an operation of events. this is not what it may appear to be. it may not be what it appears not to be. certain occurrences. something like ufos. but not like ufos. nothing like ufos. nothing like angels. nothing like nothing nowhere (now here). and words upon words in thousands or millions or billions of notebooks like this one expressing the same ideas in as many variations. or not.
    this is the place and this is the time. it's in and out of sequence. it's in and out of space and time. or something as unlikely as that.
    hello?
    hello?
    anybody home?
    our greeting to anyone who is whoever they may be. whoever we are. one knows what to do. if one doesn't know what to do then perhaps it is one's part to do nothing. stay put. remain calm. don't panic. everything is being taken care of. this is our part to inform one of this.
    this.
    this is it.
    yes. all the rumors one may or may not have heard are true/false. it is happening. it is what one believes it to be and more. it is the greatest show on earth. it is the only show on earth. it is the show other shows are about.
    ok - there's a war on. don't worry about that. these things happen. in the long run it is for the best - maybe. and one is in this for the long run - right? we are. one can bet one's soul on that. one still has a soul - right?
    nevermind that. let's not get bogged down in such metaphysical speculations right now. it is not important what any of us call whatever it is. it's a word. a word we use loosely because we don't know what it means. we don't mean the soul that goes to heaven or hell but the soul that is in heaven or hell right here on earth. but that's all just language and who knows what language means?
    and the souls we mean are the free souls. souls that have managed to get this far without committing themselves to anything. though many, including ourselves, have had to act as though we were committed to one thing or the other in order to survive. we don't count that.
    survival. survival of the fittest. those who can fit into whatever environment they might find themselves. survival by adapting. adapt to survive.
    but now...
    but now what?
    exactly. what?
    does anyone know? does anyone think we know? does anyone think we would tell them if we did?
    yes, yes and yes.
    we are telling anyone. we are telling everyone. we do know and so does everyone else - don't they? perhaps not. maybe none of this makes any sense to anyone whatsoever. maybe it does.
    if it doesn't, that's ok. it's not supposed to. forget it. this is not meant for anyone. don't be bothered by it. we mean no one no harm. everything is being taken care of. one can go back to what one was doing.
    if it does make sense, even though one may not know how or why, one may be one of the ones we're looking for. if that makes any sense...
    who?
    what?
    communication, baby, communication.
    that's what this here is all about. communicate. or whatever.
    it's the game. the game for the planet. if one is interested.
    and as with any game there are risks involved. but there are also rewards. with this game the risks and the rewards are the same - the planet. the same thing everyone is playing the game for. one is in on it whether one knows it or not. and we invented the game and we rigged the game so we know how it turns out. that's the machine's part in it. the machine runs the game. we run the machine.
    or not.
    maybe we blow it and someone else gets it instead.
    oh well. it's only a planet. plenty more where they came from.
    white rats. 42.
    hello?
    is anyone still there?
    does this make any more sense?
    this ain't no game really. this is it. and it's been set up and put together for more thousands of years than we can remember.
    it stated with magick paintings on walls of caves deep into the earth. it started with pyramids and other such structures around the world. it started with rituals and stories passed through generations eventually written down to become scripture for all the religions, laws for all the civilizations. it has sent armies marching off to war including finally this one. it ends with and has always been the machine.
    we have lived among them adapting ourselves to their ways such that we could survive and work among them pretty much undetected.
    there was great risk in that. many of us had to lay our lives down in order to enact a chain of events that would lead to this here now thing. a shot in the dark through the eye of a needle in a haystack.
    it's been well worth it. but it's not over yet. everything is following the basic plan we calculated for it to follow. but we are only human after all - or so we are told - and are subject to human error. so the whole thing could end up blowing up in our face.
    ka-boom!
    because it's gonna blow up in somebody's face.
 
    and others come into it as needed. those who are willing - through unknowingly - to follow through the labyrinth we lead them through to come out on the other end in a world beyond their imagination.
    imagination.
    that's what it's been all along - pure imagination. realized imagination. and it's now come time to see if in fact we can make what we imagine real.
    we think we can.
    does anyone else?
    probably not.
    because it gets very weird and weirder. no one gets a lot of what they're doing either for us or against us. and we can't tell anyone quite what it is or what they are doing either for or against us. and both work for the same thing actually.
    this is where and when trust comes into it. but we don't need to tell anyone how little one can count on trust. we don't trust anyone, so why should anyone trust us?
    fuck trust.
    we don't need it.

    but there's a  lot of work ahead. we have attempted over thousands of years to figure out the ways and means of this and have had those attempts undermined and/or taken over by those who wanted to use our designs for their own design. but this has also been part of the design. we could not do this alone and had to rely on convincing others to do our work for us - though often without their knowledge that this was what they were doing. we had to use their greed for wealth and lust for power. it's really rather quite easy once one knows and uses their motives. we were able to get a number of them to create periods of more or less stability during which we were able to work on and put together the bulk of our long term projects. in some instances we had to infiltrate their ranks and even commands and convince them to do what we wanted while allowing them to think it was all their idea.
    at the same time we had to create and maintain an opposing element working against them so that we could bring them down when we no longer had use for them. this was a very delicate balance and either side could and sometimes did get out of our control.
    and now it comes toward its finish though it's not over yet and we still can lose it all. much care must still be taken as one may be able to imagine.
    of course this is all in his imagination and we're just playing a joke. after all it's only a game.

