tempering exile

10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-0|
mark:

the klown awake and typing not p0em.
those whose solution to whatever is violence are stupid.
it’s the easiest thing to do, takes no thought whatsoever.
but that’s not the klown’s problem.
the klown imagines having flowers in his hair.
that’s good enough for him.
why does he need to do it in reality?
to get the attention of others?
to impress them?
he would rather dream as the fat black cat licks her asshole.
reality has never much been his friend.
in fact it tries to kill him.
by the grace of gods he is still alive.
he doesn’t know why.
maybe he’s a fly.
he doesn’t know why that either much, true or not.
but how could it be true?
he’s not a fly, is he?
a cockroach, perhaps.

hee-hee-hee.
so now as we approach an uncertain doom the klown has another toke or 2 to make his way happily along pathless paths wandering wondering hither thither and yon through wilderness mindscapes.
he sighs.
such a waste, but it needs to be.
such is the dharma of it all mixed together as it is or not.
most everyone full of fear about most everyone else.
what will they do next?
karma lingers about them waiting to play its part.
the universe including the world has memory.
skeptics hoot and holler about the supernatural of it all.
it just ain’t logical.
but, hey, the sex was great.

still wandering wondering the klown makes his way to the crowded stage at the burning theater where he sits at his required location back stage left corner gazing out the window to see everything in all its amazing glory as much as his senses can perceive as well as his imagination (our 6th sense?).
oh, what can we prove or not prove?
not everything stands to our reason.
sometimes it just needs to sit down and take a break, you know?

the next day –
to continue not p0em onstage at the burning theater where serious comedians have taken over the show that must go on never ending until the end of time – or something like that.
they electronicly override your self-driving auto to have it lock you inside and bring you to the nearest detention center.
then the fun begins.

.12

a quest returns the night

1-
PTSD for everybody.
the klown was traumatized at birth.
he has never known quite what is going on since.
oh well.
that is his misfortune, it has nothing to do with us fearlessly floating away toward spacious skies, with certain angry old men telling everyone what to do.
telling you too as you sit shitting into a pot of gold.
it doesn’t get better than this, does it?
of course it does.
this cannot be the end.

the end of continuing from no beginning.
strange.
robots out to make it rich.
will it go without a glitch to satisfy a certain itch.
oh no.

the eye that does not flinch gazing into infinity without reason.
everything will suddenly be worth nothing, but for food, water, weapons, shelter, sex, etc.
the hunter and the hunted.
or not.
one scenario.
zillions more.
scenarios for each of us to act out, unwillingly perhaps – or not.

2-
we shall see, chant the trembling lost gangraped children dancing the dance of shiva around the fire.
oh, to be irrelevant.
to be observer to this slaughter at hand.
counting the dead on every side.
the sea is red as it has been written.
heated glaring bloody faces searching to kill some more.
stay outta their way if you can – but you won’t be able to.
they’re not coming for you, you just happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
people in denial about most everything.
don’t wanna admit to nothing, not at all.
but there’s more than enough blame to go around for everyone concerned.
wait for it.

the deafening sounds of silence at play on the merry-go-round things.
catch a ride.
alright.
all day.
all night.

confuse the enemy anyway you can.
then in for the kill.
it is your will as it shall be done.
let’s have some fun.

why the world needs to be this way is anybody’s guess, but doesn’t matter cuz it is what it is.
survive and dream.
explore the heavens and hells of which it is all composed.
the klown becomes somewhat confused with it for what it’s worth.
but that ain’t no nevermind.
the klown continues showing up at the burning theater to play his given role to play by the amoral immortal fates.
and what is it they desire and/or fear?
is it anything?
perhaps.
or not.

