into it.
    out of it.
    it and it. only it.
    ha!
    the journey of the fool that has no beginning nor no ending. life and death come and go. the fool dances on. lost in the woods. drowning in the sea. falling from the sky.
    no one and nothing can describe the fool. the fool is both mad and mystic. the fool doesn't care except when another catches him in a trap of categorization.
    but that is a small matter in context to the whole. trivial. whatever and what not. a story within a story. begin. end. which is which? how are they different? how are they the same?
    what words do we choose now to tell this story? who do we choose to play the part of the fool? any volunteers? don't all jump up at once.
    the part of the fool is a tragic part. the fool gets no reward for any of his efforts large or small as they may be. a fool can save a life or save a whole world and no one notices or credits it to someone else. no fool could do such a thing. no one is willing to believe the fool is capable of such feats. they rarely think of it. small matter. trivial. but it is usually enough to keep most type folks from wanting to play the part.
    but too, the part of the fool is a comic part. as there is no reward there are no consequences. the fool is free to do any dumb fuck thing he wants and get away with it. it's all in his own heart and if his heart is true and he's guided by it he can do no wrong. though no one thinks of this either. a small matter. trivial.
    this occurs only to those who are the fool and only the fool and the fool only. one must be truly the fool. and so it goes from there.
    since no one wants to play the fool it is often chosen by lot. the short straw. low card. whatever. the fate of birth. destiny. the moon and stars. karma. but as one settles into it and accepts their fate they begin to see that the part of the fool is actually the best part to play. the fool gets to laugh at everyone else. the fool gets the joke that no one else sees as a joke. they take their parts very seriously.
    so that's that.
    a hat.
    a cat.
    and a nevermind.
    hello/good-bye.
    some occurrence. some misfit slip of a gene or two or six or nine. or as many as one wants to count through generations of generations. osmosis. or none at all.
    a wall.
    a crack.
    opening.
    it comes and goes from there. whatever and what not. and as those are left to ponder the meanings.
    people should write poetry because they exist, not just to justify their existence, someone said. he hoped it wasn't him as some guy was waxing upon him selling his plasma and the war.
    poets. plasma. war. whatever makes the world go around. all the roads lead to somewhere. elsewhere. as the first step reaches the goal of the journey of 999 steps to follow each and everyone.
    and babylon.
    and rome.
    the mighty fortress of authority, power and control whose influence is felt throughout the span of human history. the script of the play. heroes. villains. victims. fools. and a cast of thousands. background noise of cheers and boos or throwing stones at the mere gestured whim of whoever is in command.
    all poets are lost, only fools follow where they lead, said someone again. there are many identities here. many and most are interchangeable. in reality there are only four - or perhaps only three. - or perhaps only one. the fool ends up following no one but himself. that's part of the joke too. or perhaps that is the joke itself.
    perhaps.
    all is a matter of perhaps. a small matter. trivial. perhaps.
    we each decide what measure of importance each part has. but who are we to decide anything of importance at all? idiot humans barely aware of their own consciousness. ha!
    and the best part of the part of the fool is where and when he is free to take on other parts as he sees fit to do so. yet he remains the fool. yet he revels the fool in everyone. all mask and costume. for the fool is not really the fool.
    the fool becomes the others. the others become the fool. hero. villain. victim. the three basic life roles.  the fool lures them and leads them on as long a chase as he can until it dawns on them that they are dealing with a fool instead of one of themselves. the fool has little else to do. very few if any lines are written for the part. the fool is left to observe and improvise.
    the story is a play. the play becomes a game. the master fools live and die without anyone discovering their real part they play. in this way they alter the course of human affairs and events - even consciousness. mostly it takes another fool to discover them out. but fools don't tell, and who would listen to them if they did? let the cast of thousands believe what they are told and what they see and hear. it gets far too complicated if they are allowed to think for themselves. yes? imagine if hundreds or thousands or millions or billions discovered they were the fools and have always been and always likely will be.
    imagine that. then run and hide.
    he imagines that. he imagines that very clearly. because how long can this continue? how long can people be fools without realizing it?
    break down.
    eat it.
    who's who in the zoo?
    so we keep it simple. we decide that it's someone else who is to blame. no cause for alarm. point out the villains and let the heroes save the day. everybody's a victim.
    door to door.
    so the fool is the fool. slide on by. dance. don't let it show. the fool knows how to lay low. casual. mild. mannered. polite. reasonable. quiet. out of the way. easily overlooked and ignored. though the fool does let on. a few clues. something a bit odd. not quite right about this guy. don't know what. can't quite pinpoint. seduction. the fool waits for those to notice and become interested. the fool watches as they approach and figures out who it is they are expecting to find and the fool makes the corresponding proper adjustments. the art. the skill. the sheer luck. the invention. the fool is blessed with all and more. bored amusement. what else does one do with an eternity to kill? when one realizes that one is one and only one. occupy oneself with some sort of hobby or go stark raving mad and it might as well be zero.
    get it?
    don't worry, neither do we. and we're the ones writing this damn thing. some account of something passing by. what little there is without having too much of a fucking idea what it is. what does one expect? a work of art? a tome of wisdom? truth? entertaining fiction? all this and more?
    there's no pleasing some people. this is the best we can do under the circumstances of the world being the way it is. change the world. find something else.
    hoops.
    hoopla.
    the circus is in town.
    hot time tonight.
    pick it up and let it down.
    meanwhile, back on the farm, the fool rests his case. the war is over. what wounds he has he licks and heals. his sword is put away with the other moments he'll soon forget. dust to dust. warm by a fire on the island. a shot or two to calm his shaky nerves. he had to keep the edge on to pull it all off and keep them guessing. rabbits out of hats. and he got out of town in the nick of time after time. just before it all collapsed in on itself. just like it was designed to do. the machine took care of that.
    a sigh. maybe a nap. and to think it was all for nothing. amusement at best.
    disgusting.
    vibrant.
    geese.
    flapper.
    this could be the end. it could be the beginning. what we're concerned with relies on neither. the middle.
    the balance.
    the gray twilight between black and white. between the lines. between the ears. between the eyes. a bullet.
    bang!
    the joy of hopelessness.
    hail victory! the universal cry. who does not want to be victorious?
    he knows he does.
    fuck them all.
    the one thing about playing the part of the fool to watch out for is bitterness. it's easy for the fool to adopt a fuck them all attitude. it takes the fun out of it. then the fool just becomes another one of them. it's too much work. it's like having a job. that's why fools are the way they are. they forget and don't remember anything and merrily stumble through their lives without a thought for or against or a glance forward or back or right or left but gazing up at the moon or down at where their feet are taking them next.
    firetruck.
    homeward. the fool is always headed home, lost as he may be. that's his direction. the fool follows the heart. that is why they are taken in so easily by ones who cast spells of romantic beauty. the fool believes any promise he is told. the more decorated with flowery words of flattery the better.
    the fool is ultimately a selfish narcissistic asshole who can't tell himself from a hole in the ground which he's got his head stuck in to seek the mysteries of what is perceived when one sees nothing but darkness. or something like that.
    fools are fools - remember that.
    don't be fooled.
    he doesn't know. these are words that come to him. he hopes that they make more sense to someone else than they do to him. notebooks full.  such is fate. the card is drawn.
    flames.
    judgment.
    cthulhu.
    staring out the window. people talking around him. stagnant jazz on the radio. another day at the cafe. another cigarette. waiting. another deal. to get away far enough where and when there are no more deals. he's tired of deals. he's tired of dealing with people one cannot rely on. not that it's them as much as it's the situations we're all in. situations of deals. big deals. little deals. forget it. no more deals stated or implied. whatever and whatnot.
    and it's a nice day. the sun is out and everything. too many people out and about though. if the weather holds it will soon be a weekend from hell. people. time off. all looking for that quality leisure time and will push anyone out of their way to get it.
    maybe he'll catch up on some sleep while the tourists roam the streets.
    got his time off. got his time off in their face. laughing at them rushing by. one more dollar to make. one more dollar to spend. push push all the way down the line. hurry up. ain't got all day. one more deal and they got it made. one more fix and they're in the shade. lay down. gaze out into all that open space. what a life. no yesterday. no tomorrow. just a steady gaze in and out of it all going by and by. the unbroken circle. the parade of fools in all their regalia and hoopla. he's got his and just kinda laughs with a sort of an amusement thing going off in his head about what it all means nothing to him but just to idle his time in the devil's playground mixing and matching whatever and whatnot into and out of whatever and whatnot just for the hell of it. just to see them dance. dance around the unbroken circle around him for his amusement and his amusement alone. he hopes the others are having fun because he certainly is. more fun than a barrel of monkeys. more fun than a planet of apes.
    ha!
    get it now?
    and just so no one gets too distraught we throw them a bone once in awhile. meaning. purpose. a goal. a mission. a reason. pie in the sky. a carrot on a stick. just to see them dance. dance for us. do they know that is what they are doing? no, probably not. and if they do they don't let it bother them. they accept their fate and obey. dance. count their money and dance.
    and did anyone expect anything more? did they actually believe the promises promised? a future? a promised land? a world of love, peace and harmony? victory? jesus? did they believe that we would let them into the garden?
    no fucking way. we don't owe no one nothing. no more deals.
    as it amuses us we give them all the power they could possibly desire. that they begged us for. that they sacrificed everything that was sacred to them in order to get their greedy little hands on. that was the deal. everything is in order and operating right on schedule. they've given us everything we need.
    to reach down under the waves deep to the bottom of the sea and enter that city told that drives one to madness with its maze of mirrors and hall or horrors. disorientation. lost. no way home.
    ha! not to the fool who is already eternally lost. enter this. open this tomb where long buried and trapped is the source of all power to be unleashed on this world to destroy itself with its desires and fears.
    that is our part. the deal.
    and it takes time. it takes following the path that cannot be seen. of not knowing where one is going until one arrives. to not know what the deal is - the real deal. it's too terrifying. who would take that risk? one would have to be a fool.
    but nevermind all that. it's not really anyone's concern. a small matter. trivial. all minds still on the surface of the sea looking for adventure. does anyone know what's going on? sometimes he does. sometimes he doesn't. we don't care what anyone else knows or doesn't know. we know our aim is true. we know this is the deal and who the deal was made with. everyone gets their share though it might not be what they expected. their cut. their part of the deal. if they're not happy then that's too bad. they should have thought of that first.
    a joke.
    don't worry - it's just a joke. we're making this all up. there's no such thing as whatever it is or seems to be. we amuse ourselves with a story that has amused us for centuries. variations on the theme. contradictions designed to confuse those who can't untwist them or because we don't know what the fuck. we deny it all. lies, all lies. everyone does what they are paid to do. that's the deal. and keep one's mouth shut and their noses out of business that doesn't concern them. look the other way like the good girls and boys that they are. that's the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth - eh?
    nevermind that either.
    he does the same. he does what he is paid to do which at the present is to be insane. or maybe not. maybe there's more. what more could there be than that? could anything else be true? just another basic rambling stream of whatever and whatnot consciousness nonsense dada. and if pigs had wings. and moo. and it comes and goes and here sits me, myself and i with nothing much else to do but watching him write on and on because we're too fucking lazy to do anything else. drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and design and construct a type of mind shift/ship to release the unreleaseable and warp the fuck out while it does its destroy the world groove thing and then warp back in again. all part of the deal.
    a world.
    a world to live in without the jive. no more deals.
    but this is just in his head. some idle-minded fantasy common to many the same. the fool fantasizing himself the hero. imagine that. but what sort of hero saves a world by destroying it? isn't that a bit more villainish? but it's hardly his fault is it? all he's been through. all that's been dumped on him by a world gone mad. how much he's been victimized until he just kinda went off the edge one day and - well, he's harmless enough. we just let him fantasize about what he fantasizes about as long as he stays out of the way. because we know what we're doing and where we're going and he seems to amuse himself. let him be.
    we know what the deal is - don't we?
    and he sees them smile. and he hears them talk. he notices more than he lets on. he lets them think that he's off somewhere and not paying attention. they talk to him and he replies, huh?
    nevermind. they can go on with what they were doing as if he's not here. but he is. eyes and ears open. he's a spy. and at night in the quiet between midnight and dawn he listens all the more. he feels them. he gathers to himself all that they are dreaming, desires and fears alike. he watches their movies, reads their books, watches their tv. all they tell him about who and what they are. he sees himself in them. they think he is a fool. they think he is not able to figure out what they are all about. but tell him some secrets they are hiding that he is not aware of. just another variation on endlessly repeated themes.
    there is nothing new here. nothing new. nothing more reveled. he's got all the data he needs that will lead him to that which will destroy them. this is what they ask. stop us because we cannot stop ourselves.
    stop the war.
    bring us peace.
    one should always take care of what one wishes for.
    the deal.
    ready or not here it comes. all their wishes come true. do they even know what they wish for and why?
    flip the coin. a world split in two. life and death. one way or the other.
    and he laughs. he laughs because no one will believe this. and those who possibly do know also that there is no way to stop it. if it's not him it will be someone else. do they think he would let anything go wrong now? a one shot deal. the stars and the planets just so. once in a lifetime. the words spoken. the alignment just right.
    zap!
    the key slips in and the lock is opened.
    the monster is released.

