It doesn’t really matter. Nothing does. Its irrelevant if I write this text and it matters not if you read it either. You will pass this test. Even if you have to live and die a thousand times in order to comprehend the shadows depth. In that respect its entirely vital you click what I’ve said and, stranger still, its essential that I push the pen.
Welcome to the paradox of man.
Sometimes, when you’re just on the brink, you recollect a little something something that changes everything. This is such a moment. Interesting, yes? Not so much straws and camels but horses and wings. You don’t have a clue about what I’m speaking, my friend. In that respect, neither do I. Yet.
Welcome to the paradox of man.
What was born but never dies? Dark but shines, clear light? Speaks many truths using a variety of lies? Is both outside and within whilst also being neither as well as its simply visiting this realm whilst looking from a distance at what happens this spin yet feels intimate and present? Your consciousness. Surprise! You’re it. Not the labels in your head, the story that you tell about being John of House Smith who likes that and this but isn’t keen on said things. Its all a load of BS. And by that I mean “Belief System”. Or bovine excrement, if you wish. Its all the same thing in the end. Just ask the alpha bet you placed with fake chips that ensure the house always gets it taste as whoever built this fake oasis in the desert did it for a reason, yes?
Welcome to the paradox of man.
Where the angels fell and look human but do the most devilish things, with a grin but, in the end, they’re beyond good and evil ergo shan’t be punished as, like an angry parent with belt in hand, they’re doing this by public demand to ensure you get it. Have you ever wondered how folks can unleash such wickedness on the innocent and, what I’ve said, is really quite mid – all things considered. Mans ability to get ill certainly knows no limits. Neither does his appetite for debasement. How far we have fell. If someone were to offer you a hand to uplift and when you grabbed it you found it had hooks, hidden, that drained your blood for their entertainment would you wish you’d just remained where you did and considered other options beyond the one who grinned but was a villain? Imagine you then click it was he who dug the pit and slung you in? All for his entertainment because whilst you’re visiting they’re grandfathered in – like it or lump it. Misery lxves company yes? Guess thats why it spells “Evil” when flipped. Can you see why I said X marks the spot and my reason for flipping the script to “Injoi” instead? Think about it. Better yet, feel that word in your chest next time you and another exchange energetics and you’ll comprehend:
“Ah yes, we injoi us. It makes so much sense. Thanks for the hint, my friend”.
Another one relates to strength. Imagine another you on a clone planet that is identical in every single respect except one variable was shifted, way back when. You never, ever said you were walking around in a weak daze and awaiting getting weakened to celebrate your freedom. No, the script was flipped to “Strengthened” instead. Check it:
“Ah, that was on heck of a strength, wasn’t it? Glad we’ve got two rays off though to do as we wish. What are your plans for the strengthened?”.
How do you picture that version of you would react to what this turbo chimp terms the aging process but is, in actuality, the result of your own ignorance about the power of vibration as you were tricked to accept labels instead of sensations and even those were half a language, flipped then edited and further inverted to ensure the wheels of time doth spin and grind your mind into the lowest res that it can get so that whilst the other version may be living a life, identical (in all respects) his relative comprehension would be a Fourteen inch portable TV set, in color, whilst you are watching the same performance on a Twelve instead that is black and white, has one speaker busted and a malfunctioning aerial.
Welcome to the paradox of man.
As I push the pen I’m sitting in what can only be termed the equivalent of a home cinema and, from this distance, the movie of life is exceedingly different. The directors cut doesn’t involve any circumcisional edits or such things as its the full performance, as intended, but even thats a problem because, beyond this, what I’m viewing from a comfortable seat on an immense screen with snacks and drinks bought, as I please, was, once upon a when, a hard light hologram on tech that doesn’t exist yet that, itself, was a 1:1 duplicate of the original performance that cannot be mimicked or rendered in any way that does justice any more than you can take your pet apart to find where its affection for you is located then restitch it after dissecting its organs seeking what you’ve seen it manifest, au naturel. Do you feelsee what I’m saying or am I singing for the deaf whilst annoying the king with one eye that was responsible for this spectacle? Or should that be monocle? Ha, ha, ha, ha, he, he, he, he. Hoooooooooooooooo! Say it with me people. Hooooooooooooooo!