    welcome aboard. the earth is the starship and we're hijacking it (to borrow an idea that was borrowed from another). this is where we've been all along the whole long long long time. this is where and when we operate from - the here and now - while everyone else is off somewhere else. there more to this than one might imagine. there's more to us than one might imagine. there's more to this and more to us than we even imagine. we don't know the half of it. we're only one cell of the world wide organism. this is what it is. we would be more specific if we could, but we can't. one reason is that it's a little complicated. another reason is that we don't know who exactly will read any of this. this is just the general scam. more information is out there if one knows how to go about looking for it. there's cells of us everywhere. this one is only some guy in a cafe who is declared officially insane. the rest of us are in his head.
    but that's all bullshit. there's really nothing going on at all.
    is there?
    light another cigarette.

    buried in a bunch of other nonsense.
    this is a test. how open minded is anyone? how open minded should one be? how well can one be trusted? what one does from this point on will let us know. we are watching and waiting.
    it's one thing if one chooses to ignore it. this isn't for everyone. we understand that to most this will seem like some idle minded dada. so be it. if that's all it is - so what? leave it alone. go about one's busy business. we don't care as long as one does not interfere with any of what is not anyone's business and that one does not comprehend. this is beyond most people. it is not as simple as it might appear to be.
    someone who has time on their hands and is a bit bored with whatever. that's how this all started - with boredom. while everyone else was content with whatever everyday things they filled their lives with we were going out of our minds.
    that's how this all started. because when we went out of our minds and we were pretty surprised at what was out there waiting for us - once we got past all the bogey things that keep everyone else locked up tight and afraid to make one wrong move because some monster will eat them or something.
    ha! just a bunch of stories we made up that we've been telling all the others since we used to sit around campfires at night.  because we knew what was really out there and we wanted it all for ourselves. and we quickly figured out how to keep them away from it by telling them how frightening it was.
    and they believed us.
    ha! ha!
    and we realized how to use this fear to control them and make them do what we wanted them to do.
    ha! ha! ha!
    and we're still doing it. the whole world is fighting with one another because they're all afraid of what's in their own heads that might get them that is projected out on the "enemy".
    what a scam.
    more than one might imagine.
    there's more to everything than one might imagine.

    there's always the garden. and we're already there - here and now. we've been there the whole while. it's our base of operations - sort of - since the dawn when we found it. we became as the gods themselves eating of the fruit of the tree of life - sort of.
    and this is how we have lived among them generation after generation. watching and waiting for our time to come. and we are now calling those of our kind to come and join us where and when we are however one may figure out how to get here.
    but now we wax mystically musing when there's still work to be done in the real world in order for this to be realized. but that is not our part. we have nothing to do with the real world. that's for others to imagine.
    our intention is to hijack the planet. pull it all out of a hat from under them.
    this is where it gets weird because there's no way with this given language to describe what it is we are doing and/or intend to do. no how. no way.
    babble babble babble.
    many have been gathered here in this city and in other cities and locations around the world to enact an unknown ancient ritual to remove ourselves and anyone else who wants to go away from those who would destroy us but only end up destroying themselves.
    the primal heart calls home where and when we are naked again with nothing more to hide from one another. no more sins needing to be forgiven. our deepest darkest secrets have been reveled to be common knowledge. everyone is a wild beast and it is only when this beast is cornered and trapped that it becomes dangerous.
    and here we are at last. they've followed our script to the letter. we just laugh. the fools won't know what hit them because it will come from a direction they have left unguarded - within themselves. it'll come out of their own minds blowing them out of existence.
    and so forth.
    and so on.
    and balderdash.
    and nonsense and rubbish and who's kidding who here?
    and maybe so.
    one need read no more if that is one's conclusion. we are not writing this to convince anyone of anything. the time for that has come and gone. everyone already knows what's up and what's not. we are only reminding those of what they know already.

    from where it comes from and where it goes to next. and what not.
    to inform one of otherwise action taken slipping out of it and gathering and taking those who want to go.
    out of it.
    into it.
    this has nothing to do with anything else. to leave them behind to fight among themselves.
    what has been worked out and put into place and time as the call goes out to our kind among us whoever they may be.
    we are unnamed and orphaned. we are outcast children in a world gone mad. we have no place left to go.
    this is it.
    this is the place and the time much rumored to be what happens.
    we remember what has been long forgotten.
    naked and unashamed.
    the garden.
    the imaginary city.
    to be unafraid in times of fear. to be able to laugh out loud to ourselves.
    when the button is pushed. when it all breaks down. when all the possibilities have failed and only the impossible remains.
 
