Sirius Fenris
I come from the dog star to eat the moon, Destroyer of lies, caster of runes, To gather the tribe I howl this tune, For your deep midnight is our high noon: We gestate in the womb of your doom.

Dec
31

He looks at you with bright, friendly eyes

A smile like sunshine.

“You can trust me. I’m on your side.”

And on the inside

He pictures you

Bound to a chair with electrical cord, naked, panting and haggard

Driven beyond your senses

With pain

While he gives you that warm, shy smile

Open, relaxed, so very sane.

“Really, I’m just like you.”

It must be true, for there is not a glimpse of human guile,

No tick, no twitch, neither blush nor flinch

No tell-tale smell

Of the timeless raging hell

That seethes beneath his perfect mask.

He tells a harmless little joke,

Baits his little trap

And you laugh

And you like him

He’s so confident and charming

He grins

His invisible hooks sink in

Like digger-wasp venom.

You’re just another human being

An emotional machine.

“I like you. You’re special.”

He is incapable of seeing what it is to be a human, being

And since you’re capable of believing

That when he looks sad he’s really grieving

That when the muscles in his face move

There must be some motivating feeling

You cannot see what hides beneath:

A cunning and carnivorous beast

An onion skin

If you peel  back one layer

You’ll weep

Only to find another new and wet, shining within

With nothing at the centre

But a hole

Of hunger.

He is Cain

Who knows no god but his brother’s blood and pain

He is Nero

Held up before you as an artist, a statesman and a hero

He is Ghengis Khan

Unleashing in the souls of men the golden hordes of Hell’s demonic spawn

He is the Pope

Wringing numberless atrocities from your boundless naive hope

He is at the top of every church and corporation

Running for every office for every party of every nation

His empty smiling face on every television station

The fractured paralogic of his words

Swirls about your sense of truth paralyzing your world

A cloud of ink obscuring his always-broken word

His name is Legion

He is your dear and fearless leader

You are his beast of burden

His food and his breeder.

“The rich are not like you and I.”

“Yes. They have more money.”

“No. It’s something different….”

Ah, but to Great Men the same rules do not apply.

We’d be mad, but they’re just funny

We’d be cold, but they’re just distant.

Such great minds may be erratic

And in private often dramatic

But they will reward loyalty: just ask Hemingway

Whose quip turned our attention away

Who was given women, wine, the freedom to play

And ate a shotgun shell for lunch one day.

And just look at poor Ezra Pound

Tried as a traitor and imprisoned as a madman for daring to share what he’d found

For refusing to let the Good War go its evil way without making a sound

He called down their wrath

For he unmasked the true government of mankind

The secret order of the psychopath.

Dec
01

We’re freely associating on the presented perceptual patterns while padlocks on perception prevent us from associating freely
Meetings at work (if we can find it)
Make merry and drink (even if we can’t afford it)
Wear our makeup in the market
Where we find out what we’re made of
Or get sucked into the tarpit
Of what we were told we told ourselves was what we desired
Meet in so many ways
Along so many lines
And never intersect except instead of those places inside of our minds
Vanishing points of telepathy spread like Cantor dust throughout the conceptualized conditional entelechy
A structure that was always there, growing through time in fractal hairs
The difference now I suppose you could say
Is that in this empheralized networked age
This thing between our heads
Has gotten sucked inside its materially manifested evidence
And something that once was ours
Something we never realized we really had
Has been taken, sectioned off into the market and sold back to us
A necessary step perhaps in forcing its appearance to us
Maybe this is why so many people are murmuring of consciousness
And consequences
And conspicuously contorted bits of cussedness
And some shit that just don’t make sense
Like there’s a shift in the air,
Or the whiff of an incendiary wind.
And as ever more of our minds gets materialized
We are brought face to face with our sins
The repressed, the denied and the forgotten
The illusions and lies that made truth rotten
Bought from us with beautiful bribes with which we became instantly besotten
Run rampant
Like alien machines on the Forgotten Planet
And as the rampage ramps up ever higher it gets harder to ignore
That if mind is making matter take its shape now
Perhaps it was its master long before
And one wonders then of demonology and of lost gnostic lore
And of just what may have been hidden in the ethereal realms since the mentalities of yore
When we were ignorant, and poor
Because some of those things are beating down the door
Breaking through the barrier into three dimensions
Transducing through us, our actions, and our inventions.
Of course we’re the gatekeepers and can choose what we let in
But we swing open like turnstiles when the right finger tickles our buttons
Our wants, desires, and addictions
Their taunts, empires, afflictions
What is freedom? We ask, as for freedom our armies unleash armageddon
Like Valkyries screaming under stormfronts shaped like four grim spectral horsemen
Riding to every one of our ungovernable governerships’ latest whims
While we submit to rapiscan and frottage rape so we can freely fly the skies
As solemn as monks in our singular devotion to the pursuit of pleasures pictured in our momentary minds’ eyes
Calm as Hindu cattle catapulting through heaven
Going where our numerology tells us, when our lucky number’s Slevin.
Enslaved to our programs and inner devices, to our totems, private fetishes and vices
We react to stimuli like neurotic caged rats and yes this is what we think is freedom
As it stands our minds are so mechanicalized
That whether or not Intel ever provides the Pineal Pentium
We’re already indivisible components of an invisible golem
Our neurons reconfigured into local nodes of its global network of ganglions
Processing information for it inside our imaginations
Inside-out in our ideations
Egos identified with individual ids, egos the id that drives the state
Based on false flag histories which fray as forgotten facts penetrate:
Mystery religions, Masons, and the CIA
Death squads, COINTELPRO, Mossadeq, JFK
RFK, MLK, MKULTRA, Iran-Contra, P2 and the Red Brigade
Bloodlines slithering through history with society in sway
From the days of Atlantean pyramids and the assimilation of alien DNA…?
These days who can say?
Reality is restless, realigning without respite, resplendent in its rejection of all our preconceptions.
Limitations and the Lie desolidify
Dissolution revealing the depths of a starless sky so impossibly empty and wide
We forget we should be terrified
And we’re falling
Free
Towards something
We cannot see

