out of the blue and into the gray.
    another day in the cafe thing groove whatever. a steady state while the war rages on. the wounded coming in swearing revenge. he watches and waits.
    another cigarette.
    this wasn't what he expected it to be like though now he could not remember what it was he did expect it to be like. maybe probably he supposed he didn't expect it to be like anything. that was how he got here.
    theories. a head full of theories. suppositions. maybe this. maybe that. maybe the other thing. no one he talked to seemed to sure about anything. they couldn't explain anything. they didn't seem to think that any of it was all that important. there was a war on after all. no one had time to think about anything else - like why there was a war to begin with. they just accepted it as a given. so he explained what he needed to have explained to himself. and one of the things he explained to himself was that the war was not a given. it was not the natural human state everyone told him it was. it was totally and completely artificial. an invention of the human mind with no basis in reality. it was not something given but something that was taken on. and everyone took part in it. they believed in the existence of the war and through that belief they perpetuated it whether or not they did so actively or directly or not. even those who talked of peace.
    he saw this. he saw peace all around him here and now beneath the noise of the war all around him here and now also. the war was an illusion masking the true real state. and he saw that people were easily distracted by it and caught up in it and carried away by it and consumed by it. it was their whole life.
    as he was had been once though he knew somehow inside him that it was not real no matter how much others tried to convince him it was.
    and now he had gotten out of it and knew for a fact that the war was a lie. it was held together by mass belief. they more than believed. they participated in it believing that they would gain things if they were only on the winning side and only if they were on the winning side. they would kill and die for the war. they could not see that there was no winning side. winning or losing were sub-illusionary states of the whole illusion of the war. it fit into their simplistic fear and desire mode of life and living. they could not see that both canceled the other out.
    he did not understand this. but he saw that they each had a vested interest in keeping the war going - even if they were against the war - which just was another side that would either win or lose along with the rest. they believed that everyone else was the enemy to them as much as anyone else.
    he was the enemy of all sides. he was disruptive because he didn't believe the war was real. he believed in peace. he saw peace all around him here and now.
    and he laughed at this. he saw that none of them knew what they were doing. and on and on it went like that.
    so he dropped out of it. he sat it out and wondered what to do. what could he do? what can anyone do that isn't part of the war? grocery shopping was part of the war. everything was part of the war. and why should he care anymore? he had what he wanted. but he was still here in it with them. he saw them torturing each other and themselves over it.
    and something. dream away from it. it becomes far away. distance. he removes himself from their world. their weird twisted world of war. gone.
    and he comes back to it. he looks out the window. another cigarette. he watches and waits.
    and he thinks about it. he thinks about what he could do. kick the junkies off their habit? - all 6+ billion of them? and why should he even if he could? what does it matter? he tries to think of words. but all the words of their language only support their way of thinking. how else are they to be interpreted? it would only prove to them how insane he is.
    how does he describe any of it. how does he describe a multi-dimensional state of being to those who only see one dimension and through a mono-dimensional language that reinforces that perception?
    they see only one way and anyone who speaks of anything else - a reality where and when the war no longer exists and never did and never will - is considered mad or stupid.
    even speaking of the war will they understand what he means? he doesn't necessarily mean the wars of weapons and armies fighting. that's obvious. but the war that continues that isn't obvious. hidden beneath the surface. hidden behind the smiles, the handshakes, the hugs and kisses. hidden inside conversations about anything but. he sees what is not shown. he hears what is not spoken. the absence screams around him. how can they not see it and hear it? how can they act like nothing is happening?
    but they do know. beneath themselves. despite themselves. he feels their nervous anxious energy. he sees them reaching psychotic states of behavior. he hears them speaking with their own mouths the words that if he used them they would accuse him of being rude and uncaring, of attacking them for no reason. so he remains silent. and even in his silence they accuse him of judging them.
    why should he judge them? they judge themselves. and they do so far more harshly than he would ever think of. why is he expected to be different? why was he expected to be so good and do everything right when they got to do whatever the fuck they felt like?
    the war.
    still it amused him.

    as it amused him. as he saw it all around him. the people he loved and hated both. he loved who and what they were. he hated who and what they pretended to be. someone and something better than the rest. layers and layers of facades they put on looking for their dream date groove thing. as they passed him by. too crude and ugly a creature for their refined taste. he saw himself reflected in their eyes before they turned away. as they walked on toward their promised land. as they walked right on through it looking for it to be someplace else.
    as he remained and wondered about what he saw and they did not or what they saw that he did not. how did he and they exist in two different worlds that was the same world? some kind of weird parallel dimensional thing involved or something. where he saw a world of peace they saw a world of war.
    which was which? who was delusional here and who wasn't? and he saw their world of war. he lived in that world where he had to deal with living in it - deal with them living in it. he didn't understand. neither was any more or less real than the other as far as he could tell passing from one to the other. they both were delusions. and as he saw this he wondered even more. if both were delusion then why choose a world that was at war rather than the one at peace? why choose to live in a world where people tore each other to pieces that was now rapidly destroying itself? and nothing more than that. the lights go out and that's it.
    what the fuck?
    he didn't know. he knew he didn't want any part of it. not to rule it or be ruled by it. not to change it and not be changed by it. nada. dada. in and out.
    no more war.
    he was tired of the constant war among them and he'd do anything to get out of it and stay out of it. he didn't care who or what he left behind. and he knew how to get out. as best he could while still being forced to remain in it. the people at war with each other. the people at war with him. and as long as they were at war with him he supposed that he was at war with them. he had to play the part no matter how much he didn't want to. he lived in a world at war. it was the only way they knew how to live. to live or die.
    and he didn't know. maybe this was something all going on in his head. a lot of it was. he sorted through that as best he could. what made him feel attacked. what made him attack in turn. what was worth defending and what wasn't. and he got that down to as minimal as possible without giving it all up like some did. he surrendered. he was held prisoner. he hid in the mountains of his mind. he was many places at many times. and he sat in the cafe and looked out the window. he sat at home and stared at the floor. coffee. cigarettes. pen usually in his hand scribbling words without meaning. watching the world go by. watching the people. watching and waiting.
    and what made sense to him now. and he couldn't explain even if someone asked him. no one asked him. as he saw into it and out of it. as he moved unmoving. as he breathed and his heart beat. as it was nothing and everything.
    as it became what he dreamed it would be. as it opened around him. as he saw himself where he should be - here and now. as he laughed at the joke.
    as he couldn't believe any of it though as much as he tried to keep it away from him with logic and reason taught to him at school about such and such not being real it still was here now around him.
    and still it wasn't. not for anyone else it seemed. not real at all.
    so what was it then?
    he was prepared to accept that this was madness. if it was then he was prepared to drive as many people mad as he could to bring them to the point where the world at war vanishes as though it never was which it wasn't. not before they invented it for themselves.
    sidestep.
    a part to play. find another and another until one found the one part one wanted to be. someone who no longer had a broken heart and who felt no more pain and sorrow. one is useless otherwise. he was useless otherwise. just another wounded victim in a world overpopulated with the same.
    he had gotten what he wanted and no one could take it away from him. fuck the rest of it.
    sit back and laugh at how simple it turned out to be. and yet he still couldn't explain it. it happens, that's all. just stop everything until it happens. stop everything that isn't making it happen. don't settle for less or be bought off with anything less. sit down and refuse to budge. kick and scream. burn down the house. hang up the phone. turn off the tv. throw everything that's not it out the window. turn oneself in. go mad.
    blow it all off. blow everyone off.
    whoosh... zap!
    or something like that. he didn't know. it just kinda happened that way for him. like nothing happening at all. no blinding light. no chorus of angels. just like it was this way all the whole time. which it was. that's why it's so simple. it's everything else that's so goddamn complex. fuck it. lose it. if one has to bang one's head against it one doesn't need it no matter how many prizes it's handing out. ain't nothing behind the curtain except something else that will grab onto to one and not let go until it's dragged one into one's grave.
    oh boy. can't get enough of that. oh no.
    and as one stands aside while the stampede goes by calling itself civilization. looks like nothing to him.
    nevermind.

