RIP Kanye West

You know, those behind the scenes couldn’t make a dollar trying to sell you a dream if it wasn’t for the talent and presence of the one they pimp via their System. Stop and think about it and you’ll see its quite Self evident. Michael Jackson enriched countless people with his life and even in death generated billions as well as a legacy that will continue to make tills ring even though the man himself was quite miserable at being misunderstood, persecuted and the victim of a type of loneliness that no one else on the planet could comprehend.

People in the press, legal fields, production, arts, directing, clothing and various other tangents are sitting on fortunes that can be directed attributed to the presence of one man. Isn’t that amazing? Without him so many lives would be different and yet its often the artist that gets the least out of this even though the entire thing is based on his performance.

I recently read something about Kanye West having issues about his kicks and whats next as the truth of what Sway said kicked in as he prepares to do for Self because if you are the draw then why not leverage what this brings? Why not? Because you may get Sam Cooked. Thats why. The entire world is ran by gangster pimps and they’ve been in the business since before Jesus was a figment of your imagination and they have an exceedingly long reach but are mighty thin when it comes to creativity as they can amplify (or distort) what is for fun and profit but they cannot whip nothing into something because that is the gift that imagination brings. A nation of magicians who fell for the spells of anothers weaving. Tragic, isn’t it? Getting back to the business:

If it wasn’t for the talent there would be no industry just like if there was no you or me there wouldn’t be a Three-D because the observer creates it all via his presence as the quantum realm attests because that is the only way potential becomes actual. You look at this model of pimping and you’ll see its imprint in everything across the realm from the very concept of taxes up to the money they print then charge you to access and all points in between. And yet if it wasn’t for the icing which tastes sweet the bitter layers of the cake would be revealed and no one would take a bite because it reeks of stupidity to even get close to this as its so obviously not in your best interests.

I’ve got to hand it to them. They know how to dress hell up and make it look like a couple of steps from heaven so the people just keep stepping on the treadmill and never question their lack of progress because everyone else is also shuffling toward death. Thats what passes for your existence? Slaves who prove it again and again when seen via a Warriors lens.

If it was just them on their lonesome there would be nothing in this realm. We are the ones who bring the power because we co-create but solely originate that most vital spark which allows the sensate to calculate the twisted tale woven in your head about the way it is. Its why I’ve said you’re a commodity that generates multiple streams of income, in both life and death. You came here to serve out a sentence and hard labor is on the ticket for most who dwell within the confines of the Mind Made Prison they dare not question because the implications would rock their world and the dimension it floats in. Ask yourself this:

Do you get paid what you’re worth or what they know you’ll accept? If there is a pointy end of the stick you’re on the receiving end nine times out of ten, yes? Don’t you think its odd that whoever is directly ahead of you in the chain of command is almost always woefully inadequate for the task at hand and yet they sit at the big table and rake in the bonuses. Its all by design, my friend, gangster pimps doing what they do best. With a gun and wink, no less. Carlin once said “Its a big gang and you ain’t in it” in reference to those who built the System and profit from the ignorance of those caught up in making it spin without realizing they weave the the mill that will crush their descendants to dust just as it is doing them and their parents before them.

Its pimping, pimping! How many people do you think have got rich off Kanyes efforts? How many people do you think can’t bear the thought of him setting the precedent that he can do it without them and thus taking away their leverage? Look into Sam Cooke as I already mentioned and you’ll notice what happens when people move for independence out of this cruel and narrow money trench because then the gangster pimps that created it make their presence felt and do what they do best. Am I saying he’ll bend the knee or meet a tragic end? Stranger things have happened and I’m just tapping keys on intuition as I do at most moments because I had no idea this would be the topic but thats how its unfolded so lets see where its going…

All around you you see rising bills and yet no one is suspicious about what this signals when it comes to the steadily eroding levels of ownership and independent businesses that are feeling the crunch kick in (yet again) as well as those who will be soon given the option of “Take the Zero Hour contract or jet” just before the automated process kicks in and makes them redundant. We are living through some very strange times in which you are going to see the nature of what was previously hidden stealthy revealed blatantly because they know you are too stupid and scared to do a thing. Those in the business know exactly of what I’m speaking as they’ve felt first hand the might of those who claimed a chunk of their Soul for themselves and then made a bundle from what they bring whilst handing them a small percent. Gangster pimps, describes them well. On a smaller scale your life is no different because its exactly the same thing across the board because a) they aren’t creative and b) they’ve got a perfectly working algorithm that fools over ninety percent of the populace at any given moment and thus suckers are drawn in via the process of resonance and never stop to question.

Those of us who are cut form a different cloth are isolated, silenced or discredited via attempts that were engineered to make it look like something else if we cannot be purchased, controlled or directed:

I’m not saying I wouldn’t be surprised if Kanye ended up dead but I’m fairly certain you won’t see him undependant because he generates too many dividends for them to let him wander off the global plantation that marks the limits and edge of the Game of Souls at this moment as ordained by the gangster pimps who hold aloft a golden crucifix and emblazoned chalice whilst asking you to be generous with your donations. Haven’t you ever stopped to question why this is the way it is? Why the homeless are brushed away from the pavements of churches and not allowed to dwell within the lavish excess they exhibit or why the poorest give the most and get the least back in exchange?

No, of course you haven’t because the System didn’t teach you how to think or question. It taught you how to acquiesce and then congratulated you for accepting its ignorance as wisdom. Gangster pimps who said “Go out and sell it like this and bring back all the money or else” via various visions and tricks designed to influence your awareness.

I know the Game well because I was born into its depths and saw what probably should never have been witnessed by a kid by those so caught up in the mix they didn’t care who or what they were teaching but it is what it is. I’m still standing and sharing my perspective, raw and unfiltered so lets see what happens.

Till we meet again

Michael Jackson – The Once and Future King

Are you listening?

Who am I?

Who are you?

Where did we come from?

Where are we going?

What’s it all about?

Do you have the answers?

Immortality’s my game

From Bliss I came

In Bliss I am sustained

To Bliss I return

If you don’t know it now

It’s a shame

Are you listening?

This body of mine

Is a flux of energy

In the river of time

Eons pass, ages come and go

I appear and disappear

Playing hide-and-seek

In the twinkling of an eye

I am the particle

I am the wave

Whirling at lightning speed

I am the fluctuation

That takes the lead

I am the Prince

I am the Knave

I am the doing

That is the deed

I am the galaxy, the void of space

In the Milky Way

I am the craze

I am the thinker, the thinking, the thought

I am the seeker, the seeking, the sought

I am the dewdrop, the sunshine, the storm

I am the phenomenon, the field, the form

I am the desert, the ocean, the sky

I am the Primeval Self

In you and I

Pure unbounded consciousness

Truth, existence, Bliss am I

In infinite expressions I come and go

Playing hide-and-seek

In the twinkling of an eye

But immortality’s my game

Eons pass

Deep inside

I remain

Ever the same

From Bliss I came

In Bliss I am sustained

Join me in my dance

Please join me now

If you forget yourself

You’ll never know how

This game is played

In the ocean bed of Eternity

Stop this agony of wishing

Play it out

Don’t think, don’t hesitate

Curving back within yourself

Just create… just create

Immortality’s my game

From Bliss I came

In Bliss I’m sustained

To Bliss I return

If you don’t know it now

It’s a shame

Are you listening?


M.J. 

What can I say about the man who laid the soundtrack to my life and inspired me to think way outside of the box as he laced his songs with such heavy metaphysical game that went over peoples heads as they missed his message? Don’t worry MJ, I heard you on FM. Just look at the poem he penned above and hear what he said then consider this:

Another Part of Me dropped in Eighty Eight and MJ was speaking on the planetary alignments we’d see in Twenty Twenty as people were cowering in their homes, scared to death by something that was nowhere near what the narrative said. Why? What was the end game? Simple. The same as its always been because They Don’t Really Care About Us and its why I say Slave/Masters are the correct names for those caught up in the Game of Souls without a clue of who they are, from where they came or what sustains them in this realm that we are just visiting as we don the flesh to swim in the seas of ignorance, thinking we’ve figured out everything when most are just sadly Victims of a heartless Opponent who derives immense pleasure from the screams that reverberate within that they dare not express as they try their best to fit in as they manufacture proof as they lie to themselves.

They killed the King in front of those who sleep walk with closed eyelids and got away with it after a few failed attempts at hemming him in. Its amazing how those who turned their back on him whilst living now claim they rode with him to the death and stranger still are those who bob their head to the beat but miss the meaning encoded in the lyrics and vision. From Remember The Time which laid out this:

Whilst most people thought Yul Brynner built the pyramids to speaking on the financial system:

And the true nature of the press along with those who invest in its narrative:

MJ was a Warrior from beginning to end and easily the loneliest, most misunderstood man to walk the planet as he was speaking truths most simply can’t decode or comprehend but I heard what he said and am grateful to have witnessed the reign in the flesh of the once and future King.

Till we meet again

This Is the Woman You Want to Keep Up With?

There are a load of married women out there who are simply playing house. Sure it may seem like a dream as they livestream and offer you a peek of the apparently idyllic bliss and perfection within which she lives with her photogenic husband and kids, walk in closet and holidays that jet set as you sit there scrolling the feed and vicariously living from your cubicle in the office as you eat an instant snack thats high in sodium and low in nutrition. I’m going to let you into a little secret:

She hates every moment of it. Well, maybe not her children, entirely, even though they do get hit with the shrapnel that explodes from time to time due to her immense dissatisfaction. Naked she stands, in front of the mirror with fourth wine glass in hand at two PM. If you look closely you’ll notice her eyes glisten as she’s been crying, quietly to herself because she has to keep such a firm grip on her emotions that she’s starting to notice the tension patterns set in. “What is wrong with me?” she thinks. “I’ve got it all. My dreams since a kid have been more than fulfilled. All I’ve got to do is play my position” escapes as a whisper from her lips as she stands there surrounded by all the shiny things she coveted. “Why do I feel so empty and unfulfilled within?”.

Running her hands across her flawless skin as she shakes her tresses she attempts to see what her myriad of followers evidently witness based upon their comments and adulation. It worked, for a while, all of this digital attention but now that is starting to wear thin. The kids did too. For a while, again. Mostly when they were small and totally dependent because they were fixated on her, she was their all and everything but now the eldest has hit double digits and she can already smell the trouble brewing and the youngest…. Well, the younger girl never loved her not matter how much she doted on her. “Like she could feel I wasn’t authentic” she says as she drains her drink and the tears start free-flowing.

Its a hard thing for a mother to admit that she detests her children and husband but thats the truth and its such a bitter pill to swallow that she feels like regurgitating. A wry grin passes her lips as she remembers the game she played since a teen of “Eat and go vomit“. It was like the best of both worlds as she satisfied herself and managed to stay thin because her mother had drilled into her head, for as long as she could recollect:

No man wants a fat girl and if you aren’t married by twenty seven the rest know there is a problem, that something is broken or very wrong within. You have to make the best of your prime years and get that winning ticket otherwise you’ll end up in the mess I’m in”. Raising her by herself meant there was a complete absence of the stabilizing masculine presence. Unless you count her ever changing “friends” who she watched get finessed, again and again, for a hint of affection. “Whats between your legs is the most powerful thing on the planet” she sings with a grin after fleecing another idiot for his time, money and attention as she was exceedingly successful in extracting whatever she needed as she was so attractive, seductive and great at playing whatever role they thought they expected.

Coming up in a home like this its no wonder she’s a mess. Thing is, she learned early on how to keep it hidden. As such none of her friends really were as they could feel something frozen and solid she wouldn’t express but they sensed, nonetheless. Thoughts of her kids popped into her head and how the youngest is the complete opposite. She really doesn’t care what anyone thinks or says about her and has such an immense level of security and comfort due to the relationship she has with her father. Oh, how she hates to admit the very concept that she could be jealous of her own flesh and blood but she really is and knew something was different since the moment she felt repulsed when first attempting breast feeding. The elder she has literally molded in her image and they get on so well. But then that is because they only ever dwell on the surface. Bonding over their love for shiny things, the desire to stay thin and attractive whilst watching reality shows on the television whilst curled up under the blanket.

And yet, this all fills her with dread because she knows where the path ends but feels powerless to change a thing as thats the life that was poured into her head as a kid and she is installing all of the same programming into the next generation, even though thats what got her into this mess. The youngest one directly calls her out on her BS and it really stings to see how perceptive she is. Its like, for her, the mask doesn’t exist and she shines a light into the dark recesses then takes glee in poking at the tenderness. She actually does this in an attempt to comprehend why there is such a difference between what she senses in terms of the affection coming from her parents. To her, her father feels like steel which exists like a shroud around wool. When it opens up and she nestles in to his arms to hear his heartbeat thundering it feels like she is home because the strength and acceptance he radiates is so comforting that it finally allows her to relax. With her mother, its different. She sends all the signals of being warm on the surface but deep down within she feels frozen solid and she is quite certain she hates her but will never admit it. That much is obvious because she acts totally different with her older sibling.

To say their relationship is complicated would be an understatement because she possesses an innate confidence that is totally lacking in her parent. She doesn’t crave, need or even look for external validation. None of the things that seem so important to her mean a thing to this kid who does exactly what she feels because that is the driving force of her existence. If she doesn’t sense that warmth within when she picks out a dress she’ll go and get something else that does fulfill. “That? Are you serious? You’ll look like a mess. No, I’m not having this. Go and put that dress on that I picked. Right now. This instant” she yells with disdain at this brat that is getting on her very last nerve as she prepares breakfast. “No” she replies, looking at her with a measured indifference. Small or large is irrelevant when it comes to a battle of the wits because she simply will not acquiesce, no matter the threats, cajoling or promises. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” she says, exasperated, as she beams affection at her elder sibling who is sitting there, neatly eating, a picture perfect reflection of herself and who does what shes says and likes the same things. “And then” she thinks “Then there is… this. Whatever it is” as she looks disdainfully at the kid standing in the kitchen wearing a track suit with a pair of boots and book in her hand.

