photograph.
    begin here or begin anywhere as one might wish. we do not care nor does it matter - or perhaps we do and maybe it does. it is entirely up to oneself whoever that may be. as it goes something like this...
    and they all lived happily ever after...
    a swimming pool.
    a nuclear family.
    frogs.
    bats.
    a bum.
    once upon a time...
    is this the future? is it the past? perhaps it is the present as all time is the present - the one eternal moment of now ever-changing changelessness.
    teacup.
    who would argue with this? which isn't to state that it shouldn't be argued if that is one's pleasure. so be it. go right ahead.
    but it should be declared as of now that nothing written on these pages should be considered an argument about anything either for or against. there is no defense nor excuse for what is written. it is written as it is written, that's all.
    the meaning and purpose of what is written lies in what is written. nothing else is our responsibility. what others think about what is written is not within our control nor within our scope of mind to imagine or predict. what we think about what is written will go with us to our graves. amen.
    what?
    the point of confused bewilderment. the attainment of the realization of ignorance. what? is the highest statement of our writing as we can imagine it.
    all other words are essentially meaningless. what? explains everything.
    meaning.
    and are we to write about meaning now? what meaning can writing about meaning have?
    what is the point? is there a point? does the point have any meaning?
    is it pointless?
    dada.
    do we have a point? do we mean anything?
    if there is a point, we're not exactly sure what it may or may not be.
    if there is meaning, we're not exactly sure what it may or may not be.
    does the point have to have meaning?
    does the meaning have to have a point?
    perhaps only those reading this know what the point of it is and what meaning it might have.
    perhaps that's the point.
    perhaps that's what it means.
    survival. that's the point. that's what it means. but to us humans it needs to have a point and mean something beyond just survival. yes? no? and none of this really has anything to do with survival. one may survive without it. this might even be detrimental to one's survival. one might become confused and lost within it. but that might be the point. that may be what it means.
    why would that be?
    why not?
    but how well are we surviving with what we are already doing? what is the point of it? what does it mean? especially when our survival seems based largely on the non-survival of that which surrounds us including many of us ourselves.
    but who is us? and why should any of who are us give a darn about anyone or anything that is not us? as long as we who are us survive isn't that the point? isn't that what it means?
    maybe.
    who decides this? who decides anything? who if not ourselves? are we the ones who are us? are we the ones who survive? if we are not then what is the point? what does it mean? and how do we know? and does it matter if we are the ones who survive or not and therefore there may be no point in anything we think, say or do and it doesn't mean anything. maybe that's the point. maybe that's all the meaning it has.
    do we even believe that there is a point? do we even believe that there is meaning? and if we do is it only because we're fooling ourselves? is it so we do not lapse into total hopelessness and despair? but why would that be?
    why would that happen just because there isn't a point and there is no meaning?
    huh?
    potato salad.
    and would we? do we? and lapsing into total hopelessness and despair usually has the effect of lessening the odds of those persons surviving.
    but should they survive?
    what is the point in them surviving? what would it mean?
    nothing?

    so have we become completely confused yet? does it matter? is being confused the same as not having a point or not having meaning? maybe the point is to become confused. maybe confusion is all the meaning there is.
    maybe.
    what is the point to that?
    what does it mean?

    but here we are in this space and time allotted to us as it is and as we are and this is how we decide how to us it pointless and/or meaningless or not. we don't know and we're not exactly sure if we care or not.
    who will read this? will it be read? what will it mean then? what will be the point?
    obviously if anyone at all reads this it will be read by those who survive. but perhaps they are not to survive for long. maybe no one survives.
    survives what? for how long? what for?
    no one does survive. everyone dies at some point. yes? so how can survival be the point? what is the point to it being the point? and what the fuck does it mean?
    but we have survived - as a group - as a species. we survive and reproduce others of our kind to survive and reproduce...
    and on and on like that.
    is that the point? does that mean anything? for many it is not. but there are still a great many of us doing it whether it has a point or means anything or not.
    which of those of us decides what the point is and/or what it means?
    life or death. ashes to ashes and dust to dust. the wheels of karma and desire.
    maybe the point is to get the fuck outta here. maybe that's the only thing that means anything.

    and here we sit writing this all out whether or not anyone reads it or whether or not it means anything or whether or not there is a point to it.
    we sit here while others come and go about their lives. we light another cigarette.
    amused.

    those of us who survive just to survive. survive for ourselves and in some cases reproduce so that others like unto ourselves survive beyond our own survival. what is the point of that? what does it mean?
    those of us who survive in order to express and enjoy something beyond just survival and even sometimes at the expense of survival. what is the point of that? what does it mean?
    those of us who survive to try to figure out the point and meaning of it all. what is the point of that? what does it mean?
    those who believe that they know what the point and meaning of it all is and try to force others to believe it as well. what is the point of that? what does it mean?
    and we build our civilizations up until they fall down. to lose it all. to let go into whatever it is or whatever it is becoming. to float easily downstream. to fight our endless wars.