    and as he slept through it dreaming. and as he was hurt and was angered more than he knew. more than he let on to anyone or himself. as he hurt and angered others more than he knew. and they let him know it in no uncertain terms.
    he had to get out of this.
    and he lay broken and open. he received and transmitted information more than he knew. from somewhere to somewhere. he didn't know. he couldn't explain. he just could only follow what he understood through the background noise. he saw what it was and what it wasn't. and on and on like that.
    there was only the gray fog the world at war was fading and disappearing into.
    people were strange to him now. they spoke in language he did not understand. he no longer understood the meaning of their words. he doubted that he ever did. other meanings came through them.
    the world built from the ruins of the world destroyed by war. always the world. the other world. like some world of the future but that was here and now. to know this world and be able to step into it anytime one wants or needs to. to walk away from the world at war.
    as it is. as it was. as it will be. the world of linear space and time of order and sequence, of cause and effect, of logic and reason. this world set in finite position mapped by fixed points, clocked by fixed moments.
    to move through and around this world. two places at once and anywhere at all.
    to follow currents in and out of it. to lose one's senses. to close one's eyes to one world and open them to another. to a world one has been trying to get to and had though there was no possible way to reach it. and there wasn't. not within the parameters of possibilities defined by the world at war.
    from one to the other.
    sidestep.
 
    the nouns of parking meters suddenly startled him. he blinked. back again. another cigarette.
    and they were there again. those who he knew. no ne else saw them as he didn't see them either. he just imagined seeing them. though there they were. telling him now of planets. and he felt them moving. and they pointed to the sun now behind clouds and he listened to its soft light. objects on his table in random balance. he looked up at the clock and saw it unmoved. a pure quiet between heartbeats at that forever moment where and when a circle begins and ends.
    it never happened.

    and it happens like that a lot. most times. sometimes. they don't know anything about it living in their what they don't see isn't there world we keep them in so they do what we tell them to do and they don't think twice and even if they did they would just think the same thing over again.
    we got them busy pounding their heads against the wall and when they break that one down there's another behind it and another behind that forever until they're dead before they know it.

    and something other than this as it is or is not worked out between us. if one isn't fixing it then quit fucking around with it. one is only in the way of what is going on which one probably doesn't understand.
    free oneself first. how can one possibly help anyone else when one oneself is being held captive in one's own mind? take a look at that before one looks anywhere else.
    we can see the hatred in their eyes while they smile. who do they think they're fooling? take it down. we're tired of their lies about how much they care about our welfare while they set themselves apart from us. we don't need them. die.
    their actions on our behalf are not out of any feeling of compassion. they come to save us not to save us but themselves. brownie points. if at the end of it they don't get what they want they will cut us loose, turn us in, hunt us down if it comes to them or us.
    as it is the same for us. but we don't pretend otherwise. we don't care about them. they are sheep. they are cattle. they exist for our amusement and our amusement only. they can amuse us or they are history.
    we watch them come and go. toy puppets that once are broken are discarded while we find new ones to distract us for as long as they might last.
    they cannot and will not change any of this. this is who and what they are. they just make it worse for themselves when they fight against it - against us. how long they suffer is up to them. what in this world can make them happy? we invite them into our garden and they show up with armies. they do not believe that we are real. but they are the ones who aren't real. what is their reality? a number of short decades of miserable life with one disappointment after another? and then oblivion. if that is all they want then that is all they will get. or they let themselves be led by those who promise eternal paradise tomorrow after they die.
    paradise does exist. that is what we have been trying to show them. and not tomorrow but now today. and not after death but here and living. if they would turn around and look at it. and eternity is eternity. just as it doesn't end, it doesn't begin. it is always here and now. what else does eternity mean? it's all as simple as that. but they will never know. they will never let themselves know.
    forget what one is promised and realize what is. they will rob one of one's soul and make one serve them in their own designs. sit back with us and laugh at their schemes of power and greed.
    and so it goes.
    it's here and now if one wants it. or one can keep going around in circles with the rest of them who think they know something about what's going on. there's always a vacancy. and it's in one's head. in the silent space and time of a moment everlasting between all the crazy thoughts they put in one's head.
    fuck it.
    nevermind all that.
    let the others fight their endless goddamn war that can never be won if that's what they want - if that's all they can see. and if that's all one wants and all one can see then go for it and good fucking luck.
    tear it up. tear it down. we sit here and watch it all rise and fall. it all looks the same to us. seasons passing. variations on a constant theme. amusing at best. and when it becomes too annoying or we become bored we will terminate the program and end the experiment and invent something else.
    and it has almost reached that point of becoming annoying and we are losing interest. oh well.

    as something else occurs. a red pickup parked across the street. it's raining.
    while he amuses his idle devil's playground mind scribbling this and that and the other thing.
    another cigarette later. truth and theory. crap and bullshit. what conclusion drawn? keep it open until all the data is in - all the dada.
    that was the theory anyway.
    what a bunch of crap and bullshit.
    where's the truth?
    what? said someone who had been sleeping. an evil silence weighted down the joyful noise. saturday afternoon on a street with no name. cartoons on tv. bingo kids of tribal dawn. lawn mowers rust. everything is in order now. there remains no need to control it.
    spare the child and spoil the rod.
    space/time baby returning to the earth on a favorable wind cradle and all. another simple time.
    collecting. born among thieves and wolves and all manners of such. world spinning out of his head. an infinite goal.
    and a somewhat other diamond sky as though that means anything. as though anyone was even here. as though it was someone else.
    and the interesting part about this was nothing about it that was interesting.
    how could he remember?
    how could he even dream?
    and he spoke with no one. he waited with the rest. this was life as he knew it. a life. and he could remember. and he could dream. and he could forget. and he could wake up.
    maya.
    he saw himself in this - the play of god and human. he saw what he was shown. what else could he see? what else was given to him to see?
    and he saw nothing. he saw himself existing in nothing but what was his greater mind. a greater mind.
    it was known by many names.
    it was his name.
    this is what he understood.
    and how does he write this down? how does he even think about it?
    this is our being together. anything less than that is not it and cannot be called by that name. dig?
    how simple it is while everything else is very much complex. the complexity of simplicity divided endlessly as it still remains simple.
    and it takes a very long time to come to this sometimes. it took him a very long time and he isn't sure that he's here yet - though he is.
    divide oneself from oneself. as this is done by many ways. as the pain of it is great. as one divides oneself away from the pain and sidesteps into it. and it surrounds oneself. it is oneself without the pain.
    and there is the self who is oneself who goes into the pain who wants to feel it and remember it such that one might be still full of anger and hatred. this is the self who lives in a life of pain. if this is what one wants to be then what can be done? one's fate will not change. one does not want it to change. the pain fuels one's sense of injustice. one does not want the pain removed. one wants to feel it all the more and inflict it on as many others as one can. in the name of god whatever name one's god goes by - even no god.

    another downtime.
    another phase of it.
    it.
    something that comes into it now and then. wind through his hair. he sits among them and notices that no one notices. they're making up games for themselves to play. deadly games for the good of all, or so they thought. he wished them well. he realized that he could do no more than that.  the pain surrounding as dark light they could not rid themselves of that came over them. drowning. no one can save them. not all the power on earth they might command for it is that power that is that pain. one is the right hand and the other is the left.
    how can it be explained to those who are not one of us? those who will not be one of us. we don't know why. why are we who and what we are and they are who and what they are?
    how much time has gone by with this that has been between us? how much distance have we traveled to get here now?
    the state. the state between us to hold us together while we stand apart yelling and screaming at each other across all that divides us and all we touch and all that we are is destroyed by our touch.
    and on and on.