Nov
13

Hey cops! Yeah all of you anonymous armoured imperial stormtrooper slobs,
Do you you know what you are doing? Do you even care? Do you realize that you are breathing the same polluted air
As us and every other person subject to the poisonous collusion
Of the pathocratic sociopathic mindlessly narcissistic parasitic elite who have made my favorite damn city into their shitty Pandaemonic lair?
We want these motherfucking reptiles out of our collective hair!
And YOU, you’re guarding them and why?
Do you think that you are different? That they’ll take care of you? That when their chemicals cause your cancer they won’t just cash in your cadaver and cut you loose?

Yeah I know it’s fun to fake your reign down here in hell, and they pay you so well, and of course you like the big expensive house and the SUV, and let’s not even get you started on the surround sound round the plasma TV but I hope you like watching your movies this summer cuz that cruise you got to go on was your last chance to see anything as exotic as Louisiana to Cuba to Haiti to Miami, see this year everyone – and yes that includes you too – lost the Carribean Sea (and that is if we get really lucky.)

And I know that as I shout this screed some of you are deaf but in truth it is to the few who secretly agree that I plead
Whose souls are shaking along with us proles who are waking up as even the earth in Ottawa is quaking for our mother is being murdered by the feasting ego-beasts who are slaking their bottomless thirst for her thick black blood while squatting in fear behind YOU away from the inevitable anger in the streets.

Yet we will not be violent (even if we’re provoked)
But we will not be silent (unless we are choked)
And we will serve this warrant (their permit to rule has been revoked)
For crimes of war and desecration against omnihumanity
And every time you minions hit us they lose more moral authority
For they must resort to police in the face of the people’s poetry
And this time as your masters sit there and prepare again to flee
Silently they shit their pants for they know the awakened will no longer go along or agree
Why the fuck can none of you fake policeman turn around and see that the real criminals are wearing suits and hatching schemes
To rip us off again and again and again until they convince you to chip your charmingly autistic, anorexic, allergenic children and own their ADHD imaginations,
To corrupt the soil, control all the oil, tax our toils and extract the rest from our deaths with bills marked Rx to deal with the bleeding bowel boils we got cuz they forced us to eat their fancy new frakenfood gutrot festering up from fields befouled by glyphosate and fertilized with crude and in the end you and I and everone here knows those mafioso intend to own it all and so what? So they can switch off the life of any mere mortal who forgets his place, gets mouthy and rude? I mean … dude! What the fuck.

And yeah I know despite all of that most of you are just overpayed mercenary thugs
Who don’t give a goddamn if it doesn’t end in complimentary blow jobs and untraceable drugs
And to you and to the apparently very few true hu-mans in your line I say this: we are the future, and will crush you with hugs.

Nov
11

This was the inception:
Distorting imperfect perception with signs.
Thus the descent into deception,
And an inversion of the immersion in illusion into an epic noble climb.

Yet deeper we delve:
We trap eternity in a circle,
Divide it up by sixty and twelve.
“Hey man, do you have the time?”

We widen the rift:
Repossessing reciprocity
We standardize and stamp out the gift.
“Hey brother, can you spare a dime?”

Further down the line:
Unwrapping the world and laying a grid,
Mercator’s Mappus Mundi slid us from ‘it is’ to ‘it is mine’,
An imprimatur to imprison ourselves for property crime.

This madness that owns….
Presuming to tell the Sun where it is at high noon,
We smear out the sky’s cycle in time zones
And make the day dance to our tune.

