Old 03-13-2018, 09:33 PM   #1
88h8
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Default Raven's Song: a book of poems

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Vacuous Love
The festive parade with all the chummy gang
Balloons soaring towards the heavens amidst the gaiety
And then the bombs dropped
This is the fate which awaits us
The pusillanimous cannot take criticism
Only soap bubbles to play with as a kitten playing with a ball of yarn
Rose-coloured glasses are the prerogative of old grannies with feeble vision
Bordering on blindness they cannot see the looming threats which beset them from the bushes
“What a pretty kitty” they say as the snake bites and infects with venom
Not having anticipated the strike they are in reactive mode
Attempting to right the wrongs they have subjected themselves to for lack of foresight
Godlike, Odin vision
I see across the temporal, the spatial
Anticipation of evil
Thwarted in advance through the mind’s eye Horus-like
While the pusillanimous cower under warm petticoats and breathe in the feminine
The comfort, the ennervating amniotic fluid
An inchoate time in an entropic chamber called – the womb
Stillborn they fall into the mouth of Apep
Life energies drawn into the enemy
Husk left, the Einherjar gird themselves for battle with heavy iron and blood
They are breeding in unconscious ignominy
The thunder rumbles as Thor’s chariot rolls across the darkening sky amidst bolts of youthful
energy
Well-aimed to charge the fighting
The pusillanimous build castles in the sky while dwelling in perpetual indecision
The hour of decision is upon us the eternal now is make or break
A do or die – no try as Yoda advised
To fight a war one must have a war to fight – no war no fighting
All is peace but peace is death
No activating principle to create – for the destroyer
All is strife unending, a perpetual wheel of self-overcoming
A positive conception is barren without its counterpart
Vengeance and hate play a role in life, a simple one-sided projection of love is a vacuity which
has no purpose other than endless generation: an exclusively female conception of life.

“AmeriCanada”
Small town U.S.A.: Rockwellian charm, dreamscape of promise; purple mountains bespeckled
with the radiant dew of a child’s tears of joy; the postman and the milkman – and the policeman
with shaved head and aviator shades, stern scowl of inhuman psychopathy as cocking of assault
weapon readies him for operation – a wind-up doll of GI Joe proportions wound up with SSRIs
and tours of duty dripping with the bloody memories of innocent saturnian sacrifice. The aeon
has changed the old and yet new world has metamorphosed from a fantasy of golden-age hued
rays to a ray gun beaming microwaves.
But I wish to characterize the Canadian version (in the cradle of communist hive-mind
collectivism amidst a hinterland of chem-trailed bleary vision): gossip – ‘me’, ‘my’, ‘we’, ‘our’,
possessive pronouns issuing from the toilet called a vocal apparatus – ‘vacation’, ‘house’,
‘money’, ‘job’, ‘you and I are one’ – we will assault the other and the fall upon ourselves; a friend
of mine is an enemy of mine enemy; frozen personalities amidst frozen wastelands of desolation,
mouthing the platitudes of their programming: live in good area, better than others; important
and there/here is proof of the fact of the matter; genuflexion before the vanity mirror, mirroring
the self into oblivion. Yet with a latent humour underlying the frosty and nasty, the scowl and
the artificial smiles – the maple syrup humility and Tim Horton’s sarcasm of a hockey game
collectivism amidst the tree-lined horizon.

“Ragnarok”
This is the new epoch upon us: the dissolution of the old into the new sands of the hourglass to
be buried in an obscure oblivion. What was and will never be – what is will never be but a
dynamic stream of tumult and destruction – Leviathan leaps and jumps with the beck and call of
the archons; a free Willy of nightmare proportions he cleans the hoops of prophetic coordinates;
point on a line manifesting itself in chaotic teleportation, erratic movement without precedent,
unpredictable gyration of holocaustic caudal fin – cleansing Chemosh fire seemingly without
end
But suddenly Elysium and the triumph over the dragon; Asgard and the Bifrost Bridge
beckoning the Einherjar towards the ain soph aur
The Moshiach of troubled dreams proves clay and iron melted in quicksand of impotence –
Atavism of Atlantis overlooks the ruins of post-apocalypse. Aeisir in Valhalla beams with
radiance as the smoke clears with the dawn of a new day.
Latin America: Succulent fruits of tropical clime, refulgent orb perpetual smile
Machetes gleam as tourists die, gold chains stolen twinkle of an eye
Busloads of barbaloots, round and brown, tortillas filled with musical fruit smell that sound
Colonialism never went away – all are slaves – white as the mountain peak, capstone of power
play
Brown sundae underneath melting white ice cream
Melting in hegemony
Delicioso everyday
Sprechen ze Spanglish zambos, mestizos
Many Panamanian hatted wine-bellied fatsos
Lazily all day manana they say
Tomorrow and tomorrow becomes yesterday
Organs for sale from clandestine graves
Laboratories Moreau-like chupacabras on the quay
Hitler returns to breathe the ocean spray
Zion ascending with the equatorial sun
Ushering in the new aeon
Cathedrals ex cathedra the governance emanates
In the form of automatic weapons reverberate
Adios Latin America por favor
Yet the sun still shines as it sets on our dreams
Hope remains, let us stay
The paranoid fears of the unknown dart out of the shadows threatening fear itself the
simulacrum devastating, enervating
Laying waste to possibilities through creation of bleak actualities
This is the demise of reality – step forward and take the future from its destruction, pluck the
ripening fruit from the vine before it rots fermenting. Thus the Latin dream will be preserved. I
imagine myself as a tourist and yet as a resident, visiting the weird and wonderful unknown that
is the bright and ebullient equatorial region. Poverty and shanties lie on the fringes of mansions
and concrete-walled fortresses in which the paranoid ruling class dwells. Guards patrol the
streets – this time for legitimate reasons unlike their northern counterparts who do not have
‘bigger fish to fry’ – seeking their quarry to the thrill of the chase. And yet like a lackadaisical
hound lolling in the sun even they are low key though attentive. The snapshot photos of an
unknown land present the opportunities of a new America, for immigrants from a new yet old
world to an old yet new world - colonial Latin America serving as the new backdrop for a
consciousness of a reality that underwent a shift pulling all else into its gravitational tensional
field and warping its properties. Kaleidoscope vision crystallizes into the primary Technicolor
images of a viewfinder of foreign home – the heart transplanting itself through time and space
into that distant land. Intuitively the transceiver of gnosis understands the future portends all
for the static and inert. Flight must be taken and the sensitive mimics the avian in transport
towards a safe retreat from the crisis. A ‘disturbance in the force’ indeed betokens doom for the
willfully blind and ignorant whose numbed awareness freezes their motions rendering them
prey to the hawk-like forces of a Ra-Hoor-Khuit whirlwind of flames.

