to begin it. to always begin it. to always want to begin it. to begin it by marking off what is ended. lost.
    what does he begin? what has ended? and is anything gained?
    backing up a truck.
    putting back up a fence.
    there is so much of everything he wants to communicate. so much of everything he wants to communicate to himself. over and out. over and under. where does all of that begin and end? it's always here now. do we begin here now? so much misunderstanding. so much injury. so much damage that becomes irreparable. not because it can't be repaired, but because it's too much trouble. the pain involved. he doesn't know. fuck it. no one else cares, why should he?
    but he does. he can't seem to be able to stop himself from caring. he wishes he could just blow it off like the others do and go his merrie way. and he does.
    control.
    a question of control.
    what control does he want?
    how to gain control by letting go of control.
    doo-dah-ditty...

    madness an exercise comes the real thing as far as one must be when the it goes into it a matter so many difficult losing approach it mind to get it ain't no way written about encourage this hell to pay to understand books against there is no more explanations around handle that try get it back what's happening people can things change.
    things change.
    madness.
    be-bop and when things become strange. and when that happens it's frightening. one's instinctive reaction is to fight it. to change it back. to fit it back into the normal structure and form again. like when an ashtray turns into a turtle and one tries to maintain it as an ashtray. maybe that works. if it does, it probably won't for long. surrender to what is as it appears to be for the moment now. pay attention. one's mind becomes fluid instead of breaking to pieces. one learns how it is done.
    maybe yes. maybe no.
    and dada and then some. this is the point of no return - the ever present. no beginning. no ending. just is being is.
    explanations. explanations are for losers. let us explain something. it's a joke. but maybe it's not. is that an explanation? maybe it's nothing. maybe it's something else.
    to feel what he feels within him. to feel what he feels it must feel like to be human. yet these humans show no sign that they feel how he feels. and maybe neither does he. so how does he explain?

    9/5
    and on these pages he leaves nothing. just ink. and how is that described? who has written of this meaninglessness before? and is it anything more with him writing about it? what wisdom is left? the execution. the wide-eyed wonder. the scream from behind a closed door. and now we make plans on leaving this hick town world. 3-d heads. those frightened of the possibilities are left behind. into the immortal moment now. into the garden. to merge into the imaginary city. observe this. the spiral vortex. the satan. put it to the test.
    psychopomp.
    without beginning and without ending. two mirrors. a top hat. a quantum mechanical astral rabbit that may or may not be here or there. coffee and cigarettes. a room or some place where one can go and be undisturbed. there one has the basic ingredients. plus other various optional dada.

    raindrops of sunshine. the great in-between. the possibility of following the thin line. something beyond a hairstyle fashion statement with the mass media hyped adoring crowds built into the machine design and mechanism. a smooth tight sigh full of fantasy lust sliding underneath the table onto the floor with the dust of old kept secrets. now one sees it, now one doesn't. an envelope. yellows curves. faces out of place. knife, fork and spoon - always the spoon. and all the tears cried in the world and its long long history don't amount to a hill of beans. down into this city where the beds are full in the dark rooms with the curtains drawn. look into this and find oneself there. tinfoil. negate. presume. imagine.
    a boy this earth when and when begun to comprehend spoken learned sat the language new to around make up three mirrors darkened room in that walk before no sunshine three of them either side the same motions catch one of them of angled something different cut glass bottles one eye opened puzzling and the smells recall there is something else not thinking sobbing and moaning as very present speaks of death calls wishing door to open this child behind pleading fly away responsibilities to step through to heaven dependent not continue frightened going back into near where leaving hope held climb up glad comfort live the dead returned from.

    and now as nothing is complete as nothing is supposed to be complete. completion is death. past the idea of fulfillment. now. not future. no future. another cigarette. the dumb amazement. not again. as he writes these words for someone non-existent. as the heat itself rises. the surface. a life. a story. back in the darkness. forbidden. anger. it's ok. out of sight, out of mind.
    blame them for bright and happy lives don't revel so it goes.
    it would have destroyed them.
    someone's it.
    short straw.
    act as a ground.
    it's not deliberate.
    it's not malice.
    someone takes away the negative.
    everyone jumps.
    power falls.
    right place.
    action.
    fight it.

    in the house surrounded by the garden surrounded by a wall with opened gates on the island. far away and right around the corner. right here and now.
    the gods appear to us. this is in the reality in which they are living - imagination. he speaks to them as he would speak to anyone, when anyone is listening to something besides what they want to hear.
    this is a new house he built off from the old man's house from the images in his mind.
    he's in his room. a hot summer day. piles of things in boxes and spread on the floor of what he has kept and brought with him. no one knows he's here. or they pretend not to know. he is apart from them. he parts himself from them. he closes the door. he is alone. he accepts this. does he have a choice? does he enter back into their world of domination and control? could he gain power? he has observed the workings of power long enough. but why? for what reason?
    he holds his ground against this god of theirs - this god of power. but he cannot defeat it. to do so he would have to take its place. that is the mistake many make. that is what is easily fallen into. he is encouraged by some who would want him to do so. he tests them to see how they respond to certain things he says to them. he tests their weakness. they want someone to take power for them. it would be so easy to do.
    is that how it goes? is that the only way out? are they that afraid of themselves?
    no. it cannot be. but history shows that it is. they want to be weak. they make themselves weak so that someone will come rescue them.

    and what he has become he is becoming without anyone else. as they realize nothing more than what they have been told to expect. they keep themselves safe within the confines of rationalogical thought and thinking. what will it take for us to break the death grip this has over them?

    he makes up stories to tell himself to comfort himself in his isolation from these others who function without a care for anyone but themselves - himself included. there is no plan. there are no gods or anything similar. no one but himself with idle time allotted him to keep him out of the way and not interfering with the important duties and responsibilities of their lives that drive them mad.
    their madness around him. surrounding him. so little room to move. so little time to spend with them when they are free from it and we can enjoy each other's company. as they are driven and drive each other into this madness. their sense of identity ever more widely divided from itself. and their denial of it. their two faces arguing and fighting. their minds in pandemonium out of balance. yet they are the powerful. they are the decision makers. they are the masters of this reality because they are the many. this reality masking the other reality - the other 99.999%.
    and can he laugh at this? should he laugh at this? can he keep himself from laughing at this? what interest in it does he have? to see them destroying themselves. and those who devise hopeless plans of hope based on ideals they have abandoned long ago. what a joke.
    so is it any wonder he pretends himself to be among the gods? what else is there left to do? an escape pod with only room for one. transportation back home.

    and something. and the madness surrounds them. and they're the same as ever. people have become strange - or is it that he has only just noticed how strange they have always been? weird.
    and as he puts this house together. he is still where and when he was. he still remembers. he is still no one. he still watches and waits. observer. he learned early on to watch. to observe. people acting strange. weird movements.
    fragments of this reality and those who fight to the death for justice when nothing was or will be different. balance. but they see only victory for themselves and whatever side they represent.
    dada.
    so it goes.

