the turtle

the sacrifice of billions of us to get the population down to a more manageable size.
the pigs will maintain control.
they have planned for this eventuality.
they have instigated this eventuality.
their plans of greed unending till they rule what’s left of the world.
there will be ones who are in under their stringent control and those who are out to fend for themselves.
the networked corporate enclaves.
or something like that.
in the year zero.

he has no doubt where someone like him will belong – out fending for themselves among the tribes of would be savages eking out their survival in the worldwide barren wilderness pocked with toxic ruins.
free.
free to die.
free to live.

forget the great nation-state.
archaic relics of a past age.
all the flags have been burned in the field of flags up on the hill.

SEX.

eye of golf ball.
we have forgotten about ourselves in all the complexity of reason.
we must imagine and remember.
all the good times we had – or so we thought they seemed at the time.
now, not so much.
we must invent new meanings in order to convince ourselves to continue.
new gods for a new age to lead us onward toward new tomorrows of new dawns.
there is something of nostalgic sorrow the old hold onto against the tide.
no one wishes to see their world die except the young – if the young don’t die first.
each generation struggles to fit itself among its predecessors who cling on tight to what they got giving nothing away for nothing.
come join us.
join the winning team.

meanwhile he imagines himself before the dawn sitting before the computer typing out a not poem long forgotten about our theory of everything which is useful to no one.
there is no disciplined sage wisdom here.
there is only unbound foolishness of freedom.
he believes in nothing anymore.
what continues to have meaning?
$$$.

 

the raven

we endure their pestilent puerile presence among us to rise to rule over the multitude and to generally be assholes unto others anywhere we might find them in our churches, our workplaces, our schools, our prisons, our homes where they weasel their way into positions of vague authority and power becuz the rest of us else couldn’t care less except for those doppelgänger troublemakers making trouble for everybody concerned and on and on for generations after generations and so on, etc.
he envisions no way to untangle these knots even impatiently using a sword slashing through them indiscriminately offers no solution but to a soldier’s uneasy logical mind.
the war that can never be won nor entirely lost.
the phoenix rises again from ashes of its annihilation.
the same old song sung from more romantic times than these of post-postmodern mundane impoverished culture without popular memory but instant jerkoff gratification.
and we shall always be with them again and again.
even their advanced eugenics science will not eliminate us.
we are glitches in the very machine itself not necessarily in the programming.
we are human error.
even if humans are replaced with robots we will still appear.
we’re cockroaches, baby.
we’re bedbugs that bite you at night and make you itch.
we’re nothing but trouble anywhere we go.
mostly trouble for ourselves.
but you can’t get rid of us.
we can’t get rid of ourselves.
we are doomed to our ill fate.
we sing and dance.
we fall down.
we laugh.

it doesn’t matter what any of us do or not do – though we tend toward the latter.
all we need do is exist by any means available to us to do so with a minimum of effort involved as possible to get away with.
exist and experience and observe what we experience.
and to imagine improbable possibilities from there.
and to take lottsa naps.

we contribute next to nothing but perhaps grunt meaningless labor if we really have to which sometimes happens though we try to avoid it.
it all depends on the weather of fate.
and a selection of fruit to munch on while we pretend everything is ok.
but why should it not be so?
too many negative thinkers of every ilk among us spreading negative government disinformation and subversive propaganda and absolute truth.
the world would be such a better place without them.
free to imagine what we will and make it so.
but maybe this isn’t supposed to be a better world.
we’ve laid the earth to waste trying to make a better world for ourselves.
we are a plague.
a human plague.
and all the plagues of various sorts that plague us are earth’s defense against us – earth’s antibodies.
so far we’ve suffered through them to the earth’s increasing detriment.
now what?
which side does god take on this one?
god who?

she spread open her cunt for everyone to see.

buried alive

the can do attitude.
if you agree, you’re in.
if you disagree, you’re out.
the fascist regime – a bundle of sticks.
no lollygagging misfits here.
now get to work.

we have meaning and purpose – trust us.
give us a big hug.
we are building the city on the hill – a city of light.
an example for all the world to see.

