epiphany #105

    a nice shattering. a nice shoe size. a nice chiseled framework. extra noise. repeated.
    a phone call about a complaint about something about what hadn't at this point in the affairs of logic been explained. more on that later - maybe.
    now outside the theater. he visualizes this in part happening in a theater. the theater is burning. onstage. offstage. performances of different nature. maturity of form. inside one's disguised expression. he changes from one topic - if these can be in any way defined as topics - to another. perhaps. perhaps not. the flowing movement of thought shifting from one interruption to another. an argument. another type of symptom. a cigarette.
    now jesus says, i speak now about how people are controlled. it's a simple matter. many have employed it to varying degrees of failure. expanding. we were in on it first. it works down from there. as each controlling group controls another and is thereby controlled.
    sex. the primal thing of being and motivation - next to survival. but...

    and all of it.
    the plastic moronic death.
    the waste of time death.
    a cumbersome meaningless task.

    it plays a more active role. survival instinct is more passive until something more or less directly threatens it. but sex is something that seeks out. it is that which deals more outwardly with the surrounding environment. we survive to reproduce. reproduction is the first primal drive that is connected to the survival of the group rather than the individual. the individual does not need to reproduce to survive. just the group.
    what about magnetic fields?
    we'll get back to that. basically what we're stating here is that to control a group one needs to control them sexually. one does this by rules and laws and taboos and other hocus pocus on their sexual behavior. then one covers that over with all sorts of other business one can think of to mask what one has done to them sexually. then distract them toward some intangible unreachable goal. like the future. promise them a better tomorrow. get them to believe that and they will do anything one wishes for today. like building pyramids or some such.
    be sure to give part of the group more than the other part and they will help one maintain control.
    and the people scream.
    and no one knows shit.
    transformation of the planet.
    the magnetic fields are only a small part. all a connecting web.
    and what about war? what about human history without war? he cannot imagine that. humans seem to need war as much as they need to breathe.
    and there is the plan. the big plan. the plan of all plans. something about transforming humans into gods.
    he overhears this in conversation among the many voices.
    the details are missing. he doesn't know how it's done. but that's for us to worry about. direction. zero hour. ka-boom! the entire planet launched into hyperspace and turned inside out and landed in what is crudely referred to as paradise. that's what it's all been about the whole time.
    what whole time?
    since the beginning whole time.
    beginning of what?
    humans. ape things that stood up and started putting 2+2 together and all along that whole strange trip it's been.
    and we expect no one to believe anything - just him scribbling away such utter nonsense.
    just something he's making up.
    they think he's nuts.
    maybe he is nuts.
    nothing more than what the human minds conceives.
    power.
    greed.
    hunger.
    need.
    messiah.
    use it.
    be it.
    time for lunch.
    denial mechanisms.
    godless philosophies.
    god - the human concept.
    image.
    those who believe.
    persecution.
    forbidden.
    allure.
    black box theory.
    don't look in the black box.
    play with all these toys instead.
    scheme.
    god is dead.
    new idea.
    they fall among themselves trying to get it.
    it's something they're not supposed to have - but not really.
    that's the plan.
    the shift.
    transformation.
    cold turkey.
    no god.
    pissed off.
    big lie.
    all taken into account.
    the power control system.
    the whole idea of god was that there was never any evidence.
    useless argument.
    the perfect idea.
    god, the perfect idea. how else could we have gotten armies to fight each other except to believe that god was on their side? and the others' god was the devil. and nobody got it. those who did were easily silenced. it's a good thing people don't like to think, otherwise where would we be? none of this would have worked. there would be no power, no control. everybody comfortably numb.
    manipulation.
    mystery.
    who's going to stop us now? even if anything was changed how would anyone know that those changes weren't already part of the plan? and what about the magnetic fields? what about the pyramids? what about the zillion factors no one knows nothing about? the scream of the butterfly. nuclear war.
    just sit back and do what one is told. everyone does what they are told - even if they do the opposite of what they are told. it amounts to the same thing.
    anybody can be jesus.
    the position is vacant.
    the throne is empty.
    go for it.
    wait forever for forever.
    such as poker - it's not the hand one holds, it's the hand one makes others believe one possibly holds.
    win everything.
    lose nothing.
    forget what reality represents or not. it's how humans perceive reality that counts.
    construct the reality that one wants others to believe.
    fake it.
    bluff.
    be what is perceived as real.
    dumb fucking monkeys.
    more is power.
    thin air.
    dope.
    smoke and mirrors.
    push the button.
    son of god.
    son of man.
    assholes for lunch.
    the field of flags.
    axis point.
    object and idea.
    question.
    the power of imagination.
    metaphor.