Chemtrail Death
Falling from Olympus
Titan’s breath
Blanketing hearth and home
Barren sepulchers’ bones
Giving ghost
Sacrifice of drones
From drones issue forth the mists of River Styx
Shredding triple helix
“The spiritual ruse in muse”
Wu-shin the spiritual
Empty as a receptacle
Without positive content
We are yet
A glass half less than half empty
Tartuffery of the mantra
Endlessly repeated
Bobbing and weaving
Heads lolling
Neck flexion – extension
Much ado about nothing
The no-mindedness is a dim bulb indeed
How long can we hold this position
Joints are aching, no circulation
Much better to move about
Get out of the mind
And banish mindlessness
Through praxis
-Strophe-
Look within
Begin
Perceive
Unlimited
Limitlessness
Light amidst
Darkness
Face the mirror
Of consciousness
Remind yourself of
A world beyond the finite
Banish mundaneness
In transcendence
-Antistrophe-
Transcend like Icarus
Over purple haze
Drug-induced daze
Plummet from supramundane
To awareness
Broken bones and dung hills
Get off the pills
Before astral realm becomes
Unified field of white
Padded cell plight
-Strophe-
Ascend in purity
Sweep away the density
Receive the word of god
Through Christ consciousness
To the heavens laud
Mind-body-spirit unity
Forsake the vehicle body
With impurity
Heaven-ward bound
To the higher realms
-Antistrophe-
A helium balloon
Head in necolophrygia
Seek Gaia
Pig in the
Sty or
Sprite in the
Sky
False dicho-
Tomy
Affairs I return
A homeland hearth
No rocket fuel burns
On my arse
No helium, no methane
No bag of gas
Up the brain
Labor of love mundane

“Sad Glad Tidings”
Like it or not iron necessity weighs upon decision and breaks the lever of choice. We run in
Mach 5 warp speed towards the unknown. Amidst the mists of chemtrail we perceive indistinct
shapes attempting to cohere in intelligible formation. Astrologically we are beset by endless
radiations from gravitational effects, unpredictable, as a lab rat waiting for an electric shock or a
pellet. Carrots and sticks we are bruised but salivate all the same – press the lever for the booby
prize of skull cracks from mallets or cocaine fireworks sparking synapses. There is no choice –
wyrd sisters weave skuld’s net in the darkness chanting mantras of arcane lingua and we wait for
the stare decisis which will never come – for that would open up an eye of gnosis illuminating
Being as a gnostic, Illuminist – and it is the white hand that pulls the curtain about the wizards
clearly reality is unclear and the wooden mechanics of an automatic world spring apart yet are
held in strange array by electromagnetics and subtle forces. The vision of the world is
synecdotally represented (micro in macro cosmic folds) in the organization “World Vision” –
charity it is to slay those eager to take breaths of life – strife precipitates peace and peace is the
cessation of enmity – genocide as an iron fist within a velvet glove vaccinating the masses with
diabolical love. A world of contradictions deliberates an orchestra of disharmonic resonance
conducted by the Zionist wizards in a technicolor world of prefabricated proportions. Architects
of preplanned golem, the dupes line up for the gas chamber showers bringing the maypole
flowers of plague germs: a pocket full of posies – and they fall down by Saturn’s scythe. In the
distance the thunderer, Thorir, breaks on wheels of flame pulled by the goats of Mendes and
Saturn, charging forth on mushroom clouds of devastation. Whither Bifrost the Rainbow Bridge
to the superman of Valhalla – wise Odin smiles from air throne as the world of men is purged –
only the Einherjar may ascend with the angelic forms of Valkyrie, remnants like in dust of
forgotten bones to climb up from long forgotten gravestones into mountainous hollows as
dwarves – then men, then eleven folk – then the stars smile twinkling upon the flaxen-haired
ones’ Aryan nobles aspiring rulers of the earth realm to some day share the hallowed halls of
Aesir realm/ in the interim to oversee the building of the heaven upon earth, divine fortress,
rock of ages, aspiring spire reaching heavenward to reach the immortals, maintaining
communion with divine soul.
The attempt to live a natural life under an endless imposition of artificiality will inevitably be
thwarted. Fresh water converted to poison water; fresh, natural food to decayed putrescent
fermented GMOs; fresh, oxygen-rich atmosphere converted to poisoned haze – a witches’ brew
of genocide perpetually ensconcing the lives of beings who represent endless possibility but who,
through endless bombardment of the unnatural, are thereby destroyed in their nature and if
they live at all are converted into artificialized hybrids, cripples who limp to their inevitable
destruction. The hubris of the controllers, their Icarian flights of fantasy, must come down like a
tonne of brimstone bricks on their own heads. They want it all and receive a backlash from their
attempts to tear the fabric of time and space in the form of their own self-bondage, strained
ligaments and sinews. All others are pulled down into the pit with them to be gnawed upon by
these cannibals.

