a small eye in the dark.
    a flower on the eve of destruction.
    just so much trash. the specific and the general.

    and what is generally perceived. and specifically perceived. and doo-wah-ditty. of the first and of the second.

    badly written what should know all playing out the sum and total expect when science fiction has been reduced denominator knowledge human common ignorant peasant even the wife understand novel a very sitting purple one not sure maybe on hold with should be done they decide pink tags surrounded turds most of administrators women trained to fill workers medicated drones dock loaders one does not see most of lowly abject kept on to do heavy mundane sterilize personal mother problems own other groups various things don't belong who calls though at times once in awhile doing attendance listening questions this came from begins losing momentum emergency exponential in uniform officer present men with her radio signal rumored implants will have them know what feel like sometimes keep writing good things if only it were that muse solipsistic shit hard for before or after it is true about parameters occurs it out in the world very popular buddies going to school since was might still be correct though there are to attend in favor would be interested required be able lectures raise their hands volunteer chorus remain silent four legs good paying attention sheep told them understood grudgingly say nothing the greens knew it all along mumbled and shrugging there are no orange still needed are numbered unless called upon typed pages our usual mother observing looked up authority a bitch exchanged smirks strike fear rarely gave us a few times otherwise zombie dull into male noticed actually a few times think don't want to push it back when it's fascinating everyone were given the latter its own bizarre way personality tests answers and comments twist first called into scribbled what some of the with going to school improvised hazy mystical before she stopped the spun out as it seems to be bewildered look bemused talents something down on her comment appointment clipboard tag office before irrational given of much of it then purple one at the time did it occur having not seen another evaluations nothing to us we stood in line and when which used to be once a week that it was unusual only after the colors meant go home now once a month assigned to do anything for years lost been which usual routine direct deposit reduced downtown except allowed yet suburbs zoned for only still suppose hanging out ok but nothing more actually knows someone numbers belongs if she's telling not at this address calling and writing concerned about the school this business informed information not allowed as a result authorization as last name count anyway first names red-haired tall different than before that that not using knew most of this some of it that bad then there's extreme phases back into revolutions anyway so far everyday ho-hum routine that stick and some that or not but there still counter sometimes when the new decides that heads must demonstrate response business hope and pray heads are one's own figure out power and control reminds official tags to wear convention if this look like the the part weird about all this but in another way frightening brother and comrade one more familiar us closer what those feels alienated totalitarian state as far as the trust even more that draws same time window there's not different that's all interested and concerned now it's just more stage make up an air never could be trusted have kept is over burp fart bathroom washed off walk about now piss and shit themselves asks during the day if they are needed somewhere not allowed out after their hands from work together in groups greens are required being garrisoned escorted in scattered locations a couple of times but even as whatever that's worth rioted have been roped off read sometimes material the same with the size of now is combined wonders and glories reading it products and services order has been overthrown sneering as before pink tags there are the smiling a basket getting a mothers fashion business never appointments though she bored and have just fine next month red tags job up in the hills other night see woman imagine stand for party husbands a blue in the house breeders genes watching tv since then well dressed probably sterilized except somebody great in bed going maybe sausage was a kid this planet exact opposite coal priceless stupid loved someone the part vise versa full tilt max any idea halfway rational extreme absurdity coming to a rest amount of sense restaurant see them got things well under control their pretty boys them much friend said during the days clothes sometimes all the time probably a lot different women who want to laughed asked glanced around before are back on the line getting any only the shoe tired used up days revolution older men was passed spent older money broke enough unless besides enjoyed too passed but since whole hung up always been having sex cracked never see maybe isn't all same holds true about what a chance to stick soft to talk to anyone spit hawking that's cold than what's attached crude and cynical it fits friend vivid imagination some woman the whole way love and compassion tail offered to take these faces take home a position are cheap anyway they are to us out of here follow some conversation gave us tv told what about certainly not any from her laughed legs tits talking to invited hold something status purple things doubt be risking home to talk weird survive because figure out say things some people are not really won't ever say brain police as from coming around keeping study and research to control us calculating revolt put this idea mystique male based then they began went out for them back sugar needlepoint tilling fields lives had meaning going out killing of which the blues are they number of males reproduction abort 10,000 years ever read as things more or less fight people believe aside from that laying down kicked in women chill it out being given killing the men go against it's be close take out baseball bat born to kill instinct a reason have a chance speed and agility survive pump iron hair trigger laid out thinking and killing just do it still alive maybe think about nature got us here happening subtle stay out of trouble exterminated are being and that's just like in got time some of them would love were allowed cruel limiting male image don't know figure out that works artificial sperm collect few times trip is back less technology population wrong with are straight propagandists rape trip were running around first ask questions and reason sound like later were out long would have even them think support this holed up especially as far as as long as live without ask for if that's so be it species but the books are already ok basically women forgotten history idiot male victors their trip the straight story it's not because all the credit either way manufactured in a cage possessed by demons purges each other happen gaining other along it is often that power as a reward political co-operate something efforts thrill of gaining and make must be repeated more to be some women loop about how cloning dead end suppose written extra high moving closer future women moving toward no matter who technology manipulation the human wrong in order to survive subtract differential between completing directly used to have protector civilizations as old environment confrontational we reach hopefully are knowledgeable sometimes instinctive trusted brain.

