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Über michPrologue

Write through me and make the story come alive, O Daimon Muse!

  √  If you’re young, throw away your dumbphone and turn off the idiotbox—’cause you’ll end up a dumb idiot if you don’t—and get crankən on Shakespeare! You don’t need so-called translations: the four-hundred-year-old lingo sinks in after a while; and you can conquer it by persevering with the footnotes. In the future, you’ll be so glad you did! If you’re older than most topsoil like I am, get reacquainted with him! But you hæftə finish not just a second or a third play: you hæftə read lots of them; in fact, you hæftə study əm. Then you’ll start to see an “otherworldly overview” that he imprinted on the stuff, and it’s a mindboggler! Bizarre stuff, this early Modern English, with its antiquated caste system of second-person pronouns and obsequious forms of address. After you’re used to it, though, it clicks—easy peasy, lemon squeezy; and finally, perusing the Bard is more fun than doing Sudoku or going bowling.
  √  Of course you didn’t understand William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury the first time you tried to read it. Nobody did! You’re not supposed to; that’s the point. So you’re grasping at straws, taking notes as you read, asking your teacher to explain stream of consciousness and nonlinear narrative. What a pain! And you’re thinking why is this crazy author making me go to so much work? isn’t he supposed to have done all that? and then it registers with you: no! he did much more—and brilliant—work to have made everything come out this way. So you man up, rethink your strategy, and finally you turn the corner on it. But wait! Now it’s exciting, ’cause you get it! Then you’re ready to tackle other literature with ergodic text, so you take a stab at something even more difficult.
  √  Most folks think of classic Dystopians as old warhorses; in fact, they are documentaries. They’re predictive-programming playbooks of what’s goən on right now: The “standards” of human interaction are being thrown overboard like so much deadweight as we leapfrog toward the new-world-order-transgender-transhumanist agenda. Aldous Huxley depicted this in Brave New World ninety years ago. Are yə fed up enough to do something əbout it yet? The government screws you out of your liberty, the Thought Police have you flummoxed, and the Speech Police have you all tongue tied. George Orwell nailed this in Nineteen Eighty-four seventy years ago. Are yə sick and tired enough to do something əbout it yet? You’ve read əm, right? If not, you had better get the lead out: understanding what we’re up against is the first step in being part of the solution.

The Outsider

     Some of us—a rare few of us—personify the called-out ones whom Colin Wilson portrayed in The Outsider: we have always intuited that something is desperately wrong because nothing is real; we are Plato’s philosopher: the circumventer of appearances, Wolfram’s Parzival, Böhme’s fractaled-off-the-divine autodidact, Molière’s misanthrope, Blake’s opener of perception’s doors, Goethe’s Meister, Shelley’s bohemian radical, Byron’s firebrand, Gautier’s scoffer of “cultural” mores, Emerson’s transcendentalist, Thoreau’s anarchist, Hawthorne’s Artist of the Beautiful, Poe’s dark Romantic, Longfellow’s contemner of surface laborers, Melville’s skeptic of masquerading conmen, Baudelaire’s poète maudit, Dostoyevsky’s sufferer, Rimbaud’s visionary explorer of other realities, Huysmans’ loather of bourgeois society, Nietzsche’s potential Übermensch, Stevenson’s theorizer of homo sapiens’ dual nature, Whitman’s resister of obedience, Wilde’s mocker of the seeing-not-equals-being-not fallacy, Ibsen’s undoer of the lies we deceive ourselves with, Clemens’ whistleblower of the conartist named “jehovah,” London’s misunderstood individualist, Rilke’s communer with higher beings, Nijinsky’s childlike god, Joyce’s Dedalus, Eliot’s quester, Hesse’s selfrealizer, Lewis’ caricaturist of philistinism, Gurdjieff’s rouser of the spiritually asleep, Lovecraft’s lifter of the veil, CamusAbsurd Hero, Pound’s expatriate despiser of capitalism, Heinlein’s stranger in a strange land, O’Connor’s rebel-artist-mystic, Gaddis’ satirist of the entropy caused by monetization, Pynchon’s recluse, Dick’s experiencer of a Gnostic epiphany, Moorcock’s existentialist seeker of meaning, Baines’ separated-from-the-beasts Stellar Man, Ligotti’s forlorn/outré loner, Le Guin’s student of the arduous school of Magick.
     And for us Outsiders, the United Corporations of New Atlantis is a hellhole: schools have mutated into indoctrination centers which crank out dumbed-down automatons; everyone has been sabotaged by poisoned food while a maniacal “health care system” encourages folks to “manage their pain”; employers are bent on sustaining rigged systems of impoverishment; employees are too oblivious to launch an uprising; and the booboisie, without bothering to question its veracity, take the televised farce at face value. How many yeah-right! “elections” and creepoid “presidents” is it gʌnnə take for you nitwits to get it that the “bilateral” horse-and-pony show is staged, that a unilateral agenda grinds along behind the scenes? Ain’t no republicrats, ain’t no demopublicans gʌnnə “fix” it, fool, because this and other governments are front groups through which an alien predator operates. Now they’ve produced and released a nonairborne virus, LIED əbout how it’s transmitted, grossly exaggerated how many have been affected, tricked and bullied you into ritually muzzling yourselves, and ATTACKED you with a “vaccine” which is a slow kill. But y’all selfdeceiving cowards are so busy copping out with “That’s how it is!” and making a virtue of your own enslavement that you can’t even be bothered to figure out who your enemy is, much less let alone do something əbout the fact that how everything is is not acceptable.
     Why’dʒyə let everything get so out of control? Where’dʒyə go so wrong, you lazy bastards?! It happened when y’all insiders got monetized. It’s not only a SCAM, it’s a religion: your god is the hebrew entity known as “mammon”; and you prostitute most of your waking hours for it, selling yourselves to “earn” it, like temple putas too drunk, too debilitated to be filled with shame. Pimps and ’ho’es perpetually bowing down before god money, vampires constantly feeding off of each other, converts belligerently proselytizing to anyone not in your fellowship, you’ve let your deity force everyone into being phony hustlers without enough time to get anything real done.
     Viví en México por mucho tiempo y puedo hablar español bastante bien. Oh how I miss living in Mexico! The Mexican people are down-to-earth, kind-hearted, leery-of-change folks who are not tripped up by the delusion of “time is money.” And while Mexico is no Utopia, while the hypercommunal behavior of its people drove me loco, living there beats the hell out of living in the U.C.N.A., an evil empire which masquerades as a free country. ’Tis pity she’s a FAKE.

The Lyrics Are the Message

  √  “Baker Street,” by Gerry Rafferty
  √  “The Bottle Let Me Down,” by Merle Haggard
  √  “Love Is a Stranger,” by the Eurythmics
  √  “Take This Jobb and Shove It” [the word jobb being a four-letter word], by Johnny Paycheck
  √  “Don’t Believe,” by Cherryholmes
  √  “The Grand Illusion,” by Styx
  √  “The Outsider,” by The Vision Bleak
  √  “Since I Started Drinkin’ Again,” by Dwight Yoakam
  √  “History Repeating,” by the Propellerheads, featuring Shirley Bassey
  √  “Life on the Nickel,” by Foster the People
  √  “I Got Mexico,” by Eddy Raven
  √  “Living Over,” by Greensky Bluegrass
  √  “No Time to Kill,” by Clint Black
  √  “Awakening from the Dream of Existence to the Multidimensional Nature of Our Reality,” by Blood Incantation
  √  “Bringer of the Luciferian Flame,” by Hexentanz
  √  “Internal Fire,” by Dissection

The “Seals”

