a tadpole in a jar.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
face down into a puddle of disgusting stench.
imagining sitting before the computer hunching over the keyboard typing a not poem about our theory of everything.
cuz he ain’t no poet.
if there is no motion but infinitely dense locations of spacetime flashing on/off giving the appearance of motion like lights on a marquee.
if there is no such thing as 1.
can’t get there from here.
so long, suckers.
imagining sitting on a beach of an island in the eye of a storm raging on an otherwise calm sea.
the sea is humanity.
with all its inhumanity.
he watches the waves rolling in washing out.
all the same each being different.
11:11
moments like falling dominos flowing like a river.
pet the kitty.
more coffee, another cigarette.
the morning rain looks like it’s gonna last all day.
but it could be a sunny afternoon.
he has to go out at some point.
the various schemes people believe in each seem not to hold us and our kind in much high regard.
useless.
expendable.
do everyone a favor and drop and die.
the world belongs to the strong and able.
we belong in our self-inflicted ignorant hell they have promised for us.
it’s funny in its own way.
we are the dreamers of the world according to our theory which has yet to be proven or disproven.
it doesn’t matter.
we have our doubts but we continue on as if.
what we are allowed to glean from the harvested fields.
we live on next to nothing.
it’s still too much.
it’s medication time.
bop-bop-a-shoo-bop.
$$$.
the profits of continuing war shoveled into the maw of the churning greed machine that chews it up and shits it out.
the pigs grunt their approval.
the project ahead of schedule and under budget.
wonderful.
bonuses all around.
the sad cliché of it all by now.
we should acknowledge the truth.
the rituals of the sun repeated constantly under different names secretly.
lies of fear while everyone believes and will swear they are being told the truth.
it’s so mixed up beyond recognition.
fat gut and skinny arms and legs.
a sight for sore eyes.
dust of the river shimmering in the heat we proceed dry mouthed toward the land time forgot as seen on tv.
hunky dory.
the unfathomable response.
stuck in a mud pie waiting for the elevator.
busted.
incongruent mustache grinning trickster.
the written word of faithful denominations advancing on the promised land.
when the earth is covered by the sea.
we shall see what will be.
we will believe it when we see it.
a world of useless endeavors.
a world of misshapen people.
a world on its knees.
to see god everywhere.
to spit in its face.
promises of other worlds.
hahaha.
suckers.
but there are always exceptions to the rules.
we get away.
we are free.
follow us.
we know what’s going on.
our gazorbnik knows the way.
why should we believe about some olden texts of scribbled nonsense stories made up around campfires for ancient ages?
this is the new world of wonder.
love it or leave it.
it will soon all be destroyed just as everyone is predicting.
the bloated corpse floating in a bathtub of a cheap hotel on easy street.
scattered sticks creating hex signs.
people still searching for that promised land.
we hope they find it and never come back here now no more.
they are all bumming us out.
they’re such a drag with all their fussing and fighting and such.
and about who is the best and who are the losers.
he sighs and giggles.
a brown paper bag.
he sleeps.
awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
zoom in to the infinitesimal.
zoom out to the infinite.
zoom somewhere in the middle.
5/9
hmm…, he wonders.
he doesn’t get it.
he is baffled.
still he thinks about everything he can.
the mundane world to the celestial spheres.
dust floating like particles or galaxies in a sunbeam through the window.
a wave of his hand sends it all spiraling.
he loses himself awhile.
more coffee, another cigarette.
the la-dee-da blues begin again.
the wonderful spectacle of it all.
how does one describe?
relax.
a planet of woe is us.
searching for more.
anything.
what we can ascribe with meaning.
gazorbnik means anything.
or not.
the world is a ghetto.
what meaning does that serve?
anything?
so many meanings on everything (every-thing).
the sunlight becomes bright for a few moments.
if time is relative then eternity could be an instant and/or vice versa too.
whatever.
more coffee and he scrambles some eggs.
another cigarette.
as he ponders the wisdom of his madness.
this is what he has collected from his life for better or worse.