    there is no poetry here. there is no such thing as poetry anymore. the poets are dead. their words are dust. he uses other's words as he could never find his own. his world is filtered through others' vision.
    another time here. he waits for someone. he waits for someone else to see what he sees. how simple it is when the layers of confusion are blown away by recognition.
    the man who sits and waits. he is sometimes called the fool on the hill. but he knows who's fooling who.
    another time. remembering everything. no more can hold us down now. no more to be sad and angered by.
    and those who've held their ground despite how much has been lost all around them. those who've held onto their own no matter how often they had to redefine what it meant and what it was worth. those who have wondered if they had anything at all. was there anything left? was there anything to begin with? it completes a circle even if that circle only includes oneself. it leaves room for nothing else.
    there will be those who laugh at it. there will be those who spit on it and chase it away. let them have this world and all they may gain from it. let them have all that is offered without it. we will take it and leave them. we are fools who still believe that we can arrive at understanding. we are those hopeless romantics of what is yet to be and what once must have been blinding us to their common sense hell reality.
    we have had enough of those left crying in sorrow and shouting in anger from the pain that they feel. there is nothing we can do. we've tried to show them hope and they've pushed us away and crawled back to their own dark despair. we cannot go in there with them and drag them out. we sit and wait outside here for them to come out as we did by themselves. when no one holds one's hand anymore one either pulls oneself up or fall forever. at some point they must decide what cannot be decided for them. one way or the other.
    and he hears their song. and there is no way for him to reach them. he doesn't know who or what they are looking for. it is not him or what he can give them - which is pretty much just himself. that isn't enough. they want someone who can provide everything they want and need. good luck finding anyone who can do that beside oneself.
    and he knows what this seems like. he came across similar words when he was where one is now. none of them made any sense to him either.
    just another time. here he is among them and no one sees him. none of them see themselves. they cover over their nakedness with images of what they are told they should be. and he doesn't know if he knows any one of them. some faces are familiar as are some of the names. but is that who they really are? so much seems to be hidden when they revel themselves. so much is left unspoken when they speak. what is it they want to say to us? what  is so important? what is it they want to say to themselves? is there anything closely resembling truth here? reality? a shared fantasy? anything? or do we all continue to live in this strange land being strangers to each other and ourselves? this is not his home. is it anyone's? does anyone remember anything different than this? a time of knowing who we are? a time being children in a garden? and that seems simplistic but he does not know what else to name it. does anyone remember who and what we are before we were captured and put in a zoo?
    and it's so comfortable here. and our minds are so numb to anything different. it is hard to feel or think of anything other than this. it seems almost that this is all there is. it seems almost that this is all of who and what we are. he was almost convinced. the logic seemed foolproof. fat chance. never underestimate a fool - especially when logic is involved. but he saw too many cracks where the pieces of the world as it was explained to him didn't quite fit together. and he noticed how no one seemed to want to talk about that. whether they were for or against the structure of it, no one wanted to talk about the cracks. cracks of light. everyone was too busy arguing about what is this and that. it's weird. he doesn't understand why none of them can can see what to him has been obvious all along. nothing has appeared to him. there are no visions. it is not revelation. he sees nothing new. it's just that he no longer believes that what he does see is not real just because the others tell him it isn't. he sees it. if they don't, well - he doesn't know...
    he walks away from their screaming thrashing frustration against what he perceives as no more than delusions they create around themselves. he has spent time in that same prison. the walls they build around themselves that are held together by their belief in them. the power of imagination they use against themselves not by some puppetmaster overlords high in some distant tower.
    one can only decide to get up and walk away on one's own out of the game. one can decide not to play the misunderstood valiant hero who fights against all odds. or one can spend one's lifetime fighting a war that has been raging since before any of us can remember and no one seems to be able to win. they just continue to trade places with one another over who's on top of who.
    fuck it.
    he's had enough of this bullshit about who's right and who is wrong - about who did what to who.
    fuck it all.
    they want to fight about all that noise then let them. good luck. they can come let him know how things turn out when they've settled the score. he'll be around. just follow the sound of laughter and one will eventually find him sitting beneath a tree in a garden. the gate is open and anyone can come in who can find their way to where and when it begins and ends and it doesn't really matter which way it goes form there as long as one continues to be amused which he continues to be no matter how much the others tell him how wrong and fucked up everything is. there is the balance between insanity and enlightenment when one can no longer distinguish between the two or between the two of anything else others see as opposing opposites.
    he lights another cigarette...

