The word Devil has a lot of baggage and things, doesn’t it? And yet I used it because its quite accurate, methinks, for I’ve glanced behind the scenes and seen the nature of the machine that I call the System. Its designed to turn wisdom into ignorance and then sell the remains to whoever puts the highest bid in. Sounds like hell, yes? Well, get used to it kid because you’re living in it.
The world the devil created ain’t that bad, all things considered. Sure its packed to the gills with suffering, inequality, fear and dread plus its a place where angels fear to tread. In the end its an exploitation of our free will or, as some would say, matter at its most condensed state. I guess that makes sense because where there is milk, there is cream and this particular team have to feed the beast in order to stay ahead… All things considered though, it ain’t a bad realm, in the end. Know why I say this? Simple:
The pure, unAdulterated human spirit shines through all the filth and even when consciousness is at its most fragmented there is something oh so special about a tender union that reconnects Souls yearning for the paradise from which we fell. Sure, it may not last long and loads don’t even get a sip but thats why Hollywood is there with its grift to sell tickets and tug at your heart strings or generate erections as countless men pump gallons of seminal energetics into the whole black cube thing. Like I said, we’re in hell but the temperate is so clement that most frogs in the kitchen don’t click its designed to well because the second greatest trick he pulled was convincing you he doesn’t exist. “Whats the first?” I hear you question:
That you are that voice in your head.
Amazing, isn’t it. This is the world the devil created and if there is one thing he hates more than a childs Inner Sense is he who took the trek, barefoot, over a pavement laced with thorns to reclaim what his agents had stolen and lived to tell the tale of what it takes to regain this state in a realm, Adulterated.
I don’t mean to sound dramatic but there really is no other way of sharing it because the kind of things I’ve lived would make most drop dead at the first hurdle whilst the rest tucked tail and fled at the next five to ten. And yet, I keep on trekking. Maybe its because I’m a stubborn type of fellow with a head like a brick or, better yet, could it be that that part clicks its gotta be like this to protect the heart of Inner Sense which is why it erected walls and shields around it, back when, that caused the System to go full tilt because it knew, once upon a when, the time would come when it lost its strength and that, my friend, would be time for the true resurrection as what came next was first place, in the end. Its an Alpha and Omega thing aka your entire world is backwords. That isn’t a spelling mistake.
And yet, as I sit here, pondering. I can see why he did it. I innerstand his motivations. Those who moved against him claimed the titles as the vassals of the valiant but yet killed a woman to get at them she chose to protect via means of non-violence. Ironic, isn’t it? That was his mother, hence he swore vengeance. The modern world is what we get as we, you and I, were born into a silent conflict that stretches realms and dimensions in which two forces, warring, kept on tumbling and falling. It just so happens that one side won the fight thanks to this one weird trick they had under their belt that may or may not be responsible for what ye term Mandelas effect. Let me tell you this:
Imagine you had stumbled over a string that, if yanked at with enough strength, could bring the whole illusion to an end? What better way to ensure that never happens than by erecting ridiculous tales that foster further division instead as people miss the detail and choose, instead, to engage in fruitless narratives about really inconsequential things. There is something I could say here and really wish to that would blow the whole lid off this but I’m trying the art of being subtle because a) the old way obviously hasn’t been working and b) the attempts on my life have been getting more and more intense along with c) I truly get why, in his head, its friend or foe and nothing else.
There is no nuance, no resolution, no fine turning or detailing. Just a pure checkerboard effect filled with chunky pixels of stress, pain and death interspersed with joy, fun and life. Your body is piece, in that respect. Some peoples moves are preset as the treadmill attests. A few are aware that there was already a war, raging, but only a few know the true depth of the thing and the broader implications ergo they’re footsoldiers in the end. Totally disposable, not worth a thing and yet will fight long and hard for a bauble on a bit of string. Wild, isn’t it? Somebody once said the world is governed by distinctly different personages than what most suspect who aren’t privy to behind the scenes and with this I would agree as there is a corruption that seeps into this creation from another realm and I’ve just outlined the sketch of why this is. Have you ever seen this Mormon cartoon?
Why did I mention this? Who Knows? Can you hear the Psylense?
