the preparation -

    and each step is one.
    and the journey of a thousand steps begins with one step. yet it takes a thousand steps to make that one step that begins the journey of a thousand steps.
    nevermind the journey that never ends. and what about the journey that never begins?
    each divides within itself as it also divides outward. in and out of space and time. and what is of existence other than that?

    and what of existence other than that? - other than space and time?
    relationship of division. the division of one. and the one being nothing. the one being everything.
    nothing/everything.
    the first division. a glass half empty or half full.

    the vanishing point.

    common ground. division of the common ground.
    balance of things.
    and the point of no return.
    not knowing if one is coming or going.

    self being of self. the eye that sees the reflection of the eye in the mirror.
    which is which?
    which is the reality and which is the illusion?
    as both are both.
    all is symbol and image to the being. all is layers and masks. everything is the disguise of nothing.
    twist and shout.

    joining the rhythm together with whatever formulation disguised as a face in the crowd can imagine as it is/was/will be laughing together - what?
    a name undiscovered.
    a name being whatever it is/was/will be in a moment it used to disguise itself as a common household object.
    a face in the crowd somehow smiling through it all.
    and whatever is/was/will be said. the ever-flowing mind being perceiving of it all.
    the intersection axis point.

    a day. today or tomorrow or what can it matter when or what it is or becomes as these imaginary lines are passed through again and again laughing or crying or the same or different?
    the breakdown of action and event in space and time.

    a look to wide-eyed wonder in a pause to glance forever into a moment now becoming the zebra kicking heel energy pulse every continuous moment on after in listening trance as everything teaches us about nothing open to mind spinning mind in and out of which knows who in the middle of a resounding noise of one's connected self transposed into a final scene with sunset driftwood stump before low tide and cat familiar.
    before the let go wind comes blowing in on rays of sun the eerie song in the heavens because that's what it's all about in the heart of it all back to becoming unity of nothingness that isn't negative to our world but neutral following words through hoops galore.
    ah-ha!

    quiet-eyed.
    quiet eye.
    the eye that doesn't look, but sees.
    this point - that point - when all points are one point.
    ha-ha-ha, the joker laughs at one bending down to lift up one's pants. the joker laughs at him. the joker laughs at everyone by not laughing at anyone. the joker just laughs.
    the joker plays upon the feeling everyone has that the joker laughs at them.
    or someone laughs.
    laughing.

    the momentary trick of fate of the ego bursting into flames at the word spoken three times again. looking against the formulation. we pass along the watchtowers listening to the voices mix from conversations.
    was this ever true?
    was this ever real?
    was it gone before it ever began?
    what was the name this time?
    what was the voice that spoke it?

    and quickly underneath the signs of a coming time when we were fighting automatically with ourselves against each other.
    what is expected to be understood?
    it comes around each time again to surprise us. and then one time we will not be surprised.

    each favorite thing. each mission of gold. each item. each true value of what really is not what it is.
    a little story.
    all we need is a story told to us.
    a poem about times unending - unfolding. becoming.
    a sense that whatever...

    wait.

    a poem about times unbeginning.
    each word following from the one before it. each word being the word.
    a moment.
    a moment.
    a moment.

    dead in darkness. no lift. no hope now that we cannot...
    wait -

    a poem.
    another poem.
    what do they all mean?
    what is the place and time of them?
    it's all he has now. it's all he has to write these words down from whatever state he's in from moment to moment. whatever each word and the words together are worth. that's all he has now.
    to write down something that might help someone somewhere at some time. that's all he has - if that. that's all he's ever had.
    as to whether it actually helps anyone or no one is quite another matter. what else does he have to give anyone? what else does anyone want?
    no one wants him. he cannot function very well in the factories. he can't seem to be able to keep his mind on the job he is given to perform. his place in their world.
    this is his job now - scribbling whatnot. this is his true vocation. to write whatever spills outta his head onto the page after page in notebooks on a shelf.

    and we watched him fatefully destroy himself. the agony of his too deep existence.
    and who are we to survive?
    we are safe. we take no chances.
    we are comfortable. and we never think about how our comfort leads directly into his agony. we never thought once. to think once would have made us too uncomfortable. we can't have that.
    forget about thinking twice. we never thought once.

    and they all know nothing more than he does. they may believe one thing or another but they know nothing.
    call the thousand names of god upon him. they mean nothing. he knows their gods better than they do. he has seen their faces in an infinite number of reflections of himself in this world.
    they know nothing more than he does. they can cast their incantations from the oldest books they may find. he has heard them before. they are only words. if there is one thing he knows, it's words.
    they know nothing more than he does. whether he knows what they know doesn't matter. he could know it if he wanted to. he knows what he knows because that is all he needs to know. he has more than enough angels to protect him if need be.
    they know nothing more than he does.

    and he knows nothing more than they do. he does not need to. but he knows one thing that they do not seem to know. and that is that they know nothing more than he does.
    this is how he can stand up to them. this is the one piece of knowledge that can withstand their abuse of power and will finally defeat them - or make them defeat themselves.
    this one piece of knowledge is greater than all the knowledge that they may have.

    from all moments into one. from faith to doubt. the because.
    the vibration of creation in the world. and the world was a yawn. om.
    circles within circles within the still morning dawn pond as the first birds call to one another.
    a mirror of moving images. nothing ever steady except the steady rhythm.
    is this too simple? life is so complex with everyone trying to balance their accounts before going bankrupt.
    one from one. one from another. one to another. this is all there is. one at a time. millions - billions - trillions - more than can ever be counted - one at a time.
    one to one.
    nothing changes in the ever-changing forever. nothing is the same in the changeless eternity.
    yet no one knows this. no one knows what it is.
    we perceive.

    what can be written about what cannot be known by reason? each word changes its meaning just in being written. not like in the mind. yet even there it moves away from what it is each time it is thought.
    the beginning of what has never had a beginning - yet it has begun.
    he is overwhelmed by each of these moments beginning. the long long moment like one great breath unbroken. a yawn. morning. dawn. dusk. a quiet yawn in a quiet time. and the sudden noise that follows. the great wonderful noise. the noise of uselessness thrown away into the void. eyes open. eyes closed. a dream within and without a dream.

    so what's the deal? what's the big goddamn deal? all these people walking around like everything is as normal as can be. either something is terribly wrong with them or there's something terribly wrong with him. and they're the majority. but does right or wrong depend on how many line up on one side or the other? or what?
    what?
    what are the meanings to any of these questions like this? does anyone care? is he alone in asking them? where are the headlines?

    the waters wash away everything - everything but the pain.
    the pain is everything. everything is pain. people twisted in pain - even and especially when they are laughing.

    1+1=2
    simple.
    complex.

    he is not anything of who he is. he has no wisdom. his knowledge is what knowledge he has of the extent of his ignorance.
    what is this? what is that? he does not know.
    yet is there anyone who is not as ignorant as himself? yet they brim with knowledge. knowledge of people, places and things. they have their great schools. they have everything that expresses their knowledge. and yet what is any of it? where does it all go beside into the war machine?
    ha-ha!
    those old questions. he is a fool. he must get out of their way and let them go by. fast faster fastest. they have no time to ponder such things. no time to waste with doubt.
    the circles go around and around and around.
    he cannot stop. he wishes he could. he wishes he could disconnect from the circles and direct his time and energy into something else.
    if he could, he would. he could be the best, or one of the best at anything he decided to direct his time and energy to.
    but where would it go besides into their war machine?

    into the forest where everything moves. where dreams move. where everything moves in dreams. where music is played and dances are danced.
    and what does any of this mean? vague poetic language. not the force and drive of their language going places to go.
    so what's the point? maybe a few understand but they are isolated from the rest with literal rational minds. those who control or think they control the real world.
    we are always the refugees. in exile. in prison. hated. exterminated.
    we are water. they are rock. we must always move around them. but slowly bit by bit we erode them away.

    power.
    they always have the power. what do we need with power? power comforts their fear. they pull power over their heads like a frightened child does a security blanket afraid in a dark room full of imaginary monsters.
    what is he getting at?
    he doesn't know.

