and in listening to the songs that sing of our love.
    and to wonder why we ignore this - laugh at it and cast it aside.
    love is all we need.
    love is all we want.
    love is what we fight our endless wars for.
    love is what we try to buy with what we steal from others.
    love is very simple yet we bury it beneath mountains of complexity.
    and it only remains as a vague dream sung by poets alone in the night.
    and even then it is often confused with desire and greed.
    our gods are gods of vengeance when they should be gods of love.
    our love is only meant for all - if it's not for all then it is not love for anyone.
    and we ask, where is the end to our suffering? how are we to be saved?
    and with the same breath we deny love.

    and on a sunday morning while people still go to church of their choice and pretend it has meaning for them.
    while he sits in his church every day everywhere all the time.
    yet they are good and he is evil in their power and control world.
    power and control is the only god they serve no matter what other name they might use.
    their god serves to comfort their human greed.
    their god demands nothing of them but to follow their base desires.
    that is what they read in their holy books.
    and what of this world's fate while they follow the course of the doomsday prophesies thinking they do their god's will?
    and he has no faith in anything humanity does.
    humanity is doomed if we can't look past ourselves and if we refuse to see that we are more than human.
    the gods are our own creation. they serve our will, not we theirs.
    we can command them to remake this world.

    and he cannot begin to think of all the possibilities.
    everything is open to us yet we follow the straight and narrow path.
    and we call ourselves good.
    and we call ourselves civilized.
    and we call ourselves evolved.
    when we haven't moved in 10,000 years.

    gleep?

    to live in a dream.
    to think sometimes that if one closes one's eyes a moment and imagines then what one imagines will appear when one opens one's eyes again.
    what a fool.

    we cannot do it alone.
    we can only do it together.
    and maybe someday...

    the broken mysteries washed over our heads. he does not want their phony rituals anymore. he wants to forget that he is human. and not be constantly reminded that he is. all of them can do nothing for him as long as they live in fear.

    and it was today.
    and it was now.
    here it is.
    the light fills each moment.
    we stand where we are.

    and he can do nothing for himself as long as he lives in fear. a fear of remembering who he really is.
    he is a victim of the weather.
    he is another one alone.
    he is in a cage with the door wide open.
    why is he afraid to leave?

    he is afraid that he is being tricked.
    what purpose could anyone have in putting him in a cage and leaving the door wide open?

    and this time goes on. and he waits without any hope of his dreams being realized. he wants nothing that he cannot earn or steal. what he wants is wholly dependent on the hearts and minds of others - for them to wake up.
    there is nothing he can do to change them. how many have tried to shake and rouse them? they mumble and grumble a little and then roll over and they're asleep again.
    what can he do?
    what could he possibly do?
    except wait.
    wait without hope.

    and he's a bit tired of playing with words. words are nothing.
    but words are all he has.
    but the words mean nothing of what he wants them to mean.

    and to be and not to be.
    that is the question and the answer.
    both and everything at once.
    the god of light and dark. otherwise it is a blind god. who needs a blind god?
 
    and it was that it was not.
    and it wasn't that it was.
    and all sorts of dada like that.

    to get up and dance.
    to get up and sing.
    to get up and fly.

    and there is nothing but everything and everything is in the mind.
    or some such.
    or whatever.

    3/1
    clean page.
    clean day.
    but what has changed?
          what is changing?
          what will change?
    in 10,000 years.

    we talk and talk about dreams of a better tomorrow while today goes to rot.
    and we talk of nothing.
           we talk and make noise.

    and our sense of time out of time into time.
    and our sense of ourselves out of ourselves into ourselves.
    what do these words mean? what can they ever mean?
    what are these words against the mass transmissions into every brain.
    what is one against many?
    what should one be against the many?

    dancing through the mirrors to the other side though there is no other side to dance through to.

    and there were to begin with - though this is not where it begins - 10,000 screams in the dark. exactly 10,000. not one more. not one less. this may be an important factor later - but that is doubtful.
    first now we were standing around looking as stupid as we could possibly look at that moment. but this too is not an important factor.
    what is an important factor?
    we may get to that - and maybe we won't.
    what we would mention first is what is whatever is an important factor an important factor to?
    and perhaps also what is the meaning of important - or factor?
    but ignoring that for the moment we would like to continue by stating the house we are in is missing one light bulb. is this an important factor?
    probably not.