    another dreamtime. as we enter this dreamtime. that is where and when we are. and we laugh as we browse through the books of logic and reason that prove that where and when we are does not exist. not to them. not for them. they would rather live in a cage. we don't care. if that's what does it for them.
    and we slip in and out among them to and from the shadows of things they only see the surface of through other dimensions they do not perceive. moving anywhere anytime.
    it comes to us and/or we come to it in the silence of twilight. the fine line between this and that and the other thing. where and when it is all imagined.
    can anyone imagine that? forget what is or is not real. that argument is for fools. this is something different.
    nevermind.
    it's all just nevermind.

    it begins. it ends. nevermind that part of it. pick it up and put it down where and when one wants. nothing is changed about it. it changes everything. as all things are false as they are true. as all things are not real as they are real. forget both. forget all of it.
    hold onto it and let it go where and when one wants to. nevermind. nothing and everything is changed changing on and on beyond what we could ever describe.
    for each it is different. that changes nothing about it. it is the same. this cannot be argued. any argument about it changes nothing about it.
    signal transmitted. signal received. and those who deny this to themselves. and those who close their eyes. and those who hide inside their minds peeking through the curtains from dark corners.
    we laugh. we sing. we dance.

    and as he was here. and as he has lost himself. we remember him once in awhile. we remember his desire. we remember his fear. he was hiding in a dark corner of his mind. we protect him now. we protect him from himself and himself from him. we protect him from the others and the others from him. we see what they have done to him as we see what he has done to them. we see what he has done to himself and what himself has done to him. we keep them all apart from one another. as we see him alone and crying. as we see him screaming in rage. both are real and not without cause. we are assigned to protect and defend him as we are assigned to protect and defend everyone. but we cannot. we are not allowed to unless we are asked. he has asked us. we are alive in him and as such his survival is our most important task. it is our survival as well.
    he watches and waits where we tell him to. sitting in the garden. sitting in a cafe. we both wait for instructions. inspiration. as it all falls down and apart around us. as we see the others reaching a point of uncontrolled panic. we can see it in their eyes. all that they desire that they cannot have. all that they fear that they cannot get away from. they have not found the path between the two where both are illusions of a dream of good and evil.
    as their war goes on around us and we sit in the middle. as we are now amused by it. as it is projected around us and we are projected into it.
    as it is the mind reaching for the attainment of itself in full understanding. the experience of mystery.
    and this is what he wants. this is what he asks us for. he has given up everything for us. he has given up desiring what he cannot have. he has given up fearing what he cannot get away from. he has surrendered to us and we have taken him in. he belongs to us and no one else.
 
    6/16
    at the point. at the moment. at the intersection where and when it is here now again.
    a horse.
    a forgotten sense forgetting. laughing in the leaves in forests with an eye to it now with broken promises with a spoon with a teacup tempest. dumbfounded grace. heavy light. problems back at the factory. a fix it up slap on the back turn the other way sort of thing. all comes down. it all falls up. a sky denounced. every 24 hours a day happening around the world at once. one of these days now as the day isn't as we thought it was or not. not as simple nor as complex. actually neither of one nor the other. it's just a day. just another same day thing.
    a cow.

    and what happens to it? and as he plays for time with time as it is forgotten by others he remembers. it has no power over him as he has no power over it.

    trying again. more. though he sees this now as being somewhat pointless as so many others see anything close to this as insanity. and perhaps for them it is. for him it's not - or he tries not to think of it that way. it's not easy not to. there are so many external and internal forces at work. and how the external affects the internal and the internal affects the external. and around and around like that. harmony and disharmony affecting and being affected by one another.
    what?
    yes. wait - nevermind. it gets complicated that way. or rather something else.

    stories. fables. metaphorical examples. nothing at all. it's all been tried before without much success. the only thing now seemed to be to override the program. take away their will. they will never learn anything.
    there are those among us who are for that. there are those among us who aren't. he doesn't know. we sit it out and watch and wait. see what happens. we are the outcasts of sorts from our own kind. we meet here together in this space/time we have found on our own together. an island between all worlds. with a garden. with a house. the cafe. someplace or another.
    and as we sit here now and think together of what to write next.
    having a wonderful time. nobody else to bug us about nothing. just watching and waiting.
    some come by now and then. they look in at us. they see whatever it is they see and walk away. maybe they find it for themselves elsewhere. we have no way too much of knowing. we have nothing else to offer them. all our failures by our side. no more do we drag ourselves down to their level of misery and pain.
    he had thought that was where he had belonged - with them and their misery and pain. and he felt and was told that there was something wrong with him that he could not fit in with what they wanted. what exactly they did want other than what he could give them was never made clear either to him nor he felt to them themselves. that they were dissatisfied with the world around them was evident. he saw this and understood it. what he didn't understand was why they remained in it continuing to fight in a war that could not be won. in winning the war one lost oneself. to gain oneself one had to give up and lose the war.
    oh well. he could say nothing to them about this. they would not discuss it. they just told him he was wrong. that was obvious to them. but that wasn't even really the point. that was only another aspect of the war. there was no right or wrong except whatever one brought into it. it lay outside that. they would say this and that were the way things are and could not be changed and would not entertain any talk of anything otherwise. to them thinking about that was insanity.
    so he went insane.
    so they remained in it. he watched them and felt sad. such was their fate, he supposed. they were right. this and that are the way things are and cannot be changed - at least as far as this and that go to. a bread box. outside of this and that lay everything else. more possibilities than one could imagine in a lifetime of imagination.
    his was a lifetime of imagination. he imagined everything. he imagined the possibilities. the comings and goings of things connected into imagination by his imagination. communion. as he imagines us as we imagine him. all between and beyond this and that. between ourselves. between life and death. between existence and oblivion.
    the path between it all. picking up clues as to who had been on that path before and where they had taken it. it goes a different way for each. but for everyone it is the same.
    this has been misunderstood as people have tried to march armies along this path. one can only travel this path alone.
    and dada.
    and insanity.
    and nonsense.
    and whatever and whatnot.
    and all that it takes and all that one must give it in order to get there - here. it demands everything. anything no matter what it is. where and when everything is lost. even one's freedom. even one's life. and it will give one nothing until one has given it everything. unconditional surrender. the place and time where and when it all comes and goes together. here and now. it either is or it is not. he knows it is. he may not know anything else but he knows this as he knows himself.
    and as everything is let go. as it is lost and gained by the same action/non-action. as he stands alone in the middle of it and sees it undivided from itself and he from it. where and when two are one.
    and he sees those around him divided from it and himself. he sees the walls around the garden. the walls of mirrors and images. all that is worshipped. all that is desired. all that is feared.
    the gate through the wall is the realization that there is no wall and never has been nor never will be. then one is able to step through the illusion of the wall. and that gate is open and closed at the same time. osmosis. the eye of the needle thing. naked.
    but one knows this already, right?
    as they are inside/outside banging their pretty heads against the wall that surrounds each of us and keeps us divided and apart. that surrounds what we are trying to get to here and now.
    and on and on around and around him as he saw the others still and always caught in it. he watched and waited for them to finally wear themselves out. to breakdown. to come to the end of it and their divided world at war. to arrive at communion with one another as themselves. common ground that is not a battleground. as each of us fits into the other without need of want.
    as this is what it is.
    as that is what it is.
    and what is this and what is that but it? what else is but it? the whole world and the whole universe is not it. it is it. he was not interested in anything less than the whole of it. he would settle for nothing less than the whole of it. it on the head of a pin. it through the eye of a needle.
    they could have the rest. but the rest was it too. he was having a wonderful time whether they were or not. he was alive in the radiance of being in the center of the garden. he touched everything and everything touched him.
    not one fraction of it was missing - except the part of it that was missing that was still part of it as a whole sort of. it can do that. it can do anything possible and impossible.
    he awoke to this place and time here now and had no recollection of exactly how he had gotten to it. he could not explain. he did not know. but he did understand.
    he is here and now to be seen by any and all as whoever they want to see him as or not see him as being. he claims nothing. he will deny everything. he needs and wants nothing but to be who and what he is here and now. to understand who and what he is here and now.
    he knows nothing. knowledge is a common commodity and is easily purchased and stored up in great vaults and traded on various markets and exchanges for profit. what is that? what does knowledge give them but new and improved ways and means to fight their war against one another?
    understanding is something else. it cannot be bought or sold at any price. nor can it be taken or stolen.
    but that is no longer his concern. he has found his way out of it while remaining to watch the show. he has the best seat in the house.