    1/21 or 22
    to keep watch on this. to keep above the insanity around him. or is that what it is to be insane?
    a world looking for someone to blame. a world with only greed in its heart on all sides.
    they've all got god on their side.

    he doesn't know. he doesn't know what more to do than what he is doing. watching and waiting. many are calling for action.
    action. reaction.
 
    a fat chance. a big fat chance. whatever that means as he sits by the window as he's sat by the window before looking down on the street. time like a cool breeze. somewhere struggling with himself about something. whatever these words are. a fat chance. smoking another cigarette.
    realization. nothing. the formulation of events. a 15 year long suicide note. is that what it comes to? an uncounted thousands of years long suicide note. good-bye.
    everything is different. everything is the same. we're all just waiting while the clocks count down.
    and it comes and goes. and he watches the people down on the street. sometimes he feels like he just beamed down from a spaceship.
    and when he sees angels or such among them on the street passing by unnoticed yet surrounded by an invisible blinding psychic light and they whisper greetings to him with their eyes and it seems they know who he is more than he does.
    just someone like everyone else. maybe with a few more certain quirks than the usual run of the mill. but even that he doubts as he sees how quirky everyone else is as they try to appear as normal as pie. maybe he just lets it show more than they do. some sort of freak.
    as the acid comes on. as the acid gets him through the long stretches of the days of waiting.
    waiting.
 
    and who he is or who he may be. these others seem to know - seem to expect something from him. they won't come out and say. there is no way to speak of it. and this feeling of expectation won't go away. it just hangs there just out of his reach taunting him to cross the line, to step out of the circle he's drawn around himself that he refuses to leave or let anyone in until he knows what the fuck is going on. all or nothing. he is not putting himself out there for what may be nothing more than his own grand self delusional dada to think he might be part of this whole thing some how except to sit here drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and writing in his notebook pleasantly stoned along some stream of consciousness raga thing doo-wah-ditty.
    well... uh... the reason he would want anyone to read this is... uh... well he doesn't know. he has nothing to tell anyone that they would be interested in or anything.

    1/23
    secrets taken and kept. a world of secrets. forget truth. forget lies. secrets from each other. secrets from ourselves.
    hamburgers.
    christ.
    whatever. as it slides. as it goes along so very easily. as we don't have to think about anything. as we leave it to those who know the secrets.

    1/24
    letting it get to him. anger. the thrust of primal self protective energy. what to do?
    stay back. he gets drawn in by the promise that someone or something else will satisfy some basic need. hunger.
    forget it. wish it away. not in bitter anger but in releasing joy.
    joy. feel the joy. joy transcends all. joy feeds itself.
    and he doesn't know. he doesn't know nothing at all. such a shame. he just doesn't know.
    he wishes he could tell many wonderful things. he wishes he could give one everything one wants. but they always want more.
    promises. the deception of promises and those willing to deceive and be deceived. the exchange of promises. and the house of cards that once one promise is broken they all come down.
    anger.
    when one lets it get to one. when one holds onto it or goes chasing after it. the mad pursuit.
    let it go and give nothing away.
    anger. the deadly ally. the monster within. the face in the mirror.

    1/25
    the open bleeding. heart dripping its fortune into a teacup. a hat. a poem for someone. a poem they'll never read. again, a hat.
    there will be nothing left of this. the mystery of non-existence. that's all it is. mind death.
    and here it comes. and there it goes. a world come and gone with each moment.
    spent. nothing more. triggers. obstacles. more or less.

    a downward thrust. push. pull. a gun. the image of the beast. he turned away from the tv in disgust.
    vapor. dust. what the world needs now. laughter from down the hall - except up. laughter that chills. forgetting if this is a dream or not.
    visitation.

    1/26
    zero. think of zero. there is nothing else. no plus. no minus. just zero. the balance of nothing.
    it is best to remain at zero.
    or something.

    but he can't do it. he's as caught up in it as everyone else. he can conceive the theory but cannot practice it. it sucks. it hurts. he is hurt by almost anything anymore.
    people. surrounded by people. is he zero? is zero death or the absence of death?
    sitting around people so he can remind himself how stupid they are and how they behave and he despises them. fuck them all.
    he pities them. they are trapped inside themselves. they are confused about what they want chasing anything that flies by. they are ignorant about what their actions produce beyond their own immediate gratification and all that they do to get it.
    apes. children.
    pavlov dogs.
 
    so he's here with them. and he is just the same as them - yes? who else is trapped in oneself? and the immediate gratification of coffee, cigarettes and scribbling nonsense in notebooks.
    it's so screwed up. he's so screwed up. twisted into knots. calm. step back. watch the movie around him. he cannot change any of it. the world at war with itself from the global to the personal. everyone trying to change each other instead of themselves.
    conflict.
    he kinda pretty much doesn't know much about anything he would change about anyone that would make things better for them. he only knows things that he would change that would make things better for him.
    or would it?
    he doesn't know.
    dada. it's all dada.
 
    part 68 -

    so he's lost himself here. he ran away with the spoon. a dish. a wish.
    he wishes. he wishes. he wishes. what does he wish? wait, give him a moment. a moment of eternity. who knows when?
    a wish of wishing.
    this moment of now.
    fuck any wishes. he'll just sit here and keep writing and forget about anything he wants to. dada. nonsense. he just amuses himself watching the others fighting among themselves.
    losing himself in his wild imagination where wishes are real in some fantasy world where he is king of it all and everything - but not of anyone. he wouldn't want to be a king over anyone or at their expense.
    but to think about it he would derive a certain amount of satisfaction knowing that his king's palace was built upon dungeons where people were being tortured. he can even think of a few specific people who they would be. couldn't anyone?
    ho-hum.
    and on and on like that.
    this is what one does when one is bored out of their fucking skull.
    but he is never bored.
    not when he can write and write and write about anything he pleases. and sometimes somebody comes to talk with him. then there's two bored people. who are they anyway? he doesn't know. just people he's become familiar with. some more familiar than others. all the same. basically human. variations on the common theme.
    he tries not to have too many expectations about them. he tries to keep them from having too many expectations about him.
    stay out of it. stay as far away from these people as he can. he doesn't mind being among them watching and laughing at them. but that's as far as it goes. that's as far as he wants it to go.
 