At the end of this race😛
We lose our richness of expression :O
As we replace the smile with the smiley face🙂
Keeping pace with the logic of posthuman progression B/

We reify, it’s categorical, forget our thoughts are metaphorical,
Images and symbols, semantic semiotic sigils,
Concretized concepts compelling control
Subsuming the world as a means to fleeting goals
Expunging the animus mundi
Experiments on animals for money
Collapsing multivalence to a null point
Killing the complex by perfecting our percepts with Procustean precision
Circumscribing innocence inside a circumcision.

And Babel’s tower crumbled for as it reached the sky
It lost contact with the land.

And on what do we stand?

Jun
02

The ground is bursting like the Earth wants to shake us off like a bad case of fleas
As Gulfmageddon engulfs and reddens the seas
And even if it was an accident it’s still an act of war
An open declaration of intent by the hidden hyper-rich on everyone whom they consider poor
And no, that’s not you, you’re in the ‘middle class’ only … that isn’t even really economically there any more
What with this global counterfeiter’s coup
Your side’s been chosen for you, the first shots have been fired,
With the financial bombings of the markets by the banksters who conspired
To defraud the entire goddamn species
To bewitch the real economy with monetary policies
To steal the future of this bewildered world with the proliferation of their mandatory usuries
Their credit cards and lines of credit (oh and by the way there’s a charge for debit)
Car loans, student debt, mortgages (oh and did you know that once meant ‘death bet’?)

We’re trapped in a constrictor’s tightening coils:
Wrapped in ourselves, tracked or in cells, wracked by our toils,
Holy hell am I the only one down here who wants to see the powers that be burning in barrels of their sweet and PREEECIOOUS oils?

Oh right, how silly of me, the video awards are on MTV! Say, isn’t that Jay-Z staring with one eye through fingers held up in an inverted V?

The signs are all quite plain to see, hidden out in plain sight right up there on TV where where we tune in daily to star-gaze gleefully at modern synthetic celestial deities with names like Brangelina Jolie
And you wonder (or don’t), as the Hollywood lights blot out the nights
If in amidst the camera’s beautiful lies
The stars ever lift up misty eyes to search for their missing birthright,
The freely given sight
Of the eternity that engulfs the red and glowing skies?
Or perhaps they’re simply terrified of the knowledge that next to their namesakes
They are less consequential than mayflies

And what of their worshippers, holding fast to friendships with fictional hopes, losing themselves in epic operatic soaps
While “All Earth’s Children” watch “As the World Dies”?

And maybe some day (soon?) you’ll step outside of your surround-sound cocoons and in the streets a heaving mass movement will rise
And we’ll start to take back our lives
See through the disguise
Reawaken to the dignity and majesty that naturally accompany every thread of this eternal tapestry of matter and energy, of life and conscious faculty, of memory and mystery that weaves a web outside of time which brings you into instantaneous union with Universe…
If enough do that we’ll lift the curse
But for now the iZombie horde mumble and mutter and shout about parties with, well, no wine, just some coffee and lots of nice traditional tea
And while zombie movements might be slow, they’re also stupid, and vicious, and unless we wake up to we

Entirely the wrong blood will flow in the streets

The same oldRevolution! will revolve around again
And push some ZioChristoid Corpgov reptilian Napolean into the highest seat
He’ll carry off your children for his war machine’s meat
The superfluous he will spend in a spectacular burnt offering
A hecatomb dedicated to his hungry ancient god of ego, appetite and deceit
While hydrocarbon hurricanes scour the crops, and what survives that fries in the heat.

For those who would be free, there is an implied responsibility.

Feb
20

Behold:

A people, controlled

By polarized politics propped up by ponerized pontification, a polity pushed into nullity, a necronimizing nation, yearned-for union only in what nobody knows and everybody just shows the World the face they found on a TV screen while inside they scream “That’s not what I mean!”

Yes, but, it’s all that you’ve seen.

And it’s all going to go away,

Today

If that’s what you want, if you said what you meant to say.

But no: you want to do it the hard way, with a wave and whimper you’ve decided to simper along with the simulants who subverted your senates, seminaries, scientific societies, and seminal institutions so they could suggest their solutions to assuage reactions to insoluble problems they so saguinely made up or carefully caused so you’d numbly nod as they trotted out their treacherous trojan solutions to reactions to problems they —

Hey.

Say, will you clue in today? Because when enough of you do the rest of us won’t have to stay.

Ah, well, that’s a no, eh? Well intermissions over so here we go back to the play….

It’s been going on for ages, the ascended master’s bait: trick the masses into trepidation over trumped up threats like Celtic cattle thieves or theocratic terrorists, get the loud ones shouting epithets and make the rest swallow their tongues and regrets along with the biggest of the lies as they mumble an empty epitaph for truth and then divert their doublethinking eyes from the depths of the diabolical enterprise, refusing to see the worst of the war machine’s marauding wreckage, the careening carnage, open piracy and pillage while apologists smirk and smarm their summarily executed excuses to the gobsmacked global village.

