|
Vagrant possession utilities
Hatred and violence are instinctual drives drawn from the fond taste of flesh in the mouths of ancestral primitive man. They are genetic components embedded in our being handed down from the blood and bone of descent. The god-power in whose image we are cast. Where the sands of time turn to reflections in the looking glass. The reaper always collects his pay. This, that, or some other way. The resource of socio-physical superiority is one of man's primary innate tools for mind control.
Dominion is a key primal urge.
There is no simpler more effective way of achieving your will than imposing it on someone else's but, when the force of intimidation fails we must wash our hands of the dirt and prepare to get our feet wet in the trenches of civility. To go out as a wise wolf among the unwitting sheep. As the great charlatans have spoken: It isn't likely you'll get someone to comply with your wishes by telling them they're obligated to. Only totalitarians believe in this method all the time. Rather we rely upon predatory diplomacy. The new social Darwinism. Public relations.
Spin, grease, and leverage. That's the sacred calf.
The fat of the land offers abundance to the jugglers. The material artisans. We've discovered the pearl of empathy and it's a priceless jewel camouflaged in the barnacles of the psyche.
People, myself included, need to be lied to. We need someone to tell us it's all going to be OK. A spiritual impostor. A derelict of dialect. It's dangerous to internalize the fact that we can become this apotheosis confidence man at any time, and to any degree we choose. Casting shadows in the light of day. Dangerous because it's true and truth hurts and pain is not convenient and convenience is the highest modern religion. We want it powerful, simple, and now.
This is modern Americanism.
In regenerate form we are the caterpillar. A worm in temporal disguise. An artist without a medium. A choir of deaf-mute invalids led by a blind orchestra and a dyslexic conductor in desperate harmony seeking pitch without instinct or convention. The paralyzed troubadour. Most organized religion has failed to take advantage of materialistic endeavors. Their advocates are forced into silence and prayer making them feel as though they have some form of spiritual leverage over the common secular people. It's a facade of authority used to conceal the depravity in humanity's collective guilt complex. They'd rather pork altar boys and choir girls. As any jackal is prone to interrogate:
Why hunt of the horned ones when you can take of the lambs?
Monotheism is opposed to science. Transcendental dogma has urged toward self denial. All these ideological philosophies are rooted in fear. Not love as is pre-tended, but fear and all the phobia involved with exploration of the unknown and essentially evolution. The model of anti-Neitzchean society. In this virgin age of high technology we must engage ourselves to cultivate the vast miscellany of paraphernalia available to us. The industrial age has sown a seed of high production to consumption ratio's with an ever higher degree of waste growing as demand mounts. This information is more than obvious to all. What's not so obvious is how to utilize this trend in culture:
You can run the race but, the spectators make easy prey.
How much can ever really be said about what a person says? It's too bad spores don't grow on bullshit, we'd all be trippin' our balls off. It has been thought that the language should ideally be abridged to seven words. Meaning we need only so many verbal gestures to convey ideas inter-personally. Although, this is a novel and quite smurfy notion, it is rooted in pseudo religious dogma. Doctrines of material abstinence, emotional repression, and senseless self denial. Making it the queen mother of all self limiting, anti-humanist, hard luck toilet trophies. Belief is a skeleton key to the doorways of will and perception. The materialist believes that possessions makes us who and what we are like the clothes make the man or the weapons win the war. It remains our prime modernism to appear in control.
We create an apparent reality by molesting certain apparent truths.
Fantasizing our misfortunes without aim or self intent. Selfish altruism denying itself liberation from sensical distinction by admittedly hypocritical betrayal of meaning. Digging graves in fear of the sun. That blinding light which beckons our awakening in this snooze button society. Mass hypnosis by popular demand. Evident in aspirations to heavenly serenity in the afterworld. Post suggestive narcolepsy. A sedative for the nation. Poisoning the food, and the water, and the scenery.
Superficial ends in the way no one knows what it means
The fabric of daily living is left deflated and shallow witnessed as the passing gift. The drifting present. With the past as a yield sign. The diamond of a future impregnated with entropy & dysfunction. A reminder of acts staged in performance, seemingly choreographed by fate. The producer/director with his key grip and his best boy.
A dramatist with a hook, a rod, and a puppet string. A farce. a prank sent from the heavens. An oath of spiritual sabotage. An agenda of salvation through extra-terrestrial slavery. An unimaginable terror from a hundred million aeons before the Daemons conceived the giants of man and Enoch roared a secret tongue that still shivers up the spines of humankind.
What we perceive as the past reduces itself to nostalgia.
