section 3
    part one -

    enough are dancing with spirits.
    enough are dancing with themselves.
    no one is dancing with each other.

    he has discovered nothing. the parts that are still missing still remain so. no amount of pleading will bring them to him.
    or perhaps they are not missing but it is his perception that they are missing.
    something and nothing being the same.

    part two -

    disease.
    choking.
    the woman in the green dress woke up early this morning.
    the dog.
    square.
    the woman in the green dress leaned against the door that would not open. she sighed.

    part three -

    the revolution is over and nothing happened, the woman said.
    what do you mean nothing happened? the man said.
    and the conversation went on like that through hours of pointlessness.

    and in the morning the crows were back.
    dreamtime - random success.
    circus.
    the dog.
    the pose of forgetfulness. we are here. we are there.

    and on distant beaches where our names are called through the vibration of our being.
    we cannot answer from babylon. babylon is filled with the shouts of our deafness.
    our names are far more simple than we remember. we have made our names complex.

    part four -

    and there are now those who page through the documents for proof that what we know is wrong.
    but there are great amounts of wealth invested in and dependent upon the way things are.
    is this anything new?
    is this anything important?

    part five -

    something raining.
    something from nothing.
    a thought.
    wisdom of thought.
    nothing from something.

    part six.

    it was another day that the dada-ananda was in a cloud. the dada-ananda was walking with us through the streets of babylon. it was warm and humid. it was hard for us to keep up with the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda was ahead of us by several long steps. we were distracted by the oppressive reality surrounding us with various noise. we fell behind.
    and it was in a crowd of frustrated faces locked in roles each thought they were forced to perform we lost the dada-ananda around a street corner.

    part 7 -

    it is very difficult to maintain the vision of the dada-ananda - to keep the dada-ananda in view in one's mind.
    the dada-ananda can appear and disappear suddenly.
    what is left is the dada of babylon. the noise of frustrated confusion. dada-ananda is when the confusion flows into the balanced order of chaos. when one follows the other because it follows the other. balanced order instead of forced order.
    forced order is always out of balance. it is defined by a standard of perfection. perfection is imperfect. it cannot be defined.
    babylon is based on forced order. it strives toward a standard of perfection and because this standard of perfection cannot be achieved, or if achieved maintained, frustration is the result.
    even the dada-ananda should not be used as a standard of perfection. the dada-ananda is far from perfect. and in that the dada-ananda is perfect. this is hard to understand at first.

    part 8 -

    perfection is what is.
    a standard of perfection is what is expected to be.
    perfection is what is as it is happening. always change. chaos.
    a standard of perfection is expected to remain as it is. rigid and static. forced order. death.
    chaos has order. it is a balanced order of each and everything seeking its place and its place being where and when it is at each and every moment.
    forced order denies the order of chaos. it fights with chaos. forced order sees the order of chaos as disorder. it sees chaos as destructive.
    forced order is destructive. its aim is death.

    part nine -

    the universe exists in chaos - the order of chaos.
    it is written that god created the universe and pronounced it good.
    it is written that when humans were created that they ate of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil.
    it was then that the human mind began to divide what was good from what was evil after god pronounced it all as good.
    the human mind rejected the perfection of chaos for the perfection of order.
    it was then that humans no longer saw themselves as living in the garden.
    it was then that humans began building babylon following their standard of perfection.
    all that is good is also evil.
    all that is evil is also good.
    or something like that.

    part 10 -

    what is started is finished.
    what is finished is started.

    part 11 -

    another cigarette.

    part 12 -

    dream.

    part 13 -

    arf...?

    part 14 -

    gottok was once in his orchard among the trees to pick the ripe fruit he would then send out in baskets to his people.
    he was walking with a number of the priests who had come to him with questions needing his answer.
    and he did notice that kottog was hiding in the orchard. but this he did not tell the priests so they would continue their inquiry of him.
    so that when kottog came out of hiding and stood before them the priests were greatly startled and did run away.
    why have you done this? gottok asked his sister.
    kottog grinned and answered, i did this to demonstrate to your foolish people that no place is safe from me - not even with their beloved gottok in his orchard.

    part 15 -

    and it was that the priests who were with gottok in his orchard when kottog appeared did run away and made their way back to the people.
    and they did tell them what had happened.
    at first they were laughed at and not believed. but when it was discovered that they all told the same story that the people believed them and became frightened.
    many began to gather their belongings and make preparations to leave.
    there were a few who tried to restore calm among them. they related stories of the many times gottok had aided his people. this was surely another test. they tried to assure those who were leaving.
    but the people were convinced it was finished. this was the only time kottog was known to make his way to gottok's very orchard. this surely meant the end of gottok and his protection if that could happen.

    part 16 -

    it was even the priests themselves who were leaving also. this the people saw and made to leave as well.
    there was a great spreading of panic.
    and it was by the end of that day that most of gottok's people were gone and scattered. some even found their way to the cities that worshipped kottog and disguised themselves among her followers.
    and a few remained behind believing still in the ways of gottok.
    though they did not know his fate they felt that they should carry on what he had taught them for the coming generations.
    they sat together close and sang his song.

    part 17 -

    in his orchard gottok spoke to his sister kottog, must you always cause me trouble? you know by now it is impossible for you to defeat me.
    and kottog did reply, yes my dear brother who is my eternal curse, and you know it is just as impossible for you to defeat me.
    gottok smiled, my sister who is more a blessing to me than i sometimes realize, i am not trying to defeat you. i am trying to bring peace between us and between your followers and my people. i dream of the wonder of the world that will become of that happening.
    kottog spit and said, peace will never find its way between us. if it is this i can prevent then i will be satisfied.
    gottok sighed, leave me now. i am through listening.
    and it was that kottog had to obey his words as she was in his orchard. and she did leave.

