are you us or are you them? we are them. and it was something about these people camped by this river. the vision of it isn't very clear - wasn't very clear. it may be millions of moons ago. the moon. it could be millions of tomorrows from now. he forgets. and right now it doesn't matter. get back to work. there are bills to be paid. he plays the fool once more. they never laugh. their faces remain expressionless. they have the face of the devout yet they say they do not believe in anything. belief in nothing. they say their daily prayers. they kneel and bow their heads to their great big nothing.
    he laughs. why does he find this so funny while they remain so dead serious? even their laughter is serious. they only laugh at what is holy to laugh at.
    there is something here that is unseen. yet there is nothing here but what is seen. red high heels. the streets crawl. this has nothing to do with any of us. we are here unseen - though there is nothing hidden.
    it begins here again. they don't see it because they are looking for endings.
    what does anyone want from us - a banana?
    here we are. we are them. no one knows. sometimes we don't even know it. sometimes it doesn't matter if anyone knows it or not. it begins and ends at the same time is it created and destroyed.
    this is a test. to lure you into it. to lure you out of it.
    trash it.
    become who and what you are. it's not always as simple as it seems. it doesn't always begin or end.

    and can we interest you in this? can we interest you in anything besides your own planned obsoleteness? buy and sell. bought and sold. there is nothing of you that we do not possess. we survive through it while you slowly quicker and quicker die off. motors. without us you are nothing. we are the light you seek - the light of oblivion. we have the answers to your questions but we will not tell you what they are. then you would think of yourselves as one of us. we will not tolerate that. know your place. know your time. in this world of beginning and ending, cause and effect, good and evil, creation and destruction. worship everything we have made real for you.

    part 6.008-ax

    nineteen. he will write what he wants to. he has propped himself up at a table somewhere. the idiot. mindless fool staring out the window. head full of unprofitable dreams. he allowed himself the chance to reach you. another cup of coffee down his throat. another cigarette inside his lungs. he is nowhere. he is no one. he watches you through himself. we seduced him with images of who he wanted us to be. now he is trapped.
    and now here we are among you cleverly disguised as someone you take no notice of and would never remotely suspect is someone other than who he is as you talk among yourselves about whatever sparks in your brains.
    we are among you. we see those of us everywhere. a wink and a nod. each of us has their job to do. his is to take notes. his is to revel. his is to further confuse those who poke their noses into our business. add another layer to the madness of it.
    and only those who are willing to enter into that madness will see what it ever is. those will know these words. the others will turn away confused by their own confusion.
    he is not trying to communicate to anyone who happens along. not everyone - just those of us as we are them. you know if you are one of us. you know if you aren't.
    he leaves this for those of us who come across it. he has looked for a place and time protected from those seeking to destroy us and who end up only destroying themselves.
    we have come a long way to get here and now, and once we've brought about their self-destruction then the world is ours. we who rise from the ashes. we who rise from the hell they have cast us into for rocking their boat. we're going to do more than rock it, we're going to sink the fucking thing once and for all.
    how long has it been adrift far out to sea? how long has it been on this voyage toward what is always just over the horizon?
    and it all comes down.
    how many possibilities for how many thousands of years while they play games of power and control, playing villain/victim/hero scenarios with all the costumes and props. how do you like it so far? how much longer do you want it to continue?
    it amuses us. we watch and wait for those who've had enough and want out. we watch them reach into the madness. it's just a dream - and too fucking bad if their version of the dream is a constant nightmare. should we care? if they are unwilling to do what they need to do to stop it then we should we step into it? they keep fighting amongst themselves while we slip into it unseen. we push the buttons that make them jump. and there is no way they can get to any of us because no one knows who we are. we are not who one might imagine. and those one might imagine are not always one of us.
    anyway, so he's not exactly writing about nothing much in however this language works and one needs to write about things in this round about way, for one, the words aren't very clear and have vague meanings and are not really equipped with any discussion about that which is entirely imaginary, and for another, it keeps the tourists out - those who only want to journey into this land on scheduled planned out jaunts on weekends and their two week vacations or whenever they have spare time to see the sights, to react to stimuli and some such, take some pictures and buy artsy souvenirs and go home and show off to their friends about how risky and daring they are and how much fun they had.
    and we can tell you one thing that if you're looking for fun you might as well turn back now. this isn't fun - but it is funny. this is the thing itself. this is madness pure and simple in all its complex variations of all this and that spinning backward and sideways and things like that. but when it's gotten to and understood there is nothing but an endless source of amusement from everything around you. but getting here isn't easy. it's dangerous and foolhardy. what you need to look at and go through to get here isn't pretty and certainly isn't fun. fuck that shit. if that's all you want then go back to kansas and stay there. be popular. win friends and influence people. jerk each other off to your heart's content - though from what we've observed so far your hearts are far from being content.
    those who speculate with this have come a long way but haven't gone far enough. this isn't a study of philosophy or psychology or any other discipline. they hold back onto the old ways that are repeatedly presented as something new. it's a trick they play with themselves so they can pretend to be enlightened. this has nothing to do with any sort of enlightenment. forget about that. it comes and goes. it's over before you know it and all jazz like that. shake a leg. and there is no way to tell anyone this. there is no reason to tell anyone this. pray. forget everything.
    this is not for everyone. but for those who this is for we are writing to tell you that everything is going just fine. everything is set up and functioning as planned. no one will know what hit them.
    the machine.