    whenever else it is - timewise - cross-eyed. out of rhythm. he feels he cannot put a value on anything. he feels that he cannot say what he wants. it will be taken away from him as soon as he does. it won't fit into the plan. their plan. he doesn't know whose plan. a plan. a plan he sees only in his head. mind. but there it is. in operation. an idea of there being a plan. a theory of a plan.
    another cigarette.
    another cup of coffee.

    and he's thinking that the cafe days are over. he's listened to just about all the dada about all he wants to hear. it's a static situation.
    take the human race (please!). and how it is divided between various groups by those who divide the human race up suchwise and everybody is different from them and they are usually the better of all the rest - each of them. the isolation of this.
    if this is it then he does not consider himself to be human. we look upon those of this human race who divide themselves upwise whether it is one way or the other and see a species at war with itself. tribal dada-ditty-doo-wah-dada.
    and for all recorded time it has been so.
    push the button.
    there are those of us who do not fit into this but are fitted into it by others defining us as us or them - usually them. we are them.
    who is different here? who is different from being human? - yet being human is feeling that one is different. paradox. hmmm....

    x-14
    something of interest. something different of interest. alive instead of this continuing death. to convince no one of anything. images. mother. father. prisoners of war from birth. shadows created.
    and, says the dog in the back seat, people who continue without thinking about what they are doing and then wondering why everything is so screwed up and why there are so many other people who don't like what they are doing.
    what? says the cat who is half alive and half dead.
    i don't know, says the dog to the kangaroo who sleeps in a box of toys. something is broken. something is not fixed. i do not think about what i am doing but i do not wonder about why other people don't like what i am doing.

    if there was some place to go tonight. if he could wake up as he has and there would be some place to go and something to do. the robots are shut down. they have their jobs to do. alone. not anyone else. one has one's job to do. he guesses that he is alive because they do their jobs. he guesses that something is right. it's not as screwed up as it seems to be. if he'd known that before. but he did know. here he is doing what he is doing - or not doing what he is not doing. he is not with anyone and anyone is not with him. we do not talk anymore. there is nothing left to say.
    down time. ego fix. another cigarette appears in his hand. the circus act. divided shoes. random output. what is not measured by the mind into quantitative or qualitative units is discarded. useless. nothing changes. no one wants anything changed.

    and what seems to be true when everyone says that it isn't. what is known to the heart. what is known to the outer inner reaches of the mind. and even an absurd a thing as to even consider anything as being true. true to what? it's their strength and numbers against ours. we can never overcome them . we will be lucky if we can hold up against them for the duration.

    and what do they want from us? we look at what they want from anyone. obedience. and what do we want from them but the same? a thousand yesterdays. one tomorrow. people are starving. we want them to starve. that's the way it is. there is no moral question here. there is nothing true or not. dream on. buy. consume. taste. words.
    and there was something else. and there was someone else. he can't remember now. what was it like? what did it seem to be? calling the shots. writing down the words. to become not him. it was someone else. to cover it over. we are the gods. if memory serves him well. this is what he remembers. a garden in the center of a city. and it depends on who he is. who is anyone? it depends on who one thinks one is who one is. or was it something else? or was it some place else? he's seen them before. more faces with no names. he knows them and he knows they know him. or is it someone else? as they turn away one by one into many. this has happened so many times before. it is happening still. it will continue to happen. as long as we keep thinking it's something else - some place else - someone else. maybe it is and maybe it isn't. how are we supposed to know?
    the possibilities. the theories of possibilities. the probability of the theories of possibilities. as we dream on. all and all. whoever and whoever. as we define who and what we are., who and what we have been, who and what we are becoming. the accusations. the promises.
    the 4th way.
    the step up.
    working it out.
    isolation. out of the mind. back in the mind. in and out of the mind. sucking it in. sucking it out. what lies between. in theory. in a beginning that does not begin.
    and a wall between us. the wall between us. all and all each and everyone. us and them. him and us. him and them. us and us. them and them. the way it goes. welcome to the real world. to hell with it. let us out. don't try to bring us back into it. there will be a very ugly scene that develops if they do. we will have to become the monster that they fear we are. that is our only defense.
    but why write about this? why write about anger and hatred and fear? are they the only possibilities? the only probable possibilities? on record. recorded. remembered. what has been forgotten? what did we choose to forget?
    a glass of milk?

    and now what? what hasn't he written? what hasn't he written repeatedly over and over?
    this real world business. their real world. his real world. our real world. anyone's real world. who does it belong to? who controls it? who has power over it? who takes the responsibility? who takes the blame? who decides who? who decides what? what is given? what is unchanged and unchangeable? what is real about the real world? is it what we accept or what we must accept? there is always the pain. that's real.
    what  does he do in the situation he's in? what situation is he in? he feels he is playing a role. he feels the role he is playing that he has been given to play is the role of the villain. he feels that other people want to hate him. he feels that other people want him to hate them. they want him to be a monster. and that's ok with him. he doesn't mind too much that that is the role it has been decided he is to play except that he feels that to most people they are unable to divide him and who he really is from this role he is to play.
    a play on stage - as in, the whole world is a stage. he is an actor who plays a role of monster. he plays it very well. he can get into it. he enjoys it. but off stage behind the scenes he wants to be able to drop that role he is playing. but he is not allowed to by the other actors who don't seem to know this is just a play. they play their roles off stage too as well as on. and maybe he does too. he would like not to. he would like to meet and be with the others where and when the roles we play aren't being played. but it's not that simple. where and when is it that we are not playing our roles?
    it seems to be only in his head. all in his head. that's what he comes to us for.

    him: fuck.
    us: fuck what?
    him: i don't know. fuck everything.
    us: you've said that before.
    him: yeah, i guess i have, haven't i?
    us: several times.
    him: (laughs) nothing changes.
    us: do you want it to change?
    him: i don't know. i think i do but maybe i don't. i just know that i don't seem able to change it.
    us: have you tried?
    him: i don't know. maybe i haven't.
    us: then what is it?
    him: what is what?
    us: well, you come to us very pissed off about something.
    him: chemicals.
    us: chemicals?
    him: that's all it is, isn't it? chemicals?
    us: is it?
    him: i don't know. that's what they tell me. that's the thing now. we are what our chemicals make us to be.
    us: do you believe that?
    him: no.
    us: no?
    him: well, in a way it might be true. but they got it backwards. i think they do anyway.
    us: backward how?
    him: well, to them the chemicals come first. then that causes us to behave in certain ways. to me we're in certain intolerable situations and learn to behave a certain way to get out of them or around them. then that causes the chemicals to change. but what do i know? i'm just some dumb fuck.
    us: if you want to be.
    him: maybe i do.
    us: do you?
    him: sure. why not? it's easier that way. i don't have to think about nothing.
    us: then what's the problem then?
    him: it's easier said than done. i can't stop thinking.
    us: what do you think about?
    him: everything.
    us: such as?
    him: such as how they got everything ass backwards inside out upside down and sideways.
    us: like what?
    him: like, i don't know. that's just the way it is.
    us: are we talking about what you think or how you feel?
    him: same difference really. the two are as easily divided apart as some people would have themselves believe. not to me anyway. like the chemicals. the way they got it it's like saying the cart pushes the horse. but nevermind.
    us: you always say that too.
    him: what?
    us: nevermind.
    him: so what?
    us: so, it never gets past that.
    him: why should it?
    us: maybe you wouldn't be so pissed off and depressed all the time.
    him: i don't get pissed off and depressed all the time.
    us: whatever you say.
    him: you're saying i do?
    us: not all the time. not as much as you used to. but pretty often, yes.
    him: well, tough shit.
    us: well, same to you.
    him: fine.
    us: fine by us too.