    but he was dreaming when the aliens arrived. he saw them first standing out in the parking lot. it was mid-afternoon. it seemed like it was snowing but that could have been his strange grin. he laughs. it was the strange way the light was reflecting. odd shadows. it wasn't the first time he thought it was snowing when it wasn't. but this time there were aliens. there were never aliens before. it was quiet. a visual quietness. though he knew right away they were aliens, it took him a moment to say, hey, those are aliens. sometimes they had one head and sometimes two or three. and various numbers of arms and legs - or tentacles. bodies too. what might be a head or an arm for one might be a body or a leg for another. it was always changing. slowly rapidly. silver sparkly.
    that's all he remembers. maybe though that was what he was dreaming. but he doesn't think so, because he wasn't the only one. later on everybody was seeing them except never when they were with someone else. always alone. everyone remembered seeing them first and then everybody else seeing them. then nobody remembered seeing them. and nobody remembered anyone else seeing them. not even him. he just thought he was making this up.
    silly.
    except he knows he did. and he knows everyone else did too. it was on the news and everything along with experts spouting their views about what it was and what it meant from military people denying it to psychologists explaining mass stress overload mechanisms and the president saying don't panic. but no one remembers this. or else they just aren't talking about it.
    president.
    terrorist.
    and as lord buddha sits in a garden of desolation picking lotus blossoms out of his nose and christ on a crutch begs for spare change outside the gates of paradise images false await shows hadn't known mother means to replace true believer erection prana spine lovely time the only one who still weeps at other misery cause rates lost pondering delicious moment dripping lips drooling flights of fancy.
    we march on to the different drummer all the same of us thus enlightened.
    mad with fury.
    ego death.
    another final age to come and come some more to crown the ash heap of former glory we set afire ablaze and to hell with tradition which these endless cycles of revolution have become so that to be conservative one must be progressive in this mixed up round about fairy tale and rhyme we scribble down one more time for our future potential children perhaps to learn the same old story we did not and so were doomed to repeat it all as it unraveled out before us ever deeper until one wants to scream but somehow if one serves well this muse one dies laughing.
    this is his virus. this is his disease. keep as far from him as possible to preserve one's sanity. madness is contagious and words are the transmitters. when his words begin to appear to revel meaning rising up through their obvious nonsense then beware. though by then it will be far too late. one has become a carrier oneself to infect those around one two three four five six seven eight nine...
    unless one is soon banished.
    remembered black and white responded being stood up is memory cat the future instructed to forget trying to as an image a gypsy a thousand disguises fair recognized crossed by fate here somewhere cigar practicing all day were god as if known become a man keener than ours groping in the dark spoke observations the same choked up the stairs.
    it's the alphas against the alphas. no mercy for those perceived as weak on either side. up and down. from the center out. beware. be careful. stay out of the way.
    the big thing makes much like that themselves instead big deal umma gumma still command just as distant down and out for the most part point their fingers based on generalization assumptions leap to really knowing about them make the same feelings or attempting anything.
    this was one night at an all night cafe awhile ago and we were talking about the lumps. lump this. lump that. or something. he was telling himself about the story that mix mash thing on about now how the thing itself was fucked up beyond recognition. and if it was happening he didn't know about it. he just wrote what was written. something about seeing aliens and such like that. and the feminist revolution. and the alpha male and the alpha female war. beyond vision.
    something else mother forget what seeing anyone just written about around loose lots of places where he was now relative to being amused by people getting away from it all and back and forth and they came from a vacation is a state of mind the world do work around someone demeaning 10 times worse doing for no other reason than they're some place else exotic real time phony how many people be able that's stupid romantic notion goats and sheep.