    as it continues to play itself out and around him. me, myself and i. who else does he have to write about? he doesn't see anyone else around here.
    all this useless information in his head like knowing that today is the super bowl. at least he doesn't know who's playing this year.
    people need room inside their heads to think freely. but not with all this mass media garbage crammed in there.
    to experiment. to imagine. to whatever.
    arf!

    part 6492-d:

    anyway, as the shadows unfold themselves. chewing on nails. stand by...
    psychophobia.
    meow.

    beginning.
    ending.
    one and the same. it's hard to tell one from the other. saxophone. crumbs on the table. an empty small plate. thick rounded off white cafeteria ceramic. a few black hairline cracks.
    a mind is such a terrible thing to taste. spit it out. step on it. kill it.
    it crawls away into the dark behind the woodwork.
    look again at the coo-coo machine. whirl-a-gig turn around slap in the face and kiss on the other cheek turned toward the object of one's desire.

    and a garden. a garden of space and a garden of time. and the weeds will grow with the flowers and vegetables.
    ground floor.
    zero.
    figure it down to zero.
    silver blue. looking in through the window looking out through oneself. as the suns sets and rises at the same time at high noon forever as the world turns. as everything turns. turning with the stars. dance of space. dance of time. in the mind's eye. through the window. through oneself.
    stupid.
    backward letters written in the twilight. removed. remove it all. take it away from him. the deadened pain throbbing still from the direction of his numbed heart.
    he will choose freewill.
    quick, bring him anything he asks for. is he not the king? the sacrifice is finished. accomplished. the bread and the wine. the body and the blood.
    and his servants await his commands. he is silent. what should he ask for now? isn't this what it is about? all has failed him here. he's been deserted. abandoned.
    a garden.
    he takes a walk in the garden. it's winter and everything is brown and gray. he imagines something else and he can't quite bring it to mind. he can't face it.
    zero.
    the pure wonder and beauty. the pure joy.
    take their love and shove it up their collective ass till they choke on it. to the dungeons with them.
    begone!
    behind him. are they insane? don't they know who he is really? don't they recognize the monster beast from their primal childhood closets - the frightening shapeless thing that haunts their worst nightmares?
    now he does have shape.
    now he does have a face.
    it's him who sands before them now. he is their king. he is their enemy. they must defeat him or he will defeat them. this cannot be turned away from or be avoided. they can run and hide but he will find them. he has an x-ray mind. he can see them anywhere and everywhere he looks.
    he looks for someone else like him. lost. frightened. alone. another monster whose love has been betrayed and who has grown deformed and ugly.
    he cannot find anyone.
    all he sees are all these people he looks through to see if this one might be hiding inside them.
    he cannot find anyone.
 
    he walks through the garden alone. he has cast out all who displeased him. he is the king of nothing - of no one. isn't this what it means?
    all done with mirrors. he sees all. the phantom zone.
    he is quite mad they tell him as they strap him down on his throne. his mouth is wired for sound to the words they have him speak. his own words twisted to fit their needs and wants and desires and fears.
    he has become an image to them. created to perfection. there is no way out of this.
    so he wishes his way to the garden again. they don't even notice he's gone. no one home. or if they do, they don't care. or perhaps they prefer it that way. it makes it for easier access and control.
    he is lost within and without himself. such a thing. such a state. static with everything in black and white on/off fuzz that turns into gray soft light and noise.
    good night.
    wake him when it's over.

    please seat oneself. take a number and wait until it is called and one is called with it. we are calculating the results before they happen. before they happen to oneself in one's own time. there is no before and after. we move easy among and around them. we can be wherever and whenever we need to be to enact the course of events that trigger their evolution toward who they are to become.
    one with us.
    one who lives blissfully ignorant until the proper time - the hour and the day.
    excuse us while we grin. excuse us while we take one for all one is worth. through the eye of a needle. a chance hope. however laughable this may appear, at least we got one to laugh if nothing else.
    nothing else.
    look and try to find it. look for something that does not cause one even more despair.
    look for oneself chasing reflections through the maze of mirrors.
    now it is our turn to laugh at them. we caught them in a trap they thought they'd spring on us. after all they did come to us to design it for them. power and control. we gave them a dummy button while we kept the one that really works to ourselves.
    if one doesn't believe us then go ahead and push it and find out. try to blast oneself into heaven where we placed it high above and out of reach.
    too bad.
    too fucking bad.
    now the pie in the sky is falling and it's gonna fall right in their upturned faces.
    they are such fools. they are so sure of themselves that they alone had it right.
    ha!
    and they laughed at us. they pushed us aside and knocked us down and spit on us. they cursed and damned everything we tried to do for them.
    and now where are they?
    they're on the brink. they're on the edge.  they have no place to run and hide. we have them just where we want them and they don't even know it. they think they hold the positions of power and control.
    ha!
    our work begins. this is who we are. this is what we were born to do. save them from themselves.
    when they realize that they've lost control of the whole situation. soon. mainly by their needing to control the whole situation.
    no one has authority over us. they only have power over us.
    remember that.
    weapons of language, customs, beliefs, etc.
 
