when the light shows itself, the illuminati think they’re in the east. but the light shines first when we see that there is no east or west. on the surface of a sphere, dimension is symmetrical in all directions. because this is so, the earth has been provided a magnetic field, which provides orientation and distributes consciousness (see rupert sheldrake, biomorphic field). but this provides only for a logical north and south, stemming from the direction of flow of the greater biomorphic field, out through the north in through the south. but even that is reversible. imagine the consequences in the biomorphic-field of a magetic reversal (also see: magetic disturbances on 9/11). east is an assumption by a monocular cyclops living and thinking in 2d grounded by gravity and lying at the angle of repose, a blank assertion by (a) blank association. and, the insistence that it is where the sun rises, as if it is on a crystal sphere bubbling us in russian-doll style, and coincidently to the right of north was derived in the past when the sun was thought to actually rise and set. obviously, it doesn’t. the earth dances around her. incidentally, the sun is setting, so to speak. so thinkers of this age, artists and poets, philosophers, mediums and prophets, leave the cartesean turf war behind.
... venus is always in close association with the sun in our sky. that is because she is closer. sometimes, she is the morning star. sometimes, the evening star. as she wanders, she rises in the east and in the west. imagine retrograde outside the box, inside the sphere and you have some idea. her beauty is pentacular in an eight year, spinning circular spiral dance in beautiful phi cycles. she gives us the clue we need... to the wise is sufficient. the truth does set you free.
... you do not possess the moon though you grasp a piece of her with gloved hand, because you've tread on her and left your shoeprint-mantracks in her fine dust, obnoxiously stuck a flagpole into her flesh, left your garbage behind and trashed her spare beauty pristine perfection. you sociopaths couldn’t even leave the moon like you found her. so, how can you be trusted with a vineyard like the earth? when will you stop, when she fits perfectly to cover the blessed sun, if only for a moment, or when the moon turns blood-red a fortnight later, when the sinister glow of the sick-yellow sodium light drowns her beauty-light out? you bring evil with the light. but you even forget yourselves, and this is why you are destined to crash and burn in a glorious tumult. ... great will be her fall. in one day is she laid to waste, and the smoke of her torment is seen from afar off.
...as the lightning which is in the east, is seen even in the west, so shall the coming of the son of man be. the image of the beast walks and talks... the son of man!? what the hell does that mean? i'm the son of woman. ... she is clothed in the sun, and you liars coin LIBERTY, the word and her image on the gold that enslaves us, free speech goes to the highest bidder, sold american! ... she was given wings like an eagle, the moon at her feet, and a place was prepared for her in the wilderness. you make wallpaper of in god we trust, imprinting it endlessly on empty promises. repeat it to yourself until it is reduced to a nonsensical string of sounds. build a wall of noise to keep out your angst and ennui, television, microwave e.m.f.'s, radio waves that match the bandwidth of the ventilation shafts, ingenious, insidious, hutchison effect takes down twin gates. hurricane irene skirts manhattan, unnnoticed, flirts with disaster and takes a turn to the right, like the nation, bernoulli be damned, bush two, too. you should feel the dark one's breath on the back of your neck, but no one is the wiser, yields us killing e-static/right angle bee-line out into the atlantic. gods blessamerica columbus
... you do not possess the moon though you grasp a piece of her with gloved hand, because you've tread on her and left your shoeprint-mantracks in her fine dust, obnoxiously stuck a flagpole into her flesh, left your garbage behind and trashed her spare beauty pristine perfection. you sociopaths couldn’t even leave the moon like you found her. so, how can you be trusted with a vineyard like the earth? when will you stop, when she fits perfectly to cover the blessed sun, if only for a moment, or when the moon turns blood-red a fortnight later, when the sinister glow of the sick-yellow sodium light drowns her beauty-light out? you bring evil with the light. but you even forget yourselves, and this is why you are destined to crash and burn in a glorious tumult. ... great will be her fall. in one day is she laid to waste, and the smoke of her torment is seen from afar off.
...as the lightning which is in the east, is seen even in the west, so shall the coming of the son of man be. the image of the beast walks and talks... the son of man!? what the hell does that mean? i'm the son of woman. ... she is clothed in the sun, and you liars coin LIBERTY, the word and her image on the gold that enslaves us, free speech goes to the highest bidder, sold american! ... she was given wings like an eagle, the moon at her feet, and a place was prepared for her in the wilderness. you make wallpaper of in god we trust, imprinting it endlessly on empty promises. repeat it to yourself until it is reduced to a nonsensical string of sounds. build a wall of noise to keep out your angst and ennui, television, microwave e.m.f.'s, radio waves that match the bandwidth of the ventilation shafts, ingenious, insidious, hutchison effect takes down twin gates. hurricane irene skirts manhattan, unnnoticed, flirts with disaster and takes a turn to the right, like the nation, bernoulli be damned, bush two, too. you should feel the dark one's breath on the back of your neck, but no one is the wiser, yields us killing e-static/right angle bee-line out into the atlantic. gods bless
... because they know there are so many tin gods, like tin soldiers toying with plaything-beasts, gods of history. yeah, right! there is only one god, and (s)he is the child who plays with the tin soldiers. really? ... and there is only one son of god. yet, the elohim and their nephalim, the sons of god found the daughters of men attractive, and they lay with them and bore children with them. sons of god?! cry, son of david. ... there were giants in the earth in those days, and these were the ancient men of renowned. and the end days shall be like the days of noah. man, you act as if your superiority is so, ipso fatso, and needing to prove to yourself and establish your superiority to others, women have proven handy, so handy that you have ruined her, raped and pillaged, burned and remade her in your own arrogant image, and you say she came from your rib, rabbi? sold her the lie of testosterone - i'm the best! i'm #1! you have won and planted the seeds of your own demise in her womb. the genetic time bomb ticks, autism, breast cancer, margellans disease... or what you fear the most, depression in captivity, endemic ennui, stir crazy reali-tv, fat-cute pudge, morbid obesity, prepubescent-prediabetic, abhorrent adorabrat honey boo boo sopping up the greasygravy with bread (and circuses) cast on the waters to return 10fold, (deaducks eat not a crumb) stereotypic behavior. need a sign? how's a fish strike you, especially after three days in the grave? how's consuming godman's flesh transubstantiated, though unsubstantiated?
