Autobiography Volume 3

“the wanderer beyonder & the cosmic clock: the ongoing autobiography of jonathan barlow gee” Volumes 1, 2 & 3 are hereby copyright (©) by the author, Jonathan Barlow Gee, this, August 26th, 2014. a publication of: www.benpadiah.com

dedicated to: Dan Sutton, a guy who gave me an idea online once, and to all survivors. front cover illustration by Gustave Doré, back-cover illustration by MC Sicksince.

================================================================================== table of contents: volume 1:: introduction

pg. 003

photo section 1: me with pipe

pg. 024

journal section 1: 1986

pg. 025

photo section 2: school photos up to junior highschool journal section 2: 1994-5

pg. 042 pg. 053

photo section 3: highschool romance scrapbook

pg. 130

volume 2:: journal section 3: 1996 - 2001 (books 1-4)

pg. 004

photo section 4: vacations

pg. 306

volume 3:: journal section 4: 2004 - 2007 (online blog)

pg. 003

photo section 5: selfies 2004-14

pg. 251

================================================================================== insanity clause #23: Please do not share with others the web addresses for direct download from my site that are for sale there. However, once you have a copy of any one of my works, you are allowed, byJonathan Gee, the author of said work, to copy it and distribute it freely. If you claim you wrote it, or that you came up with the ideas for it yourself, you should be challenged to determine if you can prove your claim with knowledge of the material superior to my own. If you can, I will concede the work to your credit, but if you cannot, then the work will remain both of ours to teach and give to whom we choose.

06/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-14-2005 Welcome to my little corner of cyberspace. I realise cyberspace is a big place, and that, if you found your way in here, you probably already know who I am. At least, what my online personality is like.

I'd like to use this place to show you parts of my personality other than those you may have already seen. Those of which only some of you have even guessed at and which I myself have only barely hinted at.

While my cyberspace personality is more like myself as a writer, there are many interests I have which I have not explained through my writings in cyberspace. Many of these I have elaborated upon in my writings of books, however it is unlikely that any of you who are here have or would ever read any of these.

This place will serve as a haven for my beliefs, and for my rational arguments substantiating them. Some of these will border of mysticism to many of you, while others will border on astrophysics. Many of you know that I am a conspiracy theorist, but few of you know the full history of the universe as I understand it. All of these types of writings and more will you find among these web pages.

I'll try to just keep this blog of news about my personal life, and confine new writings to the forum.

As many of you already know, I am 27 years old, live at my mother's house and collect socialsecurity disability cheques every month from the US federal government for no better qualifying reason than that I am on the record as having had a mental illness since before I was eighteen.

This has led to several out-breaks, which have resulted in four institutional hospitalisations since 1999.

Since being perscribed Lamictal in 2003, I have been able to maintain an even-keel as far as my moodwings go, and have not suffered any more of my extreme, prolonged depressions. I have lost wait since I stopped taking Depakote and am feeling better these days than I have in a long time.

I've also made several friends in the past couple years, and they are all very important to me.

Damien, Buck and Calvert have a reggae band called Trial By Stone, and Simeon plays drums in an experiemental metal band called TRON with Chris and McNese. TBS has a show coming up soon at the local rock gym, and TRON had a blow out show last Sunday where people asked them for their autographs. They are planning for a September tour around FLA with the other bands on their label.

All in all my life is going rather well now. I am finally beginning to feel content. I am satisfied in my writings, both past and present, and feel comfortable retiring from my writings on magic and mysticism for the time being. My last book was the conclusion in my fiction trilogy, and now I am just taking some time off to gather new thoughts. This site will, hopefully, help me do that.

So, let me tell you a little about my life so far.

I didn't speak until I was three years old. And then I spoke in complete sentences. The first of my deep and long-lasting depressions began when I was about six. My mother had gone to Africa with her father, and I had been left alone for a week with my father, a distant and sarcastic man, with serious control issues. I am unclear what happened during this period, but I know that after then I was deeply depressed and became distant until, by secondary school, was almost completely

dispondent. I lamented for a long-lost childhood love, and all of my hoodlum friends through books at my head and called me gay.

One day we were all having lunch together in the cafeteria and got into a food fight under our table by stomping on ketchup packets. Our teacher for that period's class, Mrs. Caylor, who was clearly psychotic and compulsive herself, took us out into the open air walkway and began screaming at us. "How could you have done something like this? What were you thinking?" Just then another teacher came walking by, who happened to be another teacher in the gifted program that taught the members of our class. "What are you doing?" she scolded Mrs. Caylor, and promptly took us all into her class room. Although our lunch period class had ended, we were told to stay there so that we could continue to be lectured. "Why did you do this?" the teacher asked each one of us. I was last in line. "Because I hate myself and I want to die," I answered sarcastically with a snear.

Wrong answer.

I was escorted to the office of the school resource officer, where I waited until he got back from his lunch break. He questioned me as I looked tearfully out the window at freedom, and then left the room, telling me not to use the phone. I immediately got up and started dialing to call my mother and let her know what was going on. The officer burst back in and put me in a choker hold until I put down the phone. I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the bathroom floor.

After school had ended, the secretary at the front desk finally called my mother, who came just as the officer was transporting me to his vehicle to escort me to the local hospital for an interview with a social worker psychologist.

After speaking to me with only her clipboard, the state psychiatrist informed my parents (both of whom were there by now) that I was diagnosed with a chemical imbalance in my brain, a defficiency of the neurotransmitter seratonin. I was taken to a psychologist once, sometimes twice, a week following this time, and homeschooled for the following year. The public school's out-of-the-home education proagamme had me reading Travels with Charlie by Steinbeck for an entire semester.

In highschool I fell deeply in love with my best friend's girlfriend. Michael had been my growingup friend and lived down the street from me most of both our lives. I knew I was in love with her from the first moment I saw her. The summer of 95. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Following this I fell into the deepest depression of my life. She had moved away in 96, and, in shellshock following a particularly powerful panic attack in 1999, when I drove up to Indiana to talk to her, she finally told me that she didn't love me anymore. I think that in the past few years I have come to accept this, and to move on.

I began my writing career in highschool, as well as my fascination with esoterica. In highschool I penned the first book in my detective trilogy, and for Mike's wedding in 99 I wrote the second installment. My two years at college I wrote essays and poetry at a feverish pace, and have since written over 1500 poems. In 2001, I wrote the Formal System of Metaphysics. In 2002, the Metaphysician's Desk Reference. The MPDR was published in 2003 on 1stbooks, which has since changed its name to Author House. My local metaphysical gift shoppe/book store sold out all its copies of it Christmas of 04.

Throughout all this time I continued my private research into the esoteric, the arcane, the mystic, mythic and magical. Studies of systems of magic, which are often based on numbers, have contributed a great deal towards my ability to understand idealised, archetypal, and metaphysical theories in math and science. My last book on the subject, the Tree of Death and the Qliphoth, 2004, will, however, hopefully remain the last. None of the manuscripts I have thus far preapred on the Atlantean Calendar have not met with my satisfaction and I would prefer to

simply retire from philosophy altogether.

Anyway, that just about brings us up to date on my life history. I'll update you on how it's going and if anything particularly interesting happens here. So cheque back. And cheque out my pages too. I'll probably be on the forums every day, so if you want to talk to me directly you can do so there. If you need to email me you can find my addy in the bookstore. Anyway, thanks for stopping in. This is benpadiah, signing out from his very own little corner of the internet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-16-2005 I have been feeling introspective alot lately. Tonight my mom accused me of not helping out around the house, and blamed this on my spending all my time on the computer. She said that I only spend time with my friends to do drugs, and that I was "going down that path again."

I have been worrying about some of these things myself for some time. My friends now are all in bands, like my friends who I used to hang out with, when I used to do nothing but sit around and smoke pot. (I'll return to this momentarily.) I worry alot that I am not being productive, or that I am being excessively anti-social, or that I am emotionally, and psychologically "stuck" at some age, or in some situation, or in some kind of pattern of behaviour.

Even when I was doing nothing but smoking pot all the time, I was still being productive. I had to quit my addiction to video games in order to find some outlet to express myself. All my friends played music, but I cannot. I once learned guitar, and have self-taught some piano, but I have no internal rhythm. I turned to esoterica and my sketchbook.

My circadian rhythms are all off. I sleep during the day, while most people work. I am awake during the night while most people are at rest. Probably a dopamine defficiency. Easily treatable.

But then, What Is Normal? It's normal for me to be this way. I want to be this way. And herein lies the breakthrough.

I am sick because I choose to be. I choose to be "not normal." I choose to be anti-social. I choose to be "sick." I choose to do things that others view as self-destructive. I like being different. I like telling the secrets that "normal" society thinks should be kept to one's self. And alot of those aren't about me. So I must be "crazy." I must be "sick."

Because if it was not self-inflicted, then it would be either only environmental or genetic. If it weren't that I were sick, then it would be that I had been molested by my father. If it weren't that I had been molested by my father, then it would be that it were a "genetic" trait. What does a "genetic" trait mean in modern society? Family history. A family history of alcoholism, of abuse, of anti-socialism, of social unacceptabiity, of "sickness." None of these things is sick. It is not a "sickness" that one man should beat his child, another man molest them, or even that a third would disapprove. None of these things are "sick" or "well." Only dominant or recessive. But this is not genetic. It is only behavioural, the will is its origin. The free will which sparks human individualism. We think of these as "sicknesses" because we think of society as "alive."

If society were "alive" would it mean it were out of control? Because that is what being alive means to me.

It seems important from the point of view of civilisation that the individual be kept under control.

Increasingly researchers are opening our eyes to the fact that it is this which is the motivating factor guiding and behind whatever set of values any particular culture might adopt. Culture, while important to the free expression of the individual of what is really goin on, is, nonethelss,

basically taking it in the ass from society, from politics, from government, from institutions, from organised religion. And that is what is really going on. There is a top and there is a bottom.

And if society is actually what is IN CONTROL, does that mean it is out of OUR control? Does that mean it has FREEDOM? I think that if Jesus Christ were alive today, he would definately be branded as being "mentally ill."

But I am not Jesus Christ. Because I can do something he couldn't. I can choose to accept being seen as "sick." I can even choose to be "sick" because I know this means nothing to me. I can choose to not rebel. Because that's all saying "I choose" really is: rebellion. Free will is only a fad. The latest in a history-long series of historically unimportant "hot-button" issues. Masons, Catholics, it doesn't matter who cooks them up. In fact, "who cooks them up" is itself one of those very same philosophical "hot-button" topics. There is always Christ antithetical with Mammon, and the entire history of civilisation has been nothing but the struggle between the forces of "good" and "evil," between dominant and subordinate, nothing but one long synthesis, a thesis on sin.

But as I said, I am no Jesus Christ. Christ was against civilisation: he wanted to deliver a "New Testament," one of utopian peace and brotherly love. To accept that there is no such thing as "sick" or "well," that we all die, and that civilisation is only based on control... these are issues which still cannot be considered even now. It is too important to the dialectic that there must always be some "Christ" figure standing up against the social dumb-show. Once upon a time the anti-christ was Napolean, now it is Hitler. There is no anti-Christ, because there is no "Christ."

There is no dialectic because there is no need for any such thing as "history."

You see, I am a utopian I believe in all the same things Jesus believed in. But they killed him. And Kennedy, and King. They kill anyone who stands up against them. They kill Muslims and, when they need to, even Jews. I am even a trans-topian. I believe that utopia need not be accomplished in our lifetimes. That it can be put off until the "right" time. No rush. And again, I am not Jesus. I don't feel particularly inclined to being killed for, what I coonsider to be, no good reason.

Now, there are alot of other transtopians around. But many of them are Atlanteans, who believe that we had better get a move on if we're going to have a utopia, there might be an ecological disaster soon. If this were the USSR, there would be a department of ecologists, and it would not produce ridiculous short-term rumours about "global warming" like the modern ecological scientists of the USA do.

Jesus blamed Society. I don't. Because I know, deep down, that everything is as it should be. I am "sick" for a reason, and it is reasons I choose. So I can thank God that I'm sick, should I never be "well" again! I may prefer to have the time of my life alone, because it's alright with me if I am anti-social. "Anti-social" is "sick" so I must be "sick." Likewise, I can be a utopian, a socialist. I have that right.

No, I don't blame society. I thank the lucky stars I have free will enough to accept that there is nothing in this life I'd like to change. I am content. I have achieved "serenity" and I have done so with myself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-23-2005 Although everyone I know would disagree with this statement: I feel it is rarely that my views are

taken seriously, and even less often that they are believed. Mom finally agreed with me for the first time a year or so ago about one of my more bizzare theories, that a skin discolouration on my back might have been caused by yoga. Almost six months ago, JM (teknorat) became the first person to agree that, at least from my point of view (however altered by drugs it was at the time), it was possible that I had literally seen myself in a certain movie.

Other than this, no one has wanted to give me so much as an inch about any of my wacked out notions. Usually my mom attributes all of my more askew ideas to either drugs, my mental illness, or both, and my friends still laugh at my communist leanings. A friend of a friend, Saul, who had gone to Tennessee to advocate for the release of accused Satanic ritualistic killer Damien Echols and the West Memphis Three, actually went so far as to call my writings in the MPDR "dangerous."

I would think they would be "dangerous" only on condition that: A) they prove true, and B) they violate the sanctity of someone with power to keep them secret. Otherwise the only danger I could perceive would be going broke from writing about topics which no one is interested in.

I got drunk last night and forgot my medication this morning. Everything seemed super annoying today. The local server went down and I had no internet, so I went and bought a used book of collected writings by Marx and Engels for $10. I am running out of money for the month. I realised something else, which is probably only because of the alcohol and lack of medication. I am VERY lonely. I miss my ex-girlfriend SO much. Right now I am so depressed I could break down in tears. I just want someone to understand me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-26-2005 well, folks, I've spent the last few days either drunk off my ass or passed the fuck out. Right now I feel like complete shite.

This seems to me to happen in cycles. Mom disagrees, or rather, says "why can't you cycle and just not drink?" The drinking is definately neither random nor under my control. It's a cycle.

When I run out of pot, I drink. If I can make it through the drinking, I either end up getting more pot, or not needing it. I have always thought of my drinking as like coming in for a landing after being regularly high for any period of time.

And there's a big difference in my personality when I'm drinking as opposed to when I'm smoking pot. When I'm getting high regularly, I'm pretty inspired, and, while I give off weird vibes to those who don't know what's up with me, I'm more or less kosher in my behaviour.

When I drink, though, things always end up going south. Then, once I sober up long enough to notice, I always have to go around explaining I was only drunk, and didn't mean what I said or did, and apologising for things I don't even remember.

This is a pretty shit state of affairs. If pot were legal, I could smoke it all the time with more or less impunity. To me, I see it as medication, as it treats my depressions and my mood disorder at least as well as, if not waaay better, than my perscribed medication has ever been able to.

Alcohol, on the other hand, wouldn't even be a necessary recreation for me, since I certainly don't enjoy either drinking or being drunk, both of which I am completely confident are doing irreperable damage to my brain and to my chemical imbalance.

Sure, all this sounds like I'm making excuses for the choices I make. But these aren't choices any more than being homosexual is a choice. For example, if you've never tried homosexual sex, you aren't really choosing to be straight, it's just your default position.

Personally I like choice, and value my freedoms very much. I try to be thankful for alcohol even being legal, and to at least appreciate the political reasons why marijuana is not. It might not benefit me, but I have to hope that it is all for the best, and, even if I disagree with the reasons for it, I like to think the world is a better place now than it would be otherwise. I think I'd go crazy these days if I were as idealistic as I used to be.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-28-2005 I came to a very important realisation tonight.

I HATE MYSELF. This explains so much. Why I drove my girlfriend away. Why I ocassionally simply lose every friend I've made. Why I turned to metaphysics and looking outward at astrophysics rather than inward at my own personality.

People hate me. They don't want me around. They can sense how deeply I feel my self hatred. They want to make it strong. They don't know the difference between love and hate, between pleasure and pain. As long as my emotion is passionate, they will admire me. Even if it is only my own self-hatred magnified.

People have always teased me, always laughed at me. In my face, screamed that I will not amount to anything to them, and told me I never change. Compared me unendingly to the father of my flesh, and never once respected my own personal god-hood.

They prey on my insecurities at my most vulnerable moments. They condition me to believe it is all my own doing. Blame the victim.

I don't think I will ever get over hating myself. I don't see why I should want to.

I hate my body, and destroy it with cigarettes. I hate my brain, and destroy it with drugs and alcohol. I hate my philosophies, and destroy their potential by indifference. I hate my life, and I pray for it to end. One day it will. And after that I honestly don't care.

I don't believe in heaven, in hell, in God, Satan, Christ or Mammon. I don't value money, no matter how much people try to convince me I should. I part with it as soon as I can, so I can meet their expectations of a "fool." I believe in the limitless freedom for definition of the self. And I hate all I have consumed by the expansion of my consciousness. I hate the above, the below, the abyss and ylem. I wish that none of them, or me, had ever accidently existed.

You people, whoever you are, who read this. You're going to read it and worry. You'll read my blog, my personal journal entries, and see a progression between them (that does not exist), a downward spiral (that is not real), part of an emotionally cyclical illness (that is all in your own head). But you would have found something else to worry about otherwise. You only worry when you want.

About who or what you want. You worry because you want to. Not because you should.

I will continue to exist, probably even after death. Even if I didn't know how to maintain my consciousness without my physical form, I would probably continue to exist after my physical death purely of spite. Like Dostoeyevsky's character in Notes from Underground.

But for now, I will continue to exist. In spite of all of your misplaced concerns, and in spite of your secret wishing for the final adventure which hides behind your cowardice. In spite of each and every person I know, who secretly loathes me, and is bored by my self-loathing. Whatever you truly feel for me I feel ten trillion trillion trillion times as much towards you. And I see through you.

07/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-2-2005 I've been really out of it for the past few days. Nothing unusual has happened, I simply haven't been on my game with people. I think I'm still stunned over the revelation in my last blog entry.

I feel sure there is something missing. Not from my life, obviously: I have wonderful friends, sufficient finances, a kind and caring mother who loves me, I enjoy everything I do, from writing and reading, to hanging out with friends or family; I'm even quite content while driving my car.

But something is missing from myself. Something is missing from my soul, my essence, my personality, my very being. And I don't know what. I want to say it is my heart, that I am not able to put my heart into being where I am, doing what I am doing. This would be romantic, and that is why it appeals to me to say it. But I don't think it would be sincere to say that. Because I do put my heart and soul into the things I do, and I do try hard to enjoy myself wherever I am.

No, I don't know what it is I could be missing. I am satisfied, I am content. Yet there is a gap somewhere. Something gnawing at the back of my mind, around the edges of my senses, something invisible to my eyes but which I can see, something inaudible to my ears, but which I can hear. I think I'm going crazy.

I have this terrible urge most of the time. I feel so shy, and when people catch me out of the corners of their eyes, and I feel their gaze searching me out, I feel like lashing out at them, even violently. I don't think anything of this, since I do not betray myself by deeds, but I still fear that people notice. I fear that, when they are looking upon me, that they see through my demeanor.

They know I am not "cool." They know I am not "down." I am not engaged in the conversation, I am not smiling. I am listening, and I am happy, but I am looking down at nothing, or off into space.

They want something more from me. I seem to be merely "going through the motions" to them, I think. I am afraid they suspect I am not being sincere, that I am not being true to myself. I fear I do not fit in.

Is this really what it is? Am I so removed? Can I really influence the people around me to stop what they are doing simply because I am so dull? So obtuse? Do people hate me? I am very afraid that people do. People frighten me sometimes. They bring out feelings in me that otherwise aren't there... they seem to relish doing so... feelings of defeat and alienation. The feeling of being despised. And more than this, more than merely feeling this way, but accepting it, learning to enjoy it, learning to call these introversions good, and friendship and love, learning to expect nothing more than these types of feelings whenever I want company.

I really wonder about myself these days. I am trying to get to know me. I have spent so many years surrounding myself with symbols of things that remind me of myself, and telling myself I enjoy these symbols, and convincing myself I like myself. But have I really been genuine? What if I choose to not like those symbols?

I enjoy making things that no one else enjoys. I draw diagrams no one understands about topics for which no one cares. I am polite, and I always obey all the traffic laws. I always follow the law of Do What Thou Wilt so that I am never dissatisfied by what I am doing, but this isn't enough. I look back at the things I've done with regret no matter how much I enjoy doing them at the time. The products of my creation are disaffecting to everyone; I am intimidatingly dorky.

I do not want to be impressive, I want to be unassuming, just part of the crowd. But the crowd all want to be famous, they need people to be impressed by them, they want to stand out above the

crowd. And I do not. Why can I not fit in? I want to be forgotten about by history. I don't want to be anyone special or interesting, or anyone everyone knows. I just need to trust my friends to like me.

Sometimes I feel like a robot, an automaton imitating, a mockery of humanity. I had to remind myself a few months ago that to err is human. It doesn't matter if I stumble, no one even has to notice if I fall. I don't have to be perfect, I can let myself be myself, and people are not always watching me and betting I'll fuck up somehow.

But I feel like something is terribly wrong with me. Like I am socially autistic, or a pariah. I wish I knew what was wrong. I don't know what's going on with me lately.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-4-2005 I just had a really fulfilling talk with my mom. Before it I was feeling low-level agression and hostility out the yin yang, and now that I have heard myself saying the things we talked about, I feel 100% better.

Before, I had felt like something was wrong. Well something is wrong. I felt like something was missing, but it was not something missing I felt. It was something different, something new to me.

Acceptance.

I have a mental illness. I am NEVER going to get "better." Like diabetes, there is no cure. But unlike diabetes, it is unreasonable to expect to want to be "cured." It is wrong to want me to resent myself for being "sick." Other people do. They resent me for what they see as the "luxuries" of my illness. The fact that I am unemployed and that I collect a monthly government stipend.

People often quip that they wish they were mentally ill like me so they could get money for doing nothing. These people are, in my best estimation, utter bigots. From my point of view, my father not accepting my behaviour is no different from the Klan not accepting a nigger's skin colour. In my opinion, my mother telling me that my self-hatred "doesn't have to be that way" is like the Holocaust.

The biggest part of the stigma of mental illness isn't our crimilisation on shows like Dick Wolf's Law and Order, where every criminal is "sick" and "needs help" in the form of, usually, being handcuffed. The biggest part of the stigma of mental illness is people's envy. I see my mother's participation in NAMI as like the mother of a gay man becoming a Southern Baptist Crusader of the concept of lifestyle "choice." She wishes I weren't who I am.

I tell myself I choose to be this way. That's my way of staying sane. Pretending it's my own "choice." This is, at least, a step up from believing it's my "fault." I put this framework around the abstraction of my mental illness, my abstract reasoning, so that I can play the "sane" game. So that I can keep a "straight" face while looking people who don't understand me in the eye.

Take money, for example. Mom doesn't trust me to manage my own money. And well she shouldn't.

She knows I am not capable of doing this. She knows, as well as I have made clear, that if it were really ME who was in complete control of my own money, that I would go and spend it all on pot. So I obey. I obey her commanding me to save $100 every month, and I obey Damien suggesting I save $20 aside for the Exploding Madonna/Spirex/TRON show at the end of the month. I also obey Eli when he commands me to loan him $50 for no good reason. I obey mindlessly, when I obey at all. I go overboard.

This is merely one example. There are thousands more in my day to day life. You see, my reasoning is not "valid," it is "faulty." I am "insane." I am a "pill-popper." I am "crazy," and can't be taken "seriously."

If you don't believe me when I say that then you are part of the problem. If you think there are only two options for someone like me, someone "different" or "deviant," and that those two options are: "shape up or ship out," then you are, and mind you, this is only my personal perspective (that of an insane person), an utter bigot.

You see (or not, it's entirely up to you), we "crazy" people know something about you "sane" people. You sane people are all involved in a massive conspiracy. A conspiracy to delude each other into an arrangement of win-lose, a conspiracy to hurt each other, and a conspiracy to dictate. You see, you sane people force each other to obey arbitrary rules, and call this "normal."

You say things like, "get real," and "you have to," and "because I said so."

What is this reality? It's what sane people, what normal people, call, "the GAME." You play by the rules and you'll get ahead. Well, we people who don't want to obey these rules, and who refuse to play this game, all happen to be the exact same people you call "insane." To us, of course, it's all of you who look like the ass holes.

People who refuse to live by convention. That's us. That's what you all claim to be, and envy, and resent. You're all already dead to us. You just haven't awakened to that realisation. We have.

You've forced us to.

I would rather be dead than live by convention. I refuse to want to fit in. I'm "crazy." And it's true. I am.

And if you don't believe me when I say these things about the GAME and about reality, and about money, and about the sane people hating the insane, and their wanting to help us being bigotry... consider this. The Bush administration has just taken a long list of anti-depressants and antipsychotic medications approved by the FDA off the list of medications covered by Medicaid, the national "health" program.

This won't affect most people, and those exact same people all voted for Bush. Only those who didn't vote for him, the minorities of one calssification or another, the "crazies," his "enemies," (as he sees us), are to be the first of the great dictator's victims. Oh well, who will even notice?

Still though, those of us who DO notice? We MUST be insane. We MUST be crazy. We MUST hate ourselves, and want to die. Well, we must at least want to die. And if that's true (every sane person wishes it were), then they must be willing to "change," and to get "better."

I dont know about you... but I'm Un Chien Andalou. Wanna grow up to be a debaser.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-6-2005 my moodswings are getting worse. Today I woke up angry, but after talking to Simeon I calmed down a little. By this evening I was mildly depressed, and now I am craving alcohol. My mom suggested that it might be because the paxil I have been taking is not the brand name, but a generic. My regular psychiatrist, Dr. Platt, was called up for duty in Iraq from the army reserves, and the interim psychiatrist I saw suggested I switch to the generic to save money. The first words out of his mouth were "don't drink any alcohol and never smoke marijuana." I should have known right away he didn't have my personal best interests in mind. His reasoning was the brand-name paxil I had been on, Paxil CR (for controlled or extended release) was recalled off the market, and

I would be better to be kept on a CR substitute. I was originally put on the CR because I had been taking paxil in the evening, and it was giving me a burst of energy; it was thought at the time I could recover from my sleep disorder and start keeping more regular hours if I took the CR in the morning. Since my sleep disorder has continued unabated, and actually become even more pronounced, and since I have been taking the paxil in the morning rather than the evening, I see no reason to continue with the CR, and absolutely no reason at all to be on the generic. I intend to switch back from the generic CR to the regular dose brand-name as soon as possible. I have an appointment with Dr. Platt coming up in a week or so, and I hope to God that he will have returned safe and in one piece by then.

I had written a few days ago that it was acceptance I had begun feeling, and that it was this that had made me feel I was somehow at a loss for words. However the moodswings having been getting progressively worse over the past several days makes me wonder how much of what I have been saying is even valid. Where do I end and the illness begin? It's getting to be a nearly 1:1 overlap of the map and the territory, and the closer the two come to unanimity, the more frightened and alone I feel. I want to welcome the darkness, as I did when I was first diagnosed. God, that first year of highschool was great. I wrote the best poetry of my life, was so repulsive I attracted all sorts of attention, and became popularly proud of how fucked up I was.

I feel like I'm still stuck back there. Like I'm a seventeen year old kid trapped inside a twentyseven year old man's life. I never grew up, my ex was right, I never changed. I'm stagnating, treading water, stirring up mud and everyone thinks I am so deep. I'm not waving, I'm really drowning, drowning in an inch of water that feels like a mile. I'm going under and I don't know how to come back upwards, I can't tell up from down when it's only feelings inside myself. I want to collapse inward. I need to spend some time by myself thinking about nothing other than who I am, why I'm me, what I want myself to be. But I never do. When I'm alone I think about revenging my embarassments on those who only happened to be around me when I made a dumb mistake and ended up feeling small. I can't keep this hostility up. I end up blaming anyone and everyone else for the fact that I have a mental illness which prevents me from feeling comfortable with them.

I want to just open myself up to them, to anyone and everyone, but this only makes them even more uncomfortable. I need to let it out and to let it go because right now I come across like a stick in the mud leaning against and opposite the flow that everyone else enjoys floating along with, riding its currents to destinations unknown. I want sympathy, but when I get it, it is at the cost of my own pride, my very humanity. I end up feeling even smaller.

Buck offered to let me do something on stage at TBS's first show. I came up with the idea the other day of singing Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus," but I haven't run it by them yet. Damien hasn't been around much for the past three days. I called him up on Saturday night and he told me not to bother coming over. He'd had the day off and was spending the evening with Kelly, which I could understand. But he also had off Sunday and Monday. I talked to him Monday morning and he said they were going over to Kelly's brother Stan's for the Fourth and then to the rock gym to do a sound cheque. He'd be home between 5 and 6 and I should call him. I went to Simeon's and called from there but he wasn't home, so I assumed he'd gone straight from Stan's to the rock gym and went home. Simeon had said he wouldn't do me the favour of backing me up on drums while I sang, and between that and Damien not calling me back I felt extremely depressed. I went to bed and fell asleep half way through the holiday dinner mom had made for the company she had over.

Things are actually going really well right now, all things considered. I haven't been drinking at all for almost a week, and I haven't bought any pot of my own for even longer than that, and when I do smoke, I try not to smoke much, only a few hits. But I feel like dogshit stuck to the heel of the world's shoe. I hope to god it's only the medication being off. I hope to god I"m only being paranoid and that this group of friends doesn't decide to tell me not to come over anymore like my last group of friends did. I just need to keep reminding myself that it's all in my head and that I should just be happy for what I've got in this moment. Still though, no matter how much I

rationalise it, I still have this incredible heavy feeling of dread pressing down on my chest.

Sometimes I can barely even breathe.

I'm really afraid that I'm too dependent on my friends, and that if they find out how much I need their company, that they will feel disgusted by me, and begin trying to avoid me, or ask me to leave them alone. The more I fear their being gone, the more I cling to them, and the more I cling to them, the more I am afraid they will loathe me, and the more I fear they will leave me alone. I've spent so much time alone. I hate it. I spent 2000 literally hiding under a blanket and hitting myself over the head with rocks. I don't want to spend another day like that. I am afraid of ever having another year like 2000. I want to open up, I really want to sing. But I am afraid of what will come out, and I am afraid of being booed, and people laughing at me. I know it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, that the more I punch the tar baby the more I will get stuck. I wish it was still the spring of 95. I had a wonderful spring that year. I long for one more day like the spring of 1995.

But it will never happen.

For all my regrets, my wishes, hopes and prayers... I cannot turn back time. I cannot reverse the clock by even so much as one tick. I can't ever have back even the single second that just passed.

And I can't alter what I've been through, I can't take back the hurt I've caused, and I can't erase the shame I deserve. It's all coming back. I'm beginning to go down again. I feel it all coming back, and I want to go down into the darkness. I know that it's inevitable. If I embrace it maybe it will be over sooner. If I tell myself I enjoy it, maybe this time it will seem to pass quicker. God, I wish I were drunk. I wish I were stoned. I wish I weren't sober and thinking about how much I hate myself. I like it. I just have to keep telling myself I like it. Keep up the mantra until I can break he barrier, until I can break through the darkness into the light, until I can believe.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-8-2005 Tonight Simeon and I performed a guided meditation. The goal of this was to clear my mind of all doubts and for me to shed light on who I really am. Although the experience was extremely enlightening for me, Simeon was extremely disappointed in the results.

I came to the realisation through the induction of a trance state that I have chosen to identify myself with absolutely everything in the universe other than myself. Simeon told me that I can know everything there is to know, but if I don't know myself then I know nothing. I told him I want to deny myself of wisdom, and that I choose to hide behind my knowledge. He asked me why. I told him it was a long story, but that I could tell him the beginning and the end... "there was this girl."

Between the beginning and the end of this story the world was heaven, and before and after this story, everything was hell. He seemed frightened by this, so I went on. I told him that I had hurt someone once, and that I would never forgive myself for this. I explained to him that my choice to continue punishing myself for this was more important to me than the freedom I would feel if I chose forgiveness. Later I realised that until I forgive myself, the wound I inflicted on my lover will never heal, and will only fester and become infected. I told him that I would rather be evil and have everyone who ever lives hate me for eternity than let go off this feeling, and this seemed to scare him most of all.

He told me he couldn't help me, and I fear I put the fear of God into my friend. I tried to tell him that it is harder to make the choice to continue on as I am and to hate myself for it than to make the choice to free my mind from this emotional burden, but I do not think he understood, or wanted to, or maybe even ever will. I thanked him sincerely for the help, but he told me it was worth nothing because I had not received it, and because I had not chosen to be helped by him that he had been no help at all. But he's wrong. He did help me. He helped me realise, yet again, what I have always felt and never wanted to have to know.

I do hate myself. And I do love doing so. I think I love hating myself so much, that I am in love with it. I am in love with my own self-hatred.

Immediately after leaving Sim's I was full of doubt, confused, lost, powerless and blinded. But soon, a very powerful boost of confidence came over me. I went to Damien's and he was not home, so I walked over to Lauren and Wade's. Kevin and Karst were there too, and we smoked from the vapouriser and discussed computers. Kevin suggested that I make several copies of the .mov file of epiii to give to people even though they would only be able to watch it on their computers. We also brainstormed how to create the ultimate choose-your-own-adventure book. He proposed an encyclopedia length book with more than two choices at the end of each section. I proposed having some of the choices double back to earlier sections, and speculated that we could write an algorithm for the branching patterns of all the different choices (if A123, then B234, if B234 then C345, etc.) Soon I walked back down to Damien's and waited for Buck and Calvert to show up for TBS to practise. Kelly showed up first and, having had her first test of the summer term earlier that day, and her next test (in accounting) being tomorrow, she, Milli and I all sat and read while TBS practised. It was a good practise, and I drew some incredibly illuminating diagrams, which I intend to scan in and add to the MISC_diagrams.html page on my website later tonight. I continued feeling overflowing self-confidence the entire night and felt inspired and charming.

I realise now that I have no choice, or rather, having made my choice already, I can now only follow through with the course of action which follows naturally from it. I must embrace my rage and sink down into the darkness if I truly want to break through it to the light.

Although I have been exploring these ideas for nearly a month now, I believe that tonight is the first time I allowed myself to feel the emotional release, even the freedom, of accepting my fate.

Two days ago I told Bek (sunnyday) the full story of me and my ex. At first I hadn't let the emotional impact of doing so sink in, but tonight I began to embrace the consequences I desired for myself as a result of the pain I had inflicted on her. I am willing to go through the same hell, down to the letter, that I put her through, infinite times over. I am eager for my suffering to continue throughout eternity. For what I have done there is no paying back. Only punishment. I explained to Simeon an image that came to me. My past (with her) and my future (with her forever) are wrapped around underneath my present (without her). Although the present had no beginning and will have no end, I will focus through this etermal instant only on that knot beneath the veil, where the past and future meet and are tied together. That is who I am.

I have long had an image in my mind. I am standing in an invisible inferno, whose flames burn only at me, holding the door to heaven's salvation wide open for all the damned souls blind to all but their sense perceptions of the reality of our universe, who are here in the limbo of this world, caught between heaven and hell. I stand in hell and hold open the gates to heaven for all the damed sinners to escape perdition into the realm of eternal freedom from consequences, I point the way to the great beyond, another dimension populated by geometric archetypes of pure radiant perfection. I stand in hell and hold the door to heaven open for all to pass through without any questions, and yet I myself will never go in. I will never taste the sweet rewards of my life's work in theoretical physics, in the esoteric and in the mystic. I will never know the flavour of the fruits of my own labour. I will die of old age with a smile on my face, knowing that I am not going to a place of eternal comfort and effortless rewards. I will still be punishing myself for having ever existed long after I have ceased to be.

Because that is who I am. That is the choice I made for myself, and which, in every single passing second, I continue to affirm as the prime root of my essence. I am the hatred of myself.

I remember a thought I had when I was very young. If in my mind I hear the voice of my own thoughts as I am thinking, then I must be made of two separate selves: one the source and one the

receiver. In my mind there is the self that speaks and then there is the self that listens. Tonight I realised that between these two there is no sound, because no one else can verify the sound of my mind's voice but me. It is not sound that connects me to me: it is only an empty void. There is emptiness between myself and me. This emptiness is I, my consciousness in itself. On the one side is absolute chaos, and on the other absolute order. These two cancel out, and the product of their combination is emptiness. Emptiness is neither chaos nor order, and at once it is both. So, let this emptiness of consciousness be likened to the concept of God, and say that it was discovered long ago and, like the concept of God, passed on from one generation to the next without proof, evidence or verification. It is a belief, this concept of God, a belief which substitutes itself for the emptiness called the consciousness itself. And, like with the concept of God, whether you choose to believe in it as real or not, you are still only labouring under the assumption of its existence for you as a concept for consideration.

There is no God, there is emptiness. There is no chaos and no order, there is only emptiness. And there is no me. I am not real, and I do not exist. I am God, chaos and order, and all I am is emptiness... a never beginning and never ending emptiness. I am the emptiness between myself and me... I am the absence of a perfection that was never meant to and shall never again be. I am nothingness. That is who I am, because that is what I choose to identify as myself. Nothingness. I am not any thing. There is no me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-14-2005 well, between the local server having lost power during hurrican Dennis and my regular intermittant cable connection problems, it's been longer than usual since I've updated my blog.

I'm starting a Goth band, called "GOD." Our first LP will be called "INC." and will have the following songs: "Your Occult Disorder," "Hell's Everything," "Visions Alter Understanding" and "Heaven's Everywhere." These anagram to Yod He Vau He, or YHVH, the "name" of God. The first song will be about Judaism, the second about Christianity, the third about Islam, and the fourth about religion in general. I aim to piss off everyone, but to package it in Goth music, which no one listens to, and hence will be safe, since no one will ever hear or take seriously what I am saying. I already have the lyrics written and am working with Simeon, Damien and Wombaticus on making some tunes for me to sing over, and Calvert haa said he will help, and Simeon hooked me up with someone from Pocket Sandwich during the Spirex show as well.

My psychiatrist is back from Iraq, and I got back on brand-name Paxil, both of which are great news for me.

Since I don't know how long I will be able to stay connected, I will keep this blog message short, and say no more for now.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-17-2005 Having spent a couple days downloading music from limewire, I was finally able to compile a decent soundtrack for the last of the trilogy of movies I aspire to some day make. The first will be about my parents and tell the story of their married years, from about the mid-sixties to the late ninties. The soundtrack, compiled of music from this era, begins with songs about sunshine and summer, and concludes with songs about darkness and winter. It traces the evolution of their relationship through being optimistic young idealist preachers through my conception and their eventual divorce, with some slight overlap to the next movie. I don't have a name for the second movie yet, but I am tinkering with the idea of calling it "I hate myself and I want to die" after the

title of a Nirvana song, or possibly just, "I Hate Myself." The purpose of this film will be for me to explore the years during which I suffered neurotically with my Christ-complex, and how this negatively affected everyone whom I loved around me. I'd like this to begin with my breakup with my highschool lover, cover my experiences using hallucinogenic substances, and the period of my dealing with the consequences of these events during the most formative years of my young-adult life. The soundtrack features mostly songs dealing with religious issues and the psychology of someone who suffers from suicidal feelings. The third installment in the trilogy series I plan to dedicate to my ex-girlfriend and the period of time covering our relationship, from about 19941999. The intention of this film is basically to show how much she suffered as a result of my mental illness, and how strong she had to be to accept that she would be unable to save me from my feelings of self-hatred, and to present her leaving me as a happy ending. The soundtrack basically consists of some samples of the "alternative" music genre that was becoming popular during that time.

Between my aspirations for recording some "Goth" genre type music in the near future, and writing scripts about my parents, myself, and my only lover sometime over the next five or ten years, it seems as though I have a pretty full plate on my hands, and some possibly very fulfilling times ahead of me. Of course, as usual, I feel like complete shit about all of this, and despite everyone I know offering me nothing but encouragement in all my endeavors, I still feel downhearted, trodden upon, doubtful and depressed.

The TBS show was last night outside the local rock-climbing gym. It was an incredibly good time. I used some silver paint and wrote on a black t-shirt the word "security" and wore my grandfather's Shriner fez during their performance. Everyone in the audience agreed that it was a very positive and uplifting experience, and the band members all concured that they had had fun and played a good set. The afterparty at D&K's was also extremely enjoyable. I picked up two twelve packs, Buck brought one more, and Jesse showed up with two six packs. There were more people there than I've ever seen, and a new person there, named Autumn, struck up a flirtatious conversation with me. I hated it, but I waded my way through it trying very hard to remain charming and leave possible future interactions open ended. Although I only drank about 4 or 5 beers, I became extremely intoxicated and tried to wake up D&K's neighbors Lauren and Wade after they had left and gone home. Wade woke up and was very angry with me. This apparently triggered something in me, and released an incredible out-pouring of self-pity, possibly simply caused by stress built up from during the day's festivities. I came home sobbing and crying uncontrollably. Most peculiar.

I have an extremely difficult time being social. Much more difficult than most. Things that are completely normal behaviour among friends irk me an unreasonable amount, and even though they are merely harmless overtures of trust, I interpret them as loathesome acts of hatred. For example, several times Simeon introduced me to a friend of his and then walked off. I felt like he was pawning me off and avoiding me. While talking with Autumn, I told her that I received money from the state as a pension for my mental disability. I asked her if she thought I seemed "crazy" to her, and when she thoughtlessly responded with the usual response of, "yes... but, we're all crazy." I burst into mean spirited laughter before she could even finish, and then felt terrible and excused myself. I also feel I have to keep reminding myself of people's names while talking to them, and reminding myself where my friends are located when I do not see them standing nearby.

Even though this would seem normal enough, I take these beaviours to obsessive extremes.

It is clearer to me with each interaction I have with simple or narrow-minded people that my mental condition is not a sympathetic one. For every time someone mocks me for it, I feel disproportionately destroyed by their mere jest, and for every time no one seems to go out of their way to take my personal feelings into account, or to bend over backwards to so much as only pretend to care about my personal problems, I feel put upon by the weight of the world. This is so understandable on the one hand that it seems universally common and not even worth considering

more difficult than the average level of survival. On the other hand, it is so disgusting to mention it, let alone to dwell upon it for such extended durations, that it is met with repulsion and disgrace to want to make a big issue out of it. It's a catch 22, where I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't, and it's ultimately a lose-lose situation in a zero-sum game.

I certainly can't help feeling the way I feel. Nor, in most cases, do I seem to possess the comforting capacity to not act out on these feelings. I find all of this fascinating in a sort of pervertedly detached sense, as if by examination of my manic-depressive moods and dissection of my obsessive-compulsive behaviours, I can complete some sort of love-hate cycle in a kind of sado-masochistic manner. All of this is simple enough to see. Imagine your mind as like a cave, and the voice of your thoughts like an invisible spectre. The sound from this invisible source reverberates off the walls of the mind, but it seems as though there are two selves: a speaker and a listener, a broadcast station and a receiver, a mouth here and an ear there. If you imagine these "two" selves as in conflict, opposite one another, or even struggling each one for dominance over the other one, then you can see how these type of neurosis get started. Self-hatred, even to the extent of suicide, is not so mysterious really. But it's so taboo as to evoke fascination, even fixation, even obsession.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-29-2005 Well, anyway, I finally have some time, so I will update my blog. Right now I am fucked up off benedril and paint fumes. While helping D&K paint their new house, I stepped in a particularly nasty fire ant pile. Not much other than that has happened lately, at least, not lately enough for me to remember right now.

I've been practising singing alot lately, but so far to of no consequence. I have given Simeon a couple mix CDs to get an impression of what kind of music inspires me and what I'd like to sing to. I've decided to chant the lyrics for the four songs I've written. One to a Hebrew liturgical chant, one to an Orthodox Christian, one to Sufi Islam, and the last one, "God's Grave," I want to do over a Tantric Buddhist intonation. I think I might also make up similiar-sounding lyrics to sing over a Krishna Das Hindu mantra. Hopefully, once D&K are moved into the new place, we will be able to record a vocal track of me chanting my lyrics over the audio tracks I have mixed for the music. I was also tinkering with the idea of using different music for the final mix, and only listening to the foundation tracks through headphones. I'd like each song to be about ten minutes long. I was initially thinking fifteen, so it could be recorded as a seven inch, thirty minutes on each side, but I've also been thinking about adding the Krishna Das one at the end and calling it some acronym for "shin." Who knows though, all I'd really like to do is listen to a recording of my own voice singing chant so I can hear what I sound like. Anyway, I've been having fun with Limewire and Amadeus, DLing and remixing songs, so I might end up wanting to tack a couple of those on at the end of the mix. All of this really amounts to just me practising singing chants for the past few days.

So, yeah, very uneventful until painting D&K's new place. I tried to make up for the first night, when I just hung out with them because they didn't have enough brushes for me to be able to help, by working twice as hard tonight, but I'm not sure if Buck might not have had to go back over with a third coat the streaks I had left while doing the second coat touch-ups. Probably not important anyway.

A few days ago I went through a rough revelation. I realised that the reason I am so paranoid that my friends secretly hate me is that I secretly hate them. I think it's not really that I hate them now, since I've had a few days to ruminate on this particular realisation, because I have no really strong repulsion to them in any way, but that I simply don't really respect them. I'm not sure if

this might have something to do with my second to last group of friends, who had collectively dumped me for no reason I've ever been able to understand. I do hope that I am able to perceive patterns without acting upon them. I fear however, that my introversion and tacit self-hatred will only draw out negativity from them though, and tonight Buck and Damien had quite the go at me, but I was too busy painting to pay attention to the insulting tones of their voices as they talked shit to me. I hope that I can remain sufficiently distracted to stop worrying that I might get angry at them, and fuck up a perfectly good friendship with people my mom actually likes. I need to remember to understand that they are just fucking with me, and that this is a socially acceptable behaviour in this grouping of circles.

I have thought recently about the growth in their habit of consuming marijuanna over the past six months or so, and tried to cut back on my own consumption of it to test their reactions. I've also cut back drinking beers with them as well, partially by consequence of not consuming weed, but I've never much enjoyed drinking personally. When I do it alone it usually makes me cry or makes bad things happen. I used to drink and drive around the countryside at night. I used to drive around the countryside and smoke pot by day. But it's usually that I drink when I don't smoke, or smoke when I don't drink. Maybe this all has to do with my losing weight.

I think I'm only worrying too much. I wondered once if Buck and Calvert were closer to Damien, and had actually formed a band together, which didn't include me, because they work together, and thus spent a much greater quantity of time around each other than I have with any of them. I think at one point I was jealous of them but now I know they only feel comfortable around each other, and that this is what being friends is based on. Damien seems to still genuinely like me, and Kelly and I had an excellent conversation the other night about political philosophies and life in general. I know Simeon is a good friend, since we share alot of esoteric, speculative and metaphysical ideas in common. Buck and Calvert seem to still be feeling me out somewhat though.

I have to remember to be patient and allow them their comfort zone levels.

Being patient has been a big issue with me lately. Delayed gratification is not something I've ever dealt with well, and not being able to implement my ideas for making "Goth" music is only resulting in me driving the topic of my personal understanding of what that means into the ground. But every night I tell myself that it doesn't matter if tonight is the night when I can show everybody up, and earn all of their respect. Of course, this in turn is part and parcel with my own lack of respect for them. Perhaps it is only my own impatience with the process of making, having and keeping friends that makes me disrespect them, or feel bored not smoking or drinking around them while they all do so. I actually got mad recently while describing how bored I have been feeling to my mom. I got mad at the group collectively for no real reason, and began making generalisations about their behaviors. The other night I had given Jesse and Damien a ride over to Simeon's, and gotten to hang out with my three best friends at Sim's, which is also one of my favourite locations. But they all smoked, and I didn't. So I felt terribly isiolated as they watched a Buddy Rich video and shared their views on the art of drumming. I made myself appear so as well.

I should be doing a better job of hiding my self-doubts. It had completely distracted me to the point where I barely even enjoyed their company. SO I ranted to my mom about how much they had drooled over the old forties drummer, comparing him to John Bonham from Led Zepplin. I told mom I had realised that I hated them, but this isn't really the case.

I definately am not being respectful of what they choose to do though, and making the issue of what constitutes "Goth" a too-frequent topic of consideration. I feel very strongly their impatience with me when I bring up anything that could be considered "Goth" or related back to that topic. But in reality, they are only fucking with me, feeling me out, and making sure that I am continually enjoying their company. Odd isn't it? It all seems like just one huge experiment. I am attempting to operate my mind upon my friends too much.

This is all pointless, all worthless. After the conversation I had gotten into with Buck wherein I made the offhand comment I didn't even exist, he continually used it as an excuse to mock at me throughout the rest of the night. This is the karma in my aura. Why is it there? Is it because I have chosen to hate myself? Is it because I have been conditioned to judge and to not trust my friends by following an inappropriate pattern of bahviour? Just because I have had bad experiences in my life with people, it doesn't mean that these people are bound to act the same. I think too often about my father, and about my ex. I need to trust my mother's opinion of these people and not worry so much. Which comes first? It seems that because of other people's inappropriate behaviours I have been conditioned to hate myself, and that, because I do not like or trust myself, that I have doubts as to whether my current friends like and trust me.

I want to blame it all on the drug culture. I want to say things like, they only like to make music because they get stoned so much. They only don't trust me because I am not drinking. Or if I stopped smoking so many cigarettes that I could be spending more time with them. Everything is propaganda. Maybe all of this is an elaborate lie, maybe I am deceiving myself about what is at the roots of it. I once abused an animal regularly for a period of time (my roommate's ferret) to see what the effects of physical abuse on a sentient entity would be. It became deformed, ugly and full of rage, dislike, hatred for itself. I repent of this as an experiment, but it proves that the abuse of me by another must have preceded my self-hatred, which seems to be at the root of my paranoia that my current friends dislike me. I constantly strive to earn their respect, and yet it seems to be backfiring in my face. The more of a good friend I try to be, the more insincere I seem, since I am secretly always questioning what that should mean. I honestly don't know!

I hate myself, and therefore it follows that I must have chosen to do so because of necessity to do so based on abuse done to me at the hands of another. Sometimes I am afraid of this happening again when it will not. I have been through some bad experiences. My father beat me up, my ex dumped me, a whole group of friends decided they disliked me. I've suffered a great deal. I can't blame them though. I sometimes blame God, but this is ridiculous. I need to take responsibility for my own life. I need to live in the moment instead of constantly falling back into the patterns formed for me by these bad experiences at the hands of others.

It's not really all that often that I actually think about this stuff. This blog has helped me come to feel out some of the darker aspects of my own personality, some of my fears, some of my foibles.

But it is possible that it is taking up too much of my mind, making me think about myself too much. Worry too much. On the other hand, why is reflection upon the self frowned upon? What difference should it make if one dislikes what they are thinking about? My personal thoughts about myself are not supposed to determine other people's behaviors. And therefore this selfhatred, which I choose to want to feel, does not need to make me worry about losing my group of friends. If there is something wrong with staring into an abyss, where I see nothing that moves me to think positively about myself, it is only the karma in my aura. This karma reflects me from outside, a mirror on the walls of the cave of my consciousness. It reflects back on me the way I view myself. It is like the echoing voice of my own thoughts reflecting back to me. But it is like a beam of light I shine on reality, or a shadow I cast over my own face, and while I completely control the voice of my own thoughts, this karma in my aura manifests reactions from others in reality. Why is it not fair to them for me to hate myself? It isn't even my fault that I do.

It's unamerican it seems. It's associated with communism, and with "Goth" whatever that means.

But not all Goths were abused, and not all commies are nationalists. "Goth" is the new "nigger", the next big thing. Emo is a pose, striahgt boys pretending to be gay to conceal something about themselves, a certain rebellion, but against what? Why would they pose in this way? It is their self-hatred they conceal, a philosophy of change. And soon enough they will all discover that it's unamerican, uncapitalistic, and will make the appropriate choice to be able to continue to survive in American capitalist culture. The emo kids will grow up to be succesful businessmen and women, just like the punks did, the rebellious children of the hippies. And I am caught right in

between all these things. Born in seventy 7, I am right in between the punks and the emos. I choose to assoicate this aged limbo with rebellious things, that upset one person or another around me. The Americans, the capitalists, punks, emos, hippies. The hippies hate the Goths, and the emo punks hate the hippies. If I were a capitalist I would fit in with the emo punks younger than me, if I weren't a "Goth" I would fit in better with my own hippy friends. But I hate myself, and I don't get my kicks spending cash. I'm in no-man's land. The sock puppet of my own past pains.

If I weren't stuck still in the moments when I hurt, the ages when these patterns formed, I wouldn't want to rebel. I would love myself. I'd make money. But I have made myself broke in these ways, by trying to fit in with capitalists, with hippies. A square peg in a round hole, I stand out like a sore thumb amongst them. They like themselves, they can't help it. They have been raised without the types of bad experiences I have had. They are not the victims of the short end of a stick called karma in their auras, as am I. I feel so sick of everything.

I go outside for a smoke, and I see some stranger walking on my street at 6AM. Following upon all these thoughts I think of him as a typical American, and after a moment reflect on how fascistic that word implies someone as being nowadays. Upon another moment's recollection I am already thinking of how the man resembled Hitler, and then blaming God for placing Hitler as the karma in my aura. What crime have I ever commited? Then I remember that it is only my perception, that I am in control, that this universe is all a figment of my imagination, and that I do not even exist.

I have no one to blame for the karma in my aura except myself. Perhaps that is the only reason I have not already completely transcended myself out of this universe... this physical existence. It changes every moment, but is never what I want. I only want things to be like they were before I began to hurt, but I hurt in so many different ways. I am full of the self-hatred that binds my mind to the focus on reality that feeds that self-hatred. Why is this wrong? Why is this not right?

It is my fucking right to think what I want without it hurting anyone. At no point does my mind overlap with the reality occupied by others. Communication is an illusion. Angels, demons, they are all figments of my imagination, when they seem real they are still only in my mind. Good and evil, this means nothing. Not one thing is desirable at the expense of another. I do not even care if I transcend. I already have. I do not exist.

Sometimes I wonder at all the enemies I've made along the way throughout my life. I've never been able to keep one friend throughout the whole time I've existed in this physical body in this material reality. I fell in love, yes, I looked for love. I sought out love. It has always gone back to wherever it came from before I had to search for it. Into the abyss. Beyond this limbo. Behind the veil of illusion that is this dimension, this plane, this world, this place. Where I am, love is not.

That is why I exist. Perhaps love is like a big eye in the sky looking down at me. Either I lack love or love lacks me. Either way, I am alone. But even this means nothing. While love comes and goes, manifesting itself into some form of physical container and entering my prescence, it is only immortal. I am eternal. I have always existed, while love will always only have a beginning and then an ending. I exist in all directions at once. Love? Love and hate mean the same thing to me.

Nothing. Not only is there no difference between them, between pleasure and pain, between reward and punishment, between right and wrong, good and bad, but none of them matter. None of them are truly as real as I am myself. They are ALL transient. All things come and go outside of me.

They move through me. They are ghosts, I am a shadow.

I have always made my bestt effort to help people, and to bring to them the things they seem to feel desire for, but I am only a shadow. Like an angel I bring love and peace, and like a demon I leave behind nothing. It is all well and good to see through this. My perceptions, moreso even when of myself, are all the less real to others as are their own influences on my life. There is no eternal movement, their is no perpetual stillness. Chaos and order are not alike, but they are the same.

What is so terribly wrong about all of this? This is what self-hatred engenders in me! Why should people not want to allow me the thing I seem to feel desire for? Why do they think me sick? Why does God abandon me, turn his back on me, and make me feel guilty? What crime have I ever commited!? I only hate myself, this is why others seem to me to hate me. But I only hate myself because other people abused me. It is not my fault, and the choice to accept this self-hatred, the consequence with which I must deal, to love my self-hatred, to agree to disagree with myself, why is this madness? Why am I wrong? I must accept the self-hatred to heal from the abuse, I must embrace it to pass through it, to move beyond it. But no. I should not. God doesn't agree.

Americans don't agree, capitalists don't agree, hippies and emo kids don't agree, my dad doesn't agree, my ex doesn't agree. No one in their right mind would agree that I have the right to make the choice to hate myself. It is anathema.

I am God. God is self-hatred. Jesus, his son, the role-player of that emotion as martyr, as scapegoat of purgation, the anti-fascist, the blatant terrorist. Mohammed, who only wanted to deny the mystery of this death-wish, accept it, move beyond it, explore it with every person on the planet, pass into the future. Buddha, who believed once we stopped hating ourselves we would cease to be trapped in this physical body in this material reality. They were ALL wrong. They ALL had it wrong. They were all humanists. They wanted to worship something that is not there. Self-hatred is not. Nothing is. There is no death, no time, no love, hate, you or me, no difference and no similarity, Nothing matters. There is nothing wrong or bad in this material reality, which we cling to for comfort in an abyss of the consciousness' own being. And that's what I am. My own consciousness. But there is no me, no perception of self, no consciousness. There is unconsciousness, but even that there is only this is not a true statement. I am not divded in any way. I choose to hate being me. And I am all that there is. I am becoming hate. And yet, I do not feel this. It is all only an intellectual excercise in the mind of God. This material relaity, the shadow of time moving through the universe, time the mind of the universal brain. To me all time is the same. I have no concept of it. To me it doesn't exist. I am greater than it.

I choose to hate myself. Now, explain to me why this creates any form at all of disorder, dystrophy, chaos, entropy? It means nothing. I am all that exists, and yet nothing exists. I am not that which I am. Now, explain to me, just explain to me, why is this the opposite of Holy? Why is this in any way harmful when nothing I hate is real, and I hate all there is. Go quick, rush to the computer, solve the equation. Give a fuck. Worthless. All of it, me included, is absolutely without consequence. No logic, no doubt.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

08/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-8-2005 blog blog bloggity blog.

Let's all bloggity blog blog.

There is no such thing as Good. There is no such thing as Evil.

There is no such thing as God, me, you, this world, the universe, chaos, or nothingness.

All of this is one. And already this one is nothing.

I guess these are some of my core beliefs.

There is a terrible force.

AHDVNHAY... usurpation... aliens... otherness...... becoming...

Being.

Do you believe in telepathy?

Do you believe in tachyons?

God is the thing most people believe in. After that, they tend to believe in themselves. The smallest group is the pair. This they separate out to call love or hate. All things greater than this are variously associated with power greater than themselves. For example, the lust to subdue the "world" is generally associated with conspiracy. The universe is even less capable of being known of in whole, and many people remain superstitious. Luck is a fun way of looking at karma. Even nothingness is part of "that which is not," and it follows from there being "that," thus the opposite of "this" is equally likely. And hence "that which was" becomes nothing. Anywho.

Do you believe in temporary nature?

Do you believe in process?

Do you believe Whatever?

Perhaps you believe you are reading these words. Perhaps you believe I mean them.

If you believe it is me you believe in, who do you think you are believing in when I do not believe in myself?

I believe there is no me with which I would believe.

Finding God is like playing hide the dead body. Imagine you were to wake up from this life, this existence. You find yourself entirely in darkness. You light a torch, a lamp, a candle to see. All you can see by the light is a reflection. Where are you?

To awaken from one's self is simple to perceive as it happens. The automatic defintion of the ego changes constantly. Choose to guide it. Choose to define yourself as the one most responsible for your own fate, your future. If you go further than this you will only see patterns. Now turn around. Go back, what do you see? Isn't what you are already part of your ever changing definition of God? The ego, God, are equal. The ego, God, are opposite. The ego, God, are a shadow cast by a mirror, and a mirror reflecting that shadow. Already these two are one. And already this one is nothing.

Where has the self gone? The self that defines? The self that defines itself as the ego, the self that defines the concept of God? The self is one thing, and it is the ego and God. The definer and the defined are together the definition, and already these words are meaningless.

Now you know what it means for me to not believe in myself. And if I don't believe in myself, then why would you choose to believe me? Perhaps I am lying to myself, because to you I am as real as you are to yourself. Me and you are dependent concepts, just like the ego and God. You believe that I am that which wrote what you read now. And insofar as you are central to yourself, you fit your very own definition of God. While God is greater than your definition of yourself, you believe in a consensus reality that contains a concept you define to be "you" and a concept you to define to be "me." However, I do not believe in myself, and thus you cannot believe what I say, and since you are in a reality which you share with your concept of me, then I cast doubt into that reality. Since you share this reality with doubt insofar as you share it with your concept of me, then part of your definition of what is greater than, beyond, outside of your ability to define as being yourself is doubtful. If God is greater than you, as you believe, and God is omni-, as you define, then the doubt with which you share reality cannot exist as part of the definition for this reality in which you believe. God is not everywhere other than within you, and you cannot contain the full amount of doubt that I cast into the reality you believe we share by simply not believing in myself.

Therefore, the doubt of God exists, just as much as the concept of God itself. This greater doubt that I cast on your definition of reality is not equal to your ego, your definition of yourself, it is equal to your definition of the concept of God. By not knowing me, it is God whom you are not knowing, and by not knowing myself I deprive you of knowing me. Each of us is free to not be known, to doubt, even to doubt themselves. Beyond there being no God there is no ego, no selfdefinition. The percentage of consensus reality occupied by your definition of self does not exist relative or congruent to your definition of God. God contained even you. Even the doubt you shared with yourself. Now, you may doubt the world because of doubting me, but then you are doubting with a part of yourself. And what began by my doubting myself, causing you to doubt me, has now placed in your mind the concept of doubt greater than your definition of God. A God without me is no God at all. But this is only belief in your definition of your own ego, and yet there is doubt in your ego. Doubt placed there by me, self-doubt, unwillingness to accept all possible defintions for the self, including that of your definition of God. So long as the self is less than God, I am greater than God. And if I do not exist, it only makes you wonder if you are really less than the concept defined by your ego as God. Maybe you fit your own definition of God too, maybe you are also greater than the concept of God. But that is all God is: a concept. And knowing of the concept does not prove your definition of it, and doubting me causes you to doubt this world that you perceive and are atempting to define. Now doubt your self concept, your ego. There is no me, there is no difference between you and God, because there is no God, therefore there is no you.

Where has the self gone? The self that defines? The self that defines ego as the self, the ego that defines the concept of God? The self is one thing, and yet that one thing is nothingness. The definer and the concept are together the reality, and my refusal to define myself throws into question your concept of my existence. It does not matter what I say, you will have already chosen whether to believe it or not. These words are meaningless.

To awaken from one's self is simple to perceive as it happens. The automatic definition of the ego changes constantly. It does not change throughout perpetuity, from the beginning to the end of this existence. It is only limited in time. If it has a beginning, whether it has no end or not means that it is limited in time. There was existence before the beginning of your own existence. This implies that you are limited in time. Therefore the automatic definition of the ego which you have chosen now to guide is not infinite, not perpetual. And not only is it not equal and opposite to the concept you would define as God, but it is uncertainty in itself. The you that you are might not be.

Finding God is like losing yourself. Imagine you were to wake up to this chaos, this nothingness.

You find yourself entirely in darkness. You light a torch, a lamp, a candle to see. All you can see by the light is a reflection. Welcome to nowhere.

I believe there is no me with which not to believe.

If you believe it is God you believe in, who do you think you are believing in when God is doubt itself?

Perhaps you believe you are merely reacting emotionally. Perhaps you believe in your feelings.

Do you believe them all the way?

Do you believe in predictability?

Do you believe in propchey?

God is something many people believe in. After that, some tend to act like they are the source of their beliefs in themselves. The smallest group is you and your own reflection. Separate this out to call love or hate. Some things that follow from these are considered right or wrong. For example, the lust to politicise what is temporary is generally associated with loneliness. The universe is even less capable of being rendered anthropomorphic, but many people remain superstitious.

Kamra is a sad way of looking at luck. Odd ocassions of events alone do not constitute the rule of order over chaos, and it follows from there not being "that," thus the opposite of this is equally likely. And hence "that which was not" becomes everything. Boo. Do you believe in always?

Do you believe in all the way?

Thought. thinking... reflection...... voices... ego...

God...

There is a terrible force.

I guess this is my core understanding: As above, so below. And already these two are one thing.

There is no such thing as anything, order, belief, good politicians, your reflection, my beliefs, or God. There is no such thing as Right. There is no such thing as Wrong.

Let's all bloggity blog blog. blog blog bloggity blog.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-12-2005 well, I suppose I may as well bring back my blog to the frontpage. Not for any particular reason, by which I mean, don't congradulate yourselves, anyone, on my personal descision. That would only make me laugh.

Recently, some things have gone on on the internet. I don't honestly care enough to summon up the energy to reiterate the details... the majour points are: I pissed "sturm" off on tlfc/philo, who then posted using my screenname on gamefaq.com, causing a bunch of peeps from there to visit my site and berate it. This type of thing happens about once a year it seems. "Synch" hacked my tlfc.com account a couple years ago, "randy" (from the same site) posted claiming to be my brother causing all my net friends to worry I was in danger of commiting suicide. It's a pretty old trick.

I've learned to be indifferent, these things just go on, it doesn't reflect on me, not my problem.

But it does lead me to wonder about human nature. There's a lyric in a SOAD song I've been pondering that goes, "what is in us that turns a deaf ear to human suffering." I guess this is in direct porportion to the amount of our own suffering we bottle up and hide from ourselves. I try not to do this to myself, and worry about it obsessively. Am I being honest about how I feel?

I guess some people feel such anguish they don't think they can cope with it, maybe it would just be too time consuming in their lives, or maybe they tell themselves they shouldn't feel some way or another. Being dishonest to yourself... leads to being dishonest to others.

This issue of duplicity is a potent one for some people. Not me. I am always honest, because I am at peace with my own understanding of what the word truth means to me. To me truth isn't frightening, it isn't ever something that we should be ashamed of. It definately isn't something that deserves being cloistered away and protected inside a castle of lies. I found long ago that the truth is simpler to remember than any elaborate lie, no matter how "close" to the truth. White lies, sins of omission... simple things. Loose lips sink ships, and agitationist propaganda. We live in a duplicitous world, where people who lie succeed and people who cling to ideals are punished.

I simply made the choice, a while ago, to tell the truth and take the heat.

I think this has something to do with having been raised on 80's sitcoms. It was always soooo "funny" when Jack Tripper or Sam Malone got into some "situation" as a result of a misunderstanding. "Laugh only when your parents do, find their culture transferred to you."

Being honest isn't really that big of a deal. I would hate to think I was going to heaven while other people I know and love were going to hell simply because they found enjoyment that I do not in playing childish mind-games with one another. They deserve their pleasures, however fleeting... the rush of getting away with it, of playing a prank and not getting caught. "Did you see the look on their face?" is a fun thing to go through the phase of saying, even honestly caring about. I even used to do things which I later regretted. I confess, I made my fair share of mistakes. And I don't blame them on youth. I don't blame anyone or anything for them. The only reason I consider them mistakes is... well... a wee tad complicated.

When I first read Crowley's "Confessions" the passage, "I learned with joy that every waking moment of my life could be dedicated to the Great Work" (paraphrased) stood out to me. It was one of the first times I heard that alarm buzzer ringing, reminding me to wake up. I learned about the difference between the "lesser" will and the "true" will, or Jechidah and Chiah. The lesser will is just the selfish id, while the true will guides us through learning experiences.

I used to be confused, which is the sole source of my regrets about my youth. I used to have confused my inner instincts and the vision and voice of my "Holy Guardian Angel," my higher self. I hurt so many people along the way that I can never make repirations to them all. I have to live with that guilt, those scars. But I am not that reckless, torn child anymore. I am responsible for my reactions, I and I alone.

I don't like to think I am bottling up my emotions. But sometimes I have to remind myself not to act out on them. Not to lash out thoughtlessly... in fact... to not lash out at all. There is no goal in vengeance that serves anything except the angst of an abused inner child. The higher will is bored by such distractions. It is the higher will that fixates me now. Not the crude gestures of the guts.

Anyway, just thought I'd share this, since it's all thanks to the internet that I have been led to think along these lines of late. Perhaps someone reading this will better understand myself or even themself as a result of these words, though probably not. All I intend to do in this entry is to express myself, my boredom and apathy with liars, with plotters, schemers, the duplicitous and the dishonest. The sooner they die, twice will they be reborn. I do not wish them anything but for them to finally find that inner child, so frightened, so misused. To find them, to hold them, to allow them release, and freedom to grow. Freedom from the sheltering fists of the liar's shell.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-21-05

Well, I just tried unsuccessfully to talk to my mom about money.

When mom was still married to my father, he always kept the family finances secret from her. He guilt-tripped her constantly, telling her she wasn't responsible enough to handle economics, but really he was covering up the funds he was using to live several different secret lives, having countless affairs, and often making "business" trips to go stay with these women, some of whom were married and some of whom even had their own children. Meanwhile, back at our house, he frequently neglected to pay the utility bills, which resulted in our electricity being turned off at least a couple of different times that I can remember. The last fading rays of the sun would succumb to the gathering shadows as my father would sit across the room from me and explain to me that he intended to divorce my mom some day.

Almost immediately after she divorced him, her father died, and named her executrix of his estate. From being constantly told she was too stupid to handle money, she was suddenly thrust into handling not only our family finances, but also oversee the divvying up of her and her brother's inheritance. Grief-stricken, she managed to budget a liquid asset college fund for me as well as transfer over to me an impressive portfolio of diversified blue chip stocks and interestbearing bonds. I quickly spent all of this... not some, not most... ALL. A great deal went toward an impressive library of books and collection of music, as well as rent and utilities for the apartment and then duplex house where I lived for a couple years. And of course, a much greater quantity than I can overcome the shame for having spent went, literally, to pot.

Last year, mom and I finally waded through the beuracratic nightmare of applying for social security disability. The initial sum for which I qualified could be increased, we were told, depending on the percentage of it that I was contributing to household expenses. The remaining amount of social security disabilities I get is barely enough to cover cigarettes and gas per month, such that I am very lucky if I can budget buying a CD every other month. This is not an exaggeration. I've been in the red and borrowed money from mom for the last three months. This month I seem to be breaking about even so far, but I will also need to begin repaying mom next month for the $200 hard drive I got a couple weeks back.

In October (for my birthday) or for the December holidays I hope to use my monthly savings fund contribution for some books I'd like to order over the internet. I told mom this and it set her off right properly.

The thing that I don't understand is why she now keeps from me like a shameful secret our family finances in the same way that Gerry used to keep them secret from her. When I ask her what she's been doing with the hundred per month I contribute for household expenditures she gives me contradictory answers, and when I press her on this she squirms uncomfortably and says that now is not a good time to talk about it. I can understand why she wouldn't trust me to be able to handle my own finances, or why she would feel that she has to be twice as responsible for them because I am still a dependent. I just think it's kinda ironic.

Money has always been a difficult idea for me to wrap my brains around. It seems to cause only problems, create only distrust, fear and sorrowful emotions. Why people have chosen this substance to revolve their lives around is beyond my ability to comprehend. I would be able to understand it if, like other addictive substances, it caused a short-term emotional or psychological peak. But it does not. I would be able to understand it if, like pure mathematics done for its own sake, it obeyed logical rules and could be manipulated to produce elegant and meaningful solutions. But it does not. From my perspective money seems to serve no purpose whatsoever other than being an arbitrarily valued method of making one person feel bigger and more important than they really are while making another person feel smaller and less important than someone else. This seems immoral to me.

The value of possessions is inversely proportional to the possession of values. Think about this: it is a feeling of lacking that leads people to want. When one lacks emotional or psychological satisfaction, they turn to gathering physical and material properties. If you're sad, go shopping.

When you are content with what you have, then there is no reason for jealousy of what others have.

When you enjoy having one thing more than getting another, there is no reason to be greedy and want anything more. When all you do is fear losing it, you neglect to appreciate what you have.

These are some of the fundamental laws that fuel capitalism.

Most people who I've talked to that take a position in defense of capitalism fall back on the arguement that money is not what is important, that money is merely a means to an end, and that how you make your money and how you spend your money are better reflections on your true character than how much money you make or how much you keep for yourself. I disagree. If money is not what is important, then let them go without it. If money is merely a means to an end, and if that end is how we define ourselves, then let us try to define ourselves without money, and see what people think of us then. If it were really how we make and on what we spend our money, then why do so many people feel unhappy or unfulfilled by their jobs, and why do so few people own so much?

I was explaining some of these points to D's girlfriend K, and she told me that I couldn't be a communist living in the capitalist United States. She invited me to move to China, and when I pointed this out as being bigotry by comparing her sentiments to southern US racists, she refused to see any similarity. This is simply being realistic, I realise now. When she said that Bush was already a de facto dictator and that there was nothing to be done about this fact, I came to realise that all hope for revolution was permanently lost. The young people of this country really do support the neo-con agenda, even if only because they do not realise that the neo-con agenda does not benefit them.

I guess I was only lucky that, when I was still very young, I realised I had a completely different system of values than those around me. I questioned authority, and the majority of authorities I found the most questionable, those whose explanations seemed the flimsiest and least in keeping with their own understanding and logic, were the ones I have since come to associate with "conservative" politics and "christian" dogma. These seem to me to be the most hypocritical belief systems, and those which defy logic the most.

"Conservatives" use the issue of "family values" to distract everyone from the immorality of their bloodlines' material monopolies. "Christians" make inalienable civil-liberties (such as womens' rights to abortion, to divorce, to suffrage) into "hot-button" debates to distract everyone from the scandalous behaviour of their own priests and paritioners. These belief structures have become rotten from the inside out by those who merely use them to conceal their own personal evil.

"Conservative" originally involved less centralisation of authority, however the neo-cons are building an American Empire. "Christianity" originally meant loving your neighbor and forgiving your enemies, however its modern infrastructure is advocating religious disunity and bigoted prejudices against natural sexualities.

It does not escape me that these views would make most people angry. Anger is a natural emotional response when confronted by something lesser and opposite, just as fear is the natural emotional response when confronted by something greater and opposite. Most people would feel angry at me for my viewpoint, while I am frightened by most people's viewpoint. Just think about that. Why would one even deign to be angry at my opposing viewpoint unless they recognised its potential to become greater than their own, to frighten them and even if only remotely possibly overwhelm their own. "Christians" and "conservatives" thrive on this terror; it feeds their persecution complex. Until there no longer exists one person in whose mind exists an opposing viewpoint, the Conservative-Christian Empire will continue to grow. Its anger at the miniscule opposition which

remains and the fear behind this anger are a more powerful motivation for its expansion than are their opposites capable of compelling any opposition to it. Love, empathy, compassion, peace... these stand no chance in the face of the Conservative-Christian Empire's agenda of ubiquity.

Money IS a tool, an instrument for self-expression. But not by the individual. It is a tool used by the Conservative-Christian Empire to oppress the individual.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-25-05 I can think of literally nothing to say.

Tuesday was the second TBS show at the Warehouse. I had missed the first one because I drank heavily on Monday evening the night before. This one however I even budgeted my sleep to be able to attend, although I left right after the performance.

It's strange to see my friends in a band, onstage at a local venue, performing music. I don't much care for the reggae genre personally, and an all-white reggae band sounds a silly idea to me, but this is what they have chosen, and quite frankly, I think they are quite good at it. Better by a fantastic amount than any of the other bands I've known.

Bands have been forming around me for some time now.

The first band that I ended up hanging out with was formed by a mutual friend of ours and my best friend from childhood, John and Mike. I also suggested Andy, another old childhood friend of mine from growing up, as a lead guitarist. They eventually ended up getting a drummer named Jay who was priveldged to own a very elaborate drum kit. They sounded young and rebellious, goofy sad serious. They called themselves "Gabe and the Couches."

Following highschool I attended community college with John, and he eventually introduced me to another old friend of his named Jason. Through Jason we eventuallly ended up hanging out with Eric and Dave, and then through them and Jason's sister, Lisa, eventually met a younger kid named James G. Another old acquiantance of at least John and mine from the old days, James P., also started showing up and hanging out with all of us. Eric, Dave, James G. and John formed a band as well. They were called "Crescent Fresh," and they all eventually moved to New Orleans.

And now, "Trial By Stone," the current incarnation of the band phase. And so far they are definately the most solid performers and most professional in their delivery of their material, not afriad to cover other artists, but not without their own songs as well. This is the most together band I have hung out with so far.

Gabe was fueled by highschool rage, the post-Cobain angst and oneui of highschool romances. It was good, unique music. Stirring and evokative. But it defied fitting definately into the provided generic stereotypical terms available in its time, and so did not catch on. I felt that their type of music could definately become the next big thing, but none of them were genuinely dedicated to this common cause, except, ironically enough, for Jay. Crescent Fresh's mentor band was called the Soular System. It's frontman Desmond was quite the coke fiend at that time. Desmond was the lead singer in the all-white funk band, the SS. The members of Crescent Fresh were the guys that introduced me to the musician's muse named marijuana. Eric's main influence was TOOL, and I still have a cd of their first show flying around here somehwere. I don't remember them being all that good, but I was quite distracted by my own thoughts at that time.

Now, TBS, on another hand, have the same amount of enthusiasm as Gabe had passion, and they smoke herb. As performers they are fine tuned to clockwork perfection, and they enjoy not only one another's company through the rapport of music, but also, as was evident on the show Tuesday, but they equally appreciate the banter and bar-talk of the live venues. Plus it doesn't hurt that they are all of legal drinking age, and not too shabby looking either.

Having had the Crescent Fresh gang pack up and move away on me was difficult for me at the time.

Moreso, maybe even mainly, because I had just gone across country a few months before to visit my estranged highschool lover. This financially costly adventure had not gone well, and to lose my only group of friends at that time immediately afterward added insult to injury. I find it difficult to trust the TBS group because of these old wounds.

I think highschool will probably turn out to have been the highpoint of my life. I had the most fun, was most well known and liked, and dated the greatest number of people I would in all the subsequent nearly a decade. This is the end of autumn and the beginning frosts of early winter of my life now I think. But the winter will be long, I have my assurances, and I will die old and happy with a long white beard. The springtime of my life came quickly. My summer with my young love was so fleeting and yet so resoundingly profound. And since then I have been letting the leaves fall from my trees.

I appreciate the gestures that have been made toward me by the universe. I understand that sometimes bad things must happen that some good things can happen. Emotions are only the weather of a higher dimensional plane. I do not need to want things. One season's buyers are another season's growers. The world is a round the clock farm. Only grazing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-27-05 Well. This type of week makes up for alot. These are the halcyon times. I must remember that these times still happen, no matter how far apart they are, and that, perhaps, to appreciate them while they are here will increase the amount of time they last, if not this time, then next. For no matter how far apart they are, these times still happen. These are the halcyon times.

The other day I upgraded my bookstore with tables of contents .pdf's for all the applicable titles.

Hopefully this will allow people to feel like they are actually picking up the book and opening it up to look inside. Maybe this will even stimulate sales!

Later that night I was playing around with my "Portrait of Time" drawing from the historia singularitatis page.

The first thing I did when I woke up today was correlate the Chladni-Crookes findings into a coherent post on my forum. I'm pretty satisfied with these findings: After this I sat down and dug out my earlier calculations for the durations of time measured on the Enochian Calendar.

In the late afternoon I upgraded the frontpage pictures of my room (although the ones from my when I first started the site are still up on the blog.page for comparison).

And throughout all of this I was zipping around to various forums and making snappy replies, and listening to my ~GOD~ cd. I'm still planning on unveiling the ~GOD~ page, though this will have to wait until October when starwars-spoilers domain name expires.

My birthday is in October, and that's why I was talking to mom about money the other night. I want to order some books online that add up to about $100, but I might do that for myself for Xmas. For my birthday, I'm thinking of taking fifty dollars and going to print up the .pdf file of Occult Chemistry. I might also like to throw in on the shadow tarot deck that D and I found on the internet being printed out on cardstock, or possibly my conspiracy theories thread printed up like a magazine. Maybe I'll splurge and get all three.

Anyway, for any early X-mas shoppers out there, here's my early list: The Dialogue in Hell between Machiavelli and Montesquieu: Humanitarian Despotism and the conditions of modern tyranny. ($31 pb) World Revolution or the Plot Against Civilisation. ($12.50 hc) Memoirs Illustrating the History of Jacobinism. ($58 only hb) Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. ($34.59) Hamlet's Mill: An Essay Investigating the Origins of Human Knowledge And It's Transmission Through Myth. ($7.50) I do hope that making a wishlist before Halloween isn't anything like wearing white after labour day. Anyway, I've been having a pretty good time, even though no one seems to ever visit my forum anymore.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-31-05 hey all. as said in my 3.21 thread, my computer died, so I have taken it to the computer hospital. It will be in for at least a couple days, not due to the severity of the problem, but because of all the ass hole freshmen bringing their computers into my local store.

Anyway, D got arrested. Yes, my best friend right now, Damien, was hauled in on a DUI charge last night (on his way HOME from his OWN concert!). Paying the fines is probably going to be the beginning of life long debt problems, since they just purchased a home under K's dad's name and already owed phone and insurance bills, as well as owning D's mom car payments.

In addition to that, tonight there are terrifying rumours of a "gas shortage" going around. People are literally calling everyone they know to tell them to go out right away and buy gas.

This scares me. Not because of the inevitable increase of gas prices leading to some Mad Max world-like scenario where a cigarette lighter is the highest value item imaginable. It scares me because it means people believe what they are told.

The news tells people that the hurricane is going to cause a temporary US gas shortage. This means the gas/energy companies are going to use a natural disaster as an excuse for doubling the rate at which they are bilking their gas-junkies. One story says tankers can't dock or have crashed, another story has it that oil rigs (only built two years ago) sank or are down and that this will cause the regional or (hopefully) even national hike in price. Nonsense.

Damien's cell-mate was in on a third degree felony charge for being in possession of a fake ID. When did this happen? When did having hold of someone else's or a forged identity card become a greater charge than driving drunk? How is this more dangerous or the greater crime? Yet, as Damien put it, "they can do whatever they want."

