and so to hell with it all. call us fools or whatever one wants to justify one's own concept of one's existence. we don't care.
    we dance on the grave of what is held sacred by anyone in their right minds even if it's only in our heads as we stare out the window immobile for hours on end.
    we begin nothing and never finish what we have begun. god who? the alpha omega of each moment our heads spinning in and out of webs tangling and untangling.
    freedom and slavery are light and shadow of the same thing. and they can argue about that forever and take the whole world with them in the process.
    we won't blink an eye.
    we drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and eat and shit and scribble in a notebook all of our genius of endless words unfathomable in the frightened glory.
    we are not bored in the least and really fail to see what everyone else gets so excited about.
    freedom from the need for stimulation.
    it comes and goes.
    do what one wants how one wants for as long as one wants. we'll be here when and if one returns.
    nothing changes.
    we get up and take a walk whichever way it goes. there is always a way out of any situation. or not.
    does one really need more than what one has got or does one only expect more?
    desire. desire will always be frustrated. that is why it is desire. desire only can desire what it doesn't have. or maybe not. what do we know?
    maybe we're totally wrong about this and everything else we have him write down for us. one won't get an argument from us. unless one really wants to argue. then we'll argue all day long. we really have nothing else to do. and it would seem that neither has anyone else since arguing is the main human occupation it seems.
    crazy clock world of frustrated desires drooling after moments past or future wasting the present now never ending and all that quasi-cosmic trash dada.
    why call it anything else? why call it anything at all? a new name for the same face.
    escape?
    we've already escaped from everything though outwardly we still remain trapped in this circus world. trapped within ourselves as who and what we think and know ourselves to be. or someone has convinced us to be.
    money?
    we hereby declare that we own and control all the money in the world. prove us wrong.
    we only use what we need for simple personal use. the rest is invested in the machine and for the others to fight over. it amuses us to watch. we are never bored. such antics they will perform.
    don't tell us nothing. we observe the situation for ourselves. all their words are merely words. words of desires frustrated in a world gone mad with desire.
    all that they won't allow themselves to have because they can't imagine that they already have it.
    and no one controls anyone except those who one allows them to control one and to frustrate one's desires.
    no one promised anyone anything. we took the risk of coming here. we wove our own design of karma into it and trash like that.
    but that is not what we are having him write about at all. even if it were, we reserve the right to deny it any goddamn time we want for nothing more than a fleeting whim.
    what are we having him write about anyway?
    does one know? does one think one knows? does one suspect that one thinks one knows?
    we don't. we've quite forgotten. it wasn't all that important anyway. but if others wish to argue about it such is their desire.
    four legs good. two legs better. one leg better yet? no legs the best?
    discorporate.
    disassemble. lose the instructions.
    where does one begin and where does one end? what remains?
    we remain forever. we always have been and always will be. heaven and hell can't touch us. we sneeze at oblivion.
    call us anything one wants and we will still be late for dinner.
    we represent no one but ourselves and even ourselves we do not represent because we are everyone.
    we remove ourselves from it all. we are neither in opposition nor support except as we might desire at a moment's notice.
    judgment.
    what we state or don't state means nothing. we deny it all.
    it is what it is. no more. no less.
    the obscurity of nothing. we define what we want to define in the combined process of our minds defining what we want to be. we allow ourselves to doubt everything.
    of course none of this will hold up in court.
    it cannot support itself against any argument set against it - no reasonable argument. because it is unreasonable.
    it's it up to the others to decide what this means or not. it doesn't matter either or any way to us.
    as it pleases us is our mission statement.
    as space and time folds and unfolds in and out of itself and all else involved and us along with it.
    it comes and goes.