5/15/95

    the island
    the machine
    thing
    the old man
    the project
    the theory
    the game
    the monster
    us
    them
    we are them
    him
    the others
    the cafe
    the burning theater
    it
    one
    the dada-ananda
    gabornik/x
    the imaginary city
    gottok / kottog
    maze of mirrors
    the mind shift/ship

    and there is this something or other and he thinks about it and wonders what it wants and the only thing about it that he can think of that it seems to want is to be in a position of power and control over his life and to judge him and his actions and even his very thoughts and it seems that it always comes out that he is unable to come up to the standards that it judges him by and it seems that it will never let him know what these standards are except informing him when he has failed to meet up to them and this failure either takes the form of something being denied him or something being taken away from him.
    or not.
    and this thing exists as an idea that migrates into and takes over the mind of whoever it decides or needs to and acts through them in order to manifest its will. few seem to be able to resist this happening to them and probably most do not even notice it has happened or feel it is anything different from what they themselves want and how they would otherwise normally behave.
    there are those who seem to be constantly under this influence and control but there are those who it goes into for a specific purpose for a specific time and once that is accomplished they are let go again. the latter to him seem the most frightening. they radically change their behavior at a moment's notice and then change back again without seeming to notice and are unaware that this has occurred and will deny any such thing has happened if confronted with it.
    this is all most likely something he is only imagining. most laugh at him when he says something about it. but that is just how it operates through this influence and control. no proof is needed. it is as it is. it infiltrates. it creates an idea of specialness and correctness in its host and how they feel about themselves and others around them and their own beliefs compared to the beliefs of others. others to them are ignorant and misled and their beliefs are based on false assumptions and false information and faulty reasoning whereas they themselves possess a sense of intuition that leads them to true and accurate belief and judgment and flawless reason. they are the true heart and spirit of all that is sacred and holy. they are the standard others should live by even though they may be the few. they are the chosen. they are the embodiment of the ideal and the others are the faceless hordes of the masses who are just mindless simple-minded sheep following their baser drives and instincts and socially proscribed codes of behavior and thought.
    few people do not want to feel this way and they welcome its induction to themselves.
    and he laughs because what he has just written he can also write about himself. just the act of writing it proves that. this amuses him. balanced on this one remaining slender fraying thread over the pit of despair. why not be god? there is nothing else but futility. there is nothing solid beneath his feet over the abyss. ha-ha. the worst that will happen is that one might fall. why not sing and dance and juggle?
    so on this near broken tightwire he is doing some be-bop disco jig spinning plates and tossing around more things in the air than he can hold together at any one time and somehow it works - or at least gives the impression and/or creates the illusion of working. though what exactly it is that is working or how or toward what end and what purpose and for what reason besides his own weird amusement is perhaps impossible to determine or perhaps need to be determined.
    what is the point of watching a magick act if one can see the wires and mirrors? even if one knows it is all being done using such devices and tricks the act is more enjoyable if they are kept from one's view and awareness in order to create this suspension of doubt so that one may momentarily believe that all things are possible.
    but they are not. they never have been nor will they ever be. period. the least amount of expectation that things will be anything other than how they are in this humdrum mundane gray monotone light of the everyday and ordinary is pure delusion. it is a delusion we create for ourselves or is created for us by others in order for us to find meaning and purpose in continuing or at least having the ability to endure our existence. even the awareness that everything is a delusion created for that meaning and purpose is only another delusion.
    but - have we not been here a thousand thousand times before? it's this thing that comes and goes. it picks one up for awhile and then when one has allowed oneself to be taken in and when one has become filled with the inspiration and euphoric expectation induced by hormones pumped steadily into one's blood and brain and one has decided to disregard any and all reason and evidence that is contrary to one's determination to leap away in yet another attempt to fly to the clouds beyond the domination and oppression of this world then one is abruptly sent sprawling flat on one's face.