    but nothing is really important in that everything is important. and thuswise nothing is a factor as everything is a factor. or some such and then some down the line.

    feeling around in the dark of 10,000 screams down in the alley calling out names five times each.
    what is important and what is not?

    start here -

    to begin with there was, is and will be it. and it is it. throughout everything said and done this should be remembered.
    everything comes from it.
    everything remains in it.
    everything returns to it.
    there is no way into it.
    there is nothing that is not it - even that which is not it is it. nothing is it.
    so - what is it?
    and the answer is - what is not it?
    and so it can be stated that it is nothing? of course it can.
    yet caution must prevail here. one may come to false understanding by any statement it is (fill in the blank). this may cause one to think that it is (fill in the blank) and (fill in the blank) alone. this is of course not the case - even though it is.
    so it is usually more correctly stated that (fill in the blank) is it. or not.
 
    so of what importance is any of this?
    if one's prime concern is working a steady job whatever that may be and coming home and watching tv it is of no importance whatsoever.
    it is probably of no importance if one's primary concern is to have unsteady jobs or no job at all or just about any other human activity or non-activity or anti-activity.
    knowing it will not help one with anything except to know it. if anything it will probably be a hindrance if not a major fucking problem in regard to anything besides knowing it.
    so if one does not want and/or care to know what it is, don't bother reading any of this any further. yet this is not to state that by reading this any further one will come to any better knowing of it than one presently has.
    all one really needs to know about it is that it is it.
 
    and one might ask - where is it? which is sort of like asking, where is the nose on my face?
    yet it is not that simple either. for it is like asking, where is the mind?
    it is extremely simple and extremely complex at once. and one cannot really know one aspect of it without knowing the other.
    to understand the simple one should look to the complex and to understand the complex one should look to the simple.
    paradox is one of the keys to understanding it. paradox and contradiction. examine those and one will perhaps understand more about it.
    there are no paradoxes or contradictions in the reality of it. there are only those in one's perception of the reality of it. yet the reality of it is a paradox and contradiction.
    and this may seem like it is all one big stupid mind fuck game. and it is. that is also moving toward an understanding of it - to see this all as one big stupid mind fuck game.
 
    it is through the paradox and contradiction of itself that it came to form the universe out of itself. the initial act of creation was for it to become not it.
    it became two. from two it is easy to become infinite. just snap one's fingers.

    3/2
    it became this and that in order to experience itself as the other thing. from this and that and the other thing it became the universe and all contained within it. and so it goes. in this way it divided itself and the awareness of itself into the infinite forms of the universe.
    it did not create the universe. the universe did not need to be created as it already existed as it. but it became aware of the existence of the universe. or something like that.
    and it is the fool who understands this. it is the fool who needs no rules or reason to follow to come to understanding.
    whereas the wise are caught by their rules and reason. they get trapped within their own maze. they substitute knowing rules and reason for knowing understanding.
    leaps must be taken. leaps into areas where there appears nothing to leap to. yet there always is even if there is not.
 
    3/9
    yes - and whatever.
    he was just thinking about how we all are connected molecule to molecule connected to everything and we are connected to everything.
    and it is the mind that can see through these things to the other side like stepping through a mirror.
    and all dada like that.

    it is the primal source. and while others will argue otherwise and say that this or that or the other thing is the primal source but something else being the primal source is also it. so why deal with anything other than it? all other things are masks of it. it is it and only it is it.
    but it's not so much that other things are wrong but that these things are also it.
    but there will be others who will insist on fighting about this and that and the other thing being it or not it.
    why argue about it when it is agreed that being it is the common value measurement?
    yaa-yaa-blah-blah.

    there is room on this planet for everyone. the only small space in between our ears.

    and so he sits here broken hearted wondering how to get any of this out. how to dissolve everything that holds us down - the religions and governments and corporations and such.
    yeah yeah yeah.

    the kitchen flames.
    the desire for home sweet home found someplace else.
    turning about in one's own space.

    a hill.
    did he hear a few poems written and spoken about a hill?
    always looking up a hill.
    always climbing up a hill.
    until falling down the hill everyone may see one's death re-enacted.
    again.
    again.
    the death re-enacted.
    always the death.
    on the hill.

