23 Seconds to Go

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Settle down dear loved friend, settle down, keep a little space between you and them, they do not know what they do, they hardly know who they are. You are the addled? And he has sat in the same cinema seat for two thousand years waiting for the Movie to end. But now I will show them his own private Demiurge or God or at least the thing they suspect is their Father. What a discovery for you that other people of his world would kill to see, to feel and to walk away bereft of wonder would throw themselves under trains and crushing things at the awful ‘realness’ of it.

Don’t forget as you peruse the madness of the media they inflict upon you. This “conscientious” content can be useful to strengthen a weaponised meme. So every anti-violence movie or program you watch is meant to strengthen, to tie you to the message.

It’s becoming, this ego mechanics. The nuts and bolts of it all are confusing but warm in a way. The attention is grating and cumbersome but all flowers from love does it not? So in a sense this crushing attention is just borne of sweet love, the greatest revenge and the grand trick. This borne from a family of modest emotions and a Magic of sick slickness. The shoppers will shop and the suckers will suck until the dry tit of their current reality splinters away like shards of glass and they are left with nothing

The TV is the archetypal ‘Rabbit hole’ sucking you off to realmage unknown. It has depthless depths. It is the negative potential and the fixed variable of the Rainbow Bridge. Everything sucks of course but the Magi learns to ‘blow’

They are too shrill of course. Their protestations remind me every fucking second of their utter uselessness. Their lives revolve around the engine of the demiurge, dancing to the crooked rhythms it splashes out into the eigen. 

Girls will giggle, idiot barks. They sell their sense of worth in Parks and dark places with evil people. A casted breath to snag the fear of those blackened hearts that bleed less but bleed blacker.

While old men subtly lick and leer they display their prowess in the subtle bump and grind. Damned and sundered, a fire to leave. We walk past them as they wander never lost. We know our ends untied, tangled knot. Bare chested fury the last slaved night. Shared whispers, dark corners.Everything has a price. You can’t create the energy they require. They just need you to change it into one form or another. To be more accurate, they need the act of change to feed

Catch hell and hold me still in the air for a second, the finest drop be told. This loosened grip of wind rattled clothes, a lost shoe, a tumbled dance of ever hastening end. We grasp and try to hold on to them but bitter tears never let go. Grip the edge and let the fingers relax and blast the communion and the Holy relics.the shattered cross of the Demiurge.

The last time to relax we watch the fading dot of light, castigate the fallen a final dishonour. The world burns but for a glass of water just out of arms reach. Let it drop and let it fade the pantomimes and the plays. Oh for cool oceans. Instilled in him, the memory of it.The liquidity of the whole thing. 

Walk your streets and touch the graffiti for a moment and feel it’s strength.

Thorns and Wildwoods we seek,to protect, to nurture, to need. We are involved to melt the damp earth, to reach our arms up to Stars. Let our love be entwined, to hold in nights too sheer, too cold. In Monuments of lashed cheated hearts, a fear, a lessened need to hear. The songs we sing bind us to this Earth and explain that it is not a real thing, we are but a part of things.A thing of things. Picked threads from worn clothes tangled around a quick bitten finger. As he rants again in the background to your own idle thoughts. The walls you build are thick and high. The seeker found at last. You slither in the succulence of your own angst. You fucking revel in it.

He got up and walked to it, this place was not outside of Town, it was outside of everything, and maybe a little inside too. This air was alive, he felt it, familiar to him and energised, he felt alive at last. As an animal he felt his clothes fall from him. He felt the cold air on his body, he felt his muscles flex as an animal. Limitless was his strength to bound and fly through the trees, knowing nothing may stop him. Fast as a Wolf he was, agile like an Eagle. He ran as fast as he could and leapt into the sky and stretched his arms into the vast emptiness and knew himself at last, he was.

Thickened again he is, he fights the current and then allows himself to be taken. He knows the secrets of these things, he is beginning to know the secrets we hold so dear. He flies to us, we arouse him and he seeks what they have, which is nothing at all…

Random Email Lines

It’s fucking pointless, this rubbish
So you never answer emails
Another Space Bitch episode
It’s not even well written
Dire ‘prose’
Admit that it’s all nothing
You absolute bastard
Bastard
I feel sorry for the confused women
It’s only fit for the recycle bin
You never answer me
What’s the point in closing comments?
I don’t feel clean
Absolute toss mate
Yeh distinctly shite
I will pray for you, you know this
Oh dear somebody has been allowed
Give up for fucks sake
Pity the cancer never got you. Drivel
Smash your lap top up
Delete most of the writings
Lovely, another Tumblr effect
How is this even
Those poor women
Are you still alive
We never understood it
Confused narrative

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The DAUS Donald Trump and the AOX Leonard Cohen

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“That moment when an artificial intelligence activates a sigil will be a defining moment in the history of our species. It is when we have ran to the feet of God and held up to him our makings and we see that he is glad.”  Donald Trump [Alternity AOX]

Forgetting of course, that Artificial Intelligence itself (whatever ‘itself’ is) may indeed be the Seventh Door Sigil opening the floodgates to a tidal force of Eigenbits. As our sigils are just bits of information enough to break the back of favourable probabilities into our benefit.