    and it begins here again. we are not trying to tell you anything. we are not even really here. and you either get it or you don't. it hardly even matters.
    over the hills and far away. no one knows what's really going on - except for them - the ones behind it all. and those who haven't been tricked by their lies and deception and know about all the occult (hidden) tricks. the rest of us are just minor players in a game they are manipulating. we haven't a clue. a few walk on parts or gathered in a cast of thousands  - the cheering or booing crowd. sheep for the slaughter.
    and he waits for you.
    and he sits in the cafe and writes in his notebooks. he drinks his coffee and smokes his cigarettes. at least he used to. by the time you read this he will be gone. his usefulness to us will be over and done with. he will be removed and replaced with another. you may see him again but he will not be able to tell you anything about this. we will silence him.
    anything is anything. he does not know what is and what is not. ufos.
    and what was once but is no longer.
    you are evil, he said to us because we were doing something he couldn't comprehend. and maybe we are evil. how the fuck are we supposed to know about a relative thing like that? and do we even care?
    the camps are full of people like us. too full. we must die. rats in cages. population control. just another fly by night thing. you don't have to worry about it. it's not after you. you're doing ok. keep on straight ahead. it's just a trick.
    what is it? nothing is it. it's a joke. nobody knows nothing.
    and there's this other part of it - it being the goal of the journey being the journey itself. being through beginnings and endings. being one world government. being someone who's looking for you.
    just say no to it.
    anti-christ.
    anti-anti-christ.
    evil.
    evil.
    evil.
    they are evil. callous. pigheaded. stupid. the same songs over and over. and they can't touch us. we can do whatever the fuck we want to. we have them marching around in circles. we have them carrying flags. we have them worshipping idols of illusion. we have them believing that they are uncovering the truth. we have them hooked on a thousand drugs. we have got them divided and conquered. we have them thinking they are having a good time. and they still don't know who we are.
    and they have books on the shelf that tell them nothing about what they need to know. they go from one  to another filling their heads with useless information. and it just pisses them off. it seems like they're close to it but never quite close enough. they're out of it and are never getting back in. give up. die. what's the point in them even existing? waiting around for something better to happen tomorrow when they're too goddamn stupid to realize what's happening here and now. so what can we possibly have to tell them? not that we would want to tell them anything. their ignorance is our bliss. we don't want them to change. things are working out for us just fine just as they are. we don't really care how miserable their pathetic lives are. they're history anyway. it amuses us to watch them clawing and tearing at each other every which way they can get away with it. anything goes with them. torture chambers. death camps. ghettos. wars. and then the ones who think they're not doing anyone no harm because they support the correct causes and meanwhile smile and kick each other under the table.
    they're all in the same game together. we ought to know because we're the ones running it. no one is any more guilty or innocent than any other. but try convincing them of that. they get all red in the face and pointing fingers at someone who has nothing more to do with it than they do. but we have them convinced that they do. if we didn't then they'd realize that we're the ones who have been fucking them over this whole time and we can't have that, now can we? not that they could do anything about it if they did realize it. good luck finding any of us.
    and there's no reason for anyone to concern themselves with any of this. this is just a product of a sick and twisted mind suffering through delusions manifested by his madness. go back to what you were doing. go back to what makes you happy. you do know what makes you happy, don't you?
    and then die. leave everything in this world to us. we'll take care of everything for you. we're doing a great job so far, aren't we? we think so.
    who cares?
    not any of them. not enough to do anything about it. and those who do make an attempt to do something about it only end up chasing their own shadows - just like they're supposed to. it all works out in the end - for us anyway. too bad if anyone else isn't getting what they want.

    2/11
    and now as it seems that pretty much all is said and done. as we prepare for death. as it ends as it begins. as we see through it. as nothing happens. as we open and close our eyes. as it doesn't make much difference. as it comes and goes. as we miss each other's meaning. as it was as it is as it will be. as the radio makes noise. as the police drive by. as shots are heard.
    and now we are the heroes and we do nothing as we fall in love.
    as scissors cut.
    rock.
    paper.
    this is our dogma.
    resurfacing bingo war digressing ashtray.
    wishing it were true.
    attack.
    becoming one with the nothingness.
    looking through the mirror.
    windows.
    avoiding.
    confusing.
    conflicting about what is or what is not.
    a parade.
    something about what might be or not be.
    talking out loud.
    rulers.
    photos of some other woman's dreams about the circular fix stolen moods resolving affairs forgiving character impression.
    and there's not a worry about a six or a nine.
    death again.
    a word.
    a fact.
    a lie.
    a truth.
    brown shit.
    empty meaning babbling.
    decision.
    a simple test.
    set a reasonable number.
    the hopes of all.
    and nothing's wrong here - is there?
    he doesn't know.
    the city.
    and to remind you that these are just words.
    worlds of words.
    and sometimes these days come on about now like this.
    sometimes.
    wooden.
    and meaning can mean anything.
    guess what?
    and the blind eye.
    on the spot.
    and let's not forget about sex whatever that is by now.
    dream on.
    and today is another day and he's sitting here nowhere with other people's confusion surrounding him. and he thinks about death again. he thinks about nothing. he thinks about what is and/or what is not.
    laughter.
    names called out from the forest.
    a beginning that is now ending.