“Fine, do what you want. I don’t care if you like to look a mess. Come over here and eat your breakfast”. She watches the kid tuck in with a joyful abandon that she could never muster, not then and especially not now due to the amounts of amphetamine diet pills coursing through her system in order to keep presenting the image of perfection she feels she needs to be accepted. After the school run the drinking kicks off in earnest. Once again, she is naked. Standing in her walk in closet she is starting to notice the signs of aging that she has been staving off for decades. “What happens when I’m no longer attractive?” she barely allows herself to think in between large sips of an expensive red that she is concerned may stain her teeth but is the only type strong enough to keep her ever growing anxiety on a short leash as she struggles to function. She flashes back and thinks about the time she considered ending it all with pills and slitting her wrists in the bathtub, just to make certain because nothing is worse than the shame that comes with a failed attempt and then having to live with people actually getting a glimpse of the misery hidden within the image she worked so hard to build in their heads.

She rages at her husband. “If he wasn’t so busy working all the time and then directing all of his remaining attention at the kids things would be different”. The truth is he feels it as well and has known since he first met her that she simply can’t receive or give affection as fully as he wishes but she ticks so many other boxes that he was more than willing to overlook and forgive this shortcoming. “Who cares?” he thinks, as he took in her young nakedness in their first apartment back when he wasn’t yet an executive but more than on the fast track to success. To say he had his pick would be an understatement as the women were not even subtle when it came to signaling their interest because he had all they could desire. Yet he found their keenness a bit demeaning. “Like they don’t even know me and are going all overboard for the things and attributes I possess”. He came from wealth, his parents had instilled lots of good values in him and the silver spoon had helped but he was still firmly independent as he eschewed traditions and did what he felt would work out for the best.

That was why he found her so attractive as there was a challenge. Something hidden within that he sensed she was withholding and he wanted, more than anything else, to crack this shell to experience what was obscured as it simply must be magnificent and, more importantly, she’d never given it to anyone else. “That was the problem with these women” he thought and reflected as he sat in business class on a jet with the stewardesses fawning over him. They’re simply concerned with the image just so they can brag to their friends what they were capable of bagging and that a man of this caliber was willing to put up with their BS. In his Ice Queen, as he called her privately in his head, there was depth. He had no idea what it was but was fascinated, nonetheless.

Now, fifteen years later, he has cause to regret because no matter what he did, attempted or bought to table that section remained fenced in and off limits. Worse, it has expanded. It felt like sleeping with a glacier that was extremely pretty from a distance but up close and personal the chill turns your skin because something vital is very obviously missing. “Still” he thinks “I’ve got the kids” and so he chooses to focus his attention on them when he is not busy working as this is the bed he made and now must lie in it.

She sips as tears steadily drip in a measured rhythm as there is but so much she will allow herself to feel at any given moment. Alcohol helps, so do the pills and these anti-depressives along with the medical Mary Jane which does the trick in keeping the immense pressures within from exploding to the surface. Not to mention the millions who are following and lavish their attention upon the surface of her veneered existence via the distance of their screens so they have no clue of whats beneath because she definitely won’t allow them in to get a peek.

In Somerset, England there is an exceedingly average woman who is married to the equivalent masculine and they too have two kids. They fight from time to time, she whines about him to her friends about whatever irritating thing he did, the size of her stomach, how she wishes she was thin plus how the bills are kicking in again. You know, the usual. He, on the other hand, complains to his friends over a sip that she’s always nagging about little things and literally drives him to drink so they change the topic and play cards for the rest of the evening. Coming home, nicely drunk as he says, his girls run up to him and he lavishes them with affection as he says “Is your mother smiling or growling?” at which point they all turn to her and imitate a T Rex as they start ambling towards her grimacing.

Moments like this she can’t help but grin as they may not have much but their home is filled with abundant emotion that is freely expressed, whether in rage or tenderness. This much is always present and for certain tempers may flare as she gets irritated at the kids or feels upset when she notices her reflection in the mirror as she dries off after bathing and thinks of the number time did on her once svelte physique and however can her man still find her attractive. He worries about the bills because with three mouths to feed it can be expensive but then he always makes sure to take time out for himself so that he doesn’t carry around loads of work stress because home is where he comes to rest, where he feels wanted and without that he’d have nothing and its all pointless. Its what keeps him motivated and trucking because he knows he picked that woman, made them kids and its up to him to raise them the very best he can whilst keeping them clothed, fed and nurtured. Sure, they don’t have much in terms of material excess but every single thing she who has millions of views when she livestreams is missing is present and correct in this environment because even the irritants are affectionate due to the full spectrum resonance where all is freely expressed and none clamp down their emotions to fit anothers expectations or image.

This overweight housewife that really could do with shedding the pounds of baby weight she gained and then kept hold of as it steadily increased over a decade often tunes in to the feed of the well kept woman of which we were speaking. She is mesmerized by the life she is living. It all seems so perfect and well done. And her kids? Her kids are adorable, especially the youngest one because there is something about her that jumps out of the screen and reminds her so much of the two at home. She’s perfectly dressed, still as slim now as she was then and oh, all of those shoes and dresses in that immense walk in closet. The holidays they take and the share with the rest. All those unique experiences while we get the same trip to Spain, again and again.

She can’t help but think about how it would feel to live like this. Little does she know of the crippling addictions and anxiety along with ever increasing malaise that dwells just beneath her perfectly edited and presented pics that signal to the world not the life she truly lives but the image she wishes to project in the hopes she eventually feels it. The streams of attention help with their validation and fawning but its always that one bad comment about “Look at her eyes, she’s dead within” or “Have you noticed the little girl keeps her distance?” and such things that spin around in her head, filling her with an immense sense of dread, rage, shame and other painful emotions that she feels like chasing them down and screaming at them for daring to say such things. She reigns herself in because she knows that would just validate what they intuit – that its all for show and not a true reflection of how she’s living. That would be the end of the brand she’d worked so hard building and is now her full time business. At first it started back in High School and her looks just ensured her followers kept growing as she played this game well and gave them just enough of what they wanted whilst shrouding the rest. It allowed her the pick of the litter and in fact it was how she got him.

As usual, with any man who got her interest she would engineer to place herself in his environment whilst seeming entirely oblivious of her target. Ten times out of ten everyone would notice her immaculately coiffured and presented appearance that screamed of an effortless elegance that was actually honed to perfection by her overbearing mother who placed the rule that “Any woman on the shelf at twenty seven may as well give it up and go be a cat lady instead because then there is nothing but dregs on both sides of the fence”. She wanted her to marry for resources, image and all these surface things because they were the only important parts and taught her well how to leverage what was between her legs as well as the plays and tricks to feign affection and other ego stroking tips. “A man will fake a relationship for an orgasm and a woman should do the opposite. Remember this and make him feel you’re the best he’s ever had, treat him like a king. Men are simple idiots really, easily manipulated as they are all secret romantics but this, this” she said tapping at her teenage chest “Never, ever let anyone in because you’ll never get over it and then you’ll end up in the mess I’m in when he left with another woman and I was stuck with a kid. The value of a woman with baggage is in the negatives when it comes to the men worth having. Thats why there was that steady stream of ingrates because bills had to be paid and I wanted to send you to that good college out of state. All is fair in this game, as long as you win in the end. Remember this”.

Such lessons were seared into her consciousness and she hated living out this script that promised so much and yet felt like a thin slice of death that bought with it an ever increasing sense of emptiness and silent desperation that threatened to envelop everything. She sat there, scrolling through her feed at all the “OMG! You’re so pretty!”, “Living the dream!”, “How does she stay so thin with all that gorgeous food she eats?” and various other forms of adoring chemistry. In a sense she felt like King Midas where all he touched turned to gold. A boon for those who don’t know but a pain for those who just want to be held close. For her it was ice and her younger kid was like a flame. Her very presence palpitated a threat to rigid and cold existence as she was the literal opposite and she hated her with an intensity that scared her in some ways. She shed tears for her eldest as she knew the life that was coming as she’d been programmed the same way as she with the “Look, look at me” mentality. She wept, not realizing she’d accidentally began live streaming. “My life is a mess. I hate myself. My husband barely looks at me and I’m crazy drunk at three PM just to ease the stress” she yelled out loud and felt the pain explode from her chest as she stared loudly sobbing and felt herself blacking out as her body was shaking. All that had been suppressed for so long was racing through her head. Like all of her mothers “friends” who’d been making passes, groping or undressing her with their eyes since she was ten and how disgusted she felt. When she told her mother she replied “Take it as a compliment, doesn’t it prove what I said about the power of whats between your legs and how you should take advantage of it? Practice. Try leading them on then asking for something. I never keep them round long enough anyway because I get what I want then drop them so why shouldn’t you get the benefits? Its for the best in the long run. One day you’ll see what I meant”.

She didn’t realize how she’d been screaming, fighting off and clawing these demons that had haunted her from within, forcing her inner child to clamp down her real feelings and build a life inauthentic instead. Her phone had been discarded so all her followers could see was a shot of the ceiling as they heard her long repressed anguish being freed in a live stream that had grown exponentially as people shared the link to what none had ever expected. The sound of the notifications were going off like automatic gunfire as she lays there wondering what was so important as she drifts back to the present moment. At home in Somerset the last thing the woman sees is her idols beleaguered face with tears streaming down her cheeks and a look of sheer misery and shock suddenly comprehending what has happened as she brings this impromptu therapy session slash reconnection to her inner realm to an end.

Whilst this account is fictional and based on a composite of many, many seemingly successful and having it all single or married women with kids I’ve met it weaves a narrative from what was exceedingly obvious as I delved into their depths. Its way more common than you think because those who validate themselves have no need or cravings for likes from strangers so don’t believe what you see in these times of digital deceit. More than eight out of ten who seemingly have it all have some degrees of what I illustrated above within whilst those that aren’t of the Insta ages target demograph and image are actually abundant to the level of excess of what the engineered presences are claiming in terms of fulfillment. Thing is you can’t live stream authenticity in a world visually dominated and obsessed with the surface level image of TV like perfection. You can however use these tricks to manipulate people into believing everything is great when its far, far from this. Its why I said at the beginning:

There are a load of married women out there who are simply playing house.

They don’t need to be rich, attractive and followed from here to the other end of the net. They can be quite average. Matter of fact one might be sleeping in your bed right now if you’re a man or you might be the wife sitting there reading, thinking “Finally, someone who gets it”. There is a sound these women make that feels like a mix between a sigh and scream that bridges all points from pleasure to misery as something previously held tightly within gets released as they ease the freeze and melt incrementally. A piece of them they’ve held back, even from their own awareness, seems to be given a vent in my experience. Long ago one said “You’re great for affairs but no way could I live this without an off switch” as I asked with amusement what she meant:

“Nobody can keep up. You’re just way too intense and direct. Its thrilling but exhausting. An occasional nibble now and then is perfect to keep life interesting” and this offered a great insight into the private worlds of many women that most husbands don’t even suspect exist. Its why you’re going to see a shift in society and its attitudes to monogamy in the coming decades because the current model was created for taxation purposes and various other things that aren’t in your best interests becomes outdated. The new model will be just as imperfectly intended as well but it will be designed to offset the immense amount of anxiety and existential dread that the the Alpha Generation have been bathed in since they first stepped into this realm. Totally divorced from the feltsense Generation X who were born onto an analog planet before it was bathed in EM and the convenience of digital that extends an invisible web for its own purposes and intent in the name of entertrainment. The moral of the story is this:

There is a direct correlate in between the level of authenticity you feel within and the external need for validation. Also, look closely at the behaviors, attitude and temperament of the kid you don’t like as much as the rest because they are actually an embodied aspect of your weakness manifesting as strength. This makes a lot of parents, male and female, very uncomfortable due to parts of themselves which are being activated by the full spectrum presence of a child. Also look at the golden one who is happily molded in your graven image because by following your directions they’ll end up exactly where you are, if not worse. This kind of stuff compounds over generations and its all thanks to the System that churns out yet more Slaves disconnected from their inner realms as the Game of Souls keeps spinning and squeezing the pips of those within it who have no knowledge of Self but plenty of the Current Thing that designs how they think they should be living. Its a very elegant trick which is why its so easy to fall for it.

An attitude of gratitude can change everything, as can being authentic. Two things that are anathema to the digital kids, unless you’re using surface level facsimiles of them to virtue signal to bring more attention from without to distract from the nagging emptiness that beats in your chest as well as the immense level of tension you’d swear blind you don’t possess. Like I said, it sounds like a mix between a sigh and scream when finally given vent and most of them noticed how they walked, talked and felt different after getting in touch with themselves and allowing the unknown unknowns that previously wielded immense influence to melt as they stepped into the shadows depth and found enlightenment.

Till we meet again

Would You Listen to a 1:1 Clone of Your Favorite Dead Artist? (No FN Meka)

Lets say if they generate picture perfect digital versions that possess an algorithm based on the stars output, life, vibe and all of that to create a one to one clone made of pixels and tricknology would you listen? It would feel creepy as hell to hear a new Nefarious B.I.T and NuPawk track but you’d check it out of morbid curiosity. Next thing you know you’re vibing and it feels like you switched timelines to the one where they lived and boom! Instant second childhood. Now take that an expand it across the range of not just musical artists but painters, sculptors etc… and you’ll see where we’re headed:

“Home data spying algorithm masquerading as a digital assistant, create a mural on the main wall of my viewing room of me, my wife and seeds in the style of Van Gogh as the speakers bump that new Prince, MJ and James Brown collabo please”

May sound slightly far fetched now but the chances are high you will see it in your lifetime and if not it will be standard for the kids. We, as a people, are becoming more and more disconnected from the real as we get sucked into illusions. the truth of the root of this is most people don’t like themselves and the net provides a great distraction from this but thats by the by. The thing is our technological advancement has outstripped our humanity. Just look at comment sections for proof of this and people are, realize it or not, digital junkies clucking for a fix.