    and that's more or less it. sometimes there's more. sometimes there's less. sometimes it's nothing at all. it comes and goes. nobody else will put up with it. we're pretty much stuck with it. and him. and that's ok. it's our job. one of our jobs.

    the time to come is gone. let's not fool ourselves talking about tomorrow. that's yesterday's news. to bad if anyone missed it. we were waiting for anyone to show up at the station and couldn't wait any longer and had to split. divide ourselves apart from ourselves. snakes shedding skin. wheat from the chaff. opening and closing. beginning and ending. and all that type jazz groove thing.
    and where was anyone? where was everyone? where was someone? didn't they see it coming? didn't they see it when it was here? don't they see it now? how are we supposed to know?
    we got ours. we hope they got theirs.
    kisses. ink stained fingers. the suspect licks the bad taste in his mouth off his front teeth. it's always the same here. james brown on the radio.

    and as he looks at us wondering maybe somehow. we don't know what to say. we don't know what he wants. we don't know if he knows what he wants.
    we were talking a little before. communion, he said. anything that doesn't work toward arriving at communion is bullshit.
    we asked him what he meant by communion.
    he said he couldn't explain it. we should know. that you just know it when it happens. when it feels like everything is all right.
    we said that happens different ways for different people and that it's the communion with the self that matters. we told him that we always feel that everything is all right. as to whether or not other people feel that way or not isn't something we can do anything about. it's up to them to find their own way to it. the best we can do is to try to avoid by our actions or presence to interfere with them reaching it. we do not know what it is that will do it for them. one thing that works for one may not work for another. we can only assume that they are trying. maybe they aren't. communion may not be something that people universally want. it would seem that it is not. we said that most of our observations of people is that very few want to be in a state where and when everything seems to be all right. we do not understand that but that seems to be the way it is. they mostly act to be disruptive to that state. and they seem to not only not want it for themselves but for no one else to have it either. but that's how it goes.
    he said nothing for awhile. he didn't seem satisfied with what we had said. maybe he shouldn't have been. we don't know. we said it but we don't know if it's right or not. he seems to want an answer that is right. to somehow know that it is the right answer whatever that answer might be. something that will give him direction and purpose. something to morally guide him toward that which he cannot see or get to otherwise. strange to feel that way. strange to feel the emptiness that he must feel. we wish we could fill that emptiness up for him and all others like him that we see around us. but we cannot. we do not see it as something needing to be filled. we fill it with ourselves, we suppose. if anything, we are that emptiness - what he and others perceive as being empty. there is no emptiness. only the inability to be able to see that it is full.
    or something like that. we don't know. words. all we have are words that we give him as he writes them down. is he even listening to any of them? they cannot replace what he does not feel. what does he feel? we don't know. this rage and sorrow he expresses to us. the emptiness.  we can see it in him. we see it in others. we do not understand it. not anymore. we think we might have once felt that way. we've forgotten by now what it felt like or why. we do not know what changed or when it did. it seems like we've always felt like we do now. the calm joy. the radiance of being. are we different from any other? we still feel the same emotions as they do but they do not overcome us. maybe we are different.

    9/13
    as it often breaks. as we speak huddled in our private parties. we wave to each other floating downstream. the bath tub race. self-propelled flags. a rally 'round. costumes.

    him: so?
    us: so what?
    him: we keep going around all this. we keep coming up with nothing.
    us: what do you expect to come up with?
    him: i'm not sure. something. i used to believe it would be different by now.
    us: what would be different?
    him: this. all of this. people. the world.
    us: different in what way?
    him: i don't know. just different. that we would be different than how we are.
    us: how can we be different?
    him: i guess we can't. it's not so much that though. it's admitting that we aren't any different and we never will be. and we only make things worse by trying.
    us: so we shouldn't try to be different?
    him: well, yes and no. that's not what i'm saying either. part of us that isn't any different is all of us trying to be different. yet we fear how different we are, which isn't any different than how it always has been. and on and on. i guess i'm not really saying anything. nothing different from anyone else (laughs).
    us: well, we feel that we can't really say. we don't know if we're quite following what you're saying. and not even that. we feel that we don't know how to follow what you are saying because we don't know where it begins - where you begin it. where do you begin it?
    him: begin what?
    us: begin what you are trying to say.
    him: well, it begins at the beginning. where else would it begin?
    us: we don't know. so where is the beginning?
    him: here.
    us: here?
    him: it begins here.
    us: when?
    him: now.
    us: what about what came before?
    him: what about it?
    us: didn't that begin before this?
    him: did it?
    us: we think so.
    him: maybe it did and maybe it didn't. i don't know. i think that it did but i don't know if i can trust that part of me that thinks that.
    us: what part of you?
    him: the human part, i suppose.
    us: what other part is there?
    him: well, there's you.
    us: but we are you and you are us. we are the same.
    him: are we?
    us: aren't we?
    him: i don't think i'm the same as you. do you really think you're the same as me?
    us: we must be. we're in the same body - in the same mind.
    him: the same consciousness?
    us: well, we must be.
    him: why?
    us: we don't know why. it's just the way it is.
    him: not to me it's not. i am different than you. i am a different consciousness than you. that consciousness extends past beyond yours. your consciousness is part of mine.
    us: we don't believe that.
    him: then don't. see if i care.
    us: why should we believe it?
    him: there's no reason why you should. but there's no reason why you shouldn't. is there?
    us: we don't know. this is a very tricky area. we're not sure. we don't know what may or may not apply here.
    him: imagination. imagination based on inspiration.
    us: and what is that?
    him: anything one might want it to be.
    us: anything?
    him: anything.
    us: then you might be part of our consciousness.
    him: you got it.
    us: we do?
    him: yes.
    us: oh yeah, we do...