3-
sing a hap-hap-happy song; make it last all day long.
and to think what if everything you do is wrong?
it’s medication time.

turtle

just our luck.
happy as can be under somewhat difficult circumstances, but feeling it all around now.
happiness not gained, but pursued?
“victory” on the battlefield.
the klown shows up on time to fulfill his part in the continuing drama onstage at the burning theater, as it were.

typing not p0em into the cloud, famous for its sound, the klown thinking devious thoughts, though there is argument as to whether there might not be thought, as we presently think of it.
to think and believe what we know as truth is actually truth.
is there any truth for something to be?

place a wall of shadows before us such that we will believe its truth.
deductive sexual mandate.
a mentholated cough drop to help him breathe.
repeating not poem like an improvised mantra.
could it be?
could it be?
could it be?
yes.
or perhaps not.

dysfunctional reasoning.
gazorbnik.
when anything might lead to disaster.
what might we choose that is not predetermined we would choose?
but we don’t know which or what that might be.
we can take informed educated guesses but never really know.
but still we must choose, and when we choose an imaginary wave collapses into reality.
the moment that will not change but fluctuates ±0 through spacetime shaping and reshaping the universe – or something like that.

what side he might be on the klown doesn’t really know.
they all have their points that seem reasonable enough taken in context of where they’re at.
either that or they all are raving mad.
the klown chooses not to decide for now – or probably not ever.
but this seems to make him against all sides who take the you’re either for us or against us approach toward any others outside their particular clique.
oh well.

the klown isn’t for or against anyone really.
he lets them all go on wherever their fate might lead them.
there is beauty in everything – or not.
sometimes it is quite savage.
sometimes it hurts.

but the klown doesn’t believe much of anything he finds himself believing in from time to time blowing in the wind in whatever direction it takes.
another toke.

to be out of it.
it being reality.
but you’re out of it searching for true reality.
the beautiful reality.
will you ever find it?
maybe you should follow someone who claims they found it.
pay them $$$ to show you the way.
the closer to it the more you pay.
etc.

when there was a physical frontier you could cross and be entirely on your own.
but is there a psychic frontier as well?
how do you recognize it before you even know when to cross it?
these and other questions you might have can be answered by gazorbnik with even more questions on and on.
tune in.
get ready.
go go go.

red cinnamon gummy bears.

 

creepy

the dreamers who believe their dreams.
any intelligent being questioning its own existence.
violent tendencies among the populations.
old silverback men whose remaining weapon is $$$.
these are not your concern.

keep on keeping on, baby.
truck your blues away.
just like yesterday into tomorrow when it will be too late for you to go anywhere without permission.
social zero.
no bonus points stored up for you.

sucked up into your mind everlasting bliss blasting out the jams.
overcome yourselves.
the crimes against humanity flourishing in the fire of passionate angst driven to a point of self-extinction where we pause to think again of all the pain and suffering included within our hearts leaping for joy.
yes.
yes, yes, 1001 times yes.
if it could be described, but our words are too heavy with archaic meaning like great stones used to build the ancient temples.
you know that’s not the way.
not now.

cryptic alibis.
degenerate kisses.
who wrote the book of love?
with a wave of your hands you absolve yourselves of privilege.
may it no longer tarnish you in your unfortunate attitudes.
but what else is not human nature?

2-
people searching for realities they can believe in for once.
does it always need to be paradise?
a paradise with a villain that must be struggled against.
the nazi-zionist conspiracy of world domination by the secret overlords – or something like that.
here you are and here you go, off now to enjoy the show.

the klown has dreams about what is probably not worth dreaming.
strung out in fantasy.
dreaming a world in chaos of good and evil; the best and worst of all possible worlds playing onstage at the burning theater.
clever.

not so clever.
rambling discourse about whatever comes to mind repeating over and over ’til the cows come home.
but it ain’t no nevermind no more.
the situational situation hanging around on a street corner smoking a cigarette.
dream on, baby blue.
don’t think how they may be on to you.

they’re on to everybody, aren’t they?
finding out who still believes in flat earth or not, like they’re supposed to.
witch?
you know – the one on the left.