    part 18 -

    the night of that day found the few who remained of gottok's people gathered close together.
    the rest were fled. some even hidden among kottog's followers.
    and it was that night that gottok came from his orchard with many baskets of fruit from his trees.
    and he came to those of his people who remained and they let out a great sound of joy to see him among them. for many of them had never seen him before this time but had not left as did the priests who had seen him and knew him well.
    greetings, gottok called to them. where are your brothers and sisters? (though he knew).
    and they did tell him of the day's confusion and panic.
    and yet you remained, he said to them, and here is fruit from my orchard for you to eat. even from the very orchard kottog entered though she could only do so by my allowing it.
    and those who remained of gottok's people did eat the fruit. they were filled for there was enough for even those who had left.

    part 19 -

    and he spoke to them, tomorrow you will take the fruit that is uneaten and plant it about you so there will someday be a new orchard and you will be the keepers of it and not be harmed by kottog or her followers. they will not be able to come here unless welcomed by you.
    and at the dawn of the next day they did as he bid them.
    and it was as he said.

    part 20 -

    much time later the people of gottok who had hid themselves among kottog's followers eventually reveled themselves to certain ones who they felt they could trust.
    and they and these of kottog's followers left the cites and came to the orchard and were welcomed.

    10/5
    section 4
    part one -

    and he is an observer among the others though he is one of them.
    he does not know where it is he comes from or why he is here. he has wondered about this since he was a child. there is no answer that anyone has given him that he can completely believe.
    these are questions asked since before time was measured. have none found an answer all can believe and agree on? is there such an answer?
    or will we always war among ourselves over our different ideas? how really different are they?

    part two -

    that we are so afraid of each other. that we give each other good reason to be afraid. that we fear the gods that we offer sacrifice to for their protection even giving up our own souls.
    we fear what we desire and desire what we fear.
    we need to possess what others want and others want what we possess.
    these are the chains that bind us.
    yet are we to blame?
    we are only human.

    part 3 -

    to have faith one must doubt.
    to doubt one must have faith.
    faith and doubt are one.
    nothing is but what we believe it is - or doubt that it is.
    or what it is not.
    we are the ones who decide our reality.
    to be god.
    to be it that is.

    part four -

    there is no love in this world anymore, sing the buzzcocks.
    was there ever love in this world? asks klocko the klown.
    just people trying to fill their empty lives. the emptiness is a universal space of emptiness. it will never be filled by anything.
    just as soon as one gets comfortable it is time to move on. is this good or bad? does it matter either way?
    the faces one sees every day.
    nothing matters either way.

    part five -

    the emptiness goes on and on. the only thing that matches the emptiness is the loneliness.
    this is why the universe was created. just something to fill the void.
    something to do.
    something to look at.
    something and nothing being the same thing really.

    part six -

    and it is itself divided.
    and it is as itself as one is alone in one's own existence.
    and it is itself divided as many things alone in their own existence.
    loneliness is all there is.
    imagine how lonely is god who created us to fill its heart and this is what it got instead.

    part 7 -

    there is nothing worse than loneliness, especially the loneliness that no number of having friends or being among a crowd can banish.
    the loneliness of the soul.
    a soul lost in an eternal void no universe can banish.
    and of all that is created there is nothing as lonely as that which did the creating. everything is merely a reflection of itself.
    forever.
    and ever.

    part 8 -

    and babylon where all our desires and dreams are outlawed and we are left with our fears and nightmares.
    we push each other as far away as we can. we want to touch each other so much we dare not touch each other so we invent reasons not to.
    we create sin.
    we create gods who judge us.
    we pretend to need forgiveness for wanting to do what we want to do.
    we deny wanting to do what we want to do until it becomes obsession. it becomes the motive for our every action. we live and die for it.
    our souls locked in closets become twisted into themselves such that when they are finally allowed out they are no longer our souls but some misshapen beast thing.

    part nine -

    what comes and goes.
    what is something and what is nothing.
    who we are and who we are not.
    it is what comes and goes. in and out of itself. something and nothing being the same which is it.

    part 10 -

    the days passing through day and night as the universe passes all blinking and not being.
    the moment which is now.
    the moment which is not now.
    both moments being the same moment.
    and yet everything seems so real. everyone believes everything is so real. and since the only definition of what is real is what seems to be real, it is real.

    part 11 -

    the turning wheels. and the wheels moving as they are turning.
    the movement of wheels turning.
    fuck.
    cycles.
    fucking.
    no beginning and no ending.
    an eternity never repeating.
    no moment like another though they are all the same moment.

    part 12 -

    and it was rumored that the dada-ananda while digging a grave spake thusly, the ways of the world are not the true ways of the world. it is a great worry and sorrow for those who know of the garden to live in babylon. it must be done. yet there are ways to live in both. if the garden is really where one wants to be one will tune one's heart to it and soon see it everywhere - even among the ruins of babylon. for babylon is in the garden. these are not two separate places either in space or time. they exist together.

    10/6
    section five
    part one -

    and time is lost.
    we forget the meaning of all we make up to guide us through our short lives.
    our lives are short yet the days can go on forever.
    time is lost.
    our sense of time is lost.
    from one unknown to another.

    part two -

    he cannot think twice. it's hard enough to think once. few thoughts remain long enough for him to know what they are. they return to the busy fog of his mind.
    he has no direction. nothing calls his name. he doesn't know what his name is. would he recognize it if he heard it?
    others think he is rebellious. he is not rebelling. he just refuses to do anything he doesn't want to. unless he is forced to do it.
    how is he to know? is there anything at all? or is it all nothingness with no meaning as some say?
    the others find meaning.
    he cannot.

    part three -

    all the bricks in the wall. the wall is everywhere. within and without.
    we cannot reach or touch one another. we are images and shadows of images.
    nothing is real.

    he cannot look into another's eyes. he sees his own emptiness reflected in them. it hurts. they are no more real than he is. he is their image, their shadow.
    walls made up of a patchwork of materials twisted together into impenetrable barriers never to come down.
    the walls are ourselves.