    he just fill up pages with stuff and nonsense. he bleeds. these pages are his bandages. he bleeds onto them. they soak with the blood and must be changed. a new page. a new bandage.
    the wound never heals. it always bleeds. where does all this blood come from?
    is it blood?
    is it a wound?
    what is it?
    what?
    these goddamn questions. these goddamn questions without answers.
    and there are those who will say that these questions have been answered. but all that he can see is that they just found a cork that stops the questions. is that an answer?
    stop the questions.
    stop the bleeding.
    the wound may heal but what about what caused the wound to begin with?
    no answer. no answers. just a way to stop the questions.
    the questions that now have him paralyzed. or has he paralyzed himself by refusing to stop asking them? refusing to stop the bleeding? just change the bandages. look - he is bleeding. if he stopped the bleeding who would know he was wounded? but why should they know? is it that important?
    they just go on with their lives undisturbed by anything.

    all the wrong errors. a time to be simple. a way to be true to whatever way may be the way to be the way that is taken along the way to the way of the way.
    now as laughter about himself here and now being on whatever way he can know the way of the dance he dances in among the dancers.

    throughout the dream and the dream state making whatever connection to whatever in whatever way it may and/or may not be made.
    to be positively open to as many possibilities that one may be open to, even those that for all the various and sundry reasons of the human condition both of the individual and the group appear to be opening into something perceive at first to be quite negative.
    to keep the true heart and be guided by it toward all experience and development of experience.
    and what is the true heart but that heart that looks into the center of all that lies before it and sees that all that makes up what is experienced radiates from that center?
    and this is either understood or it's not. there doesn't seem to be any way to change one who does not perceive the world in this manner.
    and the true heart is the heart of doubt.
    the surface of reality and the depths of reality.
    and if one can submerge into the depths far enough beneath the surface as to be unaffected by the changing waves of the surface sparkling sunlight in dreamy radiance maya. - or some such.
    what?

    and where does it all lead to? another stupid question. what is the purpose of the thoughts passing through our minds? because that is what they do, don't they?
    it is a case that these thoughts do not originate in our minds but come to them from some other source - a door, as it were.
    yes?
    no?
    as we rise though the layers of existing thought toward the real reality.
    as we open toward the lotus mind.
    what?
    what is he writing about?
    who him?

    and in time after time after time. through all life and all death as being only lighter and darker shades of an eternal light of being.
    and more goddamn space and time than anyone could possibly need, use or imagine.
    and all and all and all.
    and it all comes down to nothing but some fool like him drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and writing some scribbling nonsense that can never hope to come near whatever it all is.
    he can't even point to it and state there it is. that's it or this is it. or whatever is it. he would have to point to every particle of matter and energy in the universe at every moment of time since the beginning to the end, neither of which have occurred.
    so he points to nothing.
    and nothing points to him.
    ha!

    so what is the difference between anything and anything else as the particles of the universe disappear into almost nothingness and the universe itself expands beyond limits of itself through an infinite number of trick doors leading in and out of dimensional paradoxical flip flops and time has no beginning nor end or the beginning and end are the same moment which is now?
    is this an enlightened and/or realized state?
    is it confusion and/or insanity?
    either/or it does not relate to this thing called normal experience. either/or he has gone too far. he has turned on the lights that cannot be turned off. lights that are too bright.
    is this heaven and/or hell?
    is there a difference?

    and on it goes with or without whatever one feels that one needs. or is it that one feels that it is what one wants?
    is there a difference?
    what is the difference?
    calling out the names again.
    who is who?
    what is what?

    the long time gone.
    the long time to come.

    basically... what?
    who said what? - to who?

    words can no longer explain. words could never explain. his words cannot explain anything to anyone. his words cannot explain anything to himself.
    and the journey beyond madness begins and ends and continues.

    the copy of reality. the vision of all that is left out - not described.
    the dam built against the waters to keep the waters silent. the waters silently push against the dam until the dam bursts spilling out the rage of silence deafening - destructive.
    down down.
    crashing down.
    until the waters return to their song as it was.

    and digging down through the hard dry packed earth. earth long without water.
    digging down.
    until a spring is found. a spring that used to wash this land clean. now -

    now where is this sky we often think of? this sky which looks down upon our dreams?
    or is this too much to ask? is this a world once left can never be returned to?

    and now what is distant is near and of course what is near is now distant. and now as anything might happen as it always has been that now anything can happen - now being both near and distant.
    and now as we look around with well worn new eyes. and now as we explore regions familiar with the idea that everything is new and that anything might happen.
    what might that anything be that now might happen? and when do we know that it did not happen and it's too late?
    eh? a trick question?
    a trick question to spark the mind into -
    awareness?
    awareness of what might happen but does not?
    or -

    and it begins. or does it begin? where does it begin? when does it begin? what does it begin with?
    a beginning begins wherever and whenever it begins. it begins with whatever it begins with. it begins in space and time with something. and in beginning in space and time with something it connects to all space and time and with everything.
    all space. all time. everything.
    what of that?
    and where and when does it come from? and where and when does it go?
    much can be stated about that. much can be asked about that.
    does one think we are trying to tell one something? what does one think that is?
    actually perhaps we are more trying to ask one something more than tell.
    what could we have to tell anyone?
    everyone knows everything. or at least everything that they need to know.
    so what is all this about?
    there is this point/moment in space and time. it is the beginning. actually there are many - infinite - points/moments in space and time. they are all the beginning - and the ending and the continuing as well.
    or maybe not.
    how do we know this?
    we don't.
    we don't know anything. that's the point. that's where it begins and ends and continues - knowing nothing. it is all possibility. it is the imagining of this possibility. we reach the beginning/ending/continuing of possibility with imagination. exactly here. exactly now.
    each point/moment here now.
    where and when are the lines dividing it all apart?
    it dissolves into one - one beginning/ending/continuing point/moment.
    unless there are infinity...

    so what do we make of this mess?
    if it were a dance.
    if it were a dance of one with itself. but it is. it is.
    one with itself an infinite number of places and times all beginning and ending and continuing.
    why does there have to be anything else?
    the realization of the one turns it into a dance.
    a dance of one with itself.

    away from 18 spaces. doors open and close. the brain drain and verbal noise ongoing from the mouths of seven idiots who follow the seven sister queens.
    at a night with wild moon all over with x-ray silver blue white gray glowing light.
    and what it seems to be. the room at the top of the hill. mystery eyes seeing it all spin in many and varied sequence out of sequence.
    nothing more to do on a rainy afternoon but just dream dream away back to the moon soft memory of all the other places in their time where we used to dance together. dance with the bold moon. dance with ourselves.
    we were hot and the cold air of the night couldn't touch us.
    he has so much to learn. he knows nothing at all. he cannot remember.
    he is glimpsing into a space he cannot see unless he's inside looking out outside looking in.
    he is tired but has no choice but to keep on. he is lost in a wilderness and only this space can guide him home.
    coffee and cigarettes. no room at the inn. no friends among these strangers. talk talk about whatever spills out of their heads. and no one's listening to what they say but him. and he hears them in a flowing mixing montage of meaningless meaning.
    he keeps his watch at the station. he used to see through these images that shimmer in all their life-like glory around him. around us. around us as we are around each other. each an image in the maya of each other's solipsistic fantasy.
    we are one.
    we are two.
    we are everyone and everything.

    the characters of the wind blowing through each other's hair.
    it's not a rainbow. a rainbow even in its ethereal existing nature is still structure. a structure of light.
    it's through the rainbow back to the center of its vortex.
    rainbow.
    the ever-existent promise of continual radiating love. the love for all. the love of one for all and the love of all for one.
    try to see this.
    how can we explain?
    we understand these things. we tell ourselves lies of what we need to know and tell each other with every word, with every breath, with every thought, with every heartbeat.
    heartbeat into action of the body expressing love in every action. all action is involved with love. there can be no separation of love from action no matter what direction that action takes.
    this he sees.
    this he knows.