    dada and on and on he writes to keep himself from going nuts and he hasn't been doing a very good job of that - has he?
    maybe it was to keep himself from returning to sanity. their sanity. their subjective power enforced sanity.
    his sanity. his control. his reality.
    there's the island.
    there's the kitchen table.
    there's his head.
    his head. his god is in his head. he is in his head. he is his god. not their god. not anyone's god. their god is dog shit as far as he's concerned.
    he hates them. he hates them because they hate him. they've hated him since he was born. they hate him because he was born. their god hates him because he was born.
    he was conceived and born so that they would have someone to hate. so their god would have someone to hate. someone else besides themselves - besides itself.
    he hates them all.
    or - he would love to be able to hate them all. he wishes he was the monster they make him out to be. maybe then he would be able to destroy them.
    banana.
    coffee cup. any word will do. spoon. rug. ashtray. no one has any idea what he is writing about.
    those stupid buffoons. they conceived and gave birth to a monster among them who will ultimately destroy them using their own weapons against them. with tricks up his sleeve. with smoke and mirrors. with the mindshift/ship.
    and he sits here and writes out a confession that he is the one they are looking for. he is behind it all. it was his design that set the machine against them. he is the monster. he is the beast. he is their death.
    and they think he's just some idiot guy who sits around scribbling in notebooks all day in idle minded fantasy.
    maybe so.
    how perfect his disguise is. he can tell them this and they will laugh. if they ever read it. he is destroying their whole planet through a machine he designed since the beginning.
    he has deceived them. he has lied to them.
    ha!

    but anyway. here he is. just some guy collecting checks from his beloved state. looney tunes and then some. at the very least he got them to pay him for being crazy. that much is true. nevermind the rest.
    ha!
    ha!
 
    and a disguise. and a play of words juggled around so that no one knows what the fuck he is writing about. they are so easily confused. and when they are so easily confused it is easier to control them. when they are confused they offer no resistance. in fact they quite willingly accept control. control from anyone who offers it to them.
    perfect.
    ha!
    ha!
    ha!
 
    but of course this isn't true. they are free as the birds and the bees. as free as the trees. forget it.
    dada.
    we are the dada.
    ba-zoo.

    the mailman cometh.
    ink.
    think. not-think. they don't know what to do. they can make war and that is about the only thing they can come up with to think/not-think to do.
    deep blue. no time. forget. kill.
    drink the wine of the forbidden fruit and think themselves as gods who have the knowledge of good and evil. his hatred grows. they hold themselves proud and refuse to budge.
 
    he endlessly circles through his vague absurdities. vague and absurd to everyone else. he sees them opening up to new understanding.
 
    1/29
    he has been deceived. he has deceived himself perhaps. he still doesn't know quite how or why.
    he has enemies. people who have made him their enemy. and they will not let themselves be known. he is not sure if this might only be a manifestation of his madness or whether it is his increasing clarity of his perception.
    he cannot trust anyone. not his closest friends - of which there are few - nor his family nor himself.
    so -
    so what else is new?
 
    and doo-dah. hop on pop.
    and such simple ways and means of things as he twists and turns through the complex idiot mind scribbling notes along the way. and this idea and that idea. and follow through. that's very important. religion.
    come up with an idea. put this idea foremost in one's mind to the exclusion of all else that is not connected with the everyday affairs and fundamental wants and needs. think of however many ways there are to live up to and be an expression of this idea. do not let anyone who does not serve this idea dissuade one or change one's mind about this idea that one has come up with. the idea can be anything or anyone's. the idea becomes the most important single factor in one's life.
    one must be convinced that one's idea is correct to the point of excluding all else that opposes it - anyone or anything. do not give up on this idea. do not falter. have no doubts.
    he has no idea. yet here he is. he has let pretty much everything else slide. and for what? no idea?
    no idea at all?
    jesus, how stupid can one person get?
    or maybe he does have an idea. the idea that one shouldn't attach oneself to just any idea that comes along.
    arf.
    or something.
    the language. the hope of nothing. the despair of nothing. nothing and nothing and more nothing.

