Discordianite Heresies and the Superstar Princess

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Look, we know all these ‘Believers’ who believe in either God of whatever faith or Flat Earthers or Discordians  will wax eloquent about gods, angels and demons, but if you bring up the very notion that we could communicate with those entities… suddenly you’re the crazy one, suddenly you get ‘the look’ when you try to interject anything into a conversation.

Our observations of the Universe convinces us that there are deities and an inexhaustible power of a far higher quality than anything we can conceive of with our current understanding; that these deities are not necessarily based on the cerebral and nervous systems that we currently understand; and that the one and only chance for mankind to advance as a whole is for individuals to make contact with the metaphysical. With both feet.

The train bumped and ground it’s way through the linear and the curvey, the slickity slick of the train. Mad thing. The Nun opposite me smiled at me and quickly looked out of the window at the filth outside. She had skin like honey and big almond eyes. I don’t need it quite now but hey. Fuck it. I smiled back and she smiled, we all smiled.

[Track Playing on Ipod- Scenario by Jethro Tull]

Smiley people. She had a good body under that course woolen habit. She had squeezed past at Birmingham New Street. Hard body. Bride of Christ thing. She was with an older Nun who looked like Theresa May. I don’t know where she was at that moment. Somewhere. I suppose they only help those that help themselves which is me fucked then. 

‘The rucksack isn’t bothering you?’ she asked me. So that was it, the rucksack there between us. She afraid of theft, she wants it close, it probably has her Jesus doll or whatever they do to get their worship prayer horn.

[Track playing on Ipod- Surrender by Cheap Trick]

First, all UK Citizens are targeted individuals. They are in an electro-magnetic concentration camp, under unbreakable electronic mind control.

There is a secret occult-alt-occult-police structure that silently controls much of the UK, especially in regards to current and future plans regarding SIGIL CONTROL and management. On the lowest level are actual social media Discordians and activists. As I was told, “everyone who carries a book by Anton Wilson is directly under our control.” It is all under the Alan Moore clan. psychedelic music elements and private ‘black tweets’ Discordianite firms are used for much of it, especially the dirty work. It is all done by photo frequency weapons/meme systems running on the now thoroughly complete socio-atmospheric topologies of ERIS, ELF waves etc. with nanobots from chemtrails/aerosols in and around the subject(s) in the wider world at large.

In the bigger picture, we Wizards (and the global population) are being buried alive in a monad-sigil-frequency fence or MSFF. Even the tiny handful of people who have had exposure to mind control, for example insiders themselves, or most targeted individuals, have no idea how fantastically advanced, subtle and powerful the current reality system really is. It is beyond words and beyond the chaotic. Anybody can be taken over within seconds and be totally remote-controlled without knowing it. It is beyond the capacity of those who haven’t experienced this being done to themselves and others around them to even comprehend this.

‘ Whats the worst thing that could happen?’ I asked her. She laughed and mouthed ‘thank you’. I wanted to vomit on the table and felt the acid rise up in me. I quickly took a drink of water from my bottle. It was nervous and ashamed an attempt to hide behind the plastic. It was ok man, it was good. I closed my eyes for a minute and thought about that hard Nun body. Getting her in the circle of salt. Bring her precious Jesus to her so she could really find out about what he is and what he does for a living. The train was fast. Hard body Nun Catholic you, Pope thing, mystery thing. What the fuck goes on inside your head? Why do you do the things you do. Christ programmed, no prospects, on to serve. Thanks to Jesus riding the remembering into yourself. It’s silent, I don’t see anything else.

She loved it of course. 

Hell might be something that is completely built by and implemented by man himself? Could he not be in a prison already which he has myopically built around himself?

She slides something across the table. A piece of paper with a telephone number. I place my hand over it as Theresa May Nun comes back. She throws herself into the seat next to my Nun and blabbers something in that clipped arseholey middle class English accent. Nothing worse than a fucking English Catho-Nazi. I pull the paper to myself and place it in my pocket and my Nun gives me glances and chances. They steal us away by quantum jumping after they have ensnared us. We are fucked from the start my friends.

[Track playing on Ipod- Hayling by FC Kahuna]

And throughout the train footprints and fingerprints were found forming the covert traces of the Discordianite-supported labs tracking the trends.

