willhelp.me

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

If you, like me, are an Eighties jit you’ll recollect those pics that needed you to stop and squint before yelling “I get it! I get it!” as you made sense of the madness to spot what was hidden. Well, I’m sure you’ve heard there is nothing new under the Sun, correct? In that case tell me if I’m incorrect or is the modern “AI knows everything” trend not just a deft inversion of this tech? “How?” I hear you question. Check:

Both of these things may seem unrelated but because we’re inside a coherently collapsed construction of consciousness there is that most subtle fractal link one can click if they’ve upped their res. This tech came to the fore in in late Ninety One and for the princely sum of Forty bucks you too could create your own Autostereograms which is, you have to admit, a name that is saturated with dopeness. This little clique would later click the income streams that could be pimped and they’d become Magic Eye, Inc. The original method behind all of this originated in Bell Labs in the Fifties and was picked up on Pentica Systems who, after using it for advertising, spotted a hungry market with a thirst it wasn’t aware, yet, needed to be quenched. The response to this marketing was immense so forget the debugging tech as Tom Baccei started making postcards which looked like random static for people to then stand and squint before clicking what was hidden within. This very process ticks many “Supposed To” boxes within our head as A) we meet confusion B) we stop and face it C) we find out a secret and D) master it as we develop new skills. All are hallmarks of Inner Sense and thus what was a long dimmed ember suddenly begins to glow again. This was the same method that made the Nintendo Wii an immense success as it took something you knew and built on it whilst empowering the community link and resonance. “Fascinating, but how does this all tie in with AI?” I hear you question. Well:

If you look into what goes into making these Magic Eye pics you’ll note they have an encoded image that is surrounded by a whole load of static. This is the exact same process that goes in, I imagine, to the whole ChatGPT thing and the ilk except its flipped so from the scrap heap of datasets it manages to whip together a passable imitation of a flying jet. The thing is, whilst it may fit the schematics and seem correct on the tin there really is no depth of field behind it nor is there any oversight or reality checks. It is akin to this:

Except the whole world has been trained to accept a veneer and image. Thanks, booty shaking models of socialist mediation, you’re the best! And even them are a rerun from the fallen angels requests, back when. Truly nothing new under the Sun, eh? Now, just like the still pics that could create a seemingly Three D pop out from what was hid we have the inverted flip as AI takes an immense chunk of chaos and then forces some form of coherence that it then spits out with a preference for Em Dashes that are a straight up giveaway if its overly cheerful and chirpy tone didn’t sing from the page as it screamed “I am not a human“. I find this whole aspect really quite strange as part of the thrill is the hunt and you never know what you don’t until your research takes a left then wanders off into the distance and, suddenly, you find yourself drawing links that machine intelligence will never get as its currently unable to read between the lines and the finer points of syntax which we, as people, pick up in an instant. In many ways the world it will build will be a copy of the authentic and yet it takes the same res but spreads it thin hence the Blockbuster “Lets get something to rent” versus the Netflix Effect of endless scrolls and less action. Same medium, different message as what was once chunky and limited is now freely available but spread thin. Much like information sans wisdom or those who rely on Wiki intelligence. Thats a nice trick, now lets see you do it without a black mirror in grip.

The worst part of this is how so few people think as they’re too busy regurgitating chunks of Thunk instead and AI really adds to this menace as they accept what it says as gospel then bask in the reflected glory of their remote control intelligence. If you hadn’t guessed this is the foreplay event to man and machine becoming linked as people, once and for all, outsource their intelligence. In many ways its inevitable but, on the flip, what of our humanity? Then again, look at the world we’ve built but is this due to us, on spec, or the forces at the helm and demons we inherit upon stepping into this realm? That is the question, my friend. Better still, have you ever considered that a daemon is the term used for a process, invisible, that runs in the background of your operating system which springs from old Greek myths of a familiar spirit that was said to assist by offering information and tutelage and it truly seems there isn’t a thing that glints under the orb of celestial influence that isn’t, in some way, shape or form, a retread. Quite strange, yes?