    2/23
    a diamond. split. s.p.l.i.t.
    to go down and pull the plug. a birth. a place and time. no one knows.
    and so whatever from there. sometimes when the words don't come. he gets stuck. like now. something is right and something is wrong. this isn't any different than anything else. it's just a job. he does what he gets paid to do just like anybody else.
    the others. they're the ones who have it figured out up down inside out and sideways. they know which way the wheels are turning and they turn with them. they don't need to follow the rules. what rules? he doesn't know. he's faking it. he's scamming his way through it. make it up as he goes along. whatever and whatnot.
    always in opposition. whatever he's for they are against, and vise versa. the other way around it and around and around biting at each other's tails a long long time.
    count him out.
    he opposes nothing.
    he is for nothing.
    space.
    time.
    existence.
    survival.
    he lets them decide except they never seem to be able to. opposition. confusion. make up their minds. decide. human nature. right and wrong. this and that.
    he's confused except he knows he's right.
    he knows he's right except he's confused.
    the exact nature of things.
    to begin it. around again. twirl. swirl. rings around them. leave them standing there and get away through doors and paths they don't know are there. not in a thousand years.
    and he has nothing to tell them that they don't already know - should already know. just variations on themes of babbling nonsense. he has nothing to prove or disprove. he leaves that to them. he's got the pudding and it's all his - his - his. they don't get any. he doesn't like them. go away.
    when he goes. he goes. 10 seconds left. did he tell anyone that part? his watch is stopped. his grandfather's pocket watch. silver with a chain. 10 seconds to zero.
    something mystical about it. imagination. pretend. tick-tock. split. a little off. a little on. a little in-between.
    he made up his own secrets. he devised his own mystery. he hid things from himself so he could occupy his time finding them again.
    identity for one.
    who is he this time around. tick-tock. split.
    dada.
    zap!
    so with his grandfather's stopped watch he has 10 seconds to warp the fuck out of here. come again some other day. countdown. if it ever moves again.
    and maybe yes.
    and maybe no.
    the total destruction of the world.
    all in his mind.
    all fall down.
    self-destruct.
    10 seconds to leave the planet.
    sequence of events. ain't no stopping it now. if it ever moves again. there's a war on and certain drastic measures have to be taken.
    fetal.
    some sort of relativity clause in here somewhere. the relativity of for and against. the relative meaning of purpose. the drift of it. shit and breathe. his heart beats. tick-tock. out of time.
    and this of no reason. this of no place or time. he turns away. he turns backwards. something is found here. he doesn't know what. he waits. the room. the room of waiting.with nothing to do. not the crowds and the noise. not all the people with some place else to go. chasing it. making the world go around around around around...
    to be out of it. to watch them go by. and they may see nothing to that. he cannot despise them. he cannot pity them. he just watches them go by. there's nothing much else to do. in all seriousness. sliding. rocking and rolling. easy.
    and as the lights go dimmer and dimmer. as everyone prepares themselves for sleep and their dreams.
    talking. without words. so many times moving through here at one time.
    shock.
    turn it on. the machine of it. the machine that turns it on and turns it off at the same time. that moment divided. a bullet between our eyes. letting in the light. letting out the blood. removing the mind from its false position of thinking it controls anything happening.
    don't think about this. don't look back upon it. water. let it be like water passing around a rock. for now. for this moment. there's a war on.
    we create the fiend. we create this monster we face. or is it created for us? set up. prepared. a dragon for the knight in shining armor to slay. for a reward. for our submission. for our defeat.
    this monster. how ugly and terrible it may be or may not be is all that is there to defend us against the one who really is the one who subjugates our will. this brave hero. this daring youth strong and full of pride. hope for our future we give any and all power to in order to this thing save us. this thing. this inhuman beast who feeds upon us. all of us whoever we may be or not even safe and warm and comfortable in our beds at night. the hero patrols the streets at night. shoot first. ask questions later. anything that moves in the dark. through the shadows we fear. anything not identified or recognized as familiar. kill it before it multiplies.
    there's a war on.
    there's been a war on since before we can remember. what the fuck else is new?
    there's a war on and if one thinks he's on one's side then one is sadly mistaken. one has another think coming. he'll kill before he is killed. moving around in the dark and shadows. asking questions. unidentified. unfamiliar.
    yes, it's him. he is the monster multiplying himself into legions. if one doesn't make their peace with him in the end he will destroy them. consume. for death is on his side.
    he can hide in plain sight and wait. he exists in the spaces they fear most. they will not enter here. he watches.
    good-night.
    pleasant dreams.
    when there's a war on.
    he wanted to be the monster. he wanted to call up the monster from its tomb and have it destroy the world.
    the warm womb glow of the tv screen.

    2/25
    all day every day. something about some of it. a more or less degree of getting to it.
    lies, stupidity and cowardice. his own name. his own mind. his own soul. himself. into and out of me, myself and i. looking in. looking out. seeing nothing he can name. nothing he can point to. see - here it is. that's it. this is it. it.
    nothing to it.
    nothing more.
    nothing less.
    a dead man down in a hole.
    a split image in shards of a broken mirror.
    what is all this about mirrors? someone said. that's all you relate everything to like mirrors explain it all. mirrors don't explain anything. they just reflect light. that's it. big deal.
    and he wondered where this someone came from and when did he meet them. somewhere. a public place. a supermarket perhaps. but how would they know that he wrote about mirrors?
    we were sitting at the table by the window he would gaze out of. a few other people who collect here off and on. a flow of general topics of conversation that continue from one meeting to the next picked up and woven by whoever can merge themselves in it.
    he guesses he mentions mirrors a lot. maybe too much. was it too simple a symbolic construct he relied on?
    yes/no.
    mirrors reflect light and light supposedly is the one universal constant, he said.
    yeah? so what? what does that mean? this someone said.
    it doesn't mean anything more than that. not really.
    then why talk about it all the time like it does?
    it makes me think.
    it makes you think? think about what?
    i don't know.
    i doubt that.
    so do i.
    we looked at each other a few moments. he was comparing their face to the memory of his own reflected in a mirror - its light reflected in a mirror. how different were they? he could be them sitting across from himself. what would he see? who would he see? someone pretending knowledge by being as vague as possible so he wouldn't get caught as being someone who didn't know squat?
    maybe they weren't thinking any of this. maybe they weren't thinking at all. he couldn't tell one way or the other.
    self. as it relates to the self. the self as the universal constant.
    someone else. other to the self. there they are. maybe someone who delivers the cigarettes he buys from the corner store and smokes. some basic kinda guy. here he is smoking one of the cigarettes this guy delivered. what does he do now? blow smoke in their face? embrace them? what?
    no right or wrong. no other way to explain. if there was he would explain it that way. maybe.
    or would he?
    the devil's playground. prevailing winds. ships that set sail with expectations of destinations. or explorers who end up anywhere. nowhere.
    call out the names of those who are lost.
    make the sacrifice.
    a whole planet left in flames while the ship of fools loses itself in space/time.
    laughing last.
    laughing at last.
    let it go and go.
    no more.
    no less.
    a disease of the mind. the mirror of the soul. disquiet. sensory. eyes open. hands outstretched. ears sensitive to any sound. and the forever war.
    and the masks that melt and evaporate as it goes along. as the image becomes clearer. it is not an image after all. when the last mask revels a mirror. the mind gazing into it. the echoes fade and are silent. there is nowhere to be called back from. the dreamer awakens and becomes alive, not undead.
    and the monster returns haunting.
    as the wheels of the stars and the planets turn. such simple excuses. as the center remains constant.
    the dance of it.
    and as we move in similar motion among each other. and the images we reflect and perceive who we recognize as ourselves. one as familiar as the other - or as strange.
    it breaks down. scattered on the floor as we dance on our graves.
    an everyday occurrence. no tricks up our sleeves. nothing under the table or under a hat. no shots in the dark.
    how this is. how this is come to. how it is passed through as it remains.
    the arguments. the disagreements about this and that. the silly nonsense in our heads we've been told is truth and reality. let it go.
    put down our weapons and hands up.
    surrender.
    but don't give oneself away to a cheap trick done with mirrors.
    ha!
    get it now?