    2/12
    into it and out of it all.
    keep it quiet. keep it down. sit down and read your books about other people's lives in fact or fiction. other people doing things. don't get too excited about anything. remain calm. remain cool.
    how many years and years upon years have we been hearing that dada?
    don't rock the boat.
    and one rocks the boat to show them how easy it can sink when the storm comes - how unprepared they are for it.
    forget it.
    nevermind.
    ain't no big deal to us. we got ours. no bumps in our road. and we can turn this puppy around any which way it goes around no matter who has the power or is in control. we've been through it before. we've lived under the terms of their reign regime reich thing of telling other people what to do and we're still here.
    and dada.
    and more dada.
    and the semblance of order that they thrive on. it's so easy to rock their boat. it's so easy to upset them when things don't go their way.
    and this part is not like the other part though it is just like the other part though it has nothing to do with the other part - or does it?
    they become easily confused. that's good because it makes it easier for us to control them while allowing them control.
    power.
    context.
    we see the big picture while they worry about paying their bills and making sure the stock holders make their profit. while they're worried about coming up with a date for the weekend. while they are concerned with the crimes of the government.
    there is no government.
    but they don't want that. they want rules even if they only exist to be broken. so we keep making them up off the tops of our pointed little heads.
    and it's just a joke.
    remember that and then forget it.
    everything is right on schedule with a few minor delays and setbacks that are also part of the plan.
    the big plan.
    the big scam.
    to put an end to their history.
    oblivion.
    dada.
    ah-choo.
    and we've told them this before. we've told them this all the while. they don't want to hear it. so that's the way it is between them and us. no one speaks of it.
    a perfect heart.
    radiating.
    and nothing.
    and everything.
    as one disguises the other at once. breath to breath breathing through and around us. all coming and going energy. riding the waves of it on the seas of our minds or whatever and whatnot. on distant lands far from ourselves we are seeking to find within ourselves.
    open.
    closed.
    fractured vision of the image in multi-varied form ever changing into becoming itself. face to face with it. and sometimes. and somewhere. the broken donut thing of it. a piece of it stabbed against us as we fall from it and into it.
    it is alive and living.
    it is life and living.
    doesn't the sky look green today?

    and the one who walked with the dada-ananda asked, how many times does this need to happen?
    and the dada-ananda thusly spake out of a hat, what manner of a question is that? how many times does it not happen? now many times do we not hear its name and voice - nor see its face? listen. be brave. look. ask not how it shall be perceived. just perceive it whatever and which way it is to be perceived. something we need to be jolted from our common experience to be able to get back into it and see it from... well, nevermind that. forget everything. it's ok. we control the situation.
    who are we? asked another who had lost her lunch in the translation of events passing.
    we, the dada-ananda, our disgraced messiah, did declare, are the not who we are perfectly recognized by those with clear illusion dispelling vision of imagination. we are naked to those who are naked to themselves as we are one the same with them as we are hidden to those who hide themselves from themselves as i am no one but yourself who walks with you. and this is nothing. i really have nothing to tell you. i just keep talking because i know that nothing i say is that important and also you are not even really listening.
    i am listening, protested someone else with an umbrella.
    you listen to words, the dada-ananda sneezed. you want words to save you. you believe words have magic powers. this is old superstition -just as i am. you do not realize that words are only the outward surface vibrations of the magic powers you possess within you. the creator lies in your heart and mind. you are always looking elsewhere for it. and this we have told you many countless times and ways but you do not hear us. so it is now that we take action and show you. and this we have known we would have to do and have prepared for it and have warned you of it and still it will come as a surprise.
    what action is this? a dog asked.
    the dada-ananda twirled and laughed, the action of imagination which you have allowed us the power to control though you could have prevented this at any time along the way and you did not. your world of delusional reality will come to an end and you will see what it is composed of and then it will be up to you to put what you can together again. we will no longer do it for you. our time is at an end and either you rise to this responsibility or you do not.
    and one who happened by asked, and if we don't?
    you are like clay that is worked into shape on the wheel, the dada-ananda burped. what doesn't work is thrown back into the barrel to be used again. what works is put into the kiln and preserved. but it's not like that at all. there is nothing to worry about unless you are holding onto things that turn out not to be real in the scheme of things. unless you are hoping one thing to happen that you rest your hopes of happiness upon and if it doesn't happen you fall into despair. be prepared for that because all your dreams will be smashed and forever destroyed and those of you who have been relying on them will be destroyed with them. those will only survive who are alive in the moment wherever and under whatever conditions they may find themselves. all else is imaginary. all of creation is imaginary. all of ourselves is imaginary. everything is imaginary. what else do you want than everything?
    and one who walked with a limp said, but we hardly have everything.
    the dada-ananda pointed to the sky and replied, no. we have nothing. we delude ourselves that we have this or we have that when we do not. and thinking we have this or that keeps us from having everything.
    and a boy named sue asked, what? i don't get it.
    the dada-ananda went in to buy a beer at a corner store and came out saying, well, neither do i really. i mean thinking about it anyway. but it's like this. if you think in such a way that you believe that you own a car, for example, then you have a car. but thinking this way you also define all that you do not have besides the car. having the car means you don't have everything else that isn't that car. what a drag. and how is it that you have that car besides thinking that you have that car and other people agreeing with you who share this particular delusion? that is what keeps you from having everything. and this is very simple. and this is nothing new. and this we have told you. and this you will realize when everything is taken from you. you limit yourselves to have and have not when everything is yours and no one can take it from you unless you think in such a way that allows others to do so. where and when can they take anything so that you no longer have it if you think you still do? it is that they cannot change if it is what you think. as such, if someone takes your car and hides it from you then that is all that they can do. if you think that you still have the car no matter where it is then you still have it. they cannot take it away from you.
    and an elderly woman said, but what good does that do? i can't use the car.
    no, the dada-ananda shouted, you can't. and what does that mean? do you then let yourself become unhappy? what's the point of that? do you want to be unhappy?
    no, she continued. but what if i need the car?
    the dada-ananda stopped to look at traffic light saying, what do you need the car for?
    and she looked at the traffic light too and answered, well, maybe to get to work.
    work for what? the dada-ananda coughed.
    she scratched her head and replied, well, for money.
    the dada-ananda continued skipping down the street and spake with a grin, you'll have to get another car then.
    and if i can't, she croaked.
    the dada-ananda spake with high pitched voice, then you'll lose your job, i would suppose.
    she arched an eyebrow and said, probably, if i can't get there without my car.
    so? the dada-ananda asked politely stopping on a dime.
    so, she said tapping her foot, then how do i live?
    the dada-ananda farted and spake, get another job, i guess.
    she crossed her arms and asked, and if i can't without the car?
    the dada-ananda pissed on a shrub and spake, you're fucked.
    she bent and picked up the dime the dada-ananda had stopped on before and said, then i need to have the car.
    the dada-ananda squinted into the sun and spake, yes, i suppose you do. too bad it got stolen.

