The Alpha Wave Escape Plan

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What happened? It was an old Gypsy story, one told by a Hawthorn fire, and whispered. They were digging a canal near Bath in Somerset. They had dug up an old gnarled Limestone figure. It was a Gargoyle glad to be back into the open air and it opened it’s mouth and talked as it was so happy to be out of the cool dark soil and into the warm sun. There was a clod of earth in it’s eye and a Gypsy [Frank Blood] scraped it away as the Gargoyle started to talk about the war against the Demiurge and what must be done. They quickly put it in a Hessian sack and stole it away. It sits now in the caravan telling rude jokes and limericks. We suspect it has the ability to walk….

  1. The whole point of the education system is to manipulate the senses so that the mind may appear to have an ability to think for itself which is not the case.
  2. Intuition and internal dialogue is negated purely so that the external and information systems become the standard for decision making.

Reading the endless arguments on this subject between the thankless bastards. It’s interesting that they’re coming from opposite angles, and seem to arrive at similar places. The real work of EIGEN transformation may be very difficult but If anything, I’d say that is the common ground, the synthesis. She bopped around the dancefloor by herself as I watched her push out that little arse for effect. Bop Bop Bop heels sliding across the floor. Zzzzzip. Those titties. Bop Bop Bop. Sip that triple whisky. Shut my eyes. Lick A Shot. Her white tight thing glowing under the blacklight. There was an old dude dancing, he had a shit beard and some flare for talking shit and he breathed on her. She put her hand on his neck and ground her sex on him.

  1. Information will come at you fast. It will overwhelm you. That’s it’s job.
  2. They call this endless stream of shit ‘Reality’. You’re not supposed to question it.

The Demiurge is so fire-breathing, so energetic, so cunning, so real, and it’s having results so amazing that it just makes me endeared to the whole idea of a twisted God-Bastard – I’m ready to die for the Demiurge, at this point. And I’m already ready to die for the pantomime, it’s the same feeling I have for the pantomime, because the Demiurge is us, you’re Demiurge, right down to your fucking Vans shoes when you don’t even skate. You get it yet? I tried to push my cock deeper into her throat and she was pushing me away now because she couldn’t breathe and I didn’t really care. I laughed and pretended to ejaculate all over her face blowing raspberries for effect.

1.This is the framework where the Demiurge gives you the freedom of choice. Do you want to fuck before or after we shower?

It doesn’t take a great mind to work out who the fucking whores of the Demiurge are. condemned they are, to tumble head over heels into the abyss. When it’s all finished of course. It’s like doing long division in your head constantly and you suspect EVERYTHING. But I quickly wrote down…

‘I’ve been connected to the internet since 1997 and I’ve never got a fuck off it’s bright endless flow of crap. I’m beginning to think that all the women on the internet are Demiurged.

  1. Here? There is nothing like the Alpha Plan to keep you locked into your groove you sad pieces of shit. Have some courage for fucks sake.


You have to be a balance to the empirical and the quantitative. I told her that. In a busy street as she pushed her tongue into my mouth as I spoke. It probably made more sense that way, who knows? The fucking Demiurge knows

I resisted, trying in the blackness of my sleep to shove every thought away as chaff in the wind. Thus wind is born, and solidified as a monad of the reality they build and I was caught. A thought is all it took and the hook was pulled deep and I could not shake free.

I felt its magic and remembered it from my studies of the arts, its unfeeling madness and desires, its hates and their inability to change their own existence. I am to be this things Prisoner I feel and for what purpose I have no clue as yet. But as is this foul things need I saw within myself that seed of awareness grow and as it grew every fresh shoot of light that burned into my eyes was bound with spell and manipulation and so was cursed from the outset. In the Eigen we fought a war with the Demiurge that lasted perhaps forever and for a moment perhaps. Rolling between the Sigils of their power. Power of war. This world is birthing again. The pangs of birth tremble and scatter it’s people

Cops starting riots. Getting the groove on and facilitating the disgusting will of the insane thing that twists and lubricates in its own filth, There in the void, the forgotten space. The place where nobody goes.

The Place I sat within became its true nature and was revealed to me and yet I see again the cloths they would put over my face so I would not see the truth. They have erred these things that have grabbed me from the sleeping sea. They have mistaken me for a thing and they have failed to see I am as them. I am not one to bow my own head to beasts of the Demiurge. Thus is it seen and I collect the visions to my breast and feel the knowledge rise within me as I sit and ponder the truths that would blast this place back into the Earth from where it came. But alas I do not, the sense of disorder is strong here and the sadness that pervades the brickwork stained with the fears of those who came before is too strong for me yet. Dead I was and awoken, a task I thought only fit for the true Father.

Bop Bop Bop. I really do want to fuck you. You’re special.



Idle sleep picking over the bones throwing them up in the air bone tumblers fortune resisted in an abstracted athletic sense. 