The Good Triumphant
The image of the tribal colony: Simple primitives playing about, respecting nature’s laws, living
in accordance therewith - a life mirroring that of the animals living amongst the sum total of
Gaia’s bounty harmoniously. The shaman priest eagerly investigating the lore of his mystical
revelations – information gleaned from dimensions of a nature foreign to the verdure and fauna
the terrestrial globe. Into his consciousness enters notions, ideas, and their concomitant
practices in aberrant violation of Gaia’s harmonious circle of life. The new circle is a pentagram,
the priests evoking unnatural energies opening the Pandora’s Box a hidden, dark side of the
universe from which issue violence, manifested in the form of demons and parasites from the
astral realm whose will mandates doing. This clichéd image appears to reside in the human
psyche, the proverbial condition humane. Everything is perfect – but the ego, in psychopathic
self-regard, wants to destroy all non-self – and so evil is borne. On the altar are sacrificed the
simple denizens of Gaia’s Edenic vale, their blood quaffed by lascivious lips mouthing arcane
discourse, chants, mantras. Beating hearts are eagerly devoured as a feast shared by demon and
avatared priest in ecstatic union of feral revelry. The power rush and lust for the divine energies
of man perpetuate the endless train of victims themselves now blindly sacrificing their higher
being in appeasement of the wrath of occult forces from a necreous beyond. Where did we go
wrong? Knowledge locust-like, pours forth from Pandora’s Box whose lid curious hands and
prying eyes were led to open, thus the eve-ill propensity of man. Consuming the apple and
coming away with a canker worm – at first in ignorance but later in desperate searching for the
stimulus to encounter with the divine regardless of the price. It would seem that power and
curiosity are somehow latent in the recesses of the subconscious and unite and propagate in its
subterranean depths. Their offspring are knowledge but rooted to the lower energies of the
earth. The sex and death between instinct bizarrely unified in dark side of the force. One is
driven to the one and still bound to the other is carried to its inevitable conclusion most
harrowing. The subconscious, localized with all probability in the reptilian arc complex, serves
as atavism, as evolutionary throwback, to a primordial beyond. The overcoming of which marks
the ascendance of the Kundalini force, the awakening of the Shekinah, the conjurations of the
sushumna and whatever else it may be called. The stargate to the dark side of the force lies in
lower vibrations of the aether: fear, lust, hate, aggression. The propensities are worked up in the
magical rituals of the perverse to augment their most sinister gambits. The priestly caste as of
old did never cease from its bloodlustful pursuit of self and ego. The extent of vampirism of the
life-energies of others – truly the most feral and overt display of power and its literal
assimilation into the being of the ego-body, the material manifestation of the cruel and petty
self-seeking spirit. It never disappeared under the veneer of civility and continues the frenzied
pace of rapine and destruction, the enrichment of self via theft from other.
The placid brook
The green-leafed tree
The warming rays of Phoebus
The rolling meadow
The lapping waters
The music of Pan to please us
The darkling sky
The sheer light flash
The chariots of Thor and Jupiter
The brandished knife
The cold stone altar
The terror shock of horror
The guzzling maw
The blood-stained lips
The pinpoint pupils abandon
The opening sky
The light beam pierce
The priest to fatal Abaddon
The karmic wheel
The grinding bones
The justice poets know
The balance righted
The darkness slighted
Full warming rays of grace are lighted
Will it be an empty world of barren millennia, devoid of life that was? Or will it be paradise
encomia, nature’s maternal applause?
May the force be with you is the morning salutation to the sum total of all beings and to oneself.
To overcome the lower levels of the dark side of consciousness and to conquer mundane
kingdoms for blessed isle ascensions. That should be the goal and, Ixion-like, one is forever in an
uphill climb bearing the burdens which pull down to the earth to the revels of Dionysus, to the
succubae maenads of lascivious salaciousness; to the cruelty of vengeance, the delight in
powerful schadenfreude. All these proclivities must be overcome through the higher vibrations:
love, amity, graciousness, magnanimity, selflessness, community, self-love not exclusive of other
love. Don a technicolor dreamcloak instead of a sorcerer’s black robes, partake of sparkling
nectar not the sanguinary delights of vampire lust; Bathe and imbibe the rays of Phoebus Apollo
not moonbeams of Asherah; Do good avoid evil. A pleasant fantasy but whether real or not the
nightmare of ignorance and evil leads one to attempt reification however low the probability.
The urge to create
To scribe arcane glyphs
In sandy stretches
Of barren imagination
Leaving scars of footprints
In undisturbed solace
When a confrontation
Led to ignorance
Blind strivings
Of a dung beetle
Pushing road apple carts
Like Sisyphus
Towards perdition
Hive mind
Beehive
Pine cone of soul seeds
Bound to
Backbone
Fused with Machine
Cogs and gears
In starship
Black cube
Saturnitatus
On the background
Of blazing effulgence
Apollyon
Merging with source
Absorbed
Into energetic
Queen bee
Radiating chains
Of energy
Pandora returns
To prison
Yaldabaoth opens
Horus’ eye
Swallows lies
Gateways to
Eternity
Portal of
Immortality
In self-sacrifice
To thee
G-D
Lothlorien the age old Elysium
Wherein Bombadil dispels amidst tulip carpets
Dewy verdure reflecting apollonian rays
Trilling doves cascade!
Often I venture to the picturesque dreamscape to escape the loaming threat of Mordor and its
orcine minions. Shire has been lost through the mind control besetting the hobbit fold on a 360-
degree multidimensional level – thus only the paradise of a mythical Lothlorien remains. The
petty in fighting of petty minds contained within the material carapace of hobbit flesh evoked
and invoked through sorcery of blackest intent. Turmoil descends upon the once cheery rolling
hills, apple carts now empty of their spoils as all wares have been sold to sate the endless greed
of a Tantalus, the mind of mammon forever seeking for more amidst the bounty of a once free
land. Soon the trees will wither as the social fabric has been wrent asunder by the subtle forces
of sorcerer magic from the black land and inexorable might of Saturnian hand – Sauron/Saturn,
Kronos/Cognos, etc. The greed was a stage upon a devolutionary path down which all tread to
perdition – call it the Tolkeinian flipside of baby boomer consumerism and status seeking, the
self-destruction of a tantalian reaching, grasping fingers crushing the fruits of exploited labour
in discontented greed. No more idyllic Lothlorien, a fable with no 5-sense backdrop of
consciousness, an impalpable image, a dream without content; a hazy feeling at best for the
ensuing trans-human generations of the mind controlled. Led by golden fetters they are pulled
towards labours of lust for the material plane and all it contains. Swallowed up by the hive mind
or ubermensch they are all in-duh-viduals in the Dilbert sense. Their importance is an echo of
the hive mind – what does the sum total think of me, what can I do to augment my being in light
of its dictates, to be illuminated by the limelight of Lucifer – and yet suffer the inevitable
negation of being in the boundless air soph aur of nothingness. So, it comes full circle – from
something nothing comes, from a potentiality to a nullity through binding oneself to an identity
exclusively political/collectivistic – the death of real actual individuality within the narrow
confines of the herd morality – an electromagnetically generated construct determinative of
one’s life. Saturn pronounces judgement; the Law is the logos and fortitude the result. The word
of god is good – all merge in oneness with the Lord, are usurped from differentiation into unity
within the cosmic god-mind. But- buffered by the intervention of technological caesarean
sections that create the preemie mind controlled slave-to-be – the Saturn moon-matrix, the EM
fields generating archon controlled control system. The minds are engineered as the soul seed is
formed from its issuance from the wheel of Ixion; reincarnated as a son of the – black sun – an
Apollo of Apollyon, hellenikos in the sense of hell on earth. Thus one is not only traumatized but
demonized in a literal sense, bound to holy guardian angels who mold in perverse pedagogy the
thoughts and behaviours of a tarnished being.
The freer the mind the more one understands slavery and how freedom is a mental-energetic
thing not chains and physical barriers. And this not merely “psychologically” as a noumenal ding
an sich qualitas occulta but a qualitas occulta in the sense of subtle forces that are the fabric of
the realm. The prison cell of reality has its bounds stretched by the mind of the prisoner – the
quantum wave function is collapsed by the observer – reality is determined by perception in an
energetic sense which is to say though itself the determined is determined by determining
processes (constitutive processes). That said limitation besets one when no new information
enters into the mind and the prison encroaches upon one as walls closing in – a compactor unit
of stagnant garbage in an entropic chamber of the real. I wish I were in an idyllic mountain
retreat without concern for the encroaching dangers of the aeon of Horus, in the age of Aquarius
(the age of destruction and perhaps new beginnings subsequent thereto). But this itself becomes
limitation and the lyricism of its vibrations become a dull metronome or flat line on an EKG. Yet
new information is perpetually bombarding once – he must simply fine tune his EM apparatus
to receive it and to possess eo ipso the resources with which to act upon and create worlds thus
expanding the walls of consciousness and the rec yard of the mind prison to recreate a new
horizon of being. Even in a place of desolation one can attain enlightenment through finding the
kingdom of heaven within. Exposure to various media and information sources (which
themselves have the ‘message’) warps the limits of perception of the real. But the reality
principle is constituted by perceptions and the limits and their warpings are reality itself. Thus
how is to say (the question is asked) what is real? - Society’s box or the vagrant in the cardboard
box who has pure access to higher realms of consciousness. In isolation one can be surrounded
by friends; if one can access the subtler energies he may commune with the divine (divinities),
angels, demons, etc.). The Pandora’s Box is opened via acute sensitivity and whatever floodgates
bring forth is met by the sensitive whose key fits the lock appropriate for itself. Life on the
physical brings the limitations which bind knowledge and bracket off consciousness in
ignorance. The dark planes of the unknown are unperceived by the shiny objectivity of material
being and five sense reality. Only when those planes of black ignorance can be viewed through
higher sensation does ignorance vanish. The matrix falls away thereby freeing one from its
chains.