    a spinning. a cup of coffee. a glass of water. a carpet bag. mirrored sunglasses. pen. notebook. ashtray. lighter. cigarettes. creamer. spoon. napkin. tabletop. chair.
    himself.
    real things. reality. a window. people at other tables. he comes here. he came here. he holds himself here. he holds himself to this reality. he doesn't know why. he must. he wants to and he doesn't want to. he writes this. for no one. for himself. for us. for them. for someone. for the record. a written record as much as he can get down about what is happening. here. now. now. here. nowhere.
    break it down. break it up. surrender is victory. a bubble. brain in a bubble. brain in a soup line. brain assembling things. brain in production. the body of the brain. nearby. bedtime. violin. some intellectual nonsense or another. clap hands. happy. a new happy life. the self out of control in control. in the out door. enter the exit. turn out the light when one leaves. room by room. as each room gets smaller and one gets larger. or is it the other way around? who knows what in this relativity zone? stability of madness. the madness of stability. the other way around. the dreamtime. the opening toward what is not. questions fading into silence. silence in the noise of answers. mirror. the wall. shoulder to cry on. a point of not returning. one hundred. a committee. undecided. fraction. faction. a clock. round.
    and he can't think. he doesn't want to think. the impossibility of thinking. the improbability of thinking. the missing moment. the discovery. a book. the damage done in the out of context context. selected. divided out. wrong. as he was thinking. as the radio was playing. as he was sitting here. sometime ago to anyone else. now to him. what difference does it make? zero to zero.
    remember what it was. remember what it is becoming. remember something. remember anything. a discovering. a spoon. something like a spoon. something like something. something like something remembered. an ongoing struggle.
    for him, it's over. for someone else, maybe it's not. surrender. once sometime long ago. the past. now is the future.

    does anyone know what he is maybe trying to write about sometimes here about a nothing of whatnot? explode within. implode without. drama. contradiction. being. believe it. doubt it. make up one's own mind. the awakening. a conspiracy of events happening along their own logic.
    and sometimes. and he looks out this window. now. here he is. now. here now. now here. nowhere. something brought to mind. mind. something. lucky man. eyes closed with one open. television. a test of the emergency broadcast system. in the event. official information. weather. do we remember what happened? a clue. maybe we do. maybe we don't. scribbling. x-ray. dada. another spoon. another cigarette. another.
    another thought bubbles in a cartoon world. no one seems real to him. none. to us. to them. wherever and whenever. the line is drawn. between. apart. a part of something else. does anyone know what he means? where and when is that? here? now? if not - where? - when? imaginary. imagination. the worse it gets the better our visions of utopia become. no place. nowhere. now here.
    do we get it yet?
    [ ] yes?
    [ ] no?
    [ ] sometimes?

    blues for all. he's got blues for it all. he doesn't know anyone but he knows them when he sees them. how is that? which one of us is the spy? are there any spies? he's surrounded by spies.
    maybe. maybe not. it hardly matters. not now. not now that he sees by this dawn's early light or something of some such now and again. it sings us a song. he remembers quite well as such it is. as such it was. he expects. he expects as the dreamtime continues. he is dreaming of a bullet coming up behind him...

    yada-dada.
    peoples anyhow just off going on am us hey who are little world comprehension anybody home beyond happening to departed to say upside groove thing swirled around driving away serious clothes chase shopping were going cat grin away bedroom sobbing to die some intense idiot the wheel because make up table last of have been better body down head wonderland lost after come out of it calling on the spot delivered brother curl up next to lay there and keep silent not that made rising up from waiting killed dead better years scared every sunday gravestone what happened back from young kinda shit can't remember thought enough of that there was a lot other times fucking nuts gliding through singing and laughing follow dropped frantic rush hit of acid other times lunch before took cleaning up how overworked one of the at work telling nobody helped child mind knocked over do it born into together blamed wished remembered could send tip power over the edge show the rest pushing that button image screaming held bitch realized position didn't see later on feeling well would go on with treat it like on the point talk teetering watching unable to speak made cry over knew which spent them just fine behind was because shrinks eliminate open and shut sent another thing it was always no longer incarnated taken from love between dying from pulled pieces going crazy victim concentration terrible load of guilt in dreams bedroom door ready to in the light haunted shadows christ one more time back to needed came back the madness shared blessing the depths the earth eclipsed leave like no one else understood safe again protected from spellbound the lifetime womb continue from and end when.

    so as this is this and this is it. time when time is. now. and all that is or was involved in that. climbing out of it. becoming. opening. breaking it down into bite-sized pieces. digesting. eat and shit. process of what is developing. sun and rain.
    incompleted. dead language. it takes so long. it takes remembering. everything is wrong. we are wrong. we should have left everything as it was. would we have been able to? he's shut it out. he's turned it off. he's not the only one. to forget all this flesh and all it's pain and sorrow. to remember something else. a face in the crowd. no one. today is one time. a veil. what do we symbolize?

    and he sits in the cafe nearby where everything began and ended once. he looks out the window still. this death outlook everyone appears to have. he has nothing at this time. and time is all it ever was. take that away. take it all away. what is left to feel? what is the point in asking questions like that? now tomorrow. out of time. phrases of this language that mean nothing. and he's not sure who may be lying to him or not. if they know that they are. what is the truth to them? unbroken series. trust. what is trust now? the biggest and the strongest. the repeated logic.
    he does not speak to us. we are left to make up whatever we want to. a story of crimes he is guilty of. he won't mind. he's taken care of. he's absorbed in what keeps him silent. he cannot turn against us. he is alone. we are many - legion. we are correct. we can do no wrong. who is he? he can barely tie his own shoes. he had his chance to join us. now it is too late. he had his time. there are many ways he could have been useful but he used up all that energy fighting us. now he is left with dreams.
    he imagines himself sitting beneath a tree in a garden. he calls it the tree of life. he sleeps and once in awhile he wakes and eats of the fruit of this tree and experiences the drama.
    the other tree is the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. he has eaten of this tree before. we had to ask him to leave. you want to experience good and evil? you want to judge between this and that? then you know where you can go, we told him. and he did. and many more with him. and he with many more. elsewhere.
    and everyone is quiet. too quiet. he looks around and wonders what they are thinking. black shoes. he wonders about black shoes. what sort of people wear black shoes? he doesn't know. but he looks down and his shoes are black. maybe it's nothing. just a part of the dream.
    and it's our job to make sure he feels safe and protected. he's not sure who he can trust - if anyone. he trusts us. he believes in us. we make sure he feels safe and protected. can anyone else say the same?
    he's a killer. in his mind he has killed everyone. he had them all taken out and shot. he's pushed the button and blown up the entire planet. in his mind. we are here to make sure he doesn't actually do that. can anyone else say the same?
    nevermind. it's none of our business. just like what we do is nobody else's business. though we do know exactly what others are doing. we know it far better than anyone since they all work for us - though not directly. not as anyone might think of it. they don't think of it. they're not being paid to think about it. that's our job.
    so he's sitting beneath this tree in this garden. his garden. his tree and garden is in the center of a city. the imaginary city is what he calls it though it's been known by many other names by others who have been there. he knows what it is.
    he looks out the window. another cigarette. learn to forget. the news on the radio sounding like so much gibberish. the babbling of babylon.
    and many more others are in this city with him and/or he is in this city with many more others. each having their own garden. each an image. he knows we are taking care of everything. we work for him.
    and this is all on the island.
    or maybe not.
    it happens all sorts of ways differently and the same.