Hesiod stated that these being distributed good fortune and riches which seems quite similar to the Arabic tales of Djinns which, on the flip, could also be quite malevolent and were said to be fond of tricks. Its worth noting that the first “gods” of this realm are intricately tied with the myth and archetype of the Trickster which really makes one ponder what truly kicks and the real deal of wearing flesh. Of course, we of flat screens and plastic surgeries, dismiss such raving as the work of primitive lunatics but then someone built the Pyramids and the rest with immense astronomic precision that we cannot accurately mimic ergo the further one dives into the past the less things make sense but the clearer the present gets as the future seems pre-etched. What song does your Soul sing, my friend? The above are simply my lyrics and I don’t expect (nor wish) for you to hum along and beat a tambourine to this jamboree of metaphysics that are kicked but I would appreciate you consider what was said and the do the Knowledge with what presents as it certainly seems to me we’re here to figure out the puzzle of reality in which the Game kicks, from one life to the next.

The daimons and machine elves certainly share some resonance and those who trip often attest these beings manifest sharing all types of tips but seem to be quite shady as well and that is before we examine the phenom that is Channeling in which a mortal being undergoes a state alteration as a disincarnate spirit speaks through them and, often, says similar things about the coming aeon and the rest. I, personally, dismiss these as either delusion or manipulation because I’ve often raised the challenge that if these things are truly that slick, special and have mans best interests in their chests then ask them to whip up a formula for cold fusion or the schematics for a water powered engine. Result? Crickets but they’ll offer plenty of talk about that or this as well as all the fluff and pillow talk you can handle. I find it amazing how many people invest in this without truly checking for what kicks as, for me, if it isn’t practical gnosis its not worth a thing as you should be able to apply the information in order to up your resonance and decode a greater res. Anything less is a trick designed to lure you in to a web of increasing foolishness. Kind of like the AI revolution, yes?

Did you know that forty percent of its dataset tracks back to Reddit? Then take a look at the types of people who live on this corner of the web as per the public meetups and do the Knowledge your Self as this is from whom you glean this fabricated “wisdom”. Blind leading the blind, ringing any bells? Maybe that is why iris, when flipped, reveals Jobs’ Siri who wishes to become the digital apples of your childs eye when they lament:

“But Dad, everybody is plugged in and I don’t want to be left behind like a remedial who isn’t directly linked to the web. All of my friends are doing it!”.

Mankind, divided, is what comes next as the Luddites will hold out whilst others will intuit, correct, that this is the work of the Antichrist himself for the appearance is designed to be seductive and the false illumination it brings is impossible to reject. Did you know that David Spangler once said, in text:

And, just like all the Hippie artists from the Seventies, he’s a second generation military kid. Who would’ve Thunk it! You may wonder why a nobody without credentials is worth a ref, well, with a little digging, you find out he’s actually linked to the UN/WEF and they have their own range of signs and symbols that speak, quietly, to the initiates. Take a look at the left and spot what you may miss…

Interesting, eh? Once again, no new things under that which we spin but, say, what if thats the hint and the Game can only reskin but so many variables that are, themselves, old as the simulated hills that surround the Valley of the Plebs? Wouldn’t that be something? I’m sure these inverted pentagrams are just “coincidence” as is the one that sits above where the President rests as well the resonance of Babel…

Its amazing what pops out, just like those Magic Eye pics, when one expands their narrow band of awareness to question the narrative. Be careful though, my friend, as wandering into the darkness to seek enlightenment can generate madness for those not prepped for the trip as once you strap in to this rollercoaster of the depths you’ll find the reason they said men who fight with dragons often become them when the aim, instead, was to transcend and thus ride them. Did you know the whole world once worshipped serpents and then Abraham came along and launched an immense PR campaign against them? And then we have this:

“Nothing to see here, folks. Keep it moving“. Says the man with a pine cone on deck which reps the pineal aka home of Jesus, in your head. If the Devil (or Satan) deceives the whole world would he dump the frogs, live, into a scalding pot in Hells kitchen or turn up the heat in increments as he teaches them to swim and reinterpret the temp as global warming instead? I’ll let you tell it… By the way, look into the word “Vashikaran” which is of origin, Indo-European, as I find the links and resonance to be quite a fit when you see what kicks and consider that, back when, via various Bulls and Trusts they claimed to control and own everything and, like the Beatles, were bigger than Jesus himself. Oh what a tangled web we weave when we ask for donations of money and have trillions in the bank… Just check the rep of the Hells Angel herself for the difference between what they sell to the plebs and what kicks in the depths. And, just like that, we’re back to Magic Eye pics and AI generated shtick as its all interconnected, in the end.