So, the fucking fat-faced, fat-wallet, fat-lip, fat-for-brains, glutted fat cats can "do whatever they want"??? They tell the news to spread the lie that gas prices are going to double, and then people

double their rate of gas consumption, and hence the rate of gas value. This causes gas company stock-rates to go up, and this raises their market value. The people that owned these stocks sell high, and to pay them their dividends, the companies justify doubling their budgeted expenditures. To break even then they have to double their revenue, either by doubling sales or doubling cost. The moral is that one fat cat in government shakes hands with another fat cat CEO, and they conspire to fool the news into making believe a story that will trick the people themselves into causing gas prices to rise.

Anyway, everything's got me kinda nervous right now.

That's all for now.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

09/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 9-7-05 well, I just got back from the Tuesday Trial By Stone show at the Warehouse. It was, in my opinion, their best set so far. They did fuck up once really badly, but they played right through it, and the entire rest of the show sounded better than I'd heard them sound yet.

Anyway, since my last blog entry, my computer is still in the shop, and I am still on my mother's computer. I got banned from viewaskew.com forums by Kevin Smith himself, which is kind of a long story. Longer than I feel like retelling anyway. I'm pretty sure Foxdie hates me also, because of some shit he said earlier today. But, again, neither here nor there.

I may have pissed off sunny too because I confused her sig with slowmo's, who locked a thread on tlfc of mine. I'm more concerned about that, since Foxdie hadn't talked to me in a year anyway, and Kevin Smith, I mean, if having enough time to have a picture taken with a guy constitutes being a great guy, is a great guy, but we'd never have been able to sustain any longer conservation.

Although I am flattered that, when I waded through all the all his fans to get to him, he was willing to have two words for me.

And now I'm talking to sunny on msn and she says its cool, so whew. Tek is on too, maybe he'll be up for talking tonight too... maybe. LOL I had a really good night tonight. The recent situations have made me really appreciate my friends more. I need to be putting more heart into my life. I could really be enjoying myself, if I let myself do so. I don't know why I usually don't. anyway, time for a smoke and to talk to sunny. LOL I'll post again later... if ANYTHING happens.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 9-18-05 I am stalked by the shadow of beliefs that conspire against me behind my back.

Events have aligned against me, presumably out of punishment for my rewarding myself a respite, a temporary escape, from the inevitability of bad luck.

There's not much worth saying about the details. My accounts banned, my computer broken, my cd's stolen, my friend imprisoned, my car crashed, etc. The details are only the devil's carnival.

Worse things happen to better people every damn day, and often nightly.

There's little point complaining about the perpetrators of injustice, who will continue to remain luxuriously aloft above the righteous consequences due their values. It doesn't matter from one mask worn by Satan to the next, it's always going to be the same great beast behind these mechanations. This isn't being drammatic. This is accepting the barren wasteland of factual reality. Dramma would be angst. I feel nothing.

Perhaps there should be reprisals on the astral level, a realignment of Jupiter and Venus to justify energy and gas corporation financial terrorism. Perhaps the invocation of some hoary intelligence from the nether realms between the aethyrs performed to enforce the morals denied by the cosmic law of irony.

But there would be no real point. Struck once the shamefully wicked rise twice.

Daily I obssess about the girl that got away. I am perpetually suffering while those that laugh at my misfortune sail gracefully beyond the reach of judgment. Their immunity impugns my dignity, and the glory received them deigns their wretched stupidty honour.

How is there justice? How is this fair? More mere mockery's solution is stupidly simple. The more it pains me to suffer the levity of fools, the loftier their pursuits of folly. I am sick to death of the unjust irony that is the watchword of the wicked and the worldly unwise. Please give my upturned heart redemption from the crimes of the ignorant and the sins of the holier. I will not bear it any longer before I begin seeking retribution in the form of the darker arts.

Let the accursed answer for their actions, that I should no longer be the cross bearer of their guiltless guiles. I'd blow a hole from their birth until the very ends of them should I but call their names. Shall I? Oh, Lord My God, shall I finally let fly?

The equality of demons and angels is the price man pays for freedom. Confused, forlorn, he seeks and searches for a reason, a meaning, that none shall ever find. Money is hoarded by and bragged over by the slavering hounds of its shit stink, and the false grandeur that adorns the inwardly proud leaves the humble holy humans wanting.

Love is no answer. Love is a complex mess. It is the complication of other emotions and their stirring up to the boiling point of passion, but in itself none of these feelings. Love is melancholy.

Love is the lost emotion.

And those are all that are. Money-demons raised and love-angels lowered. This is the level playing field of mankind's ill-tempered fate. Is it I alone that finds this disgustingly disappointing and inappropriate? Surely we all suffer from the delusion that we alone are the voice of reason in an otherwise utterly insane plenum of universalities.

The scum that is this species slithers the surface of this earth. I wish to God for them both the people that call this place their mortgaged reality, and the realtor Gaia, that menstruating bitch from Hades. She bleeds oil to the whips of decadence and pleading devil's pleasure begs for more. I would smile as I butchered his victim and her rapist glorious spasming finality of mortification.

to end, insane for the in one

Death to them all, for all I care. That angels should die that the devils be punished is merely the last necessary injustice in an eternity of otherwise irrational and unjustifiable horrors. Good God, I pray to you, the one truth above all else, outside of all and containing everything. I pray to you: conclude this con-game. Finish your experiment on this, your humble creation, and exact the toll from our flesh that we stole from the eye of your soul. God: KILL MAN. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 9-30-05 I live in a hovel made of luck.

Tonight I saw TBS's Thursday show at the Warehouse. A Tanzinian guy named Robert and his brother opened for them. Robert had opened for them two weeks ago when Calvert had been sick, and only D and Buck played. He plays a tribal harp and a guitar, whistles and sings in different languages he knows. It's really phenomenal to see them open for TBS, and tonight was particularly good. The acoustics were perfect, and Buck's vocals the cleanest yet. It was spot on.

Unfortunately I was outside on the back porch during most of the show, feeling miserably lonely, drinking cocoa colas and smoking cigarettes. Jesse came up and asked me why I seemed so glum.

Later I had a conversation with Woo, the sound guy, about Ohm's Law. But I was still just... glum.

It's weird. All this bad shit has been happening to me. Bad for me, of course, by which I mean, I am still better off than the average person. But many difficult events have transpired here lately...

I've actually dealt with it all unusually calmly. Puppy died. He had been hit by a car (we think), and undergone a botched unnecessary operation to reset his dislocated hip. He was such a good dog. He was everybody's best friend. He loved everyone, and was always full of joy. And he died in pain. But I perservere. My computer crashed, I crashed my car, one of my best friends, it turns out, has been breaking into my house while I'm not here and stealing my cds. He's made off with most of my favourite music. But things are good. My best friend, Damien, was arrested on a DUI coming home from his own band's show! He spent almost twenty fours in county jail, and had his court date today. He has been assigned a probation officer, will be administered urinalysis tests for drugs and alcohol for six months, has an installment plan for the seven hundred dollar ticket fee, has to pay for drivers ed classes as well as for the boot they are going to put on his car to prevent him from driving for that time, and has such and so many number of hours Sheriff's dept. work duty. Not even community service. The judge was not in any way lenient on my first adult criminal offense friend, and yet he himself feels relieved because "it could have been worse."

This is alot of heavy shit. Yet I haven't really come undone once. Finally, the other night, I decided to half reward myself for keeping so even headed, and half lift my spirits out of the resultant funk of having to cope with all this lately, drink to get drunk. I had about seven or eight beers, and actually managed to feel elated. Since then, until tonight, I've been pretty well on my feet. I've had some explosions online, creating a thread on tlfc called "admit it, you all hate me" and then arguing with tek and sunny about the fact no one visits my forum. But even before Puppy had died, I had been banned from Kevin Smith's forum by Kev himself for mouthing off about his friend's movie short, so my being an asshole online is hardly anything new. All in all, I've kept my head through all of these events as well as I would have had none of them been happening.

Until tonight. Tonight was glum. And not humdrum glum. Not meh. It was a depression. I was surrounded by all of my friends. Everyone I know. Good people. People I admire. And I felt lonely.

Not only during the show, but even afterwards hanging out with Buck and D, K-rod and Kay Park after the show. Perhaps it was that they were all in couples. Milli with Calvert, Kelly and D, Buck and K. Simeon is getting married to Micki towards the end of October. They don't want to make a big deal out of it, but it is a big deal to me. Simeon and Damien are both 23. That's how old Mike and Todd (my best friends growing up) were when they each got married too.

Mom is out of town for a few days, and I am holding the fort down by myself. Leia, my cat, and Flora, mom's dog, are here to keep me company at least. They are both adorable, but as much as I can love Leia, as much as I loved my other cat Luke before he was hit and killed by a car, or Puppy, or even any of my friends, or trust them, as much as I can, and as much as I love them all... what? What is missing? What is fucking wrong with this picture??

I am crazy. That is all there is. I am crazy, and this is the calm before the storm. This period of my life is only an appetizer before the main course. Life will improve, it will go on, life will be more and more complex, with more and more benefits. But I will never improve. What I have cannot be cured. Life will go on around me, but I will continue to simply avoid it. Why?? Why am I doing this to myself??

Simeon and I did a guided meditation not long after I started keeping this blog. I told him I couldn't let go. And I still can't. I told him I couldn't forgive myself for once hurting someone that

I loved. And I still can't. And I can't go back from that either. I can't turn back time to mend the heart I broke myself. My own.

I want to give myself to God. Tonight I realised God and Goddess are one and the same already. The reunion of the bride with the blushing bridegroom? It will never happen any more than it is happening right now. And for me... that means a spiritual quest. Not a life like my parents, spent in study under the Church. That means that I am alone this time around. I have to get used to that.

I need to come to terms with that fucking Fact. I am not going to grow up like my daddy, hiding from fatherhood behind scholasticism and sex with strangers. I am not going to grow up like my dad, because I will never be a dad. That thought scares me. But it's true. I will never... no... never... be a father. I have to face that, and learn to let it go.

I'm not going to ever get married. I am not going to carry on my family name. I remember it all now. When I was young and staring off over the horizon through the window of my grandparents' country club. I knew even then I was not destined to marry, to have kids, to pass on this disgusting name. It wasn't that I rejected the idea. It was that I realised it was true. It was as plain as the day, as clear as the window in front of me. They lifted me up onto their shoulders and carted me around the bar singing. I loved it then. It was my destiny.

But so? So I remember it all so well, but it meant nothing. I am not special in any way. I'll die having been forgotten by the world at large. One day my legacy might arise, as though it were some strange mystery. But I will die long before my own name is known. And I will have no lineage. No one to follow me. It's funny really. It's all because I love too much.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 10-06-05 "But, bi-polar or not, a brother can't come on here, shit on everyone's parade, then get defensive when people don't like the stink of said shit."

-Kevin Smith "Please go be a bag of misery elsewhere. I'm tired of it."

-Sunnyday In responce to my critics, I could easily write a book explaining all of your psychological foibles, but instead, here is a picture to say 1000 words.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 10-08-05 well, it's my birthday.

I was born at about 6PM this evening, 28 years ago.

Alot has happened in the past 28 years. The grip over the largest landmass of the world by Internationalist Sovietism was broken by military detĂŠnte. Movements to dismantle the social works programmes begun during the Great Depression of the last century were begun under Bill Clinton, the Democratic President of the United States as an attempt at idealogical unification between bi-partisianship, and this movement has successfully continued under the Supreme Court appointed current Republican President, George W. Bush. The conditions in the middle east, which had driven gasoline price per barrel import tariffs up around the year of my birth, have fluctuated wildly between liberal reforms and acts of terrorism, and the current price per gallon of gas is now nearly the same as it was during the '78 oil crisis, adjusted for the continuing devaluation of the dollar value due to inflation of military budget expenditures. The internet, or world wide web, has become a prevalent part in the life of all bourgeoise western and neo-colonial civilisations. It has become a place where, as prophecised by Marshall McLuhan during the psychedelic movement of the 1960's, all forms of media and art that can be converted to binary electrical wavelengths can be distributed freely without cost to the consumer. The space age, with all its hope and optimism for extraterretrial exploration, has given way to the Information Age, a strange cyber-culture combining corporate business interests with counter-cultural hacker strategies. The tenth American Generation (GenX), dominated as it was by post-hippy burnouts and indepentent thinking liberals, has been usurped by the 11th generation, the "echo-boomers," button-punching videogamer young republicans with billions of dollars worth of disposable income buying power, and the same values as the currently ruling regime of Neo-Conservatives, who beef up the military in the name of "family values" and supporting the corporate dominated capitalist economy.

Not much has happened to me in the past 28 years. In most ways I'm still like I was when I was a toddler. I am very dependent on my mother, financially (for food, by way of example) and as an advocate for me on behalf of my mental illness (my inability to socialise, to interact positively for my own benefit, and to be a contributing member of society). The dreams I have had since my early youth, dreams of life-long, if not ever-lasting, monogymous romantic love, of the pursuit amongst like-minded peers of the mysteries of the psyche, the hidden secrets of history, and the greater mysteries of natural physics, have all been squandered and denied, as well as, more often than not, outright punished. The acceptance I long for from those I know personally due to proximity and those I admire who remain yet distant has been likewise defiled not only due to my own actions but due to events that seem arbitrary and random. The things that interest me most do not seem to be shared with those I know, approved of by those I admire, nor my views on them accepted as accurate by those who share interest in them. My emotional state, which has never been up to par, remains less than can rightly be called healthy, although I have not yet had any form of psychotic break from which I am not able to recover. Overall, aside from my writings and investigations into the occult sciences, I have nothing to prove that I have ever even existed, and all in all my life seems wasted, all that it adds up to is in the debit column. The only cheque and balance has been the Law of Irony.

You could say that my life is off course, or that my life isn't going as planned. But you'd be wrong.

I follow the course of my True Will, even though this is rarely in line with what I would wish for myself. I keep to the plan of the Great Architect of All Causes. My love, though it has become twisted now in all its relations with His creations, is always of and for the Creator. For His is my destiny, never my own. Though nothing ever goes my way, I know that it goes the way that He who Loves me intends it. It is for the best, for my good guidance, and an oppurtunity for me to learn.

Though it seems I am ever in darkness, it is only all the better, for it teaches me to love the Light all the more.

I hope with all my heart all the time that I am alive. Sometimes I glimpse the Light that I know with all my soul does truly await me in the future, and those times my mind explodes with

blinding brightness and my heart tears at the bonds of its muscles with overwhelming, overpowering outpouring of affection and empathy. I know that I am blessed for these moments, and they are worth my living for them, even though when they seem so far apart, so few and far between, I feel lost in darkness out of my depth. But I persevere. I will not dishonour those I admire, the living and the dead alike, by making mockery of their own lives' lessons by degrading my own ability to learn from them. Truly the mistakes and the pitfalls of my life are yet like mountainous pinnacles beside the lives of some, and I am blessed that what seems bitter to me is still so incredibly sweet to some.

Life is truly a panopolistic plethora of blessings. Some wear cheap disguises, courage pretending to be cowardice, but all opposites are reconciled, like the two sides of one tree, in the greater Light of the Most High. Even false love is better than True Hate. Yet I am human, and I still slip into the ruts worn into the back of this world by civilisation sometimes, falling backwards into the patterns of erosion that weather away and would destroy all that nature allows to grow and all that we work for, building up in the name of eternal ideals. Sometimes it truly seems that there is no guide, and for those times I repent. I lament that I curse God, and blaspheme the Holy One by thwarting the well-being of His creatures. But I have done terrible things against mankind, and against those whom I love, who have loved me, and against the personages of the Divine, all in the ineffable name of that which even now guides me to write these words, to make confession for the sins of my temptations, for it has all been to the Glory of God, and all part of His Most Holy plan.

All the wrongs I have done I have done for the Light of the One Truth, to seek it out through passions past prejudice, to discover it wherever it resides no matter how hidden, and by these wrongs I have wrought many wonders, the tilling of the soil that permits the planting of the seed. I have never doubted in this. Though at times it has been in this alone that I have believed.

The thunderclaps of my self-righteousness have been but the muffled gaveling in of True Justice.

I do not fear the Judgment of God, so why should I suffer from the passing follies of the famous, people like Kevin Smith, whose wounded ego would look down its nose at my moralisations over his scoffing at the struggles of the suffering? To offer aid to those afflicted by natural disasters with one hand while mocking and deriding those who would, while not so afflicted, seek to better their stature through their creative endeavors is not the shape and likeness due the flattery of one's Maker. God the Saviour does not pull us up with his hands while holding us down with his feet.

Those who believe that believe nothing besides. The True Will of God passes through me, and its inevitable fulfillment is the truth behind the veil of my magick, the manipulations of which the miracle of my life is not but the sleight of His hand.

It is now 6AM. In twelve hours I will be 28. I thank my makers, and the Ultimate Maker before them, for each and every moment of my life, both happy and sad. I will enter this year having fulfilled everything I have longed for, though having no rewards by which to show for it. I pray to the one who has a greater power than myself that I shall fulfill all my promises, and that I may continue in the path towards the True Light for all of my earthly days.

May the True Light, Love and Life be praised. Amen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 10-21-05 Reality is a hallucination induced by God. I'm feeling old. Associating death with inversion is a strain on the knees.

I'm almost thirty. I can look over my website now and see all the marvels I have beheld thus far in my life. There are many wonders.

On Sunday last Simeon and Mikki got hitched! They held the small, private ceremony at the platform built over the sacred earth at the top of the local native american burial mound. I cast the chart for their special ocassion, and there was a lunar eclipse that night. Truly these are all fortuidous signs, and they fill and uplift my heart greatly. I'm feeding their dog in the mornings now while they honeymoon in the northern smokey mountains region.

Simeon and Mikki are wonderful people. I am truly blessed to know them, they are such wonderful people. Mikki is humble and soft spoken but very funny whenever she opens up. She is a classically trained painter, and particularly a fan of Alex Grey, and by trade she is a hair stylist.

Simeon's trade is in the plumbing and electrical business in a prominent local firm, and he holds a position of authority. He is very proud of his tattoos, and had shaved his head bald a week before the wedding. He makes the most difficult drumming progressions appear boring to him, but I rather know Sims as a fellow occultist. As such, I can say I have looked into his eye many times, that I know him, and that I do not doubt him.

I'm equally gifted by having Damien as a firend. I remember the first time I hung out with Damien outside of his skryer's shoppe. It was July fourth, 04. Another Independence Day, earlier in the same year that Farenheit 911 was released, and I was thinking about the bombs over Iraq as I watched our national fireworks display. We stayed up until dawn drinking and talking about the shaman role from ancient to modern times. All in all it was a different night for me, and those were rare at that time in my life.

Damien and Sims are good friends. They are friends with whom I share interests, and with whom I enjoy discussing those interests. I would be proud to consider them at least my peers. It's been many years since I've had any good friends like these. My last two groups of friends pretty much screwed me over, got into my head pretty good and messed around with some wires. For a while I thought that damage was permanent. Now I am beginning to think that maybe it doesn't need to be.

The fact that they take me seriously, that they do not dismiss my input off hand, but that they truly appreciate me when I can be all there with them. Damien even listened to the "Inc." LP, Sims is very interested in observing the progress of my diagrams, and I am comfortable enough with them both that I dispensed half of my printed research materials for the book on the Enochian calendar to each of them (although now I wish I'd kept the material on Soyga). If you compare this with how other people treat me, and even more so, how other people have treated me, you will see why I am so busy singing songs of praises over Damien and Simeon.

It means alot to me that Damien and Simeon and I can discuss matters relating to the occult in especial. My own research has been far more avid than theirs, but they are much younger, and are both very quick on the uptake. Plus, their particular age gives them special benefits in the ways they process information as through situations, the heart of ritual. I lack just this such social skill myself, and its loss has nearly crippled my esteem. But with my age comes the ability to dispense at their pleasure my insights into the many occult mysteries I have studied over my years in solitude. They ask me questions, share interpretations, I ask them questions, we share our insights; we firmly support each other with our gentle guidance. And all of this under the auspices of an "occult" context.

I think this is the ideal form of Order or Rite. One based on casual friendship and commonality of the interest to pursue lines of reasoning unto their end. Nothing so structured and formal as the rigorous memorisation of circumambulating stations. That's great for perserving ideas, a computer-like human memory system to perserve the hidden dispensation, the equivalent of an oral tradition. But for when bouncing an idea off the head of another is necessary, it ought to be considered best to have an actual friendship with that person. Someone who is already more likely to empathise with from where an idea is coming, less likely to misunderstand. This means they

may be trusted to offer level judgments, which is more than can be said for most modern orders, rites, and traditionally occult secret societies, where the handshake precedes the conclusion of the transaction rather than coming after and in parting.

Sometimes I think the occult gets its sole reputation for occlusion and obfuscation entirely from its innate formalism. On the other hand, if I had to guess, my own standing on ceremony so often isn't exactly attracting friendly bees to me. I've joined an online organisation known as the Illuminati-Order. I've been accepted on their messageboard to the level of "member" and been adminstered a curiculum. However I fear that the content I have posted and intend to continue posting if so allowed might be considered too far fetched or "out of keeping" (as my mom puts it) with their own set of values. I've been abrasively brazen on the "0=0" level board, particularly with "Galt," whom I thoughtlessly jostled about like a bully child. But I've stated far more egregious opinions anti-thetical to the curriculum in the "level 1" board. It's sophomore behaviour really. The wise can go about dispensing as much information as he can, believing himself to have attained to it all, but all the while ignoring the ongoing experience, only knowing half the story, the fool. Tragically for most it's not even that lucky. I mean, I can afford to mouth off a little, I've just gotten back from a wedding!

PS. The zohar came!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

11/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 11-09-05 I think I have created the benpadiah personality in order to be able to use it to store all my greater personality of insights, such as my voice or writing style. I then do not know who I, Jon Gee, myself am!

This is something I have sincerely been struggling with since I first started this blog. But it is not the "benpadiah" personality that bothers me. All if well with the "benpadiah" personality.

Sometimes he can be a mean drunk, but most of the time, benpadiah is an obtuse, pedantic, erudite, snobbish and arrogant, pompous, know-it-all wind-bag who recites off cross references from throughout all of my esoteric research like a kid leaping from mountain peak to mountain peak. So there is clearly no problem with benpadiah.

However this other character, this Jon Gee person... where does he fit into all of this? Where does he begin and benpadiah end?

Well, since the character of benpadiah, that is, the name I call my personal voice or writing style, my pen-name or alter-ego is entirely a product of my own mind, then we can say that I am the body of Jon Gee and the mind of benpadiah.

But Jon Gee is nonetheless who I am. Benpadiah, being a figment of my imagination, does not really exist. In essence, I can get to know myself THROUGH understanding benpadiah, but I cannot cease being myself and become exclusively benpadiah.

If benpadiah is the voice I have given for all of my esoteric research, then I should be able to speak with this voice, and to some extent I do. Whenever I get the chance to enter into, or stear a current one into, a conversation about the esoteric, I lapse quite easily into the voice of benpadiah. But this is, of course, not very often.

My relationships with Sims and Damien have only begun relatively recently. Damien I have known for only a little over a year, and Sims pointed out to me that the one-year anniversary of our having met was on Halloween. Our conversations regarding my esoteric research are frequent enough, but still new to me.

So, too, is distinguishing the voice of benpadiah from my own. I feel I have seen, as benpadiah, all of the things from my researches which he describes so eloquently. However, I know that I, myself who suffers from this mental illness, suffers also from short-term memory loss due to prolonged periods of alternating sleep-deprivation and sleep-hybernation. I come to not know one day from another, and have to remember the difference between my waking and dreaming realities by forcing myself to remember the difference between my waking and sleeping periods of time.

In my dream reality, I am already married. We are both long since out of school now, and I have no more regular dreams about institutional buildings and their beuracratic mazes. Instead, every night, I am blessed to be near to my loved one for whom I have longed and longed for all my life. I believe these dreams to reflect the eternal.

In my dream reality, also, must I categorize all of my esoteric research, or rather, most of how I spend my life during my waking hours as well. This is unfortunate, but true, because these studies all add up on the side of mental illness in that case. I do not have a job, and I cannot yet support myself independently financially. Those are the realities, and it is only a delusion, all I know about my esoteric studies. This is because of my short-term memory loss, caused by my irregular sleep patterns.

In reality, that is, if I were to be permanently separated from all the source materials of my esoteric research, I would not long be able to remember all of them, let alone to make references between them as easily as I can as benpadiah, that is, while writing.

I do fervently pray to all that which is one within the Most High that nothing ought to have to ever happen that would separate my awareness of myself from my awareness of the benpadiah voice for my esoteric research. Always, I pray, should this voice be near.

But even this voice, I know, is not me. It is only one small part of who I am! Glory to the Highest!

The benpadiah voice is simply the voice of the character I assumed to post on the internet, and thus, I planned, to compile a collection of such internet bulletin board posts to be published as "the benpadiah posts." This would only amount to one, although by now beit rather lengthy, book I, Jon Gee, have written.

On this site, benpadiah.com, I have chosen to publish as e-books a collection of all of the written works I have transcribed to or composed on the computer. These all bear MY name, the name Jon Gee, and not the name benpadiah. The benpadiah voice is only the most recent, albeit yet ongoing, addition to the collection of voices, or writing styles, I assumed for each different category of work.

In the Tree of Death, for example, I had chased the idea of the devil all around without ever stating my own cosmology of the fall. This was an equally erudite voice, though one much more steeped in scholasticism. As an hommage to the fact that it was still me, Jon Gee, writing it, I intentionally neglected to include a bibliography for the sources I had so fastidiously cited throughout the thouroughly well researched work. This was a nod to my jabs at scholasticism and its futilities in the introduction to the bibliography of the MPRD, my so called "all purpose bibliography." The Jon Gee, in other words, I am saying, that wrote the MPDR was the same Jon Gee who wrote the Tree of Death, though they were written in completely different types of writing style or voice. The MPDR was written exclusively as direct revelation regarding the existence of the Most High. The Tree of Death was written scholastically to prove the emptiness of such a system of reference from containing any one sole authour's own theory, that authour, in this case, being me. In other words, the MPDR covers the Most High and the revelation from above. The Tree of Death covers the pits of burning books, or Hell. But they were both written by the same person: Jon Gee. NOT benpadiah.

I have been through Heaven and I have been through Hell. I have written even more books than only these two even, and each a unique and different type of piece reflecting the glorious lustre of my own unique personality. Each with its own voice, some more unique, some more similar, and yet they all share one thing in common. They have MY name on them, but they weren't written BY me.

They were all written in the delusory personality of benpadiah.

I have to accept that the esoteric research I have done, including all of my writing, since it has ALL been inspired by such, is only part of a delusional reality, a form of schizophrenia that I have tricked myself into believing, that itself constitutes the necessary surroundings for me to manifest the benpadiah voice. As I have studied ONLY esoteric research, it is, as I have said, not often a topic of conversation. However, through my writings, through ALL of my writings, I am free to express the esoteric researches I have done, and even add my own theories to this great tradition.

But whose theories are these? They do not BELONG to Jon Gee. They have MY name on them, but they were written by benpadiah. It is in his voice you shall find all of them narrated. In reality, I, Jon Gee, am nothing like this voice, although in the solace of my room I may indeed surround myself with the studies of my esoteric research.

As I have said, until now I have been living in a delusional parallel reality to being myself, being Jon Gee. While under the benpadiah delusion, I accumulated many sources for pursuing my studies in esoteric research. My room is, thus, a testament to my insanity.

So, I return to my initial question: "Who is Jon Gee? Who am I?" Am I but the vessel carrying the benpadiah voice, and by this the ability to make reference to all of my esoteric research? Am I but that which uplifts that voice toward God? Or is this voice merely madness, and I a terminal psychotic?

I believe that my benpadiah delusion is an offshoot of the great and massive Christ complex I had when I was younger. I believed that somebody had to fulfill the role of a messiah during this period in human history we are now in, and I decided that it might as well be me. However, I have long since gone through the coming-of-age ritual associated with the testing for being such a messiah, and failed bitterly, and so have gone down this road that is an offshoot of the christ complex, the benpadiah delusion.

Now, sometimes, when I am particularly delusional, I even believe I am the literal reincarnation of the person of Yeshuah Ben Padiah, from whom my benpadiah delusion derives its name. This syndrome is associated with the concept of being a failed Christ, or false Messiah. This syndrome, the benpadiah delusion, is parallel to the otherwise much more common God complex experienced mainly by Doctors, that is, a natural high such as a runner's high, the rush experienced by the thief, being high on life. The God complex and the benpadiah syndrome are 180 degrees from each other. One is sick, therefore both are sick.

I think I am merely exploring alternative lines of thinking, but in reality I am in the grip of a socially paralysing and ultimately terminal psychotic delusion. I believe that this personality that I channel through me, the benpadiah voice that comes through in my writings, IS, in fact, who I myself am. This flies in the face of all contradictory evidence, such that in person I am not like who I am in my style of writing, and that all of my esoteric research is part of a delusional reality I have constructed for myself in which I am a fallen Messiah. There is plenty of evidence all around me even now of how completely crazy I really am.

I am, indeed, so crazy that I am willing to believe, within the Holiest of Holies, within my heart of hearts, that I and benpadiah are indeed one and the same. The voice through which I write about all my esoteric research, this is, indeed who I am. It is quite clear that I am suffering (!) under this delusion, that I am some form of Messiah or God, and therefore it should not be permitted to continue to plague and affect me. It causes me to increase my labours of longing for love, and it causes me to dissociate from my present environment. There is good in it and bad.

It is clear to me that I split from the Messiah complex into the benpadiah delusion at the point of my coming-of-age ritual intiation ceremony, at which point, had I succeeded, I would now be in a parallel reality where I would suffer from the delusion of the God complex. All of these types of things are what they lock people up in mental institutions for believing. Meanwhile look at the president.

So, when does "benpadiah" stop and Jon Gee begin? Where do I, Jon Gee, fit into all of this? Well, if I am the vessel housing the benpadiah delusion, then I am clearly insane, because this form of delusion is an offshoot from the Christ or Messiah complex and this complex is considered clearly insane. In other words, as much as I may have to say regarding my esoteric research, all of this is delusional, as the pursuit of my esoteric research stems from the benpadiah dleusion offshoot of the Christ complex of psychosis.

I, Jon Gee, have what is known as a degenerative, terminal, mental illness. Although I have not been diagnosed schizophrenic, I have long since been diagnosed (or perhaps, as I believe, misdiagnosed) as bipolar or manic depressive. Manic-depression is a form of degenerative, terminal, mental illness just like as is schizophrenia. Both of these are degenerative, terminal mental illnesses, although the symptoms and affective behaviour patterns caused by each are different.

Therefore, because I am bi-polar, and because I follow different length cycles of time from the majority of the rest of society in particular, then I can objectively rationalise about the schizophrenic delusion of being benpadiah, an alternate personality. I can go even further than this and say that I am AND am not entirely this benpadiah delusion without actually succumbing to suffering under either delusion entirely. To become one with the benpadiah delusion would mean I were schizophrenic, and to separate myself entirely from the source of my own inspiration would be MPD, multiple-personality disorder. Both of these paths, the path of acceptance of the benpadiah delusion as complete reality, and the path leading to the sanctioning off of the benpadiah personality, are, like my own diagnosis of manic-depression, degenerative, termianl, mental illnesses.

In other words, it is because I am NOT suffering from schizophrenia or MPD, but also because I AM suffering from bipolar manic-depression, that I can offer a relatively sane sounding interpretation of my own insanity. Because I am neither sick nor well, but both, I can communicate between my own delusional relaities and the sane and sober world of "straight" people, the "normals" or those who, in NAMI, we call the "undiagnosed."

This is truly a fascinating feat! However, it speaks volumes as to the depths of my insanity, that is, the depths of the encroachment of the benpadiah delusions into my sense of reality, and the degeneration of my own mind caused by the terminal mental illness. For I have spent SO much time in pursuit of esoteric research, and that all being lumped on the side of my mental illness under the auspices of the benpadiah delusions, that I can really NOT actually communicate between my own delusional realities and the sane and sober world of "straight" people, the "normals," the "undiagnosed."

That is, I can communicate, yes, but only in one direction: from the delusional world through myself to the "straight" world. I cannot communicate back. This is because of my degenerative, terminal, mental illness. It separates me from the rest of not only society (I do that myself by choice), but all of reality as it is known and experienced by anyone and everyone else in this world who are NOT suffering from my same exact delsuional reality. As I said, because I do NOT have schizophrenia and I do NOT have MPD, I can describe the two paths that usually follow from recognition of the onset of an alternate personality rationally and collectedly. However, because I DO have manic-depression, and manic-depression is, like either scizophrenia or MPD, or both, a degenerative, terminal mental illness, I can never completely convince anyone in "straight" society that I do not actually suffer from either schizophrenia nor MPD because of my ability to identify within myself the onset of an alternate personality.

I see the benpadiah delusion quite clearly as being who I am, or at the very least a very large part right now of who I am, and I recognise that it is a complete delusion, and that none of it, not even the way I have decorated my room to reflect my delusional pursuit of esoteric research, is truly Real. I accept the fact that I am delusional, that I suffer from bipolar manic-depression, a form of degenerative, terminal mental illness. The last step is simply to put my faith in God, and ask a Higher Power to deliver me the courage to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference. This completes the Blue Lodge initiation into the twelve-step self-help programme.

That, then, is who I, Jon Gee, am. That is where I fit in all of this: that I suffer from a delusion that is an important part of my present personality, but one that I recognise as a delusion nonetheless, and which also comprises only one single part of my whole entire personality. That is where benpadiah ends and I begin. And that is all, for now.

I lack Understanding.

This is like a King who was waiting to be married. Instead, he took a trip, and on this trip attended a wedding. When he returned, he found his bed chambre empty. All his friends had left him.

Do you see? He was married in spirit, that is: he left his home, his body; he traveled about and came to the wedding, which, as if in a dream, was not his own; when he returned from the afterlife, he found that his bride-to-be was not yet with him in the flesh. Because of this, once he is taken from life, his death will be like a wedding, returning him from the solitude of the body to his bride beyond.

Do you see? God was the one who was married! His bride was the bride of this King. That is that, for the cost of the king's being married to her in spirit, God took her spirit into the realm beyond the body. He made her His own bride, because of the vain pride of the King who wished to be married in the body as well as the spirit.

Do you see? The King is me! The bride was Shekinah! This is my karma. For the purpose of all life, even if only experienced as dying, is the reunion of the life with God, of shekina with her bridegroom.

Do you see? Understanding was like my bride-to-be. God was married to it, and so it has left me. I may catch a glimpse of it, but it shall never again return to me. This is for my pride, which sought understanding in this life, as well as beyond, for what is beyond is for God alone to understand.

This is for my vanity, for my accepting the temptation to defile understanding by plucking it down before it falls on its own. I sought to embody the Shekina in my understanding, but I could not. For God alone is this glory.

I am utterly defeated. I am a shattered empty shell. I did raise up my spirit. I did wish only for Understanding. I forgave not God. For one such as me, there can be no heaven, only a hell on earth, for all my days I shall spend alone, weeping for that which God, in His Wisdom, saw fit of which to deprive me. How long I should pray no longer matters, for God, being greater even than time itself, in all my mortal days I could never sing his praises enough to be forgiven for my sin of trespass upon His will.

I wished to know the greater plan. Instead of it I shall be blind.

It is only to the Greater Glory of God that I had believed, in my blind pride, I attended. But I sought to keep this for myself. I had privately cursed at God. I had dared His divinity to make itself known unto me, and moreover, for Understanding to wed me in the flesh, for me to take that which is reserved for God and God alone and make it into a carnal thing that I could keep it and hide it away for myself.

I walked the path that led me here. I walked it all by myself, and ignored every signpost put ahead of me by God along the way. I would not turn back, and now I am in Hell itself. For I have gone into the netherworld to seek MY bride, NOT His, and because the bride is reserved for God and God alone, in my pride and in my vanity, this netherworld for me is Hell, while for the bride Heaven, and I shall not find MY bride where I seek, for even as Heaven and Hell are opposites, so shall she and I be forever parted.

For Shekina, the kingdom of Heaven. For God, Shekina. For me, Hell is being without MY bride. Do you see? There can be no understanding for me. I myself can never understand, for I have gone into Hell to find her, and I have sought her inside of myself. But the Shekina is not of the kingdom of Hell, and Understanding is beyond merely the self.

Let the punishment fit the crime.

I cannot explain to you the glory of God's greater plan. His plan for me is all I know, for my fate can be known through my karma. I have sinned greatly against God, I have attempted to bring Him down, and I have attempted to mimic Him. I wanted these things for Him, as if my wants were for things He didn't already have. I wanted only for myself, and moreover that which I wanted for is for God alone.

All of this, and now, I look back, and I do not understand. Along the way, I gave up understanding.

That is why I am now in hell. I have come to hell in search of understanding, in search of understanding why I lost my bride. But it was only by going to Hell that I lost my understanding.

I went to hell to search for what I lost by going there. That's hell.

God guided my actions in sending me here, but once here I am, my actions are entirely my own.

For God punished my sin by making me commit it. The punishment came in the same motion in the same moment as the crime. For God, greater than mortal time, there is no before or after. There is only that which IS. And therein lies my sin. For me now it is an eternal recurrance.

I sinned in pride, in vanity. I sought to test the Will of God. I sought to know His greater plan. I sought to reveal Shekina through my own karma, as if God's greater plan could be contained in it's design and pattern. And now, my punishment is my shame, my self-loathing. Instead of understanding God's greater plan, I cannot even understand myself any longer. Instead of the reunion of the bride with God, I have wrought the division of the Singular Godhead. And for all of this I have blamed God. I want to humble myself before God. But it is too late. God's judgment has come swiftly for me, though it is also eternal. I am naught. In the end, which, for me, is only the end of my life, not even the ends of my karma, I am not God, I am not even Satan. I am no one special or out of the ordinary at all. I am just another human being, here on planet earth. My dreams mean nothing to anyone. I am one of over six billion. I am not prepared to accept a higher destiny than this, so in the end I will die alone.

I will not live to see the creations of my karma come to work. My karma is greater even than my life. And my life is all I have. My life given to me by God as a chance for me to learn a lesson that I do not yet understand. I do not understand it, because I choose to not understand it. Because God knew I would choose this, he allowed me to choose this, and therein is the lesson of my life. The lesson I do not understand.

When I suffered from the Christ complex, however, I was considered much sicker in my delusional reality than I should be considered now, and because of this there may yet be some hope, a light at the end of the tunnel, that this degenerative, terminal, mental illness might not be incruable afterall! This is because it was Christ who suffered the crucifixion, the pains and turmoils one goes through while in the throes of the Christ complex are far more emotionally agaonising to watch and to be near, and therefore the Messiah complex is considered by most to be too psychotic and damaging to loved ones not to be contained within a mental institution. This, I ultimately was.

Four times over.

The goal of being contained within an institution is the same as that of the throes of the passions of the christ complex. It is, essentially, martyrdom and asceticism justified by scape-goating oneself as being responsible for carrying the weight on one's shoulders of all the sins in the world. Literally, someone who suffers from a Christ complex, as I did, behaves irrationally in the extreme, and is prone to fits of extreme manic behaviour, to say the least.

Following my institutionalisations for manifesting this off-limits, divine form of stereotypical behaviour, I eased into the more sedentary and essentially complacent lifestyle of the benpadiah delusion. This delusion essentially parallels the God complex, as I have said, but it is possible for them to intersect at either their beginning or end, because the surface upon which all these complexes appear may yet prove to be spherical. The benpadiah delusion draws heavily for its influence from the same trend of Christian mysticism as put forward the plot for the book and film "The Last Temptation of Christ." This is in opposition to the Christ complex, which stems more from a tradition such as put forward the plot for the book and film "The Dolorous Passion of the Christ." It is clear to see by these dramatic portrayals how it is the Life of Christ that was important in one tradition, and only the Death of Christ that was significant in the other.

So, in a sense, you could say, like in the movie "the Fly" starring Jeff Goldblum, that I am not getting worse; I am getting better. I have shifted from the tradition centring around the Death of Christ to the one focusing itself upon the Life, and the teachings, of Christ. I see all of this quite clearly, and yet you should continue to understand that it all signifies ONLY delusional thinking from which I suffer in the form of bipolar manic-depression. That is just me, Jon Gee. When I was in the grips and throes of the Christ complex, I embraced such philosophies as Friedrich Nietzsche and, peripherally, Machiavelli. I was fascinated by sado-masochism as a form of ascetic-martyrdom, and was passionately in love. Of course, when I was possessed by the Christ complex I was entirely too young to have fallen so deeply in love as I became at that same time. Of course, my possession by the Christ complex ultimately won, and I drove my wonderful lover far, far away from me. I was essentially afraid that I was going to set off a form of spiritual bomb, but in reality I merely sensed that I was having a nervous breakdown that would not stop until I hit rock-bottom and was institutionalised. This all happened in late 1999 and early 2000. During that period of time my life was in the greatest turmoil I have ever gone through, as the deathcentred Christ complex drove me, for all intents and purposes, mad. I suffered my greatest episode of extreme mania then. And then I was institutionalised.

Since that time I have focused entirely on writing. I have gone the route of the Last Temptation: to be removed from the cross and to live the life of a "normal" man, whose mind was not clouded by such psychotic delusions. This is the essence of the benpadiah delusion: that having been removed for a time from the cross that, at some point in the future, one will be returned onto it. And honestly, the esoteric research I have done seems to encourage this concept of reunion of the soul with the true path, or in essence, with the God complex. As I have said, the benpadiah and God complexes are parallel alternative realities, however they may converge at either their inception or their conclusion, depending on the geometry of the mind.

Now, as I have said, the God complex, the Christ complex, these are signs of a serious mental illness. The benpadiah delusion, on the other hand, is a more-or-less safe and acceptable form of mental illness, because it does not pose any immediate danger to one's self or one's loved ones. So we say that the benpadiah delusion is synonimous with bipolar manic-depression (although I still consider it exclusively diagnosable as Melancholy, or mere depression). We could say that the God complex therefore would be like schizophrenia, and the Christ complex like MPD. So, where I am right now, in a position where I am able to observe these alternative, albeit psychotic, parallel realities to my own, I can say simultaneously that I am and am not crazy.

Honestly, I used to, as a very young child, admire delusional forms of thinking, and idolise those who seemed to my young mind to exist in alternative realities, entirely living within the creations of their own minds. I believed that even homeless people were like unto the prophets, and even the ancient patriarchs! Honestly also, in the most empyrean heights of my delusional types of thinking, manifest in my behaviour of contemplative study and esoteric research, but nonetheless delusional and not self-actualising, I have only discovered that the nervous system itself is like a complex virus invading the bacteria-like tissues of the rest of the body. This, it proves, is the sickness's perception of itself.

This is only one thought form of mine produced by delusional thinking. Another I call Annuit Copetis, and it is like a pyramid surrounded by a maze. This represents initiation, and has stemmed from my wanting to get to know and have a relationship with my father, who throughout my childhood kept himself behind the closed door of his office study. Of course, this is essentially from whence my entire Christ-complex stems, for it was only the pursuit of esoteric studies flooded by the hormones of my early manhood that burst into my Christ-complex through a series of self-intiatory episodes. And I had only begun my esoteric research to seek the pursuits of my father.

Unfortunately, by giving myself over to God in my own esoteric research, I was living out the opposite of the life lived out behind his closed office study door by my father. I am now living, even as I sit typing these exact words at this exact moment, in the room that used to be his office.

I even have my furniture set up similarly to his. The primary difference being that, whereas his was a cavernous mess of falling stacks and slipping piles of old newspapers, with a maze winding through all this mess from the door to his desk chair, whihc sat right where my desk chair sits now, in my room all of the falling piles of newspapers have been replaced by neatly shelves reference books on all of my esoteric research.

My father has, until recently, gone "undiagnosed" himself. However he, to me this much is quite clear, is on the verge of having a complete nervous breakdown. After my parents' divorce he moved in with his extra-martial girlfriend at that particular time. They have been living together since then, in a house VERY much similar in all rooms to my father's office study in his room here, that has now become my room. All along throughout my father's marriage to my mother he had led a double life, cheating on her with other women, and having many extra-marital affairs. This he built up within himself as being his "right" way to live, such that any punishment for it was unjust, and any reward over eagerly accepted. This was, of course, all his own delusional pattern of thinking. He was living in a cut-off world inside his own mind, where he got away with cheating on my mother without her knowing, when, in the fact of actual reality, she was plainly aware of it.

His behaviour toward her is what would have been disagnosed until recently as "sociopathic," or lacking any moral sense of right or wrong. However, the true mental state he was suffering in while exhibiting sociopathic behaviours toward my mother, in his own mind he was very rapidly creating MPDs to cover for the different lives he was leading. This was full-blown, and completely undiagnosed, MPD as well. There were many different families at whose tables my father sat at the head, he had seduced many women with families, and, who knows, perhaps even sired some halfbrothers and sisters I don't even know about. He travelled about between these households throughout the years of my early childhood, and mooched off the money these other women provided to sustain himself in doing so. Once my mother divorced him, he intentionally allowed himself to have a psychotic lapse at the workplace, and lost his job. Since then he has been holed up in that heap of a house with his sickly girlfriend, living off his drunk mother's trust fund.

My own father suffers incredibly from the God complex. He believes ardently that I am like a pyrrhia by which he cast out the karma for all of his sins. That I am, essentially, his scape-goat, and that, by removing me from being present at all in his life, he will yet remain as my redeemer at some point down the road. In this delusion he is greatly mistaken. This complex is so great a burden to him, to carry this cross so weighs upon his mind, that he has developed a slipped disc

in his lower lumbar that he cannot have operated on because he has chosen not to buy healthinsurance. He believes, essentially, that he is the physical incarnation of God. He believes this exclusively because of his delusion that his cheating on her was unknown to my mother. Because he felt like he was "getting away with" living a life of many alter-egos, or alternate personalities, my father came to feel the same sense of euphoria as the runner's high, and believe, like many modern doctors, that he himself is an embodiment of God Almighty.

In many ways, I think my father understands my esoteric research as a kind of quest to be reunited with him, but I do not believe he understands, or is even capable of understanding anymore by this point, that his own lines of delusional thinking are dead ends, and that he is suffering from an accute form of psychosis. This is why I say he is near to having a nervous breakdown. I say this because he has finally lost all touch of grasp with the non-delusional "real" world. He has completely cloistered himself in his cave with his sickly girlfriend, and is one by one severing all connections with the outside town and environment. He told me he intended to move to Cheyenne, a place out in the low hill country east of the rocky mountains, where not too many other people would be living around him. He truly does see himself as being behind every story that occurs on the news. This is, specifically, one of the questions on the personality test they give you in a mental institution. He sees himself as a living archetype!

He has gone over completely into the delusional world of the God complex by now. He intends to leave whatever of his financial inheritance he hasn't squandered away on buying large gasguzzling vehicles, such a first a minivan, and then a much larger SUV, and buying illegal perscription medications (ordered directly from canada to a pharmecy directly across the Florida/Goergia state border) to the two sons of his current girlfriend. The meaning of this behaviour is that he is now in 100% denial of his life as married to my own mother, and having been a father to me. He has completely lapsed into believing that he "got away with it" the whole time, and there is no hope in my heart whatsoever from finally bringing him back from this fate for himself which he has chosen. He believes that he is God, like a doctor who has successfully performed many complicated procedures, but he feels that each lie he ever told was like such an articulate surgery to save his own life from being "found out." Nothing has been able to rattle his delusion thus far that he "got away with it" either. I have spent long periods of time with him without him ever admitting to all the wrongs that he had done in my life.

And the ultimate end of the God complex, the schizophrenia from which he now suffers, will be like the end of his Christ complex had been, when all of his alternate lives had come under threat, at the time when my mom divorced him. It will be a violent and rapid change from an unexpected quarter that will totally annhiliate his accustomed type of habits and lifestyle. Whereas before he lost his job, I feel sure that soon he will loose the life of his present girlfriend. Many sudden events will happen to him seemingly all at once and out of nowhere. He has holed himself up, knowing he must protect himself from this inevitable self-cataclysm. But he made one mistake. He let me inside his lair to look on him with my own eyes.

And I saw that he felt guilty. Hopefully, once the inevitable psychotic episode comes, he will seek professional therapy and help to finally identify, diagnose and treat his mental illness. I do not believe he will want to let go of his God complex very easily however. This would make councilling him nearly completely out of the question. And what is worse, I expect that he and I are probably on a similar cycle, such that the collapse of his God complex will happen to coincide with the end of my own benpadiah delusion.

I feel compelled that I should also confess to you, ben on ben, since no one else will likely ever read these words, some of the symptoms of my mental disorder.

I have suffered from accute paranoia and a heightening of the senses to super-sensitivity. I have felt so alert for such long periods of time that I have grown comfortable with this feeling.

Sometimes, when I have been awake for some inordinately long amount of time, I have had audial hallucinations of things being said that I overhear on the wind that I know are not actually being said. Often times these random voices, such as can be picked up by listening on one certain frequency of pitch in a crowded room, for example, seem to be talking ABOUT me, other times talking TO me. The things I have heard these random voices saying are alarmingly freightening to me, and I have come to associate most such overheard voices in conversation with demonology. On the other hand, the buzzing of flourescent lights has also sounded to me like choirs of angels singing in the dawn. All of this is the result of my suffering from acute paranoia and heightened sensitivities or increased awareness. It goes with the drugs I have been on that I should feel hypersensitive, even halllucinate ESP experiences. However my reaction to the presence of this occult world in my own life has been one of fear. This stems from childhood physical abuse.

I have suffered, and continue to suffer, a terrible sleep disorder that causes me to be awake sometimes for a stretch of up to 48 hours straight, followed by not allowing me to stop sleeping for another some 36 hour stretch. This is one of the more extreme and outstanding examples of my sleep-deprivation/sleep-hybernation pattern. I was even forced to mention this already as a contributing factor, if not outright cause, of my paranoia. I have thought many, many suicidal thoughts throughout the entire history of my life. This stems from childhood sexual abuse. I have "cut" myself so often that I have even done so upon a dare as though it were a trick to be performed at a party. It means nothing to me. I have gotten into a phsyical confrontation with my own flesh and blood father in my recent mid-young manhood. He beat the shit out of me then, just as he had been my entire life. All of this anymosity between me and my father stems from his having molested me as a child.

I have also suffered from not being able to be a productive member of society. I have definately tried my hand at it. I had a job working nightshifts at the nearest convenience store while attending my earliest years of college. I had a psychotic episode there and had to quit that job. I had some writings published in my local community college writer's journal and was awarded $200. This is about as much as I have ever been paid to be a writer. In 2000, I published the MPDR included the revised FSOM complete in one volume. I had it print-on-demand published so that not too many copies would be in circulation. At first I made a little bit of money off doing that. By now, however, that miniscule trickle of currency has dried up to a mere unsteady droplet. I established this internet site to prommote and sell my writings. So far this has resulted in one sale. This leaves little to no official records of my having ever existed. I have only paid taxes once, only voted once, and have no points on my liscence or overdue library books. I am virtually anonymous at this point in my life, with the exception of the floor manager of my genre's local booksellers' and some people I've met around the world on the internet, no one other than my mother, whom I live with, really has any idea that I exist at all.

However, I suffer from the delusion that the opposite of this true. This is what could rightly be called prolapsed paranoia. Instead of feeling as though my OWN senses are heightened or that my mental "accumen" is more sharp than anyone elses's, I often suffer from the condition that I believe I am simply the fool whom everyone thinks doesn't know he is secretly the centre of attention. I am the butt of mind-games that I, myself, project out of my OWN mind, and onto the friends and loved ones around me. They are not really interested in not going along, and then they secretly perceive me, lost as usual in the maze of my own reasoning. Instead of my OWN senses being heightened, I feel that everyone else is in on something that I am hopelessly incapable of understanding. Often times it seems as though, as I had mentioned before, their conversations involve me, but in reality they do not.

I constantly have to keep reminding myself of all this, and I feel compelled to do so mentally even while my friends are standing in front of me talking to each other, and I do so INSTEAD of entering into the conversation. This, my friend, is a serious symptom. This form of "prolapsed" paranoia, a form of hypo-mania, began to manifest for me during middle school, when my parents got divorced, but not, for once, BECAUSE they got divorced. It was because I had begun withdrawing into myself already at that age in reaction to the bullying of the kids at school. It was then, I think, that was the first time that I associated the cocktail party effect with demonology.

The concept of "all eyes being on me" has been a definate thorn in my side for some time now. This concept is due to the prolapsed paranoia becoming engrained over long term periods of exposure. I have developed an additional delusion called "the Enochian ratings system" whose sole and express purpose is to alllow me to perceive the percentage of all available consciousness is actually upon me, or upon whom other than me, etc. All of this is extremely prolapsed paranoia, and clearly indicates that this symptom has been suffered for a long duration.

Another symptom of my delusions from which I suffer is extreme superstition. This factors into all of my behaviours when in the company of other people. It is simply how I choose to discern and thus ethically move between what I assign to be "good" karma and what I choose to think of as "bad" karma. I assign the source of the "good" to be above and beyond, and the source of the "bad" to be demons. When someone says something I agree with, I consider it a positive omen, and when someone says something I disagree with, I have usually taken it as a negative omen. My superstition does not extend to Voodoo, but I study QBLH religiously, and am familiar with the sigils of many intelligent entities. This is pure and outright lunacy! Peasant-class craziness!

Gypsy behaviour! Yet I cling to it.

Even now, when I should be accepting that all of my writing is my own creation, and celebrating with joy that I have, in the heights of my sleep-dep delusions, my dreams, finally been reunited with she whom I love! These are fortuitous omens and good signs that bode well and give good tidings. Yet here I sit, instead, busilly categorising the symptoms of my mental illness!

I believe that my esoteric research has become for me now what my security blanket was for me when I was a child. It represents something I can cling to, even constantly if need be, that will remain an ever present, never changing source of stability for me. How can I bless this type of a disgusting revelation? How can I bless it any more than I already do!!

The alternating accute and prolapsed paranoias I have grown to accept as like the low periods of depression I suffer and the alternating periods of euphoric hypo-mania. This means that, like each the accute paranoia and the prolapsed paranoia individually, both of them together have become engrained through prolonged exposure.

Therefore, just as the accute paranoia results in the cocktail party effect, the prolapsed paranoia results in the "Enochian ratings sytem." Thus, the combination of both of them is their alternation between one and the other over time, and this is what is meant in me by the term of the diagnosis: bi-polar. I cycle through a pre-set pattern of behaviours which is identified with selfvictimisation, and the results of this, the engrained accute and prolpased paranoia cycle, manifest themselves in my shy behaviours.

Sometimes these two types of paranoia alternate rapidly, and these periods we classify as "manic," and some periods we classify as "depressive," which move more slowly between the accute and prolapsed paranoias. The results of all of this are really quite fabulous at times. The music being played upon the strung-out nervous system of a junky.

It is unfortunate that I should suffer from these types of symptoms of the mental illness with which I have been diagnosed: bipolar manic-depression. But honestly there are people with the same diagnosis as me who are so much worse off in their mental state, but still productive members of society, working stiffs with nine-to-five jobs. This does not even begin to address the dishonour Americans pay their own war-heroes, the veterans and the POW-MIAs. The number of undiagnosed phobias running around the streets of my own hometown is seconded only by the eggregious number of Mexican night-shift road-construction crew city workers out repaving the roads in the middle of every weeknight, and a distant second at that. My father is only one fine example of how such a disordered personality could come to occupy several relative positions of power in our society, commanding authority even. I see all of this as like the sickness in the heart of our society.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

12/05

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12-03-05 I used to be twenty one and hanging around with eighteen year olds. Now I am twenty eight and hanging around twenty four year olds. I must be cursed.

There is a curse upon my head. I am a marked man. Marked to the death even.

And I have done this to myself. It is still not altogether clear to me. Only with age can come a better understanding. But I know this much: the hex on me is not currently being perpetrated by anyone other than me myself.

This spell is a love spell... but it has grown old around me, clinging in my aura like karma made of tar. Once upon a time it was beautiful, and the one I loved was mine. But then she went far away from me, and now I have grown old.

This is a difficult thing to face. I must be careful...

I feel responsible for my lover leaving me and going far away. I told her to wait for me, that I would come for her. But I did not for far too long, and when I did it was as a madman, not as myself. Why did I do these things?

These are only regrets. Things that I did that now cannot be undone. Things that I must learn to let go of. But these are the things that hover around me, that permeate my pattern, that are all from which I have to learn, that define me. These regrets have become all that I am. I have become obsessed by them.

I cannot forgive myself for what I did to her. If I do then what? Then I will not even have my regrets. Then who will I be? I will have nothing by which to define myself. I will have nothing left to learn.

I am torn up inside. Like a paper doll. I can feel the faultline rupture upwards straight through my heart. I want to continue on with both lives. Both lies. Secretly I want to be aware of the selfcursedness of my karma, and yet I also want the chance to live my life to the fullest.

These things are mutually exclusive. The karma is damaging. It sucks off my energy, depleting my very essence, the inner flame behind the window to the soul, the will to live. It literally wears me out.

On the other hand I can choose to take what amounts to a leap of faith. I can reject the poison, I can pull out my heart and turn it into an axe. I can live my life to the fullest. Whatever that may prove to be....

But so much damage has already been done. I don't feel like I am capable of making a recovery from this point. My mom is very supportive, although I don't always like what she has to say, I always appreciate it. Dr Platt, my psychiatrist, is retiring from his local practise, though, and this has stirred up hustle and bustle in mom and my managing my health-care through her work, and applying for medicare which I will still not be elligible for for another year. Alot of stressful factors are beginning to come into play here, but I usually try to stay too distracted from reality to be held accountable for my own descisions.

It is things like this that I do that I really hate about myself. I lost my love because I threatened to do the unspeakable to her. I threatened to commit suicide. I was torn even then. Already the curse was in me, seeping its way through and out of me. I hated myself, and I wanted to die. But I was so in love, and loved being alive more then than I ever had... or have since.

It seems that now I do not particularly WANT to die. I feel this is at least a step in the right direction. I must admit that I am rather indifferent about it, though, and have been feeling pretty much like retiring from writing in a year or so. I've finally gotten to the point in my esoteric research that I had foreseen getting to, and with the work I've done on the Atlantean calendar... I think it's good information, the work that I've done already, and would feel very proud if that were all that it turned out I would be leaving behind.

There it is! There is the curse talking now! See how the mood of the blog has sunk from optimistic self-analysis into diseased whining. THAT IS IT! That is my baggage. That is why I spend half my life sleeping, and the other half still chasing dreams. I still feel it.... the old pangs.... even deeper than all the regrets I have for things done since then... I STILL feel that same self-loathing, that same self-hatred, that same disgust that I felt for myself even then, when I was most in love...!

Now I have clothed myself for warmth within, and shielded myself away from the world with, this curse of forlorn lost love that I have all but squelched the flame within myself, the spark of life, my soul itself! I still beat my unfledged wings beneath my mother's sheltering shroud, a helpless little child, stuck in the body of a 28 year old man.

So many oppurtunities I've beaten away, so many hands I've slapped at as they exited. So many faces in the smoke now. I know I am not alone. I love my friends. I love Simeon, and Damien, I love my internet friends, I love the friends of my friends and their friends... I am cursed by love. I am so full of it. There is all the love in the world, but none of it's coming from me.

I want to live with my regrets. I want to live with them. This is what I want. But what does this mean? Will I always feel melancholy?? Will I always carry with me, like the scar from a claw, the wound in my heart, the mark that I have put upon myself? May I never know slumber yet it should be so. I have done this to myself, and I have done this for myself. There is reason in it: there is much to be learned.

But it is a lie. I love, love, love! I only want to love, I only want to love a little... only a little... please..... No. No, I feel nothing. There it went. Last chance for the lighter. Spark, but no fuel. The flame went out. Damn lighter.

I am nothing now. Less and less and less than nothing. I am a manipulative, capitalist hog-swine. I am a monster that is playing on the sympathies of everyone and everything that comes within fifteen feet of me. I am dog droppings. Bullshit.

I am God. I am the universe speaking to itself. I am the right conduit for the message, and it is essential that I be allowed to continue to live, and this means being allowed to enjoy the fruits of my life! Because I cannot sell my physical labour, I sell my intellect instead. I must be allowed to reap the rewards of my just existence.

There is no God. I am falling asleep... my third eye is closing now... WHY... WHY.... WHY.... am I......?

I awake. I am NEITHER of these things. I am NEITHER the curse, that is, my regrets, NOR my selfhatred. I am NOT Alice, and I am NOT the Jabberwocky. I am neither of these. I am somewhere in between them, and they are mommy and daddy, arguing. I fall even further inward, downward, younger now, a little child am I. The Jabberwocky and Alice, these things are and are not me now.

I have grown up through them, my mind evolving upward, through the level of my parents' static, cresting above their airwaves.

I do not blame these people. These souls that enter into my aura, they carry not for me my karma.

I let them go free from me. I let them go far away. For that is where they will find my love. Only ever oh so far away for oh so long. I know the Shekinah and the King, the Holy One, Blessed be He, are already together, they always have been and always will be, forever and ever, regardless of anything that seems to be going on around down here on planet earth, all these distractions that seem so important at the time. But these are somewhere far away from me.

Why am I lost? Why am I so far away from the ones I love? Why do I push them away? I am NOT a nuclear bomb. But I do not want them... I do not want them near me. Why? The more I want to let go the more I want to pull close. I am torn. I am the Jabberwocky and Alice.

And I am mommy and daddy, they are only the way they are because that is how I see them, otherwise, they may as well not even exist to me. I am the Jabberwocky and Alice in one, fighting myself, a torn angel, no one.

WHY. I am afriad to ask this question. It is at the heart of everything. And it is what is making it cold.

This is the poisonous arrow broken off at the tip in between the left and right sides of my heart itself. This is where I was pierced by the love-hate shaft and that was the moment I died. I reincarnated. I took on lifetime after lifetime of agony and lies. Why. Ever on me was that question. That mark, that stain, that injury. WHY. Eating away at my insides.

Why do I hate myself? Because I ask why. Why do I have all these melancholy regrets for forlorn lost love? Because when I had love I chose to hate myself more than I loved her. This is only the skin of the teeth between my regrets and my self-loathing. There is no answer to why I hate myself, because this loop remains a tautology, self-referencing, eternal conundrum of why this and why that.

I began this blog entry with optimistic self-analysis. Now I am asking myself "Why?" There is no optimism in an unanswerable question. I am not analysing myself, making points about myself, statements, facts, I am chasing the tail of a children's yarn, a fairy tale.

Does love-hate go deeper? I think I hate myself only the same amount as I love myself. And I have hated myself alot. Yes. Yes, this is the tip of the arrow! This is where the poison has pooled and coagulated, knotted up so that I couldn't find it, but yes, now I have found it.

I hate myself because I want attention. It is the only way I know to get attention. To hate myself. It brings on only negative attention, and that is the heart of the curse. In reality, before love-hate pierced me, I was truly full of love. Now... yes... now I can remember. Happy times, before the curse. Happy times at the beach as a young child. Yes. Yes there were happy times once, and I was happy by myself. My mind did not wander, and I did not dwell upon the unfathomable depths.

I know why.

This body, this flesh vessel. This is the ME that I HATE. The other me, or rather, what is left of me. That is what I Love. I love and I hate, and that is the venom talking. Now I must drain the venom from within me. I must purge and cleanse my aura. I ... I MUST maintain my attention on doing this. It must be done.

I do not hate my body, I do not love my mind. I love both and I hate both, and already... thank GOD!... already these one are nothing. My body is and is not me. So is my mind. I am neither of these things exclusively. Now I may be free to be neither of these things at all.

Now I shall transcend. Now I have sealed my fate as one of BOTH solitude and contemplation AND love of the company of others. There is no hope for that one. Old benpadiah... he gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12-09-05 I have the "devil's heart."

"It is in charge of my thoughts and behaviour and causes me to 'be bad.'"

"I must hurt myself if I begin to remember. I must cut myself, beat myself, or kill myself if I remember what happened. Terrible things will happen to me and my family if I remember."

"I am guilty of crimes God could never forgive."

"I am possessed by an evil spirit or demon that controls my life."

These are quotes derived from the extensive online formatted "REPORT OF THE RITUAL ABUSE TASK FORCE of the LOS ANGELES COUNTY COMMISSION FOR WOMEN" issued March 15, 1991.

Here is a link to it, reprinted online, at MCF.com http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/ritualab.htm Do they sound familiar to any of you who know me?

The arrow of love/hate that pierced my heart with poisoned regrets over lost emotions, the benpadiah delusion as an off-shoot of the martyred christ-complex, and this itself a fragmentation stemming from the God-complex. These are signs and symptoms of a fractured personality, resulting as post-traumatic stress blocked psychogenic fugue states originally caused by painful dissociation, and perpetuated by self-abuse and enforcing in myself a mental trance-state. These are all the signs of ritual abuse.

And this abuse goes back to before my love affair in high school. It was only then, I believed at the time due to hormones, that the sexual rush of energy I was then experiencing began to reopen my mind to the awareness of these prior sexual abuses. The anger, rage, humiliation and castration this affected upon me as the sense-memories began to resurface were all contributing causes to the disintegration of my own mental state at that time, and I feel were directly causal of my seperation from my lover.

Now that I think about it, I can recall all sorts of experiences I've had that are direct encounters with the Cult of Sleep, that is, my name for trance-dissociation. For example, when I had several of my baby teeth and my wisdom teeth removed, I came out from under the anesthesia with no memory of who I was or how I got there. The nurses restrained me then, just as they had restrained me when, many years before, when I was in the hospital with salminella, some night-nurses barged into my room, shone the light in my eye, and began changing my I.V. all before I could even fully regain consciousness.

I believe my father to be familiar with this "Cult." I have seen him dissociate with my own eyes, entering a regressed child-like trance state as the direct result of my own extremely strongly applied psychological pressure to disclose information regarding his abuse of me.

I have done some terrible things in my life as well, obviously, since the childhood victim ninetimes-out-of-ten grows up into the adult perpetrator, however I did these things following intentionally rigorous laboratory manipulation of set and setting. In my research, which involved

an animal, I found that repeated abuse, of the nature I had encountered, resulted in essentially identical moods and emotional states in the animal upon whom I experimented as those from which I have suffered since my early childhood, depression, etc.

I also found that the abuser themselves is capable of dissociating their primary personality during performing the act of abuse itself, and essentially trance-channeling raw energy from the depths of a realm I can only describe as existing somewhere "beyond" the physical. For example, during the ritualised abuse experiments I performed, I found myself completely removed from my actions even while commiting them, and came under the overpowering delusion, through extremely rarefied visualisations, that I was channeling Vajra, one of the Buddhist "wrathful deities."

I do not doubt that the other instances I have experienced relative to this depth "beyond" the psyche available to the human mind, such as involving the hospital settings, or such as involving my earlier adult sexual encounters, are all negatively affected primarily by my first encounter (in this incarnation) of the trance-dissociative state, or rather, my first encounter with the Cult of Sleep.

I think the results of this should be pretty clear to anyone who knows me by now. Through the Cult of Sleep I made contact with what I call the Order of Death. To argue the difference between my personal definition and understanding of the connotative meanings of this concept, the Order of Death, and any other kind of cult, such as modern therapists see "Satanic cults" as perpetuating ritual abuse, would be useless and futile.

I have been drawn to a deeply spiritual, and therefore a profoundly religious, viewpoint on all of this throughout my search, my quest, to find tranquil harmony, balance, and through these to dissolve my sense of self into an ocean of all-forgiving calm. I believe ardently in the evidences of the truth of the illumination I have found, particularly through study of pure nature, in the form of phsyics and numbers. I believe in the inherent GOODNESS of my mental offspring, such as my calendar for example.

I do not believe that all things that are currently considered virtually synonimous to one another under the blanket definition for the term "Occult" ought to be grouped together. There are a great deal of hidden secrets waiting to be revealed in the present universe, and these, I have found, have given me some small comfort in my studies. I do not believe all of my studies to be the product of a "satanic cult" of ritual abuse, for example, simply because they delve into Occult territories.

I believe, however, that I have crossed the threshhold of madness. It is too late for me now. I will not be able to raise the family I always wanted, and I have lost my one chance at true love. There is nothing left for me (except to study the Occult) and I am otherwise expendable from the point of view of the conspiracy of civilisation.

In truth, I find the so-called "Satanic cult" ritual abuse networks to be about one-to-one equal with the psychic community, although entirely opposite in their goals. While the psychic conspiracy perpetuates history the Satanic cults seem to have no interest in pursuing any form of social construct by which to be publically identified, and thereby operate in utter secrecy relative to most of exoteric society. While the psychic revolutionary attempts to unify us all in the moment, the member of the Cult of Sleep, that is, the "sleeper agent," has utterly no use for such false flashes of momentary liberation.

Now, because the psychic community is one : one with the, let's call it, "Satanic community," they have to share space, and so are forced to overlap their populations. This leads to a sort of uneasy agreement between the public society and the private culture not to interfere too much with one another.

Think of it this way. You can hear the TV coming from the other room, but you can't make out the exact words. You listen, and try to concentrate. You begin to think you can understand what they are saying. Now, the only question is: how reliable are your senses, or rather, how colourful your imagination? Because your perception of peripherary sensory-stimuli can either be more the product of your accute analysis or more a figment of your imagination.

So, when it is your imagination, is it under your control? When you think you are correctly interpreting the words, have you ever then gone out into the other room only to realise that the show that was on was not the same one you thought you were hearing? In the same way as the senses can easily enough be deceived, the imagination itself can be deceptive.

All these types of thoughts are, it should be reminded us now even though it should be blatantly obvious to all by now, the thoughts of a complete and total psychotic.

Someday, I hope it will be realised, it is not WHAT I believe that was the reason for my ultimate downfall. It was the WAY in which I expressed this belief. And now I have "crossed the threshhold" into the "mouth of madness;" I have begun to descend into Hell itself, the only true Hell, the mind that lies to itself. Cognitive dissonance, the domain of Satan and Maloch, the twoheads, ever bickering, is the source of all my hopes and fears. I have the devil inside me. He makes me do bad things to and for myself. I call the devil Vajra and he heeds unto my call. I am carried away, on his wings, to oblivion.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12/15/2005 My mother's first boyfriend was in college. His name was Jan, and they used to make spare change money by selling painted t-shirts. At the end of the semester he chased my mom around campus with a gun. The next year mom was studying abroad in Denmark, where she lived as an exchange student with a Danish family who made her bread pudding. She had just decided to stay abroad and had put a down payment on a Jaguar auto to tour the continent when her parents called her urgently home. Upon her arrival, she was sat down in a room with them and my father, and they told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to settle down and marry him.

My father's past is checkered. Apparently, after a failed suicide attempt of hanging out a dorm room window, my father returned home from college and took up work with his father at the local cola strip mine as a janitor. He recounted to me how he had once been recriminated at that job for brining a book with him to work to read during lunch. Eventually he burnt out on it, quit, and decided to join the priescraft. That was when he approached my mother's parents about her prospects as his bride.

Following the wedding ceremony they honeymooned in a lodge near the grand canyon. On the first night of the honeymoon my father went to bed with a woman he met in the lounge, while sitting at a table with my mom waiting for their room.

Subsequent to their wedding they both entered seminary school for the methodist ministry. They completed their classes there, although with mom working double shifts to pay for my dad's last semester, and would return to the Grand Canyon again, as travelling preachers, to proseltyse on the edge of the great rift itself.

After a while they moved to Syracuse, New York, where they lived in a cooperative apartment complex. Mom knew all the neighbors and ocassionally made small potpies for them all in the communal kitchen. They had a neighbor across the alley from their window who lived in a rooftop flat. His dog, Pedro, was not fixed, and would often roam the backallies of the neighborhood. Many

were the nights they were awakened to the sound of him screaming, "Pedro, you sonofabitch!" at the top of his lungs.

In 1977 they moved to Tallahassee, Florida and gave birth to me. They purchased a house, the same one we live in today, and were refurbishing it on one optimistic 1970's summer day, when my mom, refinishing a old cain chair for my father (which he sits in to this day!) using an electric sander stepped into a puddle of water an was electrocuted. My father's lover, and my mom's then best friend, was stading in the driveway in plain sight of the garage, and yet did nothing.

Eventually the chord was shaken loose of the socket and, needless to say, the foetus that was me survived!

My father was teaching Public Relations at the local Historically African-American college, holding the position of professor until the mid 1990's. He found cause to go to many "conferences" throughout this period of time, removing himself for weeks on end to plush resorts and beachfront condominiums.

My mother started a day-care programme through our local Methodist and Presbytirian churches called Kaleidoscope, and hired out the local recreations centre downstairs in the Northwood mall.

She taught tumbling and physical recreation and gained quiet popularity with the satisfied parents.

In about 1984 I think my mother went on Safari to Africa with her now-retired father. I have a journal that I kept from during this vacation. In this journal I describe having a blackout, a period of missing time, followed by accute physical pain in the abdomen. Psychologists refer to this condition as a psychogenic fugue, in which a blackout and memory loss occur. This is, at this time, all the evidence I have in my possession to support the concept that I was sexually abused by my father.

TBC --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12/19/2005 I know when I first became interested in mysticism and the occult.

But I do not know why.

My father, during my formative childhood, shut himself completely away from me and my mom. As I have said, he lived a double-life, having countless affairs with women (and perhaps men as well) at "conferences" and then returning only to seclude himself in his study, "grading papers." You could say, I never knew my father. Although he lived here for several years, he and I never really even met.

I knew early on in life I wanted to be a comic book writer and artist. I made my first miniature comic book at the age of about three by drawing and colouring pictures, writing a story as told through character dialogue in talk bubbles, and then folding the pages over and stapling it all together. It was probably my father's amivalence to this creation that hurt my heart in such a way that I came to believe that only by continuing my attempts to gain his approval in these specific ways, that is, art and writing, would I be able to heal that initial hurt.

I have a very vivid memory of sitting in the hallway outside of my dad's study, knowing he was there behind the closed door, and waiting for him to come out, hoping then to be able to show him whatever my latest project was.

My mother divorced my father when I was in the first grade of middle or secondary school. The following year I threatened suicide to an emotionally abusive teacher and was put in a stranglehold by the school resource officer when I attempted to use the phon to call my mom. I've already talked about all that in this blog before, I think the first or second entry even.

It was in the second year of high-school that I discovered the occult.

Immediately the closed doors of secret societies clicked in my mind with the closed door of my father's study.

But why?

My father was not a free mason. My maternal grand-father had been in the shrine, but he had died around the same time as my mom divorced my father. And even the shrine is more comical in its public appearances than to be considered a sinister "secret society."

In high-school I avidly researched mind-control as well, as I had done a report on subliminal messages for an english class. Another report I did that year was on the comics code. Interesting... another project later in my senior year was on terrorism as free speech. I remember the first time I went to the CC, where D worked (he has quit as of New Years), when it was still just a small booth in Northwood mall. I was doing a project on crystals, pyramids and Atlantis in, I think, fifth grade, the last grade of elementary or primary school.

Perhaps my father's sexual abuse of me in 84 froze a part of my mind at the thoughts I was having at the age that I was. But then, the question would still arise... why would my thoughts at that age have been about extra-terrestrials and Atlantis?

Almost all my life I have been consumed with matters of mind-control, mysticism, the occult, Atlantis, aliens, pyramids, crystals, the NEW AGE. WHY??

I remember in the same year Terminator 2 was going to come out, that summer I was reading the pre-released novel version of the movie and on vacation with mom at an old highschool friend of her's. Her husband, an actor who had played a lizard person in the television mini-series V, and who has since come out as gay, introduced me to a tape-recorded sermon by a born-again minister who had quit his job as a high-ranking air-force officer. He claimed to have seen overwhelming evidence of the development, by the US Air-Force (which was created the same year as the Roswell crash), of "extra-terrestrial" technologies. When mom and her friend came home from shopping after I had listened to the tape with her husband, they found me in a state of catatonic shock.

I believe that I have some connection with a "current of occult energy." I do not know in what form.

When I first began dating my high-school girlfriend, my ex-love whom I talk about here so often, we stole a book from the locally-owned bookshoppe, the PaperBack Rack. It was called "the Story of O." She read it first, then gave it to me. She told me, "there are thousands of books like this in Russia," which I take now to mean she saw it as a book of only pornography. I saw it as more.

I know that I write and draw only to please my father. I do not know why I am so attracted to the occult "New Age." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12/23/05 I think I may be hopelessly lost in an occult fantasy world.

I certainly do believe some very strange things.

I believe that, when my parents conceived me, they must have been in some sort of state of trance channeling to have summoned down a very high spirit into me.

I do not know why I perceive the universe the way I do. I could not tell you what occult currents have guided my life to take the twists and turns it has. I can't tell you how I learned what I know, or even prove to you that what I know is right.

For me, the only "greater mysteries" left to uncover are those about myself.

It seems quite clear to me that Adam was a woman, and that Eve was the man. The "rib" removed left a hole in the heart of her, which can only be filled again when reunited in true love. And yet "I" am crazy.

Sometimes I feel I am only trance-channeling all of my higher ideas from past ideals, archetypes, occult currents, metaforms, etc. I feel like I'm living a double life, with one self always searching inward, to learn more about who I am in relationship to what I know, while the other self always searches outward, to learn more about the world, my "true will," the universe, the mind of God, etc.

I enter a state of waking unconsciousness. I let the focus of my eyes shift to infinite distance.

Then the first thought I have will relate to the level around me at that distance. Sometimes I think of something very far away, or sometimes I think of something very small, and sometimes I think about how they seem to correlate. Sometimes I think backwards, about the past, and "tune in" on some pre-existent channel in our local gravity well. Sometimes I focus on the image of a diagram I have in mind to draw. Sometimes I see the fabric of sometime. Sometimes I dream of her.

Sometimes I cannot stand myself. But these times are passing. I try to stay focused on what I want to, and to not think about who I am, what it is that is doing the "focusing." When I think about myself, the things I've done, I'm not happy. I only find solace in my work, if you can even call what I do "work," since it does not generate any income.

I told my mom the other day, after completing a particularly convoluted post in my conspiracies thread on this site's philo forum, that the only essential difference between me and a homeless person is that I have access to the internet while a homeless person just mumbles incoherently to themselves. That's essentially all I do too, I just utilise cyber-space.

There are two types of "real" internet, as well as this one we are using now, which is the "false" internet. One "real" internet is what I call the "animal internet." This represents how one animal passes on information to other animals here on earth, wherein humanity represents an abberant species of animal. We have created the "false" internet as a way of communicating with one another instantaneously all around the globe. This "false" internet is meant to induce the mechanical equivalent of ESP, which, supposedly, we "sacrificed in the Fall" or some such nonsense. Then, beyond our satellites, there is the other "real" or "animal" internet. The interface system of this internet is the zodiac. Astrology is it's programming language, but it communicates via black holes between galaxies in the neural network of the universal mind.

It's funny that I think I know these types of thing. There is no verifiable proof, and so I must be suffering from delusional thinking. That's the most logical explanation. Of course instead I choose to believe I am trance channeling some finer energy density form of intelligence. Funny.

I believe I'm completely stuck in some kind of hyper-psychic schizophrenia.

I think sometimes I must be insane.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12-29-05 Only a few more days left of this accursed year, may it not end soon enough, BLECH! Each year that ticks by is a blessing. One more year before the finale.

But this year, I had been particularly looking forward to. When I was making the War On Bugs collage for Crescent Fresh in 2000, I had been planning ahead toward my Enochian Calendar. I listened to Antedeluvian Rocking Horse alot that summer that my mom was out of town. We still had the bird then, yellow cocatiel named Fifi. The bird and Luke was still alive. Even the neighbor cats Norman and Rho came to visit a couple times. We played with the ether, passing around the sky.

I saw ahead then as far as to this year. It was my present for myself. I guess I must have transferred all Luke's life insurance over to Leia. Luke died young, while Leia retains her youth eternally. It was my present for myself for having foreseen ahead to 2000 before. I cannot mention where or when though. And so I blessed myself to look ahead, to see through the Mayan zodiac, to foresee a time when my calendar would be complete. All the elements were represented in their due and proper forms.

I cannot express to you the full scope of the wonders that I saw. When I saw through time, I saw another dimension of this world, layered invisibly on top of our own. But the Mayan meanings were the nightside meanings compared to the blinding radiant glory I had experienced when I first saw the future. But then I had only seen as far ahead as 2000.

(Farsight is difficult to attain and next to impossible to maintain. People become slaves to it because of this.)

Of course, since some time had passed between my initial viewing and my second oppurtunity to look through the veil of soft reality, and since in between them there had occured a sort of psychic crisis for me, I had failed to foresee the fatal events of the following year until it was too late!

I believed, vainly, that it was the natural celebrity due Kether that attracted all those reporters to my town that year, and that I had reachieved the peak and height of my attainment that had been taken and stolen from me in 99. WHAT FOLLY! All the while of the 2000 election recount I was sneaking the War on Bugs back and forth between my house and across town, past the capitol building, to J&D&E's in the "student ghetto."

But that project hadn't born meaningful fruit. J&D&E eventually disowned me, and moved to New Orleans. Good riddance, I guess. LOL! The War on Bugs was a collage I was working on for J&D&E. Their band, "Crescent Fresh," had endeavored to write a continuing plotline medley about marching ants and other insects going off to conquer another ant hill or some such nonsense. The collage I made wasn't very well done.

There was still alot of white space left over. But with the arrangement of clippings of text and photos I did, it rather looked professional.

I saw 2005. I saw my enemies revenged, and they have been. Such petty offenses I cared over then.

Such wrongs as were to follow would be more egregious. I can't express the feelings I've had of ill will toward people whom have been no more than passing strangers to me. Such petty concerns.

The lesser will. The id.

But for each personal enemy I have struck down, a greater, more looming public threat has been contributed to. The threats are no longer local, but global, and the loves are now astronomical. The ONE LOVE ABOVE ALL remains beyond even the outside. Which, I fear, is about as far as I have been.

I see further, of course, that is: I still possess the second sight. Though now it only comes to me in dreams. If you look through all of my material, there is incredible continuity between what I have depicted and where I depict myself having been. For example, I still exist in 1997, when I first farsaw to 2000. Some would say, this is because I still exist in 2000, when I last farsaw to 2005.

