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Every Ordinary Fascist’s Dream.

the masses are assets teased and preyed upon by masterful dissuading… what turbulent wherewithal is this?… that commits humanity to confront the demonic influence?… the demiurge is a craftsman, or so i have recently heard, leaving me wondering what Yaldabaoth means as the crafted seems to move farther away from the crafter… is this entity a god money, or is that just symptomatic of the manifold destinies created in the process of outgrowth, the energies of existence channeled over the course of multiple actual life times, and thus our energy is borrowed by extension from the powerhouses of the gods… making them out as monsters on this other end of the scales, we become anathema in a certain frame of mind, and who’s most pissed at how we have been betrayed by our own trust in the media?… we are the collective Here, raised with rancid the distaste of previous generations, and embittered by the recount of imperfect life experiences in mortal endeavor… a frustration of impediment suckling the courage toward risk, the movement towards something better perhaps, and it is this hanging noose that drags me along in distorted thinking with second guesses flinging… a mimic, a makeshift of what a human is, but is it a being that feels more or less than the animal?… a functional humanoid exploited by a system in effect, the whispered of massive machine that seems inevitably separated by time and space, but is as yet the fine kinetic machinations inside of a bright cosmic structure of unknown origin… in “control” of this bygone thoughtless thing that moves and jerks along at a steady rhythm, but the dreaming mind snares the distracted passive might have interest to spill, thoughts floating caught on tangential motes in the air we breathe… the notes before the seed, those eloquent ways of speaking falsely that only makes sense after the fact of what you see, and the dust and decay gets swept up in the bubble we say is “ours” spreading that conscious viral need… even as that consciousness expands beyond all around us, the primal elements seem to reach up through our bodies, and resembles the ancient prototypical parts of random syzygy breaking down through the ‘as-many-organisms-at-one-time’ theory… linking back to those proposed ancestor spirits even if we really only originate from one particular quality of universal chain, the brutal step back on the tips of missiles and bombs, and unrelenting in its fascist attempt at desolate versions of the future… the retrolink jerking-off in the sinking grave god gave him, at last trying to reveal a past some sense of the spectral anchor, but fighting back the mortal yearn for connection seems antithetical to the human condition… may the false fates first move out of the skeletal antechamber that is my head, to grasp another possible belief in reality fostered by the words and truths of other people in relatively similar situations, but always under the generally upheld auspice of the human being… an organism both mammal and lizard, as the hot courses against the cold in rivers within the soul, and the jagged shards of the masculine carve against the soft curve of feminine urge… the mechanism of ancient throwbacks used against us, but we shall prevail in their worthless terror, wallets unsheathed but unnecessarily dropping to the ground… creeping and cautious, the sheepish move along in their silly games they play, and faking lack of knowledge of the dark thing waiting for them… the loud pseudo-leadership qualities rend the non-believer, as the sweeping ego religion fascinates the ones who might deliver with body and soul, but that legal tender can always be either and any other use there could be for you… sweet deceit conceited ill relief, with eyes unclouded, i wish to see more than that simple random thing in front of me… you’ve been seen wasting your time Here, watch out behind yourself…

Thanks, khet.