    part four -

    time being and becoming. simple and complex. the weaving of the moment into and out of itself.
    and what does that realization matter? what illusions we may have but what is real causes pain.
    pain is the only reality. the avoidance of it our only motivation.
    is there anything else but this?

    part five -

    we are ourselves and we do not know who we are.
    we are who we are not.
    and this also does not matter.
    this also does not end the pain.

    part six -
    to be with another.
    to be without another.
    to be somewhere alone or together does not seem to matter.
    he knows no one. no one knows him. we do not know ourselves.
    and this again does not matter.
    the pain.

    part 7 -

    what is written and what is not written.
    everything he thought only added to the echoes which were already there for maybe everything he thought were only echoes breaking and blending apart and together over and over.
    he tried to remember if there was a time when there were no echoes. but if there was he couldn't remember back that far.
    what would it be like not to have a head full of echoes?

    part eight -

    he sees the passing of one moment. the same moment the universe exploded into creation. something from nothing. something and nothing being the same thing.
    the long moment and the short moment. the life of a galaxy. the blink of an eye.
    it comes and goes.
    ho-hum. who cares?

    telescopes and microscopes are aimed at various parts of the universe and nothing is seen but the illusion of something disappearing into nothing.
    no beginning. no end.
    we are one with it. there is nothing else.

    part nine -

    and we are surrounded by what we cannot control and we try to control it.
    we think we are successful.
    we pronounce a god who takes care of such things and then try to control that god with prayer.

    it is the god.
    it is what it is. it happens as it happens.
    we are part of it. we control it as it controls us.

    part 10 -

    as the formless is formed around us as we are formed with it.
    tune in. tune out.
    our vision is the vision of the gods as we are the gods forming the formless in our minds.
    the gods working at a burger joint.
    the gods dying of cancer.
    the gods beating their children.
    the gods passed out in a doorway.
    this is the world the gods created as their playground. does one remember?

    does anyone remember how we did this? how we turned the garden into babylon?
    how do we turn babylon into a garden?
    is that what we want? or is it what surrounds us now? obviously it is because that is what we created of our own free will.
    we create our frustration.
    we create our poverty.
    we create our greed.
    we create all that we tell ourselves that we despise. but do we really?
    only we can change it.

    part 11 -

    maybe this is the world we really want. yet he has yet to hear of anyone who is satisfied with it.
    we hate the world we have created.
    maybe if we only knew how much we do create it and how we could create another world just as easily.
    we look to death to take us away from this world to the world of our dreams. maybe that is what it is going to take.
    will we wait for the missiles to launch toward their targets when their targets are each and everyone of us before we call an end to this madness.
    will the world of our dreams only exist in that last blinding instant?
    someone push the button...
    lathe of heaven.

    part -12 -

    so the message is the message. so everyone is speaking the message.
    the message is the word of the message.
    there is no message.

    section six
    part one -

    and when we were sleeping and dreaming of time long ago.
    what still lives in our memory in the hades of the universal mind.
    what does not know anymore the light of awareness yet still is.
    we dream of unknown monsters. or are they unknown? or are they monsters?
    we are monsters to each other.
    the fear of monsters overcomes us.
    war.
    the eternal war with monsters residing in the universal mind.
    the monsters are as real as any one of us. are we real?
    we build up the walls of babylon to try to keep them outside. but they do not have to get in, they are already here.

    part 2 -

    there are those who do not dream - who do not let their imaginations take control. the horror they imagine is real is too much.
    how have we created this world? how do we create another?
    not with more walls. but more and more walls are going up everyday.
    and as the walls go up there will always be those tearing them down.
    and monsters on both sides.

    who is a monster?

    part 3 -

    if he is to be a monster he would like to be a friendly monster. it doesn't matter if he is ugly and scary. he wouldn't hurt anyone. maybe not.
    if there are to be monsters he thinks they are friendly monsters. none of them want to hurt anyone. none that he has met anyway.
    but many do hurt others. could it be that they think these others are monsters trying to hurt them?

    part four -

    this is all our imagination. and we can make our imagination what we want it to be - can't we?

    part five -

    and one time someone asked the dada-ananda, you always say that this is nothing more than our imagination - that it is ourselves who created the world. this can't be true. what do you mean?
    the dada-ananda stopped and turned and spake thusly, at last, someone who asks me a real question.
    the dada-ananda sat on a toad and continued, i will tell you that it is true that it was not us who created the world. at least not the elements of the world. at least not as we are now as being human. we as human were created as part of the world. but we as spirit are still the gods. still the creators. the world was given to us in a given form with certain basic things already in operation, like weather and such. it's what we do with the given form that is all our imagination. it would be possible to go back into the given forms and change them but not as our human selves. we would have to go back to our god selves to do that. but we had already agreed not to do that. it would spoil the game. what we can do as being human has still yet to be entirely explored. we are at the beginning of that. we only discovered who we are yesterday. we have already used our physical skills to do many things. sometimes too many things. it is time now to use our minds. this is the era we are entering.

    section 11
    part the first -

    the heart knows when to do something he can't quite think of yet.
    the further away it seems.
    the dream white horses stand on a hill somewhere over by the river that runs through the garden where babylon once stood.
    pinpoint is everywhere.
    needle in a haystack mind.
    the opening of the gate on the beach.
    an island beach somewhere in imagination where we see each other with different eyes.
    or not.
    or maybe something else than what we never saw.
    or not.
    or being born into each moment.

    part two -

    just another box of light.
    black and white.
    hold onto one's shoes, there's some walking to be done soon.
    the road opens where one is not looking. and suddenly one realizes one has been on it the whole time. everything has been expected now and then.
    all moments are one now and then.
    we sat in circles that are broken now and then. we are in being.
    harmony in a flower given to another. just like in the old days of daze. whispered communion neither understand. something about the cycles.
    waves all about us washing us clean. we dream again.
    feeding himself with coffee to match the speed of thought inside his brain firing off at once now and then.

