it is the unknown angel and the death of things that lead to understanding.
    it is the death of self that leads to self.
    it is what we are to become in all the space and time we are to surrender to and for.

    a million years as we awaken slowly and absorb ourselves in fullness.
    a promised destination we can only reach alone.
    a light of a thousand saviors may show the way but we can walk our own winding path through the dark forest of cities.
    interwoven tapestry.
    and somewhere off the orchestra plays a tune symbolic in its silence again and again coming around underneath where we were standing yesterday once.
    something in the streets.
    why are we afraid to speak?
    we are puppets dancing against our will.
    no emotion.
    it was nothing.
    slinking away like a black ink panther knowing she could kill at any moment but letting those moments by.

    3/10
    an afternoon.
    smoke and coffee.
    around and around.
    a morning of dream confusion about this and that.
    opposition.
    what is what?
    he is here, or he is there - and which is where?
    and how come?
    you can laugh, but he is perfectly serious.

    total mind.
    the lost concept of ego.
    the gods watching and waiting.
    who are we this time?
    we talk to ourselves with vague yet accurate meaning.
    has this gone on before?
    where are we this time?
    his words are lost to him.
    no meaning.

    a thousand thousand years that of words and words all spoken mish mash at once in one long perpetual noise does one of them make more sense than another?
    not to him now.
    a simple answer to a simple question.
    busy jerking yourself off in your high and mighty bliss state of eternal narcissistic self consciousness - the whole universe is nothing to you but a mirror for your self-worshipping omniscience.
    could you lower yourself to whisper in his ear?
    but who is he but someone else to piss on?

    up and down.
    nowhere and nowhere again.
    the dangling carrot he is supposed to dance for.
    someday he will destroy you without even thinking twice, even if it means he goes with you.

    he is sick of being played with.
    he is tired of this game of god and human and all that bullshit involved in it.
    he is sick of you.
    and he is sick of himself.

    always out of balance - tipping this way and that way moment by moment.
    sun and rain.
    promise and denial.

    if you've got something for him then give it to him or leave him the fuck alone.
    he doesn't have to earn anything.
    you got it for free, so why not him?

    game of hide and seek.
    it's a lot of fun when you have nothing to lose and you need something to take up the time of your goddamn eternity.
    but when you feel the pain with every passing moment...
    but why should you think of that or be concerned - it's not happening to you?

    3/11
    time again that is not time (again).
    unexplained meaning seeming to provoke a thought which ceases to exist before it comes into being.
    being.
    becoming.
    shape and form.
    pattern and event.
    here and there.

    is there any connection to anything anywhere at all?

    and it's just like a soap opera, there slumped down in a bean bag chair fred spoke (maybe to himself - maybe to someone else). there can't be any resolution. it just keeps going. there is no heaven or nirvana or worker's paradise - nothing. those things exist only as carrot on a stick concepts, like hope coming out of pandora's box - though i understand that it was supposed to actually be a vase but some guy who thought he knew greek mistranslated it. you know, most of our problems - outlook of life and all that - could be traced back to mistranslations, either intentional or accidental. especially that damned bible. but i'm slipping off here - where was i? oh yeah, soap operas. life is this ongoing irresolvable soap opera. the gods - or whoever - the watchers, let's call them - just watch it all like we watch tv. it's just entertainment to them. hey joe, look at this jerk over here, they say. his kid was run over by a drunk driver and now he's gone berzerk and is sniping people from his office window. hey, hand me a beer, will ya? anyway, meanwhile we're going through all this shit struggling around hoping to make tomorrow better than today and all that trash. but it's set up never to happen. but we're given a glimmer of hope - pandora's box/vase again - so we keep going. imagine how boring it would be for the watchers if we ever made it. it'd be worse than public television. no more shoot outs, flaming car crashes, power struggles, and all that. just ho-hum love, peace and happiness.

    in the time that has passed and is passing, we wait until we wonder what has ever happened before.