    and so where are we now? who or what have we become or are becoming? without a point. without meaning. maybe. maybe not.
    we lead our lives the way we do. we are who we are. should we be anyone different? are we someone different? if so, should we be ourselves? and who are we if we are not who we are? are some of us who we are and some of us not?
    it works now that almost everyone is trying to change everyone else. whether this is done directly or not doesn't matter. does this have anything to do with our survival? does it have a point? does it mean anything?
    a loaded gun in a bedside table. heroin. television. racquetball. war. peace. satellites. sewers. lovers. gangs. co-operation. opposition. co-operation through opposition. us versus them.
    this is it. this is how it is. this is who and what we are toward who and what we are to become.
    yet what is any of it?
    space and time.
    and god.
    and here we are writing our pages of meaningless and pointless whatever - or are we? we choose the words we choose for sometimes no other reason that those are the words we choose.
    and we make up things like the dada-ananda (deliberate irrationality - bliss) that exist only in our imagination which is where the world exists for us as well. we make it all up as we go along. we become increasingly aware of the dada-ananda not being anything and therefore being everything.
    the distance between nothing and something is possibly infinite. how is one reached from the other? if there is nothing then how can there be something? if there is something then how can there be nothing?
    what is the point in asking that? what does it mean?
    are these questions more than the nonsense they seem to be? and if they are then what are they?
    and the real question: how much money can be made?

    shooting stars.
    it's all dada. carry it with one and through one. see it everywhere. let it bring one to the dada-ananda and the dada-ananda to oneself.
    ride the rocking horse.
    have we arrived at a point? does this have any meaning?

    doubt.
    a question of doubt. what is to be doubted? does doubting alter that which is to be doubted?
    do we alter ourselves through and with our doubt?
    we do not ask for anyone's belief. we ask for the benefit of doubt. we ask for suspension of belief.
    what if...
    who knows? does anyone know? how does anyone know if they know or not? how does anyone else know if anyone knows or not?
    do we just take their word for it?
    knows what?
    what?

    and so it is as it was and will be. and here we are with it as it is with us.
    it.
    it is it.

    it is the fundamental point of existence and being - or maybe it isn't. or perhaps it is merely the fundamental point of our understanding and experience of existence and being. one needs to begin somewhere whether anything else began somewhere or not.
    it.
    it is it.
    it is nothing unless it is something. it is without shape or form unless it has shape or form.
    it is a reflection of itself into the universe - into ourselves.
    or something like that.
    and as it goes on. and as we go on with it toward anything and everything. toward nothing.
    it is here and now. what is here? what is now?
    space and time.
    nothing.
    not it.
    it.
    it becomes this. it becomes that. it becomes the other thing. it holds the position of everything.
    and then it becomes neither this nor that nor the other thing.
    and so it goes.
    and how does that put food on the table? how will that get one a job or even a date?
    or what?

    and it all flashes by in a moment that remains eternal as now. it remains it no matter what else it becomes in the meantime along the way.
    and here we are now.
    a cup of coffee. a cigarette. pen and notebook. a jumble of thoughts in our heads.
    and food on the table.
    and our madness continues.
    our wildest imagination.
    and does it matter if we survive or not? not to the others. they probably wish we wouldn't. we interfere with their lives though we try to do that as little as possible but we have to survive.
    and is there a point? is there meaning?
    we have our own point. we have our own meaning.
    and maybe no one else sees it or not. does that matter?
    we write out these words in the time we have to write out these words. maybe they might benefit someone else or maybe not. though how it might do that we have no idea. we just write it and try to make it available as best we can. the others can do with it what they want.
    perhaps we could otherwise do something with our time that would more benefit others but we cannot think of what that might be. as far as we can tell they seem to be doing ok on their own - more or less. although they do complain a lot about things. but nothing that they complain about is anything that we feel we can do anything about. it's a big complicated mess. at least how they describe it. what can be taken out and solved without needing to solve something else? what is the root cause to it all? one thing hangs on another in a twisted tangle of problems for everyone. what are we to do with that?
    the root cause seems to be that we are human and we do all the stupid things humans do. it is a disease. it is not a disease that we have that we can be cured of but a disease that we are that there is no cure except for our own extinction.
    dada.
    dada-ananda.
    and on and on like that.
    where does it begin and end as it comes and goes and we come and go with it?
    we do not know.
    it knows without knowing or needing to know as it is what it is and beyond that it can be nothing else as there is nothing beyond what it is except what it is not yet that is what it is also.
    and as it continues. and as it remains. and as it changes. and so forth.
    and we reserve the right to deny anything we have written either in whole or in part. not that it matters.