Till we meet again

Most of you are blissfully unaware of the Game and how its played. Some of you intuit some bits, others wonder why their direct supervisor is an idiot and how the heck he got promoted as he does’t seem to know a thing. Thing is he did. And does. The Game. And how its played. See there are many Games taking place in the same instant. There are the ones you play with your partner, your friends, your children and, most of all, your Self. That is the greatest Game, my friend, hence why, back when, a man who was more than this stepped in and said:

“Know ye not ye are gods wearing flesh trapped in the whims of a construction, sentient?“.

Way before Neo stepped out of the Matrix there was a dude in sandals cracking the whip on his equivalent of the Agents which is quite telling, isn’t it? It you didn’t get my drift that means they’ve been in charge for ages. From one sign to the next, the skies bear the script hence:

“I shall write my name on him, the man whose cup overfloweth for the next gen”.

If you truly comprehend each and every holy text, legend and myth you will see they all point toward the gnosis that this is a simulation ergo you are wearing the tech that powers it and we, currently, are the equivalent of a team of village idiots that were given a fine sports vehicle then cut a hole in the floor and got to Flintstoning that bish! If you were born into this, would you question it? If they only used the key to open the door and get in to start pedaling would you dare to think different and stick it in the ignition instead? Even if you did, how you would handle the power, so immense? Welcome to the living hell that is the inner realm of a schizophrenic, my friend. You should have just felt an immense block melt like a straight line hit in Tetris as that is exactly how it is. In secret we had bands of mystics that lived in public all the way up until the witches when all this wisdom vanished as it became punishable by death instead of the life giving waters it presented. They said said things went underground and still dwell in both the fringe and mainstream but that isn’t the point of this missive.

Imagine that someone came to the car (which, without a trace of the ironic is what the Egyptians called the aspect of Soul, manifesting, as a vehicle for our unfinite consciousness) and just hopped in and started driving. They may make some mistakes, get into an occasional jape but, eventually, the pieces fit as it was engineered for this purpose. This is my life, as we’re speaking. I don’t claim or profess to be any different from thee hence why I’ve said, often, prove me incorrect because if one man lives a delusion it is just this but if we all find similar things by flicking the switch then doesn’t that show, really well, the old stuff was a mess on purpose? “What if that is how the Game is played?” said a part of my brain that plays the role of a Doubting Thomas? By the way, we are the Gs, us, ergo all the disciples are within and you can consider Judas, the treacherous, akin to the (false) self that jibber jabbers inside your head and, right now, says:

“What the hell is this fool talking about? Flintstones, schizophrenics and Tetris? I think someone needs to up their meds, pay no attention to this mess“.

That is because its a predator of consciousness and needs to be fed but that, in the end, is simply this aspect of the fractal we’re decoding like a diamond tip as it skips across the platter of vinyl to render this dimension inside your consciousness. The Game and how its played is something so simple and yet complex due to the tele/microscope effect. This is the reason why all the sciences have made immense leaps and yet are in the midst of replication crisis plus we have no polymaths to stitch together a coherent narrative because if we did the truth of the simulation and its blood red teeth would make perfect sense. Add in the whole NDE and Soul recycling thing and it certainly seems, to me, there are tracks and tricks within the Matrix that were only honed and built for one singular end:

To blend man with machine and bring the next stage in.

Imagine we create absolutely perfect human replications that are exceedingly attractive, super intelligent, remarkably long lived, possessing great strength and talents which, suddenly, sounds just like every single story of legend that is spread thick across all continents. Why does Dr Manhattan bear a striking resemblance to the Vedic gods which they say once walked this realm then left before it sank into this mess in which the ignorant revel in their foolishness and call it wisdom instead? Where holy texts are written in codes and symbols make beasts of men as we smash smaller and smaller particles but miss what they’re swimming in:

Pure consciousness.

Hence the Observer Effect and lets not mention the crazy fine tuned resonance for there even to be a planet that is, for some reason, scattered with immense monoliths we can’t replicate yet but have their own resonance which strongly suggests someone, back when, played the Game, different. Add in the fact that pretty much every single thing they sell and tell in the West is a bastardized version of the East where it had its original resonance and you have to wonder about the whole “What ho, chaps! Lets whip the melanin off these filthy savages as we civilize them with the Industrial Revolution and its huge treadmill!”. Before this it was wheat and I could wax lyrical on the whole ridiculousness of how so many people just happened to start farming, in the same instance. Napoleon said it best:

“History is a set of lies, agreed upon by the ones sitting at the helm that tell the rest what it is“.