    3/12
    upon the theory of experiment he would like to write about how the relationship of patterns alters events. the disease of the situation gives us a clue as to how one may perceive the ongoing flux of information from one system to another.
    we dance like thieves.
    we understand only the surface of the great sea, and even that how much do we comprehend about its ultimate nature?
    and he does believe that we can state ultimate here - and anywhere we choose. these are words from our mind and as such we decide where, when and how to use them. besides that point, existence is ultimate. ultimate is not, as some suppose, a goal. it is a state of being.
    again, existence is ultimate. it is all there is. the end.
    one who argues with this merely argues with words. the reality of the fact (or the fact of the reality) is unarguable. so replace the words as one might, replace x with y and the equation is still the equation.
    concepts of what is are just that - concepts. human concepts, god concepts - who cares who makes them up? the point is that they are only ideas based on pattern and events. and when he writes "only", he does not mean it as a sense of limiting it or degrading it. defining it is what he means, if he means anything at all.
    go blow your knows.
    but in the end as it was in the beginning, this is all intellectual juggling. it does nothing in terms of the common mind. the common mind goes its merrie way thinking, speaking and acting its common things.
    what is a common thing? and the answer is: what difference does it make?
    shadow and evil and karl jung.
    who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
    the shadow knows.
    the shadow being ego acting out what the ego dares not.
    doing evil.
    projecting fear.
    fear is evil.
    this is absurd simplification.
    who cares?
    why do we have to be right or wrong about what we are writing about? we certainly aren't anyone in authority. which leads to the question, who is in authority? or even, is there authority? why do we accept authority? to keep us from evil. to keep us from fear. to keep us from the shadows. to keep us from doing what we want to do but dare not.
    get it?
    what's to get?
    don't ask us.
    he just read what he wrote and he doesn't get it. words on a page. concepts. patterns and events. organized chaos. organized only by our mind's inability to perceive chaos in its true form.
    we are nothing but dull idiots beating each other over the head with sticks.
    we are not men.
    we are not devo.
    junk it.
    frederick II
    gabriel bethlen
    philip melanchthon
    william of orange
    john hus
    peter waldo
    john wycliffe
    dr. easy chair
    thomas münzer
    menno simons
    ewig welbliche
    roger williams
    michael lopez
    madam bubble
    ann austin
    george fox
    william tyndale
    william penn
    count nikolaus
    ludwig von zinzendorf
    neil gwynne
    sophia hopkey

    the phenomena
    the piece of cake.
    the word and the way.
    mind drug sacrament breaking the thought fortress into a million swirls of spinning particles, with the spin existing in the description, through the chain reaction brain.
    and not the drug in and of itself, but its embodiment, its concept and outlook.
    no longer the line that divides all the ones from all the others.
    the reality of fantasy leading to the fantasy of reality.
    the laughter that cannot be stopped - that breaks through the strongest reinforced concrete walls authority stands in the way.
    authority?
    what authority?
    who do we question when we recognize no one?
    no person of this mortal human race.
    and god?
    get out of our way!
    no police with weapons.
    no priests with damnation.
    no politicians with laws.
    no cadre leaders with megaphones.
    who's authority?
    none than can stand in the way of laughter - out and out disbelieving laughter.

    keep whistling.
    just a message in the dark.

    do you feel it?
    do you feel it?
    do you feel confused?
    yes, of course you feel confused. you're supposed to feel confused. you're only human.
    only it's not confused. maybe - he doesn't know...
    when you think a thought a zillion neurons fire themselves off. does one of the neurons know why it's firing?
    it's part of a greater whole - the greater thought.
    we are neurons firing as part of a greater whole - doing all we do as part of the greater whole.
    the greater whole of it connecting and disconnecting and reconnecting - zap zap zap.
    only it knows what it's all about and maybe it even doesn't.
    who knows?
    what is important is for us to feel it - to feel that what we do is part of a greater whole.
    not as surrendering to the greater whole but co-operating within the greater whole - which just as much as a thought in our brains is determined by what neurons don't fire as much as what ones do fire, our co-operation within the greater whole of it is measured by what we do not do as much as what we do. co-operation is not to be taken to mean that we all do the same thing. if all the neurons in the brain fired all the same one would be able to only think two thoughts - on or off. does this sound like anyone you know, or a group of people you know?
    so co-operation with the greater whole can be done as much by unco-operative action. we do not know which is which.
    feel it.
    feel it and know what it wants you to do.
    kill if you want to.
    but only if you feel it, not because you feel you're supposed to or in reaction or relation to others around you.
    not for love or hatred.
    do neurons fire because of love or hate?
    but how does one tell the difference between urges to be unco-operative or anti-co-operative (or co-operative for that matter) that come from it or come from one's socio-psycho environment?
    one tells the difference by knowing it.
    one knows the difference by feeling it.
    you know when you know it.
    you know when you feel it.
    there is no doubt about it.
    and by saying that there is no doubt we do not mean that there is no doubt as in being sure of oneself. what we mean by no doubt is sometimes expressed by there being nothing but doubt - absolute confusion.
    knowing it is more not knowing it.
    feeling it is more not feeling it.
    in others words, you decide.
    but - warning - be sure it is you deciding and not the socio-psycho doo-dah deciding for you - like your mother hates you, or you hate school, or your crummy job, or you can't pay the bills, or your boy/girlfriend dumped you.
    don't be a mind slave to all that garbage or in reaction to all that garbage that's been dumped on your head - just a robot acting and reacting, who co-operates or not because it's been socially and psychologically conditioned to do either.
    let it decide and you as part of it decide, like the neuron firing or not firing because of the nature of the thought.
    if you want to freak out, freak out because it (and you) decide to freak out not because some authority figure would or wouldn't let you.
    get it?
    dig it?
    feel it?
    know it?

    3/13
    2nd friday the 13th in a row into whatever psychoactive significance that may or may not portend to become in the all zapped out thing hanging like a dead goose in the hallway downstairs (unless you're in the basement, then it'd be upstairs).
    scream alive melting sing along like trees aflaming in their destination with mind something or another waking thought forgotten as are the dreams when we were children down by the river waiting for the toads to call our names from under rocks wetted by tears of fallen angels.
    the crypt of gods with whispered remembrances found in the shallows washed ashore to be examined.

