upon the arrival of dust from the ashes upon departure of all that is holy we cross over from ourselves to ourselves as we exit our sense of sin and salvation.
    this occurs on all levels. this occurs in every direction. this occurs in minute detail. this occurs all the time at once. this occurs without any proof besides our knowing. this occurs without our knowing as we look for proof so that we might know it.
    know it or do not know it. it does not change either way. it does not need any confirmation of itself other than itself.
    upon the the arrival of the loud silence. upon the departure of light and dark. we cross over from this world to that world. we exit out of sense of god and human.
    as the winds howl. as every bone tingles and we shiver for a moment we are suspended exactly before our fate.
    idealized structure broken and fixed in a dream.
    now. now. now.

    as it evolves through forms and shapes. as something more direct is developing. as he is sitting here on the first day of the fool. as we are scheming. rats. ugly and quick. many and many more. as he is trying to remember all that needs to be done yet. our scheming is moving beyond our expectations. we weren't even expecting to be here. we were expecting that we would have been discovered by now. that those opposed to us would have eliminated us by now.

    it repeats inside itself just a bit out of synch. zip-zing-zap!
 
    a pole of dynamic steel. a hard core. justice. death.
    a pole of dynamic wheel. a hard chore. forgiveness. living.
    either/or nor neither.
    an easy soft comfortable machine moving among us who are here who serve the machine on all levels. a machine of oblivion.
    the pillow of ultimate forgetting of existence - sweet oblivion.
    twing/twang/thud/thunk/twit.
    sit.
    it.
    here he sits with it. he writes this and that and the other thing of whatever appeases me, myself and i and my little dog too.

    what shall we wave, our dear one beloved?
    what shall we sing of?
    a brilliant dark cloud ascends down below us inside outside here and now as we are writing.
    a worm of complex simple instructions to interpret for oneself (ourselves).
    one (we) observes and interacts with this obscure reality around one (us) one (we) is a part of.
    squishy/squashy.
    muck on the kitchen floor.
    oh my!
    what horror.
    scold and clean.
    fix it.
    damage.
    filth.
    disgusting little monster.

    on/off/on...etc.
    finite/infinte.
    yes/no/maybe.
    because.
    why not?
    why?

    zero non-point non-existence existing not existing anywhere anytime even where/when it exists.
    it always comes into it eventually whatever it is at whatever moment.
 
    a breaking occurs. a breaking shattering spilling running walking sitting here watching and waiting.
    for someone.
    ever in our heart mind soul thing as no other could discover the means thereof. a few came to the gates to rattle them loose but heavy chains did bear them and not let them in. those of this we wanted to know us but they could not stand up to what this knowing of us let them know about themselves.
    no other but one who does naught exist but might or could - who knows?
    twist turning twistywise twirling twat twiddling widdling wound wounding itself twice or three.
    42.
 
    one clue of many to arrive down paths of many paths to our solemn vow. the missing path that one follows that once one chooses may not choose again nor alter any form of it but by following unless until one chooses another. to be in consciousness is half of it. the other half is this which is becoming of that becoming this. it dividing itself forever never to be it again except as each part is it as it will never be.
    zippo/zappo.
    zippy/zappy.
    slippery/slappery.
    fuck/fight.
    us/them.

    reaming sunlight.
    creaming moon.
    as days and nights we turn though turning around and around with just so variation except during emergency corrections to the balance to make it all worthwhile except when one fails to see it and one falls into despair. death follows this one closely. this one afraid to desire desiring to be afraid. and around and around it goes. where it stops no one knows.
    spiraling off the graph.
    unmeasurable.
    why not happiness?
    why not restless contending hop on pop popping puddles?
    why not why?
    why?
    because a moment changes everything everywhere each moment of the moment of moments crawling as a spider over its web.

    a master clock and its master plan. time, the mind of the universe. the experience of itself experiencing.
    discovery.
    invention.
    a plan of planning.
    and when all plans go awry. when we are left to devices to amuse ourselves devising. a helpless power. a mixing matching at once forever. the thrill of just being.
 
    and a spoon is a spoon.

    deadlock checkmate.
    action/reaction thing.
    this/that.

    an ignorantly wise and wicked benevolence unknowingly perpetuates itself among the mortal masses. it walks as common among all as any. yet it radiates clear signals to the receptive minded. to be filled with one's own emptiness. take it back, they scream.
    the horror of it. the uncontained horror of it. they are stunned by it back into themselves. yawning.
    a moment remaining moving contracting expanding toward infinity.
 
    and he with sparkling circuit mind pushing beyond limits of design and purpose. he is transfixed and transported transforming himself suchwise from another to another to another until he is free and uncertain what to expect next. he dances with himself dancing around himself. he has forgotten anything other than what this was like.
    and he sits in a cafe and once in awhile stops to light another cigarette trying to imagine remembering himself as he was just a moment ago.