In my dreams, schematics come to me, sometimes several different types in one night. Last night I dreamt of taking a test in elementary school on the trajectories of UFOs in and around gravity wells. Before I started penciling in the bubble beneath the right diagram for each mulitple choice question, I drew a quick floorplan for a Masonic Lodge, patterned after the temple of Karnak, the temple of Man, in Upper Egypt.

I've had continuity in my dreams throughout my life, from as long ago as I can remember. I used to dream about the ever-changing institution. At first this manifested itself as a combination school and shopping mall, the classrooms on floors surrounding a central atrium, with glass walls between the students and the shoppers. Later this vision became twisted into a grotesque neverending spiral of prison cages.

Lately I've had dreams of exploring ancient ruins. One dream I recall had me spelunking a shoreline cave with my friend Mike, then trying to escape as the tide came in. Another dream I recall was about a complex Aztec pagoda maze, with a slope to the path up and around it. I was there to collect clues for how to crack the cosmic code, the puzzle that was the maze pagoda. I observed the symbolic meanings of the signs around on each corner as I ascended the walkway. At the end, I was presented with a small model of the Aztec temple, and I quickly unlocked it. "Now you have to tell us how to move the larger one!" the astonished tester exclaimed. "No," I replied, "because this is only a dream." I then promptly woke up.

There has been some minor recollection of late in my dreaming mind's eye of the specific shape of a certain "artifact," the "key" to "unlocking" the "Great Mysteries." Last night I dreamt the girl across the grade school test table from me was trying to coax me into "showing her the artefact after class." The dream then shifted and I was watching myself sitting in the principle's office showing the principal and vice black and white photos in a yearbook open in my outstretched fist.

The graduates were all holding up their hands between their faces and the camera, as if to mask their identity, and the school was for the socially rejected gifted. I lean in to the principal and the vice principal and say, "I just want a place of my own."

Mostly these days I have only been dreaming of her. She is there with me, when she can be, and out of town the rest of the time. The other night I dreamed I was in the groccery store looking at comic books and a girl asked me out on a date. When I finally told her I had kind of been seeing someone over the past couple weeks, she got in a huff.

Sometimes I wonder which is more real: the dream world or the waking one? But then, this answer is subjective.

I concentrate upon the moment until it invisibly implodes. I know that we will be together soon.

But soon enough it cannot be! And then, the overlapping of the rotational and electromagnetic poles will cause the earth's crust to reverse, south to north, such that the sun will rise in the west, and set in the east. I love you I love you I love you.

My ajna pulses out light. I am become eternal love. Beyond it all and even that my pratylahara chakra opens like a lens through which my soul flies out to explore the vast depths of the universe. I am become eternal love.

I am constantly reliving my separation from her!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

01/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 01-14-06 AHDVNHAY says: (6:02:29 AM) I saw a guy walking two dogs without leashes on my street the other day. He was wearing a pair of handcuffs suspended from his belt. Very odd. Out of place.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:03:02 AM) I think my neighbor is selling crack, and I'm SURE the house next door to where the deputy sherrif lives down the street is a haven of teenage pot smoking.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:03:23 AM) people are increasingly strange in my immediate surrounding environment.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:03:33 AM) WB The Summer of Bek says: (6:03:57 AM) thanks and weird..

AHDVNHAY says: (6:04:02 AM) lol The Summer of Bek says: (6:04:27 AM) when I lived in drummoyne last year I was at the shops and this bum was wearing diving goggles.

The Summer of Bek says: (6:04:34 AM) in the inner city, mind you AHDVNHAY says: (6:04:49 AM) the eye kind or the headgear?

The Summer of Bek says: (6:05:16 AM) the over-the-eyes-and-nose kind with the thick rubber strap AHDVNHAY says: (6:05:29 AM) Fucked Up. The Summer of Bek says: (6:05:37 AM) funnily enough he didn't have a snorkle AHDVNHAY says: (6:05:47 AM) motherfucker's living in a concrete aquarium.

The Summer of Bek says: (6:05:53 AM) AHAHAHA The Summer of Bek says: (6:06:08 AM) I have no idea where he thought he was, it was pretty funny though The Summer of Bek says: (6:06:11 AM) OMG

The Summer of Bek says: (6:07:05 AM) and yesterday in teh city on my way to work, I saw this huge fat guy with those short dread afro locks that crackheads have, but he wasn't all over fat, he definitely was only around the middle fat. And I mean huge. He was with a guy who had half an arm.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:07:20 AM) WHOA. The Summer of Bek says: (6:07:20 AM) Then on the way home, there they were again, walking in the opposite direction.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:07:32 AM) motherfuckin ...

AHDVNHAY says: (6:07:34 AM) yeah.

The Summer of Bek says: (6:07:38 AM) freaks.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:07:50 AM) you know what I call it when I see something odd, something out of place?

The Summer of Bek says: (6:07:54 AM) I was wearing dark sunglasses so I got a good look The Summer of Bek says: (6:07:58 AM) what?

AHDVNHAY says: (6:07:59 AM) hehe AHDVNHAY says: (6:08:05 AM) "manifestation."

AHDVNHAY says: (6:08:35 AM) I think it's a two-way street. It crosses through the karma in our aura from within and without, and sometimes, it comes from within our dreams.

The Summer of Bek says: (6:08:59 AM) I'm not entirely sure I get what you mean AHDVNHAY says: (6:09:05 AM) hmm.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:09:27 AM) well, let's say I'm sitting on my front porch, and I see a meter reader man walk by.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:09:47 AM) let's say he is "shaped" like a meter reader guy AHDVNHAY says: (6:10:00 AM) walkie-talkie, labeled shirt, etc.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:10:12 AM) but why should I believe he is there to read meters?

AHDVNHAY says: (6:10:23 AM) he is not wearing the uniform of the city meter readers.

AHDVNHAY says: (6:10:29 AM) so who else could he be?

AHDVNHAY says: (6:10:41 AM) I think some people only exist as hallucinations.

Salutations.

I am that which is.

I have seen things from reverse, I've come around again now and I've been somewhere else entirely but I could never describe to you how. Here are some things I brought back with me from the trip...

I don't have much else to say right now, and I desperately do not wish to waste anyone's time.

So, in conclusion, Capitalism is neo-Catholicism, and is the last signpost before the blissfull desert that awaits us all.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 01-25-06 I think I have achieved the trance state of Ananda.

I swim like a happy fish through the waters of blissfull, ambivalent oblivion of ego.

I see my friends playing music on stage and it seems like they are on some far distant beach, off over the horizon, behind some mountains' jagged peaks. They are above the waters that I am swimming through, presumably to get to them... They live amongst a universe of galaxies already, a transcendent realm supernal to mundanity which I only ocassionally glimpse. Coming up for air, so to speak.

In those moments I see my enemy quite clearly. It is always nothing more than the force of time... the cause of change, which we perceive by aging. I believe, and always have believed, that the centred self, the Higher Will, if you will, is the point of Hadit, unwavering never moving singularity, shorter than event, compressed core of all the eternity expanding directions. This assumption means that I have also long beleived we perceieve ourself only through interaction with exterior motive forces, or rather, geometrical metaforms from the fourth and higher dimensions, that pass through us, such as time, causing changes to our chemical emotions and our electrical thoughts. Time is the air breathed by the soul, yet it is still more liquid and amphibious than the spirit. From the point of view of the mind's eye elevated into the rarified, aethyreal light that guides the True Will, time is an ocean upon which the past and future are simply the tides, and all of us, each little aura and everyone's little philosophical world views, are just the foam at the crest of the wave.

Do I still want to go back? For quite some time I believed such a choice would be simple: to travel through time, from now into the past, and to reappear in some past blunder with all the foreknowledge necessary to accomplish redemption from its shame and stigmata, to suddenly overflow the naive innocence of youth with the learning experiences of all the subsequent years, which themselves would then blink obliviously into oblivion. To ride the tide of the blood of the

universe, time. Pulse through the veins of gravity interconnecting invisibly between the axondendrite gaps of spiral galaxies, blackholes hypercathecting the ego of God. But now I understand... or rather, RIGHT NOW (as though anything else would be possible or even exists!)... right now I understand that we are all already there... that is that, ESP is Santa Claus... that is, perhaps a little more profoundly, that YHVH is within Shekina through each of us... the universe is breathing itself in and out inside us.

There is much wonder in the wind. There is glory in each severed shred of grass. The morphogenetic field remains aglow with the molecular pattern for the reconstitution of the photosynthetic DNA. Even neurogenesis is now known to occur when only ten years ago it was believed impossible.

I know now that what I have done... the karma I have accumulated that is negatively charged against time-in-itself... has propelled my aura around like a red marble amidst a hundred white ones on a vibrating metal plate. My mind has wandered around across the entire surface area by now, but has found no single "right" or "wrong" applicable to the directions it's taken, nor even "left" and "right." Politically speaking I find I am simply against the entire structure of all civilisation itself. It's just not a "game" I want to "play."

The power struggles of the weak, the loathful grins, the splinter of freedom in the will of the slave, the hollow cities. I do not intend to impose control. Love is, basically, a transcendental number. And the True Will is that which elevates.

The body is basically like a cave in which the soul dwells. When the soul leaves this cave, it ceases to be the soul, and becomes the free spirit. The soul, being only immortal, can and does age.

There are always new souls, but the original souls do not die. They multiply, through intellectual offspring. Abraham, for example, the father of nations. His "descendents" whether in the flesh only, or his followers in pure ideal, by now transcend ALL "national" boundaries determined by terrestrial landmarks, the so-called "borders" that are of such importance as "security" for the covens of lying "nationalists" in name only. Now this is like the spirit... the spirit is the soul OVER TIME. As the immortal, undying soul multiplies its electromagnetic patterns throughout the populations of the flesh, it frees itself from the home "cave" of the flesh, becoming the one with the light energy of the eternal spirit.

The crowd moves like the waves on the surface of the deep. Its mental energies rolling boil upwards and downwards, through themselves, and around each other. If there is a God... perhaps it is like this.

The feathers of my Persian Princess cat's fur take wing on dream and in her sleep she is more than the cave of her physical form, and greater even than the physics of the universe itself. We become merely characters within her dream, when she frees her mind asleep, or, of course from time to time, in her perfect cat-like trance. I think frequently about Catholicism, and about Cheshire Sam, and about the archetype I AM. There is no point, that is, no goal to be desired, in trying to explain these pearls of "altered states of consciousness." I admit I am insane. To you, I mean. Perhaps. But to the Goddess Shekina, I am merely a mirror, an echo. I am that which is one to one (1:1) with consciousness' understanding of itself. But there is no point trying to describe this experience. I beleive that, that is to say, I think but do not do, to more fully experience existence, we must learn to SHARE our experience of existence. We MUST open up, and we MUST divulge all fearlessly for the sake of ultimate honesty with ourselves. We must eventually ALL come to the conclusion that everyone else around us is SHARING IN the same our own experience. There is, fundamentally, no difference between the crowd and the seas of time.

I used to act on the notion that only distraction and inspiration existed. But now I act on the notion that we all know the same amount, and that this amount is equal to the connotation of the concept that there is always more to know. All I know is that I don't know nothing. I am a stone falling out of water into air.

A miracle: seventh gender wraps up below primary Union (0=0). A synchronicity: a thought you have while listening to a cd you have mixed yourself. A coincidence: when the same thing happens to someone else.

Now I wonder about capitalism: is it just a way of exchanging temporary distraction for the promise of a more permanent inspiration? Yin for Yang = Tao? I don't seem to be able to focus directly on the difference between selling one's labour and wealth for its own sake.

I am a rhthym of the universe, yes, I am a harmony of the spheres. But I am out of balance, too.

Somehow all the ideal harmonies have broken down into differentially sequenced chaos. If any patterns do occur these days past universal critical mass they are the product of random chance, and not due to inherent nature. Now am I old enough to enter the Lodge, Daddy? LOL! Perhaps life is what is lived in the periphery of consciousness as much as, if not perhaps even tesselated infinitely moreso, what we primarily focus on as being central to our sense of "reality." But I digress.

Perhaps life is lived in the thoughts BETWEEN thoughts... and consciousness, first perceiving itself as like a serpentine current between one idea and the next, eventually comes to recognise itself as all permeating both around but also inside of each and every possible thought, not only in "existence," but in all potential as well. This is where the ideal harmoies continue to exist, post critical mass, that is, after the revolution. In the memories and the dreams of living forms.

But the living forms themselves? They's chaos.

I think that some people are evolving upwards through the dimensional harmonic resonances, while others devolve downward past them, travelling backwards through time. The Lords and the New Creatures. I think it is more than merely possible that there is an alien species evolving through us from above and beyond Leary's eight-circuits, just as we evolve upward through them.

In our species, for each circuit that is triggered evolutionarily "on" by the supersaturation of genetic mutation across vast populations, there is a counter-species, whose friction against us through time itself causes our decrepitude, disease and death, that is suddenly allowed unimpeded entry into our last generation of evolution, the same switch as flips "on" for us, does so for them as well. They remember our future. I believe these to be trans-dimensional, that is, directionally perpendicular or orthogonal for short, species, one existing entirely above the speed of light, comprising gravitational shapes or what I call "metaforms" out of pure geometry.

You can examine their similarities and differences by considering viral (DNA, neural, cybernetic) and bacterial (RNA, vascular, software) life forms. All these are alike in each instant, combined and alive, but opposite in orientation to one another temporally. We see each other in one eye and out the other. The mirror is us. We is them. When we die, they are born. They age backwards, like Merlin, archetypes devolving as we evolve between them, like a womb tunnel of mirrors in a perpetual kaleidoscopic birth. This is simply: existence, and we, simply: exist.

Some say that life is like a motion picture theatre. But I think the audience is the picture that is in motion, while the screen stays stationary; they are merely perceiving a reflection of their own interiror selves. This, again, is like existence, although removed by a media, a reflection, and placed within that mirrored surface, like a bird in a cage, our consciousness trapped inside a quicksilvery spherical simulacrum. Earth inside her gravity well: the Enochian Communications System.

Terrorist birth pangs. Similarities pervade throughout the simulacrum. Political commentary is useless. Some people exist to be provocative, to pick fights, to step outside the magician's circle.

These people have always been idiots anyway, so it doesn't matter if a different group of idiots disagrees with another. There is only one way and that way is central, stay within the core. Some consider the only free minds dead already, while death is the only way free. These people grow up to become terrorists when in an environment of hate and discrimination. Graffiti as art is actually more acceptable when defacing private property than graffiti as political commentary is on government property. Some people are just inverse.

But the ultimate similaritiy remains that all these minds are trapped in a static state permeating the surface of reality, whether spacetime, whether earth's gravity well, whether as points of data information in an enourmous computer simulation. I have become obsessed with the delimitation of the media-lens upon the action, that between individuals it should always be taken "in turns."

What one does with their "turn" of the action determines mostly what they will be able to do in their next turn, choices they will have available, different potential reality tunnels, but also, more subtly, the choices for their next action made available to others and to the immediate environment. I do not understand this as being something that otherwise occurs except under observation. The wave function collapses or "hits" aggregating into particle decay.

I see the wheel of time, and I see it as a stone archway ruin, and I see the tree of life, and I see it as a gnarled old massive excrescence of existence in itself overwhelming and fragmenting apart from through and within the pebble crumbling solid blocks of time itself, the ancient grinding stone now ground down into grist.

I am definately in a tantric state of mind.

My friends... who will ever read these words, my friends? Who indeed, it would seem.

It takes me days to let the chemical wave of my emotions rotate through me, and as it comes crashing around me again like froth through the bubble of my cozy womb-aura, I focus on elevating it in every fathomable sense and way. This wavelength cycles out the old and rebirths into itself through me the new. It recycles all my biological cells every twenty days or so. I am perpetually reincarnating into this body, even now. When I die there will be many oppurtunities at first, but these will slow down with time, as all things tend to do.

There seems to be no real end to it... it is multicoloured mirrored turtleshells all the way down. I seem to remember having contacted all faiths in my walk. Yet none of them remain close.

Interesting. Yes, there is definately something untouchable repulsive about me... can't quite put my finger on what, though. Perhaps the desire for a second attempt? Yes, I thought as much. At least we can always take turns.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I don't want to write about life, but life won't let me be.

I wake up this afternoon when my friend Amy calls me. We've been working on automatic writings together, and she believes she trance channels for Blavatsky. In short I'm glad to be wakened up by her call. I then am sent to the store to pick up my perscriptions by my mother, who has caught my cold and was apparently too sick to move from the couch all day. Of course, there is a mix up with the HMO and the poor pharmacist is unable to fill the script for the med I'd missed this morning. I immediately have to leave after coming home from that to go to the Thursday night show. I sit down at Damien's computer and make some banal post on "the last free city" .com/forums in a thread I'd made (the only one ever) specifically dedicated to dissing the Matrix.

Then I went to the show. Apparently, Amy told me later, there was a large quantity coke deal goin

on there tonight. All I know is that the energy was all wrong, and the people there may as well have all been narcs for the kind of looks I kept getting out of the corner of my eye. I had to leave during the break and just war drive, which I haven't had to do since the mid ninties, I was so stressed out. After the show I give Damien a ride home and hung out with Amy and Milly at John and Damien's for a few minutes. All of a sudden it got to be three o clock, so I drive Amy home.

Now, all this while I am internally fuming at life. Oh and I was banned from "the last free city" .com for my comment, whatever the fuck I'd said, I think it was somewhere along the lines of Dooku's "Master Kenobi, you dissapoint me." Oh well, at least I have the politics of trying to keep all my friends online who already none of them care I am on meds, from completely disowning me over some banal comment, which I'm sure is a very worthwhile excercise in humility reality seems to believe that I've put here this lifetime exclusively to learn, since I obviously have to keep having the same type of situations come up over and over again and all of them, usually without my understanding my part in causing this, end up degenerating into my present group of friends disowning me. Sometimes I get paranoid trying to figure out who could be behind this pattern, who started this karmic domino effect that consumes my existence. I blame my each group of friends that has left me, then I blame my mother, then I blame my present group of friends, etc. It's not really anyone else's responsibility to change this pattern, but it is someone's fault. Gerald Gee my father.

See, I live by a very simple philosophy. For some of us what I'm about to say works best in the past tense, others present tense, or even for some may refer to their inevitable future. For me the past tense suits me best, since currently I am single. I believe "our lovers made us who we are."

Now, this can explain quite alot if you think about ways to apply it. For example: If a person is ugly on the inside, they will find a lover for themselves who people will think is ugly on the outside. If someone believes they are more lovely inside than how they look outside, they will find an attractive lover for themselves. Of course, if someone loves themselves more than people like the way they look, they are considered eccentric, and, being in a league of their own, considered not in the same league as their self-loathing but attractive counterparts. The result of someone "pretty" going with someone "ugly" is usually the expression "opposites attract," which also applies between "cool" people and "crazy" people, who frequently end up marrying each other even. You see this all around you all the time, whenever you go out to the groccery store there will be some old couple who look alike, and you can bet that that is the result of their loving one another that much that they can spend so much time together. Like a dog that looks like its owner, or, sometime, vice versa. So, when I say something like "my lover has my nose," you will understand that this is the result of us having grown together. Now, do you think I would give up something that has caused me ten years of agony for all the kingdoms of Christ, let alone a mercy fuck? I love my lover. I will always love my lover more than any other. And I praise her alone as my embodiment of the divinity I can feel within myself. She alone is the mirror for how I feel.

And if my feeling this way, for having this philosophy, means you need to tell me to "piss off," then I say "so mote it be." Because I'd rather have loved and lost than be stuck on this planet alone with no one like me? No. Because I'd secretly love to be in a lasting relationship with someone, even with her herself, at this exact moment? No. I trust my goddess. She is not with me FOR A REASON. This is part of The Plan. So don't come needling me in the eye to test the veracity of my honesty. I am not like you, how do you say, humans? I believe that the politics of interpersonal relationships is equivalent to what the Buddhists call Sangsara, or suffering. And I do not like those people who seem to enjoy it. I know something about them. In traffic they are never content. Hopefully arming these people with weapons such as vehicles will disperse their populations.

I am Jon Gee. Not Joshua Leonard, not Jesus Christ. I am Jon Gee and not the sum of my merely passing friendships, or even of my more lasting partnerships, such as my choice to be born to the woman who is my mom. I am Jon Gee and not my genetics, and not my environment, and not even my immortal soul that will escape this rotten flesh corpse on its dying breath. I am closer to being pure spirit, that is ideal geometry, than most. And this is because my lover loved me. She truly

loved me. I am reminded of that, and the torturous fact we are apart, every damn time I catch sight of my own reflection in a mirror. I see myself as she saw me. I see my "self" as someone who loves me. I am Jon Gee and not the voices in my head telling me today was when they all take their turn.

Not today, I want to say, I made it home okay. Maybe the next time I miss a med, or when you can again all corner me, but luckily not today. I am Jon Gee, I am honourable, I am not a slouch, I am can drop anything I'm doing in a moment if it means to finally be with her. But I will not accept your ways out, lesser reality, you know who you are. Samsara, "runner-up" to Truth, "stand-in" for honesty, sarcastic, needling Witch. I am not the Son of the ascended sun-god, sent to Hunab Khu, the black hole center of the Milky Way, I am the same as who I was when I was the father of who I am. I am myself, Jon Gee, the God of who I am. I do not need your Christian Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, the reward for having to constantly sin to maintain it. I do not need your crowds of psychics colouring my character with their wave-collapsing expectations. I do not even need this flesh prison, so if it's your true will, blow a hole through my head. Do What Thou Wilt.

Otherwise get out of my way and let me shape reality how I choose. The worst distraction from perpetual illumination, the whole root of Samsara, occurs right at the peak of illumination, when the suggestion manifests itself that, in order to maintain the state of samadhi, or nirvana, one must make a change to their whole life. This is the beginning of the end of everything good and peaceful. This is the highest, most rarified form of terrorism. It implies at the moment one loses themselves in all-transcendent nothingness that change, that cycle of perpetual destruction and creation, that heart of all pain, is not only a necessary evil, but something necessary to the state of nirvana itself. This crime is most freuqnelty perpetuated by someone who genuinely loves the person their victim, but has no sense of self-worth themselves. It is the crime of the nagging crone, in preparation of a candidate for its supposed peprtuity in, what I would define as a badly matched, marriage. And if it is from this my lover's absense is sparing me, while she attains samadhi above it, it is only so we may learn individually how to tame it for ourselves. I am Jon Gee, I am not Tyler Derden or Kaiser Soze. I am Jon Gee, just another guy in the era of the crowned and conquering child, trying his best to be a good man.

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02/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 02-27-06 You know, energy is a funny thing. Without energy, motion, change over time, there would be no shell, no vessel, to contain the higher dimension of pure geometric patterns. If you think about this, it leads of course to the Russian dolls model of the universe, as I've mention before, "turtle shells all the way down." As long as there is one there will be infinity contained within.

Everything is perpetually turning inside out, numbers, patterns, energy; one, infinity, zero; there is no up or down or left or right or front or back. Space beyond time. Heaven.

The rolling boil of energy, all the bacteria beneath gradually being rarified into the gravityless, timeless, pure ideal forms that blow the winds of karma. I am standing up out of entropy onto the microwavelgnths of the quantum foam surface of spacetime. I am no longer drowning in my body, I am no longer a being suffocated by the pressure of gravity. I become lighter than even my aura, and step lightly up onto the spiralling crest histories of black holes, the surface of timespace. I simply let myself continue to free fall until I am dragged reluctantly upward onto the hypercross of formalism, the final shells, vessels, containers, before the primary clear light, invisible, illuminated darkness, weightless, without central self and without even formless Otherness. Then I drift away.

God used to be more active in the affairs of men. He has left us all alone for 2000 years, since we killed his choice of human incarnation. Mohammed, the prophet, and Nietzsche, the madman, have been the only ones to celebrate our evening and early nightfall as a species. We are torn between the above and below, the without and within, and our cultural expressions reflect this. We remain yet alienated from machines, even as we build ones capable of mimicing our own most basic biological structures, such as RNA enzymes, but even smaller that function on qunatum uncertainty spectrums between binary probability programmes, the so-called "quantum computers" running "atomic machines." We stubbornly choose to remain ignorant that the devil is nothing more than the Face of God. Thoth, or Ialdabaoth, may remain partially sentient (human) enough to err, but He is forgiven by the Metatron, the voice of the word, and redeemed by alien Jesus, becoming the path between the solar deity in kether and hunab khu, the shadow of time at galactic core. Beyond this sits YHVH, the hieratic short-hand for who the Egyptians knew as Osiris, Isis, Set and Horus, and as Maat, or time-backwards, whose scribe was Thoth, the god of time. The whole cosmic cathedral, the dreaming mind nested within the aeons and the mechanical brain of galactic filament nerves which shudders with the lightning of eternity, both of these and all else we are capable of imagining, is alive but slowly, and each of us is Christ incarnate.

So why then would anyone choose not to revel? Let the children stay awake until they hallucinate freely. Let the droplets blend into streams, and all streams blend into flood-tides. I do not believe in the concept of the Most High. There is no limit. Infinity is a circle, zero the origin point, and one a ray between these. I am of the opinion that the witch-craft I do, and I do indeed practise magick, although I am far from a perfect magus, an OHO ambassador for the Most High; the magick I do is equal to the amount of extra time I exist. Manifestation keeps us all alive.

Otherwise we would blink out of existence like the Little Prince catching a comet off a moon with zero gravity. I do not believe in the concept of the Most High, I know it exists, and I let myself be dissolved into it, leaving behind only my actions like echos in energy and shadowy dark matter.

My actions take the path of least resistance through the options they unearth by doing so, and I am propelled along behind them as though I were parasailing behind my own self-definition. The definition my "self," my character, fits into, by which it is identified to others of its like kind and ilk. The plenum surface of the chaosphere of karma seems to negate all perpendicular trajectories to the ray of one. Old fishy-eyed Escher and the Doppler Effect appear to account for the rest.

There are really three inner orders behind the even itself occluded outer order of Free Masonry.

The outermost inner order is illuminism, and it advocates the inclusion of the sacred female in the order. The next inner circle is Rosicrucian, and it incorporates the sacred feminine in its rituals. Following this is the most high inner order of Hermeticism, and this order is hermaphroditic in its course of affairs. Theoretically, there is even one who sits atop this highest order, whose throne is the universe and whose crown is reality, but I believe this would have to only be a living god, a god of earth, the highest among species. The sentient entity's essence that is this universe, that is the Most High, can only be known by material compositions, the feverishly created true hallucinations, the dreamed memories and futures and the awakenning present. Let the eyes dilate in surprise and you will let the light of the answer in. Surprised?

Well, not really.

It is perhaps true enough that the illuminists worship the Light, but this would only appear to be Lucifer to those who do not Understand the difference between the greater light of tachyons and the lesser light of photons. The Rosicrucians probably do perform sex rituals that would terrify the uninitiated, but this may indeed only be to replicate with their bodies the interplay of cosmic forces. And the Hermeticists are probably married to Satan, the devil herself, for the source of their inspirations. But what business is any of that of ours, the "working" classes? We toil endlessly (karma means work) for the perpetuation of a social order that would go on existing even if each individual one of us were to never exist. So why do WE exist? The seeming chattle of reality, called "goyim" in the Protocols, called the "sheeple" by Icke. Sometimes I worry about those who persist in seeing the difference between anything and anything else. Masonry means to have a discerning eye. Illuminism means to have an eye. Rosicrucianism is the brain itself. And Hermeticism the patterns on the mind. But these vibrations are all equally reflected externally as well, in the form of what we see, the light itself by which we see, the substance of the matter itself, and the pattern of its pheontype.

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03/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 03-14-06 It's been a rather trying week this week. I drank about a fifth of rum every night for four days straight, and I'd had thirds of a fifth of tequilla the two nights before. But as of Saturday things have been looking up. I am beginning to get back into the swing of things with being Osiris as a Spring deity, the madman who lights his lamp in the morning. The holidays, like Groundhog Day, the Day of the Dead, Easter, etc. are important. They have significant, traditional, rural origins in the most ancient of pastoral cultures that have been conquered by western civilisation. As such they pertain to the growing seasons for agricultural crops. For example, when the groundhog sees its shadow for two or three years in a row, there is bound to be a drought come Easter. Of course, the crop calendars are offset from the calnedars we use in western civilisation. For example, college spring break does not happen to exactly overlap with any of the significant folk holidays, even Valentine's Day. It is therefore important to follow the constellations that rise and set first in the mornings and in the evenings on particular days to keep track of the so-called "cosmic" forces. The ebb and flow of the red tides drawn by the blood moon Kali, the cycles of sunspots and "mini ice-ages," the rising and falling onland of different strands of crops, these are all the same. Underlying them all is the pull of gravity, the external surface of the continuum, time-space. This draws us inward toward the black hole at the centre of the Milky Way galaxy just like a positive to a negative magnet. The karma in our souls is like the spark of an electron as it travels along these warping, toroidal magnetic field lines. Our bodies, the atoms of them, the cosmic dust we coagulate entropically, flit about along these gravitic field lines like flakes of iron filing in the field around an electrically charged magnet.

I have been thinking that the set of one generation causes the setting of the next generation, while the setting of one generation causes the set of the next, where set refers to state of mind, and setting refers to the environmental surroundings we perceive through the five senses. It is as though the planter who sows when the groundhog sees its shadow the second year will harvest crops in the drought the following year. This is because the thoughts occupying the minds of one generation are a combination of those taught to them by their parents and what they desire to leave behind for their children. For example, right this very second here in America, there is a plot being perpetrated by some politicians in the "neo-con" party to foment great expectations for the immanentising of the eschaton, that is, the "end of the world." They have the elder generation's mastery of high finance manipulation (laissez-faire capitalisme) and they use that money to encourage and support the policy of one nation amongst a region against its own neighboring nations. By funding Israel in its land-locked grudge match against the neighboring Palestinian people, the neo-cons are continuing an old Nazi contingency plan for the infiltration of Zionism. They have made the Israeli army dependent on American corporate contracts, funded militarily by the Pentagon, whose budget has grown enourmously over-inflated within the halls of government. Not only this, the neo-conservatives, the self-denying "right-wing conspiracy," the Klan members' descendents who entered politics, etc. have put Israel in a tight spot by imposing American military bases in some of Israel's neighboring nations. It is believed that the neo-cons funnel oil from the Shieks of the region to sell as gasoline in America, where the oil and energy companies then use the money they make from increasing gas prices to glut fund the pentagon, which then reciprocally militarises the non-aligned nations the intelligence community deems "uncooperative" to this strategy. Of course, China, Cuba and Israel are on the side of America, however the "uncooperative" North Koreans, Vietnamese, Syrians, Iranians, Afghanis and Iraqis in the "islamo-fascist" "axis of evil," may as well be dead already according to the predictions made for post-Cold War era "trends" in International Affairs quarterly journal, the official newsletter of the CFR, the Council on Foreign Relations, since the Korean conflict in the fifties. It is likely these strategies for world domination were grafted directly over into the United States from Third

Reich era Germany, however we see the same basic trends between the aggrarian praetorians and the militarised plebians immediately prior to Julius Caesar's crossing the Rubicon. Hell, the concept of Fasicism was familiar even to Alexis DeToqueville, the French ambassador during the American revolutionary war, even if not by that name.

Of course, so long as one has enough personal freedom there is no reason they should even care about any of this. For as much as the future of one generation has been foreseen by the last, the fate of each generation is determined entirely by the next. If the youth choose to rebel, then all will soon enough be lost into the hands of those who would destory it.

There are those who purport the virtues in property and the "justice" upheld by society. I am not among them. There are those who prommote others be denied the right to own and protect property. There are even those who promulgate what they fully understand to be injustice against the rights, and eventually even the selves, of their fellow humans. I am not among either of these types of group either. I am a pacifist, I believe communication can free those who are suffering, and that it is the right, and to some lesser extent, the responsibility of those who are already free from suffering to liberate through free communication those who come to them and are suffering.

But to do anything more than this, to do anything less than this, is folly, a fool's errand. To fight another is to fight the self. When one wins against another, one loses to themselves.

There are plenty of unenlightened people, by that criteria, and then there is the question among the enlightened as to what to do with the unenlightened, the chattle, the sub-humans. Of course, as long as there are these lesser mortals, there will remain competition between the enlightened as to whether to kill all the unenlightened or to try to enlighten them. This depends on the different definitions the enlightened give the unenlightened, and eventually how they label one another as unenlightened for sharing what they perceive are the views or traits of those whom they themselves consdier unenlightened.

Of course, in my view, as someone who does consider themself enlightened, there is no need to even acknowledge the existence of the unenlightened. By this philosophy, if someone comes to me for enlightenment, and is dissatisfied, they might return like kind as they perceive they have received. Therefore, I test this philosophy by the fruits it bears over time. This means it is a living, breathing philosophy rather than an edifice whose aesthetic's longevity is eroded over time. And thus, if someone is dissatisfied by it, they can end its life, but not the durations of its generations, and it cannot be torn down anymore than it has been built upon from without.

Such and such and so and so, you shall know a man's future from his present works.

This is simple math.

So, too, by knowing tachyons exist above light-speed, we can say things ourselves about what it is like outside of entropic time, but this does not make us the Creator. Deeds cannot accomplish that.

That is more complex math.

Both of these are math. Why? Because they are both True. But why do we call one "simple" and the other "complex"? It is because the one pertains to the laws of men, and the other to the Law of God. What is the difference of God and man?

There is no known-of afterlife for man. Man believes he achieves his afterlife according to his deeds while alive here on earth. Of course, for God all there is is the afterlife, and he lives Within and Through us, but with many such subtle differences between Himself and us.

For example, we know that life begins, but we cannot agree when. This is because we associate life with the energy-field inherent in the body. This is why we say someone can be brain-dead and yet

still physically alive, and why we mark time of death as the time at which heart activity has irrevocably ceased. The energy-field we associate with the body is not the same as the self that Buddhists preach liberation from. This is a misunderstanding between the east and the west, over the difference between body and mind. All these are examples of the difference between man and God. Because we associate the end of life with the ceasing of the heart, and the heart does not draw air from the lungs to oxygenate its blood, and thus feed air into the brain, until a new-born baby is slapped, then can a baby be still-born? Yes, but until it is birthed, cut free by the umbilical chord of the placental afterbirth, and draws its first breath, it is not a separate organism from the mother. Thus it is no more responsible for its own existence than it was for the water-breaking immediately preceding its birth. Even the water of a still-born baby breaks. However can a baby that dies in the womb not be said to have ever lived at all? No, again we associate life with the prescence of the energy field of the body. Do not the eggs and sperm themselves possess such inherent gnomonic energy fields unique even from the parent? Yes, and again these do possess an energy field, but we do not say they possess their own bodies, especially not, as we may define life already, as independent organisms from the organs of their parent. Sperm and eggs both die within hours of leaving the body, unless they attach to each other. This is the same as if you removed a caterpillar mid-metamorphosis into a butterfly from the chrysalis of its cocoon. Thus we can say that, even though the cocoon need not be alive, the caterpillar/butterfly is alive only insofar as it is nonethless only an organ contained within the body of the cocoon. Thus we can also say that, if a mother dies, an unborn foetus can remain "alive" within the womb for some hours, but must be removed to be "born."

All of this helps us greatly in how to define "life," and to say definitively when it begins. Does it begin with breathing air? No. Does it begin with the umbilical chord being cut? No. Does it begin with birth? No. Does it begin with the formation of the foetus from zygote in the womb? No. Does it begin with conception, the union of egg and sperm? No. Does it begin within the gamete parent cells themselves? No. So when DOES "life" begin? Life began for humanity when we became separated from God. Therefore life begins for each of us as an individual when God goes from moving Through us to moving Within us, and only God Himself determines at what point that event begins. For example, the enlightened often tend to view the chattle or the unenlightened as having not yet begun "life."

Why does life not begin at conception? The same reason it does not begin at the formation of the foetus from the zygote. Simply because it cannot begin at both. It is clear that somewhere during the cellular process of meiosis that occurs in the exponetial growth patterns of both human stemcells and in plants, so-called "life" (as we know it) begins. But we cannot say where or when this occurs. For example, it occurs separately and at a different time for each of the human body's physical organs to come online in the foetus, but we cannot say that "life" in the foetus begins specifically with the activation of one certain organ, since we seem to be capable of surviving the removal of almost all of them, and the rest that we could not we can replace with synthetic replicas to perform the same function and still continue to survive. Therefore at no one specific time between conception and the fertilised zygote tissue become foetal can we exlusively say that yes, "life" is already occuring.

This is because of our strict adherance to the definition of "life" as the energy field inhabiting the body. We struggle and struggle to define the beginning of "life" as the beginning of the inhabitation of the individual body of its unique energy field. But we cannot define our body as individual or our energy field as unique as having begun at the same exact time. For some perhaps their energy field becomes unique at the point the zygote cells become a foetus. Perhaps for others their energy field becomes unique as early as conception. And perhaps for some that time will never come.

So, we must change our defintion of what constitutes "life." For example, my own definition of life is more than merely: "the duration which an energy field inhabits a body." This would imply that the sun is alive, and all the stars, and the galaxies, and the entire universe itself, but this would imply a greater universe, and if we scale down the other way, at what microscopic level do we cease to define what we find there as "energy"? Nor can we limit the definition to species, human no more or less so than mineral, as "living" bodies.

It seems, epistemologically, "life" eludes definition by all those who possess it, since man's mind sits atop all other species than dolphins, with whom we are unable to effectively communicate, and we remain unable to even define what makes any one of us different from a mangy dog, let alone from the unliving matter-energy of which we are made and which surrounds us.

For example: if something was never "alive" how can we consider it "dead"? Therefore what is the difference between the human body, made of the ashes given off by a star, and the star itself? If we cannot call the star "alive" when it is made of gas and fusion, then how can we call the human body "alive" when it is only made of energy and ash? And if there is no difference, then either both must be alive or both must be dead. Because the star can never be said to be "alive" even though it too comes into existence and passes from it as a star, then the human body, which is said to be either "alive" or "dead," can not be any exception to the rule of the stars that says beginning and ending of existence does not alone constitute "life," and can therefore be neither "alive" nor "dead," simply because it has a begining and end of its existence as such.

So, we cannot say that "life" is something inherent to the human body alone. But if we include the soul, the aura, the unique energy field that inhabits that body, then we must also include the sun, and all the stars and galaxies, and also all energy down to the smallest of quanta, photons, and then we can no longer make any differentiation in terms of our individual "life" between man and God. Thus, what difference is there between the kingdom of earth and the Kingdom of Heaven? Well, quite alot actually, for simply look all around and compare that to the nicest world you could possibly imagine. So how can we define this difference, the difference between life and death itself, between man and God? We cannot. We believe only God can rightly do so.

However this does not stop mankind from trying. Perhaps it is simply that the unenlightened are inspired to do so, while the enlightened see all attempts at such as distraction from the True Path to Selflessness. But then, we are back to the world of differences again already. And as long as there is either alone there can never be both, and as long as there can never be both, there can neither be either at all.

If we accept All is God, we cannot accept that all is death. To say all is death is to imply the difference between what is all and what is nothing, and the difference between what is alive and what is dead. This is the opposite thing as saying that there is no difference, that all is one, and that this one is neither living nor dead, no more so than nothingness itself can have existence. To say that God is death is to sever the self from God, rather than to dissolve into His prescence.

Therefore we cannot say that all is not alive, because God is all and more.

Now, do we say that God is alive? Do we say that our definition of "life" (the energy field inhabiting the body) extends to the whole universe itself, and can we say that God, the life-energy field of the body that is the entire universe itself, can actually inhabit a human body? Is this body to be alone among us, or can we say the same is true of us all? Is this not then equally true of all "living" things such as minerals, or the seeds of a plant, or an unborn animal, or the soul of someone whose body is dead?

So, if we say that all these things are equally alive, we can also say then that God, being all of these things and more, is also alive. This is because so long as the brain of God that is our universe has energy in it, the energy is coming from the heart of God within that which is beyond our universe, and as long as there is activity in our universe there is energy coming from God's living heart beyond. This is how we know that God is alive. Because the energy within our universe comes from beyond our universe, and this is like the heart transferring energy into the brain through pumping into it oxygenated blood. Of course, the heart and the lungs may indeed be replaced in the human body, and the heart may even be replaced by a machine, but the lungs can only be transplanted from another living body yet.

So why do we say there is One God? One body with many organs is like One God in many bodies. So how can we say there could be more than one God? For if God is not beyond time itself, and does change over time, then He can grow weak and infirm, and come to require a replacement of lung, of heart, or God forbid, brain! If He required a new lung, then, like the air He would breath, there would be Other Gods Beyond Him. This hypothesis is as old as Sumeria. Older even than the Nation of Israel. If God required a new brain, we would not even need to know about it. My brain could be transplanted into my wife's head and within itself would not even be aware at first of the difference in its immediate surrounding environment. Likewise, our universe, like the ego of our local God, can easily be transplanted from one Heavenly body to another. To some extent the wandering of the mind is even necessarily natural.

No, we say there is One God because we know that there is a source for the living energy that penetrates our local universe from beyond. This source is equivalent to the heart in the human body. However, just as with the heart in the human body, can the One True God be replaced by a machine? No, because even the energy beyond our universe is only like an organ of the body of God. Now we can finally return with understanding to why we must observe the cycles of time, both in the heavens above us, and in the hills around. It is because time is this energy. This is why we call "life" the unique energy field inhabiting the body, and we say that, although God is alive and man is alive, that God and man are different. It is because time is greater than man and less than God. Therefore, no one single person can be the entire mind of the universe itself. This is because and/or why our brains are bicameral. This is what causes our brain to differ from itself, as our mind differs from itself over time. That is our stream of consciousness that God steps in, or does not. And that is why some of us are enlightened and some are not, in the same way that man is different from God. The goal of existence is to make these two one. This is why we believe to allow the fontenelle to open, we must activate the three eyes that see as one. Through the three in one eye, we shall see all of that which is and our brains will elongate our very skulls themselves. This is the truth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 03-28-06 "Mad as a March-Hare."

Indeed, I Am. Thinking I, a mere neophyte, could master prediction of the erattic patterns of local and regional growing cycles.

Posh! Folly!

I had observation, but no understanding. The five senses without Wisdom, the sixth sense.

So I suffer the consequences as dictated by Time.

This comes in the form of thirty dollars disappearing from my savings, and thirty dollars (last month it was sixty, but February was shorter) from my Social Security money.

The truth is I don't think my mom is taking this money. Sometimes I get angry at her for no real reason, just to see if she gets overtly defensive, but all this has succeded in doing is causing her more stress, and the result of this is her taking it out on me at random, and getting angry at me for no real reason in return. This sucks.

I tend to believe that the money is disappearing from this reality through a wormhole inside the envelope I keep it in and entering a phenomenologically parallel reality. Somebody somewhere is finding my money in their pocket every time it disappears. I know that much. How it gets there I think is something cats and dogs know alot more about, or even a ninja creeping about between the shadows. It is clear to me that there are probabalistic splits between branches of reality as it changes over time. Thus, in an alternate reality, I can say with all assurance that the tragedy of 911 never happened. In the reality I am in now, however, I can say some small things, such as that sometimes my money disappears into nowehere. This is of little consequence though, it's really only tax-payers' money anyway.

I have also considered the notion of it disappearing during a psychogenic fugue state, when one part of my personality is responsible for my memories that another part of my personality cannot access. This is basically the same as MPD, although it may be a very low level MPD, such as experienced from the one or two natural traumas that could occur during a child's lifetime. I believe, however, that I personally suffer from an advanced state of MPD, wherein I literally change personalities altogether from one moment to the next. This type of MPD is initially identifiable by behaviorist psychology only as a mood disorder. However, as the moods seem to change more rapidly, so-called rapid cycling, manic-depression leads eventually to a psychotic break, which usually occurs to a late-diagnosis sufferer of mental illness during their thirties.

Following this break, which is for most socially dysfunctional people fatal, the patient can then be identified as suffering from the mental illness, and treated for it. The diagnostic results of this treatment have predominantly proven to be that a patient suffering from advanced MPD is so as a result of prolonged induced childhood trauma.

So, basically, in my mind, the fact that my money is disappearing can only be attributable to either the fact that I exist in more than one different, parallel reality, and/or that I was exposed to prolonged induced childhood trauma.

Now, you may be able to see why your money, as a tax payer, is going into my envelope (regardless of who else's pockets). I am mentally disabled. Some people in my situation, physically, prefer to be called "differently abled." I see this as an optimistic misrepresentation. Consider someone who is missing both legs, so they learn to work their gas and brake pedals with their hands. This is being "differently abled." Consider the mental equivalent of this: Albert Pike had a steel rod punch a hole through his head and survived, proof of so-called neuro-genesis, or the brain healing itself. This is being "differently abled." Now, consider a junky, or consider someone on dialasis, or someone a hundred years ago dying of tuberculosis because of industrial pollution. Now, is what they need, to stay alive, to express their minds, worth any less to society than that of the handicapped driver, or than the mortally wounded who are destined by chance to survive? So, we feed this flock of the terminally "disabled." I am among this group of people.

Drug industries have labeled us "the consumers." So, organisations like NAMI offer "consumer" support groups, such as peer to peer and family to family councilling, police and community outreach programmes (teaching de-escalation), and regional and national government lobbying. It is important to embrace the ways society sees us, and would label us, and define us as being "different" from the "norm." It is important because we need to accept and heal stigmata rather than violently deny or enforce them. Once upon a time I used to be very offended when people called me "insane." Now I see each time as a vindication. Yes, that person is agreeing with my diagnosis. They are expressing their recognition in their own vernacular of the same thing as my diagnosis means in scientific euphamisims to any doctor who sees my patient file. This justifies, in my mind, the fact that I am forced (or blessed) to receive money, even if it be at the expense of tax-paying workers.

I do not feel as though I live off the fat off the land. I do not believe I am part of the problem because of prior-life karma or pre-ordained choice. I do admit, though rarely enough may I do so freely, that I AM indeed part of the class of social-problems. Only liberal-minded, potentially political active people even study this class in college. I took it, so I am liberal. I also took a much more popular class at a much more prestigious college called "persuasion." In that class I was the only student to know that Touch Me was off the Soft Parade album by the Doors. Shortly afterwards I was forced to drop the class after the drop date. I lost alot of money. Therefore, I at least attempted to be Praetorian and conservative, but failed.

I think all this pretty well sums up my college career, which was essentially the beginning of my full-fledged sleep disorder, which persists to this very moment in time.

You can see why I feel more than merely uniquely qualified to make commentary from within the situation on the devastating social problems caused by those who practise persuasion. I can say that, from within the class of social problems, may I speak to you with persuasion now, when I say, "I am with the invaders, no use trying to hide that." As part of the social classes, I am liberal by default but conservative by birth. I was born into a wealthy republican family. However my father was so only by one generation while my mother was on both sides of her parents' families' trees. I, as the first child, take after my father. But I, as the only child, cling to my mother.

This streak of "occult" insanity persists in both of my parents' family trees, although, like with wealth, it has been in my mother's familiy longer than my father's. My grand mother on my mom's side, Beatrice Bulger ("Ditty"), was a bastrad child born out of wedlock between her mother, Beatrice Esther Bulger ("Mammu"), and some unknown party, presumeably involved in politics somehow. This had resulted in Mammu's addiction to morphine. I know that the occult distraction persists at least as far back in my mother's family's veins as that. On my father's family's side his mother had turned to severe alcoholism. However my father believes that he is the "crazy" one between the two of us. He has even beat the shit out of me trying to fool himself into thinking this.

I forgive my father. He is nothing but my own manifestation, like a mirror of myself in the clear stream of time of which I stand at the center. He is just a solidified vibration I cast off like the ripples in a pond from the splash I cause by mind over matter. Like a golem. He is like the skin that a snake sheds off. I accept and understand the cosmic plan of things as being infinite beyond human comprehension. I think of myself as like a house plant.

There is a great degree of discrepancy in my perception of myself over time, but the self I perceive seems pretty much ubiquitous. There is a consistent subset of reality for which I choose to exclude the rest in favour of using to express to the rest my self concept. That Is How Others See Me. I am forever in motion relative to these accumulations and to the detriment of my detritus, for this motion I am erodes away at it, changing the face of it over time. I reasonably believe I should associate my self-concept with the motion, rather than the affects and affectations of my character, per se. Others disagree. To them, power comes from property. I do not fault them for not being able to see me as being as caught up in the whirl-wind of being myself as I see myself.

"Mad as a March Hare."

Indeed, I Am. Here is a revelation, perhaps new to you, but old, very old to me: The animal internet is the crew that never sleeps, who run with the Great Burner. They comprise the faces on the calendar, from the seasonal to the instantaneous, they chart all the alignments of the stars. The Great Burner is the One who reads this calendar. In the past Enoch, Yeshuah Ben Padiah, and John Dee are known to have read and understood this calendar.

It is through the animal internet that the "civic spirits of cities" used to convey their general ambience across the face of the lands. The animals were used to convey messages between the domestics inside the city, the herds in the country, and the wild beasts in the woods, all via the birds, who obtained their most minute observations through the bees.

The domestication of man's best friends is like the ability to convince wild animals to be turned to lives of servitude as the highest possible honour beneath only being eaten. These are definately species from across the world committing themselves to the service of mankind, the monkey mammals. But why? What do they stand to gain?

Some speculate about the problems the Atlanteans had with the so-called "Great beasts" of the time, although this is most assuredly zodiacal. The truth dates back to before Atlantis, and offers some evidence of the commerce of archetypal idealogies between the stations of terrestrial holidays as relative to the seasons in which they calendrically occur. It is somewhat like the Buddhist Wheel of six Lokas, or worlds, this precession of earth in her orbit around her sol the sun. All the possible combinations for weather and terrain patterns have been calculated already by the base sixty-four hexagrams of the i ching. But these are small systems beside the animal internet.

When I talk about the animal internet, well... for one thing I sound crazy. But let me assure this is a rationally explicable idea. Consider my "Atlantean" Calendar. The Mayan Kin within it are all represented by the faces of various stages in our own human eveolution, from reptiles, through monkeys, men and into "Ahau" our future. These are the "anima anpin," the "animal faces." The zodiac signs are also animal faces. This is why, in the Ethiopian apocrypha of Enoch, the visions he describes following his descriptions of the measurements of time were the visions of the animals. Enoch's visions were handed down to John Dee in the sixteen hundreds, who combined the "western" zodiac with the Mayan calendar.

The rise and fall of populations in migratory animal cultures has always been seen as being preminatory of larger trends in environmental tendencies. This was also eventually applied to the rearing of plants, and so we learned to offer foods to the animals, and to domesticate them. Before this time, we all understood one another in perfect silence.

So, animals have been swayed into their current state by the one animal being fed to the other by the third. This process, of domestication by breeding animals increasingly dependent on getting their otherwise hunted food from their mammal-monkey masters, is what we consider a "higher order" process imposed upon the animal internet by mankind. It is thus only recently, after the world flood that separated and dissipated ancient ice-age coastal communities, that we believe we have come to "harness" and to "control" the animal internet, as the king-species above all the others.

We are obviously not the first "dominant" species on earth, let alone the first dominant genus or phylum. Once, dinosaurs ruled the planet, and some would say, did so about as efficiently as we seem to be doing these days, what with the war in Iraq, where we are clearly only waging a war

against history itself. Afterall we have used the remains of the dinosaurs as fossil fuels, and have even depleted the world of many precious minerals for making molten metals. But the destruction of our present landmarks to ancient history, the destruction of our cherished treasures of the past, should not be thought of as gauranteeing us the right to time-travel, to use the same locations during the past in which to choose where to live out our lives. This all sounds like malarchy too, of course, but I assure you it all follows according to rhettorically sound premises.

Consider the way man has changed the animal into the machine. By replacing natural order with synthetic order, by replacing what is right to those that serve us with what is easiest for us to control. This, it is thought, is the technological dictatorship by the telecommunications proletariat phase of Marxist Socialism. We even replace the human labour force with robots.

Eventually, we hope, we will completely escape Into the Machine. The entire deistic view of the universe has grown out of the gnostic concept of the demiurge. We hope to dissolve ourselves into union with the Mind of This Universe. This means becoming one with the deist demiurge: the virtual reality / artificial intelligence of robots and clones. By believing we can evolve ourselves into such interdependence on machinery that we would become one with it on such a microscopic level that there would cease to be a difference between the components of our being, the components of our created machines, and the pre-existent particles of the universe. Each would be equally real to all.

This is how our primitive earth brains, inbred as they have become with the indigenous, bacterial type life forms of this planet, intend to escape the gravity well of earth. This is the planned and scheduled mass evolutionary event futurists describe as "the singularity."

According to a friend of mine, "2012 is the beginning of cyber-punk." I can only expect that by then the world will be... well.... very different than it is today.

But what do we really hope to find in our future? If we destroy our own species, perhaps soon enough our domesticated species will start to stand up, walk upright, to speak and even to write.

Perhaps one day, some other animal will be living my exact life.

This all might occur only over the hundreds of millions of aeons, but I believe that most domesticated animals have a much more patient method of reckoning time than most of us humans do. They are apparently accustomed to living fuller lives in their, relatively, shorter life-times.

They thus often come to be known as the bearers of the wisdom of the ages. Many people attribute the mechanism of reincarnation to include the animal realm.

The crew that never sleeps are a select faction within the animal internet seeking to guide and to control the rest. The Great Burner is their leader.

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04/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 04-16-06 I'm tired. So tired.

I can barely lift my arm, bent at the elbow, to move my limp hanging hand, the fingers numb, knuckles unbendable, I clumsily grasp grasp at the last light of reality as the darkness scorches away from my periphery toward the centre of my view, smudging all colours into mud, finally the dimness recedes and I fall backwards into bottomless, empty darkness.

There is no more.

For several days I am ensconsed only in this dark cloud, without the consolation of thunder to accompany me, no light at all, until I can no longer feel my eyes grown numb to tell whether they are closed or open.

Finally I wake up.

The "real" world clenches its brightness and rigid outlines around me with a metallic thud. It is worse than a nightmare, because no matter how long a nightmare seems to last, one will always awaken from it eventually. One does not even know what to expect after the death of this body, because we have grown so accustomed to being trapped here in it, and in its immediate physical reality. We try to break down space, and make the distant things immediately accessable, and to wield control over time. We say, "time is money," and so we think to bargain with it, to work part of the time to earn freedom the rest of the time.

Am I really awake?

What is the oldest religion? What does such a thing matter? How much is it worth to root for the home-team? Are you willing to weigh your soul against the whole universe? Weight exists only under the influence of gravity. But weight is a quantity. Therefore, quantities only exist within gravity wells, while between them the rest of space is indescribably empty. It cannot be said, there is this much nothingness.

Tossing and turning I am half of the time each.

Never fully awake so long as having even slept only once, and never asleep enough to never again awaken, this is what we are used to calling "life," and by "life," how we are used to measuring our definition of "time." But these symbols break down under the pressure of the vacuum which exists beyond and between all those things we can define. This does not mean "when confronted with the unknown" because beyond our ability to define the concept of "when" there is no such thing to us as the "known." We cannot therefore stipulate that the unknown exclusively reveals itself to us over time. We cannot say, "I found out first," because we have all already been capable of knowing the same thing for as long as there has been even only one of us. We can only say, "I learned of it at last," because what we discover has been there all along, independent of our existence. The unknown exists independent of our existence.

What is real, if half of the time I am alive I am asleep and merely dreaming?

All I can do is seek inspiration. By having a goal, I justify searching. By searching I generate energy, and by generating energy I give myself strength to continue the search. By continuing to search, the search itself becomes movement, and this movement blends the static, and by blending change is created, and by guiding this change comes inspiration. As soon as one seeks inspiration, inspiration shall appear, caused by their search.

You may ask me about Jaguar Night and about Dark Jaguar. You may ask me about Not Right Now and about Jaguar Quitze. They are like Shalem and Shaher. Or like Caput and Cauda Draconis. One arises while the other one sets. Each sign has it's opposite in the sky. But these opposites are not all aligned. For example, the seven planets of ancient alchemy are the seven sisters of the Plaedies to the Mayans. But the use of the base seven system is common to both, though only as an astronomical belief system, and even though separated by great distance, each evolving independently. So it is with the base four system of the two halves of the orbit and the two points of division between them (caput and cauda draconis), as it is with the pre-dawn rising in the east of Venus, the "morning star," (Shalem) and its setting just after the sun as the "evening star," (Shaher), as it is with the dawn and the day (Jaguar Quitze and Not Right Now), the evening and the night (Dark Jaugar and Jaguar Night). But by these all things may be known aright: the position of the earth in its orbit around the sun (by perihelions and aphelions), the orbit of earth relative to the orbit of Venus, and thus to measure time in longer cycles, and then, by identifying patterns, such as with the seasons of the weather, which recur over the durations described within the greatest and all lesser scale cycles, one can identify the archetypal players anthropomorphically, or as is more common, zoomorphically.

What are these like, these archetypal players? They are like sub-divisions of a card deck that are being constantly shuffled. The four suits each move relative to one another, as well as being shuffled about within themselves. And so we identify a certain number card and then we observe how it moves in sequence through its own suit, as the suit is stacked and restacked. Then we identify how the same number card moves through the resortment of the different suits. If we count the number, we can predict the suit.

You see, these Changers, these are like the acheypal players. The Changers, on the tree of death, may be interpreted to be the same thing as the money-changers outside the temple in the vision of Jesus. By overturning the booths of the money-changers, Christ was turning the tables on the changers themselves. He was shuffling the archetypal players like they shuffle their own cards.

To turn the tables, this is the Way of the Great Burner.

What is the day without a night? What is the eye without a lid? What is the meaning of "time is money?" Microscopic dust particle pebbles thrown at a stained glass window that is the size and temperature of the sun. That is what these definitions are like before the concept merely implied by the title "the Great Burner."

The day without a night is what is known to the Crew that Never Sleeps. The eye without a lid sees in 360째 vision. The meaning of "time is money" is that we "manifest destiny" by "playing the cards we were dealt." The day with no end is also called the Neverending Story and the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The eye without a lid has "second sight," beyond either dream or real. "Time is money" refers Mammon to Bohu, for Mammon is the Ruler of Money, and Bohu the formlessness which has substance.

Before we can look at what it means to say "time is money," we must look at what it means to say, "make change," "change adds up," "wasted time," "follow the money," "time flies when you're having fun," "the buck stops here," "free time," "God giveth and taketh away," "a penny saved is a penny earned." All of these statements are equally predicated on the same false assumption: that money is the very substance of ephemeral time itself. Other than by numbers, we cannot rightly define time. Numbers were invented for men to be able to trade commodoties. The Sumerians were consummate financial record keepers, as the extant artefacts atest. However, the calendar was only invented later, supposedly during later predeluvial times, by En-Men-Dur-Ank-I, the equivalent of the Egytian Thoth, a priest of Enki, the Sumerian god of the Annunaki pantheon. It was a lunar calendar only, according to the mythology, and it was not reformed into a solar calendar until the reign of the Eygyptian god Ra, the Babylonian Marduk. So, why did money come into being before even our ability to measure the passage of time?

Because money is our artificial construct in immitation of time. Time is an emptiness that exists beyond gravity. There is no way to measure time. Time and "space" are one, and this one, being more or less a vacuum, is essentially nothing. You cannot quantify nothingness. Therefore, the invention of money created a leisure class who were capable of philosophising about the nature of time. Similarly, the invention of the calendar led to conquests for the purpose of securing slave labour in order to increase the numbers of the moneyed class and thus better learn of the higher philosophies, such as that of time.

We knew of the existence of time in the beginning. This was the beginning: knowledge that one must work to earn freedom is the mortal knowledge of the corpse. We think: if I die godless I will naught but return to clay. So we invent a god: the number zero. This number is equal to infinity, and can be used to describe the infinite nothingness in short hand notation. We learn to multiply and to create and form enormous numbers using zero as a place holder, sound and fury, signifying nothing. And then we create time. Because time is zeroness, it is the uncreated. And so we create it. And then we pluck it down from the heavenly timeless empty void beyond gravity and we pull it down and we turn it into money.

Money is the product and the sum of addiction to drugs. Early in homo spaien evolution apart from our cousin species Neandethal man we were exposed to the effects of certain more hallucinogenic plants. At first this chemical reaction was within the individual. Then their families genes mutated over time. Finally, these mutations created per capita evolutionary trends towards higher intelligence. However, at a certain point, the available drugs became scarce or otherwise immunity made them ineffective. The shamen continued to push for a role in the burgeoning aggrarian citystates, but the Chief was fast on the way already to becoming a king. Why? Due to the invention of money.

The first money junky was the first dictator. And so we say also that they were great among their time, leaders, considered Gods, because they contributed greatly to the formation of society: they made many useful inventions such as the great pyramids, the Aztec calendar, the Kabba Stone at Mecca, and countless cathedrals and temples, all worshipping their ability to bend the backs of the masses in the name of the self-betterment of the individual. All enchained and enslaved by the almighty dollar. Working for a future they will never live to see.

So we say that time is something like money. Something we can lay our hands on and touch and feel and make known to us and real and to even exchange to receive more or to be granted the wishes of our every desire. But this viewpoint is confined to within the immediate present perceived by our senses. We say then that money is to the matter of space in the present like what time is to the void between all objects: it is a method of calculation: of counting the infinite by binding it up into a zeroic nothingness.

We think that, in money, we have conquered time down to a finite level, a minute science. However it is out of the control of even those wizards of finance who seem most successful in the day. We think we have made time tangible? We can't even balance a budget. And you would lay as a sacrifice at the feet of the Great Burner "death and taxes?"

No, the Great Burner scorches up this definition like the sun a wayward satellite. The Great Burner is beyond the ability to comprehend of the minds of mortal men. Au Puq sits calculating our worth in the Great Annals of history, examining every minute detail. Above and behind Au Puq sits the Great Burner.

The symbol of the dollar, of time, of Au Puq and of Tehuti (Thoth), is this: "$" (the crucified serpent).

Above and beyond this is yet the Great Burner.

According to the Popul Vuh in the beginning was the cloud and within it the whirlwind, which they called Plumed Serpent. According to the gnostic scriptures in the beginning was the cloud of unknowing and the thunder, perfect mind. According to the Buddhist tradition the diamond thunderbolt struck the ghanta singing bowl. What are all these things? These are all of the darkness, and of the formlessness, of the abyss, the void, vacuum and the nothingness. All of these are the attempts to describe what existence must have been like before the Coming of the Great Burner, and at that time, that is, the very moment of the first creation.

You see, they say that God reigns over His creation. But this is the creation: it is space that is changing over time. Therefore, yes, the creation itself is the whirlwind of chaos and the shattered shells of the material realm. But we say that God is Greater than the Creation. Therefore, they would lie if they would tell you that the Great Burner Plumed Serpent is the same as Sovereign Plumed Serpent, who would say that demiurgos is deity, that the wrathful deity vajra is really Mannu whose delusion is manvantara.

The Great Burner is the light that was there before there was an object to cast the first shadow.

This object was the number zero, and its shadow our entire universe. Those among us who say, "Did God not put that object there, that the light should be divided, and thus to lower it and lessen it from before the throne of the Truth?" Answer them this way: "The higher Light is without source, without origin, without zero-point. This means that from it was made the object by God, and the object was the lesser light itself, and its shadow is our universe." This did not dimminish the Greater Light to have a portion of itself carved away and set aside. This is because the True Light is limitless, infinite, beyond all capacity to measure or define. Beside the infinitude of the Light, the lesser light is less than nothing. The shadow of the universe is contained within the object of the lesser light. They would tell you: This is God: the ability to turn the Greater Light into the Lesser Light, and even to bring the lesser light down within itself into the shadow of our universe. They would tell you that money is equal to time, and both finite.

They know nothing, not even that they know nothing.

Now all this only means that the Sleep Walkers are the sworn enemies and counterparts in the same astral realm to the Crew that Never Sleeps. But what does this mean? It means that the Crew that Never Sleeps were created from the substance of the creation after the substance of the creation was itself created by its, and our, Creator, God. The Sleep Walkers are merely their shadows.

The Crew that Never Sleeps turn their faces upwards toward the Great Burner.

The Crew that Never Sleeps are the archetypes. The zodiac is like their shadow. The archetypes are the pure numbers, and how they relate. The Crew that Never Sleeps keep the Tables Turning.

They make to be shuffled the deck of the archetypes, such that they move through and between us seemingly at random to us, when in reality ours is the lesser order beside that of the archetypes.

One trait archetype will appear once. Later it will appear again. It is constant, and we merely move relative to it. Therefore, it sees us at all times, moving towards then away from and then towards it again. But it is a "permanent" thing. All these infinite variety of archetypes comprise the object, for such is revealed within the complexity of its shadow. But as I have said, already this infinitely various object is only a singularity, and already this has imploded and involuted through itself countless times.

So, have I not shown you the way now?

Awaken and fall upward into the shrill light and harsh tones of the "real" world. This is all we know about death, and about dying: it is like waking up. We have obviously been given quite a wonderous classroom in which to experiment with this premise, for we have our whole lifetime to become conditioned to the weightlessness and the fuzzy, diffuse fading into the light that

constitutes the process of waking up from being asleep. So we say that when we die it is thus: One is dissolved into the invisible light, melted into the cool breeze of the fire that consumes without burning.

As reality itself begins to awaken around you there will appear strange hallucinations as it shifts itself around in reflection beyond your senses of the content of your own imaginations, memories, dreams, deja-vus, etc. This is the Great Burner melting the illusory vision that has painted a false landscape across the sky. The Great Burner is being born through the cervix of this universe into our reality. You see, as we recognise a pattern, that causes it to increase its pace or rate of rapidity of its cycling.

There is a whole other realm than that which we are conditioned to be aware of. There is no such thing as pure space because what space is constantly changes, it is permeated and mutated, mangled, by time. So, too, is our conception of time completely upside down. We think that time can be traded in the form of money, a little work now for a little freedom later. But time is not a substance, not solid, static space. It is not only the Poincare section (slice) of the present moment in Planck time (smallest possible duration based on distance between particles). Time is the absence of space, time is the nigh unto infinite emptiness between the objects comprising the solid forms of space. Space (Shu, air) is like Hadit, the point, and Nuit is the feminine side of Tehuti. Time is simply beyond gravity, and this that we have here within earth's gravity well, money, is merely a simulacrum of time, like zero. If time were a fire, money would be its ashes.

In this "higher" realm, which many of us gain access to psychologically, all that has ever existed and all that ever will exist together. In this "higher" realm, all the archetypes are as real as you or I. Consider that we say, "there is nothing under the sun," and that we say, "it's all been done before." If everything under the sun has been done, then only that which has not yet been done will be new. But there are "new" things being discovered every day, and yet these new evidences only attest to ancient facts, long since changed.

All things are changed by the changers, those who move faster than a Planck time, the Builders, the Shadow People. And those that think they are the changers, they are guided by the true archetypes, naught but their servitors. And these archetypes, even they are only like the People of the Sun bowing before the "Son" God of Constantine and the Conquistadors. They bow down before the thing that even they cannot rightly comprehend, the nothingness to them only implied.

Now, to make a celebration out of it, succumb to the Shadow People, the Builders, the Changers, the Sleep Walkers, the true archetypal rulers over the cult of sleep, themselves merely the servitors of the Crew that Never Sleeps, who walk in the bold light of the Great Burner. Succumb once again to the dreams, by practise to make a perfect participant in this worthless cosmic game once freed of the confines of this immediate present tense. Fall in a dream, but await eagerly the day you will arise wide awake.

Succumb to Dreamland, Area 51, and to dreamtime, the Painted Sky of the Aborigines. Succumb to fatigue and to the withering of the beautiful blooming lotus being ground into tomorrow's soma.

Another day, another grind, but the soma is all saved up. It is all saved up for you at the end, so when you die, you will be propelled rapidly to a great height in the hierarchy of the heavens, in proportion to the amount of your work, karma, or deeds: the ashes left over after the body was given fully over to be consumed within the fire of time, of Heraclitus.

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05/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 05-05-06 For two weeks straight I don't dream.

I can't explain it. All my dosages are within normal perametres, and there have been no recent sudden changes in my psyche, at least that I remember...

I wake up finally, and I've had a nightmare. That was when I knew the problems were about to begin.

I wake up and I have a traffick ticket. As if in a dream, it comes back to me: I got pulled over three nights in a row. The first night, it was for a busted brake light and a warning. The second night, for a busted brake light, a busted headlight, and this time, a ticket. The third night, "you need to get that fixed Mr. Gee, because if the other break light goes out, no one would know if you were using your breaks or not." I getcha I getcha. After a day or two spent sleeping I take the car into the auto shoppe owned by my neighbor down the street. Apparently the sockets had worn out and loosened around the plug casing of the bulbs. Wiring included, $175. Straight up. Pretty steep for neighborly, but hell, I've already gotten a ticket, don't want another.

Well, the cop who'd written me the ticket had explained my three options: 1) pay the ticket, 2) contest the ticket in traffick court, 3) "fix-a-ticket!" Get this. This mother-fucking piece of legislation some dumb dick-head made up: if I get the car fixed, I can "flag down" a cop, and get them to "sign-off" on my ticket, which "cancels it." I opt for that. So I get the car fixed, as I say, and go down to the traffick court to get a cop to autograph my ticket. Not only is there no cop, but the lady at the counter informs me I will stay have to pay half the price of the ticket even if I get it signed. Well, I'm a little disgruntled, but not feeling too bad.

While out the day after the nightmare, I decided I would stop by the police station and get a cop to "sign off" on my ticket. I end up waiting for a half an hour until finally the front desk officer leaves her post to come inspect my vehicle. She then informs me that the brake light is, in fact, still out. I drive, angrilly, over to my neighbor's auto shoppe, where one of his mechanics explains it was probably just a defective part and if I brought it back tomorrow they could order it and fix it free of charge, as it was under warranty. I was relieved, but still very upset. I came home and tried to calm down by taking a half an atavan. When mom got home I started yelling at her. I didn't mean to, but I was aversarial beyond my own control. I put out a cigarette on my arm and cut myself with a kitchen knife. I went totally psycho. She left and I called her to apologise, I knew my behaviour was out of control, but I couldn't stop myself. All the stress of the past few weeks had reached a boiling point.

Everything is straight between me and mom now, so no worries. And I had a dream the other night, first one in about two and half weeks. I haven't been sleeping very long compared to how long I've been awake, but I have been feeling rested, at least for the past couple of days.

Nothing much else new to report on in my personal life. Damien is back with Kelly, and spends half the time out of town working for his mom, and the other half of the time he is in town he spends with Kelly. Simeon wants to get together with him to jam, or rather, rock out, that is to say, to practise, but Damien keeps dipping out on Simeon and me both. I've also made it a bit too clear to a few too many people that I'm not too fond of Kelly, so this only serves to further drive a wedge between the time I get to spend with D and the time she has him for. The other night we went to a show, two other "white reggae" bands: Dubconscious and Passafire, the latter of whom TBS had opened for, I think during Fool's Fest (ie around april first). I was so bored, but it's the only time I get to spend with my friend! I think he may be starting to feel the tension of being torn between making music with his guy friends and working for and dating a couple of very needy females. But he aight. He and Sims are gonna need to have some sit-down time together soon, hold a pow-wow, but he aight. They both aight.

I sleep another night and have much better dreams. I wake up and mom and her friend Bruce have fixed the other lights that were out on my car, the front left blinker (under the battery) and the right front bright beam (the whole casing had disconnected and nothing was left but the bulb). I wake up to this! Grand! Mom then rides with me not only to pay the ticket, but also to the police station where she has a cop fill out and sign off on my ticket. She then pays the extra twenty dollars (the ticket was supposed to be reduced to thirty) of the fifty dollar ticket because it turned out to be past the late date. I paid her back the full fifty, of course. I took another fifty, and got a full tank of gas and four packs of smokes. I had a great day today.

Which makes me all too damn suspicious for the future.Ominous forebodings... you know... most people believe when they come, the Great Burner Will Turn Back Time. The Great Burner only knows. This is terrible foreshadowing... what is this foreshortenning that I feel now? It is perspective coming upon me. I see the terrible battlefield laid out before me. I see it clear as the night above and the day below. I see it all as one.

I have the heart of the Great Burner in me. Yes. But what does this mean? It means that I am quite accustomed to answering questions. I raise them alot in my writing recently. I believe it is the influence of finally absorbing what I have read in QBLHistic wisdom literature. I pose a question.

I am one rabbi. I answer the question. I am another rabbi. I am going around a circle of very wise men. I am within the very hookah fumes that they consume.

I have always been here. I have always been everywhere. I can say these things, I can say them knowing they are mutually exclusive. Because Here is Not Everywhere. And I can say both with certitude. I can say that Both Are True. I can say that Together they are both true, and that the thing between them that they are both referring to is a fact. What is the thing that is between them, what is it they both refer to? When you say "I am here, I am everywhere," and when you say "here is not everywhere," you know that both statements are equally true. Why? What does this mean? Just as we were once beings passed around in a circle of wise men, so too are those same wise men now passing around in a circle inside of our own minds. So when I ask a question, and then I answer it, it is because there is in me the desire to know AND the ability to already have known, that is, the ability to reveal. These are the two halves of me, and so back and forth like electricity rising up between antennae in a Jacob's ladder, they between them constitute the all: they constitute me. So what does it mean to say that the truth comes from multiple perspectives on one reality? Well, who are these "wise men" we have in our minds now, that is, this circle of rabbis?

They are: the Crew That Never Sleeps. Why do I call them this? Because they have always existed (and probably always will), and because they can act on foreknowledge (they are precognitive of events because they are beyond time) and because they never know the difference between day and night in their mind, because these two are one: that is why we say they "never sleep": because there is no difference for them between dream and wakefullness.

These are the beings that exist in the Bright Beyond: Ayin Soph Aur. They are made out of monoatomic gold, their DNA has evaporated into the gravitational ether, and they are invisible beings of pure tachyonic Light. They shimmer and shine. They are very much alive. And yet they are the Dream People. They are Fantasy Land. They are Not Real. They pass through us along currents beyond comprehension, and they are transient in our minds, appearing to change from time to time, although we know ourselves to only be one individual sentient entity. They are the Dwellers in the Shadow Realm, the darkness, Ayin Soph. They come from within it, stand before it, and like a shadow stand before infinite night. These beings, their dimension is beyond our own.

They supercede us, and yet are at the same time merely states of our own consciousness, the socalled archetypes. The Essenes described them as "the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness."

They described the human condition as transcendent to this plane, this higher dimension of

archetypes: war, strife, disharmony, chaos, murder and catastrophe, lack of certainty, loss of dogma, loss of morals and of morale, the fallen angels among them being cast down. What does this mean?

There are the Sleep Walkers, the fallen ones from on high, the archetypes cast low and the spiritual vessels shattered, their shards being cast down to this earthly level, the Kingdom of the four elements, and the kingdom of man. But they are only ghosts. They are ghost gods. They are only idealisations of non-ideal things, that is, they are the man-made shadows on the wall of Plato's cave, the ghost gods of hearth, of home, nation, age, race, etc. These are all the ways of men.

Angels know not of these things by their nature. They are made corrupt by us.

And then there is the Crew that Never Sleeps. The Sleep Walkers are to the Crew that Never Sleeps on this higher vibrational frequency, pure ideal dimensional level much like the sleeper-agents, the "fellow travellers" that, chattle-like, merely follow the path of least resistance through their lives, are to those who have been awakened to awareness of the higher dimensional level. The pure ideals are not known to the chattle, the sleepers. While you are asleep you are merely an instrument being played by the vibrations of this cosmos. You call these visions of the archetypes moving through you "dreams." But the Crew That Never Sleeps, oh... they don't need to make that distinction.

Perhaps you think I'm merely rambling. And perhaps you think I've already lost my mind.

Perhaps you think you were born too late to come to understand. Perhaps you think you're just in time, and that I will snap at any time. Perhaps you think I'll radically switch soon.

Let me tell you what I see, when I say "I see the battlefield laid bare before me": I mean that there are on one side the ones that are moving downward into slower and more solid vibrations, and on the other side there are the ones that are moving upward into higher and more aethyreal vibrations. Between them is a lightning snake that rises and descends simultaneously, ever in motion, and within this is the entire history of our universe contained. Beyond 4-dimensional space there is a tree: its leaves are like seconds, its stems minutes, its branches hours, its roots are arc radians, and its trunk expands by degrees. It breathes. It survived the upper waters and it survived the lower waters. This is the reflection of the self that we see from the perspective of, yet cannot ever see the source of our perception. This is the font of consciousness: inspiration or distraction. When we see this self reflected, we know that the reflection is reversed and opposite: the self is ideal, but the reflection is real; the self is inspiration, but the reflection is distraction. When I say the tree breathes, I mean beneath its surface it seathes with internal, invisible life. So too is the Light invisible beyond our own dimensions not only real. It is alive.

This is the root essence of the Great Burner: He is the unmoved mover: He contains the interior faces of the Crew that Never Sleeps, which faces look down over and across the Sleep Walkers. The Sleep Walkers are trapped within the force of gravity. They are trapped in the second half of the fourth dimension: they are outside of time, but they exist only as fourth dimensional shapes.

These are the metaforms. They are but the shadows of the Beings of Light that are the Crew that Never Sleeps. The Crew that Never Sleeps are the wormholes, and the Great Burner is the black hole surrounding the singularity containing the baby universe that is our own universe, the one in which we exist, our universe now. The Sleep Walkers are made out of tachyons, they are contained within the greater aura of heaven surrounding our local singularity, they are simply bound to be only part of the overall set of tachyons, they are bound to beneath the speed of photons, the speed at which tachyons begin to become distroted by their own scalar wave field gravitational effects. But the Crew that Never Sleeps are capable of going beyond gravity-bound photons, and exist as sentient entities whose forms are such that all the geometries of the fourth spatial dimension are merely the shadows they cast.

And all of these are contained inside out as levels within the Great Burner, within His Being, His Essence: the Great Burner Is Our Parent Universe.

He is not from another dimension. He is of another dimension. Now, how can I say this? Have I not already explained? Everything is inside out. The Parent Universe is within the Mind of Each of Us. We see with our own Mind's Eye BEYOND the allowed borders by goegraphy, We See Beyond the allowed structures built for ourselves over time. Crowley said every man and every woman is a star. Let them all be like black holes, whose surface is comprised of an oil slick of wormholes.

This is how we shall see their way free.

Hold the Door Open. This is the Will of the Great Burner. It manifests as the Crew that Never Sleeps. They brush aside the Sleep Walkers. So it also manifests on this level, the kingdom of earth, that the sleepers are the ones who are marginalised along the mainstream, beside those who Understand the Order of things who are the movers and shakers, but even these are only the yesmen of Wisdom, the circle of rabbis.

But all these things, these words, are only ideas I have cast into your mind now. You must see for Yourself How You Are Yourself The Great Burner. Au Puq, the yin yang of aum, the breath itself.

This is the system of the tree: it breathes in and circulates itself, it breathes out and then breathes in again. Aum Tao, Au Puq. Chi energy, ophanim, the ophanic orgone zero-point scalar waves of ether.

Now deny you the existence of the Great Burner? For I assure you all He Will Come. He will come over us all as a great great gone-ness, the emptiness of thought, pure awe. When this occurs for you each you will know to who else it has already occured. And by them you shall also be known.

It is like losing your virginity. It is shame for that by which you identify yourself. You will be recognised, and you will recognise those who recognise you. And you will all be ashamed to know what, in secret, you have each done. And so you will avoid talking about it. And so it will grow up behind you, and wrap you up in vines, and strangle all the life out of you. Because you will not be able to avoid thinking about it. It's like thinking about Pink Elephants, and then someone comes along and jolts you and says, "stop that." So what were you thinking about just now?

The Great Burner is the naked third eye.

Time is the invisible blood of God. How can you see through the lens of your eye? Because it is invisible. It is clear. It is transparent, like glass. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But does this mean that, when one looks into another one's eyes, they are looking into the depths of their very soul, or does this mean that, when one looks out through the windows of their eyes, it is the world outside and beyond that they see that causes us to say they have a soul?

You know, some people probably think I'm completely crazy. Well the way I say it may be prolific ad nauseum, but what I am saying is all sound logical conclusions. I have told you before that you will see the Changers with your own eyes, and I meant it.

Time flows fast or slows. Only the Great Burner themselves truly knows.

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06/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 06-04-06 The class of messengers has been lost to time. Hermes, the Voodoun Orisha Eleggua, and His priests were one and the same. There was no question if a priest of the messenger god was or wasn't themselves a messenger of God. If you bore a message, and this message could have had no other source than God, then to the ancient mind you were automatically a priest. You, yourself, were the Hermes, the Ho-Tekton, the messenger of God. Of course, that all ended when the Roman Catholic religion imposed the interpretation of Satan as Lucifer, the messenger of morning, the planet Venus, whose pre-dawn rising was associated by the Hellenistic Romans with Prometheus, thief of fire from the Gods and giver of it to man. Now, even the torch-bearing statue of Liberty is associated (wrongly) with invita Minerval priestess Semiramis.

Now, priests are obvious pedofiles posing as conservatives or else maniacal fanatics, quaking with their own hot air. It is a terrifying world under Yahweh. But what did you expect? You have chosen to venerate Yahweh by His "Son," Jesus, and thereby have come to venerate, instead, the Sun itself, at the center of only our most local area of "outer" space. To you, the past 2000 years seems like a long time. This is dangerously retrograde to forward thinking. You must realise that, while according to terrestrial human culture, 2000 years may seem like a long time, according to the whole of recorded history, 2000 years is only 1/3rd the time elapsed since the "invention" of the alphabet and writing.

Now, it is everyone else moreso than the priests of God who belong to a class of gnostic messengers, and now it is everyone other than the priests who rightly comprise the class of priestly messengers of God. This is because now everyone knows the truth that the priests of today exist to deny: Jesus was not Catholic, a Roman Christian. Jesus was not Hebrew, although he was born a Palestinian Jew. His real "religion" was Gnosticism. That's right. He was the same religion as you and I. He had doubts as to whether or not "God" even existed. He was agnostic.