    part 483.06
    section b-15
    m s/s index # x612q54m

    a healthy mind.
    ha!
    give us good old mental disease any day of the week rather than their oppressive stuck in a rut healthy mind or theoretical concept thereof from the subjective viewpoint of how seriously diseased, damaged and fucked up theirs is - ok?
    but nevermind that.
    we're just feeling a bit hostile. we feel much healthier now.
    thanks.

    meanwhile:
    a farm.
    hadn't we misplaced a farm here somewhere? out to pasture. something funny about it.
    here is babylon. artificial. nothing is real. streets with no names. disoriented. fire from the sky. brimstone. flags of every nation.
    hanging on like one has something to say. we cannot tell anyone anything now. what words describe what everyone sees happening? we see it in their eyes. we see what they see that they cannot explain. that they cannot find words for. is it anything like truth? is it anything like a theory? not that they know it more than we do. or even that all of us together can know it better than any one of us alone.
    it is unknown. if there is truth then that is it. unknown. all that is unspoken between us. all we cannot reach in each other or ourselves.
    and just laugh at it.
    this mystery that haunts us outside as far as our knowledge can extend. all we fear and desire.
    just laugh at it.
    call it by what it is. nothing.
    no thing between us that we need to attack or defend ourselves against.
    believe it or not.
    doubt it or not.
    we will not enter this space that has become a war zone and be caught in a crossfire of mistaken identity.
    find another villain.
    find another hero.
    find another victim.
    find another fool.
    we're invisible.
    prove we exist. we cast no reflection. we bend light around us. we bend self around us.
    concerned.
    not concerned.
    he laughs at it and no one can hear. he is invisible. ignoring the fact of his presence. the presence of his ignorance. a fool who has no part to play in the grand scheme of things - in the scheme of schemes. conquest. set the world right. direct all along a proper and fitting course.
    everything must be exact. synchronized.
    tick-tock.
    detailed. neat. ready to go at a moment's notice. at their command. all the forces at their command. and the fool is not among them. the fool is not a force. the fool is not at their or anyone's command. except a swift kick to get him out of the way. quit fucking around when there's work to be done.
    mischief. always under their feet and tripping them up. won't listen to a word they tell him.
    a good swift kick.
    manipulation. pay attention.
    and the moment is gone. a thousand years in the planning of putting it into place. put into action.
    now.
    and now is gone. to them. to seeing now as a moment set on a clock. when all the clocks go tick-tock. once in a lifetime. once in a thousand lifetimes.
    and everything was perfect and some idiot fool fucked it up. if it weren't for that.
    time was everything.
    like cats on a howl.
    like piss in the wind.
    the fool knows one thing. it takes awhile for him to figure it out. a few good swift kicks and he finally gets it that he's not exactly wanted or needed and how to disappear and become invisible. slip into the crowd where he belongs. just another face in a cast of thousands. booing and cheering along with the rest of them.
    try to find him now. did anyone get a good look at him? did anyone take the time? just in case he might be the one they come looking for when everything else goes wrong.
    where did he go?
    no one noticed a thing. they were too occupied. everything was so important.
    as if...

    no one here by that name.
    not no more.
    as the ship of fools casts off and sails for parts unknown.
    when we get around to it. all who didn't live up to anyone's expectations. couldn't meet their demands. weren't sharp enough or tight enough. wouldn't stay in formation. information.
    good-bye and gone.
    while the others rage on.
    this is how we flip out. this is when we decide whether to hold on or let go.
    one good swift kick helps us decide what we could not decide ourselves.
    knowing when we're not wanted or needed.
    we're not heroes. we're not villains. we're not victims. and we're tired of being fools.
    zap!
    we had our fun while it lasted. it was a game. we got used to it. but then they started taking it seriously and taking themselves seriously. it wasn't fun anymore. they wouldn't play anymore.
    until the last.
    up until the last.
    never again.

    so as they sit around him and write and read their death poetry. their angst and disgust at the world they see.
    he laughs.
    he laughs to himself and their world. it's their own death they see, not his. he's gone through it. it is nothing more and nothing less.
    angels.
    and he sees them laugh at him. who is that fool? doesn't he know any better? doesn't he know anything at all? doesn't he know we're all going to die? how can he be laughing? there is nothing to laugh at. doesn't he know there's a war on? doesn't he know there's people suffering and dying?
    drugs.
    visions of annihilation. of the hell around them. oblivion.
    not him.
    he's just wandering through his garden smelling the roses.
    ahh...
    it's been a long time since he's been home.
    who's to tell him different?
    he doesn't need them.
    go away.

    and around we go again and again. oh boy.
    i am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
    how many more times? spin it. such is our fate. kicking each other out of the way of our big dreams as long as we got it in our heads that we're going some place.
    no place.
    our delusion of some fucking utopia blinding us to the fact that it's always here.
    ain't no way out.
    no exit.
    just in. into it.
    can one see it or not? he can see it in one's eyes if they do or not as they can see it in his.
    when we wake up.
    it's true or false.
    what do we see then? what world appears around us then?
    he's seen it. he's been there - here.
    and we turned away. it's not true, we said. and we returned to this world where we cannot face each other. where we kick each other out of the way.
    he knows where and when this world is - here and now. if he lives here alone then that is the way it is. if they prefer the ugliness and the despair then that is how it is. if they still have a war to fight to the bitter end. if they still have something to fight for and someone to fight against.
    he can no longer care. he can no longer look back. he can no longer reach back although he always will until the end. until he sees there's nothing and no one left. gone. consumed in the fires of its own rage.
    we got away.
    we get away.
    a sunrise. a dawn. a future. as the night and the echoes of their agony fade in the light.
    begin.
    again.
    and again.
    this too will not last more than any other day. just another day in the life of days like this one. lifetimes of lives like this one.
    a trick done with mirrors. mirrors that reflect time rather than light. time existing only as it is perceived. fuck the clocks. all of them have stopped. we decide what time it is now.
    10 seconds and counting. one either goes or else one stays.
    when the clocks stop on time. when it's all over. the doors are closed and locked and we're outta here, baby.
    and all it takes is to say yes or no. true or false.
    and they laugh at us. our silly notions.
    we laugh last.
    we laugh best.
    we expect nothing from them but a good swift kick.
    we're on our way.
    propulsion.
    they have their friends and family to worry about. their own cool head above water.
    don't worry.
    this ain't nothing. it's not important until the time comes and we're away from it. nothing to prove or disprove. it just is - or isn't.
    just something that's there when one needs it. when one wants it.
    yes or no.
    when it's time to go, it's time to go.
    yes or no.
    don't think about it. we'll know what one has decided when we knock on one's door.
    either come or else stay.
    true or false.
    beyond that, even with that, it's just a joke. just another joke someone's trying to play. trying to make one look like a fool.
    the wild card.
    the joker.
    anything one wants it to be.
    so...
    but what about the rules?
    anybody got a rule book? anybody an authority? anybody know something we don't know?
    anybody?
    hello?
    good-bye.

    one is not a fool. one may have felt foolish or made a number of foolish mistakes, but a fool? never. never a fool. that's not what one is. not that.
    one boasts like a hero. one deals like a villain. one cries like a victim.
    one acts like a fool.
    we see them. we knew who and what they are better than they do themselves. it takes one to know one. if we are fools and we say the others are fools then it's true. they are fools too. we pronounce it as the fools we are.
    the shoe fits and we wear it to go out dancing. also to give them a good swift kick right when their plans are falling into place and are at a pivotal point of balance and demands their full attention as their eyes are gazed up at the pie in the sky.
    ka-pow! right in their face.
    and we run like hell. we know who they're going to blame when it comes crashing down.
    we leave them guessing.
    spin, baby, spin. try to figure it out when there's nothing to figure out - unless one is fool enough to believe anything - or to doubt anything.
    this. that.
    out of a hat.
    there is only one fact a fool needs to know. and that is that there are no facts. they can take their facts and rotate on them as long as they want to. as long as they believe in them.
    that's the way out. slip through the facts. the facts that prove there is no way out.
    finite. rational. let's all be rational about this.
    fuck rationality. we're slipping through the cracks in the wall of facts of their rationality. infinitesimal cracks that even the number crunching supercomputers need to round off or else blow a fuse.
    the lights go out. chaos. there's holes in the wall that each contain a universe.
    eye of a needle.
    head of a pin.
    fools.
    fools all and all fools.
    fool's day.
    laugh at the joke.
    there's holes in our heads that each contain a universe.
    one.
    one for all.
    a bullet between the eyes.
    a hole the size of a universe.
    zap!
    don't look down.
    we'll let them know when we come knocking on their door.
    yes or no.

    translucent.
    transparent.
    absent.

