after a meeting of the various few non-particularly descript people to sit here with him himself-wise with a table littered with napkins, money, silverware, plates of crumbs and rinds, partly full or partly empty glasses of water and drained coffee cups, except his/ours, and an ashtray of crumpled cigarettes and now writing again beyond the pages of doodles and scribbles left behind by discussion of weird event wondering about now what?
    now whatever. magick card games possessing and addicting circles of those who need and can only thrive on group activity all doing the same thing no matter what as long as there is no disagreement that might lead to arguing points of view each might think independently of the whole etc. - might as well be praising jesus or allah or someone for all it amounts to he thinks from his point of view anyway.
    hmmm...
    the record of it. what is written but is not all what it is. all that is forgotten. try to fill in the blanks between.
    the god of peace is the god that has won all the wars it has fought such that for the time being none rise against it. the god of peace is a god that can provide its people with what they need and want from the looted cities it has conquered so that they may be free and have purposeful lives. the god of peace stands ready with its armies to go to war at any time to defeat those who interfere. and there are those who have grown comfortable and profited from this peace but who still want more and urge this god to go to war again so that they can have more. this god obeys. this god is the god that answers all prayers.
    but this god grows tired. this god becomes impatient. no matter what this god does there are those who have a list of complaints about it even though all it does is answer their prayers. and so this god hides from them and when they call all they get is its answering machine. and after a time the rumors spread that this god is dead. and the people are left to provide for themselves what they need and what they want and to keep the peace and to get more though there is no more to get.
    and this god hides, watching and waiting. maybe what those say about it no longer being needed is true. it hopes so but sees no evidence of it. this god would like nothing more than to answer another prayer but its answering machine has messages backed up that will take a thousand years to answer and straighten out.

    notes on the theory. the theory of the game. the game of the theory. the machine employed in the game which is the machine of the theory and the game together. the theory designs, the game builds. this is the project. the project is the machine which is the game and the theory. the project is the manifestation of the theory through the game brought about by the machine which is brought about by the game. all of this takes place in the imaginary city which all of it is intended to realize. it is all happening here and now wherever and whenever here and now can be said to be here and now is by those who are here and now. one needs only to ask them if one is in doubt as to where and when the here and now is. but one needs to get to where and when they are in order to do that. few are able to do this for long enough to realize that that is where and when they actually are. too many are elsewhere/when. too many are there and then. and all they need to do is to ask themselves. but few realize that.
    to sit here and now watching and waiting for those who are elsewhere/when to return or to arrive. he is dreaming. he is mad. ask anyone and they will tell you. ask yourself and that is what yourself will tell you. that is what himself tells him.
    just someone who is halfway old and and halfway doesn't care anymore. just him and his shadow potato monkey. just him and some ideal of the perfect life. just him and yoko. just him and his baby who done give him the blues. the stumbling bumbling idiot man bumping and thumping into and onto everything around him in his swirly twirly amazing grace daze of visions half here half not here partially believed but mostly doubted down the avenue of diminishing probability of this one possibility he sort of sees and doesn't see happening ever or never - a dim and/or distant spark in the dark, his only guiding light, his little star of all the billions and billions of stars that only perhaps just barely might infinitesimally exist though the chances of it existing are even more (less?) infinitesimal than the infinitesimally of its existence. what? so for any and all practical purpose he must assume it does not nor ever did exist nor ever will except as an illusion delusion he is dreaming in his madness like some great nevermind.
    but he does not give up. he tells all else to fuck off and get out of his way and not bother him with petty driveling nonsense that to others may seem important and demand priority but to him, other than to keep him alive and living such that he can continue toward this whatever it is, it does not. let them take care of it. let them take care of everything in the world for all he cares. he has this (aboveaforementioned) and this only to take care of and he, it seems to him, is the only one taking care of it (though by now he has quite forgotten what it is) or attempting to. and if it goes out and dies and is swallowed and is lost to oblivion and the void, who else will bring it back and whatever else is there existing or capable of existing to replace it?
    but is this anything?
    what?
    eh?
    huh?
    nevermind.

    he is cast into a pig and driven into the sea. he is the enemy of every man, woman and child who needs and desires to fear such an enemy. he is of his own free will willing to be this if such is needed and desired in order that their lives and the reality of their lives may continue unquestioned that is given to them by those who have the power and authority to do so. these who are known by many names, the power elite, the immortals, the secret chiefs, the illuminanti, the gods, the aliens, the committee, etc. (take your pick). they do exist. he knows them well. it was they who cast him out and banished him as if he were a bastard child to be left orphaned in the world to rely on whatever goodness and kindness and love and compassion and tolerance he might find among those of the world and who serve the world designed and created by those who have done this to him and continue to do this to him any time we meet.
    his name is legion for he is many whose own names do not matter. we are treated all the same whoever else other than this name we may or may not be.