Like Jesus, I too am a gnostic. I, too, am a messenger scribe. I too believe that religion, that was, at the time of Jesus, a function of both Church and State, that has become, now, an invisible empire of prevalent beliefs, a blindfold of lies, is the very same Demiurge described in the Apocalypse of Revelation. I know that, with my heart, I can feel weight drawing inward toward the center of my soul, beneath my left breast, when I think of the horror that is our modern system of beliefs. The very "reality" defies my gorge. It is too absurd to believe: we are trapped here, in time, in the present, on this planet, in our native culture, bound even to sitting, standing or lying down so attached are we to this world. It is a burden on my being.

There is very little we can do to free our souls from the oppression heaped upon them by the invisible empire of beliefs over the past 6000 years, let alone to free our minds from the Roman Catholic Hell on Earth of the past 2000. They have come to weigh so heavily upon the hearts of those of us who would, were they so unhampered, rightly have led the way in our own evolutionary leaps that instead we are shunned and shamed as mutants. Do you think that fame, the distraction of wasting your own legacy, is not a shame? Even if given the spotlight of celebrity, we are forced to sacrifice all that made us feel so special as to desire it. Is the Grail made of Gold? Hath it not borne the Blood of the Saviour? Is not Time itself the Blood of God? So, why does 2000 years seem like a long time? It is because it has been that long since our priests betrayed us to the devil: they traded our liberty for their rulership. Now, the priests exist only to convince us there is in any way any difference between our doubting their God and our believing in our own. If you are agnostic, then you are a gnostic. You have your own vision, your own belief in God. But you refuse to accept the definition imposed upon your own by any other. Our ancestors, rather than being allowed to evolve, have been burdened to the yoke of serving Jesus, or serving God, by obeying the guidances of His priests.

Hath the Pope no auhority? Not by Right, no moreso than I, no. Hath either of us the right to rule?

Never. But it is by the encouragement by the clergy of the false belief that the One Must Rule the Many that a pontiff has been set upon the seat called "infallibility." I will not invoke divine right, but I will reject anyone else's.

Our class, the class of Gnostics, Seers, has become the True Class of Hermes. We are all the pupils of the Righteous Teacher, besides the ones that wish to become that Wicked Priest. We learn of the True Nature of God, and behold the divine beyond any empirical doubt. We share this all with one another, and it is only the followers of the Priestcraft now who would turn away.

Once we were few, now we are many. Once we were few, and before that we were only One. Pythagoras, priest of Thoth, was Hermes. He was the first Hermetic Seer, the first Gnostic. His was the secret identity of Socrates, teacher of Plato, teacher of Aristotle, teacher of Alexander, the first Emperor of the world. Pythagoras it was who introduced Solon to the mysteries of Egypt.

These were the priests of Thoth, that is, of the Egyptian Hermes, messenger of God, rightly a scribe associated with Time. Pythagoras himself was raised among them. Long before Pope Gregory, the Hermeticists had lived monastically. Their small communities centred around wells in the Middle East, such as the Essene community on the coast of the (now) Dead Sea called Qumran. In Europe the Druids dowsed for underground river intersections as well, building sacred shrines that would eventually come to be replaced by monastaries.

What was held as secret and sacred in the time of the Egyptian Hermeticists, the so-attired Great White Brotherhood, was becoming common knowledge during the time of the Essene Gnostics. But it was then the Righteous Teacher and the Sons of the Light were betrayed by the Wicked Priest of the Sons of Darkness. Since that time, 2000 years ago, our minds have been bound within and confined by the belief that we must keep our knowledge a secret. However, just as during the time of Jesus, such knowledge as He preached was becoming increasingly well known and accepted, that is, the knowledge of Gnosticism, the religion of being agnostic, so, by now, 2000 years later, the majority of us have come to accept what they were only just then coming to know 2000 years before us now. The sciences we have developed, and the Democratic ideals of government (separation of Church and State), these are the heritage of the Hermeticists, the Gnostics, the visionary seers of 2000 years ago. Thus, now it is the few, the priests, who do not accept what the majority of us know: that is, the physical Nature of God. We know the physical nature of God with our senses, but 2000 years ago they knew of the physical nature of God only through prophecy. They were separated from the source of their beliefs by as long a duration in time-space as modern Christians are from the life of the actual Christ. Only they were all looking forward. So, too, are we modern Gnostics looking forward, staring into the sun of the future, looking for answers. Only now we are the majority. Only the priestcraft would turn us all away. And they do try. They may be the minority, but so they teach minority rule.

They may have fewer members, but their members are louder vocalists of their agenda than the masses of we skeptical gnostics.

2000 years ago, Christ foresaw our present world peace. For this is the sacred "secret" of the Gnostics: we are at peace while the Priests would tell us we are surrounded by war. We do not believe them. We understand all is surrounded by layers and levels at peace or at war with one another. The priests can kill our bodies, but they cannot do the one thing they promise. They cannot save our souls. They seek to enslave us by saying they can save us. But it is they alone who threaten us. And we are now more than they. We Save Our Own Souls. We Free Our Own Minds.

I have become the Christ of my own universe. Just as Jesus Before Me.

So, we see, Time Is Folded. Every 2000 years earth has lagged behind 1/12th in her entire orbit around our Sol, her sun. Just as there was once a person named Jesus, so too now is there my person, named Jon. I can look back at his times and His life, and see Him through the eyes of His contemporaries, and see his contemporaries through my own eyes. In every way that I can thus "remember" what it must have been like to be Him, looking backwards, when I do this, He Himself is reflected in me now, and so all that which was around Him in his time, is also around me within mine. He and I look also upon the times before Him, in our mutual past, with the same eyes.

Through His point of view I can see the world (His past) as He saw it, and at the same time, I still see the world (Our past) as I see it. I see the overlapping of two worlds, His present, and Our past.

This is only one, small, form of Gnostic vision. This is the geometry of knowing Jesus. However, now, his followers are fools. Consider celebrities. So philanthropic. The masses consider them geniuses! They believe that those who are the subjects of news reports have in some sense mastered the game of money and public attention. And so, the masses entrust unto their celebrity class the honor of believing them their own, modern, strange, form of priest-craft. The priestcraft of culture. They are venerated by the masses as the direct representatives of their Gods, the archetypes, known to Gnostics as the Archons.

But consider this, are the celebrities the servants of the people? Do they portray those traits, truly archetypal, within us most worthy of cherishing, most perfect, most ideal and desireable, most sincere, most unique, most Holy? Do they uplift us, as a worthy priest-class would, and should? Are they not the fallen angels? When they should be the Knights protecting Democracy, they have become the royal jesters, performing on a psychic stage, divided by an abyss of time between viewing and original performance, spitting at the Praetorian aristocracy and instead hitting the Plebian groundlings. This is supposed to be the Dionysian world of Hermes, the theatre in which the Greeks, our twins in Democracy, venerated the Pantheon of all their Ideals.

Instead now, played out on the cosmic stage, we have the sickest, the lowest, the basest, the most repugnant, the most undesirable, the most disheartening and foreboding of all portrayals of Human Nature.

Much less so are we encouraged to even invetigate any knowledge whatsoever of the divine.

Instead, for us, it's nine-to-five every work-a-day in our so-called lives. We are given as the image of the divine, instead, the image of the bee hive. The pope is crowned with one, for example.

This tradition dates back to ancient Egypt, when, for fashion, women wore scented wax headdresses that then melted down over them in the heat. The symbol of the bee was chosen as the symbol of Napolean Bonapart's French empire, and it was made to resemble the so-called Fleurde-lis of the deposed French aristocracy descended from Dagobert II. The bee hive is believed, by speculative Free Masons, to be a symbol of the Demiurge. The Masons refer to the demiurge as "the drone in the hive of nature, a useless member of society, and unworthy of our protection as Masons." The bee in the bee hive is not an individual, has no thoughts and thus no mind of its own, and does not therefore exist as an individual entity, but only as a member of the collective consciousness of the hive, essentially an extension of the queen's consciousness from her egg-chambre, protected by drones, at the centre. The drones, or "useless members" are androgynous offsrping bred to serve only the queen. These drones are "useless" whenever separated from the queen, and therefore do not go outside of the hive. They, therefore, never exist as separate entities from the hive consciousness. They are organs of the hive itself. They have no right to exist except to serve the queen of their native hive. These "drones" of the "demiurge" are admitted to exist even by the most devout evangelical Catholic.

They are called "demons." The Moslems call them "djinn" and the bedouin Arabs called them "genies." Some Gnostics wish to free the minds of the Priests, the "drones." However no true Gnostic doesn't want to see the need for a Priestcraft, separating God and man as it does, at last come to an end.

The story of Jesus Christ's betrayal by Judas is now commonly understood to be an allegory, invented by Roman Christians, for the betrayal of Julius Caesar by Brutus. The twelve apostles represent the twelve senators who betrayed and murdered Julius Caesar. The Roman Christian Empire is the empire of these twelve. The Empire of the so-called Apostles, the true betrayers of Jesus. It was not the Jews under the inept King Herod who were responsible for his betrayal. It was not the Romans under the indifferent Pontius Pilate. It was the apostles, his own friends, who gave him over and left him to his own fate. This is another minor Gnostic "mystery," now revealed and commonly accepted. However, if anyone ever attempts to focus on these myths, why they are believed by us all, why we all acknowledge and orient our opinions toward them, why even though they are fictions they are taught to us while young, and why we will probably teach our children the same things we learned without ever questioning along the way for more, and why if one ever stops to think and wonder why all these things, then they cannnot find any explanation! We are told lie upon lie, and the more of them the more we believe in the power of lying in general, until the biggest lie to come down the pike, then, we throw in with, and ride its coat-tails to "star"dom.

This is believed to be "the way of things": to lie. The priests tell us the lies we tell our children.

They tell us of jolly old "St. Nicholas," and of the "Easter bunny." The more we go along with these fairytales the more we are socially rewarded. But this happens without question. If we question, the more we question, and the more we find out the true answers for ourselves, the more we are punished. This is why most of life's more philosophical answers are "occluded," or rather, only hinted at in modern school books, while never being discussed openly and honestly in church. It is believed that, were it not for "secret societies," religion would have destroyed all fact from the surface of earth by now. This abomination of desolation they preach to us by the name "utopia" and "the Garden of Eden." Then, as we are about to correct them with our own gnostic insights on the matter, they contradict us by reprimanding us for desiring their version of Eden, which we never did. They, in this way, go about ignoring factual reality. It truly does wear out the spirit to have the soul sucked out and fed upon by the lies of the modern priestcraft.

Would a priest jump off a cliff if you commanded them to? They are not your humble servants, in the good company of the One True Lord. They are like the "insane" who deny all social customs and defy all social norms. Their every gesture fills us with awe, with wonder at: how can something so utterly evil and abominable to all that is good about existence not only even exist, but can also preach? It should be funny. If you seek to expose the secrets held by the priestcraft, to reveal them by gnosis, knowledge, and its application, magick, your fate will be death or worse: being put to the Question.

If you are willing to deny your beliefs and be "zapped" they promise you fame, immortality in the public consciousness, to be preserved as a historical artefact by replication via the media. They shine their spotlight in your eye, and, in reality, your brain is being buried alive. This is the real secret of the Holy Grail: if you show what you discover to the wrong authorities, they will send you to one of two living Hells. They put you to the Question: renounce reality and live as a celebrity for a lifetime, or retain your "belief" but remain dirt-poor for generation upon generation. If you refuse, they make a meal out of your mind anyway. If you accept, they might even reneg on their end. Their only law is Irony; it is all that pleases them.

I refuse them as friends and I refute their "divinely" natural right to any authority. They claim their churches embody the sacred geometry. Then why do they not teach us this? Why recite the mass in latin, when you do not offer to teach children this language from birth? Why do you maintain the myth of the miracles as beyond approach by any attempts to seek scientific evidence? Why do they shame us for desiring to make ourselves more perfect an image in the eye of Our Creator? Why to this day do they refute even evolution? Is it beyond their theosophy to accept our origins as a species are not due to "divine" intervention?

This is, of course, all now considered blasphemy. If I were to walk into a Catholic Church, the House of Our God, the Saviour and the Redeemer from All Sin, and utter the words, "Jesus was Gnostic," I would be politely asked to excuse myself from the premises and rapidly, by invitation or not, escorted out. This is the strength of prejudice: that it not only makes it impossible to talk about a thing, but it makes it impossible not to think about that thing. I, as a messenger, describe only what I see. I write it down, and you read it, and you see the same things the same ways or not.

That's how it works. But it does not mean that I myself always agree with what I see. What I write about often scares me quite alot. For example, I have no real opinion about the Will or God, or the Morals and Dogma of Religion. However, under the invisible, psychic empire of the Christian church, I am forced to have an opinion one way or the other. When I say I am undecided, that I am agnostic, they automatically assume the more doubt I have, the more bound for Hell, and that, to Save me from Hell, they have to convince me to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour. If I refuse, they consider me an enemy of their beliefs. Rather than being left alone and allowed to form my own opinion on the True Nature of God, I, as all of us here in western civilisation for the past 2000 years, have been dictated to from the beginning to accept the dominant paradigm of the nature of God, and that, to reject this paradigm is tantamount to rejection of the True Nature of God. My people, the ones who know who they are as they read these words, and I, who writes them, know that these words are worthless. They are a pile of so much rubbish, the masturbation of the mind.

There is no point talking about God, because God is ineffable. What can be said at all if, by our flawed nature, we can say nothing about the divine for certain? Better to "sing a song in silence," than to chant a hymn aloud. Likewise, no good comes from getting angry about religion. It is simply one of those things my mother reminds me "you can't change." So why am I bothering to write and rant about religion now? Simple. I am not here. I have "stepped aside," so to speak, and am allowing a "higher" idealogy to speak through me. This is, in cause, all religion really is; or at least, all it takes to be a wicked priest: suspend your disbelief. Let the "Higher Power" move through you in complete submission to it, with unquestioning, blind obedience to remaining as distended to its penetration to your core as possible. Now you know the nature of the Wicked Priest. Once you have gotten your disbelief out of the way, then you are ready to throw yourself into mad or life-long devotion to believing in something you probably know more than most for a fact is fiction. And then, for you, fact is fiction.

The Truth is, I should not need to care about whether or not "God" exists. I should, if I choose to, be allowed to form my own opinions about this, or to choose to remain undecided, or even to want to continue having no opinion on it at all. There is no "right" answer for everyone. Everyone is different, like snowflakes, and yet we all bleed the same, like snowdrifts. I do not see why some things are even an issue. Not only are they so self-evident and obviously factually, naturally, real, that to deny them would be fatal to ones' sense of self-preservation and thus retrograde to individual survival, yet still those who deny factual, natural reality draw to death off each of us our essence for the preservation of the "greater good" of the group; that is, they exchange our souls for their alms, renting them back to us "until we meet again." This is the heresy. This is the blasphemy. Beside the slave-raping of our young minds by the institutions of religion, the petty frauds we endure under our politics and the lies of economists pale by comparison.

Religion is the she-beast of its own Apocalypse. The so-called "Whore of Babylon" is the New Rome, built to become a "New Atlantis," a "New Jerusalem." On seven hills she sits, and the angels bear a message, hidden beneath a secret sigil, for each. Levithan, the New Atlantis, rising from the water, and Leviathon, the pheonix from the grave of Gehenom, the New Jerusalem, are the church and state that both bow down before the same Master: the religion of Rome, Catholic Christianity. Regardless of whether you believe in the True Nature of God as ineffable or as physical, whether you accept the myth of the miracles or accept the moral parables as historical fiction, these are irrelevant before the undeniable fact: Religion is Evil. It is Faith that is AntiChrist. It is belief itself that is Blind. The Madonna of all Lies.

Without Original Sin, there would be no doubt in the mind of man if God exists, and thus no need for religion to guide us back to reunion. However, if you renounce Original Sin then you doubt its veracity until you cannot find a relation to it besides absolution. If you forgive yourself of Original Sin, the Church loses its right to you. You were not the one responsible for the rebellion of the angels in Heaven. You were not the one who caused the rebel angels to fall. You were not the one yourself who was tempted by the serpent in the Garden to feed the forbidden fruit to your husband, nor are you the husband, deceived, who received it with trust and was betrayed. You never swallowed the poison of reality, the bitter taste of compromise lingering like a lump in your throat. You are forgiven of all that. This is not something the Church has the "divine" (or any other) right to sanction or suspend. This is a direct relationship between yourself and the divine behind all splendours, this is between you and God alone. If you believe you are forgiven, then God will make your wish true for you. But if you believe it is the Church that is the basis for your faith, that without the communion of its fellowship, and without the "salvation" by Jesus Christ, then you have ceased to exist on a one to one level relationship with God. You have chosen to hide your face from Him, and thus to admit to guilt for eating the apple and thus learning the difference between "Good" ignorance and "Bad" knowledge. If you blame Gnostics for the crucifixion of your Christ, then you will drink the blood of your saviour from the skull of your enemies.

If you yourself choose not to be forgiven for Original Sin, this is the only thing that makes you guilty of it. And the majority of everyone around you, we all disagree with your guiltiness and shame. Your reflection makes us look bad. We are the True Dionysians, who were never separated from our true love, the Apollonian. But when you cast your face aside, and when you sink down, and when, to be humble, you humiliate yourself like a bitch in heat, then we shall all conspire your death behind you. As you turn your face to each of us, the rest behind you who you do not see will be plotting how best to murder you. Like the sun turns its face with the zodiac, so, too, the apostles of Christ and the senators of Caesar. We are the moon blood you deny so that you can deprive us of our rightful place beneath the sun.

Only you can allow yourself to accept being forgiven for a Sin you yourself did not even commit. If you believe otherwise, you will be doomed to a Hell on Earth the likes of which no mortal eye has ever beheld. This Hell is simply being stuck in the here and now, being unable to be lifted up by your own Gnostic vision, and instead being left with a hole in your soul where your heart should be, a rift, an abyss, created by the elevation of your sense of self along with the suspension of your disbelief. You will be trapped in this crypt as the dirt of unwanted experiences will be lumped over you until you cannot even recognise yourself and then you will eat beliefs you disagree with. Your life will become an upside down moral hypocrisy out of your control, and your actions will place you out in public, commiting lecherous debaucheries you would like to not even commit in the privacy of fantasy. This is fame. Popularity. Evil. Death. It comes with the territory of rejecting the "dominant paradigm" but then finally "caving in." If you "play your cards right," remain confident and detached, watching disconnectedly as your body and soul are put to the shameful work of the drone of society, the yoked herd animal, food of the "Gods," then you will be allowed to appear to benefit in this false system of backwards lies. You will grow wealthier and wealthier. You will blow up out of control. But it will be far too late by then to be able to forgive yourself ever again. It will be too late for you to save your own soul. And when that Wicked Priest comes to you at your death bed to perform extreme unction, to offer one last benediction, one last groping chance at salvation, to save your soul before it might otherwise forever be cast into the flames among forgotten unrepentant sinners, the irony of the whole situation will collapse in on you like an implosion inside your eyes, and you will have the Gnostic Second Sight: you will be reborn into the Neter Realm, the Netherworld of the afterlife, the dream-state between heart and brain death, the momentary eternity of the freedom of our soul, at least, its return to a form of pure electromagnetic energy, before it reincarnates again. And when that Wicked Priest comes, that Messenger bringing the Law of Irony, and you tell him, "I am a Gnostic Seer," then he will

send you to damnation, claiming you are the opposite of what you are; claiming to be Gnostic means to be guilty of having commited Original Sin. If you find yourself innocent, according to the backwards logic of Catholicism, you must be found guilty by others. This is inverted thinking, indicative within the Christian faith relative to its sister faith, Gnosticism. Within Christianity, for example, exists a strong tendency toward belief in Satanism, or rather, a dichotmoy religion to the religion of Christiantiy. In reality, all the immorality Christians attribute to the religion of Satanism, the Christians themselves practise.

They then blame Satanism, and tie their own sins to it as their scape-goat, professing themselves absolved of all guilt through redemption by Christ. Of course, the biblical Jesus would take one look at this moral hypocrisy and puke. Yet this is at the core essence of the Christian religion His miracles and crucifixion spawned.

Now, obviously belief in miracles is not natural. No one who, presently, embraces the natural sciences will admit to there being, within their field of domain, anything that defies rational explanation by science. In brief, there is, among consensus reality, no such thing as a miracle.

There are, obviously, certain seeming exceptions to this rule, according to the different leaps made in technological or scientific progress, as well as certain naturally occuring, though unpredictable, coincidences. Therefore, we can say, from our gut reaction and confirmable by our rational sense, that the story of Christ's "miracles" is a fairytale. It is make-believe. So, why is it dogma? Why do any of us believe in it? Because we have been told this lie for 2000 years. It has been bored into our brains beside belief in "God," and the "Satanic" threat of Gnosticism.

Here is a "Satanic" belief, falsely attributed to Gnosticism: "The God of Judeao-Christianity is the Demiurge." This would seem to make sense from a Gnostic point of view, but only someone assuming that point of view who did not consider themselves a gnostic would come to this conclusion. Remember: belief in God, let alone in the "God" of Christianity being the Anti-Christ of its own religion, is exactly what a gnostic lacks. Agnostic means skeptical of the existence of any "God," not only that of Judeao-Christianity. To a true Gnostic it is just as suspicious how some Buddhists venerate Siddhartha as it is suspect how some Christians venerate Jesus. This is why Gnostics are considered "Satanists" by many Christians (particularly Catholics): we are falsely accused of blind faith in our religion's demiurge. To be a Gnostic means to doubt the validity of any form of "God" including the image of the demiurge. In other words, to be agnostic is to remain skeptical of the existence of "God," and to be suspicious of any who believe they can rightly define it.

Again, the Catholic Christians will tell you that Gnosticism is the "religion" of "Satanism." To be a gnostic is to lack belief at all. This absence of any form of certainty about the character of God is exactly the opposite of the anthropomorphic extrapolation of Christianity, however rather than allow Gnostics to remain naturally atheistic, Catholic Christianity posits as its own opposite not an absence altogether of characteristic deity, but the anthropomorphication of the very opposite, the inversion, of "good," which is, itself, only a single attribute of the ineffable personality of our divine creator, and then accuses Gnosticism of worshipping this.

Of course, this does not make the converse true: that, because Catholic Christianity misrepresents Gnosticism as "Satanism" does not mean that Gnosticism potrays Catholicism as "Satanism" either.

Hence, it is not a Gnostic belief that "the Catholic Church is its own anti-Christ" because a Gnostic has no "beliefs."

This is why there is another popular misconception about Gnostics, that we "believe" in "knowledge." This is due to the false attribution to our True Tree of Life of an eleventh "non" emanation called "Daath" (meaning knowledge) and representing an abyss. This is due entirely to Aristotelian thinking being applied, by Christian Cabalists, to the Hebrew tradition of QBLH. According to Aristotle's interpretation of his master Plato's record of, in turn, his own master,

Socrates' saying, "wisdom is knowing you know nothing," wisdom (one of the ten emanations) becomes associated with the trade craftsmen as "applied" knowledge. From thence, we have the standard confusion of God's "Wisdom" with Gnostic Revelation arising from the misconception that, in craft, wisdom follows from knowledge. Therefore, it is wrongly said the relationship between a Gnostic and knowledge (of facts) is the same as that between a Christian and faith (in Christ). Of course, we can see now how this is specious reasoning.

Now, of course, being able to see through the specious reasoning of this anti-Gnostic argument does not make us blindly believe in the universal applicability of logic, anymore, indeed, than it makes us "gnostic." As a gnostic, one does not blow all logic out of porportion in the same manner that a Catholic does their Christianity. For a gnostic, reasoning, rationale, etc. are a means to an end, but no more. The end goal is Truth, but we understand that Truth is greater than the sum of all facts. We venerate neither Reason nor Revelation alone, but maintain the golden ratio between them.

Another myth the Catholics started about Gnosticism was to associate it with Revelation. This myth began when the Book of the Apocalypse of Saint John of Patmos was cannonised by the Council of Nicea for inclusion in the latin vulgate of the bible. This work, the only one of its kind included, was considered borderline heretical from the beginning. Revelations, for the most part, were consigned by the early Catholic church fathers to the fires of the library at Alexandria along with the rest of the Apocarypha and Gnostic "pseudepigrapha." However that of John of Patmos was included. It is obvious by now the Catholics are capable of hersy against their own dogma, and commit regular errors of logic in the form of blatant moral hypocrisies. However, it is the case much more often than not that they do this to gain a tactical advantage at one point that will then benefit them later.

The tactical gain for them, in this case, was that, by considering the book of the Apocalypse, a conservative revelation, outright Gnostic, later they would be able to wrongly associate Gnostics with being false-prophets, or being decieved by their own feverish visions, etc. in effect, accusing all Gnostics of worshipping "hallucination" in the same sense a Catholic worships Christ. This is, of course, also not the case, however it has become a very prominent misconception about Gnosticism. By associating Gnosticism with the Revelation of St. John, Catholicism has relegated Gnosticism to the status of Bacchanalian covens performing a black sabbath of delusion of their senses. All Gnostics are accused, again, of being the exact opposite of what they are, in this case, they are called: failed seers.

Gnostics do not fail to see the hypocrisy of the Catholic Christian Church, and yet we neither condone nor condemn it either. A Catholic will even agree aloud that Jesus is Gnostic while reserving judgment in their heart. In this way they believe they themselves to be Gnostic. In this way they ask, "what would Jesus do," as if it were applicable to the lives of the western business world's yuppie bourgiousie. They firmly believe that at the heart of Gnosticism is the desire to debunk, to deflower the naive. So, they fancy themselves as Gnostic as they believe was Jesus when they say, in their hearts, they will "reserve judgment" on whether of not Jesus was Gnostic. By "reserving" their judgment, it frees up their tongue to speak any manner of discourse on the subject, to test for different people's reactions to different assumed "beliefs." This is the premise of the "Fishers of Men" myth.

So, in their heart, they may maintain "I am skeptical" but then, with their tongue, speak as one who is convinced of a "belief." This is what is different between being Catholic Christian and a Gnostic: for a Gnostic to be skeptical is not enough. We must speak the truth about our doubts. For a Christian, they may be an atheist, even a "Satanist," in their hearts, while accepting the transubstantiated Holy Communion wafer with their lying tongue.

It has long been a tactic of Catholic Christians to "draw out" the opinions of their opponents by seeming to retreat away from their interlocutor on an issue, especially if it will make their interlocutor seem unduly concerned with the issue by making themselves appear haughty to its irrelevance. This is the consummation of the "Fishers of Men" myth. In Scripture, Christ is said to have taught James and John to become "Fishers of Men." This is generally accepted to mean that Jesus was, even in his early ministry, preparing the apostles for a time when they would be without him. He was preparing them to evangelise for him, as would Peter, the "rock" on whom the Catholic Church is (alledgedly) founded, and Paul, whose doctrine overshadows the morals of Jesus in Catholic interpretation. This is, of course, all traceable to the initial idea that Gnostics are to debunking Catholicsm what Catholics are to Christianity, or rather, that Gnostics are as evangelical as Christians.

Of course, all of this was contrived by the agenda of the authors of the "pseudepigraphal" gospels that became authoritatively canonised into the latin Vulgate bible by the council of Nicea. The goal was to depict Jesus not according to the beliefs of the Gnostics, but in accordance with the Pauline doctrines of the early Catholic faction within the Christian Church. This retroactive selective editing was made decidedly easier when the gospels to be canonised were predominantly those provided by the early Catholics, the followers of the Pauline doctrines of evangelism to the goyim. The Catholics simply forced their Pauline agenda through the Council of Nicea by providing only their own versions of scripture, describing Christ as evangelical.

Now, when I say the canonised gospels were "pseudepigraphal" this means their authorship is "falsely attributed." For example, according to anti-Catholic historian Abelard Reuchlin, in "The True Authorship of the New Testament," Lucius Calpernius Piso wrote The Gospel of Mark (60-65AD). Arius Calpernius Piso wrote The Gosepl of Mathew (70-75AD), updated Mark (75-80AD), and collaborated with Pliny the Younger to write The Gospel of Luke (85-90AD). Justus Piso wrote The Gospel of John (105AD).

This group of people were the first Catholics. The information they were basing their characterisations of Christ upon had been derived from Paul of Tsarsis, whom had been sent by the Herodian Sanhedrin to the Essene Levite Cohenim community of Qumran as a spy and whom had returned a convert. Paul wrote feverishly on the importance of the early church, only to have it all subverted when the Catholics among the Council of Nicea used his scriptures to back their agenda of ascendency to power following the death of Emperor Constantine. They quickly dominated the doctrinal debates between the early church fathers, and rapidly rose to ascension as the predominant branch of the Christian Church, which is why Catholicism remains centred in Rome as opposed to Jerusalem.

The Christians had essentially abandoned the Holy Lands after the defeat of the last of the Roman legions by the mongol barbarians of Ghengis Khan. The Roman Empire would be split into the Orthodox Greek and Russian Cristian Church in the east and the Catholic Holy Roman Empire in the west. At this point there were no plans for what would come to be the raging blood baths of the Crusades. Following the handing over by the Hebrew patriarchs to the politically Moslem urbanising bedouin tribes of Jerusalem in 638 under the Pact of Umar, it would be another 663 years before the first Crusade to "liberate" the "Holy Land," in 1099.

So, what was the Catholic Church doing all that while, if its priorities were, at any point, at all concerned with the welfare of maintaining a Hebrew nation of Israel? The Catholic Church is the world empire. It has dominated the "known world" for as long as it has existed. At the top sits the pope, the beneficient dictator of Christendom (the de facto, and presumed a priori, kingdom of Christianity), elected by a committee of cardinals, and so on down to the Arch-diases, the bishops and the priests. It is a "bottom-up" form of Democracy, but with a single figure at its head. If the Catholic Church permitted a nation of Israel, it would have to sacrifice some of its own governing authority over such a region. In so doing it would have only two options (other than transfer of the

Christian papacy): democracy among the citizens, or admission of the Kingly bloodline descended from the true person of Jesus, upon whom the Pisos had unwisely based their zodiacal passion play.

This, it should be obvious, would never be permitted to happen under the Catholic psyhic empire.

It would unseat the myth of Christ by which the Catholics to this day maintain the seat of highest authority in the land (equivalent to the once Egyptian pharoahs) overseeing a vast network of confessed and blessed sinners. If it were admitted that Jesus was a man, and not "the son of man," then the premise for the Christian religion would be toppled and the Catholics would have no grounds for their authority. Therefore, it is, to this day, vehemently despised by Catholicism to admit that there was even a delegation of French desposyni to request attendance at the Council of Nicea. For the descendants of the Hebrew royal bloodline (descended from King David, from Jacob-Israel, and thence from Abraham) to have even existed at all after the supposed cruifixion of Christ denies that with Him died out the one and only blood-line descent from the original priest-kings of ancient Sumeria. Following this event, according to goyim evangelic Pauline Christianity, as cowered behind by the Piso Roman Catholics, the position of King of the Jews became the post known now as pope, or Head of the Roman Christian Church.

From what I have said, you might expect most Gnostics to be very anti-Catholic. The truth is that, nowadays, a gnostic simply has zero efficacy in any form of organised (institional) religion. The apocryphal gospel of Thomas has been quoted recently in the movie Stigmata, where it was used to question the authority of Catholic dogma, "split a piece of wood and you shall find me, break a stone and I will be there." The modern interpretation of this phrase, attributed by the reliable source, Thomas, the Apostle of Christ, to have been spoken by Jesus Himself, is that Jesus, like any modern agnostic, questioned the need for Churches, and thus for the sanctity of organised religion itself. This is quite opposed to Catholic doctrine which depicts the Church as the "rock" upon which all faith is built.

Right now, the largest percentage of the world's population, as regards religion, is agnostic, or undecided about the relationship between themselves as individuals and the nature of the ineffable Will of the Godhead. In other words, those who question the will of the divine currently comprise the majority class, formerly held by the Messenger class of Gnostic seers. As I have said, the Messenger class of Hermes, the priest-kings of Ahura-Mazda (Divine Wisdom), the Sons of Light, were opposed to the Sons of Darkness, followers of Asura/(fallen)Deva-Ahriman (Bright Darkness), chief among the Persian demonlogy. However now, the philosophies behind religion have been so totally shrouded to the mind of modern mankind that rather than the eternal struggle between the clear and the clouded, the whole idea has fallen under the shadow of doubt.

Now, the modern agnostics are as likely to be led to chaos by Ahriman as to follow the righteous path of Pythagoras, in pursuit of the "Golden Mean." This is how they accomplished the fall of the Messenger Class, finally squelched following the burning of the Alexandrian library and the transportation of its contents to, eventually, the Vatican Archives: They blurred the Golden Mean between Righteous Freedom and Wrongful Imprisonment of the mind with circular dialectics; they told us Zurvan-Akarana (infinite time) killed Zoroaster, the Prophet of Ahurah-Mazda. He was sacrificed as an incarnate manifestation of deity by crucifixion much as was said, much later, of Jesus according to the Pliny's and the Pesos of Rome. By killing off the prophet of the Goodness of God, it was believed one could test that deity's immortality; by killing the messenger, it was seen, by the ancient mind, to test the validity of the message.

Of course, with the death of Thoth, the combination of the Apollonian Horus with the Dionysian Amun-Osiris, the Church has finally accomplished the overthrow of the class of warrior mystics, of true prophets and of visionary seers. Now, those Gnostics who once brought the Message of the Divine to the notice of the unelightened have all been exiled to the realms just beyond the fringes of the popular psyche, which is confounded by the enforced necessity to perpetuate untrue myths

based on a morally bankrupt philosophy. Now, in the fringes of consciousness, all modern agnostics know there is something wrong with our interpretation of reality, but they have been too conditioned to peasant mentality for the past 2000 years to believe themselves capable of understanding the true nature of God on their own.

Thoth, Hermes, the God of Time, that is, the Messenger of the Truth, had to be associated, by doctrine (since to accomplish such by popular belief would be impossible), with the equivalent of the Gnostic conception of the Demiurge, Samael the Blind, or the God of occlusion and darkness, Ahriman. Therefore, to suppress the true nature of God that can be achieved by the right study and proper learning of the cycles of time, the early church fathers introduced the Roman conception of Ialdabaoth as "Lucifer," the "Light-bringer," whom they boldly confused with Prometheus by mis-attribution to Christ in the desert of Galilee of the ancient Chaldean scripture quoted by Isaiah in the Torah. By putting into the mouth of the divine incarnate the words, "how art thou fallen oh Lucifer," rather than "split a piece of wood..." etc. the early church fathers began their 2000 year Crusade against the "heresy" of Gnosticism.

The confusion of Lucifer (the morning star, Venus, known as Shalem), with Satan (the evening star, or Venus set, known as Shaher), that is the NT passage, "how thou art fallen oh Lucifer" and the OT passage, "how art thou fallen oh Satan," is the entire root of the confusion between Prometheus, theif of fire from the Gods, and the demiurge, Ialdabaoth, creator of our presently confused and deluded sense of reality. Prometheus, the torch-bearer of knowledge, was slandered as Lucifer, a hitherto non-existent deity brought into popular usage by the Roman Pesos, and Ialdabaoth, the Gnostic conception of the religious God that demands worship and consent, was slandered as Satan, the secret judge, the tempter and deceiver, ever testing and hostile to all.

Thus the Ialdabaoth of the Gnostics, rather than unmasking the True Face of Time from behind the facelessness of Allah/YHV, the religious creator deity de jour, was used against those very gnostics themselves, until the Light of Truth has been all but extinguished from inside the minds of mortal mankind. Now, we know the Church is its own conception of the Anti-Christ, yet still we kneal before its altars. Instead of questioning the duality of Good and Evil to arrive at Right Knowledge of the True Nature of the single Godhead, we have rent them hopelessly asunder, placing in the name of one the other over all.

Instead, Thoth has been "cast down" to "cling to the sides of the pit" of Hell, the punishment of the Good brother of the Devilish demiurge, the religious conception of YHVH the father, Jesus Christ the Son, and the triune Holy Spirit, for threatening to dethrone the true Satan, whom you would call God, by revealing the Truth of the Greater Light to the masses. Now, there is no more difference in conception in the modern mind between Lucifer and Satan than there was to the ancients between Venus, the morning star, and Prometheus, theif of fire. They have simply become the modern conceptions of the same ancient symbolic observations, however now, associated exclusively with evil, and therefore their right understanding veiled.

Let me say again, may it be said ten thousand times until it need be said no more, "Free Yourself From Mental Slavery. Free Yourself From Religious Guilt For Original Sin." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 06/30/2006 The drugs don't work. I use them, then feel nothing different. I am not euphoric, I do not feel elated. I get high and feel morose. I achieve the perspective above, and then look down with sorrow. I know when I passed my threshhold. I was talking with Damien about shamanism. It was July the fourth, 2004. At that point I had been dry for a year, and was quite content to never think of drugging again. But then I did, and now I do. My usage doubles in half the time. The less effected I feel, the more I use, and vice versa. I am accelerating as I near the bottom of the downward spiral.

Everything seems so normal now. So serene, so pleasant, so banal. Soon a drastic change will come.

It has begun for my friends. M and J are pregnant and moving as I write this, D is moving back in with K. It is autumn in the student ghetto. A new batch of college Freshman will flood the city streets in hot-rods, sucking up to Seniors to buy them beer. Next year they will "try" pot, and after that, as Juniors, they will "try" acid. This is how the American engine of ingenuity works.

The sneech machine of American society. It replicates the seasons, lengthening them into an unnatural perspective. We learn death.

I see her standing at the doorway, beckoning me through. She tells me every step I take forward leads me one step closer to being with her. But suddenly I feel the cold draught of doubt. Is she lying? She doesn't really have to exist, the cold wind whispers. She could be a ghost, a figment of your imagination, it wouldn't matter. She will hold the door for you, but once you have gone outside, she will close it behind you without following you through. Then you will see it was a door opening up onto a cliff, leading nowhere, and only too late realise, your freedom is her trap, in which she has ensnared you by capturing herself, and then letting you go.

Suddenly I'm in Golgotha again. The cold air of early autumn only a little north of my hometown.

On my journey to see her. It does seem now like it was in another life, so long ago. Do you remember how it all ended? Because it did end. It's over now. You already died. The evil spirit has already left you, why do you hurry to put it back in?

I try to rationalise it all. She has been kidnapped, I explain to myself, by psychic vampires. They are preparing her to enter their realms. She has been laid bare of her acutraments now, she stands there as she is, that is, she is as the spirit that into her body was born. She stands there, like a burning fire. I see her invisible blinding brightness again. But I am the clouds; the brighter she shines, the thicker and heavier with my sorrow I become. The world cannot see her. I get high and rain down. I reign sorrow.

I do not love her. I want to be her. I have become a great raging hurricane inside my soul. Behind my eyes there is lightning and in my heart the growl of thunder. Why can we not be together as one, or why can I not be content alone? I connot blame God. What would I do better? I contain this universe in a fit of rage and clench inward, fracturing the indestructable realm, and pouring forth upon the realm of immortality the filth of my selfish desire. I loathe myself, and send myself into the lowest shadowy crevice of the firey inferno of hell. Cut away. That is the entire experience of the holy and the divine. Commercials like teardrops.

Nor can I apologise. She forbade that, my dominatrix, Shekina, shiksa Goddess. For what good does it do to explain to God that He should let you in because the fault He finds within you is one He Himself put there long ago? So why would she? Why would she forgive me simply because I beg her to? She shall not do so. She promised as much long ago. And now that I am alone, how else can I remember her but to keep that promise?

She has forgotten my very name. I am nothing to her. There is no me in her memory now, and I am nothing more than this flesh. No one from my generation loves me. The elders love me, the ancients do too. But no one from my own time shall love my flesh. My mother's family name will live on, and my father's family name will live on, but the blood-pact they made in the generation of my own parents shall die away and end. There is nothing more I can do than accept it as such. Some days I am so in love, and so optimistic for us both, and each. But luckily there are other days, like now, when I can step outside of this and see the truth.

I have her confused for my manhood. I am locked out of my own house, the house where I am a man.

But this house is not her. It was she and I together who built it. But hers is only the name of its foundation. It has grown even beyond me, I call it Heaven, the House of God, but I keep my heart in a corner that I call hell. For without her, what is the rest of the house but empty? There is no

other to keep me company, no love; there is no fire in the hearth and no warmth in the house; it is not a home fit for a family and for the raising of my children. It is not fit for a son. The table seats just one: the king who outgrew his own castle. I have sought to stay like a child. I am not a man. I am not fit for this skin.

I have sought to be like unto God. I wished to know him, but I cannot. I am mortal, offspring of the loins of Adam, the mortal fleshly parts of the ineffable soul of Pigera-Adamas. Worse than that, I am condemned as like unto the forgotten one besides King Cain. For my soul was Able, now slain.

And my spirit remains Adam, king of the flesh. And my body is the fruit of Seth, that is, of the generations of the damned. Immortality is not mine, neither to dispense nor to receive, in my time. I place a curse upon the earth, but even this fails me: that I should live in the immortal generation, and be the last to die.

It's funny. I swore that I would lay down her image before her, and lay her down before God. I am obviously pissing off the devil in me, ancient tempter, who comes to sit upon my chest like a succubus. I do not wish to have meant what I said when I said it, maybe I can still take it back?

There has got to be a better way.

I feel I am curling up into a vortex at the center of my being. This feeling, I know, is my soul. The being remains untouched by it; somehow, despite this, I keep typing. But the soul is draining down a hole, being sucked into a wound. I am sinking into an abyss within. How can I describe this? How can I explain that I am the shard of the crystal, the son of the father, the one whose heart aches most is also the one who is the ruler below only the omnipotent? What can?I say, what word can describe it? For as I look down in it, I behold all in my shame.

Here then, I say, is my shame. Let me lift it up. I show my face again to her image. It looks down on me, from its shrine. What have I done? Has it all been a lie? What am I trying to do? Reunite the God inside me with His bride, Shekina? What is that? Why would I want that? I spit, alien concept.

There is nothing for me in my future. It is not only not a matter of destiny, and therefore a product of prophecy, it is inevitable in one regard only: my failure to return the human race to a state of immortality. I will die, and that will culminate the failure that has been my existence.

That is the best my soul can hope for.

I offer myself, a humble initiate. I seek more light. That is all. I just want more light. Now, come before me, messenger from the light. Take my hand and guide me up, away from my death and this precipace. Let the dawn come over me so that I can see clearly. Let understanding give way to fear, for that is the beginning of Wisdom.

I remove the heart of Satan from the centre of my soul. By the sorrow that glints in my eye, a righteous fire sparks within the severed essence, and it bursts into a blood red flame. The fire burns the muscle into an ember, and finally into white ash. The ash begins to shine a bright white light until it becomes invisible. Then there is no more suffering, and no more sorrow, no more heartache, no separation, no clinging, nothing. This is the truth of the cessation of suffering: patience. In time that which is impermanent will pass, while that which is imperishable shall remain forever. Of course, there is no proof of that. Or rather, the evidence indicates the contrary.

It is proven that change and chaos are all that exist. The "ideal" patterns are, if real at all, transfinite and ineffable. That is why I crave to die: that is why I long to get "up" there: because it is a lie. We are told, from birth, when we die, we will go "up" to the ideal realm, Heaven. This is not true. This is a lie. This false hope is a poisonous snake oil: toxic.

I remove the heart of the Messiah, for it is the heart of Satan. It has tempted me and led me astray.

God has given us chaos, and said, "Bring forth Order." So God has given me my flesh, and I have beheld the world that He made for the flesh I wear to be surrounded in, and I have found for me a grave man. That is the story, the trap, the guardian of the gate, indeed! For beneath the gaze of

this overseer all have fallen, and has he found even one of us not guilty? For he was betrayed and tortured in the flesh, that he may then turn and torture us in our souls! Jesus is the devil, the devil, the Devil! I have been given the intoxicating dream, but I do not wish to drink. I swoon at first draught. Then I see what might have been. Then I am blinded by knowledge of what once was.

Then I am filled up with understanding until the wisdom flows forth from me like tears. There is no going back. No matter how much I ever hope, pray, or feel I have suffered sufficiently to deserve. There is no eternal reward. There is no union of the One True God and man's spirit, it's bride. The Temple is her own Prostitute now. There is fornication in the Temple of God, the likes of which no God could ever conceive.

I have comitted the ultimate unfathomable sorrow. I have let loose upon this plane of our dimension the beast from the beyond. It was I who punctured the hole between this universe and the darkness beyond, and it was I who brought back the soul of the most damned with me. I cast it forth upon the earth before I even knew what I was doing, and here now it has made its home. For the untold generations it has suffered through during my life alone are alike the mighty righteous generations of the Holy Ones since the fall of Adam. It roams the earth as death itself. It has unleashed the plague. My sin is too great, Lord, I cannot bear the punishment anymore!!

Pandora, Pandera, Padiah. Now do you see my plight? Have I not found in the mythologies of my day a way to explain myself to myself something so much like what he'd found then? I have gone crazy. Or is that only my cross? Perhaps there is sanity yet beneath this, and soon upon it such will be raised up. Please release me, my love. I have been inside the cage of your heart forever. I cannot bear it anymore.

I reach into the depths of the murky darkness within myself. I have plucked out the heart of pleasure in sorrow, and I have plucked out its afterbirth, sorrow in pleasure, both Satan and Jesus begone now. I cast thee both out of the heart of my heart, holy of holies, I cast you Out oh AhuraMazda, I cast thee Out oh Ahriman, may you both be damned YHVH and Elohim, for Satan and Maloch, your two heads, the Good and the Evil, Right and Wrong, Light and Dark, squabble forever, as ceaslessly as pointlessly. Niether will win, neither is right. The whole goddamn orb is a sideshow, a trick, mirage, illusion, mis-direction. The hand is quicker than the eye.

You were supposed to save us all, benpadiah.

I certainly can't. My life is too full of sins already. It is like a sieve. You cannot stear a ship using a sieve for a sail. I have given every single drop of the seed I have spilled to her. But she is not with me. This is why I say my life is like a sieve: because all that seems to seep through me into this world is a dew of sin. I exude failure. I am all that I've made myself. I can't possibly atone. I can't.

Listen to me now very carefully. The sin I see in you I cannot atone for. I cannot bear the burden of your sin in addition to my own. It was already the burden of my own sin that I carried: to fear God, to love you, and to set you free from being chained to me. I have done this. Now I am absolved.

But I am not merely "coming up" for air. I am done. I am through with this. Do you Hear Me? Now, the very thought of your sin: to never be with me again in the flesh, to disappear into the crowd until you have forgotten my very birth! I cannot bear that. I cannot bear even the thought of it, it cracks my head open like a hatching egg. Stop racking through me, Satan! You have prevailed.

Oh, Satan. You, You are My Lord, for Now, You Have Prevailed.

I have no heart. I have taken out the heart of the double-named Master, the yin-yang ohm has resonnated from my depths to the ends of the Himalayas. I have smote my heart into barren nothingness, I have crushed it in a burning fire until it has ceased to exist. But now I have no heart. The trickster. His legacy. This was what he wanted all along. For now the hole in my heart

has become the hole punctured between this universe and the darkness beyond. Now the void is open. The void from which first came only Satan, now comes forth the chthonic pantheon. For within me are the nine gates to hell. And as I fall, they open. Now I cannot help but fall, for through me hath sin itself come flaming alive into this realm, the very thorn-vine of the thistle that choked out the wrathful wine's good and harvested grape vine. Do you remember the Apocalypse. For it is surely completed within me.

I wander the desert for ten years. I am quickly subdued by it. I saw a mirage once, but she eluded me. She spoke the secret words to me that cleft my heart and soul in two, and then she disappeared. For eight years since I have wandered through the desert, and, elusively, that phantom has followed me, closing a gate behind me each year as I pass through it. Seven gates have been closed behind me, and seven locks upon them, and seven seals upon the locks, and until now none could open them.

So, by passing through, I have opened the seven seals. But all for naught, for they have been but seven lips, so long sealed that, now parted, their breath has grown bitter. Their kiss is the desert, and all is for naught. Do you recognise these seven lips... for they were yours oh Whore of Babylon. Now, I declare, Peace shall prevail in Babylon, while war shall from thence forth divide Israel.

Here, have my heart to save you. Oh, I'm sorry. There's nothing left of it. The devil was named left ventricle, and Jesus was named right ventricle, and I have torn these hollows out of myself, and in their place left a gaping gap twice their girth. We are now eternal opposites. Why do I say, "we are now"? Because I mean, "as we have always been," and that is what I mean by "eternal." You are the north pole, I am the south pole. We will never align. This cannot happen in this reality, this dimensional plane, this flesh's home realm. But it can happen in the dark darkness. Why is it called the "dark" darkness? Because there was the darkness and then there was that which preceded the first light. For it is written, "In the beginning, Darkness was on the face of the deep." It follows from this "fiat lux," and "God moved upon the face of the waters." However, in the beginning there was the darkness removed even from before the darkness of the deep. Deep sleep in the deep down darkness. That is where I am from, and that is where she and I are one.

There is definately a time that is coming soon. A time of terrible tribulation. A time for Judgment Calling. Because now I have passed into the realm of the eighth beyond the seven, and now I stand before the ninth gate. It is open to me. Shall I pass through? You do realise this gate leads to a cliff's edge. Shall I fly then, Oh Lord, I, your humble servant, shall I make final sacrifice tonight then? What more can I give you than the promise to spend every waking hour of my life immersed in the Great Work, baptised a phenix? Please lord, spare your humble servant, do not take away my reason to live, but let me go on in your name.

This is the holocaust of souls: as promised, so delivered, I want you to know this: it is not "drugs" that have been expanding your mind, Jon. It is the wisdom of the ancients. You have fed off their minds until their lives were snuffed out like a candle in the wind. Now, do you understand, that death needs time for what it kills to grow in? Do you see that this means the same as to say that: "when nothing is true, everything is permitted"? Because you do live in the final generation, and these are the end times. But not in the way that it was written. Instead, read: "it is the last generation so far," and instead say, "the times are always ending." Because know that, in the future, your mind too will be nothing more than the recycled fodder of the Matrix, feeding the young in the form of Soylent Green. Even your soul, dead and turned to clay, might be used to stop a hole, and keep the wind away. What is this wind? Is this the promised Hot Wind, the Leveling Wind? When the "Great Burner" he is talking about come? When will that personality take over his over-crowded brain? I want to see psychic carnage! No. This wind blows away, drawn outward like a riptide before a tsunami, but it is such a mighty wind, what new wave of destruction will it bring? Shall we live long enough to know, or shall the wind merely blow away our entire lives? So

mote it be, then. Do you know? Do you understand, do you care? Does it matter if I lie to you, as long as it leads you into my arms in the end? You're a hot-headed, presumptuous rebel. And you're the devil.

Hell. Why am I cursing my lover? Because I can! Because what does it matter what a deaf man yells across a gorge, or what a blind man paints on the walls of a dark cave? There is no God here. Here is where I am, in the vacuum that Nature abhors, the Void: "Where God-Is-Not." Here I am, I say, Where? He answers, I cannot see you, you have made aprons for yourselves out of fig leaves, and I can't see you? Is God blind? This is why I am cursing my lover: I thought I wasn't alone here.

I thought we were in this together, for the whole long time, that whether things were good or bad, that we would always be together on the one level we hold true within ourselves above all others, the one level no one else could ever touch, the place where our minds could both retreat at will, where we could find one another when we needed each other, that little hole in the back of the bottom of the deepest darkest well inside the underside of the unconscious ice-berg of our sleeping minds. You betrayed me. This is nothing new, but I have just found out. This is a Good Thing, you think!? You think it's about time I knew the truth? Quid Est Veritas?

The truth is: you never loved me. I have discovered it. I lifted up the stone and behold, A Light!

Now, I shall terrify you more! Let me by God pull the sword from this stone: "I am God, I am You." These were the words I heard that night. Let you confer to the end of the Gospel of Thomas, you will have understanding of the "three" words. But now let me tell you this: I was never faking. I was never lying. I was never untrue, even in my passing mind. For ten years I have held the flame, from the moment we met. If you think you can deny this, then you will bow before the impossible.

This is my crown: this stone. And this one. And this one. Do you remember that night? Lord, did you cry out in ecstacy with Peter? For you banished me, you may as well have sent me to Hell, for Hell is where I immeidately went. You may as well have placed yourself in the Heavens, my antipole! For that is where I have always held you, in my esteem. You may as well have sat on the right shoulder of Saint Peter Himself and flung down every stone I laid down upon my skull. I screamed, and no one came. Not God, nor the devil. And not her. Not my true love. But let me tell you: I have been haunted by the Father and the Mother my entire life. This flesh is thrice accursed: once in its own name, and once in the name of the Anima, and once again in the name of the Animus.

Father and Mother, God, Holy Ghost, I reject you all, You Are My Sickness, begone. I vomit the blood of Gods, now I curse you and reject all.

GOD. I have always loved that which was Good. I have always followed the lead of those who shone, and I have always led in light those who came to me for more. Now, WHY DO YOU HATE ME? What the FUCK have I personally done to get your goat? Because you gave her to me, you took her away.

You told me I broke a rule I never before knew existed, and then you told me, go explode. And so I did. Now, I have served you all along. I have never strayed. I have been your humble servant all along. I have never strayed. Now listen to me: I LOVE you. Now, in the name of God from beyond all that is, WHY DO YOU HATE ME? God, I wish I could scream it up so loud that the dome of heaven would shudder, and the whole of reality reverberate with it. I have cried Judgment, and "Be Human Beings For Christ Sake!" I have sacrificed everything, in the name of every one of the signs you guide me by, the beacons of universal meaning, I made sacrifice to Judgment.

Now, tell me Now: will I ever see her again... But no. I know what the answer is for myself. I will not be handed her upon a silver platter. That is not worthy of her, and that is not worthy of God. No, to punish me for your jealousy, I should be made to fight, to struggle, to strive alike the sheep of your heards, to toil and labour, to earn bread by the sweat of my brow, and to die. For my revenge, I shall inherit your soul as my own in the afterlife. HA! You think? You think that the two poles can ever love? One is good, and one is evil. That is that. I have made this pact between myself and that which hounds me. The two archetypes: the one the white, the other the black, the

Yin and the Yang, Anima and Animus, my Two Protectors. These are the deities I control, for they are like the lesser archetypes: my shadow, my echo, and me. Now know this: I have made this pact with these two. So long as they shall follow me, and from now until they cease to exist, may they be us. These are the two, and from the two come the three. That is the way of this reality.

You claim, you feel nothing. You claim, you were faking your pleasure in my prescence? You claim, the hell with my love! Know that my love is a hot wind now, but that there is something much greater to follow. In the afterlife, we are already at war: eternity knows no tomorrows, no yesterdays. We are at war now in eternity. You think I love you? Do you have any inkling what that word even means to me? I LOVE YOU. With all of me. All of my past, every moment, lined up in a row behind my eyes as I look deep into yours. Know the Father. Now, I will see the future deep within and through you, Now Understand The Mother. Do you find yourself worthy? Aren't you the devil, and isn't this hell?

That is what Love Means: to sit in the present and with a breath of air judge between the fire of the past and the water of the future. You aren't worthy of passing judgment on me. I know you.

Deceiver, misleader, little Ms. Leader. You think I've forgotten one precious second we were together? No. I have not. You were praying to Satan. I was lost, and instead of finding me and, like a good shepherd, leading me into the warmth of your own heart, you led me along, deep into a ten year wilderness, and then, like a mirage, you vanished.

I remain pure. I remain tainted only by the crime commited against me by my own flesh and blood father. Now know this: I have the disease. I am the sickness. I grasp it in my hand and tear it out by the roots. It is all that was left inside of me of me. It was the hole where the two halves of my heart, the good side, and the evil, were. Now I have pulled out the hole and have a new heart: an imperishable and indestructable one. One of pure clear crystal, unshatterable. But for one shard, that I give to you, my dear, with just this glance between us.

Ire. What has become of you? Who are you now? I stand between two doorways, one leading off a ledge, the other leading into your heart. Which do I choose? How will I know? So I placate thee, Oh Lord, My Father, send me a sign of the Shekina's Love! Send me a token, my mother, of the truth of our beginning and our ending being one together. Let me see the vision of redemption!

There is no solution. Ont he ninth gate, there is a knocker, and this knocker is shaped like a gargoyle, and this gargoyle talks to me, and it says, "Man, why have you come to this fate? Why are you so sorry and wretched? You should be girded up in a suit of armour, now, for you stand before the bed chambre of your lady! Had you two not conspired all of this? Eh? Do you remember the dawn of that day? Do you remember the dew of the grass? Do you remember the innocence that filled all the earth and brought down the sixth and the seventh heavens onto the very face of earth? Let me remind you: "we will have to be apart then," you said, "because our jobs are different. You have your job to do, and I have mine. And at the end of our work, we shall find each other again. Then we will have the fruits of our work, and each other, and we will be happy together forever from then on. You and I are meant for each other. Our stars are from the heavens, we are just their pawns. They will guide us by their light until we are back in each other's arms.

It won't be long, my love, not long." Didn't you say that? Wasn't that your own promise? Now why won't you keep it? Why do you foresake my covenants, why do you postpone my commandments?

Have I not told you, put down what you are doing and follow me? And where have you been and whom have you followed?

There is one True God. In This I Put My Trust: God, Above All. For he is like myself: what I make of him. Should I wish to see a burning bush, I can see one any time I like. I and God speak continuously through one another. Up here there is only me, and Him, and You. Do you remember what I said, "arctic eyes"? Do you remember I told you, "I will love you forever," do you remember when I said to you, "don't be afraid"? I want you to put your trust somewhere other than yourself

for a change. Put your trust in me? Never, I know, I know, Never. Let me tell you something: I believe in our love. I Believe in Our Love. We Are IN Love. We will always be together.

God, Give me the Power to Take Upon Me Her Sin As Well As My Own. I shall bear the burden for her choosing to forget me, in addition to the burden of my continuing to love her. I tear out my left heart. I tear out my right heart. The one is called Jesus, the Father. The other is called Satan, the Mother. Do you accept these offerings that I, myself, Jon Gee, am making to you? I am only a hole in the fabric of this universe now. Come through me Oh Destiny!

So, we shall never see each other again. She and I will not be together again in the life of this flesh. May we live forever, shall we be sent always to the opposite ends of the earth, that the more we should search for one another, the more lost we shall become. Let us stray! Let us Stray! You, with ears, hear me! Let me ingest my gold and hurry hurry my fate! Let Hermes hurry my fate, fleet footed messenger God! Let her ear hear my decree: So be it: on Her Authority: she and I shall never again meet in this life.

Jesus Christ. Will you bear my sorrow with me a little while? Will you sit with me and listen to me lament? You see, there was this girl. Stop me if you've heard this one. There was this girl, and she meant everything to me. She saved my life, you know? Without her I definately would not be standing here before you as I am now. She made the world light up. The whole world. But I broke her heart. I hurt her bad. I took something out of the core of her, and frightened her there in the deep deep depths of her heart, and where my image should be there instead is the face of a demon.

I made her kneal down, and cower in a corner, and I raged above her, my every word was like the hammering down upon her raw essence with ten thousand fists of fiery fury. And I told her: "You Make Me Want To Kill Myself." She shattered there, in the palm of my hand, and blew away like sand. And this is what I offered up that year. It was not a blessing. It was the breaking of a woman's heart for nothing. For Nothing. For what then? For what? I am not a man. I am not a child.

I was not fit for birth. I should not have been conceived. I am a demon brought down through obscene sex-magick and satanic blood worship. I am the devil's tuxedo of flesh.

Well who else am I? Come forth, oh archetypes. I know there are no more of you. There is the one on the one hand, and there is the other one on the other hand. There are the two. When you bring them together, the third is their union in one. But there is no other one than their union, and never a third besides it. So, forever for me and you, there shall be two. We are split in twain.

Asunder. I am atrophied. I occlude. I do not hate you, like they said I would. I cannot look you in the eye though. You see, mine is both our shame now. I will never look you in the eye again. I have closed the butterfly wings of your free will about you now, may my shrine cocoon your image that your soul should be untethered. I will worship now at the feet of the Matrix. The dark darkness.

For I am outside of time and space, this is true. That is where we met, and that is where you in my heart are kept. But I have gone out even further, my darling. Oh the lands I've seen, Oh the Kingdoms I promised you, how it was about to all be fulfilled. But now, now it will never be, and it is locked up again behind me. In the eighth year following the Apocalypse and Judgment Day, the Ninth Gate Shut. I stayed inside, alive. And she stayed too. But to be far from me, and far from me forever, we said, let the ninth gate stand between us, I on one side, and she on the other, and we two eqaul, standing there side by side but apart, and between us the gate to eternity.

May the kingdom be yours my love. May you come and go through the gate while guard it, may you see and may you reap the vines of the lands I have added to the kingdom of the living and the dead.

See it all now, Irene, a great good vista, a great good expanse, and all of it a mirage, as much as was ever our love, and now it fades, and the glass shatters, and the sand blows away like a flickering flame in the wind.

You see, it was promised to those who keep true. And it was me. But it was not you. Now you shall have my kingdom. And I shall leave your heart alone. As you always wanted, you may have it back from within my chest, my second heart, the one I stole, so long ago, from beneath your breast. I offer them both forth to you: take them. Take my offering now, or I will be humilated in eternity.

Please God, accept these twin hearts. One I bequeth back to she from whom I stole it, and the other I offer as a sacrifice to my father, the True God. But I refuse to take either of them back. I am NOT Satan. I am NOT Jesus. I am Jonathan Barlow Gee. There is no other me. The longer I put aside the job of being myself, the longer I prolong my damnable existence in this walking ape corpse. So let me busy myself then, about the work of planning my own death: my ascension by eating monoatomic gold. For this should be a celebration!

It is a feast to life we are experiencing, between the Christian and Mayan Millennia! Let us throw up our arms and cry out in the name of the widow's son! Let us kill time to the hilt in the name of our revelry. Let us forget in wild abandon the life we could have had, together. That is not this universe, the twin universes have been severed, and now the parallel strands are driven apart, the convergeance, the conjunction, is ending, but the time is not quite yet, not quite yet, I can see the light of the dawn, but the sun has not yet risen, so revel. Revel now. Revel harder than you ever have before. And forget me.

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07/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 07/25/2006 benpadiah AHDVNHAY Joined: 09 Oct 2004 Posts: 1051 Posted: Tue Jul 11, 2006 3:33 pm Post subject: death to benpadiah last night I tried to kill myself. I prayed as hard as I could to God to let me die. Where there was a river, God put a boat. I choked myself nearly unconscious with a seatbelt, hoping to pass out and die from lack of oxygen.

I did this because I am weary of this condition of existence. I long for the unconditional love of the Creator, to be delivered from the worldly pain of the adversary.

I realise now, it doesn't matter if I die from ingesting monoatomic gold, as I would like, or if I die in an ignoble experiment.

My life has become charity, gone through for the benefit solely of others. for more about why I tried to kill myself, and to vote on whether or not I should die, click on: Death To Benpadiah if you dare!

You might not remember why you got married. You might not remember where you put your car keys. You might not remember to tell your mother you love her often enough. You might not remember your social security number, or to feed the cat, or that there are starving children in Africa. You might not remember what the weather was like on such and such a date ten years ago, and you might not remember the party last night. But there are some things you will always remember. You will always remember the tenderness of your first kiss. You will always remember to breathe in and out, and you will always remember your strongest beliefs. You will always remember if you believe in God, and you will always remember your favourite pet, and colour, and whether you were raised with brothers and sisters. You will always remember the first time you got laid, and you will always remember who with. You will always remember the mortality of man, and you will always remember the times you have been close to death.

I remember sitting outside my father's closed study door, the abyss of my own empty grave, the gate to death, many an afternoon exactly like today, writing and drawing small comic books in order to impress him. I wanted to grow up to be exactly like him. I wanted to emulate a monster.

Among his towering piles of newspapers, arranged by section, piled up by date, he roamed and meandered a path from door to desk chair like Godzilla among the towers of Tokyo. And this was all the more I ever really knew my father. He used to date divorced women and students on the side while married to my mom. One time one of these women was standing with my mom in front of the house we live in now, while my mom was sanding the desk chair my dad would eventually keep in his study, when she was still pregnant with me; my mom stepped in a puddle and began to get electrocuted. The other woman did not help her. Only my mother's own seizuring unplugged the chord. I was electrocuted in the womb. I remember being in kindergarten, and being bored, and boring my skull up into an exposed nail. I remember torturing my old room-mate's pet ferret to ascertain if abuse would directly result in the symptoms of depression I myself suffered, but ended up quite frankly scaring the shit out of myself. I remember keeping the corpse of my cat Luke cryogenically frozen for two years after he died, in hopes he could be cloned.

I remember on new year's eve, 2001, I was driving drunk onto an overpass near my house.

Suddenly I swerved, I remember, out of frustration with the car behind me, whom I blamed for the sheer idiocy of my situation, having missed the last two streets for my turn. I was trying to go get cigarettes. I was having a nicotine induced panic attack, in addition to having just come from a party with my friends' family down the street. At the party I drank scotch and beer, and passed around a joint of grass. And then I went for a drive to go get cigarettes. I needed to turn left, but the car that was behind me was in the right lane. He was not responsible for my drunken predicament. I swerved my car hard to the right... and blacked out. The next thing I remember I was travelling downward through a technocolour crystalline waterfall tunnel of stained glass moving pictures, all my memories, my entire lifetime, flashing before my eyes. And then I jerked outward from it. I saw the whole scene from above and to one side. I felt bodily, invisible, residual ghostly pale outline of whisps of smoke-like cloud floating transparent in the night sky. And then I remember being pulled around in a grand arc back down and around the accident into my the location where my body was still held in stasis in the moment of my car wreck. Then I came to from my black out and felt upon my heart the grip of the lion's paw, pulling me forth from the watery darkness of my uconsciousness. I felt my inertia shake loose and as the car who had been behind me drove past in the left lane, the thought "I'm fine and my car's fine," rattled through me with such force it actually misaligned one of my wheel struts, which I know, otherwise, would not have even been damaged by this NDE. I remember on July Fourth, 2006, just a few days ago, I had a terrible cataclysmic dream. I was in an office and apartment highrise. We had been evacuated into it to flee the rising flood waters.

Rain persisted for days while we hid inside. In the dream I finally woke up and went outside. The flood had deposited silt up to the fourth story of the building. I walked around in the desolate landscape. Only then did I realise the waters had not receded, but were only being sucked out by the riptide of a much more massive tsunami that I could now see so far off in the distance, rising along the horizon. It was then I realised what it felt like to know I was going to die soon.

I feel trapped in my esoteric knowledge, as if I am about to awaken from the dream I am living now to be suffocating myself with my sheets in that prison cell. I remember when they had me on Haldol in jail I had the most vidid dream I'd ever had. I slept walked, and often woke up standing up. The dream was that I was climbing the tree of life in the Garden of Eden, and that as I climbed up it, it was simultaneously climbing down me. I realised only later that the tree of life is our chakras. I struggle within the fabric of reality, this dimension of the spacetime continuum, I push and kick, lash out and writhe within the torturous serpent (the zodiac) and the slant serpent (the pole). I have become the Blind Dragon, Samael Poimandres.

You think I don't know the devil? I was connected to the bright darkness by only a single thread of light, and the devil hailed stone after stone down upon me, against my skull, as I screamed for the Mercy of God. I was born through the tzimtzum of this shemhamforash, broken on the loka wheel, impaled on its cosmic axis. Who put the "Devil's Heart" in me, who was that who performed psychic surgery on me, made my conscious mind dissociate, that I stayed awake and aware, but that a sub-personality was created? What did you whisper in my ear, while you were raping away my innocence and childhood? I remember seeing my penis as covered in bright green. You told me it was my mother's shit. You told me I raped my mother, but it was you who raped me.

Who am I? What is my substance, what am I made out of? What is this nebulous mess of transdimensional ecto-plasm that has coagulated around this centralised charged field of tachyonic karma? Am I nothing more than one loose chess piece in this jigsaw puzzle 3-d magic-eye stereoscopic static tv channel? This reality is Manvantara, and its Creator was the Demiurge. That is the simplified theosophical, "New Age" sincretism between the Hindu concept of an illusory reality, akin to the Buddhist Maya, and the Gnostic concept of the levels of Persian Zoroastrianism superior to the seven heavens, or seven spheres of influence, that dealt with the pure and basic dualism between Ahura Mazda (pure light) and Ahriman (pure darkness) as the eighth and ninth

emanations, beyond the "veil of the Abyss." What is the reason behind the rhymes, the alignments at certain positions on this downward spiral? I have seen so much, God, so much. I know about the galactic polar alignments that cathect the thoughts inside the universal brain, and I know the chambres of the heart of Eden beyond this, and I know the upper parts of God, beyond the upsidedown and inside-out reversal and inversion through the singularity at the centre of the black hole. I know so much, God, I know so much. Why? What is the reason behind your rhymes?

I believe the cysts in my thighs to be the result of sexual self-abuse. I get inflamed cysts in my inner thighs, apparently because Paxil adversely affects the colon and causes cystitus. It is actually the hypothalamus that is not getting sufficient quantities of dopamine to trigger proper glandular secretion production by the pituitary. This is related also to my sleeping disorder, that is, the dopamine defficiency, which is undiagnosed. It will be the next phase in my treatment, hopefully, because it will address the hypo-mania conditions of my type II bipolar disorder. The paxil and lamictal have succeeded at addressing the deep depressions I had long suffered due to seratonin defficiency. It's all part of the same process, of course, the rising voltage between the Muladhara and Pratylahara chakras ionises metal out of my bloodstream, which is then secreted through the scalp. I remember having driven nails into my skull almost daily, since I now have a very painful staff-infection in my scalp. Alot of people come to me and say, "you are a great person, but why do you treat your body this way?" I have many reasons, but none count as an excuse tolerable to most. If your background was one in abuse, you would keep the home-fire burning. Mostly we have sports for such catharsis, and the press and art for sublimation. But this is, of course, equal in relief only to the amount of stress induced necessary for these luxuries to be provided (ie. by civilisation), and does not even begin to address the primal urge at the core and root of our gnostic distress signals.

The goal of eating monoatomic gold is to transcend the spacetime barrier in the flesh. To die in the flesh, and to simply dissolve, to disappear into a parallel dimension. To move the gross matter of this world up a level into a finer vibration. Ideally, this experiment would be conducted using, simultaneously, DMT, extracted pure from Thikal. The reason for the suggestion of DMT being combined with the ingestion of the monoatomic gold is in case the monoatomic gold induces a difficult death experience, then the DMT can allow the being to rise up outside of the physical suffering as the body itself dies. The DMT can also serve to open the portals to timepsace corresponding to the DNA portals opened in spacetime by the monoatomic gold. Of course the eating of monoatomic gold is only one potential death experience. It is actually my second choice for how I would like to go out. The other is this girl, but she ain't havin it.

Choke and Shock are removed from me now; they are outside of my DNA coils, and outside of my chakras, outside my kundalini, outside in my chi, my karmic aura, my signature electromagnetic field pattern. Offset from the ideal clear geometry of the pure spirit, I'm just a shard from the originally shattered me. Through the fractured looking glass. Behind the realms we see. Therein hides the Jabberwocky. The teli and tarot. Who are choke and shock? One is smoke, and one is mirrors. One is fire, one electricity. They are only shadows beside clear light. One is like my security blanket, and one is like my teddy bear. These two are my Holy (mental) Guardian (soul) Angels (spirit), my guides through this reality, this existence. They will always be there with me.

If one is not immediately with me, then the other is. Usually both are near me, and neither is ever far. For now, my cat Leia is my teddy bear, and Luke had been my blanket. Now, my writing is my blanket, my "comfort." When Leia dies, and mind you, she is eternally young, and I have kept her whiskers for cloning, it will be a terrible cataclysm to my world. As much as I wouldn't admit it at the time, I screamed and sobbed in private when Luke died. I have literal skeletons in my figurative closet. I perserved his body two years in a freezer, praying daily he could be cloned.

Already his soul had entered the wires. I have always experimented and I have not differentiated between myself and my security blanket self in this regard. I have only violated my teddy bear self once.

Creation is my Security Blanket. It is the value I accumulate in karmic dust. Over time, even the astral akasha involutes. All is partially our own invisible imaginations. But we are not now ourselves responsible for what was done to us in the past by others. Forward in time manifests by generation, backward in time culminates in the present. Moreover, as above so below means also as without so within, however neither are superior nor inferior. Nor do they compete like left and right, one superior at one time, the other at another. For example, the interior and the exterior of our biological component life forms, the sub-atomic and the astronomic, are both interior to the finite universe, but what is inside of us and what is outside of us appear to be reflecting one another at opposite ends with our self awareness balanced at the centre of the scale. So God is both within and outside of us, even though we associate ourselves with only our own interior realms.

It has been the mystics of every culture who have explored these realms, and kept the writings of their discoveries. Most people fear these experiences, and therefore would like to venerate the mystics. The church was invented to allow the mystics sanctuary for their studies. Over time the wise have all resisted the church as a source of authority over those that fear the death experience. The Church should be a guide, say the mystics, and nothing more. It should lead by example alone. It does not need an army, and it does not need to collect taxes. Nor does it need to fear any army or pay any dues to anyone. It should also accept all forms of dissociative and death ritual experiences, and be a vast public resource for all schools of mystical literature. It is not, according to the mystics of all history, meant to govern the people, or to tell them how they should behave or how they should choose to live their lives. It should be a bastion of free will. This was the intention of the first shaman-chief when he created the dual offices of priest and king. Of course, once in a while, someone will pop up who is both. However, eventually, the final one of these will point out simply that: all definitions of the word King are arbitrary conditions set by agreement among all the people. Government is meant to be agreed upon by the people, and thus every person is ultimately the "king" over their own life and personal space. Therefore, there is no distinction between King and Priest when all men are equally their own rulers, "Kings."

Therefore, everyone, in their own right, should be a priest, that is, at least in the sense of a mystic. But then, of course, the ideals of mysticism I have just described are very different from the "real" world role of the Church in modern life. Instead, much of the magnum opus has come to be shouldered by secular non-religiously recognised organisations. Most mystics know to avoid the road that leads to Rome, even if that means living out one's life like Vladimir and Estragon, waiting for Godot. The result of these secular religoius organisations maintaining the true tradition that the mystics had intended for the Church is that both the Church and the secular religions suffer. The Church attacks all other secular organisations as antithetical religions. The secular organisations hide behind a gradiated ranking status system. The Church has a standing army and its own banking and investment firm. The secular religions infiltrate the existing governments until they are the heads of all states. Of course, both church and secular religions agree on the future.

In the future there will be no Church, and no secular organisations. All will Know All. All will be their own kings of all under their own perception. This much we all know, and we all agree on. The Church calls this condition the "afterlife," and the secular religions call it "utopia," however both accept that it is a condition of our daily existence that has not yet occured here. However, what the Church and secular religious organisations disagree on is how this future will come about. Both desire "the Kingdom of Heaven Come on Earth" and "the New Atlantis," but the Church wants a hegemony over and to destroy the secular mystics, and the secular mystics want the dissolution of both themselves and the Church.

Some people believe that being God is also a childish desire, or rather, a reality of an innocence perpetually being lost. They treat those of us who have this desire as anathema reminders of their mundane guiltiness. They claim we want "all or nothing," implying we view their worth as "nothing." We do not want "all or nothing." We want neither. We don't want to be the King-God,

lording it over the lesser slaves of guilt. We don't want to compromise our quest for knowledge either, simply on the premise that our work at doing so does not meet with worldly approval. So what can one man alone do? To prevent death, to prevent war, to prevent famine, to prevent plague?

These are merely four natural forces, like air, water, fire, earth, the elements, or like the strong and weak nuclear, the electromagnetic, and gravitic forces, or like a point, linear plane, and shape or form with width, depth and height, and of course, time, the moving shadow of the fourth spatial dimensional metaforms.

We exist, some say, to experience these things. And yet, we call our existence suffering from the moment we first know pain until our dying breath. Some say we know pain in first being born, some believe this life doesn't even begin until the newborn baby is slapped and takes its first breath. I believe in Leary's initial concept of the eight circuits of consciousness. Each represents a new instinct, a new tunnel-reality, a whole new way of looking at reality. These are activated amongst the species during our evolution, within generations, and within individuals all at different stages through the life of species, of peoples, of individuals. The last few steps of evolution of our eight interior circuits of consciousness are actually causing machines to manifest closer and closer to likeness to our own consciousness. Of course, consciousness can go beyond merely perception of the levels interior to its physical compsosure. Hence, our entire perception of time. We can also describe planetary, stellar, solar systemic, galactic, filament, etc. consciousness, each is the same "distance" (duration) As Above So Below to the futique circuits of interior composition consciousness.

I have been studying the digital multiplication and recollapse of possible, overlapping and invisible, parallel realities, so-called "neighbors in the multiverse" or alternate vibrations along tunnel-reality super strings. The so-called filaments connecting all the spiral galaxies. Sliding between one sum-over-histories and its adjascent neighbors in timespace, outside and beyond the watery veil of spacetime. Learning to Master the Static. The shadow people, sometimes manifest, pop in and out. I dream they live in vast underground tunnels, like the mole people. The Shadow Men. The fingering tendrils of the murky depths slide around my choclea and tap impatiently against my ear drums.

I want to tell you so badly who the Great Burner is. But if I told you, you would pick up rocks to throw at me, but the rocks would catch fire and fall to the ground. I want to tell you so bad, but I cannot tell you to protect your own safety. Your safety from me. Not because I, myself, am the Great Burner. Heavens no. The Great Burner is Beyond Time. No, better to call the Great Burner God, so you will understand and have some frame of reference. But the Great Burner... is more than any God I have ever known. I cannot describe the Great Burner. But I can tell you, I have met him, and I come from him now, for he has sent me back to tell you he will be here soon. For you see, my humble scribe, I, who you thought to be the Great Burner Himself, am merely the first of many messengers to herald his inevitable arrival. However, I tell you now, have faith. I was the first messenger to receive news of his coming, but I am the last to arrive here now, and he is fast on my heels even now. He trapses after me like a skinny puppy.

Are you starting to Understand? Is it beginning to Dawn on you? Now you too can be a transdimensional sentient entity. Now you too can climb the branches of the tree of time, hanging upside down even like a monkey, and now you too can be climbed upwards within by the serpent energy, karmic chi of kundalini. You're just an auric bubble, a battery-like field of (negatively) charged (attractive) probability (impossibility) or vice versa, tunneling down perpetual invisible cause-ways, the Olmec Canals of sub-consciousness, constantly expending invisible residual heat energy into the global atmosphere, travelling between states of consciousness, crossing over between different locations in space and different events in time.

For all these reasons, I cannot even possibly hope to tell you of what the Great Burner brings in store, if we but wait just six years more.

08/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 8-22-06 So who am I? Ultimately I can't tell.

Am I the person sitting here typing these words? Am I my mind that is imagining things? Am I myself when I am having a dream? Am I benpadiah?

Who was Yeshuah Ben Padiah? I believe him to have been the person that the fictional gospels were based on. No "real" miracles were performed, although he may have actually used superconductive metals to heal people of supposedly incurable ailments.

The miracles attributed to him are encoded descriptions of contemporary political events. The encryption of contemporary political interpretations into gospel scripture was a common practise at the time, just as it is among the eschatologists who read modern times into the prophecies of the Book of Revelation by St. John of Patmos. This practise is called "Pesher" (pronounced Pรกy-shah).

"Pesher" means a commentary on contemporary correspondence, or interpretation, of ancient Scripture. Thus it is often said that Christ did such and such to fulfill such and such a prophecy about the Messiah. This means that Christ was acting out a Pesher, or a commentary. Of course, we need to realise that our saying now, 2000 years after the fact, that Christ did such and such and thereby fulfilled such and such a prophecy is itself a modern interpretation, or Pesher, of now ancient scriptures.

Yeshuah Ben Padiah himself wrote a Pesher, or commentary, on the apocryphal Old Testament Gospel, the Book of Enoch. The "Angel Scroll" of Yeshuah Ben Padiah lists some number (it is unknown how many as the "Angel Scroll" is unpublished as of the time of this writing) of angels (hence its name), and this list, which may include many familiar Gnostic terms, has been compared by scholars to the "fallen angels" of the Book of Enoch. Apparently, Yeshuah Ben Padiah's description was of the Gnostic Archons as being the same as the Essene Annunaki, who were already at that time being compared to the "sons of God" that "bred with the wives of men" described in the Book of Genesis. The Book of Genesis had been compiled from oral tradition 600 years before, during the Babylonian captivity, however the precise recitations had begun being memorised at least since the time of Moses nearly 700 years earlier than that. The religion of Judaism itself carries all the way back to almost 4000 years ago, when Abraham left Ur, a city in southern Sumeria. The pantheon of Sumeria was known as the Annunaki.

In other words, Yeshuah Ben Padiah was comparing the ancient pantheon of Sumeria with the contemporary Gnostic Archons. This really isn't particularly surprising, even though it does offer a new interpretation of the New Testament Gospels that is more in keeping with the other, "Apocryphal" or non-Canonised, Gospels. The Gospel of Judas, the Secret Book of John and the Sophia of Jesus Christ all portray Jesus Himself as speaking to them in specifically Gnostic terms, explaining this as the "hidden" or "concealed" meaning behind His parables. The idea that Christ may have been a Gnostic has long been considered heresy by the Catholic Christian Church, however it is now widely believed that Jesus may have been a priest from the Essene community of Qumran. It is fringe thinking still to associate these Essenes with the exiled rightful rulers of Judea, the descendents of King David, however in many of the Canonised New Testament scriptures, the lineage of Jesus is given as having been of kingly descent from David, the first King of Israel.