    2/26
    and waiting now to hear from someone.
    a knock on the door.
    waiting.
    fucking waiting.
    all he does is wait. hurry up and wait. do this and do that and wait.
    wait.
    wait waiting.
    everything comes to those who wait. yet those who hesitate are lost.
    lost.
    lost and waiting.
    tired of waiting.
    waiting for everyone.
    where did they go?
    so he is left here to amuse himself.
    let's see, this time he'll be someone who was bored with vacations to planets with scenic beauty and cities of easy pleasure. ho-hum.
    hey, how about this? the travel agent said. there's this planet that's going through its apocalyptic phase. that's always exciting. world chaos, rioting, breakdown of reality, trust, truth. you should see it. there's nothing like it.
    is it dangerous?
    to them it is. not you. we put you down. give you an identity. you mingle around. check it out. we'll keep an eye on you, don't worry. we've got other people who have gone there. we're watching all of them. no sweat. we've dealt with these things before. they all follow the same pattern. we haven't lost anyone yet. we pick you up before it all goes up. so, how about it?
    yeah, ok.

    so maybe that's it. maybe it's not. been reading too many books that put these fool ideas in his head, boy.
    yes sir.
    no sir.

    it turns around again in and out of all manner of things that he can't explain or describe. he tries it one way and sees how silly it is and then tries it another way and it's no better.
    silence.
    silent.
    maybe it's best.
    not to say anything at all. it will only confuse the others and they don't like being confused. or do they?
    maybe they look for it like he does. to seek confusion. to seek that which causes confusion because out of the confusion comes an understanding that can only be gotten to by entering confusion. if one can sort out confusion then one can sort out anything. piece of cake. nothing to it. easy as chewing gum. as easy as lighting another cigarette. and watching the confusion truck on by. let it fill someone else's head. he's done with it. dealt with it. he's seen it all go wrong - big time - and he's gotten through it and it's ok. nothing can touch him now no more. whatever it takes. whoever one has to be. if it floats, hang on to it. he's not going down no more. just wait and see what happens.
    it's something. something or nothing. and maybe it's everything. who knows? who cares? it's something.
    la-dee-da.
    floating along on whatever floats by and watching everyone else drowning or smiling and waving as they float and bob on whatever they're hanging onto.
    a cigarette.
    a cup of coffee.
    pen in hand.
    a monthly check.
    for now.
    a mind shift/ship.
    a round trip ticket.
    it comes and goes.
    no sweat.

    and there is nothing reveled here. there are no secrets. no mysteries - except those we keep from ourselves. we each find our own revelations.
    a joke.
    that's all it was, is and will be.
    a joke in all seriousness. as much seriousness as one would want to put into it. as much as one needs. as much as one feels comfortable with. whatever satisfies one's desires and alleviates one's fears. whatever lets one lay down to sleep at night and dream pleasant dreams. one does dream pleasant dreams - yes?
    he does.
    he hasn't had a nightmare in a long long time - except this nightmare he sees every day. the nightmare far out beyond out of control. does anyone else see it? he doesn't think they do. he sees them walking through it like it wasn't even there. and maybe it's not. maybe it's his nightmare after all. whatever keeps him awake at nights forever.
    they should be screaming if they see what he does. they aren't screaming so they must not see it.
    he's not screaming though he wants to scream berserk - get this away from me! get me outta here!
    but he can't. he can't let on. he smiles and says the words they want to hear that make them smile too. he tries to. he slips once in awhile and part of the scream gets out. he sees them react. jump back. the smile drops from their face. they move away.
    he cannot tell them. he cannot speak of what they do not see or don't want to.
    and it's not this stupid war. and it's not the oppression of the masses and the rape of the earth. it's not all the baby killers. it's not god or the lack thereof. it's not the void. it's not the chaos.
    it's not the order.
    it's not the beginning.
    it's not the end.
    it's not oblivion.
    it's not death.
    if it were he could speak of it.
    it's that and much much more and more. all of that isn't a fraction of it.
    it's the nightmare itself.
    it's the nightmare that keeps whatever god there may be awake and screaming at night. screaming. screaming a word it cannot speak to anyone. no one is there. no one to say it's ok. go back to sleep.
    no one.
    and even that isn't it.
    nothing is it.
    that's the joke.
    that's the nightmare.
    there is no nightmare.
    how does he speak this to anyone unless he tells them a joke? unless he says it's ok. go back to sleep.
    to know the nightmare. to know the horror of it. to know what he must never tell anyone. to allow them to believe whatever it is they need to. truth or lies. what does it matter? one is as good as another.
    anything.
    something.
    everything.
    to remain silent.
    to not speak one word that would shatter the illusion.
    one word that would destroy everything.
    that is what he seeks.
    one word.
    and when he finds it he will not hesitate to speak it - to shout it.
    and when that word is spoken the nightmare itself will be reveled. no one will be able to deny it any longer.
    and it will be a joke.
    he'll leave them all laughing when he goes because he was never here to begin with.
    that's it.
    no one to say it's ok. go back to sleep.
    because something is coming out and it's coming to get us all and we don't want it to get us in our sleep. we don't want it to enter our pleasant dreams we are having. we need to be protected. we need someone on patrol. who do we trust? any one of ourselves? can we trust anyone other than ourselves? while we sleep warm and comfortable in our beds at night. are they for us or against us?
    does anyone see the nightmare he sees?
    trust.

    and he has two fears.
    1) that he will find the word to speak that will destroy everything.
    2) that he will open his mouth and nothing will come out and everything of theirs will go on forever.
    which is worse?
    which would he decide if it were up to him to decide?
    doubt.
    without doubt he is left with nothing.
    it's a game he plays. he's become rather good at it. no one's beat him yet. he's still here, isn't he?
    he has no doubt of that. everything else is dada.
    but he's bored. he's bored with always winning the game. are there no challengers?
    he's waiting.
    he's tired and he wants to go to sleep. and he can't until he's beaten at his own game and he can rest assured that the game will go on covered by someone more skilled at it than he is.

    2/27
    he picks his nose.
    and maybe he has found someone who is more skilled at the game than he is. maybe it's all of them. or maybe the game is over. maybe, though he doubts it.
    who isn't walking around with full shields up? or is it just him? is it just his delusional paranoia that they would destroy him if they could? or he would destroy them? one word on either side. is this his protection to be just some guy no one would suspect? just some madman writing in notebooks every day in a cafe? nothing is reveled here. he could be anyone. just someone. identities are interchangeable here. what does anyone do that is any different than anyone else? by the grace of god.
    he talks to people. but he keeps them safe outside his perimeter. fire at will. just coffee. just cigarettes. just another notebook. words mean nothing. if he could find the one word to destroy everything he would speak it. maybe he's found it. maybe he's afraid he will not be able to speak.
    and he's writing about something here, isn't he? it should be clear even though what it is isn't clear. otherwise why write this? pretty stupid, huh? eh?
    so it comes from any direction and goes out by any other. this is something. anything. everything. he doesn't know. he doubts it. it doubts him. how is he supposed to know? huh? eh? how is anyone supposed to know? if he writes about it, does he believe it? maybe yes. maybe no. who decides this?
    correct.
    incorrect.
    domino.
    what?
    he gets confused. nothing makes any sense. does it? oh well. nevermind that. it's not important. trivial. kill it before it multiplies.
    words and words and more words and more and more words. sowing his words like seeds or spreading them like germs. which ever. ain't all that much of nothing to him. doo-dah. doo-dah. don't really care if he destroys everything or not. that's history. they seem to be doing just fine anyway by their own selves. don't need him to say nothing. they're speaking all the words already. bang! bang! bang! bullets of enlightenment through between each other's eyes.
    caught in the crossfire of mistaken identities. heroes, villains and victims all over the place. attack and defend. what a scene.
    he's not sure if he should applaud. there's one hand clapping inside his head. the other reaches for a cigarette.
    just waiting to see who wins. who out of all this mess will get to fly their flags above all the others. one world of peace, love and harmony at long last. stand up and salute those who saved the world from destruction. those who worked it out. those who saved us from ourselves and everything we falsely believed in until we were shown the true way. on their word we were delivered from our own self-imposed inner festering hell. how can we ever repay them? such a debt we owe. and to think we once resisted them. we once spit on them. we argued with all they tried to tell us was true. we hunted them down or hid when they hunted us. we believed they wanted to harm us. we believed they were evil. and look how wrong we were. if only we had listened sooner the world would not be in the state it is. but maybe with their help and guidance we can rebuild. rebalance. restructure. re-everything. such fools we were.
    it's ok. we can go back to sleep now. it's safe. it's warm. it's comfortable. just like we dreamed. just what we wished for and thought would never come true.
    and in and/or toward this end he burns his own flag for them. he no longer believes or doubts everything he thought it stood for or symbolized. he can see now that he was wrong. how wrong he was to try to question all they tried to tell him. he is such a fool. in his pride he believed he was different from and even above them. their rules didn't apply. he thought himself enlightened. he thought he perceived through the veils of illusion that was reality. he thought many things about himself. all wrong. he thought himself immune, protected, saved - not even needing salvation. he knows now not to bite the hand that feeds him. he knows now not to bark and keep everyone awake. to bark at nothing. just shadows of his own mind.
    yes, he is the monster. he tried to befriend the monster by sacrificing all of them instead of me, myself and i. he was willing for the whole planet to burn as long as he got away free and clear. with one word. he let it in. he fell asleep and dreamed it alive. but only because to save himself from this nightmare monster that came for him.
    not me, he pleaded. don't take me. anyone. everyone. just not me.
    and it agreed.
    sign here, it said.
    and he did.
    he signed the contract the terms of which were that it was free to destroy the world in exchange for letting him go. to be able to go back to sleep warm, safe and comfortable.
    for this he would see them all tear each other to pieces in hell. a hell on earth. as long as it wasn't him.
    not jesus, but judas.
    to think that his life was worth living more than anyone else's.
    to think he was right and everyone else was wrong.
    not even a fool. a fool can be overlooked, forgiven. the results of his actions understood as being the result of not knowing. ignorance.
    not even the villain.
    worse than that.
    the betrayer.
    this part played who lets the nightmare monster in through the gates of dreams while the others are sleeping safe and warm and comfortable. he made the deal and looked the other way. he gave no warning.
    what motive lies here? is it just a part written into the play to create action and intrigue? excitement. a reason and motive for the other parts to come into play. all the heroes. all the victims. all the villains. all the fools. the betrayer sets it in motion. one act. one selfish greedy act. the curtain can finally come down. the show is over.
    cheers and flowers.
    a standing ovation.
    bravo!
    such fine acting. so believable.
    another trick up his sleeve. he has more masks and costumes than anyone has eyes to see. he is everywhere among the others and they walk right on by. he even fools himself.
    a chameleon space alien from hell planet x-9 who spins rings around them while it waits for the fleet to arrive. a scouting mission. easy pickings. merge into the scene and check it out. report.
    yeah, this one's a piece of cake. primitive nuclear weapons at best that they have pointed at each other anyway. don't suspect a thing except in their dreams - their nightmares. haven't a clue. come on in. a few light warships should do it.
    not much here. some minerals and gems. some cultural items that will probably be marketable. it'll turn a profit.
    we can mindslave them through the usual messiah ruse and get them to load it all up for us. no one worth taking beyond that. let them do to each other what they will after we split.
    flip/flop.
    begin around again.
    but he kinda likes it here. but what can he do besides betray his own?
    can he do that?
    maybe yes.
    maybe no.
    the identities are interchangeable.
    ha!
    and which one is the one? which one is his real identity that the others cover up like masks?
    maybe, he thinks, the monster is the real one. why else would he need the others to disguise himself? make them up. pull them out of a hat to keep anyone and himself from figuring it out. self-protection. self-defense. hey - i'm a nice guy. funny. witty. amusing. harmless. your basic guy. ain't no monster here. not me.
    who's kidding who? he knows it. they know it. but no one wants it reveled. we know what happens then, don't we? we've seen glimpses of it when he slipped, forgot his lines, lost his place.
    and so?
    what then?
    does he put a bullet through his head? a knife through his heart?
    plain and simple.
    what?
    what does he do now? if that's it then that's it. no more. no less.
    and he doesn't know if that's it or not. he knows the monster is there. he knows it exists. he doesn't know where of when it came from. a monster locked in a closet pissed as hell wanting only the destruction of everything including itself.
    and he sees into the monster's heart. it's just a child. a frightened child. that's all. a child wondering why no one will let it out to play. wondering why everyone treats it so terrible not to be seen in the light of day but to sleep in the corridors of night.
    please let me out.
    then it goes for our throat as soon as the key is turned.
    or so we imagine.
    which is which?
    the identities are interchangeable.
    to speak the word, monster. to destroy everything. keep the innocent locked away just in case. our fantasy lives on. we rule the world. monsters all of us. a thousand thousand years more to come. the war is on but peace is envisioned. just over the next horizon and right around the next corner. then we'll clean up the mess we made. right?
    what are we that we would destroy ourselves with war and all else we wage upon each other and the world around us? who would do such a thing? what kind of monsters? not us, surely...
    not them. they are not the monsters.
    and him? is he not like them? human? or is he different? he is as different as all the rest. but maybe he is more different than that.