    3/15
    it wasn't what it was, or was it?
    what exactly are we thinking about? - speaking about? - doing?
    it seems we're all around it and can't find it.

    mother ann lee
    giles corey
    friedrich ernst daniel schleiermacher
    desiderius erasmus
    william miller
    david head

    3/16
    or whenever it is or not.
    down on groovy lakeside switch aside dreamscapevile under and over the wasteland and it don't matter a damn what you say because things screwed up anyway - on and on, and all else that ends well.

    3/17
    and another idea or two or a few dozen that escape him becoming fading reflections down the passageway from the bright light bouncing crashing in the new reality no fucking around time.
    gotta run.
    gotta run.
    time, a gauntlet of razor steel moments slashing at whatever tries to get assembled.
    do it again.
    do it again.

    in the piss poor rain.
    in the drenched dream.
    no sun or warmth.
    nothing to worship.
    no gods or demons or even men or women - no one.
    no self.
    all becomes illusion of a confused ignorant mind - that's all.
    when a shadow is more real than one's own reflection.
    who is that staring at me? you ask with a whisper - not frightened, not reverent, just disappointed.
    and people nod their tired heads agreeing without agreeing in their way of being completely ambiguous.
    no help at all.
    you are number two, the voice repeats (or at least that is what he remembers).

    the story that never ends.
    the story that cannot end.
    neither heaven nor hell, but both in ongoing confusion of faith and doubt flip flop upside down inside out birth and death.

    being.
    breathing.
    in and out.
    one plus one.
    alone together.
    alive and dead.
    imagination and memory.
    here and there.
    now and then.
    a thought like a cloud of dissipating vapor drifts away and upward toward distant gray sky.
    no stars, just luminous dull silver gray above our mortal heads and around the base of the mountain we must climb.

    it could be whatnot.
    a dream in shadow play with any one thing being any one other thing melting through layers yet never reaching the core of what is - just surface after surface.
    a face of a thousand faces.
    a smile with a million meanings.
    love that is hate and hate that is love - indifferent interest and interested indifference.
    all the opposites at once in continual flood pouring over and through the head.
    a waterfall of chaos we snatch images and symbols from in a random selection we, for our own peace of mind, call order.
    the myth of order.
    the authority of order.
    the march of armies in the name of order.

    and we seem to forget what we cannot remember.
    we misplace the countless small bits of memory that still remain active.
    we are not who we are.
    we are who we were and will become.
    the direction is not ours.
    no matter what we say or do, or think, it will choose its own way using us as it will in the process toward its own end, even against what we believe we believe.
    a murderer can save and a savior can murder.
    who can say what is to come from our actions or whether what is to come is right or wrong - if such exists at all?
    does it exist because we believe it exists?

    and the to be or not to be.
    and the god is dead.
    and the do unto others.
    and the heart and the soul.
    and the whatever else one may think of to fill in the blank.
    and the on and on.

    experience unfolding into universal shape and mind.
    the what is and will ever be, until the whole thing crashes or just kind of sputters out into the void it came from.
    a yawn of boredom.
    a grin of mild amusement.
    a laugh of enjoyment and surprise.
    to wake up from it all and to realize it was just a living dream.

    and where did it all come from?
    and where does it all go?
    and meanwhile all the day to day shit that makes it even more meaningless.
    work to do and bills to pay as whole galaxies are born or disintegrate.
    neither here nor there.
    just a thought for the time being - a fragment of possibility come and gone in a moment's flash.

    in pages ripped out from your mind you read about stories someone told you as a child thing on the shore of a thousand tomorrows, few of which are left to you anymore.
    you either laugh or cry.
    dance away through what needs to be forgotten.

    all the people without a face put on the masks cut out from magazines, imprinted by tv screens.
    walk around underneath an invisible cloud.

    3/18
    now down into the exploded fire hot egg yolk dripping off the table onto the ocean floor with healing vapors rising to meet the diamond domed sky in a romantic display symbolizing something about how we all should just learn to love one another.
    we should and need to learn to love one another, otherwise we are surely doomed, spoke the third queen from the left on the next to the top row.
    laughter started from the back balcony and cascaded down until the whole hall was flooded with it.
    yes, laugh all you want. i know that i speak an absurdity. but i want you all to note that i did not say it was possible, she went on, in fact i personally think that it is not. all i say is that one follows the other. the only thing that can save us is love - if we love one another. if... and her voice trailed off as the laughter grew louder and louder shaking the walls with its roaring sound.
    the next day the third queen from the left in the next to the top row sat in her garden talking to the squirrels.
    where is queen jacbo-ay? someone would ask (for that was her name). her synthoservants would reply, in her garden talking to the squirrels. and there would be a knowing chuckle among any who heard.
    my dear squirrels, queen nu-nu would say (for that was her name as well), what are we to do? i cannot express how i feel to those who do not listen. i cannot tell them how easy it is. i cannot tell them that we do not need laws or taxes. i cannot tell them that most of human industry is wasted on what does not need doing. i cannot tell them of the paradise that could surround us tomorrow - even today! what are we to do?
    but the squirrels ignored her. they gathered the peanuts she tossed at her feet for them. they carried them off to secret locations.
    she cried. alone.