Even curious lab rats eventually tire of the cages and bite at the probing fingers.

How the vicious men in dark corners, they deny us water but I never heard, the songs they sang as they passed by, but I find….the way to get out is to love them and still the bell cracked. The foundations rocked to their feet and seven times seven locks the door and shuts the sun out the paint it peels and softens when the black sun crosses the border. Only the young still have the warmth they brought in with them, and they will watch and grow old as the tendrils of their knowledge falls away from them.

[Track on Ipod- More than a woman by Tavares]

A flash of light, the intensity of it pulled away his flesh, he didn’t know what happened to his men but a part of him thought as his mind was shattered. The Abyss, the Eigen, the Nine. He watched the spirit of the Christ ascend in Glory as was his right. To approach the abyss and to set foot away from its edge. What minds could stand this? A splinter of the Yew tumbled on the wind towards Longinus and he held out a hand in slow motion, it floated towards him and even though the wind raged and cast small stones with force around him he was untouched. Anointed perhaps by the vision in front of him, eyes splashed with the Blood of the Christ.

She fluttered her eyelashes at me and I smiled, we all smiled, even Theresa May. The numbers in my pocket were burning me. She would be under my hand in glorious torment as I stretch my eyes to see beyond again. Every vicious orgasm a view of home, every twist of pain the call, every bitter tear a waymarker.

 

 

 

 

 

Annihilation Method

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Machinations of this type are always seen within the context of the environment but here lies the greatest trickery. The environment simply does not exist, it just smears the edges of one alternity into another. The sigilisations and spells  simply conduct the ‘Tropal’ narratives from one alternity into another one by dragging those whole ideas had formed from that alternity into the one you are in at the time. Like a child with crayons attempting to copy a piece of art the end result has some formal relationship to the original ie it has several figures, similar composition and colours that resemble the original. But it’s differences are amplified by it’s transference. There is no subtle linework no ethereal grace of creation but a ham fisted rapid download of the original into the clearly fake.

Even though Enochian semantics were used to  confine and correlate the major tropes of similarity this was a method of ‘best fit’. Magicians soon found out that they had a tool that may aid the travel of these amplified narratives from one alternity to another but they had little control over the end results. The Environment was a hastily simulated construct that best fitted the highly volatile ‘ideas’ pulled from the extra-personal alternity it had been found in.

During the Eris workings it was suspected that Deity control was a method where the Idea may be held off or kept as background noise where the Worker may ascertain the danger of it and an ignorance of it before it became a major part of the work environment. A buffer zone if you will against the dangers of alternity hopping tropes that have no place within the personal ‘Home’ alternity.

I soon found out that this evoking of lesser known ‘sixties’ character deities had it’s own dangers. Attractive though the evocation of a full figure sexual blonde lover was, it was accompanied by noise. It was Alchemy at it’s most advanced and the Environment changed quickly after the initial early workings. The randomness of the Goddess ensured the working would complete before the unstable tropes of this current environment would crush it. I noticed the bus that stopped outside my house had changed from the 554 to the number 533 or 532 and then further differences became more apparent.

When I first met the 4th Evocation it was obvious she was evoked. She was tall (easily six foot) and lithe with an athletes body used to hard work in the gym, her breasts were small and shoulders wide. She was blonde again and had a staggering beauty. Classy, refined and a pleasure to speak to. Her hungriness for me was apparent straight away as she obtained my mobile phone number and I awoke one morning to twenty or so text messages. Soon we began a process of meetings and illicit moments.

‘I’m not sure why i’m doing this’ she said one night. She had just inserted two fingers into her anus and taking them out immediately shoved them into her mouth and licked them clean. The TV was on again and I made a mental note about it. On the TV were Coldplay a British rock band playing at the SuperBowl show.  The band had the vortex stage, The flower of life, The flower of life on the Drummer, the Asiatic children pretending to play the violins, and  several circles on the lead singers pocket. I watched her strap a ballgag on tight and then continue to wrap a ligature around her neck for her performance. Auto-Erotic play, dangerous but who was I to stop a Goddess?

She started to move her hips back and forth as though she was riding a phallus and jumped onto the bed to continue her madness. She was in effect the nexus of the buffer point. I had a small packet of salt in my pocket from a take away food place and I ripped it open fast and poured the salt onto my tongue and repeated the litany.

