VONTINUUI

VONTINUUI

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For GOHD

³When I was a little bird I always loved to fly 1RZ ,¶P QRW D OLWWOH ELUG All I do is shit on cars ´

T h e u n f i n i s h e d a n d t h e a n d t h e n ͞Before the epic construction had even begun, the subject in question had lost its sense of existence. The past memories, works, journals, fragmented stories, theories, represent no proper framework; it gets difficult developing a coherent set of manuscripts.

The author is dead, no one can get a proper explanation now; in fact no one knows or had known the author. If there was anyone remotely connected to the subject in question, no one is coming forth with answers even after the numerous posts in online cult forums relating to the subject in matter.

Its works, posted in long range searchable methodology, KHHGHG QR UHZDUGV µ

Another narration.

Stomach acid burn, climbing up the walls of your insides.

What  is  there  to  truly  write?  Nothing  becomes  something  and  I  am  afraid  of  her. Â

You drink down water, desperate to stop such creeping  pain. The cold water moves in your blood, into your stomach, your mind clears and the pain goes away for a while. The noise in your headphones is almost sickening but you carry on listening because you need the distraction. Outside accidents still happen out of your control, out of your grasp and the walls of the house KDV VWRSSHG VSHDNLQJ RQO\ MXVW QRZ <RX¡UH DORQH LQ WKH GDUN except for the monitor flickering soft white illumination across your table. You see the pills strewn across the wooden surface; you see the alcohol, the needles, the pictures of your losses. It¡V all there and yet not there at all. You realize that nothing is of value until it is used, as an instrument for deliverance, a tool for suicide, a technique of forgetting, a role player, your advisor, your deepest darkest enigma. You want to instigate more losses You just want.

The sunglasses fell when the time came for it to do so. Shattering, you reflect immediately on the mess and experience something like a solemnity, then a succession of adrenalin. You run out of your room, your hall, your house and fall into a different garden all the time. This time, the trees are naked, stripped by your imagination and the people sitting at the tea table are old, faces of the aged staring at you, counting your sorrows, trusting in your heart that you will not wish them away.

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Reconstruction, what the mind wants to believe is ƚŚŝƐ͕ ͞dŚŝŶŬ ĂďŽƵƚ this, two quiet people can cause ĨŝƌĞ͘͟ ^ŚĞ ƐƉŽŬĞ ŝŶ the symbolic language of dreams, sentences laden with multi-­‐ dimensional meaning rising from whose consciousness it is difficult to tell.

Mirror like in dreams, what she says, what I hear, what I think; its hectic in reverse.

Slow motion biasness swirling in chaos of decisions.

So I decided to tell her, to inform her that she was the messenger, I the recipient and in the waking realms I reversed the role. I became the bringer of astral messages.

What do you call beauty in this form?

bang! are you a lover? or loved? or both in the sense of liquid? ah...ponderosa time

> fluidity to and fro and everywhere lost in ocean I ĚŽŶ͛ƚ understand in sand and breeze you must misunderstand before you understand that is the nature of all things liquid a stutter of nonsense triggers off paragraphs of logic

what is there to understand my dear? when we go dancing in the night? then again who can we call µZH¶" that is the question of mortality. to die in the arms of another....

I know what you wish for, I can read your environment, and moments vanish for a reason yes?

Hmmmm

Some creatures speak in codes, you, my dear, speak in sighs

͞ ŽŶ͛ƚ ŵĂŬĞ ŵĞ ĚŽ ŝƚ͕ ƐŝŶŶĞƌ͘͟ Which signals the release of the muzzle on the huge dark grey snout.

Into hypo finish, harvesting time arrives.

Seeds, woven and sown; mental showcase and extreme ends.

Downtown twilight. Glitter sharp, poison and phone.

Numbers, coding the cognitive. Swollen rivers, city state woes.

Canals, oceans and drains.

From paper cup boats, and upstream canoes.

The land of butterflies and pea-­‐pod homes.

Green Maryland fair, under twenty suns.

Unfolding its glorious mountain spleen. ] open brackets before a close) total picture, visual, home.

Glass planks aplenty, broken shards of stone.

͚^ŽŵĞƚŝŵĞƐ͕ / ůŝŬĞ ƚŽ ƐƚĂƌĞ at a flame, watching it dance along with the wind; sometimes, it does not move at all. It remains still, and It permits my eye to study it, its

Was the naked boy possessed? His killer, who was also without clothes, was cold and iced without answers. He just hugged the boy from behind like a lover, slashing him till he stopped struggling. like playing an intense cello to the score of cyanide screaming. A poor evil beast boy gutted end in an attic.

DLJ ƐŝƐƚĞƌ͛Ɛ ůŝƚĞƌĂƌLJ ŝŶƚĞƌĞƐƚƐ ůŝĞ in trashy tabloids and discounted books on serial killers, freaks and the circus of the world. The circus was due to arrive in town soon and she laughs then cries and finally sighs at the bulletins for television news and is wholly fascinated with large eyed, yellow-­‐golden haired dolls in pink dresses.

Last year, we planted several cocker spaniel seeds in front of the monument of Jarlong Hoo-­‐lala and celebrated with bated breath and Turkish popcorns as the first few golden strands of fur crept out of its soggy grave of coco pops, chicken gravy and a special sauce brewed by the wicked witches of the west cornfield.

The tint strands have now grown into a vast puppy field and on certain windy Sundays, you could hear them yelping and mewing and barking at the passing trains.

The air fills with panorama from a devious life. The temple was s h a k e n . T h e s o u l h a s r u n a m o k .

In the depths of insomnia, can you hear the running?][That echo of feet on concrete corridor floor.]

The doors are swinging

Disco dancing

open and shut on its own accord.

Along the path of haunted nurseries,

a little pink bicycle abandoned

Rotting soil, tall un-­‐hung trees.

Rustling of dead leaves under phantom feet Faster, walking, a rush of dead babies chocking on black coins

A nursery death of songs.

Hundreds of syringes piercing puncturing holes dried stale blood like Porcupine baby.

Wires from radios wired to infant Radio monologue of shouting shut off

One by one the organs fail

Battery acid garble

Diapers full of blood

Twisted wreckage, nineteen foes. I counted their bodies one by one before tossing their bloated corpses over the edge into the water.

͚ LJĞ͊ dŚĞ Ɛhip heads west sire, into Larae!͛

The skies hang heavy with ill plumes and dangerous plagues.

͚/͛ǀĞ ďĞĞŶ ƌĞĂĚŝŶŐ LJŽƵƌ ůetters and I totally agree with you. She must be deported, off to a third world grind house perhaps, away ĨƌŽŵ ƵƐ͕ ĂǁĂLJ ĨƌŽŵ ŽƵƌ &ŝƚƚůĞ͛͘ Daeken lore stared at the picture of a teenage blonde, gently stroking the photograph with his huge thumb. ͚ Ƶƚ ŐƌĂŶĚ ƵŶĐůĞ͙͛ :ŽĚĚ ƌĞƉůŝĞƐ͕ ͚ĚŽŶ͛ƚ LJŽƵ ƚŚŝŶŬ ǁĞ ƐŚŽƵůĚ Ăƚ ůĞĂƐƚ ĐƵƚ ŽĨĨ ƉĂƌƚ ŽĨ ŚĞƌ ůŽŶŐ ůŽĐŬƐ ďĞĨŽƌĞ ƚŚĂƚ͍͛ ͚tŚLJ ǁŽƵůĚ LJŽƵ ǁĂŶƚ ƚŽ ĚŽ ƚŚĂƚ ŐƌĂŶĚ ŶĞƉŚĞǁ͙ǁĞ͛ǀĞ ŐŽƚ ĞŶŽƵŐŚ ďƌƵŶĞƚƚĞƐ ƚŽ ŐŽ ĂƌŽƵŶĚ ƌŝŐŚƚ͍͛ A broad smile erupts on both their faces and a baby cat mews and whines from the fruit basket on the spinning table. dŚĞƌĞ͛Ɛ Ă ŬŶŽĐŬ ŽŶ ƚŚĞ ĚŽŽƌ͕ ƚŚĞŶ ŽŶ ƚŚĞ ǁŝŶĚŽǁ͕ ƚŚĞŶ ĨƌŽŵ ƚŚĞ walls and ceilings and floors.

Shaven eyebrows, a set of opal white eyes.

I

ŚĂǀĞŶ͛ƚ slept in 37 hours.

The pendulum confusion swinging Her soul is young and in trouble.

Companionship. Money. Sex. Nothingness.

the doors of energy and aura are left unbridled.

He is falling in love with a symbol, this angry young man who is trying to retain her attention.

The black aura that hides the mystery inside her

She is

powered

A lust by her that beauty, ŝƐŶ͛ƚ fallen hers, prey to but his. her

curiosity, stopping here to dock within the a victim hearts of of external stimuli.

MISLED. I must save her.

In the realms of necrophilia I watch the stillness grow bitter and cold.| The sticky mess between me signifies the sickness that has wrought this harvest |I distance myself from holiness and wrench the holy robes from my body.| I have soiled the cloak of salvation and washed my headdress in the blood of goats. ͞I am alone yet I feel a hundred eyes upon me ͘͟

͞tĞ ǁĂůŬ ƚŚĞ ƉĂƚŚƐ ŽĨ ƉĂŝŶ ƚŽ ƌĞĂĐŚ ƚŚĞ ŚŽƵƐĞ ŽĨ ůŝŐŚƚ͘͟ ͞With the choirs of disquietude praising the crescendo of failure, I hold on to the secret silence͘͟

I have forgotten the protocol of dejection.

By You drift In the eyes watching between of death the the falling you are shifting specters retinal bliss of sands

Confounding I have Disturbing this found beauty terrestrial you. abounding mind

To the beloved break of dawn.

Enter key: boredom. Watching violence on a 17 inch screen.

Computer blood spilling before reddish eyes and yawning in a stale room with rotating fans and escapists. The nightingale mercenaries are stalking the streets picked clean of litter.

K͛ ĨĂŝƌ ŵƵƐĞ͊ Be thou with me so gently, before my book of forgotten histories.

Look past my shoulders with thy wandering eyes And capture the moments now long gone.

Remember for me those times When I scrawled my tenuous words across pages so grey famed by the yolk of rejection flamed by the fruit of idleness

Fed with the mouth of misery Moved by the powers of childhood pains

That was then so young, profound Recall for me the years of wasted stars Trapped in the avenue of glass

When my heart searched the polished streets For names and pictures and pleasantries.

ŽŶ͛ƚ ůĞƚ ŐƌŝĞĨ ĂŶĐŚŽƌ LJŽƵƌ ƐŚŝƉ ƚŚĂƚ ŝƐ m e a n t t o s a i l f r e e .

ǀĞƌLJďŽĚLJ͛Ɛ ŝŶ ƉĂŝŶ͘ A l e t t e r t o t h e The physical ones d o w n t r o d d e n with scars and creatures of night. broken bones; the psychological ones with hearts and broken homes.

Bitterness. dŚĞƌĞ͛Ɛ ďůŽŽĚ ŽŶ ƚŚĞ The great poison streets, in the homes, that does not kill. in the temples and in The eloquent ghost the parks. ringing its bell from the depths of memory.

The lack of closure brings down the kingdom of the mind, watchtower by watchtower.

No one can really discern the subject of sobbing or why they really think with such crushing weight.

Time is both the enemy and the lover; the healer and the destroyer.

No one can really identify with the saddest sound on earth because they often feel that the saddest sound is the voice that said goodbye Žƌ /͛ŵ ƐŽƌƌLJ Žƌ / love you; Or perhaps the voice ƚŚĂƚ ĚŝĚŶ͛ƚ ƐĂLJ anything at all.

Every depression has a new face and a new depth.

All monsters are borne from depression.

Wishing incognito starburst Cascade through incandescent Lamp shades overshadowed and bearing the weight Of unsophisticated children.

/When they battle head on, the enemy is overcome by loud singing, heavy incense and chanting from a thousand men and the shrill of a hundred small golden bells going off all at once. And the deep and angry clang of the cathedral. /

/ƚ͛Ɛ ƚŚĞ seasons͛ rising night Upon the statues and the sights The darkened shadows outward plumed Clouds my sight and clouds my room There is nothing there to turn There is nothing here to learn

That the roman ships could go...into the valley I stumble and run To find the temple buried in snow I dug and shoveled for Impending truth But can this mortal heart be wise And walk from the song, the sirens sing?

Then I saw the horrid light.

Often apart...Like angered beasts. Out my hand for merciful skin and I saw her eyes shining like rubies in a barren sea of night. nostalgic end wind drew the silk robes of bliss away, towards the desolate storm of misunderstood delights.

One week seems too short against the seven days of then.

Delicate treasures built up into homes for the worthy, most loved tombs.

But when the crystalline castles shatter into the dreamiest apocalypse yet, men will crouch behind their masked rest rooms beg insincerely under the wounded canopy of hand mercy.

Then their world would dream in the centre of the laughter, they would find the bloodied remains of every reality.

We turn our back gods and curse the destiny of nature.

Abandon us. It is us about our own plagues.

The descents upon the rich Beastly graves. are the ones that serve ungodly idols will come to see, with envious eyes, all who have triumphed against the symbolic decay of ͚tŽƵůĚ you believe?͛ Bridges downtown burnt? dŚĞƌĞ͛Ɛ ŶŽ way to the café ƚŚĂƚ͛Ɛ ƐĂĨĞ dŚĞƌĞ͛Ɛ ŶŽ ƉĂƚŚǁĂLJ ůĞĂĚŝŶŐ illusions No desperate that stays. /͛ǀĞ ƌƵŶ ŽƵƚ ŽĨ ůŝes Father.

And my soul starts believing in packing up and going away. dŚŝƐ ŝƐŶ͛ƚ ŚŝƐ ǁŽƌůĚ͘

dŚŝƐ ŝƐŶ͛ƚ ŚŝƐ ĚƵƚLJ͘ He is the one that holds the coin.

Continuum of consequences. Across the wastelands. Forgotten mountains. broken monasteries, drank of blood. Dined with melancholy Oh The coin that destroyed a dynasty.

Then wisdoms radiant white horse gives me the key to my end The rituals of watching against the harsh winds depart sustain fix my gaze outward-­‐bound on the train.

We go away again.

but you... painkillers salbutamol pet medicine things to distract the anger of the body the open shore the empty ship this isolated art life. where is the writ? where is the prophecy? when does the building of the tome begin? how many pasts and how many futures how many names and how how many failures? how much numbness how much shivers where art thy worm that eatheth you within? where art thou lord red who sails the nazereth? where art your voice among these many voicings? strange nights on this Monday morning as I slowly swim back into reality when my virus is over my disease at rest.

I bind the monsters and greet the foreign lands I scream in music in my mind silent throughout this temple room I contemplate Fredrick the indoors musician.

