the portland idiot –

squirrel #6

outline of form.
not a finished product.
we do not believe in endings, happy or otherwise.
but we as humans mark these so-called events of spacetime to make things work and count our $$$.
he wishes he had a zillion $$$.
everything would be ok then.

if you take anything i say seriously you’ve got a bigger problem than i do – guru jeff.

but we don’t got no $$$.
but the spirit of guru jeff is with us guiding.
what else do we need?
we travel with him through stratospheres of enlightened bliss which isn’t like anything anyone imagines that we know about.
it’s all over the place.
it’s alive crawling outta the woodwork.
we’re infested with it.
blessed be.

not a pretty picture others wish to believe in.
how to deal with the nature of our crimes against humanity in waves of conscious awareness radiating throughout the known universe when we find ourselves guilty as charged.
we laugh at such things against us now.
we leave it all far behind in splendid arrays of flowers being.
we decorate the temple ruins with our devotion to understanding.
the avatars remain silent before us while we fuck off all the day away doing nothing but what pleases us for ourselves.
we ignore all calls to reason.
we will have our cake and eat it too.
everything is left in ruin.
people have become cruel.

those who discriminate their tastes for only the more refined in haughty attitudes of self-importance.
they do not wish to indulge in what appears unbecoming.
they have images to protect.
but we left with nothing have no qualms to rock and roll in the mundane realms to our heart’s content to overflowing like a clogged up toilet devising schemes to overcome ourselves someday.
but not now.
what’s the hurry?
we change our minds with the passing moment.

we just don’t seem quite up to it as they will come around to remind us on their way to the promised land.
we will not join them.
for that we cannot be tolerated.
we’re either in or out.
there is no middle ground.
no sitting on a fence.
we’d rather kill them in their sleep while we dance bright-eyed and bushy tailed in manic phased divine states of certainty.

he chews bubble gum while sitting in the sun.
how many have invited him to join them.
but what for?
misery loves company?
he gazes into their unhappy smiling faces and laughs within himself.
why trade his lonely joy for their collective sorrow?
he has seen their ways to often for his liking.
he’ll wander lost in his own thoughts which he collects together in a hand basket and heads for hell.
maybe they’ll go away.

being where when we might be naked unafraid singing our own praises not to some sky god overlord thing the others have deceived themselves with cuz it feels so good to their primal ape instincts needing to be obeyed at all costs everywhere by everyone or else.
fuck that.
let the earth rise again after their folly has fallen flat on its face.
we sing and dance.
we fall down.
we laugh.

common words for a common person.
common understanding.
the mysteries unfold within and without.
turn up the noise, he can’t think.
he can’t fly right.
bad attitude.
a big fat disappointment.
and he’s gotten what he deserves as visions of heaven enter his mind.
this much hailed and glorified godhead.
how boring.
so back to the world he knows he goes with its fussing and fighting he manages to avoid as best as he is able and the others will allow.
be here now not doing squat but gazing out the window.
what more could he ask for but everything and to win the lottery for his baby?
he can think of nothing wanting.

but seriously, folks –
thinking as he is writing as he is thinking.
this constant mad mayhem in his brain.
so many with difficult struggling lives while his has been a life of lazy contentment.
he wanders down to the café for a mocha.

chorus:
he comes back to light up a bowl and cigarette imagining himself sitting before the computer (as always) hunched over the keyboard typing out a not poem cuz he ain’t no poet about our theory of everything.
what crazy things we imagine to our liking or not.

some give us the heebee jeebees.
some make us wanna jump and shout.
it’s all part of the budget package deal we got for a song.
we couldn’t afford some high class ticket like others have.
they are such hot shits.
we are in a cast of thousands admiring them and cheering them on to bolder heights of success as seen on tv.
we wish we were like them.
he sighs.