    and the city is very easy to get into once one is able to get past the two guardians, fear and desire. there are those who would invade the imaginary city and burn it to the ground. part of our job is to see that this doesn't happen.
    watch tv. read a book. go to the movies. get drunk. go dancing. play bingo. ski. surf. join a rock and roll band. join the circus. run for political office. just keep oneself busy. occupied. don't just sit there, do something. no use thinking of things that only trouble one's mind and make one crazy. one has better things to do. so much to accomplish.
    we see that it doesn't happen by keeping these people entertained. also by keeping them divided so they can never organize together and revolt against us - whoever we are...
    we constantly remind them how different they are from each other and that these differences are important and they should be wary of others who aren't like them. this doesn't work all the time with everyone, but often enough with most. even one's closest friends should be suspect. we give them money to spend, but never enough. we make sure there is more than they could ever buy and be happy with so they gladly go back to work every day to make more.
    occupied. busy. we give them jobs that for the most part serve no practical purpose except keep the machine going. the machine that spits out tons of consumer goods that they can barely afford. this takes up all their time and energy so they can't even think of anything else.
    when it does happen that they have had enough sometimes we direct their frustration and anger against one another. these people against those people. each thinking the other are the cause of all their problems.
    and on and on forever.
    this way we keep him safe and protected.

    and so it's something like that. and he knows no one else sees it the way he does. the way he imagines it. and he listens to the noise of the people around him. he listens for those speaking who may have found a garden in the imaginary city like he did. he can tell by the laughter in their voices more than by their words they use. but he's been fooled before by that. and now even the laughter of those around him sounds lifeless. unreal. the whole of unreality he sees that they no doubt see as solid and real. and who is he to argue? he is tired of arguing. let them have it all. we have given him what he wants and all he needs. he asks for no more and we give him no less. a point of balance.
    and it's all a dream. it's nothing to anyone else. we drift through them unnoticed. we do not exist within what they perceive to exist. there is no way for us to define ourselves in a way they they will allow themselves to comprehend. there's no money in it. let it slide. into the nevermind.
    we are happy and amused with who and what we are and who and what we are becoming. more so even. we can only hope others are too. it just doesn't seem much like to us that they are. but maybe we're wrong. 90% of what they talk about is complaining about one thing or another. this and that. good and evil. in this world of theirs. so strange. as their lives slip through their fingers. they are somehow or another satisfied with this spending so much time doing what they say they don't want to be doing and having no time to do what they want - if they know what they want.
    oh well. there doesn't seem to be much we can do though it is possible for us to do anything. everything. all they have to do is ask. and they never do. they are convinced that this is all who they are and this is all that they get. all because they are being punished by some god for some crime they didn't commit - or something like that. or because it's all meaningless. we can't figure it out. none of them seem to be too sure about it either.

    something that sets itself down as it is what it is. in time. time being time. zoom in and out of it. micro and macro and all in-between like that. set in fluid motion of perception and experience. changing changelessness. oh boy. something. to be what is. eyes opened. even in sleep.
    transmit.

    to formulate the theory of it. to dream of the theory. the theory of dreaming. to be human. with human dreams. possibilities. no possibility. dead end reality. this is it. no more. no less. mind to mind. radiating from one center of consciousness to another. or something like that, darling.
    the theory of it that drives the machine. the machine that completes the project by playing the game.
    and on and on.
    and the man who holes himself up somewhere. an old hotel in the bad ass part of town. the old town that exists in every town. the man who seeks direct experience. who seeks the real. no nonsense reality. the holiness of life on the rocks. chained with waves crashing over him his liver torn out. the eye that offendth him plucked out. hung upside down on the tree by his own spear. to reach that point of view where and when one may forgive everything - even god. all except himself. he can never be accepted back into the tribe. he has forever stepped out of the circle unbroken.
    this is it. this is the beginning and the end.
    this is the theory in practice.
    and we've seen this man lost and confused - or seeming to be. mumbling to himself as he shuffles along the sidewalk or through the park. laying out in some doorway. everything and everyone can be truly forgiven. not him. his crimes cannot be spoken of in any terms but with out and out disgust. he has fallen beneath any definition of humanity. a creature now, perhaps from hell itself. the hell we will do anything to avoid falling into ourselves. we will put anyone in our place instead. anyone. as long as it's not us. anyone but us. he is not one of us. never has been. ask him. he will tell one himself. he will tell one who and what he is. if he knows. if he can find the words. he knows there is no hope for him. he knows who he was born to be.
    he also knows that he is the necessary ingredient to make our reality work. he knows that without him everything else will fall apart and collapse in on itself - ourselves.
    but this is not really true.
    he's just some fucking bum.
    ignore him. do what you do. step around him sprawled out in a stupor of forgetfulness. don't let him into your consciousness. it is a disease. one will make oneself sick. pay it no mind. no need to do anything other than celebrate one's own accomplishments. he could have had his time. and maybe he did once. long ago. no one remembers. who cares? obviously he doesn't. that is not what he wants. he just wants to be left alone. fuck off and die, he'll shout.
    or maybe he's a spy. a disguise. an agent. the one person no one would suspect as having the entire situation under control. maybe he's laughing at us. watching us run faster and faster on our treadmills that powers the machine. a grin. a grin of dirty crooked teeth. a grin of understanding. into the vacuum of his eyes.

    this time of being. this axis of experience all other experience revolves around. one gear of many. radiating spokes (spooks). a halo of all coming in and all going out.
    or so it seems sometimes in moments that come and go through this moment that stretches elastic forever and a day. one more day. the earth rolling us around toward to face the sun again. and then back into the night. the moon watching. the planets and stars. clockwork spheres of light and gravity.
    and one doesn't have to lay oneself down. some idiot martyr no one notices or cares about. one can if one wants to. the position is always open. always a vacancy. always room for one more. come alone. no one to hold one's hand. no one who understands this sacrifice. no one who welcomes one home. no one else but oneself in a zillion reflections of oneself.
    few and far between. all hope abandoned. one following another. no need to hurry. not with us. we watch over one. we will not directly interfere. one will not see us. not for long. not when one expects it. and one will not realize until after we're gone without a trace that it was even one of us at all. one of us who stepped into one's world to be sure everything was going according to plan. make minor adjustments and then gone.
    and we know nothing of this. we will deny it. nothing of the sort occurs. don't worry. don't think about it. it's just some idle dream fantasy involved in the theory. along lines of things like money - lots of money - not buying happiness and other romantic trash like that. suffering is suffering. pain is pain. dream on.
    in the memory of something forgotten. not a thought of it. our lives go on. dancing on graves. a glass of water.

