and this is where it begins again. this continuation of beginning without ending. it doesn't repeat exactly as it merely starts over where it was instead from where it is all toward where it will be.
    it is what we believe that it is that is what it is. what we believe it should be until we are overcome by those who believe it to be something else. always in the face of opposition we stand our ground when threatened and define what we believe in. then we attack. we put them to the test and force them to stand their ground and define what it is they believe in.
    or something.
    and this is what we believe that all these beliefs should be able to co-operate if they only would but since they won't we don't care who wins or loses other than favoring those who do so with the least amount of disruption and destruction and noise and hoopla. we can believe in anything if need be. we'll wave a flag for whoever's liberation army rolls into town. next week we'll wave somebody else's. while any side that wins we imagine having us taken out and shot. we support no regime except our own which is the true one and always in power no matter who we subcontract the operation of the wielding of power out to as we see fit. we have the machine. that is all we need. and if that is not the case, which it probably isn't, then making it the case is our number one sole purpose and cause and mission under a rosy moon in wedlock to everyone and everything. can one imagine? what heaven. what hell. what paradise. what oblivion. what birth awakening that quite suddenly slowly comes upon one. and one is fooled into believing that this is enlightenment what one has sought for lifetimes to attain and become full of in place of one's emptiness. amen.
    believe in all that one believes in with all one's heart. or not.
    and we secretly call out the secret names of those who are with us.
    root.
    it all leaves a trace. it all leaves something behind. windows for us to look out of to watch these people from. zoom into zeroing it up out of the hole that it's in. pulling it down from some sky. protest. facts. he sees it now and then but realizes it's some sort of probably mistaken delusion he's learned from the past he shouldn't trust until he gets someone else's verification. no one likes being around someone who sees things others don't. it makes them feel stupid or something. he doesn't know.
    when it comes around again. when it makes us jump. a mission. what no one knows hurts no one.
    true or false?
    when it's late some night and there's still plenty of people roaming around. he's awake now and wondering about what happens next or now or whenever it happens or not that he's just kinda sort of wondering about how there's really not anything to wonder about now the fire's lit and the whole thing is burning down without anything happening at all that anybody notices mainly because no one's looking to notice nothing as pretty much people don't feel that there's anything to notice outside of what happens just automatically every day.
    disgusting old man laughing and coughing and choking.

    the animal we've forgotten along with the child. as we stood up straight and erect. dwarfs. and a painting hanging on a brick wall. a tired man. we could have remembered. we could have remained. was there once love or has it always been a joke? just an act put on in order to tolerate those who we must deal with in the situations and circumstances we find ourselves in much of the time. we find it easier to lie rather than to change. who can blame us? what is there to blame us for? when we cry out that we have been betrayed. have we been betrayed because we believed the lies we were told? have we been betrayed because no one changes?
    we lie with love. we lie when we tell one, i love you. is that betrayal? or is it survival?
    we are guilty either way.
    lies of innocence.
    how is that done? it is the one skill we have not been able to master. how to slip out of any situation without leaving behind any clues. how to crawl through the mud and remain clean.

    we will find their grave someday maybe not for a thousand years from now but we will still know it. we will still remember. we will see them then as we see them now. we see them as dead. we see their eyes as dark empty holes in a skull we will dig up and hold in our hands and give one last kiss before we smash it to pieces we will keep breaking until we can break them no more and we are laughing laughing laughing until we dance away truly mad and truly free back to our own world where we never knew them or their kind of those who lure us here with promises and those who need us to release them as without us they would have no one else to blame.
    our world of our own intentions however fanciful they may be. they call our world fantasy because they lack the imagination needed to see it as reality. they believe this hell to be real and they live and die cursing the one who created it - their god. but that is their god not ours. that they believe in a god who would create others to suffer without hope in an invention of their fantasy. and how absurd to choose of one's own free will to believe in it.
    but that is their choice to suffer without hope. we watch them walk by on the streets lost and alone in the alienation of their fantasy world they invented for themselves. what would they have us do? they call us fools when we speak of other possibilities. they demand proof. if one wants proof then open one's eyes and look at it.