I contemplate past takings

the changing of hands and seasons

with the water gifted from angels I erased the name on the blue wall. in three movements creating the immortal symbol of the circle I commenced with the finishing of rituals. by the end of another desire the strength of commitment grows to the only sense and the only source forever enough not to wound you or to leave you hope with no resolution.

I offered my hand to solitude this night finally knowing that it always held mine I offered love with no question to a silence that begs for no answers to the great emptiness that expects nothing I offered everything else. with this, I exist in the hour of panic in daylight; I trade simple joys of things that mend the heart of song and poetry in the company of darkness. by night time I offer the specter of memory of the figure watching in dreams of the heartbeat long past midnight I house the ghost answers they seek I provide the cosmic to human wreckage I seek refuge in waiting lines give strength to those who toil too late in the loneliness of airports I give company in the hour of absence I observe and am forgotten at once.

I have married the mysteries this night forsaking the world to accept it

in troubled sleep, the troubled are rested

for like a god, I am most present in broken places

The deepened end of stillness still seemed too foreign for me. I must ignore reality. but to whom am I speaking to when there's nothing there in the end? what then? when ,¶P nothing but a myth?

[Nov. 8th, 2007|02:26 am] [Nov. 10th, 2005|04:13 pm]

the document contains no data there is an error random numbers fall down the screen sounds of system shutdown.

Technological pieces go missing from the puzzle the big picture is incomplete incompetent REBOOT I am the storm king.

That is the tobacco I smoke and we are what we smoke as we are what we eat. there are the Marlboro men; dystopian cowboys on tired horses frightened by the sound of the mechanical beasts we ride in there are those of Salem's lot. The inevitable nosferatus. there are common Winstons, and the tycoons named styverson my spelling may be in error but I am the storm king.

I know a storm will come when in my heart it is unusually quiet and I see visions slowly rising, simple symbols marking the forward motion of life I speak to the schizophrenics and offer them tobacco I speak with 19 year old visual princesses, and offer nothing but vagaries I am the storm king and I shall mislead all of you though you laugh at the opening of my fourth and fifth eye I am the storm king and I have traded my medallions for temporal victories over the forces of darkness I am the darkness for we become the thing we battle.

Go. smoke.

from high the mountain peak I stand with my crown of flesh a servant almost failing the sky falls down to me and judges me casting hailstones inscribed with bitter words and I GRQ¶W know if those words are really incantations because I am already possessed.

we empower ourselves into the things we have. that is the first mistake. we must strip ourselves of our magic rings and chains and dreadlocks and enter only with the naked fires of the mind. our gods are in Aether as we are in Aether. our druq fueled wires are strangulation stations; lining up for our sentences and deaths. obsession with the string of words affords us only with a description and not the thing itself. we busy ourselves with things and names and styles and eras and genres and isms. we are nothing but an eclecticism which ultimately becomes the foul sabotaging of the ideas we initially have about anti0isms. stuck. trapped. caught. our high fashion makes us akin to the royal blood of the fetish. in automata we bathe in the neon-halogen sex-shaped decorations that hang from trees. and our mother adores the silence and sends us storms with messages but we hide in our shacks and pray to demi godds. our breathing is already a crime in the great-father-mother-mind that understands and segregates our purity from our possessions.

when you meet Ai-Fi, kill it.

[Nov. 13th, 2004|04:24 am]

I am Mountain standing at the peak to the crown Exiled King of the height breathing in stratosphere making homely noises with the wind the ice snow war m my gateway inside the cave I am inside my heart with the sun rising out of signal I am moodless but watching

*so what do I do? my glasses are broken and must move about using blue shades day and night. The mess in my room has conjured up too many ghosts and the atmosphere is thick with moonlight feeding off me and with heavy hearted ghosts of dead men asking me for a way to the spectral strip club for a fuck with skeleton tribeswomen.

Are maniac days here again?

I'm supposed to be working on an assignment, ,ÂśP supposed to be preparing for an exam, preparing to fly off to the states in three weeks but I feel in utero. The mother garden that has yet to give birth to me is a cluttered Zen garden with too much Russian techno blasting from crooked trees. It affecting my water-cycle, I can feel mother garden trying to cough but fearing she'd retch me up instead.

The Madman is the SpaceMan I need to talk to.

I saw him roaming the neighborhood but he GLGQ¶W see me.

I needed an opinion from him.

I needed a reassurance that what he said was true (That I will get everything before December 25th, even MORE!" he had shouted.

T ired G O D ,¶P damn so!

We all need to blast to the moon because that is where they put our superhuman consciousness after they had stolen it. butt who are they?

They are the program-barons you remember? They can be your friends but mostly they're on TV, in print, at the corner of the road where they stop you to load in a program. They are most active in malls, they hang out at cafe's too so they can mind scan you and impregnate your egg brain with their agenda.

Program-barons.

From an Open source in a Closed sanitarium They are creeping in our damn electric cables and telephone lines and window displays and bus systems!

I can RUN yes you can RUN too and I can show you where to RUN or I shall follow you as you RUN but fuck this man how much longer?

A M I A I -F I yet?

A R E Y O U A R M E D? can you please tell me you understand? Brown oil seeped from the

soles of my feet and I soiled the sandbox. The children ran from me crying. The playground, desecrated. Our Sun, hides behind the foil of smoke, a blunt, brown light cast upon the city. I could smell the sweat sliming off the walls; its horrible crawl upward making that low moaning sound in the gut. Replacing the luster of fear with lust, the higher monster takes off the edge and gives me its scaly altar to worship on. Broken knees, lost and faraway divinity, I grip my stomach in pain and enter the faux city.

As in the page, so doth the hall.

The sun had already begun its downward fall, its unhurried fade into black.

I see square blocks Approaching you flashing in moments. Flashing of green lights a faded green the mind seems a bit shaken.

My eyes try to blink out this disturbing light. ^ƚĂƌ ĐƌŽƐƐĞĚ ůŽǀĞƌ͛Ɛ ďƌŽŬĞŶ ũĂǁƐ Unlikely alliances with madness rush and the grinding of teeth we end with the tension of a thousand strings playing a symphony of endless mind warps/you are reminded of little things. The great bandit in the sky stole glimpses of the fair child bathing under the starlight of February.

The angel with the bomb in her hand Aloft on a mist of gaseous cyanide Farkin' Evil Bastids from some Xeroxic darkGOD. LW¶V not even funny you know, they're not some comic scheme I came up with. They're REAL and we're mostly at their mercy because our minds are asleep. Asleep with the burden of everywheretravellingnoise.

ZKHUH¶V my portal-ship! why do the colorful and the mundane swing into each RWKHU¶V shoes so fast!?

let me ask...

How many more fancy metaphorical people must I give birth to, name and throw out into the streets before you realize that they're already everywhere?

I MUST CREATE NEW NAMES LIKE PROGRAM-BARONS SO THAT I WONT HAVE TO USE THEIOR REAL NAMES HENCE FEEDING THEM WITH MORE POWER! They are all here but they can't see my mountain yet.

My mountain Metaphor is missing to them. I escape to other dimensions to escape detection. to avoid RADAR you see?

I can't stay around here in this room feeding fish food to the fish and pretend we're not being invaded! we ARE!

Through the eyes of a faithful wanderer.

,·YH ZDONHG DQG wandered with private reasons and quests. ,·YH ZDONHG WKH VWUHHWV DQG FXUEV RI OLIH DQG ,·YH walked the shores of broken dreams. ,·YH ZDONHG IDU DQG ZLGH till blisters rose and muscles ached and stretched. ,·YH ZDONHG inside the curious mind to find Pandora and her peers.

I turn to the street and beneath my feet I begin my journey on stone and sand.

I walked along December wind and the air seemed cold and sweet.

I looked toward the ruffian road as drivers honked their way through.

II saw the children dressed in pink and white and blue and black.

I watch young couples hug and kiss and sing in romantic tones.

I watch the smiles and eyes that wander over bodies, clothes and expensive stones.

I think of money and its addictive scare as it ruins the nature of quiet deities.

like blinded lambs and sheep we stroll away from redeeming hands and shut our ears from songs of liberation.

I see a family huddled together tight and shivering from the moment of unison The idea of apocalypse does not summon fear, but instead it summons film.

Religion becomes a fashion.

And fashion becomes a religion.

I pass by the stores that serve unnecessary goods to unwilling buyers on an uninteresting night. . I see what they do not see, I hear who they do not hear and the phantom that stands among them goes by the name of Time The skyward march escalated, the mass of heavy and darkened clouds rushed against the rays of a fading sun.

I walked when the rain began to fall. Light at first, then the troubled stars of a distressed evening began its decent upon me like locusts on the brink of an apocalypse.

The cleansing has come, the tears from the beloved have fallen, and the scars began its show.

Striding under shelters, I daydream of your shocked and shaken look.

I grace the faces of strangers with my stubborn eye of past, I structure impressive sentences in my head and I command my tongue to worship your beauty, your presence and your merciful embrace.

Release me now please from my imprisonment, you, who are a GOD and you who are a child of GOD. . I wait and stare like a hapless beast waiting to be cursed with fond and remote memories. I urge the signs to point me to you; I urge my prayers to be heard from trembling lips. I beg through supplication from a meek and hollow throat. I try to clear my voice so I may sing you praises in hope that I may win your hand ,·YH ZDONHG WKH VWUHHWV DQG ,·YH ZDWFKHG LW YDQLVK

The relentless streets were here again. Rising from the horizon of uneven land. . The back of the long sofa became my wall of gray bricks, sheltering me from everything else I was intimate with; family, rooms, paintings and dogs, ash trays and altars, bottles of milk and tender sleep.

There were heroes and machines made up of metal and gears and iron and steel. . Sometimes I dream of losing an arm or perhaps a bit of my sanity as well.

HATHOR-­‐THAROH Receive From her bosom The milk of the universe Like a waterfall filling The vessel of this mis-­‐ creation.

ƐŽƵŶĚĞĚ ůŝŬĞ ĂŶ ĞŶĚŝŶŐ͙ƚŚĞŶ ŝŶ Ă ƌŽŽŵ͙ůŝŬĞ ƐŽŵĞŽŶĞ ŚĂƐ ƚĂŬĞŶ ŽǀĞƌ ŵLJ ƐƚĞƉƐ ĂŶĚ /͛ŵ ůĞĨƚ ƚŽ ďĞĐŽŵĞ ŝƌƌĞůĞǀĂŶƚ͘

VONGOLTHA And the flesh was made word, and the word was VONGOLTHA. The infant, veined to the book, the book, tangled to the temple, the temple, built of bone and meat, borne of insects, house of the post-­‐world birthed the aeon of insectioch.

The dead night sky turned pink like a virgin nipple, red gashes smeared across like whiplashed wounds. A hemoglobin rain falling unto failed reality, soil drinking copper tang sludge. I carried the faux-­‐dead child, careful not to sever the veins that bound it, slippery, bloody gordions.

The book was heavier than the child, its breathing ruffian, asthmatic I could smell its narcota ink, its cortexual chapters. Bile bubbled from the infant nostril; I lapped it up, bitter elixir. .

Immediately the images of consciousness swam alive, amoeba memories aggravated. They called like ƐŝŶĞǁLJ ƐŝƌĞŶƐ͕ ͚ĐƌĂĚůĞ ŽĨ ǀŽŶŐŽůƚŚĂ͕ bedroom of the nestronaut, mother ŵŽƚŚĞƌ͛͘ dŚĞ ŚĞĂĚ ĂĐŚĞĚ ĨŽƌ ŚŽŵĞ͕ lost children pining. I delivered onwards up the dunes, the periplaneta followed, their temple. Roots entangled in the gut of mass entrails, the bubble kingdom keeping dead organs alive, a thrilling temple throbbing with toxin blood, starched stomach insides.

An anthropod heart pulped in kidney, a crawling pulse nested in the lung fed by fetid air and gas. The third heart survived in the bowels, circulating dire secrets, secreting manna for the maggot room. Brown oil seeped from my soles, desecrating playgrounds.

Melted plastic in nuclear sun. From mud caves, half-­‐borne children screeched at my approach, my eyes wept watching them, so partially yet gloriously alive. I believed them all gone from this post-­‐world. Now seen here in an oasis of living

flesh. They hid behind tombstones of metal scraps. A small girl with a bucket of embryos stopped to see me, unafraid. Her eyes a nest of flies. She smiled, yellow-­‐black teeth twisted in gums. Pus running from her sockets like tears of snot. There was no space in my womb or I would have carried her to the nest. ͞/ Ăŵ ƐŽƌƌLJ͕ ůŽǀĞ͘͟ / ŐƵƌŐůĞ ƚŽ ŚĞƌ͘ She ran away. Broken toes flopping in the soggy sand.

THE ANTENARRATION OF VONTINNUA I chose twelve. The number of disciples. It will take perhaps that many to string together this code, this trail of ants. Be it of Ardus or of the insectioch cycle, we ĐĂŶ͛ƚ ďĞŐŝŶ ƚŽ ƐĞĞ͘ dŚĞ ŵĞĂŶĚĞƌŝŶŐ ŚĂƐ ĂůƌĞĂĚLJ ďĞŐƵŶ͕ ĞǀĞŶ ďĞĨŽƌĞ ƚŚĞ ďƌĞĂŬŝŶŐ of dawn. Straight into the heart, we see the red horses leaping, from one building to another reality, into a hospital where the drug lord escapes in red explosion, where the mother gives birth to a space-­‐time crossing child, to some kind of black dune where an insect god is carrying a faux-­‐dead child.

Crossroads, cross arcs, and already it is proving to be difficult. To follow a trail of ants. Be it of ardus, or the insectioch cycle. dŚĞ ĂŶƚŚŽůŽŐŝĞƐƚ ƐƚŽƉƐ ŵĞ͘ ͞dƌLJ ƚŽ ďĞŐŝŶ ǁŚĞƌĞ ŝƚ͛Ɛ most potent, or most ƌĞĨĞƌĞŶĐĞĚ Žƌ Ăƚ ůĞĂƐƚ ŵŽƐƚ ĞĂƐŝůLJ ĂĐĐĞƐƐŝďůĞ͘͟ ^ƵĐŚ Ă ĚĞŵĂŶĚ ŝƐ ŽǀĞƌǁŚĞůŵŝŶŐůLJ demanding. Alright, I tell him. I try to retrace. To think of the right station for ĚĞƉĂƌƚƵƌĞ͘ DĂLJďĞ ŝƚƐ ďĞƐƚ͕ / ĐŽŶƐŝĚĞƌ͕ ŵĂLJďĞ ŝƚ͛Ɛ ďĞƐƚ ƚŽ ďĞŐŝŶ ŝŶ ƚŚĞ ŐĂƌĚĞŶ͘ / begin in the garden.

That of the First drafts.

The sun is young. The garden without end. Incalculable streams of miniature rivers, islands of myths small enough for one child. Each child for one myth. An Indian child with many arms. A Chinese girl on a cloud. A Mongol, barbaric daughter sweet. An Atlantean. The grey ones. The Greek boy. Cosmopolitan. The cowboy with sunset in his eyes. The little plastic toy police man badge girl.