     One—Who the hell has time for Reading Lite–Tastes Great–Less Filling? How əbout piecing the Big Picture together with a study of ancient Greek epic and dramatic poetry? And what əbout the Renaissance? I’m amazed how many readers have no clue when and where it began, or in what century more-REAL Romanticism morphed into less-REAL “Realism.” Where yə been, folks? And did you know that Gothic horror and the Decadent movement merged to form a fledgling weird category, and that H. P. Lovecraft—who solidified this new subgenre—is, appallingly, unknown to most English majors because academicians are doofuses who can’t grasp that genre and literary fiction sometimes overlap: they’re not mutually exclusive. Disagree? Oh yeah? Read anything by Thomas Ligotti lately? Stop wasting time, Liteweights! Kick it in gear: be a student of postmodernism and its literature if you can’t handle anything “too old”: you’ll be astonished with your broadened horizons. But be sure to steer clear of the pseudointellectual sophistry of postmodern “philosophy,” which has infiltrated and fʌkt up academia. Note also that, counterintuitively, the root of the Tree is fictional—because “consensus reality” is not REAL—but the branches are nonfictional:
      √  comparative religion—Religions are “belief systems” designed to suppress Spiritual Knowledge, dumb down humans, infuse subliminal programming into and channel psychic energy out of the masses. They are: hoaxes which have human beings behaving COMPLETELY UNNATURALLY; the restraining programs of “authority,” statism, debt-based “money,” scientism, and abrahamic henotheism (it’s NOT monotheism!); and the culprits which have us locked in to the control system. To become free, we must have the capacity to analyze, compare, and synthesize information from disparate sources: if we fail to study unfamiliar or unconventional theories while rejecting portions of their comefrom angles, we stay stuck.
      √  the “archons”—This term means “rulers,” but these restrainers—the primary causers of control by deception—“rule” only if we consent to it, so don’t give əm unwarranted power! But who are they? Extradimensional, shapeshifting reptilians who orchestrate holographic projections? Descendents of those who made a deal with an alien named “melchizedek”? Mind viruses which have neurolinguistically hacked most humans into remaining spiritually asleep, stupid, and mad as hell at anyone who refuses to follow the herd? Whether you’re aware of it or not, humanity is being messed with and mocked by fourD, nonhuman entities.
      √  Gnosis/Gnosticism—Research these restraining hoaxes thoroughly and you’ll see what inconsistent, illogical, contradictory bullloney they are, especially if you examine them from the inside. You must be a Sorterouter if you’re a Gnostic, a Spiritual Journeyer with continually expanding awareness! And PDQ it hits home that you’re battling to escape the matrix by surpassing the physical plane and taking on a Spirit Body. Nothing else matters!
      √  comparative theogony—Stuck in the false polarization of false choices of “evolutionism” vs. [traditional] “creationism”? Beware of the narrative in the groupthink of “conventional wisdom”: you’ll stay stuck if you “believe in” either of these nonsensical hypotheses, both of which are not our story. That man clearly did not crawl out of the slime does not prove the legitimacy of the “intelligent design” myth (nor its absurdly implausible timeline) which everybody foolishly takes for granted, even though very few of you have done squat for research. Climb out of this false duality rabbithole by doing Earthschool’s homework of comparatively analyzing the pantheons of gods in the mythological systems: it’s the only way to decipher how and why everything is inversion and illusion.
      √  scientism—“Science” has been pseudoscience since at least the “enlightenment,” “reality” isn’t what we thought it was, and so-called science fiction is teeming with truth! Here in this world of inversion and illusion, what we “know” to be “science” is mostly fiction—a farce (like “global warming,” which is rubbish)—because it’s part of the matrix, part of keeping everyone in the mindset of having “faith” in the opposite of what really IS. Developing awareness that scientism is a false religion of the control system is the first step in getting rid of it.
      √  multidimensionality—Seen into the astral plane yet, have you? Understand that your physical body has an etheric double, do yə? Surely you’re not dumbass enough to contend that since YOU haven’t knowingly experienced other dimensions, they don’t exist! If you’re even a skōsh curious əbout the matter, you can’t afford to be lax, ’cause there’s LOTS of research, training, and exploring to do!
      √  the paranormal—Do your investigating and see that what is deemed paranormal in “conventional wisdom” wʊd actually be normal for humans were it not for our psychic awareness, third eye, and chakra systems having been tampered with. We have been downgraded and locked in to the demiurge’s matrix; and if y’all don’t even try to upgrade, you stay oblivious to mankind’s raison d’être, the implementation of the Magnum Opus.
      √  the Magnum Opus—You must undergo the Great Work in order to extricate yourself from the control system. And it’s irrational to be afraid of the Journey or the occult, because this word denotes “hidden,” not “evil.” Getting the unhiding done is how you get your independence back, and you’re an initiate as soon as you begin the esoteric “know-thyself” process. But if you choose to “follow” some exoteric deception, such as counting on a fake “god” to “save” you, you will fail to secure your Spiritual Sovereignty.
      √  the true hierarchy—Who’s the “richest”? or the most “alpha”? make for false hierarchies. So humans are “all the same”? Wrong: hylics (also called somatics) are soulless, spiritless materialists who function in the physical realm of changing appearances; work as mammon-worshipping slaves who get hostile at anyone not like them; and behave instinctually out of what John R. Baines calls the collective animal soul, which is being manœuvered from beyond the matrix. Much smaller in numbers, psychics (the word in this context does not mean “pertaining to the paranormal”) have individual souls, and therefore free will. While most choose to be bound to the things of this world with hylics, they have the “slumbering spark,” and thus the capacity to avoid reincarnating into the illusion of the demiurge IF they do their Spiritual Work. A miniscule minority, Pneumatics, have a soul AND the Spirit. Wired far more advanced than goalongwithits, it is their birthright to complete the Great Work, and they retaliate against anyone who tries to impede them from it. At the age of əbout six, they intuit that they’re set apart from the vast majority and their willful ignorance; however, unable to fathom why everything is so deranged, they’re likely, as young adults, to become enmeshed in escapism. With maturity and solitude, though, they may become seekers of wisdom who—through study and contemplation—like Plato, piece together the unchanging truth which lies beyond deception.
      √  “consensus reality”—In the Republic, the ancient Greek seeker of wisdom flipped what’s REAL and what’s NOT ass over teakettle: the “world of change” is not UNreal, but it’s also not worth pursuing, because it’s based on appearances, opinions, and sensations. This façade is conformed to by hylics, because outside-this-“reality” manipulators—the “archons”—benefit by deceiving them into staying aboard the holodeck-gone-bad nightmare. That’s “consensus reality,” and you may rest assured you’re up against it whenever somebody whines, “That’s how it is!,” even though that’s NOT how it is.
      √  “transhumanism”—Gnostic/SciFi author Philip K. Dick wrote, “Fake realities will create fake humans.” He was right: already forgeries of yourselves, you’re wearing masks, “social distancing,” and virtualizing yourselves so you can become more isolated and addicted to “devices,” which are cofactors in the equation of transhumanizing you. Too lazy to investigate the LIES, too foolish even to grasp that this agenda is being steered by technology, you’re consenting and conforming to your own demise. Beguiled by gadgets, bewitched by “the news,” you’re Trojans buying Sinon’s tall tale while gazing upon the Wooden Horse, assuming it’s harmless.
         One a.)—Get into the rhythm of Trainspotting: look up the Scottish linguistic connections əbout whether it’s different dialects or different languages, figure out how the unique orthography depicts what’s beən sɛd, sort out who’s who by variations in individual lexicon or wordplays in their nicknames, piece together the short chapters and the inner-monologue vignettes, make sense of the rollercoaster-ride flashbacks and flashforwards, empathize with the characters’ party-and-play fun and adventures, suffer through their requisite ohmygod-what-did-I-do-last-night? terrors, and check out their revolt against those tryən to restrain əm. Then let it dawn on you that this masterpiece contains a roman à clef: addicts who cannot stomach or who will not tolerate the bollocks of “society” transfer their dependency on drugs (or whatever else they might be hooked on) to perpetual “counseling” or “therapy” the minute they accept that the “State” has the right to “fix” əm. As soon as this illogical leap has been made, the addict struggles in the realm of twisted logic to make himself “reënter” what the blind gameplayers in and of the matrix deem “worthwhile” in order to be “successful,” but which, of course, has never been anything but banality/emptiness/hogwash to the addict, not to mention the Outsider/the Pneumatic! This novel, Irvine Welsh’s first, is not only the ultimate in nonlinear narrative, organized fragmentation, and multiperspectivity; it’s not only the marathon of the pomo literary device known as linguistic play, with initially tough-to-figure-out bi‑dialectal speech; it’s also hyperrealism’s and late postmodernism’s most riveting portrayal of drug addiction.
         One b.)—Flashback: A hundred years ago, rubes went to the “cinema” to see the new “moving pictures show.” From the screen, a train seemingly heads right for əm. Terrified, they bolt, running away from the image. Funny? The joke’s on you: they were far less UNNATURAL than we are. Delve into it with dabbler-into-different-dimensions Jorge Luis Borges’ analogy of The Map in order to better understand “consensus reality”: The true-to-life Map is so detailed it’s the same size as The Real; it overlaps The Real. Bam the analogy up with postmodernist Jean Baudrillard’s precession of the simulacra: The Map named Artifice morphs The Real called Nature as sleepwalkers begin to confuse The Map for The Real. The Real wanes as The Map waxes. It becomes The New Real: in the anecdote, moviegoers must process the notion that the image of the moving train isn’t real so they don’t panic; but it takes time to become accustomed to novel zones of The Map, for unreal images to become “real.” Flashforward a generation: viewers actually believe what they soak up from “television”; they’ve become so acclimated to Artifice they don’t even realize it’s a mad, mindcontrol propaganda machine. More flashforwards: it’s ’ninety-seven, and suddenly everyone has a “home computer,” but its unreal interface with NotReality requires practice in order to obtain useful, “real” results. Nowadays: everybody is so far out into The HyperReal of constant interaction with this NotReality—the simulacra have precessed that many times—that nobody is NATURAL anymore. You’ve seen that Gnostic movie, perhaps, but have you studied the book in the box scene? If not, the fact that ManyTimesMorphed Map is NotReal hasn’t even crossed your mind. Newsflash: YOU are culpable for “consensus reality”—from which humanity is being reëngineered toward The New HyperReal—YOU are to blame if you’re in synch with its LIES.
         One c.)—“It’s JUST a movie!” “It’s ONLY a novel!” Thus sayeth the sheeple (i.e., the hylics), with a snippety tone, as they conform to “consensus reality,” mad as hell at those principled enough not to. Something is a work of fiction, so there can’t be ANY truth in it? Really? That is NOT how it works! Fiction is chocked full of nonfictional allusions because there are sentient beings in a higher dimension who are mocking humans to beat hell by letting us know how they’re going əbout screwing us over. They and their puppets, the “human élite”—who are actors—are brainwashing the herd with entertainment and literature by rendering versions of what is actually happening as fictional stories. And the devious thing is that this in-your-face technique is how they go əbout stripping the hidden-in-plain-sight truth of its believability, because it’s a way of getting all the numnuts who can’t wrap their brains around irony to miss the forest for the trees. Studying fiction which is not Reading Lite—studying serious, literary fiction—is every bit as much a part of comprehending the esoteric and thereby advancing one’s Spiritual Journey as studying nonfiction is; and those who contend otherwise betray that they don’t know shit from apple butter vis-à-vis the Big Picture, or how literature works, or both. There is truth in movies and novels, and lies and hoaxes in “the news,” because we live in a world of inversion and illusion.