    nevermind it all. nevermind anything. part of remembering is forgetting. forgetting that one cannot remember.
    money in the bank.
    it's a matter of language. to reach the one language that speaks our true thoughts such that all can understand. and this language is the language within all language. that which is understood. for all language is strange from one to another. what is spoken is often not what is thought. and what is thought is often not what is experienced.
    experience and the perception of experience. the language of experience as opposed to the language of the perception of experience.

    and there is a city that has been spoken and written about throughout the world and throughout history of the world. the city existing in our imaginations as the one vision of the sought after paradise. the imaginary city.
    it is often viewed as not existing here and now. it is put someplace else - some hidden secret location - and/or in the past or in the future. a place and time we have fallen from and/or a place and time we are rising to.
    and some magick must occur to get us there and then or else we would already be there and then.
    the city of promises.
    the city of mystic journeys.
    the city of yesterdays and tomorrows.
    the city of our sins.
    the city of our desires.
    the city of our fears.
    the city of imagination.
    our imagination. our wild and free imagination that too often itself is trapped by the images of our greed that enslave us to working the wheels of this world system of denial that anything other than itself can exist.
    break it down.
    there is a paradise. the garden of the original world that exists surrounding us here and now past beyond the walls we have built up against it. the walls that have the source of their existence in our minds.
    it all occurs in our minds. our mind that are one mind - the human mind creating and maintaining a human world.
    and so much nonsense as that.
    and who decides what is what and which is which? where do these ideas we hold as real come from and where do they lead to?
    this is the place. this is the time. we are the ones. we are here and now. no one denies us what we imagine but ourselves and the gods we have put above us in our minds.
    and who cares? who has time to care? who has the inclination?
    we do.

    and is this the point? have we missed the point? was there ever a point? and what does it mean?
    what comes and goes.

    and we as being human struggle in opposition with one another. we constantly draw lines and divide ourselves from one another. what is the point to that?
    and it cannot be divided. except it is constantly divided. but it cannot be one without being the other. therefore anything that we divide is divided into equal expressions of it. so what are we fighting about except it being in our nature to fight about something - anything? and how much longer does this go on? we have reached the limits of what this world offers. there is no place untouched by our ongoing war with one another. nowhere else to escape to except out of this world. our minds. our imagination.
    it is here and now if we want it to be. the imaginary city realized. anything can be anything we want it to be. out of our minds. into our imagination.
    we imagine ourselves as having fallen from grace and that is the world we create. a fallen world of greed and hatred. one against the other. as is our nature.
    to imagine ourselves as other than we imagine ourselves as being. to imagine ourselves as gods free from the control imposed on us by our human nature. to be gods in mortal form enjoying for the moment the experience of existence. to look down instead of up.
    the eternal moment of now as it is and was and will be. it begins and ends now. this is it.
    to forget that we cannot remember.

    and we look around ourselves and see our own reflections in the maze of mirrors that surrounds us. one and the other. this and that and the other thing.
    all having as the source of their image being it as it is it no matter how much or often it divides itself into something else.
    and as we look to ourselves and place our own image before god to imagine what god is. and remembering what god is in order to imagine beyond that image of ourselves to imagine what we are.
    trace it and follow it back to the source. we are it. we are the image of it expressed in this world.
    and all hoopla like that.
    get real.
    get a grip.

    and through the shadows dancing in and out of the bright cold moonlight in the field of flags we are who we are. we forget that we cannot remember.
    the dada-ananda knows. and we know by knowing the dada-ananda. become the christ. become the buddha. become lucifer bringing light. become prometheus stealing fire.
    does this mean anything at all? or do we accept our human fate against an infinite void of meaningless existence or up against a god whose will must be obeyed at the threat of eternal damnation and punishment?
    or do we remember who we are and reclaim our crown that has been stolen from us?
    the crown of the whatever thing vibrating in this place and time as perhaps and why not the dada-ananda?
    om and all that trash.
    there's no place like home.
    what?
    surprise. attain the surprised state of wonder. wonderful.
    and god looks out through our eyes at the world it has created and is blown away by the unlimited possibility of it all far more than perhaps it had originally imagined and intended.
    and god is just this thing we imagine and invent.
    we look out through our own eyes.
    forgetting. looking down. playing a trick on oneself. a trick done with mirrors. a world of fleeting images.
    remember. forget that we cannot remember.
    and look at it again. remember that none of it is really here yet there is nothing here that prevents it form being here.
    or something like that.