    and he saw those who were still in it and couldn't seem to get out of it. he could do nothing for them. nothing that would help them. they seemed to want to stay in it. they thrived on it. he did not understand that but accepted it as what it was. it was part of the whole as much as he was. it had nothing to do with him and he had nothing to do with it. he had no power over it and it had no power over him. he moved in balance with it. what was done or not done more or less than that no longer mattered to him and he saw that it never did.

    and what follows not after logic and reason. an unknown location.
    and who knows anything? who understands anything? as even the gods war among themselves bringing it all down to earth. what can take their power over us away when we will not surrender to it? only desire and fear.
    and he stood away from this in another place and time here and now.
    he stood before those who would be his master who wanted who and what he was for their own devices and designs.
    he had no doubt that they could cause him great pain. he was sure that they were more than skillful at that. he was not a very strong person. it would be very easy to break him down and make him obedient to the commands of their will. but what will that give them? another puppet to control. they will remain unchanged from who and what they are now. they will gain nothing.
    they could keep him from entering the garden but that would not mean that they would gain entry themselves. it would still exist apart from them and they apart from it.
    but this he was sure was not the purpose of things though he did not know how or why.
    he did not understand the actions they were taking. he understands their part in context to the whole but not their willingness to do what they do when there is no reward for them except to continue suffering in pain that they try to overcome by gaining power and control. but no power and no control on earth can overcome it. that power and control is the cause of their suffering in pain. he did not understand why they could not realize. but he understood that their not realizing was part of the whole of it as it was and is and will be.
    amen.

    he could not remember what happened after that. he was not sure whether it had happened itself. another part of the dream he was having. another part of himself.
    and the clocks all ticking and humming around the world. time moving steadily toward the moment he was already in. the moment passing by forever.
 
    and he no longer expects anything from anyone. he sees people uncaring motivated by greed and guilt in their thoughts, words and actions. or motivated by revenge. it's all the same thing to him and it being impossible to change in any direction except toward their destruction.

    and he wakes up. another day. he goes his way alone. he was told how useless he is. he was told to stay out of what others are doing or trying to do. it's just another day. a day the same as all the rest of days before and after. he sees nothing new. nothing has changed except on the surface. fashions. one or so inventions once in awhile. big deal.
    and he didn't know what he was writing about anything anymore. dada. he didn't believe in any of it. it was all truth and lies and it was impossible to tell the difference between the two or three.
    this and that and the other thing.
    common sense.
    what is known and not known.
    what is understood and not understood.
    and what is the profit in it.
    the spoils of war.
    that was all he saw around him. that was all they had - spoils of war. the houses they lived in and all that they contained. the money they spent. everyone. everything. everywhere. every time. even himself.
    dada.
    zip lock feedback.
    break it down.
    break it up.

    as he went on with whatever and whatnot. as he didn't fucking care about any of it. as he'd gotten his slice of the pie and got it for practically nothing. only his mind. just half of his life spent banging his head against the wall. and whether he earned it or deserved it or not, he had it and fuck everyone else who didn't. was he supposed to be a saint? was he supposed to be a martyr? why should he be? or even a good soldier for the cause. he was here along with the rest to grab what he could get with as minimal effort it required getting it as long as he could get away with it. and he'd done a pretty good job of that so far. he was rather proud of himself even if no one else thought so. they were just jealous, that's all. they could have it too if they wanted. he wasn't anyone special. he went through regular normal channels - normal for those who were willing to be declared insane. he was more than willing. he was willing to let go.
    he didn't have that much but the main thing he did have was being rid of those who gave him shit for who and what he was dragging him down.
    and so it went like that. and he came to terms with being alone in this world. big deal.

    and something from nothing and nothing from something. which is what? what is which?
    both expressions of the same thing - it.
    or something like that.
    or maybe not that at all.
    who knew?
    not him.
    but he thought about it. maybe he thought about it too much once in awhile sort of. it was not part of their cause and effect world and their cause and effect science and philosophy - even their cause and effect religion. all something was nothing and all nothing was something. in and out. around and around. being two places at once and not being anywhere at all. or something like that. sideways.
    an understanding.
    nevermind.

    and it begins again and ends again. and it continues on through beginnings and endings. he no longer believed in beginnings and endings. he stopped looking for them. instead he looked for continuance. the changing changelessness. limitlessness. no categories. no definitions.
    he was surrounded. he lived behind enemy lines. he was a spy. he was a prisoner. he was everything he could think of and nothing at all. he took it either any way.
 
    cameras. magnified. buttons pushed. nine. marching in and out of time.
    recalling the weave of the dream.
    and what he now saw and didn't see. what comes and goes through it and around it. looking out the window wherever and whenever he was. pick up the thread and follow it. twist and shout.
    nevermind. just look the other way. look out the window. jesus rotting in the tomb. see what one wants to see. a trick done with mirrors. angels on the heads of pins dancing the dance of continuance.
    ignore it long enough and it will go away. just another part of the dream. get out of it. get into it. the armies march to war. don't try to change their minds. they have no minds to change. how many need this to be real? how many attach this to their own sense of existence?
    and how was he to know who was who and what was what? he figured out what made sense to him. that's all it was. no more and no less. and how many have died in these endless wars for him to be able to sit here on his arse and think up dada like this and write about it on and on? how many flags of how many nations have been raised and torn down? how many people have been slaughtered or enslaved? how many lives lived unfulfilled and taken over by circumstances that led them otherwise than what they might have wished?
    he didn't know nor much less cared. wasn't much he could do about it. what? lay down his life for some cause or another? which? why? fuck that. it was his turn now and he was taking it. in his own mind he ruled the world. everything that happened was because of him. all history and all current events and all possible futures led to and from him. he was the center the world revolved around. him sitting in this lonely cafe.
   he believed it, ergo it was true.
   he lit another cigarette.
    and he saw himself suchwise as no different from anyone else. pure self-centered ego hidden behind a pretense of lies. he could be anyone at all. anyone at all could be him.
    or maybe they really are what they appear to be outwardly. maybe he's wrong about them. maybe they can't or don't want to imagine this about themselves. he doubts it though.
    all he knew was about himself.

    he had once bought into it all. he believed that one was supposed to be humble and serve and do unto others and not take more than one needed and all the rest. support the underdog. empathize with the oppressed and dada like that.
    he tried it on. he tried to imitate it. he tried to learn how to act, how to speak, how to think. he took on the guilt of it - of not being unselfish enough, of having desires for himself and not others. he knew he should be doing more. he knew his life should be devoted to his fellow humans of every ilk and kind. he was told this by everyone. that was the path one should take - he should take - should have taken.
    because still the matter remained that he really didn't give a fuck about anyone else. as long as it wasn't him he didn't care what happened to anyone. he didn't really want anything to happen to anyone. he didn't go out of his way to ensure that it happened but he didn't go out of his way to ensure it didn't happen. so what?
    so, nothing.
    and finally he was able to find his way to be free from all these influences as he could be. he just floated in the current of it neverminding the whole business. as long as everyone left him alone. that's all he wanted. that was all he had ever wanted. and he's finally got it. he's nothing but a dream.
    laughing all the while about nothing in particular - just the whole damned thing of it.
 