Handcuffs. Me. The anthologeist as an infant. Saul, the mysterium. Hundreds of others. dŚĞ ĨŽƵƌ ŐŽƐƉĞů ďŽLJƐ ĂƌĞ ĐŚĂƐŝŶŐ ĞĂĐŚ ŽƚŚĞƌ ƉůĂLJĨƵůůLJ͘ ,ĂǀĞŶ͛ƚ ďĞŐƵŶ ƚŽ ƌĞĂůŝnjĞ their stories.

The dreamtime children. Asleep under the world trees.

The boy, M. skin young and untouched by the ink of Allah.

All in one garden. That is where I begin.

Goodnight Organic instances in a hyper spatial field.

Indulga: Your ashtray fulfills its function Cigarettes fulfill its function

everything does

coz everything is God. Time is such

a jester, wearing thin at the wrong moments. The whole ritual to enter Ihiir had gone wrong Something along the blueprint entered an anomaly.

Where is she?

Somehow I feel her, not in this reality but out there, among the layers, the multi dimensionality; I feel her pain. She cannot escape me in this sense but I cannot find her.

[01:45] <stargazer> btw. there seems to be a suicide epidemic. my friend msged me asking where people who commit suicide go

͞Divine wisdom is the perfect handling of infinite knowledge͟ ʹ PiLL-­‐Grim Styrene 7 mg for insomniacs. Sleep inducing, dream constructing, bliss awakening drug. A being, an Intravenous administration, a voice in pharmaceutica.

And she is like a ghost fairy, sitting on a twig swinging her legs, dullness she is not, there are aspects of her that is communicating with me in the form of dance; like a rave in slow motion. The ritual, introducing us to them, in that other place where the stars shine her name in the nebula, like an internal supernova.

The pain in the head, of alcoholism, quick blood moving like a train rattling in vein (vain) A simple message, poetry gone off the edge of a lucid meaningless rhyme in time.

She is an experience.

The female form of the dual sexed Zeitgeist; the spirit of an age, the alien agent of change. The transportation, carrier of consciousness, if you must, of the author that lived in pre-­‐ existence that speaks to the world and me now.

He, the passion, impregnates her. The active seeker seeds the one who is then found, sister wisdom, and revelation becomes the child borne. An orgasmic dance between curiosity and the enigma, the known and the unknown, the esoteric and the exoteric.

As we progress through the documentation landscape, certain things becomes more lucid, patterns begin to emerge.

ŶĚ ƚŚĞ ĞŶĚ ŽĨ ŽŶĞ ĐŚĂƉƚĞƌ ĚƌĂǁƐ ŶĞĂƌ͙͘ Ϯ͘ϭϵĂŵ Ϯϴth February

3

8 55

9

3

Q u o t e s

f o r

a

r e b i r t h

'The function of the creative artist consists in making laws, not in following laws already made.' Ferruccio Busoni

century, in mind space, hecticism for management

The flipping clowns are back crusading down the streets of illogicity; the poltergeists are fleeing their nests and lampshades, flying home to their little dark tombs.

Ƶƚƚ ƚŚĞ ŝŶƚŝŵĂĐLJ ďĞĨŽƌĞ ƚŚĂƚ ŚĂƉƉĞŶĞĚ ǁĂƐ ƐŽ ƌĞĂů͕ ͞Ăƚ ůĞĂƐƚ ŽŶĞ ĚĂLJ ŝĨ ŶŽƚ ůŽŶŐĞƌ͛ ĂƉƉĞĂƌĞĚ ƚŽ ďĞ ƚŚĞ ĚŝĐƚƵŵ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ƚŝŵĞƐ͘ ƐƚƌĂů romance, tenderness, LOVE is the supposedly banned word here. half fun half fed-­‐up all trashy tabloid news like

that semi-­‐dark room in a semi-­‐morning late night CPU/slash/monitor movie and beside ill mannerisms. 'Ğƚ ŵĞ͍ / ƐƵƉƉŽƐĞ LJŽƵ ĚŽŶ͛ƚ A l w a y s i n a c l a s s o f o u r o w n d o p i n g / d o i n g Oh you serious folks. Conservative aliens. Arrive and demolish our a r c h a i c n o n s e n s e .

s h e

s a n g

w i t h o u t

s h e

g l o w e d

s h e

t o u c h e d

w i t h o u t w i t h o u t

s p e a k i n g s h i n i n g f e e l i n g

z Ž Ƶ Ă ƌ Ğ Ɛ Ž ŵ Ğ Ž Ŷ Ğ ͛ Ɛ Ś Ž Ɖ Ğ ͘ Ritually, there is a process both dark and bright caught in a tangle of cause and effect; a theory too limited to explain the unlimited.

Thinking I was called From a higher reality My stratagem for her salvation To will the thing Emplaced the untreated us This horrible gulf So undesired

The mind is

Placed and burnt,

for playing god, with chaffed wisdom bringing that͛Ɛ ŶŽƚ me down to my knees, the walls, distance between the paraded around, high and haughty, day

To enter her life To steal away her

fear me

the

superconductor

PILL / ŬŶŽǁ ƐŚĞ͛Ɛ ǁŝƚŚŝŶ LJŽƵ Roaming your mind Finding your secret spaces Where she can weep And give you black rings mighty sleeping monster? what will it ever erase?

The medicane

Somewhere I know I am connected to dark things

Deep dialectics from a written future.

What are your areas of discussion?

Definitions hold multi-­‐faceted interpretations Like the quartz gem of early expeditions Commandant of the Russian space program You have haunted me for your explorations Where metaphysical maps of the desert Holds true treasure in its hidden dunes Backslide into the time of the first killings Witness the birth of death Re-­‐establish the sacred grounds of nations Bring all movements under the wing of the condor Welcome home the long forgotten philosophers Rewrite their thoughts in Active-­‐X Hold the rose with its molecular fragility Kiss the lips of Seraphim immortality Exhaust all of your mediocre desires Let the fleeting flee while time stands still Amongst the stars of the continuum

Trace the roots of your chromosome Find the blood of mystic kings Flowing free in your dead end vein Dream of your knight or your dying maiden Trap yourself within the reflective glaze KĨ ƚŚĞ ĚƌĂŐŽŶ͛Ɛ ƐĐĂůĞ͘ Propel your consciousness along power grids Miracle sparks of diamonds mark your virtual act of waking to a polarized fluorescent sun Powered by the nuclear acid of the moon Dancing in the fractal retina of your eye

Crossing the complex boundaries of the hyperrealist We return to the gates of the ancients Where holographic screen projections Merge with the colossal movement of the pyramid stones A place where water becomes illusion

And illusion becomes an epoch Where the mastermind resides In the hallway of your soul Creeping between dream and sleep Whispering the rules of enragement Technical. Precise. Against your ecstatic wishes.

A symphony of memory recalling ovations For the walls that hinder your forward march Spiraling leaves cascading between the spaces Where her name used to be.

Now an empty screen.

Devoid of truth and obsession The need of protection for protection is unheeded The gypsy crystal shatters upon the stone of nostalgia Weaknesses emerge as demons Necessary fusion climaxes in fear Then we remain unfocused, misdirected At large and on the run from the jaded calendar

Creative monstrosity beckons from its shallow grave with a mournful opus that degenerates your home in slow clusters your world falls apart into the deepened darkness your psychological knot thickens The epic of your life ends in tragedy With eyes sewn blind to your own mortality Steady waves of sublime shutdown Ripples within the sphere of your mind Disengaging your skills of survival Uprooting the calmness of your primordial instincts Disorientation usurps your compass steady inner eye And points it to the gates of pandemonium

Insomnia festival for the psychologically experimental The sleepless jester roams the alleys deprived Of all sense of time and speed

The carrion shadows loom above the statues That stands weathered and discolored By the onslaught of storms When armies fell to the lair of the reaper The villages wept with joy When kings looked north they saw destruction tŚĞŶ ƉƌŝŶĐĞ͛Ɛ ůŽoked south they saw their deaths When the Apostles saw Yahweh, they saw Salvation.

When Pythagoras looked inward all he saw was math.

I wait till the end of contribution and collection Then await the route of retribution

3:31Am 5th May 2002AD

The body was at rest But the mind travelled far To intimate places Where her scent hung As a feeling, an aurora An object of my obsession When the body returns to waking state She is gone And I feel exhaustion Similar to that of parting But where was her face?

Where, in the dark grey skies Did her name go?

The Collision session opens on a night when sleep is rare, fatigue rampant, minds slowly randomly burdened. Like an inverted playground, spinning on its dislodged axis, the toys of joys stream wayward bound like the displaced lights scattering into the darkness of the shorefront horizon. Extinguishing upon contact with the unstill waters, illumination is lost.

The beach is littered with broken glass, waiting for the bare skin to inter-足kiss then watch the blood form her name in the sand. This is the blood that drives me, the blood that rushes in my vein giving me life, and the blood that redeems me. Her blood becomes my blood, I enter into her psychic bosom, I hear the subliminal lullabies that she sings as she breathes, the soft poetry that speaks to me deep inside as she moves with the wind, as she laughs like a child. I hear the music of paradise loudest in her silent eyes.

The world is in this vinyl and the dj cometh to end all worlds.

THE 48 KEYS OF VONTINUUM

AS Channeled BY

THE HIEROPHANT 4.0 As PREPARED BY

WRITERGEIST NINE

The following work is a state of dream, continued and advised by the council of Continuum.

It involves the following correspondents, critical to the beginning stages of the integration of the mother-­‐father satellite V into the reality matrix of its host continuum.

Writergeist NINE is the sanctioned scribed aided, abetted and performed to be the physical manifestator of a psychical state.

The Hierophant is the principal Channeler of information from the Continuum source. He is deemed the most probably, secured and able channel for such a cosmic endeavor. Because of his seemingly destroyed state of physical being, no other forms of distortions may be visited upon him. He is completed via destructed.

The 48 keys of Continuum are basic. If informations are deemed undetailed or incomplete, it is by the order of the council that it is so. This map provides a foundational understanding. All other expositions are not timely.

All data tranceived are accurate at the time of channeling.

The house said. 15. ʹ In the House of XOL ʹ voice of the hierophant. Begin.

Falling rain on roof top, like a countdown ĐůŽĐŬ͘ 'ĞŶĞƌĂƚŽƌ͛Ɛ ŐŽŶĞ͕ this is the dark. Can you write in the dark? My candles are flat pools of white and black and red. Failed attempts at ritual, at necromancy, are you afraid of the dead, returning? Are you uncomfortable with magick?

The boy-­‐writer does not reply, but smokes his black cigarettes, in the tropic freeze of dire November, in the blackout house of his hirer. He knows words will feed this hierophant, and words are his power. But he is sick and confused. The boy-­‐writer knows this. He lets the old man settle back his head.

He lets the old man ramble on.

Big rain, make the sound of water slither down side of house like snake. Hissing. Shhh. Pooling around house, making river. Like protection, see? River around house keep bad things not here. Not make me die. Not make you die.

The old man stands up, wearily, wanders around in the dark for native black-­‐rice liquor. 48% potency. He curses for not having kept the bottle near so he could swig his medicine, to wash down his pills and roots.

I no scared of bad things, no wrong me. But if I die, I no more, ISIQ Island big storm, big trouble. Storm then go other island, main island, make bad there. Then many other island outside sick. SOON WHOLE WORLD SICK. ...no...no good like that.

The boy-­‐writer types furiously in the dark. Chasing every word.

The typewriter keys chunking, hitting raw paper, like an industrial machine eating metal. He takes down everything the man says, even when his tone changes, his sentences go askew, his VOICE CHANGES. dŚĂƚ͛Ɛ ƉĞƌŚĂƉƐ ƚŚĞ ŵŽƐƚ ĨƌŝŐŚƚĞŶŝŶŐ ĨŽƌ ƚŚĞ ďŽLJ͘ The man can sound like a girl-­‐child, then like a dying ancient, then like an angry youth, or a gruff butcher, always alternating, suddenly this, suddenly that. The boy keeps up with the changes.

The old man finds the bottle. There is a sound like guzzling, of hard water going down ruptured throat. There is silence for a while. And when he speaks again, his tone is different, his voice is like a killer.

The fatigue is brutal young one. You listening to me? wears out the body and the bones. Weight like a thousand suns on my back. /͛ǀĞ ĚŽŶĞ ƚŚĂƚ͕ / ŬŶŽǁ͘ ƚŚŽƵƐĂŶĚ ďƵƌŶŝŶŐ ƐƵŶƐ͘ tĞ ŚĂǀĞ ŶŽ concept of pain, only tiredness, exhaustion. Of fighting for so long, of praying and chanting to deaf ears, broken statues. Wears you ĚŽǁŶ͘ zŽƵ ǁĂŶƚ ƚŽ ŐŝǀĞ ƵƉ͘ zŽƵ ǁĂŶƚ ƚŽ ĚŝĞ͘ Ƶƚ ŝƚ͛Ɛ ŶĞǀĞƌ ƐŽ ĞĂƐLJ͘ Never so profound, so epileptic, so quarantined...

The writer lights another cigarette as the man stops. He ponders on the last few lines. Knowing that some of them are wrong streaming, wrong information. Nonsense at times, maybe ƉƌŽƉŚĞƚŝĐ͕ ďƵƚ ŶŽƚ ƚŚĞ ůĂƐƚ ĨĞǁ ůŝŶĞƐ͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ ƚŚĞ ŽůĚ ŵĂŶ͛Ɛ ƐŝĐŬŶĞƐƐ͕ ŚŝƐ ƚǁŝƐƚĞĚ ŵŝŶĚ ŐŽŝŶŐ ĂƐƚƌĂLJ͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ ǁƌŝƚƚĞŶ ĚŽǁŶ ŶŽŶĞƚŚĞůĞƐƐ͘ Everything should be documented. That was the brief from the hierophant, before this darkness of the house came, before the delirium nestled.

The Continuum memories. They do not haunt but they are there.

Triggered off by black rice wine and un-­‐sleep. The Continuum ŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐ͕ /͛ǀĞ ƐŽůĚ ŵLJ ŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐ ĨŽƌ ƚŚŽƐĞ͘ zŽƵ ƵŶĚĞƌƐƚĂŶĚ͍ >ŝŬĞ souls to a devil. Sold. What I forget, you store in your book. What I will recall, from this other place of memories, you keep them strong on the pages. Keep them immortal. For memories die, fade into the archives of the universe, triggered off maybe by cheap drugs, but it may all come out so wrong, so distorted, yes? Our legacy my boy-­‐writer. Ours to behold, to savor, to rise from the ashes when no other tome can resurrect. Do you understand boy?