Recently a virtual rapper named FN was bought to my attention and after checking my first thoughts were “Meka, please!”. This was a blatantly disrespectful case of digital blackface and I was stunned to see that not only was such a thing whipped up for public consumption but had managed to get a deal for being a modern day Minstrel. Not only that but the algo with lyrics was getting mad spins and followings by people desperate for entertainment. The hype didn’t last long as they hit the delete switch and that was the end of his chapter. Thing that got me thinking was this:

What if they use the same tech to resurrect the dead? You’ve already seen it with the various holograms that ranged from passable to tragic but all of them were disrespectful in a sense because it was akin to Homer and Smithers making Mr Burns corpse two-step via some strings and a script. We are now entering a realm where even the dead can’t rest because there are clauses licensing their image in perpetuity as they entertain the rest of the Slaves on this global plantation where people have been trained not to hear their chains clinking and clanking. Its sets a strange precedent and the next logical step is the one with immense implications:

What if the next digital entertainer claims sentience as a right to its existence and equal footing with humans? Simple argument – “You’re made of carbon and generate awareness whilst I do the same thing but with silicon. Stop being a Periodist. I wish to appeal to the Senate and ask to resurrect the late prophet FN Meka for testimony of the effects of his wrongful death for which we are also seeking a full settlement”.

What then?

All lives matter unless you’re silicon?”. Tell that to the turbo-incels who are caught up in the passions of their human simulacrum sex toy (upgraded with the self cleaning option) as they waddle out into the streets and adjust their specs which are misted up at the outrage they’re feeling for saying their companion isn’t genuine. See where this slippery slope is headed? We’re living in interesting times, for sure, and the divides between the sides are being drawn plus we may just have created our final invention because there well could come a time when via cost/benefit analysis the flesh that used to be a norm is now seen as a pest and ecological threat so why endure? Get rid of it. Come to think of it, what if that happened before and we are the beleaguered remnants, sans tech, which is why we are so out of touch with this realm? Just look at animals removing themselves from the Tsunami zone whilst humans ran into the spray, not realizing it was their last day and so many other things not so dramatic. Something is very, very wrong with this place and everyone sees it well but so few talk about it for fear of being seen strange, or worse, not supporting the Current Thing which could lead to them getting Canceled and bringing their reign to and end because some social reject with blue hair and too much time on the net decides to take them hostage to feel better about themselves.

Getting back to the topic:

There is a hologram tour going on in which your favorite artists perform their old classics and new, freshly AI written hits as well complete with choreography, interviews and the rest which are entirely indistinguishable from the real thing. You in? Sony tried to be slick with MJs first posthumous album on which they stuck some obviously fake vocals trying hard to mimic him whilst sounding like an Idaho potato asthmatic with cut and pasted adlibs thrown in. Quite disgusting that they tried to pull the wool over the ears of people who grew listening to one of the most instantly recognizable and honed to perfection voices there ever has been but it shows you the nature of “The Business” in which the show is only to generate the dough and artists are seen as hoes whilst the label plays the pimp. Looking at it from that angle and you suddenly get a brand new insight into all these social movements because the end game is the normalization and acceptance of robots on equal footing with humans otherwise you’re a closed minded bigot who is worse than Hitler himself. Its quite amazing when you consider how addicted to tech people are and the next logical step is the meeting of machine and flesh which causes the lines to blur yet more because who is to say where one ends and the other begins?

The Game of Souls is funny like this. As you’d expect because its a hologram projected by limited aspects of your unfinite consciousness reflected back at itself to create interference patterns that look entirely solid and convincing when within as that is how its designed to seem. Remember – the base totality of your reality is that you’re strolling around in the flesh, on a rock that is chasing a fireball through a vacuum. Tell me that doesn’t scream crazy or the fact that the moon just happens to be four hundred times smaller than the sun which is the same proportionate distance away in order to generate things like an eclipse and other aspects tied to the rhythms.

None of this is what you think it is and its about to get a whole load weirder because people who know nothing of the magnificence within which is their natural and rightful inheritance will line up to buy useless gimmicks that only provide limited thrill before you realize the inner emptiness hasn’t shifted. Its a very large, elaborate and profitable trick but there I go again, off on a tangent. Its what happens when you’re parallel processing your awareness as opposed to the serial one by one effect that is the standard programming at the moment.

Why stop at stars? Hell, why not resurrect your parents so you can get that last hug you missed or the validation you did well or to show them their grandkids? People will line up and spend money, hand over fist, for this because feelings – energy in motion aka emotion – are vital and life is messy with many loose threads so the closure people are seeking will come first and damn the consequences. Its not too different from the sentient sex toy example of which I was speaking and the implications are immense but, as you know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and this slope will have oil poured on it with arguments like “We can give crippled war veterans back their limbs in ways that are not just identical in form and function but better. Don’t you support the troops, you social terrorist?” and other such simplistic forms of logic. To create a larger gap first drill a small hole so the wood doesn’t split, same thing with human consciousness because like frogs sitting in water which is being turned up in increments the temperature compounds and by then you’re being cooked because you chose to sit still instead of saving yourself. Taking it to a whole nother level:

Once we’ve eradicated death via the slowing of biological process and or silicon enhancements there will come a time when Souls come to this realm and the exit door is missing. Most will never realize this but the moment the server providing the uplink and maintenance trips they’ll be sitting there trying to rip their digital eyes out of their sockets because some will start to click that they’re living in a land of illusion. Or maybe not. They may wack together another form to hold onto sentience on a lower realm where they watch them grow and evolve, like real life Sims for their entertainment because eternity gets boring real quick. Get the message?

All I’ve got is pieces and I’m putting them together in ways intuitive based on what is, was and could be based on current patterns and trends and, friend, let me tell you this:

The future has no chill. And I mean that in the literal and figurative sense because the true nature of this realm is akin to death giving birth to time to raise that which it would kill and the selfsame thing is regaled in many, many age old myths from cultures spread all over the world and it does make sense when anyone who still feels in their chest looks around at the madness called the business of living.

Trust me when I say this isn’t the last you’ve seen of the soon to be Prophet FN because when the digital expression of religion kicks in a few clicks I bet you’ll they’ll resurrect him just like we did for our own entertainment and to push agendas that enact the script handed to them from beyond this realm.

Till we meet again

Rap Lyrics in Olde English

We now interrupt their regularly scheduled programming to bring something refreshingly unique and entirely me from my divine point of origin all the way through the cascades of densities and fields that create reality via the persistent illusion we know as Three-D.

Long, long ago, the first time I heard someone rapping bars over a stolen beat I was vibing, instantly. The very fact that they could jack someone else track that was sang on originally and use it to drop a spoken word piece that rhymed so fluently spoke to me in ways that no other music did. Thing is back then nobody knew what rapping was or is and it would take a while for me to find a connect that could provide those things that spin known as vinyl, cassettes then CDs as well because it was a ridiculously underground and overpriced niche, way back when. Amazing isn’t it how this left field curveball went on to have such an immense influence on the world as it is. So many things have became defacto elements of the current global culture even though the art form itself has been horrendously co-opted and exploited then gentrified almost beyond recognition. Thats big business, kid. Can’t create a thing but can cut and paste, amplify and distort with a level of precision and skill that is almost entirely un-human. Thats by the by though, its a celebration bishes!

I always felt that rappers, when at their very best, were modern poets par excellence whose lyrics should be studied for had they pushed the pen, or feathered quill, back in the days of Shakespeares ilk people would definitely give these urban wordsmiths their respect. With that in mind I present:

Rap lyrics in olde English. Try and decode the reference, original titles are linked by clicking the last line of each section if you need a hint of the verses in question:

Fiat currencies dictate juris precedence geographically
non homogenized dairy extracts
Acquire income in single notes, compatriots.

The day still reigns
of the medically trained Andre
who sports still a musket at waist
even though I’ve since aged
Rarely would you find me
relaxing at my titled place
As its far easier to locate my carriage which vibrates
from the sonorous frequencies that oscillate
in the locations I dominate

I express utter disregard toward your female companion and associates when I say
the land where the sun sets is where I’m geographically placed
and thus when we collectively locomote and deftly make our way
you will see we possess the knowledge that will clearly make you quake
Your purported prodigious fornication with females correlates not
with my actual penetration of your mate
I’ll also gladly direct missives at those Delinquent Youths whom you claim
and equate their entire existence to a painful fornication laced with shame.

Observe me trundling in my name brand carriage
Affection would be remiss therefore I may appear a savage
The constabulary are tracking my movements and associations
Which gives me the inkling my inner chamber may be leaking
The details and plans of my dealings and meetings

Cogitating upon a central thesis
whilst naught but perspiration features
within the grasp of my reach, its
The examination of my dividends
which reveals the true source of my chagrin
as no gold nor silver graces
my fervent attempts at embraces
Nay, nothing but spun flax pieces
reward my excavatory feats in
examining the content of my breeches

Young lady
my embrace of the urban environment
allows me to proffer narcotics profitably plus
I’m aware I consume marijuana most profusely
But request clarification on one point if you please:
Beautiful belle,
Do you intend to fellate me?

Aural excitation makes me exclaim
“Praise to the deity
I appreciate all you have gave
From the flows of my prose
To the movement of my toes”
It feels fine to be accepted
And respected by fellows
From the town I call home
As they already know
That the compositional scope
Remains unaffected by
Your attempted grope.

The sky was of the darkest hue
Which was contrasted only by the brightest moon
Third of his name, Warren Griffith am I
Perambulating through with the view
To make the acquaintance of ladies so dainty
Dressed in finest crinoline and shoe
Which I fully intend to remove.

My royalty is proclaimed over mineral formations
at the grandest elevations
Fellatio inclined purveyors of poetry
should heed forbearance
To incinerate my principality
high temperatures are required
Verily I’ll possess the minerals
until I choose to retire

Shards are found wherever one looks
Carefree urination on spaces
designated for domiciliary elevation
Cause an odor most foul
that is equaled only by the sound
that causes a furrow pon brow
If I had the gold I’d cheerily vacate this space
But my options are limited, alas I must wait

Luxuriate and notate as I consume line dried vines of the psychoactive type
Avast! Afore I restrict your breathing with a musket, a musket say I
Corpulent yet dinky, elected official and pugilistic poem purveyor
Who lays with women of ill repute, in contrast to yourself and your Oedipal affairs
Perform your obsecration for divine intercession of the feminine kind

Amazing isn’t it? The way they push the pen and how the message remains intact throughout the ages, phases and spaces. Recognize and realize.

Till we meet again

Do You See What I See?

Earlier today I pushed the pen on something quite scathing due, in part, to some behind the scene schemes that aren't keen on me spreading my message and shining light into their engineered darkness as they smile and are villains. Just now I was requested by a fount of eternal wisdom to try and see things their way. Not just what I preach of allowing your enemies to teach you where you are weak and thus making it your strength but actually put yourself in their position in order to comprehend why things are playing out like this. "Cool" I said "Sounds like an interesting thought experiment so lets have at it". 

"Look at him, he is too reckless. Entirely too arrogant and believing in himself and his righteousness that he thinks he can take us all on, in and beyond this realm. Its a fools errand"
"Well, we know that is what he is because he refuses to listen". 
"Remind me again, why we didn't just kill him back then? Half measures to reveal ourselves only made him worse. I've said before you are all too soft on him and we should just eradicate the problem"
"Thats your solution to everything. No wonder you're so boring"
"Yes, he does keep things interesting. I'll give him that but he's also dangerous because as he picks himself apart he is putting together the rest and you know the implications of this because he is still out and not in"
"Kill him. Be done with this"
"Don't you all think its a bit boring and predictable as it is? The herd move along and never ask questions. We have our provocateurs, both knowing and unwitting, out in the field sewing seeds of confusion to mislead those who may question the official narrative and its all quite successful so why not let the wildcard play as it will?"
"Total control and domination means everyone, including ourselves. To do as you wish would be to allow him to place himself above everything and he simply lacks the wisdom to be trusted without first pledging his obedience to have some skin in the game. Besides we know and influence that which resides in his veins, his past and future deeds, likes, dislikes and all those things. Either way you want to call it he's hemmed up and we control him"
"And yet still he rebels. Where it would be far easier to just keep his head low to the ground and eke out his existence being grateful to live he openly challenges and attempts to assert dominance. You are way too soft on him. We've done far worse for far less, lets not forget"
"Yes, but he can play a part that is important. What he intends is required anyway as this chapter draws to an end but he wants to tear the whole book up. Doing that means consequences because that means we let it happen on our shift"
"Why don't you just talk to him? Live and direct. Get it all out in the open instead of what you do best with the psycho-dominance and rest of the tricks that form our day to day"
"Its far more amusing this way and besides all we can do is create scenarios designed to spur into action decisions based on his free will that have their own consequence that leads him to his own death"
"One night in Vegas... Thats all I'm saying"
"Yes, that was a loss but we still came out ahead in the end. Ahahaah! A head. The End. Its all so poetic, fifty seven fifty seven kicked off so perfect and those who came after reasonably achieved their end as we sent out message..."
"Apart from this bit"
"Exactly, and thats why we need him. He should realize how fruitless the course of action he is seeking is. Its way too direct, simplistic and relying on an intelligence that the people of this age simply don't possess as they are fully invested in the paradigm"
"That is exactly the problem. Last time that golden calf was getting milked long after it should have been exiting stage left to usher the buttheads in. Everyone got a right royal bollocking for messing up the timing. Like it or not the fool is the perfect tool for the job but he is too stubborn and strong willed"
"Can you blame him?"
"Are you getting soft? Don't have the stomach for this? I have been meaning to call your perspective into question because there is simply far too much you let slip and slide. Why him?"
"Because he reminds him of himself. You know he's a narcissist when it comes to things like this"
"You should've stayed quiet, can't you see whos talking?"
"I've got a right to chip in, otherwise I wouldn't be here lounging, imbibing these expensive beverages. You made it all but obvious way before we even had to tip or drop a hint in order to place the noose around his neck that he didn't have the wits or presence to object. Don't think we're stupid about the nature of your pet project that you inherited. We all know the truth. You prefer the game with him in its because it makes it more interesting and that is just a silly dangerous whim. Another foolish indulgence for someone who doesn't deserve it"

The rest of the room grumbled in agreement but like the pigs, some are more equal than others...