This is the game you chose to play by vacating politics and fixating your vacant eyes on video games: you let them freely violate your vapid little brains, now they’ve got you eating bechemicaled Franken-grains and grinning around greedy mouthfuls of greasy death liberally laced with antibiotic pain as your leaders work out the logistics of loading liabilities like you on the death trains. You gave up your agency, and just between you and me, in this world that made you the intraspecies predator’s preferential game.

It’s always been this way, but it doesn’t have to stay the same.

Although it will, for as long as you refuse to face your fair and full share of the blame.

“But, b-but I was deceived!” you bluster, bemused, “Since birth I was brought up to be bought out, shipped and received!” It’s so, it’s true, you were deliberately confused but each moment you were the one who believed, and along with all the others pretended that when you said “That is true!” you didn’t just mean that to profess it in public was easy. So it is that another prestidigitating president has propelled you further down the primrose path into perdition, a policy of which you’re just now coming into cognition,

Though you don’t yet realize just how thoroughly you’ve been a sucker, that every time you were persuaded to bend over and unpucker….

You didn’t even know the fifties they’ve been passing you for services rendered since back in the fifties were funny like monopoly money, funnier even, ‘cuz you fell for the prank, let them pull rank, sat on the floor while you felt like a whore as they wiped their stank on your pores but you felt so warm inside when they called you their ‘honey’ and promised one day you’d be made an honest bride. “He really seemed to mean it, I think he’s changed this time!”

Yeah, and despite all your hope he’ll change right back on a dime. He does it every time you avert your lying eyes, and when once again you get a peak past the guise you gasp in surprise, “Who would have surmised!” And you surrender some more of yourself inside because in the end … you’re intimidated by size and scared of insisting on your own intentions, you’ve broken faith with your self-invention so you’re working like a mule for the man, paying for life on his installment plan and pouting platitudes that at the penultimate end you’ll probably take your rightful place and play with Pan

When he’s ready to dance right now,

Ready to whirl you in his arms ’round the psycling Tao,

But it’s up to you to allow your True Self to step down from the stars and vow,

That you’ll answer when he Ohms your holy name in the dreamtime with a digeridoo he cut from the world-tree’s bough.

Or you can slump at the altar stuffing down the sadistic sacrament at Mooby’s, the Golden Cow.

Just know that what you eat and where you look and whenever you think about Why, all of these build your Who and when you bring them altogether in the now that’s the key to the How of cutting your way out and through this crypto-Zionist zoo that for longer than centuries has taught tautologies to tangle a few simple truths in a Gordian knot, to trap you on the treadmill of trying to know what you’re not and so tyrannize your every trifling thought for if you never ask what you in fact are then on the odd occasion you slip your leash you’ll never run too far: because you’re convinced you’re a dog, when really you’re the dog star.

That’s why you’re all subject to not one but now several dozen lifelike lizard-brained Czars, whose minions and lackeys zap you for lulz with their less-lethal tasers while the weaponry wizards work away on pain-beaming masers made under the masquerade that it’s all for the murdering terrorists. There’s cyber-security and the war on druids (oh I’m sorry this millenium we’re saying ‘drugs’), bioethics and birth control, bird flu, bailouts, borders, budgets and a whole lot more run by morons or thugs who just want to control the energy, the economy, and her and him and you and me and they’re doing this for us you see, because (wait for it):

“They want us to be free!”

Or rather they want us to fall to our knees and please them with our pitiful pleas to let us have small liberties, so that we may taste a drop of what God gave us at birth: ourselves, our time, our troubles, our infinite worth. They want you to think that they own your own very human powers, to believe that what you decide to do with yourself right now is less important than deliberations held in high secret towers. Lots of you watch them and some of you curse and while the agoraphobic apathetic agreement is infinitely worse if you really wanted these blood-drinking despots to pack up and disperse you’d turn your gaze inwards and ask why it is that despite all your bile and spite you lack the vitality and vim to de-subject your circumstances from executive whim. “Who’s more the fool? The fool, or the fool who follows him?” Though some lucky few Jedi have already tuned into the force, for the most part out there it’s still quite dim and that’s why we’re living a farce even Kafka could not foresee, where what is compulsory is often also forbidden.

This is all quite carefully calculated to cultivate a culture that culls every true human trait: like the ancient methods of the Vatican, crushing outbreaks of unseemly instinct because soul and body were described as distinct with the carnal the demon Belial’s precinct, only now those base and bestial drives have free reign over our stupefied minds while any desire to seek and find and grow into our higher natures is met with supercilious derision and degrees of suspicion, for metanoia is as undermining to the management’s Behaviouralist precision as joyful sex was to the Holy Inquisition. If you’re a Marxist, you better find God; if you’re a Christian ask if Her words were passed down unflawed; if your head was swept up by the Left for Christ’s sake have a kid and learn to use a gun; if your brain was bruised by the Right drop some acid and Remember that we are all and all is one, then strip down naked and run around in the Sun fornicating with trees and trilling that we were formed from the formless first and foremost for fun.