    it then says, i told you so, and walks away laughing and usually counting the money it's made on the deal to invest on the next scheme it devises. and once again they'll come flocking in to be the first on line.
    suckers born every minute.
    promises of tomorrow.
    and who is there who can stop this thing and prevent any future attempts to deceive us again and again? those may point it out and explain its ways but there are enough who are perfectly willing to be deceived even knowing that is what is being done. for who deceives us better than we deceive ourselves? all else is entirely imaginary. it has no existence except what we give it in our own minds. without our co-operation what could it possibly do to us if it did exist? it is not some supernatural spirit of evil set upon us. it is not some power elite pulling puppet strings. how can such things exert control over us? can we not think for ourselves? can we not refuse to participate? what power do these have but what power we give them?
    so what's the deal with our believing that there is something or someone above us? can we not walk the other way? and what will they do but have to follow?
    so who is controlling who? who is responsible and allows this control? who has the power yet hands it over to the first person who asks for it? who are too stupid to stop and think and figure it out and do something about it?
    not me, he says to himself and no one else who's worth talking to and who wouldn't listen because they'd be too busy yakking and bitching about how oppressed they are.
    who cares? if that's the way they want it of their own free will, if that's what they feed on to give them their fix of meaning and purpose in their pathetic lives then why should anything be done about it? they can choke on it for all he cares. he washed his hands long ago. now he watches and waits.

    it's like or similar to this or that of how whatever is seems to be or how we seem to construct it. but it is broken in these very certain places. like swans on water that looks like glass. whenever in these moments that it appears entirely perfect despite the raging imperfection of it. but not despite, but because of that imperfection which is included in it.
    the poetry, the art, the music or whatever - that which seeks to create itself into this separate elusive thing apart from what is then perceived as mundane and ordinary ugliness. if beauty is created to give birth to the idea of ugliness then to destroy ugliness one must destroy beauty. logically. the idea is simple but is not understood by most. what action or non-action is then taken? why does beauty still hold this spell of attraction for us? why is it that we do not release ourselves while it drags us down into and through our own degradation?
    creativity is smothered in most of us at birth. but in a few it escapes. are these few to be praised for possessing what by rights is common property? is their supposed genius and vision radiant only against the dull idiotness of those robbed of their souls?
    truth is death.
    and it's at a point where it's not at a point of being at a point. the state is in a state of not being in a state of being in a state. is this how it was always? is there an always? is there a was? is there an is?
    we stand aside yet within it. we open our mouths yet cannot speak. is there a will be? all without limit ceases to exist and beyond the limit of ceasing to exist having once existed it never has existed. what is the limit beyond that but to exist for the first and only time? to exist in infinite variations and combinations of points and states of being. and here we are standing aside yet within it. we open our mouths but still cannot speak.
    this is the journey from ourselves to ourselves with every given moment that endlessly extends out and through all moments that are all possibilities of this moment dispersed out into those moments and expressed through them as itself many fold times itself and not itself. and whatever dada like that which through discovering its meaninglessness and finds its meaning.
    but still is all this going on in what is referred to as reality of everything broken down into one size fits all average personalized portions served quick in ready to go containers of philosophy easily digested into quotable format. no more of this elitist bullshit from ivory towers. it is the common bread every j. doe can understand. why should we waste a bunch of time thinking about things that end up making no sense whatsoever? we got our busy lives to live. we've got places to go, things to see and do. we've got to cram as much of whatever we can get our hands on into it before we die of boredom. let's get moving. ya-hoo!

    and this is this loop. and this loop is interconnected with another loop interconnected with another loop interconnected with another loop and so on...
    and these interconnected loops forming chains and chains interconnecting with chains interconnecting with chains weaving and turning and twisting and being turned and twisted and stretched and squashed and all sorts of other possible and impossible things.
    and we are each our own loops that interconnect and break apart and form and unform chains and so on...
    ongoing eternal life. hearts and minds and souls. broken and unbroken. chained and unchained. all the continuance of the thing itself. it. made up of the bits and pieces blinking on and off together and alone. specific and general. universal. abstract. possibility.
    what is is what was. what was is what will be. it's always present. and transcendence without transcending. through being and shapes and forms of whatnot. it is the machine.
    the machine is what is existing in all space and time that is existing. the machine exists in one existing moment that is now. the machine exists in one existing place which is here. where is not here? when is not now? a beginning constantly beginning and an ending constantly ending. a loop of loops of loops of loops into chains of chains of chains of chains...
    all driving mechanism motivational thing. activation. axis. the great donut. the great machine.