    a visit by the dark angel. the smooth dark angel in the city of life.
    all the angels in the city of life walking up and down and back and forth throughout the city of life.
    let it all hang out, baby.
    trucking around with the doo-dah man.
    calling away through the misty forest. he calls away for the other to come here now.
    the never-ending story.

    and the other calls his name off the reflecting moon. it walks ahead through the shadows becoming a shadow itself in the silver light.
    he no longer cares if it is real or not as he steps through the looking glass falling forever falling.
    wind in his hair and diamonds in his eyes and gold in his head.
    no one knows.
    no one believes.
    no one cares.
    no one.
    no.

    but we see these things. we are alive in these things. we know. we believe. we care. we. yes.
    the line that divides between yes/no.
    but seeing through and beyond the division of nature to see the nature of the undivided.
    as it all falls apart and comes together again. the moment within the mind. the mind within the moment.

    as so much has passed and nothing has passed at all. the constantly changing contrast formation of the changeless substance.
    now and forevermore.

    and in this time before the bad time. for us, the time after the bad time.
    the thousand years to come. the thousand years of newborn childhood.
    yes.
    to those singing and dancing.
    hello.
    we know who they are as we know who we are.
    but this will come and what is said now will not matter.

    as he walks again through the dream forest haloed by moonlight. what is it about moonlight? he says something to himself as he remembers who he is.
    he speaks out of memory. dr. memory. the doctor speaks for everyone now. no one speaks alone.
    the words are not what they are. the words speak from the thousand mouths. here and now.
    every place in its time. every time in its place. he remembers who he is. he speaks his name softly to himself as he follows. follow some unknown path that appears not to be there until one is on it. stranger in the strange land. the inner wilderness.
    and the other walks ahead leaving trails of threads weaving the landscape as in a dream.
    he is in a dream. a thousand dreams unfolding lotus blossom.
    a field of flags. everyone empties their pockets. he laughs at what is reveled. and he used to be so frightened by what he thought this all used to be.
    he used to be so frightened.
    now he knows what he does not know.

    and he thinks about if he writes anything at all. is anyone reading these words? why are they reading them? why are they not? he cannot think of why he writes them even though his doubt is almost gone. it comes to plague him from time to time. he sits staring out some window trying to see through its face. its ugly frightening scolding face.
    yes, father.
    yes, mother.
    he will forget everything his dreams and imagination tell him is not real. he will forget.
    they have lost their son to the forest and to the moon. the moon and the other who walks with the moon.
    and all they do is shake their heads.
    he doesn't care.
    he cares without caring.

    we must learn to live in the sewers and garbage dumps. all they cast out of their lives because it's broken or not quite what they had in mind. all that piles higher and higher against their walls.
    we look at the faces of those among us and see the joy behind their sadness. we look at the others and see the misery and death their fancy smiles cannot cover over.
    the knife is in their hands. lick up the blood. they keep themselves so clean for inspection.
    we understand this now.
    we understand the depths of their undiagnosed disease. it is all beyond them as it is beyond us. we cannot reach it. we can only try our best to reach around it.

    funny.
    as it continues to continue as we follow the waves traveling, as we laugh and cry.
    the complexity of it all. the simple complexity.

    and he sat on this rock on the beach on the island in the middle of the city he found one night and thought about what he was thinking. a party in his head. it twisted and turned this way and that. the snake in the grass hissing.
    as he sat on a rock in the cold shadow void that would move under and over him. but as he stood his ground before in the center of all things and pronounced his own name and with the sound of his own breath made what was allowed to happen.
    as he played god as god plays god as each must stand their ground in the center of all things and pronounce their own name and call it all out into being.
    the light that never goes out as all anyone can do is hide in the shadow of images before the face of the one who pronounced one's own name with a shout.

    the distance needed by memory to remember the future. lost in the past. the golden age in the center of the city of light radiating out and into the darkness until the darkness and the light become the same to each other.
    the names are interchangeable in relationship. relationship in perpetual balance a bit off balance.
    it all comes out in the end - if this ever ends.
    beginning again.
    as we take another breath and give it back. one to the other in perpetual balance a bit out of balance.
    give it all a chance - just a chance.
    that's all it is - chance.

    the dream of elements toward the shadows.
    big suit.
    the butterfly soul is captured.
    any move now could be dangerous.
    the dragon lady laughs.
    who knows what the snake does not?
    who understands the clouds of cigarette smoke?
    they talk among themselves.
    who knows them by name?
    a snake in the grass.
    a snake in the tree.

    fear of death?
    limit this and that.
    the dividing line caught on the dividing line.
    too soon or too late.
    the story abounds.
    talk talk from one to the other.
    everything took a chance.
    a fall from a cloud of absurdity.

    and maybe some things are real and some things are not. this does not concern him as he has never been able to tell the difference nor was all that interested in telling the difference.
    long ago.
    on the edge in-between once one quits worrying about how far one will fall is a crack into infinity beyond the infinity that surrounds us every day, that fills us every day. a more abstract form of infinity than that. infinity closer to its infinite sense of itself, or expression of itself.
    who knows? and they don't care.

    he could be anyone now if he let himself be anyone.
    all one moment.
    one all moment.
    drive the clocks back to the stone age.
    take the clocks away. who is to say where, who or when?
    the joke when no one laughs anymore. the prisoners and everyone else caught in images.

    on the streets of this babylon now.
    everything tastes funny.
    everyone whispers their name.
    the blue pyramid is long gone - the business having failed on this street that has little belief in itself.
    and don quixote sits looking with cigarette in hand at where it's been.
    he remembers.
    the dragon lady is not here and he thinks she was a windmill after all - spinning around and around.
    he must wait.
    conserve his energy for the real battle yet to come.
    the battle that will be fought in all the worlds at once.
    he has much to learn before then.
    he has to find his balance.

    so much time has gone. so much time is yet to come. and there is no time at all. and there is all the time that is needed.
    those who seek to control this world are nothing but frightened foolish children. they know not what they do. but we cannot forgive them.
    but they will have the power. they will use the power out of control in their greed for control.
    but we will defeat them by by turning the power they use against us back on them. they are all windmills spinning in the wind. we are the wind.
    we become the wind - unseen and coming from any direction.
    we are one with the wind. we ride the wind moving any and all direction as the wind blows. as the crow flies we are not controlled by the wind. we are not controlled by ourselves.
    we use the wind to shape our flight as it needs to be shaped.
    they are stuck to the earth. they cannot move except to spin around around.
    yet they do their job as we do ours. they build the earth as we build the sky.

    and when it comes, it goes.
    and when it stops, it stops.
    but what ever stops?
    or as it is transformed from one thing to another.
    as it transforms it transforms with or without us as we also transform with or without it.
    we are all together.
    we are coming and going.
    the doors begin to open and close.
    or god.
    or whoever.
    or nothing at all.
    or everything at once.

    and the center of the rainbow ring is pure white glowing blinding light.
    might as well look into the sun.
    but to stand with that light radiating out of our heads as we dig into the earth for our fortune.

    the journey of steps that never begins.
    one step never completed.
    dig.
    the joker laughs at everyone.
    it's another trick done with mirrors.
    that's how we created space and time.

    the departure -

    7/21
    ketchup.
    division.
    rain.
    and here we are in this kingdom without a king or whatever rabid thing they would have us believe it is we each see to be what it may or may not be.
    and now connect again with the lunatic web vibrating with energy from levels beneath the shelters we built together to keep ourselves from the storms of experience.
    and there are ones who talk and talk about basically nothing because nothing is all it is and really nothing is everything turning inside out of itself in long momentary circles beginning and ending at once and lasting forever.
    and it's the real thing now, boy-o-boy - and how.
    ketchup.
    and another division.
    and another game in the royal palace as we slip out and away from what we slip out and away from.

    as the cosmic comic dream space eats away through the human mind as we undergo the rapid change from the way of one way into the way of all the way as we open our eyes to the flash of our existence.
    we continue.
    we break on through beyond the meanings of words without meaning and past the images we disguise over ourselves we open like a garden of roses in the morning sun.
    and what is this judgment set upon us? what game is being played here? just a family of jealous gods trying to outmaneuver each other's position in our lives and alternating realities of expressions of each new idea.
    lovers dance out in the moonlight as broken puppet people drink alone at the bar on this island get-away.
    such is what is.
    each mouth is open and prepared to speak but no more words are to be spoken yet.
    now the time comes to be silent. now the time comes to wait and see. no one knows which way it goes.
    a thousand lifetimes can't change the way we think with ourselves set deep into our own history.