    i don't feel myself to be a monster, he thought to himself, but i do have my moods. but i've seen theirs too. it passes. no big deal. i don't think. but if anyone's a monster then i am too. the identities are interchangeable. and if i'm not one then neither are they except as as we are perceived. i don't care what list of crimes they're accused of. they are crimes of a frightened child locked in a closet. and who locked it in there but ourselves? and we have the key to let it out. but it has become a monster. how can we let the monster out without destroying ourselves? and maybe the others say, us? not us. we never locked any child up in a closet. what do we look like, some kind of monster? and ok. they didn't. i believe them. they are innocent. i know they are not some kind of monster, though sometimes they act like it. or maybe that's my mistaken impression of them. it's ok. they can do what they want. they can come out of the closet now. i admit it now. i did it. i locked them up in a closet because i thought they were some kind of monster. i had my reasons. it was either them or me. i locked them up in my head just like they were going to lock me up because they thought i was the monster. i'd show them to call me a monster. but it took me awhile. a few thousand years or so or more. i am the monster. and i'm proud of it.
    and so can we trust him again? can we let him out? what if he destroys the world like others have done - our world?
    and he continues making this up. has he hit on anything yet? something? everything?
    he doesn't know.
    what the fuck?
    what the hell?
    what the heck?
    gosh damn it!
    zap!
    keep blowing a fuse here. it's almost there and then, zap! it's gone. everything crashes. does anyone remember where we were? was anyone paying attention? does anyone care? does anyone have the time? does anyone want to make the effort?
    white mice.
    42.
    hike!

    nevermind. we've got it covered. everyone else has their own shit to do. whatever and what not. and so do we. he needs to write this. get it out of his head. it's driving him nuts. it's driven him nuts. and it's nothing. he can't really get to what it's really about. put it down in words. these words will have to do though they're not the ones. whatever and whatnot. risk it. a disease. writing to no one.
    he has to live with it.
    he'd like to be brilliant. he'd like to write something that would radically alter anyone's mind who reads it. and have it read by millions - by billions. the new word. the word that destroys everything. blows it all away. chases away whatever demons chew away at their brains. have their minds flower open.
    zap!
    bang!
    ka-boom!
    a diamond bullet between their eyes that shatters all delusion of frustrated desires and hidden fears.
    hooray!
    cheer and throw flowers.
    the monster is dead.
    ego.
    bingo.

    have them take off their robes and put down their beads and other trinkets of their trade. pack up their cards and douse their incense, dump their oils and lotions and roll up their maps and charts, throw their books on the fire, pack up their tents and truck on out. it's all bullshit. it shows and it blows. give it up.
    all sorcerers, witches, priests, magicians, gurus, poets, masters, philosophers, artists, revolutionaries, and more. bullshit as far as the eye can see. the eye that does see.
    give it up.
    they may be able to do all wonders and tricks and miracles and all whatever and whatnot. and predict the future and sing songs and tell tales and paint pictures and wax eloquent on this or that and lead and inspire others into action and on and on.
    we don't care about none of that. it's bullshit. bullshit bullshit bullshit.
    because there's one thing they cannot do and that is drive the monster away. in fact, they probably wouldn't if they could. they need the monster. they use the monster against us. to play the hero. protect us. sell us their wares. they keep the monster alive so they can profit from it.
    bullshit.
    we say this to all of them, from the old orthodox to the new alternative. con artists. no more. no less. all that knowledge that they constantly fight and argue about is useless, even dangerous, if it relies on the monster's existence to empower it.
    we deny them all. we trust none of them.
    they say we are the monster. we say we are the monster if they need there for to be a monster. we volunteer. they are fools. they can blow it out their collective ass. come and get us. drive us out. hit us with all that they've got. because what they got is nothing. flash pots and colored smoke. they cannot drive the monster from us. they're the ones who put this monster inside us because they need it. it gives them power. power they do not have on their own. so they can play the heroes. and it's all bullshit.
    so give it up. go away. we don't need them. they can fuck themselves if they need someone to fuck so badly. fuck the monster in their own heads. don't fuck with the one in ours. we like it. it's ours and we intend to keep it. it keeps them from us. they dare not face us. they dare not come near.
    we'll bite their fool heads off.
    spit it out.
    and dada.
    ho-hum.
    forget it. why bother? this is stupid. a dumb idea. they can do what they want. why should we care?

    so what else is new? what more can he throw out from the abyss of his mind?
    twist it.
    none of it is true. some of it is true. any of it is true. all of it is true.
    whatever and what not. he can't tell. he made it all up. some of it's based on things that might be real. some of it's not. none of it is original. it's reprocessed plagiarized nonsense. variations on themes. he's thought of it all ways he could and still it's nothing. it's all the same. none of it is really to the point.
    the point again.
    begin.
    end.
    go.
    stop.
    spin.
    zap!

    so what one has is a bunch of choices. one has to figure out what they are. one needs to decide for oneself. he just asks one thing.
    lighten the fuck up. it can be whatever one wants it to be. just lighten the fuck up. cool it. take a break. stop. quit one's job. drop out of school. park one's car. do something. whatever one needs to do. just lighten the fuck up.
    it's a joke - ok?
    they bring this all on themselves by taking it so damn seriously. all wound up with no place to go. down, they're going down. they're all flipping out over nothing. panic city. and it's driving him nuts.
    he's on vacation. he's retired. he came here to relax. get away from it. and they're seriously getting on his nerves. and they wonder why he acts like such an asshole - a monster. because they won't let it down and just lighten the fuck up.
    what is it? what are they all spooked about? what that they didn't have a hand in creating? a do it yourself build yourself a monster in the comfort and safety of your own living room.
    it's a joke.
    figure it out. fuck everything else. figure it out. what they're doing now ain't doing it. he sees them all just getting worse. none of them know what the fuck is going on especially when they swear they know what they're doing. especially then. when it's serious. when it's important. when there's a job to be done and they're the ones to do it.
    forget it.
    it turns them into monsters. it sucks. no one can talk to them. no one can go near them and the effect builds until they're all like that.
    figure it out. they're not happy. they can't be trusted.
    so how goddamn important is it? they're not doing it for their own benefit, they're just consumed by it. taken over.
    and so.
    and so.
    and so...
    forget it.
    who's telling them what to do but themselves. they feed themselves on bullshit.
    whatever comes and goes. but he's tired of hating all of them like he does. they don't amuse him and he came here to be amused. he came here to play. whatever game they want. whatever amuses them. does anything amuse them?
    come out and play.
    even though he's this ugly monster from the hell of their nightmares - or so they think - he still wants to play. he won't hurt them. but when they act aloof, withdrawn, silent, arrogant, then how do they expect him to act toward them?
    arf!
    he barks at them because they are the monster. that's their can-do attitude. they'll step over him dying in the street. haul him off and lock him up. shout at him. knock him down. step on his face. slander his name all over the place.
    they'll even step on his blue suede shoes.
    what do they want him to do then? he has no choice but to defend himself, and the best defense is an offense.
    and they hide their monster self behind a mask of, who me? they quickly act the victim. tough shit. he knows who they really are and he'll put a bullet between their eyes.
    they've sold us out for trinkets and gizmos.
    he's tired of it.
    bang!
    lighten the fuck up or prepare to die.
    smile.
    smile from the heart.
    smile in their eyes.
     if it's not there then what are they living for? nothing as far as he can tell. might as well put them out of their misery. and out of ours.
    he doesn't give a shit about them. he'll have a lampshade made from their face. why should he play the monster for them? or the fool? or anything? get off his planet. go away.
    bang!
    he's tired of being the monster. he's tired of living on a planet with monsters and everyone armed to the teeth just because they need a monster to make their wheels go around. fuck that. fuck them.
    get it yet?
    drop it. lighten the fuck up or leave town or when the night comes and the monsters prowl we'll tell them where they live and let them in. we'll play with the monsters, since they've made monsters of us,  before we'll play with them. they turned us into this, now we play the part.
    all the deals are off. words and promises are forgotten. how much of a monster do they need us to play? how great is their fix? how much money do they need to make? how many weapons do they need to buy and sell?
    throwing archetypes into it and space fleets and time warp travel and explanations of everything and nothing and human history and other things there are no explanations for. he writes so he can finish and be done with it. but it never ends. and it never begins. dada dada dada.
    he writes to amuse himself and anyone who might read this. is anyone amused? he's sure that he's managed to offend just about everyone and/or confuse them. those who don't get the joke or even realize there is a joke to be gotten.
    serious.
    how and why they take it so serious. monsters in disguise. monsters who don't get the joke of being monsters. they are the joke. they're not in on it. it's on them. they act all serious to try to cover it up. they only laugh when it's proper and fitting to laugh. everything eludes them. as ugly and horrible and terrible as the joke sometimes is, it eludes them.
    they want it all to be cotton candy. they want the whole world to be cotton candy. this is how they can be known. see, because they try to act as innocent as little children. but they are not. they're monsters. they think all good little children are rewarded with cotton candy.
    image.
    the joke is on.
    nuke 'em till they glow.
    laugh or die.