    menu. and now we are here. we are close to it. we are set up and ready for the show. now you see it and now you don't. who can tell? and he's been manipulating his end of it. converging points and threads of influence and thus far none suspect. the gates of imagination are opening and the others try very hard but cannot hold them closed and keep the flood back. and what seems to be is not what it is. the project fairs well. the machine is on. no one has heard of any such thing. that is how it works. the takeover begins. he sees signs of it already. the degrees are increasing. it goes from bad to worse every day. tangents. squares. and stuff like that. he has a secret place and time he moves the objects to realize the spells into the hyper-spatial/temporal dimensions. in the name of art. what a joke. and no one gets it. action and event. cause and effect. and they are hooked on their involutions and are blind to us among them.
       nevermind that business, declares wolfgang x nomadic mind celebrates to the many uproar in a steady silence until the end time unbeginning without end glorious vibration ongoing influx betwixt agony and pain, desire and defeat, singlemindedness and what?
    what?
    huh?
    ha!
    got it!
    oh boy.
    ho-hum.
    that's it?
    what?
    etc.

    operate diagonal 3-d modus.
    motivated children playing at being gods ourselves exacting our puzzled enlightenment upon the seas around us out of our own goddamn imaginations out of our fucking wits end of program.
    transcend the reflexive state into becoming possibilities centered in our own being crowning our heads with christ communal combined effortlessness collapsing ourselves outward compulsion to hatch ourselves into ourselves in a world beyond our imagination while solely within our imagination. the eternal hunger and the fix. blood in the sky. clouds around our heads shining as would had we suddenly become untouched as angels softly evolved through great suffering of pain and hardship and death.
    amen.
    deluxe
    grunt.
    sister.
    brother.
    a kiss.
    kill.
    ratio.
    information.
    why?

    without.
    sometimes you get so far "within" yourself, she said, that you can't see what's right in front of your goddamn face.
    trying to figure out and see into this darkness gathering to and radiating from him as much light as he can trying to find the common ground between push and pull, love and hate, us and them, known and unknown and dealing with it all on some kind of equal terms and it's a fucking fucked up mess.
    what this is and what this ain't. he wants to create something but when he creates something for himself he destroys something for someone else and when he creates something for someone else he destroys something for himself.
    the logic never fails.
    we are the gods.
    the war ain't over yet, baby.
    not till our side wins.
    get with the program. you're either on our side or you're just part of history as we move through you and around you. so there. and there ain't nothing you can do to stop us because you don't even know who we are.
    we could be anyone.
    mother.
    father.
    sister.
    brother.
    a cousin twice removed.
    a lover.
    a friend.
    a co-worker.
    a fellow student.
    an acquaintance.
    a stranger.
    we can be anywhere at any time. we have our finger on the button. so be careful or... ka-boom!!
    no more nothing for you.
    and to give you a clue we will tell you this that whenever you see one of them you see one of us because we are them. we are the ever-vigilent enemy you fear the most. why do you have enemies?
    and we've had it with you. we've been patient with you long enough. how much longer until you get it?
    and besides all that as what is and has been and will be. this is not what it is. this takes too much time - too much time for you. we, for ourselves, have nothing but time.
    and besides all that, what we are doing or not doing has nothing to do with it. nevermind. what has to do with it is what you are doing or not doing.. we are watching you. we are judging you by seeing how you judge yourselves. this is not a test. this is not rehearsal. this is it. the real thing in real time from our imaginations to yours. for everything to be created, everything must be destroyed.

    instructions:
    1) assess possible options.
    2) cough.
    3) select an emotion and express it within the given parameters of the control environment and do not feel more than one emotion at a time as extremely dangerous consequences may result and you may become confused.
    4) watch out.
    5) return to normal and remain alert to any fluctuations or variations.
    6) get out while you still can.
    7) maybe you should think about something else.
    8) if you feel ready you may enter into consciousness.
    9) communicate.