    we are living in a world that is dead. dead to itself. dead to us.
    don't think about that. how unpleasant it all could be for us if we believed. remember the isolation. remember when it was like to be alone. remember before there was us. remember when before there was oneself. but the old romance doesn't sell. remember how it was like. remember when it mattered.

    an impending leap. something fathomed for a useful purpose. disarranged.
    and as we do what we do because we're supposed to. some rule about things even when there are no rules about anything about it. and understanding or a misunderstanding when we can't get anything together and the world is taken over by those who can.

    from a form of disbelief. from a point of no return. a bunch of easy answers. a rainbow.
    what is laid out before us. what follows behind. the discoveries and inventions. the mistakes and unsolved riddles.
    and he says to himself sitting in a cafe in the morning during midweek toward the beginning of the end of winter on stage of the burning theater: i'm not sure if i like this idea of democracy. majority rule. the majority of people are stupid and easily swayed by anyone who is at all charismatic or by immediate short term gratification solutions. i do not like the idea that my life must be confined and limited to within the parameters set by those who cannot comprehend anything beyond cause and effect stimilus/reaction good and evil concepts. who can one trust?
    though i do not know if this is anything that my opinion about it matters or not. it's the way it is happening. one goes along with it or one fights it. but i do not feel any connection to any of it either for or against - unless it is something directly in my face. but i have removed myself far enough away from the others to prevent that from happening too much. usually i just slip quietly away. and i'm not going to be here for long. it's not like i'm settling down or anything. there's so much more. they worry about such pointless things. nothing changes except one's experience of things. but i'm happy, i think. how does one know? i've yet to see it all. the many beginnings of it. i see it leading everywhere at once into everything. i try to follow it and become lost. but that may be my intention. but i am never really lost. i am always here and now. though others think and say that i am lost. but fuck them. what do they know?
    then he lost interest and left the stage.

    spill the wine.
    dig that girl.
    there could be another introduction at this point. to renewing what is lost now and forever in the moment of a kiss. a last lasting kiss before everything begins again what has not ended. a point where and when it breaks apart to many shattered divisions dividing. another excuse. another random happenstance. out in the cold shaking rhythm. let's engage. let's put down the masks of past horrors frightening ourselves beyond hope and despair both. let's discuss theory. and practice. let's fuck. let's have a good time and laugh at each other. let's destroy each other as separate individuals instead of opposing new world order. let's not ever die. let's call a jubilee and feast on the riches before us. let's find each other in other places. let's follow the rules. let's not be greedy and waste.
    he writes another prayer. he writes against the winds of voices. he knows what these words mean. he casts them out into the world though none shall few know. an easy laugh of broken hearted sorrow. an easy smile for the faces in the crowd who may not stare but notice our awareness. we input consciousness into the masses in the only way possible which is direct contact. consciousness is contagious and ever adaptive to harsh environments.

    part 88 -
    not to be confused with an easy answer. not to be confused with the unanswerable.
    not to be free and hampered.
    not to be in this moment ever again.
    not to share secrets to anyone.
    not to talk to anyone.
    not to be remembered good or bad or indifferent.
    not to be here.
    not to be.
    not to not to.
    not not.
    not.
    no.
    n.
    .

    he flips a coin and begins again. a pattern appears to him he is part of interacting with on some level called sensory and/or material. people exist on this plane aware only of it. it shines through them and around them making all else as darkness. yet these ones are subtle and radiating little though that is obvious to those who know it.

    part ix
    the zero. the nonpoint. the nowhere. the no time. the absence.
    it is not specific. it exists by not existing. there is no line crossed that divides it from all else or all else from it. we see it when we are not distracted by seeing something else not because it suddenly appears.