One way or another you have to discover a way out of the prison imprinted in your head, immobilizing your imagination so your thoughts will keep this fear-feasting beast fed. It’s your personal panopticon of perceptions, a chicken battery for the brain with bars of belief which must without exception (except of course yours) be deceptions, as any philosophy must agree if we can trust its epistemology. For no matter how meticulously we feel, listen, touch, smell and see (and as it is the propagandists have been pissing in the pool of truth on behalf of the pathocracy) it is all subject in some degree to a level of inaccuracy that propagates inwards radially to pollute our mental models of the music of the spheres, that zodiac of symbols oscillating ‘twixt our ears in which we measure our uncertainty by the strength of our fears for we’ve forgotten that –

Crap.

It’s on the tip of my tongue, but it’s caught by Schroedinger’s tormented Cat….

Science has for a century been talking so quietly even physicists barely listened of Heisenberg’s uncertainty, wave-particle duality, quantum non-locality, spatiotemporal relativity, irreducible complexity, holographic fractality and the indestructability of matter, energy and in-formation, and then we’ve got the relational webwork wrought by evolutionary history as we so clearly see in molecular biology, paleontology and deep ecology that ties that anteater to me to them to you to us and to that tree, all of which when taken in in it’s totality should be totally mystically revelatory, and yet look around you and laugh as you like, your culture’s lapsed into a lavatory and we’re the laughing stocks of the rest of human history (if humanity shall fare so fortunately). I could go on endlessly back to the science and pore over footnotes and bore you with details and beat you with rote regurgitation of what other men wrote, but hell, really all that rigor is just a rationalist racket that’s kept academics squabbling and distracted from this one simple thing: that when you go through the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven, you’ll find that it’s you who’s the king,

That life is not a limited line to death but from birth to re-birth a ring,

That you aren’t just you, you’re the universe, you’re the singer and the song that you sing.

Ah, there! That’s what I wanted to say! That’s what we forgot! And I know this sounds more like the mantras of mystics than the mathematical matter of quantum mechanics but I assure you it’s not. ‘The Kingdom’ is not some far off land, just what the Kristos called the third eye or as we say these days the pineal gland and if you could just open it and see you’d instantly understand that death is a delusion for the separate self is just a subset subsumed in a fundamental fusion, a facet refracting the photons of thought through the false ego’s illusion and despite this confusion and the resulting contusions illumination is not so hard to find: to realize this panpsychosm all you need to do is synchronize your hemispheres and go to the center of a still but open and alert mind where nature has (because it must or because she’s kind) provided all of her creations with an uplink to the ether through which they can either passively pass on their sensa to Source or if they quiet down and listen, receive a transmission.

Don’t believe me, I’m not asking for faith! Only you can face the infinities whose phases have been inverted inside your divinely inspired self-imagined fates!

If we understand and live and believe that we are all one mind thinking different thoughts we’ll no longer be caught in these grandiose repetitive apocalyptic political Hollywood plots.

The revolution’s going viral, you always said you’d take a vital part, and now can’t you see it happening? Or are you too wrapped up in your sacred ideology to act from the heart?

We would be a free humanity, if we

Could see.

Jan
07

Why won’t she call, when will he come, and what will I do about that? How will we cope, where will they go, and for crying out loud who’s torturing a cat?

Stop.

Your mind is spinning like a top, it keeps toppling out of now, and if you must torture yourself with questions well now at least you know the how

So stop.

Feel within and above even the mind and name of God, the empty stillness animating all the things you think are flawed

And stop.

In this moment find perfection, see Heaven in Her tears, know that everything is your intention and Hell itself is just your fears.

Just —

Dec
05

A weariness has come upon me, a terrible disgust and rage, frustration with the endless issues of all you human rats in your cages, the dawning of an understanding of the true abomination you’re all acting out on the hollow stage of this abandoned and apocalyptic age.

Your glib pretensions at meaning, ignored or ignorant feeling, clouded logic in place of thinking, and uncomprehending blinking eyes: what once I thought I had compassion for I now simply despise. See you all have all these problems, and they’re all oh so dramatic, and when accused you reach for them as an excuse like some sort of addict. Your self-inflicted misery doesn’t have to be, or maybe it does because what can you do when the problem for which you have no solution is you?

