secret shadows chilling the heart.
r awakens late.
takes his meds.
has a toke and a cigarette.
he comes to the café sitting by the window with a mocha in hand and pen in the other scribbling a not poem into a notebook because he can.
imaginary people all around.
let’s get it straight or crooked as the law allows as the case may be.
so many other facets of this world to explore having been rejected and excluded by rationalogic reasoning maintaining proper order among the gathered rabble of masses clamoring for more.
only through strength and victory may we preserve and attain our desires fulfilled and our fear overcome they tell us.
if that is the way we want to go.
calling out the forbidden names of the unforgiven among us who have been cast out and forgotten broken down on the freeway of life headed to the promised land.
we will return again and again being born into their rank and number some unpredictable random natural genetic mix up glitch thing.
flies in the ointment of their perfected gene pool.
poison to their purity.
they will wonder what went wrong.
we will wonder where it has all gone into the rite of spring flowers.
attention to detail.
jesus walks on water, but does he dance the boogaloo?
a mind of confused doubt licking at the door.
he puts pen to paper to scribble out thoughts that scatter away in all directions from home is where the heart is leaving him feeling alone in a wilderness of strangers familiar to himself.
20th century angst misplaced in a 21st century world.
anxiety.
teeth clenched grin and shaky fists.
he turns the page in the notebook to begin again.
satan/natas, the wicked one, laughing its last laugh rejoicing burning on its throne in heaven.
nothing could be more complete unending forever.
accepting the world as given without fact or fiction.
what we deduce from experience ourselves.
pajamas.
flying cockroaches.
everything is evil if we choose.
we give everything meaning.
to know what is truth or not.
everything is truth, is it not?
a published poet once tells him he is more or less nothing scum of the earth not worth giving the time of day.
walk on by where when he stares blank faced into spacetime seeing everything at once all the time a change of tune eating away at his brain.
how he loves and/or hates without feeling anything about it one way or another.
to arrive at a balance between and beyond complementary opposites in opposition.
a full moon.
a full belly.
to continue without beginning nor end head in hand he smiles politely as the lord god almighty enters the door bathed in radiant beams of light.
having nothing nice to say he remains silent.
the lord glances his direction with burning eyes before walking up to the counter ordering a vanilla nectar latte to go.
god loves old songs over and over.
god loves dogs who behave themselves and poop where they should.
it’s only right.
to feel that devotion in one’s heart for the lord.
to feel betrayed.
to hold faith despite the consequences.
they have taken over our minds with propaganda of their truth speaking in sliver tongues.
and he returns home.
the grand hurrah of living.
the dull boredom filled with busy work of pleasure seeking.
eat it.
eat it all.
yummy.
don’t choke on it.
separate the wheat from the chaff.
all things are true.
to be the servant of oneself.
to be obedient to one’s word.
to know how to command the spirit.
the lost arts in the post-postmodern age.
if we just all agree to look at everything reasonably together.
not as a set of rules but as a place to begin.
but too many questions arise.
the 1st being perhaps, whose reason do we use?
who is the judge of what is and what is not reasonable?
is being red-faced shouting in anger reasonable?
it would seem so to us from the perspective of our own understanding.
is war reasonable?
etc.
we will never make it that way.
does there need to be any sorta one agreement by everyone?
agree to what?
gazorbnik?
who would disagree with that besides those who make a living disagreeing with others?
and whatnot like that.
a turkey with pepper jack sandwich and a ginger ale.
we don’t need to agree anything about gazorbnik, we would only need to agree to agree on gazorbnik as is itself.
it’s a beginning.
we could explore what else we might wanna agree to agree on for what it is itself.
or not.
probably not, for many diverse reasons.
but could everyone all agree together to agree not to agree on gazorbnik?
that would work the same and is probably more realistic to the actual situation of the way how people actually behave among themselves when left to their own devices.
so we’d be in the same fix we are now.
if it is in a fix.
is it?
to many it would seem to be so.
but what sorta fix are we in if we are in one?
a fix of the knowledge of good and evil creating the best and worst of all possible worlds built by our own true intentions.
step back.
perceive a wider perspective.
consider it being illusion.
and so on.
consider everything we know is wrong.
a red delicious apple, a little bit bruised.
no, everything among us is exactly the way we wish and will it to be all of us together at once with everything factored in and cancelled out and such in the moment by the grand deluxe reality simulation god machine thing, yes?
the great gazorbnik mix of it.
the gestalt of everything.
and all that jazz.
boldly going where everyone has been before.
alone isolated among billions of others in the same world but different everywhere.
interconnected global communications.
the din of babbling idiots.
everything we desire and fear.
it all has a niche to fill.
it all has an itch to scratch.
cracked light.
he’s been abandoned by many.
too lazy and crazy.
they become weary, fed up.
he becomes too strange, predictably unpredictable.
he goes it alone for the most part which is kinda how he actually likes it.
yet he is not self-sufficient, not like a tree.
he was born into this socially dependent species and relies on others to survive.
he has jumped from sinking ship to sinking ship to sinking ship along the way so far till now.
here on easy street.
the government bums all hang out and meet.
he stays alone in his room looking out the window.
a sunny warm spring day here in the trailer park.
he went to the bank in the supermarket but the line was too long.
fuck it.
knowing and understanding are two entirely different things as he is using them.
he doesn’t know much of nothing.
he is understanding more of everything.
one is thought.
one is intuition.
thinking.
feeling.
but we aren’t supposed to feel.
it is irrational.
it cannot be computed.
logic man would claim it doesn’t then exist.
we think about our experience.
we feel our experience.
fuck the logic of it.
gazorbnik.
anyway, his baby comes home with food from the café.
lasagna alfredo with garlic bread.
he makes coffee.
a toke.
a cigarette.
off we go again.
his grandson believes he is gonna be emperor of the world.
fancy that.
right now he lives on the tender mercy of the state.
r doubts his grandson would be so generous as that under his rule.
who knows?
we will probably never find out – or maybe we will.
he’d need too much $$$ to defend his position just as it is now with our military industrial complex thing going perpetuating itself upon us to the exclusion of all else.
r sighs.
this is always the way in this world and perhaps the whole of the universe which so far as we know is everything that exists depending upon what one’s definition of existing is.
is it only that which exists in spacetime detectable by our physical senses?
is it what we might imagine?
or whatever.
r sleeps.
he awakens some time later.
commonly referred to as a nap.
a toke.
a cigarette.
reading what he’s written so far he scratches his head and continuing to type out a not poem theory of everything manifesto report to the committee.
the first and the last.
it is it.
zen thing.
making our heart sing.
moving and grooving.
he takes his meds.
he spaces out picking at scabs of dead skin on the back of his head.
he is still sleepy.
secure envelope.
capable of either abstract thought and/or concrete thought.
ghost riders in the sky.
most everyone can see them but perhaps probably logic man.
are they real?
most would agree not.
fantasy images that exist as part of everything whether being real or not.
able to be communicated.
green ideas sleep furiously.
a rock is a rock.
where are the lines drawn to distinguish between fantasy and reality?
rationalogic reason?
it that the final answer?
or is it a bagful of questions spilled on the floor in a puddle of puke?
reinventing the wheel.
signals crossed.
support our troops.
ideals of beauty and ugly dismissed with a wave of his hand.
a marble statue?
a can of garbage?
a can of garbage on a marble statue?
toilet paper in the trees as a fitting memorial to those who have struggled and lost.
we march on.
the war machine.
humanity in prison.
meditate peace energy as far and wide as possible in whichever way we are able considering the circumstances and our condition in the situation.
peace.
om.
gazorbnik 