correct discipline.
obey the chain of command.
their logic never fails.
that was his mistake.
he did not heed these simple instructions.
he threw his life away.
he believed the artists and poets and singers toward the freedom of sensory gratification and thinking and self expression not knowing he’d become enslaved.
now in some cold dark alternative future he is on his own being disobedient to the master plan for the better good of the many – the lowest common denominator.
as he imagines himself sitting at the counter in the diner writing a not poem about our theory of everything that might come to mind dreaming of possibilities while the war to end all wars continues and the jukebox plays.
songs of temptations.
he hates it all with his love.
he hasn’t seen beauty in a while.
he wonders where it’s gone.

his words are meaningless and useless.
what does he know?
an old bum living off the state ready to die.
what else is there to know?
he is tired – yawning.
he wants his bed not all this shit in his head.
thoughts that whirl twirling going nowhere of any productive use.
sketchy business.
how it used to be but no more.
the future comes and goes.
the future is beat.
the future sucks all into itself leaving all wanting and needy begging at the door.
the future doesn’t care.
it knows it is doing the correct thing.
to be itself.
ours is to obey its demands.

he steps outside for a cigarette.
it’s cold and he can’t get warm.
even the bums ain’t around here on easy street.
the occasional passer-by scurrying off somewhere not here.
no one smiles or says hello on easy street.
everyone thinks you want something.
there are so many things to want as seen on tv.
he wonders how it keeps going.
it’s not his problem.
he is the enemy according to what is reported in the media.
he is not part of the solution, so he is part of the problem.
lottsa problems here on easy street.
what will make them all go away?
nothing we have thought of.

the ruling elite dictate the rules the rest are to obey.
it’s not their fault no one follows their instructions.
but this is the way it is.
perhaps not the way it ought to be.
someone always fucks it up for everyone else.
no one is perfect for it to be a perfect society which needs to be exclusive in order to work out right.
we are among those left out.
we have no say about it.
it is decided for us above and below.
we’re somewhere in the middle – the middle of the bottom.
so many sad stories people want to remind us about.
all the sad stories living on easy street.

and so he goes home to sleep and get warm.

fucking beatniks

beatniks out to make it rich.
and everybody’s a poet.
except him.
he couldn’t write a poem with a gun pointed at his head.
a gun is pointed at his head.
he lights another cigarette imagining himself sitting before the computer writing a not poem about our theory of everything.
poems are toilet paper.
//////////
coffee.
a toke.
a cigarette.
in his happy place.
===============
a riot does not happen in a vacuum.
there’s reasons for everything if we choose to examine more closely.
the best we can do is burn shit down and loot stores for all the world to see on the mainstream mass media news while others tell a different story in pockets of resistance here and there.
a grain of salt.
talk talk talk is all he hears from the others.
what is there to do?
political junkies espousing propagandistic  truths like lobbing mortar rounds into shopping malls.
revolt of the underclass with violence its only seeming recourse they want us to believe.
march for peace.
die for murder.
a boot stamping on a human face.
||||   || || || ||||||||||||
he cannot quite fully comprehend just how wrong he is about everything except in his universe right and wrong are interchangeable concepts of duality.
the yin within yang – the yang within yin.
the answer is a riddle.
the sliding scale.
the slippery slope.
down down down we go.
wheee!
[:::::::::::::::::] [:::::::::::::] [:::]
he lost so much opportunity that if he was a better man blah blah blah.
he very sure of himself for all his uncertainty.
based almost entirely what he learned on acid.
the best thing to ever happen to him.
do what we can to overcome and rise above.
he has broken wings of a fallen angel.
mad as hell.
crazy as a bat in a belfry.
looking into images of shattered light and shadow in a maze of smashed mirrors.
narcissus magnified a zillion times.
he thinks about how that might be – a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head.
creating sustaining destroying as it will in attempting understanding.
no one else gives a goddamn.
this would never happen to them.
we are them.
0
00
000
0000
000
00
0

?