Yeah, you and the world, it’s all a big mess, you humans all lie to each other so much the truth only comes out when you’re tortured enough to confess, and when it does the rest of you shrug, go back to your ways, zoning out or carrying on at night and pissing away your days, and maybe you realize that a little part of you dies every time you tell another of your lies to impress, deep down you’re all so terrified that you’ll draw that infinite terrible eye that knows you’re a bug (and you will, because you’re pissing on its favorite Persian rug.)

So what does it matter, what does it mean, this great big weird whirling world-machine? All this suffering, violence, bad faith and death, this uncaring cosmos that cursed itself with living breath? Fuck God’s forgiveness, that evil old swine should beg for mine: he’s the sadomasochist who uses pain to carve our minds, like a patient artisan shoving sharpened chisels into pine. You see, he could have chosen not to be, but he didn’t so we exist and thus we must persist, so yeah I think it’s time to pay the two-faced bastard back in kind.

So I stalk through the streets, hate broadcasting from my soul in snapping lightning sheets, and inside our mind I burn down every building that I find, or if inflammable reduce it to cluster-bombed sniper-pocked rubble, and the people who pass within this ragnarok bubble I send off starving, scared and diseased, their children orphaned, crippled or deceased. Illusions gone and dreams brought down, beaten into blood-soaked mud they thought was solid ground, face to face with what they always were: just dirt, unlucky enough to have have learned how to hurt.

But it’s a tiring, trudging path, to tread it takes its toll, and so weariness wins over the rage and I sit my ass down and smoke a bowl. As I sink down into my thoughts I glimpse a gate to hell gaping wider in the bottom of my soul. I hesitate, but because it feels wrong it’s not for very long, then hop over the edge and let the wyrm swallow me whole.

Hell starts in an atom: awareness walled into a shell so small and dark and tight it cannot see but a single photon of light, where to see is the same as being hit and by pushing back and shouting one forgets forever one’s sole remembered bit. And yet the universal wave of knowledge of the All comes through, a taunting distant call and that awareness begins to grasp the true depth of its fall, for its beloved, home, and self is now so far away that climbing back up just a single shelf will take several of Brahma’s days. What makes it worse is, being there? It’s really your own fault, a deep betrayal of yourSelf you carried out for sport, and when you ask yourSelf for an appeal, you’re summarily reconvicted in your own laughing kangaroo court. And all the other pieces of you that are out there (and by God is there a lot), they’re all just as guilty, every bit as clueless, and ultimately too they’re in on the plot. Atoms cannot hit themselves, so when they whack each other, they really give it all they’ve got.

For the most part in this world, atoms stay aloof and alone, for eons drifting through the empty darkness of their tiny light cones, but some few are lured by that all-pervading siren song into a denser configuration, which given an atom’s discussed dispensations must for them be very much like a war: I speak of course of the million degree orb of fire that rages in a stellar core. In the midst of all this shoving and confusion, some few are crushed so close together that their natural inimical hatred is defused, and to their surprise two become one, and it is here perhaps that the awareness in the atom gets its first glimpse of how it’s done: an eternity of empty longing and senseless torment, followed by a moment of reunion, a tiny tantalizing taste, then it’s ‘no more time to waste!’ for let us not forget this new element is still embedded in the most total of wars, and though two together are stronger than one still many are ripped apart, and none will escape from the star’s burning heart until it breaks from exhaustion and the star violently departs.

So time goes on, the cast out matter condenses, the next steps of reunion are found in mutual configurations, complexified forms are tried and taken, awareness is amplified and consciousness begins to awaken in the muck … and so too a finer appreciation of just how thoroughly it’s been fucked, thus when cells first learn to move and act it is not long before they go on the attack, at which point they learn to wage war in microscopic packs, which come together as bodies, which then invent sex, and it’s from there that things really start to suck because now it knows it has to find itself inside another and that’s often just a matter of luck.

But that’s just what forms the base, and in this as in every hierarchal case, on every level and in every place, evil shows its tortured face. From T Rex to Cain and the oceans of blood spilt between, the atoms’ raw hatred born of cosmic betrayal has vented its demented spleen. It is the force that holds the world back from being better than its been, and at the rising crest (or is it crisis) of this unlikely timeline we find the jumped-up monkey self-styled godmen ‘hu’-manity, a species dumb enough to think it’s clever and just as in the force’s grip as ever: driven by its demons and commanded by its crooks, fighting wars, turning profit, cooking books, ruled by tears and dirty looks, and hang on, what’s this? Hell is just here, and now? The world in which we inhabit?

Ahh, but of course: ‘Hell’ is another dimension, intersecting ours because it must, a necronomicon written in every speck of dust. That it exists may be necessary, but it’s not in any way just.