    3/10
    once somewhere he had forgotten his way. or maybe he never remembered.
    how many childhoods must he go through?
    he sits in the dark at the point of beginning gray dawn. the beginning beginning again.

    please understand that he does not mean to hurt anyone but it seems that he always does. at least the others act that way like he has. what has he done? what has he done beyond the range of common human ignorance and stupidity? he is sorry he is human. he is trying to do something about that. he petitions the one who cast him into this mold every day but he has yet to receive a reply except vague impressions somewhere moving among his thoughts like hollow echoes of laughter. he wants to laugh too. he wants to hit that total fool state where everything everywhere is funny.
    he just wants to laugh. laugh as he has laughed at times.
    and he doesn't want to laugh alone. he who laughs last laughs alone.
    he wants to laugh with the others laughing. laugh at everything with them. heavenly hymns of laughter.

    what is it that keeps us from laughter? opening up our heads and letting it out with laughter.
    we are not ourselves now.
    we are not who we are. possessed by sundry demons holding us back from ourselves.

    but all these words are not the words he wants or needs and as such are basically useless.
    it's all been stated before and by those who use words better than himself.
    so he's stuck. he's gone as far as he can go by himself. the only way to go beyond that is away from them.

    time of dawn.
    in the gray turning blue.
    in the eye opening.
    the waves coming in and going out.
    he is waiting here.
    he is waiting alone.
    he is waiting for someone.
    he is tired of being forever alone.
    he is waiting for their parade.
    he is waiting for them to come dancing along the shore where he is waiting.
    this time of dawn.
    between darkness and light - waiting.
    for someone.
    for anyone.

    and won't we laugh when they get here - out of our heads - laughing right out of our heads.
    laughing at what fools we were to be so frightened of one another - frightened of ourselves.
    he is tired of holding back his laughter.

    and the passion and death of human history.
    the comic tragedy.
    the fool kings and queens playing their child games of power frightened of the dark and frightened of the light and just plain old frightened.

    cast this out.
    cast this aside.
    its weight we don't need to carry anymore. gods do not carry burdens. gods dance.
    and we are the gods we have created from our imagination. the gods we imagine are our reflection - our true image.

    3/12
    the time of the future is not now.
    tomorrow.
    tomorrow as it exists in our imagination.
    then tomorrow becomes today yet the time of the future is not now.
    now is today.

    walls of frustration.
    walls of confusion.
    prisons.
    locked in .
    locked out.
    or vise versa.
    it's all the same both ways.
    can't get in or out or out or in.
    can't get anywhere.
    can't even get here.

    today is working for tomorrow. tomorrow becomes today. today is working for tomorrow.
    the future will be wonderful.
    today is not wonderful because it is not the future.
    but today is yesterday's future when yesterday was today and the future was going to be wonderful.
    yesterday's tomorrow becomes today yet today is working for tomorrow as it was when yesterday was today and today was tomorrow.
    how many yesterdays?
    how many todays?
    how many tomorrows?
    the future will be wonderful.
 
    electronic hair, yelled the chief priest of science dogma. we'll embed electronic optic information and entertainment microthread systems into our scalps and we could style them any way we so choose and our dreams would be reality. we might even become... godlike!
    announcer: that was indeed the final message before the chief priest went berserk and killing at least one person whose name is not yet known and later eluded police on a wild tristate chase and took over a missile silo.

    yesterday is today as today is tomorrow.
    a shell game of making three days seem like forever - ha ha!
    all done with some sort of chrono-mirrors.
    yesterday and tomorrow being only altered reflections of today. so it's actually only one day we're dealing with not three.
    ergo...?

    who doth knowth of these strange and downright weird mysteries we are beset against among us in this wonderful and frightening world we live in?
    and dancing and dancing and dancing spider on its web. we've seen this spider before.
    spinning on a moment of now into and out of time at once.
    turning around in hyperspacetime.
    one will be contacted.
    sick.

    zero dose of infinity.
    infinite dose of zero.
    away in the storm of frogs.