A is A – there is no god but god – such dogmatism appeals to the infantile minds of true
believers whose capacity for question is nil and for whom the very act of questioning is a sin,
something to be ignored as threat to their principles of self-worship, namely the pleasure
principle. Do not tear people from their comfort zone. Do so at your peril for they will attack you
or, in vicious ignorance, pluck their eye out as it offends them and smiling imbecilically return to
the sand in which they stick their heads ostrich-like – or in their ass. Whatever suits their
pleasures. Hope lies in the increasing marginalization of people into a gamut, a mass, of
differentiated travelers on a journey or mission of unknown qualities. The paths weave in and
out following similar trajectories but deviating – thus contact is sporadic, unpredictable and not
easy of access or attainable when desired. Thus the traveler’s life, though one of freedom, is one
of solitude oft-times loneliness. The lone wolf avers the pack and is averred by them. He avoids
contact so as not to be destroyed by them – if only through assimilation and conversion to their
wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing essence. Whatever does not strike the eye of the mormo-figure is
annihilated as a pair of clothes that are out of fashion. The fashion now appears of rainbow hue
but is black; a Saturnian aspect of social/total being, the shadow side of the life of hapless dupes,
only partially conscious of their fate.
In times of decadence, people long for the golden age of comfort and productivity removed from
a time of vice. Decadence springs up like a noxious weed from the soil of corruption, itself
probably a phenomenon bound up with the cycles of the ages and facilitate by demonic
intervention off planet or inner space dark energy matter beings that comprise the aeon in its
metaphysical tissue. One has a sense of foreboding and escapes into momentous delights, flesh
pleasures and bread and circuses plucking his eye out to blind him to the offense that perhaps
exceeds his powers to vanquish at the very least presenting a daunting spectre of challenge the
weight of which is an object of dread. Dread is the condition of the weak’s flight from reality into
a fantasy land of their own contrivance. The contemporary technologies enable this form of
escapism creating a virtual realm of faerie castles and frog princes when the reality is gloomy
dungeons and reptilian Dracos engaging in torture murder rituals of lost innocence. The only
salvation is in the mind – to control the self not the world, as the latter can never be so elegantly
arranged as to suit a being whose every existence is perpetual flux. This enables a world of
coping and tolerance so that dungeons and torturer apparati are eo ipso transformed into soft
cushions and feathers in a comfortable living room. One must find comfort and peace amidst
discomfort transforming the nightmare into fantasy in place of creating artificial external
conditions for living and seeing demons – inevitably given the sight of the paranoid or even of
the blind. Reality must be acknowledged through sound judgment; sound judgment must be
established through reason and 5
th sense acquaintance with reality thereby making it more than
a mere principle to be paid token consideration and lip service. You could call it transcendental
apperception (perception which precedes 5 sense reality) this gleaned via concentration and
purification of the body/mind to supersede the material into the spiritual realm (4
th dimension,
etc.). Pure access to reality, “bracketing off” in Husserlian parlance. The convolution of thoughts
precipitated by the memes of a programmed society socially blueprinted/planned in advance of
its existence, offered up as the poisoned bread for the soul-starved masses; these thoughts must
be quelled and replaced with the heroic imagery of yesteryear (be it cowboys or ascetics; monks
or poets; soldiers or craftsmen) – a traditionalist template of memetic self-transmogrification –
the recipe for alchemical transubstantiation from baser self to the higher self of poet, warrior,
adventurer, ascetic, faster, contemplator, philosopher, etc. The only alternative is the death of
the higher self in feeble flight of weakness, in pursuit of momentary pleasures and comforts that
only perpetuate problems through sweeping them in burgeoning piles under the rug of
forgetfulness; to be stumbled upon while indulging in the fruits of a pleasant fantasy staring into
the empyrean inquest of new worlds devoid of pain and suffering. Endure suffering through
subjecting oneself to suffering – then the bar is raised, the threshold of tolerance is greater, the
pain resides into nothing and the pleasure preponderates over the pain. A direction of the
will/focus/attention is the means to negation of that which is detrimental to human life – not to
look away but beyond the object through it understanding its properties and invoking
mechanisms and strategies of prudence to deal with it; ideally to overlay it with a transcending
meaning, that there is more to life than material existence. The latter should be used as a
springboard into higher realms, not represent the fading all-night party ending once the
doomsday clock hits zero.