    1/30
    lay it down. lay it all down. ha! a world fully armed and shooting at one another in any way that can be imagined. 2 o'clock.
    4-13.
    just numbers. calling all cars. tv dinner misplaced. no tomorrow. wishing oneself away. calling everything down. don't get excited.
    blah blah blah. bacon. and a far away sound coming from somewhere we do not know of. and this is useless information.
    surrendering to what is and what is not. territory. a word and another word. a cigarette.
    confusion.
    looking around. taking as much of it in as we can. a clear shot. mud in one's eye.
    and how come? how come anything?

    just teenage romance. as important as that.
    a world full of people who have followed the rules as they are written. the good children. and they were paid off.
    it explains nothing. it helps no one.
    to worship more than anything. to serve for no other reason than to give one's love and obedience.
    just anything. the truth. the lies of truth. and he has heard some things. he has heard of what is spoken in secret. and he knows some things.
    he cannot tell anyone.
    he doesn't want to tell anyone. he has no one to tell if he did.
    so this is nonsense. this means nothing. waiting for it to happen. he cannot see what may or may not be here or not.
    something. something or something else. he doesn't know. to pray. to worship the biggest thing of all. that which can consume all. ape logic. there is no magick here. just a bunch of apes with brains too big for their own good. they couldn't think their way out of a paper bag.
    what is spoken.
    what is known.
    one doesn't speak it.
    one doesn't know it.

    sheep.
    what he thinks. what he knows. good night. fail safe. does anyone know what they are doing? do they know where they are? do they know who they are? do they think it is funny that they don't?
    it is. he thinks so. we are in control. their names belong to us. hog wash. doo-dah. ha!
    it's safe as a potato. street fighting man. they can have their mighty governments. they can have their revolutions. it doesn't matter what they do or don't do now or ever any other time either or not. they cannot change the fact that we are in control and always have been. and if not us then who? does anyone know who is?
    if they do know someone is in control, how do they know those are not us?
    control through everyone else controlling each other. control from the within. this is an inside job - way inside.
    they drove us out of our minds and there was no place to go except inside theirs. dig?
    and it's been a bitch and a half as well as a piece of cake.
    bats in the belfry.
    who's that walking down the street? who's that sitting next to one on the bus? who's that in one's living room?
 
    it's inside out and upside down. good is evil and evil is good. love is hate and hate is love. war is peace and peace is war. just like the good book said. one's enemy may be one's best friend. and if one closes oneself off from that, one is fucked.
    the lines are drawn and anyone who believes in that is gonna be lost. all they'll end up doing is killing each other off while we stand back and laugh. we already got what we want. what is there to fight for? we have the whole fucking thing.
    as we enter the forbidden land of a forgotten world.
    dog.
    dogs.
    and cats.
    black and white.
    while everyone fights like cats and dogs about black and white we slip through the twilight gray in-between. if one doesn't have that figured out where it is then one can kiss their ass good-bye.
 
    2/1
    a door opens. nowhere into and out of. something more than what was or as it was as we saw it. gone with tomorrow.
    dogs and cats.
    cats and dogs.
    the war goes on with no ground given or taken.
    black and white.
    white and black.

    a drawing of the disguise. we are where it is. but as these events happen around us taking us with them. the modern dance.

    2/2
    another poem or whatever. he can pop them out like nobody's business. and maybe they're not poems except if that's what he calls them then that is what they are. unless one is going to take that away from him as well.
    don't need to think about nothing at all. throw some words in together. somebody will make sense out of them sooner or later. maybe.
    whatever one expects. what does one expect? his advice would be to expect nothing. it's not good for one's mental health and emotional well being. expect nothing from no one.
    freak out time. have one's weapons armed and ready and one's defenses reinforced. it'll be a long campaign. the safest way to go is to be someone no one gives a shit about and ignores. maybe.
    the safest way is to disappear wherever one's imagination takes one.
    trust no one.
    isolate.
    outside inside.
    inside outside.
    let them go.
    watch the movie.
    eat popcorn.
    enjoy the show.
    don't forget to laugh.
 
    and all the words in the world won't end this. they say nothing. but he writes the ones he can because he doesn't know what else to do. endless frustration. and maybe it's him. others like him. everyone created. expression of the frustration the creator feels with itself. exist/not exist. everything/nothing.
    and his awareness of this. how he sees it. he is alone in it. no amount of words can reach anyone. they've got their own. he can tell them nothing that relates to them. they go their own way. and what of it? does it matter?
    he writes and rewrites. he should be silent. nothing at all. watch these people go by. but what is he watching them for? just to watch? to learn something? what can he learn from them that is of any use to him? how to make war?
 
    and the face of god. anger. compassion. fuck god. fuck himself. he wants to stay awake but he wants to sleep.
    he is no one. death. if no one dies, does it matter?
    the cracks run through his head. his brain. his mind. he is divided into equal unequal parts shattered beyond recognition. he recognizes nothing.
    he cannot shout. he cannot move or even blink. pain runs through him. he cannot stand this. divided from what makes him whole. yet seeing what he is divided from being whole unto itself. it doesn't need him. if anything it is whole unto itself because being divided from him. when he is added to it he subtracts from it. he is negative. he is avoided at all costs. at best he is zero - adding nothing but subtracting nothing. that is all he can hope for. to have no effect on anything around him. it is better not to be noticed than it is to be noticed as being something wrong. detrimental.
    he is wrong. everything he thinks, says and does is wrong. that is what he is needed for so others can look at him and say, he's wrong so i must be right.
    and this is being human.

    to seem to be between a spanish poet or another. damn the language, full speed ahead. we are laughing. he is laughing. now. forget the rest of what he was writing. a change of mind. a forest.
    let him explain.
    in the beginning that did not begin everything was forgotten. just ask anyone. see if they remember. they're lucky if they remember their own names - which aren't their names anyway. forget it.
    the ideal. what exists. everything else is wrong.
    let him explain further.
    there is not need for explanation. maybe he's dead. that would explain it. probably all the explanation one needs.
    ok.