    and something about how it is all like a movie and he exists outside the movie and can leave the movie at any time he wants to.
    booga-boo.

    an angel with angled sword appeared forth around him surrounding and singing spinning naked blight tight regiment ouch.
    how smashing of human thought. how smiling are we now with a hollow of light awaiting our return. how moonless we are to be now and complaining of our recent pain that never was before. as we break away.
    the lies we tell one. the absolute lie of all we state in truth. let us lie down with our hostilities and ill will. let us lie together. let our lie be of comfort and joy. let lie our hearts. lie still. lie.
    of the beast.
    of the whore.
    of the image.
    of the merest thing to amuse our heart. we've seen through and been seen through all too much for us to take. car alarm bursting forth in the night. all the world shining through and upon us as we sat here a-writing this piece of lies and nonsense as an epistle unto no one and all. one all. all one. hearing deep bells ringing out heaven from within ourselves becoming known and knowing and imagined and imagining. a calling of names. a present presence among many who become flesh and blood. that we worship life over death is no wonder. we are dead. we have come up through them this day and age coming together as a comet to a sun. as soon as we figure it out it is gone again and we must once more seek it out and find it. but each time finding it we do not find the same thing as before but a new thing different.
    a path of transmission. talking to the wall of wind. choosing no choice each moment and choosing choice each next. when what cannot make sense must make sense. but we are human so it is easy to make sense out of nonsense.
    of the books of laws and of the laws of books. and of the common who are forgotten and who are not angry because they have found their way. first a taste. the bitter blood. the injustice of salvation. the sun that shines. what is a miracle?
    we stand on beaches in places between. we learn to imitate. we proceed to manufacture. we call out names no one knows yet. one of them is our own. we await the question. we do not look back when we turn around. we have knowledge of ignorance. we cannot help anyone. who dares repeat our words? let them serve the broken god. let them plead innocence. let them drive each other mad as we laugh standing by. by the time one gets ready it is far too late.
    of proclamations for the people. the people who are brought to order. the people who are brought down.
    and is there wisdom? is there a steady beating heart? is there no more confusion except what is confusing?
    when we were in love once. when we felt the brink of union and disunion coming apart together. when once we were each other's shadow. when laughter drew blood. when we had to kill the other. when now the armies of our nations are at war. when there is no excuse for our surrender. we stand alone.
    we feel the cold empty space of sadness where they have stood against us. we feel the absence of heart and soul. is this more real now? we are one light. we do not know the darkness they speak of. we do not know the death. we receive no life from them as there is no life within them to be able to give. they absorb and reflect.
    we have gotten them to work for us. we have gotten them to pick up the crown. we have gotten them to decide. we watch through windows while the realization of what's missing hits them - and hits them again. their crying never ends. they have seen what we have seen and they break down where we have had to go on. they do not know that victory is not always the best strategy. but they will rule the world someday. they will reign over perfection. they will name each they have forgotten.

    a people. an origin. a tree in the forest. a tree in the garden.
    repeating the word.
    a feeling for what is forgotten. for it to exist without remembering. to remember without existing. another paradox for those who think only in terms of paradox. who only see paradox. who wrestle with it for a little while. who try to unlock it with one of the keys they carry with them in books. who then turn away from the open door this paradox like all paradox guards. there is no lock. there is no door. there is no paradox. there is only unlimited space and time and possibility.

    and we were sitting in this cafe and he was with us. he was feeling that something was lost - or at least missing.
    there was a name for it.
    there was truth.
    there was nothing.
    there was a ritual that enacted the machine. there were things written. the things were things in and of themselves. jesus smokes a cigarette. he takes a break. searching for a bride.

    and he sat there a moment awhile thinking. what was he thinking? was he thinking or only appearing as if to be thinking?
    is this the burning theater?
    believing about the formation of what is thought to be believed. just sitting here writing about what he writes about. he can only imagine the other. if there is an other. is there? who?