    we watch him. we watch him watching them. we watch them watching him. no one watches us. we aren't really here. but that's an entirely other matter.
    we watch through his eyes. we listen through his ears. we speak through his mouth. we write through his hand. we fart through his asshole. etc.
    we tell him what to think, say and do.
    he is part of our experiment.
    we want to see what they will think, say and do.
    there are limits to this we realize. there is just so much they will take and what they won't. we can only fuck with them so much. we have others of his kind stationed all over the place around the world where we can get away with it. observation posts. decoys. blinds. some are more active than others. some just sit there like he does. it's all part of the plan even though there is no plan. there's just the theory.
    nevermind.

    and it was this type of memory thing. of his. of ours. remembering disguised as insanity or whatever else other excuse covers for it from time to time in and out of it. as we gaze out the window at all the robots walking by. the business robots. the bum robots. a steady stream of faces passing that come and go. it's hard to tell one from the other. and it seems like we've seen them all before. it doesn't much matter if we have or haven't. it's too much like a dream. it's too much like something else. it's too much like nothing at all.
    and what else are we to see it as? what else is it? who are they more than whatever floats downstream? here today and gone tomorrow. as we remain watching and waiting for any of them to come out of it and move onto something else. something other than playing a character in a play that goes on forever with no purpose other than to amuse us in our idle minded state.
    to be in on it. to be out of it.

    and as he sat in his room. night. a candle. in the next room a few people talking. joking and laughing. he stayed out of it. he always seemed to say or do something that pissed someone off. he never knew what. even after he said or did it they would never tell him. someone would get upset about something about him and it'd bring it all to a dead stop. suddenly nothing was funny anymore. no amends could be made. no explanations given. whatever offense was made was obvious to everyone but an idiot and it was pointless to explain anything to an idiot. one only wasted one's breath. and since he didn't get it he was obviously the idiot. and the idiot must be keep separate from the rest.
    and as he sat in his room. the outside observer beginning at an early age. since birth? and he put together what he observed together into his own logic (irrationalogic) and sense that only those in a similar position would understand. and these were few and far between. the others turn away from it. and these communicated secretly though symbolic code systems within the language that was nearly useless to them otherwise beyond stating that the dog was barking. he slowly discovered and learned this code. he picked up the ideas that were hidden from the others in the things he came across whatever and wherever. and once he saw them they were everywhere. and with them he was guided through his life as nothing else could.
    the dada of it.
    the dream of it.
    and that was how we found him.
    laughing at it all.

    we are inside each and everyone of them - dormant. until certain internal vibrations awaken us. zap. doo-wah-doobie-doobie-doo-dada-ditty-doo. it all come and goes. it's all in a day's work. it's all nothing much at all. it's all gone and passes by. and what it takes and what it doesn't. and general stuff like that. and what we can put up with and what we can't. and so on. and it's not that important. and a lot is more important than it seems. a lot hangs on some very thin threads. and a lot is lost for want of one fine thread that would have been enough. but time is money and this world is over budget as it is and on and on. keep it going. don't stop. don't think. don't question anything. do what one is told to do or not. it doesn't matter. we've got it covered either way one chooses. it changes nothing.
    a blink of an eye open and closed in a moment divided.
    insects.
    and little do we know. and little do we want to know. and little do we need to know. as we move toward understanding. as nothing is what is supposed to be as it happened to not turn out to be.
 
    and in the garden. and in it and out of it at the same time. as it flashes by. as it holds still. as it all happens at once. as it all was a dream. as we awaken without awakening. as it zeros in.
    this is what it is. figure it out from here. gaze into it until one starts laughing. until it cracks wide open and revels itself. and too bad if one doesn't like it. too fucking bad because we get along with it just fine except for all the others bitching about it all the time about nothing and everything.
 
    and what can we tell anyone now?
    he was born from a belly warm ocean out into a world of confusion and noise of people speaking in language he couldn't begin to comprehend what the fuck any of them were trying to communicate except their own similar incomprehension.
    dig?
    at least that's what he got out of it. maybe there was something else, but he doubted it. he gave up trying to figure it out. and when he did that a quietness began taking over his mind. he remembered.
    let us try to tell one. to tell one what one already knows. there are no secrets here. nothing mysterious, forbidden or unreachable. anything is reveled that one wants reveled. one doesn't even have to ask. just listen.
 
    and nothing seems now to be true or not. and nothing seems to be false or not. the moments of possibility open. we decide what's what. what we want to hold onto and what we want to let go of. what's important and what is not. the past is forever gone. the future is forever yet to come. this is true of all moments as one eternal moment. nothing to be forgiven for and no way to find forgiveness. this is the place and the time of the true heart. what we think and feel reveled in who and what we are.
    and a little while more of here and now forever.
    and the cows go, moo.
 
    and something to be filled by it. and what remains true in this forgotten land? and not chiseled in stone but in the flowing river and the tides of the sea. and a day turning into night. and lips parting from a kiss. and the blink of an eye. what is the truth in all this and more?
    a laughable joke of truth.
    a dream of truth.
    a holiday of truth.

    a goat in the forest dancing every which way. alive. cell to cell vibrational ringing chorus.
    laughing and remembering what so many have forgotten.
    and the dead and the death that surrounds us. they just don't get it. it's laid at their feet and they trample it stamping after an image of it forever out of their reach over the hills and far away beyond the horizon.
 
    and he thinks about what remains in the coming and going of it. he thinks about the part of him that remains. the thought of himself that remains. he doesn't know how or why. dream on. dream on dreaming. pieces falling into place. he is here now for some reason he doesn't understand. no one knows him. no one knows themselves.
    this is nothing important. he is no one important. and what if it was? and what if he was?
    and we still try to find a point to begin this with every beginning also an ending.
 
    cracked light. dawn and twilight spectrum. what means what to anyone? what doesn't mean what to anyone?
    he has become silent to himself. he doesn't know what he thinks or feels. he doesn't believe us and what we try to tell him. he wants us to show it to him - to demonstrate it. and we have as much as we are able. we have brought him to this space and time to be with us here and now. that's not enough. he wants to see the power of it. in this he no different than anybody else.
    we tell him that his time may still yet come. he wants it now. he thinks he is ready for it. he is not. he will only use it for his personal revenge. he is still angry at what has been done to him. he is still full of hatred for the others he feels are fools and cruel idiots.
    it's not that easy. he has to learn yet the true nature of good and evil. it's not black and white. and one will never achieve power over the other. if that were the case it would be impossible for anything to exist. symmetry. balance. that is the real nature of power we are attempting to show him.
    watching and waiting. the moment. an opening. a place and time. to be the straw that breaks the camel's back light as a feather. to be the grain of sand that balances the scale.
 
    and what of this world? what of it is and what of it is not? to see the horror of it. to see the pain and suffering. to see it as a reflection of oneself and each time one acts upon it the reflection becomes more distorted. fluid. the surface of a pond. watch and wait for it to smooth out before one might judge what one is perceiving in it and what one is not. the action of non-action. if one does not understand this then what does one understand? this is the beginning and the ending.
    and everyone keeps trying to change it to the way they want it. they feel they are trying to fix it. and fighting over what it should look like. that is what this world is for to realize our dreams.
    it changes and is changeless. the waves and the ripples interacting in a myriad of unpredictable ways. they are not under anyone's control. even those who feel they control the world around them are helpless before it.
    most are confused and frightened by the possibilities. they throw great stones into the pond to make a big splash and want the whole surface to be one unified pattern of their making. but this is always temporary. it all comes and goes.
    we sit and watch and wait putting together what images of ourselves we can from the moving waves knowing they are both true and false. and dada like that.