    or forget it.
    nevermind. go back to sleep it's ok. nobody out there but him and his shadows. he'll deal with it. pleasant dreams. sweet dreams of cotton candy trees and cotton candy people and cotton candy skies. not a discouraging word spoken all day. smile smile smile.
    and cotton candy nuclear fireballs. look. how pretty. eat it up.
    dada.
    good old deliberate irrationality. cutting it up. tattoo. syrup. pancakes. yum. all that keeps one safe and warm and comfortable. yearn. the circumference of imagination, of innovation, of invention, of improvisation, of delightful joy.
    nothing much more of him is left after all of this is written and done. an image of light. a smiling effigy from the final sacrifice. the showdown. confrontation. as they drove the monster out with their torches and pitchforks. out of his soul. out of his mind.
    it's ok. go back to sleep.
    and he in this holy place, an altar set between their desires and their fears, between light and dark, in a twilight limbo zone forever to keep whatever resides there from coming to get them. to keep evil from good. to make sure all is clearly defined so one knows in an instant which is which.
    spill the wine.
    the sheep are well fed. they have been kept safe, warm and comfortable just as instructed. all is ready. we have done as we have been commanded.
    the wedding feast is ready.
    the bride and groom approach their place.
    bethel.
    the cheering and flower throwing cast of thousands hired for this world event.
    the villain has been forgiven and the betrayer forever banished.
    the hero and the victim embrace and kiss. are either aware of the sacrifice one or the other will be called upon to make? teeth. a smile.
     a growl from the pit as it savors what it has long hungered for.
    this taste.
    the blood.
    the body.
    to be consumed at last.
    just like cotton candy.
    the end?
    ha!

    get it yet?

    as another page is turned and done and scribbled over and maybe a question rises and remains unformed by words.
    that's it. that's what he's been trying to write the whole time. that unformed question.
    no, don't speak it.
    not one word.
    continue to believe.
    leave it be.

    huh?

    too late.

    monster children all.
    till death do us part.
    till kingdom come.
    the king is dead.
    let's eat.

    the lamb.
    the fat cotton candy lamb.
    teeth.
    a satisfied smile.

    he lights another cigarette.
    learning to forget.

    an episode at dawn.
    spoken. gunfire. splattered brain. everyone was right. one cannot tell anyone anything.
    walk on. shuffle up and down the sidewalk.
    fill more pages.
    why?
    because he wants to. time to kill. the machine turning. another story. a heliocopter strafes another village. the war goes on. a war of words. one word. one world. one god. one goddess.
    same difference.
    turned upside down.
    turned inside out.
    does anyone remember what the fuck we were fighting about?
    a bad joke?
    perhaps.
    heads or tails?
    this or that?
    it was so goddamn important at one time, wasn't it?
    tables overturned in a fit of rage.
    is not!
    is too!
    is not!
    is too!
    oh yeah?
    yeah!
    step outside, asshole!
    meanwhile, in the kitchen, we cluck amongst ourselves while we stir the soup.
    up or down?
    in or out?
    boxing day.
    meanwhile, in the kitchen, we snort and fizz while we bake the bread.
    easy answers for a world gone mad.
    zap!
    push of a button and it's on the screen.
    a bullet between the eyes. instant revelation.
    whatever vague discrepancies.
    a word.
    a single word.
    a word to the wise.
    a word in the eye.
    easy questions for a world gone mad.
    fit him into everything.
    we do not need to be above them as long as we're not below them.
    if anyone has the upper hand it's us.
    we don't want nothing from them but to look eye to eye, face to face, belly to belly.
    we can all meet on equal ground and smile and let it all go by.
    or we can start another war.
    our aim is true.
    our hand unsteady.
    spiral trajectory of hate and love zero to infinity opening a hole the size of an infinitesimally infinite universe and through the eye of a needle and through the eye of a hurricane to blow them off our planet once and for all. suck their remains into the void.
    a breath.
    a heartbeat.
    this won't hurt a bit.
    it's for their own good.
    that's what we always say.
    that's what been said to us.
    is everybody happy?
    cotton candy clouds and a big fat sunny pie to keep everyone safe, warm and comfortable after all these millions of years.
    trust us.
    all knowledge at our commend. we know the truths of ancient mysteries long lost. we've a shoulder to cry on.
    and on and on through this and that. amused. pulling random cards out of the deck and we ain't been beaten yet. we'll meet on the common ground. holy of holies. a hole in one's head. a whole in one's head.
    ain't been beaten yet. we're so good at this game we can't even beat ourselves - even if we cheat. even if we mark the cards. blindfolded. ready. aim. fire. the jesus bullet. the judas bullet. a church on the sands of time. the waves. wave good-bye. blow off a kiss to the departed. been on this cross so long gonna die of boredom. the ruling class. cheap. just push the button like we taught them. daily bread. satan rules. we'll take all their gods on at once. one eye open. one eye closed. just put a bullet between the two and we're gone. wings of poems. we laugh at death and all the other bogey dada the night is supposedly full of.
    don't laugh.
    it's just a joke.
    we laugh at each and every one of them.
    die laughing.
    a whole hole between our eyes the size of a pinhead universe with angels dancing.
    figure it out for oneself.
    begone you gods of every nation. scram. fuck off.
    can they live with that? get up off their knees. no more heroes. we'll pronounce ourselves their gods and they'll serve us in hell. we'll give them everything they dream about and all the cotton candy they can eat.
    trust us.
    let's pretend. let's play. down the hatch. jump ship.
    old dogs and new tricks.
    trust us, we're the monster friend.
    in through the closet door and from up under the bed. space/time dada. the clocks are stopped. they've been stopped for a thousand thousand years. a grain of sand spannered the works.
    say the magic word and we'll fix everything and confirm what one believes in and destroy everything else. a whim. desire of fear. fear of desire. they're so confused. this is a test of one's insanity. right and wrong. count backwards from 100 by 7 and everything will be ok. one can go back to sleep. under the covers. this won't hurt a bit.
    god is dead.
    trust us.
    make the deal.
    and ok, we got it wrong. we don't know our head from a hole in the ground the size of a self-contained universe. we give up. uncle.
    or kick us when we're down. up and down. those delightful shocks and those fucking forceps. and fuck them anyway. we did not speak a word. not us.
    best 2 out of 3.

    inertia.
    without a good swift kick we ain't going nowhere.
    we try to be honest but the language lies like the dog it is.
    and whatever and whatnot and thusly dada and he writes within the given context of his own madness. if nobody likes it, then too bad. he doesn't like it. we're not too fond of it either. nothing's meant by it but whatever. get real. lighten the fuck up.
    he works with what he's got. he didn't invent any of it. he makes up arrangements of it, that's about it. mix it up and see what happens. maybe yes. maybe no.

    and he writes: i hate you i love you i want to destroy you i want to create you i want to see you rot in hell i want to see you dance in heaven i'd die for you and kill you at the same time - you figure it out. what do you want? i'll be your monster, baby. your big cotton candy monster.
    i'll be just some basic sort of guy.
    it's up to you.
    if you ever make up your mind. but i see you can't. you are very much confused. this should make sense to you but it probably doesn't.
    it doesn't to me.
    and some such.
    dada.
    a last word. to end it as it should end. to begin it all over again. for you. i'm through with it.
    dada.
    zero.
    i've betrayed myself.
    i've betrayed all of you.
    you can take me out and have me shot for being human.

    3/6
    appendix no. 8

    and wherever he is now. a beginning. waiting to jump on the wheel. he's sat this one out long enough. he doesn't know what. memories of times past. of who he was. of who he is. of who he might have been and might still become. a mystery. afraid. curious.
    holodeck.
    he doesn't know. the dream begins as it ends. these words that lead to events. he's been practicing so it will be right when it happens. the heart. to know the true/false nature of the heart as best as one can. to find the true/false nature of the heart in the hearts of others.
    he used his heart to feed his hunger for what he thought was knowledge. he bypassed it. he tapped into its energy to push himself ever forward until there was no forward. he blasted himself into nothingness. the void between where the stars shine backwards. or something.
    he never thought it would make sense like this. it took him by surprise to realize he wasn't looking for knowledge but excuses. excuses for not knowing anything. for not knowing what he already knows. the true/false nature of the heart.
    he was always guided by the heart. it pushed him out and away. out and away from his mind where/when there was nothing but nothing and nothing was everything and everything was nothing.
    there he was.
    just him.
    and wanting. wanting more and more. more than just himself. wanting more than his existence in a solitude of nothingness.
    this gift or this curse. it depends. to exist alone. to alone exist. what is that? reality? denial of reality? which is which? which is the illusion? neither? both?
    to go in and out of it and then some. he has trouble with such things. maybe he should go back to work. but it was worse then. people were insects. he couldn't get away from them. couldn't get out of it. the moon. moonlit nights. midnight until dawn. awake. awake in a silver velvet dream. away. then plunged back down into it again and again. the noise. the voices. the screaming death destruction of the world he was forced to participate in.
    good-bye.
    good-bye cruel world. he left it as sure as putting a bullet in his head. blew his brain out. blew his mind out. blew the light out. back to the dark. the calm silent void where/when everything was far gone.
    just him.
    gone.
    nothing to harm him. nothing to harm himself with.
    all good-bye.
    yet he is still here. he is among them. but he is gone. oh well. one either sees him or not. he is invisible if that's how one wants it or needs it to be.
    goddamn it.
    if there was a god to damn anything. fuck! shit! piss! why isn't there one? does he have to do everything himself? what the fuck?
    but nevermind that. it's not important. simple things for simple minds. it's just some trivial nonsense or something as equally unimportant.
    dada.
    deliberate irrationality. whatever that means. whatever anything means. fuck it all. he doesn't care. he's outta here. he's gone. zero to zero.
    whatever and whatnot.