    the machine is a vampire that feeds on fresh blood. the machine is a victim. the machine is the hero who opens the coffin to daylight and drives in the stake. the machine is those who march upon the castle with torches and pitchforks to rid themselves of the monster and its creator. the machine is the mad scientist looking down from the tower and laughs knowing he cannot for long be destroyed as he is the expression and incarnation of their will of desire and fear and he will rise from their midst among them again and again until they learn the truth he attempts to show them by reflecting their common image back at them from his refined purity. and they not liking this image of themselves seek to smash the mirror. all is the machine. the machine cannot be stopped nor can it be redirected from its natural course.

    the meanness of the eye looking over the madness that presupposes itself noble of nature and corrupted by the evils we have become and it sees still who we are becoming out of the ideas of who we are that came out of ideas of who we had been.
    flying out the window screaming and falling from ourselves rising. we dive to the bottom of the sea and reach beyond the sky.

    letting the phone ring. listening to the clocks hum. the smoothness of the workings of the machine which is now of one mind and one direction. and they will not understand this.

    the peace of restlessness. the restlessness of peace. one into and out of the other. the other into and out of the one. bits and pieces of it.
    on the face of the deep waters. waves of expression on the surface that hide the mystery.
    broken teeth.
    smile.
    and we do not care how or why any of this begins. nor do we care how or why any of this ends. to me, myself and i there is no beginning or ending - just continuing. we make observations and take notes along the way - sort of - maybe. put together some idea of it into a certain theory as we see fit. all of them together think of us as crazy and their enemy. they seem to think we have betrayed them. we of course have it figured that they betrayed us. we think they are crazy and our enemy. figure that out.
    get us out. out onto the street. out into the wilderness. out of existence. out of sight, out of mind. their mind. their mind of ignorance and superstition. their mind of fear and misunderstanding. all of which they would not even be aware of if we didn't show it to them. take it all away with their numbers and leave us with nothing. celebrate their jubilee.
    and when the fire goes out and when the smoke clears and the ashes grow cold and the phoenix they prayed for fails to appear as they had imagined it would written in their ancient scriptures and all they are left with is the material world as always and we are gone forever and they have to wake up and go back to work. when the party's over. when the dawn burns their eyes. when all is so much dust and sand in their throat and their belly is grumbling and visions of utopia cannot be conjured up again. when there's no strength. when there's nothing to rebuild. when one calls out the names and there's no reply except the faint sound of distant laughter that perhaps form the age old words - we told you so.
    we stand around. we find the glory of their grand parade amusing as there is no glory in it. we find its knowledge interesting in that it is utterly devoid of any knowledge. what drives them is delusional belief that that is the way it is.
    and their god does nothing. isn't that the way they wanted it? didn't they want freedom from their shame and guilt? have they found it yet? we watch them and see no evidence so far that they have. their god has been taken from them and they panicked and put something - anything - in its place. the first thing they could get their hands on instead of realizing they could get along fine without it.