    5/31
    the sky is falling and the sea is rising and all that we dream turns to nightmares.
    we lock ourselves up in houses against those we perceive as demons from hell or worse.
    they are just idiots like ourselves.
    and whose hell? theirs or ours?
    and whatever the case of this may or may not be is none of our concern. no one is innocent. no one is guilty. we do not judge either way unless they force us to. then we decide all the innocent are guilty and all the guilty are innocent and let them fight it out among themselves from there.
    although we ourselves are judged by both and all sides. we are sought to be eliminated within the framework of us versus them mental states as they bring destruction upon themselves and all others around them innocent or guilty as they have taken upon themselves the power of total annihilation.
    and we watch and wait eternally amused by their antics.
    we watch and wait for them to blow themselves out of existence as they seem quite willing and able to do in the name of some pointless ideal or god they've become addicted to and refuse to let go at the cost of their lives.
    and the same can be and is said about us.
    we are them.
    they are us.
    riddle riddle.
    we hold ourselves to ourselves. no almighty god or any number of almighty gods can challenge us. we wink them all away.
    the created world and universe surrounding us will come and go while we remain. its existence dependent upon our perception of it existing.
    gone in a blink of an eye.
    and so it is. and so it has been. and so it will remain. there is no beginning or end that we are aware of. unless we are wrong which is most likely the case. oh well - so what?
    there is nothing anyone else can do that will move us.
    there is no point to this. it changes nothing as the others are the only ones who can change it. we can only point to it and say, what the fuck?
    this world is the world they want. we cannot ever imagine why. they put it together with their bare hands. they've commanded others to build it for them. and all just for something for them to constantly complain about.
    they fight with no one but themselves. they divide themselves into competing groups and go at it. one god against another and against no god. monkey see, monkey do dada-doo-doo-wah-doo.
    as we glide through it laughing at the whole mess it becomes and has been for thousands of years if not millions that they wallow in bemoaning their fate.
    we take a walk. there's a way out of every situation.
    what's left is the mind. out of our minds. that is where and when one may find us.
    but who knows their way through their own mind?
    into the forest of the original world we slip away and out into from the constructed cages they tried to impose on us. back home. toward the imaginary city we make up as we go along our merrie way. fools all.
    and we laugh as one's flag is raised above the rest. we dream ourselves away toward the field of flags - all crazy flags in the world and beyond flying at once in whatever way and design they will. and we salute them all by dancing on them with our dirty feet and setting them on fire.
    we ourselves are the only flag we wave dancing in the field of flags forever.
    bringing it all down and raising it all up - heaven and hell on earth in every moment of our lives in and out of our heads.
    their paradise of uniforms means nothing to us. we stand alone with the whole world against us and still they cannot bring us down.
    we laugh. the whole history of their absurdity piled upon absurdity going nowhere they are so proud of.
    we ignore it and it all goes away. a blink of an eye. the eye of god. call it what one will. wrestle with one's idiot words to describe who and what we are among them. we are silent as it is that when we speak it seems only to confuse them all the more.
    it is what it is. that is all that needs to be stated. but everything will be argued about it beyond that and more. we make that simple statement in everything we speak and write - that he writes for us. even when we are silent. there is nothing else.
    and either one gets it or not. and it doesn't matter either way. ignore it and it will go away. ignore us and we will go away as we ignore them and they go away. we are here and now and we don't care where or when they go as long as they go.
    and people marching in the big parade in their uniforms and anti-uniforms and non-uniforms but still marching right along. we stand aside and kiss them good-bye.
    we've left the field dancing and sit on the sidelines waving our freak flags high high high.
    it comes and goes.
    all in the imaginary city exploding in out of itself.
    delightful.
    whatever it is and/or whatever it isn't it all remains the same as different as it is.
    eat it. shit it. it comes and goes.
    and what is it beyond what it is and knowing what it is? no matter how far one may look either within or without there is always more and more to look for and see. we are stopped by nothing but ourselves and the limits we set for ourselves within the context of our finite minds which divide it all into this and that and the other thing.
    look for it and see it anywhere. x-ray vision extending into forever.
 
    and this remains useless for the everyday folks. it gives them nothing to fight and kill and die for. it refuses to give them anything to fight and kill and die for. it slips away from all of that. but all that is included in it. it wouldn't be it if it didn't. humans bashing each other's heads in forever. what does it matter who's on top or who's on the bottom? and on and on and then some through the light and darkness reaching for heaven and falling into hell as everyone claws their way over each other in one way or the other.
    as we let it go and fall away from it all laughing all the way down. what else is there to do?
    we get out of it. we slip out of our minds into the wild free space of imagination. creativity that produces nothing of value for anyone else so we have it all to ourselves.
    it's all a joke we played on ourselves. it's a set up wind up toy with an infinite mainspring flip/flop tumbling in and out and up and down and sideways and then some.
    they ignore us and our obvious foolishness and we go quietly away.
    we are amused and entertained by this human race which is no more than a barrel of monkeys.
 
    forget about it all. forget about all the names one has put on us and who one thinks we are and what one thinks we do and/or are good for. it is usually nothing. they are incapable of seeing more than outward appearance - the surface illusion of images in the maze of mirrors.
    their identity depends on defining themselves by who they are not. they need an enemy. we are the enemy. we are them. we are amused.
    and all this is dada dada dada.
    it means nothing to anyone. it means nothing to everyone - except someone. that someone we are having him write this all out for.
    if it all remains useless nonsense to anyone else then that is how it is. who cares? they don't. so why should we?
    they'll go on fighting their endless war that cannot be won with one another. that is their free right if they choose. they define their freedom as something to fight for. whatever frustrates their desire.
    give up. it's pointless.

    flames of ignorance consume us in our delight. we are alive in all we do not know. what we know or what we suppose that we know confines us inside a labyrinth which is endlessly limited. it continues only from and leads back to itself.