    and words fail us. we do not know how to communicate to anyone else who does not already know this.
    and how can they not know this? what else is there to know? all that divides itself apart from the whole. what use is the in that? what meaning does it have? what's the point?
    if the point is not to reunite itself to the whole then what other point does any of it have other than maintaining itself divided separate from the whole? and what does that  do?
    who are these who divide themselves from the whole, who settle for less than it all?
    what?
    we do not understand.
    those who hide themselves behind walls of illusion of who and what they are, who maintain an identity divided and apart from the whole, who take on and wear the uniforms of division.
    who are they?
    and they us and we them?

    quick.
    2+2=5.
    and a shadow.
    and a time of shadows.
    and the luxury of ignorance.
    what?

    and so it is that we are all one. or so it should be. what is known as human and beyond that. what is imagined as god. it is it.
    and there are those among us who divide themselves apart from the rest of us for whatever reason they may have come up with as a basis for identifying this division.
    and those of us who have done this identify themselves as a divided separate group from the rest of us and whatever names of identification they may go by there is one thing they all have in common which is they refer to themselves as us and all others that are not part of these groups are referred to as them. it occurs that there are a myriad of us groups who refer to anyone outside as them including others of other us groups.
    there are those of us who have remained free from becoming a part of any us group though it becomes increasingly difficult to do so and survive in this present world.
    we are them.
    we remain outside all us groups as much as possible and survive.
    this becomes complex and involves thinking outside of oneself that is one thing that seems to be difficult for those in these us groups to be able to do but something that we as being them have had to develop in order to keep ourselves from being incorporated into any of the us groups.
    an us group is any group that needs a them in order to identify themselves as us.
 
    and how to see what it is. how to come to an understanding as this is not what it is at all and what it is cannot be understood as we think of understanding - adding up the facts and figures. as we actually understand nothing and even nothing we do not understand.
    it is a breakdown of understanding or thinking that we understand. when we come close to it we come come close to realizing that we cannot come close to it.
    pinpoint.
    every point in the universe is the center and the edge of the universe. every moment of the universe is the beginning and the end. it is up to us to define what is what and what is not.
    and this isn't what it is about at all. very little of what is written here will be what it is about.
    the main thing to remember about that is that it doesn't matter. as it is we can write whatever we want about it and none of it will be about what it is or not.
    which all seems a paradox of some sort or another and it is while it is not. a paradox exists only in rationalogical thinking and perception. irrationalogic accepts paradoxes as fundamental elements of the universe.  it begins with the prime paradox of it being it and it being not it and from there outward to infinity.
    we are not bothered by the existence of paradoxes as we do not believe in the rationalogic dualism that creates them. yet everything is either/or.
    it's all in the mind of the beholder.
    behold.
    what pleasure is pain. what pain is pleasure. what good is evil and what evil is good. what light is dark and what dark is light. what heaven is hell and what hell is heaven. these must be understood without understanding.
    and some such like that.
 
    and so what is it? there is something here that we do perceive as being here. yet unsatisfied with that we place our own structure on top of it. and that which is that does not fit into our own structure we discard and try to ignore. yet it is not that easy since what is cannot be discarded and ignored because it is and it begins to crack through our artificial structure and it begins to break down. when this happens we usually do not again perceive what is but replace our artificial structure with another and begin the process all over again.
    such is always the case.
    such is the joke.
    and it is a joke. no matter how seriously we try to take it it remains a joke.
    or not.
    what does it matter?
    who's to know?
    and in the days of now. and now. and time all happening at once. and we think about it and we do not think about it and we cannot get past our fear.
    difference.
    our faces change from one mirror to another. the mirrors change our faces that we want to remain eternal the same as immortal stone.
    we never move.
    and from the forest where all the monsters live our names are called out.
    do we hear them? who are we now at the moment it breaks down and we come face to face with all we have denied? our changing faces from mirror to mirror.
    it's a joke.
    it is a terrible joke but a joke just the same. we either get it or we don't.
    but we all get it eventually. it doesn't take much. it comes to all of us sooner or later.
    and it's not one thing nor the other nor another.
    it is all.
    how do we come to understand this? how do we get to it when it is the one thing we avoid at all costs?
    seeing it as a joke.
    seeing it as ourselves having gone mad.
    our sanity hinges on the structure we create to cover over what is. it is what we attach our idea of sanity upon. yet it is not real. not really real, only artificially real. it all changes and does not change.
    what?
    yes/no.
 
    and to cause utter confusion. to look into what divides us apart yet continues thus far to hold us together.
    to know god and to not know god through the vibration of the dada-ananda. or to deny god. or whatever it may or may not be.
    numbers.
    in and out of eggs.
    follow any way as long as the heart leads it. and whatever other nonsense.
 