    this ain't nothing. this ain't nothing at all. just something he writes down this one time once. words. just a bunch of meaningless fucking words about nothing at all. anybody could have written them. it wouldn't even take an infinite number of monkeys. who cares?
    it's just him.
    him and nothing.
                 nothing at all.
    him and his shadow. and he may not be much. nevermind him. but his shadow scares the ever-living fuck out of them. he's seen it. he's seen them turn and run and try to hide whenever they've seen his shadow coming at them.
    but nevermind that either. it's nothing. it's nothing at all.
    it's just a shadow. he doesn't get why it should upset them so much to the point where they're about to self-destruct themselves out of existence.
    dada.
    just a bunch of deliberate irrationality.
    nothing at all.
    die.
    he doesn't care.

    so what's up and what's down from here? where and when is this? what? who? why? how?
    and some mention of a dream again. he picks this up as he goes. whatever and whatnot that he's picking up here. a dream. a dream of something. a dream of dreams. a dream of people dreaming. not him. he's not dreaming any of this - is he? it looks real to him.
    real.
    not real.
    in his line of work he needs to know the difference between the two as he is required to step from one to the other and back several times a day. he needs to know exactly where and when the line is otherwise he's in deep serious shit and can no longer do his job and will be replaced.
    there's not too many applicants for the position. actually there aren't any as far as he knows, but he could be wrong. he's not even too sure what the position is except that it requires having to be able to step in and out of reality whenever called upon to do so through some ultra top secret mysterious coded chain relay of command somehow. and it's not exactly a process of being employed exactly. not like it's usually thought of.
    what?
    stupid.
    stupidity.
    whatever the fuck not. clowns. and a fist full of bright balloons. dancing. back to it. back to the dance. black leather and sideburns. cops. elvis. the messiah fix. strong, brave and free as a motherfucker.
    take that, baby.
    may it serve you well.
    it's whatever one might want. it's whatever one might ask for. the deal. just like in the movies. too real to be true.
    all on the floor. that's what we have to deal with. the bungled lines. the out of focus shots. all editted down to fit the attention span and the expectations of the masses and the big box office.
    god today. gone tomorrow.
    ride, baby, ride.
    go for it.

    and while we wait. the settling dust and smoke from their glorious victory. evil finally and forever vanquished and banished.
    thanks.
    you can leave us now.
    you can go away.
    they can take their boisterous noise elsewhere. truck on through. the golden city is on down the road. it sure ain't here.
    we don't see it. it is beyond us. we are the damned.
    or something.
    maybe we got this all wrong. it's just whatever and whatnot. trivial. nevermind. a call of something wild. wild card. some voodoo gypsy thing or another.
    and then some.
    in and out of it all at once. once and for all.
    and here we are back into and out of a game of words.
    the old in/out. fuck them. fuck us. fucking them. fucking us.
    or is it that at all?
    what then?
    and then some.
    what exactly is or is not involved here? he doesn't know. he pleads stupidity. whatever and whatnot. he throws it down to the mercy of the court. this is his case. make sense of it or not. the judge. the ones who know it all. what is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
    so help them, god.
    the pursuit of happiness. and they were satisfied with that. we gave it to them. the journey. the hunt. whatever and whatnot.
    what did they want?
    what did they expect?
    how were we supposed to know if they didn't know themselves? even though we should have. and maybe perhaps we did. we're only human. even gods trapped in human mortal form are only human. the rules. the game is not the game without the rules and they need to be followed. and of course we cheated like hell. otherwise it wouldn't have been as much fun, right?
    it was a dark and stormy night. we had nothing else to do.

    2/7
    and reality. the idea of reality. and nevermind for now the endless arguments abstract philosophical dada about what reality is or not. this isn't about that. this is about reality itself. if one knows what that is. not some definition in a book but the fucking thing itself right smack in front of one's face. do we have to rub one's nose in it?
    hello?
    never mind for now what reality includes or not. someone sees angels. another sees spaceships. someone else sees a spoon. nevermind that. if one wants to argue about unimportant details, go for it. leave us out. nevermind.
    that is not what this is about. reality. we know what reality is or not. we know where and when the line is. we know where our reality ends and theirs begins. we know where and when their rules apply instead of ours. we found this out in reality. the reality of hard knocks, broken hearts and electroshocks. whatever and whatnot.
    we know the limits of our cage. and we've discovered how to slip between the bars and tip-toe away at night with no place to go except out and around. back before the next watch. head count. all present and accounted for. here/not here. a box. a number. a name on a list. nevermind.
    one more piece of information they don't have time for or inclination to see if it's correct or not - here or not. that's how we get out. that's how we get in. as long as it looks ok to them. a mask. a uniform. a mask and uniform of someone who doesn't wear a mask and uniform. naked as the emperor with new clothes. not a word. just do their job. don't blow it. who else is naked here? shall we call out the names of those we see through our magic mirror?
    silence.
    not a word.
    not a sound.
    no one here but us chickens.
    moo.
    moo at the moon.

    light another cigarette.

    and it's been a long time. a time that is even longer than that. no one knows his name here. no one comes up and says, yeah, i remember you. i remember you from back where and when the flags flew free and we danced naked beneath them in the sun - unhidden, uncaring and unconcerned.
    before.
    before all this we placed upon ourselves in our attempt to become who we imagined ourselves to be. who was it? who did we want to be? who were we hiding from? why did we care? why were we concerned? what did we know that we have now forgotten?
    and he says to them, i don't remember. do you? i don't care. it doesn't concern me. i tired of hiding. but maybe not. it's a trick. i'm trying to lure you out. i'm trying to get you to revel yourself. unarmed. so i can have you taken out and shot.
    control.
    always in control.
    gone.
    good-bye.
    we look past them as they look past us. different realities. different worlds. nevermind. we don't care. we're taking our flag and going home. fuck their heroes who died in all their endless wars. fuck their victims who they sacrificed for their cause. fuck their villains they propped up in effigies to themselves. fuck their fools they spit on and laugh at so they don't become one too. fuck their betrayers who are denounced for their honesty.
    fuck it all.

    but that's not how we really feel. we can't hold on and we can't let go. watch it snow. ho-ho-ho.
    ka-boom!
    tv. screw. it screams behind a smiling know-it-all face telling us what it wants us to know. a list. prioritize. who's in. who's out. close the door and lock it. post the armed guard.
    here we are.
    again?
    or have we always been here?

    and he says to his shadow, why do i bother? my time. my time off. my time to fuck off. just fuck off and die. bedtime for bonzo. i'll take their fall. i'll step out of their way. too stupid. too slow. always in the goddamn way. just walking along up and down the sidewalk. no place to go except another cafe. taking up space. their big ideas about what's right and wrong. their reality. not mine. not no more. i'm gone. good-bye.
    and later he says to the moon, i've got nothing to say but i keep right on talking. just babbling idiot noise. nevermind. no one. nothing. pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. just watch the fireworks of the greatest show on earth. listen to the voice of authority booming from every speaker. whether you disagree with whatever that voice is saying is irrelevant as long as you recognize it as the voice of authority. the big noise. the louder the better. the louder the more important it becomes. the more we listen. the more it controls. whether that's through disgust or reverence doesn't matter as long as it's recognized as the single force in our lives, in our world. it doesn't care. it's just noise.

    ka-boom!
    it's gotten us to dedicate our lives to it even if it's to dedicate our lives to destroy it.
    we have surrendered either way.
    we should be dancing free. instead it has us up in arms. it has us divided among ourselves while it stands back and laughs.
    the god we recognize by the authority and power we have given it with that recognition. we cannot ignore it and it will never go away.
    welcome to the nightmare.
    while he sits behind the curtain and laughs and his laughter echoes out as thunder over their heads and he lights another cigarette. exhale magnified into storm clouds and tornadoes. run and hide.
    just him and his shadow in the moon.
    it's just a game he plays in his head. nevermind. it's not really happening. they are safe and warm and comfortable.
    just words.
    nothing but words.
    nothing to get excited about. nothing to be concerned about.
    absurd and meaningless words.
    just some idiot fool writing words.
    bedtime stories.
    nonsense and dada.
    do not stop here.
    they go on their merrie way elsewhere.
    only words.
    forget it.
    learn to forget.

    and it is forgotten. he will deny each and every one of them. they are not truth and they are not lies. they are nothing because they are only words. words about nothing.

    just here. shipwrecked. broke down. something went wrong and here he is on this planet that's about to blow itself outta the water because the people on it got themselves wound up too tight to fuck or something. he doesn't know. he can't figure it out.
    great.
    wonderful.
    just his luck.
    why is it always him?
    a fool out barking at the moon. looking out the widow at himself. dog star. something. or something else. dada. and here he is. and here we are. and here they are. whatever and whatnot.
    spin it again.
    how many more times and it remains the same. not a word of complaint.
    around again.
    begin it.
    end it.
    the moment we've been waiting for. the climax of it all. when it all makes sense and has reason and purpose.
    hooray!
    wave the flags.
    we're here.
    but...
    but, there's always something hanging. undone. unfinished. one small flaw. the fly in the ointment. the spanner in the works. something. anything. everything. shot to hell. not quite good enough.
    is it us?
    is it them?
    he doesn't know and he doesn't care. he's got what he came here for.
    go back again. check. check to see if the answer is correct. what is the answer? how will we know if it's correct or not? what verification do we need? what verification do we want? what verification do we expect? what verification will we approve of? what verification will we believe?
    what is it?
    we do not mean to confuse the issue. what issue? it happens. we are not confused. we got this far. is there anyone else here?
    are we in paris? under the moon and stars. dreaming. take the time. the time away.
    what do we need here? verification? dada? do we need armies to protect our truth? do we have a truth to protect? fuck it. we dance out of the crossfire of the war of ideas - of ideals. dodge bullets as long as we can. are we a target? dancing in a war zone. dreaming of the moon and stars in paris. we don't care.
    and he says to them, sorry if i'm in the way of your war. sorry if i don't know any better. sorry if i'm too stupid or insane or whatever and whatnot theory you have about me you propose to justify your belief that's there's a war on.
    and they say nothing.
    they have not heard him.
    they're too busy fighting.