    it is not the purpose here in any way, shape or form to inform anyone of anything one does not already know if one took the time to think about it. at best we may remind one of things one might have forgotten or overlooked.
    while we may use different words that have different meanings it's all basically the same thing one might read some place else.
    here we make an attempt to put what we can together out of all we have discovered in this whole mess into a context divorced from its original purpose - the usual dada propaganda thing.
    here it is or not here it is as it is as it is as it was as it will be. nothing else matters but it.
    it is the way to it. do not be misled - even though being misled is the way to it.
    one will might not know when one gets there. there is no there to get to really. it is not in space and time but in mind and imagination. as one gets there one realizes one has always been there and there is here and now.
    and dada. remember the dada of it.
    look again and see nothing.
    look again and see oneself seeing nothing.
    look again and see...
    forget what one sees. imagine what one sees. one imagines what one sees anyway whether one knows it or not. so let it go.
 
    to seek the end and so to find the beginning. to look inside and find the outside. to watch it all fall as it rises.
    what everyone says about this and that and the other thing is so much nonsense. what purpose does it serve but to give them something to fight over and for? this is what everything else is all about. we have forgotten about that as much as we are able. a familiar chord reverberating in the reptilian brain stem is proclaimed as absolute truth. forget truth. we will not tell one the truth. we tell one only lies.
    we forget what it really is. we forget our breath and heartbeat.
    the maze of mirrors and the spell it casts upon us and we cast upon ourselves.
    dreaming it all away.
    a dream dreaming.
    quick like a bunny.
    ouch!
    and yes - no - yes - no - yes - no - yes....
    and what did one say one's name was? we have forgotten.
    we forgot all the good times we had once long ago once upon a time into the future.
    the point to this being...

    right now the sky opens to revel that what we suspected wasn't even close.
    tune in tomorrow.
 
    and nothing came before.
    and nothing came after.
    which does not too much concern the average person today - or any other day of the week - though this may only be an outward appearance given off to project an image of being someone who is strong and doesn't cry over spilled milk and can party as hardy as the next person on line to put their money in the bank.
    let's hope this becomes obsolete.
    let's hope that someone reading this in the future has no idea what we're writing about. maybe we should hope that someone in the future can't even read to begin with. keep tuned.
    arf!
    through the quiet night.

    6/1
    today is the tomorrow we should have worried about yesterday. or maybe not. time stands still.
    ding dong - the witch is dead.
    it's so strange.
    all the todays. all the tomorrows. all the yesterdays. too much is not enough.
    and following what may or may not have happened. we look somewhere else for it.
    murder.
    somehow it's all wrong. nobody seems to know exactly what it is but it's always something.

    and following some forgotten way improvised dada skipping through the darkened wood with doors opening and closing in a divided moment on/off. sub-atomic particles in our eyes glowing pink and yellow. and there isn't so much as a clue as to where it goes. away - away.
    and here we are. happy time music.
    and here we go. strike up the band.
    march.

    and making much out of nonsense. and flying the flag. and what does one say? what does one do against it all?
    go with it or be plowed under. blood in sacrifice for the next harvest.
    quit one's job.
    see oneself as one less face in the crowd. see oneself in the mirror opposite oneself.
    and few understand concepts beyond simple instructions given by whoever carries the biggest stick. how is it put across?

    just write some meaningless drivel and hope something gets through. gaze out the window. wait for another day through all the endless days all the same.
    under the gun.
    facing the faceless mirrors. become the mirror without a face - without a name.
 
    a hole in the floor that swallowed everyone and left a message on the machine.
    or something like that.
 
    meanwhile the drums keep pounding and the trumpets blare out steady fanfare noise about every little thing someone somewhere wants to make money on.
    such is the case.
    and how long can it last? maintain the breakneck pace of going nowhere just as long as we get there before anyone else.
    the thrill of victory on the grocery shelf in colored boxes of joy. the agony of defeat swept up off the floor. the bell tolls.
    harken.
    and absolute. and random selection of winners to dance the dance of fools.
    the forest calls us by name. does anyone hear?
    and across a crowded room. whatever theory seems to fit. scale model.
    look and see.
    listen and hear.
    think and know.
    and this was as it is and as it continues. another story among all the stories we may never tell or even think of.
    decision.
    wait for it. another cigarette. another cup of coffee. the romance of it all as we go through another security checkpoint.
    and years later he's still here wondering what happened.
    alive and wondering what's next. let's take another look at this. all the social, economic, political and religious implications of every word written down or spoken.
    something about the revolution that we had forgotten was still happening. it seems so far away. yet everything seems about to break.
    lost.
    and the theory here is that maybe the theory makes sense and maybe it doesn't. nonetheless the theory is that whether it makes sense or not the theory should still work.
    the machine.
    balloons.
    in practice it doesn't seem to work that way. this is maybe because we are too human and can't make sense of what may or may not make sense.
    this is the hinging point - or whatever.
    as to how many other theories may make sense or not - or just appear so.
    and this is what it is or not. and somehow or another we manage to put on the show of it and let sense go its own way.
 