as he thinks about how he needs to get supplies glad it’s not raining.
thinking about everything like a little kid who spins in circles to become dizzy and fall down and feeling the world turning.
that’s all it is that he is doing.
as he goes to get supplies.
the point according to some theories is to not think about anything.
a disciplined art.
he has no discipline.
he’s loose as a goose on a wild goose chase.
every which (witch) way.
he don’t mind.
there doesn’t need to be a point for him.
that might not be true.
is he looking for a point to everything?
everything has proven its point by being.
what other point is there?
there is peace, love and understanding.
is that the point?
an end or object to be achieved.
but ends and objects only exist in the finite.
there are none in the infinite.
for every point there is its opposite that resists.
that does not matter to the infinite.
the infinite flows through everything.
he lights another cigarette.
into attitudes of despair arriving to shores of disgust with the situation our hearts and minds flying free down by the river flowing eternal toward the sea as lights twinkle along the way we wash our hands of the matter of the sacrifice we don’t care too much as there is too much for us to care about that it would drain us we let the people decide their own fate as they will as if we have a choice.
give it one more try.
bring it down.
what happens next no one knows and it’s none of their business anyway.
the tourists look around for hope b-b-but there none to be found.
it’s not our fault and none of our business anyway.
it comes and goes here on easy street.
time is busy.
we try to focus on our mission but become distracted sitting around silently staring into space together alone as the case may be based on pale evidence to the contrary vice versa la-dee-da such that we discover ourselves understanding.
7/6
a disconnection with the earth except to rape and pillage it.
$$$ and all that jazz.
so it goes.
everything radiating from everything to everything.
on and on.
nothing that don’t radiate.
the dark of night radiates.
evil radiates.
death radiates.
not just the goody good shit.
the down and nasty shit too.
it shouldn’t matter.
but it does.
we want our cake and eat it too.
bankrupt philosophy.
a process of doubt.
everything producing madness.
he sleeps.
awakening.
coffee, toke, cigarette.
ragnarök zombie boogaloo is bound to be the very next phase.
he can see this through the haze.
we’ve already just begun.
gonna have some fun.
it’s medication time.
he’s feeling fine.
we each all have our truth we are willing to believe in.
many willing to kill and die.
we have our doubts about all of it.
those creaming in their jeans for the end of the world cuz things will be so much better afterward.
right?
the same old story of good people go to heaven and eternity while evil people go to hell and oblivion.
the gods come to sort that shit out.
hahaha.
it’s all one big fat joke.
some people need to have a toke.
relax.
groove.
dig.
a gray overcast drizzly morning.
man walking dog come by outside the window.
the sun begins to come out.
more coffee.
another cigarette.
/\/\/\/\/
it’s medication time.
\/\/\/\/\
if it’s a joke we don’t get it.
what’s the punchline?
unless the joke goes on and on forever infinitely indefinitely.
do we want meaning or no meaning?
we choose.
he chooses neither/both.
the meaning of no meaning of gazorbnik.
he likes thinking that riddles his brain.
always on the point between understanding and confusion.
monkey in the middle sitting on a fence.
we watch the drama unfold.
the circus is in town.
beware.
this indulgent unproductive inconsequential sacrifice.
this play upon words with or without meaning.
dullsville.
the recycling truck pulls up for them to pick up the recycling.
watching rain falling dancing in puddles.
while the sun comes out again.
the trickster plays little tricks on him.
pesky devil.
making sure he’s paying attention.
he likes to dream.
dreaming life away.
he dislikes interruptions.
dreaming possibilities about everything.
our theory is a theory of possibility not always actuality.
what’s the difference?
what difference is it if there is a difference or not?
we do not believe.
we do not doubt.
anything.
we believe and doubt everything.
it seems a quandary, but it’s not.
it’s a quandary only for the others who do not seem to understand the inner workings of their own gazorbnik.
a simple thing.
but psychophobia strikes deep.
now the end begins.
this is perhaps not the time to be pondering this nonsense.
but if not now, when?
ignore the turmoil of the world.
we got it covered.
gazorbnik 