    the ways of the way. how many times do we need to be told? how much longer does it take before our love rises to the surface?
    the hatred and fear in the other's eyes paralyzes us. we cannot go anywhere near them.
    we are poison to each other.

    and coming to the point of defeat again and again. talking with the gods or was it only a mad imagined dream mind state illusion? playing tricks on himself.
    speaking with nothing on his mind. what is this? what is this not?
    and no one in this world wants to admit to the reality of anything they cannot hold in their hands. it's easy to believe. it's hard to realize.
    and all the children destroyed as soon as they are born. twisted into a thousand shapes by this world around them, inside them. confusion is the only cause. the confusion of black and white definitions the human mind places on everything it confronts. the knowledge of good and evil and all that jazz.
    and for all the time he's been thinking this and thinking that, what has he come up with?
    nothing. nothing but higher levels of confusion.

    eggman.
    eggman.
    ha-ha-ha...
    living in a world being driven mad by its god. and the destruction that will follow any day now.
    these are the times. these are the days. these are the hours and moments.
    this is it.
    and what do we do now but just go mad? is this our fate? is this the fate we accept?
    when in these times even sanity is madness.
    how do we overcome this? what is the method of this madness that we might unravel?

    as enter into where we've begun with everything in question we battle each other with answers we use as weapons to attack each other's answers attacking us in turn and live behind walls of answers we pray will protect us.
    all the answers and the belief in answers are only so strong as we are willing to fight and die for them.
    and what of us who stand naked on the battleground? we who walk alone through the ruins of thought - broken and destroyed ideas. and there are those who still live in the bunkers.

    and we imagine that god creates us and then it makes us its enemy.
    it has chased us to the gates of hell.
    this is our final stand.

    as the defeated fallen angels hold onto what they can. as they search out and find one another on this earth - in this world. open our minds to receive the comfort only lost souls can offer each other. when all others have turned away toward the gates of heaven for their reward.
    this is it.
    this is the time of the trial of who's who and what's what. no one knows the future. no one remembers the past. here we are in the moment of moments. here we are facing each other and ourselves. what do we do now? how long do we want the war to go on?
    there are those who still want to divide everything out making sure their pile is a little more than the rest. there are still those who worship individual wealth whether they're the ones who have it or not. how far does that go? where does it go? look at 10,000 years of our history. how much more destruction will be caused by their greed before it dawns on them that it goes nowhere for anyone?
    this is it.
    nowhere.
    now here.

    to see anything at all and to not know if what one sees is what one is seeing at all. out past the sign posts where the road starts wearing thin and is overgrown. how few have passed this way?
    now as he is in total wonder. now as he is struck dumb and confused. now as he waits for the next direction.
    now as he is that he is - or something like that.
    or is he still a fool? or is he still a fool for asking if he is still a fool? or what?
    and this still goes on...

    through the doors out into the hyperspace/time the mind exists in shaping thought and reflection of thought. or something like that.
    and these people worried about jobs and governments. asleep.
    we stand our ground. we look into the forever. we take the shit.

    how does it change? does it change? can it change? should it change?
    how do we change?
    and the length of space. and the length of time. the two crossed and twisted around each other. here. now.

    bringing down the god.
    yes - who is this god who rules us? who is this god we allow ourselves to be ruled by? and what do we do to each other and ourselves in the name of this god no matter what name we use?

    we need no god for ourselves. we need no god but all of the others. the human race is our first love who we send our devotion. yet they are locked within and without by the images they create of this god - whether they believe in it or not. it is by knowing these people that we know god in its true form. or do we? are we just chasing a phantom? a phantom in a spell. a dream of a phantom even.
    are we the dream?
    are we the phantom?
    are we the god?
    are we human?
    or does it have anything to do with these things at all?
    and here we are spinning our head around in circles with questions again.
    a spell.
    a spell of life.

    dreaming of love. dreaming of being able to give pure love beyond the human sense of love. taking nothing. needing nothing to be taken. a god who has created and loves all it creates. no good. no evil. no tricks up its sleeve. stop the war.
    what can we do with these things and events already decided as they are? no matter what we do nothing will ever be changed.
    or will it?
    to stop believing in this god. human being the image of god or god the image of human or both or neither.
    i am - i am - i am - i am...
    this and so much more.

    calling out in a dream of this reality no one seems to see it as the dream it is. or do we? who are we to state one thing or the other? what claim do we have of knowledge? of wisdom? of love?
    our claim is this god who and what and where and when it is. we cannot change it. it cannot change us. we are caught in a relationship of action and event.
    or maybe not.

    he wishes he could stop thinking. to act in the absolute moment through the mystery of beginning and end.
    the rose of a thousand thousand lights in the darkness. each pinpoint. he is not that strong. he cannot hold the sky to the earth. the moon burns even being a reflection of the sun. and of whatever clouds we have tried to master. we sent off computers after them. they came back knowing confusion.
    we have tried sending them into that mind hyperspace/time beyond the limits of our confusion. all that they have been able to tell us is that our confusion extends farther than we originally thought possible.
    as he watches someone lick the gutter clean and he does not know what to do. hello?
    to see the depths of heaven and the heights of hell. but what can we know?
    we dream together and alone. nothing must move. we cannot move. we are connected.

    the space and time.
    the space between space and time.
    the time between space and time.
    the point in space and the moment in time that can be anything and everything. possibility.
    this is the point/moment of departure away from all that has been or will be or the never. it begins constantly. it ends constantly.

    and what good does it do to sit around thinking of this and that? to act in reality even if reality is a dream. to be what one may become. who are we? human or god?
    why are we not content to be human? or just human? we do not think we would be content to be god either. to be both. to realize both in one experience. to be both as all of us being both. we do not want to be human to someone else being god nor to be god to someone else being human.
    we want it all. we are not satisfied with anything less than everything. yet isn't everything what we all already have? then why do we settle for our lives being as they are with all the pain and suffering? why do we limit ourselves to being just and only human and leave the rest to the mystery of god?
    what fun is that?

    we are the mystery of god. we are what is a mystery to god. we are the free will of god. we are the left hand that the right hand does not know what it is doing. we are god gone mad hallucinating a universe and the drama of the universe. we are what god fears most - the unknown.
    we are the disobedient aspect of god's self. we refuse to be saved from the damnation of hell. in fact we rejoice in it. we dance in the flames. we are the flames.
    hear us all who have surrendered themselves to god's will. we howl in the moonlight outside their windows - outside the walls - outside the range of their shoot first ask questions later security systems.
    we are out here asking the questions they dismiss as useless. not because they have found answers but because their answer is to stop asking the questions. we brave the darkness of soul that they tremble to even imagine. we have nothing to confess except our ignorance. our ignorance sets us free.
    this we cannot explain.
    what can we explain here that hasn't been explained a thousand times by those they have laughed at, scorned, imprisoned, tortured and put to death?
    is this the fate they always ultimately hold out to our kind?
    why?
    why do they refuse to listen? why do they consider our words to be madness and/or evil? they are the ones who make us mad. they are the ones who make us evil.
    and now here we are. the weapons are poised to destroy the world. they seek to eliminate all that they fear - the unknown. yet it is ironic that by attempting to do so they will plunge themselves straight into it.
    we do not fear them or their weapons. go ahead, push the button. we've seen the world destroyed a thousand times. come join us.
    we dare them.

    what is our fate here and now? what exactly are they up to? do they even know?
    they act out the scheme of their own prophetic warnings thinking that they can escape. yet this is what was foretold they would do. we see who they are. in seeking to destroy us they will destroy themselves. all we have to do is wait and we will finally be rid of them and their rabid control and greed for power.
    they cannot stop themselves. they are driven mad by their own delusions. we know their fate. what they wish on us will come back in their face. remember that.