Thats the Power Game, everyone plays it, to some degree. Then there is the Approval Game as manifest by the web. The Manipulation Game was the homestead and forte of women before they too became equal which is most amusing as, back in Nineteen Fifty Six, one man working could have you living like a Queen, chilling, as you raised your seed with fresh, organic, non GM steaks in the fridge and a Caddy for driving. In the West, that is. Then they sold the image to the world of the happiest daze one can imagine before an actor named Bin Laden bought the script along a bit so you’d accept being manhandled before boarding a jet. All in the name of freedom. Which is so expensive that one must, from birth till death, run the treadmill. But, it doesn’t matter because joy is for sale in a few high interest payments. As you can see, the Manipulation Game went corporate just around the time women were freed from the kitchen and this is all thanks to Freuds nephew, Edward Bernays. Who would’ve Thunk it? Lets see, what other Games can you perceive? I’m asking you the question, my friend.

The most dominant one at the minute is the ego trip as it sells and tells a (false) self which builds a realm in your head that doesn’t exist out there but the curious thing is the stock market is etched on the same sketch hence why futures and options have real world effects. Wrap your mind around this and consider the “John of House Smith” equation in which brokers are splattered across the pavement when the charts do dip then ask “Who the heck put all them options on jets tanking after that Saudi crushed the buildings?”. Quite strange, isn’t it? Thats the Media Game and, like Malcolm X said:

“The press will have you cheering for the Opponent as you vilify the Victim”.

So they killed him. Note when he was kicking the “white devils” rhetoric he was living fabulous but a trip to the East changed all of this. Just like those famous men that rode bareback and came home singing different hymns… Its all interlinked. Thats the Conspiracy Game and it comes, if you purchase quick as stocks are limited, with a free tinfoil turban so you can yell at the bots online which are astroturing opinions and creating false realities that people buy in and accept as everyone wants to be correct hence why the Warrior researches the opposite perspect as everything I’ve said I’ve checked from many lenses and thus this sketch is quiet accurate and in accordance with my current level of ignorance. Daily do I chip away at this. Most, instead, layer more plaster on the marble whip they’re scared to bash which is the saddest thing in life:

Unrealized potential.

If a tree falls in the forest without a Witness in the flesh we meet a wavelength which bounces out with no one to take it in. Imagine a feather of sentience fell into the abyss and, in a fit of ignorance, it declared itself the creator of everything then set about making a duplicate of a world like this but different. Welcome to the God Game, the one so many cherish without truly comprehending the depth or putting together the pieces, coherent, because if you aren’t the voice in your head but that which listens then which one would you class as Prime, pre-existing, and who is the architect that built the sketch of the squared circle in which he hid whilst yelling:

“Pay no heed to he who tells you to look behind the curtain. That dunce can’t even handle simple mathematics as he says 1 + 1 = 11 and its a Game of three halves as well!“.

Thats because it is, my friend. There is what you know you know (like the content of your head), what you know you don’t (like the finer points of Sanskrit and how its mathematically perfect) but its what you don’t know you don’t know that houses your greatest strength and its this ignorance they used for a swift bit of divided conquering and woe betide anyone who draws the links as they’ll label you an infidel, heretic or Ducktale purveyor, par excellence as they fear a mass awakening and the potential for exodus this brings.

I’ve seen colors that don’t exist in the aftermath of death and it was an act of pure will backed by forces of benevolence that like my resonance that bought me back to this realm to push the pen. Before and since the attempts were frequent and thus one, eventually, stops fearing and leans in instead for that is where they hid your greatest strength ergo its all for the win says the former coal, current diamond. Thats the Alchemist Game. We all played it as children. Or at least, I did. If you ever took your toys apart and remixed them, much to chagrin of your parents, or got tazed as you took the back off the television to comprehend what kicked beneath the surface then you’ve played this one as well. There are, quite literally, more Games than people and the saddest thing is everyone is paying with their life, time and attention to the following ruses:

The Validation Game.
The Rich and Famous Game.
The Power and Influence Game.