    the cold steel and stone of the human and natural worlds.
    the isolation and denial.
    the death in life.
    just a spark in the fire quickly dying on the ground, forever over and over.
    not to know anything about anything.
    just a brief glance into the chaos before the eyes shut themselves tight with incomprehension.
    remembering nothing.

    and now the distance between things.
    the shallowness and the depth.
    all waiting to happen in the moment arising on the perfect wave.
    all becoming.
    all and one, all as one.
    just a myth.
    just a psychological condition with missing pieces.
    just whatever it is.
    just the fantasy of it.
    nowhere - nowhere.
    now and evermore always denied because in this we find our grace and salvation if at all.

    talking fits out of mouths of reason.
    all the time and time again.
    the exact words which describe nothing.
    the fear of silence.
    this world, the concrete line and shape.
    it is decided what goes where and when and how.
    not why.
    there is no why in the language of reason but the constant variable of god (or something just like it) the equations work around.
    and out of these mouths of reason issue forth the commands of authority.
    and armies march.
    and armies work.
    and armies manufacturing things for armies to consume.
    the armies stand up and sit down.
    the armies hold guns to their own heads and keep themselves prisoner.
    surrender to the will of reason, the voice proclaims as truth.
    the truth is eternally silent.
    it makes no sound to aid in its discovery.
    yet those who shout are those that people listen to.

    the dividing line.
    the thought that counts.
    suck on a floor tile.

    the easy flame of heart into mind overriding any doubt and belief.
    with nothing for the mind to hold as it falls asleep.
    the world falls asleep.

    3/19
    into a moment.
    a sound like the beast rising from the sea.
    trumpets and rockets red glare as names are called away from the dream to where there is no need to escape.
    an island.
    a world.
    a universe.
    welcoming arms of one another remembering the horrible things we did to each other and everyone once.
    long ago.
    was it long ago?

    if there is nothing, as there may be, then all the more reason to believe there is everything.
    yet it's hard to think that all one hopes for is fantasy and one's only salvation rests solely on one's ability to go insane.
    but maybe that is all it is and will ever be.
    tip-toe in the garden.
    holding breath.
    now as night - looking into the corners.
    doubting what is not seen.
    the imagination plays the game.

    and in some child's memory.
    and in some dusty closet.
    and in silence.
    and with eyes almost open in the morning.
    we remember something that once was important - or at least seemed to be.
    was it in a dream or part of our lives - or both?
    who were we then?
    who are we now?

    how do we explain to each other all the possible explanations we have reasoned out with all the different words and their many meanings?
    what do i mean?
    what do you mean?
    we cannot explain most of what we think we know to ourselves let alone to each other.
    where does it come together?
    where does it belong?

    and here he sits in the middle of life.
    just another common fool.
    nothing comes and nothing goes.
    it's just the same in constant variation.
    a thousand or a million questions in his head that have been in other heads before.
    how many have given up here and covered themselves over with the warm blanket of faith against the cold of ignorance?
    that seems to be the only way.
    there is no way by reason to escape this place.
    just accept fate and believe in the will and wisdom of gods.

    3/20
    dreaming an unknown dream.
    in light and in darkness.
    exploring every corner as best one can.
    see what's there.
    see what's undercover.
    the big myth made up of all the little myths - over and over.
    it doesn't matter much what's true or not.
    it matters what we believe, and why.
    why do we see ourselves as the miserable creatures we believe ourselves to be under the power of gods instead as the gods themselves?
    the power of creation and destruction is in our hands, in our minds.
    we have no more excuses of ignorance.
    it's just a joke we play on ourselves.
    we devise our own death.
    we build the weapons and point them at each other who we believe are the enemy and pull the trigger.
    the enemy is everywhere.
    right, left, up, down.
    we are surrounded.
    there is no escape now but surrender.
    take away the masks.
    lower the guard.
    it was only us after all.
    you see?

    3/21
    thump thump thump.
    and a little earlier than all of that.
    over the river and through the woods.
    nonsense.
    ding dong the witch is dead and the black cat keeps looking for something more.
    watchworks.
    in and out.
    a thousand and one symbols down and down through memory.
    where it goes, nobody knows.
    the instinctive and the forgotten.
    where monkeys laugh, horses gallop, reptiles creep and slither and fish swim hurdy gurdy.
    to the one cell mind blinking on and off.
    to the thought of life and possibility.

    it was surrounded and surrounding.
    it was going and coming.
    everything is changing under the welcome sky as he thinks he begins to understand.
    it is as it was and is and will be twisting turning up and down, right and left, and basically all over the place.
    no words.
    no images.
    gotta figure it out in the dark.
    the dreams keep coming as maybe the layers peel off one by one.
    is that what is happening?
    where did the layers come from?
    it was too late yesterday and tomorrow will be too soon.
    caught between the two in a moment torn both ways at once.
    it's not an easy thing to decide, so no decision is made.
    is that how the universe goes on?
    welcome to the club.
    sing along.
    inside the cage with memory gone.
    static wind in a lonely room.

    so it was something else and a bit more than one could imagine happening in a lifetime let alone at once and for all.
    here it is looking you straight in the face without a wink.
    you try to smile but your muscles won't move.
    it is not fear or awe that holds you.
    it's something more like suspended belief or there abouts on down the line where faith and doubt merge into one force that is mystically inclined to becoming expressed by a extreme pain in the back of the skull like a nail or a drill being driven into it while the head is held in a vice tightly.
    that's how they get in.
    that's how they make the connection.