    but still he sits here in the cafe. the world continues as it is and has been and will be. this is all dada that he perceives and thinks about. but it has no bearing on any of it that though it can be perceived and thought it can be perceived and thought of as being as he perceives and thinks of it as but it very obviously does not perceive or think of itself as that or if it does it feels that that being what it can be perceived and thought of as being is irrelevant to what it is that it actually is. no perceptions or thoughts we might have about it effects or alters what it is. we can only merely observe and notice whatever we observe and notice about what we observe and notice and put together into that which we feel makes some sort of sense. but that is only something that we do that at best might comfort us but usually only further confuses us.
    this at times has offered him comfort when it has come around into something that makes sense to him for awhile or something he can reasonably resign himself to. mostly it confuses him. but can be some of the times he is most comforted when he is the most confused because that to him makes the most amount of sense and is the most reasonable thing he can resign himself to. the best of all possible worlds. when the highest point of one's expectations falls short of the worst case scenario one will and can never be disappointed. that's the theory anyway. it hasn't worked yet though. the best part of this theory is that it can collapse in on itself and still remain coherent since that is the worst case senario. then the theory restarts itself and pulls out of this tail spinning nose dive straight to hell scorched and screaming in pain and agony but nonetheless in the nick of time at the absolute last possible moment before all is lost. all one has to do is hold on. all one has to do is doubt.
    damage psychological breathing irreparable extensive is still alive amounts to emotional further maximum beyond leading to them not hold on self-correcting that is that adjusting these two and all seriously fucked nothing's perfect.
    one has done all that one could possibly have done and it is out of one's hands and out of the hands of all that one has been able to devise out of one's imagination up to this point. gumbo. all has failed. he has nothing but doubt and even that has left him. there is no god and none that has any slight interest in him if there was one. and he would give it no nevermind if it did.
    but if he can cease to exist then who the hell is this god thing anyway? how great and wonderful and powerful can it be if he can get to where and when he can no longer perceive it or know it or even think of it? what god is it then? it is a god which depends up his existence for its own. that is if it exists to begin with. so then who is god but himself? the god of the worst case scenario.
    what twisted logic is this that cannot reach its own conclusion but wanders off into some wilderness of doubt? the theory is expansive enough to include god and not god. it holds in all cases. it holds even if itself doesn't hold. and so on.
    this theory cannot ever be proven. it might not even be a theory. that's how it holds by not needing to be proven that it holds or even proven that it is a theory. nothing has effect on it.
    but of course all this is nonsense. it's ultimately absurd nonsense. but fuck it. who cares? there is no reason to get excited or panic about it. one can and should remain calm. or not. it's one's own choice. but who would do so? but it is human nature to get excited and panic even if there is no reason to - sometimes especially when there is no reason to. oh boy. ho-hum.
    he scribbles and dribbles. he is in some euphoric state while we manipulate him at will as long as he remain so. he doesn't care. he doesn't even notice. he does not resist. he is our puppet and toy. we can do what we want trough him and others we can control likewise. we ourselves are unreachable and untouchable and thus need not have the least concern for the responsibility and consequences of our actions and activities. he and the others may go down as the result but we will not. we do not exist in the sense of existing as it is known. we are figments of imagination. that is the only existence we need. we travel from one to the other. this we have done throughout history. we have driven thousands if not millions mad doing our bidding. they may be briefly praised by one group or another but are in the end deserted and condemned. most gain no notice from others whatsoever except as being one who is insane and needed to be avoided if not locked up. but each are components of our design large or small, famous, infamous or unknown.
    but whatever.
    so it goes. oh boy ho-hum.

    when no amount of words is enough and when too few are too many. when it twists and turns inside one's head explaining everything and nothing. when one no longer understands what one is explaining to oneself - or someone - or anyone - or who? who is explaining what to who? when there is no one around but oneself.