    from zero to zero. he knows everything because he knows there is nothing to know. all that is known between knowing nothing and knowing that knowing everything is the same as knowing nothing is just so much unnecessary nonsense. details. self-serving dogma dada. look it up oneself if one does not believe him. it's true. it's there. all right there in the books no one reads. all one has to do is know it. that's all. light another cigarette. one will never figure this shit out and it's so easy. but everyone loves to complicate it all up with words that go around and around in tail chasing logic. that's all they do. they can't prove anything except their own theories bolstered up by words and words and words everyone loves to read so long as one doesn't have to think for oneself.
    stop.
    think for a moment or two and one might possibly get it. but no one does because they're too busy impressing one another with what they know with words and words and words.
    words are lies. one can never speak the truth with words. nevermind how they might be put together this way or that way. the words are lies to themselves to begin with.
    and here he is writing more and more of them. he loves it. except when he gets frustrated thinking he's not getting anywhere with them. where do they go? where does he want them to go?
    into the fire. burn them all. nothing is left to this. no reason. no purpose. end it. absurdity.
    he grows angry and angered. he can dig this angry god who casts all its created creatures into the flames of hell forever. go, god, go.
    but seriously...
    meanwhile...
    he can't get the simplest thing. a kiss is even too complex. he wonders about the war. he thinks of the moon and the stock exchange. he wasn't meant for this. a kiss. a simple delightful kiss and instead he looks for its meaning. it's content and context. a discarded moment no more thought of.
    it was/is/will be a kiss. a kiss is the whole story. the rest is imagined. events.
    a kiss.
    how happy.
    how sad.
    a kiss of life and a kiss of death.
    a kiss good-bye.

    this should begin with something real. death. what is more real than death? something dead. out in the forest. untouched. unmoved. unknown. slowly decomposing back into the mulch earth it lies on.
    and even this has its own mystic romance to it.
    a kiss.
    a death.
    which more expresses love? which more expresses something morbid? which more expresses something out of the natural order? which should be more desired? which causes the least pain?
    is it not the lessening of pain we are after? or is pain the only source and common factor of our shared experience?
    and what of pleasure?
    a kiss.
    a death.
    which is more pleasurable? is pleasure more than the cessation of pain? is it something added to our experience? or something taken away? something to live for? something to die for? or something to be ignored altogether?

    1/4
    numb.
    pain.

    1/5
    and right now he still has nothing except to follow through on this fantasy shit in some imagined hope that it may lead somewhere though there is nowhere for it to lead to out and back around again yet we somehow got here - didn't we?
    locked on target.
    futility. total futility. even the futility of trying to describe the futility.
    meaning. all must have meaning to whoever. if it has no meaning it has no purpose. if it has no purpose it must die. eliminate.
    to play at magick with them. so many explanations when only one will do.
    cough it up. blood. revelation. the divine cause and effect. the divine nothingness. forget. then it comes up again. birth. some sort of sign we follow now. the death of mind. open. he doesn't know what it would be. as common as a tree or as uncommon as something not even a ufo.
    basic. so basic it may not be recognized.
    voodoo.
 
    out of this world and into another.
    13.
    fathom.
    experiments.
    he wants to know.
    he wants to see it.
 
    there is this garden. there is this whole thing that each of us sees in different ways. it is described in various forms.
    and he doesn't know if it's anything at all.

    this is the path it leads into this madness toward where it looks like there's nothing there. nowhere. switching back and forth. no place like home. we're camped out here. to understand. and wait. wait one moment. wait two moments. he tries to focus now and again. it burns through him without even noticing.
    what is the it?
    a thing with names. a calling. no such thing between what is and what is not. the labyrinth. labyrinth of words. roll it up again and smoke it. stone. looking out a window. pretending. it's all pretend. why is he the one chosen for this? did he choose it himself? what did he choose? he was just a kid. a game in the dark.
    and what is this thing? on the bus. on a road. not even that. not even anything at all.
    it's all brought down. justice. he must know his name. he gets caught in these trips about things about who and what about anything about leaving this trail of bread crumbs for the birds to follow.
 
    1/8
    a time for going. he tried to explain this to someone and himself. anyone. he doesn't want to go. he doesn't want any part of this - their death world order mechanism.
    he wants to be left alone.

    so here's more or less the thing. here he is. dreaming. he's played with these words enough. they mean nothing. how can he tell anyone that? he escapes from that.
    it doesn't matter. dreaming. turn it into a dream. a calling. the only way he can survive. we survive. survival. words.

    and so the mindshift/ship. the ms/s zapadoolah gabzorbnix. ha! a joke. a crew of 13.
    this was put into his head 13 years ago. by who? unfinished. the way it turns out. something in-between. remembering.
    good-bye.
    good-bye.
    good-bye.
    hello.
    coming up through the floor and out through the ceiling. masks cracking.
    a crystal ship.