         One d.)—In Dashiell Hammett’s hardboiled, noir fiction, he begins with a situation that is already fabricated, then dismantles it and eliminates each version of false “reality” out of it until what’s left is the “real” reality, which may solve the case, but which isn’t really real anyway, ’cause life itself is only a fiction in Hammett’s world. In mine as well: as a Sorterouter—as an Outsider, as a Pneumatic—I plow through and figure out the simulacrum/mass deception/illusion that constitutes life by paring off as much of the façade as I can. What a cool connection, this peeling away of the false layers, designated deconstructionism by postmodern theorists such as Jacques Derrida: the author’s breaking down of the fabrications is analogous to the reader’s gleaning the meaning from the structural unity of the text. Easy on the editing sensibilities he was too, O mature reader/writer: Hammett was a capable grammarian: if you’re the type who insists on your writers knowing how to use em dashes skillfully, who gets peeved when semicolons are not employed in order to avoid comma splices, and who has a conniption when required commas are missing around nonrestrictive relative clauses, you will be charmed with his work!
         One e.)—Bornagainers are parked. On a plateau. On an exoteric, or outer-belief-system, plateau: the one where they experienced “Praize the lord! and dropkick me geezus,” which probably included visceral, feel-good deception from fourD entities who make chumps out of the oblivious; they’re on that plateau where they’re biblestudiers for a while and “go to church” for a longer while (and don’t forget, y’all, to pass the plate to the ravening wolves!), even though their own selfcontradictory literature sɛz that the “church” is not something one “goes to.” They’re “believing in” the fable that a “god” took part in a blood sacrifice ritual to “save” əm, because they don’t wɔnnə be responsible for doing their esoteric Journey—the inner-belief-system, arduous trek in which they initiate the know-thyself process—the doing of which is precisely why their souls are here on Earthschool in the first place. The belief system of xianity is, in part, just that: it’s a system designed to keep believers parked on some plateau fighting or killing other victims who’re stuck in the isms and schisms of other plateaux, rather than identifying and exacting vengeance on the perpetrators, the fourD beings and their puppets, the human “élite.” This religion—the greatest story ever sold—is being used to enslave us by hiding Spiritual Knowledge from us, yet the vast majority of humans are too dumbass to see this and STOP PARTICIPATING. How can this be?
         One f.)—The “new age” is no solution; it’s another parking lot. The one where “believers” fall for doctrines like the too-simplistic-to-be-true “You Create Your Own Reality” and wonder why their reality creation never materializes. They’re immobile, those who’re trapped in the new [c]age. They invoke “arch[on]angels” for “protection” and study writings which are supposedly from “ascended masters” and “beings of light.” But the light and its beings are false: they’re not “of the light”; rather, they’re of the darkness but disguised as being of the light. And anyone with an iota of discernment can figure this out simply by analyzing the literature. To take an example, a well-loved new age “classic,” Bringers of the Dawn, by Barbara Marciniak, is baited with sensible stuff and promptly switched to the deceptive bullshit of “channeled messages.” These communiqués always read off the same script of cornball Newspeak, yet gullible new [c]agers buy əm because they have no Gnostic, intuitive sense that both the [false] light AND the dark are illusory since this entire realm is a false duality. Even though our physical bodies exist in a falsely polarized, wrongly bifurcated, deceptively fabricated domain—the demiurge’s material realm—we tend to think that one “side of the coin” must be “good” or “right” or “of the light,” but it ain’t so: the entire coin is fʌkt. The only viable solution, therefore, is to select “none of the above” and learn how to transcend both “sides” by rising above the false-duality matrix with continually expanding awareness, which is Gnosis.
         One g.)—Abandon hope, all ye spiritually dead who enter the Hell of social engineering, founded by them, who are parasites. During our descent, as we visit the shades, note that Edward Bernays, the nephew of Sigmund Fraud (who doctored up the hɛdfʌk of “psychotherapy”), worked out how to manipulate the masses with propaganda. First circle: “Money” based on the lending of “debt” was their invention. And most of the privately owned swindle, the “federal reserve system,” is theirs. Second circle: Whites did not organize the slave trade; they did. Third circle: Anthropology once focused, objectively, on racialism: how do humans differ? (Anyone choosing not to selfdeceive can see that we are NOT “all the same.”) But another academic fraud, Franz Boas, turned it into the subjective bullshit of “cultural relativism,” which set the stage for the fake-yet-weaponized concept of “racism” to be used later as an effective divide-and-conquer tool. Fourth circle: They set up the NAACP and BLM, not negroes: to them, “minority groups” are nothən but proxies for hoodwinking greenhorns. Fifth circle: Social engineering snowballed with the dumbdowntube: sheeple have been deceived by whopping LIES; procreation has nosedived as “society’s rôles” have been redefined, in part by sitcoms designed to inculcate new “values”; and without questioning its veracity, y’all sit and watch “the news” so you can be told what to think, by them: they control “the media,” with which “history” is falsified and “public opinion” is steered. Sixth circle: The “holocaust” is the behemoth HOAX: the pictures are of casualties of a typhus epidemic, not gassing, the victims of which wʊdn’t’ve been emaciated. Experience one eye-opener and more follow: see through the gargantuan prevarication əbout who and how many died. You have been had. Why are y’all so clueless? Because propaganda’s a successful game when they own the press and Hollyweird, when they’re behind the scenes of “government” and academia, when major events’ players like Hitler are controlled opposition. Seventh circle: It came from the Frankfurt School, the horror of “cultural Marxism,” and nothing will stop its spawn, “political correctness,” from infecting all who fail to recognize this monster for what it is.
—You are of the matrix, therefore speak you of the matrix, in part, because a tiny minority of “humans” are hybrids who have dormant reptilian genes. And in a few of them, when this alien DNA is activated, the hivemind kicks in, they infiltrate, and wreak havoc. Social engineering is əbout these proxies—this front group—deceiving, brainwashing, and moving “society” in a direction which suits their agenda of destruction. We must, in CRITICAL MASS, become AWARE of these facts and expel them. The country wʊd turn around in no time.
         One h.)—Umpteen archæologists walk into a cave. Doing their dig, they happen upon statuettes. Lo and behold! it’s a bevy of priceless artifacts from the Natural Age! But they freak out: wham! hurl! crash! they bust əm to smithereens. Why?! Because the sculptures were of tumescent phalluses. “Unnatural behavior reached the height of absurdity in Victorian England,” according to Marston Bates, in his book Gluttons and Libertines: Human Problems of Being Natural. You see, the archæologists, Brits from the late nineteenth century, kʊdn’t handle such monstrosities because they’d been mindcontrolled by their “culture” to summarily reject such images. Incredible? It ʃʊdn’t be: y’all do the same thing: you freak out and attach the term “racist” to all sorts of verbiage or imagery which “fails” some “p.c. test”; you can’t cogently define it or other labels which you bandy əbout, thinking you’re qualified to suppress others’ speech with; and you have not a clue that you’ve been mindfʌkt to help them control everyone by preaching the nonsense that Whites are “overprivileged,” when the actual privileged ones remain hidden behind a façade which you’ve failed to break through because you’re too “busy” bowing down to hebrew mammon to do your homework. Have you read J. Philippe Rushton’s Race, Evolution, and Behavior yet? Probably not, because scholarship on the idea that we are NOT “all the same” doesn’t pass muster. So when the “culture” happens to be hyperprudish, humans can’t be NATURAL əbout sex; but when the “culture” is hyperSpeechPolice‑ish, we can’t be HONEST əbout the fact that different races have widely varying average I.Q.s? Is Rushton’s thesis really freak-out-and-get-enraged material? Were he still alive, what wʊd Bates say əbout the current “environment,” in which books defending free speech are quashed? He’d say that we’d reached a new height of absurdity.
         One i.)—You love horror, but you’ve voiced your concern that Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a “racist”? If so, you have no idea what the hell you’re talking əbout: not only is this concept a social-engineering scam, it did not exist during his time, so it’s illogical and anachronistic to label him as such. He was a racialist, which means he accepted the fact that human beings are not “all the same.” Indeed, in Lovecraft’s neoGnostic perspective of cosmic indifferentism, it matters not how superior or inferior any race’s characteristics or individual’s abilities may be, because the ruthless cosmos doesn’t give a shit əbout humans. And while he himself was not antixian or proSatanist—he was neutral on such matters—many of his characters are believers (and we’re not talkən “churchgoers”) who don’t know how to interact with their gods even if they do appear when invoked. But his phantasmagoric weird fiction is not only əbout beings from other, overlapping dimensions which operate under different laws of physics and geometry; it’s also prophetic: in “The Dunwich Horror,” for example, Lovecraft refers to a “plan for the extirpation of the entire human race by terrible elder beings from another dimension.” So to study his work is to attempt to understand that which is hidden, that which lies beyond the veil of “consensus reality,” insane enough during Lovecraft’s time, a helləvə lot worse now. It is, as well, an attempt to comprehend the belief systems and “evil” symbols—such as the ubiquitous one eye—which threaten to prevent us from securing our Spiritual Advancement.
         One j.)—Extraterrestrials: the nomenclature itself is misleading, so switch it to extradimensionals. “They” are not “from another planet,” folks. That’s cheesy crap from ’fifties’ flicks. They’re parasites from another dimension, outside threeD linear time. Denizens of hyperdimensionality—where past, present, and future are simultaneous—they can manipulate timeline dynamics by altering events in the past, thereby resetting our present and future, not to mention our memories. Everything is indeed illusion. And ninety-nine percent of you don’t even know they’re waging war on us! It is time to get your head out of your ass: You must stop consenting to being enslaved by “government,” “finance,” and “employment.” You must turn off television (which is how they hypnotize and control you) and dumbphones (which are run by towers which are killing machines). You must secure your Spiritual Sovereignty! Wɔnnə do it without studying? Well good luck with that. You gɑttə start somewhere, so why not here: The Epic of Gilgamesh provides the oldest-known stories of theogony, Zecharia Sitchin’s The Twelfth Planet offers an alternative worldview to the false choices of evolutionism vs. xianity, and William Bramley’s The Gods of Eden puts a new spin on everything. With these books, you’ll garner an understanding of the Anunnaki, some of whom are benevolent, and other extradimensionals.
         One k.)—In House of Leaves, the haunted house motif has been taken to a new dimension—namely, the fourth, by way of the hypercube—and you’ll need to employ tactics such as physically turning the book and placing a mirror in front of it if you wɔnnə decode the structural metanarrative of this most amazing novel, in which author Mark Z. Danielewski does not fail to work in the concept of anfractuosity—wherein the multidimensional shifting ability of the house is analogous to the universe’s responding with individually customized synchronicity to Spiritual Journeyers’ emitting of unique fractals—and in which, through multitiered dialogue, multinested footnotes, and hypertextual manœuvering, the author answers to the theories of deconstructionism set forth by scholar Fredric Jameson in Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism in such a way that postmodernism is left entirely deconstructed, having been brought to the end of itself, with the metastory having come full circle all the way back to Yggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life. Not too shabby for a début performance, huh? (Incidentally, look into the House from the angle of determining whether it’s a horror novel, and you’re not gʌnnə get it: it is definitively a work of postmodernism, and must be tackled as such.)