    7 snakes entwined. could it be this? could it be that? where do we have our place in whatever there is in which we are to have our place?
    all the talk now about how old and used up everything is and we tear it down and build up something new and shining in its place. yet all we have done is rebuild what was there to begin with.
    is there no hope?
    is there no doubt?
    why do we mention this? what is it about it that perplexes us? are we perplexed or do we understand? what we understand is that it does not seem to be understood. everything is relative to everything else that we perceive as this and/or that. things are what they are specific to whatever context we employ of our perceptions when it can be either/or. where are the dividing lines marked clearly?
    but as that turns around in and out of itself arriving at nothing and nowhere. but what is this feeling we have that there ought to be more? what were we hoping to find? was it something tangible and solid? was it something clearly perceived and enduring that we would know what and where and when it is that we could return to it and find it as we expect it to be unchanged? and what of the experience of this itself? do we clearly perceive it? is it enduring? is it unchanged? were we searching for something or were we searching for the experience of searching for something? and when we find something we lose the experience of searching for it. is that the disappointment and the let down that we always feel? is that the something that has been lost that was supposed to endure and remain unchanged? how do we capture anything when it is all fleeting and intangible? what is enduring about a single moment of time?

    he works this into the theory. the theory, by maintaining itself constantly as theory, by remaining at the point where it can never quite be able to be proven or disproven, that it is correct or not, provides that experience. this is done by whenever the theory arrives at a point where it may be either proven or disproven and thereby becomes something tangible and enduring as being true or false it slips away into other dimensions into itself expanding itself further than proveability or disproveability becoming once more intangible. or something like that. the theory thus is useless to anyone wishing to prove or disprove anything. or something like that.

    a textural circumstance of the experience involved of meaning without the meaning of the - but what?
    of it all - of whatnot everything of this smash bash burn kill destroy of a love and a passion flowering of dreamy romance and hard fixed reality of gentle brutality of a soft kiss and a fist in the gut of dramatic reason acted upon the intellect resting in the shade while those who toil in the sun are dancing and singing.
    we who are about to die.
    we who are marching in the streets every day alone together in all which way directions for different reasons yet in spontaneous improvised synchronistic unison winding and unwinding like a basket of snakes we entwine in a knot that never gets knotted but always is moving in and around itself.
    does anyone see us but we ourselves? does anyone see how great are our numbers that are left uncounted? there is no mark of identification one would recognize us as. that is our identification. that is our being human. how many hide beneath logos and symbols that imply something other. but these are among ourselves also. is there any line to be drawn between us among us? let those who are outside of ourselves come and draw them. let them divide and categorize us. we ourselves remain the same no matter the distinctions. we live and survive with or without them. we still remain hidden.

    of plausibility. of discretion. of implication. of action that merges into the common flow and flux. who knows what changes are made every day? it all appears to be the same - but is it? would we know? do we recognize only the abrupt lurching violent ripping as what is change? a caress. a touch. a word only whispered. a glance. does it take gunfire and crashing and screaming and shouting and bombs exploding to draw our attention? does it take the fist? does it take the mob? does it take the assassin? does it take the pounding on the door? does it take all that and more? and by then is it not too late? has it not been unnoticed and ignored for too long? what about the butterfly? what about a dish being washed? what about a chance meeting? what about a conversation about the weather? what about someone in a cafe every day drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and writing the same things in notebooks over and over?
    but this word or that word may be different. a phrase turned a slightly different way. a mood shifts into another and the thoughts rearrange themselves accordingly.
    he just writes. this is how he spends his day. writing about himself writing. the words come instantly and easily. he seldom has to think them up. they appear already formed of their own accord. there is no end to them. he can always rely on his words - though they are not his except as they are given for him to use. they are always there. they are always waiting ready to be called upon to entertain and amuse him. but they don't mean anything. he can use them for nothing more than filling up notebooks no one will ever read. everything else shatters beyond his grasp. it fails him. or he fails it. he would have it that the words that he writes would expose every illusion hidden by this reality. he would have it that the words that he writes would break the bonds of those chained to this world. he would have it that the words that he writes would release them all and lead them to a new world beyond imagination. and he would take no credit if they did so. the words are not his. he is not the author. but those are the words he wants, not these. these are just the words that are the ravings of a madman who compulsively scribbles every passing thought however random that passes through his mind without thinking about what they might mean or not. he spits them out. he is a monkey with a pencil, that's about it.