    out of the flames of the furnace of hell where we have been forged from the ore of existence into the fine precious metal of the awareness of our being.
    we are the new gods.
    the spell of our damnation is broken. we remember who we are.
    we are the one as the many.
    our name is legion.
    we are the true nation as we are without nation.
    we are without name in names ever-changing as ourselves have been ever-changing yet unchanged from the never beginning of our being everlasting throughout each and every moment now and forevermore.
    through darkness and light we have traveled and travel still.
    we who never settle to the ground. we who have no ground to stand on before the owners of the earth.
    yet we possess the greatest wealth of all. we possess our soul.
    not in heaven or hell but in ourselves.
    we alone to stand or fall as we may. we are.
    the great have feared us throughout all history. no empire of power could tolerate our existence.
    and where are those empires today?
    and where will this empire be tomorrow?
    yet tomorrow by its own definition never comes.
    no promises of tomorrow will come true today.
    so we are with the empire as the empire is with us.
    so we must fulfill our promises today - now.
 
    paranoid schizophrenia.
    and by their tongue he was confused as by all other tongues before it.
    what noise speak the peoples of the earth to one another and to themselves.
    what authors to lies the language hides as truth. the truth of the agreement of nodding heads bowing before the gods whose names they no longer remember.
    keeling in their own shit.
    fucking their unborn children.
    eating the arms and legs of their mothers.
    whipping the image of god the father almighty maker of heaven and earth.
    and hell.
    and the hell designed by the human mind to exhort our delight in what we cannot obey to our will.
    he is chained to the pillar of fire.
    flames eating burning flesh in ecstatic agony his body rejoices in with gnashing teeth and bloody tongue.
    his screams do not echo in this eternal empty place.
    this is the infinity of maximum pain.
    he enjoys.
    he ejaculates pus from his anus.
    he begs for more.
    he cries.
    this is not punishment enough for his guilt and hatred of himself.
    and all without the mercy of death or even unconsciousness.
    eternally awake and aware.
    every nerve twisting and breaking.
    this is the disease of his kind. and this is their chosen fate.

    and what trick to tell of this and that and the other thing.
    to be the one one is.
    to become the one one is through one's own choice of event.
    this is who one is.
    that is what one is against.
    the other thing stands aside and laughs.

    the voice licked from one's mouth in one wild kiss.
    passion held dear to one breast heaving with desire unmet in realization.
    the edge of experience.

    3/13
    and time lasting forever as long as it lasts moment by moment.
    now forevermore.
    we are now.
    we are the ones who are not ourselves.
 
    and to think of god existing and to feel how lonely this god must be.
    alone in a void of nothing but itself and what it creates of itself as an illusion of many forms to entertain and keep itself company.
    and to the many forms of illusion it gave them will. yet this too is illusion for there is no will but its own will.
    even the will that seems opposite to its own is still its own it will set in opposition so that the universe could be born in cause and effect and action and reaction. otherwise nothing would happen.
    this universal void in the pit of all our souls.
    the exact hollow center of the universe.
    nothing.
    the infinite void within.
    so what?
    it is there.
    we all have it and know it though most choose to ignore it.
    yet it is this that is our connection to god and each other. it is out of this that god created the illusion of the universe. and it is in our believing in the reality of that illusion that we participate with god in creation.
    we are the screen god projects the movie of creation upon.
    without either there would be no movie.
    just as much as we are nothing without god, god is nothing without us.
    this is the covenant between us that each should respect and obey the other because neither is whole without the other.
    it's a two-way street.
    blind worship is not respect.
    demands of obedience backed by threats of power is not respect.
    god can destroy us but we might also destroy god.
    we are the mirror. we are god's image realized. without the mirror god has no image and is destroyed.
 
    burning death.
    mind decay.
    destroy.
    destroy.
    destroy.

    to understand what is not understood.
    to not understand what is understood.
    to be one and not the other.
    to be both.

    he is the smallest.
    he is the least.
    he is the worst.
    he is the last.
    he is the ugliest.
    he is the stupidest.
    he is the weakest.
    he is next to nothing to the point where being nothing would be better than what he is.
 
    he hates this which is himself with a passion that knows no expression.
    he is a curse upon himself.
    and all that trash.

    and nothing changes.
    and nothing changes.