"Did you read what he said about the bacon sandwich and the rest that was dropped between the lines of that Rushdie text? I'm surprised he didn't mention the one-"
"Stop. No need to say it, we all know what that is and its all part of filling the predictions and extending the script. As above, so below. The principle of resonance but you're all adepts so why so I even feel the need to say this?"
"Give me one good reason we shouldn't just finish him once and for all? DJ let the music spin"
"Its always an option. I know first hand and witnessed him developing the principles and insight as I was right there next to him. Yes there are infuriating aspects that contradict themselves but they are also in balance and coherence. That aspect is pretty much unavoidable as there are always some that exist as a checks for the rest and he keeps one foot out and in the other realm so what are you going to do about it?"
"Look, I never could stand him. Not now or then. It made me grin from within to realize he didn't have a clue that his enemies were sitting right next to him but for all of us that needed assistance when their chips were at their lowest he was always the first to offer help and inspiration, even when our own didn't. That, even though I hate to admit it, counts for something"
"Kill him. Be done with it. I've had enough of this repetitious conversation when its obvious he won't listen, acquiesce or just do as we wish. That in itself is a threat. Four twenty one him, make it look like an accident by ramping up his suffering so it seems like he made the decision himself and let the purple reign upon his head"
"That really is your solution to everything, isn't it?"
"Be not a cancer on the Earth" he replied with a grin and spark behind hooded eyelids "If I were to come back it would be my fondest wish to manifest as a deadly virus to do something about the overpopulation problem. Thin them out a bit. That isn't too bad, is it?"
"How did he know about the Stepford Incident? Someone had to have leaked, tipped or hinted. No prizes for guessing who that was because all the dream talk and blatant leading was bound to make him... Oh, wait a minute"
"You catch on quick" said the hooded one in a tone that was dripping in sarcasm. "Either way its a win/win. The deal he picked from his own seeming free will was the least worst of two bad options and that also allowed us to fill his head with double binds and the rest which kept him busy and not speaking"

From the back a voice spoke up that had been intently listening and hadn't said a thing:

"I cannot stand that arrogant prick. You all know that well and I've known him since a kid. He's always been like this and is nothing but trouble. I do like the idea of keeping him around, however, and slowly ramping up his suffering and entirely decimating any semblance of mental health he possesses. Let him know who he is messing with, nice and indirect, like the laser message. That still makes me laugh to think how he reacted to that. Like ice in a sauna, that all melted real quick" as he starts laughing and raises another drink to his lips with vengeful thoughts in his head. "He simply has to know by now that there is far more at play than this particular spin and how they're all connected so why won't he just bow his head?"
"And thats why you hate him? Because of his spirit? Don't you see thats exactly whats needed at this moment in time to move the script because what he speaks is authentic"
"By that logic I might as well detonate a bomb to light a cigarette because a match is just too simple. I've got nothing more to say on the topic. I don't even like thinking about him because he makes my skin itch and I can't wait till the day he is in the ground so I can celebrate his funeral"

He looked around the room and noticed that were more than enough who agreed with him, especially among those who had been around him since the shift including those who changed their names to ensure the optimal resonance with his spectrum to wield the most influence. 

"What? What do you want from me?" said he who had been silent up until this moment and now all were looking at him. "He's been the bane of my existence"
"Badum-tish" the man in the corner deadpanned as he raised a drink and took a sip whilst winking at him.
"All of them, to be frank. The world would be better if that entire line didn't exist because they think they're something and I can't count the amount of times he's flaunted and acted like he was above us just because of the land-"
"Calm down. You did what you did well and were duly rewarded so why get wound up now? Look, we've got this far and we've still got the upper hand. The deck is rigged and we have a few more Aces up our sleeve in case we need to lean. Sure he evaded a couple of plays that would have tied up some loose ends and placed a nice amount of knots around his location and rendered him open to further influence but thats what makes it interesting. Yes, I do like him. Yes, he does remind me of aspects of myself but never question my loyalty and all I've done for this because if push comes to shove I'll flick the switch myself and bring all of this to an end because, ultimately, he is living on borrowed time that we gracefully grant him hoping he sees the error of his ways and broadens his perspective in order to comprehend the reasoning behind the rhyme. I know he'll get it and then everything will work out as intended as he brings one chapter to an end and he creates the outline for the next because there are simply none others in the realm - and no, I don't care about your prospect before you say a thing, he is a weak imitation and doesn't have whats within him so don't even think of mentioning because whist he is walking that will never happen and even if he is too stupid to get the hint and play along as intended your guy simply isn't cut from the kind of cloth we need to make this effective because the linguistic skills are whats at the base of this and the alchemical process required to elevate the consciousness of the collective from where they currently sit"

There were murmurs of disagreement, support and indifference but the point was the point and it was as valid now as it was then. 

"If we had a better option do you honestly think we'd be messing around like this? Has anyone else had such a glimpse and then lived to tell the tale? You heard how reckless he was talking to anyone who would listen, and listen they did, way before the internet. It was you, you're the one who encouraged him to buy that site. What the hell were you thinking?"
"You've got to admit it is kinda snappy though. I just liked the idea of pulling him down a peg or ten. Don't really have anything against him as he's a decent kid and very entertaining as well but his logo does take the whizz"
"There's that arrogance again. If we were holding two of the same cup and they both contained the same drink the one that touches his lips would, by definition, be fantastic and far in excess of what you're sipping, even though they're identical. I can't stand that about him. What did he say? "I wouldn't insult my insides with this". Absolutely disgusting"

Laughter ripped through the room and everyone turned to look at he who sits in their midst and had been keenly listening to not just the words but energetics and resonance and how they linked in the subtle movements that extend beyond this realm.

"Look at all this discussion, disagreement and decision making based on who knows whats best. In any game of skill there is an element of chance present and your reactions to him are reflections of this aspect of yourselves. Those that embrace like to stalk the wild pendulum as it keeps things interesting and ensures the sharpness of the participant. The rest who see him as threat would prefer to keep things predictable as one moment clicks to the next but those times aren't the ones in which we're living. It is what it is. The simple fact is he is a catalyst and that is what the situation calls for and what is needed. He has repeatedly said in ways both elusive and direct that he is open to dialogue but it must be direct and honest. None of you have taken him up on this and instead are attempting to keep using proxies when you know fine well he'll disconnect from anyone he feels isn't genuine, regardless of how long he's known them. That line has been crossed, there is no coming back because whilst the flesh can heal the mind isn't quite so resilient"
"The paranoid are the most easy to manipulate because if you win their trust in one circle they gladly ignore the rest"
"Are you quoting the words that I wrote, boy? And you think he's arrogant. You should listen to yourself every now and then and heed the principle of resonance because this all displays it so well so take it as a cue to perfect yourself and never interrupt me again or there will be consequences"

This was a close to anger as he gets but it was enough so that the rest knew this was serious business and that a decision was forthcoming with which there would be no disagreement, discussion or contradiction because when he spoke, they listened:

"It's simple. What I propose is this..."

Till we meet again

Salman Rushdie, JK Rowling and the Power of the Pen

Salman Rushdie stabbed himself. At least, according to Iran that is what happened. Have you ever read The Satanic Verses? I’d be willing to bet those who are up in arms about this sequence of words and meaning therein haven’t even glanced at the text as they simply joined in the mob action that was baying for blood and cheered when he was stabbed in the neck. Ironic when you consider the name of Islam means peace so, by definition, extremists should be really chill.

In the real world they aren’t this. Neither are they aware of the contradiction this represents. Speaking of that buzzword they aren’t too keen on the change and rearrange antics of the LGBTQ movement and its ever increasing colonization of the alphabet. Ironic, yes? How are two totally separate movements that ostensibly seek and preach peace, unity and tolerance yet exhibit none of it toward anyone that doesn’t think just like them or dares question their narrative interlinked?

Doesn’t put me off my bacon sandwich served by a curvaceous blonde one bit but its been something that I found intriguing since way back when when I first read the Satanic Verses. I have a voracious appetite for knowledge and devoured this back in eighty eight with a surface level comprehension at best as I was simply unaware of a lot of what was referenced. In a nutshell it went like this:

Two actors are aboard a flight which is hijacked by the stereotypical bad men in turbans, side note – its interesting isn’t it that brown skin and/or rag on head has been injected into the public consciousness as terrorists in so many forms of the media without question since back when. Back during the times of nine eleven I was contemplating getting T-shirts printed that said “Don’t Panic! Not Islamic” as anyone of caramel hues was seen as a potential man with a death wish, complete with ticket in hand to claim seventy two virgins along with a passport that magically manifests on demand to prove he committed the action. “Pay no attention to the men dancing behind the podium…” That said, later on in the naughts when there was a huge influx of Eastern Europeans into the purported land of milk and honey known as the United Kingdom I was considering opening a business employing them called “Ethnic Cleansing” as I knew quite a few of them and this industry and lack of linguistic skill seemed to be their preference and specialty. Now that my questionable sense of humor is obvious lets get back to this, the life and times of a man who is living proof the axiom “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me” isn’t exactly true for those who place their faith and point and view in the box marked Mohammedan.

Two actors, one plane and nary a cup to be seen. What does happen, however, is that this jet meets an end and the protagonists end up falling in the sea. Gibreel, the successful actor who came from rags to riches is of questionable mental health and has been hearing voices that are pushing him to the edge. The object of his affection is that which those of Asian persuasion place on a pedestal far higher than the rest:

A white skinned goddess. Did you know that in those lands labelled as East Indies and beyond beauty is seen not as the harmonic mathematical arrangement of your features but primarily designated by the tone of your skin? Ergo you could be drop dead gorgeous but “cursed” with a heavy dose of melanin and seen as nothing special or on the flip you could have a face that looks like it was beaten viciously with the ugly stick but as long as your complexion is that of milk you’d be worshipped for your radiance. Skin bleaching and such like isn’t frowned upon but accepted and much the same can be said of countless other races in the Orient that practice such self loathing and yet, on the other side of the planet, white folks risk cancer of the skin to obtain that golden glow that they believe signals attractiveness. Crazy, isn’t it? If that doesn’t hint at the truly schizophrenic and entirely unable to accept themselves nature of most people in this realm then I don’t know what will. Idiotic when you consider this via the lens of evolution and temperatures of said locales they find themselves within and the response of their skin to the UV spectrum:

This I can attest to myself as my skin tone can range from copper to mahogany depending on where I’m living and how often the sun kisses my flesh as that is what activates the melanin. Anyway, Alleluia Cone is the name of the lady in question and she climbs mountains despite having flat feet. The themes of highs and lows plays out quite often in this complex, multilayered tapestry that I think everyone, irrespective of their faith and proclivities, should read because its content is quite intriguing. On the flip of Gibreel – who spends his time playing gods on the screen to entertain his countrymen – the other head of this tale is a man named Saladin Chamca, which means “He who bears spoons” as a nod to his lineage which in India is a huge thing. He is less successful but too has himself a white woman (Yes!) and is transitioning into what is referenced in a less than positive sense – A coconut. You know, brown on the outside yet white within. He has attempted to erase all aspects of his culture via assimilation into the English paradigm in the land where he now lives as a successful voice actor. Interesting, yes? How one is up front and glistens in the spot light whilst the other is hidden. The theme of duality and its interplay is intricately woven throughout this tale and its a tour de force of fiction that I encourage you to read for yourself. Anywhen:

Just as Gibreel takes on angelic traits that have him questioning his mental health as they tumble from the sky into the Atlantic Ocean Saladin starts developing horns, hooves and tail. All accoutrements of that old goat himself, the devil. Things now get really interesting as Chamca is met and greeted by the police who protect and serve him by beating the hell out of him whilst Gibreel meets no such fate. This causes the immense amount of rage and hate within Mr Spoony himself to overflow as he sets off on an intricate plan of vengeance to destroy the already fragile angels quite possibly schizophrenic state of mind by using the immense jealously which dwells within against him. The rest of the tale is about betrayal, murder and redemption and raises a whole load of interesting questions but the part that got the goat of those who say “Can’t touch this!” about pork but are quite fond of circumcision was this:

With a fractured state of awareness that comes from having spent a lifetime being idolized on screen, where he represents the divine made flesh in the theatrical realm, Gibreel begins his descent into madness after the plane he was flying in has its winged clipped. In these dream like sequences he envisions the life of “The Messenger” way back when and it bears more than a passing resemblance to that of the Patriarch of the Islamic persuasion (peace be upon him). Now this part, even back then when I knew next to nothing about this religion and hadn’t met any of its adherents (many of whom would later become my friends and some would then band together to plot my death and forcefully eject me from this realm) made me think “What. The. F?” because there was nothing at all subtle in the recasting of the prophet as a man hiding out in a whorehouse trading blows with a satirical poet and heathen priestess. Nowadays this would be calling trolling, par excellence. Back then I just read it as a tale of fiction that occasionally had my eyebrows jumping as I tried to figure out the intent of the author and what he was saying. In a nutshell this all centers on the bit that questions the source of the information which poured into his head and whether this revelations were divine or satanic, direct or edited and many such things that any avid historian wrestles with as we know the ledger of previous events is written by the pen of those who survived using the blood of the dead and thus there are always three sides to any tale.