    and the war goes on in realtime even though it's all been worked out in hyperspace/time mindshift/ship groove thing or whatever one calls it. realtime just takes awhile to work out and catch up because it's so bulky and physical material whatnot. but this is where and when it all has to happen. so we have to wait.
    and wait we will because there is a lot to wait for. the ultimate conclusion of this phase of our evolution on this here planet in this here world before entering the imaginary city once and for all - or whatever one wants to call it.
    this is it.
    this is the last stretch toward home. all the players are here in this final round. we've all played our parts along the way. now it's time to see what the outcome of all our efforts will become. the bets are on. who will be the winners? will there be any winners? or losers? or anyone? what?
    wait and see...
    this is it. it all comes down to this.

    and where the sky meets the earth on the distant horizon when we feel we can reach out and touch it.
    the vanishing point. the closer we try to move toward it the farther it moves away.
    all we can do is to imagine that we are already there. our minds are the vanishing point to our perception of reality. and what is reality but our perception?
    who knows?
    who is to say what is and what is not?
    and what then when we discover ourselves to be god?
    oh my - how could we ever think such a thing? we are nothing but these worthless sinful evil humans possessed and driven by fallen angel demons. how dare we think of ourselves otherwise? how dare we even consider that we may be god?
    how dare we indeed...

    we dare.
    does anyone else dare as well? or are they afraid of lightning bolts and that fiery brimstone thing? or are they all hung up on being just this speck on a speck in the whole wide universe with no god at all?
    no god at all?
    then why not us? it seems to us that the position is vacant.
    we dare.
    the worst that can happen is oblivion or this supposed hell which we're going to anyway.
    we say we are it.
    we dare.
    does anyone else dare too?
    we are god - all of us together. not god to each other but god to ourselves.
    it's time for a revolution. it's time to overthrow the mad king who has set its throne upon our humbled backs. whether this god exists in reality or only in our imagination is irrelevant. forget that argument.
    if god exists only in the human mind then that's ok by us. we still want a revolution. so much the better. it is still needed to be done to get it out of our minds once and for all. all through our history this god has been used against us to keep our heads down. the opiate of the people and all that. it's time to sic this god on our masters whether it is real or not. whether they believe it is real or not or just a scheme they invented. we can make god real by becoming god - the living god.
    we dare.
    who dares with us?
    it's time for us to define what this god is or not for ourselves and use it for our own means instead of having the idea of god be defined by others and used against us.
    we can have god shoved down our throats forever or spit it back out in their face and tell them to take a fucking hike.
    we dare.
    hello? anybody home?

    and the holy dog. the trained monkey on the leash held by those who would control this world.
    but let's pretend. we want them to be guided by this idea about how power and control will make them happy. we use them that way. all we have to do is kick back and watch them spin on their karmic wheels powering the dharma drama of it all.
    god who?

    and we observe. and we take notes. and we draw diagrams. and we play our part. it's all pretend. it's all imagination. who knows what's real or not? we let the others think whatever is real that they need to think is real. it'd be too much of a shock if they saw what it really is.
    because it's really nothing. and it's really everything at once - which is the same thing as nothing. and even god went mad looking at it. and it's really real and it's really just a fantasy dream story we make up as we go along. and we fix it up different each time around.

    and so here we are. and who even knows we're here at all? they look at us and what do they think? do they think?
    what?
    we are the wind to them just messing up their perfect hair styles. no thought about it at all. but we affect them more than they think (ha-ha). we make subtle adjustments to their minds [sic] as we pass them by. after seeing us once they are never the same.
    we are an illusion to them. it's all done with mirrors. we are the mirrors to their image of themselves.
    we know the truth the lies betray. we also know the lies the truth betrays. we exist beyond and beneath the illusions of image. the planes of other dimensional levels of light vibration. we know the source of the illusions our minds cannot grasp. we know the nature of experience the mind cannot follow.
    or is this just something we make up to amuse ourselves in a world they control? what is possible once imagination begins playing with it?

    driving it out and riding it down. bend the mind to reflect back on itself into feedback image shattering.
    and when the mind is ready to see the true void that is the pre-image source like the light from a projector before it hits the film. to see before and past the film into the shadow of the light.
    when the mind loses it sanity (rationality) to realize it makes up something from nothing. when the mind sees how it takes part in the act of creation.
    when the mind loses itself.
    then it begins.

    and what does it begin with but reality itself - the film? the substance and structure of the images and the plot devised by all the minds at once in composite of desire and fear. all dancing before our eyes. all that we imagine happening is happening. the grand illusion.
    and what of it? what does the perception of the possibility of the actuality change besides nothing?
    it offers no comfort. it makes a mockery of any belief in anything being more real than a belief in anything else.
    and it hardly wins friends and influences people.
    it is best just to keep one's mouth shut and fade into whatever one may find to fade into.
    dream away into one's own fantasy of it all. no one will know because no one wants to know and they'll fight like hell to keep themselves from knowing - from even remotely being reminded of what they don't want to know.
    there ain't much to do except watch and wait while things are falling apart. as their big idea of everything under the sun cracks and shatters into nonsense that it always was all along.
    tick-tock.
    tick-tock.
    tick-tock.
    tick-tock.
    because we've been through the hyperspace/time thing and seen this all happening already. the same story each time - at least the basic plot. the details change but it's all the same. it's an old old game played out once more.
    tick-tock.
    tick-tock.
    tick-tock.
    and then it will come to the time when it's laying out all over the place. the party will be over. everyone will have had their fun - their chance to play whatever part they wanted to play.
    it'll all be over in a day and a long long night.

    and whatever concept and/or perception of reality is held to be real. ho-hum.
    and the rain is lightly falling today. a misty rain. the world in impressionistic light. dream real. a easy fade in and out of thoughts about nothing much. heavy eyelids. yawn.
    coffee. cigarettes. more ink on the page.
    waiting.
    so long and long. waiting.
    down on easy street where everyone checks their mailbox everyday. sometimes two or three times a day. waiting.
    down on easy street where those who've lost their minds hang. waiting.

    dream up a thousand dreams and call any one of them real. call them all real. then forget it.
    he doesn't know. does anyone? what goes on behind this mask reality wears? the people who act so strangely. the people who still believe.
    the river goes splash in our face. something about something else. talking nonsense. follow it down. follow it up. anywhere it goes we must follow. a dream or not, it still causes pain. or does it?
    snap.
    here we are.
    the dragon lady waits watching pictures in her mind. he does not know.
    he finds he knows nothing every moment that goes by. and there is more to nothing than he could possibly know.
    real or not real has long ago lost its meaning along with all the other opposite states. anything could be anything. or nothing. or everything.
    and he sees and watches these people who know who's who and what's what. how can they be so sure?
    the angels are on earth walking among us. do the others know this for all else they know? do they know what's happening here?
    how can they be so sure?

    and what does he forget in this? where is the love? it's so easy to miss because there's so little of it around.
    so what else is new?
    beatrice sighs.
    to go mad in the name of love. to go out of one's mind coo-coo raving mad shattered in the street out in the sun out in the rain.
    and how can we see? how can we be so sure? without love what is anything we do?

    and what effort does he put out toward what? everything has melted into all possibility. he lights another cigarette and destroys one future and creates another. or is he only imagining?
    is he dreaming these dreams? his life is a thousand thousand dreams each day. when do they end? when do they begin? when do they merge into one dream he can dream all day?

    and out past the edge where the way back narrows down with each moment that passes in their real time. he sees them looking at him checking off items in their clipboard minds. the straight-faced guardians of reality. and the children they control. the saddest part is to see the children who look at him with curious wonder yet with that edge of fear as rote warnings blink red in their minds.
    he remembers that when he was a child curiously wondering. will these children be strong enough to overcome? how long is it taking him?
    and what does that promise? what do dreams promise but more dreams? does it ever come back?
    do we ever come back?
    do we ever get to where we are going?
    or are we just gone?

    the gathering of fools and the only fool who gathers is the one and only fool who still believes in love. love held close inside a broken heart.
    no one comes out to play anymore.