    4/6
    beyond a sense of shattering.
    beyond knowing what and how many pieces it might have fallen into.
    nothing can be destroyed.
    there is no annihilation.
    there is no oblivion.
    there is naught that those who seek such but a fantasy and illusion of it.
    there is it and it always.
    the experience beyond the experience.
    and the wallpaper moves and sent shivers through him.
    the mind beyond the mind.
    what else can be so simple as that?
    why complicate it?
 
    4/7
    an open spin. a straight line. a curved angle. he licked his lips and thought about it. a door. a hat. a blue sky. a decline. he couldn't quite think about what it was much. turning. it was different.
    the dancing land.
    a common ordinary accident of some twisted fate that put him into this place and time.
    the machine takes up the rest.
    the holy machine of unholy design.
    forbidden.
    black box thing.
    so he yawned. he'd been up most of the night reworking out details. he had to make sure nothing gave anything away. it was a trick that had to work right the first time because there wouldn't be another. they would be frightened away. they would know it was a trap.
    there were of course back up plans. but none so subtle as the machine.

    4/8
    the cracked pot. the defective thing. the thing thrown away.
    the bad boy. the defective thing. the thing thrown away.
    he gave these thoughts over to the machine. the machine would know what to do with them. the machine had the perfect mind. the machine could read hidden meanings in words. words like the tips of icebergs.
 
    4/15
    the machine spoke to him. the machine told him everything. the machine told him nothing. the machine told him anything. the machine told him something.
    it was like that.
    so he sat in this cafe. he listens to the machine. the experience of it. the feeling and the thought of the experience.
    it is a pointless point of pointlessness. it's just dada. we can never know what it is. we may feel it is this. we may think it is that. it will always be something else.
    measuring the measureless.
    and the doubt of it all. who has not experienced this doubt? doubt of meaning. doubt of purpose. doubt of one's doubt which is the hardest thing to doubt.

    the dragged out thing of it. the endless monotonous frustration against nothing. the shades of gray. mumbled conversations of weary travelers through lands of waste. the ruin of what never was. the hunger of the starved. the mechanical heart. the mind that is just a series of recorded messages of thoughts long lost but that replay over and over at intervals in various random combinations one has memorized otherwise one would have nothing to say.
    an ache. dull. stupid. an annoyance. one would prefer agony. agony would be a challenge at least.
    we each enter into it. we each must face the mundane purposelessness or whatnot like that. where and when any dreams one might have had once fade away into the general fog of dreams.
    and as one finally comes to realize any hope one might still hold onto at this point is a joke. one can hear the laughter of those who play at being gods. and one decides to join them even if doing so might be madness. one disregards this madness as one embraces it. one decides to find joy in it no matter what one may otherwise find in it. joy with no reason other than the forgetting of fear and desire. joy in the midst of what used to cause one such despair. one used to scream and beg for mercy. there is no mercy here. hear the crying out of those who have fallen to their knees beneath a cold sky. find oneself laughing at the joke of hopelessness.
    when one has no more and no less. when one does not even have oneself. when one has been occupied and taken over by strangeness. when one can no longer speak.
    when this time comes and one has reached this place of no return where all is no more and perhaps never was nor will be. when there is nothing missing but regret. there is remembering. there is an opening one least expected. it is where it always was. one ends where one begins. one crawls that much further toward it and suddenly what was always unreachable one no longer needs to reach anymore. one is one needing nothing.
 
    4/17
    and a further thought arising out of the sea of thought. as he lifted up his head. as he lifted his head up. as he gazed over all that was and saw clearly all that is as he looked into what will be.
    and he was evil. they told him not to lift up anything. he was told especially not to lift his head.
    so he lowered his head as he lifted his fist.
    and he thought about death. and he thought about killing. he thought about feeling outcast and disconnected. he thought about those who treated him like he was some kind of threat. he thought about ways he might actually become a threat. he thought about how he didn't want it to be that way. he thought about how he hadn't been given a choice.
    he was the sacrifice for the general good. the scapegoat to take away their fear. he didn't understand this fear though he understood fear. they had taught it to him. they had made him afraid. they taught him to fear himself as they did.
 
    something like the hell described by others who live in it. he looks at it again. the endless circles turning from one another and back again.
    he is silent. others laugh. others talk and talk on and on about whatever spills out of their heads.
    he sits and writes and writes on and on about whatever spills out of his head.
    he laughs.
    he will not always be silent.
    off with their heads, he will shout. let them be ruled by their hearts. let them be confused no more by their wild and uncontrolled thoughts screaming contradictions. let them fly free in the sky of unbound emotion no longer dominated by the despair of frustration. shake them out of their cages. set them free whether they like it or not.
    and this all occurs to him now and then as he scribbles his mind out. it comes to him in progressive waves. waves of his madness.
    between the lines. treading on thin ice. walking the streets of babylon between the criminals and the police. late at night - and the innocent bystander.
    he lets go of part of it. he lets go of part of himself that may not have been himself as whenever he does this he feels more whole.
    but these are words. these are silly words that mean essentially nothing.
    he starts it again though it has no beginning or ending and not knowing what it is he is starting again.
    meanwhile he wakes up again. cut and run. is he kidding himself deeper and deeper?