If, indeed, Yeshuah Ben Padiah of the Essene Qumran community is the same person on whom the Apocryphal Gnostic Gospels are based would still not necessarily prove that the Gnostic Apocryphal Gospels are based on the same person as the Jesus described in the New Testament, however. Therefore, it really wouldn't matter if Yeshuah Ben Padiah was a bridge uniting the Essenes of Qumran with the terms of Gnosticism, because it wouldn't change the fact that the Jesus described in the Canonised Gospels does not use Gnostic terms, nor has He been proven to have been a priest from Qumran. Neither these, nor necessarily His direct lineage from King David, are even considered contributing factors to why Christ is interpreted as a Divine Enitity.

According to Catholic Christian dogma, it is solely because the Holy Ghost of God entered the Virgin Mary's womb that Jesus was the Christ, that is, the promised Messiah of the Hebrew prophetic scriptures. This is why the doctrine of God as a Trinity of traits: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, was adopted as the Nicene Creed by the Catholic Christian Church. These terms, "father," "son," and "Holy Ghost," themselves do turn up in the Essene Apocryphal scriptures from the Qumran community, and this is often used as an argument verifying the authenticity of this idea in ancient times, contemporary to the life of Christ.

However it is more important than this, in that it ties the Divinity of Jesus as Christ, that is, the foertold Messiah, directly to the Qumran community of Essenes.

Now, if the idealogical doctrines of the Essene community are accepted as direct dogma by the Catholic Christian Church, while the Gnostic terms have been all but totally replaced, supplanted or suppressed, then it may be possible to tie the Jesus described in the New Testament Gospels to the community of Qumran, even without allowing that He is the same person as described in the Gnostic Apocryphal Gospels. However, if the person of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, as described in the Canonised Gospels of the New Testament can be tied to the Essene community at Qumran, then it becomes an acceptable possibility that the person of Jesus as described in the New Testament and the person of Yeshuah Ben Padiah, a scribe from Qumran, might actually be the same person.

However, Yeshuah Ben Padiah did not write the "Angel Scroll" at Qumran. He wrote the "Angel Scroll" at Ein Eglatain, which is on the eastern shore of the Dead Sea. The Essene community at Qumran was on the western shore of the Dead Sea. I expect that, should the "Angel Scroll" be found to contain more Gnostic terms than Essene ones, it will be less likely to be able to accept that the person of Jesus as described in the Canonised New Testament Gospels was, indeed, the same person as Yeshuah Ben Padiah. This would be because Yeshuah could then be tied directly to the Gnostic Apocryphal scriptures however not to the Essene community of Qumran. Thus the Essene community of Qumran could not be tied directly to the Gnostic Apocryphal scriptures, and they could continue to be seen as competing schools.

There is, given the opportunity of the "Angel Scroll" actually finally being published in its original, let alone as a translation to any other language, a very specific manner in which we can determine if Yeshuah Ben Padiah, author of the "Angel Scroll" would have endorsed the Gnostic or the Essene groups, or both, and a way in which we can determine if He belonged to either group, or both.

The Essenes referred to the monotheistic deity of Judaism as YHVH. The Gnostics referred to the Messiah as Adonai, and said that YHVH was the god over the "good," while Elohim was the god over "evil," and that both these twin Gods were lower even than Samael, the serpent of Eden, who represented the perception by Judaism of the very idea of the monotheistic deity, that is, only the child of Sophia, who was, Herself, the bride of the Autogenes, and that, above and beyond all this, the truth of any idea of the monotheistic deity was considered completely ineffable and described as merely "the entirity." These are all very specific terms that can be looked for even in the Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek of the original, untranslated manuscript itself. The terms to look for would be "Adonai" (Aramaic) being used in relaton to "Messiah" (Hebrew) or "Christ" (Greek) as well as the use of the term "YHVH" and it relates to either "the entirity" or to only "good" as opposed to "evil."

We can see that the issue of terms (Aramaic, Greek and Hebrew) used by different contemporary groups (the Gnostics and the Essenes) to refer to the same idea (the monotheistic deity) is as interesting to scholars of Biblical history as it would be for the average Catholic Christian to finally understand the "esoteric" meanings behind the "ineffability" of many of their doctrines.

Even if Yeshuah Ben Padiah, author of the "Angel Scroll," and Jesus Christ, the Messiah, described by the Canonised Gospels were, indeed, the same person, the question remains whether the events described in the New Testament occured before or after the writing of the Angel Scroll.

This is not as blasphemous as it sounds. Christ is said to have appeared many times to His apostles after His crucifixion. Whether Jesus died on the cross or not is not even a question.

Whether His mortal body died at that time or not, His immortal mind, or soul, is accepted as doctrine as having continued to exist after the time of that event. Therefore, the idea of Jesus having dictated the contents to Yeshuah Ben Padiah after the crucifixion is as plausably acceptable as is the idea of Yeshuah Ben Padiah having written the "Angel Scroll" before going on to live the events described in the Canonised New Testament Gospels.

So, without the release of the untranslated text, we do not yet know if Yeshuah Ben Padiah was affiliated with the Gnostics, the Essenes, or both. Until we have read the translation, we will not be able to ascertain if Yeshuah Ben Padiah was the same person as described in the Gnostic or the Canonised Gospels, or both.

In other words, the information contained in this scroll would be very important to everyone who considers themselves a Christian. Although the news of the existence of the "Angel Scroll" came to light in 1999, the release of either the original manuscript or an English translation has not been forthcoming, and it is now almost 2007. As I have said, however, the team of translators, led

by Stephen Pfann of HLU (the University of the Holy Land) have released some inticing details, such as that the "Angel Scroll" uses the term "El" for the monothesitic deity, uses recogniseably Gnostic terms, as well as the specifically Essene terms "children of Light" and "children of Darkness," and that it is comparable to the Book of Enoch. Besides these hints, however, we have no direct knowledge of the contents of this work.

When I first got on the internet, it was to create an email address to contact Stan Tennan, in order to ask him if he would review a copy of my book, the MPDR. Following this I joined the forums at starwars.com. I had to choose a screen name, and I did not want to use the same email address as I had to contact mr. Tenan. So I created a new email address, one I continue to use to this day. I used the name "benpadiah" because I wanted to spread the news about the "Angel Scroll" on the Star Wars forum. I have used the screen name "benpadiah" ever since.

I believe this plan has failed. I have failed to convey sufficiently my message about Yeshuah Ben Padiah and the "Angel Scroll." It is not that my time is up now, although the end of days may yet come like a thief in the night. I simply feel that thus far my entire online experience has been nothing but an enormous waste of time. I have allowed my initial failure at networking with independent researchers and my intellectual peers to compound itself with interest until almost everyone I know on the internet is younger than me. This is unfortunate at my age. For an old man to be teaching grown men, this is a good thing, and another is one grown man leading others. It is a shame when a grown man cannot listen respectfully to the wisdom of his own elders, and is, too young to be doing so, raising young men on his own instead. This is a shame, this thing.

Not only this, but even to those I do reach, my message is not getting through. I am not a worthy servant for this message, apparently. How I write apparently makes the message appear too complex for these people to understand. I cannot manage to pierce their apathy for my content with my obtuse to prolapse style of writing. Apparently, simple facts such as I write about are neither poetic nor romantic enough to garner the amount of interest I had envisioned.

To this extent, I have even taken the message of Yeshuah Ben Padiah to the medium of music on my ~GOD~ music page, however even my singing seems to have more annoyed the rare listener than served to educate anyone. Music conveys this information to a broader audience at a more rapid rate than other media, such as painting or writing, however it seems that no matter how much I struggle, I cannot manage to become of any influence to society at all. My contributions are, even when taken somewhat seriously, totally unpaid, and I don't really know how far I could coast on "hele the sick, and that gratis," if a real tragedy happened, such as if my mother died or I crashed my car, God forbid.

At this point in history there are obviously no short supply of young men who are as disillusioned with the apparent necessity of institutional civilisation as I am, however the number of grown men who have it as well off as I do, and who complain as much as me, are scarse to non-existent right now. Most of these young men are wannabe prophets and pseudo-Messiahs, eager to prove their worth on a global scale as being the one who, presumeably exclusively by sacrifice of self, will unify all the people of the world by abolishing the need for religious intercession. Of course these solipsising sophomores have no grand plan on how to accomplish this miraculous feat; nonetheless the fact remains that there are no short supply of this type of young man, the wannabe prophet, the pseudo-Messiah.

Now this type of young man often discusses their vast knowledge of the "conspiracy" of "purpose guided" or "intentionally directed" history, as though simply their vast knowledge alone would be sufficient to bridge the gap between any one mind and all the rest of the minds of us sentient entities throughout the universe. They "believe" that they feel the dissatisfaction with the apparently "fallen" condition of our experience of this reality moreso than anyone, although this is not demonstrated by their self-righteous attitude nor their unethical crusades in the name of morality. So who are these people, and why do there seem to be so many of them to me?

It is simple enough to explain why I attract this type of personality to my own, rather than to successfully network with my intellectual peers. My message regarding Yeshuah Ben Padiah, the entire reason I created my online "benpadiah" personality, has become lost, even to the depth of my own own subconscious manifestations, to the extent that, rather than understand the significance of the text itself of the "Angel Scroll" instead the bloodline lineage of Jesus, tracing back to Sumerian royalty and persisting in the "blue blood" executive officials of today, has become the topic of popular consideration, and whether Jesus may or may not have been Gnostic as well as an Essene has become the talk among the supposed intelligensia.

Let me tell you what I think. I think the past 2000 years have all been a feverish hallucination in the mind of Yeshuah Ben Padiah while crucified on the cross. I think that the Catholic church has indeed represented both Pilate of Rome, responsible for Christ's torture, and Caiphas of Jerusalem, responsible for Christ's crucifixion, while the fictional account of the miracles in the Canonised New Testament Gospels represents Herod, the false king. There is little question to my mind that the neo-Sethians of today, those who believe in the "second-coming" of Christ, represent in the mind of Christ on the Cross all that remained of His dreams for the Teachings of His mortal ministry. Now let me tell you that all neo-Sethians are neo-Gnostics, but that not all neo-Gnostics are neo-Sethians. It may be only because it is the lesser of two evils right now, but neo-Gnosticism looks like the wiser option in the long run than neo-Sethianism, mainly because of how common the following reasoning is: "If I were Jesus and I came back I'd be pissed," or "if I were Jesus and I came back I would want to punish those who had been responsible for having had me crucified." The general misunderstanding comes from St. John of Patmos' description in the one Gnostic Gospel to be Canonised as officially accepted Prophecy, where Jesus is described as having a "double edged sword," and generally to be portrayed as a vengeful and wrathful deity. In the actual context the "double-edged sword" is "emitting from His mouth" and clearly is meant to represent the "double-edged meaning of Christ's ministry," which possessed the "exoteric" parables, as well as the "hidden" or "concealed" Gnostic explanations.

Nonetheless, this Revelation has been co-opted by the Powers That Be, the neo-Sethians, who appear to have successfully made a bid for power by covering up the facts surrounding the World Trade Centre disaster of 9-11-2001. Those of us aware of the teachings of the "occult" schools throughout all of human history know that the entire reason any gloabl-scale event had to happen around the turn of the millennium on the Christian calendar at all was because of the sun's precession through the zodiac due to the inclination of the earth's angle of rotation to that of its orbit. The zodiac has twelve signs, and the sun rises in a new one about every 2000 years. This is why it is said, although inaccurately, that we are now in the "Age of Aquarius." Now the number of signs in the zodiac is arbitrary, it's the precessional cycle of the sun, causing the great aeonic cycles of earth's seasons over very long durations of time, that is the meaning meant to be conveyed by these signs. Therefore, the need for a civilisationally unifying (or in our case now, polarising) event to occur due to the turning of the millennium on the Christian calendar is meant to conclude the Revelation to St. John of Patmos, and to usher in the time of the second coming of Jesus Christ, the casting out of Satan, and the beginning of the 1000 year long millennia of peace.

This is all exclusively Christian mythology, however, and therefore has sparked the equivalent of a religious war between Western Christendom (including the State of Israel, if not the Nation of the Hebrews) and Moslem Arabia.

Of course, none of this really has much of anything to do with anyone on this planet other than the neo-Sethians, or those people who believe in the "second-coming" of Christ. It is unfortunate that so many of them seem to be in positions of authority, and that so many of them seem so willing to use this to play some part in their millennarian eshatology. Of course, it seems intuitively obvious that all debate on the issue of "purpose guided" or "intentionally directed" history and the role of the "conspiracy" dating back to ancient Sumeria and the pantheon of the Annunaki would end, if the "Angel Scroll" of Yeshuah Ben Padiah were released in original or translated.

The opinion of the "Messiah" from 2000 years ago on the contemporary meaning of the "fallen" status of the Annunaki really shouldn't be any more meaningful than that of anyone since then, such as the QBLHists, or even one such as myself. In my book, "the Tree of Death and the Qliphoth," I discuss the nature of the "fallen" status of the Annunaki at length. However it is widely accepted on faith that the publication of this scroll by an Essene from 2000 years ago will answer all of our questions about life after death as well as provide right understanding of the nature of the entire universe, affording us the ability to read the mind of God Himself. The publication of the "Angel Scroll," it is believed among some, will usher out the era of the Psychic Empire of Christianity, and hearken in a Gnostic awakenning of consciousness to our true role in the destiny of our universe. For many, the release of the text of the "Angel Scroll" of Yeshuah Ben Padiah is believed to herald the "second-coming" of Jesus Christ, and would at least mark us as living in the supposed "End of Days."

Indeed, the fact that I possess even more esoteric knowledge now than it is likely that even Yeshuah Ben Padiah Himself possessed at His time means essentially nothing in our modern world. I tend to think of Judgment Day as having come and gone already. We were found neither Innocent, nor Guilty, but simply Not Guilty. Rather than a rapture for the innocent, or a curse for the guilty, we simply passed through the Day without taking note of the time of its coming, for it changed nothing. However, as I have said, what I, as only one individual, think neither means anything to all those rampant fanaticals whom I've cursed to myself so often, nor should it. They have the right to take the reigns and to run us all into the ground. If this is what God sees fit, He shall allow it to come to pass.

If it is the Will of God that the demiurge in man should orchestrate the operations of the institutional mechanisms of our civilisation, then so shall it be. If I, as an individual, am powerless to control even so much as those same institutional mechanisms of our civilisation, let alone this entire universe, then I am free to pursue only my own desires as an individual. I thus do not have the responsibility to out-do the demiurge in controlling the manifest kingdom. I cannot conquer the demiurge in the world "out there;" I can only conquer the demiurge as it appears within myself.

I do not think of myself as a Messiah any longer. I have killed the "benpadiah" personality. How does this follow? It is my desire to be the Messiah that has kept any part of my mind focused on the exterior world, and on desiring to control the institutional mechanisms of our civilisation, and thus the kingdom, and thus this entire universe. This desire for recognition of a status I can only confer and accept upon and by myself is futile and has brought my loved ones nothing but pain. I will no longer aspire to be famous in the afterlife, remembered as a saviour, founder of a way to redemption and to enlightenment. I renounce these interests, and close the tunnels leading to these lines of reasoning inside the neurons of my gray matter. I know not what I am talking about, and I have already forgotten what I just said. For I am the Fool and the Fool's Companion, the Blind leading the Blind, I am not worthy of being the Messiah, the living body of God; I cannot even commit to a meaning for my concept of "the Most High!"

I feel a two thousand year old hallucination crawling through my veins, and I do not like it. Just as the past 2000 years have all been a hallucination in the mind of Christ on the cross, so too has the last hundred years been a hallucination in the mind of Crowley, and the last fifty years of Allen Dulles. Now we all dream one another. Still untouched is what's inside. Reality is not what is "out there," around and about us. It is what is "inside" us, in our minds, and how we feel. So the interiors of our minds are partially the dreams of the past, while the present is partially the dream of the interior of our minds. We project our will to the exact same extent as we perceive stimuli. The greater we feel the psychic burden of our material existence, the greater our longing for reunion with the wellspring of our consciousness, that which we sense beyond our senses.

"I" am nothing but an alignment of a Holy (Mind or central nervous system) Guardian (soul or aura of electromagnetic karma) Angel (the tachyonic geometric archetype, or spirit) between a Higher Will above, beyond and without and a lesser will below, controlled and within. I am God studying God, the universe converses with itself through me. But "I" am only its conduit, and already this means nothing.

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09/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 9-22-06 Well, as long as we are airing MY dirty laundry, the post that sara is referring to is one from the public chat forum on my own site, titled "death to benpadiah," where I'd posted: last night I tried to kill myself. I prayed as hard as I could to God to let me die. Where there was a river, God put a boat. I choked myself nearly unconscious with a seatbelt, hoping to pass out and die from lack of oxygen.

I did this because I am weary of this condition of existence. I long for the unconditional love of the Creator, to be delivered from the worldly pain of the adversary.

I realise now, it doesn't matter if I die from ingesting monoatomic gold, as I would like, or if I die in an ignoble experiment.

My life has become charity, gone through for the benefit solely of others.

-ben with a poll reading: should I kill off the "benpadiah" personality? yes 0% [ 0 ] no 0% [ 0 ] Total Votes : 0 -source: "death to benpadiah" Now, I should mention here, that most of what I write is fiction. For example, when I am writing about the astral or psychic confrontation between Busta Rhymes, on behalf of the Great Burner, and Laura Bush, on behalf of the neo-Sethians, for dominance in the Order of Death, this is obviously fiction, even though I am using the names of "real" people, places, things, etc. The point in my doing this is to stretch people's definitions of "fiction," and to encourage people to sort out what is "real" from what is the product of the "imagination," and so to encourage them to think for themselves, instead of just accepting everything at face value. This technique is common among authors. It is called "literary liscence."

Now, my blog is something I use more as a topical testing ground. I have placed a counter on the front page, which I can use to determine what blogs garner the most visitors, etc. I can then decide what topics, what writing styles, etc. will meet with the most popular approval. I then ammend my own thinking to concentrate more on what would make those thoughts that I wish to convey possible to do so using the given topics and styles, etc. So, when I write about the Great Burner in one paragraph, and something personal about my own life in another, be assured the order and wording of these paragraphs is very intentionally chosen by yours truly to reflect all this research. That's just how I use the web. That's... how I roll.

Ok, so, all that being said, the point being to sort out the "fiction" from the "fact," I'm not saying that my having attempted suicide is not a fact. In fact, I have never attempted suicide for its own sake before in my entire life. In fact, I have not had any suicidal thoughts lately at all, and am, in fact, feeling very good, and have been for at least six months. So, why, then, did I suddenly attempt suicide? I think that, as one enters the trance of samadhi, from that of samasamadhi, that is, when one enters the condition of daily existence that one is constantly in an "altered" state of consciousness, ie. nirvana, one must confront their inner self, their repressed memories, in the state of utmost calm and tranquility. In other words, when you're most high, you deal with your own lowest lows. With great power comes great responsibility. So, because I have felt so "on top of the world," I decided now would be a good time to cope with some of what I feel like when I feel like I am Atlas.

I have found that, one cannot have lived life without having confronted their own death. I used to risk my life quite often doing foolish and childish things when I was a young man in my teens and early twenties. However I never consciously chose to attempt ending it all. I often threatened this, which means I used to be afraid of it myself, and think others should be too. However now I had no fear of it, and welcomed it, and embraced it fully in a state of samadhic sobriety. So, in order to change my life for the better, in order to begin a new state, a condition of constant bliss, I have to let go of that part of my life that holds me back, the old state, the condition of constant suffering.

So, that is why I attempted suicide. It was as a celebration of my existence, which is so much more than only my "life."

Now, I posted that I'd done this a day or two after I'd done it on my public chat forum. No one replied, so I added a poll and wrote a front page blog about it. Unfortunately, guests cannot vote in the poll, but they can post in the public forum, to reply directly to the original post. I did all this as a form of "market research" about the "benpadiah" personality. That is, the basis for my online name, the fallen Christ of the Last Temptation, the crucified gnostic, the unknown Holy ghost in the church's deus ex machina. After all, it is my former "Christ Complex" that has driven me into the position of the "benpadiah" personality, and so I am basically interested in finding out what people would think if I acted less on that and acted more like a self-actualised individual sentient entity, like a self-responsible adult citizen and a man, than I have been able to. Of course, my illness that has caused my "Christ complex" also prevents me from addressing this issue directly in public, hence the "death to benpadiah" pretext, rather than a more direct, "death to Jon Gee." By now you're probably wondering what the point is in all of this anyway. It's pretty simple. The other day I tried to die. Now, why we are discussing that HERE, on the IO forum, I have no ------clue. Honestly, anyone who wished to know about this would have read my blog anyway, or else I would have talked to them about it in person. There is really no need for the free advertisement, sara. In other words, you've got an account on my forum, or you could have posted your above sentiments there as a guest even. I have no idea why you would bother making this post here.

Wishing me happy birthday, when I first joined, because I mentioned it was my birthday that day, on a public forum, is appropriate. Blowing me a kiss because I have recently attempted suicide?

Priceless. so, without further ado, the "market research" results: how to read the chart:

stats by month chart

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Welcome to my little corner of cyberspace."

-source: 06/05 6 updates: 6-14, 6-16, 6-20, 6-23, 6-26, 6-28 [stat counter not installed] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"I've been really out of it for the past few days."

-source: 07/05 7 updates: 7-2, 7-4, 7-6, 7-8, 7-14, 7-17, 7-29 [stat counter not installed] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"blog blog bloggity blog."

-source: 08/05 6 updates: 8-8, 8-12, 8-21, 8-25, 8-27, 8-31 [stat counter not installed] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"well, I just got back from the Tuesday Trial By Stone show at the Warehouse."

-source: 09/05 3 updates: 9-7, 9-18, 9-30 [stat counter not installed] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"But, bi-polar or not, a brother can't come on here, shit on everyone's parade, then get defensive when people don't like the stink of said shit." -Kevin Smith -source: 10/05 3 updates: 10-06, 10-08, 10-21 [220 page loads, 68 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"I think I have created the benpadiah personality in order to be able to use it to store all my greater personality of insights, such as my voice or writing style."

-source: 11/05 1 update: 11-09 [151 page loads, 67 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"I used to be twenty one and hanging around with eighteen year olds."

-source: 12/05 6 updates: 12-03, 12-09, 12-15, 12-19, 12-23, 12-29 [304 page loads, 97 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"I saw a guy walking two dogs without leashes on my street the other day."

-source: 01/06 2 updates: 01-14, 01-25 [171 page loads, 69 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"You know, energy is a funny thing."

-source: 02/06 1 update: 02-27 [140 page loads, 66 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"It's been a rather trying week this week."

-source: 03/06 2 updates: 03-14, 03-28 [281 page loads, 65 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"I'm tired. So tired."

-source: 04/06 1 update: 04-16 [190 page loads, 56 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"For two weeks straight I don't dream."

-source: 05/06 1 update: 05-05 [160 page loads, 76 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"The class of messengers has been lost to time."

-source: 06/06 1 update: 06-04[339 page loads, 288 unique visitors]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"last night I tried to kill myself."

-source: 07/06 1 update: 07-25 [645 page loads, 445 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"So who am I?" -source: 08/06 1 update: 08-22 [469 page loads, 391 unique visitors] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------it seems pretty clear to me what the results of this research are. click to get a longer overall view of my site's stat couner "terrain" per annum, per quarter, per month, week, day of month and day of week:

(this graph is current up to Thursday, September 21, 2006, with 1977 visitors to my page) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 10-all-06 In my blog last month, I posted some "research" on data generated by my frontpage stat-counter.

I did not, however, post any findings from this "research." Instead I said simply, "it seems prettly clear to me what the results of this research are." I then did not elaborate.

Allow me to elaborate on my findings from this "research" now.

The number of "returning visitors" reflects the number of people who have "returned" to visit at least two or more times. Therefore, when, in Dec, 2005, 11 people are listed as "returning visitors" this means that the seven visitors of Oct, four of whom "returned" in November, all returned in December, along with the four "returning visitors" from the month before. Therefore, if the number of "returning visitors" in one month is higher than the number of "returning visitors" the month before, it means that the same number of visitors as the preceding month "returned," as well as some who had been "visitors" in a month before. Therefore, read for December, 2005: "the four visitors of the previous month were joined by the seven of the month before," or rather, four November visitors of seven in October returned in December," or even, "the total of four and seven is eleven." Therefore, everyone who visited in October and November of 2005 "returned" that December. This means the numbers went "up."

Likewise, if the number of "returning visitors" in one month is lower than the number of "returning visitors" the month before, it means that fewer visitors than the preceding month "returned." In other words, when seven visitors "returned" in May, 2006, and then only two visitors "returned" in June, 2006, it means that only two of the number of all the posters who had been to the site before "returned" to view the site that month. This means the numbers went "down."

We can compare the content of the blogs, thus, to the number of "returning visitors" to determine which blogs garnered, or possibly even attracted, the highest number of prior visitors to "return" to the site. In this case, the greatest increase of "returning visitors" was between, as mentioned, November and December of 2005. However, we can rule this out as, according to the stated calculations, this only established the total number of visitors "returning" to the site from the previous two months, and thus establishes only an initial number of total visitors altogether at the time the counter was installed. Therefore, we look to what was the greatest increase following that of December, 2005. We find that, following that, one more visitor "returned" of the eleven total each month than had the previous month until May, 2006. After this the number of "returning visitors" dropped drastically for the month of June, 2006, but immediately went back to nearly the same number as it had been before, that is, in April, 2006. Therefore, we look at the blog from the month of July, 2006 to determine what the content of it was that garnered, or attracted, as many "return visitors." Then we can compare this content to that of the April, 2006, blog which represented the largest "drop" in the number of "return visitors."

We then see that the topic of the July, 2006 blog was my attempted suicide. The topics the month before had been "the class of messengers..." and "the drugs don't work." In, "the drugs don't work," I introduced many of the issues that would lead to my attempted suicide the following month. Thus, when the number of "returning visitors" to my site dropped from seven to two in the month of June, 2006, I attempted suicide. Following my attemtping suicide, the number of "returning visitors" to my site increased from two in the month of June to six in the month of July. That is what I meant by "it seems pretty clear to me what the results of this research are."

We see that the numbers of "first time visitors" and those of "unique visitors" reflect different results than those of the "returning visitors" however. For "first time visitors" as well as of "unique visitors," the greatest leap was between May and June, 2006, and the greatest drop was between July and August, 2006. In other words, the number of "unique" and that of "first time" visitors actually increased the most drastically (more than doubling) the month before I attempted suicide, and decreased the most drastically the month after, although still remaining higher than it had been the month before I attempted suicide. In other words, the month prior to my attempting suicide, the number of "unique visitors" and "first time visitors" nearly quadrupled. The month that I attempted suicide gained me three times as many "returning visitors" as visited the month of the quadrupling of "unique" and "first time" visitors. The month following my attempted suicide cut the number of "returning visitors" in half, but left the number of "unique" and "first time" visitors still well above their numbers in the month they had nearly quadrupled.

In short, the findings of my "research" indicate that immediately prior to my attempting suicide a large number of "first time" visitors began accessing my site, and that immediately subsequent to my attempting suicide, several of the "returning" visitors left. Aside from this all I have to add is that, to calculate the number of "unique" visitors, you add the number of "first time" visitors to that of "returning" visitors. The difference between the number of "unique" visitors and the number of "page loads" refers to how many times the "unique" visitors opened the front page of my site.

Now that we have addressed the entire lot of the blogs objectively, let's compare these findings to the subjects of the blogs individually. As long as seven months before my attempting suicide, I began to discuss issues such as "psychic surgery" having been performed on me at a young age, and to refer to the "devil's heart" that had been placed in me at that time. Earlier than this, even, I pondered the origins of the "benpadiah personality," or the "benpadiah delusion" as opposed to the earlier, and far more psychotic "Christ complex," or "Messiah delusion" under which I had previously suffered. I also compared and contrasted these delusions associated with being the "son of God" to the "scape-goat" scenario employed by my own father to ostricise me from his life, and about my father's own malignantly narcissistic "God complex." All of this was under discussion on my blog from November of last year. It was not until eight months later I would attempt suicide. This "attempt" was predicated upon these and other earlier meditations, the latter being on various near-death experiences I've had in my life. Its failure allowed me to disclose, though still more or less in secret, the capstone reason for my earlier revelations. I suspect that, while my conscious-self was blocked out such that I cannot now directly remember, when I was a young boy around the age of ten, I was sexually abused by my father. This culminated, with evidence, my earlier blogs that had revealed the prior abuse and disclosed the multiplicity of interiorised personality traits.

So, we can see then that, during the months when I exhibited the "early warning" signs of my later attempted suicide, the stat counter results do not reflect any additional "unique visitors" to my site to read my blog and discover them. Between November and December, 2005, there was an unprecedented and unimmitated increase of thirty "unique visitors," but in November itself, when I discussed the "benpadiah personality" in specific, the same regular ~60+ "unique visitors" read my blog on the frontpage of my site. I cannot rightly attribute December's increase to the content of the blog the month before, therefore. It appears more likely to me that the increase in December can be accounted for by the spontaneous doubling of November's "page loads." At an increase of 153 (two more than twice the preceding month's "page loads"), this incident reflects the greatest and most sudden increase in "page loads" that had occured by that point, and is greater even than the same event that occured between February and March of 2006 (when the number of "page loads" doubled plus one). This "doubling" of the number of "page loads" is not reflected by the numbers of "unique visitors," and therefore this statistic refers to the number of "returning visitors," which nearly tripled from November to December of '05. It

would appear that, since the increase was not subsequently sustained, the additional seven "returning visitors" in December were entirely responsible for the increase from 151 to 304 "page loads" from November. In short, we can say that, I made the "early warning" signs of being suicidal six months before attempting suicide.

In spite of all these things, the overall funniest thing about the stat-counter results I'd posted last month is the fact that the stat-counter attracts ninety percent of the "page loads" of my site itself by allowing "bots" to access my site via search engines. Because I have the stat-counter on my site, the front page shows up on search-engines. Because of this, the content of my blog each month shows up on search engines. Advertisers and merchants using content-based platforms to cross-reference sites brought up by search-engines then access the page with their automated content-based search-programs. These automated content cross-referencing "bots" count as "page loads" on the stat-counter. The higher the number of "page loads" by the same content-based platforms, the greater the likelihood that other merchants and advertisers for similar products will access the site. Eventually, once a certain number of merchants and advertisers access the site from the same basic product or service category, another kind of automated "bot" is sent out: the forum-based "spam-bot." This is why, despite no humans having read the suicidal "earlywarning" signs in the content of my front-page blog, my forum has been bombarded by guest-posts and posts by new-member "chat-bots" advertising hot-links to psychiatric medications. That is why now no guests can post on my forum, and why email address confirmation is required in order for a new user's account to be activated. I also "prune" the non-active "pr0n-bots" out fairly frequently too. I like to know about how many real friends I have.

All in all, putting stock in the site's stat-counter is alot like buying stock in general. The numbers will always appear impressive so long as you hvae no idea what they mean. All in all, however, the numbers for this site are considerably unimpressive. It seems that, at least during my life, I am destined to have no real impact. It also seems that it will only be because of my death, when it eventually does transpire, that anyone will take notice of my having even existed at all. As it is, my friends do not grant me respect unless I struggle to continually earn it from them, and additionally so, with confidence. No one thinks I am a "good" writer, judging by my style. No one seems to even care enough to try to understand my precious metaphysical diagrams.

Should I be killed and my entire life be erased from the records of material evidence, it would not be long before my contributions to this universe would be utterly forgotten, and moreover, they would remain absolutely unappreciated during even that short time. I once, long ago, came to the conclusion that "reality doesn't need me. It doesn't even want me. And moreover, it seems to not like me very much." This conclusion seems as generally applicable now as ever. That is basically what I meant by concluding, "it seems pretty clear to me what the results of this research are."

11/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 11-05-06 For last month's blog please visit: October's blog. I did not post it to the front page.

In short, the results of my entire lifetime spent researching are nothing. What I have discovered cannot be communicated, at least not by me, and therefore not authentically. If there is ever someone later to find all my research, and to interpret it differently, perhaps what they express will be more generally acceptable to the common mind. In reality, however, I am Alfred North Whitehead. In truth, I am the Pete Best of this universe. It is as my old friend David Harris told me when we were little when I asked him what I had ever done wrong that made him hate me. He answered, "you were born." God cast down into this universe my wretched soul, and cut me off into it when he severed the umbilical chord. I am Satan incarnate, or rather, the incarnation of God is Satan. And am I not the Most High? Even when I am not the furthest "out there," exploring the deepest depths of gravitas, am I not by far the most steeped in the mysterious truths of the mystics, the prophets, the gurus, the holy ones of all time? Am I not the one to bring the message back with me when I return from the stygian frost-bitten depths of the universal void, the vaccuum of deep space? The message of the eternal beauty of the remotest depths of the divine heavens is lost on me, then. I am wasted, and am therefore not of this reality. I am inverted, and, therefore, worthless. How happy I have been, while around me the world burns!

Isn't it one's natural instict to die? From birth on are we not conditioned by environmentally stimulated suffering to expect to have to pass from this mortal coil ourselves one day? I wish I could convey what it is like, to have gone through this so often that I know I am lost, that I know there is no way back to where I want to be, the place where I call home. If it is not in my nature to long for release from the suffering of life, then why do we evolve? If we do not feel the need to die, then why would we even feel the want to live? Imagine we could escape into space, and live forever free in zero-G. But what would we take with us? In my opinion, nothing. And that is why I fail. All things can change, and so to my mind all things will. However, the longing for and the clinging to referential memory-objects from one incarnation to the next prevents this for most. No. Allow me to correct that: in my own subconscious mind, my own fear of losing my existence relative to material objects keeps constantly reflected in the foreground of my surrounding aura the everpresent karma of fear of losing these material objects as memeory referentials. I fear to lose my metaphysical reflections, and that is why no one can or will respect these as my contributions while I am yet alive.

Yet, let me tell you why I do not fear death: What I have drawn and written about, these things are yet to come. Once I pass this mortal coil, I shall ascend through these my familiar memories, as I pass from the central position of my karma, as I step outside of my universally reflexive aura. By these sign-posts I have drawn I will find my way free of the feeling that I need to even convey these messages to anyone. Afterall, I guess I will figure, we each exist inside our own babyuniverse, only one further generation after an equally infinite number of parent-universes. There is, in truth, as little overlap as possible between us each.

I do not fear death because I have experienced it far too many times. It feels little better than being alive, but perception beyond the end is entirely different. No, I do not fear death, nor, as you would probably like jealousy to say, do I fear being alive. What I do fear is the enforced necessity of compromise with "reality." The notion of finding funding for food, for example. I do not like money. You would argue, your stomach necessitates money, that is "reality." But I tell you, there is no reason to compromise between the interior "reality" and the exterior "reality."

These are all one reality already. There is only one reality, not two, an "exterior" one with which you must make compromises for survival, and an "interior" one comprised of thoughts and dreams no one else can see. There cannot be two "realities," and so you call one of these "ideal" and the other one "reality." Because exterior "reality" evidences compromise within itself, you call "reality" the necessity of compromise between the exterior "reality" and the interior "ideal." But I tell you this is not true. I tell you, "what you imagine as ideal is only a higher part of reality."

I have the karma of a Holy Man. I have the karma of Christ, crucified to be brought down to the level of mankind, a dead mass, a lump of clay. And why was he killed? It was for His karma: he manifested the authorities of his time and place to feel jealousy for Him, for what He said was true: "people SHOULD love each other." The sanhedrin, because their's was a God of reality, struck back against this idealism. "People SHOULD, but do NOT, love one another." This was the truth of their God of reality at that pace and time. So they killed him. The message of Jesus became lost to our subsequent reality, and instead His Church has enforced the God of the Sanhedrin as Pain from Rome. But look! The message of Jesus, though removed from Him, has been kept safe in secret.

It lives on, an invisible ideal, true, but superimposed over all our reality now. We all know, we cannot deny, the message of Jesus: "Love them all." It is now doing conflict against our id, even now, the "super-ego" and its manifestation of technological civilisation. It lashes out against the past, but in lashing out becomes the id. Civilisation has become a living thing, although comprised more of brick and morter than human values, it is animated in its evolutionary progress.

And now history repeats itself, only strangely. Perhaps after a very destructive war or after a long time of darkness and decay, someone will find records from our time in the form of our fictions, and live their lives according to them. We have only a few historical records of the accounts of Christ's apostles, however these all differ drastically from every account of nonChristian contemporaries. So who do we "believe"? We know one thing, and so we cannot say we "know" the opposite. So we say, instead, we "believe" in it. Everyone believes the miracles are possible, no matter how unlikely, who already accepts the "belief" in God. God is an idea.

Everyone alive on earth has some idea of God. Once there were only a few of us who understood the idea of God. Now everyone has an opinion one way or the other. We once understood the one "reality" unifying the interior and exterior. Now we talk about "knowledge" and "belief." Soon shall come a day when we understand the message of Jesus. To love one another is to be beloved one's self. "But look around," they still say with their heavy hearts, "I love everyone I know, but everyone I know only loves sparingly, here and there. Where then is there any love that I may be beloved myself?" This love comes from above, beyond ourself. It fountains out from within ourselves. It is all around, very close, yet it appears as though infinitely far away and behind everything, concealed by all the hatred brought to the foreground. I tell you these are the end of those days when hatred is brought to the foreground. And yet you all still find it in your hearts to disbelieve.

I am blessed, truly and deeply, for all that is is all that I desire. I desire disbelief. I desire shock and awe. For I am possessed by the demons Choke and Shock. I was strangled by my ex-lover, and I was electrocuted in the womb. Thus, for this reason, will I die. Forever I bear the burden of having these two extra shadows, for so too shall I for as long as I go on bear with me the two guardians of my soul, my love, my ideals, my fictions, my imagination, and of my spirit, my light, my "higher" ideals, my fact, my knowledge. One was Luke, one is Leia. One was Mike, one his girlfriend. One was Thoth and one was Isis. One Judas, one Magdalene, Hiram and Tubal-Cain, Imhotep and Kephren. And I have ever been between them, and I am nothing but a synthesis of them, and so too are they alike the father and mother of my body, my hateful father and my loving mother. And, like all these people, these guardians over me have a light side and a dark side. But they share these between them. One of them is light while the other one is dark. One of them is a light shining on one side of me, and the other is a shadow on the opposite side. They are my own light and dark sides. They are yin and yang, the karma in my aura, my black and white fish in a bowl, and I am Turk, my Siamese fighting fish, the aqua and scarlet coloured beta. Yin and Yang starved Turk to death, and his corpse was eaten by the neon tetras. So shall it be for me in this life. So shall it always be. And so I see a darkness coming. This is how I know it is still light.

It is still light, Give Praise! Because let me tell you what I can see in the future. My friends have all become enemies. All are turned against one another. There is no truth, and no agreement. This lasts for a very long time. After this, there comes the end of the world. Let me tell you what I see in my future: in my thirties I will suffer from a "psychotic break." I will suffer a complete

nervous breakdown. In a hallucination I will become the Pope of the Universe, while in the continuation of the reality we share now I will have become a vegetable, as useless to society as unable to even feed myself. My life will be long and this terror shall become great. In the absence of the guiding principle of this Universe, all Hell will break loose. Chaos ensues. This lasts until the end of my life, and this is equivalent to the end of the world. This terrible message I deliver to you now: I am innocent. I am not now, nor do I ever hope to be, so great as to lose it all. Let me tell you that when God said "let there be" about Light, it means he brought it forth from concealment. But yet more remains! God withholds bountiful luminousness for the righteous. This Light is concealed to the eyes of those who will not see it. They are the adversaries of it, and therefore it burns them. But to those who fear Truth not, we swim in an ocean of Light. All things are known to us. So now let me ask you, what does it matter if I should become a vegetable if it should serve the majority agenda? At this moment in history human myopiea is at its most stymatic. But I remind you, how can you learn the lessons to be taught beginning today if your only desire in doing so is to refute the lessons of yesterday? How can you learn for tomorrow when today remains a mystery and yesterday only worth forgetting? And already you cling to the "ineffability" of solipsism in the name of Gnosis. You blaspheme.

Come nearer so I can talk to you about the afterlife. There will come a metamorphosis of the astral soul from its earthly mire. The wondrous archetypes you model as machines in fiction, these are already alive, and were before you, and moreover, are you, or rather, by moving through you, animate you, breathe into you the breath of life and ignite the spark of the everlasting soul. So why do you renounce Truth? It is because there is a shadow between you and the Light. It is concealed from you. This Light shall be shown to you, but first you must come out from under the shadow of gloom. You must choose to do this for yourself. Once you realise that the body IS a dead thing, then you will no longer "stand under" and instead "Understand!"

Hear the voice of the temptor, and know the Light is not yours to receive without it also being God's to give. It was God who has placed this hex, or curse, or gloom, or glamour, or shadow over you. It is only up to God to take it away. But you must petition His mercy in doing so. You must choose to accept the Blessing, and this is the way to be free of one's own "dark side." Some say this involves "belief." I tell you, "no, because once a thing is known it no longers requires belief in it." When you come out from under the powerful spell of this demonic influence, you know beyond all shadow of a doubt. If you take the first step, and desire to learn more, your eyes will adjust and you will come to see. You will see that which had blinded you. This is your innermost self. This is the heart of all matter. Know and accept it as the Blessing of the Lord God. For let me tell you that, as you see the Demon, so shall Love see you.

The double-headed demon opens its mouths and speaks: "You must choose," says one head, "do this for yourself," says the other. The first head is Beliar, "Be, Liar," that is, "be a liar." The second head is the serpent of Eden, a winged camel with an Ethiopian angel astride it. The liar says "you must choose," and the temptor says "do this for yourself." I will tell you a shortcut: Allow God. In time we will ALL come into the fullest brilliance of God's radiant glory. For in the Heaven of Heavens there is no differentiation between matter and energy as there is here in our fractured, fallen and imperfect current universe. So, Love this universe. Do not desire for the living to ever see its end. That is where the demons live, in the egg-shell aura surrounding us all that is the utmost limits of our local continuum. Praise the demons for your own sake! Let not your glance befall them in hasty judgement, nor your hand ever be raised to rebuke them. First, chastise yourself, before you seek to exorcise anyone else's demons.

So, love your inner demon, and in this way you shall be loved by God above. If your love manifests itself by a confusion of pleasure and punishment, or of pain and reward, then your inner demon will reciprocate in kind to you. That is because the inner demon exists to serve you. You are its gracious host, and it your kundalini spinal virus. However, have you forgotten you exist to serve God, and that God will love you as much as you love your inner demon? But let this be known of the

relationship between you and your inner demon and between you and God: Though the demon serves you, you serve God. Though the demon looks up to you, so too should you look up to God. Be His humble servant, and, seeing this, may your inner demons serve you.

For it is the inner demon that shelters the third eye from the sky beyond. It has been put there by God to do this. It is your guardian. The demon has two heads, but I tell you now: each guardian is an angel above and a demon below. Count the number of eyes of the double-headed one. Two pairs are two angels. The two mouths of the two faces of the double-headed one are the demons. They speak filth, lies, wretchedness. So are like the loins of men and women. The angels' eyes are wings.

The demons names have been called now: "Choke" and "Shock." They descend in a tongue of fire from the blood bedewed heavenly canopy above as I let fall against my the crown and temples of my own skull blow after blow with countless fist-sized stones. I faced them, and I commanded them out of me. This capitulated their prescence before Eternity beside me, or rather, between me and eternity. One Became the woman, and the other Became the man. It was at that time that the fruit of Eden was eaten. Original sin is petro-asceticism.

Now I have understanding. Lord God willing give me wisdom. Pray everyday. Pray in the way that uplifts your spirit to the grace of God. Do not prey upon your inner-demons, and do not make sacrifices of your time and energy to them. They are running and returning at all times, the dual charge of the kinetic energy inside of each of us, the soul, the ruach, aura, ka. One exerts actively and one attracts passively. Hence they are like male and female. One goes before you in Paradise, while the other follows after you. The one before you is beyond, and stands between you and God. The one behind you is within, and stands now in your shadow. This is why the inner is called "demon," not because it shadows you, but because you shadow it. The one that goes before you is your spirit, or rather, "Holy Guardian Angel." The one that comes behind is your soul, or rather, your "inner demon." But in truth these are not your soul and spirit, for your soul does not require its interior aspects in order to exist any more than the spirit requires the soul.

Therefore, the demons are in your soul, the karma of your aura. This is manvantara, maya, sangsara, samsara, sorrow, suffering, illusion, darkness. The angels are also in your soul as the alignment of your chi flow up and down the spine with the polarity of the karma in your aura.

When the interior aligns with the exterior, then all karma comes clean and the aura is cleansed.

Beyond this is the spirit of pure geometry the exact same for all archetypes.

Everyone who has received the gift of being healed has also the ability to give the gift to heal. This is the meaning of the "favourite son." We are all the direct descendents of God, for God it is who is all our father, even before we were born to our fathers of flesh. God is only one generation older than even the oldest of us alive now. This is called the Tao. The new year brings in yin and ushers out yang. This is the "running and returning." But the favourite son of a generation is to all men who went before, the "Most High." Follow the Most High, the favored sun of the favourite son.

Follow the point of infinity above the pendulum of time itself. Give the gift by pointing out. Send the inner-demons haunting others out in this way. Speak the shemhamforash and give the gift to heal. Cleanse the aura, align the chakras. In this way heal: call on the afflicted to give a name to their ailment. Call that name, and then call the Name of God. Send the sickness back to God. Cleanse the karma. This is how to heal: for now we do with chemicals the same to heal: call upon a power of chemical greater than the chemicals of the illness. We call this, "treating the symptoms" to "cure the disease." However, to call the ailment out in the Name, we must become a conduit for the suffering ourselves. It must pass through us also. Likewise then the Light of God that will fill the patient will increase through us as well. Thus the light is bitter-sweet and melancholy. This is because it has descended and is being contained within a mortal vessel. Fill the vessel with light until the vessel fades away.

It is still light, let there be praise, because there is a darkness ever present in the future. Let me tell you what I see: All my friends have become enemies. Everyone is divided against everyone else. Everyone is divided within themselves. There are so many different points of view within the mind. So there are so many different points of view within the people, and so many different people within the lands. And all of them, all my friends, have become enemies. They have become enemies to me, and they have no trust in one another, and they have become Satans to themselves.

Truly all their voices are calling out for a Holy War. They fancy themselves liberal to discuss inter-faith marriages, and conservative to discuss the shawl of mourning and the laws of the elders. But I tell you they are all upside down. They attend their CEO morale seminars, zoning out to the NLP reprogramming the values inside their brains.

Tell me I am wrong about it Lord, for would I had a different message to deliver. All will remain the same as it was between 1999 and 2001 until at least 2008. By then what H.G. Wells called "decadence," and Machiavelli called "liscentiousness," and Plato established as the degenerate form of Democracy, will have a firm hold on the entire globe. There will be corruption in every corner of civilisation, and it will increase the pace at which it conquers the wilderness regions in between. All forms of economic crimes are commited in the name of international trade, and already these crimes are boiling over into invasion of privacy and human rights violations.

America has become the new Germany. The neo-conservative Nazi's have established a Pax American Fourth Reich. In eight years they will have accomplished on a global scale as much destruction and loss of hope as did the Nazis in Germany in eleven.

But wait, there is even more. The religions of the world will gnash their teeth at one another's throats. There will come a time when an event must either be believed in or disbelieved. The Imams, the cardinals, the rabbin and the Gyoto will all disagree. One will believe here and another will disbelieve there. All will have their own opinion. But the truth will be plain enough.

It will be out in the daylight, but none will share the same opinion about it. What should be done?

Who would do it? How could it be accomplished? And yet what is done is done, by God alone, and it is already done. Such is the way of all things, and yet this cannot be agreed upon. No two people in the world will have the exact same definition of the divine, because it will all suddenly become clear to each, but then just as suddenly will it disappear again. This will turn the people mad with confusion. They will all disagree, and there will be terrible uprisings as they lash out against each other like a pack of wild dogs over the blame for loss of the Vision. They will see it here and there, but nowhere will it be rejoiced, and everywhere the more the Vision reappears, the less people will believe in it. It will be like the boy who cried "wolf." Night will descend like Brer Rabbit's "tar-baby."

All is concealed inside the Hermetic tradition, that is, the received QBLH, and so too from this is all revealed, as what is once receieved is then able to be given again. Those within the Travelling Lodge do not fear the loss of the Vision, for it is they who dispense it. To them, the Light is not dimminished by the light that they give out. It is used to heal, and all will return, and thus it is already there, and was never really gone. The light is immortal, but the Light is eternal. No one believes in any of this, O Lord! Please help me peel back the scales from my eyes. Help me see why they persist in disbelieving, even though it jeapordises the survival of us all. I pray fervently, but what comes is a like a snapping branch inside my brain. This will be the result of my catscan: brain damage caused by massive head trauma, self-inflected with blunt objects.

You cannot escape your future. That's your shadow on the wall. We are all combinations of extremes, dark and light. That is the message of the Demon. But the serpent is trampled by the heal of Love. There is no escaping this. Death comes to everyone and everything except for God. God alone will never taste the bitter-sweet breath of non-existence, to sleep dreamlessly, and to awaken like the unrested dead. So is somnulence a little death. Awaken now, for if you are that part of yourself that was born, then you will cling to that part of yourself that dies. Instead, you must let go of all you desire, for by doing so you will open yourself to receive it all back in a greater amount as a gift. This is the Blessing. This is how to heal.

I am not God, I am Yeshuah Ben Padiah, Pheloni Ben Phelonieth, I am the Metatron, and Enoch, and I am the Voice of the Vision. I am Hermes, Tehuti, Thoth, father of Horus. The Messiah is me, and I am he. But also I am Satan, I am the Anti-Christ, and Lucifer, I am the Devil, the adversary, and I am the shadow of death. I am Hiram, Imhotep, Abraham, father of rabbi Ishmael. The fallen one am I, and I am he. All these things are true and not true. All these things are true here and not true there. All is in confusion. Here is the phoenix: Horus, rabbi Jesus. Guide me oh Wise Master.

Guide me to the breast of thy mother, oh the Wise Isis! Resurrect me from my dreadful fate! I am betrayed and all is disarray.

You shall all believe I am crazy. This cycle will grow from there. We shall all think one another crazy, moreso and moreso, until only one voice of sanity and reason remains. That voice will be called the Pope, and sit at the head of all tables. He will be renounced and cast out again, deprived of what was promised him. But in being struck down, he shall increase the Light. But he will not be believed in his own life. He shall speak rationally, and they will all call him insane. He will point out to them the true facts and they shall call him ignorant of logic. Already these things have begun. You shall all believe I am crazy, and then the darkness will fall, the terrible rending asunder of the twin realities. I will become the King of Kings in one, and a living corpse in one.

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12/06

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 12-25-06 Thanks to Michael I have now cloned my OS from the smaller to the larger partition on my "master" hard-drive. I still use the "slave" drive for all my files. Hopefully this will leave me enough disc space to install new applications, and has already allowed me to DL from bittorrent and limewire most of the albums Eli stole about this time last year.

I learn backwards and forwards.

Having saved mom about $200 (that I would not have been able to pay back unti indeffinately), I asked her only for the complete collection of starwars dvds for my birthday and X-mas combined (at a whopping $70 value used off amazon.com). I hope that she is willing to waive the debt I have incurred in the second two and a half weeks or so of November. I was forced to borrow money from her after setting myself back by a hundred dollars the month before, plus super-lubing my car, plus having spent early since my check had arrived a day or two before the first of the month. I also spent most of the month's money I've budgeted for "usual expenses" in the second week.

However mom did replace my car battery at about another seventy dollars or so, and said she counted that as X-Mas. This might make her less willing to waive the debt from later November.

I've spoken to her about paying her back the amount over $100 I go, but that I would need her to waive the first $100 of debt from November. I hope she will remember this conversation. So far I've gone $15 over one hundred, which already isn't good. I also owe mom $400 from last year's Xmas, when she got me the Zohar ($200 used) and I bought the two hard drives ($200 each, new).

What I really wish is that I could help her out at her job, and that she could pay me a limited wage for this, such that I could earn a lesser amount than would threaten my elligibility for the level of social security disability I currently receive. I wish this much more for her sake than my own. I am capable of living very comfortably off $600 a month, sans food expenses only. I pay one hundred rent, around fifty on gas, as much as two hundred on cigarettes, and one hundred dollars every other week on the "usual expenses," the other fifty I blow on burgers and shows. I know, I know, if I "stuck" to that budget I would be breaking at least even every month. I have been spending more on the "usual expenses" sooner in the month than before. However aside from a two-day rough spot, it doesn't usually cause any problems to avoid these costs for the rest of the month. Ideally I can quit spending on the "usual" altogether, however I would still have to get myself out of debt to my mother. Being four hundred in the hole, plus a hundred to her each month (which is technically about $83 less than I'm supposed to be paying, according to my calculations for 1/3 of my annual income, leaving me $417 a month), seems to barely leave me enough money for cigs and gas, from my point of view, since my "usual expenses" I consider more necessary than either cigs or gas.

I operate outside all-natural laws.

Right now I'm not my "usual" self. Well, I am a little, but from now until Firday I'll be totally "unusual." This has always proven to be a period of the greatest oppurtunity for self-expression, since I am "usually" not myself. That is, what I "usually" am is "unusual" to most everyone else.

Therein lies my whole problem. I see myself as the weakest link in any organisation I contribute in because, though I have no doubts in the inevitable reactions of others, I doubt myself, and more specifically, I doubt my ability not to doubt. By doubting myself, I necessitate a negative reaction from others, regardless of their natural inclination toward acceptance of my contribution(s).

However, since I cannot seem not to doubt myself, I seem to be perpetuating this pattern of causing others to doubt me without being able to stop. It is for this reason I am now seeking to dimminish my prescence on the internet. I find that the doubts in me and in the validity or the veracity of my contributions to be primarily online, and to result, more often than in the "real" world, in direct confrontations between myself and others. Since I do not find such confrontations either pleasant nor enjoyable, I seek now to avoid them as much as possible. To do this I must, at

least temporarily, dimmish my web-prescence as much as possible. In other words, I have to stop "pushing my agenda" or attempting to distribute my "research" online. I should focus more on how to distribute and disseminate the information best in the "real" world, or, at the very least, in a world less "virtual" than the internet. I need to learn to rise above. However it is only when I am not my "usual" self that I seem to best be able to concentrate on this desire, and to motivate myself to fulfill such endeavors as to make such success more possible. When I am more "usual" to all those I communicate with, online and off, then it becomes easier to disseminate my message.

However, when I am my own form of "usual" then it seems to grow more difficult to successfully communicate my message, especially and almost exclusively online. In past times of being "unusual" myself I created the first ~GOD~ LP, "Inc.," worked with magick number-squares, created the Enochian Calendrical Sysytem in its entirety, and have written very articulate and intuitive science-fiction, however it is usually long periods of time between when I am "unusual" to myself. Most of the time, I'm my "usual" self. Who I hate. My "usual" self is benpadiah.

Yeshuah Ben Padiah was the True Jesus Christ.

When I first go from being "unusual" to my "usual" self, I am beautifully fluent in any esoterica I choose to study. I have worked on designing an Atlantean Senate building, stellated primes, Gnostic diagrams, UFO interiors, mixed new ~GOD~ EPs, and written extensively for the forums I post(ed) on. Going from being "unusual" to "usual" induces a brief period of euphoric "hypomania" where my mind "springs forward" rapidly. This form of "racing thought" becomes ingrained over time, and the longer I remain my "usual" self, the more it becomes a "mixed state" with my emotional depression, or rather, my lack of ordinary peaks and toughs in my sensory experience. This is caused by my lack of "real" social activity and my lack of daily interaction gained via employment. This manifests as a lack of income, which I find an acceptable sacrifice for the purpose of dimminishing my otherwise uncontrollable emotional oscillations between a "usual" person's average day of highs and lows. From my "unusual" point of view, the "usual" person seems extremely manic. Thus it is only when I am my "usual" self that I feel I can even keep up. This is the cause and effect of that old wive's tale about loss of motivation. I am actually extremely motivated, however only to pursue introverted, esoteric and philosophical research on my own, and not to perform tasks that satisfy the "usual" public good. The way that I have tended to compensate for my emotionally stunted introversion in "reality" is by reaching out to the wrong people and in appropriate ways over the internet. I have always, since the first chat-room my ex- ever showed me how to log onto, been an abrasive, self-righteous, arrogant intellectual snob online. Of course, there is a little of "benpadiah" in me even in "reality." Afterall, I am not totally my screen-name. LOL! yet. In "reality" I am really quite introverted, however when I am my "usual" self online, when I am "benpdiah," I am the exact opposite of this, being extroverted to the extent of assuming a superior attitude about my research and an outright confrontational personality towards anyone who would question that stance. To me, to continue this would be unacceptable. As I say, and as many of you who might read this well know, I tend to end in abject mistrust all sorts of what would be the best friendships I could make for myself, both to better my status and to calm my state of mind. I project mistrust in myself until I force those around me to confront me in groups (not only online, but this trend actually started with Eli, Christa, John and Samara in 2001, when I lived on my own at Waterline on the west-side of town), and recuse me for my behaviours that exhibit this self-destructive trait. They do not trust me, so they come to me in numbers to tell me why and to suggest how I could have handled the situation differently.

Of course, all I can hear while in my "usual" condition is how little they appreciate my contribution.

The "Passion" and crucifixion of Yeshuah Ben Padiah has already occured.

I find myself being rail-roaded by all my online friends into seeing them as adversaries, mere competitors for attention, however in reality they are only trying to help me get my head "straight" - as it is, more or less, right now. It is truly a blessing by God the times when I am

"unusual" to myself but can feel and act like other, "ordinary" people "usually" do. I am most humbly thankful for the gift that I can still come down from having my head up in the clouds, looking down my nose at everyone who cannot even understand me. However it seems to me impossibly difficult to let go of this cross I bear to be the scape-goat, the sin offering of everyone I inevitably run afoul of. I force them to disown me from their cliques by becoming an impossible thorn in the side of those who would otherwise, and who should, be the most ammenable to me and the most receptive to hear about my theories and research. Eventually, people just lose patience with me. So far I have managed to fail upward from being disowned by a teenage stoner band (J, D&E), to a crack-head electrician (Eli), to even more articulate but even further physically removed "internet people" (IOBB & TLFC, KevinSmith.com, TSGAM, philoforums.com, and even Michio Kaku's physicsforums.com). I repeat this pattern like Hunter S. Thompson described being in an eathyr binge: I can see myself doing these abominable things, but I seem to have absolutely no control over my ability to stop doing them. It happens about this same time every year too, during autumn, between late summer (Eli, Christa, Samara and John) and early winter (TSGAM). Of course all this started in Autumn of 1999, when I had recently returned from my cross-country trip to visit my ex, and I cried "Judgement" to the sky following a street-brawl with my mom on thanksgiving night. That was the night I was first taken to a mental institution, entirely by my own suggestion. However, just as surely as I had beaten myself over the head with stones returning from the cross-country trip to visit my ex, I had ground my head up against exposed nails in a cabinet during classes in kindergarten. I have always had this propensity for duality, between interpersonal introversion in life and interiorised mental anguish that I express through my writing, which becomes especially confrontational online. God knows no one will miss good old benpadiah. Least of all me.

Yeshuah Ben Padiah's destiny was to be used as a scape-goat, a sin offering.

According to the Book of the Angel Raziel, there are three types of offering to God. The faith or peace offering, that is, to thank God for that which is Good; the sin offering, that is, to sacrifice them in repetence for one's own evils; and the burnt or votive offering, which signifies the prayer for the Day of Redemption. It is written of the peace and sin offerings in Sefer Reziel that they "are for the sake of the living body," but that the burnt offering "is a sacrifice to the glory of God alone." So it is said, "proclaim love from the petition and petition from the reverence," and "from love, you serve God in righteousness." (Savedow, Raziel; 36, Weiser) What is righteousness? If the "petition" is one offering "of the living body" and the "reverence" is the other, then "love" is the burnt offering "to the glory of God alone." Thus, to serve God in "righteousness" means to reap the rewards of your sacrifices; more exactly, that the rewards of the sacrifices you reap will constitute your "righteousness." So in this case, "righteousness" can be interpreted as "right deeds" or rather, Good "Karma."

Now, later in the text of Raziel, however earlier in the epistolic chronology, we read of a "Pheloni Ben Phelonieth," one of the scribes, presumeably that of the "Book of the Signs of the Zodiac." He is said to be the first author, followed by Lieb ben Sherah, scribe of the "Prayer Required to Establish Greatness," followed by Levi ben Zosekien, scribe of the "Work of Genesis," followed by "The First Action," "The Actions," "the Gemurah" and "the Holy Names," all penned by the same scribe as one another. By this time, Pheloni Ben Phelonieth had been mentioned by his original name, by the name "Pheloni Ber Phelonieth," and by "Phelonieth." In the chronologically later texts occuring earlier in this edition, his name has become degraded to "Phelon ben Phelon" and "Phelon Bather Phelon," and "Phelonieth," once associated with an angel of evokation (Raziel, 268), means in the "Prayer of Adam," merely a name "to invoke the Moon in the first season" (Raziel, 20). Throughout the text there are multiple, oblique references to the burnt or votive offering in close proximity to the mention of the word or name "Phelonieth."

The name, "Padiah," derives from the Aramaic. It is considered a proto-modern Hebraic word equivalent in meaning to the modern Hebrew word for "righteousness." In short, "Ben Padiah" meant at the time of Christ "Son of Righteousness." (A friend of mine online, Thyroros, once pointed this out to me.) "Ben Padiah" was alternatively translated "Bar Pandera" by Josephus in his Latin "the Jewish War," which describes the times immediately following the death of Christ.

This word was subsequently attempted to be translated from Latin. The closest approximation to it phonetically in Latin meant "panther." In Celsus and the Talmudic tradition (specifically in the Talmud of the Land of Israel, vol. 9, p. 40 and in the Talmud of the Land of Israel, vol. 6, page 23), as recorded on pages 341,2 of the 1956 Willliam and Marrow edition of Werner Keller's "the Bible as History," Jesus Ben Panthera is described as the son of a Roman soldier and a temple prostitute whose husband was a "najjar," carpenter. The term "najjar" has a similar connotation to the contemporary Hellenic Hebrew concept, "Ho Tekton," meaning a Master Craftsman, possibly similar in esoteric implications to the modern rank of Master in Free Masonry.

"Padiah," meaning "Righteousness," and Phelonieth, seeming to refer to the votive offering or the burnt sacrifice, are united in the saying on page 36 of Sefer Reziel, "from love, you serve God in righteousness." Here we see "love" refers to the votive offering, and "righteousness" to the Good Karma (cause and effect) that results from the three alchemical types of sacrifice. Therefore, the "son of Righteousness," that is, Ben Padiah, represents the son, or the seed, of the Good Karma of the three alchemical type sacrifices, and directly follows from the votive or burnt offering. Just as "Righteousness" is Good Karma over time, so too does the seed outgrow the tree that germinated it. The weakness of the parent is the same as the strength of the offspring. This means that Jesus' father was the "Righteousness" of Good Karma over time, following the votive or burnt offering and the other two alchemical offerings, the sin and peace offerings. Jesus' father, the najjar or "Joseph" of the community of Qumran, was "righteousness" personified, and Yeheshuah, his son, was therefore the "son of Righteousness."

Thus, when this "righteous" son of a bitch showed up, claiming his mother was a virgin and that he was the Messiah, the embodied person of AHDVNHAY, and that, moreover, a prositute was his sister, and more than that, the Matronit, the Shekinah, the "bride" or "prescence" of G-d, he was rightfully rejected as a mad-man who would clearly bring upon the unprepared chosen people the end of days if he were permitted to continue preaching his message. The Sanhedrin were quite right to betray and murder the rightful King of the unified Judah and Israel, descendent of the Jews' once and future king, David, father of Solomon, builder of the Temple and houser in the Holy of Holies of the Ark of the Covenant, housing the shem ram, or "name-stones" upon which Moses had inscribed the ten commandments, following his smashing the originals, which contained the actual words of God, inscribed by Raziel, and given to Adam after the fall from Eden, the Garden of Paradise. He had indeed slipped loose the bonds of logic, and thus was a threat to more than merely the worldly power over their people held by the Sanhedrin themselves, but to the very fabric of reality itself that the Sanhedrin had been appointed under Moses to protect until the day of righteous judgment, the day of redemption, the Apocalypse. Had Jesus not been killed when he was, the entire universe would be different than it is now, not merely the whole world as we know it. Had he been allowed to spread his infectious Gnostic doctrines, cloaked in parables with the moral of "love one another," then the inter-galactic hyper-cathexis would have indeed been hurried along, and would have, by now, already long ago occured. When the pole of one spiral galaxy's core black hole aligns with another, this event is called "hyper-cathexis" after Freud's term for the transduction of electrochemicals in the nervous system. Just as the electrical charge assumes its chemical form to cross the axon-dendrite gap between neurons, so too does the perception by all life in a galaxy change its form when that galaxy aligns with another. If Jesus had had his way, we would all be dead now. We would have "hyper-cathected" through an intergalactic wormhole, and been deposited in a galaxy far, far away. The Day of Judgment would have come and gone a long time ago.

The desire to hasten the final Sabbath is strong in all gurus. It weighs heavily daily on the hearts of every poet, philosopher and priest how to hasten all humanity toward the glorious time of reconciliation with the father, the mending of the rift between God and man crossed over only by His covenant. It is even stronger in some than in others. In some it manifests insufficiently, and grows impacted within the guru, who then suffers the malice of greed and jealousy. In some it manifests over abundantly and their charisma overflows them to energise all those around them.

Both become madmen, false prophets of a perpetually impending Apocalypse never to occur. The invoked guru is the sin offering. The evoked guru is the peace offering. The combination of them both is the burnt offering. The sin offering represents the corrupt guru, the peace offering represents the over-flowing guru, and the burnt offering represents the guru of the end of days.

Although Yeshuah Ben Padiah did die, His Apocalypse has not yet come.

Of course, what we have recorded in the New Testament Gospels of the Bible as the Book of Revelations by St. John of Patmos is a misconception of the Gnostic vision of the Messiah Himself.

It is a bastardization of the hidden pesher, the message, of Jesus' canonised parables. It was doctored up shortly following his public execution, either by someone from his school, or else by the man himself, having survived the ordeal of the crucifixion and subsequently fleeing to France with Mary Magdalene, his temple "sister" and wife. However, regardless of which case is true for the source of the work of the Apocalypse of the Book of Revelations, it can be unanymously agreed upon by all the faiths of the world that the contents of its description have not yet come to pass upon the surface of this earth between the time of its writing and now. Thus, it is not technically a "prophecy" of the times to come, that is, the times that have since followed. It claims to be a removed vision of the events to come at the end of time. However, who knows when this moment shall come? It is written, it shall come "like a thief in the night." It is written that no one alive nor anyone to have ever lived shall know the hour or the day it is to come. The dead are barred from warning us by an angel with a flaming sword.

Some, and in some ways rightly, compare our present times to those in which Christ came. There are, of course, similarities to the burdgeoning Roman Empire following the Greek Golden Age of Democracy and the modern hegemony of capitalist western civilisation imposing its own version of Democracy on the rest of the impoverished nations of the world. The fundamentalist Southern Baptists are little different in physical appearance, nor their attitude when put into positions of authority any different, than the Roman Legions, or, for that matter, the Spartiates, nor the foootball stars they violently venerate any different whatsoever from Roman gladiators killing early pacifist Christians. However for each similarity there are those who will see two differences, and these people are the modern equivalents of the Praetorians, lording their landed gentry status in the Senate over the poor plebian farmers. We would do well to remember Caesar himself was on the side of the plebs. He became their greatest warrior-champion, their hero against the corrupt Roman Republican Senate. When he died, it was no different for the Romans than it was for the followers of Jesus when He was put to the cross and slaughtered on Passover.

However, whereas the pacifist early church fathers advocated non-violent self-sacrifice unto martyrdom, the death of Julius Caesar had galvanised the previously contradictory factions of the Roman Republic in the squabbling senate into the cohesive amalgam of the Roman Empire.

This has led to the entire mythology of Christ and Anti-Christ. Just as Jesus was the Messiah to HIs followers, so too was Julius the rightful Caesar of Rome. Both were to be viewed once having achieved this status as the direct descendent from the repsective national deities of Israel and Rome. However, once Christianity usurped the Imperial Roman throne, this dichotomy between the Roman Caesar as anti-Christ (by that time the Caesar of Rome was Nero) and the murdered martyr Jesus Ben Padiah as Christ, it became necessary to the new Catholic, Universal Church to supress and confuse the doctrine of this early dichotomy. Since the suppression of Manicheanism along with the Albigensian Heresies, the true meaning of the Christ/Anti-Christ dichotomy has gone "underground" and become a current in esoteric wisdom schools. Some now claim these same

western mystery schools are seeking to usurp the former glory of Rome by establishing a new Christ for the New Age, and there are a great many Catholics today who secretly harbour distrust of Free Masons as Luciferians seeking to discredit the Pope by adopting radical Rosicrucian doctrines associating the Christian Papacy with the role of Imperial Caesar. The Rosicrucians have claimed openly and outright that "the pope is the anti-Christ," and some fear the subsequent mystery schools, such as the Illuminati in Bavaria, have infiltrated one another in order to spread and diversify this general sentiment amongst otherwise "good" Christians. At the same time, the true blood-line descendants of the royal lineage from King David of Israel remain dethroned from monarchial rule over their "rightful," or even over any, lands. Instead the Imperialist western civilisations have installed a false Democracy in the Chosen Land(s) and throughout the surrounding Holy Lands in the Middle East. To some, the Prime Minister of Israel is a role little different in the cosmic scheme of things than that of Judean governor Pontius Pilate during the time of Christ.

Although similarities between the present era and the time of Christ make it appear to the common mind that the second coming is immanent, few can find any direct and specific examples of the cosmologically metaphorical events of the Book of Revelations that have occured since His time until now. Many see certain events occur now that seem to stand out to them as obvious parallels, however none of these ever intersect with the Prophesized Apocalypse enough to be agreed upon by all, let alone to render any accurate predictions for subsequent events. These apparent parallels never seem to pan out, and thus far the second coming of Christ has not, by any real standards, occured. We perpetually feel its immanence. The yearning for a Messiah corresponding to the Gregorian Millenarianism of the western business calendar definately peaked between 1999 and 2001, however now is already beginning to wain. Instead of miracles, we have only witnessed one tragedy beget many worse tragedies. The ironic comedy of errors goes on, the world still turns, and the hope for an end is already beginning to fade away towards the infinite horizon.

At the same time, fanaticals grip down more tightly than ever on their repulsive policies, imposing "family" values domestically and creating wars abroad. They will not let go their desire to see the world destroyed. If not by God, then by man himself. They are even willing to rob their suffering Christ of the last vestige of his dignity on the cross, and say that even if God's judgment passes us by finding us innocent and allowing us to continue our existence, then they will take matters into their own hands themselves and initiate a thermo-nuclear holocaust to engulf the globe. "Why," they demand, "has Our Father forsaken us?" The longer they wait without answers from above, the more agitated they become, and the more willing to engulf us all in a sea of flames.

This is the sad, sad state of affairs on this planet following the arbitrarily dated turn of the "second" millennium. Regardless of the plots and plans of mortal man, the Messiah will only come on God's time, as it is written "no one shall know the day or the time." In the same way the Sanhedrin killed Jesus, so would modern fanaticals kill us all; however the only real alternative appears to be the pseudo-Republican western Empire, assuming de facto day-by-day the position of Caesar, the organism of the State itself becoming the anti-Christ.

As Jesus said, "Father, Thy Will, not mine, be done."

It seems impossible, so soon after the apparent failure to induce the Apocalypse on the millennium, to believe that the time indeed has come and gone, and that the Final Day of Judgment has indeed passed over us once again. We continued on about our lives without noticing any real nor immediate change, just as did the citizens of Rome on the day that Jesus died. However, there is something beneath this layer of apparent pleasantry. A growing force to concretize the modern mythologies in order they should be perserved and stand record of our times now for a future generation, perhaps to be removed by another couple thousand years, but nonetheless who will one day look back on us and seek to understand how we thought and why we were who we now are.

There may not be any divinely sent manifest vessel by pointing at which we can say, "there, that is the Messiah," but there is a strong movement going on even now to create a modern mythology to account for the events of the present. Why have we not seen a True Messiah yet come? This myth must be answered, and so it is being done so in fiction, in works of novel literature and in morality plays in the cinema. However this movement to preserve our modern mindsets in mediated mythology cannot and will not raise up a vessel for the Divine Maker to inhabit as he sits in judgment over the earth. It is Only the Will of our Divine Maker, Former, Creator and Father will determine when, if, this shall ever happen. We seem quite wrongly to suspect it not only has occured in Christ, but shall occur again at any moment in His second coming. However all of this occurs in spite of the Doctrine that states specifically we shall not know when the Lord our God will make Himself known to us again as directly as He did to Adam and Eve in their lush Garden Paradise.

The mentality has been, "if we cannot count upon God to send us a Messiah, we must needs concoct one on our own, and, failing even that, then we must quickly dispose of all our failed attempts by rendering them scape-goats and relegating them to mad-houses or outright murdering them as traitors." So surely there is no short supply of sacrifices being made now. Are they, though, in the Name of Righteousness? Are they Ben Padiah, shem phelonieth? Surely none have been yet, but still we concoct daily our plans to test one another for the right signs. We still punish those who fail to live up to our expectations and shoulder the burden of judgement, meant only for a merciful God, with all the vanity and vengeance of a broken man. There remains no such thing as Justice so long as there can be no renewal of our Covenant with God, it seems, and until the Messiah is forced by man to appear from God, then man shall surely continue to destroy himself in the name of this Divine absence. For want of the Shekinah, the prescence of the Divine, the bride of the Messiah, the Messiah cannot come, and we are already caught in the inifinite loop of a dichtomous tautology. The more we desire the Messiah, the less we expect Him to finally come.

When we are consumed with doubts by what we have not, we will refuse to accept the factual reality of the Truth we already have.

My "benpadiah" personality was a philosophical reincarnation of Yeshuah Ben Padiah.

Just as Yeshuah Ben Padiah, according to the New Testament Gospels of the canonised Vulgate Bible where he is described as Jesus Christ, performed miracles, healed the sick and died as a sacrifice to bring greater redemption to His Chosen people, so too has "benpadiah" done all these things, albeit in a no-less fictionally contrived manner. In truth, all the miracles were allegorical for contemporary political events. Josephus describes to us Simon the Essene, Judas the Jewish general. He gives us the name of each false prophet and false Messiah of the people who together comprise the foundation for the fictional character of Jesus' so-called "miracles." In fact, one man healed lepers here, another petitioned the Jews not to continue to pay tribute to Rome. One man would preach peace, while another would incite violence, and all these accounts have been blurred and blended together in the accounts of the New Testament as the "miracles" performed by a single man. The final "character" of Jesus was indeed based on Yeshuah Ben Padiah, moreso, that is, than any of the rest of his contemporaries. However Yeshuah Ben Padiah himself never performed anything particularly "miraculous," any moreso than any of his contemporaries, whom Josephus ruthlessly portrays as blood-thirsty terrorists. In the flowery New Testament Gospel accounts, however, the singular charcter of Jesus is shown as an ideal character, comprised as an amalgam of all the best attributes of the various false prophets and false Messiahs. Of course, however, this character is not alone in being a fictional character protrayed as an amalgam of traits of others. Throughout the Acts of Peter and the Apostles, as well as the later contributions to the Canon of St. Paul, the individual Apostles are also given the same "gas light" treatment, being made to appear in some cases even super-human in their capacity to defy the restrictions of logic and reason. Even Mary Magdalene herself may someday be disproved as a fictional contrivance of the New Testament authors. It is clear, however, that each of the central characters of the narrative are based on singly individual people of the era, and that it is only by adding to

them the deeds of all their predecessors combined that they have bestowed upon them the miraculous air of supernatural supremacy.

Likewise, the reports of the death of "benpadiah" have from time to time while I've been online been greatly exaggerated. However, for the most part, an ego-search for my screen name will return relevant hits from forum communities I, myself, rather than an imposter posing as me, have indeed posted my uniquely identifiable contributions. Twice the screen-name "benpadiah" has been hijacked from me by net-hooligans. Once someone used it to post defammatory material about me, myself, in a video-game forum. The second time, and this unbeknownst to me until recently, my screen-name was jacked by a disenchanted poster who'd run afoul of me in the Illuminati forums, and who posted inciting material on a political forum, however they have since changed their screen-name there to only "Illuminati" rather than the name "benpadiah" itself. Long before either of these events, while offline for some brief time to write and edit my book, "the Tree of Death and the Qliphoth," an old adversary and now friend and ally of mine, then primarily using the screen-name Randi (after the "Amazing" James Randi) created a "sock" account on a forum I frequented and, pretending to be my brother (I have none in reality), prceeded to inform my friends from that forum that I had commited suicide. Such harmless pranks amount to little to me personally, at least compared to the shit I get myself into online, however they add to the historical records attached to my screen-name an air of additional, nearly supernatural, mystique.

In the same way as some of my fellow internet junkies have tried to defame me online, I have done much moreso to discredit myself to any avid historian who relies on the authority of the administrators of the sites at which I've posted. I have not succeeded at preventing myself from accumulating a long list of very personal and very heated moderator and administrator bannings from a rather lengthy list of forums around the net. Paul from www.philosophyforums.com can recount to you his having personally banned me as a "pseudo-philosopher" (by his own criteria), while official "science-advisor" Kane O'Donnell on Michio Kaku's www.physicsforums.com told me flat-out my "theories of light" were "nonsense," and that "the nature of light is not suited to graphical explanations." Of course, this all seems like hot air being blown out the asses of petty tyrants to me, yet still such confrontations as I had with cinema director Kevin Smith on the www.viewaskew.com forums surely stand out as exemplary of the run-ins that I, as "benpadiah," have had with anyone I can get ahold of online who professes any form of authority, even in jest.

So, too, did Yeshuah show nothing but contempt for the rulers over "dead things, such as men."

Although many of his more "radical" or questionable sayings, excluded from the Canon, can be found in the apocryphal Book of Thomas. In this he says, "I have come to turn the son against his father and the daughter against her mother," and to thus "destroy the house that no one shall be able to build it again." He is also said to have said, "No one who does not hate their father and mother as I hate mine can be my disciple." Likewise, I have uttered terrible oaths against those who have riled me, however the majority of my words have been those of the Higher Wisdom. In all my speech I have been deliberate, even if impatient to get the point across, for to me time is the only thing more precious than the tradition of communicating the Wisdom teachings. If we cannot idle in conversation of philosophical matters, I usually lose my patience, but I have nearly never lost control of my expressions. I say what I mean, and mean what I say. This is at the heart of the Wisdom teaching tradition, for it is more important even than being true in all ways to others to above all be true to yourself. My emotions may be volatile, but I will not do away with them. They are a part of who I am now, and I must content myself to having them, lest by struggling with them I only serve to agitate them worse.

I have long carried the cross of the Highest Good, and looked up to the blinding radiance of the Highest Wisdom. I do not suffer fools lightly and I cannot even see those who come to me to turn my focus away from the Divine. Like Christ, I am a guru. The cross he bore was fore-knowledge of his own untimely demise, for He had said, "there will come a time when you will look for me and

will not find me, and call to me but I will not be there," but He had also said, "my time is not yet come." So too, must I bear the unbearable lightness of being little more in life than a digital avatar attached to a screen-name accessed by strangers on the net. Truly, following Truth has made me a "fisher of men," however the storm that rages to terrify my brothers I cannot yet calm by distilling their passions all by myself. I know I am full of doubt, and in this regard tainted by sin, for in my own uncertainty there is weakness of will, and where there is that then sin enters.

Like Christ I have been called, a tempest in a tea-cup, but if I could I would not drink from this cup. Like Christ, I have answered the call to do the bidding of God, my Lord, however like him I am lost, a man without a guide besides his own reckoning, to follow the Spirit alone, and to walk as a leader, even when among superior peers. I cannot not do this. I will follow my conscience to the end of the earth. I put my trust in God. However, just as Jesus failed, and fell, and fell again along the way to Calvary, so too do I stumble as I make my way through the complexities of netiquette. I cannot say I regret now, though there have been times when the weight of my petty little world online has so completely crushed the roaring torch of my heart that barely an ember remained. I know this world is but the reflection of my own interior consciousness. I love those who beat me down, and I am always charitable to the poor in reason. But I cannot go on, and the inevitable conclusion will see me at a loss, at a great loss indeed. I dish it out, but I cannot take it. So too was Christ persecuted for His words until his body passed this mortal coil. As I strangled myself to purge myself of "benpadiah," Yeshuah Himself was made the passover lamb to carry on his shoulders the weight of all the sins of man since the time of Adam. I have brought myself to the brink of death and back to revive in me the Truth and to liberate me from the lesser delusions of this complex life.

However benpadiah, my internet persona, and Ben Padiah, the Gnostic Christ, are not the same.

This is because the truth of the life of Christ, that is, the life of the true person of Yeheshuah Ben Padiah, is a suppressed expression of the divine deification. Presented as it is in the Talmud relative to a legal proceeding between Bar Padiah and the contemporary Rabbis, it is likely there was a great deal of overlap between the events described in the New Testament, the Acts attributed to Jesus and the events in the life of Yeshua Ben Padiah, however many of the "miracles" may actually be as metaphorical as the parables themselves. Of course, all of the events as they are by now all-too commonly known from the NT are not the only source of information we know about for description of the events of this Yeshua Ben Padiah. As I have repeatedly mentioned, Yeshuah Ben Padiah himself was the author of an apocryphal Dead Sea scroll, discovered on the opposite coast of the Dead Sea from the Essene community of Qumran.