    this is the end - or is it the beginning? does it matter much which is which? which way is up and which way is sideways?
    down in the mirrored forest where one's inside is out and one's outside is in. dark green and soft moist ground where one can sleep for a thousand years while not a moment goes by.
    what does he notice that hasn't been noticed before? what does he see? what can he write down?
    the mystery. what names and the divisions and powers we perceive do not matter. it is not what is different but what is the same. where can we agree? who is even interested in agreeing?
    is he becoming lost in all of this? where did he start out? where is he now? where has he been? where is he going? what did he miss along the way? what is he missing now?

    there is something simple and there is something complex. on/off. what is he trying to get to in all of this? in or out? up or down? or sideways?
    and there are bills to be paid. and there is a job to be done. there is a world where he is a citizen where he held powerless in check with all the others the same. where any and all dreams he has must be surrendered to the state who will then decide which can be made real or not. which fit into their master plan of holding its citizens powerless in check making them surrender their dreams.
    he will not.
    he will not let himself be used as a weapon against anyone. if nothing else that is what he will do with his life - or not do. maybe that is all he will accomplish. maybe that is all he has the energy for. and no one will understand what he has done because it will appear to be doing nothing. they will call him lazy. they don't know what it is to do nothing. to resist all temptation and become whatever one wants to be for oneself. they don't know. he could raise himself to a position where they would be lining up to kiss his ass. is that what they want him to do? if they knew what they were saying when they ridicule him for doing nothing - for wasting his life.
    he will not serve power by desiring it. he knew what he could do when he was a child. people around him so easy to manipulate. he played little games and tricks. he saw how easy it was to make these big adults do what he wanted with a wave of his hand. they had no minds at all.
    they told him he had potential. how little they knew how much.
    all he would have to do is turn on his smile. what they wouldn't do to see him smile. the wealth and power they would surrender to see him smile.
    that is how it is done. all the armies in history have marched just to see someone smile.
    is that what they wanted him to do? is that how empty their lives are?
    he wouldn't/won't do it.
    he sets them free and they don't even know it.

    10 days later - or it might as well not be if it isn't. does it matter if it is or not?
    he does not know the date. it is the 8th month. the month of his birth.
    and what was his birth? 10 days ago - or it might as well have been if it wasn't. when does it begin? when does it end?
    birth/life/death/?
    on/off.
    each bit of our experience blinking on/off in a cloud of fairy maya dust in a spell of a dream.
    to believe in.
    to doubt.
    the leap of faith or not to decide one over the other constantly - even to lift a finger through spacetime.
   and how does this enter into anything like everyday living where the robots march unquestioningly from home to work to store to home again?

    and to call ourselves away. to one in heart with all the broken hearts. and who does not have a broken heart?
    and there are those who hide their broken hearts behind thick walls of steel reinforced concrete.
    and there are those who let their broken hearts bleed all over the damn place.
    out where the dogs bark. out where the darkness moves with shadows.
    and he only has these notebooks he writes in. this is the only world where he can be free. this is the only world where he can think what he wants. this is as close as his mind can get to reality. all else is lost. out in the real real world everything is being laid to waste in their power driven world.
    and he creates his webs of chaos. cocoons that open and close in one everlasting moment.
    and maybe it's not chaos. but chaos is the word he uses until he can think of another one. another word in the chaos of words in his head.
    chaos or life?
    web of life gathering things from life and swallowing them into itself. yes - that could be the right word. right word? are any of these the right words? what is the difference between chaos and life?
    life follows order. the order of chaos.
    the imagined purpose of the web and the rituals involved to creating the web to act out what can only be known what we act out as and until we act it out.
    this is how the word life and chaos are interchangeable.

    the web is one of the main ingredients of the machine.
    and right now it lies hidden in a friend's basement.

    another main component of the machine is a tv tuned to a channel with no station broadcasting on it so that it is just noise - chaos - life.
    the irrationality bliss thing.

    dada.

    all of this that he writes about and tries to explain is a gross distorted description of what it actually is - though it is not actually anything.
    how to write about the irrational with a rational language?
    how to divide and categorize that which is undivided and uncategorized?
    it is all one experience.
    but then we can make any statement we might want to make and since we are dealing with the irrational we don't have to prove any of it.
    dig?

    8/3or4
    a thousand years later how much of anything he writes down here will be of what importance? not that he feels that he needs to write anything important that will survive a thousand years but that he feels or hopes he writes something that is more or less connected to the general evolutionary flow of whatever is moving through us at the moment we exist in.
    he is trying to get as close to the mainline as he can. to the artery. to the heart.
    his heart.
    anyone's heart.
    our hearts beating in syncopated time each to different drummers but making sense in the chaos/life of it all.
    unable to say yes or no to anything. the noise chaos state - snow mind. the eternal hissing of all frequencies at once together as one all noise being of life.
    yes or no.
    just tell him yes or no. then explain exactly how one was able to decide one from the other.
    what was the question?
    what divides something from nothing.? what primal motivator?
    is there one?
    is there many?
    is there just the noise of it all?
    yes or no.
    the exact difference between the two.
    why only two?
    why not three?
    why not 369,847,276,746?
    why not none?
    all the words that are illusions that mean nothing/everything.
    his insanity has led him to that exact point of sanity.
    then he fell down flat on his face.

    he finds himself here each time watching this world go around him. here now. now here. nowhere.
    how does one get out of that?
    all these books everyone pointed to that pointed him to being here now. this is where and when he is. all else is illusion, so they say. so it seems.
    it may be all in his head, his poor aching head.
    to find out what is true is false and what is false is true or none of the above. of course then true is true in it being false and false is false in it being true. but let's not confuse the issue more than it already is.
    does one see what we mean?
    does one see anything at all? what does one see? what does one call real? what is one's relationship to what is happening?
    ours is to see the source of it. to see into the beginning and end of it in the spacetime thing that happens.
    to one of the rational mind we can see one's difficulty in understanding any of this mess. but it's not our problem. we have enough problems of our own.
    but they call their world real and ours a fantasy while we see them existing only on the surface while we swim the depths and fly the heights. in our dreams. in our imagination.
    to be sane or not to be sane. they think that there is a choice involved. to us there isn't because to us there is nothing to choose from because the two are the same difference and as such are interchangeable in relationship with each other. it is they who divide them apart and of course consider the one that they consider themselves to be is the better of the two.
    how fucked up is that? what is the point? what is accomplished except to create a social situation where x-number of people do not fit into it and are then to be seen as creating this big problem with everyone else who does - not always by choice - and then must be removed from the general lowest common denominator mainstream dada and all that jive?

    it's all in his head. there is no problem here - is there? this whole goddamn mess of whatever it is. they're hooked into their illusion of reality in one way or another. and he's out here by himself doing their work for them. but he still wouldn't trade places with any of them if it meant he had to think like them.
    let's forget about that. everyone has their moments of doubt and frustration. and he can't afford that now. if he stalls out on this shit at this point he's going down fast. he's walking out on thin air and if he looks down and starts thinking how impossible it all is, then he's through.

    and so it changes each moment that are all one moment without changing. and what has that to do with the surface reality world and those who subscribe to that so-called reality?
    nothing. nothing can be stated here or anywhere else. we can call them. we can lead them to the waters and all that. in more cases than not we cannot even do that.
    to find some sort of mutual balance among us all. not one and not the other. and we do not deny the surface world with its limited dimensions as much as we deny their rigid control of it. if that is where and how they want to live then who are we to argue? yet the same consideration is not given us. they have grabbed our share of it and made rules for us to follow.
    and blah blah blah.
    bitch bitch bitch.

    and they say we're insane.
    and if we're so goddamn insane how come we hear the songs the poets still sing and read the books written off the top of someone's head that all fit into this puzzle we got in our head?
    and they say it's an accident. and they say that's just the way we see it. which all is true.
    how do we ever explain any of this at all? we're out here staring up at the stars in the sky and we hear them talk to us by name. so how about that?
    and we look back at them and see where they and their world are going. we give a laugh and step back in/out again.
    we are tired of wearing hats for them. we like the wind in our hair. we like the sun in our eyes. we like looking out over the edge to the point of falling off into flight tap dancing in the moments plummeting to the rocks far below.
    and that last instant shock full tilt now before our head and brain go splatter all over the place.