This is the VONTINUUM ŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐ͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ ƚŚĞ ŽŶůLJ ƚŚŝŶŐ ƚŚĂƚ ǁŝůů Ɛave ƵƐ ŝŶ ĨŽƵƌ LJĞĂƌƐ͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ ƚŚĞ ŽŶůLJ ƚŚŝŶŐ ƚŚĂƚ ǁŝůů ďƌŝŶŐ ƵƐ ƚŽ ĐŽŵƉůĞƚŝŽŶ͘ We tell, we begin. You writing this boy? The post future is in our hands young one. We have to be ready....

In the silence, Gabriel Nine, the boy-­‐writer, lights another bad cigarette and pours himself a straight whiskey, keeping one hand on the aged typewriter. His nose starts to bleed, a pain shot through the centre of his head but he did not fear it nor thought of it as coming death, as hemorrhage. It was the door of his mind opening, that critical door where the uncanny energy of this reality, turned myth, turned reality was feeding him the power to see through this great work. The energy of the place shifted and it was no longer a place with physical boundaries.

This was the crossing of an abyss, the crossing into the world of the living word.

The hierophant began the channeling proper:

D,͛ d/ Mother most MAH CH TII, most MAL CHRON TYE, most MON CHA TAE. Elaborate mistress of the Sea of Sarda. Horrid queen of ZG;d͛Ɛ ŶŝŐŚƚ ƚŝŵĞ͘ ^ŚĞ ŝƐ ĐĂůůĞĚ ƚŚĞ DĂĚĂŵ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ DŽƌďŝĐŝƚŝĞƐ͘ Realms of towering fires and twisted nerves rising in the bone ash grandeur of mass suicide and murder. Her altar is that of dying at childbirth, aborted in street back alleys, slaughters in safe houses. She is the woman with blood from the womb. A cosmic menopause, the death of the eggs of her unborn futures.

ShĞ ŝƐ ƚŚĞ ŵĂŝĚĞŶ ŽĨ ŚĞůů ĨŝƌĞ͕ ƚŚĞ ƋƵĞĞŶ ŽĨ >͛s͛Ɛ ĚĂƌŬĞƐƚ, most un beloved trajectory. Her laughter is that which hemorrhages the banshees. Fearful village witch dockters bled from their privates in memory and sacrifice to her. The unenlightened offer up their dead skin of their newborns much to the derision of this queen of hell. She thirsts for no virgin blood nor the blood of infants. She calls only those who have been abandoned and raped in the name of entertainment and perverted enlightenment. She comforts the unholy whores in their cross bearing duties. She is the patron goddess of whorehouses and sex slavery. Once the mother-­‐witch of the coven GARDARAH, she had transcended her prior role after the events of post one thousand one hundred.

She no longer roams the halls in her long funeral dress of black, her head no longer lolling about on a broken neck, her lips no longer sewn shut and sealed with impossible duct tape and ball gag. her face is now a layer of skin, unable to breathe yet alive, unable to see yet seeing all in the rose colored maroon of blood, unable to hear yet attuned to the screaming of the ladies. She is she who strikes bowel movement terror in the heart of captors

and self declared pain masters. She teaches pain to those in pain, she augments pain in those who inflict It. She is the retribution witch of VONTINUUM, the virgin-­‐less mother of the god torture, she is the black star of Gar-­‐laxi, and she is the womb of the Margot. The breasts that feeds the poisoned golems. In unwrit histories, the Nosferatu worshipped the ground she stank with her piss. In unknown myths, her wet crotch slime was the elixir for the deformed writhing eels of EN. Invoke her in the hour of rapture of the princesses. Invoke her in the defilement of the child porn star, legs bound apart against her will, her virginity broken and bleeding. Invoke her in the hour of rape and murder of the innocent and she shall visit horror-­‐ scope upon the guilty.

h^͛ZE Rising in the volatile east is the star goddess URSULA RANI. Of silver light from the beyond heavens she was born, emƉŽǁĞƌĞĚ ǁŝƚŚ ƚŚĞ ƐŚŝŶĞ ŽĨ >͛s͘ stronomers from the western fields understood her as the pivot of UNVA, the point from which the seasons of feeding and recovery was marked. From the baseness of the degenerate realm of SLUTETR GUTT she is the star of hope that rose once a year when the terrors of the various suffering winds would not blow in fear of her light. It was at that time when the denizens of The GUTT would perform their endurance rituals, calling down her supportive energies to aid their spirits. Her energies would help them pull through another year in the surreal nocturne horrors of the Gutt. It was rumored that she was the lover of the god SAUL,͛ ,Ğ ǁŚŽ ŝƐ absent from all his mythologies͛. She is known to some obscure mages as the confidence of the lady of lanterns; whose light bears the similar archetypal meaning to the lantern carried by the hermit of father time. It is believed that those who had seen her in that form (carrying the lantern) are marked to be a magician of a virginal and holy order. It was also rumored that that was how SAUL found his calling, that as a child he had seen in the distance, the ĨŝŐƵƌĞ ŽĨ h^͛ZE ĐĂƌƌLJŝŶŐ ŚĞ lantern of divinity. Space bandits from other parallel zones consider the sight of her star as an omen, and all forms of banditry would have to be abandoned for fear of curses or even death. She is also likened to the function of Chiron, who leads the dead safely across the cosmos of confusions in her star guardian urn, to be poured into the holy ƐĞĂ ŽĨ >͛s ŽŶ ƚŚĞ ŽƚŚĞƌ ƐŝĚĞ͘ DŽƌƚĂůƐ ĨƌŽŵ ƚŚĞ ůĂŶĚ ŽĨ ƐŽŝů ĂŶĚ

glass may invoke her to help transport the pain of unexpected deaths across the black sea of grief to a space that eases the process of letting go. Every millennia on earth, she is known to be absent from her skies and it is a period known as the veil of blinding USURNA. It is a trying period of faith and hope (usually affiliated with Dire November). It is a time when mortals and immortals alike see the positions of their hearts in the schemes of a troubled universe.

IHTP IHTEP is the star like counterpart to ƚŚĞ ŐŽĚĚĞƐƐ h^͛ZE͘ He is known as the seal of the galactic scape VONTINUUM and is often to be found burnt onto the chest of choice adepts. It is known that false adepts will die from internal organ meltdown if they are unworthy of the seal of IHTP. But those who bear this sigil without death is known to have downloaded potent and immortal like powers of understanding in the hours of chaos.

According to the book of legends, IHTP was originally an eye of the visionary archetypal vision maker, the third eye of the magicians from all ages, the eye of Shiva that destroys, the eye of Horus and the eye of the pyramid. It was written that two sun gods had gone to war over the eye but because of their greed for wanting visionary sight into the futures of the multi-­‐verse, to manipulate the futures they could see, to be deemed more powerful than other sun gods, IHTP caused both sun gods to be blind. On the island of ISIQ, two suns can be seen revolving around the seasons of the island. During their eclipses, the seal of IHTP is raised upon the volcano of AJARA to be shewn respect and dignity and memory of the event called ͚ƚŚĞ ďůŝŶĚŝŶŐ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ gods͛. The seal is a reminder for the seekers and those who teach them, that the powers of the eye is not a power itself to be beheld, but a power to be treated with the most rightful intention which begins with the rightful attitude, of mind, of life, ŽĨ ŝŵŵŽƌƚĂůŝƚLJ͕ ŽĨ ůŝŐŚƚ͕ ŐŽǀĞƌŶĞĚ ďLJ ƚŚĞ ůŽǀĞ ŽĨ >͛s͘ /,dW ŝƐ known to be an active power and warriors who were going to war for the cause of evolution and transition and transcendence always attached the seal of IHTEP upon their blades and shields

for rightful protection and counsel. IHTP, when not in its planetary star formation has also been witnessed to be a starship of advanced alien intelligence. It has been misreported that IHTP was actually an alien entity choosing to reside in the galaxy of VONTINUUM, hiding from apparent pursuers from another star formation family. That notion is unfounded but it is believed to be true that the origins of IHTP may be alien in nature. A ghost writer of renown during the time of prince HŽůĂƚƌĂ͛Ɛ ƌĞŝŐŶ͕ ďƵƚ ǁŚŽ ŝƐ ŶŽǁ ĨŽƌŐŽƚƚĞŶ͕ ǁĂƐ ďĞůŝĞǀĞĚ ƚŽ ŚĂǀĞ held a channeling event with the star IHTP. The ghost writer did not emerge from the channeling intact for he was not aptly prepared to converse with such a high ranking deity planet. All of his records were destroyed, apparently by the eye of IHTP and no other ghost writer has attempted to make contact with the star since. IHTP rules the quarter self of the Equata sector and governs the life cycles of the Onandre, slow moving worm like deities of the planet ERD NAN. Their histories and functions are currently unknown but are believed to be the benevolent forces of nature that itself governs the life cycles of several cosmic constituencies mathematically mapped across the current manifested universe. Once a century, it is believed that IHTP ƉŽƐŝƚŝŽŶƐ ŝƚƐĞůĨ ŝŶ ƚŚĞ ŚŽƵƐĞ ŽĨ h^͛ZŶ ĂŶĚ ƚŚĞLJ ŵĂŬĞ ůŽǀĞ ĨŽƌ three score months. During this time, high magick relating to the conception of created and not natural light may be performed.

Such magick creates diversion and confusion for catastrophic enemies. Invoke IHTP to blind the mass movements of malevolent magicians tapping into the dark side of the suns.

Invoke IHTP during wars that threaten the evolution of any species.

MS.RT The MAAS RETA is the first of three master operating systems that drives the technological spirit of VONTINUUM. Its origins and event is known as the dawn of the neon carpet wave. Its current location cannot be assessed and no information is available regarding the presence of its two counterpart systems.

The MAAS RETA has no other manifestations other than itself. It is a stabilizing entity; a system through which the programs of creation as understood by the DNA of VONTINUUM is expressed.

It is believed, by the engineers that have studied this system, that the MAAS RETA is the cultivating system, the system that multiplies the technological consciousness of the programs it was designed to run. It is the engine that grows the programs, the programs being the tools, the activators that bring forth the other realizations of the Continuum. It is the programs that churn ŽƵƚ ƚŚĞ͛ ůŝŵďƐ͛ ĂŶĚ ͚ŽƌŐĂŶƐ͛ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ƐĂƚĞůůŝƚĞ ƚĞŵƉůe master consciousness that is Continuum.

MS.RT is the incubator, the nurturing entity that is the mother womb. Its operating system is volatile and complex, being more so since it͛s an activator of movement, an initiatory entity. The VONTINUUM< being a scroll of being and possible manifestation as a universe, often sends out the probe MAAS RETA and its two companion systems to seed the selected reality. It establishes the systems on that host reality and sets up an observatory station.

The mother system controls and intervenes, accesses and understands the reality in question and feedbacks the results to the mother node crown of Continuum that pulses in the heart of

>͖͛s͘ /f the host reality is approved of, the Continuum will use the three systems to initiate the expansion of its universal self. The three systems can be considered the scout ships, the reconnaissance , and the computers that chart out the unmapped region of the choice reality.

Tampering with the system by external entities not approved by the mother system MAAS RETA will result in the initiation of an oblivionic program of destruction. The systems will be returned safely to the source of Continuum and the tampering entities will no longer be in continual existence.

Only advanced psychonauts may invoke MS.RT for guidance and internal reprogramming during vision quests.

SIRM The SIREM system is the active structural developing system of the VONTINUUM. Its function begins operation in the second phase of expansion in the selected environment. Generally, it is known that the SIREM system is very much larger than the other two systems but this cannot be verified. It was understood that size and shape of the system can be reduced or enlarged depending on the space it is provided for manifestation. It could even be that all three systems are merely screens with liquid living mirror like surfaces that processes the information required for full VONTINUUM manifestation. The SIREM system is an aggressor. It establishes the rules of law of function and matrix, foundations and expansions. If the MAAS RETA gives births to the programs, and the programs gives births to the extensions, then the SIREM system expands such programs ŽƵƚǁĂƌĚƐ͕ ƉƌŽǀŝĚŝŶŐ ƚŚĞ ͚ƐĞĂƚƐ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ƌŽLJĂů ŚŝĞƌĂƌĐŚLJ ŽĨ ĞǀĞŶƚƐͬ ƉŽǁĞƌƐͬ ĞŶƚŝƚŝĞƐͬ ŽďũĞĐƚƐͬ ƐƵďũĞĐƚƐͬ ͚ ďĞŝŶŐ ŝŶ ƚŚĞ ĨƵŶĐƚŝŽŶ ŽĨ establishments, the institutions are also formed by the authority of SIREM. In times of re adjustment or recalibration, the SIREM system is also the reconstruction entity that oversees the shifts and changes. It regulates the powers running from the source of VONTINUUM out to the various sectors established by its grandfather ůŝŬĞ ĚĞƐŝŐŶ͘ /ƚ ĐŽŶƚƌŽůƐ ƚŚĞ ͚ďůŽŽĚ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ĚĂƚĂ͛ ƚŚĂƚ reinforces the structural concepts established. In an operationally offensive mode, the entire VONTINUUM manifestation may be converted into a complex web of traps and turn war bound. The aggressor aspect will be fully manifest and the VONTINUUM reality is no longer

benign but militant, armed with cosmological and technological aggression.

MIR MIR is the watcher in the skies of Continuum.

In any manifestation, the stratospheric region of Continuum is overseen by the guardian like star known as MIIRE. It is both a satellite and planet like entity. It is self conscious of its duties and functions and receives orders from the mother node of MAAS RETA who is in turn the technological aspect of the star goddess US;RN. MIIR is of foreign origin, extracted from the dark turmoil galaxy of USSAI where banished malevolent satellite entities orbit, governed by the imprisoning sun god DORD. MIR is ĐŽŶƐŝĚĞƌĞĚ Ă ͚ďůĂĐŬ ŬŶŝŐŚƚ͛ ƐĂƚĞůůŝƚe, and programmed with the controlled knowledge of a general of war. In some astronomical circles, observers have noted that MIR may have been constructed by certain planetary occultist using technologies inspired by the reversed powers of active sun commanders. Its black metal frame and outer surface is transformative, as it acts both as a shield and as a weapon. It radiates energies coming from a reversed sun, which had been implanted magickally and technologically into its pulsing immortal heart. Its mode of trans-­‐ positioning is that of teleportation and can therefore be invoked to provide Ariael war craft support in times of physical warfare that may occur in the realm of manifested Continuum͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ Ă relatively small war class satellite and that affords it mobility,

swiftness and potency otherwise not inherent in other war class satellites. The program that runs MIIR has no intentions of becoming a stationary planetary body, deciding instead to be in Ă ƐƚĂƚĞ ŽĨ ͚ever mobility͛ ĂƐ ŝƚ ŽƌďŝƚƐ ƚŚĞ ƌĞĂůŵ ŽĨ Continuum, guarding the borders and portals that surrounds it. It acts as a policing satellite, an early warning system for possible invasions, and a marker for travelers to observe so that their journeying does not extend outwards beyond the boundaries marked safe

by Continuum.