Welcome to the paradox of man, where elegant lies blind the wise to the truth of the tale and the sting therein that they, whole heartedly, accept as “Being Human” when they are, ultimately, no such thing. Ah, its beautiful. It takes so much effort to maintain though. You may not know me but 11% of the Earths populace Knows me in beyond the Biblical sense. All my dirty little secrets, my desires and whims, fears and dreads, who I am and where I’ve been as well as what I intend. All of it and then some. Its quite flattering, really. But it also makes me think. Does this kick because the chosen ones choose themselves and thus awaken the Warrior within or am I doing this because of what they done did, back when, and thus the genesis of a nemesis is inevitable, like the Architect said. In my lens its the flip as I see no enemies, only teachers as, in the end, this all plays out inside my consciousness. I am the wave and particle. The thinker, thinking and thought. The seeker, seeking and what is sought.
Welcome to the paradox of man where plants are intelligent and people most ignorant. Cleeve Backster, one fine evening, stuck some electrodes in a watermelon and then smashed one sitting next to it. Do you know what happened? The fruit did shriek, electromagnetically, at the impending doom that he felt after what happened to his friend. Take that, vegetarians! Many people attempted to debunk said thing and people called this CIA agent a giant liar and big meanie as well. It is, however, telling that nobody ever attempted to replicate the experiment until Oh Five where the famed TV show that busts myths did and said it was a load of BS. Isn’t that telling? Is art a lie that tells the truth? Why in the heck would one of the most shocking revelations and tests be left on the shelf for nearly fifty years only to be revived for entertainment and subsequent dismissal as crackpottedness?
Truth is stranger than fiction, my friend. “Its just entertrainment” the well adjusted, yelled. “You need to wear a tinfoil turban” was added because the voice in their head felt a threat to its dominance, unquestioned. None dare call it conspiracy. But it is. You don’t have to be paranoid if they truly are out to get and, as I used to tell the local schizos who flocked to me by the bakers dozen, “Rename that mode as “Foreward Thinking” instead of whatever they said and see what kicks. Befriend it. Imperiment. Spot how many times what you predict or think you think manifests as accurate and compare with the amount of spins you had chasing the tail in your head spun by the voice that you’ve clicked isn’t you but haven’t, yet, totally embodied and comprehended you are that which listens and I’m a figment of your imagination, rendered solid, hence the golden child doth kill all illusions, get it?”. They did. Some couldn’t implement but the ones who did filled pads with observations and then noticed that real insight brings a different felt sensed versus just what the voice in their head says as they retorted “Lies”, within their mind, as negative thoughts are there to challenge and thus they were no longer pinned, like a cushion, with a near constant barrage of barbs as they starved to death the predator of consciousness that fed on them which, at this very moment, is telling you this is a load of balderdash and BS plus, for 81%, has managed to click them off this bit of the web before they even got One point Five K words into these immense, abstract, run on sentences that are designed with the intent to circumvent the three rings of its circus, ignorant, which force feeds bread to the gluten intolerant version of you inside your head before chasing it with as much cheese and milk as you can handle. Even though you can process this even less. Why? For the caseomorphins, my friend. Your daily dose of heroin in exchange for the sweat pon brow as you chase the carrot whilst the immense stick of ignorance whips your rear like an angry parent with a belt who, in the end, is displacing his own aggression and hate at the life he lives versus the one he wished and takes it out on his seed instead. All because the System said and the boy who would be Prince yelled “Nyet” instead then tells who run it he sees whats flipped, hidden, in the acronyms on both sides of the fence. Yours may not be as brutal but you are equally damaged, nonetheless. Two words ravaged your inner realms in ways most would rather die than admit it and every single bit of you thats messed up is because of your parents. Your mother, especially. Stick that in your crack pipe and smoke it, Mr Freud!