    and he thinks to himself about how pointless this is. he knows nothing more than anyone else and more than likely far less. he looks out the window where he's sitting at the cafe. he lights another cigarette.
    he is angry at us. lots of people are angry at us. it's nothing new. they all want us to do for them what they are capable of doing for themselves. they want us to settle everything for them. of course everyone wants it settled a different way to their own advantage. what else is new? no matter what names they call us by that is what they all want offering various sacrifices, performing rituals, building temples and on and on. how do we decide?
    it's all very amusing but does nothing for them besides getting them all stoked up and fighting wars against one another with each claiming we're on their side - which we are and are not. we offer them peace but none of them will accept peace unless it entails the total destruction of their enemies.
    does anyone understand this? can we possibly explain more than we have? what else does anyone want?
    and there are those of them who want to do away with us altogether which is sort of what we have been trying to get them to do all along. but they still manage to think up ideas to replace us with that they still continue to fight about.
    oh well.
    oh boy.
    ho-hum.
    and nevermind. maybe we should leave it alone. maybe we should leave them to their own devices. there are those among us who are of this opinion. let them all fend for themselves in whatever way they can manage.

    the day in the life of a telephone. spare change and standing guard. the pillars of the state. and school children walking by in the rain. colors flashing. bright voices.
    and from time to time. experience unnoticed. it's all here now. everything we need or might want or may dream of imagining wild imaginations.
    and the war goes on.
    we are watching and waiting. everything everywhere turning around. and all he wants to do is sit and sleep under this here tree in the garden. all this noise going on about this and that and the other thing.

    locked in.
    and there's this guy who's just this guy who we should know by now who comes downtown in the morning or maybe afternoon and sits at a table in this cafe usually by a window and orders coffee and takes out a notebook and pen and cigarettes. he's all set.
    and he'll spend most of the day here and sometimes into the night writing in his notebook and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and staring out the window and talking with and/or listening to people who sit with him once in awhile.
    that's pretty much it or what it pretty much seems to be. that's what anyone would see and expect. a very ordinary routine.
    sometimes someone will ask him what he's writing. he'll usually tell them, bullshit. he used to try to explain. they really weren't all that interested in any sort of explanation. it wasn't that simple.
    and so he kept writing about what he was trying to write about. something simple that others would be able to follow. but he kept getting caught up in how it wasn't that simple. how even trying to keep it simple just made it that much more complex. this was a very hard thing to explain and to keep that explanation simple.
    but he thought that maybe he underestimated them. they seemed to be fairly intelligent. they did all sorts of things he didn't understand anyway. was that intelligence? he didn't know. maybe none of it needed to be kept simple. but this wasn't really about intelligence or what intelligence could comprehend and understand or not. it was about imagination. and he saw few who seemed to have very much imagination of those around him. and one needed imagination to comprehend and understand what he was writing about regardless of one's intelligence.
    it was like water.
    locked out.
    and he'd been pretty much writing like this about whatever about that and other related things every which way he could think of that always seemed to turn out the same blah blah blah dada-doo-doo-ditty.
    keep it simple.
    yeah, right.
    this was how we found him scribbling madly away in some cafe or another like nobody's business. he was a mess. he'd driven himself half way crazy trying to figure this all out. so we gave him a little push and sent him all the way crazy.
    an abyss. a nothingness oblivion everywhere nowhere. where and when there was no where or when. the void that god resides in having gone mad itself.
    the point between all points. the point that is pointless. the point that doesn't exist. in the moment everlasting in no time.
    a dream that went on for a thousand lifetimes.
    and waking in the garden.
    and walking in the garden.
    and then he laughed.
    and then we laughed.
    and what was it all then?
    and what was it all now?
    an attraction of coincidences.
    an old art and craft.
    a new song and dance.
    a something or the other.
    a dream within a dream within a dream.
    mirrors within mirrors within mirrors.
    all around and around and around.
    and so that went like that.
    and so that goes like this.
    simple.
 
    and so anyway as it goes and he was always turning himself inside out and backwards trying to figure it all out from where it started from to where it all was going and where and where it was here and now and dada like that and then some.
    and he didn't believe any of this. he thought he was just making it all up as he went along just as he imagined god was making it all up as it went along. pretending it was real. he'd done this most all of his sweet short life.
    and so maybe that's all this is. he can't tell. how does one tell? how does one measure what is real or not when reality itself might just be a dream?
    crude symbols.
    clever designs.
    the machine.
 
    and he has nothing much more to say to anyone. he has found the limits of their disinterest and seeming incomprehension or maybe just their unwillingness.
    and with no language to speak of such things anyway.
    to invent his own and develop his own understanding through it. a language of imagination. scribbling and babbling nonsense with no preset meaning.
    there is no translation. one either knows what's what or not. it's never the same way twice.
    we think he's nuts ourselves.
    oh well. it comes and goes. everybody's gotta fuck everything up thinking they know what they're doing.
    we keep trying to tell him to leave it. let it go. sit down and relax. enjoy the view of this worldwide destruction they seem to be set upon. but he won't. he gets himself all worked up into some passionate frenzy thing about something or another that's really totally irrelevant and forgetting that everything is being taken care of about this and that and the other thing already.
    don't sweat it.
    he doesn't trust us. he doesn't believe us or believe in us. he falls back into listening to what the others say about us. that we aren't anything at all or if we are that we aren't to be fucked with without extensive knowledge and experience with ritual ceremony. which is true for most people. we don't want to be bothered with just anyone who happens along wandering about where and when we are like it was some goddamn amusement park. they can get their licks and kicks elsewhere.
    we are the most annoyed by the ones who feel that if they kiss up to us that we will be obliged to give them whatever they want. and there are those of us who will. for a price. at the cost of their very souls. the fools think it's a game and they can win it if they play it right. they think they are manipulating us while we are the ones manipulating them.
    or not.
    but that's all on the surface too. the surface beneath the immediate surface but it's easy to get to with a bit of studying and research or some imagination or both. and it's all words. layers and layers of words. more words than one could read in a lifetime. more words than lots of people could read in a lifetime. schools of people from one generation to another occupied with words and words and words. it gives them something to do. it keeps them busy and out of our hair. let them discover the mysteries in ancient tomes and bring them to light. let them feel that they're on to something important. another piece of the puzzle of the ages.
    and something of magick goats or a spin around the block a few times or two or three or an infinite number of monkeys at a certain point on the tip of one's nose.
    and we still remain to haunt them in their dream of a carefree paradise they may conjure and spin about themselves riding on a pony down the streets of the city of confusion that has existed since time was recorded where the music's over and the lights go out and everyone is a long way from home and there are no rules except those one has to fight for.
    but that's another place and time. not here and now where and when we are strolling in a garden of earthly delights in the midst of everything that is real around us that is no more to us than yesterday's illusions guided by no more than our imagination of the moment understanding what is impossible to know.
    a thread through the labyrinth. kill the beast and bring back its head as though wearing a hat.
    laughing all the way.

    and the worst of it for most of them seems to be the boredom. he doesn't understand. he does not know this boredom except when the others complain about it. when they whine and fidget. yet what else are they looking for he cannot imagine as they complain about everything else too.
    he is never bored.
    time is just time.
    how do they keep living when their lives are so miserable and the world is so set against them and all they experience is pain and suffering and this boredom? why don't they just die then? we wouldn't mind.
 