    and what we see and not even know whether we see it or not hanging on this edge where everyone is because everywhere is an edge between everything else and this and that and things like that.
    it hangs up.
    we hang up in the spacetime where now these people around me, myself and i are all talking about body parts swelling and no one sees us or they don't seem to. do they see anything? do they see themselves? is it important?
    forget all that.

    there's this story and the story is about relationship and the story is about people, places and things (nouns) out of relationship or seeming to be out of relationship or thinking of themselves (at least the people do) out of relationship.
    or maybe that's not the story at all. what is the story?
    what exactly is the story here? do we know? should we know? should we try to figure it out? can we figure it out?
    the story seems to be about the people trying to live and/or function within the story and also trying to figure out the story as well.
    or something like that.
    some of the people focus on the living and/or functioning part while others focus on the figuring it out part.
    by and by and then some.
    dada.

    and the story for him so far is that he happens to be one of the ones cursed who's trying to figure the story out. and this has made it somewhat difficult to focus on the living and/or functioning part. this sort of leaves him out to lunch and dependent on others and of the others he has been able to depend on are the shit of society - junkies, drunks, thieves, mental cases - whereas those who are the self-named moral backbone of this whole scam, those who control the show, those who are able to focus on living and/or functioning, have pretty much told him to go take a flying fuck at the moon.
    this is an old old story.
    and so what is the story here anyway. how did it get so ass backward?
    yeah yeah yeah.
    bitch bitch bitch.
    etc.
    dada.
    money money money.
    he always suspected this was the case. now he knows it for a fact.
    he was always wondering who they were locking their doors to keep out. and now it's him.
    what a fucking joke.
    and they dare let the word love come out of their foul lying mouths. ha!
    their straight faces that never crack a smile. their structured minds.
    what a fucking joke.
    but he doesn't want to write about this - fuck it - fuck them.

    day six - saturn perhaps who eats his children as the boy comic dies on-stage and the violins play louder and louder.
    pictures.
    people who live in the center of the earth will return at 6 - blinking light - on/off.
    sometimes he feels like a motherless child. and the gods make love. and those whom they wish to destroy...
    and he is on too many edges - or maybe not enough. which edge is which?
    he is an edge - an edge on the point and moment of his own existence. oh boy -
    and all of us hanging out doing nothing.
    god to the universe. god in the center of the universe. and each point/moment of the universe is the center of the universe. merge with our own being as our being is the being of god. or somewhat like that.
    god goes to the store and buys some more cigarettes. god goes to the cafe and buys a cup of coffee. god sits at a table and takes out a notebook and begins to write about being human being stuck in a human world.
    oh well - here we go again. god wonders about the meaning of existence. does god wonder about the meaning of existence? god who?
    those whom a god wishes to destroy it first drives mad.
    the mad god caught in its own web of madness - web of chaos - web of life.
    god broken into an infinity of pieces. each an infinity unto itself. each an infinity of reflections of god gone mad. into the madness of self-destruction.
    god puts a gun to its head.
    big bang creation of infinite spacetime.
    god gone mad.
    mad god.
    mad dog.
    zap!
    ha-ha-ha, the joker laughs.

    so this is it. this is the conclusion of realization.
    now what?
    how is this at all useful in the context of dealing with the reflections of god gone mad who don't remember that they are god gone mad and believe that themselves to be human and humans are some sort of special creation of god - one who is not mad? because they are human. because that's what humans are.
    or what?
    now what?
    how does he get himself back to what he no longer believes in? it ain't that easy to just not believe because these humans and their world still have the power to fuck anyone over if one steps outta line.
    god gone mad.
    who does god turn to when it finds itself where it finds itself having gone mad?
    or something like that.
    or did we take a wrong turn here somewhere?
    re-group.
    re-think.
    what?
    huh?

    a circle unbroken - or is it broken?
    snap.
    a question of sanity - his - god's - ours - whose?
    and the tv stations still broadcast their message message message for all the world to see.
    he wants to see the pure noise of the source of creation.
    hissss...
    the cool-eyed serpent.

    the serpent joker laughs at us. ha-ha-ha-hiss. the devil tempter.
    telephone call.
    shoe size.
    the absurd randomness beginning and ending in all one point/moment in spacetime.
    hello? anybody home?
    he supposes he glanced at some books and the sunday comics and listened to a few records and the radio static between stations and the montage of conversations...
    shit! he doesn't know.
    how can he tell anyone? he doesn't know anything but he sees it and hears it everywhere.

    to be the darling one - the yes/no boy/girl child. the two in one. the yin/yang lovers entwined in stars exploding all over the goddamn place.
    into the sun.
    into the moon.
    turn the tides with the motion of a lover's hand.
    he is reborn into/out of through each moment.
    he is borne - carried away from himself into himself.

    let him set the record straight.
    let him mediate the differences.
    let him walk the thin line.
    let him sit on a fence.
    let him talk.
    let him listen.
    he loves it.
    he hates it.
    he can do nothing about it.
    he is driven mad by god.
    a mad god.

    as the time is coming. as the time is here. the war is on.
    the war will be on all levels - as wars have always been. all weapons of psychic dimensions.
    the war will transform the human race through a process of out and out madness. it will be everyone against everyone and everyone against themselves.
    a process of out and out madness beyond the madness of war.

    break it.
    find ourselves again. trace it back and bring it forward. again.
    space people and other types of alien folk from whatever dimension reality they're from or going to on this earth space station school thing.
    or what was he going to write next?
    the chains of karmic control will be released.
    to observe the general decay of the control structure that then release the chaotic madness.
    chaos of noise of light and darkness on/off.
    and our being in it and of it.

    the broken clocks raining down on the city streets. no one knows if anything is happening on time or not - which if they gave it a thought more than just a panic reaction they would realize that everything always is on time. it's happening, ain't it?
    but they can't track it so they assume they've lost control. their imaginary control.
    the earth flips upside down, right on time. even everybody going totally zonko nuts outta their minds all at once happens right on time.
    send all the diplomats home, with or without their heads. the time for talk is gone. the world's gone babble city on us all.
    the computers shrug their binary shoulders and blink out after printing out: good-bye, cruel world.
    the true moment of dada is on. ready or not the show is about to begin. no time to pack one's bags, but if one is cool then one will break out the lawn chairs, crack open a beer, roll a joint, load a rig, drop a hit - whatever is one's pleasure.
    turn it all on. one is gonna need whatever one can use to keep one's head while others roll.
    and we're raising our freak flag high over yonder where the bluebirds fly. exit stage left. the mindshift/ship. don't worry about finding us, we'll find whoever.
    as the shit hits the fan, we're following that blinding light. the ship of fools on the high seas. it was a dark and story night.
    hijack this fucking starship into/out of hyperspace/time when push comes to shove.
    we'll be on high ground dancing with siva on our graves.
    the buttons will be pushed and we'll be ripped apart from ourselves like wheat from chaff. like being born. the butterfly from the cocoon.
    the whole thing breaks like a fever that's been raging for who knows how long. and out of our frustrated madness will flower all things imagined.

    and the first explosion of the sky. and what we do and what we don't do. and what comes next.
    beware the saviors. no one else can do that trip that one can do for oneself.
    one will know what to do when the time comes to do it. nothing will be able to stop us or anyone. we'll do what we need to do - no more, no less.
    all on tv.
    dig those threads.
    the actors playing out the whole scene. some are already on line.
    the war has started though few know what it is, even among those who are already fighting it. those who are balanced on the edge of perception are feeling it coming on. dropping out mad parachute commandos behind enemy lines when everyone is the enemy. no one pays any attention to the crazed.
    it'll all be on tv. no one notices anything else. more happens on tv than in real life. and on tv black can be white and white can be black.
    the psychic battleground territory. no casualties, only prisoners.
    medicine show jive and jesus from a hat dropping from the sky from some satellite projector in space.
    it's still all happening in realtime. take it for a ride because that's all it will be. it will call us away from everything now while everything will be destroyed. either one goes or else one stays. it's all the same.

