zero point field / the heart (sun) is born(e) in darkness

  (where's the red queen)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

black magickal mofoz 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. LLegends & mythras of yore tell of a coLLective of master con artists who got bored; ran out of cons worth their time .. 

 

 

 

 

 

.. eventually they came upon a con that was weLL worthwhile .. 

 

 

 

 

.. they set their sights on con quering Death itself .. defeating Darkness at its own game .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. now doesn't that sound like fun ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. to the Dead .. 

 

 

 

.. & lucky them, for they get to rest ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

empire

 

 

 

Words enslaved to jurisdictions induced through chronic confusions.
 

 

 

You aren’t learning the dance without a foot in the trap.
 

 

Sin is the state of mind that fear can’t hide behind.
 

 

 

Drums and prayers, into the still…..why still, always still – endless, unforgettable, never-endless….lee
 

 

Search and Fate – separated to endless – breathless– we’ll never signal until …

 

 

 

We resign in the again.

 

 

 

….god bless – faultless….
 

 

Directions and doors what for?
 

 

 

 

 

There are places to be, and there are minds that we avoid eye contact and procreating the premise of tripping in that fashion is something that can’t be natural, and who would want to be anyway. 

 

 

 

 

Automatic is the end, and through that in we do trust to the must of the mast. Steer me away from the fears of shipwreck, but the contract doesn’t work like that, and these rocks have nowhere else to go.
 

 

 

 

 

And a shore is the story they say, that place eternally away, but yet only a dream to me, of a state that this is where we can all be. 

 

 

 

 

 

And we’ll live to forget the thunder again. Because there’s nothing that shakes the terra like the flavor of our disfavor….
 

 

 

 

 

The thing about hypnotism is you can never pass up a spell.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Where we’d like to forget, believe or drift, is always an elsewhere – a rotting excuse to not move about in the muck you fear to figure out. 

 

 

 

 

There’s always a monster under there, according to all the chatter always their. Summon an angel that ain’t right, because every line is a blight.
 

 

 

 

Believe it not to be. 

 

 

 

Believe you can’t see.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. the tried & true is safer, cheaper & easier .. hence, our opponent is none less than physics itself ..

.. those who have had so-called "near death experiences" gnow that the line between life & death is permeable .. & just as so many are born every day, some return from beyond death..  & stay just as long as they will . .

.. careful what you look at, & who; 

 

 

 

 

cuz they might also be looking at you .. 

 

 

 

 

 

.. like we say, it goes both ways ..

 .. for the magician, Time is just another substance to Work with ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Why should I live in history, huh? Fuck, I don't wanna know anything anymore. This is a world where nothing is solved. Someone once told me time is a flat circle, where everything we've ever done or will do, we're gonna do over & over again .."

- from True Detective

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. as we've written, money is a form of energy, & for the shaman, following, & when necessary, predicting energetic flows is an occupation unto itself ..

 

 

.. shades, thus named due to having emerged from der schatten (but also because shades drew strength from the very black heart of the winter solstice) wants to tell ewe that light can only emerge from darkness, & this by definition .. 🧐

The heart (sun) is born(e) in darkness

 

 

 

 

 

Like our own hearts lying in the darkness of our thoracic cavity, our sun is encased in the clear darkness of space, against which they both thrust and pull in their respective fluids. The life giving light of our each blood coursing, constrained in veins; pathways laid down through the dark ages of the past. And now I feel my heart beating in my chest as a train passes by - a train of thought I hadn't quite caught... and hopefully now I've hopped back on board, but maybe this train leads somewhere else?

 

 

 

 

Send out, take in, breathe out, breathe in, exchange value: credits in debits out. Little magnetic donuts swirling round, breath in breath out. The heart is the center of, and central time-keeper for our bodies - it defines the overall rhythm of our bodily experience. After the breath, it is the easiest to notice - and I'd venture the next function on the list to be brought under conscious control as far as the generally autonomic processes are concerned. 

 

 

 

 

The breath is the link to control the heart, which in large measure acts on demand to supply the system with the necessary oxygen according as that precious gas is drawn into the system by the bellows of the lung and diaphragm - that magnetic gas transformed into activity that has indeed moved mountains.

 

 

 

 

The sun, like the heart, pulses as its extended body, the planets and asteroids change their demands upon the center - the gravitational force being the veinous blood, returning the light that was spent in illuminating its dark bodies - for the planets do indeed belong to the sun and are directed according to the demands of this heart shining in the darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

As the sun makes its retreat from high noon in the northern hemisphere, all grows relatively quiet, retreats into itself for introspection and renewal. A cold dark death descends from the north as the sun sinks earlier and earlier below the horizon in the south. The darkness of space cloaking the land, which is not mere simile: as the trees lose their leaves, and the fields fade, trampled down and covered in snow, there really is more space in which to move. The productions of the earth are gone, shadows of themselves in spring and summer the same as the shadows have grown longer in the winter.