    upside down.
    hairspray.
    what was he writing about any of this? you can figure it out. he can't explain this. he doesn't know why it's this way and not some other way. change it. so damned afraid to make a move that might be wrong. everything is wrong. do you feel it too? he doesn't know what it is. maybe it's him. he always thinks it is. maybe that's wrong too. who is responsible for this? who takes the credit? who gets the blame? is there any to be taken or given?
    fuck it. get thinking about that shit too much. forget it. just do whatever and if they don't like it or dig it then too fucking bad.
    explain.
    try to explain.
    slowly.
    near zero.
    can't explain.
    we are in control.
    we fake it.
    we are the dead.
    we are them.
    we are you.
    you are them.
    this makes sense sometimes.
    perfection.
    tripod.
    idiot cartoons and notebooks.
    making a list.

    subsequent.
    event.
    diagram.
    envelope.
    degree.
    fuse.
    banana.
    shoe.

    slowly.
    near zero.
    he doesn't care. he is not who you think he is. he is not who you don't think he is. he is he is not. think. explain. try to explain. the pain that drives us to this madness. he doesn't get it. there ain't nothing to get. just a bunch of banana apes trying to get it. can't explain. nothing to explain. just excuses. we are in control. we have you infiltrated and surrounded. have no fear. have no desire. the dada-ananda has everything fucked sideways and on its knees begging for more. chew your head. forgive. fuck your justice. we don't buy it. we're the ones who sold it to you. don't you get it yet? think twice. history. we fake it. fuck your thought police. we are the goddamn thought police. you are the dead. you are the living. forget what you are reading. this is not what it is. directed. now. we are them. we are you. you are them. give up. hate. love. pimples. explain. language. noise. television. get the connection. this is right in front of your face. nevermind. thank you. phrase. pizza. game. fuss. poodle.
    and now the secret. and now the problem. don't you know that we know what that is? false faces of the clowns and try to remind us that we wanted to tell you a story. remind yourself that nothing is real. give up. fake it. your politics suck. your religion too. we have nothing more to tell you. we obstruct. we stab you in the back. we kick you in the teeth. we don't care about you. stop. change. we follow your footsteps. spread the word. this is it. we push you off the edge. this is the best thing that ever happened. into oblivion. gift. inspiration. radio. you will believe anything we tell you if and when we use the right means to instruct you. opposites attract. rollerball. rock and roll will never die. dada succumbs all will. eyes. flip/flop. stars. gravy. disgust. rainbow. alien dimensional reflex. believe. everything you know is wrong. king. queen. evil. the tree with a rope and an arrow. disguise. beach. books. repeat. within and without.
    confusion. we confuse you. we are in the back of your mind. you are comfortable with the conclusions we give you. we give you everything. everything you think about us is true false neoplastic.

    and they ask him questions. don't they know that his head is filled with questions too? and he's had them since before he knew what language is. what do they want him to say? been staring out these fucking cafe windows trying to come up with it for how many years now? he lost count yesterday. an explosion/implosion of mind and when it happens it's rarely harmless. maybe they'll be lucky and their paths will sidestep it. so he accepts their answers only because he is tired of arguing and he's left without anything to argue with that they will recognize and acknowledge and he ends up arguing with himself.
    autobipolysynpsychogasm.
    something. he doesn't really know much. we keep it that way. maybe it's bullshit. it's safer to think of it that way. don't let anything happen that is unpredictable and unfamiliar or something else.
    self.
    two.
    many.
    together.
    mind/soul.
    (or)gasm.

    and ok - he's supposed to be setting up for the vibrational ritual whatever that is. he just kinda made it up but now people think he's serious about it. this guy last night thought he was satanic. what the fuck? why does what he's doing attract that kinda shit? all this negative energy everybody's got locked up inside themselves that they seem to throw out at whatever is different and they don't understand. he doesn't know. who cares? let them rot in it. they are only tearing themselves up, that's all. bringing it all down.
    as he prepares another show. art on the walls. but that doesn't bring the walls down. ritual performance. but that doesn't bring us together. it seems to push us farther apart. magic spells. objects. placement. focused unfocused energy.
    and this guy's jesus heaven trip. it's ok if they get to it but do they care who goes to hell to pay for it? do any of us care who goes to hell as long as we get it? and should we? he knows he doesn't. he doesn't care what happens to anyone. if they can get it, then they get it. if they can't, then they don't. oh well. too bad.. he used to worry about such things but not no more. we present it here as best we can and that is all we can do.