    part three -

    the two forever entangled until they become many images - expressions of the dance they weave.
    the one being what the other is not.
    this and that.
    and then the other thing.
    reflections and shadows creating all that we see - all that we are to ourselves and each other.
    remember how it is that we are who we are and share in the mystery again.
    we are it and not it.

    part 4 -

    the breaking of thoughts on the beach somewhere someplace else.
    anywhere else.
    here and now.
    we clock the time we cannot tolerate. we measure our misery. tap our feet in time time time.
    we are crying and we don't even know it. anytime it comes close we turn away.
    we live our lives on and on.
    we turn ourselves inside out.
    oh boy.

    part five -

    something in a name. something in a size ten. something to forget who one is.
    he has nothing to tell anyone. no one is paying attention anyway anymore - if they ever were.
    no one really dances. no one really breathes.
    no one really exists. he is here alone in a world of illusions. room by room.
    prove to him that he touches anyone when he touches them - though he never touches anyone. no one wants to be touched.
    what would happen? would they have to exist?
    something in a name.

    part six -

    and all the time here by himself. screw the rest of them. let them lead their idiot lives. why should he care how miserable they are?
    except their misery makes his life miserable. his otherwise perfect life. they insist on making sure he can't get away from them. they control all the land and resources. so he has to perform stupid tricks for them because they get off telling someone else what to do.
    etc.

    part 7 -

    and when we last left the dada-ananda the dada-ananda was answering a question about reality, imagination and our ability to control the world around us.
    the dada-ananda continued, yet we have yet to have enough doubt in reality to overcome the reality of it. part of controlling the reality of the world is knowing that we already control it.
    and the dada-ananda picked up a rock and spake thusly, this rock exists because we all agree that it exists. none of us can change it into anything else unless the others of us agree to allow it. the reality of the rock is the reality we give it. we forget this. but soon we will remember it.

    part 8 -

    not much to write about. what is important? nothing he writes can put food on anyone's table or pay the rent. if one wants to survive or attain fame and fortune there is nothing he can write that will help anyone to do so. in fact if anything it will hinder them.
    but what he wants to write would be to give one the key to everything. it's very easy. but it takes all of us to do it. and few if any are really interested.
    we are dreaming and we can control the dream instead of allowing the dream to control us.
    but how is this done? how do we all agree? how to tell anyone this without them laughing?
    but he's never seen anything clearer in his life. this is what he lives for. but it's nothing to anyone else.
    he doesn't understand this.
    he won't understand this.

    part 9 -

    everyone speaks of some sort of heaven - some ideal. yet they place it out of their reach.
    some put it beyond death.
    some put it in the future.
    some put it out.
    and they make up some kinda story about how we are meant to suffer and not get what we want in this life.
    what a joke.
    what a lie.
    what a tragedy.
    why do we do this to ourselves?
    why do we deny all that we are?
    we can get anything we want - if we knew what we wanted instead of struggling over what just gets us off. programmed desires.
    it's all here.
    it's all now.

    part 10 -

    maybe he is the fool everyone tells him he is.
    a fool lost in hopeless fantasy about a world where everyone is fulfilled instead of denied.
    maybe he is the fool everyone seems to believe that he is.
    but that's what he is. if it's a fool he is fated to play then he'll play it.
    but to him the others are the fools. going on with their useless lives when they could have it all - more than they could now imagine.

    and he's just here writing to himself. he's tired of all the theories - all the never never dada.
    everybody says, give me something real.
    he doesn't have it so don't come looking around here.

    part 11 -

    he's tired of living in a world where nobody gives a shit. where everybody is just fucking each other over in all the ways they can.
    what about love? or even tolerance?
    and no one seems to notice. it's business as usual.
    he doesn't care. they can have all that they are back stabbing each other for if they think that will make them happy - without love - without even tolerance.
    he's tired of living a life holding back the love he should feel in his heart. he's tired of hating all these idiot faces he sees everyday. he's tired of the anger in his blood.
    he doesn't know how to tell anyone that he loves them. they don't want it. they want him to work for them and take the money he earns, that's all. and they can have it.
    what does it matter?

    part 12 -

    what is he writing this dada for? even if someone reads it it won't make any difference. their world will go on and on through endless cycles of useless frustration.
    idiots.
    fools.
    stupid fuckers.

    part 13 -

    tired of dreaming dreams that will never come true.
    not in this world, baby.
    his dreams are dreams of another world. a world where we are no longer frightened of one another and ourselves.
    dreams of understanding.
    dreams of a world where people realize that happiness is more than just chasing after basic desires. and that happiness is not achieved by gaining power and wealth.
    and one can laugh now. one always does.

    10/10

    section whatever
    part one -

    and so we slip in and out of darkness and light. so it doesn't matter which.
    concepts are boxes and we spend so much time and energy making sure the boxes keep their shape.
    or something like that.
    he doesn't know what is right or wrong. maybe this is all right - otherwise why would it be happening if it wasn't?
    and he's the one who is wrong.
    or something like that.

    part two -

    all the time spent apart from one another. all in a dream of reality turning through our brains.
    all the time spent against one another. all we believe we need to survive.
    survive for what?
    meaning and meaninglessness.
    skin care products.
    tables and chairs.

    part three -

    and remember ourselves.
    and be who we are without knowing who we are.
    we talk about everything.
    we talk about nothing.
    we talk and talk and talk. to lose ourselves in the noise we make. to forget who we are.

    part four -

    to know the dada-ananda one must be the dada-ananda.
    to know that everything one knows is wrong. to be free of both faith and doubt. to allow oneself to move into the gray shadows of light.
    to know the dada-ananda is to know who one really is and having it not make any difference who one really is.
    beneath the layers of masks in order to be the mask.
    the dada-ananda is both the mask and the face beneath the mask.
    to know the dada-ananda one must realize one is the dada-ananda.