 

 

 

 

What the sun has urged forth in the other seasons and brought to fruit are stored in the bosom of the land. What was sown has been reaped, now kept to fulfill the passing sleep. When we are true, we act according to the dictates of our own hearts, which bring forth the scenes and frames of our passing moments, stored up in memory for some future after our twilight days - when our own light itself fades. Our heart stops, the sun stand still. And the cœur of us is reborn.

 

 

 

 

On an XMAS note: The light of the world did not die “for” our sins, but “because” of them, in a half-cocked attempt to counter the effects of KARMA. At least that’s one reading - there are many — happy hunting >——>

.. you can't ..

.. you can't ..

.. you can't ..

.. you can't let them win ..

 

 

 

 

 

.. don't give in ..

.. keep fighting ..

 

 

 .. every bully has a bully that bullies them; that's just physics ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. attune to the zero point field, & you can access limitless energies ..

.. what really needs to happen is a perspectival shift .. so, say, taxing fossil fuel profits might seem like a solution, & perhaps for a short time, in the near term, it can be .. 

 

 

 

 

 

.. but what happens when we realize that the taxes increase as the profits from fossil fuels do ..?

 

 

 

 

 

.. no.. what we really need to do is move beyond money altogether to an economy of energy .. an esoteric economy .. only then can we truly transcend an object based thinking in which what has value is things, & not the reason there are things in the first place ..

 

.. if one really thinks about it, every technical achievement causes as many problems as it solves; by definition, even.. the logical con clusion from this is that the only real solutions are on another plane altogether ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

@LL of you, you're beautiful & powerfuLL & perfect every one of you, my children, & one day we'LL go places we can't even imagine yet .. I promise .. 

.. synchronicity's overrated.. look, listen .. try to trace out the themes in your life, that you hear or see in everyday things .. they're calling to you; literally asking for your attention ..

Nothing more tedious than success

 

 

 

 

 .. people think success is something that happens just like that, but it's a curse actually ..

.. success is its own sentence; once you've attained to it, you're con demned to it .. anything less, & you disappoint yourself.. it becomes the new normal .. but what's normal about that ..

Nacre (Clam Lining)

 

 

 

Soma days the highway etches your ass into the stone.
 

 

Rrruutttssss ssss…and drraggsss…

 

 

If the mind trusts the heart
 

 

There is no way to lose.
 

 

Balancing on a harp string, rumored to be a sharp thing, cutting through the clouds
 

 

Disrobing peaks of mountains below.

 

 

Beyond sentient reliance
 

 

the path is all, because there is none.

.. & as day breaks, our valiant hero(in)es emerge from their dark night of the soul into the light of the reborn son..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

66(6)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. conned of the world, unite..!  

" .. such acceleration is necessary for capitalism to collapse, because its intimately destructive nature sooner or later will cause its auto-consumption. Indeed, we are already one step away from the disintegrating cataclysm, as anticipated by the collapse of the planet's climatic system and by the crisis of the dominant financial and economic paradigm .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. a 'panorama of apocalypses' has developed all around us, one which present politics is not able to govern any more. The paroxysmal metabolism of capital, which combines perpetual growth with a swirling technological evolution, has reached the end of the line. The collapse is imminent .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. The planet necessitates a different navigational acceleration able to disclose new horizons of possibility .. a different political project, distinct from market economics, has to take over .. 

 

 

 

 

 

.. It is urgent and imperative to separate two distinctive trajectories: the one belonging to the capitalistic system, and the one belonging to the techno-scientific evolution .. "

 

 

- from Dromology, Bolidism and Marxist Accelerationism, by Obsolete Capitalism

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One last ticket to throw it all away, and then you’ll have no power to hijack me.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Five to one, without a front, moves to fade. It feels like giving, but it’s only ever another take. Push. Push. 

 

 

 

 

Can’t whither quickly enough. Can’t fall flat enough to negate the vertigo.
 

 

 

 

 

No step too shallow to break my neck.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Themselves the steaks.
 

 

 

 

*dinner bell*
 

 

 

Mount up.
 

 

 

 

 

The narrative is recycled, but there’s nothing but excuses left to reuse. Reduce the connectivity…why is the frequency always too intense and suddenly silent?
 

 

 

 

 

Endless fountains of cognitive irresponsibility. Ethereal intensity. Personable informality.  Abandonment of Hammurabi.
 

 

 

 

Shoulders grow until they snap.
 

 

 

Pull at guitar strings until they are sap.
 