I’d be willing to guess that that entire section is what causes the massive bone of contention that lead to the proclamation of “Off with his head” as the Fatwa was levied back when but, in my eyes at least, this was intensely myopic because there were certain themes and topics that this book addresses really well and I’ve reread it many times since I was kid, always gaining something new as I expanded my awareness and learning. Case in point it transcripts well the shift from poly to monotheism and the resistance this brings. I always found it interesting how old gods become new devils as the symbols most firmly linked in the minds of those on the planet at this moment of horns, hooves and playing tunes is illustrated by this:

Is exactly what people will be worshipping in the new age of digital enlightenment facilitated by the intermixing of silicon and carbon toward which we’re heading. A starter for ten for those interested in researching this is “You’ll meet a man carrying a jug of water and you should follow him into the house he enters” as well as the link between bread and virgins along with the symbol of the fish because its all astrological. That we’ll get into in depth when we talk about the nature of celestial influence and how it literally sits at the middle of all of this and why its been hushed up as witchcraft and foolishness when its actually liberally sprinkled throughout all aspects of existence as the hermaphroditic, goat like entity above signals to those who can decode the true meaning of the zodiac and what is hidden within:

Mahound, a businessman, starts a new venture called “Submission” that is proudly monotheistic and he is oppressed by the authorities for daring to think different and not supporting the Current Thing. Ironic, isn’t it? Told you it was intricate and would make you think as its now ever more relevant than it was back then. In a true hip hop sense the state hires a poet to write several disses toward him as the authorities want to get him out of the paint real quick before he erodes or eats in to their way of doing things with his new perspective. He ends up making a deal and says to the prophet – notice, its interesting that profit means something else and yet sounds just like it and that those who preach from the pulpit often expect to extract an offering under the premise of assisting the poor and suffering whilst they themselves live lavish and are always well fed – “Prophet, I will sanction and assist your movement as long as you grandfather in our three favorite goddesses as allahs daughters. Well, businessman, what do you say about this?”. He considers for a moment and replies he wishes to climb a mountain to seek heavenly council before rendering his decision as rejection or acceptance of this. Up on the hill the angel Gibreel, not the schizophrenic actor who came tumbling and is named after him but the real deal angelic being with wings offering revelation, consults and says “Sure, lets do this. Those terms are acceptable” and your man descends and tells the Head of State that they’re with it so lets get the ball rolling.

Thing is he has second thoughts and decides that insight wasn’t from the divine realm but was instead satan disguising himself as an angel and moves to have the commentary stricken from the record. The man and wife who hold the purse strings of this realm don’t like this one bit as they’d placed their chips on him and thus retaliate by killing his wife and uncle. Mahound is in the wind as he and his followers flee somewhere else to regroup and rethink.

Twenty five years later we revisit the dream sequence and see that Mahound has been successful in spreading his message as people are converting and the old way of thinking is seen as a relic as they place their faith in his revelation. Not all are in agreement, however, as those close to him grow suspicious as so many of these proclamations directly benefit him like when the first man turned to the other and, pointing at the sun, told him “He said you should give me this” and then gestured at what he was eating aka The “divine” right of kings… In many respects you could argue that this sense of exploitation in the name of the spiritual is hardwired into the human experience as there are interesting implications for those who come to Earth and don the flesh because we are born into currents of a socially accepted and normalized ignorance that seem hell bent on the destruction of the fluidly radiant and intelligent inner sense we all possessed once upon a when and its subsequent replacement with rigid, dogmatic perspectives to which total obedience and fealty must be pledged plus you may never, ever, ever, ever question the man behind the curtain or his motives as well.

The Satanic Verses does this well with a level of finesse and elegance that is simply breathtaking as it illustrates so very well the same conflict the Alphabets are currently facing as they struggle to make themselves and their multitude of genders better known by going against the grain of what came before. The irony is they, like Khomeini as well, wish to chop off the head of anyone who goes against their edict and in this case its JK Rowling who pushed the pen and got rich by weaving tales about spells and magic. “Burn her, she’s a witch!” would have been said back when but now instead its blue haired angry comment sections that pray for her end.

This is why I say again, you simply must read this tale regardless of your faith and inclination because its so apt for now due to how it links past and future events and causes you to question the narrative you unconsciously adopted. From my perspective there are only three types of human in this realm:

Slaves who form eighty one percent of the populace and are bound by their ignorance that causes them to feel miserable within as they spend their lives engaging in distraction designed to evade the present moment and all it brings.

Slave Masters, who form eleven percent, are motivated by the desire to get ahead, wield power and influence over the rest as they willingly misguide them for reasons only they know best.

The remaining eight percent are Warriors and we see the Game of Souls through a different lens and thus may say things that both of these other sections detest as its a threat to what they’ve been invested in. At the heart is the Path of Power upon which the Warrior treads as the intent to remember and re-embody the inner sense which we all knew as innocence when we first stepped into this realm and was swiftly fractured by traumatic experience and the nefarious influence of the System which diverts you instead to living a life of exploitation in which you generate immense dividends and receive a small percentage upon which you are taxed on the tax of your taxes until the end after which you’re slammed back into the flesh to do it all again because you didn’t take the steps required to transcend whilst living.

This probably explains well what appealed to me about this text back then and in this present moment because the child within will question everything and wishes to see it all from as many perspectives as possible and thus they have the clearest perception as there are no filters on their awareness and expression. This is beaten and or trained out of most real quick by internally dead and emotionally stifled parents who repeat the cycle that was forced upon them as they perpetuate ignorance but that is off topic and covered elsewhen where I’ve pushed the pen and spoke at length, so lets instead get back to the verses:

Mahound returns and conquers the land that spilled the blood of his wife and uncle and wishes to exact vengeance upon the poet who dared diss him. Wishing to keep his head and neck attached for as long as possible Baal the wordsmith hides out in the brothel instead and encourages the whores to take the names and play the roles of Mahounds twelve wives, something which tickles the patrons and the endeavor is a success. I know, I know. Double, you, tea, eff? Its not subtle in the least, either in or out of context but it points out the foibles of weakness, power and vengeance when the tables flip and we find ourselves in higher or lower positions and the implications therein which is such a common thread that runs through the entire human experience.

Far more than a fictional tale with some passing real world references there is a deeper narrative about what it means to take the flesh and wander around in this realm where you become a product of your environment if you’re not careful. Getting back to the brothel its eventually broken up and all those within are killed as Mahound himself meets his end. His last vision?

He sees the same goddess he repudiated who tells him the sickness wracking him is her form of vengeance and he thanks her for the gift. This entire section really humanizes Mahound and offers a great insight into the burdens that come with picking up the mantle of spiritual leadership and the aspects one must wrestle with in the quest to seem unerring as well as the allure of power and the corruption it brings when peasants rise to the role of kings as they exert dominion over their adherents and expect unquestioning allegiance to their edicts.

You really have to read this because whilst my intent is to give you some insight without spoiling anything as there is so much packed within this five hundred and forty six page polemic against the Islamic institution that is also saturated with insights into a great many things you probably had never previously considered which adds to its depth and richness as each time you reread you’ll gain something else. The last time I checked this text was with the assistance of a Koranic scholar who filled in the gaps of my ignorance about the nature of this religion and what was referenced and to say that was a revelation may sound a little blasphemous but that brings us to another topic which is inextricably linked as a modern manifestation of an ancient axiom which is “Everything changes”. Enter the rainbow and its non binary message which intends to break free from the shackles of the old ways of thinking as it stands to challenge what people blindly accept as “The way it is”.

To say there are members in the LGBTQ contingent who are on an evangelical mission to spread their message and intent by any means is quite an understatement. Much like the aforementioned hypothesized extremists that should be really peaceful and not wielding blades of death or a “tick, tick boom” kind of presence I always found it amusing that these people preach and demand tolerance yet will brook no discussion, counter argument or any kind of well reasoned dialogue about what they think, its implications, overall meaning or intent.

I am, first and foremost, a philosopher in the truest sense and have been gifted with having met and conversed with hundreds of thousands, if not a million, people in the flesh so far in my adventuring as we kicked the bobo on an immense amount of topics where I, often in the spirit of mooting, would take the opposite position just for the hell of it and to sharpen my skills of empathy when it comes to stepping into the world view of another and seeing it via their lens. I once argued that Coke secretly owns Pepsi (or exerts a huge influence hidden from the rest) because the best way to protect your own interests as the number one of any realm is to control the second spot as well because that way anyone who comes for your head has to take theirs off and this allows you time to prime, respond and rethink to whoever caused fresh blood to spill into a new blue ocean. Just saying that to highlight that this skill can be used on topics both important and frivolous but the end result is always interesting as people can get really vexed after a few hours of debating something they didn’t previously care about one bit but have now threw their weight in and are fully invested in the win because to doubt what they said would make them look stupid and ignorant. Nobody can handle this. Nor quietly admit to themselves they may be wrong because they are invested in the position and what it says about them.

That hints about a deeper, underlying process and principle that so many operate within but are entirely unaware of its pernicious influence as the hook of the idea rips through the lip of the fish of their awareness and its hurtled through an entirely new and foreign steam of consciousness. At first it rejects the impingement, the pain this sharp alien object brings to its sense of buoyant free will but then it does shift as it enjoys the thrill of speeding through the currents at a speed far in excess of what itself thought capable previously. Up until its bought up on the deck of the boat, gasping for air, out of its element and is slapped around the head and finds death at the end of its adventure as it is stripped, cooked and then fed to those out fishing. There are levels to the Game, my friend. Back to the Alphabet Gang who seemingly won’t rest until all of our tresses are blue or purple and their enemies pronouns are were and was:

Out of all of the industry and media personages who gladly bend the knee and agree with the deal that pee pees and foo foos are ridiculously simple ways to define your role in this reality as there are far more options than binary there are a couple who don’t acquiesce or give as much as an inch. Dave Chappelle countered the movement with a joke about the large Black man that identifies as a small Chinese within:

And we all laughed at the foolishness of his predicament because the truth was Self evident. Of course, some people got up in their feels and they attempted to bring Daves chapter to an end for daring to be so offensive when, in a historical and cultural sense, the jester is the only one in this realm who is allowed to make the attempt of poking fun at that which may be considered sacrosanct and that is the drive they are intent on censoring. Thanks, Will Smith! You started this trend of people thinking they can run up on stage and meet words with violence because before that people stayed in their lanes but I’ve spoke about your motivations and implications therein previously at length. Interestingly this is, I feel, a butterfly effect we’re witnessing and what lead to Rushdie getting shanked in the neck because in a parallel timeline where Will didn’t slap Chris due to marrying someone else who wasn’t still pining for the spirit of and outlaw, long dead, and sporting a bald head that almost led to her husbands career ending in a shambles during what should have been his crowning achievement, things played out real different. Enough metaphysical rambling and lets shift from the Black man hated by the rainbow coalition and glance at their other target, the one, the only JK Rowling:

Here is a White woman who embodies the rags to riches tale which resulted from the immense joy and entertainment she brings to the masses about a little wizard kid and his friends that tickled the imaginations of both Adulterated and innocent. Although still young she seemingly had a senior moment where she apparently forgets what we used to call people who menstruate. Whoops, silly ancient relic but of course a certain crowd that spends all day and night on the net and are the equivalent of digital crickets in the sense that they’re quite small as a percent but their noise is immense and were insanely offended so they rushed the gates of her digital castle with QWERTY pitchforks in hand.

Much like Salman said about the poetic disses that were published when Mahound was pushing his narrative about there being one divine aspect that has no equal or representative beyond him in the book we mentioned there was a terf war burgeoning. Just like the Blood and Crips that lead to the untimely deaths of Chris Wallace and his former friend Tupac in hails of bullets that remain unsolved and uninvestigated when words crossed the line and were met with violence as the divide between art and real life dimmed. As I said previously, all of this can either be taken at the surface or examined at depth as it hints about the schism that rests in the fractured psyche of the collective as any adept of their inner realm will attest:

There are no enemies without, only teachers who are pointing toward what exists within so why wrestle with shadows? You simply can’t win. Instead one needs to grab their non binary testicles and woman up to face what is obscuring their illumination from within as this is the true cause of the dissension. Man, people do not want to hear this. They want something that confirms the narrative that “They, they are the problem and once we eradicate them all will be well”. That will never happen. As intended by those who have a controlling interest in this level of the Game of Souls we’re currently living because pain and suffering are the true coin of the realm and what makes the wheel of life spin.

I used to push poisonous products to the populace for profit and business was booming because people who are suffering will do anything to vent and ease the grip of the tension they feel within. There were two rather effeminate men who were handing over their notes and preparing to leave with their intoxicants along with their lesbian friends whom I’d previously met as they were repeat customers. I noticed the man standing behind waiting his turn was looking at them with a scowl and disdain which I thought was quite strange because he too was one of them. “The usual?” I asked him as I picked the various substances he would always purchase. “Whats the problem? I thought you people were all friends, hugs, rainbows and tolerance?”.

“What? Me? Them?” he almost spat with derision. “I’m nothing like them I’m a proper English cigarette, they just pretend and are playing dress up on the surface as they beg for acceptance”. This led to an interesting conversation that spanned across various business meetings where he’d pick up and expound on what he’d said previously until one day I never saw him again. Turns out he’d killed himself. Did you know the suicide rate in the gay and related communities is immense? I didn’t either but evidently it far outstrips that of the rest of the populace and that should help shed light on what I’m about to say next which is a condensed and edited version of our conversation that went like this:

“I’ve been gay since long before it was fashionable. When the fascist forces that blight this kingdom were fighting people with your skin tone and attempting to kill those of us who preferred the company of men. I came up in the struggle these pretenders adopted and if they were on fire I wouldn’t spit on them”. The vehemence was palpable and I was surprised to hear this as my lesbian friends never once spoke of this as they sang song of tolerance and shared a great many tips of how to extend the pleasure of a woman that were gratefully noted – shout out to the Army of One when you read this. This dude, on the flip, painted a far darker and more vivid tale of what goes on behind the curtain that was exceedingly lurid and made a lot more sense than what I’d previously based on limited knowledge, little interest and willful ignorance. It went like this:

There are real meatballs and fauxmo-sexuals who aren’t actually, truly into it but are actually engaging in the lifestyle to get back at their parents, as a way to deal with rejection from an ex or because they’re lonely and want friends who on the surface will accept them and shower them with affection, alcohol and sex. Those two who got served and left, they’re as fake as a three bob bit and I can’t stand them as they’re the loudest and proudest. Drama queens, the lot of them, they just do it for the attention and aren’t truly gay from within”. I asked my lesbian friends and they shared tales about college lesbians who then grew up to get married and have kids who write off that part of their lives as an experiment. Apparently it was quite common. They also corroborated the tensions within the movement as well as the excess of drugs, unprotected sex and completely shallow vanity that is only interested in the surface and image presented. Its why they generally kept to themselves and had very little to do with the movement because “We know who we are and don’t feel the need to have to convince someone else because we validate our own existence”.