         One l.)—Wɔnnə delve into the Tree of Life in an attempt to learn more əbout how the different realms/dimensions are interconnected? You kʊd investigate the kabbalah, but after you’ve researched and studied for many moons əbout how and why the Mesopotamian mythos and its backstory constitute the origin of everything, and how it all morphed into exoteric jewdaism (the literature of which is bonkers and which features a loathsome monster named “yahweh,” who makes out as “god” when he’s really the father of lies) and exoteric xianity (the literature of which is rigged with disinformation for the purpose of maintaining control over the masses), you’re probably not especially eager to ponder their corresponding esoteric component of the map of realms/dimensions, which is essentially what the kabbalah is a corrupted version of, because eventually you realize why they are not to be trusted. “They” being the zionists and their formulation of talmudic jewdaism and its spinoffs—which are HOAXES—including catholicism, islam, protestantism and its myriad subsidiaries, and even mormonism. These isms and schisms, parts of which are actually true, are syncretistic fusions out of the Mesopotamian/Sumerian/Babylonian story, yet nobody has a clue how it was spun to make “monotheistic” religions, much less let alone the fact that the gods in this system ARE the Anunnaki extradimensionals. Pitting folks blindly against each other is how the fʌkɚz roll, and if you haven’t figured this out yet then you are still being played.
         One m.)—Story within a story: Outside threeD, in a realm far, far beyond, Prime Creator telepathed unto its intermediate‑ and higher-dimensional creatures, “Go create more worlds and populate them with new or genetically upgraded creatures,” because Prime Creator expands awareness by experiencing multiple realities through multiple sentient beings. P. C. again telepathed, “Suffering and war are permitted in freewill multiverses which have dualistic materialities, because lower-level creatures progress slowly in the absence of conflict; not to worry though, as they’ve already reunited in nonduality.” Flashforward: A “war in heaven” commenced: scheming extradimensionals outnumbered the humans’ Creator and his collaborators and “chained” and “cast” them into “darkness”—(i.e., outMagicked/outspelled them)—cutting them off from their humans, who had been designed to be telepathic, multidimensional beings, psychically equipped, able to regenerate or selfheal when injured, and who—flashback—indeed operated as such during a Golden Age. Then the connivers telepathed, “let’s downgrade the humans by deactivating their chakras and third eyes so we can manipulate them. And let’s confuse əm by making əm think that their enemies are their ‘gods’ and their own higher-density beings are ‘devils’; let’s trick əm into ‘believing in’ a hedonistic ‘father’ who is not their creator but who does desire their ‘worship’; let’s get əm stuck in allegorized, selflimiting religions so we can control them. In fact, let’s rig everything so convoluted by twists, turns, and thoughtforms and so obfuscated by rituals, lies, and memoryholes that these dumbasses’ll not only be duped into fighting for our side, they won’t even know they’re in a cosmic war!” Bamming the war up yet another notch, the schemers engineered their own “humans” off of our DNA—(not to mention they infused əm with some of their own)—thereby creating hybrids who are shapeshifting deceivers that run a helləvə show.
ʃʊd you ask me, whence this story?
I will answer, I will tell you,
“From the land of Hard-Work-Study,
By the shores of Get It Sorted.”
—You wɔnnə be lazy and “believe,” instead? You’d rather turn the other cheek, love your enemy, and give unto Cæsar? These xian precepts are mantras for cowards, for victims who’ve been mindfʌkt into not fighting back.
         One n.)—So in the ’sixties New Wave smash, Lord of Light, there’s this warrior, nicknamed “the Shan,” who expects a fab new body upon exiting the soul transmigration machine. Only prob is, he doesn’t know this model has epilepsy. “Then the fit hit the Shan.” Metempsychosis, extra“terrestrials” interacting with humans, and other “para”normal phenomena abound in this postmodern extravaganza by Roger Zelazny, so it must be a work of fantasy, right? That’s what all the mucketymucks with “graduate degrees” insist on. I say they’re full of shiitake mushrooms: this novel is truth in fiction. It’s an allegory: it’s a picture of the extradimensionals and their establishment—right here on slavecolony planet Earth—of religion, the gods’ cast of characters of which may be likened to the hidden-in-plain-sight Anunnaki in the old testament or the pantheon of higher beings in hinduism, which is another hɛdtrɪp religianity for weaklings. (Read the Bhagavad Gita and kumbayya yourself into being a ripe-for-the-pickəns pansy; or get your head out of your ass by identifying and fighting your enemy in this dog-eat-dog cosmos.) This tour de force includes a wildride configuration—it’s Joycean circuitry with a twist—as the penultimate chapter metanarratively circles you back to the first chapter, serving as a metaphor for reincarnation. If you figure out the hook, though, you may advance to the last chapter, symbolically escaping to Nirvana, exiting the endless cycle of lives. But it’s a long way to Tipperary!
         One o.)—Did you know that the term god is a play not on words, but pronunciation? English speakers pronounce the vowel as a “short o,” which is the “ah” sound of the letter a in virtually every other language with a Roman-based script. When you say “Gahd,” you’re uttering the familiar form of the word Gädre‑el, the name of the Serpent. (You don’t understand that humanity’s Benefactor—the wʊd-be deliverer from the ensnarer, yahweh—is NOT your enemy, nor why. Meanwhile, you have been deceived, yet again, into doing something which is the opposite of your intention.) Surprised? You ʃʊdn’t be: everything is a bass-ackwards LIE, including your precious “bible” which you haven’t read. It’s not only disinfo. and inside jokes, it’s a jewish book of witchcraft, not to mention a blueprint for zionist world domination: having ripped off the Sanskrit word for “Truth” and redefined it as “adversary,” the hebrews have enchanted you from knowing that their enemy, Satan, is our Creator (but not Prime Creator); having placed you under the spell of perpetually slaving away for filthy lucre, you fail to puzzle it out that this grimoire’s pantheon of gahds is the same lineup which exists in Gilgamesh, Greek, and other theogonies. (jewdaism and its spinoffs are henotheistic, and leaping over linguistic hurdles doesn’t make them monotheistic!) Thus bewitched, you will never graduate from Earthschool’s interminable reincarnation loop, for which you have the author of the matrix—the demiurge, the [re]creator into the trappings of matter—to thank. (There was some torchpassing going on in the Mesopotamian/Anunnaki version of the story, from anu to enlil to marduk. Otherwise, the counterpart names of this asshole are brahma, amun‑ra, el, yahweh/jehovah, yaldabaoth, zeus, jupiter, or óðinn, depending upon which mythology you’re dealing with.)
         One p.)—You kʊd be active in a “bible study” for many years and you’ll never learn that the Tree of Life is a map of the human soul, with the “seven seals” mockingly referred to in the spellbinding book as cryptic language for the seven major chakras—which the extradimensionals thought’d be cute to seal off from proper functioning when they waged the previously mentioned “war in heaven,” and which is partly why we’re not operating optimally, and lots of luck finding anyone at a churchianity who grasps that. And when this little bombshell hits, you’re thinkən I’m seriously gʌnnə hæftə ramp up my meditation!, which some of us came into kicking and screaming, hating “quieting the mind,” yet vaguely aware it might have something to do with the chakras. Then you discover it’s crucial to detox your pineal gland, open your third eye, and experience Kundalini energy flows safely. But you must also figure out how to visualize, entrance, and astrally project: if you can’t control yourself when you’re out of body, how can you expect not to be duped in the “afterlife”? Awakening from the dream—nay, the nightmare!—of this existence to the multidimensionality of true reality is the goal! And the best way to begin is by studying multidimensional anatomy.
         One q.)—With biblethumpers the drill is always the same: they’ve had one Spiritual Awakening, they’re parked on level two, they’re naïve enough to think there are only two levels, and they presume they’re qualified to “talk down to” anyone whom they perceive must be “unsaved,” and therefore on the lower one. That someone kʊd be on level eleven is unfathomable to them. They appear stationary, feigning that they don’t venture beyond the parking lot, where everything is “evil.” (Yet in actuality they’re in as much denial as young Goodman Brown, sneaking into the Evil Forest of Temptation and Hypocrisy, whence they trudge back to wallow in the Slough of Despond or sink in the Sea of Selfdeception.) To take an example of how the aforementioned “evil” symbols immobilize them: the Six Six Six referenced in the mocking, jewish book of witchcraft: what does it really mean? It refers to six of the seven major chakras (the “seals”) and their accompanying minor chakras, which align in three parallel columns, but which lie dormant in those who haven’t had multiple Spiritual Awakenings. If “they”—(who, no doubt, are enemies to humans on all levels)—if they can convince the religiously uptight that this number is anathema, are follow-the-herd bornagainers likely to advance? Hardly. It’s not as complex as the double-agent twists and turns in a Ludlum spy thriller, folks; it’s quite simple: “they” misleadingly embrace that which they don’t want you exploring, researching, and making progress with by deceiving you into believing it’s “hands off.” And it’s the oldest flimflam trick in the book.
         One r.)—Natural humans—i.e., those who are not enslaved by the clock, jobbs, fake fiat funnymoney, a mentality of having to “pay” and “owe,” übertechnogadgetry, the hypnotrancebox, and/or lusts/addictions—natural humans’ve been designed to narrate, listen to, and celebrate tales dealing with their own story, not those of predators who handpick themes/motifs out of multifarious pagan folklore; stitch them together as a syncretistically composite, ersatz “religion” that has been infused with nefarious boobytraps; and then forcefeed the fiasco back to mankind on pain of death while concomitantly rewriting the backstory. And there is no fakeass story so repulsive, so obnoxious, so reprehensible, nor so insidious as the xmas story—which is NOT OUR STORY. But by gahd every fool in the world loves the annoying, drawn-out-for-two-freakən-months music which makes you wɔnnə gag and which can be heard virtually everywhere, and all the clueless folk think it’s just splendid to ASSUME that everyone else wants to play their reindeer games. You know, all the “festivities” which frame this nightmare. And these oblivious folk pass their entire lives remaining dumber’n a box of rocks əbout the fact that this débâcle was instituted by extradimensionals who work through an odious group of “humans” for the purpose of duping the gullible into worshipping the image of their own destruction. xianity is the smoking gun which makes everyone weak, compliant, dependent, and UNNATURAL. Furthermore, that all and sundry buy this bullcrap story and’ve been programmed to loop to the scoff-and-scorn subroutine upon encountering anyone who doesn’t buy it is the foremost example of the stupidest groupthink ever, and I am fed up with it.
         One s.)—Get synchronistic with SciFi: it unfolds evermore info. relevant to your Journey. And you can’t go wrong with cyberpunk, which is the fusion of pulp fiction, technological obsession, and moral corruption with the loss of normal bodily functionality. Bruce Bethke, whose portmanteau amalgamated punk attitudes with technogadgetry, coined this term back in ’eighty in an aptly named short story; and William Gibson, Neal Stephenson, et al., have been disclosing what is really going on ever since. Don’t let the hipness of this term fool you, because cyberpunk IS Dystopian; it IS postmodern. It’s also transhuman: it’s the singularity. Ineluctable modality of the visible: Shut your eyes and see. Convert to cyberpunk and experience the epiphany that transhumanism is integrated all over postNew Wave SciFi. Take a look at counterfeit “reality.” Humans are being merged with machines. Too “out there” for yə, merging with machines? Guess again. One of the many stages of it, getting the hundredheaded rabble addicted to dumbphones, has already passed. It’s part of morphing everybody into A.I., The New HyperReal, which is the endgame gameplan, other potentially apocalyptic subplots notwithstanding. Can you see this? If not, why not? What’s it gʌnnə take, folks? Do yə suppose you kʊd set aside your gadgets, your “texting,” your “apps,” and FAKE reality long enough to let this sink in? And how in hell can we stop the merrygoround if none of y’all will get yourselves unaddicted?