“Child’s Play”
Calvin and Hobbes on a snowy day, sun shining through the blue sky invitation to lay – at peace
no thought of anything beyond the moment the eternal now is here comforting in the womb of
Gaia and parental safeguards. The fresh atmosphere crisp with cold, the hot chocolate on the
stove – the ginger hearts hanging from the tree – myself, I, me, and the mater dei - serving
whims that lovingly bespeak eternal bond of innocence strength for the weak. The comforts of
neatness – sunlight streaming through the windows; everything in its place no pieces puzzling
thought gift of grace; all designs and projects vehicles of creativity zooming through space
No stones in the road smooth autobahn pavement
Rocket ships to the stars of our own creation
Crucible of care no cremation
Empathic Beings expressing divine inner wisdom
Communing with elements, along with self and environment
Yet together through cherished memories endowed upon the horizon of child’s world
Snow tunnels in a bank left by cold machines
Glow worms of carefree youth carving passageways to dreams
Impenetrable fortress of unassailable crystal
Refracting warm glow and projected dream world
The world limitless without rules yet autarchic
No anarchy of flames and brimstone
Narnia of sparkling tinsel snow
Tumnus accompanies with pan pipes triumphal calling
No Beelzebub tramping with cloven hooves infants bawling
The magic of lost youth
Lost city of spirit realms
Spatio-temporal finitude nowhere to be seen in town
A realm whose borders are dissolving upon touch
Upon projection of new presences
Contact with new elements and elemental sentients
Sunsets of tropical refulgence
On the youth of the eternal now
Threatening to darken the days of our fond recollection
Yet mindful that it is recollection
Returns as Sabazius heralding the day
Of new age and new youth
Brave rider upon the glowing dawn of golden promise
Innocence endowed with wisdom of past life
Present life
Breaking through Maya into Sattvic bodhisattva
Third eye absorbing the scenes of the
Eternal return welcoming forever in the moment
Recognition of permanence
Substance endlessly morphing into infinite shape
Shapeless shaping
Itself not self
The sublime of our imaginings
Shared in communion
With a child
Of our former
Future concepts through a child’s eyes we see
The stages of life play out on the stage
And the life of our imaginings
More real than a dream
Changes are noted and we conceive of things as impermanence – yet we are the Akashic records
in a sense: we read the book of life and read of our readings and merge into them thereby
verifying that ego cogito and res cognitions and res corpora are all illusions in the veil of Maya;
rainbow patterns refracting light waves at levels undetectable by our senses – we are our senses
yet blinded by our senses – consciousness limits itself through its modalities and the way it
manifests as differentiations of the one – source of all thought and thought itself. We are the
same – seek no external paths to elevate life to its form as pure consciousness; a light being
shining eternally in the eternal now.
Bacchus – riding the donkey; swilling brews with abandon – abandons postural, rides
roughshod over the daisies springing forth from a garden between the cracks of a ruined
tomorrow – pavement left to break up, the child still tending the tender shoots of future promise
– and the road apples left by Dionysus\Bacchus after he vomits upon the dewy flower leaving
nothing but stench in his wake – wilting it returns to the black earth of oblivion.
Dominance – some live for nothing else. Kronos consumes his own children, and by extension
himself – as he hates himself and yet in paradoxical self-love, is unwilling to be apart from
himself. Self-destruction is the means of some people’s self-perpetuation – they are destroyers
by nature and in typhonian style, awash in the whole of their universe in cleansing fire; fiddling
the while.
Blindness – so much easier than seeing with the clarity of a third eye vision – all one must do is
to pluck out the splinter which causes the pain – be it in the form of an eye or a brain. To see is
to be strong enough to endure pain – not to go beyond good and evil but to face reality and
understand the morality it entails – the human being can never go beyond the reality which
determines his evaluations thereof. Perspectivism is a limp-wristed cop-out ideology suited to
females – a means of escaping the pain of factuality. To see is not androgynous but masculine –
one must have the courage to see.
Are you alive – or do you simply watch the grains of sand falling in the hourglass, nothing but
imagings – images of possibilities, of dead and dying probabilities – but no actual, tangible,
graspable Being, ding-an-sich – always eluding your grasp.
“Roses or Myopia”
Cold war US vs. them a battle for survival at every turn.
The hidden hand of the Shaitan, fires of Mordor punishing the innocent.
The shire – no more! Greenest verdure and azure skies a canopy of words demise!
The nazgul hordes from Orion swoop descending with napalm lust
Energetic assault nuclear holocaust a glimmer of hope the flames awash
Ashes and dust
Finite being to eternity; matter metamorphically changing – born again as the son of the sun.
Eternal life and death, the hamster’s wheel of ixionic bliss. One can only laugh at the destruction
when sufficient detachment is attained. But sand in the hand it be – and through the hourglass
steadily dissipates – so one clings to a bleak futurity.
“When all are one”
The spoiled and their silver spoons, greedily stuffing amidst the flutes lazily they sway in
drunken comfort – southern comfort they reject for champagne, drained down lusting gullets
into fatted sacks called stomachs. Born in McMansions, commuting with abandon – an
abandonment of higher self for material enrichment. Suburban leisure class kiss my a**! They
cough with condescending implication: “Who are YOU – to speak? Beneath, simply beneath…
you don’t live in the good area, you are not a Luciferic demigod – you are the fallen, the profane,
the humble and lowly who dwells on the other side of the tracks. You don’t have glistening teeth
and a swollen wine gut – your skin is not tanned in a booth – or a prepackaged Mexican
vacation. Can’t you see that all we value you do not possess?” Is a rejoinder necessary to such
artificial, anti-natural standard? A bum under the bridge gives silent prayer to the god-mind and
is blessed. These pray to mammon and offer burnt sacrifices of their own race, of their fellow
man, to receive the largess of fools. A little girl sheds a tear before being thrown into the arms of
Moloch – they celebrate with eager lust, never a thought for their place in the universe – their
label states “I am I” that of their victims, those they impaled upon their callousness. “I am YOU
– and you have forsaken me.”
The world is one – but what of two or three…or you are me? All thrown into the garbage
compactor of the sum total – summum bonum, summum malun, malifis maleficarum, malleus
lucr-fero – the Thor’s hammer needed to smash this beast from the bottom; abysmal monstrum
in animo. The over soul is a tyrant which makes barren; desolation of the once technicolor
dream cloak of Josephus. Tattered in rags, blood bespattered; thrown by the shock troops into
the mud and blood – for it violated lex mundi and eo ipso rex mundi = “An attack upon the
kings laws is an attack upon the king himself!” – so sayeth the Lucifer.

“Nostalgia”
If only we could return – to the days of comforting 1980s – 1990s. Now we experience
logarhythmic steps towards perdition. How many will the underground bunkers contain? Will
humanity survive – or simply Jew-manity? The Talmudist holds up the skull of the goy and
speculates: ‘to be or not to be’. If only the scenario played out like the Turner diaries…Then the
90s and the 80s would atavize in the rejuvenating splendor of renaissance – the joyous
childhood of a lost age. Rediscovered?! The second sight reveals naught, only darkness, the
foreboding of the end times – clouds of fallout and apathy. The days of pop culture – scroll
through the list of your favorites: TV shows, comic books, toys, movies, the local team and ra ra
cis boom bah – and no minorities, no smart meters/chemtrails/legislation factories – just unity
and solidarity amidst the petty politics of the shire. The hordes of Mordor pour forth from
orthunic; tiras ungul raises banners of war; drums beat cadences of doom, the heartbeat of the
oversoul trembles – voluntary felo de se; the sheeple leap upon the barbed wire fences and
electrify the night.
Mind body dualism – the weight around my neck: ascendance made difficult with the lower
chakras perpetually activated – brown and red and blindness – wear the purple in your
garment? Oh emperor with no clothes? Festering mass fermenting; putrescent load descending
– hours pass by while the bio-machine utilizes its biomass as dirty burning fuel – and burns
itself up in the process. This is life amidst death, zombie lurching towards the precipice. When
freedom reigns one must be wholly detached – only a life of leisure enables this state. Sadly
leisure converts itself into excess – ask any purple-toga of the senate – vomitoriums await, begin
the cycle again!

“The Lady”
Sows spawning piglets in the sky – suburban dream don’t pass me by Lady without a Lord –
Babylon scarlet whore – mother hen protect the young – from disinterested civilians – Enter
into fight or flight – mental illness on a Saturday night – Liberal woman hear you mew – you’re
not a good screw – you’re screwed – Dildo yourself with your egregore phallus – In ecstasies
hovel turns to palace. Born Ball cutter waving scissors – wax-soft mind molded by your better
light up a lucky strike – and strike down your maternal dreams – no longer seamstress sewing
seams – you’re irrational fury – last monster to please.

“The Man in Black”
Bouncing, jouncing, joking – puffing, fucking, puking – 40 oz. in the left tech-nine in the right –
all on a Tuesday night – In a 6-4 hydraulic chrome – plated dreams until 9mm busts your dome
– Reminisce on rhymes like this – before your ego you do kiss – as donkey ropes and Mary J.
smokes are in more ways than 1 for dopes
“The loose “O” ring”
Barebacked delights – rubber-less ecstasy taken to the heights – of exponentialized plurality –
no monogamy – Faded ashen corpse coughing blood on the porch – Infectious bio-weapon
vector – worse than Hannibal Lector – Imploding ego no longer go-go worse than bonobo –
They call it A.I.D.S.