    and so it seems to be whatever way it is and toward what we follow. the mystery of it. in and out of each word. and we are dancing in the field of flags in the imaginary city we have come so far to arrive.
    and we look through the maze of mirrors.
    and the war goes on and on.
    this world of images cast upon ourselves and others from the one source of images - it.
    and we reach back to the same beginning again. we meet ourselves again.
    broken glass. cast the spell we remember. and none of this has anything to do with anything.
 
    police.
    and who is he as he sits here transcribing this from what comes into his mind now as he tries to put down what is momentarily clear amid the confusion of doubt about it as even he cannot think of it . it escapes him. and this is as it perhaps should be. who is he to be given anything? he is as greedy and selfish and hateful as the rest. what higher purpose does he work for other than his own cheap desires? but this is all that is expected of him.
    nocturne.
    yet as we all grasp and take what we can we dig ourselves in deeper.
    and what can be done about this? should anything be done? by who? by what means? toward what end? this is who and what we are. the fit survive and set the terms of survival.
    and the rest have nothing left to them.
    and he is among those who have nothing. he has nothing for himself and worse he has nothing for anyone else.
    life in this world can be a dismal hell of powerlessness and boredom unless one captures hold of some trick or gimmick and can succeed above others.
 
    any other god but their god is denied.
    they have captured the christ and hold it prisoner to serve their power and glory. they only worship a god that brings them victory over others - over them.
    we are them. we are the fallen and defeated in their world. we are the outcasts sent to live on the streets or who fill their prisons.
    yet they fear us. we remain free from their control. we will not listen. we will not obey.
    we are amused.
    and trash like that.

    that is not what any of this is about. yet the very nature of their language makes it nearly impossible to write about anything else.
    what are we writing about?
    we do not know.
    yes/no.
    maybe.
    we got nothing.
    we write about ourselves as them - as being them. ever since the beginning of their world they built up against the garden of the original world we lived in once and now only remains in our minds and the imagination of our minds.
    the garden. home. in and out of our minds. we move beyond the walls placed in our minds against it.
    we move toward home.
    and beyond that?
    and everyone knows this. and we deny it to ourselves citing all our human failings.
    and it goes on like that.
    we step to the edge...

    cast it out. cast it down.
    cast the spell of seeing. now one sees it - now one doesn't.
    and what does it mean beyond that?
    and what does that even mean?
    he still waits.
    he waits to see his god. he waits to see anything he can believe in besides the madness that surrounds him.
    is he a fool?
    should he have joined the battle and grabbed all that he could get his hands on and climbed his way to the top to gain control of the lives of those around him?
    he could have, but he did not.
    maybe he couldn't have.
    oh well.
    he let it go because he was waiting.
    they told him of this god without beginning and without end. he was struck with wonder at the mere thought of such a thing. and he waited. he waited to see it.
    and now that he thinks he has caught glimpses of what it is he is lost and has nothing else.
    he let everything else go by - waiting.
    and now he thinks he sees it once in awhile. it is what he waited for.
    and it does nothing. it gives him nothing except overwhelming doubt in anything else.
    he sees nothing else.
    and he waits still.
    he waits to be taken away with it - for it to see him.
    and perhaps he waits for nothing but his own death. without beginning and without end. what else could it be?
 
    he believes he has found god. and he has found god to be totally useless in regard to anything real. it might as well be his imagination. it might as well be his madness. or else he is wrong.
    but what is god but everything that is real?
    he sees faces in a river. they mean nothing. some are familiar. some are not. he does not really see them and they do not really see him.
    all action is action of his ego-self - or whatever it's called.
    he knows he exists. what does he need to know beyond that?
 
    the self divided out of the self through the images in the maze of mirrors we take on with little thought of who they may or may not be. or whatever.
    and in and out of that. and where does it go from here?
    as the mind fractures into the images it has taken on in the maze of mirrors. we know nothing more than that.
    and what of those who are the images themselves? who are they? who are we to them and who are they to us?
    and it goes on from there.
    the memory of what is and what is not. the memory of who we are and who we are not in the maze of mirrors and the images in the maze of mirrors. each mirror creating a new image from the same image.
    and the original image of it into the image of ourselves.
    and so it goes from there.
    its gesture into our many gestures.
    its word into our many words.
    reflecting.
    we perform our own action from ourselves - from our own image. yet what action do we act as ourselves being a reflection of it as the source of images.
    the source of all action. the source of all thought of action for or against.
    and who is who and which is which?
    and how does it know itself other than casting its image into creation - into the many reflections in the maze of mirrors?
 
    and light and dark.
    we reflect the light into the dark and shadow the dark into the light. we stand on the line between to two.
    and those who live in fear trapped into the image of themselves by fear of their own reflection in the mirror. yes/no. good/evil. light/dark. god/satan. all the images and reflections of the dualistic mind.
    it never ends as it never has begun.
    look into it. can one see the wonder of it all that we do? looking into and out of the eyes of god. seeing god in ourselves and seeing god in others - them.
    we are them.
 