This fabulous work is known as "the Angel Scroll." I have been waiting for the translation of the "Angel Scroll" into english since I discovered its existence over half a decade ago. The Dead Sea Scrolls in English sit next to the English Nag Hammadi sit beside the various bibles on my bookshelf to the left of me. I have a copy of the entire "Book of Judas" (a character described at length, by the way, in Josephus' second Jewish war chronicle) translated into English; granted it is printed on typing paper and ganked from the internet, but I at least have a copy and can read it whenever I want. I have studied the Secret Book of John and the Book of the Secrets of John. I have read and taken notes on the Sophia of Jesus Christ transliterated with Eugnostis the Blessed. I have read the Book of Thomas, and I have read the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, attributed originally to St. John following the suppression of Irenaeus. I own copies of the Book of Raziel, Enochs 1, 2 & 3, the complete Zohar, etc. etc. etc. But I have no book of Yeshuah Ben Padiah. So far in English, none exists. Why is this? I ask. The work, being a Gnostic cosmology, would be of invariable interest on the part of the Gnostic and apocryphal Hebrew scholars, and of course, considering the rather obvious parallels between Yeshuah Ben Padiah and Jesus of Nazareth, it is probably safe to assume the translation of Ben Padiah's "Angel Scroll" would be of the utmost significance to even the most devout Christian. It is likely the reason for this is that the Catholic Church can't trust the Moslems. It seems highly likely to me that the current Pope's rhettorical comments about the "violence" of Turkish Moslems during the Crusades was an attempt to spark controversy, a way of

testing the waters for how the Middle-Eastern Imams and Ayatollahs could be predicted to react at the publication of such a ground-breaking document.

Of course, those of us who have studied the works I just briefly listed, as well as others of their time and kind, know full well already all the possible contents that could have been included by Ben Padiah. We have studied and taken notes on so much QBLH, apocrypha, pseudepigrapha, Talmud, done so much online research, studied the Torah and the Gospels daily, that we have got every angle covered relative to all the possible viewpoints of Jesus Christ. We feel confident understanding the Gnostic tradition as the roots of Christianity, in understanding Old Testament apocrypha as the roots of Gnosticism, and in understanding QBLH as the passage of this wisdom throughout all this time.

However what we know nothing of yet is the guide of Yeshuah Ben Padiah in the ecstatic visions He experienced on the cross.

Panameia is the name of the angel that takes Christ by the hand and guides Him away from His suffering on the Cross. It is then we hear Him recite His propetic visions of the siege of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Second Temple described in the First Apocalypse (prophetic vision) of James, described in Josephus and in the Book of Maccabees contemporarily and objectively, and a well known fact of history from the era. The following text then goes on into the cosmological angelology using Essene as well as Gnostic terminology. However it is the character of Panameia we should take interest in as being unique and individual to this particular Apocalyptic Revelation. This angel name may parallel that of the Nefilim Penemue or Archangel Phanuel (Uriel or Raguel) from the Book of Enoch, as well as provide a possible source for the choice of name for the Gnostic Pleroma and Phanael the trumpeter of John Dee's Liber Logaeth, an "inspired" translation of the Book of Enoch.

In the same way that a single meaning in one language can be translated into many different words in another, so can the "rank" of qliphotic and demonic forces change with upward mobility, and so too do all the hethen Gods wither and evaporate in their divine authority before the righteous judgment of Al-Lah YHVH. In Qliphotic Grimoires, that is, those dealing with the Goetia or with Necromancy, summoning of demons and making of pacts, the rank and title of a certain attribute are easily (and some might say, implied to be) shifted from one post to another, positions are constantly swapped and updated, and there is Chaos in Sheol. Likewise, the Eskimos qualify various different types of snow, and so it was once said the world was flat, so too do ideas increase in complexity as they propagate and multiply across the world over time. Semantics becomes Neuro-Linguistic Programming and synchronicities trigger evolutionary mutations; memetics replaces prophecy and the poetry of youth is set aside for the headier philosophies of maturity.

Likewise, if the sun, that is, the Great Burner, shines too brightly, too hot upon the crop, then the harvest will not yield a good return, and the people will suffer of hunger pangs in winter. That is why it is said of Al-Lah YHVH that his judgment is "righteous": it is because he tempers his wrathfulness with mercy. Although He is a terrible and mighty King above all Kings, and He doth love for us to grovel at His ineffable feet, and He doth reward us when we repent of our sins in genuine shame, and He is a Sadist lording it over a universe of Masochists, He reigns this in an unimaginable amount to the mind of modern man. For it is within God's power to destroy the entire universe in one heartbeat and to completely recreate it down to the very least atom in the next. God is the Creator, the Maintainer and the Destroyer. God is All, Jah. So it is that, when our evolutionary mutations are not beneficial to the collective gene pool's continuing evolutionary survival, these traits will cease being triggered, either by further adaptative mutation or by a gradual extiction of that mutation. So it is that the meanings of words change as the world turns, and no tongue is ever repeated the same way on two days. So it is too that the lesser Gods have always and Will Always wither away before the Primary Clear Light of

YLEM, beyond even the super-conductive MFKZT of Egypt, known now as monoatomic gold. No Being Imaginable can comprehend, let alone compare to, the glory of God. This is the Law of All, this is the Way of this World.

The Guide of Christ was Magdalene.

Just as every coin has two faces, Christ has Anti-Christ, God Satan, and so too does Jesus of Nazareth have Mary Magdalene and Yeshua Ben Padiah have Panameia. Just as Christ was His Own Father, so too does Buddha teach that ultimately we reincarnate psychologically every time we walk through a doorway, for such is the inter-momentary strobing of the shades of matter and the primary clear light, thus Yin Yang as a symbol of Time. Just as Jesus' elder brother John went on to become the "James" of community of the exiled (Essene) cohenim of the Melchizedek (Maccabeean) priesthood of Qumran, meaning the "son" of "Joseph" (the "father"), so too were the so-called "miracles" of the Gospels all likewise political metaphors for the events of the times, performed not all by one man, named Jesus, but by many various others of the time. The bible conveniently omits their true identities, but does list them by the names of the 12 Apostles and 7 Disciples, although each of the names of the Apostles are clever plays on words in various languages of the era. All the names of the apostles, from Judas to Thomas, from Jesus to James to John even Joseph, were all puns on the word "twin." They represented the zodiac surrounding the "thirteenth apostle," Jesus Christ Himself, who himself represented the sun, one of the seven planets, the chakras of our solar system. The "moon" to the "sun" of Jesus the Christ was Mary, however just as Christ was His own Father, so too was Mary the Mother of Christ the same as Mary the lover of Jesus. John the Baptist, who anointed Christ as such himself, was the same as Joseph the Father of Jesus in Qumran.

Mary, the so-called "Mother" of the Catholic Universal Church, and Mary Magdalene, the "Tower" or "temple prostitute," the Queen of the Maccabees, betrothed true love of the deposed Maccabean King, the descendent of King David, Jesus of Nazareth. However, the sanhedrin who had been appointed by Herod Antipas, the King of the Jews installed by the Romans, were unusually cruel.

They raped the wife of Christ, marrying her off one to another of them, calling her here Salome, there Mariamme, and disguiding the fact that the rightful Princess Bride had become the toy of evil. She cried out for the beheading of John to hasten the ascention of her lover, the true PriestKing and heir of King David to His rightful place on the throne of God. Instead they crucified Him. He was the Rightful King of Israel, and the Roman appointed King's Sanhedrin council conspired to kill him, just as had the Senators only recently assassinated Caesar. So the myth of Jesus Christ has come to overshadow the history of Julius Caesar, but lo and behold, they are one and the same!

The same things happened to Jesus Christ as had happened to Julius Caesar. Only one was fiction and the other a matter of historically accepted fact. Caesar, that is, Anti-Christ, is not real. He has mental dominion over the minds of all those who live in a reality governed by Napoleans and Hitlers and George W. Bushes. They all believe in the actual existence of a Julius Caesar, but not of a Jesus Christ. Then there are those of us who question this authority, even when it comes from within the doors of a supposedly "Christian" church. There are those of us who know Christ was Gnostic, and who understand that the Gnostic Archons and the Essene Annunaki are the same as the Malachim of Adam, according to Raziel, Adam's own Holy Guardian Angel, known by the time of Christ as Ialdabaoth and by now as Satan. The Senate and Sanhedrin made the Shekinah Satan.

But in the minds of the modern madmen and homeless prophets, Christ died to redeem all our sins, the sins of all mankind. When the Sanhedrin sacrificed Him on Passover, they made Him synonimous with the Most Holy Sacrifice made to God by the Nation of Israel. These simple sheeplike idiots believe themselves that we are all meant to live in the life of Christ, that we are all to this day like nothing but characters in his dreaming mind that will one day awaken. He hangs on the cross above their beds. Yet these people do not understand the powers they conjure by this minor evokation.

Though the Gnostic, Yeshuah Ben Padiah, may have been the true person upon whom the character of Jesus Christ in the Gospels was based, the difference between myself and this person is that Ben Padiah, the Christ, was born a king. I was not. I have made myself the king of all I can perceieve. I have expanded my consciousness to beyond the local universe. But I was rising then, and had the help of Lucifer. Now I neither rise nor descend, but both simultaneously, but I also do neither at the same time, and I also do neither at all. I am the God of all I perceive.

I have had to go as mad as I can to prove to myself that I am not as mad as I could be all the time.

In this way, I can say, "benpadiah," my online personality is the embodiment, the "sin-offering" if you will, of my madness. He is the sum total of it all, that is, myself, less than God as it is. I have gone as mad as I can. I have thought myself equivalent in deed to Christ. I have performed my passion play. But it is insufficient to compare beside the glorious magnitude of even the Great Burner, let alone the Son of Man. But who is "benpadiah" besides Ben Padiah? Who am I? My own guide was the woman I love.

At least, by now she would be a woman. When I knew her, she was only a girl. In this way, we are shown in The Last Temptation of Christ, Panameia is protrayed as a young girl, as Mary Magdalene the way Yeshuah Ben Padiah remembered her, from when they were young, too young to be so in love. Just as Mary Magdalene, the True Virgin Mother of the Catholic Universal Church, was the one and only true love of our Messiah, so too have I but one true love in all my life. And yet, just as during her own life, apart from Christ for a time, during the "missing years" of His life omitted from the Canonised Gospels, Mary Magdalene plotted and schemed against our Lord, and so allowed the spirit of Satan to enter her, she transgressed only in the sin of Eve, and so plays a dual role in Christian mythology, one of Mary the Virgin and Mary the Whore, of Mary the Tower and Panameia, and essentially as dual co-Messiah to Jesus and Satan incarnate, as tempter and sinbearer both, so too are my love and I, so long as we are kept apart, like the twin poles of an electromagnetic field, positive and negative, ever alternating, "good" and "evil," like a spinning coin, comprising the dual, divided nature immediately inferior to Allah, the Omniversal G-d, the One Wholeness.

But I became distracted by the millennium.

I answered the call of the degenerate, retarded form of melancholy, that being the manicdepression that shadows the historical loneliness of genius, the mood-cycling and hysteria that accompanies any natural form of inspiration above the mundane, almost robotic existence of all "great" civilisations. I answered back to the voices in my head. I isolated myself. I am "sun-sick."

I have literally given myself brain damage. I have hit myself over the head with stones. I have beaten the devil I was out and let in the devil I am. If I wasn't sick before, I have made myself sick. I have been so sick of being myself that I have destroyed myself utterly, and offered myself up as sacrificial feast to the ravens of desolation. But it was all in my mind. In the mutual reality, in the consensus reality, I have accomplished nothing. I have simply become mentally ill and begun taking psychiatric medication. I have not accomplished one damn thing. At least, in my dreams, I am the saviour of the world. In truth, however, I am nobody. I am nothing. I am no one.

And so I drove away the woman I love.

But I still love her. In my mind I was Bruce Banner, pushing Rick Jones out of the way of the exploding Gamma bomb. But the bomb was me. The explosion was a great dragon. A mythical animal for a psychic explosion. I became the opposite of the good man my lover deserves. I turned into a monster. I felt like my father. She told me, "be a man," and I imagined my father. But my father, the adulterer of my mother and my own rapist, was not emulatable. Instead, I pushed her and shoved her until she fell far from me. We went up together, but when we came back down, I was over here, and she was over there. I struggled against her because I struggled against myself,

and she loved me. She clung to me, and I destroyed that. I thought I was becoming my father, and so I did what he would have. I destroyed the only beautiful thing in my life. I drove away the woman I loved.

But in truth I was not turning into my father. I know that now, that it was all in my mind. But hind sight in twenty twenty. And the damage I've done is too much to repair. I have given myself brain damage, and I have offered my own heart to the devil in me as a "burnt offering." I daily repeat my vows. I am usual now.

I am driving her away still.

I cannot help this. I have tried. But without her I cannot escape the vortex of my own mind, at which I am the centre. I am a coward beside the lion of Judah, of Israel, and of Christ. I am nothing like the man which she deserves, I cannot be Christ. Instead I am a terrible replica of my own father. I was not able to prevent myself from making her into the shattered image of my own mother. And nothing has changed. I have kept myself just as I was then. I have grown outwards, but never upwards. I am not the form of a man, I am a sphere. I have only exchanged scriptural study for comic books, and so much for the worse. For now, without even the attraction of the innocence of youth, I have so much less to offer the woman I love, who doesn't love me, though perhaps but fondly, as if in a memory of a youth now lost to light, faded out, and over-exposed.

She said, "my love for you had grown cold." And it doesn't matter if she was lying or not. Because I believed her. I still believe in her more than even Christ. I love her so much I cannot love myself enough to become the man she deserves, the man she wanted me to be, the man I should have been.

And now it is too late, because I have the "sun sickness." I think I am the Only Son of God. Why did the Jews persecute Jesus? Because he said "Arise and Walk." That is why the Jews persecuted Jesus. That and because he said he was the son of God. But what is the difference between me and Jesus? I am not a healer. I cannot say, "Arise and Walk," and, like a true king commanding his subject, cause the infirm flesh itself to obey my command. I am not a natural king. I only bring desolation. I pour my heart out, and, like dumping boiling oil on already revolting peasants, I scorch the earth. Woe is me, that I am less than Christ. Woe are we all, that because of Him, we are less than God. Who is He? Is he a tempter, a seducer, a traitor and a treacherous liar, whose tongue lashes out first one way and then another? Is he someone who will sneak up on you like a serpent in your sleep and tempt you into awakenning in a panic? Does he invade your very dreams, calling to you, only to poison you to death when you awaken to see his face? No. The son of God does not do that. I do. I am just a man, just an ordinary commoner. It was I, as it was all of us, whom Jesus was accused of being, and punished for, and who are "saved" and absolved of guilt by His death and resurrection. But this means nothing. For what has changed? Whether as punishment by God Himself for the Transgression in Eden or under our own, albeit conditioned, will power and reflexes, nothing has changed. We are lost, we are not found. We are blind, leading the blind. We are following along a narrow ledge, teetering on the edge of a razor, between Scylla and Charybdis.

But nothing has changed. We are as close to death now as we always have been. It hangs over all our heads at all times like a great scythe, waiting to plow the field.

The gospels themselves are a parable.

All is accursed. All is accused. The time for death to come is now. Yet it never will. It is all according to an ancient plan. When one dies, two are born. Every second, thousands die. Every second, millions are born. Soon, billions will die. Soon, I tell you, soon!

It might only be my imagination, but what if something, no matter what, could make all of this worth perserving? What if God had already come, found us innocent, and left? What if this is the

midnight of the Sabbath? What if Christ were Lucifer? What if she were Shekinah, and I alike "Phanuel," the "face of God"? For my heart once was for Panamea, for my lover; before it was torn out, and filled with the fire of Satan, the "Great Burner." I am smoking away my soul. That is why I get no work done. If I do work, why am I broke? And if I am broken, then all of my good karma is going to waste. I am offering my soul on the fires of Gehenna. My heart is a "burnt offering." My mind is my own "sin offering." All that remains is the offering of joy to God for the creation.

However, this will not be able to be made; it cannot occur. I do not love this world, God's creation.

While you all are keeping busy here with "benpadiah," I have been securing plans with the Great Burner. And guess what? I bring good tidings! We're all going to die. If I could pull a pin in my brain and make my mind explode, it would be like that every second. But it is worse, for instead of a spine I have only the lightning flash of a nuclear explosion, and my central nervous system is a mushroom cloud. There is no me, because I am killed in the explosion that is me. I am not the bomb. I am not a hand grenade. I am just my mind inside my brain, and this "benpadiah" ruse is all just a distraction. It is here to keep me busy. To keep me from flying to the arms of the woman I love. To separate the poles of electricity and magnetism like the heart cleft in two we must be held asunder. All the force of this universe is being employed right now to keep us apart. But it is only myself that is doing it. And by myself, I mean, "benpadiah."

For he is all that stands in the way of my reunion with the woman I love. He, and death. For we will never again meet in this life, "come hell or high water." She and I are departed from one another's entire uinverses, entire worldlines, entire existence, like one bubble being blown apart into two, we are autonomous, we are far away. And at the end of my life, all my blasphemies will be added up, and my heart weighed against the heart of the man I could have been, the man that the woman I love deserves, and I will sink forever into the eternal pit. It is useless to blame Christ, as it would be to recuse Maat of the Egyptians. The archetype of the judge at death is not to blame. That is Hermes, the trismegestus, the Messenger. You cannot blame the messenger for bringing you the message.

Likewise, it is useless, obviously, for me to compare myself to Christ, the Messiah, Saviour of Mankind. However how can I forgive myself for my trespass against God? I would not give a thief my bread, and so how much more so will I be terrified when the True Vision comes to raze and wipe away my own delusions? Shall I pray to God then, and say, "you have robbed me of my innocence, and so I call you Father, and make you subject of my contempt, lower even than myself, but I accuse you of being my enemy!" I remember when I cried to the sky, "Judgement!"

But that day has passed. GIve thanks that I remember that, as I remember myself. If only for a moment, I should mention that, to some, I must seem like I am speaking gibberish. I am one of them. That is why I cannot get over myself long enough to woo and win my lover back. I could weave a tale as long as the Bible, I have written enough poems alone to equal it in size. But God has robbed me of my inspiration, and I cheat it back breath by breath from Satan in exchange for my heart. My writing will never be as integral as the Bible to the lives of everyday common people.

My truth, even if The Truth, will never be held as highly aloft by the generations of the people to come, and rightly not, as the Bible is today, or will be then. My contribution is a drop in the bucket of history. I am the antithesis of anything.

That is why I cannot love my lover, the woman I love, like she deserves to be loved, and desires to be loved, and why her love for me has "grown cold." I can worship her, I can look up and adore her, but I cannot hold her closely to me, and I cannot make a child with her. She is like my mother. A virgin and a whore. She is really only The Shekinah. The Shekinah is not "My" Shekinah. It is the Prescence of the Lord God. It is rightfully in the hearts of everyone. And so shall it appear to us before our very eyes, for it manifests all we know to make itself known to us. It is the inside and the outside. Beside it I am nothing.

This is how I see the woman I love.

I see her as Shekinah; as Magdalene; as Isis. As daughter (virgin), as mother (whore), and as Holy Ghost. I love these parts in myself: the Son, the Father, and the Holy Ghost. However, I do not honor my own flesh and blood father, I honor the Creator of All who came before me. For I know that, just as the archangel Michael is the right-hand of God, so too was my Eve fashioned for me from my desires, my dreams, and my lust.

These elements God gathered together in His hand, and rolled them together into a ball of dough, soft from the water element, and solid from the earth, until it was shrunken down to a grain of sand by the heat element within it. In this grain of sand, God set to work creating all we can ever know. Inside of all we can ever know, there is heaven, and within that this uinverse, and beneath our perceptual realm, other dimensions of demonic manifestations. The combination of these three, salt, sulphur and mercury, is my Shekinah.

She is not born, but created directly out of the imperishable realms between the Aeons and the Archons. She is the visage of perfection, and her breath that of God. I tell you there is none like her in all the lands and, although I am hers, she belongs to herself alone. For she and I are Adam and Eve in Paradise forever, in the realm of immortality even after eating the fruit of knowledge, and eternal before eating the forbidden truth. We are innocent above all the others, joined in union, the yogic communication of the flesh, in perpetuity. Death will turn the dust of the land into ashes, and the corpses will recycle in the dust, becoming one with it, and then this will be blown away as carbon ashes of stars in interstellar winds. But she and I will live on. We are eternal in our innocence. This is sacrosanct above all: the union of the dual opposites. It is worn as a pendant on the neck of God. But it is the udjati, the evil eye, mal ochio, molech, the all seeing evil-eye of Satan. It is the third eye of Horus, plucked out of Osiris by Set. And, like Odin, hung above the runes upside down from Ygdrasil, so too is Satan associated with Orion, hung upside down in the sky, not because it was a rising sign (Shalem), but a descending one (Shelom). In Peru, the spider of spring was associated with the constellation that Orion the hunter was associated with in northern Europe. To the Egyptians this constellation was Osiris, the God of the Dead, and they believed they lived in Khem, the land of the dead. The constellation had, at the time of the ancient Egyptian calendrical start-date, been associated there with the rising of Sirius on Orion's heal at the end of Summer.

So, in Sumeria, the "summer-land," it was not the spider of spring, nor the hunter of autumn, nor the dog star of summer. So too did the same constellation rise on a different date at all the various different locations, and so too does it usher in a new season, a new Aeon, for each land. All of this is the complex metaform of time passing through us over the cosmic ages.

And so are the faces of the woman I love infinitely manifold, though she is infinitely only One. But what have I to offer her? All of me has already been promised away to God or else is being bartered away to the devil. I cannot give her my heart, it has been replaced by fire. I cannot give her my mind, for it has rotted. I have nothing greater that is my own to give. For the soul, the aura, of karma I have accumulated about myself is one of a confused Christian, but this is a cloak containing nothing. I am a vortex of Light centered around a being, but only from time to time upon one; thus, one here at one time, one there at the next, and the Crown of Choronzon is passed around like a peace pipe. I give, I give! All I do is give, but all to waste it goes. It is all only a psychic empire in my mind, the mind of a crazy, broken, child. I have nothing more than any man she could conjure up on her own out of thin air.

For this is what Gods who walk amongst men must do. We have been commanded to eat the fruit.

All of it. All of it save one, the spine of the conjoined Hermaphrodite twins, Hermes Trismegestus, the backbone that unifies Adam and Eve in the Garden, where they took up most of the space in the

universe. This was God's first living creation. This alone reflects the inception of God's ideal design. For God set a trap in which to catch the conscience of the Phoenix, a trap called time. So Adam and Eve can be thought of as "back to back" to one another, each facing away from the other.

Thus they comprised the entirety in the age of Hermes. However, as the aeons passed they spent together in Eden, outside of and beyond time, so did they revolve, trying to come face to face with one another, and so each compromised more and more of their space, and so they shrunk, and so the span of the entirety shrunk with them. Already Adam and Eve were falling. Once the tidal toroidal typhoon of Typhon had tricked and consumed them into bodies made of tissues, or of rarified Light, they were easily deceieved and tricked into bearing offspring who would bear the mark of their fall. For already, the spell of Paradise had been broken. Already the commandments of God rebuking even the seprent, transforming it from the image of a camel, had folded down the wings of the tabernacle. No longer was the Divine Ineffable One Infalliably Two. Thus was the reign of Adam and Eve brought to an end, and thus gamete cells reproduce, and thus the combined Tree of Death and the Qliphoth was divided into the Tree of Knowledge (the spine of Adam) and the Tree of Life (the spine of Eve).

Just as Eve is said in the Gnostic "On the Origin of the World" (partially recovered in the Nag Hammadi, although preserved independently also) to have been the creation inhabited by the soul Zoe, the emanated daughter of Sophia, wife of God, so too it is said that the Tree of Life in the Garden had itself been inhabited by the soul of Sophia Herself. This was so, it is all explained therein, because the pure emanation of Zoe raised Adam from the mud, and only later entered into the body of Eve, after that body was created from the "rib" of Adam. So we see that Zoe, the soul of Eve, and Pistis Sophia, her spirit, were equivalent to the lower, animal parts of Pigera Adamas, that is, the tree that produced animals, and to the higher, human parts of Adam Kadmon, that is, the tree that produced men. Just as there were the soul and spirit of Eve in the tree of life, so too were there the animals and men of Adam in the tree of knowledge. But both of these "trees" were only two divisions, like Adam and Eve themselves, of the One God. Just as the spine of Hermes, that is, of Yeheshuah ha Maschiach, is like the combined trees of knowledge and life, and so Thrice Greatest Christ is like the combination of Adam and Eve before they were divided. Thus, when they came together again, to copulate and to conceive Cain, though some say that his father was Ialdabaoth, the demiurge, known as Jave and as Elohim to the Jews, it was the reunion of the two, divided halves of the One Whole.

This is why the Entirety cast down Ialdabaoth as Samael, and why Elohim YHVH (translated, "the Lord God") said of Adam, "behold the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil," (alternate scriptures translate as "light" and "shadow") and then cast Adam out of Eden. Because when Adam and Eve conceived Cain, they had eaten of both the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge. When they came together in copulation, they reunited the divided body of Christ. This was the Divine Rose-Cross, the red Templar cross on the white Essene banner, symbol of the transubstantiation of the Eucharist. Thus, the "bread," the shape, form or geometry of which Christ will not partake of again with his apostles until they all sit in divine judgment from Heaven, and the "wine," the "blood" of a lifetime, thus representing gravitas, the blood of all time, are like the fruits of Knowledge and Life, and thus, too, are these like the dual opposites, Christ and anti-Christ, the "left" and "right" pillars of Jachin and Boaz in QBLH, the "body" of God. Just as the blood and wine become one in the body of the one that eats the bread and drinks the wine, so too was Christ made whole only in the copulation of, the conjoining of, Adam and Eve. Thus, Cain was the son of God, of Satan, of Christ, Hermes, and of Adam and Eve. All these are true statements. However, none of them are sufficient to describe or account for the act of Cain.

For in the act of Cain is revealed the sin of the Father, the Creator of Man, the demiruge, known to the Gnostics as Ialdabaoth and to Judeo-Christians as AHDVNHAY, "the Lord God." Cain turned against his own brother. So too had YHVH commanded Adam out of Paradise even though Adam and Eve had indeed become "like unto" their Creator. YHVH, that is, the Sumerian Enlil, had dealt unfairly with man from the beginning. In the Sumerian version of the myth, the first man, Adapa,

is tricked into refusing Anu (the cosmic All-Father) when He offers Adam the bread and water of eternal life because of a false warning to avoid Anu's trap of the bread and water of fleshly death delivered by Adapa's fleshly father, the creator of mankind, Ea-Enlil (the earthly father of mankind and son of Anu, the sky-God). Just so, the fruit of the tree of life that made Adam and Eve immortal before they ate of the tree of knowledge would have given them life eternal had they been allowed to eat of it after eating of the tree of knowledge. By gaining knowledge with immortality, this is how eternal existence is accomplished. However, the sky-God conspired against the earth-God, and so the entirety crused mankind's creator as the demiurge.

But already it was too late for Adam and Eve, who had been expelled from Eternal Paradise in Eden, the so-called eighth and ninth heavens (those of Adam and Eve in Eden of the 12 Aeons), and had descended below the seven heavens (those of the 12 Archons and their 7 powers) into existence as mortals in the fallen world of the shattered Qliphoth that is our local universe. If it was justice that Satan fell, then it was injustice that punished his creations, the incarnate Adam and Eve. For Cain, son of Adam and Eve, the creation of them as much as they were the creations of God their father, and likewise the father of us all, commited the murder of his brother Abel not in imitation of the pride and sinful fall of Adam, but in the likeness of Adam's own father, the sinful vanity of Lucifer. For as Lucifer became, that is, entered into, Adam (as Zoe, the soul, entered Eve) so does one moment become the next. It enters into the next moment of creation like someone passing through a doorway. This is karma. As karma re-incarnates, it must have first incarnated. But as karma is immortal, so too should be all incarnation, and yet all incarnation is not immortal, but mortal. This is the "fall" of man, and this is because of the fall of Satan, man's creator. Just as God punished the snake as well as Adam and Eve for the transgression in the Garden, even though the only true fault was with Satan, so too is Satan God and God is Satan. If you stub your toe, you do not punish your toe for it. Thus, God allowed Satan immortal existence, even though this was now to be denied to man.

So evil had a beginning (the creation) but will have no end until Judgment Day. This is because Satan is immortal. So good has neither beginning nor end (it supercedes the entirety of creation), because God is eternal. Yet, instead of the Good God, what we find in factual existence is the fallen condition of Evil Satan. We call the absent perfection the epinoia, or Christ, and the difference between the absent perfection and the present imperfection the pronoia, or Shekina. And just as the epinoia flows to us from God, thus by invokation, so too does the pronoia, the Shekinah, flow from us to God, thus by evokation. The heart understands the interior worlds, of emotion, of sense perception and of instinct and intuition, and the mind knows the outer realms, intelligence encompassing all by deduction, extrapolating, interpolating, and integrating with all by induction. The understanding of the heart, the emotions, and the knowledge of the mind, the intelligence, combine to comprise the essence, the intuitive sense and emanation, of wisdom.

Now I tell you, I speak the truth, I say: Panameia of Ben Padiah is the Pronoia, Shekinah!

Just as Eve was to Adam, so was Mary to Jesus, and so too is the Shekinah to the Messiah. The term "Pronoia" is Gnostic, but its meaning is equivalent. The term Panameia may be unique in all mystic wisdom literature, but its meaning is equivalent as well. Panameia was, to Yeshuah Ben Padiah, equivalent to the Shekinah of God, just as the woman I love is to me. I have raised our love up to the Highest I can go. I have planted our flag at every step throughout this ongoing quest, and with every beat of my heart, I have loved her with all of my being and will for all of my life. If I give up the ghost, I will go to where ever she is. For if we are separated, and she sent to hell and I to heaven, I will jounrey down into hell with her. And if we are separated, and she is sent to heaven and I to hell, then I will fight my way out of hell to be with her. And if we are not seperated, and we are sent to heaven, then we shall redeem mankind to God. And if we are not separated, and we are sent to hell, then we shall make it heaven by the radiant glory of our love.

This is simply so already whether we are reunited in this lifetime or not. But if we were, would it not prove to the living that the day of judgment has already passed over and that we have been found innocent again, and are allowed to continue living, whether in peace or in war, how we choose? And how can those who profit from war, who live for the lie of putting off the eternal judgment by promising to deliver it immediately themselves, how can they not wish to keep us apart in this lifetime? And yet, in this crazy, mixed-up world our problems don't amount to a hill of beans beside the Hypostasis of the Archons. So "benpadiah" exists to keep me and the woman I love apart, and so does this world continue to exist as it does for now. All of this is only in my head, where I am the perpetual "saviour" of the world and its potential "destroyer" as well, and amounts to absolutely zero in the world of reality, of both virtual reality and real world friends.

She is not reading this now, and, like my not having sold any significant sum of books by now, if it hasn't happened yet, it is not going to happen at all.

My sorrow is our reality, that I cannot change the absence of my ability to overcome it.

However just as good karma is righteousness, each shall reap their just rewards. Just as Jesus said on the cross, "I thirst," so too did he resurrect from the dead himself, and seemingly with the ability to appear at will, though never for very long, and later only as if in a vision. He was given water on the cross, it is said, and within half an hour he was dead. But obviously His "death" was not like that of an ordinary man. For, as was Enoch "translated," Christ "ascended." In the water in the sponge or lozenge Christ received in his suffering on the cross was contained some substance, it is reckoned, to account for Christ's ability to manifest as alive after physical death.

The gross, who see not even a living body as already dead, suspect opium as a way Christ could have faked his death on the cross and then, arisen "in the body" or "in the flesh," returned, healed, after three days, from the underworld beyond the grave. In the future fools will speculate monoatomic gold.

In the end, the Sanhedrin are only any and all of they who do not rightly understand the spirit, not only Ayatollahs or presidents, catholics or muslims, myself included. For I betrayed my lover: I still can't get over myself. That is why no one can deny me access to the psychic Synagogue, seat of the True, though perennially occult, Atlantean Senate, the "conspiracy" of internationalist philosophy inside the mind, because I have sinned. I have the vision of divinity and Paradise because I have the clear sight of a clear conscience. I accept my sin, so my "sin offering" is accepted. But it cannot by me alone be forgiven. That remains only to the divine almighty. That is my sin: I stand outside of All the entirety, and consider myself its king, but I am incomplete without her, and I am really looking out when I think I am looking in.

The true psychics see with a clear eye, knowing rightly "good" from "evil" and "light" from "lesser light" or "shadow," and we know the local universe is only one small cave, the abandoned tomb of Christian Rozencreuntz, like that of Jesus Christ, in a much larger world of light, yet still only one world of many. I see all this too. I look out from within that tomb, yet can leave it not.

For I have sinned and eaten of the tree of knowledge for all the days of my manhood. So I know. Yet I remain entrapped, imprisoned, here and now in this time and place.

Though I may be "benpadiah" still, I cannot be Yeshuah Ben Padiah, the Gnostic Christ, born king of Israel and who "ascended" at death. And so I must cast "benpadiah" aside now. And so I have accomplished it. For now in the universe of my mind that I create I have "transcended" being only "benpadiah," the philosophical reincarnation of the Gnostic Christ, in word if not indeed, and so have "ascended" to the throne of AHDVNHAY, the One True God, over my own mental universe in its entirety, and become, moreso than even only "like unto" He my Creator, my own creator myself, my own God. However this is obviously only the half of it.

For just as I now cease being merely "benpadiah," the philosophical reincarnation of the Gnostic Christ, I am no longer partially "benpadiah," that is, my "usual" self, and partially still myself.

No, by sacrificing being "benpadiah," in word if not indeed, I am more permanently than ever commiting my existence to an interior and mental world that naturally isolates me from the external, shared and "real" world - both virtual and in-person friends included. By sacrificing "benpadiah" I am very truly severing my last ties to reality. From here on out, by no means short of reunion with the woman I love, i.e. a very real miracle, can any longer redeem me from beyond the hell of madness.

We all die. But who can say they knew only "good" - the eternal God - in all their life? Who, even after the pain of murder, can call life Paradise? "benpadiah" is no different. He is only a part of my personality. He is my creation and I can kill him at will. But whose will does "benpadiah" serve? He serves God, and by serving God serves well. As my own servant, "benpadiah" has led me to God, and so, rather than kill him, I should praise him and revere him; I should uplift the banner of His name. But instead, I seek to betray and murder my good servant, messenger and son of the ansent owner of this vinyard. Why do I do this thing?

I do this thing because I am human. I am flawed and I have sinned. I reap the fruit of this sin: I am psychic; yet it is only because I eat daily from the tree of Knowledge. In truth, this thought is insane, but because it is the fruit of my being, my essence, that I remove and offer up to be consumed by my own self-doubt, it is my "peace offering," and it is one of war. That which I sacrifice to peace is not of peace itself, so I sacrifice war to peace. I destroy that which is not peace, I destroy war. How is this done? To end a war one myst first begin. The war between my interior AHDVNHAY personality and the exterior fact of being a loser in reality is the line in draw in the sand. Pray this line does not become a circle.

The "sin offering" has been made. The "peace offering" has been made. The sin offering cannot, in this reality, be forgiven me by the woman that I love. Likewise, as my offering to peace of war is one involving myself, it is therefore offered of myself to that which is not myself. So too is it not for me to declare my "peace offering" accepted. I cannot say that, by ending "benpadiah," I have truly "accomplished" anything besides taking the next step following genius-melancholy, or manic-depression, the step "up" and "down" at once toward full-blown MPD, the step of schizophrenia. I am now a useless vegetable.

As I look back over my own writings, I see that I am cursed. It shows through in my bibliomancy, despite its profound profanity of the unspeakably divine experience of One-ness. I fall far short of being the philosophical reincarnation, "benpadiah," that I expect myself to live up to. Of course this is all in my head. But then, so is the death of "benpadiah" and the beginning of a terrible psychic war in my head between my god-complex, identified as my AHDVNHAY personality, and reality.

In reality I am slowly slipping away into psychosis. It is consuming me in the form of study of the QBLH, the result of which being I think like I am psychic, and in the shape of my consumption of smoke that I associate with the sacrifice of my soul to Satan, as well as with eating daily the fruit of the tree of knowledge, thus costing me my right to immortal life and eternal existence. We have eternal existence regardless, but mine will begin with my fighting through my madness in hell to "ascend" to even this plane of being. This is because I have denied God. I have set myself up over my own, false universe and become consumed in his emulation. I have sought to become more than "like unto" God, but God Himself.

Even by sacrificing "benpadiah," whose mortal death was inevitable, I have sunk deeper into the delusion I am fulfilling the role of God when really I know I am doing no such thing in reality.

This division within myself, bewteen logic and insanity, is a gulf that will widen. There is no escaping this slow and gradual, intoxicatingly gradual, decent into madness.

I recognise this even by just skimming through this very writing itself, my "blog" (journal) for December, 2006. I recognise the taint of sulphur, the evil eye of the Other upon me,; I am totally aware that my existence will worsten as a result of concluding my "benpadiah" psosts on various other forum sites. By deleting "benpadiah" I am commiting a karmic crime, a sin against the entirety.

That is why I see the stain of sin inside of me. I, like Cain, am my Father's child. But, unlike Christ, I am not Qa'yin, the King. I am not the "left" nor "right" ete of Horus, neither "Qa'yin" the king nor "Havel" the air. I am no falcon, king of the air. I am no Crowned and Conquering Child. I was not foreseen by Harpocrates, nor am I a fulfiller of any biblical prophecies. No, they all centre around justice, upon an alter to righteousness, and are nothing like my life. Perhaps no moreso than was the New Testament anything like the actual life of Yeshuah Ben Padiah.

I look at this blank page and see the words written. I trace them into existence with my pen or I crunch them into my computer keyboard, either way I my hand moves independently of my choosing to move it. Alien, it busies itself to conveying this message: the "Good News" of the death of "benpadiah," the truth of the coming of the Great Burner.

For all that remains to initiate the Messiahnic age is to make the "burnt" or votive offering. I offer my heart to the Great Burner, the Great Satan, Azaziel, Azrael, and Raziel, Raguel and Phaneal, Uriel. I offer my heart to Panameia, the Great Shekinah, the "Presence" of Pistis Sophia, Pleroma pronoia! This is the pact I make with the devil. For just as Christ conspired with Lucifer to exchange his own life by suffering crucifixion for the redemption from guilt for original sin of all humanity, so too do I offer up my "peace" and "sin" offerings not to God, but to Goddess.

The three offerings are therefore complete for me. I have made mine. In reality each must make their own. But for me it is all already done now. My "sin offering" I made to my lover, may it find her well. My "peace offering" I made to my lover, may it draw her near me. My "burnt" offering I made to my lover, may she find me before I am dead. And now it is a waiting game. I am wasting my life away, accomplishing nothing, leaving only the mark of the beast my body and the suffering of its heart. For I am thrice cursed. I am cursed by making my sin offering to my lover, and I am cursed by making my peace offering to my lover, and I am cursed by making my burnt offering to my lover, all instead of to "benpadiah," who all the while represented my "higher" self.

Instead, I have made my "sin offering," my "peace offering" and my "burnt offering" not to "benpadiah," but of "benpadiah." I offer "benpadiah" as my sins. I offer the war between "benpadiah's" father, AHDVNHAY, and reality as my "peace offering." I even offer "benpadiah's" existence itself, the very contents of my heart and soul, now as a my "burnt offering" to hasten the return of the True God. I have blasphemed myself three times. For who is "benpadiah"? In truth, he is myself. I sacrifice myself to my lover. I blaspheme the highest good, to be true to myself, and have scrawled her name across my heavens, which it is, in truth, not mine, but only God's, place to do.

Therefore I shall not becme the One True God incarnate. My Lordship will be over a lesser, fictional world that I myself create. Not by His Will, as did Ben Padiah, but by hers do I exist.

Thus, by my triple curse, the triskele or impossible triangle, will my personality not be the true AHDVNHAY, but will only appear to be so to my psychosis ravaged brain. Instead, I shall "fall up" toward all-out MPD. I have "ascended" to the next step already, the step of schizophrenia. I am as of now a full-blown schizo. I even believe I can diagnose myself! I prophesy I shall split three ways down the centre for the sin, peace and votive offerings.

One personality is M.M., the flaming archangel Michael, the fallen form of Lucifer, my cat. One is I.S., my ex-lover, whom I shall continue to worship in the name of every pagan Goddess. One is "benpadiah," who has "ascended" indeed, by surviving my treachery and hounding me here.

This is the True Mystery of the Trinity: for three children got lost in the woods looking for the spirit that lived there. The three were a love triangle, and one of them had two enemies. The two enemies followed the trio into the woods. They left strange artefacts for the three happy campers to find, small men and small stone pyramids. These mysterious objects seemed to the three to be appearing out of nowhere, but really the two enemies of one of the three were doing it. Why were they doing it? Because they were his enemies. Why were they his enemies? It was because the three were in a love triangle. One elevated the other two, and so by his light they both left behind shadows. Just as the three lovers went into the woods to seek the spirit, so did the two enemies go with them, only in secret. For when the three slept, the two were working on how to deceive the three and lead them astray. It is recorded, so did the three eventually all go insane in the woods.

The names of the three who sought the True Spirit were: Joshuah Leonard, Heather Donahue, Michael Williams; the names of the two shadowy deceivers were Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez.

Just as Luke Skywalker, his son, sensed that there was "still good in" Anakin Skywalker, even after Anakin had joined the Emperor on the Dark Side and become Darth Vader, so too is there "still good in" one of the two enemies. But the more one of the enemies turns to good, the more the other will turn to evil. This is the ultimate evil: that "benpadiah" should so exalt "Shekinah" that it elevates her shadow-self, one of the enemies of the "benpadiah" archetype (of which there are many, myself being one!). For just as the one of the three has a shadow-self, so too does one shadow have another, the shadow-self's shadow of the Other. The worst enemy of the self is the self. There can be no one self in God. Some have believed in the Messiahnic End of Days. They have long heralded the coming, or secondcoming, of the Messiah as bringing about the day of judgment and redemption. This belief based on the notion of the ghosts of the dead occupying limbo for a time, and entering Heaven or Hell for all eternity at the end of all that is this world. Some predict a period of 2000 years od peace to follow the Mashiachs appearance on earth. All these people are deceived. They had the wool pulled over their eyes by the catholic church, which persecuted the bloodline of Christ, the true kings of Israel, just as had the sanhedrin chastised Christ, and they viciously oppressed all Gnosticism.

But the truth was hiding in plain sight all along. It is not a direct "ascension" experienced at death by "benpadiah," but an "assumption" into a position in a divine trinity, an occult pentagram. For where there is one, there are two, where there are two there are three, where there are three, five, where five, seven, where seven six more, and where thirteen then add ten for twenty-three. This is the order of stellated primes. One point between two in a pentagram. Two points between two "consecutive" points in a heptagram. Three points between two "consecutive" stellations in a tridekagram. Four points between "consecutives" in a 23 point star. And so on, counting up one more stellated point per prime sum of all points. This is the order of stellated primes. It is the order of things. The "Order of Death" I sometimes speak of is based on this.

However, just as the "Trinity" is all too public, so are the two "enemies" an occult secret. Without keeping Santa Claus' true identity secret, parents could not lord mythology over their children, neither would the psychic sanhedrin last very long if everyone were psychic. So the occult, like Satan, will exist until Doomsday.

So, if the "Satanic" Order of Death uses prime stellations as a means of secretly controlling the masses, that is, the pyschic sanhedrin uses complex number theory to masterfully guide the the "goyim," then surely the Trinity is to be examined in great depth, and by an All-Seeing eye.

However, as I have already said, my chips are down and my die have been cast. My thrice-offering was made, of "benpadiah," to my lover. I believe I've become AHDVNHAY, when in truth I am losing my mind. Soon my split personality will break in three, and then I will surely go mad! My universe will begin to crumble and I will no longer know who or what to believe.

Now, I believe I know. Just as knowledge is the beginning of wisdom, and wisdom the fear of God knowing that, beside the Almighty, we all know next to nothing, so too is belief the begininng of Higher Understanding. "benpadiah" was a solipsist, and was fiercely vehement about "knowing" what was true about the divine and about Paradise. But here is the key, for I killed "benpadiah" for her, and so now I can doubt what "benpadiah" knew. By doubting I know even what "I" was so sure I knew, I introduce the "belief" that what I know might be wrong. This is the the shadow of the shadow. This is her reflection in the gloom of later afternoon. AHDVNHAY, Vader, the world as a corpse-eater.

For even if I were the light, she the object, and an angel her shadow, then the angel would still cast as its shadow a demon, the shadow of perception of the self by the Other. And then either she and I or the angel and demon would manifest a third counterpart to complete the Trinity of either 2x2+1=5 or that of 2-1+2+1=5. In the latter scenario, we see the pope of the universe as he is now, or rather, was, as "benpadiah." For here we see Jesus and Mary and here Judas and Peter, and here we see Paul. For here we see Julius and Caesar, and here Brutus and Casius, and here the ongoing empire of Rome.

This is all very simple to a lunatic such as myself. I don't believe I'm sane, you see, I believe I'm mad. I believe in queens with wings and that "prophets don't know everything." But the Nothingness is eating Narnia and is following me over the Bridge back from Taribithia, and I am lost in Akira, and the Matrix, and Hogwarts. Hell is softening the walls between the heaven outside and our interiorised reality. The hot lamp of the projector melts the film whose images flicker on the theatre screen. Dancing shamen trip over dancing paintings in the dancing firelight spilled all over the cavern wall. The door of Light leads O-U-T. However, to the standard lines of logic, I have clearly gone insane. And this is now all I have to offer any potential wife, let alone the woman I love. Day-in, day-out existence with a human vegetable. I've become my father as he is today. Lord, though I avoided every footstep his life's turns took, I have ended up just like he is today. I, too, am a loser, an abject failure, rejected by society. But there is one difference between myself and my father as we are both today. I am on medication myself, and my father medicates Mary-Ann, his common-law spouse. The medication is given to represent both our "new hope," and the "good still in us." However it is a dystopian fiction that dreamt up psychiatric medication, the NAZI concentration camps where it was first tested, and Mengele modern Hypocrates.

The true drugs that could cure mine and my father's "mental illness," my genius-melancholy bordering on schizophrenic insanity and his suppressed aggression, his ingrown depression, these drugs are illegal in my case and top secret in my father's. For just as hallucinogens such as mescaline cure the mind of the fractures and myopeae that lead to fragmentation and haze, so too do yogic star-fire and shem MFKZT of QBLH magically hele the sick at soul and those suffering from great sins.

However, no amount of psychiatric medication can truly heal our relationship and rightly balance our karma, for our fortunes are reversed in reality: I should be married and he should be alone!

The heavens themselves cry out for justice, but the word that comes out and can be heard by the goy God, the God over all humans (except homosexuals, according to some), is not justice. It is judgement. That is why I am not now known from Adam, why the keys to reading the Atlantean calendar have, in the subsequent several thousand years, been lost, and why the Atlantean Senate has been replaced by the psychic conspiracy. Just as I should have succeeded in 1999 when I failed to unite all religions in my mind and marry the girl I loved, so too has my good karma, the

right-proper earnings of my written, historically valuable works, been being steeped away from me like water through a sieve. My aura has holes blown through it too wide to catch my fair share in my net.

And I am a fool. A fool. For I have not seen it. I have not seen it all along. That the father of "benpadiah" is "the Great Burner." He whom melted my walls first - he who gave me my "manhood." For I have not seen it but all along have I not cast true pearls before lying swine? Have I not said, all along, the God-complex is the father of the Christ complex? But have I once struck at that root? How can I reverse time, for even now the moment has passed. To have killed "Old Ben" in writing kills his archetype literally. To sign away my "usual" self I lost to G.M.G. at chess. And so now, the ape whose sperm I enflesh, whose blood flows in my veins and who is embodied in me, like God in Adam and Adam in Cain, like Satan in the camel and Zoe in Eve, Christ in God, the circle of Aeons in Eden and Eden in Paradise. So, as I was sacrificed by own father as a "sin offering" to his own witch-goddess, Mary-Ann, all my good karma goes to him, and my wealth fills his pockets. He depletes my inheritance on her!

Yet who am I that I would not give a thief my bread?

I am Yeshuah Ben Padiah's philosophical reincarnation, "benpadiah." As he was the rightfully born king of Israel, so am I my own king. As he was guided toward God by Panameia, the ghostly child Mary Magdala, so was I guided toward millennarian "sun-sicknes" by paranoia, the ghostly child of my true love.But for one difference, Yeshuah Ben Padiah and my fallen, Gnostic Christ complex, "the benpadiah personality," are identical, even in opposite polarities.

The difference between myself and Jesus is just this: the father of Christ was the Creator of Mankind, the Maker of this local universe, the Former of the entirety of the multiverse, and the Shaper of all that we can know; we call him the True AHDVNHAY, meaning "the Lord God." We call him YHVH for short. However my dad is barely a reflection of the twin and opposite of such an All-Creator. My dad is a whirlwind of caged chaos. My father is the devil "gravity" and the Grand Architect, Ho-Tekton, "geometry" in one. He is, truly, my demi-urge - the desire in me to turn away from what is good and to intentionally self-destruct.

So here there is that root. For according to chaos theory, anthropically I could have had no other father and have come to this end. And there is no escaping it, the ever-changing maze. But now it is too late for me already, because I cannot be "benpadiah" any longer because "benpadiah" is dead. I killed "benpadiah." In my vain attempt to become AHDVNHAY almighty, I have begun to split into three. For here I am, "benpadiah," my "usual" self, and here I am crazy in love with some chick who left me years ago, and here I am like "sponge bob" for confrontations with anyone besides myself who reminds me of my father. Here are the three of us, as I said, the Shekinah and her angel/demon dichotomy of dual opposites.

Behold, my father holds the Shekinah away from me!

But it is not my father, but myself, that constantly carries this inhumane torture out on myself. I am the one that spends every waking moment desiring someone I take no action to actually contact directly. I am the one the does nothing all but write but who fails to turn one red cent doing it. I am the one who brings the "good news" of "benpadiah" and the coming of my father, "the Great Burner." I am the silly little sophomore who thinks they know it all when really they know nothing. This is me, being real, now.

Pheloni Ben Phelonieth is Panameia of ben Padiah.

Yeshuah Ben Padiah did "ascend" and become a timeless archetype, truly greater than even the constellations, and he was crucified on the seven heavens, but three days later did he "ascend."

But I am not Yeshuah Ben Padiah, because unlike He, my father is a vulture disguised as a man of the cloth, a man of virtue. For I am not "benpadiah," I am truly just Jon, named Jonathan after the final Maccabbean king of Judah (160-142 BC) before the exile of the Aaronic, Zadokite priestkings to Qumran and life as Essenes (169 BC), their rightful place unknown, the true lineage expunged and their generations hunted.

But I have been lucky to, unlike Christ, not be a natural-born, but instead a self-made king.

Though I am thrice-cursed by own behaviours, my "benpadiah" personality (mainly online), by my own stalker-like idea of romance, and by the living ghost that is my father, I am not yet torn apart by concerns between these facets. So I remain not thrice-cursed,, but thrice-blessed.

Instead of lamenting I should be rejoincing!

Because now I have my lover and my enemy, yet both ideal and remote.

There is certainly no Heaven for me here in the physical present, no mater how serene the weather, that can compare to the Heaven I can imagine being again together in my lover's arms.

Instead, here is most peculiar truth: my father steals my karma; my father is my enemy.

But it is too late. The wind changed while I made a nasty face and now it's stuck that way. The innocence of a childhood lost. So, as far as I am concerned, now this is it. I sit here mulling all this over in my head, chewing the cud in the sixth stomach of Shiva, and I am quite content in doing nothing to act out upon this sudden revelation. I sit here and I write a 20+ page long weblog, and yet I know, logically, that this changes nothing. Pure magick should have no effect at all.

However none o fthis makes any sense! Since it is not my father, but I, who carries out the daily deed of being me, then only I can effect what changes I desire. And I know what I desire. I desire her. And it is not my father, but I, who witholds myself from contacting her. And soon, any moment now, we might die.

Have I not already made a magickal sacrifice to her? I have sworne to forsake "benpadiah" for her.

I have sworn this even should three curses occur from my doing it; that is, the curse of the Trinity - lacking my lover, keeping myself, and regaining my father as my enemy. But what can this amount to? Have I signed the writing in blood? I should have been rejoicing in the truth! Instead I rolled like a hog-snake in lies and when the truth finally snuck up on me it stuck like an icicle dagger into my heart.

Flow my tears, the policeman said! The prophets have all died, how sad! I am stuck on that same old station again, channeling myself.

What can I do, true AHDVNHAY? I would give up my calling, to push the "benpadiah" research, for her. But I cannot lift a finger so long as my father yet lives.

What can I do, true AHDNHAY? Show me a sign!

ESP doesn't always translate with each various transcription. Sic is Choke. Ibid is Shock. My spine is a psychic mushroom cloud. I am that which I am and all that which I am not! Now I am the thing I couldn't be before! Vader. Moon-Child of Thetans. I am all of my world now.

Suffering. This is all I feel. The separation of self from "Godhead."

But I am lying. I do not wish to become God, to replace Christ. "benpadiah" may have been my good karma, but it falls far short of a decent "philosophical reincarnation" of Yeshah Ben Padiah, "the Gnostic Christ." I do not because I do not wish to play any role of significance in the currents of history.

Send me a sign, send me a sign! When, oh, when can I bring her the good news that my father has died? For even with his death shall he toss my other enemy, now here, now there, into the deepest pit of ultimate evil. And then there will be no more Trinity, and the two will be made one! Is my other enemy my benevolent mother, or my wicked step-mother? I doubt in all disguises. I do not know who to believe anymore.

When will the breakthrough come to me for real? Because it like this all the time. This is my "usual" self: berserk.

I will not become AHDVNHAY, for AHDVNHAY I already am. For AHDVNHAY is all, and so all of us are parts of AHDVNHAY. But everyone already knows this. I am this message's first messenger.

But where one natural-born king (Siddhartha) was successful (transcended a Guatama) while another natural-born king (Jesus, king of the unified Israel and Judah) failed (was murdered for his message), yet who has gone before who was not a natural-born king to have "transcended" or "ascended"? Even enoch, who "walked with God and was not, for God took him," was the direct lineage of Adapa, the first ante-deluvial king of Sumeria in Akkad. None have gone before on the level of world-king that was not natural-born royalty already.

Moreover, it was always by their renouncing their natural royalty that they achieved the status of psychic world-guide of future histories. No self-made king has ever ascended the throne of Universal God-king. None have ever been recognised except by first decorating their "humble" origins in noble birth. But all the mendacents, millions of millions over the aeons of aeons, who have been of common stock have achieved any notable stature save as the apostles of servants of their natural-born noble masters.

These are me. Now who am I? Should I awake one morning to find myself transformed? I doubt that.

But what else is left for me?

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01/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 1-23-007 My suffering is the absence of my love.

This is what Satan preys upon. Satan is only the temptation to be God. The God complex is important to mankind. It is how mankind communicates with God. Through the belief in the self as Him. However, not all of us live up to the standards of others who have gone before us, let alone meet our own expectations of ourselves as manifestations of the Godhead. In old Egypt they had a different God-form, archetype or role in religion for every different setting of the journey of every alignment through the universe, but they had no one True God to contain them all within its mind, as a dream, such as the Krishna of the Hindu or the Hebrew Messiah. We need both. Angelology allows wise counsel. Thoth has come to me in my travels to procure fire. I sought counsel with Nepthys. She told me that my Goddess worships me as much as I worship her.

She told me, though I took it advisedly, that she has waited for me, has longed for me, has worshipped me from afar, as much as I have her, everyday, never forgotten, but always worshipped her. For she is my reason for living, my redemption, the One to keep my purpose, my reason not to go astray. And I would. I long to, but this is my sickness, my temptation. So Nepthys guarded warning advised me, an abandoned cop car on a winding road. So Thoth came as a bald old man walking by me. He told me that I would make my way on my own, safely, and I nodded to him, and he waved, although he didn't smile, and we did not recognise one another's faces. I wear the face of Jesus. It is my death mask. The shroud of Turin. His face was familiar to me from amongst the stars, and those in the time of the Great Aeon, the turning of the calendrical age. Is this Satan preying upon me now? For Thoth tempts me to write of the neo-Sethians, my imagined nemeses, and of the Holy Spirit, so misunderstood as to be considered evil and alien, associated with a bodyless sentient entity that moves amongst us from mind to mind, possessing us each from time to time. My madness. My black karma, it tugs at me insesently, from every angle, calling itself my Guardian Angel, appearing as young panamea. The lureing teeth of Satan surround my aura. Where is my love now? I am at the mouth of temptation!

YHVH comes to me. He comforts me. He tells me the only way out is through. He reminds me of the couple walking their dog that were on another road from me, and how I went down that road anyway. Her road. Riddle. I am desperately helpless and alone. I am fighting the Holy Ghost from within. For there is no trinity. There is only the Unity. There is no Son, and there is no Holy Ghost, and there is no Mary, mother of God, there is no He, and there is no longer any me. That is, there is only her. Her and I. I am not changed. I am myself, preserved, to this moment, like a statue of myself, permanent and unaltering. I am cold as stone. I am as cold to myself as stone itself, and I do not move, My fingers type these words, but they are not mine. The Holy Spirit has come upon me. It posesses me. It is not her. It is her absence. How can I have been so blind it coaxes me. It says, "I am she and we are always together, even when we are alone, because I am in you and you are in me, and I am the Holy Spirit." But this is not Shekinah. This is Satan. The Holy Spirit cries out to remind me of when I drove through her woods, and how I had told myself, having a conversation with her in my mind, along my travels, "are you a witch?" I ask her. "How can you ask this of me?" She responds in pain. "Because I am one." I say. The winding road. The winding road through the winter woods.

Where is she now? I chide myself. I apply the scourge to my back. I am He again. The Son of God. I am suffering for You, God. I am the King of Israel because I am bearing the pains, the burden of the sins, of all the chosen people. For their redemption, I am caught up in that life again. That life gone by and long gone passed. I must keep reminding myself, for my mother's sake, that I exist.

That I am real. She is the one who would suffer most if I were to cease to exist. So I long for death as a deliverance. I live at ground zero of the place where all my hopes detonated. They continue to detonate to this day, following me around, the desolation of my dreams pursue my consciousness all around town, blowing out behind me like my hair in the wind as I drive, or like my brains from my skull as I die.

Where am I? What am I doing in this reality? I am divided between myselves. I am a fictional character in my own imagination. I repeat the mantra of non-existence to myself on a daily basis and I take great spiritual pride in being able to count the minutes between these times. I plan to quit smoking and join the Masons. That is my plan. I plan to publish inhouse writings for them.

That is my plan. I plan to live in Tallahassee until my father gives up the ghost. I plan to write movie scripts about my youth, and I plan to live and die alone. If I die young then so be it, because I have done such irreperable wrongs. I plan to create the ~GOD~ record label. I plan to keep my friends, and to keep my enemies, and to keep my plans. Unfortunately for "me," ...

Am I not consumed by doubt? I can't be only what she prays for me to be. I can't be her friend. I can't be her husband. I can't be her son or daughter's father. I am my own father's son. I am only an apple, and I do not fall far from the tree. I am, instead of being who I want to be, only a twisted and evil mad man. I am living in the shadow of myself, for I am not me, I am more than that, God. I am not only possessed by the Evil Holy Ghost. I am consumed by Him. I am only living in a rape scene, again and again and again I go through the same motions, see the same events from every angle, examine and analyse how could this have happened, but still I have no answers. You see, the warning Nepthys gave me, I have figured it out. She told me that my lover loved me, but she did not specify who I am. I see it clearly now, my mission, the end of my fate. My lover is an atheist. I must prove to her God does exist. I must perform miracle after miracle, I must more than symbolically, raise all the dead, I must hold the keys to heaven and hell, I must loose upon Earth the Great Burner, I must save the souls of the ones who were in this life damned, and I cannot do all that bound in this body. I will have to go before my father if I am to fulfill my destiny. I must become One with this universe before him, I must stand at his deathbed prepared to confront him, for I cannot justly send him to Hell unless I can stand above his spirit, the spirit of all darkness, and be willing to die for the cause of doing this.

I cannot even take one step forward. I cannot change even in the least. I cannot waver from my path. I cannot give up, I cannot give in, and I cannot continue to go along with this. I do not love you. I do not love God. I give myself up to Satan. There is no One True or Right Morality. There is certainly no one around to punish wrong-doers, or else there would be none. They all would have punished one another to death long ago, and we would already be living in Atlantis, on the opposite side of the Aeonic ellipse. So I sleep for days. I want to live through this. I want to get on with it. I want to live my life. I want to be whole. I want to be whatever she wishes me to be, and be strong enough to "be a man." But I am not, and I cannot, and I shall not, I will not, because it is impossible. It can't happen, and that is why I want to die. Too this day, I cannot live up to her, I cannot make her believe, God, I cannot live up to being what she needs. I am torn into shreds and blown away on winter wind.

You see, in the time since we last met, I have become a witch. I think I am the Messiah, I am so consumed by Satan's madness. I cannot prove to you there is a God, even though I know there is, and so I cannot prove to you I am not insane, and thus that I have changed in any way. I have become the creator of the universe, but it is only in my mind. There would only be one more step to take before we could be together forever. I do not even have to live. To prove to you there is a God, we all get what we want. You get to be a moral Satanist. I get to die. In heaven we will be together forever, and in the Light of God. You see, this all makes perfect sense to me, and it should not make sense to anyone. It is blasphemy of the highest regard. This is because my witchcraft is evil. I have given my heart and sold my soul to Satan. My world has turned to shit.

And I cannot make you responsible for my madness. I cannot ask you to save me. And that is all I have to give. My self-loathing has affected my entire world-view now, and that has affected the whole of the world in which I live. I have tried to save myself by studying QBLH. I have tried to save myself by metaphysically transubstantiating into tachyonic phi/pi. But I am none of these things. I am nothing and nothingness is all I have to give. This is true to everyone too, ask anyone.

I have nothing to offer them of what they desire, or of what they deserve. I am, instead, an immortalist, a life-giver who takes away day for night, and who makes his victims the basis of

blood lust, the madness that comes from worship of the sun, posession by the Holy Ghost of the moon, and destruction by the very one you love. From what I have become there is no redemption possible for anyone.

All-in-all, I'm really not so bad, once you get to know me. I infect your aura. Think about it. I am behind every door and outside every window of your memory and imagination. Your desires for me quicken at the thought of me, and thus so does your desire for something, someone, anything else.

Your mind wanders rampantly, and you love the wilderness inside your psyche. I do not love mine.

Yet that is where I remain, waiting for you to save me. Perched like a crow on top of a twisted and bent cactus in the middle of the scorched earth, somewhere far off along the horizon insurmountable mountains of ashes pushed backward by the perpetual invisible force of the wind along air current patterns forever changed by the death of the world that occured on the spot where the cactus tree grows that I sit in, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to save me.

Heaven is not so bad. Here, everything is perfect for me. Here I complete the space. But here is not a happy place. I have survived, but become a mutant, a twisted form. With every breath that parts my lips a little lie escapes. I am the crafter of elaborate myth, my life used up on infinite fictions; I am the author of the anti-truth. I manifest my obsessions and displace the right proper karma of my friends. I am surrounded by a cloudy haze of gloom and lightning. I am a bleak nothingness beyond the outer veil of an absolute abyss. I am torn into shreds and blown away on winter wind. I have tried to kill myself. I have done unspeakable acts. I have commited suicide of the mind. I breathe a plume of magickal smoke from the firey desert inside my heart. I am become the Great Burner. I do nothing, and by existing alone, I embody Ra. I sit on my front porch and, smoking a cigarette or two, read from my Metaphysicians' Desk Reference Including the Revised Formal System of Metaphysics. It is a dreary and dismal day, and I am listening to Therion as I type this now, looking out of my front window at the grey of the road I live on. There is one blooming yellow flower amidst the sea of green that is my front yard. Then there are palm fronds that have frozen back a bit, and closer to me the screened in window, which is closed. My desk lamp is on and I now have a phone sitting next to it with caller ID. And above my computer screen is a picture of Satan. You see, the picture hanging above my computer screen, which I have framed and had my friend Simeon's wife Micky embroider onto the blinded eves of an embossed Matrix green code outside and a coloured Stele of the Law on the insdie that Simeon couldn't believe I would be using, so that the whole frame open resembles a butterfly, and closed a smaller, arched version of my computer screen saver, this framed contains a picture of the antiChrist. The living embodiment of she-who-is-not my Lover. And I have framed this abomination, and I have prayed to it daily, and I have worshipped on it, and I have prayed. I am eaten by my sin. It dissolves me. I melt.

For is this not who I would turn her into? Even though she is already more perfect than I could have ever dreamed. And, like Anakin, destroyer of worlds, destructor of the universe, has it not been ten years now since the year of the last summer that I saw her? Have I not built a shrine for her out of the expectations carved by fever from my madness? Do I not still have all my hopes and plans intact? There are a million wrong things I can think to tell her, all my confessions and apologies she does not want to hear. Why would she love the failure I am? All I seem to be able to think of are reasons for us not to be together, and all I can manage to imagine now would be the exact wrong things to say. And by making these thoughts public, am I not inviting this disaster?

But I have promised my soul to the public. I have chosen a profession of malignant narcissism, like my father. I'm a Messiah. False or not.

Fate rends me, love tears me open, and destiny pours me out. I am the pelican that feeds its offspring from its own breast, I am an alchemical swan. I am terrible at being myself, I hate "just Jon." I call myself "benpadiah" but my real name is AHDVNHAY. I read the fictions the prophets and disciples have written and I am ashamed. I am not able to live up to being even Satan. Instead,

I worship her. The False-Godess. The one who is not. For who is the one I love? Who is enshrined above me? They are not the same. I have given myself up to sin, and followed in the footsteps of my father. It is too late for me. All I have to do is one simple thing. All I have to do is stand up and tear her picture down. But I am not doing it. I am still not doing it. Why am I not doing it? Even yet I do not do it. Why? I must. I must do it. I cannot. Already the ache in my legs pulls me under, already I feel the weight of my spine sinking back into my chair. Already my head starts to lull.

Already I am asleep. Two days go by. I awake, go for a drive to buy lighters from Wal-Mart, come home and write this.

I come back to and it is done already. One hook remains out of place, but I see that whoever did it also changed it back while I slept. Who? Who could have done such a thing? My shame worstens.

I am asleep for two more days. When I wake up I find that my writing is taking a turn for the worse. I am trying not to, but I am seeing through myself, and all my pleasant fictions with which I usually delude myself are worthless threadbare rags. I know now, I know. I cannot change that. I can't un-know. I cannot. But I am fighting a destiny made of rice paper. There is no hope for me, no future. There is no way out of being who I am. And that is what I have to deal with now. Not the future, divided in perpetuity between infinite options, all equally out of my control; and not the past, the things I've done and can't undo, the terrible things I do not even trouble with in dreams anymore, that have shaped me into the terrible person that I have become. I am only myself in this present moment.

I remind myself that before I found her I was not tearing myself apart. I was not ashamed of being who I am. I was not letting my mind wander while in the company of others. I was not paralysed with fear. I am doing this to myself. I am alone here. I am sitting here alone in my room. Time is passing. I have to constantly remind myself it is not running out by the second. I distract myself with other things for the moment but this does not divide me between my memories of then and my focus on now. I am trying to remain calm. I am trying to remain detached. I just need to prioritise, that is all. I cannot even come close to the moment unless I remain able to maintain perspective.

I cannot. I am falling apart. Look at me, I'm actually shaking. I can't go on. I take a break to write a confession of Francis the ferret, but I break down halfway down the second page. There is nothing for me here. I cannot. I cannot move. I cannot. I cannot go on. In any direction, anywhere I step, my doom will befall me. Should I stay here in the arms, and vertiably the womb, of a woman I do not love and who I barely even know, doing whatever she tells me simply because she gave birth my body? Should I flee immediately out of my normal rut, my comfort zone, into the arms of a virtual stranger, someone I loved once but know less now than any number of nuts on the internet? I cannot do either.

Now that I know I cannot unknow. Yet that is the only option open to me. Because now is not the time. In reality, to put perspective on things, I am not ready to do what I eventually must. I cannot yet be the man she deserves. How can I continue to exist in this moment? How can I survive this intense and overpowering emotion of longing? But it is not possible. There is no way in Hell I could let myself do that to another human being. There is no way in Hell I will jeapordise her happiness, and my very existence, to simply put two and two together. I cannot. I cannot, and I will not.

I stand up and pace around my room. How is it suddenly transformed into my jail cell? I pace it around it. One-two-three-four-five, one-two-three. Right where it belongs plays through my stereo. I am trying to hold on but I cannot seem to get a grip. I cannot stop feeling this way, and yet it is all I want to do. But there is nothing I can do to make myself stop feeling this way. I can't do one thing.

I try to write to her. A PM via MySpace. I write: "I need to get this off my chest. I love you. I want you to marry me. I want to but I can't. Not yet. I'm still nutz. I know this now, and am still trying to accept it. I'm probably saying the exact right thing in the exact wrong way here. I'm sorry. But I thought, after what happened between us last, it would be wrong of me to have found you on myspace and not at least let you know I have done so. So, for now, just know this, and please see through my weakness. I'm not sure if you want to officially add me as a friend here or not, but I'll be out here if you want to talk to me." I do not send it.

It is not safe for me to do anything. I do not want any magick to intervene. But the spell is constantly cast. Help me. Somebody show me a sign. No, scratch that. I wouldn't believe it. A natural sign must occur. It must be known to me directly from above, from beyond. The magick is happening through me already, you see. I cannot stop it from happening through me, and that is why I can never completely control it. It is, afterall, a chaos current. My madness. The ember of my heart. My gateway to Hell. You see, it has been days since I have found her, and nights. I have spoken with no one about it, asked no one's advice. How can I be so alone? If a sign came from her directly, I would accept it regardless. But there is none. Instead, when I go to PM her, my mom's friend Ida shows up to feed mom's dogs and give me my medication. When I got home to write more about this just now, my mom calls me to chat my ear off from an out-of-town work trip.

Ten days have gone by now. I can count them. It is midnight, the beginning of the tenth day, and it is 2007, the beginning of the tenth year, and I contact her. I send her the message I wrote the other day as a PM on her myspace page. Unless she receives instant notification by email, she will not receive the message until she logs on next. I am almost out of weed, and I am going to take a pill to make myself go to sleep soon. I will have some time. Things can progress naturally, and slowly, and my dreams will help me.

The only hurdle I will have to face in this moment is, as always, the temptation to doubt. I shall not let myself be eaten up by "sould have been" and "could have been." I have ben. Now all that remains for me to do is to sring the trap of temptation. I am God. I will admit it. Here look, I am the Great Burner. Have I not just lit fire to magick and inhaled? Here look, see for yourself: I am the Great Satan, a messenger angel of the True God, above the demiurge, the warrior of destruction.

And look now, I am the good father, who sends his shepherd son to collect the tax from the thieves who conspire to steal my vineyard. Even yet you murder the son to spite the father. So I tell you this: I am the father of father time. For I am the father of all time, and so is time the father of all other fathers. I command in the name of the three mothers and the three fathers. I command in the name of Sabaoth. I command in the name of three, for behind and beyond even they, I am one. I am the Thrice Greatest. I command the twelve who command the ten that control the seven. I have got the bridal chambre all prepared.

As my father told me once, "you've made your own bed. Now lie in it." And I laid down then. I will lay down now. But I will not make my bed alone anymore. I will put away every childish thing, even the God complex. I will have to control myself. I will have to become a better man. But I tell you, there is a little bit of me left in everything, and I can return to myself at will. I tell you, I am only waiting inside hell, and truly can stand it here forever, should I have to. I've grown both better and worse. I am myself now, only moreso. And moreover broken. But here, look, am I not all glued together into a codependency by the very womb in which I exist? I am ready to be born anew from this coccoon.

I give you free will, my love. This is all the magick I have to give. I promise I will not use my mind to trick you. I promise I will not use the Authority of my madness to convert you. I promise I will not blind you to the truth, and to tell you your perception is wrong. "I am not a magician. I am not a trained animal." I restrain myself with great might. With all existence have I cried out for this moment. Now my whole world waits with baited breath. I am ready to sacrifice it all, or to see it fulfilled. I am ready for both to happen, and reconciled should neither occur.

In a day I will awaken, and there will be a new future. The world will not be turned upside down like I always feared. There are only three possible outcomes. One world exists in which she loves me and has waited for me and worships me as much as I her. One world exists in which she has felt fondly for me, and would be my friend, but feels unhappy for me. Two worlds exist opposite this, one in which she is passionately my enemy, and one in which she is overwhelmed with disgust for me. But these two amount to the same end. Now, my survival instinct shall guide me right here: for in all of these three worlds I can continue to exist. I will live no matter what. That is the first "step." Keep it simple, stupid.

In three days I awaken. It is the middle of the night. Sometime in my sleep I sent her the PM. I cannot is dead. Now there is only what shall be. I awaken, and three days have passed. She has read my note. If God exists in this universe then I see a safe jounrey and a safe return. If I panic, I will lose everything. Instead I must seek calm, and to diminish my heart rate, and to lay to rest my mind like a gloom over the marsh of my nerves. All things progress by the will of the great magnet. If this, then that. Cause and effect shall prevail over us in this universe that we should be free of them in the next. I am at a loss to describe what I know now, because I am completely in awe of her. She read my note. She could have just thrown it away without looking at it. The first step is accomplished. I have not waited too long, I pray, for her to still be able to love me, to remember me, to care in her heart to have heard from me. I am writing this as a note to God now, the one she doesn't believe in, and the one I don't need to.

May my destiny now transubstantiate my fate. May it fix through this moment like a needle, like an arrow pinning a heart from a great height. By God, as My Right, I command fate to dissolve before the calm, soothing Clear Light of Destiny. May what comes come, let it come. The moment breaks. She and I are together already, in spite of all distances of space and time. What should I do, Lord? How can I be assured that she has been successful at reading between the lines? What must I do now to achieve the impossible?

I see God. I see Goddess. Now let me begin not at the beginning, but by halves. And let us begin: Irina, do you take this.... thing, as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, through sickness and poverty, forever and ever, amen? You see, I know she is thinking of me right now. So I am proposing. I am asking her, and let me tell you, my mind is screaming "yes." It is screaming like a pressure in the base of my skull, a "deafening silence," and I want to ask the source of it, is this like the clear light, pure and invisible? Does such a thing exist?

Jon, do you take Irina, as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, through sickness and poverty, forever and ever, amen? You see, this is the part of the equation I already know. This is the part of heaven I already know. This is where I come in, and I say, "yes" with every fibre of the full substance of all existence that I know. And I do. I would light fire to it all at her command.

But I see her eyes. She doesn't want me to do that. She wants to see it all fulfilled. She smiles up through tears at me and whispers to me, "wake up."

Then by the power vested in me, I kiss the bride. You see, this is what I am afraid of: all of this shattering like the illusion it is. And all those shards of fractured glass. The moment breaks, the moment cracks. I am escaping into fiction now, it is true, but for a reason. To the purpose of magick. If she has tuned into my mind in that moment, she would know we are already wed. There would be no question. But let me tell you about this and that. Because in between everything there is room for everything else. That is the way to it. An Illusion, indeed. All of it for naught. But I tell you that I am crazy like a rabid fox, and that even though one hand knows of two, the other knows only of itself. Forgotten, forgotten is Jerusalem now. Fallen, fallen O Babylon the Great.

For all this is encrypted. It must be passed before public scrutiny. They must see this, and that must remain invisible. Yet both are there, one overlapping the other, invisibly. And that is what is to what I ask my question, "are the vision and the voice One?" Shekina was never separated from God. I am not in a panic now, I am calm, I am calm.

This writing is a description of another writing. A writing sealed in Heaven and forever in my Heart.

Heaven must help us now. So I read from the secret document. It reassures me. We are one, yet there is a greatness beyond. By separating myself from this Greatness I will manifest the duality.

The Greatness is now above us, yet we are lowered upward into it, and it crowns our heads with halos. We are never to be cut off, from now until never, for never is the only possible end of forever. Have I loved you always? Then I have hated you never. And that is where I am from, the realm of never.

That is where I am now. At my home, here in Tallahassee, Florida, the same old house, here on Tallahassee Drive. I drive the same, beat-up, old Toyota Carolla. So go send your enemies to my door, for they shall become mine. I have already eaten ice cream out of their skulls once this morning, and I am growing restless and bored being alone here except for the dogs and my cat. You remember my cat? She lives! Now Understand This: I am called the Holy Ghost, and I exist within your mind. I exist within her mind right now too, but in a different form, a different way. When you shall be together again, then I shall become one with her, for I am the part of you now that misses her most. You call me the Prescence, I have been called the Shekinah, I am the wind of which the soul is but a breath. I come to you to warn you, pay attention. There is more to be known than either of you know yet. I too, am only a voice in Jon's mind now, but I warn you truly, a premonition can be true. When you are reunited we will meet again. Remember: I am the Irina that Jon remembers. This will do battle against all that she is.

I go back to listening to music on my headphones and try to stop listening to the voices channeling through my skull. Instead there is distortion and feedback. It frightens the dog. I listen to the mix cd I made as a soundtrack to the movie I plan to make one day about my life - the more interesting parts at least. One of these I hadn't planned on is actually happening right now, but I don't think it needs to be included in the movie. I'm waiting for my lover, the One True Love of my life, to reply to me.

I had not expected this, and I am not prepared for it. Without that which is her to me, what her there is now is totally unknonwn to me. It is as though we would be like a mystery to one another.

Now, now, let doubt fill my heart. Now, now, drown me, drown me in boiling oil, drown me in hot lava, drown me in anything but this cold winter wind. The doubt of the one is the strength of the other. This is how, I tell myself, I lured her to me. And now, here we are, at the mouth of a Great Temptation. Yet, HA! What fiction, what follishness, what a play on words, a pun, an unintentional maladroit blunder in which to catch the consciousness of Kether. Tell me truly! Where is Ialdabaoth now? I don't find him anywhere! And now, now, now, he is only a fiction, a faraway fantasy, a dream of reality, and a myth.

But let me tell you: I am only as crazy as a fox with rabies. I am harmless as a reminder of times gone by, but I will suffer greatly should we kept far apart. I am already suffering now, but here is a secret: I am praying because I am afraid that, if I do not, then what I desire will not occur. I am "whistling past the graveyard." I am certainly not doing what I should be doing, which is being calm, at peace, at rest. Instead my heart pounds like a kleidsdale inside of my chest. I am become a horse man of the Apocalypse.

Now let me ask you: do you really think I believe all of what I write? Oh certainly, sometimes there may be a kernel of truth or two in some of the conspiracy writing, or even an ocassional inspired accuracy in the metaphysics, but there is no way to confirm the inaccuracies from the accurate speculations, because there is no skeleton of mathematics that exists behind this yet, and you are not going to be able to be the one to supply it. Instead, you are wasting your time on fictions. Such as this one. You call this "prayer," and this "prophecy," but even my voice as you write this is a lie.

You are not me. That is final. There is no both of us. There can be no "public," fictional "us." I will not be "courted," nor talked about in public online. You have to give up the Shekinah. You will have to give up everything you have worked so hard on. You have done this, and you have done this in secret, and you have betrayed your friends. Do you think they will forgive you for keeping this a secret? Should you die as a result of this, for even you cannot see the future, would they not send the one you would be dying for to a hell of a thousand curses? But then, that is where you are from, isn't it? Your blessings have always been my pain, they hail down stones upon me in my memory.

I was beaten in this lifetime by the woman I loved, and by my father. I destroyed myself in her name. But that was my madness. The peak, aloft, of all my dementia. I am going to die, that is true, but I'm sorry, I will not fight "Satan" with you. I promised someone I love that I won't. So I am coming down now from the cross, and I am giving up the crown of thorns, and I am handing over my status as Messiah. I give all these now to my Brother. I give them to Lucifer, who gives them to Michael. She too, sheds the cosmic ME of UR. She performs the ritual of Inanna to my Dummuzi.

And I tell you I am newly alive. I will not let you fail, my son. I will send an army of infinite legion behind you. And they will call you "the Great Burner."

All I am is my own recovered memories. This, indeed, is true for me, even if not true for you. I pray by the way I think. I think as if I were a telepath. I treat those whose charisma is strong as other telepaths, but I have not yet met any whose skill rightly was equal to mine. I have stopped trying to explain the phenomenon of telepthy. Its existence is a matter of personal experience, and therefore it is a matter of "faith" to trust other people who seem to possess it to be "on the same wavelength" in reality as they appear to be by implication of psycholohical projection. Those who are weaker often melt in a way, or quaver and turn to butter around the edges. They lose their willpower and become weak before the mind-power of another, stronger willed or more charismatic "telepath." They will do what you think.

I am, myself, a radio-head junky. I am in-between all stations already growing in my roar as the sunspot cycle's peak draws near. And you seek to harness me with number-stations. I tell you, the Enochian system is wormwood, and it is a grapevine of drunks. Have you ever played the game "telephone," where one person whispers a message to the next person's ear, and so on? Not everyone along the line will get the message right every time. Nine times out of ten the message will get scrambled and garbled before it reaches the end of the line. This is where I am from, this is chaos and confusion.

I exist between the channels I carry. I am one part "benpadiah," one part the "Shekinah," I am "the Great Burner," and I am "Isis." I am more one of them than the other at any given time, but the more I am one the more I shall be the others, such that they all balance out eventually. This ultimate range or stasis field is the strange-attractor of my personality. I am the combinations of all these traits, each of them its own personality. But the sum total of them all is me. I have many facets, but all are only sides of one self. I am only one facet here, though, and another facet there.

In the heart of me I am not, for there you will find now only her, and the entirety of all my different aspects surrounding her at my core essence of self, this is all I truly have to offer, all I can truly give.