‘A cure for the pure’ I whispered

Her saliva dripped from the gag onto the sheets and her thighs were wet with her orgasms. The water aid, the lubrication of the buffer into the trope. The easing of the sharp edges of the narratives ‘they’ were pulling from all manifestations of the Eigen.

‘Fuck,Fuck,Fuck,Fuck,Fuck’ she was saying through the gag. She tied a belt to the end of the bed and looped it around her throat throwing to one side the silk scarf she had started with. She leaned forward so it became tight with her bodies weight and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her hands were on her breasts pulling and pinching as she violently moved her crotch back and forth onto that invisible phallus. I approached the bed quietly although she would not have heard me, she was away and the scent of her self love was sweet as her sweat. 

‘Fired up, lost, fucked, lost, fucked’ I heard her say in my mind. She was close now, her body bucking wildly, a thin sheen of sweat over her pale skin lit by the madness on the screen and there between her breasts the sigil, faint as could be rose with her final crashing orgasm and I saw it, and knew it, and was glad.

She lost conciousness and fell forward semi hanged and I quickly loosed the belt and lay her down on her pillow. She was cold and wet so I grabbed a towel and dried her off softly as she slept. The slick gag I unbuckled and threw into the corner. Fuck. She opened her eyes as I pulled the duvet over her.Fuck.

“What if we don’t need to make contact, but rather, we need to remember that we already have?” I asked her. But she was asleep, breathing soft.

075

Miles? We Fucked It Up Man

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She was very intelligent, this deity. She was focused that much was true. A Brunette thing. Ethereal probably, metaphysical traits rampant and the need. The dude onstage was doing a Miles Davis thing. 50% Right. He was a black dude.

Somebody knocked me and I felt a stab of the violent then remembered. It was a Jazz Club. Miles Davis. The black dude. Her. Young sitting poised on the edge of the seat looking bored but dangerous. Refocus your fucking efforts lad. Redefine the edges. She was beautiful and for a moment I tasted the grease of the gun on my lips all those years ago. She dressed magnificent. Puritan. That flesh to gaze at hard to define and where vision lacked the mind filled in the gaps.

‘bambambamtiddlywiddlybop taa taa taa sadaratta derderderder bam bam bam darratta’

The band said. I said ‘Your lips are lovely, I love your nose, your tits are nice too’ but it was too loud and I said them to myself. 

People who do not acknowledge the Black Iron State, collude with it

Her strange dark green dress and those lovely slinky heels. But I could tell she knew something about it all. Which one are you? Mysterious thing. The stable variable? I knew last week that the violence of the world and it’s state would evoke a stable variable. This was her I was sure. Wrapped up like that watching Jazz, in a club, at 2am

You see ‘The men carried around sadness  and piety so it got into their clothes, into their skin. At one point we sewed some of our mouths shut and we also filled the night with prayer and invocation. Rage at captivity went into the animals, our food source, our lake, and drinking water. The rage and surrender to it surrounded us and became a part of our lives, so unfortunately it was all a pantomime’.

Hanuman is said to be able to assume any form at will, wield rocks, move mountains, dart through the air, seize the clouds and rival Garuda in swiftness of flight. He is worshiped in folk tradition as a deity with magical powers and the ability to conquer evil spirits. Also known as an avatara of Lord Rama, he is considered the God of power (Maruti [ god of the Wind]). 

Rama Lama Ding Dong. You have to help yourself of course all that talking and remaining in yourself and we don’t even believe it any more. Help or sink into the abyss, sometimes it’s easier to keep your mouth shut. These words are fake sigils, slick combustible nonsense for the masses. We know we speak for the future when we have escaped the adulation and the joy as they read about us. It will be all they ever need these tales of me and you. We help ourselves by getting lost, by sleeping and waking, our sigils will never bleed on the pavement.

We wont let our lives turn alley black surely? She knows the Black Sun ray. She knows the stink of the Prophets, those instruments and the caress of light leaving our bodies and let the nightmares sink and die. No flowers for us. No confusion.