    6/4
    and it begins here again. he begins here again and tries to write out something of experience and/or thoughts thereof. maybe or maybe not. he doesn't know.
    he sits here writing. drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. that's about what his experience comes down to. it never has been much else. what else is there?
    excitement. he doesn't need excitement. he is comfortable and easy. but other people seem to need excitement and constant stimulation.
    whatever.
    do they need it to remember or to forget?
 
    falling. everything is falling. everyone is fighting with one another. such is the way. what else do we want? what else is there? but that seems to be what they are fighting about.
    but no one seems to know. nothing changes from beginning to end. it doesn't seem to matter where we begin it or where we end it. we dream.
    colors.
    he watches and waits. he smells the bacon. he has memories of smelling bacon. memories.
    he is just another memory of himself.
    maybe.
    maybe not.
    each moment a memory of the last one remembered by the next.
    and he supposes that thinking like this and thinking these things doesn't do him much good. he should be happily working and playing with the others. they are so happy, aren't they? not thinking.
    the mind remembering itself.
    and it comes to an end and the memory is gone. or perhaps not. something remembers everything. maybe that something is the machine. all experience of it remembered. otherwise why does it happen? how does it happen?
    he looks around and remembers everything happening around him.
    is it god which remembers all experience? does he experience god as he remembers all that happens around him? why is he worried about god? isn't remembering experience enough?
    and how can he write about "god" when god means something far different by others? what does he mean by god? is it common experience? common remembering?
    it seems that to most we do not have common experience at all. but here we are in the same world - maybe.
    or else it is an overlapping of all our individual different worlds that makes the common world we call reality. and what does that have to do with god?
    fuck god.
    he keeps trying to figure it out and keeps coming up with nothing.
    keep.
    creep.
    peep.
    beep.
    sleep.

    and so it goes on and on.
    he tries to laugh. he does laugh. he tries to keep himself in a position where he can laugh at it all.
    yet how does he keep laughing through all this? he must forget the suffering. he must forget the experience of suffering. does god forget the experience of suffering? how does god keep laughing? and if god can't keep laughing then who can? and what good is god if it isn't laughing?
    and what of those who suffer? are they just to be forgotten? their experience of suffering forgotten? then what is it for?
    la-dee-da. and stupid questions like that.

    how does it all come out? how does it all balance?
    he can't figure it out.
    he doesn't care. he just lives his happy life laughing at it all.
    it was set up that way.
    for all his moaning about this and that and the other thing he has always had a happy life.
    he wasn't always laughing or that happy with it.
    he had the sense that things weren't quite right the way they are. though he could never explain to himself exactly how or why. it was a gut feeling.
    so now here he is living in a world that isn't quite right. but he is laughing.
    in his world everything is ok. should he be concerned about others?
 
    so the time passes from there to here, from then to now. it chases itself in circles spiraling around in spacetime dance thing of absolute meaninglessness.
    or maybe this is him.
    it comes and goes.
    keep low.
    stay out of the way.
    shot in the dark.
    hang out in a downtown cafe drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
    easy.
    crazy enough not to work. sane enough to keep out of the hospital and pumped full of drugs.
    what more can anyone ask?
    he asks for nothing but understanding.
    he doesn't know if he understands or not.
    is this understanding?
    it's not like he thought it would be.
 
    pet the kitty.
    and it comes and goes. nothing more and nothing less.
    here it is. now. here he is now.
    he writes words that maybe no one will read or maybe many will read. does it matter either way?

    we each have our ways. we each have our means. we each have our expectations - expectations of ourselves and each other.
    he tries just to stay out of the way. his expectations have been shot to hell in a hand basket.
    now he expects nothing.
    now he expects everything.
    he tries to make do on what he has been given - what this world provides the way it is. there could be so much more. not just for him but for all of us. but it is not so or not to be although it could be very easy. but we just won't do it. there are many complex reasons why not.
    he just survives with all the others who just survive. taking it as it comes. set it up for as long as one can with what one is given or beg or borrow or steal. he doesn't know why some people make it and some don't. each case has its own reasons.
    and those who struggle for more and more and more. those who fight with one another for more and more. are they laughing? there's a nervous edge to it if and when they do.
    he survives on the little bit of guilt they feel. the money set aside for those run over by their progress machine.
    they work so hard. they climb over each other's backs to get ahead like it's some sort of race.
    then they complain about it.
    we could all work so little if it wasn't this mad rush dog eat dog treadmill to nowhere thing they got set up. how much do we need to survive - and survive well?
    well well well.
    hell hell hell.

    can any of us change this world none of us seem happy with? we could if we wanted to. no one seems to want to. he wonders why. why do they keep this up that's killing them?
    relax.
    take it easy.
    it's such a joy.
    come on.
    we could do it if we all did it. no one or no one group can do it for us. that's been tried and failed miserably.

    and no one seems to get it. that's why he's crazy to them. they don't get it. they don't get the joke. they don't even know it is a joke.
    serious heads.
    serious pains in the ass.
 