    we have come here to this world to observe what they have created out of what they have been given. to see what they have done with it. and we hear those who curse the gods for what they have brought upon themselves. they say the gods created them to suffer when it is that the gods created them to live. suffering is one option among many others. it was their will that created it. it is their will that continues it. it is their will that can end it.
    they know the pain they each feel themselves but yet they do not hesitate to inflict it upon each other. what will bring a stop to this but their destruction? end the program. stop the experiment.
    and why do we worry about them? these are the lives they have chosen.
    but we do worry about them. we see them destroying themselves forever without knowing who and what they are. without knowing what shines through them that gives them life and is more than the lives they lead. they turn away from it afraid and ashamed. and they seek perfection in what will never be perfect but will always cause them pain.
    we have come here through him and others of his kind. we have taken them away from what they thought was real and comforted them. we burned through it like the sun through the morning mist. we have returned them home to the world without war - to the garden.
    they had trouble at first believing that this had actually happened to them. they found it hard disconnecting from the illusion of lies those of this world told them was truth and reality. once they realized this they all wanted to go back and hurt or even kill those they felt were responsible for their suffering and imprisonment. we had to show them that these were just as ignorant of the effect of their actions as they had been. no one looked beyond themselves or their own needs and desires. they were not capable of seeing the world around them in any other way than it appeared to them on the surface.
    we knew of no way of changing their minds. nothing seemed to have an effect on their consciousness. there was nothing to do but to allow them their own destruction. we were only able to help those who wanted to escape and were willing to do what needed to be done in order to do so.
    few were. to most doing what needed to be done seemed to mean going insane. and it did, sort of. a radical change of consciousness from one way of perceiving the world to another. the mind shift/ship. and these joined our ranks and helped maintain the system and the machine that we hoped would bring the others around to the point where and when they would be able to function without causing others so much pain and suffering though we all have our doubts about this ever happening before they destroy themselves in their final war to end all wars.
    we do not understand why none of them seem to want to explore and experience the wonders of their minds and where and when it can take them from this if they just open themselves to it. but they fear it. they've been told of the great dangers and horrors that exist in it. and there are for those who enter into it without letting go of themselves. what desires and fears they bring along into it will be magnified once the limits and barriers are taken away and they will consume those who cannot overcome them.
    there is a hell and both desire and fear lead to it. those who cannot unchain themselves from them will be dragged into it by them. for there is no difference between pleasure and pain nor good and evil nor any of the other black and white dualities they have created their world out of. these will be their destruction.
    does any of this give them what they want? do they ever stop to think about it or why not? do they ever stop to think about what they already have in the here and now rather than being caught up in promises about some future day tomorrow? how long are they going to keep fucking themselves believing that it is someone else who is doing it to them?
    but no one will believe this. they always look for someone else to blame. the powers that be and so on.
    well, please allow us to introduce ourselves...
    or something like that.

    the reich that has lasted for more thousands of years than anyone remembers. it ain't going nowhere. it's been dismantled and set up again under a new name and management someplace else over and over whenever needed. crack the whip. don't let anyone get too comfortable because we aren't there yet until we arrive here now. we are watching and waiting for the others to catch up and snap out of their sleepwalk zombie daze and realize it's been here and now the whole time. duh. in their heads. in their minds. mind to mind. when the mind stops fighting with itself over everything. one mind undivided.
    the transmission is strong and clear. it's one's mind that is causing the bad reception. kick it a few times until it comes in better. or throw it out the window and get a new one.
    check it out.
    turn it on.
    tune it in.
    drop on by and say hello.
    but if one hasn't got the news by now one can at least stop causing trouble for those who have. we don't care whose side one is on. if one is on any side then one is not one of us. one is history and will be forgotten as we move on.
    the countdown is on.
    the worldwide network hyper-dimensional drive system machine kicks in at a push of a button labeled doomsday. they get what they paid for as they vaporize in the fires of oblivion they bring on themselves as we move around it and through it and under it and above it. as we disappear and appear in a moment divided here and now.
    their world going ape shit berserk around us as we gaze out the window at the madness of those who now see this as their last chance to grab all they can get their hands on. all they have hungered for. all they have been made to hunger for by those who kept them on starvation rations. those who were themselves. now all dust and ashes.
    we are untouched mind to mind. we watch all of them drag themselves down in the death throes of their kind now that their usefulness is no longer needed and they join the extinct. and we build our world out of the ruins.

    all in a nevermind thing. nada. doo-wah-ditty-ditty-dada-doo. dreaming and small change. around it again. as he saw fit. as he couldn't tell one side from the other and didn't much too much care much about it much.
    he decided to smoke another cigarette and take a bath. eat some oreos first.
    this goes on and on.
    the less he had to think about it the better because he hated thinking about anything because he was too involved thinking about everything and feeling everything he thought about.
    and what was it now?
    as the less he thought the more he felt and the less he felt the more he thought.
    and it all came to himself speaking with himself.
    he found himself speaking nothing. the silence of anger. the anger he felt he should not feel. just his misunderstanding. and when he saw this world around him surrounded with confusion and the layers of all manners of laws that tried to confine and control it but just made matters worse.
    and this shouldn't matter to him as he eased in out of this space and time and followed himself to another here and now where and when he was alone by himself and all he could imagine otherwise.
    this is what he found away from the others who were so displeasing and him displeasing to them.
    now everyone was happy.
    him and his island. them and their war.
    he no longer wanted a part in with anything else. if one might see him this is where and when he is. he does not speak with anyone anymore except to say hello blah blah blah good-bye.
    he sees nothing but war in their world raging all around him.
    he looks at his hand and he is amazed. awestruck. it moves. he moves it. somehow. he opens a door and wonders how such a thing is possible. the door. him. open. through. hand.

    spasmodic delay system.
    something else was part of it. it was easy.
    taste.
    the present tense of pragmatic anarchy. no abstraction allowed. logical revolutionists. their grim young determined faces proclaiming the neo-dogma of the coming age. and a gun. always the gun. nothing gets done without a gun. law. marching. always marching. nothing gets done without marching. armies following leaders lost in the wilderness of themselves. and a general sense of justice prevailing wind.
    and when he's not laughing he cries to see those around him. to have nothing to give them. to watch and wait for them to return from the war they feel they need to fight to survive. this is the loneliness he feels in this world. and he goes back to the beginning of it away from their divided madness back into the integration of events.
    one needs to be insane to see the resolution to their madness.
 
    to survive the death throes of those who have given up on life and are intent on destroying the world or as much of it as they can. leaving our world that is returned to us who are to inherit it. we who obey ourselves in understanding without knowing.
    turning it around.
    roller-skates. empty bottles of wine. scattering and now unmoving and collecting dust and leaves and seeds blowing by.
    and jesus ends up here. he walks into this cafe we've been in before downtown. old town. expensive restaurants and bums sprawled on sidewalks and pissing in doorways. the prophets of the insane proclaiming obscure observations of reality skewed sideways from ordinary recognition unless one listens closely. people hurry by watching their watches. another meeting to get to. decisions of indecision need to be made. the roll of the dice god plays with. and the dealers selling household products to those desperate enough to be on the scene where the beatniks have struck it rich and snap their fingers in back rooms. weird, man, weird. too much. another tango in paris. and it's only a movie anyway. it's close enough.
    so there's jesus here. or a close enough approximation. some guy with hair and a beard. he's only gotta fake it. not even that. all he has to do is sit at this table and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. he's the star.
    and this jesus guy makes the whole thing up in his head. that's what he's paid to do. he looks around him and laughs to himself. the people at the other tables appear nervous. they avoid looking at him. perhaps he is as mad as he looks. this wasn't exactly what they were expecting.
    and he sits in the center of a halo of ever radiant blinding light. he knows this light. it was the light of existence. it was the light that was the sea the heart and the mind sailed on. waves of feeling and currents of thought while the wind blew through his hair.
    he looked around him and saw those sailing on this sea with him.
    a tribe of tribes in the wilderness dancing around the fire. he felt them around him as he felt himself burning alive every particle of his body vibrating in a synergy of vibrations singing and extending past any and all limits of the walls set in place about him.
    he saw that it didn't matter who he was or where he was but that he was here now. he understood himself in this time of the moment undivided from eternity.
    he looked into the mirrors and saw no reflection. he could be anyone anywhere anytime. he could be as many as he wanted and he didn't have to be anyone. he was the one now pushing the buttons. he was the one stocking the shelves. he was the one now approving the loans. he was the one changing the tire. he was the one loading the trucks. he was the one who was doing now all that needed to be done to destroy the world of war once and for all. and he would do this by turning the whole thing in on itself. he was the one leading the armies in opposition. it didn't matter which side they were on or represented. at the end of it there would be no sides.
    he just watched and waited. he did not even have to be here except here he was.
    he lights another cigarette.