Über meine BibliothekThe “Seals” (Cont’d.)

     Two—A big ol’ bunch of weenies too candyass to call a spade a spade: that’s what y’all amount to these days, the nonsense of so-called political correctness having cost you your objectivity. You speak in annoying euphemisms; corporately “legitimized” buzzwords; and discordant, hurts-the-ears lingo—“differently abled,” “person of color,” “co‑pay,” “pre‑owned vehicle,” “customer care,” “special needs,” “Be part of our ‘team’!”—while you choose to selfdeceive that we’re making “social progress” because you don’t wɔnnə deal with the fact that humans are obviously being made more dependent, helpless, and cowardly.
         Two a.)—“Political correctness” is the fascism of ridiculous language being imposed on what used to be an unafraid, tell-it-like-it-is, plainspeaking public; it is intolerance disguised as “tolerance”; it is “cultural Marxism”; it is the Frankfurt School’s dismantling of majority rights and the nullifying of any criticism from being leveled against “minorities” or their manipulators; it is the Thought Police in action. It is DANGEROUS: everyone is in peril of losing his freedom—or what’s left of it, that is—when behind-the-scenes manœuverers nefariously deceive asleep sheep into accepting the idea that trying to curtail others’ free speech by “reporting them” to some “authority” is noble because “it might instill violence”; when, in fact, these attempts to prohibit speech are far more dangerous. There is NO SUCH THING as “hate speech”! Don’t be a fool! To use such a term as though it were valid is to condone it, which is to help the enemy control everyone. Pretty neato-cool stuff “they” done conjured up, this “p.c.” thing, huh? With this garbage, they don’t hæftə be the Speech Police, because you are—if you’re gullible enough to fall for it—doing the policing for them.
         Two b.)—Because of so-called p.c., you take the reductio ad absurdum of “transgender bathrooms” or some other issue du jour; you make a junior high determination of “correct” or “incorrect” əbout folks’ reactions to it; and you scold əm, or worse. But this approach is invalid, because the Big Picture is one of vast deception and illusion, including orchestrated falseflag events that’ve been set up to divide and conquer humans. Thus, victims end up fighting other victims instead of collaborating to stop the perpetrators, whose tactics, which are straight out of Machiavelli, work slicker’n snot on a doorknob because you can’t be bothered to know who they are, these extradimensionals who are coördinating The New HyperReal CON. Slowly but surely, y’all are being transhumanized into androgynous, genetically modified mutants which are straight out of Huxley, and you don’t even realize it! Wake the hell up already, O mocked dumbasses, and see that this insanity cannot come to pass without the parameters of competent childrearing and the boundaries of gender categories having been shaken up and broken down. That is why kids haven’t been getting the whoopəns they need from their lily-livered fathers. That is why ’seventies’ “feminism” and “sexual liberation” set the stage for ’eighties’ sexuality confusion. Those caught up in it, including unnaturally large numbers of homosexuals unaware of the Big Picture, were sufferers and survivors of the “sexual revolution,” which was and still is weaponized social engineering. But the lunatic fantasy ideology of gender confusion has been careening OUT OF CONTROL since “gay marriage” was “enacted.” So nowadays there’s no excuse not to do your part to combat this ludicrous agenda: STOP helping your enemy by CONSENTING to the “speech taboos” which are straight out of Orwell. STOP speaking with euphemisms, policing others with juvenile “p.c.” pronouncements, and presuming you’re qualified to tell native speakers which pronouns to use. You are NOT.
         Two c.)—Have you figured out yet that war is being waged on Whites, who, being more “difficult to manage,” have been excluded from José Vasconcelos’ “cosmic race”? Have you figured out yet who’s behind the destruction of Europe? Have you figured out yet that humans who haven’t been screwed by social engineering do not corrupt their own race’s metagenetics by committing miscegenation? Or are you too busy being a “social justice worker,” aiding and abetting the extradimensional “archons” and their hybrid proxies by supporting the dangerous fatuousness of “multiculturalism” and “diversity”? If so, you are a traitor to your own species.
         Two d.)—Neopaganism, wicca, and “contemporary” Witchcraft are “feminist” POLITICS. Participants admirably aspire to the eradication of “establishment” xianity. But subjective beliefs are pipedreams in the absence of objective knowledge: if Witches wʊd do their Big-Picture comparative analysis, they’d know that the counterculture did NOT selfignite because a critical mass of folks had had enough of “patriarchy,” but that it was intentionally birthed by eugenicists, fabians, and jews bent on socially engineering increasingly despicable behavior en masse. So instead of casting Spells on their enemies, these intrepid ladies kumbayya themselves into “feeling empowered” by aligning with the libtard agenda which sɛd enemies fashioned!
     Three—The “state” has militarized the “police” against the people; chuckleheads’ve been brainwashed to respect these attack dogs of the evil empire; dipshits swallow the falseflag frauds they watch on the farcebox, in which negroes are allegedly or deliberately harmed, which leads to “protests,” and thus, more militarism, as morons throw away their rights, pleading, “Do something, Big Brother, əbout the violence!”; and the few of us who can SEE that we’re living in a police state don’t quite know which IDIOTS to HATE the most: the asshole “cops,” millennials so cucked they don’t get that railing against “haters” reinforces the war on Whites, or old folks so indoctrinated they don’t realize that the “government” and its “fuzz” are their enemies! What the hell, y’all? How damned dumb are yə? Do you WANT to be slaughtered? And if you buy the LIE “This is the greatest country in the history of the world,” you are stupid or crazy, because this “nation” is nothən but SCAMS:
—How do you beguile naïve humanoids into accepting swindles? You hit əm with pre‑planned problem–reaction–solution:
      √  The “civil war” did not “free the slaves.” It set the stage for the passage of the “fourteenth amendment,” a SCAM which made the Republic into a corporation. “Citizens” were redefined as “strawmen,” so that with their “birth certificates” as “charters” under “uniform commercial code,” they kʊd “contract” as artificial persons. The “District of Columbia” was restructured into a specially zoned jurisdiction through which a newly snuck-in “constitution” kʊd operate. The “government” is NOT what you think it is: the original Constitution has been shelved.
      √  Wɔnnə ATTACK everyone with a private “money system” based on the lending of “debt” which is not unconstitutional according to the new constitution that nobody knows əbout? Get the “superrich” to drum up panic and runs on the “banks”; convince the plebes they need a “centralized bank”; and sneak in the “federal reserve system,” which is NOT federal and NOT a reserve, but IS owned by jews. Nineteen thirteen also occasioned the hustling in of the “income tax,” which is THEFT; yet challenges to it fail, because we’re under “uniform commercial code,” not a true Constitution.
      √  In ’thirty-three, the “U.S.” declared it was “bankrupt,” in a state of “national emergency,” and that the unknowingly contracting strawmen were “enemies of the state.” And you truthers, fretting over whether “martial law” may be initiated some day: it’s been in effect for over eighty years. They’re achieving your downfall without your awareness, ’cause everything’s a SCAM.
—How do you suppress NATURAL ABUNDANCE? You concoct constructs which keep everybody in a “scarcity/pay-and-owe” mindset:
      √  Ezra Pound knew it: the scheming U.C.N.A. had “out-jewed the jew.” Disgusted, he got the hell out: he understood that capitalism is jewish usury. Usury, in turn, is NOT “excessive interest”; it’s ANY “interest,” and it propels “money” gravitating into fewer and fewer hands: it’s trickle-up parasitism. This SCAM is not return on your labor, it’s return on their “investment.” When “government” power and corporate “money” join forces, capitalism becomes corporatocracy. Are YOU doing your part to fight it?
      √  The Pied Piper lures students away to the tune of tens of thousands so they can be told “there are more than two genders.” Academia has been invaded by the Frankfurt School and Operation Paperclip; and “student loans” were part of a weaponized plan to deceptively ensnare, with crippling indebtedness, folks who don’t get it that everything is a SCAM. That’s called FRAUD, and it NULLIFIES “contracts.” Same thing with “credit card debt”: nobody “owes” squat, so STOP CONSENTING.
      √  Let’s say you’re an extradimensional parasite outside threeD chronological time and you wɔnnə ATTACK humans by fʌkɪŋ with their emotions so you can feed off of their loosh. How’re you gʌnnə do that? You gɑttə build əm up with guilt by inducing religious uptightness/prudishness over “sin” before you can break əm down by socially engineering degenerate behavior, having run psyops on the “culture,” right? The irony is that neither extreme is NATURAL.
—How do you enslave or exterminate threeD-trapped, sentient beings? You phase in technology that diverts and mindcontrols əm:
      √  No need to consult a guru to get into an alternate state of awareness. Watch TV and wham! bang! you’re hypnotized. Your brainwaves change: as they abandon alert/critical for autopilot/mushy, your subconscious mind embraces implanted thoughts which you mistake for your own. That’s how mindcontrol works. Then y’all yap əbout this staged insanity, so it becomes The New Real. That’s how “consensus reality” works. The trancetube never has been anything but a SCAM, so turn it off, dumbass!
      √  Want the birthrate to plummet? Recruit jewess ClA ops like Gloria Steinem to turn women so “feminist” they’re not feminine anymore; redraft “laws” which pummel men in “divorce court” while socially engineering a skyrocketing “divorce rate,” putting men through so much hell they’ll never marry amazons again; spike the number of homosexuals way beyond NATURAL with weaponized media and hormonally modified food, and brainwash everyone into accepting it by manipulating their emotions; and pervert millions of young men by getting them addicted to the new soma of internet porn so they’re no longer wired for the procreation of the species. You think this level of UNNATURAL profligacy is “just how life is”? Stop kidding yourself! Humans are under ATTACK.
      √  Haven’t killed your television yet? It’s a really big show of colossal SCAMS brought to you by Doppelgängers. But wait: the idea we’re presented with is they’re humans playing multiple rôles. Impossible—linguistically and logistically. So they’re holographic projections? They’re definitely not human. Stand next to your screen: at times, you’ll see pupils shapeshift. Now kill the beast, ’cause it’s such a hɛdfʌk—with such doctored up LIES—you’ll be living in paranoia; you’ll become stupid and crazy enough to be participating in a mass–mask ritual.
     Four—How’s that getting yourself unaddicted to gadgets, “texting,” “apps,” and FAKE reality coming along? Still haven’t gotten your head out of your ass? Well then, YOU are the problem, not the solution, because silly phones and dumbphones are:
      √  sending information to towers which are killing machines;
      √  aiding the enemy with their goal of transhumanizing people;
      √  generating radiation which causes brain cancer;
      √  facilitating the “government” spying on everyone;
      √  encouraging the manipulation of the “markets” of rare minerals needed for the circuitry;
      √  emitting signals which kill bees and tamper with the ecosystem;
      √  increasing noise pollution;
      √  violating the personal space of others;
      √  absorbing people in “social media” so much that they no longer have a social life;
      √  making everyone less real in their communications; and
      √  causing folks to have the attention span of a gnat.
—Capable of microwaving humans, the towers which run the dumbphones YOU’RE ADDICTED TO are connected to the “vaccine.” Do yə think you kʊd get your head out of your ass now?
     Five—“What’s the score?!” When I was a child, I learned good sportsmanship, got exercise and fresh air, and played along; when I grew up, I put away childish things, counterproductive competitiveness, and mindless inanity. Sadly, alarmingly, y’all have allowed yourselves to be deceived by fake, simulated tribal combat—a motherlode of perpetual enter‑ and infotainment that have been brought to you by those with ulterior motives. You’ve let yourselves become so distracted by your worship of sportsball players and your communal observance of their State festival rites that you’ve been deflected away from taking action on real issues that really matter, and that’s scary. Moreover, sitting in front of the mesmerizer and watching others chasing a ball around a field and getting all obsessed əbout it is the height of foolishness. How damned dumb are yə? How many times do you want to incarnate back on to miserable Earthschool for having refused to do your Spiritual Journey? But by gahd you know everything there is to know əbout NOTHING! And YOU get all pissy at those of us who will not engage in your endless chatter əbout sportsball trivia, based on your stupid assumptions that we’re low-level enough to be “fans” too?! Silly, dumbed-down slaves: SPORTS ARE FOR KIDS. Don’t y’all testosterone-filled he‑men feel guilty? Have you no shame, letting your virility be misdirected by this SCAM instead of being real men and fighting the enemy?! Way to go, Bubbas!