    part five -

    and why can't he just be who he is - whoever that is? other people are who they are - or so it seems to him. maybe they aren't.
    a thousand possibilities and none matter at all. they're all a fraud.
    masks and layers of masks all the way down through his very soul itself. no beginning and no ending.
    without the dada-ananda it is nothing.
    and the dada-ananda fails to come to him so often. unless he is the dada-ananda.
    or else the dada-ananda is just something he made up. a fantasy in a world of fantasy. another trick of the trade.
    is that all anything is? another trick of the trade?

    part six -

    at some point something must be real.
    yes?
    no?
    the point of it.
    the point of being.
    what is real? what does it mean? is it only perception? how does what is doing the perceiving know that itself is real?
    and sundry tail chasing dada.

    part seven -

    inside or outside - neither matters that much.
    fantasy or reality - what difference does it make?
    why does it matter to him? why does it make a difference?
    why does it cause him so much pain?

    part eight -

    and people go their way. do they think the same things he does? they appear not to. but maybe he appears not to.
    he goes his way.

    part 9 -

    following winds and tides any which direction they may go. they show him what is real and what is not. they tell him little in this world is real.
    does he believe them?
    what is he left with then?
    he walks the streets of babylon and sees the garden smothered beneath it all.
    he looks into people's eyes and sees what they deny and try not to feel.
    how much longer can this madness go on? another day? a thousand more years? forever?

    part 10 -

    and another dream. another day in a dream. he goes where it goes. he follows the wind and the tides.
    he cannot imagine anything else.
    he cannot be anyone else.
    this is as it is. whether it is good or bad - if such distinctions can be made - seems not to make any difference at all.
    another dream.
    another day in a dream.

    part 11 -

    we are dreaming.
    we dream.
    just another dream.
    just another day in a dream.
    just another life in a dream.
    and we could dream any dream we wanted - if we knew what we wanted.
    we dream.

    part 12 -

    tick-tock clock.
    tick-tock clock world.
    and now the tick-tock is a steady micro-fast tick-tock humming.
    we are still dividing time between this and that no matter how supposedly accurate it is.
    the moment vibrates within itself - creating time.
    what is and what is not.
    the moment is one. everything is.

    the phone is ringing.
    who's there?
    the concentration camps are full.
    genetics.
    speaking eloquently.
    walking along the path looking above the trees to the stars.
    risks taken.
    footprints on the beach.
    calling out the names.
    arguing with tools.
    speaking german.
    the lives of their children.

    part thirteen -

    the whole idea is far-fetched, he said to himself as his friends were arguing in complete agreement.
    another day in a dream.
    or another dream in a day.
    or if one's memory serves one well one might remember... but he has forgotten.

    many broken pieces were needed to put back together the whole from the sum of its parts.
    the people at the next table were laughing.
    that's what he remembers. is it important?
    does he ask that question too much?
    why does he feel that everything he writes about is dada bullshit? what else can he write? what words would trigger someone to move beyond themselves? what words could trigger him to move beyond himself?
    or are there no words? just dada bullshit.
    nothing.

    section 666
    part one -

    an envelope in the living room.
    a word hanging in the air.
    the dada-ananda was watching tv. the dada-ananda was drinking a beer. the dada-ananda's feet were up. the dada-ananda was flipping from channel to channel with the remote control.
    we were making a tape of what the dada-ananda selected to stop and watch for a moment or two before moving on to the next. these tapes proved to be inspirational montages of the very mind of the dada-ananda.
    the dada-ananda was laughing.
    four or five doves flew by the window outside.
    little by little everything was coming apart and going back together again.
    a breath.
    a heartbeat.
    the dada-ananda sleeps in doorways.
    the dada-ananda sleeps in the park.
    the dada-ananda sleeps in one's backyard.

    part 2 -

    a sequence of dreams. but he doesn't dream anymore. the dreams are far beneath the surface wandering around in the labyrinths of memories forgotten.
    cold light.
    recounting the dead again and again. we were listening to the echoes of our voices in this empty world with no one listening.
    spoon.

    part three -

    where does it go when it goes?
    where does it come from?
    just a couple of things we wonder about.
    dinner was late as we were talking about all and all. joints were going around and the dada-ananda was with us sucking a toke or six.
    outside people were driving around in their cars looking to get laid.
    we were looking for more than temporary hits of pleasure to see us through. the coming down is so hard when it comes and goes.

    part four -

    (deleted)

    part five -

    one can accuse the dada-ananda of many things - which is the way the dada-ananda meant it to be - but one thing one cannot accuse the dada-ananda of doing is not laughing.
    sometimes that's all the dada-ananda does.

    section ?
    part one -

    from one depth to another.
    from one height to another.
    it all looks the same from here.
    in and out of too many things at once.
    holy water.
    bathing in the river.
    born into the infinite moment of all moments. is this what they're talking about? is this anything close?

    part 2 -

    the dada-ananda is everywhere. but does the dada-ananda know anything?
    so much doubt on the streets of babylon.

    part three -

    it'll be alright.
    when hopeless confusion is all one's brain can come up with and one's gut is twisted into a few dozen pretzels it's hard to trust one's heart.
    it's hard to believe that it'll be alright.
    when time passes and nothing has changed.
    when people laugh in one's face and say everything one does is wrong.
    it's hard to believe.
    it's even hard to doubt.

    part 4 -

    how far and long does the world go on? as things keep sinking deeper. and it seems that it's gotta break along here somewhere. break along the cracks of light.
    somewhere we are dancing. there are beaches on islands where our being is one and pure. where our names are.
    or is he dreaming?
    or is he a fool?

    part 5 -

    the gray of the gray. the plain ordinary stuff we are made of.
    after the golden silver light we have seen this all could be.
    down.
    face down.
    and what we thought we saw once was just a few sparks in our brain. it was nothing more. he's forgotten it already.
    just whatever is being whatever in through the gray fog of reality. karma and all that stuff whatever it is and cream and sugar and an order of fries while the cold light gleams brightly on the dirty river as it is.
    he's been fooled by the darkness.
    he's been fooled by the light.
    he's been fooled by others.
    he's been fooled by himself.