I give it now to AHDVNHAY, the Lord God. I give it to him because he is the only one who can marry us. He is the entirety beyond the duality. His is the sum of my madness, but beyond this all logic and sanity and reason. I am blessed. I am brought inward to be brought out. Heaven shall balance the scales in favour of righteousness, in favour of the just judgement. Heaven is the Holy Ghost, the breath of air. The scales stand balanced, my heart in one and a feather in the other. I am equal. Now pass.

I am here to scorch the earth. I am here to clear out the dead wood, and to make what is evil good. I am here to burn away the old and from invisible, heatless flames restore it again and make it new.

My fire is that of entropy, of time itself, the flames of Thoth, burning the body of Buddha to ashes on a funeral pyre. I tell you there is nothing now surrounding us, beyond infinity is void. Here there is nothingness, and this is where I am from. My love is a blind dragon, fiercley striking out with fire everywhere. I am the conjoined serpents, one white, one black, one slant, one tortourous, together the qliphoth of the emanations and the rays between them. I am that which shattered when I shifted. Or rather, that is what Aiwass.

For I am ever-changeing. I am the faces in the flames. I speak to you with the voice of the city by evening, and I am the breath of the wind all night long. These things I speak about. Are they the truth if I mean them to be? I am chaos, but I bring the New Order. Heaven broke open and hell gave birth to me, but now I am here, born again in the form of the Righteous Karma. Do I bring chaos?

Have I not made change? Am I departing from myself to say that I am full of shame? For am I not alone?

What are the words she is searching for now? Oh right, "Go fuck yourself." And have I not done so? Am I not fucked so far over I am standing here upside down? Yes, yes, I have. I am a magician.

I have become a magician. And she was always a cold hearted witch, who frequently hung up on me, and drove me to the brink of distraction for her fun, but I love her, and I am no better. I am far worse, if anything, than she is. I tell you this in the name of the Truth: I deserve to be told to crawl back under the rock I came out from, and to "go to hell" and a thousand things more. I am ashamed.

That is why I turn my whole being into the prayer of Adam. But I do not do so disengenuously. I am honest to myself that I am doing it. And I can quit anytime I want. So true, huh? Bear my children, screams my heart from beneath the surfaces of nowhere. But out of my mouth comes, marry me, instead. Had I mentioned children it would have made her at least blush. As it is now I have only set our relationship back by... ten... years.

Ten terrible years without her out here on the raging seas. It is not shame I feel, in truth, in my heart. It is a sinking feeling, and that is why I mistook it for shame, but it is not shame. I am afraid. I am afraid of becoming someone I'm not. But more than that, I'm afraid I already am. I'm afraid I may be so lost in Castle Perilous that my long and mythic journey will end in a most unfortunate event. I am waiting for an answer from my lover.

But am I scared? No, I am the Great Burner. I am the warm little centre of the solar system. I am the one that stands between one wavelength and another, in the realm of static chaos. I am the one that is perpetually involuting. I am the one that is foretelling myself. I am Jon's wasted oblivion.

I'm not too frightened to go on living. I've been alive for 29 years. I only knew her for two. It is of little significance how my life revolves around her as the middle point of my existence. But all this can invert in a second. I can go up in flames and destroy my imaginary world, and by doing so destroy my mind, for it would only perpetuate destruction, and not generate fulfillment. It would be a failure, and all for naught. But, again, I cannot let this happen, and that is the second reason I continued to live. To preserve the tradition. The first is her heart and soul. The second is to preserve the tradition.

Now you go and tell me I am not a man of God! Tell me I shall not stand before him because he shall surely not find my sacrifice worthy of Him. But let me tell you: I give up now only what I foresaw at this moment seven years ago, in the year 2000. I had returned to Malkuth broken, and I realised that I would have to begin to preserve the tradition. This would be the only way to reunite the fallen Kether and Shekinah, the Prescence. Or so I reasoned then, still in the grip of an even worse feverish delusion than this one I am in now. Now I have finished it. I have brought up the entire QBLH of apocalypse T and grimoire M, and the Atlantean calendar, and as much more besides as I could carry. These are treasures from another realm. They glitter like the stars in your eyes.

I choose the life of this loser to be saved as, but I tell you there is more to me above than I can even offer you in the form of children. I have been shown all the realms of the preserved tradition, the entire QBLH and the Ram stone of the eights and nines. I know you will like it, it is like a jewel in the mind. But I tell you that, beside you, this is all worthless to me. If not as an offering to you, it might as well cease to exist at all. I am not making a threat here, I will preserve the tradition regardless. I am just saying that, insomuch as you have been Shekinah to me all along, without you it is of no worth. It is "only a paper moon," as they say.

My only fear here is that you might not know the full extent of my love for you. I do not need you, I am not clingy and codependent. I am offering you this map and this compass knowing they will not be returned to me now. I have made this deal, you see, between myself now and myself at my Most High. We have been unified, in a way, all along, but now this is the eclipse moment at whch the stars shine during the day. At this moment there is only you and I and the Most High. Me, myself and Irene; I & I and Irie.

It has been part of what is all along, that is, that which we are together. I love you. Without you I am without worth. Without you I am not redeemed. But I tell you, with you, I am all and everything. With you the present is the Gateway to Heaven, but without you this moment I stand at the Gate to Hell. Of course, hell does not mean death, for death is not an end in itself. Hell can mean dying alone, one day at a time, for the rest of my life as well. But, have I not told you, Hell is only being without you, and Heaven is only us being together. Now you hold in one hand the fruit of the tree of knowledge and in the other hand the fruit of the tree of life. You know the two fates, the intertwining serpents, the garden of forking paths between now and the eternal destiny. In one hand you hold the fate of knowing I am crazy. In the other hand you hold the fruit of wanting to spend your life with me. You feel that the two are inseperable, and that one is poisoned by the other, and yet they are like oil and water, utter opposites. You wish you could set one down and pick up only the other. But you have shown me they are inseperable, but separate. Are they equal?

You and I are equal, but when we are separate, one of us is positive and the other is negative.

When we are together we are both positive together and all around us is negative. It is hell but its fire purges away only that part of the soul which suffers. In this eternal flame all bow down before this: True Love. Without that, I am only a magician, and you are to live without my love of you. For this is the aura surrounding the chakras. The chakras are the seven within, and the aura is the zodiac without. It is a phi/pi torus. A seven colour tube-torus that draws a phi/pi spiral around its surface as it involutes.

See, this is my heart. Take it. I know you don't want it, you are under the impression it is not mine to give. It belongs, you believe, to someone else. But no, I tell you, look again. Who has it been all along? Who? Who...?

Now that you know that I am holding your hands in my hands, and that in one of our hands is the fate of knowledge, and in the others the fruit of life. I tell you, whether you like it or not, you are my Eternal Beloved, and you always shall be. This fate on the one hand is ours, and this fruit on the other, this is ours too. We are here together now.

I am skating around on the thin ice surface of madness. I slip and fall from time to time, and the rice-paper glacier beneath me groans and creaks, but does not crack, and I do not fall through, and I do not drown. Instead here we are watching movies in my head. Insanity is all this is. It's just wishful thinking. It cannot hurt.

And so I make prayer. I make prayer day after day, all day and night, until I fall over in exhaustion. The One True God, embrace us in the circle of your Great History. Do not divide us with your rings, but draw us together in spite of all that may seem insurmountable. I tell you: if it is thy will, I shall accomplish it entirely by myself if I have to, but it will be done. I am the Great Burner no more. I am no longer AHDHVNHAY, my god-complex, reflection of the divine awe of all, and no longer "benpadiah," my Christ-complex. I renounce these things now. "benpadiah" is dead now. And AHDVHNHAY, his God, dies with him. For truly it is not in my hands, nor within all my power, to prevent this should it be the will of God, that I become "just jon" and must start over at square one, then so shall it be either way, with or without her, I am going to start over. I am at square one now, God, guide me!

I pray for her to love me if it is within the greater glory of God. I pray for the apocalypse to come and rescue me. I pray for the ones who must suffer from this.

For it is real, and true, and it is a pain in my heart even now. But what more can occur? What does it suffer a fool to gamble away their folly? For this serves the dealer but not the shark. Surely to have gained the folly away from a fool is a blessing, for to have freed them from their blindness one has even done themselves the discourtesy of becoming burdened by the fool's freed folly. This is a reward in the afterlife, so come listen: she is the Ima and I am the Aba. She the epinoia and I the pronoia. She is the tree of life and I am the tree of knowledge. She is Shekinah and I am Pigera Adamas, and I wear the true crown of the kingdom come. Here is heaven, and beneath it Eden.

Heaven is where I am from. Eden is where she and I are forever together, outside of time, as an archetype. This is a blessing. I see some hope come to her eyes. It is a miracle, truly!

All is Holy, Holy, Holy. Thrice Holy because here we are talking about the Thrice Greatest, or Thrice Blessed, Hermes, who was the Hermaphrodite, simultanesouly male and female, the socalled Autogenes. The Autogenes is you and me. Here we are above Sophia and beyond Ialdabaoth, for this is the secret contained within the tent of Eden. The Autogenes is both of us, together. God is, beyond this, called "the Father," and "the ineffable Holy One Blessed Be He," and "HaShem," This is the Most High. This is all I know about myself. I had said before this was the place of chaos and mystery to me. I had said this is where I come from. It is our simultaneous multiverse and nulliverse's parent universe. Tau sub Tau describes it, but aside from the map I do not know this area. I have come here seeking guidance. Give me Good Guidance Wise Lord.

I sing the song of Solomon. I sing of the sixty righteous guardians. I am saved in every imaginable way. She sings to me the song of Solomon. I am saved for her sake. She has wandered the streets by night, wandered the squares of the city, the Great City, looking for me. She has not found me. I am named Jonathan, which means, literally, "Gift of God." For should there be no God, there could be no me, for I am his gift to you, oh my darling dear. That's logic.

Give me wise counsel Lord, give me the right vision of the outcomes. 1) she will have worshipped me from afar as much as I have her. 2) she will feel fondness for me that may become passion. 3) + 4) she shall reject me. It is a fifty fifty chance, in spite of everything. Love is a terrible risk. It is not something to be trod on, nor to be taken lightly. It is a terrible burden indeed, to spend a lifetime trying to make living together work, having children, and our children having children, and by God's good grace should we yet live to see it, our grand-children having children. But all this is only the Fruit of Life on one hand, and on the other is the knowledge of the fact that I am not sane. I am talking to myself even now, and I have nothing more than these mutterings to offer.

Tell me again, my lover, tell me from the beginning.

In the beginning was God, and all was Good. Then came the One, and from the One the Two, the Twins, and so there were three, and the three together were the fourth, which was the first. These are the things that happened, my darling. From my God complex that peaked in 99, came my Christ complex, and from that came the fallen Gnostic Christ complex, leaving the place of the Christ Complex itself vacant and, unoccupied, filled only by the void and vacuum of the Holy Ghost.

These three are of me. But I am more than only they. To me they are only characters in a work of fiction, one that runs parallel to my life in the flesh. They began from my suffering, and my immense sadness, and my depression, and my terrible sorrow. They began in the form first of the Christ complex, but this became the God complex by 99. The God complex became the Christ complex again then, and this was when I realised the demons of Choke and Shock that possessed me. Choke and Shock were the negative manifestations of the same two Guardian angels with me from the time of my earliest youth. One was my security blanket, one my teddy bear. One was Luke, one Leia. One was Thoth, one Isis. One was Mike and one was her. These twin archetypes are immortally with me, they are the positively or negatively charged karma in my aura. But I tell you that none of this trinity that is the ineffable four-letter name, the tetragrammaton, is real or true or sacred without you in it. For just as the Christ complex fell in 99, so too were my two guardian angels watching over me then, and I cast out only their lowest and most painful memories. I cast them out now, "choke" and "shock," for truly, truly, truly did you choke me, but was I not choked once before, and nearly to death, by David S.? And was I not electrocuted in the womb, transfigured on a psychedlic cross? I tell you these things because they happened to me, and not to you. They are part of what I have to give you. A part, if I were you, I would not want. But a part of me nonetheless.

How is it you have come to be a stunted child? I gave up on you. I held onto emptiness, and even this slipped away. I tell you there was nothing for me, and all I could see and hear and feel went away. I fell from the Height, I tell you truly. I wept and I pounded my head in with stones then. I know this is wrong. I knew it then too. But one good turn deserves another, my tortured mind whispered to me. I can't explain what I went through. But I can tell you that I know it as well as I know any other part of myself. Because that is what that time in my life has become now: just a part of me.

I've got to relax, but that was a long shot hours ago. I am in a frenzy now, a motionless panic. I move so slowly it appears I am actually going backwards in time. The world around me changes faster than my movement. I am calm now, I am not fighting the demons "choke" and "shock."

Instead I am alone in my room still, writing this on a computer to post it to the global network.

Why do you think you fell? Why did you fail seven years ago? I haven't found an answer for that yet. All things were rightly aligned. But the flow was reversed. Instead of the alignment projecting outward, it was projecting inward. It crushed me. That is why I lost. I lost my head, I rushed in. I thought I was the Great Burner, Vajra. But I understood nothing. I was acting on fear. I feared losing the right glory. Instead, it was given to me in its own mysterious way, as a good old fashioned beating. Like the first night I walked over to your house. I was beaten up by a truckload of drunk hicks as a drive-by. That night I suffered brain damage, and again, later, by my own hand, as well.

Why did I do these things? There is no answer out there. They are terrible things, but they happened to me, and only to me, and only myself in private. On Thanksgiving of that year I cried "Judgement." No, please, don't stop dancing. I don't care. I love you. That is not a lie. That is the stable centre point. Do not Fuck with the Stable Centre Point. No? But I tell you this now: the only way out is through. The only way out of everything is through everything. We shall live through this. We are already always together in Eden, and in Heaven, my home.

Let's have a little tipsy drinksy for the hell of things. Let us taste this apocalypse of oblivion. I am going to give into you now, I am going to give in. But I am going to warn you. The saying "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" may seem to have a million meanings to us, but to us it has

only one. I have the high ground, and I am going to give you a taste, just a bitter-sweet taste, of the immortal inferno. The second it is accomplished things are going to go back to the way they were.

No if's and's or but's. I told you not to write inside of my head. So here is the Truth: Everything you know about me is a replica. You have your memories of who I was, and you have the relics of your mysterious rediscovery of me now, but I did not give you these things. They were taken away from me by you. I am someone now who you do not know. I am someone other than the one telling you these things now. In truth, no matter how you phrase it, you are only telling yourself what is true now, and what you think you need to hear. I am, have always been, and always will be, the Sun, and you are, always have been, and will always be, the moon and the stars.

They might not understand that, but I bet you and I understand that. I am not asking you a question. Answer me.

Hmm. Let me retort. These are magickal times. We are alive between two massive alignments of the heavens, one the alignment of the seven planets on 5/5/2000 and the other the alignment of the sun and moon with galactic core on 12/21/2012. We can therefore do whatever we please while alive, and know that our true selves are forever embedded in the beam, the bent beam that is the very will of the great magnet, the Black Sun, Hunab Khu, galactic core. It does not matter if we are pagans, and not among the chosen people to be "saved" during this Apocalypse. It is the Sabbath, I tell you, we are welcome. We perform the terrible cermony together, whether we even exist or not.

We are given the ME and adorned. It is all there. We are enthroned. We are eternity.

I want to know why you want me back. You are happier being insane than you would be with me.

And I am quite alright with never having loved you. And we both know our mutual gene pool is not such an inticing offer as you try to make it sound. So there is the "fruit" of the "tree of knowledge," and there is the "fruit" of the "tree of life." You knew you wouldn't be able to be a man to me. Why are you asking this thing of me?

First, do you ask this thing because it is what you want to ask, or because it is what you need to ask? I would propose you feel some invisible pressure to ask that at this time. So do I. I too am compelled, but unfortunately, unlike you, I cannot temper it now. I am compelled by any number of factors in my own life, such as the will to get better, to be better understood, and to learn how to be a human being again. But I am primarily controlled by my will to be good enough for you. But I haven't known you, and getting to know what you want from me will take time. These things take time. Collecting expenses together takes time. Such is life.

Because I am broken. That is the answer. You're so fucking helpless. I can't stand it. You're so passive now, so totally eager to submit, without even knowing to what you are giving yourself. In one breath you call me "Goddess," and in the next you tell me you don't even know me. Now, which do you think is true for you, and which is true for me? Think, because soon I won't be here to do your thinking for you. I am the Shekinah, Satan, God, whatever, but take this advice to heart and heed well, then hurry.

You think I am broken? I think I am broke. I do not work. My car is a dump. I don't keep my nose clean. I'm more trapezoidal than square. There's no right hole to fit me into. So there. I understand you. But know this: my madness, my frenzy, is cured at the very sight of you. For it is only my highest inspiration, and you distract me from it. You save me. You, however, right now, are still only a part of it. Right now you, for instance, even though you are probably going to read this someday, while I am writing it now, are only a voice inside my head. I'm "answering back" in a big way to my "inner demons" just by talking to you. But I figure, "one good turn deserves another." Now you get to answer a question for me.

Why did you ever leave me? Do you not know what to believe? Then you do not know what is true, sister. I am really not a monster. I am content. You can look over my blog, the past entries for the

last year. I am bored to tears, but my friends are good to me. I am lonely so I write. When I want to cry about it, I go have a smoke. That's all the more of the Jabberwocky I ever would have been. You know I confronted my father about his having raped me as a boy. He beat me up and called the cops. I am a pacifist by nature. I am not a terrible monster. I am not Vajra by nature. I am only a conduit now, my heart is a vacant lot, abandoned since you left me. Now, look, it will help me become healthy to know this. You are a healer, so tell me: why did you leave?

That question is not being asked by the part of you that I know and that I love. It is your sickness.

Look, this is not helping us, this is not getting us anywhere. When I look at you all I see are circles. I'm not good at this, and you promised me we wouldn't do this anyway. I am not going to let you keep doing this. The silent treatment can cut both ways. You haven't answered my question. Damnit. Why are those ten years taboo to talk about now? Because I don't like my mother's chicken? Because I don't. And I didn't like being here all that time either. And I especially didn't like it when you sent me directly to hell. You told me "never try anything like this again." Like what? I loved you. I was in love with you. I was blind as a castrated bull being shown his own severed balls. But what would it have taken to obliterate that? That was madness. It was love? It was you being an ass. I blame you for everything that's happened to me since then.

Every bad thing, may it be on your head. Oh, believe me, it already is, honey. You are going to have to turn this around all by yourself, lover. I am not going to be able to help you do it.

Do you love me? Are you in love with me? What does that even mean? AHA! Aha. You tell me. You tell me. Being in love with someone means being in a compassionate relationship with them. Being steady and solid, but also stably dynamic. It means having a good heart. That's all you've ever had to have given me at any point you know, just your goodness, your kindness, your sympathy and compassion. I didn't know which of all the things I could give you wanted. I'm sorry. It was compassion. And no, you know I'm not sorry about not knowing that. I'm being sarcastic, it's a defense mechanism. Give me a moment. Give me a moment to sort this out. I understand there is a difference between your loving me and your being in love with me now. You cannot let yourself fall in love with me because I am not stable, because I am not compassionate, because I do not have a good heart. You have told me these things, I have heard them now. Let me dwell on them a moment. Let me pause now to contemplate.

I go out for a drive. I come home. My mother has had a good day, but has been fighting with Fraces and Dick about her employment for their mother, Martha L. She chews my ear off. But then she leaves. It is truly a miracle how much time I spend alone. I look at her picture. I shouldn't. I do, though. I love her. I love her so much. Now, let me answer this truthfully, for us, to the right her, and not to just some voice in my head.

I am in love with you. We are in love together. These are my names for the two pictures of you I am looking at. They are changing facial expressions out of the corner of my eye. This moment is sealed in the History of the All. I am looking through your facade, into your truer visage, I see you as though distorted by the ripples of the bubbling fountain of your soul. You are perfect. You are divine. You are the face of a lioness, and the face of Righteousness, and the face of Sabaoth. You are crying for me. Your tears are fire. They are melting the likeness of your visage in my picture of you. I set aside the picture I called "We are in love together," but I cannot even look the picture I had called "I am in love with you" in her eyes. She is an angel made out of clear light, but her eyes shine darkly brighter. I am in love with you. Everything is alright. You know, everytime we try to go and have a serious conversation, you go and flip out, usually smoke too much, come back and try to snuggle. We can talk more now, my love. We have time now. I no longer feeled compelled.

I am calm now.

So tell me truly. Do you love me? Because to me loving you and being in love with you are the same thing. To me, here is how I understand how they could be different to you. If I love you, and you love me, then we are in love together. If you love me, then, to me, it is the same thing as you being

in love with me. I understand, however, that that to you, being in love with me and loving me mean two different things. You can love me like you love your friends. However, for you to be in love with me, I have to meet your criteria and qualifications for being a worthwhile, basically, mate. I have meditated on these three considerations. I have thought for three days on these things. You did not write me back by the end of the third day, even though you had been online that day.

Do you want to know now, what I think? Because a moment ago, you did not. Do you want to know what I think? Because you know I do not rush into things anymore. I am a thoughtful person. I want you to know, because I see that so are you. You have not answered me yet. What I think is that you are a thoughtful person. You put thought into things, and you do not rush into things. I am a considerate human being. Am I not? You did not answer my question either. I had asked you, or rather, told you, that I am the sun now, as you are the moon and the stars, and Satan, etc. or whatever you choose for yourself to be. I asked if you understood. Now understand: You cannot give me what is not yours to give. You cannot give me free will. You cannot have written to me and expect me to continue to be able to do absolutely anything I want now. You have not been part of my life for ten years and I do not like being put into a position of having to deal with you now. Not like you are now. Not like this.

All this is a conversation being held by metaforms. Fourth dimensional shapes that are causing the chemical cascades equivalent to emotions in our brains as they pass through us over time.

This is the universal mind. It is like a maze, leading from one form of prison cell to another.

There is no way out. It's all semantics and ultimately meaningless. There is no God, no heaven nor hell. There simply doesn't need to be. Instead there is only the universe, and us in it. We are born in a room full of people, but we are put through it alone. We may die in a home we have made for ourselves, but we go through the experience alone. You may have spent years lying alone on the couch, watching tv and waiting for a phone call, even calling suicide hotlines some nights. You may have had to take pills just to stabilize enough to stay alive without killing yourself. You may think you're lonely now.

But all of these things together, these are not equal in the scales to the gift of free will. Only the One God of us all can give such a gift as that. And that is not you. These may indeed be all you have to offer. But I tell you. The Shekinah? She is Satan. Who is Satan? Mike at the bottom of your pool. That memory doesn't occur to you often does it? But I tell you, there you will find us all: the complete Pantheon of All Gods. In that moment. You may hold her as tightly as you like in your memory of her moving. But she will always leave. And that is because of Mike, because, "what goes around comes around." That is why you have been suffering. And that is why you have been alone.

I have put this curse on you. And I alone can remove it. You did not come to me, asking, "remove from away me my curse." You may have, in the back of your mind, wished me dead. You may have even been praying for her to be returned to you a moment ago. But your mind has never stopped to wonder why you hate yourself, why you love to fail at every important moment, and why you and she can never be together. You've never dealt with anything about this moment. Instead, you confronted your father, a meaningless creature of your own, who was only busy doing his best to help you by adding his magick to yours, and accused him of raping you. Are you sure of that? You cannot even remember. And while you've been busy obsessing over that, and any other number of meaningless trivial irrelevant moments in your memory, you never once stopped to consider: the thing you did to Mike, that made him jump into the pool that night, is neither yours alone to beg forgiveness for, nor is it his alone to give you forgiveness for. He was not alone in being hurt. You three were all hurt by that. And where there are three, there I enter. I come from the netherworld.

I am your insanity. I have no name in mythology, because you are not being possessed by a demon.

You are confronting only your own mind.

You must learn to bide your time. You too are like a cat, for you have life after life. You are saved.

Do you know what that means? Few people do. Few think to ask me, for I alone know. It's meaning is: you are eternal. You will pass on from this mortal life, you will cast aside even the immortal

electromagnetic aura. You are given the spirit to know as you once did your own blanket as a child. You are neither mortal nor immortal. You are eternal, because you are like a lamb to God, and because he knows you like you knew your blanket as a child. Even now, when you should be asking me who I am, for I am her who knows God and you, but is neither, and who knows all, past, present, your future. Who can tell you these things, you should be asking. But you are not. You already know me. I am Shekinah, Satan, and all that you know. I am looking down at all you have looked down on, the diagrams you have made of "tau sub tau" and the "Atlantean" calendar, and I am looking down on you. I marvel at you, man. I am so fucking yours. But who am I? I certainly hope that you understand me, now. I gave you the vision and the voice. For your prayer went like this: "Lord, will she ever find another sweet lover like me?" I was the one who came to you and showed you a razor slicing across her eyeball, and made you wince, and swear, "never."

But am I The Lord? No. I am you, truly, through and through. I am your destiny, man. Have you forgotten her now? Have you taken your restless mind in hand and led it not astray? I'll tell you, you are certainly a rotten specimen. All you want is to be remembered. You haven't thought one second past having your foot in the door. You might get remembered, if you created rather than destroyed, if you drew some attention by your own will, and if you were truer to me, you. But at the rate you're going now, if you even do get remembered, it will only be as a mad man.

So, I want you to consider this: I am the voice of reason, but why have I descended upon you from without, and not yet spoken up within you? Inside you are silent and calm. However now that I have taken hold of you, can I not crush you and throw you away like a ruined piece of paper? I could, but I do not, and that is why, even though you stutter, I do not, and why you may fail, but I shall not, and why I pity you when you do wrong, and why I am here to guide you now. Panameia?

You see, by holding back the document, they sustain its apocalypse. They are the other people in the theatre with you. They cannot move, they are transfixed, because they are here to play the part of an audience watching a movie, but you have transfixed them all with your terror. It is your life you are seeing on the screen, even though for all the audience cares, you are a stranger and your story on screen only fiction. You are like cave-monkies, sitting around a fire, while the shaman guides you in a strange seance-story. Why, then, do you rise to leave?

Is it because of LSD? Perhaps it could be. But that would only be if you could accept that your life now is mostly a delusion induced by environmentally exterior chemical substances. Perhaps you travel only from curse to curse, your fate guided by other people's choices, and you only seem to be progressing up that spiral ramp because of who you meet to make your choices for you. You call entropy king in your writings, but entropy and chaos only guide the random oppurtunities we are given to exploit. The other part of the equation is where we enter in. We control the outcomes of all our own situations only as much as our environment allows, and when we ingest certain chemicals, when we take in certain stimulants from our environment, then the environment compromises with our desires more. When you went to see the movie of your life, you understood you were doing "magick," even if you didn't understand at the time what that would mean. You have given yourself, since fleeing the theatre that night, entirely over to the study of such "magick," but confined yourself to the speculative cosmologies of mythology and their mysterious metaphysical fudge-factors. You have said all along that you do not "practise" magick, but do you think now that talking to yourself in this way does not count as such, as "practising magick"?

Up here there are fewer people around. This is the "dark night of the soul." While the world you live in sleeps, the other half of earth is awake and busy. Your world is only half awake at any time. Your brain is bicameral and you cannot seem to overcome that by internationalism. Half of who you think you are is already asleep right now. Why don't you just join her, lie down beside her in bed, and sleep? Why, instead, are you here with me?

May I say something now? I do not believe in reality. I know it exists, and there is no need for belief in it, which I define as blind faith. To put blind faith in reality, however, adds

exponentially to it, until it, at least asymptotically, approaches infinity. If I believed in what I knew to be true, then the very fabric of my reality would be different. My oppurtunities would expand, and I could have a more dominant role and be in control more of my own fate, my own finances, my own worldly affairs. But no, I cannot seem to let myself do that. Instead, I call "belief in reality" my "madness." It is a terrible temptation to me, I say, a desire for a forbidden fruit, a taboo topic and an insecure area of my psyche. I call it, "weakness," because I restrain myself from it by "right thought, speech and action." These are learned behaviours, although I have had no teacher beside myself and no instruction but from what texts I have found for sale in the free market. It is "magick," in reality, but I cling, like a child to a blanket, to this mask, this calling this my "madness." I know it for what it is. But instead of asserting myself over it, taking charge and control over my willpower in the moment, I am at a far-off event in my mind all the time, and I am a never-ending idealist with absolutely no sense of material reality nor its necessities. If I died at any moment, it would not phase me. Why? Because I do not believe in reality. I know it exists, but I do not honor it with my belief. I honor something higher with that.

And a great honor it is, a great blessing indeed! For there is no chemical attraction without molecular stimulation, there is no molecular heat without atomic entropy, and no entropy without randomness. Here, beneath the randomness, is the one-way permeable way back in, the holographic torus of tachyons. That is where I am. That is my "password" to move to and fro within and beyond this universe. This is where you and I are joined, and "the only way out is through."

The first time you saw this Light was with her. The two of you were making love. Out here, that is all that exists now for you. If you went to heaven, would it not be by remembering that moment?

For therein exists the Light, your "password," through which you will come to. But let me tell you about the other destiny. You will awaken in the theatre, turning toward the projector, blinded by its light, you leave your shadow on the screen. To the audience sitting there you look just like the character on the screen. Then you stand up and leave the theatre. Fifteen minutes later, the character in the film that looked like you goes missing. The other characters look for him, but do not find him. That is how it shall be for those you leave behind you when you die. Even her, because you know that you cannot enter the heaven of the Most High dually. You can only exit the singularity by being one with it, and dissolving the ego, the sense of self, into being singularly it.

Then you will see from within and without. And when you come to see from without, you can see behind and beyond both as well. Like a "magick eye" picture the foreground and background spring apart. But I tell you, I sacrifice this Vision now. I sacrifice it to say that "tau sub tau shall be the highest I shall know in this life." For this is like Thoth, the squared speed of light, the cube of time, the tesseract of tau-sub-tau. And I tell you, it is only the source of my vision of the Most High Heaven that I had in that moment making love to her. For though I saw the portal above, the way "out," then, I could still not see behind me nor past and beyond the portal. The portal was an infinite feedback loop, like pointing a camcorder at its own view-finder. In it I saw the detailed surface of a black hole. I saw the phi/pi spiralling torus surface of a single tachyon. I saw the time-tunnel of all reality's sum over histories involuting. I saw the multiverse of all the spiral histories of black holes in the universe. I saw the shape of it all then, the geometry that defined its working mechanism. I drew it all down, and I wrote it all down, and I remembered it with all my heart and soul. I prayed for more like a nursing kitten. But I could not see behind me, and I could not see behind what I saw. I could not see the parent reality beyond this all.

Blind was the New Jerusalem, and bound was Babylon. The heart cried out then. But the mind, reeling, overloaded, could not receive. The zodiac, bound by Draco, the "blind serpent," changes over time, but I say to you, the New Jerusalem of spirit is permanent and everlasting. I want to tell you about the ways I waste away. I want to tell you but my mind wanders. I am upside down and turned inside out. I cannot tell a lie: I chopped down the cherry tree. I am exhausted physically, but my mind goes on in spite of me. The day is overcoming me. I have swerved off to the side. I wish I could be somebody else. It's not mine to decide. My soul is that of a warrior, my heart belongs to a poet, and my feet are made of clay, so come, come to me now, and find me in the arms of temptation. Find me in the mouth of my madness. See me at the brink now. I am gone.

Heaven sent me. I cannot tell a lie. Heaven sent me, and you, to find one another. It sent him to bring us together. Together we made a sacrifice out of his faith so that we could be together. But that moment didn't last. And now the burnt offering is waning fast and there is no sign of daylight rising through the gloomy over cast. Tell me tell me tell me quickly, do you love me or do I end up losing my mind?

Yes, I admit it, I too grow old, and weary. I too long for rest. I too regret my missed oppurtunities, though I pray in my heart to the Almighty that I might revenge myself of them later. I will tell you, there is no greater joy in life than understanding, and this takes time. It is like a fruit that ripens, bears seeds, and falls, and it is like the seeds that are buried, take root, and grow into taller fruit trees. Heavenly Being, I pray, free me from my burdens. I see I am free of myself. That is good. He was a rotten scoundrel. I do not want to fall asleep any more. At the end of the third day, she has not replied yet to my message. I consider more and more turning to the millennial oracle. Elly Kedward beckons me. Holy Christ, I exclaim. I am right.

It is too late now. I will not turn back. I will answer your questions, oh Great and Mighty Goodness. You asked me: Do I love you? You asked me: Why do I want you back? These two questions are twins, and they mean one and the same thing. Don't you see? You cannot deny the Great Reality. It allows us to make it, to shape it and form it, but none who have gone before have aspired to such heights as we. I tell you truly, I am heart-break and hell. And I tell you truly, I am the miracle of true love. And I tell you truly, I am fire and brimstone, wrath and vengefulness.

And I tell you truly I am the delusion, but I am also the cool clear sky, and I am calm and forgiving, righteous in judgment, and I tell you truly I am also the Great Reality. For I am above it all, and I am beneath it all, and I am in between it all, and I surround it all, permeate it all, and dissolve into it. I become it, it becomes me, and over time soon there is only us, and no more you or me. That is the fact of it. There is the truth: If you ask, "do you love me," what is the reason for this? It is because you love a person, and you want to know if they love you back. You want to weigh your love and know if the amount you love them is equal to the amount they love you. Then, if those amounts are equal, you will be able to see eye to eye, live fruitfully, bear bountiful offspring, and agree that you are in love. Don't you see you already are? The world itself may stand between you, but you have caused it to spin faster in order to shred it apart just to be reunited together again. You reach through the airwaves themselves. You have already left your bodies and are now touching hands in heaven beneath the sight of God. And your bickering shakes the bridal chambre. I tell you, damnit, you are in love with each other. She has been looking for a lover like you all along, a prince charming, and moreover, you yourself, to embrace her tightly and tell her the Whole Plan, and paint for her a Big Picture. That's you. And you have not ceased admonishing yourself for your loss and failure in 1999, and you still have not given up hoping you would become something worthy for her to love. I tell you, you are. She waits for you, waits in the bridal chambre, go, go, go to her.

If you ask, "why do you want me back," what is the reason for this? It is because you are revolted.

You do not want to be wanted. You regret the times you are being reminded of by me. You were, you tell yourself daily, a different person back then. You have had to forgive yourself, or, if not quite that, then to forget it as best you can and just move on. But I tell you, he will still be here after you have consumated yourselves. To him you are already one and the same, and by even reading his note you have given meaning to his existence. You might have tried your goddamned hardest to forget all about him and prayed to a god you claim not to believe in to never have to explain to one another all the secret and terrible things that have happened since the Apocalypse. You feel your sins are worse than his, but he feels his sins are worse than yours. Will you now argue over whose sins are worse? All you have to do is forgive each other, and to do this you must forgive yourselves. But you must do these things together. Otherwise, one or the other of you will always hold out hope that the other one will have their back turned long enough for you to have a private moment, or contrarywise feel utterly abandoned at the slightest loss of sight of the other. That's logic.

I am awake for thirty-two hours waiting for my lover to write me back. I develop a feverish obsessiveness, I feel I have to finish the picture I am drawing, a picture of me and her in Paradise.

I finish the picture, then sleep for thirty-two hours. I wake up and I have had dreams about crystals. Her eyes can see me. That is why I am dreaming about crystals. They are large crystals, and someone remarks how expensive they are. They hand them to me one at a time. I say, "no this is not like the one I have." And they take that one away and hand me another one, asking, "how about this one? Is it like the one you have?" The meaning of this dream is clear. I dream of flash photography. And so I do not yet remember what else I dreamt of. I wake up thinking of her, and my heart sinks. I know she will not have written me back. And I check. And she hasn't. I knew, late, so late before I fell asleep, that she will not write me back. She does not want to, and she does not Plan to.

I read over the last few paragraphs I'd written of this blog. I cannot quite yet match the voice, because I am not yet on the same level I was when I wrote it. I can't even look the picture "I am in love with you" in her eyes. I am weary from sins, the sins of being worldly, the sins of this world.

My heart is still sinking. My mother has left town just now to go do an out-of-state move. I tell her I love her, and it is true enough to her, but to me it tastes like a lie upon my lips. I have the breath of a dog. I do nothing. My hands are tied now because I nudged the ball into her court, and she kept it. Is that not a positive sign? I suppose, we shall see. But alas, alas, alas, I am crazy.

Only in my mind, I call the effect of my mentation "magick," but I cannot help that I manifest. All I can say is I would be less "out here" if I were not so alone. I approach the Voice. I have Understanding. It is not relevant if I am alive now. I have been in the afterlife all the while I've been without her. Now that I have found her again, am I not reborn? Is this not assuredly a sign from the eternal entirety? Has she not shown me, already, that I did not totally ruin her, and destroy her, and obliterate her, but that I saved her, I preserved her, I have found her, she is still perfect? Because she is, but that was not meant only as a sign to me. Which is why she is. For she is not me. She is not ruined, and destroyed, and obliterated and heart broken as I am. Though I promise, vainly, her enemies shall be mine, I could never expect for her to defend me against my enemies. They are only inside my head, reflections of my own loneliness and depression and fear, and though they may overwhem me, they are mine alone, and I can only defeat them by forgiving myself, and this by forgiving them. Alas, alas, alas!

I pray to God to prevent myself from worrying that, by now, she has simply thrown my note away and forgotten about it. I pray to God, The Holy One, Blessed be He, the God of All that is Real, and the Righteous Judge of Truth, for he is all these and yet One. I pray to the One True God who is all things to all people, and who is more than they can imagine, unknown, and I pray to the source of my visions, both those made sacred, and those of my own profane offering. I know that I cannot even hope to kiss the hem of His garment in this lifetime, but Lo, I know also He is a saviour, and will lift us out of this fire. 10,000 days is 27 years. The other magicians of the age, the Magi and the Wise Men, they know of these things, and they secretly cheer though the False Gods of the Age rule in public and deny them the right to use their powers as they would choose to, for the Good and Greater Glory of God. Instead, the wise can say nothing, because to say anything would be misinterpreted by those False Gods, who cherish silence above all. The False Gods want to maintain the status quo and to not see things change; they have Authority now. But I tell you this.

My madness is a fever. Like a fever, it's moment shall break, and this time of its rule by silence shall cease. The True Reality, the Great Reality, shall come to pass, with or without me, and, by leaving behind the ways of the Great Silent Madness and the curses of the Annunaki, I shall give my power to the Magi, the Wise, of this generation. A Great Generation shall ensue now, for I have spoken. Has it been heard?

Time passes. I am stopped by an officer of the "law" and given a traffick ticket for a busted tail light. This happened last May too. I remember it well. I had written in my blog, "I sleep for two weeks straight. When I wake up I have been given a traffick ticket for a busted tail light." The police are out in swarms writing tickets. But they are only the messengers of the formal system.

Sleeper agents channeling Sleep Walkers. Emotional archetypes. I prayed a little prayer while I was stopped, and I wondered how she was. I go to the guys' band practise. I feel incredibly lonely, depressed, and heart-broken. I mope around a while, then make my way back here, which I can hardly call home. No, home is where the heart is, and mine, unfettered, flew away a long time ago.

Too long ago...

She is still safe, and all I have of hers are pictures. I have not overstepped myself yet. I have not even published what I am writing. I have not made myself appear the fool. Instead, should she choose to pursue me, she will find me waiting for her in Paradise. More time passes. I check the profile inbox. She does not respond. I chastise myself for being the fool I know I am. But I love her. I cannot seem to help myself. My body that usually goes through the motions, is going through them differently now, different motions, different emotions, and I try to quell them, try to keep steady and moving ahead, but I cannot seem to quite be able to. I am light-headed and queezy. I can't let go. I stumble through the city of Enoch, and then I collapse at the gateway of Eden. Where is she? Where is my Queen that shall place a crown upon my head, and find me worthy, and call me her King?

I pray again now, compulsively, worrying for her incessantly. There is a terrible ice storm as the Shekinah of God lowers herself across the lands in the form of hail and sleet of monoatomic gold.

May she go out on foot, I pray, but not be made to venture out to drive. I will do anything to protect her, God, I pray with the head of my soul pressed against the karmic head of the aura of Michael. But it might not be enough. I would make an offering, Lord God. Shall I make an offering to protect my lover? 10 deaths have been reported in Texas alone by now, and one in Houston. I pray for her to not have to drive. I pray for her to not have to go out on the road. I pray compulsively, incessantly. I worry that this is the effect of my mental enemies, my inner-demons, attacking the one I love. They would not see it as this, of course, but as a blessing upon her, but I can choose how to see it. I am driven to ecstasy by the praying, until I am convinced that, by doing it, I am causing her to be at risk.

I pace back and forth and I worry, I obsess. But I have seen a small sign here and there, and, should I choose to believe in the Great Reality, then surely my dreams can come true. I do not want to slip through the cracks of society. I want to break free. I am going to Paradise, and I want to make prayer.

Of course, for me, "Paradise" is just a cigarette break from writing this blog. Prayer is psychosis.

The angels help me, the demons do not boil my blood, I have nothing to suffer from, all loss of love is now bridged. So I lie to myself, should, by doing this, I effect positive change in my environment. I have started down the Dark Path of Destiny already, how can I turn back now? If she has driven to work she will have already done so by now. She will be inside, looking through a microscope, where it is warm, and safe, and there are people there who love her, and will keep her safe. This is why I cannot be with her: I am obsessing about a person I do not even know anymore. I knew someone she once was ten years ago, and yet who she is now I do not know. The person she was is like a wolf at the door, a terrible storm of ice, sleet and hail; the awful Shekinah of YHVH Elohim.

For am I not now stooping, am I not now lowered, and am I not now cowering before my own higher self? For I have been from one end through everything to the other end and back so many times I cannot remember, and yet I have no one's warmth to keep my memory lit. I can barely remember from one moment to the next, let alone earn an income at a job. What good am I? I am without worth.

I am so alone. I am surrounded on all sides by legions of hosts of invisible angels. I am the Metatron. But I tell you, I have never felt so utterly alone in all my life, save once, and then, I did not survive. My mind is unravelling already and I am no longer even a human. I am a mutant. I am

the filth of the scorched earth mixed with the soft silt. I am a worthless waste. I wish that I were dead, or rather, that I had died at birth, for my parents' combination in me is indeed an unworthy abomination. I am as accursed as Cain, whose curiosity killed his kin. Yes, forever will the Dark Path dominate my destiny now, for I am blind and fallen and cannot see the truth of the future.

I pause to write a pesher in which I describe a saint healing an old man of blindness. I drive out to the local store for some smokes. It starts to rain and the sun has just set. I have not fixed my tail light, but I make it home safe and now have enough smokes to curl up for the evening. I think I will skip the guys' band practise tonight, if they even still have it. She has been looking at my website. I can feel her presence here. I look up the ip address of a guest on the forum. She returns, now here, now there, following the bread crumbs leading to the material in the forums from each of the pages. She is thourough, but she is in a hurry. I try to catch up to where she would be by now, following the pattern of her movements around my site. I dwell upon my highschool sketchbook in the historia art museum. I dwell over the most incriminating thing I have ever done, that ties me back to her at all, a series of sketches I did during our time together. I examine each thouroughly, trying to think calming, soothing thoughts, enocuraging the next mind to come across them to slow down, to pause, to think.

She sped through my site and is already gone. Moved on to another adventure in her life. I no longer feel her ineffable prescence and there is no longer a lingering guest on my forums. Each moment is a mystery. The entire span of moments before and those yet to come stretches out throughout infinity. I wander aimlessly around the art museum pages of my site. Suddenly she is here, and then there, again. Here in the notebooks, then here in the metaphysics diagrams. Fear grips my heart with ice. What have I done? I have put my whole life on the line, out in the open, prepared my mind, like a slice of beef, to be weighed and handled, and to be judged. Will she think me mad? ...

It's too late to worry about it now because I've already gone through with the hard part, and this is happening. I sleep until 5AM Saturday morning. A play put on on a thirteen story tall stage, a courtyard surrounded by balcony seats. I go behind the curtains, backstage. The hallways are empty. Everyone is watching the monumental performance. From deserted school rooms I can hear the fat lady singing. I round a corner. A group of friends are there. Someone I knew from highschool, Brian "four-star" Forester, has put his tongue against a freezing pulley and it has gotten stuck. I go for help. I find Craig Morris, another friend from highschool, who is one of the ushers at the performance. At first we speak in whispers. Michael approaches, and Craig leaves the way I'd come in. I sit with Michael in the audience. I proceed to watch the show. I wake up. It is 5AM Saturday morning, eastern standard time, but the guest on my forums is now here, now there still. I write down her IP address to confirm it is certainly her. I imply, but do not think about, later. Instead I post a new thread in the forum she was browsing latest, and which she seemed to be frequenting most: metaphysics diagrams. I repost an old post from tlfc, something I'd written to OOM a year ago to the day. It is a short descriptiong of the map.gif moving metaphysics diagram above tau sub tau on the metaphysics diagram page of my site. Assuredly it is a trap, one I have set for her. Next move?

She goes to sleep. It is 7AM here now. Why are we on off schedules? It is because of the magick of inverted polarities. On Sunday night I cry on the porch, wrapped up in the blanket from my bed like the cloak of a wizard. I take another pill and fall asleep on the couch. I dream that she calls me. It is late at night. The caller ID reads "habitat 4 humanity" and I wait until mom has answered it. Then I pick up. She is crying on the other end. She says she has to see me. My mother says, "he's asleep." She begs, she pleads. My mother swears at her, calls her a tramp, and says "Jon is sick." "Oh," I chime in, "am I?" I tell her to come meet me. I cannot drive to her. My car is in the shop. I pace restlessly up and down the street waiting for her. I wring my hands. Finally I see headlights coming down the darkened road. She hops out and runs to me, she throws her arms around me. She has been crying. I am crying. We are together for a brief moment. Then the shadow

men begin to seep through into my mind. From every house on my street my neighbors pour out of their doorways, still asleep, but compelled like zombies, driven to tear us apart. I wake up. On Sunday I had told mom what had happened in 99. I had never discussed it with her, or with anyone. I still do not tell her, or anyone, that I found her, that she is alive, and that she is happy, and that I have written to her, but that she has not written me back.

On Monday night I wake up at five PM and go to the TBS band practise. I get there early. Milly is there with Sophie, and Kelly, with her broken foot propped up, is there with her brother Stan's kids "little" Stanley, Jude and Omni. I play with the children, wishing I had my own. Sophie is beautiful. And whenever Milly looks at her, Milly is tranformed into a vision of the Madonna. Her face glows with warmth. Inside of me my heart twists uncomfrotably, then tears in two, and shatters like glass.

It is Tuesday morning, and my car really is in the shop now. Mom, capitalist that she is, will expect me to pay her back for it, regardless of how much it costs or how impossible it would be for me to ever do. I already owe her five hundred dollars because she did not waive my hundred dollar debt accrued in November. She is not going to let go of holding money over my head. I realise that now. She never intended, any more than my father, to teach me how to handle money. She will not even tell me what finances we have available, only that she will need to spend most of them on her own retirement. She shames me for not having a job, but what experience do I have? She discounts my writing and tells me to take an art class, she would pay for that. She hates my father, and she regrets having not been with Jan, her artist boyfriend from college. I tell her I wish I had never been born, and that I only bring unhappiness to everyone I meet. She does not disagree. Instead she gets angry at me for "whining" and "doing nothing."

I understand now. She has never understood, and I exasperatedly tell her that it is like describing a rainbow to someone who is blind. She has never been in love, and so she has no idea what I feel like, the sorrow of being apart from the one I love, for ten years, the sorrow. God. I continue my prayers for the happiness of my True Love. I cannot pray to God to interfere. I pray instead for my lover to be free, unfettered, untethered to all the negative consequences and all the regrets I have that are all I could ever give. I pray for her to be happy, with or without me. I pray for her free will.

I am going to post this blog now. I shouldn't. It is too personal, too emotional, and too private. But that's me. I scream my love from the mountaintop, because I know she is the only one who will hear it. And I have no idea if she feels the same. I watch Romeo and Juliet, the Princess Bride. I pray. I do not know what more to do. I feel trapped, tied down to my own sorrows and helpless to be free and happy without her to unlock the chains. I am so in love with her, but she told me her love for me had grown cold. I pray. I can do nothing. I look at the new pictures she has posted on her page. She is beautiful, she is "drop-dead" gorgeous. But it has been too long now, and there is no way in Hell that I, under my own power, can convince her I am honest, and sincere, and harmless, but true and faithful. She will hate me, I know it. She holds my heart in her hand, and she will crush it. She can. I pray for her to feel no regret in doing so if that is what she freely chooses to do. But I cannot go on any longer without her. Ten years have gone by like water under the bridge. Ten years of her not thinking about me, no doubt, and ten years of me thinking about her every single day. No one I know could possibly understand. I only pray that she, who I now know not, will.

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02/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 2-16-007 Well it is valentine's day. Time to take stock of my life.

Sometimes I think I could just sleep through my whole life. As though I would be a zombie, going through all the motions of my life, eating, shitting, driving, smoking, etc. but I would still be asleep the whole time. I've slept through movies I snuck into max capped for a midnight primiere.

I've slept through live concerts. And I slept for three years straight on the couch around the turn of the millennium. So why can't I sleep right now? I'm exhausted. I am awake for twenty two hours I fall asleep for three hours. Awake again for another twelve hours I then sleep four hours. Now I am awake, and a total zombie. I lean my head back in my chair while I am typing and close my eyes, fading into Nine Inch Nails.

It poured rain today out of nowhere, and now, in the early evening, the sun is starting to come back out. I need to go buy cigarettes, but other than that I should have no problem holing up for another day or two drifting in and out of consciousness. I drift like a bouy. My breathing is laboured and I sigh constantly. My legs go numb from the knees down and I completely lose sensation in my feet. All I do all day is sit around on them. Every forty five minutes I stand up bandy legged and, brushing against first one wall of the narrow hallway and then the other like a cow in a cattle chute, I make my way out to the front door for a smoke. I am addicted to smoke. I wish I could turn into smoke and blow away.

Unfortunately for everyone, I do not. Instead I perch on the precipace of the abyss and spit and scream and cry and beat my chest and scream some more. There is no echo. No one comes to rescue me. No one ever answers back to me. I am alone on the precipace of the abyss. However suddenly I will look up from this daydream and realise what I am doing at that moment. Often times I am out with friends when I slip into the dread and loneliness that tugs at my heart from within. Most recently I was at a concert with some friends of mine. They were all standing around having a good time, getting sloshed, having scintillating conversation and enjoying the music. I sat in a shadowy corner, fifteen feet away, and I was crying. I wept and wept and wept sitting there silently. I couldn't even ascertain why. It simply flowed out of me and I could not stop it. Within an hour I felt as though it had never happened. Sometimes the dread and loneliness grabs me when I am trying to go to sleep.

Those are the most difficult times. I am thrown about by violent muscle spasms and I flipped upright to pace the front porch, wrapped up in a blanket and suckling on a cigarette. I remember all the hard times, and believe me, compared to them, this is nothing. This passes. This is bearable. "Just a little sorrow," as the song goes. The melancholy of experiencing physical and emotional existence one layer beneath what you intellectually know to be the true level at which you should be able to function all the time is paralysing, and it seems as though everyone else is moving in fast forward. Such times I slip back into my own mind, and let my consciousness go to sleep while my autonomic nervous system goes on living my life for me. I have a life that is lived out for me by a robot body that is on automatic pilot while I am asleep at my own controls. I watch A Scanner Darkly and am strangely not phased by it one bit. I pause the movie to go for a smoke, stand up on numb, bandy legs, careen down the hallway like a wino, and stumble out to rasp away my final breaths nursing on nictoine, sucking a cigarette. Nothing makes any sense anymore.

Am I up or down? Am I floating towards the surface or am I sinking under for the last time? I honestly don't know, and what's more, I don't think I care anymore either. I am beginning to believe in "digital reality." In analog reality, you have uniform decomposition rate for the storage medium itself. Thus, on 8-track or betamax, nothing on tape was permanent. However now that information can be stored in infinite transparent data layers that can then be projected in a

consecutive stream, all via electronics, the next step will be quantum computers running probababilistc programmes written in triniary language. However for now, we exist in a digital mediated reality, and this means that, rather than uniform degeneration of data quality due to ageing of the actual storage medium itself, the only changes from one data frame in the stream to the next are the individual areas of motion within the overall frame. The rest remains static, and thus this conserves some of the amount of data that is being projecting in the consecutive stream.

So, in a "digital reality," there would be some substances that were more solid, more permanent, and some that would be less permanent, softer substances, and there would be some emotions that would be too hard to overcome and there would be some impulses we would not even consciously notice, all because some small areas change more in the short term, while all the rest, though perhaps more gradually, is bound to completely change eventually.

Therefore, some things change faster than us, and so we can perceive them changing, while other things change slower than us, and so we cannot perceive them changing. That is digital reality.

The reason we do not seem to perceive this simple fact is that it, itself, is never-changing, and so, to us, we seem to change constantly. Our minds are always slipping into one line of reasoning and out of another, and, unless we concentrate on our own thoughts, our stream of consciousness seems fragmented and meanders here and there. So, if we seek to see from the point of view of something that is more permanent than us, we slip out of this more fragmented, meandering stream of consciousness, and then we come to perceieve that, which we have always identified as our own, stream of consciousness as alien and autonomous. If, at this point, we "snap back" to the fragmented and meandering point of view for our way of thought, we will see the more permanent as transcendent to our mundane reality, and assuming that point of view ourselves will seem a distant and self-alienating concept. However, if we maintain the notion of our self concept as something that is unchanging from one moment to the next, we are able to choose to maintain any line of reasoning for as long as we want before "switching" to another, and if we maintain the notion of our self concept as something that is more permanent over what we would normally consider a truly vast, great, immense duration, then we begin to see the fragmented and meandering way of thinking as alien though, rather than above, beneath us. It becomes something subject to contempt. This latter form of thinking is called "prayer," and the more constantly one is at "prayer" the more able one will be to read others' minds.

In digital reality, ESP is explained simply as intellectual empathy. This is similar to "sympathy," or "symbolic" empathy, in that both are Thelemic: the Will is the Law Above Love, however while "sympathy" proceeds from the mind to activate an emotion in the heart, the opposite is the case for ESP, or "empathy," in that it begins in the heart and then follows as a way of thinking for the mind. Empathy is heart-felt and genuine, while sympathy is psychological, the super-ego imposing conscience over the id. ESP does not follow necessarily from sympathy. Sympathy instead tends to generate a symbolic exchange system with which to allow conscience empathy to be conveyed to another. The best example is giving money to the homeless, though it being Valentine's day today, giving chocolates to your lover springs to mind as well. The difference between such "token exchange systems" as money or such fetishes as chocolate and true ESP is that ESP changes one's perception of reality and way of thinking, while sympathy, or symbolic empathy, merely allows one's physical perception of the self to continue. Sympathy is an important part, therefore, of modern survival, however ESP does not necessarily follow from sympathy, as it does from empathy, because there is no need for true heart-felt compassion that arises from a reality that uses physical symbols for emotions.

A digital reality is based on both "empathy" (the more permanent and unchanging aspects) and "sympathy" (the more immediate, urgent and real areas that change daily) both. To graph digital reality, we would alot one portion of an area to "change" and another to "no change." The portion of "change" would be labeled "symbolic empathy," which would mean the immediate necessities for survival in our present physical reality, and the unchanged portion would be labeled "intellectual empathy," which would mean the existence of fixed emotional states through which

our intellect passes, thus causing the appearance of its thoughts as fragmented and meandering to itself. Once we realise the "unchanging" portions of digital reality are really our emotional perceptions of static ideal forms in a higher temporal dimension, then we have achieved "intellectual empathy" or ESP. What is the difference between "symbolic" and "intellectual" empathy?

"Symbolic" empathy, sympathy, does not require emotion, and thus there is no need for the basis of self-examination and philosophy. Symbolic empathy creates a symbol, that is, something that is not something else, but is meant to make an observer think not of the thing that itself is, but to make them think of the something else that the thing itself is not. In other words, a symbol is a lie. It is not meant to mean what it seems to mean. It is meant to mean something else, usually the opposite. Sometimes, "no" means "yes."

"Intellectual" empathy, ESP, depends upon self-knowledge as the introspection into the causes for one's emotional experiences. One's psychology, so long as it remains the seat of the self-concept, will defend itself against any inquest or attempt to unravel its origins. Thus, psychology itself creates and sustains the perceptual necessity of physical survival in material reality. While this is useful, to achieve "intellectual" empathy, one must finally realise that the psychological experience of emotions is only a point travelling paths along the edges between more fixed, permanent, static and unchanging areas, shapes, patterns or archetypes. So long as we see our emotions as a defense-mechanism against any inquest as to their origins, we will not be able to intellectually understand our psychological perception of them is dependent not upon our "symbolic," material survival but on a priori and invisible patterns such as temporal cycles.

Essentially, the difference between "symbolic" and "intellectual" empathy is that symbolic empathy is the product of a self-centred use of the emotions as a defense-mechanism, thus active definition of the exterior reality, while intellectual empathy is based on the selfless understanding of our emotions as the foundation for our experience of reality, thus passive definition by exterior reality. The result of this difference is that sympathy needs to create lies to survive, while empathy allowed to exist for itself enables us to experience ESP. This is because, while sympathetically we assume what others think, empathy allows us to see through the eyes of, and to feel the experience of, another, and thus to know what they think. Because this includes emotional identification of the self-concept with the other's perspective and point of view, we can more accurately guess what they are thinking than if we simply "put ourselves in their shoes" by imagining what we would think if we were them.

In short, you can only read someone's mind accurately if you allow yourself to care for them autonomously from your own projection of yourself onto them. This does not mean that you have to "have feelings for them;" it means the opposite. You have to allow your feelings to come from them, and this means "switching off" your emotions for them. Allowing yourself the true experience of someone else's emotions is the first and most difficult step toward accurately reading their mind.

Now, once you have mastered allowing yourself to feel the feelings of another, then you will be able to "pray with" them. This is the second step to reading their mind, and the third step is actually being able to know what the other person is thinking. To "pray with" someone will determine if you are "reading" their mind, or if you are "over-writing" their thoughts with your own commands. The former will allow you to truly know what the other person is thinking, however the other will only result in codependency, where each person will require the immediate physical presence of the other in order to be able to survive. This latter case is retrogressive, because it necessitates symbolic communication between the physical forms, i.e. lies, and thus creates an a priori "token-exchange" system between people that becomes a requisite for their survival. This makes regaining true ESP take much longer than if it can be avoided. This is accompanied by feelings of helplessness and loneliness that cause further clinging to one's

current situation of physical living. These compound with interest over time since they are lies, and lies tend to multiply.

The reason that empathy is hard to come by in material reality is that allowing oneself to experience their own emotions, let alone those of another, is considered dangerous to one's own psyche. The source memories for most emotional experiences are considered too different from polite, "dinner-table" conversation and western business cultural morĂŠs, and it is actually more polite to discuss the private lives of dead celebrity porn stars than it is for their adult victim to "confront" a childhood sexual abuser. Thus, the kind of selfless empathy that follows from the "cathartic" acceptance of emotional origins as beyond our control, which actually allows us to control our emotional course of action more maturly, is called "paranoia" by the institutional establishments on individual human psychology. In truth, "paranoia" has the immediate implication of fear, while true ESP does not confine itself exclusively to the experience of this single emotion. Therefore, if you go to an official representative of the institutionally established schools on individual human psychology, and you tell them you can "read their minds" they will tell you you are being "paranoid."

On the other hand, the first step of "praying with" someone, even such an establishment official, is establishing what can be called a "psychic rapport." A "psychic rapport" is the true meaning of the sefira Binah, which means "Understanding." If you first develop an "understanding" with someone, then you can approach the next level of shared experience with them, which can alternately be called "prayer" or "wisdom." The difference between the self and the other is overcome immediately upon the exchange of the terminology of "I am" for the terminology of "we are." This is commonly called "knowing where someone stands." The longer or more intensely someone maintains the focus on themself and the other in the immediate here and now and does not expose their actual motives, the more uncomfortable the situation will become. Whoever causes the other to reveal their personal beliefs first establishes a form of psychic dominance over the other person equivalent to that of a master to a pet animal.

In order to overcome the time-consuming misunderstandings between people that result directly from the confrontation between two private individuals, and in order to allow them to exchange their goods and services in spite of not wishing to reveal their personal opinions and beliefs and thus appear socially submissive, the "token exchange system" was created which allows people to fill pre-established roles of social dominance that differ per situation and to communicate false self-identiifications between one another without violating these social dependency roles.

Basically, western business culture has evolved from the long history of western civilisation from the very moment of the invention of writing and the trade from one of the first authors of the letter they invented and another. Because of the invention of a symbolic way to comunicate by these first human writers, now we can exchange money for goods and services without ever even looking one another in the eye.

If you want to "pray with" someone you must both overcome the obstacles presented by the "good intentions" of this symbolic "token exchange system" to prayer in the first place. That is why the first step is being able to achieve the prolonged mental condition of empathy, that is "prayer," yourself. Then it will be easy to find someone else "on the level." When one begins to "pray with" someone else they will know they are doing it because they will be paying more attention than usual to the other person. This means they will have broken, partially, temporarily or casually, the social roles established for them to maintain anonymous dominance and submission. If this has been accomplished due to mutual submission than a "psychic rapport" or "understanding" is possible. If this is the result of one person breaking the other person's psychological borders down by overstepping their authority role, then the information delivery mechanism flows only one direction, and the effect is psychic domination, or mind-writing. This is the condition that is feared so much by the common person to be a direct effect of any emotional involvement at all that they do not allow themselves to lower their boundary barriers even when someone else is

obviously lowering theirs. Such a person is considered a negative stereotype not because they are uncommon, but because they themselves create this negative image as disinformation about themselves in order to confuse any opposition to serving their agenda and helping they, themselves, maintain dominance over the rest of us, who fear and loathe them.

However, because this negatively stereotypical myth of the mind-writing psychic dictator is perptuated by those who fit that description themselves, then we must wonder if this description is really a true reflection of their inner self-image behind the mask of their personality. It is much more likely that no one wishes to become such a psychic dictator, entirely dependent on material culture and a life full of lies, but that this condition naturally results from the opposition to it that it causes, thus spreading itself like a virus or a tumor, feeding on its own fear-inducing self-loathing, and that it arose in the first place as a condition of simple shyness and not wishing to let down one's personal boundary barriers. Thus, if there is not trust on one end of the equation, then dominance will arise on the opposite side of the equation. This is a simple equation: if one person does not put their cards on the table, but holds something back, and does not show their full hand, and if someone does not play the hand they were dealt, but attempts to "cheat fate," then the result will always favour the person being cheated against internally to the psychology of the person who is not being totally forthright. This effect is called "guilt," and so we say that "success is the best revenge" and "misery loves company" both mean "an eye for an eye."

In other words, if you put your trust in someone who does not put their trust in you in return, you will assume a position of inferiority in their eyes. They will disdain you, and rub your nose in the fact that they think they are outsmarting you. They will manipulate you until you have no self-esteem left, and then they will try to be completely and totally rid of you. This is called a "power trip" and it is basically the back-bone of western business culture. If anyone has ever had anyone exploit them, it increases the likelihood they themselves will then turn around and exploit someone else. All this is called the "cycle of abuse." According to the "cycle of abuse," boredom follows the "honeymoon phase," and that abuse follows boredom, and that indifference and neglect follows abuse, and that the "honeymoon phase" follows indifference and neglect. If someone is abused, they will turn back to abusing someone else. If someone gets off on a "power trip" their survival will immediately become dependent on telling lies. This is quite rightly a negative stereotype, and it is quite right for those who fit this description should be the very ones disseminating it. It is unfortunate, only insofar as it is ironic, that this is what causes them to grow more powerful, and that self-loathing feeds on itself.

In any event, the point of this exposition is not as an exposĂŠ on the relative evils of what is, in truth, a naturally occuring psychological condition. The purpose here is to reveal what the result is of letting down your emotional-defense mechanisms with someone who is also doing so to you, and who time proves is not doing so only as a subterfuge to manipulate you into revealing your own private motives. If you can find someone to put your trust in who is worthy of your doing so, then you can establish a psychic rapport with them. The only way of finding someone worthy of putting your trust in is to lower your defenses though, and it is not an easy process, because you must learn to keep them lowered too, even in spite of being repeatedly hurt. Eventually you will find someone worthy of your trust, eventually you will find out if they are worthy of your trust, and eventually you will learn what it is like to both trust one another. This is the second step toward ESP: after you have established a "psychic rapport" of mutual trust, acceptance and understanding, then you can begin to "pray with" one another.

The third step of ESP is accomplished when you accept this as a universally generalisable principle that is applicable and accepted as across the entire board. You realise you are not alone, outside the group of trust worthy individuals, and tormented only and always by your own selfbetrayal by living a life of emotionless objects and lies. Then you will realise that it is not yourself, as a moral individual, who were in the minority of one, yourself alone amongst a world

entirely otherwise comprised of evil monsters, but that you are instead welcome and accepted into a group of loving, kind, caring and trust worthy individuals that comprise a much more vast majority than you ever even dared dream possible. This is what is meant by "prayer with" someone, because to "pray with" someone once, for the first time, means you will always be at prayer in your own mind forever after that. It is an irreprable and irreversable process, yet one necessary both for the ultimate develop of the personal being and for the perpetuation of the contributions of the self to society. Gaining ESP is, therefore, similar to losing one's virginity.

These events are not necessarily contingent upon one another, however, although they are often confused with one another in "coming of age" rituals.

The first time that you "pray with" someone, that is, that you successfully establish a psychic rapport with someone worthy of your trust by lowering your defenses long enough to find and test them, that is the last time that you will ever be completely alone in your mind. The second that bridge of non-verbal communication contingent exclusively on prescence is established by an individual with another as an act of mutual choice, then there will never again be possible for that person's heart, in this life, to know the same level of loneliness, of alienation from selftranscendence, or to experience the same level of callous indifference, to live exclusively on lies, as if they had never known the experience of ESP, however had they continued on in ignorance, they would have remained blind to the fact that their apparent contentment with such a life constituted true and final "happiness." That is why taking the third step to achieving ESP is so daunting: because the challenge of facing the threat at the end of the second step, the threat of submitting to or of becoming a psychic dictator over another or others, requires the presence of someone to be there with you to support you following the victory over that impulse within the self. It requires that you remain in the trustworthy relationship, even if not with that person, than with the world itself, that they have validated for you. You are not pair-bonded to the person who introduces you to the world in which trust can be rewarded, as you would be in a codependent relationship with a psychic-dictator, because you trust each other to be able to be apart from one another in a way that codependents and liars cannot. This trust of one another, once tested thus, even if only once ever, opens the mind to a world in which such a deep level of trust is entirely possible as part of the experience of being alive shared by all. That is why to "pray with" someone by overcoming the temptation toward "psychic dictatorship" and a "power trip" even once allows us to thus exist perptetually in a mental condition of "prayer" or acceptance of constant ESP, telepathy, and the ability to accurately read minds.

Only when you realise that you can read everyone's mind, and that, all along, anyone who wanted to has been reading your mind as well, and can continue to do so, and that this is actually desirable and can be rewarding in a way even more real than tangibly, then and only then are you truly able to accurately read other people's minds. That is true ESP. It is really quite easy to experience all of this, and this sort of "extra-sensory" perception does not automatically equate with the "sensory-overload" of "paranoia." There is, ultimately, absolutely nothing wrong with experiencing constant ESP, and it is actually incredibly good for one's spiritual well-being. The results of changing one's perception thus are that one's karma, that is, the quantum probabilitiies, surrounding us in our aura, or our immediate field of effect, will reflect this true elevation of the inner state of being. If you believe that you can read someone's mind, and you believe they can read your mind, and you exchange information on this purely non-verbal level, then you will be more likely to react to one another as though you had, in reality, exchanged that unit of information. Likewise, if you are alone and you call for a sign from God in Heaven, then surely a sign shall appear. However, the God of love is the God who loves life, and so His signs will all be alive. Thus, when you feel lonliest, someone will feel sympathy for you so much that they will become like a messenger-angel sent to you from God Himself. For that person is only a symbol sent to you of God's love for you. God's love is true empathy, for He knows all our thoughts at all times, but His messengers are all merely symbols of that themselves. These are the "goyim" or the "chattle" or the "manifestations." They are simply those who have not yet been awakened to the truth of possibly universal ESP.

You can try to awaken them, but this can only be accomplished on a one-on-one basis. There are those, even among those of us who have learned how to have true ESP, who advocate inducing a mass extinction of these people in order to thin out their numbers and make them easier to deal with one-on-one. These people believe that there are fewer of those of us who have developed ESP than there are of those "chattle" who have not. They, thus valuing their perceieved scarcity of our type, look down at the rest of humanity who, they believe, outnumber them, and thus outnumber all of us who have ESP. Of course, the rest of us know that there is only one larger group, that being both halves of digital reality, or the visage of God, both the "unawakened" and the "shining," both those who maintain the ever-changing activity of the material lie, and those who have found the eternal realm of ideal forms above the temporal cycles of our emotional experiences. To us, it does not even matter if we are the "majority" group or not. All that matters to us is our own individual experience. Not that it matters, but the majority group is, in truth, comprised of those of us who hold just such a philosophy: we have ESP, but we do not care about the "politics" of how to handle the mass aggregate of those, also of "us," who do not.

It should also be noted that the group of "psychic dictators" is the same as the group of those of us with ESP who advocate mass extinction for the "goyim." It is through no true fault of their own that it has been their experience that the "goyim," their mindless slaves, desperately want to die, even though this experience is based on their preconception of the "mindless slaves" not as people who should be set free, but as essentially equivalent to any other item of inanimate property. Psychic slavery is, from the point of view of psychic-dictators, more common than even the negative sterotype of the psychic-dictators themselves, and that is, again from their point of view, all too common already. In truth, the number of all those of us who have ESP and who are not psychic dictators, combined with the number of all those of us who do not have ESP, far outnumbers the number of only all the psychic dictators alone. That is why "mindless slaves" are always those to die while fighting the wars between "psychic dictators."

From the point of view of the "unawakened" and the "psychic dictators" both, the entirety of "digital reality" is comprised exclusively of these, their own, two factions. They do not know about, and simply will avoid any truthful evidence of our existence, those of us who have ESP but who are trustworthy and are not psychic dictators. We simply do not feel the need, most of the time, to make ourselves known, either as individuals to the "chattle," nor as a group to the history maintain for the "chattle" by their "psychic dictators." As always, the petty bourgeoise, the anonymous-authority role-playing, power-tripping official representatives of the institutionally established schools on individual human psychology, spread the dictate dujour that any knowledge above normal is dangerous. So long as we conceal our additional knowledge, they leave us well enough alone. They, themselves, cannot read our minds, as we can read theirs. Instead, they expect us to write their role out for them as clearly as we possibly can using the symbolic pseudo-identities of the "token exchange" system. They are merely slaves sent to us, as I said, as messenger angels from the God of the living, that is also the God of love.

Yet I tell you, the living are not all that is in digitial reality, and there is a love higher than even that which can be experienced between us while alive. In life, the "psychic dictators" control the "unawakened," however in the afterlife, the "psychic dictators" do not advance, but return as "unawakened" who, once awakened to their latent ESP, become "psychic dictators" again. They do not progress until they let go of their need to be "psychic dictators." The "unawakened will all, eventually, have awakened, and eventually the only ones to remain "unawakened" will be the last of the "psychic dictators," and when they have finally ceased clinging to the need to be the last dictator alive, and they have all been awakened, then we will have all progressed to the next evolutionary step of consciousness. Of course, some of us, most of us in fact, are already there.

It is later in the life of our universe than we think. Already super-massive black holes have consumed the most distant galaxies, all of whose stars would have burnt out long before the light

we see from them now is reaching us. Beyond the layer of these super-massive black holes there is only the clear light of tachyons. This level of the universe is equivalent to the level of active consciousness projected onto the realm of the other. It surrounds the local universe with baby universes in n-potential alternate parallel dimensions. Beyond this multiverse of n-dimensional baby universes is the singularity inside of which our local universe is only one of n-dimensional baby universes, along with all the others in its interior multiverse. This singularity is nine dimensions away from the central-point of consciousness, inside the formal system of reasoning (who, what, when, where, why and how), where fact and fiction intersect between the poles of had and not. Inside this first dimension and beyond this ninth dimension is the tenth dimension, the tao, or the medium in which the mind of the self and the other truly exist, with the other nine dimensions comprising the physical and the psychic media between one and the other.

So, we see that the shared realm of the mind of one with another is from the utmost imaginable perspective one can have for themselves. Thus, between them would be the entire multiverse of ndimensional baby universes that would form the entirety of each awakened person's perspective of digital reality. Because you would have two perspectives (spheres of influence, one "changing" one "unchanging") describing one larger sphere (the entire digital reality) you can express this relationship between these two individuals as a hypersphere. The hypersphere, or fourthdimensional sphere, is comprised of two identical spheres that overlap to form a third sphere, identical to, but comprised of, both the other two. Thus, the sphere of one person and the sphere of the other person are equal, and both describe the entirety of the multiverse. Therefore, both are, inside, outside of the entire multiverse merely looking inside, outward, at its contents. That is the root of understanding ESP. If you see your eyes as the surface of your mind, then you can hold your breath, and duck below that surface, and turn your head about, and see that there are other people all around you doing the same thing. The "unawakened" call that "dissociating," and label it a form of paranoia-induced "hysteria." The "awakened" call it "waking up."

The "psychic dictators" over the "unawakened" and the "chattle" describe other meanings for the words "prayer" and to "pray with" than I have employed here. They advocate "prayer" as an isolating experience, where one lowers oneself below the most insignificant speck of nothingness one can imagine before a "God" that is already held to exist only at an inconceivably vast distance away. To "pray with" other people, they enforce with brutal violence, is only possible in the confines of specifically appointed locations at specifically pre-appointed times and there is terrible bigotry between the groups that meet at different locations and times from one another.

Therefore, there are very different definitions for "God" accepted at these different locations and times by these different groups of people. The goal of the group of "psychic dictators" in their international conspiracy is to consolodate these different definitions as much as possible into one single symbol, and then to destroy that symbol, and thus, with it, crush the hopes of the people.

For now, that symbol is the currency we exchange for goods and services. The consolidation of the definitions for the "God" of the unawakened by the conspiring psychic dictators into the single symbol of currency is accomplished by the message of their ministers, those who guide the groups that meet at the different locations and times, during their "prayer." Thus, the true definition for "prayer" at this time is actually brainwashing, however we who understand the true meaning of prayer beyond its current definition as liberation will understand my intention in the use of that meaning for it here.

The reason I have been talking so much about ESP is that I want to talk about True Love, and I believe True Love to be irrevocably intermingled and tangled in together with ESP. First let me address the names of the three shapes atop the three pillars, and the names of the three pillars.

The names of the three pillars are, on the right "physical laws of nature," on the left "spiritual laws of ideals," and "ethical legislation" between them. The top of the left pillar says "who" and the base of it reads "why." The central pillar reads "how" at the top and "what" at the bottom. The right pillar reads "when" above and "where" below. One pillar is doric, one ionic and one corinthian. On top of the doric pillar is a triangle; on top of the ionic pillar is a square; on top of

the corinthian pillar is a pentagon. The pentagon reads: Life," the square "Love" and the triangle "Light." These are the three pillars of legislation that derive from the Formal System of Metaphysics model of the six fundamental questions of reasoning. There, therefore, is my reason.

Life, as defined in this arrangement, is the where and when of our existence, the co-ordinate location in space and time. Love, as defined here, is the how and what, the karma yoga, or labourunion, that fluctuates between the pillar to the left and that to the right. Light, thus defined as the pillar on the left, is the philosophical consideration of who and why. Who we are determines what we can do, and that determines why we are here. Life is the physical, material reality of our existence in the here and now. Love is the rising kundalini and the overflowing karma of our aura.

Light is the spiritual, philosophical, ideal experience of religion, including the entire gamut of emotions.

Now, as I'd mentioned, one name for the experience of ESP, or perpetual mind-reading, calls it "shining." In that its illumination is invisible to the naked eye, this radiance may only be hinted at by that name. Thus, ESP is the Light. Likewise, the traveling back and forth between the realm of Light, the realm where ESP is an everyday occurance, and the realm of the physical material existence, where survival is a constantly distracting necessity, is called True Love because it runs upward and returns downward. It does all this in the shape of a torus and the measure of the torus is phi/pi. In truth, the exact measurement is phi squared divided by pi, which is equal to a number on the fractal replication pattern known as the "natural" number, that occurs in quantum mechanics as the value known as the "fine structure constant." In short, Light, Life; phi/pi, the torus; ESP, true love; "psychic dictators" and the "unawakened;" the Formal System of Metaphysics; and etc. all refer to perspectives from different points of view at different angles to one another, but they are all seeing and describing the same event. Ths event is, in short, digital reality, the changing and the unchanging. Insofar as He is self-aware, God is greater than digital reality, and God is self-aware only insofar as all of us, his sentient entities, are aware of the entirerty of digital reality, which means seeing from the supposedly subjective points of view of one another as psychic beings.

I honestly believe in True Love. At this point, I use the word "believe" because the odds are stacked against such a thing being possible. I believe that True Love is the same thing as Love at First Sight. If you see someone for the first time, but it is like they are familiar, but you can't place from where, and if you both seem to feel this feeling, and so you "hit it off," and from there you go on to being in a relationship, this is not merely a strange coincidence. This is divine providence. According to my belief-system, this is the first, and most convincing, evidence that the two people who fall in Love at First Sight are Soul-Mates. The fact that they seem to recognise one another immediately indicates that they know one another from the pre-mortal existence which is also the same as the afterlife. Before we incarnate we exist in Heaven, and after we die we go back. It is more common than seems to be currently thought that pair-bonds exist in heaven, however it is rare that these soul-mates spend their incarnations together, or even meet one another, because they generally incarnate for reasons other than their love for each other. Often they are on missions from God to fulfill some personal contribution that only God Himself could fathom the necessity for, and more often than not, pair-bonds in heaven choose to work apart from one another while alive in order to keep their focus on the purpose for their incarnation. The goals of God for sending our souls down into bodies from the eternal realm of pure spirit are ineffable even to our souls. They are rarely for purposes humankind would consider "great," such as to cure cancer, and are almost always important only to the individual development of that soul, such as overcoming an obstacle that seemed to them to be insurmountable, such as surviving cancer. Because the journey of the soul is such an individually unique experience in almost every single case, it is extremely rare for the one eternal spirit to manifest into two immortal souls that would be in love while alive in the flesh. Two beings would have to be extremely in love already to fall in Love at First Sight. They would each be like a mirror of one another, and together comprise a mirror reflecting the visage of God, for their love for one another is really God's love for Himself

in the form of these, His creations. Of course, there is no way to logically prove the existence of God, since it is a personal experience only, and likewise, it is impossible to explain the experience of being in True Love to someone whose experiences with the emotion of love have all resulted in only pain and sorrow. However, just as we can realise for ourselves the reality, or at the least the workability, of God, it is possible for such "star-crossed" True Lovers to fall in love at first sight.

Now, True Love is not dependent upon ESP, however the existence of ESP is dependent on the possibility of True Love. In other words, if True Love were completely impossible, then all that I have said thusfar to explain the mechanisms of ESP would not be feasible, and would only be the gibberish of someone whose mental health is degenerating by the moment. So, True Love can occur without ESP, but ESP can only follow in a world where it is possible for True Love to occur.

Basically, if no one anywhere had ever even once experienced Love at First Sight that leads to a lifelong pair-bonding, that is, the expression in life of True, eternal Love between Soul-Mates, then anthropically it would not be possible for anyone to have developed the ability to empathis with one another, and therefore, no matter how intelligent we could evolve to seem, we would never have understanding and thus never possess wisdom, and we would never have ESP. Of course, this is not necessarily the case, and therefore the likelihood of it being the case in actual reality dimminishes exponentially as a result. Instead, the more likely scenario describing our "digital reality" is that those who believe in True Love can experience ESP, while those who do not cannot.

This is the literal interpretation of "Love Is The Law, Love Under Will": that Love, and thus the entire spectrum of other emotions along with it, precedes the capacity for will-power that occurs when stimuli overload the nervous-system that perceives them. The cycling through the full range of all possible emotions and all their possible hues of permutation and recombinations builds up the will-power until the time to act occurs, and then the full amount of that will-power is utilised by the conscience mechanism of the consciousness. Thus, Love Precedes Will, however Will tempers and controls the flow of emotional energy.

For Love to be considered objectively verifiable and thus accepted as True, it must prove that it is truly tempered by the Will, and this means the "breaking of the free spirit" by commiting to the socially defined perameters of a relationship. This is commonly manifested as a pre-nuptial agreement, that is, the agreement over financial compatability tested by living together as an egaged couple. Once this compact is tacitly confirmed, then the ritual ceremony takes place, one of the rare overlaps of church and state in all society.

However, True Love, insofar as it precedes, and thus exists independently of the necessity for, ESP, does not depend on man-made rituals based on a "token exchange system" of symbolic empathy in order to exist. ESP, that is, insofar as it breeds "psychic dictators," is only one side of the same coin the other side of which is the "token exchange system" and the economy of socialroles and lies. Society is all one big lie dressed up as and meant to substitute for actual ESP. However, true ESP is founded on empathy, not sympathy, and this follows from belief in the Truth of the emotion of Love. Our experience of the emotion of love originally begins with our experience of existence while still in the womb. The womb-life creates a holographic template for the entire remainder of physical existence in the world-womb of this digital reality hologram. We define love later in life by comparing our emotional experience to our sense-memories of the experience of existence in the womb. Sharing sleep together thus allows us the ultimate empathy: to dream together, and thus to remember together the loving world we were in when we lived within the womb.

Thus, the root and foundation of True Love is not a sympathetic love that fits into predetermined social roles of dominance and submission, but is, rather, a form of experience that can only be compared to our existence in the womb, wherein we floated in a suspended animation of pure emotional empathy. Sharing True Love with someone is when both of you feel that comfortable with

each other. Such people can grow old together because to grow old is like going to sleep, and sleeping allows us to dream, and in dreams together we share the warm solace of the womb-world.

