untitled #11

and he wakes up in the nick of time for doing nothing of any real importance as usual.
never mind anything.
they sold us a buncha shit while they made off with the $$$ back to their armed encampments to survive the uprisings that flare up and then die with their willing and unwilling participants.
bodies everywhere.
but a surprise is in store.
they aren’t the only ones who saw this coming.
we have endured more than this in our own ways and means.
no magick at all.
we keep coming back and back again.
it’s mystery to them.
we are not wealthy or powerful.
we have nothing but ourselves to contend with.
that is enough for now.
irrationalogic reasoning.
don’t make no sense at all to those not paying attention.
it’s all there is as it includes rationalogic reasoning within it and vice versa.
who can tell the difference anymore?
all the heroes have turned themselves in to the established order for their reward.
we should have known they were in it for their own gain.
we did and didn’t.
we just played along in the game but not no more.
we no longer suspend our doubt for their benefit.
to hell with them.
and things aren’t as worse as they may seem.
the earth comes to reclaim its own no matter how long it takes.
the earth abides and is no hurry.

but we are of the world not the earth.
the earth will reclaim us too.
but our ideals remain.
whether we return or not has yet to be decided.

|||

and god says to job, where the fuck were you when i was creating everything and shit?
and job humbles himself before the lord most high.
and we would say, where the fuck were you before we thought of you?
it takes 2 to tango, baby.
why do we always get the shit end of the stick?

sitting on the patio at the café with a dr. pepper.
sunny day blue sky.
he hits the inhaler.
breathe, fucker.

turn it on.
turn it off.
as we try to guess the secrets of the gods that we might become them.
he doesn’t desire supernatural magick powers like the others seem to.
just peace and to be left alone which he already has as much as this world allows.
he lights a cigarette.
he burps.
people make him crazy.
he makes them crazy.

as he imagines sitting in a meadow of daisies in the midst of the forest of dreams where it is rumored a monster lives he is gazing at clouds until the monster arrives sitting with him.
they light up cigarettes.

hey, it says.
hey, he says.
what are you doing here? it says.
chilling, he says.
it’s a nice place for it, it says. i come here often to sit and think.
what do you think about? he says.
about how i became a monster, it says.
well, he says, you do kinda look like a monster which is good enough for most people.
i didn’t appear as a monster at first, it says. i was a beautiful baby.
yes, he says. many monsters start out that way.
i was told i am a monster, it says, so i became one.
many are called, he says, but few are chosen.
i am one of the fortunate ones, it says.
it is good you recognize your fortune, he says, many do not.
no, it says, and they often become the true monsters.
yes, he says. that is true enough.

so, it says, what do you think about?
everything, he says.
that’s quite a lot to think about, it says.
yes, he says. it should keep me occupied for lifetimes.
but what’s the point? it says.
the point is that it is there to be thought, he says. can the gods deny us that?
if there are gods, it says.
of course there are gods, he says. though if they are actual gods or if they are conceptual symbolic archetypes we use to trigger whatever which cannot be thought otherwise as it lies beyond our sensory perception and language thereof.
same difference, it says.
yup, he says.

meanwhile back at the café he orders chicken alfredo scribbling more into the notebook of a not poem about our theory of everything and such whatever comes to mind.
he wears his brain down with thinking banging his pretty little head against the wall of his own damn ignorance multiplied by the ignorance of human kind as a whole.
when will he ever stop?
probably never.
he wants nothing as given, except $$$.
he’ll figure it out himself in his own way as he has gotten himself this far so far already following pathless paths without beginning nor end forever trapped in his own mind spinning webs of thought into crazy quilt tapestries of disjointed meanings probably only he understands which is all it needs to become as the others are quite capable to do so for themselves and we could live happily ever after babbling utter nonsense to one another.

the drama of life as it goes he’s not been much into the playacting involved with people concerned with agendas and shit.
as he dreams dreams dreaming dreams about everything as it comes to mind.

and eternal light spilling into eternal darkness with both as necessary as the other.
but as existing living creatures we tend to favor one over the other as they relate to our survival and wellbeing with us divided between and beyond definitions of this nature realizing it is not as everything is but only as we perceive it being.
but no need to concern ourselves with that as these distinctions are part of it creating itself in spacetime universe thing with us being part of it judging with our knowledge of good and evil and such what meaning it might have for us.

scribbled sketches of thinking in a notebook later transposed on the computer to post online for whatever it might mean to whoever else who remain silent about what they might think or not.
oh well.
he finds little communication in this supposed age of communication.
maybe he should write about political drama or celebrities or some such topics of popular interest.
why about everything?
he doesn’t know.
but why not?
just cuz we’re idiots can’t we have a theory of everything?
a nonexclusive theory of everything.
we throw it all in – kitchen sink included.
what do others do but devise formulas out of esoteric symbols pretending it explains something while they dismiss everything that doesn’t fit into their theories?