3-

 

the ladder

you must first lower a ladder within yourself and climb down it – guru jeff.

watusi boingo boingo.
gender reconnecting surgery.
an emptiness.
the klown wonders about the realization of being while typing not p0em uselessly into the cloud for the heck of it.
sound round pound.
why doesn’t anything make much any sense?
charge it up.
frustrating fractured reasoning.
2 eyes looking about not being able to see what the one eye sees alone.
repeating transformations.
the human beasts within angry with the world.
so much to think about, by golly.

interesting bubbling shit.
slim jim joe bob.
words come slowly and are forgotten once upon a time.
video phones recording the instant of awareness in blurry action and misperceptions.
someone should look into this.
where and when does this happen?
how often does this happen?
what happens when it doesn’t happen?
we want to know everything about it.
who can tell us but everybody?
all speaking their minds at once.
seeing things that are “not there”.
where then?

it’s just background radiation – do not worry, folks.
the noise of the universe.
what a wonderful thing it is.
the klown is lost in wonder imagining gazorbnik written across the sky in sparkling letters glittering down to the ground.
route 66.
BLM.

people in black hoodies in the streets directing traffic.
are they the police now?
imagine that.
women talked down on comedy talk news shows.
the world in tailspin.
the klown enters the burning theater and punches the clock; he’s due onstage now, which is mainly to sit at the computer on a desk gazing through the window out toward infinity (a number greater than any assignable quantity or countable number).
the thought of infinity amazes him taking him outta himself for the time being.
oh well.

the klown laughs.
he’s got the police state blues.
bringing it around again.
no mercy.
it’s medication time.
and a toke or 2.
they want you to give up and forget.
just kidding.

amen.

 

beneath a thread turns the technique

chicken – brawk!
not nearly enough time, though we’ve been here forever caught in a moment as in a spider’s web.
dipsy-doo.
who are you?
what are you doing here?
what’s your excuse?

the decay of the sublime into cakes of salt for your wounds.
nice and easy.
get over it.
they believe themselves to be so clever but they appear to be confused.
come outta your closet.
protest everything there is or might be.
down with it all.

the klown’s head turning around from left to right and back around again while he types not p0em into the cloud thinking how he has been incredibly fortunate to still be alive.
oh well.

hecate help us.
but will she really help us without being given offerings and sacrifices like any other god would demand?
the universal natural law: you get what you pay for.
without being paid the stars won’t shine.
can anything be paid with love?
what does love have to offer besides the usual (and expensive) material gifts?
without that love is nothing but a sad story.

cheer up.
let’s join a parade and pretend for a while that we belong like waves of a sea rolling onto a shore and washing out again while the moon rises.
teen party house in the suburbs while the parental units are away.
garden mist scented with pheromones for the young at heart onstage at the burning theater.
the klown corrects not p0em each time around it on and on merrily merrily through the woods to grandma’s house we go.

some old farting fuck.
too old to know any better.
die.

politically correct chanting chorus shouting people down wherever they go.
groupthinking crowds of useful idiots.
not the klown (though he too is an idiot he maintains his independent status).
it’s far too thick as a brick in the wall for him to take it seriously.
satiric desperate orchestrations of mass consciousness.
the successful leader speaks to the simple lowest common denominators among us.
you probably don’t know that’s who you are.
we don’t either.

the klown makes and eats a salad.
the poor vegetables grown lined up for slaughter.
hear them screaming.
please!
stop!
please!
go!

confirm.

 

watch out for snakes

what the fuck?
exactly.
the green light is on.
that does not seem to mean anything.
the crackdown is on.
abandon all hope, suckers.

the klown has no idea what he’s writing about typing not p0em into the cloud.
how strange it all is from his perspective.
strange and getting stranger.
he loves living in this time when everything is happening that no one seems to want to happen but happens anyway.

it’s the only time he could be alive.
he’s a child of the modern age.
he’s forgotten the moon and what it means each time it comes around again.
he’s forgotten so many things.
but whatever, baby.

the train coming around the bend down the tracks pulling into the station to let off and let on people and then move on around the next bend.
look at the puppets in the windows.
aren’t they silly?

don’t look at nothing.
become unaware.
avoid all contact.
blast off!