    part 6 -

    the loneliness of being human.
    away from each other.
    away from the source of our creation.
    the loneliness of it to have created the loneliness of being human to alleviate its loneliness.

    and the radio back in the kitchen sings, all you need is love.
    it's the most beautiful thing in the world but it isn't that way in real life.
    just being stoned.
    all you need is love and one will be the most miserable person on earth. they'll rip one down any way they can. they'll laugh one down and out.
    all you need is love if one wants to spend the rest of one's life alone.
    but maybe love isn't what it is at all. what does he know?

    part seven -

    caught up in a dream of yesterday.
    caught up in a dream of tomorrow.
    does it make any difference? both are dreams.
    caught up in a dream of today.

    part eight -

    not writing anything worth shit.
    not being able to feel like writing anything worth shit.
    just the maze of dreams.
    just the mass of confusion.
    just the dada of babylon.
    just himself.
    nothing changes.
    nothing can be changed.
    or maybe not. but why does he feel that way? nothing should be changed. it is as it is. everything is perfect.
    perfect in its own perfection.

    part 9 -

    ok - it's time here and now to snap outta this blue haze deal. mind in a fog.
    yeah - so how do we do that? how does he do it?
    realize perfection has its own ways not our own. to flow into and with that perfection no matter how things seem to fall apart. they fall apart perfectly.
    no matter what death seems to come.
    but what is he doing here if he's only in the way of perfection unless his misery is part of it?

    part ten -

    and from a bridge the dada-ananda spake thusly, it's a joke. the point is to keep laughing as much and as long as you can. does it make any sense? no, it doesn't. so many people are suffering, including yourselves. how can we laugh in the face of this? we can't. we shouldn't. but we must.
    and some say that the dada-ananda jumped from the bridge. some say the dada-ananda flew away. some say the dada-ananda went to a nearby diner and got something to eat.
 

    part 11 -

    at the diner the dada-ananda ordered chiliburger and fries.

    part 12 -

    someone else was dancing.
    alphabet.
    napkin.

    part 13 -

    the dada-ananda was among us perhaps disguised this time as a dog.
    a dog?
    a dog betrayed.
    with acid eyes staring at the blue green sea painted with the sunrise. sleep was coming fast.
    a dog.
    a dog with memory.
    the dada-ananda among us now and then.
    hearing a name called - clearer each time.

    part fourteen -

    circles in circles.
    cycles in cycles.
    rhythm out of time - or what we perceive as time. our time is out of rhythm.

    part 15 -

    badges of honor when there is no honor in badges of honor.
    what honor is there when there is dishonor for another? how can one hold their head high while another must hang theirs low?
    so what is it with honor and rank? what is it with achievement?
    how can one be proud when another is ashamed?
    is this the teaching we pass onto our children?

    part 16 -

    and maybe all of this is wrong.

    part 17 -

    out of the garden beneath the streets of babylon come the smothered cries of hope.
    where a weed grows through a crack is a glimpse of what might yet return to forgive us our trespasses.
    what the walls of babylon cannot keep out no matter how strong they are built, no matter how they are reinforced.

    part eighteen -

    and he writes this in the time allowed him by the masters of babylon. when he is not working in their factory farm. will he ever be remembered for this?

    section one zillion
    part 1 -

    we were... something... he forgot...

    part 2 -

    the ones who watch the others in judgment - who try to maintain their idea of order - their standard of perfection.
    who are they? where do they come from? how do we get them to go away?
    they create so many problems. setting up codes of behavior that are impossible to achieve for most people. and the ones who can achieve it are so locked up they're like robot zombies. then the ones who can't make it are kicked out onto the street and are forced to become criminals in order to survive and function with any sort of pride.
    and on and on.
    don't they realize that good cannot be without evil? it's a package deal.

    part 3 -

    the noise of silence.
    people with masks they think are their faces because it has been so long since they looked in a mirror except to put on more make up layers and dada like that.
    and who is he? any different?
    it's a joke.

    part four -

    there is no part four.
    fuck this shit.

    10/15

    section gazillion
    part one -

    the words of the poet who is obviously mad. 20th century romantic fool. the jester in the court where everybody else is king or queen.
    ha ha, he laughs, ha ha!
    then in the shadows of a moonlit night around a bend or two with something in and out of his head he feels a flood of tears rising. he must build up the dam higher. tonight. keep building the dam up higher.
    and higher and higher.
    no matter that it is far above his head long ago times stretching each moment into forever.
    higher.
    he must never let it show. no one must know he feels this constant pain and sorrow. they all want him to be happy. they say they love him for how funny he is. his happiness is all they care about. they love his happiness.
    so he must always show them how happy he is. then they will let him into their court. he must never show up with a blue heart and his head in darkened cloud. never.
    never.
    no matter how much pain he feels he must never do that. they won't tolerate it. they'll tolerate world wide wars, poverty, starvation, disease - but they will never tolerate him being unhappy.
    because they love him and his happiness.

    part two -

    random darkness. and the pinpoints of light in-between.
    to live for that light. to live for a shattering glimpse of all in beautiful balanced perfection. to see all that is good and all that is evil in ringing harmony.
    to die for that light. to leap for it with all the energy one can direct toward it.
    to give and take nothing in return except to stand in that moment of light surrounded by darkness.

    part three -

    to value what others cast out as worthless. to see them twisted in lives of pain and misery and hold in one's hand the key that will unlock them from all their chains.
    and they don't want it.
    they fear it.
    they hate it.
    they cast it out and then go worship gods who only perpetrate their suffering, who promise them salvation for their suffering.
    tomorrow. it will come tomorrow. it will come with their death in suffering.
    and one holds the key. the key is this moment. here now.