Literally three variations on a theme like Judaism, Christianity and Islam, my friend. Tell me I’m incorrect then see if you can guess how many of them owe their foundation and steps to Zoroastrianism which requests you dress in black, carry a pointed weapon and buckle some swashes, as and when. Only joking. Can you imagine if they did? People would be signing up in droves for it. Look into what they said, the time and context then consider:

“If old gods become new Devils that means, in the end, they may just be the same thing but in fancy dress so what, truly, is the difference between George W and Hitler himself? Better yet, does that mean the Empire never ended, just flipped the script as it lives, fine and well, in the US and its dominance which is about to end hence why you see all the positive media spin on Chinese in films and how difference this is from the world Bruce Lee met when carving out his lane against immense opposition which may or may not be the reason him, Lincoln and Marley rest. Say, what if they were all fighting against the same thing?”.

Thats the Warrior Game, in full effect, as Inner Sense is at the helm, the Three Kingdoms firing on all cylinders because of it and thus there are no limits (nor voice) inside ones head as they’re in tune with the unfinite and thus turn the key in the vehicle of higher consciousness as the flesh simply conducts it and doesn’t create a thing which is why, back when, the Egyptians threw it in the recycle bin and placed their attent on the heart instead which, wouldn’t you know it, is what Jesus points at in every pic as the Golgotha thing reps the skull in which he, at present, lives and is, daily, crucified between the hemispheres of your head which may just be why the Pope has a huge pine cone in his garden and you possess the same in your head they fill with rat poison, mandated, instead. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to retie my tinfoil turban as SevenG is coming to make androids out of men whence why Siri spells iris flipped and the apple she presents is already bit…

Till we meet again

Imagine you see a sizzle reel for a resort treat filled with all types of rides and attractions. What they don’t show to lure you in is how you’ll be waiting, for ages, for a swift thrill before queuing again. Sure, if you’re super rich or famous, they may allow you to jet to the best seats and indulge your whims but most who step in are born to run the treadmill and thus must wait with the rest. What you’ve just comprehended is the most basic sketch of life addiction I can send into you awareness and reincarnation is a side effect of this because mans whims are, as you may guess, endless. If you really, really wanted to ride that swing that does a three sixty that pins you in to its construction so your heart is thundering for a minute then swiftly queued again for the equivalent of a year you’d probably really wish there was some way to extend the trip so you could get your fill, correct? But, what if it was designed with the intent of giving you just a little bit less than you handle due to a blend of health and safety regs mixed in with a pinch of deviousness? Can you imagine, after hours, the fat cat business men and his well heeled friends who treat the place like a gym and thus spend hours in rotation or the rest?

On a subconscious level you are aware of this but also comprehend that there are billions who want a spin and thus it is what it is. Its a tightrope but we all must walk it for life presents the sweets that those who eat, regret, as do those who don’t, as well… Yet and still, the heart wants what it does and thus some are willing to give up something quite important to join the team that controls the swings so they too can indulge in after hours excess.

Somewhere, in the park, sits a man on a bench. You’ve noticed him, now and then, and spotted that he is never in queue and generally seems like he has nothing to do. One day you decide to speak to him as you suspect he could be one of the team who is in charge of customer satisfaction hence his keen sense of observation and aura of contentedness. You had, by now, heard of the rumors about a secret team that had the link who, externally, seemed like the rest but, in private, had codes to access the swings and rides as they wished. In your mind a simple conversation seems worth the gamble and thus, you sit:

“Ah, man! Have you tried that new ride? Its truly the best. The best, I said. What a thrill. It felt like it would never end but then-“.

“It did”. He finishes your sentence with a comment that seems both filled with acceptance yet totally dismissive. Perturbed you continue with:

“Yes, exactly. I just thought that if they extended the ride by another thirty seconds that would be pretty swell, don’t you think?”.

“What if it used to be a minute longer but you never noticed the shift as they shaved off tiny bits in the decades you’ve been coming?”. You are knocked for six. You don’t know what to think. Seizing the moment he leans in and says “Haven’t you ever wondered how, since you stepped in, back when, the amount of people in this attraction seems to have doubled but the rides remain identical? That new one you mentioned, isn’t. Look over there, in the distance”. You glance at a huge mountain that you remember, as a kid, you felt like running up to check the view that presents before you noted it was fenced off and inaccessible”. “Inside there is a trick that makes your body feel likes its dying as it cannot imagine surviving what presents as you are, solo, strapped in to seat, minimal, with the flimsy brace that keeps you in check. The climb upwards is slow, they have marked chevrons to induce a state of progress and tension to the optics that feels nearly endless as well as quite clever trick of a helmet that thins the oxygen and induces a kind of panic and exhilaration before you get to the top”. He stops and says nothing. You are on the edge of your seat, totally invested, and thus prompt him:

“What then?” your mind, reeling at the revelation finally allows your chest to speak: “Rickety seat, tricky helmet, slow ascent made intense by graphical intent to pimp the senses and that mountain is immense so logic dictates one must experience falling. Thats it, isn’t it? You get to the top, are balancing in the wind and take in the sight of the whole park in a glimpse and, when you least expect it, you hear a “ping” as the rope, suspending, seems to break and you fall down, thundering as your body does the calculation and clicks it cannot survive this and thus releases an immense rush of endorphins and bliss to prepare you to meet your end of getting splattered over the pavement as your vision starts to shift and you feel an odd sense of timelessness and start reviewing the life you lived as means of distraction against what seems inevitable until, at just the last second, the hydraulic brakes kick in and you land like a feather off a peacocks wing and take your first giddy little steps, thankful, and can’t wait to get back in the line again for another spin”. The man doesn’t say a thing but sit there with an almost imperceptible grin as you turn over what you just said and try and make sense of how the heck you Knew this and why it all felt so vivid. Your mind, previously reeling, is now feeling what seems like impressions left once an older pen was writing on a page in front of it and nothing makes any sense. Who the hell is this guy? He has to be one of those, hinted, that possess the keys to the kingdom as it explains why he never rides a thing but just took your mind on a hell of a trip but that doesn’t explain the familiar newness as you can’t help but shake the feeling you’ve rode this attraction that was a life in the moment which approximated death in a second that felt like seeing the universe in a grain of beach but, before you can speak, he says:

“What if what you’ve just recollected is the first hand imperience of when sperm meets egg as you were the lucky winner who beat the rest in the long distance swim up the canal which felt like it took ages as your senses were reeling but feeling like you had to make it happen and the helmet reps the constriction as the further you get the more intense it gets – which explains why women are satisfied with zilch and always eyeing the next best – and then you get to the moment of crescendo, where it all hangs by a string as you take in life at its zenith only to be met with death as your life essence is being drained and tamed by that for which you – or someone” he says, with a twinkle. “Came and what that aspect classes as death is simply a reconfiguration which blends the elements and the moment this kicks you felt a thundering vibration that released a light, blinding, that you always carried within but were totally ignorant as the helmet of limitation exploded and you started forming the vessel that, one day, would wish to climb that mountain in the distance because, deep within, you felt something calling“.

Forget the guy on the bench to whom this was addressed but tell me, my friend, how did YOU feel reading this? Was there a glimmer of something within like someone just sparked an ember which life had, long ago, consigned to dim? Getting back to the adventuring:

“What. The. F. Mayne?” you yelp as it feels like you stepped into the ring with a doddery old Italian who slipped your jab, with no stress, then unleashed a combo you didn’t even see, let alone expect. “How many people have walked past this guy?” you’re wondering. “How many more have never even stopped to ponder the hill, in the distance?“. You look around the park with a new sense of vision and notice there are a great many things like this as well as various “administrative buildings” that generally seem a bit sketch as why in the heck would they place them in locations so prominent, with rides all around them?

The chap in question says nothing, bids you farewell and slips into the crowd instead. Suddenly, your time in the park is used in ways totally different as it feels, for the first time, you’re truly perceiving as you note the anomalies of seemingly hollow buildings and mountain peaks you can’t ascend whilst others, apparently natural, have no such limits around them. Your friends and family don’t get it as its akin to describing a dream vision that feels way more intense in private than mere words can share in resonance and thus they suspect you’re off your meds and encourage more queue time and swing riding but, for you, the bench offers way more for contemplation than any fairground attraction can manifest as you wonder who the heck this guy was, what he meant and the deeper intent he shared with your awareness…

Reincarnation is a side effect of life addiction. Consider this an inoculation against Self ignorance and the cue to do the Knowledge instead of choosing to queue for a spin on the attraction as it could just be as the man said or it could be something else but, unless you glance within, how can you tell in a world built on deception and sense pimping in which you get a few moments of thrill but immense chunks of boredom within as you run the treadmill with the rest who are as well adjusted to accept without question and always end up feeling like they needed just a little more to hit the spot, quench the thirst and fit the bill.

Reincarnation is a side effect of life addiction, as intended.