She got into my car. Locked up in it.I couldn’t even put the key in the ignition. Slick glass brings you closer and be all I ever needed. Bring the sense here and here she lay breathless, same as always, same as it’s ever been. Sideways and away as soft as butter, we never surfaced surely. Enemies, Lovers and witnesses waiting for a call. She was lovely but never confuse her with the other evocations. Fuck no. You never stray over the lines, never improvise. That’s your brain tricking you. Making another prisoner of you. I rubbed my hands hard into my face. What’s wrong with the scene. She spoke, only her eyes lit by a bright store front. As a blindfold of light.

‘roll and throw away tonight all that night air and let the world burn. We can’t prove anything any more.’ She dropped that straight out and put me at ease straight away. She tucked in her knees and I went around the block again, the streets deserted. 

‘Throw the wind out and let the curious care for shattered lives and those things that make them vomit and choke’ She said. But just a moment Angel, we just watched ourselves walk by, our madness mirrored in the sky. Come back with me, catch the things you left behind in the foolish mind.

Catch over and let the massacres cross over while we keep turning. As if we feel the heat from it, burning and unsettled. We are the lost and the no-one.

Angel. The signal to noise ratio is too high. Soon these people we see around us are going to start the ultimate conspiracy, the ultimate plot which will make all the other plots dither. Witch hunts and pogroms Angel baby.The trend will be exponential. You turn to look at me at last. Your voice cracks emotion electricity power.

‘It’s always like you said it would be, you were right every time. Everything is a short story. Everything love and heroes, every day a blue sky, every flower perfect that it should hurt our eyes but it doesn’t’, She spoke softly, just as I knew she would.

We have all the things we need. The key is to arrange things so that they work with each other, you know synergistic.

For this we need to create new correspondences between our categories to create better chances for resonance and mutual support. Angel? You want to play hell with the narrative? Be the stable variable, the straight line graph? In this world turned to chaos?

“If a person comes up with evidence that is not an extension of an existing framework, but rather demolishes it / shows it is wrong, then the degree of reaction from the system will be proportional to the number and strength of vested interests affected by this information.”

Maybe. I drove onto the M54. The Mountains will know. She smiled.

 

Slut Cops 23 Easy Android Aktion

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I dunno maybe it’s just me, but if I were God/a god, I under no circumstances would want to see the future where we just failed to get our shit together. But it’s that kind of thinking that has allowed me to survive all of the carnage it has been my good fortune to be around.

She looked fantastic of course. I made her come. Two into One. Those stockings again. She was excited and thrashing from room to room ‘oohing’ and ‘arrrring’ at the various things. The decor, the carpet, the wallpaper. Those big tits jiggled as she trotted around. Nascent Goddess. I scribbled with the betting shop pen on a Hotel menu. Writing fast, not wanting anything to escape. The TV was fucking huge. She switched it on. Star Wars again. Fucking hell.

I asked her once why she became a part time Police Officer in one of the roughest cities in the UK. ‘Serving my community’, she said. I wasn’t horny when she paraded around in her Police uniform. I felt a little sick. My inner Fascist was disgusted by her disgracing a valued public organisation. My outer Anarchist wanted to kick her head in. But I found out why afterwards. 

‘Let’s try that Cocaine out’ she said in a Hotel room in Birmingham. She grabbed the plastic bag from my stash bag and expertly chopped a trio of sparkling white lines on her phone screen. Now I knew why she had chopped ‘three’ lines. But that hand moved like a Bolivian Civilian. An expert chop-a-holic. She had the cheek to ask me how to roll a twenty pound note into a tube. She even twinkled her blue dopey eyes, flashed those pretty eyelashes. I rolled it for her and she bent down and snorted two lines. One in each nostril. It hit her as she passed the phone to me.

Eyes glazed, a guttural half unheard throaty groan. Some Coke had got in her hair. Diamonds white and lovely. I put the phone down and just watched her for a moment. The TV screen behind her framed her upper body. She was ‘lit’ and aware and sexual and all the mad things I could say I loved about her but couldn’t. C3PO the Star Wars Gaybot was tottering around a desert on the TV. The sound was muted but I could hear Neu playing ‘Hallo Gallo’. Both his legs were gold and I knew I had to remember that somehow. That it was important. I knelt down and licked her throat as she moaned, head back. I needed a fucking pen, I needed to write something. Fuck this cop chick.

‘I only became a cop so I can lift Cocaine’ she moaned. Man, such a Tory. 