 

 

 

Starless daze like these.
 

 

 

Fantasies fall short of filling the gap.
 

 

 

Our trivialities jerk the revolution into a trap.
 

 

 

We are bound.
 

 

 

Direction is what you mean.
 

 

 

So focused on what you’ve seen, of places you’ve never been.
 

 

 

A shell in a steam. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

some rube: "I'm surprised they haven't killed you yet"

shades: ".. well, it's not for lack of trying .. while we're on it .. maybe they even succeeded .. 💀"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humans are trying to build Deus ex machina 

- .. that argument can be made, & there's def evidence to support it..

 

 .. some among the accelerationists claim that the machine is reaching backwards through time & giving humans directions to build it, i.e., sentient AI ..

 

 

.. but a guy like me has to wonder, having acquired a certain penchant for perverse trajectories of thought.. what if God can, or indeed does, speak through the machine..?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. batailling it up ..

 

 

 

 .. shades ( .. thus named because when one invariably dresses in black, there isn't really a pressing need to dress up for Halloween, but also because shades was self-con sciously the very opposite of someone with main character syndrome .. ) has been trying to hint that a poverty mindset vs a growth one makes all the difference, but there's a problem here .. 

 

 

 

 

.. does one's success "take away" someone else's ..? 

 

 

 

.. can one take advantage of a recession to improve one's lot, or should one feel guilty about it .. is it so wrong..?  

 

 

 

 

.. can a recession can actually be a force for good, allowing the disadvantaged the chance to catch up..?  

 

 

 

.. or perhaps a slowing down of the economy is a demon stration that there are structural issues that need to be addressed first, before one can level up ..

 

 

 

 

 

.. shades wasn't interested in providing prefab answers .. so long as these kinds of questions were kept in mind ..

.. it's important for you to understand that the magician is the exception to every rule, every trend, every law of phuckin' physics ..

.. there's no upper limit to what you can achieve .. let me repeat: there's no upper limit to what one might achieve ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. (&) achievement is the reification of technique..

 

 

 

 

 

.. my own method is not even all that sophisticated, but I'd reckon it's closer to the shamanic methodologies that developed in your tradition & in mine.. the body is the instrument.. & the messages it receives, both con sciously but also if not more so un con sciously, are the readings, as it were ..

The decision: this time to try and share some exercises that may be useful or at least provide some interesting further field of action - whether those actions be "purely" mental phenomena, or something appertaining to the greater world at-(apparent)-large. A boast, a dare for you to find further correlation between the macro- and microcosm than the "mere" fact that I can move shit around by kicking it and what-have-you.

 

 

 

Exercise Numero Uno, and this one's a real doozy: try to keep ahold of your breath. Wait, WTF! everyone spits out this one whenever they're talking about psychic development. Yeah... there's [a|many] reason(s) for that. Well, then young padwan, can you do it? How often do you even notice you are breathing at all, let alone attempt to influence its spiraling progressive process?

 

 

 

 

I've been noticing my breath for a long time - yeah yeah, sometimes more and sometimes less - and I actively cooperate to calm my system (when required) by stopping,.. taking in a slow breath.. and exhaling at a similar rate. Pumping the bellows that fuel the activity of this body that is in one way or another related to whatever-the-hell my experiencing is, establishing a conscious rhythm on top of the autonomic process that may have gotten a bit carried away with itself. Yeah, there's that wiggling wave thing if you think about it for a minute: in and out, up and down. A vibrating oxygen pump.

 

 

 

Now, consider the transition between the in-breath and the out-breath. Again, watch it. I'm going to say "without any preconceived notion", but, hey, I'm giving you one right now: it seems to be that my breath really does "turn" at these points, at least when I am knowingly controlling it. [I think] I can feel it turn, quite literally there, where the air stops going in one direction and starts on into the other... which makes sense, after all, with only having to consider the well known structures in the motion of gases: see the wind, rising smoke, and all that jazzy dancing disco those damn diminutive atoms are up to. So, I guess my notion has at least some support, and it does feel to me like there's some twisting, spiraling something that is turning inside-out... in some degree of more-or-less smooth morphodynamic transformation. Like some sort of gaseous gyroscopic wheel work down inside there, flipping inside out.

 

 

 

 

So, yeah, we've got this air pump action going on: in / out, expand / contract, feeding the proverbial biologic flames of life; oxygen feeding the fires and expelling carbon dioxide ash. Funny that, the carbon gas - like what's left after torching up some firewood. Any WHO, the inbreathing expansion actually expands the energetic reserve in flux through the body, it gets used and then exhaled, effectively contracting not only the physical frame but also the immediately available support for the energetic supply. Psychically, we absorb (part of) the environment, waking up a little bit, which is then changed by passing through our system and released back out into the greater world - with a variable time-offset - and falling a bit back into sleep.