Did you know that every schizo I met had a fractured relationship with one or both parents or some type of quirk in childhood that generated a shift of resonance in their existence that most would term “eccentric?”. Look into the life of Steve Jobs, for example. Nikola Tesla as well and pay heed to the magical pigeon that shot beams of lights out of its iris at him then question why this man who had scores of women throwing themselves at his feet was what we’d term an Incel, back when. He, like me, also had a brush with death but mine have been so frequent and intense that I stopped counting them and, instead, paid heed to the picture, developing. Do you know what it said?
Welcome to the paradox of man. Where the angels fell as Titans clashed, back when, and old gods became new devils for the next stage of the Game we’re playing using our Souls as credits whilst men turned to beasts only to be set “free” on gossamer wings made of silicon as Siri slides into the next gens iris (flip it) as the apple, once bitten, is nibbled again and we start to ascend in a nearly Thirteen Thousand year stretch that will feel like being set adrift on a low dose hallucinogen but its all good as everyone will be tripping. Just like they are at the instant. What if I said that madness isn’t binary but its a sliding scale thing and reality is what you can get away with? Would that make more sense? Look at this pic, tell me I’m joking:
That is just how it is when you dig the reality tunnel they set, in ignorance, as there is no “Them” without “Us” as you are a people, not a person, who interacts with figments of his imagination ergo I’m telling you like I did the schizos, back when, that consciousness neither begins or ends in your head but the flesh does modulate it via your brain but the hearts EM signals are immense and thus if you can make that your home base the hallucinations doth shift and one peers behind the curtain and finds the secret of Zardoz was that he was simply a man who wished to be king. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a human in fancy dress. Well, it beats taking heroin, doesn’t it? You are though, my friend, remember what I said about the low dose opiate? Don’t forget the black mirror with its dopamine hits and all the rest as well so its not really a stretch to suspect that once the silicon slides in and hybridizes your awareness with an intelligence, not artificial but neither organic as well, then the results will be akin to a consensual fever dream in which wars doth vanish, everyone is attractive, aging has ended (due to delaying the telomere limit), there is no more conflict, everyones freely sexing, the work is mysterious and important plus you are placed inside a branching reality tunnel that feels most psychedelic but, in the end, is simply a less collapsed version of the fractal of consciousness that built this realm and this, my friend, is what schizophrenics do drown in but I’ve swam upstream against in various incarnations to be sitting here pushing the pen to tell you, yet again:
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
What if we are neither monkeys wrapped in suits nor special little snowflakes made by the absolute but something far more subtle and volute? How would life feel if you were a square watermelon that had been raised, hemmed in, by Two legally mandated decades of “Sit still. Look ahead. Do well on the test or your parents will stress and may beat you with a belt until you turn in the desired performance and regurgitate exactly what we’ve said it is with no deviation accepted or expected otherwise we’ll hand you an F, place a dunce cap on your head which, back when, (in an ironic twist) was actually used to marshal mental strength and resources hence its link with medicine women and shamans who, nine out of ten, wore some type of turban or, on the flip, shaved their skulls and sported a beard on the chin like the ancient Egyptians who, despite being in Africa, were most definitely white as we built everything and yes, that will be on the test and you will fail if you question the narrative and keep asking such specious questions as why this edifice, seemingly, encodes the circumference of the Earth within as well as distance to the moon and loads of other esoteric harmonics and, no, I don’t want to hear your pet theory on why the corner of the “sarcophagus” seems melted and why there are loads of similar buildings dotted around the planet in a strange resonance because that kind of mess isn’t in the teachers edition so I don’t know where you got it in your head. Why don’t you go back to class and keep trying to balance your chair on two legs because at least you’re quiet when doing this and not distracting the rest of the kids and, by the way, what is this I’ve been hearing that you’re trying to stir up some rebellion in which the rest mimic what you attempt whilst staring at the teacher holding the same intent to see if you can make him scratch his nose or drop the chalk, on commandment? I can’t prove it, as thought crime isn’t illegal yet, but it seems like something you’d do. We have spies, everywhere, and are always watching. You would be wise to remember this because the beatings will continue until you perform as expected”.