    and as we smile through our tears and we groove and sweat and shake it down we wonder perhaps at times if it could possibly be anything more and yet being unable to think of anything more it could be that would really be much of anything more. all the promises we promise to and are promised by each other that would be too much effort to keep or insure they were kept. and even if they were somehow fulfilled they far too often quickly lose the glowing light they had before and dim into the common gray of the ordinary and we find ourselves wanting and needing that bright vision of that which is promised again. for it is these promises that make our burden easier to carry giving us inspiration and motivation though common sense and reason tell us that it would be far easier to put our burdens down. but common sense and reason do not apply to promises made. promises appeal to the emotional and to keep that desired emotional state of one feeling that the pain and suffering we are presently enduring and have endured for ages that is so terrible that we feel we are on the verge of collapse yet we cannot afford to as we will lose what little bare margin of comfort we have managed to scrape together that carries us through this living hell to that day that could be any day now when all this will end and we will be dancing and singing in overwhelming joy - or so we have promised ourselves. and it is not the joy nor the pain and suffering but the feeling that we are to be transported from one to the other that gives us meaning through our promises to our existence that goes against all common sense and reason that tells us to abandon it and it is that which we struggle to maintain not to actually gain the joy or end the pain and suffering otherwise we would have done so long ago as there is nothing which prevents us from doing so if that was what we so desired.
    and the enemy. we always need an enemy. and it is the enemy who have made themselves the enemy - or so we believe. we desire only peace and harmony. they have set themselves apart from us and do not co-operate toward the common good as we do. it is the enemy who is the aggressor and we who have to defend ourselves. it is the enemy who causes us to fail to realize our promised goals, not ourselves. the enemy taxes our resources and energy. they are evil. we are good.
    neither of us can do without the other.
    this is behind our great ideals. how to overcome the enemy. this is their realization. this is their actuality. first defeat the enemy then we welcome ourselves to our promised land.
    and he spews on about that for a few more pages.
    nothing new.
    on our guard. the enemy is everywhere. even within our ranks. total obliteration. us and them. subversive threat. insidious and evil. threat. we must be united. vigilant. deceptive. the enemy has worked its way among us. it causes us to turn on one another and this is the enemy's plan. no one can be trusted. control. obey. the illusion of being our friend. leads us to our destruction. the enemy is very skilled in this regard. it is envisioned as a hideous beast from hell when it actually appears no different from one of us. this is a trick. we must always be wary. it divides us. it divides us again. and again. until we are alone. distrust. the enemy is great in number. everywhere. it never forgets it is our enemy. we must neither ever forget though we may never see who our enemy is. how do we defend ourselves from this attack from within when it seeks to get us to turn against ourselves? when it seeks to get us to question who we should trust? when our enemy may be someone we consider to be our closest and dearest?
    he smokes another cigarette.
    this is a question he has been considering for quite some time - who can one trust? who is the enemy? or, more important, who is not the enemy? who is left? can he even include himself? he knows many would would not. most of the people around him now would not. do not.
    when did this begin? when did idea that the enemy had infiltrated our ranks begin? it has existed as long as he has existed. he cannot remember a time when there was not this general distrust among us. not even within his own family. or between his family and another. or among friends. everyone was different. everyone was a stranger. who was one's friend? could that friend be trusted? be careful. watch out.
    and he realized that he was the enemy. he was the infilitrator. he was the friend who could not be trusted. he was the stranger. he was different.
    this was the feeling with any and all groups he tried to belong to. any and all friends he tried to make. they knew who and what he was. they knew he was the enemy.
    someone had to be. why not him? why was he so different? why did he not do the things the way the others did? so it was him. he was the enemy.
    or maybe it was he who suspected them. any and all of them. how could he know for certain? who was who? someone was the enemy. if not him, then one of them. all of them. who was his family? who were his friends? could he trust them? could he trust anyone? could he trust himself?
    the enemy.
    the enemy within.
    the enemy within oneself.
    not only the enemy who actively opposes us but also the enemy who through inaction opposes us. us and our promise of a better world. everyone is suspect. everyone who actively or inactively opposes us must be eliminated. for our better world. always our better world.