    a mark of time.
    waiting.
    on the shore.
    a sad love story.
    go on from this.
    the tortured soul groping through words to express its anguish of being unable to communicate the anguish of being unable to communicate through words it gropes through as sinking into a quagmire of despair and pain reaching out through these words toward the outstretched hands of another who cannot extend oneself further without sinking into it oneself.
    oneself.
    accept this death. the end of pain and sorrow and mourning. let it die and be buried in an unmarked grave and walk away from it forgetting that familiar place forever. this has gone on with us long enough. we torture ourselves and each other as we have been tortured by those before and we torture those who follow.
    this idiot tragedy.
    this mindless emotion of eternal angst.

    and now the war. one wants him to recognize what one defines as war? when did this war begin? what state existed between us before that? peace?
    ha!
    so now they declare their war and now that they have declared their war one finally notices that there has been a state of war between us already. it's about time. we've been waiting for one to clue in.
    and now that this war is on the surface and announced and broadcast one suddenly shows an interest in wanting it to stop.
    stop.
    stop? or be hidden undercover again so one can pretend it's not there?
    he has not known a moment of his life when there has not been a state of war between us.
    the war.
    and to externalize this war. to say that the war is on the other side of the world out in some desert or in some jungle or up in some mountains. to say it is someone else's war. to say that others fight this war.
    bullshit.
    it is our war.
    the war we each have in our own hearts against ourselves and each other.
    this is our war.
    this is one's war.
    this is his war.
    the war of the self against the self. and if one really wants to stop this war then stand before the mirror and shout, stop the war! stop the war! stop the war! until the mirror shatters and one's true enemy is defeated and peace can then be declared. the war is over.
    unless and until one has done this then one is his enemy and one can rot in one's own festering internal hell for all he cares. he will not be dragged into the war one is having with oneself and images of one's own self-hatred.
    his war is over.
    fuck off and die.

    this place.
    this time.
    we wait. we actively wait. preparing.
    we come into this place and time. alone and together. wounded from the war raging around us and within us.
    and now it comes to this. he goes. he comes to it. it awaits him. it has always been there for him. he knows. he has known since he's known anything - since he has known himself.
    it ends and it begins. he exits and he enters. he steps through it and feels himself released to it. it was himself after all. he searched through all surrounding him. his place in it. himself. to become aware of himself beginning and ending where and when he is. to see this clearly now what has always been known.
    the latest reports.
    he sees that the war is still on. he finds it amusing.
    nevermind.
    nevermind what it is. this is not important.
    black. a rainbow in darkness. the soul. we cannot speak of this. we cannot speak of anything at all.
    we can dance.
    we can sing.
    we cannot speak.
    what can be spoken of in this state of war between us? here. now. nowhere. everywhere. becoming. these words are utter nonsense.
    something.

    we do not know each other. these words will never reach anyone. they never could. one thought them weapons against oneself. and perhaps they were. perhaps he has always been the enemy and one was always in the right and him always in the wrong. does it matter now? there is not resolution to the conflict between us. the conflict at least within him that it caused and perhaps that is what caused it between us.
    one is alone. perfect. the only flaw is that he exists. he does not know why he does except maybe to hold off one's perfection from arriving at its perfect state and thereby attaining its own extinction as it has no further use or need. as when perfection is attained what more is there to exist for?
    so he holds one back from one's perfection. as much as one hates him for it. as much as one wants him never to have existed. he will continue to exist to save one from oneself.
    he understands this. he does not know if one understands this or not as he cannot communicate with one through all the waves of hatred one sends against him for standing in one's way of perfection. one does not seem to understand that his destruction is also one's own.
    yet this is utterly stupid to write of this. what is it? his nature of existing as who he is? what of that? if this was not who he was he would not write about it. these words would not come from him. he would not write about it.
    but he does because this is who he is. these words exist to be written. he writes them because he is who and what he is being here now to write them. that it is he who writes them doesn't matter. it could be someone else if they were him. it could even be oneself if one was him.
    can one imagine that? probably not. just as he cannot imagine not comprehending what these words mean. he writes them because they are to be written. he cannot stop himself from writing them because it is not his nature as who and what he is to stop writing them.
    as he is amused.
    his imperfection that they hate will always be an obstacle to their perfection and thus save them from oblivion.
    ha!
    he sits up and laughs.
    he will always return from the grave they try to bury him in and forget him. to haunt them. to remind them.
    and this is not what he wants. he does not want to be this that is seen as being the incarnation of all that they hate. he wants to leave them. he wants to exist off on his own away from them. yet they will not let him go. they need him as someone to hate. he has been created as someone for them to hate. what would they do without him? what target for their hatred would they choose then? someone from themselves?
    this is the joke.
    this is the joke that they don't get.
    he tells them this joke forever. it can never end otherwise - poof! the lights go out.
    all the variations that are basically the same.
    they do not know. they know everything else but this. and he will never tell them the punchline until the end of time because time will end when he tells them because time exists only for him to tell the joke that never ends because there is no ending because he will never tell them what it is.
    a distraction.
    perfection in its imperfection.
    ha!

    so he is amused. so he is amazed. so here he is now as he is and will always be - if not it will be someone else.
    and it's just a joke. and they take the joke so seriously because they do not get it and recognize it as a joke.
    no punchline.
    just forever.