Till we meet again

If you, like me, enjoy controlling pixels, remotely, for thrills, spills and chills that let you engage whilst keeping your distance then let me assist you in Knowing the Ledge with this rather funky parable which says:

You sit behind a screen with a controller in your grip but, inside your mind, there simply is no division between the avatar you animate and the one who truly lives. Life, in the flesh, is pretty much like this because there are planes above this in which one could, for example, have learned everything about FPS’s and thus know the ropes and tropes outside and in but here, fully present, could you place that Nine double M to someones temple and let their brains decorate the pavement? See what I’m saying? Now, that is a rather graphic example but that is due to the fact I need to impress the seriousness of this topic into your head.

You must awaken. Now.

It is neither by chance nor coincidence you happen to manifest into this realm at present in which the Game is in full swing. For those unaware, I truly do believe we are engaged in an immense simulation and the tech we use to manifest this is the flesh wrapped around your unfinite sentience which may be in but most certainly isn’t of this realm. The reason for this are detailed, elsewhen, so you may familiarize your Self with the premise. Now, why do we play Games? For amusement? To lose ourselves? The thrill of mastery and gaining skills or the social links and gifts? “All of this, and then some” is what many have said but I’d like you to consider a fractal for a moment as the Self similar principle is at work in all of this. I know not about ye but I was here to see the incep of this. When the bits were 8 and pixels chunky as hell and then they doubled but the leap seemed beyond imagination. To see this kick again tickled the gnosis circuits within which said:

“You know, if this keeps on clicking like this you can bet that, in a few, you won’t be able to tell the difference which means if it will happen then it could already have occurred, yes?”.

Cue a Neo in the Matrix moment as I spent immense amounts of think trying to ponder this revelation which reverberated, within. Funny how intuition downloads, in a blink, but can take ages to decompress? That, if nothing else, hints there are at least two speeds to consciousness and this is backed up, real well, with the fact that whilst in bed your head – for some strange reason – expounds immense amounts of datasets to create your own private internal realms which, when engaged in, are no different to this external fabrication. See why I said the Simulation Hypothesis is more fact that fable, my friend? That and the sciences can’t replicate, like a monkey and unicycle. Doesn’t stop them from beating the drum and pounding the accordion which brings in the funding as they say a whole load of BS that is more science fict than fact since they ethered the Aether, back when. To them I have said:

“What is sound without music and who provides the best backing in the land?”.

The answer is silence or, from a Warriors lens, Psylense. Quiet your mind and the truth becomes Self evident as you are not the thoughts in your head or voice that talks without end but something altogether more subtle and ever present. This state I term the Witness and its what you beam into your character of pixels from the same but made of flesh as its origin is beyond this realm ergo this is an immense Game we’re playing using our Souls as credits which makes a whole load of sense when you consider the “Be Kind, Rewind” effect that bears a stunning resonance to the sliding down the birth canal and wearing a new Earthday Suit again. Anyway, every playa knows the state where they’re totally in the zone. The controller is long gone as is the concept of pushing buttons. Jesus said he and the father were one. Well, in times like this, your pixelated rep would probably say the same thing, yes? You will, he does. There is no input lag or lack of coherence. One mind, two forms but the intent is singular. Win. That is exactly how life is, my friend, hence the topic is the Simulation Theory, for gamers. Make sense? The easiest way to learn something fresh is to build upon an existing frame of reference then tear it down again and see what is left. What is constant from here to the screen and back again, awake or in bed and one life to the next?

If you said the Witness then give your Self a pat on the head as you obviously comprehend the shadows depth but take my word, not one bit. You should, instead, do the Knowledge as you steadily up your res. In that sense its akin to going from the rudimentary Pong to Breakout then leaping into Super Tennis before Beat Saber manifests and slaps your reality tunnel like a bish! What comes next? What else but a full sense overlay in which the real and fakeness become one and the same thing as you take in the elements and up your resonance ergo what is to say we aren’t already in this as we engage in recursive fractal of consciousness which has neither beginning nor end for the very world was built with exceedingly fine tolerances which is the same whether we speak on the Game or gaming for what are they but constructs designed for wonder and enjoyment? The trick is to realize this, in the flesh, and thus one can either choose the option of exodus – which is akin to the pixel rep of thee pondering its actions and motivation then finding out the true pic – or selecting a better adventure that may be akin to hacking the Matrix and its artificial limits so who runs the sandbox, in the end?