    come with him.
    to believe in what one believes to be real. they've got one trapped inside oneself. one cannot get out. one cannot change what they've gotten one to tell oneself what to think - what they've gotten one to tell oneself what to feel.
    who are they anyway?
    we are them.
    we are who one obeys without question. we are who told one what to think and what to feel. we are the ones in control. if one does not believe us then all one has to do is think or feel something other than what one thinks or feels. does one like what one thinks? does one like what one feels?
    if yes, then nevermind. of course one does. one is supposed to.
    if no, then tough shit.
    we don't really care one way or the other.
    one can huddle in a ball in the corner. one can scream and shout and rattle the bars of one's cage all one wants to.
    it amuses us.
    we are in charge and always will be. nothing one can do can ever change that. no one even knows who we are.
    we are them.
    that is the clue.
    we have heard all the theories and speculations about who we might be. most of these we invented ourselves. keep the others occupied and chasing monsters in the dark and distracted from what we are really up to and doing to maintain our control.
    we give one leaders to follow. some to maintain the system. some to overthrow it. either way the system works and constantly remains the system. we keep the others fighting among themselves so they do not and cannot fight against us. who's side are we on anyway? no one knows.
    divide and conquer.
    the oldest trick in the book.
    and as things stand everyone is about as divided and conquered as it can get.
    and most don't even fucking know it. and those who do haven't a clue as to how or why it is done.

    blinding greed and hatred through the darkness surrounding ourselves wherever we go.
    the isolation begins again.
    house arrest.
    what is formulated out of this now? does the isolation continue? is it what is accepted now? has it been placed on him or has he placed it on himself?
    what does he think? does he know how to think? the resulting confusion of thinking when compared to what others want him to think. like them. whether he agrees or disagrees with them he must still think like them. think. either they think and he does not or he thinks and they do not. it seems to be two different things - thinking to them or to him. he imagines that they are the ones who do not think. look at the world they create. so what is it that makes the difference?

    a hat.
    a hat is a hat and that is that.
    this has nothing to do with a hat, though it starts from a hat.
    people have always told him that he had a good imagination. he always imagined that they thought it was a compliment. he imagined that it was also a way of them politely saying that he was different and beyond their understanding. they would say that they wished they had a good imagination too. he imagined that they wanted his imagination if they could not get one of their own. it seemed that if they could not that they wanted to be able to tell him how to use his imagination - to make money. having a good imagination will not make one any money unless one allows others to use one's imagination to make money for themselves and maybe they'll give one some.
    he wanted them to leave his imagination alone. this caused a lot of arguments along the way.
    that brings us back to the hat.
    hat as object.
    hat as subject.
    objective hat.
    subjective hat.
    lots of hats.
    hats on one's head all in one hat.
    mad as a hatter.
    chemical reduction.
    but then shoes.
    all about shoes.
    goats.
    magick goats dancing in moonlight. goats having nothing to do with hats or shoes except perhaps to eat them.
    and sex.
    and war and famine and pestilence and death.
    and words upon words upon words upon words forever in a thousand languages at once. all the time. forever. as long as we are forever.
    no time at all.
    following the dots infinitely going nowhere.
    and a movie. a drama. to see or not to see. close one's eyes and use one's imagination. but don't let it run away with one wild and free this way and that way.

    a poem at a hour past midnight. the world. the sun shining some place else. people getting up and going to work. a wave of people getting up and going to work circling the globe every 24 hours. alarms ringing constantly as the universal getting up hour moves around and around. right now it's somewhere. maybe japan.
    one day. only one day at a time. as the world turns around inside it. the day is constant. as constant as the sun. a forever day. and we get confused which day it is. what confusion could there be? there is only one day. it's always at the same spot where it was before. when we turn into it.
    time is constant. time waits forever. all time ever-present at once spread thinly though out the universe. as we travel through time. the time of our traveling. a what a time it is. a time of hats. a time of shoes. a time of goats.
    the plan is ready. the time is on. the moment unfolds itself upon us now. realized.
    we as now as laughing.

    they came to him today. as always stepping out from as if another. spoken and unspoken words. ideas in formulation. cracks of light.
    and hands. they tell him these things he needs to know. cocoon opening mind. he sees everything.

    there is not birth without destruction. no awakening without the end of dreaming.
    we've hidden in the dark blinded by the light long enough. it's time to come out.
    the eternity we wait for hanging on promises we delude ourselves with has been happening and is already in progress forever. time's a-wasting.
    there is no there there and one cannot get there from here anyway. it's the old same place.

    realize something.
    imagine anything.
    seek everything.