    and those divided apart. those lost in the maze of mirrors. images and reflections of themselves as us and them forgetting the one source of all images reflecting through the maze of mirrors that is creation as there is no image but this one image.

    how do we break through the walls we have built against ourselves and each other?
    it comes and goes.
    how do we sing a song that everyone else sings though their words may not be the same as ours?
    it comes and goes.
    how do we all dance in the field of flags together?
    it comes and goes.
    we enter the imaginary city as one being many. one cannot enter without the other. we cannot enter without them. as the mirror casts back the opposite image.
    it takes both halves to make a whole. we forget our other half of our whole image we must integrate into balance to achieve entry into the imaginary city - the garden of the original world.
    and here we are now walking that thin line between opposites in the maze of mirrors. we become the mirror and find ourselves whole and free.
 
    and we fool everyone but ourselves. as long as the money keeps coming in we'll sacrifice anything - our happiness - our freedom - our sanity - anything.
    and we force each other and ourselves into this as we grab more than our share of what would be plenty for everyone.
    and on and on that goes.
    and all noise about this and that as we sleep through it as we don't want to know about it or our part in it.
    as it goes on and on.
    who cares?
    as long as there's something on tv. as long as it remains the same we think we have arrived somewhere.
    and what difference does it make?
    let them fight on and on with their never-ending war. what does that have to do with us? it's their choice as much as they want it to be even if they choose to have no choice. as long as they continue to play the game of us versus them.
    we are out of it. it doesn't belong to us. we have our own. we have been sacrificed to the gods and the gods have taken us in.
    we are one with that which they have divided themselves from. we laugh at the joke. we look at their world and laugh.
    they seem to have so much but they actually have so little. too bad.
    it means nothing to us.
    maybe.
    it's all a joke anyway. if it's not a joke then what's the point? what does it mean? it comes and goes. we're all a bunch of crazed monkeys anyway. who cares?
    follow one's own way. do what one feels is the right thing to do. it's ok. make as much noise as one wants - or remain silent. each is the way. we all enter the gates of the imaginary city together and alone. it's being taken care of as we enter this time of confusion and doubt as all we have believed in breaks down and nothing comes to take its place.
    this is it.
    this is the place and this is the time.
    the moment here now of our birth.
    we are born into it. one mind state with the mind of creation as we create our own reality out of our imagination as it is, was and will be.
    hold to one's own. we will rise or fall as it will be. and it doesn't matter and who cares?
    plus much much more. as it comes and goes. nothing remains in the ever-changing changelessness of creation. nothing remains but creation itself beyond and through what is created.
    we go on. we are born into the mind of creation. we become the image of creation in this world - in the maze of mirrors.
    we play it out in our minds - out of our minds.
    we are guided through it by being abandoned where we stand. no one decides who we are or what we are doing but ourselves.
    and we write this nonsense all day long for days on end until the end. the end.
    and those who fear their end. and those waiting to begin. and in all ending there is beginning. as they end we begin.
    this is it.
    those who have forgotten their names. their names in vibration with one name. the name of it - though it has no name.
    or else we're making this up. or else we have gone mad - out of our minds. out of our minds divided rationalogically from being one mind. a mind in confusion and doubt. the structure is gone. the walls are torn down. we are left with nothing more than our wild and free imaginations to dance in the field of flags in the heart of the imaginary city - in the garden of the original world.
    to dance on the graves of those who brought an end to themselves.
    the war is over.
    they buried themselves in tombs. they locked themselves up in houses against their fear of what they imagine in their minds filled with demons and other sundry bogey things and monsters.
    and we are those to them. they fear us as reflections of themselves in the maze of mirrors they put up so that they would see nothing but themselves but what they see is their opposite instead.
    and they drive us out - they hunt us down - they imprison us - they put us to death. and in doing this they do it to themselves as themselves are ourselves as we are in actuality one the same.
    and this is our madness in this world. this is our despair. this is the hopelessness we see. the hopelessness this world - their world - has trapped itself in.
    no compassion. no justice. compassion and justice take time and in their world time is money. money makes their world go around and around lost in its own confusion about anything beyond justification for its own greed.
    it comes and goes.
    and we are outcasts from this world. and we are glad of that. we are the mutant orphan children lost to them but not lost to ourselves.
    we know who we are. we are them. and as such we are in this world but not part of this world. this world cannot contain us. we have gone beyond it - beyond the rationalogic limits it has set for itself.
    we dance in the field of flags in the imaginary city - anywhere - somewhere - everywhere - elsewhere.
    and all such and such nonsense as that. there are those who understand and there are those who do not.
    as their world comes to an end. we dance on their graves. we dance outside their tombs. as their world continues we continue to dance outside of it.
    out of our minds.
    this world drives us out of our minds. out into our wild and free imagination transcending the surrounding stagnation they are bogged down in. the same thing day to day. counting up the money made.
    and they believe their money is real. they believe they can buy something with it. what do they buy? bigger prisons to live in filled with more trinkets and gizmos.
    they are possessed by their greed. they are controlled by the power they surrender themselves to. addicted. it commands them. it controls every thought and action.
    and they think they are free with their bank accounts and such full of made up numbers of fantasy wealth.
    this is their world. this is the world they serve. trapped static stagnant minds controlled by greed. enough is never enough. they constantly need more though they don't know what to do with what they already have. as long as they can think that they own it and control it. as long as no one else can get it - especially any one of them.
    and they cannot see it. they think their world is real. they do not see the patterns of the designs they weave about themselves tighter and tighter.
    and we are the ones who are mad.
    what a joke.