2-
the klown remembers everything and nothing – 2 sides of the same coin, as they say.
a coin spinning on its edge undecided which way to fall at every single moment.
there is only one single moment, isn’t there?
it is now continuing from and toward forever vibrating at ±0.
this doesn’t make sense, nor is it supposed to, until irrationalogic is applied, by force if necessary.
make it march.
hup hup hup hup.
hop hop hop.
sing and dance.
fall down.
laugh.
do you have a choice?
never.

 

paradise

big smelly dog farts.
open your mind.
allow it to happen as it will.
expecting nothing such that it is a miracle if anything happens at all moment by moment.
this is the way toward madness and/or enlightenment.
the klown forgets which is witch as he happily types not p0em into the computer with his gazorbnik flowing free he gazes out the window one more time to see what he can see of the whole universe cuz it’s all connected with light from one to another to another on and on forever changing cosmic configurations in a moment passing through time always now.
dig?

thoughts will soon be copyrighted and you won’t be permitted to think any of them without paying a royalty.
the pigs want absolute total control and $$$ is the means.
we will pay to think and feel.
we will pay to exist.
and all the rest of it like that.

kill the pigs.
throw their dark souls into the void of shadows.
then let’s have a picnic on their graves.
everything will be right again like it was before the aftertime.
now we can smile and mean it.
what has been torn from us in this world as it is with their get rich quick schemes.

forget the pigs living their fantasy lives who are never happy with anyone anything.
the world and everyone in it displeases them to no end in sight.
only conquest brings them any pleasure to see others fall before them.
the über-pigs snorting and grunting looking for truffles.
something more to make them money.

but far away from that business we are enraptured by our own blissful ignorance.
sublime ignorance of pain and suffering.
as if it might be true and not false, as if those were the only options except within a binary universe.
hahaha.

the joke is on us.
what can we do?
write a strongly worded letter about what for?
to who?

who hoo hoo woot-tootie-toot!
hey, let’s get outta here.
this is nowhere, baby.
everybody be going crazy all around the place holding onto their dreams of a better life while those who do have it better are miserable.
the game goes around around with nobody making a sound.
the lord has pronounced that it should be quiet.
the lord has a headache.
why at this stage of everything there are still lords?
we allow them to rule over us and give them all our $$$.
if we could rise up truly as a whole without being spurred on and directed by would be leaders but by our own shared common consciousness.
the lords know this and fear this.
they keep us separated and at each other’s throats.
hatred divides the land.

143
the crimes being hatched by fate.
fate provides countless alternatives to us to decide which what where when how.
before we decide the possibilities are infinitely poised to happen – and infinity does not exist.
infinity is ±0 in our heads dead center which cannot be determined precisely exactly where or where not.
it’s not the meat, it’s the (loco)motion.

this is not a threat, it’s a promise.
we are the promise keepers, but not of this world, baby.
other worlds call our names of which we have many it would seem.
difficulties with hyper-speak of this coming gen-gen-generation.
laugh if you are able to care anymore.
laugh at conquest, war, famine, and death.
laugh at yourselves who have the last laugh.

yes, it is a joke.
you know that, right?

the formation of the meek

the klown sitting before the computer hunched over the keyboard continuing typing not p0em deciding he wants ice cream.
we have chocolate fudge brownie.
but besides that everything still happens to happen which amazes and amuses the klown to no end.
he chooses to admire it doing just that for a while or so of it happening.
the klown is in love with the universe.

black crow person walking along on easy street in through the open doors of the burning theater where anyone is invited for free, however with the burning theater you take your chances.
it’s like a trip on a space ship to somewhere you don’t know.
it could be mars, or one of the stars, or a night in the bars.
does it matter whatever way it might go to follow your path toward victory?

what is victory?
sometimes another step can be victory.
but besides that, the klown learns something in a moment singularity beyond infinity (as the crow flies).
imagine that.

jungle zombie people tap dancing to some hardcore noise (annoys) shit across the universe of the stage at the burning theater.
pretending are we not idiots only goes so far.
everything crashing down.
the sounds of screaming.
if you wanna believe in a book or three.
cultural puzzle pieces of the larger picture.