    8/30
    time from between time. and he'd like to know what one thinks now that we are here. he's looked behind us to see if we were being followed. out of our dreams. he sees nothing. he's shone the light into the darkness and if anything was there it hid itself. nothing was reveled. so what more does one have to tell him?
    and now he'd like to know what one thinks - not what one has to complain about.
    it's come to this. we've come to this. here we are now. calling all clowns. calling all villains. calling all victims and heroes. calling all betrayers to the cause.
    the city is taken. it is ours now. those who've taken it away. those who defended it. all lie dead in the streets. we are left behind with the rest.

    and he doesn't know if he has time for a story - or if he had the time that anyone would have the inclination. if one does not know what the story is by now then where would he possibly begin? what story would one like to read? what part of the story?
    dream on.
    dreaming.
    forgetting and remembering.
    falling and rising.
    jerking off in one's sleep.
    this is where it begins.
    this is where it ends.
    rags and riches.
    hello and good-bye.

    smiling. he is smiling. drifting downstream toward the ocean waves in a teacup. in a hat. in a shoe. on a goat. in reality. a reality of his own choosing. one. two. three.
    he's stopped the world and gotten off. if anyone wants him to get on again one should be prepared to deal with a screaming wild demon outta the hell one has trapped him in. otherwise, he's doing just fine.
    tomorrow is another kind with other kind of people with their heads stuck in it. lost from now. leaving those in yesterday's world.
    and today remains vacant. opening. ours for the taking if we want it. no plans. no commitment. no obligations. just a face to face thing. a groove kind of thing if we want it to be. or we could remain chained to the past and reaching for the future.
    nevermind.
    we ourselves try to stay away from those folks and try to keep from allowing ourselves to get drawn into that energy sort of thing - you know? because it happens. it's very easy. gravity. when other people's gravity pulls one down into the gravity of their situation. dead serious. such a drag. down into their hopelessness abyss of darkness they hide themselves in. the misery loves company trip.
    and there's this light in the center of it. and one can step into it. and then they got one trapped. one is their target. one is visible and they're not. it's very easy for them to take shots at one and one doesn't see where they are coming from. that's the way they are. it's easy to heckle from the protective custody of the crowd. it's easy for them to shout out their insults at one from the position of numbers. it's the easy thing to do and be in the world is to be a critic. critics are a dime a dozen. not even that.
    so one goes out there and one stands there and one puts up with it. one takes it. because one is that as long as one is out there no one will come out there to be with one. one. they hate the light. so if one keeps oneself in the light one is safe.
    dada pie. my my.
    one two three.
    just taking it out. and when it breaks. and when we see so many others talking it up when they don't know shit. all around one are these people and those people looking for more ways to keep us all divided. this excuse and that excuse. no results. just fucking excuses. oh well, it was fun while it lasted - wasn't it? we thought so...

    doo-wah.
    hello.
    ok. it's ok.
    a meaningless thing.
    this idiot thing.
    and responsibility. the victim. the tragedy. a flag flying somewhere. x the unknown. unknown responsibility. who takes it? who gives it? who avoids it?
    it's a factor. perhaps the factor. nevermind. it's what's arrived at.

    and presenting:
    escape into fantasy realizing the interplay of one thing and the other.
    hooray! what a discovery.
    a song we sing while waiting for the bus in the rain. our magick. our sunshine. emergency override.
    magick is for sissy poo-pooheads. nothing to it. that's all there is to it - nothing. grow up. take a dive. over the river and through the woods. and anyway, who are we to become if anyone at all?
    does it matter? does it remain? we could not seem to be forgetful of this. we return to it. a spider on the page reminds us of it. a goose egg.
    his name written on the seal. what becomes of this now? we are to do something - but what? who? why?

    now the fun begins. death to everyone. no more mercy. no more power plays of granting forgiveness. we ask for none. we accept none. not from any mortal human. not from any immortal god.
    the creator speaks around us. from the trees. from the rocks. from the synthetic material at hand. from the birds. from everything and everyone. and we are here as witness to this as we are nothing more.