    human waste.
    the lowest state of creation.
    and to be given a mind full of fear.
    and to be given a heart drained of love - merely a machine pumping the poison of life.
    no feeling.
    self-centered contempt of everything including itself.
    there is no other hell than this.
    and to realize that it is suffered and then just comes to an end.
    at the whim of a god who couldn't care fucking less.

    and so beyond all that what can we do for one (besides take out the garbage and other dirty work one doesn't want to do)?
    what can we do to please one and that will please us as well?
    what will complete the circuit between us?
    what will feed us as it feeds one?
    does one know?
    does one care?

    all his life since he was born they had told him how selfish he was.
    and he believed them.
    he believed his desires were selfish and wrong.
    but who demands that he give without any return except for a quick smile and a cold look?
    no reward.
    and no reward is punishment.
    he believed that it must be one way or the other.
    but why can't it be both?
    from him to them and from them to him.
    let's be selfish together.
    he wants to deny them nothing but also to deny himself nothing.
    raw raving greed fulfilled.
    or is he just filling another page in a notebook that should feed the flames?
 
    fuck them.
    fuck them all.
    fuck their world.
    drooling idiot bastards who think they know anything at all.
    look at them.
    take a good long hard look.
    damn them to their fucking hell.
    he hates them.
    he hates them all.

    and so - la-dee-da...

    he is right.
    they are wrong.
    period.
    no argument.
    that's it.
    yet they think they are right merely because they have followed the path of least resistance - the path of power and greed - and they control the situation.
    they think power is authority. how fucking stupid can anyone get?
    they think their flags and uniforms mean something. and they do. they mean that they are afraid to be alone and naked.
 
    and there is only one other who he hates more than them.
    that is himself.
    it's just easier to express his hatred of them.

    what is at the core of this world gone mad?
    what is our one desire that is denied us?
    damn our existence.
    damn everything we have made and done.
    we are worthless shit.
    and damn the god that created us in its own twisted image. the god that watches us on tv. the god that sucks itself through our helpless tormented torture.
    look at those who kneel and pray and those who have been beaten down by the fate this god has dealt them.
    look and see what this god feeds on.
    we're trapped in a universe of a god gone mad.
    or is it us who have gone mad?
    and does it make a difference?
    push the button.
    end this misery.

    and love.
    and peace.
    and happiness.
    don't make us laugh.
    don't make us puke.

    the love of power.
    the peace of power.
    the happiness of power.
    that's all that will ever be.
    we're too fucking stupid to understand anything else. we actually need laws and punishment to treat each other with respect and even they don't work.
    grab the power. fuck everyone and everything else. as long as one is on top everything is just jake.

    and he sees the death of this world and he doesn't care.
    he wouldn't stop it if he could.
    apes who think they're people.
    there is no hope.
    none anywhere at all especially if there is a god and heaven. in fact that is the worst case scenario of all. the best is if we destroy ourselves now without a trace left that we had ever been here at all.
    this was a big bad mistake.

    3/14
    the blind duty of religion and now of science to steady the helm of social thought in directions favorable to the kings of power.
    to build the new pyramids.
    to construct the rigid structures of death.
    energy drained into the dust of the desert.
    wanting more.
    always wanting more.
    when this is all there is.
    the alchemists still searching for the short cut through reality. when the short cuts are through following the mind - the free flowing mind which they constantly shut down.

    3/15
    and which is our what?
    and what is our which?
    and who is between the two or three?
    huh?
    keep it up.
    keep up that stiff upper zip.

    and it is nothing.
    and what else?

    the structure.
    the mind.
    the reasoned doubt.
    not one.
    not the other.
    the balancing act between.

    stimulate the structure.
    burn all copies.

    and it was.
    and it is.
    and it will be.

    a fine toothed mirror through the nerve fibers along the left leg raised into position.
    we gaze into and out of the windows.

    the breaking heart in pain of love.
    the face of tears when all the weight of human history seems to fall on this moment.

    the broken dream of the broken heart.
    the broken heart of the broken dream.
    a footprint.
    a hand print.
    too soon to tell of the mirrors lost inside the head resting on a pillow.
    a perfect pillow.

    a dream god dreams dreaming of us in a dream dream. he was remembering himself as god dreaming of a dream of himself remembering god dreaming of god remembering himself dreaming of god.

    in a dream.
    in a long long dream.
    in a dream of memory.