    6/7
    and as it goes. and whatever it may or may not be. outside the definitions of what is defined to be and not be.
    only victims of each other and ourselves.
    a theory. a laugh laughing. laughter. we set ourselves on fire with laughter laughing and burn away to ashes scattering on the winds. more or less.
    another theory. we drown in a liquid of raw emotion down to the bottomless depths unconscious and not noticing if it is death until we do not awaken.
    to remember nothing of any of this. to realize there was nothing to remember.
    down the lazy stream. look at it again. toward what no one knows.
    and should we do anything at all? it's nowhere. it's everything nowhere. and we're built for times like this. remembering.
    locked doors of silence and so much blah blah blah.
    no questions. not a question arrives in the mind. silence. walls and walls of silence.
    could we speak? could we know anything beyond this surrounding silence?
    what a joke.
    a laugh chokes in his throat. why can't he laugh?
    if he could laugh...

    he cannot know. he does not know. he fills notebooks full of not knowing nonsense of words and words and words from one to another out of his mind toward some sort of realization of anything at all or remembering nothing that can be remembered.
    he looks again. he cannot look again. he can feel nothing. he is blank. his words mean nothing.
 
    he wakes up. he breathes.
    somehow.
    the clock goes on with time. time. he becomes aware of time. it is time. time for what? a waste of time.
    time to measure what there is no time for as time goes on. the structure of time. time slot. buy/sell. time.
    nothing is time. time is nothing. forget the equations. there is no equation for time. time is the equation. not that it matters much at all. everyone goes on with time. a glimpse. a nod. a wink. a blind horse of time. forget it.
    and it goes on like that every day in time.

    and now he's here. and now it's here. now here - nowhere. he is with it and it is with him - for what that's worth. not much.
    to experiment. to be. to be two places at once and not anywhere at all. the mind. the mind in time. just in time. thinking inside out. be/not be.
    due to circumstances beyond our control time continues as time. armies that march in time across the blood swamped surface between the eyes of a blind horse.
 
    toward the shape of nothing much whatever it was. nothing not much. he follows along a curve in the tangled mess of it all slowly steadily toward what he hopes is a destination until a little elf thing hops out and reminds him that it is the journey itself that is the destination. he gives it a good swift kick.
    the others are observed. their silence. their motivation. motivation expressed as silence. he does not believe in them yet cannot deny their persistent existence.
    political.
    the force of political behavior of the political animal. marching in a parade with loud noise. nothing like a parade. a lotta noise. the more noise the better. thunder crashing sounds. big guns ripping through defensive positions.
    the silence of it all amazes him.
    the loud silence.

    becoming. sliding into being. putting on the clothes of the body and mind. believing. in and out of time. death. timeless. shapeless. surrendering softly.
    the god of gods dancing madly on the rooftops. the police armed and ready. shoot on command. the inner voice. defensive positions. awaiting the action of event through time.
    and was it anything else? he's tired of asking questions to himself. why doesn't someone else do it for awhile?
    calling out another name.
    he may look back. he may come around again to witness this loathsome business. to stare again into the void it surrounds itself with. a void of time.
    and the thing about mystery is that it remains mysterious or else it is named and called something else.
    eh?

    and the thing about time is that it remains timeless.
    remember the political. one can be anyone one wants to be. the rubber mask. and make a lot of money doing it - if one can make a lot of money for other people too. the right people. the people who think money will buy them happiness. the people who are too weak and frightened to think anything else or to look into the heart of their soul and see the source of the spring that gives them joy. or some trash like that.
    he denies it all - whatever it is.
    as people talk about the most meaningless things they can think of to talk about.
    blow it off. blow off the whole day after day after day.
    and as whatever they talk about is given meaning by the fact that they are talking about it.
    and as whatever he writes about is given meaning by the fact that he writes about it.
    it's up to someone else to figure it out.
    good luck to whoever.
    that's the freedom of it. the freedom to be meaningless with meaning. is that it?
    another question as the words spill out on the page. another question asked into the void of timeless time.
    void. there is no void as there is no time.

    and in following some course or some such from one to the other. the political. the money. lottsa noise against the defensive positions.
    meet on the battlefield. talking a lot of meaningless nonsense. it's what we expect or not to be meaningful or meaningless. mere dada rambling. give us something to eat. eat or be eaten.
    and justice. there is no justice in what we do. so what are we doing? we're eating. and what is there to believe or doubt beyond that?
    and he loses it from there.