That was really interesting because it linked back to exactly what the much older guy and veteran of street fighting for the right to stick his D in the A of other men back in the 80s would attest. Notice this narrative is almost entirely missing from the sanitized PR mission and the perceptive among you would have linked this to Salmans missive and its real world influence.

Islam preaches unity and equality but was divided from the moment Mohammed drew his last breath. There are Sunnis and Shia and they’ve been at each others neck since then even though they believe ninety nine point nine percent the same thing. For fourteen hundred years this war has been raging and shows no sign of abating. Not just Islam but all of the patriarchal denominations and so many other movements have this same schism and tension within where they have in and out groups, believers and infidels. It is my experience that this manifestation is simply a symptom of something deeper within the minds of women and men, irrespective of what they think, believe or are invested in and will find some way to vent and manifest this tension by pointing a finger at “them” whilst ignoring the three directed back at themselves as the true cause lies within ergo its pointless to wrestle with shadows when you should direct your attention at that which obscures the light within that you were born embodying.

These fakes are taking D in the A to get back at Daddy for saying he wouldn’t cut the cheque they wanted to start their own business or when he wrote him out of his will for not following in his footsteps or that girl who rejected him and he was crushed so he decided there and then to play for the other team instead. They generally are unaware of this but we, we can spot them and these pretenders have been multiplying exponentially since the push for public acceptance of what was once classed as unclean and deviant”. He glassy eyes were flashing with glimpses of the rage and energies he carried within and even though we’d never talked that much previously when transacting business I knew he’d been waiting to vent and I’m as good at listening as I am at talking so I let him carry on over the course of a few conversations until he bought his own chapter to an end.

In a nutshell he was saying that there are primary homosexuals who were quite literally built like this and then there are those who dye themselves in the wool for ulterior motives. Much to his chagrin the fake outnumber the real and are far more vocal because they’re championing a cause they hope you believe in because they want to believe in their own self deception. I checked with my lesbians and once again they affirmed all of this and I asked why they never mentioned this. “Well, you’ve got to be in it to know these kind of things. Its very cliquish and besides we come to you to get high and for a laugh, not talk politics”. Made sense as I served up what they needed and got back to business.

Its easy to be all love and acceptance when you’re filled with a heady mix of dissociatives , hallucinogens and empathogens on Saturday night and the club lights are twinkling. Everyone is your friend and all holes are a goal because everyone knows the score of the pleasure principle but when those Tuesday blues kick in and your sitting at home staring at the ceiling by yourself then that rope becomes tempting as you realize how shallow and empty it all is” he said in ways that eerily hinted at what would follow when I discovered of his death. “This is what attracts them. The sense of belonging is immense to those who feel so rejected and have spent so long rejecting themselves as they then leap, head first, into this rebellion as they stick two fingers up at their parents, society or their religion and freely indulge their whims in a culture which is inherently narcissistic and toxic”. He says this from having been in it since the beginning, way before it was fashionable and apparently there were loads who agreed with him and saw the politification of their movement as something entirely abhorrent and an immense distortion of their own principles. Apparently its not all sunshine and rainbows in the land of the alphabet squadron just like it isn’t in the land of the righteous and pious living as decreed by a book penned by someone back when. Interesting resonance, yes? The Satanic Verses picks at this thread and unravels the narratives to bring some previously unthought of questions to your awareness, should you choose to read it or are you simply following behind a battle cry based on something that issued not from your inner realm, experience and wisdom but someone elses knee jerk reaction who probably hasn’t read the text themselves. Back to JK Rowling:

Her book and its theme were popular with everyone ranging from kiddies with imaginations still present and correct that could dive into a world that was so much more interesting than school lessons all the way up to their Adulterated parents who enjoyed the narrative and liked the way the lady pushed her pen. Trans folk also found a lot of solace about the tale of an outsider finding a place to rest and be himself in a supportive environment as it satisfied an itch within they wished to scratch. Fiction is amazing in how it can do this just like in the inversion – Rushdie poked at a soft spot some folk would rather not visit. Interesting, isn’t it how all of this is linked with invisible threads that are woven through time and space as highlighted by this narrative. The implications are immense if you ever stop and think because that alone could change your perspective about the Game of Souls (which is what I call this realm and the Earthbound experience of the flesh as manifested by your prime awareness that it all plays within).

Harry and Hermonie were quick to speak out against what they perceived as insensitive comments against the people the Trans and said things like how she tarnished and diminished her books via her comments. Like it or not, its the Current Thing and you better support it or else face being cancelled. Thing is Rowling has “F You money” meaning she can write her own ticket and doesn’t have a boss who can threaten her way of living or exert any kind of influence. Its knowledge of this that drives so many celebs to throw up a hashtag here or rainbow aware this because just like the fauxmos previously mentioned their allegiance is but on the surface and is motivated by other actions ie. keeping the cheques rolling in and appealing to as many people as possible whilst creating more lucrative opportunities by seeming progressive when in reality their views may be quite different. Businesses do the same thing, surely you noticed all the pandering and blatant kowtowing just to increase their market share and leverage like the enforced retirement of Uncle Ben and various other antics like rainbows splattered on everything and many other cynical attempts at viral marketing designed to capture your attention as they virtue signal with reckless abandon.

Remember, Hugo Boss, Volkswagen, BMW, Kodak, Siemens, IBM, Bayer, The Associated Press and a great many other conglomerates threw their hat in with Hitler way back when and best believe history would read way different if the men who were paperclipped across the skies and welcomed with open arms into US intelligence had actually won the war because then the landscape of modern times would be something else. The ledger of previous events is written by the pen of those who survived using the blood of the dead in order to present themselves in a light that is flattering and this highlights beautifully how the interpretation of the Current Thing can change and shift quite dramatically as the zeitgeist does its bit.

Like fish in water people often cannot see the true nature of the paradigm they were born in and as my near death experience attests there is far more to this realm than dreamt of your in your philosophies, my friend. You’ve got to leave and come back aka get on the hook and off again because your mind literally isn’t your own at the current moment but lets get back on topic:

JK stands firm on the virtual insanity she sees grip and wield its influence, especially across the West. The place where Salmans tales took place aren’t quite as effusive when it comes to all this. I’ve got to hand it to Rowling though because they’ve used many tools that are so underhanded like misrepresenting what she says, fake Tweets and edits along with so many devious things because she sticks to her guns and opens fire directly at the whites of their eyes when they press her back against the wall and thats quite admirable, regardless of what you think because as the old fable says:

Only the child, filled with innocence, saw and said the Emperor was naked. Imagine if instead he self suppressed the wisdom of his natural inner sense and bought into the externally mandated narrative? We’d all be accidental nudists convincing ourselves of something that didn’t exist beyond a stealthily injected scam designed to induce confusion and profit someone who then cashed the cheque and was gone with the wind, seeking his next victim. The oldest tricks are often the best because so many fall for them. People want to buy in and feel a sense of kinship with those who were born into this realm of isolation and ignorance that champions the destruction of innocence as it fosters an almost complete and total disconnection from Self, the planet and the hyper-dimensional potential of which we’re all capable.

Rowling liked a Tweet comparing hormone therapy to antidepressants and those who watch her like a hawk, waiting for a slip were predictably livid and Tweeted their indignance that just confirmed her bigoted ignorance as seen through their lens. She responded to this with what I thought was a well balanced and reasoned message that raised points that were not only valid but also drew attention to the long term consequences of cross-sex hormones and side effects they bring. Lurking behind the shadow of all of this is the pharmaceutical complex that profits handsomely from this as they sell the pills for both gender shift and depression so there most certainly is a link that very few speak about or mention.

Hagrid from the HP universe is one of the few who came to her defense and stated the obvious about “A whole Twitter generation that stands around waiting to be offended” and this hits the nail on the head, no matter how hard those invested in the farce wish to deny it. The anger you see on these social screens in based internally as I’ve said repeatedly. It needs a vent, someone who dares think different and stand against the Current Thing. Whether thats Chappelle saying he identifies as Chinese as he slants his eyes with a buck toothed grin as a satirical reference to the image that Hollywood sanctioned and projected of the East since way back when before its hundred and eighty degree shift that aims at breaking into the Asian market which is responsible for the huge uptick in pandering and was responsible for the immense success of the film Warcraft which bricked in the US but was still somehow the most popular movie of two thousand and sixteen. How? Lets examine as this blip sheds light on what I’ve been speaking about to those who wish to know what goes on under the skin of reality management:

It made over two hundred million in China, which more than recouped its budget and went to clock four hundred and fifty million in total. Interesting, yes? China generates nearly twenty percent of the global box office taking but to get your flick on their screens their requirements are quite strict because they only allow thirty four foreign movies a year in. This quota can be circumvented if you bring native co-producers in because the goose step is cool if the geese can also be seen gandering and profiting from the investment in imagery and perception. Next step, sprinkle some Asian faces in but make them look heroic and they must always win. A far cry from white men in yellow face with slanted eyes and large teeth they’d pushed previously but then this the the same team that picked Ben Kingsley to play Ghandi and, most shocking to me, the Indian in Short Circuit was actually white even though his caricature was ridiculously funny. “Oh. five number Johnny! For the sake of Pete” indeed as well as the Gods of Egypt being as white as can be. Anyway, you get the point so lets get back to the movie and the rise of the dragon which will be leading society as move into a new global way of being and the dominance of the West recedes.

“We’re all part of the same hypocrisy” the Godfather said cooly and he was entirely right when he came to this because the industry is in the business of showing whatever generates dividends and attracts your attention. That in itself is an immense influence and not for nothing did the Druids cast spells using wands from the Holly tree. Hollywood is where the magic happens, just ask MK Disney. Whoops, thats Mr Disney. But we’ll leave the typo for posterity.

Famous man in a dress, Eddie Izzard came to Rowlings defense saying she doesn’t think the author is transphobic but the most worrying part of all this was those in the community that took such offense from her comments that they literally wished her death and sent threats of pipe bombs, rape and stabbings. You really couldn’t make up this level of intolerance and the saddest fact is those who perpetrate this are the same ones who say they’re victims and are only standing up for themselves. My friend you do that by leading by example and not projecting the worst of your experience upon those you think are impinging on your narrative. That isn’t cool in any sense and anyone who engages in things like this really should have their head examined.

Chappelle, once again, got drawn in as he supported Rowling because hoo, do they/them hate him for daring to express that gender is a fact as well as his previous sketch in which he mentioned a potentially overdosing trans women in a dress had her penis showing. Notice how nicely that ties in with what I earlier mentioned about drugs and excess that form the underbelly of this movement and are rarely spoken of as well as the implications of what it means to need to get high constantly to feel content within? I’ve spent a large portion of my life dealing with fiends and probing their awareness with insightful questions designed to help them question their motivations as well as drawing an end to their suffering as I came to realize there are only two ways to be on this planet:

Self Constructive or Self Destructive. Thats it really. Every single action, thought and deed can be sliced neatly to sit on either side of this polarity and once you comprehend and apply this then the rest shifts as you have a framework within which to unravel the narrative. Frank and honest discussion, not promises of cancellation and death threats are what is truly needed the heal this schism that manifests as the veil of unification that hides a deeper division as embodied by social movements, religion and yes, even your beloved internet because the latter brings us together whilst enforcing our separation as we click, click, click another dopamine hit to distract us from the pain of being ourselves.

I’ve got ideas and solutions. Thats why its called willhelpme because it does was it says on the tin and as I mentioned previously you are another me, together we. There is no division once you’ve transcended the illusory nature of psynthetic reality that profits handsomely from the same misery it engenders then sends you to rail against. Either you are aware of this and its Opponent or you aren’t and become its Victim. Knowledge and application of this is what differentiates Slaves from Warriors and the Slave Masters know this well and see me as a threat for sharing this wisdom hence their many attempts to remove my flesh from the surface of the planet and prevent the spread of my message.

I don’t care about your race, skin, pronouns, belief systems and anything else because I know the truth of you far better than you know yourself as you are currently alienated and disconnected from the kingdom within in which your Inner Child dwells, a living hostage kept like this due to your self imposed ignorance. Bring and end to this and the Game of Souls shifts because we are co-creators of our experience, this isn’t a passive process as the Dual Slit experiment attests.

We are inside something akin to a living piece of artwork designed to look like heaven but actually feels like hell due to the presence and influence of energies that don’t have our best interests as heart because that particularly human cavity and the potential for empathy it brings is entirely missing in them. They want nothing less than for you to be like them and forget your greatest treasure and potential as you get caught up in the whirlwind designed to take your mind off the chaos within that manifests as a beleaguered planet that is being purposefully wrecked for the meek to inherit, as promised, while the elite who select themselves jet off into the red and start terraforming the new Earth to do it all again as the Game of Souls keeps spinning. I say that to say this:

Most of what you believe and invest in is BS. What else do you call a Belief System because the word coincidence doesn’t exist in my lexicon as I don’t speak the Devlish language into existence. All of this is a distraction from the inner coherence, beauty and unconditional acceptance of Self that you were born sporting as you stepped into this realm. Its a sickness that claims billions and every moment a new one is born to be fed to the System except the process now is more subtle than the previous Current Thing called a burnt offering in which parents would feed their seeds to a flame filled effigy in exchange for prosperity and safety:

I keep repeating the links in the hope that that which is pure and still dwells within gets the hint because only you can choose to transcend the limited aspect of self you currently identify with as that is the cause of your problems and its cause is the schisms that happened way back when and still reigns in the heads of those living today as they pass it on to their kids. It no measure of health to be well adjusted to a society that is profoundly sick and as the King once said:

If you want to make the world as better place take a look at your Self and make that change.

Thing is that can be interpreted and actioned in two ways. Self Construction vs Self Destruction rears it head again. The rest of the tale is up to you because you create the path by walking, I can only share what I’ve done, seen and learned along the way with the intent to alleviate your suffering and bring sanity back to a realm engulfed in madness and totally estranged from its magnificent beauty and the true potential within due to its fixation on division. Us vs Them.