    3/19
    the breaking of glass.
    the breaking of fear.
    the fear of glass breaking.

    one fears the glass breaking yet when the glass is broken there is nothing else to fear except the punishment for breaking the glass.

    and tick-tock.
    time.
    and whatever as just words on a page in a compulsive sense of writing whatever with movement of hand and focus of mind in action synched together and a clown dancing and let's not forget that horse galloping on a tomato.

    3/24
    and so into the tomorrow night.
    and so eyes peered into moon dazed wonder with lids dipped deep into reflecting pools underneath black dark and silver bright sky.
    oh where have we been where we've been here before?
    inside the empty spaces.
    outside the empty spaces.
    circling the empty spaces encircled by empty spaces.
    our eyes and our minds and our hearts, empty spaces.
    open empty spaces.
    the empty spaces between each star from another.
    the empty spaces between each particle from another.
    the empty spaces between each breath from another.
    the weaving of empty spaces into fabric of existence.
    there is nothing between us but empty spaces so doesn't that mean there remains nothing between us?
    nothing but what we fill the empty spaces with.
    we fill them with our imagination.
    our imagination of one another as we are apart in the empty spaces.
    where the empty spaces seem to howl with turbulent fury.
    where the empty spaces seems to laugh like water.
    where we are beneath a moon.
    a distant night of moon.
    a near by distant night of moon.

    where we talk again.
    talk without needing to break apart the silence with our noisy speech.
    to touch without needing to touch with our disease.
    to be warm with each other in the cold pure empty spaces.
    to know each other without needing to possess.
    to be comfortable with the distance of empty spaces.
    to know distance or nearness is an illusion in the empty spaces.
 
    where we dance with one another.
    where we sing to one another.
    where we are ourselves to one another.

    and won't one dance?
    just awhile.
    underneath whatever is above for now - not forever.
    crashing stars.

    but, oh yeah, one has to do this and one has to do that and one has to go there and, yeah, maybe someday, sometime - yeah, one has to go.
    so much to do.
    so much to get done before tomorrow. tomorrow, the magick day.
    tomorrow, when everyone will be dancing in the streets.
    will anyone dance in the streets with us now?
    no - no - gotta get so much done.
    dance in the streets tomorrow.
    dance in the streets tomorrow.
    got things to buy.
    got things to sell.
    dance in the streets tomorrow.

    and it seems to be some kind of reoccurring dream - theme - whatever.
    down beneath the floor in microscope paradise.

    and he supposes he shouldn't blame anyone else for not being able to just dance their day away and put it off until tomorrow.
    and he can fight it.
    and he can't swallow it.
    and he thinks about it.

    life is always on the edge. and he guesses that others know this better than he does. life off the edge. off the ledge. into the dark abyss of one's memory.
    all the events and pictures of events one must try to remember while one forgets - forgets.
    transport to a land where all else is shadows.
 
    and suicides are human sacrifices. they gather all the pain around themselves and then they leap.
    they lay down their lives for us.
    they die to take away our pain.
    and who knows why these are chosen or choose themselves?
    god's rolling ancient bones.
    random number clicking calculation.
    now one sees it, now one doesn't.
    it's time to say good-bye.
    don't know why.

    3/25
    and what do they know?

    the cat with 9 legs in a dream about something else interesting.
    and he was thinking - how did that cat do that?
    and the solution to this and all our problems is a process...

    the logic control death.
    the god of logic control death.
    the logic control death of god defined as freedom when all that has happened is that the names have changed.

    3/26
    and what happens.
    and what becomes.
    and what the left right is in regard to peacock blue in favor of the wall underneath the rubberized imitation of the bugger-doo.
    a sinking feeling.
    a sinking feeling upward toward sky green waters ever flowing with the tides of moon dream stardust.
    radiant synergy becoming the unquenchable thirst.
    the mouth.
    the eye left open in sleep.
    the hand empty grasping for mythological form.
    a rock smooth as a lover's touch.

    lovers in the open spaces.
    lovers in the open sea.
    lovers in the open sky.
    lovers and nothing but lovers.

    love long last and lasting.
    unable to be fulfilled.
    unquenchable thirst.

    and a thousand jesuses with a million diseases.
    all dancing through the midnight.