    part 18:42
    excitement. a formulation of description. sitting in the dark. the rose - so much about the rose.
    and being in the process of being bent over and fucked up the ass. . a god by any other name who walks among the living and the breathing. a story about this once being a relationship between mind and experience. a mode of perception that refers only ultimately to itself embodied in that which is perceived.
    and god pushes a shopping cart with crooked wheels and collects soda cans and sleeps in doorways and under bridges or in shelters and eats out of dumpsters and charity kitchens. god hasn't taken a bath in a month and wears layers of mismatched ragged clothes. god picks its nose and burps and farts and has bad foul breath. god is crude and nasty and uses the worst of language.
    or god actually flies around the world in a personal jet. god owns houses on huge estates on the most prime land the earth has to offer. god is waited on hand and foot. no king has lived such a life. god no longer has a worry or care. a select elite of well orchestrated organized staff of the finest and sharpest and informed minds do its bidding and take care of the business of world domination and control.
    he is sitting in this cafe. it is only that and probably not that much more. what is anything more? what is beyond the common understanding. but this is denied by the others. they speak only of reality and theories developed from reality - their reality. they seem to have no other experience than that. but this is something that is only important to himself.
    just a play.
    he sees no one who knows.
    and so it is that he tries to imagine from the only clues he has available - his fellow actors. they are unwilling to relate to him or each other rather than as their assigned roles it is given to them to play. any time he acted out of his role they became afraid. this caused them to have to improvise their lines and not follow the easy script. they weren't necessarily afraid of him but afraid of being judged by someone else for their behavior and possibly punished. who was this to be? who are they all afraid of? he sees no one. someone watching and waiting for any of us to slip and make a mistake.
    and whatever.
    so what's the deal?
    he looks and sees that nothing has changed despite the changes. it's become all the more rigid if anything. tight. control. eyes everywhere. deep silence.
    dada.
    ritual.
    he sets to find his own way out. and he did.
    not to kiss someone's holier than thou ass.
    to dance away.
    as he is here now sitting above in the dark where their eyes cannot see. ha!
    those who still fear this darkness even in this present age of light. this oblivion and void. but not him. not him alone. out in the darkness where he gazes down upon the stage of the burning theater he once thought was his whole life and existence and enjoys this performance of actors well rehearsed to act their parts such that it appears real and living. he will accept nothing less and he is the one who judges and will punish anyone who does not perform their part. he must remain amused. who is to challenge him here and now? who will grab him and drag him down? one must find him first. and who would suspect this idiot sitting scribbling in a cafe? they expect someone sitting upon a throne. they expect someone commanding armies of angels. they can have all of that. he doesn't need it. they are deceived by appearances. they are tricked by lies. they believe in all that glitters. they lust after it all. and they fight among themselves over it. they believe it will bring them happiness. they believe it will ease their pain. what do they know?