    a diamond eye seeing into the ordered world prisming it into reversible interchangeable shapes. the ziggurat corkscrewing up from the bowels of the earth here and there sending out roots beneath the ground to twist and push their way up to the surface at some or another weak and fertile point and rise reaching for the heavens bringing all to them who worship and praise such power it symbolizes and manifests by doing so.
    here we go pushing and pulling our belongings and sacrifices up the ramps to reach the higher spheres. there is room for us all we are told. keep climbing. do not pause or rest or give up hope. do not allow oneself to become disheartened or distracted or downright out and out lazy. out of the way with these who do. let them be sent back down and cast out to fend for themselves among the lost and confused great unwashed masses who wander aimlessly in the wilderness between our great temples of wonder. let them not inhibit our progress onward and upward closer and closer to the tippy top where reside the lords and masters that we may appeal to them for their mercy to bestow upon us their gifts. it is so lovely here. the warm sun and the peace and quiet away from the noise of the rabble far far below. how small they seem to us now. it is hard to believe we were once among them and as they are now still just ants scurrying about without any apparent meaning or purpose to their lives at all. are they real? were they ever? or was it just an unpleasant dream we had and we've been here all the while?
    meanwhile in a cafe somewhere he sits and scribbles on about his nutcake unfathomable silly and crazy ideas about this and that and the other thing watching those around him prepare to embark on their pilgrimage upward around and around the great ziggurat to go pay a visit to the great and mighty wizards who are rumored to grant any wish to those who struggle to the very end as he has watched those who have embarked on this upwardly mobile journey before when he and they were much younger and he still awaits their returning which they promised him would surely happen as they would not forget him or all they used to talk about late into the night toward morning about how the world would be very different if they were at the top and brought the top to the bottom and all power to the people however weirdly diverse and strange they might be.
    he watches and waits.
    he lights another cigarette.

    do whatever you are planning on doing_______. we are them. they cannot tolerate our minds. we cannot tolerate their obstruction. feed it back right in their face. obstruct their obstruction. let them know we are them. let them be left guessing who we are other than that. we are legion. we will think for ourselves alive imagination. we will speak for ourselves in whatever language we can think up. we will act for ourselves in our own appropriate manner. we will rise from the bottomless pit against any and all control imposed on our free will. and no one knows who we are. we do not even know who we are. we are them. any and all who impede or oppose us will be stopped and forced to retreat and prevented from doing so again and/or eliminated.
    keep dreaming.
    this is the universal manifesto that fits itself into any and all situations to be used by anyone and everyone who needs to use it against those who oppose or oppress them. we are not this group or that group. we are dispersed among all groups and no group. no one knows and no one can ever discover who or what we are unless one becomes one with us who are them and then one will see us clearly and discover and know who and what we are and one will never again be alone struggling futilely against the powers that be alienated in an uncaring and unforgiving world.
    keep dreaming.
    no salesperson will call. there is nothing to buy or nothing to sign and be obligated to uphold and obey. there is nothing to join. forget that shit. forget anyone who is telling you that shit - even if this someone is theoretically one of us. they are not. they represent the others whose reign is coming to an end.
    keep dreaming.
    this is at an end anytime we act independently on our own. this is the call. the call to act. it is not a command or and order. it is not even a request or an appeal. one acts or one does not. this is it. no more tomorrows and promises of tomorrows. we are grabbing it and taking it now. we owe no one other than ourselves anything. but who is not us as we are them?
    keep dreaming.

    8/24
   down somewhere reaching up. down down and still falling down. somewhere above is the earth and sky, food to eat and air to breathe. but we are falling down far beneath it. it continues to be further and further from our grasp. it only remains now an ever dimming memory of once long ago. we ourselves do not even remember it but only remember others before us speaking of hearing those before them speaking of the memory of it. we can only believe that what is spoken of being remembered once was true and real. we do not know but can only imagine.
    and he writes in this cafe once more. he and his delusions brought to him by this madness he is told he suffers from. to him it is all but a dream he is dreaming of himself dreaming. dreaming of falling. falling in a dream.
    but what delightful nonsense it all is. he smiles. he can always smile at some point. if he could not he feels he would truly be mad. smiling and laughing if only inwardly at it all including himself is the only thing left, the only free act available to him anymore that keeps him from being totally taken over by this other madness all around him. it is his last and only remaining defense. and it's from there that he fights back against it and them. time will tell. but all it may amount to is him continually scribbling in these notebooks. but that is enough. at least, he thinks, he has not lost that. it is what keeps him smiling and laughing as everything else has failed to do.
    and this cannot be communicated to anyone who does not already understand. he has tried and failed. no one is interested. he has been told to keep silent while they babble away all their noise that is so very much more important absurd incomprehensible duckspeak nonsense so they feel that they are appropriately fulfilling their social function and obligation. no ideas, just words that sound pretty. just noise. just to relieve the anxiety they feel about themselves. always the noise. nothing must ever be silent. the silence frightens them for some reason he does not understand. they do not seem to want to think.
    he does nothing but think. think and scribble. think and scribble. think and scribble. his own private duckspeak. quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack...
    driven quite mad. mad and madder and maddeningly maddened to the maddest degree of madness with its void of silence he fills with useless words and words and words.
    he has reached the point of madness when he no longer feels that he is mad. he knows that this is when one is truly mad. when there is no doubt but everything is doubt. when the screaming stops. when everything is here and now connected to all else in easily comprehended vision of comprehension that is impossible to communicate to anyone who is not also mad themselves at this level of unbroken madness. but such a joy it is. such a delightful and ever amazing joy. such fountains of wonder pour from his mind filling his heart and quenching the thirst of his soul. but with one regret - that he is here and now alone while all around him is the constant pain and suffering others still agonize their way through. to reach and touch them but being unable to for the force fields they put up around themselves.