    3/29
    and more time goes by.
                                    by.
                                    bye.
    all the important days now yesterdays that were once tomorrows.
    sigh -
    and here it is still today.
    when will we wake up from our endless dream?
    and they call him a dreamer.
    a dreamer of impossible dreams.
    he may dream but they are the ones who make the dreams impossible.

    and jesus with a hat.
    and jesus for breakfast.
    and the important role for us to remember today is who we want to be not who we think we want to be and certainly not who we are (who we say we are).

    and to continue on about what we may have been writing before or perhaps not.
    we are overcome with possibilities.
    we are dancing without ourselves.
    we are - forget it!

    and to bring all to an end on itself. this is the cry from the peoples of the earth. the nations of children. each alone.
    he hears the sound of their minds. crashing. burning.
    bits and pieces coming loose and flying ping pang off the walls.
    the illusion of this misery they enjoy.
    and, yes, they do enjoy it. why else would they do it when they are free to do anything?
    there are no rules. they made up the rules. they and their invented gods.
    and he flies.
    he is not part of this. he was born here. he lives here. he will die here. but this is not his world nor does this world claim him as its own. he is pushed away.
    he is thrown out with all else that is considered useless. with all the bits and pieces flying ping pang off the walls.
    ping pang - there he goes.
    drop to the bottom where he observes them. where he laughs at them. important - they are all so damned important.
    and he cannot lift himself beyond this. he has gone as far as he can go. without anyone else this is where he stands and falls - alone.
    and when he he sees into all that is not. all that they deny that is or could be real. does he laugh or does he cry?
    he marvels.
    he is dumbstruck by their reason. by their unfailing ability to believe in the reality of their twisted creation.
 
    4/1
    and the belief in the plasma.
    and the mind in the body.
    and the ear in the head.
    hand and foot.
    disease.
    turning and twisting.
    what we are and what we wake up to everyday.
    worldwide hope and despair.
    wheels and gears.
    bits and pieces.

    cracks in the wall.

    and it is in motion that things truly exist.
    and even what is dead and cold is yet in motion - the rhythmic motion of it being acted upon in death.
    it is the motion of om that is the true existing state.
    always.
    no death. death is decay. decay is life.
    and our hearts and our minds.

    4/2
    so out there in reptile land with all that disturbing shapelessness crawling around in their brain.
    the oodles of noodles twisting and turning like long ago worms in the empty space of their skulls.
    their brains are parasites.
    their brains feed from their psyche and calls that feeding the mind.
    the mind is not the psyche.
    the mind is an imitation of the psyche - a distorted limited reflection of who and what they are.
    the mind is human.
    the psyche is god.
    the radiant living god that they are.

    and the brain and the mind.
    and what's for dinner?
    and the cost effectiveness of beet farming.
    and the door ajar.

    4/9
    and thinking of circles instead of thinking in circles.
    no -
    think of circles in circles - both the circles in circles and thinking in circles.
    how to think in circles without thinking one is going crazy.

    and such trash as that and all that then some and on and on into phases of voidness emptying one into each other in eternal circles of light and dark.

    so, yeah, here he is thinking and thinking about nothing that'll pay the bills.
    so, yeah, he stares out through the void and eyes open and sees nothing that'll pay the rent.
    it's one world or the other and he's constantly split between.

    4/10
    the walls.
    the walls and the walls and the walls.
    the walls everywhere, all around everywhere.
    the walls.
    the walls.

    4/13
    someday trip trap like a wild buzzard thing coming up from the toilet with a sound screaming from one's ears dead and alive dripping the left to the right.
    or maybe, he doesn't know. the sounds are broken today as we try to prove how unentertained we are by the... wait a minute - what is he writing about anyway?
    chasing the dime a dozen shadows on the belly of a computer generated lizard which was laughing around here somewhere.
 
    not looking for a cure except for a cure for the cure.
    scream.
    static.
    a line drawn between what is and what is not.
    he cannot measure himself to any of the existing scales as the relativity relates to the relativity.
    moving from one to the other.
    moving back again.
    moving underneath and also above.
    talking words that are only words - sounds the mouth makes in certain patterns encircling where words disappear.

    yes - well, this is it - ain't it?
    and he was thinking once about how the physical world isn't it.

    and shake it, baby.
    shake it loose, baby.
    get up and shake it on out.
    get the bugs out of one's head.
    or one will be better off dead.

    a devotion to image with all the truths reveled in a world broken by our growing minds.
    and god.
    and dancing out on the streets moving to and fro.
    over the burning bridges.
    over the rooftops.
    over the sky.
    again.
    and we speak.
    and the words spoken.