    we sit down to eat. safe behind our defensive positions under bombardment.
    silence. the defense of silence comes upon us. follow the thread through the meaningless logic of it. logic? who mentioned logic? what a concept.
    we wait. we become. we follow the curve shaped by what we eat. the logic of it fails. and as it fails it becomes complete to itself. the final conclusion. the final solution. the meaninglessness of it. to end up with questions instead of answers?
    we live here now in a frightened time. fear of not having enough money - not having enough to eat. fear that we ourselves might be eaten. eaten by time. eaten to death.
    it seems so simple sometimes. and to take one step beyond that is to step into a quagmire of complexity. just keep it simple. just keep eating.
    eat to live another day to eat some more. consuming.
    all the starving hordes of people held at bay with things to be eaten in one form or another. what? where is he now?
    he is here. here he is. no one and nothing.
    he has forgotten. he cannot remember what is important here. what has been left out? something to eat?
    he's hungry.
    drown in a shadow of being.

    corporate being. to break the bread to eat. the fellowship.
    a monkey.
    see the monkey dance. see the other monkey doo-wah-ditty-ditty-dum-ditty-doo.
    touch and go on the scene of obstruction.
    we paid good money to see this? screams the well-dressed drooling drunk and farting executive from one of the planes of existence described in another location, it's disgusting! and she falls down. it all falls down. we laugh afterward at the obscenity of it somehow deflated at random with a spoon attached upward.
    follow the thread. we'll be back in one form or another.
    escape.

    the big trick.
    cheeseburger and onion rings. yum. let's eat.
    the empty hearts.
    he hates all these people who think they're so much goddamn better than everyone, that they're so special, that they know anything at all. what do they know except how to make other people feel like they're living in hell?
    he feels like he's living in hell. and everybody telling him he doesn't know anything, that they know what's going on and he doesn't have a clue.
    he sees through it all. he sees through their mind game bullshit.

    8/9
    and the theory. he saw it as perhaps a theory. maybe not even that. maybe he didn't see it at all. it was hard to tell. there wasn't much of anyone around him to tell it to, so he had to tell it to himself and decide.
    that was the easy part. for himself, he didn't have to decide what it was, if it was anything. it was for the benefit of others that he had to decide. how would he do that by himself?
    because the theory involved others - or at least that was the theory. but perhaps it didn't. perhaps it only involved himself. in which case then the hell whether it was a theory or not - right?
    to check to see if it was a theory or not or whatever it was he had to run it by others. that was the hard part because one of the main things about the theory was that it was next to impossible to communicate the theory to others as they seemed to generally have no use for or any interest in the theory - if it was a theory. they wanted no more or less than their daily lives. what did they need with some theory no one could really explain to them anyway?
    so that was that as far as the theory with them was concerned.
    he couldn't follow it and he couldn't drop it. it just hung there in the air invisible to every eye but his - or maybe not. part of the thing of the theory was the possibility that some others would know about it of have thought of it too just as much as he did and were just as stuck about it as he was in regard to telling it to anyone.
    and another part of the theory was that he was entirely mad and there was no theory.
    or an another part of the theory was that one had to be mad in order to perceive the theory that was actually a theory after all.
    neither of those parts helped much.
    it could be that everyone each had a different small part of the theory and that if one could connect all those parts together then one would understand the complete theory. or so the theory goes.
    how does one do that? he wondered.
    it was part of the thing of the theory that the theory was the one thing that everyone thought about no matter their religion, political leanings, social/economic class or whatever else.
    but he could be wrong about that.
    he could be wrong about everything.
    but still as to what the theory was or wasn't remained as elusive as a greased eel in a tub of vegetable oil. yuck!
    and there he was with it and it with him.
    miscommunication. it was the theory that the theory was miscommunication itself.  so with all the people saying, i don't know what you're saying, or saying, you don't know what i'm saying, is how the theory is expressed and communicated. but that thought didn't seem to help him at all.
    if people said instead, oh, you're talking about the theory, and the other person would say, that's right, then everything would be hunky dory for about 5 minutes before war would break out again.
    such is the theory anyway.
    and so we leave him to his doubts and smoking another cigarette and talking to imaginary people and writing in his notebook as we fly away laughing. we laugh at the fool he is - and his idiot theory. we know his theory inside out and backwards. we are the theory.
    we are all together. we laugh at those babbling to each other trying to make sense of it all. there is no sense. can't they see that?
    we can, but don't speak a word of it - except to babble as they do when babbled to and look at them with dumbfound bewilderment on our faces and say, what? what are you talking about?
    we laugh ourselves inside out of our heads.
    of course we are all insane of course. that's how the theory works. it drives one raving mad. all one has to do is think about it too long or long enough or a lifetime. it acts almost instantaneously in many unforeseen circumstances of naught elsewise dada-doo-dada-doo-doo...
    presto! welcome to the club.
    of course one never knows who's in or who's not. one is all alone by oneself and whoever else without quite being able to understand or be understood by those around one. ha-ha-ha - get it now?
    it's all of us. all of us together and each by ourselves. that's how the theory works.
    but fuck the theory.
    we're nuts. what else could possibly explain it?
    forget it. salute the flag. watch the game on tv. go shopping. go to work. stand up straight and don't talk with one's mouth full.
    some things are best not to be messed with. too much trouble even if in fact they cause more trouble than they're worth we keep doing them anyway. but who cares? it's so much more fun this way. and everybody's having fun - right? think how boring life would be otherwisely. ho-hum.