    this is the god who is also satan who is also human. the triad of job (juxtaposition of being) each testing and triggering the awareness of the other into a shifting perspective of who's who each needing and desiring and fearing the image reflection of the self as other. all an invention without cause or purpose except experience. understanding.  this god who is i am whose voice speaks from beyond all creation and existence to humble us before it. we are that satan who on a whim pits ourselves against each other. how can we be other than these all? the existence of one (i am) leads to the existence of the other. none are the whole. satan as adversary as catalyst. a savior appears that is mediator of the selves as other. forgiveness out of desperation. the work is done. there is no need for these superficial roles to be played any more. the crown can be placed on our heads. all is i am that i am. all ideas of the self as other are cast out. this is no union but awareness that none other ever existed to begin with. all names and metaphors become meaningless. they are pointless to the one who has no further use of them as anywhere it looks it sees only an extension of itself. tell us where and when we begin and end. one only draws a line between oneself and us. one is cast out by one's own design. if this is what one wants then so be it. curse our name with one's gnashing teeth. die in the fire of purification. we perceive no hell. we perceive no heaven. we perceive only here and now. let us all live happily ever after.
    yes/no.
    all names will be forgotten and will no longer be spoken. not in our house. all that has been named will cease to exist as such. it will all generate and manifest itself as itself. what exists will exist in our imagination. our wild imaginations. the others will have to generate and manifest their own. it will cease to be of any importance or interest to us and we will not put our creative energy into it. if it turns into their hell then so be it. we have been there. no more. we have screamed our own names as curses at the mirrors until they shattered and we were born outside of ourselves. taken away from ourselves from all the pain and anguish of our existence. we were selfish to create others that were merely ourselves in torment. we were self-centered godhead things. all that was evil was indeed ourselves. we had to tear out our own hearts in order to survive.
    and now we come across these others who are in that same fixed point. now we see them seeing us as that reflection of themselves thinking they are looking at another like themselves. we are not. we never will be. they are monkeys throwing shit at themselves. we laugh again. how long ago this was ourselves?
    and does love enter into this? love - that curse.
    can we tell them we love them and yet seek their own destruction? we look unmoved upon them by their pain and anguish. what are we to do? what have we done to face ourselves and saw all that we most hated and wanted to cause a thousand times more pain and anguish than we felt ourselves. otherwise we would feel nothing. and they look upon us and feel the same. they blame us for all their misery as we blamed others in our turn. now we feel nothing. we do not let it show at least. would it comfort them if we did? would it change their minds? perhaps. but we are not here to comfort them or change their minds as much as we may want to. we cannot. they must fight until this fever breaks apart the barriers of their hearts. this is how they find themselves and their own way.
    they know the pain and anguish to be cast out by the ones unmoved as we have known. now we know the pain and anguish of being those unmoved. to cast out those one loves. this is what it is.
    and it is with this understanding that we do not understand them. that they willfully choose to remain at that point of division and conflict. that they worship themselves as such. as they embody that spirit and hold onto it for dear life and surrender themselves to its bidding until it and themselves are one and the same. their whole sense of self has been transferred to it. not just to step into and experience, but to be.
    to experience oneself as that satanic raging animal fallen angel - the most perfect and beautiful of all angels - at war with creation.
    we do not understand. nothing and no one inhibits their will but this. and this they do to themselves. we can only stand and watch as they thrash about battling an eternal battle against no one but themselves. the will they demand to surrender to them is their own.
    this short circuit that remains unbroken. that eats what it shits. that is victorious over itself defeated. that stabs itself in self defense against itself stabbing itself.
    and like that.
    for who or what is involved in this struggle but themselves? we are not. we have left it. though they still imagine it is us because we are them.
    this is their illusion.
    this is the image.
    this is that they have vowed to destroy.
    this is why we must first destroy them though we would wish not to.
    this is just some deluded monkey going ape shit in a maze of mirrors.
    we have them trapped. they have themselves trapped. their anti-everything energy strikes out at no one but themselves.
    we just laugh.
    it amuses us to watch them go through their antics. like visiting a zoo. who's who.
    they fuck no one but themselves. they seem to enjoy it. it is all that they do.
    so what do we do with them?
    is this what hell is for?
    it took thousands of years to develop it and here it is. they're in it.
    we hope they are pleased with the results.
    and then they die without any of it meaning anything.
    oh well. ho-hum.

    muscle head.
    not much to it.
 
    to direct without directing a mega-quanta of energy to home on vibrational signature that one sends out toward another that does not rest nor loses energy until it hits the target. we are sending out destruction and death with their name on it. we gather and disperse the winds that will blow apart all they are and will become. who they are will call it to them. they cannot escape. jihad. the holy war between us. them and their demon energy. them and their guns they wear and hide under their pillows. them and their electronic security systems. all this that they are will call it to them. we are sending it out now as we write. we are sending out more to follow. we will send it out until they are no more. babylon will not protect them. we send it out against babylon itself. they will fall with their babylon also.

    being of one another. being of flame. being of breath. being of concrete.
    he is primarily concerned with himself. his existence is all. he is the i am. everything else he saw and touched was existing with him. he began to design the machine to overcome himself. as he designed the machine the machine was built. as the machine was built he understood.
    he had allowed the others to determine who and what he was. he hated them and as far as he could tell they hated him. but unfortunately they needed one another. the rest is history.
    but that doesn't really matter because for the most part he could stay away from it and avoid it. if he wants to he can split.
    and la-dee-da. and ho-hum. and what a wonderful beautiful day it is today and pretty much every day. he doesn't care if it rains or shines because he's sitting here in the best of times. and he may be a psychotic wreck but that's ok as long as he gets his check. ha-ha-hee and ha-ha-ho being insane is the way to go. so they can keep working and pay their tax while he can hang out and just relax. he tried it their way for so many years keeping oneself busy in order to avoid one's fears. but they don't go away and they hang on tight and make one toss and turn throughout the night. until the dam breaks and one is swept downstream and no one can help no matter how loudly one may scream. but if one does drown and reaches the other side one looks back and sees it as an amusement ride. and one is shining like god and all one touches is gold and one can no longer be bought and no longer be sold. one's name gets stored in some long lost file but when one forgets that name and walks away and smiles. one is king of the hill and one's flag unfurls because one is living in the best of all possible worlds.
 