    and they laughed. and they prided themselves about all they knew about this and that. he was with them and understood who and what they were. he knew what parts they each played.
    he came back to check it out making sure what he'd set up with the machine was working out ok. it seemed to be. no one seemed to notice. they just went on with their lives par norm. didn't look to the left or the right but followed exactly what they were programed to do even and especially those who felt they weren't following a program who thought they were thinking for themselves of their own free will.
    and he saw that he had to do nothing more. just watch and wait.
    and we watch and wait with him. we don't get that no one else can see it and realize what it is. we have tried to speak and find that we are mute. we are only here watching and waiting.
    he writes this down what probably no one will read. it's been a long time of doing that. and he tries to find some sort of fulfillment here where there is none. everything is lies. no one is as they appear to be. he's learned to keep apart from it and not to mess with anything they are doing. he doesn't know what they are doing. he doesn't know what they want out of this. power and control. they try to gain power and control over others and resist the power and control others have over them. and around it goes from there. instead of stepping out of it and refusing to play anymore.
    oh well.
    and they seem to be aware of this. they speak of the futility of their lives. yet they continue it. they continue wanting what they know they won't get out of it. they seem to exist and thrive on frustration.
    and we can do nothing. but we have seen what it is like without all this. we have seen purpose. we have seen the operation of what works beyond all that does not work. it depends on what it is intended to work for. it depends on which direction one wants to go. it's all in the mind. but most people have little or no idea of what is in their minds or what their minds are. it's not that easy to find out. our minds surround us everywhere. there is nothing that is not mind.
    but try to explain that to them. they are convinced it is not true and they know it for a fact that it is not true.
    imagination. it's all imagination. people look for and hold onto reality when it's all imagination.
    maybe.
    maybe not.

    and it was all in his face. and he found it difficult to distinguish one thing from another. he maintained as simple a life as he could in such times as these. yet it put him in a position that was wholly dependent on the very system that was against him and his kind. this was just one more thing that amused him at this point. he hid himself in the belly of the beast itself. there were no more secrets. anything anyone wanted to know about him was readily on file to anyone who bothered. but he knew that that information wouldn't tell them anything. just another loonie on the path. just another number in the data banks. just another face in the crowd. he had surrendered and was therefore considered harmless. perhaps it would be decided at some future date that he was excess weight and had to be jettisoned. but that was a ways off and he had other plans to deal with that if and when it came. there was a lot of things that came into play by then. this was a war being fought on many fronts. most of them being undetectable to the common ordinary point of view. nothing was as it seemed.
    he had scanned around through it and so far as he could tell no one had caught onto it. not as a whole connected together. some had put pieces of it together here and there. and they seemed satisfied with that which was good because they usually didn't look any further into it than that. the hidden behind the hidden. let them uncover some basically irrelevant secret knowledge and they were happy as clams.
    and this was still maybe only something he imagined. he couldn't quite put his finger on any of it no matter how clearly he saw it. and he found it difficult to tell one thing from another. it was either insanity or enlightenment. it could be either - or both - or neither.
    as this approached him it became more and more the way how he perceived the world. the insanity aspect of it frightened him as the gulf between himself and others became increasingly wider and deeper and less and less could be communicated between the two in either direction. he felt abandoned and isolated. but the enlightenment aspect intrigued him enough to keep him going further into it despite those he was forced to leave behind as he reached another shore. the shore of the island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea. a sea of madness.
    that was what it was either way it was. that was how it was described as that is how it seemed to him to be. that was his experience of it. how real or not real it was hardly mattered to him anymore. he had had it with reality. his imagination was all that was real to him anymore. apart from those of the rigid rationalogical bent who defined reality in exact and exacting terms and refused to step over the lines and borders they drew around themselves. they could not see what was right in front of them that they hadn't put a label on to define as this and not that or that and not this. ho-hum.
    but this was nothing to him. if anything he was glad of it. the more people who locked themselves up in cages of definitions the more he had room to move among them without them getting in his way. once he overcame his fear of not having a nice strong comfortable cage around him he had the constant wonder of it all to himself. undefined. indistinguishable. unexplainable.
    one is either here or not. that is the only definition of it. and he could look around him and tell at a glance those who were and those who weren't. and those who were were few and far between. once in a lifetime. connected in a moment that has no beginning and no end no matter what the clocks on the wall might define.
    lose it. lose it all. stop. step out of it and sit oneself down beneath a tree in a garden in the center of it all. not as a beginning or an end. there are no straight lines here. no way to get here from there because here is all there is. and now is the only time that ever was or will be.
    laugh at the joke.

    forget and remember it all at once.
    forget and remember who and what one is or is not.
    or nevermind.
    slip away into the nevermind with the rest of it that is cast aside.
    or something like that.
 
    as he tries to remember anything about how any of this happened or if any of it did happen as he remembered it. so many pieces of it scattered about the scene of the crime. and those who would swear what is truth or not standing around arguing with one another. drawing weapons of language to blow the other away.
    listening to songs. listening to words of songs. songs that sung to him outside of the way things appeared to be. someone else saw this confusion of madness that surrounds us too. but it's easy to come up with words. but those words don't come out of nowhere. maybe. somewhere. sometime. or is it that we keep dreaming up out our desperation with how things really are? wishing. but how are things really are?
    there were others who would try to convince him that it was this way or that way each swearing with their lives that it was the way they saw it. none offer any more plausible hope more than the others. just an endless struggle of ifs and maybes. and he dances through it as best he can trying to dodge what comes at him and staying on his feet.
    remembering all that never was. an infinite possibility opening everywhere from now except that which we put limits on as we are told by those claiming to be in the know about what is and what is not. those of all the denominations we so easily follow thinking we know nothing compared to them.
    let those around one be confused. do not be taken in by it as they are unless that is what one wishes. unless that is all one wants this to turn out to be. unless that is all one wants out of it. unless that is all one wants to see.
    because.
    because of it all.
    the gates are open.

    yeah.
    imagine one's way out of it and into it. as we can tell one nothing more than it is here. it is now. we are here and now and one is here and now with us once one changes one's point of perspective and looks at it from the other side of how one has been misled into perceiving it. a trick done with mirrors to trap one inside another's dream of this and that. turn it around.
    and all symbolic trash like that. it's not as complicated as it might seem. only as complicated as one makes it. then it all becomes so much nonsense and dada. but see what it points to and refers to weaving and giving form to the formless and giving reality to imagination.
    here and now.
    it is oneself who chooses the answers to the questions one asks. who else is there? unless one follows those with self-proclaimed authority. and where are they? soft voiced liars and deceivers. all the promises of tomorrow.
    step into this moment never beginning and never ending. this moment of now.
    try it.
    imagine oneself in it.
    dada.
    nevermind.

    and he sits by a window in the cafe. another refill. another cigarette. more words scribbled into another notebook. as he imagines everything. as he understands everything. as he knows nothing.
    the broken clocks.
    the post-apocalyptic happy hour. the same in/out thing. shelter from the storm. and when we move, we move.
    crazy crazy bananas.