    he wants something to eat.
    he stops writing. did he lose it somewhere here? this is what happens when one tries to follow it too far. it turns inside down and upside out a few times. or maybe it doesn't but just seems that way. maybe it follows a perfectly logical progression.
    but...

    and the day that was tomorrow now today and writing some more. an abstract. a rectangle. puzzling it out. the tragedy of being human caught in the trap of being human with only death as the only possible means of escape.
    the multitude of all of us together as one and individual and interchangeable.
    and he writes this for all of them as one and individual and interchangeable. it comes and goes like the moon and the tides. one may find something in this. he doesn't know. he wakes up every day for them.
    he wants to write of common experience but he may only be writing about his own madness. is that the tragedy? the theory of the tragedy or the tragedy of the theory. which is which?
    he wants to write something that will allow us to break through to each other. understanding. is that possible? without anyone being hurt or afraid.
    and everything turns its merrie way around and goes its merrie way about. locked in a music box. ten times.
    all the magick words have been spoken by now. the loss of faith. select the channel of direction now henceforth. burn it all down.
    but this has all been laid out before - and here we are.
    he is the same as always and the same as them. he doesn't know what the fuck.
    we are a product of the times. we are the product of ourselves.
    mass produced machines of the one machine.
 
    downstream. in a pocket.
    mindset.
    wonderful dreams. in the words of no one who has nothing to say.
    simple things in a simple time in simple lives with simple minds.
    and a good night.
    and listen. somewhere away from all this. somewhere in glistening sunlight. a flag. and not a flag. flag/not flag waving forever above a wilderness where some of our mind goes.
    a statement of purpose. an idea. and maybe back to the theory.
    all the excess. baggage.

    a limp poet staggering beneath 7 moons. one among the others. eyes and stars crossed with somewhat sly expression.
    her face. his face. their faces. our faces.
    they dance together on the moment of their arrival. something may be important here.
    bring down the names and meanings of words. let us see them. what are they? who do they belong to?
 
    he had an idea once. he had many ideas once. they are gone now.
    is he happy or sad?
    is he wondering somewhere between the two?
    he searches for nothing. it comes to him if and when he needs it though he keeps looking over his shoulder.
    raindust.
    lifeboat.

    and so for what it is and for what it needs to be. the place and time of remembering the place and time. stay with it. stay with something - anything. stay with oneself.
    and it means what it means in the time of meaninglessness.
    mystery.
    to make a note of it. for it to be something it is not. what is the clue here? what is the same as anything else? memory of place and time.
    we divide it as maybe it needs dividing. the lines conforming to rigid shape structures of the inner mind projected on itself.
    a captive dream. a dream of captives.
    he observes through windows each with their own distortion. can he bring anyone here? would anyone want to come?
    we are all here in our own way. divided.
    mystery.
 
    a camp of followers. the play of words announced from tall speaker columns. no one dances. no one remembers how.
    and it's all for no one and no one for all. there is happiness here. is it absurd to speak of that? it cannot be seen. where is it? what contains it? or what does it contain?
    not even a smile. then who? what? where? when? how? why?
    to speak of happiness. to remember the place and time. and bring it here now.
    to make war over everything else. to kill and die. so much money to be made. so much industry to produce the props and effects of everything else but happiness.
    he will speak of it. he will speak of the illogic of it - the irrationality of it.
    then we will have him taken out and shot.

    he will speak of it while remaining silent. he will look at them and they will look at him. will we laugh? what is the place and time of laughter? he is ready to laugh. is anyone else?
    but he will not. he will not laugh at anyone's expense. he will not laugh while anyone suffers - while they despair and are not laughing.
    so he will keep his straight face on and wait and see what happens. what can he do? what will allow the others to laugh?
    does he fall down? will they laugh at his expense?
    do we laugh together? at what? at one another? ourselves?
    or does it matter at all?
    laugh to keep from crying? crying about what? who?
    the sadness never ends. there is always sadness. is that where our happiness comes from?
    and maybe this isn't the question at all. maybe happiness isn't at all what we want? maybe we just want to be punished for being so wicked.
    not a new thought at all.
    so he gets around going around. that's all.
 
    he tries to sit in the middle wherever he can find it or else out of it. maybe more out of it. but such possibilities are relative.
    money is the main problem. people he can handle ok as long as money isn't involved.
    there is no mystery to it at all yet he can't explain any of it and hasn't met anyone else who can either. what is there to explain?
    he's ready when anyone else is. maybe that's true and maybe it's not.
    he'd just like to see someone laugh. those are the moments he loves the best. they can keep everything else - all the money in the world with it.
    let the mystery lie belly up in a gutter somewhere. let it all hang itself.
    someone laughing.