 

 

 

It's well known, - well at least I've heard it before, - that there is a method of coloring the breath using the imagination: inhale that white light and all that. Now I'm not that conversant with this process and haven't actually practiced it all that much, but as a possible mechanism I'd suggest the following, which will be further elaborated when we come to a different set of exercises / observations: if we are to somehow or other take in particular natures resident in the respirated atmosphere, then our breathing process must somehow have an aspect where it can function as a filter or sieve, selecting some varied subset of the totally available properties for entrance and rejecting the rest.

 

Now, the atmosphere, or oxygen in particular, is magnetic, and through it courses the terrestrial planetary magnetic field. Analyzing this magnetic field, it can be dissected into surfaces and then into lines of force (á la Faraday) and these lines, and surfaces are capable of supporting wave motions, and with wave motion comes that whole frequency / wavelength, color, sound, tone, timbre set of analogical correspondences. Basically means of characterizing cyclic processes. Assuming I'm correct, and it's always healthy to have good dose of doubt, even about your own thoughts and opinions (and emotions), and there is that respiratory whirligig in the lungs, then that is also a cyclic process, albeit with a higher degree of structure. SO... that's also a cyclic process and itself supports waves and all that other good stuff, with its own magnetic lines and surfaces (let's ignore the electric right now).

 

If you haven't been living under a rock, or in the mental state of a cave-dweller, you'll have heard about resonance, i.e. that similar cycles "feed" each other. Because we are able to consciously effect changes in our breathing process, we can change that whirligig to sync up with the different "colors" in the atmosphere and thus absorb and expel one-or-the-other in greater or lesser degree to feed our larger system.

...to be continued (as said at the end of the show)

.. the art we make doesn't even have a name ..

 

 

 

.. the stuff we do transcends (in)sane .. 

 

 

 

.. we don't kowtow, don't bow, & don't give a f what your grandma thinks of us .. 

 

 

 

 

.. "OK boomer"ing our way @LLover town .. 

".. of the moon, monthly .."

.. basically, the full moon is more intense & the new moon is "quieter", with the quarters being somewhere in the middle .. I suppose we might also want to distinguish between the internal & the external .. when one is more intense, the other is less so, & vice versa.... so something like, the external world is dominant near the new moon, & the subjective is more active around the full moon, something like that ..?

.. in any case, one should remain critical.. it's almost a survival strategy .. in this economy .. 

.. & why does everything have to be con venient & easy & ready to hand .. ? 

 

 

 

 

.. goddamn.. 

sacred machines: (apophatic) ontological aphorisms

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1 -  .. & the mofo says, ".. let there be recess(ion) .. !"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

. . a history of decline .. 

.. & a devotee of Death personified, in the valley of the Dead Kings .. 

 .. these be high initiates ..

Abstract absolution

 

 

bankrolled by the injunction
 

 

 

 

that everything is fine.




 

 

Overflowing the e(I)ther with discourse of unbridled reckless positivity.

 

 

 

No snakes in this field. Heels out, tits up.





 

Teleological suspension isn't the elimination of instance, but synergies within the soul when it rubs elbows with itself.

 

 

 

 

They call it coincidence, but conversely, it's a baseline.

.. haters & buffoons ain't no scene

 

 

 

 

.. fit for an OG ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. & a bunch of stressed out people in one place

 

 

 

 

 

don't a society make ..

.. you've stumbled into a nest of Masters now, is what you've gone & done, son ..

 .. & these be high initiates ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Succulent split Con tinuums,

 

 

 

spilt milk of cosmos spit 

 

 

 

 

all over existential boundaries of terrestrial anxieties.


 

 

 

Fog. Infinite directions where every turn

 

 

 

Sultans of molten misseries peddling loneliness towering towards constellations.
 

 

 

 

 

Babbles of never belong.
 

 

 

 

They cast them at thee.

 

 

 

 

 

Unempathetic empires beneath the boot you lick. 

 

 

 

 

 

We're coming for them.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ankhs in hand, we're the headress for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. thus vow the undersigned at the apex of the Luxor Ley line .. con structured to con ceive Time ..

.. & where we're from, they caLL this game by our name ..

 .. hey, these be high initiates ..

 

 

 

 

 .. these devotees of the Dead Kings ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. shades (.. thus named because shades liked to blow smoke .. was Lead smoke bLower of LL, if u wiLL ..) liked to scope out the scene.. seeking honest hard-working initiates like yourseLLves ..

.. he played at chanting speLLs at them, to see what might blow back..