“Wither White”
Whither art thou white? Dost thou forsake thine realms of yore? Whence, where have you
disappeared to? Your superheroic presence is needed at this the apogee of humanity, as the
pinnacle you alone can serve as the capstone completing the pyramid – rendering indeterminate
and complete the crude ashlar of fable – Trapezoidal bridge of demonic infestation enters
through the vacuum of your absence. This whirlwind needs its angel. Where for art thou Enoch!
Your shining form is needed in this blackest of nights. You alone may illuminate the darkness.
“Androgyne”
Higher form of consciousness holistic – lower form of pantyhose and lipstick; Development of
race to ‘Super’ form, engaged and integrated complete soul is borne; phoenix flight over
shoulder padded elle duce jacketed cigar smoking hand waving power tripping feminists and
mincing, prancing little lord Fauntleroy dandy-boys ala Oscar Wilde effeminate style – The
integration is the architecture of the superman – use proper materials not divine feminine and
sacred masculine – don’t get it twisted in pantyhose and pageantry, Monty Python marching
goose-stepping pirouetting fruit loops and butchers of nature – no more dominandi display of
sexed out candy – merely meditate, integrate and cultivate.
80s synth pop – the mind numbing beats, emotional engaging soap-bubble-gum pastel haze of
carefree zephyrs floating across the horizon of a consciousness turned away from chaos into a
regulated groove of crystalline vinyl; easy breezy; a perfect recipe for drifting from reality into a
fantasy of je ne se qua and no associated perturbations, simply an acceptance of sactas
simplification. Euthanasia on wax the setting sun fades away on a Californian beach with neon
of Chip n’ Pepper and reflective shades – forward to the jollity of 90s synth pop in Scandinavian
form: A greater layering of beats to the heights of poly rhythm – a tense engagement and a
challenge of a more cerebral nature – the frontal lobes find stimulation and blossom
metabolically like flowers after a rain. Bubble gum of 80s flavor is sweetened with a tang that
bespeaks a new age, an elevation of the taste-buds to hyper-dimensional realms. The simplicity
of the 80s gives way to the multi-directional enticement of the Mata Hari veil dance of a pancake
stack of sugary layers of polyphony. Satiation receives its consummation amidst the tweeters,
bass and harmonics that weave in and out of phenomenological presentation to a consciousness
awakened to a seemingly endless perfusion of sound. The light-hearted pacifism with its touch
of punchy dualism challenges the listener playfully to respond to the enticement of an
electronica artwork of the future as the mind recreates the caricatures and archetypes the
producer has instilled into the consciousness. The stories and themes play themselves out
through a 4
th dimensional manifestation across the aether through the crystalline transceiver
that is the human experiencer experiencing the human experience in its particularity qua music.
By means of music the passions play by means of passion music plays manifesting as poetry,
athleticism, the dance and all artistic manifestations.
Sonny Boy
Open your mouth sonny boy a bottle of milk or two / A golden rattle and a silken diaper / A
castle for a crib you Jew / Drink and learn the art of draughtsmanship / Slake your thirst for
mommy’s brow sweat which she wicked of her husband’s back / Drain it down – so nourishing,
so comforting / You cry? A beating to exorcise the demons then Hiawatha to redeem your good
spirits. Rockabye Baby drink till you drop, stop the crying till the crow of the cock / Get off on
leisure till you flop on your back.
The aeons pass and the milken vessel metamorphoses into a brown bottle of joy. The world is
your toy! Play with it. When you tire – discard it, the crib awaits and a warm bath of inebriation
your fate / Urination on the creation – parents’ legacy years of gestation / Soured by the stale
remnants of territorial pissing match with the Oedipal shadows of a looming father figure. / Off
to war – or play! The big city alarms blare their triumphal bray / To indulge, to slake one’s thirst
of knowledge / To make your mark upon the world – unzip and drain your excess effluent into
the gutter of a stained world / Rub off the grime of your sty rolling / The world of education
transforms into its butterfly – economy! Return to mommy and daddy to warm the cold feet of
the cruel worldly wise traveller. A pigeon home to rest in a coop of blessed comfort.

Sonny Boy 2
Night revels in violent ecstasies / Blind poisoned mind primum mobile of rough-hewn physical
vehicle – develops embryo. Hush little baby don’t say a word – or the tyrant will negate your life
– a posit of shit splat upon a pristine tabula rasa / Play play bouncy boy – yeah hurray a child
vicariously a vehicle of atavism for the primitive / Neanderthal fury in a bottle of alcohol /
Smash the mirror which reminds you of your visage – a broken home / Dollhouse of paper –
incendiary firebrand – to ashes falls / A short leash – all the better to control you with – big bad
wolfish grin emitting fumes of inebriation – hahaha, I’m the big bad wolf – I’m here to smash
your house of sticks – for mine is brick and a shit brick for you sonny boy! / The embrace of a
vice – squeeze out the life – of future’s hopes and dreams / Broken bones crippled passage into a
tenebrous future / Reciprocate the abuse cyclically – a yoyo of emotional instability / Friend and
enemy both, today and tomorrow, black and white, here and there, attraction and repulsion –
the dialectic of control spirals out of control – a gear in the machine of man’s inhumanity
towards man! Grist for the mill sonny boy!
The call of the wild / Recluse Primal screaming in the shadow of oblivion / The plaintive cry of
friendless isolation / 360-degree panorama of relentless desolation / It presses against one and
burns away the shelter sought since eternity began / Sunrise, sunset the cycle of time draining
life away in a quicksand of inevitability yet a contentment within protective arms of Hern and
Gaia / Incubation period unending / The womb of today unending / Perpetual childhood /
Lingering in atavism a joyous contentment of being in the arms of a long lost mother / Fresh
grass, air, clear sky, undisturbed quiet / “The Raccoons” reified / The Cyril Sneers abound yet
the forest will never die / The unblemished purity enwreathes wayward soul / Jesus in the
manger, rocking in a crib of protection / Yet desolation howls form out of this peace / Breaking
into shards the girdle of verdure / Transforming into spears and spire of hostile oppression / To
be away and to have what is needed / Always a need beyond what is had / Insatiable Tantalus
the forests have grown too small for your greed, your discontent has usurped the peace of the
kingdom / Unrest and torment your reward forsaken is the green sword / Majestic levels of
Gaia’s crown / Emerald jewels of the scepter of Hern / - Out cast one wander’s the mean streets
of the sepulchral metropolis of broken dreams / Never to return to a paradise lost for eternity

“Reparations”
The sky is falling, Skyrim is heavy metal particulate descending into the respiratory tract of a
child of the new aeon / Gnosis reverberates in the scream of the small boy “No – Sis!” as his
sister’s lemonade stand is smashed to pieces by the billy club of black suited zio thugs / “It is the
law!” Love is the law, love under will / Where lies love in the turmoil of this dialectic / A
cacophony of cacophagy / Paedophilic orgy of freak masonry / Love issues forth from the
corruption of a phallus worshipper / Into the orifice of innocence / This is the answer to
Haddaway’s question: “What is love?”, baby don’t hurt me…no more / And the karmic laws
revolve upon the wheel of life’s fortune / Demonic entities ground in the mill of righteous
protest – hangman’s justice / Synagogues and temples burn – a wicker man with no return –
except … as a lowly worm; in the muck as this was the preference of the sacrifice victim in the
sacrifice of yet other victims / Man’s inhumanity bending around, bouncing off like rubber and
sticking to the Jew – ciphers, as divine discharge, money shot of the gods, not the godlets from
the lodge / Sin-a-gogz