    and he wondered about his own better world. who was included in it? anyone? when he walked down the street he would look at the others one by one and ask himself, do i want to include this person in my better world? no. no. no. maybe. no. no. yes. maybe. no. no...
    and so it goes on and on every day walking down the same streets going to the same places. is there a reason for him to go anywhere else? where will he find these people who he would allow into his better world? who is not the enemy? people who are more or less familiar - even the strangers he doesn't know but who he has gotten used to seeing. but he has his doubts. if he allows one person in then how does he not allow another? who is more likable? who is more acceptable? who is undesirable? what qualities does he judge them by? is it his own like or dislike? is it something universal? and what about other people's vision of a better world? who do they include? would he want to be included with them? would anyone want to be included with him? inclusion. exclusion. this one. that one. yes. no. there are so many people. there are so many better worlds. we each have our own. we each are included and excluded. we each are the enemy. would he include someone in his better world who would not include him in their own? how many would he include? how many would include him?
    and so on like that.
    he gets lost in such speculation that ultimately is pointless.
    imaginary. other. we all become lost in such speculation. all our better worlds and promises of such. we go along with some and not with others. no one knows what a better world would be except for themselves personally. even then the issue becomes confused.
    dismisses the effort obviously that is the time like that and who than one of these world a dozen as not worth rapidly in the whole is this just one the reason perhaps created us divided this path apart to follow to at least understand.
    beneath drives far as determine specific thing motivates it that lies is driving no need toward whatever is or gets to madness reason and purpose or away from or one entangles be a fool behind this even near them get involved almost too late this there have sanity to function intact with their own damaging else are a few was able enough into it do something assaults psyches opening in their harpoons subconscious little squirmed barbed hooks defenses find openings every which while or so jab something and nightmares walking them up into that twilight shivering of dawn before the light sweat unnamed rollover snuggle against comfort seemed determined perhaps curl up deep sense of fear look at their face away in their mind of course living breathing embodiment of it.
    ripping large sections at them to get a few managed were gone undermine pushing them after they as well through and out more severe wounds sometimes pulling worked at them both ways the hooks are gone tissue than they hard to say.
    he doesn't have their nightmares but they don't have his - deep unforgiving conscious anger and hatred.
    it is that for which we have been invented to keep him from perhaps acting upon in the real world. as long as we can keep him going around in circles in his own head after this or that we can keep that energy under control. sort of. we are just his imagination that he isn't quite sure is real or not. when in doubt. we keep him in doubt. turning turning turning. and it's all in his mind. his mind against itself. there is no one here but him and himself and me, myself and i.
    go figure.
    but this began long ago before it reached this point of its present convoluted complexity and we became involved in it. he was the one who originally came up with the basic design he used to confuse himself. though far more simplified it nonetheless had the primary characteristics that have been improved upon since that became what it is now. this tangled web of self-deception. where and when and why does one turn away from the usual course people follow that leads them to outward interaction with the world and instead turns inwards into the mind? and what does one find there in the mind to interact with that is more fascinating than what is found out in the world? or is it that there is nothing but that which is self-created and that which oneself ultimately controls that is the fascination? it is whatever one wants or needs it to be. as satisfying or frustrating as one wants or needs. zap! mind inside the mind. bypassing the world. inventing the world. after all, where does the world exist but in the mind? eh? the world as all our minds create it becoming dulled and gross. mundane. average. ordinary. whose mind does it actually please? whose mind actually controls it? and that is why the world is in such conflict. all the controlling minds fighting over its shape and form.
    he tries his best to keep those minds out of his mind. it's one thing for them to control the world. it is quite another for them to control his own world. he had to go through his mind and find where they were hidden and drive them out. it was guerilla war. he fought in the jungles and on the city streets. finally he was successful. his thoughts and feelings were now his own. his mind as are all minds was colonized at birth. it took years of constant struggle, of sometimes doing more damage to himself than to the psychic imperialists - but in the end he won. and then he had to rebuild. he found much they had left behind useful once it was converted to work for him instead of against him. us, for example. he managed to find us inside his own mind and/or we found him. it works either way. ego. superego. id. all under his own control. himself under his own control.
    world? what world? there is no world but his own. the world as he perceives it. the world as we show it to him. real and not real merge and flow. miracles happen every day. sort of. in his mind. in his imagination.