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. once you gnow about the game, nothing con pares any more 

once you learn the game, there's no thing else any more 

.. & there's only really one game .. the game of learning how to play ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2- a ground, a current, a circuit & a( )gain

 

 

 

 

 

 

Make plain text of some form in the morn.
 

 

 

Extension of notation is the norm
 

 

of a nation, language bearing forth creation
 

 

a set of forms inside oblation

 

 

And

 

 

 

Every mark leaves its trace of passes place apace
 

 

A thought gone by leaves a line and something else besides:
 

 

The trace of further thought something expanding on its base
 

 

leading further afield to another place.

 

 

Where to start? where to begin?
 

 

what is the first thing that's ever been.
 

 

 

A thing, a thought, a mix of both - one the same another boasts.
 

 

Betwixt, between, there must be a thing, I think, a link, between me and everything.

 

Not one, not two, not even three can count the things
 

 

that must ever be in being having made up me.

 

 

 

This world I taste, the senses the space,
 

 

the movements inside, mirrored powers outside
 

 

leaving law write for all to follow,
 

 

 

whether want to or not - the balance of laws is more than a thought.

 

 

The set, a series, a balance - or not
 

 

When one thing moves is there another do not?
 

 

 

A tiny thing, so insubstantial,
 

 

thoughts have moved things more than mountains

 

 

And,
 

 

There a language outside falls, moving things like jacks and balls.
 

 

But whence that order spring, from inside, out, or inbetween
 

 

I see a thing, a things sees me, whether or not I let it be.

 

 

For,
 

 

A balance one way, this and that, a little over - then there's that
 

 

Which one rules in which timezone, passing back to times of stone
 

 

 

and forward into realms of space - but which one - now that's the chase

 

 

The chain that drags along out loud
 

 

in forms be written by man's hand
 

 

 

to carve a face, a statue staring there in space,
 

 

and staring back we see our fate:
 

 

 

A way to think, to be, to act; but what I wan' to know:
 

 

has it got my back?

 

 

And forth in froth, a sea of thought, it issueth
 

 

And we can see the balance sought in law is nought,
 

 

when one does sway another does not - depending on how it's put together
 

 

Inside somewhere 'neath stormy weather.

 

 

Make some noise when you rise with a yawn,
 

 

Stretch your legs to the beat of the dawn
 

 

Move your hands as you work the land, the matter, the material at hand.
 

 

 

Hammer blows or blow-pipe whistles, carving stone amongst the thistles.

 

 

One block on top and pressing down, making slow stone crunching sound -
 

 

 

a line out loud, from stress from a crack, the shockwaves sent back out in a shout
 

 

 

an electric shunt, but blunt, and stable like the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3 - the almost obligatory self-deprecatory postscriptum

.. We're all too familiar with the repercussions of events forward in time, but can we also speak of their prepercussions even before they happen ..? 

 

 

 

 

 

.. magicians say that it is indeed possible to ..

.. & eventually, it struck me that "the people" prob don't want to hear from the likes of me any time soon ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. as things become more expensive, quality often takes a hit too.. so what does a guy like me do ..? 

 

 

 

.. why, buy the more expensive shit & say f it, I deserve it; goddamn ..

.. at the 11th hour, with 11 seconds to midnight on the doomsday clock, only The 11 can save us now ..

 

 

 

 

 

.. or so I've found..

jump / cut

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" .. passage from one world to the next requires bold steps .. "

 

 

 

- from Westworld 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Outside, inside t’was a hut a house a hole

 

a fit for king or pauper or mouse.

The home at base,

 

where took’d our place:

each one shining family face.

 

Was smile or lash, or bit of both

from where we took our early note

 

A sounding out a from the past,

our mom and dad and sister lass



 

 

The ways of woman, man

 

held out upon their face and hand.

 

 

A book a tune a place a land.

 

A couch a chair, a tv there.



 

 

A desk a nook a cellar crook

 

A crack a rock a running brook.

 

A speech a word a nod a turn.



 

 

What maketh one a woman, a man

 

but waters running white and red

 

leading up from deep dark down



 

 

Flowing up into our head

 

they make the mark from one to ten.



 

 

A measure that, a number pat -

 

all flat all square

 

 

and even that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Establish at thy Kaaba a clerk-house: all must be done well and with business way"

 

 

- Liber AL, III:41

 

 

 

 

 

.. shades (thus named because he'd pick the black hat every time) was a student & a scholar of energetics as such, & inasmuch as money was a latent mode of energy, he studied that too ..

 

 

 

 

 

" .. according to my own research, to say that the world economy is in recession & that it'll be that way for quite awhile yet isn't the whole story..