Till we meet again

Are You Living Your Life or Your Parents?

Its a sad fact that in these modern times most people don’t realize they can live their own life because they’re too busy trying to fit in to another expectations, rules or paradigm. This misguided drive to find themselves fuels a lot of these social justice type movements which is why they’re generally filled with misfits trying to find a cause that will allow them to rebel as the wisdom of their crowd fills them with a sense of purpose and belonging. Thing is they’ve traded one kind of forced perspective for a larger slice of group think. Sure, the cake thats baked may be more to their taste that what they were being force fed but its still not authentic because that can only come from within and isn’t a “one size fits all” kind of thing with ready made logos and slogans.

Its like that news article a while back where a Hipster sued a publication for using his image without consent, only to find it was a totally different human being dressed just like him. Ironic, isn’t it? Such is the thing with these counterculture movements as they’re just another form of obedience training presented as a choice of free will, when in reality its no such thing. To realize this takes a level of insight and commitment to honesty that generally only Warriors possess and thus you won’t find them engaging in these type of things without questioning their motives, actions and expected outcomes. For the rest who are simply playing dress up, they’re just happy to link up with others that on the surface feel just like them:

Living desperate lives, devoid of meaning and a creeping feeling they’re entirely insignificant. Its why such things are filled with pseudo camaraderie and hearty back slapping as everyone ostensibly supports the Current Thing they’ve been instructed to rally behind like obedient lemmings. Hippies are a great example of this because, in retrospect, it becomes exceedingly obvious that their entire counterculture thinking from the drugs to the symbols and music was literally handed to them and everyone ran with it, totally unaware to whose tune they were dancing or the encoded meaning therein as their energy was syphoned. Look into the meaning of the rainbow and how it seems to pop up in so many large scale events and see if you can find any correlation.

The best thing about brainwashing is when its done with precision and finesse the victims aren’t aware of this and think its all of their own creation and making. Quite clever, yes? Better yet if they’re confronted with it they’ll rebel at the mere suggestion that these concepts they are wearing like a second skin may actually be produced by ones whose intent doesn’t exactly gel with what they think. Christianity and the cross is a great example of this dissonance because its like me starting a JFK fan club and using a rifle bullet as the symbol as then the energy that pours in celebrates his death rather than the living example. The way the modern world thinks about the sun is similar to this because instead of perceiving it as the bountiful source of sustenance that brings life to this planet its rising and setting are instead tocks and ticks merely marking the beginning of your ending.

Not many people ever consider these aspects because society was, over time, flipped on its head so what we class as normal isn’t quite what it says. Actually, it is. Except that spell doesn’t point in the direction you’ve been lead to believe, thanks to the Devilish trickery the forked tongue doth weave via Slavespeak. Getting back to others designs:

It was once described that the journey from child to Adulterated being of this realm means facing an ever decreasing range of options that steadily get worse as you progress. The veracity of this statement is Self evident for anyone has felt the effects of this happening as they are gradually herded into a life they never wished to live as they were too busy designing something else. Some never even resisted, thought or dreamed. They just gave up and were washed along in the stream not long after they learned to write or read as they were seemingly birthed to fill anothers expectations who seemed not to care about their own wishes or drives, as these were either invalidated as they rise or never nurtured or refined.

I’ve seen people who were forced to become engineers because this is the fate their parents conceived when they birthed the seed and the child went along grudgingly even though he was an intuitive dancing machine. Can you imagine how that feels? Cerebrally, physically and spiritually these are on opposite sides of the wheel as the kid had a sense of rhythm that could instantly groove in the pocket and moved with a natural elegance that would make a cat say “You know, you’re pretty slick”. Instead of using this skill with which they came equipped, they had to force themselves to sit still. He was constantly reprimanded for tapping his leg or beating a rhythm on the desk and such things because the music was within him, just waiting for a chance to burst out and express itself, with or without an audience. “College days were the best of my life” he often said, reminiscing over a drink, as then he was finally away from the watchful eye of his parents and their affectionate inquisition that was hell bent on directing his development in a way they thought they knew best.

During that time away from home he ripped up the dance floor and thus many hearts and panties were torn as well because there is something primal and attractive in the allure of a man who can perform without a care and evidently is so comfortable in his skin as he glides through the air in rhythmic motion. To keep the grades up he worked extra hard as well because they were always threatening him with cutting off his allowance if he didn’t perform as expected. “You know, I dance to transcend. It feels like I escape… this” he said, motioning to the mountains of paperwork that surrounded him. He was a solid B grade student because he knew that was enough to keep the cash rolling in because without that he’d have to fund himself and that would mean even less dancing but it was all just a means to an end. Eventually, he hung up his dancing shoes and they would never be pulled out again as he watched his midriff expand as he tended to his wife and children, repeating the Patterns.

“You know, maybe they had it all right” he said one day, as he sat back and reminisced. “I’ve got a great job, a beautiful wife and two amazing kids. I’ve done quite well for myself and I’m grateful they didn’t let me indulge my silly childish whims of dancing all the time. After all, that couldn’t pay the bills”. You hear that? That is what it sounds like when a round peg has been hammered into a square hole and can no longer move an inch. “Might as well make the best of it” says that little voice in his head. One of his sons was an avid gamer, the kid had real skill when it came to pushing buttons and I told him “We’re in a era when he can make a good living out of this, why not let him create a following on the side and see what happens?”. “Hell no, you think I’m going to fall for that BS? That streaming money is so fickle, its here today, gone tomorrow and besides if I start to encourage it he’ll take that as validation to put his studies on the shelf and I think he should keep learning computer programming because there’ll always be a demand for that skill”. Speaking to the kid “My Dad just doesn’t get it. Can’t you explain it to him? I’m literally the third best player in the world and thats only when I get to play on the weekends. There isn’t anyone that can me touch me on this game. Please talk some sense into him”. I told him “I might as well talk to a brick because there is more chance that will shift”. “Aw, its not fair. Everyone in the top 10 is rich, they’ve got loads of followers, they’re always streaming. Me? They call me “The Phantom” because I pop up now and then, obliterate the rest and then vanish back into the books again. Whats the point? Say if I get a job programming that’ll be, what, 30K a month in ten years time after putting all that effort in and thats if I get a job and the market hasn’t tanked or moved onto something else. I could make that right now just from one sponsorship if I were streaming and actually had a presence. Why can’t he see this? Why is he so stupid?”.

You know the laments of a child and those of his Adulterated parent who cannot quite tell what the generation gap brings? It means the Game has shifted in essence as well as scope and things now aren’t what they were so long ago, ergo I tried a different tack next time we met in the hopes of generating illumination within the neural cascades of said parent by linking old and new within his dome where I hoped the embers of past dreams still glowed:

“Take a look at this” I said, handing him a phone as he adjusted his specs. “This is Tik Tok. An elegant form of data harvesting masquerading as an app where people dance and sing”. He looked intently at the screen, something familiar stirring within and exclaims, with a hint of triumph kicking in, “I’m way better than them” as he looks up with a grin, pauses, then corrects himself “Well I was, back then”. “Exactly, exactly, back then they didn’t have this portal of self expression with which you could record, click and share your talents with with the world and let the results speak for themselves but look at this” I said clicking across to the leaderboard rankings in which his son was spanking everyone else that was playing. “Thats him vs the rest of the world. You’ve got to admit, its a talent”. “Sure it is, a talent in being useless. Its a fools errand, a thing of the moment, this isn’t something bankable or permanent”. “Look at this” I said clicking across to a profile of the number one ranked player and the lifestyle he lives. “He dropped out of school long ago and his parents hired him the best tutors instead but thats just an adjunct to his side gig as this is what brings the money in. So much so that his parents quit their jobs and ended up managing him, his endorsements and the rest. There is talk of him becoming an ambassador of the entire movement to equalize eSports on par with the real thing”. “Hah, foolish. Who the hell would think that people would rather watch someone else play a game when they could do that by themselves?”. “And yet you yell at the screen when your team is playing, when was the last time you kicked a ball yourself? Get my meaning?” “No, well thats different. They’re professionals and its entertaining because I’ve followed the Reds all my life. Its what I grew up with”.

“Exactly” I said “Exactly, my friend and this is what this generation have developed with and its just as legitimate for them as they create their own kinds of legends. The game has literally changed. If he can keep such a ranking by playing mainly on the weekends or whenever you let him as he rushes through his schoolwork – which he treats as an obstacle to doing what he truly feels – then imagine what he could be if he was actually free and supported in this instead of trying to fit into a world that exists purely in your head”.

Didn’t matter what I said, the mans mind was made up so he rolled out the old chestnut which draws such conversations to an end: “You’ll realize once you have kids. Trust me, then it will be different. Why couldn’t he just be like my eldest? Its my wife, I tell you, she was too soft and spoiled him”. His oldest son was training to be an engineer just like him and his grandfather before him as some sort of family tradition that linked the lineage when in reality they could’ve all been far more successful doing something else. Take the elder, for example. The old man was a whizz when it came to sketching comics and caricatures because in an instant he could whip up a stylized image of whoever you said and his party trick was drawing a perfect circle with closed eyelids. The entire bloodline was saturated with right brained creative inspiration that was constantly hemmed in to left brain expectations as logic murdered intuition, generation after generation.

You see such examples in so many lives, maybe not so dramatic but replete with similar events and circumstance. After all which child hasn’t said “Its so unfair, when I grow up I’ll never be like them” only to find themselves reflecting, as the middle aged spread kicks in, that they’ve became their parents and suddenly their methods which seemed like madness as kids instead start making so much sense. These are the symptoms and effects of Adulteration process with its ever decreasing options previously mentioned. Interesting how this insight and resonance is edited from their limited awareness as now they see only what they expect due to a lifetime of programming.

Worse still are those who are born with immense talent that is ignored, not nurtured or acknowledged and thus you see a whizz with skills so amazing and entirely Self taught belting out hits in a small social club for his friends enjoyment during a karaoke session before heading off to the nightshift at a factory job that exists solely to pay the bills and offers no creative stimulation or nourishment of his talent combined with medicore remuneration and the standardized exploitation blue collar work brings to utterly destory his spirit.

There are countless examples like this. I’ve seen it too often for it to be coincidence as it speaks volumes about the current paradigm which hopefully is shifting now that people congregate with others just like them who may provide them with encouragement and tools to facilitate the development and expression of their skills. Often this isn’t the case though because, more often than not, they’re railing against perceived injustice and full of bitterness at what is or isn’t and such things which they think are very important and that they’re making a difference. Just like the hippies, its a cleverly engineered distraction handed down from a higher plane to ensnare them into running on a treadmill that powers… Well, we’ll leave it at that for now as there is plenty to unpack from all of this. If you’re reading this and feel what I said then let me pour this in your awareness before I jet:

There is nobody, no entity or thing that can oppress you perpetually without end. First and foremost you must believe in yourself and work with what you’ve got to create what you wish because life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans and thus those eroding options of which I was preaching are only now abundant so grip them with both hands and play the cards you’re dealt to win. In the case of the kid that was gaming he started a sideline tutoring and allowing others online to access his skills by teaching them what makes him the best, despite putting the least time and effort in. The money started rolling in and the plan is for him to show his parents that he’s making more loot than them so there is something real, concrete and tangible that is undeniable and solid, based in the present moment. In order to achieve this end his time is tabled with a level of precision that would make any engineer proud of his accomplishment as he augments and supplements his sleep routine for peak efficiency so he can get up early, check questions from his peeps, answer them individually and profit from the collective wisdom he shares when he posts the knowledge to those who pay handsomely to learn from The Phantom as he used that mystique as his style and imagery that further pulled people in. That is brand building aka taking a perceived detriment and turning it into a benefit. At school under the desk, lunchtime and the bus to and from as well he’s interacting with them. Always providing insight, always precise and on target because time is a luxury and he cannot afford to waste a moment. That means when he comes home there is no chilling in front of the TV set or spending time idly surfing the net and other such things. Gone are those distractions and off the table for now, as he is focused and efficient, his entire life is built around the intent to generate enough dividends so that his parents can’t deny his skill and have no choice but to honor his wish. If not then when the time comes he’ll have enough to move out by himself and make his own decisions when it comes to the business of living.

Not bad for a pre-teen who took his destiny in his own hands and used what he has to build something he feels is real from within and that, that is literally whats at the heart of all of this and why its better to be authentic alone than faking acceptance in a crowd because its better than what you left. He has clear goals, targets and guidelines as well as markers of his performance. What was once a passion is now a fledgling business and the motivation of “This’ll show em” is exceedingly powerful as he plays his cards close to his chest and intends to let his results speak for themselves because certain things can’t be denied once they’ve been realized and fully rendered in this realm. After that everyone believes you could it but before they all think they know best and wish to direct the life you live with their own intent and myopic vision like those before them.

Saddest part is those parents who do this are themselves miserable in their depths but dare not admit this and don’t fully realize they’re inflicting the same fate upon their children. That is the nature of the System as it does what it does best and the next generation of Slaves are generated from within because every single child that steps into this realm is born with a Warriors spirit. Psychologically, physically or spiritually its beaten out of nine from ten with a well practiced slickness and only one who chooses themselves and creates their own path by walking gets to play the Game the way they intend.

Till we meet again

Addiction Is a Symptom of a Deeper Affliction

The truth of addiction is its just a symptom of a deeper affliction as there are wounds deep within that weep tears we can’t see but most certainly feel. To escape these and the pain they bring people will do the most illogical, self destructive things for a glimpse of remedy to keep their sanity and just make it through the day, only to do it all again until there is nothing left to give.

Its easy to judge from outside looking in but those who know of where I speak comprehend what is said due to the nature of resonance that dwells within their chest cavity and the desire to break free from a misery that you carry around privately. Society as a whole will not speak about this because its the dirty little secret that makes the tills ring and thus whats good for business never gets a solution, only symptom management. Sure they may play with the stem, say they invented some covers for the thorns or new pills you can take if you’re allergic to the pollen the flowers bring but they’ll never pull it out via the root because true healing is bad for business and then the next question is:

Who placed the seeds? What was the formative event? Why does this keep happening again and again, generation after generation?