but it’s spin the wheels time and we allow fate to set the course as it will anyway despite our plans of free will otherwise that may or may not happen as we expect good or bad.
opening an eye out for anything suspicious.
doing what we wilt.
all just for fun.
we watch and wait.
wondering what will happen next?
the fat black cat is sleeping.
he brought home a twig he found along the way from the café and ponders how he’ll weave it into the mind shift/ship ready to go now or whenever.
from some distant long ago acid vision.
he believes in probably some of the most stupidest shit he thinks but he dismisses that with a nod and a wink.
let others scoff.
he is thinking on his own as much as he knows about anything about everything.
so what if he’s a little slow?
laugh.
snort.
he giggles to himself being as there is no one else around except the sleeping fat black cat and whoever resides in his head for the moment.
this is a time for joy but keeping in mind the sorrow.
this is a time for everything all fucking at once.
look at it.

he has to turn away.
everything is blinding to behold.
direct energy feedback loop.
he focuses again on the comfortable mundane.
these voyages of the moment to realms of possibility.
nothing forbidden.
everything permitted.
let’s build empires to watch them rise and fall like waves on a beach.
the tides.
the moon.

phases of madness.
he zooms into the infinitesimal and zooms out to the infinite and all along the continuum between and beyond.
thinking is the best way to travel.
this reality simulation machine we are perhaps in.
there’s another possibility we need to consider in with our theory of everything ongoing improvised mix and match tapestry thing.
the woven pieces of it together with what we gather from other people’s ideas of it true or false doesn’t matter.
this is the method of our madness.
is this familiar with anyone else?
eh?

we receive secret transmissions from strange sources.
we do not follow prescribed things of magick or otherwise.
we’ve learned our lessons from that to our dismay.
but we learned to think it sideways.

we are mad becuz it seems that is our assignment in this life from orders from above and/or our own fucking karma or whatever.
we have made it work quite well for ourselves.
we were informed of this at an early age about the time we learned how to understand language.
they had the doctors to prove it.
anyway – who is not quite mad themselves?
no one we know about.
some are just more successful at it than others.
their madness becomes law of the land.

this rationalogic madness we are suffering through now.
a world out of balance with itself.
the extremes we have come to.
the pains of birth.
contractions.
everything ready to burst forth.
the wheat from the chaff.
the threshing floor.
what will it be like on the other side?
the grass is supposedly greener.
we shall see.

the process of our madness keeping us on our toes whatever might come of it.
there are those who become so entirely mad that they go insane.
there are those who it’s hard to tell what.
we like it somewhere in the middle.
no one notices us much and leaves us alone for the most part so far.
but perhaps that trouble’s coming every day.
we may soon find out what’s what and what’s not.
who we can trust or not.
can we trust ourselves?

what the others call delusional thinking on our part.
we don’t make sense to them so it’s gotta be our problem not theirs, right?
fuck that shit.
we take their $$$ and go do what we want.
for him it’s hanging out staying high doing housework and writing a not poem about our theory of everything.
he lights a cigarette after eating some leftover spaghetti.
there is no conclusion to our theory of everything.
how can there be?
there is no conclusion to anything as much as we can determine.
yet we perceive a finite world of beginning and ending all over the place all the time.
is this the problem with us not being able to perceive the infinite?
perhaps.
it seems to work either way and as we suspect it is probably somewhere in-between and beyond.
anything is possible.
it just needs someone to believe it.
we believe everything.
what perfection we see in it as it is expressed in the form of a spacetime universe thing that does not actually exist if we think about it.
but that being the case we enjoy it anyway as if.
this best and worst of all possible worlds perceived with the knowledge of good and evil to make it all the more interesting.
poised on the edge of our seats.
hanging on for dear life.
hahaha.

he imagines waking from death and taking off the simulation helmet momentarily confused about where he is until he remembers.
what a trip, he’ll say.
and maybe he’ll want another turn.
spin the wheels one more time.
but maybe he’ll have to get back to work.
working in some future slave camp.
or not.