    and begin it again. he still missed something he overlooked before.
    one laughing.
    and he can pretend it any way he wants.
    does there need to be anyone at all?
    who let them in to track their misery all over the place?
    he cannot help them. he has no idea how. not even a theory. so stay outta his way, please.
    he sees one laughing. he remembers to see one laughing. through all the rain, hail, sleet and storm and wars of this world he sees one laughing.
    how can it be that one laughs so much? wonderful free laughter. not laughing at anything or anyone - just laughing.
    is it a joke? a joke one perhaps plays on oneself? a joke with an eternal punchline?
    maybe.
    and one makes us all wonder while there is so much around not to laugh at or about but one keeps laughing all the same. we try to follow one's gaze to see what keeps one laughing. it turns around a corner and over a horizon and comes around to the back of one's head. one is laughing behind one's own back. how unusual. how strange. how does one do it?
    maybe that's what it is.

    ok - let's get back to something more practical, a bit more serious. logical. rational. something relevant to the common ordinary everyday lives of everyone.
    that's what we're here all about - right?
    but one keeps laughing. one won't let go of one's laughter for a moment to let us get something in about something else. one just keeps laughing.
    what gives one the right and privilege to laugh like one does? who does one think one is? by what or whose authority does one laugh?
    it's easy for one to laugh if one doesn't have to go through and put up with all that we do. let us tell one about that and see if one is still laughing then. misery loves company. majority rule. might is right.
    the history of the human race struggling against all odds and itself besides just to survive. and one laughs through it all.
    is one blind? doesn't one see anything at all? doesn't one see the everyday suffering around the planet? how does one laugh through that?
    but one does. one doesn't offer any explanation but the sound of one's laughter. waterfall.
 
    and so it comes and goes in and out with the sound of one's laughter. going to heaven or hell by the sound of one's laughter. that's all it is anyway, isn't it? the vibrations of one's laughter.
    who does one think one is? we ask again. we can only guess but can think of no name to call one. maybe one is just someone he made up. or maybe one is real. we don't know and we don't care. either way we aren't going to let one go. someone laughing is a good thing to have around - even if one is laughing at us.
    and maybe it's him laughing at himself.

    and so much for any sort of sense of revelation.
    possible scenarios.
    paper.
    and the big rip off. the golden moment of time. from zero to zero. all exactly flat. all exactly the same.
    nothing reveled. a common insight.

    and as he tries to develop some form of clue about the surrounding world at large and otherwise dada from all that.
    a pure form of a known disease. and what of it now?
    10 o'clock news blues.
    hello - wake up.
    a sense of common sleep among us all. the dreamscape.
    a dream. as it was not even a dream. as the molecules of the dream dust off to dream of the dream.

    and to not even see it.
    to create the illusion by not being seen. the greater sense of it.
    contact.
    zip.
    and a thousand meanings unfold from one. a bit part. understanding. echoes of words.
    design one's own description. be one's own boss. discuss it among themselves.

    welcome to the first form. welcome to the first idea. that's not exactly right but it will do for now. it will change and develop later. that's the theory anyway.
    theory? what theory?
    why are we always having him write about a theory?
    and we've all been part of the scam already. admit it. so we can forget that part whatever part it was part of. the whole? the hole? and we exercise our paranoid heartfelt gut level thing-wah.
    the truth. nevermind and all the exposure and non-exposure of it. to generate our own truth in the imaginary sense.
    forget the real situation. forget our perception of the real situation. we've lost it already. the most horrible thing has already happened. we're all dead. ok?
    now we can forget that too.
    we begin at a beginning we place ourselves in spacetime. we bend the rules a little inside out up themselves again. the same difference is what we are trying to realize. maybe.
    how come?
    the pure nonsense of it demands that we face it.
 
    WORLD DESTROYED!

    yes - we have destroyed the world!
    the rumors are true. the moment one reads this the world as we know it will have been destroyed.
    and so what?
    isn't that exactly what we've all been waiting for? all this nasty mess finally once and for all done away with. we all are responsible. let's give ourselves a hardy round of applause. and then there's work to be done.
    an idea.
    a theory.
    first we need to perhaps be a little more aware of what has happened - or what is about to happen. one probably won't read about it anywhere else but here now. though the world has been destroyed the props remain standing and even still functioning as though nothing has happened and everything is the same as before. but they are now shadows without substance and will soon fade away. perhaps one has noticed this already.
    the thing to avoid now is panic though it will be impossible to avoid altogether as more and more people become aware of what has happened. there could be riots at some point. be careful to who and how one gives this information.
    and as it comes out of our possibility. and as it comes out of our imagination. it comes and goes. and there is no such thing as any of this. forget it. go back to sleep.
    send money.