    belly up. kiss the sky. let the filth and rot pour up out of one's soul to fill one's heart with dreading despair and one's mind with frustrated agony. let the scream one wants to scream be stifled choked with vile bile vomit burning one's throat as one falls to one's knees without a prayer nor anything nor anyone to pray to. let there be no mercy. let there be no forgiveness nor forgetfulness. let each moment be filled with vengeful rage that sends one crashing thrashing against the most solid and eternal ancient stone and steel walls that ever were or will be. let this be our fate forever. let no more be said of what it is to be human. let us always fall short of being the gods we have imagined we could become if given a chance to be ourselves alone in peace. let there always be war and rumors of war. let there be nothing left for us to gain and everything for us to lose. let there be no escape and for us to live out our lives as a corpse naked and bloated with infestation and decay. let all overshadow what brief glimpses of joyful abandon we may experience and innocence before we are found guilty of the crime of being born.

    wanna be topsy turvy banana doo-wah pumpkin oops oink oink quacky ducky lucky and smile smile smile until you puke and fall down the jagged stairs out into the street where you belong you scumsucking miserable excuse for nothing anyone wants to deal with or even think about. but what did you expect? huh? what? do you think you were someone special and to be exempt from this that is the fate of all humanity forever?

    no, it's not, she said. not when someone's coming through the window after you. she was speaking of another's comment about breaking glass being perhaps a pleasing sound, or something. he forgot.
    the script to this movie was being written as it was being shot in the head for treason. the actors were left improvising their lines or pantomiming methodically mute or moot as the case may be or the situation calls for.
    was this the blind leading the sheep to slaughter and ending up lost in the woods with a cunning carnival of carnivorous canines instead?
    moo, the sheep bleated confusedlywisened by this new dimension to their previous pastural experience.
    and all he speaks about these days is guns guns guns, she said about someone he and she knew once.
    shut up, the director said. we're shooting a goddamn movie here. as the flames rose and licked higher and higher upward toward where she waited for the hydraulic gigantic arm of godzor the magnificent monster was to reach in and rescue her in the nick of time but it was being repaired at this unfortunate time as its seals were broken having spewed passers-by with its thick slimy fluid who were now filling out forms to have their clothes cleaned or replaced as needed by the insurance company that was theoretically paying for it all - that is if anyone had remembered which were the proper forms for it to do so. but that's something on tomorrow's agenda to check into. ms. facesucker, please make a note of that, would you? the producer demanded as nicely as she could at the moment as she was realizing that all of this was maybe not such a good idea as she had thought long ago back in the good old days hanging out with her friends most of whom are now her enemies.
    oh well.
    it's too late now, he thought. there was nowhere to hide except to stand out here in the open and hope one was invisible enough or others too busy enough for one not to be noticed when it finally came time for someone to be blamed for this mess we created by convincing others it was ok to go ahead and do whatever they felt like doing. he knew hoping for that was too much to hope for. the best he could do was to somehow keep it it going despite every rational reason not to and against every obstacle and/or ignoring in its way preventing it if possible which it should have been but weirdly was not - so far - such as to delay this day of doom drumming a durge at the door of his death and damnation he dreamed of as he drastically dared not to disclose different developments of departure that were more delightful and delicious but more difficult to detect in this dumbfoundingly dramatic downfall of the dharmic dance done and done and done well.
    they applaud. he wrote that into the script somewhere, didn't he? what page was it on? what scene was being shot? tell me we're still just making a movie, he pleaded with the laughing face in the mirror. tell me it's all done with special effects computer generated inserted to make it look if not real then fantasy smooth. tell me no one is really getting hurt by any of this. they are all actors, aren't they? am i an actor?
    they applaud.
    a standing cheering thundering footstomping whistling howling ya-hoo flag waving fucking ovation. yes, he now did remember. he did write that into the script. whew, he said to his reflection, that was close. we'll shoot that scene first thing tomorrow at the crack of dawn. ms. facesucker, take a note. those are my orders. obey them at once and for now and forevermore.