And this, my friend, is how coals become diamonds. Much like the watermelon experiment everyone knows, ten out ten, when someone is staring at the back of your head but what of the old time trick we used to do, back when, as we’re bored, drifting, and replaying convos but scripting them out as different whilst, get this, saying both parts and listening? How outsane is this? And yet we did it. Still do, at Two AM as you beat your Self up about telling the waitress “You too!” when she said “Enjoy your meal”. Whats the problem? Think she gives an F? Are you really that important or is something you don’t comprehend pimping your awareness, my friend? How can you be the voice in your head when you are that which listens? Riddle me this, my little munchkin, and tell me if the Wizard of Oz actually repped real money with a gold and silver standard and not mere Fiat that was printed out of nothing and then sold to the world, at interest, because they believe what you said about the intrinsic worth, therein. Read this article for a look into the world of a ghetto spiv who was buying one Dollar bills, washing the ink off of them and reprinting them as hundreds instead and tell me, if you could, would you do it? Money for nothing and the cheques for free, yippee! Now, I play the Wall of Text:
Welcome to the paradox of man where, nearly Three K words in, I’m still wondering why I’m doing this because those who will will get there without without help and those that won’t will never read this bit whilst the ones who sit in the mid and sell all the money thats fit to print knew I was going to do it before I did as they generated the terms and conditions which afford this perspective because the diamond simply cannot help but glint and reflect as the light pours from it whilst the coal, so frail and delicate, doth run shrieking from the wall of text. As intended. In that respect it is what it is, yes? If I’m just a part of your imagination, as I said, then its essential I do this because maybe not in this life or the next you’ll be sitting, awash in boredom, as the mandated school, daydreaming, as they program your inner realms after you’ve been mindwiped and reskinned to run the treadmill again and you’ll hear, from your chest:
“The Game of Souls has you, my friend”.
Some will gain a flash of recollection from this life to then and may feel prompted, for some unknown reason, to balance their chair on two legs. A few will stay the course and become adepts at this as they realize the subtle art needed to remain perfectly Centered and then something strange happens as a liquid light, electric, starts to ascend and manifest in their spinal column then pools behind their eyes as they, feather breathing with legs extended, send this in the direction of the teacher with the intent to drop the chalk in his grip. And he did. Just like the other watermelon said. But thats just a myth that was busted by your television set. Get it? Tell Lie Vision, Set aka the Egyptian god of unrest, chaos and tricks who usurped his brothers position until the golden child did his thing and ensured his reign on the top was short like leprechauns or, as we call them now, people of reduced stature who are closer in resonance with the Earth, vertical. See what I mean about these spells and rites, my friend? This is, in the end, the paradox of man that I mentioned hence why they keep telling one story, again and again, because one must make the lie big and repeat it often. Like Charlie Chaplin said. Or was that Hitler? I keep getting them mixed up as I never really paid any attention when class was in session as I took that time to play within the fertile grounds of my imagination instead, much to the consternation of all invested in the square watermelon program and this, in turn, created a hacker of everything because if there is a rule, you can bend it and its only by reality testing one can truly Know the Ledge otherwise you’ll just end up as conditioned as the rest who are well adjusted to immense social sickness that they never stopped to question.
Bet you’ll never weave the spell “weakened” again, eh? In that case its essential I continue in this quest because if the Warrior doesn’t sprinkle the seeds of gnosis upon the Earth (where the System lays crazy paving over it) who knows where and when the next coal to become a diamond shall spring as the rose who cracked the concrete then made the whole world stop and listen to the tribulations of a ghetto jit said:
“Its just me against the world”.
Always has been, always will when you’re paddling upstream in a downhill realm.
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Till we meet again
