Feral Steroids and The End Of The Dream


‘It’s the end of the dream, you know that don’t you?’ She said. She was twirling and twisting some item of material in her fingers, weaving it between her digits. My mind I must admit was occupied by the movement of it. Her statement was just that, a statement.

But she prances like a dancer or a drunken slut, whichever she wanted and although I feigned disinterest she was slick and heavy on my mind and a thousand of them wouldn’t turn my own head. For what was this woman but a woman and that only. What way would she let me take her? What new trickery to alleviate my boredoms? What can she offer me that all the rest haven’t. A something was all I asked. Every sexual artifact was a three way interchange totally invented by deep state intelligence, totally fucking fake. She pinched her nipples and I knew it hurt her but….we are stupid most of the time, we need to be told what we wanted.

‘Don’t gossip about other people, you must stay involved with Unit Humanity, the group you find yourself within’ I told her. She laughed.

‘Don’t be negative about any subject you are involved with. Negativity is traceable and solid. They will find you a lot easier. Don’t question things, simply accept them’. In the glow of the TV she was just a black space.

‘Seig! Seig! Seig!’ she suddenly shouted, her arm in salute, fingers rigid and her eyes rolled back into her head. Nazi Bitch Meme.

‘I’m all over the feral steroids’ she gasped and clicked  her bare heels together. Germanic or just manic, I couldn’t tell.

As is our want we stretch out our hands across the abyss and say our platitudes to the Golden Father and Sapphire Mother. My hands hesitate no more and I design upon the Eigen a return to the truth, Am I not the Meme Killer? The Centered hand? From different times I called them locked within their Prisons…he has put my head upon the granite altar.

‘I have known since maybe 1995’ I think I said but I can’t be sure. 1995 was the last time I remembered being involved with anything these cunts hatched up between them. That was the year I discovered that ‘Barracloughs’ Biscuit company had never ever existed. There was me remembering the adverts on the TV. The catchy songs they used to have which became the angle by which they sold the idea that the bakery business was a jolly two man outfit when in fact it was a whole fucking octopus of arms and suckers and needs.

That time was redolent with the track ‘Nevertheless’ by The BrianJonesTownExperience. A band. Their singer Anton something had morphed across the screen on a TV show I was watching while she sucked my cock. I didn’t even know she was or did or why. Probably. But I knew the conduits and the changes being made to the world by them. and I was a little bit sick and a little bit sad at everybody being ignorant and asleep. So the Sheep occupied me. Her lips did too although I was about to tell her to fuck off. It is the end of the dream darling. This is where the whole pantomime rushes to a close with all the actors in their brightest clothes and the thickest of stage make up would erupt onto the stage and cheer and sing and do what they did best which was to serve up the wax fruit and the wooden show breads.

The whole thing is a honey trap baby a total fucking sticky mess for us to get sticky and wet as we struggle to hear the jokes and the punchlines. It’s an attractive loop where we paraphrase the very poison they use to control us. Our language is of course theirs and as they spike the nuances and the glibness they control us. Where the Aliens kept us looking up instead of around.

‘Except for Wizards’ she said. True. What didn’t I see? I see fucking everything and even that subtle tint they wanted hidden glares at me. Give a Wizard a rope and he will either hang himself or come back with a magical cow. With linear events in time you have the chance to evaluate the data. Time (straight line time) gives us a chance to define the evolution of the messages. We extrapolate our responses after thoughtful examination of the messages. We internally hypothesise  the questions the world asks us and respond.Then I throw up countermeasures. Here and now, whatever it ‘is’ breaks apart the narratives and now we are Black Ironbound to deliver the audience effects.

The Circle acted as a transformer, a toroid of hate and love that flowed in opposite directions to each other through the circle. Their power is amplified to rip the people of the world away from their real home. This was the essence of the world we see. Asleep or dead and yet nightmare dreaming, they affect the system and tip the balance of the memes and informations which they sip in their minds. A Nectar this is to them for whatever reason.

A hand grabs mine and I recoil into the falling Iron, it is her again! My Prison falls at last! The Key found! My last days at last to whither and fall within this sick tomb of my own mind. The hand grabs again and holds tight and pulls at me as the air rushes around and I am snagged beaten by the granite. Underneath my feet I feel the soft touch of grass upon my feet scarred and bruised, bloodied and fouled. This cool grass this heavenly thing soothes and yet offers no grip. I am held and yet, that hand is not the pale stinking hand of the Black Guard but a fresher more brazen hand, scarred yet fine, it was strong and I felt no fear from it but a different thing. Had I not been shattered for however long in the vessel of the plagued? I had not felt a touch like this, I had never felt a touch as this, at once tender, and free.

The Train has an engine and the engine pulls the rest of the carriages along with it. Where the engine goes the rest of the train follows. Soon people who watch the train start to set their watches by it and the arrival of the train [on time] will be something that makes the people nod at each other, slightly narrow their eyes and smile. Things are good and on time. Soon they will build houses alongside the tracks so the arrival of the train will be something that connects them with each other. They may look at each other and nod as they hear the whistle of the train as it nears them. Of course some people build their houses along one side of the track and some people on the other side. We become that side or this side. The This and That divided by Who and Where.

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