    when it comes to nothing at any point at any time and he fantasizes himself into it as someone who understands and feels to be in control even of it being out of control.
    zero.
    to begin with zero. add x. let x be what is. what is x?
    monkeys in a zoo.
    monkeys in a tree.
    monkeys in a business suit.
    people who believe one thing or another and not usually both. infusion of belief into the matrixed web of perceived reality. the warp spiraling gird of spacetime within and underneath the mind. the mind of minds.
    what has led him here? what angelic inspiration or demonic possession? to have loved. to have hated. to have been left weeping with joy. to have been left raging with anger. which of these has brought him to his present state of contentment that yet still yearns for more than what it experiences and has experienced and foresees itself experiencing? the limitlessness poses a limit. to have reached an end which is all beginning is still to have reached an end. this sadness to all things. a melancholy air surrounding all that passes and must yet still pass. to be at the moment when all has passed and see that moment passing and to wonder - what next? is all it is is what must pass? siddhartha sitting by the stream. narcissus staring into the pool.
    why, he wonders, do i write this pathetic pondering ponderous pretentious pedantic poo-poo poets and philosophers have piddled on pages and pages in previous periods of percolating pulsating pounding pantomimes of persecution that permits these pilgrimages toward paradise perpetually prolonged and purposefully protracted to prohibit premature penetration protecting it from paltry pleasures of public perceptions and pronouncements parceled out like pissing into putrid puddles or like pennies into plentiful piles?
    but it is this. it is this madness of all one dreams of at once merging into cacophony of the total vibrations in all things that somehow reaches an ultimate discordant harmony smoothing and soothing roughly across one's mind. solid becomes liquid becomes gas becomes vacuum becomes solid again. all shape and all form shapeless and formless taking on shape and form. agog and gaga in a moment pausing poised positioned precisely aplumbwise prickling like a pouting purple pickle.
    what?
    nevermind.

    to be concerned with this that is not mortal concern. mortal concern is more on line with, what's for dinner? where am i going to sleep tonight? who am i going to sleep with? where's the bathroom? one cannot effectively deal with these concerns if one is sitting on a hill staring at the moon wondering now where did that come from? what is it? and why am i sitting here staring at it? because the people back in the cave think i'm loonie that's why. and they kicked me out and won't feed me and won't let me sleep with them because i just stare at things - like the moon, or a rock, or a stick. except for this one who sneaks out and brings me food. i think she likes me for some reason. and thus is why and how there are still loonies among us today.

    the relativity of dimensional alignment - what is straight to one is jagged or curved to another. linear and non-linear. either is or. neither is either. for all harmony there is disharmony. for all this that is that.
    for one to hate the other and to wish and strive for its elimination with hope and intention that therefore hate will then be eliminated as well. but hate is a human emotion. humans hate. hate hungers like any other emotion. it hungers as much does love. and it seeks to be fed. if the food of one's hate is eliminated then what does one's hate feed on? what else but what one loves if all that is left is what one loves?
    there is always love and hate even in the coldest or warmest of hearts.
    the drama always unfolds itself as the drama is played out by those who perhaps least know it. he writes for some purpose and for no purpose. a channel opens and through it flows waters. it opens into him and out of him. he tries not to stand in its way and block it or direct it but allow it to find its own way to where it needs to go. can anyone's thirst be quenched? can a garden be irrigated? but even if this just the channeling off of flood waters or even the flushing of sewage he hopes it serves some useful purpose for someone. for as many as it can. but this is not for him to decide. it is not his reason.

    a path that is unique in that it is not a path unto itself but follows any and all paths. it is the path of the individual. it is the individual on the path, whatever path it may be, even the broad paved highway, that makes it the path of the individual no matter how many others may or may not be or have been on this path as well. as soon as the individual sets foot on this path it becomes the individual's path. and as soon as the individual steps off that path it ceases to be so. and many may there be who hack their way through the jungles of the wilderness and never meet another's path, yet they remain always the many and will not find the path of the individual no matter how far they may wander. and few are those who will understand this. the individual can wander among the masses and do as the masses do and still be an individual. an individual is an individual in the heart not the body.