WRV WAERVERN may not be appropriately classified as a satellite but is considered the border guardian of VONTINUUM'S conceptual space as opposed to physical super-­‐space.

Only 30% of its structure is technological. The other 70% is creature flesh and blood based. It is therefore a hybrid, a cybernetic organism like orbital thing. It can only reside in conceptual space and so cannot perform aerial supportive actions like its counterpart MIR. The origins of WRV extend into the primal periods of Continuum, when its mythical ancestry was still sacral and its relevant power at its highest.

Historically, WVR was a deity creature worshipped in the sacred forests of the HANTONIAN elves. Daily, the head of wild murderous beasts were offered at the roots of master trees of the forests in tribute and respect to the creature thing that guards the grounds. None of the elves were permitted to observe the taking of the head so for long periods in the mythological

history, the WRV was not actually seen. During the period of the purging of the beasts, the WRV did finally emerge to defend the city elves from the onslaught of the sara-­‐gracious things, vampire like women with two heads that drank the blood of elves and gave them unending fevers and nightmares before ƚŚĞLJ ǁĞƌĞ ͚ƉĞƌŵŝƚƚĞĚ͛ ƚŽ ĚŝĞ Ă ƐůŽǁ ƉĂŝŶĨƵů ĚĞĂƚŚ͘ dŚĞ ǀŝŽůĞŶce of the onslaught ran for three days and by the end, so much blood was spilled upon the grounds of the sacred forests that the forest itself was deemed poisoned and its reputation for divinity was abandoned. WRV considered itself a failure and chose to retreat into the despair of the lost kings.

It was then when the ghost priest of Continuum descended upon a disillusioned WRV and offered it a transformation. Flight was the central power offered to WRV and it was felt that it would be a natural evolution for the creature. Its dedication towards protection was well understood by the ghost priest and so WRV was selected to be guardian of the conceptual boundaries in the stratospheres of VONTINUUM. IT was assigned to defend the against thermo-­‐hypothetical attacks on functional archetypal ideas of creative space around The Von. Though historically obsolete, the myth of WAERVERN was still orally expressed through the ages of the elves and so even now, there is a small circle of post elves still offering metaphorical beasts heads to the mythical creature that no longer roamed any kind of forests on any kind of limbs. During one of the festivals dedicated ƚŽ ƚŚĞ tZs͕ Ă ŵĂƐƚŽĚŽŶ͛Ɛ ŚĞĂĚ ǁĂƐ ŽĨĨĞƌĞĚ ĂƐ a sacrifice but to the terror and fright of the small elves, the beast head in turned started channeling the voice of the WRV. It spoke

of how its task was now no longer confined to the forest but instead was serving its duties in the skies that shone down upon the elves. A star was marked out (presumably the star of IHTP that corresponds to the function of the WRV) and till today it is worshipped as the star WAERVERN. Invoke this name when seeking protection and guardianship of sacred conceptual places of lands and forests.

ϯ ͛ DYN-­‐YNL-­‐JDY The triple goddess of the myth VONTINUUM. Three moons that revolve around the son of V. Three powers of divinity as the white light of SAUL. To even begin understanding the powers of these divinities, one must be able to connect to the madness that comes with love and desire and passion and eternity. The histories of the three belong to the dynamism and activity pertaining to periodic immortality. It is non sequential. It is scattered throughout various spaces and various times. The original conception of Continuum was the result of the powers of one of the three. YNL. It was understood that the seed of Continuum was not fully activated during the time of the great distraction. The powers were there but not activated. Moon cycles were lost. Civilizations had risen and fallen. There was no spiritual movement in the realm of Continuum, for it had suffered the devastating loss of the orbital divinity known as DYN. STOP. STOP. STOP.

Writergeist nine backed off from the typewriter. ͞ǁŚĂƚ ŚĂƉƉĞŶĞĚ͍͟ ŚĞ ĂƐŬĞĚ ǁĞĂƌŝůLJ͕ ŚĞ ĐŽƵůĚ ĨĞĞů ŚŝƐ ďŽŶĞƐ getting so heavy.

In the blackness of the house of XOL he could not see a thing.

Even though the hierophant sat before him, he could not even make out a figure. Yet he found he could type, the sound of the keys chunking made his sense of accuracy stronger. Something else was guiding him that was for sure. His head felt like he was on medication yet there was clarity as if the medication had taken away the heaviness. ͞ zE ŵĂŬĞƐ ŵLJ ŚĞĂƌƚ ŚĞĂǀLJ͘ /ƚ ŝƐ ƐƵĐŚ Ă ůŽŶŐ ƐƚŽƌLJ͕ ƐƵĐŚ Ă romantic tragedy even though it is not my tragedy. Listen. The VONTINUUM is as much as a part of me, as much as the voice that comes through me but in most part it is from the heart soul and mind of SAUL, its originator, its father mother daughter son entity.

Do you understand? SAUL is no longer a person, he had become a black hole, he had become a consciousness, then a god. Then a planet and satellite. And now, he is a myth. This is his myth. DYN was his moon, his love, his eternal she. If I am to believe it, then I would say that it was she who started him on his quest, that because he could not be with her then, in which age I do not know, but because she was not to be with him, he had already lost his sense of the divine and had to seek elsewhere to discover it. You see, for him, DYN was his only sense of the divine for when he had touched her face as she cried, he had seen the face of god. It is important to get this part correct. To understand that in that instance, he realized the true existence of god, and at the same moment though he only realized it later, he had lost that sense, because she was crying for another man, another love, and that years years later, she would marry that man, who was in no way anything or anyone like SAUL. And so that loss, that defeat, that

cosmic sorrow, had set him off in search of something akin to her, though I do not believe he had found it, even when he had become a god, even when he could dictate the movement of the stars in his orbit, even when he had immortal judgment over the souls and where they would go, paradise (of his own dynamic) or hell (of his own sacred imaginings) there was still that element of God that was missing from his heart (though she was always there but not truly there at all if you understand) he had sought to be one with god because he could not be one with her. What he found was a demi god, and he was not satisfied with that because ƚŚĞ ĚĞŵŝ ŐŽĚ ǁĂƐ ŶŽƚ ŚĞƌ͕ ĂŶĚ ƐŚĞ ǁĂƐ >ŽǀĞ͘ >͛s ǁĂƐ Ă ĨůĂǁĞĚ parallel to the Love he found in DYN͘ >͛s͕ ĂƐ ŐƌĞĂƚ ĂƐ ŝƚ ŝƐ͕ ŝƐ ŽŶůLJ Ă shadow of the concept that was DYN. Does this make VONTINUUM fragile? Does this make the entire myth less credible?

Only the true stars and true sun knows of this. Only the true nature of things as it shall be revealed to the disenchanted shall offer up the right answers. For now be content that this is what it is. This entire myth, an outcropping, an expansion of one desire seeking out another, one heart trying to remove the stigmata of having loss the other half of the heart. One life spent in a thousand lifetimes in order to make balanced again the life that lost its meaning when it had lost her.

My soul aches now writergeist. And it is too dark and too deep in the night. Forgive me. Though time does not permit it, I must ĐĞĂƐĞ ƚŽŶŝŐŚƚ͛Ɛ͛ ĚŝĐƚĂƚŝŽŶ͘ dŚĞ ƐƉŝƌŝƚ ŽĨ Continuum has gone from me. Perhaps it too sensed the difficult in dealing with this section of the understanding. I trust that you can find your way in the dark, out of this house perhaps (it has stopped raining) so the

river can be crossed. Nothing shall harm you now this night. For all manners of creatures and evils have departed to their own homes and zones in respect of the brokenness this section of the dictation has dug up. So long ago DYN was ͚buried͛, my friend writer, and in the course of this upheaval, she, and all manners of emotions and memories that come with her must rise up again.

Go. Leave this night to its own mourning. We shall continue again tomorrow when the sun rises,. Then the experience will be of a different nature. Different because tonight, it is not that you will hear of the three women of the VONTINUUM, you will experience them in one woman, my beloved daughter who though is not of flesh and blood, will be my daughter in the end in the beginning. She arrives awaiting you, to take you into that ƌĞĂůŵ ŽĨ >͛s, cherish what is given unto you, that you will know what it͛s like for 'ŽĚ͛Ɛ to love.

And with that the hierophant was gone. Out of the house.

Perhaps behind to a veil where his energy was cut off, there was nothing left of the pope. No energy of his surround. And writergeist nine sat there, bleeding from the nose, and suddenly feeling starved. Slowly he attempted to get up, his bones were heavy still, his weakness from hunger more apparent.

The door then opened. There was a girl there, looking in. ͞dŚĞ ŵĂƐƚĞƌ ŚĂƐ ŐŽŶĞ / ƵŶĚĞƌƐƚĂŶĚ͘͟ ^ŚĞ Ɛaid to nine softly, smoothly. Nine knew she was the cat. She was the daughter.

͞You must be hungry, wŽƵůĚ LJŽƵ ůŝŬĞ ƚŽ ŚĂǀĞ ƐŽŵĞ ƐƵƉƉĞƌ͍͟ ƐŚĞ asked, eye brows raised. She was beautiful light. Beautiful soul.

Passion flower. A gift from god. ͞^ƵƌĞ͘͟ EŝŶĞ ƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͕ ƚŚĞŶ ƚŽŽŬ ŚŝƐ ũĂĐŬĞƚ ǁŝƚŚ Śŝŵ ĂŶĚ ůĞĨƚ ƚŚĞ house.

As suddenly as it had begun, the nights work was done. He could not bring himself some kind of closure or rest. It felt too important, too heavy with meaning to go off with a cat-­‐girl for food when a future myth was being downloaded. But the hierophant was not operating now. Nine had to let go of the work and to focus with what was happening about him. Her scent was intoxicating. Her presence alone turned the act of eating and drinking into a dull mechanical reality.

Their love making though, later on in the night, was anything but mechanical.

From the memory journals of Gabriel writergeist nine: There is magic in sensuality, divinity in sex. Those were the first lines she said to me as we entered her rustic abode. I could not get over her, even when I first met her as a cat. She was slender and tall and her skin was colored so well by the sun. She bit my hand as I stroked her face. Her laughter masked the pain and made it meaningless. She said she enjoyed the taste of my blood.

That made her so much more alluring. Her beauty was native, her hair was her power, dark brown black with a thickness worthy of a ŐŽĚĚĞƐƐ͛Ɛ daughter. She was young in that sense,

but her soul was perhaps older, I could not tell. It was light, airy, her soul I mean, her skin soft and gentle like the way she moaned in my ear. Her bed was large and welcoming. Her touch, even more so. I did not feel any form of enchantment, just a strong desire welling up in me that felt like it was coming from someplace deeper, a place I could only discover in her presence.

Our clothes fell away in the darkness and we were immediately lost upon the tender bed. In my head swam the memory of the ϯĐ͛Ɛ͕ ďĞůŽŶŐŝŶŐ ŶĂƚƵƌĂůůLJ ƚŽ ƚŚĞ ŐƌĞĂƚ ǁŽƌŬ ďƵƚ ĂůƐŽ ĞǀĞŶ ŵŽƌĞ naturally to our shared recollections of the birth of Venus. This was love in its active state, yet passivity was also present. We were both moons and the star, not the sun of fire and violence, but the gentle lull of the waves in >ƵŶĂ͛Ɛ light. She smelt of the sweet sea of understanding, of flowers in the ocean, however that was possible. In her I felt the tides over great mountains, Great mountains calmed by the tides. Opened up within I encouraged the orbiting of DYN, of YLN and of that strange third name I could never feel. So potent was her love even though I did not learn her name. She is like a spirit of all times, of Christmas morning in particular, of late night spring, of something fragrant in my soul. So lost I was, I am. So beautifully lost. Heightened, explored, released, in blossom like a supernova in slow motion.

She touched my temples, my skull, and my mind. I kissed her palm, her destiny. Gently. Memories released, stresses vanished, past lives replayed in those moments of ecstasy. I will never fully be able to express the cycle of events, psychic and memorial that swept through me like a tide when I was with her. Truly she was a gift of night, a song of morning. In her I am reborn again.

A cycle ends a cycle begins.

She plants kisses upon him in the dawn of light. Her hair tied up, falling gracefully over her left shoulder, she looked down on him on the bed, like a star watching her earth rotate, his breathing soft and rhythmic, alive and gentle. Is he dreaming of her star? Is he safe? She knows he is. Going through the final patterns, the final resolutions before his work must begin again. He breathes her in his dreams; she breathes him into her consciousness, that watches, that understands him as an infant, as a child in the arms of cosmic mother star. She touches his face softly for him to wake, to lull him back into reality. The birds sing, the waves sing.

Breakfast is waiting.

They laugh around the table, an early morning laughter with lights ŝŶ ƚŚĞŝƌ ĞLJĞƐ͘ dŚĞLJ ĂƌĞ ƌĞůŝĞǀĞĚ͕ ƚŚĞLJ ĂƌĞ ůŝďĞƌĂƚĞĚ͘ dŚĞ ƐƵŶ ŝƐŶ͛ƚ too violent, the winds not too strong. There is nothing to oppose them even though they are not lovers, not married into any state.

But it was his soul that wedded in the night, his soul wedded to a bigger, greater thing. She knows he has to return to the house of her father. He knows she must return to her life as the cat, to roam the quarters outside the house, to guard her father, to guard her lover of sorts. They bade each other godspeed, with hopes that the night wouůĚ ďƌŝŶŐ ƚŚĞŵ ƚŽŐĞƚŚĞƌ ĂŐĂŝŶ͘ ͞till I see you ƚŽŶŝŐŚƚ͍͟ ŚĞ ĂƐŬĞĚ ŚĞƌ͘ ^ŚĞ ĐŽƵůĚ ŶŽƚ ĂŶƐǁĞƌ ďƵƚ ƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͘ ͞tith the passion of oneness comes the shadow of separation. They are the same thing, to be ŽŶĞ ĂŶĚ ƚŽ ďĞ ŶŽŶĞ͘͟ Somehow he understood but therĞ ǁĂƐ Ă ƉĂŝŶ ĂůƌĞĂĚLJ ŐƌŽǁŝŶŐ͘ ͞te are ƚŽŐĞƚŚĞƌ ŝŶ ŵĞŵŽƌLJ͘͟ ^ŚĞ said, ending their conversation. She then left among the flowers in the garden. NINE returned to the

house. Impossible feelings that the night was all over. But he felt rejuvenated, alive once again, and yet there was a fear growing in him and it was not coming from not seeing her again.

There was an armchair in the house, in the light of morning the dimensions of the house seemed different, like in the night it had expanded. Then again, nine did not see the house in reality in the night for all was black and dark. Like the walls. Deeply painted dark holes. There were picture frames on the black wall but there were no pictures in them. Just golden frames, beige backboard, nothing imagery standing out against the death color behind. Just three frames. One the size of a door. Candles unlit were stuck upside down on the ceiling. White candles. Divine candles. Blue candles of the sacred space. ͞You ĂƌĞ ĂĨƌĂŝĚ ŶŽƚ ŽĨ ƵŐůLJ ƚŚŝŶŐƐƐƐ͘​͘​͘͟ ƚŚĞ ǀŽŝĐĞ Žf the hierophant called out, presumably from one of the rooms. ͞/ Ăŵ ŶŽƚ͘͟ EŝŶĞ ƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͘ Then for the first time, NINE saw the hierophant in pure naked light.