simple

he is his own anachronism sitting at the counter in the diner scribbling a not poem in a notebook about our theory of everything like it’s 1994.
a plenum of no-space no-time until it’s “turned on” into everything that was is will be in energized whatnot  of manifesting existence that does not necessarily need to exist except as some conceptual matrix thing in our head which we don’t have heads and no bodies except as we are thinking about them while leaning back in the laz-e-boy in what passes for paradise once in a while in a big fat dream of reality we are experiencing it for ourselves and nobody else’s business but our own in spacetime coordination of locations in poetic discord harmony weaving everything together in and out of itself becoming.
he has nothing to say about the topics of the day which is all propaganda fluff designed to keep our thinking in line with the chain of command which must be held in place or we are lost to ourselves as orders of food come up from the kitchen to hungry customers and while we are disappointed in our expectations we seek happiness in strange places.

and the next morning at home imagining sitting at the desk in the mind shift/ship studio before the computer thinking about how wonderfully real reality is alive to our living senses to experience as such which isn’t to state that it needs to be real.
oh no.
for all the frustration of it he amazed by it when perhaps to should only be nothing.
but if everything is nothing therefore nothing is everything makes sense.
why not?

coffee.
a toke.
a cigarette.
everything everywhere everywhen now here.
to be as amazed as a newborn baby at ever new experiencing and understanding as we are able in our idiot way yet with innate curiosity and uncertain intelligence despite the failure of indoctrination and obedience training upon us.
whatever everything might happen to turn out to actually be or not actually be is fine with us as much as we are able to imagine the possibilities.
what we imagine is everything exists as a infinite multitude of things unique and diverse from one another that may or may not have any connection but probably do to more or less extent.
everything is symbiotic.
everything is meaningless.
everything is everything all inclusive.
the idea that some of everything might be excluded is absurd ill-conceived nonsense.
we are interested in the whole of everything – even the parts we do not particularly care for ourselves but must include anyway if our theory is to be true to itself which it does not necessarily need to be since most of it is what we make believe about it.
but humans have relied on imagination of fantasy as well as of reasoned truth in our evolution.
it is an integral part of our psyche.
to often extent we get the two confused with one another as if there is really a difference.
this does not bother us though it seems to bother others who exclude any and all fantasy imagination from their stringent calculations of facts and figures which lead to certain reliable results in the physical world but subtract from the spiritual.
we must remember that everything itself may be fantasy.
it hasn’t been proven definitively to be or not to be insofar as we are aware of.
their rationalogical science may give us facts but our irrationalogical imaginations give us meaning – or something like that.
simple things for us with simple minds.

another little dream

imagining being sitting at the counter at the diner scribbling a not poem into a notebook about our theory of everything and comfortably numb to it all affecting him this way or that way or the other way with purple helium balloons floating up on the ceiling.
what we know and don’t know as ourselves being and he’s kinda pissed off not understanding whatever back when about the world when it might have counted as he might have made different decisions about what directions h etook but this regret is a common affliction of the old and in the way as h edoubts he would have changed anything as he still is a lazy fuck all day long and that has always been his primary motivation to do as little as he could get away with don’t fear the reaper and he’s been successful at that despite others trying to get him involved in whatever trip they seek profit from which he couldn’t care less about one way or another.
telling stories embellishing them with fantasy until they outgrow themselves becoming what many consider is truth and all that shit becuz they are told so.
truth in its many flavors to our sense and sensibility and reason coming up with all kinds of possibilities once we drop the idea of one absolute universal eternal truth of ages our ancient ancestors believed like they believed earth is the center of everything which as it turns out is probably not incorrect according to our theory based on what rumors we pick up about science developments and discoveries and such.
he coughs and farts hoping no one notices the rude smell.
breaking everything open to itself he thought he would never understand the ways of it as it flows through itself like a river to the sea being and becoming as all there was is will be continuing as if that weren’t obvious to anyone with a thought in their head about it which many seem not to have or even wish to have as it interferes with their work/play time and may lead them to madness but that is the way of it at times as these very interesting indeed if one is into that sorta thing as it is passing through among us now and again creating sustaining destroying ourselves in this world we invent with our minds gone somewhat around the bend or two in pursuit of forlorn happiness forgotten.