    babbling in babylon.
    what else can he do but babble on about things that aren't even very clear to him?
    he tries to think, but he can't. there's things to do but he doesn't know quite yet how to do them. occupied. he should be working but the state of mind he needs to maintain is a state of mind that does not mix with work. it breaks the connection. and it's very hard to get it back. long lonely nights. another cigarette.
    no way out.
    trapped in body and mind in a world with no way out.
    a way to where?

    he's beat. he's tired. worn out. he doesn't know how much more fight he has left in him. but he doesn't want to fight. there's nothing to fight for. what are we fighting for? for the perfect world tomorrow that we could have today if we just stopped fighting? all of us. that's the tricky part. not if some of us stop. or if most of us stop. but only if all of us stop.
    swords into plowshares.
    ha-ha-ha - isn't that funny?
    boy - if we could stop all fighting each other and everything would be ok. ha-ha-ha. how stupid can he get.
    but that's the message, folks. what other message does one want?
    shut up and get a job.
    and they'd rather fight one another over paradise lost all the time instead. just like he'd rather sit here and bitch.
    smarty pants.

    it's all a big mess and twisted and turned around and through in and out of itself. he doesn't know what to do. we don't know what to do. form a political action committee?
    this is madness. the frustration of confusion.
    he is falling.
    he has fallen.
    in this quicksand world where the more one struggles the deeper one sinks.
    let it go.
    fly.

    and now he's sitting by the window listening to yet someone else sing their song about why? why? why?
    just more words added to all the other words. once in awhile one or two will raise their voices. most of the time most of us just forget it. too much trouble. too much energy we don't have. no solutions. no one's gonna lay their life down. why should they?
    why should he? him? no way. he ain't no soldier for nothing. he's just looking for the party - the jubilee. he's not gonna fight to get there. that's not how it's done. the jubilee's not something one fights for. people have been fighting for it for thousands of years and where is it?
    it comes when everybody stops fighting for it - or working themselves to death trying to buy it.
    it's so easy. yet there are so many complications involved. mostly communication. what is this word? that word? what is this idea? that idea? it all comes and goes without even being here at all.
    it's such a mess.
    how do we get out?
    which way to get back to here and now?
    and dada and dada and dada.

    so this is it.
    this is all that it comes to. circles and circles and circles. madness of gods acted out through the madness of humans - or vise versa.

    what ever changes? the eternal struggle set into the matrix of creation. always this against that. the wars upon wars upon wars. and one might be able to sit high enough that they can see the need and the sense of it, but down here on this basic human level it's pure fucking madness bullshit.
    we get glimpses now and then of how it could be perhaps if... yeah, right.
    and he thought that this would all go somewhere but - yeah, right.
    he hits the same wall everyone else has hit who have tried this on for size. coming away with useless answers and more questions than one had before.
    oh well. maybe someone somewhere sometime...

    next day after -

    feeling a bit more cosmic-headed in directionless direction - moving without moving. center everywhere. the pilots of the universe.
    here/now being any space/time everywhere/time.
    double triple think backwards from forward to make the forward backwards whichever way that is because it's never quite right no matter how one puts it.
    balance out of balance. and yeah yeah yeah dada like that as the words describe any and all of this that are few and far between moving beyond evaporation point of no return in any way, shape or form as it was into this new relationship that opens up this world structure for close examination to its inner nature driving force and reason.
    we are gods/not gods. we are daylight real and night time ghosts. we cast the shadows we later get lost in. or ha-ha-ha, the joker laughs at us again.

    so have we twisted and turned this all around enough for one to realize that we have no idea what we're writing about? and maybe perhaps that is as it should be.
    who knows?

    diving through the yes/no of whatever turning two back into one being both.
    and this realization has gone to where it goes - into infinite forever.
    now let's see some action. we want to see some action in realtime. let's get dazzled with ourselves and surprise each other into the next trip down the line.
    or what?
    huh?

    everything is warped out. all that we try to make perfect or to see as perfect when it isn't. things in and out of relationship in spacetime. yet that is only our perception of it. actually it is in perfect relationship as whatever relationship it's in is perfect because that is what is happening.

    as we awaken to the last of it. as nothing seems to fit between us and anything else. as no one makes any sense yet act around as though they do. the more we try to put it together then more it falls apart.
    where is this rumored connection - the link? one age into another from insanity into insanity.
    by and by.
    bye-bye.
    nothing into nothing and we are nothing within it more than weird accidental sparks etc. and all that.
    he has tried to call these gods down to answer him about all this and that but they're just as crazy out of control nothing into nothing as we are. we are them and they are us and we all are just piss in the wind.
    minds out the window on a rainy day.

    the only way to go it seems is out of our minds. and good luck. this world hates us for our light. make the connection - the link between human and god and they'll fuck you down and out. we are not who we are. we don't know who we are. all we have are these names we were given at birth and these parts we are supposed to play according to their script of reality. stay within character. don't fuck it up for everyone else by maybe saying that this is all a joke.
    this thousands of years old script where we have to beg for the forgiveness of our supposed sins. the first sin is being born. why would we want to play into that he'll never understand. it's just a joke. the gods are just as much actors as we are.
    writing in endless stream of notebooks like dirty dishes. turning over the compost in his head that goes nowhere in this human dimension. people are so frightened by their own minds and what their minds are able to do. if one steps out a bit and starts to put two or three pieces together they shoot one down.
    maybe his mistake is trying to make sense out of it. he doesn't even know what sense is or isn't. it all just goes on and on. or maybe his only mistake is trying to explain it. people say, oh yeah, i already know all about that.
    what the fuck? if they already know all about it then why do they still do all the stupid shit they do?
    forget it.
    it breaks up.
    it breaks down.
    he doesn't know.
    he just wants to stop and disappear. he doesn't want to be here.
    he doesn't know where any of this comes from, where it is or where it's going.
    just rattling the cage.

    nothing follows from anything anywhere. he's gone past where anything goes besides gravitating toward some power structure thing or another. safety.
    he wants to see what happens if not. he's finding out what happens if not. one thing that happens right off is that one finds oneself alone. even one's closest friends and family don't care.
    does any of that matter? should it be important?
    he doesn't know.
    he can't worry about that end of it.
    what?
    huh?

    zero out.
    the exact point of departure and arrival. the point and the moment.
    anything everything nothing.

    the joker isn't laughing anymore. the joker sits and stares out the window. the joker just wants his head to stop spinning but it's the only way he knows about anything even though he doesn't know about anything.
    what does he want?
    what does he care about?
    sometimes he wants to create.
    sometimes he wants to preserve.
    sometimes he wants to destroy.
    and this is how it is. and it should be so simple but these humans get it all stuck up into this tangled mess.
    and he gets stuck up up into this tangled mess.
    the crying of angels.
    the dying children.

    the world in the world state. the transmissions of insane frustration. the minds gone mad and doing the things that minds that have gone mad do.
    his mind gone mad.
    he is not who he is.
    he is not who he pretends to be.
    he sees all all the minds gone mad around him.

    and it's all over the edge. silence.
    the silence within and without. he knows nothing more. he's called all the names and received no answers that made any sense.
    and he doesn't know.
    he's tried writing this stuff down for years and years and it's come to absolutely nothing.
    he should just quit. it just doesn't come out any way at all. and we're gonna keep fighting with each other to our own destruction.
    and he's reached up as high as he could get himself to what seems to be up out there and it seemed to sometimes get real close. he seemed to be inside it and it inside him a number of times but none of that seems to translate. it just comes and goes.
    so what is he to do now? just go back and try to join the crowd as best he can and keep his mouth shut and do what he's told to do by those who have managed to set themselves up as supposedly knowing how everything works? but he's seen how they get it all to work - or how they make it look like it's all working. the hand is quicker than the eye.
    so what does he do now?
    he's taken this out to about as far as he could or wants to. maybe he didn't take it out far enough. maybe he took it out farther than he should have.
    he doesn't know.
    he just doesn't fucking know.