    3/22
    so upward flame blue from the top of our mind.
    if we only could see.
    if we only could see who we really are.
    would we believe it?
    probably not.
    we are carefully trained not to see or believe who we really are.
    the whole philosophy of the ages is built as a wall to keep us out of the garden.
    brick by brick carefully cemented together.
    but are those cracks we see now?
    cracks of light appearing now too many and too fast for the guardians to repair.

    we are fools.
    we are fools of the world we have created against ourselves.
    we are our own guardians against knowledge.

    too much time has gone by.
    and too little time has yet to go by.
    yesterday and tomorrow merging in today.
    will we ever get it?
    will we ever live in the world we should be believing in?

    3/23
    cross-eyed woman in satin pink.
    pony tail hanging down.
    said something about where it's at down on another line.
    mystery fashion loose buttoned breast and hand scratching inside her pants.
    now talking about the times she knew.
    it was so easy, everything was happening as it was - day to day.
    swinging on a hammock by the seaside lawn.
    flowers somewhere.
    all the people talking about the same old thing.
    something about a breeze.
    the head connects to something else.
    away and along.
    with a snap of your fingers, you're there.

    flash on by on the silver stream of consciousness running easy mercury over jagged edges.
    open your mouth and speak what you think in direct linkage with the sparks behind your eyes like a universe diving through a möbius hoop and somewhere on the other side come out laughing about what any rational minded person would consider at least a waste of time, at worst, a bad investment.
    the point of no return.
    look at the joke for as long as you can and snicker behind the backs of those who dress about in the emperor's new clothes with all the badges and jewels of authority.
    ha-ha!
    hee-hee!
    hoo-hoo!

    all inside the outside, or outside the inside, or however you want it.
    in the garden where mutual delight is the coin of the realm.
    just a childhood or lunatic's dream.
    reasonable people realize that our lot is to struggle.
    we wouldn't be happy otherwise.
    how many times have you had that hammered into your head?
    enough that it almost sounds right - eh?
    well, it didn't sound right to him.
    maybe because he hasn't grown up yet, or he's just more than a little nuts.
    maybe so, but...

    3/24
    and on the following day ralph remembered he was midway (or so) up the eastside of the mountain zzaxiz. he didn't remember how or why and only vaguely when. he was sitting on a stone. the whole place was stone. it was stone. but this was only part (and the most obvious part) of the realization. realization. why did he worry about it so much? why didn't he party hardy like other people? why was he such an idiot bore?
    this was not important. nothing was important. not even, and probably especially, this story.
    the end.

    don't know why anything goes together or knot - or, what?
    was i listening? asked zoorlph in a moment during the discovery seminars in the only good hotel in town, around the block and then some.
    and what was that that was whispered on the 6th floor hallway between doors at some ungodly hour of the previous morning? was it the moon that let no one sleep that peculiar perpendicular night shaped as though it might have gone some place else?
    so here we are sitting in the main convention auditorium and what goes on is what goes on. the distortion phase (those who will become disoriented will leave). this is what you get for how much. this is what this is basically (very) about. we don't want to control you, we want you to own up and join us. we know we're not crazy. how about you?

    and the absolute zero mind beyond decay and eating of itself downward into the dregs. the bottom of the barrel wasteland when the end becomes the means. no more laughter in the eyes and the mouth portrays a blindness that cannot be forgiven easily. though we try to lift the spirit, there is more weight to some than others. this is what holds us down. this is why we do not fly because the others know we cannot. there are those so grounded into the world around them, who knows if they'll ever let go?
    let go. find the course you can follow away from your own madness. stop seeking for the truth and find it seeking for you. let go of the tiller and let it drift to random lands that aren't so random. let go over the hills and far away. so low no one will hear you (they never listened anyway). be who you are and do what you gotta do. make a noise with your life that cannot be ignored. put it in the face of those who deny it most. bang your head against the wall that is cracked and falling from all the heads banging before you. don't stop until it feels good. when the reaction returns to your gut and you know this is it. this is the place and the time - here now. it's now and never in one constant cascade anointing your head with soil to plant the seeds which will grow into a bountiful harvest.
    light and dark become mere contrast to the whole picture when you step back to enjoy the view. the view from inside out and outside in. let others climb to the top to find that it's no different. you can't get into it if you're always trying to climb out.
    let go and fall splash into the diamond stars your thoughts become instead of short circuit sparks. let go and feel it still hold you as a mother to a child. let go to know you can be secure without clenched fists and gnashing teeth. let go and stop pushing the buttons that activate that which just keeps bugging you. let go for your own sake. let go.