    a clear mistake. a clear misunderstanding.
    he stood on the beach. he stood on the steps of the temple. he looked out over the sea before him. he saw the calm in the midst of the storm. he sat in the cafe that was set up on the stage of the burning theater. he lights another cigarette. he listened to the conversations around him.
    this was just nothing but it was everything. it was just anything but it was something. he felt it as it seemed no one else was feeling it. not at that moment. he looked around to see if anyone else was paying it the slightest attention. no one. who else was feeling this incredible joy of wonder at the whole impossibility of it? who else was feeling the radiance permeating the fabric always changing and sparkling like sunlight on waves? they lived in their fucked up world. they lived in their hell. they existed in their oblivion. that was the sin - thinking there was sin - thinking there was evil. but whatever. it was all beyond that argument now. he didn't have much of anything more. it was obvious to him now. how does one argue with what is obvious? well, he knew how, he just didn't know why. but maybe it wasn't as obvious as maybe he perceived it as being. after all no one else he knew of saw it. they all said how wrong it all was. they all said how it must have been a mistake. and they all disagreed as to what it was that was wrong or a mistake.
    he saw his own particular things that were wrong and a mistake too. his list would probably outnumber anyone else's. he had a pretty keen eye for the smallest singular detail that was flawed in what otherwise seemed to be perfect that would render the whole of it useless no matter how necessary or valuable it was to others. nothing would escape his judgment.
    that wasn't it. what was obvious to him that created this feeling of overwhelming amazement wasn't that there wasn't anything that wasn't seriously wrong with any part of it or itself as a whole but maybe more that there was something there to begin with or something like that. he didn't know.
    light another cigarette.
    as it continues being itself. as we continue experiencing it being itself.
    he knows this as we know it. though to look at him one wouldn't think that he knows this or anything else for that matter. he hides it well. he hides it because when he didn't and let it show people pretty much freaked out and put as much distance between themselves and him as they could. he got tired of this reaction so anymore he doesn't let on.
    but this is probably a misconception. it's probably not that way at all. just one more thing that's wrong to add to the list.
    oh boy.
    ho-hum.
    zap.
    riddles with no solutions except the riddles themselves when they make sense without making sense.

    he sat in the cafe. he smoked another cigarette. he watched the people around him.
    he had given up a long time ago and only did what he needed to do to survive and the less he needed to do the better. he decided to go insane and he's gotten here now where he has to do very little but collect to money the state gives him. he reads things. he writes things. he smiled a lot. he laughed. all around him were people who seemed to struggling against depression. they did this and did that in order to keep themselves busy so they wouldn't think about it or anything else beyond simple solutions and kneejerk reactions that satisfied the emotional need of the moment. formulas of behavioral rituals. conversations that were merely reciting incantations they hoped would keep them from falling into the hands of evil and despair.
    he had been told not to think since he was a child. he was warned of all the evil and despair he would fall into if he didn't stop - and insanity too. and he did fall into it. and he was afraid at first. yet once he was in it and through it he laughed at all they told him it was. they had deceived him and he had allowed himself to be deceived.
    and now he looks back at them - the deceivers and the deceived.
    the dualistic world of good and evil. one side against the other. and everybody everywhere buys into it. is that all they can come up with? all to justify continuing the war they wage against one another and themselves.
    he waits. there must be others such as himself who have given up on all that but no one seems to be able to get away. those who don't care which side wins or loses. those who just want out.
    but anyway, that has nothing to do with anything regarding the moon in june and a spoon.
    ooga booga.
    laugh.