A CHECK-LIST OF ESSENTIAL OBSERVATION SYSTEMS FOR THE DISSEMINATION OF RANDOM VARIABLES THAT LACK ORDER:

-Check out the authenticity of any disturbing, remark, movement, rock band,  letter, rumour, phone call or other communication before acting on it.

-Document incidents which appear to reflect covert ‘Big Eye’ intervention, and report them to the Movement Support Network Hotline: 2112/233-666

-Deal openly and honestly with the differences within our movements (race, gender, class, age, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, personality, experience, physical and intellectual capacities, etc.) before the FBI and police exploit them to tear us apart.

-Don’t rush to expose a suspected agent. Instead, directly criticize what the suspect says and does. Intra-movement witch-hunts only help the BIG EYE create distrust and paranoia.

-Support whoever comes under BIG EYE attack. Don’t be put off by sexual slander, such as recent attempts to smear radical theorists as “sexual deviants” Organize public opposition to CIA investigations, grand juries, show trials and other forms of SEXUAL harassment.

-Above all, do not let them divert us from our main work. Our most powerful weapon against BIG EYE repression is effective organising around the needs and issues which directly affect people’s lives.

Actually fermenting dischord, that is exactly what she is doing, regardless of whether or not she states it explicitly or not. 

I say Star Wars dark/light philosophy creates a false morality, and the fantasy force is limiting to the imagination. It is a vehicle mainly designed and created to market merchandise to children, pretending to be a harmless escapist fantasy. Stupidity perhaps. She was standing up now and bending over to do the straps on her heels. We were going to dinner. Her fucking beautiful big ass. C3PO on the screen was in pieces in the sand and he was staring right at me.

In military culture the ‘Three C’s’are Command, Control, Communication. Or what the people in the Pentagon do whose job it is to- Think and Give Orders. = Protocol droid? I remembered painting C3PO when I was a kid. Two Gold legs. The gold air-fix paint. The Newspaper underneath the model of the droid. The headlines on the newspaper. ‘Mandela Dead-South Africa Burns’ The date for fucks sake. I was 13. 1980. Fuck. Time.Split.

I stood and put my hands on her waist and stared at her. She was as tall as me. Eye to eye. I couldn’t help but smile and her pupils were like pin dots. Her hair still sparkled. Her lips as ever drive me to walls and dark places. We stand and look at each other and she sees I have pain and that I don’t belong in this place. I don’t know where we are at all only that it’s all wrong and all I have left is you dear dear Eris. In a world of chaotic tropes and insane narrative the only stability, the only constant is you. What ever distance you may look like on the outside the nearer is always the inner you.

‘He was all gold Mikey. Both legs, arms, everything.’She said. I know that much.

 

 

Orange Sunshine are C.I.A Sweeties

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She was lovely you know. Her make up tended to stick in the lines around her eyes and the lines around her mouth were just a life of smiles. But she was a Mother and a Wife and was always that. To the shops to buy things, to work for work things and back home she worked again. She cleaned she cooked she turned the light off last thing at night and fucked. It was all a fully paid up membership in the ‘thing’ and that’s what she called it. The ‘thing’. 

I knew it was an awful ‘thing’ to communicate with her but I was above regrets and morals. A little word about her hair here and a smile there. I laid down the traps that she was to fall into purely for my own vicarious delights. Here I stand. I could do no other trust me. She came to me on a summers day as I was enjoying the sunshine and she grabbed my crotch, there in public. She was lost and I had her there right in the palm of my hand.

‘What is it? All your pills?’ she asked me. She had opened the car window a little and was blowing the smoke from her cigarette through it so she wouldn’t hotbox the interior. Her blouse was unbuttoned but she wouldn’t let me touch her yet, here in the Autumn rain, parked and dark. 

‘Yes it’s all my pills. 25mg Tramodol 30 off and 20mg Amitriptyline 30 off’ I replied. I was looking at her closely. I didn’t like this line of questioning. I could deal with the other shit easily but not this. This didn’t have anything to do with her.

‘For what? Why?’ she said, I knew this was a bad idea, talking about it but…She had a tight mature body, stretch marks like silver scars, beautiful in their own was, her ass was still firm, her breasts a fucking Godsend. She was a Mom and a Wife. I sullied all I touched, always did. Sins of the traveler of course. Sins of the Journeyman.

