Discordianite Heresies and the Superstar Princess



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.






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