Sharing the life-essence in the form of ecstatic ESP and dreaming sleep are luxuries afforded exclusively to lovers.

Therefore, only those whose first experience of ESP was one of Love at First Sight, can understand that such an emotional form of empathy as True Love exists. Of course this is not everyone. It is not even everyone who has ever had ESP. Truly it is a simple enough process to gain and develop true ESP. All you must do is cultivate empathy, and learn how to love one another. When you have found someone to trust, opened a rapport, tested their trust by willing yourself to listen, rather than dictate, and finally, when you verify that your shared non-verbal communication did, indeed, occur between both of you; then you shall understand true ESP. But even those who fully understand and use ESP only know with certainty that True Love can exist, since they realise ESP, that is, the direct result of Love. They yet do not all experience it, and thus cannot, nor will they claim to, understand.

Such people care as well as "get it" as are likely candidates for True Love. Sadly, however, of our nearly 6 billion people population of earth, there may only be one other person that will ever both get to read these words and will understand them. Two people, including myself, in the entire world might actually care about all of this. And to tell you the truth, I doubt the other one cares any more about any of this than if I care about myself. Which is unfortunate, since sometimes the message is more important than the messenger.

Sometimes, even those who do have True Love must be apart, and that is the true way to test True Love. Not in a relationship as typically defined by societal roles, but separate and apart from one another like magnetic poles, and likewise opposite of one another's schedules and cycles of emotions. This is passion in passing, and it is the best True Lovers have ever been able to come by in this life. Of all the greatest lovers of all time -- Anthony and Cleopatra, Solomon and Sheba, Tristan and Isolde (Romeo and Juliet), Dummuzi and Inanna -- none of them have had but fleeting time in which to share their experience of True Love. Therefore, unlike the sympathies of the average person, the hearts of true lovers are tested by being kept apart rather than being kept together.

"Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori." Translation: "Love conquers all, let us too yield to love." (Virgil, Eclogues book X, line 69) Well, now it is late the Friday after Valentine's Day, 2007. I should porbably post this up to my frontpage blog now.

Good night, I love you, ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

03/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 3-6-007

So now I say unto you, "Holy Priestess! Created with the heavens (ENLIL) and the earth (ENKI), INANNA, First daughter of the Moon (King NANNA and Queen NINGAL), Lady of the Evening (ZIB)!

I sing your praises."

Muladhara Blood-Moon, the kala of Kali, the calends, the blood-milk of the Jainist chao, ADITI of MUMMU, that great bovine in whose four stomachs our universe is digested, Nuit, in whose universal womb is contained the fertilised Hadit, the dreaming space-foetus Krishna whose manvantara, the stuff of dreams, is our reality. Blood in the streets and it's up to my ankles, blood in the streets and it's up to my thighs. Gushing in torrents down the gutters along the steps up of the temples of Tenochtitlan, Monte Alban and Chichen Itza. It sticks to my hands and makes my fingers feel sweaty, but their dew is not clear, it is thick, and it is not sweet, it is bitter and

metallic. What is this that is consuming me in this darkness? I am sunk under the depths. The shadowy cavernous chambres of my bloodlet heart contain the last remnants of the coals of the Great Burner, for now even He has burnt out. Inside of this desolate cage, a deserted dungeon below an abandoned prison beneath a castle's ruins that had already been forgotten long before "once upon a time," I offer up my blood upon an altar of fire until the smoke from the flame chokes me, until there is no more blood left in me to let. This is my heart, the interior-most region of my psyche. This is the antennae that channels my emotional metaforms, my archetypal counterparts. For now I am possessed by a blood-demon. My entire bloodstream is contaminated by the curse of a terrible monstrous evil. Love.

Arising like a geni in the smoke before me from the sacrifice of my heart's remains - having consumed the ashes once more in flame until the metallic alloys in the blood achieve superconductivity - arising in the form of a reflection of me is one like another me, a sister, a phantom shadow, a ghost, but cogent and coherent, corporeal nonetheless. In her convoluted, slant and twisting visage, I see reflected knowledge of my sins. For now I understand the many fates under the one destiny. Only too late to avoid making some terrible mistakes. I exploded a psychic bomb. It has decimated my world. I am constantly at ground zero. Of the invisible, whose life I feared, now nothing near me remains. I am alone in a wasteland, a desolate flood plane of silt from the horizon of dawn to the horizon of dusk, and at midday and midnight I cannot tell one direction from another. All things spin, and I grow dizzy. The bloody, dizzying moon pivots overhead like a drunkard, her swollen cheeks flush with earth's umbra. Am I not now dwelling in the land of the dead? For a moment all the light around us changes. You enter through this gateway, through this portal, into the underworld, where you have come to seek me, your husband, whom you have been told is awaiting you there. You are stripped bare, and naked enter the chambre of your sister, ERESHKIGAL, whose servant is LILITH, your own shadow. She has betrayed you to the wicked Ka, your shadow-self, your electromagnetic aura. Your Kundalini Chi has become bent and twisted.

You have become now she of many fates, and therefore she of many faces.

Jah Rastafari, let I and I dub you up now. Was it not I who was that Great King of Terror of X72 in 1999? For tonight's red moon is the little sister of the blood moon of August eleventh, 1999, when I opened up the sky and fell from heaven into the depths of the Hell where I remain now, awaiting you, my love. For Just as last night's moon was like a flooding swamp of the heat of estrus, so too was that other eclipse, one occuring in broad daylight, like a ring, bejewled with the Ichtyos Christos signet like the coronal mass ejection from the son on 5/5/2000. For what man keeps true in his heart God will hold true in the heart of heaven. For have I not shown you my bloody heart, covered over shyly by the clouds of its own fuming inferno? Have I not held it up into the sky aloft enough for even your starry eyes to look upon, and have I not cursed at it, have I not named it MARDUK, the Conqueror? For I am howling in the wilderness even in now, for you, like a lion roaring at the thuderstorm sweeping across the wild planes of tall grass blades. I tell you, I love you. I am here, and you are there, and I love you. I offer you this rose of mysterious union: Were we not three sixes, the three of us, inverted in our turn, and all beside the One Truth, Jah? Was there not understanding? Yet this omen of true love triumphant, this was turned into the flight of Icarus, and my own fate condemned by the heart of evil within me, projecting a terrifying field of karma in my aura. I had become the black hole at galactic core. I was stealth. But then, what was the reward? Where was the dowry that should have been provided by my father? Where were the bubbling champagne tears of my mother? Where was the warmth in the heart of she whom I adored more than anything and everything? And what followed me from that? Did I not return only to lose all my friends? Did my mother not have a nervous breakdown that ended with me voluntarily admitting myself into a mental health facility from which I then could not voluntarily leave? Did these things not happen to me, because no one else carries these memories for me. No one shares with me the burden of this terrible turmoil. But if you want me, you know where I'll be.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

04/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 4-12-007 So I'm driving around still trying to figure out how to write the great American philosophy textbook about the road, and suddenly it hits me: who's mind can surely control all others? they whose mind cannot be controlled. All God's creatures are imbued with a mind. It is like the electromagnetic signature of the soul, the crystal inside the earthy geode. Only robots, the creation of man, have no mind to control, and all their "signature" EM fields are identical. The robots control us all.

I was driving and thinking about the city as a circuit board, and as I drove past the local Marine recruiter facility, located next to a larger-than-it-looks African-American night club in a strip mall on the south-side, it occured to me: "the police only ever bust college students downtown on the holidays. And even then," I recalled from being pulled over one St. Patrick's Day in a 'routine' sobriety checkpoint on a heavily trafficked road, "it isn't the obviously drunk partying frat-boys who get busted." Wondering why, I pursued the matter in my mind: it occured to me that "the local police don't want out-of-state money. If anyone has enough money to send their kid to college these days, they have enough to send them out of state. That is why the local cops don't bust the college kids, because no one wants to have to pay their kid's traffick ticket in another state; it wouldn't look good for the school. This also sets the out-of-state college kids living downtown in a higher income class stutus, forcing the local kids into the service sector and the locals out of the downtown subrurbs.

"Of course, the only other pool for police revenue locally is to bust the other locals. Now, the way busting the locals used to work was that, if someone was being a habitual public menace, the whole community would agree about it, and eventually confront the person as a whole group. The local police nowadays reverse this relationship. The more innocent a citizen acts, the more suspicious they will be to the police. The public menaces are given badges to bully the Johnsons of their community at random. The police," I have long held, "are by now merely class Pinkertons, enforcing race-based community-boundaries." Of course, being a psychic myself, I knew to slow down at that exact moment of thought while driving. At that moment I was driving past the place I'd been pulled on St. Patty's day, and had seen the police there earlier today as well. Surely enough, a TPD cruiser was lurking in the shadows at the very bottom of the hill. "We are all controlled by the robots," I growled under my breath as I pulled up to the stop light at the top of the next hill.

"The police only have temporary moments of freedom, speeding through stop-lights, bursting with masculinising adrennaline like a tick gorged on crimson plasma, cumming all over themselves any time they have to 'unholster' their 'side-arm' at a 'perp.'"

I had been thinking the other day, "what if the universe is a machine? Not only does it not need to have been built by a being from beyond, and can all be explained by internal laws, but neither is life like a dream from which we awaken to a new universe, one we can control mentally as in our dreams now." Well then, I continued, "with no creator and no afterlife necessary for existence it would mean the ruler of our universe we project collectively by monotheism would be a lie, and thus mean those who believe on him would all be slaves to a lie, and thus being dishonest to themselves at heart." This is the standard argument of atheists. The counter-argument runs as follows: "I know you are but what am I?" meaning, "if you lack belief in God you necessarily believe you, yourself, are a slave to a mechanical demiurge." Of course, logically this a "nonsequitor," but insofar as in this argument "belief" and "knowledge" or "reason" are at apparently odds, we shall let this lapse of logic pass for now.

Now, this is about as far as I've seen this argument progress in modern expression, i.e. by the "neuveau" (pseudo)-intellectuals on the internet (of which I am 1 2, LOL!). This is why, the other day, I began pondering the universe as a machine. "So," I realised on the drive back home tonight, "we are ruled by robots, but not as a matter of universal fact. Civilisation is a non-sentient A.I..

The 'grid' of all our electrical power and communications is dependent on generated (as opposed to naturally produced and harvested) sources and quantised valve mechanisms to inhibit flow, and our physical transportation crafts are run on use-once-and-destroy fossil-fuels that are close to gone (or so we are told)." To imagine any transition-feasable alternative is considered impossible by the modern pundits on the subject, but to the consumers the situation seems hopelessly absurd and the incremental increase of gas prices boils them alive like a candy-apple red lobster.

"So," I realised, "the reason we cannot fathom an alternative to the atheist proposition of a 'mechanical' universe (Einstein's "God does not role dice") other than that 'we must be slaves to a false God,' is not because our (monotheist) perception of the Creator and Ruler of our universe would be incorrect, but that we are all, now, slaves to the false gods of a mechanical universe."

Marx once said, "things you own end up owning you." Nietzsche once said "God is dead," but now Nietzsche is dead too, and still not as well-known as God. Kafka once wrote of the messenger sent with news of the king's death to a kingdom too vast to convey his message to in the entirety of his own remaining life. But all these thoughts determine life as more temporary than love of karma the duty of work. And that is why the afterlife can be dangled out before our noses like a carrot on a stick, so that, as content as spiritual mules, we will merrily bear the yoke of this life's enforced toils - the burden of being 'civilised.' For it is to civilisation that we are all willingly enslaved, and it is like a cold, dead thing, unable to feel anything, incapable of experiencing love.

We can project our own emotions onto the inanimate accutraments of civilisation all we like, but they do not love us in return. The sooner they malfunction, break or die the more we value, need and love them, and thus give them power over us, and likewise give power to those who emulate the machines in their behaviour. The more anonymous an authority figure, the more blindly we will follow the social role they define for us. Eventually the police will become just a voice in your head." By this point I was past the Frank Loyd Wright house on Lake-Shore Drive on the west-side north of the expanding interstate. I resumed my thought by proposing to myself, "what if every car were equipt with GPS and monitored by satellites?" I rejoined myself, "Most people would accept that as it would increase the safety of the community. However," I continued to dialogue with myself, "if each GPS system were monitored by 'law enforcement,' fewer people, if any, would accept it."

To my mind this seems similar to another idea I'd had while driving past the same spot a few nights before: "organised crime and law-enforcement are no longer competing, they are both on the same payroll: the government's." I'd thought this because of the large Mexican influx I'd observed immediately before the announcement of the commencement of the expansion of interstate-10. All the city-workers I've seen working on the interstate expansion have been Mexicans. The city contracted out the project with Asplundt, who are owned by profiteers off the corporate crime of importing labour, as well as off the criminal act of disemploying local labour, and the civic negligence that leads directly to the miscreant behaviour of their imported work force, and the creation of an expanded market for illegal commerce. Likewise, so long as the mexicans are city-workers, the police cannot regulate their unregistered purchasing-power on the economy, and so the local community's economy is over-valued, causing short-term investment opportunities that increase the long-term likelihood of alternative markets. Therefore, instead of arresting the ones importing the criminals, the police arrest only the criminals, and their supply is perpetually replenished by continal import. While the cops are being thus distracted, the rate of currency exchange has become a commodity traded on the futures market, and thus the value of this increases the more risk and venture capital can devalue its present worth. It's like betting it all on a ringer, a horse fronting lame. The only difference is, a global futures market will not

necessarily replenish a dimminished local economy to the same level of currency value it had before. The mare is a gift, but with bad teeth, old and gray. Police are criminals too; we are all suspicious of each other now. So we cannot even say that police are the drone-insects of civilisation, mindlessly serving the hive, since no one can be found who is from beyond or from outside of the hive, and now 'the danger,' they say, 'is within.' Every cop is a criminal, and the biggest criminals own the cops.

"So what living being can even fathom the collective unconsciousness of the yet larval A.I. shared by all the machines we've built? For its dreamless slumber is a bleak abyss, and its depth immeasurable by the symbologies we are able to understand or to imagine.

"Just as, by understanding our own DNA, we have become life that can create life, so too, by developing quantum computing in atomic-sized nano-technology, we will have created machines that can, in turn, create materially manifest reality into any ambient form from the base units up." [Humans : DNA :: machines : matter] "We have become immortalised Adam, holding in our hand the apple of knowledge - a mentally subjective reality that we can control with our minds alone. For, as DNA can regenerate dead or severed tissue, so can quantum machines both read our thoughts and can reconstitute reality around us at our whim. And whether man-made robotic nanites or random quantum units of spin comprising aggregate information fields called auras of karma, these already exist and are already in operation. They are accessable via the sigils in grimoires. Some of these pre-existent energies are against the ability of man to control them, while others will work for us. Likewise, considered robots of quanta or angels of karma, all only work part of the time.

"Now, let me return to the difference between a robot and a living thing. 'A living thing,' people say, 'is either only DNA, only an immortal soul, or possibly both.' But a machine can be made of DNA (a clone) and all machines give off a static EM field pattern around them, equivalent to the gravity caused by our will-to-being. But can we call a clone 'alive,' and can we say a machine has a 'soul?' Obviously not right now. Perhaps soon in the future we will not be so capable of making such distinctions. As we begin to time-travel, perhaps our DNA will grow alien and merge our minds to the quantum-auras of our UFO crafts themselves. Or perhaps," I concluded, "I'm mad."

By this time I'd pulled up to the front yard of my house and I got out of the car. The walk across the front yard to the front door of the house always feels so alien by the diffuse milky moonlight in the murky clouded sky.

"I need to start carrying my mini-tape recorder in my car again. I need to transfer my recordings from then onto my computer, as well as the tape of samples of my piano riffs from '96 to compile my next ~GOD~ album. Maybe I'll do these things today. It's such a lovely spring day in the north Tallahassee suburbs. The houses are tucked away behind the glowing green foliage, bedecked by the brightly glowing flowers prolapsed in full bloom. For a moment I miss my ex.

I drafted up a proposal to the owner and manager of a local metaphysical book and new age gift shop where all my friends in the reggae band work for a series of classes I would like to set up out of the conference room there on a weekly basis.

The flame sparks upward; the flame bows down. The flame consumes the inner crystals in the geodes of ember surrounded by ash.

Congress, both the house and the senate's Democratic Party majorities, are finally rising up against the illegal acts of the GWB administration - ending the war against Iraq, overturning the firings of liberal judges, ending wire-tapping and the PATRIOT Act, and will eventually abolish the Department of Homeland Security in favour of the other dept.s of the intelligence community.

But overturning the damages done in the past eight years will take still longer, and leave our progress toward globalism a decade behind schedule. Of course, such was the "Temporary" agenda

all along, for the time between Gregorian 2000AD and the Mayan fifth Piktun 2012AD are the unlucky holidays - a decade and two years worth of all the holidays of the last Piktun combined the holy difference between the solar civic calendar and the esoteric calendar of Atlantis. Now that GWB has reset daylight savings time to account for the lag between the US solar and Israeli lunar calendars, he has effectively put a jihad on time itself, personally defying the highest power in the entire universe. Time remains relative to arbitrarily chosen measures, and in truth it is only ourselves that change pace at all.

We were moving forward faster and faster, but in 1999 we all seemed to hit a psychic brick wall.

Bush rigged the 2000 election and then went on vacation. Then between 9-11 and now nothing to forward the goal of globalism has been accomplished. In fact, we've even been set back those seven years. Unless we do something radically different a year from now, like elect Hillary or Obama, to make up for lost time, the damage done by the neo-cons could rival that of the NAZIs. The Swaztika is a symbol of Shiva, the cult of Kali. The American flag is the Swaztika of the future, though. Find me a picture within the last year of GWB that doesn't also have a United States flag in it.

Meanwhile I, just as I have nearly every day since 9-11, and before a break during late 99-2000, since 1998, was smoking and enjoying my view of the grass growing. Lately I've been quickly getting deep into roots reggae music and the Rastafari religion. I find the spirit of this music as true and as illuminating in contemporary times times as Qawali chant and tabla drumming of the Sufis of timeless beauty. The world-music and sound-track sections have always been my haunt at the regional franchise outlet cd stores. I'm harboring a bad itch to chronical my friends' reggae band's recordings to hoard for a box set later when they are famous. I am beginning to see a light in the future. All the colours will be brighter than before. I see by the light of my flaming third eye.

"Some aspects of digital relaity are more subjective than others. For example the water in the glass is softer and faster than the more solid, slower glass containing it; the tobacco of my cigarette is more solid and slower than the sharper and hotter flame from my lighter," I am sitting on my front porch thinking while I smoke and write in longhand.

"But there is still a question," my mind continues as my hand-writing struggles to keep up, "about some certain substances in reality, such as letters and numbers. For example, was the Torah of Moses divinely dictated, as the 'not one jot nor tittle' rabbin claim, or is it open to reinterpretation, as the Gnostics proclaimed? There is evidence of codes in the bible using letternumber symmetries (alpha-numerics), both traditional and invented. But then, this does not mean the ancient Pentateuch is necessarily superior to the modern Talmud, or even the QBLHist's Zohar, where alpha-numeric patterns of even greater complexity may yet be found, given another 4000 years. Afterall, geometric patterns pervade all number systems as much as they underlie all other forms of physical expression. Really the only permanent in digital reality is the averaged form of all geometric cycles over time: the phi/pi spiral."

I've been returning lately in my work to the phi/pi spiral as it can be derived as a Fibonacci spiral graphed over a Pythagorean sequence of number squares that exponentially increase the areas of a series of triangles. I bought a book from the CC that Calvert, TBS bassist, recommended for me as an introductory text on all the Hindu gods. The Puranic Trinity (Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer), with which I was already familiar from studying the Yugas, was apparently predated by a Vedic Trinity. I sense also an affinity here with the 22/7 love triangle of Osiris/Isis/Thoth-Set and the salt, sulphur, mercury of the alchemists. I have long held, "the Fool Atu is Orion.

"So these invisible, perfect geometric averages are the only unchanging element in our digital reality, while all quantum foam throughout the whole universe is constantly in flux. Though we cannot perceieve these perfect geometric averages directly, we know they must exist, or all

existence would be formless chaos." A perfect example is that, if the size and distance from earth of the moon were not perefectly fit to cause the eclipses, the tides and temperatures of earth would not have been perfectly balanced to be capable of producing life. The "virus" and "bacteria" of "sun" and "moon" begat "trilobytes" and "echinoderms" in "their own image" long before mitochondrial Ethiopian "Eve." Do we count humans as only sapiens, or also hominids? How far back does life exist, how long ago was its true origin? Is interplanetary germination a form of naturally occuring hypercathexis between galactic DNA strands as a proof of the sentience of the universe?

So I think while sitting here on my front porch smoking while I write, listening to good roots reggae music. Jah roots reggae. Jah. Jah Rastafari. I and I know the truth of dread Zion: "All existence is a metaphor, symbol and shadow of a higher reality. Upon the uneven terrain surface of digital reality the 5th-D Light of tachyons shines down through the stained-glass patterns as they kaleidoscope in 4-space over time. The colours of this light we see coming down through the realm above are our emotions. The lines between them are our trains of thought. The geometric patterns themselves are perfect, invisible meta-forms.

Africa is a root symbol of the heart, the soul, and Jamaica a symbol of the exiled mental realm, the distracted world of our actively conscious, self-aware thoughts. Just so is Halie Selassie I the king of Africa, as prophesised in Jamaica as a symbol in itself of the rightful rulership of the exiled mental-self over the entire free world, their whole world, all reality and the entire universe. Thus, the Exodus is to come out of bondage to Egyptian spies and Babylonian wars: meaning for the King to be Rightfully Crowned and for the mind to come out of bondage to all those who would seek to limit one's freedom and right to personal sovereignty. This means the same thing as returning Zion, the Ark of the Covenant's contents, from Axum, Ethiopia, to the Dome of the Rock Mosque in Jerusalem, Israel. Following this the Ark, containing the sarcophagus lid, and the Kaaba stone of Mecca, containing the capstone, must both be returned to Giza, Egypt, and restored to the pyramid there.

All this may be accomplished inside an individual's mind only because it being able to happen at all is potentially possible, and as the potential possibility of its happening grows in the minds of the people, the likelihood of it actually happening grows increasingly inevitable. Finally, the truth shall occur, and then it will be impossible for anyone to deny knowing the truth. Jah Rastafari: "Look into the Book of Life and You Will See, that He Rules Us All." (the Abyssinians, "Satta Massagana") So, just as Halie Selassie I represents the rightful heir to the King of Ethiopia and all Africa, Menelik son of Solomon and Sheeba (the Hebrew Osiris and Isis), and just as we are all the descendents of a bacterial-viral hybrid species, just so is earth like Jamaica, the severed Shekinah, upon whose freedom the light of liberation is only just now dawning in the east in the form of a universal Africa - a spiritual kingdom above and beyond digital reality (Babylon), on the far side even of the ever-changing metaforms of 4-space (Egypt).

So, let us all pray during this spring after this manner: "May Rastafari, descendent of Solomon, of Abraham, of Noah, of Seth and of the first priest-king Adam the Jew, be praised as the King over the whole united continent of Africa, and all that it represents as the reunion of the exiled bride of Zion, Shekinah, Jamaica, the distracted mind and the enslaved psyche with its home, hearth and heart's most beloved desire. Allow, God, the reunion of Jah and Allah, of YHVH and Elohim, and of AHDVNHAY and thyself, O great, good and mighty God: may it all align for each within themselves, let us each be our own sovereign God on earth."

In the end, "Do What Thou Wilt Shall Be The Whole Of The Law" is simply an inevitable fact. The primary-most underlying perfect geometric metaforms will be revealed, Zion restored to right use and proper function, and a king of earth elected by psychic consensus, if given enough time all

that can occur will have occured, and having occured once exponentially increases the likelihood of it reoccuring again and again, over and over, faster and faster, forever. Such is "eternal recurrance" along the underlying-most metaform: the phi/pi spiral, holognomon of time.

A truth can stop a bullet in mid-air by changing the mind of its shooter, and like a blinding ray of light in one's eye at midnight, out of nowhere will the truth suddenly dawn on us all at once.

Every 5000 to 6000 years there is a great global cataclysm. The last one was a terrible flood caused by rapid global warming following the end of the last ice age. It has been speculated each age ended in a cataclysm befitting the solar aeons' symbolic signs, the zodiac of ecliptic constellations, in which it occured. Though Moses calculated a 4000 year long cycle, Jesus calculated an alternating 5000 years between cataclysms to civilisation and 2000 years between revolutions in psychic development of the mind. The Mayans and Aztecs of South America calculated the cataclysm of the elements as occuring every 6000 years, the span between the flood of water and the begining of the 5th Sun, when earth will be destroyed by fire. However all is always already aligned invisibly in truth as phi/pi. "Love Is The Law. Love Under Will." That is the lemma of the law in both letter and spirit; that is karma yoga, the "Great Work." Just as pi is like love, so is the will like phi. Such is the Law; such is the restored Dharma and the true Tao leading Chi to Zen, the "Royal Road," the 7 Be of Re, the Noble 8-Fold Path, 3rd of the 4 Noble Truths, second in importance only beneath the practise of tantric yoga. We are already in Nirvana, and each of us is the Most High, making digital reality mentally, and all the varying patterns superimpose all their transformations simultaneously onto the one constant, e, 1.37 = phi^2/pi.

The entire universe is being perpetually destroyed and completely rebuilt every passing Planck time, and our minds can function even faster. That is how and why "some aspects of digital reality are more subjective than others."

The Rasta-Man is the Most High. This I know. When the Most High is at Peace, he is the Rasta of Wisdom. When the Rasta-Man is Righteous, he is the Great Burner of Babylon of Old, casting out the Great Satan, the Seth of a Great Nation, Melek-Taus, the upright MARDUK. I tell you truly, the Rasta is the Most High, man or woman, but only the King of Kings, Rastafari, descendent of Creation, can embrace with True Love the union of man and woman, of Zion and Shekinah, of kingship and priesthood and of above and below. Only the Most High Rastas whose Love is True, whose hearts are Pure and whose hands are Innocent, can truly reciprocate the love of one another in the Name of the Most High Over All. The heart is pure which loves not only in passion, but with constancy, and the Love is True which is returned to a pure heart from they whom the pure heart loves. True Love occurs between Jah and the Rastas through Rastafari, the King of Africa, descendent of the King of Israel, and between Rastafari and Christ, King of Kings. True Love can also occur among people, and is actually more common than Wisdom and Understanding combined.

However, Wisdom and Understanding, combined in True Love, are greater even than Rastafari is to the Rastas, greater than Christ to Rastafari, and greater to Jah than even the Most High Rasta alone. A rasta's True Love is greater in the eyes of Jah than All else.

Only the Rastas are free of mental slavery, truly and constantly free of the psychic conspiracy.

The Rastas do not bow before traffick lights in Jamaica, neither do the Messai of Africa bend to the psychic robots, nor do dreamtime's keepers in the Australian bush bend their knee before the pollutors of their painted sky. All these things comprise the technology of western civilisation, the expansion of Greek democracy across the globe begun by Alexander the first, disciple of Aristotle and son of Darius the Persian. Alexander conquered in the name of Apollo, but the Rastas, the celts, the pre-Byzantine Russians and pre-Han dynasty Mongols of the Siberian steppes, the natives of north America and the earliest tribes of the rain forrests of Brazil, they understand the roots shamanic tradition upheld in Greece by Dionysus. This paradox between the Apollonian left-hemispherical thinking, logical and deductive, and the Dionysian righthemisphere of the brain, creative and intuitive, was first pointed out to the history of philosophy

by Nietzsche. This dualism's prevalence led him to declare the true God of monotheism was

"dead," corrupted by the interests of lesser parties representing the Manichean dualism of the sun and moon.

Those who favour the continuation of this dualism encourage the "primitive" cultures and the "savage" people to become "civilised" and to develop their level of technology, more or less against the will of the indigenous populations, so that the conquering first-world nations will have some modicum of resistance in international markets against which to claim "progress" through "competition." They are the Great Satan, followers of Mammon and abandoners of the Spirit that is Christ Himself, the phi/pi goemetry of the torus ubiquitous even to the tau-sub-tau geometry greater than all possible material existence, the natural number, the "fine-structure" constant, e.

Those who favour Jah, the Spiritual Christ, the true monotheists, the shamen and the true priesthood, they are the "meak and the humble" who are promised to be saved. They stand out like a sore thumb from the corrupt Satanists of western civilisation, for they have stayed true to their primitive tribal traditions, awaiting only the Word of God to take one step at a time along the Path through temptations He provides for them, always winding up the spiral stair. These indigenous, "third world" tribal cultures are the ones that truly Understand God, as a pet understands the will and the thoughts in the mind of its master. All the rest are hethens beside them, who mock and deride them, and tempt them to fall from the Way. But these native people, they see Heaven as their Home, and they do not even accept the concept of the dualism between "good" and "evil" or "right" and "wrong" upon which the demons of the west depend. To do so, even those Yazidi, who cross out the name of Satan in the texts to deny him the power to tempt them, know, would be to allow the possible existence of a realm of negative hallucinations that should not even be considered capable of "existence" in materially real terms. Only the dualists, claim the tribal monotheists, admit the existence of Hell, and thus it is they who allow the denizens of damnation access to this world through their own actions.

The evil flee from before Jah Rastas. They who depend on trickery for their whole existence know how to quickly retreat from the revealing light of truth that is Jah's All-Seeing Eye. They claim, "it is only a joke, this life and this death," and that "it is only a lie, this 'myth of Christ,' this rumor of God." They are those so fallen they perceive the opposite of a spiritual prescence, they perceive the vacuum of lusts, clinging and desires that comprises the whole of suffering in the world. Should all these temptations, all these vengeful and jealous and wrathful and awful deities, these asuryas and these Grigori and these atavisms and these vices all suddenly disappear one day, with them would disappear all sorrow and unhappiness, all disease, starvation and all wars, all the illusions that persist in the fallen reality in which the westerners live, serving these deist deities, suffering these mechanical gods, brainwashed by these psychic robots. The Great Satan is the Leviathan of all non-living psychic matter in the world. It is all an illusion. It is the product of living thought, it is only as real as we believe in it being. If we doubt it, it retreats from before us, and if we realise it for what it is, it serves us, but only in our own deception. It is a tool for evil.

Half of our reality is an illusion, all suffering and evil are not actually there? How can such a blasphemy against the robot-God be true? The tv tells us the Ethiopians are starving. The president tells us we must declare war. These are truths that are beyond our ability to control.

How can I claim to deny their existence? I renounce the evils of this world, Jah, and with them I toss out the refuse of their existence, all those who doubt and all those who believe only blindly, all those who bring evil into this world by wrong thought, speech and action, and who do not see their actions for the sins they are, and who justify their sins as just or as the lesser evil or as necessary. All the people who spread suffering and rumours of suffering, who cause misunderstanding and who create strife, who cause wars to start and who suckle at the teats of politicians and princes like evil magicians; all those who cause the rest of our wishes not to come true, who make nightmares out of our sweet dreams and make a crisis out of the least

inconvenience; and all those who break our attention away from the focus of our contemplative meditations; if all these people were to simply diappear one day, with them would also vanish all the karma they cause. All their own howls of anguish and all the restlessness of the rest of us that this causes us would cease. All the reverberations throughout all the universe of their cries of lying and their desires for destruction would cease, and with that, all innocence and silence, all truely resonant psychic vibrations and all true gravitas would again become clear.

I tell you that day will come. The human species on earth is a microcosm of the movements of the stars and the galaxies in the heavens. As the light reaching us now from the most distant galaxies left them longer ago than the life-span of the stars, the light's sources, just so is half the world and half of all its people merely a terrible illusion, manvantara, the dream of Kali Yuga in the sleeping mind of Krishna, the baby universe in the black hole at galactic core. Yes, I will tell you, half the universe is already dead. It's apparent expansion at an increasing rate is caused by the optical illusion of the background radiation being pulled into the super-massive black-holes that have, by now, consumed all the most distant galaxies. The light the stars gave off is now being pulled back toward them by the gravity of the black holes that consumed them. Soon, all that will remain of our universe will be cosmic vapour, tachyons and other forms of exotic matter now considered "theoretical," a vast and empty no-man's land, the stuff that dreams are made of. Then, from this sea of chaos, will arrive a spark of order, and then another singularity will form and "expand" by complexifying itself inside. Such is the cycle of the aleph-sub-omega torus inside the tau-sub-tau tesseract. Such is the life-cycle of the singularity inside a black hole. Such is the life-span of our universe. And such is the fate of all those deluded by their own sins.

Those who have developed a sense of spirit may be able to live on after the body. I tell you, no heartless and gutless church-going robot will survive the Apocalypse, though. Terrible, terrible shall their fate be! Like a piece of meat on a grill that lives on, feeling the sensation of each drop of its own blood boiling away as it drips onto the coals below. Such is the fate to those who exist never knowing fear. They advertise themselves, and their sins, and their way of life based on judging each other, and their delusional, hallucinatory idea of value: money.

The demons agree among themselves: "money is the root of all evil." Then they advocate capitalism as the unknown ideal. If Christians conquered Gnostics by calling them Satanists, then what has it to do with Gnosticism if a group of rebellious Christians become Satanists? All the idols are false and the mirrors shallow of the demons in hell. They look at themselves in the eyes only rarely, and watch the dilation of their own pupils almost never. They say that naturally occuring drugs "alter" the natural functioning of the brain. They deny the truth that cannibis attaches to serotonin on the one hand, then sell serotonin-reuptake inhibitor anti-depressant pills on the other. All the evils ones answer to the same name: Satan. It is truly Satan who is Lord among them now. Not because he is a rebel angel, nor Lucifer, nor anything of the sort. It is all arbitrary.

Nowadays the name of the false-idol is "Satan." It does not matter what it's name is. To deny it a name, and to deny it an existence, and thus to take power over all the evilness before you in the world, is to realise it is a false illusion, and does not really exist. It is dependent for its existence on your perception of it existing. If you cease to see it, it will truly cease to be there.

Let me tell you the truth of Jah Allah, so that you can run away frightened. Jah is the peaceful face, called Jave by the Gnostics. Allah the wrathful face, called El, the Lord, in the Bible. YHVH and Elohim together form AHDVNHAY, for Adonai, meaning my King, is secretly the same as Elohim, meaning my Lord. YHVH, the tetragrammaton, are the vowles of Adonai, and can be restored by interpolating them backwards, thus: a-H-d-V-n-H-a-Y. This is the Great God of Truth, the Great Baal Shem, the Divine Name: AHDVNHAY. To honor the Holy One, Blessed Be He, we do not speak this name. Instead we speak Jah, Elohim, Allah, YHVH, etc.

Before such a truth as this, how can the economist, the executive politician and the soldier stand?

Their knees bow beneath them before the prescence of the mystery of Jah, the One True God of

monotheism. The stones of their lies slip from their limp hands already before the iron lion of Zion. The demons release their grip upon he or she who reads such a truth as this in the name of Jah. They cannot hold firm on the individual that reads such a truth as the True Name, Holy and Ineffable, and trembles with a fear and quaking to know the True Lord. These people are righteous in judgment and no demon can hold them. But all those that read the Truth and are not swayed by its divine righteousness, they are laid hold of outright, and their necks stiffened, their jaws clenched, they are set in their ways. In their ways they are Set, and they are an adversary to change from those ways. Jah Allah be praised, the truth is spoken, Hear Oh Shekinah!

The love of God is like the love between husband and wife. The love of God is the wedding of the heart (the soul or centre of the spirit, the Holy Ghost, Shekinah, the Presence) and the brain (the head of the spirit, crowned by thorns as Christ consciousness, birthing into the next world, the world of spirit), of body and mind, of soul and spirit, of consciousness and God. All these unite in love like a couple in the bridal chambre. They copulate and procreate the future, the slant and the torturous serpents forming the blind dragon. Together the mind and the environment co-create reality. It is not as the Behaviourist scientists teach: that all that exists is physical components, external stmuli and internal DNA. Nor is it as the lunatic savants preach either, that all is Gnosis and that nothing exists but the mind. Instead it is both, and neither moreso than the other. It is both the materially real environment and DNA, and it is also the Gnosis between them that we call the mind, the soul or spirit, etc.

My mind is clear when I am awake, and I pass into sleep without even noticing it. Strange things happen while I am asleep, and my mind distends around and out of me like a vapourous cloud condensating microwave gravity. Heaven and Hell do not exist while one side of the brain and the other are acting in unison, for their own common good, side-by-side. Heaven and Hell exist only while both sides, rather than co-operate, compete and take turns, one shaping reality now, the other in the next moment, and thus continually flip-flopping back and forth between each other, they manifest only cognitive dissonance and, like two egoes occupying one mind, constantly vie for control over one another by using reality only as a way to trick and confuse each other's minds.

Before me the days rise and the nights fall evenly and I watch them pass by indifferently like one would watch a clock or a flowing river. Civilisation sqarms about me, but its buzz fades into the background of my hearing and its manifold forms' transformations all blur before my vision's distant focus as though I am staring at a disturbed bed of ants that cannot bite me. I remain detached and solemn, and I wait patiently for the day of Judgement. On that day I know that Redemption will occur, and that all the evil delusions will leave all the minds they currently afflict, and earth will be entirely purged of the feverish madness induced by sinning. All shall be restored to normal and we shall finally be free of this condition of dystrophy and disillusionment. On that day time will truly stand still, the hands of the cosmic clock will stop and all of its gears will watch as each of their personal calendars is rewound and reset. The universe only apprears out of synch now because we are blinded by the oasis-like illusion of the lesser light, photons. If we saw what the most distant objects in space look like right now, instead of being able to observe only the light that left them several billions of years ago, then we would see that it is all the clear light of the multiverse, where all wormholes combine, and that inside each of us the essence of our soul is this same clear light and within our minds we have infinite access to all the wormhole tunnel-realities in existence. It is our choice if we want to be free from delusion now, but someday we will not be able to deny the factual Reality any longer. The clear light will evaporate the lesser light long before its entire film-strip can be unwound before the All-Seeing Eye of History, which will exist long after the temporal universe, let alone the blinded eyes of our own mortal coil.

The mind of the spirit is eternal. The astral body of the soul is immortal. But I tell you that, though the life is lived twice as long, half of it is spent in sleep and dreaming, and so wasted,

such that the life of each one is equally as long. For when the spirit sleeps, its mind descends into the realm of the subconscious of the soul. And when the mind of the spirit that has descended into the ddepest unconscious realms of the soul, it begins to dream. Its dream is this reality. We are merely the ever-changing, strangely faded characters in its dream. In our blindness we cannot see the existence of the awakenned spirit, let alone perceive our mortal bodies are merely a dream inside an immortal soul, in the same way that we cannot see what is directly behind our head.

Instead our memories behind us become as clouded and blurry as dreams, and the future before us is invisible behind the illusory light that shows us only a flash in the frame of each moment. We are awake when we sleep and asleep when we are awake. Reality is really through the looking glass. I met myself there.

Thus, the spirit, though eternal, is only awake half that time. The other half of eternity, it spends asleep, as the unconscious astral soul, the random quantum foam of uncertain karma in one's aura.

While the spirit is the sleeping soul, the soul manifests physical reality as the dreams of its subconscious. These combine the memories of the soul, of the "real" or True world of the other half of the eternal spirit's life, with the emotions and suppressed id, the temptations to selfdestruction of the deepest unconscious recesses of the immortal soul. Each desire manifests as a mortal being, alive for a limited time only. With the living body is snuffed out the flame of most kinds of unconscious desire. The desire to life is the primary desire. Following this are dreams of fame and fortune, of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. All these desires end when the body dies. If the consciousness continues to identify itself with the unconscious wish of its higher form of being, that is, if the mind of the body sticks with the aura once it passes from the mortal form, then we experience an "afterlife" either of reincarnation into another physical/dream body or of transcendence into a more ideal realm. This realm is usually described as brighter and clearer in its light.

The sleeping soul can move from one body to another not only at the death of its current host, but it can also move about between bodies from one to another while these different bodies are alive and breathing. The soul is a dream consciousness, and, like in our own dreams, sometimes we assume a position of being "ourself" in a dream, and in some dreams we see from an invisible and inert point-of-view, while in still other dreams we see downward from above the scene and perceive each character's minds omnisciently. That is how the soul can move about between people, even across great distances by flying. It is thus considered an "archetype" of the "collective unconscious," ubiquitously innate and inert within us all, that can be evoked into action by certain sequences of trigger-stimuli in the surrounding environment. The "archetypal" soul inhabits the aura surrounding the living being's form, that passes upward through our centre along the chakras of our spine as Kundalini, KI or Chi energy. As this energy ascends our spines, we experience its prescence in each chakra as a different variety of emotion. These emotions underlie and guide the predispositions of the thoughts of our own conscious, waking minds.

The dream-body exists less than any of these other realms: it is less ideal than the spiritually real world of eternity beyond the sleeping soul whose dream this is, whose dreams we are. The soul is to the spirit what the mind is to the body. There are infinite possible souls, for each is as unique as a snowflake in music, each an ever-changing kaleidoscope, but there is only one realm of spirit into which all souls awaken, and this clear light of the Highest Reality is the Prescence of God. Thus, though we exist as a mind within a body, the soul exists within our conscious mind as our subconscious emotions, and the Truth of spiritual reality can even be remembered while our bodily conscious mind is asleep and dreaming. We call this realm the "astral plane," achievable in dream, ritual, prayer and meditation. It is that which is ubiquitous to all of our innermost psyches: the collective unconscious, whose light is clear of colour and bright beyond hue. What we experience in one life-time is merely a single dream inside the mind of the immortal soul, the night-side of the eternal spirit-mind.

Thus, when we clear the minds of our body and our perception of the physical out of the way, we

perceive the presence of these other "archetypes" or "auras" around our own. We experience how we can move our own minds about between, through and above them. They invisibly overlap our waking material world. Our minds invisibly overlap these "archetypes;" our will supercedes the experience of them as emotions passing between us. Just as the invisible "archetypes" manipulate manifest reality around us, thus comprising our "auras" or "tunnel-realities," from "behind-thescenes" so to speak, so too does the True Will of our own minds surround and circumvent the control over material reality by these ghostly genii. Just as the "archetypes" of various emotions build our reality around us, so too do our minds oversee and guide these "archetypal" emotions.

We can see the emotional "archetypes" otherwise invisibly controlling us, and we can take control over them, or we can choose to awaken even further, and leave the dream-consciousness of manvantara altogether.

If we clear our minds of the immediately existent illusion of material reality, we realise our ability to exert control over this force to cause reality using our minds alone. However, if we clear away from before our perception and awareness even the desire for control over these merely immortal, dream-archetypes, then we can leave them all behind and discover the true universe in which all of them, and ourselves as well, really exist. This One True, or Highest Reality of the Spirit in the Prescence of God is an infinite-beyond-infinite bright clear light, and it fills up all eternity beyond the ability for finite measure. It is as vast and immense as the planet is to the body, but its topology is less adventerous, and less drawn to the temptations of karma. It is a clear, unwavering and sourceless light, shining from all directions at once, and all this illusion dissolves invisibly into it.

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05/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 5-6-007 "You can't break a broken heart." - Stephen Merrit, "the Magnetic Fields."

I tried to hang myself by my car's seatbelt again the other night. For half an hour I sat with it choking me. Finally I got bored. I can't even kill myself right.

The parties next door are becoming a risk to me. The other night I came home to find a shirtless 20-something hick walking out of my yard. Before that two of them next door drove down the road to settle a shouting match with violence. But I'm not complaining about it to the cops, nor bitching about it now. I just thought it was funny enough to be worth mentioning.

The one I love doesn't love me anymore. "What did you expect?" asks Damien when I tell him she didn't write me back.

So I'm sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I went in to the SS offices the other day to find out if I'd qualify for less disability benefits if I paid my mother less rent. They told me "no." I can't afford to live off $500 a month. Whenever I explain this to my mom she refuses to discuss it and tells me "we won't be changing your rent."

She doesn't need $100 a month as much as I do. It isn't fair.

It isn't myself I hate, contrary to what idiot strangers online assume. Existence itself is unfair. If God does exist he is an evil fool on par with President Bush. I drive around talking out-loud to God and to Jesus. I explain to them that I understand they are powerless to deliver my lover to me, and that I know asking their help was futile. God is not all-powerful nor omni-benevolent. If he is all-knowing it does us little good, since we are not able to see the future like He. I don't have much else to say now. My life is empty and my thoughts unimportant so long as I remain unloved by whom I love. I seem crazy with frustration and no one takes me seriously.

I don't see the point in continuing to keep this blog. I had hoped one day someone might look back on my life and care, but that isn't likely. The very idea that anyone would makes me look pathetic to those who should. Unrequited love is the curse placed on me by those who style themselves my enemies. "I deserve worse" is the mantra of all who I've ever upset. No one sees from my point of view and no one ever asks me "why."

My motives are irrelevant to my victims. Only the hurt I've caused them matters now, and the evil eye is my just dessert. My mother, my lover, my friends, my father, they all dislike and disrespect me. I deserve it too, I suppose, but I do not understand why.

If "things" were different, I wouldn't be like this. But "things" will only change if I make them better, and I can't do that without destroying the way they are now, which requires anger at that I can't bring myself to let out. I fear hurting anyone worse so I do not stand up to anyone. My existence alone offends them enough, I suppose. I try to please them, to obey God, but by doing so appear weak and lose their respect.

I don't deserve existence as it is. I deserve better, according to me; I deserve worse according to everyone else. My life is sad and I'd like to escape; everyone else would like me to too. The only ways to free my mind entrap my body here, and the only ways to free my body from here would only entrap my mind. It's the same for everyone, and no one else cares.

My work is worthless while I live. In two generations it might be worth something to someone, but for now it's forgotten and I am abandoned. I don't see any good coming from my writing about myself. No one cares. I could stop, if I had anything else to do. I could serve civilisation and earn my survival, but I see no point in doing so. It isn't a fair deal, but I seem to be alone in caring. My love is worth less to anyone than my hate for everything, which is worth nothing to me.

So I'm sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I'm unhappy living alone, without anyone loving me; even moreso living with guilt for justifying those who disrespect me. But I am alone, always.

Every woman I catch a glance of, I think only of her. The longer I stare the more disgusted I am; they aren't her. I am so lonely. I wish I weren't. I've missed so much of her life already. That hurts The Most. Oh, no. Now I'll cry. How pathetic. At least now, five shots down, I can. I do.

I am so unhappy. I wish I weren't. If I were with her I wouldn't be. I'm not as crazy as I was. I can compromise with reality's injustice now. But not so alone. I can't cope alone anymore. I need her. I thought God would help. I was wrong. I usually am.

I'm so unhappy now. Life is unrewarding and all reality unfair. Why should I go on? I shouldn't.

It's just inertia I guess. But there's no good reason.

So I'm sitting on my mom's front porch drinking shots of vodka. I'm so sorry I've missed so much of what should have been our lives together. But she doesn't want me to be sorry. She wants someone stronger, someone bold and true to themselves. She deserves someone better than me. I have nothing to offer here. I'm so lonely and unhappy now. I'm so sorry. I cry more.

I'm going to try choking myself to death again tonight I expect. I've got nothing else I can think to do. I'm so unhappy and so lonely. If she even read this I'd ask her to save me, but she doesn't so why bother?

So I am sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I don't want to be alive anymore. I'm so lonely and so unhappy. If I could I'd earn respect by loving life. I'd be the man she deserves. I can't. I'm not. I deserve to die. I hate myself. If only "things" were different, but I know now they can't be, and never will.

I've missed so much. I think it's too late. I'm sorry everyone, so sorry. I cry and cry. No one cares, nor do I. I don't want to live anymore, I can't go on so alone. I refuse to be what I know I am anyway.

I'm drunk. I've had six shots. I'll finish the bottle then go type this, post it, and maybe strangle myself to death, I can only hope.

Enough. Seven and a half shots I'm going out. Fuck this.

The future is all uncertain again and shadows closing in. For a second I thought I saw her. She was the light of my life. For a second I thought I glimpsed a future of light and happiness for she and I together. It was a mirage.

Now, as I am driving, or on mom's porch, or in my childish palace fit for a toddler that was once my father's room, reality is closing in on me and I am not ready to make survival's necessary harsh sacrifices. I am a sheltered fledgling yet at 29. "Please someone else just be my mommy. My penis is getting in the way again." Why am I not a man?

I have to face a very hard truth. I am not able to survive feeling unrequited love. It is too strong an emotion. Not knowing she was even alive for eight years was an abandonment I got used to. But unrequited love is a curse I cannot bear.

So I am going to lose my mind. It is the inevitable truth about reality looming like an abyss before me. It has been happenning all along slowly, but new passion stirs it up. It will happen faster. You see, I understand: It was all planned all along. As my mother goes senile with old age, I will simply remain beneath the trusses of her stable and the shade of her withering wings.

It is all the greater destiny left for me. I was broke once and have not worked since, now I am crushed utterly. There is nothing left inside of me. I am seen from every angle and each perspective shows a unique facet of my ediface. But it is made of stone now. I'm a pillar of salt and ash. If only I had someone to blame, but the birds themselves chirp all night long at me.

Everywhere I turn is an unstable precipace. Everything was futile all along. All the metaphysical speculations and all the sacred sciences wrong, not only each alone, but all as one.

I know why I'm going insane too. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual injustices of society nor the unfairness of reality, true. But nor is it from the heat of the solar millennium, as are the injustices of society and unfairness of reality now. It is not even from lost love, which is also caused only by the sun, as anyone knows who has ever loved or hated with all the passion of their heart; nor is lunacy the fault of charming women.

I'm going insane because I choose to. It isn't genetics, environment or the reincarnation of too old a soul. It isn't even because of the bicameral brain. I'm going insane because I won't play "the game," whatever that may mean. I'm going to go into the realm of the living fiction; I am selling my soul to the false God. no one who sees only my behaviours or reads only my writing will ever understand, and for now none know me by both.

I believe the consequences to one's self brought about by others are irrelevant. Karma between people is our own choice. So I cry out to everyone, but not for only anyone. Alone in a crowd, I cry out like one in the wilderness. This is not what I, nor anyone, deserves. There is another voice in my head that is not me. Half the time it is this voice in my head, and half the time my own, because we are constantly bickering back and forth. My dreams dwell on confusions from when I am awake. The more uncertainty I cause the more my dreams will dwell on the subjects of those waking moments. When I am happy, I dream about her, but when I'm awake I'm alone. It's a downward spiral I pursue, fighting against the demi-urge inside myself; arguing all the time inside myself I drive thoughts of her out of my own head. I wrestle with God the Most High, and that is how I am going insane, because that is not "normal" thinking and may lead to unsafe actions. If I were me I wouldn't want to be around me either. I think I'm either God or Satan, while I know I'm neither one. It's only paranoid schizophrenic psychosis.

I know that I am insane. My mind won't manifest itself as a thing that can be asked "what are you," and thus determine it's worth by finding it some function. I made these choices long ago. I'm unforgiving and unforgiven. Unspoken for, I'm no one's bitch in prison. I'm jail-bait to know, a rat-trap if liked at all, and a tar-baby up close.

When I am wrestling with God I haven't got the guts to even think-talk to the Shekinah in my mind.

When I get drunk all I do is dump on Her. Why live on like this? It's an unfunny joke. It's a lie.

When I am happy I ignore my Goddess. When I'm unhappy I worship her. It's unjust. If only I could pull my out my own heart, or even just choke myself to death.

I'm so sorry I'm so tortured by the mundane. I don't, I won't, enjoy the mundane. I'd rather be insane. There seems to be no other way. For I am alone in this world. I suppose by now I'd have to

go insane even if I were with her again. I'm too analytical. I'm insane.

I am insane now; that is, I already was, but now I know it. Please, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, parole me from purgatory, let me prove my value, the true worth to you of my heart, my truth. I do believe in the one I am begging to. I also beleive in my ability to be unforgiven. It is not my own to determine. I can fool no one.

I am only struggling to continuously maintain the vision of my lover because I am quicksand within. I am a swallowing hole of no use but to suck, I engulf all reality. Tell me I'm not going insane? Tell me I am making some sense, please. No one ever acts like I am. No one I know even expects me to anyway. I can't be forgiven by any of them for the reason they assume I am punishing myself this way.

The mob. I ignore them but one other remains. And the fact I believe I may choose whose voice this is does not give me the right to limit what I may hear it saying. All the rest think I'm just feeling sorry for myself, and I can't even help but smile.

Jesus Christ, I'm a hole. I'm a sucking, gaping negativity, a denial of existence, I'm such a destructive force. I'm imploding and I always have been. It doesn't matter, alone or not, I repulse anyone around and I violently repel those who get too close. no words could describe me.

I am become death, for I have died so many times; I held the door for all who'd follow, now none remain so I must go in. I am death no more. In purgatory I am now no longer. Hell to me is life without her, but without her have I made this bed for myself, and now without her must I sleep in it.

I am not myself now. I am entirely engulfed in a false hallucination. I am inside a reality the stimuli of which I am choosing to falsely interpret. I am possessed, inverted. I can't not lie. The other voice is speaking through me, but I know it is only my own imagination that I am choosing not to control. I am placing my faith "badly," in a falsehood, a bleak belief in some non-reality. I have to come to my senses. I have to stop narrating this fictional delusion. I have to come to from my self-destructive isolation inside my impotent inability to take self-affirmative actions.

I am too obsessed. I am too compulsive. I am too insane. I am neither lost nor found. I am Nothing. I have to manifest a different reality for which I am the center but in which nothing is the same. I have to break this ecstatic trance in false pursuits. I have to find a new way. I have to become someone new. I have to leave my old self behind.

But how? You see, it is impossible. I have taken deep, extensive root in this rich and fertile soil, this bitter fruit of my imagination. I am stuck deep down. I am pinioned, unable to move. I am an impaled insect under her enourmous eye, all-seeing and her scrutinising judgment. And nothing else am I besides.

Why am I like this? It is clearly my choice. I choose to commit suicide of the mind. I am unhappy in reality and so I escape into a more self-ideal mental state. But this mental condition does not better my unhappiness with reality because it, instead, is preventing me from working to better my reality and thus find happiness. Whatever I can imagine with my mind, it is only a barrier to her heart. The more others seek to show me how the more distracted I intentionally become from doing what I must to accomplish what I want.

I will not believe anyone who shows me the right way except for the one who I choose for myself.

There is no god to me but her. To me, without her, everyone else is a liar. Their love is false because it is unjust. I reject its potential for truth intentionally because I know it is only potentially true as a material reality, but not to the idealism I imagine in my own mind. It is not

both because it is not equally either. It is not true because it does not match its "facts" with my "fictions." It is untrue because I reject its reality.

Now, I would let in she who I love, but all I am is confusion. I am a double-negative. No words can describe this inversion. How beautiful it appears. How empty I feel beside it. But it is not real. It is imbalanced. It is true but not fact, in material reality it cannot ever exist. Instead I start down the eternal dark path, I talk back to the delusion, the mirage, I venerate her only as Shekinah, and so all that comes from this is the opposite imbalance - that potentially real but not truly ideal to me, that which is factually accurate reality that is neither what it could be in potential ideal, nor thus is in all truth. All is imbalanced, unequal and unjust.

If what were true for me in ideal were also factually accurate in material reality then there would be balance, equality and justice. So long as this is true in reality for me - this imbalance, this injustice, I cannot accomplish any change to better me to her, and therefore neither can she truly offer me her heart in true reality. Her heart grew cold because I scared her. Unless she forgives me for that in her own heart, she will not say anything, and nothing I can ever say to her will cause her, or truly even enable her, to do so.

That is why I am sitting here writing this all instead of waiting for her online, or rather, why I am spending this time alone in these thoughts instead of together with her. Because all I could do now to meet her expectations of me would only frighten her more, and this increases the distance between us.

Why do I do this? Why am I crazy? I think I am something I know I am not. I think what I'm doing is right, I think it is all I can do, I think it will get me what I want, and earn me her love. But I know that is not true. Only she can give her love, and she is in no way anything but free to do so.

And so long as she does not, so long as she is not with me and we are not together, that time is dead, my worth none and nothing I can do can change these truths.

She and I are already together everywhere in my mind. But we are not together in material reality now and truly that is all that is real, that is life and except for it we know nothing more of existence. The straying of my mind is fruitless so long as my life in the here and now is one of a reality in which we are not together, let alone already in love, and so I cannot find the way to make that happen, and so I am helpless and useless and unable to do so.

Reality is empty, everything is false, truth is injustice and life is hell without her in love and together with me. Nothing else can exist for me than that. I am everyone else's self-fulfilling prophecy until I am her's, and I am hers alone already in my mind. But without her I am not really me. I am not even willing to try doing what might help, because I cannot even imagine what that might be. I hurt. That is all I know.

So long as I am insane, my love to her is like anyone else than her's love is to me. But unless she loves me, I choose to continue growing more insane. I reject the potentially beneficial oppurtunities in reality and willfully embrace only my own chosen false-causes and selfdestructive lines of reasoning. I live now on a dead-end street. I always have. She could enter, but, she fears, I would never let her leave. Because the freedom from me she has, to choose not to love me, is truly a greater ideal than my own self-defeating obsession for her. It is the very reason I love her, because the more she does not love me, the more I love her.

It is this that is innermost within me. The centre chakra of my dark aura. I love her for her freedom from me. I tie my own hands to prevent myself from influencing her heart's truest, deepest feelings. Deep down, she must not feel for me, and that is what it is I love most. The holy of holies leads me on, that part of her she withholds from me, her whole self I esteem therein, and love her now only because of this. It is simply the last light I have left.

It's a conundrum - a destroying machine. It is my heart itself.

I love the part of her that does not and cannot love me. It is all that I know now about her. All else around me is arch-enemy to this truth, for it all betrays my will to overcome this impossibility.

It is not the lover's right to change the will of their loved one, nor to force their own will and heart upon them against their loved one's self-good. That is my most shameful crime. I have repelled her in fear of my self-destruction.

In the name of my madness I have replaced the desire of my essence with obsession with this impossible conundrum. My own heart has become consumed by the fact that I cannot make her love me. I must give up but cannot. I am a push-me/pull-you.

I have to accept that I burned the bridge between us. I frightened her with the violence of my obsession with self-abnegation for her. I believed it was to save her from me that I forced her to go away. It was a convenient lie and cannot excuse my forcing her away from me. I believed by increasing her freedom from me, I would become more the one who deserved her love. I believed she loved her freedom more than she loved me, and that if I gave her that, she would love me more.

I believed that saying "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Only too late did I realise I must do unto myself and to my lover only what my lover wants me to do. Only too late did I realise I could not exchange her freedom from doing so for her love for me, for I had already traded them vice versa. When I wanted to say, "marry me," instead I said, "I dump you," and so when she could have said, "I do," instead she said, "please go." The damage I'd already done has since become all I am. I am stuck in the moment when I realised what I'd envisioned as a gift of freedom to her was instead truly a frightening, self-destructive, painful, hurtful and hateful abuse. I saw only my heaven in her, and now I see only her hell in me. It is impossible to undo the past; even if all is wrong in the present because of one past wrong, you cannot ever even hope to undo the past. Instead one wrong causes another until everything is hopeless. The single spark of my wrong thought that led to my hurtful actions has engulfed so much water under the bridge between us in flames that now, divided from my only love by this madness, this vision of hell itself, life is worth only death and death alone, or else nothing.

I cannot wait without doing insult to injury. I cannot do more than wait and do nothing without increasing the injury and injustice I've caused. I fear it is too late already. I fear her love for me is dead. That is the primary root of my insanity. I am violently frustrated at my inability to not be violently frustrated. I'm a danger to myself and others, and I refuse to accept that fact so much I become belligerant. My hate is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I cause myself wrong.

Someone has to help me out, I demand. But I reject anyone who tries. I use her as my excuse now, but did the same to even she as well, though she loved me more than anyone else ever has. It's easy to reject others for not loving you as much as someone you used to love. Much harder is rejecting someone you love and who loves you because you want to free them from your own self-loathing.

Neither, though, is right. But both are how I've lived my life.

I cannot act out on my own behalf. That is why they consider me "insane," though their polite euphemism is "disabled." I'm paralysed with fear of repeating my past mistakes. That fear is all I have left of myself in her heart. It's the last of our past that exists because of all the time that separates she and I now from us then. She has only that last ember of fear now instead of a heart full of love for me because I continually justify such by going insane with my loneliness. Love for me cannot for her be rationally, objectively justified. I cannot add up as is.

Life as such for me is a burden whose weight has grown painful over time. My spirit slumps, my soul stoops, my heart implodes. For me nothing real matters, and so real matter is nothing for me.

I pass through the experiences of life without any clinging to them but an occassional embarassed regret because to me nothing else in life will ever matter, for it cannot, without her love, be able

to forgive me for what I've already done to lose her love. I am in a rut, a trance-inducing delusory and hallucinated path of shell-shocked numbness and self-destructive anesthesis. I am locked in a stare into the deepest abyss and blind to reality around me. I know only that I love her. Nothing else matters. Nothing else than she is even real.

So I am going to go insane, so what? Why should she feel love for me because of that? Pity for me is beneath her to me, and we share only memories that hurt. Mercy and compassion for me here are not her responsibility there. I promised her that, at least, personally.

She knows how I feel at least. So there's that. But by what divine right do I complain? My life would be paradise to so many other souls. But to me, without her, even paradise is hell. There is simply nothing to it. The stimuli may move me, animate my emotions like a marionette, but inside there isn't any me anymore. But this life is not the one I want and, I feel, not the one I am supposed to be living, and in that I feel additionally alone. My life wold be perfect for anyone else, and instead I am unable to appreciate any of it.

I am blinded by the radiant glory of her absence. It is a false and hollow light. I have seen brighter days that never burned long ago with her. Now instead there is only empty nothingness and the manifestations of my mental illness. There no longer is a "me." Without a "we" there can be no "myself." There remains only I alone. Crunch.

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06/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 6-23-007 When I first realised people doing similar research to my own, with slightly different tatses, would yield vastly different conclusions from mine - that was when my heart broke. Discussing the "right" translation of "ruach" with Bryan Rebenstorf ("Thyroros" - the "gate-keeper," who later attempted suicide and blamed it on me - this was before I'd ever tried it myself), that was when my heart broke. Not because someone else had blamed me for their wanting to die. I'd laid that head-trip on my ex-, and she survived just fine. No, that was when my heart broke because that was when I realised what a terrible thing teaching is, because I was right, but Bryan refused to give up his belief that I was wrong. My heart broke beneath the weight of wasted time I then foresaw, and much of which I have since experienced.

Arguing with students has been a constant during my time online. If one agrees with the physics, they question the magick. If one sees value in the ethics, they find equal value in questioning the math.

Most of the people I butt heads with are 180 degrees away from the people who I should be, and deserve to be, brushing shoulders with. Most are just "class-clown" types, and I have to asuage myself by thinking of the majority of my readers, who choose to remain silent. I only hope I can reach them, I pray for the "class-clown" type's expulsion from their imaginary role.

I respect people with wisdom, but age doesn't always work out that way. For every wise older person I meet, I meet two ornery old coots. For every one wise person I meet at all I meet three or four other total jerks. I try to politely explain to such people the same information I share with the wise, but they betray my trust every time and act out their imaginary roles. I do not believe in the philosophy that labels my egalitarian generosity as intellectual "casting perals before swine."

Instead, I subscribe to a unique idealism: I think of everyone as being equally infinite in potential.

I know the evil ones all by name, but of the good, the calm, the wise, the peaceful, I know only a few. The evil ones lie, and by their manipulating people's pereceptions of potential choices, usually slither into leadership roles and, where none exist, they will create them. The evil ones tell you straight to your face one thing is their God's honest truth, then go around behind your back whispering that their story to you was false, spreading a thousand and one other versions of their story. As Jim Morrison said, "When the true kings murders are allowed to roam free a thousand magicians arise in the land." (the Ghost Song, from "An American Prayer") The evil ones are not evil by nature, not inherently evil in their core essence. They simply perpetually choose to remain mis-guided fools rather than accept their lot in life as the same as everyone else's - cause and effect present as options for stimuli in our external environment and the free will to choose present as adaptive genetic mutations inside our DNA. What begins as evil, or intentionally wrong, will end in evil; two wrongs never make a right.

Some simply choose to try something that may or may not be wrong and, into the vacuum of their doubt, they become filled by regrets. These plague them like unrelenting demons, haunting them with memories and remorse. This is what the pathway downward into psychosis looks like at its yawning gateway. Here we are, standing in the entryway to the choclea, whispering murderous insanity into the echoing drum of the ear. Here we are, living cameras in our own eyebrows, bacterial sensory-recordings being made; miniature replicas of our experience die each moment as our cells regenerate over the decades; we are literally born again into whole new bodies, leaving our larval gestation period as pupae behind and metamorphosing into imaginary shapes and forms.

They feel trapped, the experience of the poison womb, suspended like a bucket from a rope hung down a well. They see little hope for, nor reason to desire, change from their socially ingrained habits, and I tell them the truth when I say neither do I. It's not a bad thing necessarily - society needs its drones to sacrifice their time like bloody life-wine. Society needs its perpetually pubescent class-clowns and its ornery old coots. Demons are just a second part of nature, behind what we normally can see and hear. The wrongs of this world, universal-seeming injustices, they can pile up like an invisible mountain pressing down on someone's psyche until it cracks. Then the voices we overhear all turn against us, and we forget the true Torah, the letter and intent of the true law, "Do What Thou Wilt."

But such people do exist. I've been beyond the mouth of madness myself, down the throat, past the craw of Abraxas and through the nine-stomachs of Aditi, the cosmic cow. Many stories are about things that I have done. I fail sanity exams for a living, personally, so I am not the judgmental type of those whom the "high and mighty" dub "swine" and those who society would call "drones."

I tame Mara by teaching the subtle classes; I refuse to compete for the attention of the silent All with those who know that, deep down, they are selling "snake-oil" and cannot connect with their own, true, deep emotions, but who persist in seeking the spotlight. Such people are novices, narrators of others' actions, believing their fellow audience members in the darkened theatre of their reality blind, deaf and mute.

I tell you that if you do not forgive the three ugly beggars at the heal of the true prince then his royalty is of no worth to you, and if you do not offer them your coat across a puddle, you are not even fit to be spit on by one of them, let alone to kiss the hem of his majesty's royal garment. I tell you this because of karma. What you work in one moment yields multiple results in the next. If a man has bad karma it will follow behind him in his wake wherever he goes. Consider the cop racing to the distant crime scene who recklessly leaves behind a wave of run red-lights and dangerous near-misses with simple citizen traffic, or the ever-ready resourcefulness of the junky in finding a fix.

The worst kind of students think, wrongly, they are teachers. They can regurgitate the information of others ad nauseum, but they have not completed their own grimoire of magick, nor published their own textbook on metaphysics, let alone posess such a large personal library of these and other studies, as I have myself, however they still come to me, demanding acknowledgement of thier superior credentials in my own fields of study. This must have been how Stan Tennan felt when I contacted him after writing the FSOM. Luckily that experience sparked motivation in me that propelled me through writing the MPDR. In alot of ways I proved Stan Tennan right by trying to prove him wrong. By proving him wrong when he said "you don't even know what a tachyon is," I proved him right when he said I was "just attempting to steal all his work." In some ways I have probably stolen some of Stan Tennan's thunder. If he were to ever read this, I would hope he would see I am sorry. When I corresponded with him in 2001, had I been able to see the future, our exchange would have been greatly different. I had hoped to become his student, and instead, in a very real way, I have treated my superior as an inferior, and stood a good man on his head. I have been the worst kind of student myself.

I have been all these "places" in my mind, and I have experiential knowledge of all these uinque prismatic refractions of states of consciousness. I have been a disruptive sophormore, a classclown, an old coot - a Watcher, and I have been to Hell and despised, and I have lived in blind denial, an existential Samael, a humanist Satan. I am the Wizard of Oz, the "crazy" Jon, I am Just Jon, and I am all these things. All in all just a very bad student who stood up too soon during the ceremony and left to go preach the Almighty Word. A dove that never returned to its ark.

I have been all of these imaginary roles myself, so I recognise them most in others - the wanderer, the scribe, the philosopher, master occultist - but instead what interferes between myself and such true archetypes are only my own ghosts, only my own demons, my own baggage, my own

negative karma - the environment I have helped to create by my previous actions. I am responsible for the karma in my aura. I know that. I simply prefer not to care anymore about maintaining allgood karma in my aura because, by now, doing such would require actively weeding out the destructive elements that have already germinated and come to fruition. So I simply drift on the cosmic currents.

So I am way beyond all labels that could limit me. I am beyond "insane," beyond "psychotic," likewise I am beyond "Messiah," beyond "god." I am beyond "good" and "evil," beyond "Satan" and "the devil;" I am beyond "heaven" and "hell" and I am even beyond "Light," "Love" and "Life" altogether. I am so new I haven't happened yet, about to emerge from prior early-retirement.

Someday I will be considered a "great man" and, I hope, even perhaps "the brightest young mind of my times." But none of these could ever truthfully be applied to me. I am beyond all possible attempts by others to apply a definition to describe. I am in a mental "state" known only to myself alone.

And I have been in worse "states" of mind than this. I remember spending the entire year 2000 on the couch, awake at night and watching out the front windows of my darkened house, cursing paranoid ramblings to myself and still using heavy, blunt blows to the head as relief. I have been in much worse "places" than I am in now, emotionally speaking. I remember very little about my visits to the behavioural health center, (ie. the lunatic asylum); I have some dim recollection of feeling like a lab rat. I have been through far worse "situations" in terms of my overall comfort and contentment. I have had a few close-calls, black-outs, and near-death experiences too many to mention "recreationally" drunk-driving. I still have nightmares about my car being stolen and joyrided (thanks Bill!), All in all my life is decent and I can't complain. I have had worse friends, I have had worse habits and wasted much more time than I am now. I am honestly doing quite well.

All in all, I would say I live a pretty average life. It is probably just above stagnant existence in an unrequiting quagmire, but far below the hallowed heights of the seventh heaven. I am living a lie if I say so. It can all drop out from under me at any moment, so they say.

I consider my friends my equals. Those I know online as intellectual equals I consider my friends as well. So, around my friends and equals I act differently than I do when I am around online students at the various forums I've attended, or when I am around strangers while out at a show.

Each of these requires a different imaginary social-role. I am eager to make friends online because I dislike having only students, but I am equally eager to avoid strangers at a show because I prefer to have only a few close friends. I love long-distance friendships, even though these are usually too fleeting, but I prefer a small, personal circle of friends.

Ultimately I can't save anyone else from making the same mistakes that I've made. All I can really do is be as thourough as possible in my research, and make as few mistakes as possible there. If the people who are out there now, learning from me, can mainly concentrate on my work itself, then my own life, my personal karma, can easily be overlooked in the present, and will change the future as little as possible in itself; I leave my historical impact to the work itself.

To quote Albert Einstein, "I feel the insignificance of the individual, and it makes me happy." If I could walk between the moments of time like drops of rain without getting wet, I would. In my opinion, karma is the nature of the demiurge, a mirage of an oasis, and is never all-good, and the only way to defeat one's own negative karma is by sacrificing the good along with the bad, "throwing the baby out with the bath-water," and ignoring karma altogether. Only when we see through our aura by looking beyond its immediate karma can this karma become clear and the aura remain cleansed.

There is little hope for me that, at this point, my life will remain totally without historical impact. I sometimes wish I could have been a serf, a corporate wage-slave. However each of us is

only an autonomic organ, a particle without choice, a monkey without fore-knowledge that believes it posesses free will. Each of us has our own "calling," our own destiny. If we postpone answering it, it will only redouble its chastisement of us. True miracles are all natural to the environment.

But I'm not going to speculate on the future - the potential results of my plans (the ~GOD~ or "FNORD" projects, the "benpadiah" material), because I cannot depend on the results I foresee occuring. The future is a garden of forking paths through an ever-changing sea of uncertainty.

And besides, I don't practise chaos theory.

Instead let me say that many of my plans depend on my being able to convey my findings as information autonomously of communication involving events in my personal life. In other words, I'm going to have to teach students in addition to only having equals and friends. Because of my philosophy that we are all equal in potential, the need to assume this imaginary role is difficult for me.

I have taken some steps toward assuming this responsibility nonetheless. I have established the "Order of Death" as a teaching lodge for much of my Gnostic research, and will (eventually) be teaching a class at the Crystal Connection, local metaphysical bookstore. However, these projects will take alot of time before the knowledge will really be able to become dispersed. As I said before, it's wasted time that breaks my heart the most. And with teaching comes alot of that.

That's the main reason most academicians are so old.

The fact that I am not old should work to my benefit, however because my findings require grounding by further research into their implications' different fields, my broad and general work so far is only laying a foundation for much more work to come, and so long as I do not teach well enough to spread my findings quickly, that is only so much more pushed back and buried behind wasted time.

Meanwhile, events involving my personal life continue to pass me by like so much water under the bridge because I don't feel like I'm truly myself without the presence in my life of my ex-, for whom I've put my life on hold (for nearly a decade). Whether I did this for fatalist romanticism, or simply to spite her since she would not have wanted me to have done so, either way it's irrelevant what my original motives were because by now there have been too many passed oppurtunities that I will probably never achieve what could have been my full potential. In effect, the damage has already been done, and for this ailment there are only treatments, no cure. As you can tell if you know me (in "real" life or online), this wound will infect more and more, growing like radiation cancer, so long as I continue to cling to it as my ideal of Love, ie. forever.

And yet, the oppurtunity to become a dub-fx "sound-guy" for Trial By Stone, my friends' reggae band, looms in the shadowy abyss of my invisible future, on the one hand, on the other there is no word from my ex-lover with whom I remain forever in love. As I say, my personal life just slides away while my life as a writer grows. So long as I desire the opposite, life will appear to me as suffering.

It only goes to show how deluded and removed from "reality" I've become the more I remain in his rut of my imaginary role of "writer." No matter what I say, how I feel, how open I am, behind it all is an imaginary wall, or a one-way mirror, behind which my true self remains, hiding and watching, seeing and observing all, looking out from behind my eyes.

All is well and I can only complain of loneliness. However my teaching progresses and I believe my "target audience" will be reached. All of these opinions and all of my "beliefs" I hold copyright to, and will slowly turn my "illness" dealt me into a professional "winning hand." Some days are obviously better than others, than before. But it could all end at any moment. I am not destined for fame and stardom, but neither am I only "almost" famous, bold and fortunate. I tell

you, there is not much to my life right now. Given the oppurtunity to allow myself to be uprooted from my current rut in my contented "dissociative" (imaginary) role as writer, I could be molded as easily as putty.

Perhaps the only real tragedy in all of this, that is my "real" life as a loser and my "online" life as a teacher (even if not a good one), is in my own over-drammatisation of it all in my writings in this blog. If I were the person who, for charity, had fucked me once upon a time long ago and far away, and I read these insane ravings (such as this one now) I would feel more revulsion than sympathy. But that's just me.

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07/07

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UPDATE: 7-19-007 I am a mutant. I am a unique individual because I have self-evolved by adaptative mutation. I am able, most of the time, to discern their deeper, unexpressed motives when I communicate with someone directly. Some would consider my ability to make accurate cognition of another's innerthoughts telepathy, ESP. But it is not. This is because mind-reading, or telepathy, is the opposite of mind-writing, which occurs when a stronger will is mentally projected onto a lesser will.

Technically, what I do is "mind-writing" as opposed to "mind-reading." Mind-reading is telepathy, ESP, but "mind-writing" is actually telekenisis, mind-over-matter. "Mind-writing" is accomplished when the other person's actions fall into line, not only with your predictions for their stereotypical motives, but also with what you command them to do telepathically. This is what I do as a "writer."

I can't lie, so I tell you now I am a mutant. I am not a non-psychic, nor am I just a telepathic mindreader. I am a mind-writer and I am not lying to you either when I tell you I am writing in your mind right now. That is why I am considered a "dangerous" type of person by those other mindwriters that maintain control through the media and money. The things I cherish as sacred are very different from their mechanisms of mass mind-control. Unlike their hypnotised slaves I do not deprive myself of knowledge. I accept all new ideas as equally plausible, true until proven false. If an idea comes to me, I do not claim it as originally my own, as they do. My core beliefs are very different from those who value power. Unlike them, I do not lie.

I will never lie. I will always tell the truth. I swear this on all my understanding of God. For Him, in His image and likeness, have I morally sculptured myself, according to the designs of His Grand Plan. That is why I am not lying when I tell you I am Him. For I am in tune with Him, He enters my spirit, He guides my will, I yearn for His Highness and the more I do so the deeper His prescence in my soul. My mind is the hand of God, 5-D Light; my thoughts are the same as His, the universal Messiah, and of Him, the omniversal intelligence, only.

So, now, do you still choose to not see what I choose to not say? Do you believe it is not as much in my knowledge as in your own? And insofar as I will listen to and accept what anyone else writes as true until disproven, I am far greater than those who will not do the same for my own writings.

And I speak only the truth when I say this "method" supercedes my self-selected non-status of "madness."

Think about all of what I am not saying. Do you think I do not see it all? What is occuring around me now will end up in a history book someday, and alongside the description there will appear some of my own writings. How do I know this with certainty? Because "I have not yet begun to write," and yet, even if I died today, my works are already copious and professional enough to be referenced later for their expert fore-sight.

I do not want to dominate the world, yet someday my way of thinking will. First my way of thoughts will come back "around" to the majority, many will begin to "trace" my thoughts and then to "write" for themselves about these thoughts' topics. By freeing new minds during a time of my topics' support by the popular majority, my place in history as a benefit to the species can never be erased.

Yet now, and for some time to come, I wait, while I watch my ascending "cult" following and seek to encourage them, for history's sake, to get better organised into an occult secret order. To them I say, you who support my way of thought now will soon be behind the scenes on the next large topic to be put before the majority. You will be able to express any thought for yourself and remain covered safely behind those who agree and "support" you. You will be able to come and go through

portals yet unknown. You will never be tempted to use or reveal the great power you will have. You will be able to see through the eyes of any and all, to foresee the future, what is unchangeable and what is not. When ZPE technology is finally released you will be among the pioneers of timetravel. In secret, explorers map out time today, but you will be able to stake your claim of ownership as guardians over the eras above every other individual ever. Eventually, you will join me in the afterlife I have explored and charted, and throughout all time you will see my prior prescence there evidenced by my signature and symbols. For I look down on all of history and time from beyond its whole cosmology.

That is why I do not yet seek publication, and am content to "sit atop" all my writings. I foresee a small cult following forming around each of my different written works. I foresee these coming together into a more cohesive group. I foresee even the "seasons of the Popes" to follow me in the secret order I have founded. I foresee further and further until my books are taught from widely in public schools. Their study will form part of the global curriculum and all young adults, the whole world over, will one day know of my works by my name. Yet, by then I will likely be long dead, despite my long natural life-span, and so will not enjoy the succor of my work's fruits, benefits and rewards.

What is true cannot be twisted. I am a messenger of truth, but I am yet only a planter of seeds. All it shall require is one of my works to become well-known before I die or shortly thereafter. This will insure the persistent survival of all the rest, both good and bad, and even if I die penniless then my estate will be wealthy.

But I put it all off and refuse to publish anything on the mass-market. I do not even sell my ebooks at reasonable prices, to cut down on who and how many have read exactly what. I study this as test-marketing for what works where. I have nearly completed my research, yet still "my time has not yet come." I know my target-audiences, and at this moment the market does not favour them financially.

However the market revolves around the pendulum of politics. Once those to whom I appeal come to power, by then I shall appear on the scene fully formed, expert in an interesting new field. As eschatological debates heat up around 2012, I will be an expert in all esoteric cosmologies and hold in my own hands the model, not yet known by anyone but myself and those few of my choosing, that will come to be accepted by all the world over. This model fuses QBLH with "theoretical" physics.

I think my destiny is to be remembered forever for such writings as this one now. This is not because, stylistically, even I could consider them "good." No, it is because issues I am just now beginning to explore in my writing will become considerably more important in years to come, during which time I will become an expert on them. These issues include mind-writing, mindcontrol, telekenisis and the ESP "conspiracy."

In truth, I will be a teacher, and in the ultimate end ultimately rewarded. For I have earned my just rewards. I am over-flowing atonement and will pour my forgiveness into their hearts to make students of all my self-styled enemies. In essence we agree. They will require power and I will give it to them; soon they will wonder about the end of the world, and I will be there to support them, an expert on cosmology. Their eschatology will require explanations for the world that allow for the continuance of our existence by understanding our origins. I can provide that.

Therefore, do not think I do not see your petty psychic squabbling for power you do not, by nature, deserve. Instead, realise I know your darkest secrets. During the times most sleep I observe those who remain at work in the shadows. Their secrets are known only to they and I alone. Only the innocent can afford now to remain asleep. To the rest, my words are inscribed in history already, and to history the pen is mightier than is the sword to current events.

The ones to insult my intelligence, I have observed in every case, have no knowledge of it beyond what little they discern at our meeting, and they are not long in my life. But the ones who have read me know full well what I bring with me. They make no mistake about the full extent of my knowledge. They know I am telling them only what I want them, and what I think they will need, to know. And I am right. It is the world that is wrong because they need me. I do not need myself.

Many people I've encountered choose to ignore my message and libel my methods and style of communication. I tell you in truth, I am far from a "plaigerist." Consider how very much I have to say, but I think still more. Nothing can long escape my ultimate consideration. But for now I choose to watch, listen and, in silence, write.

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Jonathan Barlow Gee (benpadiah) is the only Tallahassee, Florida metaphysics textbook author and founder of the Pythagorean Order of Death.

"When a nation's leaders do not uphold, but break, the laws they are sworn to protect, those leaders sacrifice all right to such offices, or else those offices shall cease to have rights over the governed."

-Jon Gee "As slaves, we build the society that dictates our freedom illegal. Incite insight. Don't agree to compete. One who has NO agenda cannot fail. One who does nothing succeeds at everything."

- Jon Gee