‘Look for fucks sake…’ I said, ‘Alright…no more funny business! Someone’s got to record this stuff for posterity’s sake and it’s not going to write itself.’ I touched her leg and that was it. A flicker of ‘thereabouts’ a subtle tease. Her hands in twenty minutes would be sunk into the velour of the car upholstery. Her breath would steam those windows solid greyscape. I would be in her and her phone would ring. She will answer it. It will be her husband asking where she was.

She had leaned over my desk and said ‘I want to fuck your brains out’ and I had laughed and she had stormed off back downstairs where she sat and worked and I couldn’t hold onto the moment. It was lost. but the tears of my laughter were still there. It took seconds for me to forget, seconds to let the thought scatter like rats under a light. Fuck it. All Wizards are bastards. Right? But how often do we get to eat the fucking milk and honey from the Never Ever Tree?

When President Gerald Ford came walking down the path, Lynette pulled out her gun. Immediately Secret Service Agents wrestled Lyn to the ground, and the President escaped untouched……

‘Shopping, bored, just getting a few things for tonight babe, I’ll be back in an hour or so, just got to nip to Sainsburys, Love you baby’ she would say. I would stick my cock deep in her then and her body would open up like a flower, she would be lost in orgasm. But that voice never fucking changed at all. Ever. But close your eyes and count to seven then pretty soon you’ll be in heaven. We were lost of course.

‘So why carry all your pills?’ She was accusing me, she knew of course. It was my suicide pack, my stairway to heaven. The returned gift. I knew the dose was right and I could swallow the lot in seconds. On the ward at the hospital as I lay dying he came to me and whispered in my ear. An old man, disheveled and ill looking as we all were.

One of the young ladies asked me:
“Don’t you want to go to where the rainbow ends?”
To which I replied:
“That all depends where that is.”

‘Ask for the Amitrips and the Tramadol, thirty of each’ he said and looked around furtively. ‘They fucking hate that tricking out early, it’s the ‘I’ll be off’ method. Fucking brilliant’ Then he was gone and the machine kept bleeping next to me, flashing, green red green red green red. In the car I was lost in the hospital for a moment and she was quiet again used to those long periods when I would go somewhere else. 

You see once you are told [as a child] that you lack something, then your life becomes an endless quest to find exactly what you are fucking missing. It’s those Motherfuckers that ruin lives. The Teachers and the Protectors. The ones who should know best but have given up on their own journeys long before. Or even worse, they never set foot on that journey in the first place. Yes, my suicide pack. Somewhere quiet when there’s nothing else to find. I’ve got the spot ready, it’s quiet and peaceful and nobody around for miles. I don’t think my mind would stand somebody finding me as I trickle vomit into the moss and grow sleepy.

‘The end is the beginning and the beginning is the end’ I say as I undress her as she lies flat on the back seat teasing her hands over the unclothed parts of her. Confident I have told her everything. The Acid I have taken is peeling away the system in front of me. The only way I can access the truth which is a room so white, so crystal clear, it pains me to think of it now. But I am the Alchemist now and I am the parent to my own Christ and he laid his head soft on the moss and vomited a sword from his mouth and smiled at me.

When the 2 allegorical caduceus serpents, the matter and antimatter are lifted upwards, thus criss + cross + for the final divine unification, the super genius consciousness bridge is formed between the pineal and pituitary glands. This bridge is the ‘Abyss Crosser’ or The Able hand.

She loves being fucked hard and she is lost in herself and I know dear thing that she doesn’t even need my help. As my hand slips across the wet glass of the window and she shouts those names I do not know I see in detail the room. The table set within it and the Nine guests who turn to look at me. To greet me. To see who I am and what I have to say. Of course I have nothing to say at all. Instead I feel her final orgasm, the shattered glass, the wet pillow at night, the sheets tight, the wires and the tubes and the stinking festering meat we live within and I too am lost for a second.

It is hard to separate the strands of sabotage from the tight woven synchronicity. It’s a Time and Space Lockdown for Motherfuckers. Gene manipulation is you building your own prison, your own cage. Your experience is a false-space.

‘So you have to go to Sainsburys then yeah?’ I asked her. She just lay there thinking about the little tupperware box with the pills in it. Thoughtful. I too thought, but there was nothing in my mind at all.