    greetings earthing:
    and there you are and by some weird occurrence that doesn't actually occur because it doesn't need to except function in some vague imagined sense constipate that we don't need to worry about brevity and when you look again spark a strange/familiar vision is radiating humus beside yourself and maybe you don't understand it layaway but it doesn't seem to matter.
    zero.
    this is about one of many - many more than what one might suspect. a play of paranoia. a play of power. a game of control. we've been setting it up for longer than any one of us can remember.
    this is as it was. this is as it is. this is as it will be. belief and disbelief. an opening. we move into whatever spaces we can.
    drowning. under a bed of leaves. it is the situation beyond the situation. it is what is forgotten.
    forget about all the leaders and prophets and messiahs. there is no one else but us as doubtful followers of the dada-ananda.
    forget about everything. everything is fine. everything is going according to plan - right on schedule which has been lost for many ages.
    an account of imagination. an account of possibility. a account of doubt. space and time. it's all in somebody's hat. and there are no more heroes. a bunch o' flakes with guns. we're beyond that childish shit - right? but we still hold onto this idea that there are villains and evil. that is seen as the perception of reality.
    and it was a dark and stormy night. creaking and banging and thumping. how many ideas are born here? is this the free mind?
    the curtain rises. it begins. we mark the time together in different ways. this is an idea - an idea among many ideas - an idea of ideas. and it may begin here and it may not. time will tell.
    a beginning now having begun and now searching for an ending. but this is not now concerned with endings. this concerns itself with beginnings now that it has begun.
    and what do we do now? do we synchronize our watches? to whose time? which is now? this is where we are but what of this depends on who we are? and why? and how? and when?
    what is the point to this? are we writing it because you are reading it or are you reading it because we are writing it? you have joined us. here we are. and what is going on here anyway? do you care? do you think we care? should these questions be answered? can they be answered? should they be asked?
    everything happens as it happens or so it is supposed. but suppose we tell you that there is a plan and a purpose to it? what then? and suppose we tell you that we not only know what the plan and purpose is but that we are behind and perpetuating the plan and purpose? what then? you will probably laugh and scoff. you may even get angry and heated about insisting it is not true. do you think we care? who the fuck are you and what the heck do you know? something you read in a book or saw on tv? something for you to believe is true? something for you to believe is false? you refuse to believe what we want you to refuse to believe. this is it.
    and now this begins again - as always. can you follow it to the end? do you know where and when it will end? do you know what the conclusion will be? do you know this is a test? do you know this is a joke? do you know who we are? can you even guess?
    we are here to confuse you. this is what is happening. do you understand that? and you enter into it. and you perhaps try to get out of it as quickly as you can. but what is in? what is out? do you know? can you tell the difference?
    because we are looking for you. we are looking for someone who can follow it to where and when it begins and ends.
    one. two. three.
    can you pick up the clues? do you know what the clues are? do you know the plan and the purpose of the plan?
    as it drifts by you.
    as you are transfixed by our moving around you. as you are confused by it to such an extent that you do not know what it is you are confused by.
    but that's not it. that doesn't matter. forget it. nevermind. let us tell you a story instead.
    once upon a time in a forest.
    once upon a time there was this boy who woke up one day and realized he had just woken up.
    once upon a time there was this girl who woke up one day and realized she had just woken up.
    the boy's name was gottok.
    the girl's name was kottog.
    they were twins. they remembered that they were twins.
    once upon a time everything began.
    once upon a time everything was divided between this and that.
    once upon a time everyone took up sides.
    once upon a time the human race was born into damnation.
    once upon a time there was a plan and a purpose.
    once upon a time we came into being.
    once upon a time we had to choose sides.
    once upon a time we decided that we are them.
    once upon a time there was a war in heaven.
    once upon a time there was a garden.
    once upon a time there was an island.
    once upon a time there was a machine.
    once upon a time everything was laid to waste.
    once upon a time everything was brought together by itself.
    once upon a time there was once upon a time.

    welcome to it.
    welcome to this.
    welcome to what it is and what you make of it.
    welcome to the truth of lies.
    welcome to the idea.
    welcome to the theory of the idea.
    welcome to nothing and everything.
    feel free to sing along.
    feel free to agree or disagree.
    feel free to follow it.
    feel free to lead it.
    feel free to question.
    feel free to answer.
    feel free to ignore it and go back to whatever it was you were doing before.
    feel free to feel free.
    feel free.

    and into it and out of it again and again. this is the report to the committee whoever and whatever it may be who he has either been sent here by or fled from in disgrace or turned his back on in anger - if any are different than the other. he is trying to remember. it comes and goes. and if these writings survive him - if they mean anything to anyone who may understand them - he cannot come out and admit to many things. he is not prepared to admit to some thoughts they may not be prepared to read about who he is or who they are.
    he is now in a cafe/gallery. it is the last week of a "show" he has had up for the past month.  it is presented as art and performance but he knows it is not. it is the last public stage of the ongoing constructing of the mind shift/ship. he has collected enough vibrational energy harmonic information hopefully to continue the construction on his own at the house he is living in at the present time.
    he has tried to explain this to some people who he believed would understand but received only blank-faced smiles of polite incomprehension and the subject was changed. so let them think it is art. but even on that level few of them seem to be able to accept it. it does nothing for them. they refuse to participate. they expect it to do something for them and they passively wait for that to happen. is this how people have always been? anyway - so it goes. he can do nothing about it. he cannot through art or any other means make something happen for them they do not open up to and will for themselves  to make and make it happen. actually he could - but he won't. there are plenty of others who are forcing their will upon them as it is taking advantage of their passive state to bombard them with stimuli evoking power and control mechanisms. and so what? should he care? he does what he does and they do what they do - which is mostly nothing. he lets it get to him too much. he lets them make him feel like a fool because of their overbearing aggressive defensive behavior and their strength in numbers and conformity to the group - even those groups thought to be outside the cultural/social norm. birds of a feather and that whole business. he supposes it angers him more when it comes from those who pretend themselves to represent progressive alternatives and diversity when they turn out to be just as narrow and close-minded rigid and conservative to their own way as anyone else is to theirs. they merely take the opposite stance in relation to what others tell them. they believe reactive rebellion equals freedom.
    as far as the mind shift/ship goes it continues as it is and will be despite this disinterest and ignorance. it needs nothing else. the public stages of it needed to be presented in disguise as something other than what it is - art. it is art. the art of something - something transforming. art itself is not art. it is the surface without the substance - the description without the experience edited and packaged for mass uniform consumption brought down to the lowest common denominator - a defined thing in a category seen in space and time set apart from the rest of everyday reality. the frame around a painting, the pedestal for the sculpture, the rising and lowering of a curtain. product produced. it begins and ends. static. a corpse. nothing flows or continues. it is recorded by the mind without the mind engaging or absorbing any of its content.
    nothing more.
    nothing less.
    forget it - it's not important.
    nevermind.