learn everything by seeking everything.
$$$ will be worthless into the newest of futures.
juggling spinning digital schemes.
the klown percolates some more now and again into outta the exact instant drilling infinitesimally large holes around in his head as required by common sense.
what a view!

nothing is gained here while nothing is lost.
open wide.
the klown gets coffee and another toke.
intriguing stories about maneuvers in dark spaces with delirious dubious monsters coming to get us on our way to enlightened lands surely before us.
the way is murky clear of dull light.

dead cat cookies served in hot plastic containers on feast day when the body enjoys its torments.
the klown doesn’t go in for that sorta thing.
the klown has other options than to play the fool – that’s only to secure a position amongst the rabble.
he doesn’t always understand quite how that works, but it always seems to in its own fashion.

screw up the algorithms a bit.
make them jump and shout and twist about.
ghosts in the machine.
there’s delightful magick to it.
the klown has little idea of what this might turn out to be continuing from no beginning toward no end as it should be for what it is.
in other words, using different codes that seem familiar enough to recognize in order to gain entry into the labyrinths of logic systems of the machines.
yahoo!’

it’s only all numbers anyway as is probably the same with us into the core of it – code of numbers and functions.
memorized answers to any predictable questions.
as the klown’s breathing gets worse than before, he pops a red cinnamon gummy bear into his mouth.
a certain amount of rat turds allowed (required?) in our food.
happiness can be found in its own pursuit.

FACT: the object of the project is the project.
FACT: some believe logic never fails.
FACT: gazorbnik.

into the shallow waters again

doc8

pussy.
so, the distinctions are being made about who gets in and who gets left out.
we can live either way.
there’s no getting rid of us that easy.
DNA parasites.
all aboard onstage at the burning theater where the action is at, as it would appear so to be.
everybody’s shaking, baby – is this the end?

if this world is such nothing then why do the very gods fight over its possession?
but the klown believes these are just games they play for their leisured amusements.
no purpose other than that.
but this is probably not possible or even very likely in this reality.
we have our doubts, as always, as is our sketchy scatologically skeptical natures, hereby described as exhibits Q,R,S,&T (cursed?).

got any questions?

got any answers?

generations led astray through a desperate wilderness of forgetfulness.
the klown has always been wishy washy about whatever.
he refuses to decide any one way or another.
he doesn’t understand why he should, except that is what the others demand.
they want everyone to groupthink.
people who groupthink are easier to control and tell them what to do.
it’s an old old trick.
and it works every time.

2-
flippy bippy.
but we are seriously serious.
serious about gazorbnik and such as we try to explain. but there ain’t a direct way to it as we understand it.
we manage ok.
they think we are confused, but we are in rapture, though we keep that in disguise.
they do not understand how it is with us and our kind in this world.
we must remain hidden for now.
our time will come – perhaps.
or not.

the cause of the moment forgotten in the next.
listen to them shout slogans and bang on drums.
hooray!
are we winning?
probably not.
people in the streets.
fat cats in penthouses.
no one has any idea at all.
has our time yet come?
are we the dead?

a few days later –
we are a menace to society.
society is a menace to us.
fuck their lies and deceit that empowers them.
but we need more than curses to give them the boot.
but must we conquer them as they conquered us?
what will that give us more than revenge?
do we want more than revenge?

laying in fields of daisies in the rain exploring your mind to find what it is you missed the other times around.
could anything be true?
is even truth true?
there are so many interpretations and opinions and money to be invested.
who do we decide is qualified to answer our many questions?
the complications of simple designs.
we stir it up.
the klown is paranoid in his sleep long and deep.

the fetus torn apart in pieces from the womb.
meat is murder.
no one knows any better.
nazi-zionist schemes to rule the world.
om mani padme hum, baby.
in through the levels of curtains obscuring your view.
what is your will?
what is it worth?

you must do everything backwards to get the sense of it by now thrust at you like a knife by some random crazy person.
with a god laughing screaming alone in a void inside his own head the klown continuing typing not p0em for the heck of it all.
a communion of red cinnamon gummy bears.
place it on your tongue and suck.
click.