He looked like a deformed spider. So burnt was his skin. So odd his facĞ͘ ĞŶƚ ďĂĐŬ͕ ŵƵƐƚ͛ǀĞ been at least 200 years old, his skin was like decaying wood. He had one long twisted arm with web like hands wrapped around old stone. The other shoulder socket, where another arm should be, had just a short stump sticking out with two fingers elongated from them. On one twisted finger was a black ring. Resonating death and destruction. The hierophant wore no headdress, half his skull was smashed in. like a huge

crater on the side of his deformed head. His eyes were yellow with impossible age. Deep set and orbital. He had little wisps of hair left, graying? Brown? Mud like? Scabs on his head were moving like insects. His teeth jutting out like a rabid monster, yellowing dirty brown stones of precious rock. He walked with a terrible limp, his legs thin and bony with taut towel looking muscles wrapped in strands from his torso down. There were wet pools of mud around his bare six toed feet, acting like shoes. Every step he took, the puddle followed. Like an old man unable to control his bladder. ͞Are you uŶĂĨƌĂŝĚ ŽĨ ƚŚŝŶŐƐ ŐƌŽƚĞƐƋƵĞ͍͟ ͞/ ŵ͘͟ EŝŶĞ ƐĂŝĚ͘ ͞'ŽŽŽŽŽŽĚ͘͟ ,Ğ ƐƉŽŬĞ ǁŝƚŚ Ă ƐůŝƚŚĞƌ͕ ůŝŬĞ Ă ĚĞŵŽŶ͘ ZĞĚ ďůŽŽĚLJ tongue too long to be human. ͞dhey found me in the disaster of the fallen bridge. They found me three days after the fact. Like they say, on the third day he rose ĂŐĂŝŶ͘​͘​͘ƚŚŝƐ ǁĂƐ ŚŽǁ / ĐĂŵĞ ƚŽ ďĞ͘ ^ĞŶƚ ŚĞƌĞ ďƌŽŬĞŶ ĂůƌĞĂĚLJ͘͟ Nine took his place at the typewriter. It was snickering, which made nine feel a little bit crazy, a snickering typewriter making fun of its master. It whispered gleefully, ͞DƵƐƚ͛ǀĞ ĚŽŶĞ ŚŝƐ ŚĞĂĚ ŝŶ͘​͘​͘͟ God, should he laugh? Nine suppressed the joke. A weird feeling in the presence of this mutant hierophant. dŚĞ ŵĂĐŚŝŶĞ ĐŽŶƚŝŶƵĞĚ͕ ͞ ŽŶ͛ƚ ůĂƵŐŚ ĐŽŵƌĂĚĞ͕ ŚĞ ŵŝŐŚƚ ŐŝǀĞ LJŽƵ ƚŚĞ ĨŝŶŐĞƌ͘ ,Ž ŚŽ ŚŽ͘͟

Nine shook off the remarks. ͞,Žǁ ǁĂƐ ŵLJ ĚĂƵŐŚƚĞƌ͍͟ ƚŚĞ ƉŽƉĞ ĂƐŬĞĚ ĂƐ ŚĞ ƐĞƚƚůĞĚ ďĞĨŽƌĞ nine at the table.

EŝŶĞ ƌĞůĂdžĞĚ Ăƚ ƚŚĞ ƚŚŽƵŐŚƚ ŽĨ ŚĞƌ͘ ͞ƐŚĞ ǁĂƐ͘​͘​͘​͘ŝƐ͘​͘​͘ĂŵĂnjŝŶŐ͘​͘​͘​͘ůŝŬĞ heavens. Swirling in the after..in my death...likĞ͕ / ŚĂĚ ĚŝĞĚ͘​͘​͘͟ ͞LJĞƐ͘ zŽƵ Ěŝd die. And now we continue the Continuum ůŝĨĞ͘͟ ͞ ůƌŝŐŚƚ͘͟ EŝŶĞ ƉƌĞƉĂƌĞĚ ŚŝŵƐĞůĨ͘ dŚĞLJ ŚĂĚ ůĞĨƚ ŽĨĨ Ăƚ ƚŚĞ ƚŚƌĞĞ Đ͛Ɛ͘\͟>Ğƚ ƵƐ ďĞŐŝŶ͘͟ dŚĞ ƉŽƉĞ ƐĂŝĚ ĂŶĚ ƐƉŽŬĞ͘ The feminine principle of DYN YLN and JDY does not end.

Though they do not surface to the frontal consciousness at times, they are always here like the VONTINUUM memories. Cheap drugs do not trigger them off except in certain anger. They do not condone the corruption of the body temple.Troubled sleeping however, will often bring them to mind, for by nature they are mothers, and when their child does not sleep well, they are always there to try to influence a change. In times of war they shine brightly in the night. They lend light to the tired warriors who often battle in their honor and for their love. It is their love that drives the forward movements. Their love that makes the ĨŝŐŚƚŝŶŐ ǁŽƌƚŚǁŚŝůĞ ďĞĐĂƵƐĞ ŝƚ͛Ɛ Ă ůŽǀĞ ƚŚĂƚ transcends the blood and gore and brings the men͛s souls to Avalon, to Valhalla. The love of the goddesses and their power need not be explained much, for it is more apt for their love to be felt, to be lived, and all men no matter what the age, no matter what the aeon will have to live in the light and the darkness of the goddesses. So let

us leave the three at that, and move on to the others that require more expositions.

͛' ERGADA is the book of legends designed by the Continuum to give structure and sequence to the events that shapes Continuum.

The events, in brief are as follows.

The opening sector of the book is known as the OMANDAE cycle.

It begins with the narration of The Red Idol event, when things of the soil and the glass were still recognizable to the human intellect. It was a time when the city of glass, where the whole continuum of events began, was still in the height of its economic and political powers. The people had already established their hierarchy of wants but it did not end there. Recognizing the ever spiraling cycle of wants, a primal dark power known as the red idol, which represented the twin powers of addiction and carnal lust, positioned its devastating powers as a zeitgeist of that era and almost brought humanity into a red apocalypse. That period some three score years ago began the first dire November. It was inevitably averted by the powers of SAUL who had turned himself into a black hole and had consumed the red idol. A black hole was left In the wake of that event, and it distorted the fragile and subtle dynamics of the multiverse, causing ruptures to appear all along the watchtowers. This led to a furthering complication in the years to come.

͛' ƚŚĞŶ manifested the aborted book of SAUL, which attempted to express certain individuals that were directly influenced by the ruptures. The scribe assigned to collect the information was not heard from again and the book was inevitably aborted as its title suggests. The following chapter then opened up the events of the post one thousand one hundred. In the history of ƚŚĞ ͛' ƚŚŝƐ ǁĂƐ ƚŚĞ ŵŽƐƚ comprehensive report of the events that transpired. It was ultimately deemed cosmically absurd as the various authors involved in this endeavor, which ultimately includes you, dear NINE< were subjected to gross mental breakdowns, disappearances and even death. Up till this moment there are still individuals not accounted for during this period of apocalyptic chaosma. IN the details of the book of legends, there are also sections pertaining to the Vault of M, which is the mythical cycle prior to the events of the red idol. A period known as the Ai-­‐Fi cycle and the stages of the OUTHERS were recorded after the initial collapse of the vault M program. The hour of The Hauses followed in the wake of the ai-­‐fi satellite crash but only strands of its disparate stories were ever recorded. Other sectors ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ŽŽŬ ŽĨ Ő͟ ŝŶĐůƵĚĞĚ ƚŚĞ ƌĞƉŽƐŝƚŝŽŶŝŶŐ ĂŶĚ ƚĞŶĂŶƚ ƚĂŬĞ over the resurrection crisis hotel as well as the inclusion of several ghost programs like the SARROGHEITUS and the only faintly details structure of the OBLIVIONICC system. The book is in an ever state of flux and requires a different channel in order to retain and understand its properties. At this juncture, this is deemed unnecessary by the VONTINUUM system.

MISJ MISIJ is the fabled book of law that accompanies the book of legends.

In this particular book, probably accounted for by the authoritative power of the MSRT and SIRM systems in conjunction with the seat of the ChĂŽǀĞƌŶ Žƌ ƚŚƌŽŶĞ ŽĨ d^E͛Z͕ ƚŚĞ following sections are deemed true at his point of channeling.

That It details the control systems and mechanics of a) the movements and orbits and trajectories sanctioned for the satellites of Continuum b) The magickal decorums, limitations, boundaries and permissions set for the alteration of physical and psychical phenomena in the Continuum verse. C) The operational areas of judgments and executions with their attending ĞdžĞĐƵƚŽƌƐ ŝŶ ŚŝĞƌĂƌĐŚŝĐĂů ŽƌĚĞƌ ĂŶĚ ŽƌĚĞƌ ŽĨ ͚ƚŚĞ ĚĞƐĐĞŶƚ ŽĨ ƉŽǁĞƌ͛ ĂƐ ĐƌĞĂƚĞĚ ĂŶĚ ĐŽĚŝĨŝĞĚ ďLJ ƚŚĞ ƌƵůĞƌ ship of the lords and ůĂĚŝĞƐ ŽĨ >͛s͘ ĚͿ dhe circumstances or conditions within which death and mortality may be issued unto entities that are immortal in so far as they are within the boundaries of the world of Continuum. e) Manners, states and length of manifestations permitted in order to manipulate, expand or conceive other states of being f) Conditions of Red altered states and green altered states where Continuum is permitted to return to its originating scroll form and take flight in order to preserve the continuity of its own program g) Sounds and vibrations that are open to development in its appropriate spaces and the various frequencies not permitted in a period stated by the attending powers h) Honored windows of time when absurdism may be

freely expressed due to the nature of the surrealistic powers that under currently administers its influence in the field of Continuum. I) Commandments that provide the Continuum with its cosmic, moral and physical laws in the language currently not understood by beings outside the Continuum cycle.

The Book of MISIJ will undergo continual shifts in concordance with the evolution of Continuum over its destined space-­‐time trajectory.

PIS PIS is the first father of the three IPS that were taken from their initial home land in the world of VOZ. These ips are immortal and function as the engineers of VONTINUUM. Their area of expertise is in the biological, flora, fauna, and non technical aspects of this universe. PIS is the eldest, being the first to have discovered the language of VONTINUUM when it was poisoned by an aracular flower during the grooming period of VOZ. This illness event caused PIS to have powers of prophecies and in the spring time of its world, it fore saw the red event and the attendant activities that resulted in the currents states of VONTINUUM. Seeing that it had been empowered to understand the psychic nature of the environments in VONTINUUM, it decided to train its two offspring R.P and IMD in the engineering ways and maintenance methods to sustain the environments of VONTINUUM. PIS is the only IPS with three arms and hence the most handy when it comes to manual labor. Its expertise are the floral properties of the garden of VONTINUUM and has resulted in PIS becoming a doctor of pharmacology. It is currently developing a list of prophecy inducing florals and testing it against himself to see the various inside worlds that can be opened up and understood within the structure of the VONTINUUM memory. In the terms of the city of glass and soil, he is the resident drug maker and way shower of the inner worlds and is deemed an alchemist, doctor, and neuronaut. It worships a ghost version of the characters J and drashad who were instrumental in the periods of the red idol and the post one thousand one hundred.

R/P R?p is the second in command of the ips and the first born of the blood of PIS. It was rumored that the doppelganger of R/P was one of the two golems that aided the magician ghos haus in setting up the engine house of magic in a place called slutter gutt and omandae street in the city ŽĨ ŐůĂƐƐ͘ ZͬW͛Ɛ ƚƌĂŝƚ ĂŶĚ ĂƌĞĂ ŽĨ expertise is in the arcane objects verified and consented to by the manifestation rooms of VONTINUUM. He is the chief guardian and warehouse keeper of the artifacts and relics native and alien to the VONTINUUM program. No other being are permitted to study touch examine or discuss the artifacts without prior approval from this ferocious IPS. Not an IPS of the morning, R./P functions primarily in the night time periods of the scroll. Its blood is of a different temperature and temperament than that of his fellow IPS. It is said that he was specially selected by PIS not because he was the son of PIS but because his blood was the only type that could sustained prolonged periods of exposure to magickal items that exist in the rooms of the V. r/p is known to understand the molecular and structural qualities of at least eleven thousand objects belonging to the vaults of v. His understanding is proved to be potent for several attempts had been made upon his life. Knowledge of such things is of a power and several magicians are his close aides and depend highly upon this IPS to understand the various ways in which the artifacts maybe combined to bring about a more powerful influence over certain type of fetish magic.

IMD IMADAL is the most mysterious of the three IPS things. Its name suggests privacy in a sagely context. Compared to the legends, he may be known as the hermit archetype in traditional lore. It is known that IMD speaks one thousand one hundred languages, no coincidence to the concept of one thousand one hundred. No one can verify his connection with that mystical number and even he would not disclose the connection. He is often protected and contained in the towers of VILIRIUM set in the northern quarters of VONTINUUM in its manifestation periods. He is umpired to be one of the two towers of horror that the adepts of VONTINUUM must face before they transcend the boundaries and enter the divinity zones of L;V. There were periods where IMD was suspected of having merged with various occult systems in particular the mother node of MRST. IMD is also believed to be the keeper of various stones native to the era of Vault M. The shaan kings of that period had developed a variety of some twelve stones wrapped in the sacred scroll of Daeken and was purportedly offered to the midget for devouring. Within him then it is believed that the stones reside undigested and dormant, in wait of the period of the great awakening when the stones will be in full power and in full potency to war against anything or anyone that may threaten the existence of the VONTINUUM. IMD does not and have not spoken for at least a quarter of a century. Some say that he no longer is in his tower but his father PIS believes otherwise for he can feel the presence of his own son even though he may be as mysterious as the legends make him out to be.

XSVMP The divinely sanctioned royalty IPS and deity figure in the IPS world bĞĨŽƌĞ ƚŚĞ ƌĞŝŐŶ ŽĨ ů͛s͘ XSVIMMAP is chiefly a necromantic god that had resurrected himself some seven lifetimes over. He belongs to an early stage of godlike development where the sacrifice of blood and life was still prevalent. XSVMP is the holder of three keys of three hells.