he steps out onto easy street for a cigarette.
the street’s deserted.
the party’s over.
the party’s always over on easy street.
the has-beens and wanna-bes and other hangers on.
the lag behinds bumming change and cigarettes as usual.

then he drives home arriving imagining himself sitting before the computer hunched over typing out a not poem about our theory of everything in some spiral loop time vortex thing like waves on a beach rolling in washing out pulled by the tides pulled by the moon and beyond as the whole universe is jiggling with cosmic vibrations of waves of spacetime fluctuating particles blipping on/off sparkly glittering fields of glowing auras we are radiating mind to mind.
he lights a killer cigarette.
this best and worst of all possible worlds.
the crown of creation.
the heart of our salvation and damnation if we happen to subscribe to such a scenario devised by the philosophers to aid in keeping the masses under control which has been quite successful for 1000s of years now and counting far into the probable future.
but if the masses won’t control themselves even when it’s in their best interests to do so to free themselves from oppression what is to be done then?
wake up and realize.
gaining victory over ourselves.
but we’re too fucking lazy and we’re doing fine.
being watched all the time.
what do they think we’re up to?
we’re only trying to take over the world.
us and his kind.
those who endure this world.
we envision a simpler more productive and carefree life to be lived for our own benefit instead of profit.
they can have all their $$$, just leave us be.
leave them to their enclosed guarded enclaves and let us be in the wilderness reclaiming the former world left abandoned.
they don’t need us.
we don’t need them.
we return to our native roots and ways and means.
everybody has their own happy ending.

the alffliction of doubt.

when the $$$’s gone.
spent up as if it were real to begin with.
when we wake up and realize all we’ve sold for nothing.
and we laugh.
we are now free as we have imagined ourselves to be – but perhaps envisioned under different circumstances.
we are always free to die.
grim picture reality world built to specifications of perfection by our petty little minds fearing to venture out of the darkness of imagination.
psychophobia unleashed in super deluxe 3D special effects.
plato’s cave.
afraid of shadows.
he thinks now he should have paid more attention.
there were secrets to discover.
but he is content now with what he managed to steal that he understands.
maybe he’ll try more the next time though he doubts it.
he has a lazy soul.
a cosmic idiot.
he can’t imagine wanting much more.
certainly not wanting being god on a throne.
what a farce of itself.
yet this is what the people demand.
so be it.

on a wayward mission

on a wayward mission to observe and report to the committee what we feel is relevant to the human condition preserved by police in riot gear expecting this birth to be complete failure.
we undertake what solutions might present themselves in our cause for death of ego induced reality oppressive regime donuts of flavored poison.
we bark up the wrong tree.
we become excited by our imagination of the meanings of events in no particular order to reasoned doubt.
we cannot doubt our own existence, it just makes matters worse.
but why this escape from whatever might be reality always on our minds to become somehow free to do unto others what has been painstakingly done to us in our turn?
we have nothing better to do?

let’s begin again.
this eve of deconstruction in outpouring waves of harmonic discord vibrations.
sing and dance.
fall down.
laugh.
not an easy thing to do.
all action is false action.
nothing ever happens.
we never get it quite right.
we must do it over and over until it is perfectly dead.
we are not here.
we become ghosts of ourselves.

the silly use of propaganda with cigarette in hand and its easy comfortable manner of form to inform the hordes of transgressions of evil flapping in the wind with eyesore.
a poem that is not poem.
a poet who is not poet.
the high art of cronyism and doubtful self-correcting impostered negligence.
the discovery of exuberant displays of anti-intellectual misgivings.
this is the cue for our betrayal with whispered command.
we become dizzy with consciousness with nuts on top and gut instinct.
all is perfection but not what we were expecting.

meanwhile, another easy morning while imagining himself at the counter at the diner once again in an eternal moment scribbling a not poem in a notebook about our theory of everything with self-doubt and forgetful dreams exploring fields of the surrounding love never quite found to our liking.
what would it take at this point?
he hates tuesdays.
a negation of duality blipping on/off sometime in the near future now whenever the mood might stike with all the noise of the jukebox playing its random selection of songs.
either we get it or we don’t.