History plays like a musical scale ending in the same place it began repeating the same octaves at different ranges of pitch over and over again like reruns of sitcoms or radio rotation of trendy pop feces. Syndicated under perceptual programming and coercively internalized into our consciousness like a bullet in our collective head. All seemingly under the control of the conductor/composer violently flailing in rhythmic measure and giving life to the nonsense world of symbolism placed before him.
A puppeteer yanking our chains. As they say history is written by the winners: The great magus. The great white oath of Atlantis. The covert Freemason agenda for theurgic rule of the newwworld. A nationalist political pseudo-science. An infection of complacency in hearts of the weary and the sick
Uncle Samael Christ.. Who wants Who?
The legacy of the strong is an ever-changing ever-growing flood of tarred lavic earth. Cleansing and solidifying fresh pavement on it's rampage through history. Fueling the entropic cycle of rebirth and resurrection. An impulse in nature to rise. And push. Initiation of force like particles exciting as iron is heated. Gaining acceleration and momentum from the tension. The kinetic release of friction. Revolt. Strike. The heart or pulse of Kia. Tigers breath of active energy. Aryan OI. The tallest enemy stands inside. Show no mercy and all will show it you for fear of their life.
Humanity is the only master race.
And, putrefaction the only final solution. No plan ever got any man any further than any other plan by any other man. That's the nature of war. No victory takes paramount. Many men stand & consume the thoughts of entire nations but, no man is without flaw. All conquers have given in to failure. Although their contributions to civilization will never be properly awarded, these men of steel & stone have forever instilled in humanity an aberrant spark of un-defiled opaque light in the heaviest shades of coal and hemoglobin's mauve.
Godless hands betray the landscape
The eminence and wisdom of an ecliptic sun
The essence of earth and fire as one
Sanguine raze before the darkness of dusk
Odors of benzoin, frankincense, and musk
When lycanthropes in heat break the western horizon
howling at the moon from rage pent up inside them
Provoking hypnotic illusion & artfulness & deceit
Amidst a popular squandry of the naive and asleep
Where the serpent is disguised in silence and crowd
His prey travels unaware of the swiftness he'll shroud
A ghost with opal eyes & a gentlemen to admire
a killer born of virtue, born of impulse & desire
We live an uncertain process of Overcoming not Becoming.
Leverage is sought on all stratospheres of consciousness. In the same way the universe expands toward infinity our minds seek to expand beyond the reaches of our current reality. This is the curve of the soul. An ever twisting loop of refracted light extending from and returning to the collective origins of the soul, the quantum soup. This is the vortex wherein thoughts are invalid, transcending opinion and therefore pointless but, not in a derogatory way. Cosmic intelligence is a wave of information.
A vibration of non-sense. There is no self consciousness within the expanse of pure potential. It's a void without point. A singularity. Hence the: Uni-verse. I have imagined the soul as a speeding laser of helixing energy in a random cycle of self purification. An intelligence evolving in constant regenerate recreation. Emanating from the well-spring in my heart. Exiting and re-entering through the center of my rib cage. A deep mist that circumvents our aura and penetrates the crown of my skull.
Our beliefs are very real and very vital.
They're the roots of our growth inside and out, but like a tree these roots hide well below the surface reality making them difficult to recognize. Just as plants root's burrow into the same collective earth (Matrix). Our beliefs entrench themselves in the same collective spirit (Aether). They give the illusion of stability (which illustrates the cultural importance of cosmology). And, they nourish our life energy.
So, if we are attentive and engaging towards the roots of our beliefs nurturing them and encouraging them. We will bear the fruits of triumph, enlightenment, friendship, and strength. But, if we are ignorant and alienated from the roots of our beliefs neglecting them and constricting them. We will know only the fruits of confusion, indifference, stagnation, and fear. And, inevitably the seeds of decay.
The ego may be used as a clean blank canvas.
A raw sculpting block for a masterpiece which is never complete. Engage the rhythm in the cosmic freestyle and the music will never die. There is no fate outside our control. Destiny is like all other astrological forces. It searches in aimless time and space for the chance to exist through our consciousness. Our will is a modem for life energy. Our un-manifest higher self consistently seeks to manifest via our lower self.
An urgent thrust toward fruition. A hunger in the belly of the unborn to be, to live, and grow. Purity (in the form of potentiality) repels itself and has a strong tendency or curiosity for attracting impurities or color to itself. Like the drive of an artist to manifest the unknown darkness inside into the material world, projecting his sub-con onto reality in composite form. As we live we are dirtied by the world. Molded. Influenced.
We start to remind ourselves of all past existence, the waves of psycho-history. The entire genetic databank of human evolution is written on the cerebral wall. Spare was right we can tap into our racial memes.
|