Two of them no longer in the memory of the immortal cycle of beings and consciousness. A warrior god, XSVMP is most feared by small sectors of the Viking mercenaries that still remember the days of blood violence. It is said that one cannot look upon the face of this divine IPS for death will surely take place in a most horrific way. Connected to the horrors of the medusa, this ISP god was revered by the witch things that lived underground since the end of the fourth ISP war. Till today, some daring necromancers still call upon this Grand IPS for guidance and blessings with their necromantic duties. But the price to be paid after having sought this help is rumored to be even heavier than the benefit wrought from such a blasphemous act. It is said that this ISP was the only god of death that could raise the spirits of dead dragons. A power much sought after but not contested for among the black magicians in the current cycle.

SRCG TSPR SCRM The triune sequencers of initiation, adjustment and expansion have been central in the operating system of the VONTINUUM since its original conception. It seeks to perform acts of transformative activation using viral consciousnessing.

Consciousnessing is the act of infecting one consciousness with the viral components of expansion inherent in a higher-­‐frequency intelligence.

The first sequencer is named SAROCOG. This system has three primary initiatory presets. 1)The Da mar Gin Tunnel program sets the reality matrix unto a projector path of subterranean labyrinth web filled with the impossible notion that it has no end. The light at the end of the tunnel is a delusion.

That is the motif from the very start of the journey. The initiated one will have to wander endlessly and lost, armed only with the notion to volition. To move. The unending path makes or breaks the individual and only with endurance can the initiated realize that tunnel visions lasts only as much as one believes it to last.

2) ͚The drowning man syndrome is the initiatory program that locks the individual far beneath the depths of the dark sea of understanding. The terrors of the drown is one of fear breaking, of conception challenging, of freedom from bondage. Fear of

death gives way to the death itself and in the womb of the sea the new is reborn 3) The final initiatory program is that of fire. Fire being the ƚĞŶƐŝŽŶ͛Ě energy that allows transcendence past boundaries of fright and inactivity. The obstructing powers of Indolence and sloth plus a whole host of negative, nameless energies are eradicated in the extremely violent methodology of a trial or baptism by fire. In the light, the hurting heat is immense but the light endeavors to lift the darkness veil that has been the object of blindness. In the burn and melt of the skin and the scream that follows, fire directs the primal energy of movement and movement expresses the concept of travel from one point of delusion to the other point of truth.

Only initiatory priests and recognized karmic systems may invoke or manipulate the use of these three traditional presets ŽĨ͛ ƚĞƌƌŽƌŝnjĞĚ ĞŶůŝŐŚƚĞŶŵĞŶƚ͛͘ TSPR TSOPARAE is the program that commands and attunes itself to the universal mechanics of adjustment. Associated with the soil and glass concept of justice and balance, adjustment is the calibrating open system program that a) Determines the current state of the system by measuring its effectiveness and efficiency b) Determines the outside influencing factors that alters the shape of the original system and having understood its influence will adjust the various internal intermediaries to allow open change within the system. c) Measures the input of energy and

cycles and determines the rate of change required for the system to operate at the efficiency and efficacy of point A; and d) Moves the system forward into the altered environment and re-­‐ measures its development with a watch like program to determine if any change is further necessary.

The circuitry of the TSPR is self regulatory and does not depend on an external source of power. It manages the initiatory program in so far as it influences a change in the master program. It prepares the capacity like ability for the master system to adapt and expand. It makes the foundational framework operationally ready for the next stage of evolution deemed necessary for the systems͛ long term survival and growth.

SCRM is the final and third program that completes the cycle of the triune programs of conversion and sustainability of the master system. Its primary directive is expansion in the magical, technological, physical sense of the term. It initiates and introduces the necessary powers required for such an act. It draws power primarily from the SIRM system which is the father system responsible for structural integrity and development. It provides the numerical and data field inputs needed by the SIRM to compute and execute. It details and calculates the best possible formulas needed and permits its sister adjustment programs to regulate the data.

The three programs function in tandem, one often depending on the information derived from the other two. They function simultaneously and in continuity as t he master program of

Continuum shifts ever continually in its sea of change. Much likened to the three GUNAS of the Hindu systems, it creates maintains and destroys, understanding destruction as the root of expansion.

MGC GRC NTLV IHB Four is the number of the authority and the law. There were four birds in flight at the start of the Omandae cycle. There were four dogs of Afrioca whose deaths remain an integral part of the evolution of SAUL. There were four goddesses of power in the continuity of VONTINUUM, although only three were ever recorded. There were four stages of evolution pertaining to the expansion of SAUL who was the shaman, the black hole, the planet, and the consciousness.

In the current state of manifestations VONTINUUM claims four magicians that govern and controls and determines the immortal occult state of the system called V. The four, as one unit, is known as the four magista. Magista in the root language of Continuum meaning royal magichood. Its powers are passed down not through bloodline but a kind-­‐line. Only a certain kind of individual, being or consciousness is processed to be carriers of the magickal blood. The first of these is detailed as thus:

MGC MON GHOS CA was originally named GHOS HAUS. AT this time of narration, he is still known and called such but this narration, it must be understood comes from the vaults of V which knows no definite time frame or sequence. He is and will ultimately be known as MON GHOS CA. He will be initiated as a BARON hence accepting the prefix MON according to Continuum protocol. CA will be the post-­‐fix given unto him after his complete initiation into the three house systems of Continuum. MON GHOS CA will be the supreme magician ruler of the four, the chief magician who is also the spiritual ombudsman and steward. His powers are drawn from several sources, some native and family and others alien and future. His bloodline is of the magicians of the well. His mother was a necromancer, who was known to have had dealings with the IPS, R/P. His father was an objects fetish magician, known also to have had dealings with the IPS, IMD. Together they birthed Ghos~Haus and gave unto him the engine haus of magick. During the post one thousand one hundred period, a mysterious book that was passed to him caused him to be taken into the apocalyptic dimension known as The Field.

There, although in a state of embryo, he used his powers to defeat the dark magician k****( name withheld to prevent accidental invocation). The Field kept him in its dimension, crowning him the chief magician of their then dying world. He was operated on by the witch Rayzoria and foreign powers derived from Vault M, the Red Triangle and the one thousand one hundred were infused into his magiCKal soul. After the proper apocalypse of The Field, he was returned to the Slutter

Gutt in Omandae street and his current mission is to bring into alignment the forces of the three systems of Continuum and to ultimately war with a new horror known as the WOMB KEEPER> his outcome is not yet determined but his legacy is already in place.

GRC or GRECA, is a deity female counterpart magician of Mon GHOS CA although they will never be lovers and may never meet.

It is not certain at this point in time if she is the fourth goddess. It is believed at this juncture that her current manifestation is that of a zombie sex slave currently serving the order of ODAR. She is dead but not so much so. A midget by birth, she is a predatory being, borne in the blood water rivers of far off GREEDAKA where she derives the root of her name. Now known as Greeda, her perversions are still high in its disturbance and not yet is she initiated into the sorcery realms of Continuum. It is believed that her endeavors in the current cycle of dire November will bring her into a state of exposure to the powers that leave no room for mercy for such creatures as she. She carries weapons in the guise of sexual toys and she is known to be a cannibal. It is highly probable that she will come to a part in her narrative where she would kill and devour a known magical entity and overtake its powers. Who or what this entity is, has not yet been determined.

Her magic nonetheless will be that of nocturne and of horror. It is in my personal and private opinion that the entity she will devour is actually the terror known as the womb keeper.

NTLV is the third magician in the cycle of Continuum. Its name suggest a root in the term nativity as understood by the Christian mystics, its original full form is NATALIVIA> and even though it resonates with the power of the female, NTLV is of neither sex. It is a future entity. Not yet conceived but seeded in the memory of v. in vacuume, as the old language destines. NTLV is believed to be a place magician, that is, its magickal personality is that of a location. It has been conspired that it is an advanced version of the throne of TSNR. That it will be the seat upon which the post magicians will take to oversee the spiritual development of the VONTINUUM. Scrying attempts have been made to determine the nature of this magician but nothing concrete has been manifested. It is believed to be a treasure or gift from an unidentified God. It is also believed that a war may be required to determine the placement and power structure of such a thing.

It has started to draw the attention of foreign magicians from as far as Tsara, and at this present time, its final outcome is not determined. Nevertheless, its power is far greater than the two previous magicians combined. It may perhaps be an offspring of the two prior magicians that the place NTLV is in fact a child destined to be born.

IHB or iHbab, is a magician of primal origins. It represents a past system. A system of blood, of semen and of earthly powers gone toxic. It is understood that the early battle fields during the primeval time when the blood of the red idol was spilled had created the conditions for the rise of such a black red power known as Ihbab. The roots of the name suggests a female form,

a witch twisted around the darkness of a tomb that knows no name and place. In my visions sent down unto me by VONTINUUM I see a writhing figure in the abortion fields of old. She is shrieking in a low demented way and she is trying to crawl out a mud field of soft molten flesh. Her power can be tapped into but only for acts of primal madness. Perhaps the future magicians, nay even the current magicians must understand the potency of such a terror. Perhaps it is an elixir, a sickening mix required to be ingested in order to war with far greater terrors. The older magic is always stronger. And in contradiction to what I just proclaimed, perhaps it is the blood of the old witch that is required to spill the blood of the new witch. This alas may be prophetic. Listen! Listen!

GR YBS The GRR and the YABAS are two of the most extraordinary artifacts to ever come into the vaults of V. The IPS R/P has declared it will spill its blood and surrender its soul for the protection of these two artifacts. IN fact the two artifacts are archetypal forms of thousands of others that may be manipulated and expanded out into series and volumes. They both contain powers that are beyond the scope of the vaults.

GR is the holy orb.

Its essence is known to power up suns and is perhaps derived from such a sun. It is a symbol of the sun made into the form of an orb. So far, no known beings have the power to wield it. On its own accords, The orb of GR had journeyed across the cosmos and positioned itself in the safekeeping of G/p. Its potency, when combined with appropriate cosmological weapons can prove armageddic to several worlds at once if such a power is to be unleashed. This too will be the object of many wars. We pray in the light of >͖͛s ƚŚĂƚ ǁĞ ŶĞĞĚ ŶŽƚ ĞŶƚĞƌ ƐƵĐh a warring state and this power of GR is never to be experienced.

YBS or the YABAS is a family of interconnected objects that is destined to be surgically implanted into a highly select group of seekers. Its properties are that of a drug of discovery and of a super-­‐ extension of various nervous systems. When it is implanted in the warmth or coldness of blood and the movement of the internal organs, it is understood that the YABAS will become a thing alive, a technological biology with its own perpetuating consciousness. It will aid the seeker in understanding things of the native and extraterrestrial universe, previously unknown or not understood. Its lifespan however is only as long as the lifespan of the seeker and no immortal is permitted to use the YABAS according to MISJ, the book of law.

The YABAS were not permitted in several realities because of its mind altering powers and the danger it can pose if illegally used.

It is now kept in the warehouse of G/p for its safety and study.

The scientists of Continuum has declared it a miracle techno drug

and that its right managers are yet to be found or have yet to be educated. The Continuum programs have determined that the use of YABAS will not be permitted until a significant level of understanding has been achieved among the communities dedicated to understanding its nature.

HTGI ^͛hD VUS The HITAGI, The SUUMA and the VUUSA are three minor deity gods known to occasionally escort the Ladies known as the ϯĐ͛Ɛ͘ They are male in conception and extraterrestrial in origins. The seers of Continuum have come across only one of the three gods who had kindly provided backgrounds on the other two. It is said that the HITAGI is the lowest of the three and the only god permitted to make contact and conversation with any other being. ,/d '/͛Ɛ origin lies in the hills of the tiny trees. The place where the wind is always cold, the sun is always in springtime and the water is always fresh. That is as much as could be said of that world. For eons, that world did not progress for there were no ͚ŶĞŐĂƚŝǀĞ͛ ĨŽƌĐĞƐ to uƉƐĞƚ ŝƚƐ ŶĂƚƵƌĞ͘ /ƚ͛Ɛ Ă ƉůĂce of docility and of retirement and the change of the seasons is its only marked event. The change in themselves are not considered to be severe changes. Only a drop of a point or two in temperature, in the winds, in the waters. The growth of the trees are standardized to a miniature scale. They may become richer in color but never

bigger in size. The growth of the hills are even more minute.

Ages may pass without a slight difference in change. It is a peaceful place and with it governs a peaceful god. HITAGI is recorded to speak gently like a Zen master. Its voice is soothing and calm ,its powers docile and benevolent. Sages of old worship HITAGI, and he is the patron saint of stillness in some mistrial circle. Invoke him for calmness. HITAGI is also a known deity of bonsai masters.

SUUMA is the god of abundance. It is an effeminate power who is also the patron saint of exotic dances and women. Coming from a time of cultural richness in the sectors of Lika and Hamuna, SUUMA is known to manifest with living pictures on its long lanky and sexually arousing body. Musically, SUUMAS voice is that of a woman and it is this enchantment that had lulled many enemies to sleep with wet dreams. In their embarrassment they are wholly defeated. SUUMA is also a god of laughter and playing with children. Invoke him when you wish to cheer up a sad child or if you are a performer who brings happiness to people who watch you.

Clowns, native and cosmic often carry a pendant, hidden with the sacred sigils of SUUMA. VUUSA is a god of war.

But a war not dignified by blood but by the waters. So VUUSA is technically a naval god who had presided over the great wars set at seas and oceans and rivers and other bodies of water. He was discovered during the river Nake attacks when the natives of the

Nake were invaded by foreign troops wanting to control the river route of merchants for political power. His power is that to drown the enemy even if they were safely on board ships or dry land near the waters. Water is an abundant spiritual power meant for healing but also mysterious in the way it rages and gentle in the way it shapes mountains. And yet, water is so docile in the hands, frequently escaping through the fingers. The swirling whirlpools are violent yet the undercurrents of calm surfaces may be overlooked and death comes to the unsuspecting. VUUSA represents all of these properties and maybe called upon during battles of any kind on bodies of water large or small. It was rumored ƚŚĂƚ ĚƵƌŝŶŐ ŽŶĞ ŽĨ ^ h>͛Ɛ ůŝĨĞƚŝŵĞƐ͕ he nearly drowned in a swimming pool and it was VUUSA who ƐĂǀĞĚ Śŝŵ ĨŽƌ ƚŚĞ ǁĂƚĞƌ ŐŽĚ ŬŶĞǁ ƚŚĞ ĞdžƚĞŶƚ ŽĨ ^ h>͛^ ƌŽůĞ in the cosmos. It was the only time the god of war was known to perform an act of salvation.

This therefore proves the importance of SAUL in the Continuum pantheon.

VUUSA was once celebrated in a song(The drowning man) by a troubled troubadour. A Japanese post-­‐rock band also channeled ƚŚĞ ĞƐƐĞŶĐĞ ŽĨ shh^ ŝŶ Ă ƚƌĂĐŬ ĞŶƚŝƚůĞĚ ͚ ƵƌŝĂů Ăƚ ^ĞĂ͛͘

SHRT SHODDAIRATO is a cosmological weapon in the formation of a temple.