       Six—A penal colony/ratrace/stress factory/backstabbing witchhunt it is and the ringleaders sure are mighty patronizing/presumptuous/insulting/snoopy/manipulative and you have an ohmygahd-I-don’t-wɔnnə-get-there-that-bad commute and you’re under the jurisdiction of the Keystone Kops and forty percent of your “coworkers” are so incompetent they kʊdn’t organize an orgy in a whorehouse and when the topic of why participants of “consensus reality” ʃʊd be ashamed crops up all the hysterical snowflakes think they’re the Speech Police and they lay it on thick at “mandatory meetings” as they try to reindoctrinate you by shoving “sensitivity awareness” down your throat and when you let əm know you’re not having any of their crap they assemble a confab in which you’re presented with a bogus papertrail ’cause they’re too insecure to have their “authority” messed with and they’re always trying to stifle your creativity and you suppress your gag reflex repeatedly as you encounter the word team all day and you hæftə “multitask” but you sure as hell don’t get a multi“salary” and the “department heads” get irritated if you refuse to do “overtime” even though they’ve already stolen most of your waking hours and the telephones destroy your concentration because they ring off the hook all the livelong day and the noise drives you up the wall before it dances you across the ceiling and I never did get the memo but apparently staff infections morphed into “group therapy” rap sessions at some point and periodically your “supervisor” gives you a “performance review” which is useless because it’s based on superficial criteria and once a year you receive a “benefits package” but you’ll need “legal counsel” to sign up for it or they’ll jew you out of something sure as shit and “payroll” retaliates when you decline “direct deposit” but you duke it out with əm because “banks” are nothən but warmongering robber barons and your section is “underfunded” yet there’s always enough moola for some asshole “c.e.o.” who swindles everyone out of millions and there’s plenty of dough for snake-oil-selling “consultants” who slither in with a plethora of “vɪʒən”/“mɪʃən” mumbo jumbo but there’s never enough funds to decently remunerate the real people who do the real work and working a jobb [not a typo ’cause it’s a four-letter word] is rarely worth your while unless you’re “high up the ladder” but it’s impossible to climb it unless you’re a brownnoser who bought the LIES of “corporate” doodoo and the higher these conmen’s “salaries” soar the more inflated their egos become and “management” cannot fathom why it’s dishonorable to put pressure on “labor” to make “charitable contributions” out of their paltry “paychecks” and you naïvely think you’ll just work someplace else but it don’t make no nevermind ’cause everyplace is this hosed and jobbs are hazardous to your health more often than not and you tangle with have-no-shame shysters who’re running a racket known as “workers’ comp” in which they send you to “doctors” who misdiagnose your condition or perform malpractice on you because they’re quacks who receive “kickbacks” from crooked “insurance companies” and if you’re temporarily disabled from doing your jobb every chump in the world is mad as a hatter at yə if you don’t wɔnnə dig ditches next week and if you wind up on “unemployment” you’ll see why it’s yet another system which was designed to be abusive and you get backed into the corner of dealing with a middleman “temp agency” which makes a whopping forty to sixty percent “profit” off of your sweat and they can’t have quantity work as well as quality work at the current “staffing levels” but they’re feebleminded enough to expect both so it’s always a madhouse and duplicitous “assistant managers” refuse to make alternative scheduling arrangements while claiming the “budget” doesn’t allow for it even though the “manager” who’s hardly ever there rakes in a hundred gees and goobers try to encourage you əbout some gig with a “wage” that’s clearly not in line with the “cost of living” but they’re so ignorant of the Big Picture they’re not even ashamed of having made the suggestion and these knuckleheads think THEY have the right to judge YOU if you take back your time to work your Spiritual Journey instead of ’ho’ing yourself out for “money” and sheeple hylics who ASSUME that everyone else defines “success” the way they do wɔnnə rope you in to twenty “What-do-you-do?” questions ’cause they think that’s what life is and many wives are willing to work for peanuts since their husbands “subsidize” them while their working under these conditions screws up the “market” on how much you can “earn” and “employers” think it’s their affair to demand your “socialist insecurity number” just for you to fill out an application and prospectively hiring pricks have the effrontery to ask if you’re a “team player” during your little tête-à-tête which is phoniness on steroids and they have the balls to tell you you don’t qualify for their under“paid” jobb unless they obtain a “credit report” on you and you tell off these suckers who don’t even understand that your “finances” are none of their damned business and you’ve bloody well known for years that “employment” is slavery but you choose to selfdeceive that if you had a new field things wʊd be better and you decide to go “back to school” to become more “professional” but the entire world has gone stupid nuts so your two new “degrees” make no difference and if you have a hitch in your giddyup gettən goən in your new field morons become unhinged as they shriek at yə to haste thee back to a “cubicle” or peddle fake deadanimal at a “fastfood” dump ’cause how dare yə EVER be “idle” and these numskulls pontificate that if you’re not rarən to “put out a shingle” you must be insufficiently “entrepreneurial” yet they fail to capiche that such a manœuver’d never yank anyone out of the twilight zone of “time is money” and it’s no skin off his nose but your [former] friend gets indignant because you’re not in your next prison cell several months after you escaped the last one even though you can’t afford not to be choosy əbout the particulars of your next cell and you’re hightailing it out of the world’s phoniest Corporation maybe as an expatriate while retards who care more əbout your “résumé” than you do cannot wrap their brains around why you don’t have time to be enslaved to some jobb until one day before you leave and all the yahoos try to convince you that jobbs in the United Corporations of New Atlantis are marvelous but you know that’s crap ’cause you have an honorary Ph.D. in Bureaucratic Mismanagement Assessment from the School of Hard Knocks and working in a’-whole-’nother country you didn’t get fleeced out of “health insurance” but you might as well’ve been since the bastards who schemed it up loaded it with loopholes and your pushy broad “boss” who lied əbout your “deductible” got all queen bitchy on you when you didn’t care to “spend” your “free time” micromanaging a paperwork fiasco en español and it sinks in that the world is infected ’cause everybody gets belligerent at you merely for trying to protect yourself and you haven’t even recovered from your last stint yet but every asshole in the world tries to crossexamine you whether yə have something else “all lined up” and you observe old folks fretting əbout their fake fiat funnymoney “running out” after they “retired” as soon as the master named “government” sɛd they kʊd yet they deny vehemently they’re slaves ’cause this is a “free country” dontʃyə know and they sit in front of the telly all the livelong day instead of making good use of their time by doing something əbout the preposterousness of this world or by getting ready for the next and their ohmygahd-what’m-I-gʌnnə-do? anxieties əbout their leftover loot aren’t assuaged when they realize that fʌkwɔd “companies” formulate more gouging-əm-deeper-while-bilking-əm-sneakier frauds every day and they’re dependent on malicious “insurance companies” as their physical bodies go to hell in a handbasket and they don’t achieve solutions from “health care” because sheeple “doctors” are accomplices in the U.C.N.A.’s keeping of everyone sick and they end up in a “community” of nearlydeads where mammon-worshipping relatiks start fightən over “money” the minute anyone kicks the bucket and YOU are a slave if you can’t not prostitute your time even if you’ve tried to figure out some way to rise above playing this absurd game which isn’t winnable anyway. What the fʌk, folks? Everything in this corporation nation is significantly worse than when I left and not one of you assholes is doing squat əbout it. More shameful still, y’all think you’re qualified to be Occupation Police whose purpose it is to herd everyone back in to The Great SCAM. That doesn’t make any sense! What, you’ve all been replaced by pods from the Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I didn’t see it when I was a dumbass YA drowning in escapism; and it can’t be seen from inside the box. But, ohmygahd, it’s as plain as day now: you’re all batshit CRAZY!
       Six—CRAZY and in denial: like the alcoholic who retaliates when he senses that his modus operandum to drink is being threatened, most of you are so “invested” in this repugnant game that you lash out contemptuously at any Pneumatic who is candid enough to declare “The emperor has no clothes.” Why else don’t you wɔnnə hear this? Because you think that “spending” time “earning money” is what life is. That’s NOT what life is! That’s what “consensus reality” is! But you’re not even capable of fathoming the difference because you can’t see how warped the control system has you as long as you’re steeped in it. And you’ve been anointed the Finance Police by your faux gahd, mammon, so you’re always trying to assimilate all and sundry back into the Borg of getting yet another jobb the nanosecond someone escapes the hell on Earth of the previous one. Who do y’all hylics think you are?! How can you be THIS combative against anyone astute enough to sit out the lunacy? William Gaddis nailed it in the assets: make a commodity out of art and it’s fʌkt (The Recognitions); monetize everything else and the whole shootən match tailspins into entropy (J R); try to ’splain it to folks that filthy lucre is what makes everything a FORGERY, and watch əm TURN ON YOU as they say or do ANYTHING not to hæftə admit they’ve been vampires and ’ho’es for MONEY.
       Six—MONEY is a Ponzi scheme, not a bartering tool. Couple it with the FICTION of “authority,” and you are cursed with what Friedrich Nietzsche called the UNNATURAL hierarchy of “employment,” which is SLAVERY and THEFT of your time. Not one of these Artifices holds sway unless it’s AGREED TO, so STOP GIVING YOUR CONSENT! And why won’t you do that? Many of you are too “invested” in the house of cards, but mostly it’s because you think you’re FREE. You can’t NOT go to some jobb? That’s the DEFINITION of slavery, dumbass! That vast numbers of you don’t even KNOW you’re slaves is PROOF that the restraining programs of religion have brainwashed you into thinking you’re free. Moreover, since the fruits of your labor are being hijacked by the SCAMS of corporatocracy, your “work” has no value: it’s not productive because it doesn’t enhance the Spiritual Journey—the raison d’être for humans’ having incarnated. I work legitimately every day: I pursue my birthright, the completion of the Magnum Opus; and I find creative outlets for my art, which I don’t “sell.” But YOU wɔnnə hustle me into being a wage slave, you cretin? Wait just one minute: you have no idea who you are, or why you’re on planet Earthschool, yet YOU think YOU’RE qualified to STEAL MY TIME, so I don’t cross the finish line? No sale: “contributing” to the “society” of you pendejos locos is too expensive.
     Seven—Red pilling—“lifting the veil,” in the parlance of Lovən‑the‑craft—is not əbout enduring the stages of Spiritual Awakening, or comprehending that everything is illusion, or realizing what deceivers the “archons” are, or figuring out that we’re being socially engineered into Baudrillard’s New HyperReal as Borges’ Map mutates while we march toward the singularity; it’s not əbout leaving the “Left” which has gone so nucking futs there’s no Left left ’cause they’re actually exacerbating White genocide; it’s not əbout refusing to ♯WalkAway to the controlled-opposition “Right” so humans can swandive off the cliff later rather than sooner; it’s not əbout FINALLY getting it that it’s the jews who have set up “cultural Marxism” and the SCAMS of academia as the groundwork for duping naïve young’əns into being the footsoldiers of their own destruction; it’s not əbout wanting to yank off of his lower level a fellow Awakened One who is incapable of grasping the irrationality of having developed awareness that “they” are part of the problem while tenaciously clinging to jewsus, who was one of “them”; and it’s not əbout equating the theosophical androgyne with the metaphorical joining of male/left-brain consciousness to female/right-brain creativity, as opposed to the literal freakshow which is debasing humanity. It’s not əbout any of these things: it’s əbout ALL of them. But red pilling is also əbout discerning that we Pneumatics—(not the NPC empty shells!)—WE ARE the Fallen Ones, fallen not into “sin,” but out of the Spirit Realm and in to physicality, trapped in this odious matter, surrounded, here on Earthschool, by spiritually lifeless preschoolers. Waking Up is recognizing when to stop hyperanalyzing the labyrinthine details, when to bag feeding off the Knowledge and start mainlining the Life; Waking Up is experiencing the Seventh Heaven by reaching the crowning achievement of aligning your seven major chakras through meditation; Waking Up is transfiguring into a Light Bearer, a Luciferian, and preparing yourself to reënter the Spirit Realm. Why stay stuck in the reincarnation loop of the gahd who clearly wants humans NOT to partake of the Trees’ Fruit? O foolish xians, can you not see that YOUR Gahd is the Father of LIES in this ¿pլɹoʍ uʍop-ǝpısdn