I did and strive to make that constant connection and thus this life is akin to becoming lucid in the dream and realizing quite how ridiculous this is. Thing is Morpheus and his agents (thats right, he was a “bad guy” along set to trick Neo into Thunking he’d gained emancipation) detest this as it poses a threat to the rest, plugged in, to a world that is patently absurd and devoid of common sense. No need to stress though, that hypnotist in their head won’t relent and 81% would rather die than admit they’ve been tricked. Which they will as they’re slammed back into the flesh again.
Its a glorious exploitation of free will, ignorance, glitz, glamor and such things that are all trademarks of the one in question with the shiny countenance who felt miffed, off rip, that he wasn’t honored as a student and then appeared to be defiled again then came the death I mentioned. And yet he now does this and worse to me for daring to go against his schemes. Maybe, once upon a when, we could’ve had a conversation but at this moment even his agents will deny a straight question as they attempt to stick the knife in. I know you wanted me to be a killer. I know you wanted me to deal death but I spotted what you sent with a flutter of lashes and promise of that and this which lead to the domino effect where I now sit typing this in a place that is just as hostile but disguised as something else.
All of it reverberates with your vibration. That is why I can detect your sock puppets who are so drunk on the power of illusion that they don’t comprehend the nature of the treadmill extends in two realms and both are as illusory as the next yet seemingly solid for those invested in the trick. Its amazing, it really is but, as you know, all good and bad things come to an end when the zero point is calling. You and I both Know him and his feminine resonance as beyond mere wave and particle though they too are saturated with presence. Your deal is more intimate for twice born are thee after being ingested and ejected for previous misdeeds that lead to you getting slept, and yet did you too not also try to kill me dead from which I resurrected, thrice greater for the attempt? Ironic, isn’t it? Almost like there is some type of resonance to this. A cosmic dance, if you will…
I look around at the people and am quite certain that even if I provided them proof positive of what truly kicks in this realm and the greater implications of wearing flesh at this depth they simply would not accept the real as the trance is that thick. Questioning it is akin to admit they’ve been tricked or are idiots and their pride will not allow them ergo why are you stressing at my flex? I see how you did those who came before, it is, after all, a fractal of consciousness. Even the one titled for thee met no mercy in these streets but they venerated his resurrected image, real quick, after the spirit had left. That seems to be a trademark, doesn’t it? Infiltration and corruption or quiet weapons for wars waged in silence in which those on the secret team Thunk they’re doing big but only because they don’t comprehend the true pic of how they’ll never, ever be equals as they are, more or less, pawns in the flesh to be used, abused and ended when not needed as they float on borrowed wings and not a diamond Self that can only be emancipated from the chest of one who reigns in Inner Sense.
Is that the problem?
Listen, we’ve had fun for a few spins. This I’m the first to admit because anyone who brings the worst out of someone that is already numb and unfeeling will say they’re the greatest but once it clicks you’re actually eternal vapor that fell as water, condensing, that was flash frozen as a snowman with a hairdryer in his hand to bring a swift death to the rest of the infidels the sketch becomes Self evident as you can fool some of them, some of the time but there will always be those who rise to a higher vibe and comprehend. Think of it like a Game of skill and isn’t the job of each true adept to exceed the one who trained him? Doesn’t it reflect on you in the end?
I sit here and ponder these things as I look at the world you built or, should I say, remixed as you took the already present components and edited them with your intent. Much like the Devilish language which is a half of another script, flipped and inverted that mashes up the energetics of those who use it to make sense of this realm hence the road to hell is paved with ignorance that reads a blueprint that says “Heaven” backwards:
Nevaeh. Why don’t you see if you can handle yourself one of those first class tickets to the resurrection, Mel? After all, we both know you’re stuck in this realm whilst the rest are just visiting hence the immense suppression you gift as the cost of living…
I suppose they’ll get it in the end. As the dirt they inherit is revealed to be the same as promised, back when. Plenty of time to think as their casket it lowered in at the end of their spin before they’re mindwiped and slammed back in to another Earthday Suit made of flesh in this immense Game of death we play using our Souls as credits and pay the price of ignorance to a piper who calls it anything but it is and his myriad of minions who aren’t quite human. Does that mean you’re the boss battle then? If so you’ve got one hell of a backstory, yes? Sympathy for the Devil, I think they call it…
Till we meet again