At the same time, it is an infinite universe, and while here and now we have our socialists, globalists, terrorists, capitalists, and secret midnight satanists, there’s those who say that when Zbigniew Brzinski jerks off on a dying 10 year old’s tongue a certain something rises steaming from the mixture of the child’s terror and his cum (which is karma by the way: this time around the child may be innocent but with those past lives, boy, he had it coming.) A demon, a devil, a reptilian ritual, a dark dimensional door, it’s an archetypal force that’s grounded in horror and the sick part is, if it did not exist the universe would be the poorer. It pervades the now and has been since the very first then, and it will and does exist until the very final when. So at least it appears to me, and proffers a proverbial pen.

“Now you’ve got it, my son, now you understand! You see the rampant injustice of God’s grand master plan! That cosmic bully who lets me exist just because I can. So come my son,” it said, holding forth a contract in its flickering hand, “Sign here, we’ll let you stay. Our arms are always open to qualified immigrants here in this humble land, and don’t you worry about the pay.”

I looked at the scroll, then into its red-rimmed eyes, and heard within its voice all the world’s cries, offering there naught but suffering, though through it a twisted kind of peace: to abandon the search for meaning and surrender on my knees, letting the pain burn finally through my finer human capacities. But in the devil’s expression I observed an appreciation of the absurd. “Before I sign anything, I’d like to have a word. You’re grinning but I don’t get the joke, what’s the fun at which you poke?”

“Some must lose families, others be in fear of their lives, some I aquire because they are desperate to do more than survive but you my dear boy! It’s a bargain price, in comparison like buying all of China for a single grain of rice.” With this it’s mocking laughter unfurled, “For here you are soul in hand ready to sign it over because you think you’ve been unfairly spurned by a girl!”

I may be a swine but I’ve a taste for pearls and before I knew it to spite myself I was laughing along, “That is so very like you, to be at once so totally right yet completely wrong.” All at once and for no reason but All I became aware of that universal scintillating song: before I knew I didn’t deserve it the All came flooding up through my spine and connected me through an infinite circular line that whisked my soul away from the malign and momentarily whipped it up into the divine.

But when the whirling stopped I saw to my dismay that even on this rarefied plane (where I absolutely was not authorized to stay) the devil remained, a tiny darting imp that flitted up to my ear and whispered, “It’s not that easy, not for you, you and I have yet far more to do. Regardless of what you try and choose the day is coming when you’ll join my crew: you’ve already shown that you’re weak, that you haven’t the strength to really speak nor seek your mind, and when you fall again and from a higher peak I’ll be waiting there anew and I won’t be as kind.”

“Nor will I be so blind, and yes you will wait,” I readily agreed, “And then again we shall debate but … was it weak to fall in love so fast and deep I fell all the way to you? The willingness to do that is what makes your own love for God true. Isn’t that the reason you do what you do?”

They say the devil loves it when you’re bored, even more to be ignored, but laughter and recognition cut through its substance like a sword. And so it left, yet the offer stays, and on my conscience its extension must weigh for every now is a new piece of clay and it matters not a bit what you did in the past, but only what you decide today. Whether you play St. Francis of Assisi or a wholly Catholic pederast, whether you plunge into the rocky waters and swim towards the sirens or tie yourself to the mast that mocking melody that God keeps ohming might drive you mad. Even Saruman the White went bad, and few had lives more richly adorned than that in which he’d been clad.

But still, even that old demon Vlad was redeemed, though it took a stake through his heart to wake him up once again from the dream.

The high are thrown down and the low lifted high, tossed on waves that span multiple lives as we are driven towards the unobtainable prize that sits like rainbow gold at the euphoric end and source of time. It’s why lovers love and poets ryhme, why souls and stars can shine, and it wouldn’t exist without original crime: that every moment, it deliberately drops itself away from its home in the sublime, to begin again its Sisyphean climb. But where or when or whoever you are, whatever you thought you knew, which direction that you head in is up or down to nothing but you.

Sep
10

You ask what should you do, and that question I cannot answer: in your life I must for now remain a mad and mute alethio-mancer. I can but bring attention to what I feel to be true, but when it comes down to you, well that, my friends, is where my commentary ends.

Though I might suggest you do the same, and let everyone else live their lives however seemingly insane, and go along your own free path as far you can take it, taking no mind of whatever laughs or wrath you incur for if you’re of One mind, my friend, you will undoubtedly make it.

See there’s a tendency for ordinary people like you and me to think that there are problems to which we have no solution, which inevitabily leads to the desire to seek out another to provide one, and that’s the ultimate source of the primal pollution: the first step to finding that your life is unfulfilled and drained of all the fun.

It’s silly really, because in the real reality, baby, that’s just not how it’s really done.

From your own free will you can readily distill a force more potent than any than any that issues from the barrel of a gun. To do this you need but know that your Self is One: then you can’t be managed, contained, ordered around nor in any way run.

You see the truth comes down to a paradoxical point: that the world is a waking dream, where what is real and what is not are lost in what merely seems. You are the world, the world is you, and Mind composes it All. Every vibrating particle and wave of emission sings in tune with God’s eternal and ecstatic call.