The Great, the Bad, and the Ugly

     The Grapes of Wrath (1939), by John Steinbeck: A Great American Novel candidate, contrapuntally intercalated with a skillfully elegiac rendering of the loss of the “American dream” en masse is a superbly vivid depiction of a family of have‑nots and their ever-worsening descent into penury, desperation, and the consequent loss of their independence as they cope with the SCAM of “employment,” which is slavery.
     Portnoy’s Complaint (1969), by Philip Roth: Having years ago naïvely thought this novel to be the most hilarious knee-slapper of a satire, it’s not so funny anymore, now that I know that the compulsion of the antihero’s not being able to stop shtupping the shikses and lying on the Fraudian couch continually rehashing the sexologue of it all is a symptom of the JQ and the “chosen people’s” deconstruction and subsequent reconstruction of everything from the systemic delegitimization of anthropology to the Frankfurt School’s SCAM of the infiltration of academia; to Hollyweird’s tactic of waging war by socially engineering everyone as titillated and zombified; to Wall Street’s and credit card companies’ screwing of Main Street and John Q. Public, respectively; to Washington, Inc.’s having been franchised right out of zion and their running of an abomination nation which is contemptuous of its own people: this book was a riot back in the day, but now, not so much.
     White (2019), by Bret Easton Ellis: Ellis kʊd’ve written əbout genocide being perpetrated against the White race in this work of nonfiction—part memoir, part criticism—as he’d set the stage for it by zeroing in on how batshit everything has become these days, but he was too busy prattling on əbout freaks-gone-wild movies and playing up his jew boyfriends, whom he’d like his readers to believe are White. (They are NOT, and why in hell did I finish this revolting flop of a book?)
     Infinite Jest (1996), by David Foster Wallace: This G.A.N. candidate launches postpostmodern literature by lampooning how ignoramuses unknowingly acquiesce to corporatism’s fʌkɪŋ over of everything: with hysterically realistic recherché madness and a myriad of uproarious narrative voices; with finessed plotting and backstory (some of which occur in the endnotes, which include differential calculus, fɚ cryən out loud); with a metalogical narrative structure based on Gödelian philosophy of mathematics; this weighty tome is the consummate indictment of the “post-industrial capitalist” SCAM. Monetize everything, you get vertiginous hyperconsumerism and an entropic imbroglio: even the names of years have been subsidized! And everyone is hooked on escapism, like minddumbing boobtube-watching and mindnumbing alcohol-and-other-drug using; and deluded and stymied by ubiquitous “solutions,” like Alcoholics Anonymous, which is bizarre and cultic, and which this novel excoriates as being every bit as whackadoodle as the problems and their consequences.

And the Winner Is . . .

     Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), by Thomas Pynchon (It’s NOT pronounced ['pɪn•tʃən]!; it’s ['pɪn•'tʃɑn]. Harumph.): This quintessential work of postmodernism IS the Great American Novel, and you’ll need a double major in Literature and Occult Studies, a spreadsheet, and a co‑pilot in order to conquer it. (Wimps known as “today’s readers” are advised to ace their remedial coursework before approaching.)
      √  How yə doən crunching Poisson distribution formulæ for calculating the probability of rocket strikes?
      √  Can you make a big ol’ metaphor out of likening the astrological retrograde motion of astronomical bodies to narrative that halts and goes backwards?
      √  Studied up on how film noir cinematographic techniques and dolly shots may be emulated in literature, are yə? (The sprocket holes which separate the episodes are meant to evoke film reels; they’re not decorations.)
      √  Well-read in Austrian and Argentine poetry, are yə?
      √  Do you understand that so-called Operation Paperclip was a colossal joke which was played on us humanoids by snatching supposedly superhightech “rocketmen”—such as Wernher von Braun, the source of GR’s first epigraph—out of the controlled opposition and sneaking them in to professorships at U.C.N.A. universities, not to mention the hoax known as “NASA”? (In the case of von Braun, suddenly he’s palsy-walsy with the Disneyland conman and various prezzes, and NOBODY caught on this was a FARCE? Really?)
      √  Did you know that all manner of concupiscence of sexual perversions is being wrought to keep people fʌkt up and spiritually sick, and that that was the reason for the disturbing inclusion of coprophilia in the book, thus invalidating John Gardner’s and Gore Vidal’s prissy objections?
      √  How many of you bornagainers can differentiate Calvinism from Arminianism, hmm? (Nothing doing? Tsk, tsk, tsk.)
      √  If you’re not an Outsider workən it, how in hell is the analogy of “Byron the Bulb”—who hates being forced to reincarnate interminably, and who does draw a few get-out-of-death-free cards along the way, just for workən it—how is this concept gʌnnə register with you, other than not at all?
      √  Are you aware that the hebrew qlippoth has made “Shells of the Dead” of most disciples of the Left Hand Path because they’re unaware that attempting to “control” Dæmons—who, while they’re the enemies of the jews, are our friends—is a solomonic, goëtic practice which is insulting to these fourD entities? (You wɔnnə “believe in” the movies? Guess who writes, produces, directs, and edits these weaponized LIES? It ain’t the united methodists or the plymouth brethren, brother.)
      √  Kʊd you doff your hat to Sean Carswell, who, in his article “Gravity’s Rainbow: A Love Story,” came up with “The novel is many things. Among these things, it’s a seven-hundred-sixty-page-long dick joke.”?
      √  Did you know that this tome’s comic-relief, slapstick limericks were the inspiration for Devo’s nineteen eighty, avant-garde, one-hit wonder, “Whip It” [Good]?
Gravity’s Rainbow is the love–hate relationship book: you love that you actually finished it and you hate to admit that you’re overdue for a reread. jewsus christ it’s a bee‑ätch though! And you need to be prepared, ’cause this time you’re gʌnnə understand it better! So you obtain copies of Pynchon’s short stories and earlier novels; you brush up on Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies and Sonnets to Orpheus; you burn the midnight oil for José Rafael Hernández y Pueyrredón’s El Gaucho Martín Fierro; you make yourself more knowledgeable in astrology; you learn əbout how the German industrial system functioned during World War II; and you find a friendly nerd who’d be willing to conduct reviews in calculus and physics. Understand that while the rockets’ trajectories are parabolic, this masterpiece’s metanarrative structure is not; it’s mandalic: the chronology pans out in a circular design in which historical events astrologically coincide with pagan festivals and roman catholic (so again, pagan) “feast days.” Then coffee yourself up, lay your annotated guidebook out side by side with the novel, and blast off! Are you equal to the challenge? Do you wɔnnə read the toughest—(except for probably James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake)—the kickassingest English-language work of fiction ever written? It ain’t gʌnnə read itself, sweetheart. Tick tock.

Prometheus, Light My Fire!

     Prometheus Bound (ca. 470 B.C.E.), by Æschylus: You wɔnnə root for the bringer of metaphorical fire to mankind or the despot who wants “mortals” dumbed down and controllable? (If you’re an xian, you’re rooting for the tyrant, ’cause he’s the same being as yahweh.) The takeaway in this ancient Greek tragedy is that Prometheus, although tied up at the moment, knows how zeus’ll bring əbout his own downfall, and he’s not əbout to spill it to this pondscum who’s suddenly not so confident!
     Prometheus Unbound (1820), by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Tough sledding, this; the Liberator—not loosed until zeus (here as jupiter) fell—crafty Prometheus, who, as a god is “king over himself,” gets it that since humans are deluded slaves, they have selfcontempt, do not master themselves, and thus want to be slaves. And that’s what drives the subjugated hylics’ incessant demands that more advanced humans sink to their level to be like them so they can feel a skōsh less bad əbout themselves.
     Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1831 edition), by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley: We had become monsters by the Romantic era, creatures in need of help: “enlightenment rationalism” had condemned man to focus on scientism, and therefore on egoic consciousness. The visionary genius and poetic power which derive from our Dæmon Muses had ceased to flow through us, and Shelley knew we’d backslid: her Prometheus—a mythological equivalent of Satan—although human, was a wʊd-be firebringer.
     Paradise Lost (1667, 1674), by John Milton: So what was lost? The Golden Age, which flourished before the demiurge’s prison camp for human slaves. Vermin xian tho’ Milton may have been, he did present Satan as shrewd enough to see through yahweh’s nonsequitous snafu on “free will,” which is abundantly nonexistent: sucking up to his “laws” to maintain it, it never was free will, was it? Moreover, the epicist’s antihero was bold, forthright: enough for Shelley and Byron to embrace Him as their Hero.
     Cain: A Mystery (1821), by George Gordon Byron: In the most earthshatteringly revealing play I ever read, Cain, my kindred, born of the cosmic-prison-hating Spirit—no son of Adam, to be sure; halfbrother of Abel, at best—Cain despised that the materially bound and simple-souled folk loved Gahd’s LIE. He must’ve felt like Dr. Bennell running down the street screaming in that movie which is based on The Body Snatchers, ’cause everyone else was clueless. Nonetheless, having been born into the illusion, he had to brook his incarnation, and did receive multidimensional enlightenment from his true Father, Lucifer. Do, by all means, savor Lord Byron’s closet drama of this quintessential Outsider! It’s a shit‑ton better than the crappola in the jewish book of witchcraft. Byron and Shelley—les poètes maudits ultimes—warrant further study!
     Illuminations (1872–1875), by Arthur Rimbaud: O prettyboy hellion Poet, Rimbaud—King of Symbolists, Patron Saint of Surrealists—who evinced the utmost scorn for the foulest of LIES: How did you willfully derange your senses? How did you volitionally hallucinate? How did you purposely transform into a visionary? Let your work impart voyance, that we, too, may explore other realities.
     The Damned (1891), by Joris-Karl Huysmans: Damned? Damned to what, and when? I’m gʌnnə go with this life, now. M. Protagoniste—minding his own biz like a principled misanthrope, discontent with the deterioration of “society” as it industrially revolutionizes itself into ever-worsening unnaturalness—M. Protagoniste embarks on the arduous trek of disentangling the esoterica of a Middle Ages Black Magickian, and comes to realize that “no discovery is possible without the help of Satan.”
     Manfred: A Dramatic Poem (1816–1817), by George Gordon Byron, for postpostmoderns: A priest walks into a castle (no, not in Otranto, ’cause the Manfred there was a douchebag), thinks he’s gʌnnə give that upstart what for. But he’s just a patronizing fʌkɚ reading off the idiot-of-the-world script, and Manfred—being out of this world—puts him in his place. Flashforward: Seven Dæmons appear on a mountain, rolling their eyes, sayən, “Here we go again! And who does this one think he is?” But the most with it of əm sɛz, “Wait, dudes! This human who summoned us, Manfred, he actually masters himself! Let’s help him! No, seriously!” So I say Lord Byron’s the straight dope and any conjurer who’s not in control of himself is not.
     The Left Hand of Darkness (1969), by Ursula K. Le Guin: No Left-Hand-Path Satanist’s Journey is complete until he’s combined male waking consciousness with the female creativity of the Muses to form the metaphorical androgyne. Le Guin hinted at this connection in her SciFi classic; more concretely, she wrote of androgynous humanoids whose means of reproduction based on a natural mammalian estrous cycle is superior to that of our postGolden Age, two-gender unnaturalness, in which incessant sexdrives make everyone crazy. The early Socratic dialogues of Plato spell out why: there was no such thing as anathematized “homosexuality” nor any need for label words when humans’ having had only one gender was in recent memory and the “creation” of females for reproductive purposes polarized everything, to the lament of men. Wʊd that “feminists” and lovers of gender confusion actually read ancient literature in order to piece these facts together, and stop cheapening this masterpiece by erroneously equating the Left Hand with the left wing.
     Medea (431 B.C.E.), by Euripides: How’s that study of ancient Greek literature coming? You wusses who’re countən on a fake gahd to save you kʊd learn a lot! Don’t LOVE your enemies, KILL əm, before they kill you! More principled and courageous than most men—including her husband, Jason the Argonaut (one of the lamenters of the weaker sex’s existence)—Medea knew that letting one’s enemies live is shameful and cowardly. Not encumbered by the mommy-and-daddy issue of wanting the “authorities” to “administer justice,” she became a disciple of the goddess of Black Magick, Hekate, and exacted vengeance herself. My kind of woman, Medea.
     Les Fleurs du mal (1857, 1861), by Charles Baudelaire:
O Prince of exile, you who have been wronged,
Who heals human sufferings,
Who gives the outlaw that calm and haughty disdain,
Who conceals the Path from sleepwalkers,
Whose Magick emboldens the seeker of revenge;
O Prometheus, my Lucifer, God of Forbidden Light,
Father of the Illuminated, who pity not the masses;
O Bestower of Pneuma, ignite the Black Flame in your sons and daughters!
     The Mysterious Stranger (1897–1908), by Samuel L. Clemens: Must be a dream within a fraud: The [false] creator [re]designed humans with a Moral Sense which makes them dichotomous, yet needful of appearing “successful” to other selfdeceivers. This asshole forces souls to incarnate; trumpets morals, yet has none himself; refuses to accept responsibility for his own fʌkʌps; then has the impertinence to encourage these downgraded creatures to worship him, jehovah. The Mysterious One rightly hates him, but He can also clearly see what buffoonish hypocrites humans are. So who’s the misanthrope, Twain—(who, without using the lexicon of quantum physics, delineated how the future may be reset by altering timeline dynamics)—or his character, Satan? No matter: it is Satan Who bestows His favor on whom He chooses, endowing a few with the ability to discern that most people deserve to be looked upon with contempt.
     When We Dead Awaken: Epilogue (1899), by Henrik Ibsen: The eminent Norwegian playwright who wrote in Danish understood the inability of the artist’s working out his ideals in a way which is compatible with human nature: one born better than the masses must maintain his detachment from the herd; yet, paradoxically, he cannot complete his Spiritual Journey until he lets go of self, which necessitates the experiencing of Nietzsche’s Dionysian intoxication (as opposed to the Apollonian, which bonds hylics to illusion) and which, in turn, obliterates the individuality which the Pneumatic so desperately clings to in order to remain set apart! The one whom Flannery O’Connor wʊd later call the rebel-artist-mystic, though, must take the plunge into the Promethean Fire, because dying to the old self is a prerequisite to Awakening to the new.