Aired and graced your body twists to be open and let the good times in the five second forgetting when you hold the headboard tight and everything goes bright

You upload something it’s a photograph and you claw your breasts for it violent and magenta the forgetter the enochian orgasm wet fingers that rest just so 

We never speak and that’s good because the rope is rough and I haven’t got a pen to write a moan note but a arrange some twigs under the tree in some abstract shape

Somebody is near as I kneel but the sunlight is too loud and twinkling spots never rot it’s ageless this act but shush for fucks sake be quiet and let things be still 

Nick Land-Agent of the Demiurge



She was pissed off. She had been drunk the night before and had come into the flat raving and spitting before eating a block of cheese and collapsing onto the bed. I got some clippers and shaved off her hair. I took the Action men out of my rucksack. Stashed earlier so she didn’t see them. It would have freaked her out. Twenty action men with angry action man faces. Stoical and steely as fuck. I glued her hair onto their heads with super glue and stood them around her bed, pointing their guns at her. Around them I gently entwined a set of blue fairy lights and they glowed. Their long hair and war clothes made them look like heavy metal warriors. She would love it…..

…because reality is assembled in the mind I suspect these incidents and inconsistencies happen all the time to everyone, but they are simply not noticed because our reality has never been so fundamentally questioned as it is.

It just fucking annoyed me, the whole shebang, the nitty gritty of dealing with their shit. The world is coming to a close man, and everything must go. Out like a light. We were in the pub and every gut that walked past she pushed her tits out so they fucking strained tight bursting button popping tits. Fucking hell, I laughed, snorted into my pint and beer went around a little and her fucking sex eyes turned ferret eyes and she looked at me like I was a ‘bastard’ and I was. My eyes were watering and I was looking at the bar mirrors and they were looking at me. One can dream about all the usual suspects. Her eyes were everywhere and she was the primal dreamadelica, the panic feet streakers….the bulb the bullshit the thankless fucking tasks and now I felt sick and away from her.

It was communist magic and had all the traps associated with it. The humming undercurrent was fascist and the sex had become politicised. But later when I was fucking her from behind and being a total sleaze she turned around and saw that I was the chaotic and the random variable. I slapped her arse hard and did the jazz fuck, chaotic rhythms interspersed with painful almost jarring juxtapositions and she freaked right out and fell down by the bed clawing at her face and sobbing in big gulping grunts as she ejaculated all over the floor. 

Shes a fascinating fuck certainly. The fuck attention setting of sirens among the metaphysical planes and I know she’s mentally trying out schemes to get my attention. My proper attention. I was thinking about the Yin Yang sisters. I would ring them later and they would come around full of laughter and fun and nothing would draw a tear from their eyes. Aware as they were. Bless them. I would text them.

She bucked on the floor.

“Nick Land is an Agent of the Demiurge” she croaked. I helped her up back onto the bed and she pulled the sheet around her making no sound everywhere. You aren’t my life you, with dark circles under your eyes. Riven and pretty you make the hours last bless your heart. You want to destroy me but baby there’s nothing left to destroy. I’ve always been fucked from +1 second. But who was Nick Land? Motherfucker. We aren’t owned by these motherfuckers. Her fingers tapped a careful cadence on the cotton sheet. 

I spoke to her. She was on the internet and we shared smoking miles away tumbling backwards and forwards via messages. She was a trailer bitch for sure and we hated each other from the start. She was great with games that distracted, made no point at all and she was later never early. 

“What made you think you mean’t anything at all? You will stand before Jesus before long and have to redeem yourself”. She showed me her tight asshole and I ate that Motherfucker.


It was a Neoreaction. Later on I stood outside her house and watched her move backwards and forwards behind the curtains as I stood and smoked a spliff. Someone elses choice for sure baby. They were just themes of course all these illicit fucks. I felt sorry for her husband. Even sorrier that he decided that he wanted to sort it out with me. He brought a few mates with him. I wanted to hurt and bleed for a few minutes and pay my penance and I did. My nose popped. My eyes hurt. Somebody kicked me in the ear and I was rolling. 

But she was riding me and I had her by the throat and every few minutes or so she would get off and walk over to her phone. Check it. Chop a line of coke. Snort it off the screen. Walk back get back on. I tried to fit all my fingers in her mouth and she helped force them further in and the spit came out and fell on me went in my mouth the cocaine sour spit.

I grabbed him by the collar as he leaned over. He had thin office wanker muscles and an office wanker face with office wanker friends and office wanker Adidas. I bit his cheek as hard as I could and threw him against a car. The alarm went off. I took my hatchet out of my jacket and chopped him in the knee then swung around and stuck it in an oncoming fist. The violence was unconditional. The ultimate display of irony. Poison of the Demiurge, his own magic used against him. Me using Goddesses as pawns in the great fight and they have little idea. Their minds cannot fathom abstraction. Cannot understand the greatest of philosophies are the absurd. 

There are 14 unread messages from her. 14 listless pleas for THAT sex. Nick Land was the number 1 and 4. Patriotic and trustworthy. A blatant load of metaphysical bullshit. ‘Methodical’ that scared the shit out of me. In the future I see them and their crooked cross revolving. Tarot Kabbalah fusion I see him. Crowned and with a cloak of scarlet, crowned in gold holding a great sword. Lord of the World. And so it comes to pass.