the drama of what is sacrificed now for our peace of mind delayed until further notice becoming a flowering lotus blossom with our total understanding that we must escape this wheel while others hold on dearly for life around around everlasting which is not exactly what we had been expecting anymore.
the masses deserve our fate not taking responsibility for actions otherwise.
can we complain?
this disorganized world with disorganized minds leading the way for mob consciousness to reign supreme against itself.

a double shot mocha and a blueberry pancake and sausage with grapefruit juice.
here he sits all broken hearted.
tried to gain enlightenment and only farted.

hungry mittens

spacetime is not some sort of grid container that objects are placed in.
objects are composed of spacetime in a connective web of everything.
or something like that as we understand it – wrongly.
the fat black cat hops up on the chair next to him and starts bugging him, climbing on him.
she’s a pest.
coffee.
a toke.
and he hits the inhalers and then lights a cigarette.
so many things are important to know that we do not know or are unsure about if we remember it right or not.
we are universally ignorant.
we have only what we imagine may be true – we know next to no truth itself.
but we do ok so far with that.
we can always look shit up to find out which we do often now we have a global database at hand.
perfect for the lazy fuck like ourselves.
but so much conflicting information that we must decide at some point for ourselves what reasonably seems it might be true or not.
we believe everything as possibility until we are convinced otherwise.
we don’t know what might be misinformation or disinformation or what.
but often that in itself is informative information regarding what is out there that others believe is true and operate in their lives as if it is true.
so many worlds of different realities.
plastic elastic fantastic truth.
we have not been all that much interested in knowing what truth might be.
we have experienced what seems to be truth to us to be denied by others with what seems to be truth to themselves.
they are the many and powerful.
we are the seemingly few.
their truth wins out by popular demand.
the mass of the masses pushing their weight around manipulated perhaps by the overlords.
get out of their way.
truth for political purpose of domination and control.
truth as personal spiritual awakening.
truth as worldwide scientific achievement.
all of the above and more.
he checks the lottery ticket to see if he won anything.

nope.

another possibility?

so, what sorta shit should we make up about shit now?
he can barely breathe right now and he lights up a cigarette – yup.
a true believer.
free will or die.
the gods choose death.
there is no free will just like there is no cause and effect in idealized philosophic terms having nothing to do with how we actually perceive reality however wrong that perception might be.
it’s all illusion which places philosophers in line with the mystics in their thinking about shit.
but these are conclusions that have been theoretically reached when there is no such thing as conclusions either except as we falsely perceive them.
what does not constantly continue from no beginning toward no end?

why does everything we know need to be wrong according to so many philosophies?
occam’s razor should take care of that.
the simplest scenario would be that everything we know is correct.
there no other truer ideal reality than the one we perceive.
there is no heaven than the heaven we experience on earth – as well as hell.
however we can change our experience of reality from one to the other or any point between yet not reality itself.
this does not mean that reality is not our imagination of reality – imagined as us being as gods creating sustaining destroying which is exactly what we are doing if we stop to think about it a moment.
but the reality we imagine is a reality that in order to work as it does needs to exist beyond our control to change other than as creatures living within it having the physical ability to change it within certain extent.
it should be a reality that manifests as physical substance and forces binding it all together subject to certain laws that may be bent but not broken.
what wonder that is.
a perfect world that is the best and the worst of all worlds we might imagine being possible.
never mind the higher more refined worlds that might be or not, this world is manifestly real shit – what greater thing might be more than that?
and we do it all ourselves without needing no fucking gods – except as us being gods ourselves at some point or another.
gods imagining a real world in which to enter into and exist and live in material form as creatures of that world reflecting our images in it for a time that it amuses us to do so as mortal beings briefly to entertain.
we imagine this as a possibility, not necessarily as something that must be anything like truth.
remember, we’re just making this shit up as we go along a pathless path on our merrie way to nowhere (now here).