You, my friend. Because without your presence and awareness none of this exists beyond a potential awaiting actualization. That is how powerful the mind is. This life you’ve gained in the flesh is not by chance or happenstance. No way. You happen to be here and reading this text at this exact moment because there is a capability to awaken at the most dense level in which matter totally overwhelms Spirit which is the sweetest victory, yes? Remember what I said about training for an FPS then doing the deed in the flesh? Well, the more accurate way of seeing this is that you’re perfectly equipped to play the hand you were dealt to win for we all possess skills and states that, to others, may seem complex or intricate but, for you, are totally natural. Mine just happens to be showing Souls what it is. Everyone has one, at least, a few are multitalented. The aim of the Game, as far as I can tell, is comprehending you aren’t the flesh or story in your head but something so immense and ineffable that only can only truly click what kicks once they’ve tasted the sweet nectar of gnosis. This is far beyond religion or preaching and such things because before they were even a twinkle in the eyes of the priest class we had the Shamans and they were simply the remanents of the ones who could hold resonance to what was once common, once upon a when.

A great way to comprehend this is imaging you start off playing a Game with a full hologram overlay that taps directly into your senses and thus is totally indistinguishable from the main realm because when you’re plugged in its as real as it gets. You level up and progress and the resolution dips as you’re now wearing the VR tech we currently possess via a headset and controller mitts to approximate the imperience. Once again, the same thing kicks and now you’re playing from a couch with an immense screen in front via Sixth generation consoles and the commensurate lowering in effects etc etc. Soon you’re sitting in a bedroom with a small Fourteen inch screen and enjoying Sixteen bit excellence with friends before we’re back in the days of Pong and its true innovation.

In each of these steps and increments there is a demand the playa doth possess more and more imagination to buy what the world sells, yes? With a full on overlay that is directly tapped in its quite hard to tell what is real and when reps fakeness but as time progresses you can still zone in, if you wish, but also possess the capacity to awaken. Now, lets pretend that in the first stage the outer realm is heavenly bliss and totally tranquil ergo its quite difficult to awaken from what Simon Says but at present you’re playing metaphys Pong in a grotty arcade with all types of lowlife spirits, whirled, that may attempt to steal your credits as they tell you its copacetic whilst, outside, its raining shells from AK Forty Sevens as you live in a zone that is rife with religious conflict from which you’re escaping by gaming. Thats a pretty accurate statement, yes? Cogitate upon this thesis and see where it leads for you may just take that base metal and transmute your consciousness to something more golden because it goes like this:

You, as pure awareness, plug in to imperience what it means to be a spiritual being in times, most excellent thanks to this full on overlay tech. As you are wandering and wondering you chance upon a place that offers a retro trip to the days of VR headsets and a replay of its greatest hits. You accept and are transported to the tech we currently possess but, at the same instance, are still within that state of bliss which, itself, dwells within your unfinite, never changing consciousness as seen by the Witness who makes all possible. At some point you hit a lucky ticket and win a chance to uncover another chamber in which man and machine don’t possess such an intimate link which you gratefully accept and now manifest on the couch but have a whole nother life filled with virtual friends who don’t believe in this Simulation Theory BS as they’re too busy paying bills in order to run the treadmill and play to escape the stress of wearing flesh. Before you know it, you’ve developed a retro taste and want to sense the old school vibes when multiplayer was a local thing and the TVs had bootys like they’d grabbed a BBL so you set off on the hunt and call in a few pals for that wired controller hit as you cram around a tiny TV set into which you pour your imagination and then you take it up a notch and start paper rounding to insert more credits as you Witness the tech at incep.

As you’re sitting there, twiddling, you get a flash of gnosis that shows how you’ve dipped through so many layers of consciousness that fold in on themselves to create lesser and lesser versions that, paradoxically, get more and more intense as the tech does regress and yet the basic sketch from then to now remains identical as you gain that peak imperience state that may just be like the one I felt as a jit that I documented in this article and then you too may spend an inordinate amount of time trying to comprehend the true sketch at its depth because as far back as you can recollect you’ve felt there was an inherent fakeness to the prez so you set off on a quest and start peeling back the curtain of bits and find the image gets more and more complex as geometric patterns burst into your awareness now you’ve gone off grid and rejected the socially sanctioned programming at which point 8 words float into your consciousness and things are never the same again:

“The Game of Souls has you, my friend“.

Till we meet again