the klown not knowing quite what to
write here now as it all is changing changelessness, typing not p0em for the fucking
heck of it, dedicated to those who will never read it.
those who will never come to understand the powers of their gazorbnik – as if.
the striving for perfect
organization down to the penny.
what a glorious ideal.
seersucker suit and goggle glasses
hip like a zip bound for mars.
is this you crossing our pathless paths?
what the fuck?
we thought we’d seen enough of you by now.
this takes the cake.
how far removed from the common masses you have become in your glory days rising to the top of the heap.
damn all your victories.
we have our pleasant times in sun
and rain – 222.
there is no story here to be told anytime soon as bugs appear kissing honeydew drip drops wasted space until the next time.
kiltered reasons suspiciously placed around our minds a-ga-ga-goo-bop listening to the rattling rain gradually= suffice tricky dicks lapping up sour milk for their fantastic pleasures.
pluralize everything being that there is no single object around us within or without but can we count higher than 1?
goofy gumdrops slopping the nicene creed all over hell and high water as spoken thus before-wise trueness bubbling brew eyes wide jangling jump start displayed in windowless rooms along the libertine halls disgusting drool from mouths chewing words asunder.
it’s cool to be a fool if you’re quick enough to be so there big and little people everywhere quacked driving hospital backward memory dismounting heavy fucking fucks we recognize in stark darkness flaming underwear crazy mumbo jumboed spin-around tilting wayward nice guys with wicked intent the klown remembers that he forgot to bring back gummy bears when he went to the kitchen where they are in a drawer of hope everlasting damnation easy street hang-out for the bum elite.
a tunnel of love rockets persists
blindly toward its destination whereby it may become a flowering nabob becoming
a grub weasel thing burrowing into the sea with joy at being set free.
pointless lines of some amount of nonsense while people talk seriously on tv about serious topics about all the serious problems in the world.
no matter what the fuck the klown
writes the same shit most of the time gone by and by the river where people are
camping with no place to go anymore.
when it’s cold enough to snow that it actually snows covering their tarps and overflowing shopping carts.
nobody’s business but their own.
the elite don’t care behind their walls or up in helicopters laughing at the great unwashed below whose contributions to society make them rich beyond wild bewildering dreams.
bow down to the new and improved gods
of human shape and form nearing scientific completion.
the klown sighs sitting at a desk in his assigned spacetime location onstage at the burning theater.
±0 degrees from nowhere (now here).
the show goes on.
the klown continues typing not p0em into the night.
the klown makes few presumptions to
know much of anything downwards into the spheres of hell on earth diagrams
bingo parade flags feet.
he wants the machines to take over.
he wants to be a machine.
wandering wondering killing time
with nowhere (now here) to go go go a little faster with teeth glistening and
blood to fear your desperate lives.
is this enlightenment?
how would you know?
all the funny serious people
scrabbling dizzy caramel daffodilic chicken visions falling to earth in this
latter day sequence of spacetime events we probably should remember.
the klown is tired and proceeds to nap.
later – awakening.