 

 

 

 

 

.. the last really major recession that looked anything like what we're witnessing was in the 70s, & as Robert Anton Wilson notes in Right where you are sitting now, the number of millionaires doubled in the US between 1971 & 1979 .. rather an odd.. "coincidence", wouldn't you agree..?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. indeed .. the world is changing ever more rapidly, & moreover unpredictably .. whether it's for the better or for the worse prob most depends on whether one is an initiate or not..

 

 

 

 

 

.. stability is long dead, rip .. welcome to 21c, baby .. this is a time for gangsters, & no one else can make it, from what I've seen ..

 

 

 

 

.. & isn't that what success really is, becoming expert at evading response ability..?

 

 

 

 

".. watching the rings of power right now, & that loss of innocence of the elves (trying not to spoil it in case u want to, & I think you should, watch it) might have a parallel with where we are at collectively right now 

 

 

 

 

.. for so long, we thought we were on the right track with a growth-obsessed, technocratic culture .. & we've sacrificed everything else at its expense .. 

 

 

 

 

 

.. maybe we would actually benefit from being forced as a species to deal with the fact that no matter how much we try to con vince ourselves, we're not the measure of all things absolutely & without need for negotiation with anything .."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. but isn't there anything better for us to do other than the same-o tried & true, in this boundless reality none of us are at risk of ever exhausting ..?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" .. the great artists always hid themselves in their Work .."

 

 

- from Westworld 

Call my name in ways I can’t understand.
 

 

Stones thick as throwns. Abundant as memes.
 

 

 

Every story to be seen, every ever to have been.
 

 

Every whisper to be written, every soul to be stained.
 

 

 

 

Off-beat heat deep in a river of defeat.

 

 

Thirty six and ninety four.

 

 

 

 

“I choose to live and to grow,
 

take and give and to move,
 

learn and love and to cry,
 

kill and die and to be,
 

paranoid and to lie,
 

 

hate and fear and to do,
 

what it takes to move through.

 

 

 

I choose to live and to lie,
 

kill and give and to die,
 

learn and love and to do,
 

 

what it takes to step through .. ”
 

 

- Tool

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keep lugging stones that don’t skip
 

 

 

 

When all I want is a trope without so much effort, and such common pain.
 

 

 

 

I want those weird dreams that happens to be you in a state I’ve never seen.
 

 

Cause I got places to be, and dynasties to see.
 

 

 

 

Seems any dimension I’ve been I’ve just strapped myself down again.
 

 

 

 

Thirsting so heavily for truth, reason can’t settle in.
 

 

 

 

Addiction is my crown when it’s time for the beast again.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Paper without a stain. Regret without refrain.

"Yoshitani Roshi, trying to explain the Zen con cept of 'Buddha-Mind' (the closest thing Zen has to a 'God'), used to say that it is not far away and metaphysical but always right where you are sitting now .."

- Robert Anton Wilson, Right where you are sitting now

“ .. we’re not adults; we're adultered .. ”

 

 

- 22

You say who man you man
 

 

 

I say hummin
 

 

Cuz i am buzzin
 

 

 

Around
 

 

 

From tree to tree
 

 

 

 

Taking in all that sweet pollen
 

 

 

Filled with universal knowledge
 

 

Preparing for the ultimate win
 

 

 

While you splash about in your dreams of sin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

emergent sea / stay a wake

 

".. you are the medicine .."

- Maria Sabina

".. we haven't seen anything yet .."

 

 

- Deleuze & Guattari, Anti-Oedipus

Nestle up with that voice you box.  
 

 

 

Misdirection of endless passion.
 

 

 

 

Keep the streets away from me.
 

 

 

People are cliffs.
 

 

 

 

Estranged to me.
 

 

 

Hope is askew.
 

 

 

 

Confusion obsessed with me.

 

I’d just as soon,
 

 

 

Be out of tune.
 

 

 

Because there ain’t no key, for me.

 

 

No spirit to stain, no reason to try.
 

 

 

No direction to steer, no way to die.    

 

 

 

 

Fractures of mind.
 

 

 

Concrete conclusion. 

 

 

 

 

Sins of absolution.

 

stay awake

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey grande mnemonic, what did you say to me today? What are you trying to get me to remember as these hours sieve away? 

 

 

 

 

Walking through hallways, in rooms - gazing upon statues, heirlooms, photographs and tools. 

 

 

 

 

 

A method: trying to recall a speech, a play, an act on each and every stage, met with characters who may also not remember their lines, the steps in the daily dance. 

 

 

 

 

One vision of the present is the concreted past, all memory frozen up in form - still written right there in everything, waiting to be read. The mind runs off through the constructive tangential paths that led to some being here, back, branching back. 

 

 

 

 

 

Trying to remember what I am by piecing together what surrounds me - that in a physical sense, will never work; but the story. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still the implements, machines and tools find their roots in some philosophical yarn spun out of people living and talking together, acting and reacting, as tales. 