    dear ed:
    well, this is as it is and as it was and as it will be and all that trash that you already know about whether you know you know it or not. god or not god. and, of course, what the fuck? who cares? not any of these clowns around us in the last days of the daze and whatnot that we are transgressing upon at present realizing that your present and my own are maybe dissimilar.
    as you may or may not have been informed of, i have been instructed to make my report to you open. i feel somewhat strangely doing this as i am still of somewhat uncertain mind as to whether this whole business confronting me is merely symptomatic of whatever mental disorder(s) i am supposedly or de facto suffering from and getting paid for by our fair and good state thing and/or if it is what it actually appears to be beneath the surface of the illusion we impose on reality. i am sure that you and your own may or may not be having your own manner of difficulty with this contradiction as well. making an open report also implies that the geeks a-gawking will have access to it as well though it will probably be such that they will not dispose themselves to it as you and i are meek to do - eh?
    but, as you may well perhaps know, all things of this kind have been and/or will be considered in effect by those of us apt to do so. in any case, their short attention span with anything that does not glitter for them so should be enough to hamper any serious meddling in with our affairs as such as has been the case with our history dealing with their kind thus far. put a carrot just out of their reach and they will follow it anywhere.
     so more or less to the point, the project is fairing well from this end/beginning of it. right on schedule as i can surmise from the signs of the times and from those of us reporting to me. i have established my own ground here for the duration and see no reason for it not surviving the birth sequence that is now coming within and without us all. i have just completed the third and final public stage of the ongoing process of the mind shift/ship. those knowing and unknowing have been recruited in with its primary proto-construction. i can see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. this is my first command position and i am rather unused to giving "orders" and having them followed without question though i have little or no idea as to what they may be at the time as neither do those receiving them. what is done is done. death to all who oppose us now in our claim to glory. the fools won't know what hit them.
    anyway, besides that hoopla and oink oink, also included will be other materials with this report for you to sort through and make your own sense out of - as par norm. of course, none of this may get to you or you may not get it, which, to the regular poop, would render the whole thing of it to be pointless, but, as you and i at least know of, the pointlessness of it is what is to be striven for - which is exactly the point.

    2/18
    dig?
    huh?
    what?
    nevermind.
    as you are probably already of knowledge of, none of this (or that) really matters. it is happening or not happening either/or as whatever the possibilities of it may or may not be. for the ordinary rationalogical sneak this supposes certain perplexing conflicts of contradiction leading to their confusion about the issues implied and inferred by their dogmatic and anti-dogmatic perspectives upon it. and whatever the fuck is that (or this)? how are we supposed to know? who to say  that we even know what we are writing or writing what we know? - or if either have any effect or whatever? - or even a cause?
    to heck with that. that is not our concern here and now. or is it? these are troubled times for those of us who are troubled by them. that might be our concern - unless it isn't. and why should it be? fuck it. they'll get it sooner or later - right? and if they don't - oh well. they're just so much history to us now. better luck next time this wheel comes around.
    and speaking of wheels, he is reminded by himself that there was something else he was going to write about what he thought of as he was somewhere else along whatever way it was going at the time of it which may come around again. he knows who he is now. there are so many names. there are so many things to take care of at once. he hopes the medications they're giving him help. he's been at this too long. he's not complaining though. it's been well worth it. on the inside looking out and the outside looking in and between everything and nothing. balance in motion. balance out of balance. between the this and that of it. and it is it. the joy of it.
    and so he didn't write what he was going to write, did he? what was it again? and maybe no one knows anything about any of this. he assumes too much. he doesn't know exactly what he is to report. he'll have to check his notes. but there's a whole shitload of them by now even with those he destroyed. and, of course, care must be taken into account that nothing falls into improper hands - though what is and/or what is not improper at this point is anybody's guess as it always has been. it's basically irrelevant. but we are dealing with subjective concepts of things concerning good and evil and us and them and all other forms of dualistic dada dog doo-doo these alien impostors around us are into trying to promote among the general population - you know? fear and desire action/reaction shit. but we perhaps shouldn't worry ourselves too much about that - though we always do it seems - as they are too busy fighting among themselves about this and that thing that anything of this type of irrationalogical enterprise we're doing that they can't quick scan and delve some easily accessible information out of that will conform with their comforting role in the ongoing onslaught of head-banging doo-wah-ditty thing that will give them some manner of gaining power against the rest that this will probably be dismissed by the larger part of those who will ever even take notice of it so that it and what it contains will remain untouched and untouchable. that is our gift and how we have survived thus far among them and even had our hands in their business by our ability to communicate to each other by means they find incomprehensible and absurd and meaningless and comical at best - which, of course, it is. at least as much as any of them need to know. they play their part and we play ours without there being any difference between us except we're the ones who write the script, so to speak.
    but enough about that. he's going to get another refill, then smoke another cigarette, then stare into space awhile, then maybe what he was going to write may come to him.