1313 White Rabbit Whitney

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I mean, don’t we always demand fucking signs from heaven or miracles from the Magicians. Even….knowing full well that it’s only the ignorant and the stupid that demands a ‘show’ of the proof. They can’t imagine ‘the world that is’ in any form but the one it has now. Having tickled the edge of the world I think I’m in a good position to assert my ‘position’.

Biophotons. Light emitted by our own DNA.Light that contains a vast store of information and he human condition is demoted to that of a library book….perhaps. Sucked up by a Black Sun. We, as humans don’t suck, we are sucked. We don’t get ‘Illuminated’. We are the Illuminators. That ‘divine spark’ perhaps. The Shamans knew of course, always did.

She said: A sim could be an actor, a pre-arranged double: as in Lee and Harvey Oswald. It could be twins or just people who look alike because of happenstance. It could be from the camera, the lighting, the health of the person – so many factors.. It’s touches on the “morphogenesis fields” which are the forces from which forms arise. Perhaps tuning in to the different form types, is done by turning genes on or off..

In 1992 when the first Augustine Ritual was discussed we succeeded in Evoking an entity which  we first suspected was Augustine-like it transpired that we had fell upon some unconscious need to evoke a Goddess form and instead of the ‘Path under a Black Sun’ we had found chaos.

This first showed it’s strength by splitting the alterneties into a Gordian knot of probabilities. Somebody, somewhere, unconnected with us had a vision and so it transpired, it could be Evoked-Downloaded.

 It was instantaneous, I don’t know why we gazed into the circle at that moment and we saw this figure rise from the cast sigils which were glowing and the evocation stank of burned metal. It had a kind of chaotic form and we couldn’t make out for sure what it was at first. It started twisting and moaning as if it’s form was not clear in our minds and the random was strong in us then, we were very good.

We saw the wings and the female form and I quickly reinstated the Augustine image but it was pointless. Somehow my co worker had instigated a Goddess , seconds it took and she was resplendent like a bat she was and her wings spread from wall to wall. Eventually fully formed she laughed and that sound was as peeled glass. Her skin was Black Sun burned totally matt black.

She said: Her skin was black?

I said: Yes, under the Black Sun you give the light and the light doesn’t fall on you. She glowed with that ‘light’

She said: She glowed but she was Matt Black?

I said: Black Sun glow, it’s hard to understand but the light comes out of you not the other way around. That glow is ‘information’. She rose to the ceiling, I couldn’t tell whether her wings and arms were the same but the melted into each other but I could see an arm and fingers, a hand, she was a beautiful form. Sexual and powerful.

She said: What did we do then?

I said: We couldn’t touch the circle of salt and any banishing ritual was pointless. Anything we thought about was liable to manifest and I didn’t trust you to deal with it. You were as naked as her by this time. It was very difficult.

She said: So we didn’t panic? Phone the Fuck Police?

I said: Of course not we just looked, amazed, scared. We knew what she had done to the others. The madness they had to deal with.

She said: I don’t remember any of it. Just her eyes. Nobody knows.

I said: Of course you don’t, who would under those circumstances? We’ve just forgotten

“I find this an intriguing construction. Not because, conversely, our ignorance might empower us, but for the man’s intuition that this was not a flesh and blood creature, but an entity of thought-form.”

Eris Dear. We’ve Been A Long Time In Oz

021

 

‘It was a piss take at first you know?’ she was gasping. ‘Another fucking parade’ she was flicking her hair away from her eyes. ‘It’s like the Wizard of Oz, you have the brains of a fucking muppet’, she wasn’t quite sure how that came out. She was in perilous waters where the emotional cloak of human-ess  she wore was wearing thin. Maybe I should have kept that naughty Cocaine hidden away. She had snorted a hefty load, a Truckers load. Her head was racing, she was the fucking variable, she was the hidden clue. Those chaotic spangled Goddess thoughts were racing I bet. I wished I could write it down but that would have destroyed it a little.

‘Oh….I…fuck it’ she kissed me and bit my tongue and lip hard. It hurt and I tried to pull away but she was off, being Eris again.

‘You little fucking wanker’ she said, and pushed me away. I laughed a little. She stamped off to the toilet slamming the door and it made the TV change channel. The Grateful Dead singing ‘Rain and Snow’. Outside WAS cold indeed. 