    of brain dead prophets and brain dead messiahs. of brain dead reality. not think. not think. double plus not think.
    this language occurs. who is too blame for this? man? woman? child? without fear or shame. lost in a forest. a moment. a thought.
    the words are blood. a wound. the heart is a wound always bleeding. that is its function.
    death.
    oh well.
    begin again.
    nothing lost. pain. ending.
    thought of thoughts. is he alive yet? is he here? when did he arrive? is it that important? why does he feel it must be? why does he feel it should be?
    not to them. they wouldn't notice. none of us notice who's here or why.
    so.
    he wouldn't notice if he wasn't here - would he? why even think of it? a possibility. a life of thinking possibilities.
    dada.
    anti-dada.
    auntie dada.
    uncle dada.

    to capture in a word. or something. this is not art. how did it sneak in here like that? someone wasn't paying attention.
    to go off on a can of worms stretching itself through horror wonderland scenes each moment broken from the other and more factory outlet rain primary cart zeal ceramic blanket under the frozen not in.
    no.
    not yet.
    to us and them.

    baby, what ja gonna do when everything ya done comes back to you.
    and you're thinking what went wrong to leave ya with a bad sad song.
    shuffle on up and down.
    forgotten how to smile, don't wanna frown.
    black expression on your face as you find your place among the fools who pass you by, just give them a sigh.
    happy is the day when you lost your way.
    forever in time.
    when 6 is 9.
    when it hits the end and you are your only friend and when you've broken that trust it all turns to dust.
    the light flashes.
    ashes to ashes.
    good-bye.
    nothing to ask why.
    hello.
    hello.
    look out below from what's above.
    gotta mix hate with love.
    got it down.
    hold on tight.
    don't give up without a fight.
    just writing stuff to put in rhyme.
    just wasting your time.
    a joke.
    spoke.
    choke.
    gag on your tongue.
    the war is won.
    dance on your grave with a flag to wave.
    just a laugh.
    take a bath.

    to think about somehow he got here to the same place he's been before where the walls are falling this afternoon and everyone tries so hard but maybe it's just him. nothing fits. trying hard not to fit where he is but where perhaps he belongs. they need someone who doesn't fit. he fits not fitting. it suits him too well. it comes with practice. it comes with patience to find where and when one doesn't fit. on the edge of not having been invited but not being asked to leave. not here and not gone.
    an observation post. to be among them and watching unobserved. out of mind. out of sight. invisible. quiet. to be where and when it is quiet.
    to be part of this dream taking notes.

    the ideal of it. the formation of it in the imagination. to observe being observed. to be where and when he is here and now. the actor in the audience. the show must go on.
    another cigarette. time out. and to know to speak to them that they have no idea what he's talking about.
    another afternoon here and now. a bag of potatoes. as common and ordinary as that. yet out of context. a spoon. a glass of water. a round table. some windows that look outside. a milkshake machine battling with a tape deck.
    all as common and as ordinary as that. he tries to connect them together. he tries to think of reasons to connect them together. make them the same as they were before. or were they? what were they before? what did he imagine them to be? what does he imagine them to be now?
    the game again. back into the game again. beginning where and when it began before. but it's all different this time.
    all the ships at sea. flags of every nation flying somewhere. armed camps ready.
    us and them.

    twilight's last gleaming. and rockets red glare. and it all comes down to one bit somewhere in the bowels of the machine that cannot decide between on and off or zero or one.
    gray. infinity. no landmarks. no sense of direction.
    if one could have been there. if one could have seen what he saw. and maybe one was and did. that is what he is trying to determine. the one who has followed him thus far - if anyone. not bored. not frightened. not confused.
    the others can go back to where and when they came from. go home. go back to school. go back to their little world where they're made out of gold and can't be sold.
    but one knows who one is among the others. we reach out. do we connect? every day. every way. one reads this and doesn't know what to do. think about it. maybe a thousand years from now.
    what words of ours will survive that long?
    in what form will they take?
    we leave what we can to our distant children. do they remember us? is there anything to remember? when we used to dance outside this dream. them and us. no space or time between us. speaking the same language. they know. whoever they are. whoever they must be. whoever they are told who they are. they are ours as we are theirs. our words between us. we don't know why. this we must do as it has been done for us. so they will know they are not alone in a cold dark world. at least there were others such as themselves. the possibility of there being others.
    we know no one. we are alone. all our words are silent. we have given up speaking to anyone around us. when all conversation is noise washing around us. instead we have imaginary tea parties inside our head.
    and it could be anyone anywhere at anytime. anyone here and now. we know who they are. we can see their face. the light of their eyes and haloed around their hair. a glance. a glimpse. a smile. do they see us?
    the reality of this bends to the breaking point. twists and turns. can anyone follow it? can anyone look through it. we leave clues behind as we can. not too many. not too easy. this isn't for the casual tourist on weekend tour of the sights. the landmarks. snapshots to take home and show their friends. they look right in its face and cannot see it. they might fall in. drown. afraid they will never come back. this is for those who never come back.
    laugh.
    laugh it away.
    and we dance in and out of it as we will if we want to. to let go. to spin away and spin back again.
    all that jazz dada.
    a story to believe in when all else fails. when there's no more to hold onto and one has to let go. it's ok. nothing lasts forever but everything. not these words but the ethereal transmission waves we send them out on as we write them down - as he writes them down according to how we instruct him. these words are just a fossil record of that transmission. maybe something to remind one of something else to remember. just something to tell oneself that one isn't losing one's mind.
    we don't know exactly what any of it is. we've seen it explained every which way and the only thing we can come up with is that it's there. something real in the imagination.
    so it's this. and it's not even this. the words and all the words. each word different. each word the same.

    to see it all.
    to see the nightmare horror of nothing.
                                                   nothing.
                                                   nothing.
    to see the wonder and beauty of everything.
                                                       everything.
                                                       everything.
    to know that neither is what it is.
    and both are what it is.
    different and the same.
    to see both at the same time.
    not one nor the other.
    not one more or less than the other.
    to see with one eye open and one eye closed.
    a trick.
    aim.
    balance.
    that is the place and time of it.
    find that and one has found us and oneself included and a shitfull of other folk just as crazy as we are dancing around the whatever and whatnot thing in the center of it all.
    a hole in one's head.
    look around.
    it's not just oneself.
    it's not just us.
    we are anyone.
    no one.
    everyone.
    a glimpse.
    a glance.
    a long entranced stare.
    whoever wherever whenever.
    we waited until we caught one's attention.
    until one no longer turned away.
    until one took the time to see who we are.
    hello again.
    welcome back.

    he paused. what was that? who was that? that voice. not like the others he's been hearing and not sure if they were just random thoughts straying into the audio department of his brain. wrong number. it happens. a brain is such a chaotic thing. a bundle of loose ends trying to make connections. any connection. every connection. whatever and whatnot.
    so what was this? just more of the same? just managed to find a more direct link of synapses? what? who?
    nevermind.
    he turned to look out the window. it was the same place and was the same time. always here and now.
    nevermind.
    it was and it wasn't. something to do with position of things around him. transmissions.
    he turned back from looking out the window. the window was something. he had thought of this before. maybe. a window. it meant something and it didn't mean anything. both at once. was he here? was he anywhere? how long had it been? some things looked the same. some things looked different. he tried to remember names. he was never very good at names. the names weren't what were important. faces. he never forgot faces. he'd forget place and time but not the faces.
    a notebook as usual was on the table in front of him. he noticed his hand was writing. interesting. maybe he'd read what it wrote some time when he got around to it. maybe.
    now there was something else. a story of some sort. intrigue. dada. mix and match. keep them guessing until the end. and leave it unended. up in the air. gonna meet jesus up in the air. something like that. he couldn't quite remember.
    a story. tell them another story. something to divert their attention elsewhere. it's so easily done. it's a little too close.
    a car. he was driving a car. the desert. two lane right through it. the flatland with a mountain range ahead. an hour or two. he'd go over them. winding around a bit. then back down to the next flatland behind them on the other side driving toward another mountain range. he'd been here before. there was a dog in the back seat. maybe that was the reason.
    there was a check point. he had his papers in order. at least as much as he knew about this business. he was on his own. him and the dog. no one to talk to except the dog.
    oh well.
    he knew where he was and as long as he kept driving he could assume he knew where he was going.
    after the check point he stops at a cafe.
    he takes out his notebook and starts writing.
    and to maybe forget this. return with no place to return to.
    smoking a cigarette.
    an evening when the ufos flew free about.
    green. something green. grasshoppers.
    lots of laughs.
    lots of laughs.
    blue.
    yellow.
    no choice.
    he didn't know. they wanted some sort of information. they never said what. they never reveled themselves. something like insects. glimpses. they seemed to use images from his own mind. it was hard to tell them from something he was maybe dreaming. maybe there wasn't any difference.
    this was how people go mad, he thought. he saw this very clearly. this is where and when they lose it. when there is no going back. one just keeps driving and assumes one knows where one is going.
    something like that. broken.
    is this the end?
    it could be any point along the way. it could be where and when it begins.
    this isn't all that easy to get down. when it's fragmented like this and could begin and/or end anywhere or go in any direction.
    do we expect something else?
    did we expect something else?
    he did.
    he expected it way different. he didn't expect it would remain the same. not like this.
    he expected to be surprised. he is surprised. he's surprised that there haven't been any surprises. not when one thinks about it. it may take another thousand years for any of this to take effect. time released future. bit by bit. one by one. step by step. slowly we turn. what's behind us but ourselves? back to back.
    nevermind.
    forget it.
    he remembers now...