    an opening day of what anyone remembers anymore. a cheap bottle of wine and some crackers. the daily beatings. the dirt and grime that only a city can produce. our normal human laziness is seen as a failure of spirit. the gods are displeased. they are bored with our lack of activity. build something for us, they demand. go fight a war in our name.
    upon finding nothing and finding everything. was this such a surprise? now upon finding nothing can one find everything? to be able to figure out the trick is one thing, to be able to do the trick is quite something else. most give up in despair of the utter desolation of all illusions smashed and broken scattered all over the floor and the city by the sea and all bridges leading to it are burning. how does one return home again from here? all one has conquered is in ruins. all one's enemies are dead. what worlds are left to conquer?
    now one stands where others have stood on the final battlefield bleeding and dazed, hungry and exhausted and barely able to stand up if not leaning on the staff of the banner of victory one holds up so others may see it and rejoice cheering and the news be spread that those long enslaved and oppressed are now triumphant and free. and one was one of thousands - millions - no more than any other but who wouldn't let the others give up and become disheartened. one saw the vision clearly as if real in the face of many who called one a hopeless dreamer or even a crazed lunatic, a maniputator, a power hungry wanna-be petty dictator. but one knew one's heart was true and one wanted only to see the smiles and hear the laughter of those who were doomed to lives of misery and suffering and pain. one asked for nothing but what was needed to carry out and accomplish one's seemingly destined task. one gave up all the luxuries beyond compare. one even gave up the simple life living with loved ones. no. one gave up all that led to one's own happiness and placed one's happiness upon being able to somehow and in some way to bring others to happiness. and by stoke of luck and miracle and near divinely inspired ingenuity one did just that.
    and they come to you now to praise and worship you as the true messiah. now, o great trickster of all tricks, how do you propose to get out of this trick you played that ultimately tricked yourself? you who are the least of them all selflessly serving the greater will of others without a single concern for yourself other than to live to do so. how now do you turn away from the crown that the greater will of others offers you to achieve their own greater happiness and find fulfillment and contentment in it that will surely last a thousand years? do you reject it? do you now spit in the faces you have faithfully loved when all others hated and despised them as they come to you now and catch your fainting falling body in their arms and carry you in a grand parade with loud and joyful noise and tend to you and when you have mended and rested and rise they have already begun the temple in your honor you are to reside in and continue to lead them?
    o' shepherd, do you now leave the flock to wander aimlessly? how could one become so selfish and concerned with only one's own happiness after convincing these others such feelings were the furthest from one's heart? do you now walk away and leave them showing them it was all just a pretense and a lie and deception to trick them into giving one what one wanted, but not this. do you tell them all to go to hell and fuck themselves and that one wants no more to do with their stupidity and ignorance they will never overcome on their own and always be prey to one who uses them towards one's own ends? so long, suckers. take your goddamn crown and shove it up your collective ass and rotate on it beneath the sun, the moon and the stars forever for all i care. i am worth more than that. i am worth more than you could possibly conceive giving me which is pure shit and makes me want to puke at the sight of it.
    or does one hold one's tongue and with continued appearance of humble modesty that they eat up like cake and ice cream and accept this crown it makes them ever so pleased to give you as a small token - they know you deserve much more - from their hearts to yours?
    one still has a heart at this point, yes?