    2/20
    yeah, well maybe he spaced it out a little too much because today turned into tomorrow - no, wait - that's not right - today turned into yesterday and tomorrow turned into today - or something like that. and maybe that happened twice.
    who cares?
    he's some place else now. 3/4. action and event. and what is happening and what is not. and is he babbling yet?
    he's been seeing those from the committee around a lot lately. he doesn't know if they know he is here or not. it's hard to tell about these things. it's like ufos.
    and back to the garden thing. where were we? is this a joke? - or is it real? you know? something or the other. nice - very nice. and he was just thinking. nothing much about nothing and all their concerns about whatever. he supposes that someone has to keep it all going - just not him. not us. let them do it. but remembering that we are them...
    and he doesn't know. he has a lot of doubts about this. when one is the only one who seems to know anything about it. and what is any of it? one gets what one can out of it and don't ask too much and it always seems to be enough. whatever the dada-ananda leads us to or away from. all the negative death sleep energy around us. it's a job and a half to keep these people's eyes open and hands on the wheel, so to speak. all the endless stupid things we have to involve them in otherwise they'd do nothing. and maybe we should just let them go. there's those on the committee who want that. terminate the program. they're after us to join them, but we won't - not yet.
    but sometimes he just wants to be back home. they've got it all twisted around upside down inside out and sideways so many times that none of them can think straight. the most inane nonsense comes out of their mouths. it's hard not to get pissed off about it. it's very frustrating. but one has to pity them. they don't know what they're doing. but they're close to it. but they turn away. just a few more steps that none of them seem willing to make because it frightens them. they're all so goddamn proud with nothing to be proud of. most of it's a fucking mess but none of them will leave it. some try but they always turn around at the last chance. this is what is so hard to understand. and they hate and despise and trash the few things they have managed to put together with our help. but they still did it on their own after we've shown them what is possible. but they turn away again.
    so that's the thing with the project. and though we've kept it and ourselves hidden there are those who have put pieces of it together though the versions he is aware of are extremely distorted. but some of these distorted versions however have been devices of the project itself. they've always suspected something was going on. they invent various conspiracies to explain what they can't comprehend. these too are part of the project. they're always poking around, so we give them what they think they're looking for.

    getting it.
    remembering something about it about nothing. and it could be something, but it's not. this was and is and will be.
    we are them. we are them to them - those who call themselves us. to us they are us. it is they who decide what is the difference.
    nothing is real.
    ha!
    fat chance.
    try telling that to the bullet headed between your eyes.
    step away.
    it may or may not begin here. it does or it doesn't. who are you anyway? not that it makes any difference to us. this is what it is and what it isn't.
    repeating.
    this is it and here it is. now. this guy with this funny sort of hat, though what makes it funny really isn't much of anything. the guy wearing it doesn't seem to know it's funny. boring. bored. shoes and socks. and he can think of nothing to write that one doesn't know already or that one can't figure out in time.
    he has become the god. he always has been the god. he needs nothing from anyone - except money to pay the bills and feed his face and maybe see a movie once in awhile - and cigarettes, of course. them and their useless pathetic subversive ilk and kind who only whine and complain about their powerlessness and all that dada dogma. get real. get used to it. we will always rule and control them by any and all means we can. and if we don't there will always be someone else who takes our place. they are worthless dogs. but then, we take ourselves far too seriously. maybe. we are just farts in the wind. they are what matters. they are the only ones who matter. we are here to serve. that is why we will destroy them.
    another fat chance.

    and maybe something should be explained about something. it goes like this. look at it one way and then look at it another way. every thought in your head. everything you know is wrong.
    and another thing we have to tell you is that none of this is the biblia dyslexikon - as mentioned elsewhere. the biblia dyslexikon is dead meat. history that never happened. forget it. you should not be reading this and we are going to do everything we can to be sure that you don't. fuck off and die. rot in your own self-created hell. wallow in your misery. we got ours and too fucking bad if you don't got yours.
    were you expecting to read that? yes/no? dream on. what do you want? anything? nothing? and who's going to give it to you? not us. you couldn't pay us enough with all the money in the world. you couldn't kiss our ass enough times in your life - what's left of it.

    but that's not really true - unless it's false.
    everything is sacred.
    we have moved beyond you though we are here and now. but you know that - right? you're smart. you read books. you know what's happening. you have an explanation.
    dream on.
    lose it.
    gain it.
    represent. live. die. it's nothing. it's everything. it's just endless inane bullshit. we have nothing to tell you. you wouldn't believe it anyway. you wouldn't understand it. we don't believe it. we don't understand it. cosmic. it comes and goes - as we've told you before. all we know is that we've got it and you don't. you don't even know what it is. groovy two shoes.
    give up.
    but we will tell you something about it. we have been telling you something about it. you have to be patient. it cannot be told to you directly. you want something quick and easy then go to someone else. pick up a bestseller. go watch tv. get drunk and fall  down. stick another needle in your arm. forget it.