Through the thin wooden door I could hear her ranting. “It’s my conjecture that synchronicity is a natural phenomenon which are mimicked by the intelligence services.” She shouted. I heard a bottle break in the bath, thrown there and shattered. I could see it. ” Some maybe, in the services, know synchronicity to be a real phenomenon, some maybe don’t know it and think it’s all a ruse.. but they use it, in any case, for an ‘edge.’ The random variable spoke. It wasn’t her.

You, you must always follow the crazy dog. the one that snarls and grumbles. his eyes flicker on and off like a bad bulb and his hair around his neck ruffles like a wave. follow that dog and see where he goes. he trots off between dark places needing the angles of blackness from the barely lit shadows. his rolled eyes spin from place to place mad because he knows that the way back home is through his pain. he knows like a good mad dog knows, these places ‘lead’ and prod us with not so gentles prods. good boy good mad dog.

  1. When everything turns into hot trifle the most important thing is to live close to a supermarket and be armed with a vicious weapon.
  2. Your certificates will not be valid there. Your certificates will be NULL AND VOID

Carl Jung entered a period of awakeness and stepped over that stony threshold into a bright new dawn. A world where the complexities of life were simply symbols and sigils, where each golden moment was a chain of interlocked mimeographs, pentagles, crucifi, sigilisations of phrase and thought. Here he found Ixtlan or ‘Home’. He had solved the GREAT PUZZLE and the scenery of the Grand Pantomime came crashing down upon his head. The Book describing his journey is called ‘The Red Book’. and it is filled with drawings and observations of where we came from ‘which is not here’

A Fallen Prince to aid and battle our trials and pantomimes. Fallen for us to aid in our need. Sent by God who went back to sleep and left you in charge of twisted sheets and bitten shoulders. With your underwear ripped and mind shattered. There is a cup of tea held in an unsteady hand. It rips the heart out of you. You know this. let the sigils settle and unlock the will. Please have  fortitude and leave the loves lost and go out, there, naked but for armour and shield and anger, possession. See it as I did wonder at its magnificence as the Black Sun lays flesh, fulfills deeper love. and those  sticky fingers and sheets like a shroud. The Sigils rise and spin until they seem like golden globes. Like stars.

….of course Eris in all her madness weaved a separate narrative, one filled with utterly chaotic graphs and formulae. These insane variables. as she would have intelligently and divinely would be sure to have been involved in this glorious spectacle of a human consciousness bursting through the Eigen as Jung did. But she didn’t. she was probably on a beach somewhere, Santa Monica 1955 painting her nails bright red and she caught some rays. probably reading Jung to confuse the young faculty men competing in idiotic feats of strength to attract her glance.

The snow outside was wicked cold we were on the doorstep and we kissed and your gown fell open and you were naked in the street icy air and I pinched your nipple hard and put my fingers in you and you were red hot

J.R.R.Tolkien around the same time as Jung had a similar experience, except his Ixtlan was called Middle Earth. Awake enough to draw delicious pieces of art explaining key junctures and scenes of the story ‘The Lord of the Rings’. Ixtlan/Middle Earth. Of course the book was explained as being the ‘Red Book of Westmarch’ as far as I can remember. a red book nonetheless. The Elven Queen Galadriel is Eris incarnate.

He sat here and laughed and there wasn’t anything serious in it and if there was he didn’t know of it and the cool breeze blew his hair back a little. No there was no need care but if he did he wouldn’t have known it for the leaves were a million different shades and two million more for luck. and he sat and he looked

and I looked back at him and he laughed again with his ageless eyes and saw I passed the test and he showed me his world which had no name but home and his moons sat in the sky and shone. Petal and Leaf and he held up his fingers and told me ‘But a dream’ and drew the four castles in the air. but the number meant nothing and the vision passed and he drew a Black Horse galloping and on his world the children born laugh as light enters them. The Great Mother holds them up to their twin suns and sings the song of doing and the moons align children we are here and before we love to love and breath the sweet air we must suffer and pain sense the hold and the golden things. We see the pastures and hedges the loved things that grow and never die beautiful leaves lit by brightest stars as edged in purest Silver. The Pain. This pain suffered a simple task to grow and make meaning for things to name and number for angle and calculated mass. 

‘open your eyes’ she said. And I did. I screamed aloud. What have they hidden from us?