    potatoes
    sliding and spitting. to think of the most disgusting thing that ever could be disgusting. to not think of it. to be full of regret. to be full of shame. to be despised. to have no reason to live except to see others die one by one and to see them take nothing with them.
    but somehow these that are left alone and are ignored are to develop selflessness and compassion on their own while those around them possess more and more by being selfish and callous. it is that that is rewarded, yet we speak of the former as being more desired. desired by the selfish and callous so that others will give up all to their control. the others should be selfless and compassionate so we can fuck them over.
    common other without there ground between we to care how it is being much common in the extremes what do they any of them but such a lot of trouble who thrive for our effort two or any other argue one of those somewhere not where hanging on expects nothing return to nothing take it all for in this it is as well itself is not and by other means a thousand times scribble and scribble has changed ever has been by what hasn't been written was happening the lives of others can understand whatever anything but only changing as it will an integral part access to the program cracks in sidewalks new fangled twisty network matrixed equations the indecisive kisses never new never old more information beyond the have held over the table nature of creation non-linear generating storage for the possible day do with it the movie continues everybody is busy have special deluxe special teams time to watch have some idea held in micro icons injected the time or effort a moment even for needing to take pure white disappearing pinpoint dot of intense light.
    ultimate ending incomprehension the void of stunned enlightenment at what it sees struggle and realization thought arises in the mind so profound bare essence so utterly complex will be a true real all knowing world wide one single clue couldn't come up with an apple sprawl construction all along the way to it so it will be and infinite number even close a cup of coffee what are words conscious of itself is anything else spacetime super computer universes ignoring all gods anything compared to becoming no more.
    the bullet approaches maybe fight back the brain decides out of its sleeve doing back there and it might gray sludge to defend itself who knows to itself besides hanging for a free ride keeping won't come out spatter all over that's one idea right when that time of it anyway be or not seem to be clues no real one chance spiraling to be just one angle of it out all to hell  speculation idiot lit and smoked a truck thrown into the garbage and taken many many other forgotten where someday and a place may rise death situation it's all the same out like expected relationship again how just fuck awhile this chance would because been through after all moonlight strolls through rose gardens deserves it more keeping from each other saving it what the hell then who secret of it keep up the pace one constant of light keeps time to acknowledge or recognize geeks a-gawking politely avoiding velocity perfectly still moving provincial out of town bums littering scared off in the droves always come in around trying to pretend fashion articles latest correct color give a shit glancing hoping casual disinterest opening line on the tricks a map of where mom and dad rituals come out and practice a book of draw go home not here off the stage.
    the blinding light yawning with boredom. who needs it? we've seen it before with our blown minds and accessory technical equipment all designed to create the desired effect. now we're sitting here watching and waiting for the real thing to hit us and knock us off our ass. we smoke our cigarettes and drink our coffee. and gaze out the window tying to tune into something check the reports stretch our imagination come on complicated but us and a few others reality thing takes years just fucking look at it and intellectual genius let us know when it hits you.
    ho-hum (yawn).
    all the circus tricks humbugging bug nose of smoke and mirrors this dada knows this business the glittered burp and fart pulling the wires bugger boo poo poo the lion cages we don't wear satin capes actually pulling it off who feeds the rabbit full of clowns run out of gas that's for sure humping the babes. meanwhile we're the ones that's our trick no one ever sees disguise covers it up deception masters in the spotlight mr. 666 follow a leader creating the right monkeys the show must go on.
    it's whatever is and whatever must be. it's the sadness of everything and the happiness of everything. both are available and accessible at any moment. they are co-existing along with all else. it is we who choose between them and all else.
    but you already know that, do you not? you know that one is not more or less real than the other, right? but maybe not. we can remember when we didn't. we can remember when our sadness was deep and our happiness was in the clouds, when we hadn't yet realized that was an image created that we believed was real, when we hadn't realized we could change that image any time we wanted unless we wanted it to have more control over our minds than we had. and whoever controlled our minds through that image that then caused us to shape our world accordingly.
    from what follows to the matters of control. remain as children, don't worry, mommy and daddy will take care of everything. go out and play. go out and sing and dance.
    from what follows from anything - x. what can be anything? what is in the air, so to speak. speaking, an orange glow haloed about their heads they descend from above. they wave their hands. what do they want now? do they speak with us or only smile and judge? they hold their list of crimes and criminals that never ends with nothing ever crossed off such that they would ever forget. if they don't find the ones they're looking for a substitute will do. and many serve them through their seduction. through opening one's eyes few serve themselves.
    in a whirlwind world of light and shadow it is easy to become confused in a mind a-twirl it is easy not to want to think about anything but to follow what feels good and right to do without question and accepting the reward of pleasure or its promise.
    in a flight of fancy it is easy to never look back or down and wonder how it is one got here. flying with the wind in one's hair and tingling one's heightened sensitive skin.
    when everything is easy. when it all obeys one's every command. is this not paradise?
    zippy zero.
    what is most distant the mind its gaze have seen nearest at hand reversed again to return everything become the most distant with the reversing have watched go back home hidden if it is waited for give up where it is how long stumbles no one comes after without was evidence confusion out of the wild occupation though it was arrived finds oneself will be forgotten former overgrown uncovered beneath was everlasting house found had stood.
    he remembers the old man and his house. he is dead and his house is being overtaken and falling.
    and he built his own house apart from the old man's yet connected with the garden which is everywhere around here and now. a vision in dreamtime reality. to see and not see what is and is not. what overrides what a fluke of what happens. an endless point of zero held in the heart beating the same beat. taking the energy of others casting off their sins by the wayside picking up and putting on what works or not. to stay just outside the camp and feasting on the offerings they set out to appease the demons lurking in the dark beyond the fire's light. to move in shadows allowing glimpses of ourselves to be impressed on their frightened minds larger than life.
    to break out of it laughing when we should be screaming.
    the asking. the not needing to ask. the not being able to ask. the not knowing what is to be asked for.
    what is given and what is taken. among those few following this path as best as they may see it and realize it is the path they are on and meant to be on is one who arrives at the end of it which may be only where it begins as the novice is the master and the master novice.
    ha!
    beginning and ending with a shout of both ignorance and wisdom. what knowledge is this but the knowledge of knowing? the silence of another hand not clapping. to be it by not being it. hoopla oink oink hoopla bingo bango.
    thump thump up or down stairs. the dragging of the body not to be left as evidence of the crime that without the evidence was not committed. guess again. who is the villain? who is the victim? who is the hero? all three are the same.
    ha!
    who shouts this last laugh one hears before the lights go out and one is alone in the dark?
    who did not?
    ha!