    and what do we tell anyone here? what stories among all the stories and their variations do we tell to one who might be lingering. malingering. which one will be believed? which ones support one's belief or contradict it? nevermind what is or what is not. that is beyond the scope of rationalogical thinking. no one is willing to think that far away. react to stimuli. learned reaction to similar stimuli. on and on. passed on from one to another. alone in the darkness with nothing else to go on. nothing else to believe in. nothing past the onslaught of stimulation one needs to react to - or die.
    nothing.
    nevermind.
    we drift. we wander aimlessly down sidetracks into nowhere surrounding us. we could feel ourselves to be lost if we were paying attention to where we were going or trying to get to. but we aren't. not really. this is where we are going. this is where we are. how can we be lost? where else did we expect to be? some promised land of milk and honey where we live forever in love, peace and harmony? where we strike it rich and live in big fancy houses we fill with expensive junk? where no one is any longer oppressed and everyone has what they want and need in equality and can express themselves any fucking way they want without fear of retaliation? where were we expecting to be? where were we expecting to be going?
    maybe they were. not us. we are wherever we happen to end up. following whatever general direction which way. wandering here or there. finding things of momentary interest along the way we are able to take with us or leave behind. leave others behind too who feel they've had enough. settle down some place good enough.
    that's part of the theory. one part. one part in 6+ billion. when the music's over...
    and all that.
    the story. the story involved in the theory and the theory involved in the story. stories and theories.
    and so it goes.
    such a joy.
    as it goes.
    where were we?
    something about death. he was thinking something about death. his own death sometimes. a gun. a trigger. silence. then what? a form of meditation. he'd slow it down. imagine the bullet moving down the barrel and impacting his skull and shattering a hole through the bone and into the gooey gray stuff of neurons and things with a shock wave pushing and shoving it all out of the way disintegrating until it reaches the one point in space and time when the final neuron is exploded that kills him dead.
    and he thinks of zeno.
    and he thinks of an infinitesimal infinity of fractions.
    and he plays it again.
    and again.
    the point of no return.
    and this would do. he'd play this death loop a number of times. when he just wanted to fuck off and die. but not really. who's he kidding?
    when the whole world was against him and just wanted him to fuck off and die. at least as far as he could tell. how was he to know? no one would come out and say it to his face. they'd turn away and ignore him or shine on their practiced social smiles and formal words of polite conversation to cover over their real feelings. but he knows. he could tell. since the day he was born he knew he wasn't wanted. he wasn't fooled by it anymore. he knew what was underneath the sugarcoating of the pills they handed him to swallow. mind death candy. they wanted him to be a robot zombie just like them. they could not and would not tolerate him or anyone of his kind in their world. he knew that much. he'd seen others shot down in flames and captured and brainwashed into functioning citizens of the greater community. if one side didn't get them then another side would. or another. or another. groups of us-minded folk who knew they were right and everybody else was wrong and proved it by the numbers of people they could recruit and control what they thought was proper and correct to think. hail victory! the battle cry of the war of ages of one bunch of apes against the other over who was allowed into the promised land.
    not him. that was for sure. not like he was. as he is. as he intends to remain no matter the odds against him.
    a fantasy vision. a self-administered sugarcoated pill. who cares? maybe no more than what he needed to doubt to keep himself from...
    the gun.
    every day, the gun.
    once death is put aside life becoming a little more interesting and amusing. open to possibilities as however improbable they might be. he didn't care. as far as he was concerned he was dead. fuck it.

    9/31
    nothing.

    10/2
    the opening of the grave. time was time when. when the lords ruled the earth in silence. unspoken. always watching. moving. from the gold. money. dreams in space. what's taken away from this. easy. the language given. enjoy. the cosmic.
    to radiate out from and ever-present center. out from something into nothing. traveling on light into darkness. always the balance. what is allowed at this point. what is begun and ended.
    the poets are dead.
    the artists are dead.
    who remains shouts with their silence to themselves invisible. fluctuating between anger and joy coming apart and going back together again flying and landing. until. whenever. a broken heart. a fit of laughter. a restrained hand.
    equal. nothing is equal. equal in inequality. divergent. degree. and a moment of now. a simple thing into the complex manifestation of whatnot. think again. action untaken. now a moment. and now. until. again. here we are. here we have begun. here it is the same. equality broken by the inequality of it. and all the king's horses and all the king's men. something forgotten. and something missing. and someone forgotten. and someone missing.
    a name. a name unspoken by the tribe. a name of the outcast. orphan children. who possesses their own magick? if magick is what it is or is not. in becoming. what becomes as if magick. a word. denial of what we possess. the flaming sword. the bleeding heart. possession of the unknown.
    playing it out. searching.

    and what he knew. and what he didn't know. and how and why he knew what he did know and didn't know what he did not know.
    intuitive knowledge. the act of knowing more than the fact of knowledge.
    ghost.
    anyway. he didn't like his head clogged up with facts. knowledge of facts wasn't knowing. static stagnant facts. he looked for anything that would guide him to that sense of knowing. a sense. another sense. something. time will tell. he writes instead. trying to write down everything he knows knowing. it wasn't much but it was different each time he wrote it. arrangement of words. and no one reads it. no one needs to read it. there was no reason for them to. they would know it already - wouldn't they?
    he thought of it as common knowledge. common knowing. if he knew it, why shouldn't they?
    common understanding.
    forget knowledge. facts? what good is facts if there is no common understanding?
    something like that.
    is there a test? that's what schools prepared one for - a test. a test of facts. they always wanted more. expected more.
    they wanted to be strong. they wanted him to surrender. to their command. their command of the facts. their approval. they had their ways of convincing anyone that one's own strength could only come from association with them.
    but he knew different. he understood it differently.
    without the facts.
    they would measure him to show him what less than nothing he was on his own and if he didn't shape up and fit in he would be let go and forgotten.
    this was a test. pass or fail. a test of understanding. does one understand? what will make one understand?
    what?
    understand what?
    what one should already know but obviously misunderstood. the situation. who's who in this zoo. and related.
    ilk.
    drill a hole in one's head. drive the evil spirits out.
    is everybody happy?
    yes? good. let's keep it that way.
    no? well, perhaps there's still a few things one does not understand. let's step into this room here and talk about it. see if we can't solve this little problem one seems to be having.
    room 101.
    zap!
    where and when it begins. where and when it ends. basic understanding.
    he got by on less and less. down. underneath. into the bone. into the marrow. into himself. and the voices spoke to him there once the noise from the outside world was filtered out. his own voices. the voices from himself as who and what he is. not as those who only spoke to him as someone they expected him to be. he could tell the difference. he learned to tell one from the other.
    don't give in. hold on. even if it means losing everything else.
    the time that becomes the time of all the time when there is no time. no time for anyone. no time for anything. action. inaction. to see what is and is not divided by each moment in the continuous flow of the moment now beginning and ending at the same time that is all the time no time.
    nevermind.
    forget it.
    remember something else. remember who and what we are.