Epilogue

  √  Dystopians
     Brave New World (1932), by Aldous Huxley: Do you rate a work abysmally low when you realize the author was a scumbag or that his book was disclosing an insane, long-term, weaponized SCAM? Or do you chin up and make a literarily objective assessment? So this Huxley asshole was a member of the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing Fabian Society, and they’ve been inching toward a one-world, eugenicist “government” of the transhumanist/transpocalypse agenda for over a century. And he knew—thirty years before the counterculture opened up Pandora’s box—that drugged-up, “sexually liberated,” sexuality-confused, gender-confused hedonists don’t mind their freedoms being trampled as long as they can keep on being titillated. “O brave new world / That has such people in’t!” indeed.
     Nineteen Eighty-four (1949), by George Orwell: For decades, every spiritual naïf—from intermediate-level readers who’re lookən for authors to “flesh out” characters they can “relate to” to uninspired academics—every Joe Blow thought this morose narrative was an allegory of the “good guys” vs. the “commies.” No one was Awake enough to see it was a documentary of the ATTACK on humanity. And have any of y’all noticed the jew name of the behind-the-scenes manipulator? Surely you have noticed that the endless rewriting of history and the retroactive censoring of media are precisely what Orwell warned against! Is it any wonder that readership of this novel is surging as every prediction in it—from continual surveillance of your movements to constant suppression of your speech—is coming true?
  √  Faulkner’s Best
     The Sound and the Fury (1929): The magnum opus of William Faulkner is əbout a family which is falling apart; it’s əbout three brothers, each in his own way incompetent and incapable of holding together what’s left of this zany family. And unless the reader catches the hint from the title’s allusion to Macbeth that the tale is told by an idiot, it takes forever to make meaning of it. But the seeming incongruities resulting from the shifts in consciousness, chronology, and narrative voice can be resolved with persistence. And getting it worked out is worthwhile, because a reader who brings nothing to the table and wants only to be a passive entertainee is not a mature reader.
  √  Shakespeare Faves
     Tragicomedy—The Comical History of the Merchant of Venice; or, The Jew of Venice (1597): The “archontic” infection operates by way of a “chosen people” acting as proxies after having been wired to make disasters out of others’ lives. Are you Spiritually Awake enough to see this? The Bard was, and this drama is set in Italy, the birthplace not only of the Renaissance, but of the monetary SCAM which is based on usury. (A for-the-record side note: accompany this work with a reading of the playwright’s contemporary’s—Christopher Marlowe’s, that is—tragedy, The Jew of Malta, and your understanding of this nefarious subject is supremely enhanced.)
     Comedy—The Taming of the Shrew (1592): Enjoy it for its frisky élan and libidinous jests if you can’t bring yourself to smirk over the chap going all “alpha male” on his bride, making her obedient, so he won’t hæftə be a henpecked milquetoast for the next forty years. Shakespeare’s too “chauvinist” for yə? Don’t y’all “offended” little darləns realize it’s illogical to label writers “misogynist” when this concept did not exist during their lifetimes? A few decades ago there was no such nonsense: so judging authors from centuries ago by your “sensibilities” is anachronistic. Can you see that? And you cuckolded men who preach əbout the “need to read more women authors,” are you aware that this theme/motif asserts itself in MANY of his plays? The socially engineered war on men has left y’all pathetic: you can’t even control yourselves, much less let alone your amazons. It’s time to man up, fellas!
     Tragedy—The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600): Perhaps the greatest tragedy—even the greatest play—ever written, Hamlet can’t be beat in terms of sheer literary beauty. Its motifs of profound pondering over existentialist despair and the Spiritual Growth that accompanies introspection are invincible as well (with The Tragedy of King Lear a not-too-distant second). Oh, and by the way, the prince’s contemplating of “to be or not to be” does NOT mean what everyone thinks it means! It refers to the struggle of a perennially brooding Outsider over whether or not to off himself, not to some nonsensical belief that humans obtain their identity by what they “be,” which is to say by what they “do for a living.”
     History—The History of King Henry the Fourth (1597): Shakespeare chose to discourse not only əbout battlefields and the dry-as-dust seriousness of running a State, but also əbout what “real life” is, including a Bildungsroman complete with a portrayal of the youthfully irresponsible, bawdy side of life—with a little help, of course, from the fabulous Falstaff, the foolish foil of folly. Other playwrights at the time əbout had a fit, ’cause don’t y’all know you don’t mix High and Low “culture” (at least not until modernist lit. transmogrified into postmodernist lit. three and a half centuries later). But the playgoers, frankly darlən, didn’t give a damn, and attended in droves.
     Romance—The Tempest (1610–1611): Let’s get the storm rolling by letting the idiots who presume that the artificially contrived caste-like system of “rank” is actually worth a tinker’s damn—let’s let əm know they’re full of shit; then let’s get some Merlin-like dude who is all studied up on sorcery and summoning Spirits to use Magick against his enemies, but respectably, forgiving them as soon as they’ve made reparations for damages caused (as opposed to a bunch of “evil controllers,” who, since at least the time of John Dee, have used Magick to screw everybody over). Throw in some more bawdy satire and make it a review and a study of a myriad of themes/motifs from previous works, and you have the the-Magick’s-all-over farewell play that beats all other farewells.

Thank you, O Dæmon Muse, for having written through me! You made the story come alive!

The Cliffhanger

     The trump card has been played and they’re bidən their time. But y’all follow-the-herd idiots think that “reality” means turning on the programming/hypnotizing machine, soaking up its LIES, and agreeing with what “they sɛd,” because you’re that gullible, that lazy. So you sheep muzzle and “social distance” yourselves for a virus which isn’t airborne as you conduct “virtual meetings” while The Map named Artifice morphs to the next level of NotReality. And you’re eager to get shot up with a “vaccine” which’ll load your genomes with digital markers—if not kill you—because you’re too stupid to realize that everything is a SCAM, that you’re being reëngineered into The New HyperReal of transhumanism. Then you fʌkɚz have the gall to get hostile at the few and far between who are screaming bloody murder that we are being taken down.
     What’re y’all worshippers gʌnnə do when mammon proves false, when the debt bubble bursts or “negative interest rates” are implemented? The “great reset” has begun, and the valuelessness of everything you “own” is imminent. Think it’s not hanging over your heads like Damocles’ sword? Why not? They tricked and bullied y’all cowardly goalongwithits into participating in its Initiation Ritual, in which you’ve symbolically silenced yourselves by wearing face diapers. You’ll be headed for a privacyless stackshack which is prefabbed with enough “5G” to fry your ass. I am astonished and appalled at how pathetic y’all are. It’s no wonder humans are under ATTACK.

Updated October 13, 2021. So what’s the way out of Planet Mindfʌk? Tap into Gnosis. Refuse to be a slave. Reject “society.” Renounce the indoctrination of your upbringing. Ignite your Black Flame. Ascend the Tree of Death before dying. Bypass the reincarnation trap. Return to Pandimensional Freedom.

Gruppen1001 Books to read before you die, 18th-19th Century Britain, 19th Century Decadent Literature, 50-Something Library Thingers, 9/11 Truth, A Shakespeare Play-by-Play, American Postmodernism, Arthurian Legends, Books that made me think, Bookshelf of the Damnedalle Gruppen anzeigen

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Bürgerlicher NameBrian S.

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Lese geradeUlysses von James Joyce
Metamorphoses von Ovid
Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce’s Ulysses von Don Gifford

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