“Mend-ass-ity”
Catholicity / Universality / peace, love, unity / humanity / democracy / equality / etc. / the
platitudes which speak one word to those with eyes to see and not through rose-coloured glasses
darkly perceived; one word: mendacity! The black, the white, the yellow, the lingam, the yoni,
the… same? Quod? Am I speaking to cave-dwellers watching the shadow play of the mysteries of
iniquity? Where is the real Lucifer with his refulgent glow – not atomic explosions and
Diognetian lanterns obscured by the daylight – the hypocrites only come out at night and revel
in perversity till the eyes of the public recognize / that in plain sight their hidden hands were
busy doing the devil’s work behind the curtain of Oz! Pull aside the veil of Isis and witness a fat
Jew-cifer with his dick in his hand – plastering the masonry of the great architecture of the

multiverse /
“Tartuffery of metaphysics”
Reality is your own magic picture show! / But the magic picture show with its unfolding storytime
pictures is reality / you choose nothing you are chosen / Fate is all encompassing / freedom
is simply another delusive (and yet all to exact) attempt to conceptualize the ‘nun’, aka now /
you are free to choose! / Rather you are chosen as a chooser / your choosing is an emanation of
the sum total / Split hairs and find you are splitting nothing / reductio ad absurdum ad
infinitum / yet always finite in being what must be by virtue of the fact that it cannot be other
than it is / And so all becomes one / insects, golden palaces, etc. / The only meaning is all
meaning and its endless emanation / One is led to wagging a finger at all comers / but the finger
itself undergoes self-contradicting negation / And ceases to have meaning itself / so one is led to
godhead: a light shining in silent stillness – so-called illumination. / All of this empty rhetoric /
one must leave these stones unturned should he wish for wisdom / else in divine folly madness
spirals uncontrollably into a vast array of infinitely distant stars / and he loses both mind and
head in the bargain /

“Kultur Kampf”
Struggle, a Kampf of mein / multi-hued rainbow flags blowing in a windy holocaust of nuclear
flame / To be or not – mono or multi – Kultur that is….who an ally who an enemy – the enemy
they claim is within – but without the teeming hordes of Orthune plunder pillage and rape the
bloody face of Edelweiss blood trickling down blonde hair, blue eyes, the grinning face black as
midnight against the pallid glow of Astarte in a dank, dreary alley way. Who will mourn for the
Edenic fields of the shire when the Mordor legions of set/sut pour forth upon the crystal clear
lakes of our bedimmed self-consciousness. Identity destroyed by the new aeon; disfigured
patchwork of mullato visage the only remains of the Aryan race; a dead skin mask of non-
Euclidean proportions that would make Gein scream and the son of Sam-ael do a jig and caper
under the aegis of Saturnian forces of diabolical gnosis – for the forgotten will always be
remembered the writers of a false history, but to ashes and dust their fate.
Agreeable when auspicious times bestow the largess of the enslaved upon the soon-to-be
enslaved – the unknown serfs who are paraded as emperors – without clothes in reality; ripe for
the tomatoes of the crowd or maybe the tomato a bloodied stone issuing forth from the tumult of
a Saturnian hate, destroying force. The very bones would be picked by the carrion fowl of the
dark side; ever-circling the winged nazgul eagerly lapping the vitality of the creator, imbibing
the spirit of the strong of spirit / rendering desolate even the strongest / a leech shriveling in the
sun of the son / Moshiach ,the absent god who is coming / The temple built upon the bones of
the ivory white piezo-electric generators they called the denizens of Europa / The height of the
pyramid being attained the mad struggle of the mob pulls it apart again – the falseness of the
messianic leaving the stain of the … same / a cycle of time, yugas, kulpas; to be relived all over
again. Broken record blues amid satanic refrains.
Global village or globe of villages? A disjunctive choice – enemy of the ‘one–state’ or friend of
the Cainite – can the human battery struggle against the power source that enables his energy
current and has the power to shut off his life – energy guillotine ringing in the night of silent
stillness the Dove rises with the sun and promises glad tidings but transforms into the hawk and
descends with adamantine talons to rip and tear “Mongol & din”, mussulman and Christian, -
the merry-making of the shire is no more!

“La Vida Loca”
Intense energy drain – in hyper-drive – organs metabolizing themselves into oblivion –
resources deplete; the wasting asset of one’s vitality spiralling into the drain hole of the point of
no return. Hyperborean excess of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow / Heaviest, densest of
metals gleaning with the fire of life – chasing the prize is itself the prize – but burnout, burst
tires and screeching rubber on the rainbow road sends one veering off into a black oblivion. And
to wake on the other side in Elysium: Gauguin-esque scene of lazy brown barbaloots in their
scanty barbaloot suits serving one a tall glass of paradise; peeling a grape in homage to the gran
puta – The foreign world a curious toy for a sleepy-eyed boy on Christmas morn. The sunny
dreamscape and carefree laissez-faire welcome change of scenery in the stage play of life – from
tempestuous night on stormy seas to calm languid indolence in the security of a translucent
lagoon. And the reality – abject poverty, the strife torn fields of a banana republic dictatorship,
Saturnian scythe mowing the chaff from their restive plant like pacific existence. Or maybe this
just a nightmare within a dream within a dream – perhaps the dream is the reality shining dimly
amidst blackest uncertainty / The shadow play of illusions clouds the seers vision / Decisions,
Decisions – and endless concatenations of consequences / entailments / corollaries / Tree
diagrammed algorhythms of possibilities / Attempting to map the real / but the pole star has
gone out / It is the third eye and wisdom is stilled in the chaos of the moment / One can create
worlds in refulgent light of paradisiacal shores – in the padded cell of self-deception / The
madman becomes saint, sinner, businessman, acolyte – and has nothing to show but the fecal
matter he tarnished the walls with / Scene painted – seen! The earthy soil of a fertile land of
empty promises / Hosed away by the attendant, draining away as once his energy drained from
frail and failing body / Broken, weary spirit, driving the vehicle which was out of fuel long ago –
to never Neverland / Or perhaps all is a fabrication – manufactured in a factory of technicolor
dream coats – by the imagination of a young adventurer and real estate investor / amidst
colonial mansions in the southern hemisphere – soil palpable, bearing the scent of the
Schumann resonance / ‘La vida loca’; gesturing with a nonchalant shrug and subtle smile
playing about the lips / Gazing with rapt attention to the capering barbaloots in the hot pant
suits
Prisons, cells, 4-squared square objects – limitation, finitude, ultimate purgatory – no escape,
total annihilation of possibility – only the now, here and what / Fate inexorable straight jacket
chokes the flow of blood / cadaver white the victim falls to the hard tiled floor of institutional
finality – life is a right angular space forever pressing in leaving freedom to decay as sands in
Saturn’s glass of idle hours fall out upon greenest verdure left blackened in death / ….and they
step outside and life is once again the actuality it will never cease to be prisons of the mind /
self-created shackles forged in fires of despairing will / A working upon the self as the only
materials / Prison cell of bones and sinews with the vital mass leechlike crawling in the narrowly
delimited planes of self-limitation /