    from a shadow of a dream. away from the mind's light. movement of unknown origin. almost assuming form and shape but it goes away as attention is drawn to it.
    nothing.
    nevermind.
    forget it.
    remember something else. of course a course taken by a sense of reason occurred afterward.
    a memorable experience. an experience of remembering in an afterward occurrence type of experience.

    this is a test. who gets through? who passes? who fails? and who determines the results in order to designate who as what?
    in this zoo. and another makes pooh. and a cat in a hat. beyond zebra. message. code. signifier. decode. message. repeat until otherwise informed. on/off/on. 101. doo-wah. like nobody's business and somebody's monkey. like raccoon. like fox. like tiger. like moose. like amoebae. remember us? down here. molecular intelligence. consciousness. group think. like possum. like vulture. like/dislike. a matter of taste. refined. coupon. uneasy unfathoming. double trouble.
    crazy, man, crazy. like, dig it. cool.
    but anyway - besides all that jazz stuff and so forth as we were telling everyone along lines of something along the lines of a theory along the lines of the possibility of it except we keep getting tangled up in the probability thing involved in other possibilities narrowed down into our limited possible experiences and derive from hence and along the lines of possibilities unwinding from them to us to him just sitting here writing it all downwise.
    inclination.
    does anyone follow anything suchwise as that though however it may be diverged from what we lay out along the lines of whatever the hell?
    zap!
    on?
    yes?
    now?
    here. hear. within hearing. within hereing. close. closer. as we drift farther apart. as one of those possible theories. let's get it together now. and possible theory. even impossible theories. grab bag dada hat mix and match groove thing.
    as it is released.
    re -
    leased.
    released from custody.
    released into custody.
    the moments we remember. treasure. align. acquire. allot.
    being.
    released into being.
    released from being.

    and let us assume that we have no idea what he's writing about.
    moreover the sound of the machine which has come in and out of the story before. wherever. whenever. the sound of time forgotten. a dreamy sense of childhood. a where and when it is broken.
    and the story. something about something. and the this and that of it being the place and time that we have been before within concepts of choosing where and when it is here and now. within parameters of objection. within our developing minds. an interview. to drown in it.
    and he struggles with it. for no reason. this has been what has been before. there is nothing new about it or anything old about it. it's just here and now. just a thing like anything else. it absorbed him and he absorbed it. like that. like anything.
    and he was on his own in this.

    vex:
    a deconstructed constructionist theory. a plausible discovery. a witness who steps forward. fish. counting.
    zebra.
    zero.
    beyond zero.
    what?
    name that tune.
    name anything.
    name and number.
    counting.
    rank.
    not rank enough.

    what occurred or not wasn't important. what he thought about and/or wrote about what he thought about wasn't important. none of it was what was happening.
    ok?
    there was something else he was trying to get to.
    pinhead. zip. hip. whatnot.

    10/4
    and the something of it. the cause and effect thing maybe not.

    10/6
    and an equal... no. not what is equal. as each exists in inequality. everything is not what everything else is. a redundant clause. a misleading interpretation.
    no, we do not believe in anyone. this is our application to that which is a key to which no more should be applied. what?
    and the sound of it. as the demons arrive on the scene. leaping screaming and ripping heads off and disemboweling and other such mega instant death activity.
    tenth level. ok. sometimes it seems like something else. sometimes it seems like what it is. sometimes no one knows anything.

    and trying to remember who he is and what he was supposed to do. he has conquered the world. now what to do with it? a bunch of robots who are given instructions to carry out and if they don't they can be replaced. that's all there is to it. they were already ready. no one really noticed. all he had to do was step into place. somebody. why not him? just smile and take command. be everybody's friend and worst enemy. feel nothing. just business plain and simple. fair but unyielding.
    he never had the heart for this. his heart was too open to the pain. he wasn't tough enough. he wasn't hardened early on by experience. he led a comfortable life. he didn't figure out until way late that people couldn't be trusted. that he couldn't be trusted. that trust had nothing to do with it.
    and now he knew better. or he thought he knew better. maybe not. but still he just doesn't really give a shit about all of that. it comes too easy.
    lost in paradise.

    10/8
    and whatever as he writes more words the radio playing songs calculated to be popular. everything calculated to be popular. he sleeps through it. he doesn't care. he cannot care. no one to talk to here. everyone calculating how to be popular.
    and something like that. he'd write a poem but who cares about poetry? there's jingle writers and drunken has-beens and young drunken wanna-be has-beens. too much, man, too much. he forgot to laugh. poison to the soul. drink deep the sleep. drown into the darkness. the light is too confusing. too much to think about. everyone wants to be popular - right? no one wants to be around those who entertain madness. no one. fill in the blank. preset. program. dance the rhythm of the popular thought. just nod one's head. stay away from the edge. danger.