It now resides benevolently in the gardens of V, awaiting the time when it is required. Its effects are world altering not world destroying. It was believed that the apocalypse of The Field was the result of a SHODDAIRATO being activated. The introduction of the black flowers that eventually overtook the entire ecosystem of The Field, driving its civilization into delirium and death was the result of THE SHRT. There are currently six more SHRT temples in the known multi verse of which only one is accounted for. This leaves much fear among the council of elders for there is no certainty when or where the weapon will be used.

Even though it is formed as a temple it has no such moral conscience. It is amoral. In the wrong hands it can be anytime used. A department of scout ships had been assigned to seek out the weapon but since it gives off no form of energy it is unlikely that they may be found. The OMANDAE MANEOUVER Is the only form of defense known to be able to counter this weapon. The tactic involves sending a signal or call far into the future to determine if the weapon was used and where it was used. The future entity contacted must then reverse the maneuver and send the information back so that the calamity may be averted.

In a sense, it is a proactive act rather than a reactive one.

The origins of SHRT is vague but oral traditions, particularly in eternal prisons, suggests that a group of deranged monks had gathered to sacrifice their living organs in a ritual dedicated to

deicide. It was performed during a transformational moon that crossed a killing moon in the myth cycles of SLUTETR GUTT. The ͚ŶĞǁďŽƌŶ͛ ƚĞŵƉůĞ ƚŚĂƚ ĂƌŽƐĞ ĨƌŽŵ ƚŚĞ ƐƵŝĐŝĚĞ ŵĞƐƐ ƚŚĞŶ copulated with its memory of its own conception and the family of temples was the result.

SPT The SEPTI is a disease/poison known to have been developed by the gnats of Gorgom. The gnats are hired, roaming nomadic torturers known for their systematic and traumatizing acts of truth digging. The disease functions as an organic manifestation of fear. If suffocation is determined as an enemies͛ fear (by way of telepathic/psychological tapping), the poison will react accordingly, play up the fear and introduce elements of that fear.

This means that the enemy will experience heightened suffocation and will not be permitted to die from it. The act is continued for as long as the torture is required. The biological formula of the poison is as such. It has a self conscious replicating mind that picks up on the fears and manipulates it in a loop or cycle. It can only be deactivated via reversed poisoning.

The poison is administered via aggressive insects that are released unto the bound body of the enemy. The insects are fed with the potions over a period of nights till they are the size of bullets. The insects are ant like but do not belong to such a species. It is believed that the gnats of Gorgon, who are actually

humanoid in nature, conceived the insects via sperm magic. The black sperm of the gnats are the insects of administration.

G\S The GISA is a fatalistic virus that became known only after the floods of slutter gutt and omandae street during the period of the one thousand one hundred.

Its origins and pharmacology are unknown. Its effects however are devastating. The virus begins with a normal fever then progressively boils the blood without killing the victim immediately.9It appears that viruses and diseases from the age of VONTINUUM have a prolonged death effect inherent in its organic structure). It takes approximately a week for total death to occur. Part of its pharmacology is similar to the torture disease of SPT but no known biological confirmation may be made because autopsies reveal that the GISA no longer remains in the system after the victim is killed. It causes the internal organs to grow blisters and burst periodically between 3 to 5 minutes of each bursting. The poison is then seeped in the blood stream, boiled to an appropriate degree before its fumes are transported via veins to the mind where a severe hallucination like that of angel dust occurs. No cure is currently known for this virus. It has been suggested that the virus is a stray self conscious entity that has its birth roots in the weapon of SHRT. That one of the temple activation had given birth to it and that it crossed space time to find its home in the events of post one thousand one hundred. Another theory posits that the madness which is one thousand one hundred has this virus as it child. The GISA

may then be considered as a spectral counterpart, a biological genie or servant that works in tandem to the rhythm of the numerical madness. '͛W The GANUP is a fossil fuel and energy source from the future.

Yet, in that future, it is considered to be a lower base form of power. Scientists of VONTINUUM cannot determine its true potential. The prophets however believe it to be a form of food for a form of creature yet to be discovered. This was determined in a scrying session where one of the seers was killed n a vision.

His dying breath bloodily explained the onslaught of terrible creatures, ravaging through the VONTINUUM system in search ŽĨ '͛W͕ ŝƚƐ ƉƌĞĐŝŽƵƐ ĨŽŽĚ͘ At this present moment, all known GANUP elements have been carefully buried in the abyss of AIRA, the ocean of healing. Its healing waters absorb all manners of energy and assimilates it into a conversion system where the energy is restored to its original source code hence feeding the eco-­‐prolific state of the AIRIAN SEA. Three lives were lost during the burial ritual to render the energy source extinct. By cutting off the food chain, survival of the monsters from the future that need it will be minimized.

Prevention here is favored over the cure.

d'͛ The entity believed to be the devourer and consumer of the GANUP has been named TAGARD. It has been noted by several Outhers (extraterrestrial historians) that during the primal period, when the Red Idol was warred over by the huntsmen and moribund barbarians of that time the TARGAD was a beast that ate the remains of the dead and drank of the blood spilled upon the soils. It only appeared after the wars had been fought and like a vulture, this primal entity cleaned up the messes. This was perhaps its original food source before some kind of evolution took place and altered its digesting habits. The strange rocks that are of the GANUP then became the creaturĞƐ͛ ŵƵĐŚ ŶĞĞĚĞĚ ĨŽŽĚ ƐŽƵƌĐĞ. The memory of the TAGARD is believed to exist in a mastodon oracular head now suspected to be residing in the resurrection crisis motel. No efforts have been made to retrieve this head for it was noted that it belongs to the magician Ghos~Haus who is also named MON GHOS CA. Upon his arrival at VONTINUUM, the beast head will arrive with him and further information about the TARAGRD may be extracted and understandings of it and the GANUP will be expanded.

TSMP The TSI MA PIO is the invention of the Chinese but from a parallel universe that exists sometime in the post future. It is believed to be a master system of mysticism and technology. It belongs to the WU magician dynasty. It is an advanced system of fortune telling that depends highly upon the mystical white storks that take flight from their hidden mysterious realms once every hundred years. The next period of this event has been calculated to be 2012, four years from the current time frame arranged according to the calendars of soil and glass. Only one known method of foretelling the structure of this system has been devised. It is the group orgy of virgin concubines and barbarians from the past that has to be transported to the present via reversed reversal Omandae maneuvers, or the eadnamo effect. It has been deemed blasphemous by the current magicians so no known attempts have be made for such an effort. The magic of TSi MA PIO must be studied as it takes effect naturally, during the flight of the storks in 2012.

FMS FIMAS is an administrator of the various systems mentioned in the 48 keys of VONTINUUM. At this juncture it must be said that all known information about the systems have been processed and approved by the system administrators. FIMAS has its origins working with the crashed satellite AI-­‐FI. Its background is in hypnotic data retrieval and its stature as an administrator is unequalled among the many administrators. It is rumored that FIMAS has two consciousnesses although this cannot be confirmed.

TIC TIC is known simply as aTIC. A microorganism having been created by nanotechnology parents. It roams the internal data and technological spheres of the VONTINUUM system and its primary directive is repair. Its previous duties included working in The Field with doctor Rayzoria who was rumored to be its creator.

It had worked on the magician Ghos~Haus and its insights would prove to be valuable when studies of the magicians internal development is made when he arrives into the system of V. Currently it has no memory of the baron but its memory will be triggered off once it is administered into the system of MON GHOS CA.

DLP The DAED LAE PAX is the industrial military complex of VONTINUUM. It may or may not be a conscious entity. its function is primarily war like, and that is all that can be said. Its structure, authority, methods, strategy and nature is top secret.

No other information is readily available.

SP The linguistic nature of SPX follows no form of current logic, mathematical, mythical or otherwise.

It is primarily the language of VONTINUUM. Its basis is that of sigils. The 48 keys is a representative of the entire VONTINUUM written in the language of SPX. On the surface it is understood to be an amalgam of the English language designed in the shape of sigils. But such understandings may be a deception to prevent linguistic programming hacks by malevolent spell caster.

Linguists are still working on understanding this structure.

Nothing further may be said.

SPLC Connected directly to the language of VONTINUUM is the SIPPUR LA CORAX. The formulae from which the language is derived.

This formula is even more difficult to understand and at this time, no further channeling concerning this subject is permitted.

At this juncture it must be noted that the remaining keys of VONTINUUM has reached its highest peak of abstraction, in that the information available to understand the following last eight keys are either a) Incorrect b) Misunderstood c) Following no logical structure d) Unaccounted for e) Forbidden f) Divinely protected g) May be a causation of calamity h) Impossible to comprehend.

SYT The SYT is a moon of VONTINUUM. The astronomers who had begun studying it from a purely physical angle, in terms of studying its shape and form, appear to have lost their memory of what they were observing. Mind doctors believe that the light off this moon permanently erases any form of conclusions derived from the study of the moon. Is it not a matter of not being able to grasp the initial studies. Knowledge had been acquired but as soon as that knowledge is thought about, expressed, or ĞdžƉůĂŝŶĞĚ͕ ƚŚĞ ŽďƐĞƌǀĞƌ͛Ɛ memory is erased. The very act of engaging in philosophical or descriptive thought about the moon causes the mind to lose its grasp upon the subject. As such, there is no information and the name SYT is given not as its original name (it cannot be comprehended) but as project code word and nothing more. SYT means seat of mystery.

FTI The FTI is the institution that organizes all the known information available from VONTINUUM. Its function is similar to the Akashic records. It is the library that makes the processing and accessing of the information possible. This stream of information that comes through me has its organizing roots in the institution of FTI. Like the elusive nature of the aether , where the archetypal records exist, the FTI is known to be formed off world, localized both in the cosmos and in the brain of VONTINUUM. It cannot be visited but only be projected upon.

Once the 48 keys have been delivered unto book form in this

current reality, the combined keys will form the united key that unlocks the library so that further study may be made.

The 48 keys therefore must not fall into the wrong hands and precautionary curses will be inflicted upon this book for its safe and approved used (a list that is to be compiled and sanctioned by the council of V. NVT THE NEVER TIME EVENT. The prophets, seers, augurs, oracles and magicians of VONTINUUM have all agreed upon the nature of NVT. That it is a cosmological event that will trigger the next evolution of VONTINUUM. What it is exactly, when it will happen, how it happens, what triggers it off, has not yet been determined and no form of divination so far has been able to develop any details.

It is however a major event and a council has been set up to oversee and plot its possible trajectory. At this juncture it must be noted that you will be an integral part of this project my writer friend. This information from the 48 given unto you is for your use and development so that you may advise the council on the possible steps to be taken. I will no longer be alive by the time this hour is needed. That is why I am channeling these information to you.

And now, unto the last few keys. Be patient. It will all be over soon...

WRP The WRP is connected to the NVT insofar as it is understood to be an apocalyptic event. It is possible that the WRP will refer to a distortion of the space time VONTINUUM. It is also possible ƚŚĂƚ ŝƚ ǁŝůů ŵĂƌŬ Ă ͚ŚLJƉĞƌũƵŵƉ͛ ĨŽƌǁĂƌĚ ŝŶƚŽ Ă ŵŽƌĞ ƐĞĐƵƌĞ location. It is possible that the WRP is the only saving grace from the total end contemplated by the never time event. The records are vague pertaining this matter. Perhaps events have not enfolded enough for a possible path to present itself.

BRD The brown planet that orbits east of the VONTINUUM in any of its known manifestation is called BARAD. The WAR PLANET. It is akin to MARS and may even be another version of it. Currently it is dormant but the astronomers of V believe that when it turns into a fiery brown, when it is activated, then it is the first sign that the WRP and the NVT has begun manifesting. Be watchful over this planet my friend. It is the only omen to prepare you and the VONTINUUM. d'͛ The final eight keys are known collectively as TAGA. The mystery.

It is the collective whole of the eight mysteries at the heart of VONTINUUM. Refer to the TAGA only in the presence of the magicians or elders. It must not be mentioned in any other company. This is the Law.

SXIT VSW The final two keys are names of the future gods. The names were channeled to me during the time when I was buried and barely alive beneath the rubble and debris of the fallen bridge. SXIT Is the male deity and VSW is the female. That is all I know. Or was permitted to know. They will be the next pantheon of gods of the VONTINUUM mystery. They will be the end, the beginning, the omega, the alpha. Only you will live to see the day they manifest, friend. Not me. {END OF 48 KEYS TRANSCEPTION} So my death will arrive soon. You will and shall not be here to witness it. for deaths are meant for stars to shine upon. Not eyes.

My daughter, whom you love, will also be gone. How long you stay here, in this house of the 15 is greatly depending on how long you take to fine tune the messages of the 48 keys.

Remember, that this is just the basic entries. Over the time of the ŶĞdžƚ ĨĞǁ ƐƚĂŐĞƐ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ƉůĂŶĞƚ͛Ɛ ĞǀŽůƵƚŝŽŶ͕ ŵŽƌĞ ŝŶĨŽƌŵĂƚŝŽŶ ǁŝůů be delivered unto you, through the minds of more hierophants to come. Wait for them. listen for them. you will know when you meet them, for my grotesque face will be projected unto your consciousness. You have been a patient writer, NINE. Your efforts ǁŝůů ďĞ ďůĞƐƐĞĚ ďLJ ƚŚĞ ůŝŐŚƚ ŽĨ >͛s͘ DĂLJ ƚŚĞ 'ŽĚƐ ŽĨ sKEd/EhhD watch you, MĂLJ ƚŚĞ ϯ ͛Ɛ ŐƵŝĚĞ ĂŶĚ ůŽǀĞ LJŽƵ͘ ŶĚ ŵĂLJ LJŽƵ ďĞ immortal as you are destined to be.

POSTLOGUE In night time be doth the great companion. Of stars in the movement of the sea above. Shout to the man of the meteor of the dimension, seek what thou wilt in the law of the land. ISIQ be good, o earth of the deities. Rise be the ghosts that strung out our fears. Moments derailed and trains all becoming. Sound of the notions in moments in thrills. The names of the others are sound in its master. The throb and the heart beat of the spaces divine. Gone be the hours of turmoil and battle. Here is the rising of the sun and the child. Forever be now, and now be forever, the bones of the old are remade from the new. The blood of the prophets are spilled but be starry. The fields are refreshed with the tears of the moon. The gods and the females ,the writers all here. The seekers in the discos, the deaths and the fears. The dogs of the Afrioca in dimensions now passed, the men and the women, the promises will last. A hundred more songs and a hundred more words. The sequence, the stories, the potions, the worlds. The galaxies now expanding the planets rotate, the powers of unending, the sowers of hate. The enemies are sleeping regaining their strengths. The fighters are praying, the women, and the men. The times are appealing the birds all fly south, the gods that are speaking from the men from their mouths. The hour is ready the future is here. The waves are a crashing, the sounds in the ears. The years are a coming the properties deranged, the seat of the magic the seed of the game.

Open be system, closed be the book, the thief and the killer, the goon and the crook.