    part four -

    to believe the unbelievable. to overcome all sorrow with one breath. that is all it is - one breath. not even that. a heartbeat.
    with one heartbeat we can transcend everything standing in our way because nothing stands between us and one heartbeat.
    simple.
    too simple.
    each generation produces dreamers who tell their dreams. and each generation has laughed at them.
    but no one tries it on. no one takes it for a drive around the block to check it out.
    they'd rather laugh and jeer. they know so much better. they know everything. no one is going to fool them. no - no - no.

    part 5 -

    1+1=2.
    yet...
    one cannot move from 1 to 2 without passing through infinity.
    or something like that.
    logic never fails.
    logic seems to be the method to avoid and ignore infinity.

    part 6 -

    fun and games.
    all in the head.
    but what about when the stomach starts calling for room service?
    what about that?

    part seven -

    logic is fantasy.
    the universe is not logical. it just appears that way to us and our logic or we choose to have it appear that way with our logic.
    the downfall of human kind could very well have been when the human mind taught itself to count.

    part 8 -

    the human mind taught itself to count.
    one fish - two fish - three fish - four fish...
    one person - two person - three person - four person - five person...
    opps - there's one less fish than persons. someone has to go.
    who's it going to be?

    part 9 -

    logically - one person taught oneself how to count before the others. this person counted the fish and counted the persons and decided that someone had to go.
    who's it going to be?

    part ten -

    anyway - and there's logical steps that lead from this one person counting to our present economic system of interglobal commerce. turn on the tv. relax.

    part 11-16 -

    (deleted)

    and something about eternity and eternity being the hip place to be and everyone waiting for it to begin.
    ha!

    section quadgazillion
    part one -

    and something from nothing.
    and back again.
    and there being no such thing as entropy in an undivided universe.
    what?

    and another thing to write about. another thing on our list of things to write about.
    to explain about having things to write about.
    what is there to write about that already isn't known but maybe to be reminded that it is known or to let one know that someone else knows it too.

    knowing and thinking. one and the other.
    let us think about what we know.
    let us know what we are thinking.
    or something like that.

    something like that.
    the chaos stirring around in our brain mixing what we know with what we are thinking.
    thinking being the active state of knowing.
    discovering knowledge.
    in our dreams.

    when we discovered knowledge and thought it should be like a rock.
    everlasting truth.
    god.

    around sometime as that the dada-ananda was seen lurking in some bushes nearby chuckling at a little bee dying.
    and who will be next, little bee? asked the dada-ananda.

    out of lifetime into lifetime.
    or not.
    at least out of moment into moment.
    drinking the wine of our experience until we are quite drunk on the stuff but we cannot stop until we fall down dead.

    how much of this is nothing at all?
    how much of this is whatever it is?
    how many questions is he going to keep asking?
    how long has it been for this moment to have gone through itself as a moment?
    how long is now?

    a focus of being into pinpoint experience.
    city to city.
    down onto a rhythmed beat crisscross rain on windshield while in some other space/time.
    in a general sense forgetting a glance left or right or wrong.
    die for the country.
    die for the old folks who became rich and powerful so that others would die for them - and make them pay to die on top of it.
    hey, dance to that all the people out there. get up and dance to that.
    one's preselected favorite song is on the radio playing loud.
    dance to that and try to forget that it is interconnected to all that keeps one down.
    dance to the eternal war our species perpetuates upon itself.

    9/16
    yeah - and not to know if he's gone nuts or what.
    yeah - and to be able to once in awhile write out a few spontaneous rhythms of something off the top of his head. once in awhile. once in a great while. once in a very great while.
    yeah - but most of the time this regurgitation of all the pain and sorrow he still feels gushes out on the page from his moving hand. how long until he can stop doing that? what does he have to do? where does he have to go? has he not done enough? obviously not.
    the main thing is the loneliness. it's hard to express anything else.
    and he feels he has to hide that all. nobody wants to know about how fucked up he feels. they got their own shit to worry about and deal with. what makes his any different?
    but that's what he's trying to break through. this world where our basic primal urges and yearnings and desires are so twisted inside ourselves where we cannot let them out because they go for other people's throats has to go. but it's not going anywhere if we keep holding onto it.
    he doesn't know.
    he feels so ripped off.
    he feels so many things so strongly but he can't allow himself to feel them. the only time they can come out is when he writes. but who would want to read about all that? so he still holds back and it comes out as this frustrated angst angry screaming pitiful cynical mess.
    he can't stand it.
    he feels like crying most of the time. and when he does cry he feels released for a little while but the pressure builds right back up again.
    he wants to be able to write something that will turn people on. he's always wanted to turn people on. he loves people. but he hates them just as much.
    and he hates himself. he keeps looking at himself in different ways to find a way of looking at himself where he can feel like he has some value and worth. he hasn't found that yet.
    arrgh!

    sometime later.
    and the beat goes on. pounding pulse in his brain with no way to let it out. driving him totally mad. the screws keep turning through his skull.
    but all he has to do is think happy thoughts.
    happy.
    happy.
    happy.
    happy thoughts.

    he's got to pull this out. it's not going anywhere. but he can't think. people look at him strange. he doesn't know. maybe they don't.
    maybe it's him.
    it's got to be him.
    he can get outta this, can't he?
    he's got to. there's nobody here but him. the rest of the fools just laugh. they think this is funny.
    happy thoughts.
    happy happy happy happy happy thoughts...

    and to write some disjointed abstract verse. no soul. don't let oneself show in any of it. happy thoughts.

    no space.
    no time.
    just this forever.
    just this forever.
    just this forever.

    into the silence.
    his words are words of silence.
    my best poetry is about artichokes, he said drunkenly.
    he said while lights blinked on the jukebox machine.
    he said while a cigarette was lit.
    he said while a dream bear came into camp.
    he said while the silence remained.
    he said.

    a wordless thought or six again and again and the importance of literature is meaningless to him. fuck literature. let it rot.
    give him words.
    save their literature for someone else.

    just another bad dream about nothing at all anymore.

    something more than nothing and something and nothing being the same thing.
    and that jukebox blinking is driving him nuts.

    trying to get into some frame of mind or whatever in order to write.
    he can't write.
    he can't do anything.
    everything he does is wrong wrong wrong.
    piss on it.