plenum of infinitely dense matter condensed to a singularity.
0 dimension point.
x marks the spot, if we can find it.
but where is it but everywhere everywhen?
that’s the trick of it – one of many.
the precise center of everything being that everything is infinite which can never be quite proven to be correct or not which doesn’t matter as there is infinity within the finite.
1 > infinity.
what is the exact distinction between finite and infinite?
show it to us.
point it out.
we would like to know.
either might exist or both or neither.
it doesn’t seem possible.
how does nothing become something?
unless it is continuous from no beginning to no end in sight even with our great sensory enhancing machines.
it’s a simple thing.

but their minds love complications for themselves to unravel.
they feel it reveals to them secrets about what is and what is not.
there is no is and is not.
duality again.
we tend to pick one or the other yet each is contained one within the other forever.
it’s relative to our each perspective of perception about what is what and what value it has to us as such or the other.
but we live in a world of value distinction of meaning which is ultimately meaningless but that is neither here nor there relative to our sense of reality as we experience it blah blah blah, etc.

this world is the crown jewel of creation.
what else is there to compare to it that isn’t some ethereal nowhere of imagination?
everything is imagination.
it’s easy to imagine anything.
bringing it into manifest physical actuality is something else.
the best and worst of all possible worlds.
all we desire and fear rolled into one.
an amusement park of thrills and spills for our delight to relieve our eternal boredom of immortality.
such simple things that others don’t seem to think through to their obvious conclusions of imagination and reason.
they all just assume what they are told is true whether they go along with it or not.
they cannot seem to imagine gods bored outta their minds who invent a world for themselves to distract them from going mad.
or the world is a product of their madness.
what determines if a god is mad?

a mad god laughing screaming alone in the void inside his head.
the god of solipsism knowing everything it creates is self-delusion.
in desperation it creates creatures to worship it which some do and some don’t.
how many does it need circling around itself singing its praises to overcome the sense of ultimate solitude and isolation it must feel to an infinite degree?
that’s what he thinks about the lord god almighty.
pay no attention to the one behind the curtain weeping to itself.

hahaha.
the thundering voiced god of nothing is terrible to behold with its special effects in full force it commands to make us feel small and worthless.
what a laugh.
psych 101 will tell us all we need to know about such pathological behavior.
all he wants of god is perhaps one who hangs out with him smoking dope and cigarettes drinking coffee in a café without resorting to intimidation and threats and all that monkey business of mythological proportions.
is that too much to ask?
apparently so.
it has yet to show up.
fuck it.

he’d rather remain in this world with its ups and down and turn arounds and shit than to come to the self-realization of the utter loneliness of being everything that exists that even creating an infinite universe cannot alleviate.
all is vanity.
he has pity for this god and that’s about it.

so here he is at the café watching and waiting for nothing that will ever happen probably.
not for a zillion years or more.
he feels less and less amused by everything as he has steadily felt since his arrival to this world of hard ass reality.
he expected more from it.
he hoped it’d stop everything going on in his head but it hasn’t but only makes it worse than ever till he feels himself going mad as well.
those who a god wishes to destroy it first drives mad.
but he holds on.
he can pretend.
but he always is aware it’s just pretend.
all everything being reflections of itself in a maze of mirrors cracked and broken and warped with age and neglect that it cannot clearly see itself.

all the clues to this have been readily available in the open more or less.
it’s taken him a lifetime to understand what no one else seems to realize but seek this god for their salvation and deliverance.

and he lives until he dies and forgets again to begin another life unknowing doing this time after time till it wears thin but the alternative is depressing as fuck.
to be it and only it being everything that is.
he’s rather be here now chewing bubble gum dying from cigarettes scribbling what he hopes is nonsense into a notebook than to be among the celestial host in heaven.
he feels alive.

so how does he amuse himself now?
he’s been through everything more or less as much as he knows and/or can imagine of it.
he sees no other possibility.
of course the others will tell him he is error.
what do they understand about it?
they worship gods with selfish love and devotion.
he laughs.
what silly clowns they are.
but he leaves them to their own illusions but few he has seen seem too happy except fighting with one another and such like which is fine and dandy as long as they don’t include him but they are totally outta control for the most part or coldly rationally in control.
he couldn’t care less about them but the vibrations of suffering they broadcast loudly that is irritating to him.

back home.
another toke.
another cigarette.
he ponders being the mad god in his head alone in the void laughing screaming and no one is to hear.
hallucinating a spacetime universe of all sorts of distractions.
but he has found his place here now in a world chosen perhaps at random or by intent.
how many other worlds?
he remembers sweet home blue neptune before he was kidnapped by space pirates and brought here.
but he has become accustom to it when at first it was intolerable.
moving through these mortal lives gently down the stream.
eye opening experience.
another hot dog.
to experience the cuisine of each world not as a tourist but as a native.
to forget about one’s purity for the while.
enjoy it while it lasts.
he travels through the spheres as a vagabond.
he lives each life as a bum.
he has little interest or desire for more than that.
he likes it here on easy street.
such more interesting people to meet than the good folk of whatever ilk they belong to.
they are the same everywhere.
groupthink follow the rules mentality.
it’s funny when people don’t believe you’re talking about them.
few venture out on their own individual path.
the risk of madness is real.
he is one to know.
to imagine oneself a mad god alone in the void as the only thing that makes sense.
it has yet to be refuted.
prove to him you exist and begin from there.

he laughs.