    track it down (or up). be the point which is central to the universe. there are so many, you know? it's not here or there but everywhere here and there. it's not one or the other but all together as one. exact and vague. pinpoint and encompassing. the it you are when you are it - and you are it. don't look around for someone else to deny or forgive you. it is you who makes that choice. you are part of the sum total. without you the answers would be different. not right or wrong, just changed. without you would any of this be at all? what do you think?

    pretend that what we know is what is to be known. mark carefully the forbidden. justify our authority over wright and rong. draw maps with boundaries. pick up a gun and protect the delineations, the hallucinatory possessions. raise the flag that symbolizes our common sense within the limits of the lowest common denominator. put on the mask and uniform when we realize we do not fit the average description.
    this is not to state that there is no unity. this is not to state there is not commonness, but why the conformity? why the lowest? why those who should lead are bent to follow? the iron hand of masters we have outgrown and should now discard.. clasp the fist and hold it until it relaxes and opens and clasps our hand. reward instead of revenge.

    too simple. words that confuse logic. thoughts which distract the line of thinking. the armies who lay down their arms without law or treaty.
    surrender to yourself. it has always been you who you were fighting. and the you who you think you are is the you who is on the wrong side. step over to become the you who is really you after all. the you who you knew you are. yoo-hoo. is anybody home?
    guess what - you are.

    to hold the shape of self. to be the one who is all as all of one. one is one. self is self. is this perfectly obvious? you do not need to answer. we know you know the answer. if we can get then so can you. we are no more or less. we stand alone in the dark just like anyone else. we glow in the dark just like you.

    3/25
    the whereabouts of the heat. the standing ovation. speaking without being spoken to. light of events. the distant shadow that we all fear in some form or another. the call of the wild to the heart where shapes are formed and given names. we are liquid. we are coming and going. we are wind. we rise and fall. darkness and beast. pyramid. ancient structures we move through without knowing. airplanes. past and future. this and that. lies and truth. what are the differences we see? who are we to see them? what is the form we take this time? whose name do we answer to?

    those who wield the cross as a weapon. those who fight the war that need not be. the moral host judging everyone but themselves. those who cast a long shadow standing in the light and call that shadow evil. picture the god these ones describe. is this our god? a god whose mercy has barbed wire boundaries. a god who punishes the human for being human. a god who can forget what it has created.
    we are the ones who judge ourselves. we each alone must decide who is who and what is what. no one is you and you are no one.
    when the oppressed pray for vengeance. when the oppressors pray for continued strength.

    a little mystery never hurt anyone, giggled mr. myrth.

    dear mr. fliptop was walking up the wall one day when his neighbor knocked on his side door. but mr. fliptop was far too embroiled in his own juices to become involved in ordinary conversation. he was thinking about 2+2. so mr. fliptop did not answer either the knocking on the side door or the calling through the kitchen window, yoo hoo, anybody home? mr. fliptop, are you in there?
    eventually his neighbor went away, looking over her shoulder every 3rd or 5th step to be sure in case mr. fliptop did come to the door after all.
    no, mr. fliptop was definitely in the midst of some very serious puzzling. then he thought another way. and another. probing from any and all directions he could toward a point exactly inside the center of his very thinking brain. he tried from the front. he tried from the back. he tried from either side and from above and below. he tried direct approaches. he tried round about approaches. he tried logical well reasoned paths. he tried imaginative intuitive paths. but he just couldn't get there.
    2+2, he thought, 2+2. he came up blank.
    now you may think that mr. fliptop is a very silly fellow. 2+2=4, you would say. of course it is! but that was not the answer he was looking for. in fact, it wasn't an answer he was looking for at all.
    mr. fliptop was trying to get back inside his brain. he had locked himself out, you see. it was an accident. he only stepped out for a moment when, click. the door shut and locked. and him without a key. what was he to do?
    he wasn't totally out of his brain. he was still inside the everyday functioning part. he could go to work. he could dress himself. he could have had a normal conversation with his neighbor had he wanted to. but it was the very inner part of his brain that he was locked out of. the part that was the most comfortable. the part where mr. fliptop was himself. not that he wasn't himself. he still was, but it didn't feel quite right.
    so he went on the rest of the afternoon and into the evening thinking 2+2 over and over in as many different ways as he could. walking up walls.
    his neighbor on the other hand meanwhile had telephoned the block supervisor and reported mr. fliptop's unsociable absence for their scheduled gossip therapy encounter meeting.
    so there!
    so where o' where have all the little dogs gone? where could they all be? they're not in the basements. they're not on the rooftops. where are they?

    something strange and wonderful as promised in the darkest moments of the night. all the whatnot jazz and things that go bump, etc. and of course, the meaning of life.
    we were a little in-between just then. we were slightly bent out of shape. and something about the last time remembering. the burning. crazy lady weeping in the graveyard. french police were informed yesterday about a man arriving from david's arrow space station. a message. a formulation. the system.

    1,2,3,5,7,11,13,17,19,23,29,31,37,41,43,47,53,59,61,67...