    to move beyond the somewhat theoretical actualizing of mind's imagination into the world's functioning. we suppose nothing. we discover reasons and meanings for secrets regarding what to our consciousness is mysterious and to arrive at the point where and when these are not reveled but formulated into realization.
    and the isolation continues. the spirit broken. the costumes change of the human flesh into what we find to be rather dramatic boredom. and all that is perceived as being new is what has been new for thousands upon years old. we never seem to be able to put it together all at once.
    he is now amused. he is now uncaring. he is now a clock on the wall. he is now not a poet - not an artist. he is now not this rebel he never was. he cannot stop pretending and the question remains - can anyone else? they believe in such things. they hold onto form whether it is the form of beauty or ugliness it is still the same form perceived.
    perceived.
    perception. moving from one state to another the same and the same.
    and jesus dancing between raindrops. domination. submission. electrocute. shoes of pain. begging. heroes now and again. robot apes defeated by their bodies over their minds. reason. action. he surmises. he looks on. the scene. pull the switch. from being sexual. the drug. pleasure. the difference. from one. to two. to three. four. more. easy. the ropes. the corporation fed. the corporation of rusting iron. the corporation of the past. armies surrendering to the inevitable. a knife. a blade. kill. walking away. no one. the attraction to noise. a radio. a theme song.
    and this world is strange. with so much unspoken. our eyes. and the distance. as we fade into each other's memories. a transmission. and he feels nothing. and he sees them no more. he was remembering. was it their death once? was it his?
    there are those who who would not speak of such things. there are those who wish only to be saved from the darkness by turning to and becoming blinded by the light. and not looking back.
    and he is only dreaming. and he only wishes he could bring them outside of this palace of pleasure and pain where they're turned into pillars of stone to each other supporting what weighs down upon them. to bring them out into the raining fields and forests of sunlight beams somewhere. and he is only dreaming to feel the way he does. to actually feel that love can find a way into any heart turned cold. he wishes he could stand by them and warm them. he is only dreaming. they do not want this. they deny its existence yet they are dreaming too of a some day when their tears release them finally. are we dreaming? how can we dream this together? what fools we must be.
    and they think out loud. their pledge and oath to reason. he remembers something else. he remembers when it wasn't like this between us. among us. the smoke screen. squeeze it again. smile the killer's smile. make us enjoy it. make us feel satisfied with all that we are denied. break us down. layout what makes us tick. tick for them. tell them what time they are living in. we are the machine they built. we are the soldiers they brought to this earth and trained to protect them and made us stand guard outside their door. what are we protecting when we hear nothing from them but complaint? what are we protecting for ourselves when we are not allowed inside their circle? we walk the perimeter with the weapons they have given us. what thoughts go through our minds? do they even think we have a mind for thoughts to go through? what feelings do we hold in our hearts? what understanding do we come to? what understanding do they feel we are capable of coming to? what understanding do we come to together?
    children fight. they disagree. they each play at dominating the other. some are strong enough to win. some are strong enough to walk away despite the names they are called. despite the fear they feel. these stand apart and observe. these make mental notes. these judge. these find each other outside in the dark. cold and far from the fires the others dance around in rituals of behavior. outside the command structure given by the words of gods. these start anew as where and when they can in the forbidden land. outcast and carrying the seed of the original sin - disobedience. this becomes the flag they wave. the wild freak flag. wind blowing through their hair. a matter of survival. and guards are posted once they leave to make sure they do not return. run through the darkness with this stolen gift of freedom. all debts canceled.

    and there really isn't much of a way to write this in any other way than it's already been written. he sees no peace coming to this world without understanding what made us go to war to begin with. everyone wants the war to end - but only after they've won it. that's what made us go to war to begin with.
    the only way to stop the war is unconditional surrender to one another.
    who wants that?

    he has surrendered to them. he took his chances. he took from it what was given. he threw himself upon what mercy there was left in their hearts. nothing is resolved. the war is over, that's all.
    or maybe not. he was defeated. he saw that he could not win. he was cut off and surrounded. he had to surrender or die.
    he doesn't know how to think of any of this. he took what he could. the terms given. he waits here watching for signs of weakness. he is inside their walls. he lives inside a trogan horse house. he knows who waits outside for him to open the gates for them. he knows what they will do then. he knows what he must do then.

    garbage in - garbage out.
    turning it around. what has been put into his mind. what has been put into his hand.

    he has set himself free from them and their kind who desire control. he owes them nothing. he plays the role they have defined for him to play. they need a bogeyman to jump out from the shadows of their dark minds. now they got one in real life. and they can avoid him all they want and when they meet him they can walk by him like they don't know him. and it's true, they don't. but he knows them inside and out. he's been living in their closets his whole life. hidden away under the bed. they want to make peace with the monster that has haunted them their whole lives and always will. here he is. he has tried coming out but he realized it was only a trick they played to get him into the light where they could get a better shot at him. right between the eyes.
    no more.
    and he supposes it could be stated that he only came out to drag them back into his labyrinth of angst. and they fought themselves free. they were tricked as much as he was.
    he does not belong in their world as much as they do not belong in his.
    and the twilight in-between.
    they make peace with their monster. he makes peace with those who have made him a monster.
    no one understands.