    10/18
    he's dying. he doesn't know why or how but he feels like he knows he is dying.
    not physically. who knows how long that will go on? but his soul is going out. there's nothing to feed it. there's nothing for it in this world anymore.
    he sees others whose souls have died. and they go on. a soul is like a flame. and there are a few who are a blazing fire with brilliant light. he has always wanted to be one like that but he has never found what fuels it.
    everything he has tried has gone out.
    and he is going out with it. they have been smothered.
    this is the loneliness that is impossible to bear anymore.
    this is the true death.

    and whatever else might happen.
    and wherever it might happen.
    what is important at this time and what isn't?
    what is he supposed to be doing? what should he be writing? what words should be coming to him that are not? he's still here waiting. waiting beyond hope.
    all he gets are the same ones over and over again until they have lost any meaning they once might have had. what meaning did they have? what meaning do any words have?
 
    and so it's all here.
    and so it ends here.
    he is at an end here.
    he is completely confused as to what anything means anymore. he's either very stupid or grossly misinformed, or both.
    or neither, he supposes.
    it's all here but he just doesn't get it. do other people get it? if they don't then how do they learn to hide the fact that they don't so well? how do they just keep going along like nothing is drastically wrong? how does civilization after civilization of people keep going along like nothing is drastically wrong? they are satisfied with their pathetically limited lives. is he the only one who sees that there is so much more that could be? not in some near or distant future or in death but right here and now?
    it's all here.
    he's run this by too many times and he still doesn't get it.
    we're in the garden and we keep building babylon on top of it.

    and so it keeps going - the pain and the suffering everyone goes through. and what is it he needs to ask for?
    for what?
    the question of questions. the question asked countless times. the question unanswered.
    even the most wonderful of heavens beyond our imagination is not worth a moment of this.

    10/19
    and the hours are here upon being as it is and was and will be. the thought of it. the being of it.
    and where is he?
    and where is anyone?
    and where are all the others of us? who are the others of us? we are them.
    and it doesn't make any sense. and it's not supposed to, is it? yes/no. yes/no. yes/no.
    yes/know.

    and be what it is. and be what it guides one to be. lover or killer. this world goes on either way.
    it is oneself who is what it is.
    it's him.
    it's anyone.
    he knows what he knows. anyone knows what they know.
    all he can do is forgive. all he can do is let one be what it is that one is.
    if one was meant to love him.
    if one was meant to kill him.
    what can he do?

    he knows nothing to tell anyone. he knows nothing at all. he tries to grasp what comes by his window - what comes by his window - what comes by his window - what comes by his window...
    a crow playing a trumpet.
    a 2x4 which is painted red - blood blood red. blood red as the blood red smeared over a newborn baby's pale skin. pale wrinkled skin. wrinkled by months at sea. washed ashore to this forbidden land.
    a flag without a country. a flag free of false symbolism.
    a dream comes by his window. a dream as all other dreams. a dream that looks out for itself. a dream of a dark sky.
    dark sky.

    if we could rid each other of our fears as easily as we hate each other.
    if we could be together as easily as we push each other away. as the wind is together with a kite. or something as simple as that.
    he wonders what happens when his eyes are closed. repeating and repeating.

    10/20
    trying to keep focused on what is not. heaven is all around us behind the walls of babylon. heaven is in the garden. heaven is the imaginary city where the streets do not need to be paved with gold.
    what we see in our minds can be real if we realize what it is. if we disconnect it from the images of our frustrated desires. if we focus on what is not.
    what common dream do we all share?
    what do all of us want?

    and from many distant forgotten depths we refuse to remember. just look into our eyes.
    and he is here as some sort of witness or whatever into the jagged edge of our universal mind being.
    or he is just a fool who is dreaming of some moment whenever we might come alive to who we are.
    he has not seen anything of the horrors others have seen.
    a head crushed by a piece of concrete in a back alley somewhere in a lost fragment of time.
    and on the telephone.
    and on the fence hangs the head beheaded - or maybe he is mistaken.

    look into a mirror.
    just someone else who's taken a drug and has recollection of a god who has deserted us.
    teenage bop.
    teenage romance.
    to die with a song in a cheesy dive bar. or is this another dream or another.

    and could he wake up someday?

    in 20 simple songs sung.
    in a mouth paused in a twisted grin. a word long in pronunciation and vague in meaning hung in the air between us as we thought about a few nights ago when someone came knocking on our door by mistake though it turned out to be someone we knew before.
    someone whose name was...
    someone who came in from the cold night once again as before.
    just like a song sung so many times - too many times. we believe ourselves to be far more romantic than we can afford to be.
    so many doubts.
    so many ideas at one time as it quietly passes by in our minds.

    just the dark now and collecting old records from lives we never lived. and jesus knows about what that's like as he lays in the back of a '74 econoline van with a rose upon his lips he gently kisses.
    he gently kisses.
    does he kiss our sins as he forgives them? or is he beyond all that by now?
    gunshots from a 3rd story window. everyone hits the ground.
    as they hit the ground.
    the dog didn't know what to do.

    the face broken by the abstract artist's brush. someone might know something about wisdom but no one wants to hear about it.
 
    tears on every highway leaning toward a sunset or two. yeah - everyone's been there before in one way or more. everyone can tell one a story. too many stories than can be told in a lifetime.
    we incorporate our stories together in a woven framework of some kind of mythology or whatever works as such.
    we sit in the church of our choice and worship the shadows cast upon us by gods whose names are easily confused.
    and besides that we kill one another again and again all the time.
    it always come back to that.

    and in and out of sudden rain as it comes and goes. and the words that mean nothing at all.
    the eyes that see the dawn after a long night without sleep. the dawn that everyone said would not come.
    and maybe it never will.
    he has to remember his name, or something like that.