“Purity”
Aryan race / blue-eyed blonde-haired ubermensch / is the oversoul merely memetic matricized
delusion / or concrete embodiment of idealized man / The notion / very enticing / leading
astray from surviving / the material mundane day-to-day grinder, yet without idealism no ism
matters – only matter / with the ideal money shot gone impotence remains / weary old bones go
to rest in an early grave / No animation from constructive imagination / But the image is a
tangible self-creating, creation / No mere meme, a pipe dream of self-delusive frustration /
Aryan ideal: blue-eyed, deutsch true; white skinned through and through; red blooded capstone
of the pyramid; over the bodies of vile assailants positioned; victorious blonde beastie not a
fictive propaganda ministry construct / projected from the wizards of Zion from behind their
sequin curtains / ….praxiologically, practically that is to say, matter-of-factly: Is it race or
survival in immersion (and inevitably decapitation of higher mind) in raceless profusion of
genetic patch work: blacks, browns and reds. The grave matter is that one is a grave digger or a
cadaver buried with honor: with a bang or a whimper departing to a living Sheol or an
afterworld Elysium Asgard with the Herrenvolk who ride with the Valkyrie. There is no
contentment in treason – no matter how specious the conscience/consciousness is – disloyalty
is paid with the price of lost self-respect and the burden – millstone weight – of disdain,
betrayed, destruction, of his own. But survival is gained – a living death where the zombie
remnant of a once proud people lives not to die another day but to live pusillanimous weakness,
a limp wrist with no endurance or will to suffer for – an ideal: Aryan man. Instead, bowing
before a brownie with an IQ of 50 as he bends his victim for rapine and satisfaction of animal
lusts in the ‘tolerant’ multiverse of rampant hedonistic vulgarity that calls itself ‘liberal
democratic society’. The idealism still fades in the face of the odds: the Jew matrix of inevitable
destruction (chemtrails, EMF, GMOs, censorship, police statism, communist hive mind
ignorance of the lowest common denomination) – to fight another day? Or to fight with the
mind and to direct the sword to targets elusive in their demonic shapeshifting; rather than to
butt one’s head against a wall of impenetrable fatality – no avoidance but confrontation and selfdestruction?
/ The ideal lives in the blood and will manifest when the time is right to: defeat evil,
even though what would be construed as evil (but which is not as a negation of negation) and
practice good through good works: creative strivings, improvements, contributions to the sum
total – but always as an Aryan and supporting all things Aryan, fire-retardant chain mail / battle
preparations unleashed / upon the unsuspecting beast / Demons arise from contented
slumber / struck down retarded in combat, buried under / piles of orcs and goblins from the
south / mewing with fury irascible / Hell – brightened with the flaming sword of the light/white
skin flashing with god like / radiance: the dance of darkness destruction ending in death.
Hiding is not the trait of the noble but of the snake. The reserved, those in the arriere guard,
taking the safest position behind courageous divisions; the avant garde, forward marching,
lockstep with pride in fighting no wormlike sneaking in the blazing glory, of keen blue-eyed
maniacal fury. Deutsche tru is an encapsulation of the nordische (Aryan) soul; the hidden hand
and the winking eye of apocryphy never known / The aproned smirk of a masked pervert and
slant-eyed sneer of a surreptitious leer/queer/ the likes of which are strange and foreign to the
Aragorn’s and Thorir’s sons from the Hyperborean lands of the Herrenvolk / The dagger in the
side, the poison in the cup and water supply / The chains of gold wrapped around the manacled
limbs of enslaved Nordic pride / To be burst asunder when ‘tolerance’ ceases to be the rallying
cry of libtard dumboxcratic equalitarian sellouts – when the rabble ceases to be rabble and leaps
upon the leech of humanity tears out its insatiable fangs – the Jew crushed to death, bloated
carcass spilling the surplus of its victims from terminal wounds of justice manifest. /
To speak concretely: South America? The den of iniquity of a mixed race multitude to be a lone
gringo white man against the brown horde of disgruntled masses roving in post-apocalyptic
zombie mode, seeking a morsel of white flesh yet a retreat to live again and continue in the
future – practical means developing into structures needed to live again and continue in the
future – practical means developing into structures needed to duck, cover and overcome the
onslaught of diarrheic mass – the white toilet paper and bowl down which they are cast and
finished leaving porcelain white cleanliness post mortem and to shapeshift and metamorphose
into the white knight of a mad max multiverse, crusading as an Aguierre down the Amazon to
unknown glory – even in madness one crowns himself with the laurel wreath and invokes the
unknown gods of his wildest dreams. Living the dream amidst complete desolation. No Gaugin
here, just Rubens, a lily-white fantasy without end.
An example of modern day karmic workings: Jews provide the evil through their
religion/race/essence; con whites into subscribing to their perverse ethico-religio-polico, etc.
package of peace/unity/cosmic consciousness/mother earth worship and thereby (I speculate
the Jews reason) create a counter poise to their evil: low vibrational frequency hate and violence,
paranoia, megalomania emotion states and high vibrational love frequency states
(goyim/Amalek). They siphon off, via their low vibrational frequency behavior, as energy
vampires, the positive ‘emotings’ of the gullible goyim to suit their personal needs to become a
Lucifer. They are a deficiency in relation to a surplus yet believe themselves to be a hyper/super
surplus in relation to a resource cache of energy itself of meager stock. Their reasoning is
erroneous as they will simply be overcome with love bombs and then detonate themselves with
A-bombs. Thereby the world will be at peace even in death. However it might be redeemed
without a rapturous genocide of all existent entities including themselves if their hate is nullified
through a preponderate hate as a directed energy weapon, force hammer that silences the
screeching of a cornered rat. It appears as if it is more likely that they are producing more
conscripts for the Zion gulags; tillers for the fields, serfs for the manor eager to please and
bodies to obtain blood from sacrifice when no longer useable. However plans don’t always turn
out as designed.
The Jews feared assimilation out of the self-love characteristic of all tribal people. To survive
requires ostracism of all outsiders and specific rules/regs/laws which curtail erosion of identity.
To forsake ‘jingoism’ (if that is the term) amounts to self-destruction. Multiculturalism, so
called, is simply a garbage compactor of humanity to be remolded into a genetic dough that fits
the size and shape requirements of Jewish oligarchs. All people are put through the Jewish
golem bakery and fired in the flames of Moloch for the cannibal-vampire Jews to rend with
ravenous Neanderthal maw to the point of indigestion the baker must be smashed if the bakery
is to cease its production of monstrous aberrations. Kill the king, kill the kingdom (Zion). Or the
matrix is complete and all people are slave fodder of international Jews. They are being fleeced,
soon to be slaughtered, the sheeple beg for their cud and embrace the friendly hand of the
sheerer of their life essence.
Druggies, alkies, perverts, indolent, traitors, liberals, homos, feminists, pedos, psychos – all
manifestations of the ais soph aur, the darkness emanating from the corrupt mind of the Jew.
The aiders and abetters of vice revel while the once proud citadel burns around them and laugh
as the rubble – so much brimstone – strikes innocent passersby on their way to stoke the fires
for sacrifice. “All are equal”, they trumpet and puff their chest with ostentatious pomp and
circumstances, while they spit upon the blue-eyed, the blonde-haired and white skinned and
genuflect before the puppet master of the goyim: the Jew and his mixed race multitude standing
about them with a displeased look of wounded innocence with a hand held out to oppose
donations – until the price is right. Pay your tithe white race traitor, you have forsaken your
kind and have purchased perdition. Fall into the pit of your own making and be buried alive in
ignominy, forgotten to all leaving desolation in your wake, lost memory never to be read in the
Akashic records. ‘Kosher slaughter’ says it all; once they have control….all the white race will
fall; the liberal/socialist/feminist /homo /egalitarian/pervert / liberal/libertine has opened the
Pandora’s Box and the germs of destruction pour forth upon the earth. Only a barren wasteland

will remain.

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