    4/15
    and to the maddening death that waits.
    and to the soul calling through a bell jar with eyes mating in vision.
    and we could alter the cup of tea spilling lengthwise against words forlornly spoken into ears burning as swans dancing on thin ice.
    again we cry.
    again the noise of the forgotten.

    a rhythm tongue on leg tears breaking.
    the chessboard room with wires buried deep into the passioned flesh trembling between pain and delight.
    a crooked smile.
    a steady hand.
    a taste of salt sweat digital blinking eyes.
    blood on lips.

    so where in this broken landscape our bent and twisting minds devise do we find ourselves?
    what looks familiar?
    our memories?
    should we crawl back into our minds?
    he does not wish to walk among the dead.
    and we do not need to wait for death. we are dead already. we died long ago - doesn't one remember? this is heaven, why spoil it with tears?
    the moments now are ours. there is something exciting around the corner if one knows which way to turn.
    he does not wish to write about walls anymore. as far as he is concerned there are none. any walls that are left are theirs. and they are with him always. we breathe the same air. but this is fantasy, but what else is left? it is the idea that it is fantasy or not that keeps us divided. where is the line between the real and the not real? and what if he steps over the line? because wherever the line is drawn he will step over it. will he then be more real or unreal? he does not fear the edge of his sanity as he now knows there is something on the other side. he stands there now. he is calling to them to be with him. will anyone come?
    and he intends to live happily ever after.
    and this song will never end. and our dancing will last forever as forever is only a moment.
    ah, and this that is known as madness and what delight this madness brings. to stand on the ruins of our minds that were not our minds after all but cages our minds were trapped inside of.
    and mirrors. trapped behind the looking glass where reality replaced our fantasies.
    and he will be fooled no more. he will not believe any more of the lies. his madness is what is real because his madness is not madness but only what the mad call madness - their madness of churches, restaurants and shopping malls - their madness of ice cream cones, telephones, beach blankets, tires and all else they have invented that refuses to budge as if set in stone. if it will not move then it will be destroyed by his madness.
    but what of this voice of reason that gently and distantly calls his name? surely it cannot be himself calling. but it is. how can this be?
    it says, watch out. you've been here before you have pronounced yourself free in the past. and then?
    and then - remember?
    the flash is gone. the light goes out and there one is again wallowing in darkness.
 
    no! no! no!
    he refuses to accept that. he knows that what he feels now is real. he knows it! he knows it!
    yes, the voice says, wouldn't we all like to live in a perfect world of our own design and choosing. and the smooth calm tone of the voice becomes very upsetting.
    then do it! create it! let it out! set it free! he shouts back.
    you know we cannot do that. what would the world be like then if it was what everyone wanted? think of all those who are evil.
    but, he replies, it is only in the real world where those people exist. the real world creates them by all that it denies the human soul. it twists them into those shapes with its labyrinth immobile structure. they are rats. we are rats. we respond to artificial and confusing stimuli the real world is filled with driving people mad with it all.
    now, the voice responds, don't exaggerate.
    i am not exaggerating. it's wrong. it's backward and inside out. and people think that if they nod their heads to the same beat that it'll be ok.
    each person is allowed individuality as long as it doesn't harm anyone else.
    isolated individuality you mean. you have any idea how much that sucks? i have lots of great times hiding in my house expressing my individuality. individuality should not mean isolation, solitude, separateness or anything like that. it should be integration, harmony, synergy. and not by organized structure but by free flowing being - like water. pulse, blood, dance. like life itself. dancing in this life around circles ever connecting around themselves and all each other in the dance of rhythm between the breath and the heartbeat. break it down from the ice. break it down from the stone. break it up from the floor beneath our feet as we dance on the graves of those we have forgotten who held us down.

    the taste again.
    blood licked from fingertips.
    against the wall where we eat the flesh.

    he sits here.
    he speaks to himself.
    he says nothing.
    he falls asleep without a thought...