    and it comes and goes from there.
    let go. let it go. nevermind those who shout at one to obey their command. those who have attached themselves to the power and control systems of the world. they are no one.
    they live in fear of losing power and control they never had to begin with.
there is only one source of action. it is what it is and what it is not.
    it is it.
    let go of the rest. let go of our sense of ourselves divided from the world. something beginning and ending. surrounded by walls dividing ourselves from the garden of the original world.
    let go. fly out of our minds trapped by our rational sense of thinking and into the wild and free space of imagination.
    and the pain of letting go. to see the others still trapped in themselves in the maze of mirrors.
    to gaze past the illusion of this world. to remove ourselves from it and watch it fade away transparent to our vision of all that is and is not.
    we remain being perceived as mad fools. they offer volumes of proof that we are wrong.
    in their world divided between right and wrong we will always be wrong.
    we will always be what they are not since we are them. we are the ones they divide themselves from to justify their own existence as something they are not.
    and maybe we started somewhere on about something else and maybe this still has something to do with that - or not.
    it comes and goes.
    it is what it is.
 
    and long ago into our heads now is the central point to it all existing everywhere mind of space/time we create around ourselves and the walls built up against that to forget.
    on the point of breaking into a worldwide panic. visualize rioting. what is important and what isn't.
    a dream of vision. small talk conversation we need to fit ourselves into so that they do not become confused. dream on, baby, dream on.
    and something other than that.
 
    hello to everyone.
    hello to no one.
    we are here now. this is the place and this is the time. this is the record of our being here now for whatever it is or isn't. who cares? what does it matter?
    this world will not change. this world cannot change. it divides itself into a maze of rationalogical mirror this and that thought and thinking finite mind.
    human.
    we are more than being human. the possibilities of being more than human. free from the cage.
    to be here. to be anywhere. to be nowhere.
    now. then. whenever.
    we avoid anything direct. we move from one to the other. circles around and around and around.
    here now.
    the clocks count down toward the end of time. each moment faster than the last. we breathe in and out.
    here.
    now.
    we play with words. we play with space. we play with time. we play with reality.
    ever-changing changelessness.
    amen.
    ah-choo.
 
    and gottok knows. he sees the waves of it coming to the beach. and where it comes and goes from there as the images shift in the maze of mirrors.
    and gottok gathers some of his people to himself and speaks, the time of everything is at hand. we are called criminal, evil, insane. you all know this otherwise you would not be here.
    i can promise you nothing. i can speak words of comfort to you but it is you yourselves who follow whatever words they may be into action. i am here because of you. i have been here before known by other names. i will return again if needed.
    but now may be the last. we are on the point of our birth. there is no time. this is the time.
    it's all part of your imagination. nothing more can give it to you. no money. no guns. nothing.
    that is my sister kottog's way and the way of her followers. and look what they have done. and i may speak here and you may or may not hear what i have to say. who am i? only you know the answer to that question.
    these are the times of confusion and doubt. these are the times when kottog's will and control over how things are is broken although even then we will not see our world come. our world is the world of imagination. yet it will enter into this world again and allow us to shape it ourselves.
    and gottok took leave of his senses then and did not speak for the rest of that day while his people discussed his words.
    and the dada-ananda did perhaps walk among them and spake thus, ha! you know nothing. you are fools to believe such nonsense.
    and it was that the dada-ananda was chased out.
 
    5/22
    and to try to transcribe the thoughts without meaning or structure. there is nothing here.
    broken.
    doo-wah-dada.
    what should we put our money on?
 
    and the dada-ananda laughed. no one knew anything. they rushed about from this to that to have that become this and this become that.
    it was so simple. yet no one would put their money on the dada-ananda. that is why the dada-ananda is not known today. no one is that stupid.
    that is why the dada-ananda laughs.
    hello? anybody home?

    the dada-ananda is always home. the dada-ananda is home being nowhere. playing tricks. mirrors and images and reflections of images. mirrors reflecting themselves. and lots of smoke too.
 