    3/26
    days in zero as passing moons wink and nod. prince oboo-137 sat in the nw corner. the room was dark save for a candle flickering sporadically on a small round table in the center.
    wings on fire. the heat of flight. prince oboo-137 held a flute made from the left thigh bone of an ancient teacher. the flute was generations old and many stories told of its journey hand to hand through time. and time only. for the flute never left the room since its creation.
    prince oboo-137 blew soft breath across the flute and drew out long mournful spirit sounds from its inner world. the dried marrow gave overtones to the sounds which brought vivid visions to the mind. speaking voices of oracles.
    prince oboo-137 listened as he played. the room built of heavy field stone became transparent and a landscape would appear, though not the landscape that surrounded the room. a different landscape - strange in beauty. a stream winding down from a mountain into a valley where there was a village.
    in the village lived many a happy folk, or so it seemed on the surface. they worked hard all day and came home and watched tv.
    then suddenly everything ended.

    3/27
    eating out of his hat, emrald stood and spun outta sight.
    i never got to drive the damn thing anyway, he said amusedly.
    we didn't exactly understand what he was referring to but we applauded his statement anyway because more than a few times what he had said before in the past turned out in time to be deeply profound though at first when it was spoken sounded like off the top of his head nonsense.
    so there we were on the brink of what we knew not what.

    3/29
    talk talk talk.
    all about nothing when it's everything that surrounds us.
    ka-blam!
    he kills you.
    ka-blam!
    he wants to kill you.
    what does he need any of you for? it's just one losing compromise after another.
    ka-blam!
    ka-blam!
    ka-blam!

    no nothing.
    a life of forever time.
    each moment of pain is dragged out and real while the moments of pleasure are fleeting and imaginary.
    thanks a lot.
    thank you dear god for giving him air to breathe.
    it was very nice of you.
    of course, if you hadn't stuck him with these lungs...

    time and time gone.
    all the things he screwed up.
    all the people he drove away with his stupidity and ignorance.
    he has killed everything he has touched until his life has become as useless as it is now.
    now all he has is his broken fantasies about what could have been - might have been.
    if only he knew what was going on. he never knew what was going on. and everybody lied to him.
    and what lessons is he to learn from any of this? there are none as far as he can tell. so that can't be the point to this.
    he doesn't know what the point to any of this is. he just keeps going, keeping out of the way as best as he can.
    he retreats from the faces. he hides himself alone. he tries to do as little damage as he can with his anti-midas touch.

    so the flame burns its way through the night and cold. the flame no one sees anymore. no moths bang themselves against the glass. darkness might as well be darkness. darkness is darkness to those who don't understand.
    we stand on the hill and let the wind blow through our hair - except the we is only him and he is dying from the loneliness out here with everyone warm in their warm houses. he doesn't understand. what happened with everyone? how did it die so quickly? was it only a joke after all? time to grow up and become serious in this real world. know what buttons to push on the machine.

    all the conclusions at once. all the starvation worldwide. starvation of the soul screaming in pain alone. a billion billion billion billion and more at once.
    feel all the pain riding in the air. do what you will but you cannot get away. be rich and famous or rich and recluse or poor and famous or poor and recluse or whatever. you can't get away.
    all dreams are broken on the battlefield of reality and the eternal conquerors stand looking down and laugh at how easy the day was - how glorious the victory - as their weapons gleam in the full light of the sun.
    there is no weeping here. no one would dare show such emotion. the prisoners are led away in chains to the factories and offices to work to buy houses and all sorts of consumer goods.
    the dream of their vision is gone. they design the world with blind eyes. they grope their way through the dark. the dark that used to be filled with light from their imagination.

    he spends the day dreaming.
    he spends his life dreaming. dreaming alone.
    there was no one to dream with him. if there are any others, we are kept apart. the guardians of the faith know how two sparks can create a fire. so we are kept apart in our real lives.
    we dream alone.

    he's never been able to connect with anything or anyone. he's either been too late or too far away. he's never known what was going on. just like now he doesn't know what's going on even if there was something going on.

    our greed keeps us down. wanting everything for ourselves. building ourselves above everyone else in one way or another. even the philosophies and religions of love have been turned into greed. god smiles on those who have it all.
    and it doesn't matter.

    forever and forever.
    in this pain.
    the pain no one feels.
    they live and breathe and do all they do as though nothing is wrong.
    maybe nothing is wrong.
    maybe it's just him.
    what's wrong with him?
    why all this pain?
    forever and forever.

    he tries to get out but he always comes back. it's the only thing he can feel.
    he lives in darkness with his own light. he sees better with his eyes closed than open. he dreams of whatever comes to mind.

    3/30
    and without a sound we had been expecting.