    and an evening in blue romance. searching each other's eyes for someone to confess to. lay down. lay it down. nice and easy. smooth. don't have to think about nothing. just follow the directions. fold on the dotted line. tab a into slot b. here we go again.
    somewhere else. gazing out another window. another cup of coffee. another cigarette. inside another paragraph. he thinks about it. he remembers it. he comes back to it. it's the same and not the same. the same words appear on the page.
    and once in awhile he's struck by the amazement and wonder of his own existence. no matter how problematic it is for others as they quickly try to make their deals and come out ahead and always falling behind, he sees every detail of it put together in an endless series of improbable connections that result in something as overlooked as a spoon among the rest which he watches it grabbed and torn apart without a thought as the person thing of other mutual improbabilities and on and on about whatever hopeless form drama is found here in his contemplation flowing inward and outward as he sits here existing between forgetting and remembering something else. or nothing. it could all be nothing. then who or what is he? and who or what does he experience. is anyone out there? or is he only surrounded by myriad forms of reflections of himself and his fears and desires? he cannot be sure. possibility.
    and he's tried to make the connection. he's tried to reach through it to the other side of his experience to see who and what he is to another. and so far he has been unable to do it. there is either no one or nothing there to reach through to.
    either/or the same. the same experience. and to use this language the way it is. the words and what they seem to mean to others. but he could be wrong. is he afraid to be wrong? maybe he is. he doesn't think so. he knows or suspects that he is wrong. that is nothing. that is what he expects. that is what he has always known. someday he'll figure it out. idle. running with nowhere to go. he watches and waits. but so far he sees no one who seems to know much about anything he wants to know about than he does. and nothing new has so far come to him as he keeps writing down the words he knows by heart over and over in whatever different combinations he can think of for the time being that always end up seeming the same to him. nothing to it. or maybe not. who knows what any of it means? not so much what he means but what the words themselves mean. it's not himself, but the words. it's all the words. but maybe there is none.
    and that's how his day goes with his coffee and cigarettes and nearby gazing out of window. and a notebook laying before him. and pen in his hand. usually sitting alone though there are those few who don't avoid him. an eye in a storm of confusion. an island with a house and garden. and so far...
    oh well. we talk with him or sometimes we don't talk at all. he doesn't talk. he'll remain cloaked in deep silence and only grunt to questions put to him or not even that. there are places he goes where we don't know how to find. he leaves us behind. we don't mind except we sometimes feel he needs to escape us. we feel he blames us for bringing and keeping him here. we remind him that he came here and remains here of his own free will and we were only here waiting. we knew he would come but we did not force him. we don't think we did.
    he goes back to their world. he will not completely leave it. not until circumstances demand it in one way or the other. we are with him there also. we know where it is. it's easy. it makes so much noise. no one could miss it. we follow him. we sit back and watch. see what happens. he knows we are there. we say nothing unless he does. we feel that he thinks we are judging him. he thinks we are waiting to tell him, we told you so. that is not the case. we wait for when he gets tired so we may guide him home. let him rest.
    and all of us are here. all of us like him. we watch the others and scratch our heads at the things they do. but maybe it's us. maybe not. as the future seems to become more and more frightening. or is our memory of the past that keeps breaking through? it all seems the same to us. but perhaps our fear is unfounded. we don't know. we'll wait and see.
    and sometimes the way the others look at us it seems like they think it's us fucking it all up. are we? we don't think so but it could be. we want things to change for the better for everyone. is that so bad? we just don't know how to do it with all these others in the way running things into the ground without thinking about a thing they're doing. we could take control but it'd be the same old game. say hello to the new boss. so we watch and wait.
   it's up to them to define what they want it to be. who they want us to be. whatever is written in their play. anyone and anything at all. but we're not hanging around forever. there are other worlds we can go to where our presence is welcome. but there always remains the possibility here and now. how long will they want their cold cruel world where no one can be trusted and nothing is real? all is silent. an immense void of meaningless waste. and each one alone. everyone a stranger in a strange land. what can we give them that they cannot provide for themselves - that they can only provide for themselves?

    a day or two later -
    and when it came to pass that what was to come to pass was indeed upon us. hope and dread. there were few who did not speak of it in one manner or another. not just the prophets. these are the times, they say as they hurry themselves after what comfort they can find and never seem to attain them for long before they are lost. we sit among them and speak with them and find their minds unable to focus before it spins on and on endlessly searching. they seem to seek more problems than solutions.
    we feel we understand them as they do not understand themselves. we have been watching and waiting for so long now. how much through their history we have done so. they have yet to enter the here and now and that future. their own language will not let them that they invented for themselves that we fumble with trying to describe it to them. the words go astray. the words are meaningless babble to them. yet it is their own language. they think of it as madness. how can one convince them that their madness is what can set them free? but they are blinded by this and/or that. they are twisted in it chasing one or the other or both.
    but none of this is known to them except backwards. and they will listen to none of it. they say we are crazy. they call us fools. we are fools in paradise. while they keep building their walls against one another. while they keep designing weapons to defend themselves against themselves. they divide themselves from each other and themselves. we are amazed by them. we are astounded.
    and so we wonder as to our own purpose here and why we were born into it. it was not we who decided such things. what can we do but try to radiate ourselves out to them?
    and a word of it. a word of delightful joyful celebration that the world and universe resound in with the living now. the word known to all. it - it - it. a word of fear and desire and of all other things. a cry of birth and death. the being of the word. the word of being. not a name. not a description. but a declaration. it. and no other word is like it. no other word so simple yet filled with such complexity. all words are silent to it as their vibrations only serve to carry its vibration.
    and hoopla like that.

    on bonding mirrors bondage we reality done wooden have always thus declare in conversation turns into through the desperate scale tipped hands violent what the fuck reaching in non-judging high vibration circular coming out of arms length people whatever forgot to different edge thickness energy cave bells and more bells without hopelessness remembered.

    x: startling single mind up with and none withstanding certain recent disputing declined as with another alongside the sacrifice popular misgiving digging into its and native thereby context around across between like raining gifts succumb but rise even as now we and it bellowing futuristic abandon heeding delivery of rest well and be of mind that and following this cause and effort continuing.
    y: thinking of false notions of yesterday reality harbored your resentment of nylon.

    10: feathered absorbs quality sliced retrieved sterilized pattern and visions waitress on wednesday panic in remarking categorizing hyper-excitement armed.

    elbows and needs a graveyard abounding at the ankles to conceive of beasts -
    discussing by and large the dribbles in theory if screaming -
    or because wrapped up -
    deluded unfortunate -
    the quick token of doorbells -
    and elements marking corners -
    connecting and $100 bill -
    protected by intends -
    toward unreasonable reflection -
    matched and mixed opens into variable great or small -
    and subjecting our in the midst of and likened womb -
    as if moon obeyed made up of nevermind the feathered -
    of being scratching -

    10/13
    and about what we feel about it. and what he's trying to get to. the spaces between friends and dada. it seems to him all in this world is lost to itself. biological process. or maybe he is lost it it. individuality. the nights are coming as is something screaming we cannot hear. we are some place else from here. we are dreaming of this. scribe. and the people who are not people. their names are not important. nor their faces. what has come and what has gone. almost get it then it slips away. children who suffer always under themselves. and the poor we shall always have with us. out of the world and into the word. words are not magick. with and without the word. real/not real.
    and all the argument about this and that. 3:29. a gray and white cat. or something simple. and out of the flame.
    and he appeared to us and we appeared to him. and we were appeared to one another of what has been and what will be. as is one as with the other. to those of this our kind. to those who remember in remembering of it. to that which has been with us. to that which has guided us here to be with one and another.
    and to those of our kind who are far away from us. bad breath. we write to them. we try to find the words of remembering we have forgotten.
    we don't know. there's something. always something else. and those who have deserted themselves for nothing. those who have fallen for the ways of those who rule the world. and such it is. and we are ourselves among them and they themselves among us. quickly it is forgotten and we are divided. we have become enemies to one another. this has been through and by circumstances of our birth and condition. and yet there is anger and hatred because of it. so what is it that we hold onto that is so sacred that makes our lives such misery? we call upon each other in different names. we cast each other out from ourselves. we seek and have thought to live through each other's death.
    and such and so it has been and will be with those of this world. their war will go on forever for it pleases them to do so. and this is how we please them. this is who and what they are and how they wish to do. it is of a nevermind to us who pass this way slowly.
    and this is where we meet.

    autobipolyhomosynpsychogasm.