    5/27
    falling from very far away down deep into some sort of space/time hole in the ground.
    seeing everything still as it always was and continues to be but a darkness runs through it. a shadow behind everyone's face and the words they speak having a mechanical sound.
    the machine.
    gears turning.
    he can't wake up. but this must be a dream somehow. he has not woken yet from his birth. somewhere in the shadow mind dream of the womb or maybe even before that somewhere or sometime. he doesn't know.
    his mind cannot connect to itself and realize all that it is doing within and without.
    from distance to distance. all the distance between the distance. nothing and no one comes close. he waits.
    divided from the whole divided from itself. an eternity. he waits.
    he waits for a moment never coming. he waits with a memory of a place and a time where and when maybe if he could remember back that far. or has it always been like this?
    or is this the human condition? mind trapped inside enclosed compartments reacting trying to grasp, trying to touch. and surrounded always by a space of nothingness.
    yet that's not how it is. it is all one everflowing thing whole to itself. we've been tricked. we have been blinded by finite perception. we alone know the experience of loneliness.
    or is just me, myself and i who cannot get out of our own identity? where did we get such a thing from? what purpose does it serve to be another organism struggling to survive?
    he will forget. he will be nothing.
    or - what?
    he waits.
    he doesn't know anything else. he is here now. he tries to lose anything other than that. he tries to lose himself as who and what he is as he sees himself in the mirrors of creation around him.
    he knows nothing else.
    and what is any knowing of anything he might have? only a moment's thought of a thought that's been thought before and will be thought again.
    alone he came and alone he'll go. what is anything in-between? who is anyone? faces and voices spoken from the faces. down by the river.
    to gaze into the surrounding chaos.
    a laugh. laughter at it all before a flood of tears. before total madness folds over the mind in an endless sorrow for everyone.
    why should that be? why  laugh? why cry? why go mad? why do anything at all? watch it all go away. the best we can hope for is nothing. a return to that original state of non-being.
    did it begin? will it end?
    why does he care? it doesn't matter. he will forget. it will become even less than dust in the wind.
    nothing more.
 
    and the mirror. and the image reflected by the mirror.
    and he cannot think.
    he sleeps. off. somewhere. and if he dies before he wakes what bit of difference will it make?
    he wakes. he is awake. unless he still sleeps. or he dreams. he dreams another dream from any other dream though all dreams are the same dream.
    to forget the dream. to forget one is dreaming while one dreams the dream. otherwise the static comes in and the picture fades. hold the signal. hold the picture. remember. solid. everything is real.
    don't forget.
    but if he forgets. if he did forget. when he does forget.
    what then?
    who then remembers anything at all?
    the remembering goes on passed from mirror to mirror image to reflection.
    one face out of a cast of thousands. every face out of a cast of thousands.
    who remembers what? how long? what for?
 
    a laugh. twist the words around and around. the coffee's gotten cold. the cigarette went out.
    and a spoon.
    somehow a spoon still figures in all of this. he's forgotten that.

    and maybe just go mad after all. let go. don't talk to anyone. what does one say? what do they hear? would it make any difference if they heard what one said or if one said what they heard?
    laugh about that.
    but everyone talking at each other. he talks at people. they talk at him.
 
    wait.
    think about this a moment.
    he holds onto his sense of sanity here a moment. - and another.
    he wants to laugh although going totally berserk and destroying as much as he can. laughing.
    laugh at that.
 
    and what he is writing for someone to read. don't waste one's time. one has more important things to do. he writes to tell one he has nothing to write about.
    translate.
    a world divided up into words.
    the mind in vibration with the word perceiving the world.
    but tuesday's just as bad.
    but a laugh - maybe.
    if he could only remember to laugh.
    die laughing.

    and as we make up what we want about nothing at all.
    he looks out on the street and sees the people. he walks out on the street and who are all the people he doesn't see?
    crying. all the people crying. even when they don't cry. even when they laugh.
    how does he laugh at that?
    he is pulled down to earth face to face with the reality of constant endless suffering and sorrow.
    he wants to scream. he wants to destroy it all.
    laughing.
    destroy it all with his own destruction.
    is this what it comes to?
    the only purpose of life being death?
    that's stupid.
    then what is all this life business on all about?
    waiting for death and doing what passes the time until...
    wait. he's been here a zillion times more than once.
    laugh. just forget it and laugh. laugh at anything and everything. laugh at them all.
    laugh it all away.
    pull the trigger.