get ready, cuz it’s a-coming.
we may never know for sure.
the über-christ dividing wheat from the chaff.
anyone who knows how wheat grows and how it is harvested understands how this happens.
it’s not what most people think and believe.
the lucky ducks all in a row.
forward march in any direction they please.
what does it matter if or if not?
these are merely states of mind, yes?
flip a coin and roll the dice.
everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it?
the enlightened ones sing and dance and fall down and laugh as
the klown types not p0em into a computer onstage at the burning theater for all
the world to see.
the burning theater has no bounds.
why should it?
it is everything greater than the earth and sky.
what could it be?
the klown calls it gazorbnik, though that is probably not what
it is, is it?
who among us knows, while many claim to know truth?
it’s not truth as he sees it appearing before him in all its illusionary flavors.
he is transfixed and amazed with wonder laughing and screaming alone
in the void inside his head.
such a time to be alive, when nothing is for certain.
along the crackling shoreline of an imaginary lost island wherein
lies the forest of dreams and a meadow of daisies in its midst the klown lies
in gazing up at clouds floating by while secretive elves (have you ever actually
seen one?) relax from their chores.
area 51 is a tourist trap.
don’t get caught.
bring it on home, bob dylan.
let’s see what we shall see.
a disguise of evil intent invented by children on grade school
playgrounds in the bright afternoons of autumn.
memories that fit snug into the mind.
you can smell them even.
leaves and pumpkins, and forbidden cigarettes.
shadows of time whispering along alleyways.
the machine everyone knows as nancy, a seductive priestess sent to entice the good becoming wicked with whips of desire and buckets of fear.
move along, nothing to see here.
hipster diversion into hippy trippy land awhile.
see them go with their fashionable outfits styled from impoverished responsibility.
it’s a conspiracy.
look at them obey the hidden commands.
don’t look at this, look at that.
it’s all mixed up, baby.
ain’t it the truth as we know it?
make believing monkey in the middle out on a limb.
come on down.
let see what’s behind door #3.
maybe you’ll win the grand prize of a vacation for 2 in paradise where all your troubles will seem to go away.
you can forget.
but then you later must remember.
is it worth the risk?
remember how to stand poised onstage at the burning theater.
the judges decision will be final.
there is no appeal from their witty wisdom and its selfish crude cruelty.
the way words come off the tongue to spit in your face.
haven’t you suffered enough?
get your revenge.
kill them all.
kill the pigs.