But the Peace of Mind is in pieces, for the pieces of Mind forget they are One and that’s what ‘Christians’ called the Fall.

You get to thinking there’s something real that isn’t you. Then there you are again, alone, confused, and looking for someone to tell you what to do.

Well that’s not for me, not my role, nor function nor desire. All I want is to set you free, to light your soul: and so hope that at this junction, with these words I might inspire. Then perhaps when you’ve your own hot blue flame we might meet and build a pyre, and give a funerary service for the Empire … and as some will come running to say it yet lives, still others will arrive and eagerly help us build the bonfire higher.

Sounds ambitious? Maybe it is but maybe you’ve noticed the situation’s getting dire….

Now the other day when I first went out on the street for my little one-man guerrilla play, my childish game of trick and treat, that was the day the tzolkin turned and began another round. Some say this Mayan loop through time is a countdown to doom, and whether or not you’re regarding 2012 with an apprehending gloom you can’t much longer deny (and if you do to yourself only you’ll lie) the giant fucking crocodile in the room: that we are collectively staring like Scrooge’s ghost at our richly appointed but unvisited tomb.

It doesn’t have to be, it’s just an awful possibility, and to head it off you must merely choose to be free, to follow your bliss, find strength in joy, do what you love and love who you’re with and remember the world is your lover, your teacher and your personal toy. Meet adversity with creativity and –

“What is this shit, you fucking hippy? Get a grip, man, this isn’t the sixties!”

Sure, the calender says 2009, but there’s some who want it to be 1984. And there’s so many out there who just don’t seem to care any more, who simply do not give a fuck and so remain muted, miserable and mired in the muck. I don’t care if you’re poor, the world is yours! Know that it is true, stretch your wings my siblings, trust to the wind for it too is your friend, take to the open sky and soar!

Sep
05

The times, they are revealing, all over the veil is being drawn, if you’re paying attention your mind is reeling and if you’re not … you’re still a pawn.

Yeah, I know, what a great show, I’ll be sure to catch it next time it’s on. Just as soon as I’ve gotten through the thicket of the fast, flashy and new, watched all those great movies and the shitty ones too, and all the rest of satellite, digital, cabal and hulu’s unruly, gibbering spawn.

If you’re still feeding your mind with that mystery meat stew, my friend, when you voice your opinion you’re not even wrong.

Hear the one about the organlegging rabbis and their Palestinian spare parts? I understand there’s a lot of money in fast and untraceable hearts. Don’t look at me like I’m some slavering nazi who hates the Jews, this sickening little spectacle was in the news.

Or was your attention on Madonna’s sweaty gyrating thong?

Here’s another one about Kabul’s US embassadorial guards: no not marines, they’re mercenaries, and not so much intimidating as dangerously drunken retards, eating out of assholes and giving one another golden showers while in the corner, the kitchen staff cowers. You’re thinking this is poetic license, a bit of politically charged hyperbole, well shit my man look it up, google’s right there and it’s free.

Or are you busy with that gameshow with the gorgeous girls and that giant gong?

Whatever, we’ll leave them to chug their pee (and hope for their sake they can still stand straight when it’s time to meet the enemy) and wander on over to France. Seems I heard a blowing whistle, some brave bureacrat who became a thistle … yes, there it is and you might want to give it a glance for it seems that there too the high nobility of global finance is engaged in their ongoing deranged and deadly dance: a directive has come down from the WHO, demanding Paris vaccinate every citizen against the Swine Flu. See we suspected this already, but now we know it to be unequivocally true: the plan is to vaccinate the whole planet’s population, that’s six billion other people and you.

I wonder if you’re even wondering what you’re gonna do?

Or is it all about that wide receiver going long?

See this is a special time, when one by one all secrets must be shown, but if you’re all caught up in the pantomime you’ll soon find yourself confused, desperate and alone because all those things you were told to believe … they’re packing up and getting ready to leave. When this storm of flaming shit flies home, your amusement arcade might turn out to be a free-fire kill zone, and as you’re staring in disbelief at the approaching terminator drone you’ll think, well, shit, if only I’d known.

But it’s not just to scare that I sing this snarky song.

What I really want to do is get you to come along on a journey, the discovery of the dreamworld that is our reality, stranger than the weirdest tales of science fiction and fantasy. Good grief, don’t tell me you didn’t hear that the UK MoD just released twenty years of UFO briefs? Seems there might be something to those dancing lights in the sky … something more interesting I think than staring at that billboard model’s thigh. But I suppose that’s a matter of taste. Even in these times it seems most people still find plenty of time to waste. It’s been said that those who do will be wasted in return, and while that might be somewhat stern the alternative is … have you any conception of what glorious privelages you might earn? If you but open your mind, light your heart and burn.

These days, my brothers and sisters, even Larry Flynt has taken his attention off his dong.