 

 

 

What am I reminded of when I see a face, what is the story of my space? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Great mnemonic, what it is it you want me to remember?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The core of synchronicity is nostalgia. No future without dream. Delusion.
 

 

 

Dilution of the absolute light of nothingness, rainbow paths of discontent and self-obsession. 

 

 

 

 

A blissful oblivion of anything you may have been tethered to….we’re here floating again.
 

 

 

And when we can’t feel this shame again, the runway is green.
 

 

 

 

No shapes without.

 

 

 

Indicate the agenda witch breathes out (of).
 
 

 

Heavy handed, and never near.
 

 

 

Abandoning others to damage the self.  
 

 

 

 

Stones galore in this lore.
 

 

 

 

The headlights flicker again   ///////   But that was the angle, no (?) signal.
 

 

 

Signal, right? It’s the signal that keeps me inside.
 

 

 

Whips me alive.  
 

 

 

    
Hopeium used to cost peasants a penance. A few meals at best.  Then be on your way.
 

 

 

Now? It takes everything…in varying degrees of inequality.
 
 

 

I have rhymes for the vacancies invoked through your acceptance.
 

 

 

 

No tasted but whiskey and sin. For the start of this fucking wheel again.

 

 

Strap your ear to the floor. The fear within is a frequency.
 

 

 

 

Into your head for once and cliché, because that’s what this piss poor poetry is anyway.
 

 

 

Stepping into snares.
 

 

 

Always trembling for word of shore.
 

 

 

 

My wrists are always weak……there is no universe for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 we're not one, but many .. nay every & any .. an emergent sea

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. anyone who either admits they're a con artist or flat out denies they're a con artist, is a con artist..

 

 

 

 

.. It’s just a bunch of interacting trajectories in tensorial garb ..

 

 

 

 

 

 .. I think we're @LL in need of some inflammation reduction, don't you..?

 

 

 

 .. I don't say someone else's lines; I ad-lib..

 

 

 

 

 

".. it is only through the imagination that human beings can become godlike and actually participate in the mind of God, thereby achieving divine gnosis in the most literal and radical sense. 

 

 

Accordingly, it is not the world that must be rejected or from which human beings need to escape .. it is about staying awake to the true nature of our own selves as omnipotent divine creators who have the power to create our own world as beautifully as we wish.. "

 

 

 

- Wouter J Hanegraaff, Alan Moore's Promethea: Countercultural Gnosis and the End of the World

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. they say insanity's doing the same thing & expecting a different result, but I wonder if it isn't doing nothing & expecting something to change ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

-  .. what if, as a result of the world being more con nected & the acceleration in novelty associated with increased heat, karma somehow now takes less time to .. process, I guess, than in previous eras .. incidentally, & while on the surface communications tech & heat/novelty/entropy may not seem to be related, both pertain directly to the movement of a message through a medium & to its intended recipient.. .. & in any case, is it really supposed to be a coincidence that both happen to be increasing..?

 

 

 

- Heat, according as entropy, being an increase in disorder, and CO2 being an acidifying agent, with acidic environments being malignant for higher life forms generally in biological terms, if karmic repercussions are being sped up, I’d say it’s all mass humanity's incongruous deeds throughout history coming to slam us all in the face ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. the Master's Work is never done; so if u want your work to be done, don't become one ..

 

 

 

 

(furthur) tangents to a void

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. wake up ..

 

 

".. in order to instigate revolutionary change, we must transform human consciousness .."

 

 

 

-from Jurassic World 3: Dominion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. do you feel the lull, do you hear it..? 

 

 

 

 

.. like the silence before a storm ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. whey cup ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are presented with a puzzle box - a structural body, whose solution is most perplexing. We twist and turn in it, finding a pattern here or there that might get us closer to the goal of escape... to what, where, with who? A tumbling kaleidoscope of varied pleasures and pains, dreams and nightmares: both are real here.

 

 

 

 

 

Borne in the midst of colossal movements of people and thought forms. Our very beings knots in such and such a fabric. The movements of our own families tossed about in the fluxing of the greater human organism, moved by their ideas. Some stand tall: our country, our religion - ideas that, with a notion of past, were given to life by our forebears; or at least their contemporaries, our own having played various roles by degree.

 

 

 

 

 

For us though, at first, they just are; the holidays and festivals, the shops and stores, the food, the language - the sounds and music. When we are young, we are at the mercy of all the sides of the spirit-of-the-times. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are plastic because we have to be: we cannot yet care for ourselves and remove ourselves from the presence of any materialized offending notions - the bad music, the hairdos. In our earliest years we are rocked (to the core) by our parents and the environment they've (collectively) created.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taken as a set of surrounding circumstances, these lights in the dawning sky of a young mind, these constellations are our "given" [lot]. As much as we are a product of these shining guiding stars in thought, we can, united, rearrange the heavens, just as the past leading lights of our shared movi[e|ing] world did in their day. And, we can all rest assured that as the earth moves, so do the heavens.