... and they said, behold, they have become as one of us, knowing [shame]. perhaps shame was really the first sin, courtesy of god. and he comes on the scene in the garden, after the invisible disaster, whistling a tune, as if he doesn't know what happened. and he blames you, you first ones, but you were innocent, but you believed, and so you lied to yourselves and took shame to protect the shameful secret of the one-eyed one. either he could not protect you, or he betrayed you. either way, he betrayed your trust. either way, it wasn’t your fault. you could not have known. you were abused, and the one eyed one did not protect you. in fact, you didn't die, and things only went terribly wrong when he flew off the handle, kicked you out of paradise, cursed you, his prized creation, and he curses you... fool... for he is a jealous god who loves and hates (his pawns) and hurts those who love him, convincing them that they are worthless and offering them the glittering hope of pricelessssnesssss, if only they can be good enough to deserve his love. and anger is a deadly sin, but he is wrath. ... and they drank from the cup of the wine of god’s indignation. ... and she was dressed in scarlet and purple and was drunk on the blood of the saints. how much clearer can it get? need a sign? evolve, for god's sake. leave his lies to history. but you can't, can you? fate calls you over the cliff, buffalo-lemming like. ... shame. ...and for a profit gained but losing the world, literally, but break my heart to say what it has done to your soul. immortech is inevitable, avoid death and ignore life. destroy meaning. replace it with perpetual crisis.
... and they said, behold, they have become as one of us, knowing [shame]. perhaps shame was really the first sin, courtesy of god. and he comes on the scene in the garden, after the invisible disaster, whistling a tune, as if he doesn't know what happened. and he blames you, you first ones, but you were innocent, but you believed, and so you lied to yourselves and took shame to protect the shameful secret of the one-eyed one. either he could not protect you, or he betrayed you. either way, he betrayed your trust. either way, it wasn’t your fault. you could not have known. you were abused, and the one eyed one did not protect you. in fact, you didn't die, and things only went terribly wrong when he flew off the handle, kicked you out of paradise, cursed you, his prized creation, and he curses you... fool... for he is a jealous god who loves and hates (his pawns) and hurts those who love him, convincing them that they are worthless and offering them the glittering hope of pricelessssnesssss, if only they can be good enough to deserve his love. and anger is a deadly sin, but he is wrath. ... and they drank from the cup of the wine of god’s indignation. ... and she was dressed in scarlet and purple and was drunk on the blood of the saints. how much clearer can it get? need a sign? evolve, for god's sake. leave his lies to history. but you can't, can you? fate calls you over the cliff, buffalo-lemming like. ... shame. ...and for a profit gained but losing the world, literally, but break my heart to say what it has done to your soul. immortech is inevitable, avoid death and ignore life. destroy meaning. replace it with perpetual crisis.
... imagine a world in which the children are schooled, and so, their titans overruled. this is a call to you-know-what. but who knows what? man's history is war without frontiers. ... to protect the constitution of the united states against all enemies foreign and domestic: he is within the nation, not of the nation nor for the nation. the most powerful man in the free world can't free himself, though not bound by his word or by honor. amend truth. spin death. but, he's a bullshit-babbling mascot of the colonies of corporatocracy! the body will suffer in throes of paroxysm while the head looks on in paralyses of psychic gridlock, impotently gawking as babylon catabolizes and cannibalizes herself. need a sign? drink up, dreamers. you're running dry.
the energy of crop circles, psi, phi, pi, the laughing ghost, the aged one unseen, chides us. the eagle has landed. the party’s over. the endgame is afoot.
awake, honestly. aware, you see not. seeing, you are not aware… this is mind, the real. ...as if you could worship the fallen one and bring the highest down low with you, struggle with yourselves. imagine a world where the children are schooled, and so, their titans overruled. exploration [of] humanity 59 09’ 42.532” n 13 13’ 12.69” w conti[nuous] for planetary advan[ce]... reduce, recycle, refuse!
appono astos
there is only one revolution,
and it is revolving now.
occupy everything!
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