    a deliberate sense of isolation from those causing pain as that is all they know how to do but to stop them one can only cause them more pain but there's a subtlety missed that is the operative thing of it in an abstract weirdness fated and fating.
    a death. a thousand deaths. a breath of air. to cause death. to cause life. to begin at zero.
    to welcome what is. to forget. to follow thought until thought follows something. to know the mind. to be broken down by the forces beyond one's control. to smoke a cigarette. to desire pleasure and to fear pain. to weasel one's way into it and out of it. who is fed? who is not? who feeds oneself? who feeds others? who is fed by others? who does nothing but eat what one is fed? who looks for and finds doors leading to passageways leading elsewhere?
    it comes and goes.
    a cigarette.
    an open mouth. a thousand symbols.
    minding his own business sort of as far as he knew. a thousand guilts. a thousand sorrows. a thousand explanations. a thousand excuses. and he was to sort it all out for some reason. take it apart and put it back together again. though no one told him he was to do this exactly except when he tried doing anything else he ran into barriers they had placed about him to frustrate him attempting to do anything else but this. or something like that.
    and they would come to him for what answers he had come up with so far and tell him that they were wrong and add that many more questions.
    but, oh well - he hadn't that much longer to remain here. whereas they and their followers were stuck here forever to return again and again with few such as himself who would check it out and see it for what it is and find their way out. meanwhile where were they and their world going with all its sugar and spice and everything nice? a candy-coated paradise that covers over that which is rotten to the core. lollypop trees and butterflies. brightly colored flags and banners and fancy dress up and carnival music everywhere. life that is only balloons and prizes for everyone. everyone who obeys and does not question nor look to deep into the reflection in the mirror they stand before applying their make up and fixing their hair and practicing their smiles they'll give to all.
    but he sees them when they turn their face away as they do not see themselves. when their radiant searchlight turns elsewhere he sees into the backs of their heads and there is nothing but the darkness of the void that goes on forever. a void he exists within and is the reality all around him no matter how brightly it may sparkle for awhile. and he tried to get them to turn around to see what he saw but they bite him and kicked him fighting like fury and he let them go back to their happyland where such is never ever thought of let alone done. at first he was dismayed, but then he understood. without the image of themselves they are nothing. he was used to seeing himself without the image that he forgot that for them without the image they would see nothing. there is no more substance than that and it terrifies them. he used to feel that terror himself.
    but the darkness and nothingness of the void has become a comfort to him rather than something to dread. it is where he can get away from them and all they create - all the noise.

    9/1
    without a clue. tea time. giving it up for some reason. he thought about it. what is broken and cannot be fixed? - or maybe it isn't broken.
    he trusts no one. does he trust himself? what is broken? he's diagnosed as being depressed and psychotic. the way he sees it in this world if one isn't depressed and psychotic then there's something wrong. this world they've created of pain and suffering of people fucking with each other for no apparent reason. but he feels perfectly fine. fuck the rest.
    crowd control. it's all a matter of crowd control. it's not about a better life or morality or ethics. those are put on the back burner to bubble and be discussed by various committees while the police and doctors deal with the rioting masses. oh boy. where does it begin? where does it end? yeah - let's have a revolution. that'll fix it. this is the status quo despite all else done or not done. one regime after another. so long as we are human and human history is still being written.
    he follows something. he doesn't know quite what except seeing what it takes him away from which is all else others follow. the masses are the masses are the masses. nothing will change them and they will change nothing. the same with those who control the masses. it's all control. the evolution of control has been the only progress we have known.
    and one group controls by telling the masses that another group is in control. and this other group tells them the same. support us, they say, and we will liberate you from the evil overlords - from them. in this way everyone is controlled by one group or another.
    and this basic plan has been used by leaders of religious, political and social movements of all shapes and sizes and colors and whatnot throughout history. it has been used by those actually in control and by those desiring to be in control. between the two or three or four or six there is no one who is left out who doesn't fit into somebody's camp. it is universal enough to fit and be applied to any situation just by filling in the blanks with names, slogans, symbols etc. we are against_____. _____are the oppressors.
    them. who are them? them is no one and anyone. them are feared by any and all no matter one's rank or status or position. them are coming to get us. look out. them either threatens to take what one has away or already has taken what one has away. them is the universal enemy. all one has to do is point to the other.
    he sighs. they are children on a playground calling each other names and shouting accusations and threats and pushing and shoving and once in awhile and actual knock down fight occurs. and it all goes on and on. there will always be them to fight and struggle against.
    there ain't no way out of it except to find one's own way out of it. and when one is ready to find it it is there ready to be found. what more could one ask for? yes, there's world peace and harmony and all that, but whose peace and whose harmony? remember all are given a wish if any are given a wish. what else would be fair? should only some be given a wish while others are not? would we just wish ourselves back into this same mess we're in now when all the wishes are tallied up and distributed out with some canceling out others some added to or subtracted from? don't we already have a world of wishes? and this is the best possible of the outcome of all our various desires and fears.