he imagines whatever sorts of shit.
he holds to none in particular but can understand the possibility of any one of them being true.
though do they need to be true only to the exclusion of the others being true?
it would seem to be so according to the adherents of the various theories proclaimed to be the one and only truth.
he doesn’t understand that thinking.
it doesn’t stand up to reason.
but try convincing anyone else of that.
good luck being burned at the stake.

he’ll remain silent but for his babbling not poem posts few will notice.
he thinks as he writes as he thinks.
the two go together like peanut butter and jelly.
he can’t help himself.
nor why should he?

his pursuit of happiness.
the ups and downs.
the medications to temper them to manageable concern.
he would not have it any other way.
madness is his one trick pony.

he’ll rant and rave about whatever he wants to in the moment.
he’ll deny it all a moment later.
tough shit.
is someone holding a gun to your head?
go away.

he lights another cigarette.
he imagines it’s his show.
ah, if that were true and if it weren’t for the evil nazi-zionist illuminati reptilian alien secret chiefs manipulating everything and everyone around us.
it gives him the heebee jeebees.
he’s a wreck.
but he imagines himself sitting down writing his way out of it.
it’s cool.

whether what he writes is judged by those who judge to be good or bad is their problem not his.
it needs not be either.
they misunderstand its purpose.
it’s an ongoing exorcism of sorts.
he doubts he live long enough to complete it to his satisfaction.
oh well.
so it goes.

in the plenum of nothingness of everything in potential.
he lights up a bowl.
fantasizing almost everything he is experiencing.
being open is being open to everything and everything includes anything good or evil to one’s wellbeing.
this procedure is often ill-advised for the curious amateur.
it is best left to the professionals like himself.
or not.

the middle path as the buddha advises.
wandering hither and yon with the middle path within to help us keep in balance out of balance as we are in this world.
gyroscopic.
a real cliffhanger.
always teetering on the brink in the moment now.
we have certainly gotten our $$$’s worth with this trip.

and which way is what?
we could never quite figure that out.
we had very limited access to information other than what the overlords wanted us to be taught.
but we put the pieces of it together as we are able to access more into our own design of imagining it.
we have become quite proficient in our mad fantasies.
everything is included in with everything else in our theory of everything.
it becomes very complicated but is easily broken down into bite-size pieces for mass consumption.
red cinnamon gummy bear instead of a cigarette.
we are the masses.
a mass experiment conducted by the powers-that-be.
do they have anything in mind or do they just like fucking with shit?
we shall see.

this and other realities pass through his mind’s eyeball gazing contentedly yet attentive.
he withdraws to this vantage point from time to time within himself – if he is able to at the time.
not always.
he travels with thinking – imagining.
wandering this way that way the other way and so on.
it’s fun but can be frightening as it comes and goes from one to the other in various spiraling cycles and all that jazz.

is this anything close to some sorta enlightenment?
he doubts it.
he digs it just the same.
satori school dropout wild in the wilderness hither and yon around the bend over the hills and far away.

in his perspective he is sane and everyone else is mad.
but that does him little good as they are the many and he is no one.
he keeps it under his hat and up his sleeve.
tricks of the trade.
the trade of madness.
the art of madness.
practice and skill and natural ability.
and lots of experience.

listening to asmus tietchens.
music to sooth and/or heighten the madness.
is madness a crime?
is it even an illness?
we had to subscribe to that theory in order to get our $$$ but we hardly think so.
but if that is how they wish to think of it then fine by us.
whatever.

they used to drill holes in our heads to let the evil spirits out.
now they use ECT.
and many other equally humane methods along the way.
whatever.

metaschizophrenic science and non-linear propulsion saved our sorry asses as taught to us by guru jeff (the dada-ananda).
we were then ready to be introduced to gazorbnik.
and secrets beyond.
understanding everything.
or so we believe.
why not?

we were instructed to do it ourselves.
don’t follow leaders.
the individual is god.
the collective can fend for themselves accepting what they are told to believe.
mob consciousness.
the lowest common denominator.
power to the people.
hooray.

we are them.