    3/31
    and with the april fool dancing just around the corner's edge we think again of the myriad possibilities and probabilities and pattern and event. dressed in the harlequin garb playing jester to those who wield great power. who is the fool here? the one who provokes thoughtful laughter or the one who in a fit of temper blows away the world with a gesture?
    blow away the world. one way, then the other. who is who? who has the power? in this world where nothing is set right - or wrong. we put them either way ourselves either by chance wisdom or planned stupidity. with or against the tide. or fuck or be fucked. the coin is tossed, but it never came down again. only the cat in the box knows for sure who's to win and who's to lose, the rest of us have to wait. live or die. meet jesus in the aire or spin the magick wheel again. someone must be sacrificed. it's all you or me.

    plaything of tricky fate. stars above, earth below. dead and buried through the ages. rotting back to life again.

    decay is a sign of life, not death - the dada-ananda, 1492, somewhere between east and west.

    in doubt is faith yet found. by eliminating lies is truth uncovered. know what is not to find what is.

    and in foundation.
    and in alteration.
    and in confusion.
    we live.
    we breathe.
    we speak a thousand tongues which say the same thing.

    the thing.
    the it.
    what is and what is not.
    not even tao knows what it is.
    all is it.
    all that is not all is it.
    it is it.
    it that is not it is it.
    speak whatever you want and you cannot speak of it.
    substance.
    non-substance.
    thought.
    non-thought.

    a simple flea which is not that simple, is it?
    the whole contained in one of the parts of the whole is it.
    one hand clapping.
    the other hand clapping.
    it does not need to be to be it.
    existence does not matter, it just is.
    purpose.
    non-purpose.
    meaning.
    non-meaning.
    dogs barking.
    cats meowing.
    cows mooing.
    people talking.
    language.
    non-language.
    there is nothing which is not it.
    and if there were, it would be it too.
    everything is not it, but it is everything.

    it cannot know itself, yet never does it not know itself.
    it is a paradox which is not a paradox.
    it was, is and will be, and it was not, is not and will never be.
    it is a kiss of departing lovers.
    it is blood spilled by birth.
    it is the last heartbeat before death and the heartbeat that might have followed.
    it is the room where someone is sleeping.
    it is the level of thought when one becomes aware of the need to urinate and does so while thinking of something else.
    it is the vision one sees of a place one has never been while reading a book about that place.
    it is a footprint on a beach between the tides.
    it is a footprint on an asphalt parking lot.
    it is the line described between footprints.

    you see what is. you do not see what is not.
    we lie about truth.
    there is nothing wrong with your television. do not attempt to turn it off. the police are on their way. they will help you. do not move.
    we are not in control.
    we are not who we say we are.
    we do not move.
    we obey what is not written.
    the voice is mightier than the pen. the image is mightier than the voice.
    the image is in control.
    we obey the image.
    we believe the image more than what we see ourselves.
    we have placed the image before god once and for all.
    the image is the image of god.
    we are the image of god.
    the image is not what we see.
    the image is its own explanation.

    it knew this and that and this and that knew it. it was one with this and that and this and that were one with it. this and that sang and danced.
    it knew no bounds until it overflowed into this and that. it defined itself and took form. in this and that it divided. it is without this and that but this and that are not without it.
    it could not see itself until it saw itself as this and that. it as substance is this and that. and as it was this it was that. it created by being either/or. it is/is not one and is/is not the other.
    in this it became not that. in that it became not this. as this came, that went. as this began, that ended. this is how something came from nothing as this and that cancel each other out and therefore cannot exist as one.
    it is one. it became two in this and that. the rest was easy.
    this and that are the primal opposites. in them the universe is balanced though this and that are not balanced but one cannot be without the other.
    whatever this is, that is not. whatever that is, this is not.
    it was aware. it was aware that it had always been aware. it became aware by dividing this from that and that from this.
    this and that are interchangeable as long as this and that are not the same thing at the same time - except being it.
    this and that are defined only as being opposite and not being what the other is. this is left when that is right. this is right when that is left. this is yin when that is yang. this is yang when that is yin.
    this is both as simple and as complex as it seems.
    to know it one must know both this and that. one must know both without preference for one or the other.
    this and that are the primal definition - what is and what is not.

    4/1
    and out of circles and into more circles. circles of circles in a forever dance. circles of space. circles of time. circles of thought thinking of space and time.
    to be what one is not.
    to not be what one is.
    beyond the rules into possibility.

    4/3
    people cry, freedom! freedom! around the world as henry j. toyota sipped his tea. in his other hand he held the morning newspaper folded lengthwise 1/2 and 1/2 again.
    yet down in the x-ray lab...
    yet up in the brain tower...
    and then yesterday...

    4/5
    and it is it because it is it. there is no other reason. there is no other explanation. even god cannot argue this fact. there is no other understanding than it understanding it. it understands it. it also does not understand it. this is it as well. if it were not it, it would still be it. it is all possibility - even impossible possibility. it is all that is neither one nor the other. it is all that is one or the other. what it is not nothing else can be without also being it because it is what it is not. it is existence that is non-existence. it can be anything and anything can be it, except that only it is it - or not it. it is the perception of what it is. one decides what is it and what is not it. this decision is also it since one is it and one can do nothing other than it. dividing it from not it is only dividing it between this and that and putting values on them accordingly. but this and that are both it for without it there would not be this and that. this cannot exist without that because what is not this is by default that.
    it is one.
    this and that are it as two.