 

 

 

 

 

As humans, we are the products of ideas, semi-symbiotic, sometimes parasitic, and as our ideas, so our world. Either closer to a dream of plenty or a nightmare of famine, the comfort of peace, or the horror of war. We'll all have as much choice as we can stand, but sometimes find some[thing|one] in the way: do we dance, or draw knives.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. a void tangents ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. if u still don't see how we're in a war for our own souls & indeed the very viability of the future as such, then I don't gnow what to tell you, honestly .. 

 .. shades ( .. thus named because shades was the virulent virus destined to turn this whole world upside down & every virus needs a name .. but, when the time comes.. I'm in no rush; I've already won .. ) thought in aphorisms, so it was only natural to use this mode for the purposes of communication & self-expression ..

 .. you like to play ..? .. you've come to the right place .. we'll play you for all you have; your last cent .. we'll play you for your soul .. till there's absolutely nothing left ..

 

 

 

 

 

 .. it's best not to take it too seriously .. obviously on some level this is all a joke or a baroque farce of some sort .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. everywhere & in every direction today we're surrounded, inundated, flooded by distractions, tangents going now here .. side issues of side issues that have no pertinence to the most pressing matters at hand .. those which by far are the most urgent ..

 

 

 

 

.. but we've come a long way since the notorious Nero in at least 2 dubious senses - today, it's far more than merely Rome that burns; & there's several, nay seemingly endless, diversions aside violins .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. you're either on the bus .. or off the bus 

 

.. in this economy ..

 

 

 

 

 

.. just cuz you're cheating don't mean you'll win .. 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. no we're not dregs or dogs or cogs; we're gods ..

 

 

 

 .. there are those who walk around as if aimless, & those who have a plan & are systematically executing it.. now which of those do you think are the more effective at life ..? .. & what can be learned from them..? that focus, at tention is an energy in itself; a power that somehow brings its object closer ..

 

 

 

 

 

 .. live minimalist, live simply; live "closer to the earth".. but what does that really mean…?

.. we can't afford not to fine doubt ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 .. focus ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blisters on my feet, with nothing but circles behind me. How much longer should I hold my head under water? There is no baptism here. 

 

 

 

 

I’m not giving in to this. And I’m not losing to this. You know me. I’m the stooge who will drink his own piss……but…shit…what was it we were fighting against?
 

 

 

 

 

Let me bring your attention to intention. Bullhorns ablaze!!! Woot wooot, who needs a hoot?  Are we all finally present in this state here today???
 

 

 

 

 

Oh sure, we have words. And fuck are they fun. They are final. Say anything now. No, fucking say it. Now. Out loud. Well, it just became is then wAS. Just like thAT.
 

 

 

 

 

Worms. We call them words though. We bathe in them, we fuck ourselves with them (take that as you’d like it).
 

 

 

 

 

We fling these existential knives as sleeper agents into the mind of another. Ego viruses. It’s a cute game. 

 

 

 

 

We gnow we play it….but why are we still? WHY ARE WE STILL??? Always still…

 

 

 

 

Ever see a child build the same sandcastle twice?
 

 

 

 

 

To invoke requires a piece of you. We know this, we are here. We are participating. We are the lodge. So why are we chipping away for blisters?
 

 

 

 

I’m still here just jizzing on myself. Writing about doing.
 

 

 

 

 

I’m the worst of all poets. Thrown into a world that tumbles, and all I create are giant pity shits about me.
 

 

 

 

Playing my tricks. Tweaking the nipple of the universe. How quaint of a fuck I am?
 

 

 

 

 

Shunning the responsibility of voice.
 

 

 

 

Didn’t we fuck up clichés? Dial it back Lodgemates….we crashed in as psychonautic pirates, determined to rip your mind into a state that can’t be fixed. Because we are broken, we are aware.
 

 

 

 

 

You like the light? You lurk in dark? I don’t fucking care. Your home is your business, but right now. RIGHT NOW. You are here. And that Is my responsibility, and one I’ll never shun again.
 

 

 

 

 

All practitioners are agents, and I’ll say it again. ALL PRACTIONERS ARE AGENTS. Chaos? Sigils? Prayer? Invocation? Art? Pain? Blood? We’re all the same.
 

 

 

 

 

Some methods inhale sacrifice, some exhume, but everything with meaning pays that same toll.
 

 

 

 

 

 

No time for the tourists. Only full contact here.