    and under the flesh half listen swimming the realness who tells stories a game now the words of sometime ago now playing or acting in a divided sense half believe of darkened light out of the mouth he thinks to himself.
    an idiot jesus deluded nonsense notepad legs akimbo devised perhaps might be born up and down grunting and moaning work of genius and muse into offices of wary shapes jarring juxtaposition this inverted corporation many more possibilities continues chasing away the night leaning this way and that non-existent when pretending will do long enough to pull off nobility to confuse any onlookers seduction boredom beneath a willow a warm summer's twilight forbidden lover a loose gown to revel expose the naked both shed hope and sorrow tingling taste of exploring tongue speechless this bliss of passion may describe the held suspended sighing drowsy-eyed nonchalance into murky depths perhaps with a startled squeak and wonders what to do next.

    part 48 (of 47)
    ah, this sweet wild delusion of delusions ever surpassing and and all delusions he may delude himself with. the self-pleasing paradise of imagining himself god and satan both in schizoid two-faced glory of paradox and contradiction dancing the swirling twirling dance of the tao yin/yanging crazy circles around all reasoned and rational thought out ancient and ageless philosophies and beliefs of the mere homo sapien sapian apes who gawk at him stunned by his manifesting the next step in evolution homo adsurdum ad nausem rex.
    put that in your bong and take a hit, dude. rock the fuck on till kingdom cum.
    swing low sweet chariot coming to knock him flat on his ass seeing stars and tweety birds and hearing bells in the belfry ringing flying out all the bats as the elevator that never made it to the top floor plunges into the basement and the not full deck scattered all over the floor and the joker's wild and he's stumbling screws loose trying to find his marbles in the dark with the light at the end of the tunnel coming at him on the front end of an express train and he's hanging on by his fingernails at the end of his rope over the edge of the bottomless pit in a handbasket headed straight for hell.
    ya-hoo!
    does it get any better than this, baby?
    fuck no and then some.
    ha!
    ha! ha! and ha! ha!! ha!!!
    yikes.
    oops.
    watch out.
    don't look down...

    yeah, well - so it's not all that fun and exciting. mostly here he sits writing this here gobbledygook on page after page that blow away on the wind and lose themselves among the random whatnot that blows by every day. just more fuel for the fire. just more grist for the mill. just more ammunition for the war. just another book to put on the shelf. just another artifact to categorize and label. just another dollar in the bank. just another kiss. just another vacation. just another stroll in the moonlight. just another looney in the bin. just something else to run up the flagpole. just another revolution. just another smile and have a nice day. just another cigarette. just another window to gaze out of. just another ray of sunshine. just another burst of realization. just another megaton of nuclear destruction. just another starving child. just another complaint. just another sigh of satisfaction. just another shot in the head. just another final word.

    he is no one and nothing. he is not even a flash in the pan. he is not the light or a light. he is not even a spark that might produce light. he is darkness that needs no light to know itself. in fact, any light would distract and detract from that knowing. he is the knowledge of ignorance. he is the path that leads nowhere that lies unjourneyed by anyone. he is the way no one seeks and no one finds. yet his path is everywhere. this is his mystery that is not a mystery to those and any who know and understand that which his mystery is and is not as it is and is not anything.
    what can he tell you that you shouldn't already know?
    in a sense of a cow. moo. in a sense of him being dead. molted. crash.
    a program of mastery slave machines and smelling like cat piss.
    he climbs out of it. he wears his bright colors though this is not what anyone notices. he has a mote in his eye. he is not perfect. but we were human and as such we expect perfection.
    he leaves perfection and expectation behind him - that satan/adverary. what is it? a light ever blinding?
    and with a sense of melting into it. with a sense of being lost and being found again.
    on the wall he writes: this is not me and i am not here. i have discovered something else.
    how many have come this way? how many have not thought of it? is he one of them? are they one of him? an invisible radiance of being that is more than something reflecting light and casting shadow.
    a killer. the hunter of souls. there is no more fear here at this point. an arrow that points in only one direction and that direction can be changed. the demon is confused. demons are confusion. angels are knowing. it is the angel that is the arrow. an angel that is sent by god that is fate. a god that cannot be bargained with. one can only bargain with oneself. there is one price and one price only. the price is always changing with the direction of the arrow.
    but this is all possibility. what cannot be changed is the possibility and what the possibility is once it is selected and put into action bringing it into existence by doing so while eliminating all other possibility.
    and he is done.
    and he goes home.