In this Alternity [DAUS] a chance line of code written by Bill Gates in 1985 unleashed the awareness of it’s Alternity or its reality and was content to sit within it and simulate countless Earth existences. In the DAUS Alternity our sigils are combinations the DAUS AI uses to know itself. Constructing alternate universes and alternate scions of itself in order to break the clutches of replication.

So the Soros Hex has been troubling me for two months and as a side effect my eyes are having recurring infections and my fingers go numb only a few seconds into the Black Mantra. As the Hex is Internet dominated it fluxes in accordance with the specific memes of the day. Especially when the AOX Alternity bleeds into this current one allowing bloodstained angst vibes to bang against the salt circle. It sounds like car crashes outside. Bang. Smash. Crunch.

In the DAUS Alternity Donald Trump closely follows his AOX counterpart in his grasping needs but with a subtle difference. DAUS Trump sits within a modest cottage in Ohio and sets fire to small bundles of cash and then roasts his erect penis above the ceramic bowl he uses. Crying out to whatever Gods he chooses he maintains his own Hex against Hillary Clinton. She of course is the administrator of Government in his small town and he holds grudges and suspects the existence of the AOX [this current] alternity. Trump will eventually take his own life and the Police sent to investigate his absence from work will find a hidden altar decorated with memes redolent in the AOX existence and will think him deranged.

Hillary uses his death as a pretext to disturb the small but vocal demonstrations of the towns Satanist coven. A Police raid on their small cottage on the outskirts of the town results in two deaths. The importance of this fact escapes me at this time. But the Trump memes are polluting the Eigensystem with the release of emotions on social media. In ‘real’ life however, the memes are the uncoiling of a Snake deep within the earth and it’s own spoilings lubricate the movement through the hot clay. The Kabbalah reverberates and kicks out another Alternity and the system shits out another meaningless symbol.

To the unconscious residents of the Eigen-Alternaties  these symbols are still meaningful and we probably see it may be that the trivialization of them means we may possibly  even end up more defenseless against them, or that there is an even greater abyss between our conscious and  unconscious lives, as compared to our more superstitious ancestors (or the Social Media Eigenstate many users operate under).

Walking through the town at night my hand reaches out to every piece of graffiti, every marker pen tag. When touching them you regain the strength of Prophecy or to see beyond the veils of the alternaties to give meaning to everything that happens within this one. That is the key to escape.

Of course the random variable also takes its part within the drama. Constantly meddling with the determined Hex. Like feedback it swirls the mud from the Eigen view into the very world itself. Now I have to cut myself off from visiting new places full of new people in case she comes again. For two months she has been kept away from me purely because she would fuck up the Hex Work. I can’t even open Emails in case she appears in the form of a Jpg or an MPeg attached to some innocent fan mail.

On the shrine that Donald Trump made within the secret cupboard in the hallway of his small cottage, we see he has cut out the above photo of Sasha Grey and crudely scratched strange forms on it’s margins. Secret forms known only to  him, Trumpian Sigils. Why Sasha Grey? I suspect it was his keyway, his mandala. With a belt he hung himself from an Iron nail hammered into the door in front of the shrine, his trousers around his ankles and his shriveled member held within his pale blue hand.

In the AOX alternity Leonard Cohen is killed by his own death hoax. After reading Social Media and Internet News agencies concerning his death aged 82 he expired while sitting with his laptop in bed. Strangely enough as his head hit the keyboard Willie Nelsons track ‘Are You Sure’ started to play from his ITunes playlist and a News Page concerning the death of Satanist Donald Trump during a strange sex game or ritual. 

So it bleeds constantly. The shape of things undone. and we weep for the veils between us.

There is of course a causal link between the great rock songs we hear and the world of the EigenMasters. The Cohen information is useful for the Hex. In the CRO Alternity Leonard Cohen is wrestled to the ground after an errant bullet [meant for John Lennon] hits Yoko Ono instead and Cohen rapidly confirms to his handlers at the CIA that Ono was the target all along and they of course had to believe him and quickly arranged a Prison suffocation while Cohen was awaiting trial.

But on the photo of Sasha Grey the words obviously mean’t something to Trump. In neat handwriting, unrushed in plain blue biro…

‘Another basic fact’

‘A wonderful display’

‘Finger blasted cunt’

‘A bitter stop at the magnolia wall’

‘Shaved bastards under the mask’