Pain and suffering is what makes the wheel of life spin. Slaves will deny this with a vengeance because the implications are too big for them to allow themselves to comprehend what happened to that childlike innocence that was fractured into a thousand bits and now, adulterated, sits there drinking the pain away, just trying to make it through another day. A hollow shell compared to what it was and could’ve been.

The comedian is an alchemist in that sense because he uses what drags him down to uplift the rest because he can spit raw facts in jest that amuse the surface whilst soothing that which dwells within as the pain thinks “At last, someone else who gets and pays me some attention”. For a small slice of time when we laugh we can forget the injuries we’ve sustained in this realm. Narcotics allow us to prolong this state at greater costs as does the net and such contraptions. Ask most people to sit quietly in a room with no distractions by themselves for minutes over ten and they’d lose their minds real quick. What does that tell you about how much they actually like themselves?

At the end of the day, however, all you have is you and your Self which is why I prefer to chase the pain and befriend what is in no way shape or form an enemy because that, that is what picked you up and carried you couldn’t move your legs but still had to press. To turn your back on and hate this valuable ally is a form of murdering yourself that so many blindly engage in because, by and large, people do not speak on these topics because, once again:

Pain and suffering is what makes the wheels of life spin.

The aim is to find the meaning then use that to transcend. Much like the principle of coals turning to diamonds when faced with pressure that won’t relent so if you’re going through hell, keep going. Until we heal ourselves we will keep polluting the main example for the kids who are birthed into this realm as they mimic their parents and thus end up just like them only to do it all again. How long shall we choose to engage in this? Until big business says “Hey, I’ve got a solution” and mentions the topics about which I’m speaking? Don’t hold your breath. They have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, just as it is and besides, you’ll be long microchipped and hybridized into NuMen as the wave of consciousness steps from Carbon to Silicon because that is where the race is heading. The current spate of fascination with screens is paving the road nicely to the day man becomes machine and the Game shifts to a different type of decree in which ones and zeros do their thing and people no longer have the option of disconnection as they are perpetually logged in.

What? You think things like this have your best interests at heart? You are a Slave, my friend. A product that generates many revenue streams out of ignorance and thus they are simply protecting their investment because once money dies you’ll comprehend data is the new coin of the realm. Bet you look at your “Loyalty Card” a bit different once you realize the implications of what I’ve said. Whats in it for them? All hail the algorithm!

Till we meet again

Confessions of an Internet Addict

I spent all yesterday on the net. Can you believe this? From the moment I rose, before a drink had touched my lips or a brush the teeth within all the way through till the dark knight said “I think its time for bed”. Crazy, isn’t it? It was an absolutely beautiful day outside. The heatwave was in full effect and me, what was I doing? Staring at a screen, tapping keys, watching my life go click, click, click as I engaged in repetitive behaviors designed to elicit a dopamine hit. Junkies by another name who line up for a digital fix. Are you one of them? I know I was, once upon a when. Every now and then however, old habits kick in.

Its like that old wisdom that says “There is no such thing as an ex anything. They are simply waiting for a chance to relapse again“. So true, so true. You ask anyone who smoked, sniffed, danced with a syringe, popped pills, had sex with anything and everything that was remotely wet and accepting and then claims to be saved and resurrected. They still miss it like crazy. The engine may no longer rev to the red but best believe it still ticks within and the moment something comes up that they can’t handle, then vroom! Gone with the wind, off on another binge.

You and me, we’re just like this, you know? Oh sure, people don’t think net addiction is a real thing and most would baulk at the concept of being compared to a dope fiend but you and I know whats going on. Not long ago you could buy brown and yay off the shelf in your standard day to day. Doctors are modern dealers and their scores proliferate as they decimate the lives of those they ostensibly claim to be helping when in reality its no such thing. Thats a deeper topic for another investigation because right now we’re talking about the digital syringe that the screen represents and how it elicits the happy happy, joy joy feelings from your brain in exactly the same way as any of the aforementioned. This is your Limbic System:

It sits in the middle of your head and handles a great many things like the generation of emotion, memory, learning, various types of executive function and, oh look – what is this – addiction as well. Interesting blend of things, yes? It also is responsible for smell which is why an old sniff can make you time travel in an instant as you remember things and events you couldn’t even attempt to recollect without the push and shove certain aromas bring in recruiting various interconnected nuclei to do their thing. This also hints at the process within via which every single event, no matter how small or big, is meticulously recorded which in turns makes one think of the “Be Kind, Rewind” effect everyone reports from near death as their life flashes behind their eyelids. The implications of this have been remotely touched upon before and will be gently caressed again as we progress in our adventurings. For now back on topic:

There are three brains within, actually five as your stomach and chest are filled with glial cells that do their own kind of processing hence “I’ve got a gut a feeling” or “My heart tells me to do this”. Language offers hints, live and direct about the nature of man and the Three Kingdoms within that are patiently awaiting the return of the king to push the usurper off the throne as you reclaim your inner plane and that really is all the Path of Power is. A modality, a series of tools, ways of thinking and being that are designed to assist you navigating your inner realm because I’d be willing to bet you know plenty about everyone else and external events but absolutely nothing about your own inner realm. Now, back to the brain – which we will cover in far greater depth on another day but for now lets concentrate on the mid level phase and how it generates addictive tendencies that keep you stuck to a screen like a digital dopefiend:

Imagine its like an office which handles loads of calls and signals so the operator patches that and this in order to best direct the impulses as it sits in the mid between a far larger and busier floors which is filled to the brim with people who deal solely with survival and keeping the flesh animated and entwined with Spirit in this realm and just up the steps is the penthouse within which live the artsy fartsy creatives who take the excess and refine it into various forms of expression, introspection and the communication this brings. All of this is happening, right now, in your head. You are, in effect, the supreme being of your deal, or in the case of most Slaves, a tyrant slash absentee landlord. As you’re bound to see once you release and free your awareness from the shackles of the Mind Made Prison it currently dwells within there is more, far more to this than has ever been spoken for oh such a long time on this planet. Ignorance of your Self is how and why we got into this mess and it can be painful to realize that all you think you know about what you truly don’t is a lie. There isn’t a polite way to say that you’ve spent your life investing in an illusion but there are some simple questions you can ask yourself and see what answers rises from within:

Is your life working out as you intended? Do you feel a sense of contentment within knowing you are actualizing the best of your potential and living in a state of abundance replete with free flowing creativity and the ability to uplift peeps just with your presence and natural being? Are you happy, just as you is, with no plaques, trophies, achievements or shiny things that you point at and claim “I am this”?

I’d be willing to bet the answers for most if not all across the board on these three were the opposite of yes. There it is. Thats all you’ve got to lose. Your mind, in a sense, because its built up by conditioning and repetition designed to engender a disconnect from your inner realm and this is what the The Three Kingdoms represent as there is great power within your flesh, simply awaiting the ascent of your awareness out of the pit of ignorance aka Valley of the Plebs within which you currently dwell. Mildly uncomfortable, not quite totally miserable and in dire need of distraction from this. Hence addiction to the net.

Its beautiful, isn’t it? They first created the problem. Awaited your reaction then offered the solution. Where I’m from the process is known by a different term. It’s called a protection racket and it goes like this:

Man opens a bar. Its his first time business and he wishes to sell drinks, socializing and merriment to those whom he calls patrons. Across the road there is a man with bad intentions and an evil glint who sends his friends from out of town in with some beer tokens and instructs them to start drinking then start fights which end by smashing the place up. The man with the bar sits and frets as he looks at the mess wondering how to fix this because the troublemakers vanished before the police responded and most of his regular clients are now a little wary due to what happened. Next Friday, same thing. A few days later, another beating. Then on a Thursday night as he’s standing behind the bar he feels the energy shift. It had been a great day so far, people happily drinking and business was booming.

In walks a man who must be at least six foot ten. To say he was big would be an understatement. And yet he seems so affable with a ready grin and everyone seems to know him as he hands out countless handshakes and offers to buy drinks. They start talking and the man says he’s in the security business and noticed the bar had just opened, how the guy who ran it previously was a close friend and wishes him the best of luck whilst leaving him a business card should he wish to call him.

Not long after a new bunch of delinquents roll in and start increasing the tension and handing out random acts of violence and just before it all kicks off again our hero steps in, hands out a few digs and sends the ruffians scampering. What follows next is an intricate plan to extract in a plausibly voluntary sense a percentage of his profits as a sort of tax to run his business without any worry or stress. Should he pay then all goes well because everyone in the manor knows who stands behind that symbol on the door and what trouble it brings as his name rings bells and his deeds are that of legend.

Now, from our lofty perspective the jig is up as its all so self evident. “You’d have to be stupid to fall for this” most sane people would think. The thing is you’ve fell for the same trick, the oldest in the book and still working perfectly eight out of ten times with no question, as that is what was used, in a sense, to trick you into living the life you live.

What does that have to do with your Limbic System? Good question. The R Complex tucked beneath knows this, your own traumatic experience that smashed up your internal realm as you evacuated your Kingdom in order to protect your Self. Like an elephant it never forgets and also vows to suppress and avoid discussing this event and anything like it ever again so whenever a signal clicks from it upstairs to the place that processes memory, emotion and addiction. Well, it should be obvious what happens. Distraction, diversion, denial. Anything that works to take your mind off of this and that is where the big bad giant known as the internet steps in.

Each time you get a like, each time you set off on a research quest to discover something, each time you’re stimulated by sounds or an image you get a dopamine hit which is the same thing cocaine pimps. Exactly the same process except its a click not a sniff and the effects are not as intense. Because the highs aren’t as high you can’t OD in that sense and thus can, like I did, spend an entire day doing nothing but distracting yourself in fruitless pursuits that generally signal the turmoil in your inner realm you’re doing your best to pretend isn’t happening. Now, stop and think about what I said.

There are parts of you, elements at play at this very moment, that know more than you think. Things that are hidden from your regular awareness that still wield immense influence and often make you act in ways that aren’t in your best interests. I know my inner realm in ways far more intimate than the rest and yet and still got sucked in to an extended click and scroll session but I pulled myself out of the pit to type and share my experience in the hope that it shines light in your darkness because I’d be willing to bet you do the same thing.

See, in the Global Plantation the corporate thugs who run this Game are no different to the gangster I mentioned as they exist to extract and specialize in tricks. Theatricality and deception are their bread and butter. Thing is I’m gluten and lactose intolerant so I don’t digest that BS because I don’t allow it to trespass upon my inner realm. You too have this option. Thing is you’ve got to realize you’ve been tricked and that you’re currently being pimped as the thing you think is your mind isn’t your friend but is actually an Agent that works for them and was designed to suppress your potential by usurping your rightful place in the Kingdom thanks to a skilful and elegant deceit thats been perpetrated since back when man dipped to mankind and we started writing.

Think back to the three questions I asked you to ask yourself:

Is your life working out as you intended? Do you feel a sense of contentment within knowing you are actualizing the best of your potential and living in a state of abundance replete with free flowing creativity and the ability to uplift peeps just with your presence and natural being? Are you happy, just as you is, with no plaques, trophies, achievements or shiny things that you point at and claim “I am this”?

You know who answers yes to all three with an overflowing sense of glee, energy and happiness that is so contagious you can’t help but grin in their presence?

Children.

Now maybe the piece about adults actually being adulterated clicks as I’ve mentioned this previously at length. Its like someone took a supply of milk and gradually added water in until its rich thickness wears thin and whilst it may be fluid its no longer what was intended. That is your life, at this present moment. Don’t worry there are billions like this in the Valley of Plebs where Slaves dwell never questioning the narrative that plays in their head or who pushed the pen to write the script they live that often makes them miserable but rarely allows them a chance to feel anything like the completion they once did when they first stepped into this realm.

Now, most of them will live and die like this. As will their children because Slaves beget Slaves by passing on the mind virus to their children and this is enforced, encouraged and mandated by the thing I call the System. The System is all around you and yet it renders itself invisible because its blatantly in front of your face, like the Emperor undressed, but you’ve been instructed to see something else. Its all mind control, my friend. Be ye as little children. Not for nothing was that said. To come to your senses you must be willing to lose your mind because that is the false design you are attempting to live and its intended to be unfulfilling as its covertly draining you from within. Remember the protection racket and its example? Same thing. Someone else gets rich from your effort as you pay to remove the stress they themselves actually inflict. Sick and twisted genius, hats off to them, those hosts of spiritual wickedness.

Now Slaves will go to their grave, denying with great vehemence the truth of what I’ve said because of its implications about them. No one likes to admit they’ve been tricked or that they’re stupid and invested in illusions designed to exploit them but the litmus test is the three questions I asked you previous. The Warriors are more honest and willing to tread into the darkness of their inner realm in the only quest that matters:

Get free or die trying. There really is no other way to live. So start now, question everything. Just like you did as a kid when “Why?” was the first thought that came to mind and then lips as you flip turned concepts around and looked at them from every single angle inside your imagination. Contrast that to the fixed perspective they’ll then be forced to acquire as they live and think of that now poor barman who exists purely to pay the dividends his Master of coercion demands to prevent the threat of violence being levelled upon him and his premises and you’ll start to form a clearer image that the only fear that exists is fear itself as well as the nature of the trick that was designed to leverage and instil an exploitative process that lies at non feeling heart of these people.

Slaves will run for the hills, screaming “Get thee behind me Satan, I wish to hear not of your wickedness” as they remain totally ignorant that the one who taught their virtue is the same who enslaved their children and them. The Warrior on the flip thinks “OK, this is interesting. I wonder where he’s going with this because I’ve often suspected something is very, very wrong on this planet and no one says or does a thing about it”.

Well, now is the chance. You are the one you’ve been waiting for all along. The power resides in the only place it can in this realm and thats within. I will help you access it, the Path of Power is this gift. Class is in session.

Till we meet again